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A New Truth by Project: Truthseekers

Including “Memoirs of Care, Recollections of Trust”

A New Truth – Project:Truthseekers

What is Project:Truthseekers all about you ask?

The project was started by fans who were not satisfied with where the series went after the end of Season 8. Our alternate universe begins right after Season 8 of The X-Files, namely the episode titled “Existence”. At the end of “Existence” Scully, Mulder and William are together and our heros seem finally able to admit to each other that they are better and stronger together than apart. Our purpose here is to indulge our fantasy that M&S were never separated as they were at the beginning of Season 9, and that they are going to fight to make the world a safer place for their son.

So pull up a chair, get comfortable, and follow us into alternate un-reality as Mulder & Scully work to derail alien invasion and defeat the colonists.

Please Read!

Some content is intended for a mature audience of 18 years of age or more. Please read responsibly.

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–– Prologue ––

A New Beginning by Tess

“From the moment I became pregnant, I feared the truth. About how… and why. And I know that you feared it too.”

Scully watched his face as she spoke, torn between wanting him to look at her, and the thrilling joy of being witness to his seeming absorption in their son.

“I think what we feared were the possibilities.” Mulder’s voice was a soft rumble of sound. He finally lifted his gaze from the baby’s tiny face peeking out from the white blanket and let it settle on the beloved features of the child’s mother.

“The truth we both know.”

She knew the answer before she even spoke and still the words fell from her lips.

“Which is what?”

His reply, though silent, echoed in her senses. She saw his answer in the hazel eyes that watched her as he bent closer, tasted it in the warmth of his lips as they brushed hers. Felt it in the explosion of love that sent her pulse skittering. Heard it in the whisper of a promise that sparked in her brain. Smelled it in the milky, powdery scent of the child they had created together. He leaned over the baby cradled in his arms and breathed a lifetime of promises into her mouth.

Scully cupped his elbow with her hand and shifted onto her toes to better reach him. Their kiss was as soft and hesitant as a first kiss shared between two people – and as languid and unhurried as one shared by lovers who know every way there is to kiss one another.

She broke the kiss first, sinking back on her heels and her hand slipped over his arm to cup his cheek.

“You shouldn’t be on your feet.” Mulder shifted William into one arm. He wrapped the other arm around her waist and steered her back to the bed. The ordeal of the last few days was etched on her face in the tiny lines that bracketed her nose and mouth and in the faint bruises of color beneath her eyes. He tugged the comforter to the foot of the bed and tossed the decorative pillows onto a chair in the corner of the room while she eased the pale, blue robe from her shoulders. She neatly folded the robe and draped it over the foot of the bed before settling onto the crisp, clean sheets. She held out eager arms and Mulder willingly, although somewhat awkwardly, shifted the now sleeping baby back into her embrace. Her face was transformed as she leaned against the pillows and cuddled the infant close. Gone now were the traces of exhaustion and fear, replaced by an expression that was at once joyous and serene.

Mulder tucked his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans and studied the pretty picture they made. His family. An overwhelming need to protect filled him, and his head began to pound as he contemplated the enormity of the task of keeping them safe.

“Come to bed, Mulder.” She noted the sudden tension in the rigid line of his jaw and the fierceness of his gaze and, as always, she sought to ease and comfort.

“Come to bed,” she repeated, reaching for him with one hand. Mulder shrugged out of his jacket and toed off his boots before stretching out on the bed beside her. Scully laid William onto the mattress between them. Still sore from the arduous delivery, she gingerly curled up on her side, facing Mulder and the baby and with a blissful sigh, nestled her cheek against the cool cotton covering her pillow. She stifled a yawn behind one fist and unwrapped the blanket swaddling the baby. She dipped her fingers between the buttons of the tiny blue pajamas and stroked his silky skin.

“You did good work,” Mulder murmured as he tentatively ran a forefinger though the baby’s downy tufts of hair. Scully was more than happy to take the credit for their beautiful boy. Despite Mulder’s earlier comments, to her eyes, William was the very image of his father from the sprinkling of light brown hair on his head to the sulky mouth with the slightly damp lower lip.

“Thank you.” She smiled and blinked sleepily, fighting a losing battle to keep her eyes open.

“You should go to sleep,” Mulder ordered softly. She nodded and slid down in the bed to curl her body loosely around William’s.

“Maybe I should put him in his crib…”

She gave a tiny shake of her head and drew the baby against her breasts.

“We could squish him in our sleep,” Mulder protested, ever the new father. Scully cracked open one eye and saw the worried frown on his face.

“Okay,” she mumbled drowsily. “But when he wakes up in a couple of hours, you have to be the one to bring him back to the bed for me.”

“Deal.” Mulder slid gentle hands beneath the baby and lifted him into his arms. The baby stirred at being moved and Mulder swayed and whispered soothing noises into his ear until he quieted. He settled the infant into his crib and then walked through the apartment, turning off lights and quietly testing door and window locks. He huffed out a bitter laugh at the futility of relying on a deadbolt to keep their enemies at bay. By the time he returned to the bedroom and stripped out of his clothes, both Scully and William were sound asleep. He slipped into the bed and settled onto his side. Watching his family sleep, he waited and worried and wondered about what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

“I can’t believe how much he’s grown in three weeks.” Scully dragged one of the oversized pillows across the sofa cushions and tucked it under her elbow. “That’s better,” she murmured as the pillow helped to absorb some of William’s weight while he nursed. She absently played with the baby’s hand as his tiny fingers flexed against her breast in rhythm with his tugging mouth.

Mulder shifted restlessly from his place at the other end of the sofa and looked away from the local news broadcast. “Time’s flying,” he commented. Scully murmured an agreement as she lifted the baby onto her shoulder and rubbed her hand over his back.

“That’s something we should probably talk about.” Mulder turned off the television and tossed the remote onto the coffee table.

“Talk about what?” Scully’s closed her eyes and leaned against the sofa cushions contentedly as William nestled his face into the crook of her neck.

“Time.” Mulder turned and propped his back against the arm of the sofa. “Your maternity leave will be up in a few weeks,” he reminded her. “And we still haven’t discussed what we’re going to do.”

Startled, Scully’s eyes popped open. She had been enjoying the quiet coziness of the day; tucked into the apartment with the two people she loved most in the world while rain tapped in a steady beat against the windows. She felt Mulder’s steady gaze, even as she steadfastly refused to meet it and she knew that the time of living in a world of ‘let’s pretend’ had just come to a crashing end.

“These last few weeks of being a normal little family have been wonderful,” Mulder said softly. “But, Scully…” he scooted across the cushions and leaned into her side. “We’re not normal people.”

Scully turned her face away and stared at the rain-drenched world outside the windows.

“Scully.” He touched gentle fingers to her chin and urged her to look at him. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot – even before he was born.” Mulder tunneled his fingers into her hair and cupped the back of her head to keep her from turning away from him again. “I haven’t said anything until now because I wanted you to have this time – I wanted US to have this time… but time is running out.”

Unable to turn her face from his, Scully closed her eyes in mute denial. Just a little more time, her mind protested. Was that really too much to ask, she wondered? A little more time…

“We have to decide what we’re going to do.” Mulder let his head fall onto the cushions next to hers and his breath feathered over her face as he spoke. “Do we stay here? Or do we take William and run?” He felt her body jerk as he laid the most basic decision on the line.

“We both know that our lives are different now. It isn’t just you and me anymore.” He felt her burrow her face into his neck, unconsciously mimicking their son, as she sought comfort in his nearness. Her mouth was pressed against his throat and she felt the vibration of his whispered words.

“We have decisions to make, Scully. Are we going to try to live a normal life… or are we going to do what we know needs to be done? One way or another, we have to decide.”

Mulder laid a hand on William’s tiny back. He could see the gentle flutter of the baby’s heartbeat in the pale blue veins visible beneath the translucent skin at his temple. The slow, steady rise and fall of the small back beneath his hand was in direct contrast to the agitated breaths of the woman tucked into his side.

“I know.” Her words were barely audible and Mulder had to strain to catch them. “I’ve been trying not to think about it, but every time I lay down to sleep… as soon as I close my eyes…” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “As soon as I close my eyes, my brain goes into overdrive,” she admitted. “You’re right,” she murmured against his skin. “We need to start making some decisions.”

Scully ducked out from her nest beneath Mulder’s chin. “I can’t stand the thought of leaving him,” she admitted. “I know it’s not completely rational, but the idea of letting him out of my sight is unbearable. I don’t want to go back to work,” she told him. Her hand stroked over the back of William’s head and she swung her gaze up to meet Mulder’s. “Can we swing that? Financially, I mean?”

Mulder nodded slowly. “I invested the money from the sales of my parents’ properties,” he told her. “There’s enough for us to live on for now – but not forever. If we’re conservative, we could probably buy a small house and hopefully still have enough to sock away for his future; for college, at least.”

He toyed with the ends of her hair. “But first we have to make sure that he HAS a future – or else it’s all pointless.

“We can’t just worry about his future,” Scully told him. “We also have to worry about his present. Every decision we make is going to impact on who he is going to be when he’s grown.” Her arms unconsciously tightened around the baby and he gave a sleepy mewl of protest. She hummed a tuneless song against his temple and waited for him to settle down again before resuming.

“We want him to be happy and well-adjusted in the future that we’re determined to make sure he gets.” Her expression was imploring as she stared into Mulder’s eyes. “He can’t be that if we raise him in a world of terror. We have to find a balance.”

Mulder nodded in agreement. “We’re not going to figure it all out today.” He stood and stretched his arms over his head. “There’s one thing that I want you to think about.” He dropped his fists onto his hips. “I’d like you to consider going back to work.” He held up a hand to forestall her objections. “Part-time,” he suggested. “I think it’s important that one of us keeps a connection to the Bureau.” His laugh was rueful and self-mocking. “For obvious reasons, it can’t be me.”

Her eyes were stormy, he noted, but she bit back her protests and waited for him to finish speaking.

“I’m just not comfortable with the idea of our completely cutting ourselves off from the Bureau’s resources… from the X-Files.” Scully’s own expression softened as she saw how haunted he still was from the loss of the work to which he had dedicated so much of his adult life.

“Skinner and Agent Doggett would keep us in the loop,” she offered. “They’re good men, Mulder. We can trust them.”

He nodded. “I know.” He looked around the apartment that had been hers but which was slowly but surely becoming theirs – just as his basement office had eventually mutated from his to theirs. He sank down onto his knees before her.

“You know what they say, Scully.” He lifted one of her hands into his own and stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “Old habits are hard to break. You’re still the only one I trust.” He looked up from his study of the small, pale hand he held. “If we’re going to do this, if we’re going to fight for William’s future, I need you to be there,” he told her honestly. “Even if it’s only part-time… I need you to be my eyes and ears.”

Scully looked down – first at the baby who was nestled so trustingly against her shoulder – and then at the man who was watching her with an expression that was all at once pleading, hopeful and trusting.

She sucked in a deep breath.

“I’ll think about it,” she promised.

* * *

“So, Dana,” Monica Reyes took a small sip of beer and eyed the other woman over the top of the bottle. “When are you coming back to work?”

Scully hurriedly swallowed the bite of pizza she had taken and wiped her hands on a paper napkin.

“Actually…” she hesitated and glanced toward Mulder for support. He gave a barely perceptible nod and took a healthy swallow from his own beer bottle.

“Actually,” she repeated, “I’m not coming back.” She fiddled with the napkin in her hand and forced herself to look at each of their guests. She saw understanding in Monica’s eyes along with a tiny glimmer of excitement. John Doggett’s face showed genuine surprise. Skinner’s jaw tightened as leaned forward in his seat and dangled his hands between his knees.

“This comes as a bit of a surprise, Agent Scully,” he rumbled. “When did you come to this decision?

“I’m not coming back full-time,” she qualified her initial answer. “If that can be arranged.” She tossed the mangled napkin onto her plate and set it on the coffee table.

“That’s one of the reasons we asked you to come over.” Mulder jumped into the conversation. “We wanted to know what our options were and to discuss some plans with all of you.”

“What plans?” Doggett asked.

“Plans for what our next move should be,” Monica said quietly. Mulder nodded and lifted his bottle in a silent salute.

“And what plans have you come up with?” Skinner chose another slice of pizza from the open box and settled back into his chair.

“Not a lot,” Mulder admitted. “We’re just trying to figure all of that out now and we wanted your input.”

“Admittedly, our focus has not been on work these last few weeks,” Scully glanced toward the baby monitor propped on the end table nearest her. The red lights of the monitor rose and fell with each soft snuffle of the infant sleeping in the bedroom. Mulder stretched an arm along the back of the sofa and stroked a hand over Scully’s hair.

“Scully and I have discussed some of our options,” he said. “We’ve agreed that we don’t want to completely cut ourselves off from the FBI.”

“Thus the part-time hours?” Doggett asked.

Scully nodded. “Yes.” She turned her attention to Skinner. “Is that even possible?”

“In what capacity?” He had an idea, but wanted to hear from them what they had in mind.

Scully shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. I guess I would have to go back to Quantico. Maybe do some teaching, if there’s a part-time instructor position available… lab work, autopsies… whatever position is available with limited hours – but with the proviso that any forensic work generated by the X-Files division would be steered my way.”

“Of course, this all hinges on finding a new, permanent partner for Agent Doggett.” Scully leaned more comfortably into Mulder and stifled a laugh when Monica abruptly straightened in her seat. She would not have been surprised to see the other woman’s hand shoot into the air. Every muscle in Monica’s body shouted ‘Me! Pick me!’

Doggett ducked his head and picked at the label on his beer bottle. “I don’t know, Agent Scully. It won’t be easy to find a replacement for you.” His expression, when he lifted his head, was bland, but the corners of his eyes were creased with merriment as Monica failed to suppress an indignant gasp.

“Perhaps Agent Reyes would not mind sticking around a bit longer,” Mulder suggested with a grin.

“I’ll think about it.” Monica returned his smile and sank back into her seat with the realization that they had been toying with her.

Skinner cleared his throat. “The most obvious problem, of course, is Kersh.” The others nodded in agreement. “Still, the government likes to project the image of being a family-friendly employer.” A quartet of mocking expressions met his statement. “I can probably make a case for your request for a reduction in hours. As Agent Reyes has already been working on the X-Files, I can also make the argument that she is the logical and obvious choice as your replacement, and have her permanently reassigned to the division.”

He took off his glasses and polished them with a napkin. “However, Kersh will not be inclined to make it easy.” He put his glasses back on and looked around the room. “None of us are held in his highest esteem. More than likely I’ll have to call in a couple of favors in order to push this through. Favors that may do us more good sometime down the line.” He paused. “Are you sure that it’s worth calling these favors in now?”

“Sir, I realize that my priorities-” she flicked her gaze towards Mulder, “that our priorities,” she qualified, “are not necessarily the same as yours or the same as Agents Doggett and Reyes.” Once again she let her attention drift to the softly humming baby monitor. “For a long time I thought that I would never be able to have a child,” she said in a low voice. “The few times that I did indulge in the idea of being a mother…” She hesitated, trying to put her feelings into words. “My fantasies didn’t include my child becoming the focus of this kind of…” She lifted her hands into the air helplessly. “… unwelcome attention.” She rubbed two fingers over her forehead against a building headache. Unwelcome attention didn’t even begin to remotely describe the threat she perceived against her child.

“I don’t know why those… things showed up at his birth only to leave the way they did.” She felt Monica’s penetrating gaze and the two women locked eyes in remembered terror. “But what I do know is that it is our responsibility as William’s parents to protect him.” Scully laid one hand on Mulder’s thigh and watched as he tangled his fingers with hers.

“I’ve learned that life is short and time spent with the people you love is precious.” Her fingers tightened around Mulder’s as she thought of those agonizing months when he had been missing and of the emptiness in her heart when she had buried him. “I don’t want to be separated from my baby any more than I have to be,” she said simply.

“The truth is,” Mulder interjected, “that it’s all intertwined. Scully’s abduction. The chip in her neck.” His fingers tunneled under her hair to lightly caress the tiny scar. “Her stolen ova. The virus that we were both exposed to. The vaccine. Cassandra Spender. Good old C.G.B. and his cronies. My abduction. Billy Miles and these so-called Super Soldiers and their interest in William.” He looked around the room.

“Scully and I have a primal need to protect William. He’s our child and nothing is more important to us.” He saw a spasm of pain cross Doggett’s face and knew that he was thinking of his own son. “But it’s also apparent that William is somehow tied into all of this as well. As much as we wish it otherwise, he’s not just our child.” He heard Scully suck in a pained gasp and he stroked his thumb over her knuckles soothingly. “William is one of the threads in the knot of this conspiracy. We need to know why there is so much interest in him – both as his parents and for other reasons.”

He shrugged. “Before, it was just the two of us – looking for answers and running into walls and dead ends.” His eyes moved from one person to the next. “But now there are more of us. I believe that every person in this room is fully committed to finding the truth – there are no split loyalties to higher authorities.” He noted Skinner’s involuntary wince and sent an apologetic glance his way. “We need to work together to start pulling at all of those threads. I believe that when we get the answers to one question, it will lead us to the answers to the next.”

“Well, Krycek seemed to know a hell of a lot,” Scully commented. “Maybe we should dig him up and find out what else he knows.” Her remark was met with a snort from Doggett.

“Dig him up,” he repeated with a jaded bark of laughter.

Scully’s brows knit in confusion. “What’s so funny about…” Her voice trailed off as Doggett, Monica and Skinner stared at her with surprise before their gazes skittered away. Beside her, Mulder stiffened.

“What’s going on?” she asked suspiciously.

Skinner expelled a rush of air in a long sigh. “Krycek is dead.”

Her head snapped back in shock. “Dead?” Her gaze darted from one face to the other. “When?” she demanded. “How?”

As Skinner haltingly laid out the events that had taken place in the underground parking garage while she and Monica had raced towards Georgia, Scully turned her face to Mulder’s. Her lips thinned with barely suppressed annoyance. She knew that he had withheld this information to allow her to spend these first weeks with William wrapped in a protective bubble free from as much of the ugliness that was their lives as possible. Yet still she couldn’t tamp down the surge of irritation that came with the knowledge that once again she had been kept in the dark. Someday she would find a way to get it through his thick head that lies and half-truths – even when told from love or a desire to protect – were still harmful. Her fingers tightened on Mulder’s in silent warning. His eyes pleaded for understanding. Hers promised that the discussion would be shelved for the moment but not forgotten. Their guests shifted uncomfortably as their unspoken conversation continued and she turned her attention their way, forcing herself to relax again.

“Do we concentrate on one thread at a time?” Monica spoke quickly to redirect everyone’s focus back to the earlier discussion.

“No,” Doggett drawled softly. He had come to the realization over the last few months that he understood Mulder’s way of thinking more than he could have ever dreamed possible. “I think Dana and Mulder asked us here because we each bring different strengths to the table.”

Scully smiled at her former partner. “Exactly. And we need to make the best use of those strengths.”

Mulder propped a foot on the coffee table. “If you and Monica stay on the X- Files, you will have the FBI resources – limited though they are at times – to continue the investigations that we started. Scully’s part-time status will allow her – and me by extension – access to those investigations.” He grinned. “Of course, you should feel free to also keep us in the loop on some of the other, more ah… intriguing cases that cross your desks. Nothing like a good flukeworm to get your mind off your troubles, huh Scully?”

She shoved an elbow into his side. “Director Skinner, by virtue of his office, will be able to continue to protect the work as he has all of these years and, we hope, will become more intimately involved in the investigations – both through official and non-official channels.”

“And what about the two of you?” Monica asked.

“There are a lot more people who share our beliefs than you can imagine,” Mulder said. “People who have been driven to the fringe of society because of those beliefs.”

“Like your three buddies – the Gunmen?” Doggett wondered.

Mulder bristled in automatic defense of his friends and Scully spoke quickly to head off a confrontation.

“Yes, John. People like the Gunmen. People like Mulder. People like me. People who have witnessed things that cannot be explained. People who have been used against their wills.”

“I meant no offense, Dana.”

“I know.”

“These people exist,” Mulder said. “They want to fight back but no one will take them seriously.”

“Until now,” Monica murmured.

“Until now,” Mulder agreed. “They come from all walks of life – and they all have something to contribute.”

“They want to fight,” Scully echoed Mulder. “But they need someone to help organize them. Someone to help them turn their experiences from a negative into a positive.”

“And that’s what you’ll be doing?” Skinner asked.

Mulder nodded emphatically. “It’s what we’ll all be doing,” he insisted. “We need to find these people and work with them to make the best use of their talents.”

“So many people who were involved in the project are dead now,” Scully said. “But some of them must still be around. Some of them must realize that their allegiance was misplaced. We need to find those people and see if we can’t use their knowledge to fight back.”

“There are a lot of former abductees,” Mulder said softly. “People like Scully who don’t remember their experience, but whose lives have been changed nonetheless. People like me,” he swallowed hard. “People who remember every moment of their time away. People who have more knowledge than the project members realize. People who can use that knowledge against them.”

“We’d need to keep it quiet,” Monica murmured.

“Underground.” Doggett said thoughtfully.

A heavy silence hung over the room as the enormity of the operation they were contemplating hit each person. Mulder and Scully watched their guests and saw them struggle as each weighed the costs of the task laid out before them. They, more than anyone, understood that the stakes were high – both on a personal level and for the world at large – and they waited in silence for their companions to reach their own conclusions.

As the moments passed in continued silence, they saw their own emotions reflected on the faces of their friends. Fear… anger… hope… cautious excitement… and finally resolve.

* * *

Mulder pushed the door closed and leaned back against it tiredly. Scully gathered up empty beer bottles and he pushed away from the door to help her finish cleaning up. He followed her into the kitchen and they worked quietly to wrap up the leftover pizza and rinse out the bottles for recycling. He stored the pizza in the refrigerator and wiped his hands on a towel.

“Come here.” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Krycek,” he murmured into her hair. “I just wanted to-”

“I know,” she whispered into his shirt. “But Mulder, you have to understand that what we’re planning on doing… it’s so huge. It won’t work if you keep things from me.”

“I know, but I can’t help wanting to protect you.”

“I want to protect you too, but we’re not safe if we’re not fully armed with the truth.”

He leaned into her, a welcomed weight as he trapped her between his body and the counter. He threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her face up to his.

“The whole truth and nothing but,” he vowed. Their lips met in a gentle kiss to seal the promise.

“I love you,” she sighed into his mouth. She dropped her head onto his shoulder and nestled comfortably against him.

“I love you, too.” His arm wrapped firmly around her waist, he turned off the kitchen light and led her through the apartment to their bedroom where their son lay.

Scully stripped out of her clothes and pulled on a pair of comfortable pajamas while Mulder tugged a lightweight blanket over his sleeping son. He rubbed his hand over the tiny back and silently wished him the sweetest of dreams. He turned from the crib and peeled off his own clothes. He slipped under the covers and curled his body around Scully’s.

They would have to learn to find a balance between the overwhelming tasks of bringing down their enemies and raising a healthy, happy child, as well as finding time for each other. He stifled a yawn against her shoulder and relaxed into the pillows.

Tomorrow they would start saving the world.

–– Chapter 1 ––

Protagonists by Jacquie LaVa

GEORGETOWN

2:16 AM

The sound of the drill brought him to shuddering consciousness.

He’d been sleeping well, for a change. Sleeping deeply, his weary body and mind needing the thick REM. Every bone was loose, every muscle relaxed. The bed had felt so good as he’d allowed himself to sink down into it. He’d fallen asleep almost before his head made a full indentation on the pillow.

Then he heard the drill. And he didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to look.

He had to look. He had to know.

His eyes opened just a crack, adjusting with difficulty in the inky darkness. He raised himself on a shaky elbow, and peered into a gloom that suddenly lit up with one small, furiously bright pinpoint of light, shining with harsh glee above the drill. It was aimed at him. At his mouth. The high screeching whine of it pierced his ears; the obscene spin of it mesmerized his frightened stare.

He tried to scream.

He couldn’t make a single sound above that spinning, whining, blinding drill…

* * *

Mulder snapped awake, heart pounding madly, awash in a cold sweat. Sucking in a huge breath, he allowed himself to unclench his body, to relax on his damp pillow. He uncurled his fists, understanding it had only been another dream. Letting the air whoosh out of his lungs, he turned his head to assure he hadn’t awoken Scully, sleeping next to him on her side with a hand tucked under her cheek. Thankfully she was still asleep.

A whimper, high and babyish over the monitor on the nightstand next to the bed, told him easily what had triggered what he liked to call ‘the Drill Dream’: William, awake and wanting his early-morning bottle and changing. For some reason his son’s snuffles resonating over the monitor had an eerily-familiar whine to them. Mulder supposed he’d become accustomed to it sooner or later. Of course, he could just take a hammer to the monitor and buy a better model.

Maybe that’s what he’d do.

With a soft groan of weariness Mulder swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching and yawning as he padded to the door and headed toward the nursery. Scully was trying to wean the baby off his two o’clock feeding but so far they’d both met with quite a babyish wall of resistance. About all they’d managed to do was to get him off one bout of breast milk, which did help Scully get a decent nights’ sleep. It was better than no progress at all, he thought.

The Mickey Mouse night-lamp next to the crib cast a soft glow over the angelic William, lying on his back with one tiny fist crammed in his mouth. Mulder peered over the railing of the crib, mugging a goofy face in the gloom, and the baby gurgled and pulled his hand from his mouth, waving it at his father, all toothless grins and fleece-covered cuteness. Mulder scooped him up and snuggled his son close, nuzzling his nose into William’s neck.

Carrying him to the changing table, Mulder made short work of removing the soiled diaper, whispering daddy secrets to the wide-eyed infant. He quickly fastened a new one, snapped William back into his bright yellow pajamas and hoisted him up onto his shoulder, walking to the kitchen to warm up a bottle. While he waited, Mulder sat on a kitchen chair and rocked his son gently, a one-sided conversation holding the child’s fascination as he watched his father’s mouth moving and smiling at him.

“Well, Willy-Boy… you know, sooner or later you’re gonna have to bite the nipple on this feeding, and sleep through the night.” The timer beeped and Mulder retrieved the bottle, chuckling when the baby eagerly opened his mouth. Sitting back down in the chair, Mulder guided the nipple into William’s mouth, and held his son close as he drained the bottle.

Actually, he enjoyed these late-night, early-morning bonding sessions with his child, even when they took him out of a much-needed sleep. During the day it seemed as if there wasn’t much time for quiet moments like this. William was slowly becoming more active, more awake during the day and more demanding. At ten weeks, he was a chubby, sweet-tempered bundle of baby perfection. He was so adorable his parents could deny him next to nothing… and he was so well- loved that he was already showing signs of self-confidence. He was a blast to be around – and Mulder was thankful every day of his life that he’d been given a chance to be here, with his son and the woman he loved.

With William growing drowsy in his arms, little mouth slackening around the bottle’s nipple, Mulder lifted him to a shoulder and burped him gently, then carried him back to bed. Placing the sleeping baby in his crib, Mulder pulled a light blanket over him and stood a moment, running tender fingers through the soft tufts of hair on the baby’s head. The love whirling in his heart for this tiny human being… he would never be able to describe it to anyone but Scully.

As he watched his son, bending down to kiss the little forehead… William suddenly awakened, and Mulder found himself eye to eye and stare to stare with his child. Both of them unsmiling and intent on each other, neither heard Scully walk through the nursery door and stop in her tracks, observing the silent communion. For the longest time father and son stared at each other. Then William smiled a rather adult-looking smile – his tiny hand reached out and touched his father’s cheek – and he broke eye contact and looked up at the cheery Pooh and Tigger mobile hanging over his crib. The mobile that up until a second before the baby gave it his attention, was unmoving and soundless.

As Mulder watched and Scully bore silent witness in the nursery doorway, William cooed – and the mobile drifted, just a little – and William smiled again – and the mobile turned a half-turn. Then William laughed, actually emitted a sweet baby laugh, as the mobile spun lazily, a tinkling tune of “It’s a Small World,” spilling out over the quiet room.

In the doorway, Scully gasped softly, catching Mulder’s attention. He turned a worried face toward her, seeing identical concern in her eyes. Slowly she walked over to the crib, to stand next to Mulder and stare down at her beautiful, perfect child… who in some way was making a nursery mobile spin and sing with nothing more than his regard and his baby coos.

“Mulder, oh God. What are we going to do?” Scully’s voice was a soft rasp of maternal fear. She turned to him and Mulder drew her into his arms and held her, both of them still watching the spinning mobile and their sweet baby.

He smoothed a hand over her hair. “We’re going to love him. And we’re going to protect him. We’re going to live every minute of every day with as much happiness as we can, in a life as normal as we can possibly make it, regardless of what’s coming down around our ears. We’re going to find out what makes our child so different and so special… and we’re going to find a way to help him channel it, to protect himself.”

He hugged her tightly, adding, “We’re going to fight, Scully. Fight to have a good life together. I’m ready to claw and pummel my way to a future that’s safe for everyone, and I know you feel the same. Someday, under our guidance, William will join us in that fight.” He drew back a little and cupped her cheeks, framing her face with his warm palms. “One for all and all for one, right?”

Scully’s eyes locked onto his, tears glimmering there but not allowed to fall. In his loving gaze she saw hope, positive energy – adoration. Dedication and loyalty. Need, desire, a brimming heart and a tender soul. All for her and all for their child.

She nodded slowly; laid her cheek on his chest, tightened her arms around his waist. When she turned to glance down at her child, William stared solemnly up at her in the dim room; two fingers in his little mouth and huge blue eyes starting to glaze over with drowsiness. As they fluttered shut, the mobile came to a gentle stop; the tinkling tune petered out, note by note.

Baby William slept, secure and warm in his bed, as his parents kissed his sweet face and tiptoed out of his nursery, leaving the hall light on, headed back to bed.

* * *

FBI ACADEMY

QUANTICO, VIRGINIA

8:10 AM

Dana Scully pushed open the double doors of the lab and stepped inside, snapping on several overhead lights as she shed her jacket and hung it on a nearby rack. She ran a massaging palm over her neck, easing the stiffness from sleeping sitting up. She’d fallen asleep the night before while reading over class material and the latest copy of Medical Yearly. Scully dug two fingers into the side of her neck and wished she’d taken Mulder up on his offer of an early- morning massage.

Well, it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d succumbed, since three seconds after she’d smilingly refused, William’s morning howl of wet- diaper outrage had pealed out from the monitor and Mulder had sighed and squeezed her hands gently before heading out the door to take care of their son. Scully had sighed as well, and had wound up in a steamy shower, letting the hot needles of water pound at her. It wasn’t much of a substitute for Mulder’s talented fingers but it was better than nothing.

She snagged a fresh lab coat from one of the standing cabinets and slipped it on, then dug out several sterile masks and caps and two sets of surgical gloves. The morning class was large and filled with inquisitive students who asked intelligent questions. Three hours of intense communication with this group usually kept her hopping.

With an hour to prepare, Scully opened her briefcase and spread out her notes, intending to go through everything one final time. She leaned against a metal gurney and flipped through a folder, sipping at the latte she’d purchased from the kiosk downstairs.

Scully had been back at Quantico for almost three weeks and was quickly finding herself immersed in the routine of path lab work and classes, quizzes and grading. She was on a rotating schedule of morning lab two days a week, combined with a three-hour class every Wednesday. She could have gotten more days a week in the lab but she’d decided against it, preferring to ease back into the grind and gauge for herself how she’d react to being apart from her son. So far, she appeared to be the only one complaining.

William was doing very well without her on the mornings she arose early and took herself off to work. At first she had expected him to cry and fuss for her; in fact her maternal heart more or less demanded it. After all, when she walked out the door in the morning so did William’s breakfast and lunch as well as his mommy. She’d been using her breast pump, filling enough bottles to get Mulder through the morning. She hated doing it, hated the significance of using the pump. It meant she could not be home with her child. Yes, she’d agreed to come back part time. She’d agreed to be whatever kind of eyes and ears she could, for Mulder.

Didn’t mean she had to like it.

But of course she wanted Mulder to have this time with their son. He needed it. She knew he was enjoying these precious days, although he was also spending quite a bit of time working at trying to ferret out information concerning other abductees, people they hoped to recruit and persuade to help. John Doggett had called it an underground, but she preferred to think of it as a project, an operation… a resistance. Their resistance to the future they all knew with certainty was forming and growing. A future they’d band together against – and fight. Well, at least he could do that sort of networking at home, for the time being, whereas she more or less had to absent herself from their home and spend specified hours per week in a lab or a classroom, dealing with all manner of John Q. Public.

“Well, hello. Guess I’m early.”

Scully’s head jerked up at the vocal intrusion on her thoughts, and she looked toward the door and the man who stood there. John Q. Public, indeed…

He was dressed in jeans and a corduroy shirt, a pair of well-worn Weejuns on his feet. Dark blonde hair, brown eyes. A broad, pleasant smile and a good-looking face. Tall. Wide shouldered. About her age. And gazing at her as if he’d discovered extra raisins in his bowl of bran. Those eyes were fairly brimming with pleasure, and a fair amount of appreciation. She’d been out of the opposing-gender dance for some time now, but she knew what that masculine regard meant.

Crap.

The last thing she needed right now was a potential admirer. Scully forced a smile of helpfulness, and stood up. “Can I help you? Are you lost?”

The smile flashed bigger as his eyes swept her from head to foot. He stepped inside the lab and offered a hand. “No, I’m right where I want to be, and quite happily, I might add. If you’re Dana Scully, then I’m definitely where I want to be.” There was a dimple in his left cheek that formed anew with each smile. And right now that dimple was deep enough to create a small pond.

Oh, brother. Scully would have liked nothing better than to ignore the proffered hand, but long-ingrained professional manners had her accepting his handshake. And immediately regretting it, for his hand was too soft, the skin clammy. The hand also held fast to hers when she discreetly tried to tug it free. Pulling harder, she managed to force him to release her fingers, and her eyes snapped with temper although when she spoke, her voice was mild enough. “That’s Agent Scully. And you want to be here for some specific reason?”

His grin never faltering, the man lifted a battered leather briefcase to eye-level. “Well, for however many students want to listen to me drone on and on about Stress Management. Guess that’s as good a reason as any. I’m an instructor,” he clarified, noting her puzzled expression. “I have my first class in about a half hour, and I’m hoping the subject itself isn’t so boring that nobody shows up.” The smile upped a tad in wattage, and Scully fought the impulse to shade her eyes from the glare of his pearly whites.

She continued to stack her folders, also noting the man’s attention had switched from perusal of her smock-clad body, to blatant staring at the papers in her hands. She cleared her throat delicately, and his regard immediately refocused on her. “If you’re teaching Stress Management, you’re on the wrong floor. Those classes meet one floor up, and if you hurry, you might have enough spare time to review your notes – as I am attempting to do. You do know this area is off- limits except for authorized personnel and students, don’t you?”

It was more of a demand than a question, and he had the grace to look shame-faced. “Well, yes. I know that. I was briefed yesterday. But I couldn’t resist coming down here, and taking a look. I find myself fascinated by forensics, Agent Scully. I’d really like to start taking the necessary courses to change my instructional focus. When I heard you’re teaching Advanced Forensics, I just had to check it out. Your name is well-known in Federal circles. I’ve heard you’re the best.” Again the flashing dimple. “I didn’t mean to bother you.” The man stuck out a large hand again, adding, “Really, I’m harmless. I just wanted to take a peek. My name’s Donald Ranken. Most of my friends call me ‘Donny.’” He tried out another large-wattage grin.

It fell flat, as did his hand, when this time Scully refused to release the grip on her folders. She knew she was being rude, but she didn’t care; there was an uneasy squall in the pit of her stomach from that first palm to palm contact and she trusted the feeling completely. It was more than a man giving her the once-over and acting aggressively, even though his demeanor had eased up a little since first stepping into an area he had no business entering.

Quite frankly, she found herself taking an instant dislike to Donald Ranken… and it went beyond basic repulsion at the reminder of another ‘Donnie,’ the one from her past whom she’d never quite been able to forget.

Nodding toward the door, Scully made it clear she felt he should be heading that way. “Mr. Ranken, I hope you find your experience here at the Academy rewarding and fulfilling. Now if you don’t mind, I have a full morning and I must ask you to allow me to prepare for my class.” She nodded again at the door, heaving an inward sigh of impatience when Ranken took his own sweet time ambling toward it.

“Maybe we could meet for lunch sometime… Dana.” His eyes were once again locked on her body.

Oh, for… Scully could feel her temper rising even higher along with her level of irritation. “Mr. Ranken, I don’t know you, nor do I wish to. And for the record, my name is either Doctor Scully, or Agent Scully. Those are your choices. Now, please excuse me.” Finally herding him close enough to the door, she all but pushed him out, and shut it almost in his face. She locked it behind her, after flicking a fast check of her watch and noting she still had another forty-five minutes before her students would be pounding on it. Blowing out a breath of frustration, Scully reopened her folders and began flipping through her notes again.

But the unpleasant encounter with the persistent Donald-call-me-Donny Ranken was uppermost on her mind and she made a mental note to have Mulder check him out. She’d met some pushy men in her life, but he really did take the proverbial cake. The feeling in the pit of her stomach was not to be taken lightly. She knew it. She trusted it.

And on the other side of the lab, Donny Ranken smiled to himself and walked away, brown eyes gazing once over his shoulder at that door, as he headed for the elevators and one floor up.

* * *

GEORGETOWN

10:00 PM

“Donald Ranken.”

Mulder looked up from diapering William. “Who’s that?” He snapped the baby’s romper and picked him up, snuggling their son close as he walked over to the bed and joined Scully, who was still brushing her hair.

She laid the hairbrush down and leaned back against piled-up pillows, holding her arms out for William. Mulder obligingly placed the baby in the curve of her body and Scully helped him settle in for his nightly nursing session, waiting for Mulder to join her on the bed before answering. “That’s what I think I’d like you to find out for me. I met him today. Some new instructor in Stress Management. Wandered into the lab an hour before my class.”

There was a definite tone in her voice, Mulder decided. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and supported her gently as she fed William. “What was he doing on your floor? Did he bother you?”

Scully shook her head, resting on his shoulder and readjusting William for a nursing on the other side. “No, not exactly. I mean, he bothered me, but it didn’t seem as if he was doing it on purpose. I suppose I found the encounter… unsettling.”

She cradled the baby’s head as he dozed against her breast. “First of all, he had no apparent business being in the lab area – you know it’s restricted down there – and his excuse of being ‘curious’ was no excuse at all. I caught him eyeballing the folders I was holding, and his hands were clammy,” she complained, as she shifted the sleeping William onto his back.

Upon hearing ‘clammy hands,’ Mulder was immediately on the alert. He demanded, “He touched you? More than just a handshake?”

Scully was quick to reassure him, “No, just a handshake. You know if anyone had the utter misdirection to put their hands in an inappropriate area, they’d draw back a bloody nub, Mulder!” She flashed a quick grin at his sigh of relief, adding, “When he shook my hand it was clammy. I consider it a dead giveaway of nerves, or anxiety. Lately I’ve been three times as suspicious as is normal for me. You know why.”

Mulder nodded and kissed her forehead. “Yes, I know. And I won’t lie to you and claim I’m not worried. You can take care of yourself, of course – but we’re more vulnerable now than we ever were. And I wish like hell I could be with you, watching your back.”

She snorted softly. “Well, how dangerous is teaching a three-hour class in Advanced Forensics supposed to be, Mulder? I should be safe at the Academy. And I do feel secure when I’m down in the labs. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see this guy down there. It threw me off, a little. His attitude was, well… creepy. Unsettling, as I said.”

Mulder held William as she pulled back the covers, then he settled the baby between them, Scully curled on her side facing him on the pillow. He stroked one hand over her hair, fighting back a primeval urge to lock her in the apartment with him and hibernate. Stupid, really – for she could certainly handle herself. But she was a new mother, just recently cleared for duty after her maternity leave. Her emotions ran closer to the surface than ever before. His, too, he supposed. The current circumstances of their lives had shifted them, their priorities, what was most vital to them. It had softened them; that was as good as any a description. And the last thing they could afford to be was soft.

She was almost asleep when he mumbled, “Anything else I need to know about this clown, Scully? You want I should look him up, work him over a little… pay Guido to stick a horse’s head in between his comfy sheets?” He spoke in his best Mafia voice.

She chuckled sleepily. “No, thank you. Although I appreciate the thought, ‘Godfather.’ Just check him out, please. And hold my hand, all through the night… okay?” She reached across the few inches separating them, and kissed him goodnight over the top of their child’s head.

Mulder kissed her back tenderly, then entwined their fingers together. “You got it. All through the night. And beyond.”

She nodded, barely conscious, going under fast. “Wake me in the morning and I’ll give you definite sexual what-for, Mulder.”

He sighed out a drowsy groan, “It’s a date…”

Cuddled together in the warm bed with their son nestled between them, whispering dual ‘love yous,’ they slept.

* * *

8:59 AM

Mulder tapped in a few commands and sat back, waiting for the server to do its thing. He rubbed a hand over his bristled jaw, realizing he’d forgotten to shave again. Propped against his jeans-clad leg, William was awake and cute as could be in a bright red cotton romper, a fist crammed in his mouth and eyes wide as he took in the flashing computer screen in front of him.

Mulder bounced him a few times, then pressed a kiss to his tiny ear and murmured, “What a big guy you are, helping Daddy do some covert investigating! I think we’ll get you your very own badge, whaddaya say, Willy-Boy?” He snuggled his son closer as the server continued to process, grinning at the baby gurgles William emitted. When his adorable son cut a noisy milk-fart that was powerful enough to vibrate his diaper, Mulder laughed aloud in delight and gave his boy a gigantic hug, exclaiming, “Good one, Willy! That could be our secret weapon against all the baddies in our world, couldn’t it?”

William seemed to be in complete agreement. Emitting a series of gurgling coos, he twisted his head around to lock those bright blue eyes on his father, all talcum-powder sweet and grinning big toothless grins. Obviously, cutting the cheese agreed with the ‘big guy’… and thankfully their child’s farts didn’t stink.

Yet.

With William still chewing his hand, Mulder thought back to the night before, and Scully’s description of Donald Ranken. Just before she’d left a few hours ago for her morning lab session, she’d mentioned the creep had asked her to call him ‘Donny.’ Jesus… no wonder his poor baby had been so repulsed. It may have been years in the past, and that particular nemesis stone cold dead in his grave – but neither of them had ever forgotten Pfaster. And neither could even hear the name ‘Donny,’ regardless of the way it was spelled, without remembering one of the most frightening monsters they’d ever had to deal with.

Mulder had hugged her as she’d spoken, a pair of forgotten panty hose in her hand as she’d been beset once again by unwelcome memories. Silently he’d removed the filmy stockings from her fingers and he’d led her over to the bed, sitting her down on the edge. He’d knelt in front of her, placed a finger on her forehead and pushed at her gently, until she’d fallen backwards on the mussed sheets. Then he’d carefully slipped her bikini briefs down her legs.

Scully had propped herself up on both elbows and watched him, still pale-cheeked but with a returning glimmer in her eyes. “Mulder, what are you up to? I have to go! I have to be at the lab in an hour!”

He’d flung the lacy bit of silk over his shoulder and his eyes had locked themselves to hers, loving the way her cheeks flushed from pale to pink in about two seconds flat when his hands began wandering over her soft skin.

“You’re not going anywhere, not yet. The roads are slippery with rain and I don’t want you driving on them when your mind isn’t completely… clear. I want you to relax, forget everything and everyone, and just concentrate on what I’m doing.” He’d followed the trail of his palms with his lips, and by the time he’d reached her mouth she was gasping for breath.

She’d huffed against his lips, “This is how you ‘clear my head’ for me? You want me to relax, when you’re about to – when you’re going – oh, God, Mulder…” She couldn’t even say the words; her face – as well as her upper body – was fully flushed and her limbs trembled when he nudged her thighs apart and his lips reversed their direction. One bite to the corner of her mouth and he was moving downward, touching lightly on several sensitive spots, until he’d reached the heart of her.

Against her dampness, he’d smiled. Fastening his mouth on her, he mumbled a heated, “When I’m about to what, Scully? Make you forget all your troubles? Turn you into my own personal lollipop?” To emphasize his words, Mulder ran a probing tongue in a dizzying series of circles, straight lines and short jabs all over her flesh, until she was moaning and thrashing; until she grasped his head with both hands and just hung on for the ride.

Any further thoughts of past horror or present irritant had floated away under the rich sounds of their mutual loving.

An hour later Scully had dashed through the nursery, nuzzling a drowsy William, had flung herself into Mulder’s embrace one last time for a final nipping kiss, before bolting out the door. He noticed a run in her hose and had refused to tell her about it, thinking to himself how sweet it was to have your woman so shaken from your lovemaking that she’d put a thumb right through her nylons and never know it.

Now he sat with the warm weight of a drowsing William in his arms, and pondered the unsurprising revelation that a hard search of Donny Ranken had turned up total squat. Mulder’s fingers drummed on the keyboard, his forehead crinkled in concentration. He’d tried every legal channel as well as a few illegal ones. Nothing. The man was apparently a ghost. And yet… maybe there were a few illegals left to be tried.

Two minutes later an irritated Langly was grousing into his ear. “Jesus, man! You got any idea what time it is? Don’t you ever sleep?”

Mulder grinned at the traces of curmudgeon in Langly’s voice. “It’s nine in the morning, Sunshine. You should all be up and raring to go. I consider it my civic duty to drag your asses out of bed and assist you in becoming viable members of the working man’s world.”

Langly’s tone – and attitude – veered counter-clockwise in a hurry. “You and your civic duty can go suck canal water, Mulder… after you both bite me, big-time. Now, what d’ya want?”

It was all Mulder could do to keep himself from laughing into the receiver; Langly was so entertaining when he was half-asleep and grouchy. “I want you to look up someone for me. I sent the name through legals and illegals – the ones I can access – and no luck at all. I need you to find out anything you can about a Donny Ranken.”

Langly whistled softly at the surname. “Another ‘Donnie,’ huh? Does Scully know anything about this? That’s a shitty name for her to be hearing.” However grim Langly might be in the morning, his deep and genuine concern for Scully’s welfare was always touching and welcome.

Mulder agreed, “Yeah, I know. She was getting ready for class the other day and this guy showed up in her lab and came on pretty strong. He claimed to be a Stress Management instructor, and had wandered down to the lab based on Scully’s reputation as an agent and a forensic examiner. She got very creeped out, says the guy has clammy hands. Dead giveaway I guess.”

Langly gave a hum of concurrence. “Yep, I’d have to go with clammy hands as well. If he had a damp upper lip, then he’d be a real piece of work. Only my opinion, of course.”

Mulder echoed, “Of course. You think you can dig up something good?”

“Oh sure, man. No problem. I can find anything, don’t you know that by now?” The puffed up pride in Langly’s tone was just so like him that Mulder finally gave into his urge to laugh. The movement of his chest caused William to awaken, and the irritated baby began to snuff out a protesting cry. Mulder immediately got to his feet and started pacing.

Juggling the phone against his ear, Mulder stressed, “Yes, I know. Your kung-fu is the best. And yes as well to ‘finding anything.’ Even if you think it’s kosher. Although I draw the line at trying to discover if his skivvies have the days of the week sewn on them, or the months of the year. Even I have my limits.”

Langly’s startled laugh was loud in the receiver, and Mulder chuckled along with him. He snuggled William against his shoulder and exacted a promise to be supplied with any and all info, PDQ.

Disconnecting the call, Mulder carried William to the nursery and settled him in, the baby now fast asleep and looking like the most perfect angel. Mulder stroked a loving finger over the petal-soft cheek, before tugging up the blanket and leaving his son to catch a morning nap.

Back in the living room he checked his watch. Scully would be knee- deep in cadavers right now, but without an actual class to conduct he knew if he called her she’d be willing to talk for a few moments, albeit somewhat unwillingly. When she was working she was all business, and nothing tickled Mulder more than the ability to rattle her over the phone when she was trying to concentrate. She pretended to dislike it and he pretended to be sorry. It was a game they’d been playing for years, their own coded way of saying, ‘I love you and miss you by my side.’

He punched in the speed code and waited for her ‘I’m irritated’ voice. Didn’t have to wait long…

“Scully.” Yep, there it was. Irritated-Doctor-Mode. Perfect.

Mulder lowered his voice to a sexy rasp. “What’re you wearing, Little Girl? Want a bite of my lollipop? Or maybe I could have another lick of yours.”

Her snort was exasperated and affectionate. “You’re an idiot. And I already had a ‘bite of your lollipop,’ Mulder. You’re lucky there’s nobody in here right now, listening to this. Did you call for something special, or did you just want to harass me? Is William all right?”

Her amused retort couldn’t hide the subtle worry in her tone, and Mulder was quick to reassure her. “Willy’s fine, baby. I just wanted to call, see how you’re doing – find out what DeadBody Number One may have had for his last meal…” He cradled the phone on a shoulder as he sat back down at the computer and checked his email to see if Langly had found anything yet.

He wasn’t a bit surprised when Scully saw right through his silliness. “An idiot, and sick as well. How lucky I am to have you in my life, Mulder.” The words were meant to insult but the warm silk in her voice told him just how much she loved him. He smiled as she added, “Not to mention damned suspicious of your pitifully covert attempts to assure my safety. I’m fine. Really. Dr. Lewenstein is in the next lab and the connecting doors are unlocked. If for any reason an intruder got in, he’d be over here in an instant.”

Mulder thought a moment, as he clicked on an incoming email. “Lewenstein, huh? How big a boy is he?”

Scully sighed noisily. “Big, Mulder. Six-foot four. Ran defense in college for the Buckeyes. About as broad as he is tall, as well – and not an ounce of fat on him.”

Mulder adopted instant attitude, and an exaggerated pout. “Big and non-fat, huh? I suppose you like him better than me.” He clicked on another email and waited for her to react.

Another sigh, this one brimming with humor. “Oh, yeah. I like him lots better. I especially like it when we do the horizontal bop using the body of one of my cadavers as a mattress. In fact we have a session scheduled for five minutes from now so I really must be going.” She chuckled, “You feel more reassured, now? I truly am all right, and as much as I adore you getting all protective and manly on my poor old weakened feminine ass, I need to cut this short. I have a ton of class paperwork to get through as well as preparing tomorrow’s autopsy lesson, and – oh, hell…” Her voice broke off in a snap of frustration, and Mulder could hear a male voice in the background, muffled and faint.

He didn’t like the sound of it but kept his tone light. “Scully, is that Dr. L, checking up on you?”

Her response was very low – and angry – in his ear. “No. It’s Ranken. I’ve got to go, Mulder. I have to bounce this moron out of my lab.”

At the name ‘Ranken,’ Mulder immediately went on red alert. As always, the labs were off limits on non-class days to anyone in the Academy who wasn’t actually taking Forensic classes, or teaching them. Or cleaning them…

Mulder barked out a worried, “Scully!”

The phone went dead.

“SHIT!”

He ran to the nursery, gathered up a sleeping William and wrapped him in a thick blanket, then snagged the diaper bag in the foyer, flinging the strap over his free shoulder. William never woke up as Mulder punched in a code with one unobstructed finger.

“Langly? Don’t talk, just listen. Meet me at the FBI Academy; I need you to take William off my hands. I’m on my way now – I think Scully may be in trouble. Yes, at the Academy! That asshole Ranken just got in her lab. Thanks, I owe you. Later.”

He jammed the cell in his pocket and ran out the door.

* * *

QUANTICO

10:45 AM

There wasn’t a glimmer of anything but deep distrust on Scully’s unsmiling face as she stared at Donald Ranken, standing just inside the lab with another wide grin thrown in her direction. She cursed herself for not locking the damn door; she just wasn’t used to any sort of intrusion in the Academy labs. She’d remembered from past experience that no one bothered the labs unless they were taking classes; it had always been a non-issue. Now it seemed because of one jerk with an unpleasant name, her comfort level and on-the-job security would be threatened.

She hated it.

Scully untied her mask with one hand, the fingers of her other hand still gripping a scalpel and clenched by her side. “Can I help you, Mr. Ranken? Or perhaps ask you what you’re doing down here when you know the lab is off-limits?”

His eyes remained locked on hers, apparently unaware of the potential weapon clasped in her palm. In their depths she detected amusement and confidence – and more unwelcome admiration. His voice was so pleasant and friendly it set her teeth on edge. “Good morning, Dana. You’re looking lovely.” As if she stood before him draped in exotic black lace instead of a baggy white lab-coat and surgical cap.

Jesus. The man had to be a complete moron, to provoke her ire this way. Not to mention his utter disregard for accepted protocol and professional courtesy. Scully was seething inside, but forced herself to exude absolute calm. “Mr. Ranken, I suggest you keep your personal opinions to yourself, turn around and walk back out the door. Not only are there no classes today, but the lab premises are off limits, as I believe I mentioned the other day.” She kept her eyes locked on his and her hand hidden as she nodded toward the door. “I have a full load of coursework and precious little time to finish up.”

Ranken tilted his head to the side as he took another step closer to the nearest examining table – which happened to be between Scully and the door. He inquired, “Do I make you nervous, Dana? I don’t mean to. I suppose I come on a bit strong, with women I find very attractive. And I find you very, very attractive. I’d like to take you to dinner.” Another step closer; Scully held her ground, her anger escalating rapidly to fury. It must have shown in her eyes, because Ranken stopped in his tracks, his smile faltering just a little. “Money’s no object; we can go anywhere you like. It isn’t often I find a woman that I feel so… in tune… with.”

Another step.

Goddamn it! Fury won out over anger and Scully raised the scalpel, now clutched in her fist like the weapon she knew from experience it could be. Ranken’s eyes widened as he took note of it, finally comprehending his tactical error in pushing her. He retreated a step; she was the advancer now. And in that instant her momentary fear crystallized into power and strength. This jerk didn’t know who he was dealing with. He didn’t know… but he was about to find out.

Her voice was low and biting. “Get. Out. NOW. I mean it, Ranken. I warned you the other day, when you came down here uninvited and unwelcome. As you have done yet again. I don’t know where the hell you’re from but if you think you can act this way around the female agents in this facility, I’d advise you to think again. Your regard is insulting and your insistence upon acting the macho male will get you into more trouble than you could ever imagine. I can promise you I would have let it go had you pushed the issue just once. I won’t let it go this time.” Blue eyes glittered dangerously at brown, as she added, “The door is behind you. Use it.”

Her voice remained steady; her hand never faltered or trembled. Her entire demeanor was on the offensive. Ranken tried to stare her down for a few seconds more; she refused to allow even one moment of insecurity, at the look in his eyes.

Finally he shrugged, turned and walked to the open lab door. He sent one more look over her, still acting the aggressive male. His performance fell flat when Scully refused to drop her defensive stance. He cleared his throat. “I’m going to be here a long time, ‘Agent’ Scully. A long time. I’ll see you around. Maybe the next time we meet, you won’t be holding a potential weapon. Maybe next time you’ll be more… amenable… to my friendly personality.”

The words were brave but his shoulders were tense as he walked through the door. Before he disappeared down the corridor, he tossed a final comment her way.

“Have a good afternoon with your little boy – Dana.”

Scully’s arm dropped in reaction to the words he left in his wake; her shoulders sagged. She was chilled to the bone. How in hell had he known she had a child? She never talked about her private life, at the Academy or at the Bureau. It simply wasn’t her way, and especially in light of what she and Mulder had just discovered about William and his budding abilities, Scully had become borderline paranoid where her family was concerned. Unless the bastard had found a way to nose into her personal files or had followed her home recently and watched her place until he’d seen her emerge with William in his stroller or baby carrier, there was no way he should have known.

Scully could feel the reactionary trembles start in her hands, her arms. She felt as though she’d been through a small battle in an even bigger war. Donny Ranken would not leave her alone; this she knew. It was in his attitude, his smile – those eyes of his. He’d retreated not because he was leery of her but only because he’d known she wouldn’t hesitate to use the scalpel in her hand. Because he had to know the kind of damage she could do to his face, if he got close enough to really threaten her.

She wondered what a threat from him would contain, wondered why in hell he had chosen her to harass. It didn’t make any sense at all. Scully walked swiftly to the lab door and locked it securely, then sank into the nearest chair.

She hoped that Mulder and Langly had managed to find out something about Donny Ranken. In the meantime, she’d have to report him to Skinner, the sooner the better.

Ranken was obviously a bully. One who thought he was God’s gift. One who wouldn’t hesitate to force a woman into compliance, who would probably stoop to drugging – or worse – to get what he wanted.

Scully refused to think about the ‘worse’… but she did wonder if Ranken had some sort of set agenda, and if that agenda was somehow connected to those enemies of hers and Mulder’s that she knew were still out there.

One way or another they’d find out the truth.

“Scully!”

Her name was accompanied by thunderous pounding on the lab door; Scully stood and walked swiftly, unlocking the door and staggering back a little when Mulder burst through. He grabbed her shoulders, worried eyes boring into hers.

“Where is he? Did he hurt you? Scully?”

She stared up at him blankly for a few seconds, before her eyes cleared and she wound her arms around him, needing to feel him, wanting to crawl inside him. Mulder pulled her into a fierce embrace.

His demand vibrated against her temple. “Tell me.”

Scully pushed away and dragged a hand through her hair. “Well, he was here. Walked in as though he owned the place. He asked me to dinner of all things, told me he found he ‘very attractive’ and more or less intimated he wanted me, that I was his new choice of girlfriend.” She rubbed at her eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. “He’s unstable, Mulder. He has to be. Nobody in their right mind would put the moves on an armed Federal agent.”

At the confusion in Mulder’s eyes, she hastily clarified, “I had my scalpel in my hand, pointed at him like a weapon. If he’d come any closer I would have gotten in several decent carvings before he took me down – and he knew it. He backed off, left. But not before mentioning William, and wishing me a ‘good afternoon’ with my child. The expression on his face when he said it was not… pleasant.”

Mulder’s own expression was furious enough to harness lightening. “FUCK! Okay, that’s IT – we’re going to talk to Skinner. Now.” He grasped Scully’s arm and started pulling her toward the door.

She dug her heels in, cautioning, “Mulder, you can’t go see Skinner! You know that. You’re not even supposed to be anywhere near the Academy.” She caught his hand, squeezed it. “We can have Skinner come over, tonight. We can tell him what happened today, as well as the incident the other day. We can lodge a complaint.”

Mulder slowly nodded, clearly unhappy to have to let it go when he was worried and angry and out for blood. “All right. I’ll let it go for now. But I want you home. With me and Will.”

She nodded and slipped out of her lab coat, gathering up her papers, resigning herself to working from home at least for the rest of the day. She folded the coat and laid it on the examining table, then walked over to Mulder and wrapped her arms around him again, looking up into his face. She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “So, take me home, Mulder. And by the way, who’s got William? Or don’t I want to know?”

Mulder chuckled, “Langly. In fact, he’s probably in the parking lot, still holding the cab I took. I told him to meet me over here and I dumped Willy in his arms and tore down two floors like a madman.”

Scully sighed as they walked to the elevator. “Langly, huh? Wonder if he’s ever changed a poopy diaper?”

Mulder grinned at her – a truly evil grin. “I’d say ‘yes’ to that, Scully… since Will had a very decent load in his britches when I passed him over to Langly. I’d say Goldilocks got his lifetime diaper fix.” The elevator doors swished open for them and Scully was laughing out loud as they stepped inside.

That laughter sustained them both, all the way down to the parking garage.

* * *

GEORGETOWN

8:30 PM

The knock on their door was expected, although Mulder was surprised it had taken Skinner so long to drive over, considering they’d called him hours ago and over the phone he’d promised he was on his way.

Mulder answered the door; Skinner stood there in his overcoat and suit, clearly having come directly from work. Mulder raised a curious eyebrow. “You still haven’t been home, Sir?”

Skinner brushed past him, unsmiling. “Not yet, Mulder. Where’s Agent Scully?”

Mulder closed and locked the door, then turned to take Skinner’s coat. “She’s just putting Willy down for the night. Want a beer?” Without waiting for an answer he led the way into the kitchen, snagging two bottles from the fridge and handing one to Skinner.

They sat at the kitchen table, and Mulder quickly filled Skinner in on the events of the day. “She was rattled as hell, Sir. This Ranken asshole knows about Will. The only way that’s possible would be if he’d followed her home and watched her coming and going, long enough to see her with the baby – or if he’d been snooping in her files, which we both know is illegal as hell. She never says anything to anyone at the Academy about William; it was the same when she worked at the Bureau, before she delivered. And most of her coworkers have been polite enough not to ask. Scully is intensely private about William – and about me.”

Mulder took a long pull from the bottle and rubbed at his eyes. “You and I both know she has nerves of steel. It takes a hell of a lot to shake her, but this shook, and hard. I don’t know what to do.”

Skinner set his empty bottle on the table, then reached into his suit pocket and extracted an envelope. He passed it to Mulder, commenting, “Take a look at this. We all need to talk about it.”

Mulder was scanning the pages just as Scully came into the kitchen, carrying a small load of laundry. She sent a smile Skinner’s way and leaned in to kiss Mulder’s cheek, before setting the laundry basket down and glancing at the papers in his hand.

“Sir, thanks for coming over so quickly… and what’s this?” She bent in closer, one hand closing over Mulder’s as he sifted through the forms in his hand, reading over his shoulder. She raised her head and stared at Skinner in shock.

“He’s lodged a formal complaint? Against ME?”

Skinner nodded, then reached out a hand and pressed her arm until she sat down in the nearest chair. “I got served with those papers about two hours ago, that’s why it took me so long to get over here. Mulder just told me what happened. I’d like to hear your thoughts about Ranken.”

Scully scrubbed her fingers over her face and raked them impatiently through her hair. She had to consciously force her voice to remain calm and even. “Truthfully? I think he’s borderline psychotic. I think he’s a bully and potentially dangerous to women. I think he’s been following me and I think he’s working for someone who might want to cause harm to me, Mulder and William. In other words, I think he’s a dangerous man. And I don’t believe for a minute that he’s an Academy instructor.”

Skinner gestured toward the papers Mulder still held in his hand. “And the scalpel? Did you threaten him with it, Agent Scully, as it states here?” At her affirmative nod, Skinner sighed in frustration. “Look, I understand why you felt threatened yourself. I really do. I have no reason to doubt yours or Mulder’s account of what happened. I’ve known both of you long enough to accept you don’t blow things out of proportion. If this clown Ranken made overtures toward you that were unwanted and gave you the kind of unease that would cause you to feel the need to protect yourself with any available weapon… then I believe you were justified. But I’m not the one you have to convince.”

Mulder tossed the papers down on the table and stood, crossing over to Scully’s side and settling comforting hands on her shoulders. His stare was direct and even Skinner could see the worry there, as he inquired, “So who’s the one? Who’s Ranken’s boss?”

Another sigh from Skinner did nothing to reassure either of them, nor did his answer. “Dr. Ralph Livengood. Who answers directly to Alvin Kersh. I can just about guarantee Kersh would love a reason to boot you out of the Bureau, Agent Scully. He’s been on shaky ground for several months, with OPR. There’s residual disapproval still sitting on his head, from the way he dealt with the X-Files during Mulder’s absence. He’s been slowly gaining his ground back, but Livengood is a personal friend of his; they go way back together. Kersh will support Livengood – and for what it’s worth Livengood is a real chauvinist throw-back who doesn’t believe women should have ever been allowed in the Bureau. You talk about the “Old Boy’s Club,” you’re pretty much talking about Ralph Livengood. In fact, I think he invented the club.”

Mulder massaged Scully’s tense shoulders gently, as he considered what they’d learned so far. “So this Livengood would no doubt think Scully got what she deserved, so to speak – and whatever Ranken tells him about the incident in the lab, Livengood would accept it and then convince Kersh to follow suit. A jumpy female agent who uses scalpels to ward off harmless guys who just want to make friends… who needs that kind of hassle in the Bureau?” Under his hands Scully had stiffened, and Mulder hastened to reassure her. “Scully, I’m just saying what I’m afraid you’ll hear if there’s an inquest. You know that.”

She let out a breath, relaxed against him. “Yes, I know. Just as I know I’m not going to back down on this. I assume Ranken wants a formal apology, in writing, or else he’ll push forward with the inquest? It’s standard procedure.” She glanced at Skinner, noting his reluctant nod. “Okay. Then I suggest we find out everything we can about Donald Ranken. Because as I said, I don’t believe he’s an instructor. I think he’s a plant of some kind. Of course, I’m going with simple gut instinct; a trick I learned from you, Mulder.” She squeezed the hands still resting on her shoulders and smiled when he chuckled and brushed the top of her head with his mouth.

“That’s my ‘little woman.’ Taught her everything she knows.” He blithely ignored her muttered, ‘Oh, brother,’ and turned to Skinner. “I’ve got Langly and the guys digging through every avenue for whatever can be found on Ranken. So far the man is a total ghost. But they won’t give up.”

Skinner stood up, stretching his long legs, waving away the offer of another beer. “I need to get home, but thanks. Listen, Dana,” his use of her first name was rare, and an indication of his caring and concern for his fellow agent and friend, “I can spend some time over at the labs, whenever I want to.” He ignored her negative head-shake and protest and continued, “It’s not because I don’t think you can’t handle yourself. You know me better than that. But if this jerk is dangerous to you then he’d be a danger whether you’re a woman or a man. You’re in that lab alone for hours on end. I’d feel better if Mulder could be with you but we all know that’s an impossibility. So, the offer’s open, if you want it. Thanks for the beer.”

He sent each of them a fast smile. “I’m just going to head into the nursery for a minute or two and say goodnight to William, if you don’t mind?”

Scully returned the smile, full-blown and genuine, and gave his arm an awkward pat. “We don’t mind at all. And thanks… Sir.”

* * *

“He’s finally asleep.”

Mulder climbed into bed and smoothed the covers over his legs as Scully laid aside the book she’d been flipping through. She snapped off her bedside lamp and turned on her side as he slipped an arm around her and tugged her close. “How Willy knew Skinner was in the room is beyond me; I’d swear that boy was fast asleep when you left him the first time.”

Scully yawned and rested her cheek on Mulder’s shoulder. “Well, he was. Out for the count. But you’ve seen what’s going on with our son, Mulder – he’s got that extra sense that we’re still learning about and trying to accept. It doesn’t show signs of easing off, either.”

Both were silent for a few minutes, recalling the amazement on Skinner’s face when he’d walked out of the nursery and reported to them the sight of William in his crib, transitioning from fast-asleep infant to wide-awake and cooing baby, as soon as Skinner had stepped close enough to peer over the railing. The boy had immediately stretched up both arms in a demand to be held, a wide smile on his little face. Did babies so young actually grin like that? Did they reach with their arms? Skinner had wanted to know. He’d swung William into his embrace and the child had snuggled his head underneath Skinner’s chin, one tiny hand clinging to his collar as he’d nestled there.

The moistness in Skinner’s eyes couldn’t be ignored, any more than the thickening of his voice as he’d recounted the scene. He’d stood there for several minutes snuggling William, the baby hanging on tightly, before gently placing him back in his crib and covering him with the soft blanket. William had stared unblinkingly into Skinner’s eyes for a long moment, before gracing him with one last smile and letting his own eyes droop in contented slumber. The tough ex-Marine had left their apartment with residual emotion clouding his sight and the lingering warmth of their son still resting on his wide shoulders.

“That’s my boy. Knows who the good people are on this earth.” Mulder’s low rasp stirred against her temple as he held Scully wrapped in his arms.

She nodded, almost afraid to trust her voice. “Yes. William can tell. Of that I have no doubt. Do you recall the first – and only – time he saw Kersh? Remember I told you about the fit he threw? I’d bet Kersh still thinks about it.”

Mulder chuckled aloud at the memory. “Oh, yeah. I remember. That one afternoon you took William to the lab with you, right before you started back to work part-time. You said you weren’t expecting to run into anybody since it was a Sunday, and there ole Alvin was, walking down the corridor. You said Willy took one look at him and started screaming.”

“That’s right. I could barely manage to keep hold of him, Mulder. He was thrashing about so hard I was afraid I’d drop him. Then he’d pause, stare at Kersh again, and start thrashing anew. It was really and truly bizarre. Poor Kersh, for all of his basic nastiness I have a feeling he has a soft spot for children. He was crushed, I think.”

In truth, it had been very odd. William had never taken such a fit against anyone before; their son had been just a little over seven weeks old. At that age babies would barely have the presence of mind to differentiate between warm bodies, just as long as someone was holding them. And Kersh had done nothing more than look at William; God only knew what the child would have done if she’d actually have placed him in Kersh’s arms. Scully had stammered out an apology and had rushed William down the corridor and into the nearest elevator, the red-faced infant screeching non-stop. Yet as soon as the doors had slid shut and they’d started their ascent to the lobby, William had turned off the tears and screaming as effortlessly as he’d begun, and had smiled up at his mother with the most angelic little face.

That same day he’d gotten his first knee-bouncing session in Frohike’s lap – and had loved every minute of it. To this day any of the Gunmen could come into his small view and be greeted by coos, smiles and two tiny arms reaching for them. And now, it seemed as if Walter Skinner had been allowed inside that charmed circle.

“What are we going to do about Ranken?” The question rumbled against her temple as she ran slow fingertips along his collarbone.

Scully sighed and pressed her lips into his skin. “I don’t know. I hate to think it would go as far as an inquest. I don’t want to back down, either. In fact, I wanted to lodge a complaint myself. I never thought Ranken might beat me to it. And it’s just the sort of attention I don’t want aimed at us.”

She shifted in Mulder’s arms until she could look into his eyes. “I know how the Bureau looks at maternal agents, Mulder. It may read equality on the regs but you and I both know how untrue that is. As a mother the Fed powers-that-be could decide my judgment can be skewed, especially if I go back into field work and have to be assigned a partner. I may be teaching and researching right now, but I’m still considered an agent. As long as I have that title I’ll be watched carefully for any signs of job dysfunction. And overreacting to another Academy faculty is not the way to assure proper professional function.”

“You didn’t overreact to him, Scully -”

“I know that. You know that. Those who support us know that. But you heard Skinner. Ranken’s superior is “old school” and therefore biased as hell where female agents are concerned. He thinks women have no place in the Bureau, probably as anything more than administrators and receptionists. How he’s managed to survive in the Academy with that attitude, I have no clue. But he’s a high-ranker. And his opinion will carry a lot of weight, if there is to be an inquest.”

Mulder turned on his side until he could face Scully, both of them sharing her pillow. “Why don’t we forget all about it, right now? We’re tired and need sleep. Willy’s going to awaken in a few hours, wanting a feeding and a dry bottom. We’ve both got a long day ahead of us… and I don’t want you to worry any more about this, Scully. Okay?”

She nodded, then leaned in and caught his bottom lip between her teeth. She tugged at it and pushed up against his body at the same time, one hand snaking around his waist to hold him tightly. Mulder huffed out a laughing groan and deepened the kiss, arms suddenly clenching hard around her.

When they finally came up for air both were breathless and grinning at each other like fools. He rubbed an impressive erection against her satin-covered mound and inquired hoarsely, “Okay, you got Johnson’s attention. Now, what’re you gonna do about it, woman?”

She slipped an eager palm between the press of their bodies, and cupped him ardently. “Why, I’m taking your excellent advice, Mulder. I’m going to stop worrying and forget all about it… after I talk your, um, Johnson into giving me some severe what-for. You got a problem with that?”

Her fingers moved on him, wriggling and stroking, sliding, until Mulder was almost cross-eyed with need. He flipped her over on her back and pushed down imperiously, finding himself trapped front and center when her legs coiled around his waist. He groaned into her open mouth, “I got no problem, Johnson’s got no damn problem, only problem around here would be getting you out of those pajamas before I eat them right off your body.” To emphasize his point he took the collar of her shirt between his teeth and tugged on it, hard.

Scully shook tangled hair out of her eyes and fisted her hand in the thin cotton bottoms he wore. “Any eating that commences around here will be accomplished on skin, not on clothing, Mulder. Got that?”

“I got that. Got you…” He yanked at the satin covering her, managing to remove it without tearing, then shucked his own pajama bottoms and threw them over his shoulder. He rammed every inch of himself against her soft flesh and growled into her ear when she opened up and let him slide home, very deep. Her arms clamped around his neck and her lips bit at his mouth, no more words needed as they thrust and melded, a fit made in heaven. Down the hall their child slept with a tiny smile on his adorable face, securely in slumber-land while his parents gave each other severe what-for.

* * *

BUREAU HEADQUARTERS

9:05 AM

“Assistant Director Skinner, you’re overstepping your boundaries, I hope you realize that.”

Alvin Kersh’s tone was rigid and implacable as he faced Skinner across the expanse of his polished desk. Like the man, the desk surface was impeccably groomed. No stray pencils or wayward papers marred its surface; no photo frames or personal mementos cluttered its bland perfection. Likewise, Kersh sat in an expensive black leather armchair with his well-suited arms crossed in front of his subtle, pin-striped Armani tie. Behind steel-rimmed glasses his eyes were hard and shrewd.

There had always been a struggle for power between these men. Walter Skinner might have been the junior AD, but he was nail-tough, and Kersh resented it as much as he respected it. Skinner got the job done, he was fearless and under his guidance his agents’ solve- ratio was damned impressive. But he had an annoying habit of defending his agents to the point of blindness. And that had never been Kersh’s way.

Kersh saw in terms of black and white and was proud of it. His non- bending attitude had been the driving force behind his swift rise toward the top echelon within Federal hierarchy – another fact he was proud to claim. He hadn’t been at Headquarters very long and he’d stepped on his fair share of more worthy candidates as he’d moved up the chain – one of whom was now standing before him, trying very hard not to clench his fists in frustration.

As far as Kersh was concerned, stepping on Walter Skinner to nab the Deputy Director brass ring had been a regrettable but necessary climb. Skinner would have made an inferior Deputy Director; he was too zeroed in on the well-being of his people. Of course, to be a good Deputy you had to have compassion. Not too much, though – just enough to keep them relatively safe in the field. But Kersh felt that after more than eight years dealing with the dynamic duo of Mulder and Scully, Skinner had much too large a soft spot in his head for them. Those soft spots could really get him in a world of hurt, someday.

Kersh reined in his thoughts and faced off with Skinner, noting the other man hadn’t the courtesy to sit in the chair he’d been offered but instead chose to stand over Kersh, forcing him to look up. Well, whatever.

“AD Skinner, you and I both know that Agent Scully is especially emotional right now. She’s barely back from maternity leave, no doubt worried about having to leave her child at home, even part- time. Although I’ve had nothing but glowing critiques from her lab students, I’m certain her current… attitude… toward the professional overtures of Mr. Ranken could perhaps be misconstrued as something else entirely.”

Kersh steepled his fingers in front of his nose and narrowed his eyes warningly at Skinner when it became apparent the other man was trying to interrupt him. “I’ve had a full report of the afore- mentioned incident in the Forensic lab last week, and I can tell you that I found that report to be conclusive and non-partial.”

Skinner gave in to the urge to clench his fists as he noted the condescending tone Kersh employed. What small bit of temper he always tried to corral when in the presence of his superior was rapidly dissipating and once gone, there would be little hope of gaining it back.

He tried to choose his words carefully. “Sir, I’ve known Dana Scully for many years. I’ve had the honor of her unswerving dedication to the projects she’s been assigned to and witness to the most impressive solve-rate in FBI history. She’s one of the best we have to offer. I trust her judgment without question. If she says Donald Ranken harassed her and gave her sufficient reason to produce a scalpel as a potential weapon in defense of his ‘professional’ overture, then I’ve no doubt at all that reason was sound.”

Kersh made a point to sigh out loud, then leaned back in his chair. “Assistant Director, are you implying I’m sexist? That because of my decision to trust the statement given to me by Mr. Ranken, I am in fact denigrating Agent Scully’s rebuttal? Because I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. I merely state that within the report presented to me, I saw no evidence that Mr. Ranken was being anything other than professionally cordial, as I would expect any Federal employee to be. I’m satisfied with that report.”

He pulled off his eyeglasses and made a show of wiping them with his handkerchief, while Skinner stood there and stewed. “Now, as for the complaint that Mr. Ranken has filed against Agent Scully… I have to take that as seriously as it has been presented to me. There will be an inquest into the matter. Agent Scully will be advised to have a prepared statement in hand, and to report promptly to court on the assigned date. She will be given adequate opportunity to either plead ‘no contest,’ or to refute the charges as stated in the complaint. I would recommend you apprise her of her responsibilities, Assistant Director.”

Kersh slipped his glasses back on his nose and his dismissive, “That will be all,” was firm. He opened a file drawer and began flipping through folders, and Skinner forced himself to nod and turn, walk away. The set of his shoulders was stiff and the expression on his face was a warning, to refrain from speaking to him. Those who knew him and who passed him by in the few minutes it took for him to reach the closest elevator, knew by his scowl that Walter Skinner was in one hell of a foul mood. He was given a wide berth, all the way down to his floor.

Once in his suite, Skinner barked out a, “Get me Dana Scully on the phone,” to his secretary, who scurried to fulfill his request. Skinner slammed into his office and flung himself down in his chair. He was showing his temper and that simply wasn’t like him, not at all.

Skinner had always prided himself on his ability to remain outwardly calm and unruffled, even when deep inside he was steaming with fury. In all the years since he’d been assigned the monumental migraine that was the X-Files, he’d been able to hang in there, even against Fox Mulder and whatever his prized agent could fling his way. Skinner figured he’d racked up enough brownie points in Heaven to see him through for the next twenty or so years… but his daily dealings with Deputy Director Alvin Kersh were rapidly disintegrating those points.

And there wasn’t a thing to be done about it. That was the true pisser. Kersh had him by the short hairs and he knew it.

“Sir? Agent Scully on Line three.” Kim’s soft, concerned tones filtered through the intercom, and Skinner made a mental note to apologize for his rotten mood by taking her to lunch as soon as possible. He pressed a button and picked up the receiver.

“Agent Scully. I’m headed over to the Academy in about thirty minutes, and need you to meet me at Lab Section One, for a quick meeting…”

* * *

GEORGETOWN

3:52 PM

Dana Scully packed an extra handful of folded-up diapers into the cavernous bag, then tossed in a few empty glass bottles. Walking to the refrigerator she pulled out bottles of juice and breast milk, adding them to the bag, as well as several rattles, a pacifier and William’s favorite stuffed bear. Her hands and body worked on autopilot; her mind was thinking of other things.

Skinner had met her in the lab and had warned her that Kersh was not going to back down, was in fact supporting Ranken completely. She was to prepare a statement and have it ready for the inquest – which was scheduled for only ten days away. Skinner had kept his voice neutral but she’d been able to hear the worry in his tones.

Scully was worried, too.

She had good reason to be. She’d threatened a colleague on federal property, with a potentially-dangerous weapon. Because she was a medical doctor as well as a Federal agent she stood to gain even more reprimand, because above all she had to know the level of damage a scalpel could inflict on another human being. That she was also a mother was another layer that had the power to decimate her world, because with the chance of declaring her unfit to assume her professional duties, she could also be declared unfit as a mother. She could lose William. She and Mulder were not married, and Mulder technically had no viable job and therefore no recorded means of financial support for a child. If she lost William then so would Mulder.

Scully fought against scalding tears as she finished packing William’s diaper bag.

Goddamn it… always something to fuck up the works. Sometimes she wondered if she and Mulder had never been meant to get a break in life. At the very least, she’d expected a somewhat normal ebb and flow of normalcy, what most everyone else on this planet could count on. Even in her darkest hours, when the roles she and Mulder had been chosen to play in life had been the most difficult to portray, still Scully saw herself as aiming her boat toward a fairly normal shore.

Now because of some asshole and his prejudiced boss-man, paired with the absolute worst Deputy Director in FBI history, Scully stood a very good chance of losing it all.

She zipped up the bag’s main pouch and peered out the window, duly noting the drizzling rain spattering against the pane. Oh, great… rain and wind. Normally Scully liked rain, but this time of year when the weather was warm one day and cool the next, windy rain meant colds and sore throats, two common afflictions she caught easily. She’d have to get a flu shot, and soon. Lovely –

Scully shrugged into her lightweight raincoat, then walked into the nursery to collect a gurgling William. Wide awake and cute as could be in his red striped one-piece romper, William waved his tiny hands around and his gappy grin was irresistible. Scully scooped him up and cuddled him close, carrying on a one-sided conversation as she brought him into the living room.

“You ready to spend the night at Grandma’s, Willy-Winkie? I’ve got all your favorite stuff packed and Grandma has a new Pooh movie for you to watch. You’re going to have so much fun.” William blew saliva bubbles at her as she wrestled him into a matching red jacket, deftly pulling up the hood and fastening it under his chin. She hitched him up tightly with one arm and snagged the diaper bag with her other hand. Backing out of the door, she let the auto-lock catch behind her and shook the knob once to assure it had caught.

Right after William’s birth, she and Mulder had exchanged her ground- floor apartment for a larger one that opened up into the main corridor instead of to the outside, feeling they needed that extra bit of security. The inner apartments had a double locking mechanism on each door plus an outer entry with a cipher lock. Since moving in, she’d felt a lot more secure.

Scully hoped her new-found security wasn’t going to be ruined by Donny Ranken, or anyone else.

They caught the slow-moving elevator down from the third floor and Scully jiggled William in her arms while they waited, making silly faces at him and loving the coos that erupted from her big boy. It had been Skinner’s idea – well, almost a command – that had made her decide to bring William to her mother’s for the night and afford her and Mulder some down time.

“Agent Scully, you and I both know you need a break from the added stress of looking over your shoulder, especially with this damn inquest looming over you. I suggest you take a day or two, whatever you feel you can spare. Drop William off with your mother, I’ve no doubt she’d love the chance to spoil her grandson. I can check in on them as well, if you’re worried about leaving William for a spell,” easily reading the worry in her eyes as he’d mentioned someone other than her or Mulder caring for their child.

Scully had been pink-faced with guilt. It was true she hadn’t let Willy out of her sight and that included much time at her mother’s house. To date her mother had come to the apartment to see William and she’d only sat for him once, when Mulder had insisted on taking Scully out to dinner. Of course she’d fretted about William all evening and had finally talked Mulder into leaving early, before dessert. It hadn’t required much talking, she recalled; Mulder had been almost as paranoid as she. They’d brought home a container of chocolate bread pudding for her mother and an apology for being nervous parents.

Scully had nodded reluctantly, and under Skinner’s watchful eye she’d called her mother and had asked her. Her mother had been thrilled and thought it was an excellent idea for Skinner to stop by and check on them. With both reassurances ringing in her ears, Scully had found no reason to refuse.

Now as she stepped off the elevator and waved a cheery ‘hello’ to the security guard in the lobby, Scully was glad she’d agreed. A night alone with Grandma would do William a world of good – and a night of relaxation and romance with Mulder would have her back to her old self in no time. Once she dropped the baby off at her mother’s, she’d have roughly an hour to make herself perfumed and presentable, before Mulder got back from his meeting with the Gunmen and Doggett.

Scully found herself humming softly as the guard buzzed her through the outer door and she hefted the diaper bag to her shoulder, raising her free arm to hail a taxi.

“Well, hello, Dana. How wonderful to see you and your delightful son. Going somewhere?”

That voice… Scully whipped around, her face pale and the hum dying in her throat as her eyes locked on Donny Ranken, standing perhaps fifteen feet away, his hand resting against the roof of a taxi. He gave it a quick, hard pat and the taxi roared away, the only taxi on the block or anywhere near the apartment complex.

Oh, hell. Scully took a step backward, her free arm dropping the heavy diaper bag onto the wet pavement, automatically snapping around the body of her child. She hugged him tightly and William started squirming and fussing. She shushed him gently, holding his face pressed to her shoulder, and retreated another step. Ranken slowly advanced; now they were both out of eyeshot of the main door of the complex… and the guard inside, who’d probably retreated to his station in the lobby.

Shit.

Ranken wore a Red Sox sweatshirt jacket and jeans, his head was bare and wet with rain and his face was open and friendly. But those brown eyes of his were narrowed, steady and watching every small move she made. Scully forced herself to remain calm.

“What are you doing here, Ranken?” Her voice was strong and firm. So far, so good…

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “That’s ‘Donny’ to you, Dana. I think we know each other well enough to be on a first-name basis, don’t you?” He gave William the once over and smiled. “Cute boy you have there. His name’s Fox, right? Named after his father, no doubt.” The tone was so dripping with friendliness and intimacy that Scully felt a cold spear of panic shoot straight up her spine.

She held herself tall and held her ground. “I doubt the name of my child has any bearing on why you’re here, Ranken. As I have no doubt you know what his given name is.” A quick glance around to see if any taxis had driven up. The street was silent and devoid of traffic.

Son of a bitch.

If possible, Ranken’s grin expanded even further, and his eyes narrowed a bit more. “Oh, everything about you is fascinating to me, don’t you know that by now, Dana?” His gaze took her in hungrily. She was a beautiful woman. They hadn’t told him just how beautiful, and the pictures he’d seen of her did her little justice. Her hair was damp and curling around her face, her eyes were so blue. And she had a lot of spunk inside that curvy little body of hers. He’d made up his mind before he’d ever met her face to face, that he’d have her.

Donny Ranken always got what he wanted. He wanted Dana Scully. He wasn’t supposed to want her, or anyone, for that matter. It hadn’t been in him to feel that kind of desire for another person, not until he saw her, got close enough to her to smell her perfume and see just how perfect she was. Not until now.

He wanted her, and the baby. Oh, he really wanted that baby…

Two more strides forward and he was within touching distance. Ranken pulled his hand out of his pocket and she saw the glisten of a knife blade. Scully’s eyes widened, this time in genuine fear. Sweet Jesus, a knife in his hand, trained on both of them. She was a fighter but her child was resting confidingly in her arms and pushing aside the fighter in her soul was a mother, who’d do anything in the world to keep her baby safe. She knew it.

Ranken knew it.

He gestured to a car parked against the curb, only a few steps away from her. “It’s unlocked. Why don’t you just step inside, Dana? Get that cute baby of yours out of the rain. We can have that dinner date I asked you for, just a few days ago. I don’t mind if your son comes along. I have a healthy appreciation for children.” The knife gestured along with the hand that held it.

She tensed and took another hasty step backwards; Ranken’s face hardened to granite. “Don’t be stupid. There’s nowhere to go. You and I both know I’m close enough to hurt the boy. My aim is very accurate, I promise you. My knife would be sticking out of his back in no time flat. Be a good girl, and step up to the car.”

Though her heart was pounding in her chest and a film of fright had coated her from head to toe, Scully knew if she even tried to resist he’d make good on his promise to hurt William. Yet if she didn’t fight, he’d have them both at his mercy. There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that for whatever reason, Donny Ranken meant to kill them both.

She couldn’t chance him taking them. If it meant putting her son in danger, she had to find a way to run.

Scully half turned, shielding William from the knife in Ranken’s hand; she crouched and prepared to drop to the ground, intending to tuck, roll and then gain her feet and run like hell… when Ranken, second-guessing her, hissed out a rough obscenity and reached out his free hand, latching onto William’s small, romper-covered leg.

Two seconds later he was on the wet ground, gasping and convulsing… and William had somehow twisted his little body around in Scully’s arms, wide eyes locked on Ranken – and screams of baby outrage pouring from his rosebud mouth.

Scully stared at Ranken in shock. Where he’d touched William, his palm was raising up in red welts and sores; in his frenzy of convulsing he’d flipped over onto his stomach and even under the sweatshirt he wore she could see the frantic ripple along his vertebrae. What the hell -!

Oh, God. Her eyes widened even more. His vertebrae… rippling and shimmying under his clothes. Pushing up underneath his skin, like it wanted to rip itself out of his flesh; like nothing she had ever seen. Or had she? A vision of another moment like this, in her memory; a woman bent over in a small, dark homemade delivery room, her spine undulating, moving. Scully was almost reeling in disbelief.

Donny Ranken was an alien. He was one of Them.

Amid her son’s screaming and the thrashing of the enemy on the ground before her, Scully suddenly understood somehow the incipient powers William seemed to possess had extended into a way to identify and perhaps destroy the alien replicants. She couldn’t imagine how, could barely wrap her mind around the fact of Ranken’s damaged hand, not two seconds after he’d touched the baby. Was this William’s gift, his legacy? Would her child grow up to be the downfall of the planned Armageddon?

She turned William in her arms and looked into his tear-soaked eyes. And swore she saw the reflection of an ageless hatred. Not directed at her but aimed at the creature on the ground, still in the helpless throes of convulsions. When William wriggled in her arms, it seemed as if the infant was actually trying to shift himself around, to stare again at Ranken. Incredible. Unbelievable.

She couldn’t accept it.

She had to accept it… had no choice but to accept what was happening right before her horrified eyes. And no choice but to do everything in her power to protect her child, and herself.

Scully turned and ran in the now-pouring rain, leaving the diaper bag behind, away from the guard who’d finally heard all the screaming beyond the soundproofed walls of the complex and had ventured outside to see what all the fuss was about. Away from several people who’d crossed the street to investigate. Away from her apartment, which she’d once thought was so very safe.

She ran, and as she ran with William hiccupping in her arms, she managed to pull out her cell from her pocket and punch in a code.

“MULDER! Come home, NOW! I need you!”

She turned into the revolving doors of a bank three blocks away from her complex and sank onto the nearest bench; with William snuffling into her neck, both of them finally calming down a little, she told Mulder what had happened.

“I’m at the bank, three blocks down on the corner. I’m staying here until I see you. Hurry, Mulder…”

* * *

She sat huddled on a cherrywood bench just inside the doors of First National Bank of Virginia, a sleeping child in her arms. Scully’s damp hair was falling down around her weary face; her limbs still trembled in reaction to what had happened. William’s diaper was soaked, but the child didn’t seem to be bothered and in fact slept like the dead. He was so limp with sleep that his small weight seemed to have been multiplied, and her arms were aching. She would later understand they ached from holding William so tightly. In truth it was a wonder the child hadn’t awoken from the pressure.

That was how Mulder found her, just twenty or so minutes after her frantic call to him. He hit the revolving doors running, spun into the lobby and rushed to her side, dropping to his knees in front of her. Scully raised her head, eyes so tired, swimming with unshed tears. She didn’t say a word, just leaned forward and let him envelop her and William in his arms. She pushed her face into his neck and breathed in his warm skin, soaked in his life, his vitality.

In that position they remained for long seconds, reconnecting. Resurfacing from what she’d had to face just blocks away and less than an hour ago, it seemed impossible to her that so much had happened in so short a time. She felt as if she’d lived a lifetime in that small block of minutes.

Finally she raised her head, meeting Mulder’s worried eyes. She tried a shaky smile; it curved up one side of her mouth, just enough to afford him a healthy dose of relief. Mulder hugged her even closer, William in the middle. The baby made no protest, still fast asleep.

“We’re flattening our son, Mulder.” Her voice was scratchy and rough. Scully pulled away and they both had to smile at the sight of William curled between them like the filling of a very emotional Parent Sandwich. “I think he’s snoring.” Sure enough, the baby was indeed snuffling in his sleep, little Willy-snorts that made Scully want to laugh and cry all at once.

Mulder pressed his lips to Scully’s temple, then eased her back onto the bench, sitting down beside her with an arm around his family. “Scully, you’re drenched and shivering. We need to get you and the baby dried out.”

“Well, I was out bopping around in the rain, Mulder. Stands to reason a raindrop or two would actually fall on me.” It seemed safe to joke a little now that Mulder was holding her, so she made an attempt at levity.

He hugged her tightly. “Har de har har. Okay, tell me. Where is he… It, Ranken, the bastard?”

She rubbed at her damp eyes. “I don’t know. He was on the sidewalk and people were starting to nose around. My only thought was to get the hell away and call you. I ran in the other direction like a crazy person but no one tried to stop me. I never heard any sirens so I can only assume the police weren’t called.”

She handed William over to Mulder and he cuddled the sleeping child close while Scully massaged her numbed arms. Her voice dropped to a low whisper. “He’s injured, Mulder. His hand was scorched and blistered, the hand that grabbed William’s leg. I have no idea if he can regenerate new skin but what I saw was severely damaged. As if he’d suffered third degree burns.”

“Well, I have a feeling if we go back to the apartment and look for him he’ll be gone. I think what contact he had with William’s abilities was enough to render him temporarily helpless, enough for you to get away. I’d bet his skin will heal and I’d also bet he’s off somewhere licking his wounds and making a report on his little ‘adventure.’ We’ll need to call a meeting of our own, and soon.”

“I agree.”

They stood up and walked out the door, Scully holding Mulder’s arm. The rain had finally stopped and to anyone looking at them, they might appear a normal couple taking a walk with their young baby. Looking closely into their eyes one might see the residual worry and fear, touches of weary acceptance and traces of renewed strength and determination. At that moment, they were both. The most normal family you’d ever expect to see, and a unified threesome bound together by circumstance and a certainty that their future was on very shaky ground.

Maybe their future, but not their love and commitment Never that.

The street in front of their apartment complex was empty of writhing aliens, curious pedestrians and police when they rounded the corner. The wet diaper bag lay on its side where she’d dropped it; Scully was surprised nobody had taken it. She walked up to it and snagged the handles, hefting it to her shoulder. She looked up at Mulder, noting his keen regard as he looked up and down the street.

“Should we go in? Or should we just go to the Gunmen’s? I think I’d feel better if we didn’t go in right now, Mulder.”

He nodded, “I agree. Tell you what. I’ll hail a taxi, you call the guys. Might as well call Skinner while you’re at it. Hell, call everyone. We’ll all meet at the lair and thrash this out. Okay?” His fingers caressed her cheek for a moment, before he turned to face the street, looking for a cab. Scully pulled out her cell and started punching in codes.

* * *

LONE GUNMEN’S

5:30 PM

“You’re shitting me. Right? You ARE shitting me – aren’t you?”

John Doggett had such a look of disbelief on his face that it was all Mulder could do not to laugh. After the events of the day he was mildly surprised to find he actually wanted to laugh. But he did. It would have been such a blessedly average and normal thing to do, he thought – laugh his head off, chuckle himself delirious, get it out of his system. Instead he kept a serious face, knowing Doggett was trying to absorb and accept what he and Scully had told him, understanding John had to find a way to work it out by himself.

“No shit, John. Honest. Believe me, I wish I was shitting you, I really do. We have another replicant in our midst, this one well- connected to Quantico. And this one has a protector, maybe two. Scully left him convulsing in the street with a damaged hand. I have no doubt he recovered as soon as William was out of range… also no doubt he went running to Livengood to whine and moan. As I see it, our immediate problem is two-fold.”

Mulder drained the last of his beer and set the bottle down, looking over at Scully who nodded and picked up the narrative. “Problem number one is what Ranken unwittingly revealed when he touched William. We all wondered how far our child’s power might reach, and to my thinking this is only the beginning. Willy is very young. We need to assume his abilities are also as young, and will develop and get stronger as he grows. In what way those abilities develop, we can only guess.”

Mulder continued, “What Ranken knows, the aliens hiding in plain sight will also know. That William has powers they didn’t count on, the night he was born and they stood there and waited to see what sort of new life was being delivered. I think they underestimated William’s value, seeing only a normal-looking, human baby. They left him alone; they walked away. They thought he was nothing special. They’ll know differently, now.”

Langly had been sitting on the floor, listening quietly. Now he spoke up. “This Ranken is a nowhere guy. I found no evidence of him existing anywhere, until about six months ago when he magically shows up in the personnel files over at Quantico. He was interviewed and hired by the same person: Ralph Livengood. Now, Livengood’s been around for a lot of years. If he’s also alien, he’s been out among the people for a hell of a long time. He’s established, trusted. He’s also Kersh’s bestest buddy. Might mean nothing – might mean something. Definitely warrants watching Kersh, I’d think.”

Skinner was in agreement. He sat on the sofa next to Monica, arms full of freshly-diapered William, who’d fallen asleep with a bottle hanging out of his mouth. Skinner had gently removed it and had shifted the baby to his shoulder, and was now rubbing his little back gently. “Kersh has always required monitoring. Now, more than ever, we have to be on our guard around him. Luckily we’ve been given an opportunity to see evidence of what makes these replicants: that weird vertebrae of theirs. It moves and shifts around under their skin, seemingly on a regular basis. And obviously, exposure to someone like William causes it to freak out. I’m with the rest of you – I think as this child grows older his special talents will expand, get stronger – and consequently he’ll become a major danger to the replicants. We have to do everything in our power to protect him. I hate to say it Agents, but William’s life will be in danger for a very long time. As will yours, Mulder… and yours, Dana.”

Neither parent pretended to misunderstand Skinner’s meaning; they knew. Scully gave voice to it calmly, “Yes. Because if we’ve been fortunate enough to create one very special child, then it stands to reason we could create another, equally special. And perhaps another. Maybe there are other people out there, male and female, who have been exposed in similar fashion, to what Mulder and I were exposed to. They may very well find each other and fall in love – and make more very special babies. It’s only natural.”

“And the world could slowly fill up with humans who have that special touch. Humans who can band together, hide in plain sight, find ways to fight a future that threatens to overtake us all. If we can set up a way to protect these future saviors we can do our part to help harness the power; we can find ways to keep them safe. Starting with this little one, right here.” Monica laid a caressing hand on William’s downy head, and the baby snuffled a little and sighed in his sleep.

Innocent – vulnerable. Weak, at least for now… but backed by fiercely protective parents and friends who were already falling in love with the sweet, blue-eyed boy. Friends who would do anything to help him grow up to be a strong force against the alien invasion.

In that moment everyone in the room vowed silently they’d do whatever it took, to assure William lived a very long life.

* * *

GEORGETOWN

9:50 PM

“I’m so tired. I could sleep for a week.” Scully pulled back the comforter on their bed and climbed in, resisting the urge to yank the covers over her head and not come out for a month.

Next to the bed a portable crib had been unfolded and made up; William was already zonked out, his belly full of mommy-milk and his little bottom dry. Mulder tucked a soft blanket around him and kissed his rounded cheek, then shucked off his tee shirt and toed off his shoes, before approaching his side of the bed. He sat down and unbuttoned the fly, ran a tender hand over Scully’s hair, then leaned back into the pillows and wrapped her in his arms.

She tugged at the jeans he still wore. “You intend to wear your 501s to bed, Mulder?” Her hand curled around his thigh and anchored him to her side.

He chuckled. “Nope, just going to do a fast walk through the apartment and make sure it’s all locked up. Figured I’d do it partially-clothed. After all, I’m now a respectable father. I have an image to uphold.”

She tweaked his leg. “Is that so? You think wearing a pair of tight blue jeans – and no underwear – renders you respectable?”

“How do you know what I’ve got on underneath my jeans?”

A sleepy snicker. “Mulder, you left the bathroom door open. I saw you take off your jeans, slip out of your boxers and then pour yourself back into your jeans. I’d lay money you left that door open on purpose. You wanted me to watch… didn’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. A half-naked woman in my bed, watching me shimmy my Johnson into a tight pair of Levis? It’s a real turn-on, Scully.” He left the jeans in place and pounced on her, wriggling with exaggerated abandon over her, letting his warm weight press her into the sheets. Scully coiled her arms and legs around him and shoved up against him with enthusiasm, all traces of exhaustion dissipated.

“I thought you could sleep for a week?” He was teasing her and she loved it.

Scully pretended to give it some serious thought. “Well… I could have, quite easily. But you know how tough it is to resist a man in a pair of skin-tight, unbuttoned Levis and nothing else? I mean, any moment that beast inside your denim could leap out and demand my attention. I figure I’d better do my best to stay awake for it. Wouldn’t want to damage his little ego.”

Mulder, busy trying to squirm his way out of his 501s, caught the pointed slur and immediately grabbed her hand, pushing her fingers into the opening, not satisfied until they were wrapped around his flesh. He groaned as she stroked him and her softly murmured, “Oh, I do beg your pardon, Mulder… for saying Johnson has a ‘little’ ego,” had him shaking with mirth as well as with desire.

Only she could make him feel that way; only she could raise his temperature with a touch and then have him laughing out loud the very next moment. If he had his way, Scully would do this to him for the rest of their lives.

“I love you. So much.” The low words were deep and raspy, uttered against her lips as he kissed her passionately. She responded with everything she had, winding herself against him, wanting to crawl inside him, under his skin, through sinew and muscle until she could attach herself to his heart and live there, always.

As if she were not already there… of course, she was. Already there, in his heart and soul, bound up in him, looking out through his eyes, a part of Fox William Mulder. For as long as they could be together, whether it be one more day or fifty more years. What they had together, would build together with their precious child – it was the only important thing.

In the warm room on soft cotton sheets, their baby snuffling quietly in his little crib next to the bed, the parents of a future fighter made slow, delicious love to each other and in doing so renewed their resolve, their determination and courage to live their lives the best they could possibly live.

It was the right thing to do.

* * *

EPILOGUE

BETHESDA

TWENTY-EIGHT HOURS LATER

He threw the envelope across the desk. “Take it.”

When the man sitting across from him made no move, his eyes brightened with impatience. “You have no choice. Take it, and count yourself fortunate I’m feeling benevolent towards you.” He pushed back in his chair and got to his feet, a tall, slender man with a thick shock of pure white hair and matching bushy eyebrows showcasing piercing slate-gray eyes. Dressed to the nines in a formal suit. Expensive, urbane, intelligent and wealthy. A cultured, albeit gruff voice, and ice water for blood in his veins.

The man on the other side of the desk hated him, feared him, respected him – and wished like hell he could kill him.

Ralph Livengood raised one white eyebrow, easily reading the jumbled thoughts flashing his way. “Yes, I’ve no doubt you do. You’d like to kill me, this moment, right now. You should be instead contemplating your own suicide, shouldn’t you? After all, I’m not the one who fucked up.”

Livengood smiled at Donny Ranken, who sat in his visitor’s chair visibly shrinking from the polite words falling on his ears. The younger man knew he’d made several very bad tactical errors. He knew his existence was in serious debate. Knew it hung on a single phone call his mentor could place whenever he desired. Knew the envelope in front of him held redemption, another chance. He didn’t want to take it. Didn’t want to leave.

Leaving meant abandoning his chance with the woman.

Livengood sneered at him. “Forget her. As I said, you fucked up. You let your emotions rule your head, and in doing so you almost destroyed our plans, our mission.” He placed his hands flat on the edge of the desk and leaned over Ranken until their noses almost touched, enjoying the sight of the other man cowering away from him. “Do you have ANY idea how long I’ve had to live in this cursed world, pretending to be on their side, practicing false smiles, false concern for their pitiful welfare, making them think they were my equals, worthy of my professional courtesy?”

He pushed in closer and sweat popped out on Ranken’s forehead, an unfortunate by-product of being more or less ‘human.’ “Years, you piece of useless shit. Many, many years. I’ve done my duty to the cause. I was close. So very close… and you blew it. You. Fucked. Up.” Each word was punctuated by the hard prod of Livengood’s finger into Ranken’s chest.

He leaned back, allowing Ranken to take several gulps of air. “But I’m going to let you continue your existence. Because along with the unending mistakes you’ve made, you’ve also provided us with invaluable knowledge… the identity of a Destroyer. For that, I can almost forgive you the rest. Almost.”

Livengood straightened, once more pushing the envelope within reach of Ranken’s hand, still a bit red but healing rapidly. “As I requested of you: take it. Fly to your destination, use the credentials to set yourself up and don’t ever contact me again. You’ll be assigned a new mentor. You’ll remain in your new position until you’re needed again. That is, IF you’re needed. I’m afraid that may not be up to me. Thanks to your… antics… I must also make myself scarce, and relocate to another destination.”

Livengood walked to the door of the office, leaving Ranken no choice but to pick up the envelope and follow him. The door pushed open; Ranken stared once more at his former mentor, so many thoughts whirling in his brain that for a moment Livengood’s head jerked in reaction to their jumble. Then he smiled again, showing all of his excellent white teeth… and to Ranken that smile had the taint of a predator. He shivered and walked through the door. Throughout the ‘meeting’ he’d not spoken a word; he’d not been allowed to.

But he could think, oh yes. He could think all he liked, and to hell with Livengood’s ability to read him, read his anger, his fury, the feeling that he’d been deprived of what he’d most wanted. He was on his way to a new location; banished, so to speak. But at least he’d been allowed to continue. He’d settle, do his duty, find his tasking and blend in once more –

Maybe he’d come back, someday soon. Maybe he’d find his way back to DC, and maybe he’d run into Dana Scully, someday.

The thought of that day made Donny Ranken smile all the way to the airport.

* * *

Livengood picked up the cell phone and punched in digits.

“It’s done. He’s on his way. I wanted you to know.”

“Good.” The gravelly voice in his ear was as familiar to him as his own. Livengood allowed himself one moment of human regret. He’d miss this life. For all its many frustrations and shortcomings, he’d grown accustomed to the privilege, the comfort. Of course he’d find comfort and well-being regardless of where his destination placed him. But Ralph Livengood would miss this place.

He cleared his throat. “I’m leaving tonight. I wanted to say goodbye, and to offer my apologies for the way Ranken bungled his assignment. If I’d had any idea, any idea at all -” He broke off at the impatient huff in the receiver.

“Of course you had no idea. How could any of us? It’s never been a cause for concern, up until now. That is neither here nor there; you’ve handled it admirably. I congratulate you.”

“Thank you. And all is not completely lost, as you well know. I suppose in a way, Ranken did us a favor.” Livengood locked up his desk with his free hand, turning off the lights, walking to the door. “About the others…”

“Yes?” “I wanted to reassure you. We’ll find them. All of them. We’re reinvested now. I promise you: we’ll flush them out.”

“I know you will. I have the utmost confidence in you, my friend.”

A few moments more of low conversation and Livengood gently closed the lid on his phone, and locked the door behind him. He’d taken precisely three steps, when the office – and entire tenth floor – exploded into a fiery ball of shattering glass and burning drywall, throwing him back against the huge plate window on the outer side of the corridor. Shards of plexi pierced him, fierce plumes of fire engulfed him, combusting his body instantly.

In the distance the sound of fire engines could be heard racing to the once-elegant office complex. In the tenth-floor corridor a raging blaze ate through offices and reception areas, obliterating all evidence that any living being had ever inhabited its quiet opulence.

On the other end of a dead phone line, a regretful sigh was heard; the receiver was replaced carefully in its cradle and a man took off his glasses, pinched at the headache brewing between his eyes, and mentally shook off the day’s many disappointments.

After all, tomorrow was always another day, wasn’t it?

---

–– Chapter 2 ––

Missing Pieces by Donna

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail as she entered the morgue. She really needed to get it cut, maybe next week. It just meant more time away from Will. Mulder didn’t mind, but she did.

Scully picked up the file on the autopsy they had scheduled and flipped it open. She stopped in mid-stride. No, could she do this? She looked over at the table, noting for the first time that the bundle of cloth lying on the table covered a tiny body. A baby.

She looked further in the file, were they trying to prove it wasn’t crib death? That wasn’t FBI jurisdiction. Who were the parents? The name caused her to drop the clipboard. Mary Hendershot. She hadn’t thought of the woman in months. Her son? The child that was born that night? No, the child they gave her that night.

Scully forced herself to move over to the table. She closed her eyes for an instant, then steeling herself, pulled the sheet back. The baby looked asleep, his eyes closed, but pale. She had to lean against the metal table for support when her knees threatened to buckle. Her hand shook slightly as she touched his hair.

She jumped as the doors opened and Gary, the technician hurried in. “Dr. Scully, I’m sorry. I was supposed to be watching for you. AD Skinner called. You’re not to do this autopsy.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure. The assistant director is on his way. I’m sorry, I just stepped into the men’s room – “

“That’s okay. I want to do a visual exam anyway.”

“I heard them say he was murdered.” Gary offered.

“Murdered?” She looked up at younger man. “Why is the FBI involved?”

Gary shrugged as she pulled on her gloves. She carefully and gently began her exam. When she saw the wound on the back of the child’s neck and the blood crusted around it, she couldn’t move.

“Damn, that looks like, like an ice pick wound.” Gary moved in for a closer look. “Why the hell would someone use an ice pick to murder a baby like this?” Gary looked up at her and she forced herself to clamp down on her emotions.

She didn’t answer him, but began looking at the rest of the child’s body. No bruises, but his hand was injured. It looked burnt, not with fire, more like acid. That made no sense.

“Agent Scully.” The deep voice reverberated in the large room.

She took a deep breath and turned to look at AD Skinner. She hadn’t even heard him enter she’d been so intent on the child. “Yes sir.”

“Did you not get my message?” He looked over at the technician, who actually quailed at the look Skinner shot him.

“I, I told her – “

“Gary informed me you didn’t want me to do an autopsy. I haven’t. I’ve been doing a visual exam.” She stood her ground, looking up at the bald man. This was her territory, and she could sense he didn’t like being here.

“This is not your case.” He didn’t look at the small body, focusing instead just to the right of her face.

“Gary, could you excuse us please?” She turned to the young man, who nodded and made good his escape without another word. Once the door closed behind him, she turned back to Skinner. “Why not?”

“I am aware of your … connection to the victim’s mother and – “

“And I have a son nearly the same age. That only makes me more invested in finding out – “

“Dana, no.” He glanced over at the baby, then away.

“You know what killed this baby, don’t you?” Skinner wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m curious about this burn.”

“Scully – “

“Do you know anything about this burn?” She pressed.

“Let’s get out of here, Scully.” He reached for her arm.

“And give them a chance to make the body disappear?” Her voice shook with scorn. “Just a minute.” She quickly took a swab of the inside of the baby’s cheek, then as Skinner watched, two more.

“What are you doing?”

“Gathering evidence.” She said shortly. The first swab she labeled with the child’s name. The second with a different name, and the third she pocketed. Skinner kept his mouth shut.

She placed the second swab in with the work from another case, then finally allowed Skinner to lead her from the room.

“What do you know?” She rounded on the man once they were in her office, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned against the desk.

“Scully … ” He sank into her visitor’s chair. “You shouldn’t be involved here.”

“Why are you?”

“Kidnapping.” He said shortly. “The baby was taken from his day care. We were called in yesterday evening. The body was found by a homeless man. There was no ransom.”

“You know what was used to kill him.”

Reluctantly Skinner nodded.

“What about the burn.”

Skinner sighed. “When the call came in, there were two bodies.”

“Two? Where’s the – “

“When the police arrived, that baby was there, but next to him was a pile of green goo.”

Scully gasped, “The burn.”

Skinner nodded.

“The people that did this didn’t know he was human.” She glanced around her office, but she wasn’t seeing it. “They didn’t realize. Oh my god.” She sank into the chair beside Skinner.

“John’s checking. He’s been to the site where the body was recovered, and the daycare. Scully, you’re not on the X-Files. This could be … dangerous for your family.”

“Of course it could!” She shot back at him. “Were you going to keep us in the dark about this?”

“John’s running the investigation. He … he recognized the name.”

“You know Mulder and I are the only ones with any experience – “

“Mulder is not in the FBI. If he – “

“We know how to keep a low profile, but we have to be in the loop on this. Someone killed Mary Hendershot’s son, thinking he was extraterrestrial.”

Skinner winced, but didn’t correct her.

“You know I don’t think that is the child that Mary gave birth to that night. I’m sure the baby was switched. That’s why I took the samples. I need to run DNA on them. If I can prove that he isn’t Mary’s biological child … “

“If you draw attention to this you could be drawing attention to Will, too.”

“And if I ignore it?” Her eyebrow was high and her look mother-fierce.

“Damn, I hate this.” Skinner shook his head.

“Yes sir. I need to talk to Mulder. As soon as possible.”

Skinner nodded. “Mulder’s armed, isn’t he?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Good. I’ll, I’ll have Doggett contact you.”

“Does Mary know … ” She glanced toward the morgue.

“She identified the body this morning.”

Scully’s eyes closed. She felt physical pain at what Mary had endured. She knew that pain—Emily. She opened her eyes to a look of sympathy on Skinner’s face. “I’m fine, Sir.”

“Right. Go on home. If anyone asks, I’ve got you on a consultation.”

* * *

She opened the special lock and let herself into their apartment. She hadn’t called, they were careful about things like that.

“Mulder, it’s me.” She saw him then, at the door to the hall. He lowered the gun to his side.

“Geez, Scully. You’re early.” He caught her expression then, “What? What’s wrong?”

“I never told you about Mary Hendershot.”

* * *

“Damn it Scully! You could have been hurt, you could have lost … ” He was on his feet now, pacing.

She sat quietly, watching him. She’d expected this reaction. She purposely had not told him about this. He had enough guilt over what she had gone through in her pregnancy before she got him back, not to mention his distance at the beginning.

After a few minutes his voice trailed off and he looked at her. “Okay, what happened? You didn’t come home early and decide to lay this on me for no reason.”

She sighed, “No, I didn’t. The child that Mary has raised was kidnapped sometime yesterday from his day care. His body was found last night. He, he’d been killed by what looks like a wound from an ice pick.”

Mulder stood there, waiting.

“In the back of the neck.”

His eyes widened and he sank down next to her on the couch. “Scully?”

“The original call to 911 said there were two bodies, but when they arrived, there was just the baby I saw, and a pile of green goo.”

“Jesus, Scully.”

“The baby, the human baby, had burns on his hand where it was lying in this goo when the police arrived.”

Mulder was silent at that. He knew she believed now, but to hear her say it out loud like that was still enough to make him pause.

“We need to prove that he wasn’t Mary’s biological child.” She withdrew the sample from her pocket. “Think the guys could run this? Even if the evidence makes it to the lab, I’m not sure we can trust them.”

He couldn’t stop the twitch to his lips. “I have dragged you to the dark side.”

“Full time, Mulder.” The smile faded quickly from her face. “You okay?”

She opened her mouth to give him her normal answer, then paused. She shook her head. “That baby, seeing him like that … “

He pulled her to him, holding her. The feeling of security was missing from the apartment now. The sage green walls were no longer relaxing, the homey furniture that they had chosen together less comfortable. He felt her head turn to look toward the nursery where their own son was napping. “You know they can’t touch Will. Scully, we can keep him safe. “

“Can we?”

“Yes. I can be here with him. I – “

“Not twenty-four hours a day. You have work to do, critical work. Mulder – “

His lips silenced her. “Don’t borrow trouble. We’re forewarned, and you weren’t part of the group that this Mary and her friend were in. We know he’s ours.”

She nodded then, only Monica had touched Will besides herself before Mulder arrived. Will hadn’t been out of their sight while they had both been examined. She shuddered slightly at the memory and his arms tightened around her.

She sighed, “I need to get a sample of Mary’s DNA, but I don’t want her to know. If I prove that child wasn’t her son, I’m not sure we should even tell her.”

Mulder hesitated, then nodded. “We don’t have to make that decision now.”

“John’s handling the investigation. I’ll see what he thinks. I want to go with John to talk to Mary.”

“No.”

She looked up at Mulder. He didn’t often attempt to give her orders, but that was definitely an order. “Not as an investigator, Mulder. We have a connection. I was there when her child was born.”

“That connection is the reason you can’t get anywhere near her or this investigation. That’s why Skinner wouldn’t let you do the autopsy, right?”

“I know.” She closed her eyes for a beat, then met his eyes and let him see that she understood. “John can handle it.” She admitted, “I … I hurt for her.”

“I know.” He drew her closer, giving her what comfort he could.

* * *

Doggett took a sip of his coffee as he turned from the lunch cart.

“John.”

He turned, juggling his sandwich, to see Agent Farah beside him. “Joe, what’s up?”

Joe fell in beside him. “I hear you drew that case with the murdered baby.”

“Yeah.” John watched him, for some reason uncomfortable by the agent’s presence. “Nasty stuff.”

Joe nodded and took a sip of his own coffee. “You gonna have Scully do the autopsy?”

John struggled to keep his face impassive. People didn’t ask him about Scully often. He immediately went into auto-protect mode. “No. Not on this one.”

“I thought you asked for her on all your X-Files.”

John forced a chuckle, “Yeah, but this isn’t an X-File. It’s a kidnapping gone bad. And, I may be old fashioned, but she’s got a kid now. I couldn’t ask her, I wouldn’t ask any woman to do it, but don’t repeat that. I’d rather have Winters for this one.”

After a moment Joe nodded. “Well, good luck with the case.”

“Yeah, thanks.” John watched the agent walk off. That was … unsettling.

Skinner needed to know about this.

* * *

Skinner tapped on the door and Mulder checked the peephole, then let the man in.

“Sorry for just showing up. Is Scully here?”

Mulder nodded, “Yeah, is something … ” He stopped. “Want a beer?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

Mulder moved toward the kitchen, stopping to flip on the CD player on his way. Scully came out of the bedroom and moved toward the music, then spotted Skinner. Mulder came back out of the kitchen then, with three bottles of beer in his hand. Scully met his eyes, and didn’t turn the music down.

She sat on the couch and Skinner sat beside her, taking two beers and handing her one. Mulder took the seat closest to the speaker. He looked the question at Skinner.

The older man sighed. “John got some of Ms. Hendershot’s DNA.” He spoke in a monotone, quiet and low. He pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit coat.

Scully took it and opened it. Several brunette hairs rested inside.

“What happened?” Mulder asked, also quietly.

“It may not mean anything.”

Mulder’s look needed no explanation.

“John came to me.” Skinner hesitated. “He, um, he had an encounter today with Agent Farah.”

Mulder looked over at Scully and shrugged. “I don’t know him. I mean, I know his face, but I’ve never worked with him.”

“Neither have I.” Scully turned back to Skinner.

“John has. On the Haskell case.”

Mulder and Scully exchanged looks. “I knew someone would notice the death and connect it to you, but that didn’t take long.” Mulder sighed. “What did John say?”

“That it wasn’t an X-File, and he wasn’t going to ask Scully to do the autopsy because of her own baby.”

Mulder looked over at her, but she didn’t even protest. Hell, it did sound like something Doggett could say and get away with to another male agent. He could see Scully’s mind going into high gear. He waited.

“Mulder, the people that took Mrs. Haskell’s baby and Mary’s knew that the children exchanged were human. They wouldn’t make a mistake like this. Whoever murdered that baby didn’t expect there to be a body to be investigated. Maybe they saw the first child start to … to melt,” she suppressed a shudder. “They just assumed that the second baby would …” She couldn’t finish that sentence, looking down at her hands, watching them clutch one another She didn’t need to finish the sentence; Mulder understood.

“So someone else knows about this and is what, cleaning up the mess?”

She looked up, a spark of anger in her eyes, “Mess?”

“Sorry.” His voice was soft.

She deflated immediately. He wasn’t being insensitive. “How soon can the guys get the information?”

“I’ll get the hairs to them tomorrow. It’ll take a couple of days. Scully, you already know what they’re going to find.”

After a moment she met his eyes and nodded. “So what do I do? How do we find out who killed that baby? How do we keep Will safe?” Her voice shook slightly on that.

They all jumped when they heard Will’s cry from down the hall. Mulder rose, “I’ll get him.”

Scully nodded as Skinner watched him disappear. “Dana, do you have any ideas? Who was there that night, at the hospital?”

“The doctors that met us when we arrived … I just don’t know. The man that took us from the hospital was that friend of John’s, Knowle Rohrer. He knew the truth; he wouldn’t have had any reason to kill the child. He’s the one that knocked me out to keep me out of the way.”

Skinner nodded, then saw Mulder frozen in the doorway with Will in his arms.

“He did what?” Mulder voice sounded strangled, he had heard her last words to Skinner. She sighed, so much for glossing over some of the story.

“Let me have him.” Skinner stood and moved to Mulder, reaching for the boy.

The baby recognized his Uncle Skinner and smiled, accepting Skinner’s arms around him. Another facet of this new life Mulder was getting used to; big bad Baldy, playing Grandpa and cuddling their son.

“I thought I’d try a bottle.” Mulder managed to say. Scully nodded, she loved nursing the baby, but with Skinner there she wouldn’t be comfortable, not to mention him. Besides, there was a stash of her milk in the refrigerator for the mornings Mulder kept Will. “I’ll get it.” Mulder looked over at Scully, his eyes telling her their conversation wasn’t over, then turned toward the kitchen.

When Mulder left the room, Skinner looked over at Scully. “You didn’t tell him that part?”

Scully looked down at her hands. “I should have.”

“Yes. You can’t keep things from him, Dana. He needs to know what happened while he was gone. Even the bad stuff.”

“I know.”

Skinner looked down at the baby in his arms and smiled. Will’s answering smile warmed him. He’d never had children, never thought about them really. And definitely hadn’t suspected how much love a child could inspire, even in him.

Scully watched the two, a slight smile on her face. “He’s growing so fast. He looks more like Mulder every day.” Will’s eyes were darkening now, turning hazel like his father. Scully was aware that Mulder was sorry about that, but to her those were the most beautiful eyes in the world. Seeing a small duplicate of her love was perfect for her.

She looked up and found Mulder was standing in the doorway watching her with an intensity that made her shiver. When he realized she had seen him, Mulder stepped into the room and reached for his son.

“Let me.” Skinner took the bottle from Mulder. Skinner studied Mulder’s expressionless face for a moment, then gestured with the bottle toward the kitchen. “Why don’t you two take a minute, we’ll be okay out here.” He looked back down at the boy and ignoring the two adults, began feeding him.

Scully rose and moved past Mulder into the kitchen. He followed, obviously unhappy. “Mulder, I’m sorry – “

“You’re sorry? You didn’t tell me the man assaulted you. My god, you were pregnant, you’d just had an amniocentesis.”

She nodded, “It’s history, Mulder. I made a mistake, but I wanted to help Mary. I didn’t know how far it extended. I should have. Yes, I put the baby and myself in danger, I-”

At the word ‘danger’ he moved toward her and clutched her to his chest. “And I wasn’t here to protect you.”

Her arms went around him, comforting and taking comfort.

“What else don’t I know about that time, Scully?” He murmured into her hair.

She looked up at him with the tremulous smile. “We can’t keep Skinner here all night. After he leaves, we can talk.”

“I want to know every case, every detail.” His finger traced her cheekbone.

“You really do know everything, Mulder.”

He shook his head, “You think you’re protecting me, shielding me, like you did when I first returned. I don’t need that, Scully. I have to know everything.”

“I threw a glass of water in John’s face.” She offered.

“That’s right,” he managed a small smile, “Even the good stuff.”

* * *

Scully looked up as she heard Mulder enter the apartment the next afternoon. He came into the kitchen and she moved into his arms. He kissed her thoroughly, letting his hands cup her ass as he looked around for Will.

“We ran some errands today; he was late going down for his nap. What’s this?” She looked at the file he’d dropped on the table.

“Personnel changes at the Walden-Freedman Army Research Hospital over the last year.” Mulder handed her the folder.

“How did you – ” She saw the quirk to his lips. “Right, never mind. Anything interesting?”

“Fascinating actually. I’m glad I’m not in charge of keeping up with the benefits records over there. The turn-over would kill me.”

Scully moved to the table and spread out the information. “Dr. Miryum, transferred … this was two days after I was there.” She sank into a chair.

“It was a busy day.” Mulder watched her as she scanned the materials.

“Gretchen Dunstall.” She looked up at Mulder, who nodded. “Hospitalized where?”

He grinned; it had taken her no time to spot it. “A psychiatric hospital in Northern Virginia. Seems she had a breakdown that night. Do you remember the name?”

She shook her head, looking back at the material.

“She was a nurse, worked with Dr. Miryum and some of the other doctors that were moved out.”

“A nurse? There was a nurse with me when they did the amnio. I didn’t pay any attention to her nametag.”

“Would you remember her face?”

“Maybe.” She hedged; her mind had been on other things that night.

“Okay, I’m working on that.” Mulder took a seat beside her. “John says the kidnapper was a woman. The day care is high security, but a strange woman entered with another mother. The mother who held the door for her assumed she was a new mother, they exchanged a few words. That happens all the time. Apparently she turned toward the infant wing, so it didn’t seem out of the ordinary. Nobody realized he was gone until Mary came to pick him up. A lot of parents come and go at that time.”

“I assume there was a security camera.” She looked up at him.

“Lots of them. John’s got the tapes, but the ‘security procedures’ were pretty much an exercise. I guess the people that worked there didn’t really think this kind of thing would really happen. They reuse the tapes day after day, so we’ve got our fingers crossed that what we need is there and not too degraded.”

Scully nodded. “Mulder, what do they say caused her breakdown that night? Was it my results?”

“No. No, Scully, this isn’t about Will. We don’t know for sure where the … the baby Mary had was taken, but why not back to the hospital? It’s military and it was close. Maybe this Gretchen saw, or heard, more than she could take.”

Scully nodded slowly. “Is she still hospitalized?”

“Nope. Got out last week.” His smile was grim.

“You’re looking for a picture? We could – ” she stopped at the look on his face, “John could show it at the day care, compare it to the video.”

“We should have it tomorrow. And Byers thinks he’ll have the information about the DNA results tomorrow too.”

She sighed.

* * *

He came out of the bathroom in his shorts and paused. She was sitting in the bed, with the file propped up against her knees. She was wearing a tank top and had the sheet up over her legs, and she was wearing her glasses, going over the information again. She looked as young as that day so long ago when she’d entered his office. It felt so right to have her in their bed.

Their bed. They had kept her bed from her old apartment. He’d slept in it with her and without her. With her was better.

He joined her on the bed, bouncing it slightly. “Find anything?”

She let her head fall back against the headboard and removed her glasses, rubbing her nose. “No.”

“Come ‘ere.” He pulled her to him and began massaging her shoulders.

“What do we know, Mulder?”

“That we can prove? Not much. We think the doctors at the Research Hospital were in on it, but they could have been transferred out to keep them from learning anything new. Gretchen’s records are out of reach, so far.”

“Dr. Parenti was involved.”

Mulder’s hands halted for a moment. “Yeah. Why was Mary seeing him?”

“The same reason I did. She wasn’t in a committed relationship and she wanted a child.”

His arms slipped around her. “You were in a committed relationship.”

She turned around to see his face. “Yes, but I hadn’t allowed myself to know it.”

Mulder nodded then.

“He had my ova, Mulder. He had custody of … how do I know he was even using my ova for me when we tried the in-vitro, or that he hadn’t tampered …”

“Scully.” His arms tightened. “We don’t have to worry about that. Will was conceived by us, with no tampering. You know that, it accounts for a lot …”

“What if, what if he used them, my ova? What if there are other babies like, like Emily?”

He closed his eyes and rocked her. He had no reassurances for her or him, but they both needed to relax. Will would be awake soon enough. He moved his hands back to her shoulders and massaged them gently, but very shortly he had moved lower.

“Mulder, my breasts aren’t tense.”

“Of course not, I take very good care of them.” He let his finger trace her nipple.

She reached behind her, “Speaking of tense …”

“And getting tenser by the minute.” He nuzzled her neck.

“Then I should probably massage it.” Her hand tightened and whatever he’d been about to say turned into a groan.

She turned to face him again and her eyes brightened at the expression of love and desire on his face. She hooked her fingers in the elastic of his boxers and tugged them down. He moved in cooperation at the right moment and she slipped them off him. She dropped them on the floor while appreciating the scenery revealed. When she felt his hands at her own waistband, she helped him strip her last garment off.

She sat on his abdomen, letting his cock press against her ass as she leaned forward to lick his nipples. He watched her and marveled that she would allow him to move things in another direction so much easier now.

Then without warning, she rose and impaled herself on him. He gasped, and struggled to keep some control. His eyes narrowed. “Dangerous, Scully.”

Her grin was evil. “Johnson didn’t seem to mind, besides I thought you wanted a massage.” His eyes widened as she proceeded with her plan to drive him over the edge.

She rose, as though to leave him, but his hands closed on her hips and brought her back to him, even deeper. She caught herself with her hands on his shoulders, her lips twitching. “Oh, you want me to continue?”

He growled, and she relented. Her thumbs caressed his nipples as he set the pace, never allowing her to leave his body completely. She leaned forward slightly to bring him in harder contact with her clit and her eyes widened. He grinned, knowing what was coming and tightened his grip to support her. He moved as well, changing the angle slightly and saw her eyes grow round as her breathing caught. “Come for me, Baby.” He whispered as she tightened around him. He held on for a moment, watching the blush add pink to her breasts and nipples. His eyes met hers and the love he saw there overwhelmed him. He poured his essence into her, sealing their bond once more. Her cry of delight drew a chuckle from deep within his chest as he rolled to his side and tugged her up against him.

* * *

Mulder stepped away from the desk and Langly, and grabbed the ringing phone from his coat pocket. “Mulder.”

“Mulder, where are you?” Doggett’s voice was tense.

“John? I’m with … what’s wrong?”

“My man tailing Dunstall lost her.”

“Where?” Mulder bit out the word.

“She was in Georgetown. Isn’t this the morning Scully’s home with Will?”

“Yeah.” A feeling of dread washed over Mulder. The worry in John’s voice didn’t help.

“I’m on my way over. I don’t know that’s where Gretchen’s headed, but – “

“I’m closer. I’ll meet you there.” The look on his face brought Langly to attention.

“Mulder, you need anything?” Langly asked quickly, Byers and Frohike looked up from across the room.

“I need to get home.” Mulder was already running before he hit the street.

* * *

“Okay, Will, dishes are done, now we can change your sheets, then give you a bath. Want to get in the tub?”

He babbled at her, thoroughly enjoying the conversation. She tucked her hair behind her ears and lifted him from his seat. She carried him to his bedroom and sat him in his bouncy chair while she stripped the sheet from the crib. She jumped slightly as the Pooh and Tigger mobile began moving. She wanted to believe she had brushed against it, but she knew better. Will was moving it again. She found herself wishing Mulder were there. Strange things weren’t as frightening when he was holding her. She hurried to remake the bed and tossed the used sheet in the basket. She’d do the laundry when Will went down for his nap.

The mobile slowed and stopped as she turned and he focused on her. “Bath time Willie Winkie.” She cuddled his precious body against hers and hummed to him as they moved to the bathroom.

She lay him on the rug and began running the bath for him, then secured the rubber feet of his seat in the tub. She stripped the boy and lifted him into the tub. He wasn’t quite sitting up alone, but with the yellow ring around his waist, he could lean forward and reach the water. He immediately began to splash and babble even more excitedly. Mulder was confident that he’d be a competitive swimmer soon. She wasn’t going to dispute it.

She washed him; his hair was coming in thick and dark with beautiful red highlights when the sun hit it just right. Her own miniature Mulder. They played for a few minutes, then she lifted him kicking and chortling from the tub. She lay him on the towel and put on his diaper.

Scully had left the bathroom door open, so she heard the lock on the front door disengage. “Daddy’s home early.” She smiled down at the boy and his answering smile caused her heart to clutch. They had done this, they had created this much love. She wrapped the towel around Will and held him to her chest.

She walked out to the living room, and heard him in the kitchen. “Mulder, I think you’re right about those swimming lessons. He loves – “

Scully froze as the woman stepped into sight from the kitchen. “Gretchen.” The word was only a breath, but the woman heard her.

“You know me. You know why I’m here. Give ‘it’ to me.” Gretchen stepped toward Scully. Scully retreated holding Will closer to her. He began to fuss, whining but thank goodness not throwing a fit as he had with Kersh.

“Gretchen, you’re wrong. My son is human.” Scully realized her gun was in the bedroom. Why the hell was she not wearing her gun? Why should she have felt she was safe just because she was in her own home?

The woman blinked, her hand coming up, displaying the ice pick she held. “You were there, you saw, you know. We have to kill them, get rid of them.”

“Gretchen, I don’t know what you saw, but I wasn’t part of it. My son wasn’t born there and he wasn’t ‘exchanged’. Only the woman that delivered him, his father and I touched him. This is the baby I gave birth to, I swear.”

“You were Dr. Parenti’s patient. I saw that on your chart.”

“He was involved?” Scully asked quietly, she needed to engage Gretchen, get her to talk.

“I didn’t know it, not until that night. He’s gone, and Dr. Miryam, all the others. But I saw what they brought back after you took that woman out. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. They didn’t see me, but I saw them, I saw ‘it’.”

“Gretchen, why do you want to kill the babies that aren’t … aren’t like what you saw?”

“They can, can change.” Gretchen shuddered and looked away; her knuckles went white around her weapon.

Scully looked down at the ice pick, but Will was in her arms. She couldn’t rush the woman, but if she could keep her talking …

“They dissolve.” Gretchen said with wonder, “You can’t tell until you puncture their neck. But I saw what happened.”

“Who, who was the other baby? The one with Mary’s son?”

Gretchen looked up at her, her eyes narrowed. “Why do you care?”

“Mary’s baby was human. He didn’t dissolve.”

Gretchen blinked at her obviously caught off guard by that information. Emotions warred on her face for a moment, then she straightened her shoulders. “Mistakes may be made, but we have to kill them. The little ones that are human are innocent, they’ll go to heaven. The others, they’re not human and they have to be destroyed. Give ‘it’ to me.”

She moved toward Scully again. “Gretchen, we’re on the same side. I don’t want aliens here either, but you can’t do it this way. Let me help you. Tell me where you found the other baby. Tell me what you know.” Thank God she hadn’t come in earlier while Will was playing with the mobile. Seeing that would have completely deranged the woman.

Gretchen didn’t speak, but took a step closer, her grip tightening on the ice pick in her hand.

“He’s not an ‘it’, Gretchen. He’s a boy, a human boy.” Scully pleaded, bouncing Will slightly to calm him.

“You can’t be sure, not if Dr. Parenti was involved. Give ‘it’ to me!”

“Is that how you found the other baby? Did Dr. Parenti deliver him? Please Gretchen, let me help you.”

Gretchen’s arm came out to take Will. Scully retreated.

“I’m not giving you my baby.” She couldn’t turn her back on the woman, but that meant that Will was between them. Her arms tightened around the boy as his agitation grew. She glanced down and Gretchen lunged toward her.

Scully jerked away, but the point of the ice pick caught her left arm. Will howled in fury. She felt the wetness on her shirt and realized she was bleeding, but the pain didn’t register. Will was in danger.

She couldn’t let Gretchen close enough to touch him, not while she was holding that ice pick. Even if Will could protect himself, the woman was armed and who knew if he could injure her as he had Ranken. She couldn’t chance it, not with her precious baby.

She darted to the right, toward the bedroom, clutching Will desperately. The woman was insane; she’d seen things she couldn’t accept. Scully knew if she didn’t get to her gun, she and Will were in terrible danger.

Gretchen moved with her, blocking her. “Give ‘it’ to me and I won’t hurt you. We have to kill them, we can’t let them live!”

“You’re not hurting my baby!” Scully screamed in Gretchen’s face, causing her to fall back a step.

Scully heard the door burst open behind her, but she didn’t dare turn away to look. Gretchen glanced at the door, then lunged at Scully again, the ice pick raised to slam into whatever she could reach.

The sound of the gunshot, so close to her ear, froze Scully. Gretchen cried out as she was slammed into the door frame. Blood blossomed on the arm holding the ice pick. “No! We have to save ourselves! We have to kill them!” She crumpled to the floor, clutching her arm and crying.

Scully felt Mulder directly behind her. “Scully.”

“We, we’re okay.” His arm went around her, keeping her on her feet as he touched the blood on her arm.

They both saw Gretchen stagger back upright and Mulder raised his gun to warn her off, shoving his two loves behind him. The sound of a second gunshot caused Mulder to jerk violently as blood and tissue blossomed on the wall behind Gretchen, spattering him lightly. The woman was dead, her brains now decorating the pale green paint.

Mulder and Scully both turned, stunned, toward the door, in time to see Agent Farah lower his gun. Before they could speak, they heard racing footsteps and Doggett appeared in the door, his chest heaving.

He stopped beside Farah, taking in the scene. “I heard the shots. Are you okay?” He was looking at Scully. She nodded as Mulder holstered his weapon and took both Scully and Will into his arms. He sat Scully on the couch, not attempting to take Will from her.

“Can you get me a towel?” He aimed the question at Doggett, but didn’t look away from Scully.

John hurried to the bathroom and returned with a towel, then pulled out his cell phone. He placed a quick call to 911. It was obvious that Gretchen was dead, but Scully’s arm needed attention.

“Joe,” Doggett finally acknowledged the other agent. “What are you doing here?” He noted that the agent had remained at the door, not coming inside, not getting close to Will.

“I heard your suspect had slipped her tail.”

“So what brought you to our apartment?” Mulder’s voice was steady, but it was obvious he was shaken.

Farah shrugged, “Just a hunch, Mulder. It’s a good thing I got here when I did. She was coming at you.”

Mulder nodded, but didn’t speak. He’d had his gun out and the woman was injured. Farah had been sent here to kill Gretchen. Mulder had no doubt of that.

“I’ll wait for the ambulance downstairs,” Farah offered. He glanced once more at the boy, who hadn’t taken his eyes from him since Farah had made his presence known. Farah’s face was carefully bland, but Will continued to just stare, tears dry now.

“Yeah, thanks.” Doggett nodded, watching Mulder. When Mulder made no further comment, Farah left the apartment.

Doggett closed the door behind him, then turned to the two people holding their son. “What the hell happened here?”

* * *

Mulder spread the blanket out near a clump of trees and helped Scully to sit on it, then sat Will beside her. The sun was warm, but the fall nip in the air couldn’t be ignored. Will immediately reached for a brilliant red leaf that was drifting down toward him. Scully was wearing a light jacket, mostly to cover the bandage on her left arm. Mulder stood as a sentry, not looking the least casual despite his clothes, hovering over his charges.

“Mulder, please, sit with us.”

He looked down and after another look around, forced himself to sit on the blanket with her. He didn’t relax his observations and she didn’t call him on it. When John and Monica approached them, Mulder stood again.

They were dressed in jeans as well, as though a couple taking a walk. Monica joined Scully and Will on the blanket. She tickled Will and grinned as he laughed and clutched at her hand.

“How are you, Dana?” She finally looked over at Scully.

“I’m fine, really.” Scully glanced up at Mulder; his face was carefully blank.

Doggett looked at Mulder, “Farah’s gone, vanished. He hasn’t been seen since he left your apartment. His place is empty.”

Mulder met Scully’s eyes but didn’t comment.

“I don’t understand!” Doggett exploded. “The man wasn’t involved in the investigation; there was no reason for him to have been at your place.”

“Farah’s an alien, like Rankin.” Mulder spat. “That’s why he didn’t come inside the apartment. He didn’t want to get close to Will. He was there to clean up the Gretchen problem. But his actions brought him out into the open. How many more? Rankin, Livengood, now Farah …” He shook his head. His voice was grim and his lips were compressed into a thin line.

“Mulder – ” Scully started.

“They wanted to witness Will’s birth. They didn’t try to take him but if they had, there was nothing you or Monica could have done. They were watching us and when Gretchen broke in, they came to your rescue. They also happened to get rid of a witness before we could find out what she saw, who the second baby was, how she got a key that would work at our apartment, and anything else.” His fury and frustration were obvious. “The records of Gretchen’s therapy sessions are gone. They were cleaning up someone they missed. They hadn’t realized what Gretchen knew, and Scully and Will were protected by their interests.”

Monica looked back and forth between Mulder and Scully. She couldn’t dispute Mulder’s claims. “So what are we going to do?”

Scully looked down at Will, then up at Mulder. Their eyes locked on each other. Nothing was said, but after a moment, Mulder relaxed.

“We need to get Will home, Mulder.”

He nodded and helped her to her feet, then forestalled her by picking up Will himself. Monica rose and shook out the blanket.

“We’ll do what we always do.” Mulder’s arm went around Scully and he cuddled Will against him. “Stay in touch guys.”

Mulder and Scully walked toward their car.

–– Chapter 3 ––

Welcome to the Nightmare by Wylfcynne

* * *

Scully woke up abruptly, suddenly aware that something was very wrong. She reached for her bedmate, but her hand encountered only cool percale. She sat up, her heart pounding.

“Mulder?!” she called, her voice trembling.

There was no answer. Terrified, she got up, unaware of the chill on her bare arms and feet, and dashed next door to the baby’s room. The bassinet was empty, too.

\…omigodomigodomigodomigodomigod…\

She choked back a shriek as she turned toward the front of the apartment. There was a dark head showing above the back of her rocking chair, which was turned toward the window.

Relief almost took her out at the knees. Panic subsiding, her intellect kicked in. \It’s been weeks since he had a nightmare or a flashback, but why else would he be up and out here…?\

Mulder was only wearing cotton sleep pants. The apartment was very cool and he was shivering as he cradled their son close. The baby, she noted, was well wrapped up in the blankets from the bassinet. She moved a step to one side, to try for a look at her lover’s face.

He was crying, his mouth distorted though no sound emerged. His face was wet with tears.

Scully shuddered, then squared her shoulders and moved into the room. She deliberately did not attempt to remain quiet. A few steps to the right put her in his line of sight.

He avoided eye contact with her and tried to dry his tears on his shoulder when he realized she was watching him. He noted uneasily that she was the same height as… Ruthlessly, he forced that thought away: Scully was nothing like his captors!

But he could feel himself sweating with fear.

He tightened his hold on his son, inarticulately aware of a need to protect the child from any danger. The bitterness of failure overwhelmed him, then: he couldn’t even handle a bad dream anymore. What could he do for his son? Will needed a father with courage, a father who could stand between him and danger and keep him safe and free long enough to grow up, to grow into his power…

“Mulder?”

Her voice was so close that he flinched; he had been inside his head, and he had not noticed her approach.

“Shh… Relax, Mulder. It’s all right,” she said softly. “You’re cold, love. Let’s go snuggle on the couch?”

He did not react; Scully had time to feel her fear rising once again before he took a deep breath and carefully stood up. Wordlessly, with communication perfected over their years together, they arranged themselves on the couch and Scully pulled the blankets off the back of the couch and wrapped them all up.

She snuggled close, until Mulder shifted to put one arm around her shoulders while the other kept Will snug against his chest.

Scully sighed and laid her head on his chest beside her son. Her hand lay lightly on Mulder’s belly, and she felt his muscles flinch from the contact.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” His voice sounded rusty.

“Your absence woke me,” she said softly. “That’s my nightmare: waking up alone.”

He stiffened beneath her. “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry, Scully—!”

She turned her head and kissed the nearest part of his bare chest. He froze at that first touch of her lips.

“Hush. I know what’s going on,” she whispered, “and I know you’re trying to cope. I just wish you’d come back to bed after you get William.”

“It’s not safe to sleep with an infant,” he said distantly. “Babies get crushed and smothered like that every day.”

“I seriously doubt either of us would be sleeping,” she smiled sadly. “I don’t want you to feel that you have to do this alone, Mulder. I want to help.”

Warmth and affection were working their magic: Mulder was finally relaxing. “You are helping,” he admitted. “You’re here. You let me stay here…”

“This is your home, Mulder. Your home and your family.”

The words must have stabbed especially deeply; his face started to crumple. She nuzzled closer, trying to divert his attention.

His hand came up to ever-so-lightly stroke her hair once, twice. “You’re too good for me, Scully.”

His voice was a ravaged thing, roughened by grief and terror, weakened by deprivation. She nestled closer, rubbing her cheek against his body, nuzzling inside the blanket to kiss father and son where they touched.

“You’re all I want in this world and the next, Mulder.”

His hand tightened in her hair. She leaned into his touch, and conversation lapsed for a while. They were so good at being quiet together, that it was a natural thing, comforting to them both.

It was long minutes later, and she was drowsing, warm and content, when she realized he was crying silently again. Rather than speak, she just slid her hand across his body and hugged him.

“It’s been months,” he moaned as he fought to control himself. “Why is this happening to me?”

“I think you’re finally really strong enough to handle it,” she said gently. “I suspect that the physical damage they inflicted on you was the least traumatic part. What do you think?”

He shuddered. “I… I was dreaming of waking up in the coffin,” he whispered. “I can hear you talking, and Skinner, and Doggett… Then dirt starts hitting the coffin lid…”

She stared up at his face, horrified and not trying to hide it. “You were NOT conscious, Mulder! There’s no way you were conscious then! You were—” Her throat seized up on the blunt monosyllable.

“Dead?” He said it for her. “I suppose so. I don’t know if it’s really a memory, Scully. I really don’t. It could be something I extrapolated from your explanation of events that I missed. But that doesn’t make it any less awful…”

“Do darkness and small spaces bother you now?” she asked hesitantly.

“Not really,” he shook his head. “But the sound of dirt hitting the lid…? That’s bad. The smell of freshly-turned but very cold dirt. The smell of the snow… But mostly it’s that sound… It still echoes.”

They lay together on the couch until Mulder fell asleep and only then did Scully allow herself the same respite. In typically contrary fashion, no sooner had they both settled in for some sleep than Will woke up, hungry and not the least bit hesitant to demand what he wanted.

Mulder woke up with a start at his son’s first querulous and sleepy sound. It took him a moment to be sure that there was no external reason for Will’s distress. It was when the infant turned pursed lips toward his father, plainly seeking something upon which to suckle, that Mulder realized the issue.

“Scully… Scully, wake up,” he called softly, rubbing his knuckles against her cheek.

“Hmm…?”

Mulder slid Will down into her arms. Scully woke up to find her son rooting inside her night shirt. She helped him find a nipple and then leaned back against Mulder to enjoy the experience.

Mulder watched, fascinated. Scully was not shy about this, and he had watched her nurse Will many times. His trauma forgotten for the moment, he watched his son suckle. When a drop of milk formed on the other nipple in sympathy, he bent his head and lapped it up himself.

Scully chuckled, startled by the unexpected contact. He did not just lave her nipple clean; he latched on and sucked hard, once. Scully moaned, letting her head fall back against his shoulder as the twin sensations rocketed straight to her sex.

Mulder shuddered; that moan had been vividly explicit. He swallowed, then bent to kiss her mouth.

He tasted of milk and himself and stale coppery terror, and Scully leaned into that kiss, giving it all she had, determined to lick and suck all that fear away from him and replace it with lust.

He pulled away, suddenly.

“Hey,” she protested.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” he murmured, turning his head away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“You shouldn’t what?” she growled.

“I shouldn’t start what you can’t finish,” he said humbly, trying to get away from her without being obvious.

She tightened her hold on him. “Have you lost your mind? Get back here!”

He resisted. “Will needs you.”

Deftly she switched their son to the other side. “Will’s getting what he needs. I want what I need.” With her free hand she grabbed Mulder by the hair and pulled his face back down. She kissed him hard and he surrendered to her, not participating at all but letting her do what she would.

Scully only put up with that for a minute. She broke the kiss to study his face. “Mulder, I know you’re feeling rather fragile, but I still need you to be you,” she said gently. “We aren’t just assigned partners any more. We’re life mates.We’re parents together. And after everything we’ve endured in order to be together and raise our child, I’m not letting anything else stand between us. We have to talk to each other about what hurts and what isn’t working as much as we do about the good and functional parts of our lives. What do you need from me that I’m not giving you?”

He was shivering, now; they were both still wrapped up in the blanket, and they were sharing enough skin to skin contact that she knew it was not a physical chill.

“I… I don’t know if I can talk about this,” he whispered.

He was not looking at her; his eyes were unfocused and blank. That frightened Scully more than she cared to admit. He had rarely, in their years together, been unable to face her.

“Mulder? I love you, and I want you to get better. But PTSD is pernicious and you’ve been enduring its effects for years. We both have to work at this, but the burden is mostly yours.”

“I know,” he said very quietly. “It’s just that…” His voice trailed away.

“That what?” she prompted gently.

“My perception of reality is… unconvincing,” he admitted. “I sometimes wonder if this is living as a SuperSoldier — I think I’m here with you and Will, but this is just a hallucination, that there’s an over-mind that controls my SuperSoldier body and I’m totally unaware of what I’m really doing or where I am…”

She was horrified. “I suppose that me reassuring you that you’re real and I’m real wouldn’t help?”

His chuckle was bitter and he was still shivering. “Not to cast aspersions on your honesty, but no. My fantasy Scully would do anything she could to help me figure this out.”

“So will the real one,” she assured him.

“I trust you, Scully. I don’t trust myself. Too much of my memory of the past year is missing; I’ve never lost more than hours before, and now I’ve lost months! It makes this all feel unreal.”

“Even Will’s birth doesn’t help?”

“The fact that Billy Miles and the others took no action except to witness the birth makes no sense, so that seems to be real,” he admitted. “But if I’m creating the hallucination, that’s what I’d expect, so I can’t trust it!”

Scully reached for him with her free hand, stroked his face gently. He closed his eyes and leaned into her caress, kissed her palm.

“Mulder… Don’t go borrowing trouble. You’re worrying about a paranoid fantasy that you know isn’t true. There’s no reason for a SuperSoldier to retain anything but the memories of the human host. There isn’t any real sign of personality; nothing that can’t be explained by the retention of memories that the SuperSoldier consciousness can tap. If there was anything of Billy Miles left, wouldn’t he have done something to let us know?”

Mulder shuddered. “Maybe he was trying to, Scully. Maybe he was supposed to do something awful, but there was enough of Billy left to prevent that.”

“Maybe. But there’s no reason to suppose that you’re not exactly what you seem to be: my Mulder.”

He was startled to realize, as she kissed him again, that he believed her.

* * *

Christmastime in Georgetown

J. D. Crawford parked his car, turned off the engine and pocketed the keys. He reached for the door handle. His hand sat there on the handle but he did not move.

\I can’t believe he’s dead,\ he sighed. \I can’t imagine how difficult this had to have been for Dana. I know if they were married I’d’ve heard… I got an Email from Mulder just a few months ago. He would have told me.\

He remembered the smug tone of his informant and remembered how good it had felt when Colton’s ASAC overheard him sniggering at the murder of a fellow agent and casting aspersions on the honor of another and of an FBI Assistant Director.

\Dana, pregnant, burying Mulder…\ He shuddered. \There’s no way she could have been messing with AD Skinner. If she’s pregnant, it’s with Mulder’s child.\ Colton’s ASAC had given him a dressing-down in front of the entire multi-agency task force. It had been a sweet twenty minutes… Colton had deserved worse, but it was enough.

He felt cold to the bone, though the December weather was unseasonably mild. He had missed the funeral because he had been deep in an undercover operation and unable to travel. He had sent flowers to the funeral and to Scully at home, and he had called. She had been clearly fighting to maintain her composure, clearly grief-stricken and distraught. He had kept the call short.

Now, months later, he was in Georgetown at Christmas time, hoping to be here for his friend’s lover as they spent their first holiday season without Fox Mulder.

It felt a little odd; he and Mulder had not been close for a long time, but they had kept in touch, mostly by email. Now he felt terrible about neglecting the friendship. He had known that Mulder and Scully were fond of one another far beyond their assigned partnership, but to find Agent Scully had been pregnant had been shocking.

\He must not have known that she was pregnant. He would never have left her, never have put himself at such risk, if he had known. He’d’ve had to be surgically detached from her side!\

Crawford scrubbed at his face briefly. Fox Mulder had been kidnapped, held prisoner, tortured and murdered, probably by members of the gigantic international crime consortium that he and Scully had been investigating for years. Finally, he had apparently annoyed or frightened the bad guys once too often, and they had taken steps.

\Leaving Dana alone and pregnant…\

He took a deep breath and got out of the car. It had been months since the funeral; she had surely had the baby by now.

\If she managed not to lose it…\

He had known several widows of agents who had been murdered on duty who had miscarried due to the grief and shock, and hoped desperately that Scully had avoided that fate. It would be so incredibly cruel for her to be so doubly bereaved.

That was why he was empty-handed. In his pocket he had a small wrapped box; it contained a framed photograph of himself and Fox Mulder, taken backstage at their Academy graduation. Mulder was posing goofily behind a widely-grinning J. D. Crawford, and Mulder was waggling two fingers behind his friend’s head. If an appropriate moment presented itself, he would give this to Dana.

There was no gift for the baby; if Dana had miscarried, he did not want to remind her. If there was a baby, he could go out and buy a gift later, but he did not want to arrive with a gift for a child who had not survived.

He was not completely certain that Dana still lived here, but he had no place else to look. If she didn’t live here any longer, he’d have to go to the Hoover Building and talk to Walt Skinner.

His musing had taken him all the way to Dana’s apartment door. He took a deep breath and steeled himself, then lifted his hand to the bell.

He heard it ring inside, but there was no other response. He knocked and waited. There was still no answer.

“Dana?” he called, wondering if she was in there hiding from the world… or from the season. “Dana, are you in there?”

An elderly woman came around the corner just then, using a two-wheeled walker with ease and dispatch. She had clearly heard him; she looked him up and down appraisingly without speaking. Crawford gritted his teeth and resolved to be polite.

“And what’s your name, young man, and your business with Miss Scully?”

Crawford sighed. Every neighborhood had its self-appointed caretaker and this woman plainly was the one. “I’m J. D. Crawford, ma’am,” he answered. “I found myself in town for the holidays and I thought I’d stop by. Do you know where she is?”

The old woman snorted. “She moved upstairs to 264, in the back, a few months ago. Believe you me, no one was happier to see her move than I was! No more strange men coming and going at odd hours, no more shootings. It’s been downright peaceful around here since she moved!”

Crawford wished he had a hat to tip. “Thank you very much, ma’am. I’ll head up that way, then?” he gestured further down the hall.

The old woman nodded. “Yes. Go up one flight and take the left corridor nearly to the end. 264 is on the right. She hung a wreath on the door yesterday.”

“Thank you very much, ma’am.” He waited till she nodded and continued her way toward the exit. Then he headed farther into the building.

It did not take him long to locate the correct apartment: the building was laid out rather like a hotel, with odd-numbered apartments on one side and even-numbered on the other. It was a matter of minutes before he stood in front of the door that had to be 264, though its number was hidden by a luxuriant wreath of fresh holly decorated with fake berries, a big red bow and some sprayed-on snow. Once again he took a deep breath and rang the door bell.

He heard the chime inside, and heard a baby’s querulous squall. He closed his eyes in a moment of utter relief: even though bereaved of partner and lover, Dana was not alone, and a part of Mulder lived on in his child.

\This may be a little easier than I feared…\

The door swung open, and Crawford had a moment’s time to react as he was faced with a grim-faced stranger: \Ooops. Wrong apartment, after all!\ “Hi, I was looking for a lady named Dana Scully…?”

* * *

It had been nice to relax, and lately this was the only place any of them ever really relaxed. John Doggett jumped, startled, when the door bell sounded. He glanced around the room: Monica was beside him on the couch; Frohike and Langley were in the kitchen concocting a dessert, Byers and Skinner were in chairs near the fireplace. Mulder and Scully were in the back putting baby Will to bed.

Doggett traded frowns with Reyes. Their little sixth column was all right here; their one auxiliary, Maggie Scully, had gone to San Diego to spend Christmas with Bill and Tara and their children. Who could be at the door?

With a shrug —there was only one way to find out— Doggett got to his feet. A moment behind him, Reyes was at his shoulder. She took a guard’s position, her back to the front wall and her Glock held at low ready, the barrel pointing at the floor between her feet.

Moving silently, Skinner got up from his chair and came over to back Reyes. Byers, realizing at once that this was outside his area of expertise, went to the kitchen door to keep his partners out of range.

Doggett did not draw his own weapon, trusting Reyes and Skinner to handle any necessary lethal response. A brief peek through the security peephole hidden from outside by a decorative wreath revealed a tall handsome black man, somber of expression and of garb. His black trench coat hid most of a good but not designer-made charcoal-colored wool suit with a forest green silk tie.

Still frowning, Doggett opened the door.

The man seemed startled. “Uh, hi. I was looking for a lady named Dana Scully…?”

Doggett reacted instantly, of no mind to let this man have any sort of advantage. He grabbed the man by the tie and the wrist, used his own foot hooked behind the man’s ankle and jerked it out from under him as he jerked on the tie and pulled on the man’s wrist.

With a startled cry, the man started to fall. Doggett twisted the man’s arm up between his shoulderblades and shoved him face down onto the floor, then followed him down, landing astride, then planting a knee in the small of the man’s back to hold him down.

“Hey!” The man’s voice was muffled because his face was being mashed into the carpet.

Reyes moved up beside Doggett and deftly cuffed the prisoner’s hands behind his back. Doggett frisked him briskly, removing a small wrapped package from a pocket in the overcoat, and a Glock model 22 from a clip holster on the man’s belt. He handed the weapon to Reyes, who tucked it into her own waistband for safekeeping.

Leaning a little harder onto the man’s back, Doggett used one hand to probe roughly at the back of his neck. He pulled the man’s shirt collar away from, looking for signs of metal vertebrae, though he was reasonably sure he would never have been able to take down a real SuperSoldier so easily.

Satisfied that there were no metal vertebrae, Doggett reached into his pocket for his folding knife. He flipped open the Gerber E-Z-Out one-handed and deliberately flicked the razor-sharp edge against the prisoner’s earlobe.

The resulting blood was reassuringly red. Doggett felt himself relax a little. Whoever this was, he was human: neither a SuperSoldier, nor a Bounty Hunter, nor a clone. He put his knife away and finished frisking the prisoner, pulling the man’s wallet out of his pants pocket.

“John?”

That was Scully’s voice, her tone soft and puzzled. Doggett looked up and had to fight not to react to the image of her studying him. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he could not, in conscience, react to her the way his body wanted him to react.

“Who is that?” she asked.

“He’s a red-blooded human named…” He flipped open the man’s wallet to view his driver’s license. “Jerome D. Crawford of Los Angeles, California.”

“Sky?!” Scully tried to see the man’s face, but it was turned away and he was pinned too firmly to be able to move. “Sky, is that you?!”

“Yeah.” The voice was muffled by carpet fiber.

“John, let him go. He’s a friend of ours.”

Doggett got off the prisoner and helped him sit up. He made no move to unlock the handcuffs.

Crawford looked up, drinking in the sight of her. “Hi, Dana.”

She smiled. “Hello, Sky. Merry Christmas. John, let him go.”

Doggett complied, handing the cuffs back to Reyes, who put them back in place on her belt.

Scully approached, offered him her hands as if to lift him to his feet.

Crawford saw the still-wary expression on the man and woman who had taken him down so efficiently, and he stood up without touching Scully.

“What is it about your friends and handcuffs?” he asked her, remembering how they had met and rubbing his wrists.

Scully chuckled. “It’s just you, Sky. You must present as a really scary guy.”

“Me?!” He was about to say more, but a movement behind her caught his eye. A tall man with a familiar way of moving was emerging from the shadows behind Scully. There was the unmistakable form of an infant in his arms. Crawford’s throat closed up as he contemplated what had to be Scully’s child and all it meant.

Then his attention focused on the man holding the baby.

It was, undeniably, Fox Mulder.

For a long moment, J. D. Crawford could not breathe. Then he straightened, drew in a long shaky breath.

“Snake Plissken?!” He managed a creditable grin. “I thought you… were…” His voice failed him.

Mulder handed Will off to his mother and went over to hug his friend. “Hey, Sky. Long time no see.”

Crawford did not quite believe what he was seeing and hearing, but the touch of his friend’s arms was real enough. He hugged Mulder hard. When they broke apart, after only a few moments, neither was ashamed to be seen blinking back tears.

“You’re just in time for dessert, Sky,” Mulder said calmly. “C’mon in, take a load off. Give me your coat. Find a seat. Frohike!” he called as he peeled the trench coat off a stunned Crawford’s shoulders. “More eggnog! With extra whiskey!”

Frohike came out of the kitchen with a pitcher in one hand, a new bottle of whiskey in the other, and a wicker basket full of glasses dangling off his right thumb. He raked Crawford with an appraising glance up and down, and nodded shortly.

“J. D. Crawford, DEA. Currently on leave after ten months in deep cover in the Golden Triangle and six weeks in a military hospital in Germany recovering.”

Crawford could only stare. “Wha’…? How do you know that?!”

Frohike shrugged as he set the pitcher of eggnog down on the coffee table. “It’s my job. Mulder, you should have told him when you resurrected; he was hurtin’.”

Crawford was standing by the couch; he reached for the arm and sat down, trying to look cool when he felt anything but.

Scully took pity on him. She sat down in her rocker with the baby still in her arms. “Sky, relax. I wasn’t lying to you when you called; I had just come from the cemetery and I was truly in mourning. But three months later Skinner found some fascinatingly terrifying information… and had Mulder exhumed. We got him to the hospital and we brought him back.”

Her voice was shaking just a little; Mulder moved to stand behind her, put his hands down on her shoulders and began to massage them gently. She looked up and smiled at him; Crawford saw the love shining in that smile and had to smile, himself.

“Oh, well, in that case…” he grinned.

Reyes laughed then and set about serving the eggnog. She served everyone a glassful of eggnog first, and then started the whiskey bottle around on its own so everyone could decide for themselves how much they wanted. Introductions followed; Crawford found himself a little confused about why the three civilians were present, but said nothing. It was pretty clear that he had interrupted a private Christmas party; Mulder had never had too many friends. But it was unusual to see his CO here; Mulder had never been good at making nice with the brass. It was very puzzling.

While everyone else was settling back down, Mulder moved around Scully’s chair to sit at her feet. He leaned against Scully’s knee a little, pillowing his head on her thigh, looping his arm around her ankles from behind. Scully’s hand came down to his head and she slid her fingers through his hair in a well-practiced caress.

Crawford swallowed the lump in his throat; it was such a sweet and loving tableau, and Mulder had done it so unselfconsciously that it was plain that this was not the first time.

\Last time I saw them, they had barely gotten as far as exchanging meaningful glances and the occasional fingertip to skin… This is so wonderful…!\

“So, how did you guys meet?” Reyes was the one who offered the neutral conversational option. “If you’re DEA I’d suppose you didn’t meet Mulder and Scully through work.”

Crawford flashed her a quick smile. “You’d be wrong. You really want to hear how this happened? It’s a long story…”

Skinner leaned back in the easy chair he had chosen. “Go for it, Agent Crawford. It’s a good story, and we have no place we have to be but right here.”

Crawford swung his attention back to Mulder and Scully, who were both looking at him. “What do you think?”

Mulder grinned suddenly. “Sure. Let’s. I’m in a mood for nostalgia.” His gaze took in the other agents. “Many moons ago, when I was still an FBI agent and I’d only come back from the dead a couple of times…”

“What?!” Crawford interrupted him. “You \quit\?!”

Anger flashed briefly in Mulder’s eyes. “No, I did not quit. I was fired.”

“What idiot would fire you?!”

Everyone laughed at that. Mulder answered. “Deputy Director Alvin Kersh.”

“You were fired by a DD named after a chipmunk??”

More chuckles.

Mulder grinned and shook his head. “I haven’t decided, really, if Kersh is just completely without any sense of honor or humor, or if he’s a puppet. Either way, I’m doing the Mister Mom thing; Scully’s back at Quantico part-time, and John and Monica have the X Files. It’s not ideal… but at least I’m not completely cut off. The work is proceeding, if grindingly slow.”

“And you have a child.” Crawford could not hide the longing and the awe he felt; Mulder smiled gently.

“Yep. William Fox Mulder. Named after my dad, Scully’s, and the suspect in the first case Scully and I worked together.”

Crawford frowned. “That’s a weird thing to commemorate, isn’t it? The criminal, I mean?”

Mulder shrugged. “Billy Miles isn’t exactly a criminal, but he is the single most significant acquaintance we have in common.”

“That sounds like a story I want to hear.”

Mulder grinned. “Let’s do the Beltway Butcher first. Then we’ll talk about SuperSoldiers and alien invasions.”

“Okaaaayyy…”

* * *

Washington DC

Two Years Earlier

She had been lying in bed for hours, staring through the darkness at the featureless ceiling. Her mind just would not stop: it was like a panicked, terrified gerbil, racing along at top speed, desperate for refuge, refusing to see that there was no escape, that she was running in a wheel.

Scully She was alone. Her partner was gone. Her mental voice screamed his name across the other planes, but her cries were not answered.

He was still alive; she had no doubt of that.

She had long since given up trying his cell phone. It had been four days since he had left the Hoover Building alone to pick her up. She had finished the autopsy of the sixteenth known victim of the Beltway Butcher, the target of the task force to which she and Mulder had been assigned two weeks before.

Her mind betrayed her, then, flashing her the image of the last of the Butcher’s known victims. Elliott Hessenfeld had been a financial analyst for a large brokerage firm. He had been wearing an Armani suit and a Rolex watch when he disappeared. His body, clothed only in the suit’s pants, had been found partially consumed by fire. He had been identified by the initials engraved on the watch and his dental records. He had been bound, flogged with a chain, tortured further with knife cuts, including some that had been deep enough to cause internal bleeding. However, the cause of death had been smoke inhalation.

\Tortured, in agony, chained down to the wooden floor, left to die in a tool shed set ablaze.\

She shuddered, trying to dismiss the image. But she did not want to think about Mulder enduring what Hessenfeld had, either. She fought those imaginings back, though it took all her strength.

\Chained down, bloody, fire roaring before him, screaming,

crying my name…\

The phone rang, and she froze.

It rang again, and the sound made her flinch. Who could be calling her?

Slowly she reached out one hand and picked up the handset.

“Hello?” She heard a gasp, and recognized it at once. “Mulder?! Is that you?!”

“Scully…?”

She stiffened at the whimper she heard in his voice. “Mulder? Where are you?” she demanded.

He was panting, almost sobbing for breath. “Umm… M Street. M Street and… 64th. Come ‘n’ get me?”

She was reaching for her clothes, holding the phone against her head with her shoulder. “Where have you been, Mulder? What happened?”

His panicked breathing was not calming. “I escaped…”

\Oh, sweet Jesus…!\ “Escaped? Mulder, what did he do to you?!”

He did not answer; instead, he made a sound she had rarely heard from him: a moan of unbearable pain.

“Mulder?!”

He did not answer her this time, either.

“Mulder?! What happened? What did he do to you?!”

“He… He…” Her partner’s teeth were chattering, now; it made speech difficult, and made her believe he was both inadequately clothed and going into shock. The image of Elliott Hessenfeld’s body flashed through her consciousness again: Hessenfeld might still have been able to walk and talk when he was chained down in the tool shed.

“He what, Mulder?” she asked, terrified.

“…burned me…” Mulder whispered, barely coherent.

That convinced Scully. “Mulder, I’m sending you an ambulance. They can get to you faster than I can.”

“No! NO!” He was instantly almost hysterical. “I won’t!” He was gasping for air, still protesting.

“Mulder, calm down!” she ordered firmly, confused at his vehemence. “It’s all right. I’m still here. Just tell the ambulance crew to bring you to G-triple-you, and I’ll meet you in the ER.”

“No! No ambulance! He’s chasin’ me; I have t’ keep movin’…” Mulder was barely understandable.

“You’ll be safe with the ambulance crew, Mulder…”

“NO! He drives an ambulance.” Still panting, still in obvious pain, Mulder was calming a little as they spoke. “I’ll watch for you. Hurry up. I gotta go; I’m too visible here.”

Scully flinched when she heard the connection terminated.

“Damn him! Damn him!!” She cursed her partner and the situation in general all the while she pulled on her boots and put on her badge, her weapon and her coat. She continued to curse while she ran to her car. After that she was too busy planning the fastest route out there, and calling the FBI’s Officer of the Day on her cell phone.

“FBI DC, Special Agent Grodin. How can I help you?”

“Chris, this is Dana Scully.”

“Hi, Dana. Any news?” Every agent in the Capitol area

knew her partner was MIA.

“Yeah; Mulder just called me for a ride home. I want you to call DC PD and get them looking for him.”

“Why do you need help for that?” Grodin was puzzled. “Didn’t he tell you where he was?”

“He’s hurt, and he’s running, Chris. He says he escaped from the Beltway Butcher, but the guy is chasing him. He’s going to be hiding. But he’s hurt, Chris. I could tell by the way he was talking, and he admitted that the Butcher burned him. I tried to send him an ambulance, but he says the Butcher drives an ambulance, and he won’t risk recapture.”

“God, no!” Grodin had seen the crime scene photos of the first victim. “But that’s a huge break in the case, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Scully admitted as she got on the Beltway and accelerated. “I want DC cops visible in the area of M Street and 64th so Mulder can get help if he needs it. He’s not thinking very clearly; he’s in a lot of pain. But I think he’ll be willing to go to uniformed cops, especially if there are more than one of them.”

“And I can get them there if they think they might get a chance to collar the Beltway Butcher,” Chris agreed grimly. “I assume you’re on the way?”

“Oh, yeah,” she agreed grimly. “You might warn ‘em I’m driving a silver Taurus, DC plates BTT, that’s Baker Tango Tango, 2398. I’m doing about eighty headed for lightspeed.”

“I’m on it, Dana,” Chris Grodin assured her, his tone grim. “Good luck. I’ll be eavesdropping on DC PD radio, so I’ll probably know what happens.”

“If we resolve this without them, I’ll call you when the situation is stable,” she promised.

“You want some back up of your own?”

“No, thanks, Chris. Without uniforms, in the dark, he probably won’t see them as help. But it might be a good idea if you called AD Skinner and brought him up-to-date.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Chris.”

* * *

Chris Grodin made good on his word. In the last six blocks before she reached M Street and 64th, Scully saw no less than seven patrol units from DC PD, and several unmarked cars, as well.

She slowed down as she crossed 62nd Street, and saw one of those plain sedans moving toward her. As it went by, the two DC detectives inside saluted and went on. They had recognized her license plate.

As she came up on 64th Street, she searched the pedestrians on the sidewalks on both sides of the street. As she approached the light, an oncoming car stopped alongside her. Inside, she saw two detectives she recognized; Caffrey and Kasimov from DC’s Homicide unit. They were part of the Beltway Butcher Task Force; she and Mulder had been working with them for over two weeks.

“Agent Scully,” Kasimov was driving, and stopped beside her, driver’s door to driver’s door, so they could talk. “See any sign of the bastard?” He ignored traffic backing up behind them in both directions.

She shook her head. “No. Seen any sign of Mulder?”

Kasimov’s expression was sad. “No, ma’am. But we’ve got every available car looking.”

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“Hey, Dana.” That was Caffrey, from the passenger side. “He’s one of us; we want him back.”

“He told me the Butcher drives an ambulance,” she volunteered. “That’s why I couldn’t send him one and meet him at the hospital; he’s terrified of being recaptured.”

Both Homicide officers shuddered.

“God, who wouldn’t be?” Kasimov made the rhetorical statement. “It’s a damn miracle he got away. Any clue about how?”

She shook her head. “No. Just that he did, and that he’s hurt. He’s almost certainly in shock.” She glanced around at the dark alleys between almost every pair of buildings. “If he’s gone down in one of these alleys, we may not find him till morning, and that will be too late. It’s too cold.”

The two cops traded glances. Scully did not notice: she was still intent on checking every pedestrian on the street.

“Dana?” Caffrey’s voice pulled her attention back to him. “Do you have a police band radio?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Cell phone?”

“Of course.”

Kasimov reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out one of his business cards. He handed it to her. “Call us; we’ll leave the line open, and if you need backup, or if we find him, we’ll be able to reach each other.”

“Good idea. Thanks, guys.”

“Any time, Dana.”

The conversation completed, they separated to keep looking. After a few minutes of frustration because she could not see down those alleys, she opened all the car’s windows. She shivered as the cool autumn air rushed in, and then leaned her head out the window.

“Mulder! Mulllllderrrrrrrrrr!”

She paused to listen, shivering a little, still. She had only called his name like this once before with such open desperation: when she had stood above the buried boxcar in the canyon in New Mexico, refusing to believe that her partner was really dead.

It had been so close, that time… \God, Albert, what am I going to do? You’re not here to pull him back from the Other Side again!\ But this time she had not heard his voice in her dreams, at all.

“Mulllllderrrrrrrrrr!”

This time there was no answer. She refused to consider that they could come this close to rescuing him, to getting him back safe and sound, and fail. He was here, and she was going to find him.

She was cruising at idle, her foot hovering over the brake pedal, her four-way emergency flashers on, her eyes flickering rapidly from the array of alleys and sidewalk ahead of her and the rearview mirrors.

It was a movement in the rearview mirror that caught her attention. A man wearing nothing but dark-colored pants stumbled across the sidewalk to lean heavily on a street light. He lifted his face a little, and the light revealed him.

It was Mulder.

Scully slammed on her brakes and shoved the gear shift into reverse. With her other hand she grabbed the cell phone.

“I found him. N-for-Nancy and 65th. Hurry.”

She did not wait to hear their acknowledgment. Traffic was too heavy for her to back up, so she threw the car into park, and got out, automatically grabbing keys and cell phone, because all her attention was on her partner, who was sliding down the pole to his knees.

“…Dana…?” Even his voice was faint.

“Of course it’s me.”

He looked up, and his expression visibly lightened as he saw her. “Scully…”

“I’m here.” She crouched beside him, but was afraid to touch him. “C’mon. Get in the car, Mulder. I want to take you to a hospital.”

“No ambulance!” he flared.

“No ambulance,” she agreed at once. “My car. I drive. I stay with you every second.”

He wilted with relief. “I thought I heard your voice,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t sure I wasn’t hallucinating. He’s out here searching for me, Scully. He almost got me back once before I called you, and once right afterwards. I hid just in time.”

“I’m armed, and I’ve got backup,” she assured him. “DC PD has every available car out here; didn’t you see them?”

He nodded tiredly, and let her help him stand. “Yeah. But the ones I saw were one-man cars. If he can be an ambulance driver, why can’t he be a cop? I couldn’t risk it.” His voice was shaking.

“Okay. Pretty good logic for someone as toasted as you,” she teased, though her heart ached as her experienced eyes began to catalog the injuries visible on his blood-streaked body.

He stumbled, and went to his knees again because she was not strong enough to hold him up. He stayed down, rocking a little, his breath coming in desperate panting.

“Mulder?!”

He was fighting not to voice his pain, and did not answer her.

Before she could quiz him any further, an ambulance pulled up at the curb alongside them. He did not notice at once; his eyes were closed as he fought to breathe past the pain.

“Hey, lady,” the ambulance driver called. “Is that guy hurt? You need a ride to the ER? I’ve got an EMT in the back…”

Scully’s first response was gratitude that medical support was present. But Mulder lunged to his feet with a cry.

“No, you bastard! Not again!”

Scully remembered, then, and went for her Glock. “FBI! Stop right there! You’reunder arrest!”

Before she could get all the words out or bring the weapon to bear, the driver floored the gas pedal, and the ambulance careened away at extremely unsafe speeds.

Scully grabbed the cell phone. “Caffrey! The Butcher just tried to pick us up. Unmarked ambulance: the right colors but no words on it, racing north on 65th. Driver alone up front, though he stated he had an EMT in the back. White male, about six feet, heavyset Italian or Hispanic body type and complexion. No accent; pure American words and tones. Black hair cropped short, dark eyes. Wearing a white uniform that superficially resembles an EMS employee, but I didn’t see any of the badges that they have on the shoulders.”

The unmarked Homicide unit raced past her, the dashboard light flashing, siren screaming.

“Thanks, Dana,” came Caffrey’s voice on the phone. “Can you get Mulder to the hospital on your own?”

“Yeah; he’s mobile enough for that. Sic ‘em, Kevin.”

“Will do, Dana.” The telephone connection was cut, then, and she knew that Caffrey was on the radio, informing every cop in the DC area what had just happened.

Mulder was standing, leaning against a mailbox, his face buried in his arms. He was under a light, and she could see the vicious and bloody lash marks that covered his back, and bleeding burns the size of her hands, blisters torn open and the loose skin charred around the edges.

“Oh, my God… Mulder? My car’s right here.”

“Where…where is he?”

“Caffrey and Kasimov are in pursuit,” she informed him calmly. “They’ll run him right out of the neighborhood even if they don’t catch him. C’mon, Mulder. I want to take care of you, and I can’t do it out here on the street.”

He resisted for a moment, looking around restlessly. “He’ll double back. He’s got a lair near here. ‘S where I escaped from.”

“Won’t he abandon that lair, since you know where it is?”

“He’s got tools, supplies that would be hard to replace. We need to get there first. Forensics needs to rake the place. I don’t know his name, or anything useful.”

“You know a ton of useful,” she informed him. “Get in the car, and you can navigate us back there. I’ll relay everything to Kevin Caffrey; he’ll pass it on to DC PD. They can handle the scut work, and Caffrey will make sure the FBI’s Forensics unit gets called. You just sit down here.”

She had been walking him to the car; she helped him get inside, and watched as he fought not to lean back; he did not want to scrape those open wounds on her upholstery; the pain was too much to face. She understood that.

“Sit still. My kit’s in the trunk.”

She was back in a moment, and she covered his entire back with burn dressings, and then wrapped him in a Mylar space blanket to try and help him keep warm.

“Lean back slowly, now.”

He obeyed, and sighed with relief as he could finally relax. She helped him get his seat belt buckled, and then tucked the blanket in around him.

“Okay?”

“Oh, yeah… More than okay…” he whispered. “I haven’t been warm enough since he grabbed me.”

She watched him settle in, watched exhaustion take hold of him, and then raced around the car to get in on the driver’s side, get the car started and shut the windows. She turned the heater on full-blast, and he smiled, wiggling his bare toes in the hot air flow.

“You know what I like…”

* * *

They did not find the lair. A few minutes later, when Scully took advantage of a red light to turn her head and look at her partner, she found him unconscious, slumped against the seat belt.

“Mulder!” There was no response. “Dammit!” She slammed the car into park, and reached for his throat, hunting for a pulse. She found it, eventually, but it did little to reassure her: he was definitely in shock. His heart was racing but his pulse was so faint she could barely feel it. His breathing was fast and shallow. She fumbled for the seat controls, and laid him out as flat as she could. Then she sat up, gritted her teeth, and put the car into gear again, planning her route to the nearest hospital. The completion of the hunt would have to wait.

* * *

At eight the next morning, AD Skinner walked into the large conference room that was serving as headquarters for the Beltway Butcher Task Force.

“Can I have your attention, please?”

The place had been dark and subdued for four days, each agent hag-ridden by unspoken dread. A newspaper article had outed the task force and their primary profiler; when Mulder had vanished, each of them had instantly feared the worst possible outcome: that he had been taken by their quarry. They had no data, yet, and the not-knowing was telling on their nerves.

“We now have confirmation that Agent Mulder’s disappearance is case-related,” he began. “His car was recovered last night in Baltimore, stripped and burned. But there was a bit of butcher’s string on the rear view mirror.”

There was a collective gasp of horror from the assembled agents. All the victims’ cars had been found like that.

Skinner let them have their moment of horror.

“At approximately the same time I was talking to Baltimore PD,” he interrupted their thoughts before anyone could react, “Agent Scully got a call from Mulder. He’d escaped and needed a ride.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, and then the room exploded into cheers, shouts, applause. Skinner even allowed himself a small, momentary smile as they got all the emotion out of their system. Then he dropped the file down on the desk top.

That small sound was enough to start them getting themselves back under control. In a few moments Skinner had quiet and he continued.

“Scully called in backup. Some of you may have heard of a wild chase through DC last night involving a private ambulance?” He saw a few nods. “That was the Butcher. While Scully was taking care of her partner, DC PD, including Detectives Caffrey and Kasimov,” everyone looked around and realized that two of their members were missing, “were saturating the area. The Butcher chased Mulder, and he had two near misses before Scully arrived. The Butcher tried one more time, and Scully tried to arrest him. He fled, and the chase was on. Scully couldn’t pursue; she had to get Mulder to the hospital.”

There was a moment of silence as the dread settled down over them again. They all knew that the Butcher took between six and nine days to glut his need for pain on a victim; then he would chain the man down to a flammable surface and set the building on fire. Mulder had been missing for four days. Every eye was on Skinner, and they seemed to be holding their collective breath.

“He was systematically tortured,” Skinner said flatly, “just as we’ve seen on the other victims. He was beaten with a rubber truncheon, causing extensive bruising and some internal bleeding; his liver and both kidneys were bruised. Cuts down his sides and along his arms and legs made with a surgical scalpel required a hundred and eighty stitches to close.

“He was flogged, brutally, with a heavy length of chain that had been heated red hot, resulting in five broken ribs and more cuts and bruises, as well as some smaller burns. He was branded five times across his back with a metal spatula heated in a charcoal fire. Altogether, the doctor estimated that the second and third degree burns cover ten to fifteen percent of his body, mostly on his back, but also on his wrists and ankles.

“He collapsed from hypovolemic shock and his heart stopped just as he was being removed from Agent Scully’s car at the Emergency Room. He’s been admitted for treatment.”

“There’s a shocker,” someone covered his disturbed thoughts with sarcasm.

“Damn…” someone else breathed the word reverently. “Hurt like that, and he still managed to escape?! Damn!”

The sheer admiration in that tone brought nods of agreement from the other members of the force.

“Yeah: damn!”

It was Special Agent Callina Finch, SAC, who took a deep breath and spoke up. “Sir? How long will Mulder be out? We need him now, more than ever!”

Skinner spread his hands helplessly. “The doctors wouldn’t commit themselves with an exact date. It depends on how he responds to treatment.” He took a deep breath. “However, you have Mulder’s preliminary report in your folders.”

Everyone scrambled to look, and most were shocked to find nine pages, single spaced, full of new information.

“Mulder did this?” Finch gasped. “When, for God’s sake??”

“He dictated it to Scully while he was waiting to go into surgery,” Skinner explained. “She typed it into her laptop while she was waiting for him, and e-mailed it to me from the hospital. That’s all we have right now. He promised more, later; he was getting a little foggy.”

“A little foggy?” Finch repeated, still skimming the text.

“Yeah; you know those pre-op relaxation shots they give you?” Skinner did not smile. “He was relaxed enough that he didn’t notice the pain; for a while he was totally okay. But then he started to fall asleep. You’ll notice that it does get a little disjointed toward the end.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Finch looked up as she flipped over the last page. “We have NEVER had this much information. There’s even a physical description of the Butcher in here!”

* * *

“Mulder, you can’t!”

Moving with exquisite care, Mulder shrugged his shirt on over his bandaged body. “Doctor Schaller agreed that I can rest and drink lots of fluids at home as easily as I can here.”

“But you aren’t going home, are you?” she asked.

“That is a rhetorical question, isn’t it?” He buttoned the shirt slowly. He was doing everything slowly. The trauma specialist had warned him that everything was going to be difficult and painful for a while. His coordination was shot; that was the legacy of the electric stun gun that the Butcher had used on him, first to capture him, and, later, as the first act of torture.

Electric shock was a familiar injury, though he tried to avoid recalling the details of his capture by David and Invisigoth’s brainchild.

\After all, I may very well be the only person on the planet dumb enough to have gotten himself captured, held hostage and tortured by a trailer trash computer!\

But the tremors he was currently experiencing, and the impaired coordination, were familiar to him because of that past experience, and he knew they would fade with time, because they had faded before.

His partner sighed. “Yeah. I know you, Mulder. I suppose you want me to drive you back to the Hoover.”

“Well, I can’t drive.” He held out one hand and let her see the tremor. “And I have no idea where my car is. Or my driver’s license. Or my wallet. Or my keys.”

“Your car was found yesterday morning in Baltimore, stripped and burned, with the significant bit of string on the rear view mirror. It’s in Impound there, awaiting Forensics, last I heard. Your keys were in it. Your wallet and your weapon were not.”

“He’s got ‘em.” That was a flat, emotionless statement.

“We figured,” she nodded. “Your weapon’s been posted on NCIC as stolen. There’s been surveillance on your apartment, just in case he comes by looking for you.”

He shuddered, and she flinched.

“I’m sorry.” She moved closer, put her fingertips on the back of his hands.

He slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders. “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

“Liar.” She looked up to meet his eyes, saw the stress there. “You need to rest; you’re in no shape to be reporting in!”

He shook his head. “I’m all right. Not a hundred percent, but okay. I can do this.”

“You have to do this.” She understood but nothing could make her approve.

“Yeah, I do.” He straightened with visible effort. “I can’t go home till we catch the bastard. And he won’t want to go on till he finishes with me. He’s never failed before; I don’t think he’s going to be particularly forgiving.”

“I want you to stay here in the hospital,” she protested quietly. “You need to rest, you should be under observation…”

He grinned at her. “Like you’re going to let me out of your sight? C’mon, be realistic here. There’s no place safer, for both of us, than ISU’s sub-basement stronghold.”

Scully sighed, knowing he had won. “Skinner moved the Task Force to the Hoover Building when you were taken—he wanted everyone under guard. But you’re right as far as that goes: it’s the place where you’re safest from him. But who’s going to protect you from yourself?”

He threw her a small, almost shy smile. “That’s your job, Scully. Debunking, rescuing, arguing, bandaging…”

She smiled back. “Sounds like my job description’s been enhanced,” she observed. “Do I get a raise to cover all these extra responsibilities?”

His smile was replaced with an expression of focused intensity. “Scully, Bill Gates couldn’t afford to pay you what you’re worth to me.” His arms went around her in a gentle hug.

Scully let herself melt against him, rested her cheek against his chest, relieved to hear his heart’s regular beat and his body’s reassuring warmth. She was afraid to hug him back for fear of hurting him, and the ever-analytical part of her brain noticed the weakness in his hands and arms, the slight sway of his body as his balance wavered.

“Sit down.”

“I’m all right,” he resisted.

She stepped back far enough to glare up at him. “Mulder, thirty-six hours ago your heart stopped in the ER! You’ve been tortured for four days, and you lost a third of your body’s blood supply due to internal and external bleeding! You are NOT all right!”

“Scully, stop it,” he growled. “I’m fine.”

“You’re NOT fine,” she snapped. “You’re better; you’re not in the same time zone as ‘fine!’ And the only way I’m letting you out of here is in a wheelchair, which we will take with us, and you will use!!”

“I can walk!”

She took another step back and planted her fists on her hips. “Mulder! You can feel how wobbly you are. Imagine how much those broken ribs will hurt when you fall.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“You know better than that. You aren’t walking anywhere for the next few days if the chair can get you there.”

“Scully…” He heard the whine in his voice, and grimaced. He hated it when she reduced their relationship to this. He knew she was right; he just hated the idea.

“Mulder. I’m not relenting on this. If you want to go to the Hoover, that’s the price. Or I withdraw my endorsement, and you get re-admitted.”

“I’ll sign myself out,” he riposted stubbornly.

“And walk to work?” She refrained from smiling. “Besides, you can’t get in without an escort; you have no ID.”

“Jaime would let me in.” He knew he was just being stubborn, but he was not ready to surrender, yet.

“Jaime might,” she agreed. “But he would rat you out to Skinner, and you’d end up back here under guard, or in a safe house, incommunicado. You know Skinner; he’ll do it.” She gentled her tone. “You want me to help you, Mulder? Then LET me!”

There was a long stretched-out moment. Then his shoulders sagged. “All right, all right. God, you can be SUCH a hardcase!”

“I learned it from you,” she grinned. She had tied his sneakers for him, because he could not bend over that far. She offered him his leather jacket. “Here. It’s windy and cold, and you’re depleted. You’re going to feel the cold, today.”

She had to help him get the jacket on. Then he reached out for the door frame to steady himself.

“Weak? Dizzy?”

“Yeah…” His eyes were closed.

“This is why most people stay in the hospital when they’re hurt!”

But the expression he turned on her was haunted. “Scully, I have to catch him. I have to stop him. He may come after me. But he may not. And, after losing a kill, he’s going to be really vicious to the next victim. I’ve got to stop him.”

She could not argue with that.

* * *

She commandeered a wheelchair from the hospital, put it in the car, and they went to work.

She parked in a handicap space right by the elevator in the parking garage, hanging a temporary permit from the rear view mirror. Mulder climbed out and walked slowly toward the doors.

“Mulder.”

He turned to see her unfolding the wheelchair that she had taken out of the trunk.

“Jeez, Scully! I can stand up in an elevator!”

She sighed as she pushed the wheelchair toward him. “Mulder, you have a finite amount of energy you can divert from healing. Do you plan to use it to walk down hallways or find the Butcher?”

Expressed that way, he could no longer argue. Carefully he lowered himself into the chair, and eased himself back.

Scully adjusted the foot rests. “Now, behave yourself, or I’ll tie your ankles down.”

He flinched.

Scully realized with a pang of guilt what she had said, conjured the image of her partner tied down on a tabletop, struggling against the bonds as the Butcher approached with a red-hot chain swinging from his hand. “Oh, my God… I’m sorry!”

He shivered, pulled his jacket snug, and then let go of it because the action hurt. “‘S okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m supposed to know better than that.”

“Hey.” He reached for her hand, and she let him have it. “You couldn’t’ve known those were his exact words…”

She was horrified. “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t overreact, Scully.” He wanted to smile at her, but she had moved up behind him, and he could not twist around to see her. “I’m not having flashbacks; at least, not yet.” His eyes went vacant. “If I do, maybe I’ll get better visuals of the lair. There were a few times when it hurt so much I just blanked. It left a few holes in my memory, and I hate when that happens. I’m used to unbroken skeins of events; when there’re breaks it upsets me.”

He flinched a little when gentle fingers laced through his hair.

“Just relax, and don’t think about it,” she advised, pushing him forward when the elevator doors opened in front of them. “And keep your hands in-board. You can’t push this thing; it’ll stress your ribs. Just sit there and enjoy the ride.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

It was just past eight-thirty on Sunday morning; there was almost no one in the building. The Butcher Task Force met every morning, weekends included, at eight sharp. They would just make it before the meeting broke up.

Scully was a little surprised at how much work it actually was to push her partner around like this.

\On the other hand, he usually lets me push him around any way I want. I have to start being nicer to him. I’m the only one who ever is!\

She pulled up and stopped outside the conference room. Mulder tipped his head back so he could smile at her, albeit upside down.

“Thanks for the ride, honey. What’s the fare?”

“Promise me you’ll listen to me when I tell you it’s time to take a break for food or rest,” she said at once, coming around so he could see her without straining anything.

He considered. “All right. Promise me you’ll leave the chair in the hall.”

She considered. Then she smiled. “You want to make an entrance, don’t you?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Knowing Skinner, he’ll have ‘em all convinced I’m dying. I think it’s wishful thinking, on his part, sometimes…”

She chuckled. “He doesn’t want you dead, Mulder.”

“Only if he gets to do the deed himself.”

“All right. Hang on a minute while I lock the wheels…”

* * *

“Any further questions?” Skinner asked the group.

Agent Crowell, at the back of the room, lifted a hand. “What’s the latest word on Agent Mulder?”

Skinner’s eyes dropped to his shoes. “Rounds are at eight; when they’re done, I’ll get a call with an update. Last night he was listed in satisfactory condition, resting comfortably.”

“They lied.”

Everyone stared at the figure in black leather and denim who walked into the room, followed, as usual, by a smaller, red-haired, shadow.

Skinner swallowed hard. He had not seen Mulder since he had gone to the hospital in response to Agent Grodin’s phone call. He had had only a glimpse of his agent, still unconscious in surgical recovery.

Mulder looked as if he had lost a fight with Mike Tyson in a cement mixer.

\Nice analogy, Walter!\ he castigated himself. \What really happened is worse!\

Before he could actually open his mouth to say anything, someone in the back of the room began to clap his hands. In a few moments the entire task force was standing and applauding. There were no cheers, and no whistles; just quiet, dignified applause.

Mulder had no idea how to react. He let this oh-so-very-rare! sign of peer approval wash over him, and hardly felt Skinner’s hand supporting him until he started to sway, and Skinner grabbed him by the upper arm, inadvertently digging his fingertips into the freshly-stitched cut that ran from Mulder’s armpit to his elbow.

Scully moved very quickly, shoving a chair behind his knees and catching him, carefully, by the elbow on the other side. He fell into the chair, and had to close his eyes while he caught up on his breathing.

The applause had stopped when Mulder went down; the room was dead silent.

Skinner decided to fill in the silence and divert all the eyes that were staring at the wounded agent.

“Agent Scully, it was my understanding that your partner was going to be hospitalized for several days. Tell me he’s not out AMA.”

Scully was standing close beside him, her fingertips brushing lightly across the upturned palm of his hand. “He was released conditionally, sir.”

“What are the conditions?”

“That he minimize his physical activity, eat and drink a lot, that he rest and let himself heal.”

“Why is he here?”

Mulder opened his eyes and glared up at his boss. “Don’t talk over me like I’m not here,” he growled, the aggression he was trying to project a bit undermined when he had to pause for breath in the middle of the sentence.

“And why are you here, Agent Mulder?” Skinner fixed him with an icy stare.

Mulder stared back defiantly. “I work here.”

“You’re in no shape—”

“Sir. Profiling is thinking. I can do this. I have to do this.”

Skinner heard the desperation in his agent’s tone, and let his own tone soften. “And you couldn’t do it from the hospital?”

“Sir. The Butcher is not a man who accepts defeat graciously. No one’s ever gotten away from him before. He’s either going to focus all his energy on getting to me, or he’s going to go out and find someone to replace me. Possibly several someones. I want him to focus on me; I don’t want innocent civilians suffering at this man’s hands because he can’t get those hands on me, again. But I really don’t want to get taken, again, either. This is the safest place for me to be, as well as the best place from which to find him—all the resources are here.”

Skinner nodded slowly. “For once, I totally agree with you, Mulder. But you will rest, and you will eat. Agent Scully—”

“Yes, sir.” She turned to her partner. “See? I’ve got backup.”

Mulder let his head fall back lightly to rest against her belly. “You don’t need backup, Scully; you’re the toughest guy in the room.”

A ripple of amusement reminded him that they had an audience, and he straightened a little, refusing to be embarrassed.

She grinned faintly at him.

“I guess we missed the morning briefing, sir,” he turned the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Anything new?”

“New to us; not new to you,” ASAC Finch grumbled good-naturedly. “Damn, Mulder—!”

He shrugged, and a flicker of pain went across his face. “That’s not exactly how I’d express it,” he replied, “but it’ll do.”

“Mulder, did you have breakfast yet?” Skinner asked.

Mulder sighed, knowing what was coming. “No,” he admitted.

Skinner scanned the room, picked out a junior agent that he knew he could trust to babble the moment he was out from under his supervisor’s eyes. But not to babble too much… the kid had learned some discretion. He had a serious case of hero worship of Fox Mulder. He would talk down in the cafeteria, and the rest of the building would hear what Mulder had done. It annoyed Skinner no end that there were so many people in the building, fellow agents who should have known better, who had no respect for Agent Mulder at all. If ignorance of his accomplishments and work ethic was the issue, this might go a way toward addressing what Skinner saw as a serious issue.

“Agent Calvaneso.” His voice was crisp.

“Sir?”

“Go down to the cafeteria and bring up two bacon-and-egg breakfasts and a dozen doughnuts. Get a pitcher of orange juice if they’ll give it to you.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Chocolate doughnuts,” Mulder grinned. “Glazed sour

cream chocolate doughnuts.”

“Yes, sir!”

The moment the door closed, Skinner turned toward

Scully. “Can he have coffee?”

She grimaced. “It won’t keep him from sleeping; he’s too wasted for that. I suppose small amounts won’t hurt.” She felt his flare of annoyance and turned on him. “You are not tanking up on caffeine, Mulder. When you’re tired, you are going to go down to the lounge and sleep. And on Tuesday at three you have a check-up back at the outpatient clinic.”

Mulder sighed. “Remind me.”

“Don’t worry. I will.”

He grinned at her. “I know.”

Scully left Mulder alone long enough to retrieve the wheelchair from the hallway.

“Mulder? C’mon; this has got to be more comfortable, and you can shove it around with your feet, rather than getting up.”

He did not respond. She could see that his eyes were not focused and frowned. “Mulder?”

He blinked, and he was back. He made a face at her, but moved, slowly, to stand up. “I hate it when you’re right, you know.”

“I know.”

He settled into the wheelchair carefully. “I hate to admit it, but it is more comfortable than those chairs,” he smiled at her. Then he turned the wheelchair, using his feet as she had suggested, grateful that he did not have to twist his body, looking for Skinner. “Sir?”

Skinner had been watching their by-play. “Yes?”

“I need a press conference ASAP. Can you set it up?”

* * *

“They’re ready any time you are, Mulder.”

“Thanks, Mickey.”

The other agent backed out and shut the door. So, the news cameras were ready. Mulder was dressed in Scully’s favorite of his suits: a charcoal grey Armani. His shirt was absolutely white, and the tie was a soft green watered silk that made his eyes look like emeralds. Scully swallowed hard. She had argued that he could not represent the FBI in his black denim and leather jacket, although she rather liked him in his casual clothing. They had sent four agents to Mulder’s apartment with a list of items to bring back for him.

They had sent four so that the Butcher would not even try to take one of them.

Agent Braun came into the lounge. “Here’s your stuff, Mulder. Anything else we can do for you?” He laid a suit bag across the desk top, and set Mulder’s familiar toiletries kit beside it.

He shook his head. “No, thanks, Hank. That’s great. Thank you.”

He let Scully push him in the wheelchair down to the gym, but refused to let her into the shower room. He desperately wanted to shower, but he knew better than to risk it. Not only did he have nearly two hundred stitches on his arms and legs, he also had five large burns on his back. The very idea of standing under a shower made Mulder cringe. Much as he wanted to be clean, he was not yet ready to risk that kind of pain.

Somehow, Scully had figured out his problem and solved it without saying a word. When they arrived at the men’s locker room Mickey Bender was already there, waiting for them. Mulder studied him speculatively.

Bender shrugged. “You can’t take a shower and I don’t suppose you can really move much,” he explained. “I can give you a hand with the more painful stuff. Then we’ll come back out here and Scully can check you over and reapply all your bandaging. That okay with you?”

Mulder nodded. “Sounds like a plan, Mickey. Thanks.”

Scully let herself relax slowly as the two men moved off into the shower area. She had put a sign on the outer locker room door asking people to stay out. Mulder was as casual as any other guy about locker room etiquette; he had told her some carefully expurgated stories of his high school and college experiences. But he was still almost Victorian in the level of formality he tried to maintain toward her. She understood why; they were trying to maintain a professional relationship under the stress of a long-term and very intense friendship, a great deal of travel together and a tremendous amount of shared pain, grief, and fear as well as an equal amount of mutual dependency and trust.

She had asked Mickey Bender to meet them down here. She had been concerned that Mulder might have ignored the warnings about getting his stitches wet: he was as fastidious as a cat about his personal hygiene and she knew he was miserable with the limitations imposed upon him by his injuries. She was even more concerned that his burns, especially, not get infected. She did not like to cause him any more pain than absolutely unavoidable, but her real worries were for his health, not his comfort.

She could not hear the men: the shower room was at the far end of the locker room and she set her medical supplies near the entrance. She was a little uncomfortable about being in the men’s locker room at all, so she was glad not to have to penetrate that inner bastion.

When Mulder came out he was laughing and joking with Bender, but he was walking slowly and she could see lines in his face that had been carved there by pain. He was wearing boxers and a light cotton robe that he had left hanging open. She knew that was because he did not want to put any pressure on his back. Mickey Bender was similarly dressed, but his robe was snug and belted tightly.

“How are you doing, Mulder?” she asked softly.

He sighed as he sat down on the bench where she indicated she wanted him. “As well as can be expected. It’s great to be even this clean, but you have no idea how badly I want to take a shower.”

She smiled. “Oh, I think I can imagine that. I remember listening to you whining in Raleigh; you couldn’t even stand, yet, and you were demanding showers.”

Bender looked puzzled. “What happened in Raleigh?”

Mulder smiled ruefully and his hand moved over the old bullet scar in his thigh. “I got shot,” he said carelessly. “They kept me in bed for more than two weeks, Mickey; I was ready to go stark raving mad by the time the doctors were convinced I’d done enough healing to sit up without my femoral artery exploding.”

Bender whistled soundlessly; it was pretty clear Mulder had come within a breath of dying that time. Then he chuckled reminiscently. “Reggie Perdue told me once that you started wearing designer suits after a case where the SAC sent you to the dump with the local uniforms because you were wearing a cheap suit and wouldn’t mind if it got ruined.”

“That’s a lie,” Mulder growled, being careful not to react to the butterfly-light touch of Scully’s hands on his back. “It was a Brooks Brothers suit; he was just jealous. I went in the next day wearing Armani and he stopped harassing me. He was wearing a department store suit; he’d sent me out there intentionally because I was wearing an expensive suit. The upgrade trumped him and he had to shut up.”

Scully, her hands and eyes focused on her work, was listening. She chuckled, then. “Who was it?”

---

“Joey Mattioli; Des Moines office. Why?”

“I want to send him a thank you note from the female population of the US,” she teased. “You always look good, but in Armani…? Hmmm…!”

She was behind him so she did not see how her comment, especially the wordless part of it, affected him. Bender did, but, knowing the tightrope that they walked and the rules they skirted cautiously, he refrained from the first thing it occurred to him to say: ‘bet you like him better out of the suit, right, Scully?’

Mulder closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. It only took a moment; he was too depleted to follow through on that impulse, anyway…

Bender shook his head. “Well, I’m going to get dressed and get upstairs. I want to be in the audience when you get to the podium.”

Mulder managed a grin. “Okay; see you later.”

Bender disappeared back into the locker room to get dressed out of Scully’s view, and then went out the far doors. The partners were alone.

Scully inspected all his wounds, and all the stitches, and carefully and thoroughly dried them. She reapplied the antibiotic salve, and then the bandages. It took her quite a while, because she was taking extreme care not to hurt him.

He finished getting dressed, grateful for her business-like help with his pants and his shoes and socks. Then she tied his tie for him. She finished her ministrations by combing and blow-drying his hair. They went back upstairs in silence. When they were outside the conference room she fussed a little, straightening his tie, smoothing his hair. Finally she stepped back.

“There. Knock ‘em dead,” she grinned.

“Oh, yeah.” He hated the necessity of this, but he would do whatever it took to catch this suspect. He stood up slowly, and gestured toward the wheelchair that was waiting near the door. “Don’t let that get too far away.”

“Don’t worry.” She watched him walk out into the hall, to the conference room where the cameras were set up. She tried to keep herself from trembling, but it was very difficult.

* * *

“…in conclusion, I want to warn everyone in the Capitol area to be wary. He chooses his victims by their cars, by their suits, by the Rolex on a wrist. He takes his victims by ramming from behind with the ambulance he drives, and hitting the driver with a stungun when he walks up, and the driver rolls down the window to exchange insurance information.

“He isn’t very bright, but his technique has worked well on seventeen uninformed victims, including myself. The easiest way for you to defend yourself against him is to not drive alone. You don’t want to be his next substitute for the daddy he has never managed to talk back to, much less hit back.”

When Mulder paused, the reporters called out questions. The loudest one was the one he answered.

“Agent Mulder, is that how he got you?”

Mulder smiled faintly. “Yes. We believe that he targeted me after the news reports identified me because he was trying to handicap the Task Force assigned to capture him; in fact, he has made our job tremendously more simple. I’ve seen his face. I could pick him out of a line-up. As soon as I match the face to a name, he’s ours.”

“Agent Mulder, we understand that the Butcher maltreated you much as he did the other victims. How clear can your memory be through that much pain and, inevitably, fear?”

Mulder grinned. That question was planted; he thought he detected Scully’s skilled touch. “Doesn’t matter what I felt like,” he shrugged casually. “I have a photographic memory. Everything I’ve ever seen, in my whole life, is still accessible. I CAN’T forget anything. Believe me, I’ve tried.” He looked around. “I guess that’s all for now. We’ll have updates as further information becomes available. Thank you.”

He waved casually, and walked out with his own free-swinging stride, the very image of the capable, professional Federal agent. That lasted until he was outside in the hall and the door was closed.

He put his hands up against the wall, leaned his forearms against it, rested his forehead against the cool plaster.

“Mulder? Sit down.”

As she spoke he felt the soft leather of the wheelchair’s seat nudge gently at the back of his legs. He sank down into the chair and let his head fall back against her body. Her hands left the handles on the back of the chair and moved up to cradle his face briefly. His eyes stayed closed but he luxuriated in the caress.

“You need to rest. C’mon…” She let go of him, and began pushing the chair down the corridor.

He was too exhausted to even notice when she went right by the conference center and headed for their temporary office, down past the assistant directors’ offices. She pushed the chair through their office and through the connecting door to the lounge.

“Mulder? Mulder…?” He did not respond. “Mulder?”

He blinked at her groggily. “Hmm? Scully?”

She frowned; his voice was faint, and his eyes were glazed.

“C’mon, G-man. You need to take these pills.”

He blinked, and realized that she was holding out one hand while her other hand held a glass.

He reached out to accept the medication, and watched, as if from afar, as his hand trembled. Scully helped him drink from the glass to wash down the tablets. The glass held cold milk, and he drank it all. He let her take his jacket off him, unfasten his tie, and open his cuffs, setting his cufflinks aside with the matching tie clip. Then she opened his belt and slid it out of the belt loops. Clumsily, for his fingers were a little numb, he unbuttoned the pants.

“Switch to the couch; lie down.”

He simply obeyed. It was easier to obey than think. He lay down, very cautiously, on his left side; the two broken ribs on that side were not as painful as the three on the right.

\Hmm…warmer…\ He realized as he felt her fingers against his chin that she had thrown a blanket over him.

“You’re safe, Mulder; you’re fine. You’re just exhausted. You worked too hard today. Now you take a nap.”

“Scully…?”

“I’ll be here, Mulder. I promise. Go to sleep.”

* * *

Skinner stuck his head in. “Agent Scully?”

She looked up from her laptop. “Sir?”

Her boss’s attention slid off her to focus on her partner. “Is he all right?”

She glanced at him. “He’s asleep, sir. The press conference took every bit of energy he had. He collapsed in the hallway outside. I got his medication into him and I got him to lie down. Hopefully he’ll stay asleep for some time.”

Skinner swung his attention back to her. “You didn’t want him out of the hospital, did you?”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. But he correctly pointed out that he’s safer here than he would be in the hospital. Infiltrating the Hoover Building is not something we expect the Butcher to try.”

Skinner nearly smiled. Then his attention went back to his sleeping agent. “Did you hear the conference?”

She nodded. “Most of it.”

“After he left, it got wild. Several of the noon news reports included analyses by physicians speculating on the exact nature of his injuries. The cameras did pick up the gauze wrappings on both of his wrists, and the burns on his hands.”

“The self-inflicted ones, you mean?”

Skinner’s jaw dropped. “What?!”

“He used the Butcher’s torch — the propane torch he used to ignite the charcoal, that he had been threatening Mulder with — to burn his ropes off.” Scully lifted her eyes up to Skinner’s.

The Assistant Director was stunned. “I thought he was phobic about fire.”

“He is.”

Skinner reacted as if he had been sandbagged. “Oh, my God.”

“Exactly.”

“Is he really all right?”

“I hope he will be.” She let her eyes drift to study her partner’s still form. “He’s expecting post-traumatic stress reactions. He’s even counting on the flashbacks, hoping they will fill in places where his much-vaunted memory has failed him: places where, as he put it, it just hurt too damned much, and he blanked.”

Skinner shuddered from head to foot. He had his own nightmares, and he had suffered from flashbacks and other symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, himself. But all his nightmares had been based on combat scenarios: times and places when he had been free and armed, capable, at least, of trying to defend himself. Mulder had been a prisoner, all too aware of his fate once the identity of his captor had become clear. Yet he had held off his own fear — an uncontrollable phobia — to free himself and escape.

“You should know,” he said then, his voice harsh as he fought to suppress his own distress, “that I’m recommending him for the Medal of Valor. This is well above and beyond the call of duty…” He thought he saw pleasure in her eyes, but he could not be sure.

“He won’t see it that way, sir,” was her answer. “He believes that he is just doing what he is supposed to and is expected to do. He was assigned to profile and assist in the capture of the Beltway Butcher. And he will do that.”

“We don’t expect twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, crawl-out-of-the-hospital-to-the-office dedication, Agent Scully.”

She shrugged. “It’s all or nothing; Mulder doesn’t do things halfway.”

“I’ve noticed that…”

They both smiled, then, and cast worried looks at the subject of their discussion, who was lying half on his side, half on his stomach, his left arm dangling off the edge of the couch, sleeping so hard it seemed unlikely he would notice if a bomb went off in the room.

“Stay with him, Scully,” Skinner said finally. “That’s your assignment: to take care of him. Anything else is secondary to that. You’re his bodyguard, too; we don’t think the Butcher will try to get in here, but you and I know that he won’t put up with hiding here for long.”

“I know. And I’m worried about that,” she admitted.

“And if there’s anything either of you needs, tell me.”

“We need a gofer,” she said at once.

“I’ll assign you Calvaneso; that’s the one of the reasons he’s on the Task Force: to be a gofer and watch how the pros work.”

Scully smiled. “Do you really want him emulating Mulder’s working style, sir? He’s already got hero-worship in his eyes.”

Skinner looked away, chewing on his lip. “I know. But if he gets to spend some serious time with Mulder, he’ll see the pain Mulder’s in. He needs that rubbed in his face: Mulder may be the best investigator in the Bureau at the current time; the pair of you have the highest solve rate in the Criminal Division. The kid has some great potential; I want him to live long enough to realize some of it. But there’s a price, and I want him to see what it is before he trips over his own feet heading for a door labeled ‘Hero’ and gets himself killed.”

Scully could only nod.

* * *

Mulder slept solidly, and everyone stayed away so as not to disturb him. Scully stayed in touch with the investigation via e-mail and cell phone, confident that her voice would not disturb her partner’s rest. She shook him every four hours and made him take his meds, but he did not wake up for hours. When he did, awareness came slowly and reluctantly. He moved incautiously, and cried out in pain.

Scully was at his side instantly. “I’m here. It’s all right—”

She had slept in a lounge chair beside him, taking short three- and four-hour naps so she could keep track of his medication schedule. She had changed her clothes and sent her gofer, young Kip Calvaneso, for the cafeteria for food that she could keep in the lounge: doughnuts, cookies, popcorn and, inevitably, several snack-size bags of unhulled sunflower seeds.

She put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “Lie still.”

Slowly, he fought his way back to consciousness. “Scully…?”

“Of course me,” she smiled. “Are you all the way awake?”

“I think so.”

“Then remember you have broken ribs on BOTH sides before you try to move, all right?”

He shuddered. “There was a moment there, before I woke up all the way, when I thought I was home, and it was all just a particularly detailed nightmare.”

Scully moved closer and helped him swing his feet to the floor and sit up. It concerned her that he did not resent or resist her aid. He sat still for a moment, clearly resting, then scrubbed at his face wearily with both hands. Then, moving with the same deliberation of movement that he had shown yesterday, he stood up and headed toward the restrooms.

As the door to the men’s room closed behind him, she got out her cell phone, dialed her newest speed-dial code.

“Kip? He’s awake. Bring up breakfast, would you?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

She hung up the phone with a sigh for the constant perkiness of the young agent.

Mulder was taking enough time in the men’s room that she was beginning to worry. But then he came out, and she smiled. He had washed up and brushed his teeth; he had not shaved again, because shaving irritated the scorch marks on his face. He had admitted, eventually, the day before, that the Butcher had played games with the propane torch, aiming it at his eyes, playing the flame along his jaw, just to elicit Mulder’s phobic reaction. The minor burns from that were still visible. It was his own struggles against his bonds that had caused the rope burns that marred his wrists and throat. The day’s-worth of stubble made him look rakish and dangerous, and Scully had to swallow hard to suppress the stab of longing she felt for him.

“How do you feel, Mulder?” she asked, standing up and reaching for his prescriptions.

“Swell,” he grumbled. “Stiff.”

“Are your wounds stiffening, or is it the muscles underneath?”

“Both.” He sank carefully onto the couch again, letting his head fall back, closing his eyes. “How long did I sleep?”

“Eighteen hours.”

He lifted his head and opened his eyes. “That explains that. And I’m not even going to bother asking why you let me sleep that long.”

“It’s 7:00 Monday morning, Mulder; Kip is bringing up a meal. You’ve got an hour to get yourself put together before the morning briefing.”

“Did anyone find the lair, yet?”

She had to shake her head. “No, not as far as I know. I expect that if they had, I would have been told.”

* * *

After breakfast, after the morning briefing— which had been singularly frustrating for everyone, since there was no new information— Mulder sat in the conference room, going through all the photos of all the suspects, looking for the man whose face he knew so well, now. He did not find it. He started on DC PD’s mug books, sent over at Scully’s request while he slept.

Scully started calling up violent and sex crime arrest records on NCIC, filtering them for the man she saw driving the ambulance, and then forwarding them to him to be checked.

“Mulder?”

“Hmmm?” He did not look up from his work.

“Lunch time, Mulder.”

“Leave it here,” he muttered, clearing a space on his desk, but not looking up from his work.

“Mulder!”

Startled by her sudden vehemence, he looked up. “What?”

“Get up, Mulder.” She was standing only a few yards away, her fists on her hipbones.

He frowned, confused. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been hunched over that desk for four hours. It’s time for your meds, and lunch, and for you to stretch out a little. You were complaining of stiffness this morning. It’s only going to get worse if you don’t move around.”

“You don’t want me to walk,” he pointed out, still puzzled.

“I don’t want you to walk far,” she agreed. “How about a wheelchair ride down to the cafeteria? We’ll leave the chair in the hall, and you can walk your own tray to a table.”

He paused to consider. “What’s the hot lunch, today?”

“Chili,” she grinned.

He grinned back at her. “Sold!”

“I thought so.”

* * *

“Yo! Rad! You white bread mutha! Rad!!”

The voice punched through the crowd noise in the Hoover Building’s sixth floor employee cafeteria like a searchlight through the night sky. Everyone turned to look at the tall, lean African-American man wearing black jeans and a colorful dashiki-style shirt with a visitor’s badge. He was walking purposefully through the crowd, and the people separated to let him through. Each man was relieved when the stranger went by without noticing him.

The place went dead silent when the big man swept Fox Mulder up into a bear hug.

“Been a long time, Rad!”

Dana Scully very calmly set the end of the barrel of her gun against the skin underneath the man’s left ear.

The big man froze.

“Let go of him. Now.”

The big man let go. Mulder staggered, fell into the nearest chair, and collapsed down on the table, his face buried in his arms.

Scully spared a glance at her partner, keeping a portion of her attention on her prisoner every moment.

“Mulder? You okay?”

There was no answer.

“Mulder…?!”

Bender moved up and efficiently cuffed the strange man’s hands behind him.

“I’ve got him, Agent Scully.”

She nodded her thanks, holstered her weapon, and hurried to her partner’s side, where she bent over him, her hands infinitely gentle on his shoulders.

“Mulder, are you all right?”

She saw him surreptitiously wiping tears of pain off his face onto his shirt’s cuff, and relaxed a little. She took a step back when he slowly straightened in the rigid cafeteria chair, and moved forward a little so his back would not come in contact with it.

“Yeah,” he spoke faintly. “I’m okay.”

“You’re sure? Can you breathe all right?”

He straightened a little more, carefully flexing his body. “Yeah. Nothing’s shifted. I’m okay.”

She shivered, and ran one finger across the back of his hand.

Finally he lifted his head and faced her. He managed a smile, though it was shaky.

She could see that his eyes were still clouded with pain, but neither of them put it into words.

Then Mulder turned to face the prisoner Agent Bender was holding. “So, Sky, is that how you always greet old friends?” he asked mildly.

The dashiki rippled as the man shrugged, wincing when he tugged on the steel cuffs. “Hellation, Rad, what’s goin’ on, here? What the hell have you done to yourself this time?”

Mulder’s eyes focused more clearly, and only then did he realize that the man he had called Sky was handcuffed. He grinned, and looked over at Agent Bender.

“Mickey, thanks, but you can let him go.”

“But, Mulder—!”

“Honestly, Mickey. He didn’t come here to hurt anyone. We’re old friends. He just got carried away with the excitement of the moment.”

“You’re sure?” Bender hesitated.

“Sky?”

“Honest, I just wanted to say hello,” the big man nodded. “I’m sorry if I upset y’all.”

Bender shrugged, unlocked the cuffs and removed them.

“Thanks, Mickey.”

“Any time, Mulder. Any time.”

Mulder looked up at the stranger, and smiled. “Sky, meet my partner, Agent Dana Scully, and Agent Mickey Bender of VCS. Guys, this is Jerome Duwayne Crawford, J. D. to most people, and ‘Sky’ to his old classmates from Quantico.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” Crawford said earnestly. “And sorry. Damn, Mulder, what did I do?”

Mulder closed his eyes and shook his head once. “Not your fault, Sky.”

“C’mon, Mulder,” Scully spoke up again, then. “Let’s get you back to the office. I want you lying down for a while.”

It was a mark of how much pain he was in that he only grinned wickedly at her, but said nothing, even when he saw that somehow she had gone out into the hallway and retrieved his wheelchair, and now expected him to use it.

“C’mon, Sky.” Mulder stood up slowly, and wavered. He caught himself on the table with one hand, and straightened slowly. Bender walked around Scully to Mulder’s other side. Mulder silently allowed Bender to help him sit down. Scully let Bender push the chair as they left.

The crowd parted respectfully to let them through.

In the elevator bay, Mulder found the energy to smile up at the VCS agent.

“Thanks, Mickey. Go finish your lunch. I’ll see you in the office later.”

“Shouldn’t you go home, Mulder?” Bender asked worriedly, as he yielded his place to Scully. “You don’t have to be here, at all, you know. You are entitled to time off.”

Mulder leaned his head backward against the familiar comfort of Scully’s body, and closed his eyes. “No,” he said very quietly. “I have to catch him. I’ll be back upstairs in a little while.”

Bender and Scully traded eloquent expressions. When the elevator arrived, Mulder did not move when Scully pushed the wheelchair aboard. He did not squander his waning energy by doing anything. He just sat there, his eyes closed, his hands limp in his lap, his head resting back against Scully’s body as he had become accustomed to doing.

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

“Yeah.” But his expression betrayed his pain.

The elevator doors tried to slam shut on Crawford and Scully did nothing to stop them. He had to put out a hand to catch them. His hand was nearly pinned, but then the doors bounced apart, and he got inside.

Scully glared at him, but said nothing as she let go of Mulder with one hand to push the button for the third floor.

Crawford’s eyes widened. The third floor was Administration; only the bosses had offices on three. But he said nothing.

The ride was silent. The elevator music was enough to hide the tiny aspirated moans that were escaping from between Mulder’s clenched teeth. But when the elevator stopped, the little jerk made him cry out.

“Mulder?”

But he was going limp in the wheelchair. Scully grabbed and managed to keep him from slipping out of the chair, but she could not lift him. She was trapped; if she let go, Mulder would slide to the floor, and with all the broken ribs he had, she could not allow that.

“Agent Scully?”

She glared at Crawford as he moved up to stand beside her. “What?”

“Let me take him.”

“No.”

“Please? It’s obvious he needs you; don’t risk hurting yourself trying to shut me out. I’m already punished. Let me make amends.”

It took her only a moment to realize that she had no choice. Crawford could carry him; Crawford looked like he weighed more than the two of them put together.

“All right. Be careful!”

“I promise.”

Moving very cautiously, Crawford lifted his old classmate’s limp form, and cradled him like a baby. Scully bit back her protest, and settled for hurrying toward the office pushing the empty wheelchair in front of her.

Crawford followed her, unsettled at how light his old friend felt in his arms.

The office door that Scully pushed open had a temporary sign on it:

BELTWAY BUTCHER TASK FORCE

CO: AD W. Skinner

SAC: SA C. Finch, VCU

Behavioral Science: SA F. Mulder, SAC-XFD

Pathology: SA D. Scully, XFD

Investigation Team:

SA M. Bender, VCU

SA A. Kelly, VCU

SA M. Chretien, Richmond

SA F. Brown, Richmond

SA E. Ellis, Baltimore

SA C. Calvaneso, Baltimore

Crawford could only wonder what ‘XFD’ meant, but the rest of it was pretty damn clear. His buddy had significantly moved up in the world. Special Agent in Charge was always a recognition of accomplishment, and to be SAC of a permanent unit rather than of a temporary task force, was telling.

Shoving the wheelchair out of the way to one side, Scully led him past the work stations and the array of file cabinets through another door into what was obviously a lounge. Several couches, several easy chairs, and a full service coffee alcove, with coffee, tea and hot chocolate available.

“Put him here.” She indicated a couch already equipped with two pillows and a blanket.

He bent to lay Mulder out flat, and she interrupted him.

“Not on his back. On his side. Left side.”

That fit the way the couch was made up; he laid his friend out and she helped adjust the way Mulder lay until she was satisfied he would be comfortable when he awoke.

Still ignoring Crawford, Scully opened Mulder’s shirt and unbuttoned his cuffs, moving with extreme care to keep from disturbing him. This was not unconsciousness; she believed he had just fallen asleep. She did not believe he was in any condition to be working, so every moment he slept was a good thing.

Crawford was shocked to see the bandages on his friend’s wrists. He looked a little more closely, and saw the bruises, and the rope burn on Mulder’s neck, where it had been hidden by his shirt collar.

“My God! What happened to him?!”

“Do you watch the news?”

“Mostly.”

“He escaped from the Beltway Butcher Friday evening. He’d been captured on Tuesday.” Scully explained as she adjusted Mulder’s pillow.

Crawford gritted his teeth. His friend had been in the hands of a sadistic serial killer for nearly four days. He could only stare, horrified, at the myriad cuts and slashes, as well as inflamed and angry red marks that were plainly burns, on Mulder’s face, throat, and forearms. He could see the bulkiness of more bandages under the fine cotton fabric of the dress shirt, and he realized that he could not see the more serious damage on Mulder’s body.

Burns.

“Oh, my God,” Crawford whispered. “Those are burns! Is he all right? Really? You know about his fire phobia?”

Scully threw an appraising glance at him. “Yes,” she said shortly. “He’s dealt with several arsonists since we’ve been partners, not the least of which was a pyrokinetic who tried to kill him by luring him inside a building that had been painted entirely with accelerants.”

“…Scully…?”

She turned back toward her partner, and the fingers of one hand slipped through his hair. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

That was code, and Scully suppressed a sad smile. He had refused to take the painkillers before he ate lunch, she knew, because he had been planning to at least try to walk back to the office afterwards. She found the bottle of painkillers among the assortment of medications she had lined up next to the coffee machines. She shook out a pair of the caplets, and hunted in the little cooler for a carton of milk.

“Here. Take these.”

He obeyed without so much as a murmur of protest; when he tried to hand it back to her she refused it.

“Drink it all.”

It frightened her a little that he did so without arguing in the least. She took the empty carton from him and offered him a water bottle. He took a swig and then set it on the floor beside the couch. Then he lowered himself back down onto the pillows and made himself as comfortable as possible. She thought he was going back to sleep, and was about to get rid of their guest when Mulder spoke.

“So, Sky; is DEA boring you? Come to get your old job back? You’d stand a better chance of getting through the interview if you’d review the dress code.” His eyes were a little unfocused, and his voice was faint, but his words were clear.

Crawford chuckled, and then startled Scully by dropping to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Mulder.

“No, I do a lot of undercover infiltration work; I haven’t worn a suit to work in years. I’m not sure I even own one, right now.”

“Lucky…”

“Clothes horse.”

“Wild man.”

Crawford grinned. “I’m here to testify in budget hearings. We need money to fight drug cartels that make a million dollars a minute, 24/7, all tax free. But the bean counters here in DC want us to account for every paper clip.” His smile faded. “Why aren’t you in a hospital, Rad? Seems like you should be.”

Mulder made a face. “Scully’s a doctor; she can keep me running…”

“You can barely walk, Rad. What’s so important that you can’t take a couple of days of sick leave? If I know you, you’ve got months saved up.”

Mulder let his eyes close; he was tired, and the freshened medication was making sleep very tempting. When he spoke he did not bother to open them. “I’m profiling this case, Sky. Usually I have to work from crime scenes and victims’ remains. This time I’m a victim, myself. I saw him, I could pick him out of a line-up. He even explained parts of his ritual to me.”

Neither listener had to be told that he had been both student and teaching tool at the same time.

“I have to catch him.”

That toneless statement was eloquent and Crawford swallowed hard.

“This lunatic has captured, tortured and murdered sixteen men in power suits in twenty weeks,” he said very softly. “How’d you get away?”

Mulder blinked at him sleepily, and faked a careless shrug. “I freaked completely when he came at me with a propane torch. He decided I wasn’t worth cuffing. I burned through the ropes while he was napping, and got the hell out of there.”

Crawford grinned, nodded approvingly. “Good man.”

“Gutless, craven man,” Mulder corrected him bitterly. “I should’ve arrested him, then. But all I could think about was getting away from him.”

“Rad, you can hardly handle yourself,” Crawford’s tone was gentle. “If you’d tried to bust him, chances are he’d’ve just taken you prisoner, again. And then everything you’d learned about him would’ve been lost.”

“If he’d been in custody, it wouldn’t’ve mattered,” Mulder growled.

“Sure it would.” Crawford shook a finger at him. “If you’d busted him, and he’d taken the Fifth, the most you’d’ve been likely to get a conviction on would have been Kidnapping and Assault First on a Federal Officer. His lawyer would claim that all similarities between your guy and the Beltway Butcher were coincidental or your guy was intentionally copycatting. With a good arrest by the task force, based on a solid profile from you, plus real physical and forensic evidence, you’ll take him down as a serial killer. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Well… yeah…”

“Rad. Stop it. You aren’t God; you aren’t even the Holy Ghost! You’re just Spooky Mulder, and you can’t save everybody. You can only do so much.”

Mulder stretched carefully, a faint smile slowly spreading across his face. “God, I’ve missed you, Sky. Are you happy at DEA?”

“I have been,” Crawford admitted. “If they try to kick me up to Admin I won’t be. You seem to be doing all right, here. Your own division? Must be nice. But what does XFD stand for?”

“So, Mulder, when are you going to explain?” Scully changed the subject.

He frowned at her, puzzled. “Explain what?”

“Why your friend calls you Rad and hugs you hard enough to displace broken ribs.”

“Not that hard; the ribs are fine, Scully. They’re no worse, anyway.”

“Okay,” she conceded the point. “‘Rad?’” Crawford grinned. “Fox Mulder. F. M. FM Radio. Radio. Rad. Radical, sometimes.”

“A lot of the time,” Scully threw her partner a merry smile, which he returned. Then her expression cooled a little as she studied the bigger man. “‘Sky?’”

“Skyhook,” Mulder answered. “He can’t do a slam dunk to save his life, but he can do a lay-up that looks like he has wings and gravity doesn’t apply to him.”

“Basketball,” Scully shook her head wearily. “I should have figured. It’s about as much fun to watch as tennis or ping-pong…”

Crawford smiled slowly. “What’s your favorite spectator sport, Agent Scully?”

“Football,” she grinned. “Big muscular men wearing tight spandex pants, running around and sweating.”

“Ooo, Scully,” Mulder smiled tiredly. “You’re turning me on.”

“Big sweaty men in spandex turn you on, Mulder?” she grinned at him. “That explains a lot…”

Mulder stuck his tongue out at her.

Scully grinned.

He grinned back.

Her smile changed from merry to concerned. “Relax, Mulder. You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

His smile faded away. “I’m not going to sleep, Scully. There’s too much to do…”

“So? Profiling is mostly thinking. You lie there with your eyes closed and think. You talk; I type. We get it done without you collapsing and spending the next four days in the hospital on various IVs and total sedation.”

Mulder stared at her for a moment, but he knew she was serious; he’d been indulged so far because they both knew that he was the best chance law enforcement had to identify and locate the Beltway Butcher. But if he abused the opportunity by abusing his body further, she would play her trump card and have him hospitalized. She could do it, and she would, and Skinner would back her up.

“You don’t play fair, Scully.”

“All’s fair in love and medicine, Mulder,” she misquoted, her eyes twinkling at him.

Mulder threw a glance at his friend. “See what I have to put up with?” he pretended to whine.

Crawford folded his arms across his chest and grinned. “You love it, and you know it.”

Mulder turned his attention back toward Scully, and his expression softened. “Yeah, I do.”

There was a moment of silent communion between the pair, then Mulder settled back a little and closed his eyes obediently. Scully brushed the hair off his forehead.

“So, the two of you were close at Quantico?” she asked softly.

Crawford grinned. “Roommates. I helped him with anything that used numbers and he taught me how to lie to psychologists and fool polygraphs. He finished first in the class. I was fourth.”

Scully tried to suppress a grin. “So how’d you end up at the DEA?”

Crawford shrugged. “I’d been in the field for four months. I was still at my First Office, working on an Organized Crime task force with Miami-Dade. They needed somebody who didn’t look like a Fed to do some contact work. I grew up on mean streets in Detroit, and I could talk the talk. Once out of the awful JC Penney’s suit that was all I could afford, I looked street enough. Job went well. DEA liaison to the Task Force made me an offer. It was more money, more undercover, and less Old-White-Guys office politics. I took it.”

Scully sighed softly and glanced back at Mulder, who seemed to have succumbed to the painkillers and fallen asleep.

“Neither of us ever did a First Office assignment,” she said softly. “I went right to teaching at Quantico after I graduated…”

“…And he went to Violent Crimes, where Bill Patterson stole him and refused to give him back.” Crawford studied his friend’s partner for a moment, and decided there was a lot more than just partnership at work, here. \Jeez, what was my first clue?\ he grumbled to himself. \But this is good. Rad needs someone to care about him and take care of him, and it sure looks like she’s elected herself.\ He nerved himself for it and spoke quietly. “Agent Scully?”

“Yes?”

“What’s XFD stand for?”

“X Files Division.”

He grimaced. “Okay. What’s an X File?”

Scully explained that, briefly. Then she looked thoughtful. “Sky, do you think DEA would lend you back to us for a while?”

Crawford blinked. “I dunno…maybe. Probably? I’m in between assignments. I was done testifying this morning.”

Scully blinked. “You testified in front of a Congressional sub-committee wearing that?!”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “I wanted to shake the white bread up.”

“You’ve done that, I’ll bet!”

“Probably,” he agreed. Then his smile faded. “What did you have in mind for me, Agent Scully?”

She pointed toward her motionless partner. “He needs a bodyguard.”

“Why does he need another?” Crawford asked quietly.

“He’s got you, doesn’t he?”

Scully pinned him with a look so intense that he nearly flinched. “He does,” she agreed calmly, fully aware of what she was implying. “But we aren’t joined at the hip. If I get called away to Quantico, for example, to autopsy another victim he’ll probably want to stay here, to keep working on his profile, to look for the perp’s face.”

“He’ll be safe, here.”

She nodded. “I know he will. But if he gets an idea, even if it’s in the middle of the night, he’ll go check it out alone. He won’t wait for me; he prioritizes catching the UNSUB higher than his own physical safety. If you’re there, you’ll go with him, and he won’t fit the victim profile anymore.”

“I’ll call you, too.” Crawford studied his sleeping friend. “He’d really go off on his own? Even hurt like this?”

“He’s done it before,” she shrugged.

“You’re his partner; that’s not right.”

That was a searching question, but Scully had no qualms about answering it… and she wondered how she had come to trusted this man so implicitly so soon.

“Sick, hurt, exhausted… means nothing. He has to catch the bad guys and make the world a safer place for the weak and helpless.” Scully shrugged. “He thinks he’s protecting me. I’m female. He’s a gentleman. No matter how hard I try to retrain him, he still tries to protect me. I think it’s in his bones. He can’t fight it; I’ve about given up trying. That’s who he is, and I really don’t want to change him…”

Crawford frowned. “He does it to protect you? That’s silly; you’re a trained agent!”

“He’s a foot taller and seventy-five pounds heavier,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m as good a shot as he is, but I can’t out-run a man, or out-fight one without resorting to weaponry, and I’m not always successful. When I was kidnapped, I…”

“You?!” Crawford stared. “That should’ve been on the news! How come I never heard about it?”

“We never released it,” she shrugged. “I was MIA for twelve weeks, and I have zero conscious memory of that time. I don’t know who had me or exactly what they did to me. I know a couple of the results: I have a few nasty nightmares, and I need a particular sort of microchip in my neck to keep me from developing cancer.”

Crawford could only stare. “Where could you find a chip that could to that inside a human body?!”

Scully shrugged. “He stole it for me out of a Pentagon storeroom.”

Crawford swallowed hard. “He stole it. Out of the Pentagon?! Our Pentagon?! Our military?!”

She nodded. “Yes. Scary, huh? The old song and dance about the evils of the military-industrial complex takes on a whole new meaning when you shuffle in the wild cards of the good aliens and the bad aliens. If the human terms ‘good’ and ‘bad’ really apply to them, which is debatable.”

Crawford stared at her. “Aliens. You mean from outside the country.”

She shook her head, smiling faintly. “Outside the atmosphere. Outside the solar system, probably. We really don’t know where they’re from. But they seem to both have designs on our planet, and to not be omnipotent, since they need local quislings to make their plans work.”

“Is that what you do?” he asked, awestruck. “Fight those quislings?”

She nodded.

“‘Aliens?’” he had to ask.

Scully shrugged. “I’m not convinced about the aliens; Mulder is. As far as fighting the conspirators, it’s almost not relevant. The organization is worldwide and very well-funded. Our time is split about seventy-thirty. Seventy percent focused on this Consortium and thirty percent on other crimes against humanity, mostly serial killers and other monsters that hunt people.”

Crawford blinked. “‘Monsters?’”

Scully settled back in the chair near her partner’s head, and nodded. “Monsters. Vampires. Werewolves. Flukeman.”

Crawford was beginning to feel like a parrot. “‘Flukeman’?”

“Best we could figure that one out, a Russian ship was out in international waters off New Jersey. The ship had been used to dispose of some of the contaminated waste from Chernobyl. One of their sailors somehow got significantly contaminated, and either jumped or was pushed overboard. He mutated, in his own form, into a human sized version of a liver fluke. He killed several people by implanting larvae in them. It was a little like the movie ALIEN,” she said thoughtfully. “When the larvae were mature enough to leave the host, the expulsion killed the host. It was quite nasty, and we didn’t manage to kill it; he got away. Well, half of him got away.”

Crawford swallowed hard. “Half?”

“He was bisected by the hatch to the sewer line. Mulder dropped it on him when he had tried to kill the head of the local water treatment plant.”

“So he died.”

“Possibly. Probably. Hopefully. Depends on how many of the attributes of the fluke he had assimilated. Flukes can regenerate amputated portions of their bodies, and it was the head end that escaped. He may be alive out there in the ocean off New Jersey.”

“Another reason to avoid the Jersey Shore,” Crawford commented. He studied her intently for a moment. “You’re not serious.”

Scully shrugged. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me. I’d show you the file, but it was lost in the fire, with over fifty years of documentation and evidence on alien encroachment and things that go ‘bump’ in the night.” She was not going to tell this man, almost a stranger, that Mulder had electronic copies of all the files stashed safely away, with the help of the Gunmen, in two different bank safe deposit boxes.

* * *

Scully passed her request up to Skinner, who asked the Director for permission and got it. The DEA had no hesitation about lending their Agent Crawford to the FBI for a short-term bodyguard detail. One of the Butcher’s earlier victims had been a friend of the DEA’s Mid-Atlantic Regional Operations Director. Once he knew who Crawford would be guarding, he gave his wholehearted and instant support.

Scully, unaware of the connection, was a little suspicious of the DEA’s readiness to cooperate, and she suspected the agency might have an ulterior motive. But Mulder trusted Crawford, so she tried not to be too suspicious of the big man.

“Dana, relax. He’s a good guy!”

“He was a good guy when you knew him,” she conceded. “You knew him for four months, twelve years ago. Pretty shaky ground, if you ask me.”

“I am asking you,” Mulder pointed out. “If you feel that way, why did you request him?”

“Because you trust him, and I want to,” she admitted. “I like him. I don’t want him to be a bad guy. I just have to stay aware that he may be.”

“He would never turn his coat,” Mulder was sure. “He’s the best.”

She studied him intently for a moment. “You profiled him? Recently?”

Mulder nodded, and tossed her a folder. A glance told her it was Crawford’s DEA dossier. “Mickey called for this when he showed up. I’m even more suspicious than you are, Scully. He’s clean. His record at DEA is almost spotless, and he hasn’t been lying to us. He’s still the good guy who tried to teach me calculus at the Academy. He’s just tougher and smarter, now.”

Scully knew that detecting falsehood like that was a skill associated with his profiler’s ability to read people and grasp their motivations and goals. So she relaxed a little, and they focused on the hunt for the Beltway Butcher.

* * *

The nightmares started on the third night.

They had rearranged the lounge to suit themselves, and the ADs had not said a word. Two of the couches had been dragged into the far corner, where, sitting at right angles, they squared off a small private space. Scully had moved in a small table that she used as a desk, with two chairs, so they could eat there. It was not much privacy, but it was enough. The others who worked on the floor had been very polite about not using the lounge except during normal working hours. They had occasionally come in to find Mulder asleep under his partner’s watchful eye, but had kept quiet enough, out of respect for what he had endured, that his sleep was not disturbed by those occasional visits.

Mulder was sacked out on his couch, as comfortable, he had assured Scully, as he would have been at home. Scully was sleeping on the other couch, but when Mulder started whimpering in his sleep, the sound disturbed Scully who was decidedly not as comfortable as she would have been at home, snuggled in her queen-size bed under her favorite down quilt.

Mulder was moving restlessly, deep in REM sleep, and she frowned. He was dreaming, and she was sure that was a bad thing.

He was panting, now, gasping for breath, plainly in pain. Scully got up, knelt beside him. “Mulder, wake up…”

She reached out to touch his shoulder, to shake him lightly.

Mulder screamed at her touch, flinching violently from the contact.

“Mulder! It’s me!”

Panting desperately, Mulder stared at Scully for a moment, visibly reorienting himself. Then he wilted, burying his face in his arms.

“Mulder…?”

He did not respond to her. He was shivering, and fighting to get his breathing under control, but the panic reaction had made him move without any concern for his injuries, and now he was in pain.

* * *

Assistant Director Jana Cassidy stumbled down the hall. She had been out of town for a month, attending her grandmother’s funeral and assisting her own mother in dealing with the legal inevitabilities of being executor of the will. Her plane had landed an hour ago, and she had a briefing scheduled in two. All she was hoping for was a functional coffee maker, so she could get some real caffeine into her system before her own division heads met with her in her office to update her. She had two hours, and she needed a shower, too…

She pushed open the door to the AD’s lounge in time to hear a familiar voice moan, “God, Scully…!”

Cassidy froze. She could see a man on the couch in the corner. His back was to her, but even in this dim light she could see that he was not wearing a shirt; his shoulders were bare. She had recognized his voice, too.

\That’s Fox Mulder! What the hell is going on here?!\

Even as the thought became clear, Mulder threw back his head. He was breathing hard, and Cassidy could see the movement in front of him, nearer the floor, that was another person; from the glimmer of red hair, that other person was Mulder’s partner, Dana Scully, kneeling on the floor in front of him.

\Of all the NERVE!\ Cassidy fumed. \It’s bad enough that Mulder thumbs his nose at authority at every possible moment, but to turn the AD Lounge into a love nest !\ She stalked across the room with every intention of causing coitus interruptus with all possible distress, before writing up both agents for censure.

But as she came around to get a better view, she was stunned into immobility.

Mulder’s body and left thigh were streaked with blood. Wide elastic bandaging wrapped around his body was stained with fresh blood. Scully was on her knees in front of him, replacing torn stitches in his thigh. He was panting from pain, not arousal.

“Oh, my God—!” The words were jarred out of her.

Mulder’s eyes were closed, and he did not look at her; he was trying to maintain some control over his pain. Scully looked up and glared at her.

“Do you mind…?”

Assistant Director Jana Cassidy fled.

* * *

A little while later Mulder was cleaned up and re-stitched, asleep on his couch, snugly tucked in. Scully was cleaning up the medical detritus when Skinner knocked and peeked in.

“Scully?”

“C’mon in, sir.”

He walked across the room cautiously. “I understand you were interrupted a little while ago.”

Scully smiled faintly. “AD Cassidy seemed somewhat startled…”

“She thought the two of you were in here um…” He hesitated.

“Acting inappropriately?” Scully suggested politely.

“Yes,” he nodded with undisguised relief.

“Even if Agent Mulder and I had a relationship like that, it would have been far too risky under present conditions, sir,” she grinned faintly, amused at his discomfiture. “We’re getting interrupted too often to have any confidence in our privacy.”

Skinner nodded slowly. “That’s why you’re dressed like that?” He nodded at the floor-length dark green satin robe she was wearing over matching pajamas. Her feet encased in matching slippers, she was completely covered except her hands and her face. Her business suits were more revealing.

Scully nodded. “Yes. I refuse to sleep in my clothes, but I agree that neither Mulder nor I would be safe at home. Our connection is too commonly known; if the Butcher wanted Mulder, he could easily get to him through me. I won’t risk putting that kind of stress on Mulder, now.”

“Speaking of your partner,” Skinner said quietly, “how is he? Jana said she saw a lot of blood…”

Scully blinked at the use of AD Cassidy’s given name. “He’s all right. He had a nightmare, and pulled out some stitches, flexed his ribs badly. He was in a lot of pain. But I gave him his medication, fixed the stitches…” She let her voice trail off as she glanced at her partner, soddenly asleep. “I sneaked a Valium tab into the handful of pills he takes. He didn’t notice.”

“So he’ll be out for a while?”

“I expect him to be stirring around lunch time.”

Skinner nodded thoughtfully. “Why don’t you take a break, then, too, Scully. The two of you have been on this case 24/7 for days. You both need a break.”

Scully laughed shortly. “I can’t leave him like this. Not without telling him.” She wanted to add an explanation of Mulder’s wounded psyche, but was suddenly uncomfortable about exposing her partner and, inevitably, herself.

“You’ve been totally focused on your partner and on this case from the moment it hit the news,” Skinner sighed. “Just take a break from it, Scully. If you don’t want to leave, invite someone in to visit with you. Think about something else for a few hours. Clear your head. God knows it will all be here waiting for you when you get back!”

She studied him for a long moment. “You’re serious.”

“Absolutely.”

She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again.

“What? C’mon, Scully…”

“Do…do you think we could sneak my mom into the building past the press and then back out again?”

Skinner squared his shoulders. “Scully, do you think you’re talking to amateurs? Of course we can do that. You sit tight, here, and I’ll send someone out to get her.”

She smiled at him, and he was startled to see how fragile that smile was. “Thank you, sir.”

* * *

An hour later Scully had had time to run down to the gym and grab a shower, wash her hair and get back up to the lounge. She had hurried because she did not want to be out of earshot of her partner if he woke up early. Dressed in dark grey slacks and a scarlet silk blouse, she had not yet shrugged on her jacket. Her nylon-encased feet were stuck into her slippers. She was making fresh coffee and considering what to ask the cafeteria to send up for breakfast when there was a knock on the door.

“Dana?”

“Mom!”

The door opened and in a moment she was in her mother’s arms. Dana found herself hanging on for dear life and sobbing. It was some time before she could get herself under control enough to talk.

“Oh, God, Mom, I’ve missed you…!”

Margaret Scully held onto her daughter and let her cry. “I’ve been home, sweetheart. You could have dropped by any time.”

Scully pushed herself away from her mother, glad she had not yet put on her makeup. She smiled wanly. “No, I couldn’t.”

“Is that why I’m here, now?”

Scully frowned. “Didn’t AD Skinner explain?”

“I haven’t seen him. An Agent Bender and an Agent Franklin came to my door and asked me to accompany them here to see you and Fox. They didn’t say anything about why, just that Assistant Director Skinner had sent them to ask me to come.”

* * *

Margaret Scully stayed for three hours, learning more than she had ever cared to know about how the FBI worked and how it treated her daughter. She left before Mulder woke up because Scully insisted.

“It’s dangerous for you to be seen here, Mom. This suspect hasn’t targeted a woman yet, but that could change in a heartbeat if he feels threatened or sees a way to regain his machismo by hurting Mulder again. Indirect pain would work. Please, Mom.”

Being out of her personal comfort zone, Margaret yielded and left the building, this time in the company of two different agents.

* * *

Three days later, Scully was ready to start emulating the Butcher, herself, though she fantasized about targeting a few of the other agents on the Task Force, and several who were not, just because their personal quirks that were driving her crazy.

They were all thoroughly frustrated. Skinner was beginning to feel like a lion-tamer who’d forgotten his whip and chair.

Mulder was doing significantly better; but he was always tired. As his body healed, his mind recovered the energy to throw the horrors of his experience back at him. He had hardly had three hours of sleep in a row since that one long eighteen hour stretch. Much to their dismay, the sound of any male voice —even Skinner’s or Sky’s— was frequently enough to trigger a nightmare if he overheard it in his sleep. Only Scully’s voice could wake him up out of the nightmare. He had awakened several times to find himself sobbing in her arms, whimpering his terror, with his wrists crossed as if bound.

She had not allowed him to be embarrassed. She had, instead, sent Kip down to supplies for another couch, which she had him set up in their office, so the ADs could use their lounge, again. Mulder needed the privacy of their own office, a place where only he and Scully spent time. He was even a little wary of letting Crawford into that private space, but Sky’s undisguised horror at what had been done to his friend and his staunch support had done a lot to keep Mulder on an even keel.

The investigation was stagnated. Despite everything Mulder could rake out of his memory, nothing was enough to get an ID on the Butcher. He had not taken a new victim, and there had been no suspicious activity near Mulder’s apartment. A convoy of three cars and nine agents had taken Mulder to his checkup on Wednesday at the outpatient clinic.

Thursday, Friday and Saturday had inched by with a lot of work being attempted but without progress or success. There were no abandoned cars found with the telltale bit of butcher’s string dangling from the rearview mirror. There were no missing person reports that fit the description of the Butcher’s typical target. Agents with Polaroid cameras had gone through all the morgues and all the recent admissions in all the area hospitals without finding anyone who fit the description of the Butcher.

Even Mulder was beginning to think the unthinkable.

Scully stared at him when he broached the topic. “You’re kidding, right, Mulder?”

Crawford, equally shocked, kept quiet, watching the two spar. He had learned, over the last few days, how much their discussions, sometimes mistaken for arguments, clarified the situation for everyone.

He shrugged as he settled back on his couch in the lounge. “There hasn’t been any sign of him for nearly a week, Scully. This isn’t the guy I was profiling: he wouldn’t have given up and he was escalating when he caught me. Something’s happened to him. If we can find convincing evidence that he’s dead, we could all go back to business as usual.”

“You don’t think he’s run away, do you?”

He shuddered. “No. I don’t think he’s afraid of being caught. I think he’s interested in maintaining his freedom, but I don’t think he’s capable of restraining himself from violence for much longer. He’s been escalating, and my escape infuriated him.”

Scully remembered the man she had seen so briefly that night, and nodded. He had been red-faced with rage when she had drawn her weapon and attempted to arrest him. “Could he have just left town? He had your ID, so he knew you’re an FBI agent, so he couldn’t get beyond your jurisdiction, but maybe he was willing to get out of DC.”

“You’ve been keeping the entire Metro area up-to-date, haven’t you?”

“We’ve been involving the local FBI offices,” she answered him carefully. “The local PDs are given all the advisories, but we haven’t gotten anything back from most of them. And VICAP is still voluntary; they don’t have to share information with us.”

Mulder looked thoughtful. “Maybe we should call around, see if anybody’s found something that they aren’t certain fits in, something they don’t want to bother us with…”

Scully grinned at him. “How very adroit, Mulder.”

He grinned back at her. “You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

“Good idea. Sky can help.”

Crawford grinned. “So can Mickey and Kip. Let’s use the task force office. There’s a phone bank in there.”

“Okay.” Mulder did not argue when Crawford brought him his wheelchair. They went upstairs to the task force office together and started the process of checking with every police department within a hundred and fifty mile radius of DC.

* * *

Scully paused between phone calls to stretch. She had been keeping watch on her partner, and she knew he was just about done. He was moving very slowly, and he had been staring blankly at his phone for several minutes, making no attempt to dial again.

“Mulder?”

He did not react.

“Mulder.” Her voice was marginally more sharp.

His reaction was a flinch; a small one, to be sure, but definitely a flinch. All Scully’s interior alarms started sounding. He looked up toward her, but his eyes were not focused.

“Quittin’ time?” she asked gently.

“Yeah. Help me?” His voice was almost inaudible.

That got everyone’s attention. Previously he had always tolerated her aid, had subtly resisted. He had never asked for help before. Crawford and Mickey Bender frowned worriedly. Kip Calvaneso was frozen in the doorway; he had just gone for fresh coffee.

She glanced at the others. “You guys finish the calls, okay?”

“Sure, Scully. Go take a nap, Rad.” Sky sounded totally normal.

Scully threw him a grateful glance, but Mulder did not appear to hear. He was limp in the chair, his head resting back against Scully’s body as she pushed the wheelchair down the hall toward the elevators.

Once they were alone in their own office he leaned on the right arm of the wheelchair but made no move to get up.

Frightened, now —he had been improving, and this appeared to be a relapse— Scully knelt in front of him so she could see his face. Her hands were on his knees.

“Mulder,” she spoke very softly. “What’s wrong?”

He looked down at her and shuddered, looking away. “I’m scared.”

She was shocked at the admission. “Scared? Of what?”

“Of him. I’m scared to find him, Scully. I don’t want to ever see that face again.” His voice was barely audible, and Scully was not reassured.

“You’d be a fool not to be afraid of him. He nearly made you his seventeenth kill, and he hurt you very badly before you outsmarted him and escaped.”

He avoided looking at her. “What if I’m blocking out his face?” he blurted. “What if I’ve just passed right by his photo and never recognized him because I’m afraid to see him? He’s still out there. When he kills again it will be my fault… and I don’t think I can live with that…”

She settled on the floor in front of him, and took both his hands in hers. His hands were cold, and she rubbed them until they were warm again.

“Whatever he does, he is responsible for, not you. And I don’t think your subconscious would protect you from a little fear just to protect a killer. Maybe all this silence just means that he’s a little stronger than we suspected, and he’s fighting the compulsion because he really, really wants to finish with you before he goes on to new victims.”

He shuddered. “You have no idea how much that terrifies me,” he admitted in a low voice.

“You aren’t alone. Between me and Sky, and the rest of the team, even if he could penetrate building security, he won’t get near you.”

He was fighting back tears, and did not answer her.

“Mulder, you were expecting Post Traumatic Stress. This is it. Accept it; you knew it was coming…”

He crumbled, physically and emotionally, into her arms.

Scully caught him as he half-fell out of the wheelchair to huddle in her lap, sobbing.

The door opened, and Kip stuck his head in. “Agent Scully, Assistant Director Skinner wants-”

“Out!” Scully snapped, throwing him a glare powerful enough to scorch him.

He fled.

Mulder cried himself to sleep in her arms. She did not try to move him off the thinly carpeted floor. When she was sure he was asleep, she pulled a pillow down off the couch —she had to stretch to reach it— and slid it under his head as she slid out from beneath him. A blanket was suddenly handed to her, and she looked up, startled, to see Skinner’s solemn face. She covered Mulder where he lay, and accepted her supervisor’s silent offer of a hand up off the floor.

“When…? Oh. Kip called you, didn’t he?” Scully realized.

Skinner nodded. “He was frightened. I was just worried. Is he okay? What happened?”

Scully walked to the back of their office. “He’s too uncomfortable on the floor to sleep long, and he’ll need help to get up,” she explained, her voice soft. “Coffee, sir?”

“No, thanks. Scully, is he okay? What happened?”

Scully went to her desk and tested the contents of her mug: she had made a sort of cafe mocha by stirring a packet of hot cocoa mix into a cup of coffee. Unfortunately, that had been some hours before. Only after she tested it and made a face at the taste of the beverage long gone cold did she turn and face her supervisor.

“Let’s face reality here, sir,” she drawled. “Fox Mulder hasn’t been okay since November 27, 1973. Sometimes he can pretend he’s okay with great success, but it is pretense.”

“That didn’t look like pretense,” Skinner observed gently.

“No. It may have been a panic attack. Remember I told you he was expecting Post Traumatic Stress reactions?”

Skinner nodded grimly. He remembered his own.

“He has been anticipating having nightmares. The first two nights he was too tired to do much more than minimal dreaming. But he warned me that when they started they were going to be bad.” She looked up and pinned Skinner with her eyes. “He underestimated that a bit.”

Skinner shuddered. He knew that she was sleeping here in the building, unable to leave Mulder alone. Crawford was staying at a hotel only a half mile away, and only leaving when ordered. Skinner had caught him sleeping in chairs in the conference room twice. “I thought Mulder was napping more. Catching up?”

She nodded. “I knew it would surface during waking hours. It was only a matter of time. The self-recrimination and guilt just got the better of him.”

Skinner was floored. “Guilt? Recrimination?! For what, for God’s sake? He’s—”

“Shh!” she snarled, and Skinner backed down. Scully kept going. “He’s so scared of being that man’s victim again that he’s afraid his subconscious might let him bypass the guy’s ID photo because the man’s face is so much a reminder of what he suffered.”

Skinner opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. “Is that possible?” he asked finally.

Scully shrugged, put down her coffee, and hugged herself. “He thinks so, and he’s the psychologist. But I don’t think fear is enough of a motivator. Guilt is stronger in Mulder. I don’t think he would, even subconsciously, protect himself at someone else’s expense.”

Slowly, Skinner nodded. “I’ve seen the self-destructive side of Mulder’s personality before. And he’s always had more guts than brains. I think you’re right.”

“Well, right now, he’s scared to death,” Scully pointed out. “He thinks that’s dominant, right now, and he hates it, and he’s ashamed of it.”

“Everyone’s ashamed of being afraid,” he reminded her.

“He knows he’s not like anyone else. He just doesn’t always see that as an asset.”

“That’s our failing, not his,” Skinner said softly. “We have the responsibility to show him how much we value his presence in our lives.”

Scully stared at him. Skinner squirmed, a little uncomfortable under her steady stare. They both heard the timid knock on the office door, and Agent Calvaneso’s hesitant question.

“Agent Scully? Are you here?”

“Yes, Kip what is it?”

The young man entered hesitantly, as if expecting her to bite his head off again. “Have you seen the AD?” Then he saw Skinner standing up. “Sir. They’ve found another body.”

On the floor, Mulder moved, and was immediately the center of everyone’s attention. He sat up with some visible difficulty, and blinked away sleep. “Let’s go—” he sighed as he fought to stand up.

Scully planted herself between him and the door and glared down at him. “Sit back down, Mulder! You’re not going anywhere.”

He stared up at her. “Scully…”

“You are not going out there, Mulder,” she repeated. “You’re wounded, you’re exhausted…”

“Scully…!”

“I’m not letting you go out there. Forget it. You can work from photographs. You’re staying here, where you’ll be safe!”

He took a deep breath and marshaled his arguments. “I don’t want anyone dying in my place,” he protested quietly.

“I don’t want anyone dying,” she growled at him. “But if anyone gets put at risk, it will not be you!”

Mulder looked to their supervisor for back-up.

Skinner shook his head. “Forget it, Mulder. We aren’t risking your life for something as trivial as a seventeenth body.”

“A dead person is never trivial!” Mulder spat.

“Agent Mulder, there is no valid reason for you to examine that crime scene in person,” Skinner said flatly. “I’ll get you a satellite uplink so you can have live remote feed from the scene. You can direct the agents on-scene as you will; you will have the digital video and stills to study after the fact. You are far too valuable to the Bureau for us to risk your life on such a low-priority exercise.” He held up his hand to forestall Mulder’s heated protest. “Stop. You are correct; each person’s life is infinitely valuable. I do not want to de-value this latest victim. But neither will I de-value your life. We will keep you safe, Mulder, because if we lose you, the murderer goes on, and more people die.”

Mulder was shocked. No one had ever told him, up front and with authority, that the Bureau really valued him for his contributions to the public good. He knew he had been used to improve the Bureau’s public image, on occasion, but this was different. Rendered speechless, he could only stare as Skinner ordered Scully to stay with him and left to take command of the crime scene himself.

* * *

It was hours later when a commotion out in the hall disturbed Mulder out of a fitful sleep.

“What the—?”

Scully, who had been curled up in the easy chair beside him, sat up tiredly. The noise had awakened her, too. “I don’t know.”

The argument out in the hall got louder, and the partners recognized Skinner’s voice. The other voice was less familiar.

“Damn it, sir, he deserves to know!”

“He doesn’t need to know this,” Skinner growled. “Don’t you think Mulder’s been through enough? Cut the man a little slack, here…!”

The other voice came right back. “He deserves to know,

and you know it. He’s—”

“He’s awake!” Mulder raised his voice.

There was silence in the hall for a moment. Then the door opened, and Skinner leaned in. “Mulder?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you awake?”

“Because people are arguing loudly and talking about keeping something of some significance from me,” Mulder growled, refusing to yield to his supervisor’s glare.

Skinner looked away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

The other man stepped forward, then. “I’m Sandy Kelly,” he introduced himself. “Mickey Bender’s partner. We supervised the crime scene investigation of the latest body.”

Mulder nodded. “All right. Cut to the chase.”

“There was a note pinned to the body with your badge,” Kelly said quietly.

Mulder swallowed. The Butcher’s victims were all naked when found, so the badge had to have been driven into flesh. “Go on.”

“It greeted you by name, and warned that no one you know is safe.”

Mulder fought back the guilt and terror that swept through him. “Any ID on the body?”

Kelly had to shrug. “Not yet. Fingerprints and dental records pending.”

“There’s nobody you know on the missing list, Mulder,” Skinner reminded him. “I put guards on the families of all Task Force and ISU agents, everyone in the Coroner’s Office, and on your mother and Mrs. Scully. Did I miss anyone you want covered?”

Mulder wilted back against the couch, then bent and scrubbed at his face. “I’ll let you know,” he said calmly, his voice low and rusty. “I was dreaming of a woman screaming for her baby. Now I’m scared.”

Kelly stared at him. “Mickey and his wife Lauren had a baby three weeks ago.”

Skinner was reaching for his phone when it rang.

* * *

Mulder was in the Task Force’s main office, studying his relationships board, pacing back and forth, full of nervous energy. Mickey Bender’s wife Lauren and newborn daughter Alia were missing; their FBI bodyguards were dead, stunned from behind and their throats slit.

Mulder would not allow Mickey to be excluded from the action. Scully had given him a sedative when he could not stop crying, and they let him sleep it off on one of the couches in the lounge.

“I don’t think Lauren and the baby are in much danger right now,” he announced to the room in general. “Killing women isn’t what he does.”

“Then why did he take her?” Scully played Devil’s Advocate, since no one else in the room had the nerve to address ‘Spooky’ Mulder under these circumstances.

He stopped pacing to face her. “He’s going to want to trade her and the baby for me.”

“Not likely!” Skinner growled.

Mulder glanced at him. “Two innocent civilians, one a newborn? We don’t have a choice.”

Scully swallowed hard; she could only agree, but the thought was horrifying. “So how do we arrange this so he doesn’t kill you this time?”

Mulder smiled slowly, and Skinner shivered. It was not an ordinary smile: there was something about it that chilled him to the bone. He watched as Mulder picked up the nearest phone and dialed for an outside line.

“Hi. It’s me. Turn off the tape.”

Skinner and Scully stared at Mulder, surprised. When Skinner glanced at Scully for an explanation, she shrugged, her smile widening as she began to speculate.

“I believe you’ve met Mulder’s friends the Gunmen?”

Skinner nodded shortly. “Why, though? Why now?”

Before Scully could reply, her cell phone trilled. Frowning, she pulled it out. “Scully.”

“Ah, Agent Scully,” an unfamiliar voice purred in her ear. “Let me speak to Agent Mulder, please.”

A thrill of terror went through her. This was the voice of the ambulance driver; the voice of the Butcher, himself.

“Agent Mulder’s on another line,” she said calmly. “Can I help you?”

“No, I must speak to Agent Mulder,” the voice lost its affability abruptly.

“He’s not available at the moment. Would you like to leave me your number? He’ll be able to call you back shortly.”

“No, he won’t,” the voice snarled. “I’ll be busy killing Lauren Bender. Now put him on the phone!”

Scully kept her composure with an effort. “I believe Agent Mulder is free, now. Just a moment.” She held the phone against her body and faced her partner.

He had heard most of her side of the conversation and he was frowning; he did not like the tension he could see in her. He started toward her. “Scully?”

‘It’s him,’ she mouthed the words.

Mulder understood at once. “Hang on a moment, Fro’,” he said into the phone he held. Then he set it down and reached for the cell she held. “Mulder,” he said cheerfully.

Skinner and Scully watched as Mulder listened. He flinched at the first words spoken, but his back stayed straight and his voice did not waver when he replied. Mulder was careful not to antagonize the man because he had Mrs. Bender and the baby in his power.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll be there.” He pushed END and let himself sag against the wall for a moment.

“Mulder?” That was Skinner; Scully had not bothered to speak, but was standing close beside her partner, her hand featherlight on his.

Mulder took a deep breath and forced himself to straighten up.

“Surprise; yes, that was our suspect,” he said calmly.

“He wants to trade Lauren Bender and the baby for me.” Skinner nodded warily. “As you predicted. Where and when?”

“10758 Maplewood Road, Bellington, Virginia, 7pm tonight.”

Skinner nodded thoughtfully. “I’m calling HRT.”

Mulder let himself relax a little. The Hostage Rescue Team, also sometimes called the Hostile Response Team, was the FBI’s SWAT unit, ninety-one of the toughest men in law enforcement.

“Can they get there in time?” Scully asked.

Mulder glanced at his wrist and made a face. “Dammit, the bastard took my watch, too!”

Sky Crawford, who had showed up while Mulder was on the phone with the Butcher and had kept quiet, chuckled. “So we’ll add another count of robbery when we book him,” he drawled. “It’s not four o’clock, yet, but where’s that town? I never heard of it.”

Kip Calvaneso looked up from his computer. “Driving directions are complicated, sir, and this site estimates that the trip will take ninety-five minutes from here. That doesn’t leave us much time.”

Mulder picked up the office phone again. “Fro’, how fast can you get here?” He listened. Then he went to the printer and scanned quickly through the travel directions that Calvaneso had printed out. “Meet us at County Road 237 and Simpson, just over the Virginia State line. Sixty to sixty-five minutes.”

He hung up and stretched carefully. Then he turned toward Scully. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Scully did not move. She was frozen, staring at him.

“Scully, it’ll be all right; I’ve got a plan.”

She shuddered, cold to the bone.

* * *

County Road 237 was a two-lane blacktop, the kind of old trucking route that predated the interstate highway system and survived because it went through small towns that the interstates had bypassed. The intersection of Simpson and 237 was just outside Loudon County, where the hostage exchange was scheduled. It was marked by a tractor and farm equipment dealer, a boarded-up fruit stand, a cornfield and a cow pasture.

The quintet of FBI fleet sedans parked neatly along the edge of the fruit stand’s lot looked only slightly less out of place than the battered old Ford Econoline van that the Gunmen had driven.

Inside the van, Frohike and Langly were working fast and efficiently with Jewelianna Olivencia of Technical Support. Mulder was slowly re-buttoning his shirt. Scully was standing outside the van, watching him through the open sliding door and destroying her manicure.

Finally Mulder climbed out of the van and joined her. He put his hands on her shoulders lightly. “Scully, relax. Please. This’ll work. It’ll be all right.”

“How can you say that?” she snapped at him, pulling free. “How do you know he won’t just shoot you?”

“He won’t.” Mulder was totally confident. “He needs to kill me the way he killed the others, or his pattern isn’t restored. That’s why he needs me back: to restore the pattern. Serials are slaves to their kill ritual, Scully. You know that. If he has any choices, he’ll try to maintain the ritual as best he can.”

She shuddered and he hugged her. “The Gunmen are good at what they do and I’m wired. I’ll be okay.”

The Gunmen had brought three layers of tracking equipment and Olivencia had supplied FBI standard to make a fourth.

Four homing beacons, each on a different frequency, had been swallowed. Three more, each on three more different frequencies, were glued to his scalp, masquerading as hair. Three more, on yet more different frequencies, had been carefully threaded into the cuts on his arms and legs, underneath the stitches. Olivencia had been stunned at the technology represented by the hair-fine filaments that the Gunmen proved were just as effective at the short distances available to them at the site. The briefcases contained the tunable receivers that they calibrated, checked and re-checked. There was almost no chance that all ten of the covert homers could fail or be discovered, or that all three receivers would fail.

“He isn’t likely to be able to discover and/or block all of this, Agent Scully,” Frohike assured her. He had finished his work and stepped out to join them. “And any of these receivers can pick up any of the homers. We aren’t going to risk losing him again.”

She shuddered. It had been very hard to insert those wires inside his wounds, since the whole point would have been negated if the Butcher was made suspicious by new stitches. She had had to hurt him, and the memory of it still bothered her.

“Stop it,” he spoke to her gently. “He’s going to hurt me. I’m resigned to that. But then you and Skinner and Sky and the guys in HRT are going to swoop down and rescue me, and everything will turn out fine.”

* * *

They saw no sign of HRT; Mulder was reasonably sure that the HRT unit had gone in by helicopter and were already in place, surrounding the house. They were experts at skulking and sneaking.

“He didn’t say anything about coming alone?” Skinner asked for at least the third time since they had left the corner rendezvous.

“Nope. Probably knew I wouldn’t, no matter what. He knows I’m an FBI agent.”

“Mulder?” Scully waited until he turned to face her. “You said he didn’t use handcuffs on you because he based a value judgment on your phobic responses?”

Mulder nodded shortly.

“Why does it frighten me so much that he isn’t trying to isolate you?”

Mulder looked thoughtful. “I suspect he has very little respect for law enforcement at the best of times,” he said slowly. “As far as we know, his other victims were all civilians. So his only real data on law enforcement is me. I was no more difficult to capture than any of his other victims, I presented poorly, but I escaped; I recovered physically quickly and taunted him on television, but we still haven’t caught him. Conflicting messages.”

“So how will he deal with that contradiction?” Skinner asked from the front seat.

Mulder gnawed on his lip. “If each fact had equal value, it might very well be a paralyzing conflict,” he said slowly. “He caught me and he hurt me. I haven’t caught him, and he’s got a plan in place that includes hurting me more… so I guess he’s ahead on points.”

“I don’t like this, Mulder.”

Mulder forced himself to relax and close his eyes. “Neither do I, sir. But we can’t let anything happen to Lauren or the baby.”

Scully forced herself to sit still. There was nothing she could say, after all. ‘Protect and Serve’ was why each and every one of them had chosen law enforcement as a career.

* * *

The address on Maplewood was an old farmhouse set back from the road, surrounded by vacant and weedy pastures. The barn was shaky-looking and its main door was hanging ajar. Lightning had taken down a tall sycamore tree in the side yard and it had fallen on the back of the house. Mulder decided it must have happened early in a thunderstorm, since the fire had stayed small. The house had a damaged roof but was still fairly sound and might remain so for years.

The fleet sedans parked in a neat row on the street out front. Skinner, in the last car, made sure an especially thick patch of shrubbery was hiding him from the house, and cued his portable radio.

“Lieutenant Dunbar?”

The static was squelched so low it could not be heard in the back seat. “On location and ready, sir.”

“Roger that,” Skinner nodded. “Stand by; operation about to commence.”

“Wilco.”

Skinner turned to study the two agents in the back seat. “How do you want to play this, Mulder?”

Mulder shrugged. “He’ll tell us what to do to get Lauren and the baby back. Until they’re safe, we do what he says.”

“And not a moment longer!” Scully snapped.

The chirping of her cell phone brought silence. She picked it up and hit SEND. “Scully.”

“Not you!”

Wordlessly, she handed the cell phone to her partner.

“Mulder.” He listened intently for several minutes, then hit END and handed the phone back to his partner.

“Well?” the AD demanded.

“Just like some old Cold War prisoner exchange,” Mulder explained. “I start up the driveway. Lauren and the baby start down the driveway. Ideally, she gets to the curb about the time I get to the door.”

“No,” Skinner said calmly. “You are NOT to put yourself back into his hands, Mulder. When you reach Lauren, you stop. Act as a rear guard for her, or stand and taunt him into coming out and into range. You aren’t going inside that house! That’s an order!”

“Sir…”

“You will not give him the opportunity to use you as a hostage, Mulder.” Skinner was implacable. “This is about removing all choices for him but surrender. You understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” Mulder wilted a little, leaned back into his seat and scrubbed at his face. “He’s got my weapon, remember.”

“That’s why you’re wearing body armor,” Scully reminded him gently. “Now go fake him out of his hostages. I want to go home.”

The other agents in the other cars emerged when Skinner did. The plan had been discussed, by radio, the entire time they had been on the road from DC. Everyone knew what to do.

The grim-faced agents, all wearing Kevlar under their suits, lined up across the frontage and then spread themselves more thinly, so they could watch the back of the house in case their UNSUB bolted.

The last agent out was Mulder, who suddenly seemed both tired and unsure. He moved slowly, with evident pain and Scully frowned. “Mulder?”

He was not yet facing the house; he was leaning on the car. “I’m okay, Scully. This is for him, not for real. He’s watching.”

She swallowed hard, and then went to him, put a concerned hand on his back, the other on his wrist. “Are you sure you can do this?”

“I’m sure.”

She stepped back with visible reluctance. “Go for it.” Instead of thinking about how scared she was, or he was, she glanced over at Mickey Bender.

He was standing, pale but steady, right beside AD Skinner. He was terrified, but he refused to be left behind.

Mulder walked down the edge of the swale and stopped at the end of the driveway. “On your mark!” he called toward the house.

Fully twenty separate seconds elapsed before the front door opened and a woman became visible there. In her arms she cradled her newborn daughter, who was squalling and waving her arms around.

Mulder studied Lauren Bender’s face intently. She was terrified, certainly; so was he. But she was not wavering, and her back was straight. She had not surrendered to her fear, yet.

Scully scanned the hostages, looking for injuries. She did not see any, and allowed herself to relax fractionally. There was a possibility of a happy ending here.

Laura smiled tightly when her eyes caught Mulder’s. “Set?” she called, her voice trembling only a little.

Mulder nodded, then flinched slightly when a third voice, from the house, snarled, “Go!”

The first step was the hardest. He heard someone behind him pull back the slide on a Glock to load the first round, and relaxed a little. It was wonderfully reassuring to know that he had a team behind him.

The second step was easier.

Lauren was moving more quickly than he was; she was in better shape and she had the baby to think about. That was fine with Mulder; the farther she came the safer they would both be.

The driveway was gravel and Mulder did not want to fall on it, so he was careful as he limped along. The limp was feigned but effective: it was why he was moving so slowly, and his slow pace was helping Lauren move father away from the house.

It was becoming more and more difficult to move. The air felt as if it was becoming thick as molasses. He puzzled at that sensation, worried at it like a dog with a bone. Something about this entire setup felt very wrong. He felt tension growing in his gut, in his back and body. The urge to turn and run back to the safety of the car where Scully and Skinner waited was powerful and becoming more so with every step he took.

There was something wrong about the house. He studied it, analyzed it, but could not put his finger on the wrongness. It was just there.

By this time, Lauren was only a few yards away, and he could see that she was staring at him with desperation showing in her eyes. He could hardly force himself to move through the wrongness, but somehow he managed to smile at her. She was too upset to smile back, but it was clear that she had something to say. As they approached, Mulder spoke first, keeping his voice very soft so the Butcher would not hear.

“Is he really in there, Lauren?”

She nodded. “Don’t go in there, Agent Mulder. He’s got a bomb set up; it’s big enough to demolish the house.”

That crystalized his decision. “Run, Lauren; Mickey’s waiting for you.”

“But…!”

“Run! Now!”

She ran.

A howl of rage came from the house, followed, as Mulder had expected, by gunfire. He turned to follow Lauren, hoping that he could interfere with the Butcher’s aim by offering two targets. Given the choice of killing the woman, who meant nothing to him, or killing Mulder, his escaped prey, surely he would aim at the agent…

Scully wanted nothing so much as to be out there with her partner. Her best friend was out there in the open, voluntarily walking toward his enemy, willing to offer himself up to death by torture in order to save a woman and baby he had never met.

There seemed to be no way for her to keep him safe; she knew that if she screwed this up, Mulder, Lauren and the baby would die.

Her teeth ground together so hard that Skinner glanced at her, startled. He could not see her fingernails punching holes in her palms.

When Lauren started to run, Scully gasped. The plan was breaking down.

Gunfire brought out the expected response from the watching agents: they began to return fire, hoping to give Lauren and Mulder some cover.

Lauren flung herself into her husband’s arms, sobbing, just as Mulder went down hard on the gravel driveway and did not move.

“Mulder!” Scully abandoned her post and ran forward.

Skinner made a grab for her, missed and started after her. He had only taken one step when the house exploded.

The blast knocked Scully off her feet and flung her backwards several yards. When she could move again, she found that she was covered in debris. She rolled over and found that it was just a thin layer of wood splinters and dust. She brushed it all aside without difficulty and sat up.

Her head hurt and felt thick. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, and slowly realized that she was watching Skinner and the other agents struggling out from under debris just as she had done. She looked the other way and saw a skirmish line of HRT agents coming out of the woods. Between them and herself was the wreckage of the house, burning.

There was nothing left of it that was recognizable.

Nothing.

A cold drench of adrenaline shoved her to her feet, sent her stumbling toward the house. “Mulder! MULDER!!!”

Sky Crawford looked up a few minutes later and saw Scully struggling to move chunks of debris that were larger than she was. He limped over to help her. In a few moments the rest of the team from headquarters was taking down the pile. It took them only a few minutes to uncover Mulder’s still form.

Scully dropped to her knees beside him and her hands went to his face and throat, seeking a pulse, while her eyes roved over him, evaluating his condition.

Looking over her shoulder, Crawford was worried: his friend had been awfully close to that blast.

“Get me an ambulance,” Scully ordered, not bothering to look up to see who acknowledged the order.

Skinner was reaching for his cell phone when a hand on his arm stopped him. It was the HRT CO, Lieutenant Dunbar, who had just joined the group. His men were guarding a perimeter that included the burning house, the debris field and their cars.

“Our transport is two minutes away, sir,” the lieutenant offered quietly. “And it has the range to get him to Walter Reed.”

Skinner shook his head and smiled grimly. “His favorite team of trauma specialists are at Northwest Georgetown,” he commented. “But that’s a good idea, Neil. Call your pilot in, and thank you.”

Lt Dunbar backed a step so he would not inadvertently salute; he had been a Marine, too, and Skinner inspired that sort of thing. He pulled out his radio and took a few more steps away so he would not disturb the others.

“Mulder, lie still!”

They all turned at Scully’s sharp command, to see Mulder trying to sit up. He was plainly in pain, and it was Skinner on one side and Crawford on the other who helped him sit without further stressing his broken ribs. Crawford sat down behind him, back to back, to offer some physical support.

Mulder sighed as he leaned against his friend. “Thanks, Sky.”

“You’re welcome. How bad are you?”

“I’m not hurt at all,” he insisted. “I stepped in a pothole and fell, and getting up hurts. I decided staying down couldn’t hurt as much. Then the bomb went off and I was stunned for a little while. My ears are still ringing. That’s all. Really.”

And it seemed that he really was telling the truth, Scully realized. There was no blood but from a minor scrape on the back of his hand.

The helicopter’s arrival made further conversation difficult. Skinner made his decision instantly. He pulled Scully close so he could talk into her ear and she could hear him. “Take the chopper; get Mulder back to Quantico.” He knew the chopper would not get a flight clearance into downtown DC to land at the Hoover Building. “He doesn’t need to suffer through the drive back. Take Crawford. I’ll call the crime scene technicians out here to do the wrap. Mulder’s off-duty now; do you want leave, as well?”

She nodded. This was a good plan; the hospital was much closer to their homes, saving driving time after the doctors cleared Mulder for release. She did not think he was badly hurt, but he had been too close to that explosion for her peace of mind. “Thank you, sir. Maybe I can get him to take the time to heal properly.”

Skinner grinned. “Maybe. Good luck!”

* * *

“And that was all,” Crawford concluded the tale. “Case closed but not cleared by the death of the prime suspect. I rode back in the chopper and drove them,” he waved at the partners, “back to Dana’s apartment after he was checked out at the clinic at Quantico to make sure that he hadn’t been hurt again. The next day the DEA called me back, and I was gone.”

The listeners were silent for a moment. It was Scully who smiled wickedly. “You missed the chaos of the next few days.”

Crawford frowned. “‘Chaos’? Why? What happened?”

Scully traded glances with Mulder, who shrugged. “I wrote it up as an X File and filed it under unsolved. Then I took two weeks medical leave.”

“Why?” Crawford was confused, now. “What was unsolved? Mrs. Bender’s deposition must’ve been pretty damning, and the guy had your cell phone and your weapon. How was he not the Butcher?”

Mulder sighed. “Oh, he was the Butcher; there’s little doubt of that. But we never found his body, we could never identify him, and therefore we couldn’t clear the case.”

From her chair Reyes leaned forward, frowning, clearly puzzled. “Wait a minute. Our crime scene people couldn’t find any trace of the body in the rubble of that house? Not one trace?” Mulder shook his head. “Nope. Not one iota of organic remains were ever identified.”

“That’s impossible.”

Mulder could only shrug helplessly.

Doggett snorted. “It’s not impossible; it just means he sneaked out the back way while everyone was watching you and Mrs. Bender.”

Scully smiled thinly. “If only it was that simple. No, remember, John: Neil Dunbar was up in the trees with two dozen HRT agents. They had had scopes on the house for an hour before we even arrived. Mrs. Bender testified that the man who grabbed her and her infant from her home and took her there remained with her the entire time, and he literally shoved her out the door to walk down the driveway. All he talked about the entire time was how much he was going to punish Mulder for having the audacity to escape from him. It was clearly the Butcher, and he had no opportunity to escape from the house. Yet, he was not there. It was an apparent paradox that everyone involved found extremely frustrating, but it was never resolved.”

“And you just let it drop, Mulder?” Byers was puzzled.

“I went home and slept for three days,” Mulder answered readily. “I really wasn’t in any shape to do anything else about it. When I did come back to work, the case was closed. I did pull it out every now and then; there’s no such thing as a cold X File. But some of ‘em do get cool… especially when there’s no new data.”

Langly, sitting on the floor at the far end of the room, his back against the wall, grimaced. “Here’s a new idea for you.”

Mulder turned to look at him.

Langly met his eyes unflinchingly, uncharacteristically grim. “What if this Butcher was a SuperSoldier?”

Someone in the room gasped.

“If the bomb was to cover his escape and end your pursuit… he would have lain hidden in the rubble until he reconstituted, and it wouldn’t have taken him long.” Langly was talking fast, as if he expected to be interrupted or contradicted. “Once it got dark, he could have sneaked away. Whatever agents were guarding the site while it cooled off weren’t expecting anyone to be escaping from the site, so they wouldn’t have been watching for that. By the time the crime scene guys could go in the next morning, he’d been gone for hours.”

Mulder, Scully and Skinner all stared at one another.

“That’s reasonable,” Skinner muttered.

“That’s terrifying,” Scully said finally.

Crawford could only stare. “Maybe to you it is…! ‘SuperSoldier? Reconstituted’?! Someone tell me what the hell you’re talking about!”

That earned him a round of soft chuckles.

“Remember Scully explaining to you what we did on the X Files?” Mulder inquired.

Crawford nodded. “30

man-eating monsters and 70

preventing alien colonization. I wasn’t sure I could believe that, but there was too much going on right then to make an issue of it.”

“A SuperSoldier is, to the best of our ability to determine it, a genetically altered human,” Scully took up the explanation. “Our best information to date is that certain people were abducted, subjected to involuntary gene therapy that uses, contrary to all human logic, a lethal virus. The virus kills the host. Just before the host dies, the introduced genes are activated and perform major alterations on the body: tremendously increased strength and speed, including replacing at least part of the bone structure — specifically the vertebrae— with what appears to be a malleable metal that remembers its intended structure and returns to it as soon as possible. Then the body reconstitutes around it… and the SuperSoldier is back. We haven’t found anything that will kill one permanently. Billy Miles fell several stories off a building and landed in a garbage truck that compacted him; a few hours later he was seen perfectly well, alive and healthy. They’re relentless, but they don’t seem to have any augmentation of the intellect. Thank God.”

Crawford considered. “Is that why they abducted you?” he asked his friend softly.

Mulder shuddered. “Yeah, we think so. And we still aren’t sure why it didn’t work. Billy was recovered as a three-month floater, but after a day in the hospital he just sloughed off the damaged tissue and stood up healthy and… a SuperSoldier . I’d been just as dead for just as long… but I just woke up. I heal unnaturally fast, but I’m not invulnerable and I don’t have the visible vertebrae. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Maybe it does…” Scully spoke softly. “You’ve had both the Black Oil and the vaccine for it; you’ve been exposed to the green foam virus twice. Maybe those changes interfered with whatever it was that caused Billy Miles to become a SuperSoldier .”

Mulder leaned his cheek against her thigh. “Maybe. That does seem reasonable…”

“I’m confused again,” Crawford sighed. “Black Oil? Green foam? C’mon, have pity on me, Rad!”

Without relinquishing his contact with Scully, Mulder gave him a brief —and necessarily incomplete— summary of the pertinent history. It only took a half hour, with interruptions and interjections from the others.

“Do these bounty hunters feel pain?” Crawford asked, fascinated. “What about the SuperSoldiers?

Mulder shrugged. “We don’t know.”

Doggett interrupted them. “So why would the Butcher have deliberately blown up the house and let himself burn to death? Just so you wouldn’t catch him?”

Mulder frowned thoughtfully as his mind raced. “Hmm… maybe so we’d stop chasing him. But he must have been an early model, or he wouldn’t have been acting like a serial killer. His intellect was unimpaired, but he was clearly psychologically damaged.”

“But couldn’t that have been because for some reason they started with a defective human subject?” Reyes suggested thoughtfully.

Byers chuckled. “Some poor hapless alien was sent out to abduct a suitable human and he brought back A. B. Normal the nascent serial killer.”

Mulder laughed. “Let’s hope he got fired for that goof-up!”

“But if this is true… maybe they can be subverted?” Skinner offered.

Mulder glanced at Skinner, startled at the very idea. “Billy never spoke. It was never clear if he understood words addressed to him. He certainly retained some comprehension or he wouldn’t have been able to follow Scully as effectively as he did. When we compared notes after Will was born we realized that he may have had some kind of tracker —or some kind of extra sensory input we can’t define— that was irrevocably focused on her… or on Will. The way Billy and his coterie of shadows disappeared after Will was safely born still doesn’t make any sense to us.”

It was Doggett’s turn to comment. “Knowle Rohrer is one of those things, too,” he said very quietly. “He functioned —functions!— perfectly well as an operative. He can hardly be distinguished from the man he once was.”

Mulder nodded slowly, cognizant that Doggett had lost a friend in the transformation process. “Two castes of SuperSoldiers?” he suggested. “Officers like Rohrer and Agent Crane and cannon fodder like Billy?”

Doggett nodded. “Maybe. Billy was only barely functional on a human level; Rohrer is. So there is something fundamentally different.”

“Billy Miles was a multiple abductee,” Scully suggested.

“Maybe Rohrer wasn’t?”

Doggett shrugged. “We don’t have any data on Rohrer’s life.”

“Maybe we should acquire some,” Byers said quietly. “I’ll work on it.”

“If they retain that much of their original individuality, maybe members of that officer class, at least, could be convinced to defect? Or, at least, to refrain from actively opposing us?” Reyes inquired.

Scully frowned. “I don’t think I could ever bring myself to trust one, either way.”

“Was the Beltway Butcher ever heard from again?” Frohike asked.

Disturbed by the level of unease the topic stirred in him, Mulder got up to pace. “If the Butcher was a prototype SuperSoldier and a serial killer, then he’s still doing it, and will continue to do so till we find a way to kill him and all his kind.”

Scully snorted.

“Dammit,” Mulder grumbled. “I know! There isn’t any way to speculate on that. They’re so much stronger than humans that we’ve never managed to identify anything that can kill one.”

“There wasn’t any reason why Callina Finch shouldn’t have closed the file,” Scully pointed out quietly. “I would have, in her shoes. There was no reason to believe that the suspect was not dead. Occam’s Razor says he’s dead. So she closed. That means that his MO and signature are archived rather than in the active file at VICAP. New searches would not have access to it.”

Mulder stopped pacing and grinned at her. “Maybe we should put it back in and see what happens.”

Scully looked thoughtful. “I wonder what I’d get if I searched on missing persons after fires or building collapses or floods and similar untenable situations…”

“I’ll do those for you, Scully,” Langly volunteered. “I can make those search engines sit up and beg.”

She nodded. “All right. Thanks.”

“Include suicides, Langly; include any reported death without a body,” Mulder suggested. “If the original human subject was a serial killer, he’s not going to change his pattern. If the SuperSoldier he became is some kind of defective model, he may very well continue to follow a human pattern rather than whatever alien awareness he possesses. If he stayed at least that human, we should be able to identify him through that pattern. If he doesn’t, we won’t; we don’t know enough about the aliens to predict their behavior.”

Crawford frowned. “How much humanity remains in one of these SuperSoldiers ?” he asked.

Scully shuddered and Will, disturbed by her distress, began to whimper. She cuddled him closer, crooning wordlessly, and Mulder returned to kneel beside her close enough to add his low rumble to her voice, underscoring Scully’s presence with his own. Will calmed quickly and even waved his hands toward his father. Scully smiled and handed the baby to his father.

“Here. He wants you.”

Mulder accepted, cradled the baby carefully, and settled back down on the floor where he had been. He spent a few moments greeting his son, offering a finger to be held, crooning gentle sounds that the others could barely hear. Will smiled gummily and held on tight, his eyes focused on his father’s face.

No one else spoke or even thought about anything else: the sight of Fox Mulder, alive and healthy, cradling his own naturally-conceived son was so incredible that they all paused to savor it, even Scully, who had seen it every day since Will’s birth.

After several minutes of babytalk, Mulder sighed and leaned back against the chair. He ignored the fact that he was the focus of the attention of everyone in the room.

“Enough. It’s Christmas. Let’s talk about you, Sky. Frohike said you’re just out of the hospital? What happened?”

Crawford shrugged and relaxed a little, himself. “My cover got blown and I got shot,” he said casually. Then his expression darkened. “I haven’t been notified officially but I’m getting a choice of a desk or a medical retirement. I’ll never get my field status back.”

Mulder frowned, visibly studying his friend. “Why? What happened?”

Crawford shrugged again. “I got machine-gunned, Rad. I got two chipped vertebrae, lost my spleen and half a lung. My hearing’s down forty percent on the left side. I can’t pass the physical any more.”

“I’m sorry.” Mulder could not help but feel a twinge of guilt: he had survived much worse treatment than that, and he was whole and intact, and fully capable of continuing his work. His only lingering damage was psychological. He had been dealing with PTSD most of his life and knew he was quite capable of continuing to do so. Sky Crawford had lost his life’s work.

An idea sprang to life, full-grown, and Mulder saw Crawford’s expression change when he noticed the shift in Mulder’s body language.

“What?”

“Can you still shoot, Sky?”

“Damn straight!” he growled the answer, nettled.

“Can you still drive?”

“How do you think I got here?”

“Did you leave anyone behind in LA?” Mulder heard the others stirring as they realized he had something in mind. Scully’s hand came down on his shoulder and he knew she had already caught on.

Crawford shook his head. “No. I’ve been working long-term deep cover assignments. There’s no way to maintain a relationship through that.”

“Kids?”

“Not that I know of. Probably not; I tried to be careful.”

“Want to move back here?”

Crawford paused for a moment, thinking hard. “‘Back?’ I never lived here except for those sixteen weeks at Quantico.” He waited, but Mulder did not comment, staring at him intently. “Sure. And do what?”

“Join the resistance?”

Scully found herself grinning at the stunned expression in Doggett’s eyes. Skinner was frozen. It was Reyes who chuckled out loud. The Gunmen were whispering among themselves.

Crawford stared at Mulder. “Resistance?”

Mulder waved inclusively at his guests. “This is the human resistance, DC chapter. We’re here to resist the impending destruction or enslavement of our species by alien invaders and preserve our homeworld for its native species. Ridiculous as it may seem, there are humans opposing us, as well as Bounty Hunters and SuperSoldiers and black worms and God alone knows what else. Want to enlist?”

Crawford swallowed hard. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Serious as a heart attack, Sky,” Mulder nodded. “Scully and I have both been abducted and subjected to experimentation. Both of us lost our sisters to the human consortium of quislings. Hundreds if not thousands of other people have suffered such fates. The situation is escalating; we don’t have an exact timetable, but it’s an easy guess that things will come to a head sometime before Will reaches adulthood. He’s significant to their planning, somehow. We’re not going to stand aside and let them take us without a fight. We may not succeed, but we’ll go down swinging.”

Crawford looked up at Scully, who looked just as serious as her mate. No one was laughing, he realized.

“You think these are the people who kidnapped Samantha?” The story of Mulder as the bereaved brother had made the rounds at Quantico; all his classmates had heard it.

Mulder nodded. “And used her like a lab rat until she was fourteen,” he said harshly, “when she determined to end it by trying to escape. She left a diary.”

Crawford did not inquire further; Mulder’s utterly emotionless expression was all he could handle of that. Mulder’s eyes had gone flat and gray, and Crawford could not look at him.

“Jesus.” He took a deep breath. “Can we fight them?” he asked. “I mean, their aircraft have been flying circles around ours for decades; they have interstellar travel. They’re way ahead of us in physics, technology and, it appears, the biological sciences. Is there any real hope?”

“We don’t know how to kill a SuperSoldier yet,” Reyes said calmly. “The Bounty Hunters have a weak spot at the base of the neck in the back. When you kill them you must hold your breath and get away ASAP; as the body foams away, a particularly nasty virus is released.”

Crawford looked puzzled. “A virus? From the body?”

“Apparently,” Mulder nodded. “The first time it happened to me it must have been just a marginal exposure; it was just painful and my immune system defeated it in a few days without significant assistance. The second time was overwhelming: nothing would have saved me except Scully knew what to do and had the strength of personality to override the better judgment of an entire US Army medical ER.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Crawford’s eyes twinkled as he took in the tableau presented by the couple and their infant.

Frohike raised his glass. “Then, my friends, let us welcome the latest recruit: welcome to the nightmare, Agent Crawford!”

Everyone clinked their glasses together, and even Will’s little voice was part of it as they all toasted the new combatant.

* * *

Crawford went back to California the next day. He went directly to his office from the airport and met with his supervisor, Manfred Warner, who confirmed what Crawford already had surmised: his medical evaluation had come through and was damning.

“You don’t have to resign or retire, Crawford,” the older man reminded him. “We can boot you to an administrative or support position. You could train new agents; your kind of experience is hard to come by.”

“I know how hard it is, Mannie,” Crawford growled. “Most of the guys who’ve been where I’ve been and done what I’ve done are dead.”

“We thought you were dead, J. D.,” Warner said quietly. “We were planning your funeral when the hospital in Bangkok called.”

Crawford shook his head. “No, I’m going to make a clean break; well, relatively clean. I’ll take themedical retirement, Mannie. I’ve got an offer in DC, so I won’t be too bored.”

“What agency?”

He grinned. “I’m going private, Mannie. A friend of mine is organizing some people and he asked me to sign up. I agreed.”

“Organizing for what?”

Crawford shrugged, not inclined to elaborate. “He’s ex-FBI; I’m ex-DEA. I imagine the rest of the recruits will have similar histories. I promise it’s not illegal; we’re not going to assault Fort Knox or anything.”

Mannie chuckled, but he still looked worried. He stuck out his hand. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. It’s been an honor serving with you, J. D.. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Oh, I don’t imagine I will be.” He paused, considering, and decided it was worth it. Scully had been emphatic that they needed informants and tipsters in order to get enough data to make accurate extrapolations of the enemy’s plans and focus, and he had served with Mannie Warner for more than a decade. “I’d appreciate a head’s up on a few things your teams might encounter…”

Mannie Warner looked puzzled. “What sort of things?”

“When you hear of a death and when the pros go in to recover the body there is none. Any case of a guy apparently surviving the unsurvivable, like he’s bulletproof without body armor. Any stories of bodies that show anything like black worms crawling out of the eyes, nose, and ears. People with black oil swirling in their eyes, or entirely black eyes: no whites at all. Anybody who does something despicable with utter boldness, then is found nearby shaking, hysterical, claiming they don’t know anything about the last several hours or days.”

The other man stared at Crawford. “Sounds like stuff we should forward to the FBI’s X Files Division.”

Crawford grinned.

“Oh, my God,” Warner moaned. “You roomed with Fox Mulder at Quantico, didn’t you?”

“Yepper.”

“I heard he got killed in the line of duty last year. Who’s running the shop, now?”

Crawford’s grin got wider. “Mulder’s not dead; they resurrected him, but some dickhead Deputy Director fired him over some minor insubordination. Mulder’s gone private, and I’m going with him.”

Warner just shook his head, and Crawford knew that his boss — ex-boss, he reminded himself— thought he was speaking of an undercover operation. There was no point in correcting him, and insisting on the actual truth might make Warner doubt his choices or how serious he was about collecting that information.

Crawford realized suddenly that this is the sort of thing that Mulder had had to deal with for years.

Warner went back to sit down behind his desk. “Tell Mulder he’s got allies out here, J. D.”

Crawford cocked his head to one side, puzzled. “Mannie?”

“When they recovered Mulder’s body up in Montana last year, one of the survivors with the cult was my stepdaughter Summer Shanahan,” he replied softly. “She told us everything that she remembered. She wouldn’t lie; the story was pretty brutal. She thought Mulder was dead, though.”

Crawford swallowed hard. “He was,” he confirmed it baldly. “His partner buried him next to his mother and tried to go on. But then AD Skinner got a tip and had him exhumed. A week in the hospital and he was fine. He’s home, and he and Scully have a baby son.”

Warner could only stare. “They exhumed him and he recovered?! Must have dug him up pretty quick, right? Or he’d’ve smothered.”

“He was in the grave for three months, Mannie.”

There was a moment of silence as they stared at one another. “How could that be, J. D.?”

Crawford shrugged helplessly. “I don’t understand it, either. But I trust Mulder; he and Dana would not lie to me. So, somehow, it happened.”

“Okay…” Warner relaxed back in his chair. “Summer told us some pretty weird and off-the-wall things when we got her back. I’ll believe it. Unless I learn why I shouldn’t.”

Crawford laughed, startled. “You want to come with me? Mulder says getting people to buy in as far as you is the hardest part.”

Warner leaned back in his chair. “When you’re settled give me a call. I think I’d like to meet the famous Fox Mulder.”

Crawford grinned widely. “I can arrange that, Mannie.” He held out a hand.

Warner got up and walked around the desk to shake Crawford’s hand. He walked the ex-agent to his office door. “See Eunice for the paperwork, J. D. I gotta call Cadre and see if I can replace you.”

He waited until Crawford was talking to Eunice, the unit’s administrative assistant, before he turned to go back inside his office. The door closed behind him and J. D. Crawford never saw the odd shape of his old CO’s neck and upper spine.

---

–– Chapter 4 ––

Home Fires by ML

* * *

Late again. Scully slung her satchel over her shoulder and hefted a couple of grocery bags.

She was only supposed to be working at Quantico part time but realistically, it took constant vigilance to keep it that way. Everyone paid lip service to it until they needed something, and then it was, “Oh, it’s just this once, Agent Scully.”

When she refused, and she often did, she could almost hear the muttered comments about being on the “mommy track.” She ignored them, of course, as she’d ignored the “Mrs. Spooky” comments over the years. It didn’t keep her from feeling guilty. It was a case of damned if she did or didn’t; working extra took precious time away from William, and from her other work.

Today had been one of those times when she couldn’t say no. The “request” had come from Kersh himself, by way of Skinner, who was obviously very unhappy with his role of messenger.

If Kersh was now trying to make her quit, he’d have to try harder. She wasn’t quitting.

Mulder had the door open before she got there, holding a squalling William in his arms. He raised his eyebrows at her slightly.

“Sorry,” Scully said. “You got my message, didn’t you?” She set the groceries down on the kitchen table, pushing aside an array of toys and teething rings to do so. She could see what kind of day her men had.

“Yeah,” Mulder said. “I was here, I just couldn’t get Limpet Boy to let go so I could answer the phone.”

“Here,” she said, holding out her arms to them, “give William to me. There are still a couple of bags in the trunk.” She turned away with William, cooing nonsense to him as Mulder went down to the car.

The air was chilly but Mulder welcomed it after a day in the overheated apartment, trying to soothe a baby who refused to be soothed. If he weren’t a grown man, he’d sit down and cry with William for the sheer hell of it. He almost wished for a bit of his former mind- reading ability back so he could figure out what to do for his son.

He took a deep breath and swung his arms over his head. Maybe he’d have time for a run before dinner, bath, and bed time. He opened the trunk and poked around in the remaining grocery bags. He smiled when he saw that Scully had gotten what he asked for, despite her protests.

“Scully, you know what I like,” he murmured. He tore open the bag of pork rinds and stuck one in his mouth before he loaded up with the grocery bags.

Ah, domestic bliss. Who would have dreamed this a year ago? It wasn’t exactly what one might call a normal life, but looking at it from the outside, Mulder was sure they seemed like any other new family, trying to balance home and work life.

They’d traveled a difficult, twisting path to get here, to be sure, and until he’d actually seen William in Scully’s arms, he’d dismissed the idea of ever being part of a family as the most extreme of possibilities. He’d even convinced himself over the years that it was nothing he wanted.

And yet, against all the odds, here he was. Fox Mulder, house husband, father, and undercover resistance leader.

Well, maybe that was overstating the case a bit. So far, the resistance consisted of himself, Scully, and a few friends. They weren’t even entirely sure who or what they were fighting against. The enemies they knew had either scattered or died; new ones seemed to be emerging, but except for the incident with the so-called instructor Donald Ranken at Quantico, there had been no direct threats or contact. So far, anyway.

It made him restless, on edge. He’d been fighting enemies in the shadows for a long time but it never got any easier. At the moment, they had no solid leads. He’d been working with the Gunmen and their newest recruit, J.D. Crawford, but the work was slow and frustrating.

Their friends at the FBI helped out where they could, but were limited by some of the same problems Mulder and Scully had always faced. Kersh was still overseeing the X-Files, even if Skinner was the division’s direct report. John Doggett was now the senior Agent-in-Charge, but he was hampered by his own fundamental skepticism. Monica Reyes was considered as “out there” as Mulder had been by colleagues in the FBI, though to Mulder her brand of extreme possibilities seemed to belong more to the realm of Melissa Scully than to his. Still, there was a balance there, and maybe that’s what it took to be successful on the X-Files. It had worked for him and Scully. Well, most of the time, anyway.

From what Mulder had been told, both Reyes and Doggett got a wake-up call in Montana, when the alien craft made an appearance and his body had been found. He wasn’t sure Doggett was entirely convinced, but Monica insisted that she’d seen the craft and nothing would sway her. Skinner understood; he’d had a similar epiphany in Bellefleur when Mulder was taken.

Mulder only hoped that Doggett’s continued skepticism wouldn’t prevent him from seeing the signs when they presented themselves.

By the time he’d gotten back upstairs, Scully had somehow managed to clear the kitchen table of William’s things and get some of the groceries put away, all while carrying William around. From the look of things, he’d just barely left off crying and was now gnawing his fist, looking wet-eyed and miserable.

“Has he been like this all day?” Scully asked.

“Pretty much,” Mulder said. “He wouldn’t even go down for a nap. He must really be hurting, poor guy.”

William was just starting to teethe and was manifesting all the usual symptoms that babies had: irritability, constant drooling, low fevers, and parental discomfort.

“I just wonder if something else is bothering him,” Scully said.

“Not nightmares, I hope. It’s bad enough that his old man’s got `em,” Mulder said lightly.

“I almost hate to say it, but I was thinking of his reaction to Ranken. Have you noticed anyone hanging around here?”

“We didn’t even go outside today,” Mulder said. “And we’ve had no visitors. Did you call your mom?”

Scully said, “I called my mom, I called the advice nurse, I even went online today and did a little research. But what if —”

“And they call *me* paranoid,” Mulder said with a grin. “Let’s not borrow trouble, okay? The guys have been giving us around-the-clock surveillance. No strangers have approached you, me, or anyone else for that matter since then. Maybe sometimes teething is just teething, Scully.”

“Isn’t that my argument?” Scully asked.

“Well, someone has to make it,” Mulder said reasonably. He leaned in to give Scully a smacking kiss. “Let’s get the groceries put away before we have vanilla soup.”

“I think you’ve already been putting away the pork rinds,” Scully said, licking her lips.

“Appetizer,” he replied. “I gotta gather my strength to fix dinner, right?”

“Oh, is it your turn?” Scully asked innocently. “What’s it going to be tonight? Thai or Italian?”

“Let’s just say it’s a good thing William hasn’t been gnawing on my dialing finger,” Mulder replied.

* * *

Once the dishes were done, and William was finally down for the count, they were both too exhausted to do anything but go to bed themselves.

“You don’t have to go in tomorrow, right?” Mulder asked as he stripped down to his boxers.

“No,” Scully said as she turned down the bed. “But I can’t sleep in, I’ve still got notes to write up and some research to follow up on.”

“For which job?” Mulder asked. He knew he was asking a loaded question, but he had to ask it.

Scully stopped what she was doing and faced him. “Mulder, you agreed that it was important for me to continue working at the FBI for the foreseeable future. I’m doing my best to keep it confined to part time, but you know as well as I do how hard that is.”

He didn’t really have an answer to that, and he didn’t want to argue about it right now. “Just asking,” he said, and got into bed. He checked to make sure the baby monitor was on.

She started for the bathroom but stopped in the doorway. “What about you? Have you made any headway?”

“Nope,” he said, “and I don’t like it. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Do you think Ranken showing up the way he did was a sign that things are escalating?” she asked, frowning.

“I dunno, Scully,” he said. He rubbed his hand over his face. “I wish I knew. We haven’t been able to uncover anything specific.”

“Well,” she said, “maybe we should all three take the day off tomorrow. Take William to the park and get a little fresh air.”

“I thought you might come with me to the Gunmen tomorrow.”

She walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, leaning in to give him a kiss. “You know,” she said, “even super heroes need a day off once in a while. Maybe we all need a little break. They say that babies can be affected by their parents’ stress levels, too.”

Mulder looked skeptical and she kissed him a little harder. “If I can blow off my report,” she whispered against his mouth, “you can take a couple of hours off from saving the world. We owe it to William as well as ourselves.”

He kissed her back. “Did anyone tell you that you don’t fight fair, Agent Scully?” he asked.

“It seems fair to me if I’m getting my way,” she said with a smile.

* * *

Though she was tired, sleep was a long time in coming for Scully. She felt guilty for leaving William when she went to work, and she felt guilty when she left work to come home. Added to that was the feeling that she wasn’t contributing to the cause in any meaningful way, and that she was hindering Mulder from doing the same. She worried that they weren’t doing right by William. Then there was the overarching concern for the future, and what it meant for all of them.

Her mother would tell her that her fears were no different than those of any new parent, but she knew better.

Her restlessness attracted Mulder’s attention. “Wassa matter?” he asked, nuzzling her neck. “Stop thinking.”

“When else am I going to do it?” she whispered back to him. “Anyway, you’re a fine one to talk. I could hear you.”

“Yeah, we’re a pair, aren’t we?” He gathered her close and rubbed her back. “I’ve got a little something that’ll help you sleep, though.”

“I just don’t think I have the energy,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Rain check?”

“Trust me, you won’t have to do a thing,” he said. “Just lie there and enjoy it.”

It took her a few seconds to answer, and when she did, there was just the hint of an edge to her voice. “That seems a little caveman, Mulder.”

He turned wide innocent eyes on her. “C’mon, Scully, I was talking about a back rub. What d’you take me for?” He kissed her forehead and rolled her so her back was to him.

“I’m sorry,” she said contritely. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“I know you’re good for it,” he said softly, and began to knead her shoulders.

She was asleep almost before he started. He gave her one last soft kiss and settled back with his arms behind his head, waiting for the dawn.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, for the ringing of the phone woke him up. He fumbled for the handset but grabbed the baby monitor and mumbled “H’lo?” into it.

“Mulder,” Scully tapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve got it. It’s for you.”

He turned toward her and took the phone. “H’lo?” he said again.

There was no answer on the other end. “H’lo?” he tried a third time.

“Must have been a wrong number,” he said, and handed the phone back to Scully.

“Except that whoever it was asked for you by name,” she said.

* * *

When he heard the paper hitting the front door he decided it was time to get up. Scully was curled up next to him, her rear end nestled against his hip.

He lay still for a moment and listened to the early morning noises. Only quiet breathing from the monitor — William actually took pity on his folks and slept through the night.

Not that it mattered; after the phone call he hadn’t gotten back to sleep. He knew Scully hadn’t for a long time, but though she fought against it, exhaustion finally claimed her.

He quietly slipped out of bed, checking William before he went to get the paper. The precautions he took were second nature now — gun at his side, chain on the door, and a long look through the peephole to ensure no one lurked outside.

He saw the envelope as soon as he’d picked up the paper. He grabbed a tissue from the hall table and picked it up gingerly by one corner. By the size and weight, it seemed to contain some kind of tape, either cassette or DAT. His name was written lightly on the flap, not in a hand he recognized. Locking the door behind him, he carried the envelope into the kitchen to find a plastic bag to deposit it into.

He went back to the bedroom and pulled on his sweats, scrawling a note to Scully and leaving it on the bedside table.

* * *

Frohike answered Mulder’s insistent knocking, looking even more disheveled than usual.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” he asked rhetorically. “Or did Scully come to her senses and kick you out?”

“I need you guys to check on something for me,” Mulder said without preamble.

“And it couldn’t wait?” Langly wandered into view wearing nothing but hot pink and green boxers, and Mulder wished he hadn’t. He didn’t need to know what Langly slept in.

“I got a call last night,” Mulder explained.

“Who from?” Frohike asked.

“I think the answer might be on this tape,” Mulder said.

* * *

Scully was sitting on the sofa nursing William when Mulder returned. A cup of tea steamed gently on the table next to her.

There was coffee in the pot in the kitchen and he helped himself, bringing it into the living room along with a plate containing the bagels he’d picked up on the way back home.

He sat near Scully and William. Scully looked up briefly, welcoming him with a slight smile. She continued stroking William’s hair softly as he suckled.

Reluctant to disturb the peaceful scene, Mulder sat quietly for a moment, sipping his coffee and watching his family. How rare these moments were. He knew that what he was about to say would upset Scully, but there was no help for it.

Putting his mug down, he said, “I’ve been contacted by someone.”

“Anybody I know?” Scully asked.

“You’ve met her,” Mulder said.

Scully tensed up at the pronoun. It was subtle, but Mulder knew her pretty well.

She was uncomfortably aware of Mulder’s scrutiny. She couldn’t help but be wary. People from Mulder’s past had a way of popping up and it wasn’t usually a happy reunion.

“Are you going to tell me who `she’ is?” Scully prompted.

“Phoebe Green,” Mulder said flatly.

“Ah,” was all she said.

“Let me have it, Scully,” Mulder replied. “I’m sure you have more to say than that.”

“Did she say what she wanted?”

“A meeting. With me. She said she had some information.”

“Was she the one who called last night?” Scully asked.

“I think so,” Mulder said. He told her about the tape and his visit to the Gunmen. “I think I need to check it out, Scully.”

“Well, I don’t guess you’ll be able to extend her a professional courtesy this time,” Scully said, a touch of sarcasm lacing her voice. She noticed he hadn’t said “*we* need to check it out.”

He’d give her points for not making him state the obvious — that Phoebe had deliberately left her out of the invitation.

“What dark parking garage does she expect you to meet her in?” Scully asked.

“Broad daylight, the park,” he said.

“Well, I could say `don’t go’, but it’s plain that you want to.”

“I do, but not for the reasons you think,” Mulder said.

“What reasons do you think I have?” she asked. “Never mind. I’ll save you the trouble. I think it’s dangerous, Mulder. I think she’ll try to play you, just as she did before. Whatever her reasons are for wanting to see you, they aren’t altruistic.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Mulder said. “I really did learn my lesson the last time. But do we want to take the chance that she might have information we can use? I wouldn’t read too much into the fact that she only invited me, Scully.”

“If she’s the one who called last night, then she knows that we’re still … associated,” Scully pointed out.

“I don’t trust her any more than you do. And she knows you don’t like her. But if you want to go, I’ll insist that you need to be there.”

“That’s not the point. I trust you. I don’t have to be there. I just don’t want you to go alone.”

Mulder was surprised and just a little disappointed that Scully didn’t insist upon accompanying him. “Okay, I won’t,” he promised.

Scully hoped that Mulder couldn’t tell how much it cost her to let him go without her.

* * *

J.D. Crawford watched his friend out of the corner of his eye. If you looked at his impassive face, you’d never know that Mulder was anything other than cool about this. Just another stakeout, no big deal. But his leg was jumping and his hands kept clenching and unclenching.

“So who is this chick again?” J.D. asked.

“Phoebe Green,” Mulder said. “She used to work for Scotland Yard, but now she works for MI-5 now, supposedly.”

“British Intelligence, huh? What’s she want with you, anyways?”

“Long story,” Mulder said.

The two men sat in the front seat of J.D.‘s car, sipping coffee and watching the early morning activity in the park. There were a few joggers running the circuit, but it was still early for the kids to be on the playground.

“I get the vibe that there’s some history there,” J.D. said. “Am I right?”

After a moment, Mulder replied, “Yeah, you could say that. Ancient history.”

“Give it up, Rad,” J.D. urged. “Or do I have to ask Dana?”

“Scully doesn’t know much about it,” Mulder said.

“You expect me to believe that?” J.D. said. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”

Mulder sighed. “Phoebe and I knew each other at Oxford,” he said.

“How does Dana know her?”

“Phoebe showed up in D.C. on a case the first year Scully and I were partnered,” Mulder said. “They didn’t exactly hit it off.”

“Gotcha,” said J.D., and didn’t ask anything more.

“The thing about Phoebe,” Mulder said after a pause, “is that she’s really, really good at exploiting any weakness she can find. Don’t let your guard down around her.”

“Gotcha,” J.D. said again. Loud and clear, he thought. He’d known a few women like that. But he’d bet Ms. Phoebe Green, Inspector, Agent, or whatever she was, hadn’t met many men like him.

“Don’t get cocky, kid,” Mulder murmured out of the corner of his mouth. “I can feel your male posturing from here. She’ll use that.”

Spooky Mulder. J.D. grinned and shook his head. “You stay the hell outta my head, Rad,” he said. “Anyways, she’s only human. I wouldn’t ascribe special powers to her.”

“We’ll see,” said Mulder.

Finally, a car pulled into the opposite end of the parking lot. Both men tensed slightly. They watched as the lone occupant got out and walked toward the designated bench.

“Stay in the car,” Mulder requested.

“That wasn’t my brief, Rad,” J.D. protested.

“Humor me,” said Mulder, and opened the door.

J.D. shrugged but he kept his hand on the door and his weapon at the ready.

From a distance, Phoebe looked the same as always — tall, patrician profile, dark brows, full lips. Mulder could see as he got closer that she’d changed somewhat. There had always been an air about her, but now it seemed harder. She stood by the bench, wearing a long woolen coat and a scarf wound around her neck.

“Hullo Fox,” she said in her familiar throaty tone. “It’s been a long time.”

Mulder almost said, not long enough, but decided that antagonizing Phoebe at the outset wasn’t a smart move. He nodded. “Hello, Phoebe,” he said.

Her eyes raked him up and down. “What, no hello kiss?” she asked, putting her hand on his arm.

He ignored her come-on. “Care to tell me why I’m standing here freezing my ass off?”

“So much for the niceties,” Phoebe said. “Your manners have declined over the years. But we could go someplace warmer,” she added suggestively, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t press your luck, Phoebe. Why don’t you just tell me what you came for,” Mulder said, barely able to keep from shrugging away from her touch.

“I thought you were coming alone,” she said, inclining her head toward the car where J.D. waited.

“That’s my partner,” Mulder said.

“I thought you were out of the FBI,” Phoebe said. “And what happened to that little redhead you were partnered with? What was her name? I remember she didn’t care for me much.”

“Scully is none of your damn business,” Mulder said. “Knock off the games.” **Keep cool. Don’t let her play you,** he told himself.

“Ah yes, you have the peculiar habit of calling her by her last name — do you do that in bed as well?”

Mulder’s hands clenched and unclenched in his pockets. “Get to the point, Phoebe, or I’m walking away.”

“Temper, temper, Fox,” she lisped enticingly. “All in good time.”

Mulder heard the car door open but he didn’t turn his head. He heard J.D.‘s footsteps approach. Mulder knew what an imposing presence J.D. made. He waited for Phoebe’s reaction.

It was fairly predictable. She looked J.D. up and down and purred, “At least you brought someone…interesting. Are you going to introduce us?”

“J.D. Crawford, this is Phoebe Green, late of Scotland Yard, and now of MI-5. What’s your detail, Phoebe? Anti-terrorism?”

“Among other things,” she said. She wasn’t looking at Mulder, but at J.D., assessing him. “I’m taking quite a risk, coming to you like this.”

“Then let’s not waste time,” Mulder said.

“I can’t show you what I need to show you here,” Phoebe said. “As I said, I took a great risk even coming here today. I hope you appreciate that.”

“What is it, Phoebe? Another pyromaniac? Someone threatening the House of Lords? As you pointed out, I’m not in the FBI any longer.”

“Do the words, `purity control’ mean anything to you?” Phoebe asked.

J.D. knew Mulder pretty well, but he’d never seen him go so still as he did as soon as the words were out of Phoebe’s mouth. “Where did you hear that?” he asked calmly, but J.D. could tell how the words affected Mulder.

“I have access to certain files,” she said. “There have been some, shall we say, incidents in Britain regarding clandestine laboratories. I think you might be familiar with their purpose.”

* * *

Scully met Mulder at the door with a finger to her lips. “William just went down,” she said. She kept herself from asking where he’d been most of the day. He’d called her to say he’d be late, but hadn’t elaborated his reasons.

She appreciated the fact that Mulder did his best not to run off on wild goose chases any more, but his absence that day had troubled her all the same. She’d called the Gunmen but they hadn’t known anything about the meeting. Finally she’d called J.D., who’d told her that Mulder had seemed very upset by something Phoebe had said.

“What did she say?” Scully asked.

After an uncomfortably long silence, J.D. said, “He didn’t want me to tell you. He wants to talk to you first.”

“Then where is he?” She couldn’t help but ask.

“He said he needed some time before he talked to you. He’s got his cell though, if you need to call him.”

Put like that, she decided to leave it alone until Mulder returned.

Now that he was here, she was reluctant to press him. She remembered how Phoebe had affected him in the past, and though she knew she had nothing to worry about on a personal level, she feared that Phoebe still knew how to get to Mulder.

Coupled with Mulder’s earlier comment about waiting for the other shoe to drop, Scully dreaded hearing what he had to say.

Mulder found it hard to start the conversation, too. He’d spent much of the day thinking about the meeting, and how Scully would react. His instinct was to keep Phoebe’s words from her, to find a way to shield her from this until he found out the truth behind it. Old habits died hard.

But in the end, he’d realized that he had no choice but to tell Scully. She wouldn’t thank him for trying to sugar-coat anything, and it was too dangerous for either of them to withhold information from the other.

“Phoebe’s involved in some way,” he said finally. He held up a case containing a disc. “She didn’t tell me much, just gave me this and said she’d be in touch.”

Scully licked her lips. “Have you looked at it?”

“Not yet,” Mulder said.

“Then how to you know she’s involved?”

“Two words, Scully. `Purity Control’.”

He couldn’t say she went pale, but her features took on the appearance of marble. It was the expression she got when she didn’t want to believe but had no choice.

She sat down in the nearest chair. Mulder sat near her, turning the CD case over and over in his hands.

“So,” she said after a long pause, “she could have discovered some files somewhere. She might be fishing for information. Until we see what she has, I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”

That was his Scully, asking for proof, as he knew she would. He nodded. “I’ve been over and over it in my mind. I almost turned it over to the Gunmen first, but I didn’t want to take any chances about what’s on here.”

“I thought that’s where you were,” Scully said. “Discussing all this with them.” She did her best to keep her tone level. They’d both shut each other out in the past. It wouldn’t surprise her now if Mulder was doing it again, but it could still hurt her. “Mulder, I need to be a part of this. Whatever her motives are, she wants you, not me. And I can’t watch you play into her hands.”

“Not gonna happen, Scully. I promise you.” Mulder looked at her. “I almost chucked the whole thing into the river. But I couldn’t take the chance that she might actually know something.”

“Well, let’s find out then,” Scully said decisively, though she felt far from comfortable.

Mulder booted up the computer and Scully brought another chair over to the desk. He inserted the disk and they waited as the information on the disc loaded.

The screen went black. “Hullo again, Fox,” Phoebe’s voice purred through the speakers, “and Agent Scully too. I have no doubt that Fox has included you in this little viewing party.”

At least she didn’t have to see Phoebe’s face and that self- satisfied smirk she wore perpetually.

Mulder’s hand stole into hers. He gave her fingers a squeeze.

“That’s appropriate,” Phoebe went on. “Some of this concerns you as well.” The blank screen dissolved into a still photo of a laboratory. It looked like any other lab: rows of glass beakers and other paraphernalia. The background was obscured.

“This laboratory is in England, but I think you’ll see some similarities to places you’ve seen in your own country, Fox.”

The picture changed to a close up of a row of test tubes with some sort of viscous looking green substance in them.

“Did you ever wonder, Agent Scully, where your child came from?”

The date stamp on the next picture was from the previous year, about the time Mulder had been returned. This picture was a wider angle and it showed a row of empty tanks, large enough to hold a full-grown human. Mulder felt a chill at this, remembering what he’d seen at the storage facility on Pandora Street.

The next picture was of a dimly-lit room. It contained a row of beds, each occupied. Though the bodies were draped in sheets, from the shape they could have been women in an advance state of pregnancy.

Mulder felt Scully stiffen beside him. Her fingers clutched at his.

“Have you ever wondered, Agent Scully, if you might have other children somewhere? Fox, too, of course. Or perhaps, his sister’s.”

The screen faded to black, but Phoebe’s voice continued. “I thought you’d like to know, Fox. For your sake, as well as Agent Scully’s. I’ll be in touch.”

The CD-ROM whined to a stop.

Neither spoke for a long while.

“She obviously doesn’t know the truth about William’s conception,” Mulder said finally.

“The fact that she doesn’t know the truth is to our advantage, I’d say. We know where William came from, and that’s what counts.”

“Indeed we do,” Mulder smiled at her. “But she just as obviously intended you to see this, and to upset you.”

Scully took a deep breath and released it slowly. “It does upset me. My ova were stolen. And even though by some miracle, we were able to conceive William, I can’t help thinking that there might be others out there.” She added softly, “Like Emily.” She couldn’t look at Mulder, though she kept hold of his hand. Finally she said, “Do you believe her at all?”

Mulder rubbed his hand over his face. “She hinted at a lot of stuff, but she didn’t really say anything. That alone could make her a relation of CGB Spender.”

“I can’t joke about this, Mulder,” Scully said. “We need to think. It’s plain that she knows something, but where did the information come from? And why is she coming to you with it?” Scully’s voice rose as she spoke. Shock gave way to anger as she considered what they’d just seen. “And, damn it, how dare she bring William into it?”

“Or Samantha,” Mulder added. “I think she’s playing us. The Phoebe I knew before could be cruel and manipulative, even vengeful, so it’s possible that’s what this is all about. If she has another reason, I can’t think what it is. What could it possibly gain her, other than the fun of seeing us squirm? Or, if she’s changed somehow, why?”

“Exactly. We need to know more, Mulder. I need to see her myself. There are still questions she needs to answer.”

The phone rang and Mulder picked it up, knowing who would be on the other end. “What do you want?”

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Kind of a rehashed plot, isn’t it?” Mulder said. “You haven’t proven anything, Phoebe.”

“You need to come find out for yourself, then,” she said.

“Why should I believe a damn thing?” Mulder yelled. “You need to answer a few more questions. I’m not inclined to follow your lead anymore.”

“What a shame,” she said. “It was always such fun when you did as I asked — for both of us.”

Mulder slammed the phone down.

After a few moments, it rang again. “It’s so much fun teasing you, Fox, but if you don’t want to play, all right.”

“We need to meet with you,” Mulder said. “Time and place of my choice.”

The silence on the other end was so long he thought she’d hung up. “Fine,” she said. “Where?”

* * *

“Wow, she’s a looker,” Frohike said. “Mulder, you sure know how to pick `em.”

“I didn’t pick her,” Mulder said testily. “She contacted me.”

Scully had suggested that Mulder go to the Lone Gunmen without her. William woke up after all the commotion was done, but was being fussy again, and she thought it was better to stay at home with him. Mulder didn’t argue with her, though he suspected she hadn’t been entirely truthful about her reasons for staying home.

“Some guys have all the damn luck,” Frohike said. “Isn’t the luscious Agent Scully enough for you?”

“Shut up, Frohike,” Mulder said. For some reason, Frohike was really getting on his nerves today and he couldn’t come up with a suitable comeback.

“I bet Scully could kick her ass anyway,” Langly chimed in.

“And then she’d kick Mulder’s,” Frohike added.

J.D. listened to all this with bemusement. He was still getting used to the guys.

“Have you found out anything?” Mulder asked.

“Not a lot so far. She really does work for British Intelligence. As far as her background, her mother was from a good family but she was cut off when she married some foreign guy. Must’ve still had some ties to the family, though, since Phoebe was able to go to Oxford.”

“Keep digging. Look for any connection. Who was this `foreign’ guy? American?”

“Italian, I think. Or maybe Spanish. I think Phoebe had an uncle in the Foreign Service, too. Maybe that’s how she could get where she is now.”

“Don’t give up,” Mulder said. “J.D., have you got any ideas?”

“I didn’t have much to do with stuff outside the States, but maybe I could call my old boss and pick his brains,” J.D. suggested.

“Just be careful what you tell him,” Mulder said.

“No problem, Rad.”

* * *

The next day was bright, though snow threatened and the sky was the color of polished pewter. Few people were out and about due to the sharp wind. The cherry trees were still bare, though a couple of warm days would soon change that.

Mulder and Scully huddled on a bench overlooking the Tidal Basin. It had seemed like a public enough place, but not one where casual visitors were lingering on such a cold day. They both turned and stood at the brisk footsteps approaching.

“Hullo,” Phoebe said, smiling brilliantly at Mulder and letting it fade as she turned to Scully. “Never thought we’d meet again.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Scully muttered, neither smiling nor offering a hand. “What’s your business with us, Ms. Green?”

“Yes, let’s dispense with the social niceties, shall we?” Phoebe murmured. “Very well. I’m sure you’re both aware of a group of men who have had, shall we say, certain `global interests’?”

“They’re all dead now,” Scully interrupted. “As I’m sure you know, since you know everything else, most of them died at El Rico Air Base.”

“But not all of them. My uncle was not one of those who died there; he died the year before. I believe you know him,” Phoebe said, looking at Scully. “He’s saved your life a time or two.”

“The Englishman?” Scully asked in disbelief.

“My mother’s brother,” she said. “I’m rather surprised you hadn’t already figured that out, Fox.”

Mulder felt like the ground had fallen away from his feet. Before he died, Krycek had said, “You have no idea how deep it goes,” but Mulder had no idea that Krycek might have meant something like this.

He felt Scully move a little closer to him. Her hand brushed against his and he reached for her, gripping her fingers tightly.

Phoebe’s eyes flicked down to their hands and then back again. “So it shouldn’t surprise you that I know something of the Consortium’s involvement in your lives.”

“So…even at Oxford…you knew?” Mulder asked painfully.

Phoebe pursed her lips, considering her reply. “No, not then. My uncle merely asked me to look in on an old friend’s son. But once I’d met you, how could I possibly resist you?”

Mulder heard Scully’s breath hiss out. “You bitch,” she said, so softly that Mulder wasn’t sure he’d heard her, or if he’d thought it himself.

If Phoebe heard it, she ignored it. “I was `recruited’ a bit later, but it was years before I knew the whole of it. And then my uncle died, among other things, and no one called on me for some time.”

“What changed?” Scully asked in a hard voice. “Why get involved now?”

“I’ve been contacted,” Phoebe said. “I think someone is setting up the Consortium again. My uncle had grown disillusioned with it, and that’s why he helped you, Fox. I think he was right to do so.”

“And why are you interested in helping us now?” Scully asked.

“Because I’ve come to believe, as my uncle did, that any cooperation with the aliens will end in our own demise. He believed, in the end, that we must fight against them by any means necessary.”

Scully still looked unconvinced.

“I’m glad you came today, Dana,” Phoebe said earnestly. “I know we’ve had our differences, but I need you to help me persuade Fox to come with me, to help destroy these labs. All our futures may depend upon it.” She put her hand briefly on Scully’s arm. “Your child’s future depends on it.”

Scully stiffened at Phoebe’s touch. “Leave my child out of this,” she said.

“Your children,” Phoebe corrected. “And Samantha’s.”

“I know what happened to Samantha,” Mulder gritted out. He’d been letting Scully take the lead, too stunned by Phoebe’s revelations to say more.

“You think so?” Phoebe asked. “Perhaps you don’t know the whole of it.”

“Thank you,” Scully said frostily. “We’ll be in touch. Let’s go, Mulder.”

“Don’t wait too long to decide, Fox,” Phoebe called after them. “I’m flying home day after tomorrow.”

* * *

“So, Scully, did you kick her ass?” Frohike asked as he answered the door.

“What have you found out?” Mulder interrupted. Neither had spoken after Phoebe left them. By mutual agreement they went to see the Gunmen.

“Nothing conclusive yet, I’m afraid,” Byers said. “We’re trying to hack into the Home Office data base to find out more about her uncle.”

Mulder asked, “J. D., have any luck yourself?”

“I haven’t gotten hold of my boss yet,” J.D. said. “He’s been out of the office.”

“We might know who Phoebe’s uncle is,” Mulder said. He related Phoebe’s tale to the three friends and J.D.

“Holy shit,” Langly said, verbalizing what they all were thinking.

“Keep trying, guys,” Mulder said. “We’ll be in touch.”

* * *

As soon as they were back home, Scully said, “I can’t believe that she’s been involved in this for so long.”

Mulder shook his head. “I’m finding it hard to believe myself, Scully. I don’t know what to believe, frankly. She knows too much. Her story makes sense, in a way. Why would she lie about a thing like that?”

“Oh, I can think of a few reasons,” Scully said. “Not the least of which, is she still knows how to play you.”

Mulder nodded. He couldn’t deny that Phoebe’s words had an effect on him.

“I know how upset you are about what she said, Mulder,” Scully said. “I am, too. But I need to know: do you believe that she means to help?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Mulder said. “It always boils down to that. Whom do we trust? And if we can’t trust them, do they still have information that we need?”

“And can we afford to take the chance?” Scully added. “It could very easily be a trap, Mulder.”

“I’m aware of that,” Mulder snapped. “I’m tired of being played, but sometimes that’s the price we pay.”

Scully was quiet for a moment, then chose her words carefully. “You’re really considering going, aren’t you?”

“Do I have a choice?” Mulder asked.

“Of course you do. You always have a choice. What about John or Monica?”

“It’s way beyond the FBI’s jurisdiction, even the X-Files’ jurisdiction. And even if it wasn’t, you know Kersh would block it any way he could. I’m the one who knows her. I know you’d go, but I can’t let you, Scully. I think I’m the best one for the job.”

“Is that the reason you’re considering this?” Scully asked gently. “Do you feel like you’re the only one who can do this, or is it something else? Is it that you need to be out in the field again?”

“No. Yes. Maybe that’s part of it.” He ran his hands through his hair. “It’s not like I’m doing any good here. I don’t feel like I’m accomplishing anything! We do what we can — we do our little computer searches, checking out leads, tracking down news stories — I spend hours in the news archives — and what have we got to show for it? Nothing. We’re no farther along than before, and we’re still in the position of waiting for someone to drop a big clue in our laps.”

“I know you’re frustrated,” Scully said. “So am I. I feel haven’t been able to help in any real way. But I can’t go out in the field. I have obligations here. And so do you.”

“Obligation is not why I’m here. You of all people should know that,” he said, hurt by the implications of her words.

“Mulder, that’s not what I mean. I know you’re committed to William, and to me, just as I am to you. Nothing’s going to change that.” She held him close and kissed him until he kissed her back. She held his face in her hands and looked at him with loving eyes. She took a breath and licked her lips before continuing.

“I hear a big but coming,” Mulder said, trying to smile.

“You have other obligations here, too. I don’t think you realize how many people look to you. Believe it or not, you are the leader of the resistance, tiny as it is right now. And if something should happen, if we should somehow lose you —” she had to pause and take a shuddering breath, “the loss is more than personal, as great a loss as that would be. It would be a loss of the world’s hope.”

Mulder shook his head. “But you’d still be here. You could carry on without me, if you had to.”

“Not like you. I can’t put the pieces together the way you can. When you were gone before, I did my best. I tried to do what you do, and I couldn’t then. I know I couldn’t now. I don’t think I’d even want to try.”

“Scully —”

“I just want you to think about it, Mulder. I don’t expect you to make a decision this moment, and I’m not telling you that you have to choose between me and William and doing this. It’s so much more than that now. And,” she added, trying to smile herself, “I don’t want you in the field without me there to watch your back.”

* * *

Scully left to pick up William from her mom’s, leaving Mulder to think things through.

Scully brought up the obligations of leadership, but his obligation to her and to William had become just as important as his quest.

It had been many, many years since he felt responsible for any life other than his own. He was still getting used to the idea that people depended on him, even looked up to him. He wanted to deserve it, both for the world’s future and his family’s future.

Hindsight told him now that he’d denied his desire for a family for a long time. Why wish for something so far beyond your reach? His experience of home life growing up hadn’t prepared him to look forward to it. His family was an extreme example, but plenty of his friends had similar circumstances at home.

He’d buried that dream deep, until CGB Spender showed him a version of it. That cockeyed vision was not what he wanted either. And it took Scully to show him the way out. She’d shown him the truth.

She was his touchstone then, just as she was his touchstone now. He didn’t need to be tempted away to realize what he had, and what it was worth to him.

* * *

When Scully returned with William, he came to the door and took them both in his arms. Scully didn’t say a word, just held him close. He loosened his hold just enough to look her in the eyes.

“I’ve made up my mind,” he told Scully. “It’s going to take some planning, but I think it’ll work out.”

* * *

The flight had already been called as he hurried for the gate. They’d planned the timing so he’d arrive to board at the last minute. The Gunmen were keeping an eye on things electronically. They’d confirmed that Phoebe was on the flight; they’d also been able to check the flight manifest. Everything was arranged as Mulder wanted.

He was the last to check in. As he entered the cabin, he could see Phoebe staring out the window, fingers tapping impatiently on the armrest. He slid his tall frame into the seat beside her. As she turned toward him, he grinned and said, “Hi Phoebe. Remember me? J.D. Crawford.” He stuck his hand out to grip hers in a firm shake. “Mulder couldn’t make it after all.”

* * *

“Do you think she’ll go along with it?” Scully asked as Mulder hung up the phone.

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Mulder said. “If she’s serious about helping, then she will. If she isn’t, J.D. can nose around on his own and find out what he can.”

“It’s sort of a trial by fire, isn’t it?” Scully asked.

“Maybe a little,” Mulder said. “I briefed him as best I could, and for the moment he’s got the advantage. He knows more about Phoebe than she does about him.”

“He really doesn’t have any idea what he’s getting into, does he?”

“You didn’t know what you were getting into all those years ago, either,” Mulder pointed out. “But you stuck around.”

“Yes, I did. And I already told you, I wouldn’t change a day.” She sat next to him on the sofa, wrapping her arm around his waist and kissing him on the cheek.

“I know how hard it was for you to do this, but I think you did the right thing, Mulder. For all of us.”

He made a noncommittal noise. “That remains to be seen,” he said.

“At least you know you’re not alone in this any more,” she said softly. “For the first time, you aren’t the only one who believes.”

Mulder took Scully’s face in his hands and kissed from her forehead down to her lips. “Except for you,” he said.

“Except for me,” she agreed, brushing her lips against his.

“Good thing I’ve got you around to remind me,” he said.

“A very good thing,” Scully agreed.

---

JD settled in his seat and turned to grin at Phoebe’s furious expression.

“Do you know how dangerous this is?” Phoebe hissed under the cover of takeoff noises.

“Who for?” JD asked her. He patted her hand on the armrest. “Best not to talk about it right now, then. Let’s wait till we get someplace more private.”

“You were not invited!” Phoebe whispered fiercely, snatching her hand away. JD was enjoying himself too much or he might have taken note of the fear in her eyes.

“I can be every bit as much fun as Mulder,” JD assured her. “‘Sides, he’s taken now, in case you hadn’t noticed.” He thought he might get a few licks in on Dana’s behalf. He hadn’t heard the whole story, but he’d heard enough to know how Dana felt about Phoebe.

“You men!” Phoebe spat out. “Is that all you think about? This is serious business!”

“Zat so? Then why the big come-on to Mulder? Did you think he’d follow you to England more for yourself or for what you’re hiding?”

Phoebe shot him a venomous look and deliberately turned away to look out the window. JD stretched his legs out into the aisle, smiling to himself. Yes, this was going to be fun.

* * *

“Have you heard from JD yet?” Scully asked.

“Nope, but they won’t have landed yet,” Mulder said. It was just past midnight in Georgetown, and London was five hours ahead. The night was quiet; no noise except the occasional snuffle or coo from William over the baby monitor. They were in bed, too, but neither of them even pretended to sleep.

“I’m a little surprised that Phoebe hasn’t called you from the plane,” Scully remarked. “Surely she’s noticed by now that you’re not on the flight.”

“Oh ha ha, Scully,” Mulder said sarcastically. He was as anxious, but he attempted to hide his worries. He knew JD could take care of himself but there were so many unknowns.JD was new to all of this. He wouldn’t have the finely honed sense of paranoia that Mulder had, and though he might rival Scully for skepticism, he didn’t have her science. Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe he should have —

“Mulder, stop it,” Scully said gently. She put her hand on his arm.

“My thoughts too loud for you?” he joked, but her touch did calm him somewhat.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” she said. “I’m worried, too.”

“Yeah, we’re a pair,” he said with a grin. “Want to call the boys and wake them up, too?Misery loves company.”

“I have a better idea,” Scully said. “I think you need to relax,” she added, running her hand up and down his arm.

He felt the familiar tingles at Scully’s touch and turned to cup her face in his palm. “Are you coming on to me?” he whispered.

“I’m glad you noticed,” she whispered back. “I was beginning to worry that I’d lost my touch.” She pulled his head closer to hers and added, “I still owe you for the back rub the other night,” and kissed him, running her hands up and down the smooth skin of his back. After a long while she broke the kiss and lay looking at him with half-closed eyes, a small smile on her face.

“Just in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not really all that relaxed yet,” he said, turning to her and pulling her tight against him so that she could tell for herself.

“Getting there is half the fun,” she said, kissing him softly on his nose, then his cheeks, and ending at his mouth once more.

“You’re taking all my best lines tonight, Scully,” he complained, all the while doing his best to unbutton her pajama top.

“You know what they say,” Scully was pulling at the ties of his pajama bottoms, hampered by the fact that Mulder kept pushing his body against hers. “Actions speak louder than words.”

By way of answer, Mulder covered her mouth with his.

* * *

Heathrow Airport, London

JD followed Phoebe through Customs and down the concourse, keeping up a steady commentary about anything that came to mind. She couldn’t walk fast enough to get away from him, and she evidently wouldn’t do anything disruptive while still in the airport, which was to his advantage.

Finally she turned on him. “You are making a complete nuisance of yourself. Fox is the one who knows about these things. Fox is the one who should be here. I want to talk to him. This was not what I had in mind.”

“I’m not sure I want to know what you had in mind, but I bet Mulder has a pretty good idea,” JD said. “Sure, if you want to talk to him, I won’t stop you. You can talk on my dime if you like.”

He dialed the number. “Hey Rad, did I wake you? No? Good. I got someone here who needs to talk to you,” JD said, and handed the phone to Phoebe.

* * *

That was another mark against Phoebe, as far as Scully was concerned. Even though JD had placed the call, it was Phoebe’s fault, of that Scully was certain. She was damned glad that JD hadn’t called an hour or so earlier.

She listened to Mulder on the phone. “I did warn you, Phoebe,” he was saying. “My terms or nothing. JD is my representative in England now. He’s been fully briefed. You can show him whatever you were going to show me. In fact, I expect you to, if you want my — *our* — cooperation.” He winked at Scully as he listened to Phoebe rant on.

She didn’t like the idea of lying naked next to Mulder while he talked on the phone to his former girlfriend, however many years ago it was. But she liked even less the idea of him talking to her while he was alone and naked in bed, so she wasn’t going to leave. It wasn’t rational, and it certainly wasn’t a matter of trust. It was just too weird. She sat up, pulling the sheet around her, her hand on Mulder’s hip as the call went on.

She raised her eyebrows as he turned off the phone.

“Pretty much what we expected,” he said. “She’s pissed and she doesn’t want to play. But she will.” He shook his head.

“What, Mulder?”

“You know, I really thought when Phoebe showed up it was just her yanking my chain like before. But there’s something going on. I can hear it in her voice.”

“What do you mean?”

Mulder shook his head. “I don’t know if I can describe it. But she sounds a little bit desperate. I dunno, maybe it’s just me.”

“You don’t think you’re projecting just a little here?” Scully asked.

Mulder reached over and pulled Scully close. “Maybe. Maybe distance is helping me see her more clearly. I don’t know,” he said again.

Scully didn’t say anything more, just held him.

* * *

“Did you hear what you wanted to hear?” JD asked, knowing the answer.

Phoebe glared at him. “I hope you’re not expecting me to put you up for the night,” she said.

“Right now, I’m thinking more along the lines of breakfast,” he said. “Come on, my treat. But not in the airport.”

He followed Phoebe to the taxi stand and let her give the directions. Before long, they were ensconced in a seedy little cafe where the smell of fried onions and potatoes made JD’s stomach growl in anticipation.

“This your usual sort of place, or did you think I’d be more at home here?” he asked. He heard two or three different accents, none of them British. Phoebe was the whitest person there, and almost the only woman. A few men cast curious sidelong glances at them and then went back to their coffee and food. The air was thick with cigarette smoke mingling with the smell of hot grease.

“I’m not afraid,” Phoebe said.

“That’s not what I asked you,” JD said. “Do you think I won’t fit in with your posh crowd, is that it? That I’d stick out like the proverbial sore thumb? He gestured at his sweater and jeans. “Too casual? Or too black?”

“In my `crowd,’ as you term it, certain standards of behavior are expected,” Phoebe said.“I’m not trying to be offensive, but Fox knows what to do and how to act. Frankly, I don’t know what to expect from you.”

“I’ve had to adapt to circumstances all my life, Ms. Green. Ever hear of the phrase, `adapt or die’? Open your eyes and look around. There might be places where you think I’d stick out, but there are places I can go where you wouldn’t dare stick your dainty pink toes — badge and gun or not. So leave your preconceived notions at the door — they’re not gonna help you.”

“The last thing I need,” she said evenly, “is a lecture on how life is.”

JD ignored her. “Now, I can learn how to act — but you can’t change your color any more than I can. Bet you wouldn’t have dared to come in here on your own. Mulder said you liked to live dangerously — but you always had a safety net, didn’t you? There was always a daddy to pay your way out of something, or a Mulder to watch your back.”

“That’s all you know,” Phoebe said. “My father left when I was a child. The rest of it is none of your damned business. I’ll say it again: Fox would understand what I have to show him — how do I know that you will? What do you know about any of the things he’s been involved in over the years?”

“Yeah, you’re right that I don’t know much about all that scientific stuff, but you know, neither does Mulder. Dana’s the one who usually handles that, and I didn’t notice you rolling out the red carpet for her.”

Phoebe didn’t seem to have an answer to that. “All right,” she said suddenly. “You win.I’ll show you what I can. God help you if you can’t make Fox understand what you’re seeing. I have some arrangements to make first. Go to your hotel, and I’ll meet you there in an hour.” She looked at him pointedly. “Try to look professional.”

“Yes, ma’am,” JD said with an elaborate salute.

* * *

FBI Pathology Lab

Quantico

“Good mornin’, Agent Scully,” John Doggett’s voice boomed at the door of her office. Monica Reyes was beside him. “Got time for a cup of coffee?”

“Just barely,” Scully said. “I have to drive over to the Hoover this afternoon. Kersh’s weekly update meeting. He never calls on me, but he takes roll.”

Monica rolled her eyes in sympathy.

“Gotcha,” Doggett said. “We have to head back there anyway, so can we drive you? We can drop you off here later to get your car.”

“I’d like that, John. Thanks.” Scully knew something was afoot but knew better than to make anything of it in the confines of her office.

Once in the car, Doggett wasted no time. “Monica and me found something we thought might interest you,” he said.

“You need help with an investigation?” Scully asked. Doggett and Reyes still called her on consults from time to time, in addition to helping where they could with Mulder’s extra-curricular activities. Doggett still wasn’t quite at ease with the Gunmen, but Monica had become a general favorite.

“We may have found something to help yours,” Monica said. “You know that Billy Miles’ remains were taken to the morgue to be, um, examined?”

“Yeah, and then he somehow regenerated himself and walked away?” Doggett chimed in, the I-still-don’t-believe-it tone strong in his voice.

“I remember,” Scully said with slight amusement. How could she forget Billy showing up at her son’s birth?

“Well, we found some tissue samples,” Monica said. “Don’t ask me how, but some of them had somehow been preserved.”

* * *

“Mulder, it’s me,” Scully called from her cell on the way back from the Hoover.

“Hey, Buddy, it’s Mommy,” Mulder said, holding the phone to one ear while he changed William’s diaper. “Bet she can guess what we’re doing right now.”

“Bet I could too,” Scully said. “Mulder, I need to go see the guys on my way home. Can you hold down the fort there?”

“Sure, we’re two very self-sufficient guys,” Mulder said. “Are you gonna bring us dinner?”

“What do you want?” Scully asked.

“Anything besides mashed bananas,” Mulder said. “It’s more than food, it’s the latest thing in hair care. Do you want me to come by, too? I can bring William with me.”

“No, I won’t be that late. I’ll be able to say good night to him when I get home, and if I have anything to report, I can tell you then.”

“Okay, I have to wait for JD’s call anyway,” he said.

“You haven’t heard from him?”

“Not since he checked into his hotel,” Mulder replied. “He said he’d call again after Phoebe gave him the tour.”

* * *

The Hotel Chesterton, London

JD had just about given up on Phoebe when she called him. It was considerably longer than an hour since she’d promised to pick him up. “I’ll be by shortly,” she said.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You’ll see. It’s what you wanted,” she said.

He was waiting in the lobby for her when she arrived. She almost walked past him, then slowly turned back.

“Told you,” he said with a grin. He was wearing a suit and carried a topcoat over his arm. He looked every inch the businessman.

Phoebe gave him the once over in a way that made him think of a tiger stalking her prey. “You’ll do,” was all she said.

She briefed him on the way over. “This is not the laboratory I showed Fox in the States.I couldn’t show him the real operation, it was too dangerous.”

“So you’re telling me that the photos were fakes?”

“No, I’m not,” she said impatiently. “The laboratories are real, but what I showed Fox is not what the labs are used for.”

“It’s not a cloning operation?”

“Not as such,” she said evasively. “But I know the research will interest Fox, very much.”

“Or you’re just yanking his chain,” JD muttered. Phoebe ignored him.

They drove some way out of London, to what appeared to be an industrial park. Several large buildings, very modern, occupied a large expanse of green. He recognized the names of some of the companies. He let out a low whistle.

Phoebe glanced over at him. “What were you expecting? Some hole-and-corner operation?”

“That was exactly what I was expecting,” JD said.

“We have a cover business, of course,” Phoebe said. “Hiding in plain sight is usually a successful strategy.”

“So what’s my cover?” JD asked.

“You’re a fellow security expert,” she said. “It gives us carte blanche to go anywhere we like without question.”

“Okay then,” he said. “Ready when you are.” They walked right in the front door. Phoebe was greeted affably by the guard at the desk.

* * *

“It’s a load of crap, Rad,” JD told Mulder later. “She’s making out like it’s all hush-hush, but the place she took me, she’s a security consultant for. Nothing out of the ordinary going on that I could see.”

“No doors marked `No Admittance, This Means You?’” Mulder teased.

“We were all over that building. No locked doors, big glass windows on the `clean room’ operations. Anything I asked about, they were pretty open. Phoebe said something about hiding in plain sight,” JD said.

“I gotta tell you, JD, that some of the scariest stuff we found was out in the open. You have to know what you’re looking for.”

“I think I do,” JD said. “So I’m staking her out. I’ll see where she goes, who she talks to. She may want to hide in plain sight, but I’m better at the undercover stuff, as you know.”

“Good work, JD,” Mulder said. “Be sure to wear something black and sexy.”

“Don’t have to, Rad. I’m already black and sexy.”

Mulder chuckled. “Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you to be careful, either.”

“Got that covered, too,” JD assured him.

Phoebe called not long after. “Fox, I did as you asked,” she said.

“Yeah, you showed JD some very pretty offices that have nothing to do with what you dangled in front of us a few days ago,” Mulder said. “What gives, Phoebe? You’ve always had a little trouble with the facts, but this seems extreme even for you.”

“I’m sorry, Fox. I did what I thought was best to get you over here,” she said.

“That worked out pretty well for you, didn’t it?” he said. “Is anything you told us the truth?”

“Of course it is,” Phoebe said. “And you know that there have been labs set up to create the human-alien hybrids.”

“I also know that the program was destroyed and abandoned when the Consortium was destroyed,” said Mulder. “The aliens aren’t playing that game anymore.”

“What if I told you,” Phoebe said, “that what we are doing is trying to develop a vaccine?”

“What if I told you I think you’re full of shit?” countered Mulder. “You’re just pushing buttons until you see the light bulb go on, is that it?”

“You know my uncle was involved in that research. You have to believe that there are still people who care about fighting against the aliens. And I know that you’re one of them.”

He wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not. Memories of his last conversation with the Englishman echoed in his head. He wished he’d thought to save the vial, but saving Scully had a much higher priority that day.

“Then why didn’t you come right out and say that to begin with?” Mulder asked.

“I should think you know the answer to that already,” Phoebe said. “Would you have trusted me if I’d come to you as a comrade-in-arms? If I’d told you right away what we’re trying to do here? You’ve pointed out yourself that you don’t know whom to trust. What if there’s a mole in your organization? What if JD isn’t what he seems?”

“If you’re referring to the FBI, then yes, we know it’s probably riddled with people who don’t have our best interests at heart. I don’t know what other `organization’ you might be referring to. I’m not with the FBI any more, and I certainly don’t belong to any other organization that would have me as a member.”

“Laugh at me if you must, Fox, but you obviously still need to learn who your friends are.”

“It’s funny that the people who tell me that most frequently turn out to be the ones who aren’t my friends,” Mulder said.

“I’m just asking for a chance to prove myself,” Phoebe said. “You’ve always been willing to listen in the past.”

“Yeah, and I seem to remember getting burned, too. JD is exactly what he seems, and I wouldn’t go casting doubts about him. You, on the other hand, do need to prove yourself to me and to Scully before we can decide about you. Giving JD what he needs will go some way toward doing that.”

“Very well, Fox,” Phoebe said. “But I’ll expect something in return.”

Mulder let out an incredulous laugh. “You really don’t have much to bargain with, Phoebe,” he said. But he had to hand it to her for having sheer nerve.

* * *

It was long past dinner time when Scully arrived home. Mulder had put William to bed and was sitting in the living room, deep in thought, when she came in the door.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

“I saved you some soup,” Mulder said, getting up.

“Not hungry, thanks.” She came over to the sofa and gestured for him to sit down again, sitting next to him. She was bursting with something, but she merely asked, “Did you hear from JD?”

“Yeah. And from Phoebe. But it’ll keep. What kept you so long?”

“John and Monica brought me some information this afternoon, and I wanted to check it out before jumping to any conclusions about it,” she said. She could barely sit still.

“Come on, Scully, don’t leave me in suspense,” he pleaded.

She told him briefly about Doggett and Reyes’ visit that morning, and what they’d given her.

“We were talking the other day about what we knew about Billy Miles and what controls him. Or what controlled Knowle Rohrer or Donny Ranken or any of the others, for that matter.”

“What do we really know about these so-called super soldiers?” Mulder said. “Only what Rohrer told Doggett, and I’d consider that somewhat suspect.”

“Well, we know what we’ve seen with our own eyes,” Scully said. “We know that they’re virtually indestructible, or rather, that they can be destroyed but somehow regenerate.”

“But they can be injured,” Mulder pointed out. “Ranken seemed pretty badly hurt.”

Scully made a sharp negating gesture and shook her head. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Mulder knew that William’s role in Ranken’s injuries was something Scully wasn’t ready to discuss, and he wasn’t going to push her. He wasn’t sure he was ready, either.

“So this isn’t about their destruction, but about —?” he prompted.

“Possibly about how they’re controlled,” Scully said. “It’s too early to say, and I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, but we may have a breakthrough.”

Mulder hadn’t seen Scully this excited since Anson the Invisible Corpse. Her eyes sparkled and a small smile hovered on her lips. It made him want to kiss her, and because he could, he did.

“It’s not time to celebrate yet, Mulder,” she said a little breathlessly a few minutes later, “but it’s a start.”

“Tell me what you found,” he said, tucking her against his side. This was the most fun he’d ever had discussing science with Scully.

“I don’t know what to think, Mulder. It appears that whatever is controlling Billy Miles and his kind interacts with the central nervous system in some way. It seems to exert varying degrees of control. But I don’t know how it’s done — if it’s some sort of external trigger, or it was somehow part of the replication process.” She tried to be more cool and professional, but he could still see the excitement in her eyes.

He felt pretty excited, too. His frustration had matched Scully’s. Now maybe they’d start to get somewhere. “This is huge, Scully. Unbelievably huge.”

“I want to caution you, Mulder, that this is simply a preliminary finding. Judging from the different behaviors of the replicants we’ve encountered, this seems to be a possible explanation, but I need to do more research.”

“But how can you find out more?”

“We need a larger sample, but I don’t know how to go about getting one without putting someone in danger. It seems unlikely that we could get Billy to cooperate willingly.”

“Probably not, if we could even find him,” Mulder agreed. “But what you’re describing sounds a little like the things that Skinner had in his blood. Are they related in some way?”

“The nanocytes? At this point, it’s impossible to tell. I have tissue samples, but no blood. Not surprising, considering what happened to Billy. I could take a sample from Skinner, if he’ll agree to it…”

He could see the wheels turning in her head as she considered the possibilities.

“…and,” she said reluctantly, “from William.”

Mulder’s heart sank at her expression. “Why? You know he’s okay, Scully. You have nothing to worry about.”

“But there’s something, isn’t there? We can’t just ignore it, much as I’d like to. I just hate for William to be connected to this in any way.”

“With his mom and dad neck-deep in it, he won’t be able to help being a part of it,” Mulder said as lightly as he could.

Scully raised her head from Mulder’s shoulder. She hunched over her knees, head in hands. “I know I have to face it sometime,” she said. “There could be another Gretchen out there, waiting to harm William. Or the replicants may figure out a way to get to him. They have to know that he’s a threat. There are so many pieces to the puzzle, but we don’t have a way to put them all together yet.”

“We will, though, Scully. You will.”

“It’s hard to put the scientist ahead of being a mother,” she said in a muffled voice. “William is my son, not something to experiment with. I won’t allow it.”

Mulder rubbed her back gently. She was rigid with tension. “I don’t expect that of you, Scully. No one would. You remember, you said to me before William was born that you didn’t want to be the subject of an unending X-File. Well, it appears that that’s exactly what’s happening. But if you said you didn’t want to do this, I’d take you and William, and we’d go somewhere and work on having that normal life.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I promise you I would.”

They sat quietly for a while, contemplating this. He pulled Scully back to rest against his shoulder. Her hand lay against his heart. “We can’t do that, and you know it,” she said softly. “We’re committed now. We have been for a long time.”

“We’ll keep William safe,” Mulder said. “And we’ll give him as normal a life as we can.”

“Maybe there’s something I can’t see,” she said, still worrying. “Something hidden in him that we simply don’t have the technology to detect.”

“Evidently the replicants couldn’t detect it, either. If it’s in him, it’s in us, too,” Mulder said. “And for no other reason. You know that better than I do, Scully. The truth really is in us. All three of us.”

Scully let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s overwhelming. I need help. I can’t do all the research myself, as much as I’d like to. I can’t quit the FBI and devote all my time to it, either.”

“No one expects you to do it all alone,” Mulder said. “We’ll figure out a way to get you some help for this stuff.”

“I’m not sure that any research scientist worth having is going to throw over his or her career to come work for our cause,” she said dryly.

“Maybe we can think of something to sweeten the pot,” Mulder said. “Research grants. Or we could set up our own private foundation for the study of retroviruses. They’re all the rage these days.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Scully murmured.

“Also, we don’t know what JD might have uncovered in England,” Mulder pointed out.

Scully didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to; her expression spoke for her.

Mulder changed direction. “Have the guys turned anything up?”

“Until now, we haven’t really had anything for them to look for. But if they can put the word out about returnees who appear to have made a miraculous recovery from a near-death experience —”

“Oh, Scully, you don’t know what you’re doing to me with your words,” Mulder teased her. “To think I’ve lived to see the day when my skeptical Scully discusses alien abductions in such a matter of fact way —”

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully said, but she said it fondly. It was pretty amazing that he could even joke about it, considering what he’d been through. They’d both come a long way.

Mulder’s conversation with Phoebe crossed his mind, but he didn’t say anything. Like Scully, he wanted to have some facts before he said anything.

* * *

Near Hammersmith, London

JD wrapped his jacket around him a little tighter and shifted his long legs. He’d had to rent a car that was almost ridiculously small, and now he sat with his knees under his chin, watching Phoebe’s door. He’d made sure, courtesy of some gadgets from the Gunmen, that she couldn’t sneak out the back without him knowing about it. He watched her front door from across the street.

The street reminded him of some of the nicer brownstone neighborhoods in New York — rows of houses with a short flight of steps leading up to the front door on each. The street was well-kept, and after about nine in the evening, very quiet. Many of the houses appeared to be divided into apartments, but Phoebe seemed to have one all to herself. He watched as lights winked out in windows all along the street. Phoebe’s stayed lit for a long time.

“How’d you get yourself involved in this, man?” he asked himself. He wouldn’t say he was in over his head, but he could see it from where he sat. He remembered back to the days when he was a new recruit to the Bureau and all this undercover stuff had been new and exciting. That had worn off soon enough, and a good thing, too. It was a job, and if you let excitement in, fear soon followed, and mistakes got made.

Not that he hadn’t enjoyed what he did sometimes. Most of the time. Getting the bad guys was a rush, for sure.

Suddenly, light flooded onto the street from Phoebe’s front door. She turned and shut the door behind her, and headed right across the street toward him.

He got out the car and stood up, stretching his cramped muscles and instinctively reaching for the gun that wasn’t there.

Phoebe smiled as she approached. “I called your hotel and left a message. Fancy meeting you here.”

“What do you want, Phoebe?” he asked warily.

“I might ask the same question of you,” she said.

“I’m just waitin’ for you,” he said. “Never pegged you as a homebody. I thought you might show me some of the nightlife of London.”

“We won’t be going in that sardine tin you call a car,” she said. “Come with me.” She turned back across the street to her front door.

JD followed her into the house cautiously. He caught a glimpse of rooms off the hallway and noted in passing the polished floors and beautiful furnishings. Phoebe didn’t pause, but led him through the downstairs hallway and toward the kitchen and the back door. “I keep my car back here, in the old carriage house,” she explained.

They went out the back door and crossed the alley to the fanciest-looking garage JD had ever seen. Phoebe unlocked the door and rolled it back to reveal a cream-colored Land Rover and a green Jaguar. “The town car and the country car,” she said with a little smirk. “Which would you prefer?”

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Don’t play coy with me. You know exactly where we’re going,” Phoebe said. “Come on, the Rover it is.”

Late as it was, there was still plenty of traffic until they got away from the city. They drove in silence until Phoebe asked out of the blue, “How long have you known Fox?”

“Let’s see…since the Academy, so quite a while now,” JD said.

“Longer than his partner, then,” she said. “And he never mentioned me?”

“Nope. He wasn’t one to talk about his past much.”

“So is he married to his partner now?” Phoebe asked. “I hear he has a child with her, anyway.”

JD turned sideways in his seat to face Phoebe. “Listen, I’m not trying to be rude, but if you want to know more about Mulder, you should ask him. You and Mulder, that was a long time ago. You want my advice, you’ll leave his personal life alone. Especially if you want his help, and Dana’s.”

Surprisingly, Phoebe nodded. “You’re right, of course. There are larger issues at stake here. Thank you for reminding me.” There was not a hint of sarcasm in her voice. She sounded almost conciliatory.

JD nodded back and watched the lights stream by his window.

“What’s your story then?” Phoebe asked suddenly. “Or are you off-limits as well?”

“Not that much to tell,” JD said. “I’m retired from the DEA. I’m a consultant now, free-lance stuff.”

“What sort of free-lance stuff?” Phoebe asked.

“Oh, you know. This and that. Troubleshooting. Investigations. Stuff like this.”

“Troubleshooting.” Phoebe had a half-smile on her face. “I quite like the sound of that. Am I trouble, then?” She brushed her hand against his leg as she reached for the gear shift. It could have been deliberate, or not.

JD chose to ignore it. “You tell me, Ms. Green.”

“Call me Phoebe, please,” she practically purred, “JD.” It was the first time she’d called him by name.

JD turned away again and rolled his eyes at the dark landscape. This chick shifted gears faster than anyone he’d ever seen.

Fortunately, they were almost there. Phoebe slowed the car and took a different road into the business park. It wound around to the back of the building. She parked a distance away and led the way to a nondescript side door. “It looks like a fire exit,” she said, “but it’s actually not.” She fiddled with something and the door swung silently inward.

The door led to a narrow hallway that seemed to follow the outer wall of the building. Recessed lights along the floor lit their way dimly. Eventually they came to another door, also flush with the wall and unmarked. Phoebe opened it the same way, and they stepped into an empty laboratory.

He saw rows of laboratory benches with test tubes, Petrie dishes, and all the other accouterments of a well-equipped lab. JD was pretty sure, however, that this was not one of the labs he’d seen the day before.

“That’s right,” Phoebe said before he could ask. “This is our other operation. The one I told Mulder about.”

“It still doesn’t look like the pictures you showed him,” JD said.

“I’ve called Mulder and explained the situation to him,” Phoebe said. “We aren’t cloning anything here, we’re working on a cure for a deadly virus. You know about the virus, don’t you?”

JD nodded.

“My uncle was involved in the research before. Unfortunately, most of the information was destroyed not long after he died. We’ve had to start almost from scratch.” She walked along the rows of laboratory benches. “That’s why I contacted Mulder. I didn’t think he’d believe me unless he saw it in person.”

“Why all that shit about cloning?” JD asked.

“I knew that it was a subject near and dear to Dana Scully’s heart, and that if I could get her involvement, then I could get Mulder’s, too.” She looked chagrined. “It doesn’t make me out as a very good person, does it?”

“Can’t say that it does,” JD said.

“I said the same thing to Mulder: if I’d started out being friendly and open, she would immediately have suspected something. She doesn’t like me much, you know.”

“Yeah, I got that,” JD said. “But I don’t see anything here that would help me to convince either of them that they should throw their lot in with you.”

“Look around you,” Phoebe said. “This place is filled during the day. Filled with dedicated researchers. Some are working on new patent drugs, and some are working on the vaccine. Just as the doctors in the States were working on legitimate, known diseases along with their research against the alien threat.”

“I can tell them all that,” JD said, “but it’s still not proof.”

With a toss of her head, Phoebe led the way to a wall of cabinets at the back of the room. She opened a drawer and showed the rows of glass tubes and small plastic cases. “Do you see now why I needed Fox here?” she asked. “He’d know. Or Dana would know.”

“Then let me take something back as proof,” JD said.

“Very well,” Phoebe said. She slid the drawers shut. Next to the cabinets was a door leading into a small office. She opened a cupboard and unlocked a small safe inside. She withdrew an envelope, bringing it out to JD. “This is what I have left from my uncle. Take that to Fox.”

At that moment somewhere deep in the building, some kind of machinery started up. It sounded very loud in the stillness of the lab.

Phoebe looked concerned. “I think it’s the elevator. Stay here, don’t touch anything.” She walked quickly and quietly to the door and opened it slowly.

When she turned back into the room, JD was halfway to the door.

“I think we should leave,” she said. “The staff will start arriving soon enough.”

* * *

Mulder and Scully were still up discussing the whys and wherefores of research and recruitment when JD called. “I saw the property you wondered about,” he said obliquely.

“What do you think about it, JD?” Mulder held the earpiece so that both he and Scully could hear what JD had to say.

“I think there are some possibilities,” JD said cautiously. “But we can talk more about it when I get back.”

“Okay, we’ll see you when you get in, JD. And thanks.”

In line at Heathrow, JD said, “No problem,” and turned off his phone. After Phoebe had driven them back to London, he’d checked out of his hotel and headed for the airport and the first available flight home. He wasn’t going to take any chances that their late night visit to the labs had been observed. He’d let Phoebe explain it all away.

Back in Georgetown, Mulder said, “Maybe we won’t have to wait so long to get you some help, Scully. If this thing with the lab in London pans out —”

“No.” Scully said immediately.

Mulder stared at her.

“It’s not what you think, Mulder, but I don’t want to share this with anyone just yet. I can still run some tests on the samples that I have.”

He tried to appeal to her rational side. “Scully, Phoebe says she has people already working on a vaccine. As of now, we don’t have anyone except for you and the guys, such as they are. It seems to me that this would be a good test of our collaboration, if we’re even considering it.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “This has the potential of being a very big discovery. Until we know more about this operation in England, I’m not comfortable sharing this.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Scully,” Mulder said slowly, watching her carefully, “but are you sure that that’s the only reason?”

She didn’t answer right away. Then, softly, she asked, “Do you trust Phoebe, Mulder? Do you think that I’m being overly cautious? She’s already told us one lie, at least as far as we know. She changed her story when she saw it didn’t get the reaction she hoped for. Do you really believe that what’s she’s saying now is true?”

“We have an eyewitness now. JD saw the set up.”

“But does he know enough to know what they’re truly working on? Was he allowed to talk to any of the researchers?”

Mulder shook his head.

“So that’s not really proof. If they are being held there, or they’ve been brainwashed in some way —”

“Paranoid much, Agent Scully?” Mulder asked.

That finally won a smile from her. “I learned from the best,” she said. “Just humor me, Mulder. Let me continue with my own research for a while. If I find something more substantive, then we can go from there.”

* * *

Offices of the Magic Bullet

Mulder stared at the picture of the young Phoebe, arm in arm with his former adversary. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. As bad as his experiences with Phoebe had been, he’d always thought they’d been his own. Now they were just more proof of how manipulated he’d been from the beginning.

“Well, I guess it shows that part of her story is true at least,” he said with a sigh.

The envelope had also contained a picture of the man with Dr. Benita Charne-Sayre, a fact that caused Scully to set Langly to a new computer search, while she discussed an article for the next Magic Bullet with Byers and Frohike.

“But I don’t see how it proves anything about what she’s involved in now,” Mulder added.

“Almost forgot. I brought you guys back some souvenirs,” JD said. From one pocket he withdrew a padded envelope, and from the other, a handful of small, flat, plastic cases.

Scully stopped her conversation with the guys and they all came over to look.

Mulder could see that the small plastic cases JD held out were tissue samples, similar to what they’d found at Strughold Mining so many years ago. Scully opened the envelope and her eyes widened.

“How did you get Phoebe to give you these?” Scully held up the vials of liquid from the envelope.

“I didn’t exactly ask,” JD grinned. “Trouble is, they seem to be coded in some way, so I don’t know how useful they’ll be. Can you tell the origin?”

“You mean, there wasn’t a helpful sign that said, `alien tissue samples,’ or anything like that?” Mulder asked.

“Nope, sorry to disappoint you. But the labels must mean something,” JD said.

“We’ll figure it out,” Frohike said confidently. “Hey Langly, get over here.”

“I’m busy already,” Langly said ungraciously.

Byers took charge of the envelopes. “We’ll work on it,” he promised Scully.

Mulder clapped a hand on JD’s shoulder “Pretty damned good for your first time out,” he said.

“I always was a fast study,” JD said.

“Did Phoebe give you any trouble?” Mulder asked.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” JD replied. “She sure runs hot and cold, though. She’s not an easy read.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mulder said ruefully. “But I’m sure we’ll be hearing from her soon.”

“If she doesn’t catch hell for losing that stuff I boosted,” JD said.

“Phoebe always manages to land on her feet,” Mulder said.

“What are you going to tell her?” JD wanted to know.

“As little as possible,” said Mulder. “We’ll feed her a little bit of information and see what she does with it. Scully and I have been down this path too often to blindly trust her.”

* * *

Phoebe walked through the lab, now populated with men and women in immaculate white coats, bent over their workstations. There was a quiet hum about all this industry, rather like a beehive.

She knocked on the office door with a slight hesitation. Things hadn’t worked out quite the way they’d been planned, but she thought that they’d gone well enough. Mulder hadn’t rejected her proposal out of hand, and if she could get Dana Scully’s cooperation in some way, it could turn out very well indeed. She still had hopes for the future of their collaboration.

“Come,” said the voice on the other side of the door. Although he was not dressed in military garb, he still had a military bearing. He was not to Phoebe’s taste; she still had her preferences, and the man in front of her did not match them. It was just as well. No point in complicating things further.

She sat without being asked, crossing her legs. She’d have loved a cigarette, but those were not allowed. It wasn’t a craving so much as a memory of a craving, anyway.

Several moments passed. If he was displeased at her informality, he gave no sign of it.

“All in all, not an unqualified success,” he said finally, looking up at her. His eyes were clear but she could read nothing in them.

“I think that’s to be expected,” she said. “You heard him. I have to regain his trust. God knows it’s been betrayed often enough in the past.”

“You would know,” he said. “You were one of the betrayers, after all.”

“Yes, but I’ve reformed,” she said without a trace of irony. Not that irony was something he understood, anyway. Perhaps it was just his military background, but he seemed almost robot-like at times. But then, he’d been “recruited” long ago.

It was only more recently that the transformation process had become somewhat more refined. Was it a bigger curse to have one’s personality taken over entirely, or to have some awareness of what one once was, and have little control over oneself?

“So long as you remember that,” he said.

“I was under the impression that I had no choice in the matter,” she said lightly. “I think I have proven my value, however,” she added. “I think that we will be successful, in the end.”

He stared impassively at her. She was never sure if he just had no sense of humor or if it had been stripped out of him somehow. It was odd, what they chose to retain and what they chose to discard. Though perhaps it wasn’t entirely choice…

Mr. Rohrer interrupted her chain of thought. “Wholesale destruction would be more expedient,” he reminded her. “I need to understand why this is the better course.”

“You mean, They need to understand?” she asked daringly. “Because no one knows how widespread this `resistance’ might be. Because They need to buy time to put Their plans in place. Isn’t that the prevailing wisdom?”

“You are `They’ as well,” he pointed out pedantically. “We are all `They’ now.” “That’s as may be. I’m not going to get into a syntax war with you,” she said cheekily. Any moment now They would become aware of her insubordination and subdue her. But she would bait him while she could.

“We will be watching him. And you,” he added unnecessarily. He shuffled the papers on his desk. “You may go.”

Phoebe was already out of her chair and at the door as he said the words. Before going outside, she adjusted the scarf around her neck. The knob on the back of her neck was small but noticeable and she took care not to draw attention to it.

* * *

Offices of the Magic Bullet

One Week Later

“Hey Scully,” Mulder said over her shoulder. “How’s it going?”

Scully jumped slightly and turned. “I wasn’t expecting you here,” she said. Then, realizing that William wasn’t in his arms, “Where’s William? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Your mom came over and I thought I’d take the opportunity to come see how things were going.” Before she could ask, he added, “Don’t worry. JD’s keeping watch. No one’s gonna get in. And your mom won’t let anyone in, either. No matter who it is.”

Scully sighed and cracked her neck. She’d been analyzing the samples JD had brought back and wasn’t having much luck so far. She needed to know more about what they were to understand what she was seeing. Langly was working on the coded labels but so far wasn’t having any luck.

“Have you gotten hold of Phoebe?” Mulder had sent her an email requesting more information about the lab but so far had not heard back from her.

“I got one reply from her saying she’d be in touch, but no further information,” Mulder said. “I just tried again and the email got bounced back. I thought I’d have the guys check it out.”

“Do you think you need to send JD back?” Scully asked.

“I dunno,” Mulder said. “If it were up to me, I’d already be on that plane, but lucky for me I’m not alone in this.”

Scully smiled. “No, you’re not. So since you aren’t getting on the next plane, what do you think?”

“I think maybe that’s what she wants,” Mulder said. “For me to come running. It could be just another ploy on her part.”

This earned him a raised-eyebrow look from Scully, but before she could say anything, there was a polite throat-clearing sound behind them.

Byers stood in the doorway of Scully’s makeshift laboratory. “Dana, Mulder, Frohike’s found something you should see,” he said.

Scully secured her samples and took off her protective goggles and gloves. She shared a look with Mulder before they went to join Byers in peering over Langly’s shoulder.

“I ran across this by chance,” Frohike said. “I was scanning for articles on security systems. This one would have been really easy to miss.”

He pointed to a paragraph in the middle of the story. The article cited an unnamed business in an industrial park outside of London that had suffered a break-in in the past week. It went on to say that industrial espionage was thought to be the motive, since many of the businesses there were involved in research and development. The perpetrators had set fire inside two of the buildings, and the resultant damage from fire and water made ascertaining what was actually taken difficult. The businesses themselves weren’t commenting, citing proprietary information.

“‘At least, as the crimes occurred after hours,’” Frohike read, “‘no lives were lost.’ Is that the location Phoebe took JD to?”

“Does that surprise you?” Mulder asked, the muscle working in his jaw as he chewed his lip. “What else does it say?”

“Nothing about that particular incident,” Frohike said. “It evidently made only the local news when it happened. I only looked at the article myself because it’s about ways businesses can increase security. I guess this place learned too late, huh?”

“Do you suppose Phoebe was involved in this?” Scully asked.

“It would explain why she hasn’t been in touch,” Mulder said. “Though it sure as hell doesn’t explain anything else.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I should have known something like this would happen. I should have seen it coming.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Superman,” Scully said, putting her hand on his arm. “We’re no worse off than we were before. Maybe we’re better off. We have the materials JD brought us. We have a direction to go in. More than one direction. And I think it shows that our doubts about Phoebe were correct.”

“Are you sure?” Mulder asked.

Scully replied, “No, I’m not. But I have the feeling she could turn up again, just like a bad penny, with some kind of plausible explanation about what happened. It’ll be up to us to decide whether to believe her or not, though frankly I’d be inclined not to. And in the meantime…”

“In the meantime, what?” Mulder asked.

“In the meantime, we both have work to do,” Scully said. “We may not know what side Phoebe is, or was, on, but the battle is joined.”

“Indeed it is,” Mulder said, his arm around Scully. “So let’s get this show on the road.”

---

–– Chapter 5 ––

Three Days of Discovery by Jacquie LaVa

* * *

PROLOGUE

3:33 AM

In the dark of the room, shadows loomed along the walls, sentinels shaped like table lamps, a high-backed sofa; an oak entertainment center. The carpet was thick and cushiony on the floor, inviting silent footsteps. A night light glowed from a corner outlet, an unwelcome precaution. In another corner a grandfather clock rose gracefully from a carved platform, polished brass pendulum swinging, counting down twenty-seven more minutes until next chime.

They’d easily be finished and gone by then.

Two figures, garbed in inky black from head to toe, moved easily, confidently through the silent room. As unfamiliar as the surroundings were to them, still they glided, avoiding that which would alert their presence. They’d done this many times before. In their chosen profession each was the very best, impossible to track and utterly unknown to the outside world.

If asked, they’d both affirm they lived for their work… all aspects of it.

There were many good choices in the room. Some were of course more conspicuous than others, and so they had to be avoided. It was a kind of game, actually; a challenge to find just the right place, the best positioning. Both prided themselves on not only their delicate precision but also their creativity. It made the job more interesting.

The clock in the corner ticked on, minute by minute. There was no other discernable sound in the room, not even breathing. Neither one glanced up at the large, round face of the ornate heirloom and wasted precious seconds wondering about the time. Each knew exactly how many minutes and seconds had passed.

One remained amongst the tables and the chairs. The other slipped noiselessly into another room.

Nine and a half minutes later they both eased out the door, leaving no scent, no mark, no disturbance of any kind. Under a moonless sky they vanished into more shadows, slipping away on soundless, untraceable feet.

GEORGETOWN

March, 2002

4:39 AM

Mulder walked the length of the nursery and back, a large hand rubbing William’s back as he dozed on his father’s shoulder. Underneath the baby’s cheek Mulder’s skin was still damp from the storm of teething tears. Poor little guy. His first tooth had been a real corker, and every tooth since had been just as difficult. Judging by the slight swelling along William’s jaw and the low fever he was running, Tooth Number Four wasn’t going to be any easier.

Mulder kissed his son’s overly-warm forehead and briefly considered trying to coax him into accepting some baby Tylenol. Maybe later, when his mouth was open anyway in anticipation of his breakfast, he’d slip a teaspoonful in.

“Mulder? Is he asleep? Why didn’t you wake me?” Scully stood in the doorway of the nursery, tangle-haired and barefoot, her nightgown falling off one shoulder. He couldn’t help but see the smudges of weariness under her eyes. She’d walked the floor with William three nights in a row this week already and had never bothered to rouse him and ask if he’d do it, instead. Mulder smiled at her and she returned it for maybe two seconds before a yawn broke through. Scully moved to stand in front of him, one hand over Mulder’s as it rested against William’s back. She leaned her forehead on his shoulder and he slipped his free arm around her.

They stayed in that position for a minute or so, not speaking, until Scully pulled away and held out her arms for the now-sleeping baby. Mulder handed him over carefully and Scully sank down into the rocking chair, eager to enjoy a few minutes of quiet snuggling. Mulder sat on the floor at her feet and she ran the fingers of her free hand through his hair when he laid his head against her knee.

“Couple of rough nights, poor baby. For both of you. I was hoping you’d sleep longer, Scully. You really needed it.” Mulder reached up a finger and rubbed it underneath her eye, wishing he could soothe away the shadow as well.

Scully shrugged and sent him a resigned glance. “It’s par for the course, you know that. Part of the problem is the tooth; the last time I checked, it seemed to be breaking through at an angle. That tells me our little Willie-Boy not only has some tough gums, but I’d bet some of his permanent teeth could have that same angle.” She adjusted the sleeping baby more comfortably in her lap and remarked thoughtfully, “I had braces. So did Bill. I remember how much it hurt each time I had to have them adjusted. I hate to think William might have to wear them, too.”

She removed her hand from Mulder’s hair and inserted a finger into the baby’s mouth, gently searching for the little nub. William never even stirred. The tooth had finally broken through completely, which meant their boy would have another few days of soreness that could easily be controlled with Tylenol and Anbesol. Scully rubbed her palm over his back as she rocked gently.

She murmured, “Maybe I’ll stay home this morning, Mulder. I don’t have a class until two, and this way you can get a break, tend to whatever you need to. With William running a slight fever, I’d feel better keeping an eye on him.”

Mulder roused himself from his comfortable position against Scully’s legs, and gave her bare knee a teasing kiss. “Sounds like a plan. You want me to take him, tuck him back in his crib? Then you can catch a few more hours of sleep.”

Scully nodded, rising to her feet slowly, easing William into his father’s arms. As Mulder placed him in his crib and covered him with a light blanket, she stretched wearily, the nightgown slipping further and revealing one rounded breast. Mulder turned just in time to catch the unconscious peep-show. He could feel his pulse jump as he gazed at her body, reminding him in no uncertain terms that it had been too long since they’d last made love. Awakening several times a night to walk the nursery floor with a cranky, teething baby definitely put limitations on romance and spontaneity.

He eyed Scully as she stretched again, enjoying how the gaping neckline of her nightgown showcased – in his opinion – the most beautiful bosom in the world. Attached to the woman he adored, it was all he could do not to grab her with both hands and drag her off to bed. True, she was tired; so was he. But it HAD been a long time…

Mulder had taken two steps toward her, locking eyes with her, the intent in his plain to see, when William awoke with a shriek of discomfort. Scully sent him an apologetic smile and moved to the crib, lifting their son out and heading back to the rocker. As she settled into the cushions and tried to persuade the fretful child to nurse, she murmured regretfully, “Sorry, Mulder. I have a feeling this is going to be one of those times when nothing’s going to make the little guy happy. Why don’t you head on back to bed? I’ll nurse him and see if I can get him settled.”

“I have a better idea.” Mulder reached for Scully’s free hand and pulled her up out of the low rocker, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and guiding her out the nursery door and down the hallway to their room. “Let’s both lie down with him. You can nurse him there and if he falls asleep, then we’re already in a prone position. Maybe we’ll get lucky and all three of us will get a few more hours of sleep.”

“Sounds like a better plan. And speaking of getting lucky… I’ll make it up to you, Mulder. I promise.” As she spoke Scully moved to her side of the bed and slipped under the covers, positioning William in the middle and nestling him up against her body. William immediately rooted for a nipple and latched on, Scully wincing slightly as his tiny teeth nipped her. She pressed a kiss on his head and admonished, “Yow; that pinches! You know, Willy… sooner or later I’m going to wean you off Mommy’s nipples. I don’t think they’re up to the challenge of your little choppers.” The baby’s only response was to grunt and nurse harder. Scully sucked in a fortifying breath and let him have at it.

Mulder settled in behind Scully and spooned them both, one hand on William’s back. He could hear William losing the battle to stay awake and felt Scully sigh gratefully when the baby’s mouth slipped from her nipple as he fell asleep. With teeth came pain, not only for William but for Scully as well. It was definitely time to wean him.

He rubbed the baby’s back and worked a burp out of him, then covered all three of them with the sheet and blanket. Mulder buried his face in Scully’s soft hair, humming in contentment – and perhaps a touch of frustration – trying to ignore the way her bottom felt, snuggled up against his impatient flesh. Children could really put the whammy on romance.

Poor little boy… he couldn’t help it. Teething was awful for babies. Mulder sighed again, thankfully feeling himself fading fast. He brushed a semiconscious kiss on Scully’s nape and she murmured, “Feels good, Mulder. Don’t let me forget to make you, okay?”

For a moment his sleep-fuddled brain couldn’t follow her meaning; then he remembered her earlier remark and sighed into her hair, waking enough to mumble, “Ditto. I’ll make you right back. As soon as Willy feels better.”

“Mmmm, better.” She took Mulder’s hand and pressed it against her breast, both of them falling asleep within seconds of each other.

They slept peacefully, deeply, the silence of the apartment broken only by the golden oak grandfather clock, sitting on its carved platform in the corner of the living room… chiming five times.

ARLINGTON, VA

2:10 PM

Margaret Scully could hear her phone ringing through the front door as she dug in her purse for her keys. Hurriedly she snapped them up and fought with the deadbolt, punched in the security code. She ran inside and dove for the receiver just as her machine clicked on.

“Hello? I’m here, hello!”

“Mom, are you okay? You’re all out of breath.”

Maggie smiled as she dropped her purse and the bags she’d had hooked over her arm. “Dana! I’m fine, honey. I was just unlocking the door when I heard the phone. That blasted deadbolt sticks once in a while. I’ll have to see about getting it oiled, I guess. And the security system takes some getting used to.”

“Let me call the guys, Mom. Langly can fix it. In fact, he’d like nothing better; that way he can lord it all over Frohike that he’s a better deadbolt-installer! They live to flaunt their superiority complexes, I swear.”

Chuckling, Maggie took the bags and the phone into the kitchen and pressed the receiver against her shoulder as she put away milk and bread. “Well, I sure appreciated them taking the time to install everything in the first place! You tell Langly to call me so I can make sure I’m home. Now, how’s that boy of mine?”

“Which one?” Her daughter’s voice was teasing in her ear, knowing that both Mulder men held a special place in Maggie’s heart.

“Well, let’s start with the youngest. How’s my Willy?”

“Teething, running fevers, keeping us up all hours of the night. Last night he bit me, hard, while I was nursing. He might only have a few teeth but they’re damaging me slowly, Mom. It’s like being gnawed on.”

Maggie made sympathy noises as she stacked cans in the pantry. “I know, believe me. I got ‘gnawed on’ four times! You were all early bloomers in the teething department. Anbesol and baby aspirin, honey; that’s all I can tell you. And a good teething ring, of course. Maybe it’s time to think about weaning him completely.”

“Unfortunately, I think you’re right. I enjoy the closeness so much, but I can do without the bruising and the teeth-marks. I’ll start working on the weaning process tomorrow. Meanwhile, it’s wearing us both down. We’re hoping now that this latest tooth has actually broken through, we’ll have a break, at least until the next one starts emerging.”

“Dana, if you want a break, anytime…” Maggie let the words trail off, knowing with calm resignation that the offer would be refused. To her surprise, however, the reply she got was quite different than what she’d expected.

“Thanks, Mom. Actually, we might take you up on it. We talked last night, and Mulder suggested the very same thing; maybe we could take a few days, go somewhere and regroup a little. Usually he has to persuade me, but he’s right, we need some time together. I know I come off as a rather paranoid mama, but there are reasons.”

Maggie swallowed her shock and managed to tone down the urge to dance a jig over her kitchen floor at the thought of several days alone with her precious grandson. Instead, she murmured, “I know, Dana. You and Fox have every right to be concerned and to worry. If it makes you feel any better, maybe your boss or Agent Reyes could come by and check on us once in a while. I wouldn’t mind.”

She swore she could hear the grin in her daughter’s voice. “You know, I’m glad you feel that way, Mom…”

GEORGETOWN

8:30 AM

“I still can’t believe we’re actually going. You’d better pinch me. Right here, if you please.” Mulder presented his wriggling backside to Scully as she stood by the bed and folded the rest of William’s clothes. When he glanced at her over his shoulder he let loose with a guffaw at the way her right eyebrow rose at the sight of his antics.

“Pervert. If I pinch you anywhere, Mulder, rest assured you’ll never see it coming. Hurts more that way. Are you sure we’re not making a mistake, going so impulsively?” She sat down, one of William’s rompers in her hands, and regarded Mulder worriedly.

He smiled at her in reassurance and moved to the bed, sitting next to her, removing the corduroy garment from her hands and chafing both of them between his palms. “Scully, we’ve been through this. Several times, in fact. We need a break. Your mother needs bonding time with her grandson, who also needs a break from us. Usually by his age, most babies have already spent time away from both of their parents for longer than an hour or two. She’d never complain about it, but I’d lay money that if there’d been anyone in the immediate vicinity to high-five, after your phone call to her, Maggie would have been indulging herself.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m not trying to purposely show paranoia, Mulder. It’s just that William is so special, beyond being our son. I can’t help but worry.”

“Well, of course! What kind of parents would we be if we didn’t worry? But Skinner and Doggett are taking turns staying there. When I spoke to Monica she assured me she’d be glad to stay as well. Maggie’s been wanting to get to know her better; this is the perfect opportunity for everyone to have what they want. Including us.” He waggled both eyebrows at her and was pleased when she permitted a chuckle, the small frown on her forehead smoothing out.

“You’re a goof. Okay, I’ll stop worrying. A little. I’m almost finished packing; could you call Mom and tell her we’re on our way? I’ll get Willy ready.”

“You got it.”

While Scully headed into the nursery, Mulder flipped open his cell phone and punched a number. He cradled the phone against his ear as he yanked on a pair of socks and grinned when the voice on the other end growled at him.

“Jesus. WHAT?”

“Morning, Mister Happiness. Did I wake you?”

Langly groused into his ear. “You know damned well you woke me. If this isn’t a dire emergency I swear I’m gonna cause you severe pain, Mulder. I was up half the night trying to fix Hick’s fried laptop. I didn’t crash until four.”

“Why didn’t he fix it himself?”

Langly’s reply was beyond grouchy. “He was sleeping one off. Something I should have been doing, too.”

Mulder made mock-sympathetic clucking noises into the phone as he tucked in his shirt and buckled his belt. “You poor thing. Listen, we’re getting ready to leave. Can you sweep for us, sometime over the weekend?”

“What, did you find something or are you just being cautious?” Langly’s voice went from sleepily pissed to crisply professional in one fast second.

“Nope, just being cautious. I haven’t seen or heard anything since the last time you swept, but it never hurts to be careful. We’re taking off in about twenty minutes. Appreciate it, Langly.”

“No prob. You want us to check on Mrs. Scully a couple times extra while you’re gone? It wouldn’t be a big deal, especially if we ‘happen’ to go over right after she’s baked cookies.” Langly’s basic food addiction gave his offer a wistful quality that Mulder couldn’t possibly miss.

As he hunted for his shoes, Mulder assured, “We’ve got it covered, thanks. But by all means, go and infiltrate the Scully residence. You know she’ll only sit you down and feed you until she cripples you for life. If that’s your kind of thing, then go for it.” He located a sneaker under a pile of damp towels in the bathroom and crammed his foot into it without bothering to untie it, while Langly practically drooled over the phone at the thought of Maggie’s cooking.

“It’s always nice to have your blessing, Agent Foxy. Have fun.”

“Oh, you bet. And thanks. And DON’T call me Agent Foxy!” Ignoring the hoot of laughter in his ear, Mulder disconnected and dialed Maggie Scully’s number to let her know they were on their way.

After a short but delightful conversation with the second most important woman in his life, Mulder shoved the cell into his pocket and went in search of his family.

RAGGED LAKE, NY

9:15 PM

The cabin was nestled amongst thickly-clustered pines and spruce. With the headlights of the car providing the only real light, it was hard to see beyond to the lake he’d been told curved in irregular juts of sand and rocks, just a few hundred feet from where they’d parked. Mulder set the emergency brake and stretched; then reaching out to cup Scully’s cheek, he murmured, “We’re here.”

She came awake slowly, pushing hair from her eyes as she yawned and sat up. “I fell asleep? Mulder, I’m sorry. I meant to keep you company and help you stay alert! Some navigator I’ve ended up being.”

“Scully, you were exhausted. You haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in days. Of course you’re gonna crash on a driving trip! It wasn’t a problem.” He leaned over the middle console and brushed his mouth against hers. “Let’s just get the essentials out, for tonight. I’m bushed.” Leaving the headlights on, Mulder grabbed a smaller bag from the back seat.

She nodded and opened her door, stepping out into the cold night air. This far up in the Adirondacks, winter was still in evidence, in the snow packed in along the tree line and spotty drifts of ice blanketing some of the clearing around the cabin. Scully studied what she could see of it as they walked along the path leading to the front door. Made of weathered logs, in the traditional alpine A-frame style, it boasted a wide porch scattered with snow-encrusted wooden chairs. Mulder fished in his pocket for the key while Scully stamped her feet to re-circulate some warmth. The lock was stiff and he spent a few curse-filled moments jiggling the key and the doorknob, until the lock finally gave and they pushed the door open.

Inside, the air was only slightly warmer, and a fire was their first order of business. Scully felt along the wall for a light switch and found only rough logs. “Mulder, does this place have electricity?”

“Nope. Hang on, I brought a pocket flashlight.” He pulled it from his coat and flicked it on, shining it over the wall until he located a kerosene lamp hanging there. He took it down and checked to assure it was full, then produced a small lighter from another pocket and lit the wick, trimming it until the lamp glowed brightly. “Okay, we have light! Now I can search for the fireplace, and we’ll have warmth!”

Scully, whose spirits had sunk the moment she’d heard Mulder say, “Nope,” wrapped her coat tightly around her shivering form and asked sweetly, “Do we have ‘toilet,’ Mulder? An amenity like that would be a good thing, don’t you think?”

Busy setting up kindling and logs in the fireplace tucked into a corner of the small living room, Mulder absently replied, “There’s an outhouse/bathroom combo behind the kitchen. It’s connected to the cabin with a breezeway. At least we won’t have to go out to go ‘out.’ Pretty cool, huh?” He lit the kindling and then grinned up at her as she stood in the doorway with her arms folded around her body, trying to retain as much warmth as she could.

His teasing attitude eased into concern when he saw how cold she looked, and he held out a hand to her. “Come and sit down in front of the fire, Scully. I know it’s not the Ritz but this place isn’t even on the map. It’s remote and isolated and completely safe. You can’t see it from the air or from the road. Even the chimney that’s connected to the fireplace vents itself in such a way that smoke can’t be detected when there’s a full blaze going.” He caught at Scully’s hand and pulled her down to sit on the rug in front of the now-blazing fire; scooting behind her, Mulder wrapped his arms around her, both of them still wearing their coats.

Scully leaned her head back against his shoulder, snuggling into his body and enjoying the heat of the fire on her face. “I know you were telling me about this place on the way up, but I swear I must have been asleep. Tell me again.”

“Okay. Now I know my snappy monologues bore you into zombie-like catatonia…”

“Oh, for crying out loud. You’re so sensitive, Mulder.” She slapped him on the thigh and stifled a gasp when he shoved his nose, still cold, into the warm curve of her neck. “Stop that! You’re a sadist.”

“I thought I was a goof.”

“Well, you’re both. You’re a sadistic goof. Or a goofy sadist. I’ll have to give it some thought, while you tell me about the cabin.”

“I suppose I could repeat myself.”

Actually, the cabin belonged to Byers, whose family had built it years ago and had used it as a vacation home. When Mulder had first given serious thought to getting away, he’d gone over to the Gunmen’s lair to ask them to help keep an eye on William and instead had found himself accepting a key and directions to the cabin on Ragged Lake.

“My father built it when I was a kid. He was even more paranoid than Langly, if you can believe it. Always expecting ‘Big Brother’ to come and knock down his dominoes.” Byers had spread open a map of New York State on the kitchen table and showed Mulder the approximate location of Ragged Lake. “He came back from Korea with bats in his belfry, I swear. He decided the family needed a retreat, somewhere to go when the government got too uppity and nosed its way into his business, so to speak. The utter remoteness of the cabin drove my mother nuts. She hated going for any length of time. Dad ended up taking us kids up there without her.”

Byers had shrugged philosophically as he’d spoken of his parents and their difficulties. “My dad’s increasingly paranoid attitude became harder for her to handle and she divorced him when I was ten and my sister was seven. He offered her the cabin in the settlement, which she of course refused. She’d never wanted him to build it in the first place. But I can remember going up with Dad when I was a teenager and I stayed with him in the summer. This time of year it’s damned cold on the lake, Mulder. But you can bet nobody will know where you are.”

Mulder had nodded, “That’s just what I want. A few days alone, a chance to sleep in and relax, wind down. Reconnect. I appreciate it, Byers.”

“Thank me after you get there and see for yourself how remote it is! The cabin never was wired correctly so there’s no electricity, which also makes the small generator my sister bought several years ago useless. No running water. There’s a hand-pump for the well and a privy that’s attached to the back of the house. Plenty of warm blankets and canned food; my sister is more or less the caretaker and she keeps it stocked up for my brother-in-law’s occasional hunting trips. In fact, they were just up there about a month ago so I know it’s been fully re-stocked. No cell service, of course, but I’ve got an Iridium. You can borrow it if you like. “

“That would be great, Byers. Thanks.”

After highlighting most of the route on the map, Byers had grabbed a pencil and a sheet of paper and had drawn out the rest of the directions to the cabin. Mulder had thanked him again and had hurried home to tell Scully they had a little hideaway reserved for their mini-vacation, compliments of John Byers. He’d told her it was a cabin on a remote lake in the mountains of Upstate New York…

“You neglected to mention just HOW remote, Mulder.”

He tightened his arms around her as they sat in front of the fire. “Hey, I said it was remote! I just didn’t mention the, um, lack of, uh, stuff.”

She snorted. “Stuff. Stuff like, oh, let’s see… water that comes out of an actual faucet? Power? A flushing toilet? That kind of stuff?”

“Think of it as an adventure, Scully. A three-day adventure with your man, roughing it in the wilds of the Northeast. We have everything we need, right? We never have to leave this room. Byers says the sofa folds out into a queen-sized bed. We don’t have to use the loft at all. There’s an ice-box on the back porch; in this weather we don’t need a refrigerator. The fireplace has a grilling rack and an iron griddle. We can even cook in here. We can sit on the floor and eat, pretend we’re having picnics. Or we can eat in bed.” He ran his tongue along the sensitive skin of her neck, whispering, “And after we eat in bed, I’ll cook you breakfast…”

She shuddered at the feel of his mouth on her, the way his hands cupped her beneath her coat. When his teeth nipped at her ear, she managed an unsteady, “Well, I guess some sacrifices have to be made. And since we’re already here… oh, God.”

She turned in his arms and her mouth as well as her teeth latched onto his bottom lip. With the dawning realization of how completely alone they now were, came the freedom to rip at coats, jeans, shirts and footwear, until they were both naked, three feet from a roaring fire and shivering from pent-up desire rather than the lukewarm air.

Scully spared one sane thought for their son, as Mulder’s aroused body covered hers and pressed her down against the hearth rug. “My mother, we need to call her… Willy…”

In the midst of raining parched kisses over her breasts, Mulder paused long enough to groan, “I called her from the car. Couple of hours ago. You were sleeping. Everything’s fine, I’ve got to have you, NOW, Scully… can’t wait…”

Her nod was frantic; her legs wrapped around his hips as he slid into her, pushed deep, thrust hard, then harder. She stopped thinking about everything except the way he felt inside her, the velvet steel of him, the ravenous kisses he fed her as they moved against each other. As the fire burned down into hot coals and the lantern flickered on the table, they reconnected, regrouped… made up for lost time.

Hours later they turned to one another, under the faded quilt bunched over the sofa-bed. They’d pulled it out, revealing a surprisingly firm mattress, tossed a blanket and the quilt over it and then had burrowed together, one intertwined lump of bare, damp flesh. The explosion of lovemaking had drained them; they’d fallen asleep almost before their heads touched down on the pillows.

Scully had snapped awake in her usual sudden manner, one ear cocked for William’s three AM nursing and changing demands. For a few confused seconds she’d forgotten where she was, and a flutter of maternal panic had pulsed through her sleep-fogged brain before she remembered their son was safely in Arlington with her mother and she and Mulder were alone… very alone. She yawned her way through a grin of delight and turned to face Mulder, only to catch the glint of his drowsy eyes in the glow of the banked coals in the fireplace. When he slowly returned her grin, the punch of residual desire in his eyes sent a shiver over her. He reached out a hand and curved it over her cheek, passed a thumb along her upper lip, the tenor of their breathing and the occasional snap of the coals the only sound in the small room.

“Hi.” She whispered the word against his thumb and punctuated the greeting with a kiss.

His smile grew wider. “Hi yourself. Did you sleep?”

“If you can call losing utter consciousness sleeping, then yes, I slept. Actually I haven’t gone down that hard in a long time. I think I must have been drugged. How about you?” She curled into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder, one hand tracing patterns on his chest.

Mulder snickered, “Oh, yeah. I went comatose fast; zero to dead in about two seconds. Must have been something I ate.”

“You didn’t eat – um, you… oh, shut up.” Flustered, Scully resorted to pinching him hard, in the place he’d requested of her mere hours ago. While he chuckled at her expense, she huffed, “I’m not letting you bait me at God-knows-when in the morning, Mulder. And anyway, you were in such a big hurry…”

“Me? Who tore the buttons off my shirt and bit my nipple clean through my underwear? Who took out a handful of hair from my very head during one damned long, noisy orgasm?”

Scully fought against a blush, hoping in the warm dark of the room he couldn’t see it and therefore tease her about it. Instead she retorted indignantly, “Who dug Mr. Johnson so far inside it’s a wonder it didn’t come out the back of me, huh?”

Hearing her give name to his penis tickled him, but the image the rest of her breathless words conjured in Mulder’s brain would have sent him to his knees if he’d been standing up. He rolled over on the mattress until he had Scully pinned underneath him, and with a few deft moves had himself cradled in the cup of her hips. He pushed down as he kissed her and muttered against her mouth, “Okay, you win. I’m the depraved one. So is Johnson. We both demand a rematch.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to demand a rematch? After all, I was the deprave-ee, right?” Scully squirmed beneath him, loving the game they were playing. Parenthood tended to put a whammy on bedroom fun and games, too.

As usual their minds were in sync, as Mulder leaned in and caught her mouth in another kiss, then feathered a reply over her cheeks. “This is the best, isn’t it? I’ve forgotten how much fun tussling in bed can be.” He rested his head on her pillow and looked his fill at her, at the glow in her eyes and the way sleep and good, hard sex had banished most of the weary shadows from her creamy skin. Thoughtfully, he mused, “Come to think of it, we never had a lot of tussling, did we? Always too anxious to get to the main event, as I recall.”

She combed her fingers through his hair, enjoying the feel of it under her palm. “Well, I think we had good intentions, Mulder. But then you’d touch me, and I’d kiss you. Usually that was enough to set both of us off. And we rarely spent the night together.” She considered their past briefly, before adding wryly, “What there was of our intimate relationship, that is. We had so little time as a couple, before you – before we…” she stumbled to a painful halt, the remembrance of it still an ache that wouldn’t ease.

Mulder pulled her closer, wrapping himself all around her. “I know. I know, Scully. I feel the same. That’s what makes those memories precious. It’s what gives our time together, now, an extra-special shine. In hindsight I would have done so many things differently, starting with demanding sex from you at a much earlier time in our partnership.” The teasing words belied the somber tone and it took her a few moments to understand what he was really saying.

When she did, his contrariness earned him another pinch. “Cretin. Maybe you would’ve gotten lucky.” She narrowed her eyes at him, pretending to give his body the once-over. Shrugging with studied indifference, she added, “Maybe not. After all, if you’ve seen one Johnson, you’ve seen them all.” She waited for swift retaliation and laughed aloud when Mulder squawked in male affront and pinned her beneath him again.

In a low voice he cautioned, “I’d be careful if I were you. Especially since I’m – as usual – on top of things, so to speak, and can assert my dominance over you at any given moment.” To emphasize, he pressed his hips down on her and bit at her neck.

Scully allowed him his moment of superiority; then catching him by surprise she slithered out from underneath him and attached herself to his back. When she rubbed her breasts along his spine, he stifled a groaning chuckle into the pillow under his face. She put her mouth up against his ear and murmured, “Big talk from the ‘Little Head,’ Mulder. If I were you I’d just relax and take what I dish out. If you think you can handle it.” For good measure she grasped both his wrists in her hands and held them firmly.

His words of surrender were muffled. “I’m at your mercy. Just don’t hurt me. Well, not much, mmm…” Mulder bit back another groan as Scully’s tongue traced over the back of his neck and down the sensitive curve of his spine. When she released his wrists he clenched his fingers into the rumpled sheets. First her hands slipped over his skin, along his sides, down to his narrow waist; then her teeth nipped at him. Her nails left scratch marks in the wake of those small bites, over each buttock. She growled against one of his cheeks, “Nips before hands, Mulder,” punctuated her words with one sharp bite, and had the satisfaction of feeling his entire body shuddering beneath hers.

Oh, this was going to be good.

Their moments of early-morning love play had been non-existent since the birth of their son. Between the long, busy hours they normally kept and with Scully nursing William, they’d caught what intimacy they could whenever possible, which had lessened as their baby had grown and become more active. Finding it difficult to break him of a very early-morning nursing session had meant she sometimes had a hard time falling back asleep after William was fed, dry and in his crib again. Leaving him with her mother or anyone else for that matter just to afford them some alone-time had been out of the question; neither had felt comfortable doing it. The prospect of three whole days of sexual freedom was enough to make Scully’s head swim with the possibilities…

Starting now.

Knowing her man also meant understanding that he’d remain submissive for only so long before turning the tables on her, so Scully took full advantage of the situation. Her hands stroked beneath his hips, catching one very impressive ‘Johnson’ and manipulating it thoroughly, while Mulder squirmed and gasped. She could feel his heartbeat race when she lay full-length upon his back. She moved lower, nudging his thighs apart with her elbows; Mulder obliged eagerly. She urged him up on his knees, positioning herself face-up beneath him, and grinned against his groin when he grated out a shaky, “You’re killing me, baby…”

She traced his swollen length with a lazy tongue, flicked teasingly at the tip, before retorting, “Oh, I hope so. Baby.” Her mouth opened and she took him inside, deep. She curved her fingers into his taut cheeks and held him immobile while her lips and teeth, her tongue did torturous things to his flesh. Watching his reaction – albeit upside down – through half-closed eyes was enough to fuel her own desire a hundred-fold, as she made love to him.

In this position he couldn’t reach any part of her, but it didn’t really matter to Scully. She was enjoying herself too much to care that her body was beyond the ministrations of his hands and mouth. They had all the time they needed to take turns sending each other to the edge of sanity, and when her turn came she knew Mulder would concentrate on her pleasure in his own, inimitable way. She shuddered, allowing herself to think about it; then used her anticipation to push him even further, her mouth moving wildly on him as her fingers rubbed and her nails scratched.

“GOD!” His breath exploded on a harsh oath when she tugged at his hard length and ran her teeth along the sensitive underside. No other woman in his past had ever come close to understanding what made him feel good or what drove him absolutely crazy, the way Scully did. She had some kind of second sense when it came to their shared intimacy and she was incredibly generous as well. Their first time together had been wonderful, and each time since then had only gotten better, whether they were rushed for time or had the luxury of hours instead of minutes.

Mulder gave one hazy thought to the hours that stretched before them all weekend long; then stopped thinking altogether when she cupped him and pressed, released, as she swirled her tongue in just the right spot… He came so hard his eyes crossed; his shout echoed through the quiet room, a combination of her name, a few obscure deities and one thick groan. Boneless, trembling, his body collapsed next to hers, every muscle lax and the tendons in his hands aching from gripping the sheets so tightly. He turned his head to gaze at her through heavy-lidded eyes as she relaxed next to him with a smug little smile on her face, and he reached out a finger to trace those curved lips.

“Well, somebody’s quite proud of themselves, aren’t they?” His voice came out on a shuddery breath and if anything, her smile widened.

“Damn straight, Mulder. Anything worth doing is worth doing well, you know. Besides, I recall promising to kill you. Judging by that scream you emitted, I’d say I made good on that promise.”

“I didn’t scream. I shouted. In three octaves, but it was still a shout.” Mulder was insistent.

Scully nestled close to his side and stroked over his chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat with feline satisfaction. “Of course. Anything you say. A shout, not a scream.” Her body still thrummed with need, but it was so nice to snuggle, knowing he’d eventually return the favor.

“Scully?” His hand tangled in her hair and pulled her head back until he could see into her eyes. “Hmm?” The open adoration in Mulder’s gaze just melted her; Scully could have stayed right there forever, looking at him, touching him.

He admitted, “I really did scream, you know. But it was a very masculine scream.” He cupped her cheek and brought her face close for a lingering kiss, tasting himself on her, loving the flavor on her tongue.

He released her mouth so that she could answer him. “Sure, Mulder. Masculine. What else could one of your screams be?”

“Smart-ass.”

He rolled with her until she lay beneath him, pressed down into the mattress in roughly the same position as she’d been right before she’d asserted herself all over him. “Well, it seems to me that I should be returning the favor, right? And you can scream if you want to, Scully. A nice, high-pitched, girl-scream. Are you okay with that?” He didn’t wait for an answer but began kissing his way leisurely down her body, from her collarbone to each breast, over her navel, across both hipbones, until he reached her center, and his fingers and mouth could press into the wet heat he found there.

Above his head she managed to gasp out a strangled, “Bring it on, Mr. Johnson.”

ARLINGTON, VA

5:45 AM

With one howling shriek, William Mulder made his small but intimidating presence known, and Maggie Scully found herself up on her feet and moving toward the portable crib in a hurry. Half asleep, hair tangled and falling in her eyes, she reached the crib just as her grandson sucked in a huge, hitching breath. She caught him up in her arms, ignoring the soaked diaper, and cuddled him close.

“Shh, sweetie. Grandma’s got you. We’ll get that nasty old diaper off you right away. Poor little one, you’re running another fever!” She carried him to a cot in the corner that she’d set up as a makeshift changing pad, unsnapping his pajamas and quickly stripping off the wet diaper. William shoved his entire fist into his mouth and gnawed, eyes still glistening with tears and hiccupping in distress. He stared up at her, whimpering, still not quite sure of her and her placement in his life.

Maggie whispered to him lovingly as she cleaned his little rump and put a fresh diaper on him. They hadn’t really had a lot of time to bond, she needed to remember that. One long day and evening together would not assure her importance in William’s life. She thought briefly of the previous hours, right before his bedtime, and admitted her boy had seemed whiny and confused even though he’d settled down easily enough with his bedtime bottle and had fallen asleep quickly. No doubt his bewilderment over his new surroundings had worn him out. Maggie had to remind herself not to feel badly when her grandson seemed upset over being with her instead of Mommy or Daddy. They’d get to know each other over the weekend and form that bond, she was sure of it.

As she snapped William into a clean pair of pajamas and lifted him up to her shoulder, Maggie pressed her lips to his warm forehead and then leaned back to look into his eyes – to find him staring intently at her, a frown on his little face. She smiled at him but he continued to stare and frown at her as she carried him down to the kitchen to fix him a warm bottle. She was reaching into the refrigerator for his milk when an unexplained, fierce wave of anxiety washed over her, nearly buckling her legs. The bottle of milk tipped over, fell off the shelf and landed on the floor. Trembling, Maggie groped for the nearest chair and sank into it, managing to hang onto the squirming child in her arms as she took several deep breaths and wondered where in hell the overload of emotion had come from.

The deep breaths weren’t helping very much and the trembling increased as wave after wave of insecurity and worry assailed her. She’d never felt anything like it. Her eyes teared up from the feeling; clutching William tightly, Maggie found herself using the comfort of his small body as a way to stabilize the panic she was feeling. William’s squirming increased, his arms flailed and his breath caught and then released in a full-bodied cry of baby-fury. He sobbed against her shoulder, tiny hands now gripping the front of her nightgown.

Tears streamed down her face as grandmother and grandson wept together. It took every ounce of control she had to stop crying long enough to calm her poor baby boy, and herself, in the process. “Shh. Oh honey, what’s the matter with us, hmm? Are we both worried about the same thing? It’s okay. It’s all right.” Maggie’s voice soothed over the weeping child. She rocked back and forth on the chair as she murmured to him, and it seemed to help, for the trembling eased in her body and in William’s. He hiccupped, sneezed and then rested his face against her shoulder wearily, one hand still fisted in her nightgown. She stroked her palm over his damp head and realized his fever had broken. Relaxing back in the chair, Maggie cuddled the baby close, listening to his breathing even out, shaking her head in amazement when a snuffling snore indicated he’d fallen asleep.

Just like that.

Carefully she got to her feet and carried him back to the bedroom, easing him down into the crib and covering him with a light blanket. Shrugging into her bathrobe, she returned to the kitchen and cleaned up the spilled milk, then figuring she’d never get back to sleep, put the teakettle on. Leaving the overhead light off, Maggie leaned against the counter and tried to figure out what had just happened.

Nerves, probably from both of them. Worries about having William with her for more than a few hours, definitely. Her darling boy, scared when he realized his parents weren’t around. What else could it have been? All evening he’d been quiet, crawling around a little but mostly sitting on the floor playing with his toys. He’d offered no protest when she’d tucked him in for the night, and had merely stared at her when she’d tried to coax a smile from him as he lay in the crib. She’d finally given up and had kissed him good night, watching from the doorway as he’d shifted around restlessly.

Unfamiliar territory, poor baby. Stuck with Grandma instead of Mommy and Daddy, she thought with a rueful smile. And according to Dana, William was an unusually intuitive baby. He probably thought his parents had deserted him! Little wonder he’d been so upset; of course that emotion would transfer to her. Just nerves.

Maggie roused herself from the chair when the teakettle started whistling, and grabbed it up before it got any louder. She was just filling her mug when a movement at the doorway had her almost jumping out of her slippers.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you. I heard the baby crying. Everything all right?” Monica Reyes entered the kitchen, tightening the belt of her terrycloth robe.

Maggie let out the breath she’d gulped in, and managed a weak smile. Unused to having overnight visitors, she’d completely forgotten about the ‘houseguests’ occupying her spare rooms. She reached for another mug and pointed to the empty chair next to hers. “Yes, we’re fine. And no, you didn’t startle me. Well, maybe a little. William is teething again and woke me up with a fever and one very soggy diaper. He’s back in his crib now, hopefully asleep.”

She fixed tea for Monica and sat down next to her, cupping her own mug of chamomile. “I think what you were hearing wasn’t so much teething as it might have been an anxiety attack. William seemed to somehow understand that Mommy and Daddy weren’t going to lull him back to sleep. Poor little boy, when he saw all he had to depend on was Grandma, I think he got scared!”

Monica nodded as she sipped her tea. “I’m not surprised at all. It’s amazing how sensitive babies can be to the immediate world around them, regardless of how young they are. And William is… exceptional.”

She paused, trying to gauge her hostess’s level of open-mindedness, and decided to take a chance. “Beyond your pride in such a fine grandson, I sense an acknowledgement of those qualities that set William apart from other children his age. And if not a full understanding, then at least you accepted the reason Dana and Mulder secured protection for you and William this weekend.”

Sighing, Maggie set her mug down and met Monica’s curious regard with honesty. “Well, no. I don’t fully understand, but I’m trying. And if I accepted it, I did so to avoid causing Dana additional worry. I remember some of the events leading up to William’s birth; the things I experienced myself. I can certainly understand why thinking about it would still upset my daughter.”

She gestured toward the rooms beyond the kitchen. “This is a large house, and there’s no reason a handful of people can’t stay here comfortably. Maybe I’ve accepted having the FBI watch over Willy and me, but I do question the reasoning behind having round-the-clock protection. I told Dana I wouldn’t mind you or one of the other agents looking in on me this weekend. And I don’t. However, I can’t help but feel sadness that it took ten months before the parents of my grandson trusted me enough to have him to myself for several days, and then only with a form of bodyguard tossed in for good measure.”

So that was the main problem, Monica thought as she rubbed wearily at her eyes. Dana had yet to inform her mother of what was really going on. Well, it wasn’t her place to say a great deal… but she felt the need to offer what reassurances she could.

She reached impulsively for Maggie’s hand, surprising herself with the gesture; usually she was a bit standoffish with people she didn’t know very well. “Mrs. Scully… Maggie,” she amended, at the older woman’s encouraging nod, “It’s not your daughter’s intention to imply you are less than competent to care for William. Quite the opposite, in fact. But there is a demonstrated need for someone to watch over this child, in a more proactively protective mode. I’m probably overstepping my bounds here, but William is wanted by people who are ruthless, beyond your comprehension. Your years of observing your daughter and Fox Mulder in any kind of federal action still would not have prepared you for what’s coming in the near future.”

Monica pushed aside the tea and both hands now clasped Maggie’s. “I’ve chosen to dedicate my life to stopping what has already begun, just as I have chosen to protect the innocent. Children like William, with certain gifts… I have to believe he’s not the only one out there. I have to believe there are others.”

“Define ‘wanted.’ Define ‘certain gifts,’ please.” Maggie’s worry and sudden sense of doom came through loud and clear in her low voice.

Too late, Monica realized she’d let a feeling of incipient kinship loosen her tongue, before gaining permission to enlighten someone outside of the resistance. She struggled briefly with an answer; then decided it simply wasn’t her place to say much more. “I… there’s a conspiracy in place, and it’s something Dana and Mulder have been working against for years. AD Skinner, too. John Doggett and I have come on board more recently, but we’re just as dedicated to fighting it. I don’t know how much Dana has already told you, but I shouldn’t say anything further; the rest of it needs to come from her. Please believe me when I say it’s vital that your grandson be protected at all times, and…”

Her earnest plea was interrupted, as John Doggett stumbled into the kitchen, moaning, “Coffee. Somewhere there has to be coffee. Or tea. I’m not fussy.” He stared at Monica with bleary eyes, begging silently for caffeine.

Dressed in a faded Academy sweatshirt and sweatpants frayed at the hem, hair sticking up on end, he couldn’t have looked less like the somber, well-put-together agent Maggie was most familiar with. When he passed a tender hand along Monica’s shoulder as she rose to make him a cup of tea, the casual gesture spoke volumes to Maggie as she sat and watched their interaction. Friendship, yet much more. Intimacy as well as familiarity. And she smiled to herself, thinking it was quite a bit like watching her daughter and Fox Mulder, all over again.

Maggie found her worry and anxiety over William – and the mysterious dangers threatening him – easing somewhat as she observed those unguarded moments between Monica and John.

These were good people. Honest, loyal. Maybe her daughter seemed overly worried; maybe there was good reason for it. And maybe everyone she knew who worked at the Federal level was just a little too paranoid…

Well, she’d get to the bottom of it, one way or another. In the meantime, she had guests for breakfast and she intended to take good care of them.

Maggie gestured to the chair on the other side of Monica. “Good morning, Agent Doggett. Sorry we woke you so early. I hope you’ll let me make it up to you by fixing you some breakfast. Bacon and eggs, maybe some biscuits? I can make country gravy, too.”

The look in his eyes had her fighting to suppress a laugh; he resembled a puppy who’d just been given the keys to the butcher-shop meat locker. “Biscuits? Gravy? Yes, Ma’am. Is there anything I can do for you in return? Re-shingle your roof? Buy you a new car?”

His eyes twinkled at her. Twinkled! Maggie found herself utterly charmed by the man, who up until that point had been so quiet, so much in the background compared to the others who formed a circle of support around Dana and Fox, William too. She beamed at him, thinking home-cooked food had a way of making everyone loosen up.

Rising, she moved to the refrigerator and started pulling out eggs and milk; butter. She waved aside Monica’s offer to help with a firm, “No, you don’t! You’re a guest, and you’re watching over not only William, but me as well. The least I can do is cook for you. Just sit there and relax, have some more tea.” She busied herself at the stove, cracking eggs, mixing biscuit dough, the earlier incident with her grandson pushing its way to the back of her mind as John Doggett and Monica sat side by side and talked as they sipped their morning tea.

RAGGED LAKE, NY

11:05 AM

Against the blue, cloudless sky the lake appeared almost iridescent, a sparkling silver-gray that shimmered in the light, cold breeze. Large patches of ice and snow glistened along the shore and formed in chunks that floated serenely here and there on the glassy surface. Frosted leaves left from last autumn crunched under their feet as Mulder helped guide Scully over the uneven ground. When they stopped to stare at the lake, their breath plumed out and their eyes watered a bit from the air that bit at their cheeks.

“Damn, it’s cold. Somewhere in the world I’m sure tulips are growing. And crocuses. Maybe some daffodils.” Mulder deliberately made his tone into a whine, knowing Scully would have something to say about it.

As usual, she didn’t disappoint him. “Want to go back to the fire, Mulder? I bet I can find some cheese to accompany that whine of yours.” It was an old joke but still had the power to crack a smile. Mulder hooked an arm around Scully’s waist and hauled her up off her feet, deliberately rubbing his cold nose in her warm neck and making her screech. “Cut it out! Jeez… How would you like it if I shoved my cold nose right up against the warmest spot on YOUR body?”

As soon as the words left her mouth she groaned in anticipation of Mulder’s reply. And, sure enough…

He squeezed her tightly, laughing at her, so obviously relaxed and happy that she had to laugh with him as he retorted, “Johnson would love it; he’s one tough customer. I’ll even hold him down for you.”

“I bet you would. Thanks, but you’d enjoy it too much, and I’m thinking you’re just a little too eager for some torture. I wouldn’t want to cause any damage.” She squeezed him back, wriggled until he let her regain her feet and then caught at his hand, pulling him along the path that followed the north side of the lake. “Come on, just a little further. We need the exercise. Then I’ll make you some lunch, maybe some soup.”

Mulder allowed himself to be dragged along. “What, I haven’t been providing you with enough exercise, Scully? You’re insatiable.”

“Just for that, no soup for you.”

“Nazi.”

“Simpleton.”

Their mock-insults floated over the calm surface of the lake. Laughter rang out as well, to blend with the rustling of their feet through low vegetation as they made their way back to the cabin, faces glowing from the cold spring air, hands clasped.

They’d slept in, needing the extra rest after their early-morning ‘tussle.’ The novelty of being able to awaken when they wished and either loll in bed or actually arise and do something with their day… it had been almost too good to be true. Mulder had kept expecting the proverbial ‘monkey-wrench,’ but of course there wasn’t a thing that could have tampered with their plans. Paranoia, that was a good description of what he’d felt for perhaps a minute after he awoke and felt Scully pressed up against him on the unfamiliar but comfortable sofa-bed. Luckily it hadn’t lasted very long.

After shedding their coats and gloves, they unpacked Byers’ satellite phone and called Maggie on her cell to reassure that William was doing fine.

“He’s eating his cereal right now. We’re going to have a very fun day together, and I don’t want either of you worrying about us.” Maggie sounded overjoyed at the thought of having her grandson all to herself, and Scully smiled as she spoke to her mother.

“Mom, who’s there with you today?”

The question was posed casually, but Scully was sure her mother could hear the touch of worry in her voice. Next to her Mulder listened in on the conversation, his hand warm on the nape of her neck.

Her mother’s reply was calm and matter-of-fact. “Well, Monica and John spent the night. They’re still here, and John told me Mr. Skinner will be taking his place for most of the day. I believe John also mentioned your friends the Gunmen are coming by to ‘sweep,’ I think is the word he used. I assume you know what he’s talking about.”

“Oh, good!” Scully didn’t bother hiding the relief in her voice. “They’re going to check for bugs, Mom. Listening devices,” she explained, knowing her mother wouldn’t know the correct term. “And I think Langly wants to fix your sticky deadbolt.”

“Listening devices? Here, in my house? Dana, for heaven’s sake… why on earth would I have something like that, here?” Her mother was obviously shocked at the notion and Scully could have bitten her tongue off for just baldly dropping it on her that way.

She hastened to explain, “It’s just a precaution, Mom! The guys sweep our apartment regularly. It pays to be careful. I’m not saying someone has broken into your house and planted anything. We’re just being careful.” Attempting to redirect her mother’s concern, Scully added teasingly, “Besides, the guys want cookies. They’ll use any excuse to descend on you on the off-chance you’ll feed them.”

Unfortunately her mother wasn’t willing to be placated, not at the moment. “You still don’t fully trust me. That’s the real reason Monica Reyes stayed here last night; that’s why your boss is knocking on my door in an hour. You haven’t forgiven me for bringing that woman, Lizzie, into your life before William was born. If she hadn’t fooled me so completely, you’d be trusting me much more with William. Or is it something else? Things I have a right to know about? I’m his grandmother! How can I help you to protect him if I’m kept in the dark? Do you think I wouldn’t believe you? Wouldn’t understand? I would. You know I would.” Reproach and a bit of guilt mingled in Maggie Scully’s tone.

Scully sighed, glancing up at Mulder with frustration visible on her face. He shook his head and shrugged, indicating there wasn’t much more placating that could be done. Frowning, she addressed her mother’s concerns head-on. “It isn’t a matter of forgiveness, Mom. It never was. It’s more a matter of understanding the kind of life we have to lead for William’s – and our – protection. It’s also understanding that if we keep ‘outsiders’ out, then it’s for a very good reason.”

She paused for a moment and rubbed at her forehead, feeling the start of a headache. Mulder massaged her neck gently, then walked to a small duffle bag sitting in the corner of the room and rummaged for aspirin. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Scully murmured, “I think it’s time we talked, Mom. You’re right; Mulder and I haven’t told you what you need to know. When we get back, we’ll talk.”

“Okay. I think that’s a good idea. I want to help with my grandson, and I can’t do it unless I know what’s really going on.” The reproach was gone, to be replaced by determined cheerfulness. “Now, I won’t ask you how your weekend is going because I’m sure you’re having a wonderful time. Just tell me when I have to have those cookies ready!”

The rest of the conversation went smoothly, with Scully promising to call later during the weekend and Mulder taking a turn on the phone for a fast chat with both Monica and Maggie Scully.

He hung up the phone and draped his arm around Scully’s shoulders as she leaned against the small kitchen counter. Kissing her head, he remarked, “It’s going as well as we could expect. Skinner should get there any time, and the guys are probably on their way. Monica said she and your mom had a good talk. Willy’s eating like a little pig and broke a teething fever last night. All normal stuff, Scully. Remember that, okay? All normal.”

She nodded but her eyes were troubled, as she shook aspirin into her hand and accepted the glass of water Mulder poured for her. She swallowed three of them and echoed, “Normal.”

ARLINGTON, VA

1:12 PM

It was amazing, the way four grown men – and one slender woman – could pack away a double batch of chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. Maggie Scully watched as an entire gallon of milk also vanished right before her eyes.

She thought it was wonderful. As a woman who loved to cook and loved even more to see her cooking appreciated, there was nothing quite as rewarding than watching her efforts disappear. The platter on her table, heaped high a mere hour ago, now held perhaps ten cookies. Remembering John Doggett would be coming by later on, she hastily snatched up the platter before Langly could stuff himself with Cookie Number Eleven.

He turned wounded eyes framed in thick black eyeglasses on her and she smothered a chuckle. “I really should save some for Agent Doggett. Besides, if you eat any more of these you’ll be sick!” Refusing to let those puppy eyes get to her, Maggie carried the platter to relative safety. When she turned back to the group, she laughed aloud, for each of them now wore an identical expression of exaggerated, sad longing. “Stop that! You’re just trying to make me feel guilty.”

“Is it working?” Frohike eyed the platter from across the room, as if gauging the distance between the counter and his mouth.

Maggie shook her head, “No. Not even a little. I baked five dozen cookies and I have less than a dozen left. That has to be some kind of record!”

“They were very excellent cookies.” John Byers smiled at her shyly. He’d eaten seven of them himself, washing them down with two glasses of milk and several lactose pills he had popped as a safeguard against the rash his dairy allergies normally gave him. “I seem to be having trouble rousing enough energy to complete the job we originally came here to do! But we promised Mulder and your daughter we’d sweep. Guys, we need to get to it.” He stood, and with much groaning and protest Langly and Frohike rose as well and tottered off to the foyer to collect their equipment.

Monica grinned at Walter Skinner as she picked up empty glasses and plates. “They drank milk. I can’t believe they drank milk.”

“Neither can I. Figured they’d be clamoring for beer, at the very least. Beer and cookies… now that’s a snack for champions.” Skinner got to his feet slowly, suppressing the need to burp. He’d been no slouch in the cookie-devouring race, inhaling ten of them along with three cups of coffee. He was wired from caffeine and couldn’t sit still any longer. He helped Monica clear the table, ignoring her protests that she could handle it, and then, excusing himself, went into the foyer to watch the Gunmen do their sweep.

William was dozing in his highchair. Monica was happy to pick him up and cuddle him on her lap while Maggie finished loading the dishwasher. With a sigh the baby snuggled his head into her neck and Monica rubbed a gentle hand over his back, holding him close. “What a good boy. Not one teething peep out of him since this morning. Maybe it pushed the rest of the way through the gums.” She kissed his cheek, cradled him closer. “I wonder if Dana and Mulder are having a good time?”

“Well, they’re probably in bed, making love like two ferrets.”

The matter-of-fact reply from the older woman caused Monica’s jaw to drop, and she almost dropped the baby as well. “Maggie! I can’t believe you said that!”

“Hmm?” Maggie looked up from the counter she’d been wiping down, blinking in confusion at the shocked look on Monica’s face… and suddenly replaying her comment back to herself, clapped a hand over her mouth and gasped through her fingers. “Oh heavens! What on earth made me say such a thing?” Both women stared at each other in varying degrees of shock; then dissolved into laughter.

Monica choked, “Well, that’s what I’d be doing if I had a weekend alone with a man!” She wiped at her eyes. “During college I lived for the weekends when I could sleep in and think of nothing more strenuous than breakfast in bed and snuggling between the sheets with a boyfriend. Dana and Mulder deserve this time together. It’s been crazy and stressful for them.”

“Yes, it has. Of course, I made out like a bandit; finally got my hands on my beautiful boy!” Maggie held out her arms for the sleeping William and Monica readily handed him over. Maggie sank down in the closest chair and propped the baby on her shoulder, thrilled that he curled into her arms willingly. Hopefully he was becoming more comfortable around her. She’d find a way to spend more and more time with him, determined to develop a strong, tight relationship.

When Monica murmured, “I’m sure you will,” Maggie realized she’d spoken aloud. Flushing a bit, she nuzzled William’s hair and smiled, sitting in the quiet kitchen and listening to the sound of male voices coming from the other rooms as the Gunmen and Skinner made the rounds of her house.

She still couldn’t quite reconcile to the idea of anyone actually wanting to bug her home. For starters, how would they have been able to get in? And why would they think she knew anything of importance, anyway? She decided some immediate answers were needed, and since her daughter wasn’t here to provide them…

“Tell me, please, what they’re doing – how they know where to look.” Her eyes met Monica’s with direct purpose.

“They’re searching for transmitters. Usually these are tiny electronic devices that can be placed anywhere, or in almost anything, and transmit up to a certain amount of yards away. Bugs are becoming more and more sophisticated, and unfortunately harder to discover. But the Gunmen’s equipment is excellent. I’m sure there’s nothing to be found, Maggie – but it never hurts to be a little paranoid.” Monica was reassuring but Maggie Scully had more than a few unanswered questions.

“What could they possibly hope to hear? I live alone. I’m retired. I’m -”

She was gently interrupted. “You’re Special Agent Dana Scully’s mother. For all these people know, you are privy to her every waking thought.” Monica smiled when Maggie merely rolled her eyes at the absurd assumption, and continued, “You’re the grandmother of a child the remaining members of a dangerous organization would enjoy getting their hands on. A child some of these members regard as a threat. And I’ve already overstepped my bounds, telling you these things, Maggie. Such questions should be answered by Dana, and Mulder.”

“But they aren’t here, are they? And you are. I’m living in a house that up until today I’ve always felt safe in, while FBI agents guard my grandson and people hunt for listening devices in every room. While another agent sits at my kitchen table and calmly discusses dangerous conspiracies and tells me my grandson is regarded as a threat.” She shook her head in bafflement. “It’s hard for me to understand and to accept. Granted, my life wasn’t always evenly-balanced, and each of my children in their own way has caused me some not-so-normal worry… but I did feel safe.” Maggie adjusted William’s limp weight in her arms, gazed down at him for a moment and then back at Monica.

“If what you say is true, if there’s a group of people like that out in the world, then I want you to tell me we’re still safe here. Tell me this is just a precautionary thing, something the family members of Special Agents, assigned to especially dangerous cases are sometimes subjected to. Or tell me it’s because of the way I lost my oldest daughter, Melissa. And after you tell me, I want to have enough confidence in your words, to believe them.”

Monica never blinked and her eyes never left Maggie’s; she parted her lips to speak. “Maggie, I assure you…”

This time it was Walter Skinner who interrupted her, standing in the kitchen doorway, one hand clenched tightly.

“We have a problem.”

---

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
2:45 PM

“Explain yourselves.” The voice was low, controlled, and all the more sinister because of that control.

The two recipients of that modulated threat stared straight ahead, unblinking, expressionless. There was no real explanation; they both knew it. There wasn’t a single plausible excuse. And there wasn’t any use in trying to dig for one.

“As I thought. Well, I can respect you for not attempting to lie to me, or offer meaningless words in a bid to save your own hides. You were asked to provide a service. You both came highly recommended. You failed.” Each accusation was bitten off with an economy of effort, as if the speaker had better things to do with his time than waste it spouting words. One slender hand tapped equally-slender fingers on the polished mahogany desk, the only outward sign of any kind of emotion. The eyes were flat, cold, without one small spark of mercy. They watched their prey with the kind of supreme disinterest that a cat would display, mere seconds before it pounced on an unsuspecting mouse.

The quiet in the room was stifling, deafening. Only years of training kept the would-be penitents on the other side of that desk from running to the window and wrenching it open, leaping out, eager to embrace any sort of an escape for themselves.

As painful as it would be to jump, it was preferable to remaining in the room with this man.

“How seriously have we been compromised?” The query came from the depths of an elegantly sumptuous black leather chair positioned in one corner of the room. Another low voice, but gravelly, gruff.

“It cannot be ascertained yet, Sir. For the moment we doubt anything can be traced, and even if by some chance it can -”

The gruff voice interrupted, “You are not required to doubt. You are expected to know, without any doubt.”

Both bowed their heads at the brusque statement, acknowledging the truth of it. Pleading did not enter their minds; likewise an apology was futile.

No apology.

No excuse.

No prevarication.

They knew this. They expected it. They’d been trained to accept it.

When the occupant of the black leather chair rose, walked to them, stood behind them, they did not move. They did not close their eyes when the almost-silent whoosh of the thin, needlelike blade emerged from its sleek casing. They did not flinch when the blade sliced deep into their necks.

They slid to the floor as soundlessly as they had once moved in unfamiliar, dark rooms, when they’d wound their way in and amongst tables, chairs and heirloom clocks. As silently as if they’d never existed at all.

“Remove the evidence.” The face that stared at them from across the wide, polished desk held no expression, no warmth; no life except for a glint in eyes that otherwise remained flat and cold. The same eyes that watched as two of his former, trusted underlings hissed and shrank, simmering into a puddle of liquid and fabric, damaging the expensive carpet beneath.

The man on the other side of the desk nodded as he sheathed the weapon and tucked it into a small leather case, pulling out a pair of protective surgical-type gloves from another pocket. “Immediately. As for the other situation… what is your decision?”

“No action. Not until we have properly assessed the damage. You will see to it.” It wasn’t a request but a demand, and was answered with another brisk nod.

Soft rustling sounds indicated the removal of evidence, of cleaning. The thick carpet on the floor muffled the step of expensive wing-tip shoes as he rose from his desk and walked over to the windows. Behind steel-gray spectacles, eyes of almost pure black looked out over the city skyline; behind those eyes an icy, calculating mind was hard at work.

It was not true anger that he felt. Not exactly. He was incapable of anything other than the most superficial emotion. Not disappointment either, beyond basic dissatisfaction. He dealt in cause and effect, of consequences spawned from definitive action. He gave orders, expecting them to be followed. If they were, and successfully, then those who executed his orders were allowed to live.

If they failed, they ceased to exist.

He’d just lost something of great value, something that had cost a small fortune to produce. He’d helped to develop it, confident in its ability to remain completely unnoticeable, invisible. He’d had total confidence as well, in those genius minds, the ones who had finalized its design and had guaranteed its advanced capabilities.

He’d also lost connection. He’d learned nothing of real use, except that his quarry was closely guarded by watchdogs much more intelligent than he’d first credited them with being.

Well, he’d been warned, by his predecessor. He’d been told it wouldn’t be easy. That wasn’t necessarily a problem; he enjoyed challenges, as much as he was able to generate enough emotion to enjoy anything.

The game was still afoot, and more than he’d bargained for. His mouth moved into the barest hint of a smile; those who thought they knew him would say he was revealing quite a bit of animation with that miserly smile. Others who understood his true identity would shudder and retreat, upon seeing that same smile.

The door closed with a tiny snick and he was alone in his expansive office. He walked back to his desk, absently running his palm over an exquisite paperweight fashioned from a rare and centuries-old quail egg. His fingers held it up so that he could admire it; his fingers then crushed it into dust… much the same way as a group of would-be rebels had crushed his latest plan.

Well, there was always tomorrow. At least he had one real answer. At least he knew where the boy was.

And that his parents were someplace else. That was a start.

ARLINGTON, VA

“Goddamn it! Shit, shit, FUCK!” Langly strode around the room, wanting to throw something, smash anything. His hands were clenched tightly enough for his fingernails to mark his palms. His pale skin was flushed, his glasses slightly askew and his blonde hair falling out of its fastener.

John Byers rubbed at his face wearily as Frohike cupped the device in his palm, staring down at it, a piece of clear plastic tape coating it as a kind of makeshift scrambler. So tiny. In fact, he’d never seen one like this. That in itself was a major worry; he and the others were scrupulously meticulous in their research. They all possessed the most uncanny ability to seek out and find the latest innovations, whether it be electronic or digital. Whether it was a new game or a new weapon.

The advanced state of their own equipment, and the methods by which they updated and improved it, depended on their talents for rooting out the secretive, the invisible. With the discovery of one miniscule transmitter, those talents and abilities had been thrown into serious question.

“At least we found it. We weren’t supposed to find it. The fact that we did means something. We have to remember that.” Byers was determined to bring the morning’s disaster into a more positive light if at all possible.

“Big fucking deal. We found it. How friggin’ LONG was it in place, before we found it, huh? How much did those bastards hear? Do they KNOW we found it? THERE’S a few million-dollar questions for you!” Langly refused to calm down. Of the three Gunmen, he took on the most offense, and consequently the most guilt, when something went wrong. He paused in his frenetic stomp around the room to stare at Maggie Scully as she stood in the doorway with William in her arms. Her face was pale but her tone was soothing and steady as she whispered to her grandson. William’s eyes were wide with distress but so far he hadn’t uttered a single whimper.

Langly wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but that baby held his heart, tighter than anything or anyone ever had. He’d never paid much attention to family when he was growing up; always a solitary child, he’d grown into an introverted, solitary man with no friends. He’d preferred it that way, until he met Melvin Frohike and John Byers. His ‘soulmates,’ though Langly would rather have suffered torture than to let them know how much their friendship meant to him.

When he met Mulder, and later, Dana Scully, the other closed-off portions of his heart opened up a little more and let them in. But when William was born, well… his heart just about exploded. This little boy was everything. It was that simple.

Langly reined in his temper when he saw the way his ranting was affecting William; as soon as he calmed, the baby smiled at him and held out chubby arms. He crossed the room and after a hesitant, inquiring glance at Dana’s mother, who nodded at him encouragingly, Langly reached out for William and swung him into his arms. The child sighed and laid his head on the Gunman’s shoulder, snuggling close.

Langly closed his eyes and let William’s sweet baby-powder fragrance soothe him. Maggie Scully murmured, “I’ll make more coffee, and then I’d like to know what’s going on.” She turned toward the kitchen just as the doorbell rang. Glancing over at Monica, who shook her head decisively, Maggie continued into the kitchen while Monica went to the door and checked the judas hole. Seeing Doggett on the other side, she punched in the override on the keypad and let him in.

He looked tired and angry and frustrated, but drummed up a smile and a quick tickle for William when he reached Langly’s side. As the baby giggled and chewed on his little fingers, Doggett walked over to Frohike and peered down at the contents of his hand. “Well, shit. We’d better head over to Mulder’s place as soon as possible. I’ll bet money there’s a few of them over there, too.”

Skinner, who’d been leaning against the wall nearest the windows, nodded grimly. “I agree. This one was here in the living room; we found two more as well. One in the kitchen. One in the spare room Agent Reyes has been using.”

He watched the way both of his agents flushed and then paled. With resigned acceptance he filed it away for future analysis and added, “Once we found the first one the others were fairly easy to locate. Thanks,” he made an effort to smooth out his frown as Maggie brought him a cup of coffee. When he gestured toward the sofa, she took one corner and held her cup between both hands. Monica sat next to her and Langly took the recliner, still cradling William.

Maggie gave Skinner her full attention. “Tell me. And this time, try to forget I’m somebody’s grandmother, just another retired homemaker. I want to know what’s happening in my own house and I’m not waiting until Dana and Fox get back to enlighten me.” She drained her cup, crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back on the sofa. Monica hid a smile behind her hand as she noted Skinner’s reaction to Maggie’s bluntness. This was no wilting violet they had on their hands, she decided. This woman had known her share of pain and was stronger than any of them could imagine. She’d already lost one daughter. She’d go down fighting before she’d lose another member of her family. It was in her eyes, her body language.

Skinner saw it too, and his admiration for Margaret Scully rose a few more notches. “Simply put, your home has been bugged. We have no idea exactly when. At this point we have to assume the perpetrators have been listening for a while. We also have to accept that because of your relationship to Agent Scully and to William, they’ve targeted you as a possible leak of vital information.”

“I see. What would they be expecting me to leak?” A tensing of her fingers was the only outward sign Maggie gave of any inner struggle.

“Any conversation between you and Dana. Face to face or on the phone. They’d have the patience to sift through the standard family chatter and pick up on whatever else could be of value to them. If they’d spend the money and time to place three of these here, how many more would we find over at Dana’s and Mulder’s apartment? What about my place? Other agents such as Reyes and Doggett?” He gestured to Monica and she nodded, her expression concerned. “These devices must be highly advanced because the guys’ equipment hadn’t spotted them just a few weeks ago when they swept. Byers?” Skinner glanced toward the Gunman who stood by the living room door, quietly listening.

John Byers nodded, “True. And when Langly and Frohike updated your system and installed the extra deadbolt, Mrs., um, Maggie, Langly ran a quick sweep. Just to be on the safe side.”

When Maggie turned and raised her eyebrows at Langly he shrugged nonchalantly. “Didn’t take long. No big deal.” A bit pink-cheeked from everyone’s eyes on him, Langly busied himself with checking William’s diaper for leakage and missed the soft smile she sent his way.

Her brow furrowed in confusion when she looked up at Skinner again. “If the equipment didn’t catch anything until now, does that mean their device has been faulty?”

He shook his head but it was Frohike who responded. “No, unfortunately. I wish it did. We caught it as a result of having recently updated our own scanners; completed final testing two nights ago, in fact. It cost a small fortune and a bunch of sleepless nights of frustration. But it’s worth it if the end result happens to be busting this little gem.” Frohike held the device by his thumb and index finger, studying it with reluctant admiration. “It’s tough trying to keep up with technology. So far we’ve been successful because of talent as well as luck.”

“What about the apartment? How on earth can we know how much might have been revealed to these people – and for how long – when we can’t be sure when these things were planted?” Maggie twisted her fingers together in worry as she thought of the consequences a listening device would have in a situation such as Dana’s.

“You’ve got a good point. We swept their place last week. Usually we sweep once a week or so. But when we did it, we hadn’t updated the scanners yet…” Frohike’s voice trailed off as he realized they’d let two vital days go by. Two days that might have cost them God-knew-what in spilled information. “Son of a bitch! We should have gone right over there, as soon as we had the testing done. If we had, we’d have found the bugs before Scully or Mulder might have said something they shouldn’t have!” Now it was Frohike’s turn to pace in impotent anger, clenching his fist and almost crushing the delicate piece of technology in his hand.

“You don’t know for sure if they DID say anything. They’re both cautious people, right? As paranoid as us, if that’s possible.” Byers, ever the voice of calm reason, spoke up. “Let’s not borrow trouble, not quite yet. I say we go over, do the sweep. If they bugged this house then you have to figure they bugged the apartment. Let’s clean it out and then think of what might need to happen.”

“I agree. Take care of it. I’ll stay here. Agent Doggett, go with them. After you’ve found everything, take it somewhere and analyze the hell out of it. And no one tells Mulder or Dana when they call in. Got that?” Skinner waited until everyone in the room nodded; then held out his arms for William. Langly brushed a quick, self- conscious nuzzle across the drowsy baby’s cheek before he eased the limp form into the other man’s arms. It took a few minutes to gather up their gear, but soon the house was quiet again.

“That baby looks good on you.” Monica couldn’t resist teasing her boss as he stood in the doorway, big and burly, holding a little boy dressed in red corduroy overalls and a white knit shirt, tiny white sneakers on his feet. Walter Skinner handled the baby like a pro, holding him securely, comfortably.

He spared her a withering glance that he immediately spoiled with a rare grin. “Babies like me. God only knows why.” He swayed on his feet a little, a soothing, rocking motion that caused William to yawn as his eyelids fluttered shut.

“Babies know who the good people are, Mr. Skinner. You are definitely good people.” Maggie got to her feet as she spoke, collecting cups and spoons, used paper napkins. “Can you hold him a little longer; then I’ll lay him down?” She decided to ignore his rather flustered grimace, recalling that her Bill had always had a hard time accepting compliments, too.

“It’s all right, I’ll do it. I don’t mind.” Eager to get out of the path of women in general, Skinner moved toward the stairs, William molded trustingly against his shoulder. Monica grinned at the picture they made and helped Maggie clear the living room, walking into the kitchen a few paces behind her.

“Men with babies. Who’d have thought they’d be such marshmallows? Skinner. Langly.”

Maggie nodded in agreement. “It’s amazing how a little baby can affect even the toughest man. The old saying, ‘The harder they fall,’ was never truer than when faced with an adorable child who holds his arms out to them.”

“We’ll keep him safe, Maggie. This I promise you. We’ll take care of William, always. All of us.” Monica laid her hand on the older woman’s shoulder and squeezed it. Her eyes were dark and earnest.

Touched, Margaret Scully pressed her own hand atop the one that still cupped her shoulder.

“I know you will, dear. I know.”

Later, when dusk was approaching fast and the house was quiet, Maggie sat in the old rocking chair she’d brought down from the attic and had placed in her room. It had seen plenty of rocking during the reign of four Scully children. Nicked from being moved all over the country, white paint flaking off and one arm spindle missing, the Jenny Lind-style chair was by far one of Maggie’s favorite heirlooms, for she’d been rocked to sleep in it as a baby herself. It had stood the test of time, being a solid, well-built piece of furniture.

Like all the Scullys, she thought. Solid. Well-built. Like the sweet boy snuggled up against her, smelling of powder and soft cotton.

She rocked slowly, humming under her breath, watching William’s lashes flutter over his blue eyes, then snap open and blink as if trying to clear his vision. He was fighting sleep, not wanting to miss a trick. Just like Dana, Maggie thought fondly, as she stroked the child’s silky hair. Her youngest daughter had fought sleep like a small demon when she’d been a baby. Like mother, like son –

As she let her mind drift, full of memories that centered around her Dana at this wonderful age… suddenly, so real that it took her breath away, it was as if she could hear again her daughter’s ten- month old cry, a mixture of teething aches and sore gums, of milk craving and wet-diaper-fury. In her head, stuttering a path from one ear to the other, boring through her brain matter. Sobbing-crying- scared-hurt-scared…

Tears filled her eyes, rolled down her cheeks. She screwed them shut in an effort to stem the hot flow. Her heart actually clenched in her chest; she couldn’t breathe. She trembled in the rocker, so hard that her teeth chattered. Her arms tightened around the body of the child she clutched to her pounding heart; the high wail that pierced her senses was clouded in fog; muted and all the more frightening because of it.

Dana. DANA! God, her little girl needed her! She had to open her eyes! She had to get up, go to her! She had to jump out of the rocking chair and go FIND HER, go find Dana, Da, MA, MAAA!!!!

“MAAA!” It was a scream in her head and a thin cry, mere inches from her ears. Maggie forced her eyes open, blinking hard to clear her vision, her head aching, and looked down in awe at the baby in her arms. Face bright pink, mouth open and emitting the most heartbreaking cries, hands curled into little fists that waved about, one almost catching her on the nose…

Not Dana.

William.

NOT Dana.

But the cry in her head still echoed there. In her head, in her very heart. Slowly, Maggie leaned back until she could see into William’s face. She made him sit up on her lap, ignoring his frantic wriggling, and positioned him securely. He stared up at her with huge, drenched eyes, his lashes spiked and wet. For several long seconds neither of them moved, barely breathed.

“Mama.” She spoke the word softly.

William’s eyes never left hers. His hands unclenched slowly; he sniffled and his chest hitched on a silent, shuddering sob.

Maaa!

It wasn’t in her ear; it was in her head, as plain as if he’d cried it aloud. How in the—

She didn’t understand. Couldn’t fathom it.

But there it was. Her grandson knew who Mommy was – that was certainly no surprise. He might even be able to say the word itself, which would have been thrilling to experience since to her knowledge William had not yet tried to formulate anything much past a giggle or a coo.

But this wasn’t a spoken word; this was a thought that bloomed like a picture in her mind. From her precious William.

In God’s name… how?

“Mama?” Maggie tried again. And again the thought came, not the word, somehow sent to her.

Maaa? This time it felt like a question. How could William send her a question? How was this possible?

It was beyond her. Monica Reyes had sat at her kitchen table that very morning and had told her William was exceptional. Had told her how special he was.

How wanted, by dangerous people.

Oh, sweet Jesus… was this what she’d meant?

Wrapping her arms protectively around her grandson, Maggie struggled up out of the low rocking chair and carried him to the door, her shoes clattering on the stairs, almost running into the kitchen where Walter Skinner and Monica sat with a laptop and a small stack of folders. They both looked up in surprise and concern when she burst through the door.

Maggie didn’t give them time to ask any questions; she just blurted out, “Willy can – I think he…” She swallowed hard, stammered out, “I think my grandson can somehow send me his thoughts. Oh, my God…”

* * *

RAGGED LAKE

8:15 PM

The fire burned brightly, recently stoked. A bowl of half-eaten popcorn sat on the edge of the hearth, several empty bottles of beer nearby, one balanced on its side. A few feet away, on the faded carpet, three quilts layered together and tossed with pillows served as an impromptu mattress, their soft cushion a haven for the couple who curled into each others’ arms, facing the flames, watching them snap and dance.

The day had been slow, lazy, perfect. A few walks on the bumpy trail that wound along their side of the lake; a bit of book-reading, a couple games of five-card stud. An early dinner of mostly junk food, with Scully eating her share of it and for once not worrying about what she put in her mouth. Watching twilight steal over the clearing through the front cabin windows, the silence between them comfortable and good. Chatting when they wanted to, touching when they needed to… making love when desire took them over and there was nothing more vital than giving in to it. And now it was almost dark out and the fire was the only light in the room; their nest was warm, their clothes in a heap on the abandoned sofa.

“Mmmm.” It was a purr that tickled his ear. Mulder responded by running his nails down her back, chuckling when she actually stretched like a very satisfied cat.

“I second that. Definitely ‘mmmm.’ And to think I was worried I’d miss having a television around.”

She snickered drowsily. “The pioneers didn’t have televisions. All they had were a few quilts on the floor. I’d say they made their own fun.”

“No doubt resulting in the ‘Baby Boom of Eighteen Fifty-One.’ I’ll bet that was a wild time on the prairie.”

She gave him her best skeptical frown. “There is no such era, Mulder.”

“How would you know? Were you there?”

An exaggerated sigh. “Of course, I wasn’t. How could my knowledge of American history be so lacking? Thank God I have you to remedy said lack. I may have to go look up Miss Plunket and cuff her about the ears for neglecting me so.”

“Damned straight you should be grateful for my superior trivia powers. And Miss Plunket would be a past history teacher? With a name like Plunket she deserves to be cuffed about.”

Scully thought hard for a moment, conjuring up an image of thin, bespectacled, mousy-haired and grouchy. She nodded and burrowed closer to Mulder’s warm body, yawning, “I remember what she looked like; it was punishment enough. Her name only added insult to injury.”

“Mmmm.”

They both fell silent, enjoying the fire, drifting a bit, not fully awake and happy to be in that condition. A burned log broke in two and fell sideways, sending out a shower of sparks that popped as they settled back into the red coals. Scully’s fingers moved slowly over his chest, now and then swirling into the hair that grew low on his abdomen. It didn’t seem possible to actually drown in utter contentment but Mulder figured he was ninety-nine percent there. He stroked her with one hand, thought back over the day they’d spent together and decided there couldn’t have been a way to improve upon it.

Oh, they both missed William; how could they not? They both felt some guilt for leaving him behind. But they were also intuitive enough when it came to their own requirements as a couple, to understand they’d badly needed this time alone together. A few days, all they would grab and all the better for them having grabbed it, before they returned and took up their regular lives once more. This weekend would fuel them for a very long time.

He hoped.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours, Mulder? You’ve got that little crease between your eyes; any minute now it’ll start pulsing.” Scully ran a finger over it, noting the way he relaxed as soon as she touched him there.

With a sigh Mulder tugged at her until she lay over him like a living blanket, her chin now propped on the hands she rested on his collarbone. He smoothed his palms over her shoulders, loving the feel of her silky skin and the way her hair fell around her face, messy and a little tangled. There were no shadows under her eyes; clear and bluer than ever, they regarded him with that peculiar mix of affection and resigned amusement that had marked so many of their early days together, back when their beliefs were so often at cross- purposes. He studied her, his own expression serious and intent, thinking that if there were such a thing as a Wayback Machine for outward appearance then Scully must have hit the mother lode. Each year he knew her, it seemed as if she grew more youthful, more beautiful.

“Mulder? Are you still in there?” She snapped her fingers under his nose, startling him. Her lips curved in a wide smile as if she’d been privy to his thoughts. In answer his own mouth quirked fondly; if anyone could tap into his most private thoughts, it would be Scully.

He decided to tease her, as it had been at least an hour since he’d last done so. “Sorry, I was too busy letting Johnson have his head, so to speak.” He pumped his hips up against hers lazily, watched her eyes go from amused to dark and hot in about one second flat. Rising up from the pillow, he caught her bottom lip in a biting kiss, lingered there, snaking his hand under her hair to hold her still while he took his time kissing her.

As a stall tactic, it was top-notch, but Scully had been wise to those kinds of ploys since Year One of their partnership. Mulder had a bounty of ways to change the subject, or put off an answer. In that respect he was legendary. Luckily for her, she could see through most of them.

She broke off the kiss and murmured snidely, “I don’t think so. In fact, it’s obvious to me that you woke poor Johnson up just to give him a push and a gratuitous pelt-tickle. Try again, Mulder. This time for real.”

“Pelt-tickle? Oooh, Scully…”

“Mulder.” Her tone held a distinct warning.

“Oh, all right. Since you seem determined to go all serious on me, I was just thinking how gorgeous you are and how year after year you seem to regress instead of age. And oh yeah, also that this weekend will have to sustain us for a long time.”

His switch from melting romantic admission to pragmatic resignation made her blink confusedly. “Gorgeous? Young? Mulder, have you checked out my stretch marks recently? Never mind,” she grabbed at his hands when one immediately dove for her breasts and the other tried to lodge against her pelvic bone, “you can satisfy your curiosity later. And I love that you feel that way, but I think we should concentrate on your other reason, first.”

Mulder opted for linking his fingers through hers as she settled more comfortably against him. “It’s nothing, honest. Just that as parents of an increasingly-rambunctious baby boy, any getaway time we might find for ourselves will have to be counted in minutes and possibly hours, instead of days. I think this weekend was the best thing we could have done for ourselves, even though I miss Willy like mad.”

She softened, all maternal longing, at the mention of their child. “God, I do too, Mulder. So much. And I worry about his safety, even though with so many bodyguards around, there is no way he and Mom could be anything but safe. However, we needed this time. And I’m so glad we took it.”

“Oh, yeah.” He slipped his hand over her neck and urged her closer for a gentle kiss that lengthened and intensified with each tender movement of lips against lips. Bare legs twined together as they stroked their hands over warm skin, hot flesh, damp eager centers. As the coals in the fireplace burned down to a bright orange glow, Scully took full advantage of her position, admiring how the fire cast a golden sheen over her lover’s skin. She rose up to her knees, straddling him, rubbing over his swollen, hard flesh, then opening herself up to him, bearing down, taking him inside. Deep, deeply inside, until she could feel him pressing against her very heart.

She moaned, one long, low sound of need that whipped her into a sudden frenzy of movement, all-encompassing fury. Fiercely driving him, fast, then faster, neither questioned the reason behind the mad urgency; they just accepted it. With each hard push and hungry plunge, their breath exploding in the overly-warm room, they raced toward completion too fast, too soon… and yet it was exactly what they both wanted.

Not tender, not anymore. Not gentle. Not now, God, not now…

“FUCK!” The harsh, guttural word burst from her throat, as she jammed herself down on him one final time, as the bright burning in her heart raced to her head and imploded behind her open, tear-filled eyes. She couldn’t stop her hips from plunging as the orgasm ripped through her; she barely heard Mulder’s answering shout as he shuddered, spilling hot and thick within her. Scully sank down, wet skin fused to his, every muscle unclenching and aching, her very bones feeling disjointed. Shaking, she was shaking…

No, not her; Mulder was shaking beneath her; shaking with the aftermath of release as well as… laughter?

He was. Laughing! Groaning and laughing, wrapping rubbery arms around her, burying his chortling against her neck.

She pushed weakly at him. “What’s so funny?”

Mulder could hardly form words; he was so wrung out from the tsunami- sized climax he’d experienced. “You shouted ‘fuck’ at the top of your lungs, Scully. I’ll bet they heard you in Saranac Lake. God, I’ve NEVER heard you scream ‘fuck’ like that…” He was gasping for breath, hearing it once more in his head and laughing all over again.

“Shut up, Mulder.” She laid her cheek on his shoulder, weary to the bone, still throbbing and sore and very, very satisfied. After a few moments, she started chuckling.

“I did, didn’t I? Screamed it. Jesus.”

“It was magical, Scully. I’m so proud.”

“Oh, bite me.” She let her head fall into the curve of his neck and yawned, feeling exhaustion overtaking her. She dozed off with Mulder’s body a comforting mattress beneath her and the feel of him still within, warming her there, too.

He held her close and let himself drift away on a sleepy oath of love and one final, sweet kiss goodnight.

* * *

ARLINGTON, VA
9:30 AM

“Maybe we should have told them. Kind of prepared them.” Langly sat at the kitchen table, pushing a half-eaten waffle around on his plate. His appetite had deserted him for perhaps the third time in his entire life.

“No. Absolutely not.” Maggie Scully topped off his orange juice, moving around the table to fill John Byers’ glass as well. She took the seat next to Langly and laid a hand on his arm, noting his concern and liking him all the more for it. “What good would it have done? Only made them worry, maybe even made them decide to cut their weekend short and come running home. They needed this time alone. And I needed to have some grandmother-time with William. We both got what we wanted.”

“In your case, Maggie… maybe more than you bargained for.” Monica brought another plate of waffles to the table and handed them off to Frohike, who smiled his thanks at her and dug in with enthusiasm. She pressed a reassuring hand on Maggie’s shoulder as she sat down. “I think you did the right thing by not mentioning any of this to Dana when you talked to her this morning. They’ll be home today. Time enough to brief them when they get here. And I’d bet anything that as soon as William sees his mommy and daddy, he’ll be letting them in on his newest talent.”

“Double-whammy. Bugs and telepathy.” John Doggett helped himself to another cup of coffee and resumed his stance against the far wall of the kitchen. “I still can’t quite wrap my brain around it. The telepathy, not the bugs. He’s just a baby. How could this be?”

“‘Telepathy’ might not be the correct word for what William is developing. I’m not sure. We don’t know exactly what was done to Mulder while he was… gone. And we know even less about how the virus affected Dana. What may or may not have altered stem cells, irrevocable changes that might never have been made apparent. How it combined in their child, what each of them brought to him that would manifest itself like this…” Monica glanced at Maggie as she spoke, gauging the affect her words had on someone who was just starting to become exposed to the mammoth scope of what they were preparing to fight. “We have so much to learn from him. About him.”

To her credit, Maggie looked confused but was listening. Monica hoped she’d listen as carefully to Dana and Mulder when they sat her down and told her the rest of it.

“There’s no mistake, what you saw? What you felt?” Doggett had to ask, one more time. If there was still a somewhat-skeptic in the group, it was John Doggett. He couldn’t help it.

Maggie smiled at him with a touch of sadness in her eyes. “No. I know what I felt. What I sensed. And judging by the little I’ve been told so far, about these enemies of ours, I wish I could be mistaken about all of it. I really do. If you say it means William is in danger from these people, then I wish like hell he was the most ordinary, average baby in the world.”

“Are you sure you want to hear all of this, Mrs. Scully? Are you ready to know, to understand and to offer whatever support you can? It’s a lot to take in. God knows I’m still trying to readjust my thinking, and it’s not easy.” Doggett drained his cup and placed it in the sink. Looking at the faces around the kitchen table, he was suddenly glad they’d each had their turn at disbelief, wonder, skepticism. And of them all, only Mulder had accepted, had believed right from the beginning.

John Doggett had been dealing with it for almost two years, and it often seemed as far-fetched as ever… but then again, he’d seen things that he just couldn’t pigeonhole into any kind of ‘normal’ slot. Why should a telepathic baby be any harder to accept?

A sharp cry from upstairs signaled that William was awake, probably damp or worse, and definitely hungry. Maggie excused herself from the table and hurried to attend to him, while Byers made himself useful by starting another pot of coffee. They still had a lot of planning to do and would need the extra caffeine. When Mulder and Scully arrived and the real discussions got underway, they’d most likely all need something harder than coffee.

* * *

INTERSTATE 87
2:45 PM

So far the drive back had been a quiet one, five hours of fringe- area radio stations, sporadic talk and a few potty breaks. They’d caught a quick meal at a travel center near Albany, had fueled up and were on the road again in less than a half hour. Now, with only a few hours to go before they reached Arlington, parental urgency was fast overtaking both of them. It was to be expected.

“I wonder if he’s missed us.” Scully leaned her head against the window and watched the mileposts speed by.

“I’m sure he has. Having to suck on something made of rubber for three days instead of your much-more palatable nipple. Getting tossed up in the air by a grandmommy instead of his big, strong daddy. Can you imagine? I’d be wild with loneliness, too.” Mulder gave her a little nudge with his free hand and she sent him an aggrieved glare.

“I’m serious, Mulder. Our first real time away from our baby… don’t you want him to miss us? Just a little?”

“Scully, I’m sure he cried himself to sleep at least the first night. He knows Maggie but not all that well, and having the others around much of the time would most likely seem odd, too. The thought of our boy in a strange environment, unsure, maybe scared… I had a hard time with it. But we needed to be apart from him and your mother needed time with him. She was beginning to ask questions about why she never got to baby-sit for longer than an hour or two. This has been good, for all of us.”

He took his eyes off the road long enough to smile at her; his right hand clasped hers warmly. “That said, yes I missed him like crazy. I can’t wait to get back and see him. But I’m so, so glad I got to have a few days with his mommy and basically screw her senseless. And to hear her scream “FUCK!” at the top of her very-powerful lungs. Oh, I really enjoyed that.”

“Mulder, so help me, if you EVER tell anyone…” Red-faced, Scully let the threat hang between them.

He spared her another glance, eyes wide with innocence. “Now, who would I tell? More importantly, why would I tell? I’d like to think I’m mature enough not to brag. I’m aghast, I might add, simply aghast, that you’d deem it necessary to caution me against kissing and telling.” He let that sink in a moment, then smirked, “Besides, half of Ragged Lake heard you. They all know the truth.”

“I thought you said Saranac Lake could hear me.”

“Yes, but they’re more cosmopolitan. They’re used to such language.”

“You’re an utter loon.” The conversation had taken a turn that was beyond silly, but it had also taken their minds off how badly they both felt that they’d somehow deserted their child for a selfish weekend away. And it helped – temporarily – to keep them from counting the miles and watching the clock.

Of course as soon as they’d awoken, very early, and packed everything up, they’d called Scully’s mother to let her know they were getting ready to hit the road. She’d assured them of William’s well-being; that he’d seemed happy and had stopped teething. She’d told them the weekend had been quiet, even with several adults and one active baby. Everything was fine. And yet…

“There was something in her voice, Mulder. Mom’s voice. I can’t put my finger on it but something didn’t sound right, like strain, or tension. Something.”

“Maybe it was the fact that you called her on the Iridium. You know how they are. It doesn’t take much to distort somebody’s voice.” He was reassuring, but Scully couldn’t shake the feeling. There wasn’t a thing she could do but worry, and she prided herself on being sensible, practical.

They’d be home in just a few hours. She could hold onto her inexplicable anxiety, until then.

* * *

ARLINGTON, VA
7:15 PM

Scully parked the car on the street since the driveway was already full. Under any other circumstances it would have appeared a party was going on at Margaret Scully’s house, except it might have seemed odd to the neighbors that she actually knew someone who drove an ancient faded blue VW mini-bus…

To Scully it was a welcome sight. It meant the guys had made good on their promise to check in on her mother and do their sweep.

She pulled her keys from the ignition and shook Mulder’s arm; he’d been dozing in the passenger seat. He came awake instantly, eyes on alert. She grinned at him, full wattage. “We’re here, Mulder. Let’s go nab Willy.” She climbed out and slammed the door, moving around to the other door and yanking it open before Mulder could grab the handle.

He raised a teasing eyebrow at her as she pulled him up the sidewalk. “A tad anxious, are we? He might not be here, you know.” When she stopped in her tracks and turned to him with a panicked- mommy face, Mulder added helpfully, “Maybe they took Willy to Chuck E. Cheese for a fast pizza and beer.”

She almost sagged in relief. Damn him for the ability to get her heart pounding! Scully gave his hand a vicious squeeze and resumed tugging. “And maybe asses fly, Mulder.”

She ignored his shout of laughter and ran up the front steps, Mulder easily keeping pace with her. They reached the door and Scully rattled the doorknob, not bothering to knock, completely forgetting about the deadbolt and the added security, in her rush to see William and ascertain for herself that he was all right.

Of course the door refused to budge. “Damn it, I forgot.” She knocked and then rang the doorbell, barely restraining herself from shouting aloud to let them in. Mulder leaned against the portico wall and bit his lip to contain his chuckles.

There was a muffled rustling on the other side of the door; then a low-pitched voice growled, “Who goes there?”

She huffed impatiently and rattled the knob again. “Quit goofing around! Let us in!”

The voice dropped even lower and retorted, “Dave? Dave’s not here.”

Mulder almost doubled over with laughter while Scully hissed in frustration. Morons… She pressed her mouth up close to the door. “Langly, is that you? The neighbors are probably all staring out their windows, you idiot! You’re a dead man.”

She was still hanging onto the doorknob when it suddenly opened; her arm went with it as she almost fell into the front foyer – and into her mother’s arms. Maggie Scully hugged her daughter tightly and grumbled into her ear, “Dave? Dave?”

Scully pulled back in disbelief. “That was you? God, Mom, I’ve left you hanging around the guys too long!” She looked into her mother’s face, seeing the big smile and the sparkling eyes, a glow that hadn’t been present in a very long time. “Grandma-hood must agree with you, Mom. You look wonderful.”

Maggie hugged her again. “Melvin put me up to it. That boy has the strangest sense of humor.” She kissed both her daughter’s cheeks and gave her yet another hug. “It’s been a lovely weekend, thanks to both of you.” Maggie freed up an arm and reached out her hand to Mulder, who took it in both of his, squeezing gently. She pulled them both toward the living room, chattering, “Everyone’s here; we just finished dinner. We waited but weren’t sure how long you’d be, so I put some aside for you. Lord, I’d forgotten how much grown men can eat!”

They entered the living room, Scully managing to smile at the small group assembled there; then frowning when she didn’t see William. “Where is he, Mom? Have you already put him down for the night?”

She was prepared to run up the stairs and snatch him out of his crib, but Maggie held onto her daughter’s arm and protested, “Dana, he’s fine! Wet diaper. Monica has him upstairs, changing him; she took him up about two seconds before you started pounding on the door.”

Relief shone visibly on Scully’s face; Mulder murmured, “So much for the cool, calm and collected Agent Scully.” Not for anything would he have admitted his anxiety level had easily met hers and had threatened to speed right past it.

He squeezed her shoulder, pushing her onto the sofa next to John Byers, who smiled at her and asked her how their weekend had fared. On the other side of the room Skinner shook his head as if to declare her display of maternal worry a hopeless case. Frohike, standing near the windows, merely grinned at her foolishly. It took a moment for Scully to realize that beyond her mother’s enthusiastic greeting and Byers’ polite inquiry, nobody in the room had said anything. She stared up at Mulder who had moved to her side and was sitting on the arm of the sofa.

Her expression held new concern; he shrugged but couldn’t deny a certain amount of tension could be felt in the room. No, maybe not tension; that might not be the right word. Maybe anticipation.

Weird.

“Okay, we’re here. We had a great time. Now, someone mind telling us what’s up?”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the sound of shoes clattering on the stairs brought everyone’s attention to Monica, descending with William in her arms, dressed for bed in his fleecy yellow pajamas and chewing on his fist. His back was to Scully, who’d risen from the sofa and was eagerly moving forward to take her son. Monica grinned at her and turned William around so that he could see his mother coming toward him, his father standing nearby…

And Scully stopped abruptly, face paling, eyes widening, then tearing up, as a solid wall of emotion hit her, the likes of which she’d never before felt. It came at her in waves; the longing, the wanting. Confusion; she felt that as well. It would have buckled her knees if Mulder hadn’t grabbed her arm to steady her. She turned to stare at him, and saw his eyes were as damp as hers.

What the –

Then she stiffened as a single thought pressed at her.

MAAA! MAA-MAAA!

In disbelief she gaped at her son, her precious baby, who had his arms out, reaching for her; whose eyes swam with glassy tears as he stretched toward her. She scooped him up and cuddled him close, burying her face in his neck, feeling Mulder’s arms wrap around both of them. Still she could sense it. In her head, God, her head…

How?

It was coming from their child. She knew it. When she looked up at Mulder again, she knew he could feel it, too.

They sank down on the end of the sofa, Scully clutching William for dear life and Mulder still holding them both. Scully dashed at the tears on her cheeks and balanced William on her lap, facing the room at large. The baby immediately calmed and started bouncing happily, obviously thrilled to be snuggled in with his parents. While he gurgled and reached for his yellow-covered toes, with narrowed eyes Scully pinned her mother where she stood.

“Okay, now would be an excellent time to tell us what the HELL has been going on while we’ve been gone.”

---

EPILOGUE

GEORGETOWN
2:15 AM

She held a finger to his lips when he would have spoken. Her eyes flicked over the room, in the corners, along the floor. A wall, the closet. Concern, worry, uncertainty, all showed on her face.

Paranoia; that, too. She couldn’t help the way it bubbled up, any more than he could help the expletive he muttered as he caught hold of her arm and pulled her out of the nursery.

In the hallway, Mulder faced his partner, his lover, his mate. She blinked up at him with wide blue eyes, fingers still trying to press against his mouth as if to caution him to remain silent. Impatiently he pushed them away and then held onto them, noting the way her eyes darkened and narrowed with temper.

Well, good. Temper was fine and dandy with him. Temper was healthy. He could live with it. What he could not, would not live with, was this imbalance of uncertainty and all its nasty little by- products; they’d had more than enough of it. Maybe he’d have to accept the paranoia as part of the deal, but he’d be damned if it would rule his life inside the privacy of their home.

“Knock it off, Scully. There’s nothing left; they got them all. You know it. You have to trust it.”

She stiffened, ready to blast him, but then her body sagged, leaned into him. He slipped an arm around her and brought her close, told her, “It’s a lot to process. My head’s still reeling. I don’t know whether to jump for joy because of our son’s latest talent or kick the nearest inanimate object into next week because we were made to feel violated by the sons of bitches who invaded our sanctuary. I prefer to concentrate on Willy right now; how about you?” He kissed her temple. “Another gift, that’s the way we have to look at it. Another amazing, precious gift.”

“I know. I’m just, I’m…” She rubbed her forehead against his chest, curling closer to him, needing his warmth and finding her own balance through the support he offered her. When she met his eyes, hers had cleared and were steady. “I can’t pretend to not be worried, Mulder. I mean, hell of a greeting we got, right? A pint- sized mind-meld with our son and the beyond-unsettling news that for who knows how long, our privacy has been stormed by a new, advanced technology that got past our best defenses. I’m glad they were found and that we’re clean again. But how long had those bastards been listening in? What did they hear?”

She shuddered to think of it and fretted, “When did they implement them, Mulder? Did they just walk in the front door, arrogantly bypassing our security? Did they prowl around the nursery while our child played in the living room, innocent and vulnerable? GOD!” Furious once more, she wrenched away and paced up and down the narrow hallway, the anger snapping through her like whips. Fast on the heels of that anger, came the panic as she remembered what Frohike had told them of the devices’ locations.

Suddenly she couldn’t stand it. This time it was too much; whirling around in the middle of their hallway Scully faced Mulder, hands fisted at her sides. This time the bastards had gone too far; come far too close to them, their privacy; their little boy.

She spat out, “Four of them, Mulder. Four of those things in our home. One in our bedroom, for God’s sake! How? While we slept? They seem to be experts in slipping in and out like ghosts; did they come in here while we were in the shower? Did they hear us making love? After the damn things were in place did they sit in a van somewhere around the block and listen to us living our lives?”

Mulder reached out for her but Scully spun away from him, unwilling to be calmed. She couldn’t have borne it; she was in dire need of fury-purging. “We’ve been so careful not to talk here. And yet I know we’ve revealed more than the basic day-to-day junk that makes up your average life. Except we aren’t average. We’ll never have that luxury, will we? Do we now walk on eggshells, worrying about whether or not at any given day of the week we’re still running clean?” She rubbed at her eyes until they ached, staving off the weakness of tears. To cry would have only made her feel weak. She would NOT feel weak, damn it.

Instead she gorged on her anger. “And the nursery, my good Christ! There was one in the nursery! Those sons of bitches were in our baby’s room. The only way I can even deal with it sanely is to tell myself that if they’d gone in there while William was in his crib, he’d have somehow sensed them and would have started screaming bloody murder!” She was wringing her hands, her nails scratching the delicate top skin and not even aware of the damage she was doing.

Mulder watched her, worried as hell. It had been years since he’d seen Scully this out-of control, this raw with emotion. It wouldn’t solve anything. It wouldn’t make it go away, change a thing. Their lives had never been easy. In truth, when had either of them wanted to take the easy road? When had they ever been given that choice?

Mulder’s own anger, held tightly all evening long, threatened to burst free. He slammed the lid down on it, refusing to feed it. Tomorrow, goddamn it. He’d explode tomorrow. Right now he had to keep his head, for Scully’s sake.

This had to stop.

“SCULLY!” Mulder stepped in front of her in mid-pace and grabbed her shoulders; she was stiff in his hands but she let him hold her. He ordered, “Stop it! You’ll wake Willy, and he’ll probably sense your anger and react to it in ways we still don’t fully understand. I don’t want to be up with him all night; do you? He needs sleep and so do we. Right now we’re running on emotional fumes and nothing else. Come on,” he led her to their bedroom and made her sit down on the bed, “let’s just put it aside for tonight, okay? Tomorrow we’ll deal with it. With everything.” He took her hands and brought them to his lips; kissed them one by one, soothing her skin.

Soothing her.

At his gentle, calming tone, all of the fight suddenly went out of her. As the tension left her body she relaxed, her shoulders slumped and her head bowed. Replaying some of what she’d said, Scully actually winced. Lord, she’d sounded like a madwoman!

She glanced up at Mulder and gave him a shamefaced little smile, her hands still clasped in his. “When did you become the sensible one?” Her tone waxed lightly sarcastic but she remained seated instead of jumping up and tearing back down the hall to the baby’s room. She wanted to sit by his crib and watch him sleep. She wanted to stand guard over him for the next forty or so years…

“I’ve always been sensible, Scully. I’ve merely chosen to couch it in layers of snappy comebacks, smart-ass-syndrome and my outstanding good looks.” Mulder offered a silly grin as he knelt at her feet and unlaced her sneakers, intent on helping her to relax. She stroked her hand over his hair and let him massage her feet, thinking back on the past few hours.

Surreal. That was the overall sensation. Beyond anything else, those first few minutes sitting with William on her lap, cooing and giggling at her, were just plain surreal. She could feel him in her head, happy-playful-happy baby, as he grinned up at her with two pearly teeth revealed, patting her hand with his chubby little palm. With the abruptness of most young children, his emotional bout had gone from miserable to good-natured in a flash. She’d forced her own emotions to calm and to settle, concerned her son would pick up on them and amplify them using this new ability that she could scarcely comprehend.

Added in was the unwelcome news that while they’d hidden themselves away for the weekend, a new type of transmitter had been found in not only their apartment but in her mother’s house, too. She and Mulder had fired off questions to Langly and Frohike, but the answers had been less than reassuring.

“Look, worst-case scenario has to apply right now, okay? We don’t know how long these things had been in place before we found them. Maybe a month. Maybe only a day. Whoever planted them left nada behind. No prints, obviously no disturbance, otherwise you’d have noticed it. They bypassed security systems to break in which means they have superior scramblers. None of this is good news, except that we DID find them.”

Frohike would rather have lied through his teeth to keep that look of worry from Dana Scully’s eyes. Because she’d been thinking like a mother for the moment and not as a Federal agent, he’d kept the narrative as bluntly honest as he could, knowing she needed to hear the worst, before she could pick out the best and build on it.

“Mulder, Dana… do you recall some of what you might have talked about the past few days, before you left? I know you’re both very cautious people, but did you say anything about where you’d take William?” Skinner had broken in with a few questions of his own.

Mulder had given it some thought. “Well, sure. We called Maggie from the apartment before we left. Scully used her cell phone and I can’t recall which room we were in but we’d still have been within receptive distance, judging by what you’ve already discovered these devices are capable of. Once we were at the cabin we used the satellite phone Byers lent us. I’m guessing they knew right away where William was but never knew our location.”

John Doggett had posed the one question too frightening to consider. “You know, I haven’t heard anyone ask this: if they knew where William was, then why didn’t they come here and take him?”

Scully had shuddered when he’d asked it. If these nameless bastards had known William’s whereabouts, and had already gained access to the house with apparent ease and stealth, then what could have prevented them from coming back and taking him, regardless of how many armed guardians had been watching over him?

And then she’d been the one to find a possible answer. “They couldn’t take him! They couldn’t because the ones who broke in and planted those devices were not human.” When Skinner looked as if he might discount her deduction, Scully hurriedly reasoned, “Think about it. No prints. No disturbance of any kind, and obviously no fear of breaking and entering. They couldn’t have been sure how many people were in this house when they came into it, right? Since we have to figure the reason they planted the devices here was because they’d already listened to our plans of leaving William with Mom, then we have to also consider the house might have been full of FBI when they made their little trip out here.”

Scully was so intent on convincing Skinner, that she failed to see the way her mother’s eyes had widened in shock and disbelief at the words ‘not human.’ But Mulder had seen.

Scully had cuddled William closer as she elaborated on her theory. “Going with that scenario: they come in, see William; leave him alone. Not because they necessarily fear getting caught by any of you, but because they understand the real danger to them. As far as we know, the only ones who have reason to avoid touching William are the ones who can be hurt by him. Beings like Donny Ranken.” She’d spoken the hated name with utter distaste. And again had failed to notice the small jolt her mother gave upon hearing someone referred to as a ‘being,’ but again Mulder had caught Maggie’s reaction.

Skinner had nodded slowly as he’d mulled over what she’d said. “You have an excellent point. Unfortunately we might never know for sure, so as of right now we start expecting the worst even more than we have been, and adjusting our security level accordingly.” Everyone had agreed without hesitation.

In spite of the amount of coffee consumed that evening, the group had been tired, needing sleep. But before anyone could even think about dispersing, Mulder had caught Maggie’s pleading eyes and said, “Wait.”

She’d smiled at him gratefully then had stood and announced, “No one leaves until I get a few answers.” She’d looked around the room, had crossed her arms decisively. “I’ve been a very patient woman this weekend. I haven’t asked a lot of questions and I’ve trusted all of you as to why my house was under guard in the first place. But now, I want to know why there’s a group you call ‘enemy.’ I want to know why my daughter would think some of them aren’t ‘human,’ for God’s sake! And if not human, then what could you possibly believe they are?”

There was a hush in the room; nobody wanted to be responsible for saying it first. But Scully had sighed and responded wearily, “Alien. They are extra-terrestrial. Not of this earth. Little green men, although Mulder and I would be the first to tell you they’re really gray. It’s science fiction, Mom. Except it’s not fiction. Not any longer. And nobody in this room was as disbelieving as I was, when I first heard about them. Nobody fought against believing as long as I did. Do you want me to continue?”

Scully had met her mother’s questions with hard, blunt answers, and had watched with complete empathy as the color had drained from her face. Whatever she was expecting to hear, Scully knew it wasn’t an affirmation of life elsewhere in the universe… and hostile life, at that.

Well, her mother had asked for it, and Scully was determined to make sure she got it. Years of cushioning her family from the real truth, that was over. Knowing that because of her desire to protect them, her family more or less had their heads buried in the sand while the battle raged in deadly silence around them… that wasn’t going to happen any longer, either. At least not with her mother.

Scully had rocked her sleeping son in her arms in her mother’s lovely, comfortable living room, ignoring everyone except the only person who was still so much in the dark, and waited for her to assimilate. To her credit her mother had not run screaming from her own house.

Yet.

“Mom, tell me if you really want to hear this. If you can accept and believe it.” Scully had known there was a pleading note in her voice. But it was so vital that, once revealed, her mother would not discount it. That she wouldn’t think eight years of exposure to the job had skewed her daughter’s perception. Scully wouldn’t have been able to stand it if any member of her family reacted that way.

Margaret Scully’s face had been pale and her slender frame trembled a bit, but her voice came out strong and without hesitation. And what she said had brought the beginnings of a proud smile to her daughter’s lips.

“Yes. I want to hear it. As much as you want to tell me. For my grandson’s sake I want to know.” She’d leaned back in her seat, folded her hands in her lap and stated, “Make me believe.”

It was very late by the time Mulder and Scully had brought William home and put him to bed.

* * *

“I want him in with us tonight. Maybe for several nights.” Scully was adamant. Mulder looked up from her foot massage, saw the stubborn expression on her face and sighed. He stood up and walked to the door, opening it wide; leaving the hallway light on, he came back to the bed and sat next to Scully.

Taking her hand in his, he pressed her palm to his lips and murmured against her skin, “No. William stays put.”

She glared at him, all the tension returning to her body. “Mulder…” It was a low warning.

He wouldn’t budge. “Look, I understand and I feel the same way. But if we start doing this, if we start hovering over our son even when he sleeps, if we bring him into bed with us and make it a habit of doing so… Willy will never want to sleep in his own bed. He’s already slept with us a few times and I can tell he likes it a little too much. If we let it happen much more, he’ll scream when we put him in the nursery and we’ll keep giving in because we don’t want our little boy to be upset and feeling abandoned. Before we know it,he’s nineteen years old and cuddling between us in a double-wide king-sized bed with a wubbie in one hand and a dog-eared copy of ‘Playboy’ in the other.” He shot a wicked grin at her and chuckled in relief when she first gaped at him in horror, and then cuffed him in exasperated amusement as his words actually sank in.

“Honest to God, I can’t believe I willingly share bed-space with you, Mulder. I should probably get my head examined.” As usual, his goofiness calmed her down when serious reasoning most likely wouldn’t have had any affect. Scully snuggled close, wrapping her arms around his waist, and they sat in silence for a minute or two.

“You know, Scully… if you really need your head examined, I have this wonderful doctor. She wears four-inch heels when she autopsies cadavers and she’s got the cutest little mole in this really lickable place.” He touched his tongue to the mole that clung to her upper lip and snickered softly against her mouth when she moved her head just enough to catch that tongue where she most wanted it.

They kissed for long seconds, both exhausted but needing the mouth to mouth and body against body connection. They had a long series of days ahead of them, starting with a more involved and lengthier info session with her mother, on a day when their time wasn’t limited. Maggie Scully had decided it was time for her to support the resistance however she could. She knew very little about what they were trying to create, and was already struggling to open herself to the kind of extreme possibilities her daughter and Mulder – and the others – had been living with. But Maggie wanted to do what she could. For William, for her other grandchildren and for a future that was worth fighting for… she was willing to believe.

Dana Scully felt she had every reason to be a proud daughter.

The grandfather clock in the living room ticked softly, its heavy pendulum swinging with elegant grace, as they undressed, eased into bed and spooned together under the warm covers. Scully pressed herself along Mulder’s back, her arm curved over his waist and her legs tangled with his. He grasped her hand and held it against his chest, over his heart, and by the time the final melodious chime had finished announcing that it was now three o’clock in the morning,they’d fallen asleep.

The silence in the room was broken by their even breathing and the occasional soft snuffle coming from the baby monitor on the nightstand next to the bed. In the apartment in Georgetown three fighters recouped their energy, readying themselves to face another day.

–– Chapter 6 ––

Chapter 6: Chataqalan I by MaybeAmanda

* * *

Rating: PG

Category: S, A, MSR

Thanks to: Amy, Weyo, Joanna, and Euphrosyne for enduring months and months and months and months of whining, Tess for infinite patience, the BTT gang for the inspiration and opportunity.

* * *

Scully tucked her hand-out under her arm, filled her mug with coffee, took a muffin from under its Plexiglas dome, and scanned the crowd, hoping to find a familiar friendly face or two. Aside from a couple of lab techs she recognized by sight from Quantico and another pathologist – Dodgeson? Dobson? – whom she vaguely recalled working along side during one of her trips to the LA field office, the forty or so people milling around the enormous open-sided tent were strangers. She’d be working up-close and personal with these people over the next six days, she reminded herself, so she should probably meet and mingle, but too little sleep and too early an hour were making her feel less than sociable. Over a decade of steeping in Mulder’s paranoia was probably not helping matters, either.

“Dana! Over here.”

Scully turned. “Monica,” she said, surprised. She made her way through the rows of folding chairs and knots of colleagues to where Agent Reyes stood. “What are you doing here?”

Monica, looking sweaty and exhausted, plunked herself down. “Skinner called me off a case in Seattle, said someone on this one requested my ‘unique expertise’.”

Scully sat. “Oh?”

Monica shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”

“You looked beat,” Scully said. “Bad flight?”

“Bad flights, plural,” Monica corrected. “I caught the red eye to Dallas, made the connection to Cancun, ran across a field to catch a puddle jumper from there to Ixtal-” she lifted her foot – “in these heels, and then sat on that alleged bus for an hour and a half. And then the jeep-” She shook her head, then glanced at her watch. “I got in about half an hour ago. Or maybe I haven’t arrived yet. The way I feel right now, I can’t tell.”

Scully smiled and offered up her cup. “Coffee?”

Monica’s eyes lit up as she took the cup. “Oh, Dana, you are the best person on the planet. Maybe in the solar system. Thank you.”

“No problem. I can get more. And you can pay me back with babysitting.”

“Deal,” Monica agreed, eagerly taking a sip from the cup. “Remember when they used to give you food on planes?”

“Vaguely,” she said, recalling one mediocre meal after another from the early days of her partnership with Mulder. They’d always been on the road or in the air, back then. Seemed like a lifetime ago.

Scully broke off a chunk of her muffin. “They assign you a bed yet?”

Monica glanced at the slip of paper in her hand. “Tent 4 Bed B.”

“My tent,” Scully said, pleased.

“Oooh!” Monica squealed. “We can do each other’s hair and talk about boys!”

Scully chuckled. “Something like that.” At least she’d be bunking with one person she knew. It wasn’t that she’d become anti-social, she told herself, it was just that some days, the old saying was true – the more she knew people, the better she liked her dog. Or, in her case, the better she liked Mulder’s fish. Monica, however, was a known quantity. A rather frenetic known quantity at times, but Scully counted her among her friends. Monica outranked the fish any day. We’re supposed to get another person in there, probably from the French delegation, but she hasn’t shown up yet.” She glanced around. “John with you?”

Monica shook her head. “He’s still in Seattle, dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s on the Tillotson case.”

Scully nodded. She’d reviewed the autopsies on that case a week before. “Or, knowing John,” she suggested, “crossing the i’s and dotting the t’s.”

Monica softly snorted into the cup. “God, I hope not. I need him to get back to DC and FedEx me my hiking boots asap.”

“Have you been briefed?”

Monica shook her head. “Just the Cliffs Notes version, and a few pages were missing. Like, all of them, really. You get the rundown back in DC?”

Scully nodded. “Not a lot, though, just -” she began.

“Ooh,” Monica reached out and snagged Scully’s necklace. “This is new.”

Scully’s hand went to the locket she now wore next to her cross. “Mother’s Day gift,” she said as she gently pried open the delicate gold circle. Inside lay a tiny picture of her son. “Mulder claims William picked it out.”

Monica examined it with more, Scully thought, than a casual eye. Hadn’t she mentioned her uncle or cousin being a jeweler? “William has good taste,” she concluded. “Expensive, too.”

Scully cleared her throat, feeling suddenly awkward. She’d known the gift hadn’t come from the gumball machine outside the supermarket, as Mulder had insisted, but she hadn’t considered the matter beyond that. Mulder had come from money; to him, it was just another means to an end. And while she understood that intellectually, the reality of it was still jarring. “I um-”

“What’s the significance of the pattern on the front?” Monica asked. “That’s – that’s the four directions?”

“A compass rose.”

Monica flipped the locket over. A diamond lay embedded at its center. “‘North,’” she read. She raised her eyes to Dana’s. “What’s that mean?” she asked with a conspiratorial grin.

Scully could feel herself blushing. “He says I give his life direction,” she said.

“Oh my god!” Monica clutched her hand to her heart. “You’re his north star. Dana, that’s so romantic! Icky, but romantic!”

Scully obligingly rolled her eyes.

“Seriously, Dana, it’s really beautiful. Excellent quality. European gold, I’d bet, and cust-” Monica started, but she was interrupted by the high pitched squeal of microphone feedback.

“If we could all be seated, please,” a man at the make-shift podium said, “we can begin.”

The clusters of personnel broke up and found chairs.

“Huh,” Monica whispered.

“What?”

Monica pointed toward the podium with her chin. “Bobby.”

“Bobby who?”

“Later,” Monica promised with a wave.

“Ladies and gentleman,” he continued in what Scully now recognized as a cultured but identifiable West Texas drawl, “good morning and welcome. I’ve had a chance to meet and speak with many of you, but for those of you I have not had the pleasure of meeting, I’m ASAC Robert Perez and I’m with the San Antonio field office. As you’ve likely been informed by your various supervisory agents and have no doubt by now read in your hand-outs, the FBI is here at the invitation of the Mexican government and at the request of the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization, better known by its acronym, UNESCO.”

Scully nodded to herself. None of that was news.

“As you are the best this agency has to offer, there is no need for me to tell you what you are going to have to do. I will, however, remind you, that we are here strictly in support capacity. The Mexican National Police will be handling the investigative side of this operation. You will be collecting and cataloguing data as it relates to this investigation.”

“I’d like to introduce, on my left, from UNESCO, Dr. Michel DuFour, Under-Secretary for Heritage Affairs, whose secretariat is responsible for the MXVC-817 dig -”

A short, solidly built man with steel grey hair and immaculately pressed field khakis took a step forward and nodded.

“- and Agent Juan Castillo, who is leading the task force on behalf of the Mexican authorities. I’m sure many of you have questions, and I’m going to ask you to hold them until the end. Right now, let’s cut to the chase.”

Behind Perez, a screen flickered to life, filling Scully with both an eerie sense of deja vu and an unexpected pang of nostalgia.

“Sixteen days ago, anthropologists Dr. Stephanie Richards-”

click

“- Dr. Michael Casselman -”

click

“-and a team of three local technicians disappeared while

surveying MXVC-817 -”

click

“- about twenty miles north of Tlachichucl, and about forty-five very bumpy minutes up that dirt track that runs past our basecamp here. Doctors Casselman and Richards were part of an advance team that would be heading up a UNESCO archeological dig at the site designated MXVC-817, believed to be a lost Olmec city. As those of you who have tried to phone home from here may have noticed, wireless telecommunications can prove something of a challenge, so no immediate steps were taken. When the team failed to report in after a full week, however, a second, fully armed S&R team was sent out to the site. There they found -”

click

“- signs that the site had been -”

click click click

“-recently disturbed. Finding no trace of the missing team, save Casselman’s ransacked back pack and a half-empty canteen -”

click

“- the team contacted the local authorities. The Veracruz State police confirmed signs of recent excavation and, fearing foul play, contacted the federal authorities here in Mexico, who have jurisdiction in such matters. Because Casselmen, Richards and most of the excavation team are American citizens, the Mexican authorities contacted-”

click

“- the FBI. Upon further investigation, the forensics team located two areas deemed to be of particular interest.”

click

“Because the area in and around Tlachichucl is archeologically significant and has been designated a world heritage site, ground penetrating radar was used to conduct the preliminary survey, which confirmed that there were voids present in the disturbed areas. Consequently, a test excavation was undertaken, revealing-”

‘Bodies,’ Scully thought, anticipating what she knew was coming. ‘Lots and lots of bodies.’

click

” -this.”

Scully grimaced in spite of herself.

“As of this morning, fourteen bodies in various early stages of decomposition have been recovered from Site Alpha-”

click

“and another twelve from Site Beta, none of which, as of this moment, have been positively identified. We are expecting as many as a few dozen more, but that number could be either low or high. Preliminary findings indicate that the victims were shot execution-style in the back of the head or at the base of the skull. The extensive burning you seen on these corpses has been established to have been caused by a combination of combustion and some as yet to be determined caustic agent, most likely an acid.”

The screen went dark. Perez paused.

“Since we don’t know exactly who we are dealing with or what their ultimate objective is, armed guards have been posted around the excavation area and here at the base camp. For your safety, we’re asking that you not attempt to leave this area without an armed escort, and even then, I’ll be honest with you, I don’t suggest it. There’s not a lot to see around this area but trees, bugs, and political rebels.

“You’ve each been assigned to one of three teams as indicated in your hand-outs.” He held up an envelope similar to the one they’d each received. “Breakfast is being served in about five minutes in the mess tent. If you have any questions, please see myself or Dr. DuFour-”

“What the-?” Monica said under her breath as she glanced, apparently for the first time, through her papers.

“What?” Scully whispered.

Monica scowled. “They have me scheduled to do autopsies.”

Scully blinked. “That’s going to be tricky.”

“Ya think?” Monica flipped through the rest of the pages. “Oh, I see.”

“Hmm?”

“This package was intended for Dr. Maria M. Reyes. She must have picked up my envelop by mistake.”

Perez continued. “Team One is scheduled to report to Tent One at oh-nine-hundred. Bottled water and snacks will be available all day. There are wild animals around, so do your very best not to leave scraps of food around or you could end up with a snake or a monkey joining you for a bite to eat. We’re expecting it to get hotter, so stay hydrated, wear a hat, and use bug repellent and sunscreen. And let me remind you again, please do not leave camp. Are there any questions?”

A man two rows ahead of Scully raised his hand.

“Yes?” Perez said.

The man stood. “Good morning. I’m Dr. Simon Fisher, I’m here with the British contingent.”

“Dr. Fisher,” Perez acknowledged with a nod of his head. “Glad to have you and your compatriots on board.”

“Yes, thank you, we’re glad to be able to help out, especially in light of the horrendous nature of this crime.” Fisher said. “Agent Perez, do we have any idea who is responsible for this slaughter?”

Agent Castillo, silent until now, stepped forward. “If I may?”

Perez stepped aside.

“Officially, Dr. Fisher, we have no comment,” Castillo said. “Unofficially, we suspect this is the work of Qetual Separatists. These terrorists have been heavily involved in the drug trade in this part of Mexico for decades, using the money from drug sales to further their political and social objectives. They are ruthless individuals, very superstitious, and they have no qualms about using deadly force against anyone who may stand in their way. They are led by a man named Jorge Salinas. He and his groups have been linked to a number of murders in the US and Canada, and as far south as Guatemala.”

“So these are your prime suspects?” Fisher asked. “Salinas and these Quetal Separatists?”

Castillo gave an ironic smile. “Officially, no comment.”

Perez stepped back in front of the screen. “Anything else pressing?” He glanced around the tent. “No? All right, if anything should come up, please don’t hesitate to let me know. I should be easy enough to find. Now, let’s go eat.”

“I have to talk to Bobby,” Monica said as she stood. “Figure out where I’m really supposed to be.”

Scully gathered her papers. “Where do you know Agent Perez from?”

“The Academy,” Monica answered as they made their way toward the front. “Nice guy. Good agent. We worked a few cases when I was first assigned. Kind of by the book, but not in a bad way. He was always willing to listen to my wild theories before he told me I was full of shit.”

“Sounds like my kind of agent,” Scully said.

“I plead The Fifth.”

“Excuse me.” Scully felt a tentative tap on her arm. “You are Dr. Dana Scully, no?”

“Yes, I am.” She turned. “And you are?”

“I am Dr. Irina Vetkova,” the tall willowy blonde said, extending her hand. “It is a very great honor to meet you.”

Scully took the woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Vetkova. This is my colleague, Special Agent Monica Reyes.”

“Dr. Vetkova,” Monica acknowledged with a nod. “If you’ll both excuse me, I have to speak to Agent Perez. Nice to meet you, doctor.”

“I have followed for many years your work, Doctor Scully.”

Scully gave Vetkova a quick, appraising glance. Frankly, she woman didn’t look old enough to have studied much of anything for many years. “Really?”

“Da. Yes,” Vetkova replied. “It has been groundbreaking. Unique.”

‘Unique’ pretty much covered it, Scully thought. As far as she knew she had the only published paper on the physiology of a human-flukeworm hybrid. Or the pathology of a liver eating mutant. Or the first-hand effects of a giant hallucinogenic fungus.

“That’s very flattering, Doctor. Thank you.”

“Please,” Vetkova said, “please call me Irina.”

“Then please call me Dana, Irina.”

“Thank you, Dana. I hope while we are working here we might have a chance to speak, yes? There are many questions about your work I would very much wish to discuss with you.”

“I think that could probably be arranged, Irina,” Scully said. “You’re a pathologist?”

Vetkova shook her head. “No,” she said. “By training, I am immunologist.”

That was unexpected. “An immunologist? How’d you end up on this project?”

“I am volunteer,” Vetkova explained. “It is a chance to do a good thing, to help many people. This is very bad, what has happened here. A very bad thing.”

Scully nodded. “Very.”

“Also,” Vetkova, continued, “it is a chance to also to expand my research, and to meet others in my area of interest. Network, you say? My research has taken me to many parts of the world – Florida, Texas, Antarctica, Siberia, Africa, many times before to Mexico, and to Canada, also.”

“And what exactly is your area of research?”

“Immunology, in general, yes? But my special interest, it is known by many names. Some call it ‘black cancer’. I think you know of this, have done research also?”

Scully blinked. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, but – but it led no where. And that was many years ago.”

“Perhaps not so many, Dana,” Vetkova said. “Tell me, Agent Mulder, he is well now? I have heard he was very sick.”

“You know-?” Scully began, but was interrupted by Monica’s return.

“I am sorry to intrude,” Reyes said, “but I need to get my gear stowed and find a bunk. Dana, could you point me toward-”

“I was just heading there myself,” Scully said. Vetkova’s words had unnerved her, and she was grateful for the opportunity to get away. “It was very nice to meet you, Doctor Vetkova.”

“Perhaps we can talk later?”

“Perhaps,” Scully agreed.

“Who was that?” Monica asked as she hoisted her overnight bag and followed Scully down the path. “President of the Dana Scully Fan Club, Vladivostok Chapter?”

“Something like that.” Scully shook her head as if to clear away cobwebs. “What did Agent Perez say?”

Monica shrugged. “‘There’s clearly been a mix-up,’” she quoted.

“They only promote the smart ones.” Scully pulled back the tent flap. “Home sweet home,” she said and waved Monica in. “Let’s get your gear stored and get to work.”

* * *

Monica waved good night to the departing Norwegians she had been working with all day and made her way toward the buffet table at the far end of the mess tent. The air under was thick with the aroma of chilies and cilantro, smells that normally would have made her mouth water, maybe even given her a little pang of homesickness for her grandmother’s apartment in Mexico City. But right now, frankly, she was too tired and too hot to be hungry *or* nostalgic. As homey as the food on the buffet might smell, what she really wanted was a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and an A/C unit blowing straight up her nose.

“Hey, there you are,” Dana said, stepping up behind her.

“Hey,” Monica responded, picking up a plate. “I looked for you at lunch.”

Dana picked up a bottle of water, twisted off the lid and took a quick swallow. “I worked through lunch. There was a lot of work waiting for us once we finally got started this morning.”

“I noticed.” Monica lifted her hair off her neck and waited for a breeze. “They’ve got me cataloguing personal effects. There was a ton of stuff to sort through and label.”

“I believe it.” Dana took another drink. “I worked on eight bodies today. Eight times however many of us there are – that’s a lot of bodies.”

Monica put some salad onto her plate, speared a chunk of fresh pineapple. It wasn’t usually a good idea to eat uncooked food when you weren’t intimately familiar with the water supply, but she figured the UN was probably fairly particular about feeding its people. At least she hoped so. “Eight? In one day? Isn’t that a lot?”

“It is.” Dana nodded. “Cause of death is pretty obvious, though. A bullet to the back of the head will do it every time. Plus all the bodies so far are extensively burned. There isn’t a lot to actually autopsy. Mostly it’s about finding enough clues to identify the victims.”

“That’s why I’ve been cleaning and cataloguing jewelry and fillings and pictures of tattoos?”

“That’s why,” Dana replied. “Glamorous, isn’t it? Just like all those TV shows.” She stopped and rolled her neck from one side to the other. “God, I am exhausted. And my feet are killing me.”

“Mine too,” Monica said. “I think the last time I wore boots this heavy I was in a mosh pit somewhere in downtown Providence.”

“Providence?”

“Grad school,” Monica answered. “During my early Doc Martens period.”

“Ah.” Dana smiled, probably remembering her own Doc Martens days. Monica knew for all the prim-and-proper she showed the world, her friend had a broad if well-concealed wild streak.

“They’re right about FedEx running the tightest ship in the shipping business, though.”

Monica settled a scoop of rice and beans on her plate. “Hmm?”

“If John got your boots here that fast. Or is he just psychic? Was it precognitive shipping?” she teased.

“Unfortunately, neither. Someone’s assistant had an extra pair, so Bobby borrowed them for me.” Monica lifted a foot for Dana to see. “They’re only one size too big. I had to put on three pairs of socks to keep them from sliding all over the place. Pretty lucky, huh?”

Dana arched a brow. “Three pairs of socks in this heat sounds pretty sweaty, not pretty lucky.”

“Ahh, but I just keep thinking about how good it’s going to feel when I get to take them off.”

“Well, there’s always that.” Dana chuckled. “Oh, what’s that dish?”

“Fried yucca,” Monica said, helping herself to a few slices. “Not fancy, but filling.”

“Hmm.” Dana wrinkled her nose. “I think I’ll take your word for it. Were you able to get through to John?”

Monica shook her head. “Nope. Couldn’t get a signal. This table okay?”

Scully nodded, seated herself. “I couldn’t get a hold of Mulder, either.”

Monica dug into her food. She hadn’t really been hungry before, but now that she had food in front of her, she was ravenous. “Maybe we’ll have better luck after dinner, when the satellites swing back around this way or whatever it is they do.”

“I hope,” Scully said, shaking her head. “To think I used to tease Mulder about being lost without his cell phone.”

Monica took another bite of yucca. Not as good as her grandmother’s, but better than a lot she’d eaten. “You worried?”

“About?”

Monica grinned. “Mr. Mom.”

“Not worried,” Scully corrected. “More like…concerned.”

Noting the sudden downward turn in Dana’s mood, Monica said, “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“Oh, so am I,” Dana replied quickly. “Mulder has taken to parenting like a fish takes to tartar sauce. It’s just …odd.”

“How so?”

Dana half-shrugged. “I lived alone most of my adult life, and I thought I was comfortable on my own. More than comfortable. All my things were where I wanted them, I watched whatever TV shows I wanted to watch, showered when I wanted. But you sure get used to living with other people pretty quickly, you know, having them there all the time, messing stuff up, hogging the remote, leaving the empty orange juice carton in the fridge. Or at least, I did. Have. You know what I mean.”

Monica nodded. “We’re herd animals,” she said. “We’re happier with the rest of the pack. Or our little share of it, at least. That’s likely why solitary confinement is considered harsh. And probably why the neighbors are always saying ‘he was such a nice, quiet man, always kept to himself – we had no idea that when he had people for dinner, he really had them for dinner’. It probably also explains-”

She looked up. Dana was grinning at her, clearly bemused.

“Sorry.” Monica grinned. “I minored in socio-anthropology. I never know when it’s going to sneak out.”

Dana shrugged back. “I usually cut up bodies five days a week and I live with a man who used to profile,” she said. “Add seven years on the X-Files to that and you should hear our dinnertime conversation. Speaking of which, this,” she gestured to her plate, “is really good.”

“Chicken mole,” Monica said. “That was one of my favorites growing up. My aunt makes it with pork, and a little spicier. It’s so goo-”

“Excuse me, Dr. Scully, may we join you and your companion?”

Monica looked up from her food. She vaguely remembered Dr. Fisher from the briefing this morning, but she couldn’t place the tall, thin, 30-ish Asian man with him.

“Of course, Dr. Fisher,” Dana responded. “And it’s still Dana.”

“In that case, Dana, it’s still Simon.” He extended his hand to Monica. “Simon Fisher.”

“Monica,” she responded. “Monica Reyes.”

“And this,” he gestured, “is Andrew Ng.”

“Just Drew, thanks,” he said as he shook her hand. Monica thought she detected an Australian accent.

“Simon and Drew are with Scotland Yard,” Dana said.

“Pathologists?” Monica asked.

“Forensic anthropologists,” Simon corrected.

“Oh?” Monica asked.

“Bones, in my case, ” Simon said. “Or more correctly, skeletal and contextual evidence, since Drew here is a paleoethnobotanist by training.”

“Paleo-which ?”

“My particular passion is petrified pollen,” he explained,

popping all the p’s.

“Drew’s the life of the party,” Simon stage-whispered, “so long as it’s a garden party.”

“Too right,” Drew agreed good naturedly. “This is really good. Do either of you know what it is?”

“Chicken mole,” Monica said. “The local variation on it, at least.”

“Reyes, right?” Drew asked. “You from around these parts?”

Monica shook her head. “I grew up outside of Mexico City, but I was born in Texas.”

“Like me, then,” Drew said. “A transplant. I was born in Hong Kong, grew up all over Australia. My dad was in mining.”

Monica nodded. “Both my parents worked for SynTexis oil. But my father’s family was originally from Mexico.” Monica decided she could leave out the part about both parents being killed by a drunk driver when she was fourteen months old and her subsequent adoption by her paternal grandparents. “So I don’t suppose they have you looking at a lot of petrified pollen this time out?”

Drew shook his head. “So far, no. I usually do skeletal analysis back at the Yard anyway, so that’s what they’ve got lined up. Spent the day looking at x-rays, mainly. Bet there’s some fascinating local flora, though.”

“‘Fascinating’ and ‘local flora’ don’t belong in the same sentence, mate,” Simon said.

“Declares the tooth fairy,” Drew countered.

In response to Monica’s raised brow, Simon explained, “My specialty is odontology, and yes, before you start with the jokes, I assure you I’ve heard every single one of them.”

“So, Monica,” Drew started, but the way he made it sound like moniker made her grin, “what’s your thing? Are you a pathologist like Dana?”

Monica shook her head, finished off the last of her food. “Law enforcement.”

“Police?”

“FBI, like me,” Dana said. “We work together in DC.”

“Actually,” Monica added, “it appears I am here by mistake. They confused me – Monica Maria Reyes – with Dr. Maria Monica Reyes, who apparently works out of the LA office.”

Drew grinned. “Good to know bureaucracy is bureaucracy the world over.”

“Dr. DuFour!” someone called from the other side of the tent.

“Yes?” a voice said from almost directly behind her. “Ah, Dr. Bhattacharya, good to see you.”

Monica turned her head. The Undersecretary, with his tray of rice and beans, stood by her chair. The small, square, teak colored man who had called to him came rushing over. She turned discreetly back to her food, pretending not to eavesdrop.

“There you are, sir,” Bhattacharya said in a voice that was both too loud and too high-pitched for an enclosed space, even if it was one made primarily of canvas. “All day I have searched for you.”

“No rest, as they say, for the wicked,” DuFour replied. “How have you been, old friend?”

“Well,” Bhattacharya replied. “Very well, save for the ghastly business that brings us all here. “

“Ghastly says it well,” DuFour said. “Why don’t we-”

“I wish to make a site visit,” Bhattacharya said. “If this is truly Chataqalan, I-”

“No no no,” DuFour said. “Chataqalan? Who has told you such a thing?”

“The location is correct,” Bhattacharya said. “If this is the lost city, is would be a find beyond compare.”

“That is a very great ‘if,’ my friend.” DuFour said. “If it were the lost city, yes, the find would have been spectacular, but there is no reason to think it is. None at all.”

“But the dig-?”

“And even if it were, anything that was to be found is by now surely compromised,” DuFour said. “You cannot have exhumations of modern graves and careful archeology together. Like oil and wine, the two do not mix.”

“Still,” Bhattacharya persisted, “I would very much like to see

it for myself.”

“I am afraid that’s not possible,” DuFour answered. “It is far too dangerous.”

“But there are workers on the site, are there not?”

“Of course,” DuFour said. “Essential personnel only. Heavily armed, at that. But it would be foolish to endanger anyone else by-”

DuFour’s words dropped away as his arm made brief contact with the back of Monica’s head. “I’m so sorry,” DuFour said. “Please excuse-”

His arm bumped her again, but with more impact. Monica didn’t really notice, since the ground itself was so busy shaking beneath her. Her mind flashed back to the quake that had hit Mexico City the year she turned 14. She’d been out shopping after school with Marisol and Anita, her two best friends, when the department store began to sway. They’d run for the street, where thousands of people screamed and panicked around them. She’d never been as terrified before, and, even with the things she’d seen, had rarely been as terrified since.

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

“What the hell?” Simon asked, wide-eyed.

“Monica, are-?” Dana began.

“TMVB,” DuFour said, addressing the table. “This region is part of the Trans-Mexico Volcanic Belt, and we are standing on the buckle.” He turned back to Bhattacharya. “Yet another reason to avoid the site. There is a large vent that has been spewing rock and ash these past few months.”

Bhattacharya looked stricken. “But if there is an eruption all could be lost.”

“Such is the way of these things,” DuFour replied with a slight shrug.

“Dr. DuFour,” Dana broke into the conversation, “are those carrying out the excavations staying on site?”

DuFour turned to her. “Yes, for the moment they are, Miss-?”

“Dr. Scully,” she replied, “Dana Scully.”

“For the moment, yes.”

“Really?” Monica heard her self ask. “Is that wise, Doctor?”

“And you are?”

“Special Agent Monica Reyes, FBI.”

“Well, Special Agent Reyes, ‘wise’ is – how is it said – a loaded word.” DuFour smiled, showing a row of perfect teeth.

“‘Necessary’ is perhaps a better one. There is, I am assured by the best geologists on the planet, very little chance of a massive eruption in the area. But the risk of MXVC-817 being destroyed by any number of sudden lava flows is constant. This is why, once the site was identified, the project was given accelerated status. At least, until this latest tragic turn of events. Now it may simply be a race to recover as many bodies as we can before the volcano goddess Chantico casts us out.”

“But are the excavators safe?” Monica asked.

“As safe as they might be,” he replied. “As safe as any of us ever is.”

“Dr. DuFour,” a man called from the front of the tent, “there’s a call for you, sir. Urgent, they say.”

“Ah, finally, the satellite gods are smiling upon us.” DuFour grinned. “If you’ll excuse me, Dr. Scully, Agent Reyes, gentlemen.” DuFour nodded once, then headed off with his tray.

“Volcanoes, rebellious natives, mass graves, earthquakes.” Drew turned to Fisher. “Makes me homesick,” he deadpanned.

Simon rolled his eyes. “If that’s Oz, you can have it.”

Dana gathered the remnants of her dinner on to her tray. “The phones are apparently back up, so I have go attempt a few calls,” she said. “If you’ll excuse-”

“Hang on,” Monica said, rising. She tucked her last chunk of pineapple into her mouth. “I’m done. I’ll come with you. “

Drew and Simon both stood. “I’m done, as well,” Drew said.

“Let me take that for you, Dana.” Simon said, reaching for her tray. “I wanted to ask you about…”

“Monica,” Drew said, “would you be up for a walk later on?”

“I-” she began, surprised.

“Just a walk.” He smiled. “Work off some of these starches. I’ll hardly mention pollen at all. Promise.”

Monica quickly considered her options. She could go for a walk with a reasonably attractive man, or she could sit in her tent and —

And what?

“Um, sure,” she said. “We’re in tent four. I have to make a quick call, but give me fifteen or twenty minutes, and I’ll be good to go, okay?”

“Deal,” Drew said. “See you in seventeen and a half minutes.”

* * *

If looks could kill, Scully’s phone would be very, very dead.

She powered it down, waited the standard ten seconds, powered it up for the fourth time. No signal, it told her again. Obviously, all the time, money and research the Gunmen had put into what they assured her was the best satellite phone money couldn’t legally buy, had been wasted. Frustrated, she tossed it on her bunk and started rummaging around in her pack for her regular phone, figuring it couldn’t hurt to try.

“Hey,” Monica said, entering quickly and re-zipping the bug flap. “Any luck?”

“Lots,” she said as she powered up the phone. “So far, all bad.” After a few seconds of staring at the screen, she got the message she’d expected. She sighed. “And my luck holds. No signal.”

“Let me try.” Monica said, retrieving her own phone. She turned it on and waited. “Crap. Dr. DuFour appears to be the only one the telecommunications gods are smiling on at the moment ” She threw herself, very dramatically, backward onto her bunk. “Oh god! I’m doomed to wear size 9 steel-toes and three pairs of socks for all eternity! Doomed, I tell you! Doomed!”

Scully smiled as Monica’s theatrics. “Well, you’re off duty for the next eight hours or so. Go crazy. Take off a pair of socks or two.”

“Can’t.” Monica sat up and took a long pull from the bottle of water she’d brought back to the tent with her. “Drew invited me for a walk.”

“A walk?” Scully’s brows arched. “Is that what you young people are calling it?”

Monica responded by tossing her pillow at her friend. “Oh please,” she said. “Me? ME? If I am not mistaken, someone in this tent had a baby with her partner. Her work partner. Her work partner who was actually her superior officer during production of said baby.”

Scully’s brow’s rose further. “And what’s that got to do with your taking a walk with the very cute, very charming Dr. Ng?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all,” Monica assured her with a big smile. “It’s just nice to not be the baddest of the bad girls for a change.”

Resisting the urge to stick out her tongue three-year-old style, Scully threw Monica’s pillow back instead.

Monica easily caught it. “He is kinda cute, isn’t he?”

“If you like them tall, dark, and exotic,” Scully said.

“You think everyone is tall.”

“Compared to me, everyone ‘is’ tall.” Scully scowled at the phone and turned it off again. “You’re right; you’re doomed. Better learn to love those boots.”

“This isn’t bad, really,” Monica said, looking around the tent as she squared the tossed pillow neatly away. “I expected something a bit more, I don’t know, Girl Scout camp. Or Lord of the Flies.”

Scully shifted on her own bunk, which was, in reality, a high-end self-inflating airbed on a sturdy, light-weight, collapsible metal frame. The tent itself was made of light waterproof fabric with a sewn-in floor intended to keep the damp and the slithering away. Each of the three solid ‘walls’ had a zip-down ‘window’ with mesh that allowed air and light in but kept the bugs and ever-present lizards out. The tent was furnished with three beds, three waterproof storage trunks topped with cushions that doubled as seating and/or bedside tables, and three hand-cranked lanterns that held a charge for quite a while with minimal elbow grease. It wasn’t Lord of the Flies, Scully thought, but it wasn’t home, either. “It could easily be worse,” she said. “Much worse.”

“It definitely could,” Monica agreed. “So,” she asked after a moment, “have you ever done this before?”

“Which this is that?”

“This ‘this’,” she said, waving her hand in an all-encompassing sort of gesture. “Mass graves, armed guards, piles and piles of bodies – this whole horror show.”

Scully glared at her useless phone again, then shook her head. “Not on this scale. Mulder and I had to deal with a mass murderer or two, and I worked on a lot of victims of what turned out to be serial killers, but that never involved tents or lizards or this number of bodies. It was mostly lab work.”

Her expression thoughtful, Monica nodded. “I know the FBI sent experts to Kosovo and Srebrenica. You weren’t on those?”

Scully shook her head. She’d actually volunteered for the Kosovo expedition, but Skinner had already assigned her and Mulder to an undercover operation and didn’t feel he could spare her at the time. Even though she wasn’t required or even expected to tackle field work at this point, she’d been willing to take this particular assignment because it was, in many ways, exactly the what she’d joined the FBI to do — answer questions, solve mysteries, see justice served, bring closure. Years ago, Addy Sparks’s father had said missing was worse than dead because you never knew what happened, and Scully agreed. If she could give even one family incontrovertible proof of a loved one’s fate, it was worth being away from Mulder and William for a few days. “It was probably just like this, only the weather was worse.”

“Probably.”

“They probably did more on-site, too,” Scully added. “Closer to the raw material, so to speak.”

“You know, I’ve been wondering about that.” Monica’s voice lowered. “Does this set-up make sense to you?”

“Honestly? No,” Scully said. “The farther they have to transport the bodies, the more people who have to handle them, the longer the chain of custody – cross-contamination is bound to occur, evidence is bound to be lost, mistakes are bound to be made. So no, that part of it doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s what I keep thinking.” Monica frowned. “I was on a couple of digs in college – archeological, not exhumations – and even when we were scattered around at a couple of different related sites, we all slept and ate in a common spot. So why are they doing it this way?”

Scully didn’t know, and was about to say as much, when Monica continued.

“I mean, if they don’t want everyone at the site because it’s unsafe or geologically unstable, fine, I can see that. But they must have had to set up cooking and washing and sleeping areas over there, too, run power, et cetera. Wouldn’t it make more sense to at least have those workers sleep and eat here? You’d need fewer guards, there’d be less waste, less duplication, so if nothing else, it would keep those costs down. And as you said, less messing with the evidence, so less chance of contamination and mistakes.”

Scully nodded. She could tell Monica had given this more than casual consideration. In truth, she’d thought it odd – and more than odd – herself. Part of her wondered if it was just years of Mulder-brand paranoia; the rest wondered if her investigative skills were just not a sharp as they had once been.

“And it’s strange they won’t let any one visit the site,” Monica added. “Some of these people really are the top experts in their fields. You’d think they’d want them to check the site out. Especially if it might be Chataqalan.”

“Which is?”

“A legendary lost city, said to be the seat of great power.”

Scully quirked a brow.

“Ley lines and harmonic energies and stuff.”

Scully blinked once. “And Mulder’s never mentioned it?”

Monica shrugged. “He can’t know everything.”

“Tell ‘him’ that,” Scully muttered. She thought for a moment. “Maybe the danger is even greater than they’ve let on.”

“How do you mean?” Monica asked.

“Maybe these Qetual separatists are a serious threat. What do you know about them?”

“That’s another weird thing,” Monica replied. “I’ve never heard

of them. Ever.”

“Neither have I,” Scully said. “If, as Agent Castillo said this morning, this man Salinas and this group have been implicated in murders in the US and Canada as well as Mexico, and they’ve been in the drug trade for decades, the name should have come up, and come up regularly, back at the Bureau, wouldn’t you think?”

“Exactly.” Monica agreed. “I suppose it’s possible they’re known by another name or two, but usually our intel is not this far off, especially not on things so close to home. People serious enough about politics and/or drugs to murder dozens, maybe hundreds, of people don’t fly below the radar very long.”

Scully knew there’d been a few notable exceptions to that rule, but for the most part, it was true. “No,” she said, “they don’t. So either we’re missing a big piece of this puzzle, or-”

“Or?”

“Or,” Scully concluded, “there isn’t a puzzle, and we both really, really need a hobby.”

Monica chuckled. “Seriously, Dana. You’ve got good instincts when it comes to this stuff. Great instincts. So what’s your Spidey-sense telling you?” Scully tucked her useless back-up phone in her day pack and considered the question. What *was* it telling her? She’d been uneasy with the set-up of this entire enterprise from the start, and confused by some of the convoluted, seemingly pointless protocols she’d been instructed to follow. Then again, she’d never been part of a multinational operation of this scale before, and perhaps she was just out of step – maybe her Spidey- sense was telling her nothing more than that she was currently well and truly out of her depth.

“At the moment, it seems to be telling me to reserve judgment. But it’s also telling me to keep my eyes peeled.” She paused. “Or maybe it’s telling me I should take up macrame – it’s not one hundred percent clear.”

“Sounds good to me,” Monica said, snugly retying her borrowed boots. “I’m good at tangling things in knots — macrame should come naturally. And really, you can’t have too many hanging plant holders.” v “No, you really ca—“v “Knock knock,” came Drew’s voice from beyond the tent flap. “Monica, you ready?”

Scully, closer to the door, unzipped it. “Come in, Dr. Ng.”

Drew entered. “I thought we decided on Dana and Drew. Did I miss a memo?”

Scully shook her head. “Force of habit, Drew. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, removing his hat. “Love what you’ve done with the place. Decor is very chic.”

“Thanks.” Monica rose and fished her sunglasses out of her bag. “We like to think of it as Martha Stewart meets MASH.” She tucked her phone into an outside pocket.

“Had any luck with the phones?” Drew wondered. “I couldn’t get a signal.”

“Me neither,” Monica replied. “Neither could Dana.”

“Bring your phone along,” Drew suggested. “Maybe we’ll find a spot more conducive to communication.”

“Speaking of which…” Scully said.

Monica turned. “Yes?” she challenged.

“We’re going after ferns,” Drew said.v “We are?” Monica asked. “You said no pollen. I distinctly remember you said no pollen.” “No pollen,” he said, raising his hand as if taking an oath. “Ferns have spores.”

“He’s got you there,” Scully said. “Don’t you two crazy kids be out too late, now. I hear there are jaguars and psychos with chainsaws and men with hooks for hands lurking out there in the jungle.”

Monica obligingly rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

“And no-” Scully began, but she was interrupted by the sounds of her satellite phone buzzing on her bunk.

All three turned to it and stared.

“Huh,” Monica said, retrieving her own phone. She powered it up, then frowned. “I’ve still got no signal.”

Drew retrieved his own phone. “Same.”

“Scully.“v “Scully, it’s me.”

Scully felt herself smile at the sound of Mulder’s familiar greeting and wondered vaguely when she’d turned into such a sap. “Hi, um, just a minute.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Drew and Monica. “I’ll go outside and-”

“No no.” Monica waved her off. “We’ll get going. Ferns, apparently, await. Oh!” She turned back. “Ask Mulder to get John to send my boots. They’re in the front hall closet. Probably. Maybe.”

“Sure.”

“And ask him to water the aloe, but not too much.”

“Okay.”

“And to bring in the mail.”

Drew grabbed Monica by the wrist. “We’re leaving now, Dana. Ta.”

“Yes, ta,” Monica agreed with a good-natured shrug and a little wave as she followed Drew out.

“Who was that?” Mulder asked.

“Monica.”

“Reyes? What’s she doing there?”

“No one is quite sure,” Scully said, settling herself on the bunk. “Least of all her.”

There was a brief pause. “Excuse me?”

“She asked if you could call John about her boots.”

Another pause, this one a little longer. “I’m supposed to make a booty-call to John Doggett? Scully, you haven’t been gone two whole days yet – I’ve got a long way to go before I’m that desperate.”

“Oh ha ha, you’re so funny,” she deadpanned. “William, whomp daddy for me.”

“I am safe from whomping,” Mulder answered. “William is at your mom’s.”

“Oh?” Scully said. A million thoughts raced through her mind — everything from her mother stomping in and demanding that Mulder unhand that poor, filthy, malnourished baby, to Mulder needing to clear the place out before the strippers arrived. All of which thoughts were idiotic, Scully knew, but – “Why is he at my mom’s? “

“I had some stuff to do this afternoon, and it was easier for her if I took him over there.”

“Stuff?” Scully asked.

“Stuff,” Mulder replied. “You know, things. Junk. Crap.”

She was not going to panic. She was not going to let her imagination get the better of her. No, she most definitely was not. “Oh, I see.”

Mulder waited before continuing. “Stuff I might not want to discuss over an open line, for example,” Mulder said pointedly. “‘That’ kind of stuff.”

“Ah,” Scully said. “Of course.”

Mulder sighed. “Scully…”

“No,” she began, “it’s fine, it’s – I was trying to call you for almost half an hour, but I couldn’t get a signal,” she said at last. “Did you have much trouble getting through?”

“That’s weird,” Mulder answered. “I got it on the first try.”

“That is weird,” she agreed. “Everyone’s been having trouble getting through from what I’ve seen.”

“That’s very helpful when you’re in the middle of nowhere.”

Very,” she agreed. “It’s been a pain not being able to get online. It would make some of this work a lot easier.”

“You little techno-slave, you,” he teased. “So how bad is it? The work, I mean.”

Scully gave a weary sigh as she curled her shoulders forward and stretched her spine. “Bad enough. But at least the facilities are good, considering we’re in a clearing in the jungle. All the people are top-notch. Food’s good. Everyone’s been friendly-”

“But not too friendly, I hope.”

“Oh, really, Mulder, it’s shocking. Would-be suitors are all but breaking down my door.”

“Oh really?”

“Oh really.” She leaned down and began trying, one-handedly, to loosen the lace on her work boot. “Or they would be, if I had a door.” She paused. “I guess they’re breaking down my bug-flap.”

“That sounds vaguely obscene, Scully.”

“Only vaguely? I guess I’m not trying hard enough.”

“Oooh,” Mulder said, his voice suddenly low and liquid, “you said ‘hard.’”

He wasn’t there to appreciate the gesture, but Scully rolled her eyes just the same. “Has anyone told you that you are a sick, sick man lately, Mulder?”

“Define ‘lately’.”

Scully was about to when the line filled with hissing and popping. She and Mulder went through half a minute or so of the usual ‘Hello-hello-canyouhearme-areyoustillthere’ routine they’d perfected over much of the previous decade before the line cleared.

“I see what you mean about the connection.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Before we get cut off, can you please call Doggett and ask him to FedEx Monica’s hiking boots asap? She thinks they’re in the front hall closet. He can get the details of where to ship them from the Bureau.”

“Sure,” Mulder agreed. “So who do they think is behind this?”

Scully massaged first one foot, then the other. She wiggled her toes, savoring the unequaled joy of socklessness. “Officially, no suspects; unofficially, they’re blaming Qetual Separatists, who may or may not be in the drug trade.”

“Who?”

“That was my question. Monica’s never heard of them either. And I can’t get online-”

“I can have a look around, see what I can come up with for you.”

“Mulder, you don’t have-”

“I know I don’t,” he said. “But you’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?”

“All that,” she assured him in her flirtiest tone, “and so very, very much more.”

“Yes!” Mulder exclaimed. “Finally, the phone sex part of this phone call. So tell me, Scully, what ‘are’ you wearing?”

She looked down and did a quick inventory: bare feet, hiking shorts, tank top, necklace. Not sexy. “Bug repellent, mostly.”

“Awww, Scully,” Mulder whined, “way to ruin the mood.”

“Sorry, Mulder, but this call has been rated G for your listening pleasure.”

“Pleasure? Ha. You’re no fun,” Mulder said.

“None,” she agreed. “Mulder, what do you know about Chataqalan?”

“Gesundheit.”

“Ha.”

“Chataqalan,” he repeated. “Lost Olmec city, supposedly a seat of ancient power and protection. Ancient capital of the

Eastern Olmec alliance. Or not, depending on your sources.” Geez, Scully thought, maybe he did know everything. “Where is it?”

“Well, it’s ‘lost’, see-”

“Ha again,” she said. “Is it supposed to be around here?”

“Generally, yeah. Why?”

“I overheard someone at dinner asking the Under-Secretary if the kill site was really Chataqalan.”

“Huh. Why would he think it was?”

Scully shrugged. “I don’t know. They won’t let anyone near the site, anyway. Safety concerns.”

“So how are you-?”

“They bring the bodies in by truck,” she explained.

“Doesn’t sound very efficient,” he said. “So how do you spell Qetual?”

“With a Q,” she answered. “After that, you’re on your own.”

“Gracias. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Hopefully they’ll work the connectivity problems out before too long.”

“But if they don’t, I’ll be your able and eager research assistant. Oh, and you can be the naughty professor, see, and I’ll be-”

“Mulder,” she warned.

“Yeah yeah, G-rating. Got it,” he said. “Anything else I can

research for you?”

“I’m good,” she answered. She paused a millisecond. “I miss you guys.”

“I miss you, too, Scully. We both miss you. Will doesn’t like the way I cut up bananas. And he was so unamused to discover I was the one on lullaby duty last night. Imagine someone preferring your singing voice to mine.”

“Imagine,” she answered. In truth, it was like preferring nails on a chalkboard to the whir of a dentist’s drill. If William ended up being able to do more than carry a tune in a bucket, it was no thanks to either of them. “You’ll be pulling that duty tonight, too?”

“Soon as I get off the phone, I’m heading to your mom’s. She’s asked me to -”

His words were lost in a burst of static. Scully frowned, wondering if they’d been cut off for good this time, but after a few more seconds the line cleared.

“Still there?” Mulder said.

“Still here,” she replied. “But we better wrap this up before we lose the signal altogether. Oh, Mulder, before I forget, do you know a Doctor Irina Vetkova?”

“Irina Vetkova?” Mulder repeated. “Doesn’t sound famil- oh. Oh. Okay, I know a Doctor Viktor Vetkov, sort of. They could be related. His wife, maybe.”

“Daughter, maybe. She’s young,” Scully answered. “Tall, ash blonde, pale blue eyes. Legs up to her earlobes. What do you mean you know him sort of?”

“Viktor and I had adjoining suites at that conference I attended with our friend Alex a few years back.”

“What?” she asked, thoroughly confused.

“Alex found it a disarming experience, you’ll recall.”

“Oh.” A chill ran through her. Tunguska. Another half-opened can of oily black worms she’d be just as happy to shut the lid on.

“Why do you ask?”

“She knows a lot about – about a lot,” she said finally, not wanting to give too much away if, in fact, the call was being closely monitored, but wanting him to get the point. “And she asked after your health. Hoped you were well.”

“Did she now?”

“Yes she did,” Scully answered. “I bet her work is fascinating.”

“Given Viktor’s interests, I bet it is,” he answered. “I’ll try to call about the same time tom-”

Static filled the line again. Scully waited, then waited some more, but the hiss and pop persisted, then turned into a low, flat hum. Scully powered the unit down, then up again, but got the familiar ‘no signal’ for her trouble. Clearly, this was the universe’s way of telling her to head for the showers.

She sighed as she dug through her pack, looking for soap, shampoo, flip-flops and towels. ‘Disrupted phone lines, mysterious suspects, shifty associates, personnel mix-ups, earth tremors, and sore feet,’ she thought as she made her way across the compound.

She was almost afraid to wonder what she’d get hit with next.

* * *

If she had had any doubts, they were soon laid to rest: when Drew said he wanted to look for ferns, he actually ‘meant’ that he wanted to look for ferns. Well, Monica mentally amended as they ducked into yet another lush, overgrown, prickly thicket, he wanted to look for ferns and more-or-less obsessively play with his cell phone. She wasn’t sure if she was glad for this excursion’s lack of subtext or not.

“What sort of ferns are we looking for?” Monica asked after an hour of investigating the camp’s perimeter. v “Dryopteris pseudo-filix-mas,” Drew responded, aiming his phone at yet another frond. “A.K.A. the Mexican Male Fern. They’re tiny this time of year, and tend to be difficult to find, especially at this altitude.”

“I see,” she said, just to have something to say.

“The site where they’re conducting the exhumations,” he said, “is more suitable for their growth, so I’d love to get up there and have a look. I may have to sneak out. Finding one around these parts would be quite the coup.”

“No doubt.” She paused, trying to think of something either charming or brilliant to say. All she came up with was, “And the phone helps how?”

Drew straightened. “Excuse me?”

“The phone,” she said. “You keep waving your phone at the plants.”

“Oh, this,” he said. He flipped the phone open again. “Camera phone. See?”

Monica blinked. On the tiny screen was a tiny but very clear black and white LCD picture of the plant Drew had just been harassing. “Cool,” she said. She didn’t know a lot about electronics, but she’d never seen anything like it outside of a spy movie. “So who are you, James Bond?”

Drew chuckled. “Nah, just a guy with a childless uncle in the Hong Kong electronics trade. I get all the new toys before the other kids.”

“That’s quite a toy.”

“It is. It’d cost a packet retail,” Drew said, heading for the next patch of undergrowth. “This is about one step away from a prototype. My uncle’s been in the business forever. He says they’ll be common as dirt in five year’s time. One-fifth the price, twice the resolution, probably take and store dozens, maybe hundreds, of color photos, too.” He took another shot, squinted at it, hit a button to make it go away. “The technology’s not quite there yet.”

Monica nodded, mostly to herself. “So what do you do with the pictures once you’ve taken them?”

“If the uplink was working, I could send them, via satellite, directly to my home computer. As it is, I can only take a few at a time and erase them to make room for more. Or save them and download them to my laptop later, which is a complete pain in the arse,” he explained. “Here, have a look at this shot.”

Monica obliged. “Nice. Is that the dry-psuedo whatever?”

“Nah,” Drew said as he hit a button and the image disappeared. “That’s just an Athyris filix-femina. They’re all over the place.”

“So – what? You just keep taking pictures of what you aren’t looking for and then erasing them?” she asked.

Drew stopped walking. “Keenly observant, Agent Reyes. I can see why the FBI hired you.” He grinned. “Actually, why did the FBI hire you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Or more to the point,” he said, snapping another picture, scowling, erasing it, and snapping another, “why did you hire on at the FBI?”

Monica gave a little shrug. Some days she wondered that herself, and this was rapidly turning into one of them. “Recruiter came to my school, said they were looking for a few good men who were women. Genetically, I fit the bill. The rest is history.”

Drew raised a skeptical brow. “I sincerely doubt you were an affirmative action hire, Agent Reyes.”

Another shrug. “Well, the 3.95 GPA probably helped.”

“I’ll take your word on that,” Drew said, “since I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” He took another picture of a small fern that looked, to Monica’s untrained eye, like all the ones they’d already seen. “Do you like it, then? The FBI, I mean.”

“Most days, I love it,” she answered. “Some, not so much. Drew-”

“You work with Dana?”

“Not directly, no,” she explained. “Drew-”

“Really? You seem to get on well. I would have thought you were partners. Would you please hold this?” He handed her a small zip- lock bag as he slid down into another gully and snapped more fern photos. “You’ve known her a while?”

“Um,” Monica began. No one had ever asked her, oddly enough, and she’d never thought about how she’d go about telling such an unusual story. Where to begin? “Well, my current partner was her partner for about a year. That was while her former partner of about like, seven years, was, well, underground, let’s say. Her new partner and I had worked on some cases before he was her partner and her old partner and I worked a case and then her new partner, who is now her old partner and her old old partner – “

Drew blinked at her. “What?”

She stopped. “I first met her the day I delivered her baby.”

“What?!”

“It’s a long story-”

“It would bloody have to be, wouldn’t it?” he replied. “Oh, look at that!” He pointed deep into the forest, where daylight barely breached the canopy. “I bet that’s-”

Drew disappeared into the greenery, mumbling to himself. Something about fungi, she thought. Reminded her of an old joke – Why does Mr. Mushroom get invited to all the best parties? Because he’s such a fun guy! She wondered how many parties of the non-garden variety Mr. Tall, Dark, and Obsessed with Plants got invited to.

“Beauty,” he said when he emerged moments later. He held up the view screen to her. “Look at this.”

“Is that-”

“Nah, that’s another Athyris.”

“Drew, why do you keep taking pictures of the same ferns over and over and erasing them?”

“What?” he asked, climbing back onto the path and leveling a heart-stopping grin her way. “You’ve never had a new toy?”

Monica blinked, momentarily dazzled. “Um, not lately, no.”

“Oh really?” Drew took a step closer. “Well, maybe we can fix that.”

Well, well, Monica thought as she moved forward herself. .

“Excuse me,” a sonorous voice came from behind her, nearly startling her out of her skin. “The area is restricted. Please return to the camp.”

“Crikey!” Drew jumped, landing hard on Monica’s foot. “You scared the crap out of me, mate. Monica, sorry. You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” she replied, her heart racing. Thank god for steel toes, she thought as she turned. The guard, who stood not a foot behind her, looked more like a camouflage-covered side of beef than a man. A heavily armed side of beef, at that, in the blue beret of the UN peacekeepers. Judging by his size and demeanor, Monica thought he was probably better suited to raising hell than keeping any sort of peace.

“We’re just out enjoying the evening air, collecting fern spores,” Drew explained as he held up an empty baggie.

The guard squinted at the proffered bag. “That bag is empty.”

“Well, we haven’t had much luck yet.” Drew tucked the bag back into his hip pocket. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there are any Dryopteris pseudo-filix-mas laying about?”

The guard’s stony expression did not change. “It is not safe for civilians to be this far from the camp. I will escort you back -”

“S’all right,” Drew replied. “We just want to look around a bit more-”

“I cannot allow that,” the guard replied.

Drew slung an arm around Monica’s shoulders, surprising her as much with the strength and insistence of this grip as the action itself. He tugged her close. “The camp’s a bit cramped,” he said as if sharing a great confidence. “We just wanted to get some fresh air, right, get far away from the madding crowd, eh, Monica?”

“Um, right,” she said, mostly confused.

“I cannot allow-”

“I promise, mate,” Drew interrupted, turning his gaze on Monica, “I’ll have her in by ten, good as new, chrome polished, fenders shiny.” He winked at the guard. “What’dya say?”

The guard tightened his grip on his machine gun. “Please follow me back to the camp.”

Drew gave a resigned shrug. “Bloke with the biggest gun wins, I reckon. Sorry,” he said pulling her into a hug. “Rain check?”

Monica was trying to decide if she should knee Drew, deliver a quick shot to his solar plexis, or call for the men with the butterfly nets and the closed-sleeved jackets to come haul him off to the Loony Botanists’ Bin. Before she could decide, Drew whispered “shhh” in her ear.

She blinked up at him in surprise as he pulled back.

He was gazing down at her, silently asking for her trust. He was asking her to co-operate, to go along with his plan. Until that moment, she hadn’t even realized there ‘was’ a plan.

She glanced at the guard, an unsmiling wall of muscle and menace.

She glanced back at Drew.

She could be wrong – god knew she’d been wrong about men before. But something niggled at her brain, telling her Drew could be trusted. Should be trusted.

She nodded. “Sure.”

“There’s my girl.” He winked at her. “Alright, sir, we’ll – Oh, hang on a tick. I left my calipers back there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder and, before anyone could object, took off into the thicket again.

“Sir-” the guard began.

“He needs that,” Monica said, stepping into the space between the guard and Drew’s disappearing back. “Those, I mean. His calipers. They’re essential to his work.”

“I cannot allow-”

“He’ll be right back,” Monica assured him, using the flirty tone she’d added to her arsenal over the years. “It’ll only take him second.”

The guard’s stony expression held. Monica wondered if she’d lost her touch.

“Got ‘em,” Drew said as he emerged from the undergrowth. He made a show of tucking the instrument into his back pocket, then very deliberately took Monica’s hand.

“Oh good,” Monica said, trying to appear unfazed by Drew’s sudden inexplicable displays of affection. She turned to the guard again. “A man should never be without his tool, should he?”

The guard blinked at her, once, twice. “No, he should not,” he said flatly. “Please move forward.”

The trip back to the camp was shorter than the trip out had been, and tenser by far. Drew tried to draw the guard out with questions and quips, but the guard wasn’t biting. “Please stay within the perimeter of the camp,” the guard said when they reached the mess tent. “It is neither safe nor wise to wander away from this area without an escort.”

“How do we get an escort, then?” Drew asked.

The guard simply nodded. “Good evening.”

“Well, that was different,” Monica offered. “Feel free to start explaining.”

“Explaining?” Drew asked, feigning innocence. “Explaining what?”

“Oh, any of what just went on.” Monica kept her voice low and even, her tone casual and conversational, but it was all she could do not to grab him by the lapels and shake a few answers loose.

“We looked for ferns. I showed you my phone. I dropped my calipers.” Drew said. “Then you saved my arse.”

She smiled as if he’d just said something incredibly witty. “Is there something going on I should know about?”

Drew shrugged. “Did you notice his insignia?” Drew asked.

She shook her head.

“Tunisia. He look or sound Tunisian to you?”

Again, she shook her head. “Not especially. And he had no sense of humor at all.”

“And he didn’t respond to your flirting in the slightest.”

Monica considered protesting that no, she hadn’t flirted at all, but hell, she thought, what was the point? “No, he didn’t.”

“And yet, he doesn’t look dead.” Drew grinned. “And he’d sure as hell have to be not to appreciate you.”

Monica hoped she wasn’t blushing. “Drew, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “And frankly, I have no desire whatsoever to find out.”

“What?” she said, taken aback.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want any part of it,” he said decisively.

“But-”

“No buts about it, Monica,” he said. “I wasn’t kidding. First thing I learned was that the bloke with the biggest gun usually does win. Whatever it is, I’m staying out of it. And I suggest you do the same.”

Monica opened her mouth to say something, but she had no idea what. She felt like she’d just spent an hour or so riding the BizarroWorld roller coaster and she wasn’t sure which station she’d been let out at. “Drew, I-”

“I’m hellaciously jet lagged,” he said. “I’m gonna hit my bunk. Night.”

Monica stood staring after him. “Night,” she finally managed long after he was gone.

* * *

Monica’s bed had been slept in, which Scully found both reassuring and disconcerting: reassuring because that meant Monica hadn’t been devoured by a jaguar or attacked by a hook- handed weirdo while out on her fern-walk, and disconcerting because that meant Scully had fallen asleep before nine o’clock and then slept like an exhausted, deaf rock. She’d needed the sleep, she supposed. If she were honest about it, she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since William was born; if she were brutally honest about it, she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since she’d met Mulder. That was okay though, she thought as she brushed her hair and pulled it back in a low pony tail in preparation for another day of slicing and dicing, some of those sleepless nights, especially lately, had been a lot of fun.

She spotted Monica in the mess tent, already seated, laughing and chatting in Spanish with a group she sort of recognized from the Argentinean delegation. To join them or not to join them, Scully wondered as she joined the long food line. Her Spanish was lousy and-

“Good morning, Dr. Scully.”

Recognizing the voice and thick accent, Scully turned. “Dr. Vetkova,” she said. “Good morning.”

“You are sleeping well, yes?” Vetkova asked.

After yesterday’s conversation, Scully wasn’t at all sure what to make of Vetkova. Experience had led her to divide the world into friends and foes, leaving very little middle ground. At the moment, she couldn’t say for sure which category Vetkova fell into. As she frequently reminded Mulder, though, it was never a bad idea to play nicely with the other children on the playground. At least until they tried to stomp on your sand castle or shoot you. “Very well, thank you.”

Vetkova nodded. “You are lucky. All night I hear tick tick tick. You hear this?”

Scully shook her head. “No.”

“This sound comes from inside my tent, but I look and look and see nothing. I am wondering what this could be.”

Scully took up a package of wrapped cutlery and a tray. “Maybe it was an insect.”

“Yes,” Vetkova agreed. “I think perhaps it is an insect. A bug, you say, yes? A small bug.”

“Probably,” Scully agreed. “There’s no shortage of exotic wildlife around here.”

“You have these bugs in your tent?”

Scully shook her head. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“Perhaps you should look,” Vetkova suggested.

“Perhaps I will, after my shift,” Scully conceded. She filled her travel mug with coffee and checked out the day’s offerings.

“I have a small baby at home,” Vetkova said. “Nadya.”

Scully waited for Vetkova to continue. When she didn’t, Scully, said, “I have a son, too. William.”

Vetkova nodded, giving the impression that Scully had finally remembered and delivered her line. “Nadya is seven months old and she does not like to sleep, so I do not get to sleep. So I do not enjoy all night this bug.” Vetkova turned to Scully. “The trucks make noise, too.”

“Trucks?” Scully stirred in cream and sugar.

“The trucks that come last night.” Vetkova stirred her own coffee. “Bringing more bodies.”

“Oh,” Scully answered. The bodies she’d worked on yesterday had come out of a refrigerated shipping container that was serving as their morgue. She hadn’t thought about how or when they’d arrived. “I didn’t hear them. How many trucks?”

“Two I saw. Many bodies and many soldiers with many guns. They are afraid the bodies will escape, no?”

“I don’t think those bodies are going anywhere,” Scully replied grimly.

“The burning, it is massive.”

Scully nodded. “Toast please, and scrambled,” she said to the woman behind the food table. “Very extensive, yes.”

“I was before working in the field like this when many people were burned.”

“Oh?” Scully asked.

“In Kazakhstan. 1998.”

The fine hairs on the back of Scully’s neck bristled at Vetkova’s mention of the Kazakhstan massacre. Her own horrifying brush with death at Ruskin Dam had taken place just days after that. Scully accepted her plate of toast with a nod and an automatic ‘thank you’ and waited for her eggs.

“The burning was different then,” Vetkova said, selecting a container of yogurt.

“These – ah, this time, these are a combination of regular burns and chemical burns,” Scully answered. She’d found traces of at least two different acids in skin samples she’d collected, residue from some lye-like substance, too.

“I think maybe this time it is different also.”

“Morning, Dana,” Simon said as he joined the line, effectively placing himself between Scully and the other woman. He turned to Vetkova with a tight little smile. “Irina. Fancy meeting you here.”

“Dr. Fisher,” Vetkova acknowledged with a tight little smile of her own.

“So what looks good this morning, Dana?” Simon asked, turning his back on Vetkova.

“Dana,” Vetkova said, “I would still like to talk later, if possible.”

Simon turned on her. “Talk about what, Irina?”

Vetkova bristled. “Excuse me,” she said as she cut around Fisher and Scully. “I hope to see you later, Dana.”

Scully frowned. “Dr. Fisher-” she began, prepared to tell Simon to mind his own damned business.

“You know her?” Simon said. “I mean, from back in the real world?”

“No,” Scully answered, “but-”

“She’s nuts,” Simon said bluntly.

She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Nuts,” he repeated, then said something to the cook in oddly-accented Spanish. “Her father is rumored to be Russian Mafia. Her mother’s a doctor by trade but she’s way up in the World Health Organization – probably bought her way in. Irina’s a dilettante of sorts; she just shows up at all these unnatural disasters, scalpel in hand, gleam in her eye. If there’s a mass grave, you can bet she’s been knee-deep in it. Then she publishes a load of questionable papers filled with a load of questionable data in a load of questionable journals.”

“She told me she was trained as an immunologist,” Scully said.

Simon’s brows rose. “Did she? That’s a new one.” He took a plate of sliced fruit and set it on his tray. “Her credentials are suspect at best. She’s in a big hurry to make a name for herself, though, and in one respect, she’s succeeded.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Simon said, accepting his plate of eggs. “They call her ‘The Vulture.’ Fitting, don’t you think?”

“Dana!”

She turned at the sound of her name. Monica was standing by the door. “See you at the briefing?”

Scully opened her mouth to reply, but she was caught off guard by another tremor passing through the ground. This quake, less intense than the one the day before, merely made her sway, but brought sudden eerie silence to the tent as each diner looked to his left and right, wondering if everyone else had felt what he or she had. Then nervous laughter erupted, as everyone returned to their meal.

“Christ,” Simon grumbled as he took note of the coffee now mixed liberally with his scrambled egg, “I’ll be bloody glad when we’re out of here.”

Scully did not disagree.

* * *

The briefing had gone as Dana expected – yes, there were more bodies than expected, yes, they were making progress nevertheless, no, there was no new information as to the what and the why. ASAC Perez related that as least three caustic chemical substances had been found on the victims, and more results were expected from the lab in Mexico City within a day or two. And, sorry, telecommunications were still not what they should be, but at any moment now, they expected that to change.

“How was the date?” Dana had whispered to Monica as Perez droned on about the need for everyone to stay within the perimeter of the camp and to be on the lookout for anyone not associated with their group.

Monica had seemed to consider the question carefully. “Weird,” she finally whispered back.

It was not the answer Scully had expected. But then, she reflected as she made her way to the work tent, her last real date had involved talking tattoos, ergot poisoning, and several murders, so who was she to judge?

“Morning Dana,” Drew said as she entered the make-shift autopsy tent.

“Morning,” she replied as she slipped into her gown. “You’re here bright and early. I didn’t see you at the briefing.”

Drew shrugged. “I keep thinking the sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be finished, which, of course, is not the case, but hope springs eternal. Did they say anything shocking or unexpected?”

Dana gave a rueful grin. “Do they ever?” She donned her surgical mask. “Simon not with us today?”

“Nope,” Drew replied. “They asked him to help one of the other teams. Seems a bunch of the Swedes came down with whatever the politically correct term for Montezuma’s Revenge is.”

“Lucky them.” She tugged on one glove, then the other. “So it’s just you and me?”

Drew nodded. “Just you, me, and Joe Doe #01-07554,” he said as he handed Scully a clip board. “Shall we?”

–-

This morning’s post-mortems were no different than the eight from the day before, with one exception: try as she might, she could not focus fully on the task at hand. She could blame lack of sleep, strange surroundings, and unfamiliar equipment, but the truth was that Vetkova’s cryptic words about what she’d encountered in Kazakhstan kept running through her mind. Those burns were different, Vetkova had said, but she thought maybe these burns were different too. What did it mean, if anything? Had Vetkova really been trying to tell her something in her own covert way, or were her awkward attempts at friendly conversation just that — friendly but awkward? And what about Simon’s scathing assessment of the woman?

“How’d your call go last night?”

Scully looked up from the splayed thoracic cavity of Body Number Four for the day. Heat had curled the body in on itself so that it was almost in a fetal position, which made her job tougher than necessary. “My what?”

Drew slid a number of x-ray films in front of a portable light box. “Your phone call,” he answered.

“Oh. Fine?” she said, as if she was trying to guess the right answer..

Drew wrote something on clip board. “Your husband, right?”

“He’s -” Scully began, then remembered her marital status, or lack thereof, was none of Drew’s business. “Why do you ask?’

Scully carefully extracted the heart from the thoracic cavity and placed it on the scale. The heart, like the other internal organs, had essentially been cooked. Odd combination, she thought – execution-style murder combined with conventional fire and chemicals. Someone wanted these people seriously, irrevocably dead. But the internal organs – it was almost as if …

“You seem to be the only one in camp who got a call in or out last night. I was just wondering if you got cut off or if the line held.” He looked up. “Or did you mean me asking about your husband?”

“Oh. The connection wasn’t too bad,” she said. “It cut out a few times, but reconnected. No luck this morning, though. Drew, these bodies have all been scanned for signs of residual radioactivity, right?”

Drew flipped through the papers he held. “Says they have. Why?”

Scully shook her head. “Probably nothing. Can you help me flip this, please?”

Drew came to her assistance. “So this is your way of saying you’re not married?”

They turned the body onto its other side as Scully considered her answer. She never knew how to refer to Mulder. ‘Partner’ didn’t say enough, and ‘husband’ was a lie. He’d proposed a couple dozen times, in principle, and she’d accepted, in principle, but ‘fiance’ sounded wrong somehow, and ‘boyfriend’ sounded worse.

“Almost,” she finally answered.

“Almost?”

“Almost married.”

Drew grinned, and Scully got the distinct impression she was being laughed at.

“Monica says you’ve got a baby.”

Scully nodded. “William. He’s home with his dad.”

Drew returned to his light box. “This the guy who’s almost your husband?”

She hadn’t thought of it that way. Mulder, her almost-husband. That made her his almost-wife. Almost. “Yeah. Him.”

Drew was silent a few minutes, typing notes into his laptop computer and flipping through a stack of forms.

“So Monica really delivered your baby, then?”

Scully sighed, wondering why, of all the things she and Drew could have talked about, Monica had to pick that topic. “It’s a long story -”

“Funny, that’s what Monica said, too,” Drew said.

“That’s because it really is a long story,” Scully said. “Really long, but yes, she did.”

“Wild,” he said, shaking his head.

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ she thought, but didn’t say.

“So what’s he do?”

Scully pried a bullet from the back of the skull, held it up to the light. Same small caliber round she’d seen in the others. It fell into the metal tray with a clank. “He who? Mulder?”

“Is that his name? Mulder? Unusual.”

“It’s his last name,” she said. “And he is, as they say, between jobs at the moment.”

“Monica said he was a profiler with the FBI.”

“He was,” she replied. “He’s not anymore.”

“Tough job, that. Why’d he leave?”

‘Speaking of long stories,’ she thought as she continued her work. “It was just time,” she said.

Drew nodded. “Do you want me to shut up?”

Scully paused. “No, of course not,” she said. But if he decided to shut up on his own, she was sure she could handle it.

“I’m a nosey bastard and I’m bothering you. Sorry.” he said. He drew his fingers across his lips. “Consider it zipped, Doctor Scully.”

The Q and A session over for the moment, Scully continued with her inspection. There was little she could do with these bodies after all the photographs were taken, the skin and hair samples were collected, and the x-rays were done. She continued meticulously examining the body, however, wanting to be sure she didn’t miss anything that might make positive identification possible or help implicate those responsible.

“So, who’s John?” Drew asked, bringing what must have been all of three minutes of silence to an end.

“John?”

“Monica wanted him to send her boots?”

“Oh, he’s her-” Scully stopped. There was a slightly raised patch about the size of a shirt button just to the left of the entry wound. She ran her finger over it, gently at first, and then a little more firmly. “Drew, would you take a look at this?”

“Sure,” he said. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, handing him the lighted magnifying glass she’d been using. “I noticed something similar on the last body, and on two yesterday. It’s hard to see with all the burning but… “

Drew peered through the lens. “Is that – what is that?”

“I don’t want to prejudice you.”

“A tattoo? Or, no,” Drew straightened, “more like a scar, but discolored. Tiny bugger.”

“I think it might be a brand,” she replied. “I took some samples from the area on the bodies this morning, but these — can you see a shape there? Or am I imagining it?”

Drew squinted. “I’m not sure. Is it – a spiral, I think,” he said. “A counter clockwise spiral?”

Scully nodded. “That’s what it looks like.”

“Interesting.” Drew frowned in thought. “Ritual scarification is practiced by a lot of cultures and subcultures. Rites of passage, group membership, clubs, that sort of thing. Aborigines and Maori are two I’m familiar with, but it’s not uncommon. And, of course, nowadays, you can easily get it done at any reputable tattoo shop.”

“Probably some of the disreputable ones too,” Scully said, briefly flashing on her own ritual scarification of not so many years ago, and the very dead club she’d almost joined as a result. “Yesterday Monica mentioned-”

“Monica mentioned what?”

They both turned. Monica was standing at the door of the tent, wearing a lab coat and a bemused expression. “Oh, hey, Drew,” she said, trying a little too hard, Scully thought, to sound nonchalant.

“Afternoon,” Drew responded in much the same tone. “Sleep well?”

Monica nodded. “Just fine, thanks.”

“Good timing, Monica,” Scully said. “Grab a mask and some gloves and come look at this.”

Monica complied. “What am I looking – oh. Hey, another one.”

“You’ve seen these before?” Drew asked.

Monica nodded. “Mattiasson’s group had three or four yesterday in those photos I was cataloguing. Base of the skull, just like this one. They flagged it.”

“Alpha Site or Beta?” Scully asked.

“I’m not sure,” Monica said. “I’d have to look. Where’s this guy from?”

Drew checked the toe tag. “Beta. But-”

“So this gives weight to the theory that this is some sort of gang warfare,” Scully said. “These brands or tattoos, whatever they are, might indicate group affiliation.”

Monica nodded in agreement. “The victims all appear to be native, likely Mayan in descent, and pretty much all of them have been O+ blood too, so that’s not too far a stretch to suggest it’s one group taking out another.”

“But spiral patterns like that are pretty common,” Drew interjected. “The sun, or mother earth. It’s a motif that shows up over and over. It doesn’t have to mean a lot of anything.”

“Still, it might give us a break on this case,” Scully said. “If we can find out if there is a particular group that uses this as their symbol, we can find out who their enemies are.”

Monica nodded. “We should probably go to Bobby with this.”

“Hang on,” Drew said, holding up both his hands as if he were trying to flag the play. “Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves? This is hardly conclusive. And who is Bobby?”

“ASAC Perez,” Monica said. “I think Dana’s right about it potentially breaking the case.”

“I think-” Scully began, but Drew cut her off.

“I don’t know what you’ve all been told,” Drew began, “but we were specifically cautioned to stay out of the investigative side of this.”

“But-” Monica began.

“But nothing, Monica,” he countered. “This is a matter for the Mexican authorities-”

“Of course, but-”

“The last thing they need or want is a bunch of Yank cowboys-”

“Pardon me?” Reyes said. “Where the hell do you get off, Drew? You’re not-”

“Not what? Not barking mad? Damn right, I’m not.”

Apparently, Scully thought as she stepped between them just as she’d been taught in hostage negotiations class, the date had been something more than simply weird. “Whoa,” she said. “Hold on. Look, you both have valid points-”

“I think-” Drew and Monica said in unison.

“Hang on a minute,” Scully repeated. “Yes, I think this could help break the case. But Drew’s right. It’s not conclusive. But it’s definitely suggestive. However, there could be lots of explanations, right down to coincidence. I think it’s too soon to go to anyone in any official way, honestly.”

Monica nodded. “I can see that,” she said, but Scully knew from her tone she was far from convinced.

“Are you still cataloging today, Monica?”

Monica shook her head. “I’m playing diener today. I’m assisting Dr. Vetkova.”

“The Vulture?” Drew snorted and rolled his eyes. “Oh Christ.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Monica asked.

“Vetkova’s a crank,” he said. “She believes in all kinds of crazy-arsed shit.”

Monica folded her arms across her chest, tilted her chin upward. “People have said worse about me. And from what I’ve seen, crank or not, she’s an excellent forensic examiner.”

“Fine.” Drew shook his head, then threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I give up. I need a bottle of water,” he announced, then headed for the door.

Scully waited until Drew was clear of the tent, then cocked her head toward the exit. “What the hell was that all about?”

Monica looked bewildered. “I honestly have no idea.” “Did you two-” Scully started, not sure how or even if she should finish the question.

Monica shook her head. “We went for a walk. We JUST went for a walk.”

Scully frowned. “So why did he just storm out of here?”

“Beats me,” Monica said. “But why do I feel like I should be following him?”

Scully cocked a brow. “Maybe because you’re really, really thirsty, too?”

“That must be it,” she agreed. “Or maybe I want to make sure he doesn’t go running to Bobby and take all the credit.”

“Heaven’s no,” Scully said dramatically. “We are not nearly that petty.”

“No, of course not,” Monica agreed in the same tone. “We’re professionals.”

“Complete professionals.”

“Complete professionals who are suddenly parched.”

Scully grinned and bent back to her work.

Monica got half way to the door when she spun around. “Oh, I forgot.” She pulled something from her pocket. “Irina wanted me to give this to you. For William.”

Scully took the object in her gloved hand. “An Easter egg?”

“An Easter egg puzzle keychain,” Monica corrected. “Pysanky, I think it’s called. Pretty, isn’t it?”

Scully held it by the chain. It was about the size and shape of a small hen’s egg, predominantly black, but decorated with an elaborate, intricate geometric pattern, and coated with glossy lacquer. Squinting slightly, she could see the hair-thin joints where the pieces abutted. “Very pretty,” she said. “Strange gift for a baby, though.”

“Irina can’t help it.” Monica shrugged. “She’s a crank.”

“So I’ve heard.” Scully slipped the trinket into the pocket of her lab coat. “I’ll have to thank her at dinner.”

“See you then,” Monica said and left.

“See you then,” Scully echoed.

* * *

Monica was still trying to decide when she should go to the mountain, so to speak, when the mountain stepped directly in her path.

“Hey, Monica,” Bobby Perez greeted her. “How those boots working out for you?”

“What? These old things?” she said, batting her lashes and fanning herself with her hand a la Scarlett O’Hara. “Why, I only wear these ol’ things when I want the biggest blisters!”

Bobby chuckled and Monica noticed the network of fine lines around his dark eyes. They hadn’t been there five years ago when they’d last worked together. She wondered what traces of the past half-decade her own face now bore.

“Actually,” she said, “they aren’t too bad. Thanks again for scrounging them up for me.”

“No problem,” Bobby assured her. “Hey, you got a minute?”

“For you, I’ve got two. I was on my way to the mess tent for some water. You wanna walk with me?”

Perez fell into step with her. “Sure.”

* * *

Drew wasn’t in the mess tent, but Monica wasn’t surprised. If he’d headed out to find Bobby, she’d beaten him to the punch. If he’d decided to go to Castillo or even DuFour, well, she was screwed.

Bobby led the way to a table in the farthest corner of the nearly deserted mess tent. “So how you liking DC, Monica?”

Monica took a long pull of icy water. “It’s good,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Different, but good.”

“You’re still with ISU?”

“A branch of it, yeah.”

Perez nodded thoughtfully. “The X-Files?”

A wave of apprehension washed over her. “Yep,” she said, trying

to sound blase.

“That’s Spooky Mulder’s department, right?” Perez asked. “You work with him?”

Monica took another long drink, buying herself a little thinking time. Bobby’s interest was obviously more than casual. He was fishing for something, but what that something was she couldn’t guess. Which way was best to play this? “You haven’t heard? Mulder’s out of the bureau.”

Perez genuinely looked surprised, and Monica recalled that Bobby never had been much of an actor. “No shit?” he asked.

“None at all,” she replied. The news must not have filtered that far south. Interesting.

“Huh. So who’s running the show now? You?”

“God no.” She shook her head. “I like my sanity intact, thank you very much. John Doggett’s the AIC.”

“Doggett?” Bobby frowned. “The Doggett who was involved with that Galpex oil rig mess with Mulder a while back?”

“One and the same,” she answered. “That Galpex oil rig mess, as you put it, is actually why Mulder’s no longer with the Bureau.”

“After all the stunts he pulled, they nailed him for that?”

Another nod.

“Well hell.”

Monica grinned and took another swig from the bottle. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Bobby’s expression turned serious, his voice, quiet. “I don’t want to cause a panic, but there’s reason to believe the camp may have been infiltrated.”

Leaning back in her chair, Monica lifted one brow. “By whom? And why?”

Bobby half-shrugged. “Not sure. But DuFour got a warning that a member of, or someone associated with, the Qetual rebels might be on the inside.”

“So we’re going to be evacuated?”

Perez shook his head. “DuFour and the others don’t think there’s a serious threat at this time, that it’s more speculation and paranoia than anything concrete. But…”

“But?”

“Well,” he said, “I’m not entirely sure what the deal is, since I’ve never been on an assignment quite like this one, but for one, things have started to go missing.”

Monica’s brows rose. “Supplies?”

“Food and water, you mean? Not so far as I can tell. It’s been equipment – radios, microscopes, Geiger counters – that sort of stuff. It’s all on the inventories, but there’s no sign of it.”

“Could it be a clerical error?”

“I suppose it could,” he said. “Doubt it, though.”

Monica frowned. “And you’re sure it not just sloppy housekeeping?”

“It’s my job to be sure, Monica.”

“Of course,” she acknowledged. Bobby had easily been one of the most thorough agents she’d ever worked with, and she doubted a well-deserved promotion had changed that even slightly. “The support staff,” she asked, “the cooks, the guards, the others, they stay in the camp at night, right?”

Again, he nodded. “The only people in and out of here are soldiers bringing the bodies from the dig site.”

“Well, I’d say that narrows down the list of suspects, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking,” he replied. “But DuFour et al insist these guys have all been hand-picked.”

“Not that that guarantees anything.”

Bobby shrugged. “The other thing that’s troubling me is our telecommunications situation.”

“You’re not the only one,” she assured him. “I understood that had something to do with the satellite uplinks, though.”

“That’s the official story,” he said. “No calls seem to be

getting out, but a few have gotten in. Not many, but a few.” “Interesting,” Monica said. “We couldn’t call out but my tent-mate got a call in.”

“Yeah,” Perez said, “that’s the way it’s been. A few calls in, none out. The short wave’s been hit-and-miss too.”

“So, you think – what exactly?”

Perez shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not an electronics whiz,” he said, “but what little I’ve picked up over the years makes me think we’re being jammed. Selectively jammed, in fact, and from inside the camp.”

Monica nodded. “So,” she said, “someone wants the camp cut off from the outside world. Which would give the infiltrator theory some weight.”

“Yeah.”

“And would also make us sitting ducks.”

“Quack.”

“Great,” she said, suddenly uncomfortable. She wasn’t in any more danger now than she’d been the second before, but it didn’t feel that way. A little knowledge really was a dangerous thing. “But why?”

Perez shook his head. “No idea. Honestly, this whole thing makes not a lot of sense to me. If this is the work of a drug cartel, no matter how penny-ante, I can’t understand why I’ve never heard of them before- “

“Me too,” she said.

” -but if these Qetual were willing to wipe out how ever many people we’re in the process of exhuming in a dispute over territory, I can’t see that a few dozen scientists and anthropologists would be an issue.”

“True enough,” she agreed.

“But what I can’t figure out,” Bobby continued, “is what we’ve got that they’d want.”

“You mean beyond Geiger counters and microscopes?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Beyond that.”

“Hmm.” Monica frowned in concentration. She eased her thumbnail under the water bottle label and set about scraping it off as she considered Bobby’s information. What did the camp have? What did the killers want? What was worth killing for? Dying for? “Maybe-”

“Maybe what?” Bobby prompted.

“Maybe it’s not what we have, but it’s what we don’t have yet.”

Perez considered this. “You mean, like, there’s something >From the dig site that they don’t want us to discover?”

She nodded. “Could be.”

“Why wouldn’t they just target the dig site?”

She shrugged. “Maybe they can’t, logistically. It’s all soldiers and guards up there, right, and fairly inaccessible? Or maybe they don’t know we don’t have whatever it is they want yet,” she said. “Or maybe the stuff they’re taking is to make sure we don’t find it, or don’t know what it is when we do find it.”

Bobby blinked like an owl. “Huh?”

“Maybe without the microscopes and radios and um -”

“Geiger counters,” he supplied.

“Right,” she said. “Maybe without those things, even if we do have something they want, we wouldn’t recognize it.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to steal the evidence itself?”

“You’d think so, yeah,” Monica said, “but maybe taking the actual evidence would be too difficult or to obvious.”

“Whoever these people are, they shot dozens, maybe hundreds of people execution style, then doused them in acids and gasoline and set them on fire. Subtle isn’t their strong suit.”

“The deaths appear to have been intended as some sort of message, probably to warn off any other rivals,” Monica said. “Maybe this activity in the camp is meant to fly below the radar, and throw us off.”

“Okay,” Bobby said, warming to her argument, “say that’s true. It’s not like they’ve taken every microscope and every radio and every Geiger counter.”

“Maybe they haven’t had time. Maybe they don’t need to.” Monica shrugged. “Or maybe I’m full of shit.”

“Well, you are, Reyes,” Bobby deadpanned, “but what’s that got to do with anything?”

Monica grinned. “Shut up.”

“No, seriously, you might be on to something. Like I said, I don’t know what’s going on. None of this makes any damned sense. But, as far as I can tell, you and I are just about the only two serious field agents we’ve got out here. The rest of these people are law enforcement of one sort or another, but they work from the lab. I’m not saying they couldn’t handle themselves in a fire fight, but-”

Monica nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” she said. Scully could hold her own with the best of them, but that was still just three out of fifty-odd people.

“I know they’ve given you some grunt work to do-”

“Hey!”

“-but I’m asking you to keep your eyes and ears open,” he continued. “Anything suspicious, anyone who looks out of place or just doesn’t fit in, you come to me, okay?”

Monica nodded. “Of course.”

“Great.” Bobby stood, signaling their conversation was over. He started toward the door. “See you at dinner.”

Monica nodded. “Yeah. See you then.” She’d stop back at the work tent, check in with Irina, then head to the cataloguing and evidence tents, she decided as she gathered the label peelings and walked them to the trash can. She’d get the flagged evidence she’d catalogued the day before. By dinnertime, she thought, she’d have some slightly more solid evidence to show Bobby.

* * *

The more Monica thought about it, the less sense all of it made.

She sighed in frustration. Bobby was right; the people responsible for these deaths weren’t subtle. So why would they be stealing survey and scientific equipment that wasn’t, relatively speaking, worth very much? And was any equipment really missing? Or had it ‘fallen off the back of a truck,’ as the expression went? And who told DuFour the camp had been infiltrated, and why?

Some piece of this puzzle had been misplaced, she thought as she made her way back to the work tents, some vital piece of information was still missing. If she could figure out that part-

Monica stopped abruptly outside the tent she and Vetkova had been assigned to work in that morning. Angry words, spoken quietly but with great force, were being exchanged inside. And, she wasn’t certain, but it sounded like Russian.

Instead of entering, Monica stepped a little closer to the tent flap and listened. She recognized Vetkova’s voice, low and angry. But the other voice, the male, that she couldn’t place. It sort of sounded like-

The pitch of the conversation rose, then snapped off in a few sharp syllables. The argument, it seemed, had ended. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Monica quickly moved to the side of the tent, bent down as if to tighten her boot laces.

If she’d had to guess who’d emerge from the tent, she wouldn’t have known what to say.

Drew’s name certainly wouldn’t have crossed her mind.

* * *

Aside from a brief visit from a Dr. Chandra, asking if she had any number three evidence bags to spare, Scully worked the rest of the afternoon without seeing another person. She was mildly annoyed at Drew for disappearing on her, but, for all she knew, he’d been apprehended mid-sulk and put to work elsewhere. She hoped wherever it was, it was hotter and stuffier than the tent she was working in. She wasn’t sure such a place existed, though.

Having examined, photographed, logged and tucked each cadaver away for the night, Scully slipped the last of her paperwork into an envelope, then began squaring away the equipment she’d been using, all the while trying to decide if she’d eat first, shower, then fall into bed, or if she should shower first, eat, and then fall into bed, or perhaps just fall into bed and hope everyone stood upwind and far enough away not to notice her growling stomach for the next few days.

Option three was starting to sound like her best plan when, as if to settle the dispute, her stomach rumbled. Okay, she thought, closing her eyes, titling her head back, and rolling her shoulders in a futile attempt to loosen the tension there, food first, shower negotiable, sleep a must.

Her phone rang again. For the third time that day, she flipped it open. For the third time that day, all she got for her efforts was an earful of static. She sighed and slipped the phone back into her lab coat pocket. She wondered if Mulder was finding this round of telephone no-go as frustrating as she was.

“Hey Dana,” Monica’s said, peeking through the tent flap.

“Hey yourself,” Scully replied, straightening. She sealed the last envelope, then stacked it with the others on the already over-crowded table. “How was your very long trip for water?”

“Very long and surprisingly informative,” Monica replied. She gave a discreet glance to the left and right. “You working alone?”

“Drew never came back. Got waylaid, I suppose,” she replied. “So what was so informative?”

“Oddly enough, I ran into Bobby,” Monica said. “He told me DuFour got a message that the camp may have been infiltrated by Qetual rebels and asked me to keep my eyes and ears open.”

Scully’s brows rose in surprise. “That’s unexpected.”

“Very, ” Monica agreed. “He mentioned that some equipment has gone missing, too, radios and microscopes, Geiger counters, that sort of thing.”

“And he blames the rebels?”

Monica shrugged. “He’s not sure. Neither one of us could imagine why drug lords willing to commit a massacre would be sneaking around stealing not-all-that-impressive lab equipment.”

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Scully agreed.

“No, it doesn’t.” Monica continued, “But, long story short, that conversation made me wonder what else might be missing.”

“And?”

“Remember I mentioned cataloguing pictures of marks similar to the ones you found this afternoon? Well, I went to double-check that material, and guess what?”

“You found everything right where you left it, perfectly intact?” Scully said, already knowing the answer.

“Yes, only not,” Monica replied. “Missing. All of it. Like it had never been there in the first place. Someone even went to the trouble to renumber the files.”

---

Scully sighed. “Well, that doesn’t look suspicious at all.” It was all starting to feel too familiar, she thought, like it was time for someone to start a slide show or drop a flashlight or lose a gun. She rifled through the piled envelopes, pulling out the three containing the pictures she’d taken. “We’ve still got these.”

“That’s something.”

Scully tapped the envelopes on the edge of the table over and over while she thought. “So there’s no proof that all of this is somehow related? Nothing to suggest it isn’t just coincidence?” she asked, sounding more hopeful than she felt.

“‘Fraid not,” Monica replied. “But a lot of weird things are suddenly coinciding, and I just don’t believe in coincidence.”

“Neither does Mulder,” Scully said, recalling the exact conversation Mulder and she had had on that very subject years before. Funny, the things that stuck after all they’d been through. “And frankly, at this point in my long and somewhat checkered career, neither do I.”

Monica nodded thoughtfully. “So we’re agreed? Something weird and possibly sinister really is going on here?”

Scully nodded. “Agreed.”

“Excellent. So, um, what exactly is the weird and possibly sinister thing that’s going on here?”

Scully scowled. “I was hoping you were going to tell me.”

“I don’t-” Monica started, but she was interrupted by a muffled buzzing came from Scully’s lab coat.

“Hang on,” Scully said, reaching into her pocket. “Scully,” she spoke into the static. “Hello? Mulder? Hello?”

The line went dead.

“Fourth time today,” she said, scowling. “Sorry, Monica, you were saying?”

“We left off at ‘weird and possibly sinister’.”

“Right. Okay. Weird and possibly sinister. That narrows it-”

Simon popped his head through the tent flap just then. “Sorry to interrupt. Have either of you seen Drew?”

Scully shook her head. “He was working in here with me this morning, but I haven’t seen him since just after lunch.”

He turned his gaze to Monica. “And you?”

“I last saw him about the same time,” she replied. “Why? What’s up?”

“I was just back at our tent,” he answered. “Drew’s gear is gone, and no one’s seen him since lunch.”

“He’s probably out stalking ferns or fungi or something,” Monica answered with a thin upward twist of her lips. “He does seem to enjoy his flora.”

Simon shook his head. “I don’t think so. He took all his stuff – knapsack, laptop, everything. I thought maybe they sent him to Veracruz with the others, but-”

“Veracruz?” Monica asked. “Who did they send to Veracruz?”

“Those Swedes who came down with food poisoning or whatever it is, the ones they had me subbing for,” he explained. “They were getting worse instead of better, so the director sent them off to the hospital up there just after lunch. I thought maybe they sent Drew along for some reason, but I asked DuFour and he says they didn’t.”

Years of interviewing witnesses and interrogating criminals had made Scully sensitive to even the subtlest shifts in body language, so she caught the change in Monica when she asked, all too casually, “Have you talked to Dr Vetkova?”

Simon’s brows rose. “Why would I talk to her?” he asked.

Monica shrugged. “Why not?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “She’d probably tell me he’s been taken by moon men and turned into green cheese fondue. Look, I’m going to check around some more, but if either of you hears or sees anything, let me know?”

“Will do,” Monica said, speaking for both of them.

“What was that about?” Scully asked once Simon was gone.

Monica’s expression was troubled. “Which part?”

“The Vetkova part,” Scully said. “Why did you think he should speak to her?”

“Because,” she drew out the word, “Vetkova was the last one I saw Drew with.”

“Oh?”

Monica nodded. “Well, not saw. Heard. They were arguing.”

“About?”

“I don’t know. They were arguing in Russian.”

In a day full of surprises, this was, perhaps, the most surprising of all. “In Russian?”

“Yep.”

“Drew told me he didn’t even know her,” Scully said quietly.

Monica nodded. “I’m thinking Drew was lying,” she said.

“I’m thinking you’re right.”

“And the other thing,” Monica said. “I bet you another month’s babysitting that the people taken to the hospital were Mattiason and his group.”

Scully blinked, the light suddenly dawning. “The people who flagged the scars like the ones I found?”

“Like the ones you found with Drew, who argued they meant nothing, who poked around the perimeter of the camp yesterday, who is suddenly fluent in Russian, and just as suddenly missing. Shit.”

“Very well put.” Scully said as she rubbed her forehead.

“So what do we do now?”

Scully let out a long slow breath. After a moment’s consideration, she handed Monica the three envelopes. “I think you should probably talk to Perez, show him these,” she said. “Just lay out the facts – the missing files, what they contained, Drew’s disappearance. We’ll meet back here, okay?”

“Right.”

“In the meantime, I’ll-”

The phone rang again. “Fifth times the charm,” she mumbled as she pulled the phone from her pocket again. “Scully,” she answered.

“Good lord, Scully, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

Mulder asked.

Scully sighed. She was wondering the same thing herself.

* * *

Monica looked for Bobby in the admin tent. Then she tried the supply tent. Next she tried the mess tent, followed by the showers. There was no sign of Bobby, anywhere. She was wondering who to ask where he was bunking, when she ran, quite literally, into Dr. DuFour.

“Please excuse me,” DuFour said, sounding flustered as her stooped to retrieve the envelopes she’d dropped. “I’m so sorry, Agent Reyes, yes?”

“Yes, and no problem, sir,” she assured him. “Monsieur DuFour, you wouldn’t happen to know which tent Agent Perez is assigned to, would you?”

DuFour looked mildly surprised by her question. He handed her the envelopes. “I believe he’s in Tent 12. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been trying to find him for the past half-hour or so,” she explained. “It’s as if he’s vanished into thin air,” she finished with a flirty smile.

“Nothing so exciting, I am afraid,” DuFour answered.

“Oh,” Monica replied, “I saw him a few hours ago and we were supposed to meet for dinner-”

“Ah, I see,” DuFour said. “I am sorry, but he will not be joining you this evening.”

Monica felt a flash of panic. “Has something happened to him?”

“No, no,” he said, leaning in. “Agent Perez is handling a matter for me, that is all.” He sighed. “It is not generally known in the camp because we do not wish to cause a panic, but a few of our colleagues became ill during the night. It appears to have been food poisoning. This afternoon, it was decided that they should be sent into the hospital at Veracruz where they could receive better care.”

Monica nodded. “Are they all right?”

DuFour grimaced, and gestured with a nod of his head for her to follow him a few steps off the path. “Please keep this information to yourself, Agent Reyes. It seems that on the way to the hospital, there was an accident. Three of the patients and the driver were killed. Two more patients and the two peacekeepers assigned to accompany the truck were very seriously injured. They are not expected to survive.”

Heart in her throat, Monica took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “And Bobby?”

DuFour hesitated. “He has gone to investigate the circumstances of the accident.”

“When did this happen?”

“Sometime between 13:00 and 14:30.”

“One and two thirty.” Monica nodded. She’d heard Drew and Vetkova arguing just after 12:30, and watched Drew head off toward the perimeter of the camp. No coincidences, she reminded herself. “You don’t believe this was an accident, do you?”

“Shhh.” DuFour glanced carefully around before speaking. “Nothing of the kind. And there is no need to spread such rumors. At this moment, no one is sure what happened.”

“But-”

“This part of the country is beautiful, yes, but like so many beautiful things, it is also very dangerous. There are bandits, there are gangs, there are bad drivers, old munitions. We do not know for sure how this tragedy occurred. Agent Perez has a reputation as a fine investigator, and he volunteered to investigate. That is all that has happened.”

Monica nodded. “Of course,” she said.

“It is very important that you keep this information, such as it is, confidential, Agent Reyes,” DuFour said. “Our communications are still not reliable. It is remarkable news of the accident reached us as swiftly as it did. I do not wish to upset or disturb anyone until we have all the facts.”

“But if it wasn’t an accident- “

“If it was not an accident,” DuFour said, “Agent Perez will discover so, will he not?”

Monica nodded. “Yes, he will,” she said. Or he’ll die trying, she thought.

She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

* * *

Scully settled herself in the camp chair and tried to absorb what Mulder was telling her.

“So ‘Qetual’ actually means ‘snail’?” she asked.

“Yep,” Mulder answered. “Dr. Diamond says their home valley is crawling with them. Or, you know, wriggling, oozing – whatever snails do. Diamond says neighboring tribes gave them the name, then they sort of adopted it themselves.”

“And you’re suggesting-?”

“I’m not suggesting anything,” he said. “I’m just telling you what Diamond told me. He said those spiral scars you’ve seen are pretty common among the adult males. A rite of passage thing.”

“And they’re from the Huecha Valley?”

“Yep.”

“So the Qetual -”

“-are really the Huecha,” he finished for her.

A shiver ran through her. The autopsy she’d preformed on the body of oil rig worker Simon De La Cruz replayed at high speed through her mind. Severe burns, intense radiation, and most disturbing of all, the sludgy black alien oil that had oozed from his brain. De La Cruz had been a Huecha.

She closed her eyes and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “If that’s the case, the Qetual aren’t necessarily the people responsible for the massacre, since at least some of the victims appear to be Qetual.”

“And the bodies,” he said. “You said they were badly burned, right?”

“Very badly, she said. “Just like that oil rig worker. Someone’s taken some pains to disguise that fact, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“The victims were all shot execution-style, burned, and something caustic was dumped over the bodies.”

Mulder gave a low whistle. “I’d say someone wanted them all the way dead.”

“All the way dead and hard to identify,” she concluded. “We’ve been working on the assumption that the burns were caused by fire and that the over-kill was meant, as much as anything, to send a warning to rival groups. But judging by the odd condition of some of the internal organs, radiation followed by fire makes more sense.”

“Last time,” he said, “you determined De La Cruz had been exposed to the black oil, right? That that was the source of the radiation? Same as it had been with the crew of the Piper Maru?”

Scully nodded. “That was my working hypothesis, yes.”

“And De La Cruz’s immune system destroyed it, right? He had a genetic mutation?”

“His T-cells,” she answered. “He had a natural immunity to the black oil virus, so he couldn’t be controlled by it. They used radiation to kill him.”

“Right, right,” Mulder said. “So if your victims were exposed to radiation, shouldn’t that be easy enough to prove?”

“Yes, it should be,” she said, the pieces of this one corner of the puzzle falling neatly into place. “But guess what? The few Geiger counters we had have disappeared, along with all the decent microscopes.”

“So someone’s also made sure you can’t prove it,” he said.

Scully was quiet for a moment. “Someone who knew we might be looking, and knew just what we’d be looking for.”

“Like who?” Mulder wondered.

“Someone who knows of the Huecha, and knows the potential for black oil immunity they represent,” she replied. “Someone with an interest in – Oh my god.”

“Scully?”

Scully reached into her pocket and extracted the toy she’d been given. She dangled the key ring from her from her pinky. Of course, she thought. Who else?

“Someone like Vetkova.”

* * *

Monica barged into Dr. Vetkova’s tent. “Where’s Drew?”

At least Vetkova, who’d been perched on the edge of her camp bed applying hand cream, had the decency to look surprised, Monica thought. “Drew?” the Russian echoed. “Who is Drew?”

“Don’t bother,” Monica ordered, stepping close enough to be fully in Vetkova’s space. “I know you know him. I know you two are well enough acquainted to argue-”

“No!” Vetkova insisted, rising to her feet.

“Yes,” Monica answered, using her slight height advantage in an attempt to intimidate the other woman. “I heard you two arguing in our work tent earlier this afternoon, Irina, arguing in Russian, in fact. You can deny it all you want, but that doesn’t change the fact. Now where is he?”

Vetkova’s expression changed, her face now reading wariness instead of feigned innocence. “I know him, yes. We had a loud discussion, yes, about some protocols, but I do not know where he is now. Why do you ask me?”

“The members of the Swedish team who had food poisoning? Mattiason, Friherre, Swensson? DuFour was evacuating them to Veracruz-”

“DuFour sent them?”

Momentarily surprised by Vetkova’s question, Monica nodded. “Yes,” she replied. “But something happened on the way. DuFour isn’t saying, but I suspect they were ambushed. Most of them are dead.”

Vetkova nodded now. “He is dead? Drew?”

“I don’t know,” Monica answered. “I don’t think so. But earlier today ASAC Perez told me there was reason to believe someone connected with the Quetal rebels has infiltrated the camp-”

At this, Vetkova all but snorted. “Da,” she said. “Queetal rebels, yes. Our big problem.” She shook her head as if amused by the foolishness of it all.

“-and Drew is missing,” Monica said.

“Missing? Who says this?”

“Simon,” Monica replied.

Vetkova’s brows rose, but she said nothing.

“He said Drew’s taken all his things and left camp.”

“When did he say this?”

Monica shook her head, confused by this abrupt change in Vetkova’s line of questioning. “I don’t know, exactly. An hour ago? Irina-”

“Sit.” She gestured to the bed opposite her. “Drew is fine.”

“How do you know that?”

Vetkova gave a long sigh. “I am just knowing. He is probably, how do you say, sightseeing?”

“What?”

Vetkova shrugged. “Drew works for Scotland Yard,” then her voice dropped low, so she was almost whispering, “but also for Interpol.”

Monica blinked. “Interpol?”

Vetkova nodded. “He is doing internal investigation, undercover, more than two years now.”

“Is that why he’s here?” Monica asked. “Something to do with that investigation?”

Vetkova nodded. “I believe so, yes.”

“And you know this, why?” Monica asked. “And, more to the point, I should believe you, why?”

Vetkova gave another shrug. “Drew and I, we are on the same team, yes? Doing the same work? If you believe me or not, that is your choice to make. But I know some things, Monica, some things, maybe, you do not wish to know. Drew, he thinks maybe you should know.”

Monica steeled herself. “What?”

Reseating herself on the edge of her camp bed, Vetkova began. “The camp, yes, it has been infiltrated,” she said. “I have my theory who is involved, Drew also has his. We are not agreeing.”

“Irina-”

“You are with X-Files now, yes? So you know things? Things about oil? About colonization? Vaccines?”

Stunned, Monica nodded. “How do you know?”

“For many years I have known of this. I have worked on this project my whole life. It was my father’s work also, and my mother’s.”

“Go on,” Monica said.

“There were many in Russia who wanted to find a cure, a vaccine, but they wanted only to control it, to say who lives and who dies. My father, Viktor, he knew this was wrong, that the colonizers could not be trusted. He and others, doctors and scientists, they worked outside the official project, working to find a way to save all of the people on the planet, not just the powerful and corrupt. For this, they spent time in the gulags.”

Monica, stunned, only nodded.

“We knew, from much research, that there was probably a natural immunity. My mother has worked for many years with the United Nations, with WHO, working with immunization and virus eradication programs, studying very quietly this problem. The work has been slow, with much promise, but little reward.”

Growing impatient, Monica asked, “And what does this have to do with what’s going on here?”

“The victims of this massacre, the Qetual they are calling them, the Huecha people, they have a kind of natural immunity to the black oil,” Vetkova said. “They could be the answer we have hoped for. For two years, I have been making contact with these people, quietly, so that no one would notice, keeping, how do you say it, off from the radar?”

Monica nodded again. “Go on.”

“Not quietly enough.” Vetkova sighed. “Now, someone is working to kill them all,” she said. “Murders in Canada, in California, in Guatemala. This massacre, this – this genocide. And now someone is working in the camp to destroy all evidence. This is what you heard the fighting about earlier.”

“About what exactly?”

Vetkova sighed. “I have yet no proof, but I think Dr. DuFour is working with a European group that wants to discover a vaccine, yes, but control it, so that only some receive it and the rest fall as slaves and incubators.”

It was difficult not to shudder at that last image. Monica had seen photographs in the files and heard first-hand accounts from Mulder and Dana. “And Drew thinks?” she asked.

“Drew thinks I am wrong,” Vetkova said. “He believes the answer is much more simple, that the infiltrator is someone who has been compromised, at first hand, by the colonizers. Someone, maybe, who does not even know they are doing such work.”

“Someone in the camp now?” Monica asked. “Who?”

Vetkova gave an apologetic shrug. “Dana Scully.”

* * *

Scully heard the sound of Mulder typing. “Well, it says here that Vetkova’s been involved with a bunch of different immunization and genetic sampling projects sponsored by the World Health Organization over the past five, no, make that six years. Oh and look, her mom’s a WHO director. How very convenient. I’d have to say Vetkova certainly looks like a strong contender for the Miss Badguy title.”

“It makes sense,” Scully said. “What I’m not sure about is where or even if Drew fits into all this.”

“Drew?” Mulder asked. “Drew who?”

“Dr. Andrew Ng,” Scully answered. “He’s with Scotland Yard.”

“Rings no bells,” Mulder said. There was more typing. “I don’t see anything much here, either, other than that he’s with their crime lab. Why do you think he’s involved?”

“A bunch of reasons,” she said. “I’m just not-”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence. “Shit,” she muttered as static filled the air. She hung up, hoping Mulder would be able to get through again, but ten minutes of staring at the phone, willing it to ring, didn’t do any good.

She glanced at her watch. Monica had been gone almost half an hour. Perhaps Agent Perez had been hard to track down. On the other hand, perhaps he’d been easy to track down, but, upon hearing what Monica had to say, had declared her insane. Anything seemed possible.

Scully sighed. She wasn’t concerned, exactly; Monica was more than capable of taking care of herself. And she didn’t want to go looking for Monica and have it end like a scene out of a French farce: people racing into one tent and then out of another. No, that certainly wouldn’t draw any attention.

Her gaze fell on the key ring. At first it had simply seemed a strange gift. Now, pretty as it was, it had become sinister by association. But what to do about it? Hang on to it in case it proved to be evidence? Or ditch it before it did something unpleasant and probably lethal?

She knew what Mulder would do – poke it with a stick, hit it with a rock, insult its parentage, lick it, bite it, or, if worse came to worst, take it to a lab at Quantico and ask for a full analysis. That last one sounded good right about now. She wondered how long a walk that would be.

Another glance at her watch. The truth was, Scully was getting hungry. So, she’d find Monica, warn her about Vetkova, see what Perez had to say about her suspicions, and they’d go from there. Go immediately to the mess tent from there, if she had her way.

On the metal shelves that held magnifying glasses, beakers, and other lab bric-a-brac, she found a number four metal cylinder, the kind used for liquid samples. She dropped the key ring in, then closed and sealed the lid. Then she placed the cylinder back on the shelf next the rest, effectively hiding it in plain sight.

* * *

Monica blinked. “Dana Scully?” she asked. “About so tall, red hair, works for the FBI? Drew thinks she’s working with the aliens?”

“Shhh,” Vetkova warned. “We do not use this word. This is a word only for cranks and conspiracy theorists.”

“Oh great,” Monica said, rolling her eyes. “I’m supposed to be politically correct about a bunch of beings trying to take over my planet? Please.”

Vetkova looked concerned. “This is no joke, Monica,” she said. “You have not seen these beings, maybe, but they are real, and our work to stop them is real also.”

“I know that,” Monica spat out. “I also know that Dana Scully is not working with or for any aliens, nor is she knowingly working with anyone who is working with or for any aliens. The very idea is insane.”

Vetkova nodded. “I believe this,” she said. “Drew, however, he and others, they believe Dana has been compromised-”

“Why?” Monica asked, barely able to hold in her anger. “How?”

“You know Dana’s history, yes?” Vetkova asked. “That she was taken by men and turned over to the colonizers? Not once, but two times?”

Monica, shocked by Vetkova’s knowledge of these facts, simply blinked at the other woman.

“That in her neck there is a chip?” Vetkova continued. “That this chip can be used to control her? That removing it would kill her? I know this is in your X-Files. You know this, yes?”

Monica nodded. Yes, she knew this. What once would have seemed fantastic or implausible she now accepted the same way she’d accept one of her other friends relating that they’d been mugged or carjacked. She knew now that these things happened, and happened with frightening regularity.

“Also, her partner, Fox Mulder, his father, his true father, he is very high up in a group of collaborators.”

This was news to Monica, but she carefully controlled her features. “Yes, I know,” she said. “That’s common knowledge.”

Vetkova half-shrugged. “Maybe not so common, Monica” she said. “But you see? Drew and many others, they believe because of this, Dana Scully and Fox Mulder cannot be trusted. They believe that that they are working, even if they do not know it, for the enemy.”

Monica was silent. She hadn’t thought of it that way. There had never been a reason to question Scully and Mulder’s commitment to their work or their loyalty to the human race. They’d fought and they’d sacrificed, were still fighting and sacrificing, and they asked for nothing but the truth in return. Collaborators? Even unwitting collaborators? It was a ridiculous notion.

And yet, maybe if you were someone who didn’t know these two, who hadn’t stood by them through one horror after another, you wouldn’t get it. Maybe if you were so far on the outside that, when you looked in, all you saw were the shapes of things and not the things themselves, you might side with Drew, too.

Finally she spoke. “But you don’t believe this?”

Vetkova shook her head.

“Why?” Monica challenged.

Vetkova reached for the top button of her blouse. “Look,” she said, twisting to the side and flipping her long, pale pony tail over her shoulder as she dropped the collar of her shirt.

Monica stood and moved a little closer, keeping both her distance and her guard up. She wished she had her gun.

“I am not biting,” Vetkova said. She ran a finger over her nape. “Here, you see?”

Monica moved closer, squinted. Yes, she saw it now. A tiny scar, almost identical to Dana’s.

“Feel,” Vetkova said. “Just below the incision.”

Monica pressed the spot with the tip of her finger. Just under the surface there was a small, hard disc.

“Yes,” she said. “I see. Does Drew know this about you?”

Vetkova shook her head. “No,” she said. “He does not need to know this. It would make me suspicious also, yes?”

“It certainly would,” Monica replied. She was now suspicious of the Russian herself.

“But also, I am not working for colonists,” she said.

“How do you know you haven’t been unwittingly compromised?” Monica asked.

Vetkova shrugged. “I would have been eliminated by now if that was true. I am still here, yes?

“Yes, Monica conceded.

“But you understand now, Dana and I, we have much in common?”

“I understand,” Monica said as she resumed her seat. “But that chip, even if it is identical to the one Dana has, doesn’t prove anything. You said yourself – there are people who are doing this work, fighting this enemy, but who do not have the best of intentions. So fine,” she waved a hand to forestall any protest, “you say you are one of the good guys. Prove it.”

Vetkova nodded. “I can do this,” she said.

“How?”

“The toy I gave to you? You gave it to Dana?’

Monica nodded. “Yes.”

“You want proof?” Vetkova stood. “Come, I will show you proof.”

* * *

Since she had no idea how or where he’d been spending his time in the camp, Scully had no idea where to start looking for Agent Perez. But with only about fifty people in the entire camp, she reasoned, he couldn’t be that hard to find. Most of the work had stopped in time for the evening meal, and her colleagues poured out of the work tents, stretching their over- worked backs and limbs and squinting their tired eyes against the harsh sunlight as they made their way back to their own quarters or toward the mess tent.

“Dana!”

Scully turned. Simon, looking flushed and anxious, hurried toward her.

“Simon,” she answered. “What’s up? Any word on Drew?”

Simon brushed his camp hat back so that it fell to his shoulders, held in place only by the chin strap. He pitched his voice low, almost whispering. “Did you hear?” he asked.

Scully shook her head. “Hear what?”

“I was waiting to talk to Agent Castillo about Drew being missing and overheard him talking with DuFour. DuFour kept insisting he wasn’t sure about what had happened to the ambulances they sent to Veracruz and didn’t want to jump to any conclusions,” Simon answered. “But Agent Castillo was adamant that they were ambushed.”

Scully nodded. “Does Castillo have a theory about who’s responsible?”

“I don’t think so,” Simon said. “I didn’t hang around to hear any more once they got into it, but Castillo has said before that there are plenty of drug traffickers and turf warriors and enough plain old fashioned highway robbery around here to account for it.”

Scully nodded. “This is a somewhat dangerous part of the country, so I suppose that’s true,” she said, but felt unconvinced. Her mind spun as she tried to fit this new piece into this puzzle.

“But it makes you wonder, or makes me wonder, at any rate, if all these murders and thefts and this ambush aren’t tied together in some way.”

Scully nodded. “Yes, it’s-”

“Dana!”

She turned. She flinched when she spotted Monica hurrying toward her from the far side of the camp, Vetkova at her side.

“Here comes trouble,” Simon muttered. “Look, I was sort of talking out of turn before, about the ambush, and-”

“Don’t worry,” Scully replied. “I won’t say anything in front of Vetkova.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “I just-”

Scully’s hip pocket buzzed.

Simon’s brows rose. “Your phone’s working?”

“Sporadically, at best,” she replied. “Excuse me a moment.” Taking the phone from her pocket, she put it to her ear. “Hello?”

A burst of static assaulted her and she held the phone away.

Simon grinned. “I see what you mean.”

“Hello?” She said again. “Mulder?” “…go…” she heard through the hissing.

“Hello?”

The line hissed and popped. “… out… site…now …out… “

“Mulder?” She turned left, then right, hoping to find a reception sweet spot.

” …not …site … now … “

“Mulder? Is that-? I can’t understand you. I can’t-”

The end of her sentence was cut off by an unnatural roar.

“What the- ” Simon muttered as he spun in the direction of the sound.

A second roar immediately followed, louder and closer than the First “Over there,” Simon shouted above the din, pointing. “Christ, it’ the records tent. It’s on fire!”

Before Scully could react, a third explosion erupted, the force of this one throwing them to the ground like rag dolls. Scully instinctively brought her arms up to protect her head and face as debris rained down. Chunks of twisted metal met the ground around her with a sickening clang, and the stench of a world on fire filled the air.

“Shit!” Simon shouted as he belly-crawled toward her. “That was the morgue trailer. A bomb-”

Training taking over, she raised her head and scanned the sky, looking for helicopters or planes or incoming artillery. Columns of black, sooty smoke rose into the early evening sky, pillars of orange and red flame rising with them. Ash and cinders fell. Everywhere she looked she saw people on the ground, some flat and face down, some pulled into tight fetal balls, some screaming and moaning, many clearly injured.

“Stay down!” Simon yelled as he pressed his large hand between her shoulder blades. “We’re under attack!”

“We need to take cover,” she yelled back, shaking him off.

“Cover? Bloody where? We’re being bombed.”

Another blast followed before she could answer. This one was closer. The ground beneath her shook as shattered glass and broken tools flew through the air.

“Shit,” Simon shouted. “There goes the equipment tent, too.”

Even as Simon spoke, Scully heard the pounding of heavy feet. She turned her head, expecting masked, wild-eyed, gun- wielding insurgents of one stripe or another. To her relief, it turned out to be the omnipresent UN peacekeepers moving in with firefighting equipment and anti-aircraft guns and first aid.

“Please remain calm,” someone bellowed through a bullhorn.

One would have to start calm to remain that way, Scully thought, glancing in the direction she’d last seen Monica. And calm was not how she felt.

Boots stopped beside her, scuffing dirt at her cheek. “Sir, ma’am,” a voice barked though the gas mask that was suddenly too close to her face, “Are you injured? Have you been hurt?” Then he repeated it in two or three languages her overloaded mind didn’t quite catch.

Scully stared at him in bewilderment, then shook her head. “I’m fine,” she answered out of habit, pushing herself up on her hands. “I’m a doctor. I’m certified for emergency field medicine. I can help with the injured.”

“We have to wait for the all-clear, Ma’am,” the soldier answered.

Ignoring the soldier, Scully raised herself to a crouch. “I didn’t see any incoming fire,” she said. “Simon, did you?”

“Wasn’t bloody paying attention,” he answered. “Too busy trying not to get blown up.”

Scully turned back to the soldier. “The sky was clear. I think the bombs were planted.”

“Be that as it may, Ma’am, we have to-”

“Dana!”

She turned to the sound of Vetkova’s voice. About two hundred debris-littered yards to her left, Vetkova crouched over an unmoving form.

“Monica is hurt, Dana!” Vetkova yelled.

“Ma’am.” The soldier raised his gun, intending to block her progress, “you can’t -”

“I’m a doctor,” she repeated. “My friend is injured.”

There was a sudden deafening bang. Scully dropped back to the ground, waited as a wave of hot air rushed over her. When she looked up, she saw Vetkova’s tent was burning.

“Shit!” Scully leapt to her feet.

“Ma’am!” The soldier yelled after her, but didn’t follow.

Vetkova, who had been kneeling over Monica, now lay crumpled in the dirt beside her, eyes closed, covered in dirt and blood.

“Christ, Dana,” she heard Simon shout. “You’re bloody insane!”

Tell me something I don’t know, she thought as she ran.

–– Chapter 7 ––

Chataqalan II by MaybeAmanda

* * *

Rating: PG

Category: S, A, MSR

Notes: Thanks to anyone and everyone who hung in there this long. Life – it’s crazy shit. Special thanks to Tess, Char, and the rest of the Truthseekers team for putting up with me, in spite of their better judgment. Kudos to Syn, Amy, Weyo, Fatima, and the rest of the usual suspects. Without you, I’m nothing.

* * *

Something hurt. Something hurt a lot, actually, and the more she thought about it, the more certain Reyes was that she was that something. She slowly opened her eyes, squinting. “What-?” she began, not sure what else she was going to say.

“Dr. Scully,” she heard a voice call. “Agent Reyes is waking.”

There was a brief flurry of footsteps scuffling through dirt, and then Scully, looking concerned, was peering down at her. “Monica, good. How are you feeling?”

Monica took a deep breath. Ouch. “Like crap,” she answered, finding her throat dry and her voice rusty. She swallowed, which helped a little, but not nearly enough. “Please tell me I’m just really really hung-over.”

“No such luck.” Scully smiled. “Do you know where you are?”

“Hell?” Reyes ventured.

“Close,” Scully deadpanned.

“Not hell? Must be grad school, then.” Reyes groaned. “What the hell happened?” She moved to sit up, but Scully’s hand was on her shoulder, applying just enough pressure to hold her down.

“Hang on a second,” Scully said. “Don’t try to get up too fast. You’ve been out of it for a while and you’re bound to get dizzy. You may have a concussion or-”

“I’m fine,” Reyes answered, waving Scully off and pulling herself into sitting position. In protest, her head and stomach simultaneously began swimming in opposite directions. Hunched over her knees, she held her middle and closed her eyes, waiting for the sensation to pass.

“Nausea?” Scully asked.

Reyes took a deep breath. Her ribs were a little sore, but they’d been worse. She had badly skinned knees, but someone had cleaned them and she could tell by the smell, applied antiseptic. So how long had she been out? More to the point, why had she been out?

“Monica?”

“A little.” She lifted her head, which didn’t make things worse. “Actually, it’s passing,” she said, hoping it really was. She inhaled deeply again, and found that she had told her friend the truth – it ‘was’ passing. “Ribs are pretty sore. I must have fallen hard on something.”

“You’ve got a big bruise on your side, but nothing appears to be broken,” Scully said. “How’s your head?”

Monica hoisted one brow. “Insert punch line here,” she said.

Scully rolled her eyes. “I can’t imagine why you and Mulder don’t get along better,” she muttered, “considering you share the same sense of humor. Really, how is your head?”

“Fine. Really. I’ve had concussions. This doesn’t feel like a concussion. This is more like being run over by a tequila truck.”

“A pleasure I’ve never had,” Scully assured her.

“Shame.” Breathing deeply again, Monica found she really was feeling better.

“Your x-rays came back clear, but, as I am sure you know, they don’t always show everything. Lucky we had the portable x-ray machines and the power to run them.”

“Yeah, lucky,” Monica agreed absently as she examined her hands. The palms were tender, the heels, bruised. She’d fallen, and fallen hard, and had apparently tried to break her fall.

Scully sat carefully on the corner of the cot. “Here, look at me,” she said, gently taking Reyes’ chin in her hand. “Follow my finger.”

Reyes complied. It didn’t hurt, which she took as a good sign.

“Your pupils look better now,” Scully said, dropping her hand to her lab coat pocket. “They looked like saucers for a while there.” She pulled out a penlight and pointed. “Look up there.”

Reyes looked upward as her friend directed, her mind trying to piece together what had happened to her.

Scully clicked the flashlight off. “I think you mostly got the wind knocked out of you, but you shouldn’t be moving around too much,” she added. “You’ll need to be thoroughly checked out when we get back to civilization tomorrow, but in the meantime, I think you’ll live.”

“Comforting words from a pathologist,” Monica said. “Mulder always used to say I sounded so disappointed when I said that,” Scully said, offering Monica a wry grin and a bottle of water. “Drink.”

Monica had had enough injuries to know the drill, so she took a small trial sip. The tepid liquid went down easily and hit bottom with no ill effects, so she did it again. They were in the meeting tent, she realized, the one that was open on all four sides, and a coolish breeze was blowing through, which meant it was probably early evening. A few cots had been brought in, but she saw there were very few of them occupied. “Wait – tomorrow? What’s happening tomorrow?”

“It’s been decided it’s too dangerous to stay here any longer, but tomorrow is apparently the soonest they can get us all out. They want us leaving under very heavily armed escort.”

“What exactly happened?”

“What do you remember?” Scully asked.

Monica rolled her eyes. “Dana, don’t doctor me.”

“Under the circumstances, I don’t have much choice,” Scully replied matter-of-factly. “What do you remember?”

“I’m not sure,” Monica answered finally. “You and I were talking, then I was talking with Irina-”

Scully nodded. “Go on.”

“And I talked to DuFour – no, I talked to DuFour first, then to Irina. Then Irina and I were going to talk to you.”

“You had an envelope with you,” Scully said quietly. “You were going to talk to ASAC Perez, and you had an envelope-”

Monica nodded. “Right. I dropped it when I was talking to DuFour. He told me that Bobby had gone to investigate the ambush, right? The ambulances they sent this morning, it wasn’t an accident, they were ambushed -”

Scully nodded. “Simon told me that’s what they suspected.”

Monica nodded. “So what happened?”

“An explosion,” Scully answered. “Several explosions, in fact. I thought we were being shelled at first, but it turned out they were just bombs.”

“*Just* bombs?” Monica asked.

“Incendiary devices, actually.”

“Ah,” Monica said. “A little exploding and a lot of burning? How many?”

“Equipment tent, records tent, the morgue trailer, and Vetkova’s tent.”

“I was with Vetkova,” Monica said. “Is she okay?”

Scully gave a non-committal shrug. “You went down before her tent went up, but she got hit by the full impact of it. We couldn’t rouse her and we couldn’t get any good pictures. I’d guess she has a severe concussion at the very least, possibly some internal bleeding. She was evaced to Veracruz.”

Monica winced. “And it was safe to send her out? What about-”

“Agent Perez and some soldiers accompanied her,” Scully explained. “They were better prepared this time.”

“Bobby came back? What did he find out?”

Scully shrugged. “We didn’t exactly have time to chat. He stopped by briefly to see if you were okay before he left. And Simon told me they were able to call back to the camp and say they’d arrived at the hospital.”

Monica nodded. “So the comm stuff is working now?”

“No,” Scully shook her head. “Not mine, anyway.”

“You’ve tried to call Mulder since all this began?”

Scully nodded. “Still no luck.”

Monica nodded. “Were there many other serious injuries?”

Scully shook her head. “You were knocked unconscious, a couple of people caught shrapnel, a bunch got hit by flying glass and debris, but nothing life threatening. A broken arm, I believe, a couple of sprained ankles, but those were mostly from people running around in a panic. Most of these people are not field agents.”

“All those explosions and that’s it, casualty-wise? Me, Vetkova, and a broken arm?”

“You, Vetkova, a broken arm, and just about every speck of useable equipment and evidence.”

“Evidence. Right.” Monica said. “I put it down on the camp table. I forgot it so I was going back. Vetkova grabbed me by the arm and — ouch!” She looked at the spot she’d just touched. Angry bruises met her gaze.

“You okay?” Scully asked, peering at Monica’s upper arm.

“Bug bite, I guess. Just bruised,” Monica replied, intent on piecing her story back together. “Okay, so she grabbed me and then, um – ” Monica closed her eyes tight in concentration. “And then – and then nothing,” she finished with a frustrated sigh.

“Dr. Scully,” a voice called. “Can you come look at this leg? I think it might be broken.”

“Sure,” she replied. “Just let me finish up here.”

Scully glanced around before leaning in. She put her index finger below Monica’s left eye and gently pulled the skin down, as if she were examining her. “This probably isn’t the best place to discuss this, but I was talking to Mulder before all hell broke loose.” She switched to examining Monica’s right eye. “His research implicates her as the infiltrator.”

“Her? Vetkova her?”

Scully nodded slightly and continued her examination.

Monica pulled back. “I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me?”

“She told me she and Drew are working on the same side.”

“It’s not like we haven’t suspected Drew’s mixed up in this somehow.”

“No,” Monica shook her head. “She told me the people who were massacred, the Quetua, are really the Huecha. Those are the same people Mulder and John met on that oil rig, right? The ones with natural immunity?”

Scully nodded. “Mulder figured that out, too.”

“Irina’s part of a team working on developing a vaccine.”

Scully shrugged. “She very well may be,” she answered, palpating the glands in Monica’s neck for cover. “We know there have been several groups working on it for the better part of almost sixty years. That doesn’t mean her intentions are exactly honorable. You know as well as I do that anyone who can develop and control this vaccine can essentially rule the world.”

“I know,” Monica said, “and Irina said the same thing.”

“Misdirection,” Scully suggested. “That’s how I’d do it.”

“I don’t think so.” Monica sighed. “She told me Drew’s with Interpol-”

“Interpol?”

Monica nodded. “He’s involved in an internal investigation at Scotland Yard. Drew’s apparently one of the good guys.”

Scully seemed to consider this. “That doesn’t quite track,” she said at last. “Considering he’s missing and has been since before these bombings began, and by his reaction to- “

“I know, I know,” Monica said. “But she claims she’s one of the good guys too,” Monica continued. “She knows a lot about the X- Files, Dana, a lot about you and Mulder, a lot about-”

“That information isn’t hard to come by if you know where to look,” Scully said, “or if you’re trying to build up a nice thick layer of protective coloration.”

Monica paused. Everything Scully said made sense. And yet, she couldn’t get over the feeling that they were missing the big picture, somehow. Vetkova was telling the truth, or at least what she understood to be the truth; Monica was certain of that. But how could she explain to Scully what her gut just knew. “She’s got a chip,” Monica whispered finally.

Scully’s eyes widened. “A what?”

“Like yours. A chip.”

Scully stopped even the pretense of an exam, and swallowed hard. She looked flustered, Monica noted, but only for the briefest second before she recovered her composure. “I wasn’t under any illusions that I was the only person in the world with one,” she said evenly.

“Neither am I,” Monica answered. “But-”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Scully interrupted. “That doesn’t make her any more or less likely to be telling the truth.”

“I know, but it makes her more likely to be invested one way or the other, don’t you think?”

“Monica-”

“No,” Monica interrupted. “She said she had proof. Tangible proof. Proof she could show me.”

“Proof that conveniently got blown to bits?”

Monica sighed, feeling suddenly deflated. “I don’t know. She said she would show me. She said – oh!”

“Oh?”

“The egg,” Monica explained. “The toy she gave you for William. She asked me if you had it. I said yes, and she said then she could show me the proof. I think there must be a connection. Do you have it on you?”

Scully shook her head. “No.”

“Did it get blown up?”

“No,” Scully said, “but -”

“There’s something about it, Dana, something important. We have to examine it, figure out-”

“Monica, think about it. It’s probably another bomb.”

“Wouldn’t it have gone off when the others did? If the idea was to do you some harm, wouldn’t it have exploded?”

Scully shrugged. “Maybe it was designed not to. Maybe it’s just sitting there waiting for someone to touch it or drop it or look at it the wrong way. ” She swallowed hard. “Maybe the whole idea was to kill my son.”

Monica closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “It’s not,” she finally said. “Irina was giving it to you for safekeeping. I can’t explain how I know it, but I know it.”

Scully stood. “You need to rest, Monica.”

“Where is it, Dana?”

Scully shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Is it still in the camp?” Monica asked. When Scully didn’t answer, she went on. “If it’s a bomb, and it’s still in the camp, then by your own argument, we’re all in danger. Doing nothing is worse than at least getting it well out of the camp.”

Scully hesitated. “But -”

“But nothing,” Monica said, seeing her opening. “You know I’m right.”

“Doctor Scully, please,” a plaintive voice called, “are you almost done? There’s a piece of glass or something in this wound.”

“Just finishing up,” Scully answered.

“Dana-”

Scully looked at her. “The work tent we were in today,” she said quietly. “Number four metal cylinders, on the third shelf. It’s sealed. Get it out of the camp.”

Monica nodded.

Then a little louder, Scully said, “Well, I’d say you’re good to go, Monica. Lieutenant Currie,” she called to the corpsman who’d been assigned to help out in the casualty tent, “can we spare a couple of T3s for Agent Reyes?”

“Yes ma’am,” came the reply.

“I’ll give you a couple of pain pills, you can take them if the ribs are bothering you when you’re ready for bed. I suggest you go back to the tent and pack for the trip home in the morning.”

Monica stood, steadied herself, willed herself not to wince when her ribs twinged. “I’ll do that,” she said.

* * *

Two hours later, having examined what seemed like every cut, scrape, and twisted ankle in the western hemisphere, Scully made her exhausted way back to their tent. She was ready for some food, a tepid shower, and about 48 hours continuous sleep, which, she thought, was starting to sound more like her motto than her desire. Instead, she found Monica with a boot raised over her head, with her intended target, the pysanky egg keyring, on the ground in front of her.

“Monica!”

Her assault interrupted, Monica looked up. “What?”

“‘What!?’” Scully said. “Have you lost your mind?”

Monica shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“You said you were going to get that thing out of the camp,” Scully admonished. “What the hell are you thinking?”

Monica scooped up the keyring and dropped down on to her cot, glaring at the object in her hand. “I’ve been abusing this thing for – ” she glanced at her watch “- well over an hour. If it was going to do anything really interesting, I think it would have done it by now.”

Scully felt herself gape at her friend. “Just how the hell hard did you hit your head?” she asked.

Monica shrugged again. “There’s something in here, Dana,” she said. She held keyring to her ear and shook it.

Despite herself, Scully flinched.

Oblivious to Scully’s discomfort, Monica clarified, “It’s some kind of liquid.”

“Liquid explosive, maybe? For God’s sake, I thought we established that that thing was dangerous and that we had to get it out of here.”

“We did,” Monica agreed. “Sort of.”

Scully regularly found Monica frustrating, but she was beginning to think there was some sort of competition Monica was enrolled in, and her friend had decided she was flat-out going for the gold. “Sort of? What do you mean, sort of?”

Monica looked up. “Shhhh. Keep your voice down. You have your flashlight? Come look at this,” she said, gesturing to the bruise on her arm.

Scully pulled the penlight from her pocket and peered at the spot on Monica’s biceps. “What am I looking at?”

“I thought it was a bug bite, but since the swelling’s started going down, it looks more like it was made by a needle.”

Monica hissed as Scully probed the area. The skin around the injection site was mottled purple and blue, but clearly, it -was- an injection site. And a botched one, at that. “You’re right,” she agreed.

“A corpsman would have done a better job of giving a shot than this, right? Or one of the med techs?”

Scully nodded as she sat. “William would have done a better job of it.”

“So Vetkova must have done it,” Monica concluded. “When she grabbed my arm, somehow, Vetkova must have drugged me.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

Monica let out a long sigh. “Only, really, no, it doesn’t make any sense. I mean, if she drugged me, why?”

“To get you out of the way, I assume.”

“Out of the way of what, though?” Monica questioned. “If she knew her tent was going to explode and she wanted me gone, wouldn’t she have been better off just letting me walk back into it?”

“Not if she didn’t want you hurt,” Scully countered. “Maybe, for some reason, she was trying to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“But if she didn’t want to hurt me, why drug me? Why not just say, ‘Hey Monica, don’t go back in there, that’s one of those tents that likes to blow up’?”

Scully considered the possibilities. “Maybe — maybe she didn’t know it was going to blow up,” she said. “Maybe the two are unrelated. Maybe she was planning to drug you, say you’d fainted or fallen or something, and the tent blowing up was coincidental.”

Monica’s brows rose. “I thought we didn’t believe in coincidences?”

Scully let out a long breath. “We don’t,” she said, massaging the back of her neck. “At the moment, however, that’s all I have.”

Monica looked down at the intricately decorated keyring in her palm. “I wish I knew what the hell was going on around here.”

“Honestly,” Scully said, “I am very, very rapidly losing interest. I just want to go home, spend some time with Mulder and William, and take a long, hot bath or two.”

Monica sighed. “That bath part sounds pretty good.”

“Doesn’t it?” Scully held out her hand, palm up. “In the meantime, we have to get that thing out of camp, Monica.”

Monica nodded. “You’re right.” She handed it over and began putting her boot back on.

“I am,” she agreed and slipped it in her pocket.

“Hello?” A voice called softly from outside their tent. “Agent

Scully, Monica?”

“Hey Bobby,” Monica called. “Come in.”

“How you doing, Monica?” Bobby asked as entered and resealed the tent flap. “Agent Scully here told me you got banged up pretty good.”

“Nah,” she answered. “You should see the other guy.”

“I was under the impression the other guy was a bomb,” he said.

“It was.” Monica gestured for him to sit in the camp chair opposite. “What’s your point?”

Perez chuckled as he sat. “Good to see your sparkling wit survived intact.”

“Good to see you survived at all,” Monica said. “How’d the investigation go?”

Perez shrugged. “It wasn’t much of an investigation. It was definitely an ambush. There were charges set in the road meant to act as landmines – hell, they might actually have been landmines, but no kind of landmines I’ve ever seen – but who or why, that I can’t tell you from looking at a bunch of craters in a road.”

“Was the site looted?” Scully asked.

“Med supplies were taken,” Perez explained, “and the guns and ammo, of course. Beyond that, there wasn’t much to see but a lot of twisted metal, a lot of flies and a lot of blood. It wasn’t pretty.”

“Did you have any trouble getting Dr. Vetkova through?” Scully asked.

Perez shook his head. “No. They’d sent a unit ahead to look for any more booby-traps, but the rest of the road was clear. Which is something, I guess.”

“How is Irina?” Monica asked.

Perez sighed. “Massive trauma to the chest and abdomen, concussion, broken leg, a bunch of medical stuff I didn’t quite catch. The prognosis, from what I understood, is not great.”

Scully nodded. Perez’s recitation of the diagnosis matched what she’d gathered from the med techs and corpsmen who’d worked on Vetkova in the camp.

Perez continued. “She regained consciousness briefly in the ambulance, then again briefly at the hospital before they took her into surgery. Which, in part, is why I’m here.”

“How’s that?” Monica asked.

“Both times,” he explained, “she asked for you two by name.”

“She did?” Monica asked, her surprise sounding genuine.

“Yes she did.”

“Maybe she was just disoriented,” Scully suggested. “She’d been with Monica right before the explosions began, and they had been coming to speak to me.”

“I don’t think so,” Perez said. “She didn’t say much of anything, granted, but the impression I got was that she had something important she wanted to talk to you two about. Something urgent. So, with that in mind, I’ve come to ask you two to come back to the hospital with me. “

“But-” Monica began her objection.

“I’ve already cleared it with DuFour and Castillo, and they both think it’s a good idea, ” he assured. “We’ve got an armored vehicle, two specially trained soldiers and a driver going with us. The route is as secure as it can be. And I can get you both body armor if you want it. In fact, scratch that, I’m getting you both body armor.”

“You said she was in surgery, though.” Scully said. “Considering her injuries, she’s likely to be in there for hours.”

“True,” he said. “But given the fact that she was the only one who had her tent blown up, she might have some information that we could use. That we need. Since you two are the people she wants to talk to, I’d like to make that was easy as possible for her.”

“Agent Perez -” Scully began.

“Please, call me Bobby.”

“Bobby then, we’re supposed to ship out tomorrow,” Scully said. “I have a family to get home to and it could be days before Dr Vetkova is fully conscious again.”

“We’re hoping that isn’t the case,” he answered. “The doctors treating her didn’t think it would be. Either way, we’ll fly you home at the Bureau’s expense in forty-eight hours. How’s that?”

“First class?” Monica asked.

“Business,” he countered.

“Monica was injured in the explosion, too, ” Scully reminded them. “It’s probably best if she takes it easy.”

“We’ll put you up someplace decent in Veracruz,” Perez said. “More than decent. Someplace where the beds don’t need inflating. And if anything should go wrong, well, you’ll be closer to the hospital, won’t you?”

Monica dry scrubbed her face. “You really think she can tell us something vital?” she asked.

“I really do,” Perez replied. “I don’t want to order you, and I won’t, but I’d really appreciate you both helping us out on this.”

Monica turned to Scully. “What do you think?”

What did she think? Scully was so tired she wasn’t sure she could think anymore. “I think anything that gets me one step closer to my own bed and my own bathtub is probably a good thing,” she said. “I’m in.”

“We’re in,” Monica said.

Perez smiled. “Terrific,” he said, rising to his feet. “Pack your gear, since we won’t be coming back.”

“Right,” Monica agreed.

“Our ride is up behind the mess tent,” he said, unzipping the flap again. “And, oh, we should probably keep this quiet,” he added. “People are jumpy enough around here without them getting some notion the rats are deserting the ship. See you shortly.”

* * *

Every time she wore it, Scully was reminded that, no matter what the manufacturers claimed, body armor had not been designed with the female physique in mind. Sandwiched between a sweaty slab of granite cleverly disguised as a UN peacekeeper on one side of her, and a sweaty Monica, in her own Kevlar straitjacket and with her own side-of-beef bookend on the other, Scully decided she was at least as uncomfortable as she’d ever been in any dark, fully-clothed, non-life threatening situation.

“How you doing back there?” Perez called over his left shoulder.

“Swell,” Monica answered. “We’re just about fully marinated.”

“Damned thing doesn’t have any air conditioning,” he said, stating the all-too-obvious. “Think we should ask for a refund at the rental desk?”

The soldier next to Scully shifted in his seat, the movement underscoring how tightly the four of them were packed in. Scully tried to shift herself, but it was almost impossible, and she found she was pushed even closer to her friend. She and Monica exchanged a look, the same one, she thought, that the sardines probably exchanged as they went into the can.

“I’ve been wondering about something, Monica,” Perez said a few moments later. “You said you and Vetkova were heading to talk to Agent Scully just before the explosions?”

“Right.”

“What were you going to talk to her about?”

Monica was silent a moment. “Is this something we can discuss in mixed company?”

Perez nodded. “Absolutely.”

“Oh. Okay, well, Irina had some theories about the missing evidence,” she said. “About who might have been taking things, destroying things, like you and I had discussed. She wanted to discuss it with Dana.”

“Did she?” he responded. “Do you know who she suspected?”

“She floated a couple of possibilities past me,” Monica hedged.

“Like who?”

“Well,” Monica hesitated, “Dr. DuFour, for one.”

“DuFour? You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Did she say why she suspected him?”

Monica shook her head. “No. I think maybe that was what she wanted to discuss with Dana.”

“Interesting.”

The soldier next to Scully shifted again. She was about to explain to him, in no uncertain terms, that no one over the age of two was allowed to sit in her lap without an engraved invitation, when Perez addressed her. “You have any theories, Agent Scully?”

“About Dr. DuFour? No.”

“About the sabotage,” he corrected. “About who might be behind it.”

“I don’t have a lot of data to go on,” she began. “There are forty-odd people in the camp, plus civilians, soldiers -”

“But if you had to hazard a guess?”

Scully didn’t like hypothesizing ahead of evidence. And she didn’t like discussing this matter in, as Monica had put it, mixed company. From what Monica had said, Bobby suspected simple sabotage. He didn’t know the connection between the Qetual and the Huecha they’d made, or the significance of the Huecha in the work she and Mulder were involved in. But, then again, she and Monica had been about to bring Bobby into the inner circle when all hell broke loose. And Monica trusted Bobby implicitly, which was good enough for her. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d have two contenders. Dr. Ng-”

“Who?”

“Drew Ng,” Monica supplied. “He’s from Australia but he’s working with Scotland Yard.”

“Ah, right, I think I know who you mean,” Perez said. “And who’s your other candidate?”

“Vetkova,” Scully answered.

“Really?” Perez half-turned in his seat. “Isn’t that interesting,” he said.

“Interesting how?” Monica asked.

The soldier moved again, effectively pinning Scully’s arms to her sides.

“Well,” he said, “for what it’s worth, I’m pretty damned sure it’s not DuFour, Monica. And, Agent Scully, I’m pretty damned sure it’s not Ng or Vetkova, either.”

“Why are you so sure?” Monica asked.

In unison, the soldiers flanking Scully and Monica moved. Before she could tell this guy to get off of her once and for all, Scully felt a sharp stinging pain in her thigh.

“Ow!” Monica yelped beside her. “What the fuck?”

“Monie, honey, I’m pretty damned sure the Qetual infiltrator everyone’s been looking for isn’t one of those three,” Perez said just as Scully tasted metal in the back of her throat and was slammed with sudden, debilitating dizziness, “because I’m pretty damned sure it’s me.”

* * *

Monica decided that if they ever got around to holding a referendum, she was going to vote a great big ‘no’ to waking up dazed, drugged, and disoriented more than once every twenty-four hours. Clearly, she thought as she came uneasily to consciousness, it was becoming an issue of great personal importance.

“Monica?” she heard Dana’s familiar voice coming from somewhere to her left.

Monica opened her eyes, and saw nothing in the blankness but the thinnest slice of light under what had to be a door. “Um, yeah?”

“I don’t want to tell you how to live your life,” Dana said, “but if I were you, I’d be crossing Agent Perez off my Christmas card list right about now.”

Monica sighed. “I will definitely take that under consideration,” she replied. There was nothing particularly surprising about realizing she was bound hand and foot in a hard metal chair. Disturbing, yes, but surprising, no. “First, though, I think I might want to shoot that son of a bitch in the head, but then, yes, you’re right, no more Christmas cards.”

“Excellent plan. So how are you feeling?”

“Like a second tequila truck came by,” she said. “And maybe a third. How long, um, how long have I been out of it?”

“Not sure,” Scully replied. “I’d estimate about a half an hour longer than I was, but counting heartbeats can be an unreliable method of telling time under the best of circumstances, and these particular circumstances.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Monica looked around, or tried to at least. With no light to speak of it was difficult for her to get any sense of where they were being held. She hated being in the dark like this, unable to see the walls or ceiling or even the floor. She could be anywhere, from a gigantic enclosed stadium twenty-five school buses long to a box no bigger than –

She took a deep breath. No need to go there, she assured herself. None at all. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

“You mean beyond literally and metaphorically in the dark?” Dana asked.

Monica levered herself up, trying to find a more comfortable position, one that would make it easier to expand her lungs. The motion set her head spinning, though, and for a moment she thought she was going to throw up. “Yes,” she said after one then two long, slow breaths, “beyond that.”

“Mexico,” Dana said. “Beyond that, I’ve got nothing.”

“Great.” Monica twisted her arms one way, then another, the way she’d been taught, hoping to loosen the ropes holding her arms snugly behind her back. Focus, she thought. Focus on this task, focus on getting free, focus – “Whoever tied those knew what he was doing,” Scully said. “Save your wrists, Monica. We might need them.”

Monica gave the rope another sharp twist, getting nothing but a warm trickle of blood down her palms for her trouble. “Shit,” she snarled, giving one final, futile tug at her restraints.

“Yeah, that just about sums it up, ” Scully agreed. Panicking wouldn’t do any good, Monica knew. It would actually do a lot more harm than good, and she knew that, too. Oblivious to these facts, her body was under the impression a full-blown panic attack was a terrific idea, and was preparing accordingly. Deep, rhythmic breathing, she thought, fighting down the fluttery feeling of terror squeezing her lungs like a vise. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow, steady breaths.

“Monica?”

“I’m good,” she answered the unspoken part of her friend’s question. “Just a little, a little claustrophobic. But I’m okay. Really.”

“You sure?”

Monica nodded, then realized Scully couldn’t see her. “Yeah.”

“I got stuck in an elevator during a blackout once,” Scully said after a moment. “All by myself. Longest half hour of my life.” She paused. “Well, until today, at least.”

Monica chuckled, grateful for Dana’s attempt, however lame, to lighten the mood. “So,” she said, eager to change the subject, “in the extra half-hour of lucidity you’ve enjoyed, have you been able to figure out what the hell is going on?”

“Not a clue,” Scully replied. “Your buddy Agent Perez claims to be the infiltrator-”

Monica winced. “So I didn’t dream that?”

“Afraid not,” Scully answered. “He claims to be the infiltrator, but why he’s involved, how he’s involved – no matter which way I work it, it doesn’t make any sense.”

“He must – he must think we have something or know something or, or think we can be traded for something.” Monica said.

“I guess he must,” Scully said, none too helpfully. Monica didn’t want her friend’s agreement; she wanted some answers. There wasn’t any particular reason why Scully should have those answers, but Monica wanted her to, just the same.

“Well, do we?”

“Do we what?” Scully asked. “Know something? Have something? We might. If we had some idea what the subject was, that might make things a little clearer. As far as trading us, I don’t know. I guess. Maybe.”

Monica frowned in concentration. “I guess it depends who he’d want to trade with and what he’d want in return.”

“Which takes us back to -” Scully began, but the sudden thrum of quick footsteps and raised voices outside the room caught her attention. “Looks like someone’s figured out you’re awake,” she whispered. “And they don’t sound too happy about it. Can you tell what they’re saying?”

Monica strained to listen. Three voices, she thought, all muffled, all male, one of them angry, the other two calmer, conciliatory. Someone was mad, two someones were catching hell because of that. The voices grew louder and more distinct as they drew nearer. “I don’t think that’s Spanish,” she said, puzzled. The voices grew louder still, until shadows breaking up the strip of light under the door told her their captors were right outside. “No, definitely not Spanish. I don’t know what the hell that is.”

Scully sighed. “Another mystery. Just what we need.”

“No,” Monica said, mentally shoving away the panic that was threatening again and doing her best to focus on something — anything – other than the terror that was trying to engulf her. “We need a plan. A plan. Quick, Dana, God, we need a plan.”

“No need, ” Scully replied, entirely too calmly. “We’ve already got a plan.”

“We do?”

“Yes,” Scully said. The discussion in the hallway had stopped. Metal scraped metal as one lock then two tumbled open. “We get through this alive.”

* * *

Scully knew the light would be blinding when it came, and she was not disappointed. Even through closed lids, the sudden jump from darkness to fluorescents was almost overwhelming.

“Jesus Christ!” she heard someone – Agent Perez, she thought – snarl. He followed this up with something she couldn’t understand.

“And that’s not Spanish either,” Monica said. “Bobby, what the fuck is going on?”

Scully squinted, waiting for her eyes to grow accustomed to the light. They were in a windowless, unpainted cinderblock room, perhaps fifteen feet square. The decor would probably best be described as ‘Early Bunker’ – fluorescent strip lights, a large practical-but-ugly desk that appeared sturdy enough but had seen better days, utilitarian metal and wooden chairs that had been scratched, scraped and scarred in every possible way, bookcases filled to bursting with books and file folders. Three well- armed, solidly-built men stood by the steel bomb door, managing to look simultaneously menacing and chastised. The two wearing fatigues were vaguely familiar, and Scully suspected these were the soldiers who had shared their ride.

“I am so sorry Monica, Agent Scully,” Perez said. Scully turned to her right, where Perez was on one knee cutting Monica free of her bonds. “I told those idiots to take care of you two – ” he turned to speak to the other three “- take care of-” he emphasized, “and make sure you didn’t do anything crazy, like try to run,” he said, slicing through the rope holding Monica’s ankles. “This is not what I meant.” The tallest of the three answered Perez, his tone both conciliatory and slightly whiney. Scully didn’t know what his words were, but his meaning was clear – “But you SAID not to let them get away!!”

Perez dismissed the man’s comment with a sneer. He was careful to stay out of kicking distance, but not, Scully thought, as careful as he maybe should have been – as careful as, say, she would have been. He either had some reason to expect that Monica wouldn’t lash out at him, or he was inexperienced when it came to holding captives. Or, she thought, he wanted them to believe he was inexperienced when it came to holding captives. Whichever it was, he was still the one with the large knife and the heavily armed heavies, so she hoped Monica wouldn’t make any unnecessarily foolish moves.

“Reliable goons are just so hard to find, aren’t they?” Monica answered instead.

“Now, now, that’s not nice. They aren’t goons. Morons, maybe,” he said, rising and circling to the back of Monica’s chair and crouching low, “but not goons. Goons, by definition, have higher IQs. Jesus, Monica, you’ve chewed up your wrists but good here.” He raised his head and rattled off some instructions to one of his not-goons and the man headed hastily out the door. “Hector’s going to get you some first aid and a bottle of water,” Perez said, slicing through the thick cords as if they were no sturdier than spider’s webs. “The bleeding’s stopped, but you’re going to have an infection if we don’t get something on those.”

Monica brought her arms forward, hissing from the pain. “Your concern is touching, Bobby, really.”

“This is probably going to be hard to believe, all things considered, but I didn’t want you hurt,” Perez replied. Grimacing, he gently took hold of Monica’s arms just below the elbows and examined the wounds. Monica hissed again and, very gently, he let go. “I don’t want you hurt. I really don’t.”

Feeling bold, Scully said, “You have an odd way of showing it, Agent Perez.”

Perez looked up, his expression suggesting that, for a moment, he’d forgotten Scully was even there. “That may be, Dr. Scully, but it’s still the truth.” He crossed the five or so feet from Monica’s chair to where Scully was seated, and knelt before her brandishing his knife. He paused a moment, carefully making eye contact. “I’m going to cut you loose, Dr. Scully,” he said, turning the blade just enough for light to race along its edge. “I strongly suggest you hold still.”

Scully gave one sharp nod in reply before looking away. She was out-manned and out-gunned and she knew it. The only chance she and Monica had of gaining an advantage was by first gaining Perez’s trust. In the short term, at least, pretending to be intimidated might pay off. And listening to what Perez had to say might tell her all she needed to know, and with luck, maybe more.

Hector came through the door just as Perez stood and circled Scully’s chair. Perez said something and Hector moved forward, placing a first aid kit and three bottles of water on the desk.

“What language is that, Bobby?” Monica asked. She still sounded groggier than Scully would have liked. Monica might have been putting it on, trying to make herself seem harmless, but Scully knew she couldn’t bank on that. Until she had evidence to the contrary, she’d have to consider Monica at least slightly out of commission.

“That,” Perez replied as he easily sliced through the ropes holding Scully’s wrists, “is Huecha, but you have always been a smart cookie, Agent Reyes, and I’m thinking you’ve already guessed that.”

The ropes fell away, and, grateful, Scully brought her arms forward. Pins and needles raced up and down her limbs, so she shook them, trying to jump start her circulation.

“Huecha was in my top three,” Monica conceded.

Perez pushed aside some papers and propped himself on the corner of the desk, sheathed and then secured his knife and placed it on the desktop. “Oh? What were the other two?” he asked with an unsettling grin.

Monica shot him glare. “Are you going to kill us?” she asked, sounding thoroughly fed-up.

Perez sobered. “Absolutely not,” he said. “Monica-”

“Are you just going to annoy us to death?” she interrupted.

Perez leaned forward. “No, smart ass, I’m not planning to annoy you to death, either.”

“Then can we cut to the chase?”

“You bet,” Perez answered. He picked up the first aid kit. “Agent Scully? Would you mind? I think Monica might prefer if you handled this.” He tossed the kit to her.

The kit was what she expected – gauze, tape, blunt nosed scissors, alcohol wipes, antiseptic cream, and, disappointingly, no firearms at all. Confused by the way this scene was unfolding, she decided to concentrate on what she did know, and rose on slightly unsteady legs to examine her friend’s wrists The wounds, she was relieved to see, looked worse than they actually were.

“Okay,” Perez began, “the chase: We want your help. We might even need your help.”

“My help?” Monica said. She drew in a sharp breath as Scully wiped alcohol on the abrasions. “You could have just – ow – you know – ouch – asked.”

“Yours and Agent Scully’s,” he corrected.

“How could I possibly help you, Agent Perez?” Scully asked, not looking up from her task. ‘And why,’ she added silently, ‘would I even want to?’

“You know who the Qetual are,” he said. “And the Huecha. You know what sets them apart. And you know their potential significance to, let’s say, certain mass vaccination projects.”

“What if we do?” Scully wrapped gauze around Monica’s left wrist.

“You’ve also figured out that someone, or some group of someones, is systematically eliminating them.”

“And that would be you?” Monica asked.

Perez blinked. “Me? God no. Look around this room, Monica. Those three, myself, maybe three or four dozen here in Mexico, two or three dozen others scattered around the US and Canada, a handful down into Belize, Costa Rica, Panama maybe – we’re it. We’re all that’s left.”

“You’re Huecha?” Scully asked. Perez’s features were decidedly more European than Indigenous North American, and all her research during the Galpex-Orpheus case supported an undiluted Huecha gene pool.

Perez nodded. “My mother’s side, but I’m one of the very few, if you’ll excuse the expression, half-breeds you’re going to find.”

Scully tied the end of the gauze, then cut the ends neatly, contemplating her next move. “So, you’re immune?”

Perez nodded. “So are my brother and two sisters. All my sisters’ kids are immune. None of my brothers are.”

“Your son?” Monica asked.

“Peter?” Perez shook his head. “No.”

“So how and why do you need our help?” Scully asked.

“And what makes you think kidnapping us was the best way to get it?” Monica added.

“Don’t think of it as kidnapping,” Perez said with a dismissive wave. “It’s more like, I don’t know, having to take a reluctant witness into protective custody. They give you a hard time, but it’s for their own good.”

Monica cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“They tried to kill you today, Monica, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Me?” Monica scoffed. “They blew up Vetkova’s tent, Bobby. Maybe they were trying to kill her, but -”

Perez nodded. “Her too,” he said. “And I have no doubt that you, Dr. Scully, would have been next.”

It was Scully’s turn to scoff. “You think all those explosions were simply intended to get rid of us?”

“Not solely, no.”

“But I’m not even supposed to be here,” Monica said.

“Their main objective, I’d say, was to get rid of evidence, to complete the cover-up,” he said, “and, yeah, Monica, you are. You’re here because I wanted you here. I just made it look like it was a mistake because I was trying to cover my tracks.”

“But why?” Monica asked.

“Because despite the fact that you’re stubborn as a mule and crazy as a freaking loon half the time, you’re an excellent field agent and just about the best investigator I know. I needed back-up and you were the obvious choice.”

Monica blinked at him. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” she deadpanned.

“And, of course, you’re in this up to your neck,” he added.

“What? Up to my neck in what?” she asked.

Scully had finished tending Monica’s injuries. “Who is this ‘they’, Agent Perez?” she asked.

“They?”

“The people behind the bombing. The ones who want the evidence destroyed. That ‘they’,” she clarified.

“Oh. Them.” Perez paused a moment, scratched his cheek. He let out a long slow sigh of frustration. “That’s an excellent question, and one I don’t have an easy answer for.”

Scully went back to her chair. “Feel free to go with the hard answer, then,” she said as she sat.

Perez sighed again. “The Germans? The Japanese? Taiwanese? Brits? It could be any of them. It may even be none of them.”

“That’s helpful,” Scully assured him.

“Well, okay, fine. Let’s start from the start. Aliens are planning to colonize the planet, right? We’re all agreed on that?”

Scully nodded. It was strange to hear anyone else say it out loud, but that was the fact of the matter.

“Um, okay, yeah,” Monica agreed, sounding a little uncomfortable with having to acknowledge it.

“Okay, good. That’s usually the hardest part of this whole thing to sell,” he said with a grin. “Okay, so, their plan is to do this by way of something roughly analogous to a virus, which sets up in the host body and uses that body as an incubator for a bouncing baby alien, killing the host in the process. For about the past sixty years, a number of different groups have been attempting to develop something like a vaccine. So far, results have been mixed. There have been some marked successes -” he said with a pointed look at Scully – “but a hell of a lot more failures.”

Monica nodded. “Go on.”

“It’s generally assumed that whoever gets there first will have all the power imaginable. They’ll not only be able to rebuff an alien invasion, but they’ll have control of the ultimate weapon.”

“Which is a pretty good assumption, don’t you think?” Scully asked.

“It’s a fantastic assumption.” Perez nodded. “Having a nuke will mean nothing once you’ve got control of both the disease and the cure. So, enter my people,” he continued. “For reasons no one is entirely clear on, our immune systems have evolved in such a way that they fight off most infections, bacterial and viral, with ease, but they also slough off the alien virus with no ill effects whatsoever. There’s no thickening of the blood or hyper- production of T-cells or other collateral damage that’s usually been the issue. Back in the mid-1960’s, two World Health Organization workers, Viktor Vetkov and Zhenya Koslov, were trying to eradicate polio in the Huecha Valley, only to discover that there was no polio – or much of anything else – to eradicate.”

“Vetkov?” Scully asked. “Irina’s parents?”

Again, Perez nodded. “Yeah. They figured out pretty quickly exactly what they were looking at, and just as quickly that there wasn’t much of anyone they could trust with that discovery. The Cold War was still in full swing and they knew their own government couldn’t be handed that sort of information, and they doubted any other government could be, either. Viktor was a brilliant young researcher at the time, and had consequently been exposed to the alien vaccine research the Russians were doing, which he found appalling. His greatest fear, as I understand it, was that someone less scrupulous than himself or Zhenya would find out that the Huecha are essentially germ fighting machines and try to domesticate us like livestock.” He paused. “Or do something worse.”

“Worse?” Monica prompted.

“That someone would figure it out and try to create a scarcity by wiping out most of the Huecha population,” Scully said, seeing the pieces slip into place. “Which is exactly what’s happening here.”

“Exactly what’s already happened here,” Perez corrected, seemingly fighting to keep emotion from his voice. “For thousands of years, the Huecha have considered Chataqalan a place of power and refuge, a safe haven. They believed no harm could come to them there. Somehow, sometime in the last six months, someone lured just about all of our people back to Chataqalan, and then slaughtered them like sheep. We went from a population of several thousand to a few dozen overnight. My aunts, uncles, cousins, even my abuela – all of them – gone. And now someone is trying to cover it all up.”

A heavy silence filled the room.

“God, Bobby, I’m so – ” Monica began.

“Why the hell should we believe you?” Scully interrupted.

Perez blinked in surprise. “What?”

“What proof do we have that you aren’t actually the person, or one of the people, responsible for the massacre?”

“Dana-” Monica sounded horrified.

“Think about it,” Scully said. “Say he is Huecha. Say he and his friends here really have immunological gold pumping through their veins. What’s to stop them from wanting to corner the market, especially when they are among the very few who know there’s a market to corner?”

“No!” A voice came from the doorway. “No no no! You have everything wrong. It is not like this, even a small bit of it.”

“Irina!” Perez jumped to his feet rushed to the door. “You are not supposed to be out of bed,” he admonished, gingerly wrapping an arm around her to lend her support.

Vetkova definitely looked worse for the wear, Scully thought, but no where near as bad as Perez had made it sound. For one thing, she was up and walking, albeit a little unsteadily, and with a large cast on her ankle. For another, this was definitely not the surgical suite at the hospital in Veracruz.

“I was listening,” she said. “Dr. Scully, Dana, you do not understand.”

“No,” Scully agreed. “I guess I really don’t.” “Bobby is telling you the truth. For many years, Bobby and I have worked together, trying to keep the secret of the Huecha , trying to find the vaccine,” she said, swaying. Perez led her to a chair close to the other two women and helped her lower herself. “We want to find this vaccine, we want to distribute it freely, for everyone. This is all we work for.”

“So you say,” Scully said. “But this elaborate ruse -”

“There’s no ruse, elaborate or otherwise,” Perez said, propping himself back on the corner of the desk, but keeping a watchful eye on Vetkova. “If Doctor Casselman and Doctor Richards hadn’t been killed, it might have been months before anyone discovered what had happened. Since they were high profile and disappeared in an area under UNESCO scrutiny, UNESCO, like any great unthinking bureaucracy moved in. DuFour hasn’t got a clue, and Castillo, well, he’s no more or less corrupt than you’d expect. No, whoever is responsible for the massacre didn’t have time to bury all the evidence, and now they’re trying to make it all go away, using drug runners and warlords and rival gangs as cover.”

“And you just happened to get assigned to the case?” Scully questioned.

“Of course not,” Perez said. “I volunteered as a way of doing damage control. And I volunteered Monica while I was at it, and then I volunteered you.”

“Me?” Scully asked.

“Well, Irina volunteered you,” he replied. “I just did what I was told to do.”

“It is a good thing in a husband, no?” Vetkova asked.

“Husband?” Monica asked. “What? You two are married?”

“Three years now,” Perez replied. He smiled fondly at Vetkova. “It seemed to make some kind of sense at the time.”

Scully turned her gaze on Vetkova. “Why me, Irina?” she asked.

“You and Mulder, you are trying to create a vaccine also, yes?”

Taken aback, Scully didn’t know what to say. She really didn’t think anyone had been paying attention. Her mouth opened, but no words came out, and she shut it again.

“We know you are, Dr Scully,” Perez said. “Trust me, we go out of our way to find out who else is in the game.”

Cautiously, Scully said. “It’s something we’re considering.”

“And you know the problems?”

Scully nodded. “Some of them.”

“Everyone thought it would be an easy thing to do, to vaccinate against the Black Cancer, to engineer immunity. Enough money, enough manpower, enough human guinea pigs – anything is possible, yes? For every advance that has been made, though, there is a new problem,” Vetkova said. “Sometimes more than one new problem. Sometimes the new cure is many times worse than the disease.”

“That’s what our research has shown so far, too.”

“Yes,” Irina said. “For a long time, it seemed to everyone that you and Mulder, you were like us, interested in free distribution, in making the vaccine available to all, yes?”

As far as Scully knew, that was still their aim. “Go on,” Scully said, uncertain where this was going.

“Recently, you are bringing more people in, and there have been incidents. We have seen – Bobby, you have the pictures, yes?”

Perez shuffled through a folder. “Here,” he said, extending two photos to Scully.. “Do you know these people?”

Scully looked at the first photo. It was a surveillance photo of J.D Crawford and Phoebe Green, taken from high above the street they walked down. Probably from when J.D. was in England, she surmised. The second showed Phoebe and Simon Fisher sitting across from one another in an outdoor cafe.

Scully handed the photos back, and Perez passed them to Monica. “Yes,” she said, feeling her stomach knot. “I know them.”

“Phoebe Green’s been on our radar a long while,” Perez explained. “She’s been associated with a group that’s made a lot of progress on the vaccine for several years now. What their actual aims are is still a little murky, but let’s say she and her group are of special interest. This guy – “

“That’s J. D. Crawford,” Monica said.

Perez nodded. “And word has it that he’s working with you and Mulder now, Dr. Scully.”

Scully nodded. “But the other man, Simon. I only met him here. How does he fit in?”

“Drew works with us, yes, but also for Interpol,” Vetkova began. “This is the man he is watching at Scotland Yard.”

“Why is he watching him?” Monica asked.

“Simon’s got a lot of access, and a lot of connections, but he’s been associated with some of the less savory vaccine research groups, including Ms. Green’s,” Perez explained. “And he’s a long-time associate of this man,” he handed her another photo. “Do either of you know him?”

Scully looked at the photo and shook her head, passed it to Monica. “No idea,” Monica said for both of them.

“His name is Stephen Strughold. Ring any bells?”

“Strughold?” Scully sighed. “Entirely too many.”

“Strughold’s group is about as dirty as they can be on this and, as I am sure you know, Dr. Scully, several other things.”

“Corn,” she said. “Bees. Smallpox.”

“To name just a few,” Perez said. “Because of your association recently with Phoebe Green, there are certain people, people who are thinking you and Mulder, how do you say? Have gone to the dark side, yes?” Irina said.

“Which is ridiculous,” Monica all but spat at her. “I told you that before.”

Scully’s brows shot up at this. “Before?”

Monica nodded. “She told me Drew thought you were the infiltrator. I told her Drew was wrong.”

“We think Drew’s wrong too. We haven’t quite convinced him of that yet, but we’re going to.” Perez said. “I’ve known Mulder for years, followed his work. He’s always been a complete boy scout, he’s always done the right thing, even when it wasn’t in his best interest. Mulder wouldn’t acknowledge the dark side if it bit him on the ass.”

In spite of herself, Scully grinned, just a little. It was an apt description. “So what do you want from us?” she asked.

“We want, for lack of a better word, to form an alliance, Dr. Scully,” Perez said. “A syndicate of our own.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” Scully asked.

“Whoever is responsible for this massacre is either desperate or cocky. I’m guessing desperate, but either way, they’ve stepped up their game and we’ve got to step up ours accordingly. In short, we want your help to develop the vaccine,” Perez said. “We want your help, and we want to help you.”

Scully frowned. “You appear to be light years ahead of us on that one, so what do you need us for?”

Perez took a deep breath, and let it out. “You and Mulder have something we need. And we have something you need.”

Scully shook her head in confusion. “What do we have- “

“Oh god,” Monica said. “William? That’s it, isn’t it? William?”

“No, not William,” Perez said, holding up a forestalling hand. “Of course not William. Just – just a few of William’s antibodies. Just a little blood – a very little blood.”

Scully felt her mouth fall open. “Are you insane?”

“There is no harm,” Irina said. “A small amount of blood, maybe two or three times each year.”

“No,” Scully said flatly, her pulse racing. “No way.”

“Do not say no so soon,” Vetkova said. “We will trade, yes? You give us antibodies from William, we give you antibodies from Nadya.”

“Nadya?” Monica asked. “That’s -”

“Our daughter,” Bobby said. “Both she and William are immune, both have naturally occurring immunity. Nadya appears to have gotten hers from me, defying all the evidence that shows transmission in the Huecha is through the mother. Irina has told you, Monica, that she was an abductee, that’s she’s chipped, and that may have something to do with what’s happened in Nadya’s case, but who knows.”

“But-” Monica began.

“Dr Scully was given one form of the vaccine when she was in Antarctica. Mulder was given another form when he was in Russia. The two immunities combined to somehow prove Lamarck right. Your acquired immunity and Mulder’s acquired immunity got passed on. As a result, there’s a lot of knowledge to be had. We think we’re the ones who should have it, Dr Scully.”

“No way.” Scully shook her head. “My son isn’t going to be anyone’s science fair project. Forget it.”

“Dr. Scully, if we have figured this out, don’t you think others have?” Perez asked. “Don’t you think maybe one of the other groups – the Germans maybe, or the Japanese, or hell, the Mumbai group – don’t you think maybe they’ll make the connection, put two and two together, and not bother to ask for what they want? If William is like Nadya, you’ll know when they’re coming, sure, but a child kicking up a fuss won’t stop them forever. The sooner we join forces, the sooner we get to the finish line on this, and the sooner both our children will be out of harm’s way.”

Scully’s impulse was to say no again and damn the consequences. She didn’t appreciate coercion, however gentle, and she didn’t appreciate threats, however thinly veiled. William wasn’t going to be a pawn in anyone’s game, not if she could help it.

The only problem with all that was, she realized, was that if Perez and Vetkova were telling the truth – and the more they said, the stronger their case became – they were right. Right about everything.

Which meant –

“How do you know that?” she asked at last, her voice small and shaky. “How do you know he’s immune? How did you find out?”

“There isn’t much you or Mulder do that flies below the radar, Dr. Scully. Not for years, now.” Perez sighed, but it was a sympathetic sound. “Welcome to the big leagues.”

Scully took a deep breath. She’d known this, of course. On some level, she’d known, always known, that there were people taking notes, watching them through pinhole cameras, listening at every keyhole –

Listening –

“That’s what you meant,” Scully said to Irina. “When you said there were noisy bugs in my tent. You meant we were being bugged, that someone was listening.”

Irina nodded. “It was not us, but someone, yes, someone was listening. We tried to block transmissions, but that made all the communications equipment not to work also. What you said, whatever it was, these people heard you. It was enough to make them try to remove you.”

“I see,” Scully said. She swallowed, finding her throat dry. “I can’t – this isn’t something – it’s not a decision I can make alone, I mean. It’s not – it’s not mine alone to make.”

Perez nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll need more to show Mulder,” she continued, “something more than photos and supposition. Something to prove -”

“You have proof,” Irina said. “In the egg.”

“In the-?” Scully’s hand flew to her pocket. She pulled out the Pysanky keyring Irina had given her and cradled it in her palm. “A gift for William?” she said, remembering what Vetkova had told Monica.

Vetkova nodded. “A vial of blood. Nadya’s blood. The key to a free world, perhaps. It is a good gift for any child, no?”

Scully nodded, comprehension dawning. Irina had risked everything to get this to her, had even bucked members of her own team, and at that point she hadn’t asked for anything in return. She was just another mother who wanted a better world for her child, one way or another. In that, she and Scully were exactly alike. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is.”

“Take that,” Perez said, “and this -” he handed her a flash drive “- and show them to Mulder. Let him look it all over. Test what’s in that vial. Figure out what’s what. Then you two can decide if you want in or not. We’ll respect your decision either way, of course, but we’ll consider you rivals if you choose to be out.”

“Just like that? Monica asked. “You’re just going to let us walk out of here with something this potentially important?”

Perez nodded. “Yes we are. It’s your decision to make, but I’m pretty confident you’ll make the right one. When you’ve decided where you want to be, in or out, tell Skinner to contact me about, I don’t know, let’s say the Lamarck case. We’ll take it from there.” He stood. “Okay, so, anyone else tired?” he asked. “I have you two booked on an eight a.m. flight out of Veracruz, and it’s already after two am. What say we all hit the sack? Or would you rather spend the night in those chairs?”

“Bobby, wait, ” Monica said. “I – what – how do I fit in here? You said I was in this up to my neck, but -”

Perez nodded. “You are,” he said.

“How?” she asked.

“You’re very closely associated, for good or ill, with Mulder and Dr. Scully. If you aren’t already on everyone’s radar, you soon will be. Therefore – – ” He let the sentence hang as he helped Vetkova back to her feet.

“Oh,” Monica said. “That’s it?”

“Well, no, not exactly.” Perez shook his head. “I think maybe we’re family. Distant cousins, at least.”

Monica frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You were adopted,” he said.

“By my paternal grandparents,” she said. “After my parents died.”

Perez shook his head. “Before that.”

“What? Before that? What?”

“Monica,” Perez picked up another folder. “You’re going to want to read this.”

* * *

Scully found Mulder in the study, all bed-head and crumpled tee- shirt and boxer briefs, peering through his glasses at the computer screen.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry if I woke you.”

Scully cinched her bathrobe belt a little tighter. “S’okay,” she said with a yawn. “It’s past time I was up, anyway.”

“It’s barely six-thirty,” Mulder replied, “and it’s a no-school day for you, Skinner’s orders. His lordship is still sleeping, and I can handle him when he finally does wake up. Go back to bed, Scully. You still look beat.”

Scully dropped down onto the couch, and, in spite of herself, yawned again. She’d been home three days, but yes, she was still tired. “I’m fine,” she said.

Mulder rolled his eyes and turned back to the screen.

“I am,” she said. “Really.”

“Okay,” he said. “There’s coffee in the carafe if you want some. It’s not too old. And don’t say I didn’t offer on the extra sleep thing.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. “You going through the data again?”

Mulder nodded. “This is amazing stuff. Years of work. I can’t believe they just gave it to you.”

Scully shrugged. “I know, but -”

“No,” Mulder interrupted. “I mean I really can’t believe they just ‘gave’ it to you. I keep thinking there has to be a catch.”

“There is a catch.” Scully frowned. “They want to use William as a pin cushion.”

Mulder stopped scrolling. “Not exactly,” he said. “As much as anything, they want to share information. They wouldn’t want any more blood than we’ve been talking about drawing anyway. And they’ve already been down a lot of avenues of research that we haven’t even thought about. And from what I can tell, we have information that would complement theirs quite nicely. Partnering with them could save us both a lot of time and grief. And Bobby, he’s always been a stand-up guy. It just seems, I don’t know, a little too generous.”

Scully nodded. “Perez said he thought some of the other factions were getting desperate. Irina and he want to protect their daughter. Their generosity is probably motivated by enlightened self-interest.”

“Isn’t just about everything, in the end?” Mulder asked. “This is wild about Monica.”

“Yeah,” she said, take a moment to stretch. “No one had ever bothered to tell her she’d been adopted. Or, well, they told her, but they figured telling her once covered all instances, I guess.”

“So she’s Huecha,” Mulder said. “And she’s immune. And she’s been right here, being her weird little self, all this time.”

“Half-Huecha, but fully immune, yes, and willing to be stuck like a voodoo doll. Excellent qualities in a friend. And you’ve got some nerve calling anyone weird.”

“It’s a small, strange world, Scully. And it seems to be getting smaller and stranger.”

“Just when I was beginning to think there was no stranger for it to get.”

“And surprise! Phoebe’s dirty,” Mulder mumbled. “Or her associates are. Who didn’t see that coming?”

“You didn’t,” she answered.

“Yeah, but you did, so at least our bases were covered,” he replied.

She slumped back into the sofa, and, tilting her head back, stared up at the ceiling. “So what do you think we should do?”

Mulder turned in his chair. “Have breakfast,” he suggested. “I’m jonesing for some French Toast. I’ll even cook.”

“Goof. I meant about Perez and Vetkova.”

“Goof? Goof?! Me? How dare you.”

It was Scully’s turn to roll her eyes, so she did. “You’re nuts.”

Mulder’s brows rose. “I am? Gee, no one’s ever even suggested that before.”

“Go figure.” She was struck again by how nice it was to be able to sit like this, trade quips and make small talk and discuss saving the world in the comfort of their own home, with dirty dishes in the sink and their son sleeping just a few feet away. Sometimes she still felt like she should pinch herself, like she should be pinching herself every minute of every day. They’d been through plenty, sacrificed plenty, but they’d gotten plenty in return. She’d forgotten that, occasionally, but she didn’t plan to forget it again.

“Seriously,” she said after a moment.

“Seriously, Scully, despite my minor misgivings, I think we want to be in. Or at least want to explore being in. I think we should contact Bobby. I think we need to talk.”

“Me too,” she said.

“Then we’re agreed,” he said, “French Toast now, saving the world after breakfast.”

“Sounds good,” Scully said as she stretched again. “And who knows,” she drawled, “maybe we can, I don’t know, find time to squeeze a little something in between the breakfast and the world-saving, hmmm?”

Mulder’s brows rose, then he closed his eyes tightly and crossed his fingers. “Please don’t let her say laundry, please don’t let her say laundry, please don’t let her say laundry,” he chanted. He opened his eyes, looking at her expectantly.

“Laundry!”

Mulder glowered. “You are a cruel, cruel woman, Dana Scully.”

She nodded. “I am. But you love me anyway.”

“More than anything,” he said sincerely, his words bringing a sudden surge of emotion. ‘But you know that.”

Scully swallowed. “I do,” she said. . So feed me, already, and then we can get to the good stuff.”

Mulder didn’t have to be told twice.

The End.

No, really.

–––––––––—

OK, not really. It was the end. There are even end credits. These have now been moved the new end for better flow.

Continue now to “Memoirs of Care, Recollections of Trust”

— x-libris

–––––––––—

Memoirs of Care, Recollections of Trust

From: [email protected]

Date: 30 Mar 2004 08:59:47 -0000

Subject: MEMOIRS OF CARE, by The TruthSeekers (1/8), MSR, AU, R by Jacquie LaVa; The Truthseekers

Memoirs of Care, Recollections of Trust
by The TruthSeekers

MSR, romance, angst

Rating: G through R

Spoilers: Seasons One through Nine; Post-Truth, Future fic

Dedication: This story has been created as a gift for two very valued friends and list members: Sallie and Carol. Every author who has contributed to this collaboration has been touched by their constant caring, friendship – and wonderful beta skills. These ladies are so dear to us and we wanted to show them how much we appreciate them, and so we have created an X-story that shows the many different ways that Mulder, Scully and other X-characters have cared for and have helped each other, through nine seasons.

TruthSeeker Author Roll Call:

Prologue and between-chapter storyline written by Jacquie LaVa. Epilogue written by Avalon. Chapters, in order, written by: Jacquie LaVa, Shoshana, Erin Blair, ML, Rae, Mimic117, ML, Oracle, Shelba, Piper, Fibbie, Gina Rain, Donna, Lynn Saunders, xphilernj, Spangle, RowanD, Tess, diehard, Maggie, Wylfcynne, Deia, Bertha.

Beta Thanks: To Lidia and Aly C, for their careful beta and enthusiastic cheering and thumbs-up!

Story Cheerleaders: Toniann, Gail, Marybeth (Raven), Lara Means

Additional Notes and Thanks at End –

Summary: Nine years of partnership and trust, a small lifetime of love… Mulder and Scully truly have it all…

---

“Memoirs of Care, Recollections of Trust”

–– Prologue ––

The small room is drafty and the pipes in the ceiling rattle when steam pumps through them. The windows are dingy and the area rug threadbare, there’s a crack in the scarred table that sits on four unsteady legs and hosts three mismatched chairs. The bed is lumpy and the pillows hold a faint trace of mildew and residual hair pomade.

But it’s their room and they treasure it. They understand the luck of having it, when they could have been stuck in officer’s quarters, a compilation of twin beds and unisex shower stalls. They could have had to share, for there have been a few married couples before them who’ve had to endure acting out the single life. Rank does have its own small perks, he supposes.

That, and seniority. They’ve got plenty of it, having been in the thick of it from Day One.

He sits on the edge of the bed and stretches his sore and stiff muscles. In a few hours he’ll start his shift. She’ll follow after, two hours later. It’s a strange rotation but they’re used to it, and usually they can get a minute or so to themselves after midnight mess is over. Sometimes when it’s cold and nasty outside, she brings him coffee, and a bit of her break time.

They’ve learned to grab what they can, when they can get it.

Next to him in the undersized double bed, her body is a delicate and warm reminder of all that he counts good in his life. Her hair is tangled and obscures most of her face and her feet are icy against his hip. As usual she’s commandeered most of the blankets and also as usual, he doesn’t mind. For her comfort he’d gladly go cold. For her safety and well-being he’d willingly sacrifice his.

It has always been that way between them, almost from the very first.

He wanted to give her the world. He wanted to give her children, a comfortable home, a rich and satisfying life. She deserved the very best, and he would have done anything to see that she got those good things. But it never seemed to matter to her. All she wanted was to be his partner, his friend… years later, his lover, and then his wife. Able to give her the one thing he felt she could have done without – himself – he freely admits she deserved more. If he’d been taken out of their equation perhaps she would have eventually met a man who’d have been able to offer her what she deserved.

Instead, she sleeps next to him in a drafty old bunker, on a bed whose springs are a mattress pad away from poking up through their backs. She eats too little protein and bathes in sometimes-rusty water that smells of bad eggs. She burns in the summer swelter and freezes in the winter glaze.

And he would kill anyone who tried to take her from his side. He would die tomorrow if his death were an assurance of her continued life.

“Come back to bed.”

Her murmur is a drowsy breath of sound behind him, and her hand drifts over the small of his back. He turns to smile at her in the dim room and his gaze is as quietly worshipful as always.

“You should try getting more sleep, baby. It’s gonna be a very long night.” He brushes stray curls from her forehead, then leans in to press a kiss there. When both her hands grasp at him and topple his body over hers, he chuckles and lets himself fall on her. The air in the room is chilly but he doesn’t bother pulling up the covers. They can keep each other warm.

Her answering grin is cheeky as she quips, “How can I sleep when I have this weight pinning me down? Not only that, but it’s got this… splinter… poking into me.”

“A splinter, huh? You’re sure feisty for such a skinny little squirt.” The gentle insults are as familiar and as easy between them as breathing. He drops his face onto the pillow next to hers, and they spin out endless seconds just staring at each other. He whispers, “You’re so pretty. Every time I look at you, I see something else that reminds me of how utterly pretty you are.”

She shakes her head in instant denial. “I’m not. You’re dreaming, my love. Or else blind. One of the two.”

“Nope. I’m madly in forever lust with the only woman who could whup my ass with one hand tied behind her, then soothe all my aches with two blue eyes and a smile made in heaven.” He waits for her reaction, knowing exactly what she’ll say.

She doesn’t disappoint him. “Gack! Where do you come UP with this sap? And why do I have the feeling I’m being set up for coffee detail, when it’ll be the coldest out on line?”

“Because you are. And because I don’t want to go for twelve hours without seeing those blue eyes… and of course, the coffee. Gotta have my priorities straight.”

“Oh, of course.”

They snuggle together in silence, both smiling at their combined silliness and both grateful as can be that in this dark place in their lives they can find those daily rays of happiness. As she idly sifts slender fingers through the shaggy hair at the nape of his neck, she observes, “You’re in a good mood today. I’m glad. Last few days, you’ve seemed down. Overly quiet. Deep in thought, too. And I have a feeling I know why.”

He sighs; it’s tough keeping his morose feelings from her. After all these years together, she just knows him too well.

It’s an anniversary, of sorts. Oh, he doesn’t remember the exact date. Mostly it’s the time of year; the season. For some reason it’s hit him harder this year than any in their past. Probably because they’ve faced more danger, had more very close calls. They’re both older, tougher, stronger… and yet more weary and thus fragile as hell some of the time. Like these past few days.

She deserves so much more than her present lot in life, he thinks, as he strokes her bright hair and enjoys the feel of her bare skin pressed up against his. A small oasis in another long, draining day; another in a series of days that will link together in weeks and then months, until it becomes another year to think back on, and remember that once again he wished he’d been able to give her the world. A normal world, that is… not the madness outside the dingy window of their old and drafty bunker.

“Mulder, stop it.” Her firm voice startles him out of another escalating funk, and he shakes himself a little, lets her cup his cheek and turn his face toward her.

He pretends innocence. “Stop what?”

A huffy sigh. “I’m here, with you – quite willingly. I wouldn’t change a day of the time we’ve had together. The sacrifices we have made – both of us, Mulder, not just me – have been worth it, for us to stay together.” Her eyes are fierce with love as they hold his. “I remember standing in the rain with you, and understanding where your logic, in that brilliant thinkpad brain of yours, was coming from. I remember how happy it made me when I took that leap and connected those dots.

“And, Mulder… never have I had a day since then that I didn’t feel loved and cared for. Even when we disagreed, when we were split up and off the Files, you took care of me. Trusted me. Let me close enough to learn to trust you.” Her hand catches his neck and she tugs him down for a kiss of passion and of promise. Their lips cling for long seconds, before she releases him and buries her damp mouth against his ear.

Her broken voice entreats, “Remember, Mulder? Remember even when suspicion was all around us, still we kept our heads and hearts; still we believed. We trusted. We cared…”

––

–– Chapter One ––

Cold Comfort By Jacquie LaVa

Spoilers: “Ice”

The relief she feels when her hands-on examination reveals firm, smooth, normal flesh… it almost sends her to her knees. The last few hours just about killed her. Running through her exhausted brain throughout the testing and the waiting, had been bitter regret.

She’d pulled a gun on her partner, her friend. Forced herself to allow niggling doubt to escalate into full-blown mistrust. She’d felt actual pain when he’d slowly lowered his arm, dropped his gun… docilely allowing himself to be led to the storeroom and locked in. He’d done it all based on his trust for her.

Where had her own trust escaped to?

Her eyes meet his and in them she can see a mirror of the relief she feels, tempered with residual resentment. Of course he’s right to feel that way. She let the situation they’d found themselves facing get to her. She’d allowed it to drain away her common sense where this man is concerned. She feels miserable about it, but at least they’re both all right. Uninfected. They now have to face the consequences of the mistrust, and try to convince the last remaining members of the team that one of them might very well be the infected host.

Piece of cake, right?

The smile that flickers briefly over her face as she turns to open the door dies off in a hurry when he reaches out with both hands and grabs her. Warm, large and demanding, his fingers tug at the loose collar of her flannel shirt; one palm presses against her cheek, cautioning her to remain still. Shock itself seems to take care of that… she’s frozen in place. And she knows he’s searching for signs of infection. She knows his touch is nothing less than scientific.

But heat radiates from each of his sensitive fingertips and his breathing has accelerated, as he rubs and probes at her nape, the starting slope of both shoulders. She trembles and she knows he has to feel that, too. He’s never touched her bare skin like this.

As soon as his hands leave her neck her shoulders sag. She’s certain he can hear the pounding of her heart. Before she can tug her shirt back into place he’s spinning her around to face him – and it seems to take forever for her eyes to meet his, so strongly does she feel as though she’d betrayed him, hours ago.

But when she finally looks up, steeling herself to accept whatever condemnation she can see in his eyes… all she can discern is overwhelming concern and caring. Her vision blurs alarmingly; then her breath actually backs up in her lungs in shock… for he’s yanking on her shoulders and dragging her into his arms, holding her tightly, his face buried in her hair, his body bowed over hers protectively.

The words he repeats over and over are coated in an emotion-laden rasp. “Okay, you’re okay, we’re both okay…”

She nods into his chest as her arms slowly encircle his waist. Not trusting her voice to come out in any kind of normal tone, she just nods again, both hands fisted in the soft cotton covering his back and her legs threatening to buckle beneath her. They remain in that position for long moments, taking comfort in the warmth they create between themselves. She doesn’t want to move, ever again. Doesn’t want to open the door and step out into that leftover madhouse, for it’s far from finished. There’s a killer beyond that door, an innocent victim of an unknown entity that cannot control what it has become. They still have to face it down… but at least they’ll face it together.

With one last shuddering breath she steps away from his warmth, holding his eyes as this time her smile blooms honest and open across her weary face. He answers it with one of his own, a wide grin that’s pure Mulder. She hasn’t seen it much lately and now understands just how much she’s missed it.

Retaining one of her hands, Mulder gives it a gentle squeeze and lets her pull him toward the door. Just before it opens, she glances up at him and nods in approval of the ‘thumbs-up’ sign he gives her.

They’re okay. They’re ready to take it on, whatever it will take to bring this situation under control safely, without further loss of life. She’s so glad to have him by her side, right then, right that minute, right where he belongs.

So glad.

“You ready, Scully?”

She nods again. “I’m ready.”

“Then let’s blow this popsicle stand. Let’s go slay the ice-worm.”

“I’m already there, Mulder.”

––

His hand rests on her tender nape. Likewise her palm has found the back of his neck and is cupped there, protecting him. Though it happened many years ago, recalling those frightening hours has shaken them both. So early in their careers, and yet they hung on. Something like that might have decimated any other partnership.

But not theirs.

“We’re stronger when we’re together, Mulder. It’s always been that way. Sometimes I’d think of us as two imperfect halves of one perfect whole. In those early years we had more than one opportunity to give it up, give in. But we didn’t.”

He strokes her back. “No, we didn’t. And we built strength upon strength along the way. You were so much of what I needed, what I still need, Scully…”

––

–– Chapter 2 ––

A Friend in Need By Shoshana
Spoilers: Fallen Angel

“Coming!”

Mulder grabs hold of one crutch and limps to the door of his apartment. She still doesn’t have a key; maybe he ought to amend that situation soon.

“Hey, Scully. What’s in the bag? Why the special trip over here? Making sure I’m being a good boy?”

Scully reacts to the barrage of question by scrutinizing him closely; he can tell she’s not happy. He hops back to the sofa and she sits down at the opposite end, avoiding an unknown substance which may or may not be pepperoni.

“You should be using both crutches, Mulder,” she responds, frowning at the pizza boxes and soft drinks cluttering the coffee table. She continues to survey his environment, taking in the stray items of clothing, a pile of Celebrity Skin magazines, and a stack of what looks to be rented videos.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I was in a hurry to get to the door and see you, Scully. Haven’t seen anyone all weekend.”

“You could have called. The only reason I’m here now is that you managed to avoid all my direct questions earlier. I had a hunch you were living on takeout and root beer.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. I’ve had sprained ankles before. I’m fine.”

She smiles at his use of a familiar phrase. “Sure you are. Your apartment is a pig sty and you can barely make it to the bathroom. Let me check that ankle. I’ll bet you overdid it after you came home from the hearing.”

“Nah!” He shakes his head in reaction to her dubious expression. “I’ve been either on this sofa or in the john since I got home. Well, I did answer the door several times for pizza delivery, but otherwise-”

Scully closes her eyes in mild exasperation. “I wish you had asked for my help earlier. Good thing I can sense these things over the phone. How did you get all those borrowed videos? They don’t deliver, do they?”

Mulder, slightly embarrassed that she would even notice, replies sheepishly, “Okay, I made one trip to the video store, Scully. One trip.”

“And?”

Not looking up, he says with a grin, “And one to the Lone Gunmen.”

“And?”

“One to the grocery store—”

“Jeez. That’s three trips in a vehicle you can barely drive, walking around when you should be at home.”

He scratches the back of his head, looking appropriately contrite. She can’t help but smile at him when he says, “I didn’t want to bother you. You’re not my mom or my girl friend—”

“I’m your friend, Mulder. You know you can count on me, don’t you?” She pats the back of the sofa, emphasizing the import of her words.

Mulder dips his head, self-conscious and a little lost for words. He has great trust in this woman, especially after their adventure in the Arctic.

“I… I didn’t think I had the right to impose, Scully.”

“It’s not an imposition. I wish I had thought to come over two days ago.”

“I’ve been okay.”

“No, you haven’t and I don’t like the look of that ankle. So… let’s move some of this debris and prop your foot up on the coffee table so I can get the bandage off. It’s a good thing you have on sweats.”

Mulder raises his eyebrows. “Coming on to me, Scully?” he quips as he helps her move several items to the floor.

She looks to the heavens for strength, ignoring his question and proceeding to unravel the bandage. Mulder grimaces before she can get it free of his ankle and she stops abruptly, looking at him with compassion.

“Just a few more seconds, all right, Mulder?”

He nods his assent, trying to disguise the pain as she finishes her task. He’s unsuccessful; she can see his jaw tighten involuntarily as agony returns.

“I’m going to get some ice from the freezer. And then you are going to stay immobile for the entire night, okay?” she says, her tone of voice brooking no nonsense from her partner.

“Affirmative,” he responds.

He’s still in pain but he’s immensely relieved—not only because she’s here to help him—but because she’s probably not leaving too soon.

––

“You used to drive me absolutely nuts when you pulled crap like that, Mulder.”

“Crap like what? Leaving empty pizza boxes strewn about? Watching lousy flicks? Going tinkle in my very own bathroom?”

She pinches him, hard. “You know what I mean. Not taking care of yourself. Thinking you’re invincible. In other words, acting like a man.”

“Pot and kettle, Scully. That’s all I have to say to you. If I had money for every time you ever said the words, ‘I’m fine,’ to me, I’d be a very rich man and would probably now own Australia.” He props himself up on an elbow and grins down at her, knowing she can’t refute the many times her placid – and untrue – retort drove him equally nuts.

She sighs, “Okay, we’re both a couple of idiots… but you’re my idiot as much as I’m yours. And haven’t we improved over the years, Mulder? These days you hardly self-destruct anymore, and it’s been several years – well, months – since I’ve uttered ‘I’m fine’ to you.”

“It’s because we’re older and wiser. It’s because now more than ever we know the true value of human life… its rarity and how easily it can all vanish at the snap of a finger or two. We’ve both lost so much, baby… but we’ve gained a hell of a lot, too.”

“I concur on your reasoning concerning the ‘older’ part. I don’t know how much wiser I’ve become.” She cuddles closer to him and glides a caressing palm over his cheek, gazing up into hazel eyes that have not dimmed in beauty one bit since the first day she saw him. “I only know that for so many years, I’ve had the honor of your care and protection, your strength and your honesty. It saved me more than once, Mulder… saved my sanity. More than once…”

––

–– Chapter 3 ––

Care By Erin M. Blair
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Beyond The Sea

Ever since her father passed away, Scully has felt the denial striking at her from all sides.

She still feels numb.

She can’t feel the pain that sweeps through her body. *Ahab can’t possibly be gone,* she thinks as she gets out of her car to visit Mulder. She needs to be with Mulder now. She can’t breathe. It’s still hard for her to go through the motions of every day living.

All she wants to do is to go home and look at photo albums, to see her father when he was alive. She knows the first stages of grief: denial, anger, etc. She is certainly in the denial stage. When her mother called her at home a week ago, the numbness started to flow through her. She still remembers how rattled she felt when she saw the ghostly image of her father, sitting in her chair, his mouth uttering words that she couldn’t make sense of. All she knows is that her father, her Ahab, is gone from a massive coronary.

Scully remembers that her father was trying to tell her something important, something that needed to be said. For the days that followed, until now, she thought her father disapproved of her decision to become an FBI agent and felt she should have started a medical practice. She foolishly believed that he didn’t love her anymore after their heated argument.

As she turns the knob to Mulder’s hospital room, she knows that she made the right decision not to see Luther Boggs. She knows the truth – – the knowledge of her father’s love was there all along.

Scully walks into the hospital room, looking at her partner. He’s in bed, recovering from the gun shot wound. She carefully sits down on the foot of his bed, looking at him. She is thankful that he is alive, knowing that he is going to be fine.

“Scully, I thought you were going to see Boggs.”

“I… I wanted to see you, Mulder.”

“I’m glad to see you, Scully. But you could have known the truth…”

Her mind keeps replaying the events in her head. “I was considering Boggs. If he knew that I… I was your partner, he could have found out everything he knew about me. About my father…”

“Scully?”

She rises and paces around his bed. When she looks into Mulder’s eyes she sees the concern ringing his features. All she wants to do is to make sense of the whole thing, to deny her experience, and to deny losing her father. “‘Beyond the Sea’ was playing at my parents’ wedding. Visions of deceased loved ones are a common psychological phenomena. If he knew that…”

Mulder interrupts her. His voice is full of compassion for her. He’d like nothing better than to take the pain away. He knows why she came to him, to escape the knowledge of her father’s death, to escape from hearing her father’s last words for her. “Dana, after all you’ve seen, after all the evidence, why can’t you believe?”

She draws a deep breath, and she sits back down on his bed. She knows the truth — that she is scared of what she could have found out from Boggs. She doesn’t want to hear the words, for the fear is too great for her. She isn’t strong enough to believe. Maybe in a few years, she will be able to believe.

But now?

She doesn’t feel like she can. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid to believe.”

“You couldn’t face that fear. Even if it meant never knowing what your father wanted to tell you?”

“But I do know.”

“How?”

Scully looks at him, realizing that she doesn’t need Luther Boggs to convey what her father wanted to tell her. She already knows what he wanted to say to her, that he’s proud of her. Her father has always loved her every day of her life. Nothing will ever change that.

“He was my father.”

Mulder nods and puts his hand on her shoulder, giving her the comfort she needs. “It’s all you need to know, Scully. He was your father.” A pause. “How are you holding up?”

“I don’t know. It’s positively unreal. When I go to my parents’… well, Mom’s house, I still expect to see him. I expected him there,” she repeats. She can feel Mulder’s hand on her shoulder. She draws comfort from that warmth flowing through her body; the numbness seems to be easing.

But the pain remains in her heart. She doesn’t want Mulder to see her weakening. A solitary tear flows down her cheek and she immediately wipes it away. A dam of tears is threatening to burst, but she doesn’t want to cry, not until she is in the safety of her apartment.

Mulder gently strokes Scully’s cheek with his hand. “I wish I could take all the pain away, Scully. I remember when I lost Samantha. I couldn’t talk; I couldn’t even breathe. All I could feel was the guilt over losing her. I never told her that I loved her. At least you had the years of telling him you loved him. Treasure those memories. They’ll always be with you forever.”

She seems to be touched by these compassionate words from Mulder. He helps her to understand that her father will always live on with her. “Mulder…”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll always be with you, Scully. I care for you. Don’t you know that? We’ve come a long way since you stepped into my office. You’ve challenged me every step of the way. Before, I thought you were a spy; you quickly changed my opinion of you. The more I come to know you as a person, the more I come to like you. You’re a great agent.” He gives a short pause as he gazes into his partner’s eyes. He wants to give her a hug, but decides against the idea considering that he’s still hooked up to the machines. That, and the fact that Scully never seems to care for being touched. “I’m glad you’re my partner.”

“I’m glad you’re mine, Mulder.” She looks at her watch and then stands, reluctantly. “It’s almost time for me to leave.”

“You know, I’ll be released in a few days, Scully. I need you to take care of me when I’m released. The doctors don’t want anything to happen to me… if I’m alone in my apartment.”

“Mulder…”

“Well?”

She gives him the first real smile that day, the first since her father died. The smile gives the both of them promise that things between them are easing up. “All right. I don’t think it’s wise of you to recover at your apartment. You can stay in the guest room at my apartment.”

They say their goodbyes as the hospital’s intercom announces the end of visiting hours. As Scully walks out of her partner’s room, she realizes how lucky she is to have a wonderful friend in Mulder. Although she will never get over her father’s death, she finally knows that she has Mulder and her family to help her in the following months ahead.

And it will be a long road ahead of her.

Scully swings open the hospital’s double doors. It is dark outside; chilly for a cool December night. She knows she has to cling to the notion that she will find the strength she needs to survive.

The tears she so desperately held back are threatening to fall down her cheeks. Once inside her car, she lets them flow like a cleansing river.

––

Watery light is filtering through the old blinds at the window. He’s pulled the covers up over them, not bothering for once to look at the clock. He knows they still have some time before they have to rise and start their evening. He also knows that if he’s late, his watch will be covered, no questions asked. It’s a grim tasking they all face, day after day. Some days are more grim than others. When one of them needs more time to regroup, to stabilize… the others are happy to pitch in and assure each has what they need to keep going, to stay strong.

Right now Scully feels the need to assure HIM. Every now and then the burden of their collective pasts comes pushing down on him, and she can almost taste the recrimination he carries, even after so many years. That particular flavor is not unfamiliar to her, for she’s had her share. Each time, he’s been her anchor. He’s put his very health at risk, to be that anchor for her.

And when in return all he asked of her was to support his belief, even when in her heart she wasn’t sure what to accept… she brought that trust to the surface and kept them both afloat.

––

–– Chapter 4 ––

Playbook by ML
Spoilers: Tooms

Even though he asked her to come, Mulder doesn’t expect to see Scully until suddenly she’s there, opening the passenger door.

He’s very grateful for his partner’s care. He’s spent so much time alone, he’s still getting used to the idea of someone sharing the burden. Even when she disagrees with him, she backs him up, and he never expected to have that on this detail.

The air in the car is ripe with possibilities as they discuss the case and Mulder’s unorthodox methods. Scully’s heart goes out to her stubborn, driven partner. She can see how tired he is. She can also see he won’t give up.

She’s been quoting regulations at him so much the past couple of days he’s started quoting back chapter and verse. She knows it annoys him, but she hopes some of it might sink in. She fears for him, for his job of course but more viscerally, for his safety.

She keeps trying to maintain the balance between personal and professional with Mulder, but she’s come to care for her partner in ways she is only vaguely conscious of. She won’t let herself think too much about this.

Nonetheless, his first name slips off her lips as she tries to reason with him. His reaction is immediate and quelling. “Mulder,” he corrects her, then more softly, “Mulder.”

So he’s aware of it as well. He spins some line about making his parents call him Mulder, but she sees right through him. She doesn’t call him on it, though. He’s right; better to maintain professionalism. Maybe she also needs the barrier of last names.

The next moment he disarms her with his concern for her. Despite his own disregard for the rules, he doesn’t expect her to go down with him. It doesn’t matter. She’s already decided whose side she’s on. It’s high time she told him.

“I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anyone but you,” she says.

The atmosphere inside the car has gone from ripe to charged. As soon as the words leave her lips, she realizes that what she’s said could be interpreted in a variety of ways, not all of them acceptable. From the look on Mulder’s face, he realizes this, too.

Oh, Scully, Mulder thinks. Now you’ve gone and done it. How can I get out of this and still maintain my cool exterior? Do I even want to?

Scully sees Mulder’s expression soften and he starts to speak. She’s not sorry she said the words. Not yet, anyway. In a moment she’ll know for sure.

Is that panic he sees on her face? Not Scully. He sees surprise at hearing her own words, something resembling regret, and just a spark of… something more before she gets hold of herself. She manages not to touch his hand as she hands over his drink.

“If there’s iced tea in there, could be love,” he says, giving her a mock-sultry look. His lips hover over the straw, giving her a chance to reply.

He’s giving her a chance to back down, she realizes. “Must be fate, Mulder,” she says gamely with a trace of real disappointment. “Root beer.”

He makes his own little gesture of regret. She knows he will discover the truth as soon as he tastes his drink.

Scully goes back to her car to continue the stakeout alone as Mulder drives away. He finishes his iced tea before he’s a block away.

They will both think of this night from time to time. Not as a missed opportunity, but as an acknowledgment, and as a promise for the future.

––

“Could be love, baby.”

She grins at him. “Yes, it could be. Do you have any idea how hard my heart was pounding when you said that to me? With all of your teasing and innuendoes, you had me going more than once.”

“Good. Kept you on your toes. A good FBI agent lives on their toes. Or in your case, those damned sexy three and four inch ‘fuck me’ heels…”

“I hope they drove you mad with lust, Agent Mulder.”

Cheeky, in the extreme, he thinks – and he adores her when she is, absolutely adores her when she can manage to keep all of the monsters at bay simply by being herself, the tough professional with the tender heart. The one who understands his need to joke and make light of life when it’s at its utter worst.

They have seen its worst… and come out on top, simply by being there for one another.

––

–– Chapter 5 ––

Life With The Lights On By Rae
Spoilers: Irresistible

January, 1995

Safe. It’s a word so many take for granted. Parents often slay the closet and under-bed demons to allay their children’s fears. But once a person outgrows the footy pajamas, there is little in life that actually causes teeth-chattering, bed-wetting fear.

Scully isn’t afraid. To be so would mean that she isn’t strong; that she isn’t capable of doing her job with the utmost professional detachment. And that is unacceptable.

Long after the police leave and the EMTs pack up their unused medical kits, Scully stands in the darkened house, enveloped in Mulder’s arms. She had stopped shaking about the same time that her legs went numb, but is loathe to leave the comfort and support of Mulder’s embrace.

Her sobs have quieted, leaving her eyes dry and itchy. She’s reluctant to speak, sure her voice will warble and crack. Instead, she takes a deep breath and gently unwinds her arms from around Mulder’s middle.

She looks up at him, bracing herself for the look of pity she is sure will be etched on his face. As she raises her eyes, Mulder gently takes her face between his hands. He uses a moment to study her, making sure she isn’t going to break down again, reaches behind her and unties the scarf that Pfaster had used to gag her, hanging around her neck.

“The scratches don’t look too bad, Scully. I still would have felt better if you’d have let the EMTs check you out, but I think you’ll live.”

He smiles to encourage her, but she feels the chill of death run down her spine, nonetheless. She has once again escaped its grasping claws, but doesn’t want to tempt fate with ill-considered jokes.

“I’ll put some antibiotic cream on them. I’m sure I’ve got something in my bag at the hotel.”

“Let’s get going, then.”

They arrive back at the motel long after all the other guests have given up on the night, conceding to sleep.

Scully stands motionless while Mulder unlocks her door. Once inside, she walks through the small room, methodically turning on every light – including the red heat lamp in the bathroom.

Forgetting that Mulder is still standing in the open doorway, Scully opens the water taps, letting hot water spill into the tub, steaming the room almost immediately. She stands under the spray for eons, hoping to wash the evil away with the dirt that swirls down the drain. When the water begins to run cold, she shuts off the faucet and wraps herself in a flimsy towel that has been bleached again and again in a vain attempt to disinfect the grime of day-to-day people passing through.

When she emerges, all pink and shiny from her shower, Scully notices that Mulder has retreated to his own room, but left the connecting door ajar – in case she wants to talk, she supposes. She ignores the invitation. Wrapped only the wet towel, she leaves all the lights on and crawls between the sheets. She isn’t afraid of the dark, but knows she has a better chance of defending herself if she can see her attacker.

~~~~~~

The flight home is uneventful. Scully has been too preoccupied with focusing inward to remember that she’s afraid of flying. She has Mulder drop her at home, assuring him she’s fine and just needs to get some sleep. He promises to take care of the report this time and tells her he’ll see her at the office in the morning.

Even though it’s two in the afternoon, the apartment is too dark, so she repeats a ritual started just the night before, walking through each room and turning on every lamp she owns. With the place so bright, she notices the dust that has been collecting for weeks. Three hours later, her suitcase is unpacked, her fridge is clean, her apartment Pine-Sol fresh, and despite her overwhelming fatigue, Scully can’t sleep. It’s too early for bed, anyway, she tells herself. Even if she hadn’t slept a wink the night before.

She pulls her gun out of her nightstand drawer, wraps an old blanket around her shoulders and sits on the sofa, facing the door. Whatever decides to come and get her, she’s prepared this time.

When her phone trills she jumps, just a little, before reaching out for the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Scully.”

“Mulder. What’s goin’ on?”

“I’m hungry.”

“So eat something.”

“Well, that’s the thing. I ordered this pizza – loaded with everything. But there’s no way I can finish it all. Wanna help me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mulder. By the time you got here, it’ll be cold. Just enjoy your dinner while it’s still hot. Hold on a sec. Someone’s at the door.”

Scully opens her front door to Mulder, standing in the hall with a pizza box in his hands. She looks at him like she wants to kill him, so before she can say anything, he launches into his defense.

“I know I said it’s loaded with everything, but I also know that you’ve been cutting back on your meat consumption. So, half the pie is covered with ‘shrooms and green peppers. You know I won’t eat that crap and it would be a waste to throw it away since you they’re your favorite toppings. Whaddya say?”

She stands there for a moment making him squirm as she decides whether or not to let him in. There are still so many hours left in the night and she really doesn’t want to spend them alone. Again.

“Come on in, Mulder. I’ll get the plates.”

It’s not because she’s scared, she tells herself. She hasn’t eaten since the bagel she choked down this morning and the pizza smells so damn good.

“Thanks. The place looks great, Scully, but I thought you were going to get some rest.”

“I was resting. Then you came over.”

It’s then that Mulder notices the blanket on the sofa. He also sees her gun sitting on the table, safety off. Well, if resting means standing on guard for the next Creepy, it looks as if Scully is on her way to being well rested.

“Well, you know me and my timing. I brought a movie, too.” Mulder holds up the box so she can read the title.

“‘When Harry Met Sally?’ A pizza from my favorite neighborhood joint safe enough to eat without clogging arteries, AND a movie that appeals to my chick-flick tendencies? What gives, Mulder?” Scully asks as she walks back into the living room with plates and iced tea.

Mulder puts the pizza on the coffee table, pops the tape into the VCR and loads up their plates. He indicates for Scully to sit at one end of the sofa, sits down at the other, and pulls her feet into his lap.

“Nothing gives. I just thought you might need some light, romantic comedy. Something you could watch with the lights on.”

Scully looks at him, prepared to go on the defense. She notices his cautious smile and the way his eyes are pleading with her to just go with it. She nods slightly, picks up her pizza and settles back against the cushions.

The pizza is devoured as the movie plays. Scully even filches one of Mulder’s slices, loaded with everything – including anchovies. When the credits roll, she assures him she’ll be fine. Really. He carries their dishes to the kitchen and says goodnight. She follows him to the door and says ‘thank you’ and he pretends to not know what she’s thanking him for. She locks up the apartment and shuts the lights on her way to her bedroom. She climbs into bed and falls asleep almost instantly.

It was just pizza and a movie. He rubbed her feet and laughed with her. He didn’t ridicule when she cried. And even though he called her bluff, he did it in a way she could live with. And in the end, the results are the same.

She is safe. She has nothing to be afraid of.

––

“Cold?”

She’s burrowed into his side even closer, and the tip of her nose is icy as it presses into his neck. There’s a pathetic excuse for a sun hanging low in the sky, no doubt doing nothing to warm up what has turned out to be one damn cold winter’s day. They have four blankets on their bed, but nothing seems to help when the gaps around the single window and the old metal door let in cold air.

She sighs against his skin. “A little. But I don’t want to get up and bang on the thermostat. I don’t want you to get up, either. Not until we absolutely have to.”

“Nice to know I can be of some use to you, baby. Mulder the furnace. Existing merely to assure you remain one hot mama.”

“Well, I demand a lot of our partnership, you know. More than just food and a roof over my head, such as it is. Besides, you never minded being a human furnace for me, did you? Matter of fact, I remember a time when having me throw my freezing body into your arms made your night.”

“Oh, hell. You’re not gonna bring that up again, are you? Every few years you just have to remind me. Just remember this, Scully: you came to me. You were the one who tried to crawl into my clothes, with me still in them. You were the one who tested the limits of my gentlemanly tendencies.”

Oh, bite me, Mulder…”

“I almost did, if you recall.”

––

–– Chapter 6 ––

Mutualism by Oracle
Spoilers: None

 

www.invidiosa.com/oracle

 

(Special thanks to Jody, for her ideas about season two M&S)

Snow floats through the forest, each flake glinting in the starlight. It settles across Scully’s face and hair, as she breathes it in with the sharp night air, crystals disintegrating on her tongue.

Cold and beautiful, but so fragile, crunching underfoot, crushed into the frozen mud. Come spring, it will all be washed away.

Fragile, beautiful, cold. This is how the other agents see her. She doesn’t know when it started. Maybe with Jack Willis. His ring, presented on bended knee, had shone like faerie gold in the candlelight. A trick, ready to turn into shackles the minute she slid it onto her finger. She couldn’t bring herself to say yes. Five minutes passed by, his hope fading to bitterness, before she fled from the restaurant.

She didn’t do it because she was cold. She did it because she was afraid of becoming cold, of being made hard and brittle by marriage to a man she didn’t love enough. Frozen to the bone, the core.

She’s never liked the cold. The dull prick of it, the tingle in her fingers. The creeping insect-feet feel of rain, the needles of sleet. Even the snow, on a wonderland night like this, brings a painful chill.

~~~~~~

Every year, in mid-winter, the FBI sends a group of agents out into the Virginian wilderness for five days, to participate in a team- building, sharing and caring, love-thy-neighbor retreat, involving the development of survival skills.

Or, as Mulder put it, “A cheerful dose of sadism.”

According to Skinner, members of the group are selected at random. Mulder, of course, blames an international conspiracy. Men who stand around in dark trenchcoats, in dark parking lots at night, muttering through a haze of cigarette smoke—What shall we do with Agent Mulder and his pretty partner this week?

Scully knows she shouldn’t find it amusing. But it’s good to find something amusing, especially at one in the morning, outside in the bitter cold, three hours after the untimely demise of her radiator.

~~~~~~

She is half asleep when it happens. A wheezing cough, followed by a spluttering death rattle. So, she drags herself out of bed, takes a long, hot shower, pulls on five layers of clothing, and uses her blankets as a cocoon.

Nothing is working. The cold seeps through cracks in the material, finding its way to her skin, and then to her heart.

She’s often heard fire described as a living being, a presence. Cold is the same, but more insidious. You can’t see it, as creeps up on you and sinks its icy claws into your skin. You can only feel the grip of it, the itching agony.

After two hours of silent, half-frozen, half-hysterical insomnia, she wraps her worn blankets around her shoulders, pulls on her snowshoes, and strides out into the night, heading for Mulder’s cabin. In her icicle-like state, she vows to sleep on his floor if she has to. She’s willing to hang upside down from his ceiling, blankets folded around her body like batwings, if he’ll let her stay.

~~~~~~

Now that she’s almost there, she’s having second thoughts. Yesterday’s argument is still ringing through her head, and she doesn’t know what to say to him.

After all, she started the fight, using her own irritation as an incendiary device. In the heat of the moment her words seemed justified, but looking back on it now she feels nothing but shards of shame. There’s no excuse for the things she said. There’s a reason, but there’s no excuse. None of this is Mulder’s fault.

Three months were stolen from her, leaving a blank, silent scar in her life. A violation. Her only memories of this time replay as nightmares, forgotten when she jolts awake, chilled and feverish, mumbling prayers.

But she’s managed to keep fighting, side by side with Mulder. Four months have passed since her return, and she hasn’t wasted a day. She refuses to give up. Not because of what they’ve taken from her, but because fundamentally, they’ve taken nothing at all.

Mulder doesn’t see it that way. He sees her weaknesses, now, instead of her strengths. Or at least, that’s how it seems. He hovers, alarmed by her shallowest paper cuts. He was so much easier to handle when he wanted to push her buttons, to push her out of his life. Now he touches her gently, speaking softly, intimately. He looks at her with dark, warm eyes, as though he wants to wrap her in velvet and hide her away.

Before her disappearance, she and Mulder were partners first, then friends. Buddies. Nothing more, nothing less. There wasn’t even a mutual attraction. It was simple and comfortable, and she’d become accustomed to it.

Now, she doesn’t know what to think. It’s as though they’ve become entwined, sharing parts of each other like two trees grown together in a forest. One can’t exist without the other. Their relationship has evolved into something inexplicable. She knows it, he knows it, but they never talk about it.

~~~~~~

Thankfully Mulder is still awake, his lamp casting a pale golden glow through the curtains. She raps twice at the door with her elbow, huddled into herself, shivering.

He gets out of bed, blankets rustling, and pads toward the door. When he reaches it, he stops and hisses, “Scully?”

“Yeah,” she says, teeth chattering, “it’s me.”

When he pulls it open, she automatically steps into his heat, and he wraps his arms around her, embrace stiff with surprise.

“Scully, what’s wrong?”

God, she thinks, nuzzling his shoulder. God, he’s so warm. She hadn’t realized how desperate she was for the feel of him, the sweet warmth of him. She can’t bring herself to speak. It feels too good.

He tightens his hold on her for a moment, rubbing his nose against her hair, dropping a kiss to her temple. Then he reaches behind her, shutting the door and backing her against it.

She closes her eyes as his body presses into hers, all of him against her. Full body contact. She’s never felt this before, and she wishes she wasn’t so exhausted, so overwrought with cold and fatigue. He’s kissing the curve of her ear, and she realizes, groggily, that he’s gotten the wrong idea. Or the right idea.

Either way, she finds herself pushing him away.

“Mulder,” she murmurs, looking up into his dilated pupils. He’s staring at her lips, transfixed, and suddenly she’s terrified. “Mulder, it’s nothing. My heater’s broken.”

A second later he’s expressionless, standing three feet away with downcast eyes, awkward and apologetic. “Scully, I’m -”

With one sharp wave of her hand, she cuts him off. She doesn’t want a continuation of this situation, or a confession, or even an act of contrition. She just wants to sleep and forget.

“I was wondering if I could stay here for tonight. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Mulder chuckles wryly, still not looking at her. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll take the bed, and I’ll take the floor.”

The bed is rumpled with Mulder’s imprint, its blankets tossed carelessly to one side, its sheets crooked and wrinkled. She spies the corner of a glossy magazine, peeking out from beneath the pillows. A dog-eared copy of Kafka’s ‘The Trial’ lies open on the nightstand, next to a pile of sunflower shells. Mulder’s warmth and scent seem to linger over everything, touching everything.

She swallows. “Look, I don’t want to kick you out of bed.”

“Scully…” he replies, shaking his head, “do you really think I’ll let you sleep on the floor?”

This is impossible. Irrational. Insane. In other words, a completely ordinary discussion by their standards, and she isn’t going to back down.

“Do you really think I’ll let you sleep on the floor?”

Mulder turns his eyes to her, catching her in the middle of an open- mouthed yawn.

“Maybe we should both sleep on the floor…” he suggests softly, avoiding the obvious solution.

It’s left up to her, to spell it out. To make it real. She speaks through another yawn, trying to make the words sound casual, “Or maybe we could share the bed.”

Mulder drops his eyes, his mouth turning up at the corners. It’s a flicker of movement, a half-second gesture, but it tells her everything she needs to know.

He wants this. He wants to hold her in his arms, all night long. He doesn’t want words tonight. He wants her heartbeat, her safety, her lifeblood and warmth enfolded with his, until morning. One night of watching over her. One night when he won’t lie awake, wondering, fearing, where she might be.

This is something she can give him. Peace of mind, just for one night. And maybe, one night will make all the difference.

~~~~~~

Scully strips off her extra layers while Mulder neatens and straightens the bed, sliding his magazine behind the mattress when he thinks she isn’t looking.

Then, without glancing at each other, without speaking, they climb in. She on the left, he on the right. They tug up the covers at the same time, quick and nervous, leaving tense, deliberate inches between their bodies. Lying on their backs, staring at the cracked, beige ceiling, they wonder how to proceed.

Mulder reaches over to switch off the lamp.

The starlight-streaked darkness makes everything simpler.

When they reach out for each other, her wrist catches his nose, his thumb pokes her belly, and they laugh, softly, before they are holding, circling one another. Breathing together.

He kisses across her forehead, telling her everything about how much he cares for her, how much he needs her, with the sweet, slow press of his lips. She responds by nuzzling in further, holding him closer, and she hopes he understands. She feels the same way.

Pressed to his heartbeat, for the first time in years she feels truly, completely warm. Her lips curl up at the corners, and she realizes just how much she wanted this, needed this, too.

––

“What are you thinking? You have this little crease right between your eyes.”

He shakes his head, unwilling to say, knowing that if he starts mentioning names the delicate balance of blame versus honor she’s trying to eradicate will just tilt back into the negative shadows. Besides, it’s not as if it’s the first time he’s kept his thoughts from her. He’s already feeling that old burden, felt it today as he does each day. He’s usually better at hiding it.

It’s just right now, this moment… with her hair tumbling over one shoulder in a mass of waves and curls, and the daylight slanting in just the right way across the bed… she looks so much like –

“My sister. Am I right? Don’t deny it, Mulder. And don’t think that after all this time I can’t read you like a book.”

He sighs and cuddles her closer, one hand combing through her hair. “Yes. I was. Don’t ask me why, Scully. I suppose I could say your hair reminded me. It’s gotten so long, and I know what little humidity we get around here really brings out the curl in it. Mostly I guess it’s because I’m remembering a few times when talking about incidents in our past kept us focused in the present.”

“Mulder, I don’t mind remembering, not about family. I want to remember them. I want to recall the fun things we did, the love we felt as a family unit. I want you to do the same, for I know all your family reminisces weren’t painful. Your mother played with you and your sister; you told me. Your dad did things with you, too. I remember swapping family tales with you, more than once. I remember those tales gave me no small measure of comfort.”

“Right back at you, Scully. Your memories of sibling antics always made me smile…”

––

–– Chapter 7 ––

One Another’s Best By Mimic117
Spoilers: Paper Clip

He finds her at their bench, the one where he’d met her mother while Scully was missing. The one where the former partners talked in secret when they were officially separated. They had each retreated here at different times in the past, seeking solitude while their newest emotional wound began to knit closed.

She’d been restless all day, unable to settle on one task; edgy, snappish. He’d known it was too soon for her to be back at work after losing her sister, but she insisted — as he knew she would. When she announced her desire to take a long lunch, Mulder knew that she was planning to go off and brood. He also knew she really shouldn’t be alone.

That was over an hour ago. So he’s come looking for her, hoping that he can at least be there if she needs someone to lean on.

“Is this seat taken?”

She shakes her head but doesn’t look at him as he sits down.

The sun reflects off the water, filling their silence with dazzling light that doesn’t quite reach into the shadows of their thoughts. The quiet stretches out for minutes on end, not uncomfortable, but not restful, either. It startles him when she finally speaks.

“I miss her, Mulder.”

He places his hand on her sleeve.

“I know.”

She breathes in raggedly once, regaining control almost immediately. Then she clears her throat before speaking again.

“Missy and I liked to play games when we were supposed to be sleeping. It drove our parents crazy.”

She doesn’t say any more for several seconds, so he turns toward her and asks, “What kind of games?”

The corner of her mouth quirks up, just the tiniest bit. No one else would notice, but he does.

“Stupid games, really. I think all we wanted to do is prove that we didn’t have to listen to them.”

He nods.

“Yeah, Samantha and I used to do that, too. We thought our parents didn’t know what we were up to, but we were just fooling ourselves.”

Scully looks over at him finally, the quirk in her lips a little bigger.

“There was this one game we really liked. We’d play it for hours, until Mom got fed up and yelled at us to go to sleep. Then we’d lie in bed and giggle together until we dropped off in mid-giggle.”

She stops talking and waits. She knows his curiosity won’t let her quit, and he doesn’t disappoint her.

“So fess up. What was this special game? Was it something kinky?”

Her eyebrow rises as high as it can go.

“We were kids, Mulder. Of course it wasn’t kinky.”

“A guy can hope, can’t he?”

She huffs a small laugh, the first she’s produced in days. Exactly the reaction he was looking for.

“So what was this innocent game?” he asks.

She turns back to face the gleaming water, but the quirk grows into a genuine smile.

“For a long time, we shared an old bed that was higher off the floor than most beds. When we first got it, I needed a step-stool to climb onto the mattress.”

She glances over at him and says, “Don’t even think about it.”

His wide, innocent eyes don’t fool her, but he doesn’t say anything, so she looks back at the water and continues.

“First, we’d throw our pillows on the floor to one side of the bed. Then, we would cross our legs into the lotus position, like you’d do for yoga, and try to scoot off the bed without letting our legs uncross.”

Mulder’s chuckle makes her turn toward him again. His eyes are shining with mirth.

“Don’t laugh,” she admonishes. “It was a lot harder than it sounds. Plus we eventually decided to try getting back into the bed with our legs crossed, but it couldn’t be done. Sometimes, Missy made it to the floor without uncrossing her legs, but then hers were longer than mine. I didn’t stand a chance. Neither of us ever made it back into the bed that way. But it was fun.”

Scully looks back at the water and her tone becomes wistful.

“I miss those days sometimes.”

They become quiet again for several minutes. He shifts on the bench and sits up straighter.

“My dad built me a tree house one summer,” he says. “We worked on it together weekends and every night he was home for three weeks. I marked them on the calendar.”

She moves her arm so that his hand slides down her sleeve and slips into hers. He leans a little closer, pressing solidly against her shoulder, creating a spot of warmth where they touch.

“How big was it?” she asks, letting her own curiosity have free reign.

“Big enough for three or four kids to sleep on the floor.”

“That must have been a lot of work.”

He turns toward her and smiles.

“It was. But it was fun, too. Dad taught me how to cut boards with a hand saw, and he even let me pound in nails. He didn’t take out the crooked ones, either. By the time we were done, I was actually driving them straight.”

He faces forward again, squinting against the glare off the water.

“I started looking forward working on it. It wasn’t just the fact that I was allowed to use the tools. We talked while we worked, too. For once, I had my father all to myself, and I loved it.”

“What did you talk about?”

He shrugs.

“Lots of things. Dad came from a family of ship’s carpenters, and he had his grandfather’s tools. We used the planes for smoothing the surface of the wood, rasps to carve out niches for the branches under the floor — he even let me make holes in the boards with the hand- cranked drill just for the fun of it.”

She squeezes his hand.

“That sounds nice, Mulder. How old were you?”

“I turned eight that fall. When we got the tree house done, Dad let me invite a couple of friends over for a sleep-out. We hoisted our sleeping bags up by tying them to a rope on a pulley. We formed a human chain and passed chips, soda and candy bars up the ladder. Eddie ate so much he threw up on Alan’s sleeping bag during the night and we had to toss it over the side. That tree house was a huge hit with my friends. The next few years were a lot of fun, until we outgrew it. Sometimes, I wish… “

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Me, too.”

They continue to sit quietly. Around them, people walk by without a glance in their direction. The sun moves a little closer toward the horizon and shadows slowly stretch out across the ground. The silence is no longer restless. It is tinged with regrets — promises not kept, words unsaid. But there is a feeling of hope, a lifting of the spirit that has nothing to do with the bright sunlight.

“You’ll be okay, Scully,” he says.

“Will I?”

“It’ll take a while, but yeah, you will. You’re strong. Stronger than anyone else I know.”

She leans her head against his shoulder and squeezes his hand again.

“What about you, Mulder? Will you be okay?”

“Sure I will,” he answers. “I’ve got you.”

She nods and snuggles closer into his side. He lets go of her hand and lifts his arm to place it around her shoulders and gather her in.

The sun glides farther toward night, but they don’t notice as they sit together for a little while longer.

––

There’s a spot of silence in the room, each of them in thought about this or that, and yet in sync with each other. It has always been the one thing that nobody who knows them – or knew them years ago when they were partners – has been able to describe or understand. Words were never completely necessary, not once they defined that vital link to one another, early in their relationship. In fact, they could be saying something so completely different from what their eyes – and hearts – were relaying. It only got stronger as the years collected between them.

His murmur is warm against her temple. “Does anything scare you anymore, Scully?”

She can’t help but smile, for he has just expressed verbally exactly what she’d wondered, about him. Their current world is the stuff of other peoples’ nightmares. In a little while they’ll both gear up and walk straight into it. And yet, here they are thinking about what might scare each other. It’s just sad enough to be amusing…

“You mean, anything outside the door? I’d be stupid not to feel some kind of fear, wouldn’t I? Fear keeps a person aware and cautious. A dose of healthy fear is much better than a sense of false security.” She stretches against him, slipping one leg over his as she nestles her head under his chin. She fears what’s beyond their room. But what scares her is something quite different. When she voices that thought aloud, he nods. He understands the difference as well. And he has a feeling she’s going to remind him of a moment he’d just as soon forget…

“What really scares me – and thank God you don’t do it as much as you used to, Mulder – is when you let your bravery threaten your life; when your decision to take matters into your own hands almost costs you so very dearly. That’s scarier to me than anything we have to face out on line.”

“Yeah, but you always saved me, didn’t you? You always pumped that amazing caring of yours right into me, and in that instant, I’d be invincible – because of you…”

––

–– Chapter 8 ––

Connection By ML
Spoilers: Pusher

February, 1996

Mulder puts his gun in Scully’s hands and covers them with his, keeping the connection between them as long as possible. She can barely look at him. He jokes a little, forcing a painful smile from her, all the while thinking <this may be the last time I get to touch her>.

One last squeeze of her hands and he stands up. “Let’s get this show on the road,” he says.

~~~~~~

Even as he walks through the hospital, Scully’s with him. Her voice in his ear makes it possible for him to go on. It’s as though she truly is beside him with her hand on his arm, keeping him grounded.

~~~~~~

<oh god oh god oh god what’s she doing here> clangs in his mind, white noise to Modell’s insistent presence in his head.

He can’t look at her. He can’t take his focus off Modell for a moment. If Scully’s voice is a guiding touch, Modell’s is a fist, pummeling him, forcing him. Pushing him. Until now, he hadn’t realized how apt the term is. It’s like being pushed under water.

“I’m gonna kill you Modell,” he grits out. Scully is trying to reach him but he has to close her out if he’s to keep Modell at bay.

Modell delivers a last punch but at the same second Scully makes her move. For that split second, he’s filled with Scully — her fear, her determination, and her love.

Yes. Her love. He feels immersed in it. Not the drowning sensation that Modell created in him, but a surrounding warmth. He can’t even begin to describe it when suddenly he’s lost it.

He’s not sure at first if he’s imagining the alarm bells or if they’re really ringing outside his head. At last the controlling pressure has been removed, leaving him limp and exhausted. He’s barely aware of his actions until he hears Scully’s voice again. He still can’t look at her. He holds out his gun and she takes it from him.

~~~~~~

Mulder stares and stares at Modell in the cold blue room. He feels bereft. He’s an empty vessel now; not due to Modell’s absence, but due to missing Scully. Had he really felt what he felt? Where else would he have gotten the strength needed to resist Modell?

He’d give anything to feel that again. To feel so connected to another human being. To Scully.

The door opens and admits light and Scully. He can’t tell the two apart. Scully is light. She comes to stand beside him, and there’s a trace of the connection he felt before. He reaches out to her, but only in his mind.

Scully does him one better: she reaches for his hand. Her fingers brushing against his are his lifeline, and he holds on to them.

He feels less empty now. He allows Scully to lead him out into the light.

––

She surprises him with an especially sweet, lingering kiss on his cheek, and he shoots a quizzical look her way when she moves away and smiles at him.

“What was that for? Not that I mind.”

“Just because, Mulder. You’re my own personal caregiver, do you know that? And you’ve rarely complained. When I think of all the times I played the world’s worst patient… you always held your temper. You always let me rant and rave, either in public or in private. Doctors make the absolute worst patients, yet you only got stern when you had to.” She watches a blush steal across his recently-kissed cheek, and stifles a giggle. At this moment he looks like he’s about twelve years old… She could just squeeze the stuffing out of him, and so because she can, she does.

“Ooomph! I can see that your gratitude runs to mangling your significant other – and giving new meaning to the term, ‘main squeeze’.” He hugs her back, not as tightly but with every bit as much ardor, then adds, “It’s been my honor to be whatever caregiver you’ve allowed, Scully. Even when you hated being cared for.”

“Even when I pissed you off? Even when in my very arrogance I fell flat on my face, more than once? Even then?”

He kisses her tenderly, runs a gentle hand down her back, lingering low where once a reminder of her so-called arrogance almost did them in. “Yes. Even then…”

––

–– Chapter 9 ––

Better Late Than Never By Shelba
Spoilers: Never Again, Missing Scene/Post ep

Hoover Building
January 27

Mulder’s back is ramrod straight as he steps past his partner into the office. It’s a new week and he hasn’t seen Scully since she ditched him at the airport after the “incident”, AKA, ‘Scully’s Great Tattoo Adventure’, in Philadelphia.

“Welcome back. You look a lot better than you did in the hospital. And congratulations for making a personal appearance in the X-files for the second time.” He tugs the file cabinet drawer open with a little more force than necessary and continues, “It’s a world’s record.”

Scully remains quiet, just standing and looking around. She doesn’t have the energy to fight and knows from experience to let him rant. He’s always easier to deal with when he’s vented a bit.

Mulder continues, almost biting the name out. “Ed Jerse is in custody at the St. John’s burn facility in Philadelphia. Traces of ergot were found in his bloodstream, as in yours, but not to the degree that should cause hallucinogenic ergotism.”

She eases onto a chair, being careful to avoid pressure on her back. Any moment, she thinks, he’ll claim Ed’s tattoo is possessed and offer to hire a snake handler in case hers gets out of line.

Mulder drones on. “He’ll undergo psychiatric evaluation after recovering from burn trauma. Comrade Svo has been shut down; he was under investigation for having connections to my friend Pudovkin. Case closed on Boris Badenov, which is really a shame because I was thinking of having an “N.Y.” tattooed on my ass to commemorate the Yankees’ World Series victory. Better late than never, huh?”

She resists the impulse to get a scalpel and carve the initials for him. She’s really puzzled by this antagonistic attitude. He had called her every day she was off and he sounded pretty normal, if a bit unsure of what he wanted to say. She hadn’t been talkative, and wasn’t in the mood to see him, but she hadn’t hung up on him or anything, so she doesn’t know what crawled up his ass.

Mulder had tried to keep his calls to safe subjects. The first day, he asked if she needed anything from the grocery or pharmacy. She seemed a bit annoyed at that question. Somehow, she got the idea that he said she was PMS-ing. He hasn’t stuttered that much since Susie Simpson asked to see his ‘thing’ in fourth grade. Leave it to Scully to inspire him to new lows.

The second day he offered to pick up her dry cleaning. She told him, since she hadn’t been in any exploding manure plants or swamps lately, her suits were in good shape. He’d concluded she wasn’t in the mood to talk, so he hung up, wondering if maybe she’d lied about that whole PMS thing.

Once or twice he called and asked her questions about various cases. On the third day, he tried to ask her how she really was. Of course, she was “fine.”

Scully shifts uncomfortably. Her tattoo is stinging more today than it did the day she had it done; she’s thirsty and feels warm. She’s unable to assess her tattoo very well, and hopes she doesn’t have an infection setting in. She listens as Mulder’s voice rises and falls. Now that he’s snarked a bit about the Philly case, he’s trying to act as though everything is normal. He’s failing miserably.

“The uh, field office in Dallas is uh, receiving reports of the image of a missing child appearing on a blank billboard outside of Arlington…”

Sitting again, he opens a new file; then looks at her. “….So…. All this, because I’ve … because I didn’t get you a desk?”

Her voice is soft, the tone almost dismissive. She meets his eyes and lifts her chin. “Not everything is about you, Mulder. This is my life.”

“Yes but it’s m – -” His voice trails off to nothing when she looks at him sharply. The tension in the room can be sliced.

She fingers the rose petal she had left on his desk and wonders why he still has it. She opens her mouth to ask, then closes it when dizziness washes through her and whatever she was going to say is swept away.

“Scully?” The “too-casual’ tone is gone from his voice, and he sounds very far away. As everything goes black, she thinks she hears Mulder calling her again.

Mulder watches with shock as Scully slumps in her chair and begins to slide. He launches himself forward; his desk chair flies off and crashes into something, somewhere behind him. He reaches Scully right before she hits the floor. Her chair didn’t fall over when she pitched forward so he tries to get her back in it. It’s an impossible thing, so he gives up and heedless of his dress pants, sits cross- legged on the floor and pulls her onto his lap.

“Scully.” He pats her face and watches for a reaction. Her skin is hot, she is pale and her breaths are quick and shallow. “Hey, partner,” he pats her face again. “Come on, Scully. Wake up.” He can barely hear his own voice for the pulse pounding in his ears. He thinks of all the diseases that are transmitted by blood exposure and he feels sick. He’s going to make sure she’s all right.

He hates the idea of laying her on the hard floor, but he has to call for help. He grimaces; his cell phone is in his coat pocket on the back of his chair. The chair is somewhere across the room and the desk phone is out of reach. “Sorry about this, but I’m going to have to put you down.”

He moves to ease her onto the floor, one hand cradling her head, the other supporting her shoulders, when she stirs. “Mul-er?” She blinks; then peers up at him. She clears her throat and tries again. “Mulder? What happened?”

His face splits in a grin. “Welcome back. What happened, was you blacked out and scared me out of a year’s growth. Then I decided to be a gentleman and kept you from doing a swan dive onto the floor.”

It suddenly registers where she is, and she’s acutely aware of his warm body pressed against hers. She flushes and asks, “Why am I on your lap?”

“If you have to ask, then I’m not doing something right.” She rolls her eyes and he shakes his head. “You know Scully, I think you’re trying to give me a heart attack.”

“Yeah, Mulder,” she says, dryly, “I live to make your life miserable. Can I get up now?” She moves to sit up and is hit with another wave of vertigo.

“Hey, take it easy for a second.” He watches her closely and after a moment, says, “Let me help you up.”

She nods and puts her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“Okay, now, nice and easy.” She can feel the long muscles of his arms tensing as he lifts her until she’s sitting on his leg instead of lying across his thighs. “Doing all right?”

“I’m fine.” He gives her a long, unreadable look. “Really Mulder, I am.”

“That’s reassuring. Are you ready to get up, ‘cause I’ve gotta tell you, my leg’s about to fall off.”

“Good.” She snorts, a decidedly unladylike sound.

“Miss Scully, is that any way to talk to the man who saved you from another dry-cleaning bill? This floor doesn’t have any manure or swamp mud on it, but it ain’t exactly ready to pass a white glove test.”

She ducks her head to hide her smile; then looks up at him. “Okay, Mulder. I’m ready to try it again. I don’t know what happened.”

“First things, first. Let’s get you mobile and then we’ll worry about getting you checked out. What did Dr. Johnson say when you went to see him? Did he clear you to come back?”

She looks away, and he narrows his eyes at her. “You did go, right?”

“I have an appointment for later in the week.” She tosses her head in annoyance. “Are we going to sit here all day, or what?”

“Hmm, I should have known you’d dodge that appointment.” Some things are constant in Mulder’s universe. The sun always rises, Skinner is always ready to kick his ass, and his Scully is always fine.

He sighs. “Okay, Scully. I don’t think there’s any graceful way to do this, so let’s aim for neither of us getting hurt. Brace yourself on my shoulders; then I’ll help you up.”

When her hands are secure on his shoulders, she nods. “Ready when you are.”

“All right. Now watch your feet. Be careful of where you put those spikes; I might want to procreate someday.” Ignoring her huff, he places his hands on her waist, mindful of that new tattoo. He grasps her as gently as he can; then lifts her smoothly onto her feet. He may not like the damn tattoo, but it’s part of her now and he doesn’t want to cause her any pain or damage the healing skin.

“Thanks, Mulder.” She watches as he climbs to his feet. She can’t help but admire the way his clothing drapes on his athletic body. She turns away before he catches her watching him.

“Come on, partner, let’s get going.” Mulder rights his upended chair, retrieves his suit jacket from under it and gets his trench coat from the rack near the door. “You look tired and Nurse Mulder thinks you’re running a fever. We’re going to go to your place; we’re going to get some cream on that tattoo and, you are taking something for pain and fever. Then, young lady, you are going to get some rest.”

“Nurse Mulder?” she parrots. “Do you have one of those white hats?” He laughs and Scully allows herself to be steered toward the door. She winces when his hand touches her back.

Mulder pulls his hand away and looks down at her. “Sorry, Scully. Do you have any pain meds at home, or do we need to stop somewhere?”

Going along with the plan is easier than arguing with him. She’s seen this stubborn look too many times, to think she can dissuade him from playing Florence Nightingale. “I think I have some Tylenol 3 at home.”

Mulder detours to his desk. Muttering about doctors and lousy patients, he rummages in the bottom drawer. “Eureka.” He pulls a brown bottle from the desk and reads the label. “Good. Not expired yet. Want to take some now?”

Popping some pain pills before driving home seems a wise thing to do, so she nods. Mulder grabs a bottle of her water from a shelf and places two of the tablets in her hand. She tosses them in her mouth and follows them with a long drink.

Mulder watches her, a small smile playing about his lips. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“Thanks, Mulder.” She’s surprised that she’s able to express it. “I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime, partner, anytime.” He smiles, pleased that she’s finally letting him in enough to take care of her. Well, he thinks, better late than never. “That’s what partners are for, isn’t it?”

She nods as he leads her from the office. He looks down at her bright crown of hair and smiles to himself. They’re going to be fine.

––

“How many times do you figure we’ve almost lost each other, Scully? Fifty? A hundred? Several thousand?”

She stares up at Mulder; he’s looking off into space. One hand is still tracing caressingly along her spine, but she’s not sure how far in the past he’s trekked.

Deciding to keep it light, she quips, “Is this a trick question? What’s my prize if I answer correctly?”

When he doesn’t respond, she narrows her eyes at him and tugs on the ends of his hair to get his attention. “Where did that thought come from, Mulder? What’s going on in your head?”

He shakes himself a little; looks down at her, faraway mists still in his eyes. With a wry smile, he replies, “I was just trying to add up all the moments we’ve both been recalling, and wondering how many of them could have ended in true tragedy.”

“You can’t be thinking that way. If you do, you’ll drive yourself mad trying to analyze what has passed, what has made us stronger, brought us to where we are today.” Her voice quivers for a second, then holds firm. “We’re alive, Mulder. Healthy. Together. How many people in the world never find what we have, in their entire lives? Maybe we’ve done our share of suffering, but it’s only made us appreciate what we’ve attained, and are determined to keep for ourselves.”

For a moment the look in his eyes holds such desolation, and she sighs in mingled empathy and frustration. It was the opening of this thread of conversation that got both of them thinking of not only the good, but the bad as well. And of course one can’t exist without the other; it’s a fact. It’s the bad in life that makes the human animal appreciate the good.

But Scully knows they’ve both experienced far more of the bad than the average Joe, and unfortunately it’s always been all about the job, at least for her. Mulder’s circumstances were always different because of who he is and from whom he came. Chances are, regardless of the career path he’d chosen for himself, his sister would have always haunted him. His biological father would have always dogged his path. His mother would have still grown distant and cold.

She knows her partner, inside and out. She understands his frequent need to mentally flog himself for the tragedies of their combined past. But today is for remembering what they are to each other… and, she supposes, a small bit of it might have to overlap into darkness. After all, it’s what formed them.

As she wraps comforting arms around the man she loves, Scully finds herself recalling what had to be one of her darkest hours, of all.

––

–– Chapter 10 ––

Physician, Heal Thyself By Piper Sargasso
Spoilers: Memento Mori, Elegy, Gethsemane, Redux II.

~~~~~~

She’s dying.

The words echo, hollow in her head. How can such hateful words be true? She doesn’t feel sick. She’s always taken care of herself — healthy diet, regular exercise, steady supply of multi-vitamins. She stands before the light box in the radiologist’s light room, holding the film of her cat scan and trying to make sense of it all. Shouldn’t she feel something? Some sort of foreign substance pushing against her forehead, a sense of wrongness inside her? Something has invaded her body, taken up residence between her sinus and cerebrum. One would think she would notice something… different.

She raises trembling fingers to touch the space between her eyes, but can feel nothing. Nothing, nothing. Soon, she’ll be nothing. She can’t even be upset about it; it’s all too surreal, like she’s on the outside watching it happening to someone else. She’s grateful for this detachment, even as she suspects when the full force of her predicament hits her, it’s going to hit hard.

Numbly, she pulls out her cell phone. Who to call first? What’s the protocol for this sort of thing? “Hi, Mom. I’ve got cancer and have about zero chance of surviving.” She could just imagine her mother’s reaction to the news that she’s managed to cultivate one of the most uncommon forms of carcinoma within herself. “That’s lovely, dear. Always knew you were special.”

She cringes, unable to even fathom what the appropriate course of action concerning her mother would be at this time. For now, there is only one person she’s ready to call. Taking a deep breath, she hits number one on her speed dial.

“Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me.” Another deep breath. “Listen, I need you to meet me at Holy Cross Memorial hospital…”

~~~~~~

He takes it well, much better than she expected. A small, maudlin part of her wonders if he’s worried about breaking in a new partner. This is ridiculous, of course, but the thought remains in the back of her head just the same.

She finds that she’s able to remain unemotional, even when he begins his vehement denial.

“I refuse to accept that,” he says in his heartbreakingly innocent way.

She repeats the facts to him, brooking no nonsense or any false sense of hope from either of them as she drives her point home. Recovery is unlikely, death is more than probable. Yet he remains so hopeful, she almost wants to cry for him. Almost. She feels there is no more time to waste for tears.

Later, in Skinner’s office, he seems as surprised as Mulder did that she wants to throw herself into the investigation of the women in Allentown. She wonders at this; don’t they know her better than to think she’d be content to die in some hospital bed somewhere while the men that did this to them would go unchallenged?

~~~~~~

And now these women are all dead. All but one.

For the first time since she found out, she feels real fear. It takes seeing Penny Northern in the flesh, seeing her rapidly- degenerating form to break through the layers of steel and pragmatism she’s heaped upon herself in the interest of self-preservation.

Finally, finally… she can accept what’s happening to her. Her salvation, it seems, lies in the hands of a man she’s never met, but whom Penny Northern holds in the highest trust and regard. Whereas she has accepted, Mulder has wrapped himself in a cocoon of anger and relentless determination. She hears it in his voice on the phone, senses it while in his uncomfortable presence. Blind drive and aimless faith propels him. To what end, she can’t be sure. She has her own battles to fight.

~~~~~~

The radiation and chemo hit her harder than she ever suspected with all her medical background and study. Words on a printed page can’t affect you, but the reality of her treatment makes her want to give up before she has even begun.

Penny is an immeasurable comfort. And her journal helps her keep things in perspective. She’s more relieved than she feels she should be, knowing Mulder is out there searching on her behalf in his dogged way. She feels grateful; she has more than most of the MUFON women had, including Penny.

Mulder looks more desperate every time she sees him — as desperate as her mother looks bitter. She supposes Margaret Scully has had just about enough of loss.

~~~~~~

When Penny passes, it’s with the quiet dignity of a woman who doesn’t want to make a fuss. There are no dramatics, no final words. Scully had sat there, holding her hand, when the bedridden woman suddenly looked at her and smiled a soft smile. She smiled back. The hand that held hers in a weak grasp weakened even more still, turning colder in an instant, the feeble light in her eyes, gone.

Scully knows the woman has passed on, but is reluctant to let the hand go. Penny was so much to her in such a short space of time. But above all else, Penny gave her the courage to hope. Without Scully ever having to voice it, Penny knew she’d planned not to fight.

Mulder seems awkward when he finds out. She wonders if it’s because he never really knew the woman, or if it’s because it reminds him of her own shortened time on this Earth. It doesn’t matter though. As he holds her, he reminds her why it’s important to fight, to try. In that instant, he’s her buoy to cling to in a turbulent and uncaring sea.

She walks back to her room and gathers her things to leave first thing in the morning. Dr. Scanlon or no Dr. Scanlon, she’s too wrung out from her bedside vigil to leave tonight. Sparing little more than a passing glance at the mirror, she is nonetheless disturbed to see her own ghost-like image, dark circles ringing her eyes, washed-out complexion and pale lips.

She looks like hell, but at least she’s still alive. And now, she has a purpose.

~~~~~~

She goes through so many tissues these days that the night clerk at her neighborhood drugstore finally asks if she needs some NyQuil to go with her pocket-sized purchases. He’s a flirty young thing, something that amuses her to no end when all that psuedo-suave demeanor is directed toward her. She gives the pimply twenty- something a tight-lipped smile and walks out, question unanswered, mysterious persona intact. She finds she has more patience for people these days, as if the mere thought of her mortality has made her a more serene creature. It’s a morbid comfort at times, feeling that at least she has some idea when she’ll go and how whereas to everyone else, such a thing is as easy to divine as tonight’s winning lottery numbers.

Tonight, her humor is dampened. It’s easy to pass the image of the murdered college girl off as a suggestion drilled into her subconscious, or a hallucination. Once Mulder has shared his theory about the dead appearing before the terminally ill and dying, however, she feels the chill of her own impending death surrounding her prematurely. Could it be possible? It makes sense, so much in fact, that she hasn’t dared challenge his theory. Seeing Harold in her rearview mirror cinches it.

The trips to the hospital are becoming more frequent. She’s been pricked by so many needles, she doesn’t even flinch any more. Her nose is always red and raw from the regular swabbings it gets with Kleenex, and more clothes than she cares to admit have been damaged by her recurrent nosebleeds. Rather than send them to the cleaners, she packs most of them into the trash can. Less to box up when her mother goes though the apartment later, she figures.

It’s hard to stay positive in light of all the treatment and hindrances she experiences on a daily basis. She’s learned to put up a strong front, even when she’s alone, and leave all negativity to her thoughts. At least there, where the cancer festers and thrives, she can be honest with herself. After all, who’s there to fool?

Mulder is angry she didn’t tell him about the first vision until now. How could he understand? To admit to that would be to admit his theory was correct in a most disruptive way. What would such an admission do to their fragile denial of her sickness? To confront it outwardly, day after day, would be more than either of them would want to deal with. It’s bad enough the thoughts of it never lets them rest, never lets them see past surviving the next couple of weeks.

In truth, he isn’t angry with her for not telling him sooner. He’s angry that he was right. He’s bitter that they have to talk about this thing eating at her, stealing away precious years.

She almost wants to give up and take some sick leave, to give both of them a much-needed break. But she’s terrified she won’t ever come back from sick leave. More than that, she needs him more than he can ever know. She needs his strength and his conviction, his abundance of nervous energy. It’s as essential to her as oxygen these days.

~~~~~~

The cancer has moved into her bloodstream. Try as she might, she can’t seem to shake the unimaginable fear that she’ll pass on one night in her sleep, to be discovered by Mulder when he comes to check why she hasn’t been answering her phone. Against her will, her clinical mind categorizes the stages of decomposition of the human body. It gives her nightmares at night and shivers throughout the day, thinking this flesh she sees on her arm and the skin of the leg she shaves will soon look worse than the preserved cadavers in med school. They will take on the bluish-purple shade of the decomposed dead, veins running deep plum beneath the bloated surface.

Her worst nightmare is that Mulder will find her like that.

She has some time, she knows this. It’s no comfort to her when she panics in this manner, though, for death seems as close as the next room, just… waiting… for her.

She can’t tell anyone of her fears. Not her mother, not Mulder. Especially not Bill, who gave her one of his more gentle guilt trips in the hospital after her spill down the stairwell, courtesy of Kritschgau. It was a relief, however, that he was angry with her rather than smothering her with the sympathy she’d expected. Either way, she didn’t have the energy to deal with her oldest brother. Energy, she’s finding, is in short supply.

~~~~~~

Hope. Something she has carried with her, discarded, then picked up again like a lifeline more times than she can remember. He has the miracle cure in his hands, eyes wide and full of faith that it will work even in the face of so much negative reception. Scully dares to feel hope rise within her again.

She’s undergoing the procedure in less than two hours. If it doesn’t work, the oxygen will carry the cancer like wind agitates a wildfire, causing it to spread beyond containment. Considering her metastasized state, she really has nothing left to lose.

He shuts the door, at her request, and takes her hand.

“I’m scared,” she tells him in a scratchy voice now that they’re alone.

He closes his eyes. “I know.”

“If this doesn’t work, I’m coming back to kick your ass.”

He stares at her, eyes wide at the realization that she just made a joke, then chokes out a laugh that’s half sob and smiles wanly. “It’s a deal, partner.”

His face is the last thing she thinks about an hour and a half later, when the anesthesiologist puts her under. Her buoy, her true lifeline…

~~~~~~

She’s tried so hard to accept the fact there’s been no change in her condition that the sudden news that it’s in remission is as surreal as finding out she had cancer in the first place. It’s unsettling, this unexpected miracle. She hardly knows how to act, what to think. Part of her wants to kick her well-meaning visitors out of the room and hide under the covers for the next ten years, while the other part wants to kiss Fox Mulder full on the lips for his unyielding search for her cure.

For now, she’ll sleep unafraid. She will see tomorrow.

Just before drifting off, she makes a silent vow to waste none of this precious gift.

––

She didn’t. Mulder smiles as he strokes over her hair, fanning out over the pillow next to his. She didn’t waste it. Although they were still slow to the start line, at least they got there. Consequently the time between friends and actual lovers had greater depth of meaning for both of them.

When he glances tenderly over at her, she appears to be dozing lightly. Though he’d rather have her awake and involved in something more interesting than a cat-nap, he leaves her be, thinking she can use all the cat-naps she can get. Mulder lets his eyes close, content to lie next to his lover and allow his mind to drift… With stealthy intent, the foot slides its way toward him, barely ruffling the blankets. When it gleefully insinuates between his legs, his eyes pop open wide; he jumps and curses aloud, “Dammit, Scully! Your feet are STILL like ice!”

She laughs at his reaction, delighted to have fooled him into thinking she was asleep. “My hands are still cold, too. Maybe you should grab hold of them before I bury them someplace warm, as well.” She lifts the aforementioned hand and waves her fingers at him, and with another muttered curse he snatches at it and brings it to his mouth, blowing on her fingers to warm them up.

“God only knows what kind of permanent damage you could do to me, if you shoved an ice-cold hand where I’m thinking you wanted to shove it.”

“Wuss.”

After her hand gains some warmth and her fingers start tingling, she presses her palm to his and admires the contrast between their hands. His long and elegant fingers have always held a sort of fascination for her. She’s never seen him trim his nails other than chew on them, yet they always look neat and clean. She’s never seen him care for his hands in any manner, the way some men are known to do. In spite of that, his cuticles are never ragged. It’s as if they magically grow that way. Meanwhile her own nails are short and uneven because they refuse to grow at all and her cuticles are thick and have more or less taken control of her fingers. She sighs; here’s another prime example of the male being the prettier of the species.

There are thin, faint white marks around his wrist; she frowns a little as she traces one of them. “After all these years, you’d think they would have disappeared completely.”

He glances at his wrist and shudders. “Jeez, don’t remind me! I swear I still have nightmares about it.”

“And how often would that be, Mulder? You never mentioned this before.”

He’s quick to reassure, “Oh, not all that often. Really. And I can’t even remember what I dream of. I just awaken sometimes, out of what feels like a sound sleep, and my hands and arms are aching. Maybe I clench my fists in my sleep, or something.”

“I wish you’d told me.” She’s trying to hide her concern but doing a bad job of it.

He squeezes her fingers lightly. “It’s not a big deal, Scully. Because when it happens, and I awaken like that… I see you lying next to me and whatever phantom pain I was feeling in my dream goes away as soon as I reach out and wrap myself around you.”

“Well… okay. But see that you continue to do so, mister.”

“You can bet on it, baby.” He seals the promise by winding his arms and legs around her, beating down the remembrance of what caused the nightmares in the first place…

––

–– Chapter 11 ––

Deliver Me by FBIWhistleblower (aka Fibbie)
Spoilers: Kill Switch

Author’s Notes: Thanks to xphilernj for the push and Robin for the beta.

~~~~~~

Deliver me intact like a great long shackled wall permanence dangling in between the parts the shred I cling to torn bits of me and you deliver me away from here someplace cool and quiet shade and slow talk nothing left to cling to except torn bits of me and you

— 1988, “Deliver Me” by d.A. Sebastian of the band, “Kill Switch.”

~~~~~~

Scully holds her keys carefully to keep them from jingling together as she unlocks the door, turns the knob and quietly enters the apartment. If Mulder’s asleep, she does not want to shock him awake; he’s had so little sleep lately.

It’s been about two weeks now. The first couple of days were the worst for him, when the nightmares were on him. She’d go to him and hold him tight until he could fall asleep again.

Interesting, that. He doesn’t have the nightmares when she holds him. So what does that mean? Scully smiles to herself at what she knows to be true, regardless of the fact that neither of them ever speak of their feelings for each other.

Scully enters the foyer of Mulder’s apartment and sees him reclining on the sofa, the Navajo blanket pulled down over him haphazardly. The television is on and the remote hangs limply from his right hand. His left hand rests on his chest.

Both wrists are swathed with the bandages he allows her to care for. She thinks, despite the circumstances, that he truly enjoys having her touch him.

Scully puts her keys in her trenchcoat and hangs it on his coat rack, dropping off the package in his rather spartan kitchen, then turns back to her partner/patient with a small smile.

She looks him over from head to toe. His hair is sticking up, spiked everywhere, making her think of an insane porcupine. She smiles; Scully can’t wait to run her fingers through his hair to tame his locks. He’s her insane porcupine, even if he doesn’t really know it yet.

His face is relaxed, though his eyes are still slightly swollen from the abuse he took in that trailer from where Scully rescued him. Mulder grumbled through the eye ointment, but that part of it is over.

Yet he still follows his doctor’s orders and, for his trouble, always receives a lengthy kiss on his forehead. He seems to want rather than need the ointment on his wrists more often, even though they are healing more and more quickly, she thinks.

She moves to stand between the sofa and the coffee table, then leans over him. She doesn’t want to surprise him; he’s not taking surprises easily these days.

Slowly, she reaches out and places her palm on the hand Mulder has resting on his chest, the other removing the remote and placing it on the table.

Scully strokes his hand, careful to avoid the bandages. “Mulder,” she whispers, “I need you to wake up.” She reaches with the other hand to push her fingers gently into the quills of his hair, rubbing lightly but insistently.

“Come on, Mulder,” Scully smiles, “Wakey-wakey!” She leans over and presses a warm kiss to his forehead, telling herself she does this to check his temperature. He’d suffered an intense fever after she’d gotten him out of that hell-bent trailer, but he absolutely refused hospitalization of any sort. His fever actually broke well over a week ago, but she indulges herself. She could have so easily lost him.

Because of his newest fear of hospitals, she’s made arrangements with Skinner to take personal time and leave to take care of Mulder until he’s ready for desk duty.

Days later, when she’d awakened him from a nightmare, he’d shakily explained to her about his ‘dream hospital’ from the time in the trailer. She doesn’t blame him at all for not wanting to be admitted; his wounds have been such that she has been able to handle them with little worry.

Scully has found that the best way of reassuring Mulder of his wholeness is by touching his hands repeatedly and often.

There have been so many times, so many occasions and she feels that bits and pieces of each of them have been torn away, a little at a time.

“Mulder,” she’s still leaning over him, her breath a whisper against his brow, “Wake up. I’m back with your medication refill and it’s time to change your bandages.”

“Scully?” his voice is uncertain, shaky.

“Yes,” she reassures, starting to move so she can look directly into his eyes. His hands stop her.

“Don’t…” he begs.

“I have to change your bandages,” she says, kissing his forehead again. “You know I’ll be gentle with you.” Her comment has double meanings, which are not lost on him.

“But if you move, Scully, I’ll lose the wondrous view I have straight down your blouse of your lovely and ample bosom,” he says in a pitiful voice.

She snorts and turns pink from the throat upward. Standing, she clutches her blouse to her chest and stares down at him. Mulder gazes right back, a twinkle in his eyes that has been slow in returning. “Mulder,” she chides, “you’re not supposed to be looking there!”

“Well, where am I supposed to look, when you put it out there on display for God and everybody to see?” he asks with a snort of his own. He pushes himself back on the sofa to make room for her and she sits down, roughly at hip level with him.

The infamous Scully eyebrow is arched at him, but she isn’t able to keep up the “angry” look and she grins. “Well, you’re obviously feeling better, if you’re staring down my blouse.”

“But alas, Scully,” he reaches and pulls at the sleeve of her blouse, “I stare down your blouse every chance I get. I’d hoped to take it to another level today; but I wasn’t fast enough to get to the ‘mindless groping’ part.”

She smiles at him. “Okay, well then. My work here is done. You’re back to your double-entendres, so I know you’re okay.”

Mulder tries to look contrite, but fails miserably with the smile that’s curving the edges of his mouth. Scully watches his plump lower lip, a thing of beauty that has been a constant source of fascination since the day she met him. She always wonders what it would feel like to kiss him; however, they are not ready to cross that line, if ever.

But, oh, how she wants to.

He catches her looking at him; his expression unreadable. She hurriedly glances away and reaches for the ever-present medical supplies on the coffee table in front of her.

“I brought your favorite Chinese,” Scully says as she goes about starting to change the bandages on his wrists. They’re still a bit tender from the electrical burns, but they are, in fact, healing quite well.

Mulder doesn’t and won’t complain; it’s an excuse for Scully to touch him — something he’d like to have happen every day for the rest of his life. “Oh, is that what I smelled? I thought maybe you’d done an especially interesting and fragrant autopsy today.”

Scully glances up to meet his warm hazel gaze and smiles back at him reassuringly. “What? You wanted the leftovers from the autopsy?”

With intense deliberation, she peels away the soiled coverings of his left wrist, cleans the healing wound carefully, swaths it with ointment and breathable gauze as quickly as she can. To labor over it might cause him pain and he’s been in enough pain spiritually, emotionally and physically from this particular X File.

His eyes have long since healed from their abuse. The burns are taking a while longer.

“Oh, yuck,” Mulder replies. “I don’t know how you do it; performing autopsies with one hand and eating yogurt and bee pollen with the other.”

“‘Yuck?’ Mr. ‘I’ll-Stick-My-Fingers-Into-Anything-On-The-Face-Of- This-Planet’? Mr. ‘I’ll-Eat-Anything-That’s-Fried-And-Doesn’t-Walk- Off-My-Plate’? Does the word ‘bile’ mean anything to you, Mulder? Besides, I’ll have you know, it’s called multi-tasking,” Scully says, her eyes intent now on the other wrist. “It takes a level of sophisticated intelligence that’s uncommon.” She looks up at him, trying hard not to smile, “It’s something you might want to try once in awhile. If that Oxford-educated brain can handle such a thing, that is.”

“Scully,” Mulder says quietly, catching her attention, “I multi-task quite well most all of the time.” He watches her bandaging his wrist, “For example, I’m watching what you’re doing, thinking about that stunning view of your rosy and ample bosom, wondering if your panties match your blue satin bra and damning myself for not mindlessly groping you before you could get away.”

Scully picks up his hand, looks at her work, places it on his chest on top of his other hand and carefully pats them both. “Well, Mulder,” she stands and leans over, ostensibly to double-check her bandaging but surprising him and stopping his reply by offering him another view down her blouse. “You forgot about the pencils in the ceiling in your definition of multi-tasking, you know.”

Mulder cannot help but stare; then guiltily raises his eyes to meet her blue ones, which are twinkling with mirth. “And I’m not telling you about my panties.” She stands up and heads toward his kitchen for plates, silverware and canned iced tea. “Besides, you’ll never know if I’m even wearing any.”

Scully grins to herself, sashaying away from him; sure she can hear him choking and certain she has his full attention.

The flirting is fun. It’s something they don’t get to do very often. It also distracts Mulder from his discomfort. Since he’s so adamantly rejected the medical profession, per se, this go-round, she’s had to stand-in as she’s done many times before, as his Primary Care Physician.

She likes the way that sounds on her tongue and smiles at him as she returns to the sofa with their lunch and his new antibiotic and other meds.

Scully stops long enough to pick up a video that he hadn’t noticed she’d brought, taking it to the TV and VCR and setting it up for play.

“Which movie?” he asks. “There’s only so many times I can tolerate ‘Steel Magnolias’ without massive doses of Pepto-Bismol, a welding mask and morphine.”

“It’s not ‘Steel Magnolias,’ Mulder,” Scully says, sitting next to him and taking the plate of food he has proffered to her.

He glances sideways at her, waiting for all the FBI warnings to finish. “Would it be ‘Dana Does D.C.’ by any chance?”

Scully gives him the eyebrow, watches to see that he swallows his medications, digs into her broccoli chicken and steamed rice and turns her head back to the television, waiting for his reaction out of the corner of her eye.

The Warner Bros. emblem appears, the movie starts and Mulder turns to stare at her in surprise. “A chick flick, Scully! You brought me my favorite chick flick!” He gives her his biggest, best smile and she’s glad she picked wisely.

She’s leaning against him, curled up, eating in mostly companionable silence as Mulder, between bites of food, speaks the lines of the movie along with the actors. She knew the second she saw the video that “Blazing Saddles” would be perfect. She knew she couldn’t stand another viewing of “CaddyShack.” At least not for awhile. Not without massive doses of Pepto-Bismol, a welding mask and morphine. She can’t wait for the campfire scene.

~~~~~~

When she awakens, she realizes the tape has rewound and that Mulder has fallen asleep with a good portion of his upper body curled into her lap.

Scully turns off the VCR with the remote, finds a “white noise” channel, since he sleeps better with it on in the background, and she sleeps better knowing he sleeps better.

She’s spent over two weeks at his apartment, theoretically sleeping in his bed while he slept on his more familiar sofa. However, all of her time has been spent sharing the sofa with him. Mulder seems to rest more peacefully with Scully touching him in some way and that makes her feel as if she’s doing something more important for him than tending his healing wounds.

“Scully,” a groggy voice says, “What’cha doin’?” She glances down to see sleepy hazel eyes, pupils dilated, looking up at her.

“I just woke up.”

“Well, you can’t be comfortable like that, with me on top of you.” Mulder yawns, for once completely unaware of that particular double- entendre, and sits up. “Aren’t you gonna get in your jammies, Agent Scully?” He waggles his eyebrows at her sleepily.

“Only if you are, Agent Mulder,” Scully returns the gesture, and he laughs.

“So … what? We’re having an Officially-Sanctioned FBI Slumber Party?” he asks as he scratches his chest unconsciously. Her eyes drift down to watch the movement then back up as his hand stills. “Go on,” he gives her a nudge with his knee. “Go get changed. You know the routine.” Mulder smiles gently at her, trying to assure her that he’s okay, but there is a bit of a panicked look on his face. He’s afraid she’s going to leave.

“All right,” Scully says. “I’m just going to go change and brush my teeth and I’ll be out.”

That’s his official notice to change into his sleepwear and he nods.

When she returns ten minutes later, Mulder is sitting on the sofa in a pair of gray sweatpants and a navy blue Quantico t-shirt. Scully stands there gaping at him and then barks out a laugh, startling her partner who turns to look at her. He takes her in from head to toe.

“Scully!” he smiles like a maniac. “We’re twins!” Ironically — or maybe not so ironically — they’re wearing exactly the same thing.

“Well, don’t get any ideas, bub,” Scully says.

Mulder sticks out that plump lower lip and makes it quiver. “You mean I still can’t see your panties?”

“Sorry, Mulder, no.” Scully waits for him to let her position herself the way he wants her to sleep, the way it’s been working for him and keeping the nightmares at bay. She reclines on the sofa, rearranging the pillows for her comfort and opens her arms to him.

Mulder hesitates for a moment, wishing she would do this under an entirely different set of circumstances and wonders if they’ll ever be on the same page.

“You’re a tease, is what you are, Agent Scully,” Mulder sits on the sofa and stretches out, his back to her front, waiting for her to wrap her arms around him and hold him so he can sleep again. “You showed me your underwear on our very first case together and you haven’t shown it to me since. At least not intentionally.” He sighs deeply, rooting into the sofa and loving the smell of her hair, her shampoo, everything that is so Scully.

“That was an anomaly,” Scully replies, her voice close to his ear. “Try to sleep. Count sheep.”

“I don’t wanna count sheep,” Mulder replies, a bit groggy from the food and the medication she gives him.

“Okay, then,” Scully reaches up with her free hand and runs her fingers through his hair, “Then count panties, Mulder. Panties leaping over fences.”

Mulder chuckles into the pillow at the imagery. “Can they be Victoria’s Secret?”

Scully laughs quietly back at him. “They can be any secret you want them to be.”

They are quiet for a time and she’s certain he’s asleep until his hand comes up to pull hers down and hold it over his heart, which seems to be tripping at double-time. “Scully?” He sounds panicked.

“I’m here,” she replies.

“Don’t let me go, Scully,” Mulder begs her.

“I’ll never let you go,” she kisses his ear as chastely as possible and slowly rubs her hand on his chest where he’s placed it. His heart is slowing to a normal beat.

<I’ll never let you go. Ever, Fox William Mulder,> Scully thinks to herself. They’re not as torn when they’re together. They’re not in bits. They’re whole and she knows this. She won’t let him go. She’s told him as much.

And she means it.

––

“We should think about getting up. Sun’s starting to take a dive already. You’ll need to be on shift soon.”

He’s silent for a moment, brow scrunched a bit in concentration; then his face smooths out into its habitual non-committal expression, and he retorts, “Okay. I thought about it.” He burrows further under the covers and takes her with him, ignoring her squirming.

“Mulder, stop that! We really do need to get up!” She’s fighting down the giggles when his roving fingers successfully catch several ticklish areas, as she tries to slap them away. He peeks at her over the rim of the blankets and watches her trying to rearrange her features into stern lines. His eyes light up when he spots her bottom lip quivering into a grin. She never could hold out for very long…

With a whoop of victory he drags the covers over their heads and cocoons them in a dark cave of wool and cotton. He pins her beneath him and loftily decrees, “I don’t see no stinking twilight, Scully. Must have been your imagination. No twilight, no need to rise and shine, yet. Right?”

Her mouth is muffled against his chest. “Murf, fhbbb, Mufff -”

“What was that? Can’t understand a word you’re saying.” He eases up a little, thinking she might be having a tough time breathing. As soon as he moves away, she pulls her face out of his skin and tries to see his eyes, but it’s completely dark underneath the load of blankets and sheets covering them.

“You’re a mental case, Mulder. Now let me up, before we both suffocate.”

“Nope. Don’t wanna. Not yet. I want to stay in bed and neck. It’s dark, Partner. Nobody will ever know.”

In the artificial darkness he locates her neck with unerring ease and runs a warm tongue along her carotid artery, enjoying the way she shivers under his mouth. Her voice is an irritable mumble. “I don’t know how in hell you can find your way in the dark, Mulder. More than once I’ve almost poked your eye out because you wanted to play ‘suck face’ in a total black-out.”

“Hey, I’m always ready to take advantage of a black-out. If I’d never done it, you’d have had to wait forever for my kiss of passion and my hickey of delight.”

“Oh, brother…”]

––

–– Chapter 12 ––

Shadows and Light By Gina Rain
Spoilers: Early Season Six

Like many people, Dana Scully has experienced random moments of free- floating anxiety. Although her life has been full of occasions that gave her just cause for panic, she usually dealt with them calmly and rationally. It’s been the vague feelings of unease without tangible sources that she’s found difficult to deal with; moments when a sense of dread leached on to her like a shadow. However, being an extraordinarily rational human being, she developed a plan of attack. She used these rare moments as an opportunity for continuing medical education. She’d fire up her mental microfiche machine and scan it for the latest articles on anxiety disorders, trying to remember them word for word. While she’s never had Mulder’s memory, hers is still pretty damned good. And she’s remembered birthdays, to boot.

After fifteen or twenty minutes of study, she’d be ready to bravely walk on until, like all good shadows, her fears would slip from conscious radar, taken for granted.

The latest episode occurs the minute she walks through their office door. It’s been a rough week, case-wise. The conspiracy is once again in full swing and paranoia runs high. She knows that. She also knows she’s been in a bit of trouble. She hadn’t really read anything new on the science behind panic and her coping mechanism now looks as sad as her dentist’s waiting room; the one that was famous for its huge collection of 1978 National Geographic magazines and 1983 Family Circles.

“Has the place been swept?” she asks Mulder after only a brief nod of greeting.

He looks up from his monitor with a small smile. “All neat and tidy. Good morning to you, too.”

I’m sorry, Mulder. Good morning.”

She stores her briefcase under her desk, quickly double-checking to see if their “exterminating service” missed any stray bugs. She fires up her computer, knowing that she’ll be powering it down in a few minutes after Mulder informs her of their daily wild goose chase. They seem to be doing a lot of that lately.

“Hey, Scully,” she moves her mouse into position to make logging off easier. “It looks like we’ll have a pretty quiet day of paperwork ahead of us.”

Paperwork? No. It can’t be. Mulder never sits still for paperwork while there’s an injustice to be rectified. A dragon to be slain. A hole to be spackled. And never on a day when she wants to be away from these walls, this basement, this desk.

Sometimes, life sucks.

‘SSRIs have become first line medication for the treatment of panic disorder’… Damn, who authored the article and what followed? And, more importantly, why doesn’t she have some handy dandy Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors in her purse?

Two hours later, she finds something better than SSRIs: Mulder’s version of their latest expense report. A work of fiction could not be as creative or amusing.

She gets up from her desk and heads toward the file cabinet. She knows she needs to present him a copy of the list of justified expenses in order to change Mulder’s mind about charging the FBI $37.53 for a pair of red silk boxer shorts. She’s just reaching for the top drawer when the lights go out. Completely. Goodbye thoughts of Mulder’s creative writing assignment, hello desperate need for the serotonin stuff.

She’d known something would happen. Didn’t she feel it the moment she walked in this morning? They are probably waiting just outside the door, ready to burst in; guns drawn and ready. Guns with silencers. Skinner would probably come in here in a few days, because the cleaning crew would refuse to enter a room that has such a god- awful smell permeating through the door, and he’d find their bloodless bodies lying on the cold, dank floor.

“Scully? You okay?”

She hears him rise from his somewhat squeaky chair, and walk in her direction. This is followed by a “Fuck!” She can easily identify that as the sound of Mulder injuring a random body part. Good. Well, not that he injures a random body part but that she can try and remain calm as she identifies normal, reassuring, fairly commonplace sounds. It should keep her mind from things of a more fatal nature.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says.

“You don’t sound fine. In fact, your breathing sounds really… loud.”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says again, feeling anything but.

“I’m on my way,” he says and she hears his light steps on the bare floors. This is followed by another “fuck,” along with the metallic sound of a wastepaper basket being overturned. An “oomph” follows this and she jumps in the dark as one hand slams into the file cabinet to the right of her face, while the other clumsily grabs on to her left breast. Her accompanying gasp sounds louder than all the breathing, fucks and oomphs that preceded it.

“Tell me,” he says, “that’s not what I think it is.”

“I can’t do that,” she says and feels him disengage by just opening his fingers and drawing them away without fondling her in any way, shape or form.

“You’re gonna have to take my word for this, Scully, but, boy, is my face red.”

“Just… forget about it. Did you hurt yourself?”

She can feel him standing up straighter and moving aside rubble from the trashcan with the toe of his shoe. He leaves his right hand on the file cabinet and leans some of his weight against it. It’s beginning to feel like a conversation by the water cooler. Except there’s no water and no lights, of course.

“I’m sure I’ll have some bruises tomorrow. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Good. What do you suppose happened to the lights?”

“I don’t know. Blackout? Circuit breaker overload? Fuse blew? It’s just too damned dark down here. We’re safer just staying where we are for a while and seeing what happens. If the lights don’t come up in a few minutes, we can try and make our way across to the other side of the office and see if we have any flashlights there.”

“Mine is in the car,” she says sadly and notices her own breathing quicken a bit in response.

She feels him move his other hand over to her left side – just to the side of her breast. And he isn’t exactly touching the file cabinet, either.

“Mulder, there is no garbage can in your way and you haven’t tripped in the last few seconds, so you damned well better have a good explanation.”

“I’m checking your heart rate. I noticed before that it was going a mile a minute.”

She puts her hand on his arm and pushes it away. “I have a pulse in my wrist, you know.”

“Oh,” he says. “I sort of forgot about that. Still, your pulse is really too fast. Are you scared?”

“No, but I was. I was afraid of being compacted by a giant klutz.”

His chuckle is warm and reassuring in the dark. She feels his hand touch the side of her face. She can’t see a damned thing, yet he has perfect aim in locating all her body parts. What is he? Part-cat? Or ex-male-hooker?

She feels him move closer. Why is he moving closer? Doesn’t he know about the imminent bloodbath waiting outside their door? Doesn’t he care that twenty-seven members of the conspiracy could be out there with silencers? Doesn’t he… oh.

He kisses her neck.

No doubt about it. He just kissed her neck. She knows because she still feels the electrical surge that went from his lips all the way down to her toes, with a few strategic stops in between.

“Mulder? What did you do?” she asks, and hears a breathless quality to her voice that hasn’t been heard in quite some time.

“If you have to ask, I guess I must really be out of practice.”

“No. You seem good enough at it. I guess I meant, why?”

“Because I wanted to. Because we’re alone in the dark and I’ve already committed a grievous offense without meaning to, so I might as well go ahead and get in trouble for something that I intentionally set out to do. Or not get in trouble. You can never tell with the dark. There are so many choices. So many infinite possibilities.” He lightly brushes his lips against the pulse point in her neck. “You could smack me and tell me to stop – which I notice you didn’t do, by the way. You could participate, which you didn’t exactly do, either, but I didn’t really expect you to. Or you could charge me with sexual harassment and ruin my otherwise stellar career in law enforcement, which you probably will do once the lights come back up.”

“You’re very cavalier about the possibility.”

“Maybe it’s because I thought it was worth the risk. Maybe I thought it was worth almost any risk.”

“Almost any?”

“Well, I’d still like you to speak with me and not think I’m some pervert who has been lying in wait all these years for a fuse to blow, or a circuit to break. I’d like you to still sort of like me.”

“Well, it depends,” she says with a frown he can’t see.

“On what?”

“Did you do that… neck thing because you sensed I was uncomfortable and wanted to help me take my mind off the situation?”

“Hell, no. My hand was on an erogenous zone, Scully. That does something to a man. It fires off neurons or testosterone or something. You’re the scientist. You tell me. All I know is I was standing in the dark with the one person I’ve always wanted to kiss and the only one I wanted to help is myself – to you,” he says, then adds sheepishly, “Was that the right answer?”

It’s desire. Not pity. Not mercy.

Good answer.

She reaches out a hand and aims upward. Nothing. One more inch forward. There he is. Her fingertips touch his nose. Nope. Cute nose in its own way, but no. A little to the right. There, right there. His cheek. Slide a bit more to the left. Hair. Curl her fingers a bit and pull toward herself. Hello, Mulder.

Scully feels his breath as it nears her own cheek. She moves her free hand up to the other side of his face and manages not to poke anything in the interim. She pulls him forward some more and feels Mulder’s lips touch her face. She slides hers over until they are lined up with his own and then puckers for all she’s worth. The hand he’s using to lean against the file cabinet comes down and joins the other to hold onto her waist.

For a moment, she thinks about what a strange picture they must present. Mulder is pretty much bent at an odd angle while Scully is leaning up as far as her toes can take her; both of them perfect poster children for future chiropractic care. But then he participates in the kiss and she turns off all the machinery in her mind. She feels his lips part and she meets him halfway. They are both eager to be the first to taste each other. That initial velvety slide of warm wetness sends another shockwave down to her toes with detours along each erogenous zone Mulder didn’t manage to hit, intentionally or unintentionally, before. She melts just a little along each one.

And then the lights come on. She opens an eye to find his eyes opened and looking just a bit frightening in close-up, hazel-toned technicolor. Busted. Her tongue is still in his mouth and there is just no way to ease out of this kiss in any kind of dignified, businesslike manner. So, she closes her eyes and lets him do it. He pulls her up against him for a moment, continuing their kiss for a few seconds more. As she starts to pray for another blackout or equipment malfunction or whatever the hell this was… he breaks away and sets her back on her heels.

When Scully opens her eyes, Mulder’s seated behind his desk. She knows she is flushed and notices the matching color in his cheeks, not to mention the tell-tale Raspberry Sherbet lipstick smear around his mouth.

She walks to her desk and pops up a tissue from its cardboard container.

‘A shadow is a dark space where something blocks light.’ Ah, success. Fourth grade science is still in the memory machine. But she isn’t seeing shadows at the moment. Nope. No vague feelings of despair are haunting her now. She can put all those feelings of silencers and serotonin away for the moment.

She is being presented with a greater problem, however.

Dana Scully is now desperately afraid of the dark. But she’ll have to find out why later. When she’s alone, she’ll pull out the microfiche machine in her mind. No, that’s only for articles. She’ll have to fire up the mental VCR instead. Pull out the tape of their kiss.

Their kiss…

She’ll replay that moment… again and again and again, if she has to. All to figure out whether she’s been afraid of the dangers of the dark with its promise of infinite possibilities, or actually afraid that whatever caused the lights to go out has now repaired forever and they’ll never be caught in that situation again.

Yup, she’ll look forward to a long and fruitful investigation. But, for now, she has Kleenex to dispense.

––

“I suppose hiding out under the covers has its advantages. Can’t see how ugly this room really is.”

She pokes her nose out from the confines of a blanket and gives their room the once-over. “It’s not too awful. And it IS ours. That has to be worth something. These bunkers were once quite the fancy Army standard, you know.”

“Who told you that tall tale?”

“I think I read it on the bathroom wall.”

Mulder chuckles, “Well, that would explain it, then.” He sits up a little, piling the covers around their shoulders as he leans against the lumpy pillows. Pulling Scully into his arms, he rests his cheek on her hair as he looks around the room.

It’s really an ugly room. He’s sure it was ugly when it was new. Years and years ago, somebody made the supremely stupid decision to paint the walls and ceiling urine yellow. The carpeting on the floor began life as avocado green. At this moment in their lives the carpeting is a curious combination of residual green and basic never- been-shampooed-dirty.

There isn’t a redeeming feature anywhere in the room, but he knows it doesn’t matter, because as long as Scully’s in here with him the room is breathtakingly beautiful and he never wants to leave it…

“I wonder if rearranging the furniture would help a bit.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she winces and he snorts aloud. Meeting the sudden mischief in her partner’s eyes, Scully knows exactly what’s running through his mind. The last time furniture movement occurred around them, far more than mere furniture got moved.

She smiles, and Mulder grins widely; both of them had no idea that a little interior designing would take them one step further in their relationship – well, certainly not at the time…

––

–– Chapter 13 ––

Helping Hand By Donna
Spoilers: None

“Hello?”

He smiles. She sounds breathless. “What’s going on, Scully? You got a guy over there?”

“What’s a guy?” She responds dryly. His smile grows; her memory isn’t too shabby either. “What do you want, Mulder?”

“Oh, I got an email from some man in Nevada. He -”

“No. Stop right there. It’s Saturday and I’m not going to even think about the office or emails or -” The sound of the crash and things falling sends adrenaline through his bloodstream.

“Scully? Scully!”

“It’s, it’s okay Mulder. I dropped a box I was trying to get down from the closet shelf.”

“Are you hurt? I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“I’m fine. What do you mean a couple of minutes? Got a new transporter?”

“No, I’m only a few blocks away.”

There is a tiny pause. “Why are you only a few blocks away?”

“I, uh, I was going to surprise you.”

“Well you have. Mulder, I’m busy. I’m spring cleaning and I have no intentions of getting into a case or looking at an email from some freak in Nevada who found your 1-900 number.”

“I can help you get that box back up on the shelf.” He responds quickly.

“Mulder, I am perfectly capable of -”

“Growing 10 inches?” He breaks in.

“Bite me.” At least that’s what he thinks she said. He doesn’t dare comment.

“I’m almost there, Scully. Turn me away after you see me.”

“Mufph.”

“I’m going to take that as okay. See you in minute.” He presses ‘end’ on the phone and smiles. He’d love to bite her, given a quarter of a chance.

She answers his knock with her eyebrow high. Apparently she’s started out the day with her hair in a ponytail, but nearly as much is now curling around her face as is held back by the elastic. She’s wearing chic frump, in fact, isn’t that his t-shirt?

“Nice duds, Scully. When did you take to stealing my clothes?” He walks past her into the living room.

“Anything that I find in my suitcase and wash, is mine,” she retorts, but her mind is on the delicious aroma surrounding him. “What did you bring?”

“Ah, you noticed the gifts.” He holds up the bag. “Coffee and cinnamon buns from that place you were talking about.” He bites his lip to keep from laughing at the expression of bliss on her face. “Can you take a break?”

“A short one,” she replies over her shoulder as she leads him to the kitchen.

“So, spring cleaning, huh?” He takes the cup she offers him and sits at an angle from her at the table.

She already has her mouth full of cinnamon bun, but she nods. When she swallows she faces him. “And I’m thinking of rearranging the furniture in the bedroom too.”

“Why?”

“To shake things up. Just make a difference in there.” She watches as he stands. “Where are you going?”

“To check under the bed for pods.”

She gives him a one-finger salute and he resumes his seat. “Agent Scully, did you just give me the finger?”

She rolls her eyes and takes another bite. He has to grin at her enjoyment. He loves seeing her like this. Hell, he loves showing up uninvited to disrupt her day.

As she washes up, he wanders into the bedroom and sees the box that has spilled all over the floor. He leans over and picks up a book. Realizing what it is he flops down on her bed and begins turning pages.

“What are you doing?” She enters the room and stops to observe him.

He holds up the book, “You as a freshman. I’m looking for your picture.”

“Mulder…” It is very close to a whine.

“Ah ha! I knew it.”

“Knew what?” She grumps as she begins to pick up the rest of the spillage.

“You were cute as a button and your hair curled!”

“Give me that!” She yanks the book from his hands. “Have you left yet?”

“Hey, I’m here to help. Are you really going to rearrange in here?”

She straightens up and places her hands on her hips, as she looks around. “Yes.” She finally nods. “I am.”

“Okay, tell me what to do.”

“Mulder, you don’t have to help me. Don’t you have things you need to do?”

He shakes his head, “Not if you won’t discuss emails from Nevada with me. Come on, together it won’t take long and we can grab some lunch or something.” He already knows he’s won, that light in her eyes is worth any amount of sore muscles.

They stack the mattress and springs against the far wall and move the frame enough to get the dresser out of the way. She decides the chair should go in front of the window.

He does pick at her, but it is friendly and in less than an hour, the room is put back together. He makes himself comfortable in the middle of her bed and looks up at her. “Okay?”

She stands there, looking around. She folds her arms. “Scully?”

“I don’t like it.”

“What?” He rises up on one elbow.

She looks kind of pitiful for a minute. “I liked it better the other way.”

“Do you want to change it back?”

“I can’t ask…”

“You didn’t ask before. I showed up and volunteered.” He stretches and stands up, tugging the mattress off the bed again.

“You worked so hard.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll demand payment later.”

Moving things back takes less time. He knows where things go. But he does move the dresser farther from the window and leaves the chair in front of it. “I like it there.”

She nods, “Me too.” She looks around the room. “Yes, it’s better this way. I don’t want changes in the bedroom.”

He bounces onto the bed. “I hope that isn’t a metaphor.”

“What?”

“Nothing. So, what’s my reward?”

“Reward? What do you want?”

He pats the bed beside him as he reclines against the pillows. He is delighted to see the blush that takes over her face. She’s thought about it! She has obviously thought about this!

He is in front of her in one swift motion, standing, no, looming over her. She doesn’t retreat, turning her face up to his. His lips meet hers in a chaste kiss, then he leans back to gauge her reaction. She smiles. Her lips reach for his again before he can get his arms around her.

God, is it any wonder he adores this woman?

Someday, maybe they’ll ‘move the mattress’ in a very different way. After all, he’s dreamed of ‘moving the sofa’ with Scully for years.

Later… he’ll think about that later.

––

“I wanted you that day, you know.”

Her soft words make him groan aloud, “Now you tell me! You got any idea how tough it was for me to let you go? Allowing you to leave my arms was as painful as having my heart carved out of my body with a spoon.”

Scully considers the analogy very carefully. “Yes, I can see where that might be painful. But seriously, I wanted you, badly. I was also worried and unsure. I knew we were moving into territory from which there’d be no turning back, and even though we’d been dancing around it for years, still when the moment came I found reasons not to let it happen.”

“Well, I can understand why, Scully. Even though I wanted you madly and thought I’d die if I didn’t have you, deep down I knew we weren’t quite there. But I’ll tell you something: half the fun of the romance is the anticipation.”

Her snicker is uttered without malice. “Well then, you must have been anticipating enough to assure you were having a ball, Mulder… for as long as it took for me to come around.”

“Yes, indeedy, baby. But when you finally started to come around, you really blew me away…”

––

–– Chapter 14 ––

Rain Dance By Lynn Saunders
Spoilers: Early Season 7

Spring creeps in slowly, bringing warm sunbeams, morning dew, and every possible shade of green, bringing new life and love. Suddenly, every living thing radiates the energy of hope. She revels in it, feeling as if she will burst. This year, the air hums with possibilities.

He asks her to jog with him on a Thursday, and she agrees even though her evening run is the only personal time she gets. It’s something about the way he asks, sandpaper voice in her ear in the middle of a committee meeting, coaxing her to break the established routine. She honestly can’t refuse this man who touches her possessively, stands too close for comfort, and speaks to her as if she’s the only woman in the world. He is irresistible.

They avoid the bustling city streets, heading to the park instead. It smells of fresh dirt and well-oiled leather mitts. The evening air is unseasonably warm, even for spring, so he strips off his pullover, revealing a t-shirt with “FBI” in bold black letters and a small clarifier, which reads “Federal Bikini Inspector”. He would own that shirt, she thinks as she stretches, her muscles tingling in anticipation.

The baseball field has been tended to recently in preparation for little league games, and she stands at home plate, remembering his arms around her. Only a year has passed since her baseball lesson, yet it feels like a lifetime. So much has changed. So many things are still changing.

They run the perimeter of the field as the sun slips lower on the horizon, bathing the world in a purple glow. They don’t talk as they go, content for the first time in months to simply be near one another. Instead, she watches him, the way his muscles ripple as he runs, and he smiles mischievously every time he catches her gaze. She realizes, on some level, that this slow dance, this seduction is a dangerous thing. Yet, the thought of an explosion with Mulder makes her insides flutter. She is well aware of the consequences. She knows what she wants.

They are rounding the far corner of the diamond for the third time when, in true spring fashion, heavy rain begins to fall without warning. He stops, stunned for a moment, looking up into the sky with a laugh until the thunder rumbling in the distance sends them rushing for cover.

They cut across the outfield, sneakers squeaking against the wet grass. He reaches the infield at a dead run and slips on the recently- graded dirt, his knee hitting hard.

“Mulder, are you okay?” she asks, breathless and half-laughing. She extends a hand and hauls him to his feet. “Be more careful,” she adds with a wry smile.

“I’m glad I could amuse you, Scully,” he answers with mock- indignation.

Amusing Scully is, in fact, what he lives for, but he leaves that part out. Instead, he allows her to lead him to the small dugout at the edge of the field. Rain taps rhythmically on the shelter’s tin roof as she examines the scratches on his knee in the fading evening light.

“What’s your professional opinion?”

“I think you’ll live.”

She looks up at him with a smile, her damp hair curling around her face in the most endearing way. He tucks it behind her ear gently, his thumb tracing her fine cheekbone. This thing between them is new and exhilarating, and he doesn’t realize that he’s going to pull her near until she’s already wrapped in his arms. Her fingers slide up his shoulders, making him shiver.

“Scully?”

“Mm?” She blinks slowly.

He doesn’t remember what he was going to say or if there were ever any words at all. She seems to understand, though. He can feel her smile against his lips as he kisses her thoroughly in the falling spring rain, the smell of earth, fresh and wet, all around.

This evening, she saves him from one storm, even as he creates another in her.

––

Outside their window the sun is sinking steadily. Inside the room they’re willing to stave off getting out of bed, in any way they can. It’s been wonderful just lying in each other’s arms, thinking about their past and remembering not only the good times but the bad as well. They’re both sensible enough to understand how both sides of the coin contributed to the shaping of first their partnership, then friendship… and finally, their love. It’s a rare life that doesn’t include tragedy with comedy, and hate with love. It’s a boring life that walks the mid-path and never dips to one side or another.

They know this. But it took more than a few years to accept.

“I still wouldn’t change anything, Mulder.” Her soft voice tickles his ear. She’s tracing a finger over his chin, the rasp of a days’ worth of stubble prickling at her skin. His eyes are closed but his lips are curved in a smile of pure enjoyment, for there’s precious little in the world he enjoys more than her touch, however light and brief. Her statement only makes him smile wider, and his eyes flick open, gaze at her, thinking how lucky he is to have her beside him.

No, he wouldn’t change but a few things, he decides. He’d change the length of time it took for both of them to wise up and figure out they were meant to be together. He’d change the danger level, not necessarily for him but for her. Yes, as a federal agent she was expected to deal with terrible, dangerous situations. It was her job, and she was always the supreme professional.

But there were episodes in their past, her past… events that he wishes so badly had been visited upon him, and not her. Hideous monsters, monstrous biological invaders. One and the same, as far as he’s concerned. Satan in disguise, no doubt. That evil has so many forms and comes in endless flavors. It has entered their lives again and again. It has never beat them… but it came so goddamn close, more than once.

Mulder shivers a little and clutches his lover even closer, long- buried memories and traces of those dark times flooding him. He whispers, “I would, Scully. I’d change a few things. If I could go back and do it again, I’d make sure the monsters we’ve had to deal with would have met their demise before they could do damage, especially to you.”

She stares at him in the now-dim room. “Mulder… there are events you could never change. Things happened to me for a reason, you know that. Whatever evil we faced, we did it together. And we won. Together. I can look back and feel pride; can’t you?”

“Not always. Not when it almost got you killed, Scully. Not when one in particular slithered back to the surface and tagged you as the ‘victim that got away.’ Never that.”

Oh, Mulder… she hugs him tightly, soothingly. She knows which devil he’s thinking of. She still remembers how she felt; how vulnerable, how unsure that she’d done the right thing…

How fiercely glad she’d been to find that power within herself, to be the one to do it.

––

–– Chapter 15a ––

Bonded By Faith By xphilernj
Spoilers: Orison

“If you want to pack some things, we can get out of here.”

“Yeah.”

Scully pulls her Bible out of the dresser drawer and looks at him.

“You can’t judge yourself.”

She turns and sits on the edge of her bed. “Maybe I don’t have to.”

“The Bible allows for vengeance.”

“But the law doesn’t.”

Mulder leans toward her to better see her eyes.

“The way I see it… he didn’t give you a choice. And my report will reflect that… in case you’re worried. Donnie Pfaster would’ve surely killed again if given the chance.”

“He was evil, Mulder. I’m sure about that, without a doubt. But there’s one thing that I’m not sure of.”

“What’s that?”

“Who was at work in me. Or what… what made me… what made me pull the trigger.”

“You mean if it was God?”

“I mean… what if it wasn’t?”

Her eyes meet his and then she stares down at the Bible she holds in her lap. What more can he say to that?

“I don’t know Scully. But there is one thing that I do know.”

Milder reaches over, lifts her chin to look at him; caresses her cheek.

“You are nothing like Donnie Pfaster or Reverend Orison. You had no agenda. You did the only thing you could do to survive.”

“Mulder…”

“Scully, if he had stepped one foot toward you, I would have killed him myself.”

She pushes her cheek into the palm of his hand and closes her eyes. Her bottom lip starts to quiver and a tear trails down her bruised cheek. Mulder leans in and kisses the tear away.

“Come’ere.”

He sits beside her and pulls her into his body. She wraps her arms around his waist as she begins to tremble. Mulder holds her until she relaxes against him; then she moves back and looks up with tear filled eyes.

“Thank you.”

Mulder gently pushes the hair back from her face; then runs his fingers across the bruise on her cheek. She closes her eyes; a slight smile tugs at the corner of her lips. He leans in and kisses her. When he pulls away she sighs, rests her head against his chest and tightens her arms around his waist. Hugging her close, he rests his head atop of hers.

“You ready to pack some things so we can get out of here?”

“Yeah.”

She relinquishes her hold and slowly slides from the bed. She makes her way to the closet, stops and stands as if paralyzed. Her dilemma is obvious to him as she tries to pull her bag from the top of the closet. When he grabs it for her she swallows hard, trying to also choke down the panic. She glances up and all Mulder can see is fear, sadness and a bit of anger. She shakes her head and takes the bag from him.

“It’s okay. Give yourself a break. A little time. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“No, it’s not okay. You’d think after four years… I’m still paralyzed with…”

Mulder places his hands on her shoulders and lowers his head so she can look in his eyes.

“I told you before that Donnie did a number on you before like I had never seen. And now, deja vu; here you are again. He beats you, ties you up and throws you in that damned closet. You have every reason to be paralyzed by fear. You are still a strong person, Scully. But even the strong have their moments.”

He smiles and she returns it. She nods, turns and starts packing.

“I’m going out front and make sure everyone has left. Let me know when you’re ready.” A pause at the door; he looks back. “Scully, are you okay?”

“I will be.” She continues her packing as Mulder slips out.

~~~~~~

Mulder opens his door and leads her in. She takes her bag and moves to the sofa as he locks up.

“I think I still have some of the tea you love so much. Would you like some?”

“That would be nice. Would you mind if I take a shower and change?”

“Not at all. You know where everything is. Call out if you need anything. Your tea will be ready by the time you’re done.”

She turns to go and then glances back at Mulder and smiles.

“Thank you… for everything.”

“Not a problem. Now go and get ready for bed. I’ll be here if you need me.”

She nods and leaves the room. Mulder finishes making the tea.

~~~~~~

After the tea is gone she begins to yawn.

“Sorry. I think I’m more tired than I thought.”

“Scully, don’t even apologize. I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed before now. Why don’t you go on to bed? I’ll be out here if you need me.”

She reaches up and kisses him on the cheek and then runs her fingers through his thick hair as she stands.

“Good night, Mulder. And… thank you.”

“Night, Scully. And… you’re welcome.”

He watches as she pads off to the bedroom. Leaning his head back, he listens to the little Scully sounds drifting through the door. With a smile, he closes his eyes; nods off to sleep only to be awakened by soft moans and her calling his name. Just as Mulder’s sitting up to go check on her, she appears at the door looking for all the world like she’s lost.

“Scully, you okay? Bad dream?”

“Yeah. Sorry if I woke you.”

“Nah. You didn’t wake me.”

He’d been reclined against the pillow resting on the arm of his sofa. With his foot planted on the floor and his left leg stretched out across the seat, he pats the spot in front of him and beckons her to sit. She slowly walks around the end of the sofa and stands in front of him. She looks a little unsure but decides to sit and recline against Mulder’s chest. He pulls the blanket off the back of the sofa and covers her shaking body.

“What’s the matter, Scully?”

“Cold. I can’t seem to get warm.”

Milder wraps himself around her. With a free hand he pushes her hair behind her ear and then rubs her shoulder and arm. When he kisses the top of her head he swears he can hear her purr.

“You okay?”

“Better.”

She snuggles into his chest and rubs her cheek against him. Her body begins to relax as Mulder holds her close. Just as he decides she’s fallen asleep, he hears her whisper.

“Love you, Mulder.”

Mulder smiles and nuzzles the top of her head.

“I love you too, Scully. Sweet dreams.”

They both fall asleep in the comfort and warmth of each other’s arms.

Tomorrow’s another day that they’ll face… together.

––

–– Chapter 15b ––

Bonded By Love by Spangle
Spoilers: Orison

As he watches her sleeping, her head resting against the arm of his sofa, titian hair spilling over the side, his heart breaks all over again. She murmurs his name softly in her sleep, the ghost of a smile playing over her face. He knows she feels safe here, with him to watch over her, but all he’s feeling is guilt. Well not just guilt… guilt and love. Overpowering, overwhelming, and as he knows all too well – inescapable. Sighing, and wiping his hands tiredly over his face, Mulder gets up from the sofa and wanders into his bedroom.

He really ought to be sleeping; tomorrow is going to be one of those long and trying days. Donnie Pfaster’s shooting must be explained to the authorities, the appropriate paperwork must be filed. Scully will have to deal with the FBI procedures alongside the police, and since he was there, so will he.

He’s going to get her through this. He’s going to have her back – as always. He knows there is the chance that the shooting will be questioned, but he isn’t overly concerned. What’s keeping him up is a sickening feeling that this is all somehow his fault.

He is, after all, the reason that Scully ever met Pfaster to begin with. All those years ago now, all because he was trying to involve her in his life on a more personal basis.

A date. That’s what it was supposed to be. A chance for them to interact without work. It just went wrong… dramatically wrong. Involving them in something that still isn’t finished playing out.

Throwing himself onto his bed, Mulder stares at the ceiling, eyes unseeing and conscience working overtime. If she knew, Scully would be mad. Adding to his worries is the last thing she would ever want. Knowing this though has never stopped him from feeling responsible, even if it should.

“Oh Scully,” he murmurs aloud, “I’m so sorry.”

Her voice from the doorway startles him, forcing him upright on his bed in a second.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Oh, hey… I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was. When you left the sofa – I guess I knew you weren’t beside me, and I woke up.” Scully holds up her hand to stall the apology about to fall from her partner’s lips. “No you don’t. Like I said Mulder, I don’t need to hear that from you. I’m the one who’s sorry – encroaching on your off time like this. Maybe I should have gone to stay with my mother.”

In the half-light of the room Mulder can see the droop in her shoulders, and her bruised face looks worse than it did earlier when he helped her pack a small bag to bring over with her. Patting the bed next to him, and hoping she won’t take it the wrong way, he motions for her to join him. Somewhat to his surprise, she actually smiles and looks relieved, she moves swiftly and crawls across the bed to him, before surprising him further and flinging her arms tightly around his neck.

He’s dreamt about things like this, but being the person he is, allows himself to just enjoy the heavenly feeling of her in his arms, for only a moment before he speaks.

“Are you okay?”

Holding on to him for a few seconds more, eventually she finds her voice and releases her hold. Sitting back on her heels she regards him as she asks, “How did you know?”

He doesn’t have to ask her what she’s referring to… she wants to know why he came to her apartment earlier, how he knew that she was in trouble, that Pfaster was trying to finish what he started years ago. He isn’t sure how to reply, he’s still not sure himself why he did what he did.

His silence prompts her to ask again. “How? How did you know – how do you always know when I need you?”

H wants to tell her it’s because he loves her, but he thinks she understands without the words. So instead he shrugs and just answers, “Lucky hunch, I guess. Not that you needed me, because you handled him, Scully – you saved yourself.”

Scully regards him quietly for a moment. It’s a moment that seems to occur more and more frequently with them. A moment, when the mood gets very heavy, all the unspoken truths between them weighing down the very air. A moment they have always ignored, backed away from, lightened with humor or deflected with a change of subject. Mulder waits for it to pass, as it always does, but this time it doesn’t.

“Mulder, if I saved myself – it was because of you. Because I had to… because I couldn’t – leave you.”

“Scully, I…”

“No, wait. I need to say this. The whole time Pfaster was there, during the whole ordeal, I was acutely aware of not only my will to survive, but your will. Your passion for our work, for life, for our friendship. The thought of leaving you, of not being there, right next to you, to help you, and support you, of not fighting the fight with you – that’s what kept me focused on freeing myself.”

“And you did.”

“I never thought about killing him, Mulder – not until after it was over – he was just an obstacle keeping me from you.”

Mulder stares at her, not certain what to say, or where she’s going with this.

“That’s what concerned me afterwards, Mulder – and what concerns me still.”

“I’m not sure I’m following you.”

Scully rises from the bed, and keeping her back towards him, she makes her point.

“Don’t you see, Mulder… I’m capable of killing – for you. You mean that much to me, being by your side in this, this whole journey of ours. I realized just how far I’m willing to go to see it through.”

Mulder rises and approaches her cautiously. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he pulls her back gently until she is leaning against his chest, then he wraps his arms around her torso and buries his face against her hair. They are both silent, letting the intimacy of their position settle over them. It’s Mulder who speaks first, not raising his head at all, his voice muffled.

“It’s the same for me, Scully. I’m just as committed. Tell me you understand that.” It isn’t exactly the declaration he makes to her every night in his dreams, but it’ll do, until the right time for more comes along.

She sighs softly, and her reply is spoken so quietly he almost misses it, “I do, Mulder – I honestly do.”

She pulls away from him, and he’s sure that she’s going to leave now, go and stay with her mother, get some distance again – it’s been the way they’ve operated for so long, two steps forward, one back. When she returns to his bed, and curls up in it, he’s so stunned by it he can’t move.

“Come and hold me, Mulder – let’s get some sleep.”

He goes to her gladly, curls himself around her, and holds on tight, feeling lighter, somehow more secure than he has in ages. He feels they are closer to where he wants them to be than ever before.

He has her back, as always, and in each other’s arms, they find rest.

––

What hasn’t killed them has made them stronger. That phrase could have been written especially for them. Each time one of them has been slapped in the face with tragedy, adversity, a hundred different kinds of danger… what has gotten them through was the strength and fortitude each drew from the other.

Mulder has claimed it as their own special truth, for a very long time.

Sometimes he wonders if Scully realizes just how strong she really is. For all of the times she has taken care of him, when in her own world she could be flailing under the pressure of personal grief… it’s a humbling thing. And yet she’s always there when he needs her, that quiet presence, that gentle hand. Sanity calming over his manic waters, keeping him anchored, making him safe. It’s their pattern, set on the day she walked into his inner sanctum, and repeated many times over during the course of their relationship. It has brought them to this very moment, given them the privilege of being able to share a narrow double bed in a world gone crazed, holding onto each other and still finding pockets of glory amongst caverns of despair.

He could be out in the bitter cold, pounding his fists against the sorrow and failure he’s managed to build up, year upon year… but instead a loving woman holds him and soothes him and tells him everything will be as right as possible. Now, today, this minute, in the small block of time before they must rise and face their present, she anchors him yet again when he thinks back on past losses…

And the comfort he was blessed to receive from her, the strength she sent his way that kept him going, during one of his own darkest hours.

––

–– Chapter 16 ––

Angels By RowanD
Spoilers: Closure

He once thought his mother was an angel; a soft voice and sweet caresses and rose-scented skin calming a little boy’s fearful dreams in the middle of the night. Somewhere along the way, she took on the tint of humanity. He saw she had flaws, weaknesses, needs of her own. That she was a person, after all, and not some higher being known as mother. But he loved her no less.

One day everything shattered. Screams and harsh hands and strobelight glimpses through banister dowels and he didn’t trust anyone anymore but Sam. And in a blink she was gone.

But he still loved his mother.

From a distance.

As time passed, and life thundered forward, and concerns about girls and part time-jobs and algebra exams turned to career paths and London night clubs and the inner workings of the criminal mind, the spark of connection between mother and son flickered to the forefront. Nothing would ever be the same again. But the touches softened. Trips home were full of tight embraces and gently adoring smiles. Hands were squeezed and pride radiated.

He caught glimpses of the midnight angel, all mixed up now with the flawed and scarred woman in the house on the hill.

Then his career took over his life. And just as the dark machinations and illusions beneath the warmth of his childhood home and family had been mercilessly thrust upon him, so came the deception and horror beneath the surface of the world at large.

And mother had nothing to do with his day to day struggle. She belonged in a compartment somewhere else. With Thanksgiving and Hanukkah and garden parties on the Fourth of July.

Until it all crashed and got mixed up together. All the dark forces in his life meshed into one. Those assaulting the trust in the world were the same who had broken the sacred trust of his family. And he was left once more with only one person to trust. Only one comforting voice in his ear. Only one soft hand in his hair, one gentle gaze on his back as he pressed forward into the darkness.

But this time she came with blue eyes and fiery hair and a child’s belief in the omnipotence of science and the black and white of God against the Devil where God always comes out on top.

She pulled him back to the surface.

A few short weeks ago, Teena Mulder died. She joined the real angels. And he wishes he still believed in all of that.

Because he has learned he loved his mother all along. Nothing ever changed. Only the lenses he viewed it through.

He’s sitting in the room in which she lived out her last days, sorting through all the piles and boxes of things he promised his mother time and again he would filter through and get out of her way. And he’s finding everything she ever saved of his life. He is finding the hair from his first haircut. He is finding spelling tests with big gold stars from the second grade. He is finding Valentine gifts signed Fox in crooked red letters. He is finding newspaper clipping of blurry black and white photographs outside courthouses declaring the convictions of serial killer with his own figure shadowy and hunched and distracted in the background.

And he is wishing for something as simple as a night on the sofa with popcorn and a video with his mother and Sam beside him.

Every now and then he thinks he will have to stop. That he can’t do this anymore. That all of this is proof he has lost the fight. He’s been fighting for so long to find the light again. The trust. The truth. And every time he thinks he has a glimpse of it, the glass shatters and it all proves to be an illusion.

And like a cat with a sixth sense, each time he stops lifting objects from the box, each time he feels the shadow closing over him— her fingers graze his back. Or his forearm. Or brush through his hair.

She moves about the room in silence. Boxing, sorting, gathering, labeling. She brings him bottled water. She sits close and doesn’t speak.

Her scent is all around him these days. His thoughts are layered with memories of the horrible desolation of the first night and the overpowering knowledge that his Scully’s body was all he had for a lifeline. Wrapping himself around her, sobbing against the flat of her stomach, burying his face in her tiger-lily hair.

The intensity of the connection has stolen his strength. He is in no condition to fight it. He can only take what she has to offer. And she seems to have an endless well to give these days. It is his turn to grieve. Hers will come again, as much as he would kill to keep it at bay.

He knows he should thank her, out loud. Should give voice and definition to the ocean of gratitude within him. But it has never been their way, they have never been about verbal communication. Instead, he squeezes back on her hand. Hard. And he knows she understands. Knows she feels the need and desire and devotion in his simplest touch. Knows she will be there, warm and solid when he wakes in the middle of the night.

Because she is Scully. They are Mulder and Scully. And if he is fighting for anything at all these days, it has to be that.

He has to believe in angels, again.

He has to understand he never stopped.

––

“We’ve certainly run the gamut of old memories, haven’t we?” Her voice is on the dry side but he can hear a nuance of levity. He’s on his back, staring at the cracked ceiling with its ancient maze of pipes, and she’s using his stomach as a pillow. Every so often she chuckles when it growls against her ear. He supposes they should get up and go shower, go eat, go to what constitutes their jobs. The wind is kicking up out there, the sun is a fading glimpse of red beyond the horizon, and yet he’s loathe to move from this safe and warm nest. Out there, each minute is riddled with uncertainty and worry, an unpredictable walk on a wild side neither of them could have imagined years ago when they were still immersed in their quest.

But in here, he knows exactly what he’s got, precisely where he’s been and where he wants to remain. Maybe some of it wasn’t good but it was all theirs, and thinking back on it has helped him to acknowledge and to accept the way it’s formed them both.

He muses, “Well, yes… but it’s been a good thing, don’t you think? We’ve been too busy to do much more than exist, for longer than I care to contemplate, and decent downtime has been way overdue. Besides, you started it.” He tenses his stomach muscles as the words leave his mouth, anticipating her reaction.

But she merely turns her head to glare at him good-naturedly. “Only because you were doing that self-blame thing again. Somebody had to bring you to your senses.” Sitting up suddenly, she winds some of the blanket around her body to keep herself warm, and faces him. “I could do it too, Mulder. In fact, I have, more than a few times. I’ve had my moments of despair, blaming myself for undue strife between us, worried that I’d fucked it all up. I’ve done that panic dance, too.”

“I know you have, Scully. But you never had to, not ever. It never changed the way I felt about you. It never altered the depth of my love for you.”

She manages a smile. “Well, sure I know that, now. But back then, the uncertainty ran amok and it could have ruined everything.”

“But it didn’t. We didn’t let it. YOU didn’t let it.” He reaches for her hand, squeezes her fingers, warms her with his touch. Tugs her across the bed and back into his arms, under the covers where it’s safe and what’s been done can’t further damage them…

––

–– Chapter 17 ––

Arrested Development By: Tess
Spoilers: En Ami

She can’t sleep.

She lies in the darkness of her room, futilely searching for a comfortable position. She plumps the pillow and turns onto her side but she knows, deep in her heart, that it is not an uncomfortable mattress but rather the thoughts that flit through her mind like fireflies on a hot, summer’s evening, preventing her from finding rest.

She kicks her legs beneath the covers and sits up on the edge of the mattress in frustration. Scraping her hair away from her face, she shoots a baleful look at the softly glowing numbers of the digital clock on her nightstand.

She can’t sleep and she won’t be able to sleep until she talks with him.

Earlier, there had been little conversation between them on the drive from the office building that had once housed Spender’s supposed office to Mulder’s apartment. His eyes had been grave and his smile sad, as he had stepped out of her car.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he had promised.

And then he had disappeared into the lobby of his building.

She has spent the intervening hours in an agony of worry. What is he thinking? Are his feelings hurt? Is he angry? Does he think her actions constitute a betrayal of their trust?

And overriding every other thought is one – has she ruined things between them?

She needs to know. It’s just a little after midnight. Technically, it is ‘tomorrow’ she rationalizes. In seconds, she has stripped out of her pajamas and changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved cotton sweater.

Traffic is light and she arrives at his apartment building before she can second-guess herself. She sits in the car and listens to the sounds of the engine cooling as she tries to organize her thoughts and find the right words to explain her actions, but she is not sure what she can say to make him understand.

She thinks that if she can just see him… touch him… the words will come. She prays it is so.

His apartment is dark when she lets herself inside. She tucks the key into the front pocket of her jeans and creeps across the floor toward his bedroom. The door is standing ajar and she leans against its wooden frame, taking a moment to watch him sleep. He’s left the blinds open, allowing the light from the streetlamps to stream into the room. She wonders, as she often has, if there is a part of him that fears the dark despite the shadows of the world in which they work and live. He is curled on his side and his lashes are dark crescents against the tender skin beneath his eyes.

“I’m awake.”

His voice startles her and she jumps, pressing a hand between her breasts.

His eyelids lift and he looks up at her. Those hazel depths tell her nothing. His manner is neither welcoming nor dismissive. She wraps her arms around herself and takes a deep breath. She wants to rationalize what she’s done. Wants to defend her actions. Wants to remind him that he has left her waiting and wondering and worrying about him countless times in the past.

In the past.

But the past is just that and things are not as they once were. They have moved on and have even gone so far as to whisper of a future together. And she knows that justifying her actions with a reminder of things past is not acceptable.

Not now. Not in their present. And certainly not in their future – if they are to have one together.

The sheets rustle as he tucks one hand beneath his pillow. Still, he waits and yet she thinks – she hopes – that she sees a softening in his expression.

She rushes across the room. “I’m sorry,” she breathes as she falls to her knees beside the bed. Her gaze is locked onto his face searching for a sign of forgiveness. He is watchful. Quiet.

Her hand burrows beneath the pillow and she twines her fingers through his in a death grip.

“I won’t leave you again.” Tears blur her vision and one spills over her lashes.

“You can trust me,” she vows.

He untangles his fingers from hers and lifts the sheet in an unspoken invitation. She kicks off her shoes and crawls into the bed with him. She throws her arms around his neck and buries her face against his throat.

He pulls her close with one arm and his breath feathers over her ear as he speaks.

“I trust you, Scully.”

She lifts a contrite face to his. His hand smoothes the hair away from her damp cheek.

“I can’t live without you,” he whispers. In one sentence he sums up the fears that had tortured him while she had been gone.

She twines her fingers into his hair and pulls his face down to hers. Her mouth moves over his, tongue darting out to trace the seam of his lips; he opens to her. Her kiss is a little wild as she seeks absolution, wanting to convey faithfulness. He responds, telling her without words that all is well; that things have not been ruined between them.

Her hands smooth over his chest; his skate under the hem of her sweater to tease the soft skin of her back. Her fingers dip beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms, nails scratching the hair- roughened skin of his stomach. He cups her breast in the warm palm of his hand. Her legs wrap around his waist and his hips surge against hers.

He roughly pulls his mouth away and buries his face in her hair.

“Wait,” he gasps. Her chest heaves against his and she shakes her head. She wants his mouth again. Welcomes his weight as he presses her into the bedcovers. She turns her head against the pillow, seeking his mouth. His fingers catch in the silk of her hair and she opens her eyes to look at him.

“Not tonight,” he whispers. “Not yet.”

His face is flushed. His lips are damp and slightly swollen. His heart is pounding beneath her hand. She aches for him. Has always ached for him. He feels so good pressed against her that she cannot resist arching her hips into his hardness.

His eyes slide shut and a groan rumbles deep in his chest. She can feel him pulsing against her. She knows that he is clinging to his self-restraint. And… she knows that he is right.

She dips her chin in defeat and acknowledgment.

She turns in his arms and settles onto her side as he curls up behind her. His arm curves over her waist and she draws his hand up between her breasts and presses her lips to his knuckles.

“Soon,” she whispers. It is both a question and a vow.

His arm tightens around her.

“Soon.”

––

“It was my turn to attempt falling asleep with my panties in a twist.”

He smothers a laugh in her hair. “Now there’s a mental image I can take with me, into battle.”

She pulls sharply on his earlobe, earning a yelp, and retorts, “It wasn’t funny, Mulder. I couldn’t sleep for hours, that night.”

“What, you think it was any easier for me? With you all cuddled up into my groin? Jesus! I was dying for you. But it wasn’t our time, not right then. If we’d made love that night I don’t think either of us would have known for sure if it was real, or just a gut reaction from almost losing what we had. I think we’d have awakened the next morning not only regretting it, but discovering new and efficient ways to kill our friendship as well as any chance for lasting romance.”

Scully grumbles under her breath, “I hate it when you’re right.”

“What was that?”

“You heard me.”

“Yep, I did. I just wanted you to repeat it, preferably into this tiny microphone I have hidden in my chest hair.”

She offers up a wicked grin. “What chest hair?”

“Oh, that was a low blow, Scully. Maybe I should amend it… the chest hair I used to have, that you yanked out by the roots with those eager fingers of yours, the night we finally DID do it.”

“I did NOT!”

His laughter rings out in the small room, and she reluctantly joins in, giving up the indignant attitude, and letting the sweetness of that memory wash over her again.

––

–– Chapter 18a ––

Touch and the Easy Answer By diehard
Spoilers: All Things

She awakens in the dark of Mulder’s living room, to the gurgle of his fish tank. The mollies still swim in lazy circles around and around in a closed loop, there is still a faint light coming from the kitchen, the blanket still holds the smell of his after shave. She’s wearing yesterday’s clothes, she’s still Special Agent Dana Scully, but the universe shifted when she wasn’t looking. No, something inside her has shifted, broke open, broke free. And she’d been looking for it for years, in alleys and graveyards, in the office, in rental cars and dozens of motel rooms. But she couldn’t get to it, couldn’t quite reach it.

She’d almost gotten her hands on it when she was dying, and after Antarctica and Africa, but somehow it slipped away. It’s taken him leaving for England, her finding Daniel and saying goodbye to her past, her guilt, her fear. It’s taken the white flash of revelation at the feet of Buddha to show her that what she wants has been in her grasp, but what needed to be freed were not her hands but her heart.

It’s only a few minutes before she’s sitting at the edge of his mattress, watching him sleep. With her hand she strokes his forehead, his mouth. Her eyes flutter closed when she feels him smile, his lips parting beneath her touch, his warm breath bathing her fingers. Easy, after all this time. Eager hands reach for her, and as she falls toward him, he catches her.

Slowly, he undresses her and she helps him, the two of them together pulling off her sweater, peeling off her skirt, the rest of it, until it’s them, just them, skin, and the dappled moonlight from the window painting them as they move. Easy, after all.

––

–– Chapter 18b ––

All the Right Moves By Maggie
Spoilers: All Things

She’s his canvas. He paints her with his fingers in swirly stars and floating lilies. He paints her with his tongue in supine flesh and angel wings.

Nose to nose he paints her a smile with his own, and were he a less intuitive man, were he any other man, he’d call hers enigmatic. But there is no other man. There is only the artist, and he alone knows what that smile means.

He smudges it with kisses, melts it like candle wax, shapes it into something holy, something new, something touched by God. He admires his creation.

He dips a finger into the well of her mouth; then brushes each of her nipples into a new bud peak. He signs his name above her heart. I made this. This is mine.

She’s beyond his canvas. She’s his masterpiece.

~~~~~~~

He’s her wilderness. She forges a trail of kisses from the back of his knee to the back of his neck, stopping only to catch her breath in the valley of his waist.

She rides him like the rapids, his hands on her hipbones, keeping her afloat. Sometimes safety lives in danger.

She climbs him like a mountain, staking claim. This is mine. She plants a warm flat hand in the center of his chest, like a flag. This is mine.

This is the leaping place, she knows. Like the virgin tribeswoman she sacrifices herself to his fiery depths, calling out his name and God’s when she finally topples forward, free.

She should have known how hard the fall would be. She should have known how soft the landing.

He’s beyond her wilderness. He’s her whole wide world.

~~~~~~

This is the journey forward. This is the place to where all paths have led.

One man.

One woman.

One bed.

One life.

Past collapse and intertwined arms. Past the quiet laughter and the desperate sleep. Past the brush of lips on a forehead and the whisper of words that come, finally, and are echoed in the silent, moon kissed night, he enters her again. Slow. Steady. Soundless.

He moves above her and she takes him in. Mouth open. Mute. Magnificent.

This is beyond the journey forward. This is the coming home.

––

“And then you left me, in the wee small hours of the morning. I was crushed. Devastated.”

She snickers at him, “Oh, you were not. I seem to recall the morning after, in the office. The way you pushed me up against the file cabinet and swallowed my tonsils. I seem to remember not putting up much, if any, kind of fight.”

He remains adamant. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t awaken the next morning, all crushed and devastated that you’d left me in those wee small hours. I thought it had to be something I said. Maybe my deodorant failed. I had all kinds of insecure moments, baby.”

“Oh, for… Mulder, the night we spent together changed my entire life, my whole way of thinking. When I awoke next to you early that morning, I admit that I panicked – a little. But it wasn’t because I was ashamed in any way or regretted what we’d done.” She looks up at him earnestly, willing him to understand something far in their past, something he’s obviously still confused about. “In one night I became this new person. So had you. It was overwhelming. I needed to go home, regroup…” She sends a mischievous smile in his direction, “reinforce myself for the onslaught I was, um, hoping for when we met in our office. The onslaught on which I believe you didn’t shortchange me.”

He has to smile at her quick thinking. “Nice save, Scully. All right, maybe I wasn’t devastated and all that. Maybe I understood exactly what you were feeling, which was why I didn’t go tearing off after you, about fifteen minutes after you left and the sound of my door shutting woke me up.”

“Did you sit up in bed and replay every second of our night together?”

“But of course, woman! What do you take me for?”

“Oh, I don’t know… a typical man?” She softens the declaration with another kiss, adding, “Anyway, I had enough time to spend overanalyzing our entire relationship, all those months while you were gone. And I had plenty of time to wallow in self-pity; that I’d been hasty enough to leave too fast, that first night. When I thought you were… dead…”

Mulder is quick to soothe, “I know. I do, Scully. I can’t even imagine what you went through. At least much of the time I was gone, I was unconscious, deeply under. But you… I still don’t know how you got through it.”

She smiles mistily. “I had a lot of help, Mulder, from a few very good men.”

––

–– Chapter 19 ––

Second Chance By Wylfcynne
Spoilers: DeadAlive

She is drowsing on the sofa, drifting in a dream state where Mulder is on his way home and she is waiting for him. He will have dinner with him, probably Chinese takeout, and a bottle of merlot, soft and voluptuous. They will snuggle together on the sofa and she will drift off to sleep with his arms around her and his heart beating strongly under her ear.

thud, thud, thud

Frowning, she blinks sleepily at the door. Why would Mulder knock? He has a key… She starts to get up.

THUMP

The impact against her diaphragm knocks her back onto the sofa, the wind knocked out of her. Reality comes crashing down with stunning force.

Mulder is dead.

She is pregnant— eight months gone.

The baby has just kicked her, hard. And, thud, thud, thud there really is someone at the door.

“I’m coming!” she calls; both pleased and dismayed that her grief is not audible in those few syllables. How did she get so practiced at hiding her bereavement?

Getting up is difficult but she is accustomed to the careful maneuvering required. Once stable on her feet she pads slowly across the room to the doorway. She peers through the peephole and is startled to see Walter Skinner restlessly shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he waits for her.

She unlocks, unlocks and unchains the door. “Walter? What’s wrong?”

He stops moving. The tension in his expression, in his body, is so fierce that it makes her ache in sympathy. When she gestures, he steps inside and waits silently while she re-secures her locks.

“Scully, get dressed,” he says quietly. “I need you to come with me.”

“Right now?” She is puzzled; it’s nearly eight o’clock at night. “Why?”

“It’s important.”

“Then explain it.”

He looks away for a moment and then visibly steels himself. “I ordered Mulder’s body exhumed.”

White-hot rage sweeps through her in an instant. “Walter! How COULD you?! After everything he suffered in life, couldn’t you, of all people, have left him in peace?!” She turns away, fighting back tears she does not want him to see.

“Scully, I had to. I HAD to. He’s not dead.”

She freezes for a moment, stunned at the lengths to which he will demonstrably go. Slowly, feeling as if she is about to break apart, she turns to face him. She opens her mouth, inhales the breath she will need to shriek… and nearly chokes on it.

Skinner is standing at parade rest, his wrists crossed behind his back, totally open and defenseless against any attack she might make. But what disarms her completely is the tears she can see in HIS eyes.

“Mulder’s alive. Get dressed; I want to take you to him.”

~~~

An hour later she is settling into a chair at Mulder’s bedside. He isn’t even in ICU; this is a step-down room with remote telemetry. He is very still, limp and unconscious in the bed. He looks a little more the worse for wear than the last time she saw him… but she cannot tear her attention from the miraculous sight of his chest rising and falling with regular, natural breaths.

“Thank you, Walter,” she whispers, unable to do more. “For keeping me alive so I could be here for this… for believing in him enough to do this. I can’t— we can’t— ever repay you for this.”

Skinner, standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, shifts uncomfortably. “I’ve learned to accept extreme possibilities, over the years… I suppose it’s appropriate that I use his teachings to help him. And you.”

She smiles. But then her awareness of her friend and AD fades as she focuses once again on the living, breathing body of her lover. She lays her head down on his chest and closes her eyes. If she concentrates, she can feel Mulder’s arms around her…

… and the strength of a friend at her back.

––

There are new tears in her eyes when she blinks up at him, running a palm over him in the exact random pattern as she’d done that evening when she sat at his bedside and counted his breaths, dampened his hospital gown with a storm of grateful weeping. She remembers the feel of barely-healed scars and ridges under her fingertips as she’d touched his cheeks, along his neck, seeing a rainbow of bruises and feeling phantom pain as each was revealed to her.

Scully moves her hand in the same pattern now, over cheeks roughened with blessedly normal evening stubble, down across firm skin that’s nothing more than tanned; skin warm and alive with his strong blood beating beneath its surface. Every time she remembers that night, she shudders. She has to suppose the recollection will always affect her the same way, regardless of the number of years it retreats into their past.

“Don’t cry, please… it’s over. It’s been over for a very long time. And it never hurt very much, really it didn’t. I can’t recall much pain at all.”

“I’ve always thought it a blessing that you couldn’t, Mulder.”

The embrace they share is fierce and clinging, both doing their best to shake off the memory, and lock onto something else.

“Did you ever think Walter Skinner would end up being that kind of friend?” His expression is serious but the lilt in his voice invites a more light-hearted response from her.

Scully shakes her head, “Not really. I think I had an inkling, about the first time I realized how far he’d go to protect me and the baby. But until he brought me to your side that night, I still had my doubts.”

“Well, it’s understandable.” Mention of their baby brings him a clear picture of how she looked that night; of how shocked he was to see her in the advanced stages of pregnancy, and he smiles as he presses his lips to her bright hair. “You were so beautiful to see, Scully. All flushed and lovely with the look of impending motherhood. In all my life I’d never seen anything so wonderful, as the way you looked to me when I opened my eyes.”

She manages a shaky, “Not as wonderful as you looked to me, Mulder, when you opened your eyes… and asked me who I was.” At his reluctant chuckle, Scully can feel again the overwhelming relief she experienced at her lover’s ability to joke around, during the most inopportune and most dramatic moments of their lives, even if it almost did her in. “God, I could have shot you all over again for giving me such a scare! But instead I found myself thanking Him, over and over.”

“If you could have seen your face, Scully…”

“Oh, I’m sure it spoke all the volumes I couldn’t… especially since I can still feel, to this day, the way my throat just closed up with emotion.”

The words they speak to each other are sweet and soak into their hearts like life-giving rain on dry desert ground. They coat protectively, as they both recall the reunion. They ease residual anguish, still in place after all these years… anguish that they had all-too-brief a time as a couple waiting out the birth of their child – and so little time together as a family unit.

Silence settles once more in the small, shadowy room, as man and woman, father and mother recall in their own way, the last hours spent with William…

––

–– Chapter 20 ––

Through Baby’s Eyes By Deia
Spoilers: Post-Existence, pre-NIHT

He looks at the hands above him with a sense of anticipation. They’re familiar now, those hands. They soothe him at times. They cherish him at others.

Delicate touches filled with love. He can feel it all too well. The face that gazes down at him is just as mesmerizing. Looking at him as if he is a miracle.

“Mulder, I need to feed him.”

“But he’s not fussing yet, Scully. If he was hungry, he would have cried or something.”

As if on cue, he starts whimpering softly in his crib, and those big hands that were hovering above him a few minutes ago, pick him up and lift him from his crib.

“Here we go, Will. Dad’s going to feed you now.”

“Mulder?”

“Let me do it, Scully. You’re exhausted. He doesn’t need to nurse every single time; that’s what the docs told you. I’ll give him the bottle, so you can rest.”

She is now at their side. He knows her hands well, too. She looks at the man holding him with eyes full of love, and says something in the man’s ear that he can’t hear, but he knows is something good, because the man smiles broadly at her. She then kisses both of them on the cheek.

“Sweet dreams, Will.”

She leaves them, and a few seconds later, he sees the bottle in front of him. Although he likes his mommy’s food the best, he’s already seen this new feeding apparatus a few times, and knows what comes out of it tastes almost as good.

He takes the nipple and looks up. He feels secure and warm when he sees the emotion in the man’s eyes. After a few minutes however, his little tummy fills and his eyes start to feel heavy. Although he wants to stay connected with the man for a while longer, he knows that sleep will win him over.

It’s all right, though. He knows the man with the big hands will be there to pick him up again, when he wakes up.

––

Sometimes they make these elaborate plans, detailed and concise. All of them involve tracking down the people who have been raising their son. They’d find the address, drive there, walk up to the door… and when it opened they’d hold out their arms for the little red-haired boy with the bluest eyes this side of heaven. He’d run to them, jump in their outstretched arms, bestowing sweet kisses, call them ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy’. They’d be that family again.

Then one of them looks out of the dingy window of their drafty old bunker, and sees what hell the world has become… and they acknowledge they did the right thing by leaving William in what they still pray nightly is a safe place.

He wouldn’t be a little baby any longer. He’d be a sturdy, inquisitive, special boy. They miss him so much. They’ll love him for the rest of their lives on earth, and for whatever they find beyond their deaths. He was theirs for such a short time, but they’ll never stop being his parents.

“I still ache for him, Mulder. I think of him every day, and I offer up a nightly prayer, as we’re walking the line and doing our shift. I stare out into the hot wind, or the freezing snow, and I pray that he’s still safe. Still growing. Still happy.”

“I do too, baby. Every day of my life. But we couldn’t have kept him safe. We know that. We could barely keep ourselves alive, those first years. I never regretted putting my life on the line, day after day – and God knows I hated like hell to see you in any kind of danger. But it would have broken us to have anything happen to William, simply because in our arrogance and overconfidence we assumed we knew best.”

“We haven’t always known what was best, Mulder. We sure haven’t always done it. Some of our biggest errors occurred because one of us failed to remember that together we were always a hundred times more strong.”

“Don’t think I still don’t beat myself up on a regular basis -”

She interrupts him gently, “I didn’t mention it to make you feel badly all over again. Besides, I’ve done my share of forgetting that first and foremost we were partners. The reason I said it was to reinforce what we’ve been talking about all this time, instead of rising and shining as we’re supposed to be doing. Together, Mulder. Always together. What’s in the past, is just that – past. For every time we lost each other, we managed to find ourselves again. I may have left you and you may have left me, but we always fought to get back home.”

“I’ll never leave you again, Scully.”

“I know you won’t, my love… because I’ll go with you when you do.”

––

–– Chapter 21 ––

A Letter to You by Bertha
Spoilers: Post-The Truth

Dear Scully, I felt compelled to start off this letter with a ‘whoever finds this, I love you’ – like the song. But this isn’t our style, and I’m writing this letter to you, not to ‘whoever’.

If you’re reading this now, I guess you must have found out about my condition. And I’m sorry for keeping this from you, for lying to you. I know it seems conniving of me to hide this when so much of our relationship is based on trust. When our lives seem to be constantly surrounded by lies, the last thing you need is another lie. A lie that I know will make you question my trust in you.

But believe me – YOU are still the ONLY one I trust! I couldn’t bear to see the look on your face if I told you what I had suspected since you brought me back from the clutches of Spender. That I was not only losing my touch, but the headaches were getting more severe and harder to hide from you.

I couldn’t bear to see the hopeless and frustrated look in your eyes. To remind you of how close you came to leaving behind your mother and brothers because of some hollow, personal cause of mine. A quest which has cost you too much – your sister, Emily, your chance at motherhood.

Part of me wants to be a coward and hide, waiting for my impending death like a cat when it senses its time is near. But I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again – to be without your presence until my final day here on this earth.

Maybe in our next life, we’d have better luck. But for now, seven years, though short, has been the greatest ever.

Thank you, Scully, for everything. I wish I had a lot more time to repay in kind all that you’ve done for me but I don’t. Please don’t cry for me…

Maybe now that I’m gone you’ll be able to have your home with a lovely white picket fence, a dog and kids running around. A man who deserves all your love – and who isn’t afraid of being constantly second-guessed. A house filled with laughter and light. No talks of aliens or shadow government lead by smoking men with no names. No crackpot partner to drag you off to Tennessee and be put to test with poisonous snakes.

I won’t say goodbye, Scully. But I do want to say this – I love you. And this time I’m not drugged or delirious. Y

Yours always, Mulder

Despite herself, she can’t stop the moisture from pooling in her eyes as she once again familiarizes herself with the words she had come to know intimately when he was gone. She wonders why she still keeps the letter, now that she has him back by her side. Perhaps it is a reminder of the past.

“Scully?” he pops his head into the room, announcing his return. “What’s wrong?”

She quickly tries to hide the letter and wipe away her tears before they fall. She senses him approaching, then feels the bed dips with his weight as he takes a seat next to her.

She gives him a fleeting smile. “It’s nothing,” she whispers.

“It’s not nothing when you have tears in your eyes,” he reaches his hand up to wipe them away. Imaginary tears now.

Then he spots the letter she still holds in her hand, not having succeeded in hiding it very well. Realization dawns suddenly as his eyes widen.

“I’m sorry.” He says after a moment’s silence. She knows what he is apologizing for.

“You should have told me,” she said finally. “I could have helped. You know I could have -”

He chokes. “I know. But I’m here now.”

“You’re here now.”

“No more secrets. I promise.”

“You promise?”

He kisses her hard. Assuring her of his presence. Reminding himself what the fight is for.

––

In the minutes before they have to rise and face another night patrolling the line that delineates their current world… former Federal Agents, past partners and loving spouses hold tightly, kiss deeply. Reaffirming, reconnecting, refueling. For all they have lost and for all they’ve gained, for the sadness of their collective pasts and the triumphs they’ve shared… life is still precious and their love is still the driving force behind the strength of their beliefs and their combined truths.

It’s a nightmare outside their door. They don’t want to face it. But they’re dedicated enough to face it without complaint.

They rise from their rumpled bed, take turns using the tiny shower and nuzzle each other lovingly over bad coffee and pieces of toast and stale standard-issue peanut butter. They dress in warm layers and they walk hand in hand towards the main bunker, where they’ll pick up the rest of their necessities; their weapons and riot gear. Mulder will go right out and start his shift, while Scully will stay behind and give two hours of her medical expertise to anyone who should need it, before she starts her own ten-hour shift.

Some of the members of their team are single and lonely. Some of them have no one to come home to, after a long shift out on the freezing cold line. They’ve all lost family, spouses, children, parents. Some are luckier than others, because in the midst of hell they have found a kind of heaven.

As they enter the main bunker, stomping off the cold and preparing to head into their respective duties… Mulder pulls his wife close and kisses her tenderly, whispers something silly into her ear, earning himself the pleasure of her giggle and one sweet smile. She walks away toward the Medac lab and he watches her until she disappears through the old sliding doors.

With a smile on his own face and the warmth of her kiss on his lips, Fox Mulder gears up for another twelve hours of safekeeping what’s left of his world.

––

–– Epilogue ––

Dawn By Avalon Email: [email protected] Spoilers: Post-Truth, Post-Col

John Doggett winces against another icy blast of wind as it tears across the open plain. He tucks his chin further into the standing collar of his parka and closes his eyes, but not before streamers run from beneath his frozen lashes. He shifts his machine gun to his left hand and impatiently swipes at his cheek, the rough suede of his gloves catching on three-day-old stubble.

Fuck, it’s cold. He wonders if he’ll ever be warm again.

He chances tugging up the sleeve of his bulky coat to reveal a strip of pale skin and his Timex. Oh six hundred, only three minutes away. He feels the longing rise in him, like the sun that’s begun to bleed over the horizon on its morning ascent. A steamy shower, clean underwear, blistering soup straight from the hotplate, a couple of pulls on his stashed bottle of Jim Beam, and a warm bed in his dark corner of the officers’ bunker. Right now, in this place so many of the grunts call Hell, it seems like heaven.

The packed snow under his boots crunches as he turns. He scans the perimeter of the compound again, his ice-chip eyes cataloguing every dip in the terrain, every branch of the trees in the distance, every push of the wind on the snow. So far, they’ve been lucky. No sign of pursuit for over three weeks. Maybe this time, they really are safe. Mulder balks when Doggett suggests it in the officers’ meetings, shaking his head in disbelief, but Doggett refuses to give in to paranoia. He has to believe they can win, or what’s it all for?

Maybe he’s just too damn tired to think about it any more. Too damn tired, and too damn sad, to consider anything else.

Mulder. Doggett moves his face directly into the wind to look for him. He spots the other man on the other side of the compound, his back hunched against the freezing onslaught. Curled in on himself, he reminds Doggett of a comma, a dark pause in the snow-bleached landscape. On impulse, he pulls the two-way radio from his belt and awkwardly thumbs it on. It crackles to life as he brings it close to his face.

“Mulder.” Doggett slides the walkie-talkie up next to his cheek so he can hear a response over the bellowing wind.

He sees the shape on the horizon straighten, and then the familiar movement of the radio being raised. The static lessens as Mulder’s voice breaks through. “That’s Captain Mulder,” he answers, and Doggett can hear the trace of amusement in his tone. “We’re supposed to use our rank titles, remember? Or were you sleeping during our briefing yesterday, Captain Doggett?”

Doggett grins. “Not me. I was too busy wondering when we’re going to get the capes that go with these titles.” He glances at his watch again. “Two minutes to change. Nothing happening over there?”

“Nada,” Mulder answers, and Doggett thinks he can almost hear the other man’s teeth chattering as he speaks. “Maybe you’re right, John. Maybe we can relax a little.”

Doggett blinks, surprised. It’s been a long twelve-hour shift, and he’s tired, hungry, and restless. He can’t help but wonder if Mulder is so dazed from walking the fence that it’s someone else talking instead of him. A little sleep and a lot of coffee will do wonders for them both.

“We’ll see,” he says into the radio just as his eyes catch movement to Mulder’s left. He automatically raises the machine gun, but stops abruptly as his brain registers the scene. The line of soldiers moves out from the mess hall beyond Mulder, coming toward them, walking with brisk steps. They fan out to approach their posts, and Doggett recognizes the huge shape that moves toward him. Skinner. The former Assistant Director’s twelve hours are about to begin. Doggett finds he doesn’t have much sympathy at this point. His body is just too weary.

He stays put, waiting for his relief, and watches the two bodies that move toward Mulder. One is tall and broad-shouldered, bundled from head to toe in military fatigues. A new arrival, he’s young and idealistic and carries his machine gun like a professional, marching with military precision next to the smaller figure that seems to float alongside him. Doggett recognizes the silhouette easily; the flaming hair curling out from underneath her watch cap is a dead giveaway.

Scully reaches Mulder and embraces him. Doggett feels the familiar tug of jealousy scrape through him, speeding his heart. Monica used to hug him like that when he’d arrive, hot and dirty and sweaty, back at the spousal bunkers after a long day. That was in the desert, nearly a year ago. She’d never had to endure the cold. He was glad in a way; she would’ve hated it. He can still see her in his mind, stretched out across his cot in all her naked glory, her dusky skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat. How he’d loved her. How he’d mourned, then ignited, when he’d found her on the field with a bullet in her chest. He couldn’t remember the fight after that, but since then, the younger men eye him with respectful trepidation whenever he walks by.

He shakes away the thoughts of Monica. He’ll have plenty of time to think of her after his shower, as he lies in bed and wishes for brighter things. He watches Scully instead as she extends her gloved hand to Mulder. Doggett notices the steam that rises between them and understands: she’s brought him coffee. He can’t see if Mulder smiles or not, but the corners of his own lips tug upwards as he imagines it. Hot coffee and a warm body. Mulder truly has it all.

Skinner’s slap on his shoulder jars him. Doggett eyes the taller man and nods his greeting, no longer feeling talkative. He trudges off behind Mulder and Scully, sliding his feet through the deep snow. They walk slowly, arm in arm, and he can see Mulder’s head tilt back as he drinks. Their whispers rise in airy streamers between them. The wind carries Scully’s small laugh back to him, and he smiles again, sadly. She sounds like Monica. Then again, anymore, every woman does.

In front of him, Mulder stops for a moment, readjusting his weapon on his shoulder, and he pushes the parka hood back from his face. He pulls the thick woolen scarf from around his throat and tucks it into place on Scully. Doggett watches as she beams up at her partner, her face rosy in the dawning light… and he remembers what he’s fighting for.

END

Additional Authors’ Notes:

JL: This is a true labor of love. When I first came up with the idea of putting together a fic gift for Sallie and Carol, I had no idea how to accomplish it, but I knew if I asked their fellow list members and friends, writers who have benefited in the past from their help, that I’d get a lot of positive responses… and I sure did. Only a few of those I asked could not participate, mostly because of RL commitments and too-busy lives. But I can tell you, they sure wanted to! They became our cheerleaders, instead.

I would like to thank all the authors who so generously joined in this project and whose stories amazed me, whose words enriched this gift. I am so impressed with all of you, my dears! And I am honored that I got a chance to write with each one of you.

Readers, if you like what you have read, please feed the authors who have worked so hard on this story! And thank you so much for reading!

And now, Sallie, and Carol: I don’t think there are words of proper gratitude for what you have given us; I for one cannot find them. Just know that we all treasure your friendship, are honored by your presence on our list, and are forever grateful for your editing and beta skills, that have made so many of our stories better!

–– ORIGINAL CREDITS––

Those who wish for more from the end of our favorite long-running program decided we wanted to contribute to an ending befitting the characters we invited into our living rooms every week. Below are those who were able to give of their talents (yes, previewing is a talent) to help pull this project together.

Beta Squad

These are the wielders of the red pencil who keep the writers on the straight and narrow. That doesn’t just mean spelling and grammar. We have tried to stick with all show canon up through Season 8’s “Existence”. After that, it’s all us, but we still wanted to be consistent. Chris Carter didn’t need a show bible, but we do!

Wylfcynne

Gwen

Donnah

Sallie

Carol

Teresa

Previewers

The Previewers are looking at the big picture. Does the story flow? Does it hold the reader’s attention? Does it make any sense? Does it serve the overall goal of the entire project? All these deep questions are wrestled by the Preview team.

Wylfcynne

MaybeAmanda

Shelba

Carol

Raven

Donnah

Sallie

Donna

Sdani

Bertha

Erin

Researchers

The Researchers make those little details in the story believable. Did Scully talk about the right body parts in that chapter about the autopsy? Is the Smithsonian next door to the J. Edgar Hoover building? These detail-oriented people will make sure those details are as accurate as they can be.

Raven

Lidia

AlyC

Wylfcynne

Elizebeth

Carol

Donna

Deia

Bertha

Gina

Diehard

Erin

The Writers

This is where the stories come to life. All the background material and the technical fine-tuning aside, these people give the stories life.

Tess

Jacquie LaVa

Maybe_Amanda

Wylfcynne

Artemis

Donnah

Oracle

ML

Shelba

Caroline

Piper

Erin

The Artists

Those who wish to contribute creatively in a forum other than the written word. Be sure to check out the illustrations for each chapter, and there will be other art in the future.

Deia

AlyC

Circe Invidiosa

Art Resources

Many resources have been used in creating art for this site. The following sites and LiveJournal users are credited with supplying screen captures, brushes, textures and gradients for Photoshop 7.0 and Photoshop CS.

Vered

TreXtures

Oxoniensis Art

CTR Wallpaper Resources

LiveJournal Artists

oxoniensis

colorfilter

rough_draft

soulsister

noctuidae

ScarletVoodoo

Berndf

BacklitStar

gender

 

Screen Captures

 

X-Files DVD Screen Captures by Chrisnu

Gertie’s Screen Grabs

XFRoadrunners.com

 

–– WEBSITE ––

This project was originally hosted at truthseekers.xphilia.net

Site created and maintained by Wasatch Design and Consulting.

— The End —

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