Season Six:
Episode 1

The Watergate Hotel
Washington D.C.
6:12 pm

Cigarette Smoking Man sat alone in a well appointed hotel room. One with all the "businessman's" accouterments. Fax machine. Speaker phone. Large desk. Wet bar. He was waiting for the AT&T operator to put the rest of the conference call together. While he really didn't enjoy any Consortium meetings, teleconferences were particularly tedious. Because that venue did not allow for analysis of body language, facial expression or for the making (or avoiding) of eye contact, the First Elder tended to take polls of individual member positions on almost all significant issues. It could make for a long ... and boring evening.

It hadn't gone that way when WMM had run the meetings. Before he'd outlived his usefulness. Or Eldest. He always asserted that he didn't have enough time left for such foolishness. Or Strughold in the rare event that he deigned to participate so fully. The European stated his position and invited argument. Silence was consent.

It was silence that had doomed WMM. They hadn't even met in person to make that decision. Cigarette Smoking Man had found that odd. Regardless of whatever else was happening. The rapidly escalating stakes stemming from the debacle in Texas and the impending contact were cited as the reason for that fateful emergency teleconference. The explanation didn't hold water. Eliminating WMM had no impact on either of those "problems". Neither had anything else the Consortium had tried. Not really.

Typically, if there was a formal agenda for the meeting, Cigarette Smoking Man was unaware of it. No non-member could be "trusted" with such information. Cigarette Smoking Man sighed and lit a cigarette, as the AT&T operator completed her task. Without delay, the First Elder began. "Gentlemen, let's use our time wisely this evening. We have a number of loosely related issues to discuss. First, Agent Mulder's interference in our Antarctica operation has created ... a situation. We must answer some very difficult questions. In a very definitive way. And we need to deal with Agent Mulder. I tire of both him and his XFiles. Regardless of their usefulness. Both as diversions and as unwitting accomplices."

"His dependency on his partner has been increased by their recent experiences," the most junior member of the Consortium observed. "As has his personal interest in her." Cigarette Smoking Man agreed, but viewed those facts as irrelevant. All you had to do was point Mulder in a different direction, throw an information carrot. Wind him up, and let him go. He'd do the rest for you. That's the way it had always been. Cigarette Smoking Man had seen nothing ... was aware of nothing ... that would change that.

"You're not suggesting that we separate the two of them again, are you? I'd rather avoid strike three." Cigarette Smoking Man smiled slightly at the First Elder's annoyed tone.

"Not exactly. I think we should take advantage of Agent Mulder's newfound tender feelings for the young lady. Push the correct buttons, and the demise of their working relationship will follow that of their personal one."

"Discuss your suggestion with our esteemed colleague in Washington."

Cigarette Smoking Man, the aforementioned Washington colleague, sighed. More foolishness. "Don't they understand that time's a luxury that they're rapidly running out of?" he wondered.

"We also need to exonerate ourselves with respect to the Antarctica situation and divert attention from our Project. Providing the vaccine to Agent Scully has exposed us. To a potentially dangerous degree." Cigarette Smoking Man noted with interest the silence that greeted the First Elder's analysis. Bright ideas weren't immediately flowing.

"They have trusted us for a long time," Strughold began, speaking slowly. "And they will continue to do so, provided we give them a plausible explanation. Accompanied by a villain. Someone to blame." Cigarette Smoking Man reached over and turned off the microphone on his speaker phone. Fortunately, he managed to do it before he started to chuckle. The silence that had followed the First Elder's comment was "amplified" by several orders of magnitude in response to Strughold's suggestion. The Consortium members were stunned. He couldn't be suggesting another sacrifice of one of their number. Could he? And if so, who? Strughold allowed the silence to stretch out over a full minute, before continuing. "Alex Krycek's connection to the Resistance would render him suitable. Don't you think?"

The "yes" votes came over the wire fast and furious. Cigarette Smoking Man remained silent, frowning thoughtfully.

"I don't know Fox," Diana Fowley began. "I've been thinking about what happened. And what to do about it." She looked up at him and tried to smile as she completed her statement. The effort she expended in that regard indicated to Mulder that Diana had come to no conclusions.

They were in a restaurant in Arlington Virginia. Sipping wine. Eating Greek cuisine. Sharing an appetizer stuffed grape leaves. Talking. Diana had been released from the hospital two days ago. She'd been given the usual medical "marching orders", including admonishments to "take it easy" and "not try to do too much too quickly". Those directives were not troubling her, as far as Mulder could tell. It was more fundamental than that. Much more.

"It's the sheer randomness of it Fox. The series of seemingly unrelated decisions and events that positioned me in that motel room at that moment. Deciding that I'd had enough of anti-terrorist work. Coming back to the Bureau mainstream. Attending Agent Spender's briefing. Seeing you again. Getting involved in the case. Staying behind with the boy." Diana Fowley had been counting the items she listed by tapping the index finger of her right hand on the tip of the fingers and thumb of her left hand. That is, until she reached the sixth. After a short pause and slight smile, she simply counted the right index finger as six. "And the strangeness. The offhand way that Gibson Praise mentioned the presence of a man with a gun. You should've heard him Fox. He could've been ordering a burger and fries. It was creepy."

Mulder was surprised. Diana had shuddered. He couldn't recall too many of those from their past association. She'd been fearless. Delving into the newly rediscovered XFiles with an enthusiasm matching his own. Perhaps some reassurance was in order. "Gibson's bound to be a little different Diana. Particularly in how he expresses himself. Other people's thoughts can't always be easy to assimilate and accommodate. Especially adult thoughts for a boy However smart and precocious."

"Maybe. I don't know. It almost seemed like ..." She glanced at Mulder uncertainly as her sentence trailed off. Meeting her gaze and reaching for her hand, he waited. Her indecisiveness was also unusual. Things had changed in the years since they'd last spoken. "He wanted me to go to the window. To see what would happen. For a moment, I was just another chess piece to him. I'm sure of it Fox. And I think that experience clarified a few things for me. About my choices and the course that my life seems to be following."

Mulder was suddenly nervous. Diana sounded sad. Defeated. Alone. This was not the woman he once knew. Of that, he was certain. She'd been shaken. To the foundation by her recent gun shot wound. An experience that Special Agent Fox Mulder was all too familiar. It seemed that his beliefs had been under siege recently. And his methods. Even Scully was more skeptical than ever. Despite all she'd seen ... and experienced. So he thought he had a very good idea of how Diana felt. He also had no idea how to help her over this hurdle. He hadn't made it over his. Not really. Not yet. Under these uncertain circumstances, Mulder opted for a safer path. Diversion. "Shall we have a look at the dessert menu?"

Diana recognized the strategy, and appreciated the effort. Her "let's get reacquainted" game plan was proceeding apace.

Dana Scully had considered her cold weather experience carefully, as Mulder had requested. Dutifully wracking her brain for elusive memories of that time. There were none. None that were very clear anyway. Pain. Movement. A sense of being chased. The sensation of falling. And cold. Of being very very cold. That, of course, wasn't good enough for Mulder. Her memories, such as they were, didn't include a space ship. Or aliens of any stripe.

In the face of his demand for belief, Scully'd retreated into science. The world of hard facts and physical evidence. The types of things that Mulder tolerated, while relying on his intuition, instincts, amazing memory, intellect and ability to see patterns and who knew what else. This time, she had some physical evidence. The Lone Gunmen had retrieved the bee that had stung her, causing a number of physiological changes. Those that Mulder had reported had been, for the most part, verified by her medical examination upon their return from Antarctica.

What remained was an analysis of the bee. Mulder had been evasive, when she asked him what he had planned for the evening. If she didn't know better, she'd think he had a date. Mulder was busy. She was curious. The converse circumstances had never stopped Mulder. So Scully picked up her cellular telephone, and dialed a number. It was picked up on the first ring.

"The Lone Gunman," Byers announced.

"Byers. It's me."

"Agent Scully. To what do we owe this honor?"

"My curiosity. Can you help me analyze some biological evidence this evening?"

"Finally have a few moments to have a look at your bee?"

"You got it."

"Your wish is our command, Agent Scully," said a somewhat out of breath Frohicke.

"Must've wrestled the phone out of Byers' hand," she thought. "Fine. I'll be there shortly." Breaking the connection, Scully smiled slightly and picked up the relevant specimen container. Transferring it into her coat pocket, she moved toward the door of her apartment. As she turned to lock the door behind her, she saw a figure approaching from her right. Fast. She never saw the man coming from the left before her world went black. The first man picked her up in a fireman's carry and followed the other man to a waiting black van.

Fox Mulder and Diana Fowley had decided to share dark chocolate mousse for dessert, each having their own after dinner beverage. She had cognac. He chose decaffeinated coffee. Diana's mood seemed to have improved. She was smiling more and laughing, sometimes politely and other times with genuine humor, at Mulder's banter. Her unnatural tension seemed to have dissipated. Almost.

However, some of her contemplative mood seemed to have rubbed off on Mulder. His diverting conversational gambits were focusing. On the XFiles. And his goals with regard to their restoration as well as their investigation. "You'll ruin your health Mulder," Diana interrupted with concern his monologue concerning his recent levels of exposure to ultraviolet light. "Get some experts working on it. Skinner could find a way to justify it ... or hide it. If you'd like, I could find some reason to require certain of those files. It'd be difficult to refuse any number of even marginally legitimate directed queries."

"I appreciate your concern and your offer Diana ..."

"But?" she asked with a look of disapproval on her face. She didn't like stubborn men, and Fox was now showing all the warning signs.

"I've got to do this myself."

Suspicion confirmed. Stubbornness in full bloom. "What about the intrepid Agent Scully? I anticipate that her medical training has imbued her with more common sense with regard to wavelengths in the ultraviolet part of the spectrum."

"Scully's problems have nothing to do with her medical training. She's infected with an absolute inability to suspend her disbelief. Despite what her sense tell her."

Diana looked at Mulder questioningly. This was interesting. A wedge in the "perfect" partnership? Was it possible? Were intuition and science that much at odds these days? Aloud, she asked softly. "Is that bad?"

"Fatal. Especially now. We need to be able to move. And move fast. I've got a feeling that what we started in Antarctica is something like an avalanche. I'd rather not get buried by it." Mulder was observing Diana's reaction to his analysis. He thought she'd understand. But she looked puzzled.

"And you think that requiring scientific proof will lead to that outcome?"

"Or allow the avalanche to obscure whatever is happening. One or the other. The process is too slow."

Diana Fowley considered Mulder's statements. A wedge had formed. Seemingly a large one. Might as well see how big. "Maybe you need a new partner."

Mulder looked at his companion thoughtfully. She'd made her observation in a barely audible tone, and was now looking at him as if she expected a demonstration of the infamous Mulder temper. She looked like she was bracing for impact. He'd give her impact all right. Just not the type she'd anticipated. "Interested Agent Fowley?"

Assistant Director Walter Skinner was trying to spend a quiet evening at home. Mulder and Scully had been the subject of another series of Bureau inquiries. Their actions with regard to the bomb in Dallas and their subsequent XFile-esq investigation had come under intense scrutiny. Quite a bit of that undesirable level of interest had reflected on Skinner. Making certain meetings and other activities decidedly uncomfortable. Then came the decision to re-open the XFiles. Mulder simply assumed that he and Scully'd be assigned to them. But that wasn't a done deal. Not even yet. Another battle to be waged. With the ultimate winner as yet undetermined.

Skinner was running out of currency. Political capital. Favors to trade. Soon, Mulder and Scully'd be on their own, with only his authority as an Assistant Director and nothing more to support them. Skinner knew that was not likely to be enough. Inevitability should obviate responsibility. It really should. But it didn't. Not to Skinner. He'd been exploring other options. Some more extreme than others. But all of his efforts had amounted to little.

Consequently, he'd come home. Unplugged the telephone. Turned off his cellular phone, computer and fax machine. Made a drink. A double. And sat in his favorite chair. Looking out the window. Watching the rain. Thinking. The firm knock startled him. He was out of the chair and facing the door before he registered his annoyance at the intrusion. Skinner considered ignoring the visitor, even as he walked a few steps closer to the door. The knock was repeated. But differently. Less firm. More rapid. Escalating in force. Signaling what? The first thing that came to Skinner's mind was the most likely. Panic.

"Yes," Skinner said, as he looked through the peephole. He saw a disheveled and extremely wet young blonde woman. Her startling blue eyes seemed to meet his as she looked up. Skinner took a step back from the door, shaking his head. The effect had been unnerving, although he knew that she couldn't really see him.

"Please let me in Mr. Skinner. I'll make it worth your while. I promise."

The Assistant Director heard her quite well through the door, and was thinking that a few of his neighbors probably had as well. Sighing, he opened the door to the full length of the chain and asked, "Do I know you?"

"My name is Marita Covarrubias," she continued in a more conversational tone. "I've provided certain information to Agent Mulder over the last year or so. That's caused me a bit of trouble. Could I explain further inside? Please." Marita looked over her shoulder furtively, as she shivered. Skinner even thought he heard her teeth chatter.

"Come in. Sit down on the couch. There's a blanket that you can use to warm yourself, while you talk." She nodded gratefully and moved in the direction indicated. "I'll get you a towel as well."

Marita watched her host move out of her line of vision, but she started speaking anyway. "I was trying to provide certain physical evidence to Agent Mulder. Evidence that I'd obtained at great personal risk. I'd burned several bridges. That proved problematic. Providing Mulder the evidence, I mean. I ... lost it, and contracted an ... illness. Upon recovery, I found myself indebted to an unsavory, but extremely powerful man."

Skinner had reached her with the promised towel and several questions. "Pardon me, Ms. Covarrubias. Three questions. Well four actually. What was your evidence? How did you lose it? What sort of illness? And would you like something to drink? It might help take the chill out."

Marita smiled, instinctively trusting this man. "The evidence was a boy infected with a virus. He escaped. The same virus. And yes please. Very much. Scotch if you have it."

Skinner found himself smiling to himself as he approached his liquor cabinet. "Before I interrupted, you had mentioned an unsavory character."

Marita shuddered. She tried to pass it off as another shiver, but Skinner had noticed the difference. Interesting. "He believed that I should pay off my debt with my body. I declined. He wasn't amused. I ran. And I know Mulder's in some trouble at the moment. I don't know Agent Scully. Former allies are not currently amenable to overtures of peace. So I'm here. Hoping you'll help. And that your price will be reasonable."

"I'm an employee of the Federal Bureau of Investigation Ms. Covarrubias. I'm not in a position to offer help for a price. It's my job." Skinner's tone and expression told Marita all she needed to know about him. He didn't care for men who used power to obtain favors of a sexual nature. Good. It was a beginning.

"Our deal would be unofficial. Name your price." Smiling, she added. "Feel free to test the limits of my pocketbook."

Skinner observed the young woman closely. Her last "offer" was amenable to a number of interpretations. One thing was certain. She needed help. The rest would sort itself out. It generally did. "I'll help you Ms. Covarrubias. We'll talk terms in due course."

Mulder and Diana were taking a bit of a walk after dinner. Getting some air. To aid the digestion. Or perhaps to provide neutral ground for their continued discussion. Since they both were trying to persuade. "I've told you Mulder. I'm tired of fighting the good fight, only to find out that a deal was made behind the scenes to "obscure" certain data for the good of "fill in the blank". The country. The public. Public opinion. Whatever. And, however you slice it or whatever you call it Mulder, that's what you do. You and Scully."

Mulder frowned. He didn't agree. But he wasn't sure whether his disagreement was relevant in this context. It might provide him another inroad to what he was angling for. Her analytical mind and experience with XFiles was invaluable. The Bureau shouldn't lose it. Again. "The obfuscation that Scully and I experience isn't for the good of anyone Diana. Except for the men who do the obfuscating. That's the difference."

"That's the distinction Mulder. I'm not sure it's a difference. It still amounts to frustration and failure for the investigators. Ultimately." She smiled as she spoke. Hoping to take some of the sting out of her words. She wasn't sure how successful her efforts were. Encouraged by his silence, she took his hand. "I'm tired Fox. I don't have the kind of drive you do. I could come close once. Not anymore."

"I can supply the energy Diana. I need another profiler. An analytical, but open mind." Fox Mulder had a momentary feeling of guilt as he spoke of "his needs" to Diana. She had her own issues. Her own problems to work through. Her own life decisions to make. And there was Scully. His partner. Her mind was ... amazing. But she needed ... she demanded ... proof of everything. Quantifiable scientific data. Sometimes XFiles simply didn't work that way. Diana understood that. She always had.

"I thought you valued a mind mostly closed to extreme possibilities these days Mulder. More of a challenge."

Mulder stared at Diana, trying to decide whether she was baiting him. He couldn't. Her expression was unreadable, beyond mild amusement. "Maybe I'm tired as well Diana. We could help each other."

Diana grinned at the need that she heard in his words. The need to have his agenda ... his theories accepted. Without scientific evidence. She could arrange that. Easily. "Let me think about it Mulder."

Alex Krycek was agitated. His instincts had been screaming at him for days. Go. Get out. While you still can. Yet he'd waited. Bided his time in the Washington DC Headquarters of the Consortium. From the outside, the three floors in the historical building looked like so much more office space. It was far from it. The reasonably plush living quarters were located on one floor. A medical wing, complete with a surgical suite, made up half of the second floor. An extensive gym made up the other. Conference rooms, meeting rooms and offices were on the third floor.

Yes. He'd waited ... and watched. And chatted with Gibson Praise. The easiest way to take the pulse of the powers that be without attracting attention. The kid was observant. He also had an interesting perspective and seemingly no fear. Krycek liked him. The feeling seemed to be mutual. They'd spent a good deal of time together in the last two months. After WMM had been eliminated. Ruthlessly. By his peers. For his disclosures to Mulder. For providing the vaccine for Scully. Krycek had needed someone to talk to. Marita had offered. Well, she'd offered more than that. But Krycek had declined. Vehemently. She was asking him to be the same kind of stupid ... again. He wasn't interested. His continued survival was predicated on minimizing mistakes and definitely not making the same one twice.

It was something that Gibson had told him today that had Krycek's hackles raised. "They're scared Alex," he'd said. "They feel trapped, and they're looking for a way out." Krycek had no doubt that "They" meant the Consortium. He also believed that Gibson's information didn't bode well. For the Consortium. For Gibson. Or for him. He didn't know why exactly, but the ominous chord in Gibson's words spoke to him. The message was quite simple. One word. Run.

That's why he was collecting his belongings, as he considered his situation. A small backpack was all he needed to accommodate the items, which included two changes of clothes, a jamming device, a cellular phone, his burglar paraphernalia and a computer readable CD. His gun went into the waistband of his black jeans. The razor sharp knife in the sheath strapped to his right leg. Everything was new. That was one of the benefits of his "deal" with WMM. Too bad the old man had to ruffle the wrong feathers at the wrong time. Life had been a little better for Alex Krycek for a little while. He fully expected a downturn. Of major proportion. He wasn't particularly concerned. He was used to it really. Same old. Same old.

A quick glance around the room revealed that he'd packed everything. He didn't have to look to see whether he'd left any clues as to where he was going from here. That was impossible. He didn't know. All Alex Krycek knew was that he had to move. Quickly. He was out of time. Survival was a skill. And timing was everything. Krycek took a last look at his home for the last few months, while he put on his black leather jacket. Nodding to himself, re-affirming his own decision, Krycek slipped out of his room. He was down the hall and into the stairwell before he became aware of the feeling of foreboding. Frowning, he stopped. He was between the fifth and sixth floors. Thinking.

There was no choice really. He had to get out of the building. That would be the point where he was most vulnerable. Nothing to be done about it. Nothing at all. Unless ... Krycek smiled slightly as he continued down the stairs. More slowly this time. Stepping out of the stairwell on the first floor, Krycek surveyed his surroundings. No one was in sight. He did the same, as he stepped out of a side door into an alley to the north side of the building. Still no one.

The parking lot was on the east side of the building. Krycek walked in that direction, relying on his ears to warn him of any problems. The sirens of a group of fire trucks thwarted that strategy, forcing Krycek to rely on his peripheral vision. The movement to his right was subtle, but he saw it. Not reacting immediately, he directed his attention to his goal, calculating time and distance to his car. Then he checked his left for completeness. Too late. The men on his left were too close. And too efficient. Krycek admired their technique, even as unconsciousness overcame him. The man Krycek had seen approaching from his right picked him up in a fireman's carry. One of the other men took Krycek's gun and knife, and the third picked up his backpack from where it had fallen when the man carrying it had. All three then approached a waiting white van.

Fox Mulder and Diana Fowley were holding hands as they entered her apartment building. She leaned against him as they waited for the elevator. He smiled, putting his hand on her waist. "You ok Diana?"

She heard the concern ... and disappointment in his tone. If she wanted to and played her cards correctly, Diana Fowley would get lucky this evening. She was sure of it. In fact, she'd bet a year's pay on it. She knew Mulder well enough to be comfortable doing such a thing. "Just tired Fox. And a little sad. Thinking about what might've been. You know?"

Fox Mulder nodded affirmatively, even though he really didn't know what she was talking about. It seemed as though she wanted ... and expected him to know. So he tried to oblige. A white lie with few consequences from his perspective. Wordlessly, they entered the elevator when the door opened. They looked into each others eyes as it rose to her floor. Both laughed, as the door elevator door opened at the appointed level, startling them both. "Maybe you should consider what might be instead," Mulder offered, accompanied by his best little boy grin.

Diana looked puzzled, until she recalled her earlier comment. "That's a far larger question Fox. I'm not sure I've got the energy for it today. I'll contemplate it tomorrow. Ok?"

"Will you consider working on the XFiles as a possible future?"

Diana laughed. "You don't give up do you?"

He was shaking his head no as they stopped in front of her door. Both suddenly nervous. Looking everywhere but at each other. They mustered their courage nearly simultaneously. Their eyes met. And held.

Cigarette Smoking Man was calmly puffing on a cigarette as he observed what appeared to be a relatively nice hotel room on a video monitor. The props were already in place. The stage was set. All that remained was the placement of the actors. On their marks. Precisely.

Enter the female lead. The heroine. Stage left. A man in a non-descript black suit carried an unconscious Dana Scully, covered with a blanket, into the room. Another man, similarly dressed, moved around the first man toward the bed. The man holding Scully waited patiently, while the other man rumpled the sheets. Suggestively. The rumpling man stepped back and gestured to the carrying man, who moved forward and placed Scully gently on the bed. On her left side. Adjusting her arms and legs to his liking. Then removing the blanket, and adjusting the bed sheet to cover her nakedness. Another man was strategically placing Scully's clothes in the vicinity of the bed. Satisfied, the three men exited.

Cigarette Smoking Man looked with a critical eye at the placement of Dana Scully and her clothes. He was satisfied. The men had done well. Smiling, he lit another cigarette.

Enter the supporting actor. The villain. Also, stage left. The man in the black suit responsible for actor transport was engaged in that activity with respect to an unconscious Alex Krycek. The second man, adjusted the bed sheet to allow the first man to place Krycek next to Scully, also on his left side. The "modesty" blanket was replaced by the bed sheet. The carrying man placed Krycek's right arm around Scully. The other man did some fine adjustment of the feet of the actors to place them in more intimate contact. The third man was dealing with Krycek's clothes. Cigarette Smoking Man admired the man's artistry. He'd located Krycek's leather jacket and pullover shirt on the couch. Providing more of a story line for the actors to discover.

Cigarette Smoking Man then directed his attention to the two young people. They looked ... comfortable. Taking another puff on his cigarette, Cigarette Smoking Man noticed subtle movements. Seeking heat and increased comfort, Krycek pulled Scully closer. She smiled and leaned back into his embrace. Cigarette Smoking Man hoped the camera had picked that up

It was perfectly natural, and would go a long way of selling this scenario to any viewer. "This should be interesting," Cigarette Smoking Man mused aloud.

The door behind Cigarette Smoking Man opened, and Special Agent Jeffrey Spender entered. "I'm here. Just like you asked."

"On time as well. I'm so pleased." Cigarette Smoking Man watched Jeffrey's eyes being drawn to the video monitor. Spender took a step closer, leaning forward. Recognition was almost immediate. Spender's expression as he faced Cigarette Smoking Man was complex. Shock mixed with respect and a touch of fear. Cigarette Smoking Man approved.

"Mulder'll kill him," Spender stated in an awed whisper.

"Perhaps."

Movement on the video monitor attracted the attention of both men. Dana Scully shifted and her eyes opened.