DISCLAIMER JAZZ: "The X-Files" and its characters are the creations and property of the fabled Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I am, of course, using them without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. All other concepts or ideas herein are mine. RATING: NC-17 SPOILERS: Through US season 7 ARCHIVE: ONLY ON THE AUTHOR'S OWN WEBSITE (http://rowan_d.tripod.com/elizabethr.html) UNTIL STORY IS COMPLETED. This way I can mess with the early parts as later parts develop... TIMELINE: Though this takes place sometime after "all things", in this universe "Requiem" did NOT happen... Special thanks to sarah, Kim, and suspect affiliations for help with D.C. area locations.:) WATER'S EDGE by Elizabeth Rowandale Copyright (c) 2003 "Some things are better left unsaid, but they still turn me inside out." --"Why", Annie Lennox **You left me. You *left* me. Alone. Damn you... And, Mulder, I can't...I don't...I... I'm learning to read that little cube of numbers that gives you all the stats of a baseball game. What do you call it...the box scores.** "Where exactly are we going again?" Michaels asked as he followed his partner down the dim hallway. "We're almost there," Scully said shortly, heels clicking on the tile flooring. Scully had been waiting in the Bureau parking lot this morning, warming up the rental car before Michaels had even dropped his things off in the basement office. It had crossed his mind to wonder if that was just dedication to the work, or perhaps a little overcompensation for her late entrance at the previous day's appointment. Either way, he had found himself on the road and out in the field before he had had a chance to pull his thoughts out of what his wife had done to cover the burned taste of his waffle, or the note from Libby's Pre-K teacher about the spitting problem. He had used the drive across town to glance over the files, settle his brain back into the case. He needed to be ready for whatever information they might glean this morning, be quick to plug it into their known field of knowledge. He couldn't *always* count on Scully to make the necessary connections, however sharp she might be. She had seemed a bit less distant in the past couple of days. She had opened to him a little, had shared her theories on the case, the connections to the alien colonization. For reasons he had yet to understand, some of the ground they had lost seemed to be coming back under their feet. He was starting to think they might click yet, might even pull off a miracle and save a life or two before this case was over. "Did you say 'The Gunmen'?" he asked as Scully's footsteps slowed to a halt at the top of a short flight of stairs. She turned and flashed her eyes at him, confirming without words. She hooked her fiery hair behind one ear, turned to the single door on the narrow landing, and rapped her knuckles on the hard surface. Michaels let his gaze sweep their surroundings as they awaited a response. Scully was staring at the floor, distant but approachable. Her look was as polished and impeccable as ever this morning. Sleek profile, each hair in place, wine lipstick the only flash of color in her predominantly black ensemble. Even her gold cross was missing today, presumably hidden beneath her turtleneck sweater. A surveillance camera was mounted in the corner above the door. "High security installation?" Michaels asked with a twang of sarcasm, and Scully had just glanced his way when a nasal voice projected from a speaker above the door. "Password." "Langly, it's Scully. Let me in." "Password." The tone didn't change. Scully suppressed a sigh of exasperation and glanced toward Michaels. Not quite embarrassed, but a shade uncomfortable. A stretch for Dana Scully. And even this small gesture clued him in to the significance of their little venture. Apparently, he was stepping further over the line she had drawn so early in their partnership. She was allowing him deeper into the inner circle of the X-Files. He had definitely moved on from the burnt waffles to paying attention. "Jar-Jar Binks must die," Scully said flatly. "Welcome to our lair!" A series of clanks and thonks rang from the opposite side of the door. Locks being freed. A staggering number of locks, from the sound of it. Scully took this in stride. The face that appeared when the heavy door swung open was an even bigger shock than the need for a science fiction password. "Scully, how are you?" Before them stood a man Michaels would have sooner placed in a record store than this strange hideout, with his long stringy hair and rocker T-shirt and frighteningly out of date glasses. But in even these few seconds, Michaels could guess he was seeing something outside of this man's customary demeanor when his lanky hand reached down and tenderly grasped Scully's fingers. "Long time no see," the man said, almost shy. Michaels watched Scully squeeze Langly's hand in return. "I'm good," she said softly. A second man appeared from behind the open door, a stark contrast to the first. He was slender, fit, and well-dressed in a beige suit and tie; his grooming was the exact polar opposite of Langly's. "Dana, it's good to see you," the man said, kindness warm in his voice. He leaned in and offered Scully an awkward kiss on the cheek. Scully smiled in return. "Good to see you, too, John." The funny little short one was the last to appear. He came forward from the shadowed back of the cluttered room, oculars strapped to the top of his head, and moved toward Scully with a determined gait and a serious expression. He wrapped his arms around Scully in a tight embrace. Scully hugged back just as hard. And to Michaels' continued wonder, Dana Scully let this strange little man hold her for several beats, her eyes closed and her grip firm across his shoulders. The tight line rising from her brow sobered him a bit. *This was about Mulder. These were the friends who had supported them. Supported her in the aftermath...* The woman's life just got stranger and stranger. When at last the odd little one loosened his grip on Scully, there was a quiet moment before the threesome turned as one and focused in on the outsider standing behind their friend. Michaels spread his feet into a firmer stance. *Man, Amanda was going to love this story tonight...* Scully glanced over her shoulder, took in the three men's expressions and cleared her throat. "Ah...gentleman, I'd like you to meet my partner, Agent Gannon Michaels. Gannon, this is Langly, Byers, Frohike. They're...investigative reporters. They publish the Lone Gunmen periodical." Michaels nodded to each of the men in turn as Scully spoke. They eyed him with open suspicion, none approaching, as though they thought further appraisal necessary before coming in contact with the unidentified creature. Michaels fought the urge to squirm under their scrutiny and inquire whether they thought perhaps a cattle prod might be needed. "Pleased to meet you," he said evenly. At last the one called Byers stepped forward and offered his hand. "Agent Michaels. Good to meet you. Scully speaks well of you." Michaels flashed a smile and glanced past Byers to catch Scully's gaze. She ducked the eye contact, but he caught enough of her expression to know it was the truth. He was surprised how good that felt. Michaels stepped inside, and Langly closed the door behind him, fastening the extensive sequence of locks. "Good to meet you, man," he said as he snapped the final lock, and he held out his hand for a quick, firm handshake. "Welcome," Frohike said simply, his expression still sober. He extended one half-gloved hand. Michaels took it, and somehow he sensed this greeting meant more than the first two. "So, what have you got for us?" Scully said, her tone instantly shifting the mood. The Gunmen sprang into action, each moving to a designated post. "Something you can use, we hope," Frohike said. Langly took a seat at a nearby computer, tapping at the keys to kick off the Spiderman screensaver. When the screen washed into view, Michaels and Scully found themselves staring at naked caricatures of Charlie's Angels. Langly scrambled to close the program. "Sorry." The screen revealed a scan of an official document with a small photo in the corner. "Miranda Lockheart," Langly said, a note of triumph in his voice. "That's our Jane Doe?" Scully asked. She leaned in for a closer look at the screen, hand on the back of Langly's chair. And Michael's wondered for the hundredth time why she didn't carry her reading glasses. "Best we can determine, that's her," Langly said. "Ran away from home when she was fifteen. Cops tracked her down a couple of times, but she just kept bolting until she was eighteen and they couldn't touch her anymore. Worked a ton of odd jobs off and on. Nothing to catch the attention." "Until the most recent job," Byers chimed in, moving into Scully's line of view beside the monitor. "And what was that?" She straightened her stance, propping a hand on her hip and pushing back her open blazer. "A Medical Research Center out in Maryland. Seems she's been doing some grunt work for them for quite a while, caring for test patients, taking histories." "With her hygiene?" Michaels asked, incredulous. Scully glanced over her shoulder, her expression matching his own. "You're serious?" she said to Byers. "How recently?" "Right up until you encountered her, as far as we can tell." Frohike this time. "And you're sure this is the right girl?" Michaels asked. "Sure as you're gonna be," Langly said, back to his keyboard, calling up further documents. "What kind of Medical Research Center is this? What kind of work do they do?" Scully asked. "That's where it gets interesting." Byers leaned an arm on the monitor, settling into the dramatic effect of their story. "I'm listening," Scully said. "Apparently, there are several answers to that question," Byers continued. "According to the published reports, the Kincaid Research Center specializes primarily in sleep studies, privately funded. But we dug a little further. There's a hefty list of complaints from study volunteers, dating back as far as 1991. Patients who were told they were merely in a control group, have developed symptoms years later of viral syndromes their doctors seem unable to identify. Syndromes not unlike Gulf War Syndrome, and a few others we could name." "Was there an investigation?" Byers nodded. "There was, but all the official documentation backed up their claims of legitimate research, and any relevant witnesses seemed to have disappeared just when they were most needed. The Center could never be legally tied to the claims." Langly gestured toward the monitor. "We've got an employee list for you from the Medical Center, as well as a list of their regular helpers and recent volunteers. Seems there's a group with similarly stellar qualifications to your Jane Doe who helps these people out on a regular basis. Might be friends of hers who could tell you something." "Can you print those out?" Scully asked. "Already done, Agent Scully," Langly said as the printer in the corner sprang to life. "What about her family? Are they still alive, do you have an address or phone number?" Frohike shook his head. "Last known address didn't pan out, and then we hit on the Medical Center and zoomed in on that. But we can still follow up on the parents if you want." Scully nodded. "Thanks, we could use it. Did she have a criminal record?" "Nothing noteworthy," Byers said. "Petty theft, possession...all consistent with bouts of life on the street." "All from before she turned 18," Frohike added. "That's why her fingerprints didn't bring up a match when she was arrested for trying to barbeque you two." "Yeah..." Scully breathed, and Michaels gaze was drawn to her familiar porcelain profile as her analytical mind pieced through the clutter of new facts. "What about medical records on Miranda Lockheart herself?" "We're still working on that," Langly offered. "Nothing much yet. Brief stint in the psych ward, but seems to have been more a product of chemicals than anything inherent." "Obviously you haven't met her," Michaels quipped. "Nut job?" Langly asked bluntly. Michaels smiled and Scully drew an audible breath. "She has her little peculiarities." Langly stood up and crossed to retrieve the printed information. "Where did you say the Research Center was?" Scully asked Byers. "Gaithersburg." Scully looked at her watch. "*Dammit.*" "What?" She met Michaels' gaze. "Skinner called me this morning. He wants an update on our case at 10. We'll never make it back down 270 that fast." "Too bad. We might actually have something to tell him, if we went there first." "Or we might hit another dead end. At least this way we can tell him we have a next step." He dipped his head, acknowledging her alternate reasoning. She took the printed sheets from Langly. "Thanks. We appreciate the help, you guys." The three men offered shrugs and shaken heads and gestures of dismissal. "Anything for our favorite Agent," Frohike said with an almost playful grin. And to top off Michaels' amazement this fine morning, Scully gave the funny little man a genuine smile in return. "We'll be in touch," Byers added, and Scully gave him a nod. A few quick pleasantries and Michaels and Scully left the Gunmen's Lair and returned to the brilliant sunlight outside. ***** "Talk to me Agents. Tell me you've got something." Dana Scully pulled up a bit straighter in her chair, and Michaels tossed a surreptitious glance toward his partner. Walter Skinner recognized Scully's movement and the careful intake of breath from a thousand meetings before. Translation--*"Yes, sir, we have *something*, but it's not what you want us to have, and it may not lead where you want us to go."* Not what he wanted to hear this morning. Not with his superiors onto his back about the press's treatment of the murders, or the continued critical looks from those who thought such an obvious Violent Crimes case should never have been given to the X-Files in the first place. The last thing he wanted was to see this case ripped out from under Scully's heels. She was handling it as well as any of the VCU agents they might pass it on to. And in truth, Skinner had some ulterior motives in championing Scully's right to this case. He wasn't so certain Dana Scully belonged on the X-Files anymore. Scully was an exceptional agent. She had proved herself to him time and again. But the nature of the X-Files was such that the quality of her work was rarely visible to those looking in from the outside. Scully needed some obvious credibility in her file. A quick closure to this high profile case could turn all the right heads. Walter Skinner considered himself a stoic man, professional, not quick to form personal attachments and never willing to have them affect his work. His professional standards and expectations had never come under such strain as in the years he had supervised Agent Dana Scully. There was something about her...something that made him want to take that extra interest, to pry a bit and find out how things were going for her, if she needed anything. As long as Mulder had been around (generally no more than two or three feet from her personal space), he had let them be. He had never pretended to understand the relationship between the two agents. He knew they would have died for each other, killed for each other. But he had never had any more idea than anyone else how their relationship had worked behind closed doors; what intimacy level they had shared, physically or otherwise. But whatever the balance between them, Skinner had not questioned that Scully was Mulder's territory before his. On the rare occasions the two partners had been separated, he had tested his ground. He had attempted to step in and be supportive to Scully, and been surprised by how distant she could be before his offerings. He spent so much of his time watching her with Mulder, watching her infinite patience with his obsessiveness, watching her gentle touches to his wrist to quiet his angry words uttered at wrong moments, watching the way she attacked anyone in her path in defense of Mulder when he was wounded. Sometimes he forgot that he didn't have the same right to that side of her. He forgot that she viewed him as a far more distant entity. Mulder's mother's death had left the man's psyche perhaps the most fragile it had ever been. Scully had launched into mother tiger mode, daring anyone to try to step past her and mess with Mulder. Skinner himself had become her enemy during those days that followed. It still stung a bit to remember how icy she had been toward him. In time of crisis, Mulder and Scully had sucked their little circle down to two, and heaven help anyone who tried to intrude. Not that Skinner hadn't been on the receiving end of her remarkable kindness on occasion. Her words once upon a time as she stood beside his hospital bed and he uttered perhaps the most sincere apology of his life, had never slipped far out of his memory. And it was those few gentle moments and encouragements that gave him the confidence to remain the force in her life that he was. So the two weary warriors had been separated--for good. And Skinner had tried many times in the preceding months to step up as a friend to the last one standing. And though she had quietly and kindly accepted his comforting words, she had yielded no ground to friendship, and volunteered nothing more intimate than a steady stream of tears on the day of the funeral and one tight squeeze across his back when he had embraced her after the service. He couldn't pretend it hadn't zinged a bit when he had caught a stolen glimpse at the family gathering, passing by half- open dining room doors--Scully locked tight in the arms of--of all people in the world--Melvin Frohike, her face buried in his shoulder, her red hair cascading over his rumpled and archaic Sunday suit. He hadn't heard if she had been crying. Frohike had just had his eyes closed, holding on for dear life. It was Skinner's turn to take one more shot. "Sir, we have made some progress." "What about your Jane Doe? What was she able to tell you?" "Very little, sir. She's...concerned for her safety. The local police have a man watching her. But she's reluctant to offer too much information for fear of being found more quickly by those she believes wish to harm her." "Do you believe there's a legitimate threat?" Scully tilted her head a shade, slipped her tongue over the corner of her lips. "It's possible. We did see someone outside the hospital who could have been watching her. We tried to approach him, but he ran." "Could you ID him?" She shook her head. "No, sir. He was too far away." "Did you see him as well?" Skinner asked, turning to Agent Michaels. "I did, sir, but I was further back than Agent Scully." "And we still have no idea who Jane Doe is?" Skinner asked. "Actually, sir, we have made some progress there," Scully offered. "Her name's Miranda Lockheart. And we have an address of a Kincaid Medical Research Center where she was working recently. We just phoned them a few minutes ago. Their staff is all out of the office until 2pm, but we intend to be there as soon as they return." Skinner nodded. "Good. I want to know everything you learn." "Of course, sir." Skinner looked between the two agents for a moment, lifted his glasses into place. Scully's hands rested quietly on the arm rests, her gaze lay steadily on his desk. He hadn't realized how much he had depended over the years on Mulder's body language over Scully's inscrutable nature to discern the true state of the X-Files cases. He found himself drawn to Michaels, but at this stage of their partnership he was still deferring to Scully. "What about motive? Are we still at an impasse?" "Officially, yes, sir." "And unofficially?" "Unofficially, our theories are starting to have a little more...cohesion." Skinner nodded and pushed to his feet, making use of his height as he spoke. "I want an update on today's progress by first thing tomorrow morning." The two agents nodded. "Yes, sir." "I trust the two of you realize the significance of this case. Your progress is being...carefully watched by some influential pairs of eyes." Scully's throat muscles worked softly as she swallowed. The closest thing he'd caught to a reaction since she stepped in the door. "Yes, sir. We're giving this case our full attention." "Be sure you do that, Agents," Skinner said firmly. "That will be all." Scully uncrossed her legs, and both agents moved to rise. "Agent Scully, if you would please stay for a moment, I'd like to speak with you in private." Scully raised an eyebrow to him in mild surprise. Michaels hesitated mid-step and caught Scully's gaze. She gave a near imperceptible nod, and he narrowed his eyes, then turned to go. And none of this was lost on Skinner. This was the first time he had seen this kind of camaraderie and protectiveness alive between the new partners. It was a promising sign, even if it made him the common enemy. When Agent Michaels was safely in the hallway, Skinner sank back into his chair, and settled his gaze on Agent Scully. She had resumed her previous unrevealing posture, and was quietly awaiting his words. "Relax, Scully, you're not being chewed-out." "I'm sorry, sir?" she asked, not dropping the professionalism for a moment. He didn't call her on it. Instead he relaxed his own posture a bit, hoping to vicariously warm her. "I just wanted to check in with you. Agent Michaels, the partnership. You've been together a few months now--how do feel about him? Are you working well together?" Scully cleared her throat, shifted her shoulders. She was distractingly beautiful today. As always, he was struck by the contradictions between her appearance and the landscape of her daily life. Once upon a time, in a rare unguarded moment in the 26th hour of a marathon crime scene search, Skinner had asked Agent Mulder if he ever found her striking looks a distraction in trying to conduct a criminal investigation. He hadn't been intending to ask about a sexual attraction between them. Before the words had passed over his lips, he had really meant only to ask about the startling contrast between the gritty reality of their everyday workplace, and her polished beauty that never seemed to fade with the endless hours. But Mulder had actually smiled his rare genuine smile and said simply, "Sir, you have no idea." "Agent Michaels is an excellent agent," Scully said clearly. "Go on. Talk to me, Scully." Scully narrowed her gaze. "He's a little green in a few areas. He's gained a lot of valuable experience in this assignment already, I believe, and has put it to good use. I think he has a great career ahead of him." "Good. Now answer my question." "Sir? I don't think I follow." "You've evaluated his work. I asked you about the partnership, how you were working together." "I think it's working quite well," she said, her tone a shade softer. She chose her words carefully, spoke with special attention to clarity. "His methods are compatible with mine. He's open to negotiation, alternate views and theories. He's not afraid to speak up when he feels he has a valid point that I seem to have missed. I think...we're working quite well together." Skinner watched her for a long moment, letting her sweat it out a bit beneath his penetrating gaze. She didn't flinch. "Do you think of him as your partner, Agent Scully?" That hit her. Her eyelids slipped a bit, her gaze half-obscured, beauty clouded briefly by dusty memories. Her answer was slow in coming. "I am...approaching that...sir." A long beat passed between them in silence. Then Skinner nodded, and said softly, "Very good, Agent Scully. That will be all." ***** (End Chapter 12a. Continued in 12b...) 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