From: mrkeller829@gmail.com   
      
   =====o============================o=====   
   "Chermera" by Mary Ruth Keller Part 16  of 45   
   E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net, mrkeller829@gmail.com   
   PG-13   X-File: Myth-arc   Disclaimed in Part I   
   Already sent to Gossamer   
   =====o============================o=====   
      
   Chapter IV –  The Schizoid Man    
      
   -----o-------------------------------------o-----   
      
   Number Two: Even in those days it was obvious you were going to make a   
   top-notch field man. Here am I, stuck in admin. You always did enjoy your   
   food, even before you got your jobs from the black file.   
      
   The Prisoner: Sorry I didn't shave. Couldn't find a razor.   
      
   Number Two: Ah, my dear chap, I'm so sorry.   
      
   The Prisoner: It must have been mislaid. Strange apartment.   
      
   Number Two: And after all that flying.   
      
   The Prisoner: Yes.   
      
   Number Two: You must feel a bit disoriented.   
      
   The Prisoner: What's it all about?   
      
   Number Two: Our prized prisoner. The one we call Number Six. Toughest case   
   I've ever handled. Now, I could crack him of course, but I can't use the   
   normal techniques. Too valuable. Mustn't damage him permanently, say our   
   masters. That's why I need you.   
      
   The Prisoner: Why do you need me?   
      
   Number Two: You bring two great gifts to bear. Firstly, your abilities as an   
   Agent.   
      
   The Prisoner: Ah, yes. Secondly?   
      
   Number Two: You have a unique physical advantage.   
      
   The Prisoner: Physical advantage! Of growing a mustache overnight?   
      
   Number Two: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. No, not quite. You took longer that time to   
   correct.   
      
   The Prisoner: To correct?   
      
   Number Two: You remember how Susan hated you without it. She told me she   
   wouldn't kiss you until you grew it again.   
      
   The Prisoner: Good decision.   
      
   Number Two: You know you really do bear a remarkable resemblance to him.   
   Remarkable. Your job, Number Twelve, will be to impersonate him. Take his   
   sense of reality away.   
      
   (The Prisoner picks up the Tally Ho, sees the February Tenth date in the upper   
   right corner.)   
      
   Number Two: Once he begins to doubt his own identity, he'll crack. What do you   
   think of the idea?   
      
   The Prisoner: I think it has fascinating possibilities, but you'll have an   
   awful job convincing me that I am not your Number Six.   
   Number Two: Ah. Ha, excellent Number Twelve, of course. Always the   
   professional. Hum. Started living the part already, eh? Oh, that reminds me.   
   Allow me. (He pins on the Number Six button.) You're now officially Number Six.   
   The Prisoner: (tears off button) I shan't need this to remind me that I am   
   your Number Six.   
      
                                  The Schizoid Man   
      
   -----o------------------------------------o-----   
      
   Apartment 5   
   Alexandria, VA   
   Wednesday, June 10, 1998   
   8:17 am   
      
   With a long, deep breath, Dana Scully forced her eyes open. The large red   
   numbers blinking back at her had her scrambling to her feet. {I can't afford   
   to be *this* tired!} Quickly tossing the covers over the bed, she rushed to   
   the door to stumble through,   
    nearly colliding with her partner, who had his left hand raised, fingers   
   curled, ready to knock. "Mulder!" She gasped at the aches she still felt as   
   she pulled herself up short.   
      
   The tapered fingers dropped to her shoulder. "Doctor, slow down. The Cybermen   
   are still sleeping." Rubbing circles around her collarbone with his thumb, he   
   held a steaming mug of coffee toward her. As she took it, he assessed the   
   marks on her face, neck,    
   and arms. They had blackened, but not spread. She would be okay, if stiff for   
   a day or so. A quiet morning and afternoon would help her recover, but she   
   would never ask for it, he knew. He had a distraction planned that he hoped   
   would give her that space.   
      
   As she drank, she checked her partner over as well, only to realize he was as   
   disheveled as she. His dark, short hair sticking up at all angles, he was in   
   his Oxford sweatshirt and faded grey sweatpants, still barefoot. The coffee   
   half-drained, she    
   lifted her chin. "Mulder, it's so late. We need to get into work."   
      
   He was tugging down the back of the soft ribbed band. "Not really. Skinner's   
   at Quantico for a few days." He shrugged. "Some high-level management retreat   
   I was told it would be best I avoid. Pendrell and Phillips are starting their   
   month's leave today,    
   so they're otherwise occupied. I called Cynthia and gave her the day off, too.   
   She was working until midnight on her final."   
      
   One corner of her lips quirked. "We both suspected she would do that."   
      
   The dark-haired agent nodded. "She's a good kid. I'm sorry Lindhauer got   
   inside her head the way he did. Besides, we need to talk about the Section,   
   and we can do that here just as easily as in X-Files East."   
      
   Scully studied her partner's eyes. The hazel was untroubled. While he wore no   
   smirk, his forehead was smooth, so whatever was on his mind was indeed   
   work-related, but not serious. After emptying the mug, she handed it to him,   
   then began turning into her    
   room. "Okay, give me a few. Good coffee, Mulder, thanks."   
      
   Even with her back to him, she could hear the grin in the tenor. "Ah, my   
   retirement plan is still in place, then."     
      
   --o-0-o--   
      
   Northern Division   
   San Diego Police Department   
   San Diego, CA   
   Wednesday, 5:24 am   
      
   "The Muirlands surveillance is continuing. Southern Division will be supplying   
   six officers to assist starting Friday. I'll have the specific names later   
   this morning so we will know the new assignments and schedules." Martin   
   Johnson flipped the pages of    
   his notes back into order, then lifted the clipboard off the lectern. "Okay,   
   people, let's give San Diego its money's worth again today, shall we?" Several   
   uniforms approached the front, asking for specifics relating to their   
   assignments or informing him    
   of overnight arrests.   
      
   After the central conference room had emptied, the African-American focused on   
   the two officers remaining. "Rich, Jerry, what do you have?" The three turned   
   as the side door opened. The Sergeant nodded. "Professor Miller. Thank you for   
   waiting."   
      
   She had been crossing the space determinedly. "You and your people have work   
   to do. I could help you best by staying out of the way." She checked each of   
   their faces in turn before holding several printed pages toward the   
   African-American. "I took the    
   time to write up my notes after I arrived home." As she glanced at Jerry, she   
   tossed her head, her long chestnut curls floating freely around her face. "I   
   also researched a bit more on the Web."   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)