Isolation (9/16)
by ML 

email: msnsc21@yahoo.com
Rating: PG13 for mild violence and swearing

Type: Gen, het. M&S, a character/other pairing 
Disclaimer: You know the tune, sing it with me now: I don't own
them, I'm just borrowing for a while.  The original characters:
they're mine, all mine.

Author's Notes: This was written for the 2010 XF BigBang.  
I couldn't have done it without Wendy's expert beta.  Bouquets 
of thanks to her! That said, if there are any errors or omissions, 
that's my fault.  More notes at the end of the story.  

Summary: It's time to come out of hiding and get back to the
business of saving the world.  Mulder is looking for people to help
him and Scully do just that.  With so many of his former friends and
colleagues either missing or dead, he gets help from an unexpected
quarter -- and finds that he's not the only one who's ready to get
back into circulation.   

Takes place in 2008, after the events of "I Want to Believe".

We never gave up, we never will.  In the end, if that's the best
they can say about us, it'll do.
-John Fitzgerald Byers

x-x-x

Chapter Nine

"Six YEARS?" Langly said incredulously.  "How is that possible?"

He felt pretty rocky.  After Scully had checked him out, she
pronounced  him as well as she could determine without further
testing.  Then she drew more blood, which made him feel even worse,
and told him that she'd be scheduling him for more tests later that
day.

Tests.  He hated tests.

"You don't remember anything?"  Scully asked.

"What I can remember, I'd like to forget," he said.  "That door came
down, and we were trapped.  We were goners, I know.  It was a crappy
situation.  But then," he nodded at Mulder, "I guess you know all
about stuff like that."

Mulder nodded.  "Welcome to the club, Buddy." 

Langly couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"So where have I been the last six years?"

"We don't know yet," Scully told him.  "We found a card in your
pocket for a business in Chicago.  We sent John and Monica to check
it out."

"Wait'll I get my hands on Morris Fletcher," Langly fumed.  "I'll
give him what for."

"You'll get your chance," Mulder said.  "Just watch out for 
his knee."

"Remember that he's responsible for you surviving the toxin," Scully
pointed out.  "You might want to consider that before doing anything
to him."

"Yeah, for his own nefarious ends," Langly said.  "Ass-kicking
first, gratitude after."

"Sounds fair to me, but I think we'll have to hold off until we get
the other guys back.  We need him to cooperate."  His phone chirped. 
"Mulder."  He listened for a moment, said, "Okay, see you tomorrow. 
Thanks."

Scully asked, "Was that Fletcher?  Who has he got?"

"It was Doggett.  He and Monica are bringing someone back from
Chicago who knows Roger Mintage."

x-x-x

The whole town seemed to be suffering from the mid-summer doldrums. 
Advertising buys dropped off, and Brian's part-time assistant was
taking a month off.  He was getting the office ready for the Press's 
annual summer hiatus.  He spent more time than he needed to cleaning
out the office and pretending to work on a novel.

Annie had gone to Eureka for the day.  Normally they would have
taken that trip together.  He'd begged off this time, saying that he
needed to take care of some things at the office.

The truth was, he was hiding out.  He'd hurt Annie's feelings at
dinner the other night.  She would never pushed him into anything,
but she was right: it was high time that they moved on with their
lives.  

The next logical step would be to have a family.  Wouldn't it? 
Annie seemed to think so; she had no fear of the unknown.  She didn't
seem afraid of what she didn't know about Brian.  Maybe he shouldn't
be so afraid either.

He closed his eyes and pictured it -- two girls, or maybe a boy and
a girl, who had Annie's fair coloring.  He thought of Christmas, he
and Annie each holding the hand of  a toddler, walking down their
street looking at the Christmas lights, then putting cookies out for
Santa.  Of Easter egg hunts in the spring, and waving sparklers
around for the 4th of July.

He'd dreamed this before, he was certain.  Perhaps in his forgotten
life he'd had similar dreams.    

He couldn't keep holding his own future at arm's length.  If he put
himself in Annie's place, he'd be tired of all this waffling.

First things first.  They'd go on vacation, and when they got back,
they could talk about their future.

x-x-x

Once the blood work and test results were back,  Scully allowed
Langly to leave the hospital with Mulder. His tox screen had shown
high levels of a common anaesthetic, which made Scully seethe. 
Someone should have been attending Langly the whole time.  She
pictured Morris Fletcher driving his pseudo-ambulance all the way
from Chicago, with a pseudo-EMT keeping an eye on Langly in the back.
Or worse yet, Fletcher driving alone and maybe stopping periodically
to check on Langly.

Put down my name on the top of the list of people who want to kick
Morris Fletcher's ass.

She was sure it was really Langly; her examination had included a
check for odd vertebra, as well as foreign substances in his
bloodstream other than the drugs that Fletcher had administered. 
Mulder had also been sure to secrete some chunks of magnetite in her
medical bag, although they were unsure of its efficacy.  However, the
blood work confirmed what she already felt was true.  

For Mulder there had never been a doubt, from the moment Langly had
awakened.

She'd suggested to Mulder that he take Langly back to their house to
rest, but he insisted wanted to go to the warehouse with Mulder.  He
was already questioning Mulder about what kind of security system
they had, and Mulder's vague replies weren't cutting it.  After
Mulder promised not to let Langly over-exert, she found herself
reluctantly agreeing.   

Mulder picked her up at the hospital later that evening.  

As she settled herself in the passenger seat, Mulder leaned over and
kissed her.  "What's up, Doc?"

"Everything's fine as far as I can tell," she said.  "Where's 
Langly?"

"He's back at the house, watching TV," Mulder said.  "He got
depressed after he found out that Johnny Ramone died in 2004."

"This has got to be disorienting to him," Scully said.  "I know you
know how he must be feeling."

"Yeah, I'm uniquely positioned to know what that's like," Mulder
agreed.  "Not that it helps to have empathy.  Do you think there's a
chance that he'll regain any of the memories of the last six years?"

"I don't know," she said.  "Without knowing anything about what was
used in the first place, let alone how it was reversed, it's
impossible to say."

"Did the blood tests tell you anything?"

"Other than he is who we believe him to be, no.  We're going to do a
more complete chemical analysis.  So far nothing unusual has
presented itself."

"Do you still think whatever was done, it was done chemically, not
surgically?"

"I could find no evidence of surgery when I examined him," Scully
said.  "Fletcher told you it was a more advanced version of what they
did to you at Ellens Air Base.  I don't know how they did what they
did to you, either."

"Yeah, the only potential witness had his mind wiped," Mulder
smirked. 

"This shouldn't be happening," Scully said.  "Selective masking or
wiping of one's memory -- with either drugs or surgery -- isn't
possible, Mulder.  There are now successful brain surgeries with
stereotactic radiosurgery, but I know of no pharmaceutical or
injectable that would be that precise, let alone reversible."

"Except we have living proof that it is possible, and that it has
happened."

As they came into the house from the garage, Langly wandered into
the kitchen.  "Oh hi, Ag- Doctor Scully," he said.  He was dressed
more like himself, in a tee shirt and jeans.

"You can call me Dana," she reminded him gently.  "How are you
feeling?"

"Okay, I guess.  Tired.  Mind if I turn in early?"

"We brought dinner," Mulder said.  

"Nah, I'm fine," Langly said.  "Thanks.  Good night."  He left the
kitchen and they could hear him thumping up the stairs.

Mulder looked at Scully.  "Kids these days."  

Scully gave him a half-smile.  "It's going to take some time.  Have
you heard anything more from Fletcher, or from John and Monica?"

"Monica called to say that they'd been delayed coming back a little.
The girl they're bringing was holding down the fort for her missing
boss -- who, I guess, was Langly, going by the name Roger Mintage. 
She refused to come until she finished up something.  By the way, she
had some video of Fletcher bundling Langly into an ambulance.  He
must have administered the drugs there, and driven back from Chicago.
The timing's about right." 

"I came to the same conclusion.  It's a good thing I'm not armed,
because the next time I see Morris Fletcher, I'd be tempted to shoot
him.  What he did -- it was worse than negligent, Mulder.  It was
criminal.  To administer an experimental drug, without medical
supervision?  I haven't words."

"Well, you do have your scalpel," Mulder said.  "As you pointed out
to Langly, we'd better wait until we get all the guys back safely."

"I'll try to restrain myself." Scully said grimly.

"You and me both.  Monica said they'll be here some time tomorrow
afternoon.  They're going to come directly to the warehouse from the
airport.  Why don't you meet us there, after work."

x-x-x

The events of the day were almost incomprehensible to Langly, one
shock following after another. First, waking up in the hospital and
being told he'd been essentially unconscious for six years, even if
his body hadn't been; then, the trip to their former headquarters. 
They had sold off a lot of their stuff to keep the paper going toward
the end.  He wouldn't have been as surprised by an empty, abandoned
building as he was by the changes that Mulder had brought about. 
Although Mulder assured him that it was still their headquarters and
that he and his comrades had the right to be there, it wasn't his
home any more.  It wasn't their home.  

He couldn't get over the changes in his friends.  They no longer
looked like the buttoned-up Special Agents he'd known.  Scully
especially seemed softer. She had always been serious, now there was
a deeper sadness about her. He found out about William when talking
to Mulder at the warehouse.  Since there were no computers there yet,
and he wasn't supposed to be actually be doing anything, he'd spent a
lot of time talking with Mulder about what had been going down in the
past six years.

When he looked in the mirror in the bathroom, a face that wasn't
entirely familiar looked back at him.  The first thing he did was
shave off the ridiculous goatee.  His scalp itched and he kept
running his hands over it -- why was his hair so short?  The glasses
he liked, but since he needed them to see, there wasn't much point in
whining about them anyway.

Six years.  He wondered if he'd ever remember any of it.  No one
seemed to know.  It was good to have his life back, he guessed. 
Considering the alternative. 

x-x-x

Frank's eyes felt gritty.  The road stretched out before them, all
around them was the darkness of open country as far as the eye could
see.  Far on the horizon there was the occasional glow of
civilization.  Right right now they appeared to be in the middle of
nowhere.

Yee haw, he thought.  I'll be glad when we're done with Texas. 

"We've got to stop for a while."  He and Gibson had been taking
turns driving.  "Enough is enough.  Next decent place I see, we're
stopping for some shut-eye."

"No argument from me," Gibson yawned mightily.  "A place with a 24
hour restaurant would be nice.  I'm hungry."

"Now you're getting picky."  Other than a lot of semi trucks and
RVs, there hadn't been a lot of traffic.  Not that he'd expected to
be followed, but Gibson thought there was a possibility.

"Do your friends know we're coming?" Frank asked.

"I thought it was better not to try calling.  I don't know what the
situation is right now, plus if someone is looking for you, they
might be tapping the phones."

"Right."  He was humoring the kid, but he wondered if one could
carry paranoia too far. 

They could see the lights of civilization up ahead: a gas station,
motel, and in answer to Gibson's wish, a 24 hour restaurant.

x-x-x

This time the late-night call woke both Mulder and Scully up.  "I
hope I wasn't interrupting anything," said Morris Fletcher.

"Where are you?"  Mulder asked.

"On my way back to D.C.," Fletcher said.  "I'm getting the red-eye."

"From where?"

"Never you mind.  I'll be at the place tomorrow morning around ten. 
How's our friend?"

"He wants to kick your ass."

Fletcher chuckled.  "Well, that's promising.  He can try."

"Have you got someone with you?  It would be helpful to have a
little more warning this time."

"No, I don't.  I'll tell you more tomorrow," he said, and hung up.

"Mulder, what is it?" Scully asked.

"As usual, he's not telling much," Mulder said.  "I think I might
not be able to wait to give him that ass-kicking."

x-x-x

"Brian, wake up.  Brian?  Wake up!"  He realized Annie was shaking
him, and he was whimpering.  He sat up, wiping his face.  It felt
wet.  Sweat?  Or tears? 

"Honey, what was it?  Won't you tell me?" Annie asked.

"Just a nightmare," he said.  "I don't know if talking about it is
going to help."

"Well, I can't just go back to sleep after that," she said.  "Come
on, I'm going to make some tea, and this time you're going to tell me
about it."

Once they were sitting at the kitchen table with tea mugs steaming,
Annie said, "I think you need to talk about it. Give it a try, for
me?  Please?"  She put her hand, warm from the tea mug, over his.

"You know the accident I was in?"  Brian said.  Annie nodded.  Brian
had told her what he knew of it when he told her about his amnesia. 
There had been a terrible boat accident somewhere down near San
Diego; Brian had been the only survivor.  "It was about that.  I was
in the water, under the surface, and I could see the light but
couldn't get to it.  There was a shark, circling around above me, and
I couldn't get past it."

Annie shuddered.  "You didn't tell me that there were sharks."

"I think I only just remembered it," Brian said.

Annie took his other hand.  "This is the first nightmare you've had
in quite a while.  What do you suppose brought this one on?  What
made you remember this detail?" she asked.

"I don't know.  The last doctor I saw told me that all my memories
might come back at once, or they might come back little by little, or
never come back at all."  He shook his head.  "If they're all like
that, they can stay buried."

"Maybe it's time to go back to a therapist.  If your nightmares are
starting up again, it may signal that your memories are returning. 
You tried regression therapy before, didn't you?" 

"I tried everything that I could find.  Regression, hypnogogic
suggestion..."

"I know I'm just a science teacher, not a doctor.  I'm not trying to
diagnose you.  I just hate to see you this way."

"You're not 'just' a science teacher, you're a microbiologist."

Annie shook her head impatiently.  "That's neither here nor there;
don't try to change the subject.  I don't have a degree in
neuroscience or anything that might help you with this.  I just
wonder if your nightmares are a sign of worries that you're not
expressing openly -- that you're keeping something from me.  Maybe
you're worrying about our conversation at dinner the other night. I
wish you wouldn't."

"I can't help that.  I don't want to hold back with you, but I'm
afraid of what I don't know -- what I don't remember."

"You're just naturally cautious.  As long as we can talk about
things, that's what counts.  We make decisions together, right?"

"Right."

"I found an article recently about a therapy called imagery
rehearsal.  Have you heard of it?"

Brian shook his head.

"I thought, if we went to San Francisco, that we could go talk to
someone who is familiar with it.  It won't cure your nightmares, but
it might mitigate them.  You visualize an alternate outcome of the
nightmare, and remind yourself of it before bedtime.  Don't you think
it's worth a try?" 

There it was.  He had to shove his own fears aside for the good of
both of them.  "Maybe we should," Brian said slowly.  He was silent
for a minute and then said, "Okay.  I'm willing to try it."

Annie smiled, and leaned forward to kiss him.  "Thank you,
sweetheart."

"It might not help, you know.  I don't want to get your hopes up --
or mine."

"It's a positive step, right?  We're not going to let this rule us."
She kissed him again, a little more lingeringly.  "Let's go back to
bed, and we can talk more about it in the morning."  She took his
hand, and he willingly rose to let her lead him back upstairs.

~*~

Continued in Chapter Ten