The X-Files: Extreme Possibilities

Extreme Possibilities
(Part One)
by Annie Reed
(FancyKatz@aol.com)

*  *  *

Historian's note:  This story takes place early in the second season of
X Files following the episode "Little Green Men." 


*  *  *

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen
Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement of copyright is intended.
This is a work of fanfiction and is not for profit. Unaltered copies may be
freely distributed as long as no money is received in return and this
disclaimer is included on the copies. Whew... hope I made everyone happy
there!

Author's note: I would like to thank Rhoda and Melissa for continuously
cracking the creative whip at me to get this story done, and I also want to
thank Cheryl, my guardian worrywart, for her patience.

*  *  *
   
   
    Darkness.... he was surrounded by darkness.  Floating, drifting
  aimlessly in a pool of absolute black.
    He slowly became aware that it wasn't really black. Rather, it was the
  total absence of light, absence of anything. He might as well have been
  alone in the universe, been an entire universe in and of himself, alone
  in the unending vacuum of space.
    How long he had been like this he could not tell. He had no way to
  gauge the passage of time, and found time had lost its meaning for him.
  Fragments of memory came to him now and then, reminding him that his
  existence had not always been like this. But the memories were fleeting,
  and he didn't try to hold on to them. The images, the smells, colors,
  tastes, were so foreign that they frightened him, and if he could have,
  he would have hid from them.
    One memory frightened him more than the rest. Flashes of emotion, of
  rage... images of violence...{{blood?}}... of voices in his
  {{head?}}... crowding out all rational thought... of a brilliant flash
  of {{light?}} and a painful transition from one place to {{here?}}.
  He tried to whimper, but he had no mouth to make the sound. He tried to
  shut out the voices, but they seemed to fill the darkness around him and
  he could not silence them. One voice raised above the others, insistent,
  refusing to be silent, commanding his attention. He screamed in silent
  anguish, but the voice would not stop.
    Movement... there was movement in the darkness. He felt it spin around
  him, drawing him into a vortex that threatened to tear his awareness
  into shreds so small that not even the tiniest piece of himself would
  remain. Terrified, he tried to resist even as he was pulled deeper into
  the maelstrom. And at the bottom of the vortex was the voice, and the
  voice told him what he must do.....
   
*   *   *


Quantico, Virginia
10:15 p.m.
 
  Dana Scully leaned back in her chair with a sigh. She took off her
reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. It was late, she was
getting a nasty headache, her back hurt, her feet hurt, and she knew she
really should go home. But she still had two more exams to grade before
her 10:00 a.m. Forensic Pathology class tomorrow morning, and damn if
she was going to leave before she was done.
  She sat with her eyes closed, and in her mind she heard Fox Mulder's
voice.... "Scully, you're the only person I know who's more stubborn than
I am..." God, she missed him.
  And she worried about him. Skinner had him stuck on wiretap detail....
boring for even a fresh from the academy agent, it was hell for Mulder.
  Dana felt a bright spot of anger burn inside at the thought of Mulder
wasting his talents on such a no brainer. It was Skinner's way of
punishing him, of course... Mulder and Skinner got along like oil and
vinegar, each rubbing the other the wrong way. Unfortunately for Mulder,
Skinner was his superior. 'In title only,' Dana thought angrily. 
  Once Dana Scully might have automatically looked up to someone like
Skinner -- someone who had started out as a by the book agent and had
worked himself up into the hierarchy of the Bureau by his attention to
detail and his meticulous adherence to the Bureau's rules and regulations.
But those days were long gone. Dana was older and wiser now, courtesy of
the real-life education she had received during her partnership with
Mulder on the X Files. The school of hard knocks, as her mother would
have put it.
  At first Dana had assumed that closing the X Files was more of
Skinner's punishment for both herself and Mulder for continuously
breaking the rules, but now she wasn't so sure. Skinner had let slip
to Mulder that the decision might not have been his to make. But that
didn't stop Skinner from splitting them up and sticking Mulder in that
hellhole of an assignment.
  Dana felt something tighten painfully in her chest as she remembered
Mulder sitting alone in that small room, headphones slung around his
neck, pitching sunflower seeds into an empty coffee cup in an attempt
to alleviate the boredom. He looked so defeated, it broke her heart.
But he wouldn't want her pity, so she shunted those feelings aside and
concentrated instead on the small flame that burned inside her.
  Of the two of them, she had gotten the better end of the deal in the
break up of their partnership. Return to her teaching post at Quantico
should have been heaven for her, but it wasn't. She missed the excitement
of working an actual case, of chasing down clues, interviewing witnesses,
of arguing with Mulder over one of his outrageous leaps in logic based
on faith and intuition instead of solid evidence. Damn, there it was again.
The feeling that she had left the best part of herself sitting listening
to endless babble concerning the finer points of a lap dance as opposed to
a table dance.  This endless reverie wasn't getting her anywhere, and it
sure wasn't getting these exams graded.
  She put her glasses back on and turned to the next test. Arvin Mendelton
may have come to the Bureau with glowing recommendations and high scores
on his medical boards, but she wasn't sure he had what it took to be a top
notch forensic pathologist. Oh, his answers were always correct and
concise, but she just didn't sense the inquisitiveness she felt was
necessary to do the job properly. Mendelton was not someone who would look
beyond the obvious, rational answers to find a reason for the otherwise
unexplainable. No, Mendelton was definitely not open to extreme
possibilities, Dana thought as a small smile played at the corners of her
mouth. The smile got bigger as she thought how Mendelton might have reacted
to someone like Eugene Tooms. Explain that one, sucker, she thought as she
started to write her comments to his first essay answer.
  She was deep into thought when the inside line on her phone rang. Dana
had given the number to Mulder so he could reach her on the off chance her
cellular battery ever died, but he had only used it sparingly. The Bureau
routinely monitored and recorded phone conversations, even at Quantico,
so it was the not preferred way for Mulder to communicate with her. Not
that cellular calls couldn't be intercepted and recorded -- it just took
more effort. Now that she and Mulder were comfortably back in their
assigned sections, wrists firmly slapped after their escapade to
Puerto Rico, Dana had assumed that the Bureau's surveillance of them had
slackened off some.
  "Scully," she said picking up the line, fully expecting to hear Mulder's
voice. But all she heard was static."Hello, anybody there?" she asked.
She was only greeted by more static. Great, somebody's dialing wrong
numbers at 10:30 at night, to Quantico no less. She put the phone down
and picked up her red pencil to continue her written lecture to Mendelton.
  She hadn't written more than four words when the line rang again.
"Scully," she said, a little more clipped this time. More static. Terrific,
a prank caller. She hung up the phone. It immediately rang again.
"Listen, buster," she said in her best no nonsense voice, "you've reached
FBI training headquarters. You should know this call is being monitored
and we can trace it back to you." She hung up and sat staring at the
phone, daring it to ring again.
  When it didn't, she picked up her pencil and started in again on
Mendelton's test. She had just fully changed gears into lecture mode when
the phone rang again. This time she just stared at it. 'Pick it up, Dana,'
she told herself. 'Keep the creep on the line so there'll be a trace.'
But for some reason she didn't fully understand, she didn't want to pick
it up. Instead, she packed up the two remaining tests in her briefcase and
left her office. She told herself that she needed a change of scenery or
Mendelton was going to get more than the earful she originally intended for
him, and that wouldn't be fair. 
  In the dark of Scully's office, the only light was the flashing of the
ringing line, strobing insistently in the dark.
 
*   *   *

Quantico, Virginia
8:35 a.m.

  "What do you mean, you have no record of the call?" Dana glared at the
communications clerk. 
  Something about those phone calls last night still bothered Scully. She
knew the Bureau kept detailed records on the use of all telephone lines at
Quantico. Some said the practice dated all the way back to J. Edgar himself
and the heyday of the intelligence/counterintelligence games which went
hand in hand with the cold war. Directors since that time had computerized
the surveillance of the Bureau's training facility. Although no one was
officially advised of the surveillance, the training staff at Quantico all
knew about it, and furthermore, the administration at Quantico knew they
knew. So Scully decided to check out the calls before her first class and
had stopped by the second floor Communications Center.
  "I received four calls on that line last evening between 10:15 and
10:30 p.m. You must have a record of that." Hearing that there was no
record of these calls was not what Scully expected. She was tired --
grading the last two exams after she got home last night had kept her up
until after midnight -- and for some reason she had slept poorly.
Consequently, patience was in short supply this morning.
  "I'm sorry, Agent Scully," the clerk stammered. Being on the receiving
end of Scully's wrath was not the way she would have liked to start her
shift. "The computer shows no activity on that line after 7:30 p.m. last
night."
  Dana remembered that call -- a brief call to her mother to cancel a
dinner the two had planned for the weekend. Dana just didn't feel up to
it -- the house felt so strange without her father there. On top of her
separation from Mulder, Dana didn't think she could handle all the obvious
reminders of her father's death that her parents' house contained.
"Nothing after that time?" she asked.
  "No, ma'am." The clerk, a pleasant young woman named Amanda, was trying
to be helpful, but there just wasn't anything there.
  Thinking back, Dana remembered that she hadn't actually heard anyone on
the line, just static. "Alright. So... can we determine whether it was an
equipment malfunction?"
  "I can't tell from the computer log, but I can put in a request for
maintenance to check it out, if you'd like," the clerk replied.
  "Thank you. I would appreciate that." 
  Scully watched as Amanda keyed in the maintenance request. Amanda paused
briefly as one screen appeared on her terminal. Dana could have sworn she
heard a quick intake of breath before Amanda keyed in the request and
proceeded to the next input area. 
  "Anything wrong?" Scully inquired.
  "Oh.... no," Amanda replied, looking for all the world like someone
trying to regain her composure. "Nothing at all. Just thought I input the
wrong request. Sorry!" Amanda looked at her screen. "You should be all set
now. Maintenance will send someone as soon as they can."
  "Thank you," Scully replied, grabbing her briefcase and heading out
the door.
  Amanda breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind Scully.
Something on the maintenance screen had caught her eye, a code she hadn't
seen in some time, and when she remembered what it was, it had startled her. 
She hoped Scully hadn't noticed. As she cleared her terminal for the next
batch of work waiting to be done, she wondered why that certain code would
appear on the phone line of a forensics instructor at Quantico.

*   *   *

Quantico, Virginia
12:20 p.m.

  Scully's morning Forensic Pathology class had gone well. Thursdays were
lab days -- eight eager young pathologists all armed with scalpels, rib
cutters, saws, and other razor sharp implements. Today no one besides the
cadaver had been cut and Scully counted herself lucky. After all, her class
wasn't comprised of physicians who had already been through residency
training. Her students were medical school graduates who had little, if
any, experience practicing medicine in the real world. The first couple of
weeks of lab work had resulted in numerous slit gloves, and in one
instance, four stitches -- luckily not in her own finger.
  Dana was looking forward to a nice, quiet lunch in her office curled up
with a new book. Dana used to be a big Tom Clancy fan and read each massive
book he wrote as soon as it hit the shelves. These days, however, she
wanted something lighter, both in size and content. Finding herself in the
middle of actual government conspiracies had somehow taken away her
appetite for fictional political intrigue. The new book tucked away inside
her briefcase was written by an actor who used to make his living as a
standup comedian before turning to acting, first in the movies and then on
series television. Dana had never seen his show, but the title of the book
had caught her eye when she was browsing for something new to read. She
hoped it was as funny as the dust cover, which had made her laugh out loud
in the store.
  Deep in thought, Dana almost ran headlong into a man just leaving her
office. Startled, she took a step backward before noticing his nametag,
which identified him as Joe Handler, Maintenance Division. 'That was
certainly fast,' she thought to herself.
  "Excuse me, ma'am," Handler said, holding the door open for Scully.
"Just got done lookin' at your phone there." Handler must have been in his
late fifties. His pot belly and thick eyeglasses identified him as a
civilian employee of the Bureau -- clearly someone who didn't have to
pass a yearly physical exam or qualify on the shooting range. He followed
Scully back into her office.
  "Did you find anything?" Dana asked, setting her briefcase down on her
desk. She ignored the persistent rumbling in her stomach. Breakfast was
one of the things she hadn't had time for that morning, and her body was
letting her know it was now past lunchtime as well.
  "Couldn't find a thing wrong with it," Handler replied. "But I'll check
the cable box for this department and the big box downstairs. Never know
when a coupla' little wires get crossed, can cause a whole buncha'
problems." Handler paused for a moment, peering at Scully from behind his
coke bottle lenses. "Sorry I gave you a start there, ma'am."
  Dana realized that she was standing behind her desk, effectively placing
it between herself and Handler. When had 'trust no one' turned into
'suspect everyone,' she wondered, deliberately moving from behind the
desk to walk Mr. Handler to the door. "Sorry," she said. "Guess my mind
was a million miles away. I didn't expect someone to get down here so
quickly just to check out a possible malfunction. Hope they didn't drag
you away from anything too important."
  "Oh, well, you know how it goes," Handler said, reaching the door. "I
just go where I'm told. Have a nice day, ma'am."
  "You'll let me know if you find any problems?" Scully asked the figure
retreating down the hall. Handler waived his hand in response, which
Scully took for a yes.
  Sighing, Scully shut the door and turned back to her desk, retrieving her
lunch from the bottom desk drawer. Peanut butter and jelly -- not too
original there, Dana, she chided herself. She hated grocery shopping and
only went when she ran out of all edible food in her apartment or she had
an attack of the midnight munchies. At least there was an apple in the
sack, too. Something a little healthy.
  Settling in to lunch, Dana opened her book and began to read. The
sandwich was half gone and Dana was well into the second chapter of the
book when her phone rang. Her inside line.

*   *   *

8:30 p.m.

  Dana sat looking at her dinner. She couldn't say she was eating it. What
she was really doing was pushing the food around her plate, like she did
when she was little and didn't want to eat what her mother had fixed. She
knew that never fooled her mom, but she never gave up trying. As an adult,
it had just turned into a habit -- pushing the food around instead of
eating it. Only now it was a sign of stress and frustration, not a sign
that she disliked what was on her plate.
  Giving up, she sighed and took the plate over to her sink. The kitchen
in her apartment was small, but cozy. Dana didn't cook often. Usually she
made a couple of things for herself a few times a week, whenever another
night of take out was not appealing, and being single, she only cooked
what she liked. But tonight she had no appetite. She scraped her dinner
down the garbage disposal, rinsed the plate and put it in the dishwasher.
Then she looked around her apartment for a distraction -- any distraction
-- anything at all that would settle her nerves down.
  'You're being silly,' she scolded herself. 'A couple of wrong numbers,
or a prank at best, and it's got you all shaky.' But those calls had set
her internal radar off, loud and clear, and there had to be some reason.
Something her conscious mind was missing.
  Finding nothing to distract herself, Dana sat down in her favorite chair
and closed her eyes. If she couldn't ignore this, she might as well
concentrate on it, use her investigative skills. The last call, the one at
lunch -- that was the one that really spooked her. Like the others, there
had been no one on the line. Only this time, the static had been replaced
with silence. No, wait -- that wasn't quite right. Thinking back now she
realized the other end of the line wasn't totally silent -- there had been
something there, something in the background, almost too faint to hear.
Music, maybe? Dana tried to concentrate, to remember what she'd heard,
try and make some sense of it, but it eluded her.
  Blowing out a breath filled with frustration, she leaned back in the
chair, still with her eyes closed, and tried some mental exercises to try
and relieve the stress in her body. 'Start with the toes,' she recited to
herself, relaxing first her toes, then her feet, working up her legs.
She'd made it all the way up to her thighs when her phone rang.
  Getting up to answer the nearest extension, which was on her kitchen
counter, a small shiver ran up Dana's spine. 'No,' she thought, 'it
couldn't be. My number's unlisted.'
  "Hello?" she answered. Silence. No static, no music, no nothing.
Dana slammed the phone down. It rang again immediately. 
  "Hello? Who is this?" Dana demanded angrily. More silence. Dana hung
up and turned her answering machine on. The phone rang again and
obediently, her machine answered for her.
  "You've reached Dana Scully. Please leave a message at the tone." Dana
listened intently, eyes fixed on the phone as if by sheer force of will
she could get it to give her the answers she demanded. Maybe it worked,
because this time she did hear music, faint but still there. But it was
only snatches of a melody, nothing Dana could recognize. She moved closer
to the answering machine, trying to hear the music. She had reached out
to turn up the volume when a bloodcurdling scream issued from her
answering machine's speaker and the line cut off.
  Dana's hand was shaking badly as she fumbled to turn the answering
machine off and eject the tape. She was sure her heart had skipped a beat
sometime during the last few seconds because now it was racing as if to
make up for lost time. She grabbed the tape, her coat and keys and left
the apartment. As she locked her front door, she could swear she heard her
phone ringing.
 
*   *   *
End part one.

Extreme Possibilities

(Part Two)

by Annie Reed

(FancyKatz@aol.com)

*  *  *

Historian's note:  This story takes place early in the second season of

X Files following the episode "Little Green Men."  

*  *  *

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen

Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement of copyright is intended.

This is a work of fanfiction and is not for profit. Unaltered copies may be

freely distributed as long as no money is received in return and this

disclaimer is included on the copies. Whew... hope I made everyone happy

there!

Author's note: I would like to thank Rhoda and Melissa for continuously

cracking the creative whip at me to get this story done, and I also want to

thank Cheryl, my guardian worrywart, for her patience.

*  *  * 

9:45 p.m.

  Mulder listened to the tape again, ignoring the scream at the end, trying

to concentrate on the music. His electronic surveillance set up was a

big reel-to-reel job and wasn't equipped for the microcassette from Dana's

answering machine. He'd had to resort to the tiny tape recorder he carried

with him to dictate his notes. The first couple of times he'd played the

tape, he'd noticed Scully jump, just a little, at the scream. Now she

seemed calmer, concentrating more on the music -- what there was of it --

instead of on the scream at the end.

  "I think we'll have to take this to the lab to get it analyzed," Mulder

said, stopping the tape. "This little recorder isn't cut out for analysis."

  Dana looked down at her feet. She felt a little foolish now, running to

Mulder with something that was probably a prank. At least he wasn't teasing

her about it.

  "I don't know, Mulder," she replied. "I don't think I want to get the

Bureau involved in this. It's probably just someone's idea of a joke."

  Mulder thought back to the Scully who had shown up here 15 minutes ago,

unannounced, out of breath, and white as a sheet. "Not a very funny joke,

Scully."

  Instead of replying, Dana turned around and stared at the wall. For the

life of her she couldn't figure out what was making her so jumpy about

these calls. She had been through worse in her time with Mulder,

everything from a genetic mutant who tried to kill her to microscopic

insects who'd nearly succeeded. So why was she so jittery about this?

Maybe Mulder's paranoia was rubbing off on her.

  Mulder removed the headphones he'd slung around his neck when Scully came

in, and got up from his small table. He moved behind his ex-partner and

gently placed a hand on her shoulder. He could feel the tension in the

bunched up muscles beneath his hand. "Look, Dana," he said, "I'll take the

tape in myself. No one has to know it's yours. Coming from 'Spooky'

Mulder, no one will give it a second thought," he added bitterly.

  Scully turned around to face him. She wasn't about to have him subjected

to more ridicule, or worse yet, let him get himself in more hot water,

especially not over her. "Mulder..." she began.

  Mulder interrupted her. "Scully, we have to be careful. We've both made

powerful, dangerous enemies. I don't have to remind you of that. Some of

those enemies I made long ago, and now they're your enemies, too, because

of your work with me. Because of what we've seen."

  Dana took a deep breath. "I know we've made enemies, Mulder, but they've

backed off. We're not a threat to them anymore. They closed us down, sent

me back to teaching, you..." she gestured around the dingy hotel room with

its chipped and peeling paint, "here. Besides, I don't think placing prank

phone calls to me is their style."

  Mulder closed his eyes. She was probably right, but something had sent

her running here in the middle of his surveillance, something that made her

instincts scream danger to her, even if her logical mind was trying to

write it off as a childish prank. Mulder believed in instincts, especially

Scully's, and most particularly, his own. And his instincts were telling

him there was more to this than just prank phone calls.

  "Humor me, Scully," he said, opening his eyes to stare into her blue/grey

ones. "Sometimes a little paranoia can be a good thing," he added with a

small grin.

  To his relief, she grinned back. "A little paranoia, Mulder? Who, you?

That's like saying World War II was a little skirmish." She looked back at

his tape set up. "You better get back to work, and I'm going to go home."

  "You can stay for a while longer, if you'd like." For some reason,

Mulder didn't like the idea of her leaving just yet. Something felt wrong.  

  "No, that's okay," Scully replied. "I'll just unplug every phone in the

house, and tomorrow I'll call and get a new number." She smiled at his

unasked question. "Don't worry, Mulder, I'll give you the new one."

  "Hey, Scully?" Mulder called as she opened the door to leave.

  "What?"

  "Take the normal precautions, okay?" She didn't respond, but her smile

faded. "For me... I'll feel better."

  "Night, Mulder." And then she was gone. Fox Mulder walked back over to

the table and sat down, putting the headphones back on. He adjusted a

couple of knobs on the surveillance control board and the volume came

back up. More of the same endless chatter he'd been listening to for weeks.

Only his mind wasn't on the voices conveyed by the headphones, but on the

maddeningly faint noises on the tape in his pocket, and on the woman who

had just left.

  

*   *   *

FBI Headquarters

7:50 a.m.

  "Where'd you get this, Mulder? This doesn't sound like the same stuff

you've been sending up here for analysis lately."

  "A guy's gotta broaden his horizons, Murray," Mulder responded. "Think

you can clear up the sound, bring up the music a little?"

  "I can give it a try." Murray made some adjustments on his control panel

and then turned to the computer keyboard sitting to his left. He typed in

a few commands and looked at the graphic display on the monitor.  

  Murray loved this stuff. For a kid of nineteen, this was his dream job,

working with computers and audio equipment. And for the FBI, yet. While

other hackers his age were trying to avoid the government, he used his

computer skills, and his natural ability with sounds, in working for the

government. Not only was he staying out of trouble, unlike some of his

friends, he was getting paid pretty well for doing something he would be

doing anyway, for free. Not that he would ever tell anyone that. And he

wouldn't be using the state of the art equipment he had at his disposal

here at the Bureau, either. This stuff made his old hacker set up look like

tinker toys.

  The stuff he got to analyze was amazing, and this tape was no exception.

But then again, Mulder always brought in the most interesting stuff, which

is why Murray had set aside his other work to concentrate on this small bit

of tape. He knew there was music there, just out of the range of human

hearing, but he'd find it. You just had to know where to look, and Murray

did. When he first started hacking, he'd broken into a software company

that was developing a program to restore old audio recordings. He'd lurked

in the company's databases and program documentation for weeks, learning

everything he could about the technology of restoring lost sounds. And now

that knowledge was coming in handy.

  "Hmmmm, this is interesting," Murray said, studying the screen. He

pointed at one part of the graphic display. "See this line here?" Mulder

nodded. "It shouldn't be here."

  "What do you mean?" Mulder asked. Sometimes Murray forgot that not

everyone could make sense of these computer displays.

  "Well, these intermittent spikes," Murray tapped the screen at several

different points of the display, "represent the musical sounds. The steady

line down here," he pointed to a lower line on the graph, "is the noise

created when the tape passes over the recording head. But this line... I

don't know what this is. The frequency is just out of the range of human

hearing." Murray typed in a few more commands and the screen displayed the

entire recording.  

  "Can you play it again?" Mulder asked. He watched as the graphic

redisplayed on the screen. This time Murray noticed as well.

  "It's not there at the beginning... almost, but not quite," Murray said.

"Sort of like it clicked on after the phone was answered."

  "Could it be caused by surveillance equipment?" Mulder asked. He kept his

voice steady, but his mind was racing. Surveillance of Scully's home

phone... Mulder didn't like the implications of that.  

  "I dunno," Murray replied, fiddling with the control panel and then the

keyboard. The display changed into color bars. The unknown tone was

represented on the screen by a steady cyan line. "Surveillance doesn't

usually leave this kind of a signature on tape. Normally it's just a click

at the beginning, like someone picked up the phone twice." Murray turned

to look at Mulder. "I guess you're asking 'cause if it was surveillance,

maybe someone's watching the watcher?"

  Mulder nodded. As he'd expected, Murray had assumed this tape was from

his current assignment. He was such a gullible kid, Mulder hated deceiving

him like this, but he wasn't about to tell Murray where the tape really

came from. "Something like that," Mulder muttered.

  "I'll keep playing with it. I know I can get you the music, though

it'll take a little while. I have to remove all the other tape noise and

then run a program to extrapolate the missing notes, but I think I can

come up with something by this afternoon. This other stuff?" Murray

shrugged. "I'll let you know."

  "Thanks, Murray," Mulder said, moving toward the door.

  "Mulder?" Murray hesitated, and Mulder could have sworn he saw a slow

blush building in the teenager's face. "Say hi to Scully for me, okay? I

haven't seen her since she got transferred to Quantico."

  Mulder smiled. Murray had a crush on Scully, something which she

tolerated while trying to let him down easy. But like a lot of teenage

boys trying to grow into their hormones, Murray couldn't take a hint. And

in his case, Mulder suspected that the kid had only recently begun to

discover that girls were more fun than computers and sound boards.

Mulder remembered being that young once. About a million years ago.

  "Sure, Murray, I'll tell her the next time I see her." Mulder was

rewarded with a huge grin as Murray turned back to his equipment, intent

on unlocking the secrets of the universe from one ten second scrap of tape.

'No,' Mulder amended, 'I don't think I was ever that young.'

  

*   *   *

Quantico, Virginia

1:30 p.m.

  Changing her phone number had been easier than Scully anticipated.

Dealing with the phone company since the breakup of Ma Bell usually meant

getting shuffled from one carrier to the next, listening to endless voice

mail messages which required her to press 1 for option a, 2 for option b,

and so on. But this time she'd been pleasantly surprised. After only two

voicemail sessions, she'd reached an operator in customer service who

actually seemed to believe that her job was to give prompt, courteous

service to the phone company's customers. What a novel concept, Scully

thought.

  She'd explained to the operator that she'd been getting crank calls and

wanted a new home number, unlisted. The operator had assigned her a new

number which would be effective within 24 hours. Under the circumstances,

the operator suggested that Scully not have calls to her previous number

rerouted to the new one. No kidding, Scully thought to herself. The

operator also suggested that Scully add caller i.d. to her phone, and

Scully agreed. The operator explained that under certain circumstances,

like long distance calls or cellular calls from out of the local cell

area, the phone number of the caller would not be displayed on the i.d.

device attached to her phone. Scully knew that, of course, but let the

woman explain it all to her. She was just doing her job, after all.

Catching this crank caller through caller i.d. was a long shot, but

stranger things had happened.

  Dana sat at her desk, looking at the caller i.d. device she had

purchased at lunch, but not really seeing it. She still felt silly about

this whole thing. Here she was, a special agent of the FBI, an instructor

of forensics at Quantico, a survivor of the X Files for heaven's sake,

having to spend time and energy dealing with a crank caller. In the clear

light of day, she felt ridiculous about her actions last night. Running to

Mulder in the middle of the night like a scared little girl. That wasn't

like her at all. She had always prided herself on her self-reliance but

last night it had deserted her. She couldn't even tell herself she was only

looking to her partner for backup or maybe a fresh slant on a disturbing

question. Mulder wasn't her partner anymore. The fact that he was the

person she went running to last night told her more than she wanted to know

about the depth of her trust in him, the depth of her feelings for him. 

  Her feelings... <He's not your partner now, Dana,> the annoying voice

inside her head whispered to her. <What's your excuse?> 'I don't need an

excuse, there's nothing to excuse,' she thought. But if there was nothing

to excuse, why this train of thought at all?  Why even consider it?

'Official or not, he's still my partner, and my friend, and that's that,'

she thought angrily. Anything beyond that she refused to consider for now,

maybe for always.

  Her office door opened abruptly, ending her reverie. She looked up to

see Mendelton standing in the doorway, a sheaf of white paper in his hand.

His exam, no doubt, judging from the set of his jaw and the barely

suppressed glare in his brown eyes. He may not be a doctor, Scully thought,

but he sure has the attitude down pat.

  "Agent Scully, do you have a minute?" Mendelton asked, walking into her

office and closing the door behind him, as if he assumed she had nothing

else planned for this moment in time other than to talk to him. Calm down,

Dana, she told herself.

  "What can I do for you, Mr. Mendelton?" she asked politely, leaning back

in her chair.

  "I'd like to talk about the way you graded my exam." Mendelton placed the

offending test on Scully's desk as he sat in one of the chairs opposite

Scully. She noticed that he had scribbled notes next to each of the

comments she had written in red pencil on his exam. If this was any

indication, he apparently intended to refute every comment she had made.

  "Do you feel you were judged unfairly, Mr. Mendelton?" Scully was careful

to maintain a neutral tone of voice.

  "Each of my answers was correct, Agent Scully. I have noted text

references next to each answer. If you will look to the text, I believe

that you will see that my exam responses mirror the findings..."

  "You're right, Mr. Mendelton," Scully interrupted. "You did give

textbook answers to each question on the exam."

  Mendelton was clearly puzzled. "I don't understand. If I gave textbook

answers, why did you grade my exam the way you did?"

  Scully sighed. Despite her carefully worded comments, it was obvious

that Mendelton just didn't get it. "Mr. Mendelton, why did you join

the FBI?"

  Mendelton paused before responding. He clearly was not prepared for the

abrupt change in the direction of their conversation. Dana tried to ignore

the guilty little pleasure it gave her to shake this guy up. "I don't

understand," he repeated. "You want to know why I joined the FBI?"

  "Yes." Scully waited, seeing the struggle on his face as he tried to

decide what would be the appropriate response to her question.

  "What does that have to do with the way my exam was graded?" Obviously

he was stalling, trying to determine why she wanted to know so that he

could decide on the best way to answer the question.

  "It has everything to do with the way your exam was graded,

Mr. Mendelton, because it has everything to do with the way you answered

the questions." Dana stopped, refusing to give him any more clues as to

what she expected him to say. She wanted the truth from him, not some line

he thought would get him in good with the teacher.

  Mendelton stared at her for a minute, collecting his thoughts, then

leaned back in his chair. When he spoke, his voice had lost the tone of

self-righteous indignation it had carried since he'd appeared at her door.

  "I've never been really good with people, but I've always had an interest

in medicine. My father is a well-known thoracic surgeon in Manhattan and

my mother is a neurologist." Now that's a hard family act to follow,

Scully thought, as Mendelton continued to speak.  

  "Early in medical school I realized that my strongest interest was in

pathology. My father was not pleased, to say the least," Mendelton said,

a trace of bitterness in his voice. "He planned on me specializing in

thoracic surgery and joining his practice following my residency. When I

was recruited by the FBI, I thought it might be a way to distinguish

myself in pathology, and I've worked very hard to accomplish this goal.

I've always done extremely well in school and on my exams, at least until

your class."

  Dana didn't know what she'd expected, but she was certain that what

Mendelton had just told her was the truth. And if it was, maybe there

was some hope for this kid after all.

  "Mr. Mendelton, first I want to thank you for telling me the truth,

not just what you thought I wanted to hear." Dana could see him breathe

a sigh of relief. "And I want you to know that while your reasons for

joining the Bureau might not be the best, if you have a genuine interest

in pathology, and are not just choosing it because it's a medical

speciality where you do not need a good beside manner, you may indeed

distinguish yourself here."

  Mendelton's face started to relax into that smug, doctor-as-god look

he unconsciously wore. At least she knew now where he got it, but that

still wasn't something she was going to tolerate. Not around her.

  "But," she emphasized, "in order to distinguish yourself, you have to

look beyond the textbook. Anyone can memorize textbooks and produce the

answers you did. What I'm looking for is an understanding of the science

of forensic medicine." Mendelton started to protest, but Scully was

relentless. "I guarantee you that in your career you will be presented

with forensic evidence which will point to an easy, obvious conclusion,

but that conclusion will be wrong. And when you are wrong in this job,

Mr. Mendelton, either innocent people are convicted, guilty people escape,

or people die. What I want from you, and what the Bureau will require from

you, are alternatives to the obvious, answers within the realm of

possibility but which are not in plain view."

  "Extreme possibilities?" Mendelton asked, a small trace of sarcasm in

his voice. Apparently her reputation as "Mrs. Spooky" had preceeded her.

  "Just because the possibilities may be extreme, Mr. Mendelton," Scully

replied coldly, "does not mean they are incorrect. It depends on the

evidence presented. What you have to develop, both for the Bureau, and in

order to pass my class, is the ability to tell when the extreme is not

only possible, but correct."

  Dana put on her reading glasses and picked up a file from the stack on

her desk, a clear sign of dismissal. "Now, if there's nothing else,

Mr. Mendelton?"

  Mendelton took the hint and gathered up his exam. As he opened the door,

he nearly tripped over a package in the doorway. Without a word he picked

it up and placed it on Scully's desk before leaving.

  Dana stared at the package, a small box about the size of the hardback

book she was reading. She wasn't expecting anything to be delivered to her.

It could have been a new textbook, but the normal bureau routing slip

wasn't attached to the outside. Scully's internal alarm starting ringing

loud and clear.

  Opening her desk drawer, Dana pulled out a letter opener and a small

flashlight. Carefully, without moving the box, she shined the light around

the outside edge, using the letter opener to gently probe under the edge of

the box lid. She saw no wires or any other telltale signs of explosives

within. Dana, you're really getting paranoid, she told herself.

<Better safe than sorry,> she heard her mother's voice say in response.

  Taking a deep breath, she lifted the box lid straight up and set it down

on the desk next to the box. She was relieved to see only tissue paper

inside. Using the letter opener, she probed at the tissue paper, not

really knowing what she was worried about. When the letter opener

encountered nothing more sinister than the outline of a small shape within

the tissue paper, Dana realized that she'd been holding her breath and

let it all out in one big sigh. Mulder, if this is from you, you're dead

meat, she thought as she used the opener to fish out the tissue paper.

  Dana frowned at the object she uncovered. It was a crucifix, one that

was meant to be hung on the wall. She looked further into the box, but

there was no card, no indication of who this was from. Her hand went to

the small crucifix at her throat. Her mother had given it to her years

ago, when she was sixteen. Dana was not a religious person, and she wore

the crucifix more out of sentimental value than religious beliefs. Her

mom couldn't be trying to bring her back into the fold, not now, could

she? Well, one thing for sure, it didn't come from Mulder.  

  Dana decided to call her mom when she got home. Maybe canceling dinner

had hurt her mom more than Dana thought. Of all her brothers and sister,

Dana lived closest to her mom and had been her support during the months

since her father's death. Maybe this had been her father's, maybe... 

  The phone rang, interrupting her chain of thought. Dana breathed a

sigh of relief when it turned out to be her lab assistant with questions

about the setup Dana wanted for next week's lab work. Turning her

attention to the phone call, Dana put the lid back on the box and set it

by her briefcase, hiding the gleaming white enamel surface of the cross.

  

*   *   *

End part two.

Extreme Possibilities

(Part Three)

by Annie Reed

(FancyKatz@aol.com)

*  *  *

Historian's note:  This story takes place early in the second season of

X Files following the episode "Little Green Men."  

*  *  *

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen

Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. No infringement of copyright is intended.

This is a work of fanfiction and is not for profit. Unaltered copies may be

freely distributed as long as no money is received in return and this

disclaimer is included on the copies. Whew... hope I made everyone happy

there!

Author's note: I would like to thank Rhoda and Melissa for continuously

cracking the creative whip at me to get this story done, and I also want to

thank Cheryl, my guardian worrywart, for her patience.

*  *  * 

7:35 p.m.

  Dana put the phone back in the cradle, a frown wrinkling her forehead.

The crucifix hadn't come from her mother. Dana had described it to her

mother in detail, but as far as Margaret Scully knew, no one in the family

owned one like it. "Maybe you have a secret admirer," her mother had said.

Dana had dismissed that suggestion immediately.  Outside of Mulder, she had

no personal life to speak of.

  And speaking of Mulder, he was due here any minute.  He had called her

briefly on her cellular during her drive home, suggesting dinner and

offering to bring Chinese. Dana looked at her watch. With any luck she'd

have just about enough time to change before he got here.

  She had just slipped into a comfy pair of jeans and an oversized

sweatshirt when the buzzer rang. Assuming it was Mulder, she pressed the

button by her front door and said "come on up" into the speaker box.

There was no response. Dana frowned at the speaker grill. What, no snappy

come backs? Mulder must really be tired or distracted, she thought. She

shrugged, pressed the security release for the door to the apartment

complex, and went into the kitchen to put on some water for tea. Coffee

just wouldn't do with Chinese, it had to be tea.

  The kettle was simmering smartly on the stove when the buzzer rang

again. Dana walked over to the speaker and pressed the button. "I

swear, Mulder, you're the only person I know who can get lost in an

apartment building," she said with a smile at the grill.

  "What do you mean? I just got here." Mulder's voice sounded tinny over

the tiny speaker. "Come on, Dana, open up. Smelling this food all the way

here has been torture."

  Dana smile faded as she stared at the speaker. She buzzed Mulder through

as her mind churned a mile a minute. If that hadn't been him before, just

who had she let in? Dana walked over to the kitchen and opened the drawer

where she kept her gun. She pulled it out of the holster and flipped off

the safety.

  The tea kettle whistled stridently about the same time as the knock on

her front door, loud and persistent. Dana jumped as she turned to move the

kettle from the hot burner. "Mulder?" Dana called. There was no response.

"Mulder, this is no time to be playing games," she said as warily

approached the door, holding her gun in front of her, not yet in shooting

position, but not held idly by her side either. No one answered her.

  Taking a deep breath, Dana flattened herself against the wall next to the

door. With her left hand she reached over and opened the door, then drew it

back to support her gun hand. The light from the hallway created shadows in

the open doorway. She watched as one large shadow filled the space as it

entered her apartment.

  "Freeze!" she yelled at the figure which stood just inside her door.

  "Scully?" a voice squeaked out. She heaved a sigh of relief as she let

the gun drop back down to her side, thumbing the safety back on. Mulder

turned around slowly, taking in her position against the wall and the gun

held loosely at her right side.

  "If I'd have known punctuality was so important to you, I'd have made

more of an effort to get here on time," Mulder said as Dana closed and

locked the door behind him. She relieved him of the bag of Chinese take

out and put in on her kitchen counter, along with her gun.

  "Why didn't you answer me?" she demanded, refusing to give in to the

shakes which always threatened following every time she was forced to draw

her weapon.

  "Scully, I just got here and found your door open. I didn't hear you say

anything. When I saw the open door, I thought something was wrong and I

just walked in." Mulder stopped and took a good look at her. "Tell me

what's happened."

  Dana filled him in on the 'present' she had received at work and the

buzz and knock at her door. "Did you see anyone in the hall?" she asked.

  "Not a soul," Mulder replied, opening the box to look at the crucifix.

He didn't know exactly what he was looking for. Scully may not have been

a religious person, but Mulder was an agnostic. How could he believe in a

benevolent god with all the things he'd seen in his life. How could a

benevolent god let Sam be taken from him? No, Mulder did not believe in

god, and had a idea that even if there was a god, that god did not believe

in him.

  He wasn't an expert in religious artifacts, but this one certainly looked

unusual. The crosses he'd seen were usually gold, either simple like the

one Scully wore around her neck, or gaudily ornate like the ones in many

churches. This one was plain white enamel, maybe glass or a synthetic

polymer. Mulder picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. He

turned it over, searching for anything at all, any clue, but there was

nothing on the back except for a small loop for hanging the crucifix on the

wall. Something nagged at the back of his mind about the cross, but he

couldn't make the connection.

  Mulder walked over to Scully's dining room table where she was busy

opening up the little boxes of take out and pouring tea. He fished the

answering machine's tape from his pocket and put it on the table as he

sat down.

  "All done with the analysis already?" Dana asked.

  "Murray likes you," Mulder replied with a grin.

  "Don't remind me," Dana groaned. "Wait a minute, Mulder -- you didn't

tell him it was my tape, did you? You promised..."

  "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me, ma'am," Mulder said gallantly.

"But Murray thinks that maybe someday I'll put in a good word for him with

you. Say, I bet your mother would like him..."

  "Mulder, don't you dare," Dana glared at him only to see him smiling back

at her. "So how'd you get a night off from surveillance duty?"

  "The primary suspects are out of town for the weekend, so another agent's

got the pleasure of the earphones for a couple of days. That gives us time

to track this guy down," Mulder said, poking at the microcassette.

  "What did Murray find out?" Dana asked, spearing a piece of eggroll with

her fork. For some reason her appetite had come back and this food looked

really good.

  "A couple of things. First, there is a low frequency sound which was not

made by the caller and not made by your answering machine." Dana arched an

eyebrow at that. "It's just below the range of human hearing and was not

made by any known surveillance equipment, at least none that Murray has

ever seen."

  "Did he identify the music?" Dana asked.

  "Well, he had a lot of blanks to fill in, but he came up with a couple

of possibilities." 

  Mulder had no sooner gotten the words out of his mouth when the phone

rang. Dana walked over to the extension on the kitchen counter, where the

caller i.d. device was plugged in, Mulder following on her heels. The

screen on the i.d. device was annoyingly blank. 

  "Hello?" Dana said. There was no response. She motioned Mulder to stand

next to her, holding the phone slightly away from her ear so that Mulder

could hear. "Is anyone there?" Dana asked.

  This time there was no music and no static. There was only laughter --

hysterical, mad laughter. Dana hung up the phone. It rang again immediately.

Again, there was no number displayed on the small screen next to her phone.

  Dana picked it up without saying anything, holding it so that Mulder could

hear. The laughter was still there, but somewhat subdued. For the first

time, Dana heard a voice, but it was so garbled and distorted she could not

recognize it. "Don't do that again," the voice commanded.  

  "Who is this?" Dana asked forcefully. Mulder stood stock still by her

side, his entire being focused in concentration.

  "I have a message for you," the voice said. There was something about

this voice, strange and dark and malevolent, that chilled Dana to the

bone, and she started to tremble. "I've had trouble getting through. It's

hard to see in the dark," the voice whined, "and they won't leave me alone."  

The voice trailed off and was replaced suddenly by a scream, as

bloodcurdling as the one on her answering machine. "Leave me alone!" the

voice wailed. Dana slammed the phone down and stood shaking in her kitchen.

  Mulder put his arms around her shoulders and gently pulled her into a

hug, his arms enveloping her. He could feel her trembling against him, and

he was overwhelmed with a desire to protect her. From whom, or from what,

he didn't know, but he would protect her.  

  He didn't know how long they stood there, but gradually he could feel

Dana's shaking subside. Finally she raised her head, looked up at him

sheepishly, and pulled away from him. "Sorry," she mumbled, "very

unprofessional of me."

  She took a deep breath and looked over at the i.d. device.

"That's strange," she said. "It worked fine a little while ago. I had my

mother call me back, just to make sure the thing was working."

  "Maybe the caller wasn't local," Mulder suggested.

  "But it's supposed to register every call," Dana insisted. "Even if the

number doesn't show up, it's supposed to tell you something."

  "AND NOW WE HAVE A SPECIAL REQUEST..." blared a voice from Dana's living

room. Her stereo was turned up full blast, the receiver tuned to a local

FM oldies station. Only neither of them had turned it on.

  "From 1960," the announcer continued, "here's Bobby Darin with his

million seller, going out to Starbuck..." Dana stood numb in the kitchen,

listening to the beginning strains of "Beyond the Sea." The last time

she'd heard that song had been at her father's funeral. No... oh no...

it couldn't be.

  "What's the station?" Mulder asked, grabbing the phone. Dana didn't

respond. Mulder reached out and turned her around to face him. He didn't

like the pasty white look on her face. "Dana," he shouted at her, "what's

the name of the station?"

  "WTXZ," she mumbled, barely audible over the music. Mulder dialed

information and got the number of the station's request line. Dimly, as

if from very far away, Dana heard him dial the number and ask who

requested this song.

  Beyond the Sea... it had been in her dreams for months following her

father's funeral. It all came back to her now. Waking to see her father

sitting in her living room chair, only to find out that he'd died an hour

earlier. Seeing him again in Boggs' cell, in Boggs' place, asking if she'd

gotten his message. Boggs taunting her with his so-called ability to let

her talk to her father, to try to tie up all the loose ends left by his

unexpected death. And the white cross, splashed with bright red blood,

where she'd nearly lost Mulder. No, it couldn't be. It was some horrible,

cruel joke. No, no...

  "NO!" she screamed at the stereo, running across the room to turn it off.

As she reached out to the power switch, electricity arced out between the

stereo and her fingers. Dana felt herself thrown backward across her living

room as if she'd been pushed by a giant's hand. She slammed into the coffee

table, fell over onto the couch and tumbled to the floor. As she lay on the

floor between what remained of her coffee table and the couch, she felt

herself slipping down deeper, to someplace dark, someplace very, very cold.

  

*   *   *

  Darkness.... she was surrounded by darkness. Floating, drifting aimlessly

in a pool of absolute black.

  No, this wasn't right, she wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed

to be...

  Where? She couldn't remember. Why couldn't she remember?

  She tried to turn her head, to spot something familiar, get her bearings,

but she found she couldn't move. She could only drift, helpless and alone.

Frustrated and terrified, she began to cry.

  "Don't much like death, do you?"

  The voice came from nowhere, from everywhere, grating at her, sparking a

glimmer of a memory... Of mad laughter and... of music.  

  <I'm not dead!> she thought angrily. <This is all a dream! I can't

be dead....  can I?>

  The voice laughed at her, a sound that froze her soul. She was cold,

so very cold.

  "Well, that's up to you now, Starbuck."

  <You're not my father!> The voice was too cold, too cruel. Her father

had never been cruel.

  "You never came back for the message!" the voice accused, the volume

ringing in her head. "I sat alone and afraid and YOU NEVER CAME!!!"

  <I didn't believe you!> she whimpered, wishing desperately that she

could shut out the voice, make it stop.

  "I told you that death was a cold, dark place for liars, Scully,"

the voice rasped, "but you didn't listen to me." The mad laughter rang

out again. "Well, how do you like it so far?"

  <No,> she sobbed, <no, I'm not dead, I'm not...> Thoughts of a seldom

seen smile, of soft hazel eyes danced briefly through her mind, and she

ached for what was lost.

  "You're afraid to believe, Scully," the voice mocked. "In your heart

you knew I told the truth, but you were afraid."

  Yes, she'd been afraid to believe then, and she was terrified to believe

now, because belief would mean accepting the darkness.

  "Starbuck." The voice had changed, become softer, familiar.

  <Daddy?>  

  "I'm here, honey." She was almost more afraid of this voice than the

other, afraid that it was a trap.

  <Daddy, is that you? Ahab???>

  "Yes, Starbuck, my sweet baby girl."

  <Oh, daddy,> she sobbed, both for herself and her father, lost forever

in this cold, dark place.

  "It doesn't have to be this way, Starbuck. It isn't for me, and it's

not what I want for you."

  <I don't understand, daddy,> she thought, her sobs subsiding as she

struggled for understanding.

  "You have to be careful, Starbuck. We'll be together, again, but you

have to be careful."

  She fought for control, trying desperately to see the source of her

father's voice, to catch a glimpse of him. All of sudden she felt a

terrible pain in her chest and a brilliant flash of light blinded her.

  "Remember, Starbuck... you have to be careful..."

  Her father's voice faded as the pain consumed her.

  

*   *   *

9:15 p.m.

  "Clear!"

  All hands moved away from the woman on floor as the portable

defibrillator shot it's charge through her. Her body jerked and the

paramedics looked at the monitor, willing the lines to move in a normal

rhythm. Nothing.  

  "Ok, that's it," the paramedic said.

  "No." A man's hand shot out and grabbed the paramedic's arm. "One

more time."

  The medic looked into the man's eyes, hazel eyes made deep with emotion

over the fight for this woman's life. One more time.... Not that it would

do any good, but it really wouldn't hurt anything either.

  "Okay, charge..." she said to her assistant. She watched the gauge on

the machine, and when it was fully charged and the plates were placed on

either side of the woman's bare chest, she yelled "clear!" Once more the

body on the floor spasmed as the charge shot through her, and one more time

the paramedic looked to the monitor for any sign of life.

  She was as startled as everyone else when the woman drew a deep, sudden

breath and the monitor beeped with a heartbeat. The paramedics flew into

activity, monitoring the woman's returning vital signs, doing everything

possible to make sure that the fragile spark of life grew into a strong

flame.

  Mulder sat back against Dana's couch, his face wet with unnoticed tears.

That was too close. 'Dana, I almost lost you,' he thought as his hand

reached out to touch her hair. 'I will never let that happen again,

I promise you.'

  

*   *   *

Arlington, Virginia

8:45 a.m.

  Dana sat in her hospital bed, looking at the sun shining outside the

window. The emergency room doctors had insisted she spend the night in

the hospital so that they could monitor her condition. Her attending

physician, visiting her on his morning rounds, was remarkably impressed.

Outwardly she didn't look like someone whose heart had stopped beating

only the night before.

  She couldn't wait to leave. "I just want to check your test results,"

her doctor had said. "If they look as good as you do, you can go home."

There was a soft knock on her door. Dana turned to see Mulder poking his

head into her room. "You decent?" he asked.

  Dana smiled. "Come on in, Mulder," she said, patting the bed next to

her. He walked over and sat down on the bed, regarding her with those

solemn eyes.  

  Dana had been told that Mulder had performed CPR on her until the

paramedics arrived. Without his efforts, they might not have been able to

bring her back. Her chest was still a little sore from where he had pushed

to keep her heart beating. "You've got a hell of a CPR technique, Mulder,"

she said with a rueful smile, rubbing her breastbone, which was already

bruising. She sobered a bit and stared into his eyes. "Thank you,"

she said, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze.

  Mulder dropped his eyes to gaze at their joined hands. "All part of the

service," he mumbled, squeezing her hand back. They were silent for a long

moment, sitting there holding hands, each grateful for the other's presence

and all too aware of what they'd almost lost.

  Mulder broke the silence first. "I checked with the radio station this

morning. The request for 'Beyond the Sea' came in over their fax line. It

was unsigned, and the return fax number wasn't displayed on the print out.

'Beyond the Sea' was one of the possibilities Murray came up with for the

music on your answering machine's tape."

  Dana only nodded, not saying anything.

  "I'm afraid your receiver is a total loss. The wires were fried. The lab

techs wanted to know what the hell I hooked it up to that generated that

much electricity." Mulder remembered the bright blue arc and the smell of

ozone as Dana had gone flying across her living room. He had a feeling the

scene would haunt him in his dreams for years. "Your landlord told me there

was a power surge last night that knocked out a half dozen circuit

breakers," Mulder continued. "He was busy replacing them this morning.

Apparently a few of your neighbors were upset because the power outage

meant they couldn't watch 'Picket Fences.'"

  "That would be Mrs. Malloy," Dana said with a smile. "What about

the cross?"

  "No log entries for a package delivered to you yesterday, nothing to

indicate it was left at the front desk." Another nod, as if she expected

nothing except unanswered questions. Mulder paused, unable to bring himself

to voice a question of his own.

  "You want to know what it was like," she said, seeming to read his mind.

  "Dana..." Mulder stopped as his throat closed up on him, and he had to

clear it noisily before he could continue. "You don't have to talk about

it if you don't want to."

  "Actually, there's not much to talk about. I don't remember seeing a

bright light." She looked at him, puzzled. "It's more like a dream you

can't quite remember when you wake up. You know you had it, and it leaves

you with an unpleasant feeling, but you can't remember the details or why

you feel that way."

  She turned her head to look out the window. Her room was on the ground

floor. Tall rosebushes were planted in a decorative hedge against the

hospital's outer wall, and Dana gazed at the flowers before she continued.

"You know, there are a lot of things in nature that science just can't

explain, from why bumblebees can fly to whether human beings have a soul.

Science can't explain what happened to me last night, and I can't remember

it, but I do know this. I was dead, technically dead," she saw him flinch

at the words, but she continued on relentlessly. "According to science that

should have been it... no more thoughts or feelings or experiences. But I

know that's not what happened to me." She laughed, a short, humorless sound. 

"You know, just yesterday I was explaining to one of my students that you

have to be willing to look beyond the obvious, beyond scientific textbook

rhetoric for the answers to otherwise unexplainable mysteries... that you

have to consider all possibilities."

  "Even extreme possibilities?" Mulder asked.

  "I would certainly say this whole thing qualifies," she replied. "I guess

this is a good case of practicing what you preach."

  Dana's physician chose that moment to reappear in her room. Mulder

realized he'd still been holding Dana's hand, which he released as he got

up from the bed.

  "Dr. Taylor," Dana said, "this is my friend, Fox Mulder."

  Mulder shook hands with the doctor. "Mr. Mulder," the doctor said,

"you have a very lucky friend. She's lucky to be alive, much less in such

great shape. If the nurses' gossip is right, which it usually is, you had

a good deal to do with that."

  Mulder looked down at his shoes, embarrassed. "CPR training is standard

stuff at the Bureau," he explained.

  "Well, the training may be standard, but no amount of training prepares

you for actually having to give CPR in an emergency situation. You're to

be congratulated, young man."

  Now Mulder was really embarassed. He didn't say anything, hoping that

the doctor would change the subject.

  "You ready to go home?" Dr. Taylor asked Dana. "Your tests are normal.

I see no reason to keep you here."

  "When can I leave?" Dana asked.

  "The nurse will let you know when the paperwork is processed and then

you can go." Dr. Taylor turned back to Mulder. "And keep her quiet,

Mr. Mulder. She may not think so, but she still needs her rest."

  Dana started to protest, but the doctor cut her off. "Tests and good

looks aside, your body still suffered a severe shock. It's going to take a

few days to recover. And I don't want to see you back here any time soon."

With that, the doctor left.

  "Believe me, I don't want to be back here anytime soon, either," Dana

said, swinging her feet over the side of her bed. <Be careful, Starbuck...>

Dana stood up suddenly, swaying a little on her feet. Where the hell had

that come from?

  Mulder was at her side in an instant, holding on to her arm to help her

keep her balance. "You okay?" he asked with concern. "Should I call the

doctor?"

  Dana shook her head. "No, I just got up too quick. I'll be fine." She

smiled at Mulder to let him know she meant it, and he let go of her arm.

"Any idea where they stashed my clothes?"

  "Uh, oh. Well, your jeans are probably in the closet. I should stop by

your apartment and get you another shirt."

  "What happened to my sweatshirt?" she asked, puzzled.

  "The paramedics used a defibrillator. They had to cut the shirt away..."

he trailed off, suddenly unwilling to meet her eyes.

  "Oh," she said as the picture formed in her mind. Defibrillator paddles

had to be placed on bare skin, and she hadn't been wearing a bra. No wonder

he was uncomfortable. "Okay," she said, trying desperately to put her own

discomfort behind her, "well, make sure you pick a comfy one."

  Mulder breathed a sigh of relief. This could have been a sticky

situation, but he should have known she'd be able to handle it. "Any

other requests?" he asked.

  "Yeah," she paused. "Be careful, Mulder."

  He frowned at her. "What's wrong, Dana?"

  She shrugged, genuinely puzzled. "I don't know. I just have this feeling

that we need to be careful." She smiled at him. "It's your turn to humor

me, Mulder."

  He nodded. "How about this... I'll stop by the video store on my way back

here and we can spend our Saturday watching movies, followed by the take

out dinner of your choice."

  "Sounds great," she replied. "Only don't make them all sci-fi, okay?"

  "What, you're not in the mood for 'Aliens' or 'Body Snatchers'? And here

I thought I was converting you," he said, hand over his heart in mock

pain. She laughed at him, which is exactly the reaction he was looking for.

"And this time," Mulder said, "we eat at my place, okay?" He smiled at her

and she smiled back. 

  "It's a deal," she said.

  

*   *   *

End