Theater of the Absurd II: Home By Anna Otto and Ashlea Ensro annaotto1@aol.com & morleyphile@yahoo.com Disclaimer and other information in Act I Act III: The Games We Play The file landed on the desk slightly askew, fluttering open to reveal a picture of a trashed apartment. Skinner saw Scully glance at it, then look up at him. "What's this?" Mulder asked. "Sharona Adamowictz. She is twenty-seven and lives alone here in D.C. Abducted from her apartment two weeks ago and hasn't been seen or heard from since." Scully brushed her hair back with one hand. "Why are you giving it to us?" "I found it on my desk this morning. Apparently it's urgent." The slight roll of his eyes indicated that he felt otherwise. Mulder flipped through the file, his eyes scanning the words. "With all due respect, sir-" Skinner cringed almost imperceptibly - there was sincerity in the man's voice. Since when had Mulder shown anyone due respect? "Any agent in the Bureau could handle this." Skinner pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He had expected them to resist taking the case with a bit more effort - they certainly had enough work to last them for months - but they were arguing with him as if by rote, as if it was what he expected. He studied them closely - the way they stood, the way they watched him. They looked the same, albeit older and more...restrained. But the mannerisms were different - for the hundredth time he felt as though he were talking to complete strangers. He closed his eyes, then opened them slowly. "With all due respect, Agent Mulder," he said, "I am asking the two of you to take this case." Scully nodded first. "I'm...sorry, sir." "Don't be." His response was too light, too immediate, he realized the moment the words left his mouth. "It's fine." For another tense moment he stood there, and then he turned, leaving them alone in the darkened office. * * * "Do you think he knows?" Scully whispered. "Hmm?" Mulder looked up from the file. He pushed his hair back with one hand - it had gotten too long for Bureau standards, he reminded himself. "No, he can't know. He doesn't have access to that sort of information." Scully did not look reassured. He stared at the two piles of folders. There were enough in the "safe" pile. Why could Skinner not be contented with those? "It's a classic abduction scenario." She traced her hand over the photo of the apartment. "The victim was single, with no family or friends who would miss her. Neighbors reported strange lights in the sky, sounds in the apartment..." She smiled faintly. "They weren't exactly subtle, were they?" "You're destroying your skeptic routine, Scully." "Am I? We know this wasn't done by men from outer space." He sighed, his eyes going back to the photo. Had this been done to them? He had stared for hours at the pictures of their own apartments, but they had triggered nothing. "So what do we do?" He closed the file, fought the urge to place it in the second pile. Skinner had asked them. They would be under suspicion if they refused. They would be compromising the Project if they did not refuse. "She'll surface in a few days, without any memory of the past two weeks. We pretend to investigate, interview her, come to no conclusions. We do not pursue it any farther." Mulder glanced up at her sharply. She sounded so much like Kathy. he thought. "Scully," he said aloud to reinforce the thought, "I think there is a problem here." She nodded for him to continue. "I don't think Adamowictz is going to be returned." A momentary pause. "Why not?" "Scully...before we...left." He was finding it increasingly difficult to continue. "They were going to proceed with human testing. I think..." He choked on the words. "I think the tests have begun." "The vaccine was a success when we left. If you're right, then she'll be returned with no ill effects." Mulder's eyes regarded her warily. He was not in a position to question her medical expertise. "But if the vaccine isn't effective..." She let out a quiet gasp. "Then we know where she is being held." "We can't..." He shook his head. "No, we said we wouldn't take these cases. We can't take these cases." "Are you going to tell that to Skinner?" "We'll come up with some excuse...we have to." "How long do you think we can avoid this?" "We can request a transfer." "On what grounds? Mulder-" She drew in a deep breath. "This was our life once. And it still is. These people betrayed us..." He was silent for a long time. "Scully...there's something I never told you." She watched him - waited. "The other night, Martin showed up at my apartment." "Martin Ng?" He nodded. "Why?" "He...said that he wanted to help us." Scully's fingers played with the edges of the folder. "That would be a first." "He said he could help us regain our memories." "Do you believe him?" "No." Mulder's response was too abrupt. "I mean...yes...I don't know. He wanted us to come back." He gave a low moan. "Scully, do you remember, before we were...gone..." He met her eyes. "Did I kill a Department of Defense employee and steal his ID?" "I don't remember." Scully opened the file again, her gaze deliberately avoiding his. "How would I remember that? It doesn't sound like something you would do." "It sounds like something Paul would do." He grimaced in frustration. "Martin's a liar and we both know it. He's trying to manipulate us - just as they have all along." Scully's eyes met his in silent agreement. "Then we'll take this case. Whether *they* like it or not." * * * Mulder could not believe he had forgotten the password to his computer. He had called Scully - she could not remember either, but she was sure she had written it down somewhere. She referred to herself in the third person. Scully would have written it down somewhere. While she went to check, he looked over the file again. The scene of devastation was achingly familiar. They would have to visit the scene tomorrow. His eyes traveled around the room, lit only by the glow of the computer screen and the fish tank. Skinner had held the computer in storage, with the desperate hope that one day Mulder would come back for it. The fish tank he had bought himself, last week. It seemed like something the old Mulder would have owned. The phone rang. He picked it up, hesitating for a moment before answering, "Mulder." "Mulder, it's me." Scully spoke with a bit more confidence. "I found it. Trust no one, one word, one as in the number." He laughed despite himself. Scully or Kathy, she was so damned practical and organized. "Thank you," he said, typing the password with one hand as he hung up the receiver with the other. What a silly password, he thought. Anyone who had known Mulder could have guessed it. Columns of file names appeared as the computer came to life in a bright flash of light... Mulder's head jerked up, his fingers instantly reaching for his gun. But the apartment was silent except for the low thrum of the fish tank, the door safely shut and locked. He stared back at the photograph of Adamowictz's apartment. She had gone unwillingly, it seemed. When he had gone...he had gone willingly. * * * "Let's question the neighbors," Scully offered to Mulder who stood, motionless, in the middle of Sharona's ruined apartment. "We both know that there's no evidence here." "Precisely." He worried his lip, eyes dark and calculating. "This is an exercise in futility. As is questioning the neighbors." She sighed, agreeing. "Then what are you suggesting?" "Scully... if there is a chance that Sharona is still alive, and if we want her back," Mulder took a deep breath, about to plunge into oceans unknown. "We have to go and get her." Scully opened her mouth as if about to argue, then suddenly burst into laughter. "I'm sorry," she tried to calm down, shook her head. "It just sounds like something we would have done... before we were gone. Foolishly brave and dangerously stupid." Mulder smiled uncertainly, glad to hear her laughter. It seemed she hadn't laughed since... well, since she stopped being Kathy. God, just a month ago, they both led happy and normal lives. What possessed them to abandon it all? The lies, he answered himself. Paul and Kathy despised lies as much as Mulder and Scully did. "Well, we do have a reputation to uphold," he confirmed, suddenly feeling lighter. "So, are you with me?" "Absolutely," Scully nodded, her eyes gleaming. "We will have to go at night - the security won't be as tight and there will be fewer employees at work." "Tonight, then," Mulder whispered softly as Scully started walking down the stairs, away from the scene of devastation. Running after her, he tried to remind himself that the vaccine had worked - that he himself had seen it in action. There was every reason to believe that Sharona was fine. * * * "Miss..." Holmes and Marsel continued talking, oblivious to the tired nurse standing beside them, looking pointedly at her watch. "Miss," she tried again, this time receiving a glare of the brown eyes. "It's 8:30. The visiting hours are over." Holmes sighed, nodded. "All right." "Thank you, Jenny," Marsel grinned at the nurse. "I thought I would never get rid of her." "Ha-ha," Holmes stood up, searched for her bag. "I will see you tomorrow, partner." Marsel watched the door close behind her sadly. "I know," he whispered. As of late, he was starting to hate this time of day with a passion. Not because his partner had to leave and let him be alone with his thoughts and doubts for the rest of the evening. But because each time she left, she seemed to put on an icy mask of animosity and determination. And because she suddenly refused to tell him what was happening at work. And because she looked as if she were preparing for a battle. And all in all, he didn't like it one bit. * * * Martin watched a dark-haired woman as she took a few steps from the door of her partner's room and leaned against the wall, her eyelids fluttering as if she were about to cry. Oh, the blessed time when denial melts like ice in the spring, leaving a muddy slush of anger behind. Agent Holmes looked exhausted and too thin. Had she been his lover, he would have been naturally concerned. But such qualities were more than a little attractive in the enemy - they could always be put to good use. No, not an enemy, he reminded himself. Today, he was here as a friend. The first two tears sliding down her cheeks were a white flag to signify the fortress' surrender. On cue, Martin materialized at her side, pulled a tissue out of his pocket, and handed it to her silently, smiling inwardly when she accepted it shakily. "Thank you," Holmes whispered. "I always forget these things." Martin watched her with consideration, trying to convey concern and care. As any good actor, he relished the moment when the role became second skin, this absolute, delicious merging of two personalities within him. Sometimes, he felt that he missed his true calling. "You must be Tanya Holmes," he offered her a hand. "My name is Martin, I was going to visit Marsel but I see I'm too late." "Damn hospital policy," she swore under her breath. "Are you a friend of Marsel's?" "Yes," Martin replied. "Haven't seen him lately, and then I heard about the accident..." Holmes shuddered. "It doesn't seem fair, does it?" she questioned fervently. "It should have been me." He was startled by her intensity but recovered quickly. All in all, this was turning out to be an even better situation than he'd envisioned. "I'm sure that is not what Marsel thinks," he asserted. "I am sorry," her expression was suddenly firm, businesslike. "I shouldn't have burdened you. I can only visit for half an hour tomorrow, so if you can keep him company the rest of the time, that would be great." Holmes started walking toward the exit and Martin ran to catch up with her. "Wait, Tanya - may I call you Tanya?" "Yes, what is it?" "Listen, I'm starving," he smiled, embarrassed. "I spotted a nice Italian restaurant nearby - how about you keep me company?" "I should really get going..." Holmes paused uncertainly. "I am sorry." "Please," Martin begged. "You can give me an update on how Marsel is doing. And I can finally get to know you." "Oh well," she shrugged. "I *am* hungry." Martin beamed. He was wrong. Hollywood or Broadway could never provide him with a thrill to match. * * * He wished she would give justice to the incredible cheese ravioli that they both ordered per server's recommendation. Alien invasions and conspiracies aside, there was always time to appreciate fine cuisine. For the past thirty minutes, he'd listened to her talk - she invoked no names, describing the situation in the most general terms, but her despondency and bitterness were a pleasure to behold. He could play this woman like a finely tuned violin. "Are you serious about punishing these agents?" Martin questioned her after she fell silent. Holmes' eyes flickered. "Had it been in my power, I would gladly..." she aborted the sentence, probably unwilling to let him know the extent of damages she would have them suffer. "No," she said instead, unemotionally. "No?" Martin's eyebrows jumped skyward. "How come?" "My boss couldn't care less," Holmes shrugged, stabbed pasta with her fork as if it were an enemy to be defeated. "And what would going in front of the OPR board possibly accomplish? I have no witnesses to speak of and my word against theirs..." "But if you had another witness?" he pushed. She frowned. "I guess." Time to drop the mask. "I was there." Holmes' fork dropped. "What did you just say?" "I saw your accident. I watched as Mulder and Scully held you at gunpoint and searched your car. Then I saw Skinner chase them away. Then I saw the ambulance and police cars arrive. Then I left," Martin recited. "I can corroborate your story down to the T, and I will be happy to do so." Her face was paper-white. "How do you know their names? Who are you?" "I am in the position to possess valuable information," he replied calmly. "And as I said, I am a friend." She made a motion to stand up, and he reached out across the table to grab her hand. "Tanya. Agent Holmes. I need you to go in front of the OPR board and I need you to tell your story. I will provide you with all the necessary evidence. And I will serve as your witness." "Let me go," Holmes hissed at him, her dark eyes boring holes into him. "I don't know what your business is, but this is not how I will handle things." "You're hardly an angel, Agent Holmes. Angels don't break into medical centers without search warrants," Martin wielded his voice sound like chipped glass, accurate and cutting. "And I may have something you want." "The only thing I want is for Marsel to get better," Holmes shrugged him off. "And if I see you hanging around his room again, I will call security." Time to put cards on the table, and draw the joker. "If you do as I ask, I will make sure that Marsel gets better," Martin proclaimed firmly. "This is a win-win situation for you." Holmes' lips twisted as if she were about to laugh. "Who are you, a magician or a lunatic?" "Neither, Agent Holmes. I can keep my promise. You will not be sorry." She slumped a little, melding back into the booth, her face suddenly that of a very small girl at the mercy of a monster unlike any she'd seen before. "What kind of a man would watch all this happen and not offer help?" she whispered, horrified. Martin sympathized with her, on some level. "The kind of a man who knows where Mulder and Scully had been for the past two years. The kind of a man who can give you damning information against them. The kind of a man who will ask for nothing in return except your testimony," he assured her, waved for the server. "I believe you," Holmes nodded in resignation. "After all I've seen during this damn case... I believe you." "You should," he confirmed, then gestured for her to stay silent when the server came over. "Tiramisu for the lady and cheesecake for me, please," he ordered. "I believe that dessert is good for you, emotionally and physically. The healing power of sugar," he joked. "The doctors say it would take a miracle for Marsel to walk again," she shook her head, still mistrustful. "Are you in the business of miracles?" "Uh-huh. Think of me as your own dark angel," he chuckled indulgently. How ironic, considering that she had to know that she was bargaining with the devil. Martin bared his teeth, playing the part - took an appreciative bite of the cheesecake. "I didn't say yes," her eyes flashed defiantly. "Don't celebrate yet." He shrugged. "You will." "What are you getting out of this?" Holmes questioned suddenly. "As you said, this seems a win-win only for me. What about you?" "Why, Tanya..." Martin's eyelashes batted innocently. "The truth. The justice. What can possibly be more important?" * * * One darkened hallway led to another, and still they hadn't encountered a soul. Scully paused in the doorway of a room illuminated with a soft glow of cloning tanks, startled by the familiarity of the picture - by the sudden impulse to check the controls of the monitors. A slight pressure on the small of her back from Mulder's warm hand reminded her of the purpose of this visit and urged her on. She had to remember that she was an intruder, now. A few more turns, and Scully stopped in front of the nondescript door. "Is this it?" A slight tremor betrayed Mulder's voice. "I think so," she punched in the code and turned the knob carefully, soundlessly. "Here goes nothing." Inside, they stared at several supine figures in beds, hooked up to various monitors and IVs. "At least they don't discriminate by gender," Mulder whispered, then broke off abruptly, walking to one of the beds. "It's her." Scully followed in his footsteps, immediately recognizing Sharona in the pale young woman covered by a thin sheet. She reached shaking fingers to check for pulse, released her breath when she heard a healthy, strong beat. Mulder returned Scully's smile, relieved that they hadn't come here for nothing - that this madness was going to pay off, after all. Then the door opened, and his breath arrested. "What are you doing here at this hour," someone's voice began, then paused, incredulous. "Kathy Mott? Paul Bartlett? I thought you quit!" Scully turned around, effectively obstructing her partner who was frozen in shock. A devilish grin played on her lips. "And missed the most interesting part? Not on your life, Tom." The technician whistled. "I knew I heard it wrong. So glad to see you." "Fill me in," Scully gestured to Sharona. "What are the stats on this one?" Mulder relaxed minutely - watched as Tom reached for the chart, half-listened to the dialogue peppered with medical terms, and tried to memorize the faces of the rest of the patients in the room. For the next case that would come from Skinner, and then... And then they would have to refuse it because they would never be able to walk in here as shamelessly as they did just now. He glanced back at Scully, her attention focused completely on the documentation Tom was showing her. She played the role just a little too well. Was she playing a role? "Sorry to interrupt you," Mulder cut into the conversation. "Tom, we need you to return this patient to the hospital this morning." Scully squeezed his hand imperceptibly. "Yes, orders from above. The case is attracting undue attention." The technician sighed regretfully. "And such a promising subject. The usual procedure?" Mulder nodded. "Please." Tom hung back the chart. "We'll need a blood sample or two in a few days." "You'll get them," Scully promised. "Well, we have to go - but I'll see you in a couple of days, Tom." "Sure, Kathy." Scully walked around the room one last time, adjusting the controls and reading a few charts attentively. "This is going well," she muttered to no one. Mulder shivered. The satisfaction in her voice could not have been faked. Walking up to the car, Scully threw him the keys and stared straight ahead. "They will deliver her to Holy Cross. We will have to transfer her somewhere else immediately," she commented matter-of-factly. Mulder nodded wordlessly, turned the keys in ignition. "The vaccine is working," she remarked after a few minutes. "I know it's too early to celebrate, but..." There was not even a trace of Dana Scully in the woman who sat beside him now. There was only Kathy Mott, the consummate professional and scientist, the believer in the Project. Still, he couldn't bring himself to speak. "The doctor in charge of the experiments is excellent. We will have to take blood samples tomorrow and the day after and ship them here," she continued. "Kathy..." he begged. "Yes?" she echoed. He gripped the steering wheel harder, nails digging into the leather. "Nothing." Who was he kidding? The man whose reflection he saw in the mirror every day wasn't Fox Mulder either. "Their security sucks," he remarked finally, passionately. "Tell me about it." They drove in silence the rest of the way. End of Act 3/7