From: cofax@mindspring.com   
      
   Gonna Be Different This Time   
   by cofax   
      
   Part 3 of 4   
      
      
      
      
      
   Scully raised an eyebrow at Gibson.  *You're sure this is the one?*   
      
   He nodded in confirmation.   
      
   Well, then.  She'd come this far on the strength of his word.  She could go   
   a little farther.  She pulled out her lockpick again, and set to work by   
   the intermittent flash of Gibson's flashlight.  She was trying to be as   
   quiet as she could, and it was a more complicated lock; as a result it took   
   a lot longer than she would have liked, and her hands were wet with sweat   
   by the time she heard the final soft *click*.   
      
   Although she knew Gibson would have warned her of anyone approaching,   
   Scully cast a long look up and down the hallway before easing the door open.   
      
   The small room looked more like an office than anything else.  Scully kept   
   the beam of her flashlight pointed at the floor as she thumbed it on.  A   
   metal desk was pushed against one wall, and a set of bars had been bolted   
   over the window.  On the right side of the room was a cot, the same awkward   
   wood and canvas make they'd slept on as children when there were   
   houseguests.  The cot was occupied, the dull blankets wrapped around an   
   unmoving figure topped with ginger hair.   
      
   Scully shone her flashlight on the cot.  There was a grunt, and the   
   blankets moved, and a grumpy voice muttered, "What is it *now*, you fucking   
   nazis?"   
      
   The cot swayed dangerously, its joints creaking, as its occupant rolled   
   over. A broad hand pulled the blanket down to reveal thinning hair over a   
   winter-pale Irish complexion.  But the eyes were brown, not blue, and the   
   face was thinner than Bill's, the nose sharper.   
      
   "*Charlie?*"  Scully hadn't dropped a flashlight in a very long time;   
   instead she stepped forward.  "Oh, my god.  Charlie?"  Her voice cracked, a   
   harsh whisper.   
      
   "Dana?  Jesus, Dana!  What the hell are you doing here?"  Charlie wrenched   
   at the blankets around his legs and stumbled to his feet.  And then his   
   arms were wrapped around her and it felt so good she almost wept into his   
   grimy T-shirt.   
      
   But she didn't have the time.  She was already pulling away when Gibson   
   hissed at her from the door.  "Miss Scully!"   
      
   Scully swiped at her eyes with the palm of her hand.  "I know,   
   Gibson.  Charlie, we have to go now.  I'll tell you everything but right   
   now we have to leave.  Is there anything you need here?"  She looked around   
   the room, but was anonymous, empty of character or personality: a cell.   
      
   She looked back to see Charlie staring at her.  Then he blinked and shook   
   his head.  "No, nothing but my shoes."  He dropped onto the bed and pulled   
   on a decrepit pair of sneakers, stealing glances at her as he tied his laces.   
      
   What did he see?  Not his little sister the doctor, Scully thought, but a   
   lean and tired woman with a gun at her back and spare cartridges in her   
   pocket.  A woman who had seen too many people die--oh god I'll have to tell   
   him about Mom but not yet not yet--and whose lover was a mile away setting   
   explosives around a power plant.  A fugitive, a guerrilla.  Her lips   
   twisted; they were dry and chapped.   
      
   She pulled a sweater off a shelf and stuffed it into her pack, while   
   Charlie finished tying his shoes.  "Where we going?" he asked, as he stood up.   
      
   Scully looked to Gibson, who lingered in the door, his glasses reflecting   
   the minimal light emitted by her flashlight beam.  He shook his head.  They   
   didn't have much time left but the hall was clear.   
      
   "Out of here for now," she said.  "I'll tell you everything later, but for   
   now we have to move."   
      
   Charlie blinked, but stood up obediently.  This was Charlie, this thin,   
   shadowed man?  Dana's darling younger brother, who had flirted with Mulder   
   that night they had visited him in Missoula?  Less than a year ago, but   
   Charlie had aged as much as she had.  They would have a lot to talk   
   about--if they survived the next four hours.   
      
   Oh, God, Scully thought, as she turned off the flashlight and slipped out   
   the door after Gibson.  If they captured Charlie, what had happened to Bill?   
      
      
   +=+=+   
      
      
   He'd been captured before: being transported through a military complex in   
   the back of a truck, his hands bound before him, was nothing new.  But   
   never before had he been so very aware of the time ticking away, conscious   
   of the threat he himself had helped to set in motion.   
      
   The last time he'd looked at his watch it was after 11.  The plane would   
   come at 12:30, or whenever it was convenient for the pilot.  Plus or minus   
   thirty minutes could spell death for all of them.   
      
   His captors had tried to call for instructions on the radio, but there was   
   no answer at the other end.  They'd at least taken care of the power   
   supply, then: for a while the responses would be ineffective,   
   uncoordinated.  Maybe he'd get lucky.   
      
   But he looked at the machine gun in the hands of the young man sitting   
   across from him and realized his luck may have run out.   
      
      
   +=+=+   
      
      
   Getting out wasn't as easy as getting in.  But then that was always the way   
   of it; she shouldn't be surprised that this business was no   
   different.  Except this time she was responsible for her baby brother and a   
   fourteen-year-old boy, and Mulder wasn't there at her back.   
      
   She wished she'd thought to bring another gun.   
      
   "Stay behind me," she hissed, when Charlie made to move past her into yet   
   another hallway.  Gibson was taking them out a different way, a more direct   
   way, he'd assured her.  But he couldn't promise there were no guards, and   
   so she moved with all the caution she could summon, all the while aware   
   that the time was slipping past.   
      
   It was after 11:00 already.  And Jack had been unable to get a commitment   
   from the pilot at Muir; he'd try for 12:30, but couldn't promise.  If it   
   seemed safer, he'd come earlier, or later, or not at all.   
      
   He had to come, or this would all be for nothing, and they would all be   
   captured, and people would keep dying.   
      
   Still no movement in the hallway.  She slipped down the corridor a dozen   
   yards, waved to Gibson and Charlie to follow her, and then moved a little   
   farther on, to the next intersection.  Holding her breath, she dropped to   
   her knees and risked a glance down the hall to her right.  Thank god, there   
   was the exit Gibson had promised.  Twenty yards and they were free of the   
   building.   
      
   Except twenty yards down the *other* hallway was a guard, standing in front   
   of a closed door.  He wasn't conveniently asleep or watching a basketball   
   game or reading porn; he was alert and armed and if Scully moved out even   
   another inch he'd see her.   
      
   Damn.  She edged backwards, not daring to breathe, and shuffled backwards   
   on her knees, careful not to let the SIG knock against the linoleum   
   floor.  After about a body-length she figured it was safe enough to get up,   
   and she waved Gibson and Charlie back to the doorway they'd come through   
   just a moment before.   
      
   "No luck," she whispered with a grimace.  "The door's open, I think, but   
   there's a guard the other way.  Gibson, is there another way out of this   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)