All Characters copyright of TenThirteen Productions and Chris Carter. No
infringement intended on any part... go ahead, take me to court...
I'm using the insanity defence... heh, heh, heh...

Comments, complaints and just plain talk to sheryl_martin@tvo.org 

Summary: A search for a cure sends the agents into a deadly game...
Rating: G, Story, Action/Adventure/Paranormal...
Spoilers: Memento Mori


Dragons of The Box (1/3)
by Sheryl Martin

The room was cool and damp; the stone walls almost black with the smoke sent
up by the oil lamps and the candles illuminating the makeshift hospital. In
the small hallway leading to the main room men lay; still clutching their
weapons as they waited to see if they would live or die, the filthy rags
wrapped around their bodies in an attempt to keep them alive until judgment.

He strode down the corridor, ignoring the pleas of the warriors to each side
of him as he headed for one of the few tables available for the healers to do
their work. 

"He is not one of us." The healer stared down at the knight lying on the
table in front of him. Looking at the man across from him, he shook his head.
"We are not supposed to help those who are not of the Order."

"I know." The man rubbed the bristles on his chin, aware of his dishevelled
look. "But I know this man. He's fought well for us; beside us."

The healer shook his head. "But the rules say..."

An angry shake of the head. "The Grand Master has given me the authority to
recruit those who I wish into the Order. And I wish for this knight to live;
so that he may join us."

The two men stared down at the semi-conscious figure; still tightly gripping
a sword in each hand. Reaching down, the man took ahold of the sword held in
the left hand; wrenching it free none too gently. Turning the palm upward for
the healer to see, he displayed the three bloody holes in the wounded man's
palm.

"This is the one. Heal him."

"I don't know..." The man shook his head. "I can't..."

"You will heal him or you will die. Your choice." The knight cocked his head
to one side. "Your choice."

Looking down at the injured man, the healer nodded. "But I can't speak for
his acceptance into the Order."

"Don't worry. You won't have to." The bearded man smiled despite his
exhaustion. "I'll take care of it." Twirling the sword in one hand, he looked
down at the patient. "I'll take care of everything."

********

Fox Mulder looked up from the stack of papers he had been reading to watch
his partner. Without her seeing him, which was half the problem. Every time
that Scully caught him staring at her, she would either scowl at him or toss
something.

The pile around his desk of paper clips, elastic bands, and rolled up paper
balls was impressive.

But he couldn't help it; he had to keep watching her. Keep an eye open for
any sign that the invader had come back to torment her; that the cancer that
she refused to speak of had put her in some type of pain.

And his heart ached with the vigil. Because he knew that whatever he did, it
was only a reaction to the disease; that there was no pro-active thing he
could do.

Except watch.

And try to find out what could help her.

Although she was doing the search herself; faster and much more extensive.
Her medical background gave her the advantage on that front - she could whip
through the files on new treatments and understand them long before Mulder
could find the name in the medical dictionary he had bought quietly and
hidden in his desk drawer.

But he had to try.

Because she was all he had.

The phone rang, jolting them both out of their separate thoughts. Grabbing it
up, Mulder listened for a minute, then frowned.

"Scully... you better get this one." 

The petite redhead picked up the phone and listened.

"Dana, it's Steve... over here at Brandy's - listen, like I told Mulder,
Jackie's here and she's sloshed bigtime. The worst I've seen her in a long
time; but I can't get her out of here."

She looked at her watch. "Did you cut her off? It's only two in the
afternoon..."

"I cut her off an hour ago. And she's still drinking water and coffee and tea
and now she's mumbling and smashing the mugs on the table. I know you told me
to keep an eye on her if she started getting destructive, and..."

"We'll be there as fast as we can, Steve - just keep everyone out of her
way." Dropping the phone back into the receiver, she sighed and looked at her
partner. "You want to come along for this one?"

He smiled at her, sending a familiar shiver up her spine. "Let me meet you at
her place - if she's on a binge, it's for a reason. And I don't want to get
her started in Brandy's if she's going to want to talk about it."

Nodding, Scully picked up her coat and briefcase. She was halfway to the door
before Mulder spoke, hesitantly.

"Can you handle her? I mean..."

"We'll be fine, Mulder." She turned, giving him that Look. "After all the
things I've handled without you, a drunken Canuck is the least of my
worries."

He let his breath out slowly as she walked out. A cold shiver sped up his
spine as he realised that he was consciously trying to remember every
movement she made; memorise every nuance.

In case she wasn't there tomorrow.

*********

Steve let out a sigh of relief on seeing the redhead enter the bar. "She's in
the usual spot. And I swear, I've been serving her coffee and tea for an
hour."

"Great. So now she's a wide-awake drunk." Scully shot him a smile before
heading towards the darkened booth.

Looking up with reddened eyes, the woman snorted at the FBI agent.

"I'm glad to see you too." Scully slid into the padded seat beside Jackie St.
George. "Now want to tell me what's up with this? I thought you had sworn off
drunks like this."

"That..." A finger wagged at a long slender cardboard box sitting on the
table. "Was at my front door this morning."

"So Marty sent you roses." She frowned. "Everything's okay on that front,
right?"

A heavy nod. "Yah... and it's not from him. I called him long-distance when I
got it. He didn't send it."

Pulling the box closer, Dana flipped up the lid.

The long sword filled the box, the bright steel reflecting the dim light in
the bar. She looked at her friend.

"It's not your sword."

Another shake of the head.

"Then who's is it?" Running her hand down the long blade, Scully noted the
newness of the steel. "It's not an antique..."

"It's mine. I think. I don't know." Slamming her fists down on the table, St.
George scrunched her eyes up. "I can't think... I've had the Dreams... it's
not clear to me..."

"Well, sitting here drunk isn't going to help you any. Mulder's going to be
at your place with some more coffee and you'll need it - and a nap, to start
with." Getting to her feet, the woman pulled on Jackie's combat jacket. "And
we'll ask him about the sword - or we'll put a trace back on it, pull prints
if you're that upset."

"The symbol..." A finger tapped the hilt of the still-exposed weapon. "The
cross..."

Scully stared at it, noting the flared ends of the cross; the red enamel set
into the steel. "Pretty..." A frown. "A Templar cross, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Right." A short laugh. "So who the hell would send me this? I'm not... we
weren't ever... you know..."

"Let's go to your apartment and see Mulder. And get out of here." Another
none-to-gentle tug on the jacket.

"Yah, you're right." Sliding out of the booth, St. George stood; shifting
slightly from side to side. "I just don't remember..." Putting her hands on
her eyes, she rubbed them hard. "I don't remember..."

*****

"Mr. Mulder?"

The voice shocked Mulder out of his daydream; already absorbed in trying to
figure out what to do for Scully while not seeming to be intrusive. Turning
quickly from the filing cabinet, he looked at the tall man standing in the
doorway.

"Thank you." The visitor said to the security guard, who nodded once at
Mulder before leaving them. Striding across the office, he extended a hand
towards the bemused agent.

Mulder sized him up immediately, as if to write a profile. Tall, black hair
neatly cropped around his ears... no obvious moles or tattoos... about
Mulder's age or a bit younger... and wearing a suit that put Mulder's to
shame.

"My name is Jeffrey Montclair. And I need your help."

Nodding instinctively, Mulder motioned towards the desk, seating himself
behind it and reaching for a pencil. "Please continue..."

"And I think that I can help you." This brought Mulder up short, almost
snapping his pencil on the empty page.

"How?"

"By giving you a present for your pretty partner." Montclair leaned in
towards the agent. "For her. For a price."

"Which is?"

"Well, that's what I'm here to negotiate, isn't it?" Leaning back, the tall
man intertwined his fingers; resting his elbows on the arms of the chair. 

*********

Scully watched as St. George fumbled with her keys; trying not to laugh.

"Three out of five." The Canadian jabbed at the door with the key.

"Five out of seven."

"Seven out of ten."

Stepping forward, Scully took the keys out of her hand. "You certainly did a
good job on this one." Unlocking the door, she pushed the giggling woman
inside. "And Mulder's not even here yet; so enjoy it while you can. He'll
want to pick at your mind, and I don't think you'll like it."

"Hell, that's all Mulder ever gets at... our minds..." Dropping her jacket on
the floor, St. George curled up at one edge of the sofa and yawned. Scully
put the long box down on the table, then walked into the kitchen.

"I'll make some tea. Just because if you pass out before Mulder gets here,
he'll be grumpy."

"What, leaving him with you?" The woman stifled a second yawn. "Besides, he's
getting slow..."

"And so are you." Sitting down across from St. George, Scully smiled. "So
want to start with me?"

Jackie shook her head. "I'm sorry, Dana... I just had to get those images out
of my mind..."

Nodding, the redhead sat back. "I gathered that. It's been a while since
you've been on a drunk like this one."

"But I just couldn't..." A hand waved in the air. "And that sword..." She
motioned at the box. "It's like a bloody puzzle that I don't know how to
start, or what it looks like when I'm finished..." Another yawn, and she laid
her head back on the sofa. "God, I'm tired."

********

Mulder rapped the end of the pencil against his front teeth. "I'm listening."

Montclair smiled. "As I thought you would." His fingers still intertwined, he
stared at the agent. "I need you to procure something for me - a family
artifact."

Now it was Mulder who sat back, bouncing lightly in the chair. "I don't
understand. If it's a family artifact, how come you don't have it?"

"It was stolen. In a way." Montclair shrugged. "A relative decided to pass it
onto a friend instead of keeping it in the family. And now I want it back."

"So you want me to steal something for you?" Mulder smiled. "Not exactly
something to be asking a Federal Agent..."

"Exactly." The man smiled again. "My problem is that it belongs now to a
group of people who... influence the government to a degree that anyone
without certain clearances wouldn't have a chance to get near the object,
much less remove it."

"Don't tell me - The Spice Girls."

Montclair chuckled. "I see your sense of humour is sharp, Agent Mulder. But I
thought that of all people; you would jump at the chance to tweak the nose of
the people who you despise, the ones who work in the darkness."

"I might." Mulder twirled the pencil in his fingers. "But you still haven't
explained what you want me to get."

"A box." His hands mimicked a shoebox-sized item. "Just a wooden box. Inside
are my family's personal papers; worth nothing to anyone but to me in
historical and personal perspective."

"And what's on the papers?"

"Nothing for you to worry yourself about." Montclair shrugged again.
"Actually, the box itself is more an antique - wooden and very
well-preserved." A small sketch appeared in his hand, travelling to the desk.

The dark-haired agent shook his head. "I can't steal something for you.
That's against the law; and I don't know why you even came to me. Go find
somebody on the street who would take the case."

"I realise your apprehension, Agent Mulder - first, I'm not a rich man. Any
professional thief would want millions to pursue this. Second, it's not
valuable to anyone but to me - not a likely target for anyone to want or
steal, so I doubt that the security will be overwhelming. But I know that the
people around it have contacts within circles who would thwart any civilian
who would come close. And third..." He looked straight at Mulder. "I have
nothing to offer you but a cure for your partner's cancer." 

The sentence brought Mulder up from his chair in a rush. Putting his hands on
the arms of the chair, the man continued.

"I have in my possession a special herbal cure that worked in the past for my
family for such fatal diseases; that we kept only to ourselves because we
never thought that it would become as rare as it is - my ancestors never
dreamt of a world where science would ignore the natural world. In my family
we've used it for decades, ensuring our continued good health, though it
doesn't guarantee immortality. I can still die from a bee sting if I were
allergic. I have a small amount of this cure; the last of the original batch.
I will trade it for the box and for your partner's life." He paused. "It is
the last of my family's legacy; and with no children in my family I want to
exchange it for something a bit more concrete."

"Then approach your friends and offer a trade." Mulder spoke slowly. "Give
them this 'cure' for the box."

"I have. They won't deal with me; don't want to even consider it." He sighed.
"Your partner would analyse it and probably try to duplicate it, and if she
could it would be a great help for the medical world."

"How do I know this 'cure' works?" Mulder demanded. "You prove to me that..."

Montclair put up his hand, silencing the agent. "I can't prove anything. All
I can do is tell you to take it on faith that it will help your Agent
Scully." Cocking his head to one side, he smiled. "If you choose to ignore
me, then I'll try to find others who will do it. But I thought you would have
the most motivation to achieve the goal. My private number is on the back of
the sketch. If I don't receive a call within six hours, I'll assume you have
taken the safer route and this conversation is moot." He paused at the door.
"Goodbye, Agent Mulder. I hope that you can live with your decision,
whichever it is." His footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Mulder turned the sketch over and over in his hand, staring at the number.

*********

Scully handed another mug of tea to the bleary-eyed woman siting on the
couch. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." She admitted, rubbing her face. "Maybe even sober." The Canadian
shook her head. "I'm sorry Dana... you shouldn't have to come pull me out of
bars like this."

"Versus pulling Mulder out of trouble, I'd take this anytime. "she smiled.
"And if he doesn't show up soon, he'll wish he was stuck in another railway
car."

St. George shrugged. "It's okay..."

"No, it's not." The redhead replied. "When I left him in the office he had
nothing to do - and there's no answer there; hasn't been for the last hour.
If he's gone off on some..."

A gentle knock at the front door interrupted her threats.

"I'm okay..." St. George started again as Scully strode across the room and
opened the door; admitting Mulder to the apartment.

"Sorry I'm late." He muttered, his eyes on the floor; his hands tucked deep
in his coat pockets. "I got caught up in some paperwork."

Crossing her arms, Scully gave him a full-intensity Look. "It couldn't wait?"

He shrugged. "It was important; and I figured that since you were here..."

"I'm okay..." St. George said again, a bit louder this time.

"Scully, I..."

"No, Mulder - you listen to me." Her face flushed, the petite woman crossed
her arms in front of her. "I'm tired of you saying one thing and then doing
another."

"I'm okay..." The Canadian repeated, now almost yelling from her spot on the
couch.

"And if you gave a damn about me or Jackie, you'd have at least called and
told me that you'd be late; instead of letting me sit here and wait and worry
and..."

"I'M OKAY!" The roar brought them both around to start at St. George. "Ow..."
She clutched her head in both hands. "At least I was.. if you two are going
to fight, just go away, please..."

"We're not fighting." Scully snapped. Mulder said nothing, just staring at
the floor. Suddenly he looked at her directly, letting out a slow sigh.

"Sorry..." His eyes widened. "Oh, Scully..." His voice dropped an octave.

She felt the familiar rush of liquid down on her lip; reaching for the ever
present wad of Kleenex in her pocket. Dabbing at her nosebleed with one hand,
the woman walked toward the bathroom "I'm fine..."

St. George shook her head. "Oh, man..."

Crossing the room quickly, Mulder knelt down in front of her; casting his
glance towards the bathroom. "I need your help. But you can't tell her."

The woman stared at him in confusion. "Wha..." The bathroom door opened and
Scully walked back into the room; straightening her jacket.

"I'm going to go home, I think..." Taking a deep breath, she looked at the
pair. "And no - I don't need an escort. I just want to rest a bit..." Her
voice wavered over the last sentence as she reached for her trench coat.
"I'll call you later, Jackie. See you tomorrow, Mulder."

The door closed silently behind her.

Sucking in his breath through clenched teeth, Mulder turned to the Canadian.
"I need your help." He repeated. 

She nodded. "You said that before." She held up a hand. "But keep it very,
very, very simple please..."

*********

Unlocking the door to her own apartment, Scully flipped the lights on and
dropped her briefcase in the hallway; making her way to the bedroom. Pulling
off her blouse, she sighed at the small scarlet drops that dotted the front
of the cream-coloured shirt.

"Dammit..." Cursing under her breath, she walked into the bathroom and filled
the sink with cold water; used to the routine by now.

Pushing it under the freezing water, she dunked the blouse a few times and
turned the taps off; stripping down as she looked at herself in the mirror.

This was becoming too much the norm. Come home; wash out the blood... and try
to not study her own face for signs of the monster she knew lurked under the
surface.

Pulling on a robe, she left the bathroom; hitting the switch to turn out the
lights. No use looking at something she couldn't do anything about.

Flopping onto the sofa, she drew a shuddering breath; feeling the tears close
to the surface. It was just that she was overtired; that she just needed a
bit of rest.

That was all.

Well, and a miracle to round it out.

*******

"It's a trap." St. George sat back, a bit of colour returning to her face.

Mulder nodded. "Possibly."

"Possibly? Mulder, I'd bet on it."

"I'm not asking you to bet your life on it. But I'm betting Scully's life on
it."

She shook her head. "If anything happened to you, she'd go nuts. And not in a
good, friendly way."

The tall man shrugged. "Well, I'm still going." Withdrawing a sheaf of papers
from one pocket of his jacket, he tossed them on the couch. "I was late
because I was running Montclair through all the law enforcement databases we
have connections to - he's as clean as they come."

Picking up the sheets, she glanced through them as he spoke. "One conviction
of DUI back two years ago; working in a small company that his family started
over a hundred years ago - making wrought iron fences and such for the rich
estates. All legit, and not a hint of any connection to anyone we might worry
about."

She nibbled on her lower lip. "And who else were you planning to take?"

"Not the Gunmen." A sad smile crossed his face. "Given our last enterprise
together; I suspect that they'd be less than enthusiastic about helping me
out again. Even for Scully. Besides, if it's a private matter then I don't
want to get them embroiled in something that might blow up in our faces - I'm
as public as I want to be - they're not."

She arched an eyebrow towards him. "Then explain why you keep using the name
Marty when you make those phone calls."

He shrugged. "Well, I don't like to be called Fox."

"I won't even start." 

"I'm still going."

"Wrong." She sighed. "We're going. Give me something else to think about
other than that." A finger pointed at the long box sitting on the table; the
sword exposed to the two of them.

Mulder frowned. "Want to talk about it?"

"Maybe when we're on our way to wherever we're going." Pushing herself up
from the sofa, she groaned. "Just pass the Tylenol and make sure I don't fall
over."

*******

Scully looked down at the stack of medical magazines spread out across her
lap; oozing along the back of the couch and onto the floor. There were just
so many questions on new treatments; so many maybes...

The phone rang. "Hello?"

"It's me." As usual. "Just wanted to see how you were doing..."

"Fine. I'm fine." She paused. "Where are you?"

"Oh... still at St. George's. I'm just getting ready to split and she's going
to meet Marty at the airport - he's flying in for a day or two."

"Okay..." She frowned, hearing a noise in the background. "Everything's fine,
then?"

"Sure... it's all fine here." He drew in a deep breath. "Why don't you take
tomorrow off; take it easy? I'll cover for you..."

"Mulder, I don't want..." That dammed noise again...

"Hey, you just rest. I'll take the day off and do some research I was backed
up on anyway. Skinner won't mind - and I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay..." She mentally flipped through her catalogue of sounds. "Bye,
Mulder."

*********

"The blueprints seem to be sound." St. George looked up from the drafting
table she had spread the sheets across. She jabbed a finger down on the blue
and white map. "And I've just gotten the readouts on the owner - Jason
Montague. Clean as a whistle. Seems that he owns a metalworking factory up on
the coast; in the family for years. And very, very boring."

Mulder looked across the basement office. "Is all this equipment really
necessary?" He looked at the large duffel bag lying on the ground, one hand
on the small of his back. "My back..."

"...Is going to be just fine, Mulder." She grinned. "I'll carry it, thank
you. Besides, I signed all that stuff out from my department and I'm
responsible for it. I also threw in some spares in case of equipment
failure." She stared back down at the map. "Should be easy to break in and
get out."

"Which makes you more suspicious." Mulder grinned.

The woman looked up, not smiling. "Yes. Mulder, it's got to be some sort of
trap for you, for me, for something or someone. Any good crook can make this
run - why did this Montclair come to you?" She waved the envelope that the
blueprints had arrived in. "He slips you all this information under your
apartment door, and then splits? I don't understand it..." She sighed.

"Look, I don't understand it." He leaned over the desk, staring at the plans.
"But if there's even the slightest chance that he has something that can help
Scully, I have to go."

"Yah, well..." She sighed again. "Just promise me that you'll try to hide our
trail."

He stepped back, grinning. Putting a hand inside his jacket, he withdrew two
airline tickets. "Mr. and Mrs. Dulmer, heading for Pittsburgh on the 5:15
flight."

"You didn't..." St. George groaned. "I'll warn you ahead of time - one little
touch, one little cutsy pat on my butt..."

"... and I'll be taking the express route to the ground." He held up his
hands in surrender. "I get it. Besides, Marty would take care of what's
left." Tucking the tickets back into his pocket, he looked down at the duffel
bag. "Guess all we need to do is get out of here."

"Yah." The Canadian nodded. "And get me a new bottle of Tylenols."

***********

Scully sat quietly on the sofa, drumming her fingers on the cushions. That
sound...

She blinked.

She knew that sound. It was the dammed printer next to her computer.

In the basement. In their office.

Mulder was lying.

Getting to her feet, she quickly dressed and walked out to her car; dialling
St. George's number on the phone.

"Sorry, I'm not here, but if you'd like to..." The redhead waited, then
spoke. 

"Jackie, I'm on my way over there - I know Mulder said that you were on your
way to the airport, but I have to talk to you about what he's up to - I don't
think he's telling me the entire truth..." With a shock, Scully realised that
she was almost at St. George's apartment building by the time she finished
her long, rambling message.

Walking off the elevator, she rapped hard on the apartment door. Then again.
Then used her own set of keys to unlock the door.

"Jackie?" Flicking on the lights with one hand, she looked around the empty
room. The mug of cold tea still sat on the table; the paper still folded to
the International News section... everything was like it was when she had
left a few hours earlier. 

"Maybe I can catch her at the airport..." Scully muttered to herself, turning
to leave.

Then she caught herself. And realised what was wrong with the room.

The Dragonsword was gone. Taken down from its spot on the wall.

Her heart pounding in her ears, Scully locked the door behind her. Something
was very, very wrong.

And she was going to find out what it was.

***********

end of part one...

Dragons of The Box (2/3)
by Sheryl Martin


"Thank you for flying US Airways..." The flight attendant smiled at the
couple as they dropped their luggage under the counter. "Gate 56 in about
twenty minutes."

"Thank you." Mulder smiled. "Ready to go, honey?" He murmured under his
breath.

"Oh, sure - sweetie." With a charming smile at him, St. George calmly drove
her heel back into his shin. "Let's go, snookums..."

Trying hard not to limp, Mulder followed her down the corridor.

*********

"What are you up to, Fox Mulder..." Scully mumbled as she looked around the
basement office. "What are you up to and what does it have to do with
Jackie?"

She sat down in front of her computer; pursing her lips. If Mulder had done
any recent checks in the Bureau's databases, there were still be a trail.

Not to mention his private email.

That she had the password to.

With a twinge of Catholic guilt nagging at her inner voice, she tapped on the
keyboard. Well, it was for a good cause.

********

"We'll be landing in twenty minutes." Mulder gently prodded the sleeping
woman's shoulder. "Be glad we took the long way around." He looked at his
watch. "A slower flight was all that we could get, outside of flashing our
badges and bullying our way onto an express."

Yawning, she nodded. "Yah... I almost feel human..." The woman looked out the
window. "Storm coming in."

Mulder looked over her into the dark clouds. "Will it affect us?"

"Nah." St. George grinned. "Nothing can do that."

********

The terminal in Pittsburgh was filled with commuters; businessmen and women
racing to and from their appointments, families being reunited and lost souls
seeking salvation.

Stepping on the moving sidewalks that would take them to their luggage,
Mulder looked back at St. George as they moved effortlessly along the
terminal floor. "Beats dashing through the terminal, hmm?"

"Oh, totally." She chuckled. "I can see this being some sort of strange chase
scene in the next Naked Gun movie."

"With your Canadian Leslie Neilsen."

"You are watching The Discovery Channel, aren't you?" She stopped in
mid-laugh.

"What?" Mulder frowned, one hand on the rubber handrail as they rumbled
along.

"Into the valley of death..." The Canadian mumbled under her breath, her eyes
focused at a point far ahead of them. Turning his head back towards the front
of the sidewalk, Mulder saw what she was looking at.

Scully.

In her power suit, leaning against a garbage container at the end of the
moving sidewalk. Her familiar overnight bag beside her.

Not smiling.

Definitely not smiling.

Turning back, he looked at St. George. "Think she won't see us?"

"Maybe a chance..." St. George didn't miss a beat. "But I think I'll let you
do the talking while I get the car."

Turning around again, Mulder stumbled off the edge of the sidewalk;
perilously close to colliding with the redhead waiting for them.

"Oh... hi, Scully." Mulder swallowed. "Fancy meeting you here."

She scowled.

"We were just... ah... Jackie and I were... ah..."

"I'll go get the car." St. George disappeared to one side. "And the luggage.
And the coffin."

Scully stared at him; dragging her eyes up the jeans to the black tshirt to
the leather jacket. Mulder's skulking outfit; although she had never referred
to it as that to his face. Which he never wore for the fun of it.

And St. George - a set of black combat pants with a thousand pockets and that
dammed combat jacket. Well, she could be wearing that for the comfort level;
but that was highly unlikely.

Given the size of the luggage she was dragging off the carousel.

Mulder waited, barely breathing; his hands down at his sides as he stared at
his partner.

Her lower lip trembled, almost unnoticeable except by someone who knew her.

And Mulder definitely knew Scully.

He felt sick to his stomach. 

So they stood, staring at each other for the five minutes that it took to get
the car and gather the luggage.

St. George reappeared, keys in hand. "Ah..." Her gaze shot from one to the
other. "I'll drive?"

Scully spoke so softly that they thought she was praying. "Yes. You drive.
I'll be in the back with Mulder."

St. George winced, feeling the icy chill cut through the summer heat in her
friend's voice. With a nod, she led them to the small rental car.

Outside the airport she pulled onto the highway; settling down for the two
hour drive towards the Montague estate - at least for the time being.
Adjusting the rear-view mirror; the Canadian watched covertly as Mulder
started to talk.

"I... I had a visitor." He looked outside the car, as if for a cue card on
how to continue. "He asked me to get a box for him; a family heirloom or
something like that."

"To steal it." The stony sentence snapped across the space between them.

"He offered me..." A pause; a deep breath. "He offered me a cure for your..."
Even then, Mulder couldn't get the word out past the lump in his throat.

"Cancer, Mulder. I have... cancer..." The whispered words dug at them both.
"But you believe him?"

"I have to." The dejected reply came; his eyes lowered now to the seat of the
car.

Shaking her head, Scully let out a sigh. "It's a trap, Mulder. Another dead
end; some sort of trap to discredit us and give them what they want. Kill you
on the trip; make it look like you had gone bad. Anything. And you're walking
right into it." An angry glare at the driver. "And she should know better."

"She said the same thing. But.." A tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. "I
have to see if he's going to keep his part of the deal. Give me the cure."

"There isn't any." She bluntly replied. "Mulder, there isn't any; and
certainly nothing this man can give you. Give us."

"But..." Raising his eyes, he looked at her. "I have to try. Because there's
a chance that it could help you, and I have to try."

"Stop the car." A voice shocked St. George into awareness. Obeying Scully's
whispered command, she pulled over to the side of the road; the tires
skidding a bit on the gravel shoulder.

"Scully..." The door slammed shut as the redhead walked away from the car,
ahead of them. Exiting quickly, Mulder ran up to her; grabbing one arm to
pull her around.

"I have to do it, Scully. What if this thing is for real; what if this is
something that can help you?" His voice was low and pleading.

Shaking his grip off with a jerk of her arm, she shot back at him. "And what
if you get yourself killed? What then?" Scully yelled over the oncoming
truck. "I'm tired of you dashing off without telling me, and on something
like this..."

Standing by the front of the car St. George crouched down, leaning back on
the bumper. Pulling out a package of beef jerky, she bit off a piece as she
watched the couple argue.

A rustling in the grass beside her caught her attention. A red fox stared
back at her; nose crinkled and ears laid back as he surveyed this intruder.

"Good Hunting!" She rumbled down in the base of her throat. Tearing a piece
of the jerky free; she tossed it at the animal. "Just visiting."

The fox snapped up the piece, still keenly watching the woman and the couple
down the road. 

"I don't have to answer to you every time I leave the house, Scully..."
Crossing his arms, Mulder stood firmly on the loose gravel.

"No, but on this... this joyride..." She fumbled for words, the sweat now
sticking her hair to her face as the hot wind blew past them. "I don't want
you to do this for me... I don't need you to do this for me."

"I have to." He shot back, still not moving.

"And if you get killed? What then?" Dragging a damp strand away from the side
of her mouth, Scully paused. "What if you get killed, Mulder? I... I don't
want to be alone... not now, not like this..." She looked at him, the
slightest trace of a sob in her voice. "I don't want to die alone..."

He looked at her, the stunned expression on his face revealing that he hadn't
considered that possibility.

St. George watched as the petite woman thrust her fist into the taller man's
chest; lightly hitting him in anger. He didn't move, just rocked back on his
heels and took the punch. Then he spoke, his head lowered to hers as his
hands dropped to his sides. She took a step back, then nodded as his  hand
wiped her forehead. Finally he shrugged, his hands open in an apologetic
gesture.

Then they walked back towards the car.

The fox disappeared, knowing when to leave a good fight. Standing up, St.
George smiled.

"So..."

"Shut up and drive." Scully headed for the back seat again; Mulder for the
front. "I'll deal with you later."

"Okay..." The Canadian said slowly, noting the nod from the man. "That works
for me..."

*********

"Pack anything a bit less formal?" St. George spoke to the mirror as she
pulled the car off the road. "Nothing against your taste, but..."

"Just give me five minutes to change somewhere." Scully smiled. "I pack for
all possibilities."

"Oooh, Scully..." Mulder leaned over the back of the seat. "Let me name the
next scenario..."

Clearing her throat, St. George stopped the car. "Sorry to interrupt a good
fantasy, Mulder... but the estate's about a mile in from here. And it's going
to be dark soon enough." She shot him a wink. "Although I hear it's better in
the dark..."

"Hear?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Go get Scully's bag." The Canadian poked the trunk release button. As the
agent exited the car, she leaned back and looked at the redhead. "I did
try..."

Scully nodded. "I know. And I'm... grateful that you've come along. But I
still can't shake the feeling that something's not right."

Letting out a sharp laugh, St. George opened her door. "Dana, nothing's been
right around you two for years."

Walking around to the front of the car, she unrolled the map from her pocket
while Mulder discreetly looked towards the open trunk door at the back.

"Eyes front, Mulder." The Canadian snickered. "She can get changed without
your help, I'm sure."

"I'm just wondering what the heck she packed; considering she wasn't supposed
to know what we were doing." He explained, a sly grin on his face.

"Well, just be glad that I packed a spare headset. We'll need it for her, and
if anything else goes strange, we're in trouble." One finger tapped the
blueprints. "I say that we go in at sunset and just brawl in towards the
vault in the basement."

Mulder nodded, looking at the map. "The instructions said that there wasn't
an ordinary lock - any ideas?"

She shook her head. "I've got as many gizmos that I can carry. If it's
anything stronger, we'll have to consider blasting it and then running like
hell... but I don't want to risk anybody on this one."

The tall man scanned the map again; running his finger along the lines.
"Straight in; down to the basement and to the vault. Almost too simple."

"Almost?" She looked at him. "I did say that I thought..."

He dismissed her with a wave. "Yah, yah..." Looking up, he blinked. "Oh,
yah..."

St. George followed his gaze, snickering slightly.

Scully had reappeared at the front of the car; a set of jeans replacing the
designer pant suit she had been wearing. A black tshirt instead of the
cream-coloured blouse, and a large dark green vest atop that. 

She ran a finger down the front of the vest. "My dad's. I inherited it; and I
thought it would be useful to have a lot of pockets."

"Oh, yah." Mulder exhaled again. Walking past him, St. George casually
slapped him on the back. "Breathe, Mulder... breathe..."

"So what do we have?" Scully gestured to the large bag sitting on the ground.


St. George unzipped it. "Name it, I've probably got it." Handing Scully a
small headset and pocket battery; she pulled out two identical sets. "You
know how to use these. Got your pistol?"

She nodded, displaying the holster snug on her belt. St. George rolled the
sleeves of her combat jacket down to her wrists; noting Scully's confused
glance.

"I really don't want to get scratched by a branch going in, ya know?" She
reached for a small pill bottle in one pocket and dry-mouthed two Tylenols
back down her throat. "And don't even think about starting on me now."

"I'll get Mulder set up." Standing up again, Scully headed around to the
front of the car again, carrying the two headsets.

"Right... I'll..." Yanking her hand back quickly from inside the bag, St.
George stuck her finger into her mouth with a curse. Withdrawing it a second
later, she stared at the thick red blister already starting to form.

Her stomach flip flopped with the pain.

Carefully opening the bag further, she saw what she had touched.

Her sword.

She frowned. But this was to help Dana; not to do anything for herself. No
revenge, no pride... just to help a friend.

Something was not right.

Either way, she couldn't use the Dragonsword.

And that was a Very Bad Thing.

Grabbing a pair of leather gloves, she tugged them on before the other two
agents could see her hands. Best to avoid the questions until after they got
in and out of the house. Besides, she wasn't planning to use it on this run.

She was going to use it for the transfer.

The box for Dana's cure. For her life.

Suppressing a shudder, she carefully pulled out the rest of the equipment and
laid it out on the ground. Nightvision goggles, smoke grenades, lockpick
gun... everything a good burglar could want.

Scully appeared again, the small microphone against her mouth. "Mulder's
wired."

"Oh, that's been for a while." St. George shot her a wink. With a chuckle,
the petite redhead leaned down and poked through the equipment.

"Not a lot here." Her hand brushed against the cool metal of the sword. "I
thought you'd bring more."

"Not right now. Not yet." Her friend replied. "I somehow suspect that this is
going to be the easy part."

"You girls going to chat all night, or can we get going here?" Mulder called
from the front of the car.

"Don't make him bleed." St. George said under her breath to Scully. "It'll
leave too much of a trail..."

********

"I don't like it." The Canadian handed the goggles to Mulder.

"I don't see anything." He swung them around, scanning the entrance to the
large house. Up over the stone fence; to the wrought-iron gates and to the
empty front lawn. Then to the worried face of his partner; silhouetted in the
eerie green shades of the binoculars. "Cheer up, Scully."

"She's right, you know - it's looking too simple." The redhead exhaled
slowly. "I don't like it as well."

Mulder nodded. "Hey, I agree. But the notes did say that he kept no external
guards."

"Which makes me wonder what the hell he's got inside." St. George said under
her breath. "Well, let's get moving."

Creeping to the stone wall, Mulder reached up and easily pulled himself up on
the narrow ledge. Leaning down, he grabbed Scully's wrists and effortlessly
pulled her up to crouch beside him. A second later St. George was with them
as well.

"Putting on a bit of weight, Jackie?"

"Shut up, Mulder..."

Dropping to the ground, the trio ran to the nearest tree; a large weeping
willow draping itself across the ground and swaying with the night wind. 

"Mulder..." The whisper came over the headset; almost lost in the night
noises. "According to that map, the best way in is through the back door." A
hand gestured towards the ivy-covered walls.

"Right..." He looked at the Canadian.

"So let's take the side, if you please. I'm not too trusting of this fellow
and we've got enough of the inside mapped out so that it's not going to be a
major change."

"What if it's alarmed?"

She smiled. "That I can deal with." Turning to Scully, she smiled. "Ah... I
kinda only planned this for the two of us."

"So?" The redhead looked from her to Mulder. Scratching the back of his neck,
Mulder looked up into the branches.

"I think what she's saying, and I agree, is that we'd like you to stay here."

She put her hands on her hips; staring at the two of them like she had in the
airport terminal. Her breath hissed out in a slow stream.

"Look, Scully - we need a lookout. I don't trust this guy's information any
more than St. George does, and if you can stay here and keep surveillance on
the house, it'd do a lot more good than having a third set of hands." Mulder
spoke quickly and quietly. "And as you reminded me, the point of this
exercise is not to get me or you killed..."

Her nod was enough. Cupping his hands, the tall man gestured for her to put
her right foot into them. A gentle lift, and the woman was safely hidden in
the long sinewy branches of the tree.

Handing her the nightgoggles and the second knapsack, St. George patted the
remaining pack on Mulder's back. "Call out if you hear or see anything.
There's an extra pistol in the bag if you need a reload."

Nodding, Scully pressed herself against the branch, seeing the two agents
lope off towards the main house.

Moving to the left, St. George and Mulder came around the corner of the house
to the small side door; perhaps for servants at one time. Scanning the
doorframe, she pointed to a thin wire running along the top of the wooden
door; barely visible.

"Piffle." St. George snickered. "This I could do without the Service's help."


"We've got company." The soft voice crackled in their earpieces.

Peering through the goggles, Scully whispered into the microphone. "A single
security guard. Armed, I think. Heading your way."

Pulling a razor blade from a pouch, St. George knelt down and began to slice
away at the plastic covering around the alarm wire where it ran into the
ground.

"Mulder - he'll be on you in less than a minute." Scully rasped. Pulling his
pistol free, he crouched beside the CSIS agent.

"Get the pickgun inside the lock. Go when I say, and not before." The woman 
peeled back the first incision; exposing the bare wire. Taking a small box
from her pack, she readied the pair of clips in one hand while slicing away
at another part of the wire; about a foot higher.

"Thirty seconds, Mulder... get out of there..."

"Stay on target..." St. George mumbled into the microphone as Mulder readied
the special gun into the lock, ready to work it's magic on a second's notice.

"He's rounding the corner..."

"Stay on target..." The second exposed wire shone in the moonlight. Snapping
the clips onto the wires, St. George flipped the switch on the small box and
looked at Mulder. He squeezed the trigger, hearing the pickgun work on the
small door lock.

"Ten seconds..."

"Stay on target..." The low voice repeated.

The lock clicked open, ominously loud in the darkness. Grabbing St. George,
Mulder ducked inside and shut the door as quietly as he could.

In the safety of the tree, Scully held her breath as the guard came to the
entrance; pausing only a second as he looked at the door. 

Then he moved on, not seeing the small rewiring job at the base of the
doorway.

"Bastard." Mulder rasped as he rolled to one side; away from the gasping
Canadian. "The information was wrong."

"And I'm surprised at that." St. George got to her feet, clicking on her
penlight flashlight.

The inside of the small kitchen was the same as a thousand others they had
been in; pots hanging from the racks and a large gas stove in the centre of
the room. St. George chuckled as they made their way through.

"What?" Mulder whispered into the headset.

"My mother would have killed for one of these. My father kept promising to
make her a kitchen like this." A sigh. "It never seemed to work out,
though..."

"Well, if it heats up pizza, then it works for me." Mulder led the way to the
darkened hallway. "Down here, and then third door on the left to the
basement, if I remember correctly."

"I'll take map-reading for 200, Alex." St. George chuckled lightly into the
microphone. "Dana, where's the guy now?"

The woman shifted her position on the branch; scanning back and forth with
the nightvision. "He's gone to the other side of the house, he..." A pause, a
gasp. "A light just went on in an upstairs room."

"We're in the hallway and holding, Scully." Mulder whispered. "Keep talking.
I don't want to have to shoot our way out, but..."

"There's a man in the window, looking out..." She stared at the translucent
figure through the glasses. "Older fellow... wearing a bathrobe... he's..."

<he's looking at me. he sees me.>

"He's what? What?" Mulder tapped his microphone lightly. "Scully, talk to
me..." His voice dropped lower. "What's going on?"

Scully watched as the man turned away from the window, closing the drapes and
turning the light out. Exhaling slowly, she stared at the darkened room for a
few more seconds before responding.

"He went back to bed. Or whatever; but he turned the light out."

"Did he see you?" St. George broke in.

"No."

<there's no way he could have seen you. he was just staring in your
direction.>

Scully repeated herself. "No, he didn't see me."

"Right." Mulder looked at the door. "Number three..." Quickly running his
light over the doorframe, he frowned. "No locks, no alarms... is this the
right one?"

St. George shook her head. "According to the map - but that bastard already
screwed us once with the info."

"Look at this..." Mulder ran his hands along the carved symbols in the wood.
"Runes, some sort of pictographs..."

"But no alarms." St. George knelt down. "That's my worry, if you don't
mind..."

Putting his hand on the doorknob, Mulder took a deep breath and turned the
knob.

Scully listened to the laboured breathing in her earphone. 

"Nothing here, Scully. No alarms, just the stairs going down - like we were
told." Mulder's voice went calm again. "Anything out there again?"

She shook her head, forgetting that he couldn't see her. "The guard just did
an exterior of the wall - nothing yet; but I don't know how long before he
takes a closer look at your door and your handiwork."

"Then let's get going." Mulder gingerly walked down the steps; the beam of
light dancing in front of them. 

The staircase led them onto a dirt floor; the small room bare except for
another door. Shining the beam on this wooden door, Mulder shook his head
again.

"More inscriptions; more runes... I have to copy some of this down; figure it
out later." He pulled his notebook out. "It looks like the carving itself is
recent, but the images are ancient..."

St. George snorted. "Well, let's get the box first and then worry about your
history lesson, Mulder..." Suddenly she saw him lurch to one side, the beam
waving dangerously in the darkness. "Mulder!"

The tall man sank to the floor, grabbing his stomach.

"Dana, get in here!" The Canadian yelled, reaching for the groaning agent.
"Mulder's down..."

Dropping to the ground, Scully sprinted for the house; her senses blazing
with fear. The door was still unalarmed; and open. Shutting it quickly, she
headed down the corridor; her pistol drawn and her own small flashlight
slashing the night.

"Mulder! Mulder..." St. George turned her beam on the anguished face,
contorted in pain. "What's happening?"

"I... oh, God..." He wrapped his hands around his torso, his mouth open to
scream. "Oh, God... it hurts..." Writhing in the dirt, he turned his face
upwards...

And saw Scully suddenly, her face tense and frightened. 

"You are fast." Mulder mumbled, his teeth gritted. 

"Where does it hurt?" She ran her hands up and down his sides, searching for
some sort of wound. Finding none, she looked to the other woman.

St. George shook her head. "I swear, nothing touched him - I know there's
nothing here, but..." A hand came up to rub her right temple. "Oh, man...
it's sore and we're in trouble."

"Only if we don't get what we came for." Mulder rumbled, grabbing ahold of
Scully's shoulder as he forced himself to his feet. "Get the dammed box."

"Mulder..." St. George stopped. 

"It's just behind that door. Scully'll help me out of here." Another wave of
pain hit him; crushing him into the redhead's firm grip. "After all this, we
better have something to show for it."

"Mulder..." This time it was Scully. "Let's go." She looked back at the
Canadian as she pushed the ailing man ahead of her up the stairs. "Your
call." Then the door was open; and Mulder fell into the corridor.

Left in the dark room, the Canadian let out a low sigh as she looked again at
the door and the strange markings around it. Putting her hand on the door,
she pushed it open; all senses on fire.

Nothing.

The inner room was bare.

No, wait - in the corner stood a small table; three-legged and wooden. And
atop it, a purple cloth covered what could only be a small box.

Stepping forward, St. George paused. "Scully, how is he?"

"He's... better..." The answer came back, hesitantly. "He's fine..."

"He's fine?"

"He's... never mind, just get the hell out of there - that guard can come
back anytime, and I don't know about the man upstairs."

"Right." She took a step towards the table, swinging her light up to the
ceiling and back to look for any traps.

Suddenly out of the corner of her eye she saw him.

An old man, a bathrobe wrapped around him. In his seventies, maybe older...
the bald spot on his forehead shining in the light.

Ripping her revolver free, she spun towards him.

And blinked.

There was nothing there but dust on the wooden floor.

A rough shake of her head, and she was at the table. Lifting the purple cloth
carefully off the box, she stared at the small wooden item. 

"And who do you really belong to, I wonder..." The Canadian whispered as she
lifted it from the base, waiting for the walls to fall in or some other sort
of trap.

But nothing happened.

And now she was really scared.

Turning on her heel, the woman sprinted for the outer door and up the stairs,
the sweat staining the back of her shirt. In the kitchen she paused for
breath, dragging the air into her lungs in sharp; pained tugs.

"Scully... where are you..."

"We're at the wall again - the guard just passed about ten seconds ago, so
you're cleared for the sprint."

"How's Mulder?"

"I'm fine." The strong voice shocked her ears. "Just get out of there."

Taking a deep breath, St. George stepped out into the cool night air;
spotting instantly the two figures perched atop the wall. With a quick glance
to either side, she dashed for the stone barrier; the box under one arm.

Arriving at the wall, she looked up.

Mulder. And Scully. And both looked as good as they did twenty minutes ago. 

Tossing the box up to Mulder, she scrambled up the rough stone as he stuffed
it into Scully's knapsack. A strong hand gripped her wrist; hauling her
easily onto the top of the wall.

"You're okay?" She rasped to Mulder.

"Yah, I'm fine." He looked towards the house. "I was fine once I got out of
that basement." 

A light came on in an upstairs room. 

"Let's get the hell out of here." Scully disappeared over the other side of
the wall. "That's the same guy who saw me before."

"He saw you?" St. George landed on the soft grass with a grunt.

"Let's just go." Scully looked behind them as Mulder made his jump. "Let's
just go..."

*********

end of part 2...


Dragons of The Box (3/3)
by Sheryl Martin

The box sat on the table, the focus point for three sets of curious eyes.
Scully reached out to run her fingers along the rough dark wood; noting the
curves and bends in the grain. Automatically measuring it for her mental
records, she guessed it was about ten inches by ten inches... and about five
inches tall.

"Nice. And old." Her hand ran over the thick red wax seal at the front;
efficiently securing the box shut. "I don't recognise the symbol, though..."
Leaning back in the chair, she closed her eyes with a sigh.

"Tired." Mulder phrased it as a statement, not a question. She nodded, her
eyes still closed. 

"Why don't you hit the shower - I've got to call and tell him that we've got
it; and then make arrangements to do the trade." Putting a hand on her arm,
he watched as she forced her eyes open. "And it's been a long day for you,
G-woman."

With a chuckle and a shake of her head Scully got to her feet, a soft groan
slipping free as she reached for her overnight bag. Shuffling into the
bathroom, she disappeared from sight.

"She's looking bad." St. George sighed, rubbing her face with both hands.

"So are you." Mulder smiled, pulling his notebook out of a pocket. "You look
like you just ran the Boston Marathon."

"And lost." Getting to her feet, Jackie stared down at the box. "And you feel
fine now..." The question hung in the air.

"Yah..." Mulder pursed his lips. "I think maybe the inscriptions had
something to do with it..." He let out a low laugh at the skeptical look shot
his way. "You've been hanging out with Scully too long."

"No, I just like some proof with my pudding." St. George shot back. "And why
didn't Scully go down on the ground in pain; or me? If you go on that theory,
then we all should have been having major trouble..."

"Except..." The long slender fingers drummed a tattoo on the table. "Except
that Scully is wearing that cross around her neck. And she's sick."

"Say what?" The Canadian frowned, the confusion evident. "And I have a really
nice engagement ring and a helluva headache, but that's not what got me
through both doors..."

Sitting back, Mulder nodded. "Let me work on it a bit..." Reaching for the
phone, he dialled a number. "But right now we've got a deal to complete." His
eyes went to the closed bathroom door. "And we're running out of time." The
voice trailed off in a whisper.

Jackie nodded, flopping onto one of the hotel beds. Pulling off the leather
gloves, she noted the blister; still an angry red on her hand. Rolling onto
her stomach, she stared at Mulder.

"It was too easy." 

"Hmm..." Mulder answered, his attention on the phone.

"Too dammed easy. Any cheap cat burglar could have gotten in and out; and
probably in less time. We were sloppy and slow."

Putting up a hand to shush her, Mulder sat up straight. "We got it."

Montclair's voice was rock-steady. "You didn't open it."

"No..."

"If you open it, all bets are off. The deal is for the box, sealed and
secured."

"We have it. For the formula you claim to have."

The deep voice snickered. "Claim nothing, Mulder - I say it's a cure for your
partner. If you want to believe it or not, it's none of my business. I can
sell it to a pharmaceutical company if I wanted to and retire for the rest of
my life on it - but I'm willing to give it up for that box."

"So let's go." Mulder rasped. "Name the time and place."

"There's a small town about an hour's drive from you - Jamestown,
Pennsylvania. A large oak tree at the edge of the town; by the road sign. Be
there by five this morning or don't bother coming at all." The line went
dead.

Scribbling the instructions down on the paper set on his knee, Mulder turned
back to the waiting woman. "We've got a few hours before we have to move.
Better get some rest."

"It's a trap." St. George repeated herself again. "You know that."

"Yes... yes, I do." Standing up, the tall man stretched his arms to the
ceiling before letting them fall limp to his sides. "But we have to try..."

"And have you killed? Or her? Or all of us, and Skinner's trying to figure
out how to explain this one away to everyone?" Her eyes blazing, the Canadian
slid off the bed to face him. "Why do you have to follow every trail to the
bitter end, no matter the cost?" Her voice rose, strained and low with anger.

"Because I have to." Mulder shot back, his voice rising. "And I don't see you
running for the door... or do you want to back out now?" He roared at her,
his face red and tense.

The punch sent him across the room, slamming into the wall. Sliding to the
floor, he groggily put one hand up to rub his jaw; then looked up at the
angry woman as she leaned over him.

"Don't... you... ever... do that to me again..." St. George growled at him,
her eyes locked with his. "Don't you ever call me a coward..." Her right hand
was still clenched in a fist as she shook it at him. "Taking that box was
wrong, and I know it. We have..."  Holding out her hand, she displayed the
burn to him. The words came out in a low whisper, almost a shocked prayer.
"We've done something really evil, Mulder..."

The bathroom door opened suddenly, Scully exiting in a thick white bathrobe.
Her gaze went from the man on the floor; still rubbing his face to the
flushed woman standing above him.

"What the hell are you two doing?" She crouched down by Mulder, taking his
hand away as she ran her own over his face; seeing him wince as she stroked
over the bruise already visible on the left side of his face. "I leave you
alone for a few minutes, and..."

"Just a disagreement..." Mulder got to his feet, gently pushing her hands
away. "We... had opposing views on how to proceed..."

Shoving her hands deep in her jean pockets, St. George turned her back on the
pair and walked back to the bed. Reaching for the television control, she
focused her attention on the scrolling pictures on the screen.

Walking across the room, Scully dug in her suitcase for a fresh set of jeans
and shirt. "I heard it, you know..."

"And?" Mulder moved to stand behind her.

"I agree with Jackie - it's surely a trap. Some sort of setup to discredit
you, me, the Files..." She pushed by him to return to the bathroom to change.

"And?" He followed her, pausing at the door. She turned to face him, her pale
face highlighted by the white robe.

"And we should follow through with it. Like you said. Because there's a
chance that he could give us... whatever he has..." She shut the door quietly
in his face. 

"But at what price..." Scully whispered to the closed bathroom door, knowing
that Mulder wouldn't be able to hear.

St. George pulled her walkman out of her backpack, slipping the headphones on
her ears as she curled up in a corner of the room. Her eyes remained locked
on the small wooden box still sitting on the table; oblivious to the trouble
around it.

*********

Mulder's eyes snapped open at the sound of his watch alarm going off;
drilling into his mind. Sitting upright, he looked to the left of him - the
other bed.

Scully slept soundly, the blankets tossed off at some point during the nap.
Curled up in her white shirt and jeans, she looked peaceful. One edge of the
shirt had worked its way free during the rest; revealing a thin space of
exposed skin just above her right hip. Her lips were slightly parted, the
redness highlighted more by her pale skin.

He shook his head, breaking the spell. Time to go to work, Mulder. 

Rolling out of bed, he walked over to the sleeping Canadian, still leaning
against the wall in the corner; her walkman still droning in the silence of
the room. Pulling them off, he put them to his own ears for a second; curious
as to what Dragons listened to before battle.

"All I need is a miracle..." Mike and The Mechanics. Figured. A gentle touch
on the shoulder.

St. George's eyes flashed open; one hand already going for the revolver at
her hip. Her eyes were wild and pained and wet; the smallest tear forming at
the edge. She focused in on him slowly, the sanity returning to her gaze
quickly.

"Easy. We've got to get going. I'll get Scully." He looked over at the table.
"We'll put the box in one of the knapsacks and carry it that way."

She nodded, wearily getting to her feet. "Mulder..." 

"Yah..." He smiled. "We're all kinda stressed over this. Because it could be
true..."

Leaving her, he went to wake Scully.

And almost didn't want to. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked down on
her and thought for a long minute about going without her; of just taking
off.

Like he'd done so many times before.

Not like it'd be out of character.

But she was right, at least in this case.

With a sigh he laid his hand on her hip, rocking her slowly from side to
side. Her eyes opened wearily; soft and tired and sore.

"Time to go." Mulder smiled. 

"Hmm..." Scully hummed, rolling over to hide her face in the pillow. "Be with
you in a minute."

"Sure." Getting to his feet, he walked towards the box still sedately sitting
on the table. Picking it up, he shook it carefully; hearing something roll
back and forth inside.

St. George appeared beside him; holding out the knapsack. He looked at the
seal again. "I took a sketch of it - maybe we can trace the ownership back
and see who it really belongs to."

She shuddered. "Let's just get rid of it, okay?"

Placing it carefully in the pack, he looked at her. "I need you to set some
timers..."

Cocking her head to one side, the Canadian forced a smile onto her face. "I
thought you'd never ask..."

********

The sun was just beginning to break over the horizon as they pulled off the
road; by the sign announcing that they had hit the town boundary. 

Getting out, St. George suppressed a shudder. "Last time I looked at a place
called Jamestown, it wasn't a good thing." Hoisting the smaller knapsack onto
her shoulder, she waved at the agents. "See you in five minutes." 

As the dark-haired woman disappeared into the woods running alongside the
road, Scully looked at her partner. "And where's she going? The oak is right
there..." She pointed out the window at the large tree, sitting majestically
in front of them; a single sentry in the growing dawn.

"She's trying to make sure the odds go our way." Getting out of the car,
Mulder checked his pistol; snapping the clip back in. Instinctively Scully
did the same, exiting the car as well.

"We've got about ten minutes." Pulling the knapsack containing the box out of
the car, he placed it on the roof. "Any bets about what's in here?"

She shot him a warm smile, reminding him of the Scully he had first met years
ago. "A box..."

"And what's in the box?"

This made her pause. "Something... ancient..." She shook her head. "Let's
just give it to him and see what he gives us. It's certainly not government
secrets, not at this point."

Mulder nodded. "Well, maybe Roman Empire government secrets, but..." St.
George reappeared from the bushes, trotting back towards them. "But somehow I
think it's a lot worse..."

Dumping the now empty knapsack in the back of the car, the woman reached
inside the duffel bag carefully and pulled out the long sword.

"Jackie..." Scully had to smile. "You know that's not the most inconspicuous
weapon these days..."

She mocked surprise. "What? I thought it was pretty easy to hide under my
coat, or down my leg..." Reaching past the scabbard, she tentatively touched
the cool metal.

And smiled at Mulder.

Scully looked from one to the other. "I'm sure I'll find out what that's all
about later on, right?"

"Yah." Her friend nodded. "But right now I think we're doing all right..."

"Mulder!" The call came from the right side of the oak, about fifty feet from
them. "Come over here!"

"Well, now or never..." Muttering the words under his breath, Mulder led the
two women across the small clearing towards the tree; trying to see beyond
into the thick brush behind the thick oak.

Montclair stepped out, wearing a white shirt with khaki pants; the designer
sunglasses reflecting the sunlight as it increased over the scene. "You
brought it, I assume."

Mulder held up the knapsack. "We have it." His eyes narrowed. "Your turn."

With a chuckle Montclair reached inside his right pants pocket and withdrew a
small bottle; a few inches high. The thick dark brown liquid sloshed back and
forth in the transparent glass as he shook it, then placed it in the front
left breast pocket of his shirt. 

"Show me the box. And don't move too fast, if you please."

Kneeling down, Mulder carefully pulled the wooden case out of the bag;
turning it to display the intact seal to Montclair. The deep sigh coming from
the man was loud in the silence surrounding them.

"Good." He smiled at Mulder. "And this is your partner..." A nod of the head
to Scully. "And..." One eyebrow rose. "A friend, I see..."

St. George didn't smile, gripping the scabbard as she held it in front of
her. "No friend of yours."

"Oh, I know that." A snap of the fingers in the air. "In fact, I knew you'd
be here. It makes it just that much more ironic, don't you think?"

Scully put a hand on Mulder's left arm as he rose back up; clutching the box.
She looked at him, then at the woods behind Montclair.

He nodded. He had seen them.

Maybe ten, maybe fifteen men. Hidden in the woods.

"One more minute..." He whispered under his breath to her.

"What do you mean, ironic?" St. George stepped forward. 

"Oh, this crap you keep trying to pull off - you know, this hero thing. The
best, last and only defence against the scum of the universe stuff."
Montclair sighed dramatically. "Please..."

"Gee, can I borrow that line? Think I'll have it put on my letterhead." The
Canadian shot back, her hand loose on the hilt of the sword.

"Montclair - you want the box, you give us the bottle." Mulder yelled out.

"Sure." His face lightened as he looked at the two agents. "Just leave the
box and walk away. I'll give it to you when you're back at the car."

"No..." Mulder shook his head angrily. "That's not what you said..."

Suddenly a bright explosion went off to the left to them; the mini-sunrise
shocking Scully and Montclair. Then another to the right; the smoke billowing
out of the trees in thick, black waves.

Montclair turned to look at the havoc, his hands raised to shield his face.
"Get them!" He yelled, running back into the bushes. Two men appeared out of
the smoke, gasping for air. Both clutched pistols. Rubbing at their eyes and
face, they raised the weapons towards the trio; trying to focus in on a
target.

Tightening her grip on the pommel, St. George groaned as the needles shot
out; sealing the sword to her hand. Throwing off the scabbard, she advanced
on the two men with a roar.

The first man actually managed to get a shot off; the bullet deflected easily
by the sword casually swung up in defence. Then the first bullet from the .38
revolver St. George held drilled into his knee; dropping him to the ground in
agony.

"Stay there." She kicked the weapon far from his reach. "And thank Mulder
that I'm feeling nice today."

His partner dropped his pistol and dashed back into the smoky woods in panic;
scrabbling for a foothold in the soil. Jackie calmly walked after him,
disappearing in the thick smoke as shots began to ring out.

"Get down!" Mulder pressed Scully's head into the ground as they both
dropped, hearing the bullets whiz overhead. The brief burst of gunfire
subsided; replaced by the groans and yells of confused and dying men.

Scrambling to his feet, Mulder looked at the confusion in front of them. "You
stay here..." He wheezed at the still prone woman. "I'm going after
Montclair..." Not waiting for an answer, he bolted towards the woods, past
the two dead men and into the dense trees.

Scully paused, then followed; her pistol drawn and the safety off. At the
last second she snatched up the box; tucking it under her left arm.

Montclair dashed through the woods, not bothering to look back. Stopping
behind a tree, he tried to catch his breath; tapping the bottle still intact
in his breast pocket. Maybe next time...

He held his breath as a figure came stamping by; almost indistinguishable in
the smoky dawn. The pistol wavered in front of the man as he tried to see
through the thinning smoke.

Mulder.

With a grin Montclair circled around the agent, letting him run deeper into
the trees.

Scully let out a ragged cough as she ran from tree to tree; trying to avoid
the remaining men. From what she had seen and heard, there wasn't much
opposition - Montclair had assumed that they would be easy to overwhelm; and
the men certainly hadn't been prepared for the smoky battle.

But she had to find Mulder. Stepping out into the foggy clearing again, she
looked ahead of her; seeing some sort of large figure looming near her.

A gust of breeze crossed the area; clearing the smoke away.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Mulder. With Montclair.

But not in a good way. Mulder was down on his knees; his hands on his head as
Montclair stood behind him, pressing the pistol at the agent's exposed
throat. Looking up, he smiled at Scully.

"So... want to trade now?"

*********

Jackie lay on the ground, gasping for breath. Her body ached all over, but
not from anything terminal.

Just tired.

So very tired.

And dammit, she was out of bullets. Mulder had teased her enough about
switching to a proper pistol; one with a 12, 13 round magazine.

But she kept to the six-shot .38 out of respect.

Well, that and she couldn't shoot diddly with anything else.

The sunlight shot through the branches overhead, making her blink with the
sudden change.

Darkness into light.

A man suddenly came into her vision, a curious look on his face.

The old man she had seen in the vault.

Rolling quickly onto her stomach, she tried to force herself up; using the
sword for support... but couldn't. Falling back in a sitting position, she
stared at the man; too weak and weary to fight.

He must have been in his late seventies, early eighties... it was so hard to
tell. Wearing a smart-fitting suit, he walked over to the woman and smiled.

She smiled back, of course. Best to be polite when you're defenceless.

"I suppose you want to know who I am."

Jackie nodded.

"Well, my name is Montague - you know, the man who you robbed?"

Falling back onto her back in exhaustion, St. George closed her eyes. Great.
And if this guy brought friends, she wasn't going to be able to do...

"No, no..." The balding figure smiled. "None of that. I'm just here to make
sure things work out."

Her eyes began to close as she frowned at him. Suddenly she felt a pair of
soft hands separating her left palm from the sword, the gentle touch almost
enough to make her cry.

"I'm sorry about the nightmares - when I sent you the sword I thought you
could remember it all. I never intended for you to have such troubles." The
warm words continues as she felt herself being lifted by somebody else, other
people.

"Your ancestor did fight for us - and we did try to cure him. But there was a
group of men inside the Order who were planning a coup at that time; and they
tried to entice him to join them, promising the usual wealth, women... the
usual things that men wanted back then."

The forest began to swirl around her as she drifted in and out of
consciousness. The soft voice followed her as she tried to force the question
out.

"And no; your ancestor never did join them. Actually, he survived the torture
long enough to break free and tell the Grand Master; who then was able to
thwart the coup easily. But that's in the past."

Pulling her lips apart, she coughed; feeling the torn flesh bleed freely.

"Montclair knew that only you or one of our Order could pass the wards placed
in the house - and that Mulder would ask you to go with him. Mulder failed
the test, but you passed easily."

"And your friend, Dana. For all her blustering, she's still more faithful
than you or her like to admit." A cool hand on her forehead. "Mulder is less
of a believer in certain things." A bump, a loud noise. 

"We are forbidden to attack Members, even ones who have wandered from the
path directly. Montclair brought almost all of his traitors with him, and I
have arranged for them to be treated and cared for; like yourself. A favour
he wouldn't have extended to us, I daresay."

"I'm sorry." The voice was sad. "We had to let you go the course, and you
didn't know what you were getting into. Mind you, you did quite well - I
think that they'll all live. Well, minus a few fingers here and there, but
that's the price they paid for breaking their Oath."

St. George forced a whisper from her throat; the pain intense. "What's in the
box?" 

A soft chuckle.

"You know." A spiral descent into unconsciousness, the last words following
her down.

"After all, you did see it once."

********

Scully levelled the pistol straight ahead of her, drawing a straight line to
Montclair's head. "Let him go."

The tall man chuckled, rocking Mulder's head back and forth with his free
hand entangled in the dark hair. "I don't think you're in much of a spot to
make any demands, hmm?" His tone changed. "Mulder for the box. And I'm not
negotiating any more."

"Don't do it, Scully..." Mulder mumbled, looking at the ground. "He'll break
his promise again. He did it before..." A yelp as Montclair pulled his head
back; pressing the cold steel of the barrel against the pulsing vein in his
neck.

"I wouldn't take his advice, Scully - he's almost gotten you killed before."
A sly smile curled his lips. "And at this point, I think you'd much rather
have him than not..."

Carefully, without taking her eyes off him, she laid the case on the ground
in front of her. "Let him go and we'll walk out of here."

"Oh, really." Montclair snorted. "I wasn't born yesterday - take a few steps
back and I'll come forward. And if that seal's been broken..." Grabbing
Mulder's hair again, he forced the agent up on his feet. 

"And don't even think of trying anything..." He whispered into Mulder's ear;
jamming the barrel tighter into the skin. "Because I do so want to blow your
head off..."

Pushing Mulder ahead of him, the tall man came closer to the box. Scully kept
her distance, only a few feet from the pair. When he was within a foot of the
small case, he forced Mulder down to his knees again. 

"Reach out and pick it up." He ordered the kneeling man. "And don't drop
it..."

Slowly Mulder reached out for the case, leaning forward away from the pistol
and from Montclair.

Scully stared as the man let out a low chuckle; cocking the pistol and
pointing it directly at the back of Mulder's head. Raising her own weapon,
she instinctively sighted in on the largest target that stood in front of
her.

"Mulder!" The shout sent Mulder sprawling into the dirt face-first; already
aware of the scenario over his head. One hand clutched the case under his
body, the other flung out as he scrabbled in the dirt for traction.

Montclair looked down at the prone man, then at the agent in front of him;
the tiny trail of smoke spiralling up from the pistol.

Then down at the widening red hole in his chest.

With a coarse laugh he fell to his knees beside Mulder, who scrambled to get
out of his way; snatching the pistol where it fell to the ground. 

"You don't know..." Montclair gasped, one hand trying to stem the blood flow.
"You just don't..." His eyes rolled upward, and he fell face-first into the
ground, still damp with the morning dew.

Leaving Scully's side, Mulder went over to the dead man and flipped him over;
kneeling down in the dirt. Frowning in confusion, she followed him.

Wincing, he reached into the bloody shirt pocket, carefully feeling around in
the soaked fabric. 

"Mulder..." The soft voice came from behind him. "Let it go."

"Scully, this was..." He extracted a glass shard. "The bottle..." The words
came out in a mumble.

"Mulder, we don't know if it was anything. It could have been dirty dishwater
for all we know." A hand rested on his shoulder; squeezing it carefully.
"It's nothing now."

"But..." He felt the damp shirt again, seeing where the two colours merged;
the dark red blood and the dark brown stain of the bottle's contents. "We
might be able to extract something from the shirt; we might get a sample..."
His voice trailed off as he realised the futility of his words.

"I couldn't let him shoot you." Scully said quietly behind him.

"But it could have..." He didn't want to say the words, admit the defeat.

"It wasn't worth your life, Mulder." A hand touched the back of his neck,
stroking the small hairs. "We'll find something else."

"I'm sure you will." Another voice joined the conversation; shocking the pair
into instant awareness.

Bringing her pistol up quickly, Scully stared at the old man. "You..."

"Yes." He nodded at her, then at Mulder as the agent got to his feet;
gripping his own retrieved weapon. "You did see me. And I saw you." Montague
stretched out a hand. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."

With a glance at Scully, Mulder handed the box over. "We..."

The older man smiled. "I am well aware of lost causes, Agent Mulder. And I do
appreciate your help in taking care of this situation." Putting up a hand, he
silenced the pair. "Your friend can fill you in on the details..."

"Jackie..." Scully let her breath out. "We've got to..."

"She's being tended to. And she'll be waiting for you in the hotel room when
you get back there." A man appeared by his side. "My driver will take you
there now."

Mulder took a step forward, then stopped. "Can you..." A hand gestured at his
partner.

Montague shook his head. "I can't. But everything has it's place and it's
time - and nothing happens without a purpose." He looked at the petite
redhead. "Agent Scully... keep your faith strong. Because that's what will
bring this all to a proper end. And not necessarily the one you think." With
a nod to Mulder, he walked into the woods.

The tall man who had been assigned as a driver pointed towards the edge of
the woods; indicating that they were to leave.

*********

Opening the hotel door, the two agents entered warily. The drive back had
been silent; passengers in their own rental car, with the driver walking down
the street after handing them the keys back. 

Lying on the bed was St. George, a fresh white shirt on her and sleeping; a
slight snore filling the room. The Dragonsword lay on the table, cleaned and
safe in its scabbard.

Sitting down on the bed, Scully put a hand on her arm, noting the thick
bandages wrapped around the Canadian's left hand; her arms, her head... there
wasn't much of her exposed skin that hadn't been bruised or battered or
broken; and she suspected that if she did a full physical that there's be
more yet to see.

Jackie opened her eyes. "Hey..." She mumbled. "A helluva party..." Her eyes
focused in on Mulder as he stood behind Scully. "Did you..."

A negative shake of the head from the tall man.

She sighed, a tear breaking loose from her eye. "Oh, Scully..." St. George
whispered. "We almost had it..."

"No..." Taking her friend's hand, Scully squeezed it hard.  Mulder's own hand
dropped down to rest on her shoulder, holding her steady. "We already have
it."

************

the end...
;-)