Title: Take Me Home 
Author: Martha 
Classification: V 
Rating: PG 
Keywords: None 
Spoilers: through Redux II 
Summary: Missing scene from Redux II. What happened after 
Samantha left her brother in the diner? 
 
 
Author's Notes: I finally rewatched this episode for the first time 
since the original US airing. It was not as bad as I remembered, but 
I still think that the best scene was the one with Mulder and 
Samantha. The following contains parts of dialogue originally 
contained in Redux II, written by Chris Carter and imagery seen and 
heard in Demons, written by R W Goodwin. 
 
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
 
11:05 pm 
Gaithersburg, MD 
 
"Take me home." 
 
It's too much... this is all too much for me to sort out right 
now. I turn to my father, who reassuringly caresses my cheek, and I 
tell him to take me home. 
 
There is silence while we drive. He does not pry; he does not ask 
about the conversation. I'm not sure what I would tell him if he 
did. 
 
"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asks. 
 
"Yes," I reply. 
 
My walk is steady as I approach my front door. I want to run, run up 
these steps and into the house and up to the bedrooms. I have to see 
- to make sure - that my children are sttill sleeping in their beds. 
 
It's part of that fear that has been gnawing at me lately. It's 
irrational, I know, to think that my children will taken from me in 
the middle of the night. But it's there because . . . because I 
can't remember. 
 
//I remember something . . . men . . . and then nothing.// 
 
The key does not want to go into the lock. I fumble for a second and 
try again. I must not panic; I must appear calm. He is watching, 
waiting for me to step inside. The lock cooperates. I turn in the 
doorway, to smile and wave good-bye, and slowly close the door. 
 
It is quiet in my house. But is it too quiet? I pocket my keys and 
take the staircase, one step at a time. I listen for the sounds, of 
whisperings of words that I can not make out, of voices that I almost 
but can not quite place. I am hearing things again. It is quiet in 
my house. 
 
I turn at the top of the landing. The doors to the two bedrooms, 
just opposite each other, are ajar. The hallway light filters 
through the two doorways, just brushing the beds and the sleeping 
forms. I go into one room and stand over my daughter and hold my 
breath as she turns to her side, clutching the doll she was given 
last Christmas. The dark curls trail behind her on the pillow - so 
much like mine used to be. Could I ever have been so young? 
 
I slowly creep into my son's room. His breathing is still a bit 
ragged, although he is slowly getting over that cold. His brownish 
hair falls back from his forehead, and his lips are parted as he 
breathes through his mouth. I think that there is such innocence in 
that face until it hits me that I have seen this face in another 
generation - another place and time. He so reminds me of Fox, what I 
can remember of him from my early childhood. 
 
The bedroom suddenly becomes a bit too constricting; I am having a 
hard time catching my breath. I walk out, back to the top of the 
landing, and turn to peer down into the darkened living room. And I 
begin hearing those voices again. The whisperings and the pleadings. 
 
//My baby . . . not my baby.// 
 
Mom. Mom, I'm right here. 
 
//I want you to come with me, come with me to see Mom.// 
 
//Mom is alive?// 
 
//My baby . . . not my baby.// 
 
I grasp the staircase railing to steady myself and slowly sink to the 
carpet. I peer through the spindles and continue to hear the voices 
of my mother and father. But that man is not my father. The other 
man is my father. He told me so. That other man in the shadows. 
 
I grasp the spindles, and I am remembering. I am remembering what I 
forgot a long time ago. It keeps fighting me, pushing me back to the 
time before - before I went to live with the Bailey's. Before the 
men, the ones in the white coats . . . 
 
//I can help you remember.// 
 
//I don't want to, Fox.// 
 
There is a bright light, and there are people talking around me, but 
I can't see them. I am alone in a huge room, and I can't see anyone. 
Then come the men with the white coats. 
 
//I'm afraid, Fox. I'm afraid.// 
 
No, I scream. 
 
I want my mommy! 
 
I want to go home! 
 
Fox? Where are you, Fox? 
 
Fox, take me home! 
 
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 
	 
11:08 pm 
Lone Gunmen Headquarters 
 
Mulder was trying to apologize. "Sorry to disturb your sleep, guys." 
 
Frohike snorted, "Langly is downloading the new Paradigma from off 
the web. Who can sleep?" 
 
"I need for you to do something for me." Mulder reached for his 
wallet and took out one of his remaining pictures of Samantha. "I 
want you to track down every foster family that would have taken in 
an eight- or nine-year-old girl in late 1973 or 1974 and then follow 
up and find out what happened to those girls. See if any of them 
would match up with my sister." 
 
Byers took the photo, looked it over, and then passed it on to 
Frohike to scan. "What geographical area are we talking out?" 
 
"Let's say East Coast, from Maine down through the mid-Atlantic 
states." 
 
Frohike let out a low whistle. "And I take it you want this ASAP?" 
 
"We're looking for foster families?" Byers asked. 
 
"That's what Samantha just told me." 
 
Byers and Frohike exchanged surprised looks. "You've seen her?" they 
asked in unison. 
 
"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure that it's really her. Call me when you 
get some leads." Mulder headed back for the door, then turned at the 
last minute. "And don't lose that photo." 
 
"Not a chance," Byers called out as he settled in front of a bank of 
monitors. "You should go home, get some sleep. If we find anything 
by morning, we'll let you know." 
 
Mulder paused at the door, his hand on the doorknob. "No, I'm 
heading back to the hospital." 
 
"Um, how is Scully doing? Any change after . . ." Frohike's voice 
trailed off. 
 
"Not yet. Don't forget to lock up after me." 
 
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 
	 
11:23 pm 
Gaithersburg, MD 
 
//But as much as I tried to remember, I tried more to forget.// 
 
How long have I been sitting here on the floor? My fingers hurt from 
grabbing the spindles. My cheeks feel cool, and I pat them, finding 
the remnants of tears. How long have I been home? 
 
I hear a movement to my right, and it startles me. No, thank God, 
it's not the children. My husband, Joshua, is standing several feet 
from me, watching me. Watching over me. 
 
"How long have you been there?" I ask. 
 
"Long enough," is his reply. 
 
It is not a sarcastic response but a gentle one, befitting his 
psychologist background. He gives me his hands, and I slip mine into 
his, and he pulls me up into a hug. With everything that I have been 
through, with everything that I have put this man through, he still 
stays with me. Through the nightmares and irrational fears. Through 
the jumble of my upbringing and uncertain past. He has tried not to 
judge but has in his way helped me to stay in the present, to focus 
on us and our children. 
 
He breaks the silence. "Is there anything that you want to talk 
about?" 
 
"No, I . . ." As I pull away, I notice that the doors to the 
children's bedrooms have been pulled shut. 
 
"You were dreaming, talking," Joshua explained. "I didn't want the 
children to wake up." 
 
"I . . . I don't remember. What . . . what was I saying?" 
 
"You were asking for your mother and someone named Fox." 
 
"My brother . . ." I begin. 
 
//You'd been looking for me for a long time.// 
 
I look up at my husband and smile. "My father found my brother for 
me." 
 
Joshua smiles and pulls me in close. "You look tired. How about 
some sleep?" 
 
We walk past the children's doors to our bedroom at the end of the 
hall. 
 
//I could never put the memories all back together.// 
 
Slowly, slowly, the pieces will come. It is like a giant jigsaw 
puzzle. Tonight, the outer edge has been put into place, and it is 
now just a matter of time of trying out all the pieces inside. To 
see where they fit. To complete the picture. A vista back to my 
childhood. 
 
My father. My father has started me on this road to remembering. 
Why? 
 
//He was the only one I could remember from before what happened.// 
 
No, that is not true. 
 
//I remember you.// 
 
I remember you, Fox. 
 
//I promise you; I'll think about it.// 
 
When I remember, when I remember more. I promise you, Fox. 
 
I will come looking for you. 
 
And you will take me home. 
 
 
end