TMD: Carterhaugh

INCOMPLETE WIP. GO BACK TO SAFETY.

Truly Madly Deeply: Carterhaugh by Jenna Tooms

Prologue: Set October 31, 2001.

Samhain: Set November 1-3, 2001.

Notes: Truly Madly Deeply: Carterhaugh is a sequel to Truly Madly Deeply. You don’t have to have read that story to follow this one, but it helps.

Written September-October 2003

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The X-Files, its characters and premise, belong to 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. This story contains adult language and situations.

The black cat is blatantly stolen from the short story “The Black Cat” by Neil Gaiman, which you can read in Smoke and Mirrors. (I highly recommend it, it’s quite good.)

NOTE: THIS IS AN INCOMPLETE WIP. IT BARELY BEGINS.
It has been posted for the extremely curious only.

Truly Madly Deeply: Carterhaugh

Prologue

Carterhaugh, Scotland

October 31, 2001

Annie wrapped her coat more tightly around herself, muttering beneath her breath as she walked. Damn that Jimmy. It wasn’t enough that he’d knocked her up—now he was being cryptic and vague, making demands to meet him in the Carterhaugh woods at midnight.

Annie slipped her hand into her back pocket. The slim, cool handle of her switchblade reassured her. Jimmy might have the bluest eyes and the sweetest lips, but he was still a man who’d gotten a girl in trouble, and they were known to do desperate things. These woods were haunted by the ghost of a pregnant girl killed by her lover, so the story went.

But if her charming, foolish Jimmy turned out to be something darker, he wouldn’t put her down without a fight.

The wind whipped her hair into her mouth, and she spat it out. “Damn you, Jimmy,” she muttered, but still she trudged on. “A stormy night in haunted woods on Halloween night … It’s a fine sense of poetry you’ve got yourself.”

Annie paused and looked over her shoulder, and then turned and shone her torch down the path. She hated these woods. They were old and creepy and dark, and probably haunted like everyone said, and Jimmy was probably going to kill her here because he was so afraid of having a baby—

“Who the fuck is following me?” she demanded, her switchblade in one hand and her torch in the other, because nobody fucked with Annie McDonald. Not even sweet Jimmy.

A branch snapped and Annie whirled. The light of her torch bounced off the trees and path. Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her mouth was dry. “I hate these fuckin’ woods, Jimmy!”

Sounds were approaching her now—footsteps, and more oddly, hoof beats. Voices whispering in a language she didn’t know. Horns as if they were swells on a fox hunt.

But she could see no one, nothing but shadows and trees.

Annie ran. There was a clearing in a mile or so, and Annie was strong and quick. In the clearing she could see what was surrounding her, and maybe Jimmy would be there.

The footsteps and hoof beats ran with her, so close Annie could feel the horses’ breathing against her neck. She could hear creatures giggling as they ran beside her, not even panting to keep up.

Adrenaline coursing through her, Annie pumped her legs and burst through the tree line into the clearing. Moonlight shone silver-green on the grass, and in the center of the clearing stood Jimmy, looking up at the moon.

Annie didn’t stop running until she was in his arms. He caught her with a slight “Oof!”

“Jimmy,” she whispered, fingering his dark hair. “Jimmy, there’s someone—there’s something—”

“I know.” He held her chin in his hand. “Annie, tell me true: how much do you love me?”

“I’m being chased by freaks and you want to know if I love you?”

“Tell me, Annie!”

She couldn’t speak for a moment. Sweet, careless, thoughtless Jimmy—who couldn’t hold a job for more than a week, who slept in the forest more often than in a bed, who whenever he had a bit of money spent it on presents and lager.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, looking into his eyes.

Jimmy studied her as intently, and then held her face in both hands and kissed her, with a fierceness she’d never seen in him before. “Then run,” he whispered and stepped away. “Run, Annie!”

“Jimmy, I—”

“Just go!” He turned from her and stumbled into the forest.

Annie watched him go, bewildered—and even more confused when white and blue shapes ran past her, persuing Jimmy into the trees. She felt their fluttering cloaks as they passed, heard their clanking swords and rattling arrows.

Ghosts with swords and arrows? she thought, when one of them stopped and walked slowly back to her. It reached out to her, and Annie watched with wide eyes as it caressed her face.

With that touch Annie knew there was nowhere far away enough to run.

---

Samhain -1-

The black cat arrived the day after Halloween. He was a lean, sleek tom, pure black with green eyes and one ragged ear. He sniffed Scully’s hand cautiously when she reached down to pet him, then lifted his chin and allowed her a few strokes before moving on to Mulder.

“Don’t even try cozying up to me, cat,” Mulder said, but still let the cat sniff his fingers and scratched between his ears.

“No collar,” said Scully, shifting Meggie from one arm to the other. The baby was so confused by this new creature that she alternated between hiding her face in Scully’s hair, and squealing while nearly wriggling out of Scully’s arms. “But he looks too healthy to be a stray.”

“He’s probably somebody’s family cat that wandered off.”

“Or was brought to the woods and released.”

Their eyes met over the cat, who was now sniffing the baby. Meggie was beside herself with excitement, leaning towards the cat with her hands outstretched. Mulder sighed. “If we feed him, he’ll never leave.”

“Would that be so terrible?”

“Do you really want a cat?”

“Well …” She looked down at the black cat, who slowly blinked back. Meggie squealed again. “I want this cat. As long as he’ll stay.”

“You hear that, cat?” Mulder said. “No promises.” He got up from his knees to go back into the house.

“Don’t pay attention to him,” Scully said to the cat, giving him a few last caresses. “He’s really a great big softy. He’ll be feeding you tuna and cream behind my back.”

“I heard that,” Mulder said from the stairs to their main floor.

Scully laughed and went on stroking the cat. She tried to get Meggie to touch the soft fur, but the baby was too excited to be gentle. Thankfully, the cat was patient, even when Megged snatched at him and Scully had to switch her to her other arm and smooth the cat’s ruffled fur. “Maybe you’re not ready for a pet,” she said to Meggie. The baby answered with Mulder’s pout—the same protruding lower lip and impossibly sad eyes, blinking her long lashes and looking as if her small world was about to end. “Stop that, pouty-face,” Scully said, tickling Meggie’s chin. This got a giggle, and Scully kissed her and got up from her knees. “Should we find some food for the kitty? And we probably ought to decide on a better name than ‘Kitty,’ too.” She’d never owned a cat but she knew enough that a cat wouldn’t follow her like poor Queequeg had. She also didn’t think she should pick up the black cat and carry him—Meggie was enough of an armful.

Scully looked down at the black cat. The cat looked up at her and slowly blinked his eyes. “Come on, then,” Scully said in her best imitation of Mrs. Lynn’s brisk tone, and started up the stairs. After a moment she heard the scruffle of claws on wood, and looked down to see the cat loping easily beside her.

The door on the second floor opened to a long room that held their kitchen, dining room and living room. Mulder’s computer was in here, as were an ever-increasing number of bookshelves. Scully often thought it odd that they lived in the middle of the house instead of the bottom or the top—but the top floor was chopped into small bedrooms, and the bottom floor was … she hated to use the word, but the bottom floor was spooky.

Mulder had started their morning coffee and was slicing something on the cutting board. He paused and smiled at her sheepishly. “I thought the cat might like some of that leftover chicken from last night.”

“Good idea,” Scully said, grinning at him. “Take the skin off the meat, the spices might make him sick.”

“‘Kay.”

The black cat had stopped just outside the door, and sat at the threshold, shifting from paw to paw. He meowed piteously.

“It’s okay,” Scully told him. “It’s okay, you can come inside.”

“He might have been trained to just be an outdoor cat,” Mulder said. He slid the bits of chicken onto a dessert plate and filled a small bowl with water, and put both on the landing, just outside the door. The black cat sniffed the plate and the chicken, looked up at Scully one more time, and began to eat in great wolfing gulps.

“Poor thing,” Scully said. She decided to leave the door open—the day was cool but bright, one last gasp of summer before autumn began in earnest. She kissed Meggie and took her out of her coat, placed the baby in her bouncy seat and hung up her own coat on a hook by the door.

Mulder was still watching the black cat, his arms crossed over his chest. “I bet you’re right. I bet his owner got tired of him and dumped him out here. Can’t imagine why, though. He seems good-natured, for a cat.”

“He doesn’t look very old,” Scully said. “Maybe the owner decided he wasn’t cut out for cat ownership after all. What sounds good to you for breakfast?”

“Oatmeal,” Mulder said. “Oatmeal and toast. I’ll start the toast.” He watched the cat for a moment more, then moved to the kitchen to help with breakfast, stopping to kiss Meggie on his way.

Mornings were usually like this. A walk, if the weather was fine; breakfast together, playing with the baby, housework while Meggie napped. If Mulder had work to do he usually waited until after lunch, and while he worked Scully took Meggie to the garden or on errands or visiting. The Lynns, their landlords and nearest neighbors, loved to see the baby. Scully often thought they were the closet Meggie would have for grandparents for quite some time, and so took the baby to see them almost daily.

During the afternoon Meggie would nap again. Mulder and Scully would putter around the house, pay bills and review their budget, watch a movie and cuddle on the couch. Afternoons were good.

Evenings were busier—dinners with friends, neighborhood functions, sometimes meetings for Mulder with his bosses at Scotland Yard or people who wanted to interview him about criminal profiling. These meetings with strangers were usually in restaurants in Newcastle, and never with Meggie in tow. Sometimes Mulder agreed to meet with someone but arranged to meet them in London, and for these meetings he went alone.

Those nights were not so good for Scully—worrying about him, missing him, counting the seconds until he returned. But they were rare, and Mulder hated to be away from his family and always hurried home.

Thinking of these things, Scully had started cooking their breakfast. The toast popped up in the toaster, and Mulder stopped his search for raspberry jam in the refridgerator to put it on a plate and spread on some butter. He dropped a kiss on Scully’s neck, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Mmm … little mouthful of a wife,” he murmured, kissing her again and then letting her go. He picked up Meggie and she squeaked happily, waving her chubby fists.

“We probably ought to name it,” he said as he bounced the baby in his arms. “We can’t just call it ‘Cat.’”

“We’re not very good at this naming thing,” Scully said. She glanced at the black cat: he had finished the chicken and water, and was now cleaning his front paw. “He looks like … like we could call him anything but he’ll keep his true name to himself.”

There was a pause, and Mulder said slowly, “Agent Scully, I do believe living in this land of mysticism is making you fanciful.”

“Look at him. He looks so independent.”

“That’s the nature of cats, Scully.” He knelt by the cat, moving Meggie to one arm, and stroked the black cat’s sleek head. “Nobody really owns a cat.”

“So do we keep him?”

“If he decides to keep us.” He looked up at Scully and smiled. She smiled back and picked up the pot of oatmeal to move it to the table.

What a good morning, Scully thought. Mulder getting the baby’s cereal ready, the sun shining, the black cat curling himself into a purring bundle of black velvet just over the threshold … I love my life, she thought.

She had a brief superstitious shiver—a feeling she ought to cross herself against the evil eye—but she shrugged it off at once. Mulder’s joking aside, she wasn’t growing fanciful. She was the same as she’d always been: a little rounder, maybe, a little paler, a little more tender and a little more fierce. But she knew motherhood suited her. England suited her, too—the air felt natural in her lungs.

They sat at the table and began to eat, Scully pausing every few bites to try and convince Meggie to eat her cereal. Mulder leafed through the morning paper, sipping his coffee and eating one-handed.

Finally Scully said, “Have you thought any more about what I said last night?”

He put down his coffeecup, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and said, “You mean the cat isn’t enough?”

“Mulder, I’m serious.”

“Meggie is only six months old. It’s too soon to have another baby.”

“And we’re not getting any younger. The longer we wait the more risks we could have: birth defects, difficulty conceiving, dangerous pregnancies—”

“Whoa.” He held up his hands to stop her. “You’ve given me the lecture already. I know. I also know the risks involved in having another child, period. I know there are people who might think this is actually the miracle baby they’re waiting for and we’d have to run again.”

“That was the Cancer Man’s theory. I don’t think anyone else believes it anymore, if they ever did.”

“I also know you almost died.”

Scully fed another spoonful of cereal to the baby and said quietly, “That’s always going to be your answer, then.”

“It’s always going to be the first thing I think of. I almost lost you. You almost died. It’s not the kind of thing you forget.”

“If I’d given birth at home like we planned I would have been fine. We would have had someone who actually knew what she was doing, if nothing else.”

“You only lived because the EMTs were right there,” Mulder said, his voice low with emotion. “I don’t know how much you remember, Scully—”

“I remember a lot more than you think I do.”

“And I remember all of it. I remember thinking I was going to watch you die and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.” He got up from the table and stalked to the sink, wrapping his hands around the smooth stone edge. There was a window over the sink, and he stared out at it, his knuckles white around the sink edge.

Scully made sure Meggie was all right in her seat and got up too, went to Mulder and wrapped her arms around his chest. She kissed between his shoulders. “Why did you never tell me this?”

“When? When you were so weak you couldn’t lift your head? When you were crying because you couldn’t nurse your baby?” He turned around in her arms and kissed her, cupping her face in his hands. He whispered, “You’re getting better, I know you are, you’re stronger every day—but I’ll never forget—I can’t forget, Scully—” He kissed her again, harder this time, and Scully’s breath caught in her chest. She thrust her hands into his hair and slid her tongue along his—and behind them the baby squawked impatiently, wanting attention.

They broke apart. Mulder looked a little dazed. “Um …”

“Later,” Scully said. Meggie made a more demanding sound and Scully pulled herself away from Mulder. “Later, I promise.”

“Later,” Mulder repeated. He scrubbed his hand through his hair and turned back to look out the window as Scully picked up the baby.

“Is there something out there?” she asked him, stroking the baby’s head.

“There’s a car parked down the drive. I didn’t notice it earlier, but it looks like Annie McDonald’s car.”

“Maybe Jimmy’s working up at the hall and borrowed it.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He ran some cold water and splashed it on his face. “Though … if he’s working at the hall, why didn’t he park closer to it?”

“Maybe he wanted the excercise.” Scully picked up one of Meggie’s toys, a soft block with letters printed on its sides, and squeezed it to make it squeak. Meggie started at the noise, then concentrated on grasping the block and getting it into her mouth.

“And maybe he slept in it,” Mulder said and stepped over the black cat to go downstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

Scully started to answer but he was already crossing the garden and wouldn’t hear her. She shrugged and said to Meggie, “Daddy would like Jimmy a lot more if he’d treat Annie better. I think he’s right about that.”

Meggie sighed and laid her head on Scully’s shoulder.

In a few minutes Mulder came back up the stairs, looking even more puzzled. “There’s no one in the car. Have you talked to Annie recently?”

“A few days ago. She seemed all right—she wanted to know if we’d want her to watch Meggie on Halloween. I told her no, of course, since we were staying in. Which does raise the question of why she’d come here anyway.”

Mulder shook his head, and chuckled when Meggie imitated him with a small head-wobble of her own. “Little muffin,” he said to her tenderly. “I bet she’s looking for Jimmy in the woods. No big deal, I’m sure.” He picked up the last piece of toast and bit into it, and started clearing up the breakfast dishes with the toast still in his mouth.

Scully supressed a smile, glad she wasn’t in love with a man she’d have to search for in the mornings. She liked Annie—she just hoped the sex with Jimmy was earth-shattering enough to make up for the rest of the garbage he put her through. “We’re lucky,” she whispered to Meggie. “We got one of the good ones.”

The phone rang, and since Mulder’s mouth was still full of toast Scully picked it up, holding it to her ear with her shoulder. Meggie loved the phone—loved to gnaw on it, anyway—and it would take some effort to keep her hands away from the receiver.

“Hello?” There was a pause and she heard a soft sigh. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

“Mrs. Mulder … could you come up to the hall, please?”

“Mrs. Lynn?” Scully moved Meggie to her hip. “Mrs. Lynn, is that you?”

“Yes, dear.” Another long pause. “Yes.”

“Mrs. Lynn, what’s going on? Are you all right?” Mrs. Lynn didn’t sound like herself—usually she was brisk and factual, not lost and hesitant.

At this, Mulder came to her and took Meggie, his face concerned and watchful. Even the black cat had raised his head, his ears alert. Scully mouthed, “Thank you,” and said, “Mrs. Lynn, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m fine, dear. I’m … it’s Tom. I can’t … he won’t wake up.”

“I’ll be right there,” Scully said and hung up the phone.

“What is it?” Mulder said. “What’s happened?”

“I think Mr. Lynn has died.” Scully took her jacket from its hook and pulled it on.

“Should I call Ned?”

“Not until we’re sure.” She put her hand on Meggie’s back. “She should fall asleep around eleven—make sure you change her diaper and give her a bottle—”

“I know, baby,” he said gently, cupping her cheek in his hand. “Go look after Janet. Call me if you need me.”

“I will.” She clutched his hand a moment, then hurried down the stairs.

Ever since they moved to Carterhaugh they’d been warned to stay out of the forest unless they were with someone who knew the way. But it would be faster to get to Linford Hall if she cut through the forest instead of going the roundabout way up the drive. Scully could see the Hall through the trees, and there was a rudimentary path. She went through the garden gate to enter the woods, and paused just before she stepped into the trees, to look back at the house.

There were two doors cut into the bottom floor of the Gatehouse, one that opened to the garden and the road, and one that didn’t open at all. It hadn’t occured to her before: the sealed door faced Carterhaugh Forest.

Scully started on the path at a fast walk. It was still early, and the forest was completely silent. Not even a bird chirping, barely a rustle of leaves.

Scully walked faster. The back of her neck pricked as if someone was followig her—someone with greivious intent to harm.

She was beginning to feel like she should start running when she noticed the black cat was walking coolly beside her. “Hi, cat,” she said and it blinked its green eyes at her. She felt her heartbeat slow down and the strange feeling at her back disipated, burning off like morning mist.

Finally the path led her out of the forest to the smooth lawns of the Hall. She wondered if she ought to bring the cat inside, but as soon as she stepped on the grass the black cat disappeared smoothly into the trees. Scully called to it, “See you later,” and crossed the lawn to the door that opened to the kitchens at the back of the Hall.

She pulled the bell and waited for the housekeeper to open it. But instead it was Janet Lynn herself who answered her bell. “Mrs. Mulder,” she said. She didn’t moved back to let Scully in.

“How are you, Mrs. Lynn,” Scully said gently.

“I’m… I don’t even have the kettle on. Tom alwas starts the kettle while I have my morning constitutional.”

“I’m not here for tea. Let’s see to Mr. Lynn.”

“Yes,” Janet said, turning away at last. Scully followed her, and after a few steps Janet took her arm. Her hand felt cold through Scully’s jacket. “I remembered you said you were a doctor in the States. I hope Tom won’t mind. He hates hospitals.”

“Of course,” Scully murmured. Now as not the time to clarify the kind of doctor she’d been.

They climbed the back staircase and went through the passages to the Lynns’ bedroom. Janet knocked softly on the door before she pushed it open. “Tom?” she said hopefully.

Scully went to the bedside and turned on the lamp. She put her fingers on his wrist, but she didn’t need to feel his lack of pulse or cold, paper-thin skin to know. Thomas Lynn was dead.

His face was peacefull, however. It was likely he’d died in his sleep and didn’t even feel any pain.

That wouldn’t comfort Janet much now, though. Scully said, “Is Mrs. Keegan here?”

“Yes. She’s downstairs.”

“Why don’t you ask Mrs. Keegan to call for an ambulance.”

“He’s very ill, isn’t he.”

“Mrs. Lynn.” She put her hands on Janet’s and leaned close to her. “Mrs. Lynn, Tom has died. Tom is dead.”

Janet stared at her a moment and looked as if she was about to deny it, to insist Scully was wrong—then she closed her eyes and nodded. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I thought so. I didn’t want to think so. But … Yes.” She rose and tugged a bell pull, which rang in some distant part of the house.

“Shall I make some phone calls for you?” Scully said. “Your children? Your pastor?”

“Oh, the children,” Janet murmured.

“Yes. I’ll be happy to call them for you. Is there someone I should contact about plans for his funeral?”

“The vicar,” Janet said after a moment. “There’s a family plot at the church. The Lynns have been here for four hundred years.”

Mrs. Keegan, the housekeeper, finally appeared in the doorway. “You wanted me, ma’am?”

Janet said in a voice more like her normal tone, “Mr. Lynn has passed away in the night. Please call emergency services, and then bring me my telephone book. I need to call my children.”

Mrs. Keegan’s lips tembled, but she said, “Yes, ma’am,” and left to do as she’d been asked.

Janet sighed and lowered herself carefully to the side of the bed again. She took one of Tom’s hands in her own. “It’s bee a long time since I’ve arranged a funeral.”

“Would you like me to make the calls for you? I can stay as long as you need me—until one of your children or your pastor arrives?”

Janet shook her head. “The children ought to hear it from me.” She was still stroking Tom’s hand.

Scully didn’t know what to do or say now. She’d performed this duty dozens of times in an official capacity—but this was different. Thomas and Janet had been at their house just the night before. They’d eaten dinner together, and afterwards Thomas had sung one of the old songs from his vast memory to Meggie, who had listened with rapt attention. Scully loved this quiet, gentle man and his forthright, efficient wife.

Sh said finally, “Would you like to talk about him, Mrs. Lynn?”

“No,” Janet said. “I’d—I think I’d just like to remember things for a while.” She added, “Thank you for staying. I’m glad for the company.”

Scully nodded. If Mulder died first—oh, God, she didn’t want to think about that. She leaned her chin on her fist and watched Janet continue to stroke Tom’s hand.

---

Samhain -2-

“Ma’am,” Mrs. Keegan said to her softly, “Mr. Mulder is here with the baby.”

“Thank you,” Scully said, looking to Janet to see what she would like her to do.

“Let them in,” Janet said, stopping the conversation with her vicar. She stood to greet Mulder when he came into the sitting room, and looked somewhat taken aback at the noise he brought with him. The baby was on the verge of sobbing, fists waving, furious her demands were not being met quickly enough.

Scully took her from Mulder’s arms and kissed her, and Meggie’s sounds at once turned happier. “Meggie wanted her mommy,” Mulder said with an apologetic look.

“Oh, poor darling,” Scully cooed to her. “Did you miss me?”

“You try and you try,” Mulder said, “and sometimes Daddy just isn’t enough.”

Scully glanced at him, ready to say Daddy was always enough, but he was smiling at them tenderly. She smiled back, and took Meggie to the balcony at back of the room, patting her and swaying to soothe her. She watched as Mulder went to Janet—he spoke too low for her to hear, but Janet smiled and nodded as he spoke, and Scully knew he was comforting her as only he could do. Training, experience, and a heart as soft as a featherbed—he knew what to say, much better than she to a grieving widow.

Suddenly she thought, Someday that will be me. Her eyes burned and her throat felt tight. She kissed Meggie’s head again, murmuring, “Shh, shh,” even though the baby was quieting down.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mulder was saying.

“Loan me your wife for a few more hours?” Janet asked.

“I think we can arrange that,” Mulder said, looking at her for confirmation. She nodded, still swaying the baby gently. “You’ll be all right,” he said to Janet softly, and when she went back to her vicar he joined Scully on the balcony. “Should I take her back?”

“No … leave her with me a while. Will you come get her before her afternoon nap?”

“Sure.” His voice dropped and he held her chin in his fingers. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” she said. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she said, “I’m really doing just fine, Mulder. She needs a friend right now and her children won’t start arriving for another few hours.”

“I just don’t want you getting too tired out.”

She wanted to roll her eyes, but said patiently, “I’ll take a nap if I need one. Come back for Meggie around two, okay?”

“Okay.” He put down the baby bag from his shoulder and gave Meggie a quick kiss. He gave Scully a much longer one. “Take care of each other, girls. Bye, Mrs. Lynn, Mr. Stephens.” They all said goodbye to him and he left the sitting room.

“He’s such a pleasant fellow,” Mr. Stephens said.

“They’re quite devoted to each other,” Janet said. “And that sweet baby. Tom … Thomas was quite fond of them.”

Scully smiled to herself and said as she stepped off the balcony, “I’m going to take Meggie to the kitchen and give her a bottle.”

“All right, dear. Thank you for staying,” Janet added.

“Of course.” She picked up the baby bag and went down to the kitchen. It was deserted—Mrs. Keegan was preparing rooms for the family when they arrived, as were the two girls who helped clean. The kettle was still warm from the tea she’d given the medical examiner. Scully tested the water and decided it was cool enough for a bottle. It wasn’t easy to make a bottle while holding Meggie, but there was no place to put her down.

For the first week of Meggie’s life Scully had seen her for only a few minutes a day, and by the time she was strong enough to breastfeed the milk had simply dried up. She was beyond disappointed with this—she’d been looking forward to breastfeeding, to see if the stories about bonding between mother and child were true, but Meggie had to be a completely bottle-fed baby.

The day was still fine, so when the bottle was ready Scully took Meggie into the garden and chose a wrought iron bench in the shade. She rocked the baby slowly from side to side as she eagerly sucked from the bottle, and rested her lips on Meggie’s hot forehead.

She’d had plenty of time to think today, too—things she hadn’t considered seriously before. Namely, death. Mulder’s death. She’d come to terms with her own mortality years ago. Diagnosed with terminal cancer, shot in the belly by a temporary partner, stalked by a madman—she’d looked her own death in the eye, unblinking and unafraid.

But she remembered an intense hallucination of finding Mulder’s bones in a field. She remembered the feeling of emptiness and blank despair—of how she couldn’t believe he was truly dead, and not just because the facts didn’t add up. She just … didn’t. Couldn’t.

For years she’d thought that love only made one vulnerable, open to all sorts of wounds. Loving Mulder was different. He made her feel strong—invincible, even. In her heart and soul, Scully believed she would love Mulder until her death—but someday he’d be gone. Statistically speaking, he would die first. Age or disease or carelessness would claim him and take him away. And then what would she do? Would she be like Janet Lynn, devastated with the depth of her loss?

“Not for years,” she whispered to Meggie. “Not for years and years and years.”

---

The sun set earlier now as winter approached, and so it was already dark when Scully left Linford Hall. Ned and Fiona, and others of the Lynn family, had arrived during the day, and Ned offered to see Scully home after Janet went to bed. Scully accepted, even though it was a short walk.

“I’m glad you stayed as long as you did,” Ned said after a while. “I was worried about Mother on the ride up—I didn’t want her sitting alone, and I didn’t know when Barbara or Peter would arrive. I’m glad you were with her.”

“I don’t think she noticed I was there, after a while.”

“She did.” He gave her a small smile. “I don’t think she could have done half of what she needed to today, without you there.” They walked on, then Ned said, “It’s unbelievable, really. I mean, he’s always been there. I can’t imagine how Mother will do without him. I know it appears Mother was the one in charge,” he added, “but they’re such a good partnership. They always have been. I think it will take Mother a long time to become used to being without him.”

“Yes,” Scully murmured.

“Here you are,” Ned said, stopping at the garden gate.

“Thanks. Would you like to come in for a few minutes?”

He glanced at the house. “No, I’d best be getting back. But thanks. Tell him I said hello.”

“All right. Thank you for walking me home.”

“Not at all. Good night.” He started back up the drive.

Scully crossed the garden and climbed the stairs to the main floor. The black cat was dozing on the landing again, and lifted his head when Scully approached. She scratched his head and let himself into the house.

She paused a moment at the sight that greeted her. The floor was scattered with toys. Dirty dishes were on the table. Mulder was asleep on the couch, the baby cradled in his arms.

Scully stepped over the mess and sat on the edge of the couch, watching her beloveds sleep. She put her hand lightly on Meggie’s back, feeling her heat and the rapid beating of her heart. She could leave everything else behind, but not these two. She leaned forward and gently kissed Mulder’s lips, then lifted the baby from his chest. Meggie gave a little whimper and relaxed against her. Mulder muttered something then sat up, blinking with confusion. “Oh, honey. Oh, good. It’s you.”

“Hi. I’ll put her to bed.”

“Are you okay?” he said gently.

Scully couldn’t answer for a moment, then whispered, “I’ll tell you in a minute.”

“Hey.” He stood, put his arms around her and kissed her. “I love you,” he said, stroking her cheeks with his fingertips. Scully could only nod, smiling tremulouly. She hurried up the stairs to lay Meggie in her crib. She stayed for a few minutes, making sure the baby was comfortable and sleeping peacefully, stroking Meggie’s thick brown curls.

When Scully came back downstairs Mulder had put the dirty dishes into the washer and begun to pick up the toys. Scully joined him, loading her arms with stuffed animals, quilted blocks, chunky toy cars and wooden farm animals.

“How is Janet holding up?” Mulder asked her.

“She’s still in shock, I think. Barbara put her to bed early. Her other children have arrived—Ned says hello, by the way. Peter won’t get here until tomorrow—he’s flying in from Vancouver.”

“And the funeral?”

“Saturday morning, at the Carterhaugh church. He’ll be buried in the family plot.” She dumped her armload into the toybox. “What happens next is my question: the property goes to Peter, but I doubt he’d want to leave his life in Canada just yet.”

“Peter? Why not Barbara? Isn’t she the oldest?”

“It has something to do with the way the estate is entailed. It goes to the eldest son, not the eldest child.”

“I doubt he’d kick his mother out of her own home.”

“Right, but what about our lease? It was signed by Tom.”

Mulder stopped stacking toys in the toy chest to say, “It was signed by Tom and Janet. Even if Peter decides to move in, Janet would still be here and she wouldn’t let us be kicked out either. I imagine Peter would appreciate the extra income.” He stoods and put his arms around her with a quick kiss. “Tell me what’s really on your mind, honey.”

Scully sighed as she wrapped her arms around his waist. She wanted to say, Don’t ever die, but that was silly. “I’m okay.”

Mulder tilted up her face and kissed the tip of her nose. “You seem a little shaken up.”

“I … I was just reminded of why I didn’t go into general practice.”

“Was it that hard?” he said softly.

“She was so lost today. She’s always so self-possessed, but today … I mean, they’ve been married for fifty years! Can you imagine being without your partner for the first time in fifty years?”

His eyes glistened and he kissed her. He whispered, “I can imagine.”

Scully leaned her head against his chest. Of course he could imagine it, too. She stroked his cheek and stepped out of his arms. “There’s still a lot to clean up.”

“Scully …” His hand trailed down her arm and caught her hand, and pulled her back to him. He kissed her again, pressing her close to his body.

Scully felt her head fall back, her knees waver. She slid her arms around his neck, her hands into his hair. Meggie would wake up again soon, it was hours until bedtime, there were still toys on the floor and she hadn’t eaten since lunch—but still she whispered, “Let’s go to bed,” into his ear. She needed this—desperately, hungrily, needed to feel her blood pounding and Mulder’s damp skin beneath her fingertips.

Mulder groaned and rubbed his lips against her face. “Or we could stay down here,” he muttered. He picked her up and set her on the island, and started kissing down the open vee of her blouse, pushing her onto her back.

Scully closed her eyes, panting and grinning. An erratic sex life was normal for new parents, wasn’t it? She played with his ears as he kissed her, her legs sprawled open around him.

Someone knocked on the door. Mulder rested his forehead on her stomach with a muttered, “Fuck.”

“I’ll get rid of them,” Scully said, sliding off the island.

“I didn’t tell you earlier,” Mulder said, not letting her go to the door yet. “I called Annie’s roommate. She hadn’t seen Annie or Jimmy since yesterday morning.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I bet Deidre called the police, and I bet someone’s here to ask a few questions. The car being closest to us and all.”

Scully stared up at Mulder a moment, not knowing what to say. Their visitor tapped on the door again. “This is a hell of a day,” she said at last, and went to answer it.

The constable was efficient and polite, nodding to Scully with a quiet, “Mrs. Mulder. Sorry to hear about the death at the big house today.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Lynn will appreciate your condolences, Constable Sharpe,” Scully said.

“I hate to disturb them, but we’ll need her permission to search the woods.”

“She’ll give it,” Mulder said. “And the whole family’s there, or almost all of them. Someone will talk to you about it, I’m sure.”

“Let me go over this one more time. You saw nothing unusual last night, and just noticed the car this morning.”

“That’s right,” Mulder said. “The baby goes to sleep around eleven, and we go to bed soon after.” He smiled his thanks at Scully as she set a cup of tea in front of him, and caught her hand to give it a squeeze as she passed.

“Oh, thank you,” Constable Sharpe said as she gave him a cup. “Been tramping about all day. When did you last speak with Annie?”

“The twenty-ninth,” Scully said. “She usually watches the baby for us when we go out, and she wanted to know if we’d need her for Halloween. I told her no, we were staying in … I wonder if I should have said we needed her.” Mulder reached for her hand again and she gave it.

“And Jimmy? When did you last see him?”

“I don’t even remember. It’s been a while. Sometimes he does odd jobs around the Hall but it seems like he hasn’t for a month or two.”

“It’s been a month,” Mulder said. “He helped when they put in the winter garden. He hasn’t been to the Hall since, as far as I know.” He stroked the back of Scully’s hand with his thumb.

“Comes and goes like a stray cat,” the constable observed. “Speaking of which, I noticed that cat on your landing. Is it all right?”

“Oh, yes. He’s fine. He seems to have adopted us.”

“You’ll want to have Dr. Kingsley look at him. Rabies or worms, you never know with strays—especially with a baby in the house.” He drank the rest of his tea and stood. “Thanks for the drink, Mrs. Mulder. I’ll let you know if they’ve seen anything at the Hall.”

“Thanks,” Mulder said. “If you need volunteers for a search party, I’m willing.”

“It may come to that,” Constable Sharpe said. “Good night.”

After Mulder had seen him out he sat at the island again, where Scully was still sipping her tea. “There’s something you’re not telling,” he said flatly.

“When she called the other day she wanted to know about more than if we wanted her to babysit. She wanted to know the name of my midwife, and if I’d liked her.”

“You think she’s pregnant.”

“Yes.”

Mulder inhaled slowly, his brow furrowing. “But Jimmy’s not a killer. There’s no violence in him. He wouldn’t hurt Annie. I’m positive of it.”

“I still have a terrible feeling about this, Mulder. I have a terrible feeling they’re not going to find her alive.”

Mulder leaned over the island and kissed her. “What do you say I make us some dinner, we watch a video and play with Miss Meg, and get our minds off of this. I’m sure Annie is fine. I’m sure Jimmy is fine. This will make sense, eventually.”

“Anytime you want to cook is fine with me,” Scully said, smiling, but it faded when Mulder turned away. She was glad to be distracted by the baby’s cries, and hurried upstairs to get her.

---

The police did not return that night, so Scully supposed—hoped—that meant there was nothing further to report. She put Meggie to bed as usual, and quietly went about getting herself ready for bed herself.

Mulder was already in bed, an open file in his lap. He glanced at her, his eyes hidden by the glare from the bedside lamp on his reading glasses. “Has the Princess left us for the night?”

“She has.” Scully put her clothes in the hamper and put on her pajamas. She crawled into bed at Mulder’s side and leaned her head against Mulder’s arm. “What’s up?”

“This is from Interpol.”

“Interpol?” She sat up to look at the file more closely.

Mulder gave her the file and said, “Kidnappings. Same M.O., same ransom demands, three different countries.”

“An international kidnapping ring?”

“Looks like. No one’s been seriously injured but I am afraid it could escalate.”

“And you have to look into it,” Scully said quietly, closing the file.

“Yeah. I won’t go until after Tom’s funeral.” He put his hand on top of hers. “Just to London, and just for a few days. Maybe to Vienna to talk to the last victim and his family. There’s no link to who they’re targeting, and if we could just figure out how they’re chosing the victims—”

“It’s okay,” Scully said, and put her hand on his cheek. She stroked his face. “I understand. We can leave the FBI and leave the States, but we’ll never stop being cops.”

He smiled and turned his head to kiss her wrist. “Every time one of these comes, I think, I could say no—and then I realize, no. I can’t.”

“I know.”

“I just hate to keep running out on you.”

“You always come home,” Scully said, stroking the hair at the back of his head. And don’t you see, she thought, that’s one of the things I love about you? That you have to help? She pulled his head to her breast and kissed his hair, and Mulder wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Are you tired?”

“A little. A little drained. Are you tired?”

He chuckled, rubbing his cheek against her breast. “A little.”

“Baby …” She kissed his hair again. “Do you ever worry about the magic dying?”

“Nope.” She chuckled too and he raised his head with a smile. “I waited a long time for you. I can wait a little longer.” He kissed her, and murmured against her lips, “But you do realize that when you finally have the energy you are so going to make this up to me.”

“Yes, my love,” she whispered, grinning. They kissed again and got under the covers, and Mulder turned out the light.

---

Samhain -3-

Scully cracked open one eye at the sound of the baby’s cries, heaved a deep sigh and shoved herself upright. Mulder grumbled in his sleep and rolled onto his back. She glanced at him over her shoulder, then got to her feet and went into the nursery. She picked Meggie up from the crib. “I know, little bug, I know,” she murmured as she carried her downstairs, and Meggie’s wails faded to an occasional whimper. She rested her head on Scully’s shoulder, her fingers in her mouth, as Scully prepared a bottle.

As she was shaking the bottle to mix the formula, Scully looked out the window at the dark night. With the nearest city miles away, nighttime here was absolutely black. Sometimes she could see a lit window from the Hall, but otherwise the countryside looked untouched by modern times or even by civilization.

She paused and moved closer to the window. There were lights in the forest—just tiny blue flickers among the trees. The search party? she thought. Are they out? But the lights were too small and intermittent to be flashlights.

As abruptly as she’d noticed them, the lights stopped. Scully watched for a few minutes more, but Meggie started to whimper so Scully whispered, “Sh, sweet Meg, sh,” and took her to Mulder’s corner.

Mulder was a nester. She’d known this about him for years but hadn’t thought how it would translate to their house. Behind the sofa, Mulder had gathered together body pillows, a blanket or two, back rests, the TV, and whatever books he was reading now. It was mostly out-of-sight so Scully allowed it, but she had to confess it had the right level of messy comfort.

She lay down on the pillows with the baby close to her side, and pulled a blanket over them. She rested her head on her arm and watched as Meggie latched onto the bottle, sucking as if she’d never eat again.

Lights, Scully thought. Little blue lights. It was too cold for fireflies—and she hadn’t noticed fireflies over the summer anyway. So, what then? The forest wasn’t boggy enough to produce swamp gas, if it was anything like the closet part she knew.

“What do you think, Meggie?” she whispered to the baby. “What’s going on in our woods?”

Meggie just opened her eyes a moment, then shut them and continued noisily sucking the bottle. Scully pressed her nose against Meggie’s fragrant head, inhaling the sweetly-sour scent of Baby. It’s probably nothing, she thought. Probably my imagination—maybe Mulder’s right, maybe I am starting to get fanciful.

Most people, she thought, would call this a perfect life. She got to spend nearly every day with her best friend and her child, didn’t have to scramble to make a living, had a lovely house and good neighbors and friends just a few hours away … but there was something missing. Purpose, she sometimes thought it was, purpose aside from Wife and Mother.

Scully sighed and cupped Meggie’s foot in her hand, playing with her toes through her pajamas. The baby kicked against her hand a little and let the bottle fall out of her mouth. “Are you done?” Scully murmured, sitting up. She picked the baby up and lay a burp rag over her shoulder, and began to stroke and rub her back. Meggie sighed too, and after a few minutes belched loudly.

“Bad one that time,” Scully said and wiped Meggie’s mouth. “Is there any more?” She rocked her a little longer, still rubbing her back, and leaned against the upholstered back rest. No wonder Mulder was always falling asleep down here, she thought–she was having trouble keeping her eyes open too, and not just because it was three in the morning. She removed the burp rag from her shoulder and went on slowly stroking Meggie’s back, waiting for her to fall asleep again.

When the baby’s breathing was even and deep, Scully got carefully to her feet and carried the baby up to her crib. She wasn’t ready to sleep, herself. She went into the bedroom and changed her pajamas for jeans and a sweater, and picked up a jacket and pair of boots. She kissed Mulder and went back downstairs in her stocking feet.

Quickly Scully put on her boots and jacket, and got her keys from the end table and a flashlight from the storage cupboard. It was just a little exploring, she thought, just a little looking around.

She opened the door to the outside stairs. The black cat was still sleeping on the landing, but leapt up at the creak of the hinges. “Hello, cat,” Scully whispered as she quietly shut the door. She started for the stairs but the cat twined himself around her ankles and she fell heavily on the top step. The cat hopped onto her lap. He shifted his paws, needle-sharp claws digging through the denim, and stared at her with wide green eyes. “I don’t want to play, cat.” She scratched the cat’s ears and it purred, but dug in its claws again when she tried to lift it from her lap.

“What’s gotten into you?” Scully said. She worked its claws loose from her jeans and set the cat on the landing, stood and picked up her flashlight. She started down the stairs and the cat streaked after her, to park himself at the bottom of the stairs. He meowed woefully.

“I’m just going to look around,” Scully said, feeling silly trying to justify herself to a cat. “Do you want to come with me?” She flicked on the flashlight and started down the garden path for the woods. The cat followed along, meowing up at her now and again.

They both paused at the edge of the trees. The woods looked black and full of secrets. Scully heard a strange rhythmic thumping from within the forest, and the black cat arched his body and hissed.

Hoof beats? Scully thought. The trees seemed to be jumping and Scully realized the hand holding the flashlight was shaking. The cat hissed and snarled, his body crouched low to the ground.

“Okay,” Scully muttered, “I change my mind.” Her heart was pounding—she couldn’t get a deep breath, couldn’t hold the flashlight steady. The thumping was getting louder, but she could see nothing, only trees in the small circle of light.

The cat howled and leapt into the trees. “Cat!” Scully cried and cringed at the catlike cry of pain. She took a deep breath and followed the sound into the trees.

Before she could go far, however, the thumping stopped and the cat straggled out. One ear was torn and he was bleeding from the nose, favoring his front left leg. “Poor darling,” Scully said, taking off her jacket. She wrapped it around the black cat and picked him up. He was purring with pain and made a small gasping meow when the movement jostled him. “It’s okay,” she murmured to him, much like the voice she used with Meggie when she was upset. She cast the flashlight around the trees, looking something—anything—but there was nothing to see.

She carried the cat into the house and put him on the couch, then ran upstairs and shook Mulder’s shoulder. “Mulder, wake up. The cat’s been hurt.”

“The cat?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “What’s happened?”

“The cat. Has been hurt. I want to look him over and see what I can do for him and I need your help.”

“Wait. The cat’s been hurt.”

“Yes.”

“You need my help.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then Mulder nodded and said, “Where did you put the cat, and where’s Meggie?”

“She’s asleep and the cat’s downstairs.”

“All right, I’m coming,” he said, climbing out of bed. He paused and looked her up and down. “Why are you dressed?”

“Later,” she said, and got her medical kit from the bathroom before going back downstairs.

---

At dawn the cat was asleep in a nest of blankets in front of the fireplace, Mulder was dozing over his coffee, and Meggie had decided to join the fun but didn’t seem hungry for her breakfast jar of crushed apricots. “Looks like he’ll live,” Mulder observed.

“I wish I’d seen what attacked him. Don’t those claw marks look odd to you?”

“They just look like claw marks to me, honey.” He looked at Meggie, who was gnawing her spoon. Apricots were smeared over her cheeks and around her mouth, and even up into her hair. “Behold the future of our nation.”

“We’ll try some cereal later. Maybe she’ll eat that.”

Mulder sipped some coffee and said, “But you know what I’d really like to know? Why you were dressed, and how you noticed he was hurt when he was outside last night.”

“I was outside too.”

“And … why?”

She looked up from the cat and said, “Did you notice anything odd in the woods when you were up with her last night?”

“Nope.”

“Are you certain?”

“It was stormy last night. I couldn’t see beyond the garden. What did you see?”

“Lights, out in the woods. Little, blue, flickering lights. And when I went out to see what it was, I heard hoof beats.”

“And so the cat went into the woods and was attacked, and you followed.”

“Yes.”

“That was very brave … but not the wisest move, sweetheart.”

“You’re hardly one to talk about going off half-cocked.”

“We are not talking about me. We’re talking about you—the mother of a small child who is still recovering—”

“Mulder!” The cat looked up at her raised voice and she stroked his head.

“Who is still recovering,” Mulder repeated, “from giving birth. Who had no weapon of any kind and no idea of what she was looking for, and no protection except for a black cat.”

“Who did protect me. Somehow. Do we have any tuna? I think he should have tuna.”

“We have tuna. And I’d let him sleep on a mink stole if we had one, too. But that’s not the point. You can’t run off like that, Scully. What would Meggie do without you? How would I explain that to her?”

Scully’s eyes stung and she said, “The same way I’d explain it to her if anything happened to you.”

“Scully.” He got up from the kitchen table and sat down on the floor beside her. “Don’t ever do this again. Please. There are some risks that are just not worth your life. There could be a murderer in those woods—”

“Last night you said you thought it would be all right, that Annie’s okay.”

“I’m not so sure now. Something attacked the cat. That same something may have attacked Annie.” He took her face in his hands. “And that same something could have attacked you. Please, Scully. Don’t go into the woods alone. Please. For Meggie. For me.”

“Okay,” Scully whispered. “You promise, too.”

“I promise. Though I am going to help with the search party if they ask.”

“All right. You won’t be alone, at least.”

The phone rang, and Meggie squealed in response, pounding the tray of her high chair with her palm. Mulder and Scully held each other’s gazes a moment, then Mulder got up to answer the phone. “Mulder. No, I was awake.” He listened for a long time. “I’ll be ready.” He hung up the phone.

“Constable Maddox?”

“Yes. The search party is going to meet in half an hour, in front of the Hall. The family isn’t thrilled, but Janet’s fond of Annie. So, there it is.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I think I ought to take a quick shower.”

“Be careful out there,” Scully said quietly, and he stopped on his way upstairs, to come back and kiss her sweetly.

“I will, my love.” He ran his hand through her hair and went upstairs.

---

Simon Lynn showed up on their doorstep soon after breakfast time, looking miserable and damp from the faint mist that was in the air. “Mum says I’m in the way.”

“Come on in,” Scully said. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.” He slouched to the cookie jar and took out a cookie. He’d dyed his hair again since Scully had seen him last—from green with bleached tips to jet black. It suited him more then the multi-colored experiments, Scully thought. “What are you doing?”

“Baking. I had a craving for fresh bread.” She had all the ingredients and her recipe arranged on the island, but was looking at the task with little enthusiasm. It had seemed a good way to stay busy—but she didn’t want to just be busy.

He stopped in front of the fireplace. “Who’s this?”

“That’s the cat. He was hurt in a fight last night.”

“What’s his name?”

“No name yet. We’re just calling him Cat, I guess.”

Simon knelt down to gently scratch between the cat’s ears. “Poor bugger. We had a cat when I was little. Named him Vernon.”

“Why Vernon?”

“I don’t know. It seemed like a good name for a cat.” Simon sat down on the floor next to Meggie, munching his cookie. Scully had spread out a blanket and put Meggie’s play keyboard over her so she could press the buttons and kick the dangling plastic stars. She looked up at Simon with a serious expression. “Hello, Meglet. Dana, can she have some cookie?”

“No, she doesn’t have any teeth yet. You can feed her at lunch, if you like.”

“Okay. Where’s Mulder?”

“He went out with the search party earlier.” She ran the tap in the sink, her fingers in the stream to feel when it turned hot.

“Search party? Oh, for Annie. I heard about that. I hope she’s all right.”

“Me too.” She measured a cupful of hot water and put it on the counter with her other ingredients.

“There’s a lot of forest to cover, and Gran said Jimmy sleeps in the woods sometimes. He’d know a lot of places to hide.” He sighed. “Poor Annie.” He sighed again, more heavily, and again—and when Scully looked up from her recipe she realized he was weeping.

She sat on the floor beside Simon and picked up Meggie to hold her in her lap. She put her arm around Simon and he laid his head on her shoulder.

“I miss my grandad.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She stroked his hair.

“Last night I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to Grandad’s study. I was looking at his books and I thought, He’s never going to read them again—”

“I know,” Scully soothed. “I know.”

“It’s never going to be the same here. Gran said things are going to change. I don’t want things to change here.”

“I don’t think things will change much. Your grandmother will still live here. The Hall won’t change. Your family will be the same it’s always been—just a little smaller.”

“Yeah.” He sighed and scrubbed his face with the back of his hand. “Everyone keeps saying he’s in a better place now. Do you think it’s true? I don’t know what I think about heaven and souls and all that.”

“I don’t know what I think either.” She hesitated, and said, “Once, when I was very sick, I felt I was in a place—it was very calm and peaceful, and I felt safe. I felt … I wasn’t afraid.”

“I don’t think Gran believes in Heaven,” Simon said. “She said, when they were talking last night, that it doesn’t matter. The funeral and all of it, it doesn’t matter.”

“I think what she meant is that she understands that funerals are more for the living than the dead.”

“I never thought of it like that.”

“It takes a few funerals to realize it.” Meggie was twisting around, trying to get closer to her, so Scully lifted her up against her chest.

“May I use your loo to wash my face?”

“Go ahead.” He stood and went upstairs, and Scully leaned her cheek against Meggie’s head. The baby sighed and put her fingers in her mouth.

Scully pulled up her knees and began to stroke Meggie’s back with her palm. Baking and housework could wait. Right now she just wanted to hold her baby.

She heard someone running up the stairs, but before she could stand to open the door it burst open. “We found them,” Mulder said.

“Annie? Is she all right?”

Mulder slowly shook his head. “Both of them, Scully. In the woods. Dead.”

---

Samhain -4-

The last of the police cars left by nightfall. Despite the mist that twice became rain, the investigators spent the day combing the woods for clues. The constable Scully spoke to said they’d only found two sets of footprints and Annie’s flashlight. There were no signs of large animals—“They’d have to have brought one in, Mrs. Mulder, if that’s what attacked your cat,” the constable said. “Wolves and the like have been extinct here for centuries.”

When the medical examiner’s team brought out the body bags on stretchers, Scully longed to flash her badge and request permission to perform the autopsies. She felt the pull of curiosity strongly, the sheer needing to know why that had pushed her into science in the first place. As it was, she had to content herself with seeing Mulder clamber into the coroner’s van. He would tell her whatever he learned.

It was a full day even so. Scully took the cat to the vet’s office, with Simon tagging along to hold the cat in the car and the baby in the office. The veterinarian gave her tiny pain-killer pills to sneak into the cat’s food, and antibiotic cream for the scratches, and advised her to let the cat rest for a few days before letting him out again. “Did you see what attacked him?”

“No,” Scully said, stroking the cat’s thick fur. “I think it was something big.”

While they were out Scully made another stop, to buy a litter tray and basket for the cat to sleep in. Simon stayed in the car with the cat in his lap, watching over Meggie while she dozed in her car seat. “You’re a good babysitter,” Scully told him when she got back to the car.

“It’s easy when they’re sleeping.”

She took Simon home after the errands were through, and was invited to stay for tea. Aside for a few words to Janet she refused: she needed to get the cat and baby home.

And this, she thought as the-night grew darker, is my life. No more thrill of the chase or wonder of discovery. Just home and hearth, a sleepy baby in her arms, waiting for her husband to come home with news of the outside world.

Homesickness, she thought with a sigh. That’s all this is. As much as she liked it here, and despite superficial things like language and history, England was a foreign country. Her lack of authority was just another thing to get used to, like driving on the left side of the road, the look a constable gave her when she called him “officer,” and keeping a straight face when ordering bangers and mash at the pub.

She laid Meggie in her crib and waited a few minutes to make sure she’d stay asleep, then quietly pulled the nursery door to almost-shut. Mulder had called twice during the afternoon, both times to say he’d be home soon—but obviously that was Mulder-soon, not any other definition of “soon” recognized by common parlance.

“Stop it,” Scully muttered. She passed her hand over her forehead and decided to take a bath and go to bed. After another long day she deserved an early bedtime. She stripped off her clothes matter-of-factly, dropping them straight into the hamper, and walked naked to the bathroom. She left the door ajar so she could hear the baby, and poured in apple-scented bubbles as the hot water ran. She pinned up her hair and got into the tub as it was still filling, and leaned against the back with a sigh, letting the water rush over her toes.

It was a sensual feeling, and she closed her eyes to focus on it, on the nearly-too-hot water lapping against her skin, on the tart scent of the bubbles. She stroked her hands up her ribs, frowning a little because her abdomen was still soft and her breasts felt heavy. Except for walks, she hadn’t been exercising much, and it would take work to get her body into anything resembling its pre-baby shape.

At least Mulder still seemed to like it, babyfat and all.

Scully opened her eyes to look at the clock beside the medicine cabinet. It was getting late. Why wasn’t he home?

As if in answer she heard footsteps in the next room, and Mulder rapped softly on the door. “Hey. It’s me.”

“Hi. Come on in.”

Mulder pulled off his jacket and sat on the bathmat beside the tub, and ran his fingers through the nearest mound of bubbles. “You look comfortable.”

“I am. Do you want to join me?”

He looked at her a moment, then said, “Yeah,” as he stood to remove the rest of his clothes. Scully kept her eyelids lowered, watching him through her lashes, and scooted to back of the tub so he could sit in front of her. “Oh … yeah. That’s nice,” he muttered as the water covered him. He settled against her, heavy and comforting, and Scully wrapped her arms and legs around him.

“You’re cold.”

“A little. It’s chilly out there.”

He didn’t seem inclined to say more, and she supposed her questions could wait until morning, but curiosity got the better of her. “Did they let you observe at the coroner’s?”

Mulder sighed. “Yeah. You were right. She was about ten weeks along.”

“Oh, God. Poor Annie. Did the cause look like anything we’ve seen before?”

Mulder was quiet a long time, then said, “The coroner was unable to pinpoint a cause of death.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I am entirely serious. Sometime around one a.m. of November first, two perfectly healthy young people simply stopped breathing.”

“And no wounds? No disease?”

“Well, Jimmy was starting to develop cirrhosis of the liver, but that happens when you play hard, I guess.” His hand found her knee beneath the bubbles. He rubbed her kneecap with his palm. “Jimmy doesn’t have any family. I offered to cover the cost of his funeral, and Annie’s too, if her mother needs help with it.”

“All right,” Scully whispered.

“And the inquest won’t be until next week. So much of the town will be at Thomas’s funeral tomorrow, Maddox didn’t think it would be appropriate until after. Maddox asked me to stay, to, since we’re closest to where they were found. I could just go to London for a day on Monday and do what I can there. The Vienna trip can wait.”

“And would you go to Vienna alone?” Scully tried to keep her voice steady, just a concerned wife, not a jealous one.

“Do you want to come?” He twisted his head back to look at her. “We still need to get a passport for the Princess, and there’s nobody to leave her with.”

“Not on short notice, no,” Scully said. Mulder looked at her a moment more, then chuckled and leaned his head against her shoulder again.

“No, Phoebe is not going with me. No, she will not be London, as far as I know. And no, she’s not been asked to participate in this investigation. Is that what you wanted to know?”

“I wasn’t thinking of Phoebe at all,” Scully said, and yelped when he lightly pinched her thigh.

“Liar. Let go of the Phoebe thing, would you?”

“She wants you back, Mulder.”

“Well, I don’t want her, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Scully stroked his chest with her open palm. He was right, she knew that, but it didn’t stop the niggling worry that arose whenever Phoebe called or emailed or decided to “pop in” as she sometimes did. She’d show up looking professional and chic, she’d have a file for Mulder to go over that would invariably fascinate him, and they’d spend the afternoon talking shop. And if she ever caught Scully’s eye, she’d smile in a way that was infuriatingly smug.

And somehow she always managed to come on days when Meggie was throwing up or having a tantrum, or Scully was in wellingtons and smeared with garden dirt, or when Mulder and Scully were having a disagreement at whatever volume they both could handle that day.

But on the other hand, whenever she did come, Mulder made a point to hold Scully’s hand, or play with the baby, or call Scully “sweetheart” and “love.”

She knew he was right, so she said simply, “I know,” and kissed his shoulder.

“So what are you worried about?” He closed his hand around her calf.

“Nothing. I’m not worried about a thing.”

“Good.” He turned his head to kiss her and tickled the bottom of her foot. After a moment he chuckled and broke it off, saying, “This is really uncomfortable,” as he turned over to face her. Water splashed over the side of the tub and bubbles clung to his body. Scully wiped them from his chest and smiled at him, closing her eyes as once more he kissed her.

Soapy hands slid over slick skin, and the bathroom tile echoed with the sound of kisses. Scully hooked her knees on Mulder’s knobby hips and rubbed her fingers over his back as his hands clasped her breasts. His evening beard scraped her skin as he kissed her neck. “You smell good,” he muttered.

“It’s the bubblebath.”

“It’s you.” He looked at her with clover-green eyes. “I missed you today.”

“So why didn’t you come get me?”

“What would you have done with Meggie?”

It was a reasonable question, but still Scully said, “I get the feeling that everyone thinks since I gave birth my brain has shut off.”

“You’ve just got more important things to worry about.”

“Mulder …”

He kissed her and smoothed her hair. “I envy you.” His lips tugged on her earlobe. “I’d rather be with you two all day instead of chasing criminals all over the country … I’d rather pass off the Vienna trip to anybody who’d go instead of leaving you …”

“But you’ll still go,” Scully said quietly, and Mulder stopped kissing her with a sigh.

“I’ll quit. If that’s what you want, I’ll quit.”

“I don’t want you to quit.”

He waited as she flicked her fingers in the water. “Then what do you want?” he said finally.

She watched a cloud of bubbles slide off his arm, and said, “I want to make love. I want to go to bed and make love to you.”

“I want that too,” Mulder said gently, and helped her to her feet. He pulled the stopper and drew the curtain completely around the tub, turned on the nozzle and began to rinse the bubble bath from Scully’s body. She turned in a slow circle under his ministrations, tilting her head towards his hand as he wiped droplets from her face. He was careful not to get her hair wet, and kissed the tip of her nose when he was done. She took the nozzle from him and rinsed him in turn, wiping off residue from their bath with her hands instead of the washcloth.

“I just hate to get you dirty again, now that you’re sweet and clean,” he murmured, watching her through lowered lashes.

“Funny, I love getting dirty.” She grinned at him and turned off the water.

They buffed each other dry standing on the bathmat, and Mulder wrapped her in a towel and led her to the bed. “Did you check on the baby?” she whispered as he laid her on the crisp cotton sheets. “And the cat, is the cat okay?”

“They’re both sleeping, sweetheart.” He kissed her breastbone and slid his hands beneath the towel. “There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing to upset you …” His hands moved up her body, parting the towel, to be followed by his mouth.

“Oh,” she gasped faintly and worked her legs from beneath him so she could wrap them around her waist. She thrust her hands into his hair and he paused a moment, as if expecting her to tell him to stop. “Don’t stop,” she muttered, arching her back.

“Mmph,” Mulder answered and resumed sucking her here and there, so strongly her teeth sank into her lip to keep from crying out. She knew from experience that if she made any sound resembling pain he would stop—and it would take half the night to convince him whatever he’d done hadn’t hurt.

The first time they’d made love after Meggie’s birth—three months after, and with her doctor’s go-ahead—intercourse had hurt her, almost like losing her virginity all over again, and she’d bled afterwards. It had taken weeks for Mulder to feel comfortable enough to try more than making love to her with fingers and tongue.

It could be worse, she thought as she pushed him onto his back so she could kiss his chest. He could not care. It was much better to have a husband who was overly solicitous than one who ignored her tears.

But she could admit, just to herself, that she missed frantic, hungry sex on the nearest available surface. As sweet as their lovemaking was now, it wasn’t the same.

Mulder’s hands were moving through her hair, removing the hairpins. “I love that you’ve let it grow long.”

“Oh?” She pulled her head from his hands and flipped her hair in front of her face to tease it down his chest and stomach. Mulder purred like a lion and, when she lifted her head, grabbed her face and gave her a long, slurpy kiss.

He started to turn her over but she placed her hands on his shoulders. “Let me,” she whispered into his mouth. “Let me love you.”

“Are you sure you’re up to it, baby? I can do all the work.”

“So can I,” Scully murmured, taking him into her hand and guiding him inside her. His body shuddered and he clasped her thighs, his eyes closed.

“Oh, yeah, that’s the stuff,” he muttered, and Scully laughed even as she sighed with pleasure. This was good—this was better than good, better than bestest. No pain anywhere, even as her thighs started to tremble, just fulfillment, ecstasy, the dim lamplight gleaming on Mulder’s damp skin and the tantilizing sight of his parted lips.

She lowered herself to kiss him and push her hand through his hair. “God, I love you, secret agent man,” she whispered. His eyes opened lazily and he smiled as he traced his fingertips up her ribs.

“You feel like heaven, baby. You feel like a sunrise.”

Scully planted her hands on either side of his head and panted against his lips, pushing her hips to meet his and tightening herself around him. Mulder groaned and worked his hand between them, to flick her clitoris with a fingertip. Their gazes held until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any more—she had to close them and watch starbursts explode behind her eyelids.

“Now can I-? Please?” He rolled her onto her back, hardly breaking his rhythm, and kissed her deeply, his hands in her hair. Scully raised her legs higher as his thrusts grew fast, watching his face as his lips pulled back and sweat dripped from his chin. She cupped his face and traced her thumbs over his lips.

That did it—he gasped, shuddered, thrust frantically and came so strongly she thought he might faint. His body fell heavily onto hers. He kissed her collarbone and settled his head against her breasts. She stroked his hair, eyes closed.

After a moment his body stiffened. “Condom.”

“What?”

“We forgot a condom. Or anything.” He pushed himself above her to look into her eyes. “Unless you didn’t.”

“I didn’t think about it. But it’s the wrong time of the month anyway. I think.”

“You think?” He pulled out of her and turned away, rubbing his temples. “Scully. We talked about this.”

“Yes, we did, and we’ll probably talk more.”

“What more is there to say? I am not ready for this—I am not ready to lose you.”

“It is not an either-or situation,” Scully said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She kissed the back of his neck, pressing her breasts against his back. “It could be much easier this time around.”

“And what if it’s not? I don’t understand why you’re so willing to risk yourself for this. We have a child. We have a beautiful, perfect child who needs her mother more than she needs a brother or sister.”

“I just want a family, Mulder.”

“We are a family.”

There was something desperate in his eyes, as if he could already see a future without her. She kissed him and pulled him into her arms, lying them both back down against the pillows. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Let’s wait on this. Let’s see what my doctor says before we absolutely say no, okay?” She rubbed her palm over his cheek. “Please? Don’t reject the idea outright, okay?”

Mulder sighed, closed his eyes and nodded. “Okay. Let’s see what your doctor has to say. But I bet he’ll be on my side,” he added as he lay in her embrace again.

Scully only sighed, and reached over to turn off the lamp on the nightstand. She watched the shadows play on the ceiling for a long time

---

Samhain -5-

Every pew of the small Carterhaugh church was completely full. Scully squeezed into the back pew with the baby on her lap, and Mulder stood against the wall behind them, the baby bag over his shoulder.

Scully had never been to an Anglican funeral. She knew one of the hymns, and recited the twenty-third Psalm along with the rest of the congregation. The vicar, Mr. Stephens, had an orator’s voice, and spoke of Thomas’s life with obvious affection: his many charities to the village, his love for his family, and his long interest in the history and lore of the area.

At first Meggie was well-behaved, quietly sucking on her pacifier. Scully had dressed her in a flowered romper and patent leather shoes with lacy white socks, and placed a matching headband around her head. “I love that she’s your dress-up doll,” Mulder had said when he saw her.

When Peter Lynn stood to give a reading Meggie started to whimper and squirm. Scully got up from the pew and Mulder held out his hands, silently offering to take her. Scully shook her head, lifted the baby bag from his shoulder, and took the baby outside to the churchyard.

The mists and rains of of the last few days had given way to perfect blue skies and gentle sunshine. The grass was lushly green and neatly trimmed around the graves, with trees planted here and there and lining the edge of the churchyard. Scully walked among the gravestones as she patted Meggie’s back and murmured to her, “Too much sitting, baby girl?” Meggie let the pacifier drop out of her mouth to wail a little more. Scully caught the pacifier before it could hit the ground, chuckled ruefully and kissed the baby’s hair. “Okay, bug, okay …”

Many of the stones were centuries old, their inscriptions worn away to mere scratches in the stone. Scully avoided the freshly-turned mounds of earth and looked instead at the generations of Lynns, dozens of Annes, Edwards, Henrys and Catherines. No Barbaras, Scully noticed, and no Janets.

Janet had rarely spoken of her family, and no one had come to support her—not a sister or even a cousin. It seemed she had no one but her children.

Her accent—now that Scully was accustomed somewhat to the regional variances to notice—wasn’t as posh as her children’s, but wasn’t as broad as the other residents of Carterhaugh. Scully guessed, from things Janet and Thomas had said, that Janet was from a distant part of England and that their marriage had been a shock to the Lynn family. Beyond that, she knew little of their lives beyond what she’d observed.

And she wondered, as she found a stone bench beneath a hazel tree, if their love had been passionate in the beginning—if they had snuck out of their houses to meet, if there had been moonlit kisses, if they had laughed and danced and believed their life together would never end.

If, she thought, they had been like us.

Scully took a bottle out of the baby bag and shook it quickly as she settled Meggie on her lap. Meggie pressed her fists against the bottle and began to noisily slurp her formula.

He materialized at her elbow as if he’d sprung up from the ground—he just casually leaned over her shoulder and said, “Wow, Dana. She looks like you.”

Scully looked back at Alex Krycek, her ersatz savior. His letters had stopped soon after Meggie’s birth, and Scully had begun to wonder if he’d been killed or imprisoned or simply lost interest. He looked like life was agreeing with him; tanned, clean-shaven, in jeans, a leather jacket and a fisherman’s sweater, his eyes hidden by sunglasses. Part of her wanted to leap away and shout at him to get away from her baby—part of her knew there was no reason to panic. He was a mystery, but at least in this churchyard, a harmless one.

So she said simply, “I think she looks like Mulder, especially around the eyes.”

“Hm. Okay. Yeah, I see it in the eyes—but she’s got your nose and lips.”

My lips? she thought. “She’s also got my deviated septum so we’re a family of mouth breathers.”

Krycek laughed and came around the bench to site beside her. “She’s very cute, though, mouth-breathing and all.”

“Thank you,” Scully said, and Meggie sleepily blinked her eyes, her drinking slowing down to a less frantic pace. “Did you hear about her birth?”

Slowly he nodded. “I heard. I heard you had some trouble. Are you doing okay?”

“Yes, I’m doing fine.”

“And her? She’s all right?”

“Yes,” Scully said gently. “She’s developing normally and gaining weight the way she’s supposed to. She’s a little demanding, but she’s a baby. They’re supposed to be demanding.”

“She seems quiet now.”

“Luckily her demands are easily met. Keep her warm, keep her dry, keep her fed, give her mommy—or, depending on her mood, daddy when she wants him.”

“She cries for Mulder?” Krycek asked, looking surprised. “When does he let you two out of his sight?”

“He goes away sometimes for a few days to consult for Scotland Yard.”

“Oh. He leaves sometimes.”

There was disapproval in his voice, and defensiveness in hers when she said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Don’t worry, I don’t mean anything’s wrong. I mean I’m surprised he’d leave you. I wouldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t,” Scully repeated skeptically.

“If I had a wife like you and a new baby at home, I wouldn’t be running off all the time.”

The subject—and his steady gaze—were making Scully uncomfortable. Meggie was losing interest in her bottle anyway, so Scully took the bottle from her mouth and pulled out a burp rag from the bag. She said as she lifted Meggie against her shoulder, “He doesn’t run off all the time. And somehow I doubt that you’d stay at home, either. I think you’ve got a wandering soul.”

Krycek chuckled and leaned back on one hand. “You don’t know anything about my soul, Dana.”

“Do you have one? I’ve wondered.”

He stared at her a long moment, then said shortly, “Of course not. I sold it to the highest bidder—but you already knew that.” He got to his feet. “Good to see you, Dana. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Goodbye,” Scully said, but he was already on the gravel path leading out of the churchyard. Scully took a deep breath and let it slowly out. She closed her eyes and inhaled the comforting scent of her baby.

In another fifteen minutes or so, the doors to the church opened and people began to file out. Scully stood and searched the congregation for Mulder. He was one of the last to leave the church, walking with Ned and Fiona. He spotted her after she saw him, and crossed the churchyard to join her.

He put his arms around her and kissed her. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Do you want to stay for the burial?” Meggie was trying to wiggle towards him, so he took her from Scully’s arms.

“Yes.” She watched Fiona and Ned, who had his arm around Simon’s shoulders as they walked. She slipped her arm around Mulder’s waist and leaned her head against his chest.

“Are you okay? Did you get chilled?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just … two more of these to go to. I’m not excited about it.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” He kissed the top of her head.

And, she supposed she ought to say, Alex Krycek was here—but he had disappeared among the mourners and it would only upset Mulder, anyway.

---

When they got home from taking Mulder to the train station, Scully put the baby down for a nap, and then stood in her bedroom, at a loss for what to do with herself. The house was clean, there was no laundry to hang, the bed was made, she wasn’t hungry, and both the cat and the baby were sleeping.

She was still wearing the navy-blue dress she’d put on for the funeral. She unzipped it and hung it up, and put away her shoes and stockings. Her wardrobe was made up less of suits and skirts and more of slacks and casual blouses now, and while it was comfortable she sometimes felt it was someone else’s clothes. Mrs. Mulder, who looked an awful lot like Dana Scully but whose life was vastly different.

Scully sighed, and chose khakis and a denim shirt, leaving her feet bare. She rolled up her sleeves. She could scrub the spotless bathroom, or work on the baby blanket she’d been sewing, or read …

She sat on the bed, listless and blue. Usually when Mulder left she didn’t start missing him until bedtime—but he’d been gone only twenty minutes and she desperately wanted him back.

It was tempting to drop her face into her hands and weep, but instead Scully stood, pulled on her gardening shoes, and placed her sun hat on her head. She picked up the baby monitor on her way through the kitchen. There were ripe apples in the garden, waiting to be picked. And once they were picked she could look up a recipe for applesauce or apple butter or apple pie. And maybe she’d make all three.

And then she’d find something else to do, and keep finding things until it was time to go to bed.

There was a basket and stepladder among the other odds and ends in the bottom floor. She grabbed them and went into the garden, the baby monitor in her shirt pocket. As she picked the fragrant golden apples she could hear the little rustles and smacks from Meggie—sounds that told her all was well. Or should be well.

Lonliness, homesickness, post-partum blues—there were several names to call this feeling. She was happy, mostly. There was just a dissatisfaction that she didn’t know what to do with.

She was in love, she was lonely; she was happy, she was depressed; she was busy, she was bored—

She missed Melissa. Her sister would know how to get her out of this. Melissa had understood feelings and emotional needs—and would have been much easier to talk to than a therapist, which would be Mulder’s suggestion.

No. He wouldn’t suggest therapy. He would blame himself for any unhappiness she might feel, and suggest something overboard like moving to Italy as a cure.

But it wasn’t where they were that was the issue. Carterhaugh, the Gatehouse, Linford Hall—she loved all of these. Even the old forest, with its darkness and noises, had a certain charm. And it wasn’t how they were, either. She loved being a mother. She loved her sweet Meg. She loved living with Mulder, and being able to treat him with all the affection and love she’d had to keep to herself for so many years.

So what, she thought as she twisted another apple from the branch, is your problem, Dana Scully?

Scully sat on the top step of the stepladder. She polished the apple on her shirt and bit into it, closing her eyes. THe flesh was firm, crisp and juicy, just the right balance of tart and sweetness. These would be perfect apples for pie.

The problem, she thought, is there is no problem.

She opened her eyes at the sound of the garden gate closing. It was Krycek again, sunglasses off this time, and he held up his hands in supplication. “Truce?”

“What do you want?”

“To talk to you.” He approached her slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal. “I was rude earlier. I wanted to apologize.”

Scully felt a small stab of guilt. He had been so good to them when he had no reason to be, but her immediate reaction was still antagonistic. She said quietly, “I was rude too. I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven.” He took an apple from her basket and bit into it with a juicy crunch. “That’s really good. What are you going to do with these?”

“Applesauce, I think. Or maybe pie.”

“I bet your pie’s delicious.”

She glanced at him sharply, ready to be offended at the double entendre—but his face was all innocence as he chewed another bit of apple and looked up at the trees. No, Alex Krycek could not be flirting with her. The sky would fall in first.

So she said, “It will be if the apples are good,” and went on got back on the stepladder to continue picking.

After a moment or two Krycek said, “Should you … be up there?”

“Dammit!” Scully said and threw down the basket of apples. “I am fine! I am healthy! I can climb a goddamn stepladder!”

“Well. I think I touched a nerve.”

“Every single person in this town think I’m made out of spun glass. Mulder has to be restrained from carrying me up and down the stairs.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is that bad. And don’t you start treating me like I’m fragile. You of all people know I’m not fragile.”

“Okay, Dana,” he said, smiling down at her. “You’re not fragile.”

“Damn straight.” She realized she was breathing deeply, holding her chin up more high. It felt good. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“I do. I want you to be aware of something. Can we sit somewhere?”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Okay. Look. Spender, the old man, he’s still in jail and he’s still not talking, but he’s starting to get mail. Some of it from the States but a lot of it is from Tunisia and—this the part that worries me—some of it is from Siberia.”

“Why does that worry you?”

“Because I know what’s there.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then Scully took a deep breath and said, “Why didn’t you tell me this in a letter?”

“Because I wanted to see you. And the baby, I wanted to see the baby. Whose name I actually haven’t heard yet.”

“Meggie. Margaret Bettina.”

“That’s pretty. She’s a very pretty girl. And you look good and this house is—phew, amazing—and I’ll let you know what I learn next.” He took out his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and put them on. “See you.”

Not if I see you first, Scully thought. She watched him go, biting her lip, and then picked up the apple basket again to finish picking.

At the gate he turned. “Where’s Mulder?”

She almost said, Upstairs, but said, “London. Until tomorrow night.”

“Interesting,” Krycek said. He gave her a brief wave and left the garden. He seemed almost jaunty as he walked away.

????????????????????

That’s it. No More.

---