From: Vickie Moseley NEW STORY: Unto Which of the Angels (1/4) I just noticed that someone has posted a Christmas Card .gif on the group. So, in the spirit of the season (Halloween), I am sending out this almost Christmas story. Actually, it has very little to do with Christmas, that's just the setting. The story was inspired by all those little angel pins that I keep seeing on everyone. I knew that at some point, Mulder had to deal with angels. Standard Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended, especially to George Frederic Handel who wrote the best 'Christmas/Easter' music on earth (maybe in heaven, too) when he wrote Messiah. I listen to it all year long. Mulder, Scully, Skinner, Cancerman, and everyone you recognize belong to Ten Thirteen Productions. 'Angela' belongs to me or to herself, we haven't worked this out completely. Warnings: Not many. This is an X File story, unless your guardian angel talks to you all the time. No romance, no sex, not too much violence described, some adult language, some blood, some snow, some cold. . . Rated G and a batch of Mrs. Moseley's famous Peanut Butter and Chocolate Chip cookies to the first person who can send me the WORDS to the recitative. Great Trivia note: The Feast of the Guardian Angels is Oct. 2, so I'm only one day late with this. UNTO WHICH OF THE ANGELS* Part one of four (*Title of the Tenor Recitative in _Messiah_ by George Frederic Handel) County Road 17, Fairfax Co. Virginia December 19, 1995 10:00 pm Fox Mulder was barely conscious, and bleeding severely from a wound on the left side of his head. His right wrist was bleeding also, and his hand was throbbing. He was lying on the ground, but he was totally blind, so he had no idea where he was or whether it was night or day. It was below freezing and he could feel the snow melting under him. He had no idea how he got there, in this condition and he had no idea how he was going to get help. He had run out of options and was about to black out when he whispered something he very rarely thought of, let alone said out loud: a prayer. Later, it would all seem like a dream. He couldn't see anything, but someone, a woman he was sure, helped him crawl almost 150 yards, out of the woods and up a hill to the roadside, where he was soon found by a passing sheriff's patrol. Dana Scully was jolted from a sound sleep when the phone rang. A quick glance at her alarm clock revealed the time as 11:21 pm. She had gone to bed early, feeling particularly tired because of jet lag. She and her partner had flown from Washington, DC to northern Idaho, then to Wisconsin and finally back to Washington, all in the span of 5 days. When the phone rang, she was sure it was her alarm clock. It took her just a moment to come fully awake, and even less time to dress and head out the door. Dana got off the elevator at the hospital and started toward the nurse's desk. A young woman in a police uniform walked over to her and introduced herself. "Excuse me, I'm Deputy Atwood. Are you Agent Scully?" Dana nodded and took Deputy Atwood's offered hand. "Maybe we should talk over here a minute," Deputy Atwood motioned to a waiting area. Seeing the hesitation in Scully's eyes, the Deputy added, "the doctor is still with your friend. It will just take a minute." Dana said nothing, but sat down in one of the chairs. "What happened," Scully asked, when the deputy handed her a cup of coffee. "I left him at the office at 5:00. Was he in an accident?" "I'm afraid it was more deliberate," replied Deputy Atwood. "Agent Mulder was the victim of an attack of some kind, it looks like it could have been an attempted execution. He was shot twice, once in the right arm, near the wrist, and once in the left side of his head." Scully closed her eyes, but said nothing. Deputy Atwood continued, "There was something unusual that I'm a little confused by. Agent Mulder was found right off the roadway, where we spotted him easily. But he wasn't thrown out of a car. From what we can tell, he was shot in the nearby woods, over 100 yards away. He wasn't in any condition to crawl all that way, and up a hill to boot, but somehow he did. But the really spooky part is, the paramedics figure he did it without knowing which way he was going. The blow to his head probably left him blind." "Maybe someone dragged him to the roadside," Scully suggested. "That was my first thought when I found his tracks. But there were no footprints. Just the track he made crawling up the hill. The snow was fresh, it would have been impossible not to make footprints. We found nothing." The doctor on call had come into the waiting room and motioned to Dana to come over. Before leaving, she got the deputy's phone number. She would investigate the mystery later. Now, it was time to turn her attention to Mulder. The doctor introduced himself and led Scully over to a view screen with several x-rays displayed on it. "Mr. Mulder was very lucky. The bullet actually glanced off his skull. He did sustain a fracture and a severe concussion, however. There is considerable swelling here," he pointed to an area on the film. "That's near the occular nerve," Scully muttered. "Very good," the doctor replied, somewhat surprised. "I'm sorry, I should mention that I'm a medical doctor," Scully said and moved closer to the films. "So his sight has been affected. "I'm afraid so. Of course, once the swelling goes down, there is every reason to believe that his sight will return. But for now. . ." the doctor trailed off, not wanting to vocalize the reality of his patient's blindness. "Is he lucid?" Scully asked. If he was awake, he was probably wondering where she was. She remembered the day she had agreed to be his emergency contact. In their line of work, it only made sense and besides, he didn't really feel he could trust anyone else. "He's been going in and out. He did mumble a few words, something about a woman. I assumed he must have been talking about Deputy Atwood," the doctor said. "You're welcome to go in and sit with him, if you want." "Thank you, I think I will," Scully said and left the doctor to gather the x-rays and put them with the chart at the nurses' station. Mulder's breathing was slow and steady when Scully sat down next to his bed. The bandage on his head encircled it, but didn't cover his eyes. His wrist was bandaged in a soft cast and pins had been implanted to hold the bones in place while they healed. In general, he was going to be in a lot of pain whenever he came around, and he certainly wasn't going to be happy about the time it would take for a full recovery. But at least Scully was certain he would make a full recovery. The doctor was right. Mulder had been very lucky. Scully sat there in silence, just watching him sleep for what seemed like hours. During that time, she went over every minute of the last day. They had spent the day together, right up to five o'clock, when they had left the office together before going to their respective apartments. Mulder had been as exhausted as she was after their trip. He had mentioned making an early night of it and a late morning the next day, if he had his way. She had wearily agreed and said goodbye. But sometime between 5:00 and 10 pm he had left his apartment, or been taken from it, and severely wounded. And right now, he was the only one who could tell her what had happened. Somewhere around 6 am, Mulder started waking up. He moved his head and swallowed hard a couple of times. Scully sat forward in her seat and put her hands on his arm. "Mulder," she said softly. "Hey, are you awake?" "Scully?" Mulder said hoarsely. "Who turned out the lights?" Scully had been searching for the answer to that question for the last several hours. She knew he was not going to be satisfied with her answer, no matter what it was. The fleeting thought crossed her mind that Mulder was exactly the type of patient that had made her consider forensic medicine in the first place. At least the 'patients' she had rarely talked back, disobeyed her orders, or complained. Of course, on the downside, all the 'patients' she saw were dead. But Mulder was very much alive and would probably ask the question again if she didn't answer soon. "Scully, why is it so dark in this room?" His voice was sounding stronger, but also more insistant and more than just a little anxious. "Mulder, you've been shot," she said simply. She knew that required further explanation so she continued. "A bullet shattered the bones in your wrist and another one glanced off your temple. The resulting concussion has left you blind, temporarily," she quickly added, emphasising the word 'temproarily'. Mulder didn't say a word. He let the information sink in. Finally, he asked quietly, "Are you sure about that?" "Absolutely sure!" she said confidently. "The swelling is near the occular nerve. When the swelling goes down in a few days, you'll start seeing again. By the end of the week, you'll be fine. At least, your sight will have returned, the wrist will take some more time" she added, remembering that the wrist was going to take much longer than a week to heal. "Mulder, what in the hell happened? A Sheriff's patrol found you out in the country, no car, bleeding. How did you get there?" Mulder shut his eyes and frowned. "I remember answering my door. That was probably about 6 or so. Then, it's all blank. Well. . almost, except for little bits. . ." he said and sighed heavily. "Scully, my head really hurts bad. Do I have to tell you all this right now?" Scully bit her lip in concern. "No! Of course not! You need some sleep. The doctor has you on pain killers and it's probably hard for you to think right now. That, and your concussion," she added. "I have a concussion and you're letting me sleep," he said with an attempted grin. "I'm going to remember this the next time you want me to stay awake all night after getting bashed in the head!" "Yeah, well, you are being closely monitored and you lost a lot of blood. These are extenuating circumstances, so take advantage of them. We are going to make sure they don't all happen at once again," she said menancingly. "Do I make myself clear, Mulder?" He leaned back into his pillow and sighed again. "Very clear, Scully. But I was in my apartment this time . . ." He yawned and closed his eyes. "Getting where a guy just isn't safe in his own home. . ." His mumbles were replaced by steady breathing. Scully watched him for a few minutes, checking his pulse on the monitor and assuring herself that he would be alright. Finally convinced, she went out into the hall and gave her phone number to the nurse so she could be contacted when he woke up again. Then she left the hospital for his apartment, to check things out for herself. Fox Mulder's Apartment December 20, 1995 7:30 am Scully quietly opened the apartment door and almost stumbled on the overturned chair in her path. The apartment had been ransacked. She gingerly stepped over the chair, sofa cushions and books that had been pulled out of the bookcase. Whoever had been at Mulder's door the night before was obviously looking for something. She made her way over to the fish tank in the corner and noted that, at least they had escaped injury. "Hey, you guys want to make a statement? Look at some mug shots?" They swam impassively around the tank. "Yeah, I know, nobody wants to get involved. Geez, I'm getting as bad as Mulder, interrogating fish!" She picked up the fish food and started to shake some down into the tank. Instead of flakes, a small gold key, similar to those found in lockers in bus stations and train stations, fell with a plop into the water, startling both the fish and Scully. "Oh, God, Mulder. What have you done now?" Grabbing the fish net, she scooped up the key and dropped it into an evidence bag. Either Mulder had joined a new health club, or this was what the thugs were after in the first place. Somehow it didn't take her long to figure that it had to be the latter. She tucked the key in her purse. Then, looking around the demolished room, she shook her head, reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Skinner was not going to be pleased with this, but her options were fast running out. FBI Headquarters 7:45 am Assistant Director Walter Skinner had just sat down at his desk when the call came in. It was not even 8:00 in the morning and already he had a headache. He had learned long ago to not underestimate the X Files Division's ability to find trouble, but it now appeared that trouble was actively seeking them out. Or maybe it had always been that way. He had ordered an evidence team over to Mulder's apartment the minute after he hung up with Scully. Why was it always these two? He sighed and pulled out an emergency medical leave form. With a sardonic smile, he noticed that his secretary had now taken the time to fill in the first half of the form, half the forms had Scully's information, half had Mulder's. He picked up the pen and filled in the rest of the information, signing his name at the bottom and tossing it in his out basket. It would be another long day. The side door to his office opened and he looked up. The tall, thin man, dressed in his usual black attire and clenching his everpresent cigarette, took up the seat on Skinner's office couch. Skinner took a deep breath and blew it out through his teeth. he thought bitterly. "I assume you've heard of Agent Mulder's accident?" the smoker's voice asked. "It doesn't sound like much of an accident, if you ask me," Skinner replied dryly. "Oh, let me assure you, it was an accident. Anything else, and you would be planning an agent's funeral. No, I am afraid our young friend has fallen into some difficulty because he has tried to play in a league he is not ready for. And knowing him, he is probably going to drag Agent Scully down with him. All this can be avoided if certain objects are retuned to their rightful owners. If anyone can persuade Agents Mulder and Scully of the value of such actions, I believe it is you." "I don't know what you're talking about! What objects? Who are these 'rightful owners'? I am not about to help you until I know what this is all about!" Skinner seethed. "You don't need to know. And you are not helping me in this, Skinner. You are protecting your agents. Believe me, right now, they are both in grave danger! I can't help them, and if you won't, no one will." He stood up and put out his cigarette in the ashtray by the sofa. "The choice, and their lives, are in your hands. Don't mistake the intentions of others beyond my control." And he was gone, leaving a foul smell in the room and a similar taste in Skinner's mouth. Fox Mulder felt like he was swimming in a pond. He kept swimming upward and finally his head broke through and he was above the water. He shook his head, to get the water out of his eyes and nose and looked around. He could see the shore, and a dock. Sitting on the dock was a young woman, probably about his own age, dressed in a white gauze sundress, motioning for him to swim over to her. Taking a deep breath, he did just that. He clambored out of the water, up onto the dock and sat down next to her. She smiled at him, and he felt he should know her, she was so familiar. Finally, she spoke. "Feeling better?" she asked in a lilting voice that he knew he had heard many times before, but he couldn't place where or when. "I feel fine. Do I know you?" he asked, wiping more water off his face with his hands. A breeze had blown up, but the day was hot and it felt good to be sitting on the shady dock, wet. "Not as well as you once did, but I know you," she said cryptically. He looked at her and shook his head. Then he looked around himself. "Wait a minute. It's December! Where am I?" he asked, feeling rather uncertain and just a little dizzy all of a sudden. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder to steady him. "It's alright, Fox. You're dreaming. You are hurt, in the hospital. You're asleep right now. But here, you're safe. No pain. And I needed to talk to you." "I'm dreaming?" he asked, incredulous. "This is a really great dream. I want a recording of this dream," he added, giving her an appreciative stare. She was beautiful, with golden blonde hair that lay in long ringlets down the sides of her face, a tiny nose, with big blue eyes and deep red lips. "Definitely a good dream!" "Down, Mulder," his companion said, in a perfect mimic of Scully's voice. "How did you do that!" he demanded. "Oh, let's just say I've heard her say it often enough and leave it at that. Right now that's not what matters. Have you remembered anything that happened to you?" "No. Why, should I?" he asked evasively. "Fox, you can trust me," she said quietly, staring him deep in the eyes. "Sorry. An old friend once told me *trust no one*. It was good advice then, sounds like good advice now. Even if this is just a dream," he said stubbornly. "Fox, I'm here to help you. To be exact, if you think about it, you summoned me! I have no 'agenda', I will not harm you. But you need protection, and that is my job. It has been my job for a very long time," she said, smiling faintly at him. "Well, if it's your job to protect me, I hope they don't pay you based on performance, because this has _not_ been a good year for me," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You are still alive, Fox. There have been several times when that might not have been the outcome if I hadn't been involved. But let's not argue my performance. You are going to need my help, both you and Scully. I have been sent here to help you, whether you accept it or not." "Who the hell are you?" Mulder demanded angrily. "Wrong direction, sport," she laughed. "I'm your guardian angel." The look on her face was total honesty. Mulder defiantly shook his head in disbelief. "Sorry, don't go in for religion much. Try again," he hissed. "Fox, what was the last thing you remember before you blacked out in the woods? You woke up, you couldn't see, you were bleeding, you were in great pain, you were cold. What did you do?" she taunted him into an answer. "I. . .I prayed," he whispered. "What did you pray for?" she asked, prodding. "For God to save me. . ." he whispered, almost to himself, half embarrassed by the lapse in his convictions. "But I was delirious! I didn't expect an. . ." He stopped himself and waved a hand at the sky. "You didn't expect an angel? Well, be careful what you pray for, Fox Mulder, because sometimes your prayers get answered sooner than you think!" She grinned at him and her whole face glowed. "Look, you need to rest so more. . ." "But I have questions to ask you. And besides, I _am_ asleep, at least that's what you told me," he interjected. "Not completely. You are kind of in the world between sleep and awake. Your mind is still running full tilt and you need to be resting completely. Don't worry. I'm not leaving. I'll be back. Just rest and when you wake up, hopefully you will remember more of last night. Oh, and Fox," she said, as she started to shimmer and glow. "What?" he asked, squinting at the brightness surrounding her. "Don't forget to thank Scully for coming to the hospital and sitting up with you. She cares a lot for you, and sometimes she feels you don't appreciate her. I know you do, but you need to let her know," the voice said, as it faded with her image. As her image faded, so did the dock, the lake and the trees, and Mulder drifted off into oblivion. End of part one My e-mail is getting repaired, so bear with me if my response time is slow to comments. =========================================================================== From: Vickie Moseley Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW STORY: Unto Which of the Angels (2/4) Date: 3 Oct 1995 13:58:10 GMT Unto Which of the Angels* Part Two of Four Disclaimer in part one. Is everyone wearing their official angel pins? ******* Arlington Memorial Hospital December 20, 4:40 pm It was almost sunset when Mulder woke up again, with pain in his head and right arm, an IV in his left arm and hospital sounds all around him. He vaguely remembered the dream, and half expected to find the young woman sitting by his bed. Upon opening his eyes, however, all he saw was darkness, and it frightened him. He called out, and Scully answered. "Mulder, it's alright. I'm here. Relax. Do you remember where you are?" she asked, in soothing tones, taking his unbandaged hand and rubbing the back of it. "Hospital," he said hoarsely. "Is she here?" he asked, still trying to piece the dream together and fit it into reality. "She? Who, the nurse?" Scully asked, confused. "No, Scully! Not the nurse, the angel," he chided. Sometimes he was amazed at how simple things confused her so. "Mulder," Scully said softly. "There isn't any angel here. Not that I can see, anyway. It's just me. Did you dream about an angel?" "Yeah. That was it," he slurred, still groggy. "I dreamed about her. She's beautiful, Scully. What do you call them, angels that follow you around, protect you? Catholics call them something." The pain killers were making his thought processes muddy, as usual. "Guardian angels. I didn't think you believed in guardian angels, Mulder. Or at least I figured you thought they were actually aliens in disguise," she snickered. "Yeah, well, she certainly fit the descriptions I've seen," he said with an attempt at a leering grin. "She talked to me on a dock. She told me,. . . she told me to tell you that I _do_ appreciate you, Scully. . . Thanks for being here. I really means a lot to me and I don't always remember to tell you that. You're a good friend, Scully." For the first time that day, Scully was glad Mulder was blind. She was blushing bright red and a single tear was streaking its way down her cheek. "Any time, Mulder," she said gruffly, hoping he wouldn't notice the change in her voice. If he did, he didn't let her know. "Mulder," she said, bringing herself under control. "I went by your apartment. It had been ransacked. When I went to feed your fish, a gold key fell out of the fish food. What does that belong to, Mulder? Is that what they were looking for, the ones who hurt you and trashed your place?" "A gold key? I remember a gold key." He closed his eyes in concentration. "It's to a locker. . .somewhere. I don't know where. It was in my paper when I got home. I stuck it in the empty fish food container so I wouldn't lose it. That could be what they were after." A sudden wave of pain washed over him, starting in his wrist and running straight up the entire length of his arm. It left his head throbbing, as well. Scully couldn't help but notice his grimace of pain. "Mulder, I think the doctor has order some pain meds for you. I'm going to call the nurse. . ." she said, but he wouldn't let go of her hand. "No, Scully, I hate to be doped up! Please," he pleaded, but then gripped her hand tightly as the pain in his wrist worsened. He clenched his jaw against it. "OK, maybe this once," he gasped. His thoughts were a jumble as his mind sunk through oblivion. Then, looking up he could just make out her faint outline in the corner of the room. This time he wasn't on the dock, he was sitting in a room, a familiar room. He finally recognized the formal parlor of the student house he had lived in during his undergrad days at Oxford. He had always loved that room. He went there frequently, just for quiet time to think. It was a strict rule that women were not allowed in that particular study room, and it was were he often sought refuge from Phoebe Greene when he didn't want to be found. "You aren't supposed to be here," he pointed out as he walked over and sat on the old leather couch next to her. "Fox," she said, smiling and shaking her head so that her curls bounced. "You misunderstand. Angels have no sex. You see me as a woman because that is how you view angels." "How about Michael and Gabriel, and for that matter, Lucifer?" he countered. She smiled even more brightly. "Well, it's good to see you still remember the names from Sunday School, if not all the lessons! But there again, those are names. The angels behind those names are neither man nor woman. Only humans have gender, Fox. By the way, thank you," she said, changing the subject. "For what?" he asked. "I saw when you told Scully how much it meant to you to have her here. She was really pleased. You did very well. See, you aren't a total loser with women, you just need to practice a few more social graces, that's all," she said and her face glowed. "To set the record straight here, I am still a loser with women. Scully is different," he frowned. "So, are partners like angels," she teased. "No gender?" "It's not like that! It's just that, well, I feel comfortable with Scully. She's my best friend. I don't act around her like I do when I'm around other women." It was his turn to change the subject. "Hey, how come you don't have wings, if my imagination is making you up?" "You are too old for wings, Fox. Or halos for that matter. And I am not of your imagination. I am real. Or at least as real as I can get, on a metaphysical level. Did you remember anything, yet?" she asked. "Yeah, a little. I remember a key. Scully found it. . ." "In the fish food, right?" she interrupted. "How did you know," he asked, suspiciously. She sighed. "Because I was there watching you when you put it in the container. I'm always watching, Fox. That is my job. We angels never know when we're going to be needed." "So why don't _you_ tell me what happened? If you were there. . ." he accused. "I wish it worked that way, but it doesn't. I can't step in a stop things. I can only help you. Besides, I got kind of busy," she said pointedly. "There was a struggle and I was that little voice in your head telling you that your gun was in the bedroom on your belt holster where you had left it. Remember?" "Oh yeah," he spoke slowly, as the events of the night started to replay in his mind. "I reached for my gun and grabbed my sweatpants. But I thought that was _my_ mind telling me that, that I was just remembering," he said, staring off, thinking out loud. "People don't remember a lot of logical, necessary things in the heat of battle. Sometimes they need help," she smiled cryptically. "So, that little voice, it's always been you?" he asked, shaking his head in amazement. "Most of the time, yes." "How about the voice that tells me what a killer is thinking?" he asked. She blushed. "That is your own voice, Fox. Sometimes, I have to protect you from it, as well. Humans have good, much good," she stressed, "and they also possess evil. When you see their actions so clearly, that is the evil, within you. That's why it frightens you so. But you control it. You have a very well developed sense of right and wrong. Sometimes, though, I do end up pulling you from the mouth of the abyss, as it were. If you think about it, you'll remember those times." "I remember. . ." he said and shuddered. "Thank you," he added, looking over at her a faint mixture of admiration and graditude. She smiled, all glowing now. "Don't mention it. It's my job. Just like you have a job. Right now, your job is to get well and try to put this puzzle together. It's going to be difficult. The pain in your wrist is a reminder, Fox. That much I know. And your sightlessness as well. Those injuries were deliberate. They wanted you blind and unable to defend yourself. I don't know why, I can't see into their hearts. But you can, you've always been able to do that. I do know that until you do, both you and now Scully will be in danger. I will be here for you. Scully has her own protector. Just don't assume that we can do it all." "Yeah, I've notice how it doesn't work that way," he interjected, with a scowl. "But we can help you." She started to shimmer again, shining like a cloud in the evening sunset. "I'll be here, with you. We'll talk again. Rest now. Let your body have a chance to heal. You'll probably be asking it do to far more than it should in a very short while. That's one of the things I've learned about you. You really do make a lousy patient. . ." and she disappeared before he could come to his own defense. Arlington Memorial Medical Center December 21, 1995 8:43 pm Scully slipped off the elevator, holding her cup of coffee and the ham and cheese sandwich she had finally picked up from the cafeteria. It would be the first meal of the day for her. She had spent most of the day going over the tiny threads of evidence the team had found at Mulder's apartment. She had talked to all his neighbors, no one had seen or heard anything. Finally, in exaspiration, she had decided her time would be better spent seeing if Mulder had remembered anything. Besides, she was still worried about him. She smiled at the guard on duty in front of Mulder's door. He smiled back. "Good to see you're finally gonna eat something, Agent Scully. Now, if you'd try to get some sleep." he added, pointedly. "Sleep, Agent Jackson, is highly overrated," she replied, giving him a smile. "I'll be fine. I went to medical school, remember? We used to stay awake for a week, just to prove we could do it. I never realized I was in training to be Fox Mulder's partner when I did that. . ." The other agent laughed broadly and held the door open for her. Scully put the coffee and sandwich down on the little bedside dresser. She quickly checked the monitors next to the bed. Mulder had been asleep all day, mostly due to the pain killers he had relunctantly agreed to the night before. The swelling in his wrist was finally responding to the rest he was giving it. Hopefully, when he did wake up, he wouldn't be in such pain. The doctor had scheduled another CAT Scan for the morning, to see how the head injury was doing. Scully hated to admit it, but her partner's blindness was starting to bother her, even though she knew it was still too early to make any long term diagnosis. Finally satisfied that he hadn't changed in the 10 minutes she had been gone, she settled down in the chair beside his bed and started to eat. "Smells good in here," a raspy voice from the bed said weakly. "Is there enough of that coffee to go around?" She smiled, put down the sandwich and poured ice water into a styrofoam cup. "Sorry, big guy. No coffee for you. How about some ice water, though? Your voice sounds like you need something." She put the straw up to his lips and let him take several long sips. He nodded that he was done and she put the cup down on the tray table. "How's the wrist feeling?" she asked. "Well, it doesn't feel like I want to chew it off my arm at the moment. That is a marked improvement on earlier today," he quipped. "That was yesterday, sleepy head. This is Thursday, the 21st. You've been asleep for over 24 hours. And if your wrist is feeling better, I'd say it was just what you needed!" She reached over and took his hand. "Is it still dark?" she asked, quietly. "Pitch," he replied, sourly. "No little light flashes, no grey shadows, just pitch black. Scully, are you sure this is temporary? You wouldn't keep something like that from me, would you? I mean, thinking that I needed to be stronger when I heard the news or something dumb like that?" His face was all concern and concentration as he spoke. "Mulder, I would never keep something like that from you!" she answered emphantically. "You would need to start adjusting to that immediately, I know that! No, I still agree with Dr. Henson's opinion that this is temporary. Mulder, you have a skull fracture! You've had them before, you know how long they take to heal. As hard as your head is, you have a broken one! And a very bruised brain, too. I told you to give it a week, and I meant it." She watched him nod, accepting her medical judgement. "The doctor has ordered a CAT Scan tomorrow morning to see how much the swelling has gone down. If there are any problems, which I sincerely doubt there are, we will know more then. For now, try not to worry about it. That won't make the swelling go down any faster and definitely won't make you see any quicker." "I had another dream," he said, hesitantly. "Did your angel come again?" Scully asked, with a faint smile. Mulder and angels, somehow it fit. But this one must be a pretty incompetent angel, with as much trouble as Mulder always seemed to get into. Incompetent, or incredibly busy. "Scully, don't tell me you don't believe in angels? I mean, as much as you like Christmas?" he chided. "Mulder, I believe that God has messengers. I just don't know if I still buy the idea that there is one angel, assigned to me, who protects me from all harm. And even if I did, your's seems to be in need of additional training! Maybe you should request a new one," she teased. "Nah, you wouldn't say that if you saw her," he said frowning. "Besides, it doesn't work like that. Angels help, Scully, but they aren't like the Secret Service--they can't take a bullet for you. Besides, there's a whole file drawer back at the office with angel sightings in it. And not just sightings, either. People report they have talked to their angels, that they're that little voice that tells you things." "Are you sure you aren't getting angels mixed up with Jiminy Cricket?" Scully asked, trying not to snicker. Mulder could be so strange when he was on heavy pain killers. "You're laughing at me, Scully! I can tell it in your voice!" he accused, with mock indignation. Then he grew serious. "This isn't the medicine talking, Scully. These dreams are real, she's real, or rather it's real. . .angels have no gender. . .but she's helping me remember. Those guys, the ones who shot me, they want what's in the locker. Shooting me in the wrist, my gun hand, and the head, that was a message. They mean business, Scully. They want what's in that locker! We can't let them get their hands on it!" "OK, OK, just settled down! I don't want you getting all excited and throwing your blood pressure to the wind, Mulder," she warned. "Now, I've still got the key. I didn't think it would do any good to give it to the evidence guys, since only your prints were on it. How about if I run a check on the serial number on it? That might tell us where the locker is located. Will that settle the question for a while?" He took a deep breath. "Yeah, but put a rush on it, OK? I don't like the idea of us not knowing what's going on. My angel says we're both in danger, she's probably right." "Mulder, she doesn't have to be an angel to figure that out. Heck, she doesn't even have to be too bright, for that matter!" she teased. "Look, I'm dead on my feet. I'm going home to sleep in my own little bed. The nurse is going to be in soon with some more knock out juice for you, so I'll leave my number at the desk, but otherwise, I'll see you in the morning, OK?" Mulder was busy trying to make his fuzzy brain put together the pieces of the puzzle. "Yeah, sure. See ya, or. . .whatever," he mumbled. She reached over and squeezed his hand, then left. The nurse had been in with the medication. He hated that, no matter how many times he had been given medicine. He hated needles, yes, but there was something insidious about injecting medication through an IV line. At least when it came from a needle, he knew about how long it was going to take before he started 'fuzzing out'. But when it came in with the rest of the IV fluid, it crept up on him and he couldn't tell when his mind was just wandering or if the medicine was taking effect. This time, however, he had a pretty good clue. =========================================================================== From: Vickie Moseley Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW STORY: Unto Which of the Angels (3/4) Date: 3 Oct 1995 14:12:48 GMT Unto Which of the Angels* Part Three of Four Disclaimer in part one. "Hey, there, Fox," she said, a bright smile shining on her face. They were standing in the shadow of the Jefferson Memorial. It had always been one of his favorite places in DC. He used it as a thinking spot, and came there often. "Hey, there,. . .ah, what do I call you? Do you have a name?" he asked, suddenly curious. She smiled again, this time a little indulgently. "Nah, when we're spoken to, we know it. But if it would make you feel comfortable, you could think up a name for me. That's how the others got their names." "Others?" he asked. "You know, the ones you mentioned. Michael, Gabriel, _Lucifer_, the high profile angels. We guardians don't usually make a scene and so we don't get named. But go ahead, take a shot. And I promise I won't be offended," she added softly. "OK," he said and thought for a moment. "How about 'Angela'?" "Wow, Fox! How original! And you went to Oxford for _how many years_?" she laughed derisively. Then she reached over and ruffled his hair, softening at his dejected expression. "Hey, I was just teasing. Angela is a great name. Easy to spell, too," she added, still chuckling. "So, how's the remembering coming?" "Not that great. I still don't know where the locker is that the key goes to. Scully is having somebody check into. And I still couldn't tell you how many assailants there were that night, or even what they looked like. Not that I could see any mugshots, even if I could remember," he added tersely. "Don't worry about the blindness. If you're scared, you should know who to talk to by now," she said, prodding. "Why, do you want to deliver a message?" he asked, a mischievous smile breaking on his face. "You don't need me for that message, Fox. You have a direct line. Just open your mind and your heart and let the message go. That's all you have to do." He frowned. "Yeah, well, maybe some other time," he grumbled. "Fox, do you still think God is vendictive and uncaring?" Angela asked, somewhat surprised. "Let's just say I'm not totally convinced of the benefits of religion," he said cryptically. Angela shook her head and the curls dipped and swirled around her. "What will it take, Fox?" she murmured almost to herself. "How about answering a really old, standing request," he replied tersely. "But I really don't want to stand here and debate my beliefs with a metaphysical being, if you don't mind. Can you help me remember?" "Well, I couldn't help you with Spanish, but I'll give it a try. Let's start simple, like back at your apartment. Do you remember coming home?" He thought for a moment. "I remember leaving the office. I was beat. We've been on the road for a week, the motel rooms were NOT the Ritz, the beds were all like a slab of cement! All I wanted to do was go home, flop on the couch and veg for 12 to 18 hours," he said, starting to pace in the cool shadow of the the memorial. "I remember parking the car--it was slippery on the sidewalk and I had a hard time balancing me and my luggage. I got up the elevator. My newspapers were stacked against the door, so I kicked them aside to get in. I put my stuff down, picked up the papers and started to put them on the coffee table when I heard a thunk. I looked down and saw the key." He stopped pacing for a minute and just stood there, staring into space, trying to visualize what happened next. "Then," he said, slowly pacing again, "I opened all the papers, one by one and started to go through them. I found an want ad in one that had been circled. The number at the beginning of the ad was. . .935. I see it really plain. It was 935." He looked up. "The key only has a serial number on it, not a locker number, that I could tell. That must be the locker number. 935." He smiled. "Hey, at least I've remembered that much. If Danny can figure out where the locker is by the serial number, we've got it made!" Angela reached over and touched his arm. "Not quite, Don Quixote! Before we go running off to tilt more windmills, what happened next?" she asked. Mulder took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Let's see. . I decided to put the key in the fish food container, because I knew I wouldn't lose it there and I needed to remember to buy fish food anyway." He glanced over at Angela, who was smiling with mild amusement. "Then I changed into sweats, ordered a pizza, and settled down on the couch." He walked over to the steps and sat down. "I must have fallen asleep, because I remember the knock on the door woke me up. I got up, answered the door, expecting the pizza delivery kid," he started frowning. "But it was someone else." "Who?" Angela prodded. Mulder shook his head ruefully. "No idea. Black fatiques, black ski masks. Four of them. I remember reaching for my gun, but, well, you remember that part. They grabbed me, gagged me and dragged me out to their van. One of them hit me pretty hard to the head and I was out for the ride. When I came to, we were in the country. It was dark, it had been snowing again. They dragged me out to a stand of trees. . ." his voice trailed off. He closed his eyes, not really wanting to remember anymore. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at her. "They shot me. Twice. Wrist first, then head. I passed out immediately. The next thing I really remember is waking up in the woods, not being able to remember anything from the rest of the night. . .and praying that someone would save me." He sighed heavily. Then he looked up at Angela. "I guess that's when you showed up," he smiled wryly. "You dragged me to the road. I remember seeing the lights from the Sheriffs patrol and then Deputy Atwood leaning over me and calling the dispatcher. That's all I remember till I woke up in the hospital." "Did the men in black fatiques say anything to you before they shot you?" Angela asked quietly. He frowned in concentration. "I was pretty groggy from the smack to the head. I don't remember. . .no, wait. They did say something, or at least one of them did. Something about 'the research'. I was to let the research stay where it was. I had no idea what they were talking about. Then they shot me and I know I don't remember anything else they said after that point." "Hey, that's a lot more than you knew before! You did really well! Now, what are you going to do about it?" Angela asked. "Why?" Mulder asked suspiciously. "Are you going to try and talk me out of doing something?" Angela shook her head in mild exasperation. "Yeah, like the time I tried to talk you out of jumping off the garage roof in your batman costume," she sighed disgustedly. "Hey, I was 8 at the time and it would have worked if the zip line had been secured better! And I only sprained my arm!" he said, defensively. "Because _I_ rolled you at the right moment!" she shot back, her eyes flashing. "Fox, did it ever occur to you that you end up hurt more than most people?" "Every time the health insurance drones send me a love letter," he said glumly. "Well, did it ever occur to you that _you_ have some _control_ over that problem?" she asked again. "Angela, you are starting so sound dangerously like Scully here!" he warned. "But I get what you're trying to say. If I would be a little more careful, I wouldn't be in the hospital as much." He got up and paced some more. "It's not like I'm suicidal, you know! I _don't_ like to be hurt! I hate waking up with IV's in my arm and Scully looking like hell from a night long vigil by my bed when she should have been sleeping! I _hate_ that look in her eyes, like she just about lost everything and she's not really sure it's going to stick around." "'Lost everything'? 'It's' not going to stick around?" Angela asked, an unmistakable edge to her voice. "Mulder, the only 'thing' she is worried about losing. . .is YOU! If you would only start picking your battles, and maybe keeping your head down, you might not wake up with needles in your arm and Scully worried sick beside your bed so often." She frowned a split second, then her smile returned and she shook her head in rueful resignation. "But hey, I've been with you this long. I'm getting used to you. When I get my next assignment, I'll probably be bored stiff." "Can we possibly avoid any 'new assignments' for a long time?" Mulder asked hopefully. "Listen to you! That's exactly what I've been saying! Be Careful, Fox! Heaven is NOT ready for you, not yet, at least! Don't go rushing in where even _I_ would fear to tread, OK?" She reached over and touched his cheek, smiling and shimmering. "Get some more rest. I'll see you later," she promised before she and the Capitol Mall faded out of sight. Arlington General Hospital December 22, 1995 9:30 am Scully rushed off the elevator, just missing bumping into an orderly pushing a supply cart. She excused herself over her shoulder and continued to run toward Mulder's door, skidding to a stop just long enough to greet the agent guarding the room. "Have they taken him downstairs, yet," she asked anxiously. The slightly bored agent shook his head and she pushed the door open. "Hey, Scully," came the greeting from the bed. Mulder was sitting up, an empty breakfast tray pushed down to his feet. His color was much better and he actually looked pretty good, considering the green hosptial gown almost clashed with his eyes. "Guess what?" he demanded, smiling. "Mulder," she wheezed, still out of breath from her run. "Can you see me?" "Well, you're real blurry and there are two of you, but yeah, I can see you! I like that pantsuit, but where did you get that big stain on it?" he asked, squinting. "That's not a stain, Mulder, it's a broach," Scully laughed. "Your vision is blurry and you have no depth perception, but at least it's not total darkness. How long has your sight been back?" "It was there when I woke up this morning. Dr. Henson still wants the CAT scan, just to make sure the fracture's healing properly. He said if it looks good, I can get out this afternoon," he added. Scully frowned and chewed on her lip. "Mulder, I don't like the thought of you rattling around your apartment with blurry double vision and a pinned wrist. Maybe you should come over to my place for a couple of days, just till the sight is better and you're more accustomed to your cast." Mulder shook his head emphatically. "So you can spoon feed me pain killers and unplug the TV--no way, Scully! I appreciate the offer, really I do, but I will be fine. I will lay on the couch and only eat take out that's delivered. Really, I rest better at home, you know that." He could see the determination in her face. "OK, let's compromise. You can come over after work, make sure I'm fine, poke me, prod me and take my temperature and even tuck me in. But I get to stay at my place and you get to stay at yours! OK?" She had her arms crossed against her chest and was still glaring at him. "I never spoon fed you pain killers and I only unplugged the TV once, because we were having an electrical storm!" Then, she thought a moment and saw the Puppy Dog Look creeping up on his face. "OK, OK! I give! I'll take you to your place. But Mulder, I WILL be checking on you, so you better stay put. And you are not going to eat pizza every meal, either. Mom has already sent over a ton of food for your freezer, or rather, the place you store ice cubes," she teased. "Besides, you can't get into too much trouble with a couple of agents right outside your building," she concluded. "WHAT? Who said anything about agents?" he demanded. "Mulder, there has been an agent outside this room since they brought you in! It's procedure, you know that. You were attacked in _your home_, Agent Mulder! The Bureau really frowns on having their agents dragged out of their own homes, taken to the woods, shot execution style and then left for dead! They're real funny that way!" she said defiantly. "You will just have to live with it!" "If there's a guard outside my building, I might as well go home with you," he muttered, shaking his head. "Just as I thought! You were going to sneak out and find the locker, weren't you?" she accused him. "Mulder, will you ever learn!?" He didn't have time to answer that, even though she suspected he wouldn't have answered it to her satisfaction, anyway. The nurse came in with a wheelchair to take him to X-Ray for his scan. Somewhere in the Pentagon 4:30 pm The smoke hung thick in the air. He almost didn't allow the first cigarette to be extinquished before lighting the second. The younger man sitting across the desk from him had long wondered if that was a sign of nervousness in his superior, or simply excitement. The younger man knew his boss' facial expression would never betray either emotion, so there had to be *some* outward clue. If he just studied him a little longer. . . "You are aware that Agent Mulder was released from the hospital at 3:00 this afternoon?" the older man hissed while exhaling thick smoke into the air. "Yes. His CAT scan showed reduction in the swelling, but it's still sufficient to incapacitate him. He will experience blurred vision and possibly severe headaches for several more days. Of course, with the severity of the skull fracture, any additional injury to the head would be. . ." "We are not here to discuss possible routes to the elimination of Agent Mulder, however expedient that course might be. We are here to discuss ensuring that he does not obtain those records before they are safely relocated, out of his reach. When can that be arranged?" "We have the general location of the research documents, but unfortunately, we lack the exact location. It has proven difficult, since the traffic in the area seems to be steady all day and all night. Mr. Barnett chose a very visible spot to stash his little treasure. Of course, the best place to hide something is in plain sight," said the younger man. "Do you have a plan?" the older man asked. "Yes. Knowing Mulder the way I do, I suspect that he will attempt to retrieve the records, relatively soon, I would imagine. We have him under constant surveillance. When he makes his move, we will be there. When he locates the documents, we will, ah, liberate them, so to speak." The older man glared for a moment. "If Mulder is harmed, there will be complications. Any 'accidents' must be quite plain--and totally documented. That partner of his would search to her deathbed if she thought he had been killed as part of this operation." "Not to worry. Agent Mulder will survive. I think it's regretable, but unlike my predecessor, I understand the importance of a martyr to the cause, and how making Mulder such would only be to our detriment." He waited for the older man's reaction. "As long as we agree on that point. Very good, Morrow. You know, after just a few encounters with Mulder, Mr. Krycek could not keep his emotions under control. I'm glad to see that you have not fallen into that trap. It bodes well for your future with the organization." The older man almost smiled. "I will expect your report." =========================================================================== From: Vickie Moseley Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW STORY: Unto Which of the Angels (4/4) Date: 3 Oct 1995 14:30:50 GMT Unto Which the Angels* part four of four Disclaimer in part one. Pass the mulled cider, this is the conclusion. Mulder's apartment 8:00 pm "Want this last piece of meatloaf, Mulder? It's too small to save and too much to throw out," Scully said, holding the plate out to her partner. "Well. . .if you insist," he sighed and snatched the plate out of her hand, the meatloaf disappearing in no time. Scully laughed. "I'm glad to see you haven't lost your appetite, Mulder. Then I really would worry about you!" "You know that old saying, Scully. 'Starve a cold, feed a skull fracture.' But if I end up gaining weight during my medical leave, it's all your mom's fault. I can't stay away from her cooking." He sighed and moved away from the table, bumping into the doorcasing on the way to the living room and his couch. "Ouch! Dammit!" "Mulder, I told you I would help you get around! Why don't you let me?" Scully moaned. "Because, Scully, I am not BLIND, I am BLURRY, and it shouldn't be that hard!" he shot back. "Blurry and no depth perception, Mulder. The two do not make the best combination for competent navigational skills." She had taken his elbow to steer him around his coffee table, which he was just about to nick with his shin. Finally settling him on the couch, she grabbed the pillow from the other end and tucked it under his head. Then, she went about moving the table, a chair and any other obstacles out of the middle of the room and away from the doorways. "Scully, I don't need an interior decorator. I like the look of my apartment." "I am simply removing problems, Mulder. I don't want you falling in the middle of the night and busting up your other wrist!" She went to the hall closet, bringing back a comforter. "When I said you could tuck me in, I was hoping that you knew I was kidding," he moaned. "Hey, the weather report said it's going to dip down into the low teens tonight. And the wind is out of the north, right through that window," she added, pointing to the window just inches from his couch. "The last thing you need is pneumonia." "Scully, you are dangerously close to hovering and you are not cleared in this airspace," Mulder warned. "Did you take your tylenol 3?" she asked, ignoring his snide comment. "Yes, Auntie Dana, and the antibiotic, and the stupid vitamins that I never should have agreed to. In fact, I am so medicated that all I want to do is SLEEP. Now, will you be a good little doctor, and GO HOME!" he yelled, but then broke into a grin so she would know he wasn't really mad. "Besides, you have to be as tired as I feel. Now, it's my turn to hover. Go home, get some sleep. Good grief, if you ever got sick, I'd be dead in a week!" He waved her toward the door. She reached over and ruffled his hair. "OK, you win. Good night, Mulder. Call me if you need anything. Oh, and here is the number of the Agent Jackson's cell phone. If you fall or get sick or if. . ." "Scully. . ." he growled. "I'm leaving, I'm leaving. I'll be by about 7:30, to fix you breakfast. See you in the morning." He yawned widely. "See ya, Scully. Hopefully, more clearly, too," he smiled. Mulder had been asleep almost as soon as the door shut behind Scully. Thanks to the codiene in the tylenol, he didn't have his usual nightmares, but rather an interesting assortment of dreams involving bright swirling colors that made him feel just a little dizzy. Finally, he was deep in sleep. He woke up suddenly to a noise in the room. "Relax, Agent Mulder. I have no intentions of doing any more damage to you than has already been inflicted," the voice smoothed. Mulder pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes with his good hand. It didn't help. "Who the hell are you and how did you get past Jackson?" he asked, groggily. "Let's just say I am a friend of Dr. Ribley. You remember Dr. Ribley, don't you, Agent Mulder?" the voice asked. Mulder squinted, but the best he could make out was a shape. The voice was deep, a male, but he didn't recognize it. "Yeah, I remember Dr. Ribley. But he disappeared. I assumed Burnett killed him. He implied as much on the phone to me." What Mulder didn't say was that he also knew Dr. Joseph Ribley was the definition of a mad scientist, who performed experiements on prison inmates in the hopes of finding the genetic therapy to reverse the affects of aging. Most of his 'victims' had died horribly, except one. John Barnett had lived, but Barnett was a murderer who knew no fear and had been put in jail by a very wet behind the ears young agent named Fox Mulder. Barnett's death was faked to allow him to be experimented on by Ribley. When he survived the experiments, and escaped, he came after Mulder and anyone Mulder cared about. Barnett was responsible for the death of Mulder's former mentor, Agent Reggie Purdue. After Barnett tried unsuccessfully to kill Scully, Mulder killed him. But not before the 'experiment' got revenge on the scientist by stealing all the research and locking it away somewhere, never to be seen again. "John Barnett didn't need to kill Dr. Ribley," Mulder's dark visitor replied. "He was dead of his terminal illness within 24 hours of your meeting with him. But he wasn't alone in his quest. He had acquired a few friends and close associates during his years of research. Some of us helped with the very gene therapy that made John Barnett possible. We were very distressed that Mr. Barnett saw fit to steal the research documents before any of us could copy them. And then, when he died at your hands, we assumed he had taken the documents to the grave." Mulder was still sitting quietly on his couch, listening. His head was starting to pound, due to his sudden and rude awakening. "Look, this is a great bedtime story, and any other time I would be fascinated, but, would you mind telling me why you are visiting me, tonight?" "Agent Mulder, you have recently been in receipt of a key. It belongs to a locker, somewhere in this city. I can give you the location of the locker, in general, but not the actual locker number. However, I believe you have that information already." "And if I did, what of it? You really don't expect me to give you the key or the number of the locker, do you? Especially if you plan on continuing with that kind of research!" Mulder said, shaking his head in disgust. "Besides, I don't have the key right now. And I don't know the number. I might have known it, once, but I have recently had a severe blow to the head, and I'm not fully recovered. My memory of that night is very sketchy--I know almost no details of it." One thing paranoia had taught him, he could lie with the best of them! "Ah, Agent Mulder, can you really be this naive and still be alive? My associates and I are the least of your worries. Your government invested hugh sums of money in that research--THEY want it BACK! And as you are already painfully aware, some of their agents are not above inflicting pain and even death to get it. We are your best bet, Mulder, don't be deceived for one minute." Mulder was trying to focus his vision as the man stood and walked toward his door. "Think about it, Agent Mulder." Then he turned and changed his tone. "By the way, have you seen the Christmas decorations at Union Station? They really are quite beautiful this year, you should go and experience them for yourself." Mulder heard the door click shut and realized for the first time that his fists were clenched and he was shaking. Mulder sat for a moment, considering his options. Then a thought, totally unbidden, came into his mind--in Angela's voice. <> He grabbed his phone and hit the speed dial. Then he paced while he waited the three rings for Scully to pick up the other end. "Dana Scully," a sleepy voice yawned into the phone. "It's me. Scully, you have to get over here," he said quickly. <> Angela's voice echoed in his head. "Ah, I'm. . .ah, really feeling bad,. . .bad, bad headache, sick to my stomach. And dizzy." <> Angela interjected. "And I'm hearing a ringing in my ears," he added tersely, more for Angela's benefit than for Scully. "I hate to drag you out in the middle of the night. . ." "Shut up and hang up the phone, Mulder, I'm on my way," Scully said hurriedly, slamming down the phone. Mulder paced the entire 20 minutes it took Scully to make it to his apartment. He heard her footsteps in the hallway and had opened the door as she was just getting out her spare key. "Mulder, get back on that couch! You shouldn't be up walking around if you're dizzy!" she scolded and grabbed his arm to propell him back into the living room. "Scully, I'm not sick," he protested. She ignored him completely and pushed him back down onto the couch, hoisted her medical bag up on the coffee table and started digging through it. "Scully, why do you listen to me when I say I'm sick, but you won't listen to me when I say I'm not sick?" he demanded. He grabbed her hand when she was about to stick a thermometer in his mouth. "I said that to get you over here, in case the phone was bugged! Do you have the key with you?" She wasn't quite convinced he was really OK, but his question threw her off track. "Yeah, I keep it in my purse. Why?" "Good! Look, we have to go to Union Station. I'm pretty sure I know where the locker is located. Scully, the locker, I know what's in it now! The genetics research that created John Barnett! Dr. Ribley's research! It's in a locker at Union Station." "Mulder, how do you know this?" Scully asked suspiciously. "Let's just say I was 'visited', and it wasn't by the ghost of Christmas past," he said darkly. "This wasn't another of your 'angel dreams', was it Mulder, because this angel obsession is really starting to worry me. . ." "No, Scully, it wasn't Angela," Mulder said, exasperated at his partner's sketism, and not for the first time. "It was one of Dr. Joseph Ribley's 'associates'. He told me what was in the locker, that Ribley left a fan club behind who want to get the research back." "Is that who shot you?" Scully interrupted. "Not according to this guy. He seems to think it was one of our local, friendly shadow government groups. Apparently, as we sort of suspected all along, the government was funding Ribley's research. Well, they've figured out I got the key and that I knew where the locker was located, pretty damn quick, too, I might add. They're the ones who took me out to the woods. So there isn't just one bunch after this data, there are two," he sighed. "Or two that we know of," Scully countered. "Mulder, can you give a description of this man who broke in here tonight?" "I couldn't give you a description of this couch, Scully. It's all too fuzzy. And the room was dark, he stayed in shadows, there's just no way. But his voice, I could recognize him if I heard him speak. He had a very distinctive voice." His eyes stared, unfocused at the wall, remembering the voice. Suddenly, he turned to Scully. "We have to get over to Union Station. Neither of us are very safe here, these guys seem to walk in and out of this apartment building like it _was_ Union Station! Our only hope is getting to that locker and getting that research. At least then, we have a chance keeping it out of everyone's hands!" "Mulder, I am not driving you all over Washington at 1:00 am. Not in your condition. You really will be sick and dizzy if you try a stunt like this," she warned. "Oh, well, then, _you_ could go, they could break in again, take me hostage and you can trade the research for my life, giving them exactly what they wanted in the first place," he countered, sarcastically. "Face it, Scully, we are better off if we stick together!" "OK, how about letting one of the agents downstairs go to the station and get what's in the locker?" Scully suggested lamely. He just looked at her. "I know, I know! That's putting someone else in danger and they'd probably get killed in the process," she said in disgust. "I'll take you, Mulder, but I do so under protest! And when this is over, we go back to MY place where I fully intent to spoon feed you pain killers and unplug the TV, and have a REALLY GOOD TIME DOING IT!" Scully got Mulder safely in her car and then walked over to the agents on guard duty. After a few minutes, she was back. "So, what did you tell Jackson to keep him off our tail?" Mulder asked as she started the car. "I told him you were having nausea and dizziness and I'm taking you back to the hospital. He suggested he go along, but I convinced him that Skinner had already made arrangements for a guard at the hospital and he should just stay put, in case somebody tries to break in again. He hasn't seen anybody all night," she added, looking over at Mulder. "Really good agents are hard to find," was the terse reply. He was silent for the next mile or so, then he sat up, as if listening. "Scully, we have a tail. And it's reasonable to assume that it's hostile," he added. "Mulder, how can you know we have a tail! You can't find the radio dials on the dashboard right now!" Scully demanded. Mulder thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Angela told me." "Not this angel stuff again, Mulder! This is getting too creepy! You can't be hearing angels, it's an auditory hallucination! As soon as we get this little mission accomplished, I AM taking you back to the hospital and I fully intent to keep you there until we 'cure' this little angel fixation of yours!" "Scully, you sound jealous," Mulder teased, still chuckling at her tirade. "Just for the record, might I point out, Mulder, that YOU are the only one in this car besides me!" she countered. Mulder was silent for a moment, then started to snicker. "Alright, Mulder, what now?" Scully said hotly. "Well, Angela said that you have an angel in the car, too. But she doesn't think you'd mind, since he looks like Brad Pitt," he chuckled at her. "Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall, or Brad Pitt in Interview with a Vampire?" Scully asked derisively. More quiet. "Brad Pitt in Kalifornia," he said, grinning mischeviously. "Have you even _seen_ that movie, yet?" "Are you asking me, Mulder, or the Angel," Scully shot back. He kept that answer to himself and was quiet for the rest of the ride. In spite of herself, Scully back-tracked and took off roads to ensure they really weren't being followed. Union Station Washington, DC December 23, 1995 1:05 am Even in the middle of the night, Union Station was a relatively crowded place. Just two days before Christmas, most of the travellers were families, coming from far distances to be with loved ones for the holidays. Many of the benches contained weary parents holding sleeping children, waiting for connecting trains. It was not the kind of place Scully wanted to have a shoot out in, especially with her only back up incapable of seeing more than three inches in front of his face. She tugged at his elbow and lead him through the terminal to the banks of lockers. He stood in front of them, squinting, until she finally convinced him that the whole process would be much faster if he just *told* her the number he was looking for. Locker No. 935 was on the third set of lockers, two from the top, and one from the end. Scully dug through her purse, finally grabbing the key and quickly unlocked the locker. Inside, she found three computer disks, unmarked and nothing else. "OK, Mulder. Let's get out of here," she said softly, turning to her partner. "Just as soon as you hand over those disks, Agent Scully," said a tall, stocky man in a black trench coat and hat pulled down low over his eyes. "A welcoming committee, Scully!" Mulder sneered as he squinted in the direction of the voice. The image was too blurry to identify as even human. "You guys didn't have to go to all this trouble," he said in the direction of the black blur in front of him. In response, both agents heard the distinct click of a gun being cocked and Scully noted that the man's pocket was pointed directly at Mulder's chest. Since the man was only about 5 feet away from them, she had some quick thinking to do. She glanced around her and spied what could become their only salvation. "Oops," was all the warning she gave as she threw the three disks over the man's shoulder, toward a large Christmas display just a couple of yards away. She watched intently as the man in the black trench coat spun on his heel and ran toward the fallen disks. She then grabbed Mulder by the arm and ran as fast as she could toward the exit. "Scully, what the hell is going on! Where is the data?" Mulder demanded as she pulled him through the door and out into the cold December night. "If we're real lucky, Mulder, it's gone," Scully said curtly as she pushed him into the passenger's seat of her car. "What do you mean 'gone'? Scully, you didn't just give it to that bastard back there did you?" Mulder growled. "How could you do that! You know what they'll do with it! Do you really want to go through another reincarnation of a criminal like John Barnett?" he hissed, his anger definitely not abating as she gunned the car and headed off into the sparce traffic. "Mulder, give me a little more credit than that. I gave him the disks, yes. But he'll have a hell of a time getting anything useful off them," she said, calming down finally enough to assess what had just taken place. "What is that supposed to mean," he asked suspiciously. "Mulder, the decorations right by the lockers was a depiction of Santa's workshop. Complete with busy little elves, making toys. Using nice, big, magnets to pick the toys up off the assembly line and place them in very pretty boxes," she said, letting her voice take on a sweet, innocent quality as she explained the last. Mulder was quiet for a moment. "Did you say 'magnets'?" "Yep! Nice big ones. And I saw at least one disk fall directly beneath one of the magnets, and get picked up by it, before our friend got over there. At most, they only have two thirds of the data. At best, the proximity of the magnet wiped it all off. Just like the little warning on the box of blank disks says, Mulder, "Keep away from magnets"!" He couldn't see the broad smile on her face, but he could sure hear it in her voice. He laughed. "I wonder who he worked for," Mulder said, after a few minutes. "I don't know and I don't care! I'm just glad it's over. And in all the excitement, I forgot to take the key out of the locker door, so that pretty much excludes us in any future dealings on the matter," she added. Dana Scully's apartment building December 24, 1995 9:45 pm Mulder brushed snow off the stoop outside the building and sat down. It was cold and he wasn't wearing a coat, but it was quiet outside and he didn't mind. There was only so much 'rush before Christmas' one man could take, and he was sure that his limit had been exceeded. Scully was wrapping presents, watching "It's a Wonderful Life" and talking on the cordless phone to her mom, all at the same time. He had managed to sneak out the door without her notice. "Hey, there, Fox. If Dana catches you out here, you'll miss Christmas morning. Or you'll see it from a hospital bed, in traction," Angela giggled as she sat down next to him, in the snow. He blinked. He looked around him. He could see pretty well, finally. The enforced rest that Scully had imposed upon him had gone a long way to restoring the final vestages of sight. But here was Angela, plain as day. He swallowed, fear rising in the back of his throat. "How come I can see you? Am I losing my sight again?" She shook her head and the blond locks flew like they were caught in a whirlwind. "No! You're fine. You can see me, tonight, because, well, tonight is special." "Is that some sort of confirmation of the Christian tradition?" he asked, sudden relief mixing with the humor in his voice. "It's how you were raised. If you were raised in a Jewish home, we'd talk on Passover. Don't try to read too much into it, OK?" she smiled. "I'm glad you're here. I wanted to thank you, for all you did. I guess for all you do. And I'm sorry that I, well that I didn't believe you existed until recently. That was pretty arrogant of me," he said contritely. "No sweat. I do my job whether you believe in me or not. Maybe now you'll listen to that 'little voice' more closely." "Angela, I've been wondering. How did Scully know to throw those disks in that display. I mean, she told me the story, and that guy had appeared out of nowhere. She told me he had that gun pointed at my chest. She only had a split second to think. . ." "Are you asking if it was her angel, Fox? I don't know. What do you think?" "Well, a wise entity once told me that people don't think logically in the heat of battle. And that was pretty logical thinking on her part. But I know she still doesn't believe in you. She thinks you're an auditory hallucination that I've fixated on." "Wow, that's real flattering," Angela said dryly. "So what are you going to do about it?" "Nothing. She'll just have to figure it out for herself. I just hope she doesn't go through what I did to reach the same conclusion," he said glumly. "Hey, at least at the right moment, you did the right thing. You give me my share of headaches, Fox Mulder, but I wouldn't trade you for all the world." "Thanks, Angela. Same here." His teeth were starting to chatter. The door behind him opened and the light from the hallway turned the snow a gentle golden color. He looked beside him and Angela had vanished. "Mulder, you idiot! You're gonna catch pnemonia! Get back in here this instant," Scully demanded, hauling him up off the stoop and pushing him through the hallway. Once in the apartment, she settled him on the couch and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He didn't protest, it would have been futile anyway. Instead he looked up at her. "Are you still planning on going to Midnight Mass?" he asked, once his teeth had stopped chattering from the cold. "I was. Why, do you want me to stay here with you?" she asked. He looked sheepishly at her. "Actually, I was thinking of tagging along," he admitted relunctantly. She couldn't hide the grin on her face. "Hoping to find your angel again?" she teased, then softened. "I'd love to have you come with me, Mulder. The music is really beautiful. They always have the choir sing selections from Handel's Messiah. I think you'll like it." He just nodded and she left to finish getting ready. "_Find_ my angel, indeed," he muttered, a smile forming on his face. "I'm surrounded by them!" The end.