Bridges
by Elizabeth Rowandale

Feedback:  Email: bstrbabs@gmail.com
Rating:  Mature
Relationship:  Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Additional Tags:  Angst, Romance, An X-File Case, Mytharc

Summary: A family in a small town in New Mexico appears to 
be suffering the ill effects of an encounter with Black 
Eyed Children. While in the desert to search out the truth, 
Mulder and Scully find themselves confronting more than 
they bargained for, both in the investigation and in their 
personal relationship. Early Season 11, turns AU after 
"This." Past and eventual present MSR.

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully and the search for the truth 
all belong to Chris Carter and Co. I'm just borrowing them. 
I promise to return them in no worse condition than Chris 
would.

Notes:  Beta thanks to Annie, without whom I would probably 
still be sitting in a corner feeling sorry for myself and 
refusing to post, and to Erica who has been a wonderful 
addition to the beta team - I owe you both so much!


Copyright (c) 2018

Chapter 3

Scully lay across the motel bed, laptop open beside her, 
staring at the white speckle-board ceiling that could have 
been any motel room in America; a small metal sprinkler and 
smoke detector blinking its red eye at her in the dim 
light. But she was reveling in the small pleasures. Her 
pajamas were sleeveless, a silky tank top and loose, light 
pants. The silk had slipped out of position just enough to 
bare a glimpse of her midriff. And for the first time since 
she could remember, she wasn't cold. She could enjoy the 
air on her skin. At just after 11:00pm she had decided to 
indulge in their small-town obscurity and had opened the 
door to her room a crack, letting the sweet desert air wash 
through her room. She hadn't heard a soul pass outside in 
over two hours.

Scully had meant to go for a run, to shake off the day, to 
make sure her nap on the plane didn't keep her awake too 
late. But even though she had changed into her running 
clothes just after she had settled in, she had found 
herself hovering at the window of her room, regarding the 
shadows outside, and she hadn't quite been able to bring 
herself to venture into the night.

She had briefly considered inviting Mulder along for her 
run, but as much as she hated to admit it, he handled this 
elevation much better than she, and she hadn't wanted to 
have to stop him halfway if she got too lightheaded to 
continue.

In the end, she had decided it would be better to give 
herself another day at this elevation before she tried a 
run. She had settled on 30 minutes of squats and crunches 
and push-ups. A few yoga stretches followed by a hot 
shower.

Scully had felt decidedly better afterward, clean and 
comfortable, and the unsettled feeling that had been 
niggling at the back of her brain since morning had been 
calmed to an ignorable minimum.

Now she lay on the surprisingly comfortable mattress in the 
warm and gentle air, listening to her laptop spin up to 
productivity.

Scully lazily dragged herself to a sitting position and 
arranged the pillows so she could lean against the 
headboard. She stretched out her legs and pulled the laptop 
onto her thighs. She needed to know more about the legends 
of Black-Eyed Children.

A YouTube search brought up more than she wanted. The 
repeated images of what the BEKs were supposed to look like 
splashed down her screen, and even in her state of careful 
relaxation, there was something in the pictures that 
brought a wave of nausea and cold. Scully drew a careful 
breath and reached within her for the well-practiced 
subroutine that carried her through the most brutal of 
autopsies, bolstered her through bloody crime scenes with 
solely the eye of a scientist and investigator. An 
observer. Sinking into study mode, the most familiar 
controlled territory of her life, Scully pulled her earbuds 
from her briefcase and started clicking through the videos 
and blog links. Information was power. Control. One link 
led to another, and after a while she started to filter out 
the blatant sensationalist fakes from the investigations 
with a trace of integrity.

Mulder was right, a distinct pattern of behavior emerged in 
the more believable of the stories. The irrational fear and 
sense of dread in the experiencers was compelling and 
contradicted the picture the facts painted of the 
encounters. The animal reactions drew Scully's attention. 
She placed a great deal of faith in the judgement of 
animals; she trusted their instincts sometimes more than 
her own. Not to say these stories were true until she saw 
such events for herself. But if they were true, the idea 
that these kids posed some type of danger, be it as simple 
as exposure to radiation or a contagious disease, gained 
greater credibility in the face of the animals' fear.

The light of the laptop and the droning voices in her ears 
eventually lulled her toward sleep. Her lids were drooping. 
She let her eyes fall closed, tilted her head back against 
the headboard and folded her arms across her chest as she 
indulged the currently running video. She could do without 
the manipulated visual images meant purely to frighten, 
anyway. The story was of one woman's frightening midnight 
encounter with the two Black-Eyed Children on her front 
porch, begging for shelter from the rain. The tale was 
being told as much as a campfire story as a factual report, 
but it was having its intended effect, and Scully admitted 
to becoming more aware of her still slightly open door.

When the woman was describing the persistent knocking 
echoing through her empty late-night house as she huddled 
alone against the wall on her darkened kitchen's floor, the 
sudden knock on Scully's motel room door scared the living 
hell out of her.

"Scully?"

She jumped so hard, she knocked the plug loose on her 
earbuds, and she had to slap at the keyboard to stop the 
video. Mulder was standing in her doorway, door pushed 
halfway open, knuckles still resting against the wood, 
looking mildly confused. "Whoa, sorry...didn't mean to 
scare you." His words contained a trace of an incredulous 
chuckle at her over-the-top reaction.

Scully's heart was pounding harder than if she had tried 
that run. Her hands shook as she fumbled to pull the 
earbuds from her ears and close her laptop. She pushed the 
equipment away across the bed. "Holy crap, Mulder....," her 
words were breathless, "...what are you doing here?"

"Well, I didn't come here to turn your hair grey. I was 
just making a run to the vending machines for a soda." He 
held up a can, jiggling it as evidence. "I saw your light 
was on. What are you doing awake?"

"Nothing." She combed her fingers through her hair, 
attempting to restructure her dignity. "I was just...doing 
some research for this case, and...I slept on the plane so 
I was still awake. Jesus, Mulder, you scared the shit out 
of me." She still hadn't slowed her breathing. She swung 
her legs to the floor so she sat on the side of the bed, 
hands gripping the edge of the mattress on either side of 
her thighs.

With a soft smile and just a trace of concern, Mulder moved 
casually forward and took a seat beside her. "What were you 
watching that had you so absorbed?"

She glanced toward Mulder, and then a second time when his 
raised eyebrows told her what he was asking. "No, Mulder, 
nothing like that. I was just doing some research for this 
case. Learning more about the stories of these...kids."

Mulder popped open his can of soda, careful not to let any 
overflow onto her bed. He took a small sip, then held the 
can toward her in offering. She started to shake her head 
no, but honestly, it sounded pretty good right then, and 
she let him pass the can into her now slightly steadier 
fingers. She took a sip. Too sweet. She was used to diet. 
But the cool and moist felt good.

"So did you learn anything helpful?" Mulder asked, taking 
back the soda and chugging a bit more.

"I learned that these stories do exactly what they're 
supposed to do."

"And what's that?"

"Get under people's skin. Scare them. I just spent the last 
hour listening to these videos, and then when you knocked 
on my door, my brain was primed to jump to all the worst 
and most sinister possibilities. That's how these things 
spread, Mulder. Basic primitive fears. The monster that 
invades your safe shelter in the night, that begs entry. 
There's nothing more fundamental in the human condition 
than fear of the night predator. We make nests, hide our 
young in caves and in tunnels and pray nothing that lives 
in the dark comes and invades our nest."

As Mulder took another sip of his drink, his free hand 
moved casually to rub up and down her spine, and the 
momentary contact through the thin silk brought more needed 
comfort than she would have expected. She closed her eyes 
to breathe it in for a second, then couldn't hide the 
slight cringe when his warm hand fell away. She shifted 
half-subconsciously to secure more contact between their 
upper arms where they sat side by side. Like they had been 
sitting since the first year they met. Just a little closer 
than necessary.

"So, you think this is all power of suggestion, Scully?"

"I think it's possible. Earlier tonight, when we were 
getting our bags out of the car, I thought I saw something, 
someone, under the streetlamp at the edge of the parking 
lot. Two figures, not very tall. Young, probably. Their 
faces were hidden. Dressed in jackets, or...hoodies. It was 
too far away. But I glanced down at my suitcase, and when I 
looked back they were gone."

"Why didn't you say something at the time? I asked you..."

"Because I didn't see anything, Mulder. I saw *people,* in 
a public place. That's exactly what I'm saying, the very 
notion of these stories gets into your brain and leads you 
to attach sinister meaning to the everyday, the ordinary."

For a moment they sat in silence and Scully could almost 
hear the cogs turning in Mulder's brain. A car whizzed by 
on the distant main street.

"So, if this is all an urban legend, or a bunch of 
teenagers pulling a prank, then what about the Garcia 
family? How do you explain what's happening to them?"

"I don't, Mulder. Not yet. That's why we're here. But just 
because we can't explain it doesn't mean it's paranormal."

"We might save time if you just had that tattooed on your 
forehead." He gestured across her brow, thumb and first 
finger curled to frame the imagined text.

"You'd think you'd just see it there all by yourself by 
now."

Mulder took a last sip of his drink and sighed. As he 
pushed to his feet, he tapped her forehead and said, "Well, 
put some sugar-plum thoughts in there Scully, and get some 
sleep. Breakfast at 6:45." Then he caught her completely 
off guard when he briefly cupped a hand to the back of her 
neck, placed a quick kiss to her forehead, and said, "Sorry 
I scared you." He didn't make eye contact, just swung to 
face the door and lumbered away.

"You want this closed?" he asked from the threshold.

Scully nodded. "Yes, please."

"'Night, Scully."

"Good night, Mulder."

She sat for several seconds staring at the closed door 
before she got up and got ready for bed.

*****

Mesilla Valley Memorial was a surprisingly well-appointed 
facility for Las Cruces. The building wasn't massive, but 
the halls were clean and colorfully adorned and the 
equipment glimpsed through doorways as Scully followed 
Mulder toward the elevator bay was up-to-date and 
innovative. As the elevator doors slid open, Scully gave a 
cursory smile to the two young nurses stepping out of the 
car before she and Mulder stepped in. She was subliminally 
aware that she was classifying more and more working adults 
as "young," and she didn't really want to think about the 
larger significance of that.

Scully really hadn't wanted to get out of bed when her 
Tibetan Gong phone alarm had sounded that morning. The 
early sun angling through the crack in her room's curtains 
had helped warm her to the idea of wakefulness. She and 
Mulder had elected to drive to the local diner to save 
time, and she had indulged in little more than coffee and a 
few bites of an apple while Mulder had wolfed down waffles 
with syrup and a side of hash browns.

It was now almost 7:30am, and they had gotten Christian 
Garcia's bed number from the receptionist at the front 
counter. Their destination was only one floor up, in the 
Pediatric Intensive Care unit. At least Scully's 
destination. Mulder was heading on up to the Medical Ward 
on five where he might find the care team that had handled 
Veronica Garcia's infection until her death. This building 
had thus far been a killing field for the Garcia family, a 
waiting place for darkness to take their loved ones. Scully 
only hoped young Christian's story would have a happier 
ending. There was so little that could be done to treat 
hantavirus. Intubation, fluids, and oxygen therapy were the 
primary assistive treatments. After that, it was ultimately 
up to the body to heal itself.

Mulder touched a hand to her back as Scully stepped through 
the doors opening for the second floor. "Meet you back 
here," he said, and she nodded with a quick, "Right."

The elevator had opened onto a wide central room with a 
sort of command center at its core. A massive circular desk 
was populated by three staff members, all busily engaged. 
Hallways led away from the desk in four directions. The 
colors in this part of the hospital were even more vibrant 
and engaging. Paintings of cartoonish animals paraded 
around the walls, and white puffy clouds adorned the 
ceiling. Scully stepped up to the counter and cleared her 
throat, awaiting the attention of the nearest nurse. 
'Anna,' her nametag read. "Excuse me," Scully prompted 
after a moment's quiet.

Anna held up a finger, eyes still on the computer screen in 
front of her. "Just a moment." She reached for a pen and 
jotted something down on a small notepad beside her, then 
turned and gave Scully her attention. "Yes, how can I help 
you?"

"I'm here to see Christian Garcia? I was told he's in bed 
15 in this ward?"

"Are you family?"

"No, I'm..." she pulled her ID from her pocket and flipped it 
open, "FBI. Special Agent Dana Scully. I'm also a medical 
doctor with experience in pediatrics. My partner and I are 
looking into the recent bout of illness and incident in the 
Garcia family. I just hoped to visit Christian for a few 
minutes."

The woman nodded. "I should take you in there myself, but I 
have a patient who's been calling me for the last 15 
minutes for assistance, so I need to tend to her first. I 
believe someone from Christian's family is in with him 
right now. Can I trust you to respect their preferences, 
Dr. Scully?"

Scully nodded. "Of course."

"Fair enough." She turned and pointed toward the hall at 
the back left of the room. "Down that way, about halfway 
down the hall on your left."

"Thank you."

Scully made her way down the hall, this one decorated with 
a sports theme and paintings of giant baseballs and hockey 
sticks, until she reached Room 15. The door was open and 
the room housed a single bed. Hantavirus wasn't contagious 
from person to person, but the intensive requirements of 
its care no doubt necessitated a private room.

Scully took a tentative step into the room and gave a 
cursory rap of her knuckles to the door. "Hello."

A girl of 16 or 17 sat in the far corner of the room, 
pretty, voluptuous for her age, with long dark hair she had 
tied back into a loose ponytail. The girl was dressed in 
tight-fitted jeans and a bright orange V-neck sweater. 
Studded boots rested on the edge of the window sill, and 
what looked like a school book was propped on her knees. 
She wore earbuds attached to her phone.

"Hello," Scully ventured with a bit more volume when the 
girl did not look up.

This time she lifted her eyes, unfazed at first, perhaps 
accustomed to a regular stream of specialists and 
practitioners coming in to attend to the patient. "Hi," she 
said simply.

Scully took several steps closer, the hum of the machines 
increasing around her. Her peripheral vision registered the 
small figure on the bed to her right, swathed in a sea of 
tubes and surgical tape. "My name is Dana Scully," she said 
to the girl. "I'm an agent with the FBI. Would you happen 
to be Mariela? Is this your brother?"

The girl immediately dropped her booted feet to the floor 
with a clunk, closed her book, and pulled out her earbuds. 
"You're from the FBI? Are you here about what we saw? About 
what they did to us? To my Dad?"

Scully drew a controlled breath before she replied. "We're 
here to assist the local law enforcement in the evaluation 
of the situation. You are Mariela?" she prompted.

The girl nodded confirmation, "Yes, I'm Mariela Garcia. And 
this is Christian, my brother."

"Mariela. I'm very sorry about what happened to your 
father. And your grandmother. I can only imagine what 
you're going through right now. We're here because we're 
concerned about what's been happening to your family, about 
whether there is anything that has been overlooked."

Mariela nodded and stood up, setting her school book on her 
chair. "There is something being overlooked. And it's still 
happening. And the police won't listen."

Scully held out a placating hand. "You can be certain my 
partner and I very much want to hear everything you have to 
say, and we will investigate every possible avenue of 
concern. But first," she gestured toward where Christian 
lay, "may I have a look at your brother? I'm also a medical 
doctor."

Mariela seemed to be a bit flattened at the idea of being 
put off once again, but her concern for her brother was 
plain on her face, and she deferred to that concern. 
"Sure," she said softly.

Scully gave a small smile of thanks, tried to infuse the 
gesture with a reassurance that Mariela's needs would not 
be neglected either, and moved over to Christian's bed. She 
picked up his chart from the foot of the bed and began 
scanning.

"His pulse ox is staying steady on the oxygen therapy. 
That's good." She skimmed over a few more details, then 
returned the chart to its pouch and moved closer to 
Christian. The boy was conscious, blinking in and out of 
wakefulness.

Scully lay a gentle hand on the young boy's wrist. The file 
had said he was nine years old, but lying here like this, 
so small beneath all the equipment, he looked little more 
than six. "Christian, can you hear me?"

The boy opened his eyes and blinked toward her.

Scully gave him a warm smile. "Hi. My name is Dana. I'm a 
doctor and an investigator. I'm here to help you and your 
family."

The boy blinked at her, eyes wide and dark but clearly 
perceptive even in his groggy state.

"I know you can't talk because of the tube. That's okay. 
I'm just checking in on you. Your sister's here," she said 
with a glance toward Mariela, and the boy's gaze followed 
hers.

Mariela stepped closer to the far side of the bed. "It's 
okay, Chris, she's here to help."

Scully gave a quick scan to the dosage information posted 
on the IV. Everything she was observing followed the 
textbook supportive therapies for hantavirus, and Scully 
could see nothing she would have done differently were the 
boy in her personal care. The battle was now his to wage, 
but the chart indicated he had at least stabilized and 
possibly improved in the past 24 hours. She wouldn't say as 
much to Mariela; she knew too well how illnesses such as 
this one could give the illusion of improvement only to see 
the patient take a sudden and irreversible plunge into 
decline. But she smiled down at Christian and indulged a 
motherly moment as she smoothed the boy's hair back from 
his face, habitually feeling for traces of fever as she did 
so. "You're doing really well, sweetie. You just relax and 
rest as much as you can. The doctors here are taking really 
good care of you."

The boy's sincere brown eyes seemed to appeal to her for a 
long moment, an entreaty of sorts, for what she was 
uncertain, then he blinked his eyes closed once more and 
his strained breathing deepened.

After a moment, Mariela said softly, "Is he gonna be okay?"

Scully looked up at the girl, silhouetted now against the 
morning light. She weighed her words for a moment, decided 
Mariela was too smart to be spoken to as a child. "From 
what I can tell, he's holding his own. It's encouraging. 
But he still has a long way to go. The doctors will keep 
doing all they can for him."

"But it's not really treatable, is it? They don't have a 
cure?"

Scully swallowed hard. "No. They don't. They can only help 
Christian fight the infection himself. But evidence shows a 
significantly improved survival rate for patients placed in 
ICU as early as possible after illness onset. You and your 
family gave your brother his best possible chance by 
bringing him here as quickly as you did."

Mariela took that in and nodded, fingers fidgeting with the 
remote cord at the edge of Christian's bed.

"He's a really good kid," she said at last. "I mean...he's 
my little brother, and sometimes he drives me crazy, 
but...he doesn't deserve this."

"I understand. I have a little brother, too," Scully said.

Mariela looked up, surprised, and Scully tried to remember 
what it was like when it was still surprising to see 
evidence of adults being people like you. "You do?" Mariela 
asked.

"I do. A younger brother, an older brother, and...an older 
sister. I remember what it was like. My brother drove me 
crazy, but I would have been crushed if anything had ever 
happened to him. Still would, actually."

Mariela nodded, then she tilted her head, studying Scully 
with an almost unnerving intensity. "What happened to your 
sister?"

Scully caught her breath and fumbled for words for a 
moment. Mariela continued to watch her steadily, brow 
slightly furrowed in concern.

"Umm...Do you...do you have school today, Mariela?" Scully 
asked.

The girl took a moment to register the diversion, then 
seemed to decide to let it go. "Yeah. I don't want to go. 
But my mom's insisting. I just have study hall first period 
today, though, so I skipped it to visit Christian for a 
little while. I have to leave soon."

"I'm sure your brother's very happy to have you here. Is 
your mother here as well?"

Mariela shook her head. "Not right now. She's been here so 
much, and now she's trying to plan my dad's funeral. We 
just finished my grandmother's. And she's missed so much 
work, I wanted to give her a chance to get something done 
this morning. I'm sure she'll be back in a couple of 
hours."

Scully gave a sad smile. "I'm sure your mother greatly 
appreciates your help. She must feel very alone right now. 
You as well."

Mariela shrugged. "I'm okay," she said, and it hurt Scully 
to see the girl's determined bravery.

They stood quietly a moment, then Mariela spoke, voice 
hushed and careful, almost afraid. "Do you know about the 
Black-Eyed Children, Dr. Scully? Is that why you came here? 
You know what they do to people?"

"Mariela, what do you think--"

Scully stopped at the footsteps behind her and Mariela's 
eyes darted to the doorway.

Scully turned to see Mulder stepping into the room.

"Hey," she said in quiet greeting. Then, turning back to 
Mariela, "This is my partner." Mulder moved into place 
beside her. "Agent Fox Mulder. Mulder, this is Mariela 
Garcia."

Mulder held out a hand across the foot of Christian's bed, 
and Mariela took it in greeting. "Mariela. It's good to 
meet you," he said. "I recognize you from your videos."

A small grin pulled at the corner of Mariela's pink-glossed 
lips. "You've seen my channel?"

Mulder nodded earnestly. "I have, and I'm very interested 
to hear your theories on what's happened here."

Mariela looked a little pained, and pulled her phone from 
her pocket to glance at the time. "I really want to talk to 
you guys, but I have to leave now or I won't make my second 
period class. My mom will kill me. Can I meet you after 
school? Will you be around?"

"Of course. Here." Mulder pulled his card from his pocket 
and held it out to Mariela. "Just give me a call on my cell 
when you're able to meet, and we'll meet you anywhere that 
works for you."

She took the card and tucked it in the front pocket of her 
jeans. "Thanks. I'll call."

"Please know, we're very sorry for you losses. Agent Scully 
and I will do everything in our power to assure your family 
isn't in any further danger."

Mariela looked like she wanted to say something more, but 
in the end she just nodded. "I'll call you after school," 
she confirmed.

"We'll be here."

"It was nice to meet you, Mariela," Scully offered as the 
girl returned to her abandoned chair to gather her things.

"You too," she said, and then she was heading out the door, 
heavy boots clanking on the unforgiving floor.

Mulder turned to Scully. "Is anyone else from the family 
here? Her mother?"

Scully shook her head. "No, just Mariela. Her mother's 
involved in funeral plans for the father. Jesus, Mulder, I 
can't imagine planning two funerals in a row while my son 
is in the hospital with a life-threatening illness. And 
that girl, trying to support her mother and take care of 
her father and even go back to school while she's only days 
into processing her father's death. They're literally 
living through hell."

"I know."

"Anyone would look for an explanation for something like 
that. Some justification, some order to the universe. 
Something they could stop or control."

Mulder nodded. "I know I would."

"She's a very insightful girl," Scully said, staring out 
the window toward the distant mountains.

She could feel Mulder's eyes on her profile. "What makes 
you say that?"

But Scully only shook her head. She turned her attentions 
back to Christian and lingered by his bedside for a moment 
longer than necessary. She watched the pattern of his 
vitals on the screens.

"How's he doing, Scully?"

She drew a long breath, watched the rise and fall of the 
child's chest. "He's fighting. There's no guarantee. The 
doctors are doing everything they should." She rested her 
fingers on Christian's thin arm one more time, feeling for 
the strength of his pulse, even though the monitors told 
her the factual information she needed to know. Sometimes 
human touch still needed to be part of the treatment plan.

"I'm sure they are." Mulder's tone was muted and 
respectful. Even he couldn't be excited about the 
destruction of a family, evil demons or no.

"He looks so little," Scully said quietly.

Mulder rested his fingertips on the small of her back. They 
stood together for another moment, and Scully tried not to 
think about how this felt, how they looked like parents 
standing here, how this wasn't their boy, but it could have 
been...years missed...a lifetime missed....high fevers, 
broken arms, first time driving, close calls where parents 
clung to one another and thanked their blessings their boy 
was once more safely tucked into his bed. She had no idea 
where her son would sleep tonight.

Scully turned and started toward the door. "Were you able 
to leave a message for the grandmother's doctor?"

Mulder nodded, falling into step beside her. "Yeah, she's 
not in the hospital today, but I got her contact 
information and left a message. I spoke briefly to one of 
the nurses who helped care for Mrs. Garcia. Hopefully, we 
can talk to the doctor by tomorrow."

"Nothing happens fast around here does it, Mulder?"

"Not so far. But we're supposed to meet Sheriff Aster in 
half an hour, so let's hope that gets us somewhere."

Scully pulled out her phone to check her messages as they 
stepped into the elevator. Mulder leaned back on the hand 
bar as they waited for the doors to close. Scully was about 
to click on the contact to send her brother a text, when 
Mulder asked, "Do you miss it?"

She looked up. "Do I miss what?"

"This." He gestured back into the hall from which they had 
come just as the doors swished closed on their view. "The 
pediatric ward. Being a full time doctor to the kids. I 
mean, you look...you look at home, there."

Scully exhaled on a soft hum. She slipped her phone back 
into her pocket, mentally noting to come back to the text 
later. "Sometimes I miss it," she admitted. "But it wears 
on you in its own way. The good days are amazing. The bad 
ones...brutal."

"I remember." Scully's eyes snapped to Mulder's at the 
intimate color in his voice. They hadn't acknowledged this 
kind of thing out loud for a while. How much he used to be 
on the inside of it all...*really* on the inside...feeling 
what she was going through right alongside her, holding her 
on the worst nights, sharing her pleasures at the 
victories.

"Yeah," was all she managed before the doors slid open and 
a group of loudly chattering visitors crowded eagerly into 
the cramped compartment, forcing Mulder and Scully to push 
their way out before the doors closed again.

*****

(End Chapter 3)