Title: Tapestry
Author: Lisa Peers (lpeers@mindspring.com)
Rating: R
Spoilers: Nothing that any self-respecting 'shipper doesn't already
know about 
Archive?: Please archive anywhere, to the Spookys and beyond
Keywords: MSR, Case File, Series Finale
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the X-files are owned by
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting. It's up to us to
give them a sex life.


Summary: Weaving the threads together.


Author's note: I have been thinking, "What would the final episode need
to look like to make me happy?" Here's what I came up with. First, I
brought back Gibson Praise, one of my favorite characters, to give him
some badly needed closure of his own. Second, for once I wanted some
answers to long-burning questions. And third, Mulder and Scully have to
ride off in the sunset together on the back of the same horse - no other
ending will do. 

I never intended this to go down the path it did. I hope you will
forgive me any errors in logic and just kick back and enjoy the journey.
 Feedback greatly appreciated and desperately needed. 

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

April 30, 2000

Scully was hip deep in filing. 

This was a job Mulder usually performed, since it was his arcane coding
system that identified everything. "Really, there *is* a system to
this," he'd assure her in reaction to her pursed lips and frustrated
sighs whenever she'd try to locate something. 

The files served his purposes more than hers anyway. For Scully, the
files were a monument to how little they had accomplished - cases
investigated but never conclusively solved; theories posed rather than
proven; conspiracies impossible to unmask; evidence gone missing. Yet
for Mulder, the files themselves, so painstakingly recreated after the
fire three years ago, were evidence enough. 

So, as a labor of love, Scully was bringing order to his chaos.

Mulder had little time to organize lately. For the past few days, he
had been in Connecticut, selling his mother's house. Scully shook her
head thinking about it. He may have come to some closure over
Samantha's disappearance, but Mulder's feelings surrounding his mother's
suicide were still unresolved, Scully knew. 

It was clear that Teena Mulder had known about her daughter's fate since
the beginning. She had stood silent, watching her son torture himself
for decades in the hope of finding Samantha alive. 

Scully had grown to hate the woman over the years, and her suicide
fanned the flame higher. <How could she be so selfish?> she wondered. 
<How could she do this to her son, who loved her so much?> Yet when she
saw Mrs. Mulder's cancer-ridden body in the coroner's office, all she
could feel was pity. From her own bout with cancer, Scully knew the
pain and fear the woman had faced. 

When it was her battle, Mulder was at her side to see her through it -
consolation that Mrs. Mulder never had the courage to ask for or accept.
Now it was too late. She died alone.

Scully felt pity, but she had no idea what Mulder was feeling. He had
been silent during the memorial service, attended by no one but they
two. She had gone with him to scatter her ashes off the coast of the
Vineyard; he had not said a word. Scully had offered - even insisted -
that she go with him to help him close out his mother's affairs, but he
refused her with a firm "no." His reluctance to talk to her about it,
to let her share his burden, was an isolation she just couldn't
comprehend - that she could hardly bear. 

After all they had been through, why would he shield his feelings from
her? What did he have to fear?

<I could ask myself the same question>, she thought darkly. 

Deep down, Scully recognized she had been just as secretive and silent
when tragedy struck her family ... her father's death, then Melissa's
... then Emily's. She could see she was doing this execrable filing task
as a form of penance, to apologize to her partner for pushing him away
so often that he grew accustomed to shouldering his problems alone. At
least here, in this airless office in the basement of FBI headquarters,
she could set some part of his world to rights.

Scully smoothed out the manila folder marked "Mulder, Teena," full of
reports and photographs, then placed it in the cabinet. The file might
be closed, but the pain was far from over. 

Scully returned to the pile of paper sitting in Mulder's "TO FILE" box
on his desk. On top was her report from the Ivory Coast, chronicling
her lone fight to save Mulder from the madness inflicted upon him. 
Although he had probably been suffering the effects of some psychotropic
drug or engineered virus, he believed he could hear people's thoughts. 
His "telekinesis" stopped after he had been subjected to brain surgery,
the purpose of which was never made clear to her. And it all began when
he saw the strange writing on the artifacts from Africa.

Scully went to her briefcase and took out her contribution to the file. 
Inside numerous plastic sleeves were the rubbings that she had made from
the strange ship found on the beach. She had kept them close to her,
made copies and archived them with the Gunmen. Now she felt it was time
for Mulder to see them. Perhaps now that his quest for finding Samantha
was over, he could examine them.

She took the tissue paper out of one the sleeves and held it up to the
light. There, written in unmistakably Navajo characters, was the story
of Genesis. How did this come to be, she wanted to know. She saw how
manic she had been; the fierce, black strokes of lead illustrated her
desperation to capture it all as quickly as possible, knowing that
somehow, Mulder's sanity lay in those foreign words.

Scully felt strangely dizzy for a moment. <Maybe I'm craning too far
back>, she thought, putting her hand on the back of her neck and rolling
her head back and forth. She took a couple of deep breaths. She looked
down but still felt as if she was going to tip overboard. She tossed
the rubbings on the desk and sat down in Mulder's chair until the
feeling subsided. 

<I need some fresh air and sunlight ... maybe some juice> she decided. 
The office was eerie enough when Mulder was there with her. Without
him, the walls seemed to be closing in on her.

Scully got into the elevator and pushed the button for the main lobby. 
She strode down the hall and reached the marble-floored entryway before
she lost her balance again. She put her hand on the wall to catch
herself, then scrambled over to a bench to sit and put her head between
her legs. Her inner ear was doing back flips. The noise of the lobby
was crushing the air out of her lungs. It was as if the people walking
past her were talking directly to her, their voices amplified and
rattling inside her skull like ball bearings. 

Scully was not going to panic. <This is nothing - maybe an inner ear
infection - maybe I just need some vitamins. I'll be fine.> She sat up
gradually, her back resting against the wall. She breathed slowly and
deliberately and tried to clear her mind by people watching. 

A group of schoolchildren were beginning their tour at the grand seal of
the Bureau. Scully could hear the guide begin her spiel - "Welcome to
the home of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Known as the J. Edgar
Hoover Building, this structure ..." Yet the guide seemed to be saying
something else - ** Fourth graders - too many - I can't control them. I
was supposed to be off - dog's gotta go to the vet. ** The children,
most of whom were watching the guide with their mouths closed, were in
full, shrill chorus as well - ** This is BORING! ** When's lunch? ** I
want to see the shooting range ** Derek really likes me! **

Scully needed air right now or she would faint. She stood up to bolt
for the front door. But her head felt like it was going to implode, and
then she was falling, and everything went black.

***

Kimberly was going outside with one of the assistants from the third
floor for their daily latte break. As they exited the elevator, she
heard a collective gasp from the crowd before her. She moved forward to
see what the commotion was about.

Agent Scully was on the floor of the lobby, curled into a fetal
position, her eyes staring straight ahead. 

Kimberly swallowed. "Jenna, get them to call 911 and stay here with
Agent Scully. I have to get AD Skinner."

In moments, Skinner burst out of the elevator and cleared the crowd.

"Give her some air!" he barked. "Call 911!"

"We've done that, sir," the security guard yelled. "Their ETA is five
minutes."

Skinner knelt down beside Scully. He checked her pulse and listened for
her breathing. "Dana, can you hear me? Dana, can you tell me what's
wrong?"

<I'm fine - I just fainted> Scully said dismissively. At least she
*thought* she said the words. 

Skinner took off his suit coat and put it over her. "Kimberly, let me
have your purse," he said. She complied, and he gently put it under
Scully's head.

"The paramedics will be here in a moment. Don't worry - you'll be
fine." Then Skinner continued to speak, but his words were a mishmash
of ideas.

** Stay with me, Dana. God, not the cancer - please, not the cancer. 
Where is Mulder - gotta find Mulder in Connecticut. Please, not the
cancer **

Skinner's voice was clear, but his mouth wasn't moving.

Scully heard a roaring sound in her head, as if everyone in the building
was talking in her ear at once. The noise crushed her skull like a
vise. Then she was in darkness again.

***

Scully was dreaming.

She walked along the beach in the Ivory Coast in a slim white dress, her
bare feet leaving a single trail of prints along the edge of the surf. 
The sun sat low over the water, the wind warm and caressing her as she
moved. She looked down and saw a fragment of the artifact, its runes
visible in the foam. She bent to pick it up. 

As soon as she touched it, the artifact became a hand grasping hers,
forcing her down to the ground. Scully was afraid she'd be pulled under
the waves. She yanked backward with all her might. The resistance
stopped, and she righted herself and wiped her hands. Then she looked
down to confront her attacker. 

There was Mulder, laid out before her, his prone body trapped in the
sand.

Scully dug with all her might to free him. She cleared the sand from
his face, rinsing his forehead with water from the sea. At last he
awoke. 

His eyes were wild, his gaze hot enough to sear her through. 

Mulder pulled her toward him and flipped her on her back. Then he dove
for her mouth. He was hungry and brutal, his hands tearing her dress
away, his lips and teeth roving over her bare skin as if he would eat
her whole. The water swirled around them both, the waves crashing
against her with the same relentless, sensual power as Mulder's mouth
and hands. 

He entered her, and she cried out beneath him. At first it was the
ecstatic release of seven years of unanswered yearning. Then it became
a shriek of terror.

Mulder stood over her, dripping with seawater. He held an object in his
hand. What at first looked like a shell or rock began to pulsate and
leak blood. 

It was her heart. 

Mulder looked at her in horror and said, 
"Scully, look what I've done to you."

She awoke suddenly, her eyes popping wide, reeling from her nightmare. 
Instantly, she knew she was in the hospital. The stiffness of the
sheets against her gown and the smell of floor cleaner tipped her off
before she could adjust her eyes to the all-too-familiar sights and
sounds of a private room. 

Soon, she heard Mulder's voice from down the hall, asking for the agent
who was brought there today, explaining with great agitation that he was
her partner and he had to see her.

Then, in her mind, she saw pictures of herself, photo images of her near
death. She saw herself on a gurney, so young and vulnerable, her eyes
taped shut, a ventilator balloon expanding and shrinking. Then, she was
laid out in the ICU, drawn and gray and full of tubes and needles, in
the grip of cancer. Another was of her gasping in Mulder's hallway,
spitting out a description of her bizarre symptoms from a simple bee
sting. Images filled her head, each more violent and frightening than
the next. And over it all, she heard - *she felt* - words forming.

** What have I done to her now? Please let her live - let her forgive
me **

Mulder appeared at her door, wearing his trench coat and carrying his
suitcase. <He must have come straight from the airport. How long have
I been out?> she wondered. She noticed that Skinner was there in her
room as well. He and Mulder exchanged a quick look and said nothing ...
except - 

** Glad you're here to guard her ... I need to know ... **

** We have to talk ... I have information ... this is serious **

Scully felt their anxiety slide around her like a sea snake. They turned
away from her to confer without her eavesdropping. She did anyway - she
couldn't help it, as their words echoed in her head even as they
whispered.

Skinner began. "She's been comatose for hours. The doctors have no
idea what's wrong. The blood work shows nothing unusual." 

"No infection? No drugs or poisons?"

"No," Skinner replied.

"No branched DNA or other unusual material in her bloodstream?" Mulder
interjected, his words steeped in worry. 

Scully felt the veins in her neck constrict and heard one word: **
nanites ** 

"No," Skinner repeated. 

"Did they do a brain scan?" Mulder queried. ** God, not the cancer **

"No sign of the tumor," Skinner answered. "But there is an abnormal
amount of brain activity."

Scully saw images of swarms of bats, of rats, of writhing snakes as
Mulder repeated, "Abnormal brain activity?"

Skinner's voice got quieter as the echo got louder. "Brain activity
similar to when you were hospitalized last year ... when we made contact
with Kritschgau." 

** When you became psychic **

More vermin swirled about her head, blinding and terrifying her.

Mulder's voice was cold with dread. "Did she talk to anyone before she
fainted? Did she say anything about hearing other people's thoughts?"

"She had been alone all morning. She must have left your office to get
some air, then dropped."

Photographic images began appearing to her again, now forming in some
sort of order. Reports from their files - pictures, evidence, written
words - all flashed by her so quickly, she couldn't see more than a word
or two - "telepathy" and "Phenytoin" were all that registered. Each
page flipped forward and down, as if she could see someone rifling
through a folder. Then the images were engulfed in flames. 

"We have to get her out of here, sir," Mulder said firmly. "She's in
danger." Scully witnessed a blurred image of an operating room, saw
masked faces hovering, heard a bone saw whirring out of her line of
vision.

"Mulder, we have no idea what's wrong with her. What if she has a
stroke or needs medical attention? It would be irresponsible to take
her -" 

"Sir, she needs to be hidden until she recovers. She needs protection -
especially if they want to do to her what they did to me." 

** She can't be taken from me again ** 

Skinner was silent for a moment. ** Mulder's right ** Scully heard him
sigh in resignation. "She hasn't responded to anyone since she got
here. Maybe she'll respond to you. I'll be outside." 

She heard Skinner depart. Mulder sat next to her on the side of the bed
and took her hand. He looked into her eyes, and his stricken face
softened into a smile. 

His lips moved, and all he said was, "Hey." But she heard much more.

** Scully, look what I've done to you **

Scully's mind echoed back to her nightmare. Mulder's words continued.

** You look so afraid ... don't be afraid, baby **

<*Baby*? Where did that come from?> Scully wondered even as it made
her heart leap to hear it. 

Mulder continued without making a sound. ** I'll protect you **

Scully felt him say the word "protect" as if he were kissing her.

** Trust me ** 

Scully's heart broke. <I *am* afraid, Mulder!>, she pleaded, but her
lips stayed closed. She tried to put her hand to his cheek, but it
remained cemented to the bed. 

<Mulder, can you hear me? I can't move. What is wrong with me? TELL
ME!>

Mulder moved her hand to rest over his heart. Rising over her, he
looked like an angel in a religious painting, bathed in light. His
tenderness combined with her building fear made her want to cry, but
tears just wouldn't come. 

"Scully, we need to get you somewhere safe, somewhere less public. I
think I know what's wrong - and who can help."

A photo crossed into her mind of a strange little boy, one who seemed to
know everything except how to smile.

** Gibson Praise **

Then the pain returned, darkness fell, and Scully heard nothing more.

*** 

Mulder went to the door and called Skinner back inside.

"Sir, we need to get her out of here."

Skinner looked at his watch. "It's the middle of the night. The place
is pretty deserted. What's your idea?"

Mulder put his hands on his hips and stared at the floor until a plan
emerged. "Where are you parked?"

"Near the emergency room entrance."

Mulder gave Skinner his suitcase then took a folded blanket off of
Scully's bed. "Go get your car and bring it right up to the entrance,
and I'll meet you there. And be sure to pull the fire alarm on the way
out."

***

Scully was dreaming again - maybe.

She was wrapped in a blanket and curled up like a ball. Someone was
carrying her. The noise was deafening - a siren or alarm. All she
could hear was a male voice chanting:
** Let this work, let this work, let this work, not much further, let
him be there, let this work ** 

She felt herself being settled onto the back seat of a car and heard the
motor rev as the door slammed. She felt the car moving slowly and heard
voices. The first was gruff and officious:
"Where are we going?"

And the other was a familiar monotone:
"If I tell you, will you promise never to reveal it to anyone - under
pain of having your HBO signal scrambled for life?"

***

Scully awoke in the early morning, though she had little concept of time
anymore. It took her a moment to adjust to the darkness, the buzz of
machinery, and the low hum of voices. <Where in hell am I?> she
wondered. <This is not a hospital.> 

"Mulder?" she cried into the void. "Mulder!" <Finally I can talk
again.>

Although the visuals were murky, the audio was unmistakable.

"Frohike, she's talking. Get Mulder."

She found herself in a bed at the rear of the Gunmen's basement lair, a
partition creating a recovery room for her. She was on an EKG and EEG,
the green monitors beeping in a comforting, routine manner. Byers was
sitting beside her, it being his watch, she surmised. His thoughts were
clear and factual - ** out for six hours this time; color normal;
respiration normal ** - and overlaid with a sweet concern - ** Mulder
will be so relieved ** - that surprised her. As he stood, the other
Gunmen came in behind him: Langley, his thoughts rapid and scattered
with the precise randomness of a fractal design, and Frohike, his
brilliance muttering along, steeped in pessimism.

Then they receded, and Mulder was left alone with her. He pulled over a
rolling stool and sat beside her. She noticed that he had taken the
opportunity to change clothes, and he now wore the familiar charcoal
gray t-shirt and black jeans he always put on when he was hunkering down
on a case. Given the fatigue she felt in him, though, she was sure he
hadn't spent any time sleeping.

He smoothed the hair off her face and stroked her cheek with this thumb.
 She heard his voice say her name over and over, although his lips never
moved. His smile was a lie, she knew; she could sense it. Although he
was glad to see that she was conscious, he knew she was in terrible
trouble. She was walking a path she had watched him travel - a descent
into madness - and he was not sure he could spare her the terror and
pain. 

She decided to break the ice. "So, how did I get into these clothes?"
she asked, detaching herself from the numerous wires stuck to her head
and arms. She had just realized that the last time she was conscious,
she was in a hospital gown. Someone had gone to the trouble to put her
in her satin pajamas - the pearl gray ones, her favorite. "Please, tell
me Frohike had nothing to do with this."

Mulder chuckled. "You should have seen what he *wanted* you to wear."

"Something along the lines of Ms. Afterglow?" she said, smiling.

"You know him well," Mulder replied. Then his tone changed. "I did it. 
I wanted you to be more comfortable. I wasn't sure how long you'd be
out."

Scully could see the scene from his point of view -- Mulder gently
removing her hospital gown, gazing at her laid out on the bed for a
guilty moment, then dressing her so carefully in the silk. When he
finished, he had put her under the covers, touched her hair, and kissed
her on the forehead, then, after a moment's hesitation, on the lips. The
scene was infused with such overwhelming longing and sorrow, she could
barely watch. His heart ached so much. 

Mulder caught the strange look in her eyes and awkwardly changed the
subject. "How are you feeling?"

Scully turned her head to stretch her neck. "Other than I'm stiff from
being in bed all day, and I really need to go to the bathroom, I think I
feel fine." She had to stop to check. She could still hear what was
going on in the heads of everyone in the room, yet the noise wasn't
giving her a headache any longer. She found she could focus on one
person - one mind - the one before her - Mulder. 

And his mind was filled with her. She saw herself in scene after scene:
on the bed in front of him now; on his couch, wrapped in his blanket; in
his bed, sleeping in his arms. He loved her, desired her so much, Scully
didn't know what to say. 

Scully eventually chose to restart the conversation. "Have you located
Gibson?"

Mulder began to ask, "When did I tell you -" but stopped before she
could give the obvious answer. "The last time he was seen was at the
nuclear power plant in Arizona. Diana and I saw him in a room near the
core with one of the Grays."

<Diana.> Scully felt the sharp pang of regret that name conjured up in
her partner. Yet even as the woman's image formed in the front of his
mind, it got fuzzy, its details fading as she watched. Perhaps Mulder
was trying to forget her as much as Scully was.

"The Gunmen are looking at tapes of all the personnel who entered the
plant in the days after we were there in October 1998. They may have
been the Consortium's bagmen sent to clean up the mess after that
teenage E.T. tore up the place. I have a feeling that -"

"They took Gibson for further tests on his telekinetic link with the
entity." Scully completed his thought for him. "And so if we find
Gibson, we could find an explanation for why I can suddenly read minds."

Mulder nodded uncomfortably. Scully wouldn't have needed any special
powers to intuit why.

"You think it's strange that I'm believing all this."

Mulder agreed. "I was expecting a fight from you - that you'd be
ordering tests on yourself left and right to explain why you think you
can hear people's thoughts."

"I know those tests were already run, and you found nothing," she said
levelly.

Mulder smiled, trying to break the tension. "As soon as I mentioned
aliens, I figured I should duck." She said nothing. Mulder drew close
to her, as if he didn't want the Gunmen to hear her confession. "What
changed?"

Scully thought for a moment. "Something is different, Mulder. When you
were stricken last year, you had headaches over several days, then you
lost all lucidity for weeks. You needed Phenytoin in massive doses even
to speak. And here I am, less than a day since my first episode, and
well, I feel fine." On hearing that phrase, she felt Mulder wince. 
"No, I mean it - I feel like nothing has changed."

"Excepting the obvious," Mulder interjected.

"Right, and that is what terrifies me." She couldn't believe she
admitted her fear to him; given his marked reaction, neither could he.

Scully looked down at her hands clasped with Mulder's. "The stakes are
too high, Mulder. You have no time for idle theories, and neither do I.
I know you will find the truth." She found the will to look him in the
eye. "I trust you."

Mulder turned away from her. "Scully ..."

Scully brought him back to face her again. "And if you were able to
look into my heart all those months ago, you know how much I do."

The air was hushed, the dust motes swirling in the dark like clouds of
stars. Then -

"Mulder, we have something."

Mulder squeezed her hands then got up. Scully stood rather feebly near
the bed, then righted herself just as Mulder caught her elbow to steady
her. He pointed over to a chair at her bedside. Scully wondered why he
seemed so proud of himself. Then she saw that Mulder had brought her
overnight bag with a change of clothes, topped off by her robe and
slippers. She put them on, fondly shaking her head. 

"Even without telekinesis, you know me well, Mulder."

"I always have," he replied.

She knew this to be true.

***

"I don't suppose there's a ladies room?" Scully asked as they joined the
Gunmen, huddled around their equipment.

"Yeah, the one on the right over there," said Langley. "The one Frohike
uses."

Scully excused herself before she heard Frohike's retort. She didn't
need to be near him to know what he had to say anyway.

In a few minutes, she returned to see what they had been so excited
about.

"There, there." Langley pointed at the monitor as black and white forms
slid by frame by frame. "We didn't see that go in." He outlined a
swaddled form on a gurney, its face covered by a sheet. 

"Probably the entity," Mulder said.

Byers chimed in, "And there's another one." The body on this gurney was
hooked up to oxygen and IVs. The pictures of it advanced second by
second, until Mulder said, "Stop."

It was Gibson on the gurney; Scully could sense that Mulder was as sure
of it as she was.

"Any idea where they took him?" Mulder asked the Gunmen.

"We have a feed to the security camera at the gate," Frohike said. "We
hope to pull up a plate on the van, although it could be bogus."

Scully stared at the face of the boy on the screen. He was so small, so
tortured. He didn't deserve to be a lab rat ... any more than Emily
did.

As she focused on him, her head began to ache. Her fingers flew up to
her temples and she sucked in her breath.

"What's wrong, Scully?" Mulder asked, quickly taking her elbow,
expecting her to fall.

Scully could barely hear him; he seemed to be calling to her from under
water. She opened her eyes, but the hideout and Mulder and the Gunmen
were gone. She was in another room, one full of surgical equipment. 
There were men there, men in scrubs, conferring in a corner. There was
a bed with a man strapped down under hospital sheets. He was so
malformed he didn't look human: his head misshapen and gray; his eyes
large and black; his hands with only four fingers. And there was
another bed, with a small form likewise strapped down.

It was Gibson. And he was looking at her. And he was saying one word.
** ROUSH **

"What did you say, Scully?" Mulder was worried; terror constricting his
thoughts.

"Roush." She didn't even know what she was saying, or how she knew to
say it. "He's at the Roush plant."

"Roush - the biomedical company?" Mulder asked. "The company that had
Blevins in its back pocket?"

Scully nodded. The scene was returning to normal; her headache was
subsiding.

Byers chimed in. "There's a Roush factory near the nuclear reactor." 

"Yeah, it was their employee whose guts exploded all over his apartment
a couple of years back," Langly added.

"That started the whole mess at the power plant," Frohike muttered.

"Maybe they just took them both back to the source," Mulder mused aloud.
Then he paused. "Scully, why did you think of Roush?"

Scully flashed back to Gibson's sad face. "It just makes sense, doesn't
it?" That was all she was willing to admit to at the moment.

Mulder looked at her for a second, then chose to believe her. "Boys, I
need driving directions to the Roush plant from Sky Harbor Airport, and
do you still have my photo for an ID card?"

"Do you have my picture, too, since I'll need an ID as well?" Scully
was resolute.

"Well, I must have *something* I can download - OW!" Frohike yelped as
Mulder whacked him on the back of the head.

Mulder took Scully aside. "I can do this alone," he told her. **
You're not well. Stay here where it's safe **

"Mulder, I must find out what's happening to me," she said firmly. "You
once said Gibson holds the answers to everything in the X-Files. Well
then, he must have information about this. I need to be there."

Mulder didn't say anything. She felt his fear dissolve somehow by the
knowledge that she would be by his side.

She took his hand. "I need to change and pack. Let's get out of here."

***

Scully hated flying, every element of it. She hated the rush at the
gate, the stale air of the cabin, the niggardly bag of snacks. She
never felt as antsy as she did strapped to her seat in an upright and
locked position along with her seatback tray. Usually, she rushed
around enough to distract herself until she could feign sleep for a
couple of hours.

This particular trip to the airport was, to say the least, surreal. 
Mulder hadn't even parked the car at National before the claustrophobia
began. The stray thoughts of all the people in the parking lot
surrounded her, pressing into her brain - ** We are so late ** Christ, I
forgot my - ** I need a scotch ** Her head buzzed with the drone of a
dozen languages. She froze in the car seat, bracing her head in her
hands, trying not to pass out.

Mulder didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He knew what was
happening to her from first-hand experience. Instead, he turned her
back toward him and began to rub her neck.

"Just relax and take some deep breaths, Scully," he soothed.

Scully was panicking. "The noise, the confusion - I know why it drove
you crazy. Mulder, I can't survive this."

"Sh, you'll do fine. You're a lot stronger than I am." Scully knew he
was being sincere, and she was touched. He remained focused on his
task, stroking her neck with his long fingers. He lightly circled the
fine scar centered over her the top of her spine, then pulled her jacket
down around her elbows so he could knead her shoulders.

Scully began to relax. She stopped fighting against the cacophony and
let it wash through her. It became quieter, turning into white noise
like a stream of distant traffic, constant but unobtrusive.

She capitulated to the steady rhythm of Mulder's touch. Her partner was
focused on one thought: ** Get her through this.** There were no hidden
motives, no covert seduction behind his intimacy. He was ministering to
her troubled mind; that was his only goal.

After a time, Scully reached up and stilled his hand. He drew her to
him and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. 

"Better?" he asked softly, his eyes gentle.

"Better," she responded, smiling at her partner. "Thanks," she said.

"You're welcome," he said, tracing a line down her jaw with his thumb as
he released her. 

<And I love you too, Mulder.>

***

They agreed to enter the plant with the shift changeover. They dressed
like the workers - jeans and t-shirts and tennis shoes under their
boiler suits. Their ID tags were prominent and looked totally genuine. 
Scully even brightened her make-up and Mulder wet down his hair. They
were so unremarkable they blended right in, just as they planned.

They had memorized Langley's floor plan of the plant. Off the main
corridor was a locked staircase. With their ID tags, they could swipe
in at the door and go down two flights. There, at the end of the
hallway, was an area called, innocuously, "Research and Development." 
That was the most likely location for Roush's most important Research
project.

It all went like clockwork. Acting as if nothing was unusual, the
agents entered the plant with the others. They found the stairwell and
entered without incident. They ended up in the sub-basement and started
walking toward the lab. They were only ten paces from the door when
Scully doubled over.

"What's wrong?" Mulder whispered, grabbing her at the waist before she
hit the floor.

She couldn't answer right away. The hallway swirled in front of her and
her skull wanted to split at the temples. She prayed silently that she
wouldn't vomit.

"Gibson's in there, Mulder," she finally said through clenched teeth,
"and he's not alone."

Mulder's pulse was racing in the time with hers. "Who's in there? How
many people?"

"No - *people*," she said, straining against the pain. Then she stood
bolt upright as if a puppeteer had just jerked her strings.

"It knows I'm here. It wants me," she uttered, her eyes large and
terrified. 

"What, Scully? What wants you?"

"Gibson's trying to call it off."

"Scully -" Mulder was frightened for her safety, his mind a maelstrom of
imagined circumstances. She pushed his thoughts away; she didn't need
his panic to multiply hers.

"It wants me, Mulder. It'll do anything to take me." Scully still
stayed motionless, although her heart raced and her shallow breathing
was desperate. Mulder shook her shoulders; she winced as if burned.

"No, Mulder! Stay away! It'll kill you to get me. STAY AWAY!" He
backed off.

"GIBSON!" she yelled. Mulder jumped, worried that someone would hear
her. 

"Gibson - NO!" Scully screamed, then collapsed to the floor.

Mulder scrambled to her side and turned her over. "Scully, talk to me. 
Scully!" 

She could see through his eyes that her color was awful. All she could
hear was Mulder's internal stream of fears - ** What the fuck was that?
Talk to me dammit! We'll get caught! Come back to me, Scully! **

Then over his words came the clear, flat voice of a boy.

** It's safe to come in, Agent Scully. It's dead. Get me out of here.**

***

Scully breathed deeply and sat up. Mulder drew close to her.

"Scully, what is going on? Are you okay?" he asked, pushing her hair
off her face.

She stood and gave a hand up to Mulder. "I'm fine. Let's do this." 
She could tell he was getting angry now that she wasn't giving him any
answers. He would have to get over it.

They came to the laboratory. There was a door with a small window
reinforced with wire. Mulder peeked in.

"What do you see?"

"Gibson is sitting up on a gurney."

"And the other -?" Scully couldn't bring herself to call it by its name
yet.

"It's face down on the floor."

"Is it -"

"Bleeding? Doesn't seem to be, and Gibson isn't choking on any fumes
from the body." Scully took some pleasure in the fact that she and
Mulder were running down the same mental checklist. 

"Then let's go in." They simultaneously drew their weapons. Scully
swiped her ID tag at the door and the latch gave way with a resounding
"click." 

Then they faced Gibson Praise.

"Yes, I have grown, Agent Scully," he said, answering her comment before
she could make it. "It's been over two years." Scully noticed a faint
line of hair on his upper lip; she heard his voice cracking around the
edges. He was a teenager now, although he always seemed much older than
his body anyway.

"How did this happen, Gibson?" Mulder asked, waving his gun over the
prone gray body.

"I'm finding that I can do a lot more, now that I'm older," Gibson said,
blinking slowly behind his glasses. "It's not just tying into others'
thoughts any more. I have a lot more access to brain functions than
anyone ever imagined." The boy almost smiled, which made Scully
shudder.

"So you caused an aneurysm?" Scully asked in astonishment.

"I guess so," Gibson said, sounding pleased with himself. "I just told
it to stop attacking you or else. I guess this is what 'or else'
means."

Mulder glanced toward the door. "We need to leave. We can talk on the
way."

"The way to where?" the boy asked.

Scully eyed the security cameras trained on the door. 

** New Mexico ** Scully answered him without speaking. ** Where we can
talk without anyone listening. **

***

"We can go out through the front door if you walk on either side of me,"
Gibson said as they approached the stairs. 

"Won't that attract attention?" Mulder asked.

"They have to have someone take me outside to give me fresh air twice a
day," he retorted. "It's like letting the dog out to pee."

Scully watched the boy as he shuffled between them in his medical
scrubs, moving with the stiffness of an old man. Bitterness oozed all
around him. She wasn't surprised. She couldn't imagine the tortures he
had endured, not to mention the loneliness ... no human contact except
from those who wanted to "study" him.

"I miss my mom the most," he said, in answer to her thoughts. "I
haven't seen her since the chess match." Scully could feel his stomach
tighten then release. "She's probably dead."

"Why do you say that?" Mulder asked.

"Because she would have found me by now."

The three of them exited the plant and meandered over to the rental car.
 They drove through the security checkpoint without being stopped. The
guard wasn't at his post.

"That was fortunate," Scully said.

"I sent him on an errand," Gibson said mischievously.

"The Force is strong with you," Mulder said with a grin.

"What force?" Gibson asked.

"You mean you've had access to the minds of millions of Americans for
years and not once have you come across someone who's seen Star Wars?"
Mulder asked, tearing off the boiler suit as he drove off.

"The people I deal with don't spend a lot of time at the movies," the
boy replied.

"I guess they're too busy making their own science fiction," Mulder
muttered.

Scully was silent for a long time, staring at the expanse of desert
highway before them as she replayed the evening's events in her head. 
Teenage boys, flush with hormones, could be impulsive, their moods
veering from pole to pole without warning or self-control. Yet they
usually only go so far. Gibson had killed the entity without so much as
a second thought. His killing the creature without suffering a speck of
remorse disturbed her. 

"It was a *thing,* Agent Scully. It didn't deserve to live." 

Scully cursed herself for allowing her thoughts to wander unchecked. 
She turned in the car seat to face the boy.

"Gibson, it was a living, sentient being," she said sternly. "It wasn't
some mosquito you can crush at will."

"That's how it thought of me - and you. We were bugs to be squashed if
we got out of line." Gibson stared at her, his eyes coldly refracted by
his glasses. "You have no idea what their plans are, Agent Scully. You
have no idea what they want to do with people like you - people with the
implant."

Mulder's stomach lurched with hers at the mention of that word. She was
glad he didn't veer off the road.

"What do you know about the implant?" Mulder asked, staring at the boy
in the rear view mirror.

Gibson chose this moment to be smug. "That's for us to talk about
another time. I'm sleepy. I need some rest."

Scully tried something new. She purposely tried to enter Gibson's mind,
searching for clues. Before she could learn anything, however, she felt
as if a huge black curtain went up, obscuring her view.

"No, no, Agent Scully. I told you, don't want to discuss it right now,"
Gibson said as if scolding a small child breaking into a cookie jar. 
Then his tone became less arch, more honest. "I will talk about it
later, though. I promise. I want to help you. I am just too tired to
go into it all now."

Reluctantly, Scully let him go. "Get some sleep, Gibson. We have a
long car ride ahead of us."

Scully stayed quiet until she was certain he was sleeping. If his
telekinesis was anything like hers, he wouldn't be doing any mind
reading until he awoke.

Scully yawned and tried to stretch, bumping her hands on the car's
interior.

"Mulder, what's the plan? Are we going to drive straight through to the
reservation?"

"I'd like to," he said, "but I wouldn't mind taking a break." He pulled
over on a wide part of the shoulder and stopped the car.

"Careful, don't wake him," Scully said as she got out. 

Scully always marveled at how the focus of the world would shift from
ground to sky the further they traveled away from civilization. It was
incredibly dark. The desert sky was inordinately beautiful, sparkling
with stars. Scully took a deep breath and smelled the sand and clay
that surrounded them on all sides. It was so quiet she could
practically hear the earth turn. 

Mulder walked away from the car into the shadowy brush.

"I'd be careful, Mulder," Scully yelled after him. "Rattlesnakes sleep
at night, and they get pretty upset if you wake them up." Mulder froze
mid-step, then turned around and rapidly returned to the pool of light
from the headlamps of the car. Scully chuckled at his unintentional
square dance.

"City slicker," she chided.

His mind was clear for a few cherished seconds. Scully felt his
happiness from being able to laugh with her, even for a moment, bubbling
up like champagne in his veins. Then it was over, and his mind began to
fill with images. Mulder was pulling pages stored all over his brain:
every interchange he'd ever had with Gibson; the small round chip
slipping out of its bullet-like container onto a petri dish; the charred
bodies clogging the bridge at Skyland Mountain. She could almost see
lines forming between the images to connect the dots.

"I don't like where this is going, Scully," he said. He couldn't face
her to admit his fears, choosing instead to stare down the highway as if
the magic solution to all their problems could come zooming toward them
any minute.

Scully couldn't be optimistic either. Deep in her bones, though, she
was tired of running, of worry and regret and fear.

"Mulder, do you love me?"

That question got his attention fast. He spun around to look at her.

"What?"

"You heard me." She knew he had; his adrenaline trying to lift the top
of his head clean off. His heart was racing, as was his mind: ** Jesus,
where did that come from? What do I say? ** Then he looked intently at
her and his eyes grew soft.

"More than life." His words shone in his mind like the stars above
them.

Scully walked over to him. She placed her hand carefully on his neck
above the collar of his leather jacket so she could pull his head toward
hers.

"Well, life is short, Mulder," she whispered as she kissed him.

Her mind became a tangle of words; she couldn't even tell which were
hers and which his.

** soft ** God ** finally ** warm ** best ** love ** oh ** 

He had her enfolded in his arms now. One hand couldn't get enough of
stroking her hair; the other secured her body to his. She was bathed in
electricity - his body's current running over and through her, jolted by
each sweep of his tongue against hers. Her appetite whetted, she
suddenly needed so much more. She wanted the still of the night to rise
around them like a tent. She had tasted his lips; now she wanted to
taste the skin of his neck, his chest and belly. 

Mulder alternately hummed and whimpered as he pressed against her. **
Must stop - can't throw her down by the side of the road - GOD - hungry
- love - her ** 

HONNNNNNNNK!

They yanked apart from each other, spooked.

Gibson stuck his head out of the car window. "Come on agents, let's
go."

Scully looked at Mulder, who was still catching his breath. She didn't
know what to say; neither did he. They both inhaled deeply and got back
in the car.

As he climbed back into the driver's seat, Mulder sent a thought to her:
** I meant what I said. **

And so did Gibson: ** Take that, G-Man. **

***

It was nearly dawn. Both passengers were fast asleep. Gibson was
stretched out on the back seat, still in his medical scrubs, curled on
himself for warmth. In the front, Scully had propped her head on her
shoulder and would probably be fighting a crick in her neck for the rest
of the day.

Mulder was still at the wheel. He had driven over four hundred miles. 
He didn't need sleep. The memory of their kiss kept him awake and
alert. Every few moments, he would catch a glimpse of his partner, the
buzz would return to his lips and he'd smile like a schoolboy. Then the
realization of how hopeless this situation was would snuff out his
reverie. 

Forget the FBI's "thou shalt not fraternize with your partner" edict;
protocol was the least of his concerns. Not being able to get a moment
alone to talk to Scully, let alone pick up where they left off, just
made things comical, not impossible. 

The world was literally hanging on this moment. What was happening to
Scully was only a small play in the whole dreadful end game, he was
sure. What the two of them felt about each other didn't amount to a
hill of beans in this crazy world ... no, things were never simple when
it came to him and Scully. 

As he drove into the reservation at Two Gray Hills, Mulder looked at his
partner again. The sunrise turned her creamy complexion to gold, her
red hair to spun fire. A strand or two had come unanchored from behind
her ear and had tangled with her lashes. Her breathing was steady and
childlike; she slept as if no one could harm her. With her every
inhale, the lump in his chest ached a little more. Her beauty was
enough to break his heart, but her soul had captured it first. Then he
smiled with a realization.

Love and desire were what made them human; love and desire for each
other made them strong. He took it back. What the two of them felt for
each other *was* important - the most important thing in the world. 

He stroked her cheek. "Scully, we're here."

Scully sluggishly sat upright, focusing on her surroundings. "What time
is it?"

"Almost five."

She looked at him. "Mulder, why didn't you wake me? I would have taken
a turn at the wheel."

"No," he replied, returning her gaze, "it was better that you slept." 
With her conscious, he could no longer hide his feelings from her. But
really, he never could. And now, he didn't want to.

***

While Scully got Gibson out of the car, Mulder entered the Navajo tribal
community center. A woman was waiting there and rose from her desk to
greet him.

"Are you Corinne Whitestaff?" he asked, extending his hand.

She gave him a firm handshake. "Yes, Agent Mulder. It is good to meet
you." Corinne was sparely built woman in her fifties with her black
hair pulled in a long plait down her back. She spoke in measured tones,
her eyes full of compassion. Just like Albert Hosteen, her father.

Scully came into the room, pushing Gibson in before her. "Corinne?" she
asked. The woman nodded. "Agent Mulder and I can't thank you enough
for accommodating us."

"I am happy to help," she replied. "I am sure my father would have
wanted to be here with us." 

"I was so sorry to hear of Albert's death," Mulder said. "He was a
remarkable man. I owed him my life."

Corinne smiled. "He admired your spirit, Agent Mulder. Yours, too,
Agent Scully. He said you were like a pair of geese, always flying
toward the truth. Maybe you're both more Navajo than you'd ever know."

Now it was Mulder's turn to smile. "I'll take that as a great
compliment."

Scully nodded in agreement, then said, "First things first - do you have
some clothes that might fit Gibson?"

Corinne pulled a blanket off of a sofa. "I'm sure we can find
something," she said. She wrapped the blanket around the boy's
shoulders. 

"I'm sure you all need to rest," Corinne continued. "You'll be staying
at my home right behind here." She put her hand on Gibson's shoulders
and caught his eye. "I hope you don't mind sharing a room with my
boys."

"Actually, that would be great," he said. Mulder noticed this was the
first time he had ever seen Gibson smile.

"I'll get the bags," Scully said as she went out the door to the car. 

As they exited the building, Mulder caught Corinne's arm to confer with
her. "Once they find out he's missing, there are going to be a lot of
people looking for Gibson. I promise we'll leave at the first sign of
trouble."

Corinne absorbed his words and pondered a moment before she spoke. "I
will make sure you are all safe here to do what you need to do. Your
trouble is our trouble, Agent Mulder."

***

Scully was now reluctantly awake. She looked at the alarm clock. 8:00. 
She couldn't afford to waste any more time. She quickly pulled on her
clothes and headed for the kitchen.

Corinne's two boys were already up and dressed. Scully guessed they
were probably eleven and fourteen. They were gearing up for a summer
Saturday by eating mounds of Cap'n Crunch. They were planning their
afternoon bike trek; Scully could see dusty vistas and rocky trails
flash across their minds.

Nestled within this adolescent bustle of energy was Gibson. He was
quietly eating his cereal, his eyes wide and owl-like. Scully could
tell he was not merely being shy. Everything they did fascinated him. 
The casualness of going over to the fridge for more milk, the
arm-punching affection, the equal appeal of Jennifer Lopez and a brand
new dirt bike - Gibson was cataloguing it all. Running under it all was
the hum of his nearly uncontainable excitement:

** This is what *normal* is **

Mulder was having breakfast with Corinne in the next room. Until Scully
arrived, their mood was somber and businesslike. Then Mulder turned to
his partner and shot her a sly grin.

"What's the story, morning glory?"

"What's the word, humming bird?" Scully replied with a grin of her own. 
She took a cup of coffee from her hostess' hands and motioned back to
the commotion at the breakfast table.

"They seem to have hit it off," she said with a fond smile.

Corinne nodded, glowing with a mother's pride. "My boys know how to
make someone feel welcome. That seems to be what Gibson needs." She
quietly continued. "Does he have any family?"

"He did, at least two years ago," Mulder said. "He and his parents were
living abroad when we were first introduced to Gibson. I've asked my
colleagues in Washington to try to track them down." Scully shared
Mulder's mental picture of the Gunmen bathed in the dim glow of a
computer screen.

Corinne shook her head. "It's never good for a child to be apart from
family. He loses contact with the human race that way."

Scully sipped her coffee. "I'd like to start, Mulder. Time is of the
essence."

"I'm taking the boys into town," Corinne said. "We can stay out of your
way as long as you need us to."

"Actually, I think it would be great if you could take him out for the
afternoon," Mulder replied. "It would let us do our work and, well, he
could use some companionship." Scully felt a pang of self-recognition
in her partner; he so easily identified with the brainy kid with not a
friend in the world.

Corinne went into the kitchen. "Okay fellas, let's let these folks get
to work. Gibson, we'll come back and pick you up for lunch, okay?" The
boys gathered keys, CD players and backpacks, and soon were following
their mother out of the house.

Gibson was outwardly quiet, staring at the closed door. Scully felt for
him. 

"You don't want them to leave, do you?" Scully said. "You don't want to
talk to us; you're doing everything you can to forget what happened in
Arizona."

The boy shifted in his seat. The borrowed clothes were too large for
him, making him seem more gnome-like. He sighed and said, "I will tell
you what you need to know."

Scully sat in the chair to the boy's left. "I'd like to give you
medical examination first, Gibson."

Gibson stared at her. "You want to test me, too."

Scully couldn't deny that she would like to, but more was at stake. 
"You have been through so much. They have done so many horrible things
to you. I want to make sure that you're okay before we go any further."

Gibson looked at her again then nodded his assent.

"I'll be in here if you need me," Mulder said, retrieving his laptop
from the other room.

Scully took the boy into the guest bedroom where she had been sleeping. 
"I'm not going to do much in the way of an exam, Gibson. I really need
to ask you some questions."

Scully flushed with embarrassment - Gibson's. "I don't have to get
naked, do I?"

"No, this is pretty mundane." <Poor kid.>

She went to her luggage to get her medical bag. She realized that she
hadn't repacked, and her pajamas and underwear were strewn on the floor.
 She quickly stuffed them into her suitcase. As she did so, she felt
more of that prickly embarrassment, as if she had just been caught
peeping in the boy's locker room. She turned quickly to face Gibson. 
He turned away just as quickly, his face getting pink.

<So, he is a teenager after all> Scully thought to herself. 

Scully put her bag on the bed and took out the basics - blood pressure
cuff, stethoscope, and so on. She sat the boy down and began a visual
assessment, pushing his hair back so she could see his hairline. From
the brain surgery they conducted on him two years ago, she expected to
find several long incision lines around the edges of his scalp. 

"What did they do to you, Gibson?" 

Gibson stared back at her. "Tests. Experiments. Surgeries."

As much as she tried to concentrate on her task, Scully was quickly
swept into the horror of the boy's memories. Her heart pounded as she
saw so many men, their faces obscured by surgical masks. In their hands
were syringes, scalpels, and saws. She could smell the scent of burning
bone and flesh, and it sickened her. 

She took a deep breath then questioned him again. "Why did they do
this?"

"They wanted to see how my brain worked. How I could read people's
minds. How I could predict the future."

"Did they discover anything?" Scully's thoughts bounced between what
Gibson was telling her and her memories of finding Mulder strapped down,
his skull drilled full of holes, left for dead.

Gibson followed her train of thought. "By the time they operated on
Mulder, they knew what they were doing. They were able to excise
precisely the right part of the brain to make the telepathy stop. They
learned that from cutting me up." He added, with a humorless smile, "I
was their demonstrator model."

This angered her. How could anyone do this to another human being,
especially a child?

Scully returned to her task. "How did they find out you could
communicate with the entity telepathically?" The ease with which she
said this still surprised her. She still wasn't certain she believed
that the entity was extraterrestrial. Perhaps she just couldn't *accept*
that certainty yet.

"My brain pattern had changed. It matched the entities they had already
studied. They assumed I could talk to it as the aliens could talk to
each other."

Scully stopped. "How did you learn all this?"

Gibson looked at her as if had said something incredibly stupid. "They
wouldn't let me see what they were writing, but I could read it in their
minds anyway. They could never remember that."

Scully nodded absently as she continued her exam. She hadn't found any
scars so far. Gibson's arms should have been so full of IV holes he
could have had track marks. Scully was puzzled. She needed some
clarification.

"When did they begin the experiments between you and the entity?"

"Soon after the alien, uh, hatched," Gibson said, sharing a shudder with
Scully as they mentally pictured the hollowed out body of the hapless
Roush employee who had served as its incubator. "It found me soon
afterward. It contacted me."

"How did it know you existed?" Scully asked.

Gibson thought for a moment. "I think they are born sending out signals
until something responds back. It's a way of orienting themselves. I
was the next best thing to another alien; at least I could answer back."

"But it soon found out you weren't another alien," Scully said. 

"That must be something they are born with, too. It not only knew I was
human; it knew that because I was human, I was supposed to bow to its
wishes."

Scully stopped and looked at him. "And did you?"

"No," Gibson said simply. "I didn't have to. It couldn't force me to do
anything. I could sense it getting more and more frustrated because I
wouldn't do what it told me to do."

Scully was stumped. "Gibson, you don't have any scars. There should be
a lot of them after all the invasive procedures you've undergone."

Then she realized something else she was looking for that wasn't there.

"Gibson, you were near the core of a nuclear reactor without protection
for a very long time."

"Eighteen hours," he said, wincing at the memory.

"Why are there no scars from radiation burns?" she asked in wonder.

"Oh, I was burned," the boy replied. "I just healed really fast."

Scully's mind leapt to another, awful possibility. "Gibson, have you
ever been given an MRI or x-ray? 

Gibson looked at her and said simply: "I don't have cancer."

Scully exhaled in relief. Then her medical training came to the fore
again. "How can you be so sure?"

"The scientists believe that I am now immune to all human health
disorders." 

Gibson chose to drop this bombshell as casually as if he was describing
what color shirt he was wearing. Scully looked at him in total
disbelief.

"How could this be possible? This doesn't make any sense." Yet Scully
wanted this to be true, as irrational as it was.

Gibson continued his flat explanation. "Once my brain pattern matched
the entity's, my body chemistry changed as well. I don't have any scars
any more; they all healed. I don't get so much as a cold." Then he
added, "Freaky, huh?"

"Freaky, yes," Scully said, looking at her patient with true wonder. 
Yet there was more of the story to tell. "So, back to the power plant."

"Once the entity escaped, they couldn't capture it. It was violent and
uncontrollable. To catch it, they brought me in." Scully's bile rose
to her throat as she saw the smoke-wreathed figure of CBG Spender
pushing the boy into a car. 

"Then they left me there." 

Scully felt her stomach drop. She looked around and was no longer in
Corinne's house but was with Gibson in the steaming bowels of the
nuclear power plant. And directly across from them was the entity,
pulsing with malevolence. A chilling voice filled her head, buzzing
like the drone of a bee.

** ARE YOU READY TO OBEY, HUMAN? **

Scully felt faint. She grabbed the edge of the bedside table for
support then sat on the bed until the headiness subsided.

"That's what the entity said to me when we were at the plant last
night," Scully said, still gasping for breath. "I couldn't move. I
couldn't do anything. I was waiting to do what it would tell me to do."

"That's because you have the implant."

"What do you mean?" Scully was actively trying to let her curiosity
override her terror. It wasn't working.

"I'll explain that when Agent Mulder comes in. I'm sure he'll want to
hear that, too." 

***

Part 2


Sitting next to her partner at the kitchen table, she knew that Mulder's
photographic memory was aimed and focused on Gibson, ready to shoot.

"Tell us what you learned about the implant." 

"The scientists never spoke to me about anything," Gibson began. "They
would hold conversations as if I wasn't even in the room. They figured
since I was a kid, I wouldn't understand." Gibson smirked. "If they had
known how much I learned -"

"You might not still be alive," Scully said.

Gibson's bravado faded. He returned to his story. "They would ask me
what the entity was saying to me. As I told Agent Scully, it kept
trying various commands to get me to obey but I couldn't be forced to do
anything. And there was one of the scientists who kept thinking the
same thought: 'the chip works.'"

Mulder's mind tested out possible scenarios until one fit his sense of
the facts; Scully could almost swear she hear the pieces click into
place. "The implant could serve multiple purposes. It could ID and
catalogue all those marked to serve the invaders. It would serve as a
control device, too. Those with the implant are primed to follow
telepathic orders - like the people who came to Skyland Mountain without
knowing why." 

The dots were connecting at light speed now. "Maybe that's why the
rebel aliens torched them; they were slaughtering the troops before they
could be called to battle."

Mulder's energy continued to rise as he got even more caught up in the
thrill of discovery - of being proved right. "And the awful beauty of it
was, it was also designed to preserve the government's secret. If it
was removed, the chip would eventually disintegrate and the person would
die of cancer. There would be no proof that one led to the other."

Scully got up suddenly. "I need some air," she said abruptly as she fled
the house to go out into the hot morning sunshine.

***

For the next half hour, Scully walked around the reservation. She could
have mentally eavesdropped as Mulder concluded his investigation, but
she pushed away the drone of their conversation in order to be alone
with her own thoughts. 

As she walked by Albert's house, she recalled that the first time she
came to New Mexico, her mission was to nurse Mulder back to health. The
second time it was to rescue his sanity. Yet the larger implications -
proof of conspiracy, threats of invasion, great harm to multitudes of
people - were never as important to her as saving the life of her
partner. Why should she fight to save the world if he was not going to
be in it?

She always thought Mulder felt the same way. She wasn't so sure now.

She heard someone approaching her from behind. Without turning around,
she snapped, "You're right, Mulder. Bill sure pegged you. You *are*
one sorry son of a bitch."

Her words stopped him dead in his tracks. Immediately, she was
regretted opening his thoughts unbidden and using them against him. 

"That was uncalled for, Mulder. Please forgive me."

"I deserve it, Scully," he said. "I am so sorry." He stood stock
still, too burdened by his own guilt to move. It was up to Scully to
cross the small space between them. She took him in her arms, as much
for her solace as his own.

They stood together for some time, each taking comfort in the other,
each trying to shoulder the other's grief and sadness. Scully was
crying softly into his chest, the implications of the past few days
finally crushing down on her.

"Mulder, what is happening to me?" she said brokenly. "What is going to
happen to me?"

He wrapped his arms even more tightly around her. "Sh," he said, kissing
her hair. "We'll get through this. We'll find a way to stop this. We
will." 

She looked up at him. His eyes would have told her his feelings even if
she couldn't read them herself. He was as frightened as hell. He
wanted to murder whoever was responsible for this. And then there was
his passion for her, unshakable and invincible, surrounding her like a
shield.

Mulder took her hand. "Are your ready to hear my theory?"

Scully nodded. They walked back to Corinne's house and sat together in
the shade of her front steps. Mulder took a deep breath and began.

"I believe there's a connection between the microchip, the alien virus
you contracted, and your telepathy." He paused. She saw a brief,
horrific snapshot of herself suspended in cold, green fluid in a pod in
a dark, frigid place. 

"You are the Consortium's ultimate creation," Mulder continued. "The
alien invasion force needs human foot soldiers to complete their work. 
Those humans would have to be able to communicate telepathically with
their captors to follow orders. They would have to be under complete
alien control. The implant was designed to make that happen."

Scully made the conscious decision to suspend any possible disbelief and
test the logic of his hypothesis. "But Mulder, I've had the implant for
years. So have hundreds, maybe thousands of others who were abducted. If
you're right, then why haven't there been other instances of
clairvoyance?" 

Mulder answered her quickly. "There seem to be three steps to the
process: installation of the implant, exposure to the virus, then
activation through language - by the writing on the artifacts. Then it
takes a certain amount of time for the telepathy to occur. You may have
been the only successful transformation because you're the only abductee
who has both been infected and has come into contact with the writing."

Her brain teemed with gruesome images - hers and Mulder's - of what was
to come: swarms of bees infecting millions with the virus; humans
without implants becoming hatching pods for the aliens; those with
implants becoming slaves.

Scully recovered by moving back into dialectic mode. "You never had a
chip, yet you became telepathic after seeing the artifact."

Mulder had another ready explanation. "I had been exposed to the virus
in Tunguska, which must have left me susceptible to the power of the
glyphs. But because I had nothing to regulate my brainwaves, the
telepathy overloaded my system. My brain couldn't take the stress, so I
became catatonic."

Scully parried again. "Gibson showed strong telepathic powers without
the chip, the virus, or the glyphs."

"And that was why he was of such interest to the Consortium," Mulder
said. "He was a freak of nature - a human who could mimic the behavior
the aliens expected, yet never be bound to them. Gibson could serve as
the secret weapon that would defeat the invaders. If he could be
understood, then he could be -"

"Replicated," Scully interrupted. "Cloned. Mass produced." Scully
became quiet, watching lines of ants marching through the dust, one
after the other. She turned to Mulder, her mood somber.

"So if, as you said, I am the only successful transformation, they'll be
coming for me."

Mulder pulled closer to her on the stoop, trying his best to be
convincing. "According to Gibson, the aliens don't know you exist."

"But they will," Scully said, looking down at her hands folded around
her partner's. "If they don't, our smoking friend will, I'm sure. It's
only a matter of time."

Mulder's voice was steady, even as she felt the flurry of anxiety
underneath his words. "We can make this stop so they won't find you. 
There's only one way we know of -"

"And that's the same surgery you were subjected to," she said,
completing his sentence.

"Right." 

"Who would do the surgery?"

Mulder hesitated. "We don't know. Obviously, your neurosurgeon doesn't
generally deal with this sort of thing. And the Dr. Mengele that worked
on me is not an option. We would have to search; perhaps an associate
of Kritschgau's... or my father's ..."

"There may not be time for that," Scully stated flatly, her medical
detachment remarkable given that she was the patient. "Whether or not I
am found, we don't know how long I can live with this level of brain
activity. I may have a stroke or an aneurysm, neural failure ..." 

Mulder blanched. His deepest fears zoomed past her mind's eye - Scully
in a vegetative state, her arms and legs drawn up to her body like a
chick too early out of the shell; Scully surrounded by the Grays, her
movements stilted, her eyes dead; Scully writhing in unspeakable pain;
her body covered by a sheet in a cold hospital bed. She had to put a
stop to this before the images drove them both mad.

Scully ruffled his hair fondly. "Stop torturing yourself."

Mulder smiled ruefully. "But I do it so well."

Scully stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. His thoughts became
blurrier, warmer, slower. She liked his mind this way; she could take
her time exploring it. It intrigued her. Even panic could not derail
Mulder's desire for her touch. He caught her hand in his and drew it to
his lips. As he did so, his thoughts were blooming like roses, dark and
lush. She was in his thoughts, her body glowing white against their
petals like a lit candle. So this was the effect love has on the human
brain - *this* human's brain anyway.

Then a heavy shadow blotted out the scene, and Mulder drew away from
her.

"We have a lot of work to do, Scully."

"Where's Gibson?" she asked.

"Corinne returned early to pick him up. I could swear he *told* them to
show up to get away from us." Mulder stood to reenter the house. Before
he could go through the door, Scully drew him toward her and kissed him
lightly on the lips.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?" he asked with a sad smile.

"For saving the world for my sake," she replied. 

***

The afternoon wore on like so many days and nights of the past seven
years of their lives, surrounded by laptops and papers and half eaten
meals and cups of cold coffee. Mulder was following up on tips from the
Lone Gunmen about Gibson's family. They had also been successful in
unearthing some of Roush's research notes on Gibson, and Scully had been
analyzing their findings. 

Mulder looked over at her after a few hours of this. She was so weary,
she had her head propped on one hand, and her eyes were falling shut. 
She looked like a flower wilting in the desert heat. 

"Scully, you need rest. Go take a nap."

"No Mulder, this is important," she said, trying to shake off her
fatigue with a shrug of her shoulders.

Mulder walked over to her and pulled her upright. "Scully, you're
running on two hours' sleep. You'll be more productive after a nap and
some dinner." He guided her like a reluctant child into the guest room
and sat her down on the bed. He slid the shoes from her feet, pulled
her legs onto the bed, and covered her with a blanket.

"Sleep well," he said, kissing her on the forehead. Then he slipped out
the door.

A few minutes later, his cell phone rang. It was Corinne.

"Agent Mulder, the boys and I have decided to take Gibson to dinner and
a movie," she shouted over male teenage laughter. "I guess Gibson
hasn't gotten out much lately."

"You could say that," Mulder replied.

"We'll be back around nine. That will give you more time to work," she
said. 

"Just keep your eyes peeled," Mulder warned. "Any sign of anyone
following you, call me and drive to the nearest police station."

"I will."

Mulder thanked her and hung up. Soon, he was enveloped in the same
fatigue that had claimed his partner. He had only had a couple of
restless hours on the couch when they arrived and he was ready to drop. 
He needed more than sleep to restore him, though. 

He needed to be near her.

He quietly opened the door to the bedroom, then shut it behind him. 
Scully was deep in slumber, curled on her side, the blanket draped over
her. Mulder lowered himself onto the mattress beside her. He stretched
the blanket over him as well. Then he collected Scully into his body,
resting his head just above hers.

He breathed deeply. Her scent was feminine and female, lovely and rich
in her hair. In other circumstances, his pheromones would have snapped
to attention, and the seduction would have begun. For now, though, it
comforted and relaxed him, as if for the first time in his life he was
exactly where he was supposed to be.

He nestled closer to her, then dropped off to sleep.

***

Scully was dreaming.

They arrived at his apartment, weary and spent. Number 42 glinted in
the afternoon light. Mulder found his keys and opened the door and went
in. Scully stayed put.

"Aren't you coming in?" he asked. 

"I'd better let you get some sleep," she said, giving him a dazed smile.
 "I need some sleep, too."

Mulder took a step toward her. "Sleep here." He smiled at her. For
the first time in months, his smile was light and free.

"No, I should get home."

"Here is your home," he said softly. His voice was quiet, traveling the
short distance between his mouth and hers like a prayer. 

"Stay with me, Scully." 

Their kiss began as an agreement that said either of them could stop
this at any moment. Such formalities were soon proven unnecessary. 
<This is Mulder>, she told herself, then her mouth melted with his
again.

In his bedroom, they took off their clothes slowly, as if conducting a
ritual. When they stood naked before each other, Mulder looked at her
as if he was too moved to speak. When he finally did, his words rang
like bells. 

"We can start over, like this. Brand new."

His bed was warm, a haven for them. He pulled her small body to him as
easily as if they had done this for years. The air was still except for
their breathing - in, out, in, out ...

Scully woke to the sound of Mulder's breathing floating past her ear. 
His arm was snug around her waist, and she could feel his chest rising
and falling against her back. She didn't move for several minutes,
relishing the serenity of it all. 

It wasn't often that Mulder had slept so peacefully. Usually, she was
rushing to his bedside to wake him out of nightmares, to tend to his
wounds, to pray over him at a hospital. The last time she had shared a
bed with him was that horrible night when the reality of his mother's
suicide had hit. She had held onto him through his rage, his sobbing,
his unanswerable pleas for a reason for why she had done it, why all
this had happened.

Mulder had been at her side through similar dire circumstances, and with
the future that was now set before them, he would be there again. This
time of calm was especially precious.

She turned within his arms to face him. His eyes were darting back and
forth beneath his lids, his mind deep within a dream. Scully closed her
eyes for a moment and focused on his thoughts. 

It was as if she had stepped back into the scenario from a few moments
before, this time from his point of view. His desire burned low in his
belly, kindling hers anew. His lips were everywhere on her skin, and he
was taking great pleasure in her moans. 

** Come for me, Scully - let go for me **

Scully opened her eyes slowly, filled with the sweet ache of
determination to make the dream real for them both. She lightly stroked
his face, tracing his forehead and brows, his jaw line where his day's
beard was growing in, his chin, and finally, his mouth. As she traced
his lower lip with her thumb, his eyes fluttered open and he met her
gaze.

"You were dreaming," she said, still recording every millimeter of his
face through her touch.

"Yes," he said, his voice languorously thick with sleep.

"About us," she continued.

"Yes," he said, now mimicking her by exploring her features with his
fingers.

"We've been sharing our dreams, haven't we?" she asked, knowing the
answer. 

Mulder nodded. Scully slid her fingers down to his chest and continued.
 "I dreamed that I rescued you in Africa. You wanted me so much, you
took me right there on the shore."

"And I tore out your heart in the process," he said. Guilt rose up in
him like a black wave.

Scully drew circles with her fingertips. He shuddered, his hands still
as he tried to steady himself. She looked at him, her eyes large.

"When I was in Africa, when you had access to my thoughts and feelings,
what did you see there?"

Mulder didn't answer. She sensed that she had unmasked him somehow. 
Scully rushed forward.

"I know you couldn't avoid it, and even if you could have, I wouldn't
have objected." Mulder looked away from her. Scully ran her fingers
close to his scalp and returned his attention toward her.

"Please tell me - what was it like?"

"I didn't so much see your thoughts as feel them," he said softly after
a long silence. "When you returned to me from Africa, I could sense the
moment you touched down at National. In fact," he said with some
surprise, "I felt your presence the whole time you were gone. I could
feel your thoughts from a world away."

Scully kissed his palm. "What did you feel?"

Mulder's eyes were more green than hazel now as he spoke. The memory
soothed him.

"Warmth," he said quietly. "In the psych ward, I would only find peace
when I concentrated and felt your warmth within me. I could tell when
you were angry, because you would flare up like a gas jet. And you got
mad a lot," he added with a chuckle.

That I did," Scully concurred, relieved that those harrowing days were
so far in the past they could laugh about them.

"When you were scared, though," Mulder continued, "the heat would nearly
disappear. The first time that happened, I thought you were dead. Then
your warmth returned, and I stopped screaming." His eyes met hers now,
flecks of gold glinting within the green. "All the time you were away,
your mind ... your heart ... was so full ... thinking of me." 

Scully had his full attention now. His thoughts conveyed exactly what
his eyes had before them - the curve of her lips, the notch at the base
of her throat, her cross gleaming within the swell of her breasts. She
licked her lips before speaking again.

"If you knew all this time how much I love you, how much I want you,
then why did you wait?"

Mulder spoke with such longing that Scully felt her own heart contract. 
"I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to take you away to some romantic
place that had no association with work or danger, to give you only
sweet memories of us together." 

"And now?" she asked, nuzzling the neck of his t-shirt, hoping to absorb
his scent into her skin and bones.

His fingers were threading through her hair, separating the soft strands
over and over. "I realized I don't need to wait. No matter where we
are, where this happens, being with you *is* perfect."

There was no more to say with words. Even their thoughts stilled their
electric exchanges as their bodies began to converse in a language both
ancient and new. 

***

Gibson was truly in alien territory: sitting in a squeaky seat at a
movie theater at a multiplex in a shopping mall full of people. He was
prepared for the task at hand, with a bag of popcorn and a large Coke
braced between his knees. Jeremy, the older of the Whitestaff boys, sat
at his left. 

"The pod race is pretty tight," he whispered to Gibson as he grabbed a
handful of popcorn. "It's kind of weird to be rooting for Anakin
Skywalker, though."

"Why?" Gibson asked, breaking into a box of Raisinettes.

"Because that little kid will grow up to be Darth Vader."

"And who is that?" Gibson asked. 

Jeremy looked at him like he was ... until his mother shot him a look
that said, "Cut him some slack."

"Darth Vader is the bad guy in the other Star Wars movies. See, this
kid is destined to grow up to be evil."

Gibson sat with that information for a few moments. Then he ventured
out of his shell again. "Who's Queen Amidala?" 

Jeremy grinned. "Queen Amidala is quite fine, my friend."

The words "My friend" rolled over and over in Gibson's brain like a
frisky puppy. Gibson couldn't remember being this excited. 

As the last preview rolled, however, the screen suddenly went dark, then
the house lights went on. Boos and catcalls ensued from the primarily
teenage audience. An equally young usher came to the front to assure
the crowd that the projector would be fixed and the movie would start in
just a few minutes.

Gibson suddenly went still. He felt strange, with his heart beating as
fast as if he was running for his life. His breathing quickened, too,
to the point where Corinne became concerned.

"Gibson, are you okay? Do you have allergies or asthma?"

Gibson then saw a terrible sight: Scully's hands, so beautiful and
delicate, tracing over Mulder's face.

He knew he shouldn't watch this. He knew if he did, it would upset him,
and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it or make her change her
mind ... in any event, it was time for him to stop watching. He swept
Scully's thoughts from his mind as if he were sweeping dust out through
a closing door.

Corinne was still concerned. "Gibson, what's wrong?"

With Corinne, Gibson had felt something he hadn't felt since his mother
had been with him at the chess match. He felt totally accepted as a
person. Even with Scully's compassion, he was still a lab rat to her,
no matter how she tried to deny it. With Corinne, he felt he could be
honest with her.

"Corinne, will anyone ever love me?"

Gibson could see Corinne trying to process why on earth he would bring
this up now. 

"Do you mean like your mom and dad do?" she asked.

"Did," he corrected. "I know they're dead."

"Oh," said Corinne. Her mind continued to flip through possibilities
then stopped on one that made her a little melancholy. 

"You mean, like Agent Scully loves Agent Mulder?"

Gibson nodded, amazed at how intuitive she was. He knew Corinne was
thinking ** What a little boy he is ** but that didn't make him mad. He
really wanted an answer.

"Gibson, I am sure you will. Not yet, but at some point in your life,
yes." 

She turned to him and continued. "Scully and Mulder are like geese, as
my father used to say. They choose their course in order to be together.
 They are mated, and geese mate for life. You will be very lucky to
have a relationship like they do."

The room went dark and the screen flickered once more, with much
cheering from the crowd. Corinne took Gibson's hand and squeezed it. 
Then she whispered in his ear,

"And you are a very lucky kid, so I am sure that will happen for you."

***

** Perfect **

That was the only word for it, the only phrase that could make any
headway in Mulder's brain as their bodies cooled and their breathing
slowed to normal. 

Scully did not want it to end, this intimate, wordless communication. 
She could taste herself on his lips and wondered if he could taste
himself on hers. They were truly one being now, fused in soul and mind
as deeply as their bodies had been moments before. She was humming,
sated by the pleasure of him, his passion, his beauty, his creativity --
his stamina. Actually, she was surprised that Mulder hadn't collapsed
and slept in typical male fashion once the obligatory post-coital cuddle
was done. 

He didn't want this to end any more than she did.

"Mulder," she said at last, speaking when they broke for a breath.

"Mm?" he responded, suckling her earlobe.

"I'm just glad we both had our naps this afternoon."

That just broke him up completely. He thunked his head on her shoulder
and guffawed. She laughed so hard, the bed shook. There it went -
seven years of fear and worry and hormonal repression - going up in a
puff of laughing gas. Scully had never been so happy. 

She wrapped her arm around him, and Mulder settled in against her
shoulder. He began to trace circles on her belly, watching the motion
of his fingers as if he was hypnotized.

"Wow, you healed fast," he said, entranced.

"What do you mean?"

"That gunshot wound you got from Ritter last year. It completely
healed."

Scully smiled at him lazily. "You're just trying to butter me up. It's
there and it's not pretty, either; it's all puckered and purple."

Mulder continued caressing her. "Believe me, Scully, you have the
smoothest, most perfect skin." Then he stopped suddenly and sat
upright.

"Scully, turn over."

"Why?" His urgency frightened her.

"Let me see the back of your neck."

Scully complied, and Mulder brushed her hair to one side.

"Oh, Scully." She couldn't really tell if he was more frightened or
grateful for what he saw ... or *didn't* see.

** No scars. You're healed. **

Scully sat up and faced him. "Mulder, I know what you're thinking."

"That's old news," he retorted, a grin spreading across his face.

"Gibson's unique brain structure may be what's allowed him to heal so
quickly," she said, playing her AMA card for all it was worth. "He's
also very young, so his body can heal much more efficiently."

"Than who - you?" Mulder asked incredulously. "How do you explain
this, Scully? Your scars disappeared, just like Gibson's did after
encountering the entity."

"But I wasn't even in the same room with the entity before it died," she
sputtered. "How could -"

"It linked with you. That's the catalyst," he said, getting more
animated. "Not only do the foot soldiers need to be obedient. They
need to be completely healthy." Data was streaming across his brain,
dropping more puzzle pieces into place. 

"Mulder, this is all theory, you know. Until we can get Gibson's total
workup - and mine - we're only going on your hunch."

Mulder looked at her with an expression that mirrored his thoughts
exactly: ** Cut the crap, Scully - you know I'm right. ** He hammered it
a little closer to home.

"When you went snipe hunting with our smoking friend," Mulder said
snidely, "you came back saying the implant was responsible for healing
that little boy's cancer, for allowing that woman to live well past one
hundred. Why wouldn't it be able to heal you as well?"

The implications of this question were larger than she could comprehend
at the moment. She had to deflect him to buy herself some time.

"Let's say, for the sake of argument, that you are right," Scully said
quickly, pulling on her robe. "Gibson doesn't have a chip. How could
he heal so fast that he has no signs of surgery, no scars from radiation
burns, no sign of cancer? How is that possible?"

Mulder pondered this for a moment, looking away from her. "I don't
know. Maybe because of his age and neural structure, like you said. 
But that doesn't deny what has happened to you." Mulder continued,
amazement encroaching on his tone of voice. "Maybe that black-lunged
bastard was right." 

Scully now stood at the window, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had
hoped he wouldn't notice, but of course, he did. He came to her and
touched her shoulder.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

<Baby ...>

She couldn't respond. The tears were coming faster, and as much as she
tried to control herself, she was sobbing now. She knew Mulder had no
idea what prompted this, and she was grateful that he didn't ask her any
more questions. He simply turned her so he could hold her close to him
until it passed.

She found a way to speak again.

"I'm so selfish," she said, another sob escaping.

"You're not selfish, Scully," he cooed. "Trust me."

"This thing that has happened to me is the sign of something horrible,"
she said. "Millions of people are in danger -"

"Possibly, not definitely," he reassured her, half believing it himself.

"And all I can think about is myself," she said.

"What do you mean?" he said, rocking her.

Scully stopped him. "All I want is to be whole again. I want to get
back what they took from me."

He looked at her intently, trying to parse her words. ** Are you saying
what I think you're saying? **

She nodded. "I want to have a child."

<Ours.>

He kissed her, long and deep. She sighed and relaxed into his embrace,
comforted by the words in his head.

** Yes ... me too ... yes ... beautiful ... love you ... perfect **

***

Corinne and the boys rolled in about 10:00. Mulder and Scully were back
in the same positions as when they had left that afternoon, only they
had showered and were in comfortable clothes, prepared for a long night
of work ahead.

"So Gibson, how was the flick?" Mulder asked, looking up from his
laptop.

Gibson's eyes shone with pure joy. "It was great!" Scully could tell
that it was - so much to see on screen; so many kids his age in the
audience; so many interesting minds to observe. 

"Go to bed, guys," Corinne said. "Gibson, you've got to be ready to
drop." Her sons complied, pushing Gibson affectionately in front of
them into their bedroom.

Mulder and Scully listened to Corinne's account of the evening's events
while the boys were settling in for the night. After a few minutes,
Scully walked with Corinne into the kitchen to get a glass of water. 
She spoke to her in low tones. "Thanks for giving Gibson such a gift."

Corinne shook her head. "It was no trouble." Then she turned serious. 
"Have you been able to locate his parents?"

Scully nodded, her eyes downcast. 

"And the news isn't good, is it?"

"No," Scully responded. "I'd like to wait until morning before we tell
Gibson." Then she felt her stomach lurch. 

"You always forget that I know you're thinking."

She swiveled around and saw Gibson standing in the living room, white
with rage. 

"You treat me like a baby, like I'm stupid," he stormed. "You're no
different than anyone else, Agent Scully."

Her head swam with red-rimmed pictures of Cancer Man, Diana Fowley, the
Roush scientists - anyone who had ever tricked him. 

"Gibson, you're wrong," Scully countered. "I know this news isn't easy
to take, and you're exhausted. I hoped -"

"Gibson," Corinne interjected. "Take it easy. Listen to Agent Scully."

"I don't have to," he spat. "I know what she is going to say."

"What is she going to say?" Corinne asked, her eyes fixed on the boy.

"That they're dead - that they were killed. Right?"

Mulder stepped in. "Yes, that's right," he said, his tone even. "We
found out that your parents went missing shortly after your abduction
from FBI protection when our agents were shot -"

"And?"

Scully completed Mulder's sentence. "Their bodies were found outside of
Manila only a few months ago."

"How did they die?" Gibson asked, his rage mutating into desperate
curiosity. "Tell me now - I can find out anyway."

"They were shot, execution-style," Scully said softly, coming closer to
the boy so that he was encircled by the three of them.

"Why?" Gibson looked from Mulder to Scully and back again like the
panicked child he was.

Scully took his hand to brace him for what was to come. "The autopsy
showed that both of your parents had implants, Gibson."

"Huh?" Gibson was trembling, his mind racing hither and yon. 

She continued. "There were reports of their being abducted fifteen
years ago, about a year before you were born. They may never have
realized they had them."

"Or perhaps they did know," Mulder added, "and that's why they moved to
the Philippines, to be less conspicuous."

Gibson's questions continued as shock set in. "What are you saying?" 

"What we're saying," Mulder said, crouching before him, "is that perhaps
your birth was part of a greater experiment."

Gibson's mind was a cyclone, as long-buried images spun through his
memory with great, destructive force. His parents' faces melded into
those of somber men in suits dropping in on their home at odd hours,
terrifying his mother and angering his father. Then they became the
Roush scientists, jabbering on about "breeding versus cloning" and "a
natural line of defense against the invasion." 

In his borrowed pajamas, Gibson looked tiny. He seemed to shrink even
more, then he fell to his knees.

"MAMA!"

Corinne shot over to the floor next to him and wrapped him in her arms. 
His keening grew louder and more despondent as she rocked him,
whispering in his ear.

"It's okay to scream and cry - your parents can hear you - don't be
afraid to show them how you feel - they need to know."

Scully was crying, too. Gibson's suffering was rapidly overwhelming her.
 His pain tapped into her own anguish, drawn from a lifetime of loss
experienced in just the past few years, and it was threatening to
overflow her self-control. 

It took her a moment to realize that Mulder had come to her side and had
taken her hand.

"Let's go outside for a bit," he said quietly. She nodded and they went
outdoors.

The air was still warm, yet Scully couldn't stop shaking. Mulder came
up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and rested his
chin lightly on the top of her head. He said nothing, did nothing but
hold her tightly, anchoring her to the world until the storm had passed.

"God, Gibson ..." she sniffled. "That poor child ..."

"I know," he said truthfully, an orphan himself now. "Corinne can look
after him." ** Perhaps forever **

"And his parents," Scully continued. "They did everything they could to
protect their son - they went into hiding half a world away from here,
and they were found anyway."

"Maybe their hiding was the problem," Mulder said after a pause.

Scully broke from his grip and whirled to face him. "What do you mean
by that? Do you think they endangered Gibson by hiding him?" 

"I think his parents did what they thought would work," Mulder
countered. "It would have worked against a normal enemy. But these men
thrive in the shadows; it's where they're most effective. They could
kill the Praises and take Gibson because no one knew of them. The cover
up could continue because the Praises had been invisible and no one
would miss them when they were gone." 

Mulder paused again. "Maybe it's better to be out in the open." His
mind was totally focused on the present moment, on her mouth, her eyes,
her every breath. 

"Scully, marry me."

He didn't even wait for her shock to set in but barreled on.

"I don't mean sneaking off to a Justice of the Peace, then hiding our
wedding rings and trysting on weekends and business trips. I want to
marry you in a church surrounded by our family and friends, and live
with you as husband and wife for the rest of our lives, the world be
damned." He cupped her face in his hands. "Scully, will you marry me?"

<He is deadly serious> she thought, a bit awestruck. <He's never been
so serious.>

She was so awash in her musings, she forgot to answer his question.

"Scully? Did you hear me?"

He was being *so* serious, she burst out laughing. 

"I heard you." Then, simply, "Yes."

***

Today was Mulder's fortieth birthday. The fact that it was also his
wedding day made him feel a lot better.

Scully had spent the night before at her mother's so as not to tempt
fate by letting him see the bride before that evening's ceremony. It
was a silly custom, given how often and in what states of undress he had
seen her every single night of the past four months. It was also damned
inconvenient, because now she had the car they'd take to the airport,
and he'd have to hitch a ride with Skinner to get to the church.

Then again, he could just fly there. His feet weren't touching the
ground anyway.

The tux was on, the ring was in his pocket along with his vows printed
on a single index card in case he forgot his lines. He was so concerned
about being late, he was ready a half an hour early, and he was left
with nothing better to do than bounce his basketball off the walls. 
What did he care if the neighbors complained? He was going to move into
Scully's place after the honeymoon anyway. 

He picked up the ball and gave it a couple of experimental tosses when
the phone rang.

"One happy son of a bitch speaking," he chirped into the receiver.

"Mulder." It was Skinner, sounding extremely pissed off. "I don't know
how to tell you this, but ..."

"I have to go to Accounting to explain the last seven years of
expenses?" he said in mock horror.

He could practically feel Skinner's ire burning a hole in his skull via
the telephone wires. "My car has a flat, Mulder. I can't pick you up."

Mulder was taken completely off guard. "Well, will you be able to make
it to the church?"

"Yes," he replied tersely, "but not with enough time to swing by your
apartment. You're going to have to get there some other way. I'm
sorry."

Mulder hung up, cursing Skinner and praying that there was a cab
somewhere in the metro DC area that could pick him up on a Friday at
rush hour. He flipped through the Yellow Pages and dialed five numbers
before he got more than a busy signal. He told the dispatcher the sad,
giddy story - "See, I'm getting married tonight ..." - which resulted in
a promise that a taxi would be there in the next twenty minutes.

He grabbed his trench coat and headed downstairs. He'd be able to jump
in as soon as the cab showed up. He paced in the lobby for a few
seconds, then, due to a near fatal attack of stomach butterflies, felt a
need for a great deal of fresh air, so he went outside.

A car was already waiting for him, but it wasn't a cab. Seeing who was
at the wheel, Mulder wished he had put his gun in his pocket with his
vows and wedding band.

"Mazel tov, Agent Mulder." Curls of smoke flowed from his mouth out of
the driver's side window.

Mulder's blood ran cold. "Sorry, Mr. Spender, but this is a private
ceremony. Only the immediate friends and family."

CGB Spender cocked his head. "And I still didn't get an invitation? I
am crushed."

Mulder refused to let this affect him. "What do you want?"

"Even though I was left off the guest list, I wanted to give you a
wedding present." The old man reached into his breast pocket and drew
out a small metal cylinder. "I expect you can tell what it is; perhaps
I should have wrapped it."

Mulder took the cylinder and turned it over in his hand. Suspended
inside was surely a microchip, floating in deionized water, waiting to
be implanted.

"Now you can have 'his' and 'hers' models," Spender said through an oily
smile.

"Why would I want this?" Mulder sneered. "Why would I hand myself over
to you and your gray friends?"

"To be with your wife," he replied in an exhale of smoke. "I'm sure
you'll want to be there for better or worse ... until death do you
part."

Mulder felt his chest caving in as if he had been punched. "You won't
touch her," he said through clenched teeth. "You won't harm her, you
understand me?"

"Save your threats," Spender said with a dismissive wave. "I'll be dead
before you get back from Florence - isn't that where you're
honeymooning? Besides, this is really more of a present for your baby
shower."

Mulder couldn't disguise his shock. "What?"

Spender took a leisurely drag on his cigarette. "Well, one of the
reasons for getting married is to start a family, isn't it? And, being
a good father, you'll want to do all you can to protect your children. 
What better means of them facing the future than by having a natural
defense against invasion?" 

Mulder winced. "You're saying if I have the implant, our children will
be like Gibson Praise?"

"It's the best means of protecting ourselves, Agent Mulder," Spender
replied with a glint in his eye. "The clones are too susceptible to the
bounty hunters. Hybrids like Cassandra are too time- and cost-intensive
to be practical. And, obviously my attempt at transplanting brain
tissue didn't work, and I'm paying the price for that experiment with my
life." 

He stubbed out his cigarette in his ashtray. "The human race can only
be saved by the next generation - by your children."

"There's not enough time," Mulder said, dropping his guard. "The
invasion will have begun."

"Relax, Agent Mulder," Spender said, opening a new pack of Morley's.
"The rebel aliens have pushed back the Grays' timetable for a matter of
years." Spender put down the cigarettes. "There will be just enough
time - if you act quickly."

Just then, a taxi pulled into the parking lot. Spender smiled. "Well,
I can't have you leaving fair Agent Scully at the altar, can I? 
Goodnight, Agent Mulder, and good luck." His window rolled shut, and
the car slipped into the darkness. 

***

Although she knew there was no way he would miss this, Scully wasn't
certain he'd actually show up until she saw Mulder at the door of Father
McCue's study. In he walked in his tuxedo, more breathtakingly handsome
than she'd ever seen him. He was so nervous she practically shook with
him. He was so happy she didn't think she'd ever get that goofy grin
off his face.

And there was something on his mind, something he was shielding from her
awareness. Something she knew was best left for another day's
discussion.

"You are so beautiful," he said, totally awestruck. 

"It's my grandmother's dress," Scully said, fingering the neckline. 
"The lace came from Ireland. The dressmaker tailored the bodice a bit to
give it a more modern silhouette -"

"When can I kiss you?" Mulder interrupted. Scully felt herself blush.

"Whenever you like, and - Hello, Father."

Father McCue was in white robes brocaded with gold and crimson. He
opened his arms to surround them.

"I only hope you are half as happy as I am to be here today," he said as
he guided them to the door. "Are you ready for the candle-lighting?"

"We are, Father," Scully said, and they entered the small chapel
adjoining the main sanctuary. The priest lit two white tapers and
handed one to each of them. He closed his eyes in prayer.

"Now is the time, oh God, for these your children to be joined as
husband and wife as a family. As they come together, so too their
families weave together as does all humanity in a tapestry that was
begun by Adam and Eve in your garden. We take a moment before the
marriage ceremony of Fox and Dana to honor those dear to their hearts,
loved ones who reside with You now, to make them part of this
celebration of love eternal."

Father McCue opened his eyes and spoke to them. "Now, please say the
names of those in your hearts."

Scully went first. "William Scully, my father."

Then Mulder. "William and Teena Mulder, my parents."

"Melissa, my sister."

"Samantha, my sister."

"Emily, my daughter."

The names disappeared into the air. Their souls could rest now - the
future of their families was assured. 

The priest brought forward a third, unlit candle and placed it on the
altar before them. "Now with your candles, light this together as a
sign that their love finds you today on this happiest of days and will
be there to comfort you always."

They did so, and the light flickered and shone before them.

"In Jesus' name, amen." Father McCue smiled broadly. "Now, let's get
to the fun part," he said. "Fox, you come with me. Dana, we'll see you
inside."

"Father, may we just have a moment alone?" Scully asked.

"Of course. I'll wait outside the door, Fox. You can come out when
you're ready." The door closed and they were alone.

The two of them said nothing. Scully looked at Mulder and lost herself
in the flickering green and gold of his eyes. He touched her cheek and
kissed her. They finished, and Mulder smiled as he touched up her
smudged lipstick. Then they turned to stand before the candle, Scully's
head resting over his heart, watching the flame's eternal glow.

END

 
Comments? Coaching? Let me know: lpeers@mindspring.com