Unto Which of the Angels
Date: 3 Oct 1995

I just noticed that someone has posted a Christmas Card .gif on the
group. So, in the spirit of the season (Halloween), I am sending out
this almost Christmas story. Actually, it has very little to do with
Christmas, that's just the setting. The story was inspired by all
those little angel pins that I keep seeing on everyone. I knew that
at some point, Mulder had to deal with angels.
Standard Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended,
especially to George Frederic Handel who wrote the best
'Christmas/Easter' music on earth (maybe in heaven, too) when he
wrote Messiah. I listen to it all year long. Mulder, Scully, Skinner,
Cancerman, and everyone you recognize belong to Ten Thirteen
Productions. 'Angela' belongs to me or to herself, we haven't
worked this out completely.
Warnings: Not many. This is an X File story, unless your guardian
angel talks to you all the time. No romance, no sex, not too much
violence described, some adult language, some blood, some snow,
some cold. . . Rated G and a batch of Mrs. Moseley's famous
Peanut Butter and Chocolate Chip cookies to the first person who
can send me the WORDS to the recitative.
Great Trivia note: The Feast of the Guardian Angels is Oct. 2, so I'm
only one day late with this.

UNTO WHICH OF THE ANGELS* Part one of four
(*Title of the Tenor Recitative in _Messiah_ by George Frederic
Handel)

County Road 17, Fairfax Co. Virginia
December 19, 1995 10:00 pm
Fox Mulder was barely conscious, and bleeding severely from a
wound on the left side of his head. His right wrist was bleeding
also, and his hand was throbbing. He was lying on the ground, but
he was totally blind, so he had no idea where he was or whether it
was night or day. It was below freezing and he could feel the snow
melting under him. He had no idea how he got there, in this
condition and he had no idea how he was going to get help. He had
run out of options and was about to black out when he whispered
something he very rarely thought of, let alone said out loud: a
prayer.
Later, it would all seem like a dream. He couldn't see anything,
but someone, a woman he was sure, helped him crawl almost 150
yards, out of the woods and up a hill to the roadside, where he was
soon found by a passing sheriff's patrol.
Dana Scully was jolted from a sound sleep when the phone rang.
A quick glance at her alarm clock revealed the time as 11:21 pm.
She had gone to bed early, feeling particularly tired because of jet
lag. She and her partner had flown from Washington, DC to
northern Idaho, then to Wisconsin and finally back to Washington,
all in the span of 5 days. When the phone rang, she was sure it was
her alarm clock. It took her just a moment to come fully awake,
and even less time to dress and head out the door.
Dana got off the elevator at the hospital and started toward the
nurse's desk. A young woman in a police uniform walked over to
her and introduced herself. "Excuse me, I'm Deputy Atwood. Are
you Agent Scully?" Dana nodded and took Deputy Atwood's
offered hand. "Maybe we should talk over here a minute," Deputy
Atwood motioned to a waiting area. Seeing the hesitation in
Scully's eyes, the Deputy added, "the doctor is still with your friend.
It will just take a minute." Dana said nothing, but sat down in one
of the chairs.
"What happened," Scully asked, when the deputy handed her a
cup of coffee. "I left him at the office at 5:00. Was he in an
accident?"
"I'm afraid it was more deliberate," replied Deputy Atwood.
"Agent Mulder was the victim of an attack of some kind, it looks
like it could have been an attempted execution. He was shot twice,
once in the right arm, near the wrist, and once in the left side of his
head." Scully closed her eyes, but said nothing. Deputy Atwood
continued, "There was something unusual that I'm a little confused
by. Agent Mulder was found right off the roadway, where we
spotted him easily. But he wasn't thrown out of a car. From what
we can tell, he was shot in the nearby woods, over 100 yards away.
He wasn't in any condition to crawl all that way, and up a hill to
boot, but somehow he did. But the really spooky part is, the
paramedics figure he did it without knowing which way he was
going. The blow to his head probably left him blind."
"Maybe someone dragged him to the roadside," Scully
suggested.
"That was my first thought when I found his tracks. But there
were no footprints. Just the track he made crawling up the hill.
The snow was fresh, it would have been impossible not to make
footprints. We found nothing."
The doctor on call had come into the waiting room and
motioned to Dana to come over. Before leaving, she got the
deputy's phone number. She would investigate the mystery later.
Now, it was time to turn her attention to Mulder. The doctor
introduced himself and led Scully over to a view screen with several
x-rays displayed on it.
"Mr. Mulder was very lucky. The bullet actually glanced off his
skull. He did sustain a fracture and a severe concussion, however.
There is considerable swelling here," he pointed to an area on the
film.
"That's near the occular nerve," Scully muttered.
"Very good," the doctor replied, somewhat surprised.
"I'm sorry, I should mention that I'm a medical doctor," Scully
said and moved closer to the films. "So his sight has been affected.
"I'm afraid so. Of course, once the swelling goes down, there is
every reason to believe that his sight will return. But for now. . ."
the doctor trailed off, not wanting to vocalize the reality of his
patient's blindness.
"Is he lucid?" Scully asked. If he was awake, he was probably
wondering where she was. She remembered the day she had agreed
to be his emergency contact. In their line of work, it only made
sense and besides, he didn't really feel he could trust anyone else.
"He's been going in and out. He did mumble a few words,
something about a woman. I assumed he must have been talking
about Deputy Atwood," the doctor said. "You're welcome to go in
and sit with him, if you want."
"Thank you, I think I will," Scully said and left the doctor to
gather the x-rays and put them with the chart at the nurses' station.
Mulder's breathing was slow and steady when Scully sat down
next to his bed. The bandage on his head encircled it, but didn't
cover his eyes. His wrist was bandaged in a soft cast and pins had
been implanted to hold the bones in place while they healed. In
general, he was going to be in a lot of pain whenever he came
around, and he certainly wasn't going to be happy about the time it
would take for a full recovery. But at least Scully was certain he
would make a full recovery. The doctor was right. Mulder had
been very lucky.
Scully sat there in silence, just watching him sleep for what
seemed like hours. During that time, she went over every minute of
the last day. They had spent the day together, right up to five
o'clock, when they had left the office together before going to their
respective apartments. Mulder had been as exhausted as she was
after their trip. He had mentioned making an early night of it and a
late morning the next day, if he had his way. She had wearily
agreed and said goodbye. But sometime between 5:00 and 10 pm
he had left his apartment, or been taken from it, and severely
wounded. And right now, he was the only one who could tell her
what had happened.
Somewhere around 6 am, Mulder started waking up. He moved
his head and swallowed hard a couple of times. Scully sat forward
in her seat and put her hands on his arm. "Mulder," she said softly.
"Hey, are you awake?"
"Scully?" Mulder said hoarsely. "Who turned out the lights?"
Scully had been searching for the answer to that question for the
last several hours. She knew he was not going to be satisfied with
her answer, no matter what it was. The fleeting thought crossed
her mind that Mulder was exactly the type of patient that had made
her consider forensic medicine in the first place. At least the
'patients' she had rarely talked back, disobeyed her orders, or
complained. Of course, on the downside, all the 'patients' she saw
were dead. But Mulder was very much alive and would probably
ask the question again if she didn't answer soon.
"Scully, why is it so dark in this room?" His voice was sounding
stronger, but also more insistant and more than just a little anxious.
"Mulder, you've been shot," she said simply. She knew that
required further explanation so she continued. "A bullet shattered
the bones in your wrist and another one glanced off your temple.
The resulting concussion has left you blind, temporarily," she
quickly added, emphasising the word 'temproarily'.
Mulder didn't say a word. He let the information sink in.
Finally, he asked quietly, "Are you sure about that?"
"Absolutely sure!" she said confidently. "The swelling is near
the occular nerve. When the swelling goes down in a few days,
you'll start seeing again. By the end of the week, you'll be fine. At
least, your sight will have returned, the wrist will take some more
time" she added, remembering that the wrist was going to take
much longer than a week to heal. "Mulder, what in the hell
happened? A Sheriff's patrol found you out in the country, no car,
bleeding. How did you get there?"
Mulder shut his eyes and frowned. "I remember answering my
door. That was probably about 6 or so. Then, it's all blank. Well. .
almost, except for little bits. . ." he said and sighed heavily.
"Scully, my head really hurts bad. Do I have to tell you all this
right now?"
Scully bit her lip in concern. "No! Of course not! You need
some sleep. The doctor has you on pain killers and it's probably
hard for you to think right now. That, and your concussion," she
added.
"I have a concussion and you're letting me sleep," he said with
an attempted grin. "I'm going to remember this the next time you
want me to stay awake all night after getting bashed in the head!"
"Yeah, well, you are being closely monitored and you lost a lot
of blood. These are extenuating circumstances, so take advantage
of them. We are going to make sure they don't all happen at once
again," she said menancingly. "Do I make myself clear, Mulder?"
He leaned back into his pillow and sighed again. "Very clear,
Scully. But I was in my apartment this time . . ." He yawned and
closed his eyes. "Getting where a guy just isn't safe in his own
home. . ." His mumbles were replaced by steady breathing.
Scully watched him for a few minutes, checking his pulse on the
monitor and assuring herself that he would be alright. Finally
convinced, she went out into the hall and gave her phone number to
the nurse so she could be contacted when he woke up again. Then
she left the hospital for his apartment, to check things out for
herself.

Fox Mulder's Apartment
December 20, 1995 7:30 am

Scully quietly opened the apartment door and almost stumbled
on the overturned chair in her path. The apartment had been
ransacked. She gingerly stepped over the chair, sofa cushions and
books that had been pulled out of the bookcase. Whoever had been
at Mulder's door the night before was obviously looking for
something. She made her way over to the fish tank in the corner
and noted that, at least they had escaped injury. "Hey, you guys
want to make a statement? Look at some mug shots?" They swam
impassively around the tank. "Yeah, I know, nobody wants to get
involved. Geez, I'm getting as bad as Mulder, interrogating fish!"
She picked up the fish food and started to shake some down into
the tank. Instead of flakes, a small gold key, similar to those found
in lockers in bus stations and train stations, fell with a plop into the
water, startling both the fish and Scully. "Oh, God, Mulder. What
have you done now?"
Grabbing the fish net, she scooped up the key and dropped it
into an evidence bag. Either Mulder had joined a new health club,
or this was what the thugs were after in the first place. Somehow it
didn't take her long to figure that it had to be the latter. She tucked
the key in her purse. Then, looking around the demolished room,
she shook her head, reached into her pocket and pulled out her
phone. Skinner was not going to be pleased with this, but her
options were fast running out.

FBI Headquarters
7:45 am

Assistant Director Walter Skinner had just sat down at his desk
when the call came in. It was not even 8:00 in the morning and
already he had a headache. He had learned long ago to not
underestimate the X Files Division's ability to find trouble, but it
now appeared that trouble was actively seeking them out. Or
maybe it had always been that way. He had ordered an evidence
team over to Mulder's apartment the minute after he hung up with
Scully. Why was it always these two? He sighed and pulled out an
emergency medical leave form. With a sardonic smile, he noticed
that his secretary had now taken the time to fill in the first half of
the form, half the forms had Scully's information, half had Mulder's.
He picked up the pen and filled in the rest of the information,
signing his name at the bottom and tossing it in his out basket. It
would be another long day.
The side door to his office opened and he looked up. The tall,
thin man, dressed in his usual black attire and clenching his
everpresent cigarette, took up the seat on Skinner's office couch.
Skinner took a deep breath and blew it out through his teeth. <This
day just keeps getting better and better> he thought bitterly.
"I assume you've heard of Agent Mulder's accident?" the
smoker's voice asked.
"It doesn't sound like much of an accident, if you ask me,"
Skinner replied dryly.
"Oh, let me assure you, it was an accident. Anything else, and
you would be planning an agent's funeral. No, I am afraid our
young friend has fallen into some difficulty because he has tried to
play in a league he is not ready for. And knowing him, he is
probably going to drag Agent Scully down with him. All this can
be avoided if certain objects are retuned to their rightful owners. If
anyone can persuade Agents Mulder and Scully of the value of such
actions, I believe it is you."
"I don't know what you're talking about! What objects? Who
are these 'rightful owners'? I am not about to help you until I know
what this is all about!" Skinner seethed.
"You don't need to know. And you are not helping me in this,
Skinner. You are protecting your agents. Believe me, right now,
they are both in grave danger! I can't help them, and if you won't,
no one will." He stood up and put out his cigarette in the ashtray
by the sofa. "The choice, and their lives, are in your hands. Don't
mistake the intentions of others beyond my control." And he was
gone, leaving a foul smell in the room and a similar taste in
Skinner's mouth.

Fox Mulder felt like he was swimming in a pond. He kept
swimming upward and finally his head broke through and he was
above the water. He shook his head, to get the water out of his
eyes and nose and looked around. He could see the shore, and a
dock. Sitting on the dock was a young woman, probably about his
own age, dressed in a white gauze sundress, motioning for him to
swim over to her. Taking a deep breath, he did just that. He
clambored out of the water, up onto the dock and sat down next to
her. She smiled at him, and he felt he should know her, she was so
familiar. Finally, she spoke.
"Feeling better?" she asked in a lilting voice that he knew he had
heard many times before, but he couldn't place where or when.
"I feel fine. Do I know you?" he asked, wiping more water off
his face with his hands. A breeze had blown up, but the day was
hot and it felt good to be sitting on the shady dock, wet.
"Not as well as you once did, but I know you," she said
cryptically.
He looked at her and shook his head. Then he looked around
himself. "Wait a minute. It's December! Where am I?" he asked,
feeling rather uncertain and just a little dizzy all of a sudden.
She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder to steady him.
"It's alright, Fox. You're dreaming. You are hurt, in the hospital.
You're asleep right now. But here, you're safe. No pain. And I
needed to talk to you."
"I'm dreaming?" he asked, incredulous. "This is a really great
dream. I want a recording of this dream," he added, giving her an
appreciative stare. She was beautiful, with golden blonde hair that
lay in long ringlets down the sides of her face, a tiny nose, with big
blue eyes and deep red lips. "Definitely a good dream!"
"Down, Mulder," his companion said, in a perfect mimic of
Scully's voice.
"How did you do that!" he demanded.
"Oh, let's just say I've heard her say it often enough and leave it
at that. Right now that's not what matters. Have you remembered
anything that happened to you?"
"No. Why, should I?" he asked evasively.
"Fox, you can trust me," she said quietly, staring him deep in the
eyes.
"Sorry. An old friend once told me *trust no one*. It was good
advice then, sounds like good advice now. Even if this is just a
dream," he said stubbornly.
"Fox, I'm here to help you. To be exact, if you think about it,
you summoned me! I have no 'agenda', I will not harm you. But
you need protection, and that is my job. It has been my job for a
very long time," she said, smiling faintly at him.
"Well, if it's your job to protect me, I hope they don't pay you
based on performance, because this has _not_ been a good year for
me," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.
"You are still alive, Fox. There have been several times when
that might not have been the outcome if I hadn't been involved. But
let's not argue my performance. You are going to need my help,
both you and Scully. I have been sent here to help you, whether
you accept it or not."
"Who the hell are you?" Mulder demanded angrily.
"Wrong direction, sport," she laughed. "I'm your guardian
angel." The look on her face was total honesty. Mulder defiantly
shook his head in disbelief.
"Sorry, don't go in for religion much. Try again," he hissed.
"Fox, what was the last thing you remember before you blacked
out in the woods? You woke up, you couldn't see, you were
bleeding, you were in great pain, you were cold. What did you
do?" she taunted him into an answer.
"I. . .I prayed," he whispered.
"What did you pray for?" she asked, prodding.
"For God to save me. . ." he whispered, almost to himself, half
embarrassed by the lapse in his convictions. "But I was delirious! I
didn't expect an. . ." He stopped himself and waved a hand at the
sky.
"You didn't expect an angel? Well, be careful what you pray
for, Fox Mulder, because sometimes your prayers get answered
sooner than you think!" She grinned at him and her whole face
glowed. "Look, you need to rest so more. . ."
"But I have questions to ask you. And besides, I _am_ asleep,
at least that's what you told me," he interjected.
"Not completely. You are kind of in the world between sleep
and awake. Your mind is still running full tilt and you need to be
resting completely. Don't worry. I'm not leaving. I'll be back. Just
rest and when you wake up, hopefully you will remember more of
last night. Oh, and Fox," she said, as she started to shimmer and
glow.
"What?" he asked, squinting at the brightness surrounding her.
"Don't forget to thank Scully for coming to the hospital and
sitting up with you. She cares a lot for you, and sometimes she
feels you don't appreciate her. I know you do, but you need to let
her know," the voice said, as it faded with her image.
As her image faded, so did the dock, the lake and the trees, and
Mulder drifted off into oblivion.

End of part one

My e-mail is getting repaired, so bear with me if my response time is
slow to comments.

===========================================================================

From: Vickie Moseley <vmoseley@fgi.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW STORY: Unto Which of the Angels (2/4)
Date: 3 Oct 1995 13:58:10 GMT

Unto Which of the Angels* Part Two of Four
Disclaimer in part one. Is everyone wearing their official angel pins?

*******
Arlington Memorial Hospital
December 20, 4:40 pm

It was almost sunset when Mulder woke up again, with pain in his
head and right arm, an IV in his left arm and hospital sounds all
around him. He vaguely remembered the dream, and half expected to
find the young woman sitting by his bed. Upon opening his eyes,
however, all he saw was darkness, and it frightened him. He called
out, and Scully answered.
"Mulder, it's alright. I'm here. Relax. Do you remember where
you are?" she asked, in soothing tones, taking his unbandaged hand and
rubbing the back of it.
"Hospital," he said hoarsely. "Is she here?" he asked, still
trying to piece the dream together and fit it into reality.
"She? Who, the nurse?" Scully asked, confused.
"No, Scully! Not the nurse, the angel," he chided. Sometimes he
was amazed at how simple things confused her so.
"Mulder," Scully said softly. "There isn't any angel here. Not
that I can see, anyway. It's just me. Did you dream about an angel?"
"Yeah. That was it," he slurred, still groggy. "I dreamed about
her. She's beautiful, Scully. What do you call them, angels that
follow you around, protect you? Catholics call them something." The
pain killers were making his thought processes muddy, as usual.
"Guardian angels. I didn't think you believed in guardian
angels, Mulder. Or at least I figured you thought they were actually
aliens in disguise," she snickered.
"Yeah, well, she certainly fit the descriptions I've seen," he
said with an attempt at a leering grin. "She talked to me on a dock.
She told me,. . . she told me to tell you that I _do_ appreciate you,
Scully. . . Thanks for being here. I really means a lot to me and I
don't always remember to tell you that. You're a good friend,
Scully."
For the first time that day, Scully was glad Mulder was blind.
She was blushing bright red and a single tear was streaking its way
down her cheek. "Any time, Mulder," she said gruffly, hoping he
wouldn't notice the change in her voice. If he did, he didn't let her
know.
"Mulder," she said, bringing herself under control. "I went by
your apartment. It had been ransacked. When I went to feed your
fish, a gold key fell out of the fish food. What does that belong to,
Mulder? Is that what they were looking for, the ones who hurt you and
trashed your place?"
"A gold key? I remember a gold key." He closed his eyes in
concentration. "It's to a locker. . .somewhere. I don't know where.
It was in my paper when I got home. I stuck it in the empty fish food
container so I wouldn't lose it. That could be what they were after."
A sudden wave of pain washed over him, starting in his wrist and
running straight up the entire length of his arm. It left his head
throbbing, as well.
Scully couldn't help but notice his grimace of pain. "Mulder, I
think the doctor has order some pain meds for you. I'm going to call
the nurse. . ." she said, but he wouldn't let go of her hand.
"No, Scully, I hate to be doped up! Please," he pleaded, but
then gripped her hand tightly as the pain in his wrist worsened. He
clenched his jaw against it. "OK, maybe this once," he gasped.

His thoughts were a jumble as his mind sunk through oblivion.
Then, looking up <must be a dream, I'm seeing again> he could just
make out her faint outline in the corner of the room. This time he
wasn't on the dock, he was sitting in a room, a familiar room. He
finally recognized the formal parlor of the student house he had lived
in during his undergrad days at Oxford. He had always loved that
room. He went there frequently, just for quiet time to think. It was
a strict rule that women were not allowed in that particular study
room, and it was were he often sought refuge from Phoebe Greene when
he didn't want to be found.
"You aren't supposed to be here," he pointed out as he walked
over and sat on the old leather couch next to her.
"Fox," she said, smiling and shaking her head so that her curls
bounced. "You misunderstand. Angels have no sex. You see me as a
woman because that is how you view angels."
"How about Michael and Gabriel, and for that matter, Lucifer?" he
countered.
She smiled even more brightly. "Well, it's good to see you still
remember the names from Sunday School, if not all the lessons! But
there again, those are names. The angels behind those names are
neither man nor woman. Only humans have gender, Fox. By the way,
thank you," she said, changing the subject.
"For what?" he asked.
"I saw when you told Scully how much it meant to you to have her
here. She was really pleased. You did very well. See, you aren't a
total loser with women, you just need to practice a few more social
graces, that's all," she said and her face glowed.
"To set the record straight here, I am still a loser with women.
Scully is different," he frowned.
"So, are partners like angels," she teased. "No gender?"
"It's not like that! It's just that, well, I feel comfortable
with Scully. She's my best friend. I don't act around her like I do
when I'm around other women." It was his turn to change the subject.
"Hey, how come you don't have wings, if my imagination is making you
up?"
"You are too old for wings, Fox. Or halos for that matter. And
I am not of your imagination. I am real. Or at least as real as I
can get, on a metaphysical level. Did you remember anything, yet?"
she asked.
"Yeah, a little. I remember a key. Scully found it. . ."
"In the fish food, right?" she interrupted.
"How did you know," he asked, suspiciously.
She sighed. "Because I was there watching you when you put it in
the container. I'm always watching, Fox. That is my job. We angels
never know when we're going to be needed."
"So why don't _you_ tell me what happened? If you were
there. . ." he accused.
"I wish it worked that way, but it doesn't. I can't step in a
stop things. I can only help you. Besides, I got kind of busy," she
said pointedly. "There was a struggle and I was that little voice in
your head telling you that your gun was in the bedroom on your belt
holster where you had left it. Remember?"
"Oh yeah," he spoke slowly, as the events of the night started to
replay in his mind. "I reached for my gun and grabbed my sweatpants.
But I thought that was _my_ mind telling me that, that I was just
remembering," he said, staring off, thinking out loud.
"People don't remember a lot of logical, necessary things in the
heat of battle. Sometimes they need help," she smiled cryptically.
"So, that little voice, it's always been you?" he asked, shaking
his head in amazement.
"Most of the time, yes."
"How about the voice that tells me what a killer is thinking?" he
asked.
She blushed. "That is your own voice, Fox. Sometimes, I have
to protect you from it, as well. Humans have good, much good," she
stressed, "and they also possess evil. When you see their actions so
clearly, that is the evil, within you. That's why it frightens you
so. But you control it. You have a very well developed sense of
right and wrong. Sometimes, though, I do end up pulling you from the
mouth of the abyss, as it were. If you think about it, you'll
remember those times."
"I remember. . ." he said and shuddered. "Thank you," he added,
looking over at her a faint mixture of admiration and graditude.
She smiled, all glowing now. "Don't mention it. It's my job.
Just like you have a job. Right now, your job is to get well and try
to put this puzzle together. It's going to be difficult. The pain in
your wrist is a reminder, Fox. That much I know. And your
sightlessness as well. Those injuries were deliberate. They wanted
you blind and unable to defend yourself. I don't know why, I can't
see into their hearts. But you can, you've always been able to do
that. I do know that until you do, both you and now Scully will be in
danger. I will be here for you. Scully has her own protector. Just
don't assume that we can do it all."
"Yeah, I've notice how it doesn't work that way," he interjected,
with a scowl.
"But we can help you." She started to shimmer again, shining
like a cloud in the evening sunset. "I'll be here, with you. We'll
talk again. Rest now. Let your body have a chance to heal. You'll
probably be asking it do to far more than it should in a very short
while. That's one of the things I've learned about you. You really
do make a lousy patient. . ." and she disappeared before he could come
to his own defense.

Arlington Memorial Medical Center
December 21, 1995 8:43 pm

Scully slipped off the elevator, holding her cup of coffee and
the ham and cheese sandwich she had finally picked up from the
cafeteria. It would be the first meal of the day for her. She had
spent most of the day going over the tiny threads of evidence the team
had found at Mulder's apartment. She had talked to all his neighbors,
no one had seen or heard anything. Finally, in exaspiration, she had
decided her time would be better spent seeing if Mulder had remembered
anything. Besides, she was still worried about him.
She smiled at the guard on duty in front of Mulder's door. He
smiled back. "Good to see you're finally gonna eat something, Agent
Scully. Now, if you'd try to get some sleep." he added, pointedly.
"Sleep, Agent Jackson, is highly overrated," she replied, giving
him a smile. "I'll be fine. I went to medical school, remember? We
used to stay awake for a week, just to prove we could do it. I never
realized I was in training to be Fox Mulder's partner when I did
that. . ."
The other agent laughed broadly and held the door open for her.
Scully put the coffee and sandwich down on the little bedside
dresser. She quickly checked the monitors next to the bed. Mulder
had been asleep all day, mostly due to the pain killers he had
relunctantly agreed to the night before. The swelling in his wrist
was finally responding to the rest he was giving it. Hopefully, when
he did wake up, he wouldn't be in such pain.
The doctor had scheduled another CAT Scan for the morning, to see
how the head injury was doing. Scully hated to admit it, but her
partner's blindness was starting to bother her, even though she knew
it was still too early to make any long term diagnosis. Finally
satisfied that he hadn't changed in the 10 minutes she had been gone,
she settled down in the chair beside his bed and started to eat.
"Smells good in here," a raspy voice from the bed said weakly.
"Is there enough of that coffee to go around?"
She smiled, put down the sandwich and poured ice water into a
styrofoam cup. "Sorry, big guy. No coffee for you. How about some
ice water, though? Your voice sounds like you need something." She
put the straw up to his lips and let him take several long sips. He
nodded that he was done and she put the cup down on the tray table.
"How's the wrist feeling?" she asked.
"Well, it doesn't feel like I want to chew it off my arm at the
moment. That is a marked improvement on earlier today," he quipped.
"That was yesterday, sleepy head. This is Thursday, the 21st.
You've been asleep for over 24 hours. And if your wrist is feeling
better, I'd say it was just what you needed!" She reached over and
took his hand. "Is it still dark?" she asked, quietly.
"Pitch," he replied, sourly. "No little light flashes, no grey
shadows, just pitch black. Scully, are you sure this is temporary?
You wouldn't keep something like that from me, would you? I mean,
thinking that I needed to be stronger when I heard the news or
something dumb like that?" His face was all concern and concentration
as he spoke.
"Mulder, I would never keep something like that from you!" she
answered emphantically. "You would need to start adjusting to that
immediately, I know that! No, I still agree with Dr. Henson's opinion
that this is temporary. Mulder, you have a skull fracture! You've
had them before, you know how long they take to heal. As hard as your
head is, you have a broken one! And a very bruised brain, too. I
told you to give it a week, and I meant it." She watched him nod,
accepting her medical judgement. "The doctor has ordered a CAT Scan
tomorrow morning to see how much the swelling has gone down. If there
are any problems, which I sincerely doubt there are, we will know more
then. For now, try not to worry about it. That won't make the
swelling go down any faster and definitely won't make you see any
quicker."
"I had another dream," he said, hesitantly.
"Did your angel come again?" Scully asked, with a faint smile.
Mulder and angels, somehow it fit. But this one must be a pretty
incompetent angel, with as much trouble as Mulder always seemed to get
into. Incompetent, or incredibly busy.
"Scully, don't tell me you don't believe in angels? I mean, as
much as you like Christmas?" he chided.
"Mulder, I believe that God has messengers. I just don't know if
I still buy the idea that there is one angel, assigned to me, who
protects me from all harm. And even if I did, your's seems to be in
need of additional training! Maybe you should request a new one," she
teased.
"Nah, you wouldn't say that if you saw her," he said frowning.
"Besides, it doesn't work like that. Angels help, Scully, but they
aren't like the Secret Service--they can't take a bullet for you.
Besides, there's a whole file drawer back at the office with angel
sightings in it. And not just sightings, either. People report they
have talked to their angels, that they're that little voice that tells
you things."
"Are you sure you aren't getting angels mixed up with Jiminy
Cricket?" Scully asked, trying not to snicker. Mulder could be so
strange when he was on heavy pain killers.
"You're laughing at me, Scully! I can tell it in your voice!" he
accused, with mock indignation. Then he grew serious. "This isn't
the medicine talking, Scully. These dreams are real, she's real, or
rather it's real. . .angels have no gender. . .but she's helping me
remember. Those guys, the ones who shot me, they want what's in the
locker. Shooting me in the wrist, my gun hand, and the head, that was
a message. They mean business, Scully. They want what's in that
locker! We can't let them get their hands on it!"
"OK, OK, just settled down! I don't want you getting all excited
and throwing your blood pressure to the wind, Mulder," she warned.
"Now, I've still got the key. I didn't think it would do any good to
give it to the evidence guys, since only your prints were on it. How
about if I run a check on the serial number on it? That might tell us
where the locker is located. Will that settle the question for a
while?"
He took a deep breath. "Yeah, but put a rush on it, OK? I don't
like the idea of us not knowing what's going on. My angel says we're
both in danger, she's probably right."
"Mulder, she doesn't have to be an angel to figure that out.
Heck, she doesn't even have to be too bright, for that matter!" she
teased. "Look, I'm dead on my feet. I'm going home to sleep in my
own little bed. The nurse is going to be in soon with some more knock
out juice for you, so I'll leave my number at the desk, but otherwise,
I'll see you in the morning, OK?"
Mulder was busy trying to make his fuzzy brain put together the
pieces of the puzzle. "Yeah, sure. See ya, or. . .whatever," he
mumbled. She reached over and squeezed his hand, then left.

The nurse had been in with the medication. He hated that, no
matter how many times he had been given medicine. He hated needles,
yes, but there was something insidious about injecting medication
through an IV line. At least when it came from a needle, he knew
about how long it was going to take before he started 'fuzzing out'.
But when it came in with the rest of the IV fluid, it crept up on him
and he couldn't tell when his mind was just wandering or if the
medicine was taking effect. This time, however, he had a pretty good
clue.

===========================================================================

From: Vickie Moseley <vmoseley@fgi.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW STORY: Unto Which of the Angels (3/4)
Date: 3 Oct 1995 14:12:48 GMT

Unto Which of the Angels* Part Three of Four
Disclaimer in part one.

"Hey, there, Fox," she said, a bright smile shining on her face.
They were standing in the shadow of the Jefferson Memorial. It
had always been one of his favorite places in DC. He used it as a
thinking spot, and came there often.
"Hey, there,. . .ah, what do I call you? Do you have a name?"
he asked, suddenly curious.
She smiled again, this time a little indulgently. "Nah, when
we're spoken to, we know it. But if it would make you feel
comfortable, you could think up a name for me. That's how the
others got their names."
"Others?" he asked.
"You know, the ones you mentioned. Michael, Gabriel,
_Lucifer_, the high profile angels. We guardians don't usually make
a scene and so we don't get named. But go ahead, take a shot.
And I promise I won't be offended," she added softly.
"OK," he said and thought for a moment. "How about
'Angela'?"
"Wow, Fox! How original! And you went to Oxford for _how
many years_?" she laughed derisively. Then she reached over and
ruffled his hair, softening at his dejected expression. "Hey, I was
just teasing. Angela is a great name. Easy to spell, too," she
added, still chuckling. "So, how's the remembering coming?"
"Not that great. I still don't know where the locker is that the
key goes to. Scully is having somebody check into. And I still
couldn't tell you how many assailants there were that night, or even
what they looked like. Not that I could see any mugshots, even if I
could remember," he added tersely.
"Don't worry about the blindness. If you're scared, you should
know who to talk to by now," she said, prodding.
"Why, do you want to deliver a message?" he asked, a
mischievous smile breaking on his face.
"You don't need me for that message, Fox. You have a direct
line. Just open your mind and your heart and let the message go.
That's all you have to do."
He frowned. "Yeah, well, maybe some other time," he
grumbled.
"Fox, do you still think God is vendictive and uncaring?" Angela
asked, somewhat surprised.
"Let's just say I'm not totally convinced of the benefits of
religion," he said cryptically.
Angela shook her head and the curls dipped and swirled around
her. "What will it take, Fox?" she murmured almost to herself.
"How about answering a really old, standing request," he replied
tersely. "But I really don't want to stand here and debate my beliefs
with a metaphysical being, if you don't mind. Can you help me
remember?"
"Well, I couldn't help you with Spanish, but I'll give it a try.
Let's start simple, like back at your apartment. Do you remember
coming home?"
He thought for a moment. "I remember leaving the office. I
was beat. We've been on the road for a week, the motel rooms
were NOT the Ritz, the beds were all like a slab of cement! All I
wanted to do was go home, flop on the couch and veg for 12 to 18
hours," he said, starting to pace in the cool shadow of the the
memorial. "I remember parking the car--it was slippery on the
sidewalk and I had a hard time balancing me and my luggage. I got
up the elevator. My newspapers were stacked against the door, so
I kicked them aside to get in. I put my stuff down, picked up the
papers and started to put them on the coffee table when I heard a
thunk. I looked down and saw the key." He stopped pacing for a
minute and just stood there, staring into space, trying to visualize
what happened next.
"Then," he said, slowly pacing again, "I opened all the papers,
one by one and started to go through them. I found an want ad in
one that had been circled. The number at the beginning of the ad
was. . .935. I see it really plain. It was 935." He looked up. "The
key only has a serial number on it, not a locker number, that I could
tell. That must be the locker number. 935." He smiled. "Hey, at
least I've remembered that much. If Danny can figure out where
the locker is by the serial number, we've got it made!"
Angela reached over and touched his arm. "Not quite, Don
Quixote! Before we go running off to tilt more windmills, what
happened next?" she asked.
Mulder took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Let's see. .
I decided to put the key in the fish food container, because I knew
I wouldn't lose it there and I needed to remember to buy fish food
anyway." He glanced over at Angela, who was smiling with mild
amusement. "Then I changed into sweats, ordered a pizza, and
settled down on the couch." He walked over to the steps and sat
down. "I must have fallen asleep, because I remember the knock
on the door woke me up. I got up, answered the door, expecting
the pizza delivery kid," he started frowning. "But it was someone
else."
"Who?" Angela prodded.
Mulder shook his head ruefully. "No idea. Black fatiques, black
ski masks. Four of them. I remember reaching for my gun, but,
well, you remember that part. They grabbed me, gagged me and
dragged me out to their van. One of them hit me pretty hard to the
head and I was out for the ride. When I came to, we were in the
country. It was dark, it had been snowing again. They dragged me
out to a stand of trees. . ." his voice trailed off. He closed his eyes,
not really wanting to remember anymore. Finally, he opened his
eyes and looked at her. "They shot me. Twice. Wrist first, then
head. I passed out immediately. The next thing I really remember
is waking up in the woods, not being able to remember anything
from the rest of the night. . .and praying that someone would save
me." He sighed heavily. Then he looked up at Angela. "I guess
that's when you showed up," he smiled wryly. "You dragged me to
the road. I remember seeing the lights from the Sheriffs patrol and
then Deputy Atwood leaning over me and calling the dispatcher.
That's all I remember till I woke up in the hospital."
"Did the men in black fatiques say anything to you before they
shot you?" Angela asked quietly.
He frowned in concentration. "I was pretty groggy from the
smack to the head. I don't remember. . .no, wait. They did say
something, or at least one of them did. Something about 'the
research'. I was to let the research stay where it was. I had no idea
what they were talking about. Then they shot me and I know I
don't remember anything else they said after that point."
"Hey, that's a lot more than you knew before! You did really
well! Now, what are you going to do about it?" Angela asked.
"Why?" Mulder asked suspiciously. "Are you going to try and
talk me out of doing something?"
Angela shook her head in mild exasperation. "Yeah, like the
time I tried to talk you out of jumping off the garage roof in your
batman costume," she sighed disgustedly.
"Hey, I was 8 at the time and it would have worked if the zip
line had been secured better! And I only sprained my arm!" he said,
defensively.
"Because _I_ rolled you at the right moment!" she shot back,
her eyes flashing. "Fox, did it ever occur to you that you end up
hurt more than most people?"
"Every time the health insurance drones send me a love letter,"
he said glumly.
"Well, did it ever occur to you that _you_ have some _control_
over that problem?" she asked again.
"Angela, you are starting so sound dangerously like Scully
here!" he warned. "But I get what you're trying to say. If I would
be a little more careful, I wouldn't be in the hospital as much." He
got up and paced some more. "It's not like I'm suicidal, you know!
I _don't_ like to be hurt! I hate waking up with IV's in my arm and
Scully looking like hell from a night long vigil by my bed when she
should have been sleeping! I _hate_ that look in her eyes, like she
just about lost everything and she's not really sure it's going to stick
around."
"'Lost everything'? 'It's' not going to stick around?" Angela
asked, an unmistakable edge to her voice. "Mulder, the only 'thing'
she is worried about losing. . .is YOU! If you would only start
picking your battles, and maybe keeping your head down, you
might not wake up with needles in your arm and Scully worried
sick beside your bed so often." She frowned a split second, then
her smile returned and she shook her head in rueful resignation.
"But hey, I've been with you this long. I'm getting used to you.
When I get my next assignment, I'll probably be bored stiff."
"Can we possibly avoid any 'new assignments' for a long time?"
Mulder asked hopefully.
"Listen to you! That's exactly what I've been saying! Be
Careful, Fox! Heaven is NOT ready for you, not yet, at least!
Don't go rushing in where even _I_ would fear to tread, OK?" She
reached over and touched his cheek, smiling and shimmering. "Get
some more rest. I'll see you later," she promised before she and the
Capitol Mall faded out of sight.

Arlington General Hospital
December 22, 1995
9:30 am

Scully rushed off the elevator, just missing bumping into an
orderly pushing a supply cart. She excused herself over her
shoulder and continued to run toward Mulder's door, skidding to a
stop just long enough to greet the agent guarding the room. "Have
they taken him downstairs, yet," she asked anxiously. The slightly
bored agent shook his head and she pushed the door open.
"Hey, Scully," came the greeting from the bed. Mulder was
sitting up, an empty breakfast tray pushed down to his feet. His
color was much better and he actually looked pretty good,
considering the green hosptial gown almost clashed with his eyes.
"Guess what?" he demanded, smiling.
"Mulder," she wheezed, still out of breath from her run. "Can
you see me?"
"Well, you're real blurry and there are two of you, but yeah, I
can see you! I like that pantsuit, but where did you get that big
stain on it?" he asked, squinting.
"That's not a stain, Mulder, it's a broach," Scully laughed.
"Your vision is blurry and you have no depth perception, but at
least it's not total darkness. How long has your sight been back?"
"It was there when I woke up this morning. Dr. Henson still
wants the CAT scan, just to make sure the fracture's healing
properly. He said if it looks good, I can get out this afternoon," he
added.
Scully frowned and chewed on her lip. "Mulder, I don't like the
thought of you rattling around your apartment with blurry double
vision and a pinned wrist. Maybe you should come over to my
place for a couple of days, just till the sight is better and you're
more accustomed to your cast."
Mulder shook his head emphatically. "So you can spoon feed
me pain killers and unplug the TV--no way, Scully! I appreciate the
offer, really I do, but I will be fine. I will lay on the couch and only
eat take out that's delivered. Really, I rest better at home, you
know that." He could see the determination in her face. "OK, let's
compromise. You can come over after work, make sure I'm fine,
poke me, prod me and take my temperature and even tuck me in.
But I get to stay at my place and you get to stay at yours! OK?"
She had her arms crossed against her chest and was still glaring
at him. "I never spoon fed you pain killers and I only unplugged
the TV once, because we were having an electrical storm!" Then,
she thought a moment and saw the Puppy Dog Look creeping up
on his face. "OK, OK! I give! I'll take you to your place. But
Mulder, I WILL be checking on you, so you better stay put. And
you are not going to eat pizza every meal, either. Mom has already
sent over a ton of food for your freezer, or rather, the place you
store ice cubes," she teased. "Besides, you can't get into too much
trouble with a couple of agents right outside your building," she
concluded.
"WHAT? Who said anything about agents?" he demanded.
"Mulder, there has been an agent outside this room since they
brought you in! It's procedure, you know that. You were attacked
in _your home_, Agent Mulder! The Bureau really frowns on
having their agents dragged out of their own homes, taken to the
woods, shot execution style and then left for dead! They're real
funny that way!" she said defiantly. "You will just have to live with
it!"
"If there's a guard outside my building, I might as well go home
with you," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Just as I thought! You were going to sneak out and find the
locker, weren't you?" she accused him. "Mulder, will you ever
learn!?"
He didn't have time to answer that, even though she suspected
he wouldn't have answered it to her satisfaction, anyway. The
nurse came in with a wheelchair to take him to X-Ray for his scan.

Somewhere in the Pentagon
4:30 pm

The smoke hung thick in the air. He almost didn't allow the first
cigarette to be extinquished before lighting the second. The
younger man sitting across the desk from him had long wondered if
that was a sign of nervousness in his superior, or simply excitement.
The younger man knew his boss' facial expression would never
betray either emotion, so there had to be *some* outward clue. If
he just studied him a little longer. . .
"You are aware that Agent Mulder was released from the
hospital at 3:00 this afternoon?" the older man hissed while
exhaling thick smoke into the air.
"Yes. His CAT scan showed reduction in the swelling, but it's
still sufficient to incapacitate him. He will experience blurred vision
and possibly severe headaches for several more days. Of course,
with the severity of the skull fracture, any additional injury to the
head would be. . ."
"We are not here to discuss possible routes to the elimination of
Agent Mulder, however expedient that course might be. We are
here to discuss ensuring that he does not obtain those records
before they are safely relocated, out of his reach. When can that be
arranged?"
"We have the general location of the research documents, but
unfortunately, we lack the exact location. It has proven difficult,
since the traffic in the area seems to be steady all day and all night.
Mr. Barnett chose a very visible spot to stash his little treasure. Of
course, the best place to hide something is in plain sight," said the
younger man.
"Do you have a plan?" the older man asked.
"Yes. Knowing Mulder the way I do, I suspect that he will
attempt to retrieve the records, relatively soon, I would imagine.
We have him under constant surveillance. When he makes his
move, we will be there. When he locates the documents, we will,
ah, liberate them, so to speak."
The older man glared for a moment. "If Mulder is harmed, there
will be complications. Any 'accidents' must be quite plain--and
totally documented. That partner of his would search to her
deathbed if she thought he had been killed as part of this
operation."
"Not to worry. Agent Mulder will survive. I think it's
regretable, but unlike my predecessor, I understand the importance
of a martyr to the cause, and how making Mulder such would only
be to our detriment." He waited for the older man's reaction.
"As long as we agree on that point. Very good, Morrow. You
know, after just a few encounters with Mulder, Mr. Krycek could
not keep his emotions under control. I'm glad to see that you have
not fallen into that trap. It bodes well for your future with the
organization." The older man almost smiled. "I will expect your
report."

===========================================================================

From: Vickie Moseley <vmoseley@fgi.net>
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW STORY: Unto Which of the Angels (4/4)
Date: 3 Oct 1995 14:30:50 GMT

Unto Which the Angels* part four of four
Disclaimer in part one. Pass the mulled cider, this is the conclusion.

Mulder's apartment
8:00 pm

"Want this last piece of meatloaf, Mulder? It's too small to save
and too much to throw out," Scully said, holding the plate out to
her partner.
"Well. . .if you insist," he sighed and snatched the plate out of
her hand, the meatloaf disappearing in no time.
Scully laughed. "I'm glad to see you haven't lost your appetite,
Mulder. Then I really would worry about you!"
"You know that old saying, Scully. 'Starve a cold, feed a skull
fracture.' But if I end up gaining weight during my medical leave,
it's all your mom's fault. I can't stay away from her cooking." He
sighed and moved away from the table, bumping into the
doorcasing on the way to the living room and his couch. "Ouch!
Dammit!"
"Mulder, I told you I would help you get around! Why don't
you let me?" Scully moaned.
"Because, Scully, I am not BLIND, I am BLURRY, and it
shouldn't be that hard!" he shot back.
"Blurry and no depth perception, Mulder. The two do not make
the best combination for competent navigational skills." She had
taken his elbow to steer him around his coffee table, which he was
just about to nick with his shin. Finally settling him on the couch,
she grabbed the pillow from the other end and tucked it under his
head. Then, she went about moving the table, a chair and any other
obstacles out of the middle of the room and away from the
doorways.
"Scully, I don't need an interior decorator. I like the look of my
apartment."
"I am simply removing problems, Mulder. I don't want you
falling in the middle of the night and busting up your other wrist!"
She went to the hall closet, bringing back a comforter.
"When I said you could tuck me in, I was hoping that you knew
I was kidding," he moaned.
"Hey, the weather report said it's going to dip down into the low
teens tonight. And the wind is out of the north, right through that
window," she added, pointing to the window just inches from his
couch. "The last thing you need is pneumonia."
"Scully, you are dangerously close to hovering and you are not
cleared in this airspace," Mulder warned.
"Did you take your tylenol 3?" she asked, ignoring his snide
comment.
"Yes, Auntie Dana, and the antibiotic, and the stupid vitamins
that I never should have agreed to. In fact, I am so medicated that
all I want to do is SLEEP. Now, will you be a good little doctor,
and GO HOME!" he yelled, but then broke into a grin so she would
know he wasn't really mad. "Besides, you have to be as tired as I
feel. Now, it's my turn to hover. Go home, get some sleep. Good
grief, if you ever got sick, I'd be dead in a week!" He waved her
toward the door.
She reached over and ruffled his hair. "OK, you win. Good
night, Mulder. Call me if you need anything. Oh, and here is the
number of the Agent Jackson's cell phone. If you fall or get sick or
if. . ."
"Scully. . ." he growled.
"I'm leaving, I'm leaving. I'll be by about 7:30, to fix you
breakfast. See you in the morning."
He yawned widely. "See ya, Scully. Hopefully, more clearly,
too," he smiled.

Mulder had been asleep almost as soon as the door shut behind
Scully. Thanks to the codiene in the tylenol, he didn't have his
usual nightmares, but rather an interesting assortment of dreams
involving bright swirling colors that made him feel just a little dizzy.
Finally, he was deep in sleep. He woke up suddenly to a noise in
the room.
"Relax, Agent Mulder. I have no intentions of doing any more
damage to you than has already been inflicted," the voice smoothed.
Mulder pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes with his good
hand. It didn't help. "Who the hell are you and how did you get
past Jackson?" he asked, groggily.
"Let's just say I am a friend of Dr. Ribley. You remember Dr.
Ribley, don't you, Agent Mulder?" the voice asked.
Mulder squinted, but the best he could make out was a shape.
The voice was deep, a male, but he didn't recognize it. "Yeah, I
remember Dr. Ribley. But he disappeared. I assumed Burnett
killed him. He implied as much on the phone to me."
What Mulder didn't say was that he also knew Dr. Joseph Ribley
was the definition of a mad scientist, who performed experiements
on prison inmates in the hopes of finding the genetic therapy to
reverse the affects of aging. Most of his 'victims' had died horribly,
except one. John Barnett had lived, but Barnett was a murderer
who knew no fear and had been put in jail by a very wet behind the
ears young agent named Fox Mulder. Barnett's death was faked to
allow him to be experimented on by Ribley. When he survived the
experiments, and escaped, he came after Mulder and anyone
Mulder cared about. Barnett was responsible for the death of
Mulder's former mentor, Agent Reggie Purdue.
After Barnett tried unsuccessfully to kill Scully, Mulder killed
him. But not before the 'experiment' got revenge on the scientist by
stealing all the research and locking it away somewhere, never to be
seen again.
"John Barnett didn't need to kill Dr. Ribley," Mulder's dark
visitor replied. "He was dead of his terminal illness within 24 hours
of your meeting with him. But he wasn't alone in his quest. He had
acquired a few friends and close associates during his years of
research. Some of us helped with the very gene therapy that made
John Barnett possible. We were very distressed that Mr. Barnett
saw fit to steal the research documents before any of us could copy
them. And then, when he died at your hands, we assumed he had
taken the documents to the grave."
Mulder was still sitting quietly on his couch, listening. His head
was starting to pound, due to his sudden and rude awakening.
"Look, this is a great bedtime story, and any other time I would be
fascinated, but, would you mind telling me why you are visiting me,
tonight?"
"Agent Mulder, you have recently been in receipt of a key. It
belongs to a locker, somewhere in this city. I can give you the
location of the locker, in general, but not the actual locker number.
However, I believe you have that information already."
"And if I did, what of it? You really don't expect me to give you
the key or the number of the locker, do you? Especially if you plan
on continuing with that kind of research!" Mulder said, shaking his
head in disgust. "Besides, I don't have the key right now. And I
don't know the number. I might have known it, once, but I have
recently had a severe blow to the head, and I'm not fully recovered.
My memory of that night is very sketchy--I know almost no details
of it." One thing paranoia had taught him, he could lie with the best
of them!
"Ah, Agent Mulder, can you really be this naive and still be
alive? My associates and I are the least of your worries. Your
government invested hugh sums of money in that research--THEY
want it BACK! And as you are already painfully aware, some of
their agents are not above inflicting pain and even death to get it.
We are your best bet, Mulder, don't be deceived for one minute."
Mulder was trying to focus his vision as the man stood and walked
toward his door. "Think about it, Agent Mulder." Then he turned
and changed his tone. "By the way, have you seen the Christmas
decorations at Union Station? They really are quite beautiful this
year, you should go and experience them for yourself." Mulder
heard the door click shut and realized for the first time that his fists
were clenched and he was shaking.
Mulder sat for a moment, considering his options. Then a
thought, totally unbidden, came into his mind--in Angela's voice.
<<Dana has the key! That makes her vulnerable, again!>> He
grabbed his phone and hit the speed dial. Then he paced while he
waited the three rings for Scully to pick up the other end.
"Dana Scully," a sleepy voice yawned into the phone.
"It's me. Scully, you have to get over here," he said quickly.
<<Phone could be bugged. Don't say too much!>> Angela's voice
echoed in his head. "Ah, I'm. . .ah, really feeling bad,. . .bad, bad
headache, sick to my stomach. And dizzy." <<Good job, if you
haven't just scared her to death, Einstein!>> Angela interjected.
"And I'm hearing a ringing in my ears," he added tersely, more for
Angela's benefit than for Scully. "I hate to drag you out in the
middle of the night. . ."
"Shut up and hang up the phone, Mulder, I'm on my way,"
Scully said hurriedly, slamming down the phone.
Mulder paced the entire 20 minutes it took Scully to make it to
his apartment. He heard her footsteps in the hallway and had
opened the door as she was just getting out her spare key.
"Mulder, get back on that couch! You shouldn't be up walking
around if you're dizzy!" she scolded and grabbed his arm to propell
him back into the living room.
"Scully, I'm not sick," he protested. She ignored him completely
and pushed him back down onto the couch, hoisted her medical bag
up on the coffee table and started digging through it.
"Scully, why do you listen to me when I say I'm sick, but you
won't listen to me when I say I'm not sick?" he demanded. He
grabbed her hand when she was about to stick a thermometer in his
mouth. "I said that to get you over here, in case the phone was
bugged! Do you have the key with you?"
She wasn't quite convinced he was really OK, but his question
threw her off track. "Yeah, I keep it in my purse. Why?"
"Good! Look, we have to go to Union Station. I'm pretty sure
I know where the locker is located. Scully, the locker, I know
what's in it now! The genetics research that created John Barnett!
Dr. Ribley's research! It's in a locker at Union Station."
"Mulder, how do you know this?" Scully asked suspiciously.
"Let's just say I was 'visited', and it wasn't by the ghost of
Christmas past," he said darkly.
"This wasn't another of your 'angel dreams', was it Mulder,
because this angel obsession is really starting to worry me. . ."
"No, Scully, it wasn't Angela," Mulder said, exasperated at his
partner's sketism, and not for the first time. "It was one of Dr.
Joseph Ribley's 'associates'. He told me what was in the locker, that
Ribley left a fan club behind who want to get the research back."
"Is that who shot you?" Scully interrupted.
"Not according to this guy. He seems to think it was one of our
local, friendly shadow government groups. Apparently, as we sort
of suspected all along, the government was funding Ribley's
research. Well, they've figured out I got the key and that I knew
where the locker was located, pretty damn quick, too, I might add.
They're the ones who took me out to the woods. So there isn't just
one bunch after this data, there are two," he sighed.
"Or two that we know of," Scully countered. "Mulder, can you
give a description of this man who broke in here tonight?"
"I couldn't give you a description of this couch, Scully. It's all
too fuzzy. And the room was dark, he stayed in shadows, there's
just no way. But his voice, I could recognize him if I heard him
speak. He had a very distinctive voice." His eyes stared, unfocused
at the wall, remembering the voice. Suddenly, he turned to Scully.
"We have to get over to Union Station. Neither of us are very safe
here, these guys seem to walk in and out of this apartment building
like it _was_ Union Station! Our only hope is getting to that locker
and getting that research. At least then, we have a chance keeping
it out of everyone's hands!"
"Mulder, I am not driving you all over Washington at 1:00 am.
Not in your condition. You really will be sick and dizzy if you try a
stunt like this," she warned.
"Oh, well, then, _you_ could go, they could break in again, take
me hostage and you can trade the research for my life, giving them
exactly what they wanted in the first place," he countered,
sarcastically. "Face it, Scully, we are better off if we stick
together!"
"OK, how about letting one of the agents downstairs go to the
station and get what's in the locker?" Scully suggested lamely. He
just looked at her. "I know, I know! That's putting someone else
in danger and they'd probably get killed in the process," she said in
disgust. "I'll take you, Mulder, but I do so under protest! And
when this is over, we go back to MY place where I fully intent to
spoon feed you pain killers and unplug the TV, and have a
REALLY GOOD TIME DOING IT!"

Scully got Mulder safely in her car and then walked over to the
agents on guard duty. After a few minutes, she was back.
"So, what did you tell Jackson to keep him off our tail?" Mulder
asked as she started the car.
"I told him you were having nausea and dizziness and I'm taking
you back to the hospital. He suggested he go along, but I
convinced him that Skinner had already made arrangements for a
guard at the hospital and he should just stay put, in case somebody
tries to break in again. He hasn't seen anybody all night," she
added, looking over at Mulder.
"Really good agents are hard to find," was the terse reply. He
was silent for the next mile or so, then he sat up, as if listening.
"Scully, we have a tail. And it's reasonable to assume that it's
hostile," he added.
"Mulder, how can you know we have a tail! You can't find the
radio dials on the dashboard right now!" Scully demanded.
Mulder thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Angela told
me."
"Not this angel stuff again, Mulder! This is getting too creepy!
You can't be hearing angels, it's an auditory hallucination! As soon
as we get this little mission accomplished, I AM taking you back to
the hospital and I fully intent to keep you there until we 'cure' this
little angel fixation of yours!"
"Scully, you sound jealous," Mulder teased, still chuckling at her
tirade.
"Just for the record, might I point out, Mulder, that YOU are
the only one in this car besides me!" she countered.
Mulder was silent for a moment, then started to snicker.
"Alright, Mulder, what now?" Scully said hotly.
"Well, Angela said that you have an angel in the car, too. But
she doesn't think you'd mind, since he looks like Brad Pitt," he
chuckled at her.
"Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall, or Brad Pitt in Interview with
a Vampire?" Scully asked derisively.
More quiet. "Brad Pitt in Kalifornia," he said, grinning
mischeviously. "Have you even _seen_ that movie, yet?"
"Are you asking me, Mulder, or the Angel," Scully shot back.
He kept that answer to himself and was quiet for the rest of the
ride. In spite of herself, Scully back-tracked and took off roads to
ensure they really weren't being followed.

Union Station
Washington, DC
December 23, 1995 1:05 am

Even in the middle of the night, Union Station was a relatively
crowded place. Just two days before Christmas, most of the
travellers were families, coming from far distances to be with loved
ones for the holidays. Many of the benches contained weary
parents holding sleeping children, waiting for connecting trains. It
was not the kind of place Scully wanted to have a shoot out in,
especially with her only back up incapable of seeing more than three
inches in front of his face.
She tugged at his elbow and lead him through the terminal to the
banks of lockers. He stood in front of them, squinting, until she
finally convinced him that the whole process would be much faster
if he just *told* her the number he was looking for. Locker No.
935 was on the third set of lockers, two from the top, and one from
the end. Scully dug through her purse, finally grabbing the key and
quickly unlocked the locker. Inside, she found three computer
disks, unmarked and nothing else.
"OK, Mulder. Let's get out of here," she said softly, turning to
her partner.
"Just as soon as you hand over those disks, Agent Scully," said a
tall, stocky man in a black trench coat and hat pulled down low
over his eyes.
"A welcoming committee, Scully!" Mulder sneered as he
squinted in the direction of the voice. The image was too blurry to
identify as even human. "You guys didn't have to go to all this
trouble," he said in the direction of the black blur in front of him.
In response, both agents heard the distinct click of a gun being
cocked and Scully noted that the man's pocket was pointed directly
at Mulder's chest. Since the man was only about 5 feet away from
them, she had some quick thinking to do. She glanced around her
and spied what could become their only salvation.
"Oops," was all the warning she gave as she threw the three
disks over the man's shoulder, toward a large Christmas display just
a couple of yards away. She watched intently as the man in the
black trench coat spun on his heel and ran toward the fallen disks.
She then grabbed Mulder by the arm and ran as fast as she could
toward the exit.
"Scully, what the hell is going on! Where is the data?" Mulder
demanded as she pulled him through the door and out into the cold
December night.
"If we're real lucky, Mulder, it's gone," Scully said curtly as she
pushed him into the passenger's seat of her car.
"What do you mean 'gone'? Scully, you didn't just give it to that
bastard back there did you?" Mulder growled. "How could you do
that! You know what they'll do with it! Do you really want to go
through another reincarnation of a criminal like John Barnett?" he
hissed, his anger definitely not abating as she gunned the car and
headed off into the sparce traffic.
"Mulder, give me a little more credit than that. I gave him the
disks, yes. But he'll have a hell of a time getting anything useful off
them," she said, calming down finally enough to assess what had
just taken place.
"What is that supposed to mean," he asked suspiciously.
"Mulder, the decorations right by the lockers was a depiction of
Santa's workshop. Complete with busy little elves, making toys.
Using nice, big, magnets to pick the toys up off the assembly line
and place them in very pretty boxes," she said, letting her voice take
on a sweet, innocent quality as she explained the last.
Mulder was quiet for a moment. "Did you say 'magnets'?"
"Yep! Nice big ones. And I saw at least one disk fall directly
beneath one of the magnets, and get picked up by it, before our
friend got over there. At most, they only have two thirds of the
data. At best, the proximity of the magnet wiped it all off. Just like
the little warning on the box of blank disks says, Mulder, "Keep
away from magnets"!" He couldn't see the broad smile on her face,
but he could sure hear it in her voice. He laughed.
"I wonder who he worked for," Mulder said, after a few
minutes.
"I don't know and I don't care! I'm just glad it's over. And in all
the excitement, I forgot to take the key out of the locker door, so
that pretty much excludes us in any future dealings on the matter,"
she added.

Dana Scully's apartment building
December 24, 1995 9:45 pm

Mulder brushed snow off the stoop outside the building and sat
down. It was cold and he wasn't wearing a coat, but it was quiet
outside and he didn't mind. There was only so much 'rush before
Christmas' one man could take, and he was sure that his limit had
been exceeded. Scully was wrapping presents, watching "It's a
Wonderful Life" and talking on the cordless phone to her mom, all
at the same time. He had managed to sneak out the door without
her notice.
"Hey, there, Fox. If Dana catches you out here, you'll miss
Christmas morning. Or you'll see it from a hospital bed, in
traction," Angela giggled as she sat down next to him, in the snow.
He blinked. He looked around him. He could see pretty well,
finally. The enforced rest that Scully had imposed upon him had
gone a long way to restoring the final vestages of sight. But here
was Angela, plain as day. He swallowed, fear rising in the back of
his throat. "How come I can see you? Am I losing my sight
again?"
She shook her head and the blond locks flew like they were
caught in a whirlwind. "No! You're fine. You can see me, tonight,
because, well, tonight is special."
"Is that some sort of confirmation of the Christian tradition?" he
asked, sudden relief mixing with the humor in his voice.
"It's how you were raised. If you were raised in a Jewish home,
we'd talk on Passover. Don't try to read too much into it, OK?" she
smiled.
"I'm glad you're here. I wanted to thank you, for all you did. I
guess for all you do. And I'm sorry that I, well that I didn't believe
you existed until recently. That was pretty arrogant of me," he said
contritely.
"No sweat. I do my job whether you believe in me or not.
Maybe now you'll listen to that 'little voice' more closely."
"Angela, I've been wondering. How did Scully know to throw
those disks in that display. I mean, she told me the story, and that
guy had appeared out of nowhere. She told me he had that gun
pointed at my chest. She only had a split second to think. . ."
"Are you asking if it was her angel, Fox? I don't know. What
do you think?"
"Well, a wise entity once told me that people don't think
logically in the heat of battle. And that was pretty logical thinking
on her part. But I know she still doesn't believe in you. She thinks
you're an auditory hallucination that I've fixated on."
"Wow, that's real flattering," Angela said dryly. "So what are
you going to do about it?"
"Nothing. She'll just have to figure it out for herself. I just hope
she doesn't go through what I did to reach the same conclusion," he
said glumly.
"Hey, at least at the right moment, you did the right thing. You
give me my share of headaches, Fox Mulder, but I wouldn't trade
you for all the world."
"Thanks, Angela. Same here." His teeth were starting to
chatter. The door behind him opened and the light from the
hallway turned the snow a gentle golden color. He looked beside
him and Angela had vanished.
"Mulder, you idiot! You're gonna catch pnemonia! Get back in
here this instant," Scully demanded, hauling him up off the stoop
and pushing him through the hallway.
Once in the apartment, she settled him on the couch and
wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He didn't protest, it would
have been futile anyway. Instead he looked up at her. "Are you
still planning on going to Midnight Mass?" he asked, once his teeth
had stopped chattering from the cold.
"I was. Why, do you want me to stay here with you?" she
asked.
He looked sheepishly at her. "Actually, I was thinking of
tagging along," he admitted relunctantly.
She couldn't hide the grin on her face. "Hoping to find your
angel again?" she teased, then softened. "I'd love to have you come
with me, Mulder. The music is really beautiful. They always have
the choir sing selections from Handel's Messiah. I think you'll like
it." He just nodded and she left to finish getting ready.
"_Find_ my angel, indeed," he muttered, a smile forming on his
face. "I'm surrounded by them!"

The end.