From: "Kel" <ckelll@hotmail.com>
Date: Sunday, May 14, 2000 1:28 AM
Subject: NEW: Controlled Substances 1/14

TITLE:  Controlled Substances

AUTHOR:  Kel

EMAIL:  ckelll@hotmail.com

WEBSITE:  http://www.geocities.com/welltechkel/ConSubIndex.html

                    Or visit my other fine creations at:
                    http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Realm/9374

ARCHIVE:  Yes, and congratulations on your excellent taste.

FEEDBACK:  Operators are standing by.

SPOILERS:  Everything through Season 7.  In particular, SR 819.

RATING:  NC-17

CLASSIFICATION:  X, H, MSR

DISCLAIMER BY EXCLUSION:  I made Whittaker and Ippolito, plus Scully's
neighbors and Mulder's janitor.  All the famous characters, and all the
foods, drugs, songs, automobiles, and other pop culture references
aren't mine.

(to the tune of "We Didn't Start the Fire")

Agent Mulder is divine
But sad to say he isn't mine;
Agent Scully really rocks,
But she and Fox belong to FOX.

If I owned Cook and Skinner,
I would be some kind of winner,
If I owned Alex Krycek,
I would not have time for fanfic.

I didn't get permission,
No, I do not own them,
No one said they'd loan them;

I didn't get permission,
So you mustn't pay me,
Just be sure to praise me.

Clarence Thomas, Louis Freeh,
Virgil Cane, Emma Peel,
Grateful Dead, Mountain Dew,
Demerol and Spam,

Mrs. Howell, Mary Ann,
Shaq O'Neal, Uncle Sam,
Larry Johnson, David Souter,
Ginger or The Band,

David Satcher, Ativan,
Ford, Jeep, Narcan,
John Steed, Chris McVie,
Tina Turner or the Knicks;

Allan Houston, Dr. Dre,
Vince Carter, Cetacaine,
Julia Child, Dr. Seuss,
Britney Spears or Stevie Nicks.

I didn't get permission,
I just went and stole
From Chris and Billy Joel;

I didn't get permission,
And I think I'm funny,
But I got no money;

I didn't get permission;
But I'm poor and scrawny,
Please go sue Trelawney.

SUMMARY:  Those nanites have to go.  Skinner is willing to risk it all
to be free of the microscopic parasites that Krycek uses to control him.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:  Trelawney, what can I say?  Beta reader does not begin
to cover your contributions to this story.  Midwife is more like it.
Everybody, go to http://www.geocities.com/welltechkel/ and see the
pretty pictures Trelawney made me.


Erin and Linda, many thanks for the readings.  You're as crazy as I
am-in a good way, of course.

Scetti, thanks for lending me your dog.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  In this universe, Mulder and Scully have unambiguously
consummated their relationship, some time after Millennium and before
Theef.

Cause they did, you know.







= = = =

PROLOGUE:

Honey Bear Waffle Shoppe,
Salisbury, Maryland
1997

"This is a nice restaurant," said Eric Whittaker.  "Do you think Mr.
Krycek will be impressed?"

"My mom likes it," said Edwin Ippolito.  "But we usually sit over
there."

Ippolito and Whittaker comprised the total assets of a start-up company
called WellTech Laboratories.  Ippolito, a dumpling of a man, had
trained as a doctor.   His career had proceeded predictably until he did
a very bad thing.  Now, at thirty-eight, he was starting over.

Ippolito was the president of WellTech.

Whittaker was a little older.  Just shy of six feet, he was a narrow
man, as pale as his companion.  His close-shaved head gave him a
peculiar appearance, made him seem sad and wise. He had an unquenchable
curiosity and a fastidious mind.  If he'd possessed even the tiniest
ability to "play the game," he would have gone far as a researcher.  But
he did not.

Whittaker was the employee.

They were waiting for their "angel," a man who was interested in
financing their company and becoming their first client.

Ippolito and Whittaker had seated themselves across from one another in
a booth, and when Krycek joined them he sat down next to the slimmer
man.

"I invited Dr. Whittaker along," Ippolito explained.

""I've heard a lot about you," Krycek said.  "Ned tells me you're a
brilliant scientist."

Whittaker seemed surprised.

"That was nice of him," he said.  "He told me about you too, and about
your project.  Microscopic automatons that live in the bloodstream as
parasites.  That is fantastic."

Whittaker had an odd speech pattern; Krycek thought he might be Swiss
but didn't care enough to inquire.

"Fantastic," Krycek agreed.  "Now, here's what I want to know from you.
If you wanted to cure someone who had been infected with these
microscopic parasites, how would you do it?"

"Oh, that's very easy," said Whittaker.  "I would have to examine the
environmental needs of the parasite against those of the host.
Assuredly their needs are similar but not identical."

"And then?" Krycek prompted him.

Ippolito nodded encouragingly and Whittaker continued.

"Once I identified those conditions that were lethal to the parasite but
tolerable to the host, I would know how to kill the little bugs," he
said.

"Let's take the game a step further," said Krycek.  "What if you wanted
to make sure that the parasites were not killed?"

"Lots of ways to go with that," said Whittaker, who loved puzzles.
"Maybe I would add a doomsday device."

"What are you talking about, Eric?" Ippolito asked.  Whittaker's brain
did not work the same as other people's and Ippolito did not want him
messing up their big chance by babbling like a lunatic.

"Well, suppose the robo-parasites were booby-trapped.  Kill them and you
release a toxin, or maybe an organism.  They could contain spores, for
example." Whittaker said.

Krycek smiled.

"You're an original thinker, Eric," he said.  "I think we'll enjoy
working together."

Whittaker smiled too.

"All you need now are those microscopic robot parasites," he said.  Even
Eric Whittaker didn't think something like that was really possible.

"Good-bye, Eric, glad you could make it.  Ned, I'll be in touch."
Krycek gave a little salute, and then he was gone.

"What do you think?" Whittaker asked.  "Did we get the job?"

"Tell you what, Eric.  Order anything on the menu," Ippolito said.  "And
let's take that game one more step."

Whittaker nodded, engrossed.

"What if you wanted to disable the booby trap?  How would you get rid of
the nanites after you gave them the doomsday device?" Ippolito asked.

"It depends what we used for the booby trap.  You'd have to counteract
the exact toxin or microbe," Whittaker said.

"Hm.  Now, let's think of some microbes that can kill you if left
untreated," Ippolito said.  "Something that'll make you good and sick."

"We don't have to keep playing this," Whittaker said.  "He's not here
anymore."

"But it's fun, isn't it?" Ippolito said.

"Sure," said Whittaker, but he didn't think it was that much fun.  Not
as much fun as working on his list of prime numbers, for example, or his
lint collection.  But Ippolito wasn't paying him to pursue his hobbies.

"What organism would you use?" Ippolito asked again.

"Well, I think I'd take something deadly but slow acting, and modify it
for a rapid onset," Whittaker said.  "But I don't think Mr. Krycek wants
us to find a cure, just a booby trap."

"It's always good to have a back door, Eric.  You never know when you
might need it."

= = = =


WellTech Laboratories
Arlington, Virginia
Three years later

"Five years from now I hope to be using my training as a medical doctor
as well as the skills and insights I developed as an investigator to
further the research and corporate objectives of WellTech Laboratories,"
Dana Scully declared.

Job interviews.  She wondered how Dante had failed to include them.

"I have some very good news for you, Dr. Scully," the fresh-faced
personnel director announced.  "The chairman will be able to see you
today."

"The chairman? I'm flattered," Scully said.

This was her fifth interview at WellTech Laboratories.  Sixth, if you
counted the time the chairman had left her waiting for an hour before
sending word that he'd have to cancel that day.

"Yes.  Dr. Ippolito's office is on the next floor.  You'll see it when
you get off the elevator."  The interviewer leaned forward and dropped
her voice conspiratorially.  "Good luck"

"Thank you," said Scully.  "Thanks for everything."

Riding up in the elevator, she checked her hair in the convex mirror and
gave her skirt a corrective tug.  The doors opened onto a waiting area,
and an aristocratic looking
receptionist directed Scully through the heavy, oak-trimmed doors.

She found herself in an office the size of her entire apartment.  At the
far end of the room, a man was surveying his panoramic view of the city
through a wall of glass.  His back was to her, and he did not turn
around when she cleared her throat to announce her presence.

"Dr. Ippolito?" she said.

Slowly he turned.  He was a pale, pudgy man.

"Hi, Dana," he said, drawing out the syllables, his "hi" sounding more
like a "hoy."

"I'm so pleased to meet you," Scully said, extending her hand.

"Hi," he said again, taking her hand in his doughy clasp.   "Won't you
sit down?"

She took a seat by the bean-shaped desk and Ippolito sat across from
her, stroking his chin.

"I've been reading about WellTech's success in reversing cachexis in
terminal patients," Scully said, after an awkward minute of silence.

"Tip of the iceberg," Ippolito said.  "That's just a small fraction of
what we're trying to achieve."

"I'd like to be part of it," Scully said.

Ippolito nodded knowingly.

"Your credentials..." he said, resting his elbow on the desk's glossy
surface.  "Rather shaky."

Scully tried to respond without sounding defensive.

"Dr. Ippolito, you've read my CV.   I'd be happy to address your
specific concerns, if you'd care to share them," she said.  She knew her
background was a strange mix, but it seemed unlikely that Ippolito would
call her in just to reject her outright.

"Do you date much?" he asked, stroking his chin.

Scully rose to her feet.

"This interview is over," she said.

"Oh, Dana," he drawled at her.  "If you want me to judge you strictly by
what you can show me on paper, well, you're just not qualified.  I'm
trying to see beyond that, to the whole person."

"My social life has no bearing on my professional abilities," Scully
bristled.

"You need this job.  You're washed up at the FBI, Dana, I've learned
that much."

Scully let her jaw drop in surprise.

"Of course I know!" Ippolito practically crowed at her.  "I've taken an
interest in you,
Dana.  I want to help you."

"Thank you, *Edwin,*" Scully said pointedly.  "As you observe, I need a
job, but it doesn't have to be this one."

"Let me tell you what makes this company unique," he said.  "WellTech
Laboratories is willing to give people a fresh start.  We're willing to
look beyond people's weaknesses or indiscretions to see their
strengths."

He pursed his lips and raised his eyes toward her.  His doughy face was
still unappealing, but he seemed more harmless.

"I think you'd fit right in," he said.  "Dana."

= = = = = = = =

"Miss Scully?  I will conduct you to your meeting.   And I can take you
to your old office on the way out, if you wish to remove any personal
effects."

He was young, even for a new agent, and Scully didn't know him.  Better
that way.  If she had to be escorted through the Hoover building by an
armed officer, she would prefer that it be a stranger.

Waiting by the public entrance, she hadn't crossed paths with any of her
former colleagues, but now, walking through the familiar corridors with
her own private guard, she was the object of many curious and
sympathetic stares.

"Exit interview," she explained, again and again, to answer the unspoken
question.

The young agent led her to a closed office door, and then stepped aside.

"I'll wait here," he said.  He wondered about the circumstances of her
abrupt resignation, but  information like that was kept confidential.
He just hoped it wasn't something with her cancer.

Scully nodded and walked in.  She closed the door behind her.

"We've got half an hour before Skinner gets here," Mulder said.  "How
about a quickie?"

"Mulder!" she said in a loud, harsh whisper.  She was still wearing a
wire.

"You were so cold this morning," he said in a low, smoky voice.  "A man
can't help but feel hurt."

"Mulder, look at it from my point of view.  I'm drummed out of the FBI
in disgrace and forced to grovel before the Pillsbury Doughboy," Scully
said.  "Would that make you feel sexy?"  She slinked her way into his
lap as she spoke.

"The Pillsbury Doughboy?  Would that be Dr. Edwin Ippolito?" Mulder
asked as he unbuttoned her blouse.  "Now I'm jealous."

"Mulder, stop that," Scully said.

"I'm just getting you unwired," he said.  "So that no one finds out
we're having hot, passionate sex four times a day."

"Four times a day?" Scully echoed.  She knew now that Mulder had shut
down monitoring some time earlier, probably shortly after she'd left the
WellTech Building.  "Except during basketball season."

"Oh, come on, Scully," he mumbled, his face pressed against her breasts
as his hand began to slide her bra aside.  "Would you rather have sex or
watch Patrick Ewing?"

Patrick Ewing did absolutely nothing for Scully.  Allan Houston, on the
other hand... But Mulder didn't need to know that.

Scully freed the surveillance wire from her clothing and took Mulder by
the chin, guiding his mouth till his lips met hers.

Her eyes closed and she let her head relax against his arm.  She
untucked an edge of his shirttail, tugging out the shirt so that she
could slide her hand underneath.  She rubbed flat circles over his ribs
and back, but that wasn't really enough for her, and with one hand still
on his head, she used the other to open a few of his buttons.

"Feeling better?" Scully asked when they broke apart.  "Less rejected?"

"It's a start," Mulder sighed, leaning in for another kiss, but Scully
stopped him by touching her finger to his lips.

"We've still got a lot of details to settle, Mulder.  We have to work
out a way to communicate," Scully said, pulling back her hand when
Mulder began to suck on her finger.

"How about this?" Mulder asked, leaning closer and closer to her ear
until she could feel the rustle of his whisper and the heat of his
breath.

"Hold it, hot pants," she said.  "When I'm under deep cover, learning
the dark secrets of WellTech Laboratories, I'm not going to be able to
drop in at the Hoover Building to sit on your lap and whisper in your
ear."

As she said this, she moved off of him and took a chair of her own.
Mulder would probably get some smug satisfaction if Skinner were to walk
in and witness their overt affection, but she would rather avoid that.

"Wait a minute," Mulder said.  "This is our chance to flaunt it!
WellTech doesn't care if we're seeing each other, and Skinner will think
it's our front."

"You're thinking with your gonads," Scully warned him.  "To get in tight
with WellTech, I'm going to have to minimize any ties with the bureau,
and that includes you.  Besides, what about our cover story?  I was
forced out of the FBI after attempting to have you killed, remember?"

"I guess I forgot to tell you," Mulder said.  "I started a different
rumor.  We were caught 'in the act,' and you were forced to resign."

"We were caught 'in the act'?" Scully exclaimed, suddenly remembering to
button her blouse. "That's embarrassing.  And how come you didn't have
to resign?"

"That's what all of your female co-workers are saying," Mulder said.
"If looks could kill, Scully... Last time I requisitioned a car, they gave
me the Fiesta."

"Mulder, I'm worried about something else.  It's Skinner," Scully said.
"If I slip up, he's as good as dead."

"Scully, he's worse than dead right now.  We've been through this a
hundred times, looked at it from every angle, and this is our best
shot.  Besides, you won't slip up," Mulder said.

Skinner entered the room, using a side door rather than the main
entrance now guarded by Scully's escort.

"We've had our first slip up," he said grimly.  "The wire failed."

"No, sir, it didn't fail," Mulder said.  "I terminated the transmission
after Scully's meeting was over."  He buttoned his jacket, which bunched
up awkwardly.  It was faster than stuffing his shirttail back in his
pants.

"Don't do that again, Mulder, I won't stand for it," Skinner said.  "She
is to be monitored around the clock, do you understand?"

"Sir, that's unacceptable," Scully said.  "I'm entitled to some
privacy."

Skinner advanced on Scully, ready to let her have it, but he stopped
himself.

"You're still babes in the woods, both of you," he said wearily.  "Let
me clue you in."

Skinner took his place at the head of the table, but he didn't sit
down.  With his hands on the table, he leaned toward his agents, as if
the advantage in height would translate into added authority.

"I congratulate you on uncovering the link between WellTech Laboratories
and the Consortium.  But when the Attorney General and the Director gave
the authorization, they put me in charge," he said.

"We're not questioning your authority," Mulder said.  "But we've been at
this a long time now and we know what we're doing."

"Mulder, I don't have to tell you how deep this thing goes," Skinner
said.  "Or you, Agent Scully.  That's why I requested total secrecy for
this operation.  Are you listening, Mulder?  You and I, we're her
back-up.  You turn off that wire, you're leaving her in the cold."

"Yeah, but..."  Mulder looked from Skinner to Scully.

"Yeah," said Skinner, sitting down.  "Now let's get a plan."

"If Agent Scully and I pretend to be engaging in a romantic
relationship, we can meet at frequent intervals without arousing
suspicions," Mulder said.

"You're underestimating the opposition," Skinner said.  "And it's just
not believable, not after this many years.  We need to establish times
and places for meetings that will fit in with her normal routine."

"But what about Ippolito?  He's going to be all over her if he thinks
she's available," Mulder said.

"I know how to play Ippolito.  That's how I got the job," Scully said.

"He's a dirtbag, Agent Scully.  Don't forget that," Skinner said.

"How could I forget it with Ned there to remind me?  But if you two
don't think I could take him out with one hand behind my back, you
haven't been paying attention."


= = = =

Controlled Substances 2/14
By Kel

And so Dana Scully went to work at WellTech Laboratories.

After an endless Monday of filling out forms and collecting handbooks
and policy statements, she spent the remainder of her first week getting
the hang of the WellTech information system and reviewing the older
research.  She spent another week studying more current data and finally
received an assignment of her own.

As Scully's days at WellTech Laboratories stretched into weeks, Skinner
found himself falling back into his ordinary routine.  He monitored
Scully's wire transmissions sporadically, and mostly during working
hours.

Mulder listened faithfully.  The legend of Spooky Mulder was built on
his most brazen activities, but despite his penchant for vaulting fences
and leaping atop passenger trains, Mulder also had the patience of a
condor.  His instincts and tenacity as an investigator had led them to
WellTech, and now that he could only stand and wait, he did so with
unexcelled vigilance.

It was just as well that Skinner left the surveillance to his junior
colleague.  Skinner's insistence on keeping Scully in constant radio
contact was being ignored.  And Scully's resolve to keep her distance
from all things FBI, including Mulder, had crumbled under the pressure
of her isolation and his persistence.

At the end of the third week, Ned Ippolito toddled over to Scully's
cubicle and watched over her shoulder, rocking from one foot to the
other.

"Nice work, Dana," he said.

"Thank you," she said.

"Chloride ions.  You really make them come alive."

Scully turned around and looked at him with undisguised irritation.  She
could think of little as meaningless as the calculations she'd been
asked to perform.

"You'll see," Ippolito told her.  "Once you understand how it all fits
together, then you'll see."

"Ned, that's what I'm waiting for," she said.  "I want to see how it all
fits together."

"Oh, Dana.  Are you coming on to me?"  He laughed softly.  "I hate to
disappoint you, but I have a hot date tonight."

"Well, aren't you the tease?" she answered lightly.  She told herself
she should be accustomed to this kind of banter, but it was different
with Mulder.  Even before she fell in love with him, he didn't make her
gag.

"Don't worry.  It's my mom," he said.  "I'm taking her out for ice
cream."

Scully smiled.  Skinner's =dirtbag= was really more of a =doofus=.

"Seriously, Ned," she said.  "If I could see the rest of the study, if I
could do more than manipulate data and statistics, I'd have a much
better chance of achieving some insight."

"Easy, girl," Ippolito crooned at her.  "You're new here, remember?  All
I want you to do is clock in on time, do your calculations, and go
home.   Once we know each other a little better, well, who can tell?"

"Who can tell?" she echoed.  "Have a good time with your mom."

"Have a good weekend, Dana," he answered.  "See you Monday."

Scully made a show of logging off and gathering her possessions, but
after Ippolito's departure she made her way into a cubicle in the next
row.

Eric Whittaker was Scully's unit leader, but while he was responsible
for her work assignment and her performance reviews, he made
approximately the same salary and his cubicle was no larger.  He had an
unusual speech pattern, almost a reverse lisp.  He pronounced "th" as an
"s."

Whittaker was playing solitaire when Scully walked into his space, but
he looked at her without embarrassment.

"I need to get Britney Spears," he said.  "For my daughter.  But what
are they?"

Whittaker was continually startling his co-workers with his unexpected
questions and observations but Scully was learning to take him in
stride.

"Britney Spears is a singer," Scully explained.  "Try a record store."

"Oh."  Whittaker nodded.

"Eric, do you think you could send me the complete chemistries?" she
asked.

"Complete chemistries?  Why would you want that?" he asked.

"It seems kind of silly for me to spend all this time on chloride,"
Scully said.  "I'd like to see all the data in place."

"No," he said, shaking his head.  "This isn't the FBI anymore."

"I know that," Scully said.

"Maybe that's how you do things at the FBI," Whittaker continued.

Scully imagined Mulder, at the other end of the wire, mugging along to
Whittaker's accent, or whatever it was.

=Zis isn't se FBI.  Zat's how you do sings at se FBI.=

"I suppose you all work together.  Maybe the handwriting expert finds a
fingerprint, so he calls in the fingerprint guy," Whittaker said.

"Uh, sure," said Scully.

"You know, you should probably give it to the fingerprint guy first,"
Whittaker mused.  "But what if it's a bomb?   You wouldn't want the
fingerprint guy to blow it up...."

Mulder was probably on the floor by now.

"Eric, I'm really curious about the raw data on the study.  I'm willing
to look at it on my own time-there can't be a problem with that," Scully
said.

Whittaker turned off his terminal and stood up.

"It's not your data.  It's WellTech's.  It's not mine to give you, and
it's not up to us to decide what to do with it.  Do your job, Dr.
Scully, that's all you're getting paid for."  He looked very serious for
a moment, but then his face melted into his usual expression of
befuddlement.

"A singer, then.  I thought it was something from the Norman Conquest."

= = = = =

"Get her back here.  Now."

Krycek didn't need to explain what he was talking about, or whom, or
that the order was in fact a threat.  Skinner knew all that.

After learning that Alex Krycek could end his life with the twist of a
dial, Walter Skinner discovered a greater horror.  The microscopic
nanites that could kill him could also rob him of the refuge of death.
Suicide was not within his power.  He could neither die nor live without
Krycek's leave.

"What makes you think I can do that?" Skinner asked.  "She won't listen
to me, and the FBI wouldn't take her back anyway."

"You talk to her," Krycek said.  "I'll take care of the FBI."

"Why is it so important to you for her to be at the FBI?" Skinner
asked.  He had only one aim now; to conceal from Krycek his knowledge
that WellTech Laboratories was behind the technology of the nanites.

"Get her back.  Send Mulder to talk to her, if you think that will
work."  Krycek's boyish smile did not mask the menace of his parting
words:

"I bet she'd show up if you became seriously ill."

Skinner pondered the increasing complexity of the web of deceit that
enmeshed him.  Krycek's ultimatum served his purposes, in one way.  It
gave him the opportunity to contact Scully.

Skinner's phone buzzed, signaling him to lift the receiver.

"Sir-I saw him!  Alex Krycek!  I've notified internal security."

Skinner's assistant, returning from some errand, had crossed paths with
Krycek.  Her call to building security would accomplish nothing, but
Skinner responded with deliberate interest and surprise.  Then he asked
her to find a phone number to reach Dana Scully at her new job.

Skinner had the number, of course.

"Walter," Kim Cook said, "I know it's not my place.  But you know her
situation."

Cook knew that Scully had resigned voluntarily rather than face an OPR
hearing.  People were saying that she'd been leaking information to the
press.  It was the kind of thing Scully would do, if she thought she was
justified.

Skinner felt a pang of guilt.  The one person in his life who was
unfailingly and personally loyal to him was the one he had left in the
dark.  His assistant did not want him tainted by Scully's disgrace.

"I appreciate your concern, Kim," he said, "but I need to speak to her."

"Then look it up yourself," she said.

She had worked for him a long time.  When others were listening, she
called him Sir, but when it was just the two of them is was usually
"Walter."  They rarely saw each other outside of work but she cared
about him too much to keep silent when she thought he was doing
something foolish.

= = = = = =

Scully unlocked the door and listened.  Someone was in her apartment.

"Mulder?" she called.

"It's me," he confirmed.

Mulder didn't often find himself home from work at five in the evening,
but WellTech's hours were eight to four, and staying late was heavily
discouraged.  Mulder had started keeping WellTech time, and besides,
Scully's apartment was closer than his.

Scully was not surprised to find him home so early, but he did manage to
surprise her when he greeted her at the door with a martini.

"I was going to wear an apron," Mulder said, "but you don't have one."

He let her shut the door before he kissed her.  Even a perfunctory kiss
was not something they should be performing in public, and even the
kisses that began as perfunctory seldom stayed that way.

A kiss was not just a kiss, not for Scully, not when she was kissing
Mulder.  Each kiss started with a little jolt, a little thrill of wonder
that this was actually happening.  And as their lips met, she still felt
a second of hesitation, a moment of self doubt.

But it was okay.  She'd had a Mentos in the car.

She always closed her eyes.  She wanted nothing to distract her from the
slow tide of sensations.  The warmth, the gentle pressures of his lips,
of his hands as they stroked her back, her head.

Mulder tried never to ask himself if arriving at this place in his life
was worth the cost of the journey, especially since he was not the one
who had borne all the sacrifices.  So many had died, so many had been
hurt.  And here he stood, one hand holding a vodka martini, the other
splayed to feel Scully's ear, her neck, her hair.  Not pondering the
price, knowing only that he loved her.

Then a knock at the door.  Not the tentative tap of a neighbor carrying
a petition or searching for a corkscrew, but the insistent rap of
authority.

"Scully.  Open up."

Skinner.

Ignoring him was not an option.  It was unsafe to make him wait outside,
and besides, he was faster than either of them with a picklock.  Scully
opened the door.

Skinner looked at Mulder without surprise.  Once he'd established that
both his agents had left work for the day, he was sure he'd find them
here.  Together.  Neither of them really knew anyone else.

"Martini?" Mulder offered.

Skinner downed it and handed the glass back to Mulder.

"The plot thickens.  Alex Krycek paid me a visit just now," Skinner
said.

Skinner gave a verbatim recital of his exchange with Krycek, followed by
Scully's reluctant account of her days at WellTech Laboratories.
Reluctant because she felt as if she were getting nowhere.

"You can't imagine anything duller or more pointless than the analyses
I'm running," she said.  "It's like studying Hamlet by counting the
letters.  And they won't even let me see the original text.  If they
have the answers, they're keeping them under close guard."

"You can't expect them to bring you into the inner circle right away,"
Skinner said.  "Have some patience."

"I'm trying, but I'm beginning to wonder if an organization as
incompetent as WellTech could have developed something as complex as the
nanites.  If Krycek hadn't surfaced, I'd have serious doubts," Scully
concluded.

"Something's puzzling me about Krycek's involvement," Skinner said.
"Why doesn't he just give the order to have you fired?"

"Maybe he can't," Mulder said.  "Maybe Krycek doesn't carry enough
weight within the Consortium."

Scully's home was as safe a place as any to discuss the WellTech
operation.  It had proven bug-free at the last three sweeps, and ever
since the nightmare events surrounding Pfaster's death, Scully's
neighbors had become fanatic about alerting her or the police to
suspicious vehicles or activities.

Mulder knew they had hours of brainstorming ahead of them.

"Got anything to eat?" he asked Scully.

"Why don't you see what you can find?" she answered.  Mulder had
undoubtedly brought something for dinner, but she didn't know what it
was.

"Does this remind you of anything?" Skinner asked Scully while Mulder
was doing his thing in the kitchen.

Scully shook her head, sure that Skinner was remembering some domestic
scene from his past.

"No?  Well, you never worked organized crime.  We're 'going to the
mattresses.'  Hiding out, keeping a low profile.  Greasy-thumb Mulder's
in the kitchen stirring the sauce," Skinner said.

"I've got a nice Chianti," Scully said.

The strategy session continued over dinner.

"You raised a crucial issue when you asked how much control Krycek has
within the Consortium," Scully told Mulder.  "Maybe he's acting on his
own here."

"That's my impression," Skinner said.  "I'm his personal puppet and he
can't reveal that without the risk of losing control."

"That fits," Mulder said.  "You're his ace in the hole.  But he's given
us a great opportunity by sending you to get Scully back."

"Absolutely.  I couldn't be here now if he hadn't opened that door for
us," Skinner agreed.

"We can also get more aggressive about digging the dirt on WellTech
Laboratories," Scully said.

Mulder and Scully had walked a fine line as they tried to uncover the
truth about the WellTech enterprise.  They had been constrained to limit
their investigation to what they could learn without arousing
suspicion.  Their only cover had been Scully's interest in working for
the company.

WellTech Labs was a community of misfits.  Some employees had closets
full of skeletons while others were simply losers at the power game.

Edwin Ippolito had a big, dirty secret, hidden away in some sealed
documents.  He'd been chairman of the anesthesiology department at a
prestigious midwestern medical center, and he'd left abruptly, never to
practice medicine again.

Ippolito's former institution, and perhaps his victims as well, were
willing to keep his secret as the price for getting him out.

"I know where I'm going to start," Skinner said.  "Dr. Ippolito.  I'm
going to get legal affairs to press for the release of those papers."

"But how are you going to do that?" Scully asked.  "I mean, Krycek will
accept it as part of your campaign to get me back at the Bureau, but
won't you need a rationale for the legal department?"

"Scully, he's the AD," Mulder said.  "He doesn't need a rationale."

"The all-powerful AD," Skinner said ironically.  "And for my next act, I
will wash the dishes."

Scully tried to discourage him but at last she relented and joined him
in the kitchen, as he had hoped she would.

Once they had the dishwasher humming and the water running in the sink
to soak the pan, Skinner addressed her in a voice that was almost a
whisper.

"You remember what I told you," he said.

"Of course I remember," she answered irritably.  "But it's way too soon
to talk about that."

"I would rather be dead than live like this, Scully.  And that may be
the choice you have to make."

= = = =

Controlled Substances 3/14
By Kel

The next week began much like the last, but on Wednesday Scully was
summoned to a meeting with Ippolito.

He was lounging in his high-backed chair when she came into his office,
and he greeted her with a big smile.

"Hi, Dana," he said.  "Are you still chaffing at the bit, raring to get
deeper into the vanguard of scientific research?"

"Frankly, yes," she said.

"Pure research," he said.  "Do you understand what that means?"

"Research.  The pursuit of knowledge," Scully answered.

"The pursuit of knowledge.  Not goodness, not justice.  Just knowledge,"
he confirmed.

"I'm ready," she said, leaning forward toward him, trying to match his
intensity with her own.

"I've got a little bedtime story to tell you.  Do you like bedtime
stories?  Do you like science fiction?" Ippolito asked.

Back in the basement of the Hoover Building, Mulder promised himself
that some day soon he'd stuff the Pillsbury Doughboy into a 350 degree
oven.

 "You're going to tell me a bedtime story?   That is science fiction,"
said Scully.

Skinner had advised her to be more diffident toward Ippolito, who was,
after all, her boss, but Scully had disagreed.

She'd explained:  "He likes it better this way.  He gets off on knowing
that I can't stand him but I have to put up with him."

"Alex Krycek.  Don't bother pretending you don't know who he is,"
Ippolito said.  "And he sure as hell knows you."

"Alex Krycek is a traitor and a murderer," said Scully.  "Friend of
yours?"

"He's given me millions of dollars.  And he gave me something even
better," said Ippolito.  "I think you know what it was."

Scully thought before she answered.  It seemed useless to pretend that
she didn't know.

"The nanites," she said.  "He gave you the nanites.  But why?"

"The nanites are fragile creatures, Dana.  They can't survive the death
of their host and they're pitifully easy to kill," he said.

"You modified them? To make them stronger?" Scully asked.  She knew that
the nanites could survive in a test tube for about twenty-four hours.

"Let's just say I modified them.  And then he took them back," he said.
"But I think you know where they are."

"Is that why you hired me?"  Scully asked.

"I thought you could help me.  You have training in medicine and in
investigation.  And you're from the FBI-Krycek used to work there,"
Ippolito said.

"I'll find them.  First I need to know more about them," Scully said.

"Oh, you =know= where they are.  I didn't realize that right away.  Not
until Alex Krycek ordered me to give you the sack," he said.

"Is this where I'm supposed to beg you not to fire me?" Scully asked.

"Dana, I'd love to hear you beg.  But not for that," Ippolito said in a
low purr.

"You fucking worm," said Mulder, who had to force himself not to tear
off his headset and throw it against the wall.  But of course no one
heard him.

"What do you want, Ned?  What is this about, really?" Scully asked.

"There's a guinea pig out there, with my nanites inside him.  Bring me
the guinea pig, and I'll let you see the data."

= = = =

Mulder was still monitoring the wire when Skinner stopped by his
office.  Focused on his surveillance, Mulder barely gave the AD a glance
until Skinner spoke.

"Date rape," he said.

"What?"  Mulder snapped to attention.  Skinner took a chair and dragged
it into place by the desk.

"Edwin Ippolito.  That was the incident leading to his separation from
the Mercy Medical Center," Skinner said.

"I want the documents," Mulder said.  Skinner hadn't brought any papers,
and that made Mulder suspect that Ippolito's misdeed was particularly
appalling.

"Still sealed," Skinner said.  "But that's the gist of it, from what
we've gathered."

Mulder already found Ippolito repugnant, so he responded with relief.
He did not think there was a chance that WellTech's chairman could
physically overpower Scully.

"This might be over sooner than we thought.  Ippolito's starting to
spill," Mulder said.

"Good," said Skinner.

Mulder nodded, and then he heard something on the headphones that
riveted him back to the scratchy transmissions from Scully's wire.

= = = =

As eager as Scully was to discuss Ippolito's disclosures with Mulder and
Skinner, she wanted to take some time to think things through alone.
She was quite capable of standing up to Mulder's impulsiveness and
Skinner's forcefulness, but she preferred, when possible, to first let
the facts speak to her undisturbed by input from others.

She found a good parking space, for once, and was deep in thought as she
approached the door of her building.

"Dana.  There's a man in your apartment."

The warning came from Mr. Corwin, an elderly neighbor who was walking a
little black and white dog.

"Oh.  Thank you, Lesley.  Who is it?" she asked.

"I didn't see him.  Sheila Burke told me.  Nice-looking young man,
that's all she said.  I'll go in with you," Corwin offered.

Scully smiled.  Lesley Corwin was a sweet old fellow, but he was
probably ninety years old and he weighed about ninety pounds.  Scully
leaned down to pet the dog.

"What's his name?" she asked.  Corwin was part of an animal-rescue group
and he frequently had a dog or cat in his temporary care.

"Cute, isn't he?" Corwin said.  "What would you call him?"

"Oh, no you don't," Scully laughed.  "You know I'm too busy to keep a
pet."

"Good protection.  Think about it," Corwin said.

Corwin and Scully had developed a friendship years ago.  During
Queequeg's brief tenure, Corwin had even had a key to Scully's
apartment.   Lately Corwin had become especially concerned and
protective, and he'd rallied the rest of the building into some kind of
informal neighborhood watch.

Definitely a mixed blessing, Scully thought.  She wasn't thrilled that
Mrs. Burke was keeping tabs on her visitors.

She thought about shocking Mulder by flashing him as she walked in the
door or maybe announcing her presence with some audacious sexual demand,
but there was still the possibility that Skinner was listening in.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," she called as she entered.  That was as audacious
as she dared.

"And how was your day?" asked the dark-haired man who sprawled on her
sofa.

Scully tensed.

"Krycek.  What do you want?" she asked, acutely aware that she was
unarmed.  "And get your goddamn boots off my coffee table."

She grabbed the table and jerked it away from the sofa, and Krycek's
feet dropped to the floor with a thud.

Krycek's insolent stare hardened, and one of his leather-gloved hands
tightened into a fist.

"I want you to go back into the basement to chase aliens.  Otherwise
someone will get hurt," he said.

= = = =

Krycek was long gone when Mulder came bursting through the door.  He
found Scully in the kitchen eating an orange and reading a magazine, and
he stormed into the room and reached down her blouse to disable the
listening device.

"Here's the way it's going to be," he announced.  "You are quitting
WellTech Laboratories immediately and coming back to the FBI.  You can
work out of Quantico until we have Krycek in custody."

"Want some orange?" Scully asked.

"And you're moving," Mulder continued.  "You can stay at your mother's
until we find you a safe apartment."

"Mulder, you're crazy," she said.  "He was threatening Skinner, not me.
And I don't order you to move in with my mother every time someone
breaks into your apartment."

"Scully, you can't stay at my place, it's even less secure than here.
Maybe you can move in with the gunmen temporarily-no, forget that.  I'll
move in with you.  But I'm going to have the boys set up some better
security here, and we're going to need twenty-four hour surveillance."

Even as Mulder jabbered, he realized he wasn't making sense.  Scully had
been in danger before.

"What's gotten into you?" Scully asked.  "Why does this have you so
rattled?"

She'd been touched by his concern at first, but now he was ranting.

"I heard everything, Scully," Mulder said.  "You had your guard
down-because of me.  You didn't have a weapon-because of me.  You're not
safe in your own home, and I can't stand that."

"You're right, Mulder, I was careless.  That won't happen again.  I
didn't have a weapon because I'm undercover, and if you think that's all
because of you, then you don't give me enough credit."

She gave him an encouraging smile and she wanted to give him a kiss, but
he was still too distracted.

"I'm going to canvass the building," he said.  "Stay here and don't open
the door for anyone."

"Mulder," she implored him, but off he went to harass her neighbors and
Scully turned back to The New Yorker.

She was reading an article that was surprisingly interesting when she
heard the knock at the door.

Mulder must have locked himself out.   She'd have some fun with
that-after all, he told her not to open the door for anyone.

"Who's there?" she called in a saccharine voice.

"Scully, open up."

It was Skinner.  She knew him from his voice, but she checked through
the viewer before she let him in.

He closed the door behind him and stood there panting.

"That damn wire.  It failed again," Skinner said.  He'd raced to her
apartment as soon as he lost the transmission.

"I'm fine," she assured him.

He looked her over suspiciously and then settled himself on her couch.

"Where's Mulder?" he asked. "He left half an hour before me."

"He's... checking around," she said.  It sounded better than "He's
harassing my neighbors."

"I hoped that Krycek would stay in the shadows.  This changes
everything," Skinner said.

"Krycek was always a player," Scully answered.  "Whether he was in the
shadows or out in the open.  And Ippolito is eager to deal.  Krycek may
not have foreseen that."

"Ippolito's a dangerous man himself," Skinner said.

Scully couldn't help smirking.

"He's sort of creepy, but I'd hardly call him dangerous," she said.

"He's an accused rapist, Scully.  Watch your step," Skinner warned her.

"The Pillsbury Doughboy?" Scully asked incredulously.

"Date rape.  I don't have the specifics.  He resigned from Mercy Medical
Center as part of the settlement."

Scully might have questioned him further but for the sound of a key in
the door; Mulder hadn't locked himself out after all.  He stood in the
doorway as if he weren't sure if he was allowed in.  He nodded at
Skinner but addressed himself to Scully.

"I was an ass, wasn't I?" he asked.  "I overreacted."

"Well, you were a little overbearing," Scully agreed.

"Overbearing.  Right.  I was trying to run your life," he said.

Scully did her double shoulder-shrug.

"Scully, I know you can take care of yourself.  I have complete
confidence in you," Mulder said.

"Mulder, where are you going with this?"  Scully asked suspiciously.

Skinner was wondering the same thing.

"I'm just saying that you are intelligent and sensible and you will take
all reasonable precautions to maintain security," Mulder said.

"Well, of course," Scully replied.

"Okay," said Mulder.  "I got you a dog."  And then he entered the
apartment and the little black and white dog came snuffling in behind
him.

"That's actually a good idea," Skinner said, although nobody had asked
him.  "At least until this case is over."

"I don't want a dog," Scully said.

"Added protection," Skinner observed.  "You'll know if you have an
intruder."

"You can call it Queequeg," Mulder suggested.

"Idiotic name for a dog," said Skinner.  "Call it Ishmael."

"It's slobbering," said Scully.

"Sit!" Mulder told the dog, who obeyed.  "See? It's a good dog."

"Why don't you keep it, Mulder?  It will fit in your fish tank." Scully
said.

"Boston Terrier," Skinner said.  "Bright dogs, easy to train."

"Sir, do you want a dog?" Scully asked, glaring at him.

"How about Bruin?  Boston Bruin," said Mulder.  He dropped to his knees
to address the dog directly.  "Is that your name?  Or Celtic?  Nice
Irish name."

The little dog whined responsively.

"I've never seen a dog drool so much," Scully commented.  The dog turned
its worried little face toward Scully, its big brown eyes moist and
shiny.

"Just Boston.  That's a better name," said Skinner.  "Here, Boston!
We'll need to get some dog food, Mulder.  Some bowls, and possibly a
bed."

"A pooper scooper.  And carpet cleaner," Mulder added.  "Scully, should
we pick up some take-out or do you want to make dinner?"

Scully gave both of them a long-suffering look.

"Good night, gentlemen.  So nice of you to drop by."  She was calm and
composed as she said it-classic Scully.

Skinner tried to salvage the situation.

"Good night, Agent Scully.  Perhaps you'd like me to drop off some
supplies for the dog?"

"I haven't decided to keep him," Scully said.  "Good night, AD Skinner."

"Scully-" Mulder started.  He was still on the floor, with the dog
sitting next to him.  Four dewy eyes looked up at Scully, but at least
Mulder wasn't drooling.

"Door's that way, Mulder," she said.  With a sigh, Mulder got to his
feet and shuffled out the door.

"I'm an idiot," he told Skinner as they left.

"Yes," said Skinner.

Scully threw the deadbolt and fastened the chain behind them, and then
she sat down on the floor next to the dog.

"So you're going to protect me," she said to the little terrier, who was
still looking at her hopefully.

Lesley Corwin went to bed at eight o'clock.  Scully would have to keep
the dog overnight.

"If Krycek comes back you'll launch a saliva attack," Scully said.  The
dog wagged its stubby tail.

"Maybe you'd like to go live with Uncle Walter, hmm?" Scully asked,
scratching the dog behind the ears.

"Or Uncle Fox?  The fox and the hound?"


= = = =

Controlled Substances 4/14
By Kel, ckelll@hotmail.com

"A sound strategy poorly executed."

That was Skinner's assessment of Mulder's attempt to bring a dog into
Scully's life.  They were sitting in Mulder's car stakeout-style.

"I'm going to let her cool off for an hour and then I'll phone her,"
Skinner said.  "I want that wire reactivated.   You maintain a watch on
the building."

"I'll be right here," Mulder said.

"If I can get her under electronic surveillance I'll give you a call and
you can go home.  If she won't agree to that, I'll be here to relieve
you at oh-two-hundred," Skinner continued.

"That's not necessary," Mulder said.  "I can take the whole watch."

"Two o'clock," Skinner said.

"You're the last person who should be sitting out here, sir," Mulder
said.

Skinner felt tired and impatient.

"I know that, Mulder.  But I have to.  She's putting her life on the
line for me."

"Our lives are always on the line.  You told me that," Mulder said.
"But you're the one on remote control."

Skinner left without answering.

Mulder sat in his car for a couple of hours without getting a call.  At
ten o'clock he phoned Scully.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he said.

"Okay," she said.

Mulder left his jacket in the car and pushed his sleeves up to his
elbows.  Scully had a thing for him in shirtsleeves.  He even uncombed
his hair, but when he went in for his pit stop, Scully was less than
receptive.

She was watching TV in her living room with the dog curled up on the
floor by the couch.

"I could make popcorn," he offered.  "Or we could take Boston out for a
walk."

"His name is Pavlov," Scully told him.

"Pavlov?  You named the dog after a behaviorist?" Mulder asked.

"Look at him salivate," Scully said.

"But Scully, a behaviorist?"

"Would you prefer Skinner?" Scully asked.

"How about that popcorn?" Mulder asked hopefully.

"Pavlov, kill," Scully ordered.

So Mulder went back to his car for another hour, until Scully's window
went dark and he decided to try his luck again.

Scully was lying in bed negotiating for space with Pavlov, who, it
turned out, could snore as well as drool.  Then the little dog sprang
awake, yapping and stamping its feet.

Scully hadn't heard the key in the lock, but she heard the apartment
door open.

One hundred percent sure it was Mulder, she nonetheless reached for her
weapon.  Let Mulder see that she was vigilant.

"Scully, it's me," Mulder called before he came into the bedroom.  By
the beam of his flashlight he saw the gun in her hand, and the little
dog was growling at him.  Scully put down the weapon and turned on the
light.

Mulder wanted to point out that the dog had proved its worth, but he
knew better.

"Skinner wants you under watch until you turn the wire on again," he
said.

"That seems excessive," Scully said, although she knew that if she
weren't the one in the fishbowl she'd agree that it was appropriate.

"Can I watch from here?" Mulder asked, making a face very much like a
Boston Terrier's.

She was still angry over Mulder's "gift." Whether she returned the dog
to Lesley Corwin or gave in and let the little beast win her over, what
Mulder did was wrong. But pursuing the WellTech Laboratories
investigation with a staff of only three was taxing enough without
making Mulder spend the night in his car.

"You can sleep on the couch," she said.

"Thank you," said Mulder humbly.  He cast his puppy-eyed glance at the
dog, and his meaning was clear.  =Why can't I sleep here too?=

"Pavlov cries if I don't let him sleep with me," Scully explained.

Mulder looked even more downcast.  He began to sniff.

"Damn it, Mulder, don't think you're going to charm your way out of
this.  You've got a lot of nerve.  You don't just present someone with a
live animal.  And I don't appreciate having you and Skinner in my face
twenty-four and seven."

Scully surprised herself with this outburst.  Mulder sat down on the
bed.

"I know.  I know it, Scully, you're right.  It's just that I'm finding
this very difficult.  I don't like working this way.  I don't like
having to pretend that you screwed up at the Bureau.  I don't like you
spending all day with those weird nerds," he said.

"But Mulder, it's working.  We're going to get what we need.  And most
of the people are decent enough," Scully said.

"Edwin Ippolito is a rapist," Mulder said.

"An =accused= rapist," Scully corrected him.  "And it's 'date
rape'-that's always going to be he-said, she-said."

"You're defending him," Mulder said.

"I'm not-I'm just saying that we don't have the facts.  And I wasn't
planning to date him anyway," Scully said.

"About the dog...  I was canvassing door-to-door, thinking about was how
Krycek could just walk in here whenever he wanted.  And then this skinny
little old guy offered me a dog.  And it all clicked, that you needed a
dog," Mulder said.

"And that it was up to you to get me one, on the spot," Scully said
tartly.

"Then you're going to give him back?" Mulder asked, watching the dog
stretch and yawn.

"I haven't made up my mind," she said.

"Maybe I'll keep him," Mulder said.  "He's really a good dog, Scully."

"Good," Scully said.  "And you can get up early to walk him, too."

She was relieved to have it settled.  She could feel herself growing
attached to Pavlov, but she honestly didn't want the obligation of
ownership.

"I'd better get some sleep then," said Mulder, who sensed that Scully
was thawing, and when she moved over to make room for him he didn't miss
the message.

Mulder let his pants drop to the floor before slipping into the bed,
reminding Scully of one of the many reasons they could never live
together.  But when she felt the chill of his cool skin, she moved
closer to warm him.

He reciprocated by slipping his arm around her, and then she had to turn
to take the pressure off her neck, and he had to shift so that the
weight of her head wasn't directly on his shoulder.

Scully traced her nails lightly down his back, and then up again.

"You sleepy, Scully?" he asked.

"Not particularly," she said, running her palm down his flank and over
his hip.

He smiled contentedly and cupped his hand over her buttock, kneading
gently.  She took his hand to direct it under the elastic waistband of
her silk pajamas, so skin could touch skin.

Scully turned toward him and brought her mouth to his, her hand on the
back of his head as their lips touched.

Scully could feel his erection against her belly, and his teeth against
her lips, and then he reached for her hand.

Mulder's fingers on hers.  Two fingers running from her hand down to her
fingertips, and then thumb and forefinger gently massaging the base of
her thumb.  And then between the fingers.

Scully marveled at what Mulder could do to her just by touching her
hands, and she wondered where and how he had discovered this technique.
His mouth, and the feel of his hard cock, and his electrical fingers,
all of it was making her tingle with readiness. The waistband was down
to mid-thigh now and she kicked one leg free of the pants.

Scully reached for his erection, spiraling her hand around him and
sliding down his length and then around to travel under his scrotum.

Mulder moved from Scully's side to above her, supporting his weight on
his knees.  He buried his face between her breasts, then took a nipple
in his mouth, tonguing and sucking it.

She grabbed his ass as he lowered himself, easing his hard member into
her vagina and holding him as she pushed against him, holding him to
limit his thrusts to better suit her anatomy.

Mulder released her nipple, his head back as he huffed for breath, and
Scully locked her thighs around him, slamming back at him as he pumped.

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh, Mulder!"

Before she met Mulder, there were many so things that Scully did not
believe.  She did not believe in extraterrestrials, she did not believe
in ghosts, and she didn't believe that an orgasm could be powerful
enough to make you cry out.

But now she understood.  Sometimes you want to cry out.

And she let loose, spurring Mulder on to his own pleasure.

"Oh my God!  Oh, God!  Oh, Mulder!"

Mulder climaxed with a shudder and Scully pulled him down on top of her.
She liked to feel his weight, if only for a minute.  She was still
moaning, and Mulder pressed his mouth to hers, hard, and she couldn't
get enough.

Mulder felt Scully's tongue, jousting with his, probing his mouth
urgently.  She wasn't moaning any more.

But someone was growling in his ear.

Pavlov.  Growling and drooling.  And then yapping as he ran from one end
of the bed to the other, pausing to stand over Mulder and growl some
more.

Scully was ignoring him, or maybe she really didn't notice.

Mulder slid himself from atop Scully, pulling her into his arms.

Pavlov couldn't stand for that.  He began to bark in earnest.

"Bad dog," Mulder mumbled.

"No, don't scold him," Scully said.  "He's trying to protect me."

"Good dog," Mulder said, pushing him away.

Pavlov felt discouraged.  His new owner had made so much progress that
first day, but now, when he needed her to back him up and throw the
interloper out of the bed, she was siding against him.

He walked around on the bed, trying to find a cozy spot for himself.  He
couldn't find room between the two big humans, so he lay down next to
Scully, licked her face, and went to sleep.

Scully awoke with a start.  What was that?  It sounded like someone was
breaking cement with a jackhammer.

"Oh, Pavlov.  You're snoring in my ear," she said.  "Come on, boy."
Very gently she placed him on the floor.  "You sleep here."

Scully got back into bed, flipped the dog-drenched pillow over to find a
dry spot, and went back to sleep.

Pavlov whined sadly.   Disconsolate and lonely, he snuffled around the
room until he found something comforting he could chew on.  Mulder's
cellular.

= = = =

Pavlov was not the only one having trouble falling asleep.

Skinner went to bed early with a bottle of Heineken and a book by Salman
Rushdie, but he felt restless and awake.  He channel-surfed awhile and
he did finally manage to doze off, but when he woke up the clock showed
it was midnight.

Pointless to try to sleep now, he decided.  Might as well get up and
relieve Mulder ahead of schedule.

Driving up Scully's street, Skinner found a suitable parking space.  He
could watch the door and he could even see Scully's window.  He walked
over to Mulder's car to tell him he could take off for the night.

But Mulder wasn't there.

Skinner pulled out his phone and punched in Mulder's number. =Out of
service.=

Several scenarios suggested themselves, so there was no reason to jump
to conclusions.  On the other hand, something might be seriously wrong
here.  Skinner ran into Scully's building and knocked on her door.

His light tap was answered with a blast of furious barking.  He was
going to wait for some sound of human activity before he knocked again,
but then he heard a loud crash.

He drew his weapon and kicked in the door.

The noise was coming from what he presumed to be the bedroom.  He burst
through the door, shouting his warning:

"Federal agent, drop your weapon!"

It came out in three-part harmony, because on the other side of the
door, Mulder and Scully had made the same announcement.

Pavlov had upset and shattered a floor lamp, and he stood among the
shards, growling and barking.  Someone-probably Scully-had turned on the
table lamp, and Skinner was able to see that nobody here required his
assistance.

All three weapons were lowered.

"Your phone's out of service, Mulder," Skinner said.  Then he left.

= = = =

Controlled Substances 5/14
By Kel

"We've got to establish a set of ground rules," Mulder said.
"Conflicts are inevitable, but we can anticipate some of them and
achieve resolutions that avoid undue acrimony.  And like it or not, I'm
the senior party in this relationship.  I outrank you."

Just keep scratching, buddy, Pavlov thought as Mulder rubbed his tummy.
Stretched out on his back, wriggling with pleasure, Pavlov was pleased
that the big human was starting to learn his place.

Mulder had lifted the little dog onto the couch to keep him company
while he waited for someone to fix Scully's door.

Mulder looked at his watch again.  The locksmith had said he'd be around
before ten, but it was ten o'clock now.  Mulder could have called
someone from the FBI to take care of it last night, but Scully wouldn't
hear of it.  She'd also forbidden him from submitting the expense to the
bureau for reimbursement, even though the FBI had a whole department for
settling up with people after they broke down their doors.

The metro police had arrived last night about ten minutes after
Skinner.  Good to know that Scully's neighbors were on the ball.  At
least Mulder had his shorts on by then.

The DC cops had enjoyed a good laugh, once they'd made their phone calls
and confirmed Mulder's FBI status and the story that both agents
related.

Mulder was sure that one day he and Scully would look back at this and
laugh.  Maybe shortly after they learned to find the humor in Eugene
Tooms.

Mulder had his headset on, but Scully was apparently alone in her
cubicle, clicking away on her keyboard.  He moved it off his ears to
answer the phone.

"Mulder.  We got the documents released."  It was Skinner.  "Ippolito
used drugs on that woman.  He put her to sleep first."

"GBH? Roofies?" Mulder asked.

"No, legitimate medical drugs.  He anesthetized her," Skinner said.

"That son of a bitch," Mulder said.

When he replaced his headset, Scully was talking to someone.

= = = =

"Looks like you're moving up in the world," Eric Whittaker said, tossing
a diskette on Scully's desk.

"More data?" Scully asked him.  The diskette was unlabeled.

"I am not privy," Whittaker said.  "I was told to give this to you."

Scully tried to think of a sympathetic response that wouldn't sound
condescending.  Whittaker had been working here since start-up, after
all.

"Eric," she began.

"Don't misunderstand," Whittaker said.  "I don't want to be privy.  You
might want to think twice about it yourself."  For a moment it seemed he
was going to say something else, but then he walked away.

Scully slipped the disk in the slot.

More data, indeed, but not only chemistries.  She was looking at
complete case histories.

It wasn't hard to find a common thread.  All of these patients were
critically ill.  They'd arrived at their current state of ill-health
through various pathways, but as presented, each was dependent on
continuous medical intervention to maintain their lives.

These patients were Ippolito's test subjects.

That was standard procedure, after all.  The initial test subjects in
trials for new medications and treatments were always terminal
patients.  Initial tests were conducted to calculate dosages.

People who agreed to participate in this type of trial had one of two
possible motives.

Some were pure altruists.  At the end of their lives they found comfort
in helping others.  With nothing left to give, they offered up their
lives in the interest of advancing scientific and medical knowledge.

The others were the desperate optimists.  They understood that they were
testing medications that could not be expected to help them.  They had
been told that the experimental agents might kill them, and that the
object of this test was only to learn the maximum tolerable dose.  But
they hoped for a miracle.

Scully was not surprised to find that the disk was copy protected, and
she was quite sure that someone would come by to retrieve it before she
was allowed to leave the building.

She started transcribing some of the data from the screen, but with the
level of security practiced at WellTech Laboratories, she might not even
be able to retain her own notes.

So as she wrote, she talked to herself.

"Roberta Kaplan, forty-eight, multiple trauma..."

Where were these patients? Scully wondered.  These people were still
alive, still undergoing treatment.  She continued reading out loud; with
their names, addresses, and other identifying information, Mulder should
be able to locate them.

If she could find them, she might be able to learn the secret of the
nanites without any more help from Ippolito.

"August Edwards, eighty-seven, aortic aneurysm dissection..."

Scully's phone rang.  Ippolito's secretary was conveying a message from
the boss.  Dr. Ippolito wanted to discuss the data with Scully.  He was
inviting her for lunch in his private dining room.

"Lovely," said Scully.  "I can't wait."

= = = =

"Sir, it's Agent Mulder on the phone," Kim Cook told him on the
intercom, and of course, Skinner took the call right away.

She liked Mulder and most of the time she trusted him, but she also knew
that he was a loose cannon and that her boss had become a bit of a
maverick himself in the course of overseeing and protecting him.

The FBI was not kind to mavericks.  When Cook had started working for
Skinner, she'd seen him as the rising star destined to make at least
deputy director.  That was never going to happen now.

But Cook stayed with Skinner out of personal loyalty and friendship.
And she sensed that Mulder felt the same way about him.

Agent Scully was another matter.  Cook had long felt that she was
willing to use Skinner and that her trust of him was always
conditional.  And now that Scully was totally discredited, some of her
disgrace reflected on Skinner.

The AD hadn't slept last night, Cook was sure of it.  He looked sharp
and fresh as always, but she could tell that he'd been in the office
since early morning.

His office door opened, then closed behind him.

"Kim, I'm going out for a while.  Cancel my lunch and reschedule the
two-o'clock for Friday," Skinner said as he strode past her.

He looked as he always did:  purposeful, impatient, a little edgy.  But
today she was worried about him.

"If you need something while I'm gone-" Skinner began.

"I know, sir.  I'll take it to AD Kersh," Cook said.

"No, Kim.  I want you to go to the Director."

= = = =


Ippolito's private dining room at WellTech Laboratories was too opulent,
too overdone to be called tasteful, but Scully could appreciate the
individual touches.

"I loved anesthesiology.  I still miss it," Ippolito said.

She nodded politely, and he continued.

"The feeling of power-someone's life in your hand.  I adjust the drugs
that control your blood pressure, your heart rate.  I pump painkiller
into your veins or your spine.  I paralyze your muscles."  He leaned
forward, his words rumbling in her ear.  "I breathe for you."

Scully managed a tight smile.

"I loved my patients, Dana.  They were mine and I owned them," Ippolito
said.  "And they loved me too.  A dependence like that is a kind of
love."

A waiter in formal attire approached the table to serve them, his face
an impassive mask.

"I hope you like pancakes," Ippolito said.  "Banana nut pancakes-my
favorite."

"Yummy," said Scully.

"Not what you were expecting, was it?" he asked.  "But this is my
company, my dining room.  And I like pancakes."

"It's good to be king," Scully said, and Ippolito laughed
appreciatively.

He started in on his stack of hotcakes, spearing big mouthfuls and
breathing heavily as he ate.

"I've been reviewing the data you sent me," Scully said.  "But I don't
understand where the nanites fit in."

"Patience, Dana," Ippolito said.

"You said you'd tell me the treatment," Scully reminded him.

"And =you= said you'd give me the guinea pig," Ippolito said.

"Not the guinea pig-just the nanites.    And I will," she told him.

"Slow down, girl.  You haven't been paying attention.  To rid the host
of the nanites without killing him-that's tricky business.  Let's just
say it requires extensive monitoring and support," Ippolito said.

"Ned, I am a doctor," Scully said.

"Bring him here.  We'll cure him together," he said firmly.

"You haven't given me all the data," Scully said.  "That was our
agreement."

"Eat," Ippolito said.  "We can argue later.  And where's that smile?"

= = = =

Skinner had to show some ID before he could drive into the WellTech
Laboratories parking lot, but he was prepared for that.

"Valuation Technology Systems," said the guard in the booth, reading the
business card.  "What the hell do you do, anyway?"

"Consulting," Skinner said.  "Hey, I brought way too much food for my
presentation--why don't you take a couple of sandwiches?"

Skinner wasn't planning to storm the building.  He sat in his car,
headset on, in case Scully did need backup.  Mulder had wanted to race
over here himself and they'd exchanged sharp words in the course of
arguing over it.

Skinner was still concerned that Mulder might come barreling in to
rescue his... partner.  He keyed in Scully's home number.  Mulder's phone
still wasn't working.

"Scully residence," said the man who answered the phone.

"Who is this?" Skinner demanded.  "Where's Mulder?"

"I'm the dog-sitter," the man answered.  It was Lesley Corwin; Mulder
had recruited the old gent to stay at Scully's and wait for the
locksmith.  "And don't you go threatening Miss Scully because I'm a
professional bouncer and I have mob connections."

"Thanks for the warning," said Skinner as he hung up.

Skinner hadn't expected Mulder to stay put.  If this operation was
larger, less covert, Skinner would have removed Mulder from the action,
whatever it took.  But with just the three of them, he didn't have that
option.

Mulder had implied that the AD was benching him as punishment for what
happened between the sheets, but that was nonsense.  Mulder and Scully
had been totally devoted to each other for years.  They had risked
everything for one another-life, health, family, career-long before they
made the startling discovery that one of them was a boy and the other
one was a girl.

Skinner himself would abort this investigation if he had to; if
Ippolito's little innuendos and fantasies turned to reality, the game
was over.  But for now he had to sit here and do nothing while Edwin
Ippolito crooned at Scully and played her like a mouse in a maze.  And
that would be much easier for him than for Mulder.

Not that it was easy for Skinner.  Ippolito was one sick puppy.  He was
discoursing again on his favorite topic.

"I'm very gentle," Skinner heard him tell Scully.  "I would use some
inhalant first, and then I'd insert the tube.  You'd be an easy
intubation, Dana.  Do you have any loose caps or bridgework?"

Scully sounded more disgusted than frightened when she answered.

"Why do you work so hard at being a creep, Ned?" she asked him.

Scully was cool, but Skinner was starting to sweat.  Because he knew
what Scully did not: That Ippolito really had used the tools of his
trade to commit a rape.

"You don't like me, do you, Dana?" Ippolito said.  "I'd have to use some
extra amnesic on you.  Something so that you'd relax and forget."

Get out, Scully! Skinner said out loud.

Scully stood up and tossed her linen napkin on top of the plate of
pancakes.

"Thank you for a lovely lunch," she said sarcastically.

"Be nice!  I'd hate to have to fire you," Ippolito smirked.

= = = =

If Hell for Scully was a job interview, Hell for Mulder was life without
a cell phone.

Skinner had taken over the Scully-protection detail and ordered Mulder
to sit on his hands.  Scully's fate was in Skinner's hands, but Mulder's
hands were on the wheel.

He was on the trail of Scully's lost souls, the test subjects from
Ippolito's experiments.  His inquiries into the fate and location of
these people had turned up an address:

A half-vacant strip mall not far from the WellTech Laboratories
complex.  Mulder knew it was a fake, but it gave him an excuse to drive
to Arlington without disobeying Skinner's direct order.

He wanted to touch base with Skinner and make sure the AD was on the
scene at WellTech Laboratories, ready to move in if Scully needed his
help.  But he couldn't call-he didn't have a phone.

It had sickened Mulder to hear Ippolito's mellow whine as he told Scully
about his fetish, about the thrill he felt when someone was helpless in
his care.  Scully had been nonchalant about Ippolito's crime, as if she
couldn't acknowledge the threat without revealing her own vulnerability.

He felt better now that Scully was back in her cubicle, again reading
off the data from her terminal screen.  Mulder was repeating the names
and numbers she read into a fist-sized cassette recorder-he didn't care
to burden or trust his memory for this jumble of dates and lab results.

Then Scully's recitation stopped abruptly and Mulder heard the voice of
Eric Whittaker.

"Give me the disk," Whittaker said flatly.

"I'm not finished with it," Scully said.  And then:  "Here."

"Get out, Dana."  But Whittaker said it without malice.  It was not a
threat but a warning.

Mulder braked his car into a skid that swung into a U-turn.

"What's going on?" Scully demanded.  "Is he firing me?"

"I don't know anything about that," Whittaker said.  "I don't know
anything at all."

"Then why are you telling me to leave?" she asked.

"He doesn't need you any more.  He found what he's looking for,"
Whittaker said.

"Did he ask you to kick me out?" Scully asked.

"I don't know want to know what he's looking for," Whittaker whispered
urgently.  "But you know.  And it's very near-near enough that the
sensors have picked up the signature."

Outside in the parking lot, Skinner started his engine.

"Sensors?" Scully asked.

"He has sensors, but their range is limited.  It must be very close,"
Whittaker said, turning his back.

"Eric," she called after him.

"I have work to do," he said, hurrying away.

"I think I'll call it a day," Scully said out loud, ostensibly to
nobody, but Mulder breathed a sigh of relief and Skinner mouthed the
word "yes."

Despite the challenging manner she'd displayed to her co-worker, Scully
got the message and she wasted no time in clearing out.  A cluster of
grim security guards was sweeping through the corridors with hand-held
electronic devices, but they paid no attention to her.

She was scrutinized more closely by the exit, with a security officer
passing one of the hand-held gadgets around her like a metal detector,
but she was allowed through into the parking lot.

She walked to her car, right past Skinner's dark sedan.

"Let's go," she said out loud as she turned the ignition.

She drove toward the exit.  The guard stepped out of his booth to talk
to her.

"What's going on?" Scully asked him.

"You must be new here," he said.  "It's probably just another drill,
checking for stolen technology."  He walked around her car, turning the
gadget this way and that, frowning at it from time to time.

"Is there a problem?" Scully asked him.

"I'm showing some activity, but this meter's been acting buggy since I
turned it on.  Sorry, ma'am, you'll have to wait a minute here while I
make a switch."

Scully made a big show of tapping her foot and looking at her watch.
Skinner had pulled up behind her, and it was probably his proximity that
was exciting the nanite sensor.

"I don't have time for this," Scully said loudly.  She got back in her
car.

"Hold it, lady, just give me a second for another sweep," the guard
yelled, but Scully gunned the motor and crashed the car through the
wooden barrier, with Skinner following right on her bumper.

"Damn," said Scully as she sped down the twisting access road toward
safety.  WellTech Laboratories was a "good neighbor" as well as a
secretive one, with the building set back from the road and hidden by
yards of uncleared growth.  At the end of the narrow road was a second
barrier, a big steel gate that could slide shut to seal off the entire
compound.

"Talk to me, Scully," Skinner shouted, though he knew she couldn't hear
him.

As she neared the entranceway, Scully saw guards scurrying around, but
the gate remained open.  Lucky these guys weren't armed.

Damn.  Two of them were.

It's not that easy to hit a moving car with a handgun, Scully told
herself.  She kept her foot pressed to the floorboard.

There was a snap of gunfire, and then another.  But it wasn't coming
from the guards.  Startled, the armed men looked at each other, then
back to the speeding cars that were bearing down on the gate.  But their
timing and concentration were lost, and neither fired a shot.

Scully hurled the car into a right turn, checking her rearview mirror.
Skinner was still on her tailpipe.  Another car swung off of the grassy
shoulder and onto the road, following Skinner but hanging back.  No one
else appeared to be in tow.

Scully slowed down to blend in with the flow of traffic, and the car
trailing Skinner began to catch up, closing the gap.

And then, with a rush of relief, she saw that it was Mulder.


= = = =

Controlled Substances 6/14
By Kel, ckelll@hotmail.com


Skinner had recognized Mulder's car from the first.  Mulder, he
surmised, was responsible for the gunshots that had facilitated his
escape and the sabotage that had kept the steel gate from closing.

He pulled out his phone and tried Mulder's number, but the phone was
still out of service.  Mulder should really get that taken care of, he
thought, punching in the code for Scully's phone.

"Nice work, Agent," he told her.  "I'm going back to my office to tend
to some details, and I'll see you tonight at your apartment."

"Sir, no," Scully told him.  "We have to bring you in-now."

"I'm not ready, Scully, and from what I understand, you're not either,"
Skinner said.

"The room is fully equipped, sir.  And we have no choice-they will find
you, sir, unless we can hide you from their sensors," she said.

"Very well.  Give me the location and I'll be there as soon as I can,"
Skinner said.  Just because he was out in the field playing secret agent
with Mulder and Scully didn't mean he could neglect his other duties.
And he'd better pull some strings in case the slugs from Mulder's gun
were found-make sure the firearms division didn't turn up a match.

"Sir-I understand if you're afraid," Scully said.  "There's still time
to change your mind.  But if you want to go through with it, this is
your only chance."

"Agent Scully, you can spare me your reverse psychology.  I have looked
death in the eye every day since I learned what I had inside me,"
Skinner said irritably.

"I know you're not afraid of death," Scully said, but she didn't want to
complete the thought with Mulder listening.  She signaled and turned off
at the next exit ramp.  Skinner and Mulder followed.

= = = =

Skinner abandoned his car in the parking lot of the retail outlet center
and climbed into Scully's.  She drove up and down the rows of cars for a
while, as if trying to find the perfect space, and finally parked by a
shoe store.  Mulder had been studying a rack of sneakers, but now he
sauntered over and slid into the back seat.

It wasn't ideal but it would serve.

Scully would have liked to have more time, more information.  She had a
general approach to use against the nanites, but no exact protocol.  She
wasn't ready to "disappear" yet, nor was Skinner.

But circumstance had forced their hand.  Ippolito had the means to
locate the nanites.  And he knew now that his guinea pig was nearby.

Ippolito's sensors were crude, apparently, with limited range. He did
not possess the ability to activate and control the nanites, as Krycek
could.  Scully's plan was to take Skinner underground-literally.  Beyond
the reach of Ippolito's sensors and Krycek's remote control.

Skinner felt numb.  He was speaking the truth when he told Scully that
he was inured to the fear of death-what he hated was feeling like a
pawn.  He was the object of Krycek's dirty plan, the object of
Ippolito's search, and now the object of Scully's rescue mission.

Mulder and Scully exchanged hurried, clipped fragments of conversation,
not because they were trying to shut him out but because they had been
over the details many times.  Heretofore Skinner had been kept ignorant
because, as Mulder so gently phrased it, he was not his own man.

I'm Krycek's man, Skinner thought bitterly, Krycek's puppet.  And not
only Krycek's. To free himself of his techno-parasites, he would have to
put himself under Scully's command.

Dr. Scully's patient.  Why did that seem so totally loathsome, he asked
himself.  He felt a terrible urge to rebel, and he wondered if that was
the nanites' influence, if they were trying to make him bolt in order to
insure their own survival.

"Where are we going?" he asked Scully sharply.

"It's okay, I'll take you," she answered, and he gave her a look that
was bitter as bile.

"Longstreet," Mulder answered quickly.  "Longstreet, Virginia.  A relic
of the cold war.  It's a fall-out shelter for the deserving few."

Skinner nodded, back in control of himself.

"That's a long drive," he said.

"Yeah.  And I have things to take care of.  I'll see you tonight,"
Mulder said.

"Be careful," Scully said.

Mulder and Scully gazed into one another's eyes.

"Get going, Mulder," Skinner said impatiently.

Scully looked at him with such pity and concern that he wanted to
strangle her.

"Sir, it's my show now.  Are you ready to go through with it?" she
asked.

"Yes, damn it," Skinner answered.  "What do you think this is all
about?"

"Good.  Give Mulder your gun," Scully said.  "And Mulder, I want you to
come with us."

= = = =

Eric Whittaker always left work early on Fridays for Brownie meetings.
He was a leader in his daughter's troop. Today he was grateful to have
the excuse. He returned the diskette to Ippolito's secretary and then he
went to check his voice mail.  Sometimes his wife wanted him to pick up
milk or something on the way home.

Nothing from his wife, but he had three messages that had been routed to
him from their intended recipient, his newly terminated underling.

"Dana.  Hi, there.  It's Kim... Cook.  Just wondered how you're doing.
Oh, and, by the way, if you hear from AD Skinner, would you have him
give me a call?"

"This is Lesley.  The door's been repaired and I have your new key.
Pavlov's fine, but I took the liberty of rearranging your bookcase.
Everything from the bottom shelves is on your table."

"Hi.  Sorry.  Kim again.  Even if you don't talk to Mr. Skinner, please
call me.  I'm going to give you my home number..."

Whittaker wrote down the number.  Whoever Kim was, she sounded upset,
and he'd call to tell her not to use this number any more.  She'd never
reach Scully here and she might attract some unfortunate attention.

= = = =

Skinner had heard of the secret facility at Longstreet, Virginia, but he
had never actually seen it.  Scully drove them down an unpaved road past
trees posted with signs that said, "No Trespassing," and "Brokers
Protected."  Her destination was a flat-roofed, nondescript building
that looked like a warehouse or factory.  She had to get out to open the
big overhead door that let her and Mulder park their cars inside.

Codenamed "Jurisprudence," the Longstreet center was an underground
shelter designed to allow the designated elite to survive a nuclear
attack.

"This is it?" Skinner asked.

"Not exactly.  Most of it is underground," Scully said.

A large elevator took them down some hundred feet, and they stepped out
into a narrow corridor of gray.  Charcoal carpeting covered the floor
and joined with a lighter-hued material that encased the walls and
ceiling.

"I'll show you around," Mulder offered tentatively.

"I don't need a tour guide, Agent Mulder.  I can look around on my own,"
Skinner barked.

Mulder and Scully exchanged glances, and Skinner now wondered if this
had been their plan all along.  Maybe they wanted to get rid of him so
they would have more time to hatch their plot.

He dismissed the thought at once.  It was probably just a touch of
claustrophobia that was making him so irritable.

"Sorry," he said.  "Guess I'm a little apprehensive after all."

The agents nodded and smiled, trying to reassure him.

"There's a kind of conference room/lounge area, second door on the
left," Scully said.  "We'll be there."

= = = =

"I think I know what's going on," Scully said when they were alone.

The Longstreet facility was furnished with an eye toward luxury but also
toward saving space.  It was a warren of posh little rooms and suites.
Mulder swung his feet up onto a teak coffee table.

"Enlighten me," he said.  "Before I punch his lights out."

"It's the nanites.  Even without Krycek's transmitter to control them,
they must have some innate programming to influence Skinner's behavior,"
she explained.

"They're making him act like a prick?" Mulder asked.

"They're making him uncooperative. It may be a defensive tactic for
them," she said.

"Scully, we know so little about the nanites.  What if they're causing
long-term damage, perhaps dementia?" Mulder asked.

"That's another possibility," she agreed.

"Can you cure him without the controller?" he asked grimly.

"The controller device activates the nanites or makes them dormant, but
it doesn't kill them.  There's only one controller, from what I learned,
and Krycek has never let it out of his possession," Scully said.

"You make it sound hopeless," Mulder said.

"No.  I can kill them," Scully said.  "The nanites can't live in an
alkalotic environment.  I just have to bring Skinner's blood pH up to
seven-point-five."

"Can you do that?  Can he survive it?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, easily," she said.  "That's the good news."

Mulder folded his arms and waited for her to continue.

"The bad news is that Ippolito modified the nanites, he 'booby-trapped'
them.  When they die they release deadly microbes and toxins," she said.

"So when the nanites die, he dies too?" Mulder asked.

"That was certainly Krycek's plan.  But Ippolito made himself a back
door, so to speak.  After his people developed the 'booby-trap,' he
continued his research.  He also developed a treatment regime to
counteract the trap," Scully said.

"Then you can cure Skinner," Mulder concluded.

"I hope so, Mulder.  I had access to the preliminary work, not the final
findings.  And I'll need specialized drugs.  The pharmacy here has most
of them, but you'll have to go out for the rest.  If I can locate a
source," she said.

"Scully, I can't leave you alone with Skinner," Mulder said.  "He's
unpredictable, possibly dangerous."

The door wooshed open quietly, although Skinner had given it a good
shove.

"I expect to be included in any discussion about my prognosis and my
treatment," he said.  "And before you threaten to punch my lights out,
monster boy, you might want to remember that your girlfriend's wearing a
wire."

"Walter," said Scully, silencing both men with her use of the name.
"I'm so sorry.  Of course you are to be included in all such
discussions."

Mulder let the unasked question hang in the air, but Skinner narrowed
his eyes and gave it voice.

"Walter?" he echoed.

"You're my patient," she explained.  "Would you prefer 'Mr. Skinner'?"

Skinner sat down and took off his glasses to rub his eyes.

"You think the nanites are affecting my brain?  Making me irrational so
that I won't let you kill them?" he asked.

"I think that's possible, yes," Scully said.

"Do you think I might become dangerous?" he asked her pointedly.

"Sir-Walter-I can't rule that out," she said.

"But you know how to kill those things?" he asked.

"I don't have all the answers," she said.  "I know there are certain
drug therapies that WellTech Laboratories was using on their test
subjects.  I want to begin with those drugs."

"But monster boy is afraid I'll attack you while he's off picking up my
medicine," Skinner said.

"Sir, don't make this ugly," said Mulder quietly.

Skinner rubbed his eyes again.

"I'm sorry.  Scully-Dana-whoever designed this facility foresaw the need
for a lock-up.  I'll stay in seclusion while Mulder runs your errands,"
he said.  Then he removed a small revolver from an ankle holster and
laid it on the coffee table.

"Walter, there's something else you should know.  The drugs in question
are not entirely benign," Scully said.

"Say it in English, Dana.  What am I in for?" Skinner asked.

"These are some of the nastiest drugs in the arsenal of modern medicine,
in terms of side effects.  Normally they're used against the worst of
the naturally occurring infections," Scully said.

"What's going to happen to me?  I need to know," Skinner insisted.

"There are protocols to reduce or even prevent the side effects," she
began.

Skinner gave her a look that said, "Get to the point!"

"Severe tremors and high fever.  Headaches, nightmares, hallucinations,
psychosis, paranoia.  Of course, you may not experience all of these
symptoms," she said.

"Now I know," said Skinner.  "Let's get on with it."

"You've got a lot of guts," Mulder said with genuine admiration.

"Hey.  Piece of cake," said Skinner.  "Dana, why don't you add a
prescription for Rogaine, long as Mulder's taking a drive to the
pharmacy for me?"

= = = =

The required medications were not readily available.  They were the last
line of defense against a vicious, resistant bacillus, and their
continued effectiveness, such as it was, required that their use be
tightly controlled and supervised.

Mulder's original thought was to ask the lone gunmen to get hold of the
stuff for him, which had given Skinner a good laugh.

"I have a novel suggestion for you, Mulder.  Why don't you go through
the proper channels?" the AD had said.

Mulder was loathe to trust anyone from the FBI other than the people
currently occupying the Virginia bomb shelter, but, as Skinner reminded
him, if they couldn't trust the Director, they were already in deep
shit.

The Director had made the arrangements for the use of the Longstreet
facility.  If he was tainted by the Consortium, they were sunk before
they began.

Before Mulder left for DC, Skinner would have to be imprisoned.  He had
so far managed to stay in control, but his hold had been tenuous at
times and his behavior erratic.

All of the private quarters in the underground bunker were equipped with
external locks.

"Figures," said Skinner.  "Frightened people crowded into an underground
hole, with the trauma of nuclear devastation.  You have to be prepared.
Someone's going to go nuts and need to be sequestered."

"Or quarantined," Scully added.

Skinner chose his accommodations.  Again he found himself fighting
against his id.  He did not want to be locked up in this room, but it
had to be done.

"Take my phone," he told Mulder.  "See you later."  He slammed the door
behind him and Mulder slid the bolts into place.

While Skinner and Mulder had performed the needed tasks without speaking
of them, Scully had been struggling to find the words to convey her
sympathy and horror.

Maybe there were some advantages to the male approach, she thought.
Really, what could she have said?

"Walk me to the elevator," Mulder said, putting his arm around her and
drawing her to his side.

She leaned against him as they walked.

"Sir, I'm just turning off the wire to say good-bye to Mulder," she
announced for Skinner's benefit.

It was a brief good-bye, and wordless.

A minute later she reactivated the device.

"He's gone," she said.


= = = =
	
Controlled Substances 7/14
By Kel, ckelll@hotmail.com

Mulder insisted on speaking to the Director personally, and, to the
astonishment of the snide assistant who relayed the message, the
Director excused himself from a meeting to talk to Mulder.

Their exchange took all of two minutes.  The Director would have the
drugs that Scully requested sent to Mulder's office as soon as possible.

It was 6:00 PM.  Mulder decided to go the Scully's apartment to pick up
the suitcase she always kept packed and to check on the repair to the
door.

If the Director hadn't seen him so quickly, or if their meeting had
taken longer, Mulder would have taken the elevator down to the garage
without running into Kim Cook.

"Mulder," she said, grabbing his arm as if she knew he would try to
evade her.  "AD Skinner never came back."

"I'm sure he's all right," Mulder said lamely, and Cook let got of his
arm.

"Aren't you going to try to find him?" she demanded.

"Did you try calling him at home?" Mulder asked.  Mulder knew he was
busted-Kim Cook could figure out that he knew where the AD was.

"Agent Scully is no longer employed at WellTech Laboratories," Cook
said.  "I tried to reach her there and her supervisor told me she was
gone.  And you've had your phone off all day."

"Try not to worry," Mulder said, thinking that Cook should have been
included in their plan.  He noticed that she referred to Scully as
"Agent," and it seemed pointless and insulting to try to correct her.

"AD Skinner has an overnight bag in his office," Cook said.  "Take it
with you in case you run into him."

= = = =

Lesley Corwin had some harsh words when Mulder knocked on his door to
ask for the key.

"Do you know what time it is?" the old man asked.  "That little terrier
has been alone all afternoon."

Mulder wondered if Corwin had expected Scully to quit her job to stay
home with the dog.

Mulder said something placating and took the key.

Pavlov barked and growled at the sound of the door opening, but when he
recognized Mulder he started to whine and stomp.

"Come on," Mulder said.  Better to walk the dog than to clean up after
him.

Once that chore was completed, Mulder used the next half an hour
sweeping up broken bits of vases and flowerpots and then vacuuming away
the soil.  Most of it came up.

He decided to take Pavlov back to the bunker with him.  He would stop in
at the Hoover building on the way, on the off chance that the
medications were ready.

= = = =

Mulder said I had a lot of guts.  If he only knew, Skinner thought.

Although Skinner's little prison was full of diversions, he could still
feel the walls closing in on him.  There was a well-stocked liquor
cabinet, but Skinner avoided it.  He needed his faculties sharp to
resist the nanites.

He picked out some CDs and loaded them into the player.  He looked
through a surprisingly varied collection of books without finding
anything appealing.  There were dozens of videocassettes, including many
of the type favored by Mulder.  Skinner selected a couple of comedies
that he might try to watch.  There was an exercise room in the facility;
maybe he could use it later.

In twenty-four hours, he reflected, he'd be pumped full of drugs,
burning with fever and racked with pain.  He should use this time to
rest his body and gather his resolve.

He considered putting on the headset to see what Scully was up to;
probably checking her supplies again, making sure the sick bay was set
up the way she wanted it.  A few days ago she had complained about her
lack of privacy, but now it was Skinner who had to surrender not only
his privacy but his dignity as well.

He wondered when Mulder would return.  They'd let him out then.  But
what would happen at night?  They couldn't risk having him murder them
in their sleep, could they?  They'd lock him up while they satisfied
their lust with a night of debauchery. No doubt they were both
screamers.   The insulated walls would spare him from hearing their
cries of passion, but he would know.

A night of debauchery?   What part of his brain was coming up with this
stuff?  He could care less if they fucked like bunnies from dusk until
dawn.

He was pacing, he realized.  Back and forth like an animal in a cage.

A chunky black wall phone rang-literally.  An old-fashioned ring, not
the electronic tone of a newer phone.

"Yes," Skinner answered it.

"Do you have everything you need?" Scully asked.

"I'm fine," Skinner said.  "When's Mulder coming back?"

"I don't know.  Should I try to call him?"  Scully was searching for
ways to give Skinner some sense of control.

"Not yet," Skinner said.  "I see you figured out how to use the internal
phone system."

"There's a directory.  I'm on extension five-two-five," she said.

"Funny, isn't it?  Everything else is state of the art, but the
telephones are forty years old," he commented.

"Walter, I've finished reading the diskette.  I know how to proceed,"
Scully said.

"Then you know how to kill them?" Skinner asked.

"That's the easy part," she said.

"Good.  That's the part I was worried about," he said.

"It turns out that a dead nanite is almost as bad as a live one.  It's
like a doomsday device-they release a shower of biological agents,"
Scully said.  "That's why the treatment is so intense."

"I'm ready," Skinner said.

"You could survive the nanites and die from the drugs," she said.

"I don't want to live like this, Dana.  I thought I had made myself
clear." Skinner said.

"Then let me be perfectly clear as well.   I can destroy the nanites.  I
could do it right now.  But the aftermath of that destruction will put
you at risk for death from infection and toxins.  And the treatment for
the aftermath is potentially deadly as well," Scully said.

"Understood."

"I'm not finished!  You will be critically ill, sir.  You will need
continuous support and intervention to survive.  I've never used these
drugs.  I haven't placed an IV in five years.  I'm not a practicing
physician!  You need an epidemiologist or an intensivist.  Walter, I
can't do it," she said.

"You can and you will!" Skinner said harshly.  "You're not a practicing
physician, you're an FBI agent, and I am ordering you to do your job."

Her barely audible "hmph" told him he'd hit his mark.

"You're not an obstetrician and you delivered a big, healthy baby," he
reminded her.

"Walter, you didn't see the episiotomy," she said, and then she hung up,
to let him ponder her message.

= = = =

Kim Cook was convinced that Mulder knew where Walter was.

If he didn't know, he would have asked her more questions.

Cook had dragged herself to the supermarket after work, and she arrived
home too tired to cook and too hungry to wait..

That meant Wheaties for dinner again.  Supper of champions.

Mulder knew where Walter was, she reflected as she munched on her
cereal, and Mulder was worried.

Cook had made a few inquiries, trying to locate her boss and reassure
herself that he was all right.  She did not want to instigate a full
investigation.  That might jeopardize his safety.

Walter's car was discovered in Virginia at the outlet centers.

The patrolman who spotted it reported it was locked and empty. The
police official who relayed the news to Cook asked her if the car should
be impounded.

Just leave it, Cook had said.

She'd made more than a few calls to WellTech Laboratories before
learning that Scully no longer worked there.

She'd tried repeatedly to phone Mulder without any success.  But when
she saw him, she knew.  He was worried too, but not as worried as he'd
be if he didn't know Walter's whereabouts.

Cook's phone rang, but she didn't recognize the number on her Caller ID
and she let the machine screen for her.  No sense in letting the
Wheaties go soggy so she could talk to some telemarketer.

"Hello, Kim, you don't know me," said a man's voice.

Cook was so glad she hadn't picked up the phone.

"My name is Eric Whittaker," he continued.

He talks funny, she noticed.

"You left some messages for Dana Scully," he said.

Cook gulped down her mouthful of cereal so she could grab the phone.

"I must get in touch with her," he said.

"I'm here," she said.

"I have to talk to Dr. Scully.  She took something I need," Whittaker
said.

Eric Whittaker was a decent man who wanted only to do his job and go
home to his family at night.

After completing medical school and a general residency, he had joined a
pharmaceutical company in the research division.  He hadn't lasted long;
the implications of his work and how it was to be used had disturbed him
enough to make him quit.

He lost his next job when an ambitious colleague stole his ideas and
out-maneuvered him in the game of office politics.

Whittaker found a niche for himself at WellTech Laboratories.  He had
time for his family and time to pursue his myriad of odd hobbies.
Whittaker didn't have to climb any ladders or attend any meetings.

He liked his job.  He wanted to keep liking it.

Above all, he did not want to know too much.

Whittaker had gone out on a limb for Dana Scully, and she'd pulled a
fast one on him.

He had warned her to hit the road, and she'd repaid him by stealing the
real diskette and slipping him a replacement.  Ippolito's secretary had
called him to say that the diskette was blank, and he'd managed to stall
her.

But if Ippolito found out, Whittaker would be fired.

Ippolito was preoccupied for the moment, pouting with frustration
because the guinea pig-the test subject who carried the nanites-had
eluded him.

Ippolito wanted the guinea pig.  Dana Scully was his link to the guinea
pig, and he'd want to find her too.

Kim Cook had called four times in her effort to talk to Scully.  Now she
was part of the chain.

Cook to Scully to the unknown guinea pig.

Ippolito would be looking for her.

"I don't know where Dr. Scully is," Cook said.  "I can't help you."

"There's someone else I need to find.  You have to help me," Whittaker
said.

"Who is it?" Cook asked.

"I don't know," said Whittaker.

Eric Whittaker was not the most articulate man, and the story he had to
relate was almost unbelievable.  But Kim Cook was a good listener, and
she'd heard some incredible tales in her time.

After forty-five minutes, Cook had the basic facts, at least as much as
Whittaker could tell her.

"Oh, Walter," she said out loud at the end of the call.

He was more than her boss and sometimes she thought he was her friend.
But he never told her anything.


= = = =