The Old X Designation
by Amal Nahurriyeh

Email: amalnahurriyeh@gmail.com 
Summary: "There's a pattern now? Back in my day it was all just
sort of random."
Genre: Gen, crackfic
Rating: PG
Timeline/Spoilers: Fringe: Sometime during season 1; no spoilers
for anything on the mytharc, but vague references to s1 MOTWs.
X-Files: Set in the Caseyverse, pre-MoF. Probably my dates do
not actually line up well, but I'm letting it go. 

Author's Notes: For those who are new to the Caseyverse, the
relevant things you need to know are: Mulder and Scully are
working on a secret anti-alien project, while maintaining their lives
as seen in IWTB. They have a daughter, who is two-ish in this, who
is destined for great things, but for now is an annoying toddler.
Mosely Drummy was one of the agents in IWTB (the one who
didn't get impaled on a spike); he is Mulder's official FBI handler
for the occasional consultant cases he works for the FBI. There are
a great many stories about both of these OCs for your reading
pleasure if you're interested. 

For those who are new to Fringe, the relevant things you need to
know are: Olivia Dunham is an FBI agent running "Fringe Division,"
which investigates "The Pattern," a series of mysterious events that
will eventually resolve into a coherent mytharc, but haven't yet.
Philip Broyles is her boss; Charlie Francis is her partner. Walter
Bishop is a scientist who works in "fringe science," which basically
means "made-up science that is pretty much magic," and he has
recently been released from a mental institution, where he was
committed after accidentally killing a research subject. Peter Bishop
is his son, who has been roped into caring for him; both Peter and
Walter are consultants for the FBI. Astrid Farnsworth is the junior
agent in the division, and she basically assists Walter. If you're
looking for X-Files equivalents: Olivia is Mulder, Peter is Scully,
Broyles is Skinner, Astrid is Pendrell, Walter is Deep Throat only
crazy and a scientist, and I don't think Charlie has an easy
equivalent, though he's got something Doggett-ish about him. 

Thanks to wendelah1 for the beta, and encouraging the madness.


***

"Are you sure about this, Liv?" Charlie said as he strapped on his
flak jacket.

"Sure as I can be," Olivia said, checking her gun. "Broyles seems
convinced that the bee attacks are part of the pattern. And this lab's
the only one in the Boston area that's been producing research on
bee genetics. Walter's got some theory they're using subsonic
technology to direct them." She shrugged and stepped up towards
the corner. "Peter, you've got Walter?"

"Trust me," Peter said, "we don't want to get involved until it's clear
nobody's getting eaten by bees."

"Bees don't eat people," Walter said, and took another sip of his
milkshake. "But I agree."

"Astrid?" 

Astrid waved her end of the walkie-talkie. "I'm on phone duty."

"Sorry." Olivia smiled at her. It did suck being the junior agent,
that's for sure. 

Broyles hung up the phone, and strode over to them. "Agents, are
we ready?"

"I guess," Olivia said. He nodded, and she led them into the lab.

The light filtering in from street and glowing from the exit signs
wasn't quite enough to really see where they were going, but they
crept through it. A big sign read APIARY LAB; she nodded
towards it, and Charlie returned the nod. There were noises,
somewhere ahead; she suppressed the beginnings of her adrenaline
surge, and led them through the dark.

Behind the doors of the apiary lab, there was a faint light, as if
someone were working late. They paused at the door, and she
counted with her fingers for all of them, then pulled the door open,
guns drawn. "Federal Agents! Freeze!"

She barely had time to register the two men standing at the filing
cabinet before they ran. Dammit, she knew she should have worn
better shoes; the heel on her left boot was just a little loose, and she
noticed it with every step as she took off after them. She'll take
them to the cobbler in the morning, she thought, and pulled her
walkie off her belt. "Astrid, we need backup called in now, local
PD is fine. Pursuing two subjects on foot, male, one black, one
white, maybe six feet tall, both dressed in black. They're headed for
the exit on Bank Street, get the backup waiting there." 

"Got it," Astrid's voice chirped back at her. Behind her, she could
hear Charlie huffing, Broyles's paces a little behind theirs--of course
he was hanging back to see what happened. The suspects turned
down a new corridor, but they were gaining ground, and she
realized with a surprise that they must have studied the blueprints
from before the renovations last month, because the hallway they
were running down now led into a warehouse with only elevators
for exits, not a fire escape in a camera dead zone. She sped up a
little.

In front of her, they pushed through the double doors to the
warehouse. They barely had time to swing shut before she was
through, and yelled again, "Federal Bureau of Investigation! Hands
where I can see them!"

In the middle of the empty warehouse, the men froze and,
reluctantly, raised their hands to their heads. As she and Charlie
approached to frisk them, the white man turned to the other. "Hey,
is this your first time on the other side of this? Congratulations."

"Shut up, Mulder," the man said.

***

Fifteen minutes later, she was willing to admit she was confused.
They'd sent the backup away, because it hadn't seemed necessary.
Both men had been carrying FBI IDs. Mosely Drummy was in
Violent Crimes; Fox Mulder had a consultant ID, along with a
laminated card signed by Michael Mukasey assuring that Fox
Mulder was not, in fact, a wanted felon, and that all existing arrest
warrants in his name were null and void. She'd never seen anything
quite like that before. Both were armed, but since Drummy was a
federal agent, that was natural, and Mulder had a valid Virginia
state concealed carry permit. They were sitting, quite calmly, under
the hatch of the car, seeming totally unperturbed by the evening's
events. 

Astrid had given them coffee. Nobody had any better ideas.

"Let's try this again," Broyles said. "Were you in this building
because of an ongoing investigation?"

"We can't tell you that," Mulder said, straight-faced.

"Let me handle it," Drummy said. "We can't tell you that."

Broyles made an exasperated huff. "Do you have a legal search
warrant for this premise?"

"We can't tell you that," Drummy said.

"Was your entry authorized by someone within the Bureau?"

"We can't tell you that," Drummy said. 

"I could have said all that," Mulder said, vaguely annoyed. 

"You need to call Assistant Director Skinner," Drummy said. "He'll
straighten this out."

Broyles looked surprised. "Walter Skinner?"

"Yes," Drummy said. "He's our supervisor."

"Your supervisor," Mulder said.

"Mulder," Drummy said.

"OK, fine," Mulder said, making a little shrugging gesture. "I don't
know if the switchboard has his home number, but I can give it to
you."

"I've got it," Broyles said. "Walter and I were at Quantico
together." He pulled his cell phone out and walked away to make
the call. 

Mulder observed him as he walked away, then turned to Drummy.
"I'm glad I never got promoted high enough to hit the mandatory
hair loss level." Drummy tried not to look like he was smiling.
Mulder smirked.

Olivia walked over to them. "Fox Mulder. I've heard that name
before. How do I know you?"

He shrugged. "I've been doing cases here and there. Probably just
overheard it somewhere at the Hoover."

She shook her head. "I don't work out of DC, not these days. Plus,
I never did Violent Crimes. No, I've heard of you."

"Must have been someone else," Mulder said. She was beginning to
guess that this particular totally blank expression was actually
concealment. 

"For Christ's sake," Drummy said, looking exasperated. He
gestured towards Mulder. "Monty Propps." He took a sip of his
coffee.

"Of course!" She laughed. 

Mulder groaned and leaned his head against the side of the hatch.

Charlie came over to see what was funny. "Fox Mulder," she said.
"The Propps case, from the profiling seminar. Remember it?"

"Oh, yeah," Charlie said. "Sure. That's weird."

"It's a little pathetic to have something you hacked together when
you were twenty-seven be your claim to fame," Mulder grumbled.

"Does it make you feel better that we spent half the class trashing
it?" Olivia asked.

He glared at her. "No." 

Drummy didn't bother hiding that he was smiling at that.

"Hey, Olivia," Peter called out. "Walter thinks he found something." 

"It appears," Walter said, "that the bees have been genetically
altered. However, I cannot seem to track the reason for the
alteration, and the shorthand they use for the desired traits. But their
venom's particular intensity seems more like a side effect than the
intended purpose."

"In fact," Peter said, "the notes make it seem like they want to
destroy this crop, and raise up another that doesn't have the super
venom. This might not be a Pattern incident after all; maybe it's just
genetic engineering gone rabid."

"Can I see that?" Mulder asked, reaching for the files Peter was
holding. He took them before Peter could respond, and started
flipping through them. "Here," he said, pointing to something.
"Look, they're onto A7."

Drummy turned back the page. "And A6 is a total bust. Good for
us, at least."

"Until we find out there's an A8. It's gotta stop at some point,
right?" Mulder handed the file back. "Well, this was useful." 

"Wait," Olivia said. "Are you investigating the Pattern too?"

"There's a pattern now?" Mulder asked. "Back in my day, it was all
just sort of random."

"Hey, that's right," Charlie said. "You were the X-Files guy, right?"

"Pretty much. So, what, this is the new vampire and killer bug
squad?" 

"Sort of," Olivia said. "When you were on the X-Files, did you ever
encounter a corporation called Massive Dynamic?" 

Mulder shook his head. "Nope. They're your bad guys?"

"Well, I mean, they're cooperating with us, but I can't help but
think--"

"You're right," Mulder said. "Whatever you think, you're right. It
always goes deeper than it looks."

That felt oddly reassuring, even coming from a man she'd arrested
forty-five minutes ago. 

Broyles reappeared from his phone call. "Well, Agent Drummy,
Mr. Mulder, Assistant Director Skinner assures me that, though he
cannot give me the details of what you were doing in this building
tonight, you should be released from custody and that no record
should be made of our apprehension of you. You should count
yourselves lucky that I think so highly of Walter Skinner. Agent
Drummy, you're free to go. Mr. Mulder, since you are technically a
civilian, I'd like to have someone to release you to, just for my own
reassurance."

He pointed at Drummy. "He doesn't count?"

"Co-collaborators do not count, no." Broyles folded his arms.

Mulder sighed and held out his hand. "Somebody got a phone?"

Olivia dug through her pocket. "You don't have a cell phone?"

"Forgot it at the hotel." That seemed pretty implausible, but she
handed him her phone anyway. Mulder called, while Drummy
watched him reluctantly. "Hey, Scully," he said, a little too amusedly
for the hour. "You know how you said you never wanted to have to
break me out of federal custody ever again? Well, the good news
is, you don't actually have to break me out this time." He paused,
and then handed the phone back to Olivia. "Give her half an hour."

"She hung up on you?" Drummy asked.

"I prefer to think of it as getting off the phone to be better able to
come get us," Mulder said. 

"Yeah, she hung up on you," Drummy said. "Is there any more
coffee anywhere? It's cold out here."

"Chicken," Mulder said, putting his hands in his pockets. "It's
almost forty."

"People weren't meant to live here," Drummy said. "I'm asking to
be transfered to Albuquerque."

"Don't you dare," Mulder said.

Astrid, having just carried a box of bee parts out of the building and
put it in the car for Walter to take back to the lab, picked up the
box of coffee and handed it to Agent Drummy. "Agent Mulder,"
she began.

He snorted. "I think it's actually a federal crime to call me that these
days. Mulder's fine."

"Um. Mulder. Well, I've been going over the unclassified elements
of the X-Files, trying to expand our records of Pattern activities
backwards, and I'm noticing that there's a lot of fire damage. You
don't happen to know if there are archival copies from before then,
do you?"

Mulder evaluated her. "What's your name?"

"Astrid. Astrid Farnsworth. I'm the junior agent in the Fringe
Division." She smiled, trying to make a good impression.

"Well, Agent Farnsworth, are you interested in aliens, or just in
normal spooky shit?"

She thought about it. "Just normal spooky shit, probably."

He held out his hand. "Gimme your card. I can probably hook you
up. Does anyone still have ZIP drives anymore?"

"I'm sure there's one in the lab," Astrid said, pulling a card out of
her wallet. "Or Peter can just build one."

Mulder looked around at the small crew standing around. "You
guys got a good deal. We never had a lab. Or a mad scientist."

"He's not really mad, per se," Olivia said. "He's just...idiosyncratic." 

"Olivia," Walter said, having just emerged from the building, "will
we be able to go back to the lab tonight? I realize that I left a
particularly strong batch of stimulants in the centrifuge, and I worry
that they will be damaged if we wait until morning."

Olivia smiled indulgently. "Sure. Plus, I'm sure you want to get your
bug parts into storage."

"Yes, that as well." He paused, and looked concerned. "We'll have
to make sure Gene doesn't eat them. I don't think they'd be good
for her."

"We'll be careful," Olivia said. Walter nodded, and went to go sit
on the hatch of the other SUV.

"Do I want to know who Gene is?" Mulder asked.

"She's the cow," Astrid said.

"We never had a cow, either," Mulder said. 

A white car turned into the alleyway, highbeams on. "Hey, Mulder,
I think you're getting your mad scientist," Drummy said.

Mulder checked his watch. "What, did she teleport?" He waved
cheerfully at the car as it parked. 

The woman who got out of the car did not look cheerful. She went
around to the back of the car and opened the door. Olivia
expected her to be getting out a bag or something, but then she
lifted a small child out of the car, and placed her on the ground. The
little girl was wearing a bright pink coat over her nightgown, snow
boots on her feet, and a knit hat. She trotted along, holding the
woman's hand. "Who's in charge here?" she asked.

Olivia glanced around; Broyles had conveniently disappeared,
probably to make more secret phone calls. "Ma'am? I'm Special
Agent Olivia Dunham, of the Fringe Division of the Federal Bureau
of Investigation."

The woman arched an eyebrow. "Fringe Division?"

"They get a cow, Scully," Mulder said. "We should have held out
for livestock." 

"I would have settled for an office," the woman said. "I'm Dana
Scully. Are they under arrest?"

"Ah, no," Olivia said. "But I do need to sign Mr. Mulder over
formally to your custody."

"Custody. Great." She turned to the little girl. "Sadie, you need to
stay right by us here while Mama signs Daddy out of jail."

"Hi, Daddy," the little girl said calmly. "Daddy, jail."

"Hi, baby," Mulder said, waving. "She's got a very impressive
vocabulary for a two year old," he added, to Drummy.

"Sure, Mulder, most kids don't learn the sentence 'Daddy's in jail'
'til they're six or so," Drummy said. 

Olivia got the forms that Broyles had pulled up for Scully to sign,
and put them down on the open hatchback next to Walter, figuring
that was the better option, since Scully didn't appear willing to
make civil eye contact with her husband. The little girl held onto her
mother's coat and stood there while she read the forms.

Walter smiled at her. "Hello," he said. "What's your name?"

"Sadie," she said. 

"My name is Walter," he said, and patted her head. "Would you
like some candy?"

"Walter, no!" Astrid said, dashing over from where she had been
filling out the acquisitions forms for all the boxes of bees.

He looked up at her, in surprise. "They're just nonpareils. The mint
kind, so it won't keep her up."

"Do they have hallucinogens in them?" Astrid asked, folding her
arms.

Walter looked offended. "I would never give hallucinogens to a
minor. Without parental permission. Anymore. Peter bought them
at the candy store tonight. Ask him."

"They're clean," Peter said, closing the door to the SUV. 

"Well, you should at least ask her mother," Astrid said, gesturing to
Scully.

Scully glanced down. "I think sugar is the least of our problems
right now. Go for it."

Victorious, Walter held out his bag. Sadie pulled out a nonpareil
and stuffed the whole thing into her mouth. "Take bites," Walter
said.

"Uh-huh," she said, through a mouth full of melting candy, and
reached for another.

"I've never thought that restricting sugar for small children was
necessary," Walter said to the girl, seriously, as he took a nonpareil
for himself. "My experiments made me reasonably sure that the
effects of sugar on mood were relatively minor, compared to what
other sorts of intervention can provide."

Scully looked over at him. "Are you Dr. Walter Bishop?"

"Yes, I am," he said. "Do we know each other? I'm sorry, I've been
in a mental institution for a while, I tend to forget things."

"No, I know your work," she said. "I'm a neurologist. Your
research on neurotransmitter absorption rates as been very useful."

"Oh, well," he said dismissively. "That was just basic research. It
wasn't until Belly and I started working on the applications that we
got anywhere."

"I've been spending a lot of time with your theories of viral mutation
lately," she said, turning to a new page and signing again. "Are you
still working on that?"

"Well, a little," he said. "We've had some problems with that. I
thought you said you were a neurologist?"

"Virology's something of a hobby," she said, handing her
paperwork over the Olivia. 

Walter regarded her. "Are you Dana Scully? Yes, you must be.
You wrote that wonderful paper on stem-cell therapy in patients
with end-stage neural deterioration." He brightened up. "You know,
I would very much like to talk to you about some problems I've
been having in regulating access to memory at the neural level. I
don't suppose you're based in Boston?" 

"We're just here for the weekend," she said.

"Duck boat," Sadie said, reaching into the bag for another candy,
her hands covered in melted white chocolate and miniature
confectioner's balls.

"To take the duck boat," Scully said. "But if you'd be around
tomorrow afternoon, I might be able to squeeze in a trip. Are you
still at Harvard?"

"Still is a misnomer, but yes. Ask Aster, she'll be able to give you
directions."

"Aster?" She looked around.

"Astrid," Astrid said, fumbling through her card holder. "Here's the
one with the lab address. We're pretty much there all day."

"Mama," Sadie said, "Cow." 

Scully sighed. "Is the cow friendly? She really likes cows."

"Mooooo," Sadie said. 

"Sure," Astrid said. "And it would be great if Agent Mulder could
come to talk me through some of the files I've got."

Scully rolled her eyes. "Well, he's certainly good for that." She
handed the stack of papers to Olivia. "So, are they free to go?"

"Absolutely," Olivia said. "But, well, would you be willing to be
contacted, if we had questions? Beyond tomorrow's lab visit."

"Sure," Mulder said, standing up. "Always willing to help out the
spooky squad." He held out his hand to Olivia. "I'll bring some
things over tomorrow, and you can show me what you've got.
We've got a pretty packed schedule, but if we can help, it doesn't
hurt to chip in."

"I appreciate it." Olivia shook Mulder's hand, and Drummy's as
well. 

Mulder bent over to pick up Sadie. "Come on, honey," he said.
"You can fall back asleep in your car seat."

"Daddy, sticky," she said, holding out her hands.

He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a
plastic baggie of wet wipes, and fished one out to clean her hands
off. "All better?"

"Uh-huh." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Bye bye, jail. See
later, jail."

Olivia thought of Ella at that age. "Bye-bye, Sadie," she said,
waving. 

Scully led the way to the car; Mulder argued about driving for
about thirty seconds before he gave in to the look Scully was giving
him, and then climbed into the backseat with his daughter, letting
Drummy take shotgun. She waved as they drove away, but nobody
seemed to notice.

"Look at that," Charlie said, watching them drive away. "Former
FBI investigators of weird things, and they got normal lives in the
end. Maybe there's hope for us."

She doubted things were as normal as they looked, but said,
"Yeah, maybe. Come on, we gotta get the stuff back to the lab, and
you home before you turn into a pumpkin."

"Sounds good," Charlie said, and followed her back to the cars.