Season Six:
Episode 2

A cabin on a lake
Central Pennsylvania
3:37 pm

A young woman of approximately 28 is seated at a window of what appears to be a cabin on a lake. She is looking out of the window and crying (silently with just a single tear emanating from her right eye). She and we look down together toward a note she is holding in her hand. Handwritten in black ink is the following:

It is not over. It will never be over.

Special Agent Fox Mulder was looking longingly at his once (and perhaps future) lover, when his cellular phone rang. Many men, under this particular circumstance, would ignore the interruption or feign deafness to it. Not Mulder. "Mulder" he said as he took a step back from Diana Fowley.

"Mulder, have you seen Agent Scully," asked Frohicke. "She was supposed to present her fine self for some analysis a while ago."

"Analysis of the bee," clarified Byers. "We have managed to download some top secret Russian software that might allow us to meaningfully analyze ..."

"If any of us could read Russian, that is," added Langley. "We are also working on getting a Russian-to-English translation program on line. Frohicke was thinking that Scully would be so impressed, that she would misplace her better judgment ..."

"I'll be there in 15 minutes" interrupted Mulder.

Special Agent Dana Scully shifts and her eyes open. She tries to reach behind her head to explore what appears to be an injury leading to the mild headache she is suffering from, when she realizes that she can't. When she realizes why she can't (because a male arm is around her holding her, and thus pinning her arm), her first thought is exasperation. Her second is puzzlement. Looking at the rest of the room that she can see, Dana notices the remnants of what looks to have been quite the romantic meal (candles, mostly empty wine glasses, etc.). When she also spots a bottle of champagne next to the bed, she mutters, "No wonder I can't remember anything."

Another thing she can see, which also is conveniently within reach (because she can extend her arm forward enough to reach her coat which was tossed onto the end table), is her cellular phone (which has spilled out of the coat pocket). It is indicating that she has a message. Her first thought is "what does Mulder want". Following rapidly on the heels of the first, her second is "who the hell am I with". With that, Dana Scully begins the careful process of shifting to get a look at her companion, preferably without waking him.

Assistant Director Walter Skinner looked thoughtfully at the young woman asleep on his couch. Once he had politely but firmly declined the "offer" she had made and assured her that no immediate action would be taken with regard to her, she had told him that she had been an informant of Agent Mulder's. Mulder had never mentioned anyone named Marita Covarrubias, but that didn't mean anything. That particular special agent was very closed mouthed about where he got his information. Skinner had to admit that, in this particular case, it was probably wise of Agent Mulder to be vague about his source. Gauging Agent Scully's reaction to this particular informant would likely have been tricky. Skinner didn't know what to do with regard to Ms. Covarrubias, and didn't really think that observing her exhausted slumber would provide inspiration. With a somewhat exasperated sigh, he turned out the light and left the living room.

Cigarette Smoking Man lit yet another cigarette. The camera was off and the video tape in the custody of Agent Spender. Odd how Cigarette Smoking Man thought of Jeffrey as Agent Spender in this context. Professional detachment was too firmly ingrained for him to behave otherwise.

Also, he had little faith in the plan that he had just set in motion at the behest of the Consortium. In Cigarette Smoking Man's opinion, the Consortium had reacted too strongly, in stark contrast to the man in Tunisia's ambivalence. Too much time and effort had been invested in the manipulation of Agent Mulder to a precise way of thinking and reacting to stimuli, particularly stimuli delivered as information. The Consortium's plan introduces an unknown element and, therefore, could well jeopardize everything.

At one level, Cigarette Smoking Man could understand the Consortium's concern. The colonizing aliens now knew that a vaccine existed, and that the Consortium knew that they had been used. The next move in this particular game has to be carefully orchestrated, and Cigarette Smoking Man had no doubts as to who should conduct.

As an initial matter, he had to depend on the training, quick thinking and healthy sense of self-preservation of a young man who had become an enemy. Although, Cigarette Smoking Man didn't care for the situation or this even slight dependence on another, he was pragmatic enough to appreciate that he had no choice. He had chosen his path long ago. The time for regrets, recriminations or alternative careers was long past.

The time for thinking about such things had also passed. A "soldier" entered the room and stated, "We have a problem."

"Another one?" Cigarette Smoking Man sighed and resigned himself mentally to another sleepless night. "Good luck Alex," he thought. To the soldier, he said, "Put another tape in the VCR."

The sun was shining. There was a calm lake. He was standing next to it and skimming stones, as he had done as a child. It was quiet and peaceful. Actually, it was too quiet and not really peaceful at all. The sky darkened and the wind picked up. He had the distinct and unmistakable feeling that there was something behind him. He couldn't turn. He couldn't run. He was rooted to the previously idyllic spot as something evil bore down on him. He heard a sharply intaken breath, and a woman whisper "Oh my God." With the overwhelming sense that this time the shit was well and truly going to hit the fan, Alex Krycek opened his eyes.

There was no lake. There was a hotel room.

He wasn't skimming stones, and hadn't been since about age 10. What he had been doing he could not recall, but he didn't believe the circumstantial evidence that he had quickly observed. That particular victory over Mulder would definitely be memorable.

The woman next to him had a look that seemed scared enough and angry enough and confused enough to at least momentarily accept the visual evidence. That was not good. He would be the villain of that piece, rather than another victim, a role that he presently preferred, particularly because he perceived that it would be the one that would permit him to go on living. "What's the last thing you remember? I was walking toward my rental car, and thinking that I saw something off to my right."

Agent Scully was surprised by both his words and by the matter of fact tone of voice in which he delivered them. As a result, she was answering honestly before she realized it.

It is not over. It will never be over.

That is what the note said. She was reading it again as the door crashed open. Men in black suits, standardly equipped with sunglasses and handguns, entered quickly and fanned out. She didn't run or evade in any way. There was no point. She, along with some colleagues, had tried to quit the Project. They had all been unsuccessful and had paid with their lives. To someone, or some group of someones, the Project was all that mattered. To those, quitting was not an option.

Mulder had met with the Lone Gunmen. He had discussed, in excruciating detail, Frohicke's telephone discussion with Scully about analyzing the bee, the Lone Gunmen's careful estimates regarding exactly how much time would have elapsed between Scully hanging up the telephone and arriving at the Lone Gunmen's offices/living quarters. He had observed their Russian-to-English software "translate" the "top secret" Russian research into Alien DNA into the children's story "The Little Engine that Could". The conversation had pretty much died after that.

After spending a few minutes reading the latest issue of the Lone Gunman publication, Mulder realized that he had not tried the most obvious method to contact Scully. It was a trifle embarrassing, but he had been preoccupied earlier and the Lone Gunmen had made such a fuss. With a somewhat sheepish smile on his face, Mulder took out his cellular phone and punched his programmed number for Scully.

Scully felt a whole lot better. Funny how having your clothes on can make you feel more in control of a situation. She wasn't in control though. Far from it. In fact, she had just finished telling Alex Krycek (of all people) of her and Mulder's facts, suppositions and wild speculations regarding the alien virus found in the bee that she had been taking to the Lone Gunmen. He had sat there quietly, except for saying those little phrases that connoted that he was listening and asking only a few questions. No interruptions with his own theories on the matter or with insistence that ninety-five percent of what she said was half-baked. It had been refreshing.

"Can I see it?" Scully looked at Krycek blankly for a moment until she surmised that he was referring to the bee. It was not in the pockets of her suit jacket. Sensing her mounting concern, Krycek asked "What are we looking for?" The two were well in search of the missing bee specimen container when Scully's cellular phone rang. Both Scully and Krycek froze for a second, and glanced at each other. Scully put on her "I am a professional" face and moved toward the telephone. Krycek shrugged and resumed the search.

"Scully."

"Scully, where are you? Are you all right? Frohicke is worried sick."

"I'm...I'm not exactly sure where I am, but I think "they" took the bee. Fortunately, I took the precaution of taking some samples of the bee tissues and fluids." As soon as she described her bet-hedging procedure, she glanced quickly at the man who was diligently looking in and among the couch cushions. He showed no sign of paying any particular attention to her last statement, but Scully knew that meant nothing.

"I hope you put the samples somewhere safe, Scully, like my refrigerator. No one would look there."

Agent Scully couldn't help laughing, but she missed what Mulder said next, because she was watching what Krycek was doing. He tried the door. It was locked. He then examined the lock mechanism and found it was jammed. Not to be denied, he began to remove the hinges.

"Scully? Are you still there?"

"Yes. Look Mulder, I'll call you back when I can tell you anything more definitive. I'm not in any immediate danger." She couldn't quite keep a slight question out of her last statement. Mulder heard it. So did Krycek.

Mulder queried in rapid succession. "What is it? What is going on? Is there someone there with you? There is, isn't there? Who is it? Do you know who they are and what they want?"

Krycek merely nodded.

"I'll call you back Mulder."

Assistant Director Skinner's telephone rang. Looking at the digital clock beside his bed, he noted that it was 3:12 am. Sighing he answered the telephone. The message was not long. Another immunologist that had been missing had been found dead in a cabin in northern Pennsylvania. That made four this month. Why they called to tell him these things at this ungodly hour, Skinner didn't know. Nothing would change what had happened in the Pennsylvania woods.

At 3:16 am, the first shot was fired. It sounded like it was fired in his apartment. Getting his FBI-issued weapon from his night stand, Skinner carefully and quietly approached his bedroom door. He could hear movement. He slowly opened the door with his left hand, and used the door for protection as long as he could. The sounds of movement became louder, but Skinner could see nothing. Thus, he proceeded carefully and quietly down the hallway between the bedroom and living room. He heard more furtive movement, a door shutting and then deafening silence. He quickened his pace, reached the living room and turned on the overhead light.

Nothing was disturbed. Nothing was missing. Nothing, except...Marita Covarrubias was gone.

"This could take awhile, Dana," Alex Krycek commented, as he looked away from his work with the hinges (difficult to do one handed). "Maybe you'd like to tell me why someone would want to blackmail you?"

His use of her first name surprised her and threw her off balance, but she'd be damned if she gave him the satisfaction of letting him know that. "I've told you enough already. Besides, what makes you think that this was aimed at me. Wouldn't you get in trouble with whoever it is that you work for, if they thought you were...um...intimate with me?"

"Work with...not for. In trouble? I suppose, but it doesn't feel right. Seems more like a make Mulder jealous thing to me."

Before Scully could answer, the door burst open, knocking the chair that Krycek was standing on and Krycek himself flying. The impact of Krycek's right shoulder on the edge of the coffee table made Scully wince. Her doctor instincts had her by his side, helping him to sit up, when a tall man with a full beard entered the room.

"Hello, Alexander."

Scully felt Krycek's shoulders tense, but his face remained impassive. "Dimitri."

Mulder was looking at the accusing faces of the Lone Gunmen. "What would you guys have done? She didn't know where she was, and she couldn't talk freely. Now wait a minute. This has nothing to do with my being with Diana."

"Agent Scully wouldn't have been alone," Byers began.

"You would have been with her," Langley continued.

"You would have at least seen something," Frohicke concluded. "Then we would have something to go on. As it is now....