From: livengoo@bcvms.bc.edu
X-From: rkwong@engin.umich.edu (Roberta Chi-Woon Kwong)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
Subject: "Leap of Faith" part 1/?
Date: 17 Apr 1995 22:32:09 GMT
Message-Id: <3muq99$s2q@srvr1.engin.umich.edu>


This is being posted for the author, who doesn't have access to
this group. Please direct all comments to livengoo@bcvms.bc.edu.
This story is also currently appearing in alt.tv.x-files.creative.

I've done some re-formatting to make my news system accept the line
length; the actual text remains untouched.

-----------------------------------------

Subject: QL/XF Leap of Faith: Return of livengoo

Heh heh heh.  You folks probably thought I had retired into decent
lurkership, ensnared in studies.  No such luck.  And here's a
challenge.  Someone, Ron I think, tossed this little stink bomb out
as a suggestion.  Trust me, you'll knowwhat that means very
shortly. Okay Ron, here it is, I'll write my version you write
yours and let's see where coincidence happens.  *snicker*  Oh, and
just incase I really repeat stuff anyone else has written, remember
I've only been around here about 3 weeks and that the ftp sites
keep declining me.  Nasty things.  So, let's see what happens when
I goo Ron's topic.

Oops, not having been around here very long I'm doubtless treading
well trod ground, but let's see if I can wring a little new blood
out of this turnip.  Shoot mepetitive, let me know if I should keep
writing this critter!

By the way, the small type remains the same.  X-Files, Mulder and
Scully property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen productions, Sam
Beckett and Al Calavicci and company property of Bellasarius Prod.

Leap of Faith, 1/?
blame livengoo for this one, too, at bcvms.bc.edu!

Sam Beckett saw a blinding flash of blue light, but it didn't fade.
Explosions and screams sent him into a hunch of quick fear until he
realized the screams weren't terrified and the explosions were . .
. pink? purple? green?  What kind of colors were those for
explosions?  And, wait a minute, something else was wrong.  He
looked down at himself, or rather herself, as soft lines and shapes
where he wasn't accustomed to having soft lines and shapes
registered in the light of the fireworks.

"Didn't I tell you that you'd see lights in the sky if you stuck
with me?"  The dry, amused tenor right in Sam's ear startled him
half to death, but he couldn't have heard the man any other way
over the crowd, and the fireworks, and the concert.  He tried to
make out the man's face but the light wasn't reliable and the crowd
was starting to get up as the finale wound down.  He, they really,
were perched on a tiny plot of picnic blanket.  He could see the
Washington Monument at the end of the Mall, and the air was muggy
enough to drown in.  At least now Sam knew where he was, he just
had to learn when, why, and who.  Relieved, he noticed that the
crowd was starting to pack up as the show finished.  At least
packing the picnic that surrounded him and this stranger would give
Al time to get to him before he made a fool of herself by not
remembering his . . her . . date?  Lord, genders and relationships
got so complicated in Leaps.

The streetlights along the Mall illuminated the crowd as they
milled around in search of cars.  The man with him was wrestling
ahead with the picnic basket and Sam followed with the blanket.
Fortunately, Sam's companion was tall enough that he could keep him
in sight through the crowd.  The crush made small talk impossible
but they had to walk almost a mile to find a blue Ford of a make he
didn't recognize.  The silence between them was beginning to feel
strained by that point.  The man opened the trunk to sling in their
picnic gear and Sam Beckett got his first good look at him.  He was
tall next to the car (he'd seemed taller still next to whoever Sam
had become.  Sam sighed at the thought of another leap
altitudinally challenged.  He'd never thought he was that tall
until he wasn't.)  The colors of the man's skin and hair and eyes
were washed out in the streetlight, but he had a good face, a
little long, with sad eyes and a quirky mouth.  

He caught Sam watching him and gave a quizzical grin.  "What?  You
haven't said anything since the 1812.  Is something wrong?"

"Ah, um, nothing really.  It must have been something I ate."

"Scully, (Scully?) I keep telling you not to eat at the FBI
cafeteria.  That's where they get rid of impounded produce from
Customs."

Her name was Scully? How feminine could you get? thought Sam.  And
she worked at the FBI?  O-o-o-o-kay.  Now what.

"I'm pretty tired, would you mind driving?"  Sam had almost said
"dropping me off" but didn't even know if that was right.  What if
they lived together.  WHERE was Al?! take advantage of me?  Here,
your date stands you up so I take you to the fireworks and now you
want me to drive?  You're just lucky I didn't have a date tonight
myself."

Oh thank god!  Now Sam knew about one relationship!  He smiled and
settled back in the seat, memorizing the route home as he drove it.
He looked around but couldn't find anything with a name on it to
indicate who his companion was, so he was still asea on that.  All
in good time.

They drove most of the way in silence, with the man occasionally
glancing at him.  Sam had the uncomfortable sense that the stranger
was offering half a conversation, and that Sam couldn't support his
own half.  He heaved a sigh of relief when they stopped at an
apartment building, and fished in his purse for a key ring and some
ID that would tell him which apartment to walk up to.
Fortunately, the man got out and walked Sam to the door, giving
unconscious cues to where he had to go.  He guessed at the key and
was amused at the rush of relief he felt to have the right one.
The man was watching with a worried expression, but didn't offer to
step inside.  Sam thanked whatever sent him hurtling on these
pinball trips through time that so far he hadn't made a serious
mistake. 

"Scully, . . . Dana, you really look out of it.  Are you sure
you'll be okay?"

Sam gave him a bright grin, or what he hoped was a bright grin,
"I'll be fine, really.  I just need sleep.  Look, I'll see you
tomorrow" pure guesswork, "just go home and sleep well."  His
answering look was disgusted amusement, but it seemed to have
worked.  He waved and went back to his car.  Sam shut the door
carefully, then spun as an automatic light went on.  It must be one
of those ones triggered by sound or motion, he realized.  Still,
Sam's nerves could use some calm right now.  He     was very good
at adapting to whatever came his way, had dealt with fights and
panic at the drop of a hat, but holding a conversation with someone
who knew you without letting on that you didn't know them had been
difficult even when he really had been just Sam Beckett.  Now it
was overwhelming.  He put the purse down and started exploring the
apartment to see what he could learn.

A mirror offered a pretty woman, late twenties or early thirties,
with an oval face and large, blue eyes.  Her light auburn hair was
pulled back in a practical clip.  He looked at the hands, her hands
were soft and well-kept, but strong. A flash of knowledge, of
physiology.  Whoever this woman was she had some kind of medical
knowledge, he was relieved to find.  He'd be able to remember some
of what he was, then.  Be able to remember being a doctor.  He
dumped the purse out on the floor and ransacked it, finding that he
was Dr. Dana Scully, Special Agent with the FBI, the address,
emergency numbers, and that she had an amazing assortment of junk
sitting in the bottom of her purse, none of which told Sam much
more than that she liked to have things like pocket knives that
might be useful, and that she had a gun.  The spare clip was in her
purse in a box to keep purse lint off of it.  Sam really hated
guns.

He started to wander, finding the kitchen, the living room, then he
found the alcove with the computer.  Sam pounced on it, praying
that it would tell him who Dana Scully was and, therefore, some
clue as to why he was there.

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

Al Calavicci clenched his cigar in his teeth as the person who was
not Sam Beckett slowly came back to consciousness.  He hated this,
he already knew the first thing that would happen, but felt he had
a duty to be here and to watch.  

Sam's eyes opened and looked around the room, slowly, then the
person who was not Sam screamed (almost all of them screamed), and
curled into a ball.  Al sighed.  Ziggy had once told him 93.7% of
their guests did that.  Familiarity bred neither contempt nor
comfort.  He waited, knowing Verbeena Beeks would soon go to work
trying to calm the leaper down.  He wasn't expecting any answers
before she got there, and almost dropped his cigar in shock when
the person in the waiting room, in Sam Beckett's body, stopped
screaming and looked up with a suspicious frown.  The head was
turning, slowly assessing everything in the room.  The  - man for
want of a better term - looked down at his hands and worked them,
considering what he was seeing.  When Beeks walked in her
unbuttoned lab coat matched the bland, white walls but her tunic
under it was a splash of humanity in color that caught the
visitor's eyes.  He frowned as he watched her step in and stop.

"Hello," she held out her hand, having found that the familiar
gesture was soothing.  The authority implied by the lab coat
sometimes calmed them, sometimes not.  This one just watched.  "I'm
Verbeena Beeks, please don't worry, don't be afraid.  You're safe
here."

"Did Mulder put you up to this?  This is NOT funny."  The voice was
assured, much calmer than Al would have expected.  He felt himself
warm to whoever this was, this person was a fighter!

"How did you do this?  Some kind of drugs, suggestion?  I'm going
to kill him!"  Yes, there was a lot more anger than hysteria there.

"No, please listen."  Beeks was stepping further into the room,
glancing up to the mirrored surface where she knew Al would be
watching.  Al nodded as though she could see him and headed for the
door.  If this jumper was that resilient he probably wouldn't freak
at two of them.  Al stepped in behind Verbeena and the visitor
stood up, seeming startled by his own height.  Al pitched in,
trying to keep his voice soothing but using all his military
training to hold this person's attention.

"Listen to us.  You are safe, and we are going to try to help you.
I know this is hard to believe" hard? Try impossible. " but we are
trying to help you, and we need your help."

"If Frohicke is involved in this I'll kill both of them!"  The
visitor stepped forward and then got a look in the mirror out of
the corner of his eye.  He turned, hypnotized, and walked up to
stare in it.  "How did you do it?  This is incredible!  How can I
see you," turning back to stare at them," but I look like this?
What kind of suggestion did you use?"  The visitor was turning back
now, a puzzled frown on his face.  "This isn't an abduction.  I
don't know what it is, but why not just fake up an abduction?  Why
go to all this trouble?"  He looked down then slowly ran his hands
down his chest, over his body.  This person was resilient, but the
truth must be sinking in by now and the face was going pale.  He
sagged and Al and Verbeena lunged to catch him and got him settled
back on the bed.  

"Look, I can try to explain a little but we really need your help
right now. We need to know your name and anything else you can tell
us."  Their visitor was looking truly annoyed by now.  

"You already know all this.  What are you playing at?"

"Please, we don't know it." Al smiled his friendliest smile,
ignoring Beeks' shake of the head.  "Look , just your name if
nothing else?"

The visitor sighed, but clearly decided to play along.  "Scully.
I'm FBI Special Agent Dana Scully.  Why do you need to know?"

AL grinned and slapped Verbeena on the back, "you take it from
here, I'll get Ziggy on it!"  The visitor watched skeptically as he
dashed out the door.

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

Sam was about to tear his hair out with frustration over the
passwords and security on Scully's computer.  He was saved from
baldness by the sound of the door opening behind him.  He leaped up
and spun to smile foolishly at Al, standing framed in the middle of
the living room table.  The small, dark man in the hideous cerise
flamenco suit sidestepped, adjusted his silver cummerbund andsmiled
back.  

"I wish a babe like you would really smile at me that way," he
leered."  Sam sighed, caught between annoyance and relief that
things were back to normal, or as normal as they ever got for him.
Her.  Him, damnit!

"So, I'm Dana Scully and I can't get into this computer."

"You are, indeed, Dana Scully, MD, forensic pathologist, super cop,
and bonafide cutie.  As to the computer, try the password "spooky".
Sam did and was rewarded with access.  He started exploring while
Al talked.

"You are thirty, you live at" - "I know where I live." - in
Washington, DC." Al continued, "you work for the FBI, you eat
healthy foods and you have a partner named Fox Mulder."  "What?"
"You heard me.  Fox Mulder."

"What kind of name is that?"

"Foxy?  No, his name really is Fox."

Sam sighed.  "And why am I here, pray tell?  Do you have any idea?"

"Well," Al waved his cigar around and looked somewhere between
amusement, frustration and disbelief, "We can't get a lot of
information.  Almost everything on you and this Fox character is
sealed in files Ziggy can't break yet.  But, if Ziggy is to be
believed you are here to keep Fox Mulder from being abducted by
little green men.  Aliens, that is, son, space aliens," finished Al
in a Foghorn Leghorn drawl.

Sam turned to face him.  For the second time that night he felt
winded and totally off guard.  "Oh boy."

**********************************
**********************************
Verbeena Beeks was getting frustrated.  She was used to panicky
people, people in denial, violent people, desperate ones.  She
wasn't used to someone who believed that the waiting room was a
practical joke that someone was pulling.  Beeks now knew that Dana
Scully was female, and that whoever her partner was he must have
real connections for anyone to believe that this could be just a
gag. She said as much to Admiral Calavicci, over a truly awful cup
of coffee that should have had a biohazard sticker on the side of
the cup.  

"Al, she really thinks this is some joke.  She's mad as hell and
won't give me anything to work with.  Absolutely NOTHING.  Keeps
telling me that the password is "trust no one" or some such
paranoid nonsense.  She's calm, but she keeps saying the joke
wasn't done right and making suggestions.  She's already told me we
should have had the lights brighter and have rented costumes to get
it right. She said if it wasn't a joke it was interrogation, and
that as interrogations go it was still as joke.  I don't know if
she's going to help us at all."

"She's got to help us."  He sighed.  "Ziggy has been trying to get
into those records for hours, but all the computer records were
erased or stored on CD," he shuddered. "And we can't get ahold of
the hard copies.  They're under some kind of lock and key.
Everything we've got so far we put together from passing mentions.
It's all inference and guesswork.  We really, really need what she
might know about this Leap or Sam's gonna be working in the dark."
The small man looked despondent despite his cheerfully garish
outfit. 

Verbeena took a deep breath, if Sam worked blind his chances were
very poor.  He'd never done a Leap with NO support.  But Scully
wasn't going to simply cooperate out of hand, and she was too
self-possessed to get information from ramblings the way they did
with some of the more incoherent subjects.  If Ziggy couldn't
support the Leap from records, Verbeena could see only one
alternative.

"We may have o break a rule.  The Second Commandment?  Thou shalt
not tell secrets to Leapers?" The First, of course, was Thou shalt
not tell secrets to Sam.  Al stared at her, chewing his unlit cigar
into a repulsive mess.  

"What makes you think that would work?"  Verbeena knew he was
worried if he was seriously considering it.  

"Nothing else will work.  She WON'T talk to us.  For some reason
she's very suspicious.  I don't promise it will work, but if we can
convince her she may give us what the records won't.  I can't think
of any other way to get what we need, can you?"  Al's dour
expression was all the answer she needed.

"Let's go talk to the lady."

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

Sam hitched up his bra strap, tried to get the pantyhose more
comfortable, and breathed at prayer of thanks that women no longer
wore girdles and garters.  Vague memories of a Leap long past, of
trying to work those stupid little catches, made the pantyhose look
good by comparison.  Unfortunately the shoes were still balanced on
heels, but Scully was small and light enough that they didn't hurt
much.

He was sitting at the dining room table and drinking coffee, with
the Washington Post spread all over the table and his own notes on
top of that.  It had been a long day and it wasn't even 8:00 am
yet.  Al had almost no information to give him, but Scully's
computer files had some very strange information in them. Sam found
many of the incidents she described disquieting.  He found some of
her observations on Agent Mulder even more so.  A page of notes
caught his eye, "obsessed with the existence of aliens who he
believes kidnapped his sister"; "Post-traumatic stress disorder";
"open to extreme possibilities", whatever that meant.  And Al
talking about aliens and disappearance?  Sam felt a shiver run down
his spine.  Not another nut case!

When the phone rang he jumped, feeling guilty, and reached for it.


"Hello?"

"Scully, I got home and realized you left your car at the garage.
I'll be by in about 20 minutes, I can give you a ride in . . ."

"Thanks," the voice from last night, and if he called her Scully,
"Mulder.  I'll have a cup of coffee for you."  He laughed.

"That's okay, I'll steal one from you at the office."  The click
coincided with his sigh.  One more bullet dodged!  Of course, with
a name like Fox, Sam wasn't that surprised he might prefer his last
name.  It should be an interesting day.

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

The horn honked right on schedule and Sam ducked out, carrying
Scully's purse, umbrella, the paper and a cup of coffee in a car
mug.

"You didn't need to do that," his delighted grin gave the lie to
the pro forma comment.  He'd drained half of it by the time Sam was
buckled in.  Mulder handed over a paper bag, stained with grease
spots.  "I picked up breakfast, there's one in there for you."

Sam carefully held the thing away from Scully's suit and wrinkled
his nose at the smell of fried eggs, bacon, cheese and grease.  He
couldn't help it, "I can feel my arteries harden just holding this
thing, Mulder!  Why aren't you dead yet, eating this stuff."

"You always say that.  If you don't want it I'll take it home for
dinner."  Sam cringed at the idea.  "No reason to look like that,"
Mulder was watching him, grinning like this was a regular routine
he really enjoyed.  "I've been eating those for years and I'm
perfectly healthy."  

"Yeah, right."  Sam bit the side of his mouth.  He hadn't meant to
say that, but a late night reading files about a guy who saw little
green men left him with a shorter temper than usual.  At least, he
thought that's why his temper was short today.  Now that he really
saw Mulder in the daylight, the circles under his eyes and tired,
slightly underfed look of him didn't strike Sam as perfectly
healthy any more than his diet.

The ride was thankfully short.  Sam hadn't slipped yet but if he
kept sparring with this man he was bound to make a mistake.  He
NEEDED Al to show up with some idea of what was going on.

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

Al recognized the look Dana Scully gave him the minute he stepped
into the room. He'd seen it at divorce mediation from his . . .
4th? 5th? wife.  Scully was clearly prepared to disbelieve every
word he said. 

She opened fire first.  "I don't know how you got me here or how
you're pulling this off, but I know you aren't aliens.  I am not
prepared to answer any questions until I know why you're holding me
and what's going on."  The voice was in Sam Beckett's register, but
had an authoritative edge very foreign to the easy-going
physicist's nature.  Only a fool could mistake this for Sam. 

"You're right, we're not aliens.  We do, however, need some
answers."  Al sighed and plunged on.  "Look, we had no choice about
bringing you here.  A friend of ours is with your partner," she
stiffened just a little.  "We think he's going to be in real
trouble and we want to help.  We need to help, and we need anything
you can give us."

"If Mulder's in trouble he doesn't need your friend.  Whatever
games you're playing,  this is just too far.  Nobody carries a joke
this far and this is the stupidest interrogation set-up I've ever
seen.  What are you after?"  Her voice was level, but very cold.  

"Can't you just trust us?"  It was not the right thing to say.  He
could see her face shifting between a laugh and fury, finally
settling on a tightly held anger.

"You want me to trust you?  Then tell me why I'm here.  Better yet,
show me.  You want trust, it goes two ways."  Verbeena, behind him,
grunted a brief "I told you so."  

Al groaned, but five divorces had taught him when to fold.  Even
his lawyer wouldn't try to push past this point, it was stalemate.
"Okay.  Okay.  Grand tour first and thHe looked to Verbeena, they'd
never tried to actively bring in someone from a Leap.  She nodded.
"She isn't going to believe it on our say-so."  Scully snorted
agreement at that.

"Alright, Dr. Scully.  But be prepared for some odd looks and odder
sights."

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

Sam thought he was braced for the unusual, but the X-files office
was a bit more than he was prepared for.  The maps and posters on
the walls ran heavily to UFO overflow of wadded paper.  Sam was not
surprised but was relieved when Mulder settled behind what might
have been a desk (the piles of papers and files made identification
iffy) where he proceeded to devour the killer-sandwich he'd bought
for his breakfast.  The other went into a mini-fridge marked with
bio-hazard stickers.

Mulder was stealing Scully's coffee cup about the point that Sam
headed out the door, looking for the restrooms.  He got badly lost
in the warren of hallways, all crammed with file boxes down here in
FBI Siberia, but finally found the ladies room next to the
elevators.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he locked the door
behind him, and crossed his fingers that Al would show up, but not
for about 5 minutes. 

Sam Beckett, MD, PhD several times over, could do quantum physics,
surgery, the Moonlight Sonata, and New York Times Crossword puzzles
in his head.  He could not, however, pull up a pair of pantyhose
without putting a run in them.  He stood there with his skirt
hiked, finger on the snag, trying to figure out how to stop the
ladder.

"Clear nail polish."  Al's gravelly voice made him lose the spot
and he cursed - by his standards, at least.

"Drat."

"I'm telling you, look in her purse.  You don't live with women as
long as I have without learning this kind of thing."  Al smirked
and rolled his cigar, lasciviously, from one corner of his mouth to
the other.  "Pretty good.  I like a real woman, there are too many
social X-Rays out there as it is." 

Sam fished around in Scully's purse, finally finding a small bottle
under everything else.  "Ah ha!"

"Okay," Al's nose was down next to Scully's leg, ostensibly to help
advise as to proper application of nail polish.  "Careful, too much
and you'll stick it to your leg and snag it again."

"I can do this part, do you know anything or are you just here to
leer at Scully?"

"Actually, I both do and don't know anything.  Scully says that you
have a close, but not too close, relationship with your partner" -
"He's not MY partner," - "that he doesn't trust anyone else and,
for the most part, neither do you.  Apparently the government has
tried several times to . . . " Al frowned and slapped his handlink,
"ah. Eliminate both of you at various times.  At least Scully's
pretty sure they were government.  Mulder, of course, has
absolutely no doubt.  If you read her case files you'll have a good
idea of what they've investigated.  If you just remember you're the
skeptic, and question everything he says, he should believe you."
Al grinned.  "Just remember, HE's the one open to extreme
possibilities.  You don't believe it unless you can see it."

Sam shook his head at the irony of working with someone who would
probably be more than willing to believe the truth, and who
absolutely could not be allowed to learn of it.  "So, are you guys
still sticking by that alien abduction disappearance thing?"

"Well, Ziggy still can't get into the sealed files.  We've got
newspaper reports that in four days, in North Carolina, there are a
lot of UFO reports and Fox Mulder disappears.  He reappears in 18
months, comatose, spends six months in coma, and has absolutely no
memory of what happened.  He never quite bounces back, winds up
wandering off and vanishing who knows where, but no more UFOs.
Ziggy posits at least four murderers - multiple murderers - escape
as a result, with the kind of havoc you can imagine. This guy's a
real boy scout, Sam! Ziggy can't project the effects beyond a
certain point, there's just not enough information.  But what we
have, well, all we really know is you're here to save one of the
good guys.  Weird, but a good guy."

"Great.  Maybe I can start a fan club to follow him around
everywhere and make sure he eats three square meals a day."

"Four days, Sam.  Four days."

 More to come provided I get all kinds of nurturing and approving
mail.
livengoo@bcvms.bc.edu