From: ssteiner@sbcglobal.net   
      
   I kept the better of the two cars, left the other to be sold, and drove back   
   to Missouri to close up the lake house.  I had until September fifteenth to   
   get my affairs in order and report to the corrections facility.   
      
   When I returned to Washington, it was time to face another shattered remnant   
   of my sordid past.  I had plenty of time left before I had to report in for   
   my sentence, time I needed to spend effectively building a bridge from a   
   place I didn't remember, to a place in an uncertain future.  It was very   
   strange, harboring guilt and apologizing for actions I had no personal   
   memory of committing, even though I might've done them all the same.   
      
   I called from the motel I'd checked into when I rolled into town last night.   
      
   "Hello?"   
      
   "Uh, Scully-Dana-it's Al Kent."  The pseudonym had served me well so far, no   
   point in abandoning it now.  It was whom I felt like, anyway.   
      
   She was pleasant, but cool. "Hello, Al."   
      
   "I'd like to come over, and talk with you.  If that's all right."   
      
   "Sure, Al, that'd be fine.  Mulder's taken the kids to Playland in   
   Vancouver, they'll be gone until late."   
      
   "Vancouver?"   
      
   "It's the closest place with a roller coaster."   
      
   "Ah."   
      
   "Where are you now?"   
      
   "I'm at the Shangri-La downtown-I can be there in a half hour."   
      
   "Have you eaten?"   
      
   I shook my head in disbelief. "Uh, no?"   
      
   "Okay, see you in a half hour, then."   
      
   She hung up the phone, and I was left holding the receiver that finally   
   beeped to warn me the phone was off the hook.  Her slightly sarcastic tone,   
   and the question about my eating habits warred inside my head. I picked up   
   the car keys and went to see Scully.   
      
   *~*   
      
   I rang the doorbell, and she answered immediately as if she had been   
   standing by the door.  She hadn't changed much in the last twelve years, she   
   looked very much like the last F.B.I. ID photo that I had found in my   
   research; maybe a little gray in the red hair, and a set of small crows feet   
   around the eyes.   
      
   "Hello, Al. Come in."   
      
   "Thanks."   
      
   She closed the door behind me and walked to the kitchen, talking as she   
   went.  "I was just about to make a BLT when you called, so I threw in some   
   more bacon, in case you wanted one, too. That all right with you?"   
      
   "Yeah, that's fine." I followed her into the kitchen, and she pointed me to   
   a chair.  "Have a seat. You want a coke, or a cup of coffee?"   
      
   "Yes, coffee, thank you." She poured me a cup, and set it down in front of   
   me, and began to transfer the sandwich stuff to the table.   
      
   "I thought you'd like to make your own, didn't know what you wanted on it.   
   Help yourself."  She sat down across from me and assembled her sandwich, so   
   I did the same.  "I got called out early this morning, had a floater in the   
   river.  A jogger found the body washed ashore, so I missed breakfast."   
      
   I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.  "Had it been there long?"   
      
   "Yeah, turned out to be a fisherman that went missing about a week ago.   
   They'd been looking for him."   
      
   With a weak grin, I began to eat.  If this was a test, I was determined to   
   pass.   
      
   "So, how was your drive?" She took a bite, and munched contentedly while she   
   watched me openly.   
      
   "It was okay.  I took an extra day and did a little sightseeing in Wyoming."   
      
   "Nice?"   
      
   "Yeah, very pretty."   
      
   "So, tell me, what do you remember from before?" She waved her sandwich   
   towards my head.   
      
   "Nothing solid after about 1979, a few vague bits and pieces from college."   
      
   "Mmmm. But you can still learn and you're obviously functional."   
      
   I thought about the difficult years it took to get to this point. "It was a   
   lot of hard work, I'm somewhat of a miracle case around the V.A. I wasn't   
   expected to come out of the coma, much less regain the skills level I test   
   at."   
      
   "I'd be interested in seeing some of your medical files."  She fixed me with   
   a bright blue stare.   
      
   I returned her steady look. "Sure.  I probably need to have my case   
   transferred to the V.A. hospital here, anyway.  It's about time for my   
   annual."   
      
   She nodded and smiled.  "Alex Krycek, getting an annual physical from the   
   government.  That's pretty rich."   
      
   Shrugging, I returned to my sandwich, and then stopped. "It was Strughold;   
   he got me the ID and the treatment.  He'd kept me safe while I was in a   
   coma. He never told me why, but he obviously thought it was important."   
      
   "So where is that Mengele wannabe these days?"   
      
   "Last time I called he was in Morocco, then he disappeared again.  He was   
   pretty old-maybe he died."   
      
   "I'll believe it when I see his corpse on my autopsy table."   
      
   "Scully, listen-"   
      
   "Dana. I don't use Scully anymore."   
      
   "Dana, then.  I know I should apologize, I know there were terrible things   
   done, maybe by me, maybe not.  There are only the accusations and no proof.   
   Any light I might have been able shed on them is well and truly gone. I'm   
   not the same man, I can't imagine doing those things, and so it'd be an   
   empty gesture. But, I am sorry that you had to endure those tragedies."   
      
   "It may be that I can come to understand that, accept that apology.  It's   
   going to take some time-but Mulder thinks this is important, so I'm going to   
   learn to work though it."   
      
   "What can I do?"   
      
   She finished off her diet coke and started to clean off the table.  "Let's   
   go to the office and get those records."   
      
      
   The rest of the day was spent getting Kansas City to send my records to the   
   VA in Bellingham and assuaging her curiosity. During the following weeks,   
   the three of us built an accord of sorts. Mulder had copies of most of his   
   X-Files and other documents, mission reports that had been filed, and some   
   that were his private reports-ones that would have never been accepted by   
   Skinner or Kersch. I began to get a better picture of the eight years that   
   had us colliding in various ways.  Missing pieces were replaced, and the   
   research material I had brought back with me from the lake house gave us all   
   better perspective of our crusade.   
      
   *~*   
      
   There were regular visits to visit Will in Seattle.  His diagnosis had been   
   upgraded to schizophrenia, with the appropriate change in medication, but so   
   far it hadn't alleviated his episodic blackouts.  In fact they were   
   increasing in regularity, and on our third visit, we had the pleasure of   
   meeting with the other Will. Mulder's theory of Will's having multiple   
   personalities had been borne out. He was everything Will wasn't, so we   
   privately dubbed him The Other.  That one was sullen, rude, uncooperative,   
   and had a mean streak. He had no compunction against saying cruel things,   
   and his taunts put an end to Dana visiting again for some time.  She'd done   
   what she thought was right at the time; sending him away-out of the eye of   
   the raging storm.  The Other didn't have any information, merely a sense of   
   malevolent purpose, so if he was in control when we visited, Mulder and I   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)