Archive: anywhere and everywhere.
Rating: PG
Classification: S
Spoilers: Biogenesis
Summary: My little spin on the season premiere-to-be.

Oh, God, she prayed, when I asked you to let me find out everything there was, I was young and stupid and drunk on knowledge. Oh, God, just give me something normal that I can deal with....

She heard someone loading a gun and she dropped.

Roll into the water, next to the artifact. Where's the shooter?

The diggers... good, they're scattering...there. Part of a head. Breathing... I can hear him _breathing_...sounds like...Krycek? How do I know what...doesn't matter...I've got a tidepool for cover and he's got the whole damned beach. Hope my weapon doesn't mind saltwater.

"Come on out, Agent Scully."

Of course she didn't answer, or move.

"All I want is the artifact."

She stayed silent.

"Look, I'll kill you if I have to. But if I'd wanted you or Mulder dead, I would have done it a long time ago. Just surrender and you can go home."

She understood a strategic retreat. But surrender? Only to spare innocent lives or fight another day. And this was the day.

Insanity and despair on either side. A gun in her hand. And the only way home led through her sister's killer....

Then she heard them. Rifles. Krycek barked a command in French, and the men holding them emerged from cover.

Insanity and despair, and she would have stepped off the edge of despair if it hadn't been for the humming in her head in the stone in her hands rising....

Rising?

She heaved herself up on top of the artifact, not questioning the moment. And the artifact spun like a carnival ride and she spun with it, splaying herself across it and holding on for dear life, like the reverse image of Da Vinci's sketch of a man. Krycek's men fired, but they didn't hit her. Stress throws off your aim, she thought sympathetically. Situations like this take a bit of getting used to, boys. Krycek, now, he kept his head. Unfortunately, he also kept hitting the bottom of the artifact instead of the top. She laughed as she whirled up into the sky, and the salt air and the wind of the artifact's passing dried her teeth as she flew.

Insanity. Definitely insanity. But a fun kind.

She could see like an eagle...no, like a satellite, and the sea and the sky spread out before her eyes like a chart hanging in midair wherever she looked. There. There was her last position, and her current one, and DC. And there were the watchers above: starships, airplanes, spacecraft, and alien biotech. Avoid them, she noted, and something acknowledged, also in her head -- or was it her neck?

Definitely avoid them.

But I need help for Mulder, she reminded herself...and suddenly the symptoms ran through her mind, both in clinical language and by feel.

Acknowledged. Searching for same-species assistance...and the world changed and darkened. The watchers had been common, but these beacons were dim and very few.

All but one. Somewhere in Northern Virginia, a light shone like a star, making Mulder's feverish flare look as dim as the rest. There, she thought, and the artifact altered course slightly. The charts went away.

Her hands were getting tired. How am I going to stay on this thing long enough to get there? she wondered.

Safety field in operation, her head answered. Pressurization and heating in place. Inertia shunted. Stealth applied. Sub-orbital flight in four...three...two....

The artifact went up like an elevator -- all right, a diagonal elevator -- and suddenly the clouds above her were puffs of smoke in her wake, and all of Africa was something she could cover with her hand. The sky was black and the stars were colored things that burned. The artifact and she skipped like a stone across the atmosphere. She yelled her approval, and then they fell.

She sighed. The roller coaster was coming into the station; the spinning cups were beginning to slow down. She looked up the chart again, checked the current position of their goal, and cast ahead with her mind.

The racket of thoughts was unbearable, but the artifact shielded her from that, too, and helped her look for the one who burned so brightly. How may I direct your call? she thought, and laughed again. The hills and the river rushed up to meet her.

"Dr. Scully?" a voice whispered. "Where are you? You're so high!"

Coming to see you, Gibson, she thought. Mulder and I need your help. There's a place...can you get there? Or should I come to you?

"I can get there," he reassured her. "Um...is it okay if I bring a friend?"

If he's someone you can trust not to talk.

"My friend won't do that!" Gibson sounded amused. "I see how it happened," he added, "but how do you like it?"

I can't really judge yet...but it has its advantages.

"Yeah, I'll bet." A laugh like a burst of mint and cinnamon. "Later."

The city spread before her, and she called up the chart. Let's get Mulder now, she thought, and soon the hospital was below them. Do we have tools to get in?

Affirmative.

"By sedating him into a stupor for the rest of his life?" Skinner scowled. "Dr. Scully would never...."

"We were unable to contact Dr. Scully," said the doctor. "But Miss Fowley obtained a valid consent form from Agent Mulder's mother."

Diana sighed. "Poor frail lady. She only wants the best for her son. She'd have come if she could."

Skinner hadn't been able to get a phone call through to Mulder's mother, so he'd asked the Greenwich police to check on her. Something smug in Diana's tone was making him fear the worst.

They arrived at the door of Mulder's room. "He's sleeping now," said the doctor, "so please, don't disturb the patient with all this chatter. Now stand back." The doctor quietly opened the door.

Mulder was lying still, naked except for the sheet that covered him. It was white, but it looked blue in the intense light streaming through the window, holding him up in the air and drawing him outside. Diana Fowley opened her mouth to scream as her hand moved toward her gun. Skinner actually managed a partial draw before the light froze him in place. The doctor just goggled as a bright hand pulled his patient in and shut the window.

A voice whispered in his head:

We're getting some training. Hold the fort, sir.

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