TITLE: The Valley of Shadows 1: The Needs of the Many
AUTHOR: bellefleur
E-MAIL: bellefleur1013@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION: sure, but let me know
RATING: PG-13
KEYWORDS: post-ep
SPOILERS: Jump the Shark
DISCLAIMER: Not mine; they belong to FOX, CC, etc.
SUMMARY: The end of one road is sometimes the beginning of 
another.


Notes: This story is intended as the beginning of a series 
that rewrites the end of season 9 and then branches off in 
its own direction.  Each part is meant as a stand-alone 
piece, without any cliff-hangers between parts. There's no 
guarantee, however, how often I will post or how soon the 
series will be finished.  So, if that qualifies as a WIP to 
you, read at your own risk.  But I prefer to think of it as 
a series, not a WIP (a fine distinction, I know).

Thanks to Obfusc8er for the helpful feedback.


* * * * *
* * * * *

The three comrades stood there for a long moment, gazing 
their final goodbyes to their friends on the other side of 
the glass.  As one, they slowly turned back toward the 
spectacle across the enclosed space to face their fate.  
The noxious fumes emanating from the disintegrating carrier 
were already making them lightheaded, and without 
vocalizing it, each understood that the end was near.  
Although the three had not often displayed physical 
affection with each other, loathe to fuel rumors that the 
roommates were anything more than business partners, 
Frohike reached out a hand to each of his buddies.  
Clinging tightly to one another for courage, one by one 
they lost consciousness, their hands finally slipping from 
one another's grasp as they slumped to the floor, their 
bodies awaiting retrieval by the hazmat team that now stood 
assembled on the other side of the airtight divider.

* * *

"Wake up."

Frohike knew that gruff voice was somehow familiar, 
although he couldn't quite place it.  After a few blinks to 
clear his vision, even without his glasses he could discern 
the face that now hovered over him.

Closing his eyes again, he sighed.  "It's worse than I 
thought.  We're in hell."

The black man in the lab coat only sneered at him as he 
tossed a set of scrubs at Frohike and then moved on to wake 
Langly, who was still unconscious in the next bed over.  
"We haven't got time for this.  You need to get moving as 
soon as possible."

When, in turn, Byers had finally been awakened by the 
"doctor," it was clear he was just as puzzled as the other 
two at their situation.  "Deputy Director Kersh?  What are 
you doing here?  Better yet, what are we doing here?  
Shouldn't we all be dead?"

"You will be soon enough if you don't get dressed and get 
out of here.  We only have five minutes before the security 
system will be back online.  I'll explain everything to you 
once we're outside."

After hesitant glances were shared among the threesome, 
they silently agreed to set aside their modesty and doubts 
and not look this gift horse in the mouth just yet.  Within 
a minute, they were ready to go and joined the anxious 
"Dr." Kersh at the door.  Sprinting down hallways with 
cautious glances at each junction, he didn't bother to look 
back to see if they were keeping up with him.  Finally, the 
party made it out a side door into the darkness of the 
night and made one last sprint for a gap in the fence that 
surrounded this mysterious complex.  Now shielded by heavy 
brush, Kersh slowed their pace to a brisk walk, and they 
soon emerged at a clearing housing a black SUV.

Expecting his escapees to follow him, Kersh unlocked the 
vehicle and climbed into the driver's seat.  But the three 
hesitated; Kersh rolled down the window on the passenger 
side to hiss at them, "Get inside!  We're not in the clear 
yet!"

Instead of complying, Frohike leaned into the window, his 
casual stance asserting their position.  "Not so fast, 
there, G-Man.  We have no idea where you're taking us.  
Don't you think it's about time you explained a few 
things?"

Kersh took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger.  
"There's no time!  Get inside and I'll explain it to you on 
the way!"

With a look at his two compadres, Frohike nodded, and they 
all piled into the vehicle, which sped off into the night 
before they even managed to close their doors.  Once they 
were inside, their driver couldn't help but fire his 
parting shot.  "Now I can see why you and Mulder were such 
good friends."

The interior of the vehicle remained silent as they jostled 
along through the brush and finally emerged onto a side 
road.  Kersh kept an eye on the rearview mirror, but there 
was no evidence yet that they had been followed.  

Feeling he could now risk dividing their driver's 
attention, Byers spoke up.  "With all due respect, sir, we 
still have no idea--"

"You're not in hell, as your friend there so astutely 
concluded.  As you can tell, the toxin you were exposed to 
was not fatal.  The virus was engineered to kill only its 
carrier--but he was supposed to be alone, where he could 
easily be retrieved.  You three bumbling idiots stumbled 
into the scenario, but you couldn't be allowed to bear 
witness to what you saw.  The hazmat team retrieved you 
after you passed out from the fumes, or just plain fainted, 
for all I know."

Frohike interrupted.  "It was a test, wasn't it?  By our 
government.  They were testing a means of transporting a 
bioweapon so it could be used on foreign soil."  

Kersh didn't confirm his assumptions, nor did he correct 
them.  "To ensure your silence on the matter, you were 
pronounced dead, victims of the virus that was otherwise 
contained before taking further lives.  If it's any 
consolation, you died heroes.  However, your lives must 
remain forfeit.  If you were to be discovered alive, they 
would not hesitate to kill you on sight."

Langly piped up.  "If we're supposed to be dead, why did 
they bother to let us live in the first place?"

Frohike answered before Kersh could respond.  "To be lab 
rats, you ninny.  Why waste good bodies when you have fatal 
diseases to test out?"

"What I don't understand, sir, is why you're helping us."

Kersh met Byers' eyes in the mirror before answering him.  
"You can't be a player in this game without controlling 
part of the board.  Let's just say I got tired of being 
someone else's pawn."

The passengers felt the vehicle come to a stop and looked 
out to see that they were in the parking lot for a commuter 
rail stop.  Kersh put the SUV in park and then got out and 
walked around to the back of the vehicle.  The threesome 
took this as their cue, realizing this was their final 
destination, and joined him outside.  As they met around 
the back, Kersh was pulling out a black duffel bag, which 
he handed to Byers.

"Inside you'll find nondescript clothing, some cash, and 
new identities.  This will get you started, but where you 
go from here and how you get by is entirely up to you.  I 
know all about you three and your inclination to be 
government watchdogs, but I strongly suggest that you not 
pursue this case any further or try to go public with what 
you think you know about this biotoxin.  As long as you 
remain in hiding, you will be left alone.  However, if you 
go public, you'll be hunted down like dogs.  Besides, no 
one will believe your story except for those who are 
already inclined to believe, and they need no proof.  So 
you'd be wasting your lives for nothing, which means that I 
would be wasting my time, and I don't like wasting my time.  
Do you understand me?"

Only Langly looked intimidated, but all three nodded in 
acquiescence, if only to acknowledge that they did indeed 
understand his message.  With no further words, Kersh 
closed the back of the SUV, walked around to the front, and 
drove away.  The former Lone Gunmen stood there in the 
silence of the night, their entire futures resting in a 
single duffel bag. 

* * *

It was the middle of morning rush hour by the time the 
three arrived at the Greyhound station in Baltimore, but 
the eddying crowd allowed them greater anonymity as Byers 
approached locker 143.  As nonchalantly as possible, he 
retrieved its contents and strolled over to the men's 
bathroom, soon followed by his two buddies, who had been 
standing watch from separate posts across the room.  

Once the bathroom had momentarily cleared, the three 
slipped into the handicapped stall and distributed their 
goods.

Byers opened the briefcase he had retrieved and doled out a 
set of identities to each of them, consisting of drivers' 
licenses, passports, social security cards, and credit 
cards.  While it was true that they had exhausted almost 
all of their financial resources for the newsletter, they 
had long ago agreed that the "emergency fund" could never 
be touched, even if they had to go bankrupt.  It now 
appeared that their decision had paid off.

The briefcase contained some additional papers and a few 
mustaches and beards to be used for disguises, but they 
would have to make do with their current clothing until 
they could buy some more.  The best that could be said for 
their current attire was that it bore no resemblance to the 
normal wardrobes of each, but Byers clearly looked the 
least comfortable, even though he was the most respectably 
dressed, in a polo shirt and a pair of khakis.

"Where to first?"  Langly liberated his golden locks from 
the baseball cap he had been wearing all morning.

"I think we should put some more distance between us and 
Washington, and then send up the flare to Mulder," Frohike 
replied.

"Do you think he's still checking the message board?" Byers 
queried.  "We set up that plan before he left, but all bets 
were off after the incident with the train.  Even Scully 
doesn't seem to know how to contact him now."

"It's our best option," Frohike countered.  "If he doesn't 
reply, I say we go looking for him."

Langly looked doubtful.  "But where?  If Mulder's gone low 
tech, there's no way to track him."

"I've got a few ideas where he might be hiding out," 
Frohike said.  "Besides, you got any better suggestions?"

Unpersuaded, Langly prodded, "Why are you so sure we can 
trust this Kersh guy, anyway?  For all we know, he's just 
using us to lead him to Mulder."

Frohike shot back, "What's the matter, Blondie?  You don't 
think we can outsmart a few men in black?  I don't know 
about you, but I don't plan on being followed."

Byers cleared his throat, interrupting the squabble.  
"Actually, there's somewhere else I need to go."

"Where?" Langly and Frohike said together, with matching 
puzzled expressions.

"Bakersfield, California."

When he didn't elaborate, Frohike prompted him.  "What's in 
Bakersfield?"

"Holly Johnson."

Frohike nodded in recognition.  "Suzanne Modeski.  You've 
kept in touch with her this whole time, haven't you?"

"No, we haven't actually corresponded, but I've kept an eye 
on her--for her own safety, of course."

"Uh huh."  Frohike didn't sound convinced.

"I have to find her.  If our deaths made national news, 
which they very well may have, then she'll think we're 
dead.  I have to let her know that I'm okay.  I owe her 
that much."

The bathroom door opened, admitting a pair of men engrossed 
in conversation.  The trio in the stall moved closer to the 
corner, hoping their feet could not be seen, and then 
Frohike returned his attention to his friend.  He spoke 
softly to avoid detection, but also in empathy.  "You're 
still in love with her, aren't you?"  

Byers didn't answer directly but dropped his eyes self-
consciously.  Frohike responded with a friendly slap on the 
shoulder.  "Why is it that we always fall in love with the 
women we can't have?  Best of luck, my friend.  Just don't 
forget about us old bachelors--"

"Who are you calling old, Hickey?  You're the one who's 
over the hill."

"Keep a lid on it, Langly, or I'll turn you in to the feds 
myself."  He turned back to Byers.  "As I was saying, don't 
forget about us.  If things don't work out with your 
chickadee, come find us.  Or, hell, even if they do work 
out.  We wouldn't mind seeing her again either."

"Speak for yourself," Langly mumbled.

Frohike rolled his eyes but continued to address Byers.  
"You're not really going to leave me alone with him, are 
you?"

"Sorry, but this is something I have to do."

The increased buzz in the room indicated the rise in 
traffic.  It was inevitable that they could not remain 
concealed for much longer, so it was only to be expected 
when their farewells were interrupted by a pounding on the 
stall door.

"Hey, buddy, you need a laxative or something?  Quit 
hogging the stall.  Some of us have got buses to catch!"

"Keep your shorts on!" Langly yelled in annoyance.

Frohike turned from the distraction and extended his hand 
to Byers.  "Good luck, man.  I hope our paths cross again 
soon."  But he shortly released the hand and said, "Oh, 
hell," surprising his buddy with a warm hug instead.

The two soon pulled apart, leaving Langly feeling obligated 
to give a comparable farewell.  Once Byers and Langly 
shared a brief, awkward embrace, they found Frohike hastily 
attaching a fake mustache, signaling that it was time to 
go.  After Langly donned his cap and all three gathered up 
their belongings, Frohike opened the door and led the way 
out of the stall.

"Well, it's about time," huffed a burly man in a business 
suit, preparing to push his way into the stall as soon as 
its tenant exited.  His impatience quickly turned into 
surprise, and then suspicion, as he watched a second and 
then a third man exit the stall.

All conversation in the restroom ended while everyone 
watched the three men file out of a single stall and then 
out of the room.  No one was brave enough to enter the 
stall after them.

* * *

"What makes you think he's here?" Langly asked wearily as 
they trudged down the road from the bus stop.

"I dunno.  I just have a feeling."  Frohike readjusted his 
bag on his shoulder as he plodded along a full pace ahead 
of his companion, despite his shorter legs.

"Yeah, that's what you said about the last three places."

Frohike stopped and turned, allowing Langly to catch up 
with him.  "Let's put it this way.  If he's not here, I 
have no idea where else to look, so either way, I have a 
feeling this is the end of the road."

"Well, I'd sure like to find the end of *this* road.  Why'd 
they have to put the bus stop so far away from the town?"

"Because the bus only runs along the main highway.  We were 
lucky it even stopped there.  Besides, we'd get there a lot 
faster if you'd stop dragging your feet."

Langly turned at the sound of a vehicle approaching from 
behind.  "Walk if you want.  I'm gonna catch a ride."  He 
stuck out an upturned thumb toward the rundown truck, 
hoping for the best.

The truck slowed but rumbled past, and Langly dropped his 
hand in dejection.  As Frohike turned to keep walking, 
however, he saw the truck come to stop a few yards away and 
then back up to meet them.

A young Native American man called to them through the open 
passenger side window: "You two need a ride into town?"

Langly heard his buddy murmur behind him, "He probably 
stopped because of the long, blond hair.  It's a good thing 
you didn't flash him any leg."  But he chose to ignore the 
comment and reached for the door handle.

Once they were on their way, the driver commented to his 
passengers, "Well, I can tell you guys aren't from around 
here.  You looking for somebody?"

The two companions shared a look, and then Frohike decided 
to make use of the opportunity.  "Uh, we were hoping to 
find the Hosteens.  You know any of them?"

The young man shot them a sideways glance and then returned 
his attention to the road.  "Maybe.  You friends of the 
family?"

"Friends of a friend, actually.  It's our friend that we're 
looking for.  We thought maybe they might have news of 
him."

"What makes you think your friend wants to be found?"

That response certainly caught Frohike's attention.  After 
a beat, he replied, "The same reason that we don't."

Their driver nodded his head thoughtfully but didn't 
answer.  They were now within sight of the loose cluster of 
buildings that constituted the main part of town, and he 
slowed and pulled to a stop in front of a small grocery 
store.

"Wait here."

Frohike and Langly watched with curiosity while the young 
man got out and disappeared into the building, but neither 
spoke yet.  After a short wait, he reemerged, climbed back 
in the truck, and started the engine.  He clearly had a 
destination in mind, so they rode along in expectation, 
eager to see where this promising lead might take them.

When they again pulled to a stop, this time in front of a 
trailer beyond the edge of town, their driver disembarked 
without a word to his passengers, so they watched from the 
vehicle as he approached the front door.  Before he reached 
the steps, the door opened slightly, but not yet enough for 
the inhabitant to be seen.  A moment later, however, the 
door opened fully, and a familiar face was staring straight 
at the two men, his broad smile indicating that he had 
already spotted and recognized them.

They had finally found Mulder.

Now sporting a beard and looking a little grayer around the 
edges than they remembered, their old friend quickly 
descended the steps and paused for a word of thanks to the 
young man on his way to greet them.  Having emerged from 
the truck as soon as they caught sight of him, the pair met 
him halfway.  Frohike made no hesitation to pull Mulder 
into a hug, which was warmly returned.  Mulder soon reached 
over to pat Langly on the back in greeting, and then he and 
Frohike pulled apart.

"Aren't you guys a sight for sore eyes!"  Looking past 
them, he noticed for the first time their incomplete 
number.  "Where's Byers?"

"He had a woman to go find."  Frohike knew if anyone would 
understand, it would be Mulder.

Nodding in comprehension, Mulder followed the train of 
thought to the next logical question.  "What about Scully 
and William?  Are they okay?"

"They miss you."  It was an understatement, but it was the 
most adequate description of Scully's state of mind when 
Frohike last saw her.

"Well, as glad as I am to see you guys, I have to admit 
you're not the pair I was hoping to see drive up to my 
door.  What the hell are you doing here anyway?"  He asked 
it good-naturedly, his thoughts only now turning to the 
most obvious question.

"It's a long story, and I'm sure we'll have plenty of time 
to tell it."

Mulder turned for a moment to wave to the young man as he 
called out his good-bye and got into his truck.  Returning 
his attention to his friends, he proclaimed, "Well, welcome 
to New Mexico, boys."  He stretched out a hand in 
invitation toward his trailer.  "I'm afraid this place 
isn't much, but for now, it's home."


**********
End Part 1
**********

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