Reimagined: IWTB 
by ML

Email: msnsc21@yahoo.com
Rating: 14 and up
Spoilers: "The X-Files: I Want to Believe"
Synopsis:  a "fanfic-ization" of the second XF movie
Disclaimer:   Please note that I do not claim ownership of anything
to do with the movie or the novel, I am doing this solely for
entertainment/amusement purposes, and not to make any profit or gain
from it.  In fact, this is in celebration of the release of the DVD.

Acknowledgments: To the Posse, for making me stick with it!  Also, I
am so grateful to CC, FS, DD and GA, and all the other folks at Fox
and elsewhere who made the second movie possible.  Spending the last
couple of months with this story is the most fun I've had in a long
time.  I hope you get some enjoyment out of it, too.  More notes at
end: right now, on with the show!

x-x-x

Prologue

Rural Virginia, early January 2008

She almost didn't need her headlights, the moon was so bright on the
snow.

Monica Bannan was feeling good.  She'd made it to the community pool
in time for a good workout, and was looking forward to a nice evening
by the fire before hitting the sack.  The roads had been plowed since
the last heavy snowfall, and at this time of night in her
neighborhood, she had the road to herself.

She actually found herself looking forward to getting back to the
office on Monday.  A couple of days of being snowed in were more than
enough for her.  Fortunately, the power had stayed on so she'd been
able to telecommute, or she really might have gone a little stir
crazy.  As it was, she'd been glad to finally get out for a drive and
some exercise today.

She pulled into her carport and noticed that her dog, Ranger, was
barking furiously from inside.  Instantly she was on the alert.  This
was not Ranger's "welcome home" bark, this was his "intruders!" bark.

She sat in the car for a moment.  As an FBI agent, she had a gun. 
Unfortunately, at the moment it was locked in her trunk.  She might
be able to quietly get it out, depending on where the intruder (if in
fact there was one) lurked.

Then she saw it in the moonlight: the barest bit of vapor, just
beyond her carport entrance.  Like the vapor of an expelled breath.

Quietly she got out of her car, and chose an impromptu weapon from
the wall of gardening tools.  The hand rake would do.  It would have
to do, until she could get into her house for her other gun.  She
gripped her keys in her other hand like an auxiliary weapon:  brass
knuckles with sharp edges.

As she reached the opening of the carport, she raised her weapons. 
When the figure showed itself, she struck quickly once, then again.

An otherworldly groan escaped as the man she wounded reeled back,
clutching his face with his bloodied hand.  Her fleeting glimpse of
him relayed that he looked odd -- very gaunt, and almost hairless. 
Almost inhuman.

Before she could strike again, another man rushed her.  With no time
to strike at him and no time to open her front door, she turned and
ran for her carport door.  It led to the back of her house, and from
there she'd have a head start running to a neighbor's.  She might
have made it but for the snow piled up, keeping her from opening it
fully.

The second assailant tackled her and brought her down.  Still she
managed to wrest herself from his grasp, and crawled through the
door's opening.  She ran away from her house, hoping she might make
it to her neighbor, several hundred yards away.  She screamed, but
had little hope that anyone would hear her.  Everyone was buttoned up
tight on this cold January night.  She would have to save herself.

She ran across the snowy field, only to be tackled again.  As she
struggled to break free, something cold was pressed against her neck,
and the moonlit field went black.

-x-

Chapter One:  Finding Fox Mulder

Calling Fox Mulder in on a case was the best and worst career
decision Dakota Whitney ever made.

Of course, by the time she realized the worst part, it was too late.

x-x-x

The FBI Academy at Quantico was a different place in the twenty-
first century.  Certain changes were to be expected, to be sure: new
techniques and tools became available and therefore were used in
training the new recruits to the FBI.  There were new cases to be
studied.  Instructors rotated in and out, and with them came their
own experiences and anecdotes.

On the surface, at least, someone visiting Quantico after a time
away would not notice anything appreciably different.  Certain
institutional icons still existed, such as Hogan's Alley, and the
Wall of Fame for particularly distinguished graduates.  Nonetheless,
a little revisionist history had taken place.  Certain names and
certain cases were no longer used as examples by any of the
instructors.  Plaques listing achievements of past graduates had been
removed and revised.  It was as if the institutional memory had had a
selective wipe.

Therefore, it was not until after Special Agent Dakota Whitney had
been out of the Academy for a while that she first heard a reference
to "Spooky" Mulder in connection with a case.  

She'd been working on her first big assignment, acting as a lowly go-
fer for the incident team.  Eager to make a good impression, she came
in early and stayed late, studying the files in the situation room
and reviewing anything she could find in the FBI database that might
help.

One evening as she sat reviewing the day's evidence, a couple of
veteran agents came in.  They were talking about the case and did not
notice that Dakota was still in the room.    

She half-listened, because she always listened.  You never knew what
you might hear.

One of the agents said, "What d'you suppose ol' Spooky would have
done?"

"He'd have gotten inside that guy's head, and had the whole thing
solved before lunch time," the other one said.

"Yeah, they don't make 'em like Spooky Mulder any more," said the
first.  "I can remember --"

Agent Two cut his eyes over to Dakota Whitney, hunched over her
laptop.  The conversation abruptly stopped.

"Don't scare the new kid," Agent Two said in a stage whisper. 
"Wouldn't want word to get around we mentioned the unmentionable." 
The two rose and abruptly left the room.

Ever curious, Dakota Whitney went on a hunt.  She searched out any
case with the name Mulder attached.  Eventually she stumbled on an
archived database containing scanned files.  Oddly, many of them
appeared to have been damaged in some kind of fire or explosion, and
had been pieced together and scanned into the database.  

To say that the content was unusual would be an understatement. 
Reading the files became an avocation.  Certainly many of the cases
themselves seemed to defy belief, but the investigative techniques
and the conclusions were usually well-thought out.

Most were signed by both Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, though it was
clear that Special Agent Mulder got the credit for the more
outlandish theories.  Still, they were often supported, at least in
part, by Agent Scully's scientific analysis.

Then, abruptly, the files ended.  She saw the names of a few other
agents in the files, but most of them were dead -- killed in the line
of duty, or "missing, presumed dead."

Agents Mulder and Scully didn't fit into any category easily. 
Whatever had happened, they were out of the Bureau, and no one would
willingly talk about them.  The files themselves were a dead end, and
she didn't want to draw too much of the wrong kind of attention to
herself by asking too many questions.

Dakota Whitney kept her discovery to herself, at least for the time
being.  The knowledge might come in useful one day, and sometimes it
was helpful to have an edge.  She was confident in her skills and
abilities, but it never hurt to keep a little something in reserve.

She did well at the FBI.  She had the brains, and she worked hard. 
She acted as ASAC on a couple of minor cases, and conducted herself
well.  She had a solid career ahead of her.  Though not considered a
"blue-flamer," to be in the upper half of a class filled with over-
achievers was nothing to sneeze at.  At least, that's what she told
herself.  Her time would come, and she would earn her reputation.

And then Monica Bannan was kidnapped.  SAC Fossa named her ASAC and
she went to work with her usual thoroughness.  When the call came in
from a man claiming he had visions about the case, many wanted to
dismiss him as another crackpot, but she insisted that they try him
out.

The first "field trip" with the man yielded a clue, but not the clue
they were expecting.  It was time, she felt, for extreme measures.

"I think he can help us," she told the gathered task force.  "But I
have no idea how to interpret what he's giving us."

"How do we know he's not fakin' it, or somehow connected with the
perp?" asked Special Agent Mosley Drummy.  He was her partner, and he
had little patience with her extreme ideas.

"We haven't turned up anything so far," she said, keeping her voice
even and reasonable.  "I think we owe it to Monica to try every
avenue, don't you?  Time is short."

When she suggested bringing Fox Mulder into the investigation, the
younger agents looked puzzled, and some of the older ones looked
surprised.

"Who is he, another psychic?"  One of the younger agents asked.

"He's a former agent, who used to head a division that investigated
cases like this.  His team had a very high solve rate -- and he may
be able to provide some insight into our informant."

"But didn't he get fired?" one of the older agents spoke up.  

No one seemed to know for sure.  There was a brief, though lively,
discussion on the subject.  It seemed that many had at least heard
rumors of Fox Mulder over the years, but he was never talked about,
for reasons no one seemed to know.  Now they acted like kids being
let out of class for recess.

SAC Fossa stood back, looking disapproving, but she said nothing.

"Whatever happened to him, he's been out of the Bureau -- how long? 
Six, eight years?  Does anyone even know where he is?" asked another
agent.

"I have an idea of someone who does," Dakota Whitney said.

SAC Fossa watched the interchange, still saying nothing.  As Dakota
prepared to leave the situation room, she merely said, "Be very sure
you know what you're doing, Agent Whitney.  An agent's life is at
stake."

"That's why I think I'm justified in using any means at my
disposal," she replied, and headed up to meet with the man she hoped
would be able to help her find Fox Mulder.

x-x-x

"A.D. Skinner doesn't have the time to meet with you today," his
assistant said.  "Let me check his calendar for later in the week." 
She turned away from Dakota to her computer screen.

"It's about Fox Mulder," she said, playing a hunch.

Skinner's assistant barely paused, but Dakota thought she detected a
small change in her demeanor.  "It looks like he might have a few
minutes right now, before his next call," she said.  "Excuse me, I'll
check with him."

A moment later she came out and gestured toward Skinner's open door.

A.D. Skinner was looking out his window, his back to Dakota Whitney.
She stood just inside the door, and said, "Thank you for seeing me
without an appointment, Sir."

Without turning around, A.D. Skinner said, "What do you know about
Fox Mulder?"

She stepped in a little further, not waiting for his invitation. 
"About him personally?  Nothing.  I've done some research, though,
and I know he was once considered a top profiler.  Now no one will
talk about him, and his personnel records are sealed."

No response from the man at the window.

"I've found some of his case files, though.  There were some in the
database, and I found a few more of them stored in the basement, in
an old janitor's closet, of all places.  Why aren't they all in the
database?"

"There are good reasons why Fox Mulder is not mentioned around the
Bureau," AD Skinner said.  "Reasons that are far above your pay
grade."

"Does that invalidate his work?" she asked.  "I know he left the
FBI, and a year or so later was under some kind of investigation, but
that's all."

Not a word from A.D. Skinner.  She pushed ahead.  "I also know that
he disappeared a few years ago, along with his partner, Dana Scully. 
She was not accused of any wrong-doing herself, but for a while was
considered an accessory."

"Why are you bringing all this up?"  Skinner asked sharply.  Now he
turned to look at her.  She usually could read faces pretty well, but
his was as expressionless as a world-class poker player.

"I have a case -- a missing agent -- and I think that he might be
able to help.  The cases I've reviewed -- they are unusual, Sir.  He
may have insights that the average agent would not."

I'll take it under advisement, Agent."  Skinner walked to the door
and opened it.  "I'll be in touch."

Special Agent Whitney started to leave, but turned in the doorway. 
"Sir, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that time is of the essence -
-"

"That will be all, Agent."  A.D. Skinner's door shut in her face.

Alone in his office once more, Skinner picked up his phone and
dialed a private number.  "It's time," he said.

x-x-x

As Whitney re-entered the Situation Room, SAC Fossa looked up from
the file she held.  "Well?"

Dakota Whitney shrugged.  "We'll see."

x-x-x

Skinner left his office and took the elevator one floor up.  He'd
once thought he might have his office on this floor, but time and
circumstances seemed to have taken him off the short list for Deputy
Director.

On the other hand, even if he had made DD, he'd probably still have
to shovel a lot of shit at the direction of someone else.  Even Alvin
Kersh had shoveled his fair share.  

But at least they were both alive to tell the tale.  That is, if
anyone would believe them.

x-x-x

The night of Mulder's escape from the Marine brig, Skinner was
fairly certain that his days were numbered.  The next morning, upon
discovering that the X Files office had been cleaned out, he was
positive.  

He'd been summoned into Kersh's office by the man he'd come to hate
almost as much as C.G.B. Spender, the "man" Gibson Praise had
identified as not human.  He'd entered Kersh's office with great
trepidation; sure that Kersh had done another about-face and was
ready to hang him out to dry, or worse.  Gibson, standing in the
hallway with Doggett and Reyes, had whispered in horror, "He
knows..."  Skinner hadn't heard the rest of it, but those two words
sounded like a death knell.

But instead, Kersh had saved his life.  His own too, of course, but
the really surprising thing was how he'd accomplished it.

Kersh seemed to realize that his fellow jurist was not who he seemed
to be, and he was ready.  Once the door was closed, he tossed
something at the man, who reflexively caught it.

Skinner was not prepared for what happened next. 

The man stared at the object in his hand, and then started to shake.
Within moments, he appeared to be burning from the inside.  And then,
the really impossible thing happened.

He exploded.  At least, that's the best description Skinner could
give.  He simply came apart.  Within moments, there was nothing but
fine particles of ash and charred bits of -- something flesh-like,
but not -- throughout the office.

Kersh looked as shaken as Skinner felt.  

"What the hell was that?"  Skinner asked.  "Some kind of new weapon?
What did you do to him?"

Kersh walked over to where the object lay on the carpet.  "It's just
a rock.  I didn't know what would happen, but Agent Doggett gave it
to me and suggested a use for it."

"Agent Doggett suggested that."  Skinner repeated.

"I was skeptical, to say the least," Kersh said.  He picked up the
rock.  "It's magnetite, or some damn thing.  Agent Doggett insisted
that it would come in handy.  In light of recent events, I was
inclined to humor him."

Skinner said, "Good thing."

Kersh grimaced.  "You gonna help me clean this up?  It's not the
sort of thing I'd leave for the custodial staff."

It wasn't a question, really.

x-x-x

Kersh was standing looking out his window, in much the same attitude
Skinner had assumed when Agent Whitney visited him.

Six years had aged Kersh more noticeably than it had Skinner.  He
was a good political gamesman, or he would never have made Deputy
Director in the first place.  But although Mulder had been a handful
while he was in the FBI, it was the events following his return and
subsequent trial that had stretched Kersh's desire to toe the party
line almost beyond its limits.

It was a tribute to his integrity as well as his political acuity
that he was still here.  He was on the point of retiring, but he had
one more thing to accomplish.

"Walter," he acknowledged AD Skinner in his laconic way.  "I hear
our lamb may be returning to the fold."

"Not exactly," Walter Skinner said.  "He's been requested on a
consult.  It creates the opportunity we've discussed."

"If you say so."  Kersh had always had mixed feelings about Fox
Mulder.  A straight-arrow himself, he had no patience with people who
went outside the FBI mainstream as Mulder had.  His job, as he saw
it, was to rein Mulder in -- and if he couldn't, get him out of the
FBI as precipitously as possible.

Mulder had hung on much longer than anyone could have expected.  
Firing him, however, did not give Kersh the personal satisfaction he
thought it would.  Ever since El Rico he'd had a sense of impending
disaster, and getting Mulder out of the Bureau hadn't lessened that
sense.  Still, he ignored the nagging doubts about some of the things
Mulder had told him, and that he'd read himself in the case files.  

Mulder as an FBI agent was a liability, but Mulder as a private
citizen, investigating the things that some in the FBI didn't want
him investigating, kept him out of Kersh's hair and allowed him
continued plausible deniability.  It hadn't worried him; but Mulder's
reappearance as a prisoner a year later had.  Especially after his
own disturbing interview with General Suveg about the nature of the
trial, and the ultimatum he'd been delivered.

Things had gone from bad to worse after that, and he'd found himself
an accessory to Mulder's escape.  But he could not, in good
conscience, let the man die for the trumped up charges against him. 
He had now seen, and heard, too much to allow the travesty of justice
he'd been witness to.

Still, he'd managed to maintain plausible deniability even after
Mulder's escape.  The fact that no official record had been kept of
the trial helped with that, and the mysterious disappearance of some
of the other key players didn't hurt either.

He didn't even want to think about what happened in his office the
next morning.   Skinner witnessed it, but he could trust Skinner to
keep it to himself.  They now knew too much about each other to be
anything less than allies in this quiet war.

"We've had the plan ready for some time," Skinner said now.  "As a
matter of record with the FBI, he was fired for disobeying orders and
insubordination.  There's nothing else in any official record to say
otherwise.  Anything else is a matter of conjecture, and we know how
to handle that."

"I'm aware of that, Walter," Kersh said.  "Has there been
any...activity of any other kind?"  He wouldn't say that super
soldiers haunted his dreams, but they were among the things he could
not dismiss easily.

"None that I'm aware of, for a very long time," Skinner replied. 
"They are either lying low, or something's happened to change 
things."

"You know as well as I do that bringing Mulder 'in from the cold'
may change things again," Kersh said.

"I think it's time," Skinner insisted.  "He's aware of the risks,
but I'd be surprised if he didn't jump at the chance."

"And what of his partner?"  Kersh asked.  

"She was never implicated in anything," Skinner said.  "It's been
safe for her for a long time.  She just wasn't interested."

"That's not really what I meant, but I think you know that," Kersh
said.  "Well, it's gonna be your problem pretty soon.  My retirement
is official next month."

"It's like the Mafia, you know," Skinner reminded him.  "You can
never *really* retire."

"Assistant Director Skinner, are you comparing the FBI to the
Mafia?"  Kersh said in his sternest tone, though his expression gave
a different meaning to his words.

Both men smiled grimly, sharing the gallows humor that soldiers
who'd been on a long campaign might share.

-x-

continued in Part Two -