Title: Three Trenchcoats Author: Maureen S. O'Brien E-mail: mobrien@dnaco.net Rating: PG Category: V Spoilers: The End (XF), The Time Is Now (Millennium) Summary: Three agents at the front door of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Disclaimer: Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen, and Fox own both The X-Files and Millennium. I'm just playing in the sandbox. -------------------------------------------------- Two trenchcoats going out the door, another coming in. "Frank? Frank Black?" "Mulder," he acknowledges. "I heard about the X-Files. I'm sorry." Brooding eyes turn even darker. "We heard about Seattle. You shouldn't be working at a time like this." "We're moving back to DC. It seemed best, after everything that happened. Seattle has a lot of bad memories for Jordan now." Mulder lays his hand on Black's shoulder. "For you, too. Kids are resilient. Don't spend all your time dealing with Jordan's problems and none with your own. That's part of what got Patterson." "I'll be careful," Black says seriously. "By the way, you haven't introduced me to your friend." Mulder keeps his hand on Black's shoulder, a nonverbal reminder that he is not going to drop the topic just because Black changed the subject. His other hand moves to the small of Scully's back as he ushers her closer to Black. "As you've probably guessed, Frank, this is my partner -- ex-partner -- Dr. Dana Scully. Scully, this is Frank Black. Former FBI agent, former fellow sufferer under Patterson, currently member of the Millennium Group...." "Formerly member of the Millennium Group," he interrupts. "I may be coming back here." He extends his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Agent Scully." "Likewise," she murmurs, putting out her own hand to the gray-haired man. "I've heard so much about you." Their hands meet. I shouldn't have touched him, Scully thinks for a second before she is pulled in by the spirits of the newly dead that hang around him. They call, they wail, they demand attention to their lives ended so abruptly by this new plague. I shouldn't have touched her, Black thinks. He sees the ashes of two lives turned to gray slop on the floor, and he holds onto Scully lest he flicker into nothingness, too. He sees a girl dying and a field of burnt dead and the stub of a cigarette, all mixed together. And between them stands Mulder, completing the circuit and seeing it all and passing it on, so that now they are all trapped in each other's nightmares, the snake eating its own tail; and Jordan is Emily is Gibson is Lara is Catherine is Scully is Mulder is Frank is Peter is Skinner is... ...standing next to them, tapping Mulder on the shoulder. "Are you three all right?" "Sir." Mulder drops his hands and turns to Skinner as Scully and Black step back from each other. "We were just talking to Frank Black." "Seattle." Skinner sighs. "It's been a hard year for all of us. But nolite illegitimi carborundorum." Bad Latin, good sentiment, think the other three simultaneously. There is nobody in the world less psychic or visionary or spooky than Walter Skinner. Thank God. Black nods gratefully. "Not without a fight, Walt." "Not without a fight," Mulder agrees. Scully nods fiercely. "And we have not yet begun to fight." Two trenchcoats go on out the door, and one comes in.