From: cofax@mindspring.com   
      
   Gonna Be Different This Time   
   by cofax   
      
   Part 4 of 4. Notes and warnings are in part 0.   
      
      
      
   +=+=+   
      
      
   Scully wanted to believe it was over.  There was Skinner, with Frohike,   
   Jack, and two others, weapons in hand, looking reassuringly competent.  But   
   they had no time now, no time before the bomber would be here, and Spender   
   was getting away.   
      
   Jack had disarmed the last two guards, who sat on their hands on the   
   ground.  Charlie was leaning against the ladder, looking shaken.  And   
   Gibson--Gibson was staring fixedly into space, oblivious to the activity   
   around him.   
      
   "Doctor Scully, are you all right?"  Jack put a hand on her shoulder.   
      
   She nodded, and caught his arm as he began to turn away.  "There are other   
   prisoners in the complex, we have to get them out if we can!"   
      
   "Where?" That was Skinner, carrying two assault rifles slung over his   
   shoulder and a third in his hands.   
      
   Scully turned, uncertain, and then oriented herself.  "Two buildings over,   
   that way.  On the third floor.  We can't leave them there--"   
      
   "There's no question of that," snapped Jack.  "Benson!" he called, and one   
   of his people, a tall black woman Scully hadn't seen before, came over to   
   him.  "You take these guys back to the truck with the boy.  Skinner and I   
   will go find these other prisoners.  If we're not back in fifteen, leave   
   without us. I want you three miles from here by 12:45, got it?"   
      
   "Sir!" she replied, and Scully would have argued--she knew where the other   
   prisoners were--except Gibson had come out of his frozen state and was   
   tugging at her sleeve.   
      
   "Agent Scully, Agent Scully!"   
      
   "What is it, Gibson?"  Mulder asked from behind her.  He rested a hand on   
   her shoulder, and she leaned back against him, just for a moment, wishing   
   she could just stay that way, letting the heat of his body soak into her.   
      
   Gibson pointed back at the building they'd left, the dirty yellow of the   
   emergency lights turning his glasses opaque.  "The smoking man, he's still   
   in there, and he has the --" he hesitated, fumbling for words, "--the   
   germs, to make everyone sick.  And the cure, too, the information that was   
   in the computers!  He's gone downstairs, he's going to escape through the   
   tunnels!"   
      
   Mulder's hand tightened on her; Scully realized that no, they weren't done   
   yet.  "Why should we trust you now, Gibson?  You betrayed us to Spender   
   before."   
      
   The boy began to shift from foot to foot, shaking his head.  "I had to, I   
   had to get close to him to find it, it's what you needed all along.  If we   
   didn't see him I couldn't find it, and we need it, you said so, if you   
   don't get it we'll all die, everyone will."   
      
   "Right.  Then let's go."  Frohike grinned at Mulder and slapped his   
   back.  "You unkillable bastard.  Bet we surprised the shit out of you."   
      
   Scully stepped away from Mulder and turned around.  Benson and Charlie   
   stood over the captured guards now, pistols in hand as the stunned-looking   
   men struggled to their feet. Skinner and Jack had their heads together over   
   Skinner's watch.  Scully didn't look at her watch; without the vaccine, it   
   wouldn't matter much if they survived the bomb anyway.   
      
   "Which way, Gibson?"   
      
   The boy pointed again.  "All the way down into the labs, at the far end of   
   the building.  He's alone."   
      
   Scully nodded.  Off they went, but Frohike followed them this time, after a   
   brief pause to tell Skinner.  There was no time to argue priorities, and   
   the last Scully saw of her former boss was a wave of his hand before he set   
   off in the opposite direction.   
      
   They ran, Scully struggling to keep up with the other two as the doorways   
   flashed past them.  Empty rooms upon empty rooms, no time to do check for   
   ambushes, just running.  They found the last stairwell, the door still   
   ajar, the lights illuminating nothing but clean white tile and metal-edged   
   risers, leading down into the dark.  If Gibson had lied--again--   
      
   She pushed the thought from her mind and kept going.  Mulder took the   
   stairs down three and four at a time; she stuck to two, each step jarring   
   her spine, their footfalls echoing in the stairwell.  Frohike paused to   
   gasp for breath, and she passed him, bang bang bang down another flight,   
   swinging around the corner with a hand on the railing, bang bang bang down.   
      
   Four flights down, the stairs ended.  Scully fetched up next to Mulder   
   behind the door.  This one was closed, but not locked, and had no window in   
   it.  Mulder eased it open and peered out, then stepped out, weapon   
   first.  Scully realized she had no gun; Spender's men had taken it away and   
   she hadn't thought to get one from Skinner before racing off after Spender.   
      
   The hallway was empty, but a glass-topped door a few yards down the hall   
   had promising signs on them, the kind of signs with warning labels.  Scully   
   glanced behind her to see Frohike at the door of the stairwell before   
   following Mulder to the lab door.  She didn't bother to read the red   
   warning labels plastered on it, but noticed the double set of seals inside   
   the jamb.  This had to be the place.   
      
   Someone was in there: Scully could see a dim shadow against a filing   
   cabinet inside an inner lab, but whoever it was, he was hidden behind the   
   inner wall.  She put a hand on the doorknob and looked at Mulder.   
      
   This was it, this was the end of it all, of six months of death and loss,   
   of the endless journey east in the cold: they stopped Spender here.  And if   
   it took holding him here until the bomb fell and incinerated them all, that   
   was what they would do.  Mulder met her eyes, his own shadowed in the poor   
   light of the hallway, and nodded once.   
      
   They went in.   
      
   Mulder swung into the inner doorway, gun raised. Scully was behind him,   
   wishing for her own weapon.   
      
   It was indeed Spender, hunched over a desktop computer that was just   
   spitting out a cd from its drive.  His suit was unrumpled; a burning   
   cigarette rested on the black surface of the lab table.  In place of the   
   cigarette he usually had in his hand were two small glass vials, one filled   
   with amber liquid, the other clear.  They were closed with red rubber   
   stoppers, and Scully's breath caught in her throat at the finite distance   
   between them and the viruses multiplying in those tiny glass tubes.   
      
   "Spender," warned Mulder, raising his gun.  "Put the vials down."   
      
   "You again?" replied Spender, not even raising his head.  He waved the   
   vials at them, using the other hand to awkwardly place the cd into a jewel   
   case.  "You can't shoot me, agents: if you did, I'd drop these, and all   
   your efforts would go to waste, wouldn't they?"  The cd finally clicked   
   into place, and he straightened, shutting the case with a smirk.   
      
   There were three cds on the table now; from what Gibson had said, they were   
   full of the information Scully needed, data on the viruses, and the   
   vaccines.  Maybe data on Spender's contacts with the aliens, even.  They   
   absolutely could *not* let Spender get away.  But they couldn't risk the   
   viruses being released, either.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)