The Christopher Scully Series
                     stories 31-32

Title: 'Bliss' 
Author: Jori 
Rating: NC-17
Category: SR
Keywords: MSR, family-fic
Summary: A wedding, some more information and a
lot of children occupy Mulder and Scully's time.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to 1013, FOX and
CC.
Archive: Yes. 
Spoilers: None really. People are alive here that
aren't alive there. Can't help it. And 'Requiem'
and Mulder's trip to Neptune just don't fit in my
world.
Author's Notes: Thank you, MoJo, for always being
there. And Liz, you too. I think I'll probably be
able to wrap up this whole series in one more
story, but that story is going to be a big one.
Please be patient with me! Go read all the other
more relevant baby fiction in the mean time.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

FBI Headquarters
Washington, DC
June 6, 2003
4:39 p.m.

"I never understood why you didn't arrest the man
in the first place," I say as Skinner passes a
picture to Scully. She hands it to me and I stare
at the image of the man who brought Samara back to
her. The man Skinner threatened at gunpoint to
hand over our child. Unfortunately, in this photo,
he's very much dead. I'm not even sure why this is
coming across his desk or how he even knew to look
for this. I only know the man from our various
meetings in parking garages and hotel rooms across
the countryside.

"We've already gone over that. He's got ... he
had diplomatic immunity and it would have been
virtually useless to arrest him. He's untouchable
and I knew it. He wasn't the one who kidnapped the
child and technically, he was bringing your
daughter back to you. It would have been hell to
make any charges stick against this man," Skinner
says, but I'm certain he's hiding something. I
wish I knew what. Like how in the hell he knew who
the man was when facing him down in the dark.

"Who is he again?" Scully asks. She doesn't have
any interest in looking at the picture once more.
I know what she's interested in and that is
whether or not that man put the chip in Samara's
neck.

"Matthias Brunner. He's somehow attached to the
German embassy, but they are being very tight
lipped about what his function was. Anyway, he
grew up and was educated in the States, but
maintained his German citizenship. I have no clue
how the Fowleys would go from having your baby to
Mr. Brunner having her," Skinner says. He's just
feeding us -- or rather me, enough information to
get an investigation started.

I'm surprised Agent Reid wasn't included in this
meeting. Maybe I'm reading the whole thing wrong.
Maybe he isn't feeding me this so I go off and
investigate it. Maybe he just wants us to know.

He ought to know me better than that after all
these years.

"Diana Fowley spent several years in Germany. He
could have been someone she was in contact with
there. Maybe that's his relationship with that
family," Scully says as she sits up straighter in
her chair. We've been quietly putting this whole
thing behind us for the last several months. We
had our family together and no one wanted to
disturb the relative peace. Reid and I worked on a
few cases and Scully went back to work at Quantico
in April. Soprano came back to us after a two
month absence and could only tell us that her job
is to make sure Kessie is safe. She doesn't know
who's in charge of the whole thing. Dylan
certainly isn't. Actually, I'm not even sure she
remembers it all.

"So, we know as little today as we've ever known?"
I say, tossing the picture back onto his desk.

"It would appear that way," Skinner says as he
takes the photo and tucks it back into a file
folder. "You might want to check with Senator
Erickson's office."

He says it as if it's almost an aside. An overly
casual reference to someone who tried to fuck our
lives up good. I open my mouth but nothing comes
out right away. Not a word.

"Why would someone from the German embassy be
connected to Erickson?" Scully asks, speaking for
me. Perhaps this is how Skinner knew who he was.

"That isn't clear yet and there's not much of a
chance the Senator is going to be easy for either
of you to contact ... not after New Mexico,"
Skinner says, sitting back in his chair.

As soon as this meeting is over, Senator Erickson
is going to discover he can't use me twice. He
can't use his embassy-connected lackeys to do
things to my children. He can't push me around
further for some personal gain of his. I don't
even know what the hell that gain might be. I
don't think he knows, either.

"He'll just have to get over it," I say, ending
this meeting.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I can tell how upset Mulder is by the way he keeps
clenching his hands into fists as we walk toward
the elevator. I'm equally upset and I'd like to
get to the bottom of why my little girl was taken
as a newborn and returned with an implant in her
neck, but I seriously doubt that Senator Erickson
has any answers for us. I wouldn't trust his
answers anyway.

"Are you going back to Quantico?" Mulder asks. He
takes a quick glance at his watch as we get on the
elevator and pushes the button to the basement
before he even hears my answer.

"It's already five o'clock. I finished with my
classes before I even came here and for the first
time in two weeks, there are no autopsies waiting
specifically for me. I just want to go home, kick
off my shoes and relax for at least five minutes,"
I say with a heavy, exhausted sigh. It has been a
horrible couple of weeks and I swear every dead
body this side of the Mississippi has crossed
before me. Chris had an ear infection and didn't
sleep for nights, Kessie has tennis camp she needs
to be at by 7:30 a.m. and I'm convinced Samara
will spend her whole life thinking that 4 a.m. is
a perfectly good hour to get up. Just like she
believes that any time between 9 p.m. and midnight
is a good time to go to bed.

Luckily, Mulder has been up with her that early
the last few weeks. They sit and watch the old
cartoons together until PBS comes on with a
variety of children's programming that always
seems to includes puppets and the alphabet
repeated at least 26 times in an hour. Not that
she cares what's on the TV, but at least it keeps
her quiet until it's a normal hour for Chris and
Kessie to wake up. Then at exactly 7 a.m., she
falls back to sleep. Many times over her short
life, I've found her sleeping on Mulder's chest
right when the rest of us have to be up and ready
to go.

I'm almost certain she's going to be a
troublemaker her whole life. Just like her daddy.

"Is there anything else you'd like to do at home?"
Mulder asks as the doors slide open and we are
greeted with the familiar view of the underbelly
of the Hoover building. I look at him and he's
actually pouting with his bottom lip sticking out.
He looks like a child. I recognize that it's been
a few weeks, or maybe a month, but isn't he as
tired as I am?

"Yes, I have to call my mother about the cake and
if we don't help pick out some music soon, we will
be listening to something by Celine Dion or
someone named Shania Twain. That's what the DJ
suggested," I say and he moans at the latest bit
of wedding planning I present him.

"No Celine Dion. Never. What's wrong with 'Love Me
Tender' or something traditional like that?"
Mulder asks as he unlocks the office door. Agent
Reid must have gone home for the day. Considering
Mulder told me Reid just moved in with his young
girlfriend, I guess one can hardly blame the man
for not wanting to stick around and hear what
stories the Spooky family have to tell this time.

"Elvis is traditional wedding music?" I ask,
sitting down and putting my feet up on the chair
next to me. I really wish I was home already. I
could use a hot bath. A few minutes alone. Some
silence. I'm not sure I want what that pout is
begging me to do. Maybe after the bath, I'll feel
better.

"You can never go wrong with Elvis," Mulder says,
only half paying attention to the conversation at
this point. He's digging through his desk for
something though I don't know what.

"What's wrong?" I ask him. His pout is gone and
he's back to work. He sits down, puts on his
reading glasses and begins to go through a file he
found buried under a few months worth of
paperwork. Apparently, Agent Reid is no better at
filing it all than Mulder.

"I still want to know how Skinner knew that man,"
he says, going through the police report from the
incident again. The entire incident was never
entirely resolved. No one can determine how
Lorraine Fowley managed to get out of the hospital
with a newborn, let alone exchange another one for
Samara. No one knows how Kestrel ended up with
Soprano and why she wasn't killed with the rest of
the family. Mulder assumes the only reason is
because they still need her for something. Now he
just has to determine what that something is.

"Maybe this time, Erickson will be more helpful,"
I say, closing my eyes and remembering our last
fiasco when we became involved with that man.

"Or else we'll end up dead in some ravine in a
desert outside of T and C, New Mexico," Mulder
says glibly as he flips through paper after paper
pertaining to that ...our case. "Speaking of the
southwest, guess who was killed in a prison riot?"

"Ronald Mulch?" I answer and he gives me a nod.

"Over 50 inmates were involved and he was the only
one who came out dead. Coincidence?" he asks. He
puts down the folder and takes off his glasses
again, rubbing his eyes. "Is she ever going to
sleep until it is daylight out?"

"Yes. Someday, Samara will be a teenager and she
will want to sleep until noon. She will also want
to stay out until 2 a.m., thinking that is a
perfectly acceptable time for a 14 year old to
come home," I say and he smiles.

"I will at least have had plenty of practice
raising a teenage girl by then," he says. He
reaches out and moves the picture on his desk of
the five of us together. I know which one it is
and it was taken at Kessie's birthday part last
January. Samara was hardly the ferocious infant
she is now. She still appreciated at least two
hour blocks of sleep back then and they usually
lasted past 4 a.m. Now that she can almost sit up
on her own, she's grown very independent.

"I think both of your girls are very different.
Samara is going to be a hard one to handle," I
say, remembering certain rebellious moments in my
youth. "Kessie, on the other hand, lives in a
book."

"It's all she knew, Scully. At least she's out
playing tennis and occasionally talking about
boys," he says, the apprehension behind that
rising in his voice.

"I'm going to go home. I forgot that I have that
dress fitting at 8 p.m. tonight. I'll never be
able to stay awake," I say, slumping further in my
chair instead of actually getting up and going out
the door.

"I'm sure you'll be just beautiful," Mulder says,
with a half smile.

And a slight pout.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*******

Scully-Mulder Household
June 10, 2003
9:05 p.m.

"What did you find out?" Scully asks from the
doorway, her voice barely above a whisper but
enough to startle me into being completely awake.
I was sleeping sitting up on the couch, Samara
lying next to me, my hand on her making sure she
doesn't roll off the edge. We've grown to accept
the fact that this child prefers sleeping on the
couch over her own crib. Actually, we've grown to
accept anything that makes her sleep. Once she's
out, she's good for a few hours, and it doesn't
matter what goes on around her.

"I didn't find out much," I say, referring to my
visit with our favorite senator today. "He lied
through our entire meeting. Told me he never heard
of or saw Matthias Brunner in his life. But he's
deeply sorry for what we had to go through with
our baby."

"I'm sure he is," Scully says. She stands above
us, looking down at the sleeping baby, the corners
of her mouth curling up into a slight smile.

"How'd it go tonight?" I ask and she sighs, her
smile disappearing immediately.

"The music is settled. The cake is all wrong and
everyone is in an uproar about the maid of honor
wearing pink because she's apparently too old,
even though it matches the junior bridesmaid's
dress. I'm giving up," she says, rubbing the
bridge of her nose as if just this little
discussion has given her a massive headache.

"It will be fine. Everybody will look great," I
say, looking down at Samara. "You want to put her
in bed so we can discuss Senator Erickson
further?"

Scully looks at me warily but gently picks Samara
up from her favorite spot on the couch.

"Is that the only reason you want to get her in
bed?" she asks, rocking our baby in her arms.

"Of course not, but it's a start," I say.

I watch as she deftly opens the gate at the bottom
of the stairs and ascends them quietly. She's back
in a few minutes with Christopher's spill-proof
juice cup in one hand and a baby bottle in the
other. She disappears into the kitchen before
coming back to the couch and sitting down beside
me.

I take her left hand in mine, looking at the spot
where a ring used to be. She took it off when she
was pregnant and swollen but hasn't put it back on
yet. I'm not sure if she even knows where it is
anymore.

"Ever going to put it back on?" I ask, not
necessarily upset that she's not wearing it. It
isn't the like the last time she didn't want to
put it on. I know now she's just too busy to
really think about it. Three kids and a full time
job are enough to wear anybody down, even Scully.

"I will," she says, sounding even more tense than
she did a few minutes ago. "Before the wedding,
I'll have to find it."

"Are you sure you can?" I ask. I know exactly
where it is but I'm not going to help her on this
one.

"As a trained investigator who has found the
answer to some of the more perplexing questions of
our time, I'm sure one little diamond ring is not
going to evade me for long," she says. She sinks
back further against the couch, getting way too
comfortable for someone who lost an engagement
ring that cost a small fortune.

"Little?" I ask.  I never thought of it as little.
I thought of it as just perfect for her. "What
else around here do you consider little when it is
actually a fairly decent size?"

She laughs and leans into me, resting her head
upon my shoulder. "Certainly not your ego. No one
can consider that little," she banters back.

Everything has been so right for the last few
months. I find it hard to remember back to the
time I didn't want the house in the 'burbs, the
2.5 kids and the family car. I guess with the
right person, anything is possible. Well, that and
a few underworld figures sticking their fingers
into the mess and making it possible. We have yet
to figure out what occurred that allowed us to
have the first child together let alone the second
and I doubt it has anything to do with the healing
properties of my sperm considering my right hand
is still aging. I know Scully still hopes that no
one did anything to us in the creation of Samara,
but I'm beginning to doubt that more every day.
Especially when the person who got us involved in
the whole New Mexico mess is back in the picture
again.

"So, what did the senator have to say this time?"
Scully asks, getting us back to what I promised to
discuss.

"It wasn't so much the senator as it was the man
who met me in the parking lot following the
meeting ..."

"Another one?" she asks, sounding genuinely
surprised by that bit of news.

"Another one ... the same one. Who can tell?
They all look alike. I'm certain this is the man
who was on that hillside in the Sandia Mountains.
Then again, I could be wrong. He assured me he
wasn't Matthias Brunner but had information for
us. Something that would prove invaluable in the
near future. Here, hold on ..." I say, shifting
her slightly so I can dig in my pockets for the
slip of paper I've been carrying all evening.

She stares at it briefly before handing it back to
me. "Obviously, it's a location. Latitude and
longitude for somewhere. Do you know where yet?"
she asks.

I look at the paper again.  52 51' N  X  118 2 W
is scrawled in a messy hand as if someone did it
as quickly as they could to catch me.

"Somewhere near Jasper, Alberta," I say and Scully
wrinkles up her face. "I know. I wasn't exactly
overwhelmed with joy to hear that myself. The boys
are looking into what might be there, at that
exact spot. They have to 'borrow' some of the
government's satellite capabilities but it isn't
the first time."

"Just don't go looking by yourself, please?" she
asks quietly. "We've got too much to do in next
few days."

"I won't. Besides, it's probably nothing," I say,
knowing that nobody would go through all this
trouble for nothing. Perhaps it is just a ruse to
get me up there. To get me out of the safety of
this quiet we've been enveloped in.

"Bill will be here tomorrow," Scully says and my
whole body tenses. Just what I need right now. Big
brother Bill finally coming around to meet the
family. His wife is six months pregnant, so maybe
he'll leave me the hell alone and take care of his
own little flock.

"That's good," I say, obviously lying. We've put
this off for so long and now we have to come face
to face.

"You'll have to go get your tuxedos together,"
Scully says, driving a knife straight into my
heart and twisting it sharply. "Without me coming
along."

"And if he kills me?" I ask, my voice rising in
pitch as the knife slips in deeper.

"Bill won't kill you," she says, reassuringly. She
snuggles against me, her hand running slowly over
my chest, playing with the fabric of my t-shirt.
Touching a slightly damp spot that would be
regurgitated formula. Brushing off another spot
that would probably be ... melted cheese?

"Are you sure?" I ask, watching as her hand moves
lower. Could she possibly be interested?

"He'll probably just maim you. But if you take
your weapon, you should be okay," she says
playfully, knowing just which buttons to push with
me. She also knows what buttons to push with her
hand as she slips it up and under my shirt,
stroking it softly across my chest.

"So I have to hope my tuxedo accommodates a
holster?" I ask as she slinks closer to me. Close
enough for her to run her tongue slowly down my
jawline and then over to my mouth. She parts my
lips with her tongue and we kiss. A long and deep
kiss and to be honest, I've missed this. A lot.

Scully breaks from my mouth and straddles my hips,
looking down at me. Her eyes are bright and she
looks happy. Tired, but happy.

"I'll protect you from Bill," she says, making a
promise I'm not sure she can keep. "And Charlie
likes you a lot, so I'm sure he won't let Bill
hurt you too much."

"That makes me feel a whole lot better," I say, as
she begins to grind down on my lap, teasing me.

"The fact that I won't let my brother kill you or
that I'm on your lap?" she asks before nibbling on
my lower lip, making it impossible for me to
answer just yet.

"Both," I respond as soon as it is possible to say
something. It isn't long before her mouth is over
mine again, her tongue delving in, my tongue
exploring. After a few minutes of avidly tasting
each other, she leans back, allowing me to start
playing with the buttons on her suit.

"You want to do this down here?" she asks, the
tone of her voice making it sound like she really
doesn't want to go anywhere fast.

"As far as I know, both Chris and Samara can't get
the gate open at the top of the stairs and Kessie
is spending the night at Soprano's apartment," I
say, my fingers struggling with the stiff
material. She just went out and bought a whole new
wardrobe of summer suits for her return to work,
complaining that the old ones no longer fit her
post-two baby body. I think she's insane. She
looks better now than ever.

"You trust her?" Scully asks as she yanks at my
t-shirt, pulling it over my head and allowing me
to return to my button fight.

"Do we have any other choice?" I ask. She brushes
my hand away and unfastens the buttons herself.
She sheds the jacket behind her and rushes through
the tiny buttons on her white shirt.

"No ..." she says. Now is not the time to
discuss this. We've already discussed Soprano and
her involvement in all of this to death and I'm
not even sure what to make of it. Whether she's
some sort of self-appointed guardian angel or not,
who knows. We probably never will.

"What about birth control ... everything is
upstairs ..." I mumble as she starts to take her
bra off. She didn't want to take birth control
pills after Samara was born and both of us are
scared of anything more permanent just yet.
Mostly, I'm the one who's scared.

"Should we just chance it ..."

"We can't afford a bigger house ..." I say as I
move her off my lap. No one knows where the other
children came from beyond some miracle but I don't
think we are ready for number three of our own and
number four total. "I'll be right back."

I race up the stairs and back down, carrying a
package of condoms and the lubricant she still
needs after the baby was born. She hasn't been
weaned off the breast that long and Scully
complains that everything is still dry.

"Did you lock the gate at the top of the stairs?"
Scully asks, the look on her face showing that
she's more worried about one little toddling
person falling down the flight of stairs than she
is anyone discovering us.

"Yes," I say, tossing our supplies on the couch.
Scully lowered the lights while I was gone and now
she's leaning back against the leather, bra gone.
I love her breasts, still so full and round after
giving birth to two of my children. Not that I
didn't love them before. I just didn't get a whole
hell of a lot of time to appreciate them before
she got pregnant with Christopher. Once. We only
did it once and our whole lives have now been
molded into this nearly blissful existence.

She reaches out and grabs me by the waistband of
my jeans, pulling me toward her sharply. I almost
stumble and end up on her lap, but she steadies me
quickly, her hands keeping me in place. Those same
hands then go to my fly and pops each of the
buttons open slowly, her hand teasing me to
unbearable hardness through the denim before she
gets done. Only then does she ease my pants and
boxers down and waits for me to step out of them
before going further.

With a familiarity that comes only from knowing
each other so well, everything moves forward
without words. With her soft lips, she places a
trail of barely there kisses down my abdomen,
moving lower and lower while driving me crazy with
needing her *there* already.

Then her mouth is around me and I remember one of
the exactly 29 billion reasons I love her so much.
She loves me enough to keep me around and dish up
sexual favors even after its been a long day for
both of us.

I watch her, always amazed even after all this
time and after everything we've been through, we
can still stand each other. There is no other way.
No other person either of us could be with.

Her tongue flutters across the head of my cock
with every stroke, tasting, touching, loving. But
this isn't what I want. Sure, it's nice and all,
but I want to be inside of her, to get lost in the
body that houses the soul I love so much.

"Scully ..." I say, though it comes out as a
half-moan, half-plea, and she releases me from her
mouth and leans back on the couch.

I kneel down before her, tucking myself between
her knees as I strip off the rest of her clothes.
Now it's my turn to dust little kisses down her
stomach and feel all the muscles involuntarily
quiver as I do so. The stomach I heard her
complain will never be the same after two babies.
I don't care. I didn't get to run kisses up and
down her abdomen much before we had babies. I'd
never trade them to have back one moment of our
lives before they arrived.

She grabs the condom and carefully opens the foil
packaging. Her fingers unroll it over me as I
reach for the lubricant, wanting her to be
comfortable. I warm it in my hand before touching
her, arousing her with my fingers. Touching her
clit in a way that makes her squirm closer to me
and almost off the couch. We can do it on the
floor. We can do it anywhere. I don't mind.

Instead, she wraps her legs around my hips and
pulls me closer. With practiced ease, I slip into
her, feeling her warmth move from her body to
mine. Instantly, all thoughts of senators and
missing children and implants disappear and the
only people on earth are the two of us.

I slide in and out of her, her thrust matching
each pump of my hips. I reach for her hands,
wanting to hold onto her. To be held on to. Her
nails dig into my flesh as we move faster and then
she finally releases her hold of one of my hands.
Instead, she touches herself, her fingers circling
on her clit in time to the rest of our fluid
movements.

"Scully  ..." I say again and she nods her head.
Soon. She'll be there soon. We both will be. Then
with just a few more thrusts, I beat her to it,
though not by much. I fall against her, spent, and
we just rest there, naked and happy.

"You know I did this just as a bribe to get you to
go with Bill," she whispers and we both laugh. "If
you're nice to him, you might get more."

"Keep it up and I'll be so nice to him, I might
end up marrying him instead of you," I say and she
laughs again. It sounds wonderful.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Ballston Common Mall
June 12, 2003
7:32 p.m..

I have Chris hitched up on my hip and Samara is
crying in the stroller, unhappy with the now cold
bottle I gave her.  Kessie keeps rolling her eyes
at me and luckily, Matthew had to go with his
father, Charlie, Nate, Chip and Mulder to get
fitted for their tuxedos. Ellie is sleeping in the
back of the dual stroller, taking Christopher's
place.

All the while, Colleen tries to convince Tara that
the dress she's trying on looks good even though
she's six months pregnant.

"Dana, come here and tell us what you think,"
Colleen calls and I pass off Christopher to
Kessie. She rolls her eyes again.
"Come here, Kit, while these women take their own
sweet time," Kessie mumbles as she hitches him on
her hip. Now she always calls him by the name
Soprano christened him with when we first hired
her what seems like ages ago even though Mulder
complains that one of his children named after an
animal is enough.

I really want to roll my eyes, too. Both these
women have avoided most of the wedding
preparations and now want to spend eight hours
picking out one dress. Tara 'blossomed' in the
last few weeks and didn't fit in the dress she was
originally supposed to wear, so now we must endure
this torture.

I shouldn't complain. I should enjoy being out
with other mothers, but I would rather be at home
taking a nap right now. The two of them are on
vacation and weren't doing an autopsy at 5:30 this
morning.

I disappear into the dressing room and Tara turns
around, showing off her pink dress. She's
beautiful and I don't know what all the fuss is
about. The cut of the dress is perfect for her
present form and I nod my head in appreciation.

"Do you like it, Dana?" she asks, her voice
begging for approval.

"I think it's perfect," I say and before I can get
out another compliment, I hear one of the little
ones begin to shriek out between the racks of
clothes. "Get it so we can get out of here before
security throws us out."

The women laugh and begin to chatter away again
about the dress while I get to go see what's
wrong. I guess it is only natural that they get
along so well with each other. They are the
sister-in-laws after all, already coming together
as outsiders to the Scully family. Already bonding
over the fact that they are married to Navy men.
Brothers. The person I'm marrying has no siblings.
Besides me and his three children, he doesn't have
much. A part of me wishes we had big families on
both sides. I hear more laughter come out of the
dressing room as I rock Samara in my arms, trying
to get her to calm down. They keep laughing. Then
again, maybe this family is big enough.

"I think she wants to go home," Kessie says,
nodding her head at Samara and stating the
obvious. "And Kit won't leave my hair alone."

"We all want to go home, Kessie," I add, wishing
the person who had packed the diaper bag had
thrown in another bottle for her. I'll have to
take it up with him later.

Finally, my two sister-in-laws come out of the
dressing room and walk towards me and the
children. They are all crying now, except for
Kessie, but she looks like she might start if we
don't get out of here soon.

"You better not have anymore, Dana. You look
swamped," Colleen says as she rocks her child in
my stroller. Then I remember something Mulder told
me. That neither of these women should have had
babies with my brothers. Not if they want to be
'saved' in the future. It is something I can't
ever tell them, for I don't know if it is true. I
don't want to scare them. I don't want the wrath
of Bill descending upon me or Mulder for
suggesting such a thing. But even so, I have to
figure out what to do. How to fix the future for
them.

************

Gingiss Formal Wear
June 12, 2003
7:35 p.m.

Scully's two brothers are discussing something
about Navy policy and I am about to make an escape
attempt if they don't stop soon. Charlie tries to
include me in their conversations, but Bill keeps
steering it away toward something I know nothing
about. Like boats. I don't even care about boats.

Then they spend ten minutes complaining about
having to wear a tuxedo in the first place when
they have perfectly good dress white uniforms.
Bill finally blames it on me and the fact that I
don't have any sort of uniform except a polyester
G-man suit. I want to tell him that I don't own a
single item of clothing made out of polyester, but
decide to pick my battles better than that.

I should have come with Everett earlier in the day
when he picked up his tuxedo, but I got stuck in
Maryland with Reid working on a difficult case.
I'm lucky I'm here now and that Reid didn't mind
staying behind and talking to the county coroner
in the morning. There was a time nothing would
have pulled me off a case like that. Until now.
Until Scully became my family.

Besides, I promised Scully I'd go with Bill, and
after the other night, I'd do anything.

Their boys are running around like animals, and I
hope the fact that he has two girls around him
keeps Chris from turning into some sort of
wildebeest. Bill is certainly proud that Tara is
pregnant with another boy and he doesn't let me
forget it. I'm not sure what his point is
considering Scully and I are glad to have children
at all and aren't that particular about gender
issues. We were just glad they were born human and
didn't care whether they were male or female.

"So, Mulder, why isn't your only boy getting a
tuxedo?" Bill asks, once again trying to rub in
the boy issue.

"Because he's not even two yet and he would
probably destroy a white tuxedo in about five
seconds," I say, looking over to where their boys
are wrestling on the floor. I can't imagine their
rented tuxedos surviving the whole ceremony.

"Nate! Chip! Let your cousin up!" Charlie shouts
as he steps out of the dressing room wearing his
tuxedo. They ignore him and keep rolling on the
floor, the youngest one trapped under the older
boys.

"Hey, who's paying for the rehearsal dinner
tomorrow? Since it is customary for the groom's
parents to pay and they are dead ..." Bill says,
looking me up and down.

"Scu -- Dana and I are picking it up," I say,
looking around, hoping they might not notice if I
just disappeared when they get distracted. I'm
sure Scully's not having a much better time
considering she's got all the kids under the age
of four with her. Hopefully, Kessie is being
helpful and not just rolling her eyes like she's
grown so fond of doing.

"If you have someplace better to be ..." Bill
says, noticing my eyes wandering to the door.

"Actually, yes, I do," I say, remembering
something I wanted to check up on before this
weekend. "I'm assuming the two of you will be just
fine without me?"

Bill just smiles, happy that I'll be leaving his
presence. "We got along just fine without you
until now. I'm sure we'll manage."

"See you tomorrow," I say, grabbing my tuxedo bag
off a rack and making my hasty departure.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Scully-Mulder Household
June 12, 2003
9:15 p.m.

"I didn't think they would ever stop talking,"
Kessie says as we both wearily make our way
through the front door.

"Neither did I," I say. Samara is fussing in my
arms, and I'm sure she's starving by now. Chris
had fallen asleep in his car seat, but he's up and
wide awake now.

"You want to play with your train, Kit?" Kessie
asks, setting her brother down on the floor. He
goes running off in the general direction of the
living room and he's probably going to be up for
another two hours. He was just refueling during
that nap and I should have never let him go to
sleep. Kessie checks on him and then follows me
into the kitchen. "Why does Soprano call him Kit?"

I try to remember her exact reasoning. That was a
whole year ago and sometimes she calls him Chris
but reverts back to Kit every once in a while.
Mostly when Mulder's around because it flusters
him.

"Kit is a nickname for Christopher ... and a kit
is a baby fox," I say and she nods her head as if
she just remembered that. "That's why she does
it."

"Well, it's kind of cute, but does anybody want to
go through life named after an animal? Or a bird?"
Kessie asks. She sits at the counter and watches
me while I try to get Samara her bottle and hold
her at the same time. Finally, I can't take
anymore of the fussing going on.

"Kess, can you please hold her?" I ask and Kessie
shrugs her shoulders in a noncommittal way before
taking the baby out of my arms.

I get the bottle made and Kessie takes it from me
to feed Samara. She's a good kid and sometimes I'm
not sure what we would do with two babies around
here if she wasn't here.

Speaking of babies, I have to go find the other
one before he gets into something. Christopher is
sitting in the middle of the floor banging away on
a toy piano. It is one of those noises where if it
wasn't your own child, it would drive you nuts. I
can now tune it out when I have to.

"Hey, sweetie. You ready for bed?" I ask, and he
gives me a bright smile as he keeps banging away
on the keyboard. He doesn't look tired at all. "I
knew we should have kept you awake in the car."

"Speaking of music, did anybody ever decide what
Soprano is going to sing at the wedding?" Kessie
asks. She's got an almost asleep Samara tucked in
her arms as she finishes off the bottle. Mulder
and Kessie usually are the only two people who can
get that baby to go to sleep. I don't know what it
is about them, but she is happiest in their arms.

"Yes. Soprano got tired of waiting and picked
something she is comfortable singing," I say and
on cue, Christopher starts singing some baby song
as loud as he can. His little voice squeaks and
then he begins to laugh, proud of his musical
ability.

"Can't wait until he takes up the violin," Kessie
says with a big yawn, settling down on Samara's
favorite couch. Kessie has begun to relax a lot
more around us after the whole incident on the
Vineyard. She now believes that we would do
anything to find her. That her father would never
abandon her like her mother did.

I clap my hands and put my arms out toward
Christopher and he crawls over and onto my lap,
snuggling in close.

"Where daddy?" he asks, looking up at me with soft
hazel eyes. Both the kids have eyes just like
Mulder's and Kessie's are close. No blue-eyed
babies around here.

"I don't know. He should be home soon to tuck you
in bed," I say, rocking him in my arms. He'll be
two next month. Where did the time go to? I run my
fingers through his auburn hair and his eyes begin
to get sleepy again.

Both the Mulder girls are sleeping on the couch,
nestled up next to each other. I wouldn't give
this up for anything.

**************

The Office of the Lone Gunmen
June 12, 2003
9:32 p.m.

I knock on the door and listen as someone unlocks
all the locks. I swear they add a new one in
between every visit I make.

"Hey, dude! What are you doing here so late? Don't
you have a family to tuck into bed? A wedding to
get ready for?" Frohike asks as he finally gets
the door open.

"I'm sure their mom can handle bedtime without me
for one evening. I just wanted to see if you guys
found out anything about those coordinates I sent
to you," I say, sitting down on one of the stools
as Byers and Langly both appear from various parts
of the building.

"It has been a rather interesting task. We had to
figure out the right satellite to catch the images
and then enhance everything," Byers says as he
finds a pile of photos on a messy desk. "But this
is what we got for you."

"I'm trying to contact a friend of mine who likes
to backpack up there about this time of year just
to get away from it all. Maybe he can check it
out," Langly says.

I look at the satellite images. They have
definitely been enlarged and enhanced, and still
the little structure in the middle of the print is
nothing more than a tiny speck in the middle of
miles and miles of ... nothingness.

"Looks like an old barn or something," Frohike
says, handing me a magnifying glass. I study it
carefully, hoping to hell that the meaning or
reason behind this place pops into my head. It
doesn't.

"There is no record of it ever being built and the
property around it belongs to the government. It's
in the heart of Jasper National Park. There
shouldn't be a structure there," Byers says,
handing me more records about the land.

"All I know is it's just a few miles from where I
found Kessie. That must have something to do with
it, but beyond that, I'm just as puzzled as you
are," I say. All their data shows exactly what
they told me. It shouldn't be there. Still,
someone must know about it.

"You did say that the Canadian government never
found the subterranean structure where you found
your daughter. This could simply be part of that
same cover up," Frohike says. "And speaking of
your eldest daughter, did you ever continue with
that regression therapy?"

"No," I say. There is nothing else to say about
it. Whatever information she holds in her head
isn't important enough to put her through that
again. "Her mother is dead. Her mother's family is
now dead. I don't want to dredge up any more crap
in her life."

"Understandable, dude. She's too young," Frohike
says, sitting on a stool next to me. "So, how's
the lucious nanny doing? I can't believe you took
her back in."

"Some days, neither can I. Then I think that if
she didn't know something, Kessie would be dead. I
have to keep her around just for that," I say,
looking at my watch. They're probably all in bed
now. Or I'll go home and find Kessie and Samara
asleep on the couch. "I better get going."

"If we find out anything else, we'll let you
know," Langly says, collecting the photos and the
data before putting them in a file for me to take
with.

"Thanks, guys. Great work as always."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~******

St. John's Church
June 14, 2003
2:25 p.m.

"The kids look nice. For now," Mulder says. He
found me on the front steps of the church,
watching all the boys fight the urge to run off
and ruin their white tuxedos.

"Where's Chris and Samara?" I ask, feeling him
wrap his arms around my waist. It's a beautiful
afternoon. The sun is shining and it's just
tempting the boys all the more. As it stands now,
they're just going to be hot and sweaty by the
time their mothers come out and collect them, but
their clothes are still clean.

"I think Kessie and the organist's daughter are
using our babies as dolls right at the moment. I
just checked on them. They're fine. How are you?"
he asks, rocking me in his arms.

"I'm fine," I say. His hands spread across the
silky material covering my almost back to normal
waistline.

Pink. I'm wearing pink. I look down at the dress
and smile. I remember when I would only wear
black. Everything is so different now.

"You look nice, too," he whispers, pulling me
further back into him. "Are you sorry this isn't
our wedding?"

I sigh and relax my body, enjoying being this
close, even if it is on the front steps of my
church.

"No, not really. Someday it would be nice if we
finally had that little piece of paper that
declared everything I already know, but for now
I'm happy for Mom and Everett. It's her day. I was
just thinking about Dad. About how much I still
miss him sometimes. How I wish he could have
gotten to know you and our children. I know -- a
funny thing to think about on the day my mom is
getting remarried," I say. I turn around in his
arms until we are facing each other. He's all
dressed up in a white tuxedo with a black tie and
vest, just like all the 'boys' in the family. He
just happens to look better than the rest of them.

"How about we try for sooner than someday?" he
asks, still holding onto me. "Though I guess it
doesn't matter. I couldn't love you more even if
we were married."

"I know," I say, careful not to get too close to
him and leave lipstick behind on his collar.

"I have a flight to Canada tomorrow," he says as
we both turn our heads to watch the mischief going
on up and down the steps. "I want to see what
those coordinants mean to us. I need to find out
what that structure is."

"Okay," I say, even though he promised he wouldn't
go look into this by himself. I've never been able
to stop him before. I can't really expect to now.

We can't figure out what it could possibly be
besides a structure someone left behind. But why
give us the coordinants? It makes no sense. Then
again, what in our lives does?

He takes my left hand in his and holds it up.
"Still haven't found it, have you?" he asks,
referring to my engagement ring. I knew he had to
notice sooner or later that I didn't have it on. I
took it off when I was very pregnant with Samara
and haven't been able to find it since.

"I'm sorry," I say, looking down at my feet,
embarrassed. "I don't know how I did it or what
happened to it."

"I do," he says, letting go of my hand and pulling
something out of his pants pocket. It's a black
velvet box that can only hold one thing.

"You had it this whole time?" I ask, wanting to
swat him for doing that to me. I tore the house
apart last night in a last ditch effort to have it
on my finger today.

"No, actually, the jeweler had it most of the
time. Open it up and look," he urges me. I can
hear the happiness in his voice. It makes me
happy, too.

I flip open the lid to find what was my ring, with
two more stones added on either side of the center
stones.

"Wow." It's the first thing that comes to mind
when I look at the setting.

"A stone for each of us. The big one in the middle
represents you, because you are the center of my .
. . our universe. You're what holds us all
together. The little ones represent me, Kessie,
Chris and Samara. Me and our babies," he says, his
voice barely rising above a whisper.

"Thank you," I say, sliding it onto my finger.
"It's perfect."

"So are you. And someday soon, I hope to add
another ring to it, you know," he says, holding my
hand again.

"I know," I say. "Someday."


The End

Thanks to all the people who've sent feedback to
me recently that I never got back to. I think I've
got my mailbox straightened out now and my mail is
coming in more regularly.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Title: Shifts  
Author: Jori
email: damienma@adelphia.net
Summary: Mulder, Scully and family meet their future.
Rating: PG-13
Category: SAR
Keywords: MSR, baby fic
Archive: Yes

Author's Notes: In this story, Scully's POV is told going backwards from
the first scene and Mulder's is told going forward.

I said I'd get this done before the end of season eight and I almost
made it. It WAS done Sunday afternoon at about 3 p.m. Then for some
reason beyond explanation, I ended up in the hospital Sunday evening
with a kidney stone and just got home this morning.

This was always supposed to be the set up for Christopher Scully II, but
we'll see what happens next. If you want to leave at this point, it's a
nice out. If you want to hang around for the next several years as I
play in my own XF world, you are more then welcome to stay.


**************

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
December 16, 2004

The wind is howling around us even though we're closed up in this
structure. There's nothing that can silence the sad moan as it creeps
under the door and the dirty windowpanes. I close my eyes and the low,
hollow sound takes me back to a sunny day when I was young. Back to a
family vacation near the beach. It sounds like the wind blowing through
the masts on the sailboats moored behind the bungalow we were staying
in.

There will be no more vacations. No more sailboats. Right now, I'm not
even so sure there will be any sunny days again.

Samara shifts around in my arms and brings me back to here and now.
Wherever that might be.

"Is this the place?" I ask, my throat raw from sucking in cold air for
so long.

I set Samara down next to Kessie and Chris on a threadbare quilt
covering what must be the bed. It's the only bed here. I have no idea
where we are going to all sleep. My arms are numb from carrying Samara
or Chris all this way and I'm tired. I'm also numb from the constant
cold. It's been days since I've been warm.

"This is it. The center of our universe from now on," Mulder replies
with a scoff as he opens the door to the wood burning stove. There's a
pile of wood near the wall and he grabs some and puts it in before
searching for something to light it with. We need to warm this place up
but the wind is so strong, I'm not sure that's going to be possible.

"This is where you came last year? Where Krycek ..."

"This would be it. I just never thought it would be home. Just never
thought I'd be hiding out here ..." he mumbles but stops when the
match he's holding sparks to life. He carefully stokes the fire he
starts, making sure it's going before moving away from the stove. "I
thought I could stop it."

The three children look like they are in shock. Kessie can barely keep
her eyes open and her cheeks are so chapped now that she cries out when
Christopher touches her face.

"Mommy, when are we going home?" Chris asks. His throat sounds parched
and he stares at me with glassy, sad eyes. They're all staring at me,
waiting for an answer.

I don't get a chance to give them one. Their father does it instead.

"We aren't. We aren't going home but at least we still have each other.
That's all that matters now."

*************

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
June 17, 2003

There is nothing before me but an old farmhouse-like structure standing
in the middle of a grassy field. The tall summer grass is dotted with
wildflowers and they sway in the blowing wind. Mountains rise up as a
backdrop to it all and I imagine during the winter the temperatures are
damn near unbearable here, especially since the peaks on those mountains
are still covered in white snow.

It's taken me two days just to make it this far and I check my GPS one
more time to make sure this is the right structure. Not that there's any
other building within a hundred miles of here. Nothing but mountains and
lakes and fields. I've passed an occasional hiker on these back country
trails. We would discuss the weather and where in the hell we were going
and then move on. I'm still not certain where I'm going. Or why.

This is the location that was given to me and that looks like the
building in all those satellite pictures the Gunmen procured. Still, I
have no idea what this location is supposed to mean. I hope someone left
bigger clues inside than they did outside.

I shift my backpack around and trudge forward through the thick grass,
my feet aching in my hiking boots. If nothing else, the old barn will
give me a place to rest for a day before heading back and adding this to
my long list of unsolved mysteries. I did solve one mystery late last
night. My cell phone doesn't work way out here.

Walking around the perimeter of the building, I run my hand around the
dilapidated wood. This place is beyond a can of paint and new gutters.
The windows that remain are covered in years of dust and grime. I brush
my hand across a pane of glass and try to see in but can only see
shadows and a trace of light.

Rickety steps lead up to a worn front door and I open it, letting it
swing in on its hinges. I step across the threshold and onto the dusty
floor and that's when I notice a fresh set of footprints leading across
the room.

"Shut the door, Mulder. You don't want to let any wildlife in," Krycek
says. He's sitting on a chair against the far wall looking as if he has
nothing better to do with his life but wait for me. His skin is pale and
he coughs after he finishes speaking.

"What could be worse than you?" I ask, closing the door behind me. I
just stand there, facing him. He only moves his right hand, moving his
fingers over the surface of a denim clad thigh. His left arm hangs
stiffly at his side, unmoving.

"You'd be surprised at what's out there, Mulder. So close to us right
now," Krycek says, his voice raspy and uneven. He coughs some more, not
bothering to put his hand over his mouth. I take a step back from him
and he laughs.

"What in the hell happened to you?" I ask. He continues to stare at me,
his eyelids heavy.

"This is the price we sometimes have to pay in the business I'm in. Play
too many sides for too long and it sometimes ..." he stops and coughs
more, this time raising his right hand to form a fist in front of his
mouth. "Sometimes one of the sides catches up to you and makes you pay."

I listen to him cough more. I can't even begin to imagine how many
people have wanted to bring Alex Krycek down. I'm sure it's more than
just me.

"What's this about, Krycek? I'm sure you didn't drag me all the way up
here expecting my pity. What is this place?" I ask, looking around.
There's hardly any furnishings here. A bed is shoved in the corner,
covered by a worn quilt. Krycek is sitting on the only chair and there's
a dilapidated table barely standing on its four legs. A wood burning
stove stands cold but I see the remnants of a meal on it.

"This place? This place is your future, Mulder. Doesn't look too bright,
does it?" Krycek asks with a soft snort. I take one step back toward the
door, wary of what he's up to. "Don't worry. Your future doesn't start
now. But soon, this will be the center of your universe."

***********

Somewhere in Canada
December 15, 2004

"How long will you be able to carry her?"

"Forever."

I answer his question again, tugging Samara close to my exhausted body.
She complains but there's nothing else I can do but hold her tight and
keep walking. Mulder hitches Christopher higher onto his hip and
rearranges the blankets over his head. The wind tries to pull it off but
he tucks it around him tighter, holding on to the tattered edges.

"Kessie, keep up," he calls out over his shoulder. I look behind us and
Kessie nods as she trudges through the snow. She is as exhausted as we
are and there is no one here to carry her.

"How much farther?" she asks, her throat sounding parched. I stop and
wait for her to catch up, pressing my chapped lips to her forehead when
she stops in front of me. She still has the fever she's been running for
the last day and her cheeks are flushed from more than just the cold.

We both look at Mulder and he closes his eyes. It's falling apart
quickly around us and I have no idea how to pull all the pieces
together. "Not much longer."

Kessie simply nods her head this time instead of letting out a string of
protest like the last time Mulder said 'not much longer.' That was
yesterday.

No one asks how long we've been walking but rather, we all have kept our
own silent count of the days and nights.

Night is quickly descending upon us again and I can tell from the look
on Mulder's face that we aren't going to be to our destination before it
completely wraps us in darkness. Sunlight can barely filter through
during the day and the stars are obliterated at night. We'll have to
stop soon.

"We have to keep moving," he says, countering my thoughts. He avoids eye
contact with any of us, as if he failed us all by letting this happen.

Samara squirms against me, trying to pull away. "Momma, I'm hungry," she
says softly and I try to quiet her.

"Keep moving," Mulder says, walking ahead of us. Kessie stands still,
her glassy eyes not hiding how tired she is. She's not even supposed to
be alive and now this might kill her anyway. "We have to go. We can't
stand here. They'll find us."

"I know," I say, shifting Samara to my hip and taking Kessie's gloved
hand in mine. "Kessie, we have to keep moving."

She looks at me and then looks to her father. "I'm so tired."

"I know," I say as we both start to trudge forward through the snow.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
June 17, 2003

"What are you talking about?" I ask Krycek. He stands and walks over to
a dusty window, wiping it with the sleeve of his shirt. A mountain comes
into focus the more he wipes and his eyes focus off into the distance.

"Did you really think you'd be able to save the world, Mulder? Did you
really think you would put it all together in time to stop it? That
isn't going to happen," Krycek says, still looking out window. He shuts
his eyes and coughs some more.

"So, what is going to happen?" I ask. I take the chair he just left and
turn it around, using it myself. He turns from the window and stares at
me, his eyes narrowing as he thinks about what to say next.

"One day, they'll just sweep through the streets. It will go faster than
anybody ever expected. Those chosen to live will be sent to the
appropriate place. Those not chosen ... won't be so lucky," Krycek
says with half a laugh. "Actually, maybe they will be. It's a matter of
opinion, I guess."

"And the appropriate place would be ..."

"It might as well be hell. They had alternatives started. Places with
schools for your children. A safe place for your family. You saw what
they were working on with that kid of yours. A virtual Noah's Ark of
humanity," he says. He puffs air into his right hand. It's beginning to
get cool here now that the sun is setting. It's a hell of a lot cooler
than it is in DC right now.

"So, you're saying those plans have failed?" I ask. He leans against
what's left of the windowsill and laughs again.

"Fell apart so damn fast no one knew what hit them. Just because you
took that kid out. Someone panicked and ended the project. All those
kids you saw there ... gone. Just think of all the parents who gave up
their children to that project because they thought they would be safe
that way. People just like Diana Fowley," Krycek says and now I shut my
eyes. No one was ever able to find any trace of such a settlement ever
again after I got out with Kessie. Two governments searched and found
nothing. Damn it. Damn them.

"So, now what?" I ask.

"The unfortunate people chosen to live will be sent to camps, to work
for them until they die. The lucky ones will die," he says with a soft
snort. "The problem with you, Mulder, and with most of your children, is
they are selected to live."

"That's a problem?"

"That is a problem simply because it's not going to be much of a life.
But someone doesn't want you to live that life. Doesn't want that life
for those two children you have with Scully ..."

"What about Kessie?" I ask, looking at him. He just shrugs his
shoulders.

"Wrong genes. Don't worry. If this fails, she's one of the lucky ones
who'll end up dead. Anyway, like I was saying, one night ... or day. .
. who the fuck knows, they'll come and gather you all up  ... you
can't let them."

***********

Somewhere in Canada
December 13, 2004

"Where are we?" I ask and Mulder just shakes his head. He opens our map
with one hand as he struggles to hold Christopher against him. The map
doesn't seem to be doing much good. We seem to be lost more often than
not.

The wind blows through what's left of the pine trees surrounding this
area and I stare up at them, and then past them to the pale sky. The sun
has been nothing but a softly diffused light for days now, always lost
behind dust or clouds or whatever that haze is. I imagine it will only
get worse as we move farther north.

I finally take my eyes off of the sky and look into the abandoned
building we're standing by. I think this was a general store, set back
in away from the highway. Now, it's nothing but a gutted out building
that has been picked clean.

"Looks like it's the end of the road to me," he says, nodding at the
barriers that would block any cars or trucks from going further north on
this road. That is if there were any cars or trucks. We've been on foot
for a while now and I haven't seen one.

Samara squirms against my hip but I can't put her down here. Shards of
glass litter the asphalt in front of the shell of the building and I can
still smell some sort of fuel. The odor permeates the area and I
struggle not to cough.

"Kessie, come here," Mulder calls out and he hands Christopher over to
her as he begins to investigate the area more. He makes it around the
building and begins to pick up some of the charred debris. I follow him
watching as he turns over more rubble, but I'm not sure what he expects
to find. This place looks like it was picked clean well before we got
here. He turns over one last sheet of blackened plywood and makes a
face. I know that face and I know what he's found isn't good. I approach
but he quickly motions for me to stop. "Don't bring her any closer."

"What is it?" I ask. He walks towards me, taking Samara from my arms so
I can take a look.

The bodies are burned beyond recognition but I can tell it was a family
of five. This was probably their store and their home. Having the number
of children they did probably ended up costing these people their lives.
If they had any vehicles, they were taken for there's nothing around
here anymore. No food, water or transportation.

Just a hollowed out shell of what life used to be like.

"I didn't think it would start so soon. You said ..." I start to say
and he interrupts me.

"We can't do anything for them now. We better get going before it begins
to snow," Mulder says, looking up at the heavy sky. So far, we have been
lucky. All we've had to deal with is older, mostly melted snow. Add a
fresh layer to the landscape and we may never find where we're going.

"Okay," I say, covering up the bodies and leaving them behind.

Samara stays wrapped up in Mulder's arms as I take Chris from Kessie. As
silently as we came upon this place, we leave again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
June 17, 2003

"Why are they doing it?"

"Your children, Mulder, are the key to it all. They always have been.
Not the oldest girl. That was a mistake and Diana paid for that one. She
thought she could beat the system but she couldn't," Krycek says with a
slow shake of his head.

"But the other ones? The ones I had with Scully?"

"You really do believe that, don't you? That you two actually conceived
those kids with no outside intervention? You really do believe in
anything."

"I don't care where they came from anymore, Alex," I say, meaning every
word of it.

"You should. If you knew, you'd have all your answers."

"I've come to realize, over time, that maybe there are no answers," I
say and he looks stunned.

"Is there no truth either?" he asks and I look away.

"Just what people like you make up," I say, moving to window and staring
out at the empty landscape.

"I couldn't possibly make up a story this good. No one could. Sometimes,
truth is better than fiction," he says, his voice growing more raspy
with every word.

"So, what's their purpose?" I ask and he just turns to me and smiles.

*************

Near the Canadian Border
December 11, 2004

The rattling of the truck is louder than any of us can talk. Or think.
The sound bangs around the inside of my head and almost makes me forget
what's happening to our lives. I open my eyes to find Samara staring at
me, her hands over her ears, her eyes filled with fear.

"It will be okay," I say, knowing she can't hear the words. She just
nods and cuddles in tighter against her father. Kessie has Chris on her
lap, wrapped up in blankets. It's so cold but we have no other means of
transportation. We have to hope this works. That we can get over the
border without detection.

Mulder moves closer to me, and Samara climbs onto my lap, clinging
tightly to my jacket. She buries her head against the fabric, trying to
stop the noise that we can't escape. Mulder has to shout for me to hear
him, but I can make out the words. "I'm sorry," he says, putting his
hand on mine.

I shake my head, knowing that apologies won't change anything now. This
is the life I asked for. The life I chose when I stepped into the
basement office so many years ago. Now it's just him and our children
and a destination I know nothing of.

"I'm so sorry," he says again, resting his head on my shoulder. His hand
strokes the hair that is escaping out of under Samara's woolen stocking
cap.

"We're alive, aren't we?" I try to keep my voice to a level that only he
can hear but Kessie turns her head in my direction. "We're still alive.
We're still a family. What else is there?"

With that, the two of us fall silent, listening only to the tumult
around us.

**************

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
June 17, 2003

"They're the end product of a project years in the making. Something
that goes back as far as Roswell. Actually, with your family, maybe a
little further back. That's how they were chosen, their pedigree. The
studies that had been performed on them earlier," he says and I have no
clue what he's talking about.

"Why us?" I ask and he shakes his head.

"I have no clue. Luck of the draw, Mulder. You and Scully are the final
pieces in this experiment. Sure, there are others, but not like the two
of you. You made it easy for them," he says, not really telling me
anything.

"I've heard enough," I say, turning to leave. He steps away from the
window as if to stop me, but he knows he can't. Instead, he laughs.

"You want the truth? You want to know what they've been genetically
designed for?" he asks and I turn towards him.

"Not really. I don't need anymore of your stories or your lies," I say,
going to pick up my pack. I just need to get out of here. Get home to
Scully. I don't need to listen to him.

"You want to know what 'Weather Control' really is?" he asks and as
tempted as I am to stop, I keep walking. "It's the final solution. The
answer no one wants to face. You and your children have been designed to
survive it. Especially your children."

"Survive what?" I ask, scoffing at him. "All these years, I've heard
about this invasion that never happens. Rebel aliens and gray aliens and
you know what? I don't think they even need a final solution because
there's no problem to solve."

"Nuclear winter." I look at him, struggling for breath there by the
window, barely able to hold himself up. Now it's my turn to laugh. "You
think I'm kidding?"

"Yes, Krycek. Most everything that has come out of your mouth for years
is a joke. So they're going to blow us all up? For what purpose?"

"To stop them. They need it warm. We block out the sun and it all goes
to hell. They can survive the radiation, believe it or not. They thrive
on it. But the winter that will follow? It will kill them," he says and
I stop moving. I remember something, from a long time ago. Something
that happened in a nuclear plant.

"And my children? How do they fit in this?" I ask and he smiles.

"Pull up a chair and find out."

************

Somewhere in Idaho
December 11, 2004

"What happens if someone finds us?" I ask and Mulder doesn't answer. He
doesn't need to. "Why are they doing this?"

"Because they want them. They want the kids and they can't have them."

The children are all asleep, resting as close to each other as they can
get. We are at some rest stop somewhere. I don't know where. The only
light we have is from a small lantern that we shouldn't even be burning
but it was the only way I could get Christopher to think about sleeping.

"If they made them, why would they want them? There's no reason ..."

"I don't think they believe they actually achieved it, or rather that it
occurred naturally. They want to know how so they can do it again. Now
they want to study them more closely. They say they don't want Kessie
but I don't believe them. They want to know why she's not the same. That
would be too good of an opportunity for them to pass up."

"We can't run forever," I say, wrapping up in a blanket. It's so cold
here and I have no idea how much further we have to go. Mulder says this
will get us over the border and into Alberta but then we'll be on our
own. People are already looking for us. It's that important.

"We have to. We can't stop. Can't quit now."

"How do we know we'll be safe when we get there?" I ask and he doesn't
have a good answer. "Because the same people who are chasing us said we
would be?"

"No."

"Maybe it's a trap. Dammit, Mulder. Alex Krycek is the one who gave you
the directions for this journey," I say and I need not say more. He
knows what I'm implying. He tenses up against the wall of the truck
trailer we've been hiding in for a day now. I reach for the lamp,
turning it off and leaving us in complete darkness.

"I have to believe in something," he says and I want to laugh. He always
believes in too much. That's his problem.

"But does that have to be Alex Krycek? And why now? Why are we doing
this now?"

"Because we were running out of time. You think they're looking for us
for no reason?" he ask and I close my eyes, wishing to be anywhere but
here. To be having any conversation but this one. "Do you think those
checkpoints are a joke?"

"No," I say, shuddering at the memory of the last one and of trying to
keep Samara quiet inside of a crate while they searched the truck.

"We'll be safe once we get there."

"I hope so," I say, my body desperately needing sleep. Mulder stand up
and quietly makes his way towards me before sitting down beside me. He
wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, his body warm and
comfortable. Finally, I fall into a restless slumber.

*************

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
June 17, 2003

"Years of testing, mostly on government employees. Your father, for
example and on those in the military. Scully's family was perfect. A
perfect match for yours," Krycek says and I lean back in my chair,
waiting for him to go on. He seems to be waiting for me to say
something.

"And why am I supposed to believe you?"

"For chrissakes, Mulder. Who in the hell else are you going to believe
at this point? Anyway, they've been waiting for years to finally get
these matches to work up right. You and Scully ended up being their test
subjects. Of course, because of that, the aliens were just as interested
in you as was the government. A natural reaction to what was going on,"
he says as if that explains everything.

"Right."

"If they could dissect you, they could figure out what the plan was," he
says.

"If you know it, it couldn't have been that big of a secret," I say and
he shrugs a shoulder and coughs some more.

"You'd be surprised," he says as he gets up to pour himself a cup of
water. "You'd be surprised."

Continued in Part 2

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~********

Somewhere in Idaho
December 10, 2004

"He's the man," Mulder says, nodding his head in the direction of a
surly looking truck driver. "He's our transportation."

"How do we know?" I ask, handing Samara something to eat. She picks at
her piece of toast and Chris doesn't eat at all. They are both so
confused, as is Kessie. At least she's old enough to understand that we
aren't going home anytime soon, if ever.

"Because of this," Mulder says, folding up the piece of paper that has
been our guide in all of this and tucking it into his pocket. He slides
out of his side of the booth and approaches the man. Neither of them say
a word inside of the diner, but leave out the front door. Mulder turns
to look at me before it closes, leaving me alone with the kids.

"Who's that?" Kessie asks, looking out the window.

"I don't know," I say and she looks down at her food, picking at it just
like Samara.

"Is all of this because of me?" she asks, her voice filled with
apprehension.

"No, Kessie, this isn't happening because of you. None of you are to
blame for this," I say and all the kids look at me, their eyes sad.

"Because of Dad?" she asks quietly.

"What is happening isn't his fault or mine. This is something that has
been going on for longer than any of you've been alive. This is
something ... I just can't even explain," I say, looking down into my
cup of hot tea. How can I explain something I don't understand to them?
Samara is still just a baby and Christopher is just as confused. He says
nothing, but lately, he never has a lot to say. That bundle of infant
energy has grown into a thoughtful and reserved toddler. I don't know
what sparked the change but it happened over the last year.

"You need to eat something. All of you," I say, sliding a glass of milk
towards Christopher. He picks it up and takes a sip, never saying a
word. "I don't know when we'll be able to stop to eat again."

I look out the window to see Mulder and that man he was talking with
coming back towards the door. He looks nervous until he notices that I
see him. Then he tries to give me a smile but it falls flat. There is
nothing to smile about right now. Nothing at all.

************

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
June 17, 2003

"So, what's all this for?" I ask, motioning to the cabin around me.

"Your escape. They're going to come looking for all of you. Millions
will be killed just to get rid of your type."

"But you said ..."

"That's our government. Not them. They're going to get the jump on
them.  Our government thinks you can be used as bargaining chips --
slave labor in trade for their survival. They don't want that. Don't
want you alive. If they kill all of you, then there will be no humanity
to survive whatever it is they have planned. Not that I'd call it
surviving," he says and I get up out of my chair and pace around. I
don't know what to believe. I can't imagine why I should trust him.

"So, it's a race?"

"Always has been," he says. "And for some reason, someone wants you to
win."

*************

Somewhere in Idaho
December 10, 2004

"Did anyone see you?" Mulder asks, looking over his shoulder as we walk
out of the bus station. Kessie is behind us, trying to pull Samara along
but she keeps fighting her. I finally scoop her up into my arms so we
can move faster.

"Not that I noticed," I say, trying to keep up with him. We've been
apart for three days now, going separate ways to meet up here. "It isn't
exactly easy to travel quietly with a toddler, you know."

He scoots Christopher up further on his shoulder and nods. "I know," he
says. He's been alone with Chris for all this time while I've had the
girls. At least I've had Kessie to help.

"Where are we going now?" I ask and he points to a tiny diner down the
street. "Where are we now?"

"Nowhere. There's nothing here. We're sitting ducks if someone comes
through here looking for us. They have to know our path by now. Roads
have been blocked. They're looking for a family with three kids. They
looked right at me and moved on," he says, looking over his shoulder
once more.

"Maybe we shouldn't have met up so soon," I say, not wanting to look at
what's behind us.

"We had no choice. This is where we meet up with the person who's going
to get us into Canada. It's all been arranged," he says and I just nod.
I only wish I could trust the arrangements as much as he does.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
June 17, 2003

"So were going to come here to escape? Why won't they just come get us
here?" I ask and Krycek considers it.

"They might but sooner or later, this will be the center of the world.
Hard to believe, huh?" he says, dragging a toe through the dusty floor.
"You're kids are destined for greatness, I tell you. Maybe that boy will
be the leader of all of humanity someday."

"How many people will that be? Fifty? Sixty?" I ask and he laughs.

"Just the unlucky ones. I'm telling you, it's not going to be a life
worth living. I guess if I had kids, I'd feel differently."

"Yes, you would," I say, stopping at the window to consider everything
he's said. "How will we know when to leave? Is someone going to drop by
the front door and tell us to pack?"

"The date is set, Mulder."

"And you know the date?" I ask incredulously. I'm starting to believe
him less and less. He knows too much. I have no idea how or why.

"Of course I do. That's why you're here."

"You couldn't have just dropped by the office and told me? Did you
forget your way down there?" I ask and he laughs.

"Then how would you find your way back here?" he asks.

"I don't know if I should find my way back here," I answer and he shrugs
again.

"Then don't. Let them kill you. All of you. I don't care," he says.

"You must."

"Not me, Mulder. Someone else cares, but it's not me," he says with a
smile.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Somewhere in Montana
December 8, 2004

"I miss Daddy," Samara says.

"I know. So do I," I say, repositioning her on my lap. We're in some
tiny bus station somewhere, waiting for a connection. I fight the urge
to look over my shoulder, afraid of what could be behind us.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Kessie says, standing from the seat
beside me.

"You can't go alone," I say, motioning for her to sit back down. That's
just what I need. Her to go into the restroom and not come back out.

"I have to go."

"Can you wait just a minute?" I ask, trying to get up with Samara and
collect our few bags at the same time.

"No," she says, rolling her eyes at me. God, she looks just like her
mother when she acts like this.

"You'll have to," I say and she starts dancing from one foot to another.
I collect the last bag and sigh. There's no way we can get anywhere
without attracting attention. "Okay. Let's go."

**************

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
June 17, 2003

"So, what's going to happen? Is someone going to knock on our door and
tell us to get moving?" I ask. It's growing cool in here even though
it's the middle of summer. Or maybe it's just the company.

"Close," he says. "You'll know when it's time. And you're going to have
to move fast or else they'll find you. This place will be safe, though.
We'll make sure of that. Or someone will."

I don't know what else to ask. I have a million questions, but I need to
think about this for a few minutes.

"Tell me one thing," I ask after we both stand in silence.

"Maybe," he says, leaning up against the window sill.

"The children ... Christopher and Samara ..."

"They're yours," he says with a smirk.

"I know that," I say, shaking my head. That wasn't what I was going to
ask.

"You want to know how? You've always wondered how, haven't you?" he asks
and I nod. "They were in control of her fertility the whole time. They
were just waiting on you, sport."

"And what if we never ..."

"Like that was going to happen. It was only a matter of time," he says,
sounding more confident than I ever did. I can't help but laugh.

"So they didn't control that storm? The hurricane?" I ask and he doesn't
answer. "They didn't, did they?"

"I can't tell you everything, Mulder."

**************

Scully-Mulder Household
December 5, 2004

"Get on this bus. When you get here, get off of the bus and wait for me.
I'll be there. I promise," Mulder says, showing me a piece of paper that
looks old and worn. He must have studied it a million times over the
last year. Maybe he was deciding whether we should do this or not. I'm
not sure he's convinced even now.

"What if they find us?" I ask and he closes his eyes. "Mulder? What if
they find us?"

"Get away. Get there by some other method. But be here by the 8th," he
says, opening his eyes to look at me again. He looks tired. Or worried.
No one can be more worried than I am.

"And Christopher?" I ask, my voice rising as I say his name. "What if
something happens to you?"

"We'll be fine, Scully. I won't let anything happen to him. You know
that," he says, pulling me into his embrace. The children are in the
other room, barely able to make out what's going to happen to their
lives. All they know is we have to leave here in the next hour and we
don't know when we'll be back.

"I need to call ..."

"You can't," he says before I can even finish my sentence. "She can't
know. No one can."

"Mulder ..."

"You can't."

"I hate this," I say, tears coming to my eyes. I can't cry again, not
with the kids worried about what's going on.

"So do I," he says, kissing my forehead. "But I'd hate for anything to
happen to any of them even more."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
June 17, 2003

"I can't tell you more," he says, sounding as if he's dismissing me.

"Why not?" I ask. Maybe he doesn't know anymore than this. Maybe this is
the end of his story, some fabrication of his for an unknown purpose.

"I can't. All I can do is give you this," he says, pulling a sheet of
paper out of his pocket. He hands it to me and I go to unfold it.

"What is it?"

"Don't do that yet. You aren't ready for that right now," he says and I
stop unfolding it and shove it in my pocket. "Go home. Go home and
wait."

"For how long?"

"It won't be long," he says and I nod. "And don't spend your whole time
trying to stop it or figure it out."

He knows I'm not going to listen to that bit of advice. I pick up my
pack and turn towards the door. I don't want to stay here tonight. Not
with him. I just need to get out of here and clear my head.

"Mulder ..." he calls after me and I turn to look at him one last
time. "You can't tell anyone."

"Whatever."

"Everything will be okay, you know," he says, sounding so damn
confident.

"Right," I say as I leave the cabin, slamming the door behind me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Scully-Mulder Household
December 5, 2004

"You must be kidding!" I say, my voice angry and excited. Kessie sits as
still as possible, Christopher tucked safely in her arms. Samara isn't
sure what's going on. She continues to sit on the floor, playing with
her toys.

"Two hours, Scully. We have to be out of here in two hours."

"I can't. We can't. This is our home. Mine and yours and theirs."

"It won't be a home if we don't do this," he says, grabbing hold of one
of my hands. I pull away from his touch.

"You waited all this time to tell me about this. You could have told me,
Mulder. A year? You waited a year?" I ask and he gives me a sheepish
look. I'm sure he had his reasons but I don't think any reason would be
enough right now.

"I wasn't sure. Not until this morning. Not until this came across my
desk," he says, handing me a fax. There's only two words on it, in bold
type. 'Moving day' is all it says. He's been waiting for this for a year
now, remaining silent.

"And this is enough to make me leave my home?"

"No, saving them is enough," he says, nodding at our family. I know he's
right. "Saving you is enough for me."

"Is this what you've been working on over the last year?" I ask and he
nods. Something has been bothering him, keeping him away for days on
end. Now I know. "You were trying to stop this?"

"I couldn't, Scully. I tried for you, for them. I can't stop the
future," he says, his voice cracking at the admission of his failure.

"Then I guess this is what we have to do," I say, still not happy with
it. I don't know who to trust. I can only trust him and he believes in
this. "I will follow you anywhere, Mulder."

"I know," he says. Tears come to my eyes, mourning the loss of
everything already. I fight them, not ready to let go. A few spill over
and he wipes them dry.

"Anywhere," I repeat again and I mean it with all my heart.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Jasper, Alberta, Canada
June 17, 2003

I turn around to look at the house in the distance. My legs wobble a
little when I think about it all. I wanted answers. Now I'm not so sure
anymore. We were happy without the answers. I'm sure of at least that
much.

How can we ever be happy here? Maybe together, we can be happy anywhere.
If the children are safe and we're safe, we can survive. I shake my
head, wondering how far that theory can be stretched. How I'm supposed
to convince Scully of this. I'm still not sure I believe any of it. Why
should I? It all sounds preposterous.

I have so many questions and concerns and nowhere to go with them. I
don't know how we'll live out here. How will we survive? We can't
survive this. We just can't. How are we supposed to walk away from our
lives?

I start to walk away again. This can't happen. I have to stop it.

After all these years, I should know better. I'll never be able to stop
it. I couldn't stop it so far. I want to kick myself for giving up
before I even tried.

I'm going to have to at least try.


              The end (Series finale)


Earlier Christopher Scully stories here
http://www.geocities.com/mulderscreek/fics/christopherscully.html