See http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/jenrose/janus.htm for other chapters. Disclaimer in prelude. Facing Janus: Going Under Chapter 1a 8:40 am Headquarters of the Lone Gunmen "Mulder! Are you *crazy*?" Langly asked, gesturing sharply with his thumb in the general direction of Skinner. "Bringing *him* here?" "I trust him," Mulder said quietly, "and we need his help on this one." The three Lone Gunmen raised their eyebrows in unison. "All right, Mulder, how big is it?" Frohike settled himself on a stool in front of one of the many computers in the room. His feet dangled off the stool, almost but not quite reaching the floor. Mulder looked at Scully. "I..." She looked down at her hands. Byers looked at her sharply. "You're going under, aren't you?" She gave a short, affirmative jerk of her head. Assistant Director Skinner straightened himself up into his most military stance. "Would someone please enlighten me? I'm getting tired of half- sentences. I know that you," he gestured to the three Gunmen, "are Mulder's 'unofficial sources' more times than not. And I gather that you two," gesturing to Mulder and Scully, "are *not* going on vacation, but undercover. What I need to know is why, how long, and what makes this something that we couldn't have discussed in the comfort of my office." He looked pointedly around the cluttered office, the cheap furniture, the expensive computer equipment, the dark, dingy space. Mulder straightened. "As you are aware from my case reports, Agent Scully discovered her daughter several weeks ago, in San Diego. A daughter that had her genes, but a 70 year old surrogate mother, and two dead adoptive parents. In my efforts to assist Agent Scully in finding a treatment for her daughter, I found evidence that there were more of Agent Scully's biological offspring out there. We also discovered that a number of children born around the time of Emily Sims' birth were created under suspiciously similar circumstances. I also found evidence that more children are being produced, even 'manufactured,' and we need to find out where, why, and who is raising them. Going undercover is the logical next step, given the nature of this case." "Agent Mulder, how exactly do you propose to 'go undercover'?" Skinner looked weary, but it was unclear as to whether it was due to the notion of manufactured children or simply the realization that he was going to be up to his ears with this, whatever *this* turned out to be. "That gives me background information, yes, but tells me nothing about how you plan to pull this off." Scully began speaking. "Sir, what we intend to do, obviously, is pose as a couple interested in adopting. We have leads to other adoptive parents that we can follow. After that..." She began listing the steps she and Mulder would follow, ticking them off on her fingers as she spoke. "One, move into the neighborhood, two, make friends with the adoptive families and try to gain their confidence, which will helpfully follow to...whatever source they used. Once we identify the source, we'll figure out a way to get them to approach us. I imagine that we'll have to drop hints within the circle of our...new friends...that we're desperate for a child. I'm hoping that if we connect with the adoptive parents, they'll share their stories with us if we tell our "story" right. The important thing is to make them come to us. If we look too hard, we'll spook them and they'll vanish into the woodwork." Skinner mulled this over from where he stood, resting against a rusted metal filing cabinet. "I can see that working, but how do you plan to find these 'manufactured' children?" "That's where we come in," Frohike interjected, somewhat smugly. "We have already identified the names of the birth mothers. We have managed to-" He glanced at his fellow editors, cleared his throat and then continued. "-access the records in the relevant adoption databases. We simply need to use the same process to identify the other families. It shouldn't pose much of a problem." "Your identities need to be changed," said Langly. "You need to totally change your appearance. You need a completely new identity, with paper trail. Driver's licenses, birth certificates, social security cards, credit cards with matching credit history, job history, school transcripts, the works. Probably more than one if you want to get from Washington to your destination without leaving an obvious trail." Byers walked over to a computer and sat down in front of it. "And you'll need support. Technology. Information. Money. Contacts-" He trailed off at the look on Skinner's face. "Mr. Skinner, may I ask what the matter is?" The AD spoke to Mulder and Scully instead. "Is this a request for a fully FBI backed operation? Because you know as well as I do that the people I have to answer to-" He was cut off by Mulder. "No, sir. We know anything that goes across your desk gets seen by the very people we're trying to uncover. This has to be unofficial. However, we may at some point need your 'official' assistance." Skinner removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Okay. I can free up some equipment for you, set up some emergency resources, but I don't think there's much more than that I can do without risking your exposure. How do you propose to disappear without raising suspicions?" Mulder stared at Skinner. "Well, I do have a fair amount of vacation time built up. Agent Scully is long overdue for a paid medical leave, followed by a personal leave." Skinner snorted. "All right, Mulder, I'll start the paper trail." Frohike jumped in. "And we will finish it. By the end of your investigation, you and Agent Scully will have spent money everywhere *but* San Diego." Scully shuddered at the thought. "Frohike," her voice was low and slightly threatening. He laughed. "Agent Scully, we take pride in our work. Your expenditures will be consistent with a weary agent taking a low-key, low-profile vacation on the oh-so-exotic eastern seaboard. It will be *much* more fun making Mulder's paper trail." Scully raised her eyebrow and chuckled. "I bet." Skinner stood up and put his glasses back on. "Lets get on this. We've got a lot of work ahead of us." ~~~~ "Now, come on, guys, we need a professional to do your disguises." Byers was frantically trying to get Mulder and Scully to agree with him on the subject. "You can't do it yourselves, and *we* certainly aren't going to give you guys a makeover." "Yes, I can give Scully a makeover, and she can give me a makeover. It's simple. Then we don't have to involve any outsiders." Scully groaned at this; she hadn't thought about Mulder doing her hair until now. "Don't listen to anything Mulder says, guys." "Thank you, Dana." Byers gave Mulder a Look. "I'll get the phone book." He dug around in a mound of what could only be described as a Leaning Tower of Pizza boxes, old magazines, and discarded newspaper until he found the phone book. "Well, before we resort to the...ah..." She gulped, looking around guiltily, wondering if the private vanity she had for her hair was as evident as it felt. "The Yellow Pages...do you know anyone who does hair and/or gives makeovers?" "I do." The Assistant Director spoke up. Everyone looked at him in surprise. "*You* have a hairdresser?" Frohike was the first to voice his shock. Mulder turned around and tried to quash the grin that threatened, vaguely jealous that Frohike could get away with a question like that. And that Frohike'd beaten him to the punch. "No, I don't *have* a hairdresser," said Skinner with some annoyance. "There is a very good hairdresser who owes me a favor or two. He also did my wife's hair." "Yeah, but will he be willing to come here now?" asked Langly. "It would be very unwise to go into a public place as one person and leave as another. There are spies everywhere." Mulder groaned inwardly. He knew what was coming next. The c word. "Because, you know, it's a conspiracy." Langly continued, then grinned. Right on the mark again. Mulder mentally chalked up another point for himself, and then spoke. "Look, Junior G-man, I know we're all just dying to hear about this latest cover-up, but we've got to get working." Skinner said through clenched teeth, "I said he owes me a favor. He'll come." Langly seemed unaware of how close he'd come to having his head snapped off as he responded, "So contact this guy and let's get going." Skinner gave Langly a long look, then shrugged. "I'll get him now." He pulled his coat back on and started for the door. "But don't you need to call him or something? We've got the most secure lines in the state. Untappable. Why..." Frohike began rambling on about something or other, though no one was paying attention. "No, I know exactly where he is." He gestured at the Gunmen. "You three would appreciate the technology behind the ankle bracelet he wears." Skinner paused and smiled. "He's a fine example of rehabilitation at its best. He discovered he liked hairdressing much better than his previous profession after our first--um--meeting. I send him his best customers. And besides, he's convinced he's been abducted by aliens who torture him by depiliating his scalp while he sleeps. He'll be happy to help. I'll be back." Skinner left without another word. The Lone Gunmen sat with their jaws dropped in unison. After the door closed, Frohike shook himself. "He's good!" "So, I guess we just wait," said Scully. "No, we need a makeup artist," interjected Mulder. "This hairdresser isn't going to do both." "Right," said Byers, flipping through the Yellow Pages until he came to "Makeup." Frohike swatted the book out of his hands. "Stop that. I think I have someone closer to home who can help us." Langly blanched. "You're not thinking of-" Byers stopped him. "He's right, Ringo. Best to keep it in the family." ~~~~ 10:30 am The door opened with a buzz, and Skinner came in, followed by an enormous black man carrying a huge basket of supplies. The man seemed to overflow the office with his muscles alone. He made even Skinner look scrawny. His eyes lit on Scully, and she backed away, slightly intimidated. "This is Joe. Joe, you'll understand if I don't introduce everyone." "Y-you're a hairdresser?" Frohike squeaked. "Yeah. What about it?" "N-nothing." His voice was a deep, bass rumble; when he spoke, it sounded like a cement truck downshifting. "Gonna need extensions," he said, rubbing a huge paw across his stubbled chin. "Don't want to change the color...it's a mighty purty red." He talked while moving chairs and tables over around the only sink in the room, forming a makeshift salon in a matter of seconds. "What did you arrest him for?" Mulder hissed at his boss. "Armed robbery," Skinner replied. Scully gulped. "How do you do, ma'am?" "I'm all right," she said warily. "Please sit down." His gentle manners somehow surprised her. She walked over and sat down gingerly, unnerved by all the eyes staring at her. "What are you all looking at? Go hack into the Pentagon or something!" The Gunmen, Mulder, and Skinner all murmured their apologies. The boys each sat down at a computer terminal. Mulder staked out a strategic spot where he could see all three screens, and Skinner sat down at a ancient 286 and began playing solitaire. Joe began picking up sections of Scully's hair. "Ma'am? Do you know the name of the color you used on this?" Scully spun on him, cold fury etched across her features. "I do not," she said slowly, clearly enunciating each word, "dye. My. Hair." She sniffed, twisting back around to face the Gunmen, Skinner and Mulder. "I've been sick recently." The huge man looked completely cowed, much to Skinner's amusement. "Sorry Ma'am. In that case, we'll start with a protein pack so the new hair will hold better." His voice softened, and then he ventured, "Are you better now?" The hard scowl on her face melted into a gentle smile. "Yeah, I'm better." He picked up a box and started to sort through it. Mumbling to himself, he began to hold different hair pieces up to her hair, seeking the perfect match. After ten minutes of painstaking choices, he held up two long, red lengths of hair. One was curly, the other straight. "Which would you prefer, Ma'am?" She looked at the two lengths and sighed. "Better go with the curly." The huge man nodded solemnly in agreement. "Glad we're not trying to change the color, seeing as it's natural and all. It's just about impossible to get red hair to change color without turning green. And it is an awfully purty red." He put the straight hank of hair back in the basket and began to lay out the curly hair in sections. "This is going to take a while, Ma'am. You might want to get something to read." Scully reached over and grabbed the top magazine from a teetering stack on the table next to her. Opening the six-month-old copy of "The Lone Gunmen," she began skimming an article claiming that President Clinton's recent weight loss could be directly linked to the increase in global methane levels. Scully frowned. The Cow Fart Diet? Skinner swore at the ancient computer system, turned it off without bothering to exit the program, and threw his coat on. "I've got some errands to run. I'll be back shortly." ~~~~ Skinner returned just as the Gunmen reached a lull, waiting for their first efforts at the computers to bear fruit. He walked through the door with a large box in his hands. A bead of sweat on his scalp and the strain he struggled not to show indicated that the box was heavy, very heavy indeed. Mulder quickly cleared a spot for it on a table, tossing the papers which had covered it into a pile behind him. Frohike objected. "Hey, Mulder, we don't come over to your office and mess it up. So don't mess ours up." Mulder's Cheshire-cat grin danced across his face. "Do you want to see what toys he's brought for you to play with, or what?" "I still don't see why you have to trash our office." Scully snorted at the idea that moving one large pile of junk from a table and setting it on another large pile of junk could be construed as "messing up" an office which was so far from clean that it couldn't even get "clean" on radar. Mulder just smiled and ignored him. Skinner opened the box and drew out several pieces of odd-looking, ominous equipment. The three conspiracy theorists were all over them in a heartbeat, picking them up, turning them over in gentle, experienced fingers, dragging an illuminated magnifying glass over for a more thorough examination. Christmas morning at the office, Mulder thought with a smile. "What is it?" he asked over the commotion. "Ways to change your fingerprints, and some other things we use for undercover investigations," replied Skinner. "Such as?" prompted Scully "New dental records, medical files, things you'll have to have in San Diego." "Uh," Frohike announced. "I'm sure that new paper dental records were all the rage when you were chasing Huey Long, but those things are computerized now. Dental teleradiology and all that. 'Sides...We've got plans for those teeth." Skinner's jaw flexed and Scully could almost feel her own teeth aching in pain as she watched her boss try and restrain the urge to twist the little toad's head off like a dandelion. "Fine," Skinner growled. "You just make sure you do a good job, or when I prosecute you for hacking into all these systems, I'll make sure Joe's old cellmate is your *new* cellmate." Skinner stabbed Frohike in the chest with a single finger, almost sending the tiny hacker over on his ass. "What was his name again?" Skinner asked Joe. "Mother," Joe replied, grinning widely. "W-what is that short for?" Frohike asked. "Big Bad Mean Motherfucker," Joe said, grinning even wider. Suddenly he looked abashed. "Sorry ma'am." Frohike looked as if he was going to faint. Scully grinned and laughed silently. "Ma'am...you have to stop moving your head." ~~~~ Whatever Joe was doing was elaborate and took several hours to complete. It involved several pieces of equipment that baffled even the technophile Gunmen, and something about it smelled nasty. Scully was unfazed by it all, and slowly read through the last six issues of "The Magic Bullet," snorting from time to time as she absorbed the various theories. Bovine muscle tissue being injected into Texas high-school football players. As if. At one point Mulder raised the question of what their undercover names should be. Frohike had a ready answer. "Martin and Sally. It will be easier for you to get used to, and any slips won't be as noticeable as if you were, oh, Wendy and Peter." The other Gunmen nodded and Scully shrugged. Mulder sighed, and agreed. "Martin and Sally it is." When Scully's hair was finished, Joe brushed it out and sprayed it with water, combing it until it curled evenly. When this was over, he reached over and lifted the magazine out of her hands, replacing it with a mirror. "Ma'am, you're done." Scully stood up, holding the mirror out to try to see the results, which just wouldn't fit in the small frame. Frohike whistled appreciatively. The hair matched her color exactly, but fell in slightly damp curls down to her waist. She turned and tried to look over her shoulder at the ends, then reached around from underneath and smiled when her fingers found they could touch the ends easily. She put both hands under her hair and lifted the bulk of it over one shoulder to see the ends reaching well down her front, running her fingers with delight around the riotous curls. "I feel like Sleeping Beauty, or Rapunzel," she said. "Thanks, Joe, you did a wonderful job." "Wouldn't look half so good if you weren't so pretty, Ma'am." He called across the room to Mulder. "All right. Your turn." Mulder looked up from his terminal and moaned, but got up and moved into the chair. "You're not going to give me hair like hers, are you?" Joe chuckled, a deep rumble, and began to shampoo Mulder's head. "You're not pretty enough to pull it off, mister." "Mmmm..." Mulder purred as Joe massaged his scalp. "Hey Scully, will you rub my head when we have to touch this up?" "You could get lucky." She moved over to the chair he'd previously occupied and settled in to see what the boys had come up with. ~~~~ 2:30 p.m. Something began to beep. Frohike looked up at a previously unnoticed monitor, and said, pressing a button, "It's about time!" Scully peered up to see the fuzzy outline of a large, middle-aged woman. A buzz sounded momentarily as she passed out of view of the camera. At that moment, the door swung open, and a gigantic lady came in, bogged down with bags and boxes and cases. She dropped them in the middle of the floor. "MELVIN RICHARD FROHIKE!" The woman blustering into the office was as loud as she was big. "What have you gotten yourself into this time?" Frohike scurried forward to pick up the bags, but was engulfed in the woman's embrace. "It's not me," he muttered, his voice muffled by her ample bosom. Still pinning the small man under one arm, she whistled as she saw Skinner. "Don't tell me you want me to cover that gorgeous head with hair!" Skinner turned an odd shade of greenish-mauve as Mulder burst out laughing and Scully hid a smile. "I hope you don't want me to cut those curls, lady." Scully was so entranced by the woman's hair--a huge beehive dyed a very fake shade of platinum blonde--and the utterly cowed expression on Frohike's face, that it took her a while to notice that she was being spoken to. Ignoring Scully's slack-jawed stare, the woman scanned the room. When her eyes came to rest on Joe, she bellowed, "What are you doing here?" When the woman's words filtered through Scully's amazement, she started. "What does it look like I'm doing, ma'am?" Joe replied calmly as he wet Mulder's hair in the sink, preparing for the shampoo. "His hair, but why? Stop following me around! You always have the same appointments as me. Why?" Her face flushed red with anger. "You, you KNOW him?" Scully's shock was evident. "Of course I know him," the woman proclaimed. "In his own odd way, he's rather famous. The only armed robber in history to give the bank tellers HAIR advice during the damn robbery!" Joe smiled shyly and said to Scully, "You'd be surprised how many women don't take care of their hair." "Bah!" the woman said, waving a dismissive hand at Joe. "Ever since he got out, he's been the FBI's number one undercover hairstylist. And he follows me; goes to almost every appointment I have." Mulder had an equally shocked expression on his face. "Melvin RICHARD?" Frohike gave him as threatening a look as he could muster from under the arm pinning him. "Don't..." But Mulder couldn't stop. "Dickie Frohike?" "Maybe it's a conspiracy," offered Langly, still hunched over the computer screen. "You better believe it's a conspiracy, Ringo-boy." The woman looked pointedly at Joe. "Dickie?" repeated Mulder from under the tap. He spit the shampoo that had invaded his mouth noisily into the sink. Joe attached a small hose to the faucet and began to rinse Mulder. "I suppose that you're just jealous that you don't get called out for the more exciting cases." He paused, and regarded the woman innocently. "And I hardly could have followed you here. I've been here for hours." "I will just ignore you, since you persist on following me," stated Beehive Woman with a flourish, disregarding the valid point that Joe had arrived hours ahead of her. She turned to Scully, who was standing in front of her, apparently still in shock. "Oh, yes, my darling, your disguise." She eyeballed the petite woman in front of her. "I think maybe colored contacts, pluck those eyebrows, and definitely lose the natural makeup. You need to go for the subtle colored tones." Scully backed up a step. "Who *are* you?" Frohike mumbled something, muffled by the arm. The woman released him from her embrace. "Melvin, you haven't introduced me to your friends yet!" Frohike looked extremely contrite as he muttered, "Mulder, Scully, Skinner...meet Dorothy Frohike." They blinked in unison. Frohike's mom smiled a frighteningly toothy grin. "Yep, I'm his mom. Call me Dot." Scully closed her mouth with an audible snap. Frohike's mother?! Somehow, she'd always assumed that he'd been...hatched, or something. Scully tried to reconcile the connections. Mulder, the Gunmen, Frohike, Skinner, Joe, Frohike's mother. It was a small world, Scully thought. ~~~~ Scully's face wore an expression of astonishment which had seemingly taken up permanent residence. She did not resist when Dot Frohike led her over to a high stool, but had to be nudged to climb onto it. Somewhere in this process her jaw had dropped again, apparently. "Hey Scully! Better shut your mouth or flies will come in." She shot Langly a glare that sent him scurrying back to his computer, but did close her mouth again. "Now, darlin,' let's see what ol' Ma Frohike has in her bag of tricks." The beehive swooped and dove and soared as its owner investigated first a box, then a basket, then a bag. Scully watched the motion, fascinated. She almost reached out a hand to touch the hair, wondering if it was as stiff as it looked. Scully thought. Gradually a quantity of pots and brushes and blocks of flesh colored putty-like substance were perched on the piles of papers and books that surrounded Scully's seat. Then Scully found Dot Frohike's face within inches of her own. She noted with clinical detachment that although there was a grotesque quantity of makeup covering the woman's face, it had been applied with enough skill that although she just *knew* the eyelashes were fake and the skin coated with enough foundation to waterproof a canoe, she couldn't see where the foundation stopped and skin began, and the eyelashes seemed to be growing out of her eyelids. Leave it to Frohike's mother to grow two-inch long eyelashes. She briefly flashed to an image of a fruit fly with legs growing out of its eyes and shuddered. Suddenly she was aware that the glowing fluorescent pink mouth was speaking to her. "I said, do you have any allergies to cosmetics?" Scully shook herself slightly, and her brain kicked back into gear. "I don't usually use foundation, just powder, because the liquid stuff makes me break out. Other than that, nope." Mrs. Frohike's eyebrows had been transplanted upward, apparently, but still had enough flexibility that one of them managed to defy gravity even more as she answered skeptically, "Makes you break out, or you can't find a color that matches you, or you don't know how to apply it correctly?" Scully looked kind of sheepish. thought Skinner with amusement. "Actually...I think that all three of those are probably accurate. I can't find a color that matches my skin, it always goes clumpy or splotchy, and then I break out." She smiled wryly. "I gave up on foundation years ago; please don't tell me I have to wear it now." Dorothy Frohike gave her a long look, then smiled broadly. "Well, I don't know. This your normal face?" Scully was nonplused. "Uh...This is what I normally wear, except on special occasions." "Okay, doll." Dot handed Scully a bottle of cleanser and a quantity of thick tissues. "Go over to that sink over there and wash it all off. I have to see your face naked to know how much we'll have to do to make you look like someone else." She gestured to Skinner, who was the only other person in the room who didn't seem actively involved in work. "You, there. Go see if you can scrounge up a t-shirt for the lovely lady to wear. Don't want to get goop on her lovely blouse." A few minutes later, Scully was back on the stool. Without mascara, her eyelashes had faded to light brownish red with very pale tips. Without powder, her skin sported quite a few more freckles than anyone had previously given her credit for. And her lips seemed significantly smaller. With the long curls pulled back into a ponytail, and her suit replaced by a well-worn heavy-metal t-shirt of Langly's, she looked like a teenager. A self-conscious teenager. "I feel naked," she muttered under her breath to Frohike's mom. "Hey Scully, you look different already," Mulder said with a lecherous grin. Langly eyed her appraisingly. "Frohike, man...I think I see what you mean. She looks damn good in my t-shirt." Frohike whistled. "She can have one of mine-" "Well Missy," Scully flinched at the endearment, but the woman continued without noticing, "Looks like we don't have to do as much to you after all. I think we will keep the more natural look. Didn't realize how much of those big eyes and lips came from a bottle." Scully glared at her. "So what are you going to do, make me face the world with a naked face on a daily basis for eight weeks?" Dot Frohike laughed. "Not at all. We'll just go with a more muted color palette. Barely there mascara. Silvery plum lipstick instead of that tonsil-hockey red you've grown so attached to." She continued, ignoring the indignant sputters from the redhead in front of her and the stifled coughs from the peanut gallery. "The biggest changes will come from your eyes, and from your attitude." The last sentence jarred Scully out of her indignation. She tilted her head with a confused look. "Eyes and attitude?" "You see," Mrs. Frohike explained, "You are a very confident woman, and your looks draw people in like a magnet. Those big blue eyes of yours and those kiss-me red lips are *trademark*. They're also ridiculously easy to change." She shuffled through a small case, and withdrew a smaller box. "Brown eyes. Disposable lenses. You'll wear them for a week, throw 'em out, and put in a new pair. That way you run less risk of being caught with blue eyes. These are ultra-thin, and if you have regular contacts, you can actually wear them over the tint-lenses, though it will be easier on you if you replace your prescription with a tinted prescription ASAP." She pulled out some non-prescription glasses. "These will help too." She pulled a tube of lipstick, a small vial of something clear, and a colored lip pencil out of a different case. "I'll show you how to do your lips to play down the pout. Don't think you want to permanently remove it, so we'll paint it away." "Now, we will have reduced two of your most powerful visual attractors. You still want to be able to draw people in, so you're going to have to do an attitude adjustment. I'm betting you have a gorgeous smile no matter what color your lips are, and I'm also betting you don't let people see it much." In the background several male jaws dropped, impressed at how neatly Frohike's mother had nailed Scully. Scully looked down, with an embarrassed half-smile playing across her mouth. Mrs. Frohike reached out, and with a surprisingly gentle touch, lifted Scully's chin up. Their eyes met, and Scully grinned. "See, you look like a totally different woman, and you don't even have the contacts in yet."