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 VI: The Choices That We Make "Mulder," his voice when he answered the phone was curt, rough. Edgily, he paced the hallway outside Skinner's office. Scully had better have a good excuse for being late and causing him to worry. "Where are you?" "At work, being the good little conspirator that I am," there was a chuckle on the other end of the line. "Miss me?" Why did he have to suffer this man? "Goodbye, Martin." Martin's voice stopped him hurriedly. "This is about your partner, Mulder. Wonder where she is?" He felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. "What?" "She is busy with Dr. Strauss, fixing another 'subject,'" Martin explained, amused. "I'm surprised at how easy it was to get her back. Nothing like a colleague begging for help." "You're lying, you son-of-a-bitch," Mulder hissed. Someone brushed past him, and he whirled around angrily, shook his head when the offender mumbled hasty apologies. "We have an important hearing in twenty minutes." "Apparently, someone's life was more important to Scully than some hearing," Martin suggested a possibility. "Wouldn't you feel the same way?" Mulder felt like a puppet, every string being pulled simultaneously. "This manipulation may have worked the last time, but it will not work again," he spoke, fighting for strength. "Dangle my partner in front of me, expect me to follow, even though..." "So you remember," the conspirator's voice was wary. "I don't expect you to come running, Mulder. But Scully is tied up at the moment, and I wanted to do you a favor and let you know where she was." "I don't believe you," Mulder whispered. "Why would she go back to serving those who destroyed her?" "Such melodramatics. We didn't destroy you." Martin paused for effect. "Remember what your smoking 'friend' said that night?" Even now, his eyes stung at the pain of betrayal from the man he used to trust. "No." "'Don't be afraid, we will just clean the fissures and replace some rotten parts.'" Mulder slumped against the wall, teeth grinding at the rising migraine, the words twisting inside him like a crooked knife. "Go to hell." He shook as someone touched him on the shoulder, turning around cagily. "Agent Mulder," Skinner's eyes skirted away from his. "Where is Agent Scully?" "I don't know," he whispered to yet another man who betrayed them. "You don't know, or you're not at liberty to discuss?" Skinner questioned scathingly. "Why can't they just leave us alone?" darkening hazel eyes burned with sudden rage. "Why can't you?" "Agent Mulder, this was not entirely my idea." "Did you expect us to fight them? Is that it?" Mulder took a step forward, voice growing in intensity. "We left with a threat hanging over our heads, and even so we disregarded it and brought Sharona back, only to watch her die. Maybe we should have become a link between them and FBI." A bitter laugh. "Tell them which ones to return if the case attracted too much attention. And then watch all the returned ones die." Skinner clenched his fists. "Return from where?" "I'm not at liberty to discuss," Mulder mocked him. "Four people are dead, Agent Mulder," his superior's voice was hard. "And you're telling me you'd rather sit back than stop this manslaughter?" Mulder shook his head, knowing that there was no compromise to agree on anymore. "I'm told we used to be so very brave and impetuous. Haven't we paid enough for it?" he asked softly. "For that matter, haven't you?" Skinner sagged visibly. "Mulder..." Mulder pointed at the door, harsh smile playing on his lips. "I believe they are expecting you inside. Sir." * * * Kathy Mott readjusted the subject's IV, then turned to Strauss with an expression that wavered between triumph and exhaustion. Strauss' own features lacked visible emotion, maintaining the same sullen mask he had kept all morning. "Alive..." Strauss whispered, the slightest nuance of relief sliding into his voice. "Yes." Kathy's own tone was crisp, professional, but not entirely lacking in sympathy. She looked down at the young man lying on the bed. "Alive." She stared at the chart in her hand, a hastily constructed mapping of the measures required to avoid the sort of complications that had already claimed the lives of four subjects. Alive, yes, and barring any further unseen developments, he would continue to be. And the work would go on, as it always had. Kathy sighed, looking at Strauss' haggard face. "You look exhausted," she said, "Why don't you go home?" At his hesitation, she added, "I'll take care of the rest." Distrustful, clearly at the end of his strength, he stared back at her. "Are you positive?" Kathy grinned. "I would bet my medical license that this man stands to live a long and healthy life." She wondered why Strauss still looked so unhappy. The vaccine was successful. He should have been overjoyed. Instead, it seemed to her that he was about to cry. She lay a hand on his shoulder. "Go home," she repeated. He stood up slowly, drained. "Thank you...Kathy..." Turning back to her patient, she did not see him leave. It had not been long before she heard the door open again. "Has Dr. Strauss left? I thought I would speak to him." It surprised her somewhat that she did not feel the familiar prickle of fear at the sound of his voice. Had she slipped back into her old persona so quickly? Kathy rose to face him as he reached for a cigarette. She indicated the man on the bed, and he replaced the pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket without taking one. "The situation is under control. I suggested to Strauss that he go home for the evening." She shrugged. "That is all right, is it not?" The Smoking Man looked mildly surprised. "Of course," he said, his voice quiet. "Of course." He approached the bed. "Will he live?" "I believe so, yes." Kathy watched the older man closely. He was as cold and aloof as ever, but the red around his eyes gave him away - he had not slept in days. She glanced at him with obvious concern, realizing only now how desperate the organization's situation had become since their departure. It was good to be needed. "Agent Scully-" he began. A soft laugh. "Kathy," she corrected. He drew in a deep breath. "Kathy," he said. The faint light of a smile touched his icy eyes. This - this was right. "It's good to have you back." * * * Where was he? Holmes glanced at the faces composing the review board. At Skinner, his face grim, fingers rubbing at his temples. At Mulder, stiff and uncomfortable in his dark suit - at the empty chair beside him. Martin was nowhere to be seen. Somehow, that did not surprise her. She had been a fool to trust in him, to believe that these men and women operating from the shadows could ever be brought to justice, to believe that a man paralyzed in a near-fatal car accident could ever be made to walk again. They had used her - and though the realization was painful, it was not shattering. A small voice in her head kept up the mantra, none the less - - while the rest of her mind automatically answered questions. Yes, on the night in question, she and Agent Marsel illegally entered the premises of the Alderwood Medical Center. Yes, they had been pursued upon departure by a black sedan, which had driven them off a bridge. Yes, she could identify the driver of the sedan as Special Agent Fox William Mulder, the passenger as Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully. No, she could not identify the bodies floating in the tanks, nor the contents of the vials removed from the glove compartment of her car by the agents in question. "And you submit to the board that this story can be corroborated?" "By Agent Marsel, yes, and by another man, who is not present at this time." For the first time, she saw Mulder flinch ever so slightly. "Do you have evidence to support these allegations, Agent Holmes?" "I have this man's testimony, but as I said-" "That will be all, Agent Holmes." She returned to her chair, eyes staring straight ahead at the faces of the panel, in defiance. In resignation. Her hands at last had stopped trembling. * * * Holmes' testimony floated towards him, sounding as though it came from far away, a hazy, underwater sort of distance. He was only aware of the weight of her words as she spoke the phrase, "another man". Another witness. Mulder clenched his fists, a slight tremor of fear coursing through his body. He was under no illusions. The hearing was for the sake of formality; regardless of the strength or weakness of the young woman's account, his career - and Scully's - was over. Still, Holmes had no evidence, and he had expected that his termination would be the extent of the punishment. He had been relieved. He would leave the FBI, leave all this conflict, and start afresh somewhere else. He could get a job teaching criminal psychology, maybe head back to San Diego, try to reclaim whatever remained of his life. He had the sudden, sinking understanding that none of it was going to happen. Someone else had been on the bridge that night. Someone else had seen him casually wave away the lives of two young agents as though they meant nothing. Someone else had stood aside, watched as he buried himself beneath the weight of his own sins. Whatever evidence Holmes had, she did not come by it alone. It was no mystery as to the identity of the secret witness. He groaned inwardly, cursing his own stupidity, wondering what sort of sick game Martin was playing. It was Martin who had given them the key back to the memories of their former lives - and now it seemed that he was trying to destroy them. Just who was he working for? There was something missing, he thought, some crucial piece of the puzzle. If he could only remember... It was not all that important, really, just another problem to consider. Martin was irrelevant... absent. What sort of a deal had he made with Holmes? There was probably only one thing Holmes wanted. Mulder shuddered at the thought. A different pain twisted at his heart as he saw Skinner stand up to testify. All these betrayals...Martin, the smoker, Skinner... Scully. His mind wandered from Skinner's account of the night on the bridge, to the last time he had seen his partner. She had seemed so lost, a million miles away. Her empty chair absorbed his concentration. She was gone. She had returned...to *them*, to those bastards who had taken their lives away. Perhaps she had never left. He had to wonder what he was doing here. Even if Holmes' evidence did not condemn him, what use did he have to the FBI? He was chasing after ghosts while the Project was failing, while human lives were at risk. Perhaps their methods were cruel, but they were means to an end, and he could not entirely disagree. When he was Paul Bartlett, he had been useful. He had been happy. Perhaps that was what Scully had realized. His attention snapped back to Skinner's voice. "Two years ago, Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully disappeared without a trace. It is my opinion that they never returned." Mulder steeped his hands, his eyes meeting the dark gaze of his superior. What he must have gone through...it was fortunate that at least now he was willing to let them fall. "For those two years I have searched for them, and I am searching for them still." Such grief in his voice. The resonance of a catastrophe. Mulder's hands clenched the arms of his chair, trembling with the force of the bright white flash that almost blinded him, the rush of voices filling his ears, a thousand faces, stored by an eidetic memory, coming back to life. It was over almost before it started, and when his eyes opened he could feel every eye in the room turned towards him, aware that *something* had just happened. For whatever reason it was Holmes he noticed most - one face he did not remember from the sudden flashbacks. And then, Mulder focused on Skinner, studying the familiar somber face in new awareness, his breath catching for a dizzying moment. In the uneasy silence of the room, his disbelieving whisper seemed too loud - too abrupt. "You have been looking for us for two years?" "Agent Mulder, perhaps you should allow..." an uncertain voice from one of the reviewers broke through. Mulder stood up, glancing briefly at the shocked faces around him. "I remember," his tone was flat. "Everything." And then he walked out of the hearing, ignoring the swell of whispers behind him. * * * Skinner ran down the steps to the basement office, instinctively guessing that he would find Mulder there - for the last time. In a brief moment during the hearing, he'd seen the light of remembrance color the familiar face of a stranger, transforming him into the man he used to know. Ironically, the career suicide the agent had just performed by walking out of that room was the first recognizable gesture Skinner had seen from him in weeks. The words were tinged with an almost nostalgic sadness. And now, as Skinner watched the younger man rummage through the old files, he recognized the expression on his face and it made his blood run cold. He was saying goodbye. "You kept this place clean," Mulder's voice was reconciliatory, an otherwise cutting remark made soft. "It was the janitor," Skinner replied in tone. "Everything is exactly where it used to be... I am glad that you chose to go through with the OPR hearing," Mulder affirmed. "You've made too many sacrifices for us, and what a disappointment." Skinner closed his eyes, feeling powerless as the chain of events unfurled in front of his eyes. Always too late - always a few steps behind, always impotent to prevent new disasters. "I've done nothing." Mulder flicked his gaze upward, contemplating the sorrow written in Skinner's features with sympathy - the reply falling off his tongue almost unconsciously. "If we were killed, it would have been a better solution to the problem we must have presented. And you wouldn't have to go through all this..." he waved his hand, "...needless inquest." With only shocked silence for an answer, he added softly, "Violence does have its value, after all." Skinner shook his head, trying to clear it off cobwebs. Even now, he couldn't agree with Mulder's words - couldn't choose the finality of death over the instability of hope. "You're going back." A grim nod. "Yes." He stared at the badge and a gun when Mulder pushed them in his direction - made no move to take them. After everything that these bastards had done, how could one voluntarily choose to join them? "They need me," Mulder explained, as if having read his thoughts. "Scully needs me... And FBI is better off without us." "There are still ways..." "No." Mulder pointed to the pile of folders beneath Scully's desk. "Any chance you could... destroy these, along with those you gave to Holmes?" Skinner's face grew red in indignation. "Pardon me?" Mulder sighed, rolling his eyes slightly. "I didn't think so," he muttered ominously. "Well, there are other ways of destroying the evidence, you know." Skinner reached for the gun and the badge, his eyebrows furrowing dangerously. "Do tell." Mulder grinned suddenly, relieved to see the anger on his ex-boss' face. Anything better than crushing sadness he'd seen minutes ago. "I have to go," he pushed the open drawers shut, stole a last glance at the office that used to be his home for several long years. Funny how he'd always chased after the truth when it was staring him right in the face. "Perhaps... I will have a chance to correct everything that had gone wrong." "Not unless you can perform miracles," Skinner grumbled. "You underestimate our abilities, Mr. Skinner," Mulder spoke seriously. "There is only one thing that I will regret." Skinner watched a fleeting shadow pass over Mulder's face, waited for an answer. "Being your enemy." The door was closed softly, and the Assistant Director flipped Mulder's badge open - stared at the unflattering picture of an achingly familiar face. Once a friend. Now an adversary. Yet always the same person - possessing the same intensity, courage, and dedication whether he worked for the good or the evil. And for the first time, Skinner wondered if there had been a clear division of sides - if he'd make the same choice in Mulder's place. In an empty office, only ghosts could hear his whisper. "Never a needless inquest." * * * Mulder watched his partner at work, her forehead wrinkled in concentration, fluorescent lights of the lab flickering off the glasses perched on her nose. Medical histories and rows of data were piled in front of her, and she chewed her lip thoughtfully as she read over each, occasionally making notes. The picture was at once infinitely familiar and dizzyingly strange - and it took him several minutes to once again assimilate the two identities, Kathy and Scully, into one whole. In the end, the names hardly mattered: this was his partner, the woman he trusted with his life, whichever way he chose to live it. "Mulder," she took her glasses off, revealing weary blue eyes. She pronounced the name with a questionable intonation, as if testing the new waters. He looked - different, as if something happened that changed him overnight, and for a moment, something nagged at her. He shook his head resolutely. "Paul." Kathy released the breath she didn't know she'd been holding, as the fear of going through this made-up life alone released its grip on her. "Paul," she repeated gratefully. "What took you so long?" His heart skipped a few beats in protest, and then started again. He'd followed her willingly the first time without even knowing what lay ahead. He'd made the same choice today - only this time, it was an informed choice, and one he would make without the slightest hesitation, again and again. Mulder smiled reassuringly. "Traffic." Kathy searched his eyes, looking for vacillation and doubt, and saw none. Perhaps, he really did mean it - and even if he didn't, she would have to take what he offered. "I might have isolated the problem Dr. Strauss ran into during the experimentation," she switched back to work. Mulder sat down across from her. "What was it?" "All the subjects who died were vaccinated for smallpox. Everyone who survived was younger and did not receive the vaccinations. Of course, the antibodies were present in both cases, but somehow, they acted differently upon encountering antibodies from the new vaccination. In all the subjects who were vaccinated firsthand, we saw an adverse biological reaction." "How did you fix it?" "Blood transfusion from the younger patients," she explained. "Really, all that could have been avoided if we halved the amount of vaccine injected now. But we still will need to confirm this hypothesis." He nodded, lost in thought. "Yes, though we might have to wait..." he stopped, surreptitiously indicating to Kathy that she should be silent at the sound of footsteps behind him. "I knew it was just a matter of time," Martin smirked, gratified to see both partners back at work. "You finally saw the light." Mulder bit his tongue - commanded his lips to stretch into a smile. "We've decided to take you up on your offer." He felt Kathy tense, tacitly gestured to her to stay calm. Martin paled slightly. "I will have to speak to Dr. Kenmore," he replied evasively. "Hopefully, he can help you restore the memory." Mulder feigned surprise. "You mean you promised us something that you weren't certain to deliver? Just as you promised Holmes the cure for her partner without speaking to our 'friends' first?" Kathy's eyes flared with anger and fixed upon Martin's face. Under two scrutinizing gazes, he suddenly remembered the reason why he wanted to see them leave in the first place. The partners were hardly a match for him to contend with. And now that they were back, they would use their combined strength to overshadow him, leave him to the thankless tasks of an errand-boy. "There was never a necessity for it," Martin replied with forced nonchalance. "Holmes was just a means to an end. I am sure you would have done the same in my place." "Holmes is the agent in charge of investigating a few unexplained disappearances and subsequent deaths of subjects of a certain experiment," Mulder bit off each word. "And it would be wise to draw her attention away from this case. Don't you think, Martin?" "You've grown soft, Mulder," Martin bared his teeth in scorn. "Sorry for your fellow agents?" "It is 'Paul,'" Mulder corrected unequivocally. Kathy would never have to doubt that his memory was still lost - and he certainly would not give Martin the advantage of the realization to the contrary. "You will help Holmes and Marsel - today. When you speak with the healer, explain to him that the two agents may be used for our future benefit, and you'd better make him believe you." "And if I don't?" "I have my own guesses as to who pointed Holmes in the direction of these 'hot' cases." "I was only following orders," Martin glared at him. "Perhaps you should ask your smoking friend why he thought it so important to bring you back." Mulder's eyes narrowed as he processed information. "Question authority, Martin." Martin felt his insides shake in hatred. This would be the last time he obeyed Paul's orders. "Anything else?" he hissed solicitously. "Bring Dr. Kenmore here tomorrow at nine o'clock, sharp. We will speak to him ourselves," Mulder requested with military precision. "You're dismissed." Kathy followed Martin Ng's departure with her eyes, then grasped her partner's hand. "Paul... I'm not sure it's such a good idea. I don't want to remember," she whispered honestly. "Do you?" He'd already remembered, and he wished that he hadn't. "No," he confirmed. If she wanted to bury the recollections of the events she'd lived through, he couldn't force her to do otherwise. "But we won't be here - and neither will be anyone else. Besides Kenmore and Martin." Her eyes narrowed in a question, then smoothed in dawning comprehension. "Do you hate him this much?" Mulder agreed inwardly: he did hate Kenmore, a faceless shadow who eroded their minds, who forced them into this half-existence. But he knew she was asking about someone else. "Martin is an unstable link in our organization," he replied truthfully. "It is not a personal choice." Kathy nodded in understanding, trusting him to make the best decision. "It is your only chance to remember... who you were," she reminded him softly. "I'm willing to give it up." Mulder squelched the sentiment. There would be other chances... there was always a possibility that she would remember - just a random push, a coincidence, a once-in-a-lifetime fluke could bring Scully back to life. And then he wouldn't feel as alone as he did right now. He glanced in her eyes, content to see the strength and trust, qualities that never changed no matter what the name of the woman. He wasn't alone - and there was still a lot of work to be done. "I can't believe we have to switch apartments again, Kathy," Mulder laughed, somewhat abashed. She smiled in answer, feeling the gears of her life, like terrain plates after an earthquake, slide back into their places. "I don't know about you, but I will be asking for a big raise." End of Act 6/7