_There are times that I love this man, and then. . ._

Scully made only the briefest of eye contact before Mulder turned away.  In fact, she doubted there had been real contact in the strictest sense of the word; more like trying to follow the path of a Baltimore mosquito as it swooped drunkenly around a gloomy twilight bedroom.  The gazes merely brushed as one pair sought and one pair fled.  She could only watch, fingers neither clenching nor losing their burdens of bottled water and potato chips, as their rented blue Taurus peeled out of the gas station with Mulder at the wheel and a men with slim, chiseled features in the passenger seat.

_Krycek?_

_Does it even matter?_

She looked behind her.  The man at the counter was watching her curiously.  “Your man took off?” he asked, bland, incredulous.  His expression suggested a kind of distanced disbelief: what man would ditch such a beautiful woman at a pit stop of I-70?  And yet he saw so many strange people pass through.  Humankind no longer made sense to him; now he only paid attention to potential armed robbers.  Still. . .

“Yes, it would appear so,” Scully replied with exaggerated politeness.  She set her load of “munchies” on the top of a nearby trash can, put her hands on her hips, and sighed deeply.

The man was confused by her actions, or complete lack thereof.  “There’s a phone in the back, if you don’t have any change.  For the pay phone, I mean.”

She looked back at him, almost seeming surprised that he was still there.  Then she shook her head once, twice.  “No. I mean, thanks, but I have a phone card.”

_Thank god I took my purse in with me. . ._

The man at the counter became the man in the doorway.  He held a bottle that was quickly gathering condensation out to her.  “Pop?”

Scully thought about how hard she had been fighting her caffeine addiction, and all of the empty calories in soda, and the bottled water she had just purchased so virtuously.  She managed a wan smile for the man, so obviously ill at ease.  “Yes, thank you.”
 

The man was still watching her as she let herself into the beaten-looking phone booth by the road.  She looked away, at the six lanes of turnpike only 50 feet from her.  _I should really be feeling something here.  Right?  Right._

She picked up the phone and pretended to dial.  At least this way she could talk to herself without looking completely insane.

“Okay, so what exactly should I be feeling?  Let’s go about this logically.  Mulder, the titular love of my life, just left me, apparently to run off to near-certain danger with a man who has tried to kill us both and nearly everyone we know several times.  So I should be very worried about him and wondering how I can find him and go save his ass.  Right?”

She opened the bottle and took a long swig of the syrupy stuff, swallowed hard against the unaccustomed resistance of carbonation.  _Oh yeah, that’s the spot._

“So, how come I find myself not giving a damn what happens to the dumb ass?  And a hell of a lot more worried about making my own way home?  Huh?”

The dial tone offered no answers.

Suddenly, her cell phone rang.  She snatched it up quickly, and found herself momentarily in the position of having a phone at each ear. “Scully,” she said mechanically, and thought, _the poor man surely thinks I am insane now, if he is even still watching._  She peeked.  He was.

“Agent Scully!”  _Frohike??_  “Are you alone?”

“Yes, yes I am.  What is this about?  Do you know where Mulder-”

“Agent Scully, we can’t talk about this on a cell phone.  We’re coming to get you.  Don’t, do NOT go anywhere, and try to stay out of sight.”

“Out of the sight of what?  Are we talking satellite surveillance here?”

An impatient noise.  “Just stay out of sight.  We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

A pause, then “Bye.”  Scully almost found herself smiling.  Frohike, for all of his hero worship of Mulder, could never bring himself to hang up on a person without a parting salutation.  “Good-bye,” she replied, and hung up both phones.

Scully mentally calculated the time to get from South Baltimore to Western Pennsylvania.  _Well, at least now I have plenty of time to get to know_-she brought to mind the name embroidered on the counter guy’s shirt-Earl.
 

Earl had many fascinating stories to tell after twenty-five years of owning an Interstate gas station, and was more than desperate for an audience.  He let her use the phone in the rear to make several long-distance calls to D.C.-Skinner, her mother, his mother-the usual calls she made whenever Mulder disappeared without a word, minus the Lone Gunmen, who obviously already had a glimmer of the situation.  Earl has also kept her well-fed for the six hours she waited, pressing candy bars, sodas and a microwave burrito on her.  Privately, he wondered how the girl stayed so. . .girlish, unless she was just eating away the heartbreak.  He’d seen that often enough.

“. . .so then the guy has the gall to show back up here the next week to fill up his tank, without the panty hose on his head this time.  Like he thinks I’m not going to notice the same dang woody woodpecker tattoo on his hand!”

She was laughing with him now, at least.  Then, she looked over his shoulder towards the door, and frowned.  A young man with spiky blonde hair stood in the doorway, the top of his head easily reaching the six-foot marker next to the door, staring at her with mouth ajar.  After a moment, he closed his mouth with an effort and asked, “Are you Agent Scully?”

She stood up, pointing her sidearm at him in one fluid motion.  Earl choked out a muffled curse and fumbled open the register, out of habit.

“Who wants to know?”

The man quickly raised both his hands.  “Jimmy! I’m here with Fro-um, you know.  Our guy.”  He exaggeratedly rolled his eyes towards Earl.  “We’re, um, here to get you, to go, um, home.”

Scully slowly lowered the gun.  Obviously harmless, she decided.  “Jimmy,” she nodded in acknowledgement, and he responded with a delighted ear-to-ear grin.  “Where is ‘our man’?”

“He’s in the van-he said it would be better if he wasn’t seen.”

“Well, tell him I used a phone here.  I checked it for all the tampering I know of, but. . .”

Jimmy had obviously been with the gunmen long enough to understand the implications of that.  He lost his smile and hoofed it back outside.  A moment later, the diminutive figure of the man himself stomped through the door and glared at Scully.  All he said, however, was “Where?”

She gestured towards the back room, and he stalked off.  Jimmy quickly ran through the store, picking up every item that was more than half comprised of sugar or corn starch.  He dumped them on the counter, and Earl, still unnerved, quickly handed over all the cash in the drawer.  Jimmy returned it with a confused look, and Earl immediately shoved it back.  Sensing an impasse, Scully stepped in and managed to get everyone sorted out before Frohike came back out of the store room and gestured curtly toward the door.
 

“Dammit,” Frohike muttered quietly as the “Fuzz-buster” on the dash blinked and left his foot off the accelerator.  Yet another speed trap ahead.  He hated driving through Pennsylvania and had an impressive collection of mint-condition unpaid speeding tickets as mute testimony to the state’s antipathy for him.  He shot a quick glance over his shoulder.  Scully had quickly tired of his stony silence and crawled into the back, giving Frohike with a glorious view of the slope of her hindquarters in the process.  Even that failed to mellow the man.

_Well, dammit, it’s her fault.  I warned her, but does she listen?  No.  Mulder gets unquestioning obedience, but Melvin Frohike’s words mean bupka.  Using an unsecured phone to talk about her whereabouts, for god’s sake!  And dragging me in there, in full view of the security cameras-my image is probably bouncing through every satellite system and government database this second.  The last thing I need. . ._

His thoughts were interrupted by Scully’s voice.  Jimmy’s unending chatter had finally broken through her own silent funk.

“Well, Jimmy, we were investigating some odd events.  That’s what Mulder and I do.”

“What was it, though?  The guys know, but they won’t tell me.  They never tell me.”  Frohike rolled his eyes.  _For some damn good reasons, Mr. I-Trust-Everybody._

A quiet sigh.  “The FBI was called in on a fairly routine kidnapping case.  The teen-age daughter of the local manufacturing magnate had been forced out of her car while at a red light.  A ransom demand appeared a few days later.  The ransom was left at the appointed place at the appointed time, and after it disappeared, they received a call telling them where they could find the girl’s body.”

“They killed her.”  The horror and quiet anguish was more audible than Jimmy’s words.  Frohike shook his head, not entirely in contempt.  _He feels everything as though it is happening to him._

 “Well. . .that is where things got interesting.  They found their daughter’s body, yes.  But, they also found their daughter alive, cradling the body and covered in blood matching her type.”

A moment of silence.  “So she had a twin?”

“No.”

“Oh.”  Another pause.  “What?”

“Yes, ‘what’ indeed.  That’s where we were called in, to find out the ‘what.’”  Another pause.  Frohike imagined Scully letting her head fall to one side and rubbing her neck with one hand, a habit he didn’t think she was conscious of.   “And the part that most interested Mulder in all of this: there were reports of lights over Lake Erie the night before they found the girl. . .s.”

“Hmmmmm. . .  Wait!”

Frohike winced in anticipation.  He could just see the look on Jimmy’s face, the dancing eyes. . .

“I think I’ve heard of this.  Those lights. . .  Is that what they call ‘the lake effect?’”

_Please don’t hurt him, Scully.  We need our sugar daddy.  And Byers would kill me if I let you eviscerate the only other person in the place who picks up after himself. . ._

Luckily, when Scully spoke, it was in carefully controlled tones with a tightness that betrayed either frustration or a barely-suppressed hilarity.  “No, Jimmy, that just refers to how it’s cloudy all the time in Erie.”

“Really?  Why does that-“

“Jimmy!  Can I have a sip of your soda please?”

“Sure, Agent Scully. So, like-”

“Thank you, Jimmy.  Why don’t you ask Frohike if he’s tired of driving?”

“Oh, good idea!”  A large blonde head suddenly poked itself into Frohike’s peripheral vision.  “Hey, Frohike. . .”

“No.”

“But-”

“You are not driving.  Haven’t you caused this vehicle enough pain?”

“But Byers said that I had to do at least half of the driving.  And you promised.  And you have already done more than half the trip. . .”

Frohike pulled to the side of the turnpike more violently than was called for, mostly for the pleasure of seeing Jimmy’s head knock into his headrest.  “Whoops, sorry there buddy.”

“S’okay!”  He was already out the door and halfway to the driver’s seat, bounding like a Labrador, and probably about as qualified for a license.  Frohike could faintly hear a relieved sigh coming from the darkness behind him.  Then Jimmy was yanking the door open, and Frohike slid to the asphalt.

Jimmy leaned over-way over-and whispered, “You might want to ask Agent Scully about that lake effect.  There might be a front-page story there.”

Frohike managed a grunt and stalked stiffly to the other side.  He briefly debated-Jimmy or Scully-and finally stepped up through the sliding door Jimmy had left open.  Flare of pain in his lower back-

“Ow.  Dammit.”

Scully gave him an entirely neutral look as he settled himself next to her.  _I guess this is the part where I am supposed to offer a backrub.  Fat freaking chance._

Frohike returned the look, blandly.  _Yeah, I am only hurting because I leaped at a moment’s notice to drive all day to get your admittedly lovely ass after pulling an all-nighter hacking into Air Force satellite information databases getting  information for  your wonderful, handsome, all-around prince-of-a-guy partner, which he absolutely needed right away.  No need to offer a backrub or anything._

Scully: _So._

Frohike: _So._

Scully blinked first.  She spoke quietly.  “So, do you know where Mulder is?”

He lifted his chin and breathed in deeply, trying to impress Scully with his unapproachable arrogance.  She noticed the red lines in his eyes and several more days of stubble than he usually sported.  She felt the first real stirrings of concern for Mulder.  _Any time, Krycek could be taking Mulder somewhere convenient for dropping off bodies. . ._  The too-familiar controlled panic began to build.  _He could already be dead. . ._

"Krycek allowed him a moment to call this time.  We don't know why.  He didn't tell us anything, only sang the first verse of "'Daydream Believer.'" To her skeptical look: "It's a pre-arranged signal, okay?  We only knew to pick you up before anyone else could find you, not why it was needed, but we can extrapolate. . ."

Frohike quickly moved past the subject of how they located her.  Scully really didn't need to know about the locator beacon/bug Langly had neatly soldered into her cell phone's innards.  Or, for that matter, the bugs planted in her car, apartment, and, during one very. . .exciting. . .excursion, the underwire of her favorite petal-soft brassiere.  _Whoa, baby. . ._

"He said that he wanted to make a call from the pay phone before we left Erie.  I assume he called you three?"

Scully thought that she could here a faint "Four!" from the driver's seat, but assumed she was imagining it.

Frohike shook his head wearily.  "You know, every freaking Arbor Day--don't ask--we give the boy a portable scrambler.  Refuses to use it.  Doesn't fit the devil-may care Mr. Macho Cool idiom he prefers to cultivate, I guess.  And he never makes the connection that Ratboy mysteriously knows exactly what tidbits to lure him out into the field with Bambi's mother. . ."

Scully leapt to the defensive.  "Krycek does know more about the Syndicate's actions and plans than we do.  Mulder--and I--have to examine every possible source of the truth, even if it means putting our own safety in jeopardy.

"Scully, playing into Krycek's hands is just stupid.  Hasn't he abundantly proved that?  He's only going to get. . .himself killed, and then where will your grand quest for the truth be?"  _He's going to get you killed, Dana, which is almost more important to me._

Scully found herself agreeing, and replied with redoubled venom.  "The truth is more important than any individual's personal comfort or safety."  She looked away, deliberately.  "I'd think you, of all people, would understand."

Frohike shifted on the narrow seat.  The muscle spasm had finally settled into a steady burning.  _Yeah, no clue here.  That's why I'm comfortably slogged out on the couch with Byers, nodding off to the tune of the O's blowing another one on channel eight._

He decided to switch to a more neutral topic, at least until his hands stopped their mysterious twitching, and began telling her what he'd told Mulder.  Unsurprisingly, it was all new to Scully.  Mulder hadn't already passed it on, preferring to mull in intellectual solitude for a time.  He considered the information while he laid it out.  The Air Force had logged an unusual amount of activity over Lake Erie that didn't correspond to anything reported by military or civilian aviators.  It was clear to Frohike that the whole mystery was related to the cloning program he and the other Lone Gunmen had so carefully profiled on a monthly basis.  It almost rated it's own permanent column.  His hypothesis was that They were taking it to a new level; They had the technique mastered and were now grabbing randomly occurring opportunities to test their speed and accuracy.  They would replace people with clones and monitor how easily they slipped into the roles, how willing their family and friends would be to ignore small inconsistencies in the people they "knew."

Part of Frohike was rubbing his hands together with glee.  While they still had no proof of the larger conspiracy, the puzzle piece they did have evidence for was dy-no-mite front-page material.  And, after the tabloids had run their course, Byers and perhaps Jimmy would approach, sympathetic journalists wanting to do a feature piece on how a family pulls together after an infamous crisis, how their relationships had changed, the new people they came in contact with--

Scully interrupted his revere after he had stared into space for more than a minute.  "So you think we should begin looking for Mulder where?"

Frohike shrugged.  "Your guess is as good as mine.  We're just here to get you out of the way." _Before anyone's people come through to clean up loose ends._

An empty can flew backwards to land between them.  Frohike was mildly surprised that it didn't burst into flames as it passed through Scully's gaze.

"Hey!"  Jimmy. "Reload, por favor?"

Scully fished a can out of the plastic bag and handed it forward without interrupting her Redhead Death Glare.

"Thanks!  Hey, either of you want a cheezy poof?"

She waved away the proffered bag.  Without turning her head, or blinking.

"Jimmy, keep your eyes on the damn road!" Frohike snapped and punched the back of Jimmy's headrest.  His back spasmed again, cheerfully reminding Frohike why a man his age really shouldn't try to throw a punch after being in an upright sitting position for more than 36 hours.  _Dammit, dammit, dammit. . ._

He became dimly aware of a voice as the pain receded and the fact that his fingers were twitching, again.  "Krycek has to be leaving some kind of trail, some pattern we can use--we just haven't looked for it in the right--"

"Right, and what do you think the boys and I have looked into on a near-weekly basis for the past six years?  Ratboy leaves a dozen trails, establishes twice as many patterns, is conspicuous in five places at once--it's worse than piecing together Lee Harvey Oswald's final years--who had a similar M.O. to our beloved Krycek, as you would know if you ever, once, bother to pick up a copy of the damn paper we bust our asses on in the down time between producing on demand for Moose and Squirrel."

"Uh, Frohike. . ."

"The road, Jimmy, remember?"

He though he heard a sound like air escaping a balloon from the driver's seat, but ignored it.  _Dammit, man!  Scream at the woman!  That really improves your chances of her realizing what a swell guy's sitting right here._  But he wasn't screaming.  His voice was cool, calm, quiet, rational, as though he were discussing the Sunday news with her as they lounged together at the breakfast table in matching monogrammed robes.  But he couldn't stop the words.  He was just too damn tired.  Tired most of all of the woundedly steadfast steel in Scully's baby blues, the look that only Mulder put there, constantly.  Frohike could see that look even under the death glare, through the haze of pain and sleep deprivation.  It lay between them now, a stubborn desire that felt the unhappiness but refused to let it end, to give up the feeble hope that her object would some day be worthy of all she gave him, if only she could be strong enough.  It was a familiar look; he'd seen it often enough in the mirror.

Scully reached out and roughly pushed one of his shoulders.  _Great, she's gonna sock me.  And in front of Jimmy, man. . ._

But she didn't.  The motion turned Frohike away from her, and, after a moment, he felt small, practiced hands begin to knead the small of his back.  _ Man, Jimmy, you better keep your eyes on the damn road right here_ was his last coherent though, unless one counts "_Nyah-ah-ah _" as coherent.  He was amazed that her words managed to penetrate his hormonal fog, and then wished that they hadn't.  Perhaps it was the appalling vulnerability in her voice.

"Do you think he loves me?"
 
 

Jimmy forced his eyes to gaze at the lane rolling back in front of the van for approximately half a second before they glued themselves right back on the rear-view mirror.  He rationalized it easily.  _There’s no traffic on the turnpike at one a.m., and the way they bank roads these days, there’s hardly even any need for me to steer around the curves._   He just knew it wouldn’t do to tell Fro that, though.

And, man, Fro!  Things were sure heating up back there!  Or at least they had been, but now the man was holding himself stiffer than a board and his face looked like it was going to be stuck on “flinch” forever.  Jimmy watched Scully’s hands still for a moment and then, to his relief, resume their motions on Frohike’s back.  Her face was nearly unreadable, kind of like those Franklin mint statues of Native Indians communing with nature or whatever--and Jimmy would know, having four of them--a face that would wait forever.

For a while there, it had looked like they were going to be at each other’s throats every second.  Jimmy’d tried to distract them a couple of times, even though it meant chugging down a nearly full can of Mountain Dew and, man, did he have a righteous belch brewing.  But there was no way he could let that fly!  Not with Frohike finally looking to get some action with his destiny babe.

Jimmy wasn’t stupid, at least not when it came to matters of the heart.  The other guys made a crack about Frohike jonesing for the girl--the chickadee?--at least once a day, and Jimmy’d noticed, when a lonely night drove him to peruse the famed video collection (and, man oh man, had there been a screaming fit when Fro’d noticed some were gone), that the videos without petite redheads on the cover were covered with dust.  And then there was the fact that Fro sometimes, after looking around extra careful and routing the call through twice as many dummy lines, called someone just to hang up and then look all hang-doggish.  It all led to one conclusion: Fro was just totally into this chick, and Jimmy was rooting for him.  Especially since it turned out she really was--how’d he put it?--tasty.  Seriously tasty, even for an old chick in her thirties.

And it looked like Scully was finally realizing what a strong, forceful, take-charge guy was in front of her nose, which was awesome.  Hey, Jimmy wouldn’t have thought her the type, but some girls really did like their man in charge.  She had her hands all over him, from what Jimmy could see, and said something all quiet and sweet-nothingish that the engine had unfortunately drowned out.  He’d had a few girlfriends like that, back in the days before he discovered his true passions, and they had really dug it when he--

Frohike cleared his throat.  Twice.  Jimmy quickly looked back through the windshield, just in case Fro remembered Jimmy was in the van.  _Invisible, Bond, you’re invisible.  Man, wait till the guys hear about this. . ._

He heard someone taking a deep breath.  “Well, er. . .what do I think, you’re asking. . .”

“Yes.” All quiet and calm now, no inflection.  Jimmy fought the urge to turn around in his seat to watch.

“Mulder. . .yes, I think he does love you.”  Like his last friend just died.  “I know it.”

Jimmy had to look.  It broke his heart.  Fro wasn’t facing Scully at all, just staring past the front passenger seat with a clenched jaw and an expression like all Hell’d just opened up under him.  He wasn’t all rigid any more, but sort of slumped.

_Aw. . .crap.  Poor Fro.  I can’t watch this._  Jimmy yelled, too loudly, “Hey guys!  I gotta take a walk, okay?” and steered the van to the side of the pike.

Frohike roused himself enough to give Jimmy half his usual glare.  “It’s dark--take a flashlight and don’t get lost.  And don’t squat in poison ivy!”

Scully didn’t respond, seemingly lost in thought.  Not smiling, which was odd for a woman who just learned she was loved, even if it wasn’t by the right guy.

But Jimmy was already out the door, sans flashlight.  He leaned over the safety railing and peered into the gloom.  _Just my luck, I have to pull over at the edge of a cliff._  Even so, he carefully stepped over the railing and made his way down the slope a good twenty yards.  There was nothing he could give his friend now but privacy.
 

Scully was without words.  She'd always expected that when confirmation that Mulder loved her as deeply as she did him (as it seemed inevitable would happen, even through the miserable Diana Fowley year), there would be jubilation, some overflowing of happiness and the feeling that her life was finally complete.

_Perhaps Mom really shouldn't have allowed me to read all those Harlequin novels I found in the closet of the new house when I was eight._

Her hands stopped moving.  The massage didn't seem to be helping in any case; Frohike's back muscles were as tight as bridge cables.  Her own back was beginning to ache in sympathy.  "I guess I knew that."

That much was true.  After all, how many times had she taken comfort from a warm glance or the reliable hand touching the small of her back?  Or the snarky faux-flirting that she knew covered and expressed real longing?  Actually, "taking comfort" was sometimes a polite euphemism. . .

Her face flushed, and she was glad that Frohike still had his back to her.

She was so tired of treading these same mental paths!  Did he love her?  Even if he did, was that enough of a reason to wait for him, for any man?  Was she doing either of them a favor by allowing Mulder to make her into a martyr for her love?

Scully let her suddenly heavy fall forward, exhausted from her long day and draining investigation, and too much thinking, blindly seeking the comfort of touch.  Her forehead rested against Frohike's back for a moment, and then he jerked forward.

"I'm going to get Jimmy," he called back without turning around and slammed the van's sliding door shut behind him.

_Why not make it harder on the man, Dana?_  She sighed, and hoped neither of the men would break an ankle or step on a copperhead.  Besides the fact that she didn't relish the idea of having to carry either back to the van, neither of them deserved her snappish temper because she was pissed at Mulder.  As usual.  _Frohike and I are friends, of a sort, but only due to his unflagging good nature in the face of my too-open distain. At least in the beginning.  And going from creepy audio-visual geek to eunuch in the bath house isn't a big improvement._

She regretted putting him in that position, now.  Before, her overriding desire had been that of needing another perspective, a vote to add to either side of the debate raging inside her skull.

Scully leaned back, and immediately leaned forward again as something hummed to life behind her.  She pulled it forward; just the night-vision goggles.  She could faintly hear Frohike’s evil-tempered voice bellowing out Jimmy’s name.  _What a lovely way to spend a Saturday night--infrared goggles in my lap and my dates off peeing in the woods.  I need a life.  And a port-o-john wouldn’t hurt either, at this point._

It was time she gave it up.  Scully knew this, had probably realized it the moment she saw Mulder in that driver’s seat, leaving her behind on the curb.  Basing her life on that one relationship was only going to destroy it--and she would be lucky if “it” was only the friendship, instead of a life. . .

Frohike suddenly appeared at the window.  “I can’t find Jimmy.”

“Dammit!”  Her immediate though was to worry that aliens had abducted the man, and the image of him strapped into a probing chair or cloning cell really, really bothered her.  Then, she wondered why she cared so much for a guy she’d met a few hours before.  Finally, she decided that a nice, long break from the X-Files was definitely in order, as her mind was obviously stuck in a particular groove.  By this time, however, Scully was already out the door, handing Frohike the flashlight (which he had also neglected to grab in his flight from the van) and slipping the goggles over her head.  “Let’s not get separated, but fan out.  Keep within sight at all times.  And grab the first-aid kit.”

Frohike only nodded, offhandedly noting how damn sexy infrared goggles looked on redheads.

Scully carefully made her way down the slope.  Infrared goggles, she discovered, were absolutely no help in showing her where the rocks were.  One came loose under her foot and she fell, nearly twisting an ankle.  Her cell phone rang and she snatched it up.  “What?!”

“Scully!”

“Mulder!  Where are you?”  She could hear a motor in the background.  At least he hadn’t destroyed the rental car this time, although she still didn’t approve of his insistence of talking while driving.

Mulder looked back over his shoulder at the small crowd--well, mob really--of leather-clad men being sprayed by gravel as he peeled out of the parking lot, having only recently pulled his clothing back on and removed his new. . .accessory.  “Hey Scully, did you know that there’s a Baltimore in Ohio?”  _And it has a biker bar full of really macho Harley Davidson men who are not happy to discover a man clad in only a studded leather collar passed out behind the back dumpster. . .  At least Krycek left the car and my clothes only a short panicked dash away.  Who knew the man had a sense of humor?_  There was no way Scully needed to know that little factoid, however.

“Listen Scully, we were right!  They were testing the clones; this was a completely new phase of the project.  Something went wrong in Sherice’s case, though.  She was the first clone to retain any strength of will.  They were completely unprepared for her to grab the corpse and bolt, and she made it right out of the vessel and into the waiting arms of the law.  So to speak.  Apparently, they always needed to train the clones before they would even blink, which is exactly what they wanted:  A race of human slave clones to subdue the rest of us and prepare out planet for colonization.  But now they are putting the whole project on hold to study the new development--”

“Mulder, breathe.”

“--because the last thing that they want is to create even more self-willed human beings!  Don’t you see what this means?”

Scully continued swiveling her head, looking for any man-sized blob of green.  It wasn’t that she didn’t find Mulder’s new information interesting; far from it, in fact.  Unfortunately, she knew that “Consider the source” was not Mulder’s motto, and she really didn’t want to consider the ramifications of what games Krycek might be playing, what position he was trying to maneuver the two partners into.  That had always been her job, and right now she had her hands full with just finding Jimmy.

“It means, Mulder, that They will be watching Sherice like a hawk, but it is doubtful that they will make any moves toward her.  In fact, it is doubtful that They will make many moves at all for a time, for fear of overextending themselves and adding yet another front to defend.  It means that we should make the local authorities aware of the fact that Sherice and her family need special protection and observation, with orders to notify us in the case of any odd activity.  And now we go home, and I write up a report to Skinner, and we go on with other cases.”  _Which I’m pretty sure is the last thing Krycek would expect us to do, so it is probably the correct course of action._

Frohike approached.  “Is that our boy?”

She nodded.

“He’s okay?”

She nodded again, and he walked off, satisfied.  She wished it was so easy for her.

“Oh.  You’re sure on that one?  I think it would be worth returning for further investigation, tonight if possible. . .”

“I don’t.  Even if this information is accurate, it doesn’t help us much except to let us know that we have more breathing room than before.  This isn’t a war, and we aren’t an army to mobilize at a sign of weakness.  We watch and wait.”  Her tone was final, usually the tone Mulder took on at the end of an argument.

“Hmmm.”  Mulder considered arguing further, but his gut instinct told him she was right.  He had already walked into one trap into the last twelve hours. . .  “I’ll agree, but just this one time.”  He smiled into the darkness outside his windshield.  “Next time, we definitely go haring off half-cocked.  Deal?”

“Deal.”  She turned away from the phone and lifted the goggles from her eyes.  The damn things really made one’s eyelids sweat!  “Frohike, any luck?”  She received a negative from somewhere in the darkness to her left.  “Keep looking!”

Back to the phone.  “Are you going back to D.C. now?”

“No, I’ll probably hole up in a hotel room somewhere soon.”  Droll tone again.  “Care to join me for some activity that would make Skinner scream out chapters from the FBI handbook?”

Scully made a face.  What an opening.  “Look, Mulder, when you get back home, we have to talk.”

“About what?”

“We just have to talk, okay?”  Why did men never leave well enough alone?

“Tell me now.”  The tone turned joshing, wheedling.  “After all, I am really far too exhausted to be driving a large vehicle, and I might start nodding off without someone to talk to me, keep me awake.  And what an amazing coincidence that you should want to be talking!  Therefore--”

“Well,” Scully began sharply, “I’ve been thinking about our relationship recently.”  She heard the sounds of brakes squealing on the other end of the phone, and a quick, “Uh huh.  And?”

_At least I got his attention._  She launched into it.  “We revolve around each other in our own little world, nearly entirely bereft of other relationships.  We’re like some sort of codependent hydrogen molecule.  Because no one else can truly be trusted, at least in our own minds, we’ve formed this huge bond that seems to crowd out everything else in life.  It is becoming a weakness in our partnership instead of the strength it used to be.  In our isolation, we dump all of our emotional needs on each other, never considering that no one relationship can--or should--fulfill them all.  For my own sanity, and for yours, I think we need to discuss this unresolved sexual tension issue and put it to rest.  We just aren’t meant to be together that way.  Also, I may just kill you the next time you leave me hanging if we don’t get this straightened out.”

She received silence in response.  Then, she thought she heard a whimper somewhere off to her left.  _Jimmy?_  She moved carefully in that direction.

“Scully?”  Plaintive.

“Yes?”

“How do you manage to make crushing all my hopes and dreams sound just like any one of your overly rational and usually wrong theories?”

Scully matched his dry tone.  “It’s your monotone, Mulder.  I tried it out once, and now I use it for all occasions.  I thought you’d be flattered.”

“Hmmm.”  He sounded thoughtful.  Perhaps even relieved, a little?  “I don’t know what to say.  Can we talk later?  When we can actually look at each other?”

_What a great idea._  “I’d like that.”  She heard the noise again, closer this time.  She slipped the goggles back over her head and called out, “Jimmy?”

“You found him?”  She turned her head and jumped.  Her field of vision was filled with a mass of green as Frohike joined her from behind.  “I think he’s over here.”

Finally, she walked around a large tree and almost stepped on Jimmy.  She handed the goggles to Frohike and leaned over as Jimmy looked at her with plaintive eyes in the light of the flashlight.  “I think I twisted my ankle.”  Indeed, Scully noted, it was swollen.  Very swollen.  “And I may have gotten bitten by something, I’m not sure. . .”  Jimmy’s eyes began to glaze slightly as Scully saw the two small puncture marks in the middle of the swelling.

“Frohike!  Is there a snake bite kit in there?  Good.  Now find out where the nearest hospital is. . .”
 

The next morning, 6 am.  Saint Joseph’s Hospital, Lancaster, PA.

Frohike slumped in the hard plastic chair next to Jimmy’s bedside, one hand resting on the young man’s shoulder.  Jimmy was still very pale, but Dr. Scully’s on-the-spot first aid had kept the boy stable until they reached the ER, whose physicians were all experienced in copperhead bites.  They were keeping Jimmy for observation through the rest of the day, but it seemed likely that the poison had done only light damage to the heart and nervous system that would heal completely in a few weeks.  The three Lone Gunmen would just have to keep their youngest compatriot quiet and in bed for a week, at least.

_Now that’s likely._  Frohike snorted to himself.  _Maybe if we break out the leather restraints. . ._  He tried once again to make himself comfortable, but knew he would be lucky to fall back into a doze.  Agent Scully had woken him from the last one, he remembered groggily.  Now there was something worth thinking about, he told himself.  He couldn’t wait to tell Byers how Scully had hefted Jimmy’s arm over her shoulder and hauled ass back to the van.  _Girl’s got some biceps on her. . ._

Why had she woken him?  Oh, yeah.  Mulder had shown up and was giving her a ride the rest of the way home.  She’d wanted to say goodbye, and. . .something.

Mulder and Scully. . .now there was another thing to dwell upon.  A wide grin spread itself across his face.  End of an era, there.  He hadn’t been able to help overhearing her conversation. . .of course, the fact that he had been closer to her than her shadow had helped.  The delectable Agent Scully was once again in the market for a man.  Certainly, finding new relationships had to involve that.  And she would undoubtedly look first in the circle of people she trusted, and that was a damn small circle. . .

Part of him mentally checked himself off of the list.  It was obviously just not going to happen.  She was a goddess, and knew it, and he was, well, he was Melvin Frohike.  The twain were not fated to meet, outside of revisionist interpretations of ancient Greek myths.  The rest of him, however, quite happily began plotting his plan of attack.  _Don Quixote got nuttin’ on me._

Jimmy moved in his sleep, grimacing.  Frohike wondered idly what nightmares lurked behind the endlessly cheerful visage.  Then he noticed the box Jimmy’s movements had knocked over on the bed.  _Oh, right!  The other thing she said, that this was to thank me, and that Jimmy should expect something in the mail, too._

If he recalled correctly, she had been giggling as she passed the box over.  Giggling?  He shook his head in disbelief as he picked up the box, which was heavy for its relatively small size, recalling the only other time he’d ever seen her in a giggly mood, and hoped the same motivations wouldn’t overtake her in her conversation with Mulder.
 

Scully unlocked her apartment door on the third try.  Mulder reached forward to grasp the knob and push the door open.  She blinked at him and wondered how long she had been staring at the door in silence.  He threw their suitcases on her living room floor and wandered off in the general direction of the bathroom, muttering something about bikers and really needing a very hot shower.

She flopped on the couch and found that she couldn’t get back up.  _Damn good thing there’s not much traffic right before dawn.  And that there weren’t many sharp turns, and that I really could make the trip from Baltimore to home in my sleep.  Proved that one._

With a huge exercise of will, she forced her shoes off her feet and pulled her bra out from underneath her shirt.  _Good enough._  She curled up to sleep, but found that her mind was still running like a hamster in a wheel.

Scully wasn’t sure how things stood with Mulder.  They had talked a great deal on the semi-coherent trip home, but hadn’t come to any conclusion.  She was sure she’d made the right decision, however.  Simply put, she couldn’t keep loving him if they didn’t set some boundaries.  Technically, she thought through a yawn, the break-up of their partnership could mean the end of civilization, since they seemed to be the only two who both knew about the conspiracy and weren’t actively abetting it.  So, she had to be right.  Mulder would come around.

She also found herself idly thinking about how she would thank Frohike and Jimmy.  Especially Frohike.  While she was getting her life in order, she should start returning some favors, or at least start getting to know the people who had saved her life a dozen times over on a more personal level.

Scully started giggling to herself, faintly, imagining the look on Frohike’s face when he opened her gift.  She’d wandered into the gift shop while waiting for the final verdict on Jimmy’s condition more or less by accident, and stayed to look around out of amazement in finding a hospital gift shop open after midnight.  One of the get-well items on the shelf struck her fancy, and her sleep-fogged brain immediately came up with the perfect way to make it Frohike-ready.  She bought it and a Sharpie pen, finishing just before Mulder tapped her on the shoulder.

_Well, we can always start just by going out with the boys for drinks and cheesesteaks.  They’ll like that.  Or maybe just me and Frohike at first, to clear the air between us._  Mulder returned and sat on the couch next to her, smelling like her sunflower extract shampoo.  She rested a hand on his knee, and he covered it with his own.  A companionable gesture.  Probably.  Or not.  Either way, she’d deal with it in the morning.

As she finally drifted off, her last mental image was of her and Frohike sharing a drink and shooting the bull.  _After all, it’s high time I went out on a date anyway._  She expected the thought to make her laugh, but instead the image wasn’t entirely unappealing.  _Another thing that can wait until morning. . ._
 

Frohike stared at the mug in his hands in disbelief.  A sappy yellow happy face grinned up at him like a lunatic.  _What the almighty hell. . .?_  He rolled it over in his hands and saw the hand-added inscription:  “You aren’t paranoid enough.”  Underneath it was a seven-digit number, one that he already knew by heart despite never punching the combination into a phone.

It made no sense.  It made perfect sense.  Frohike tossed his head back and laughed, a tired shadow of the bellow he was capable of, but more sincere than anything he’d produced in years.  After one final glance over Jimmy, Frohike rested his head on the bed and fell violently into a sound sleep, and his last coherent thoughts were of revisionist interpretations of ancient Greek myths.