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Circle- Part I

by D.L. Witherspoon

Prologue

If he hadn't seen the glowing end of the cigarette, he would have thought he was alone. He didn't know what it was about the old bastard, but he could just blend in with the shadows at will. Creepy as hell. "Hey, I'm not late, am I?"

"Do you have what I requested?"

"Yeah, got the videos right here." A small box was raised into view.

"And you were careful. He didn't notice you?"

"Uh...I don't think so."

"Knowing your limits, I will never pay you to think, so don't work overtime. Did he or did he not know he was being monitored?"

"He seemed to get edgy when I was around, so he might have suspected something. Once or twice, he actually came looking, but I managed to get away cleanly."

"I thought you were supposed to be able to do this without his knowledge. I had heard you were the best."

"I am! But this guy, he's like not normal or something. I swear at times it was like he was sniffing me out like a dog or something."

"I don't like failure."

"Whoa! Let's not freak here! Everything went off according to plan. Check the tapes. I think you'll be happy with the merchandise."

"There you go, thinking again. That's something you should watch."

"Yes, sir. If there's anything else you need, just--"

He was alone. Just that quick, he was alone. With a shiver, he fingered the envelope he'd found on the ground where his companion had stood. Maybe it was time to retire.....

Chapter One

Agent Fox Mulder rode the elevator down to the secured parking garage beneath the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building in the heart of Washington, D.C. The hour was late, and the garage contained only a handful of cars. A few belonged to the nightowls/workaholics like himself, and the others were those of the souls who were paid to work the hours of darkness.

After a quick fumble of his keys, Mulder got into his car and headed home to his apartment in Alexandria. It was at the first stoplight that he noticed the battered envelope resting in the passenger's seat. How observant of you, Mr. FBI-man. If it had been a bomb, your ass would have been just so many pieces, and Scully would be ID'ing your body for the nth time. Oh, she would just love that. Agent Dana Scully was his partner, friend, and cohort in investigating the strange, bizarre, and seemingly unexplainable. These were the FBI's "X" files, meaning they couldn't be placed in normal categories, or neatly filed. Mulder's and Scully's bailiwick covered a wide array of incidents, most involving nature or science "gone bad". But there was also another area of key investigation, and that was the part that had him thinking about bombs.

People would be wrong to label Mulder a conspiracy theorist. For him, it was no longer a theory. He had proof that there was a conspiracy going on, one perpetuated by a group known as the Consortium, a cadre of powerful men who had discovered there was life "out there" and decided to use the aliens for their own less-than-philanthropic plans. But, recently it had come to light that it wasn't clear who was using whom, and things were getting messy and nasty. Hence, he really should have noticed the package in his car before he buckled up.

Well, hindsight and $1.25 would get him a cup of coffee, and since he hadn't been atomized yet, he was betting it wasn't a bomb. Taking a pen from his pocket, he poked at the envelope, noting it was one of those gusseted, padded affairs. Hmm, protecting what? He patted his pockets for a pair of latex gloves. Then he remembered Scully reminding him to pick up a handful...but since he was planning on bugging her for a pair the next time he needed them, he had disregarded her polite reminder. Of course the thought that she might not be around the next time he needed them had never crossed his mind. Okay, so that was two things he needed to work on: being observant and prepared.

"Fuck it," he growled softly and reached for the envelope bare-handed. Surely if someone had gone to the trouble of sneaking the thing into his car, they were bright enough to not leave fingerprints. A car horn alerted him to the fact he was still sitting at the stoplight, had probably sat through a number of changes, so he waved apologetically and set the envelope aside. He thought about pulling over beneath a streetlight and opening the package, but his sense of self-preservation wasn't going to be ignored like the rest of his instincts. It sent to his frontal lobe an image of a target, which he would be under a streetlight. With a sigh, he continued home without stopping.

He had the package open by the time he entered his hallway. A musty odor had seeped out, and the corridor lights allowed him to see that the contents were yellowed letters. Who the hell was sending him old letters? Did he have another mysterious informant? Considering the fate of the others, he figured the days of clandestine messages and phone calls were over. By the time he reached his door, he had one of the letters out and unfolded. His hand trembled as he recognized the handwriting. The letter had been penned by his father, the late William Mulder.

The feelings he had for his father were mixed at best. Bill Mulder had been a part of the Consortium at one time. When the Consortium had made a devil's pact with the extraterrestrials, Bill Mulder had sacrificed his daughter--Fox's younger sister--to the cause. That Bill had denounced the Consortium and was killed for that act, didn't lessen his betrayal in Fox's eyes; Samantha was still gone, and he still searched for the truth of her disappearance.

"So to whom are you writing, Dad? And why the hell does anyone think I care?" He stabbed his key into the lock.

Inside, he upended the envelope on the coffee table, looking for a note from his anonymous benefactor. Aha. More familiar scribble. This was a message from "beyond the grave", so to speak, since the author of the note was dead. Agent Jeffrey Spender had been Mulder's replacement on the X-files for a brief period of time. That was only one of the reason's Mulder had despised the overbearing, pompous jackass, who had inflated his self-opinion to the point of being the smuggest dumb bastard to grace the halls of the FBI building. The actual list had been incredibly long, but he had let it go when Spender had been shot and killed.

Mulder, the note read. Found these in my dad's stuff. Must be important. --J.S.

His dad. Discovering that his arch-rival, known only as Cancer Man, Cigarette-Smoking Man, or merely CSM, was actually C.G.B. Spender, husband to Cassandra and father to Jeffrey, had been mind-blowing. Arch-rival. Maybe that was a bit too dramatic. It was just that the two of them were at cross purposes: Mulder wanted to expose the truth, and Cancer Man wanted to keep it hidden. In fact, he'd been so desperate to keep it secret that the craggy-faced man had destroyed his own son. It had been kind of pathetic watching Cancer Man strip Jeffrey of his innocence...sorta like watching the rape of a virgin.

But that was neither here nor there. C.G.B. Spender, if that was truly his name, and not some alias, had held onto Bill Mulder's letters, and there had to be a reason for that. The wily bastard always had a reason. Mulder shuffled through the pile of letters, noting none of them had envelopes. So, no postmarks or dates. He also noticed not all were written by his father. Who was he corresponding with? The elder Spender, perhaps?

They were undated, so he randomly picked up one of his father's missives and began to read.

Billy,

Please re-think your actions. To renege at this late date is not advisable. My associates are apt to consider this a betrayal and.... I do not want your blood, as well as that of your sons', on my head.

Bill

From Bill to Billy? Okay, Dad. Now, I'm really confused. But that's typical with you, isn't it? He picked up another.

Billy,

Do you know how much I already hate myself for getting you involved in the Project? God, I thought I was saving my family. But now I realize I was merely condemning you to my hell. I'm not going to bother to ask for your forgiveness. Just know that this was not done in spite, but in good faith--faith which has now left me. I will make every effort to keep you and your boys alive. I promise you this.

Your cousin,

Bill

Mulder frowned. Your cousin, Bill. His dad had a cousin? Who was also named William? The world certainly got enough milage out of that name. Even Scully had a William in her family--a brother who loathed her partner. But that was okay; he wouldn't be asking Bill Scully to sneak out behind the woodshed with him, either...unless he had a muzzle and a baseball bat waiting.

With a sigh, he let the delightful picture fade from his mind and refocused on the letters.

*****

Average-sized (she hated the word petite) Dana Scully was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry, which, considering who her partner was, was a majority of the time...when she wasn't intrigued, puzzled, or just plain confused, that is. But, yeah, angry was the correct word at the moment. Mulder hadn't shown up for work. He wasn't answering his cell phone, and his hard-wired phone was, according to the operator, off the hook. In a normal partnership, she would be a bit worried by now, but there was nothing normal about Mulder. Sure, he could be dead, injured, or kidnapped, but there was an equal chance that he'd merely gotten involved in something and lost track of time. That was why she had headed out to his apartment by herself, without backup, and without notifying their superior, Assistant Director Walter Skinner. She did, however, as she approached Mulder's door, unbutton her jacket to give herself full access to her weapon.

"Mulder! Open up! It's Scully!" she yelled as she banged on the door, ignoring the feeling of relief that spread through her system when the tall, unkempt form stood in front of her.

"Scully? What's going on?" Mulder asked, confusion obvious on the stubble-covered face.

"No, Mulder, that's my question," she stated firmly as she marched past him. "Do you know what time it is?" He stared at her blankly. She went over to the window and pulled up a shade. "It's morning, Mulder."

His eyes narrowed in the light, then he rubbed his hands down his face. "When the hell did that happen?"

"A couple seconds earlier than it did yesterday," Scully pointed out dryly. She took a good look at her partner. Same clothes as yesterday. "Mulder, take a shower, put on clean clothes, and go to work."

"Yes, Mom." He grinned at the glare he received. "I'll meet you back at the office."

She shook her head, noting the scatter of papers on the low table. "I leave and you'll just go back to whatever this is you're doing. Is this a new case?"

He shrugged. "Take a look and tell me...unless you'd rather follow me into the bathroom to make sure I wash behind my ears?"

Although the smile didn't make it to her lips, it definitely shone in her eyes. "Well, that is a lot of territory, but I'll trust you to handle it on your own."

"No fair," he whined at the quick retort. "You've had your morning coffee."

"That's because I knew it was morning, Mulder. Now, quit dawdling." She shook her head as he continued to mutter on his way to the shower. Then she focused on the papers before her. Letters. Hmm....

"Where did you get these?" she asked, when he returned to his room to begin getting dressed.

"They were a gift from a secret admirer--Jeffrey Spender."

"Secret is right," she murmured, recalling the antipathy Spender had for her partner. "I'm assuming one of these Bills is your father. Who is the other?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't Genealogy your undergraduate major?"

"You're wrong."

"Ah. Now that you have that out of your system, I'm assured it's morning."

"Mulder," she said impatiently.

"I don't know who the other William is. I didn't know Dad had any cousins, or that I did for that matter. I guess it should be easy enough to check it out." He adjusted his tie, and joined her in the living room. "What else did you get out of the letters?"

"That your father got his cousin involved in the Consortium, then for some reason the cousin backed out."

"Not just some reason-- something about one of the sons, the one he was supposed to sacrifice... like Samantha was sacrificed. There was a problem, but the details are never given. I'm guessing, though, if we find this cousin, we will find the answer."

"That's assuming this side of your family is still alive."

"Oh, you are just full of good cheer, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry, Mulder--" she began.

"But you just wanted to point out the possibility that Bill, the second, and his offspring were purged for the sake of the Consortium and their unholy grail? I considered that, but if that were the case, why has Cancer Man been holding on to these letters? I think he is looking for the same thing we are-- what was it about this kid that not only made his father pull back, but started my father to doubting the group's intentions?"

"If the man lives, why hasn't the group gotten the answer yet?"

"Maybe he won't tell them."

"And if he won't tell them, why do you think he'll tell you?"

Mulder smiled and slipped into his jacket. "Of course he'll tell me, Scully. We're cousins."

Chapter Two

Blair Sandburg squirmed anxiously in one of the plastic seats located in the emergency room of Cascade General Hospital. He knew there was no way in hell the doctors would be out to tell him anything soon, but that didn't stop him from looking around every time he heard footsteps. His best friend, Jim Ellison, had been rushed behind the double doors only twenty minutes ago, and the actions they would have to take to save his life would take much longer. And that's all he wanted to hear from the medical staff--that Jim was alive and would remain so.

"Sandburg?"

For once he had ignored the footsteps. He looked up into the dark face of Captain Simon Banks. "Oh, hi, Simon. Someone called you?"

The police captain, superior officer to Detective Jim Ellison and his unofficial partner, police observer Blair Sandburg, resisted the urge to throttle the man gazing at him so innocently. Although Sandburg was thirty-years-old, his long brown curls and enthusiastic nature often made him seem much younger. Around the bullpen he was often affectionately referred to as "the kid." The anthropology grad student was extremely intelligent...and just as exasperating. "Yeah, Sandburg, someone called me. What I want to know is why you weren't that someone?"

Blair sighed, his eyes dropping to his hands. In addition to being their boss, Simon was a friend, and usually the first person called when one of the partners got into trouble. He was also the only other person who knew how special Jim was. But.... "I didn't want to hear you say it, Simon. I could ignore the responding officers, the paramedics, even the staff here. But hearing you say it would make me think about it. And even thinking about it is a betrayal of Jim."

"Sandburg," Simon began, sinking into the seat next to him, minimizing the over-a-half-foot difference in height between the two of them. "Blair, the uniforms told me you found Jim sprawled on the floor, unconscious from pills. What do you think happened?" he asked carefully.

"I don't know, man. But I know what didn't happen. I know Jim did not try to take his own life."

"He's been depressed all week."

"No, he's been pissed all week. There's a big difference, Captain."

Simon sighed. He, too, was having trouble accepting this. "He's been suspended from the force. I took his badge and weapon. You know he was hurting. He just hides it well." That was an understatement. Jim could give that Star Trek guy, Spock, a run for his money in stoicism.

Blair's blue eyes gazed into his captain's brown ones. "Yeah, he was hurting, but his anger was greater than his pain. You know Jim, Simon. He always puts his desires after those of his tribe."

Tribe. Jim was the Sentinel of his tribe--the city of Cascade, Washington. As Sentinel, he kept watch, protecting them from the various dangers that life offered. In the jungle, where Sentinels originated, that would mean natural disasters, wildlife, and warring tribesmen. In Cascade, it more or less meant criminals. To aid the Sentinel in his duties, he was genetically provided with five heightened senses, and was matched with a Guide--a member of the tribe whose duty it was to protect the Sentinel and hone his skills. Of course, all of this was according to Sandburg, but since Simon had proof of Jim's extraordinary senses, he had no reason to doubt Sandburg on the rest of it. Especially since Sandburg was Jim's Guide.

"But what if he...what if he, however unintentionally, hurt the tribe?" the captain asked hesitantly.

That was the problem around which all others problems revolved. Jim had supposedly killed a man, a boy, really, and that was why he was depressed, and why they thought he'd deliberately taken the pills. Blair felt a flare of anger that Simon was buying into all the crap. "Listen to me, Simon, because this is the last time I'm going to say it. Jim did not kill Jerome Johnson, nor did he try to kill himself. Neither Jim nor I know who's behind this campaign to destroy him, but you, of all people, should know he would never give up until the truth comes to light."

"Blair...."

"If you're going to stay, just be quiet, Captain. I don't feel like talking to you at the moment," Blair said, turning his head to silently review the moment their lives had gone wrong....

It had been a typical day for them, except for the fact the Sentinel was sure someone was tailing him. It had been happening off and on for a week, and it worried the detective a great deal. The tail was good enough that he couldn't catch him, but not good enough that he couldn't sense his presence. The expertise it took to stay just out of Jim's reach meant only one thing to the former soldier: whoever was on him worked for the government. As scary as that thought would be for the average citizen, it was triply so for Jim and Blair. Both knew there was a possibility that the government would find out about Jim's abilities and try to study him--with or without his permission.

But Jim had pushed his fears aside and had gone on doing his job, his Guide sticking to him like glue. There had been a rash of robberies at a strip mall, and since the perp seemed to know the best time of day to hit each store, Jim had concluded that the thief was probably a former employee of one of the businesses. He and Blair had driven out to the mall to get the employee records of the stores that hadn't been hit yet, since they already had those of the burglarized businesses. Just as they got into Jim's truck to head back to the department, Jim had spied a purse-snatching in progress. He'd yelled for Blair to stay in the vehicle and ran after the suspect, who had fled when he saw Jim staring at him. Blair had long ago translated "stay in the truck" into "stay in the truck only until you call for backup", so a few minutes later, he was running in the direction he'd last seen Jim and the snatcher.

A few twists and turns into an alley, then he stopped. Before him was a tableau that made his heart nearly pound out of his chest. Jim was on his knees, the suspect's head seemingly cradled in his arms, the limp body draped along the dark asphalt. Closer inspection revealed that the suspect was dead, and Jim was zoned. A "zone out" in Sentinel lingo meant that Jim had focused so tightly on one particular sense that he lost himself within that sense, within his own mind. Thankfully, Sentinel and Guide were so closely connected that a Guide's voice and/or touch would eventually bring the Sentinel out of the zone, which Blair did--just as backup arrived. Jim had gasped at the appropriate moment to look seriously guilty, and when it was confirmed that the suspect had died of a broken neck, he had been put immediately on suspension.

From that point, things had gone from bad to worse. The dead suspect turned out to be Jerome Johnson, an eighteen-year-old African-American without a record. Suddenly, this was being called a racial crime, that Jim had just seen a black kid running and had assumed he was the purse snatcher. He had killed him because he was a bigot, and he would get away with it because he was a cop. Everywhere Jim and Blair turned, there were reporters pushing cameras into their faces, asking questions about whether Jim had any ties to militia groups and if he was a member of the NRA.

The reporters had dogged them until yesterday. That was when Jim had had enough. They had gone to the station to have another interview with Internal Affairs. Since parking privileges in the station's underground lot had disappeared with his badge, the truck had been parked on the street where it was noticed by every reporter who had a brain, not to mention the growing group of demonstrators who marched in front of the station. When one of the reporters asked him if he had anything he wanted to say, Jim had answered yes, ignoring Simon's subtle, "Don't do this, Ellison."

"Did you kill Jerome Johnson?"

"No."

"If you didn't, who did?"

"I don't know, but I plan to find out. I grieve along with Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, as well as the rest of Jerome's family and friends. Snatching a purse should not be penalized by death."

"So, you're saying Jerome Johnson was indeed the purse snatcher."

"Yes."

"Even the victim wasn't able to positively identify him. Why are you so sure?"

"I saw him."

"You saw a black guy."

"I saw Jerome Johnson."

"Is it true you're a racist, Detective Ellison?"

"No. I was a soldier, and now I'm a cop. When your life has been on the line as much as mine has, you learn to appreciate anyone who gives you a helping hand--regardless of race, creed, color, sex, or national origin. I challenge anyone listening that if you've ever heard me make a racial remark, to come forward. I'm sure you reporters would be glad to flash your number up on the screen to make it easier for them. But if you don't get any calls, I challenge you, the press, to admit that you've been intentionally mislead, and have been fed false information."

"By whom?"

"As soon as I find out, I'll let you know. Now, I suggest you get back to your stations to wait for your phone calls. No need to follow me around; you know where I live, and that's where I plan to be."

With that Jim had gotten into his truck and driven home. The six o'clock news had aired his "press conference" and reported no one had called. The eleven o'clock news had repeated the same. By morning, the reporters were investigating their sources. Blair had gone to the university without the usual journalistic entourage. It seemed that everything was settling down. Then he had returned to the loft he and Jim shared, and found out that the peace had just been an illusion.

He'd let himself inside, eager to tell his roommate how reporter-free his day had been. Then he had spotted Jim's body in the center of the loft, sprawled on the floor as if he'd been dragging himself toward the bathroom. A circle of vomit had haloed his head. His skin was gray and clammy, his lips tinged blue. The first thing Blair had done was check for a pulse. Weak, but there. He'd called 911, then carefully moved Jim out of the spittle before covering him with an afghan.

The paramedics had put Jim on oxygen, but he coded once in the ambulance. CPR had revived him and then the E.R. staff had taken over, shoving Blair to the waiting room, where he could think about the faces of everyone when they had discovered the empty bottle of Percodan beneath the sofa. He knew what they thought, but as he told Simon, they were wrong.

"Mr. Sandburg." The appearance of a doctor brought Blair to the present. "We've performed gastric lavage and are giving him Naloxone to counteract any of the Percodan still in his system. He was fortunate that his stomach automatically dispelled several grams of the substance. Do you know how he managed to get his hands on the Percodan?"

Blair looked at him squarely. "It was mine. I had some dental work done a few months ago. My dentist prescribed the pills, but I only took one that first day. I'm not into unnaturals, you know?"

"Once he's stabilized, we'll be moving him upstairs for the required psychological evaluation."

"Waste of time," Blair muttered. "He didn't try to commit suicide. And don't give him any more Naloxone. His body can metabolize the rest of the Percodan on its own."

The doctor glared at him. "Sir, I understand that you are listed as the detective's next of kin, and he has strongly indicated that you are to be consulted about his treatment in every instance he is under medical supervision. But you aren't a physician--"

"I don't have to be a physician to read, doctor. If you look carefully at his medical history, you will note he has minimal tolerance for Naloxone."

The doctor paled. "That was not listed on the two pages of known allergens," he stuttered.

"Because it's not an allergen!" Blair yelled, suddenly frightened for his Sentinel. "Good God, how much of it have you given him?"

Before the doctor could answer, he was being paged and Blair knew with certainty that it was to Jim's side. Although Simon remained silent, he stayed with Blair as he waited for the doctor's return. But it was another, older, doctor who came to them later. "My name is Dr. Simpson. I'm handling Det. Ellison's care now."

A shudder went through Blair's body. "What did the other one do to him?" he asked, grateful for Simon's hand which folded over his shoulder and lent him strength.

"Someone from the administrative offices will be down to see you in a few minutes," Simpson hedged.

Blair closed his eyes. "Just tell me, Doctor."

"An overdose of Naloxone, combined with other factors, sent your partner into severe convulsions, Mr. Sandburg. Although we were able to stabilize him rather quickly, the damage had already occurred. Det. Ellison is currently comatose."

Chapter Three

"I know who your cousin is, Mulder," Scully said as her partner entered the basement office which housed the X Files. She had done the research while he had been debriefed about a recent case.

"I knew your degree in Genealogy would come in handy, Scully."

"Do you want the information or not?" she asked steely.

He humbly bowed and gestured for her to continue. "Your great-grandfather's name was William Endicott. He was a wealthy businessman who had two children, both daughters. One daughter, Hannah, married Frank Mulder. They had a son whom they named William. The other daughter, Rachel, married Martin Ellison. They, too, had a son named William."

"Both of them wanting the old man's money, huh?" Mulder speculated. "So, Billy is William Ellison? We know anything about him yet?"

She nodded. "He's a retired businessman in Cascade, Washington."

"Cascade? Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Because a year or so ago, we met a detective from Cascade...."

"Named Jim Ellison," Mulder completed. "Coincidence?"

"He's William's eldest son," Scully said quietly.

"It figures. Who else, but a relative of mine, could profile me in a day? Greatness must run in the family, huh, Scully?"

"There's more, Mulder." He looked at her worriedly, recognizing her serious tone. "Four days ago, Jim Ellison was accused of murdering a purse snatcher. The term 'racially motivated' is being bandied about."

"That has to be a lie," he replied firmly. He hadn't profiled Ellison, but he knew racism didn't fit the image he had of the man. His cousin.

"Two days ago, the detective attempted to commit suicide. He was revived, but a screw up at the hospital has left him comatose."

Mulder shook his head. "Something's starting to stink, Scully, and it isn't my cologne. I think I'm going to take some personal leave time, and go look up some lost relatives. Wanna tag along? As I recall, you and Jim got along quite well."

Scully smiled as she remembered the muscular man with sky blue eyes. When she'd first seen him, he'd just been a suspect in another bizarre case. He'd been in the wrong place, knew information he shouldn't have known, and was acting as squirrelly as the case was. The next time she'd seen him, he had radiated pain, pain generated by the death of a child he hadn't even known. That had told her more about the kind of man he was than any interview, interrogation, or profile. Compassion like that didn't stop at color lines. So, if that part was a lie, the rest of it probably was, too. She agreed with her partner's assessment; someone was targeting Jim. Was it because of what he was? A former FBI profiler had called him a psychic. But what she had seen Jim do in a small town in Wyoming had nothing to do with contacting spirits. No, he had confronted the inhabitants of another dimension and convinced them to leave this one alone. What had the locals called him? The guardian. Surely, that kind of gift could attract certain fringe elements, elements she and Mulder had gone up against many times. Damn. Was this the reason William Ellison had backed out of the Consortium? Was Jim the one who was supposed to go the way of Samantha Mulder?

"I think it would be nice seeing Jim again, and his partner, Blair Sandburg. I think they could both use friends right now."

"I just hope we're not too late," he muttered, wishing he still had his file on the two men. But it had succumbed to the fire which had destroyed the office many months ago.

"Jim has been in comas before. Remember, Mulder? He'd just come out of one when we met him. Maybe he's just 'dreaming' again. As soon as we get to Cascade, I'll have a look at his medical chart and--"

"Scully?"

"Yes, Mulder?"

"You're supposed to be the skeptic, remember?"

"Are you going to make the reservations or am I?"

He picked up the phone. "Jeez, Scully, can't you do something about that drool on your chin? Am I going to spend this vacation defending my cousin's honor?"

"He's a grown--very grown--man, Mulder. I'm sure if he wants something defended, he can do it himself," she nearly purred. After having to put up with his constant defense of his old girlfriend, Diana Fowley, it felt good to be able to throw her past--okay, one short conversation on the hood of a car--in his face.

"But he doesn't know how shameless you get around big, dumb cops," he pointed out, and she knew he was referring to a certain case in Texas involving a wanna-be vampire, and a very nice-looking sheriff.

"Then Jim should be perfectly safe. The last thing he is, is dumb. My feminine wiles won't stand a chance with him," she sulked.

"It's nice you're being so realistic, Scully."

"Guess I'll just have to use my body instead."

His jaw was still on the floor when she sauntered out of the office.*****

"Jim, man, it's been two days. The Percodan is out of your system, and so is the Naloxone. It's time to wake up," Blair pleaded from the chair beside Jim's hospital bed. He'd let his instincts guide him through Jim's illness. Although he had sat with his friend, talked to him, he hadn't tried to wake him, content to know this was the Sentinel's way of dealing with the abuses to his body. But now it was time for him to face the world again. "Come on, Jim. Follow my voice. You can do it. I know you can. Listen to me, man. The tribe needs you." He squeezed the still hand beneath his. "I need you."

Parched lips moved. "Need you, too," Jim whispered. Then he opened his eyes, glad his partner had turned off most of the lights in the room. His ability to adjust his sight was sluggish. "Chief?"

"I'm here, Jim."

His eyes continued to adjust. "Cascade General," he murmured, taking in his surroundings. "What happened?"

Blair took a couple of the ice chips he had requested earlier and slipped them into Jim's mouth. "What do you remember, Jim?"

"Thanks," he said, closing his eyes as the ice quenched his thirst. "My chest hurts."

"CPR and paddles."

"My heart stopped?"

"Twice."

"Why?"

"You tell me."

He searched his injuries again. "My stomach's been pumped. I was poisoned?"

"That's not the prevailing theory." Blair hated leaving his partner in such confusion, but he wanted his honest reaction, not one he was led to making.

Jim opened his eyes, searching his partner's. "Overdose?"

"My Percodan."

"I didn't."

Yes! "Never thought you did. But whoever did it, did a good job. You're on the psych floor." He figured it was easier to give him the bad news all at once. "The press has taken this as proof of your guilt."

"Probably the intention." He moved to sit up, and Blair fingered the controls to raise the head of the bed. "Where's Simon?"

Blair shrugged. "Around."

Jim knew that tone. "What happened?"

"He bought into the suicide scenario."

"Simon?" Jim was shocked...and hurt. How could the captain possibly think that he'd kill himself....? Unless...unless he truly thought Jim was guilty of killing Johnson.

A nurse came in to check his I.V. She drew back when she saw him sitting up. "Mr. Ellison, you're awake! We should have been notified immediately." She shot Blair a stern look.

"It's a recent event," Jim said coldly, in defense of his Guide. "Go tell your doctors that I'm awake, functioning, and quite happy to be alive." Blair pointedly smirked as she left the room. "I am, you know," Jim continued softly.

"What?"

"Happy to be alive. I take it that it was touch and go for a while?" He pressed on his sternum for emphasis. "How long have I been here?"

"I...I found you Monday when I came in from classes. It's now eight o'clock Wednesday night."

"You found me?" Shit. No wonder it looked like his partner hadn't slept in days; he hadn't. Couldn't.

Blair cringed as the images bombarded his brain again. Focus on finding the pulse. He didn't notice as his hand encircled Jim's wrist, mimicking his past movement."You were passed out on the floor. I think you had some idea of what was happening because you made yourself throw up. That's what saved your life."

Jim shook his head. He gently uncurled Blair's hand from his wrist, then laid it open-palmed against his chest just above the steadily beating heart "You saved my life. Again. Thanks, Chief."

Blair closed his eyes, letting the gentle thumping find its usual place in his soul. Minutes later, he mentally chastised himself for letting it go on too long, and he cracked his eyes open to gauge Jim's reaction to his preoccupation. But Jim's eyes were closed, too, and that was when he remembered Jim didn't need to touch him to feel, to experience, his heartbeat. Jim just had to listen.

"'He restoreth my soul,'" Blair quoted softly.

"'For thou art with me,'" Jim replied, absorbing the moment and tucking it away for future contemplation. "This particular part of the nightmare is over, Chief. Go home. Sleep."

Blair withdrew his hand, and rolled his eyes. "You're a fine one to talk, Jim. You're the one who needs to rest before the doctors descend upon you, man. You can fake it through the psych tests, right?"

Jim tried to laugh, but his chest would have none of it. "You sound as if you doubt the ability of my own sanity to pass this review."

Blair laughed for him. "Well, we already know your ego is blown way out of proportion...."

"And yours isn't, Mr. Grad Student of the Year?"

"So, I can only guess your id and superego are just as inflated," Blair continued impishly. "'Why no, Doctor, I don't think the world revolves around me, the great Jim Ellison. I know it does.'" He had lowered his voice to a commanding growl and thrown his chest out pompously.

Jim grinned, accepting his partner's teasing. "Fine, I'll just lie, and say that only the western hemisphere revolves around me. Will that make you feel better?"

"Immensely. You need to be out on the street, man, figuring out what the hell is going on, not stuck in here." You need to be at home so I can watch your back.

Jim read the thought on his face. "I'm back on watch now, Chief. I know that there's danger, and I won't be caught off-guard again. Tell Simon I'm awake, and that I want to talk to him in the morning about what happened. What really happened. Then lock up the loft real tight and get some sleep."

Blair relaxed. Jim was giving him orders. All was right with the world. "Okay, man. But you behave yourself. I don't want to come back here to find they've locked you up in a padded cell."

"You got it, Chief."

Blair stepped out into the hall and leaned back against the wall, suddenly exhausted. For two days he had been the only one to believe in Jim. He hadn't realized how much he had come to rely on Simon as backup for whatever went wrong, or right, with Jim. The support had always been there without his asking. It had been there this time, too, but for all the wrong reasons. However, that was for Jim and the captain to straighten out between themselves.

And he didn't want to be anywhere nearby when they did.

Chapter Four

"You look better than the last time I saw you," Simon said awkwardly, as the man in the bed gestured him into a chair.

"Not much of a compliment, Captain, considering I was nearly dead at that point," Jim replied coolly.

Simon cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Sandburg called and said you wanted to talk to me."

"This was not a suicide attempt."

"Jim, I--"

"And I resent the hell out of it that you thought it was."

"I'm a cop," Simon said stubbornly. "I look at the evidence and--"

"I thought you were a friend."

The captain leaned forward in his chair. "I am, Jim. That's why I know you were depressed over recent events." He flinched as blue eyes drilled into him.

"It's true, isn't it?" Jim asked softly. "You think I murdered Jerome Johnson. You think I'm a racist."

"No!" Simon shouted, tensing when he realized how loud the sound was. When no one came to the door in the next few seconds, he continued. "Don't do this, Jim."

"Do what, sir? Wonder who my friends are?"

"Question my faith in you."

"Then tell me what this is all about, Simon. There are only two things I count on in this world: that Blair will be there when I need him, and that you will be there for Blair when I can't be. Do you know this is the first time I awakened in a hospital and didn't smell your tobacco somewhere nearby? So, tell me what this is all about. I want, I need, my foundations solid again."

Simon steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them. "First, let's get this out of the way: we're close friends, Jim. I think I would know if you hated my guts because I'm black. I'm probably more of a racist than you are. Second, I know you saw Jerome Johnson steal the purse. I also know you did not murder him."

"But you do think I killed him, don't you?"

"You zoned, Jim. Even you don't know what happened."

"I didn't kill him, Simon."

The captain nodded. "Who are you trying to convince, Jim--me or yourself? I know how much you hate the lack of control you have when you zone. I know you sometimes worry about what you are capable of during these periods. My doubts are just your own, Jim."

"A lot of what you're saying is true, Simon, but if I had any doubts, they're gone now because I didn't take Blair's pills. Of that, I am certain. I'm a cop, a soldier. I wouldn't resort to pills."

Simon smiled at him sheepishly. "I did sorta have trouble with that part. You getting up close and personal with your backup piece would have been a better scenario."

"A tactical error."

"By?"

"Maybe we're about to find out."

Jim looked toward the door, and Simon turned in time to see Blair enter, followed by two people. The man and woman were both dressed professionally, and the captain wondered if they were part of the hospital's legal team. There was still the matter of malpractice. But, no, his speculations fled as Jim smiled at the couple.

"Dana, Agent Mulder! I knew Cascade was the most dangerous city in the world, but I didn't think it had gotten so bad that it rated an X-file," Jim quipped.

"If it does, we picked the wrong city to vacation in," Mulder replied. He looked inquiringly at Simon.

"Blame my lack of manners on the Prozac they're giving me," Jim said, then hastened to continue as he heard Blair's pulse spike. "I'm joking, Chief. Nothing but saline and sucrose is being piped in." He thumped the I.V. for clarification. "Agents Scully and Mulder, this is Captain Simon Banks, Cascade P.D."

"Federal agents?" Simon questioned with a frown. "Is something going on I should know about?"

"They're friends," Blair said pointedly.

"So is Simon," Jim said meaningfully.

Blair grinned. "Oh, good. It's kind of hard to hold a grudge when you're wide awake and well, Jim."

"Pity about that," Mulder said dryly. "I know Scully here was hoping you were still unconscious so she could pull one of those 'Princess Charming' routines."

Jim flashed Scully one of his best smiles, distracting her from her thoughts of murder. "I'm sure something can be arranged." He closed his eyes and lay limply against the mattress. "I definitely believe in the power of a woman."

She stepped over to the bed and kissed him lightly, then gasped when his arms snaked around her and pulled her close. "Just think of the paperwork if you kill him," he whispered in her ear.

"Why do you think he's still alive?" she whispered back with a wicked chuckle.

"Break it up, Scully," Mulder called. "The man's recovering."

"Which means I need all the love and attention I can get," Jim replied, grabbing Scully's hand and tugging her down to perch on the bed beside him. "Dana's just what the doctor ordered."

Mulder looked at Blair and Simon. "I just can't take her anywhere."

Blair patted his back sympathetically. "It's not all her fault, you know. She's a redhead, and, well, Jim just can't help himself. Isn't that right, Simon?"

"Redheads and anthropologists are his weakness, I'm afraid," Simon agreed.

"Mustn't forget tall, loud captains, as well," Jim rejoined. "Guess I'm just easy like that, Dana."

"That's okay, Jim. I promise to respect you in the morning, anyway," she said with a grin, liking the easy camaraderie among the group. The tension she'd felt when they walked into the room had quickly dissipated, which was kind of a unique experience for her; most of the time the presence of two federal officers had the opposite effect.

Blair glanced at the two agents speculatively. "Are you guys really here on vacation, or did something else bring you to Cascade?" He had walked into the hospital just in time to hear the Feds ask for Jim's room number, so there hadn't been much time for questions.

Jim saw Mulder glance at the captain, and spoke. "You can talk freely in front of Simon. He's a great keeper of secrets."

Mulder nodded. "This murder rap and suicide.... We think it's a set-up."

"We concur," Jim stated flatly. "What do you know about a surveillance team on me?"

Mulder and Scully shared a startled look. "Nothing," Mulder replied. "But we'll see what we can find out."

"If you don't know anything about the surveillance, what makes you think it was a set-up?" Blair inquired before Jim could.

Mulder looked at his partner, confident that she could find the words to accurately define the intangible motivations for this trip. "The whole thing felt wrong," Scully said simply.

"How did you hear about what happened in the first place?"

Scully frowned at the anthropologist, expecting to hear these questions come from the detective, or even the captain. Then she remembered what the old shaman in Wyoming had said: Those who stand in the guardian's way will be moved by the guardian's powerful companion. "Mr. Sandburg--"

"Blair."

"Blair, we are not a threat to Jim. We're here to help, if we can," she explained carefully.

Simon watched the proceedings closely, not sure he liked how well these two agents seemed to know his men. Why had they seen the set-up and he hadn't? How had the woman known that to have access to Jim, you had to go through Blair first? That had taken him weeks, maybe months to learn. As far as he knew, the only contact Jim and Blair had had with the agents had been that weird time they had taken off to prevent the destruction of the world--no, he hadn't inquired as to the details; it was enough to know that the world had continued, so therefore they must have succeeded. What he did know, however, was that his detective had been returned harmed. Despite Blair having introduced the agents as friends, he was going to make damn well sure his people were going to remain safe this time.

"You still haven't answered the question, ma'am," the captain pointed out politely.

Mulder sighed, having already determined it was easier to have a conversation with the President than it was his own cousin. "My partner and I have recently been handed information which involves Det. Ellison."

"What kind of information?" Jim demanded.

"About your past."

Mulder figured he could have pulled out an uzi, and the air wouldn't have grown as tense as it had. The three Cascade men glanced at each other, and some kind of decision was made in that instant.

"This has been fascinating," Blair said quickly. "But Jim needs his rest. I'm sure this can wait a few more hours. When's your psych evaluation scheduled, Jim?"

"In two hours."

"Time enough for a nap, then, huh, buddy? If you'll all just wait for me in the lounge, I'll just take a minute to make sure Jim's comfortable," Blair continued, shoving them out as he talked. Simon nodded, knowing it was his job to keep an eye on the Feds.

"You didn't have to kick them out so abruptly, Sandburg. I won't flub the evaluation because they merely mentioned they wanted to discuss something about my past," Jim said.

"Jim, your past is a minefield, and you know it! Let's just get through one crisis at a time. For me, okay?" Blair pleaded.

Jim sighed. Just how fragile did everyone think he was? Simon thought he could commit suicide. Blair was scared he was going to lose it just because someone had mentioned the words 'your past'. Hell, it was enough to make him lose what little sanity he had left! He rolled his eyes. Now, he too, was belittling his own sanity. Guess it was unanimous. "I'm just going to lie here, and think good thoughts."

"That's good, man. Nice plan. You need anything? Can I fluff your pillow? Get you some ice?"

"Go play nice with our friends. And get me some clothes. I plan on being released later today."

"I'll make that my personal mantra, man," Blair said, smiling despite the fleeting thought that this was the only section of the hospital where Jim didn't have the right to be released AMA--Against Medical Advice. He just had to have faith in his Sentinel's sanity.

That wasn't asking too much...was it?

*****

"Why am I always the one who utters the sentence of death?" Mulder complained as they walked to the waiting lounge. He shot his partner a look. "Don't answer that. Captain Banks, would you please help me? I now know that I shouldn't mention Tony Bozeman and Ellison's past. Are there any other catchphrases I should avoid? Maybe his ex-wife's name for instance?"

Simon thought about the question for a moment, reviewing his history with Jim. "Nah. Jim and Carolyn parted amicably. Actually, you're probably pretty safe now...except for his father."

The agents stiffened. "His father?" Scully inquired for clarification.

Simon nodded. "William Ellison is a very sore subject." He looked at his watch. "I need to call in. Be right back."

Scully watched the tall man cross to the phones. "I hope you bought round-trip tickets, Mulder."

"Super Saver Fares, Scully. That means we have to stay over the weekend."

She sighed, crossing her arms in resignation. "I saw an ad in the hotel for a sightseeing tour of Cascade."

"If it was winter, the skiing would be nice."

"We're on the West Coast. Could catch a flight to San Diego and visit my brother," Scully offered.

Mulder looked back toward the room they had just left. "One pissed off guardian coming up," he said, assuring his partner he'd rather face a furious Ellison and his "companion" than Bill Scully any day of the week...and twice on Sundays.

"You bring such enjoyment to my life, Mulder," she groused familiarly.

"The reason for my existence, Scully."

Chapter Five

"Admit it, Sandburg," Jim said as he walked into the loft, his partner behind him, both blatantly ignoring the pack of reporters they had picked up upon leaving the hospital. Suicidal, child-murdering, racist pig Jim Ellison being released without being held over for at least the seventy-two hour period that the state had a right to--with or without Ellison's consent? There was definitely a story brewing in their opinion. "You were shocked when you walked into my hospital room and saw me waiting for you, my discharge papers in hand."

"Forgive me for thinking it would take a little while for them to judge your sanity. I mean, look, we've been living together for three years and at times I have my doubts, okay?" Blair wasn't sure whether he was teasing or not. Jim was a complicated human being, not just from being a Sentinel, but because of the way he was raised, and the things the Army had trained him to do.

"I'm going to remember that comment, Sandburg. The next time you start going off on some weird rant about something that makes no sense whatsoever, I'm going to haul your ass down to Cascade General and tell them I have doubts about your sanity," Jim threatened.

"Fine. So tell me how you fooled them. I might have to use the same technique."

"I told the truth."

"You did what?"

Jim sat gingerly on the sofa, his bruised ribs still protesting most movement. "The psychiatrist came in. We exchanged names and small talk. Guess he was trying to get me to feel comfortable with him--"

"Like that was ever going to happen," Blair snorted.

"You telling this story or me?"

Blair handed him a bottle of cold water. "Forgive my interruption, Great One."

"Anyway, we play the game for a few minutes--yes, the Jags stink this year and, yes, I blame it on the strike, blah, blah, blah.... Finally, I get tired of it--"

"Good ol' short fuse Ellison," Blair muttered.

"And it's getting shorter all the time," Jim warned, shooting his partner a dark glance. "So, I tell the good doctor that we can do this the long way or the short way. He says his daughter's in a play tonight, so short is good. I say that our professions are similar: I investigate people to see if they're guilty; he investigates to see if they're sane. To do our jobs, we both must look at the evidence."

"So, finding you on the floor of your apartment with a stomach full of pills isn't evidence?"

"Evidence, yes. But of what?"

"Suicide?" the psychiatrist offers, warming to the case.

"On first thought, maybe. But factor in that I'm a cop. We like a more direct approach to suicide."

"Your gun was confiscated," he argues.

"Ever known a cop to have just one gun?" I counter. "Besides, have you looked at my medical records?"

"Yes. What does that--"

"I don't always react to medicines as I should. Sometimes they affect me adversely, and sometimes they don't affect me at all. Why would I attempt suicide using such an unreliable method?"

"It wasn't suicide, but a cry for help?"

I shake my head. "Doesn't wash. Having never used Percodan, one or two pills could have just as easily killed me, or turned me into a vegetable."

"So, this wasn't suicide, but...."

"A dangerous game by an unknown enemy."

"To what end?"

"Discredit my claims of innocence in the Johnson affair."

"So, you didn't kill Johnson?"

"No, and that's another compelling reason why this was not a suicide attempt."

"Enlighten me."

"Someone killed Jerome Johnson, and I have no intention of pursuing heaven or hell until I find the person responsible. It's bad enough I'm being set up, but to kill a kid just to get to me.... Oh, I might be planning to send someone to the morgue, but definitely not myself."

"That was a little too much information, wasn't it?" Blair asked, interrupting the narrative again.

"Yeah, I worried about that, too," Jim admitted. "The doctor sat there, just staring at me for the longest time. Abruptly, he closed the portfolio he was carrying and sighed. He told me he would have my discharge papers ready within the hour. Then he touched my shoulder and told me that I would probably be a lot better off if I were merely paranoid."

"There's no probably about it. So, what do you think Mulder and Scully know about this? And what do they know about your past, man?"

Jim shrugged worriedly. "You called them, didn't you?"

"Yeah, they'll be over in a little while, along with Simon. He's unofficially letting them look over the reports of the incident. Something weird is up, Jim. It's like they know exactly what they're looking for. A particular pattern, you know?"

"Great. In other words, I'm being set up by someone known to the FBI. And it has to do with my past.... It's is starting to look uglier than I first imagined, Chief."

"This isn't going to get classified, and I'm going to end up being left out of the loop, is it?" Blair fretted.

"If it does, we'll just have to work around it. I'm going to need you on this one."

Blair peered at Jim intently. There was something screaming at him, telling him to keep close to Jim. Maybe it was the Sentinel/Guide connection...or maybe it was something else. "You feel it, too?"

"That my life is about to be shot to hell, and if I don't have you to cling to, I'm going to get so lost that I'll never find my way back?"

"Er.... I wouldn't exactly put it that way," Blair said, shocked at Jim's open admission of need.

"Well, it's the way I'm putting it," Jim said flatly. He looked at his hands, not even surprised to find them shaking. At times, he was given the gift of insight, if not specific details, then at least an emotional reading of what was to come.

"Did you dream of your spirit guide?"

He shook his head. "That's why I'm not sure whether this is Sentinel-related, or just one of my own personal boogeymen coming to screw me. The panther and your wolf haven't made an appearance. So, I guess you're pretty safe," he added with a relieved smile.

"I'm only safe if you are, Jim."

Jim closed his eyes, and absently rubbed his chest. "Think it's too late for us to pack up and flee the country?"

"Then everyone would truly believe you are guilty. Could you live with that?"

"No."

Blair shrugged. "Then we stay, and fight for the truth."

"Just remember I'm counting on that 'we', Tonto."

"I won't forget, Kemosabe."

*****

"Do you know if a tox screen was done when you were brought to the hospital?" Scully asked Jim, as he and Blair put the finishing touches on dinner. She had been surprised that they were cooking. When she and Mulder had been invited to the loft for dinner and "conversation," she had assumed take-out would be the menu.

"I told them to do one," Blair piped in, "but whether they actually did it, is anyone's guess."

"I'll call tomorrow and tell them to release my medical records to you, Dana, if you think that'll help," Jim offered.

"It'll give us some idea of how they managed to get you to ingest the pills. Captain, did they do a screen on Jerome Johnson? I don't remember seeing reference to one in the files."

"Homicide probably didn't request it, but if I know our M.E., Dan Wolf, he did one, anyway. I'll give him a call," Simon said, reaching for the phone, then shaking his head. It was after hours and a non-emergency. "I'll call him tomorrow," he corrected.

"Ellison, you didn't happen to be watching television, or were around an electronic device before either the fake suicide attempt or the Johnson incident, did you?" Mulder asked.

"You think?" Scully said.

"It's possible," Mulder replied.

"But it seems so controlled."

"Three years of refinement, Scully."

Simon groaned. "It's bad enough I go through this with these two," he said, stabbing an unlit cigar in Jim and Blair's direction. "Would someone like to talk in complete sentences so that the clueless superior can get a clue?"

"One of our cases involved mind control through television," Mulder answered, noting that his partner was reluctant to field these questions. Since he knew why, he took over.

"Hell, I thought that was the purpose of the damn thing," Simon grunted.

"We're not talking about buying Nikes, sir. In the course of our investigation, several people were murdered."

"Because of TV?" Blair asked in disbelief.

"Yes. A device was attached to the cable lines. It changed the normal feed, placing other frames between the aired ones, frames which stimulated electrical impulses in the brain."

"Subliminal images?" the anthropologist guessed, deeply fascinated.

"Yes, but at that time, they weren't capable of coercing a certain action. Instead, they heightened suggestibility by manipulating the photic driving response. In this case, anxieties were magnified, even played out in hallucinations. Just think of it as having your own worst nightmare come to life." Mulder glanced at his frozen partner. "The person under this influence is not responsible for the actions that follow. If the detective here was watching the television...."

"It was off when I came in," Blair said, "But.... Jim had the remote in his hand when I found him. Could he have somehow known what was happening, and tried to stop it?"

"Unlikely," Scully finally spoke. "It's virtually undetectable, except with the right video equipment."

"Do you know where your cable lines are?" Mulder asked.

Jim headed for the door. "What am I looking for?"

"A small box attached to the line somewhere near the pole leading into the apartment. You might have to climb the pole in order to see it."

"Back in a sec."

"He likes to climb, does he?" Mulder commented. "Damn. We forgot about the reporters. If they see him--"

"They won't," Blair said confidently. He motioned for Simon to set the table.

Jim was back before the plates were in place. "Nope. No foreign boxes."

"You couldn't have--" Mulder began.

"Trust me. No boxes," Jim reiterated.

"It has been three days, Mulder," Scully pointed out. "If they did use this technique, the box was probably removed within an hour of the incident."

"'They'?" Simon questioned. "Who are 'they'?"

"We believe the system was developed by the government."

"And is being used by?" Jim urged, hearing the unsaid in Scully's answer.

"That's a long answer, Jim."

"Then it can wait until after dinner," Blair said firmly. Since the incident with Johnson, Jim hadn't been eating properly. That, combined with three days of hospitalization, had Jim underweight. Most people probably couldn't tell it, but then again, most people weren't Jim's Guide--charged with the responsibility of making sure his Sentinel was always in superb form.

Blair refused to let the topic go back to the case as dinner was consumed, but as they cleared the table, Jim looked at him. "Chief, could we?"

"You sure?"

"No. But when has that ever stopped us?"

Mulder looked at Simon. "I see what you mean. It's quite annoying, isn't it?"

"Very. Guys, you're being rude," Simon cautioned his friends.

"Oh, sorry, sir," Jim said sheepishly. "It's just that I need to know if I was influenced by this 'box', so I'm going to go under and see what I recall."

"Go under? Are you talking about hypnosis, Jim?" Scully asked worriedly. The technique could end up being more dangerous than useful.

"He doesn't go deep," Blair eagerly explained. "It's more like a meditative state instead of a trance. In fact, most of the time he can do it by himself, but with an audience, I'm probably going to have to help him a little bit. Go have a seat, Jim, and start your breathing. I'll just put these in the sink to soak."

Once he dried his hands, he looked around at all the nervous people in the loft. "It'll be okay, guys. You're going to be amazed at his level of recall. You'll see," he soothed. Everything that occurred to Jim left an impression on his enhanced senses. With a little urging, the details could be recalled with startling clarity. He walked over to the chair where Jim sat.

"How close are you?"

"Almost, but not quite."

Blair stood behind him and clasped his shoulders. "Listen to my voice, Jim. Feel my hands on your shoulders and relax. It's okay to let go." He felt the muscles go limp. "Are you there, Jim?" A slow nod. "You're here in the loft three days ago. Can you picture it?"

"Finally convinced you to go to class."

"Yes, you did. What did you do after I left?"

"Changed sheets. Did laundry."

"This guy is supposed to be my kinsman?" Mulder whispered to Scully.

"It's nice to know there's hope for you yet," she whispered back.

"What did you do after the laundry, Jim?" Blair prompted.

"Turned on the TV."

"What did you watch?"

"Nothing. The screen looked funny. Made me thirsty. Went to the bathroom and got some water."

Blair glanced at Simon. This was atypical behavior. Jim only drank bottled or filtered water, if at all possible. It limited his exposure to unknown chemicals. "Why did you go to the bathroom, and not to the kitchen, Jim?"

"Water's in the bathroom. Put it in a little brown plastic glass." The shoulders shuddered beneath Blair's hands. "That's not right, is it?"

"It's okay, big guy. What happened after that?"

"Came back to the sofa. TV still not acting right. Cut it off because it was giving me a headache. I feel funny." His respiration increased.

"Jim, you felt funny. That was long ago, okay? At the moment you feel fine."

Jim sighed. "I feel fine. But I was sick, right? The water. Something is wrong with the water. Powdery. Hard. Need to throw up. Need to call Blair. Blair!"

"Jim! Listen to my voice and follow it back, man. Come on," he coaxed, none of his anxiety coloring his tone.

Jim blinked, then ran his hand across his face. "I did it, didn't I, Chief? I took the fucking pills."

"Jim...." Blair said, wanting to comfort his friend.

"No, Chief. I took the pills...which means I could have...killed Johnson." He jerked to his feet, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic in the open loft. "I need air."

He disappeared out the door before anyone could stop him.

Chapter Six

"Excuse us," Blair said belatedly as he took off after his partner. He couldn't hear him on the steps, knew he wouldn't have taken the elevator, so he headed up...and found Jim standing on the roof. A statue would have been more animated. The previous episodes had just been practice; this was the time for them to fear a depression. He knew of only one way to keep Jim from sinking into himself.

"You do this deliberately? To punish me because you knew I'd come after you?" He forced himself to concentrate on how high up they were...how far away the ground was. His pulse spiked obediently.

"Damn it, Chief," Jim said as he hurried to his friend's side. "You know you shouldn't be up here with your fear of heights."

"When has that ever stopped me when I thought you needed me, Jim? I jumped out of a plane in Peru behind you, remember?"

Whatever frown Jim had been wearing disappeared. "I remember. Go on back inside," he prodded.

"No. If you need air, I can do this. Just don't walk too far away. Deal?"

"Deal. And, no, I wasn't trying to punish you. It's just that the street is still reporter-polluted."

"I never thought you had ulterior motives, Jim. I just wanted to get your attention."

"You mean you wanted me to think about something other than the fact I snapped Jerome Johnson's neck. God, I've been fooling myself all along, haven't I? I knew I was capable of doing it. I just thought I would never use--"

"You didn't, Jim! You were manipulated by some kind of mind control contraption that belongs in a sci-fi movie. The people who did this to you are the ones responsible for that guy's death. You were just--"

"Following orders, Chief? Let me tell you...that gets old pretty quick. Trust me on that one."

Damn the Army. "I can't presume to know how you're feeling, Jim, but what I do know is that we have to find the people who did this and stop it. This technology is too dangerous to be allowed to exist in the wrong hands."

"And who would be the right hands?"

"Not our decision, Jim. We are, after all, being aided by the FBI. For now, let's just concentrate on getting this crap out of Cascade...something we can't do from this rooftop."

Jim laughed. "I love it when you get all gung-ho, Chief."

"I'm glad you're so easily amused, man. If you would stay true to type, I wouldn't have to assume all the roles I'm not equipped to handle," he griped good-naturedly.

"I've come to the conclusion you can play any role given, Mr. Sandburg."

Blair bowed. "Why, thank you. Maybe I'll change my major to drama."

"No way I'm going to live with an actor. Putting up with Vince Deal for a few days was bad enough," Jim pointed out.

"But the lighting in the bathroom is perfect for applying makeup," Blair lied as he and Jim made their way down the stairs.

"Keep this up and you'll need makeup, Chief."

*****

By the time they reached the loft's door, all smiles had been packed away. "Why were you so sure this was a set-up?" Jim demanded as they stepped inside.

"Because of these." Mulder walked over to where his jacket was draped on the coatrack. He reached into a pocket and pulled out two packets of letters, each bound by a rubber band. He took the top one off of one stack and handed it to Jim. "This was written by my father, the late William Mulder." He lifted the upper one from the other stack. "This was written by--"

"My father, William Ellison," Jim murmured, instantly recognizing the handwriting. "This is the information you have on my past?"

"Yes. Why don't you read them? Then we'll try to help each other make sense of them." Jim nodded. He and Blair joined Simon on the sofa, while Scully and Mulder perched on the loveseat. "If you start with my dad's, then go to yours, working your way through the stacks, they should be in order."

Jim extended the letters the length of his arms, allowing both Blair and Simon to read them at the same time he did, after they had adjusted their glasses. Minutes passed in silence as they perused the correspondence, a grunt or two here and there as something in particular caught their attention.

"Cousins?" Jim asked, reading a closing.

"Yes. Their mothers were sisters. We share a great-grandfather, William Endicott."

"Enough Williams in this family."

"Hey, at least you didn't get stuck with it as a middle name," Mulder groused.

"Guess I'm the lucky one." Jim went back to reading.

More silence. Mulder got up to pace. "Try the balcony," Jim offered distractedly. "The scenery change is a plus."

Scully followed him outside. "This isn't going to be easy," she wagered.

"Getting them to believe? No, it won't be. After all, I'm not even sure you believe, and you've actually experienced much of it."

She shrugged. "You're not dealing with scientists here. Perhaps quantitative evidence won't matter as much to them. Besides, I have a feeling that their experiences might rival our own."

"What makes you think that?" She just stared at him. "Other than what went on in Wyoming?"

She angled her head toward the interior. "There's an ease in there, Mulder, that shouldn't exist given what they're reading. Where's the initial shock that both you and I had? Where's the 'what the hell are they talking about' reaction? You're the profiler. What do you think?"

"That you're absolutely right. They might have problems with what I'm going to tell them, but it seems as if there's little surprise about what's in the letters. Ellison said the captain was a great keeper of secrets. Just how many secrets is he privy to?"

"Well, it will be one more--or is that several more?--by the time this night is over," Scully murmured.

"He can take it," Jim said softly, coming up behind her. Neither of the agents had heard his approach. "We all can. I want to apologize for running out earlier. It's a bad habit I'm trying to wean myself of."

Scully smiled. "You may run out, but I bet you rarely run from."

He grinned. "Sure I can't lure you from Cousin Fox's--"

"That's Cousin Mulder," said party corrected.

"Sure I can't lure you from Cousin Mulder's side?" Jim amended easily. He doubted he would want to be called Fox, either. "The pay sucks, the hours are bad, and the insurance premiums are outrageous--"

"Sounds like the job I already have," she interrupted.

"But you could split the danger difference with Sandburg, have unlimited access to the loft, and I've been told my backrubs are to die for," Jim added, hearing his new cousin snort behind them.

"I thought learning about your past was supposed to be upsetting," Mulder said dryly.

"We all cope in different ways, cuz," Jim replied, just to see Scully's smile again. "But the man's right, Dana. We do have some questions about the letters. We can finish our discussion later."

"Later," she promised.

They all went back into the loft. "Let's hear your questions, gentlemen," Mulder began.

"What is the Project?"

Start with the hard one, huh? "Roswell, New Mexico, 1947," he blurted out suddenly, then quickly took the "temperature" of the room in order to gauge their initial reactions. Amazingly normal. No laughter. No chilled, disgusted, or pitying looks. No whispered snide remarks. There was no way they could not know to what he was referring. Everyone on the entire planet had heard about the rumored alien landings in that town, and all the late night shows had tons of alien jokes a couple of years ago during the fiftieth anniversary. "All three of you are believers?" he asked hopefully.

Simon shrugged. "We believe in saving our comments until we've heard the full story."

"Oh." Okay. So, it wasn't going to be that easy. Oh, well. "A cadre of wealthy businessmen, and a few key members of the government, made contact with the extraterrestrials that landed that night. They call themselves the Consortium, the businessmen, that is, not the aliens. My father, being a member of the State Department, was part of that group. I believe William Ellison was also brought into the Consortium."

"He was, and still is, I think, on the board of several aeronautics companies based in this area," Jim supplied.

"Then he not only had the wealth, but necessary contacts as well," Mulder said, filing away the information for further study. "Okay, where were we?"

"The Consortium," Scully prompted.

"The Consortium found out that the aliens were planning to colonize the planet, and made an alliance with them...actually more of a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Jim asked.

"The process by which they colonize would kill every human on earth. The Consortium promised to help them create a human/alien hybrid which could survive the colonization. When they did so, then the aliens would convert the Consortium and their family members to hybrids, thereby insuring their survival. The Consortium calls this research the Project."

"And what exactly are the aliens getting out of the deal?" Simon questioned.

"Slave labor." The loft was silent for a few seconds.

"When you say 'aliens,' are you talking about greys?" Blair asked.

"What the hell is a grey, Sandburg?" Simon barked.

Blair got up and jogged to his room, coming out with a stuffed, big-eyed, big-headed "alien". Simon nodded in understanding. He'd seen the things everywhere. "My date won this for me at the last Cascade Days Celebration."

"I thought that was supposed to go the other way, Chief. You're supposed to win her the toys," Jim pointed out with a grin.

"She's a member of Cascade's semi-pro softball team."

Jim shook his head. "You always go for the big ones, Chief."

"Gentlemen, we were discussing aliens from outer space, not the ones that date Sandburg," the captain reminded them.

"Oh, yeah. So, are they, Agent Mulder? Are the aliens like this representation?"

"Yes and no." Mulder glanced at Scully before continuing. "We've seen greys, but we don't think they are the Colonists. So far, we think the greys have two purposes. They seem to be useful for research." He shuddered, thinking of how many greys he'd seen dismembered and mutilated over the past several years. "Whether this has anything to do with the Consortium's Project, I'm not sure. I do know that the second purpose has Consortium written all over it. The usually harmless greys have been used as scapegoats to cover up the truth. Alien sightings, autopsies, etc. of greys have been manufactured to appear amateurish and silly, so that anyone stumbling on the truth will be instantly discredited."

"Keep your lies close enough to the truth, so if the truth is discovered, it will automatically be considered a lie. Smooth," Blair replied appreciatively.

"I like the way your partner put it to me back in Wyoming," Mulder said. "Ellison, you told me, 'The greatest of lies must rest on the greatest of truths; nothing else could support its weight.' That's what the Consortium does best: tangling the truth up into so many lies until you are totally confused about what you know, or what you thought you knew."

"So, if the greys aren't the Colonists, who are?" Blair pressed.

"We don't think the greys are the Colonists, but we aren't sure. For all we know, the greys could be a life stage of the Colonists--like the caterpillar and the butterfly," Mulder clarified.

"But you've run into other aliens, or at least, other forms of aliens?" The anthropologist was fascinated by the entire conversation.

"Yes. Some are clones and others are shape-shifters."

"Cool. How do you know they're aliens?"

"They bleed green."

"Like Vulcans?"

"More like antifreeze. It's a corrosive material that dissolves the aliens into goo, and sometimes gives off toxic fumes which can asphyxiate humans."

"This just gets better and better, doesn't it," Simon muttered.

"So, whoever these Colonists are," Jim said firmly, getting to the discussion back on topic, "want the Consortium to develop a hybrid, right? And in return, the Consortium and their families get to survive. Our fathers were part of the Consortium. They took part in this Project?"

"Yes, but apparently both became reluctant at some point. You see, each Consortium member was supposed to give up a 'hostage' to the Colonists. That way the Consortium could be controlled and the hostages would be among the first to be transformed into hybrids. In a way, giving the loved one up, was also saving him or her."

Jim waved his hand over the stacks of letters. "My dad was supposed to give me to them?"

"Yes, but apparently he learned something about you that made him reconsider. You don't have any idea what that was, do you?"

"I have never been able to follow my father's thoughts," Jim replied vaguely.

"Anyway, he decided not to give up you, nor your brother, and my father was afraid you all would be killed for your disobedience."

Blair nodded, having read that in the letters. "But they weren't. Why? Did anyone else dissent?"

"One other person...my father," Mulder answered.

"But?" Jim asked carefully.

"But they took her, anyway."

"Her who?"

"My sister."

Chapter Seven

"They took your sister?" Blair asked hollowly.

"When?" Jim demanded.

"November 27, 1973. She had just turned eight. I was twelve and babysitting her."

"Damn. What happened?" Jim asked, with a sympathetic grimace.

Mulder shrugged a lean shoulder. "Our parents were at the neighbors. Samantha and I were playing Stratego, and fighting about what to watch on TV. Then she was taken."

"As in kidnapped?"

The agent frowned. "My memories get a little fuzzy."

"Then you're definitely kin," Blair mumbled.

"He said fuzzy, Chief. Not completely repressed."

Mulder lifted a questioning eyebrow toward his cousin. "Anyway, I have memories of her being floated out on this wave of light."

"An abduction?"

Jim turned sharply from Blair, who had made the comment, to Scully, who had immediately reacted to it. The scent of fear roiled off her, matching her shallow breathing and spiked pulse. Apparently, Blair had stumbled into her personal Danger Zone. "So, if they took your sister because your father wouldn't cooperate," he said to steer the conversation away from whatever was scaring the shit out of Dana, "why didn't they take me or Stephen?"

"That's the question that I've crossed the country to ask," Mulder said, his hazel eyes boring into Jim's blue ones. "Why did they take Samantha, and not you?"

Jim met the gaze calmly. "I have no idea, but perhaps my dad does. I'll call him tomorrow and set up a visit."

"You set up visits to your father?" Scully asked, then remembered they were supposed to tread carefully around the subject. But it just felt so wrong to her. Most people who wanted to see their parents just went home.

"I'm not proud of it, but Dad and I are not close. We...we never were," Jim admitted. "But this won't be the first time I've had to confront him for answers, so don't worry about it." He looked at his watch. "I'm about this close to information overload, guys. Why don't we call it a wrap on this part of the evening and start again tomorrow? You know what? I want ice cream. That place near the school still deliver, Chief?"

"Sure, Jim. What kind can we get for you?" he politely asked their visitors.

Scully shook her head. "Although the idea sounds heavenly, we should be leaving. We started the day on East Coast time, and I'm afraid it's starting to show. Besides, you were just released from the hospital today, Jim. You're still recuperating."

"I'm fine," Jim protested.

"She's right, Jim," Blair said, looking over his friend. He was slightly pale, and there were exhaustion lines around his eyes. Why hadn't he noticed? "We could all use some rest. You guys said you were on vacation. That means you'll be around at least a couple days, right?"

"At least across the weekend," Scully mumbled.

Blair smiled. "Ah, Super Saver Fares. So, we have plenty of time to figure all of this out. Let me walk you down." He gently herded their guests toward the door, turning when he felt Jim's presence behind him. "Where do you think you're going?"

"They're my guests, too."

"Who have already pointed out that you just got home from the hospital. Say goodbye, then go back to the sofa," Blair ordered.

Jim rolled his eyes. "You would think he'd leave me some illusion of power, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, considering you look like such a weakling," Scully teased, squeezing one of the hard muscles in his upper arms as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. "Get some rest, Jim."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his eyes twinkling as they walked out the door. "We'll meet here about noon tomorrow?"

"Why so late?" Mulder asked, eager to start finding answers.

"Because a certain someone has classes in the morning."

"I can get notes from--"

Jim shook his head. "One of us still has a close-to-normal life, Chief. Let's keep it that way for as long as possible."

"We'll talk," Blair hedged.

"Not about this."

Blair sighed, and ushered his charges out the door. "Is stubbornness a family trait?"

"Yes," Scully answered without hesitation. "Jim seemed a bit drawn near the end," she added casually.

"Don't worry about Jim, Agent Scully. In non-emergency situations, he's pretty cognizant of his limitations. I think that's why he cut off this session of ours so abruptly," Blair explained, escorting the two down the stairs. The elevator just operated too slowly for casual use. He and Jim always saved it for grocery days, or the more familiar trip home from the hospital. It was sort of discombobulating to realize the number of hospital visits was on par with the number of shopping trips.

"Please, call me Scully or Dana," she offered.

"I think I'll leave the Dana to Jim, but thanks. It isn't often we actually like the Feds we work with."

"You work a lot with agents?" Mulder asked.

Blair chuckled lightly. "I'm sure you have the answer to that in your files. No doubt we left you with quite an impression last year."

"Do you and Jim have experiences like that often?" Scully asked.

"That was definitely a first," Blair said. "But we've learned questioning what happens just gets in the way. So, Jim does what he has to, and I hang around to pick up the pieces afterward."

"Is that the way it always happens? Jim gets 'called', and you tag along?"

"More often than not. But Jim's done his share of tagging along, too. Always the protector."

"Do you think that's the reason why his father reneged on the deal with the aliens? Because Jim is a guardian--whatever that is?" Mulder asked.

Blair made his face blank. "Jim was right; we have discussed this enough for one night. Come hungry tomorrow."

"You don't have to keep feeding us," Scully argued.

Blair shrugged. "Jim needs to eat, and having a beautiful woman at the table distracts him from his current problems. So, you're really doing both of us a favor. Hope you both have a good night."

"The same to you, Blair."

He watched them drive away, then jogged upstairs. "You guys make any decisions while I was gone?"

"Simon decided on Rocky Road, didn't you, sir?"

If he hadn't thought hitting Jim with a pillow would knock the exhausted man over, he would have bopped his roommate. "I was thinking along the lines of deciding what we're going to tell the agents. If we go see your father tomorrow...."

"How much do you trust them, Jim?" Simon asked anxiously.

"They kept quiet about what went on before," he said hesitantly.

"But that was so utterly fantastic," Simon pointed out. "This Sentinel stuff.... Although Richard Burton's documentation is often disregarded, it exists, and I'm sure people other than Sandburg have read it. Anybody remember Lee Brackett?" The rogue CIA agent had gone to extreme lengths to force Jim to use his Sentinel abilities to help steal an experimental plane.

"But the incredible is their forte, Simon. They deal with it on a weekly basis. Maybe finding a Sentinel won't be a big deal to them."

"It's not them I'm worried about, Sandburg. I'm worried about the people who could read their report."

"Like this Consortium?"

"Exactly. William Ellison kept you from them all those years ago, but what happens if they find out about you now?"

"Maybe they already know," Jim said quietly. "Maybe that's why I was under surveillance."

"Then we need to get you the hell out of here, Jim," Simon replied.

Jim laughed bitterly. "I can't even legally leave the city limits, Captain."

"Shit!" Simon collapsed onto the sofa. "Is this what they wanted, why they had you kill Johnson? Was it all so that they could box you in?"

"Maybe you had Mulder and Scully leave too soon, Jim," Blair commented.

"No. We were all pretty much fried at that point. Mulder's pulse was racing from talking about his sister, and Dana got really freaked when you mentioned abductions. And the three of us, well, I think we'd had about as much as we could take in one night."

"Ain't that the truth," Simon groaned. "My God, you think he really believes all that crap? And what the hell was that you were talking about, Sandburg? What do you know about... greys?"

Blair shrugged. "Hey, when the checkout line is long, I flip through the Weekly Weird News, okay?"

"So, you don't....?"

"I don't know."

"They kept waiting for us to react, you know?" Jim pointed out, having sensed the tension in their visitors. "What I want to know is, why didn't we?"

Blair looked down at his feet. "I kept remembering you having conversations with ghosts, man."

Jim nodded. "I kept flashing back to being in contact with that other dimension. What about you, Simon? What kept you from calling Mulder a flake?"

Simon looked at both of them, his eyes glittering strangely. "I saw you lying beside the fountain, Sandburg, and Jim bringing you back to life."

The loft fell silent as all minds went back to that point. Finally, Jim shook himself and headed toward the phone. "That was Rocky Road, right, Simon? Strawberry Cheesecake for you, Chief?"

Who said only women turned to ice cream in times of stress?

*****

"So, Scully, what do you say we pack up and move out here? The air is clean, the water's unpolluted, and the people don't laugh at us," Mulder said as they walked toward their rooms on the fifth floor of Hotel Cascade.

"And give up our lovely, sunless basement office, tripping over the tourists that invade D.C. on a seasonal basis, not to mention the lovely, long, hot, sweltering summers? I think you're jet-lagged, Mulder. Go to bed."

"Well, we can at least vacation here again, right?"

"Will you go to your room, and not call me on the phone to talk all night if I say yes?"

"Uh...okay," he sighed.

"Then yes. Goodnight, Mulder."

"Goodnight, Scully."

Chapter Eight

"Hey, guys," Blair said as he opened the door and ushered the agents into the loft. "Lunch will be ready in a few." He grimaced as he glanced toward the balcony.

They followed his gaze, and saw Jim and Simon apparently having a doozy of an argument behind the closed glass doors. "What's that about?"

"Territorial dispute."

"Oh," Scully said. "Does that happen often? I mean, it's obvious they are both alpha males."

Blair smiled. "Jim and Simon? Yeah, they're both alphas, but that rarely comes into play. Simon lets Jim work on his own mostly, so they don't clash often. When they do, Jim usually backs off first. I think a lot of that comes from being in the military--superior officer respect, you know? But there are times when Jim has to be in control, and Simon steps back. I don't pretend to know the dynamics of how the two of them work out who leads when, but, hey, it works."

"Except it doesn't seem to be working today," Mulder pointed out.

"This has nothing to do with that. Simon's in a territorial dispute with William Ellison, and Jim is trying to get it settled before we visit his father."

"I'm confused," Scully admitted.

Blair shrugged. "It's simple, really. Simon has, like, adopted Jim and me. Therefore, William is infringing upon his territory when he's with Jim. Well, Jim knows how Simon feels, so he's trying to talk Simon out of going with us this afternoon. But Simon's not having any of it. He's not going to let Jim go to the house without him."

"Does he feel Jim is in danger in his father's house?"

"He is, to some extent, Scully," Blair hesitantly replied.

"William is an abuser?" Mulder demanded to know.

"There are ways to hurt a child without leaving a mark on him," Blair said softly. "But enough of this. It's time to get on with lunch." He marched over to the balcony and flung back the door. "Jim! Get your butt in here and finish making lunch. You know you're not going to win, anyway. Simon will be coming with us."

An icy glare stabbed at him. "You know, I remember a time when this was my loft and my life, and I could do whatever I wanted with both!"

"Yeah, and I remember when Smashing Pumpkins was just something you did on Halloween night. Get over it, Jim. Simon outranks you, outweighs you, and he has me on his side this time. Give up the fight, man," Blair said pleasantly.

In deference to their female guest, Jim muttered something vile under his breath and stalked past them. In the kitchen, he began chopping vegetables for stir-fry, ignoring the four people who were now out on the balcony looking over the city.

A few minutes later, Scully felt brave enough to go in and ask if he needed help. He handed her a knife and a green pepper.

"I hope you realize," he said with a sheepish grin, "that 99% of the time, I'm a rational, functional adult, capable of higher thought processes, self-protection, and tying my own shoelaces--all without a single temper tantrum."

"And then there are times when you're with your family, and suddenly you're four years old." She grinned at him. "I come from a large family, and I swear that I regress the moment one of them walks into a room."

"Yes! Someone who understands." He held out a bite-sized piece of celery as a reward for her brilliance. "So, you and Mulder, carnivores or herbivores?"

"Huh?"

He pointed to the package of chicken strips he'd removed from the refrigerator, then to the two pans on the stove. "Sandburg only does the meat thing on occasion, so I've learned to adapt. I just need to know which I should make more of."

"We're carnivorous."

He nodded, and pulled out a second package of meat. "This must seem strange to you--the way I'm letting them push me around."

"I have to admit I wouldn't have pegged you as a push over."

"I'm usually not, as the neighbors could probably tell you after Blair and I have had an argument," he said smiling. "But the suicide thing frightened them, and they need to...hover, I guess. They know it wasn't a deliberate action on my part, but still...."

"But still they could have lost you," she completed. "Friendships like that are rare."

"You and Mulder seem fairly close."

"But it's not as easy as what you, Blair, and the captain seem to have. Not once last night did you treat the captain as a guest here, so I'm assuming he's here often." Jim nodded. "Mulder and I don't socialize. We're partners, and often that carries over into off-hours, but it's usually about work. I trust him and he trusts me, and if we think about it hard enough, we'll both agree that we are each other's best friends.... When I was dying--"

"You were dying?"

She nodded, and focused on her chopping. "Cancer."

"Shit," he whispered, and wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm in remission. But when I was in that hospital bed, wondering if I closed my eyes would they ever open again...having the priest there was nice, and Mom, and my brother.... But Mulder was the one I wanted with me. He was the one I was worried about leaving. It was his grief which was breaking my heart. It's at that point that you realize what really matters, you know?"

"I know," Jim agreed quietly.

"Despite that, however, we're not best buddies. I'm not even sure we have best buddies. That worries me. If something happens to me, who will take care of Mulder? He's a brilliant man, but he takes risks--sometimes because he believes they are necessary, but mostly because he doesn't stop to consider all the possibilities before plunging headlong into whatever thought that pops into his brain. He needs someone to tug on his sleeve and say, 'whoa'. Hell, he needs someone to make him sit down and eat a decent meal every now and again. I think my mother tried once, but Mulder was too much for her to handle, despite having raised four little Scullys."

"What about your superior?"

"I admire Assistant Director Skinner. He's stood up for us, and has taken more crap because of us than any one man should have to do. He's strong, he's capable...but he's no match for Mulder. Perhaps if the Bureau had the comradery I sensed at your police department yesterday, the situation might be different. Even though you are on suspension, everyone inquired about you. Even the African-American officers."

"Major Crime is a tight-knit group. Not all of the department is the same way. The flack we received when Blair first came onboard was vicious and cruel," Jim said, frowning as he remembered.

"He is a little unorthodox, isn't he? And I don't mean just in appearance. He's not a cop, Jim, yet you treat him like one. We scanned some of your files. He's always at your side, no matter how serious the crime. I know he's supposedly there to study a closed society, but that could be done in the office, or at the local cop bar. Why is he your partner, despite the flack, and the headache of paperwork that has to be juggled to keep him with you?"

He deftly stirred both pans at the same time. "Patience, Dana. I know you and Mulder have more to reveal to us, and we have a few things to tell you, too."

"You're in luck, Jim. Patience I have in abundance. If I didn't, I would have plucked myself bald by now." He looked at her. "What?"

"I don't think you'd look too bad bald."

She laughed. "You are definitely a balm to my ego."

He shrugged. "That's what best buds are for. I've been thinking about that, you know? You need a best bud, and I'm applying for the job."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"But we barely know each other."

"So? We like each other."

"Yes."

"We're both committed to our jobs, despite high amounts of crap and large doses of incredulity. I'll understand if you can't go into specifics. Just call me up and whine if you need to. I can do the comfort stuff without the details. You can even yell at me if you want. As I told you, I'm usually a tough guy. I can take it."

"Do I have to be your best bud?"

"Only if you want to be. I can always yell at Sandburg."

"So what would you get out of this relationship?"

"The knowledge that a friend isn't going to self-explode one day."

"Is that the impression I give?" she asked anxiously.

"Not to the casual observer. But as I said, I like you, Dana, and I've been where you are--closed off because of what I do and what I know. We get caught up in protecting ourselves and our colleagues, partners, so much so, we become isolated, not just from outsiders, but ourselves as well. Because of national security, it might be necessary...but it's also very dangerous," he cautioned.

"This is about more than what you do here, isn't it? There are parts of your file that Mulder and I can't access."

"I wouldn't trust what you would find, anyway," Jim warned. His occasional forages into the world of black ops were dutifully listed somewhere, but he doubted the facts put to paper. He put a smile back on his face. "But, hey, I'm just auditioning for the role of Dana's best bud. No decision has to be made immediately. So, go outside and tell the chickens out there that you have calmed this savage beast, and that it's safe to come in for lunch."

She crossed her arms and glared toward the glass doors. "They better not say a word. No one calls my potential best bud names around me."

"Oh, Dana, before you bring them inside, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Jim."

"Do you have any idea what Sandburg meant with that smashing pumpkins comment?"

"Smashing Pumpkins is a band," she replied with a grin. His eyes narrowed as if he was trying to determine whether or not she was pulling his leg. She laughed. "Trust me. I have nephews."

"And they talked about the bands of the 70's," he muttered as he went back to his cooking.

*****

"You were right about your M.E., Captain Banks," Mulder said as he swallowed the excellent lunch his cousin had prepared. Maybe he would call for a recipe when he tired of pizza and Chinese. Yeah, right. "His tests were more thorough than I would have expected. Autopsy of Johnson's brain showed high levels of serotonin, which indicates he, too, was subjected to the mind control technique used on you, Ellison. I suspect that's why you caught a kid with no criminal background snatching a purse."

Jim let his fork clatter to his plate. "Great, a kid is dead, and his family is left with all this pain because of me. We're doing well on finding out the little 'why's, but what about the big one? Why did someone go to all this trouble to frame me?"

"I think that has a lot to do with why your father didn't send you away," Mulder said firmly.

Jim closed his eyes as he felt Blair and Simon tense. "I'm a Sentinel."

Mulder stared at him, then laughed. "This is payback for what I told you last night, right? Your way of saying you can come up with your own tale of unbelievable fiction?"

"Sentinels are a fairy tale Sir Richard Burton came up with because his one trip to South America turned out to be an incredible waste of time and money," Scully said. "The myth has been discarded and discredited for nearly a century."

Jim sighed. "I guess it's time for our performing bear routine, Chief."

"You'd think they would have the grace not to laugh in our faces, considering how kind we were to them," Blair muttered dryly. He got up and grabbed a notepad. "Agent Mulder, write down something on this pad that Jim couldn't possibly know. Then separate the pad in two, and give Jim the bottom half."

Mulder shrugged, and did as asked. He passed Scully the half where his words were written, and Jim the rest.

Jim ran his fingers across the indentations which were only evident to his sensitive digits. "Cerulean blue? What does that mean?"

Mulder and Scully glanced at each other quickly. "Your sense of touch is heightened?" Mulder demanded to know.

"Yes."

"And the other four as well?"

"If everyone is finished, we can move this to the roof," Blair said, then disappeared into his room for a minute to grab his backpack. "We could do a better presentation if it wasn't for the press camped outside, so this will have to do. You're a doctor, Agent Scully. You might be interested in my latest data on Jim's skills." He handed her a notebook.

"Your dissertation? It's on Jim, not closed societies?"

"Correct. Everyone ready to go?"

She opened the notebook, and scanned some of the notes. "If this information is accurate...." Scully began.

"It is," Blair replied sharply. "I may not be a federal agent, but I do know how to conduct competent research.

"I didn't mean to imply--"

"Of course you did. You're a scientist. You need fact, empirical data, hard evidence... proof. That's what you're about to get. Come on, Jim. Let's get you prepared." He escorted his Sentinel out the door, then looked back. "If you get lost on the way to the roof, Simon will gladly give you directions."

Simon just laughed as he grabbed his jacket, never one to show off his gun in public. "You've stepped into it now, my friends. I had my doubts in the beginning, too, you know? But then again, I hadn't been regaling them the night before with tales of little grey men, either. By the way," he said, the smile leaving his face. "What you are about to learn is privileged information. If I find out you've told someone else, I will have to kill you. And, please, don't think that because you are government officials, it can't be done. I assure you, it's possible. Very possible."

Mulder checked to see if the captain was joking, and discovered he wasn't. With a shiver, he and his partner headed to the roof.