A Hint of Resurrection (1/7) by Ellie Email: windblownellie@yahoo.com Rating: R (for some adult implications, language, and crimes against animals) X-Files/Fringe Crossover Timeline/Spoilers: Post-IWTB/Fringe S1 (but spoilers through S3) Summary: Olivia Dunham examines files from the old X-files Division, and requests a reluctant consult from former agent Fox Mulder. **** *** Chapter 1 *** Boston, MA October 2008 One stormy evening, Olivia finally made the time to look through the pile of folders Broyles had given her, with the suggestion that it might enlighten her understanding of the Fringe Division. Thunder rumbled and wind swept rain across her windows as she poured a neat tumbler of whisky and settled on the couch, the files and her laptop on the coffee table before her. Most of the files were from the prior decade, all copies, no originals, and nearly all of them were signed by F. Mulder and D. Scully. The names rattled around her head as she skimmed through the first few files, on mysterious cancers and hybrid children and implanted microchips. A fat folder in the middle of the pile was dedicated to men who, like the children in the prior file, seemed to be hybrids of some kind, but of a malicious nature. For a long moment she studied a photograph of a polished steel stiletto; still vaguely uncomfortable with the idea of discharging her gun, the idea of having to use such a weapon at close range seemed at once barbaric and highly personal. She drew a long, slow draught of the whisky. The next file was slimmer, a simple casefile, the old X number still on the tab above the newly designated Fringe number. A rogue progeria researcher had, in one case, actually managed to reverse the aging process. Unfortunately, that lone case had been a thief and murderer who'd used the new lease on life to return to his prior crimes. Looking at the dates, she wondered how much such black-label research might have advanced in the intervening fourteen years, and what bearing it might have on the case she'd recently investigated. Broyles must have recognized the implications when he gave her this file. Those implications were swept aside when she read of the death of Special Agent Reggie Purdue of Violent Crimes while working the case. Suddenly the names that had stuck in her brain clicked in to place, and she remembered what she'd heard of Agent Mulder. By the time she'd been at the Academy, he'd become a cautionary tale, a preternaturally gifted Icarus whose brilliance had burned too brightly and crossed that fine line into madness, spiraling down and crashing, taking his partner with him. The story went that he'd had something of a break with reality, intensified by being indulged with years of work on the X-files in hope that he would get himself together again and be able to return to profiling, where he'd done such extraordinary work. Instead, he'd finally snapped, murdering a soldier at a military research facility, then escaping after his trial, along with Agent Scully. Vaguely, she recalled hearing that the conviction had been overturned and clearance had been given last winter for him to be brought in on a consult. Olivia let the casefile fall to her lap as she sipped the whisky, feeling the slow burn of the alcohol as her thoughts swirled like the liquid in her glass. Placing the tumbler back down on its coaster, she skimmed the tabs on the edged of the files, pausing when she reached one labeled simply "Mulder," handwritten in a clear, precise cursive. Flipping quickly through the pages, she saw some handwritten notes, copies of other casefile pages, cross- referenced in the old X-numbers, a few neatly typed pages, but paused when she came to a copy of a death certificate, issued in 2001. Her brow furrowed, staring down at Fox William Mulder's name as decedent. She flipped back to the beginning of the file, and began to read. As she read, a different picture formed. Closer to Phaeton, he'd tried to understand and harness powers he couldn't control or even fully understand, and it had destroyed him. He had not been tried. He'd been exiled. Two nights later, Olivia pulled the "Mulder" file close to her hip as she leaned forward to reach her laptop on the coffee table. With a few clicks, she was into the FBI's database, and quickly called up records relating to Fox Mulder. He'd been consulted on a case last winter, an organ harvester who'd been creating his own Frankensteinian monster, trying to cheat death. When she read the information on Agent Whitney's death, she knew why the case had stayed in her memory; she'd worked with Whitney before, had done a few profiles for her. There was nothing regarding further consultation work by Mulder. She was surprised that Broyles hadn't done so, given the nature of his prior work on the X-files. Just from the few casefiles and summary compilations, there was a shocking amount in common with the types of investigations they had been, and would be, pursing in the Fringe division. She didn't put much credence in the vast government conspiracy regarding extraterrestrials that had been included in the trial information, but the man certainly had an extraordinary knowledge base that they could utilize. The last contact information was an address on a rural route in southwestern Virginia, and a cell number with a 434 area code. There was no email, and she frowned, looking at the clock over her mantle. It was too late to call tonight, and an email would have been a bit more subtle and less official. She added the number to her phone's contacts, then dove back into the oddness that had been investigated in the past decade. * He tried to be quiet as he moved about the kitchen, casting an occasional glance at the clock ticking over the doorway. Scully had gotten in late last night, well past two, when he'd finally dozed off. It was rare she had two days off together, time to rest, so he'd crept from bed around eight and left her to sleep, planning to rejoin her later with breakfast The seconds were now ticking up on ten, and the coffee was beginning to percolate, the mere aroma waking him up a bit and intensifying his scrambling of the eggs. His worry over keeping her breakfast tray hot was alleviated when he heard the creak of the fourth stair, the one that continued to squeak despite all his best efforts, and even her attempt at repair. It retained a distinctive creak, and they'd given up on fixing it. She peered around the corner, still looking half-asleep, and yawned in greeting. He smiled back, giving a little wave with the spatula. "You're ruining my plans for your day off, Scully." "Mmm, and what plans were those?" She crossed the kitchen, making a beeline for the coffee pot. He cut her off by wrapping an arm around her waist, lifting her to sit on the edge of the counter while he poured her a cup, adding half a teaspoon of sugar and a generous portion of skim milk. For a moment, her fingers closed over his as he passed her the mug, and she blew gently on the steaming liquid while looking up at him. His fingers slipped down her arms to her elbows, then across her back, pulling her against him. "Oh, I was thinking of how much you like to sleep in," he whispered against her ear. "But that just maybe waking you would be all right, if I brought up breakfast." "And coffee. Don't forget the coffee." She smiled at him, a grin playing at the corners of her lips. They'd both been happier, a little more playful, since he'd been free to leave the house, to bring home strange things from the grocery store and prowl through used bookstores. "I'd never forget your coffee. You're mean without it." He grinned, and she pinched his bicep with a little growl. "Maybe see if we can break in those nice new sheets a bit." When he bought the sheets, she'd protested, saying that just because he now had access to his bank accounts, it didn't mean he needed to go spending it on fripperies. But he'd heard her delighted sigh as she'd slipped between the 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton two nights ago. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she sipped tentatively at the hot coffee. "It would be a shame to get them dirty, though. I thought I saw blueberry pancakes, and those might stain something awful." There was a wicked glint in her eye that he appreciated. He gave her a quick kiss, tasting the milky coffee on her lips, then stepped aside to remove the eggs from the burner. "Well, we'll just have to eat down here then, and make our way--" The trilling of his phone interrupted the thought, and the both turned to look at it. Mulder frowned at the caller ID, which displayed only a number whose area code he easily recognized from boyhood. "Boston?" "The house?" While his mother's residences in Rhode Island and Connecticut had sold quickly once he was able to reclaim possession of them, the Chilmark house had been sitting on the market for nearly six months. Scully had argued briefly to keep for a vacation home on the water, but they'd both eventually agreed that it was not a house with memories they wanted to keep. "Maybe." He shrugged and hit the TALK button. "Mulder." *"Mr. Mulder, this is Olivia Dunham. I'm an agent with the Bureau--" His eyes grew wide, and he stepped away from Scully to lean against the opposite counter. "--working in a division that's taking over some of the cases you investigated during your time with the X-files division."* He cleared his throat, and said, "How can I help you?" The words seemed to come with effort, catching in his throat. *"Your prior work X-file casework is now part of the Fringe division, and my SAC passed along some of your old casefiles to me for review. Several of them seem to bear a striking number of similarities with an escalating pattern of events we're investigating."* Scully had put the coffee cup down on the counter, and was eyeing him suspiciously. He raised an eyebrow at her and asked, "Can I put you on speaker and have you repeat that?" *"What?"* Huffing out a laugh, he said, "Nothing. Was there something I can help you with?" *"Initially I wanted to speak with you about a few cases that looked as if they could be related to cases we've investigated and see if there were any connections. But yesterday, something came up that I was hoping you might consult on."* He shook his head violently, drawing Scully's attention from where she was reaching for a pancake. "No, absolutely not. I told AD Skinner after the case last winter that I was not interested in consulting again." Scully glared, not quite at him, but at the phone he held to his ear. *"I can understand your reluctance. However, I think that your prior investigations might give you insight into the case that's just come up, which doesn't quite fit in with the pattern of events that we've got as a priority. But it strikes me as having a lot of commonalities with some of these previous X-files."* "Tell me about it." He tried to sound noncommittal, unsure himself whether he even wanted to know. Scully's glare had shifted from the phone to him, and he refused to look at her, instead picking the crust of a piece of toast. *"The Denver field office has been tracking the actions of a radical animal rights group that's been causing a lot of damage to property and livestock in several western states. Nothing about their activities prior to last suggested anything other than a particularly aggressive group, being monitored to prevent domestic terrorism. Until last Thursday, when an act of arson at a Wyoming ranch led to the capture of two of their members, and a rather remarkable incident concerning a boy at the scene."* "They're working with children?" While outside of the mainstream of what he would have expected for a domestic terrorist group, given the animal targeting, it didn't greatly surprise him. And in no way made it feel like anything requiring his expertise. *"No, the boy lives at a neighboring ranch. He and his father had been on their way over, at the boy's request, when they noticed the smoke from the fire. They arrived and began to offer assistance, the father actually roping one of the suspects who was taken in to custody. But the boy, against the best efforts of the adults on the scene, managed to make his way into the burning barn and lead out some of the animals. Neither the boy nor the animals suffered any adverse effects, not even smoke inhalation. He was also seen handling some of the sheep that had previously been removed from the barn and had been noted to be suffering burns, but after this boy was in the pen with them, no one could find anything wrong with them."* "And what insight do you think I can provide you with, Agent Dunham?" Across from him, Scully scowled and reached for the phone. He sidestepped her gesture and shook his head. She relented, leaning back against the counter and watching him. *"There are a few references in your old cases to faith healers, but what really stood out were a few references to a man who seemed to possess this ability independent of a religious context, as we seem to see in this child. The implications of what we see in him are obvious, if true. One of our specialists is greatly intrigued by the information we've gotten thus far."* Mulder shook his head. "That was one man, Agent Dunham, who I have every reason to believe to be an isolated case. And he healed people, not farm animals. I'm not sure what help you think I can give you." *"At least let me send you the file to take a look at, see if anything stands out to you as relevant."* He looked at Scully's deep frown, thought of his promise to her to leave this behind him. "Give me a minute?" *"Sure. I'll hold."* He placed the phone on the counter, and gently took Scully's elbow and guided her to the dining room table. Before they were even seated, she began, "No, Mulder, you promised---" Heaving a sigh, he settled into the chair next to her. "I know. But she just wants me to do an email consult, look over the case, see if I think it's connected to our experience with Jeremiah Smith, and worth her investigating." Briefly, he recounted Agent Dunham's information about the case. For a stonily silent moment, Scully stared at him. He could see her weighing her words, weighing her decision, and let her have the time. In the past, he'd tried other approaches, but found through trial and significant error that it was best to let her come to a conclusion before trying to argue it with her. "Can you really just do an email consult, Mulder?" She sounded frightened, and it scared him a little. Reaching across the space between them, he took one of her hands in both of his, massaging away the tension knotted there, hanging his head to stare at her slim fingers as they spread across his palm. "This isn't something I particularly want to do. Not after what happened last time. I'm happy here, with you, writing my books. She can email me a file, I'll spend half an hour reading it over, and I'm done." Scully's free hand skimmed through his unruly hair. "You say that now, and I know you mean it. But I also know you, Mulder. You're not good at letting things go." "It's not a case. The crime's been solved. This is just some interesting aside that the FBI apparently now has resources to have a multi-person unit investigate. I'll admit, I'm a bit jealous of the resources it sounds like are being given to these sorts of investigations now, but it's not even a case." He squeezed her hand. "All right," she said calmly, looking him straight in the eye. "One half- hour, email only. I'm timing you." "Deal," he agreed, standing and pulling her up with him. "Now come on, breakfast is getting cold. Then I'll look over the file while you're in the shower. You won't even notice I've done it." When they returned to the kitchen, Scully picked up the phone from the counter and handed it to him. She was already spreading marmalade on a slice of toast by the time he finished giving Agent Dunham his email. * After a long, hot soak in the tub, Scully was feeling almost refreshed, and ready to curl back up in bed with Mulder. But she was not entirely surprised to discover that the bedroom was still empty, the house silent. She put on jeans and a sweater, then headed back downstairs in search of him, knowing already that "just an email" had turned into something more. The kitchen was clean, no traces of breakfast remaining, and his office door was ajar. "Mulder? You've had 35 minutes. Time's up!" As she pushed the door open fully, she saw him sitting frozen at the desk, staring at his computer monitor. Slowly, he swiveled in the chair to face her. Saying nothing, he merely extended one hand to her, pulling her towards him and finally down into his lap. One arm wrapped around her waist before he gestured a finger at the screen. "Take a look." A glance at the picture was all she needed to understand, but like Mulder just moments ago, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the image before her. ***