Respect Des Fonds
by Rachel Wilder


~*~*~* 
Respect Des Fonds: Respect for the principle of provenance that the archives of 
an agency or person are not mixed or combined with those of other agencies or 
people. 
~*~*~*
National Archives and Records Administration 
March 12 
10:45 am
The man reached into the gray clamshell box. As he picked up the ledger, he 
averted his head and coughed into the sleeve of his lab coat. He set the ledger 
on the work table and brushed some of the dust from the cover. He coughed again.
"Hey Chuck! Shoulda gotten that flu shot," the man's co-worker commented from 
across the room. The man just nodded as he opened up the ledger. When he began 
to make a choking sound, his co-worker got up and came across to assist him.
"Chuck, Chuck!" he called as he moved to lay the man on the floor. He was in 
obvious distress. "Somebody, call 911!"
The other technicians in the room looking startled and then curious, moved to 
the man on the floor. One of them had the presence of mind to pick up a nearby 
telephone and make the emergency call. The crowd gathered around the dying man 
as the skin around his nose turned red and mottled. He strained for breath, his 
lips growing blue, and then with a final shudder he was gone.
Georgetown 
Later that night
Scully climbed off the Metrobus and into the busy pedestrian traffic on 
Wisconsin Avenue. It had been a long week and she was exhausted. She picked up 
the pace hoping to get in and out of the grocery store as quickly as possible.
The Safeway was filled with the usual after-work crowd. This grocery store was 
also a notorious pick-up spot, frequently referred to as the "Social Safeway." 
In front of her was a perfect example. Blocking her access to the romaine 
lettuce was a male lawyer type putting the moves on an equally lawyerly woman. 
Scully feinted right and then left, attempting to just get her hands on a piece 
of produce. After several miscues and an apology from the young man, she safely 
placed the lettuce in her cart. She then headed to the pasta aisle.
Finding herself stuck behind a Georgetown co-ed standing in the middle of the 
pasta aisle, silently debating the differences between mostaccioli and ziti, she 
sighed as her phone rang. She pulled it from her interior blazer pocket and 
flipped it open.
"Scully," she said, repeating the sigh of exasperation.
"Hey partner," came the voice of the last person she wanted to hear from. If he 
had two tickets booked for Sioux Falls, South Dakota he was just going to have 
to eat hers. She had followed him the last three weekends and it had to end 
somewhere.
"Mulder, it's Friday night. I'm trying to pick up some dinner and go home and 
take a bath. It's the weekend. I don't care what you've discovered, it's going 
to have to wait until Monday."
"Actually, Scully, I was thinking about something else," her partner responded.
"What's that?" she asked, pushing her cart aside for a couple trying to make 
their way down the aisle. Newlyweds, she thought as they passed her, arm in arm.
"You know how we were discussing the breakdown of the middle-aged man's body, 
his unwillingness to admit he isn't 22 anymore?"
"Yes," she said slowly, suddenly concerned where the conversation might be 
going. "Where are you, Mulder?"
"The usual," he responded.
Scully's mind rewound to the end of their work day. She had been finishing up 
their latest expense report when Mulder grabbed his gym bag and headed out the 
door.
"You went to the gym. Where are you now?" she asked again, a sense of foreboding 
creeping over her.
"Georgetown?" he responded, obviously not telling the whole truth.
"Georgetown, my ass. You're at the hospital, aren't you? What did you do, 
Mulder?" she asked, her voice on the border between concern and annoyance. If 
she had stopped to think about it, she would have felt bad about her tone of 
voice, but it had been a very long week and if he was conscious enough to call 
he must not be injured too severely.
"You got me. I'm in the emergency room, but it looks like I'm going to be here 
overnight. I was just wondering if . . ."
"What do you need, Mulder?" she interrupted.
"Boxers, some clean clothes? I have my gym clothes on and I'd already played 
three games."
"So, I bet you stink pretty bad," she answered, chuckling softly, her mouth 
smoothing into a small smile.
"Well, let's put it this way . . . they gave me my own cubicle," he said.
"Okay, give me a little bit. I'll need to head home and get my car, but I'll get 
there as soon as I can. 395 shouldn't be a total parking lot."
"Thanks, Scully," he answered, sounding grateful.
"Not a problem," she answered. She waited a moment and then asked, "Well, don't 
keep me waiting any longer, Mulder, what did you do?"
"Ever see an Achilles tendon erupt?" he asked.
"Save the MRI for me, please," she responded. "I'm sure it will look great in my 
guest bedroom." Where you'll be spending the next month, she added silently. 
Scully ended the call, her mind now filled with Mulder and his latest emergency. 
She glanced around the aisle quickly and then walked away, her cart forgotten 
and abandoned in the middle of the pasta section.
**** 
Georgetown Northwestern Memorial Hospital 
Two hours later
Scully walked into the busy ER. After checking with the desk, she found her 
partner lying on a gurney in a cubicle, his foot covered with ice packs.
"They haven't gotten you in yet?" she asked as she walked over to the bed, 
setting down the bag she had brought from Mulder's apartment. Mulder looked 
horrible, his face covered with a thin sheen of sweat and small lines betraying 
the pain he had been in.
"No, seems there was a pile-up on 295, a shooting in Mount Pleasant and one heck 
of a party at the Kappa Delta Sig house at Georgetown. They're hoping to get me 
into surgery by midnight," Mulder responded, sitting up in the bed. Scully 
pulled up the pillow so he could sit more comfortably. "Unfortunately I skipped 
lunch in hopes of a happy hour bonanza after the gym so now I'm starving for the 
foreseeable future."
"That's actually really good, Mulder. If you had food in your stomach you could 
aspirate and die," Scully answered.
"Have I ever told you that too much information can be a bad thing?" Mulder 
asked. "Besides, the doc said they'll do this with a spinal block, so no 
general. Easier on the digestive tract. I'll be off the ice chips and onto the 
Jell-O in no time." 
Scully smiled and shook her head. "I'm a little frightened by how familiar you 
are with these types of procedures." She pointed toward his foot. "Are you in 
much pain?"
"At the gym, yes. Here, not so bad. I have to admit, I took the morphine 
gratefully when it was offered." That and Scully appearing. He was surprised to 
discover how much her presence alone was making him feel better.
It must have been bad, Scully mused. Mulder was notorious for his high pain 
tolerance. In med school they had described these kinds of tendon injuries as 
extremely painful. Her mind ran over what she knew about treatment and recovery. 
Surgery to repair the tear would be first, followed by a short hospital stay and 
then a period of immobility.
"Deep in thought?" he asked, interrupting her mental run through the Physician's 
Desk Reference.
"I was just trying to remember what I learned about the recovery from this 
injury. Has the doctor given you any timeline?" she asked, pulling the chair 
next to his bed closer before she sat down. 
"Not really. He said they'll keep me here a few days, then I'll be stuck at home 
for a while. It could take like 6 to 8 weeks to be back to speed," Mulder 
responded. 
"How are you going to manage? You'll probably need some help at home." 
"I figure that there has to be some kind of well-endowed Swedish nurse to help 
me with my bed bath," he responded, his mouth in a characteristic smirk. Swedish 
nurse, Irish FBI agent...anything would do, really. 
"More likely a retired Army nurse with kinked up hair ready to help with the 
enema," Scully said, moving to adjust his pillows. She had to admit he looked 
rather pathetic lying there, propped up, wearing only a hospital gown. The nurse 
at the desk had warned her to not open the bag containing Mulder's gym clothes. 
Even with the clothes removed, he smelled pretty ripe.
"So, did you win?" she asked, sitting back down.
"Two games. It was me and Henricks from VCU against some guy from State and that 
Olson kid from HUD. Those desk jockeys can never keep up. It's kind of 
pathetic."
The conversation was interrupted as the curtain was pulled back by a young man 
in blue scrubs. Scully stood up and offered her hand to the visitor.
"I'm Dana Scully, Agent Mulder's partner," she said as the young man took her 
hand.
"Mike Kennerly, orthopod," he responded, shaking her hand firmly. He pulled up a 
stool and sat next to the bed. "We've cleared the docket and will get you 
upstairs in a little bit. I wanted to detail the procedure before we go in. The 
tear is pretty typical. We call you guys 'weekend warriors.' You're in good 
shape, but unfortunately your age is catching up with you. Fortunately the 
recovery for middle-aged males is pretty good." 
Kennerly paused as he observed Mulder's pained expression. It was clear that he 
didn't consider himself anywhere near middle-aged, and this reminder of his 
mortality was not very welcome.
"Anyway, we go in, stitch the two tendon pieces together and put you in a cast. 
It's a lower leg cast for about six weeks. There will be a fair amount of 
follow-up therapy to deal with the ankle involvement, but in a couple of months, 
you'll be back to normal."
Mulder sighed and lay back against the gurney. Two months was a lifetime, but 
there was little to be done now. What a stupid thing to do. He had felt the 
twinge in game two, ignored it thinking it would go away, but then in game 
three, taking the fade-away jumper for the win, he heard it pop. It was a 
sickening sound, loud enough for everyone on the court to hear.
"You'll be fine," Scully said, patting his arm. "Anything I can do while you're 
here?"
"Fish?" he simply said.
"Consider it done," she answered as the surgical team came in to prepare him. Of 
course she would watch after the fish...and him. It was what she did. She wasn't 
even sure it was a conscious decision any longer.
Herbert Hoover Presidential Library 
West Branch, Iowa 
March 23 
2:35 p.m.
John Steiner had been volunteering at the Hoover Presidential Library since his 
retirement from the IRS in 1994. Tuesdays and Thursdays were his days to work in 
the reading room, helping patrons with the more routine research requests. The 
large collection of Depression-related material seemed to attract a wide variety 
of researchers. 
He had been starting to put away the photographs he had been labeling, when one 
of the patrons, a young woman, caught his eye. She motioned that she had a 
question for him.
"Having some trouble?" he asked, stopping at her table.
"Yes, this letter is still in its envelope. May I take it out?" she asked. He 
took the envelope from her and looked at it. It was unlabelled, but there didn't 
seem to be a good reason for it to remain sealed. He took the document back over 
to his table. He slid his small spatula underneath the seal and carefully opened 
the letter. He could feel his throat tightening. He struggled for a breath as 
the world turned black.
FBI Headquarters 
March 29 
8:45 am
Scully walked into Skinner's office, surprised to see Mulder sitting in his 
usual spot, his bad leg propped up on a chair. After a few post-op days in her 
guest bedroom she had dropped him off at his apartment. He had called her 
regularly trying to keep track of her investigations, but he had not mentioned 
anything about coming into the office. 
Skinner was nowhere to be seen and Mulder was seemingly engrossed in a file. She 
walked over to stand next to him. She stood there for a moment, finally clearing 
her throat. "Is this an early April Fool's joke?"
"Hey, Scully. I didn't notice you there," Mulder said, ignoring her remark. He 
laid aside the file and pulled his glasses off, setting the wire rims down on 
the desk. "How was your weekend? Any exciting Scully activity?"
"If you call three loads of laundry, lunch with my mother and a trip to Pentagon 
City exciting, then I guess it would qualify," she responded, pulling a chair 
over. "What has you so excited on this Monday? Aren't you still on medical 
leave?"
Mulder nodded. "I am, but Skinner called me about a case this morning. Something 
I can work on at home.
Ah, that explained the uncharacteristic excitement in his eyes, Scully thought. 
She knew he was bored at home. She had considered a book of Mad Libs and some 
brain teasers to keep him occupied, but it appeared that the assistant director 
had his own ideas about diversionary activities.
"Two weeks ago a processing archivist at the National Archives was working on a 
portion of the 1920 census. Within 10 minutes of working on the material he 
collapsed. He was pronounced dead by the Beltsville Fire Department upon their 
arrival at the Archives."
"So, what does that have to do with us?" Scully asked, pulling the file over so 
she could look at it.
"When the police were re-interviewing his co-workers yesterday, someone 
mentioned she thought she had heard of similar deaths. When she showed the 
investigators the back issues of announcements from the Society of American 
Archivists, they discovered that this is the fourth death of this kind in the 
past few months. A high level staff member at the National Archives who has some 
connection to Skinner requested priority attention on the case. Skinner asked 
for me."
"The fourth death? Have they all been at the Archives?" Scully asked, picking up 
several pages of the report to look at more closely. "What do you mean Skinner 
requested you? You're still on restricted duty."
"Well, to answer your first question, no. One was at a Texas state records 
storage facility in Austin, another was an elderly volunteer at the Hoover 
Presidential library in Iowa and the third one was a technician at the 
University of Maryland. On the second point, I think Skinner hopes to engage my 
mind while my body is laid up."
"Oh, your master mind? What is my part in all of this?"
"Watson to my Holmes?"
"Were they all working on the census?" Scully asked, ignoring Mulder's comment.
"No, each person had been working on different projects. There doesn't seem to 
be any unifying theme. Some were government records, others manuscript 
collections. The repositories are private, public, academic. There doesn't seem 
to be anything that would connect them, but these deaths are too similar to be 
coincidental."
"What is the cause of death? Have autopsies been done?" Scully asked.
"Each victim was autopsied. They all presented with similar causes of death. The 
skin near their nose and mouth was red and irritated and their lungs damaged 
beyond repair. They have been described as looking like they had emphysema."
"How long from the initial onset until death?" Scully asked, taking notes on a 
pad of paper.
"Approximately fifteen seconds," Mulder responded. Scully stopped writing and 
looked up at him, a stunned expression on her face.
"Fifteen seconds? Are you sure about that?" she asked. Mulder nodded and pushed 
the autopsy reports toward her. She picked up the top report, the technician at 
Maryland. He had been working in the special collections reading room. Upon 
opening a box to examine it before serving it to a patron, he had been observed 
coughing slightly, and then collapsing. He was dead when the campus security 
officer reached him.
Scully looked up as Skinner entered the office. He acknowledged the agents with 
a nod and took a seat behind his desk.
"Sir, do you really think this is a good idea?" Scully asked, jerking her head 
towards Mulder.
"You don't need to talk like I'm not in the room," Mulder said, his voice 
reflecting the pout his face was beginning to betray. Good lord. He appreciated 
all of her help, the errands she had run when he really couldn't get around, but 
she had to know how stir-crazy he was getting.
"Mulder, I know you. I know how dedicated, obsessed even, you become while 
working on a case. Do you know what the rate of re-injury is for a man your age? 
You would have to start all over with your therapy. You could end up with a 
limp." 
"Can we please stop discussing how old and decrepit my body is and focus on this 
case?" Mulder asked. "I am going to work on it from my apartment or possibly 
from our office. Any field work that has to be done will be done by you."
"Those are the only conditions under which I released the file to him, Agent 
Scully," Skinner answered. "He violates any of one of those and he's off the 
case. I also said it would be up to you. Are you comfortable working under these 
conditions?"
Scully paused for a moment. She really wasn't sure. She knew that Mulder needed 
something to do, but why couldn't he take up a hobby? If she had a few weeks at 
home she could definitely enjoy some books she had been planning on reading for 
the past three years. But that was her, not Mulder. "Fine. It'll work."
"Good. I'm sure my friend will appreciate your efforts. The archives community 
is very close-knit and they are justifiably concerned that something toxic is in 
their midst."
Mulder's apartment 
11:15 a.m.
"So each of these repositories has archivists trained at no less than fifteen 
different universities, with previous work experience at forty-six different 
repositories. This is like a needle in a haystack," Scully said, pulling her 
glasses off and rubbing her eyes.
"We're talking about a group of how many?" Mulder asked, leaning forward to set 
his coffee cup back down on the table.
"With the number at the National Archives it's over 200 and those are only the 
professionals. That doesn't take into account technicians, student workers, 
anyone else."
"We must be missing something here," Mulder said reaching down to scratch under 
his cast. Scully swatted his hand away.
"Don't do that."
"I have to, it itches," Mulder complained.
"You're only going to make it worse," Scully replied. Mulder pulled his hand 
away, making a face at her. 
Mulder opened the file again. "This makes no sense. The tech at the University 
of Maryland died as soon as he opened the box. The woman at the Hoover library 
handled the envelope and only when Steiner opened the envelope did he die."
"What was in the envelope?"
"A standard report from the department of Treasury. Something that Hoover's 
office would have gotten every week. The lab has been able to find no trace of 
toxin on the sheet. It did, however, disintegrate where Steiner had touched it."
"But no one else was affected?" Scully asked. 
"No. The woman, Lauren Gibbons, was less than a foot away. There's no logical 
reason why she would not have also been affected, yet she was examined for trace 
evidence and there was none. It's like this toxin jumped up, killed Steiner and 
then just disappeared."
Pathology Lab 
Quantico, Virginia 
8:15 p.m.
Scully leaned back and rolled her neck. She had spent the last seven hours 
examining the four victims. Although it was an interesting case, her back had 
begun to ache and she was more than aware of the pounding in the back of her 
head. Her eyes began to slip closed when she snapped back to attention at the 
sound of her cell phone ringing.
"Scully."
"Hey, how soon can you get down here?" Mulder asked.
"I'm just finishing up Weissman." The victim from Texas had been their first and 
his body was definitely in the worst shape.
"Well, I may have something, so get here as soon as you can. And Scully?" he 
asked.
"Yeah, Mulder."
"Get some of that fantastic Szechuan chicken at Hunan's. I'll have the crab 
Rangoon and the hot and sour soup."
Scully snapped her phone close without further comment. She was intrigued with 
this case, but sometimes it felt like it was just a way for Mulder to save on 
tips to the delivery boy.
Mulder's apartment 
9:30 p.m.
Mulder's door swung open to allow Scully to enter. Hopping back to his desk 
using one crutch, he stopped as Scully began to admonish him.
"They give you two crutches for a good reason," Scully said as she walked into 
the living room. She set the bags of steaming Chinese down on the table. Mulder 
continued his path back to the desk chair where he plopped down with a sigh.
"Nah, it's just a racket to make more money. I really only need one," Mulder 
replied, swiveling so he could see her sitting on the couch. He reached forward 
for the smaller of the two bags and pulled out the container of hot and sour 
soup.
"Believe me, Mulder, between the cost containment of the federal HMO and your 
proclivity for exercising the acute rather than preventive treatment plan, no 
one is coming out ahead one crutch or two. Just follow the physical therapist's 
treatment plan." 
Mulder nodded his agreement as he slurped the soup from his spoon. 
"What did you find?" Scully asked. "It sounded urgent on the phone."
"An interesting e-mail showed up in my box this morning. It came from a Hotmail 
account registered to a Marie Livingston."
"Who's Marie Livingston?"
"As far as I can tell, it's a made up name, but I called Danny and he was able 
to track down the IP address the message originated from. It was sent from a 
terminal in the library at the University of Wisconsin."
"So what was in the message?" Scully asked, crossing over to look at Mulder's 
computer screen. He scrolled down so the entire message was visible.
Agent Mulder- Archives deaths are related. 1983 was a very important year for 
the fellows at the Library of Congress. Of course now they're dead and dying. 
Better talk to them fast.
ML
"I did some preliminary searching and the results are rather interesting," 
Mulder said. "The message tells us to take a closer look at the 1983 Junior 
Fellows at the Library of Congress, but when I looked for that class, there 
wasn't one. Every other year there is a group of about 20 undergraduate and 
graduate students."
"So the message is a hoax?" Scully asked.
"I don't think so. Despite the austerity of non-defense spending during the 
Reagan years, the Library remained largely untouched, even undergoing a 
significant renovation during the mid-80s, but that didn't start until 1985."
"So, who would know?" Scully asked, as she reached for the box of fried rice.
"I'm pretty sure Gen used to work over there. We could ask her," Mulder 
responded. Scully nodded. Gen Wilson, one of the FBI archivists, had been 
helpful to them on a number of occasions. Mulder reached for his phone, dialing 
the main switch number. He was quickly connected to the archives reading room.
"FBI Archives, Gen speaking," the older woman's voice came over the line.
"Gen, it's Fox Mulder. I see you're still burning the midnight oil." They 
exchanged pleasantries and then Mulder explained his problem. Gen had been 
working in the manuscripts section at the library in the 1980s. She couldn't 
remember which year for sure, but one of the years there had been a change in 
the junior fellows program. Instead of working at the library, a group of 
fellows had worked at the Pentagon. It had been some kind of records management 
project that had been funded by the Department of Defense. Mulder thanked her 
and got off the phone.
"We need to look for a Wisconsin connection. This may be the break we've been 
looking for," Mulder told Scully.
Later that night
They got a list of the participants in the 1983 DOD project. It looked rather 
innocuous. There were fifteen participants from thirteen different graduate 
programs. At the time of their fellowship, each had been working at an archival 
institution, including the Hoover Library, NARA, the repository in Texas and 
Maryland. Of the fifteen, nine were still in the profession, four had taken jobs 
in other fields and two were dead. Scully no longer regretted not getting Mulder 
a book of brainteasers. The numbers here were worthy of any analytical section 
of the GRE. She felt like she needed a piece of graph paper just to keep them 
all straight.
Two of the participants had gone to Wisconsin. Jim Everson now worked as an 
insurance agent in New Hope, MN and Leann Morrison was dead. She had died of 
lung cancer the year before after working her entire career at the State 
Historical Society of Wisconsin. None of the other participants had any 
connection to Wisconsin.
Mulder called Everson, but he professed to not remember anything remarkable 
about the 1983 project. They had spent the summer working in a windowless room 
removing staples from World War II munitions shipping lists. It had been some of 
the most boring work he had ever done, and after graduation he had not sought a 
position as an archivist. He had not been back to Wisconsin since the football 
team's run to the Rose Bowl in 1994.
National Airport 
April 3 
8:15 a.m.
"I can't believe you talked me into this," Scully said as the cab pulled up in 
front of the Midwest Express curbside check-in. The driver hopped out and 
started unloading their luggage as she helped Mulder from the car. He slipped a 
backpack over his shoulders and tucked the crutches under his arms.
"What could possibly happen? Besides, you know that you'll get much further with 
my charm and good looks," Mulder responded.
"Skinner is going to kill me when he finds out. And he will find out. Just sit 
in this wheelchair and don't give me any more crap," Scully threatened, taking 
the chair from the skycap. Mulder grudgingly settled himself into it, 
complaining the entire time that he was not an invalid. Scully took the baggage 
claim tickets from the ticketing agent and started pushing him toward the gate.
"We're going to go to Madison and figure out who sent me that message. We're 
talking about archivists. It's not like we'll be running up against the 
Flukeman," Mulder responded as Scully backed the wheelchair into a corner out of 
the way. She plopped down into the chair next to him and gave him a long stare.
"When is it ever as easy as we think it's going to be?" she asked. "So far we 
have every indication that this is part of a government conspiracy. These 
people, our people, do not play nice. Somebody could get hurt. What we should be 
doing is getting you home and finding me someone to make this trip with."
While Scully had continued to examine the physical evidence for some indication 
of what had killed their victims, Mulder had worked from home trying to find a 
link to their Madison connection. He had joined the Archives-L listserv to get a 
sense of the community. There had been significant discussion of the deaths, but 
no concrete leads...until the day before. There had been a message from an 
archivist at the Wisconsin State Historical Society admonishing the lack of 
response from the Society of American Archivists...and the FBI. The e-mail was 
signed by Gwen Murphy.
There was something about the message. The cadence was very similar to the one 
received by Mulder earlier that week. Before Scully arrived for their daily 
meeting, he had booked them seats on the first flight to Madison the next 
morning.
State Historical Society of Wisconsin 
Madison, WI 
April 4 
8:30 a.m.
The elevator slowly creaked toward the fourth floor as Mulder leaned back 
against the wall, trying to take some weight off his sore foot. He looked over 
at the young woman with a cart full of boxes.
"Hi."
She smiled back.
"Do you work here?" he asked. She was cute. Young.
She laughed lightly. "No, I just push this cart of boxes for fun."
He nodded. "Can you tell me where to find Gwen Murphy?"
"Sure, just go straight down the hall. The receptionist can call Gwen for you. 
Her desk is back in the processing room."
The elevator finally arrived and Mulder waited for a moment as the young woman 
pushed her cart off the elevator. He followed her slowly down the long hall. She 
stopped to unlock a door, turning back to smile at Mulder again and then 
disappeared with her cart into the bowels of the archives. 
Mulder approached the receptionist, asking for Gwen.
"I'm Gwen Murphy," a slight, brown-haired woman standing at the mailboxes 
responded.
"I'm Fox Mulder." He moved to pull his identification from his pocket, but 
before he could get it fully out, she stopped him.
"Please, let's talk somewhere more private, Mr. Mulder," she stated, leading him 
down the hall to an empty office. Inside the office she pointed to a chair for 
Mulder to sit down.
"How did you find me?" she asked.
"I'm more concerned with how you found me, what you know about this case," 
Mulder replied. "Were you in the class, the 1983 fellows?"
Gwen shook her head. "No, I graduated in 1991."
"Then what do you know?" 
"I'm not sure. There...people talked. There are a lot of people here with a lot 
of history, they know people, they know things," she said, her voice raising 
higher.
"Do you have any concrete evidence? Why is this happening?" Mulder asked.
"I don't know . I don't know anything. I shouldn't have contacted you. I'm 
sorry. This was a mistake," Murphy answered.
Before Mulder could respond, she stood up and walked out of the room.
State Street 
Madison, WI 
10:15 a.m.
Scully walked into the bagel shop. The room was filled with students working at 
tables, the floor littered with their bags and related paraphernalia. She caught 
Mulder's eye as he signaled her over to his table. She carefully navigated the 
obstacle course, nearly tripping over one woman's bag which was attached to a 
small luggage cart. Mulder had created his own obstacle course of sorts, his 
crutches propped up against the wall, his bum leg sticking out into what passed 
for an aisle between the small round tables.
"Dangerous place, this Madison," she said, taking a seat across from her 
partner.
"Actually, according to _Money_ magazine, it's supposed to be the best place to 
live in America," Mulder responded, pushing a cup of latte towards her. "I got 
you a double shot and an asiago cheese bagel. Real cream cheese, too. I 
remembered you were real particular about that."
Scully nodded and accepted the food and drink. She bit into the bagel as Mulder 
pulled out a set of papers.
"Hey, did you know that it was rumored that Leo Burt, the only participant in 
the bombing of the Army Math Research Center never to be caught, was actually 
the Unabomber?"
Scully cocked her eyebrow at him, her mouth still occupied with the bagel.
"Of course, it wasn't him, but his accomplice Karleton Armstrong has not only 
served his time and returned to society, but he was outside Memorial Library 
selling Smoothies when I hobbled by. You should try the strawberry. Very good."
Scully set down the half-eaten bagel, reaching across the table to take Mulder's 
hand in hers. "Mulder, you need to do something about this recitation of trivia. 
Use your talents for good, not evil. Try out for Jeopardy or something."
Mulder laughed and turned his attention back to the open file. "I just thought 
you could use some local context. I don't know what kind of luck you had, but 
I'm starting to think we're on to something here. I spoke to Gwen Murphy about 
the junior fellows program. She graduated from the program here in 1991, but 
when I talked to her, she was very uncomfortable about the whole situation. I 
got the sense that she had more to tell me."
"So, she's a dead end?"
"I'm not sure. What did you find out from Jeanne Ness?"
Scully flipped open her notebook. "Jeanne was Leann Morrison's co-worker in the 
state records division of the archives. More importantly, she supervised 
Morrison's work before and after Morrison's summer in DC. I asked her about 
Leann's health. She said that it was never really the same after Leann returned 
from Washington. They had tested the building for ventilation issues and while 
there were some traces of mold, it was nothing that would harm any healthy 
adult. When they finally discovered Leann's lung cancer, she was already on 
partial disability from her asthma. With her health so frail, no one was 
surprised that she died very quickly."
"That has to be the key," Mulder responded. "I'm going to call Gwen. She knows 
more about this than she's telling us."
Paisan's Italian Restaurant 
12:20 p.m.
Mulder hobbled into the darkened restaurant, Scully holding the door for him. 
Waiting near the coat rack, Gwen Murphy saw Mulder and Scully enter. She 
indicated that they should follow her through the restaurant to a booth in the 
back where they would have some privacy. 
Mulder slid awkwardly into the booth, Scully propping his crutches up against 
the wall. The server appeared promptly and after ordering they were again left 
to talk privately.
"I really shouldn't be here at all," Gwen said, leaning across the table 
whispering. "I wish you had just left me alone."
"Obviously you were concerned enough to find out that we were investigating the 
case and to send me the clue. Miss Murphy, we need your help on this. What do 
you know about the toxin?" Mulder asked. 
"I--I just know what Leann told me," Gwen answered, turning her head to see if 
anyone was listening. They were alone in the last row of booths.
"Why don't you just tell us what you know," Scully said, trying to soothe the 
agitated woman.
"We--Leann was my--we had been together for about five years when she got sick. 
She--she thought it might have something to do with her work at the Pentagon. 
She was only 40 when they diagnosed the cancer. They did operate, but it had 
already spread to her back and then her brain. She went really quickly, never 
responding to treatment."
"What made her think that her work at the Pentagon might have caused the 
cancer?" Mulder asked.
Gwen sat silent for a moment. She had kept this in for so long, blaming herself 
for not helping Leann when she could. But Leann had always told her that worse 
things would happen if they talked. Well, now Leann was dead and it didn't feel 
like there was anything else they could take from her. Taking a deep breath, she 
continued.
"She was part of the group that was split off, eight of them. One, Peter Harkin, 
he's dead--emphysema or something. He was 37. I think there are four others that 
are sick. She said that something had been sent back with them, a spray 
treatment that was supposed to be a test for a program working with 
de-acidification. They were supposed to spray something in the collection they 
were working on."
"At the Pentagon?" Scully asked.
"No, when they got back home. They were supposed to spray it on whatever 
collection they were working on at the time and not tell anyone. It would test 
whether or not you could draw acid out of paper. Leann said it didn't make any 
sense, but it was the federal government, so she figured they knew what they 
were talking about. She never told me about this, not until the end, when she 
knew she was going to die."
"The others, what are they sick with?" Scully asked, taking advantage of Gwen's 
sudden candor.
"Lung diseases. Leann had cancer, but the main reason she went so fast was her 
asthma. She was pretty weak before they ever started the chemotherapy. I didn't 
even want her to do it, but she...she wanted to beat the cancer, whatever it 
took."
"And you think there's a connection?" Mulder asked. 
"All I know is that Leann thought so and that's good enough for me." 
"Do you know what she was working on, what collection the toxin might be in?" 
Mulder asked.
"No, she never had a chance to tell me, but maybe Jeanne would know. She's 
pretty anal about tracking all that stuff, keeps a work journal and all."
Mulder reached for his cell phone. Gwen grabbed his hand. "There wasn't 
something we could have done sooner, Mr. Mulder, was there? Could we have saved 
Leann?"
Mulder flipped the phone closed. "I don't know. But, we will find out who is 
responsible for this, I promise you that."
State Historical Society of Wisconsin 
Archives Division 
2 p.m.
"You need to know what Leann was working on fifteen years ago?" Jeanne Ness said 
as she looked up from her desk. Mulder nodded. She indicated the chair next to 
her desk. "You might as well sit down. I should have the information, but it may 
take a while to find it."
Mulder gratefully sat down. The walk back from lunch had started a small ache 
around his ankle and now his entire calf seemed to be on fire.
"So, do they make all of you work when you should be in the sick bay?" she 
asked.
"You should have seen me on a case when I was in a full upper body cast," Mulder 
deadpanned.
She smiled and turned back to her computer. "1983. Well, we were just starting 
to really use these computers then. I think I had my journal here. Of course it 
would have been on a 5 1/4" disk, but we converted those in the 90s."
Mulder's head began to droop as she droned on.
"I'm not boring you, Agent Mulder, am I?"
His head snapped back up. "Not at all, Ms. Ness. It's the pain killers."
She nodded and again began searching. "Ah, here we go. Student activities. Well, 
let me...yes...that's what I thought. Leann was working on a collection of 
materials from the International Union of Life Insurance Actuaries. She 
processed that right after she got back from DC. You know, I remember that. I 
had offered her either that collection or the chance to work on part of the 
International Harvester collection. I was pretty surprised when she turned me 
down on the IH collection."
"Would that collection be heavily used?"
"Absolutely, it's one of the jewels of our collection," Jeanne answered. 
"Tractor guys come from all over."
"Tractor guys?"
"Mostly looking to restore old implements. We can hear from up to five hundred 
of them a year. They use the old owner's guides."
"And the actuaries?"
"I doubt the collection has been off the shelf since we finished the finding 
guide."
Mulder pulled his phone out. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder. I need a level 
four hazmat team to the State Historical Society of Wisconsin, Archives 
Division. Immediately."
Outside the State Historical Society of Wisconsin 
5:15 p.m.
"I'll call you as soon as I know anything," Scully said as she closed the door 
to Mulder's cab.
He leaned back as the car pulled away from the curb. Scully was going to the lab 
at University Hospital to test Leann Morrison's collection to see if they could 
find evidence of the toxin. Mulder was going home to physical therapy. Although 
this case was pretty bread and butter, it intrigued him and it seemed so unfair 
that his portion of the investigation was being interrupted by his physical 
infirmities.
They still didn't know if Leann Morrison had sprayed anything in the actuary 
collection, but her comments to Jeanne Ness indicated that not only had she gone 
ahead with the project, but that she was also aware of its potential 
ramifications. He needed to talk to someone else who had been there that summer. 
Perhaps they knew something as well.
Mulder pulled the list of names from the case file. Two were dead. That left six 
names to investigate. 
University Hospital Labs 
Madison, WI 
April 5 
2 p.m.
"Mulder, pick up, it's me." Scully thrummed her hands on the counter as she 
waited for Mulder to answer the phone. "Okay, you're not home. Call me as soon 
as you have a chance. I think we've isolated the substance."
Scully ended the call and set the phone down on the counter. Where could Mulder 
be?
After the hazmat team had removed 10 small boxes of material from the historical 
society, they had examined each document in the collection. There was one blank 
piece of paper. Scully had tested it for all known biotoxins. Although there had 
been no exact match, there had been a near match to a toxin used by the Iraqi 
army during the Persian Gulf war. It was the toxin that was now being blamed for 
Gulf War Syndrome.
Scully turned to see Dave Peterson, the chief investigator in the lab.
"I think I've figured out the reason the rates of infection were so disparate," 
the researcher said, holding out a page of results.
Scully reached for the results and scanned them quickly. "Oxidation. I can't 
believe I didn't think of that. So, the composition of the toxin would slowly 
change over time. Could the type of materials it had been sprayed on also affect 
the rate?"
"That would be my conclusion, but we would have to look at the other items that 
had been exposed."
Scully nodded. "We should be able to isolate the exposed collections in the next 
couple of days. I called for two more field agents to search the remaining 
repositories. Do you mind finishing this one up? I think I had better get back 
to D.C."
Baxter, Kansas
Same day 
2:15 p.m.
Mulder reached for the small cane as he climbed from the rented Taurus. At his 
appointment the day before he had been given a large walking brace, which he 
immediately hated. Despite the therapist's admonition to keep using the 
crutches, he had found a cane at the local medical supply store. It would be 
much easier to maneuver this way.
He hobbled up the sidewalk to Paul Holden's house. Holden had worked at the 
Texas record center in the 1980s. More recently he had been the archivist at 
Baxter College, a local private liberal arts college. Mulder lifted his hand and 
knocked on the door.
"Yes?" A dark-haired woman answered the door.
"I'm looking for Paul Holden," Mulder responded, holding up his badge. The woman 
pushed the door open and allowed him to step into the hallway.
"I'm sorry, my husband is finishing his treatment, but if you can wait a couple 
minutes, I'm sure he would be glad to speak with you, Agent..."
"Mulder."
"Yes, Agent Mulder."
She led him into the kitchen and invited him to sit down. Mulder could hear a 
small motor running in the other room and a man coughing.
"My husband has emphysema," Mrs. Holden explained.
Mulder looked at her more carefully. She couldn't be older than 45 and he under 
the impression that her husband was any older. Who had done this to these 
people?
He looked up to see a gaunt man walk into the kitchen.
"Agent Mulder, my wife says you would like to talk?" 
Mulder nodded. 
"Well, then, let's talk."
Holden led the way out onto a screened-in porch. He sat down on a chaise lounge 
and indicated that Mulder should have a seat as well.
"Have they found something?" 
"Why do you ask, Mr. Holden?"
"You're an FBI agent. I'm assuming you're here to talk about something more 
serious than the taxes I didn't pay on the stuff I sold on eBay."
"No, that's not it, Mr. Holden," Mulder replied.
"Paul. I know that Leann and Peter died. I know that I'm sick and I know that 
Kathy Olson, George Murphy and Susan Strom have all had their own health 
problems. I don't think that can be a coincidence."
"Are you aware that a technician at the Texas State Records depository died 
three months ago?"
"How?"
"He was doing a basic inventory for a new location system they were putting in 
place. He was checking a box of receipts for the Texas Penal system when he was 
overcome and died instantly. It was some kind of toxin that affected his 
respiratory system."
Holden began to cough, finally stopping when he took a drink of water.
"The penal records?"
"Yes. Was that the collection you worked on after you returned from Washington?"
"Please don't ask me that, Agent Mulder."
"Why?"
"I have a wife, a family. It's...it's going to hard enough for them when I'm 
gone. Don't make this any worse."
"Why do you say that, Mr. Holden? What would make it worse?" Mulder asked, 
leaning toward Holden.
"We were warned. The man, in charge, he seemed, I don't know...he scared me."
Holden had begun to sweat, his breathing becoming more labored.
Holden's wife appeared at the door. "Mr. Mulder, I think you had better go."
"I just..." Mulder stopped. He handed Holden his card. "Please, I think 
ultimately it's better for you to talk to me."
Holden took the card. "I just can't. I can't risk it. I'm sorry."
Mulder nodded and turned to leave. "I...I hope you feel better."
Metropolitan Topeka Airport 
Topeka, KS 
4:30 p.m.
Mulder's phone rang as he sat near the gate waiting for his plane back to 
Washington. He pulled the phone from his jacket, flipping it open to answer.
"Mulder."
"Agent Mulder, this is Paul Holden."
Mulder grabbed his bag and started hunting for a pad of paper and a pen. "Thanks 
for calling me, Paul. I was just about to get on my plane."
"I talked to my wife and well, we decided it was better that I tell you what I 
know. The others, they aren't as sick as me. Maybe you can save them from this."
"So, something did happen that summer?" Mulder asked. 
"Yes. They...they gave us something to put in it, into our collection."
"What did they say the spray was?"
"It was a new type of de-acidification spray, it was supposed to take the 
acidity out of other papers. Acid will destroy the paper of a document as well 
as the other things around it if you don't treat it. They needed a longitudinal 
test in a variety of locations. It didn't really make any sense to me, but they 
were the Pentagon, I figured they had to know what they were talking about. You 
said something happened at the depository, someone died?"
"Yes and by all indications, the project you participated in is related. Who ran 
the project, who gave you the spray to use on your collection?" Mulder asked, 
furiously taking notes.
"There was one man, someone in charge. Matthew Bailey. I don't know much about 
him, but he was definitely the one calling the shots."
"Thank you, Paul. Thank you very much," Mulder said, ending the call. He looked 
at his watch. Twenty minutes until his flight. He immediately dialed another 
number.
"Danny, I need you to run a name for me. He probably is or was a federal 
employee, maybe CIA. Or DOD. Matthew Bailey. Yeah. Thanks, Danny. I owe you. 
Yeah, again."
Mulder ended the call and leaned back into the uncomfortable plastic chair. He 
should get back to DC by midnight for more therapy tomorrow morning and 
hopefully some resolution on this case.
The answer had to be in there somewhere. What was this spray? Why had things 
been treated in such varied areas? It seemed that if the government wanted to 
test something they would just use their labs. Why would they unleash it on 
unsuspecting people? Once again, he was amazed that people would so blindly 
trust the government. Both Gwen Murphy and Paul Holden had commented on it. His 
thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.
"Mulder."
"Hey, you didn't answer at home."
Quick, man, excuse. As far as Scully knew, he was sacked out on the couch.
"Yeah, something with the line. So, what did you find out?"
Scully explained the suspected origin of the toxin as well as the oxidation 
effect. "Skinner assigned Menendez and Simpson to follow-up on the other 
potentially exposed collections."
"Good. I think I have a solid lead. I spoke with one of the other participants 
and he gave me the name of the man they worked with in 1983." Mulder tried to 
cover the phone as the ticket agent began to call the boarding for his flight.
"What was that, Mulder?" Scully asked.
"TV, sorry, I'll turn it down."
"Well, good luck with your lead. I'm out of here in a couple hours. Should I 
stop by tonight?"
"Uh...no. I'm...I'm really beat and I think I'm just going to hit the sack now. 
But, I'll be in the office around noon. See you then?" Mulder asked, watching 
everyone around get up to board the plane. Damn. He had wanted to pre-board. It 
was so hard with the cane, his bag, his coat...
"Sure, noon," Scully answered.
Mulder ended the call before Scully got any more clues that he was not where he 
was supposed to be.
University of Wisconsin labs 
3 hours later
"Well, I think I'm going to go back to the hotel. You'll call me if find out 
anything else?" Scully asked. She had been hunched over the microscope for most 
of the day and even the hot tub at the Howard Johnson's was not going to help 
her tonight."
Dave Peterson, the director of the lab nodded. "Yeah, go ahead Agent Scully. 
These grad students live for a project like this one. I've got your cell."
Scully pulled off her gloves and set the protective eye gear down on the 
counter. As she went to put on her coat Peterson called her back to his office.
"Agent Scully, I think you need to see this," he said, gesturing to his computer 
screen.
Scully leaned over to read the e-mail message on his screen. He had sent their 
preliminary results to a number of colleagues hoping that one of them had seen 
something similar before.
"Who is this person?" Scully asked.
"She was a classmate of mine at Harvard. She went on to get her PhD in 
biochemistry through some Defense Department program. I think she's been working 
for the feds since then. Does this make any sense to you?"
"I need to call my partner," Scully answered, pulling her phone out.
Mulder's apartment 
April 6 
11:25 a.m.
"Mulder."
"Hey, it's me. I'm glad I caught you. My flight got canceled, so I'm still in 
Madison. Looks like I'll either get out of here in a little bit if the fog 
clears or I might try driving to Milwaukee to get a flight out of there."
"You get the results from the toxin?" Mulder asked.
"I tried to call you back last night but there was no answer. After we got off 
the phone, a colleague of Dave Peterson, the scientist I had been working with, 
called. This woman had worked on the project before it was ended and had 
recognized the chemical formula he sent to her. There was a guy working no the 
project, Matthew Bailey. She didn't know what had happened to him, but said he 
was trouble. When I described what's been happening she said it totally fit his 
profile. He's controlling and totally unpredictable."
"Thanks Scully. I'll get Danny on Bailey," Mulder said, writing down Scully's 
information. It all fit with what Holden had told him the night before.
"I'll come over as soon as I get in," Scully said. Mulder agreed and she hung 
up.
The phone rang again a moment later.
"What did you forget?" Mulder asked as he answered the phone.
"Agent Mulder?" 
"Sorry, sir. I was expecting Scully," Mulder replied, taking a seat on the 
couch.
"Sorry to bother you at home, Agent Mulder. I just received notification from 
the police in San Marino, California. There's been another death, this time at 
the Huntington Library."
"He's escalating," Mulder responded.
"What do you mean, Agent Mulder?"
"One or two deaths would be a horrible coincidence, but this is the fifth one in 
as many months and they're coming quicker and quick. It's no coincidence. 
Whether or not these poisoned items have been lying in wait all along, there is 
someone making sure we know about it now."
"Do you have a suspect, Agent Mulder?"
"Uh yes...maybe. Let me make some calls," Mulder replied.
"Keep me in the loop, Mulder. We had a deal, right?" Skinner asked, feeling like 
Mulder was not being completely forthcoming.
Mulder agreed and hung up the phone. He pulled his notes out and dialed again.
"Danny, what do you have for me?"
Arlington, VA 
12:15 p.m.
Mulder turned onto the Columbia Pike. Danny had managed to track down Matthew 
Bailey in Falls Church. It appeared that his career with the CIA had ended 
abruptly in the mid 1980s. There wasn't a lot of information about his 
activities with the CIA, but there were indications that he had worked with 
counter-terrorism, most likely in the Middle East. Danny hadn't been able to get 
the specifics, but it looked like his departure from the Agency was related to a 
short hospitalization in a Northern Virginia mental health center in early 1983. 
Bailey had been running a soup kitchen out of a warehouse in Fairfax County but 
there had been no sign of him for about a month.
Mulder parked his car outside the warehouse and got out. There were no signs of 
activity like Danny had reported. He had tried to call Scully to give her an 
update, but there was no answer on her cell phone. The weather must have cleared 
and she was in route to Washington. He left her a message telling her he would 
meet her at the office instead. Finishing the call, he walked up the steps to 
the door, first knocking and then entering.
"Mr. Bailey. Matthew Bailey. Federal agent." Mulder paused for a moment and then 
walked forward slowly.
There was movement in the dimly lit office area to the right of the main 
warehouse. Well, that was a surprise, Mulder thought. He advanced carefully 
toward the office.
"Matthew Bailey?" Mulder questioned, moving toward the man as he slipped his gun 
from his hip holster. "I need to speak to you, about the project," Mulder said.
"Project?" Bailey asked, stepping closer to Mulder. Out of the shadows, Mulder 
could see that the man had to be near 70. He was stoop-shouldered and his hair 
was completely gray. In Bailey's hand Mulder could see a small spray can. What 
was it? The toxin? DWD-40?
"At the Pentagon. The archivists. Your summer project." He should have called 
Skinner back after he talked to Danny. Having the cavalry arrive would not be 
the worst thing that had ever happened. Of course he knew why he had not called 
Skinner. He might be able to convince Scully to let him go, but Skinner was a 
different story all together. If he had called their boss, he would be sitting 
on his leather couch listening to the police scanner as this whole thing went 
down.
"They should have not tried to stop me. I proved it to them. It worked. Now 
everyone will know." Bailey held the can up higher. 
"Know what?" Mulder asked. He saw Bailey hold the can out as the older man 
pulled a mask over his face. It took Mulder a second to realize what was 
happening. Shit, this was it. Mulder tried to turn and leave, but his cane 
caught on the edge of a pallet tripping him. Falling to the floor, he started to 
choke and then everything went black.
Fairfax Hospital 
6:15 p.m.
Mulder slowly opened his eyes, the room slowly coming into focus. He could hear 
the beeping of monitors and felt the tube in his throat, gagging slightly as he 
tried to breathe on his own.
"Hey there, Mr. Mulder. Just relax. Let me get the doctor and we'll get that 
tube out of there."
Mulder looked to the side to identify the dark-haired nurse standing next to his 
bed. She made note of one of the monitors and then left, presumably to get the 
doctor.
"Hey there, partner."
Mulder's eyes drifted the other way to see Scully, her face covered with 
concern. Quickly the look dissolved and was replaced with a disapproving glare. 
"Would it have killed you to call someone with some actual details? You could 
have let another set of agents go question Bailey...even Skinner would have 
gone." Taking advantage of Mulder's inability to speak, she continued, dropping 
down on the chair next to the bed. "Do you have a death wish?"
Mulder started to shake his head no, then stopped as his head began to pound and 
the tube dragged uncomfortably in his throat.
"You have a slight concussion, Mr. Mulder."
Mulder snapped his eyes open again at the sound of a new voice. A tall woman in 
a lab coat stood next to Scully.
"I'm Doctor Kemp. You're lucky they found you so quickly. We treated your lungs 
for exposure to a biotoxin. We were giving those lungs a little rest, but I 
think we can get that tube out of there now. Take as deep a breath as possible 
and then exhale. Good."
Mulder tried to blow as hard as he could as the doctor extracted the tube.
"Bailey?" he gasped as the tube came out.
"Mulder, he almost killed you!"
"Catch him?"
Mulder gratefully took the ice chips offered by the nurse.
"No, but the FBI and the Virginia State Patrol are looking for him. He did it. 
The whole thing was his project. The toxin was from a biological warfare 
experiment run by the DOD and closed down in 1982. For whatever reason Bailey 
decided to resurrect it and gave the toxin to the archives fellows."
"Why?" 
"We won't know until we find him. I do know that he was removed from the project 
because of mental health problems. The records are sealed, but one of the other 
participants in the study said Bailey had begun to fantasize."
"How did you find this out?"
"Danny. He got access to a few more records after he talked to you. He tried 
your cell, but you didn't answer. He tried me next. I called Skinner. 
Fortunately, Danny knew where you were going."
"Stupid." Very stupid. And stubborn. Crippled. Impatient. The list went on and 
on.
"Yes, you were. You're just lucky they found you when they did. My God, 
Mulder...you could have died! Thankfully your exposure was slight and we had an 
antidote. Instead of carrying an oxygen tank around for the rest of your days 
like Paul Holden, you'll just have to endure a couple of weeks of respiratory 
therapy."
Mulder just groaned at the thought of more doctors, more therapy.
"Sorry. Just impulsive..." Mulder gasped out. It wasn't totally impulsive. He 
hadn't known for sure Bailey was going to be there. Once he did find him, Mulder 
had even tried to leave. Mulder stopped his thoughts mid-way through. This 
argument was not going to win him any points.
"I know," she responded, moving over to the side of his bed. "Besides, you 
screwed this one up and I'm not dealing with OPR on my own...not this time."
Two weeks later
Scully entered Assistant Director Skinner's office to once again find Mulder in 
the chair with his foot propped up. He had actually listened to the doctor and 
had been taking it easy at home the last couple weeks, so she was surprised to 
see him here.
"Isn't that foot supposed to be better?" she asked, smiling as she sat down next 
to him.
"Soon. Something about missing physical therapy," Mulder responded. "I don't 
know, it seemed like some kind of conspiracy to me." More like personal 
stupidity and stubborn behavior, but he wasn't going to open that door at this 
juncture.
"Agent Scully. Agent Mulder," Skinner said, coming in and sitting down behind 
his desk. "Good to have you back again, Agent Mulder. I trust you've read Agent 
Scully's report."
Mulder nodded. Several times. Once again she had pulled his ass out of a sling 
on this one.
Scully spoke up, saying, "I do think it's important to highlight that although 
Agents Menendez and Simpson have identified all the remaining infected 
collections, Matthew Bailey remains at large. We've established a national 
alert. Since we have not established where his most recent source of the toxin 
was, we don't know is if he still has more available."
"What's the next step, agents?" Skinner asked.
"Based on the psychiatric records, Bailey is diagnosed as a paranoid 
schizophrenic. He's prone to delusion. He seems to have some kind of notion that 
this project was his to complete. Right before he attacked me he said that it 
was his project, that the Pentagon had no right to stop him from completing the 
testing. He wants the whole world to know what he could create," Mulder began.
"Agent Scully noted that the toxin is very similar to one used by the Iraqis in 
the Gulf. The antidote they treated me with is from that research. " Mulder 
paused to cough lightly into his hand and then continued.
"I think that if we were given access to the records we might find that the 
project did continue, that we shared that science with Iraq when our government 
was assisting them in the 1970s and 1980s. It's possible that Bailey knew this, 
that this caused him to try to bring his actions to light. In further contact 
with the repositories where the victims died, I found that all of the 
collections had been requested. When I tried to contact Lauren Gibbons, the 
researcher in Iowa I discovered her records had been falsified. She doesn't 
exist."
"When we went back to the warehouse and talked to the people Bailey had served 
they reported that he was very suspicious of the government, talked about 
conspiracies against him. There was a young woman that also worked with him. We 
think she may have posed as Lauren Gibbons," Scully added.
Mulder leaned forward in his chair, "I think that Bailey orchestrated these 
deaths as a result of his paranoia and I think he's capable of killing many, 
many more. I think that we will find him attempting to spread his toxin as far 
and as wide as possible. We need to find a place where he would reach a large 
audience, something related to archives, paper preservation. It could be a 
conference, he could become a consultant. He will probably try to go after a 
lesser educated audience."
Family Memories scrapbook workshop 
West Phoenix Community College 
October 11 
6:45 p.m.
"And it has been proven to be more effective than Wei-To in de-acidifying 
materials. But don't trust me, take a bottle and try it at home. We've been 
tested by all the leading laboratories. This spray is completely harmless and 
safe to use."
A woman in the back raised her hand. "Why should we use this?"
"The acid in your precious family documents will destroy the paper and the paper 
around it. By taking the acid out of the paper, you can keep that scrapbook 
you've worked on so hard for as long as you want, generations even," answered 
the kind-faced older gentleman. "I've been doing these workshops all over the 
United States, in church basements and community halls. We've never had anybody 
complain. But again, don't trust me, try it for yourself."
The man smiled as the participants all came up to take a bottle.
FIN
Author's Notes: This is the amalgamation of the second and third pieces of 
X-Files fanfic I ever started...two years ago. After languishing on my hard 
drive for many, many months they finally turned into "Respect Des Fonds."
Many thanks to all the folks who helped out with beta and general hand-holding. 
In no particular order, thanks go to Marti, Beth, Lynne, Jamie, Sandy, Marie, 
Gerry and Jo-Ann. I guess not only does it take a village to raise a child, but 
also for Rachel to write a fic.
Finally, thanks to Josh who once commented that to lose something forever all 
you would have to do is put the archives box on the wrong shelf.