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Peja's Wonderful World of Makebelieve Import
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2020-11-04
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2,769
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Closing Doors

Summary:

Just what *is* Senator Matheson's deal, anyway?

Work Text:

It had started as a lark, really.

Feeding lies to an upstart Federal agent was something he'd
been willing to do, for the good of his country. And he'd
been assured it was. In the country's best interests, that
is.

And when young Fox turned out to be such an engaging,
determined, intelligent young man, it was all for the better.
The whole thing played directly to his sense of the romantic,
in the end; playing the part of the charming informant was
such fun, after all. Clandestine meetings, loud music played
to avoid "prying" ears – oh, how he'd enjoyed that one! Bach
would never sound the same again.

Such fun! He'd felt like a boy again, playacting. Or James
Bond.

How had it all turned out so terribly wrong?

And as his front door slammed shut behind Fox Mulder on a
dark, dreary night in January, 1999, Richard Matheson
remembered.

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OFFICE OF UNITED STATES SENATOR RICHARD MATHESON
WASHINGTON, DC
JULY 15, 1990
8:55 AM

"I have a job for you, Senator."

Richard jumped in surprise as his office door fell shut behind
him. There was a man sitting at his desk, kindly-looking,
middle-aged, huffing on a cigarette. Richard had never seen
him before.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

The man rose and strode to the window, relinquishing the chair
to Richard, who sat gingerly.

"Yes, yes, Senator, I believe you can." When this man
chuckled, the laugher *almost* reached his eyes.

"Who are you?"


"I work for the Department of Defense." He exhaled a stream
of smoke and flashed an official-looking ID, too quickly for
Richard to read its contents. "I lead a top-secret defense
project, and a problem has come to my attention which I
believe you are uniquely suited to rectify."

"Oh?" Richard stared in bewilderment. "There must be some
mistake – I'm not involved with any DoD projects at the
moment." A first-term senator, Richard still preferred tamer
committee postings, to the tune of Agriculture or Public
Policy.

"Indeed." He took a final drag of his cigarette before
snuffing it out in Richard's crystal ashtray, then sauntered
around the desk and seated himself comfortably in the guest
chair, crossing one leg over the other. "That is precisely
why I've come to you – you have no connections to the project
at all."

Richard laughed nervously, waiting for the rest, as the DoD
man purposefully lit a second cigarette.

"The nature of our work is – sensitive," he spoke around his
smoke. "Surely you understand the need to keep certain
aspects of the military a secret from the American public."
It wasn't a question. Richard nodded mutely. "I see that you
do. Good. There is a man at the FBI who does not share your
prudent appreciation for discretion. I want you to approach
this man, aid him, gain his trust; when the time is right, I
will pass certain pieces of misinformation to you, which you
will clandestinely transfer to his hands. Do you understand?"

"Ah, yes, sir." Richard clasped his hands in front of him on
the desk, sitting up straight, his pulse already pounding with
anticipation. This sort of intrigue was exactly what a career
in politics was meant to be! "I'll help you."

"Good." The smoking man leaned forward and slid a folded
piece of paper across the desktop. "This is the man's name
and ID number; with it you can get access to his career
records at the Bureau. I suggest you do so as soon as
possible and familiarize yourself with his work. Contact him
when you feel ready, express your similar viewpoints and
desire to aid his quest. You will never contact me. I will
get in touch with you when necessary." He stood and leaned
across the desk, billows of smoke stinging Richard's eyes.
"Do I make myself clear, Senator Matheson?"

"Of course, sir. I won't let you down."

The man took a step back, and with a sharp nod, was gone as
quickly as he had appeared. Richard leaned back in his chair
and opened the page. *Fox Mulder* ... He called to his
secretary and asked for a direct line to the FBI.

Richard never saw the smoking man again.

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The next few years passed pleasantly enough. Fox was
intelligent and charming – he contacted Richard irregularly,
on matters as varied as alien abductions – of all things! – to
obscure points of export law. Richard saw no reason not to
help, where he could; and if the occasional unmarked envelope
crossed his desk, or a dark mysterious man accosted him as he
entered his home in the evening, well, what of that? Reports
of undocumented crashes on the Canadian border, or an odd
story circulating through a remote Arizona town, were clearly
ludicrous, but Fox believed them; and though he always came
back reeking of disappointment, he never ceased to go
gallivanting off again at the next tip, the slightest hope of
discovering his truth. Richard marveled at the man's
persistence. He marveled even more at the heady feeling of
power that came from these playacting sessions, the incredible
thrill coursing through him at passing "secret government
information" to someone who thought he was never supposed to
be getting it.

He thought he had a handle on this game of intrigue; he felt
himself in complete control, and he liked it.

That is, until he read Fox's report on the Arecibo incident.
He had been chased by the military. Actually shot at, and run
off the observatory grounds by military officers! That wasn't
supposed to happen! Putting a man in danger had never – had
*never* been a part of Richard's agenda. And there were other
strange details about the report, as well ... things that
didn't seem, quite, to add up. And all of it verified, to
some degree, by that new partner of his, the doctor.

Richard was troubled, but he put it out of his mind. After
all, asking questions was Fox's job, not his; and there were
so many more *enjoyable* things to spend his time on ...

For the next few weeks, anyway.

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MATHESON ESTATE
GEORGETOWN, DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
OCTOBER 13, 1994
10:13 PM

Richard sighed and stretched as he walked from the garage to
his front porch. Tonight's committee meeting had gone on and
on, and tomorrow promised only more of the same. He wanted
nothing more than a hot shower and a good night's rest, maybe
a small nightcap to help him sleep easy ...

"Mr. Matheson," a familiar deep voice intoned from the shadows
underneath the portcullis. Richard sighed. This was *not*
something he wanted to deal with right now.

The tall, powerful-looking black man with the neatly trimmed
goatee stepped directly into Richard's path, an immovable wall
of pure willpower. Richard sighed more deeply. "Yes? What
is it this time?"

"Mr. Matheson, you must listen to me. Agent Mulder will be
coming to you for help. You must not give it to him. This is
of the utmost importance. Do you understand?"

Richard rubbed wearily at his temples, frustration and tension
rising to the surface. "No. No, I *don't* understand. The
last time you came to me with instructions, Agent Mulder
nearly died. It's unconscionable. If Fox comes to me for
aid, and it is within my power – he will get it." Richard was
angrier than he'd been in a long time. He raised his hand and
pointed a finger at the informant. "Do *you* understand,
sir?"

X looked at him with something approaching pity. "If that is
your resolve, Mr. Matheson, my orders have changed. You are
no longer to contact Agent Mulder. If he should attempt to
reach you, you will not respond. This is your only warning."
He stared fixedly at Richard for a long moment, then turned
abruptly and strode off into the night, trench coat flapping
behind him like the wings of some large bat.

Richard collapsed onto his front steps, shaking and upset.
Clearly, there was more going on here than he'd been told, or
suspected. He stayed outside, staring at the night and
shivering, until the cool air forced him up to bed. He
resolved to look into this matter more closely.

The morning dawned, bright and sunny and crisp. Richard went
to the office, sat cheerfully through his committee meetings,
and came home early, for once; all thoughts of Fox were driven
to the back of his mind.

It wasn't until months later that Richard learned that Fox's
partner, Dr. Scully, had been missing for many weeks, and that
military involvement in her abduction was suspected by some,
most notably by Fox himself.

Richard began, finally, to investigate the matter. And what
he discovered horrified him beyond belief.

Richard was a prudent man, though; he took his warnings
seriously, and kept his findings to himself. After all, there
were bills to pass, and campaigns to run. Life went on.

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OFFICE OF UNITED STATES SENATOR RICHARD MATHESON
WASHINGTON, DC
NOVEMBER 21, 1995
8:47 AM

"Good morning, sir. Your mail?" Richard's secretary handed
him a stack of envelopes and a cup of coffee as he wended his
way through the reception area to his own office. He thanked
her, and stepped through the door.

"Oh – sir? I almost forgot – you had a call early this
morning, from Agent Mulder. Would you like me to return it?"

Richard stopped in mid-stride at that name, one he hadn't
heard in nearly a year. He closed his eyes and slowly turned
back around to face her. "No. No, don't bother. He's a
crackpot – don't need to associate with ... " His voice
trailed off as glanced at his mail, noticing a plain white,
unmarked envelope in the pile. "Excuse me."

Richard stumbled through the door, closing it, and collapsed,
shaking, behind his desk. He drank half of his coffee in one
gulp in a vain effort to steady his nerves. Finally, after
many long, deep breaths, he worked up the courage to open it.

The envelope contained copies of classified reports – a train
accident in Tennessee – an incident in Pennsylvania involving
Fox – photos of Japanese scientists – a list of names ... and
a short, scrawled note: "For Mulder. Tell no one else. X."

Richard nearly busted down his own door as he caromed back out
to the reception room. "Alice?" he called out. "I changed my
mind. Get Agent Mulder up here as soon as possible!"

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MATHESON ESTATE
GEORGETOWN, DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
36 HOURS LATER

Richard sprawled on his bed, writhing in agony, screaming with
silent anguish. This was pain, pain beyond anything he'd ever
imagined was possible. He gasped for breath as his wracked
body jerked involuntary. Through tear-blinded eyes he could
see his hand. His blood vessels were *visible*, blue, and
standing straight up from the skin. Wave after wave of agony
coursed through his body; his muscles tensed all at once, and
sweat poured down his face; his very blood shrieked out for
mercy; and he *screamed*, and *screamed*, and *screamed* ...

And suddenly, it was over.

Richard swore to himself, later, he'd felt his heart stop for
an instant.

Shaking and weak, he reached for the phone, thinking to call
an ambulance, but it rang just as he was about to lift the
receiver. "Y-yes ..."

"You were warned, Senator Matheson. You didn't listen."

"Who-who is this? What did you do to me, you fucking
bastard?!?"

The voice on the other end laughed at him. "Ah-ah-ah,
Senator, it's just your new pet project. Nanotechnology. And
you've got the untested, experimental version ... lucky you.
... You're mine now, Senator. You do what *I* say. And you
*don't* talk to Mulder."

"Who the hell –"

"Sweet dreams, Senator. I can kill you with a thought." And
the line went dead.

Richard let the phone drop and curled up into a ball,
whimpering piteously.

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From that night on, Senator Richard Matheson was not his own
man.

He learned to live with it, though; he always had. On
proddings from his mysterious assailant, he began to champion
biotechnology legislation; not a harsh task, he found the
subject matter interesting and worthwhile, and in most cases,
a cause worth fighting for. It would not have been his top
priority, under normal circumstances, but it was acceptable.

He got reelected to a second term, of course; he had good
looks and charm left enough for *that*. If he entertained
secret thoughts of retiring when his term came due, escaping
the shame of his ownership, he kept them to himself. Such an
attempt would be futile in any case, he was certain.

The voice on the other end of the phone changed, from time to
time, but Richard always did what it said. He hadn't felt the
agony of its power once, since that night in '95, and he never
wanted to feel it again.

Eventually, he got a bit of his old assurance back. He began
to doubt his memories of that night, and in the absence of any
proof, in the form of pain, he wondered if this mysterious
power even existed at all.

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MATHESON ESTATE
GEORGETOWN, DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA
JANUARY 17, 1999
4:10 AM

And now, Fox had come and gone again. About that silly export
bill, S.R. 819. An FBI assistant director, dying because of
health assistance to third world countries? Preposterous.

On the other hand, he'd spoken to Fox. Richard was probably a
dead man.

Richard swallowed and nervously smoothed his hair. How had it
ever come to this?

It all came back down to that cigarette-smoking bastard, ten
years ago, didn't it?
Ooh, if he could just get his hands around that scrawny
throat, for just five minutes ...

Richard sighed, folded himself into an easy chair, rested his
face in his hands, and began connecting dots. This medical
bill, Dr. Orgel suddenly gone missing, an FBI A.D. nearly
dead .. of course. It all came right back around, to Richard
and these bedamned nanobots.

*Well, if I'm a dead man already*, he thought, *I won't go
down easy*. He settled down with a cup of tea to wait for
Alex Krycek's call.

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CONDEMNED POWER PLANT
SOMEWHERE IN FREDERICK COUNTY, MD
JANUARY 17, 1999
6:10 PM

Fox strode out of the warehouse, head held high, righteous,
indignant. "I will stop this!" he shouted, pointing a finger
angrily at Richard where he stood behind the empty slab.

*Ah, if only you could, dear boy*.

Richard thought desperately. Fox was his one chance to get
out of this alive – or even to give some meaning to his death.
He shouted, desperately, back. "It's too late, Fox! It's
too late!"

But Fox was already gone.

And Alex was already in his place.

"I warned you, old man. I warned you so many times." Alex
adjusted a knob on his electronic pad. "Good-bye, Senator."

And as too-familiar agony coursed over him for the last time,
Richard poured his soul into one final, gut-wrenching scream.

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Mulder heard it, out by his car. *Senator Matheson* ...? It
couldn't be .. could it? He charged back into the power
plant, busted through the side door, gun held ready, senses
tingling.

And it was Matheson, indeed, stretched out at the base of the
concrete slab, looking remarkably similar to AD Skinner at the
moment, prominent blue veins and all.

"My God ..." Mulder rushed forward, keeping his gun hand
ready, and checked for a pulse. "Senator, is this why you've
been avoiding me?"

"Yes .. Fox .. " Matheson gasped through his pain. "Stop
them .. you've got to stop them .."

Mulder reached out and grasped the Senator's hand, willing him
to live. "I'm trying, Senator. I will. Can you tell me
who?"

"Cigarette .. smoking .. sonuvabitch .. " Matheson forced out
through pain-clenched teeth.

Mulder cursed vehemently to himself. Of course. Who else?
It always came down to that, didn't it? He sighed. "Okay.
I'll get the bastard, Senator. I promise."

Matheson's hand was turning to stone in his, and his breathing
came faster and shallower with every second. "Fox .. Fox .. "
he gasped out.

Mulder leaned closer. "Yes, Senator? I'm here."

"Fox .. I'm .. I'm so sorry .. "

One last breath, and he was gone.


Fin.


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Notes: Seeing S.R. 819 for the second time got me thinking. Why
the heck have we not seen our dear Senator since way back in
Season 3? So, here's a nice, long, flashback-happy fic for you.
Feedback very graciously appreciated.

Oh - I didn't mean it, at the time, but there seem to be a lot of
doors in this story - hence the title. A student of literary
symbolism could probably make something out of that. (;