::  Tales Of The Resistance  ::

Part  Seven
4:00 AM

He was surrounded by traffic, the Mercedes barely moving. Aggravation, frustration and anger set the acid to rising and his head to pounding. ‘Not now, not now, it can’t happen now.’ His cell phone bleeped. "Hello."

Running up the front steps of his townhouse, the front door opened and he saw Tim standing there. "What the hell are you doing here? Damn it, I told you to go without me." Rushing past his silent friend, he ran into the living room. "Mother?" He called out. No one was there and as he looked into the mirror he saw his friend standing there, a gun in his hand, suddenly morph into someone else.

"No!"

"Sssh, sssh. ‘Calma. Facile.’ Calm, be easy, Clayton, I’m here."

He jerked up, wildly looking around until he focused on her face, "Who? When? How?" Her hand felt cool on his forehead. "Francesca?"

"Si, Francesca. You had me very worried, Clay."

He let her push him back against the pillows. Looking around, and calmer now, he took in the room. The flowered wallpaper was peeling in places and the ceiling tiles were yellowed and water stained. Dim light from an old fashioned globe glass lamp cast most of the room in shadows. "Where are we?"

Her sigh brought his eyes to hers. "It is all so very complicated, Clay. We are in a tiny little village in southern Virginia, in the mountains. "Clews Haven, Mr. Skinner called it."

"Skinner? Who the hell is this Mr. Skinner? Not Wal.." His head was throbbing, but not like he was used to. Not because of the…

"Assistant Director of the FBI." A soft, but firm voice told him. Looking up, he saw a small woman enter the room, what little light there was, seemed to shimmer in her red hair, and seemed to lend iridescence to her blue eyes. "At least that is what he was yesterday. Now?" The shrug barely lifted her shoulders. "I would like to check out your wound, Mr. Webb."

"Who are you? What doesn’t Walter Skinner have to do with this?" He hadn’t even realized Francesca was holding his hand until she dropped it to allow the newcomer to take her place on the bed next to him.

Bending over him, she gently pulled back the bloodied, torn shirt and sighed. "Nothing. Not even a scar. Oh, and to answer your question, I'm Dana Scully. I used to be an agent and doctor with the FBI. I guess I’m just a doctor now."

Scully moved away and Francesca returned to sit on the bed again and took his hand in hers. "It is a miracle, yes."

Clay stared into Francesca’s eyes and began to remember - the phone call, the frantic rush into town to pack a bag, the surprise of finding Tim, but not Tim, there. The pain of the bullet, ripping through his shoulder, the frantic rush through Georgetown. Hailing the taxi and making the driver take him – at gun-point – to Chegwidden’s road. He remembered the pain as he lay in her arms throughout the dark journey. He remembered dying. That was it, he was dead. This was all a dream. He fully expected Sarah MacKenzie to waltz in any moment and the three women would…

A light tapping on the door broke his reverie and the three of them glanced into the shadows. Francesca gasped and crossed herself three times, but she didn’t move, except to move closer to him if possible. She was gripping his hand so hard it almost hurt.

The redhead – Scully? – went to the man standing in the doorway and looked up at him for a long moment before shaking her head and allowing him in. "I’m just down the hall, Miss Paretti. Call me if you need me, but I don’t think you will. Good night, Mr. Webb. I’m glad Mr. Smith here was able to save you. We’re going need all the men we can get." On that cryptic note, she turned right down the hallway and Clayton Webb found himself staring into the kindest and saddest eyes he had ever seen.

The man seemed embarrassed to be in the room at all. Finally, he sat down at the foot of the bed and looked from Webb to Francesca and then back. "Mr. Webb, I know you don’t know who or what I am. That will all be explained tomorrow. I just wanted to stop by and tell you."

"Tell me what?" Clay eyed the man warily. Who spoke of themselves as a ‘what’?

"It’s gone, Mr. Webb. I didn’t know until I touched you to heal your gunshot wound, but I removed the tumor in your brain. The reason you are feeling light-headed right now is because I suspect you were used to the pressure for so long." He stood and turned to go.

Webb spat out angrily. "No one knew about that! Only my doctor knows about that! No one at the Agency knows." He touched his head and looked up at Francesca who had her eyes closed and was silently moving her lips, probably praying. "Who are you?" he breathed.

The man just shook his head. "Tomorrow, Mr. Webb, everything will be explained tomorrow." With that, he left the two of them alone.

As soon as the man was gone Francesca relaxed considerably. "Do you want a drink of water, Clay?" She held up a bottle.

"No, but…uhm…is there a bathroom?"

"Oh, si. Down that little hallway."

He shed the remnants of the ruined shirt and stared in the mirror. There was a day’s growth of stubble on his chin, but he ignored it while he washed his face and the dried flecks of blood from his chest. Blood that couldn’t have come from anywhere that he could see. He was surprised that he could bob his head up and down easily without feeling dizzy. He had known he hadn’t long to live and the dizzy spells were getting worse. But now he felt fine. He touched his shoulder and raised his hand over his head, stretching the muscles. Carefully, he shook his head back and forth. No he didn’t feel fine. He felt great. Better than he had in a damn long time. Six months ago, the doctor had given him less than a year to live. Now a man waltzes into a dingy little room in the middle of god knew where and blithely tells him he not only kept him from dying of a major gunshot wound, but that the tumor was gone. Poof. Yeah, he was dreaming.

He stepped out into the corridor and was surprised that it wasn’t his own hallway in his townhouse. He entered the room that he had left earlier and was further surprised that Francesca was still there, waiting patiently for him. It was then he noticed the bloodstains on her slacks. He swallowed and pointed. "Mine?"

"Si." She shrugged, stood and in the most surprising event of the whole past six months, quickly shed the ruined slacks and lay back down on the bed, the fine satin doing little to conceal the shape of her mound. "Come Clayton, there is no other room and I want to sleep."

"I…uhm…I’ll go and find…"

"Assurdità. Come. Lie down. You will not do anything to hurt me."

He rubbed his hand over his face. "Damn straight. AJ will break every bone in my body if he comes in here and…"

She burst into tears and he rushed to the bed. "Francesca. What? Tell me." He pulled her into his embrace and she held onto him sobbing uncontrollably. "Francesca, please."

Gently, he moved her over and sat against the pillow propped against the iron headboard. She buried her face in his chest and continued to cry.

::  ::  ::

Renee lay on the bed and watched Harm as he stood at the window, staring down the street. "Harm? Honey?"

Rabb sighed, but didn’t turn. "Go to sleep, Renee. I can’t sleep. I can’t believe…"

"Can’t believe what, Harm? Can’t believe that aliens are attacking us by destroying whole countries by supposedly natural methods? Earthquakes and snowstorms and God-only-knows what else that we haven’t heard about. Or you can't believe that an alien saved Clayton Webb’s life by just touching him? Or that you are stuck here with me while Mac and Admiral Chegwidden are whooping it up in Washington?" she finished bitterly.

"Renee!" He finally turned and studied her. What else did she want from him? She had been the one he married, not Mac. Not that it would have worked, but he wasn’t sure this was working either. He was here with her now instead of helping to save the President. Here in this tiny little dumpy town, waiting to see if there was anything that he could do. "That is so unfair."

She sighed, stood and came up to him. "Yes. You’re right. It was very unfair. Almost as unfair as you working yourself into a sleepless night. They are going to need you tomorrow, bright-eyed and ready to work, Harmon Rabb, Jr. You heard the General, we are going to need supplies and the people of these little hill towns are not known to be the friendliest when they and theirs are under attack."

Harm thought back on the times that he and Mac had confronted such people. When they had ‘defended’ Curtis Rivers against the survivalists’ kangaroo court. Or that time they had to land his bi-plane, Sarah, in the Appalachian Mountains and found the game warden dead. "Yeah you’re right." He sighed. "I’m just worried what they are going through."

Renee touched his arm, "Harm. He will take care of her. You know that, right?"

"Probably better than I would, sweetheart. Come on. Get into bed. Damn, I didn’t know they made beds this small."

"Well I guess we’ll just have to cuddle then, won’t we?" She let him get settled and then laid her head on his shoulder. "I love you Harm."

"I know Renee. I love you, too." He kissed the top of her head and lay there staring at the ceiling.

::  ::  ::

Walter Skinner finally gave up. There was little else they could do tonight and he needed the sleep. Lieutenant Roberts had already returned from making sure that his wife and son were safely tucked into one of the bedrooms of the last unoccupied house. General Fielding looked dead on his feet and worried about his three children. Fielding’s daughters, 26-year old Samantha and 24-year old Carmel had the room next to the Roberts. The boy, 14-year old Tommy, had refused to leave his father’s side and was now sound asleep in one of the cubicles. Skinner stretched. "Go on Fielding, stretch out on the cot next to your boy. I’ll take one of the others. Roberts?"

"Yes, sir?" Bud looked up from the computer screen that Fiona Morris was hunched over.

"Call us if they report back in. Wake Mulder in two hours, I need everyone as sharp as possible tomorrow."

"Sure, sir." Roberts returned his attention to the problem at hand, pointed to something on the screen. "Doctor, if we reroute that link…"

Skinner looked around. Frohike was nowhere to be seen. Stupid little troll. Pull that crap and what did he expect. Skinner turned and shook his head. He just couldn’t believe that the hacker had really sent her a picture of him, Walter S. Skinner in all his surly bald glory, instead of Mulder or even Doggett. Christ. At least she had talked to Frohike about it. What was said was none of his business and he could handle the poisoned glares she cast his way. Just so long as she was good at what she did with the computers.

They had last heard from Doggett and Galindez when they were met at the rendezvous point by three jeeps containing men that Fielding swore he could trust. Most of the men had no attachments, but one, a Captain, was bringing his wife and small children. Well, that’s what this whole thing was supposed to be about. As he approached the room that Reyes had said was made up for him, he sighed at the prospect of sleeping alone. Dana had elected to stay down at the village. The Cadillac was too low to the ground to make it over the snow. In one low spot, the snow was a good four feet deep. So they had taken all the supplies out of it and loaded what they could into the back of the General’s four-door Silverado pickup. Its mud-tires would afford the best chance of getting through the snow. The girls had made room for the Roberts in back. The young petty officer rode back up with him in the stooges’ four-wheel drive Dodge pickup.

Scully had wanted to check the no longer injured Mr. Webb. Chegwidden’s daughter had refused to leave the man Rabb identified as the Assistant Director in Charge of Covert Operations for the CIA. Skinner hoped that Webb was truly healed by Smith’s touch; they could use a man with his contacts – if those contacts still lived. Commander and Mrs. Rabb had stayed in the same house. Skinner had put the Commander in charge down there, which seemed to lighten the man’s mood somewhat. Smith also had stayed in the village.

The news reports had all been bad and if Skinner hadn’t talked to the man himself, he would have believed that the well-respected President was dead. Well they would see what tune Winslow was singing when Toblin challenged him over the radio. Frohike thought they could even transmit pictures to a few stations, at least on the East Coast. He eased open the door of the cubicle and gasped in surprise. Monica lay sound asleep on one cot. Carefully, he closed the door behind him and entered the small head. Finishing, he returned to find her sitting up in the center of the cot, her legs pulled up her chin.

"Sorry I woke you." He moved to the bed and stared down into her upturned face.

"I’m not. Come to bed, Walter." She reached out to take his hand. He shook his head.

"Oh Monica, honey. There is no way the two of us are going to sleep on that thing together."

"Who said anything about sleeping?" She grinned evilly. As she stood up in front of him, she let her hands caress the fly of his jeans. "Oh, that’s not very encouraging at all, Walter."

"Baby, I’m so tired right now, I don’t think I could get it up for a year." He still groaned as she gently squeezed him through the material.

"You givin’ me a challenge, Mr. Skinner." She purred as she deftly unbuckled his belt, lowered the zipper and knelt before him in one fluid motion.

"Lord, Monica." He ran his fingers through her hair as she engulfed him. "Feels so good. Oh yeah, just like that." He sighed and wondered if she would be the death of him. She certainly had a most talented mouth. He watched through hooded eyes as she worked his shaft until he was rock hard. Gently, she released him and pushed him back until he was sitting on the other cot. Pulling off his shoes, socks and pants she stood and looked at him for a moment.

"You gonna take that off?" She pointed to his sweater as she began to shed her own clothes. By the time he pulled if off, she was standing between his legs waiting. Pulling her closer he placed soft kisses on her belly and the tuft of hair between her legs. "Scoot back Walter, let me do all the work tonight." She straddled him and let him tease her already wet core. "Damn, you’re good at that." She watched in fascination as he brought his fingers coated with her juices to her nipples and began to paint each one. Then he positioned her over his shaft and let her lower herself until she was seated. As she rocked up and down on him he began a gentle assault on her breasts, licking her clean before nibbling and biting them until they were painfully hard. "Oh yes, Walter." She whispered as she began to move on him harder and faster. He reached down and grasped her hips roughly and helped her move.

Each plunge hit her spot and as she gripped his shoulders, she arched back driving him even deeper. "Yesssssss." They both sighed as they came together. He drew her back into his embrace and fell back onto the thin pillow.

He was still buried in her and she sighed in contentment. "Most definitely all your fault." She reached up and finally captured his mouth in a sweet, gentle kiss. "It’s going to be okay, Walter."

"What is?" he replied sleepily.

"Us. You and me and Scully. Promise. We already talked it all out."

"I’m a dead man, aren’t I?" His eyes closed and his gentle breathing lulled her to sleep.

::  ::  ::

Sarah finally let the past three hours overtake her and as she stood under the shower, she began to shake uncontrollably. She still wasn’t exactly sure how they had made it here. She was still having trouble believing that they were both alive.

AJ had practically dragged her all the way up 23^rd Street. She had thought that he would get off the street, perhaps hiding in the Naval Research facility or some other government courtyard. But he didn’t stop until they reached I Street and the Foggy Bottom/GMU Metro Station. He made her toss the rifle. It would only draw attention. They had run down the steps, she slipping and sliding in her wet shoes. When they had begun their flight in McLean, she had changed into the only possible alternative to the three-inch heels she had worn, her running shoes. Running shoes aren’t very good in the snow. Her feet were frozen and wet and she would never have made it up the hill if AJ hadn’t been with her. They heard their pursuers behind them and he lifted her up and over the turnstile. Jumping it, he grabbed her and they ran for the train. She wasn’t sure if it had been going a different direction if they would have wound up somewhere else or not, but once he discovered they were heading toward Metro Central, he seemed to come to a decision. The train had just pulled out when they saw at least a dozen policemen charging onto the platform. AJ held her firmly. Making her stand still as they passed the men. "They didn’t get a good look at either of us Mac. Just stay calm and we won’t even register on them." Fortunately, he was right because she saw several of the men point and run down the platform. She pitied the poor fools that they had mistaken them for.

When they got off at Metro Central she was surprised to see dozen and dozens of police checking each person’s ID. Carefully, slowly, AJ edged them along the edge of the crowd. It took 98 minutes for him to move them closer to the train across from them. Moving forward through the nervous crowd, she was really surprised by the number of people, many of them with suit cases, all of them looking very worried. Suddenly, a scream rent the air and AJ hastily pushed her onto the waiting Red Line train, right past the policeman guarding the entrance. He sat them down and they waited. Finally, the train, still only half-full, pulled out of the station.

Policemen and plain-clothes security walked up and down the car. AJ casually draped his arm around her shoulder. "Mac, don’t look so tense. That’s what they're looking for."

She leaned in so that it looked like she was nuzzling his ear. "AJ, look at everybody. They all look tense and nervous. Word must already be out about the attempt on the President’s life."

They got off at the Zoo and made their way across the several streets until they were on Wisconsin. She watched the towering edifice loom before them until he pulled her down a narrow driveway and knocked at the back door. She recognized the man immediately, having sat in the Cathedral several times and listened to his rousing sermons. He was one of the most famous of the Deans of the Cathedral in years. He had been surprised to see them of course, but held the back door open. His wife stood in the kitchen doorway, her eyes red from crying. They didn’t know why until the Very Reverend Russell Harper sat them down in front of the television while Mrs. Harper went to make tea. "It’s a terrible thing, AJ. I thought we had seen enough of this in one lifetime.

She gripped AJ’s hand as they watched the news footage. She gasped out loud when they saw the blanket draped bodies. A solemn voice intoned. "As you can see, the President and his wife were assassinated in cold blood." The camera zoomed on a pair of clasped hands. "Eight Secret Service Agents died trying to protect the President and Mrs. Toblin. Died because two traitors in their very midst helped Iranian terrorists carry out their plan." Pictures of Thomas Edwards and Susan Ling were shown next. "Edwards a twenty-five year veteran with the Service and his lover, Susan Ling a ten-year veteran were reported to be dissatisfied with his recent demotion. Edwards died at the scene, Ling along with the terrorists, are being sought. Footage of the Suburban, speeding away was flashed and then Mac’s world went spinning. A grainy yet remarkably clear view of a dark-haired woman, firing a hunting rifle, back-dropped against the brightly-lit Lincoln Memorial was shown. Mac’s face, contorted by strain was blown up on the screen. The sound of crashing china filled the small den and Mrs. Harper stood in the doorway, her hands to her face, her eyes widened in horror.

Mac sat rigid. Finally she got out an unsteady, "How did they do that?"

AJ sighed and buried his head in his hands. "Must have security cameras in the cars. The lead car was facing right for that shot. Sh-damn it all!" He sat back and met his friend’s steady gaze.

The Reverend Mr. Harper stood and went to his wife. "Priscilla, honey?"

"Make them get out. I can’t believe you would be a part of this AJ. He was a good man!"

AJ stood, but didn’t approach them. "As far as I know he still is a good man, Pris. The last Mac and I saw of him, he and his wife were being driven to safety by two of…my men. They also managed to save a young woman who had been shot in the head by one of the other agents. She wasn’t doing anything, Pris. Just standing there. I have no idea why they shot her. He held out his hands. Russ, you’ve known me for 40 years; since Texas. You know I would never do what they’re saying."

"Then why are they saying it?" The Dean almost yelled.

It had taken nearly two more hours of persuading and surprisingly, it was Mrs. Harper who finally nodded her head. "God help me, it makes sense. What are you going to do?"

AJ explained about the small town in southern Virginia that was going to be the focal point of the resistance. "Come with us tomorrow. We’ll going to need spiritual guidance."

Russell Harper shook his head. "No AJ. I’m a little old to be playing Friar Tuck to your Robin Hood. But if what you say is true, and I’m beginning to believe you, I might have some people I will send your way." He stood and AJ and Mac stood with him. "It will be light soon. It makes no sense for you to try and make it through Washington in broad daylight, even with the snow falling. I’m not sure you could get out in my car anyway. The limo slides on two inches of the stuff and Pris’ Audi has been having some problems with the transmission. But I do know where I can get a Jeep that might make it."

He led them to the basement. "This is where Willie stays when he’s home from school. It’s his pad. The maid never comes down here unless he’s home. I think I’ll call him. Tell him to head North, you say?"

"From Stamford, yeah, North. I just wish I could tell you where. I got sidetracked before my friends could fill me in on all the details." AJ nodded for Mac to take the bedroom. "I’ll be up in a couple of hours anyway, old habits are hard to break."

"It will be dangerous, AJ. I’m sure they will have the service at the Cathedral. I’ll probably be called to the White House tomorrow to discuss it. Thank God, the son-of-a-bitch will have the Chief Justice swear him in."

"Russ, you have to walk a fine line here. You can’t let them know what’s going on."

For the first and only time, Mac heard a bitter laugh from Reverend Harper. "You forget who you’re talking too, AJ." He left them and AJ followed him to the basement steps. "Through there is a door leading up to the garage. If anything happens, you can try and get out that way."

Now that they were relatively safe she couldn’t stop shaking. She heard the door to the bath open and looked up as the curtain was pulled back. He was holding a towel for her and quietly said, "If you’re going to keep crying, come out here where I can hold you."

She stood and let him wrap the thick towel around her. Tears still didn’t fall, though and he led her out to the bedroom. "Mac?"

"Yes, AJ?"

"We’ll get out of here."

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"Does it really matter? Everything is going to be so different. You and I will never see the end of this, AJ. You and I will die long before there is a victory either way."

"Sarah, baby. Don’t say that." His words sounded choked, not with anger, but with the realization that she was right.

"Why not? I can accept that. I will fight the good fight and when it’s time to die I hope I do it with some dignity. I just hope…I just hope…" Her eyes were bright with tears.

He crushed her to him. "You just hope what…Sarah?"

"Please don’t let me see you die." The tears fell freely now and he let her cry, tears of his own coursing down his cheeks. When she had quieted, he led her to the bed and pulled back the comforter and top sheet. Lay down, Sarah. I want to clean off some of this stench. I hope Willie left a razor."

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door opened and she saw him standing there, a towel wrapped around his waist, staring in at her. "I can’t believe you’re still awake?" he whispered.

"AJ Chegwidden, if you think for one damn minute I’m going to sleep without you making love to me, you sir, are sadly mistaken. I’ve waited five years. I have no idea what is going to happen tomorrow but you will come to…." The rest of her frantic tirade was stopped by his lips on hers. The towel had fallen somewhere between the door and the bed and he lay beside her, holding her tightly, caressing her smooth bare skin. Drowning in the feel and smell of her, his lips trailed down her neck and she arched up offering him more. His hands played across her pebbled nipples until his lips consumed one of them, pulling it deeply into his mouth. She groaned at the sensation. Stroking his head, she marveled that they had waited so long but pushed away the reasons why they no longer cared about rules and regulations. All thoughts vanished as he made his way down her smooth stomach to tease her mound. "AJ, please."

"Easy, Sarah. I want to enjoy this. I’m going to take my time." And he did. He knelt at the foot of the bed and began to journey up her legs, taking a very long time, driving her nearly mad with desire.

"AJ, please I need you to touch me." She almost sobbed in her need.

"Touch you, Colonel? Where would you like me to touch you?" He grinned up at her.

Her glare turned into a sexy grin and she slowly traced her fingers down her stomach to touch herself. AJ watched in lust and fascination as she slowly circled her clit and then fingered her vaginal opening. The sight of her pleasuring herself drove him on and he pushed her hand gently away and replaced it with his tongue. "Oh yes, AJ. Oh yes, just like that, pleaseeeeee" she whispered. As he took her swollen nubbin between his teeth she suddenly grabbed a pillow from the bed and covered her mouth, screaming her release. Her body nearly arched off the bed driving his tongue deep within her. Before she could come completely down from her high, he quickly knelt between her legs, and pulled the pillow away from her face so she could see what he was doing. He plunged his cock deep into her core in one long thrust. "Oh God." She reached up and pulled him down into a tight embrace, kissing every inch of his face. "Yes, AJ. Harder, AJ. Oh faster, my dearest love." Her whispered words incited him and he pounded into her until he buried his face in her shoulder to muffle his own roar.

Panting, he fell next to her and pulled her to him. "Colonel?"

"Yes, Admiral?" She whispered as she snuggled into his shoulder.

"Colonels aren’t supposed to order Admirals around like that."

"We’re not?"

"Don’t think so."

"Oh, well when you’re sure, sir, send me a memo."

::  Part 8  ::

Plans

His arm was asleep. But his head didn’t hurt. That was novel. His head always hurt. He was almost looking forward to the stroke the doctor said would kill him. He opened one eye and looked into a mass of dark brown hair. He moved his hand and felt the material covered arm. The pressure on his arm suddenly lifted and he found himself peering into dark brown eyes. ‘Who?’ It all came back to him in a rush. The flight, the dying, the damn alien ‘healing’ him, her tears, and finally, telling him about the President’s escape and her father and Mac remaining in D.C.

"Francesca. Dear God, it wasn’t a dream."

She smiled and sat up. "No, Clayton. It wasn’t a dream." Her eyes clouded as she remembered and he reached up and pushed the hair out of her eyes. Tears began to form again and he pulled her back down to his chest and held her for a moment.

"Hey. Francesca." He whispered into her hair. "He’s tough. And Mac’s tough, too. They’ll get out if anyone can."

"That’s just it, Clayton." She caressed the light hair on his chest. "What if no one can get out?" She raised her eyes to him. He brushed away the tears and she suddenly lowered her mouth to his, a gentle sweet brushing of lips.

She felt so good in his arms. He felt better than he could remember and he allowed himself to get lost in the kiss until they heard a light rap on the door. It wasn’t hung very well and the latch hadn’t caught. It swung open and Francesca looked into the startled eyes of Harmon Rabb. "Jesus!" he gasped.

Francesca giggled and sat up. "You are up very early, Harmon."

Rabb focused on Webb. "How are you feeling?"

Webb, knowing that AJ was nowhere near, grinned cockily. "Well not quite as good as I was a second ago." Francesca laughed softly, hit him lightly and stood up.

Rabb blushed at the sight of her, but she just tossed her head and walked past him into the hallway. He kept his eyes locked on Webb’s. "You feeling good enough to get dressed, have some breakfast and then go meet the President?"

The smirk finally left Webb’s face. "He made it?"

"Well, they got stuck in the snow and there was a shootout outside of Quantico, but General Fielding’s guys got some unexpected help from a couple of Marines who saw through the bullshit and he’ll be here in about thirty minutes. If they don’t get stuck in this damn snow again."

"Well damn, then let’s get going." Webb jumped out of bed and then looked around. "Shit! I don’t have any clothes!"

"I hear you’re feeling better." Rabb turned and looked down on Dana Scully.

"Good morning, Doctor Scully." he clipped.

"Boy that’s going to take some getting used to." Dana walked into the room, her hands full. "We scrounged around and found some clothes. You guys better plan on some kind of buying spree and soon. The reports are sketchy, but after the supposed assassination last night, people are fleeing D.C. in droves."

"What supposed assassination? I thought he got away clean?" Webb held up a large sweatshirt that looked vaguely familiar. He looked up at Rabb. "Yours?"

"Nah, the Admiral’s. The jeans are some computer guy’s. You’ll like Langley. You guys could be twins." The smile warned Webb, but he kept his grimace to himself.

"You’ll hear most of the news reports, Mr. Webb. Television reception here is lousy, but with our radio tower we’ll pull in any signal that’s out there. You want to take a shower and shave?" Dana cocked her head at him.

She was really very cute in a sad sort of way and Webb realized that sadness would probably be an underlying emotion in most people now. "Yeah, that would be great."

"Oh and there are slacks, a shirt and some other stuff in there for Miss Paretti." Dana looked up at Rabb. "Well, I’m heading back up the mountain. Frohike has worked up enough courage to face Dr. Morris."

"Yes, ma’am. Will Mr. Skinner and General Fielding be coming back down to meet the President?" Harm asked politely.

Dana scowled. "Commander, how old are you?"

"Ma’am?" Rabb looked at Webb who just shook his head and picked up his clothes.

"You’re an idiot, Rabb." Pushing between the two he grinned at Scully. "Thanks… Dana, isn’t it?" Before she could answer he was already knocking on the bathroom door. "Hey, Francesca, I come bearing gifts."

"I’m sorry, Doctor, I’m 38. Why?" Rabb looked confused.

"Well, Commander, I’m 36. Could you knock off with the ma’am stuff?"

"Jeeze, M…Dana, I’m sorry."

Dana turned and walked to the door of the small house. She grabbed her coat and slipped on a pair of old rubber boots that one of the townspeople had brought her. The townspeople, all ten of them, were all really very odd and Dana wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that they were aliens or abductees or human/alien hybrids, but Smith had assured her that they were just the last inhabitants of the small once-dying town. Most of the twenty houses stood empty. Five of the ten people lived together in one house. From what Langley had told her they were aging hippies living on the annual sale of ‘weed’ that they grew out back. Dana saw an aging VW bus being hastily packed up this morning; the five were heading out. Langley and Byers both tried to talk to them, but the leader of the mini commune wasn’t listening and Dana feared they would all die sooner than not. Of the remaining five townspeople, Mr. and Mrs. Olsen owned the small café and slept above it. Mr. Jackson, 85 if he was a day, had a tiny little house on the main street and no one had seen him since he had stood outside and watched the gunmen pull in with Maggie and William Scully. The last two inhabitants were visiting relatives in Florida. Dana spared a thought to lousy Karma and silently prayed that they would be safe.

The gunmen’s large truck pulled up and Skinner jumped down, followed by General Fielding. Skinner eyed her carefully and stepped up to her. "Hi?"

"Hi yourself." She studied him critically and grinned. He looked relaxed and she knew instantly that Reyes had taken what she had said to heart. Standing on tiptoes she lifted her face to his.

He smiled in relief and kissed her briefly. "You staying?"

"Nah, gotta get up and see my young’un Marshall Skinner." She affected a very bad accent and he groaned.

"Well young Master Skinner has taken a fancy to Miss Carmel, ma’am and I reckon that you might have some competition." He helped her up into the high cab.

She smiled back down at him. "If she can keep up with him, then there’s no competition to be worried about. Good morning, General Fielding."

Fielding managed a halting nod. He had seen Monica Reyes leave Skinner’s cubicle this morning and now Skinner had kissed Doctor Scully. He wondered for a moment if the two women knew about each other and then stopped that train of thought. The coming months would change every notion of propriety that he had ever held. He sighed. At least Maggie Scully seemed to have a level head on her shoulders. Her cooking was damn good, too.

Skinner stood in the middle of the street and reassessed the resources before him. "You know General, with all these people coming in, we're going to need places for them to stay, plus we need to present as normal a ‘town’ to any outsider that stumbles in. It will give us a chance to assess the refuge before exposing our command center.

Fielding looked around, too. "Well I for one, don’t like the idea of civilians in the command center. Now don’t give me that look. I’m not saying we are going to set up a military outpost up there, but you can’t have civilians, for want of a better word, wandering around all that computer equipment. I figure we save the cubicles for people who are actually going to work the computers and radio."

Skinner sighed. "Yeah you’re right, but I don’t know where the hell we're going to put the people that come to us. I’m not sure we can protect them down here."

"Hell Skinner, I don’t know if we can protect those four houses up there from aerial attack." Fielding strained, desperate to hear anything coming up the county road.

"Well, unless that damn traitor talks the Air Force into bombing them, the aliens won’t."

"Why not?"

Skinner started to explain, when the door to one of the houses opened and two men stepped out onto the rickety porch. One slightly shorter than the other quickly made his way through the snow to them. "Gentlemen." He stopped and looked at Fielding. "General Fielding, Clayton Webb." He looked to Skinner and waited.

"Good to see you again Mr. Webb. Good morning, Commander Rabb." Walter Skinner shook both men’s hands.

The door opened again and Francesca Paretti came running up to them. "Is he coming?"

Webb hastily made the introductions just as they finally heard several cars crunching through the snow. A Humvee with its top down and three fatigue-wearing Marines standing with automatic rifles trained in front and on both sides, were the first to appear, followed by the huge white Suburban. Two more Humvees followed and took up positions on either side of the truck. Marines, automatic rifles in hand, spilled from the vehicles and the five hippies just climbing into the VW, stood and stared. Three of the Marines trained their rifles on them, but Fielding barked in a commanding voice. "AT EASE!" Doggett slid from the passenger side of the car and yelled out. "Skinner! Where’s Smith?"

Jeremiah Smith came out of the door of the house the hippies had vacated. "I’m here, Mr. Doggett." He trudged over to the van and looked into the back seat. Stepping back, he let the President get out of the car and then stepped up and took his place.

Skinner and Fielding hurried over, followed closely by Rabb, Webb and Francesca. The driver’s door finally opened and a very dazed looking Victor Galindez stumbled from the truck. Rabb and Webb looked from the President, then to Galindez and ran up to him. "Victor!" Rabb reached him first. "What the hell happened back there?"

Galindez ignored him and walked up to Webb. "You were near death the last time I saw you. Did you meet up with that guy in back with Agent Ling?"

"Yeah. So I’m told." Webb looked over as Francesca brushed by him and stood before Galindez.

"What did you do to my papa, Victor? How could you leave him there?" she cried angrily.

"Fran!" Rabb gasped. But it was Webb who took her by the shoulders, keeping her from assailing the hapless Marine.

"Easy Francesca." he whispered.

But the damage was already done. Galindez went dead white and for a moment, Webb thought he was going to have to push Francesca away to catch him. A tired, but stately woman came up from behind him and put her hand on Galindez’s arm and glared at Francesca. "Excuse me. Who are you, please?" The voice was low and modulated, but it contained a streak of steel in it."

Rabb stepped forward. "Mrs. Toblin, Francesca Paretti is Admiral Chegwidden’s daughter." Sylvia Toblin looked Rabb right in the eye and waited patiently. "Oh… uhm… Commander Harmon Rabb, United States Navy, ma’am and this is Clayton Webb, uhm…he looked at Webb in consternation.

The spy sighed and for once in his life honestly stated. "Central Intelligence Agency, Mrs. Toblin. We met last spring."

"Oh yes, of course, Porter Webb’s son. Is she here?" At his look of intense pain, she sighed. "Forgive me, Mr. Webb. Now, Miss Paretti, I understand your concern for your father, but Victor and John did everything that they could to try and take Colonel MacKenzie and your father with us. They were just too far away. Really, my dear, you mustn’t blame Victor." She smiled at the group and then tugged gently at Galindez’s arm. "Victor, come and help Agent Ling down from the truck, please.

"Yes ma’am." The Marine followed her back to the Suburban.

::  ::  ::

Everyone was there except Frohike. Skinner had planned on asking Byers to man the café, which by default had turned into their welcoming station. Jimmy Bob Olsen had been surprisingly not at all surprised by the sudden influx of people into the tiny community and Skinner wondered briefly how much ‘calming’ Jeremiah Smith had affected on the man and his wife. However, when Skinner asked Byers about it, Frohike had stood up and announced. "I’m on it, big guy – fill me in later." Without further word, he grabbed his coat and left.

They moved everyone into the cavern since it was the biggest open space available. The Marines had pulled the cots from the cubicles and everyone sat in a semi-circle around one-half of the console. Skinner stood on the other side along with President Toblin and General Fielding. Smith sat in a corner in the back.

Skinner was having a hard time believing that it was just two days ago that Smith had announced ‘you three will lead the resistance.’ He wasn’t even sure if that was still true and he found he really didn’t care as long as he was part of it.

"Ladies and gentlemen." He looked back at Toblin who just nodded for him to continue. "This is just a meeting to explain what’s going on and to introduce everyone. We probably won’t be able to do this again. As more and more people find our sanctuary, each of you will need to have this little talk with the newbies assigned to you.

Our planet is being attacked by aliens. Aliens that have been here for, I’m told, 150 years in some capacity and in force for over 50 years." He paused, thinking there would be some outcry or disagreement, but most of the 36 faces before him listened in rapt silence. Even one-year old William Scully and four-year AJ Roberts sat quietly on either side of Carmel Fielding. "They claim this planet as their own and frankly look upon us as we would look upon a termite infestation in a house we had just bought. They want to destroy us. In addition to using their ability to control the weather and natural forces, they have enlisted several groups of human traitors to aid them in this endeavor. Many of these traitors have devoted their entire lives to helping the aliens."

The pretty oriental woman who kept touching her head, looking back at Jeremiah Smith and then at Victor Galindez who sat next to her, stood up, and cleared her throat a couple of time. Finally, Toblin, the man she was charged with protecting, gave her an encouraging smile, she softly asked, "Sir? Uhm…Special Agent Susan Ling, Secret Service." She gulped and then continued. "Why would any one do that? How could they go against their own like that? I mean I can’t believe that Vice-President Winslow could say such things about…" Tears and anger colored her voice and Galindez reached up and took her hand, gently pulling her back to sit down.

Skinner sighed and shared a brief glance with Mulder who was sitting between Scully and Dr. Morris. "Well, Agent Ling, the only thing I can suggest is that the leaders think they are saving their own, for a while anyway. And the men under them, the ones not quite sure what’s going on, unable to believe what is right in front of them are…" A deep blush of embarrassment colored his cheeks, but Scully caught his attention and her look told him his own culpability was long in the past. "…are just following orders of men they respect…or fear. That is until they finally see the truth."

He cleared his throat. "Much like the four Marines who, last night defied the orders of their commanding officer and refused to fire on Mr. Toblin. General Morris asked five Army Rangers led by Captain Antonelli to meet Agent Doggett and Gunnery Sergeant Galindez to make sure they got the President to safety. Without the Marines willingness to see and act on their own, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. The Rangers, my men, the President, his wife, Agent Ling would all be dead, along with Mrs. Antonelli and the three Antonelli daughters." The people mentioned all seemed to seek out each other and smile.

"Others will come to us through your recommendations. And this is where we have little time to act. For a while, the phones will work. But I am counting on Commander Rabb, Lieutenant Roberts, Gunny Galindez, Captain Antonelli and Mr. Webb to make up lists of people that we need to get here, if at all possible. The phones in the house were working before we came down here. I’ve talked this over with the President and he agrees with me that we will make no announcement of his ‘miraculous resurrection’ until tonight. That will give us several hours – if we’re lucky. Frankly," he looked back at the President, "I think we used up a lot of our luck."

Galindez stood up, "Mr. Skinner?"

Skinner sighed. He knew what was coming but he nodded. "Yes?"

"What about Admiral Chegwidden and Colonel MacKenzie? What are we going to do about them?"

"What would you suggest, Gunny?"

"Sir, I volunteer…"

"Volunteer for what, Victor?" Francesca Paretti rose from the cot where she had been sitting next to Clayton Webb and walked up to the Marine. "I am sorry that I yelled at you earlier, Victor. What would you do? Go back to Washington? And look where? My papa will do what he can to get them both out of danger. He has many friends, Victor; friends who will help him. Do you know any of them?"

"Excuse me, ma’am?" A thin voice wavered. Skinner tried to put a name to the young man sitting next to Samantha Fielding and John Byers. He saw Skinner staring at him and blushed. "Sorry, sir. Jason Tiner, I’m Admiral Chegwidden’s Petty Officer. I know some of the Admiral’s friends and I could call them and kind of ask if they have seen him and…."

Harmon Rabb, sitting next to his wife near the front of the room looked back as did most of the room. "Tiner. We can’t. Nobody wants to charge into Washington more than I." He waited for several snorts of laughter to quiet. "If I thought I could find him I would go and so would Webb. But we have no idea who he would really trust. How far did he make it before he rested? For all we know he commandeered a car and is halfway here by now. No. As much as it kills me to say it, we need a plan of operation and we have to trust the fact that AJ Chegwidden will get them out of there."

For a moment it looked like Galindez was going to say something else and Micah Toblin stepped forward. "Gentlemen, please understand. I owe AJ Chegwidden my life. If he hadn’t stayed there laying down covering fire, I wouldn’t be here now. However, it will be fruitless to go in after the two of them. We will not go in after them." He said it simply and gently, but Galindez nodded and sat. Tiner looked like he was going to cry, but said nothing.

Toblin looked at Skinner. "Now, sir. What are your plans?"

Skinner looked at Scully and motioned for her to come forward. "Ladies and gentlemen, Doctor Scully has a wish list."

Scully approached the console, pulling a folded piece of paper from a jacket pocket. She slipped on a pair of reading glasses and peered over them at the group before looking back at the list. "I, with my mother’s help, went through everything we could find last night. We are not prepared for a Civil War re-enactment, let alone a real invasion. We have enough morphine and pain medication for maybe 20 doses. I have enough bandages for about 50 minor cuts. God help us if measles, mumps or small pox breaks out. We have nothing to treat extreme malnutrition, which will probably be one of the major complaints from many of the refugees as time goes by, not to mention diphtheria and cholera." She held up a two-page list. "We need this stuff. I also need you to think of doctors who will come to us. I know we will need able-bodied men and women to carry out attacks against the enemy, but we have to have medical people and scientists too."

"Excuse me, Doctor." Dana looked up from her notes and waited while Samantha Fielding rose from where she was seated between Byers and Jason Tiner. "I’m a surgical nurse at Arlington General."

Dana sighed. "Well, now all we need is a surgeon." She took off her glasses and leaned against the console. "I don’t know where we are going to get this stuff. I guess we can break into several Walgreens, but…"

"Uhm…Doctor Scully?" A thick southern drawl purred from the group of Marines standing to her left.

"Yes?"

"Excuse me for interruptin’ ma’am. But ya’ll know that Carter Pharmaceuticals is jess outside Nor’fok? My brother-in-law, Jeb, he worked thar fore him ‘en Nadene done moved ta Memphis. Oh, sorry ma’am, name’s Eddy Murphy, I ain’t no relation, ma’am."

She smothered her smile. The tall skinny white boy stepped back and stood at parade rest with his buddies. "I didn’t know that. How far away is Norfolk from here? Can we reach it? Can we break in?"

"Well, Scully." Mulder grinned at her and then looked quickly at Skinner. "It might be kinda difficult for us to break in. Carter Pharmaceuticals was doing some rather interesting research for DOD, but not in Norfolk. I think that plant is mainly a distribution center, which works for our purposes. Though I have to tell you I think we should investigate…"

"Not now, Mulder." Skinner growled. "Do we have the men to break in?"

"Not really." Doggett stood up, leaving Reyes on the cot. "To break into a place like that we would need intel we don’t have or a lot more men."

"We could just hijack a truck?" Harmon Rabb interjected. We could use two of the Humvees and the Suburban. But which truck?" Rabb sounded excited. Skinner noticed the resigned sigh from Mrs. Rabb.

"What does it matter? Any of those trucks is going to be loaded with a bunch of stuff we can use."

"Excuse me." They turned and saw Bud Roberts stand up. Harriet watched him in wide-eyed horror.

"Yeah, Bud?" Rabb asked.

"Well, I know that any truck would be okay, I guess, but it shouldn’t be that hard to hack into the shipping computer and figure out what trailer we really want."

Fiona Morris stood up. "He’s right. Bud and I can do that."

Skinner stepped back up to the console. "Okay. Rabb and Mulder, you’re in charge. Take two Rangers and two Marines. But, you can only have one of the Humvees and the Suburban. Work with Mr. Roberts and Dr. Morris to pin-point the truck. Try not to hurt the driver if you can." He looked around for something to write on. "I need to write this down."

"Don’t worry, Mr. Skinner." Harriet stepped forward. "I’ll take notes, okay?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Roberts."

"Its Lieutenant Sims, sir." She smiled apologetically.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Sims." He looked over at Monica. "You’re up…Agent Reyes."

Monica didn’t have a list. She just stood there before them. "This is a little more mundane, but Mrs. Scully..." She nodded at Maggie, "…really has been busy. She and I checked the linen closets and the small storage room. If there are more blankets anywhere here, we can’t find them. There are no extras. There are no extra sheets or pillowcases and you're sitting on most of the cots. We need to see what’s in the village, but we just don’t have a lot of stuff to go around. Certainly, nothing to give out to people in need, if they aren’t going to stay with us."

Renee Rabb stood up. "I can check all the houses in the village."

The woman who sat between Captain Antonelli and three very quiet little girls raised her hand. "Mary Antonelli. I’ll help, but what about the children? I don’t like the idea of not helping, but I don’t want my girls down there."

"I watch them." Carmel Fielding smiled sweetly. "It’s what I do. Or did. I mean I ran the daycare center at the Pentagon. Five little ones are a piece of cake."

Webb crossed his arms. "So what are we going to do? Hijack a Pepperell truck?"

His smirk earned him a glare from Skinner. "No Mr. Webb. I’m sure you can find a few well-spaced K-Marts, Walmarts and Sears stores. The ladies will give you their shopping list. You think you and perhaps, Miss Paretti can handle that?"

Before Webb could object, Susan Ling interjected. "Mr. Skinner, it might be a good idea for someone else to go, too. After all, you don’t know how people will react when they see just one couple buying out the store. Even if they come up with a plausible excuse like they're furnishing their new home or something."

Skinner nodded. "You’re right. You up to it, Ling?"

"Never better, sir."

"Mr. Skinner, I’ll volunteer to go with, if you don’t mind." Victor Galindez looked from Ling to Paretti. No way was he going to let Chegwidden’s daughter out of his sight out of this safe haven.

Skinner sighed. "Mark it down, Lieutenant Sims. Webb, Rabb you’ve got one hour to make your phone calls. I understand the urge to save friends and relatives and I’m not telling you not to warn them, but remember the people here are going to be in danger a lot of the time. If you can send them north, then do it." He nodded toward Smith. "Mr. Smith says the colder the temperature, the less the aliens like it."

"Then why the hell did they make it snow?" Several people muttered and everyone looked back at the alien, leaning against the back wall. Smith straightened and shrugged and never said a word.

Skinner turned to Fielding. "You want to say something?"

"Yeah, thanks." Fielding looked out over the groups, anxious to be able to do something. "Gentlemen. Make sure you come back safely and soon. We have other things we have to do. Things a little more dangerous."

Part 9 - 11

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