Value & Honor
by Forte
(Forte1354@aol.com)

Please see Chapter 1 for rating, summary, disclaimer, etc.

Prior chapters are available at
http://www.thebasementoffice.com/.


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- Chapter 12 -

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J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Saturday, 3:16 p.m.


Mulder walked down the familiar basement hallway and stopped at
a closed door.  The door was familiar, too, but now the
nameplates on it were foreign.  Ugly.  He sucked in a breath and
frowned before rapping his knuckles against it.  Dammit, he
shouldn't have to knock on his own door!

No, not mine anymore, he thought.  He stared down at his Nikes,
chewing his lower lip, then lifted his head again.  But someday.
This will be Scully's and mine again.

He waited, but received no response to his knock.

Mulder glanced down at his watch.  Diana couldn't be gone; it
wasn't that long since he'd spoken to her.  He ran his fingers
through his hair, wincing as he touched where Kurt had hit him
the night before.  He turned up the collar on his jacket.  No
need to give her a show.

So where =was= Diana?  Perhaps she was in the back area of the
office and hadn't heard him?  He was about to knock again when
he heard her voice.  It sounded like, "All right," and was
followed by the dull rattle of a phone being returned to its
base.  Oh, of course.

"Diana?" he called.

"Come in, Fox.  It's open."

As he turned the knob and pushed the door open, Fowley stood,
moving toward him in greeting.  "Sorry, talking to my mother. 
She sends her regards."

Mulder dipped his chin in a half-nod, trying to ignore the
sudden grip on his stomach.  It was an innocent comment, but he
really didn't want to deal with memories of Diana's family.

"You had the door closed?"  Yes, Virginia, that was a stupid
question, but at least it changed the subject.

Fowley shrugged.  "You know how drafty it can get in here with
the door open."

Mulder nodded again, slowly.  "Yes.  I remember."  So much for
changing the subject.  Fuck it -- let's just get this over with.
"So where's this e-mail I need to see?"

Gesturing toward her PC, Fowley moved behind her desk.  Mulder
followed a few steps behind.  He glanced toward the wall, where
his poster used to hang, until he realized that Diana was
talking again.  "I'm sorry for dragging you all the way over
here on a Saturday, but I knew you would want to see this as
soon as possible."  She paused; Mulder met her gaze.  "And I
wanted to talk to you about this face to face."

Fine -- get on with it.  He forced a neutral look to his face, a
patient tone to his voice.  "So let's see it."

Mulder watched her shift piles of requisition and expense forms
to the side, excavating the mouse.  A click cleared the screen
saver and revealed an open e-mail message.

STOP THEM BEFORE THEY KILL MORE INNOCENT
WOMEN AND CHILDREN.

Shouting, Mulder mused, his mind clicking into profiler mode
automatically.  The person who sent this wants us to pay
attention.  Or, they're unfamiliar with netiquette.  Mulder's
eyes trailed up to the "from" line.  It looked like one of a
thousand different variations on a spam address.  If the sender
were knowledgeable enough to disguise the address, then he -- or
she -- would know what typing in all caps meant.  The message
itself suggested someone who wanted to be a protector.

If the whole thing wasn't a prank or a hoax.

Mulder's eyes dropped down a line, noting that Diana was the
only recipient listed.  So far, not much to go on.

"That's it?"

"No."  She scrolled down the screen.  "There are two photos
attached."

She clicked on one of the attachments, and after a few seconds
the screen was filled with a familiar face.  Mulder felt his
stomach lurch.

Scanlon.

The photo was grainy, but there was no mistaking who it was. 
Mulder had never met Dr. Scanlon during the brief period when
the man had "cared" for Scully, but he knew the face.  After
Scully had signed herself out of Allentown Bethlehem Medical
Center, they'd procured numerous photos of Scanlon from hospital
security cameras and personnel records.  And he'd had a few
nightmares over the years that had engraved the image into his
brain.

Mulder stared at the color head shot, apparently taken from a
distance, outdoors, with a powerful zoom lens.  The bright blue
sky of the background gave nothing away as to location or
season.  Scanlon's hair was shorter than Mulder had seen in the
hospital records, but that didn't mean much.  The e-mail photo
could be recent, or several years old -- and that assumed it
hadn't been altered.

"Do you know him?"  Diana's voice startled him out of his
reverie.

Still staring at the photo, Mulder nodded.  There was no reason
to withhold the truth from her.  The X-Files may have burned,
but the summaries given to Skinner were still around in all
their triplicate glory.  "Kevin Scanlon.  M.D., or at least we
think he's one.  He's a suspect in a murder investigation.  From
a case Scully and I worked on about a year and a half ago.  He
disappeared and has been a fugitive since then."

"What kind of murder investigation?"

Mulder licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry.  "We believe he
hastened the deaths of some women suffering from brain cancer. 
At least two women.  Maybe a dozen."

"Brain cancer?  Isn't that what Agent Scully had?"

Mulder refused to acknowledge the touch of compassion he heard
in her professional monotone, interpreting it as guilt over her
treatment of Scully the previous day.  Good -- she deserved to
feel guilty.

He nodded once in response to Fowley's question, jaw clenched. 
"Scanlon treated her for a few days, before we knew he was a
suspect."

"And the case was an X-File?"

Mulder paused, trying to push away the picture in his head. 
Scully, sitting at Penny Northern's bedside in her last hours. 
Scully had been so close to Penny then, both physically and in
terms of her own frail health.  It could have been Scully lying
there, exhausted, waiting for death to lead her away...

"Fox?"

Mulder flinched as Fowley touched his arm; he sensed her draw
back immediately.  Eyes burning, hands fisted at his sides,
Mulder nodded his acknowledgment.  "Yeah, it was an X-File.  The
women were all members of a group called MUFON -- Mutual UFO
Network."

Fowley nodded.  "Yes, I've heard of them."

Mulder turned his head to look at her, eyebrows raised.

"I was in Europe, Fox.  Not on a deserted island.  I kept up on
some things, you know."

Mulder nodded absently, turning back toward the monitor,
drumming the desk with the fingers of his other hand.  He tried
to focus on the message, not the memories.  Who had sent this
warning about Scanlon -- Kurt?  But why the hell would he send
it to Diana?  And how did she know to ask him about it?

"If you didn't know who this man was, why did you think I'd have
any insight into the message?"

Fowley reached for the mouse again.  "Because of this second
photo.  The one that I wanted to talk to you about."

With a few clicks she opened the second photo attachment, and
this time Mulder felt a white-hot knife twist in his gut.

It was Kurt Crawford.

Like the photo of Scanlon, this was a color head shot, taken
outdoors from a distance.  Crawford's face was turned down a
fraction as though he were walking against a brisk wind.  The
background was a pale grey sky, with a wisp of muddled green in
one corner that could have been leaves.  Unlike the photo of
Scanlon, the man in this e-mailed image was identical to the
Kurts that Mulder had met before.

Identical to the Kurt he had met just last night.

A Kurt who had turned up from out of nowhere, after disappearing
for a year and a half, with no explanations...

No.  No.  The implication... that Scanlon and the Kurts
=together= were responsible for those women dying... for Scully
almost dying... it made no sense.  The e-mail had to be a hoax. 
The Kurts couldn't be working with Scanlon, they were trying to
stop his work, trying to help, trying to help Scully and those
other women...

"I recognized him."  Diana's voice interrupted Mulder's
careening thoughts.  "When I saw that picture, I remembered.  I
saw him enter your apartment building last night, while I was
waiting for you to get home."  She tapped a finger on the
monitor just under the photo.  "Who is he, Fox?"

Mulder tried to force words from his mouth, but realized that
his jaw was hanging slack.  He clamped it shut, swallowing hard,
fists balled on his hips.  "His name is Kurt Crawford."

"How is he connected to Scanlon?  Was he a suspect, too?"

"No."  Mulder drew out the syllable, lips barely moving.  "No,
he was never a suspect."

Who sent this?  Why did they want him to think that Kurt and
Scanlon were working together?  Why did they want =Diana= to
think that Kurt and Scanlon were working together?

Why did they want Diana involved at all?  What was she being
used for?

Maybe the theory he'd had in the car was wrong.  Maybe someone
other than Skinner was putting the bug in Diana's ear to get him
back on the X-Files.  But who would try to manipulate her like
that?  Another mole like Blevins?  And why?

He needed a copy of the e-mail, the photos.  He needed to show
them to Scully, get her thoughts.  Get the Gunmen to go over
them.

"But there was a connection between these two men?" Fowley
persisted.  "Tell me what this is about, Fox."

Mulder reached over to grab the mouse, hesitated, then clicked
on "print."  He couldn't afford the electronic trail involved in
forwarding the message to the Gunmen -- not even an indirect
trail.  A hard copy would have to do.  "Kurt Crawford was a
member of the same MUFON group as the women who had died."  In
quick succession he printed the photo of Scanlon and the e-mail
message, then returned to the photo of Crawford.  "He was the
one who suggested that there was a conspiracy behind the
deaths."

Mulder moved to the printer in the corner of the office.  It was
a brand new, very expensive, color laser printer.  Impressive --
apparently Diana had the right touch with those requisition
forms on her desk.

"Crawford had been afraid that his life was in danger," he
continued.  "He disappeared after downloading some information
from the PC of one of the women who died."  

His back to Fowley, Mulder took the three sheets of paper from
the printer, folded them, and stuffed them in his inside jacket
pocket.  "We assumed that he had been killed."  True, just some
details left out -- like the fact that there were multiple
Kurts.  To protect them, Mulder had left that piece of
information out of his official report.  The rest Diana could
have discovered for herself.

Mulder returned to Fowley's desk as he finished with, "There was
never any indication that he and Scanlon might have been working
together."

He stopped at the corner of the desk, staring at the photo of
Kurt again.  Whatever was going on, whatever the intent of the
message and the photos, it all came down to two questions:  who
had sent the e-mail?  And why to Diana?

And once again, Fowley interrupted his concentration.

"Fox, did you see this man last night?"  Her voice was quiet. 
Concerned.  "Surely he must have gone to your building looking
for you."

Mulder hesitated.  He didn't want to lie to Diana, but he'd be
damned if he would let anyone else touch the case that had cast
such a pall over Scully.  Had so irrevocably, so heinously,
altered her life.  He certainly wouldn't allow Diana to be
involved, not after she'd been so callous to Scully.  Besides,
it would be better -- safer -- for Diana to be kept out of it. 
She had no idea what he and Scully were up against.

Mulder shook his head, looking up at her.  "I didn't see him on
my way up to my apartment, after you left.  And he didn't come
knocking on my door."  Yes, that was the truth, too.  More
details left out, that's all.  Mulder was glad that the upturned
collar on his jacket covered the evidence of his meeting with
Kurt.  "Maybe he was planning on coming to see me, and changed
his mind."

Diana's brow wrinkled.  "Or maybe he didn't want you to see him.
Maybe he's following you.  Keeping tabs on you."

Mulder shook his head again, feeling an itch to leave before he
had to compound his mistruths.  "I don't think so, Diana.  Why
would he follow me now, after all this time?"

Fowley's hands migrated to her hips.  "You said he wasn't a
suspect, Fox.  Maybe he should have been one all along. 
Apparently someone thinks he had something to do with those
deaths."

Yes, it was definitely time to go.

Mulder took a half step backwards.  "Diana, I don't know what to
tell you.  I don't know why this message was sent to you or what
it's supposed to mean.  I've told you the basics of the case.  I
suggest you get the file from Skinner and read the details for
yourself."

Mulder stared down again at the photo of Crawford, the same
questions shouting at him again:  who sent it, and why to Diana?
Did someone want him working with Diana?  Did someone want him
away from Scully?

If that was the intent, it sure as hell wasn't going to work. 
Whatever the answers, he and Scully would find them where the
Kurts were.

In Boston.  Starting with their meeting with George at 10:30.

Reflexively, Mulder glanced at his watch.  Already after 3:30. 
Time to go...

"Am I keeping you from something?"

At Fowley's chilly words, Mulder dragged his hand across his
stubbled chin.  Diana had never been an easy one to lie to. 
"Yeah, I have some personal business that I need to take care of
this afternoon."  Diana stared at him coolly, so he continued. 
"Legal stuff, Diana.  Related to my father's estate.  You know
how that crap never ends."

Fowley sighed.  "Yes, unfortunately I do."  She took a step
closer to Mulder and gestured toward her PC.  "But you're not
just going to walk away from this, are you?"

"Diana, I've told you what I could.  I don't think I can give
you any more help.  Read the file, and take it from there.  I'm
sure you and Agent Spender can handle it."

"Fox, I need your help on this.  Or, more to the point, you need
mine.  You know that."

Mulder's eyes narrowed.  We had this conversation last night,
Diana.  I don't need you watching my back.

He kept his words quick, biting.  "I need your help?  What I
=need=, Diana, is to get the hell out of this office.  You know
damn well I shouldn't even be talking to you.  If I'm found
anywhere near an X-File my ass is toast.  Until and unless A.D.
Kersh says otherwise, whatever you've got there -- " Mulder
jerked his head toward the PC -- "it belongs to you and Agent
Spender."

Like =hell= it does.

Fowley met his tone with her own sharp, raised voice, stabbing a
finger toward the monitor again.  "Fox, this message is about
someone who was at your apartment building last night.  Someone
who may be dangerous.  Someone looking for you.  Maybe =your=
life is in danger.  Why don't we at least stake out your
building, watch for him to come back again tonight -- "

"NO, Diana!"

Fowley was all but shouting.  "How could A.D. Kersh have a
problem with that?  Damn it, Fox, aren't you concerned about
this at all?"

Mulder matched her tone, eager to finish the argument and get
out of the Hoover Building.  "I'm more concerned about my job
than I am about this message.  I mean, look at it, Diana!  It's
an anonymous message from some savior-wannabe, going off on a
case that hasn't had a lead in a year and a half.  It's a vague
warning with no solid information.  This is =exactly= the kind
of bullshit I'd expect from a hacker, some bored college kid." 
He slowed, emphasizing his next words.  "So no, Diana, I'm not
taking any chances on pissing off Kersh.  Have Skinner talk to
him."

"Fox, why are you being so stubborn?  Since when are you so
concerned about playing by the rules?"

I'm not, Diana.  Trust me on that.

"Since I got put on probation.  You remember that little OPR
meeting, don't you?  'Refusal to cease all material association
with the X-Files will result in immediate dismissal.'"  He waved
up toward the skylights and the sidewalk beyond them.  "Fired
FBI agents have a hard time finding new jobs, Diana.  If you
want help on this case, have Skinner talk to Kersh.  Get the
green light for Scully and me to work on it and -- "

"Agent Scully?  Why her?"

"Why her?"  Mulder's eyes grew wide.  "Because this was her
case, too.  I told you last night, Scully is my =partner=.  Or
have you forgotten that conversation?"

Fowley pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes.  "I'll speak to A.D.
Skinner first thing Monday morning."

"Fine."

Mulder twisted toward the door.  His over-stuffed inside jacket
pocket rubbed against him, reminding him of the printouts he'd
shoved inside.  Had Diana picked up on his inconsistency?  He'd
taken the printouts, yet was refusing to help without Kersh's
approval.  If she did notice, well...

Fowley followed a few steps behind Mulder, stopping at the edge
of her desk.  Mulder yanked open the door, slipped through, and
then shut it behind him with an adamant thud.

********************************************************************

Fowley stood grounded in place, listening.  When the ding of the
closing elevator doors echoed down the hall, she reached back
for the phone on the desk and dialed an outside line.

"Agent Spender, this is Agent Fowley.  Please call me at my cell
phone as soon as you get this message.  It looks like we have a
case to investigate."

********************************************************************

Georgetown
Washington, DC
Saturday, 3:38 p.m.


Scully carried her packed duffel bag to the living room and
dropped it onto the couch with an impatient plop.  For the third
time in ten minutes she checked her watch.  Why hadn't Mulder
called?  It was getting close to half an hour since he'd arrived
at the Hoover Building.

He had said that he would make his meeting with Agent Fowley
brief.  He had said that he would call when he was leaving.

Maybe she should just head over to his place.  If need be, she
could start packing for him.  It certainly wouldn't be the first
time.

Ten minutes.  In ten minutes she would leave for Mulder's
apartment.  She'd call him on the way if she still hadn't heard
from him.

Decision made, Scully strode to the kitchen.  She collected the
cash and ID's from the table, her coat from the chair.  She
returned to the living room, tossing the coat and ID's next to
the duffel bag.

With quick flicks of her fingers and wrists, Scully counted out
$700 for plane fare, then stuffed the wad into the front pocket
of her jeans.  She went to her desk and pulled an envelope from
one of the drawers, noticing that she'd left the wrappers from
her lunch next to the PC.  Had to take care of that before she
left.

She put the remaining money in the envelope and unzipped a
compartment at one end of the duffel bag.  The cash joined the
flight lists she'd printed and the pad of paper with Kurt's
messages.

Scully turned back to the forged ID's.  Frohike really had done
a nice job, she mused, shuffling through them.  She ran the tip
of her thumb over her "new" name on the passport, driver's
license, and credit card.  A stab of guilt shot through her;
Scully hoped that the deceased woman whose name she had borrowed
wouldn't mind.  Hoped she would know, somehow, that she'd chosen
the name with respect.  To honor the woman's intelligence and
dignity.

Scully slid the driver's license into the other front pocket of
her jeans.  The other ID's she tucked in the pocket of her coat.

Scully went back to her desk and gathered up the trash in a neat
ball.  As she started to turn back toward the kitchen, a glint
from the corner of the desk caught her eye.  Tasteful brass
frames of various shapes and sizes held her family in miniature.
In the center of the collection, haloed by golden metal, was
her only photo of Emily.

Someone else who deserved to be remembered with respect and
honor.

Eyes suddenly heavy, Scully drew her forefinger around the
perimeter of the frame. Then, as if to silently introduce her
daughter to the rest of her family, Scully ran her finger over
the tops of the other photos.  Melissa, tall and graceful, in
one of her flowing dresses.  Bill, Tara, and Matthew at the
baby's christening.  Charles at his college graduation; an old
photo but her favorite of him.  Her Mom and Dad at the surprise
party they'd given him after his last promotion.

Out of eight people, three of them were gone.

Scully lingered over the photo of her parents.  Ahab was in his
uniform, looking somehow relaxed and stern at the same time. 
Just as she remembered him.

If you could see me now, Ahab.  Would you have ever guessed it? 
That your little girl would turn into the rule-breaker she is
today?  This trip I'm going on -- I'm disobeying the direct
orders of my superiors.  And it's far from the first time. 
Would you approve?  Or at least understand?

If Melissa and Emily are with you, then you've got to know that
what I'm doing is right.

She stood and gazed at him, earnest, as if he might answer her.

The shrill ring of the phone shook Scully from her
contemplation.  She jerked up her wrist to check the time again.
Quarter of four.  She rushed past the cordless phone in the
living room to her bedroom, lifting the receiver on the third
ring.

"Hello?"  She huffed out the word, half-breathless.

"I'm on my way home."

Scully's pulse quickened at the grimness in her partner's voice.
"What happened?"  Her stomach clenched when the question was
met with silence.  "Mulder?"

"I'll tell you when I see you."

God.  What now?  "All right.  I'll pick you up... " she glanced
at the clock on the nightstand, "four thirty?"

"I'll be ready."

As she set the phone back in its base, Scully realized that she
was clenching the ball of trash in her other hand.  Shaking her
head, she returned to the kitchen.  Whatever Diana had shown
Mulder, it was serious.

Scully tossed the trash in the can, then washed her hands.  As
she dried them, she eyed the garbage can.  She didn't know how
long it would be before she'd be back.  Should she take the time
to empty it?  No -- even if it sat a week, there was nothing in
there that would evolve into a new life form.  It could wait. 
Finding out what Mulder had seen -- and getting to Boston --
couldn't.

Scully went back to the living room to gather her things.  If
she got to Mulder's apartment early, so be it.

********************************************************************

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Saturday, 3:55 p.m.


Diana Fowley thumbed on her cell phone on the first ring.  A
male voice crackled through the line.

"She's picking him up at four thirty.  They're taking U.S.
Airways from National.  Rendezvous after the event as we
discussed."

The line disconnected.

Fowley slipped the phone into her pocket as she shut down her
PC.  She snatched up her belongings and hurried from the
basement office, locking the door behind her.

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- end Chapter 12 -

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Feedback is cherished at Forte1354@aol.com or bjm1352@aol.com.

Author's Notes:  Can I get a big *OH YEAH* for Jintian, the best
beta reader on the planet?  (Go ahead, argue with me.  I dare
ya.)  Honest, folks, you wouldn't want to read what I write
before Jintian does her kung fu on it.  Truly, I am blessed. :)