There are layers. There are layers within layers within layers.

Scully blinked herself back from swaying to her inner refrain, licked numb lips, and rewound another crime scene video. She could feel her heart race in her chest, cold sweat stick to her blouse. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she had to give him one last chance. She had to be sure.

Her hand felt for the motel phone in the dark, and she dialled the number by rote.

"Where are you?"

"I was just about to call you. Look, I'm on my way back. You may have been right, Scully, at least partly. I think there is a foreign signal being introduced into these people's homes through the television set."

Scully was shocked into silence. Another lie.

"Scully, are you there?"

"I'm here."

"I think they may be running some kind of test. Scully, did you hear what I just said?"

"So you had it analyzed?"

"Yeah."

She shook her head. More lies. Mulder was twisting her belief of them against the world, against the gibbering mob, into an ugly snarl of deceit. Scully would choke him with the noose.

"I just talked to Agent Pendrell. He said that you never showed up."

"I didn't take it over to Pendrell."

"Then where were you?"

"Look, I'd, I'd rather talk about it when we get on the land line, okay? We've dealt with these kind of people before. We know what they're capable of."

The phone started clicking. Scully clutched the receiver to keep it from slipping out of her hand. If Mulder would only admit- "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"There, that noise."

"Scully, is there something wrong?"

"Mulder, who's listening to-" She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it, angry and grieving.

"Scully, look, I'm going to be right there, okay? Don't go anywhere. Don't."

She slammed the phone down, and began to systematically search the room for all of Mulder's spy devices. The motel phone. The lamp. The wall socket and heat control. Even the bathroom light bulb.

Nothing, a big fat zero.

Her breathing was erratic, and her legs began to tremble. Scully pinched her inner arm, welcomed the sting of pain and sudden clarity. She'd just have to beat Mulder at his own game, uncover a mountain of truth to bring him down.

She unzipped her suitcase and dumped her clothes on the bed. Even with shaking hands, she slipped on the latex with practiced ease. There might be fingerprints, and there was evidence of Mulder's treachery in the videos themselves. She carefully packed them in neat rows before cramming her clothes back on top.

She was carrying her bag to the front door when the shine of headlights through the window forced her into a crouch.

Scully didn't want to shoot Mulder. But he kept shouting and pounding on the door.

She wanted to be good - no, she wanted to be the perfect agent. She did. Remembering how she studied until her vision blurred and burned to be better than the best, to be the top of the class when number two meant disappointment in Ahab's eyes. How could she be expected to bear the brunt of Mulder's lies and pretend, to let him in, when she had seen him sitting in the car with that son of a bitch?

That was her breaking point. Lies piled on lies made her sick to her stomach, made her want to vomit out the bile of Mulder's feigned concern and nagging voice.

And then there was the strange man with him - she saw his sleeve surrounding an emaciated hand and emptied her gun, then grabbed her suitcase and ran out the back and into the street, almost colliding with a taxi.

"Shit -"

Scully jumped in, pulled her bag with her, slammed the door and shouted, "Drive!"

"Are you okay, lady?"

"Fine."

The driver gave her a hard once-over, before muttering, "Where to?"

"Just go. Let me think."

He shrugged. "It's your money."

Scully rubbed her eyes as she relaxed back into her seat. Her vision seemed to waver around the edges lately, and she could feel another headache coming on.

She dry-swallowed two aspirin, then opened her cell. If Mulder had an army of conspirators behind him - including that black lunged bastard - she was going to need help.

"Please connect me with Special Agent Pendrell. Crime lab."

A moment later. "Pendrell here."

"Agent Pendrell, it's Agent Scully. Are you alone?"

Scully heard the surprise in his voice. "Yes."

"Good. I'm enlisting your help on a field assignment, but it's going to be undercover. Can you get away unofficially for a few days?"

"Well, I have some back vacation time coming. Agent Scully, might I ask-"

"No. I'm on an unsecured line. Drop off whatever paperwork you need to fill out and meet me in your own car - not a Bureau car, Agent Pendrell - at the food court of the Key Mall in Frederick. It's about 40 miles from D.C. Do you know where it is?"

"I'm sure I can find it. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Scully nodded. She still had one friend in the FBI. "Thank you, Agent Pendrell. Don't tell anyone about our conversation. I'm depending on you."

His response was quiet but sincere. "You can always count on me, Agent Scully."

xXx

Her back against the corner wall, Scully's restless eyes patrolled the food court. She forgot her drink in the soothing motion of tapping her straw against the laminate table edge. Again and again and again. It was like a layer of prickly gauze between herself and the world, and she had to guard against senses that wanted to time out and numb over. She crushed the straw in a fevered clutch when she spotted Pendrell, unfamiliar in a civilian windbreaker.

Scully carefully arranged her face into a smile, remembered to show her teeth.

"Agent Pendrell, thank you for travelling here on such short notice."

"I'm happy to help." He glanced around. "Is Agent Mulder joining us?"

"I - I'm afraid, Pendrell," her voice low, "that Mulder is one of THEM. I have proof."

Pendrell sat down abruptly and leaned closer. His face was blank with shock. "What do you mean?"

She pointed at her suitcase, half-hidden under the table. "I have tapes."

"Agent Scully, I-"

"Not here. We have to find some place secure. We need to plan."

"Right. What would you like me to do?"

Scully bit the inside of her cheek until the iron taste reminded her to stop.

"We need a safe place to show the tapes. A TV and VCR player. But nothing connected to the Bureau. I can't trust the FBI any more than I can trust Mulder."

Pendrell sat back, seemed to study her in a way that set Scully's teeth on edge. She gripped the table to stop from bolting. If not Pendrell, then who? That bastard Mulder had connived to cut off any friendships she'd ever made at the Bureau, isolate her in his basement dungeon, force his delusions on her until she had finally and suddenly seen the light.

"Agent Scully, are you all right?"

Scully stood, held Pendrell's hand and gave it a slight squeeze, used her most seductive smile. "Trust me. Once you see the tapes, you'll believe."

A slow nod. "My grandmother lives in Baltimore, but her house is empty for the rest of the month. I usually drop by on the weekends to water her plants."

"Have you told anyone else about it?"

"No."

"Perfect. Let's go. The quicker I show you the proof, the quicker we can expose Mulder, bring him down."

The drive to Baltimore was silent. Scully felt Pendrell's eyes on her as she stared straight ahead, schooling her face into a calm mask. She willed her fingers to lay placid in her lap but, behind her eyes, she imagined them stretching tightly around Mulder's neck. A slight smile curved her lips at the thought of justice served.

Within the hour, the hypnotizing thrum of the wheels slowed as the car navigated the city maze. Pendrell turned onto a noisy street and pulled in front of a faded brick house. A gnarled oak in the front yard seemed to loom menacingly. Its limbs were amputated, bleeding sap down rough bark.

Pendrell reached to the back seat and pulled at the handle of Scully's suitcase. She stopped herself from pulling it out of his arms.

"Allow me."

"Fine." She followed Pendrell up the cracked cement steps.

"I hope you're not allergic to cats, Agent Scully. A neighbour girl comes in once a day to feed them, but they really appreciate company."

"It's all right."

Scully watched as Pendrell unlocked the door, tensed at the mewling of animals. A trio of felines rushed to him, and Pendrell bent down, scratching their ears and murmuring, "Hi kitties."

One plump calico tried to wind her way around Scully's ankle.

"That's Abby," smiled Pendrell, "my grandma's favourite."

Scully waited for Pendrell to turn his back before kicking the cat away. When Abby complained, Pendrell looked up, surprised.

"Are you sure you're okay around cats, Agent Scully?"

"Look, Pendrell. I don't have time to pet the damn cats. There's a conspiracy and Mulder-" She swallowed against Pendrell's dismayed face, and deliberately softened her voice. "Sorry, Agent Pendrell. I'm just, uh, anxious. Anxious to see that justice is served here."

Pendrell nodded. He led the way to the front room, trailing cats. "Here's the TV the VCR. I'll get the cats settled in the kitchen and make us a quick cup of tea while you get everything set up. I'm sorry, but my grandmother doesn't have any coffee in the house."

"Tea is fine."

Scully waited until Pendrell left before rubbing her eyes against the jab of a migraine. Maybe tea would help. Maybe not.

She considered trust and Pendrell, and breathed easier as she realized that Pendrell was a scientist, a trained federal agent, and one hundred percent sincere. Just like her. No one else currently fit all three qualifications. She would have to make do, drink a gallon of tea and pet a thousand obnoxious felines, if the end result would be Mulder's demise. It would be a small price to pay.

Scully heard a door close against a protest of meows as she turned on the TV and slotted in the first tape.

"No cats." Pendrell handed her a mug of tea and frowned. "Your hands are like ice."

"This will warm me up."

"Agent Scully. You must be in shock. You trusted Mulder."

Scully shook her head against Pendrell's sympathy. "I - I don't need kindness, Pendrell, I need justice. Mulder lied about the videos. He refused to show them to you. The proof is in here somewhere, and we need to find it. Will you help me look?"

"Of course." He sat back, and took a sip of tea.

Scully jabbed the remote control with a damp hand. She strained to find the pattern, once more, of the betrayal hidden in the crime scene videos, to find the exact spot on the tape. Then she could prove her case to Pendrell once and for all.

He made a restive noise, and Scully frowned in concentration. Forty minutes passed, the video ended, and Scully reached blindly for a new one.

"Agent Scully, are you sure you showed me the right video? Mulder wasn't even in it."

"You don't see the connection?"

"I'm sorry, I want to believe you, but I didn't see anything."

"Just give me a minute, I'll find-"

Two things happened at once. Sparks flew from the TV, and the house was plunged into darkness.

"Don't you see, Pendrell? Mulder did this! He's stopping you from seeing the evidence!"

Scully tried to push away as Pendrell held her shoulders. "Agent Scully. Calm down. The power's out. The power went out, that's all."

She tried to slow her breathing. "Okay. I'm okay."

Pendrell leaned over her, loosened his grip. "Are you sure?"

Scully nodded against Pendrell's chest. He guided her back to the sofa, and squeezed her shoulder in the dark.

"I'm going to the kitchen to find a flashlight, then check the breakers. Will you be okay?"

"The dark-!"

"Here." Scully smelled sulphur, saw Pendrell's wavering face as his hand held out a candle.

She blinked against the light as it was placed on the side table. Pendrell held out her tea cup, wrapped his hands around hers, and smiled. "I'll be right back."

"Thank you."

As soon as Pendrell left the room the worry began. Had Pendrell planned this distraction so he could call Mulder? Was he her friend or betrayer?

Scully chewed her lip, unsure of her inner voice when it most usually shouted at her, sometimes in her mother's iron-gloved honeyed words but most often in Ahab's stentorian bark of command. She gulped tepid tea and restlessly scanned the room. She was so close. Her vision wandered to a paper lying on the side table, and she picked it up.

Her hands shook at the black and white message. It seemed like clear directions - Leave Pendrell. Now.

Was it real? Was it a wicked image? She couldn't take a chance.

She jumped up and ran towards the front door, before turning and grabbing Pendrell's jacket. Scully smiled triumphantly as she clutched car keys in her sweaty palm.

Scully slammed the front door and rushed to Pendrell's car. Peeling away, she caught a glimpse of Pendrell. She couldn't hear what he was shouting as he ran after her.

Scully put some miles between them, until she knew what to do next. Run to mom. Mom could be trusted.

Only mom.

xXx

Two days later Georgetown Medical Centre:

Scully's head felt like it was wrapped in cotton, and her sore muscles protested as she shifted in the hospital bed. She nodded as her mother spoke, not really paying attention, just happy to be safe.

She heard familiar footsteps in the hall, and smiled as Mulder strolled into the room.

Scully felt her face heat as Mulder pretended to surrender before stepping next to her bed.

"How you feeling?" Mulder asked.

"Ashamed." Scully answered. But alive. Clearly and lucidly alive.



***

Notes:

Thanks to MaybeAmanda for beta help.

It's my fancy that if e.e. cummings had been on earth during the latter part of the twentieth century, he would have dedicated this poem to Scully. Over the course of the X-Files series, the poet's five simple facts were etched into Scully's character so deeply they were engraved upon her soul.

POEM(or
"the divine right of majorities
that illegitimate offspring of the
divine right of kings" Homer Lea)

here are five simple facts no sub

human superstate ever knew
(1)we sans love equals mob
love being youamiare(2)

the holy miraculous difference between

firstrate & second implies nonth
inkable enormousness by con
trast with the tiny stumble from second to tenth

rate(3)as it was in the begin
ning it is now and always will be or
the onehundredpercentoriginal sin
cerity equals perspicuity(4)

Only The Game Fish Swims Upstream &(5)
unbeingdead isn't beingalive

-e.e.cummings