The characters contained in this story are the creative 
property of FOX Broadcasting and 1013 Productions and are 
used without their permission.

Classific:  V
Rating:	    R - for swearing
Spoilers:   DeadAlive & Three Words (US8)
Summary:    The Lone Gunmen are told the news of Mulder - 
            missing scenes from both episodes.


Hope Abandoned / Hope Redeemed
by Martha
marthalgm@yahoo.com


Lone Gunmen Headquarters
11:15pm

As Doggett stepped out of the car, he knew - he *just* knew 
- that this little excursion to the outsskirts of DC had 
taken a weird turn.  He did not imagine that motion 
detectors and security cameras were the norm in this area of 
dilapidated warehouses.  "She did tell me these guys were 
odd," he whispered out loud and was then suddenly self-
conscious that perhaps microphones were also standard 
equipment for them.

As he approached the door, he ignored the whirring sound of 
the camera movement and pressed the buzzer.  After a brief 
pause with no response, he buzzed them again.  After another 
moment, he yelled out an `hello' just in case there were 
voice detectors out of his range of sight.

Frohike heard the commotion coming from the front of the 
offices and headed for the door to find out what was going 
on.  He found Langly already at the front door, eyeing the 
monitor but making no move to communicate with their visitor 
or to let him in.  "Who's out there?"

"It's Agent Doggett."  Langly looked over his shoulder back 
at Frohike.  "Did someone give him directions here?"

"Not me.  Maybe Byers."  Frohike noticed that Langly was 
still not making a move to acknowledge their visitor.  "We 
know Agent Doggett.  He doesn't bite, so open up."

"But he's FBI."

This struck Frohike as odd.  "Scully's FBI.  And so's 
Mulder."

"And he was with the Marines."

"As was Skinner, and you've let him in."  Frohike took a few 
more steps towards the door.  "What does any of this 
matter?"

"But he used to be a cop."

"Langly . . ."

"A New York *City* cop, Frohike."

"Langly!"

"What are you doing?"  Byers had snuck up behind Frohike and 
had observed the last half of the exchange between his 
partners and noted Doggett's growing impatience on the other 
side of the door.  "Would you let him in?" he scolded.

Langly was still on the whiny track.  "Oh, all right."

Doggett was surprised to be facing all three Lone Gunmen as 
the door opened and wondered if this was standard procedure 
with them and if it was why it took so long to gain 
admittance.  He began thinking that perhaps there was some 
sort of imaging device that he had passed through that 
needed to be reviewed.  She did warn me, he reminded 
himself.

He followed Byers' lead into the Gunmen's warehouse, his 
eyes taking in a 180-degree view at the variety of equipment 
and general upheaval that he had just entered.  Doggett 
sharply turned around as he heard Frohike begin to reset all 
the locks behind him.  "All hope abandon, ye who enter 
here," he muttered under his breath.

Frohike overheard him.  "It may look like hell, but we call 
it home."

Langly brought up the rear.  "Out slumming?"  

"No, Langly.  It's . . ."  Doggett paused, unsure of how to 
begin this conversation.

Byers prompted him.  "I take it that this is not a social 
call?"

"Correct.  Agent Scully mentioned that she would need to 
talk with you, but I convinced her that a phone call was 
probably not appropriate at this time.  So I took it upon 
myself to come on over."

"Not appropriate?"  Frohike looked his two partners and then 
glared back at Doggett.  "Where's Scully?"

Uncertain as to how this trio would take the news and unable 
to face them directly, Doggett began pacing beside one of 
the work tables.  "We were in Montana.  We were checking out 
some leads . . ."

"Just spit it out, man."  Langly was getting bored with the 
drawn out sentences.  "What's with the dramatics?"

Doggett's pacing came to an abrupt stop, and he let the 
punchline slip out.  "Mulder's dead."  He could feel their 
eyes burning a hole in his chest, but he could not look up 
at them.  He needed to start over from the beginning.  "We 
found several of the people that were listed as missing from 
that place . . . Bellefleur, Oregon.  We found them through 
this group."

"Wait a fucking minute."  Frohike's voice reverberated among 
the metal shelving surrounding them.  "What do you mean 
`Mulder's dead'?"

Doggett's voice was soft in comparison.  "We found Mulder 
last night.  Out in a middle of the woods while we were 
questioning these people at this camp.  We came across his 
body."

"It's not him."  Langly was not buying into this and his 
insistence grew.  "It can't be him."

"Both Agent Scully and Assistant Director Skinner have ID'd 
him.  We have a fingerprint match."  Doggett finally turned 
to the three, hoping to make them understand.  "Guys, this 
is no joke.  I hate to be the one that had to come out here 
and tell you this, but it's him.  It *is* Fox Mulder."

Langly was still not believing any of this.  "Montana?  We 
haven't gotten any reports from there in a few days.  Do you 
think . . ."

"Frohike, are you all right?" Doggett interrupted, shaking 
his head.  "You don't look so good."

Byers turned to look back at Frohike.  While he and Langly 
had approached Doggett during the last few exchanges, 
Frohike had not moved.  Byers noticed the sudden paleness in 
his face and the glazing over of his eyes and rushed to his 
side.  "Damn it, Frohike, don't you faint on us now."  
Grabbing him by the arms, he pulled Frohike over towards the 
couch.  "Sit over here, and put your head between your 
knees.  Langly, go the kitchen and soak some of the dish 
towels in cool water and bring them back here."  He looked 
back up at Doggett and began to gently massage Frohike's 
shoulders. "Tell us about Montana."

Frohike abruptly sat up and began another tirade.  "Christ, 
he can fucking explain Montana later," he screamed at Byers 
before turning his attention towards Doggett.  "Where the 
hell is Scully?"

"Frohike, calm down or you're going to work yourself into 
that heart attack you're always warning us about."

"Who gives a shit?" Frohike again raged at Byers and then 
tried to move off of the couch to confront their visitor.  
"Where is she?  Who's looking after her?"

"Right now, Assistant Director Skinner is driving her over 
to her mother's."  Doggett sat down on the couch to reassure 
the Gunman and to keep him still.  "Don't worry, Frohike.  
She's not being left alone."

"How is Agent Scully right now, Agent Doggett?"  Byers was 
hesitant in his delivery.

"About as you'd expect.  She's . . . she's got a lot of 
grieving to do."  Unaware as to whether or not Scully had 
informed this group of her pregnancy, he decided to leave it 
at that.  He noticed that Langly had rejoined the group and 
had handed off on the damp towels to Byers.  "When was the 
last time any of you guys talked with her?"

Byers folded the towel into a square and placed it on the 
back of Frohike's neck.  "It's probably been about two weeks 
now.  We hadn't really had any news for her and, um, we know 
that the two of you have other cases to work."

"Yeah.  So listen, I know you guys are gonna have a lot of 
questions and I think that, to a certain extent, Skinner and 
I can give you the answers.  But I know that Agent Scully is 
going to want to have a talk with you guys about what's 
happened the past couple of days, but I just don't think 
that the next day or two would be good for that.  Give her 
some time to get through this."

"We're not complete Neanderthals."  Frohike's speech level 
was returning to what passed for normal.  "No matter what 
Skinner tells you."

"The funeral . . ."  Doggett started to stand up at this 
point, perhaps a bit too quickly.  He reminded himself that 
he had had little sleep in the past few days and needed time 
not only to rest but to digest exactly what had brought him 
to this warehouse in the first place.  "The funeral is going 
to be North Carolina, towards the end of the week.  I'll 
make sure that you get the details."

Byers wiped the dampness of his hand off on his trousers 
before offering it in a handshake to their visitor.  "We 
appreciate that, Agent Doggett.  And for coming by to tell 
us."

	~	~	~	~	~	~	~	~	~	

U S Naval Hospital
Annapolis, MD
Three months later

Frohike started in again with the questions after the 
elevator doors closed.  "Tell me again why we're here?"

"Scully didn't say."  Byers eyed the lit floor numbers above 
the door.  "She only said that she was at the hospital and 
that we needed to get over here."

"She's just started her last trimester - she can't be in 
labor already."  Frohike liked to believe that he would be 
prepared for when Scully's time came, but he was growing 
nervous with the uncertainty.

"No one said anything about Scully being in labor."  Byers 
put a hand on his shoulder.  "Calm down, Frohike.  She 
wouldn't drag us out here without a good reason."

"I don't understand.  Why Annapolis?  Why are we having to 
go to some military hospital?"  There was no placating the 
oldest Gunman.  "Scully never said anything before about 
going to Annapolis."

"She'll tell us when we get upstairs."

"This doesn't feel right.  There's something about this that 
just isn't right."

"Listen."  Byers knew that he was fighting a losing battle 
in this one, but he tried to make his point.  "Scully called 
us, right?  She got us passes to get us through the gates, 
got us parking, and we've got our clearances to get right on 
through."

Langly was picking up on Frohike's paranoia.  "Yeah, a 
little too perfect, if you know what I mean."

"Well, we'll know in a minute," Byers sighed as the elevator 
stopped and the doors opened.

They made a right-hand turn as directed and spotted Agent 
Scully walking towards them.  The security desk downstairs 
had said that they would notify her that the Gunmen were on 
their way upstairs.  When the three got closer to her, 
however, their concern for why they were called to the 
hospital was replaced by their concern for Scully's tired 
appearance.

Byers reached her first.  "Scully, when was the last time 
you slept?"

"You look like you've been crying."  Langly still had a long 
way to go in his lessons in tact, the other two noted.

Scully managed a tired smile for them.  "For once, no one 
can blame this on my condition."

"Come on, Scully, what's wrong?"  Frohike was growing 
impatient with not knowing the nature the summons.  "You 
wouldn't drag us all the way over here for something 
trivial.  Spill it."

Langly had one last smartass remark in his pocket.  "Yeah, 
you've got Frohike all worried here."

Frohike could have been knocked over with a touch when 
Scully reached for his hand and gently tugged on it.  He saw 
tears swelling up in her eyes, probably for the tenth time 
that day by the looks of it, he thought.  "Scully, what's 
wrong?" he whispered.

She did not answer, only tugged at his hand once again and 
with a slight shift of her head, indicated for him and the 
others to follow.  Two, then three turns later, having never 
let go of Frohike's hand, she finally stopped outside of a 
door and turned back towards them.  "It's the most wonderful 
thing, really," she finally spoke before giving the door a 
push open.

The first person the Gunmen saw upon entering was Skinner, 
who nodded at them and waved them in towards the middle of 
the room.  It wasn't until the group got nearer to the 
Assistant Director and away from all the machinery that were 
blocking the beds that they could see the lone patient 
occupying the room.  

"Oh, dear lord," Frohike hoarsely whispered.  

"Is that Mulder?"  Byers' voice duplicated Frohike's tone, 
though at a higher pitch.  

Skinner was unaware that the Gunmen had not been informed 
about Mulder's `reappearance' and subsequent 
hospitalization.  He turned to Scully.  "You didn't tell 
them?"

"I didn't know how."  Her voice could barely be heard above 
the humming noise coming from the equipment.

The Gunmen cautiously made their way to the bed, wanting to 
get close enough to touch Mulder for themselves, to feel the 
blood pulsing through his veins, but were collectively 
afraid that the image in front of them would disappear in a 
puff of smoke as if a joke were being played on them.  "Is 
it really him?  Mulder?" Byers would finally ask.

"Yes."  Scully wanted to add more but was choking on her own 
tears.

Langly finally found his voice.  "Is he in a coma?"

Skinner looked first to Scully to see if she would be able 
to answer them before proceeding.  "He's come to for an hour 
at a time.  Mainly he's just sleeping.  The doctors fully 
expect him to return to being his old pain-in-the-ass self 
in the next thirty-six hours."        

"How?"  Byers turned to the Assistant Director, wanting to 
ask more but the emotion of the moment overwhelmed him.  

"It's a long story, and we've got plenty of time."  Skinner 
headed towards the door and waved to the others to follow 
suit.  "How about some coffee?"

Byers took another look back at Mulder before joining him at 
the door.  "You buying?"

Langly stepped around one of the machines, then turned to 
give a tug on Frohike's jacket before heading toward the 
door.  "Come on.  He'll still be here when we get back."

"Mulder?  Stay put?  That'll be the day.  This guy can't 
even stay buried."  As soon as those words left Frohike's 
lips, he turned to see Scully staring straight at him and 
was suddenly ashamed.  "I'm sorry, Scully.  I didn't mean 
that."

She nodded in return.  "I know, I know."  She gathered 
Frohike in her arms, or as much of him as her growing 
pregnancy would allow, and hugged him.  "I'm sorry that I 
didn't give you any warning about this.  Every time I tried 
to think of the words - when I tried to pick up the phone to 
call you - I just couldn't . . ."

"It's okay, Scully.  This was a . . . a good surprise."  
Frohike could feel her begin to pull away.  "Just don't do 
this to me again any time soon, all right?" he gently 
teased.

She shooed him towards the door.  "Deal.  Now, go on; 
they're waiting." 

Frohike was still in a daze as he left the room and barely 
noticed that the others were waiting for him just outside - 
each and every one of them with a smile on their lips and 
more than a few questions on the tip of their tongues.  
Frohike shook his head at them all, dismissing their know-
it-all looks, and headed for the elevators.  "I need a 
drink."

The rest called out in unison, "You buying?"


end