***

         December 12, 1999

         "Snake eyes." Mulder stared down at the board. "You know, the last roll was a three, and two and
         three are five, so how about I--"

         "No." Scully shot him a satisfied look from her position across the coffee table and took a healthy
         swallow of her Corona. "Five, Mulder. All on one throw, or you can't start. Those are the rules."
         She rolled the dice and moved two more blue pawns up the board, leaving Mulder's green markers
         sitting alone and forlorn at the start.

         "Come on, Scully, rules are made to be bro--" He paused at her implacable look. "Sorry. Forgot
         who I was talking to." He picked up his own beer, draining the dregs and chewing on lime pulp.
         His look reflected the sour taste.

         She uncrossed her legs and stood. "Do you want another one?"

         "Yeah." He shoved his empty bottle across the table and picked up the dice cup. "And this is the
         last time I let you bring the beer."

         "Did anyone ever tell you that you were a poor loser, Mulder?"

         The vigor with which he shook the dice made the leather couch squeak. "No, I think everyone
         pretty much agrees that I'm an excellent loser." He threw the dice and swore as two white dots
         stared back at him through red plastic eyes.

         She arched an eyebrow at him. "You're in danger of damaging your reputation."

         Leaning over the table, she rolled the dice and continued her advance up the board before turning to
         pad out to the kitchen, sliding a little in her warm socks. From the earliest days of their
         partnership, she had kept a key to this apartment on the ring next to her own, though that didn't
         mean she ever felt at home here. But over the last six weeks they had started a new tradition: meet
         for dinner Sunday night, discuss the following week's possible cases, return to Mulder's for an
         enjoyable evening. Of Parcheesi. She was surprised to find that the game was good practice for
         plotting strategy, and was considering suggesting it to Skinner as a training exercise.
         Anonymously, of course.

         A triumphant call came from the living room. "Five."

         "That's a little convenient, isn't it?" she called back, slicing two more wedges off the eviscerated
         lime sitting on the cutting board.

         "Maybe your hex doesn't work from way out in the kitchen."

         She walked back into the living room to find him leaning back on the couch, hands behind his
         head, wearing a satisfied smile. "Maybe we should test that theory, Mulder." She set the beers
         down and settled herself back on the cushion on the floor. "That way I can add beating you long
         distance to all the other ways I've beaten you at this game." She rolled the dice and moved one of
         her pawns ten spaces down the board, leaving the others in a shoulder-to-shoulder array.

         Mulder's smile faded as he eyed her blockade. He rolled the dice, then cracked open a sunflower
         seed. "When did you get so tough, Scully?" He moved his pawns into a safety zone to protect
         them from getting knocked back to the start.

         Scully rolled the dice. "I think I was five the last time Bill told me a girl can't be the cowboy, or
         even one of the Indians, and to go play with my dolls. That was right before I snuck up behind
         Geoff Campbell and scalped him. Bill let me play whenever I wanted to, after that. He couldn't
         stand Geoff Campbell."

         "Why do I think your brother hopes you see a little Geoff Campbell in me?"

         "Mulder," she laughed, "if I ever went easy on you, would you still respect me?"

         He pulled at his lower lip while giving her a long, considering look. "If I said 'Yes,' you still
         wouldn't do it, would you?" He dropped his gaze to the board and moved his pawns forward
         cautiously.

         Controlling an impulse to jump at the sudden pop and hiss from the fireplace behind her, Scully
         turned to observe the rosy glow reflecting off the bricks of the hearth, then turned back to study the
         board. His early moves were so dissimilar to his usual attacking style that her suspicions were
         aroused. On the strength of her next roll, she sent two of her pawns to a safety zone to keep them
         out of Mulder's path.

         "Gotcha." Mulder leaped forward to roll the dice, and was rewarded with a twelve. Two of his
         pawns slipped past Scully's defenses, while two stayed behind to kick her stragglers backward.

         "No you don't," Scully muttered several moves later, her front runner making an end run around
         Mulder's aggressors, slipping through another safety zone, and landing squarely on the path to
         home.

         "Watch it, Scully. That corner is where blue pawns go to die."

         "I'm a doctor, Mulder. I can do pawn CPR."

         The atmosphere in the cozy living room took on a familiar intensity, the quiet broken only by the
         sounds of the rattling dice, the soft crackle from the fire, and an occasional muttered comment.

         "What are you doing, Mulder, trying to put a spell on the board?"

         "I'm weighing my options."

         "Most people would've had them weighed, postmarked, and delivered by now."

         "Can we have some quiet during my turn, please?"

         Eventually one green and three blue pawns rested safe at home, with their compatriots ranged
         against each other just out of reach of their goal.

         "How's she going to get home?" Mulder taunted softly. He settled back on the couch, blowing in
         tuneless rhythm across the top of his empty beer bottle. She ignored his challenging look and
         studied the position of her sole blue pawn, blocked by his menacing green army.

         Scully shook the dice cup. "It all depends on the roll of the dice."

         "Depends on what you do with it." With an abrupt movement, he got up and walked to the
         fireplace. He picked up a poker and stirred the embers, sending a shower of sparks crackling up
         the chimney, and a wave of heat into the room. "Nice fire, huh?"

         She turned and caught his smile, took in his relaxed posture as he leaned back against the brick
         facade, arms nonchalantly crossed. She blinked, then turned and, with a deliberate movement,
         tossed the dice onto the table. "Nice, but it's making me sleepy."

         Mulder flopped back down on the couch. "Already formulating your excuse?"

         "Someone with a strategy doesn't need an excuse," was her calm response. She moved her pawn
         from danger to a safety zone.

         He surveyed the board and mouthed, "Shit," before taking the dice from her with some reluctance.

         "How is he going to keep her from getting home?" Scully echoed Mulder's earlier tone. She leaned
         back on her hands and stretched her legs out in front of her.

         "No matter what you roll," she continued, as he looked up from the board, "you have to move.
         And the minute you move, I'm going to blow right by you and show you the way home." The
         growing smile on his face made her sit back up and tug at her sweater.

         "You could show me the way to hell, Scully, and I'd probably follow."

         She sat pinned in place for a moment, then reached forward and tapped his fist. "Roll the dice,
         Mulder."

         The game ended in predictable and amicable fashion, with Scully's four pawns safely home.
         Mulder stood and gathered the empty beer bottles. "Another?" He raised the bottles and gestured
         toward the board.

         "No, we've got work tomorrow and I've got a long drive." Scully made a beeline for the
         bathroom, leaving Mulder to putter through his usual post-game, Sunday night routine, rinsing the
         beer bottles for recycling, packing up the game.

         She came out to the living room to find him staring at the embers of the fire. "Night, Mulder," she
         called, shrugging into her coat.

         He started, then turned to walk toward her. "Next week?" he asked, leaning down to kiss her
         cheek, another new tradition.

         "Glutton for punishment, aren't you?" she said, as he opened the door.

         "I'm lulling you into a false sense of security. You have no idea what I've got in mind for you."

         She ducked under his arm, and repeated, "Night, Mulder," as the door shut behind her.

         She was five determined strides down the hallway before she reached into her coat pocket, flipped
         open her phone, and punched a sequence of numbers.

         "Fung," said a disembodied voice.

         "Damn it, where did the fireplace come from?" She gave the elevator button an exasperated smack.

         "Sor-- Uh, sorry, Dr. Scully, it's the Y2K glitch again. It just, um, the fireplace just popped out--
         out of your apartment simulation, actually, and into his. We're working on it but we--"

         "Your job description does not include utter incompetence, and mine should not include having to
         clean up after you," she snapped. "Now the entire evening will have to be wiped, and you know
         how much I dislike doing that."

         There was a short, strangled noise from the other end of the line, then silence.

         In her frostiest voice she said, "I can see that you do."

         ***

         December 19, 1999

         Scully swept scattered shells to the side of the coffee table in order to roll the dice. Another
         Sunday, another Parcheesi game. Another chance to hone her strategic planning skills. She peered
         at the label on her beer. What the hell was bitter ale, anyway? "I'm going to start doing some
         commodities trading," she said.

         "Cocoa beans?"

         "Sunflower seeds. Guaranteed income." She flicked the last shell out of her way, rolled the dice,
         and grimaced at the double three. One off what she needed to start. "Why cocoa beans?"

         He observed her solemnly as he rattled the dice, then grinned as he threw a two and a three. "Well
         you know, Scully, some people have to feed their addictions constantly." He collected the dice for
         his next throw, and his voice took on a teasing quality. "But some people have addictions... let's
         say, periodically...."

         Mildly shocked that he would venture into such intimate territory, she sent him a warning look,
         which he met with a faint, fond smile.

         "Anyway," he continued, "someone who knew when that addiction was going to peak could make
         a killing in cocoa beans." He began moving a green pawn up the board.

         "Better than killing for cocoa beans," she muttered. She shook her head at him as she picked up the
         dice. "Maybe I'll just stick to something boring, like government bonds. Or trustworthy, like
         Microsoft." She pulled her sweater close to her body and flicked her eyes to the window, where
         the street lights glinted off softly falling snow.

         "Are you cold?" Mulder jumped up to fiddle with the thermostat.

         "No, just still a little damp." She smiled to herself, remembering his running commentary on the
         walk back from the restaurant, as the texture and density of each drift they encountered was
         analyzed as a potential source for the perfect snowball. Listening to his footsteps recede into the
         kitchen, she glanced back at the window.

         As her eyes traveled across the room, they fastened with horror on Frohike, sitting where the fish
         tank usually rested. He was tapping away on a lap top computer. Without taking his eyes from the
         screen, he grinned and sent her a little wave.

         "I wish this place had a fireplace like yours does," Mulder called, his voice muffled as he
         rummaged in the kitchen.

         She sat frozen with the dice cup suspended over the table, then upended it and let the dice drop.
         "Five," she choked out. She gauged the distance to her coat, hanging on the rack by the door, its
         right pocket sagging from the weight of her phone. Before she could decide what to do, something
         landed on the table next to the board, making her jump.

         Mulder laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, then moved around the table to the couch. "I saw some
         empty bags in the trash in the office this week."

         She slid her eyes to the left, then straightened her back forcibly to keep from sagging with relief.
         Frohike was gone, replaced by the blue-green tank full of bright orange fish. Her eyes shifted back
         to Mulder's offering. Not knowing what to say, she poked at the bag of M&Ms as if it might blow
         up in her face. In fact, she thought, it just might.

         "Thanks," she managed, as she dragged the bag toward her and, after some hesitation, removed a
         corner with surgical precision.

         "The bags in the office trash were practically ripped in half."

         "Just play, Mulder." She had the rueful impression that the color of the solitary red M&M she
         squeezed out of the bag was probably reflected in her face.

         The game proceeded in inverse style to that of the previous Sunday. Mulder drove recklessly
         ahead, and even her well planned blockades weren't enough to keep him from sweeping forward.

         "Do you want some water?" Mulder asked, as she sat scowling at their pawns and the distance
         between them. "Or tea?"

         She looked up in surprise.

         He gestured to her almost full bottle. "I shouldn't have bought the Fuller's, but I wanted to see if
         you'd try it. You drink coffee and juice during the day, but tea and water at night, if you're not
         drinking that weak stuff you call beer." At her continued startled look, he added softly,
         "Sometimes you eat M&M's."

         "Tea," she said.

         As he got up, she said cautiously, "Notice anything else?"

         He brushed her shoulder with his hand again as he moved past her, then paused to tuck the strand
         of hair that had fallen over her cheek behind her ear. "Yeah. I've been paying attention for a long
         time."

         He wandered back into the living room after more clanging around in the kitchen, while she sat
         rearranging the sunflower seeds surrounding the last surviving M&M. A blue one. He walked over
         to feed the fish. "So I'm assuming I have a complete list."

         She watched the fish flash to the surface of the water. "List?"

         "Of provisions. For the coming apocalypse."

         No, no, she thought. No Mulder, Not now.

         "What apocalypse?" she asked, with a forced laugh.

         "You know, the end of the millennium." He turned to face her, backlit by the tank, but she could
         hear the laugh in his voice. "The end of the world as we know it."

         "Thank you, but you know the millennium doesn't end till next year." Her response automatic as
         she scrambled to gather her wits. This was such a bad idea, but if it was how he wanted to play the
         game tonight, she would deal with it. "You don't believe that, do you? The whole Y2K disaster
         scenario?"

         "Is this the part where I get to say 'Y2K the hell not?' You never know, Scully. It's good be
         prepared."

         "I am prepared." Her voice was now serene. "I've been prepared for a long time. In fact, I can't
         wait for this century to be over with, so we can get on to the next one."

         "You see it as a chance to start over?" Mulder was walking toward her, eyes lit with curiosity and
         something warmer.

         "I do."

         Still advancing, his smile now the most dangerous thing she had ever seen, he said in a low voice,
         "And just what part of your life would you change first, Scully?"

         As he closed within two feet of her, the whistle from the tea kettle snapped them both to attention.
         He veered around her, and she turned slowly back to the table. "Do I need to tell you what to put in
         the tea?" she called, picking up the dice and easing them gently into the cup.

         "What do you think?"

         She popped the blue M&M into her mouth and sucked on it, savoring the sweetness that preceded
         that tenuous moment when the thin coating cracked and gave way, revealing the dark secret inside.
         "I think I'm going to win this game," she said, rattling the dice.

         He placed a mug on the table next to her elbow as she moved two of her pawns up the board. "I
         think I'm going to enjoy watching you try."

         She flashed him a chocolate-fueled smile through the steam rising from her tea mug. "Do I get to
         make a contribution to the provision list?"

         He threw the dice and started his pawns on the last leg of their journey home. "Give it your best
         shot," he invited.

         As she started to reply, he interrupted her by tugging at her free hand and turning it palm upward.
         He dropped the dice into it, brushing her fingers with his as he pulled his hand back. "After all,
         sometimes I feel like you know me better than I know myself, Scully. I think you know what I
         want at the top of my provision list." He closed her hand into a fist and squeezed lightly. "And it
         isn't sunflower seeds."

         She fought the impulse to close her eyes and guard her soul. "There goes my fortune."

         "Not true." He smiled at her as she tugged her hand away and threw the dice. His voice dropped in
         tone and volume, turned intimate. "You hold the majority interest in the most precious commodity I
         know, Scully. Your fortune is a sure thing."

         She tamped down the mixture of exhilaration and fear that this conversation was stirring in her, but
         let her annoyance at losing the game show. That was safe. "I think you must have put something in
         the M&Ms," she said, surveying the board. "That's the only possible way you could be beating me
         this badly."

         "I was beating you bad a long time before I gave you the M&Ms," came his sweet reminder. "You
         should have tried the bitter. Drink of champions." While she rolled her eyes, he rolled the dice and
         brought his last pawn home, leaving all four of hers out in the cold.

         Wincing, she stood and stretched, working the kinks out of her back and shoulders. She shouldn't
         be this tense. Or at least, she shouldn't appear so.

         Mulder's next words stopped her mid-stretch. "So. Stay? Or go?"

         She sent him a sharp glance. He was also standing, seeming relaxed except for the white knuckles
         of his left hand gripping the four blue pawns. His face was blank, his eyes watchful, locked with
         hers.

         "I'll--" She glanced out the window. "I'm going to go. It'll be okay, Mulder. It's stopped
         snowing." As she passed him, her hand brushed his tightly clenched fist. She heard the pawns
         drop, one by one, into their box as she closed the bathroom door.

         Scully walked back into the living room, winced at the sound of beer bottles crashing into the
         recycling bin in the kitchen, and retrieved her coat.

         "Don't forget you're driving into DC, the city that panics as soon as the second snowflake sticks."
         Mulder came up behind her and reached over her shoulder to take her coat and hold it out.

         "I'll be fine." She slipped her arms in the sleeves, then turned to face him, resisting the urge to
         back up a step as he leaned toward her.

         He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Just in case you're not..." She recoiled as his hand plunged
         into the pocket of her coat and pulled out her phone, dangling it between them. "You can always
         use this."

         She snatched the phone from his hand and turned her head. The kiss he aimed at her lips landed
         with some force on her burning cheek. As he moved away, she reached up and pulled his head
         back down. Her lips brushed their intended target, the soft spot below his ear. "Next week," she
         whispered, "I'll win."

         She turned and walked rapidly through the door he pulled open for her, waving over her shoulder
         in response to his flat, "'Night, Scully."

         It was no surprise that the phone in her pocket rang as soon as she stepped into the elevator.

         "Scully."

         "You know what happens when things start to get too personal, don't you, Dr. Scully?"

         "Don't even think about it," she fired back. "You know what happens when you try to cut me out
         of the loop, and by now, you should know better than to try."

         "Threats, Dr. Scully? From one who knows the consequences? From one who helped design some
         of the consequences? I'd think you'd be more careful."

         "I don't deal in threats, just facts," she retorted, gratified that the fear pressing on her chest left no
         imprint on her voice. "And the fact is, you simply have to deal with him when he's like this. You
         can't separate this part of him from the part that's useful to you. You tried that before and failed,
         remember?"

         "Ah yes," said the silky voice, "Before you arrived and showed us the right way to get the most
         use out of him."

         She hung her head momentarily, then swallowed the instant, painful lump in her throat. "All the
         more reason why you should leave this to me," she snarled, then took strength from going back on
         the offensive. "And when are you going to get that damned Y2K glitch fixed? Do you think he
         doesn't notice that stuff? He didn't see it this time, but Frohike sitting in the corner isn't exactly a
         small oversight, like giving him a fireplace or leaving the fish out of the tank."

         "We'll do our part, Dr. Scully, and you will do yours." The voice of her nemesis betrayed neither
         anger nor insult, just the implacable certitude she had come to loathe. "Your objections will be
         noted, of course, but we think it's time to go in a different direction. Things are getting a little too
         cozy in Mr. Mulder's apartment on Sunday evenings."

         Scully watched the elevator doors slide open, revealing the cold, sterile hallway leading to her
         office and laboratories. She walked slowly toward her assistant, who was holding her lab coat. He
         traded it for her purse and topcoat, and pushed open the door to the anteroom of the conditioning
         lab.

         "We transferred him from the apartment simulation. He's been given the first drug." The assistant
         regarded her warily, then shoved a small circle of gold into her hand. "You're supposed to put this
         on him." He hurried away.

         She slipped on her lab coat and pushed open the heavy, self-sealing inner door. The emotions
         roiling through her were imperceptible, she knew, to the invisible, watchful eyes positioned across
         the room. She observed Mulder's chest rise and fall as he lay on the gurney placed under a bright
         bank of lights. With a gentle touch, she pressed her fingers to his wrist to take his pulse, then
         slipped the gold band on his finger. He turned his head toward her.

         His pupils were dilated, his expression blank. Until he winked at her.

         ***

         December 26, 1999

         "Hi," Mulder said, as he opened the apartment door. "I set everything up. Did you get what you
         needed?"

         "Yes," she replied. "It's so much easier to shop here than in Georgetown." She dropped the flimsy
         plastic bag next to the coffee table, and turned to hand him her coat.

         "Here I was hoping you came up here to entertain me, not just for the shopping." He hung up her
         coat, then sat on the couch and pushed his hair back with his left hand, a nervous gesture that
         emphasized the gleaming gold band on his ring finger.

         She paused in the act of settling onto her cushion, already in its place before the coffee table. "To
         entertain you, Mulder?"

         "What are partners for?" His grin was a little too manic for her taste.

         "Hopefully they're for teaching you a little humility, by way of beating you senseless." She settled
         onto her cushion. "At Parcheesi," she added, noting the grin had gotten wider.

         "Well, that can be entertaining too. How was your Christmas?"

         She took a sip from the steaming mug of tea that was waiting for her. "It was nice to be together.
         Bill sends his... regards."

         "I think I'd rather have fruitcake."

         Her first roll of the dice produced a five. "I start." She rolled again and moved her pawns up the
         board.

         "Okay." He got a five on the first roll. "I'm right behind you."

         She changed her tactics from the week before, moving half her pawns forward, leaving half in the
         first safety zone.

         He surprised her by following suit. "This is an interesting strategy, Scully. Are we covering our
         bets?"

         "Protecting our assets."

         "This reminds me of the D.C. version of 'Damned if you do, damned if you don't.' " At her
         inquiring look, he elaborated. "Shot if you run, stabbed if you stand still."

         "I've got to make sure the ones left behind have some security, that's all."

         "You can't help looking out for everybody, can you Scully?"

         Focusing on the board, she said, "It's just practicality. The ones bringing up the rear can also
         watch your back." She sent him a defiant look from beneath her lashes.

         His smile glowed through his eyes, though never reached his lips. He gave her a small nod, then
         turned back to the game.

         They played each other evenly, their pawns racing neck and neck across the board. Scully kept her
         eyes trained on the game, rehearsing her moves in her head, and doing her best to ignore Mulder's
         fidgeting. The incessant cracking of sunflower seeds soon gave way to the inevitable Concerto for
         Empty Beer Bottle.

         "Mulder, settle down. We'll be done soon." She made a determined effort to soften her sharp tone.
         "Have a little patience."

         He gave her a steady look. "I'm the most patient man you know, Scully."

         She acknowledged his statement with a stiff nod.

         He set the bottle down, then gave his hair another impatient push off his forehead. The
         conditioning staff had never determined why this gesture always accompanied the introduction of
         the ring. "Hey, Scully, thanks for keeping me company while she's out of town."

         The look of apology on his face tore at her heart. "What are partners for?" She kept her voice light,
         while examining the board. "You know, I think we've taken this game as far as it will go."

         He looked down at the board, then back at her and nodded. "Do you want more tea?" At her sign
         of assent, he got up and headed for the kitchen, stumbling slightly over the plastic bag lying next to
         her. A small can of hair spray and a pack of cigarettes tumbled out onto the floor. "Hey, Scully,"
         he laughed, swooping down to pick up the cigarettes, "am I going to be finding these in the office
         trash every four weeks too?" He placed the pack on the table and continued out to the kitchen.

         Reaching into the bag for a cigarette lighter, she called back to him, "No, this is a once in a lifetime
         buy." She stood up and grabbed the can of hair spray, thumbing off the top. While walking
         steadily toward the window, she flicked open the lighter and held it out in front of her, then took
         aim. An arc of flame burst toward the window, which sparked and dissolved, revealing a startled
         technician sitting at a control booth.

         The next flame hit the front of the booth, and the technician shrieked and jumped out of the way,
         then showed no qualms about leaving his post. As Scully continued her assault on the elaborate
         equipment in the hidden room, it began to produce arcs of electricity and sparks of flame itself. The
         walls of the apartment faded, then resolved into first, the large conference room in Skinner's
         office, then her own kitchen. These familiar settings were soon replaced by a barren room with a
         door in each wall.

         She turned to find Mulder standing behind her, eyes alight with exhilaration. He was holding two
         large backpacks. "Nice shooting, partner."

         "Let's go, Mulder," she said, dropping her makeshift flame thrower and taking one of the
         backpacks from him. "I got to as many of them as I could before I came up here, but a few will
         still be wide awake and dangerous."

         "If I was one of them, I'd be worried about my scalp."

         ***

         "Is this it?"

         "Yes, we should be right by the river. Give me a boost."

         "You brought me along just for muscle, didn't you, Scully?" Mulder's voice was giddy in the
         dusty darkness of the service tunnel.

         "No, that's not the only reason." Scully stepped into his laced fingers, feeling for his shoulder.
         She reached up to push open the grate above their heads. Pulling herself through, she muttered to
         herself, "It's just one of many."

         She dodged the first backpack that came flying up after her, then managed to catch the second.
         Mulder's head appeared, his smile reflecting the light from the street lamps. "You'll have to run
         down that list for me, sometime." He hauled himself out, then let the grate drop with a clang.

         Scully handed him one of the backpacks, and they stood for a moment, the condensation clouds
         from each breath mingling in the cold night air. "Halfway home, Scully," Mulder whispered,
         leaning toward her.

         A muffled ring from Scully's backpack made them jump apart. "Here it comes." Scully took a
         breath to clear her head, pulled out the phone and flipped it open. "Scully." She heard to the line
         crackle, then give way to the sounds of screeching alarms and voices raised in anger and
         frustration.

         The voice of her nemesis, when it came on the line, was indignant over the static. "What exactly do
         you think you're going to accomplish with this little demonstration, Dr. Scully?"

         "Freedom," she answered, holding Mulder's gaze. "For him. And for me."

         "You must know that we'll find you."

         "You can try," she said, "but we've been planning this for a long time. Why don't you resign
         yourself to losing gracefully? You've certainly lost us."

         "Us? We? You're giving Mr. Mulder a lot of credit aren't you? He is your pawn as much as you
         are ours, after all."

         "Wrong." She smiled at Mulder. "I stopped treating him years ago, and you never knew. Then
         after all this time, you thought you could send us back to the beginning by re-designing the
         marriage ploy, but you never realized how far we had come, did you?" She felt emotion course
         through her, built up over years of keeping it all in check. "It's over, sir." The sneer in her voice
         was music to her own ears, and by the look on his face, to Mulder's as well. "Between the Y2K
         bugs in your systems and the reporters we've set on your trail, you're history." Her voice shook
         with released passion. "Your days of running pawns across the board are over, you son of a
         bitch." She took a firm grip on the phone and flung it into the river.

         She let out a little "umpf" of surprise as she was engulfed in Mulder's arms. "You make righteous
         indignation so sexy, Scully."

         Allowing herself a moment's indulgence, she stroked his hair. "Mulder," she whispered, "let me
         go. We have one more thing to do."

         He released her, a broad smile lighting his face.

         "I'm sorry," she said, reaching into one of the backpacks and pulling out alcohol swabs and two
         sterile packs. "We don't have time for a local."

         His smile faded and he bit his lip, eyes fastened on the wrapped instruments. "That's okay." He
         turned his back to her and loosened the collar of his Henley, exposing the back of his neck. She
         shut her eyes, stunned by an overwhelming sense of deja vu, then opened them and got to work.
         She snapped open one pack and set about the short, bloody business of removing the small chip
         from the base of his neck. He never flinched, and was even smiling when he turned to face her
         after the chip was safely clutched in her hand. "Soft touch, Scully. No wonder your patients ever
         complain."

         "The dead rarely do," she retorted. "and drugs took care of the rest." She bit her lip, keeping an
         apology in check. There would be time for that later. "My turn, Mulder." She held out the second
         pack.

         His face fell. "I don't think this is a good idea."

         "Mulder, you know this has to be done." At his hesitant look, she reached up and caressed his
         cheek, then turned and bared her neck to him. "I trust you," she said.

         She felt his breath ruffle her hair, then flinched as the alcohol left a frigid trail across her neck. The
         memories of building faith in each other, in creating a bond that had started from a diabolical lie,
         rushed through her, and she felt a momentary shiver of fear. It had been many years since she had
         participated in the lie, helped manipulate his brilliant mind to do the work that her so-called
         superiors demanded of him. But she had done it, once. She knew Mulder loved and trusted her
         now, and that once given, his trust was unshakable. It was one of the fundamental things about
         him that the early conditioning never changed. Still, she was unused to being in such a vulnerable
         position. She had set him free, and was standing before him, neck bared, while he stood with the
         sharp scalpel in his hand. Then his gentle touch sent a wave of reassurance through her. Of course,
         she thought, she did trust him. He would not hurt her.

         "Scully." The pain in his voice was the only warning she got.

         She felt the sharp sting of the scalpel, then the dull ache of the probing forceps. "Sorry, sorry."
         She smiled through the pain as Mulder dropped the scalpel and forceps and fumbled with the
         bandage. She felt his head come down to rest against hers, his breath gusting with effort. "Next
         time, I flame the bad guys and you do all the surgery."

         "Deal." She turned to receive the bloody chip from him. Holding up the His and Hers matching
         pieces of demonic technology, she said, "How many times do you think I can make them skip?"
         The wry smile that chased the misery from his eyes gratified her, and she turned to the river.

         "Wait, Scully, I've got some baggage of my own to unload." Mulder pulled the gold band from his
         finger, then held it up to catch the light. "Ready?"

         "Set," she agreed, turning back to the river.

         "Go," they yelled in unison, then sent the small metal objects to a watery grave. Their laughter
         echoed across the river basin as they scooped up the backpacks and began to run.

         ***

         December 31, 1999

         A small covey of blue and green pawns clustered together, a few rolls of the dice from home. Their
         positions were just visible in the faint firelight that spilled out into the cozy room, glancing off
         rough hewn beams and double-glazed windows. Scully's eyes took in the tableau before her, then
         drifted shut again. She stuck her nose back under the blanket and savored the warmth that
         enveloped her, generated not by the dying fire but by the steady heart of the man curled around
         her. Her eyes fluttered open and she licked her lips at the sight of the empty champagne bottle
         resting on its side next to the travel-sized Parcheesi board. She was too thirsty to sleep, but not
         thirsty enough to brave the cold and fetch some water. She jumped as the hand resting on her waist
         began to move again, trailing up her body to tuck her hair behind her ear.

         "You awake?" came his voice, and she tried to decide which part of him she loved most -- the
         voice, the hand, the heart.

         "I am now," she murmured, stretching in utter contentment, then curling backward to take
         advantage of her own personal bed warmer. Or floor warmer, she revised, shifting on the blanket
         covered Navaho rug. They hadn't actually made it to the bed. She laughed, "Sorry I fell asleep,
         Mulder. I think there was an interrogation going on, but I was having a hard time concentrating."

         "You seemed to like my interrogation technique."

         "Which should have been your first clue that I had better things to do with my mouth than answer
         questions."

         His suddenly restless hand moved from her hair down her arm, then up her back to softly stroke
         her nape. She felt his lips trace just behind his fingers, over the healing wound. "Does it still hurt?"

         "Physically?" she replied. "No."

         "Are you sure there's no chance...?"

         "It was a tracking and sim receiver implant, Mulder, just like yours. It allowed us to maneuver
         through the simulations and let them keep track of us when we were away from the facility.
         Nothing more. Those men gave me cancer, like I told you, and they took it away as soon as I
         cooperated and let them put the chip back."

         "Why did you do it, Scully?"

         She reached up to touch the cross at her throat, then gripped it until the tiny points dug into her
         palm. "You'll have to be specific, Mulder, I've done a lot of things."

         She felt his chest expand on a deep breath, and tried to relax further into his body as his hand came
         around her and cupped her breast. "Why did you make love with me, just now?"

         Trust Mulder to ask the question she was least expecting. She shut her eyes. "It was the right thing
         to do."

         His chest shook. "You're such a romantic." He moved his hand to her waist and pulled her back
         toward him so she could feel his words vibrate through his body into hers. "The right thing to do.
         That's what you said when you told me what was going on, when I got back from New Mexico."
         His voice turned harsh. "I was so angry with you for not going away with me then. We could have
         avoided a lot of crap."

         She ducked her head and tried to pull away from him, but he held tight. "Mulder," she said, hating
         the tremble she heard in her voice, "we were warned. Your father, my sister... they would have
         killed you too. I always thought.... Every time you disappeared, I could never decide whether to
         be terrified that I would never see you again, furious because you left, or overjoyed because you
         figured a way out."

         The soft touch of his lips on her neck contrasted with the strong hold he kept on her body. "I
         couldn't leave you, Scully. But when Krycek got out.... Sometimes I wondered if you wouldn't
         leave because you'd be out in the cold, playing nursemaid to an imbecile. Especially after amateur
         night in the surgery suite a couple months ago."

         Her reply was sharp. "There's nothing wrong with you, Mulder, I made sure of that." She paused,
         then decided to try to lighten the mood. "You'll always be a pain in the ass, but there's nothing
         wrong with your mind."

         He wasn't deterred. "Maybe you just didn't want to go with me because I am a pain in the ass."

         "That's not it at all," she protested. "Mulder, you know me."

         "Do I?"

         She moved again, though instead of trying to get away, she turned in his arms to face him. His
         eyes were colorless in the faint light, his brow carved in deep furrows. He didn't look angry, but
         rather as if he'd stumbled on the most mysterious of puzzles, the kind his mind was designed to
         solve. Her face, she knew, was in deep shadow, so she put all the truth she possessed in her
         voice. "Mulder, when I started with the organization, I was sure I was doing the right thing. Their
         work was necessary, and I felt proud to be chosen to help them achieve their goals. I was young
         and stupid then, and I thought the ends really did justify the means. Then I met you...." She
         paused and swallowed audibly, realizing with misery that the only effect left from consuming half
         a bottle of champagne was this painful thirst.

         With an abrupt movement, she pulled back, startling Mulder into releasing her. As she stood, she
         wrapped one of the blankets around her, then turned to prod the fire back to life. She paused by his
         side on her way back to the small kitchen, hypnotized with fear and longing as the newly
         strengthened firelight moved in shadows of blue and gold across his smooth, muscled chest. He
         sat up, watching her, his posture relaxed, expression still questioning. She picked up one of the
         blankets, and draped it over his shoulders, then ran her fingers through his soft, spiky hair. She
         could explain herself and her actions, she knew. He would not leave her, would not even despise
         her for what she'd done, she knew that too. But she wanted more than his understanding and his
         loyalty, and wondered how weak it made her that his love and approval were so important.

         The firelight flashed across the ice in the tumblers of water she held in each hand as she padded
         back from the kitchen, and she realized the extent of her thirst that the water held more attraction at
         that moment than his lean, naked body. He reached up for one of the glasses with a look of
         gratitude, and they both drank greedily. Scully shivered a little as the ice knocked against her teeth.
         Mulder placed his glass on the floor and pulled her down to face him. Their eyes met over the rim
         of her glass, and she took comfort in his gaze, calm, curious, patient. "Ready?" he asked.

         "Set. Go," she said, with a mirthless laugh. He took the glass from her and set it on the floor next
         to his, then gently took her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him. The blanket covering her
         slipped, and his eyes dropped. He licked his lips.

         "Turn around, Scully. I want to concentrate on what you're saying, not on what you're not
         wearing."

         Before she could think or he could react, she rose up on her knees, leaned forward and kissed him,
         placing her hands on his cheeks to tilt his head up. She gauged his expression through half-lidded
         eyes, easy enough to do, since his eyes were also open. She closed her eyes and deepened the
         kiss, slipping her tongue between his cool lips, then let out a muffled gasp of surprise as his
         passive acceptance turned to aggression. He pulled her toward him, causing her knees to buckle,
         and soon she was half-leaning back in his arms, feeling the slide of his tongue and lips both in her
         mouth and in the rapid thud of her heart. He lifted his head and pulled her back up, shifting her
         around so her back was to him. He picked up her fallen blanket and tucked it around her, then
         rested his head against hers. His breath puffed against her ear. "So," he said, "Then you met me.
         And?"

         She tilted her head back onto his shoulder, smiling up at the dark ceiling, shaking with laughter
         and exasperation and arousal. Come to think of it, that same mixture of emotions, in varying
         proportions, had been her constant companion since she met him. "Mulder, you know all this.
         You've been aware of what's been going on for years."

         "I've been aware, Scully, but I couldn't exactly sit down over pizza and discuss it with you, and I
         was too busy getting us here to ask what I wanted to know. So, why choose me? Why help me?
         Why free me?"

         She nestled back into his arms, letting passion go with reluctance and re-ordering her thoughts.
         "You were chosen because you were-- are special. You've got a unique way of solving problems,
         a unique way of looking at things. I'm still not sure that what we are up against is an alien
         invasion, but something dangerous and scary is going on out there, Mulder. There are killers that
         need to be stopped without alarming the general public. When I joined up, I bought the idea that a
         covert operation needed to control every aspect of its work, that the conditioning of the operatives
         was necessary so that what we were doing, what we were... uncovering, wouldn't leak out."

         "So why did you stop the conditioning?"

         "It was the right thing to do," she repeated. "I came to realize very quickly that the methods we... I
         was using were terribly wrong. And you...." she bowed her head and leaned away from the
         comfort of his body. "You accepted me, and my input on cases. You were so different from the
         men I was used to working with. You... trusted me. And they... they let you get shot." Her throat
         tightened and her voice began to shake with anger. "They let you get kidnapped by those...
         creatures, and then they split us up and closed the X-Files. But you were my responsibility, and I
         wasn't about to let anything happen to you. After you almost died in New Mexico, I knew it was
         time to tell you what was going on and start working on a way out. Krycek got out right after that,
         I don't know how, but they were furious, and it just confirmed that there must be a way."

         "Do you think that's why they decided to start using simulations?"

         "I think they decided before, since they'd already begun the implant process, when they... sent me
         away. Everything was in place later on when they pulled the reality rug right out from under us. I
         was a pawn then, too. They were controlling me... The memory conditioning never worked on me
         like--"

         His arms tightened. "Like it did on me? It's okay, Scully."

         "No, it's not," she said, under her breath, "but I'll make it right. It never worked on me," she
         continued in a stronger voice, "but they found... other ways to control me." She felt his hand come
         up to rest on her hair, then begin to rub her back in slow soothing circles. She pushed on.

         "They told me to keep away from you, except at work, and they... I found out for sure that they
         had killed my sister," her voice vibrated with hatred, "and I knew, if it was the last thing I did, I
         would make them pay for that." Bent over his encircling arm, she marveled as always how the
         need for vengeance enhanced rather than dulled the pain of loss. She whispered, "I'm so sorry,
         Mulder." She wrapped her arms around his. "I'm sorry it took so long to shut them down and find
         a way out."

         "Hey, Scully." His lips brushed along her neck. "I'm sorry I was such an ass a couple weeks ago.
         The timing on this was critical, and you planned it right."

         She relaxed back into his embrace, making a conscious effort to slow the beat of her heart, till its
         steady rhythm matched his. The soft crackle of the fire -- a real fire, she marveled -- filled the
         room.

         Eventually, he lifted his head from her shoulder. "What do you think happened to Skinner?"

         She bowed her head again. "I don't know. I hope he got out. I warned him as best I could, but
         he's so afraid, Mulder. They're using something different on him, so horrible... I couldn't... I
         couldn't save him too."

         "Just hope the ones left behind can watch your back?"

         "I hope he could watch his own back. That he was quick enough... and able enough to take
         advantage of the meltdown at the facility."

         "Do you think the Gunmen got out too?"

         "I'm sure they did. Frohike popped into the apartment sim a couple weeks ago, did you see him?"

         "Yeah. I thought you were going to faint, Scully. Good thing I had the M&Ms handy." He caught
         her arm in a gentle grasp before her elbow made contact with his ribs.

         After a brief tussle, she continued with a small laugh, "I'm sure they knew exactly what I was
         planning." She relaxed under the stroke of his fingers. "Frohike was one of the original
         programmers in the organization, after all, until he got deluded. Talk about hiding in plain sight."

         She felt Mulder's chest expand as he took a deep breath. "Did you ever find out any more about
         Samantha?"

         "Oh, Mulder, no. Like I told you after New Mexico, I could never get into that part of your records
         cleanly enough to tell what happened to her. Nothing's changed."

         She flinched as he muttered "Shit," under his breath, and dropped his head against her hair. "What
         about Diana?" His voice was muffled against her neck. "Real or Memorex?"

         "Real."

         "Sorry, Scully."

         His cheek rubbed along hers, the bristles leaving a mark, she was sure. One he would never leave
         on anyone else again. The thought allowed her to respond lightly, "Not your fault."

         "If it's any consolation," he said, "it always felt... ordinary with her." His voice took on a raspy
         quality. "Not extraordinary, like it is with you."

         She felt an involuntary response to his tone tickle down her spine. "I don't need consolation,
         Mulder," she said, running a possessive hand up his leg under the blanket. "I got the crackerjack
         prize."

         He started as her hand trailed closer to his groin, then laughed and took her ear lobe gently between
         his teeth, humming. After a long pause broken only by the crackle of the fire and the soft sounds
         she made as he countered the stroke of her hand with the stroke of his tongue, he lifted his head.
         "Hey, Scully?" His voice cracked on her name.

         "Mmmm?" she answered, head lolling back.

         "Is my name really Fox?"

         She replied with a sharp bark of laughter. "Yes."

         "Damn."

         His chin settled on her shoulder, and he reached under the blanket to still her hand. "You're real,
         aren't you Scully?"

         "Yes, Mulder." She withdrew her hand from his and got up on her knees to turn and face him. "I
         can't swear on anything or do any tricks to prove it to you, though." She cupped his face in her
         hands. "You started to believe in me so long ago, Mulder, do you remember? Not the facade, but
         the real me, the person that I thought was buried so deep under the duty she was trained for that no
         one would ever find her. But you did Mulder. You found me." She placed one hand on his nape,
         drawing his head down so their foreheads were touching. "Thank you for believing in me, Mulder.
         Happy New Year."

         He brushed his thumb over her lips, then across her damp cheek. "Happy New Life, Scully."

         "Let's start the last year of this millennium right," she whispered against his lips. "In the bed this
         time."

         She felt his smile form under her lips, then allowed him to pull her to her feet. He glanced at his
         watch. "Sorry, Scully. I know you're a stickler for the rules, and it's a couple hours till midnight."

         She grabbed his wrist and peered at the watch face. "Didn't you know rules are made to be broken,
         Mulder? It's just past midnight in DC. I say we can start celebrating now."

         "Was that... an order?" The mock outrage in his voice made her laugh. He wrapped one blanket
         around her shoulders, then scooped up the rest and piled them into her arms, laughing in turn as
         she swayed under their weight. "That'll teach you. Now get in that bedroom and wait for me,
         G-woman. No one orders me around anymore."

         Her voice was muffled by the blankets. "I knew I should have designed a chip that would make
         you obey me and stuck it inside that thick head of yours when I had the chance." She turned and
         staggered back toward the tiny bedroom while he began banking the fire.

         As she arranged the blankets on the bed, shivering in the chilly air, she heard a grinding squeak,
         then a clang from something heavy and metal hitting the wooden floor. A startled "Uh," from
         Mulder followed. Realizing the squeak had come from the front door hinges, she dove toward one
         of the backpacks on the floor and pulled her gun out of its holster. She raced into the living room
         to find Mulder face down on the floor, groaning as a figure heavily clothed in black leaned over
         him, twisting his arm.

         Scully moved swiftly toward the struggling pair and shoved the muzzle of the gun as hard as she
         could to the side of the intruder's head. "Let go of him."

         The black figure paused, and she raised her voice, "Now."

         "Easy, easy," came a voice muffled by a ski mask. Mulder's arm was released. "He almost brained
         me with the fire iron." The figure's indignant words segued into a startled yelp as Mulder twisted
         and threw him backward. He landed with a thud on the Navajo rug, with Mulder's hand tight
         around his throat. "Wait, Mulder, dammit, " the trespasser choked out, "I'm just the messenger
         boy."

         With a violent yank, Mulder pulled off the ski mask. "Krycek?"

         Krycek, breathing heavily, blinked up at Mulder, then slid his eyes to Scully, who was focusing
         on him down the barrel of her gun. "Adam and Eve, I presume?"

         "Are you the real Krycek?" Scully demanded.

         "Why don't you shoot him, Scully, and we'll find out."

         "No, look, it's me! You took the sim receivers out, right? So you couldn't see me if I was part of a
         simulation." Krycek struggled to sit, then gave up, letting his head hit the rug with a thump. "In a
         few minutes you're going to need me to explain what's happening, so don't shoot me, okay?"

         Mulder eased his hand off Krycek's throat, then snarled, "Don't move." He got up, stalked to the
         bedroom, and came back carrying clothing for himself and Scully. He took the gun from her while
         she hurried into her sweats, then handed it back so he could do the same. During this silent
         process, Krycek sat up, holding his hands out and up in a gesture of submission.

         "Okay," Mulder said, when they were all presentable. "Talk."

         "You know," Krycek said, "tracking you two is like trying to herd cats. Why did you come back
         to New Mexico?"

         "We're sentimental fools," Scully said. "Why the hell are you tracking us?"

         "He'll tell you in a minute," Krycek said gesturing with his chin at Mulder.

         The muffled ring of a phone punctuated his statement. "May I?" Krycek reached with cautious
         fingers toward the zipper of his jacket.

         She chanced a look at Mulder, who was standing, arms crossed, eyeing Krycek with suspicion.
         "What's he talking about?" Mulder shook his head. She trained her eyes on Krycek, and rapped
         out, "Slowly."

         Krycek reached into his jacket and pulled out a cell phone. With a flick of his fingers, he stopped
         the persistent ringing and raised the phone to his ear. "Krycek."

         After a pause, he held it out to Mulder. "It's for you."

         "Mulder, don't," Scully said, as Mulder hesitated, then reached for the phone. "What's going on?"

         "I don't--" Mulder placed the phone to his ear. His reaction was instantaneous. "Ohhh shit..."

         "Mulder!" Scully snapped a glance in Mulder's direction in time to see him clutch the back of his
         head and sag to his knees. "What's going on?" she screamed at Krycek, waving the gun at him
         while sidling closer to Mulder.

         "Didn't you ever wonder about the other chip?" Krycek asked, his voice a calm contrast to hers.
         "The one in his cerebral cortex?"

         "Scully!" Mulder was bent double, in apparent pain and breathing hard when Scully got close
         enough to wrap her arm around him.

         "It was already in place when I arrived," she said. "They told me it was an early version of the sim
         receiver, but it never worked."

         "That's what the guy who designed it for our side told them. Some old guy named Frohike,"
         Krycek smirked. "He was a double agent inside your organization a long time before Mulder
         infiltrated it. Way before my time."

         "No," Mulder muttered, "no, no, no!" He sat back on his heels, staring in horror at Krycek.

         "All coming back to you now?" asked Krycek sweetly. "Welcome to reality, Mulder. True reality.
         I came to bring you in. Jesus, how did you stand it in that place for thirteen years? I couldn't get
         out of there fast enough. What a bunch of lunatics." He glanced at Scully. "I guess you had a
         survival advantage I never did."

         "Scully," Mulder said, his voice thick with pain and determination, "put the gun down, please."

         "But what about--?"

         "He's not going to hurt me. In fact," Mulder got up and hauled Krycek to his feet, "he's not even
         staying." Mulder dragged Krycek to the door and started to push him out.

         "Hold it, Mulder, do you think the group is going to just let you retire and draw a pension? They
         need you back, dammit, and I need to be the one to bring you in. What do you think they'll do to
         me if I go back without you?"

         "You don't want to know how little I care, Krycek." Mulder pried Krycek's fingers off the door
         jamb and pushed him outside, ignoring his protests. "The only one coming in from the cold is you.
         When you get to headquarters, tell them I didn't need you. By the time you get back, they'll know
         why."

         "Don't forget that piece of metal in your head works in both directions, Mulder! Think about it!"

         Scully watched Mulder slam the door, then drop his head and take a deep breath before turning to
         face her. She ran a practiced eye over his face and body, noting pupil dilation, color, respiration,
         and equilibrium all seemed normal for the Mulder she knew. His eyes dropped to her hand, and
         she realized she was pointing the gun at him.

         "It's going to be okay, Scully." His voice was soft and steady. "If it's the last thing I do, I will
         make everything okay. Can you put the gun down?"

         Feeling as brittle as spun glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch, she lowered the gun, then
         turned on her heel and walked to the bedroom to return it to its holster. Back in the front room, she
         stood before him, wordless.

         Holding her eyes with a steady gaze, Mulder punched a series of numbers on the phone and held it
         to his ear. "It's done," he said. "Yeah, yeah, it's all come back to me." He paused, listening, a
         mulish look on his face, then continued, "No, there's going to be a problem with phase 2." Scully
         gaped as belligerence colored his flat tone. "And the problem is, I'm not coming back."

         He closed his eyes, listening intently. "It's too late, sir." The disdain in his voice sounded like an
         imitation of Scully's. "Do you know how many times I almost died while you left me under cover?
         Oh, I forgot," he sneered, "you were keeping track. Not close enough to save me, just close
         enough to use me. Good thing I had a doctor who can do pawn CPR." He shot Scully a grim
         smile. "She's the one who kept me alive all these years, while you sat back, pulling the
         information you needed from her organization out of my head." His voice increased in volume on
         the last word. "But I'm free now, and I'm not going to be a pawn for you, or them, or anybody
         ever again."

         Scully winced as Mulder reached out to grab her hand and squeeze it as if holding to a lifeline.

         "Don't try to guilt me. This was never about the victims for you. It was always about power.
         We've been the ones working for the victims, and we don't need to belong to any group to keep
         doing it. Unless-- who knows," he jeered, "maybe we'll join the FBI."

         He listened again, eyes locked with Scully's. She was transfixed, horrified by the pain she saw
         there, entranced by their intense focus on her. "No," he said. "I'm out and I'm staying out. It's
         over. Oh -- and Happy New Year." He punched the end button on the phone.

         Scully's mind scrambled like a gerbil on a cage wheel, skittering a million miles an hour and
         getting absolutely nowhere. She made a conscious effort to refrain from jerking away as Mulder
         dropped the phone on the rug and used his free hand to cup her cheek, then tuck her hair behind
         her ear in a familiar, tender gesture.

         "If there is one real thing in my life, Scully, it's that I love you. We've got each other now, and no
         one will separate us again, do you believe that?"

         "Yes," she whispered.

         "Then I've got a story to tell you."

         ***
 
 

         Feedback is appreciated at mmalone73@hotmail.com.

         Author's Notes: This story contains elements suggested by scullyfic list members for what was
         supposed to be an improv story, i.e. It was supposed to be finished in a week. It wasn't. The
         elements suggested were: from Jean: a Parcheesi game, from Mara: Mulder's wedding ring, from
         Rukutam: M & S discuss Y2K nonsense, from Shari: Spooning! (between M&S), from Kris:
         Mulder catches Scully bingeing on chocolate because it's "that week.", and from Robbie: hair
         spray. Thanks to all of you.

         I've wanted to write a story for some time based on a comment DD made about whether a
         conspiracy like the one shown on the X-Files could exist, given the fact that even a small secret
         held just between three people never stays secret for long. How could such a conspiracy control
         and protect the covert nature of its operation? I thought that this might be one (far out) possibility.

         Thanks: To Meredith, my AU guru and so much more -- thank you for encouragement starting
         from the outline stage. To Amy, Marguerite, and haphazard method -- thank you for benevolent
         nit-picking and the plaintive cries of "Huh?" which helped to shape this story, draft after draft. Any
         clarity is due to their suggestions. Any residual murkiness is because I didn't listen to them. To
         Sarah Segretti and CazQ, my regional beer consultants -- Cheers!

         Never having played Parcheesi, I found this description at Amazon.com, and it was quite
         inspirational: Parcheesi, a family classic since the 1860s, is the ultimate race-and-chase board
         game. The object is take four pawns from start to home, using rolls of the dice to dictate your
         moves. It sounds easy, but to accomplish your mission you have to first roll a five to even move
         off of start, and then you must avoid running into blockades and dodge your opponents, who
         threaten at every turn to send you back to the beginning. If you plot your moves strategically and
         use the safety zones scattered around the board, you might just make it.

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