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Circle- Part III

by D.L. Witherspoon

Chapter Seventeen

"The whole exchange was...surreal," Jim was explaining to Blair as he dressed in the clothes his friend had brought him. "For the past week, I've been talking to IA as a suspect. Now, I'm being interviewed as a victim."

"This whole situation has been surreal, Jim. The day before yesterday, we were doing the same thing we are now--checking you out of the hospital. That has to be a record, even for us," Blair commented dryly. "How's the vision?"

"Still a little washed out, but the shades are helping." The bandages had been removed, and he had been relieved that he could make out the dark shape of his partner. Now, hours later, and with the help of the sunglasses, he could see details of Blair--what he was wearing, that his hair was loose.

"When we get you home, I want you in the sleep mask. Those peepers need more rest. I let you fool the doctors, but you're not going to fool me."

"As long as I get to go home, I'll do anything you say, Chief."

"Yeah, I've heard that promise before." The disbelief was evident in his voice. "I'll go get the nurse and the wheelchair."

"I hate that thing."

"You're not home yet," Blair warned.

"Yes, sir," Jim sighed.

"Good soldier," Blair praised with a grin as he walked out. The Army may have warped Jim's mind, but it had also made him manageable--at times.

Jim listened to Blair's trek down the hall and around the corner to the nurses' station. He finished packing his stuff into the gym bag that had contained his fresh clothing, then decided to meet his ride in the corridor. Perhaps he was being a bit overeager, but in the past five nights, only one had been spent in his own bed. He wanted to go home.

He stepped out into the hallway, and was about to turn back to check the room one final time, when he felt eyes on him. He swiveled slowly until he saw a figure standing at the far end of the corridor. His sight, still not quite at full Sentinel strength, struggled into focus until he could make out the dark, intense eyes raking over him. He wasn't surprised when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The challenge was there--in the man's look, in his stance. Jim felt his own stance alter into a mirroring position. Full strength or not, the Sentinel was ready.

"Jim, what's happening?"

He turned to acknowledge his partner, and when he looked back, the man was gone. "There was a guy watching me."

"Reporter?" Blair asked uselessly. Jim was almost in full warrior mode, something that occurred only when he sensed an equal adversary--which reporters weren't.

"No."

"Here comes the nurse with your chariot. Should we call for backup?"

Jim shook his head. "He was only scouting."

"For whom or what?" Blair was glad the man was gone. Jim was in no condition to take someone on. Just one shot at that damaged throat would disable him.

Jim's nostrils flared at a faint scent. "Remind me to ask Mulder if his 'friend' likes Morleys."

*****

"Dana and Mulder just pulled up," Jim announced from his bed, where he had obediently been lying with his eyes covered by the ruffled mask he used when long stakeouts left him sleeping during the day. "Keep talking to your mom. I'll let them in."

Blair looked up to the loft from the floor, the phone in one hand. "Don't raise your voice. You'll only hurt your throat. And, Jim, you take that mask off, and I'm going to beat you," he warned. He pressed his ear up against the receiver. "What's that, Mom? Yeah, we indulge in domestic discipline. No, not regularly. I only beat Jim when he needs it."

"Sandburg!" Jim hissed as he made his way cautiously down the stairs.

"Well, someone has to insure rules are kept, Naomi. I mean, can you imagine what the loft would look like if I just let him run around doing whatever it is he wants to do?" He grinned at the man carefully making his way across the room. "Yeah, Ma, I'm careful. Besides, he's tougher than he looks."

"Sandburg, I'm going to hurt you."

Blair laughed and rolled his eyes. "Call 911, big guy. See if I care." He focused on the telephone again. "Of course we're kidding, Mom. Can you imagine either of us letting the other get away with something like that? And don't forget, I live with Handcuff Boy--" He stopped suddenly, remembering what had happened last night. "I'm sorry, Jim," he said in a Sentinel-only whisper.

Jim waved away the apology with his good wrist. There was no use in getting sensitive about the abuse he had suffered. He fumbled for the doorknob and had to dodge a fist as Mulder raised his hand to knock.

"Sorry," Mulder said quickly. "I guess you heard us coming?"

Jim nodded. "Sandburg's on the phone to his mother, so I have to do all the domestic work around here."

"Did you also hear Mulder's hand?" Scully asked, taking in the eye mask. "You dodged it nicely."

"Actually, I'm operating on the principle of air displacement at the moment. The other time I was blind, I used my hearing to get around. But my master here says I'm relying too much on hearing and sight, so I'm concentrating on feeling the air bounce off and around objects."

"You were blinded before?"

"Yeah. Got a designer drug, Golden, into my eyes. Couldn't see anything but golden flares."

"When Simon arrives, ask him about a blind Jim driving his car," Blair called out. "It was a real 'enlightening' experience. Costly, too."

"But I caught the perps, didn't I?" Jim argued.

"You were on an assignment, although you had been blinded?" Mulder asked in amazement.

"I'm real good at Blind Man's Bluff," Jim said dryly, and proceeded to make it to the sofa without incident. "Speaking of eyesight, someone was watching me today. Not old enough to be the guy who contacted my father, but it could have been the other one you mentioned--"

"Alex Krycek?" Mulder asked quickly. He reached for the leather attache Scully had brought. Taking out a stack of folders, he fanned them out on the coffee table until he found the one he sought. "Is this the man?" He held a photo in front of Jim, belatedly remembering the mask.

"I've been threatened with a beating if I ditch the mask," Jim explained loudly.

"One minute," Blair called firmly. "And take it slow."

Jim tugged the mask off quickly, wincing at the sudden brightness. He heard a whispered, "I told you so, man," which he ignored. As his eyes adjusted, he took the photo and looked at it. "Yeah, this is the man. He looks younger here, though, and less menacing."

"This is his official Bureau photo," Scully said.

"You mean he was--"

"A fellow agent, before he was subverted to the 'Dark Side'," Mulder muttered flatly.

Jim's eyes skimmed the folders on the table, determined to see as much as he could before he had to re-don the mask. A name caught his attention, and he grabbed the file curiously. Ignoring Blair's burning glares, he read. Then he stood up, and walked out onto the balcony.

"Listen, Mom, I have to go," Blair said quickly, clicking off the portable phone and tossing it aside as he stood. "What happened?" he asked, even as he was reaching for the file Jim had dropped. He read it, and paled. "Oh, shit."

"Blair?" Scully asked in concern. "It's just the information we have on Grace Ellison. No autopsy reports or anything. Just the news clippings of her unsolved murder."

"Jim and Stephen were told their mom died in an automobile accident. Nothing was ever said about her being shot in the head in the doorway of her Seattle apartment."

"We didn't know," Scully hurried to explain, looking out at Jim guiltily.

Blair looked, too, and frowned at the brightness of the sun. Today of all days, Cascade decided to be sunny. He ran up the stairs and picked up Jim's shades from the table near his bed. He started to head to the balcony with them, but instead, turned and handed them to Scully. "He's had enough of my nagging."

"I don't know...."

Blair smiled. "Just give off sympathetic vibes. He'll fill in the rest."

"Sure he doesn't want to be left alone?" Mulder questioned as Scully closed the door behind her.

"Nah. He's had to bear too much crap alone already." He looked closely at the agent. "You know how that is."

"I do?" Mulder challenged.

Blair nodded solemnly. "You and he are a lot alike."

The Fed chuckled. "I don't see the resemblance. I think the Mulder side of the family got the hair, and the Ellison family got the body. Even trade off, I suppose."

Blair knew an obfuscation when he heard one. "I was thinking more along the lines of your matching abilities to focus. You are both seeking validation for your existence with a single-mindedness that borders on the obsessive."

Hazel eyes widened. "Why would we need such validation?"

"Because your sister was abducted and you weren't, and Jim because he was the only survivor when his helicopter crashed in the jungle." He frowned. "I could be wrong about that, though. Jim's need to prove himself worthy might have begun earlier than that. There are some serious gaps in his past we haven't explored yet."

"Do you often make snap judgments about people you don't know?"

Blair shrugged. "You and Scully don't seem like strangers. Perhaps it's because I see the parallels in our relationships. Jim called me Sancho Panza--his literary nicknames are so cool... and accurate. Jim is my poor Don Quixote, chivalrously fighting his windmills, with me at his side giving him advice, encouragement, and a dose of the truth when he needs it. I think Scully does the same thing for you."

"So, Ellison and I are fighting for validation. Why are you and Scully in the ring?"

"Our motives are less pure. Your battles seem noble to us, yet we fight them not for ourselves, but for you. It's not our belief in the war, but our faith in you, which keeps us in the fray."

"That seems a little self-sacrificing," Mulder observed, astounded by the entire conversation. The insight Sandburg had into the essence of his life was disturbing.

"Not really. There's a lot of selfishness in our actions. Your successes become our successes. We revel in the occasions where you succumb to our desires. We are secretly pleased when you come to us because you have no one else to turn to. We feed off of you."

"What about your own lives? You're a grad student. Scully is not only a doctor, but an FBI agent. Is it fair that you both have to lose your own path to go down ours?"

"We haven't lost our own paths; we've just merged them with yours," Blair argued. "I've always had a strong sense of fair play and justice. I've been involved in protests, voted in every election since I was eighteen, served on jury duty whenever I was called. But by being with Jim, I'm no longer a passive participant. I actively seek justice when I ride with Jim, when I back him up on a case. That's a good thing."

"And when you die, or almost die?"

"Then there is, or will be, a purpose to my death, which I hadn't had before. We all are going to die, but by being with Jim, I know that I have made a difference while I was here. Somewhere, someone is alive because Jim was there, and I was with him...." He grinned at the profound statement. "Something I learned while enrolled in College Fountain 101."

"Ah. The Alex Barnes Affair." Mulder searched through the folders again. "The details are very sketchy."

"Good."

"Were you the reason Jim defeated her?"

"Jim defeated her because he was better."

"Better as in stronger, more skilled?"

"Better as in possessing a soul, Agent Mulder." Blair picked up the phone he had discarded. "What kind of Chinese do you prefer?"

"I was dead once, too," Mulder admitted softly. Blair looked at him, startled. "A shaman brought me back." Blue eyes widened even further. "You don't believe in shamans?"

"That would mean I didn't believe in myself."

Mulder found himself less surprised than he'd expected. It was true he linked shamans with indigenous peoples, but, hell, who were more indigenous than Jews? No wonder Blair could see his soul so well. "You brought yourself back?"

Blair's eyes flickered toward the balcony. "He brought me back."

"Ellison is a shaman, too?"

"Jim is the Sentinel. He is all that he needs to be."

Yeah, the kid sounds like a shaman. "Alex Barnes is a Sentinel as well."

"Alex Barnes has--had--five heightened senses. That made her a menace, not a Sentinel. Fried rice or white?" he asked as he dialed.

Mulder, whose vast profiling skills were known throughout the Bureau, realized the subject of Alex Barnes had been efficiently dismissed. With a sigh, he put in an order for him and his partner.

Chapter Eighteen

Jim had accepted the shades without a word, but there had been nothing in his demeanor which told her to go away, so Scully stood beside him and watched the city like he did. Well, not exactly like he did. She had no idea what he was experiencing. At least, not with his senses. But she did understand part of what he was going through.

"When I was exposed to the mind control device," she began slowly, "it was in a crude, early stage. All it could do was make you live out your deepest fear. I thought--no, I knew--Mulder had betrayed me to the Cigarette Smoking Man. I saw them sitting in the car together. I knew they monitored my phone calls. I knew they were trying to kill me. I used everything I had learned from the Bureau, everything I'd learned from Mulder, to make it home without detection. I knew my mom would protect me." She stopped, smiling wryly at the thought. Even as a competent adult, she had run to her mother. Sad, Scully. But also comforting. "Mulder figured out where I was, of course. He knew I had been affected, knew how violent the other victims had become, but he came alone...to protect me, I suppose. I told Mom he was sent there to kill me, and I pulled a gun on him. If Mom hadn't been there to get through to me...."

"You didn't shoot him."

Scully laughed. "No. I didn't shoot him...that time."

"You've shot your partner?" Gee, maybe he hadn't treated Blair as badly as he'd thought. Sure, he'd left him vulnerable to their worst enemy, but he hadn't done the deed himself.

She nodded. "And I was even in my right mind when I did it. Of course, he wasn't. The enemy had tainted the water in his apartment building with a psychotic drug. Several of his neighbors had had violent episodes as well."

"He tried to kill you?"

"No, he was getting ready to shoot Krycek...at the time he was a fellow agent. Maybe if I had known then what I know now.... No. I had to stop Mulder from using the gun he'd taken away from Krycek because it could have been the weapon used to murder Mulder's father."

"How did you know it wasn't Mulder's gun?"

"Because I'd taken his gun to be analyzed...to make sure he hadn't shot his father. The drug had made him highly unstable. He had even assaulted our assistant director. I had to be sure...not just for my sake, but his as well. Of course, two days later I was told he had been killed in New Mexico. Then after I find out he's alive, I learn that my sister has been shot because she let herself into my apartment, and they thought it was me coming home...." Scully stopped and took a deep breath. "And I have no idea why I'm telling you this."

"To let me know others have had worse weeks than I have?" He reached out a hand to stroke the nape of her neck soothingly. He paused when he felt something strange.

"You can feel it, can't you?" she said, knowing why he froze. "It's a metallic implant. They put it into me when I was abducted."

"Can't you have it removed?"

"I did. That's when I developed cancer. When it was replaced, I went into remission."

"Dana?" Jim asked hesitantly, after a moment of silence.

"Yes, Jim?"

"Can I hold you?"

She wrapped her arms around his waist in reply, leaning against the muscled chest to absorb the comfort he exuded. She felt his arms around her, the light touch of his lips on the top of her head, and reveled in the safety of the moment. This was a good place to be, even temporarily. No looking for assassins behind her back. No looking for kidnappers from up above. No looking beside her to make sure Mulder wasn't in trouble. Just a time to float and rest. Jim would let her know when danger reared its ugly head, when the "Theys" and the "Thems" would continue their chase and slow torture. "This is better than a long, hot soak," she mumbled.

He laughed, the sound rumbling against her ear as the muscles carried the vibrations. "Yeah, and you don't have to worry about those pesky wrinkles if you fall asleep."

"No, I'd just have to worry about the hard concrete."

"I'm hurt. Do you actually think I would let you fall?"

She pulled back until she could see into the dark lenses covering his eyes. "No. I don't think that. I think you would do anything within your power to keep me or anyone else from falling, ever again. Not very realistic--"

"I know."

"But I appreciate the concept. And I thank you for the attempt. I think I'm now better able to face whatever else the day, the week, the year, holds for me. Of course I may need further treatments along the way...."

"You make me sound like some kind of medicine."

"Well, you increase my blood flow, ease my tensions, and generally give me a feeling of euphoria.... Sounds like a drug to me. Wonder what your street value is?" Scully teased.

"Selling human flesh is a felony."

"Only in some cultures."

"Good thing dinner is here. Or else, I would be in danger of finding myself on a street corner dressed in leather and little else."

"I don't think I want to know what the rest of this conversation was about," Blair said as he stood in the doorway with a grin. "The food is here."

"She says I'm a drug, Chief. And she wants to know my street value," Jim informed him, his hand resting against Scully's back as he guided her inside.

"Just as long as I get a cut of the proceeds," Blair said nonchalantly. "I've played a big part in the development, you know."

"If that's the case, I'll have to up the profit margin. Forget the leather, Jim. Extra wrapping would just get in the way of advertising." Scully's face lit up as she realized Jim was blushing. "That's adorable!" she exclaimed, causing him to flush even brighter.

"Never suspected he was a blusher, did you?" Blair observed eagerly. "It's a nice bonus on those slow days when you're looking for something to do. Think that will increase the price we can get?"

"It is a specialty," she mused.

Jim looked around the room for sympathy. "Cousin?" he appealed in a put-upon voice.

Mulder smiled warmly. "Of course, the family will be demanding its share of the profits."

"That's right," Jim said, his voice hardening when he realized he was on his own. "Pick on the visually impaired guy."

"He's right," Scully said gently, placing her hand on his upper arm. "He looks damn sexy in those shades. The bidding needs to start higher."

"Yes!" Blair chortled.

Jim stomped over to the door and yanked it open. "Arrest them for pandering!" he told the startled Simon.

"Who are they trying to sell?"

"Me!"

"The product is a little old, isn't it?" Simon sniffed the air. Oh, goody. Moogoo pork.

"Slightly aged, but well-preserved," Scully said, a bit offended on behalf of her merchandise.

"It's a good thing my self-perception comes from within," Jim huffed as he reached for the plates.

"Shouldn't you get rid of the white socks before you market him, though?" Mulder questioned, opening the Chinese food containers with expertise. "Rather declassé, wouldn't you say?"

"Actually, retro is in," Blair told him.

"I thought we were going for natural, gentlemen? Nothing but the shades," Scully reminded them.

"What I want to know is why, when we have these little tension-breakers, I'm always the one at the butt of the jokes?" Jim complained, tapping the back of Simon's hand with a chopstick when he wouldn't give up the pork container.

"Because yours is so cute," Scully said easily.

Rice spewed from several directions, and Jim was silent for the rest of the meal.

"Earlier, Jim and I were trying to figure out where he fits into this Project equation, and we realized we were missing parts of the picture," Blair said as they all retired to the living room.

"We were discussing the same thing," Mulder said. "This file might help." He handed them the Gibson Praise documents.

"So, you're suggesting that what was done to this child, was also done to Jim?" Blair asked when the Cascade trio finished.

"Not exactly the same, but similar," Mulder answered.

"So, I'm already a hybrid?" Jim questioned uncomfortably.

"These DNA remnants are present in us all," Scully replied. "If, and quite frankly, it is still a big 'if' in my opinion, these remnants are alien in origin, then we are all hybrids--just not as successful a mix as the Colonists would like for us to be."

Mulder shook his head. "How can you still have doubts, Scully? You saw the DNA results for yourself. The genetic material was the same in Gibson, the alien virus, and the claw we found."

"What claw?" Simon demanded.

"The virus's DNA and proteins were of this world, Mulder. Unknown is not automatically synonymous with extraterrestrial."

"What claw?" Simon boomed again.

"The alien virus, also known as Black Oil, also known as Purity, can gestate within a human body, producing a living, viable creature in as little as twelve hours. This creature then uses its sharp claws to burst from its human host, leaving behind a bloody mess," Mulder spat out sharply, not wanting to be distracted from his argument with Scully.

"Oh," Simon said weakly, sorry he'd asked.

"I know my doubts disgust you, Mulder, but you can't expect me to just--"

"Why can't I expect that, Scully? You've seen things with your own eyes, experienced more than even I have. How can you not--"

"If I totally agree with everything, then what good am I to you, Mulder? Don't you see? One of us has to be the practical one."

"The truth is not practical?"

"The truth is not always an absolute...not in the universe we currently inhabit. What we perceive as the truth is altered on a daily basis."

Blair waggled his hand until they noticed him. With an embarrassed glance, they realized they were arguing in front of an audience. It wasn't often that they felt comfortable enough to argue while others were present.

"We're sorry," Scully said quickly.

The grad student waved away the apology. Disagreements in the loft were considered standard behavior. "I just needed a clarification on this virus. Is this the same one Mr. Ellison hinted at? The one that will be used to colonize earth?" They nodded. "Then are we talking hybridization, or true colonization? Are they after slaves, or incubators?"

"We're not sure," Mulder said hesitantly, flashing Jim a warning not to say anything. His cousin just shrugged. They'd had that discussion; he wasn't into beating dead horses. "Neither is the Consortium. The Colonists might have pulled one over on them."

"But what about a vaccine? They've been working on this for nearly half a century. Haven't they come up with anything yet?" Blair questioned.

"There is a weak vaccine, so far," Mulder said.

"How weak?"

"It has protected me, and it saved Scully, but I think we both were exposed to mild, non-aggressive forms of the virus. I know it has failed to work on other occasions."

"I have a question," Jim said.

"What's that, Jim?" Scully offered.

"Is there any part of this that you, singular or plural, haven't experienced firsthand? And if the answer to that is no, why are you still here? How do you survive all this? How did you get the vaccine? Why haven't you been silenced? Why are you protected? "

Mulder shrugged. "I could say it was because we are the 'good guys', which is partially true, if you look at this as a game. Our continued existence provides balance, a way of keeping the game going without either side winning. Some believe I, we, would be more dangerous dead than alive. Others are convinced that if they fail, maybe I won't. Still others contend that in the end, the only thing to save humanity will be the truth, and Scully and I will be the messengers of that."

"And somehow I'm part of that truth?"

Mulder quirked an eyebrow. "Welcome to the club, cuz."

Chapter Nineteen

"I just don't see my part in this great conspiracy you've plotted out," Jim said stubbornly. "There are other hybrids out there, apparently closer to the ideal than I am. Hell, they've even created the ideal, the Spender woman, correct? I'm sure there have to be detailed records somewhere that survived the Rebels' attack. So, the Colonists don't need me, and the resistors already have a form of the vaccine. What possible use could anyone have for me?"

"We're stumped on that one, too, Ellison," Mulder said frankly. "We're hoping an examination of your DNA will give us some clue."

"Examination of my DNA?" Jim parroted uneasily.

"A small tissue sample," Scully said, in explanation.

A shudder ran through Jim. "I'm going to have to think about that, okay?"

"What's to think about?" Mulder asked. "It's a simple procedure that Scully can do right here--"

"I said I would think about it," Jim interrupted firmly.

Mulder looked at the others, searching for a reason for the sudden skittishness on the part of his cousin. Scully indicated she had no idea what was going on, so he focused on Blair, certain the Guide could help him. Which he tried to do.

"What's your greatest fear, Agent Mulder?" He went on, not expecting an answer. "Jim's greatest fear is that someone will find out about him, and whisk him away to a facility, a lab.... What you are proposing will basically make that fear a reality."

"We're not talking about an abduction. We merely want to--"

"Run tests on him? And what happens after the sample runs out? You're going to ask for more. Then you'll want to know how he reacts if you change this or increase that," Blair continued to argue. "Next thing, you'll have him behind a glass wall, monitoring his behavior."

"How is that any different from what you do?" Mulder retaliated. "You don't even bother with the illusion of a glass wall."

"Because his research, his testing, has been to my benefit," Jim answered, pissed on behalf of his best friend. How dare Mulder compare Sandburg's work to their morbid curiosity? "What proof do I have that your research is for my good, not just yours?"

"You're all forgetting," Simon reminded them calmly, "that if you don't figure out some way to prove Jim was under someone else's control when he killed Johnson, it won't be his permission you have to get, but the state's." He looked directly at Scully and Mulder. "Perhaps that would give Jim the proof he needs that you're not just salivating for his flesh as a way of furthering your own cause."

"Some friends of mine are working on that," Mulder said. "In fact, Frohike should be--"

"Frohike?" Jim and Blair said in tandem.

Mulder did a doubletake. "Another verboten topic?"

Blair smiled. "My mom dated a guy named Frohike. He hung out with two other guys. What were their names?"

"Langley and Byers," Jim supplied.

Scully looked at them in amazement. "You both know the Lone Gunmen?"

"Naomi dated Frohike?" Jim asked with a grimace. The man reminded him of a frog. Of course, Naomi wouldn't be so shallow as to date someone for his looks.

Blair read his thoughts. "According to her, she liked his mind. But it was one of her shorter relationships. How do you know them, Jim?"

"They were useful, once or twice, when I was in the service."

The Lone Gunmen had provided intel for Ellison? Mulder certainly had some questions for his friends when he got back to the hotel. Such as why they hadn't bothered to mention this when he'd asked them for a dossier on the man when he first met him. "Then you know they have certain skills and informational accesses which could be useful in getting us the proof we need to clear you."

"Yes, I know how help--" He stopped, his nose wrinkling for a second, before he headed for the balcony.

"What is it, Jim?" Blair asked, following before the others even realized Jim was moving.

"Peeping Tom."

"Alex Krycek," Blair interpreted for those who weren't fluent in Jimspeak yet. "Where is he? Piggyback your sight on to the smell."

Jim scanned the area, stopping when he reached an abandoned building near the docks. "There."

Mulder blinked at the distance. He barely saw the building, much less a person in it. But he trusted that the Sentinel did, even though he was still wearing the shades.

"Should I call it in, Jim?" Simon asked.

The detective shook his head. "He's just looking with a pair of binoculars. I can't smell any gun oil, so I doubt if he's armed. Another scouting expedition, I suppose."

"Creepy," Blair commented. "But if he's not doing anything, come on back inside before you give yourself a headache. He knows that you know that he's watching. The challenge has been met."

"Not yet, Chief. But if he keeps this up, it will be."

The session soon disintegrated after that, the agents leaving to do whatever it was they thought they had to do. Left with only his captain and his best friend, Jim asked the question he was most anxious to hear the answer to. "How's the investigation going?"

"Which investigation?" Simon asked, slumping back against the sofa. He never relaxed fully around the agents. He hadn't figured out if it was an authority thing, or an anxiety one. "The one with you as a killer, or the one with you as a victim? Damn it, man. Can't you do like everyone else, and have your crises one at a time?"

"He's a unique and talented individual," Blair replied with a smirk.

"You're a fine one to talk, Sandburg. He never got into stuff like this until you came along," Simon commented with a glare. "Okay. The investigation down at the Western Precinct revealed that there was a prevailing anger and distrust of the Major Crime Unit. Why it was so strong there, no one can determine. There was also a large degree of incompetence, which compounded the entire episode. As far as IA can tell, it was an accident that you were placed with the general population."

"But it wasn't an accident that I got the crap beat out of me?"

"The officers in question are arguing that you reached out toward them in a menacing way."

"I couldn't see!"

"IA knows that. The camera guy said he heard you yell, and was about to apologize when everything escalated. It's a clear case of excessive force. Badges have already been confiscated." Simon eyed his detective speculatively. "According to your fellow prisoners, whose curiosity was aroused by the noise, you barely made a move to defend yourself, much less do anything aggressive."

"Were your eyes bothering you that much?" Blair asked anxiously. Jim was known for giving as good as he got.

Jim shook his head. "I'd just been arrested for murder, guys. I thought that fighting back would only hurt me in the end." They looked at him, disbelief coloring their faces. "And they were fellow cops."

Simon groaned. He often railed against Sandburg's way of thinking, and being confused by it, but his partner could be just as confusing. If the officers had been beating up on Blair, or any innocent, Jim would have been all over them in a heartbeat. But because he was the target.... I hate you, William Ellison.

"Jim, this is from me to you, man to man: if someone, badge-carrying or otherwise, starts to attack you, you have my permission to beat the shit out of them--and I'll help you deal with the fallout afterwards."

"Ditto," Blair added. "Sometimes the only tribe you need to worry about is yourself."

"Yes, sirs!" Jim saluted, amused that they thought he was being selfless. On the contrary, he had been in so much pain that he knew if he retaliated, he'd have more than one murder charge to his name. "Wallace and Milligan have anything new?"

"No, but they sure are motivated, and they were highly pissed when they found out what had happened to you."

"How are the other officers taking it? Has this increased or decreased the tensions about Major Crime?" Jim knew that officers didn't look fondly upon officers accusing other officers. Filing assault charges against the Western Precinct probably had not won him any hearts.

"There's been some grumbling, but overall, I think they're shocked more by your assault, than your charges." The three sat in comfortable silence for a while, putting thoughts in some semblance of order. Simon stretched, sighing as bones creaked into place. "I miss anything before dinner tonight?"

"I found out my mother was murdered," Jim said softly.

"What?"

"Shot and killed in Seattle. Dad told Stevie and me that it was a car accident." He stood and unconsciously rubbed his throat. "I don't know why it never dawned on me to look into it after I was old enough...especially after I became a cop."

"You had no idea--" Blair began.

"But I knew my dad had a habit of altering the truth to suit his needs. You would think morbid curiosity--"

"Morbid curiosity is in your job description, Jim. Why would you need to indulge in it in your free time?" Blair argued. "You really need to cut yourself some slack, man. You were a kid when all this was going on. You were not responsible for what your mother did, or what got her killed. You couldn't have saved her."

Jim looked at him in surprise. How had he known what he was thinking? He shook his head. "Am I that predictable?"

"Yes," Blair and Simon answered together.

"You know, we've been doing that too much lately," Simon commented uneasily.

"Nothing to get nervous over, Captain. We're not getting psychic or anything. It's just that we're in agreement when it comes to Jim," Blair explained, having already worried and found suitable reasoning.

"I guess I'll buy that, Sandburg. Well, gentlemen, it's been another long day," Simon said, as he stood. "I suggest we all go to bed, and refresh ourselves for another long one tomorrow. Thanks for dinner, and be careful. I don't like it that you're under surveillance by that creep." They had explained Alex Krycek to him following the episode on the balcony.

"Don't worry, Simon. I have him on file," Jim said, tapping his nose.

Simon glanced at Jim, taking in the array of bandages and injuries, then turned to Blair. "Take care of him."

"That's my job, Simon." He closed the door behind the captain and faced his partner. "Let's get you wrapped up in plastic for a quick shower, and then to bed." He reached up and removed the shades from Jim's face. "You look tired."

Jim rolled a sore shoulder and headed toward the bathroom. "I'll be fine."

Blair nodded. Of course, he would be fine. He'd make sure of it.

"By the way, Chief, you were wrong," Jim called calmly as he heard his partner gathering a supply of plastic bags.

"Won't be the first time. About what?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Ending up as a lab rat isn't my greatest fear."

Blair started to ask what was, but when he walked into the bathroom, Jim's expression was as open and vulnerable as he'd ever seen it. Oh. The Sentinel's greatest fear had already come true once. Blair hoped it wouldn't happen again; not just because he didn't relish the idea of dying, but because he shuddered to think what would happen to Jim if the next time proved more permanent. "Listen to me, Jim. I honestly plan on dying of old age, either calmly in my sleep, or maybe in the middle of a movie so bad, that not making it to the end of it wouldn't be much of a tragedy. Okay?" He started to smile, but Jim's gaze was so intense that he was powerless to do anything other than hold it.

Finally, Jim blinked, and held out his arm for wrapping. "Okay."

Chapter Twenty

"What do you think?" Mulder asked as he and his partner drove to the hotel. Unnerved by Krycek's sudden fascination with Ellison, he thought it prudent they figure things out as soon as possible. That meant getting the report from the Lone Gunmen, getting Jim out of trouble, then getting the tissue sample.

"About what?" Scully asked. Trying to second guess Mulder was always an act of futility.

"About Ellison's reluctance."

She shrugged. "The more I work with you, the more I sympathize with the animals I dissected in med school."

"So, you sympathize with him? I don't know if we have time for that. Krycek has been called to Cascade for a reason. He's a walking death machine, Scully. People die in his wake. At the very least, Jim could disappear just as he fears."

"That leads us back to the mystery of why now, Mulder. If we look at everything we know about the Consortium, Jim should have at least been a multiple abductee, if not confined permanently, to be studied objectively and invasively. They took all my ova. Surely, they would have wanted his sperm--just to see the genetic implications, if not to grow their own replicas."

"He was left alone...for a reason."

"Yes."

"But that reason has ceased to be a concern. Is it because they no longer have Cassandra?" Mulder speculated.

"Or is it because we have the letters?" she countered.

"The harassment started before I received them," he reminded her. "Ellison was already in the hospital from the staged suicide attempt when I read the letters."

"But Jeffrey Spender was killed weeks ago. Perhaps it was not so much us having them, as it was the fact that they were missing."

Mulder contended that she had a valid point. "And the purpose behind discrediting Ellison, or having him imprisoned?"

"Questions his credibility. Limits access to him. Hinders the use of his senses. Lessens the chance of exposure, or accidental exposure of his abilities," she ticked off.

"Wouldn't they be taking a chance that he would reveal his abilities as a way of getting out of this situation? He could prove he saw Johnson commit the purse-snatching."

"No risk if they had prior knowledge of his fear of exposure. Jim would rather serve time than reveal what he is."

"The thought of DNA testing certainly spooked him. However, I'm positive that Sandburg will be able to convince him to go along with us, if we can convince him that this is for Ellison's own good. He's a shaman, by the way," Mulder said as they walked through the lobby.

"Who? Blair?"

Mulder nodded. "According to him, Ellison and I are alike in that the two of us are 'seeking validation for our existence with a single-mindedness that borders on the obsessive.' What do you say to that, Scully?"

"I'd say he's learned a lot being an observer."

"Want to know what he said about you?"

"No."

He shrugged. "It'll sound better over breakfast, anyway." He paused when they reached her door. "Night, Scully," he said before crossing the hall to his room.

The smell hit him even before the door was completely opened. "I could have sworn I asked for a non-smoking room," he commented dryly, tossing the keycard onto the dresser, then turning to face the man sitting at the table in the corner.

"Good evening, Agent Mulder."

Mulder removed his coat and tugged at his tie. He knew there was no use drawing his weapon; he had had the opportunity to shoot the man on several occasions, and had never been able to pull the trigger. The gesture would have been empty, the threat hollow. "Haven't you heard about the patch yet?"

"Have you had a nice family reunion?"

"Sure. We bobbed for apples earlier in the day, then had a cookout where everyone gathered around the table and told what they were most thankful for. You should try it sometime. Oops. Forgot you did away with your family."

"You think I'm an unfeeling man, Agent Mulder. You are so wrong. If I was as uncaring as you portray me, you certainly would not be here in Cascade spending time with your cousin. Without my protection, James Ellison would be nothing but a faded memory by now."

"So, why Ellison's sudden fall from grace? The devil's pact you made with his father have a time limit?"

"Detective Ellison is permanently in my good graces," he informed his adversary.

"Is that why you turned your bag of tricks loose on him? Is that why you had him kill a young man, swallow a bottle of pills, overdose in the E.R., and almost die at the hands of his fellow officers? If that's the case, then please, keep your love to yourself."

"I admit there have been unexpected glitches, Agent Mulder. I erred in attempting to use local talent. Trust me, Cascade has no talent. Your cousin was supposed to be participating in a simple test. Some of the variables became more varied than I had ordered. The problem has been taken care of," he said, with a dismissing wave of his cigarette.

"A test? He could have died several times over," Mulder spat out.

"The Percodan was a controlled incident. If his roommate had not come home on time, a neighbor would have 'accidentally' discovered the stricken detective and called 911."

"And the Naloxone?"

"Incompetence."

"I suppose one of your people was responsible for removing the nightstick from Ellison's neck before his throat was crushed, too?"

The man snubbed out the butt of his cigarette, and shook the pack for a new one. "Actually, that was one of those nasty variables. Detective Ellison should have been quite safe in a private cell until that part of the test was over. Those officers truly didn't like him. No one could have predicted their violent reaction to having a Major Crime detective within their grasps."

"Variables," Mulder muttered. "What kind of test was this? How did this affect his senses?"

"Those I didn't have to test. He is quite remarkable, isn't he?" he questioned with a proprietary smile. "I am more and more impressed each time I check on his progress."

Progress? "If this wasn't about his senses, what was it about?"

"It was about who he is, Agent Mulder, and who he knows. With the eradication of so many among my ranks, I am forced to rearrange certain aspects of my life for a time. I needed to know if the detective would suffer from my inattentiveness."

"And?"

"And he passed with flying colors. He has a great deal of unseen power at his beck and call. Do you know there have been inquiries into this matter by the Pentagon? Certain members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff have privately offered to come forward to testify on his behalf. I think it is more out of a desire to keep him here, and happy, than it is genuine fondness for the man. He knows so much, and has kept so quiet. An interesting, but effective, way to acquire power. I had thought to undermine his base of support by the addition of the racial angle, but it had no effect. There have been quiet international calls, senatorial interest.... He could be quite the puppet master if he were so inclined." It was truly a cosmic joke that William Mulder and William Ellison had been endowed with sons who could make them proud...and he'd been stuck with Jeffrey.

"If all you're interested in is making sure Ellison is protected, why is Krycek sniffing around him?"

The cigarette jerked in his hand. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Krycek was hanging around the hospital as Ellison checked out. Then Ellison caught him watching the loft just before we left tonight."

The man was startled, but tried to cover. "Idle curiosity."

"Yeah, with so many of his handlers dead, I'm sure Krycek has a lot of time on his hands," Mulder said dryly. "But you've apparently put a lot of time, energy, and effort into keeping my cousin alive. You wouldn't want Krycek to get careless...."

"I will remind Mr. Krycek that the detective is off-limits."

Mulder appreciated the promise, but it gave him no answers. "Why?" he asked, too frustrated to play word games with his opponent. "Why have you protected this man more than you protected your wife? You let them take her time and time again, cripple her even, and when she begged you to kill her, you gave her over to the Colonists. Yet, Ellison, a child you didn't even know, you have kept hidden and shrouded in your care...." Mulder stopped as a sudden thought came to him. "The Consortium doesn't know of his existence, do they?"

"William Ellison made the deal with me, not the Consortium," the man admitted proudly. "A child named James Ellison reported to the site in 1973. He was found to have a weak heart and did not survive the initial testing. A pity, but not an isolated incident. Others did not survive, as well."

Mulder refused to concentrate on the number of lives sacrificed to this 'cause'. "Why all this skullduggery? You accidentally create this child in one of your secret labs, and immediately you know he's key to the future. I get that. But after Cassandra was created, Ellison should have been obsolete."

"You get nothing, Agent Mulder," he said with a patient look. "My dear Cassandra was a triumph of technology. Your Detective Ellison is a triumph of nature."

Mulder pulled out a chair and sat down. "What are you saying? His mother--"

"The lovely Grace merely let us examine her extraordinary child. I thought it best to let William continue to think the boy was tainted by our science. His disgust was instrumental in his going along with my plan. Pity that Grace wasn't so easily controlled. She thought to base her scientific reputation on her child. I could not allow that to happen."

"You have experimented with him, haven't you?"

"There was an early instance of using his genetic matrix to create another. The copy, however, proved to be unstable--violent and unreliable even as a child."

"Alex Barnes."

"That was what she called herself, yes. She was no match for the real thing."

"You pitted the two against each other."

"I wanted her out of the way. I knew Ellison would solve the problem for me."

"She killed his partner."

"That was unfortunate. That Sandburg fellow has been quite helpful to the detective."

"So, you're telling me Ellison truly is a Sentinel?"

He shrugged. "Labels mean nothing to me. Ellison is what he is--not just the key to our future, Agent Mulder, but the future itself."

"I don't understand," the Fed admitted. "He is resistant to the virus?"

"Yes."

"Then you've made a vaccine from him." At least now he realized why the aliens didn't frighten this man as much as they did the others.

"Much better than the stuff you were given."

"If you have the vaccine, why is he still alive...and still protected?"

"Do not take what I said earlier lightly, Agent Mulder."

What had he said earlier? Ellison was a natural Sentinel. Ellison was naturally resistant. Ellison was not just the key to the future, but the future itself. What the hell did that mean? The future of earth? The future of man? "Ellison is a natural hybrid?" Shit. All that experimenting, cloning, growing babies in labs and vats...unnecessary because a little boy possessed all the answers.

"We are all hybrids. Surely, your learned partner informed you that we all have the remnant?"

"Yes. When we watched what was done to Gibson Praise. Why didn't you protect him?"

"Young Mr. Praise was carefully bred to be what he was."

"Gibson Praise frightened you. Jim Ellison does not. Why?"

"When things are done unnaturally, there are always...consequences. Intermediate steps, that are necessary but considered time-consuming by scientists and their backers, are often skipped. We should not be surprised when a reversion, or a melt-down of some type occurs."

"You mentioned checking Ellison's progress. He has experienced, or is experiencing, these intermediate steps? That is why he is still protected?"

"The detective is in the process of evolving--one polypeptide at a time."

"Evolving into what?" Mulder asked worriedly. "Will he eventually be like Gibson Praise? Able to read minds?"

"That will be the least of it," the man said proudly. "Ask him what happened to his partner at the fountain."

"He was revived by the paramedics."

"The paramedics called time of death and packed up their equipment."

Aw, hell. "He's like Jeremiah Smith." The shape-shifting clone had been able to heal with a touch.

There was laughter. "He is so beyond Mr. Smith. He is beyond all that we know. That's why I've kept him a secret, Agent Mulder. In the wrong hands, he would be too much of a temptation. I am content to let him proceed to his logical conclusion. I have no need for his intermediate forms."

"And what would this logical conclusion be? A better hybrid?"

"No, Agent Mulder. You're not thinking large enough. We're talking about a new species."

"Smith mentioned something about the origin of a new species. Was this what he was talking about?" Mulder asked curiously.

Hard eyes sought his and held them. "That was the musing, the desire, of sentient mass without substance. You've seen what they become when the facade of life is stripped from them, Agent Mulder. Jello with a brain, is still Jello. Mr. Smith and his band of make-believe humans will still be dreaming, long after the detective has achieved his ultimate exalted state."

Mulder wondered if the man would let him bum a smoke. He figured he could use a cigarette right about now. "Why are you telling me all of this? Because I have the letters?"

"Ah. Jeffrey was worth something after all. I wanted you to know...in case all went well with the Colonists. You were to be my backup. You still are. I hand to you, willingly, my most closely guarded secret. I know you will treat it with the love and respect it deserves." He stood, pocketing his silver lighter. "Good night, Agent Mulder." He crossed the room and opened the door.

"How do you know I won't expose your secret?" Mulder threw out.

"Because I know you, Fox. I always have."

The door closed softly behind him.

Chapter Twenty-one

Jim stood out on the balcony, smiling as a few fleeting signs of dawn teased the edges of the sky. It was a worn, familiar joke between Sandburg and Simon that whenever he came out here to the balcony, the shit had either already hit the fan, or was on a direct course and contact was imminent. He guessed being the truth made the joke no less humorous. He did find comfort in the ability to look out over his city, to be able to stretch his senses to encompass what was his. But it wasn't. His, that is. He wasn't a Sentinel. He wasn't Blair's holy grail. He wasn't....well, he wasn't anything. Not anything he, nor anyone else, thought he was. How many times in one life did a person have to define himself? He'd tried being William Ellison's son, and failed. He'd tried being the Army's best soldier...and failed. He thought he was Blair's Sentinel, and that was a lie. He thought he was a pretty good cop...only to have now killed a suspect. Back to the drawing board again, Jimmy boy.

A light breeze got beneath the edges of his navy silk robe, causing it to flutter open and exposing the matching boxers. He didn't bother to adjust the ties. He didn't exist so he couldn't be accused of indecent exposure.

You're losing it, Ellison.

Don't I have a right to?

Because you were lied to, played, manipulated? Big deal. It's not the first time it's happened in your life. And knowing you, it won't be the last.

That's a cheerful thought.

Hey, sometimes the truth stinks. So, turn down your olfactory dial and go on.

To where? For what?

To wherever the future takes you, and because you have people depending on you.

Simon doesn't need a cop without a badge, and Blair doesn't need a Sentinel with a manufacturing date stamped on his ass.

Maybe they need a friend.

Friendship is greatly overrated.

Said by the man who would willingly lay down his life for any of his friends.

Good thing I only have a few.

You have more than you think. And each one of them is counting on you to see this through. You can't fold. You've anted up. Now call.

And if I'm wiped out?

Call in markers. Borrow against the house. Play again.

You sound like an addict.

There's no high like life. You know that. You felt it in Peru. You cried for the men you buried. Then you cried for yourself, because nothing had felt as good as that moment when you realized you were alive.

Be quiet. That's a secret, you know.

Damn stupid one if you ask me. Death is an acknowledged downer. You won't lose points for enjoying being alive.

"Jim? What's up? You zoning?"

"Nah. Just having an inspirational conversation with myself."

"While flashing the neighbors? Sounds kinky, man," Blair said, even as he padded out in nothing but his Elmer Fudd boxers. "You should be resting, Jim."

"Tell that to my mind."

"Any pain?"

Jim shook his head. "Just confusion, a heavy dose of self-pity, and the question of who the hell I am."

"Ah. The bi-annual review, huh?"

Jim laughed. "Yeah. One of these days I'm going to have the same answer both times."

"How boring. Everyone should learn something new about themselves at least twice a year," Blair declared.

"And to that, I reply, 'take my life, please!'"

"Jim, you making bad jokes before the sun comes up?"

"I guess I am, Chief."

"Then everything's back to normal." The phone rang. "Okay. Maybe I spoke too soon," he muttered, as Jim went inside. Realizing his bare feet were slightly chilled, he hastily followed his partner.

"Okay, Simon. We'll be there as soon as we get dressed," Jim said, and hung up the phone. "Simon wants us at the station, Chief, A.S.A.P."

"What's going on?"

"He didn't say."

"What's your reading?"

Jim shrugged. "He sounded...excited."

"Good news, then."

"I'm afraid to speculate," Jim said truthfully. He looked at his partner. "How good of a grip do you have?"

"You could go into a freefall and I'd still have you, Jim," Blair replied, even though he knew the time for his close support was over. It was painfully true that Jim didn't accept personal upheaval gracefully in the beginning. But give him a day or two to "process," and, hah, it was a whole new ballgame. The knees locked in place, the head unbowed, the sharp profile was proudly displayed, and the world could push all it wanted to, the winds of evil could buffet from all sides... and Jim Ellison would not be moved. If Simon's news was good, that was excellent. If it was bad, or something else occurred, that was okay, too. His Sentinel had found his footing now; he would ride out the storm with a dignity and elegance which belonged to an era long past.

Jim smiled. "That answer wins you the first shower, Chief. But if you use all the hot water, they'll be adding more charges to my rapsheet."

"Bad jokes and threats," Blair muttered. "Yeah, everything's back on track."

*****

"The door's open, Scully," Mulder called as he curled the tie around his neck. Sometimes he wondered why everyone disdained the clip-on. Darn convenient, he thought.

Scully stepped in and immediately took a deep sniff. "You've had a visitor."

"Sorry, I forgot to call you for the verbal orgy. Some pretty amazing orgasms were had by all."

"Like?"

He reached for the remote control and turned up the volume on the television. A reporter was talking. "We're coming to you live from the Central Precinct where Homicide detectives Milligan and Wallace, assigned to the Johnson murder, have just confirmed that a video camera found adjacent to the crime scene, contained evidence which clears Detective Jim Ellison of murder charges. A full news conference is scheduled in the next fifteen minutes. Back to you in the studio until then, Jane."

Jane adjusted the receiver in her ear, then looked at the audience. "As you know, this murder investigation has been...."

Mulder reduced the sound. "I guess the test is over."

"Test? What test? What's going on, Mulder? Jim has been cleared? How?"

"Seems that particular alley was the usual assignation place for an unnamed pimp's stable. He wanted to keep an eye on his workers, so he installed a videocam--stole it from the convenience store down the street, they think. The detectives were re-canvassing the scene, stumbled across the camera, found the pimp, and raided his tapes. In living, fuzzy, no audio, black-and-white, Jerome Johnson was killed.... He and Ellison run into the alley. Something happens, apparently a sound of some kind because Ellison grabs his ears a full five seconds before Johnson does. Both men freeze, Johnson dropping the purse he'd stolen. A man steps into view, kills Johnson, then drags the body to where Ellison has fallen to his knees in pain. The murderer, after securing the purse, then steps out of the picture and the sound fades because Ellison takes his hands down, and instinctively reaches out for the body resting against him. Then Sandburg arrives...and the rest is already on file."

"You know this because...."

"I called the station when I heard of the miracle."

"I take it he had something to do with this?" she asked, her head indicating the cigarette butt squashed on the table.

"He started it. He finished it. He's a happy little camper now."

Scully slowly lowered herself to the bed. "He told you this?"

" Of course. Didn't you know I was his bosom buddy? He told me things he'd never told anyone, including the Consortium. I feel so special," he said, slipping on his watch.

"What kind of things?"

"Family secrets."

"Jim."

He nodded. "You know, we both should avoid any appearances on game shows. We're lousy guessers."

"Which parts did we get wrong?"

"All of them. No, wait. You were the one who couldn't believe they'd altered Ellison's genes, right? Scully shoots, she scores!"

"Was it accidental? Like you theorized?"

"Remind me not to do theories anymore. They mess with my ego when I'm wrong."

"You're confusing me, Mulder. What did you learn last night?" she demanded firmly.

"That man proposes, but God disposes. In other words, Scully, if you like your sweetener artificial, Jim's not the right dispenser for you."

In clear testimony of their long partnership, Scully didn't even blink as she translated the non sequitur. "Jim's abilities are not the product of genetic engineering."

"Got it in one. Jim Ellison is the real deal. One hundred percent natural. No additives. Not made from concentrate," he quipped.

She looked at him in mild shock. "Sentinels exist."

"Finally, something has made a believer out of you," he told her gleefully, before sobering. "Pity that I'm going to have to ruin it for you."

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply.

"Your boyfriend is not just a Sentinel, but the future of man. How's that for a resume?" There was a knock at the door, and he went to accept the pot of coffee he'd ordered. "Grab a cup, Scully. Believe me. You're going to need it."

Chapter Twenty-two

"Earth to Jim," Blair called softly to his partner, relaxing in his chair at his desk in Major Crime. Where he belonged.

"Jim's not in. Please leave a message after the beep. Beeeep."

Blair laughed at the playful reply. "Simon wants to know if you can help Wallace and Milligan get a name for the man on the tape. Bringing him in will get you cleared a lot faster."

"I don't recognize him, Chief. Why a perfect stranger allowed Mulder's 'friends' to use him in a plot against me--"

"So, you still believe they're involved?"

"Our friendly neighborhood peeper is a reality. And I don't see an ordinary citizen having access to the sophisticated equipment used, to not only brainwash Johnson and me, but to also stop us in our tracks in that alley."

"Why this sudden 'get out of jail free' stunt, then? Was it merely because you told Wallace and Milligan to be on the lookout for the unusual that they spotted the camera? Or were conditions altered to make the discovery possible?"

"I'd bet on the second scenario. Whatever these people had planned for me was over, so they unleashed the fix. The tape was made specifically as a way to clear me at their discretion."

"Calculating."

"That's the way the game is played."

"What about the man in the video?"

"If he's directly involved, we'll never I.D. him. If he's just a sap, he's probably dead--with a convenient suicide note in his hand," Jim predicted.

"And I thought police work was scary," Blair said wonderingly.

"Stick with me, kid, and you'll find out the true meaning of the word 'terrifying'."

"You know, I really wish you were teasing, Jim. But, I'm afraid you're not, are you?"

Jim shook his head. "Be afwaid, Bwair, be vewy, vewy afwaid," he said, mimicking Elmer Fudd as his Sentinel brain finally remembered Blair's early morning boxers.

Blair couldn't believe how much he'd laughed in the past few hours. "Come on, man. We're gonna use Simon's office to run the mugshots past you. With those eyes of yours, you can go through the entire databank before Homicide finds the computer's 'On' button."

"That wasn't very nice, Chief. Not every department has an anthropology grad student to walk them through the arduous task of button pushing."

"Well, gee, Jim, you think the pay, or lack thereof, might have something to do with that?" he questioned, pushing Jim toward the captain's office. The bullpen was empty since Major Crime was pulling night duty for the weekend.

"Uh, you expect to be paid? Education is payment unto itself, right?" He paused when they reached the door. "You still have me in shades, Chief. Don't you think this might damage my poor eyes?" Jim hated running mugs. It usually took him at least an hour to get over the motion sickness the speeding pictures caused.

"If you'd do the accu-pressure I taught you, you wouldn't get vertigo," Blair said unsympathetically. Jim still balked. "I'll hold your hand the entire time, okay?" he offered, and the older man obediently followed him into the office. He shook his head as he set up the program on the computer, then took Jim's hand and pressed, having learned the skill as a small boy who got bus sick on occasion. Sometimes Jim reminded him of a spoiled child, and secretly, that pleased him, because he firmly believed someone as special as Jim should be spoiled. In his opinion, it should have happened a lot earlier in the Sentinel's life.

"Thanks, Chief," Jim said gratefully, as the pictures started blurring by.

Okay, a spoiled, but well-mannered child. "Any time, Jim."

Less than an hour later, they had a match. The Homicide officers went out to serve the warrant on a John Collins. Jim and Blair stayed at the station in hopes of getting a chance to listen in on the interrogation, but that was not to be. Simon came charging into his office forty-five minutes later, shredding an unlit cigar, and telling them about the hostage situation that was occurring. Somehow, some way, Collins had gotten the drop on the detectives, and was holding Milligan at gunpoint.

"Collins wants you in exchange for Milligan, Jim," Simon added, fishing his weapon out of his drawer. "You sure you don't know this man?"

"His face isn't familiar, and a name like John Collins is so common. I'm in the dark on this one, sir. Guess I'll just go to the scene and ask."

"You can't be serious, Jim," Blair blurted out before Simon could. "You just can't charge in there without knowing his motivation."

"Milligan went out of his way to be nice to me, Chief. I can't let his life just swing in the wind while we try to piecemeal my memory. Knowing me, Collins is probably another blank spot in the corner of my brain."

"Simon?" Blair appealed.

"We'll discuss it on our way to the scene. And, Ellison? Pick up kevlar on your way out."

*****

The scene was a madhouse by the time Jim pulled the blue and white truck in behind Simon's sedan. Television vans kept them from getting close to the area, their antennae raised in order to keep the public informed and their ratings climbing. S.W.A.T. was already in position, the sharp shooters perched in various spots. Uniforms were milling about, trying to keep back the growing hordes of sightseers; crime was rapidly rivaling skiing as a tourist attraction. Detectives were standing around, worried about one of their own, and speculating on his chances of survival.

A car pulled up behind the truck, and Mulder and Scully climbed out. "Perfect weather for a luau," Mulder called as they approached.

"Just as long as Milligan isn't the fatted pig," Simon replied grimly, as the radio in his hand crackled.

Jim took a deep sniff in their direction. "You've been colluding with the enemy. Are you responsible for my sudden good fortune, cuz?"

"You can smell--" Mulder stopped, still unused to working with a Sentinel. "Of course you can smell.... He was waiting in my room when I got back last night. As much as I would like to take credit for the occurrences of this morning, I can't. The director had already yelled 'cut' before last night's consult."

Jim gave a sharp nod. "I thought this had the appearance of a wrap party. I suppose John Collins is the cake he wants to feed to the adoring public, to give them the illusion that nothing important has been left on the cutting room floor."

"Editing has always been his forte."

"Wonder how he's going to take a last-minute revision?" Jim snarled.

"Don't," Mulder told him.

"Don't what?"

"Don't do a re-write. Let it play as is."

Jim cocked an eyebrow at his cousin, wondering what the agent was up to. "Why should I let this man continue to call the shots?"

"Because we've been reviewing the wrong movie."

Simon threw up a hand in disgust. "When you two decide to stop conversing in metaphors, let me know. I'm going to see what's happening in real life."

Jim reached out and stopped him. "What's happening is that the hero is about to make his final stand."

"Ellison," Mulder warned.

Jim shook his head. "That's a cop, and a friend, he's using as an unwilling extra. If he was expecting a pat ending, he should have picked someone else." He plucked the radio out of the captain's hand. "What frequency is S.W.A.T. using?"

Simon told him because he recognized Jim's tone.

"Jim?" Blair whispered worriedly. It was one thing for his Sentinel to be firmly anchored; it was another for him to go all John Wayne in a seriously dangerous situation.

His concern was rewarded with a slight smile and a brief, "I know what I'm doing, Chief." He punched in the correct frequency, and his call went out to all the S.W.A.T. team. "When Milligan is clear, take your shot." He hit the off button before the team's commander could voice his objections. He looked at his own commander, expecting disapproval there as well.

"You need my weapon?" Simon asked, unsnapping his holster in preparation.

"No. For once, I'm going to be intentionally weaponless. Just keep the rest of the department from shooting me, okay?" Before anyone could answer, he was walking forward determinedly.

"Shouldn't someone be stopping him?" Scully asked in confusion.

"He's wearing kevlar," Blair offered. He patted her arm comfortingly when he noticed how concerned she appeared. "This is what he does, Scully."

"You were right; it does run in the family," she murmured, glancing at her own partner to make sure he hadn't gone charging off on his own. Surprisingly, he remained at her side.

"It's his show," Mulder explained, easily reading her mind. She looked at him in disbelief. "It's a hero thing."

The other men just nodded in agreement. With a sigh, she decided to pick up a copy of Women Are From Venus; Men Are From Mars. Apparently, one did not have to go to New Mexico to find real aliens.

*****

"Mr. Krycek, a word with you."

Krycek grinned at the television screen. "Everything seems to be on schedule."

"Yes, no thanks to you."

The grin faded. "What? I did everything you told me to do."

"Really? I don't recall telling you to stalk Detective Ellison."

"I just wanted to check him out. He doesn't seem like much. A typical Boy Scout."

"There is nothing typical about the detective. You would be quite foolish to underestimate him."

Krycek arrogantly rolled a shoulder. "I could take him; he would play by the rules, and I never do."

"He would play by his rules. You might find yourself out of your league."

The former agent crossed his arms angrily. He hated being in the dark. The old creep kept hinting at things about this Ellison, yet he'd told his henchman nothing about him. He had decided to do his own detective work and had come up with less than he would have liked. Whatever secrets the black-lunged son of a bitch had about this man, he held onto more tightly than he had any other secret. But he knew knowledge was power, and he planned to be the one with the power in the end.

Shrewd eyes watched him. "Don't underestimate me, either, Mr. Krycek," he warned casually. "You've seen me make mistakes. You've seen me exiled. You've seen Mulder destroy some of my most brilliant schemes. Yes, I've been careless...but only with someone else's enterprise. Detective Ellison is mine. It would do you well to remember this."

Krycek made a mental note of it.

Chapter Twenty-three

Jim expanded his senses as he approached the house in which Collins held Milligan. The lawn was carefully tended, a flower garden obediently budding in the warmth of Cascade's spring. Didn't look like the home of a killer. Didn't smell like one, either. No odor of stale alcohol, nor lingering traces of marijuana or other drugs, tweaked his nostrils. But there was the twang of gun oil, and the air was rank with a mixture of perspiration and fear. Milligan.

"Collins!" he yelled, as he stood on the walk leading to the door. "It's Ellison! You wanted to see me?"

The door opened a crack. Through the clear storm door, Jim saw Milligan being pushed in front of someone else. "I wanted you broken before you died, Ellison," a voice called out. "Guess I'll just have to settle for killing you!"

"That sounds personal, Collins. But I have no idea why. Wanna clue me in before you off me?" His eyes focused on the gloomy interior, easily seeing the gun being held against Milligan's neck.

"You killed my son, you bastard!"

"You're going to have to be more specific," Jim said, flinching at how that sounded. But he had been a warrior most of his life; sometimes he had to mortally wound the enemy.

"Sgt. Robert Boyd."

Blair gasped sharply. Boyd was one of Jim's men who had been killed in Peru. Damn. Why did it seem that everything always came down to that single incident. It had already altered Jim's life inexorably. How many more times would it appear to once again wring pain from his partner?

He didn't even realize he was moving forward until Simon's arm blocked his path. "He's handling it, Sandburg," the captain said sotto voce.

"That son of a bitch better hope he is," the Guide said, staring pointedly at Mulder, and Simon realized that Blair's threat was aimed at that Spender fellow--the one with the cigarettes. Briefly, the captain wondered if the man was savvy enough to know Sandburg was not as helpless as he looked.

Jim was aware of his partner's indignant anger, but kept himself focused on the situation in front of him. He knew exactly what was going on. By using someone connected to the crash, C.G.B. Spender was going to force the public into seeing him as Captain Ellison--hero. It would be a reminder of the good that Jim Ellison had done, and the supposed bad would be quickly forgotten.

Although he didn't mind the intentional character repair, he did mind that his dead comrade was being used as the catalyst. Especially in the face of such an obvious lie. "I met Boyd's parents at his funeral. You weren't there." He had attended each of the re-interments. It was a duty even his extensive debriefing hadn't interfered with.

"Robbie was my son, not Mack Boyd's," Collins replied righteously. "Just because I didn't want him in the beginning, didn't necessarily mean I would never want him."

And just because you were the sperm donor doesn't mean you were his father, either, Jim wanted to shout. But he didn't, because all he wanted to do was get Milligan to safety. "I didn't kill Robbie or the others, Mr. Collins," Jim said politely, using the nickname Collins had used for his son. Play him, Ellison. You can do it. "Blame those who shot down the helo."

"You survived!" Collins charged angrily.

"And if you think I deserve to be punished for that, then by all means, let's get on with it. But I'm tired of innocents dying in my stead, Mr. Collins," Jim said, keeping his tone conciliatory. He assumed the standard surrender position--hands raised, a slow turn to show nothing was concealed behind his back. "It's me you want. Let the detective go." He continued up the walk toward the door.

"What are you up to?" Collins asked suspiciously.

"Your son died because he was working with me. You wouldn't want Detective Milligan to suffer the same fate, would you?" He kept walking. "You let him go, then you do what you think you have to do. That sounds like a good plan to me, Mr. Collins. Don't you agree?"

Jim's manner was confusing the man. He wished the other man was here to tell him what to do. He'd been so helpful before. Collins sighed, as Jim stepped onto the porch. "I don't know what to do," he admitted.

"Open the door, and let Milligan walk out," Jim supplied. "Then I'll walk in, and your revenge will be complete."

The glass door opened, and Milligan stepped out. As soon as he cleared the door, Jim tackled him, both hitting the cement porch hard. Popping noises soon followed, accompanied by the shattering of glass, and to Sentinel ears, the cessation of one beating heart. He raised his head when the popping sounds stopped. Through the jagged remains of the door, he could see the jagged remains of John Collins. He felt no relief; only a weary sadness.

"Thank you," Milligan whispered, and Jim turned to see the detective sitting up and staring at the body as well.

"I'm sorry you got involved in my mess. You okay?"

Milligan nodded, then paled. "You've been cut."

Jim looked down at the long laceration on his arm, and shrugged. That was what usually happened when you ended up on the wrong side of broken glass. "It'll heal." He listened as the police department approached en masse. "You did good, keeping your cool. If you want in Major Crime, I'll give you a recommendation when there's an opening."

Milligan shook his head. "I don't think I'm quite ready for that yet. I'll let you know, okay?" He scrambled to his feet as his partner yelled his name. "I think I'm going to be happy in Homicide for a while."

"Scared another one away, have you, Jim?" Simon asked, overhearing the comment, relieved to see his detective on his feet.

"Don't worry, you still have me, sir," Blair quipped as he pressed a handkerchief against Jim's arm, and searched for other damage to his Sentinel. "Is this finally over?" he asked softly.

"I think so, Chief."

"Good."

"May I have a look?" Blair turned to see Scully beside him, and Mulder bending over the body of John Collins, Simon discussing something with him. He nodded, and she lifted the handkerchief. "I think it's going to need stitches," she diagnosed.

Jim looked out and saw a couple of familiar paramedics. "Albert will do it onsite," he said with relief. He didn't want to visit the E.R. again. He started across the yard. An intrepid reporter somehow skirted around all the cops, and came up to him, jamming a microphone into his face.

"Detective Ellison, this must be a great moment of triumph for you," he gushed, hoping his cameraman was getting a decent picture.

Jim looked at the man bewilderedly. "Triumph? Jerome Johnson is dead. John Collins is dead. The people of Cascade not only have lost confidence in their police department, but the city has three less officers to protect her. A dedicated detective was held at gunpoint, and could have easily been killed. Too much blood--figuratively and literally--has been shed, including my own, for this to be called anything less than a tragedy. So, no, I really wouldn't call this a triumph."

The reporter stared at him in shock, or perhaps in mortification of his own insensitivity. Blair just shook his head in disdain, and carefully prodded his partner toward the care he needed.

*****

"Come on in, Simon," Blair called softly, seeing the captain in the doorway. "Jim's sleeping, so keep it down to a dull roar," he said, angling his head toward the loft. "Speaking of sleeping, shouldn't you be in bed? Major Crime works tonight, doesn't it?"

Simon shrugged. "I'll have all day tomorrow to catch up on my missed sleep. I came by to give Jim his shield and weapon back."

"That was quick."

"The brass wants to put all this behind them." He reached for the beer Blair handed him, then followed the grad student out to the balcony. "The department is taking most of the flack for this situation, and you know how they hate the spotlight. By expediting Jim's reinstatement, they're hoping to get on the public's good side again. Whoever this guy is, he did a hell of a job of restoring Jim's reputation."

"He destroyed it. It's only right he correct his own crap."

Well, Sandburg was obviously in no mood to cut anyone any slack. "Jim's doing okay, isn't he?"

"For a man who's been tortured for over a week, yeah, he's doing fine. The various cuts, bruises, and broken bones will heal. The emotional upheavals have been dealt with, for the most part. The re-surfacing of the helicopter crash is probably going to be good for a nightmare or two, but we'll handle it like we always do," he replied bitterly.

"You still have no idea why all this occurred?"

"Mulder and Scully are supposed to come over and tell us. But, at the moment, they have their own troubles. Their boss got suspicious of their 'vacation' plans, especially since the two aren't known for going off together for mere fun, and decided to see what the attraction was to Cascade. A news search cleared up everything for him, so now they're trying to explain how they got involved, and why they felt they needed to get involved. In other words, they've been called to the captain's office, and they both have my sympathy. Not a very pleasant way to spend a Sunday afternoon."

"Why, Sandburg, I'm hurt by your implication that you don't enjoy every moment you spend in my company," Simon said drolly, hoping to lighten the moment. In his opinion, both of his men had been battered and bruised during this incident.

"You'll get over it," Blair replied, with a spark in his eyes.

Simon nodded. He'd gotten over everything else the two had challenged him with. "You know, I thought finding out about Jim's abilities was going to be the biggest shock of my life. Then he just had to have you as a partner, and I started reading the stress management books my divorce attorney presented to me--at the same time he presented his bill. When you moved in here, and the idea didn't make me hyperventilate, I said to myself, 'Simon, son, you are one psychologically sound man.'"

"You say stuff like that to yourself?" Blair interrupted with a grin.

"Shut up, Sandburg. I'm expressing myself here. Now, where was I?"

"'Simon, son, you are one psychologically sound man'," the anthropologist replied obediently.

"Yeah. Well, I was wrong. There's no way anyone could be psychologically sound around the two of you. The most peculiar shit happens to you. Spirit animals, and South American Indians shooting arrows and throwing spears in downtown Cascade.... You know the weekly captains' meetings I have to attend? Well, the other captains have started bringing popcorn to eat when its my turn, because they know I'm going to have some entertaining tale to tell. The regular officers might be jealous of Major Crime, but the brass know the real score."

Major Crime was a laughingstock? "I'm sorry, sir. We never meant to make the unit a joke."

Simon smiled. "Don't worry about it. I get to laugh at them when they see our numbers. Arrests, convictions, solve-rates, open case ratios.... None of the other divisions are in the running when it comes to numbers, Sandburg. I get such sweet satisfaction out of throwing that up in their faces...."

"I hope you have some numbers to show them this week, then."

Simon shook his head and sighed. "This is definitely a popcorn week."

Blair gave him a sympathetic pout. "Speaking of popcorn, I'm curious about what Mulder meant when he said we'd been reviewing the wrong movie."

"The whole movie riff went over my head," Simon admitted.

"Actually, I was quite proud of Jim. At least I know now why my Movieline magazines are always showing up in the bathroom."

"You know, Sandburg, there are some things you shouldn't discuss with your boss."

Blair grinned. "Then it's a good thing you're a friend, too."

"Lord knows, you and Jim can use all you can get," Simon sighed.

"Can I add an amen to that?" Jim asked, joining them on the balcony.

"What're you doing up, man?" Blair asked. "You've only been out an hour."

"Dana and Mulder are here."

"You were listening instead of sleeping?"

He shook his head. "I was sorta doing both."

"Your multi-tasking skills are improving," Blair said approvingly.

"This doesn't mean more tests, does it?" Jim asked warily.

Blair patted his shoulder as he went past him toward the door. "There will always be tests, Jim. But I'll give you a few days to recuperate."

"Oh, thank you, sahib," Jim groused, executing a shallow, but recognizable bow. His broken rib wouldn't allow a grander gesture.

Blair just grinned. "You're welcome."

Chapter Twenty-four

"Cascade averages three sunny days a year, and this is the fifth one in a row, so we're out on the balcony, worshipping the oddly glowing ball of light, and wondering what it is," Blair said conversationally, as he ushered the Federal agents through the loft.

"Want me to ask the Consortium what it is?" Mulder inquired.

"Nah. They might make it go away. We'll take our chances. Everything copacetic in Washington?"

"Guess we'll know when we get there tonight."

"You're heading back to D.C. tonight?" Jim asked his cousin, as he awkwardly opened one of the folding patio chairs he'd bought last fall when they went on sale.

"We're on our way to the airport. Duty calls...and the Bureau will reimburse me for the tickets," Mulder explained with an amused smile. "So, how are you doing, Ellison? Any new body holes since I last saw you?"

"Fifteen stitches closed up the last one. You know, since they created it, you would think they would help me keep it in one piece a little better," Jim observed dryly.

"Uh, about that...." Mulder began, then looked to his partner for help.

She took the seat beside Jim's. "We were wrong," she explained gently. "The gifts you have are natural."

"Yes!" Blair yelled. "I knew he was a real Sentinel. Maybe they could have jiggled the DNA around enough to create the senses, but it has always been more than just hypersensitivity. It's also his instincts, his need to protect others more than himself. That kind of thing can't be bottled in a lab and sold over-the-counter."

"They found that out, Blair, when they created Alex Barnes."

"So, the bitch was perpetratin' from the beginning. I should have known she was a faker."

"What does this mean?" Simon asked. "What about the story William Ellison told us?"

"Apparently Grace Ellison realized her son was special, and she took him to the lab to be studied, not altered. Cancer Man let William continue to think his son was a science project because his anger made him more malleable to his machinations."

"And you know this because...?" Simon demanded.

"Because the man told me."

"Did he happen to tell you why the hell Jim was put through all this Johnson crap?"

"It was a test. He wanted to know how connected he was."

"And?"

"And he found his answer."

"Jim has friends," Blair said, daring anyone to contradict him.

"Yes. More than C.G.B. Spender expected, I believe." Mulder looked at his cousin, who hadn't spoken since Scully told him the truth. "You apparently have in your possession a number of powerful secrets. That turns even enemies into allies."

Jim shrugged. "I've never held them over anyone."

"Yeah, and they want to keep it that way," Mulder replied with a grin. "I go back to D.C. with the knowledge that you're well-protected, cousin."

"Isn't that still the question? I know nothing on Spender. Why has he invested nearly forty years in protecting me?"

"Because you are unique."

"Until they pin me down, and extract all my vital parts to mete out on an assembly line?"

"No."

"No?" Blair asked with a frown. "Because Alex turned out so badly, Jim's of no value?"

"According to my source, it's too soon to be thinking about making more Jims."

"Too soon?" Blair repeated curiously.

"Apparently, Jim," Scully began, "you are experiencing an evolutionary process."

"Aren't we all?" Blair pointed out.

"But not at the rate Jim is. We can assume from what Mulder was told, we won't have to wait millions of years to see what Jim will become. He has already taken great leaps up the evolutionary ladder, and several more are still in the works. Blair, when you first met him, he had rudimentary control of his senses, correct?"

"You read my notes."

"Now, his control is effortless."

"Mostly," Jim agreed. "But that's because of Sandburg."

"Did Blair have anything to do with contacting another dimension?"

"That was an isolated incident."

"After your first violent confrontation with Alex Barnes, you indicated you could pick up impressions from objects she had handled."

"Yes." That had been a little unnerving.

"You solved a murder by talking to the ghost of the victim?"

Jim glared at Blair. "You put that in your notes, too?"

Blair shrugged. "I write down everything in my notes. All of it won't make the final cut."

Scully looked at Blair. "You drowned in the fountain." He nodded. "Jim made you live again."

"That was personal," Jim said hollowly.

She shook her head, and laid a hand on his knee. "Maybe it was the personal angle which made it work. Maybe it was because at that particular moment, you had the faith in yourself, but the power, the gift, came from inside you."

"I don't want this," he said, his blue eyes haunted. "I think I was better off being the lab freak."

"It'll be okay, Jim," Blair said soothingly, his hand clasping the Sentinel's shoulder. "You don't have to go through these changes alone. You have friends, real friends, and we're not going anywhere."

"I think Simon wants to go," Jim replied, catching the grayness beneath Simon's dark skin.

"If something like this was going to scare me away, Jim, I would have been long gone," the captain said gently. "Just don't give me any grief over my cigars."

"And quite frankly, cuz, this is rather tame when it comes to the stuff Scully and I usually find ourselves knee-deep in, so we're going to be around, too. In fact, there are some cases I'd like to run by you--"

"Give him some time to orient himself, Mulder," Scully chastised. "You're not going to bully my best bud like you do me."

"Best bud? When did this happen?" Mulder questioned sharply.

"I wasn't under the impression that I had to share my social calendar with you, Mulder."

"But.... What does best bud mean?"

"Anything we want it to," Jim replied easily. "Perhaps the next time you're visiting, Dana, I'll be well enough to explore the possibilities."

"You know, planes go both ways. Maybe when you're well, you'll come visit me," she purred.

"Speaking of planes," Mulder said, glancing pointedly at his watch,"we better be leaving, Scully."

"Just when it was about to get interesting," she muttered. "I'll try to work on his timing before your visit, Jim."

He smiled, and walked with her to the door. "Then it's a date, Dana. Call me, okay? Anytime."

She laughed. "You'll probably get tired of hearing my voice."

"Never," he vowed.

Cupping his face gently, she tugged his head down, then kissed him, only releasing him when she heard Mulder coughing, and Blair trying hard not to laugh. "Research, gentlemen," she said smugly.

"Research?" Mulder repeated indignantly.

"Yeah. I'll take this kiss and compare it with the next one...to see if he's evolved any further." She reached up and wiped a lipstick smudge from Jim's face. "You won't let me down, will you, Jim?"

"No, ma'am," he replied obediently.

Blair gave up on suppressing his laughter, and just let the sound spill out. "Let me tell you, Scully, Jim is always a man of his word."

"I'm counting on that," she said, and actually batted her eyes at her 'research' subject. It was so much fun to be able to flirt, and know that no one would respect her less for doing so. Coming to Cascade had done her a world of good. She had all three Cascadians to thank for that. "Thank you," she told them, as they walked them to the car. "I've gone back to D.C. after a case feeling confused, disgusted, introspective, satisfied that justice has been served, or just plain relieved that Mulder and I survived. I think, however, this is the first time I've ever gone back feeling...good--about myself, about the future."

"She's so easy," Mulder complained with a shake of his head.

"You wish," she retorted, startling him. Oh, yes. It would be a while before she allowed Diana Fowley to get under her skin again. "Take care of each other," she said, slipping into the driver's seat.

"Ditto," Blair said for all of them.

*****

"You're looking...introspective, Mulder," Scully said as the plane leveled off to cruising altitude.

"I'm capable of it on occasion, Scully."

"I didn't mean it that way, and you know it. What's troubling you? I thought you would be on cloud nine. We went to Cascade, and we got answers--answers which further your suppositions and suspicions. I would think you would be crowing your achievements, not brooding silently."

"It bothers me that Cancer Man was so forthcoming. Why? He says he wants me to help protect my cousin."

"You don't believe him?"

"The problem is that I do. I believe everything he says about Ellison, and I believe he wants to keep him safe."

She sighed. "Why is that a problem?"

"Because that man has never told a whole truth in his life. If what he's confided about Jim Ellison is just part of the truth, what the hell is the rest?"

Scully leaned back against her seat, and closed her eyes. The next time her partner was brooding silently--she would let him.

*****

"You're not planning on spending the night out here, are you?" Blair asked, not surprised to find Jim on the balcony hours later.

"No, Chief. I'll be turning in soon."

"Need all this room for the thoughts going around in your head?" his partner asked knowingly.

"It's been a hell of a ride, hasn't it? Last Sunday I was sure I hadn't killed Jerome Johnson, that I wouldn't swallow pills, that I was a Sentinel.... In the course of the week, all that changed. Now, I'm back to where I started. A full circle, Chief."

"That's life, Jim. We all run around in circles, and if we're lucky, those circles just keep expanding. If we're unlucky, we just keep going around the same circle over and over again."

"Then we must be two of the luckiest people in the world. The scenery is always changing around here."

"More beautiful every day," he agreed.

"Thanks for agreeing to travel with me."

"Thanks for letting me. It's more than the dissertation, you know."

"I know. Sometimes I act like I don't know, but I know."

"Yeah. Sometimes we like to fool ourselves, when in actuality, we're not fooling anyone," Blair sighed.

"You mean, like me ignoring everything Dana and Mulder said about me zooming along the evolutionary track?"

"Ignoring or repressing?"

"Ignoring. A very conscious decision to shove it into the nether regions of my brain."

Blair shrugged. "Cool. I'll hang onto it for you."

"Why did I know you were going to say that?"

Blair grinned up at him. "It's just so exciting, man. Possibly all Sentinels could have had this ability, you know. But back in those days, how many Sentinels lived past the age of thirty? Hell, not many people anywhere lived much longer than that. Disease, warring tribes, accidents.... Life was the ultimate crapshoot back in those days. I remember one story about...."

Jim smiled, and let his Guide weave a cocoon of words around his battered body and soul. Maybe tomorrow, he would emerge with a fresh set of wings and the desire to flit off into the unknown. Tonight, however, he would rest in the safe, warm place his partner created for him, and heal.

Epilogue

Agent Dana Scully trailed her fingers across the small glass screen, wishing she could actually touch the figure who paced the padded cell. Did he know she was there? That they wouldn't let her see him? "Hang on, Mulder. I'm going to be leaving the country for a while, so I might seem far away. But I'm leaving in order to get the answers we need. Do you understand? I'm not abandoning you. No matter what they might tell you. Look into your heart, and you'll know the truth."

She had left him once already, to go to New Mexico to find out more about an artifact which was inscribed with Navajo "code talk". Mulder's reaction to not even the object, but just a tracing of its inscription, had been bewildering…and extreme. He'd started hearing voices in his head, voices which casused him physical pain. Then he'd had psychic episodes which had led him to the actual artifact and a hidden, mutilated body, and had caused him to accuse Skinner of being in league with their enemies. At the time she'd left, she had been the only one physically, and mentally, capable of continuing the investigation.

In her absence, things had gone from bad to worse. The Navajo shaman, who she had hoped could translate the artifact for her, had been near death-- comatose due to cancer, and therefore unable to help her. Then Skinner had called and told her she that she needed to get back to D.C. because her partner was in serious condition. She had rushed back to find Mulder confined, and she had been forbidden to go to him, to let him know he wasn't alone.

So, she was going to do what she thought he'd want her to do-- find the truth. The artifact had originated in the Ivory Coast. She was going to go there, find its secrets, learn how to cure her partner, then come back here and rescue him from this hell. And no one was going to get in her way again.

"I'll be back, Mulder. Believe in me; believe in us."

"Excuse me? Did you say something?" Diana Fowley asked, also watching the prowling figure on the screen.

"I was talking to my partner," Scully said.

"Oh, Dana. He wouldn't be able to hear you even if you were there with him. His mind is completely gone. My poor Fox," the woman moaned.

"Mulder's mind is not gone," Scully replied, digging her nails into her palms to keep from slapping the agent beside her. Whatever had gone wrong with Mulder, this witch had something to do with it. But she really didn't have time to deal with assault charges, so she would do what she had to do to save Mulder and then...then she would deal with the bitch once and for all. "And he hears me, Diana. He always will."

She walked out of the mental facility, tapping a number into her cell phone. Once again, she got a busy signal. Jim's line had been busy for the past two days. Apparently, he was a very popular man at the moment. She would try again when she got back. The good feeling she'd gotten three months ago, was beginning to slip away.

Aware she was being watched, Scully boarded the plane, and mentally dared anyone to stop her. She was going to the Ivory Coast for answers, and Mulder's truth, and if anyone had a problem with that, they would find out just how much she had learned from her partner.

*****

The young man on the television screen was nearly in tears, as he admitted to the fraudulent facts he had compiled in his dissertation. Then Blair Sandburg walked from the room, and never looked back.

"And they say there's nothing good on television these days." He reached for his ever-present pack of cigarettes. "Did you complete the transfer of funds to that publisher's account?"

"Yeah. He's already 'retired' to the country to write his own bestseller." Alex Krycek pointed at the TV. "Guess I won't be going to Cascade, huh?"

"No. It would probably be healthier if you stayed away from that city."

The warning was noted. "Tell me something. That was all real, wasn't it? The advance, the offers that Sandburg guy had?"

"Yes, Mr. Krycek. Where would be the fun in tempting an animal with a fake carrot?"

"So, he willingly gave up all that to protect the cop? I don't get it. I bet even Ellison's mother would have thought twice about turning down all that dough and fame."

"You are correct, and that was her downfall. It would have been Mr. Sandburg's as well, if he had not had the strength of character I thought he had." It would have been a pity, too. He'd spent considerable time and effort finding his Sentinel a suitable Guide. "What is that old saying? 'Fate makes our relatives, but choice makes our friends.' It seems that Detective Ellison chose well, Mr. Krycek. Very well indeed." He smiled and deftly lit another cigarette, then went on to other business.

"So, how is the lovely Agent Scully enjoying the warm waters of Africa?"

THE END

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