------------------------------
A New War #17: Lying Low
by Lianne Burwell
August 1999
------------------------------

It was late at night when Paul pulled up in front of the Waterview Hotel. 
They'd driven straight from Cascade to Seacouver, stopping only twice; 
once for gas and once to buy some bags, clothing and necessities. Agent 
Scully had suggested that showing up at a hotel late at night without 
reservations was going to be unusual enough. Showing up without luggage 
would pretty much guarantee notice that they didn't want.

"Get two rooms, preferably connecting," he told Harrison as his 
passengers climbed out of the car. "Then meet me at the end of the 
parking lot when I get back. I'll go find someplace to dump the car. 
Agent Scully, call those friends of yours in Washington. See if they can 
get us some more fake identities. At this rate, we're going to need them. 
And Harrison, use one of the credit cards we haven't used yet."

Harrison smiled back at him, then leaned over for a long kiss. "Easy, 
Paul. I've been keeping low for the last seven years. I know what I'm 
doing."

Paul sighed. "I know," he said. "Doesn't stop me from worrying, though. 
Being shot at does that to a person," he added with a grin.

Harrison kissed him again, then climbed out to join the three women. 
"Watch your back," he said. "You're not the only one who worries, and all 
we're doing is checking into a hotel."

Paul watched at the four headed for the main doors, then put the car back 
into drive. They'd decided to check into a full hotel, rather than a 
motel. It made targeting them a little more difficult. At least that was 
what they hoped. However, having a car stolen in Cascade turn up in a 
hotel parking lot in Seacouver would make it difficult to cover up their 
whereabouts, so the car had to go.

Luckily, Seacouver was right on the edge of the ocean. He'd noted a 
couple likely spots on the way into town, and it didn't take him long to 
find an isolated spot where he could send the car into the water. He made 
sure that all the windows were open, so that it would sink fast. 
Hopefully, it wouldn't be found until after they left town, but even if 
it were, the salt water would erase all fingerprints very quickly.

That taken care of, he turned and started to walk towards town. With any 
luck, once he was inside city limits, he'd be able to find a bus or a cab 
that would get him to the hotel before dawn.

* * * * *

The room was nice, but depressingly silent. In the next room, Debi, 
Suzanne and Agent Scully were getting ready for bed. A peal of laughter 
caught his attention, and almost without realizing it, Harrison found 
himself focusing in on what they were saying.

//"And he fed your *dog* to it?"

"Yep. Of course, it *was* the most obvious way to slow it down so that we 
could get away, but I think he was just looking for a way to avoid having 
to drive back again. Mulder definitely prefers flying, I think."//

Suddenly, Harrison pulled himself back. Eavesdropping was not something 
he wanted to be doing. At least not on friends. Resolutely, he forced him 
to ignore any further sounds coming from the next room.

Unfortunately, the next thing to assault him was the smell of cigarette 
smoke. They'd taken non-smoking rooms, so either the last guest had 
broken that rule, or he was smelling the cigarette smoke from the smoking 
floor, three levels up. Two days ago, he would have assumed the first. 
Now, after what they'd been told by the kid, Sandburg, he wasn't so sure. 
Harrison sighed. It was a pity that they'd had to leave Cascade before 
getting a copy of the kid's research. He'd offered, but after one attempt 
on them, they'd left town quickly, and since their motel room had been 
blown up, according to the new report on the radio, that had been the 
right choice to make. Still, maybe they could contact Sandburg, arrange 
some way of getting a copy sent to them.

Harrison sighed, and leaned against the window. He'd always had good 
night vision. He'd never thought twice about it. Now he was beginning to 
realize that not everyone would be able to see clearly down the street 
like he could. It was a little unnerving. He'd always been considered 
odd: His obsession with the aliens that had killed his parents, his work 
methods, even his eating habits. Now he had one more thing to add to the 
long list. There were time when he wished that he was just normal.

But he quickly squashed that thought. If he'd just been normal, the 
Mothren probably would control the planet right now. More importantly, he 
never would have met Paul Ironhorse.

That brought a smile to his lips. He'd devoted most of his life to 
science and his quest to find out what had really happened to the Mothren 
invaders. There'd been a handful of lovers, but never anything serious, 
never someone he could share all of himself with. As a result, Paul had 
come as a complete surprise. He'd appreciated the man's beauty right from 
the start. Paul had the chiseled features of his native heritage, along 
with the dusky skin, black hair and eyes, and a fascinating lack of body 
hair. However, he was also an army Colonel, making him off-limits. Back 
in those days there wasn't even a "don't ask, don't tell" policy in 
place. Getting caught in bed with a man was grounds for an immediate 
dishonorable discharge.

As a result, Harrison had ignored the attraction that had flared to life 
when they met, and had grown as they got to know each other. It had taken 
being hidden together in an old bomb shelter hiding from aliens that were 
hunting them to get them to act on the apparently mutual attraction.

Harrison scanned the street again, but saw no one. They'd had to be 
careful over the following years. Even Paul's hand-picked team hadn't 
known about their relationship. Only Debi, Suzanne, Norton and Kincaid 
had known, and Kincaid hadn't found out until after Ironhorse had 
apparently died.

The thought brought a flash of pain. Seeing Paul die in front of him -- 
or at least what he'd *thought* was Paul -- had been the worst thing that 
had ever happened to him. He'd kept going, the fight against the Mothren 
keeping him from dwelling on his loss, but after they'd been defeated, 
he'd turned inward. Even though he *knew* how angry Paul would be if he 
committed suicide, he'd thought of it often over the years after the end 
of the war. The relief from the never-ending pain had been oh so tempting.

But he'd held on, and now he had his reward. Yes, the planet was in 
danger from invaders again, but he had Paul by his side, once more. If 
he'd killed himself, Paul would have woken to a world without him, and he 
knew the man well enough to know how painful that would have been. He'd 
lived with that pain for seven years, but it was a small price to pay to 
keep Paul from living with it for a lifetime.

Harrison sighed, wishing his lover would hurry back. This was the first 
time since they'd been reunited that Paul had been out of his sight for 
more than a few minutes, and he hated it. He had a pounding headache, and 
his stomach was churning. He was beginning to wonder just how he *had* 
been able to survive alone for so long.

'Hurry back, Paul. I need you.'

* * * * *

Freshly showered, and feeling clean for the first time in *days*, Dana 
Scully pulled out her cell-phone. It was the only thing that she'd 
managed to hang onto since leaving Washington, and she was determined to 
keep hanging on to it. It had been a present from the Gunmen, who'd 
carefully outfitted it with all sorts of scramblers so that her calls 
couldn't be traced. Some guys gave girls flowers. Frohike gave her spy 
equipment. At least it was more practical, she told herself.

It also had a button that she now pushed, which automatically called the 
offices of the Lone Gunmen. A recording answered her, and she said, "It's 
me, guys."

Immediately, the recording stopped and Frohike's voice answered. "Are you 
alright?"

Dana blinked. It was an unusual way to start a conversation, even for a 
paranoid conspiracy theorist. "At the moment, yes. Why?"

There was a pause. "Skinner's in the hospital."

Dana's eyes went wide at that. "What?"

"He was shot leaving work yesterday. The shooter was killed by return 
fire from one of the guards. Skinner's in intensive care, in a coma."

Dana grabbed for the small crucifix that she wore around her neck and 
closed her eyes to pray for a moment. "Is he going to be alright?" she 
finally asked, opening them again.

Frohike sounded tired. "They're not sure yet. The damage is pretty bad."

"I shouldn't have left," Dana said softly. Debi and Suzanne were now 
sitting on the bed opposite hers wearing identical worried expressions.

"You don't mean that," Frohike replied in a worried tone of voice. "If 
you were here, it would probably be *you* in that hospital bed. And 
before you even suggest coming back, the Consortium probably has watchers 
all over the hospital. Skinner is a lure."

Dana closed her eyes with a sigh. "You're right. It's just..."

"Yeah. How's your partner?" he asked, quickly changing the subject. Dana 
shrugged, even though he couldn't see her.

"No idea. We split up a few days ago. I haven't heard anything from him 
since then."

"Do you think..." Frohike's voice trailed off. He sounded genuinely 
worried. Dana kicked herself. The three members of the Lone Gunmen had 
known Mulder even longer than she had. They had every right to be worried.

"No," she said, hurrying to reassure him. "You know Mulder. Even when you 
think he *is* dead, he manages to pull a rabbit out of his hat."

"New Mexico," Frohike said, sounding more cheerful.

"Exactly. I'll let you know when I hear from him." And he *would* call, 
Dana told herself. She wasn't going to let herself consider any other 
possibilities.

"Okay. Are you guys doing all right?"

"We were nearly killed in Cascade. We're in Seacouver now, but we've had 
to use the back-up identities you sent us. Can you get us any more?"

"Sure. Driver's Licenses, credit cards, etc.?"

"Yes. And for an extra person. Debi's mother is with us now. And thanks. 
We appreciate it."

"Hey, we all do our part. Yours involves face to face confrontations, 
ours is support. Okay, we can have that for you tomorrow night. You're in 
Seacouver, you said?"

"Yes."

"Okay. There's a bar called Joe's Blues Bar. The owner, Joe Dawson, is an 
old friend. We'll courier the stuff to him. He can arrange to get the 
pictures for the IDs."

"Thanks," Dana repeated.

"No problem. And Dana? Take care. I... We'd hate to have anything happen 
to you. Or Mulder," he added quickly. Dana couldn't help smiling.

"So would I. You guys watch your backs too."

* * * * *

It was nearly dawn when the cab dropped him off four blocks from the 
hotel. By the time he made it to the hotel, Paul was running on empty. 
Nearly two days of travel interspersed with being used for target 
practice hadn't left him with much in the way of reserves, plus his head 
was pounding.

As a result, he'd never seen anything more appealing than a parking lot 
in the pre-dawn gloom, since Harrison was waiting there for him. Harrison 
wrapped him in a hug, and he leaned into it gratefully. Almost 
immediately, the headache started to fade.

They stood there like that for a couple minutes, then Harrison pulled 
away. "Side entrance is over there," he said, pointing away from the main 
doors. "The key opens it. We'll check with the others, then go to bed."

Paul smiled tiredly. "Sounds good to me."

The rooms were only on the second floor, so they took the stairs to avoid 
running into anyone. Harrison knocked on one door, then unlocked the one 
next to it. The others were there in a flash, all dressed in matching 
sweatpants and t-shirts that had been picked up for sleepwear.

"So what's the word?" Paul asked, trying not to be too obvious in his 
collapse onto the hotel bed.

Agent Scully looked worried, he noticed. "The Gunmen haven't heard from 
Mulder either. And Skinner, our boss, is in the hospital in intensive 
care. He's been shot."

That woke Paul up. "Same group that shot at us?" he asked. Dana shook her 
head.

"Consortium, probably," she said. "The guys think it was done to try to 
lure us back to DC."

Paul groaned, and started going over options. "So we don't go anywhere 
near DC, then," he said, and looked up to make sure that Scully would go 
along with that. He was reasonably satisfied with what she saw. "How 
about new ID?"

She nodded. "They'll courier everything to a friend here in Seacouver. He 
owns a bar. We can pick the package up tomorrow... tonight," she 
corrected. "He'll also do pictures for everything."

"Good," Paul said. "We'll stay here, at least for a few days, then. We 
could all use the rest, I think," he added with what was intended to be a 
smile, but probably wasn't even close. Everyone was nodding.

"I'll set the alarm for six p.m.," Harrison said when Paul didn't add 
anything. "That should be early enough for us to get over to this bar 
before it gets busy."

There were murmurs of agreement from the women, and they all got up and 
headed for the door. Paul briefly considered taking a shower and brushing 
his teeth, but somewhere along the line he'd ended up horizontal, and he 
couldn't seem to find the energy to get up again.

He watched silently while Harrison closed the curtains and undressed. The 
sight brought a smile to his face, but he couldn't find the energy to do 
anything about that either. Fully naked, Harrison then carefully stripped 
Paul, since he didn't seem to be able to do that himself, then maneuvered 
the both of them under the covers, spooning up behind him. Paul sighed 
contentedly at the feel of the larger body behind and surrounding him. 
Harrison's arms were wrapped around him, and the other man's chest hairs 
made a nice texture against his back.

Paul closed his eyes and let sleep carry him away.

* * * * *

Blair Sandburg looked up as his partner, Sentinel and lover entered the 
apartment. Jim looked to be in a bad mood, and he wasn't sure how the man 
would take the news he had for him. "Any progress?"

Jim shook his head. "They know that an accelerant was used at the motel, 
but they can't identify it. They've found parts of the detonator, but no 
one can figure out how it worked. Joel is confused as hell, and it takes 
a lot to do that."

Blair nodded. Joel Taggart was Captain of the bomb squad, and he'd seen 
more types of bombs than most bomb experts in the country. It came from 
living in what Jim liked to jokingly refer to as "the most dangerous city 
in America".

"Well," he said, putting aside the papers he was reading through, "Jack 
called me." Jack Kelso was an old friend at the University and a former 
CIA operative.

Jim perked up at that. "Did he find anything on the Colonel or the people 
with him?"

Blair rubbed his eyes. He'd been staring at old print-outs for much too 
long. "Yep, but it's pretty improbably," he said, pushing the papers over 
to Jim. While the other man started reading, he headed to the kitchen for 
a couple beers. Returning to the living room, he opened both and handed 
one to Jim, who took it without a word.

A half-hour later, Jim put the papers down and took a long pull from the 
beer bottle. "This is..."

"I know," Blair said. He was already on his second beer. Somehow, getting 
drunk sounded like a good idea at that moment.

"Aliens? I mean, those were just movies, weren't they?" he asked, almost 
plaintively.

Blair shrugged. "Yesterday I would have said yes. But ceramic bullets 
that can't be identified? Unknown accelerants and detonators that stump 
bomb experts?" He blew a gust of air that lifted a lock of hair hanging 
in his face. "I don't know. Is it *that* improbable?"

Jim shook his head in denial, but he didn't look so sure. Blair had 
already read the papers. He knew what they said. Several alien invasions 
had repelled then forgotten. Then the survivors had come back. The son 
of a couple who died in the last invasion, Harrison Blackwood, had 
approached to government to find the survivors and stop them. The 
Blackwood Project had been set up in a government facility and given a 
military contact, Colonel Paul Ironhorse.

And then, three years later, The facility had been destroyed, the members 
of the Blackwood Project had vanished, and the government had labeled the 
project top-secret and buried it. Jim's mission to Peru was probably in a 
similar file cabinet somewhere. Briefly, Blair wondered how Jack had 
managed to get a hold of the files.

It was crazy. It couldn't be true.

It made too much sense. And it looked like it was starting again.

"So what do we do about this?" he finally asked when Jim stayed silent.

Jim shrugged. "Nothing we can do," he said, not looking happy about it. 
"At least, not yet. Maybe later... But until then, we wait. It's all we 
*can* do right now."

Blair nodded. Much as he hated it, Jim was right. Blair shivered. "Take 
me to bed, Jim?" he asked, suddenly needing to be held. The world had 
just become a very scary place.

Jim nodded, and they headed for the stairs to the loft. It was going to 
be a long, sleepless night.

TO BE CONTINUED