Disclaimers in part 01
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"There is a way in which
I am a double of myself
My own mirror image"
~~Diane di Prima -- Loba~~
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WEDNESDAY, JUNE 28, 2000
LONE GUNMAN OFFICES
10:00 P.M.
BYERS:
I've spent most of the last hour and a half trying to analyze the voice from the phone threat. Mulder is here, talking with Langly and Frohike. Sari's been sitting silently on the red office couch, watching everything.
"I don't remember anything beyond going out to Area 51, finding nothing, and coming back," Mulder says. "Just ask Scully. And yet, something must have happened. I can't think of any other way to explain the black box data you boys found. Especially not the temporal anomaly stuff. Are you *sure* you didn't just download it from somewhere? Like some science fiction site?"
"Not a chance," Frohike replies. "If we'd hacked for it, the information about exactly where and how we'd gotten it would be on the disk with the telemetry data. We keep records of this stuff, in case we need to get in again later. And the analysis stuff? That's pure Byers."
"Are you sure this mess doesn't have Monroe's fingerprints on it?" Mulder asks. "I wouldn't put it past him to try to get even with you guys for knocking him out of the catbird seat a few months back."
"Not possible," I tell him. "At least not in terms of the threat. I can't match the voice to anyone yet, but believe me, Monroe was one of the first voices I tried. No match here at all, even allowing for the worst types of electronic distortion. And besides, the things he said aren't typical of Monroe's style or vocabulary. All we know right now is that it's a male voice, fairly deep. Beyond that, I don't have a clue."
"What about the material itself?" Mulder continues. "You guys know Monroe's style. Do any of the files look like his work?"
Langly looks up at Mulder, pausing from his continuing examinations of the files. "I hadn't thought about that, but it's worth a look." He turns his attention back to the files with renewed interest.
"Are you sure you didn't note anything unusual when you returned from your trip to Nevada?" I ask.
"Well, now that you mention it," Mulder muses, "there was that odd thing about the waterbed..."
"Waterbed?" Frohike's eyebrows rise and he grins. "Now this, I want to hear about."
"Yeah," Mulder says, looking back at Frohike. "When I got back, it was like somebody had snuck in and completely redecorated my place in the tackiest possible manner."
"And you'd know from tacky," Langly snipes, not bothering to raise his eyes.
Mulder snorts. "All I have to do is look at you," he responds. "But this was over the top. A four-poster waterbed with a mirror over it. Leopard prints. Some woman's underwear on my floor. All my files were removed from the place to make room for the damned leaky bed, too. I mean, I never used the room for more than storage before that. I'm out of town for a couple of days and all of a sudden, it's a porno set."
"That explains so much," Sari says dryly to herself. I would smile if I weren't so upset right now.
"The lovely Agent Scully wouldn't have had anything to do with this, would she," Frohike cracks, his lecherous grin set on stun.
Mulder laughs out loud this time. "She was with me the whole time. And face it, toadboy, as much as you'd love to think otherwise, Scully's not exactly a porn queen. Even if she'd been here by herself, why would she do that to my place?"
"'Cause you're so in need of a hint?" Langly asks, snickering.
Sari looks at him as though she'd strangle him, if getting up weren't too much effort for the end result. "You are aware," she says tightly, "that Dana isn't happy to be discussed in such terms."
Langly looks over at her with a vaguely guilty expression. "Sorry Sari. Forgot you were listening in."
"Not sorry for saying it in the first place, I note," she replies with a tilt of her head and the raise of an eyebrow. If she gets any better with that eyebrow-fu, we'd all better take cover.
As the others continue to banter back and forth, trying to explain the anomalies of August, 1998, Sari beckons me over to her.
"Do you need something?" I ask.
"I need to go home," she says. She looks uncomfortable, as if might be in some pain, and very much out of sorts, but I feel pretty much the same way. After the phone threat, none of us are comfortable.
I shake my head. "You can't, Sari. You know as well as I do that it's not safe to go out right now."
"I have to feed the Cardinal, and the anoles are due for another feeding as well."
"They'll all survive one evening without your personal attention."
She shifts on the couch. "I don't have any clean clothes."
"I'll go with you tomorrow to your place so you can change before you go to work."
"Devi doesn't know I'm here."
This is getting a little strange. She doesn't usually make such transparent excuses. "All you need to fix that is a phone call. What's really wrong, Sari?"
"I started my period about ten minutes ago, and I forgot to put any supplies in my purse today. Going home seemed to be the easiest way to cope with it. I don't suppose a trip to a drug store is likely?"
I can't say that this is the sort of emergency I'm used to dealing with. Bomb threats, shootings, potential kidnappings, alien shapeshifters, green toxic clone goo -- those I can handle. Sort of. This is a little out of my depth. "I... um... uh..."
She sighs and gives me one of those looks. "Look, I know you won't have anything here I can use. You're *guys* for Goddess' sake." Her eyes light up and she raises her voice. "Ringo?"
He looks over at us. "Yeah?"
"Do you know if Deb leaves any of her personal stuff here when she's not staying with you?"
He shifts a bit, leaning back in his seat, and peers curiously over his computer. "Like, ah, what kind of personal stuff? Clothes and shit?"
Sari shakes her head. "No, Ringo. *Personal* stuff. Female things. Like tampons or pads or anything."
Langly turns bright red, and Mulder and Frohike turn to stare at her. "I... uh... um... I dunno. "
Mulder just chuckles to himself.
Sari glowers at all of us. "What is it with men? You take a perfectly normal, everyday occurrence in a woman's life and turn it into something to blush over and hem and haw about." She snorts. "You guys cope with being shot at, exposing major governmental conspiracies, and threats to your life without hardly blinking an eye, but one little request for a menstrual pad sends you into a state of utter incoherence. What the hell is with that?"
"There are some pads in the top left cabinet in the second-floor bathroom," Frohike says.
"Huh?" Langly looks at him strangely.
"Found 'em last week when I was looking for a bottle of peroxide," Frohike explains in his most matter of fact voice. Langly just stares. "What? I cut my finger. I guess Deborah figured she was about the only one who'd be looking in a cabinet that high up."
"Thank you, Mel. I don't suppose you'd know if there was any Motrin or anything up there with them?"
"I believe so," he answers.
Sari vanishes up the stairs.
"No wonder she's been in such a mood the past couple of days," Frohike says.
"I heard that!" Sari shouts down the stairs from the main floor. "If any one of you makes another PMS crack, I'll personally run your penis through a blender!"
Everyone blanches. We all look at each other. Male solidarity requires that none of us ever mention this incident again.
After a few moments, I break the silence. "So Langly, how far did you get in looking for Monroe's fingerprints in the files? Need some help?"
THURSDAY, JUNE 29, 2000
LONE GUNMEN OFFICES
7:05 A.M.
SARI:
John insists on taking me to work this morning. In fact, he insists that I don't go anywhere without an escort until he and the guys find the identity of our unfriendly neighborhood assassin.
I'm used to looking out for myself. I'm used to watching over my shoulder wherever I go. I'm used to sussing a room before I enter, and checking the sidewalk before I leave. Years of dodging Barry taught me that. But Barry never carried a sniper rifle with a scope. I can't find it in me to disagree with John over this one. He's right, I do need an escort, but having him constantly with me is far too dangerous for both of us. Fortunately, my new position entitles me to security if and when the occasion demands. I'd say the occasion demands, and when I get in today, I'm going to have some words with the senior staff about assigning me a body guard.
Without clean clothes of my own, I'm dressed in one of John's shirts as a robe, partly open to dissipate some of the heat of the already tropical summer morning. It's time for my shower, and then some breakfast before we have to head out. I'm halfway down the hall when the bathroom door opens, and John emerges, a towel wrapped around his slender waist. He's holding his pajamas in one hand and the door knob in the other, but hasn't seen me. I must say, he has lovely legs. Then his towel starts to slip.
His bright blue eyes catch mine with a look of utter panic, but by the time his hand grabs for the edge of the towel, it's too late. The navy cotton terry has hit the ground, and he's entirely exposed for the world, or at least me, to see. I feel my face flush as he blushes all the way down his smooth chest. He's frozen for a moment, but soon collects himself enough to grab the towel, cover himself with it and his pajamas, and run for his room saying "sorry sorry sorry!"
I saw a good bit of him while he was laid up when I first met him. Hospital gowns don't conceal much, and he didn't always have his jammies buttoned all the way up, though he generally tended to when he knew I was in the room. I'll even admit that I've wondered what he looks like under those suits now and then. Unfortunately, the absurdity of the immediate situation has me giggling as I hurry the rest of the way to the bathroom. I might as well get started before Mel gets up and wants to use it too.
"It's all right, John," I say as I pass his room. "I won't tell if you won't."
There's a muffled whimper from behind his door. He's probably about to die of embarrassment. He's just that way. I don't generally blush in the presence of nudity myself. I've been naked as a hairless Chihuahua on the banks of the Ganges with thousands of other people, bathing at dawn. I'm not entirely sure what made this moment so different.
But he is rather... delightfully endowed; not hung like a horse on steroids, but not so small as to avoid notice in those jeans he wore before he felt like himself and started wearing the suits again, either. He really does look great in jeans. I'd like it if he wore them more often, in fact. Okay, so he's just a friend, but a girl is entitled to her fantasies. I'd probably even have some, if my cramps weren't having cramps. Gods, I need a Midol.
10:40 A.M.
FROHIKE:
Byers was pretty amusing this morning as he and Miss Sari headed out for her office. He'd barely look at her, and blushed the entire time. Under other circumstances, I'd suspect that he'd gotten some, but I didn't hear any evidence of hanky panky from that end of the hall last night, and she didn't look like anything had happened, so I have to wonder what's eating him.
Mulder came by about half an hour ago to take Langly to see Deborah, and Byers got back just before the two of them headed out the door. He told me that he'd gotten some breakfast on the way back home, and I'd seriously hassled him about spending time alone outside the office with at least one shooter known to be on our tail.
Right now, the two of us are examining the coding in some of this material for signs of Jack Monroe's presence. Mulder had a twinge of a memory about the voice from the phone threat last night, and even though we all know it wasn't Monroe, Mulder's suggestion to look into him has us hopping.
I'm just about to flip from one page of code to another when I get that feeling. "Byers."
He looks up from his desk. "Yeah?"
"Come look at this. I think I found something." I motion him over and turn my monitor so he can sit beside me and we can both look. I point to a line of code. "Look familiar?"
He leans in close. I think his eyes still aren't quite right after that retinal tear he took when Barry hit him. I should bug him about getting reading glasses, but I'm sure he'll do it himself if he starts to get too frustrated with it.
"You may be right," he says. "I think I saw this before, in one of the Black Widow hacks. We should probably check it out."
I nod. "I was kinda hoping it was my imagination, actually." The last thing I want is for that nutcase Monroe to be gunning for us again. Especially if he's in cahoots with somebody else. He almost got us last time, and I sure as hell don't want him trying again.
Then again, if it isn't Monroe, it's a total unknown, and we're really in trouble.
Byers gets up and pulls out a disk with some of Monroe's known coding on it. "Let's check it against this."
He slips the disk in, and we both go over the files. Sure enough, there are several matches. Some are in the black box coding. We find other fragments in the information about the weirdo drive. One file, full of what looks like programming for the drive, is rife with Monroe's style. If it isn't him, it's definitely someone who learned at his knee.
"I think we've got him," I say, looking over at Byers.
He nods. "Now we have to figure out who the other guy is, and what the hell is going on with this quantum mechanics stuff."
"Yeah, well we'll be meeting Sari's pal Sean the physics boy wonder tomorrow evening." I remind him. "If he's anywhere near as good as his reputation, he'll be able to clue us in."
Byers shifts slightly, then leans back in his chair. "I wonder if Mulder or Scully have made any progress on their end."
I shake my head. "No way to know just yet. You want to call them?"
"They're probably still busy," Byers says. "But I did have this really weird dream last night."
"What's that got to do with this?" I ask.
"It was a dream about Mulder."
I poke him in the ribs. "What, not getting anywhere with Sari, so you're messing with Mulder in your dreams?"
He glares at me, blushing red, and whacks me on the head with a pile of paper. "Damn it, Frohike, when are you going to lay off about Sari?"
"Whoa, down buddy, it was a joke!"
This doesn't tone his glare down any. It's still on 'flay'. "Yeah, right."
"So what about this dream?"
He sits back and loosens up just a little, still tense. "It was... weird."
"Yeah, you said that already. Why was it weird?"
He looks at me, and I can see he's trying to frame the answer so I'll have some hope of understanding. This could be bad.
"It was Mulder, but it... wasn't Mulder. He was here... well, I mean, he was in our old office, but he wasn't acting like himself. Scully was there. She said he wasn't really Mulder, that he was someone else in Mulder's body. Said his name was... I'm not sure, but I think it started with an M. Murray. Morrie. Something." He looks at me and shrugs. "I've got no clue what it was about, but it seemed to have something to do with the black box data we found. I remember a black box in the dream. Scully brought it to us."
I just sit and stare at him for a minute. "That really *is* weird." What's weirding me out the most is that I almost have a memory of it too. I shake my head.
"What?" Byers asks.
"I'm not sure. Probably nothing."
He gets that look on his face, like he's onto something. "Are you sure it's nothing?"
"I'm not... oh hell, I don't know. It's almost like I remember that too."
He tilts his head like a bird. "You do?"
"Sorta. I think." I laugh. "That can't be possible, though. How the hell could I remember your dream?"
"Maybe I should ask Langly about it when he gets back this evening."
We look at each other. "Maybe you should," I tell him. I suddenly have the strangest sense of deja vu.
9:20 P.M.
LANGLY:
Mulder and Scully are here. I was sort of expecting Sari too, but Byers says she got a body guard from the Sierra Club people and she's with her folks, who got in today. Right now, he's telling Scully about his dream.
"And I remember..." Byers gets this embarrassed look on his face, "the not-Mulder saying something about making up the stories we print. He called Frohike 'Sneezy.'" He and Frohike trade this weird look. That's what our mystery boy called Mel yesterday.
I get this chill up my spine, like somebody just walked over my grave or something. Man, I can almost remember this happening. "Are you sure, Byers? I mean, like, we weren't all hallucinating this one night after a game or anything, were we?"
Scully reaches into her pocket. "It sounds ridiculous, but I did have this in my office drawer after our Nevada trip. I don't know where it came from." She pulls out this really cool looking fusion of a penny and a dime.
Byers reaches out his hand. "May I look at that, Agent Scully?"
He turns it over in his fingers a few times, and I can just see the gears in his head going about a billion miles a minute. "If the analysis of the flight recorder data is correct, and I'm sure it is, this could be a possible result of the... the space/time anomaly it mentioned. Something having to do with a warp or a tear in the space/time continuum that must have partially corrected itself at some point."
Scully shakes her head. "How can that be? We don't have the technology to do anything like that. I mean, I've read the files, and from the physics, I suppose it's theoretically possible, but someone would still have to be able to build a machine, a drive, to put the theory into practice, and then it would have to malfunction in a very particular way--"
"We're getting some expert advice tomorrow evening," Frohike tells her. "One Doctor Sean O'Casey, Ph.D., physics boy."
"O'Casey?" Scully asks. "From CERN? How on earth do you know him?"
"We don't," Byers says, "but Sari does. He's in DC at the moment, and will be at a party for her parents over at the Sri Lankan consulate tomorrow evening."
Scully's face lights up. "Can you get me an invitation?"
Byers looks over at her. "You're a fan of his?"
Mulder's been sitting there silent through all this, which is totally unusual for him. By now, I would have expected Spock jokes or something. When he smacks the desk he's sitting at, we all start.
"I remember now," he says, real serious. "I think I remember that voice. Can you boys play the filtered phone call again?"
"Things are starting to come back to me, too," I tell them. I never thought I'd be copping to some kind of H. G. Wells time machine gig.
Frohike plays the tape again.
Byers mutters, "Starts with an M --"
Suddenly it hits me. Everybody speaks at once. "Morris Fletcher."
"That fucking MIB," Frohike growls.
"Disgusting sexist bastard," Scully mutters.
I look up at Mulder. "Monroe *and* Fletcher? Oh man, are we in trouble."
End part 11