Title: A More Divine Endeavor Author: Smurf Email: KRUMS@qis.net Rating: Strong R for language, violence, content, the whole shebang. But this may change to NC-17 coz so help me I can't not have graphic sex. Category: XSR, some post-colonization Spoilers: Big ones for FTF. All mythology up to Sein Und Zeit/ Closure. Possible stand-alones from everywhere. Keywords: XF/ER crossover, Mulder/ Scully married, Doug/Carol married, but this is NOT SAP!!! Archive: Gossamer, no, I'll do that. Ephemeral, Spookies, big archives I can't think of, yes. SexyPhile, does this count as HolidayFic? If so, you can post it. Everyone else, go ahead but lemme know where it's going. :o) Summary: The final (for now) story of this line. Beginning with the death of a Chicago visitor, Mulder and Scully are re-introduced to the facts of a conspiracy working with aliens to plot the demise of all humans. As colonization draws nearer, they battle a deadly virus, a group of beings bent on destroying the human race, and each other. What will win out in the end: a powerful love or a vicious hate? Disclaimer: Here we go again...Mulder, Scully and anything of/or relating to The X-Files does not belong to me. Doug Ross, Carol Hathaway, and Mark Greene and anything of/or relating to ER doesn't belong to me either. All other characters are completely fictitious. Any relation to any real persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Please do not use the following characters without asking or notifying me first so I can see me people in someone else's story: Jack Harley, Zoe Mulder, Reese Mulder. Notes: This is it folks, I'm planning on this being my last mythology in this storyline. Unless of course... I am struck by inspiration like I was before. I dunno...we'll see what happens. Oh, one important thing. You do not have to have read the stories previous to this one, although I STRONGLY suggest you do. I am going to try and make this fic friendly to those not familiar with my mythology stories. If you would like to read the previous stories, they are the Zoe series and the Hold On series. I am also going to make this newbie and non-phile friendly for my deprived friends and family. Sorry if that offends you seasoned philes out there... Story Outline: Prologue Book I: Unspeakable Truths Book II: The Prophet and The Plague Book III: Brighter Dawns A quote before we begin: "This is not a moment to pronounce the word love. No matter, I pronounce it, and I glorify it. Love, thine is the future. Death, I use thee, but I hate thee. Citizens, there shall be in the future neither darkness nor thunderbolts; neither ferocious ignorance nor blood for blood. In the future no man shall slay his fellow, the earth shall be radiant, the human race shall love. It will come, citizens, that day when all shall be concord, harmony, light, joy, and life; it will come, and it is that it may come that we are going to die." --Enjolras, Les Misérables, 362 ~X~ Prologue: Langley Air Force Base Norfolk, Virginia November 15, 2001 Working the late shift was not Dan Wilkerson's idea of fun. A Private with the US Air Force, his job was to sit in a cramped little room, not much bigger than a glorified walk-in closet, and "keep an eye" on the millions of dollars worth of satellite radio equipment. Fortunately, it was only a few nights out of the month he had to sit in complete boredom, listening to the humming and clicking of empty radio waves. At least it gave him a chance catch up on his monthly edition of 'Playboy'. The powerful computerized machines surrounding him on three sides of the tiny room were synchronized to pick up even the tiniest radio wave, anything that might threaten national security. The most Dan Wilkerson had ever heard on the confounded machines was so called "space noise", minor little blips and crackles emitted from the radiation of stars and other celestial events. Once in a while, the machines would pick up a faint radio signal, nothing ever important, at least in Dan's experience. The room had been quiet all night long, save for the systematic whirs and clicks from the computers monitoring themselves. Dan whistled a nonsense tune to himself has he admired the half-nude women plastered on the glossy pages of the magazine. He turned another page to the centerfold of a busty brunette sprawled whorishly on the white sand of a beach. He wolf-whistled satisfactorily and leaned back in his chair, his shiny black boots planted firmly on the desktop. He was about to turn the page to yet another lewd picture when a noise coming from the machines on the wall behind him distracted him. Dan dropped his feet to the floor with a thud and strode over to the computers and instruments. He looked at a center instrument that had begun blinking and was emitting the noisy beeping. The small LCD screen flashed a series of codes, and then a message the stayed on the screen rather than fading away: INCOMING MESSAGE STANDBY . . . Dan leaned back on his heals, awaiting what the machines would do next. He had been preliminarily trained on what to do, but really could not tell for all he was worth what exactly was going on. He knew to wait for the transmission, record it in the logbook, and if necessary, phone his Commanding Officer--but that was only if the message was of utmost importance. The speakers that would project the transmission audibly began to crackle, and then buzz and whine shrilly, causing Dan to clap his hands over his ears. After a few mere seconds, the speakers simply settled into random sounds of bleeps mixed with a steady static crackle. Another machine along the wall, similar to a printer, began to spit out a feed of printed white paper that trailed down to the floor. Dan rushed over to the paper and picked up the end, trying to read it. His forehead creased with confusion as he scanned the symbols on the paper. As he looked at the paper, trying to decipher the meaning, the computer monitor off to his left blinked and groaned, beginning to come to life. Dan dropped the paper as it continued to roll from the machine and walked over to the computer. Pulling out the desk chair and sitting down heavily in it, he watched the monitor as the same message scrolled onto the screen: 235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511 8531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151 3914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472 3511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185 3151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139 1472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235 1185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531 5139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914 7235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511 8531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151 3914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472 3511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185 3151391479199131391451420. . . The pattern of the numbers was obvious, up until every fifteen lines, where there was a single nonconforming line of numbers, and then the passage completely repeated. Using the mouse, Dan clicked on a button that would automatically sense the pattern and convert the numbers to common English letters. Thank god for scientific sophistication. It only took a few seconds, and the computer spit out the translation. Dan read in horror what the previously encrypted words said. Then he picked up the phone, and dialed for his CO. "Sir," He barked quickly in the phone after a gruff, groggy voice answered, "We have a problem..." WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMINGWEARECOMING WEARECOMINGEXTERMINATIONISIMMINENT. . . ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ There was always the precognition that something was going to happen. She had felt it all day, and into the night. Something was strange, unnatural. It wasn't one thing in particular; it was an accumulation of everything. And it wasn't even a physically proof- based precognition; it was just a feeling. There was no one she could tell about it either, her parents would pass it off as her imagination, and so she remained silent about her worries. She went to bed early, not out of exhaustion, but the hope that the feeling would be gone when she awoke in the morning. Yet she didn't sleep. She lay in bed, huddled beneath the sheets and home made quilt. The silence that had covered the house and outside world like a constricting noose was ironically deafening. It was inconceivable how quiet it was, like the world had suddenly gone dead. She lay still in her bed, listening for any audible noise that could bring her comfort. There was nothing. There were no familiar sounds coming from outside; no dogs barking into the night, no sound of passing cars as weary late travelers returned home. There was only the lone, quiet light from the floodlight across the street shining through the crack in the blinds. Even stranger, there were no sounds from within the house. There was no soft clicking as the big dog walked up and down the hardwood floors of the hallway, looking for a place to sleep. There was no steady drone from the television as her parents watched; nor was there the creak of the stairs and the floor as they headed to their room. There was only silence. As the night grew on, the silence remained. The only thing she could hear was the sound of her own breathing, and even the pulse of her heartbeat, which pounded out her fright in her chest. Nearing midnight, there was no sudden screaming of her infant brother, crying for his nighttime feeding. Just the same, neither of her parents crossed the hall to check on him. The feeling grew. She knew something was going to happen. Something bad. The silence was finally shattered in the dark, early morning hours. She had remained awake all night, waiting for it to happen. It was an explosion, a loud booming explosion that seemed to roar feet from her window. She wasn't startled by it at all; she knew it was going to happen, just as she anticipated the following sequence of explosions. The sirens came not long after. They were a shrill, wailing sound. Not high-pitched like a whistle, more like the high, mournful cry of a terrified animal. It was the emergency sirens, sounded in the time of utmost crisis. It was the sound of the world coming to an end. After the sirens began, the explosions continued on as crackling, raging fires. Bright orange and red fires, they were, fires that illuminated her window as if it was dawn. She grew more frightened, crawling out of bed and dragging her quilt to the corner of the room, where she sat, shivering. She didn't want to leave the room, afraid of what she might find. She remained alert, now every tiny sound reaching her ears. Next came the screaming. The raw, animalistic screaming as people burned alive. It was far worse than the silence from before. After mere minutes, she could no longer take it. She cupped her hands over her ears, trying to drown out the cries, and the explosions, and the fires. Tears of fear streamed down her face. She remained this way for countless hours, never stirring until she noticed the real light of the sun. She dropped the blanket from over her tiny body and stood up slowly, carefully looking around. Somewhere in the night the window had shattered, leaving sharp shards of glass glittering all over the carpet. Ignoring the glass cutting into her bare feet, she crept back across the room to the window and peered outside. What she saw caused her to gasp and shudder, covering her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. There were bodies, oh so many bodies. What bodies weren't mangled and dismembered from the explosions, lie in dead heaps where they landed. It was as if they had been struck down and died where they fell. There was no apparent physical damage to some of the bodies. But upon closer inspection, it was obvious that something had gone terribly wrong. Their eyes had turned to black holes, and a thick, black oil-like substance trailed from the glazed sockets down their cheeks and pooled on the ground. Like they had cried big, black, oily tears. There was a message written in the street, written in the brightest red spray paint to stand out against the charred spots and the drying pools of blood, the writer lie dead on the street next to the scrawling, the can of paint still in his hand. ALL DEAD NOW, the message proclaimed. ALL DEAD NOW. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Book I: Unspeakable Truths "The truth is a pain that will not stop." ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 1 Mulder Residence Somerset, Maryland Monday, December 1, 2001 It couldn't be possible... After all this time... It couldn't be true... But it was. His mother was dead. Fox Mulder sat alone at the kitchen table of his big, quiet home in the suburbs of Washington DC. It was a little after two in the morning. A half empty glass of Scotch in his hand and the sighing snore of his dozing Labrador dog were the only two things keeping him company. He wasn't able to sleep, not with so much on his mind. So he had slowly gotten out of bed, torn away from the peaceful comforts of dreams and the warm embrace of his wife. His mind just refused to give in. He tossed back another drink of the dark amber beverage, the liquid fire passing slowly down his throat and exploding in the pit of his empty stomach. He hadn't slept in the past twenty-four hours, and doubted he really would any time soon. At least maybe the liquor could help that a little. It happened so fast. One minute he was laughing and enjoying life, and the next, his mother was dead. His life was an endless cycle of misery and hate with a little happiness mixed in just to get his hopes up. Letting the glass sit on the table, Mulder leaned back in the hardwood chair, closed his eyes, and remembered. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ One Night Before; November 30, 2001 They were having a dinner with a couple of friends. They were more friends of Scully's than Mulder's, but he liked them just as well. The friends were another married couple, a doctor and his wife (who was a nurse), Dr. Doug Ross and Carol Hathaway. Scully went to college for a year with Carol; they ran into each other again at the hospital six months ago when Scully had the baby. There, Mulder and Scully met Carol's husband, Doug, who was a pediatrician working at the same hospital. Because of the busy work and personal schedules for all four of them, it was a rarity to get an opportunity for such a get together, but when one arose, it was jumped on. Another problem was the matter of baby sitters. Doug and Carol were the parents of rambunctious twin two-year-old girls, while Mulder and Scully were parents themselves of a seven-year-old girl and a six-month-old boy. It was decided that they would dine at the Mulder house so Doug and Carol could bring the girls, and not have to worry about a sitter, same as Mulder and Scully. The children were fed prior to the actual dinner, to allow the four adults time to chat. Mulder and Scully's daughter, Zoe, had not been too thrilled to learn that the two girls were visiting. Although generally well behaved, Tess and Kate were still in those terrible two's, and kids will be kids. Zoe was young herself, but only in heart and body. In simple words, she was a genius. She possessed certain psychic abilities that allowed her to read minds, and comprehend things far greater than a normal child, or even an adult. It was through a lengthy, trying ordeal that Scully was allowed to adopt Zoe. That was two long years ago, a year filled with memories that weren't the most pleasant to think about. But all ended well enough, with Zoe's adoption, and Mulder's eventual proposal to Scully. In all, the past two years had been kind. Six years of building sexual tension between Mulder and Scully, and it took an orphaned five-year-old to finally make them open their eyes. They were married on June nineteenth of 2000 in a beautiful ceremony. Now they had a home together, and a life filled with love and happiness. Their son, Reese, had been a different story all together. Always following the belief that Scully would never bear her own children, because of her abduction in a heinous crime five years earlier, her discovered pregnancy in the October following their marriage was a surprise. A pleasant and welcomed surprise at first, but Mulder had his own rooted fears. Scully was abducted a second time, in a more mysterious and elusive way, all during the battle to gain the custody of Zoe. The details of that abduction were even more vague, and it was forgotten immediately. There were no indications from it, no implant, no cancer; it was easily wiped from the memories. Reese was born in June that year, the day before their first anniversary, two days ahead of schedule. Hell of an anniversary gift, Mulder had said the night they brought him home. He was six months old now, with his mother's eyes and skin, and his father's hair and stubborn personality. For the time being, life had reached a positive peak. Following dinner, the adults retired to the living room for coffee. Mulder and Doug had become friends over the past few months, finding they had much in common, including a passion for sports, especially basketball, and a wise-cracking sense of humor. Although they shared a like for sports, choice teams were where they differed, and actively competed. Tonight, they argued about the finer points of college basketball. "No, no, no, Duke is better," argued Doug adamantly, "Maryland hasn't done squat since Francis left in 99'. Trust me, you're better off putting your money in on Duke." "That's where you're wrong." Mulder contradicted, relaxing in the reclining chair adjacent to the sofa where Doug and Carol were seated. "Maryland has been known to kick some Duke ass. I'll admit they haven't done gone home with the title recently, but they will make a comeback." "Yeah, whatever," Doug replied, grinning wryly. Carol rolled her eyes and mouthed the word "Men" across the room to where Scully sat on the floor, leaning against the foot of the chair and petting the chocolate-colored dog she claimed she disliked so much. Scully chuckled. "So, Dana, when are you going back to work?" Carol inquired, hoping to veer the topic of conversation away from sports. Scully said up straighter, thankful for the subject change. "I go back right after New Year's." "Looking forward to it?" Carol asked. Scully thought for a moment. "Yes and no. I like my job, I like being out in the field and working, but on the other hand I do like staying here with the kids and working at the hospital and teaching." In the more recent weeks into November, as the baby got older, Scully had begun volunteering herself and her want to help people at a free clinic at DC General Hospital, where Doug and Carol worked. Once in a while, she also instructed a few classes at the FBI Academy at Quantico. "What made you become an FBI Agent over a doctor?" Doug asked her. "A variety of things," Scully answered. "My parents thought it was an act of rebellion, but I think my mom has come to grips with it." She chuckled a little as she spoke, remembering the words spoken to her when she proclaimed her sudden career change. "Actually, it was because I wanted to do something where I could make a difference. I want to be recognized for what I did. I guess I just thought I had more of a chance with the Bureau than in medicine. Now I'm not so sure. But I like doing what I do." Doug nodded. He had wanted to be a doctor for most of his life, and couldn't imagine making such a career change so far into an education. He and Carol both had originally worked at Cook County General in Chicago, he eventually going to Seattle, before his daughters were born, and before he and Carol married. Carol transferred when the girls were a little less than a year old. Not long after, they both moved to DC, residing on the opposite side of town in District Heights, mostly for a better pay offering at DC General and the hopes of a "fresh start". They had lived in Maryland for nearly a year. Doug almost couldn't comprehend why Scully would choose the FBI over a promising career in medicine. "Are you ever going to work in a hospital?" He asked after finishing off the now lukewarm coffee in the bottom of his cup. Scully shrugged. "I don't know," She said, "I might...but I really can't say for sure." It wasn't like she hadn't given it any thought. For so many years of her life while working for the Bureau, she had thought about leaving, getting away from everything that had gone wrong, and starting over as a doctor like her parents always wanted to be. But she could never leave Mulder, and in her heart, she could never leave the truth, she desired it almost as much as he did. Now it didn't really seem to matter where she went, only that she was happy with what she was doing. In the few minutes of silence before the next change of conversation, a sudden cry broke the quiet. The cry was the all too familiar sound of an awakening infant, muffled only by the distance from the living room up to the second floor to the nursery. Scully smiled like she knew that was going to happen soon. "That's my cue," She mumbled, getting up from her seat on the floor. "C'mon, Jake, let's go get the baby." She said to the dog after disturbing him from his own nap. Jake got up at the bidding and lumbered along after Scully. Mulder watched her go, and then looked back to Carol and Doug. "So, how do you like living in Maryland?" he asked. Carol answered, "Well, it's not Chicago, but it's all right, I guess." "The increase in pay helps," Doug added with a chuckle. "The girls seem to like it, but they keep asking me where the snow is." Carol said. Mulder laughed lightly. "You get used to Maryland weather after a while. I grew up in Massachusetts myself. Seems like Maryland is weird weather central." "It was always that way in college," Carol agreed. "At least from what I remember, I spent too much time partying with Dana to remember the weather." Carol looked up past Mulder, watching Scully as she descended the stairs, this time carrying a baby in her arms. "What did I miss?" She asked, resuming her seat on the floor, this time with Reese in her lap. "We were just talking about your college partying days." Mulder cracked. "I didn't know you were such a wild child, Scully." He said, grinning wryly. Scully passed him a sarcastic "very funny" smirk. "It was my junior year, everyone parties that year. Even you, Mulder." Mulder shook his head. "No, unfortunately Oxford isn't a big party college." "That's too bad," Carol said in mock sympathy. "We had some good times, didn't we?" Scully nodded in agreement, setting Reese before her. He watched as Carol spoke, sucking intently on a plastic baby toy. "Oh, oh!" Carol exclaimed, remembering something long forgotten. "Do you remember a guy named Liam Connelly, they called him Lion?" "Oh yeah, how could I forget Lion? I hated him! He used to call me Red, I don't even think he knew my real name." Carol laughed. "I remember it was his bright idea to go out and party the night before a big test, he said it was 'relaxation therapy'. We were all so hung-over the next day no one passed." "I remember that," Scully said with a reminiscing smile on her face. As if bored with hearing the conversation, Reese made a sudden, babbling noise and flailed his toy up and down. Scully picked him up and turned him over, so he lay on his belly on the floor. "Is he crawling yet?" Doug asked, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "No," Scully replied. "Not quite yet." She watched as the baby bounced up and down on his hands, in motions somewhat resembling awkward push-ups. "He revs the engine but he can't get it going." Mulder added. Doug snickered. "Could I hold him?" He asked. "Sure," Scully said, lifting up the infant and settling him easily into Doug's hands. Doug held up the baby, soon having him standing in his lap, letting him support himself with firm little grips on Doug's hands. His legs bore weight well, as a six-month-old infant's should. "He's grown so much since last time I saw him." Doug said. "What does he weigh now?" He asked Scully. "About fifteen and six ounces." She replied, only barely thinking about it. "He's getting big," Carol remarked, reaching over and gently touching his soft brown hair. Reese was lapping up the attention, he bounced and kicked his legs, smiling adorably and drooling happily. It was amazing how fast he grew in six months, going from a mere six pounds, seven ounces at birth to his now fifteen plus. He was born with dark brown hair that he hadn't lost, and was now beginning to curl at the ends with the genes of both Mulder and Scully. He had light blue eyes that followed anything moving in his vision. After a few more minutes, Doug gently placed Reese back in the arms of his mother who carried him to the playpen. She had just settled him in when the phone rang. She turned around and headed for the kitchen. "I'll get that," she said with a little sigh. Just as Scully entered the big kitchen, the dog was leaving. He lumbered lazily back out to the living room, long tail wagging limply. He was obviously a young dog by looks, his legs long and muscular, his body compact and lean. He was only eight months old, a puppy by many standards. Yet he was surprisingly docile, almost sluggish. He plodded over to the playpen, hung his head over the edge and looked down at Reese, ears pricked forward. "The dog gets along with the baby?" Carol asked curiously; almost as if she was surprised Mulder and Scully let the big animal so close around the baby. "Yeah," Mulder said. "Jake, c'mere." He beckoned, patting his lap lightly. The tall, dark brown lab turned around and walked over to him, resting his head in his lap. "He's incredibly calm. He thinks he's the babysitter, always with Reese when one of us steps out of the room. He seems really lethargic in here, but when he's outside playing he's wild, just like any puppy." He explained, scratching the young dog behind the ears. "Mulder," Scully said from the kitchen entryway, her hand covering the receiver. "It's for you...it's about your mother." She said solemnly, as if something had just stunned her. "What about her?" He asked absently, thinking nothing of it at first. Scully hesitated, debating whether or not to announce it. "She's dead." She finally said numbly. Mulder's face deadpanned. He looked at Doug and Carol, whose faces were just about as shocked. Then he got out of his chair quickly, practically jumping over it in his haste to get to the phone. "Hello," He said quickly to whoever was on the other end. Scully watched him for a second as he talked to the doctor, and then looked back at her guests. She felt guilty, as she heard Mulder telling the doctor he understood, for announcing it like that. She should have waited and told him in private. "I'm so sorry, Dana," Carol said consolingly, "How did it happen?" Scully sighed, unable to come up with a discernable emotion for the situation. All her emotions were so jumbled by the news she didn't know what to feel. "The medical examiner I just talked to said she died in her sleep, it was a stroke. She had a stroke a few years ago, but she recovered fully. This is so sudden." She looked at the floor, still shocked and numbed. "Were you two close?" She shrugged and shook her head a little. "Not really, I mean...we were friends...but we weren't terribly close." The sound of the phone being dropped back in the cradle signified the finish of Mulder's conversation. He appeared in the entryway a few moments later, his face was as blank and confused as Scully felt. Scully looked at him, communicating a thousand words and expressions in that single glance. In that same unspoken conversation, he knew she was feeling that same stunned numbness he was. "Um, it's getting kind of late, I think we better be on our way," Doug declared, making a motion to look at his watch and then rising from the sofa. "Carol?" He beckoned her as backup. "Yeah," She agreed, also standing. "I'll go get the girls," Doug said as he started to the stairs leading to the second floor. Scully helped Carol gather their coats from the coat hooks by the front door while Mulder sank back into his chair, staring blankly at the wall. "Well, overall this was fun," Carol said, passing a quick glance over Scully's shoulder at her friend's husband. "We'll have to do it again." "We will," Scully agreed, with little enthusiasm. Carol had just pulled on her thick parka when Doug returned down the stairs, this time with two twin girls leading him, and Zoe following behind them. She handed Doug one of the small coats, so he could wrangle one of the energetic toddlers and get her coat on, while Carol got the other. Luckily, the two girls, with their bouncy brown curls and dark brown eyes, were relatively cooperative and allowed the coats to be put on them. Doug opened the heavy oak door and outer screen door in preparation to leave, after he too put on his coat. "Let's go!" One of the girls declared, tromping towards the door, followed closely by her giggling sister. "Whoa, whoa," Carol caught them by the hood of their parkas before the got out the door too far. They turned around and looked at their mother with impish little grins. "What do you say to Ms. Dana for letting you two come over?" "Tank yooooo," They said simultaneously, not quite pronouncing the words properly. "And to Zoe for letting you scatter her toys everywhere?" They repeated the exaggerated thanking, receiving a bashful smile from the older blonde girl sitting on the stairs. Carol smiled and then turned to usher them out the door. Scully followed to shut the door behind them, shivering in the cold air as it seeped into the house. She watched as they crossed the yard in the inky darkness to their car, sending them a wave as they pulled down the driveway. Then she shut the door and turned around. "Something happened to Gramma Teena." Zoe said, not as a question, but as a statement of fact. She immediately picked up on what was going on, so as her abilities allowed her. She was able to read minds; thoughts, emotions, and memories, like a computer. "She's gone." Scully nodded. "Yeah, she passed away last night. Why don't you take Reese upstairs and I'll be up in a second?" She suggested. "Okay," Zoe said, crossing the living room to retrieve her baby brother. She picked him up carefully, holding him tight even as he squirmed in her arms. Then she carried him up the stairs, only looking back once at her parents as she took her brother into his room. Scully looked at Mulder as he stood slowly, waiting for anything he might say. He was still incredibly shocked and almost unable to believe it had actually happened. "I have to call Samantha," He muttered, passing Scully to get back into the kitchen. "Mulder," She touched his shoulder as he brushed by, stopping him. "Are you okay?" She asked softly, visible tears already beginning to fill her eyes. Mulder shrugged and sighed, hanging his head in confusion. "I don't know," He answered. Scully stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head on his chest. He welcomed the embrace, hugging her tightly and kissing her hairline. He exhaled softly again before speaking: "It's just so sudden." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He had called his sister that very night, and talked to her for a half an hour. After missing her and searching for her for nearly thirty years, he had finally run into his long-lost sister at a spring fair of all places. Now he and Samantha had only gotten seven months of catching up and reuniting with family before this. She was incredibly upset over the phone, crying about how she had only talked to their mother the day before, making plans for when they would all visit for Christmas. Mulder didn't sleep at all that night, only lying awake in bed, suddenly faced with those dizzying thoughts of mortality. He too, had just talked to his mother just days before, and now he would never talk to her again. It caused him to think of his own mortality, his friends' lives, and his family's lives. He spent the entire following day on the phone, talking to family members, people he hadn't spoken to since his childhood. He and Sam split up the family, who would call who. He sat through the relentless sobbing of three aunts, and the questioning of four cousins. It didn't surprise him that half the family only remembered him as he was as a child, and the other half thought he was dead. Samantha, on the other hand, was well remembered. After coming out of her hiding, her secret life, she called and visited all the family, spending as many holidays as possible with them. They knew who she was. He and Sam had taken the redeye to Greenwich, Connecticut to speak with doctors, listen to the reading of her will, and begin boxing up the belongs in her house that they wanted to keep. Mrs. Mulder had bequeathed everything to her son, letting him decide where everything would go. He decided to leave the furniture in the house, and sell it, it wasn't the home he grew up in, and neither he nor Samantha was planning on moving. He left it up to her lawyer to get a realtor and sell it. Neither of the two siblings cared how much they got for it either. They worked for the day and into the night packing up all of the rest of their mother's belongings, to be shipped back to Mulder's house, where they would sort and sift through it for what they wanted to keep, and what they wanted to sell. All of this happened in two days. Mulder hadn't grieved for his mother's death, he hadn't cried. He wasn't sure why he felt no outright emotions, because in his heart he was miserable and sad, just not yet on the outside. Scully stayed behind when he went to his mother's home, knowing it would be something he wanted to do with only his sister. He had just returned that night he sat in the kitchen, nursing a glass of scotch. It was nearing three a.m. when there was a soft knock on the front door. Mulder sat still, not exactly sure if it was his imagination or not. But then it came again, a little bit harder and louder. He sighed and stood up reluctantly, sourly wondering who the hell was visiting at this dead hour of the morning. Jake, who had been sleeping at his feet, got up when he went to the door, following him to see who was there. Mulder unlocked the deadbolt and opened the heavy door. His sister stood just behind the summer screen door. She shivered in the cold, her breath puffing before her in a white cloud. "Samantha," Mulder whispered to himself. It was still amazing every time to see her. She looked so different, but then so familiar at the same time. She may have grown into a beautiful woman, with a loving husband, and an adorable four-year-old son, but her eyes were still the same old soft hazel. Her face was still the same, always containing a certain captivating innocence, regardless of what may have happened in her life. "Are you going to let me in?" Sam asked smartly, crossing her arms across her chest. Mulder shook his head to escape his reverie. He turned from the door, motioning for her to come in. She opened the door and stepped in, closing the inside door behind her. Jake was there to greet her, wagging his tail lightly, she patted him gently on the head. She took off her coat and scarf, and hung them on the coat rack, her eyes wandering to the kitchen where Mulder had returned. She followed and sat in the chair beside him, placing her hand on his. "Couldn't sleep either?" Mulder asked her, adding more scotch to his glass and then offering her a glass. "No thanks," She said, pushing away the offer. "I was in the neighborhood." She answered simply. Mulder cracked a little grin. "Sam you live two hours away, even I find it a little hard to believe you were in the neighborhood." Sam shrugged and smiled a little. Then she looked to her brother's eyes. "I just wanted to see you, to talk to someone. Mike's there for me, but he's not my brother." She paused. "How are you, Fox?" She asked. Mulder sighed. "Aside from the fact that I haven't slept in the last seventy-two hours, I'm doing okay." He said. "Baby keeping you up?" She asked next, hoping to make conversation other than the events of the past few days. Mulder shook his head, taking another drink of the liquor. "Conscience." He said simply. Sam picked up the half full bottle, absently pretending to read the label. "This is what you do to cure insomnia? Somehow I don't think that is exactly following a doctor's orders." Mulder chuckled and covered his mouth with his fist against an outward belch. "At least I don't go driving to other people's houses at three in the morning." Sam rolled her eyes and set the bottle back down. It was a good feeling, a comforting feeling, to know that they could still pick on each other like they did as children. It was something she had missed growing up with foster families, she either had no siblings, or they didn't quite accept her. "How's Cole?" Mulder asked her. "He's okay, four-year-olds are tough." She said. "He still gets nightmares once in a while, but I think he's mostly forgetting it happened." Her thoughts lingered for a moment on that summer afternoon when he was taken from her, kidnapped by the very men she worked for. All because she let her brother in on conspiracy secrets he never should have known. She had learned her lesson now, refusing to tell him about her work anymore. She still wasn't sure what they did to her son, but at least he was alive. Sam looked down at the wooden kitchen table, absently running her fingers over the smooth surface. She knew there were things they needed to discuss about their mother's death that simply couldn't be avoided, but she didn't know how to bring up the subject. "I..." She began, but trailed off into a pause. "What?" Mulder asked, looking at her. She looked up at his face. "I made the funeral arrangements for Saturday at one o'clock. We're still burying her with dad, on the family plot. It's just too expensive to do it anywhere else." She explained with a sigh. Even though their parents had been divorced, they were still going to rest next to one another. "It's not like Dad would notice her there anyway." Mulder said blandly. "The moving van with all of the stuff from her house will be here by next Monday. It is all right for it to come here, right?" Mulder nodded. He wasn't looking forward to going through his mother's things, not at all. He firmly believed that old skeletons should be left in the closet. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to find the old memories his mother kept, for fear he might bring up some horrible secrets. But at the same time, he wanted to find those secrets, to know and understand what went wrong with the Mulder family. "It's hard to believe she's gone." He said quietly after a few minutes. Sam squeezed her brother's hand. "At least we know she didn't suffer." She said. "At least..." Mulder repeated, his mind returning to the idea of those secrets. What could he dig up? What did their mother know? Would he want to find out? Garden of Reflection Parkway Cemetery Massachusetts Saturday, December 7, 2001 It rained the day they buried her. Not a quick shower that simply left everything wet, this was a steady, weepy drizzle. At times it was fog, or mist. The rain was just bad enough for the need of umbrellas, but just soft enough to be annoying and not drenching. It was as though the heavens mourned. After the long, slow procession from the funeral home to the cemetery, the rather large group of mourners gathered around the open, empty grave beside the plot where William Mulder had been buried for five years. The grave had wreaths and stands of flowers adorning the grass around the grave and the marble headstone. Some of the family and friends witnessing the burial went up to the black coffin after it came to rest beside the grave to lay flowers upon it, and give their last sentiments. Samantha approached the coffin with a bundle of fresh chrysanthemums, her mother's favorite flowers. She laid them on top of the fancy coffin, resting her hand momentarily on the cool wooden surface. All at once she turned away, burying her face in her husband's chest and sobbing. Her young son held onto his father's hand for dear life, a little confused with what was going on. The small gathering of mourners grew as more people got out of their cars. The priest stood under an umbrella, reviewing what he was going to say. There were no chairs to sit on, not in the rain. The final amount of people at the ceremony clustered together around the setup, combining together in a black flock. Mulder stood just beyond the gravesite and coffin. He held a black umbrella in the air, unmindful of the water dripping from the umbrella spokes. Scully and Zoe both huddled under the umbrella as well, solemnly looking on as the priest readied to begin. Mulder had not grieved in tears openly at all since hearing of his mother's passing. He had comforted his sister and daughter in their mourning, and supported his wife in her uncertainty. He would not cry, not until the grief caught up with him. And he would only do so privately, in the loving arms of Scully, or alone, when no one was watching. The priest finally cleared his throat and stood up straight, gaining everyone's attention. "Dearly beloved," he began, raising his arms into the air. "We are gathered here today to lay to rest the body of Teena Mulder, a mother, a sister, and a friend..." As the priest continued on, the sobs from the mourners waxed and waned. But what no one noticed was the figure standing on a hill, far from the attention of the group. With a heavy heart, he watched the woman he knew so well as she was immortalized in words. He wouldn't go and pay his respects to her, not until the funeral procession was long gone. Then he would spend a few minutes, taking care to lay a bundle of her beloved mums of her gravestone, and then perhaps speaking to her in spirit. For now, he would remain in the shadows, watching the ceremony from afar. He took a long drag on the cigarette in his hand, and then dropped it into the soggy grass before returning his attention to the burial. Though many wouldn't care to admit it, he had a heart. Some would beg to say he had a cold, black heart, others may differ that he had one at all. Regardless of what those who knew him said, he was human and he had human feelings. One of those was love. He had loved her. He had loved Teena Mulder more than her husband ever did. Another was sorrow. He missed her so much, it was tormenting. He absently brushed a single tear from his eye, and started back to his black sedan to wait for the procession to leave. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 2 FBI Headquarters Washington D.C. Monday, December 10, 2001 "G'morning, Agent Scully," The armed security guard said cheerfully. The name on his badge was printed as 'Earl'. Earl may not have had the highest IQ of all the federal employees around him, but he was certainly a lot more reliable and punctual than many of them. He was working the same badge check nine times out of ten when Scully came through. Today was no exception. "I thought you wasn't coming back until after New Year's?" He inquired. He looked at her questioningly, also noticing the infant she carried in a carrier. "I'm not working today, Earl, I'm just here for a meeting." Scully answered with an exasperated sigh and a smile. "Got no babysitter?" he asked. Scully nodded, shifting the baby carrier to the crook of her arm to dig her badge out of her jacket pocket. "Ain't he a beautiful baby?" Earl said, smiling at infant secured in the carrier. "He looks just like you." "Thank you," She said and smiled after successfully retrieving her badge and showing it dutifully to the guard. Earl grinned and waved Scully through. Scully shifted the carrier again, now to be carried properly with the center handle grip. She took a big risk bringing Reese to the office, not really breaking the rules, but bending them. There were no written rules against bringing an infant into a federal building, but it was a work place, and it was just something you didn't do. And Scully wouldn't have, had she not been stuck between a rock and a hard place. She marched expertly down the winding halls and passageways, past the conference rooms and the cafeteria, past the tour group area, and to the double elevators. She pressed the down button by the leftmost elevator, and waited rather impatiently for it to stop on the lobby level. Reese remained oblivious to all; completely enthralled with the flashing numbers above the sliding elevator doors that displayed what floor the elevator was on. Scully had to smile and his simple amusement. An electronic bell sounded as the elevator reached the floor and the doors slid open. Scully stepped slightly to the side to prevent the flood of people exiting the elevator from bumping or jarring the baby carrier. She got a few looks from the people stepping off, but not many, considering most of the group was a tour. Scully sighed, stepping onto the elevator platform and pressing the button for the second to lowest level, the floor just above the boiler rooms, the basement. A handful of people boarded the elevator around her, and, "Hold the elevator!" was called a few times. By the time the elevator was moving, it was packed. A few agents Scully only slightly recognized looked at her, and at the infant sitting in the carrier at her side. Most of the colder looks were from female agents, out of some odd form of jealousy. Scully never knew what gave the agents that jealousy, whether it was the fact that she married her incredibly attractive partner, or that she now had the life some of the others strived for. Quite frankly, she didn't really care. It only took a few seconds for the downward moving elevator to halt at its first stop, the basement. Unsurprisingly, Scully was the only one to exit, as the only people that actually worked in the bowels of the FBI's headquarters were herself and Mulder. Everything else down there was old files and archives. She shifted the carrier again to carry it more comfortably in her hand. Reese gibbered on happily, almost as if trying to say where they were going. "Yes, Reese, we're going to see Daddy," Scully answered like she knew what her son was talking about. She paused just outside the closed door to Mulder's and her office. For so long, she had only though of it as his office, until he silenced her nagging with a brass nameplate on the door, not to mention her own desk in the office. Now, the door read 'Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Special Agents'. Not bothering to knock, Scully opened the door and stepped inside. Whatever conversation was going on broke off when she entered the room. With a quick glance at the clock on the wall, Scully muttered a few mental curses, and picked up her already hurried pace. "Scully?" Mulder looked at her inquiringly. "What are you doing here?" Scully set the baby carrier onto her half clear desktop, and unloaded the diaper bag to the floor. Mulder's temporary rookie partner, Jack Harley, turned around when Scully entered, an open case folder in his hand, he looked as surprised as Mulder sounded. "What I get no, 'hi, Honey, nice to see you?' anymore?" She asked jokingly, making certain her son was okay. Mulder stood up his seat behind his desk, grinning sheepishly. "Hi, Honey," he said, "Now seriously, why are you and Reese here?" Scully began flurrying about the office, frantically searching her desk drawers for some unknown object. She spoke as she moved, "Because I have a meeting with Skinner about my coming back to work that started five minutes ago. I have to be at Quantico by eleven o'clock and then Carol's expecting me at the clinic at one. The usual babysitter had some family emergency and had to go to West Virginia and my backup babysitter bailed on me." She found the papers she was looking for, and once again gave a glance to her son, who was playing with Jack. "So, you guys are my backup-backup babysitters." "This isn't some daycare, Scully," Mulder deadpanned, advancing towards his wife, "You can't just leave the children here and expect us to watch them." Scully let a smirk cross her face, playing into Mulder's sarcastic hassling. "It's not a zoo either but they let you in." She replied smartly, stepping closer to Mulder. "Ooh, harsh," he said softly, smiling and looking into her eyes. She smiled back and met his lips in a sweet kiss. After a few split seconds, Scully shook him off and turned away, still searching hastily for something. She looked in all her desk drawers, finding nothing. Exhaling exasperatedly, she looked to Jack. He was leaning against her desk, Reese resting over his shoulder. He raised his eyebrows in an expression that he was of no help. Scully sorted through the clutter on her desk, succeeding in knocking over a family picture and an old black-and-white of Mulder and Zoe. She hated clutter, all the junk on her desk was Mulder's, and that was what she got for leaving him alone in the office for six months. Finally, she found the small stack of papers underneath four case folders. Pausing before a framed document on the wall to check her reflection in the glass, Scully gave a glance back to be certain she hadn't left anything behind, and then shot back a few more words to her husband and Jack, "Reese is going to need to be fed in an hour, try and get him to eat the applesauce in the bag." She looked to Jack and Reese. "'Bye Sweetie," she said. "'Bye," Jack answered, knowing very well Scully was actually talking to her son. Scully rolled her eyes and started out the door, folders and papers in hand. "I'll be back in a few hours," She tossed over he shoulder as she headed back to the elevator. Jack looked at Mulder and shrugged. Over the period of six months, Mulder had lost some of his resent towards a temporary partner. At first he was wary about trusting Jack, always remembering a man named Alex Krycek, back-stabber extraordinaire. After awhile, he learned that Jack was as trustworthy as anyone, to some degree. He was by no means experienced, only working on the field for a year, half of that with Mulder. Smart-mouthed and wet behind the ears were not characteristics Mulder found appealing in a partner. Jack Harley was all of those and then some. In Mulder's opinion, Jack was too smart for his own good, and therefore he was unable to be completely trusted. Nevertheless, Jack was a good guy, and he worked hard. But he wasn't Scully. One may have thought Mulder to find it refreshing not having someone downsizing his unorthodox theories at every chance, but Scully's hardcore basis in science and reality was what kept him grounded, and he was very glad she would be coming back to work in less than a month. Mulder looked down at the file on the desktop before him. He reread a little of it, but quickly lost his concentration in the sound of Jack childishly talking to Reese. Another bad point of not having Scully around; he had to do the follow-up reports himself. His attention eventually wandered to the objects on his desk; the few sharps pencils in front of the desk lamp in particular. Picking up one of the pencils, he leaned back in his chair, aimed for the tiled ceiling where other pencils were stuck like darts in a pegboard, and let it fly. The pencil jabbed into the ceiling and stayed, but knocked down a different pencil. Mulder dodged the wooden yellow missile and then looked back to his messy desk for something else to do. There were pictures everywhere. Not only the framed standing ones on his desk, but the ones taped around his computer monitor, the ones stuck with push pins in the pegboard behind him. Some of the photos were older, of only him and Scully, some from newspaper articles. Some were of bizarre occurrences, blurry photos of the Loch Ness monster or flying saucers. But over the past two years, the amount of weird case photos had decreased, while pictures of he and Scully and pictures of Zoe had been added. His favorite pictures were ones that he took, in a little fit of amateur photography. They were black and white, framed and sitting in plain view on his desk. The first was of Scully in casual shorts and a tank top, clothes a little less dignified but a little warmer than her strong power suits. Her hair was bound in a loose ponytail, with some strands of her hair framing her face. She was sitting on the floor, her legs folded up in front of her. Lying on her lap, supported up by her thighs, was Reese, clad in nothing but a diaper. Scully's eyes were closed, and her lips just pressing against the baby's forehead. It was such a serene picture, so domesticated and tranquil. It portrayed one of those few peaceful moments in their lives with just the family, without the worries of cases or work or the weight of the world. The other picture was of Zoe. She was lying on a sofa sleeping, a striped cat lying beside her. It was taken at Scully's old apartment, just before they moved. Zoe had changed so much since the frightened, orphaned five-year-old they found alone in the park in DC. Almost immediately she was transformed, happily accepting Scully as her mother. Mulder always knew Zoe resented, perhaps even hated, her birth parents for what they subjected her to, for all the tests she endured, and all the experiments they performed. He knew she was perfectly happy having Scully as her mother, Mulder as her father, and now Reese as the little brother she always wanted. "Hey, Mulder," Mulder's thoughts were interrupted by Jack's voice and his sudden presence beside him. He jerked his head up at Jack, escaping his reverie. Jack handed Reese over to him, rather than saying anything. "I've gotta go upstairs and get those reports." Jack reminded him, running his fingers through his dirty blonde hair. "I'll be back in a few." He said, turning towards the door. Mulder sighed and lifted Reese to his desktop, supporting him as he sat up. "Looks like it's just you and me, bud," he said. Reese babbled and drooled and grabbed his father's considerably larger finger in his chubby little hand. Mulder picked the baby up again and set him on his lap. "Now you can see what your old man does all day." He reached forward over the desktop and picked up a case folder from his inbox, something sent down from the Violent Crimes Section. When the VCS Agents came across a bizarre case, they usually sent it away, where it fell into Mulder's lap. Some of the cases were bona fide X- files; while others were just crappy assignments no one wanted to claim. Mulder flipped open the file to the photocopied police reports. "Mysterious deaths," he mused. "Four mysterious deaths in Philadelphia, Baltimore, New York, and now in Chicago. Hmm..." he read a little in silence, and then furrowed his eyebrows thoughtfully. "I think we may have ourselves an X-File, Reese." He said aloud. Not five minutes went by when a knock sounded on the closed office door. Mulder knew it couldn't have been Jack or Scully, neither of them ever knocked. He looked up from his police reports, slightly irritated with the distraction. Standing up with Reese in one arm, he called, "Come in," to whoever was at the door. A young woman with cropped brunette hair poked her head inside the door, a large goldenrod envelope in her hand. "Agent Mulder, this just came for you, there's no--" Her speech was cut off when her eyes caught sight of the baby. Her young face split into a smile, "Is that your baby?" She asked vibrantly, entering the office without hesitation. Mulder merely nodded, fighting off the urge to sarcastically remark that some woman just left the baby there. "Aw!" The woman squealed, approaching Reese. "Can I hold him?" She asked excitedly. Mulder consented and gently handed the baby over to the arms of the mail girl. He watched for a moment as the girl, Anna her name was, played with Reese. She acted just like all the other women did that saw Reese, cooing and gibbering in baby talk. They always tickled him to see his adorable little smile. He was a real lady-killer. "You know, everyone upstairs is talking about this little guy. A few people saw Agent Scully bring him in." Anna the mail girl said, cradling the baby. Not usually one to partake in office gossip, Mulder was intrigued. He had always known there was gossip revolving around him, how else would he have gotten the name 'Spooky Mulder'? There always was gossip about him and Scully, and it had increased steadily with their romantic involvement, their marriage, and everything else. "What are they saying?" Mulder asked casually. "Oh, the usual. The same thing they said when they found out Agent Scully was pregnant, and then every time they saw her. You know." Anna replied, giving Reese back to Mulder. Mulder nodded. He didn't know what the usual was, but he had a few guesses that cash bets were something at the center of it. People would talk, and talk they did. It wouldn't have surprised him in the least if they did have money pools going about them. They would just never be content to let it go. He shook his head, and remembered why Anna was down in his office in the first place. "You have something for me?" he gestured towards the envelope still in her hand. "Oh yeah," Anna said laughing. "It came for you upstairs, there's no return address or name or anything. I don't think it's a bomb or anything." She said with a chuckle. Mulder took the folder in his free hand and carried Reese back to the baby carrier that sat on Scully's desk. "Thank you," he said as he settled Reese back into the seat. "No problem," Anna called as she left the office, closing the door as she went. Mulder picked up the baby carrier and brought it over to his desk, moving some files from the desktop to make room for it. After making sure the seat was firmly on the desktop, he picked up a letter opener, inspecting the outside of the file. The only thing that was printed on the outside was, Agent Fox Mulder, FBI. Mulder jabbed the metal letter opener into the glued paper seam of the envelope and ripped open the end. From inside the larger yellow envelope, Mulder pulled out an unmarked, letter-sized envelope. His curiosity growing due to the care the sender took to package the paper, Mulder hastily ripped open the small envelope and unfolded a piece of paper from inside. The message was typewritten and straight to the point, the only name on it was his: Agent Mulder National Air and Space Museum Apollo 11 Exhibit 12:00 sharp Come alone Mulder harrumphed and reread the note. It always escaped him why potential informants always sent him notes like these. He hadn't the foggiest idea what this little rendezvous could be about either; he hadn't stumbled across any clues towards anything important recently, had he? He looked at his watch, and then at the baby in the seat on his desk. He still had half an hour until noon. If it had not been for his overwhelming curiosity and the intuitive feeling that this meeting could be something important, he probably wouldn't have even considered going. But to just leave a potential chance at the truth open like this was against Mulder's beliefs. Of course he would go. He looked back to the opened file detailing the four deaths in the four cities, and faintly wondered if there was any connection. There were two references on the newest report from Chicago, one was a police officer by the name of Slane, and the other was a doctor by the name of Greene. He would give those two a call later. He got out of his seat quickly, pulling on his charcoal suit coat and stuffing the envelope into the inside breast pocket. Luckily for him, Jack was just returning to the office before he left. He never even allowed Jack to talk, breezing by him and to the office doorway, "Watch Reese for me, I've got a meeting," he told him. "Wait," Jack prompted, following him halfway out of the office, "What meeting?" Mulder turned around, but continued walking backwards up the hallway. "A meeting, don't worry about it, just watch Reese. I'm going to go see if I can catch Scully. If not, just watch him until I get back." Jack stood in the doorway shaking his head as Mulder pressed the elevator button repeatedly. After a few eternal seconds, the elevator doors opened to the empty elevator and Mulder boarded. He did need to catch Scully; hopefully she hadn't left, because he wasn't too sure how able Jack was to watch an infant. Finally the elevator reached the floor of the Assistant Directors' offices and the doors again slid open. He marched quickly down the rather crowded corridor, apologizing every time he bumped into someone. Assistant Director Skinner's office was the fourth one from the hall; his secretary was conveniently on the phone when Mulder poked his head in the door. She held up her index finger in a wait gesture as she transferred the call into Skinner's connecting office. "Yes, Agent Mulder," The secretary, Kimberly, said. "Has Agent Scully left yet?" He asked brusquely. Kimberly shook her head, "You just missed her; she left about ten minutes ago." "Damn it." Mulder mumbled under his breath. She was long gone by now. "Thanks anyway," he said as he left the office and began back down the hall. Jack would just have to be on his own until Mulder got back. National Air and Space Museum Washington, DC The National Air and Space Museum was stood regally among other museums on the southern side of the huge square known simply as The Mall. Also the home of the National Gallery of Art, The National Museum of Natural History, and other Smithsonian buildings, The Mall was a popular place for school field trips. Public schools all over Maryland as far away as Baltimore and northern Carroll County as well as schools in Virginia all flocked to the area for the rich educational experience that was the Smithsonian Institution. It was no surprise to Mulder to see dozens of school groups gathered inside the tall glass doors and on the cement steps in front of the museum. He had even managed once to take a day off and go with Zoe on a field trip there. But this time, he was not there to enjoy the history and art; he was there purely for business. He grabbed a museum directory at the information desk just inside the doors and quickly began to make his way to the Moon Landing exhibits. Looking at his watch, he stood before the Apollo 11 exhibit, waiting impatiently for his twelve o'clock. He began to wish he knew something about the person he was going to meet, namely, gender or some kind of age group. He scanned the flowing group of people continuously, looking out for anyone that may be looking for him. He glanced at his watch again; his meeting was five minutes late. So much for twelve-sharp, he thought, turning around to lean over the rail and stare at the statue of Neil Armstrong taking the one small step for man and the one giant leap for mankind. He barely noticed when another man stood a few feet away from him and leaned against the railing. "You know," The man said, "The Soviet Union--Russia--and the United States competed for years to be able to put a man on the moon." Mulder turned his head and looked at the man, observing his features, already noting the thick east European accent in his voice. He was a man of average build, with brown hair streaked silver at the temples. Mulder couldn't see his eyes in the rather dim light, but he knew some how that they must be intelligent eyes, eyes that knew secrets. The man didn't acknowledge him, but continued talking, "But the US had more money and more stability. So, on July 20, 1969 an American astronaut was the first man to walk on the moon." He let a few long minutes of silence hang before looking at Mulder with glittering, steely blue eyes. He stood up straight and offered his hand. Mulder did the same, shaking the man's hand, taking into account the firm, confident grip. Also the way he shook Mulder's hand, quickly, once up, once down, then back to center, and released. It was a brief handshake, as if the man was untrusting in a way. "I am Dmitri Oslev, I'm very pleased you decided to follow my note, Agent Mulder," he said in his rolling Russian accent. Mulder cocked his head slightly, taking his turn to be wary. "How do you know who I am?" Dmitri Oslev laughed, but oddly enough his laughter was not cynical or evil in any way. It seemed a kind laughter, a laugh to be trusted. "I have my connections, Mulder." Mulder nodded, as if knowing that was how Dmitri was going to answer. "So why did you ask me to come here?" He questioned after a few silent moments. Dmitri smiled a toothy smile, flashing his pearly whites behind his silver-streaked mustache and goatee. "I was told you are a very impatient man." He said, a chuckle in his voice. Mulder exhaled, further displaying his annoyance. "I'm not impatient, I'm busy." He muttered just loud enough for Dmitri to hear. Walking past him, deeper into the exhibit wing, Dmitri beckoned him, "Come, we walk, I'll talk." Mulder did as he was told, strolling alongside the weathered Russian man. They stopped in front of a small exhibit displaying information about the Mars landing expeditions. "I find these Mars landing things comical, don't you?" Dmitri asked rhetorically. "Your NASA spends billions of dollars to send these intricate modules into space, and yet you still can't get a damn one to land! Why do you suppose that is?" He looked at Mulder, Mulder only shrugged. "Ah, I suppose we'll never know until we finally get men up there, to see what's there. People are always asking what could be there, what's on this mysterious neighboring planet. You know what I think the question we should be asking is? Not just 'is there life up there' but also, 'do we want to find out'?" He looked at Mulder again. Mulder looked at the pictures of the Mars land rovers that never completed their mission. This meeting had suddenly gone from an annoyance, to a captivation. This man had some answers, most definitely. Either that, or he was more insane than Mulder. "Just what are you trying to say?" Mulder asked Dmitri, his eyes intense on him. Dmitri smiled that eerie grin again. Then he looked away, the grin fading quickly to an emotionless scowl. "You are to go to Chicago, Agent Mulder." He said. "Leave today, get to that body as soon as you can, before they dispose of it. Make sure Agent Scully comes with you, she's going to want to see that body, as much as you." Mulder looked immediately confused. One minute, they were talking about Mars, the next about bodies in Chicago. "You'll understand when you get there." Dmitri assured him, reading the expensive-looking gold watch around his wrist. "I can't tell you anymore, and unfortunately our meeting must end." He turned abruptly to leave, dissolving into the museum crowd. "Wait," Mulder prompted, catching up to his elusive informant. "How do I contact you?" He asked quickly. Smiling once again, Dmitri answered, "You don't," And then, he turned around and disappeared, leaving Mulder dumbstruck in front of the Apollo 11 Lunar Mission exhibit. On the short drive back to the FBI Building, Mulder was on the phone, trying to contact Scully. Her cell phone rang multiple times, and then there was the screaming tones and the recorded voice telling him the phone was turned off or out of range. He muttered a few curses about how she never had her phone on when he needed her, and proceeded to pull into the parking garage. Jack was sitting behind Mulder's desk holding Reese, trying to silence his crying, when Mulder entered. He looked at Jack, wondering what had caused the baby to cry. Jack stood up and carried Reese over to Mulder, the infant still red-faced and screaming. "What happened?" Mulder asked him. "I don't know," Jack replied, almost in a panicky voice. "I think he's hungry, but I dunno how to feed him!" Shaking his head, Mulder took the baby, shushing him quietly, and settled him back into the baby carrier. Then he went over to the diaper bag and began rummaging through it. "How was I supposed to feed him anyway? I'm not a woman, I don't have breasts." Jack said. Mulder looked up at his younger partner, trying to be sure the man was serious in his naïve statement. Jack showed no signs that he was joking. He shook his head again and dug back into the bag, finally uncovering what he had been looking for, a small, unopened jar of baby applesauce. He pulled out the jar and tossed it to Jack. "It's called the miracles of jarred foods, Jack, you don't need breasts." Mulder said, trying hard not to laugh. "With all your nieces and nephews I would've thought would have fed them once or twice." Jack pretended to read the label on the jar, and then tossed it easily back to Mulder. "Hey, I'm just cool Uncle Jack, I just play with them, get them in trouble, I don't feed 'em." He said. After going back for a tiny, rubber spoon, Mulder sat down behind his desk in front of the baby carrier, and popped open the jar of applesauce. He shoveled a little onto the rubber part of the spoon and lifted up to Reese's mouth. Reese ate it eagerly, even though more than half dribbled down his chin. Meanwhile, Jack leaned against the corner of Mulder's desk, reading the open file that Mulder had left there. After a few silent minutes, he looked up at his partner. "Are we taking this case, Mulder?" He asked. "Is that the Chicago case?" Mulder questioned first, not sure of exactly which file Jack had. When Jack nodded, he continued, "Yup, I was planning on it. I'm actually going to see if Scully will come along, I've been told we may need her expertise. Don't worry; you'll still be coming along. It's about time you see an autopsy up close and personal." Jack chuffed. "It can't be that bad." He said. Mulder glanced up again after giving Reese another spoonful. "Have you ever seen an autopsy? No, you haven't. I thought the same thing, until I saw an autopsy. And I can tell you, seeing a baby born is less graphic than some autopsies." He paused for the next spoonful, and then he spoke as if he was thinking aloud. "I wonder how much Scully will wanna bet that you puke in the morgue?" Jack kept his eyes on the file like he was still reading. "Shut-up, Mulder." He mumbled. "Jackie," Mulder snapped, screwing the lid onto the jar when it became clear Reese was finished eating. Jack looked at him, glowering at the childish name. "Don't ever tell me to shut-up." Mulder told him, grinning. Jack just shook his head and finished reading the Chicago police report. Over the same time Mulder began to trust Jack, Jack began to accept Mulder as something of the brother he never had. Growing up with four sisters, and the absent drunkard dad, he was the only man of the house. He was glad to have a guy he could relate to in some way. When he was finished reading the report, Jack closed the folder and placed it back on Mulder's desktop. He hadn't even noticed that Mulder had stood up, carrying Reese over his shoulder and walking him around the room in hopes of enticing him to fall asleep. Jack straightened himself and went over to the row of four filing cabinets. There was where the very core of the X-Files investigative unit was stored, the files themselves. Jack opened one of the drawers and began leafing through the files, looking for a certain file. When he found it, he pulled out and offered it to Mulder. Mulder put Reese back in the seat, hoping he had been lulled to sleep enough for he and Jack to work. Taking the file from Jack, he read the case number, waiting for Jack to explain. "This is the case from '98, the virus that killed those people in Dallas and your little trip to Antarctica. It was totally blown off as factual without the hard evidence, but do you think this could be related to Chicago?" Jack questioned. Mulder looked at Jack curiously. "How did you know so much about this case?" He asked. Jack shrugged. "I did my homework. I spent a few nights reading all these cases. The unsolved ones especially. I know about your sister's abduction, Agent Scully's abduction, and I know about Zoe. I told you I was going to find out about you. And what better place to look than the files themselves?" Mulder was silent for the better part of a minute. "I haven't touched this file in the four years since I put it there." He said, savoring the moment of old recollection. "This virus was extra- terrestrial," he told Jack blatantly. "I think we'll wait until we see the body before we make that kind of assumption." Although he said this, he truly didn't believe it. Jack had brought something to light he hadn't even thought of. It hadn't exactly been said that a disease killed the four people, but it hadn't been disproved either. Could that be Dmitri Oslev's interest with the case? Now it was certain, he had to get to Chicago. Sitting heavily in his desk chair, Mulder picked up the phone from its cradle and putting it to his ear, dialed the number on the case file for the Dr. Greene in Chicago. The line rang twice, and a female voice answered. "Cook County ER, how may I help you?" Mulder answered in his normal, professional voice, "Hello, this Agent Mulder with the FBI, I need to speak to Dr. Greene, please." There was a brief pause on the line. "Yes, he's with a patient right now, you'll have to hold." The woman said. "Okay," Mulder replied, leaning back in his chair. He covered the mouthpiece as Jack filed the old case back into the cabinets. "Jack, I need you to book three flights to Chicago for tonight." He directed. "I hate the redeye," Jack said. "Stop whining, Jackie," Mulder told him. Jack sat at Scully's desk and picked up the phone, grumbling at Mulder. A few seconds later, there was a click on Mulder's line and a male voice answered, "Hello," "Hello, Dr. Greene, this is Agent Mulder with the FBI. I'm investigating the death of an Anthony DeCaro. I understand you could help me out with that." Mulder explained. "Yes," Greene said. "I do know of Anthony DeCaro. I hope you're not wondering what killed him because I couldn't tell you." "Actually that's what I'm investigating. I just need to know if his body is still in your morgue." "Yes, it is," "Has it been autopsied?" "No," Mulder smiled slightly. Success. "Good, please do not let anyone near that body, don't let anyone autopsy it, don't let it go anywhere." He said. "Okay, I can't make any promises but I'll do my best." Greene said, and then asked, "Are you coming up here to look at the body?" "Yes, we are." Mulder replied. "Thank you very much, Dr. Greene. I will probably be seeing you tomorrow." "Okay, good-bye," "Bye." Without hanging up the phone, Mulder disconnected the line and punched in the number for the Detective. The line rang multiple times, and a voicemail messenger picked up, with the same instructions for how to leave a message. Mulder sighed, disappointed that he would not be able to speak in person with the Detective, probably until they get to Chicago. "Detective Slane," he began, "This is Agent Mulder with the FBI. I've been handed the DeCaro case and I need to speak with you about some details of it. If you could get back to me, or one of my partners, I would greatly appreciate it. We will be flying out to Chicago this evening. You can contact me at 202-555-0182, Agent Scully at area code 555-0113, or Agent Harley at area code 555-4107. Thanks, bye." Looking across the room, Mulder saw Jack just getting off the phone after booking the flights. Jack leaned back in the chair, stretching his arms out behind him. "Three flights for 7:45 tonight, round-trip DC to Chicago." He said matter-of-factly. At the same time the words spilled from Jack's mouth, the office door swung open and Scully stepped in. Her pace was a little less hurried than earlier in the morning, but she had no desire to be delayed. "What's in Chicago?" She inquired, crossing the room to Mulder's desk and Reese. Mulder stood up, to allow Scully access to Reese. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that," he began. "Okay," she said, tucking a pale blue baby blanket around sleeping Reese in preparation for the car ride to the hospital where he would be looked after at the daycare. "How would you like to go to Chicago?" Mulder asked her, already trying to be as persuasive as possible. She shot him a questioning glance. "Somehow I don't think it would be for a vacation." She added. Mulder snickered light-heartedly. "No, it's for a case as a matter of fact. I was handed a case this morning, and well...maybe you should just look at the file." He held up the case file to her. She sighed and took the file, and then began to quickly review some of the contents. Her eyebrow arched in an expressively skeptical manner, she looked up from the report at her husband. "This sounds more like a case for the CDC, Mulder." She told him honestly. "Maybe so, but maybe not. Regardless, the police asked us to help, and I think they deserve our looking into it." Rather than lift up the baby carrier in her urgency to get to her next stop across town, she stood before Mulder, stolidly glaring into his hazel eyes, and crossed her arms. "You were assigned this case Mulder, you and Jack. I am not officially on duty until January." But he was determined. His eyes softened and the casual grin on his face faded to a grim seriousness. "Please," He muttered, "I could really use your help on this. Jack or I, we wouldn't know what we were looking at when we saw the body. Even the doctors in Chicago don't know what killed these people." Scully groaned and averted her eyes, already taken in by Mulder's infamous, pleading, 'puppy-face'. "I don't know, I can't just drop everything and fly out to Chicago. What about Zoe and Reese?" She argued adamantly. "And what about Jack?" She gestured toward the younger man occupying her desk. The grin spread across Mulder's lips again. "Jack will come along, and your mother can watch the kids, she has before." He said. Scully sighed again and dropped her hands to her sides in surrender. "When do we leave?" She asked. "Seven forty-five tonight." Mulder replied. "That gives you time to pack." Scully picked up the baby carrier and shouldered the diaper bag. "I wish I could, but I'm supposed to work at the clinic today, remember? Carol's always in need of help, especially a doctor's." "No time for lunch?" Mulder asked. "Nope," "Okay, Jack and I are gonna get out of here and grab some lunch. I'll see you later at home." Scully smiled in reply, leaning up to kiss Mulder on the corner of his mouth. "Bye," She said, turning towards the door. "Later, Jack," she called on her way out. Jack gave her a salutary wave, leaning back in her chair and propping his feet on top of the papers. "Congratulations, Mulder," He said when he was certain Scully was out of earshot. "Kudos on your persuasion techniques. I wish I could get women to do what I wanted." Mulder smiled. "I've been doing this for a long time." He told Jack, and then sat back at his desk to do some research on the case at hand. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 3 Cook County General Hospital Chicago, Illinois Tuesday, December 11, 2001 The red lights of an incoming ambulance flashed through the rental car windows as they pulled into the ER parking lot. The sirens were choked off as it pulled to a halt and the back doors flung open. Nurses clad in yellow smocks held open the door as the EMT 's pushed in the gurney, barking the patient's vitals and what had happened. The three agents that had climbed out of the rental car into the biting Chicago cold watched the spectacle and then started towards the ER admit doors. The bustle that greeted them inside the hospital was characteristic of the arrival of a new trauma. More nurses and doctors rushed to and fro, and faint shouting could be heard from just inside the trauma room. The shortest of the trio of federal agents, a woman with chin- length auburn hair, looked from one end of the corridor to the other, feeling a tinge of nostalgia from her own residency, so many years ago. Her tall husband before her stepped up to the admitting desk and patiently waited a few moments for the clerk to appear and ask if she could help him. He smiled a quick greeting, pulling his badge from his jacket pocket. "I'm Agent Mulder," he said, "I'm here to see Dr. Greene." The clerk nodded and turned her head to look at the patient board behind her telling what doctors were where. Then she turned back to the suited agents before her. "He's in with a patient, you'll have to wait in chairs." She leaned forward over the counter and pointed to the small area housing a few rows of waiting chairs and vending machines. "Thank you," Mulder said, nodding to her and heading in that direction. Mulder and Scully took a seat in two end chairs while Jack wandered over to the vending machines. Mulder watched the hall as a doctor hurried past to the trauma rooms, his white lab coat flapping at his sides. Mere minutes later, just outside the trauma room, Dr. Mark Greene watched a moment as a stabilized patient was transported quickly to the elevator to the operating room. He sighed, turning back toward the admit desk. Just as he was about to enter, a young intern brushed by him, and then turned around, calling, "Dr. Greene, there's some FBI agents lookin' for ya!" Then he pointed flagrantly with two hands in the direction of the waiting room. Mark scanned the waiting room, spotting a man and a woman in suits and trench coats conversing in the two end chairs, another man joined them from the vending machines. He hadn't expected them so soon, especially not at six a.m. But then, perhaps FBI agents didn't sleep... Shaking his head, he started over to the trio. Mulder looked up from speaking to Scully in time to notice a tall, male doctor approaching them. He was balding, and had wire-rimmed glasses pushed up the high bridge of his nose. What hair he had was speckled at the roots with gray, probably more from stress than age. The name above the breast pocket of his lab coat read Dr. Mark Greene, M.D. "Agent Mulder?" He inquired; making certain Mulder was who he thought he was. Mulder and Scully stood up in unison, Mulder stuck out his hand, "Yes," He shook Dr. Greene's hand. Mulder gestured to and introduced Jack and Scully, they shook Mark's hand as well. Mark started down the corridor towards the elevators, only vaguely gesturing for the agents to follow. Scully walked directly abreast with Mark, the most interested in talking to him about the victim; Mulder trailed beside her, and Jack a little more behind, but far up enough to hear the conversation. "I wish I had a vague idea what this DeCaro had, but I really can't say, especially without an autopsy or any extensive tests." Mark began as they neared the row of elevators. "You didn't have any tests done?" Scully inquired. "Well, we had the standard tests, CBC, chem. 20; and we also tested for tuberculosis, but nothing more than that, especially not after Agent Mulder called and told us to leave the body." Scully nodded. "What were the symptoms DeCaro came in with?" She asked as Mark pressed the down button for the elevator. "I don't remember exact numbers without looking at the charts, but I can tell you it looked like tuberculosis at first. He had a sky-high blood pressure, fever, he was coughing up blood--which was our first hint that it may be TB--he was also having trouble breathing, and complained of chest pains." By the time Mark finished explaining the victims symptoms, they had boarded the elevator, and he had pressed the button for the lower level, the morgue. "He wasn't in the ER five minutes before he crashed. And when he did, he completely bled out, eyes, ears, and nose--everywhere. We tried for two minutes to revive him, but it was no go. He didn't even have a chance." The elevator bell chimed and the doors slid open to the quiet morgue. As they all stepped off, the only sound to greet them was a droning TV in the transport office and Mark and Scully's voice. "Did you consider respiratory anthrax?" Scully questioned in an off- handed kind of way. Mark paused mid-step, his attention completely nabbed by the idea of a respiratory anthrax outbreak. "There has never been a single case of respiratory anthrax in the United States." Scully nodded. "But the symptoms you just described to me sound characteristic of anthrax. If that's the case your entire ER staff should be tested immediately. Respiratory anthrax is always fatal and extremely contagious." "Let's just hope that isn't the case," Mark said, walking towards the office. He didn't enter, but paused at the doorway. "Danny," he called at the young man sitting at a desk watching the TV. "The DeCaro body?" "Already in the autopsy bay." Danny replied, his attention never leaving the television. "Thank you," Mark replied and continued deeper into the morgue, towards the first autopsy bay. He entered the room where the body lay on a metal gurney, draped with a white sheet. He flipped the switch on the overhead lights and pointed Scully in the direction of the scrubs. Rather than proceeding in pulling the sheet from the body, Mark remained a good few feet from it, especially because of the fatal anthrax conversation. Mulder and Jack, who had said next to nothing, stood beside him. "What made you call the police about this and not the CDC?" Mulder inquired curiously, stepping before Mark to face him. Mark crossed his arms over his chest, watching Scully scrub up in the small room adjacent to the autopsy bay. "There were some injection scars on DeCaro's arm." He touched the area of his own arm at the bicep. "Not a normal place for heroin users, and too well placed for any druggie, besides that the more accessible blood vessels lower down weren't blown to cause him to need to use the bicep." He pointed to the crook of his own elbow, the common place for heroin shoots. "It looked like a doctor did it. There were multiple injection wounds too, not just one." "Bio terrorism?" Jack suggested, absorbing all the information he was being told. Mark shrugged. "I guess that's why they called you guys here, and they figured three could get the job done." Mulder couldn't help but chuckle. It was a little odd, and perhaps even intimidating, to see three FBI agents instead of the normal pairs. Scully returned a few minutes later, clad in surgical scrubs and smock, prophylactic gloves, a surgical mask, and goggles. Her hair was bound in a ponytail behind her head. She would take no chances with this autopsy, and was even considered underdressed compared to the biological space suit she should be wearing for the possibility of anthrax. She brought three more masks over to the men by the door, instructing them to put them on--especially Mulder and Jack--neither had to be told twice. "Just a question before I begin," She said to Mark, her voice slightly muffled behind the mask. "Did Mr. DeCaro do any traveling out of the country that you know of?" Mark pondered for a moment. "I spoke to the sister, she said DeCaro lived in Brooklyn, he was visiting her here. I don't think he's ever been out of the country, but if he has, it would account for the injection bruises. I'll have to check on that." Scully nodded, no more comforted about the autopsy. Here goes nothing, she thought, and pulled back a corner of the sheet around the corpse's upper torso. Once the body was revealed to the light, she gasped and stepped backwards a pace. The body had undergone a cellular breakdown. The skin had lost all pigmentation, taking on a transparent, greenish cast. Black pools of some mucus like substance replaced the eyes. Through the transparent skin, all the organs--what was left of them--could be seen. Most of the internal organs had dissolved to a liquidized reddish- black soup. The blood still in the vessels was purple and clotted. The body had a pungent, foul, rotting odor despite the refrigerated temperatures of both the bay and the lockers. Mark's eyes widened at the sight, it was nothing like he had ever encountered before. "What the hell is this?" He mumbled almost inaudibly. Mulder's eyes met Scully's after the instant recognition of the body's condition. Flashes of the events of four years before and Dallas, Texas filled his mind. It just couldn't be... Jack grimaced inside his mask that he was only holding on his mouth, not wearing. The odor was nearly overwhelming to him, and his stomach lurched and grumbled in disgusted protest. "I think you can rule out anthrax." Mulder said clearly after some of the initial shock had passed. Mark looked from Mulder to Scully, and back to Mulder, picking up on the unspoken words between them. "Do you know what this is?" He asked them, pointing to the corpse. Scully glanced at Mulder and then at Mark. "I can explain it to you later--to some extent." She could only hope he would catch her drift that it was classified, even if it really wasn't. Suddenly, a mechanical beeping sounded in the tiny expanse of the room. From Mark's pocket he pulled a black beeper. "Damn, I'm being paged back up to the ER, I've got to go," he said, turning towards the door. "Look, I'd really appreciate knowing what killed this man and if it's contagious." He said as he opened the bay door. Scully nodded. Mulder crossed his arms, his mask tied securely around his head. Jack moved closer to the door, still clutching his mask to his mouth. Scully reached over the metal gurney and switched on the microphone, preparing to begin the autopsy, regardless of the body's newly discovered condition. First, she reported the external examination, the condition of the flesh, noting the bruise in the right bicep. She began the internal exam by picking up the scalpel and starting a Y-incision, stating so to the recording microphone dangling over the gurney. The skin of the body had a slimy consistency, like it was also covered with a thick layer of clear mucus. Only it wasn't mucus, but broken down, liquidated cells. She completed the incision through the upper chest and picked up the ribcage spreader to part the sternum and allow access to the organs within. Jack watched it, feeling more and more disgusted. He absolutely hated to admit it, but Mulder was right, it was disgusting to look at, and the smell was suffocating. But he couldn't admit defeat, so he remained by the door, looking on as Scully took the inventory of the corpse's organs. "The heart, lungs, stomach, and liver are all accounted for, but they are all almost completely dilapidated, exhibiting signs of some complete cellular breakdown. The cause of this breakdown is of yet, unknown." Scully said to the microphone, holding her bloody hands before her. The inside of the body was like a soup pot. The organs had all but completely depleted to jelly, what was left was only slightly recognizable. She looked up at her cohorts, monitoring how they were handling things. After all the autopsies Mulder had seen, he was stolid, leaning against the wall with no emotions present, disgust included. Jack was the opposite, shifting from foot to foot and looking around nervously. He wouldn't hold out much longer. "Jack, you look a little green around the gills," Scully said, turning her attention back to the body. "Why don't you go out and get some fresh air?" She suggested casually. Jack looked at Mulder, the gleam of a knowing grin shone in his eyes. "I'm fine," he replied a little too quickly. Scully shrugged, taking his word for it. With precise incisions, she removed the lungs that were a burnt-looking reddish color and held them up to be placed in an organ tray and examined later. The lungs dripped a strand of the liquidized, dissolved tissue onto the skin of the body with a disgusting plopping sound. Jack swallowed hard, paused, and then rushed out the door in one motion, making a guttural gagging sound. Mulder watched him leave, barely able to keep from laughing. He looked at Scully, who was looking at him. "You owe me ten bucks." He deadpanned. She couldn't help but smile behind her mask at Mulder's joke. He had once been almost as squeamish, but soon became more hardened to the autopsy process after witnessing all the ones she performed in their first few months of partnership, nearly ten long years ago. In a way she felt bad he was so stolid, it seemed to take away some of the innocence he had so long ago. Then she remembered how many of the autopsies he'd asked, even begged, her to perform, and realized his innocence wasn't so jeopardized after all. "What do you think about the injection bruises on his arm?" Mulder questioned, continuing to watch her work. "Well, it could be something, it could be nothing. The only way we could find out would be to get a hold of his medical files or talk to a family member, see if he got some allergy shots or something recently." said Scully. "That's what I was thinking. What if this guy saw a doctor recently who told him he was having allergy shots, but was really being given a series of viral injections?" Mulder said. "He could be some sort of guinea pig for this alien virus." Scully paused and looked up at her husband. This felt like old times, before she was pregnant and they were out in the field together, he spouting off his theories and she disbelieving them. "Mulder, I'm not going to jump out and say this virus was extra- terrestrial." "Scully," He replied incredulously. "You thought it was four years ago. You said it was like nothing you've seen before. Hell, you were even exposed to it!" She sighed. "You thought it was extra-terrestrial four years ago. I never got enough time to prove what it was. And you can't honestly say this is the same thing, it's been a long four years; things could have changed. A lot of tests are going to have to be run on this tissue before anything can be determined." "That's what I have you for," Mulder replied. "Thanks, that makes me feel loved." Scully muttered, getting back to work with the body. "I'm going to go get Jack before he drowns in his own puke, and then we're going to go see about tracking down DeCaro's sister." Mulder told her, opening the door. "Okay," "Scully," He prompted before leaving. She looked up. "You might want to take extra samples, just in case." He said. She nodded, understanding. He stepped out the door, closing the door behind him. She had already planned on the extra tissue samples. It wouldn't be the first time they had their hard evidence stolen, including an entire body. Even she couldn't deny that there were greater forces at work. Forces that would do anything to make sure things like this were never discovered. Leone Residence Chicago, Illinois Arianna Leone lived in a small townhouse in the quiet southern suburbs of Chicago. She and her husband and three children loved Chicago, the crime rate was minimal, the schools were good, and the neighbors were friendly. At least compared to her hometown of Brooklyn. She had been delighted to hear her brother Tony was coming to visit her. She never seemed to see enough of him anymore. But then when he died suddenly and unexpectedly after only staying with them a day, it had shattered entire world. She had spent the last two days coping with the loss, and trying to make funeral arrangements. With her parents dead for years now, all the responsibilities would be placed on her. She just didn't feel strong enough to do it. Then, when the hospital told her they could not release Tony's body because of some complications, she became at a loss at what to do. Now on the third day since his death, she sent her two oldest children to school and went about her housework. She tried to keep her mind off things, by cleaning, by playing with her four-month-old, by watching her favorite daytime television. It worked for a little while, and she knew it would get easier and the pain would heal with time. The only thing she wanted now was to put her younger brother's body to rest. Rather than starting her housework right off after the children were off to school, Arianna settled into her living room to play with her baby Kara and watch Regis and Kathy-Lee's morning show. That could always cheer her up. When her neurotic white poodle Mimi began scratching on the door and barking in her high-pitched little yaps, Arianna thought nothing of it. That damn dog barked at everything, including people just strolling by. But when a sharp pounding sounded on her door, she got up, put the baby in the baby swing, and went to the door. Looking through the peephole, she saw two well-groomed men waiting expectantly on her door stoop. "Jehovah's witnesses," she grumbled to herself, unlocking the deadbolt on her door, but leaving the chain attached. She opened the door, and peeked out through the four-inch crack that the chain allowed. "What do you want?" She asked with as much politeness as she could muster. The taller man with the dark hair stood before the door, digging into his inside jacket pocket. He brought out a leather-bound wallet, which he flipped open to reveal a photo ID and a badge. "I'm Agent Mulder, this is Agent Harley. We're with the FBI, ma'am." He said, putting his badge back. "We would like to speak with you about your brother Anthony DeCaro." Arianna nodded, closed the door, unlatched the chain, and reopened the door all the way. "Tony's dead," She told the two men, still a little stunned with their presence. "We're aware of that, Mrs. Leone," The younger blonde man piped up. "We're very sorry." The first agent spoke again. "May we come in?" He asked politely. "Yes, of course," she said, shaking her head at her own forgotten manners. Mulder followed her in, giving Jack a sideways glance. Arianna shut the door behind them, and scolded Mimi as she jumped around the two agent's ankles. She showed them to the living room she had previously occupied and directed them to sit down. They took a seat on the plush sofa. "Can I get you some coffee or tea or something?" She offered after picking up the TV remote and shutting off her soap operas. "No thank you," Mulder said. Jack also politely declined. Moving a few toys from the recliner adjacent to the sofa, Arianna sat down and faced the agents. "What do you need to speak to me about?" She asked, wanting to get this interview done as quickly as possible. "As you know, Mrs. Leone, your brother died under very curious medical conditions." Mulder began. "Yeah," she agreed. "The doctors told me they didn't know what killed him." "That's right. That is what we are trying to find out." Mulder paused, pulling a notepad out of his pocket. On it, he had scrawled some possibilities and situations DeCaro may have encountered where he could have been subjected to an infectious agent. He looked up at Arianna again. "Mrs. Leone, do you know if your brother was involved with drugs or taking any prescription medications?" He asked. "No, not Tony." She said, smiling and looking at her hands in remembrance of her brother. "He wasn't into drugs. He was always a good guy. He owned a garage you know, fixed up people's cars for them. He was such a good guy." She glanced back up at the federal agents, shaken from her reverie. "He wasn't taking any medicine that I know of. Tony was never sick he couldn't afford to get sick. Ironic isn't it?" Mulder nodded, scratching out the word drugs on his notepad. "Did he do any traveling out of the country that you know of?" Arianna shook her head. "Tony couldn't afford to leave the country either. He always wanted to go to Italy, to visit our grandmother, but he just never had the time or the money." Mulder scratched out traveling. "Did he have any visitors from out of the country?" "Oh jeez, I dunno." Arianna said with a chuckle. "There some pretty strange people in New York." "Has he seen a doctor lately?" Mulder asked next. Arianna pondered for a moment, and then her eyes lit up. "He saw a doctor of couple days ago for some flu and allergy shots. He said the flu season was pretty bad this year and he wasn't taking any chances." "Thank you," Mulder said, circling some of the words on his notepad. "Could you tell me where he went and got these flu and allergy shots?" "He went to the clinic over at Cook County. He said it looked like a nicer place than the hospital in Brooklyn. He had health insurance and all, but he didn't live in the greatest neighborhood." Mulder and Jack shared a knowing look, and then rose simultaneously from their seats. "Thank you, Mrs. Leone, you've been of great help." Mulder said. Arianna stood up, her gray eyes flicking back and forth in confusion. "Do you know what killed Tony?" She asked quickly, following the men as they showed themselves the door. "No, we don't, but we'll certainly get back to you if we find out." Mulder answered. She held open the door as they stepped out, and then beckoned them before they began down the steps, with tears in her eyes. "Please, Agent Mulder, could you tell me when they'll let us bury Tony?" Mulder turned back, sympathy in his eyes, and replied, "We'll see what we can do." She smiled and nodded, and then closed the door. Mulder and Jack climbed back into the silver rental Taurus, Jack driving for a change, and pulled away from the curb. "Where to?" He asked to Mulder, turning in the direction of the neighborhood exit. "Back to the hospital. It seems like that would be the place where this all originated." He replied, looking straight ahead at the gray sky and road before them. "You think Cook County has a dirty little secret?" Jack asked curiously, casting Mulder a quick glance. Mulder shrugged. "Maybe not a dirty secret, but I wouldn't be so sure about a dirty doctor." Cook County General Hospital Scully finished the autopsy a good hour after she had started it. Mulder had not yet returned, but she didn't miss him. Being so wrapped up in her work she hadn't even realized what time it was until she got a chance to look at the clock on the morgue wall beside the elevator. She had taken tissue samples from all over the body, primarily blood, lung, and brain samples, but also bone, muscle, and a sample of the black substance that covered what was left of the eyes. She packed one of each sample in an orange cooler with the biohazard seal on its lid to be sent back to the FBI research labs, as investigative protocol stated. In addition to that, she packed the second one of each sample in a second cooler with matching seal, to be sent to a secret drop-off where trusted friends known as the Lone Gunmen would pick it up and hold it, perhaps even aiding Scully in the research. She already had an idea that as soon as the samples reached the indiscriminate FBI labs, the CDC or another less public agency would discreetly claim the body and all known hard evidence as their own. That is why she counted on the Lone Gunmen. After the samples were safely packed away in their coolers and left in the morgue office to be picked up by FedEx, Scully replaced all the disintegrating organs, sutured up the soft flesh as best she could, and then wrapped and dressed the body in its white sheet. She left a copy of her report on the gurney at the corpse's feet, naming the cause of death as a heart attack caused by general blood clots due to an unknown mass infection. Last, she made strict orders to Danny the transport guy to not let anyone near the body unless they had federal clearance. There was no telling just how contagious this 'virus' may be, and she had to be cautious. By the time she had finished all of this, and scrubbed down, it had been nearly two hours since Mulder and Jack left. She decided it was about time to go back up to the ER and find out if her husband and his presumptuous partner had returned yet or not. Besides that, she was eager to find out what DeCaro's sister had to say. Back on the ground level, Scully wandered back to admit, to see if perhaps anyone had seen Mulder. She was mildly surprised to see Mulder and Jack leaning against the counter chatting with a large man in a light blue lab coat, probably an admitting clerk. "Mulder," She beckoned when she was within speaking range down the corridor from him. He turned around to look for the source of the voice and saw her, a friendly greeting smile spreading across his face. But there was something odd she could interpret about that smile in a single look. It was almost a strained smile, not strained because of her, but strained because he had found something. Something he didn't like. Standing beside him, she asked, "What did DeCaro's sister have to say?" Mulder blew out a sigh and scrubbed his hand over his chin, further indication that something was bothering him. "She was very helpful. She said he came here a couple of days ago for a series of allergy shots and flu vaccines." "He came here?" She asked. "Yeah, apparently they have a free clinic like DC General, DeCaro came here rather than the hospital in Brooklyn because he thought it looked more friendly. Imagine that." "So, your theory is that a volunteer purposely injected him with this virus instead?" Scully replied. Mulder nodded. "We came back here to find out who all the volunteers that day were. It so happens that the RN that runs the clinic hired a doctor to help out a few days out of the week. The doctor quit the day after DeCaro had his shots. And this is the real kicker," Mulder picked up a clipboard from the counter. It was a form filled out by the volunteer doctor. "The doctor's name, Scott. Dr. Samantha Scott." Scully's face went blank. She even had to look at the form to verify what Mulder was telling her. She looked at Jack and back at Mulder. Then she grabbed Mulder's hand and pulled him away from Jack. "Are you really accusing your own sister of doing this?" She asked in a whispering tone. Mulder shook his head and shrugged, and whispered back, "I don't know, why else would Sam be here? She works for the people that are using this virus." "This is a serious accusation!" Scully replied incredulously. "This could be classified as biological terrorism." Mulder nodded. "I know; that's probably what scares me the most." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shifted his gaze to the floor. When he looked back up, his eyes seemed impassive. "I'm gonna go get some coffee, do you want some coffee?" He asked abruptly. Caught off-guard by the sudden change of subject, Scully stumbled over what to say. "Uh, yeah, sure." She thought a moment, and spoke again, "Why don't you go to the cafeteria and get us all some coffee, Jack and I will catch up in a minute." She suggested, figuring it would allow Mulder a few precious minutes to think alone. He couldn't actively accuse Sam of anything, not until he spoke to her, but this revelation was still hard to absorb. Mulder agreed, and then turned up the hall, glancing at a sign to figure out which way it was to the cafeteria and walked away. Scully watched him go, and then turned back to Jack. Jack looked confused, as he usually seemed to be when Mulder and Scully were investigating together. That unspoken communication was really hard to get over, much less understand. "What was that all about?" He asked as Scully looked over the form filled out by her own sister-in-law. Scully put the form back on the counter. "It's a long story." She replied with a little sigh, turning in the direction of the cafeteria. "There's a lot of long stories between you two, aren't there?" Jack mused, slightly to himself. Scully smiled. "Yeah, I guess there are." "Like the one from Dallas back in '98." Jack hinted. He was always interested in hearing Mulder and Scully's past, all in trying to figure out the enigmatic man he worked with. With his own degree in psychology, he couldn't help but try and discover what made the so- called 'Spooky' Mulder tick. Scully gave Jack a sideways glance. "How much did Mulder tell you about that one?" Jack shrugged. "As much as he always does. He mostly said that virus you found was alien." Scully nodded her head. That sounded like Mulder. They walked in silence for a few moments, and then Jack spoke again, "Dana, can I ask you, do you really think this virus or whatever killed DeCaro is extra-terrestrial?" She didn't reply right off, stunned by the sudden use of her first name, although that was what everyone called her, other than Mulder. Her voice was completely solemn when she did speak. "I've seen and done to much to completely refute the idea that it may be extra- terrestrial. But I can't honestly accept it as that until I have some proof. Mulder believes things as soon as he sees them, maybe even before that. I'm just not as quick to jump to conclusions." "I don't really know if I believe it," Jack said, shrugging. He glanced at Scully again, but continued walking in silence. The same as he and Mulder had, he and Scully had also become friends in the amount of time they had known each other. After nearly a year of water cooler gossip when he worked for the Violent Crimes Section, he finally got to meet the 'Ice Queen', and she was the exact opposite of the rumors. The male and female agents alike portrayed her as cold, unfriendly, and boring, when in fact she was one of the nicest, most intriguing people Jack knew. He thought perhaps she intimidated them, because she had a brain, and because she didn't care what they thought. If only they could see her once with her children, how caring and warm she was, they would change their minds. In fact, he even thought at times that he may be in love with her, but he would never dare to admit it. When they reached the cafeteria, Scully spotted Mulder at an end table, and took a seat beside him. She didn't openly embrace him, or kiss him upon greeting, no, that would go against their unspoken hands-off policy while on investigations. Instead, she sat shoulder- to-shoulder with him, and placed her hand comfortingly over his, and then inquired about how he was. Jack watched it all, and then took a seat across from them. He thought he might love Scully, but when he saw the way she looked her husband of a year and a half, her partner of nine years, and her soul mate of forever; he knew he could never match Mulder, even if he wanted to. He could only hope that he could find a relationship like they had one day. But even that would never happen. There was no relationship like theirs. After a little quiet time to sit and sip coffee, hopefully that would keep the three awake for a few more hours at least, it came time to get back to work. With nothing left for them to do in Chicago, a different flight was booked for home that afternoon. The only final thing to do was more simply an act of kindness. That would be to try and explain what exactly had killed Anthony DeCaro, so the doctors would know to look out for it. While Mulder and Jack continued scouring medical files for any information they may have missed, Scully waited for Dr. Greene in the corridor outside of the doctor's lounge. She had been instructed by one of the RN's that he was assisting with a gun shot victim, and would have to wait. Scully had merely shrugged and said that would be okay, and soon found herself looking at a pegboard tacked with pictures by the lounge entrance. The pictures, she suspected, were of staff holiday parties. The little fake Christmas tree in one photo was a dead giveaway. Though she didn't know many of the people, there were a few photos that caught her eye. It was because they were of Doug and Carol Ross. In one, they were sitting on a couch, presumably in the lounge, Doug holding a sprig of mistletoe over their heads, while they both laughed and kissed. It was one of those rare pictures that could make anyone smile. "We're real party animals around here," A voice said from behind Scully, startling her slightly. She turned around to see Mark Greene standing behind her. She smiled, "I was just noticing some people in these pictures that I know," She explained, pointing out the picture of Doug and Carol and the mistletoe. Mark looked at the picture. "You know Doug Ross and Carol Hathaway?" Scully nodded. "I went to college with Carol my junior year, although I think she likes to go by the last name of Ross when she's not at work. They live across town from us and work at DC General." Mark raised his eyebrows in surprise at hearing the new whereabouts of his old friends. "Last I heard from them they were still in Seattle." He mused. He let a few moments of silence linger before remembering what they needed to discuss. "Did you find anything about Mr. DeCaro's death?" "Just as we anticipated, evidence of a massive infection, although I'm fairly certain it's not anthrax. But I wouldn't take any chances around the body. I've informed the transport guy not to allow anyone near the body unless they have federal clearance, you can probably anticipate other federal agents out here to claim the body within a few days." "Is there anything I should be worried about as far as contagion goes?" "I can't honestly say yet. I would still have the staff that was present at the trauma, including the medics, tested for any abnormalities, at least blood cultures if nothing else. I will get back to you as soon as I find out anything." Mark stuffed his hand into one of his coat pockets, trying to think of anything else he wanted to ask that could possibly be answered now. Most of his questions would have to wait until the test results were in. Instead of saying anything, he glanced at his watch and shook his head. "Oh, I have a staff meeting to get to about this whole ordeal. I guess I'll just have to tell them what I know." He said aloud, but directing it to himself. Scully dug into her jacket pocket and pulled out a white business card. "Dr. Greene, if you get any more patients exhibiting those symptoms; please don't hesitate to call me. My cell phone number is on the front; my home number is on the back. You probably won't be able to get a hold of me at the office because I'm not officially on duty until January. Go ahead and call me at home, regardless of the hour, we have a six-month-old, we don't sleep." Mark nodded, glancing at the card and then adding it to the menagerie of folded papers in his breast pocket. In an unspoken fashion, they both began walking up the hall back to admit, now that the business portion of their conversation was over. "What did you mean by not officially back on duty?" He asked curiously as they walked. "I'm supposed to still be on maternity leave for the baby, but I kind of got dragged into this. Now I guess I'm glad that I came in a way." "I'm guessing you and Agent Mulder are..." Mark made a gesture with his hands symbolizing 'together' and then clasped them together like he was going to applaud. "Yeah," Scully replied, smiling at his poor attempt at subtly. "Is it that obvious?" Shrugging, he said, "Well, not really. But it just seems like the two of you are really close, and I noticed the wedding bands, so I figured you were either married to each other or had really crappy marriages on the side. And then you said 'we' when you were talking about being home, so I just figured." Scully understood. She couldn't count the number of times strangers mistook them for a couple before they were even involved. And now it was the same deduction, only not a mistake. Mark looked at his watch again out of habit more than need. "Uh, I really have to get going now," He said. "Okay, nice meeting you," She said, turning to continue in the direction of admit. "You too," Mark replied cordially, and then said, "Agent Scully, if you could, tell Doug and Carol I said hi and to give me a call if they get a chance." Scully nodded and watched a moment as Mark went back up the hall, dodging into a room marked "Locker Room, Male Staff Only". Starting back towards admit, the only thing she could think was that she truly hoped this virus (if it was even that) was not as contagious as it appeared, for his sake, and hers. Flight 721 Chicago to DC After some loose ends were tied up in Chicago, with the body and the transport of the infected tissue, the intrepid trio of agents boarded their later ten a.m. flight for home. Even though the flight was a mere two hours long, both Scully and Jack took advantage of the downtime to sleep. Running on six hours of sleep in the past twenty- four was just something Scully couldn't do. And as Mulder learned, she had become an opportunistic sleeper like he was, especially with the addition of an infant to the family. Jack, on the other hand, just liked to sleep. As soon as the pilot switched off the seatbelt sign, Scully was leaning against Mulder, using his shoulder as a pillow, lost in a heavy dose. Jack was stretched across the empty middle row beside them. The flight was relatively empty itself, mostly consisting of businessmen, all with laptops and cell phones out and in operation. Usually Scully would be one of the laptop holders, but not this time. Mulder was the only one of the three not sleeping. In fact, he was wide-awake, thinking about his sister. He had always thought of Samantha as the innocent one, the victim. After all, she had been torn from her family when she was a precious eight-years-old, taken to a place that even she could not remember, only to be raised by countless foster families. She had left her older brother heart-broken and confused. Her disappearance drove who he was, what he was. She was the reason he wanted to investigate the X-Files. He had spent so many years of his life on the belief that aliens abducted her, a foolish thought to many, but not to him. It was possible, he thought, it had to be, there was no other explanation for how she disappeared all those years ago. The men his father once worked with knew this. They knew his mission for his sister was what drove him, and they never hesitated to take advantage of him for it. They would go so far as to show him a little of the truth, allow him a glimpse of what he could not have, if only to string him along further. Or, as so many had said, to make him believe the lie. But that was where the lines between truth and lie blurred, was what they showed him a lie at all? While Samantha may have been his mission for the longest time, it was Scully that was his savior. In something of an ironic fashion, belief and pure faith, and science and rationality had fused together to form an inseparable team. There was nothing Mulder wouldn't do to save Scully, including give up his own life for her, and it went the same way around for her. But there were so many times when it seemed like only a strand of hope would save them. When the men that eluded them abducted Scully, Mulder was reduced to a working zombie, ranting at the sky and doing anything in his mortal power to save her. When she developed a nearly fatal cancer, he almost dealt with the devil to save her life. And she, she was what kept him alive in a different sort of way. She protected him from the demons of his childhood, and from himself. He had even confessed once, had it not been for her and their partnership, he would probably be dead. It was that very year, 2001, when Samantha had returned. She wasn't left in a hospital, comatose and losing grip with life like Scully had been, she wasn't returned at all. Mulder, Zoe, and a very pregnant Scully had just happened upon his long-lost sister one evening at a town fair. At first, Sam played possum; actively denying she even knew who Mulder was. Only when they were alone, did she spin the tale of how she grew up. How years of her life were missing from her memory, how rough her childhood was. She always had people telling her she couldn't see her real family, that they were dead or they didn't want her. When she had grown, she became wise in the ways of the men who had taken part in her abduction. She grew to understand it, and herself. Then she worked for that group of men, known simply as the Consortium, learning their ways of secrecy. This is where Mulder got lost, where he became unsure of all his sister had told him. One night, Sam informed him that she was part of some Resistance, to stop the conspiracy that the Consortium was operating. It was unclear exactly what the Consortium's goals were, but it what they were hiding went down; it would have catastrophic effects. That much was certain. What was uncertain was the whole "Resistance". Sam had informed Mulder that there was a small group of conspirators that had formed a sort of conspiracy within a conspiracy, mutiny against their employers. She said that the Consortium had begun implanting female abductees (of which Scully was one) with unfertilized, alien-human hybridized ovum. After Scully was abducted yet a second time from Zacatecas, Mexico while on a special investigation, Mulder became certain that she underwent this procedure. Especially after becoming pregnant when doctors told her she would never naturally conceive. Mulder feared the worst--his own son--would be a hybrid, but Sam assured him this was not true, the Resistance would not allow it to happen. But now, after all of this, and then the information they received in Chicago, how could Mulder be certain his sister was telling the truth? His heart wanted to believe her, God knew it did, but his mind simply would not allow it. Not unless she gave him just cause to think what she said was the truth. Because now, after knowing it was her that essentially killed Anthony DeCaro, she was no better then the men she worked for. She was one of "Them". There was one last hope that Mulder could linger on; perhaps Samantha had been forced into what she did. She showed Mulder the labs where they created the genetically altered ovum, threatening her own life and the lives of her husband and son. She showed him to try and make him believe her. Her employers found out about it, and punished her. They took away the one thing she held dearest, her young son Cole. They didn't appear to harm him, but it tore Samantha apart. And there was nothing Mulder could do, he tried, but he nearly died doing it. Then he was busy, with the birth of his own son. So now his final hope was that They held her son's kidnapping against her, forcing her to do their bidding. Mulder was determined that had to be the truth. The first thing he would do when he got to DC would be to have a good, long chat with Samantha Scott. He was stirred from his thoughts by Scully shifting beside him. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him, her blue eyes cloudy and her voice groggy with sleep. "You okay?" She asked, seeing the drawn, haggard expression on his face. He nodded, rubbing his eyes and trying to stifle a weary yawn. The few hours of sleep he had over the past week was finally catching up with him after all. Scully touched his cheek, "Baby, you should try and get some sleep while you still can." She mumbled, resting her head back against his shoulder once more. He had to smile at her sweet use of a pet name. Although neither of the two really had a penchant for the use of the names, they came up once in a while. Mulder had to admit; he did like it. Just as 'Mulder' rolled off her tongue in just the right way, so did 'Honey' or 'Baby' in just the right context. He pulled his arm around her shoulders and kissed her hair. Closing his eyes, he let his lingering thoughts fall away, and then what little sleep he would get claim him. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 4 Thomas Jefferson Memorial Washington, DC Thursday, December 12, 2001 A man with silver-streaked dark brown hair stood alone at the edge of the grass near the Jefferson Memorial. Before him, stretched the vast Tidal Basin, a body of water inlet by the Potomac River. His steel blue eyes watched the calmness of the water as it lapped the bank a few feet from where he stood. An eerie gray steam lifted from the surface of the water into the cold December morning. He took a puff from the crude, home made cigarette between his fingers and released the smoky breath from his lungs, clouding his face in haze for a moment. He truly had an admiration for these calm parts of town, away from the rush of the rest of the world. Though he wasn't particularly fond of America, he did appreciate the serenity. It was only a moment before he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He turned slightly and scanned the circle pathway off to his left. Directly at his back loomed the large circular building, the memorial to the third president of the United States. In the clear morning air, he could see a figure in a long black trench coat approaching him. When the figure was about twenty paces away, he recognized the figure by his side-parted gray hair and haggard features. He turned back and faced the water. "Mr. Oslev." The figure said when he was a feet few away. "You're late," Dmitri Oslev replied, not drawing his eyes from the water. The man in the black coat stepped up beside him, pulling a domestic white and yellow cigarette out of his own pocket. Lighting it he said, "I wasn't aware I was under your authority." Dmitri scoffed and dropped his cigarette to the ground, snubbing it out with the toe of his polished black wingtips. Turning to the man that had joined him, he buried his hands into the pockets of his thick coat and stared the man straight in the eye. "You called this off-the-record meeting, now what it is that you wanted?" He asked brusquely. The man took a puff on his smoldering cigarette, staring thoughtfully at the inlet with his bloodshot gray eyes. After a few moments, he spoke, "I was been informed that you have been speaking with Agent Mulder." Dmitri frowned, further creasing his rough, leathery skin. "I am no longer in your game," He replied, his accent becoming more profound with his aggravation. "I can speak to whoever I want." "You're a fool," The smoking man said. "You're a fool for leaving the group. You would sacrifice your own life for simple liberation?" Dmitri exhaled loudly. "You are the only fool I see here. I left for my children, my children's children! Don't you see that they don't care about us?" He gestured with an open hand at the sky. As if on cue, a whip of cold wind drove by them. "To them were are just pests, to be exterminated. Mulder is our only hope." The smoking man simply took another drag on his cigarette. Undeterred, Dmitri continued, "They will not repay allegiance. They are using us, as we used them. Only they are succeeding! Where our vaccine failed, their colonization will prevail. We will be powerless unless others know." His former colleague stared directly into his eyes and spoke, his voice just as calm and controlled as ever. "For fifty odd years they have planned on colonizing this planet. They are going to systematically release the fatal virus, and we will aid them and be allegiant, as we always have. What few of us have not been weakly vaccinated will be granted immunity. So was agreed all those years ago, so it will remain." He explained. Dmitri shook his head. "They lied. And only when you get your head out of your ass will you see that!" Fed up with the persistent Russian, the Smoking Man dropped his cigarette butt to the ground and turned away. "Do what you wish, Mr. Oslev, but do not expect to live out your betrayal." Dmitri turned his back to the Smoking Man, ignoring the last comment. He would continue to provide Agent Mulder with information, no matter what the cost to his life. It wasn't exactly like he had anything to live for anyway, his family was gone; he had no one. But that didn't mean there was no one to be saved. He had to keep going, he had to keep helping Mulder along, for the future. For life. Mulder Residence One day. Just one day off, that is all she asked. Between teaching, working at the clinic, and Mulder's bizarre disease case, her maternity "leave" was just a poor excuse for her to get more work. When she finally got a free day off, she mistakenly agreed to watch the twins for Doug and Carol. Then she realized she couldn't remember the last time they had visited the wonderful establishment known as the grocery store and had to drag the mischievous two-year-olds and Reese through the store. Wrangling the girls and trying to calm Reese was not Scully's idea of fun. At three o'clock, when Zoe was getting home from school, Scully was in the dining room, reading--or trying to read--the analysis she had run on the infectious agent the day before. There wasn't much she could do in a single day, cultures had to be grown, slides made, etc, etc. By the time everything was prepared, she was falling off her feet in exhaustion. Tests could wait until tomorrow. But there were other results she had gotten faxed from Quantico once they were through. Tess and Kate ran down the hall again, chasing Jake who barked at them mockingly. It made a loud thundering ruckus that set sleeping Reese in the living room crying again. Scully took her glasses off, the ones she only wore when she did a lot of reading, and rubbed her temples. She was starting out to the living room to comfort her crying son when the two toddlers came bounding back down the hallway, this time with Jake chasing them. "Hey!" She exclaimed with surprise as they ran by her. Before they got too far, she expertly caught them by the y-shaped suspenders of their corduroy overalls and lifted them up by it, one each hand, as if the suspenders were handles. Gently plopping the girls onto the plush sofa, she gave them a firm 'stay' gesture with her hands. "Do you two ever sit still?" She asked, not exactly expecting a straight answer. Kate shook her head, her curling pigtails bobbing over her shoulders. Tess just giggled. Scully crouched on the floor before them, looking them both directly in the eyes. "We're going to play a little game," She told them, watching as their eyes lit up and grins widened. "It's called Go- Upstairs-and-Pretend-You're-Asleep. What you have to do is go upstairs and pretend you're sleeping so when I come up you fool me. You have ten seconds." The identical girls looked at each other and then slid off the sofa. "Ten!" Scully called. Laughing, they ran quickly towards the stairs, Jake again at their heels. "Nine!" Scully called again, advancing towards the playpen and her cooing son. She lifted Reese up slowly and settled him over her shoulder. "Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one..." She said to herself. It never failed to amaze her how easily young children could be deceived by the prospect of what they thought was a game. Carrying Reese, she went upstairs to his room where the girls had left their things; naptime blankets included, and peeked inside. "Gee, looks like Tess and Kate are asleep," She said sarcastically, ignoring the muffled snickers from under the heap of blankets on the floor. "Sleep tight, girls." She called, closing the door to the hall. She smiled her victory, shifting Reese the crook of her elbow. The training from watching her niece and nephews paid off. The cardinal rule of babysitting toddlers and young children, never, ever utter that three-letter word: N-A-P. Zoe was coming in the door when Scully reached the bottom of the steps again. She noticed the white flakes of snow drifting to the ground outside the door, matching Zoe's pink nose and cheeks as she shed her thick burgundy pea coat and dark gray scarf. "Hey, Munchkin," Scully greeted, crossing the living room and putting Reese back into his playpen. "Hi, Mommy," Zoe replied, re-shouldering her heavy backpack. Scully started back to the kitchen, meeting her daughter with a tight hug. "Cold out there?" She inquired, tapping the girl lightly on her red nose. "Very," Zoe said, grabbing the wood banister on the stairs and pulling herself up. "How was school? Have homework?" Zoe nodded, sighing. "Boring and hard and yes, a lot." Scully smiled. Zoe went up the stairs to the second floor, and then, remembering something, she turned back. "Mom," She beckoned. Scully looked back from the kitchen. "You said Kelly could come over this afternoon and help me study for our Physics test tomorrow." Scully cocked her head. "When did I say that?" Zoe's arms fell to the sides; she knew her mother would forget. "Yesterday," Scully began to shake her head slightly, "I'm sorry, Zoe, I completely forgot. I'm watching the twins for Carol until seven tonight and I really don't want five kids here, I haven't had five quiet minutes all day." She said. Zoe downcast her eyes to the floor, "All right," She said reluctantly, starting back down the hall to her bedroom. Scully watched her go, and then sat back down at the kitchen table, picking up the protein analysis of the infection that killed Anthony DeCaro. After re-reading the same sentence for the millionth time, she looked up and at nothing across the room. She couldn't help but feel bad. The more she thought about it, it seemed like Zoe had been getting the short end of the stick lately. Between the baby and the other amount of responsibilities adults possessed, it was almost like Zoe's needs slipped from memory. All though she was only the tender age of seven, she was so much more independent. She required very little attention as far as trivial needs went. She attended Bethesda-Chevy Chase High School and was a mere two years from graduation. There were plans for her attending either a school for the gifted for a few years, or going straight to a university. Scully didn't even want to think about it yet. Zoe was only seven! Most mothers didn't have to deal with this until their children neared their twenties, but seven! Zoe already planned on majoring in psychology and criminology, with the ideas of becoming a criminal profiler like her father. Who better to get into the mind of a psychopath than a psychic? Where she was a low maintenance child in physical needs (if there is really such a thing), Zoe required even more from her parents in psychological aspects. Her nature, her abilities, what she was demanded more attention and a different type of attention than "normal children". Rather than treat her as her superior, it was more effective for adults to treat her as a friend. A certain guilt weighing upon her, Scully stood up from the table and went upstairs. At the room on the left side of the end of the hall, she rapped lightly on the closed door, and entered. Zoe was lying stretched out on the floor, staring up and out the three-foot skylight in her ceiling. Scully watched her in silence for a moment, and then crossed the room quietly and lied down on the floor beside her daughter. She took Zoe's blonde head in her hands and kissed it. Staring up through the skylight at the sky clearing after the flurries, Scully spoke, "I'm sorry, Zoe." Zoe exhaled slowly and crossed her arms behind her head. "I know." She replied. "With the baby, and now this case your dad's dragged me into I guess you've been getting a little neglected, huh?" Zoe didn't reply. "You know that I would never forget about you though. You're my baby girl." Scully wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter. "My munchkin." Zoe looked up at Scully with her bright azure eyes. "I understand, Mommy. I know you've been busy, I know you haven't gotten any sleep, and I know you're under a lot of stress. It's okay." Scully smiled and snickered. Not everyone could get psychoanalyzed like that from his or her seven-year-old. "You're one of my best friends, you know that?" She told Zoe honestly. Zoe smiled bashfully. "I know. If it weren't for me, you and dad probably would be where you still were three years ago, the fast track to nowhere. All you needed was a little push in the right direction." "You're very right." Was all Scully could think to respond. There were a few moments of silence between them. In fact, the whole house was silent. It was a blissful change from the noise the three young children brought. Zoe sat up, retrieving her backpack from the floor by the desk. She unzipped it and pulled out a few colored notebooks. As she bent over the books, the nape of her neck was exposed beneath her long, curling ponytail. There was a blurry whitish scar there in the shape of the feminine symbol with the letters "A-H" in the center. Below that was a number: 0015. Zoe had explained at one time that it meant "Alpha- Human Female number 15". Alpha-Human was the government project her parents were involved in. There was a similar tattoo on the instep of her right foot that said "TR15X", which stood for "Tracker number 15". At one time, there had been a small magnetic implant below her skin, but it had been removed long ago. These were the leftovers from Zoe's life as an experiment. She had that symbol tattooed on her neck by her own father, to mark her as lab "property". It was still greatly unclear, even to Zoe; all that happened in the duration of her young childhood, but no one really desired to find out. Over the first month Zoe lived with Scully, they went to a plastic surgeon and had the tattoos removed. They were fading away with time, as were the unpleasant memories. "What is it that you had to study?" Scully inquired, shaking away the memories of Zoe's history. "Physics," Zoe said, holding a mechanical pencil between her teeth. "Ah, that's my subject, I believe I can help you out," Scully told her, sitting up beside her. "I know," Zoe replied, grinning. "I just read your senior thesis, 'Einstein's Twin Paradox, A New Interpretation'. It was good." Taking a moment to figure out that Zoe meant she read it through her mind, Scully smiled sarcastically in return, "Very funny, Zoe, you think you're so clever." Zoe giggled. "I am." Defense Department Research Projects Building Mulder sat alone on a bench just outside of the DOD Research Building. He had gotten off of work early, knowing Samantha got off every day at four. He had been waiting for a little less than a half an hour for his sister to appear at the entrance. It had taken the past two days to get up the courage to confront Samantha. He still didn't know what to say when he saw her. What was he supposed to say? Why did you kill an innocent man? That was too straightforward, but there was nothing else he could do. His eyes wandered back to the glass doors of the building. There were armed military guards just beyond the glass. Mulder had been in that building before, years back. A government agent, one whom he blindly trusted, had led him in. His goal was to find a cure for Scully's fatal cancer. He had seen much in that building, and had even breached the Pentagon through an underground tunnel in his quest. He had been back once since then, Sam brought him in to learn of things he never should have heard about. That was what got her in trouble. As it neared a quarter after four o'clock, when he knew Sam would be leaving the building, Mulder got up and started towards the cement stairs. If he couldn't find her there, he knew he could probably cut her off at her car. That was not needed. It was moments before a woman in a pearl gray suit exited the building and began her trek to the parking lot. Mulder watched her walk down the steps, but didn't advance towards her. It was an odd thing to him, how his sister looked at work. Her flowing brunette hair was bound tightly and clipped behind her head, she wore smart, dignified clothes--not unlike Scully's, except with a different style--and her lips were always pursed and colored with a conservative lipstick. She didn't even seem to be the same warm, funny person he knew outside of work. When she came closer to him, he stepped before her, catching her attention. Her face immediately lit up with surprise. A rare smile that was never seen inside those office doors tugged at the corners of her lips. "Fox!" She greeted, "What are you doing here?" Mulder didn't smile. He just fell in step beside her as she continued walking. "I needed to speak with you." He told her in a calm and somehow empty voice. "You could have called," Sam said. Mulder shook his head a little. "No, what needs to be said has to be said in person." It was then that Samantha detected the hint of distrust in her older brothers voice. She stopped walking when they were just outside the perimeters of the small parking lot. "What has to be said?" She asked, her brows furrowing slightly in thought. Mulder exhaled, casting his eyes to the ground and then shifting them up and around at nothing. Try as he may, he could not meet Samantha's eyes. "Why were you in Chicago?" He asked quietly after a few minutes. The crease in Sam's forehead deepened. "What are you talking about?" Mulder brought out a half folded paper from inside his jacket pocket. "Is this not your signature?" The paper was a carbon copy of the clinic documents from Chicago. Sam didn't even look at the paper. She knew she had been found out. The emotions in her eyes transformed to an apologetic air. "I was forced to go. Fox, you know about my job, you know what they have against me. If I don't do what I'm told, they'll take Cole away from me again." She said. "You killed an innocent man." Mulder said calmly. "He was sacrificed for the greater good. It was fate." Samantha told him, with an astounding coldness. Mulder was dumbstruck. This woman was not his sister. The greater good? Fate? Sacrificed? "Samantha!" He stammered out incredulously. She silenced him with a raised hand. "I can't explain anymore to you." "I don't understand." He said, still trying to form the words in his head. Sam shook her head. "I gotta go." She said, then turned, and waked away. Mulder didn't stop her. He just stood, trying to figure out what just went on. His sister had confessed to killing an innocent man. So it was her that injected Anthony DeCaro with the virus--disease, whatever it was. The reasons for her silence were obvious, she worked for a government agency, things could be classified and he understood that. But she was also employed by an unknown agency, a secret government conspiracy, as he liked to think of it, that was hiding something from the people. It was becoming imperative for him to know more about that secret. And that would begin with understanding the virus. Mulder Residence It was nearly an hour since he had confronted his sister before Mulder arrived home. With the rush hour traffic through DC, a normally half-hour trip took forty-five minutes. Ah, the glories of city commute. The house they had bought on Uppingham Court was not a new house when they came across it, but it was beautiful. It did not correspond with the architectural style of the other houses around it at all, and looked more like it should be out in the country somewhere, not in a DC suburb. Between the wide front porch and swing, the enormous weeping willow tree in the front yard, and the in- ground swimming pool; both Mulder and Scully had fallen in love. The vinyl was an off-white color with dark blue shudders around the second floor and seated living room windows. One of Scully's hobbies was gardening in the flowerbeds on the sides of the porch stairs, while Mulder's hobby was taking pictures. But hobbies were some of the things sacrificed to work, except for those few decent days when work could be forgotten. Unfortunately they were few and far between. Mulder sat in the car for a moment before turning off the engine and getting out. He never even noticed the man in the back sedan watching him from a driveway across the street and three houses down. He would be able to pull his car in the two-car garage beside Scully's, but the garage was filled with boxes. The boxes were not only of his mother's final possessions, but of unneeded things that had never been unpacked when they moved in. He doubted they would ever get unboxed. He walked slowly, in no particular hurry, to the front door, sorting through the keys on the ring for his house key. He walked up the porch steps, hearing the faint creaking of the porch swing as the breeze rocked it on its chains. In the summertime it was a favorite spot for he and Scully to relax, but in the winter, it was dormant. Opening up the outer screen door, Mulder found his key and jammed it into the deadbolt. As he turned the lock, there was a single, muffled bark from inside the house. Mulder opened the door slowly and stepped inside, his eyes searching for any signs of life. Jake sat waiting on the floor by the door; his tail began thumping when he saw his master. Mulder draped his overcoat on the hook by the door, and dropped his briefcase into the recliner beside the window. There was an entertainment center set in the corner on the wall opposite the door, and a fireplace beside that. The television, which seemed a center of evening life, was off. A sleeping form occupied the sofa across from the window. It was Scully. On her chest laid Reese, also sleeping quietly. Mulder crossed the room and pulled a homemade quilt over her, just up to her waist. Then he touched Reese's head gently, and leaned down to kiss Scully. She stirred immediately, surprised out of her nap. Her eyes flashed open. "I'm up, I'm up," She grumbled, beginning to sit up, but careful not to jostle Reese. She realized what had awakened her, and looked up at the smiling face of her husband. Yawning, she said, "I just nodded off there for a minute." "Tough day?" Mulder inquired, sitting down on the edge of the couch beside her. She remained laying down, allowing her son to sleep. "You have no idea," She groaned. "I don't know where those girls get their energy, but I do have a whole new respect for Carol and Doug." Mulder laughed. "I'm going upstairs to change, want me to take Reese and put him down in his crib?" "No, don't go in the nursery at all. I got Tess and Kate to take a nap finally. They have been peacefully sleeping for the last hour and a half, Zoe is sleeping; this is the quietest it had been all day; don't ruin it." Mulder smiled, standing and heading towards the stairs. "I'll try my best." He went up the stairs to the upper hallway, stripping off his jacket and loosening his tie as he went. The first two rooms on the left and right were the nursery and small bathroom. A dark brown, spotted cat by the name of Pepper lay stretched across the floor there, relishing in the lack of tail-pulling toddlers running around. At the end of the hall on the left was Zoe's room. Across from that was the master bedroom, where he turned and went in. The queen-sized waterbed took up most of the room. The waterbed part was a little endeavor of Mulder's. Scully had a lot of fun trying to get up out of bed during her last trimester. At the foot of this bed was a large, oak vanity dresser, with a large mirror on top and drawers for clothes storage. On the right side of the dresser was the master bathroom, complete with Jacuzzi-style bathtub. On the left was the walk-in closet that housed mostly work clothes and the metal lock box that contained Scully's gun. Mulder sat down heavily upon his side of the bed--the side nearer to the door. He blew out a long sigh and just stared at the floor. His mind just could not let be what Samantha had told him, or rather, not told him. It just kept twisting and turning her words, trying to find any information not already given. Her answers to his questions had been so vague; they had only raised more questions. And why had she started out so imperceptive of what he was talking about at first, only to change her story to something else later? It was obvious she was making up excuses, as it was obvious she wasn't telling him the whole truth. But why, why would she need to hide things from him? He had to find out what she was hiding; yet he had no idea where to start. He stood up and began unbuttoning the buttons on his starched white shirt. That done, he freed the tie from around his throat, took off his shirt, and then threw them both to the floor, leaving them wherever they landed. Scully would have a few words about it later, but for now he didn't care. So was the cycle of domestic life. After changing his trousers into jeans and discarding his white undershirt, Mulder went into the bathroom. Leaning against the faux marble counter, he looked into the mirror at his reflection. Over the years, his face seemed to have changed very little with age. There were a few more lines by his eyes and mouth, but other than that he was the same. It was required by the FBI to stay fit and pass a yearly physical, so his body was always lean and muscular. It felt good to age with grace. He turned on the faucet and splashed some cold water on his face, hoping to relieve the stressed look in his eyes. When he looked back up in the mirror, running his wet fingers through his hair, he saw it. 'It' was enough to make any man feel ten years older than he was. Just at his hairline, behind a small, white scar, was a gray hair. He had never even noticed it before, but the more he stared, the more obvious it became. Frowning, he turned away from the mirror. Scully had put Reese down in his playpen to continue his nap. She sat on the sofa in the quiet, petting Jake's head as he rested it in her lap. She watched as Mulder came back downstairs, leaning heavily on the banister. His lips were tightened in a near frown and his forehead was wrinkled with thought. He came over to Scully and flopped down beside her on the sofa. Jake moved out of the way and lied down on the floor at their feet. "What's wrong?" She asked, staring intently at his expression. He frowned more and poked out his lower lip in a childish expression. "I got a gray hair." He said in a voice that sounded like a whining child, and buried his face against Scully's chest, pretending to cry. Scully wrapped her arms around his neck. "Aw," she said, trying very hard not to laugh. "Let me see." Mulder sat up, a pathetic look on his face, and brushed back the hair by his right temple. Scully tilted his head down to her, combing her fingers through his chestnut hair until she found the little silver culprit. It was really a small hair, just behind his hairline, barely even noticeable. But his overreaction was a classic Mulder-drama. "Oh, there it is," She said when she had found it. "The years are finally catching up with you," She laughed and scrubbed her fingers through his soft hair. He bowed his head in more fake sobs. Still laughing, she lifted his head again. "I'll make it better," She found the little hair, pinched it between her fingers, and pulled it out. "Bye, bye." She said as she blew it away. Mulder winced and rubbed his head. "Ow..." He whined. Scully leaned forward and kissed his head. "There, all better." Mulder only leaned over more and laid his head on Scully's lap, his hand on her knee. She put one hand over his shoulder and stroked his head with the other. "Am I getting old, Scully?" He asked her after a few minutes of silence. "Well," she said, and smiling, joked, "Yes, you are." "Sculleeeee..." he moaned again, "Talk about kicking a guy when he's down." Scully laughed and rubbed his shoulder. "It's all right, at least we're getting old together." He sighed and closed his eyes, almost as if he was trying to forget everything that had happened during the day in the warmth of Scully's lap and the feel of her hands on his shoulders and head. He could almost always find a way of losing himself in her. And she was always there for him to be lost in, in her words and in her touch. He could only hope she knew how much she meant to him for that. "Did you do anything interesting today?" She asked after only a few silent minutes. He breathed out a long, sighing breath and sat up, his eyes now glazed with solemnity. "I talked to Samantha." He told her, looking at his lap rather than into her eyes. Immediately she could tell something was wrong when his gaze didn't meet hers. He always had words that would try to portray his emotions, but his eyes always betrayed him. Over the years they had bother learned how to read each other without speaking and know what the other was feeling without being told, it was always through the eyes. Just the same, she didn't need to tell him to continue. Her urging gaze and hand over his said it all. "I asked her why she was in Chicago. At first she acted like she had no idea what I was talking about, and then I showed her the document from Cook County. She changed her story and started saying how they forced her to do it through Cole." He sighed again and leaned forward, resting his chin in his palms. "What do you think?" Scully asked him. It was a long while before he answered her. It was so hard for him to accept what his sister had done. He leaned back into the sofa, scrubbed the five o'clock shadow forming around his chin with his hand, and looked at Scully, his eyes intense on her. "I think she lied. She lied about it all. They forced her to do nothing. I just don't understand why she didn't tell me the truth from the beginning." "What is the truth?" Mulder's eyes left Scully's again. "I don't know," he said, "But I'm going to find out." He put so much emphasis on the last part of his sentence it almost dared anyone to stand in his way. And he trailed off, as if he didn't want to say the very end of a thought, which was, "If it's the last thing I do." Sedona Avenue New York City Friday, December 13, 2001 A dark-haired man in a leather jacket and faded jeans stepped out of his car into the driving New York snow, it had snowed a good three inches in the past hour with no signs of letting up soon. He slammed the car door shut with his left hand and started across the street to the upscale little residential building. His shoes crunched and sloshed in the snow and slush as he crossed the surprisingly less than busy avenue. A draft of icy wind blew down the street at him and he turned his shoulder into it and his face away. He marched dauntlessly up the concrete stairs of the building. At the top he pressed the unmarked button on the buzzer and spoke: "I'm here." He trusted the people who were expecting him would know him by his voice. He waited a moment, looking at his reflection in the tinted black glass of the door, for them to allow him entry. His face was angular, and almost worn at the edges, despite his young age. He was only thirty-five, but he looked ten years older. His piercing brown eyes were mysterious, ever alert, always watching. After a few seconds the door clicked, signifying that the lock was opened. He grabbed the door handle in his left hand, opened it, and went in. The warmth inside the building was welcoming and inviting, even if the original façade of the building was not. The room he was in resembled a stylish lower floor of a row house. There was a large parlor to the left, with expensive leather-bound furniture, an elegant fireplace, and a dry-bar. To the right was an office housing a computer, a library of all types of books, and a heavy pine desk. Both of these rooms were empty. Anyone that lived near by could tell that the only people that "lived" in this house were a bunch of businessmen, who the neighbors kindly referred to as "suits". Although it appeared that they did live in this house, they did not. It was merely a quiet place for business, a secret office for an unknown group of employees to the government. Thousands of people drove by the building or walked down the street every day, but no one ever knew, no one ever had a lingering though about it. No one realized that the men who met in that building were planning Armageddon itself. The man with the dark hair and piercing eyes, upon seeing no one present on the lower level, started towards the staircase before him. He leaned on the intricately carved banister for a moment, massaging his right shoulder. It always ached more with the cold. The actual right arm was gone from the middle of the bicep down, it was now prosthetic. Five years ago, during a complicated excursion to Russia, a band of rebels had captured him and hacked off his arm. The poor suture work and dressing he received after the wound left him in pain for what would probably be the rest of his life. They thought they were saving him from exposure to a disease, the very disease that Dana Scully was only just discovering, much to he and his colleagues' dismay. He walked up the stairs at the same intrepid pace, his right arm swinging dead at his side. At the top of the staircase was a short hallway with a closed door on each side. The door on the left led to a restroom, while the door on the left led to the meeting room. The door leading to the meeting room had a small slat at the top with a door that slid open from the inside, it looked as if it belonged on the door of some old mob hideout. With the increase in project leaks from unfaithful employees, and the nearing to their ultimate goal, security had been doubled. They had always relied on secrecy to protect them, but it was hard to keep secrets from high- ranking employees with loose lips. They could be punished, of course, but once information was out, it was out. The name Samantha Scott immediately came to mind. Now they had henchmen to keep unwanted visitors out, and informed members in and quiet. He knocked once. Without missing a beat, the slat door slid open. The eyes and nose of a thick man with startling eyes filled the small space of the slat. "Identify yourself," He commanded gruffly. The one-armed man sighed. He had been with the project so long; he didn't understand why he had to go through this every time. He was the group's hit man for Pete's sake! He did all the dirty work! And he was damn certain the ringleader of the whole conspiracy didn't have to ID himself. One puff of smoke and it would be known who he was. "Krycek," One-armed man said defiantly, "Alex Krycek. Now let me in you big idiot." The henchman grumbled and closed the slat, and then opened the door. Krycek pushed his way past the muscular dullard into the room. The meeting room closely resembled that of a business conference room where a group of associates had been debating and discussing all day. A long conference table, ringed by hard chairs, occupied the center of the room. The table itself was cluttered with loose papers, glass ashtrays, and drinking glasses. The ashtrays were overflowing with gray and brown ashes from cigarettes and cigars, the butts of which also filled the trays. Clouds of gray smoke from the pipes, cigars, and cigarettes hung thick in the room, reflecting the fluorescent overhead light like a heavy fog. The stench of tobacco was nearly overwhelming, but one Krycek was used to. There was an individual at every chair around the table except for one, which was reserved for him. All of the occupants were men, except for one woman. They were all older men, with graying or white hair. Around the table, Krycek could name every person and their position in the Consortium. The man closest to him, one the long side of the table, was Dallas Arnette, head of the Science Research department, the basic head honcho to everything having to do with the virus. As his name seemed to suggest, he was a Texan, with a loud voice and a demand for attention. The man beside him was a Russian, Mikhail Slovinsky, newly appointed head of foreign research; beside him, the last man on the near long side, another Russian, Boris Volna, the head of foreign affairs in general. At one end of the table was Krycek's empty chair. In the first seat on the opposite side was the only woman in the room. Her name was Dr. Samantha Scott, recently appointed as the head of the virology and genetics departments. It was only her exceptional work that redeemed her after spilling secrets to her much disliked older brother. The two men beside her were high-ranking officials in government agencies, John Mathers and George Bronstead. The boss of the Consortium, stood up before the group, a smoldering cigarette in one hand, his other hand buried in his trousers pocket. Instead of sitting at his seat at the other end of the table, he chose to pace back and forth, thoughtfully chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette. This man had gray hair the color of the smoke he breathed, and eyes bloodshot and red because of that smoke. At first meeting, he did not come off with a very authoritative demeanor, more of a grandfatherly type. But once one got to know him and his position, he was a man to be feared. Essentially, he was holding the world in his hands and at every minute deciding its fate. There was only one name that sprang to mind when Krycek thought of him, and that was Spender. That was how he knew his boss, as Spender. It was a last name, and an alias no doubt, his only known first name being three initials, C.G.B. So, until his real identity was revealed--if ever--he was simply Spender. "Nice of you to join us, Alex." Spender said without facing Krycek as he entered. Krycek crossed the room without a word, very easy around the other members. He knew his importance very well, and constantly took advantage of his autonomy. "I would have been on time if I was given proper notice about this meeting. I was in DC doing my job and you called me forty-five minutes in advance." He sat heavily in his chair, slouching against the hardback. Spender now faced Krycek. "It would be in your best interest not to argue right now, Alex." He told the younger man. Krycek shrugged impassively. The be-spectacled, balding gentlemen Bronstead sitting across the room from Krycek cleared his throat. "If you are quite finished, gentlemen, shall we proceed?" he scanned the crowd. There were no objections. Dallas Arnette spoke up. "I have been informed that the tests in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, and Baltimore were all successful. There is yet to be one in Washington. The virus acts just as we planned and so far has not become a serious contagion." Spender nodded in understanding, continuing to look at the floor and pace. He hadn't always been the head-honcho of the group, only since the original Elders perished in a freak rebel attack, and the responsibilities sometimes weighed heavily on his conscience. "Get the test done in Washington. Make sure Scully is present and Mulder knows about it. We want these two where they need to be." "Sir," Mathers said, picking up his half full glass of Scotch. "What if she can find the cure?" Spender faced the group gave him an easy, but all together eerie grin, "She won't get that far. It is being made certain that she doesn't get any test subjects until it is eerie." The head of the science department spoke up again. "The specimens were claimed from Quantico by our CDC men as was the body of Anthony DeCaro." "Good, good." Spender said. He took a long drag on his cigarette and then dropped it into the ashtray near his chair. "So plans remain as they are. They have directed us to release the virus in mass doses by the twenty-fifth. They should be arriving soon after." Spender stepped nearer to the table and placed his hands on top, leaning his weight onto them. "The end is near, gentlemen. Everything we have been working towards for the last fifty years is all coming down to these pivotal few weeks. We cannot afford to make mistakes." Quiet for most of the meeting, Boris Volna finally spoke up in his less-than-perfect English and thick Russian accent. "What about Mulder and Scully? What we do about them?" Spender regarded him with a glance. "They are being closely watched. We want them to learn a little, but we don't want them to discover the truth." "Bah!" Volna exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. "You say this every time. You say this for fifty years! They always get more than we plan. We try to keep Zoe away, they get Zoe; we try to keep Mulder from hybrids, he gets hybrids, every time! We need insurance." For once Spender agreed with a nod of his head. He tossed the idea into the air, "Any suggestions?" "We can't separate them. That only drives them harder." Bronstead added. All of the gentlemen sat in silent contemplation before an electronic beeping sounded in the room. Arnette pulled his beeper from his belt and stood up, pulling his coat from the back of his chair. "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I'm afraid our meeting had to come to and end, I have some pressing matters back in DC." He explained, starting towards the door. Spender pulled out his chair and finally sat down. "Agreed," he said. "This meeting is adjourned." He signified it by lighting another cigarette. In a matter of minutes, all of the men had gotten up and exited the room, all but three. Samantha, Krycek, and Spender. They remained in their original seats, silently deliberating. "What do you suggest we do?" Krycek questioned openly after a long five minutes. Spender exhaled a stream of smoke across the table. "Bronstead, the fool he may be, is right," He spoke in a ragged voice, his glittering eyes seemingly focused on the air between himself and his associates. "We can't actively separate them, but we can only hope the coming weeks will tear at them enough that they separate themselves. Until then, there is only one other thing I can think of. Not only as insurance to keep Mulder and Scully quiet, but because we need them." By the look on the older man's face, Krycek knew exactly what he was talking about. "Those children." He said simply. "We get to them, we get to Mulder and Scully." Samantha listened in pure horror, looking back and forth between the two men. "I'm certain that it would be no problem for you to get them in custody," Spender said. Krycek nodded. Finally, Sam couldn't take it anymore. She slapped the table and spoke loudly, "You're going to take their children!? You can't do that! It would only make things worse!" Spender regarded her calmly, but his voice was a little more gruff than usual. "Samantha, if you value your job and your well-being, you will sit down; keep your eyes open and your mouth shut." She didn't remain sitting, but she didn't say another word. Instead, she stood up, grabbed her coat and briefcase, and marched out of the room, shoving the guard to the side in the process. Krycek watch the spectacle, and then also stood up and started to the door. "I'll get back to you on what I can do," He tossed casually over his shoulder as he went, uncaring if Spender heard him or not. Spender heard him. He remained sitting in his seat, puffing on his cigarette, thinking to himself. Mostly he pretended to be deep in thought, waiting for the guard to leave. After the big man had left, he leaned back in his seat, staring out into space. It was he that stood on that hill the day they buried Teena Mulder, it was he that wept silent tears. His interest in the conspiracy went farther than his pathetic life; it went into his past he. He could not honestly say he hated Mulder, but he wished they worked with one another, instead of against. He had even tried to get Mulder to "switch sides"--so to speak--but it had failed. Mulder's poor sense of morality had kept him where he was, thus depriving him of the information he sought for so long. Now in Spender's mind, Mulder was an imbecile, too blinded by his vague perception of truth to know when it was right in front of his nose. And there was nothing that could be done about it. If it came to it, Spender wouldn't hesitate to kill Mulder to get him out of the way, although later he would regret it. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his dark brown suit and pulled out a small, wallet-sized photograph. The edges of the picture were a little frayed, but the image was still clear. It was of a blonde girl and a baby boy with fine brown hair. They were the children of Mulder and Scully. He gazed at the photo for a long time, as if trying to memorize it. Then, shaking his head in something of sadness, he buried the picture back into his pocket, like he also buried his memories. Offices of The Lone Gunmen Washington, DC Monday, December 16, 2001 Offices of The Lone Gunmen was perhaps an understatement for the closed off apartment in downtown DC. The Lone Gunmen themselves were three men totally obsessed with the idea that the government was hiding something from the mass populace. They were more than devoted Tom Clancy readers, they lived, ate, and breathed one word: conspiracy. They were passionate about what they did. The "offices" were more than that, the Gunmen lived there, slept there, and ate there. They rarely left. The multitude of locks and sophisticated security equipment at the door proved that, and that they were a little more than paranoid. There were three of them, all tech-heads, all hopelessly devoted to their jobs, no, their lives. Ringo Langly with long, stringy blonde hair, thick glasses, and infamous punk rock tee shirts, looked more like he belonged to a band than an underground think-tank. Melvin Frohike characterized himself with fingerless gloves, a grungy leather jacket, and male pattern baldness. Possibly the most normal man of the group--if there is such a thing--was John Fitzgerald Byers, named for none other than the thirty-fifth President of the United States. He always had a well-trimmed beard and was rarely seen in anything other than a tasteful suit and tie. Needless to say, they were good friends of Mulder, having helped him through more trouble than they could recall. And it wasn't like having an FBI agent for a friend didn't benefit their underground newspaper. Mulder had a certain admiration for their passion and for their ability to get information, not matter how difficult. Scully, on the other hand, thought of them a little differently. To her they could be summed up in a single word: nerds. Upon first meeting, she found it very difficult to believe anything they said. But over time, she grew to understand their eccentric ways and what Mulder saw in their abilities. They had been there for her as much as Mulder, even serving as free filmmakers at their wedding. So, they were lovable nerds to her, despite the odd crush Frohike had on her. It was at their place that Scully spent a good part of the Monday following their trip to Chicago. She left Reese with her daycare mom and Zoe had school, so she was free. The past Friday, after the labs at Quantico had closed for the evening, someone had broken in and stolen the tissue samples from the DeCaro body. They got all the cultures and test analyses run too. And with a quick call to Dr. Greene, she learned that government agents claiming to be from the Centers of Disease Control and Prevention had taken Anthony DeCaro's body. Scully could do nothing but sigh and shake her head, knowing that it would happen eventually. Now she relied on the specimens she sent to the Lone Gunmen and the secrecy of their lair. She ran every test she could with the means that the Gunmen could provide her. She prepared cultures of all the tissues, inspected all the cells with a compound microscope, and recorded all of her preliminary findings onto her laptop, making sure to password-protect the document. Finally, when there was nothing that could be done other than wait, she stretched out on the couch by the wall and fell asleep. Mulder arrived at around four-thirty after having left early. He knew she would still be working and decided to surprise her. Standing outside of the door to the Gunmen's offices, he knocked twice and rang the buzzer. Langly was the first to get out of his seat in the tiny living room and go towards the door. He looked into the television monitor that showed who was at the door by means of a camera situated just above and to the right of the outside doorframe. Seeing it was Mulder, he grinned a little and called, "Who is it?" Thinking nothing of it, Mulder yelled back, "It's Mulder!" Langly's prankish grin widened, "Who?" He asked. Mulder looked up at the camera, clearly irritated with Langly's idea of a joke. "Bite me, Langly, you know who it is." He said not as loudly as before. Still watching the black-and-white surveillance, Langly continued to josh Mulder. "What's the password?" Mulder stood up straighter, raised his right hand, and gave the camera a one-fingered salute. "Fuck you, Langly!" He called. Laughing, Langly started toward the door. "I think not," He muttered, unlocking the different locks on the door. Following the sound of the multitude of locks clicking; the door opened only a crack. Langly stuck his face into the crack, holding onto the door with one hand. "We don't want any," He said and pretended to close the door again. Mulder shoved on the door with all his force, although he really didn't need to against ungainly little Langly. Langly closed and relocked the door after Mulder had fought his way in. "So what's up, G-man?" Langly asked, crossing his skinny arms across this chest and then pushing the bridge of his thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. Mulder picked up an expensive-looking little digital camera and turned it over in his hands, looking at it interestedly. "Actually, I came to check on Scully, where is she?" He asked, looking first along the expanse of the front room that looked more like a cluttered storage space. Judging by the clean half of the center table that served as a lab bench, he knew Scully had been working there. "Crash and burn," Langly said, poking a thumb over his shoulder. Mulder looked in that direction and saw a sleeping form on the lumpy couch at the end of the room, just beyond the doorway to the area where the Gunmen actually lived. "She looked pretty tired all day, you running her ragged, Mulder?" He asked, winking suggestively. Mulder chuckled and put the little camera down. "I wish. Actually Reese started cutting teeth Saturday night; neither of us has slept since then. She's just not used as used to it as I am." Langly began walking back to the doorway were Frohike and Byers will still watching TV. Smiling, he said, "It still sounds so weird for you to talk about your kids, Mulder, none of us ever thought you would make it that far." "Thanks for your confidence in me." Mulder replied. Langly shrugged. "You know me," he said, "Now if you'll excuse me, we're were in the middle of a Mystery Science Theater 3000 marathon." Then he went back into the TV room where the sound of laughter had previously erupted and closed the door behind him. Mulder approached the lumpy brown sofa where his wife was sleeping. She lay on her back, on of her hands up and resting on her forehead, almost as if to shade her eyes from some light. He sat down on the tiny space between her petite body and the edge of the sofa. Then, he leaned down and pressed his lips softly against hers. It startled her out of her sleep. She started up, bringing her hand down and nearly smacking Mulder in her face. In seeing who it was, she relaxed, sighing. "Sorry," Mulder said softly. "No, I thought you were Frohike." Scully said, pulling herself up to a sitting position. Mulder smiled. "So now I kiss like Frohike?" "I didn't say that, you know Frohike, he would pull anything." "You know how Frohike kisses now?" Mulder asked mockingly. Scully smiled, playing into his teasing. "Just shut-up and kiss me," She said, moving closer to him. He did just that, bringing his lips to hers softly, tenderly, and passionately. It was ridiculous for them to be sitting on a stuffed couch making out like a couple of teenagers, but it had been so long since they'd had five minutes alone together, and the heat of the moment swept them away. After only a few minutes of playful kissing, they pulled apart, more for the need of oxygen than anything else. Mulder wrapped locked his hands about her waist and pulled her closer, kissing her throat. "We shouldn't be doing this now," Scully said. Her kissed her lips briefly. "I know," He replied and kissed her again. "It's really not the time or the place," His kisses lasted a little longer, "I know that, too." He said, capturing her lips again. Then he paused, "Listen," He instructed, turning his face away, "What do you hear?" She listened. Another burst of laughter came from behind the closed door in the next room. "Laughter," She said. "Okay, what don't you hear?" He asked. She thought for a moment, and then realized what he was getting at. "A baby crying," He smiled at kissed her again, "Exactly, that makes this the perfect time and place." She laughed a little and kissed the corner of his and then his soft, warm lips. On a commercial break from their beloved TV show, Langly stood up and started towards the door back to the front room. Just before he grabbed the handle, he looked at and in the general direction of the junky old sofa where Scully had been sleeping. Seeing the scene that was taking place, he turned around, his back to the door and swallowed. "That's like watching my parents make-out!" He exclaimed, a grimace crossing his face. Byers and Frohike looked confused, and then both jumped from their seats simultaneously. Frohike, who looked oddly like a little bald trolled, fought his way past Langly and looked out. His jaw nearly dropped to the floor. He saw Mulder and Scully sitting on the sofa. Mulder's back was to them, kissing Scully's throat and neck. One of his hands was on her upper thigh, slowly moving up and around her hips. Frohike couldn't see his other hand, but guessed it was probably around the chest area. "I do not need to see this!" He said. "And yet oddly you're still watching," Byers remarked, standing back from the door, a little less interested in the scene than his cohorts. "She's not so tired anymore," Langly muttered, enthralled with what was going on as if it was a TV show. Scully opened her eyes from her ecstasy in time to see two faces in the glass window on the door. Her body stiffened. "Mulder," She said. "Hmm?" He mumbled unintelligibly, not stopping what he was doing. She patted his shoulder, trying to get his attention. "Mulder, we have an audience," She whispered into his ear, momentarily diverting her eyes from the spectators. Mulder froze completely and turned around. As casually as could be, he smiled and waved at his friends. Scully could feel the blush creeping up her neck. Langly opened the door, laughing. "Go, Mulder!" He yelled. Frohike stood still, his mouth still hanging open. "Hey, Frohike pick your jaw up from the ground, you're collecting dust." Mulder told him. Frohike snapped his mouth closed. "I need a drink," He grumbled, walking back into the living room, scratching the top of his head. Mulder looked at Scully. She looked thoroughly embarrassed. He smiled and she began to laugh. It kind of felt like high school all over again. "So, what did you find?" Mulder asked nonchalantly, leaning back into the old sofa. Scully opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a joking remark from Langly as he leaned against the lab table. "Careful how you sit on that sofa, Mulder, if you sit on the wrong spot you won't be able to have children anymore." "I'll take my chances," He replied, looking to Scully for the answer to his query. Scully tucked her hair behind her ears and straightened her blouse, trying to resume a more professional bearing. "The cultures will still take a while to reveal a lot, but from what I saw in the microscope after only a few minutes..." She trailed off, her eyes diverting away from her husband to her lap and then the floor. "What? What did you see?" She exhaled slowly and licked her lips thoughtfully. "It's definitely a virus," She blurted. Then, she stood up and crossed the room, not to get anything, but just to move around, process her thoughts. "But it's unlike any virus I have ever seen before. It has the same protein code as the virus we found in Dallas. Now that I've gotten a better look, it behaves like no other virus I've ever seen and looks like no other virus." She picked up an open microbiology book from the bench, bringing it over to Mulder and showing him the page as she sat back down. "It's a 'naked' virus, like this one," The picture she showed him was of a typical Picornavirus, which looked more like a small geometric figure composed of twenty, triangular faces. "That means it lacks the bi-layer membrane that cells have, making it less susceptible to damage by ordinary means; high or low pH, lipid solvents, or some chemical disinfectants. It's an RNA virus, meaning it has an RNA genome. But other than that, everything else is completely unfamiliar." Mulder looked at the drawings of different known viruses of all different shapes and sizes. He was confused, but it wouldn't be the first time Scully's scientific explanation confused him. "What does that mean?" For the first time since he had arrived, Scully's eyes took on a light of impossible sincerity, and a hint of fear. "I'm not a virologist, but I can tell you almost without a doubt that this is not any virus that had ever been recorded. The only thing I know is that oxygen is toxic to it, specifically O2. That means it can't be airborne, at least not this strain. Wherever it came from, it could pose as a very serious health threat. And honestly, that frightens me." Mulder was absolutely speechless. This was everything he had been afraid of back in that summer of '98. There had been four dead bodies, all perished from an unknown infectious agent, taken to a federal building where the building was destroyed in trying to hide their deaths. Then there were unmarked tanker trucks, presumably hauling this virus, which he believed to be extra-terrestrial. He looked intensely into Scully's eyes. "Is there any chance that this virus could be extra-terrestrial?" He asked her honestly. Her brows wrinkled in contemplation, but she refused to believe it. "I wouldn't say that..." She paused, "But, I...I really don't know." The Gunmen were gathered side-by-side, listening intently to the conversation. Finally, Byers spoke up, "If this virus is extra- terrestrial, and is indeed being used as some kind of weapon, as Mulder suspects, what could be the results?" Scully looked at him somberly. "Then it could have pandemic proportions, even worse if it couldn't be treated. From what I've deduced, it's extremely virulent and kills very quickly, within days of infection. Millions of people could die." That statement warranted silence. Millions of people could die was the one sentence that rang in all of their heads. As said those four years ago, it could very well be the plague to end all plagues. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 5 DC General Hospital Washington, DC Tuesday, December 17, 2001 "It seems like the flu is worse this year. That's why we decided to bring the kids in for their shots." Scully nodded as the heavy-set brunette woman explained why she had brought her nine-year-old daughter in to the clinic. The free clinic at DC General, so Carol claimed, was exactly like the one she started at Cook County years before. Both she and Scully thought it was a wonderful thing, a way for the uninsured to seek minor medical care and get prescriptions filled. "Is this gonna hurt?" The girl, named Chelsea, looked up at Scully with apprehension filling her bright green eyes. Scully smiled comfortingly, bringing the needle of the hypodermic syringe slowly out of the small jar of influenza vaccine after filling the syringe with the needed dosage. "It will just be a little prick, like a bee sting." She said, swabbing alcohol onto the child's bare arm. "Have you ever been stung by a bee?" The girl looked nervously at the long, thin needle. "No..." She said, looking back to Scully who was about to administer the shot, "Have you?" Scully paused, hoping maybe the girl would be telling the story of what bee stung her when she gave the shot, and she wouldn't notice. "Yep, I have," She answered. "Did it hurt?" The girl asked. Smiling again, Scully shook her head. "Only for a second." The child tried to pass a smile. Childish fears of such things as shots are just that, childish. The inoculation was over in a matter of seconds, from the time it took for Scully to stab the needle into the girl's arm until she injected the fluid. When it was all over, she stuck a colorful sticky bandage over the spot and helped the girl to hop down from the gurney. "All right, Mrs. Adams, Chelsea should be just fine with the injection. There might by a little soreness by tomorrow, but if she moves the arm around a lot it should get the fluid moving more. If there is any abnormal redness or swelling, bring her back in." Mrs. Adams nodded her understanding, grasping onto Chelsea's hand. Scully walked them back out to the nurses' desk, and bid them to have a safe drive home. She watched them leave, and then turned around and went into the nurses' station, stripping off her gloves and leaving them in the bin by the door. Carol and Doug were both behind the desk, along with a handful of nurses and clerks. Doug was dropping off a file and studying the patient board while Carol was talking with another nurse. Scully leaned against the counter for a moment, rubbing her forehead with her fingers and stifling a yawn. "Hey, Dana," Doug greeted when he noticed her there. "Staying awake?" Scully nodded. "I've had it worse." Carol was about to say something else when a male nurse turned away from the radio having hung up on a call from an ambulance. "We've got a thirty-five year old male coming in, suffering from massive chest pains," He announced, rushing out of the station. "When?" Carol called after him. "They're pulling in now," He replied. Doug and Carol sprang into action. Scully could only watch. She was not an employee, just a volunteer with the clinic, unable to treat admitted patients or work on traumas. She observed as the paramedics bustled through the ER doors, being met by doctors and nurses clad in smocks and protective goggles. It wasn't until they got through the doors and into the hallway that she could hear what the paramedics were saying: "...BP two-forty over ninety, pulse two-fifty, resp is shallow and irregular. He started seizing in the rig. Wife says he's been having flu-like symptoms for the past few days and called when he started coughing up blood..." The doctors and nurses began talking about tuberculosis, as was expected. They all managed to get masks as quickly as they could. As the paramedics rushed by, pushing the foldable gurney, Scully followed, eyes widening with terror. The patient was writing and convulsing against the subduing hands of docs and nurses. His skin had already become a pale, ashy gray where all of the veins could be seen just beneath the flesh. The blood in the vessels was thick and coagulating, taking on an abnormal, dark purplish color. There were spatters of dark crimson blood inside the oxygen mask strapped to his mouth. His eyes were the dead giveaway to what caused his condition. They had an unmistakable black, oily substance swimming over them and running down his cheeks like black tears. Frozen with fear and disbelief, Scully only stood in the middle of the hallway, watching as they turned and disappeared into the trauma room. After a few moments she snapped out of it, realizing that she had to get into that trauma. She broke out to a brisk jog down the hall, pushed open the swinging doors and went into the trauma room. There, she grabbed a surgical mask from a shelf by the wall and tied it around her head quickly. Above all the shouting of vitals and orders in the room, Scully managed to work herself close enough to Carol to communicate with her. "Carol! I know what this is!" She shouted above the din. "Pulse is quickening!" Carol yelled to the others. She glanced away from the patient and looked at Scully. "Dana, what are you doing?" She asked. "This man has a virus, I don't know much about it but I do think I can help." "You've seen this before?" Doug asked her, trying to figure out himself how to go about treating this guy. "Yes," Scully replied. Doug looked around at the confused faces of people just trying to blindly keep the patient alive. "All right, let's everybody listen to Dr. Scully, she knows what she's doing. Scully turned around as a nurse gave her gloves, a smock, and goggles. She stepped closer to the patient, examining his status, she ordered as she looked at him, "I want everyone in this room in a mask and goggles, no one comes in this room without both. We don't know yet how this virus manufactures its contagions." Immediately everybody who wasn't wearing both got them. "I want a CBC and chem. 7. Let's get a saline IV to keep him hydrated and a throat culture sent down to the labs." She ordered. "What treatment should be given?" Doug asked her. She paused having no idea what to even begin with. "I have no idea." She confessed. "Let's try a local anticoagulant to get his blood back to normal before he has a heart attack." "I can't get a vein, the blood is like jelly." Carol announced. "Start a central line," Doug instructed. "Too late, he's going into V-fib!" Doug called for the crash cart, charged the paddles, and shocked the man's bare chest. That was when the patient bled out. No one could do anything but stand and stare in horror as blood and the black oil gushed from every orifice in the man's body. The thick, almost gelatinous, purple blood rushed from the man's nose and ears in streams, as if something inside him was squeezing out all his bodily fluids. The black oil over his eyes ran down the sides of his cheeks, hot and reeking of decay, causing his eyes to explode in the sockets. His body lurched against the gurney, his back arching up as the blood continued to flow. He screamed in inhuman pain, bubbling and splattering blood everywhere. Soon his pants were saturated from the bleeding out of his rectum and the gurney and floor covered with the blood from his mouth and eyes. Then, almost as soon as it started, it was over. The patient stopped screaming and fell back against the gurney, his blood- covered head lolling to the side. The heart monitor had flat-lined for good. Everyone had backed up a few steps, too horrified to do anything, and all knowing there was nothing they could do. Scully stripped off her bloodied gloves and then goggles and mask. "It's not airborne, but I wasn't sure about the possibility of contraction through the coughing and spilled fluids. I still want everyone to get a shower before treating any other patients," Breathing heavily, she started walking towards the door, feeling dizzy and nauseated. "I want this trauma room closed off until I can get some people in here to clean this up." With that, she walked out of the room, taking two lefts down the hall and out the ER double doors to the ambulance bay. It was just too much, even for her, to handle all at once. After all she had seen in the field with Mulder, this was still more sickening. She rushed over to the wall, and bending over, supporting herself with one hand on the bricks, she retched into the snow. With the taste of bile in her mouth and the visions of what had just happened in the ER in her head, she leaned against the wall, trying to regain control. She was a forensic pathologist. She cut open dead bodies, not matter how rotted or decayed or mauled, took out the organs from those bodies, catalogued them, weighed them, studied them for disease, and then shoved them back into the body, stitched it up like a rag-doll, and shipped it off to the funeral home as necessary. It was fascinating and morbid work. But still, watching a once living patient die of an unknown pathogen was just disgusting beyond even something she could handle. "Dana!" She heard called from behind her. "Dana, are you all right?" A hand settled onto her shoulder. Scully stood up straight, seeing Carol bending over her. She nodded and swallowed hardly. "I'm fine," She said, crossing her arms over her chest against the cold. "I've just...I've never seen anyone crash and bleed out like that." "Me either," said Carol as both women stared off at nothing along Massachusetts Avenue. Doug came out moments later, heaving the doors apart as if they angered him, and stood in his way. But the look on his face wasn't of anger it was of confusion. He had just let a patient die, and there was nothing that he could have done to stop it. No matter how many times any doctor had to watch a human die, it never got any easier. "What the hell was that?" He asked Scully. She exhaled slowly. "It was a virus at work." She hesitated, debating whether or not she should tell them any more than that. "What kind of virus?" Doug questioned. Scully looked around, avoiding the question at first. "I can't really say right now," She confessed, looking at her friends and then walking back into the hospital. For a change, she wanted to tell them what was going on. She wanted them to know what she had found and she wanted them to know all of Mulder's theories. She wanted to explain all she knew about it and everything that happened four years ago. But she just couldn't. It wasn't like the information was classified in the conventional way, but it just wasn't something you went around talking about. The idea that there may be a conspiracy against the government plotting the demise of the human race was not something you chatted about around the water cooler. In their experiences, loose lips were something that got you killed. Ask all of their dead informants. Her idea of this reaffirming her decision not to tell Carol and Doug about the virus, Scully went back to the lounge to retrieve her cell phone and call Mulder, he would definitely want to know about this. Mulder Residence As soon as Mulder got off the phone with Scully, he called Dmitri Oslev. For a change, Dmitri agreed to meet him at home, instead of some park or private location in DC. So, Mulder went home early, leaving Jack to finish the paperwork from Chicago. He stopped by the daycare mom's house on Falstone Avenue and picked up Reese. The woman had at least a dozen children there and was more than happy to unload one early. Two hard raps on the door signaled Dmitri's arrival. Mulder had been waiting less than half an hour, surprising considering his informant's penchant for being fashionably late. Grabbing Jake by the collar to stop him from attacking the older Russian, Mulder opened the door and let him in. "You have a very beautiful home, Agent Mulder." Dmitri remarked, standing in the doorway to wipe the snow from his boots and avoid ruining the hardwood floors. He took off his thick scarf and heavy trench coat and hung it on a coat hook. Mulder let go of Jake as soon as he was certain the dog was calm. Jake immediately set about sniffing the cold air that still hung around Dmitri from outside. "He doesn't bite," Mulder said, gesturing towards the living room for Dmitri to have a seat and make himself at home. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, beer?" He asked politely. "Black coffee would be nice," Dmitri answered, kneeling before Jack and scrubbing his neck and ears with his fingers. He spoke a little in jumbled Russian to the animal until Mulder reappeared, two mugs of coffee in his hands. "I used to have a dog like this," Dmitri said. Mulder was a little off struck by Dmitri's words. First the compliment on the house and then the almost playful nature with the dog, it was bizarre. Could it be that this informant wasn't just a turncoat government robot, but rather human? Mulder almost wondered if he should bring Reese down and see how Dmitri reacted around him. Dmitri had made himself comfortable in the second recliner from the door. Mulder sat on the sofa adjacent to him. After taking a sip of the steaming liquid in his mug, Dmitri spoke, "I have something to show you, Agent Mulder," He put down the coffee mug on the corner table beside his chair, and then brought out a folded paper from the inside of his tailored suit pocket. He handed it to Mulder, who unfolded and studied it eagerly. He saw a dizzying, seemingly endless code of numbers, no spaces between them, that continued on for two neatly printed pages: 235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511 8531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151 3914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472 3511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185 3151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139 1472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235 1185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531 5139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914 7235118531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511 8531513914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151 3914723511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472 3511853151391472351185315139147235118531513914723511853151391472351185 3151391479199131391451420. . .CONT'D Mulder looked at the papers for a long few moments, and then back up at Dmitri with questioning eyes. "What is this?" He asked. Dmitri leaned back in the chair, taking the coffee mug into his hand again, sipping it, and letting the silence hang. "It's a satellite transmission received by Langly Air Force Base in Virginia." He explained with insouciance. "What does it mean?" Dmitri smiled one of his mysterious, yet warm and friendly smiles. "You are too quick to rely on someone else for the answers. You will need to figure things out on your own if you're going to get anything done." He watched a moment at Mulder's offended expression. "It's a simple numerical code, I'm sure you'll have no trouble figuring it out." Mulder snorted and shook his head, annoyed. "I think I can handle it." He said, and smiled. Dmitri guffawed, and then burst into an awful fit of dry coughs until his eyes and face turned red and watery. He pulled a cotton handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it. As the coughs subsided, he looked up at Mulder, who looked concerned. "Damn cigarettes," He said coarsely. "I'm trying to quit--" As he spoke the word quit, which sounded more like qvit in his accent, another short cough burst from his mouth. "Unfortunately it is a hard habit to kick that I seemed to have picked up from a man I believe you are familiar with." Mulder nodded, rolling his eyes. "Unfortunately," Settling back into the chair once again, the red flush draining from his face, Dmitri crossed his ankle over his knee. He looked at Mulder, a musing expression in his eyes. "How much do you know about the Project?" Mulder thought for a minute. After so many years, he should know something definitive. The only thing he knew for certain was that his sister was alive. Everything else had been contradicted or denied. "All I know are lies," He said solemnly. Dmitri nodded. "Fifty-four years ago there were reported sightings of strange, flying objects in New Mexico and other parts of the world. Your US government denied the claims that one of these ships had actually crash-landed near Roswell. But there were always believers. You are a believer?" To the statement asked as a question, Mulder nodded slowly, already enthralled by the man's deep, baritone voice, and his words in general. "What your government always denied, and the cultists continued to believe was that this ship was alien. But just because they denied it, doesn't mean it wasn't true." Dmitri, paused, blinked, took in the expression on the younger man's angular face, and continued, "I'm not going to be blunt with you Mulder, that ship that crashed was alien. Aboard it were three aliens, Beings, as we have come to call them. Two died in the crash, one survived for a few days afterwards. Now, I was not present during this particular incident, but I was at the one in Russian around the same time. We figure it was pure coincidence that two ships crashed nearly at the same time. I can tell you that what we found out from these creatures will blow your mind." Mulder was speechless and dumbfounded. Was he actually supposed to believe this was the truth? As ridiculous as it seemed, one Russian man's accounts of fifty years before, he believed. He believed with all his heart and soul. "They told us their plans. How they were going to destroy us with the systematic release of an indiscriminate, genocidal virus. We bargained with them, both my government and yours. We convinced them through satellite transmissions that they needed our help as much as we needed theirs. They needed slaves, for what purpose was theirs alone, but they still needed them. We told them we could make their genetic hybrid slaves, in return for the immunity of everyone involved with the Project. They agreed. Of course it was a ploy. We wanted a chance to work with the genetic material of the virus and make our own vaccine. But the ideals were not completely unselfish; we only wanted to save our families. Back in 1997, you came to Russia and were subjected to the tests of the virus. I remember hearing of it. In '98, Russia and the US Consortium joined forces to get the vaccine. We had a vaccine and the Consortium had a weak treatment, that one you administered to Scully when she was infected. I moved here from Russia during that time. Soon after that, the band of rebel aliens found out about our first full hybrid--Cassandra Spender--and destroyed us. They killed off almost the entirety of the US Consortium, Cassandra Spender, and our insurance. That's when the vaccine failed. We all but gave up. It seemed as though greater powers were satisfied, they would have immunity, screw the rest of the world. I left the project then, deciding that it was completely wrong to play god that way, deciding who would live and who would die. I've been keeping up though...naïve, mouthy young employees will yak off about anything I ask." Absorbing all the blatant information, Mulder was stunned into speechlessness, never before had so much been laid out for him. He usually relied on his own theories and vague clues from informants. It was obvious that Dmitri Oslev had plans for him. "As of recent, Spender, who heads the whole deal now, has had a few side-projects in slim hopes of a Resistance, but I think he has given up and accepted what is going to happen. His family is going to survive, and he couldn't really care less about the rest of the world." Mulder looked confused for a moment. "Spender? The Smoking Man?" He asked. Dmitri nodded, drinking the last of his coffee to moisten his dry mouth. "Spender is all we know him as. No one knows his real name." "What are some of the projects he's been working on?" "Oh, you know of them. The Alpha-Human Project and the New Hybrids. The whole point of the New Hybrids was to implant previously barren women, mostly abductees, like Scully, with hybrid ovum. I'm not sure what he hoped to accomplish with a few naturally immune babies, most of which are still a trimester or two shy of birth. The man is getting foolhardy in his age." "What was the point in the AHP? Why subject all of those children to those tests for nothing?" Dmitri's eyes grew sour. The AHP was a project he strongly objected, and didn't relish discussing. "Because he could," He answered coldly. Mulder fell silent for a few moments, still thinking about all he had been told. There was still so much unclear, but he shied from asking too much. Shaking his head, he conceded to ask, "I still don't understand, why did they take my sister?" "Your sister was taken as part of the bargain. They took a handful of family members of the group. The Beings needed to study humans, to learn our weaknesses and defenses. After they were through, they returned them. The reason you saw your sister being taken away is because your father did not want to give one of you up, so they took it upon themselves to take her. When they returned her, they didn't give her back to your family because they weren't sure of Bill Mulder's faithfulness without insurance. But your family is far more connected to all of this than that." This would have stolen Mulder's interest, had what Dmitri was saying not already done that. He didn't even have to ask Dmitri to elaborate. "I have it on good knowledge that your mother was not always faithful to the man you know as your father. For twelve years she was having an extra-marital affair with a man that worked closely with Bill Mulder. From that affair, she bore two children...your sister, and you." Mulder was shaking his head slowly, having the momentary idea to jump up and punch this man for accusing such things of his dead mother. But deep inside, he knew it was true. "Who is my father?" He asked blindly. "I think you know," Dmitri answered intensely. Mulder opened his mouth to speak again when a wail erupted from the upstairs. It was almost as though Reese had timed it. Dmitri's eyes wandered to the staircase, and then he slowly rose from his seat. "Go care for you son, I can show myself the door," He said, walking towards the front door. Mulder stood as well, not talking. Before Mulder started upstairs, as he was putting on his coat and scarf, Dmitri spoke one more time, "Agent Mulder, the things I tell you and show you are some of the darkest secrets of modern civilization. They are things you were never destined to know. Before you contact me again, you need to ask yourself if you can handle it, and is it's what you really want...and if you're willing to sacrifice your life for it." He let that hang, and then said good-bye in Russian, opened the door, and left. After getting Reese up from his nap, changing him, and putting him into the playpen, Dmitri was long gone and Mulder was alone with everything he had been told. He sat heavily on the sofa, trying to sort everything out in his mind. The boxes filled with his mother's mementos were still stacked upon each other in the corner by the window seat. All of the sudden, Mulder got up and went over to the boxes, and began separating them and ripping open the packaging tape. There had to be something in one of the boxes that could defend or denounce Teena Mulder's honor. In the first box was a menagerie of old, framed pictures that used to sit on the mantel or hang on the walls. One of the pictures was the black-and-white photo from his parents' wedding. Mulder picked it up and studied it. They were both so young when they married, but, oh, they looked happy. He frowned at it, anger and disbelief stinging his eyes. Damn dust, he thought, wiping away the water from his eyelids. Setting aside the picture box, he came to a lighter box marked in his sister's handwriting with the phrase Letters/Documents black magic marker. He opened this box and began sorting through the musty, yellowing papers. He must have sorted through a hundred from people he didn't know and places he had never been until he found one letter that for some reason caught his eye. Call it intuition or a stroke of luck, but a simple, enveloped, plain letter on white paper nabbed his attention. It shouldn't have, not the way it blended in with the other, not considering it didn't have any special attributes, but it did. He pulled the letter from the pile, reading the hand-written address. There was no return address, no hint as to whom it was from. Without hesitation, he pulled the letter from the ripped top of the envelope and unfolded it. The letter itself was not lengthy, with no real names to be discerned, and in an obvious man's handwriting: TM, I'm sorry it has been so long since we've last spoken, or seen each other. I miss you terribly. Unfortunately work keeps me. I hope you are fairing well. I know the winter has been hard there. Love, I'm afraid I cannot delay this much longer. I fear for our secrecy. I fear your husband may be catching on. Do you think? If he found out about us, he would probably kill me. But I simply cannot stop seeing you. It would be too hard. Write me often. Each day I long to hear from you. I cannot wait to see you again. Love Always, CS The letter was almost sickening. TM, that was obviously Teena Mulder, and CS could be none other than C. Spender. It horrified Mulder that his mother loved another man all the while she was married to his fa...Bill. It was hard, even for him, to believe the facts. He and his sister were both illegitimate children, the offspring of perhaps the most evil person to ever walk the face of the planet. How it hurt to learn he was the Devil's spawn. Rubbing his forehead, he gripped the paper tightly, re-reading the words over and over again. He wondered if Samantha knew. Perhaps that's what she meant when she said she got her job in the Group through "Dad"? He looked up from the writing after a moment, slowly lowering it from reading level. Tears of rage nearly brimmed his eyes again. He stubbornly rubbed at them with one hand, chalking it up to more dust. As he opened his eyes again and his vision focused, something glinted on the lamp to his right. Looking at it, he put the letter down and walked over to the table lamp sitting beside the window seat. If he looked at the lamp in the right angle, the light from outside streaming in the window hit a tiny, almost imperceptible button on the body of the lamp. Around the neck of the lamp were tiny, metal facets. The one that caught Mulder's eye was set differently than the others. When he picked up the lamp to inspect it, he noticed that that particular facet was a darker color than the others, too. It looked like the head of a metal thumbtack with a tiny clear bubble over it. He touched it with his thumb. It moved. Using his thumbnail like a chisel, he scraped at the edge of the facet and it popped of the lamp easily, revealing its connection to a thin red wire. His eyes widened when he realized that the little button was a tiny camera. He grabbed the wire and tugged gently. It showed no signs of giving. Without a second thought, he picked up the lamp and banged the ceramic base on the table, shattering it. The wire was threaded through a very small hole to the camera, and then into a small black box inside the lamp base. Mulder placed the lamp on the floor so the camera laid flat on the hardwood floor. Then he stepped on it, crunching its tiny components with the heel of his shoe. In a determine hunt, he began scouring the living room. Mindlessly tipping up the lamps and chairs and trinkets on the mantel over the fireplace. On the table in the corner by the chair where Dmitri had been sitting, he found a little microphone wedged between the boards of wood. It was wired all over the room, to other microphones, and to another camera beside the overhead light that blended in with the ceiling fan. He pulled it down immediately and destroyed it. He founded ceiling cameras and microphones in the kitchen and dining room, along the upstairs hallway by the air conditioning vent. He went into the nursery. Jake had escaped up there and was stretched out on the navy blue rug. The pale blue walls were all noticeably bare and reflected the daylight, giving the room a cheery appearance. The natural wood crib sat caddy-cornered to the wall near the wind, a bright animal mobile hanging silently above it. Mulder went to the mobile, spun it with his hand thoughtfully, and watched the animals move. A blue elephant spun by, its black bead eyes glistening. Abruptly, he stopped the mobile and inspected the tiny stuffed elephant. One of its eyes was larger than the other, but not so much that one would see it without looking. He pinched the larger bead and pulled it off, it was attached to a thin green wire. He unclipped the elephant from the plastic arm inspected it, then dug his fingers into the seams and ripped it open. Nestled in the cotton stuffing of the toy was a similar black box to the one in the lamp. Shaking his head and muttering unintelligible curses under his breath, Mulder went back downstairs and got the phone from the kitchen. As he put it to his ear, he heard the barely imperceptible click of someone else picking up on the line. The phones were tapped. "Shit," He grumbled hoarsely, storming out to the living room where his cell phone lay on the couch. He checked on Reese a moment, then took his phone and went outside on the porch. Just to be safe, he crossed the yard and stood by his car, in case the porch was bugged as well. His entire house, as far as he knew, was bugged. By who and why he had no idea. But he did know that whoever was observing him, had his entire conversation with Dmitri on tape. And that could very well cost him his life, or worse, the lives of Scully and the kids. Unmindful of the bitter cold he dialed the secure number to the Lone Gunmen offices, possibly the only men that could help him. DC General Hospital At two o'clock, Scully had finally waded through enough clinic patients to catch a late lunch. She let Carol take over the last handful of patients until she was finished. Then she retired to the employee lounge and the lone round table. She sat at that table, her Tupperware packed salad before her, untouched. Somehow her appetite was lost in the morning hours. Going against what she and Mulder had discussed, she had called the local branch of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to handle the cleanup of the body. She assured them that her research of the virus had showed it could not be airborne and that all employees in the trauma room at the time had showered before treating other patients, her included. They spouted off the song and dance about how the virus was not at all an FBI case and for her to cease and desist research on it and turn over her specimens before she was suspected of bio-terrorism. She didn't agree to anything, merely kept her mouth shut. Meanwhile CDC employees came in their sterile suits and cleaned up the trauma room, body and all. That was two hours ago, and Scully was still thinking about it. She wasn't about to give up her specimens and cultures, not knowing that the federal CDC would probably bury the virus anyway, pretending it never happened. Or they would do like they did in Dallas, slap some known viral outbreak name on it, clean up the evidence, and end up the hero. Scully poked at her salad as the lounge door opened and someone came in. Without greeting, Carol came over and sat beside her. She was silent for a long while, watching Scully stare at apathetically at her lunch. "Dr. Aden wants to know about the virus. He wants to know how you know about it." She said finally. Dr. Wes Aden was the head of the emergency medicine. Self-righteous and pushy at times, he was still a good man and a fine doctor. Scully nodded. "There's not much more I can tell him that I haven't told the CDC." "There wasn't much you told the CDC." Carol said, her eyes almost hard on Scully's face. Scully knew just what Carol was after. She wanted to know what Scully knew. It may have been important to her, or it may have just been that she was curious. Whatever her reasons, Scully knew that Carol wanted answers, and would not easily be deterred. "Carol, there are things about my work...about my life that I can't talk about, that I don't want to remember, much less talk about." She said seriously. Carol looked at her sympathetically, but said nothing. Putting down her fork, Scully watched Carol's expression intently. It was almost blank, but there was a dark eagerness that burned in her eyes. It was the same way with everyone. Somehow they seemed to know that she knew a lot of secrets, and they wanted them as well. Quite frankly, Scully couldn't handle it anymore. She couldn't handle lying straight into the faces of her friends and her family. "All right," Scully said softly, condescendingly. "I'll tell you everything I know." Doug came into the room the instant the sentence spilled from her mouth. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn he was standing at the door waiting for it. He walked across the room and sat on the other side of her, just as curious as his wife. Scully was silent for a few moments, gaining her bearings. Most of all, she was letting her memories take over. Dallas, Texas, 1998. She and Mulder were there after a bomb threat was called to a federal building. As usual, Mulder ignored protocol and somehow managed to drag Scully across the street to a different federal building and continue the search there, even though they had been informed the bomb was at the other building. They looked all over that damn building, finding nothing. Mulder was the only person that ever would have gotten locked into the room with it in the end, finding it in a soda vending machine. The entire building ended up exploding into a towering inferno. They thought everyone was out, except the unfortunate SAC. Everyone was instructed to evacuate. So why were they informed later that three firemen and a little boy had also perished in the explosion? Why, because someone need a scapegoat, and who better than Spooky Mulder? The Office of Professional Review board threatened transfer for Scully, eventually leading to Mulder's eventual demise. Mulder did a little digging. He met a man who allegedly worked with his father. This man told him of the Conspiracy that he had always believed in. Told him those people were killed by something else and kept in the FEMA offices in Dallas. Upon inspection of one of the bodies at Bethesda Naval Hospital, Scully discovered the same massive infection as she saw in Chicago and again in DC. She hadn't a clue as to its origins, its nature, or its name, only that it was a quick, virulent, and efficient killer. They went back to Dallas and found fossils that matched the characteristics of the victim's tissue. They found the covered up site where the boy and firemen had come from. They chased unmarked tanker trucks that Mulder claimed were carrying this virus. It all lead to a dead end and a pair of railroad tracks. That was when the entirety of Mulder's information came out. His theory: the virus was extra-terrestrial. Naturally, the very idea of it being such a thing was aggravating the Scully, especially without adequate proof. They argued about it by the desert roadside and the railroad tracks until a train went by, on the train were their two unmarked tanker trucks. They continued chasing until they found a cornfield and two huge facilities that stored millions upon millions of honeybees. Mulder told her later that the bees and the corn were used to carry the virus. It was hard to believe, especially for her. No one in their right mind would believe honeybees were being used to carry an alien virus being kept secret from the human race. And Scully continued not believing, right up until she was stung by one of those bees in the hallway of Mulder's apartment building. Scully explained the whole tale up to there and then stopped, taking in the bewildered and similarly disbelieving expressions on both Doug and Carol's faces. "I don't really remember much after that," She said, hesitated, and told them what she did know. "I was kidnapped and taken to Antarctica, I don't know why. Mulder came and rescued me, I was pretty out of it the whole time, as you can imagine. Afterwards, they let me stay in DC, obviously. We read in the newspaper that they claimed the outbreak in Dallas was the Hanta virus and we heard nothing of it after that." Scully leaned forward in her chair and cleaned up the uneaten remnants of her lunch, signaling the end of the story. Carol looked across the table, dumbstruck. She could say nothing but "Whoa," Doug was a little less awed. He scratched his chin thoughtfully and looked utterly unmoved. "I don't know, I find that all a little hard to believe. I mean, an alien virus? Transported by bees? Not only is it virtually impossible, it's just way too bizarre. I don't believe it." "Join the club," Scully said flatly. "Those are some pretty...outstanding accounts, Dana." Carol said. "Antarctica's a pretty long way from Dallas." "You're not the first person to tell me that. But trust me, I was being impartial as I could. I only told you what I remembered and what I knew." She replied. "Alien or not, it was a virus that killed that trauma this morning." Doug said, propping his elbows on the edge of the table. "What do you know about the virus?" Scully sighed and drummed her fingers on the table. "Not much. I know that it's not enveloped, which makes it harder to treat, and I know it is RNA based. Its structure is like that of a typical Class IV reovirus, polyhedral in shape, about seventy-five to eighty nanometers, etc. I observed that attacks cells with more aggression than I've ever seen. It penetrates the cell membrane, multiplies in the cytoplasm, and attacks the nucleus. It breaks down the proteins from the inside out, leaving the cells nothing but a liquefied waste. The cells don't even have a chance, human lysosomes have no way of recognizing the virus as something to attack." Shaking his head, Doug responded, "There's no way we can treat it?" Scully shrugged. "Not that I know of." "So what you're saying is that we have an outbreak of some unknown, possibly alien, virus out there and there's nothing we can do about it?" Carol asked, a slight tone of fear in her voice. "It's not an outbreak yet, only a few isolated cases. But if this virus ever becomes a serious contagion, it would probably have epidemic...possibly pandemic effects." Scully told her. Doug looked at the two women, his wife and the federal agent doctor. He spoke to them with a dark, sober reality, "It could destroy the world." 4:15 p.m. After the abnormally long day and the events of the late morning, Scully was more than happy to get home. She hoped for a quiet evening where she could sit down for five minutes and forget about the world around her. In a way, she enjoyed her time off from the FBI. It was something different for her to do than the same old paperwork, the same old office, and the same old investigations. Yet in the same way, she missed working with Mulder and being out in the field. There would come a time when she would decide what to do, become a practicing doctor or stay in the FBI, but hopefully she could continue putting that off as something else she would rather not think about. Turning the car onto Uppingham Court, Scully lifted her hand in greeting as one of the neighbors drove past, doing the same. After moving into the house two weeks before the wedding, Scully had made it her personal mission to get to know all of their neighbors. In her view, most of them were friendly, some were a little annoying, and there were a few she could do without. To Mulder, neighbors were like bad habits. You tried as hard as you possibly could to get away from them, but they were always there, nagging at you. She new everyone in the first six houses, two on the right, four on the left. Most of them were the homes to families with children, one was a newlywed couple that hadn't started yet, and one was a younger woman and her roommate who were renting the house from one girl's brother while they attended college. There was only one house that she didn't know who lived there. It was on the opposite side of the street of her house and two down. The only cars that were ever in the driveway were unmarked sedans with government plates, which wasn't so weird considering the only cars in her driveway were unmarked sedans with government plates. At first she thought maybe they shared the neighborhood with other FBI agents. But when she asked around, know one knew anything for sure. Oh well, it wasn't really her business anyway. She pulled into the driveway four houses from the start of the street and two from the end of the court. As soon as she got a look at the front yard, her jaw dropped. First of all, the Lone Gunmen's grungy VW van was sitting in the driveway, the back doors hanging wide open revealing tons of computer equipment and wiring. Second of all, all of the living room and dining room furniture was sitting in the driveway and in the grass. That would have been fine, except for the fact that there was six inches of snow in the grass! Already on the warpath to get an explanation, Scully killed the engine, grabbed her bag, and got out of the car. She weaved between the stacked dining room chairs and the back of the Gunmen's van. She stopped at the edge of the driveway to examine the living room sofa as it soaked up the melting snow. The upholstery was probably ruined for good. Frowning, she continued up the driveway, crossed the freshly cleared stone walkway, and went inside the house. The front foyer and living room were totally foreign to her. The living room had been completely stripped of furniture, save for the yet-to-be-decorated Christmas tree and the playpen. Even the rug had been rolled up and nestled into the corner, revealing the hardwood floors beneath. At least the place is clean for a change, her sardonic sense of humor joked inside her head. She dropped her bag on the floor by the door and shed her coat. The only sign of life to be seen was Reese playing obliviously in his playpen. She crossed the room, three-inch-heels clicking audibly on the floors, and watched a moment as Reese played with his tiny feet-- the most interesting thing in the world to him. Then she leaned down and scooped him up into her arms, shaking her head at Mulder's lack of responsibility. It wouldn't be the first time he left Reese awake and unattended. His excuse was always, "But I left the baby monitor on!" Sure enough, the walkie-talkie like object tethered with Velcro to the side of playpen was on. That was all fine and dandy, except for the fact that Mulder usually didn't turn the receiving end of the monitor on too. Men. "Where's Daddy, Reese? Where is he?" She asked the baby softly as she carried him upstairs. Reese just looked at her, grabbing her fingers and drooling unresponsively. Scully looked into the nursery, which was surprisingly still filled with all its furniture. There was no sign of her bullheaded husband. At the end of the hall, she peered into her bedroom, finally finding her source of aggravation. Mulder was standing upright, in stocking feet, on the waterbed, inspecting something by the ceiling fan. To her right, Byers was sprawled on his back on the floor, a flashlight in one hand, looking at something on the bottom of the wooden lip of the bed. In front of her, just beyond the passageway between the foot of the bed and the dresser, Langly was hunkered behind the TV in the corner, fiddling with the wires. On the far side of the room, Frohike was looking through the drawers of clothing in the tall bureau. She could imagine missing pieces of lingerie from the small top drawer. Jake, who was absolutely not permitted on the bed, lay stretched out on it at Mulder's feet. "What the hell is going on here?" She asked, the red anger showing on her cheeks and neck. Startled, Mulder looked down from the ceiling and dropped his hands to the sides. In one hand, he clutched a screwdriver, in the other, a penlight. "Oh, hi, Honey, glad you're home." He said casually, and a little abnormally loud. He stepped forward and hopped easily off the bed, bringing his index finger to his lips and dropping his tools onto the dresser. He picked up a notepad and pen and scratched something on it. Scully opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Mulder's fingers pressing against her mouth. He showed her what he had written. We're bugged. Scully's eyes averted from the paper to his face, the red flush draining from her face. "Bugged?" She mouthed to him, just to be certain she read correctly. He nodded, mouthing back and gesturing around the room, "Everywhere." Then loudly as before, "Why don't we go downstairs and talk?" Scully nodded her reply, wheeling back into the hall and shifting Reese over her shoulder. Mulder guided her with one hand high on her back and followed her down the hall. Back in the living room, Scully deposited Reese back into his playpen and followed Mulder as he gestured outside. They went down the porch stairs and over to the vehicles in the driveway. "We're bugged? How? By who?" Scully spat out all at once as they got a safe distance from the house. "I don't know how or by who." Mulder explained, the dry calmness of acceptance in his voice. "I was looking through my mother's things a I saw something on the lamp in the corner, so I picked up the lamp and pulled it off. It was one of these." He pulled one of the little bubble cameras from his pocket. The wire that connected it had been severed went it was snipped away from the ceiling, disabling it. Scully took it from him and looked closely at it. At first all she could see was her reflection in the glass bubble. But when the light hit it at the right angle, she could see the tiny components of the camera. They all fit on the expanse of something no bigger than the head of a thumbtack. "I found microphones in the living room, too, and another camera on the ceiling. Someone had been keeping us under close surveillance." Mulder said, not waiting for her response to the camera. "I called the guys right away," he continued, "we moved all of the furniture our of the living room and found two more mikes. We found two overhead cameras and four mikes in the kitchen and dining room, a mike in the guestroom, the storage room, and the office, a camera two mikes in the nursery, a camera and a mike in the little bathroom, a camera and a mike in Zoe's room, two cameras and two mikes in the hall, and now we're in our bedroom." "The bathroom?" Scully said, half to herself, turning the camera in her fingers. Mulder nodded solemnly. "So far we've found two cameras in our bedroom and two mikes." Scully looked up at the house with distain, suddenly feeling very untrusting of it. This was far worse than a perverted peeping tom. The people who were most likely behind these bugs needed information to use against them. "For all we know they've been watching us twenty-four-seven. We've gotta find out why." Mulder added. She looked down the street at the house with the government sedan, too shocked for speech. Then she looked back at her house and shivered, more out of disgust than cold. For some reason, she had this idea that something of a normal life could get her away from things like this. That domestication could stop all the watching eyes, and the shadowy figures, and the lies, and the death, and... It was ridiculous to think that. Her normal life was anything but. And it hurt. "The guys are almost finished. Ours is the last room." Mulder told her, seeing the distressed look crossing her face. He knew she was still feeling the initial shock that he had felt. It was terrible thing, to know someone was watching you at every minute of every day. It made one feel dirty, exposed, utterly...naked. It took a sick, sick person to watch a family night and day, where ever they were in the house, and whatever they were doing. "Hey," called the familiar voice of Langly back on the porch. "We're finished. We're not turning up anything else." Mulder and Scully headed back to the house at Langly's beckoning. Frohike and Byers were in the bare living room, packing up their electronic snooping instruments. They looked worn from the tedious work, but satisfied that they had succeeded. "We're pretty sure we found all of the hardware. Whatever's left should be disabled by the lack of wiring." Langly concluded. "Do you have any idea who could have wired all the rooms?" Scully asked. Frohike responded, "This is some very sophisticated stuff. I mean you saw the size of those cameras. This is the kind of equipment even we couldn't get our hands on." "I heard about this hardware from some online buddies." Langly added. "It's brand new stuff, testing to be used for spying in hostage situations. They can hide the mikes inside of anything imaginable and they'll never be uncovered. The only problem is they're extremely short-range. Instead of hard wiring, they transmit information with radio waves to a receiving dish. The dish can't be more than a mile away." "Our best guess would be that one of your neighbors aren't who you think they are." Byers piped in. Scully and Mulder shared a look. Frohike zipped up his bag of equipment, but let it lie by the bottom of the stairs. "C'mon," he said, "we'll help you move the furniture back inside." 10:32 p.m. By the time they had gotten all the furniture back inside the house, and dried as much as possible, it was nearly eight o'clock. A later dinner was eaten in dismal silence, the shroud of uncertainty hanging over the. The cameras and microphones were gone, the wiretap in the phone had been removed, and the hidden wiring disabled, but there was still and overwhelming feeling of being watched. Around ten o'clock, Mulder went into the bedroom to watch TV while Scully attempted to get Reese to fall back asleep after being fed. When she reappeared in the doorway, shutting the out the dog, his attention diverted from the television to her. She disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes where she most likely went about her normal bedtime rituals of brushing teeth and washing face. She came back with her auburn hair clipped away from her neck and a distinguishing lack of make-up on her face. She wore an over-sized tee shirt, probably one of his, and flannel pajama pants. Not the most sexy clothes on Earth, but he couldn't ask too much. She was always dignified in the way she normally carried herself, but with slightly slumped shoulders and a blank expression, she looked positively beat. Without a word, she walked around the bed to what was normally his side--as he occupied hers--and collapsed on top of the bedclothes, heaving out a sigh of exhaustion. In her belly-down position, her face to the side, her eyes closed, she spoke, "Finally got Reese to sleep, Zoe's down for the count, looking forward to the next four hours of quiet." Mulder chuckled. "Maybe if you're lucky I'll be gentlemen and feed Reese tonight." He said. That brought a weary half-smile to her lips. "That'll be the day." She muttered. He switched off the TV and sat up. In the renewed silence, he turned and sat on his knees, as close to Scully as he could get. Then, slowly and methodically, he began to rub her back. "Oh god that feels good, Mulder." She managed to murmur intelligibly after a few minutes. She shifted a little, to a less boob crushing position on his firmer half of the water mattress, and then continued to enjoy the all-too-rare massage. His fingers moved expertly along her spine, registering a muffled moan of pleasure from her. Near the dip in her back, his hands came across a tense group of muscles, and began working them loose, receiving another gratuitous groan. "There?" He asked, working his fingers in tight circles on her back. "Mm-hm..." She replied; her face too buried in the comforter for her voice to be heard clearly. "I knew I married you for some reason." She mumbled next. "Thanks," He said, laughing lightly. "Hey, now we're even," She replied abruptly, before he could get out a sarcastic quip. "You married me because I'm the only one that will cut open your dead bodies, and I married you because you give one hell of a massage. It's a mutual agreement." "Right..." He replied, removing his hands from her back. He flopped down beside her and rolled onto his stomach, outstretching his arms before his head. "My turn," He said matter-of-factly. Scully sat up reluctantly, looking at her husband stretched out beside her. He was naked from the waist up, worn cotton pants covering his lower half. She moved over and straddled his waist, allowing her bodyweight to rest on his lower back. She brushed her hands lightly down his back, watching him shiver in response. His back had a network of scars on it, half of which she didn't even know the origins. Except for one on his left shoulder, a round, white scar a little larger than a quarter, shaped much like a spider web. It was the obvious exit wound of a bullet, a bullet she had shot. And she couldn't help but feel guilty for it, but it had been for his good, if there was such a thing. She started rubbing his back at the bunched muscles in his shoulders, and spoke as she went. "I uh...I told Carol and Doug about the virus." She said hesitantly. "How much?" He asked casually. "Everything, I told them all I know about it," She paused to rub the tension out of the base of his neck. "I told them what happened in Dallas, how we found the virus, and all of your theories about it, and all of mine." She sighed, stopping the massage and leaning back again. "I just can't keep secrets from them anymore. Especially not something this big." Mulder made a motion of rolling over, and Scully sat up on her knees as he did, then back down on his torso. He rested his hands on her thighs and looked up at her face, but said nothing. "But now I'm not so sure I should have said anything, after what happened here. I could have endangered them...and us. I feel like Big Brother is watching." She tried to fake a humorless laugh. Mulder's eyes were soothing. "I don't think telling them what happened four years ago is enough to worry about. At least I hope not. And the cameras are gone, we're going to find whoever put them in and..." He trailed off before he could say what he was going to do when he found the culprits. He didn't know what he would do, what he could do. Last time someone had been watching him he shot the guy. That nearly ruined his life completely. He couldn't do that now. Scully leaned forward and rested her head on Mulder's chest, extending her legs out so that she laid on top of Mulder's body. He wrapped his arms tightly around her smaller body and kissed her forehead lightly. "Why can't we have a normal, quiet life like everyone else?" She asked after a long while. "Because that would be too easy." He replied. She managed to smile a little. She lifted her upper body off his and propped her weight on her hands. Then she kissed him on the lips briefly with all intents of moving back onto the bed, but when she saw the passion igniting in his eyes, she kissed him again, longer, harder. He passed his hand up her left side to her shoulder and back, pulling her closer to him. His intentions began obvious when his body moved more beneath her and his lips became more intense. But her mind wandered elsewhere, to the cameras and microphones that had been all over the bedroom, to the possibility that some secret government agents could be watching them still. She ended the kiss prematurely, slid off his body onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. "I can't do this, Mulder," She told him, trying to keep her voice steady, feeling her eyes tearing up with frustration and anger. He moved onto his side, put his arm around her and kissed her cheek tenderly. "It's okay," he whispered. "Everything's gonna be okay." But it wasn't, and he didn't really believe it was. They weren't even safe in their own home. Who knew what else was planned for them. Big Brother was watching. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 6 2135 Uppingham Court Somerset, Maryland Thursday, December 19, 2001 Alex Krycek hated winter. Winter was cold, and cold made his desecrated shoulder hurt, and pain made him miserable. How thrilled he had been when the big smoking kahuna had given him strict orders to post watch on the Mulder household in chilly, miserable DC. He was to be in the surveillance home twenty four-hours a day, seven days a week until he completed his assignment, aided only by shift employees that could go home every night. The house that contained all the surveillance equipment was heated of course, but whether that heat worked or not was a different story. He had a thought to go out and sit in his car (where the heat worked), but that would be too obvious, someone would see him. For it was his black sedan with government plates that sat in the driveway of the house four down from Mulder and Scully's. He had been sitting in the sparsely furnished living room for the past hour, trying to get over the cold. No one was home at the Mulder's. Mulder himself had left for work at the same time as always, six forty-five, so precisely you could set your watch by it. From what Krycek had seen, it was Scully that got Mulder's rear in gear every morning though. She left around nine--after Zoe had gone as well--probably to drop off her other munchkin at daycare and then go off the wherever it was she went. Finally, when he couldn't take the cold anymore, he got up and went over to the thermostat. Fifty-nine degrees. And the heat was off. He pressed a few buttons, fiddled with a few knobs, and waited for the heat to kick on. The floor registers creaked a grumbled, but no heat come out. He kicked one of the registers, still nothing. The thermostat remained the same. Fuck it. He flopped back down the lone armchair and wrapped his coat around himself. Staring out the window at the on and off flurries that had been pretty steady all week, he began to contemplate his assignment, and the fact that he couldn't go through with it. The assignment had been clear and to the letter. Get into the house somehow, get Mulder's kids, and get out. If Mulder or Scully resisted, shoot them. Take the kids to the secured bunkers in Virginia. Zoe could be sedated if need be, Reese couldn't possibly be too difficult for someone like him to care for. It would be a piece of cake. Not. Not when his conscience got in the way. Alex Krycek's conscience, not a phrase people that knew his would ever think. It was kind of like an oxymoron. But in truth, he was no less human than Spender, if not more. It had really started when he watched the surveillance tapes more closely. He only watched when there weren't certain activities going on, unlike the shift guys who were more than happy to see a little "action". Even Krycek wasn't that sick. Anyway, the more he observed Mulder and Scully with their children, and together, the more he realized he couldn't do it. He couldn't take those kids away from them. He knew those two would sooner die than give their children up, but then, wouldn't any good parent? Sure, but Mulder was the only one that wouldn't give up until it did kill him, and Scully would be right there with him the whole way. Krycek had quite a track record for making the duo's lives miserable. Most were things he didn't look back upon, to keep the guilt from building up. He just took his money, and waited for his next job. Among his successful hits were Bill Mulder and Scully's sister Melissa. He had also nearly killed their boss, and still had him on a short leash. He had been assigned to kill Mulder earlier that year, but had sent someone else who ended up getting killed. He drew the line on killing Scully when she was pregnant. A man had to have some morals. It was those morals that stopped him from kidnapping their children. He saw the night they brought Reese home from the hospital. He watched one day when Scully read a Christmas story to Reese and Zoe. One might say Krycek's heart grew time three that day. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. But that didn't mean the mission wouldn't be completed. He had plenty of his own underlings that he could send to do the job it just had less of a chance for success. He would speak with Spender that night and tell him he was sending one of his employees to do the job. Spender would threaten that if the job was not completed, Krycek would pay, blah, blah, blah. He would assure Spender it would be successful. Even if he hoped it wouldn't. FBI Headquarters Washington, DC "Is this the case you're currently working on, Agent Mulder?" Mulder looked up at his boss at the inquiry, startled from his previous silent reverie. He cleared his throat, brought his hand away from his chin, and uncrossed his ankle from his knee. "Yes, sir," He replied. His Assistant Director, Walter Skinner, scrutinized him a moment, then went back to read the report in his hands. Mulder had been called in for a one-on-one meeting after lunch. He had handed in the field report from Chicago that morning, and could only guess there was something Skinner disliked about it. So he had showed up at Skinner's office at two sharp, where he sat in silence as Skinner reviewed the report. Skinner himself could be a rather intimidating man. An ex-Marine, balding, muscular, and a little over six-feet tall, he was not a man you would want to be on the bad side of. Over the years, he had become more than a superior to Mulder and Scully, he was a friend. There were a number of times when he had bailed them out of trouble. There were also a number of times when he had unwittingly helped them get into trouble, usually by keeping information from them. He always seemed to be torn between the so-called good and the so-called evil, and therefore could never be completely trusted. After a long few minutes, Skinner lowered the report and looked back to Mulder. "Explain to me why you feel this particular case merits FBI investigation." He said. "Well, there were some suspicions that the victims were murdered with a poison or controlled infectious agent. Or it could have been biological terrorism, although it really doesn't fit the definition of BT." Mulder answered coolly. Skinner nodded slowly, gesturing for Mulder to go on. "BT is generally used like any other act of terrorism, to prove a point or draw attention to something. It's usually a certain disease or highly effective contagion released on a large group of people directly through water or aerosol methods or indirectly through another person or object. Since this virus only infected one person in a location so far it isn't really bio-terrorism." "Okay," Skinner said, "So it's not biological terrorism because it was only a few people. There is no standing MO so it isn't murder. Then why are you wasting time and resources to continue this investigation?" Mulder had been waiting for that. "We still don't know how these victims were infected, or why. We don't know how the virus is transmitted or where it came from. We can't rule out BT until we know for sure. That's what we're investigating. The possibility that someone brought this virus here, or created it, and is only testing it out to use it on an eventual upscale act of terrorism." Skinner closed the file, straightened the papers by tapping it on his desk, and then slid it across the blotter to Mulder. "This is a case for the CDC. The outbreak of an unknown contagion is not in FBI jurisdiction. And biological terrorism is not an X-file. I received a phone call this morning from the CDC telling me that three of my agents got involved with the body in Chicago, possibly contaminating valuable pure tissue samples. This is why FBI agents to not handle disease outbreaks until there's valuable evidence of violent intentions. And a few injection marks do not merit as BT evidence." Goddamn it, Mulder thought. It was only a matter of time before higher powers pulled the answers he was so close to right from his grasp. "But Scully agrees that this could still be BT. We got the name of a volunteer that was not a clinical regular. And the only way Anthony DeCaro could have contracted that disease was through an injection because it isn't airborne." He argued. Skinner stared stolidly at the agent. "I just spoke to Agent Scully this morning and she said she called the CDC when a victim died at DC General. They came to clean up the body and strictly told her to leave the case alone. She told me that the case should be theirs because it isn't BT. The body Tuesday showed no signs of recent injections. She wants the case turned over before more people die." Mulder had to resist the urge to let his jaw drop and mumble and unintelligible "What?" to his superior. Scully never told him about that. He thought she would know better than to call a federal organization when they were battling a government conspiracy. "Agent Mulder you are too close this case and turn over any evidence to the CDC," Skinner told him before he had a chance to respond. "I'm sure you've got a mountain of other cases that could use yours and Jack's attention." He sized Mulder up for a moment as if to see if Mulder would have any type of outburst about it. When nothing happened he said calmly, "Dismissed." Mulder got up and left the office in a hurry, the file in his hands. He couldn't believe Scully had called the CDC, especially after all she had seen. True, it was her thought that it should be a CDC case from the beginning, but after she figured out what the virus was, he was almost certain she knew that it had to be kept a secret. Obviously, she still didn't believe in the idea of the whole Conspiracy, at least she didn't before she found out about the cameras. Why was it that he was always alone in this? Go figure. Mulder Residence Mulder came home late. He usually got home around six-thirty or quarter of, depending on the dreaded beltway traffic. He didn't come home until nearly eight that night. He just needed time to think. It was more than his meeting with Skinner that plagued him; it was the entirety of the last few weeks, from his mother's death to everything he had learned. He hadn't slowed down enough to let himself absorb everything, and he hadn't had time to think about what he was going to do. So he went to a bar. He had a few beers, talked with some other guy about the trials and tribulations of life, and went home, doing his thinking in between. He didn't get drunk, he knew better than that, but he didn't call Scully and tell her where he was going. He wanted to see her in person when he talked to her because he knew he knew he would bring up the subject of the CDC. By the time he got home, dinner was finished, the table was cleared, and his family was lounging in the living room, watching evening sitcoms. That is, until he walked in the door. Scully remained sitting on the sofa, but her expression hardened and her attention went away from Friends. Zoe immediately picked up on what was about to go down, and wanting no part in it, got up from the floor and high- tailed it upstairs. Reese was asleep in his playpen, lulled by the voices from the television. Mulder took off his coat and went into the living room casually, waiting for his wife to make the first move. "Where were you?" Scully asked him calmly. "Thinking," He replied with an equal amount of coolness. He sat down in the recliner and propped his elbows on his knees. "You should have called." She said next. "I hate it when you go out and just leave me hanging..." "I needed to be alone," He snapped even as she continued talking without break. "You need to be more responsible." He changed the subject. "I had a meeting with Skinner today. He ordered me off the DeCaro case. He told me that you called the CDC and had them take the body and the evidence." She didn't respond. "I thought we agreed to keep this quiet." "That was before I realized what this thing was, and what it could do." He stood up, his anger and frustration finally unleashing in a fury. "So just because you get a little edgy you uncover the whole thing?" He said louder. She stood up too, "What do you mean uncover the whole thing? You sound like we're the ones keeping things secret!" Her voice was closer to a yell. "We should be! They already know about this! They'll just bury like they always have. Every time, every damn time we get a little closer, they just take it away and the cover it up, and then we're back where we started! Don't you want to find out the truth?" "Hundreds of people could die if this became any more contagious--" He interrupted her, his voice now a shout. "You don't think they know that?!" She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. Standing only a few inches from him, she could smell the beer on his breath, and that only made her angrier. "Scully, they've known about this for years, they're the ones planning on releasing and killing us all! They don't care how many people die, they're just testing us." "You're really paranoid, Mulder," She replied, her voice not as loud, but just as icy. "After everything that's happened, you still have the nerve to say I'm paranoid? You don't even care." "Don't you dare, Mulder, don't you dare even say that I don't care. I care more than anyone else, more than you know." She started towards the stairs. "You know what, you can stay down here and be paranoid, I'm going to bed!" With that, she stormed up the stairs without another word. A few seconds later, the door slammed. Mulder watched her go, and then sat down on what would be his bed for the night. Scully was the only person in the world that he really, truly trusted, and now she seemed to be abandoning him. How he deduced all this from this one fight would never be known, but that was how he felt. It was how he felt every time she argued with him this heavily. Not only had the last few weeks been trying psychologically, there was an untold part of the story. The weeks had been straining on their bond. Things like this always tested them, and it always got worse before it got better, but boy, when it got better it got better. But these last few weeks had been particularly rocky. It was little things that people argue about that were made up for easily, and it was the bigger things, too, that were soon forgotten. There was something else as well, something between them waiting for the chance to come out, living inside, festering, spreading like an infected wound. Mulder had a feeling that just as this virus thing wasn't going to go away soon, neither was the tension. Friday, December 20, 2001 2:42 a.m. Mulder was jerked from his restless sleep by Jake's loud barking. Jake sat in front of the door, sniffing the door, and barking every couple of seconds. "Jake! Shut-up!" He hissed, and then rolled over to face the back of the sofa. But Jake persisted. After a second he began scratching feverishly at the door, barking and growling a deep, guttural growl. Mulder sat up, knowing this was no false alarm. He had hoped that the booming bark and prospect of a big attack dog would be enough to deter any unwanted visitors, but that was not the case. Something or someone was outside driving Jake mad. "Jake," Mulder beckoned in a whisper again. The big dog looked at him and then continued growling and digging at the door. Mulder threw off the quilt that covered him and stood up, wearing only his undershirt and boxers. He grabbed his gun from the holster on the chair and released the safety. He crept across the room barefoot and leaned against the door. Over Jake's growling, he could hear someone picking at the dead bolt lock. He looked through tiny peephole and saw a man hunched at the door, a gun--a thirty-three by the looks--in one hand, and a professional lock pick in the other. The lock began moving more as the intruder got it undone, but Mulder decided to beat him to it. In one swift motion, Mulder opened the door and delivered a swift blow to the startled man with the butt of his gun. The man in his black clothes and gloves stumbled backwards and fell down on the porch, a dribble of blood trickling down his forehead. Mulder stepped forward to grab the weapon. As soon as he bent down to take it from the man's hand, the man swiped his left arm across Mulder's cheek--slicing the point of the lock pick into his flesh--and knocking him to the side. In an instant, the man in black was on his feet and tugging Mulder down the porch steps by his arms. Mulder's vision was blurred a bit by the blow, until he felt the cold snow on his bare skin. He looked up into the darkness at the intruder, emitting a small groan of pain. He heard the unmistakable sound of the hammer on a gun being lifted. The muzzle of the gun was lowered to his face as he tried to get up. At that moment, a fierce snarl and bark erupted from the porch. The man wheeled, but not fast enough. In one leap, Jake was off the steps and plummeting the man to the ground beside Mulder, his teeth burying in the man's shoulder. Mulder got to his feet and aimed the gun at the man's chest, easing Jake away to get him out of danger. The man still had his gun similarly pointed at Mulder. Lying on his back in the snow, the assailant began to speak, "You shouldn't even try Mulder. You can't stop us. We'll just kill you. I was sent here to get your kids and take them away from you. You don't deserve to have children. You stupid son-of-a-bitch--" He didn't finish his sentence, but spat up at Mulder's face, still holding his gun on his chest. At that moment, something snapped in Mulder's mind. He stared sternly into the man's eyes and saw the hate. Everything that had happened flashed in his mind, furthering his anger. He saw things he hadn't thought of in years. He saw Scully lying in a hospital be dying of a cancer They gave her, he saw Scully's dead daughter Emily, a child never meant to be, he saw Zoe screaming and crying as they took her away, he saw his sister, he saw his dead mother, and he saw the face of the Smoking Man, the cause for all their pain. There was nothing but pain, and this was the peak of it. He pulled the trigger. His assailant never had time to react. The slug tore through his chest, killing him instantly. His arms dropped to the ground, still holding the gun and lock pick. His eyes and mouth still hung open. Mulder just stood over the body, his heart pounding in his chest, finally perceiving what he had just done. Behind him, he heard the screen door slam and Scully utter an "Oh my god". He turned slowly and looked at her. She looked fully awakened, probably by the gunshots, and wearing a robe over her pajamas, her hair unkempt, and her face aghast. "Mulder, what the--" She looked at the body of a man dressed in black laying in the snow, and saw the gun in Mulder's hand. She walked into the snow in her slippers and hunched over the body, her fingers snaking around his throat for a pulse. Dark crimson blood was spreading into the snow from the man's torso. His eyes stared lifelessly into the sky. "He's dead." She said definitively. "C-call 911." Mulder finally managed to stutter. She straightened and looked at him. "I already did, when I heard the scuffling." She could already hear the sirens in the distance. Mulder said nothing. He just stood, staring at the body, unnoticing of the blood streaming down his cheek or the fact that it was thirty degrees out and he was only in his underwear. "Mulder, what happened?" Scully asked, bending back over the body to look for some identification. Mulder just shook his head. In the man's coat pocket, Scully found a wallet. She pulled it out and flipped it open. When she saw the ID, her eyes widened. "You'd better have a damn good explanation." She said, handing Mulder the wallet. He read the ID, Agent Jose Alvarez, CIA. "Oh, shit." Mulder muttered. By then the police cars and ambulance were arriving. The other houses on the street had lights in, and there were people standing on the porches or in their driveways, looking on. "Oh, shit." 4:20 a.m. The normally quiet neighborhood was shaken alive by the dozens of police cars, the county coroner's van, and the small number of press cars. Jack had been called by a police officer and asked to come down to the crime scene. He managed to find a place to park on the curb across the street. In the small expanse of an hour, the front yard of Mulder's house had become a bona fide crime scene. There was a radius of yellow police tape around the yard and into the street with a handful of officers fending off the rabid press that had already shown up. Jack weaved around the front of a cruiser and flashed his badge to the officer guarding the perimeter. Inside the crime scene perimeter, there was a larger group of police officers. The coroner was just getting started, having only arrived a few minutes before Jack. The body was just beyond the front walkway to the porch, covered in a white sheet. Jack passed by a pair of officers as they drank coffee and talked. Though they didn't seem to be hard workers, they were efficient, he had to give them that. Jack went up the porch and inside the house, passing by a female officer carrying a notepad. The first person he saw was Mulder, sitting in a dining room chair talking with a man in a trench coat, probably the detective. The detective seemed to be hammering him with questions that he didn't want to answer. Jack crossed the foyer, making his presence known. Mulder looked up at him, but said nothing. His face was haggard and strained, making him appear about ten years older than he was. Scully was pacing around the kitchen in her pajamas and a bathrobe, trying to calm a wailing Reese in her arms. "We'll talk later," The detective said; stuffing his steno pad and pen into his coat. Jack summed up Mulder after the detective was gone, taking in the cut and blood on his left cheek that had yet to be cleaned up. "What happened?" He asked. Mulder sighed heavily and leaned back in the chair. "I was sleeping down here on the couch--long story--and Jake started freaking out at something outside. I went to check it out and I saw this guy with a gun and a lock pick trying to get into the house. So I opened the door and slugged him. When I went to get the gun, he hit me with the pick," Mulder pointed to the cut on his face. "And then dragged me down the steps into the snow. He was going to shoot me when Jake jumped him. I got up and held my gun on him, and he started telling me all this shit. And I...overreacted." "Again," Scully added. She gave Jack a look and went back to rocking and shushing her son. Mulder picked up the plastic evidence bag from the table with the badge in it and handed it to Jack. "Turned out it was a mother- fucking CIA agent that I overreacted on." Jack examined the badge. "Oh, shit." He muttered, looking at Mulder with pity. "My sentiments exactly." "Mulder you are gonna be in some serious shit for this. I can already hear Skinner wailing on you." Jack said. "No kidding," Mulder mumbled. A paramedic appeared in the kitchen entryway, armed with and orange medical kit. "I need to look at your cut, Mr. Mulder," She said, setting the kit on the table and proceeding to take out sterile gauze and antiseptic. Mulder nodded and continued, "It wouldn't surprise me if I got fucking canned for this. They've been waiting years for something like this to give my ass the boot." "Worse than that, you could go to prison." Jack said. "He won't go to jail," Scully piped in, having gotten Reese quieted down. "Heaven forbid the FBI get a blemish like this on their record." The detective came back as the paramedic was finishing up affixing two butterfly bandages on the one-inch cut just below Mulder's cheekbone. "Agent Mulder, since you have told us that you did shoot Jose Alvarez, we have to take you in, we just got the arrest warrant signed on. You'll probably have to stay in jail until the arraignment. Now if you'll stand up," The detective grabbed Mulder's arm, directing him to stand. Mulder did as he was told and pulled his arms behind his back so he could be cuffed. "You have the right to remain silent," The detective began saying in a rehearsed voice with no emotion. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford an attorney one will be appointed to you. Do you understand the rights I have presented to you?" Mulder nodded solemnly and uttered a quiet "Yes," as the started to the door. He looked up to see Zoe standing at the top of the steps, watching. "Mommy, what's going on?" She asked, tears filling her eyes and fear in her voice. She looked to Scully for help. "Sweetie I told you to go back to bed," Scully said, trying to keep her voice steady. Jack went up the stairs. "I'll take her," He called over his shoulder, directing the child back to her room. As he was led out to the police car, Mulder looked back at Scully. She was calm, but her eyes betrayed her professional demeanor to the scared woman beneath. He knew she was still angry with him, but he wanted to run back and hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right. That's all he wanted, was for everything to be all right. Bethesda Municipal Police Station, Central Booking By the time Mulder had gotten through the booking procedures, it was nearly eight o'clock in the morning. He was going to be held until his arraignment hearing, which was set for Friday. That would mean a day and a night in jail. He was given one of the tasteful orange jumpsuits and put into a cell by himself, to sulk and wait for tomorrow to come. He had called his lawyer friend, John Charles Stoffand, in to represent him. Since JC was a corporate lawyer, it was going to be difficult to persuade him. He had also phoned Scully and talked to her. By her voice he knew she was still mad, and would be until they had a good, long talk. She had talked with Zoe and gotten her off to school. Zoe was okay, she seemed shaken up by it all, but she was a strong kid. Jack went in to work, probably to tell Skinner all that had happened. After his phone calls, Mulder sat in his cell in silence, absorbing everything. He knew he had overreacted, and he knew he was in trouble. It wouldn't be the first time his short temper had gotten him in a similar position. He had been thrown in jail before for a murder he didn't even commit, so was used to the atmosphere. He shot a man in cold blood. He couldn't get over it. He had shot people before; he had killed people before, but never intentionally, never without it being in self-defense or the defense of someone else. He may be able to argue self-defense for this, but he knew it wasn't. He could have detained the guy, cuffed him, and taken him downtown. But he didn't, he just pulled the trigger. He was probably going to get second-degree murder for this one. It all weighed heavily on his conscience. Scully shot a man in cold blood once before. How she dealt with that every day he would never know, because he knew for damn certain she had to think about it every day. He knew he would be thinking about this for the rest of this life. The man she shot went by the name of Donnie Pfaster. He was one of those satanic death fetishists, obsessed with the hair and nails of dead women. He kept the whole fingers in his refrigerator after her killed an unsuspecting woman, a real sick-o. He kidnapped Scully...Mulder thought a moment...back in 1995, and nearly killed her, scared her to death at least before he was arrested. She hadn't spoke of it until the year before--2000-- when Pfaster broke out of prison and went after her again. Mulder remembered very vividly, standing in Scully's apartment doorway, Scully by the kitchen, Donnie between them. Scully was bruised and battered, her gun in her hands. She must have emptied nearly a clip into him, rather than letting him be arrested. She just shot him. Mulder shook his head at his infernal photographic memory, a blessing at some times, damnation at others, the latter for this particular memory. He remembered the look on her face when she lowered her gun as she stared at Pfaster's body. How much hate, how cold, how heartless it had been. She felt no guilt, no pity for the dead man at her feet, especially not after what he did to her. Mulder never, ever wanted to see the look on her face again. They hadn't spoken of it since then. She had to think about it, she just had to, but how did she cope? "Mulder, your lawyer's here," The guard said, interrupting Mulder from his thoughts. He unlocked the cell door as Mulder stood up, burying the memories back in his mind. He followed the guard to a little interrogation room where JC Stoffand was waiting. JC, a stocky, goateed, well groomed, rich, African-American man, stood up when Mulder entered, greeting him with a handshake. He pulled back the handshake in exchange for a manly embrace between the good friends, and they both went to the table in the center of the room to sit. "It's been too long Mulder, I'm sorry these are the conditions we must use to see each other again." JC said good-naturedly. "You still owe me a b-ball game." Mulder waited as the guard locked his handcuffs to the bolted-down metal table, and his ankle cuffs to the floor. He didn't even argue with the chains anymore, knowing they wouldn't take them off. After the guard stepped away, he spoke, "Yeah, I dunno when I'll be able to pay off that debt, I've been a little um...busy lately." JC smiled and nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. He looked over at the guard, who was also a black man. "Why don't you go for a walk, I can handle this scrawny little white boy." He told him heartily. The guard opened the door, more than ready to leave and get an early coffee break. "Whatever you say, chief." He said, closing the door behind himself. JC looked back to Mulder, the humored smile slowly fading from his face. He and Mulder had been friends for a long time, so he was used to hearing about Mulder's getting into trouble. "So, what did you do this time?" Mulder bit his lip and fiddled with the chains linking his wrists. "I shot a guy," JC leaned back in the hard metal chair, straightened his gray Armani jacket, and crossed his arms. "I think you better tell me the whole story." Mulder exhaled, and told the story for the fourth time that day, being as impartial as humanly possible, simply because he felt guilty and under no circumstances felt that it was self-defense. He was pissed off, and took his anger out on some jackass CIA agent who probably worked for the Conspiracy and was sent as a hit man. Even JC looked a little stunned, and nothing surprised him. "A CIA agent, huh?" Mulder nodded. The big shot lawyer contemplated a moment, scratching at his trimmed goatee. "So you shot a CIA agent that was trying to break into your house for god knows what reason, not in self-defense, and without trying to arrest him." He muttered to himself. "Am I screwed?" Mulder asked him. He looked up. "Yup, you're screwed." He picked up his briefcase from the floor and began to stand. "Wait," Mulder prompted, not letting him give up that easily. "Wait, Jace, you gotta represent me. You're the only lawyer I trust, and that's an oxymoron. There's no one else I can turn to." JC sat back down, not at all singed by Mulder's poor lawyer joke. "Mulder, I haven't practiced criminal law since I was just starting out and that was...over seventeen years ago. Besides, you don't even know if they're gonna hold a regular trial on this. You of all people should know the FBI like to keep their affairs internal. You'll probably get a mark on your file and get canned or shit like that. I don't know what it is you want me to do." The guard appeared at the door again, this time with a bald man following behind him. "You got another visitor, Mulder." He informed them. The man that the guard directed in was Skinner. The guard closed the door behind him, and Skinner nodded to Mulder and JC, keeping a cool demeanor. "Is this your lawyer?" Skinner asked, sizing up JC, who outsized him by about thirty pounds and three or four inches. Mulder didn't answer directly, but introduced the two men. "JC Stoffand, my AD Walter Skinner, Sir, JC Stoffand, attorney at law." He made a poor attempt at gesturing with his bound hands. The two men regarded each other professionally, with a handshake. "So I guess this means I can talk to you in private?" Skinner asked Mulder. "Be my guest," JC answered, stepping out the door. Mulder watched his friend go, and then looked to his superior, finally seeing Skinner's true emotions of the morning. He was positively livid. He placed his palms on the table surface and leaned on them, looking down on Mulder. "What the hell were you thinking?" He asked in a gruff voice. Mulder didn't answer. "Jose Alvarez was a top agent with the CIA. They are thoroughly pissed at the FBI and the director is breathing down my neck to do something about this. What am I supposed to do?!" Mulder stared up at Skinner, unafraid by his showy display of intimidation. "If he was such a top agent, what the hell was he doing breaking into my house? What did I do to deserve this? He said he was going to take my kids. My kids. He was going to kill me to do it, probably Scully too. Maybe it's better off that he's dead." "No it is not better!" Skinner yelled. "You killed another agent of the government in cold blood. And you and I both know if it looks bad..." "It's bad for the FBI," Mulder interrupted. "You don't think I fucking know that? What was I supposed to do? Invite him in for coffee? Oh, Agent Alvarez works for the CIA, sure, go ahead, take my kids, have a grand fucking time!" Mulder pounded the table in anger. Skinner was a bright shade of red. "You're outta line!" "No, with all do respect, sir, you're the one that's outta line." Skinner sat heavily in the chair that JC had preciously occupied. "They're working on a background check on Alvarez because of a check they found in his wallet for four thousand dollars from an unknown source. It could be as payment, it could be nothing. But because of your itchy trigger finger, we'll never know if he really intended to kidnap your children or if he was just bullshitting you. On those grounds I have convinced the judge to informally drop the charges to keep this internal. But until I can figure out with Internal Affairs what we're going to do about all this, you are officially suspended without pay. You're going to be released on eight hundred dollars bail to make sure you won't skip town until this can be resolved." Skinner stood up, his temper cooled, his face back to its normal shade. He turned to the door, but wheeled back and looked at Mulder, no longer as a superior but as an equal. "You better hope some more evidence comes up against Alvarez, or your ass is grass." Skinner called for a guard and left Mulder alone, once again, with his thoughts. Mulder Residence Friday, December 20, 2001 It wasn't until around nine a.m. that the only car in the driveway pulled out. Mulder had been watching the house across the street and four down all morning; almost certain it had a few secrets. He ran through the arguments in his head, that maybe the people that lived there were very secretive, maybe they didn't want any visitors or outside contact. But none of those were right, that house had to contain the surveillance monitors. They just had to. Scully had gone to the grocery store, taking Reese with her, and Zoe had school. So Mulder was alone in the house. He spent all morning watching the house down the street from the living room, pacing and thinking and waiting for the single car to pull out. He didn't exactly know what he was going to do after the car did leave, he was just "playing a hunch" as he liked to put it. For the most part he was at least relieved Scully had gone out. She was definitely still angry with him, and he spent another night on the couch. He knew that eventually things would get better, but when and how he hadn't a clue. Until then, he found himself focusing on the whole deal with the Conspiracy, as he usually did. If he could take a step back and look at his life, he would see that the Conspiracy was consuming his life, everything he did, everywhere he went, all of his time. But he couldn't look at his own life, everyone else could see it, but he was blind to the truth. At nine o'clock, the black sedan finally pulled out of the driveway and drive away. The windows were all tinted, so he couldn't possibly see who was driving. No matter, he wasn't interested in who the small time government employees were. He was interested in what they knew. As soon as the car was out of sight, Mulder jumped into action. He went upstairs and got his lock pick from his evidence kit. It was almost exactly like the one that CIA agent had, a metal gun-like object that fit in the palm. The sharp pick was used to penetrate the lock and the spring trigger handle squeezed to rotate the pick portion until the lick's pins could be released. It was all part of the perks of being a field agent. After stuffing the pick into his jeans pocket, he grabbed his running shoes and sweatshirt. He leashed Jake to make it appear as though he was merely out jogging with the dog, and left the house, being sure to lock the doors. He walked down the driveway, Jake tugging before him at the leash, and crossed the street to the side the mystery house was on. He jogged casually down that side of the road, watching a little to see if anyone was watching him. When he got to the empty driveway of the house, he stopped and pretended to be stretching out his legs, all the while looking at the house for any signs of life beyond the windows. Nothing stirred. As casually as possible, he started up the front yard to the little concrete porch. There were closed blinds over all the windows, so it was impossible for him to know if anyone was home. All he could see was that the lights were off. He looked around once more, and seeing no one outside, proceeded to pick the deadbolt lock on the door. A few twists and turns later the door was unlocked. He turned the knob and opened it easily. Before he went in, he dropped the dog leash on the porch and firmly instructed Jake to "sit" and "stay". That way, he wouldn't have to worry about the dog messing something up, and if someone drove by, they would merely suspect Jake had broken free of the electric fence around the yard, as he sometimes managed to do. Inside the house, Mulder stood in the front foyer, holding his breath and listening intently to the silence. There was definitely no sound of anyone moving. All was clear, for the time being. The house was laid out with two wings around the center stairway going to the second floor. From the first floor it could be guessed that no one held permanent residence there. In the living room the right was a single armchair, a sofa, and a television. The blinds on all the windows were drawn shut, casting out the sunlight. The room to the left of the foyer was completely bare. Mulder stepped into the sitting room and looked back into the kitchen. It was almost bare too. The only sign that anyone lived there was the couple of empty pizza boxes on the table and the Styrofoam cups in the sink. It was definitely men that lived or worked there. Uninterested in the empty living quarters, Mulder started up the stairs, taking each step carefully to keep the wood from creaking, just in case someone was upstairs. In that event, Mulder's only defense would be to run, he had left his gun at home. The top of the stairs led to a hallway, horizontal to the front of the house. Both ways looked identical, one door on each side of the hall. Partly intuitively, partly guessing, Mulder went left to those two rooms. The back room from the front of the house had only a bed in it. It looked slept in, disarrayed and rumpled. Yes, definitely men or a man that lived there, no women. Mulder turned from that room and opened the closed door to the room across from it and stepped inside. Bingo. This room had more stuff than all the other rooms combined. It what he guessed was supposed to be the master bedroom was a stock of seven thirty-two inch TV monitors, all in a large part octagonal shaped desk like one would find in the security room of a large building. All the monitors were off, probably because they didn't register pictures since the cameras had been taken out. There were three headsets lying on top of the monitors, all connected to a big tape recorder beside the desk. On the shelf below the recorder were probably a thousand hours worth of audiotape still in roll form, all labeled with the date and room where they had been recorded. Mulder fingered through the tapes until he found the date he wanted, 12/17/01, the day Dmitri came and talked to him. He pulled out that tape and put it on the empty pins, then picked up a headset and listened. "...It's a simple numerical code. I'm sure you'll have no trouble figuring it out..." He heard Dmitri's recorded voice say. Just as he had suspected, they had the entire conversation on tape. And that alone was enough to get both of them killed. "Damn-it!" He muttered aloud to himself, pulling off the headphones. He had completely forgotten about that code in all the commotion over the past couple of days. It was still in the bedroom where he put it. He would have to get the Gunmen to look at it as soon as possible. He stopped the recording and put it back where it was, continuing along the room. Beside the audio tape deck was an enormous video tape deck of eight-hour tapes. Each tape was labeled precisely with the hours running, an abbreviation of the room taped, and the date, and then organized so well even the most obsessive-compulsive video collector would envy it. The most recent tapes were in the top right hand corner. Mulder found the one labeled 11:00a.m. -7:00p.m. (Edited) / LR / 12-17-01, and pulled it from the rack, stuffing it into the big pocket in the front of his hooded sweatshirt. Then he looked back at some tapes from November and pulled one labeled from the Master Bedroom, just for spite. The final thing in the room was a small table beside the opposite end of the monitors. On it were a few empty carry out cups, an empty carton of McDonald's French fries, a cup of pens, and a legal pad. The legal pad had a list of names, a column for the date, and a column of spaces for signing in: Employee Date Shift Alvarez 12/14 8am-8pm Anderson 12/12 12n-11pm Andrews 12/12 12m-12n Bishop 12/17 5am-5pm Cruz 12/16 5am-5pm Donahue 12/17 5pm-5am Fitzgerald 12/15 6am-6pm Frank 12/15 6pm-6am Truesdell 12/16 5pm-5am Vogel 12/14 8pm-8am "Alvarez," Mulder mumbled. This was his proof. This was his proof that Alvarez was watching him! Without a second thought, he ripped off the top sheet of the pad, uncaring if anyone realized it was gone. He needed this proof. Below that sheet was a similar one with older dates. At the bottom was a surprisingly a name an unreadable signature. The name and signature both belonged to Alex Krycek. That sparked a flame of old anger in Mulder. "That bastard," He muttered, finally able to put together who was behind it all. With a glance at his watch he decided that he had been in the house way too long and it was time to go before someone came back. His evidence tucked safely in his pocket, Mulder made a final check to make sure everything was mostly the way he found it, and then left the surveillance house. 11:04 a.m. "...And when you feel your faith is running low, I'll be there to believe in you. When all you find are lies I'll be the truth you need...when you need someone to run to, you can run to me..." The country ballad playing on the radio was cut short when Scully shut off the care engine after pulling into the open garage space. She normally didn't listen to country, but there was nothing better on the radio, and the song was sweet. Reese apparently thought so too, as it had lulled him to sleep. Before she got out of the car, she popped the trunk to access the grocery bags. Then, she got out of the car, got Reese and his baby carrier/car seat out, and grabbed one of the brown paper bags of groceries in her free hand. Stepping idly around the boxes, she entered the kitchen through the connecting door. She had a faint hope that just maybe Mulder would have gone through some of the stuff and gotten rid of the clutter. But that was only wishful thinking. She dropped her keys and the bags of groceries on the serving counter across from the door and placed Reese in his seat on the dining room table. He was wide-awake when she unbuckled the straps and picked him up. As usual, he had that all to familiar odor about him, while he continued to play the innocent, absently slobbering over a plastic rattle. "Charming," She muttered, picking up her son by the sides and holding him with one arm. On the way upstairs, she ignored whatever Mulder was watching on the TV, barely even acknowledging that she was home. It had been only two days since their little tiff, and she was still angry with him. Silence would hang around between them until the problem could be resolved and they could make up. That could be anytime from the next few minutes until weeks later, depending on how cooperative both sides were. Scully didn't feel very cooperative at the moment. Mulder had hurt her feelings, plain and simple. He went so far as to claim she didn't care about the truth anymore. That was a lie. She cared about it as much as he did. After losing the daughter she didn't even know she had and her sister to it, how could she not care? It was this truth that gave her Zoe, and probably Reese as well. In a way she thanked the truth, and in another she feared it. Whatever way she viewed it, she wanted to find it as much as Mulder did. How dare he say she didn't care? She had to let him mull over it for a few days. After changing Reese, she carried him back downstairs, and put him in the highchair. It was nearly lunchtime and he obviously didn't mind entertaining himself in the chair. She went back to the living room and beckoned Mulder for some help with the groceries. She wasn't giving him the silent treatment, after all, only the cold shoulder. He didn't reply, but continued to fast forward through the surveillance tape he had been reviewing. "Scully, look at this," He said quietly after a few moments and looked back at her. "I'm looking at it, where did you get it?" She asked, recognizing the living room lay out. She saw two men sitting in the living room. One was obviously Mulder, the other she held no familiarity. "The house down the street." He replied. She walked around the sofa, watching the silent movie more intently. "They have everything in every room on tape, only the parts when no one was in the room is edited out." "That's you and Dmitri?" "Yes, they recorded our entire conversation with the mikes, and the video. I went down and did a little snooping and I found this, too." He picked up the tape from the bedroom and gave it to her. She looked at the label and back to him. "They have everything on tape." She gave him back the tape, disgusted with even holding it. "The surveillance equipment was in that house with the sedans in front, wasn't it?" He nodded. "And you were playing a hunch." He nodded again. "Don't worry, nobody saw me. I'm very good at getting the information I need. I also came across this," He handed her the sign-in sheet from the desk, slightly rumpled from being in his pocket. "It should clear my name." Scully skimmed the list, immediately seeing Alvarez's name at the top. She gave Mulder a questioning expression. "I talked to Skinner about it. He was a little peeved I went into the house, but he said he would send some guys down here. If it's true, I'm off the hook, there are no recorded CIA operations around here." Scully just nodded her comprehension. Mulder sighed. He looked at her as if he was going to tell her something else, paused, and changed his mind, rising from his seat and stopping the horrible surveillance tape. "Still groceries in the car, huh?" Scully passed him a smirk and nodded, leading him out to the kitchen. "Ready and waiting for you, sir." She said, gesturing towards the open garage door. "I'll get right to it ma'am." He replied smartly, offering her a sarcastic military salute. It got no humored reaction from her. He set about unloading and putting away groceries, thinking about his meetings from earlier in the morning. He had met with Dmitri again. The Russian claimed to have never known about the surveillance, and seemed appalled by it. They had stooped to a new low, he said. Then he explained that matters were getting more pressing internally. The "Beings" were getting closer, and would probably be arriving within the next few days. It would be wise for Mulder to keep his mouth shut about any information he had received (certain satellite transmissions included) from now on--save for only the most trusted. The last thing Dmitri hinted at was that everything would be revolving around Russia. It was secluded, it was quiet, and there was a large uninhabited area. The bases would probably all be set up in Russia, and operations would be done from there. That, as usual, gave Mulder something to think about. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 7 Ross Residence District Heights, Maryland Saturday, December 21, 2001 The tree had been decorated the weekend before. They made a day of it. They went to a Christmas tree farm, picked out a full, round, long-needled white pine, cut it down and drove it back to their two- story farm style home on Atwood Street. Tess and Kate loved the experience more than their parents did. Everything was still magical and new to them. They played in the small amount of snow every chance they could get, they sat on Santa's lap every time they went to the mall, and counted down the hours until the big day. Carol had decorated the tree that night, with the girls trying to help her. She roped the string lights and tinsel around the tree, and allowed her daughters to attempt to hang the unbreakable ornaments on the lower branches. She took it upon herself to hang the glass balls and keepsake ornaments that had been collected over the years. When they were finished, Doug placed the light up star on the topmost vertical branch. Once it was plugged in, the tree was lit in all its glory. It was adorned with red and gold glass balls of all sizes, keepsake ornaments for every event in life, hand-carved wood ornaments, ornaments made out of Popsicle sticks, and even a Charlie Brown ornament that played the Peanuts theme song. Carol was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher with the last few dishes left from dinner. After few minutes she could hear a thudding from over head as the girls ran around, presumably with Doug chasing them. It was his night to give them their baths and those girls were like any other child their age, they loathed being cleaned. A loud thud rumbled on the second floor just above Carol's head, followed by a sequence of thumps like running footsteps. She looked up, half expecting to see plaster sprinkling down on her and a crack in ceiling. "What was that?" She called loudly. "Nothing!" Doug yelled back after a moment. Carol shook her head, drying her hands on a dishtowel. It wouldn't surprise her in the least if she went upstairs and found water spread from one end of the hall to the other and the hall bathroom covered in Mr. Bubble soapsuds. Nor would it be the first time it happened. Excellent pediatrician he may be, it was obvious he had never raised children, only being a big kid himself. Not long after the loud thud, Carol had migrated out to the living room, when the thumping sound became louder as the girls ran pell- mell down the stairs. Doug had succeeded in getting them both bathed and in their pajamas. "Mama, mama! It snowing!" Kate exclaimed, trailing Tess to the living room window. Tess had pulled back the curtain and stood behind it, her face pressed to the window, watching the flakes fall. Carol followed Kate to the window and peeked out. "Oh, so it is." She said, not quite as excited about it. It would only make the drive to the hospital Monday more fun than it already was. Unlike Chicago there was no light rail for commute to and from the hospital, and the bus was not an option, so she actually had to drive. Doug came down the stairs while the girls remained entranced by the snow. Rather than bounding down the steps like the girls had, he took them slowly, one-by-one, holding onto his flank and grimacing in pain. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he had to let go of the supporting banister and shuffle across the room, moaning and groaning all the way. Carol turned from the window, giving her husband a questioning look. "What happened to you?" She asked as he sat carefully on the sofa. "Somebody forgot to inform me that tile floors are slippery when wet." He replied wincing. She offered him a sympathetic smile and then looked back to her girls. "Go play in da snow?" Kate asked, looking up at her with puppy-brown eyes. Carol laughed lightly. Only a child would ask to go out and play in the snow at eight o'clock at night in the freezing cold. "No, I think it's a little too late for that. It'll still be there when you get up tomorrow." "No bed!" Tess proclaimed loudly, stamping her foot on the carpet and regarding her mother with a set jaw and glowering expression. Both girls took off in the direction of their father and clamored onto his lap as he grunted and cringed at his bruised backside. "Not this again," Carol mumbled to herself, touching her forehead in exasperation. More joys of the terrible twos. Bedtime was a no-no. It was becoming clearer and clearer that two-year-olds were very mysterious creatures. They didn't want to be bathed, they didn't want to eat anything but junk food and hot dogs, and they didn't want to sleep. Ever. Doug claimed it was because they didn't want to miss anything. Carol still wondered where, exactly, all that energy came from, and if she could have some. Mysterious creatures indeed. "The sooner you go to bed, the sooner Christmas will be here." Doug was telling them. "And you do want Santa to come visit you, don't you? He only gives presents to good little girls that listen to their mommy." Doug continued with his tale of old Chris Cringle, the utmost seriousness in his eyes. "He knows if you don't go to bed when you're told." The girls looked at each other, and back to him. He smiled warmly and hugged them. "Now, gimme kisses." They hugged him back and kissed him good night. "'Night, Bunny," he said to Kate, "'Night, Sugar." he said to Tess as they both slid off his lap. "Night, Daddy," They said almost simultaneously. They turned to Carol, their expressions sour at having to go to bed. Like it was Doug's night to get hurt giving them baths, it was her night to play bedtime bad-guy. There was only one thing that could brighten their present view of her... "Story time!" Tess exclaimed, throwing her fist in the hair as she ran to the stairs as if proclaiming victory. "I pick!" Kate called after her as the both scrambled upstairs. Shaking her head in an amused manner, Carol followed them up the carpeted stairs. At the landing before the stairs turned in the direction of the length of the house, she paused to move aside some scattered toys before someone else became a casualty of toddler-hood. The top of the stairs spilled out at the hallway running horizontal with the front of the house. The first room on the right was the bathroom; the second was the bedroom that the girls shared. The larger room across from that was the master bedroom. The home was smaller than that of Mulder and Scully's, because the stingier pay emergency medicine provided, but it was cozy, and just enough space. The girls were waiting outside of their room, as they were unable to reach the light switch and afraid to go in the dark without adult supervision. First, Carol had to peek into the hall bathroom to see how wrecked it was after noticing the carpet was still a little damp. To her surprise, the water on the tile--that Doug must have slipped in--was cleaned up, the towels were hung to dry, and the bathtub actually drained. Perhaps Doug was maturing after all. But no bets could be placed on that. In the girls' room, Carol took her seat on the floor by the far right corner with the big plush pillows and stuffed animals. The cribs were by the opposite wall, their gates hanging wide open. Tess sat on one side of her, leaning against her like a pillow. Kate was across the room, picking out a book from the little bookshelf. After a few minutes of contemplation she picked up a thin, hardcover, pink and white book, and joined Carol and her sister. "The bunny book!" She said gleefully, plopping down on the other side of Carol. "Oh, the bunny book," Carol replied, trying to portray as much excitement that she would be reading the book, that had earned Kate her nickname of "Bunny", for the millionth time. The book was The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams, and she had been reading it to them since they were infants. She opened up the book, and the girls fell silent as she began to read: "There once was a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming..." Carol read the entire book in an hour, with the pauses for the girl's questioning, and then got them into their cribs after a short half an hour. It was another half an hour before she convinced them both, now with a little aid from Doug, that they didn't need a drink and that there wasn't anything in the dark to get them. By the time they were more or less quieted down, Doug and Carol were ready to turn in as well. By ten thirty, Carol was in bed, buried under the thick comforter, slipping away into blissful unconsciousness. Doug came in the room after his shower, dressed in plain boxers and a White Sox tee shirt, and slipped under the covers beside her. He left the bedside light on, not quite ready to go to sleep just yet. Lying on his back, he asked, "Carol, are you asleep?" After a second, she turned over. "I wish I was," She muttered. "Sorry," he said. He yawned and reached over to switch off the light. Carol remained on her back. "Did you turn off the oven?" She asked suddenly after a quiet moment. Doug sighed. "Yes, of course I turned off the oven." He answered. "Are you sure?" "It was the last thing I did before I came up here," "Okay," She said. "You know how paranoid I am about that oven." She was paranoid about it. It was a gas oven, fueled by a line that went into the house from outside. The oven was probably as old as the house, and that was pretty old, going on twenty-five years. There was always that possibility that something could go wrong with it. Doug was silent. She looked over at him; his breathing had since steadied and evened out. He was asleep. "Some good listener you are, you don't even fake it anymore." She turned back over to her side and let her eyes fall closed again. Both slept, never even thinking that something actually could be wrong. They felt safe in their home, untouched by the world. Like everyone else, thriving off that concept that one's home was sanctuary, until something actually did go wrong. Midnight Carol was the first to wake up when the alarm went off. The loud, high-pitched whistling siren piercing into the night woke her with a start, startling her into confusion. She pounded the alarm clock beside her, but that was not the source of the sound. Doug was up a split second behind her. "It's the smoke detector," He said in a voice that was still a little groggy. Carol turned her head in his direction, but she couldn't see him in the blanketing darkness. "Do you smell that?" She asked over the alarm, sniffing the air. It took another second for them to realize that the darkness was only blinding because it was filled with smoke that choked out all light. "Oh, god," Carol cried, on her feet in an instant, the maternal instinct to protect her children the only thing on her mind. She got around the bed and to the door in the darkness by pure memorization, and touched the handle tentatively. It was cool. She grabbed it and opened the door. In the hall, a vague orange glow could be seen coming from the first floor. "I got Tess, you get Kate!" Doug called between smoke-induced coughs. The smoke was much worse in the hall, stinging their eyes and burning their throats as they gasped for air. The girls were screaming in their room, probably awakened and frightened by the alarm if not the scent of fire in the air. Doug went across the girl's room to the farther crib from the door to get Tess, directing Carol to wrap Kate in the blanket from the crib. He scooped up Tess who was crying and coughing raggedly and clutching his neck for dear life. He also plucked up her knit blanket and wrapped it around her body to shield her. He turned back toward the door as Carol was running out, similarly carrying Kate. He ran down the stairs as fast as he could, never minding the thick smoke hurting his eyes until tears streamed down his cheeks. The smoke was thicker and blacker on the first floor, the dancing orange glow of the fire coming from the kitchen and slowly creepy around the wall to the living room. Doug was just behind Carol when they escaped out the front door to the freezing cold. Barefoot, coatless, and out of breath, they continued to run down the snowed-over porch steps to the gentle slope of the front yard, and then ran still from there. At first they didn't notice the cold, the flee-instinct too great and the cries of the two toddlers too loud. After a few minutes the change from hot to cold got to them, causing their chests to ache until breathing became nearly impossible. Still they pressed on, all the way down their long front yard and across the slushy street to the neighbor's yard. Other neighbors were coming out of their homes to see what was going on. Without a word, Doug shifted Tess to Carol's arms and wheeled back toward the house, running back up the hill. "Doug!" Carol shouted, standing in the snow with a crying girl wrapped in a blanket on each hip. She watched him advance quickly up the hill and to the porch, knowing what he was going to do. "Doug, no!" Doug didn't heed his wife's calls to come back, charging up the porch steps and back into the growing inferno. With the added oxygen from the open door, the dense oily smoke filling the living room was even heavier. As he went back inside, he pulled the neck of his shirt up over his mouth and nose. It wouldn't help his breathing much, but any little bit would do. In the corner by where the stairs went up to the lower landing was a fire extinguisher. He wasn't one to give up something without a battle first, and now that his children and his wife were safe, the fighting instinct was overcoming the fleeing. He grabbed the extinguisher in one hand, the hose in the other, and headed to the kitchen, where the fire was mostly contained. Angry red and orange flames spewed and spit from the natural wood cabinets, devouring every flammable thing in sight. He sprayed the nearest batch of flames on the cabinet with a jet of white foam. It became obvious that the fire had started at the confounded oven, which was now charred and still had flames jumping from it. Doug knew he should have left then, but he couldn't let it go. This was his house goddamn it and he wouldn't let a little fire destroy it. The odd thing he did manage to notice as he sprayed the flames over the oven was that the digital oven timer on the back of the burners was still on. But it didn't say the correct time. It said: 00:15. And as Doug watched a moment, it was counting backwards. By the time he realized what was going on, he had less than ten seconds to get his ass out of the house! He dropped the fire extinguisher and ran back to the door. As fast as he humanly could, he ran out the front door, leapt off the porch-- skipping the stairs entirely--and raced down the slippery slope of the front yard. His bare feet providing no tread, he commonly slipped and had to catch himself. The explosion came as boom, like clap of thunder. The whole back of the house blew out, the windows shattered and the center wall between the living room and dining room collapsed. The flames grew in caliber and leapt to the front room where they clamored up the stairs on nimble feet. The second floor above the kitchen was blasted through and flames shot up the hole and started through the roof. More flames had jumped to the close neighbor's house and was eating into their roof. Fortunately the owners of the home were standing in their driveway, out of danger. Doug was a little more than halfway down the yard when the kitchen blew. He dove to the ground in a leap, and sprawled and slid down the snowy decline. Sirens were whining in the near distance, and it wasn't long before the reflections and flashes of the blue and red lights could be seen down the street. But it was too late. Mulder Residence 2:23 a.m. It was the ringing telephone that woke Scully up at the dead hour of the morning. She had only been asleep for about two hours and was really not too thrilled about being interrupted. She slept curled up against the leather-bound wood edging of the bed, warm under the blankets, nestled on her respective side. There was still friction between her and Mulder, so he was lucky to be in the bed at all, and spooning was definitely not an option. She let the phone ring a few times hoping whoever it was would realize the time. Before the fourth ring, when the answering machine would pick up, she reached over and picked up the cordless from her bedside table. "Hello," She said in a groggy, annoyed voice, ready to hang up if it wasn't important. There was a brief pause, "Dana, it's Carol," was finally answered. Carol's voice was hesitant and shaky. Even half-asleep Scully knew something was wrong. "I'm really sorry to wake you up but..." Carol trailed off, bringing silence over the phone line. Awakened a little more by the tone of her friend's voice, Scully half sat up and switched on the light. "Carol, what's wrong?" She inquired. Carol made a sound as if she was going to say something, and then stopped, unsure. "Carol?" She asked again. This time, Carol's voice came in a flood, all her pent up words reaching the breaking point. "Dana it's all gone. It's completely gone. One minute everything was fine and the next it was just gone..." "What's gone?" "The house," She sighed, calm returned to her voice. "It...it burned down...about two hours ago." "Oh my god, how?" "It started in the kitchen, they think it was the oven." Scully sat up bolt straight, the urgency now in her voice. "Are you all okay? Was anyone hurt?" "We're okay, we got out in time. We got treated for smoke inhalation and a little shock, and Doug for a broken toe, but save for the bumps and bruises we're okay. We just...um...we need a place to stay for the rest of the night and..." "You don't even have to ask." Scully interrupted. "You can stay here. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." She was already getting out of bed before Carol could reply. "Oh thank you so much, Dana, and please drive carefully." "You don't have to thank me." Scully said, the phone tucked under her chin on her shoulder and pulling on jeans with her nightshirt. "Fifteen minutes." She said and then followed with the hurried good- byes. By then Mulder was awake, sitting up and staring at Scully. "What's going on?" He asked as she stripped off her nightshirt in exchange for a sweater. She paused before pulling the sweater over her head. "Carol and Doug's house burned down." "Oh my god," "I told them they could stay here, I'm going to go to the hospital and pick them up." She told him, bringing the sweater over her head and pulling it down her torso. Mulder started getting up. "I'd rather you stay here and let me go." He pulled on a pair of jeans that were lying on the floor. "It just snowed eight inches and it's icy." Scully paused and ran her hand through her sleep-tousled hair. Her chest sank as she surrendered. As much as she wanted to get to her friends, she really didn't want to drive through the snow. She followed Mulder downstairs to the door, wanting to go, but knowing she couldn't. He pulled on his coat and opened the door. "Mulder," She prompted before he stepped out. He turned and looked at her. "Be careful." Leaving the door open, he came back to where she stood at the bottom of the stairs, and embraced her tightly. She accepted the hug and squeezed him back tightly. They stayed this way for a long few minutes, in the first emotional physical contact between them since four days before, that signaled the near end of the battle. "I'll be back soon," He whispered, and kissed her cheek. Then he left. After he was gone, she lingered for a long while by the bottom of the stairs. They both knew why Doug and Carol's house burned down. There may have been a faulty gas line, but someone had to start the fire, and they both had a good idea who. Now Scully couldn't possibly feel guiltier about it. She had told them everything she knew, not just about the virus, but about Zoe too, also a well kept secret. It was her fault they were made to pay for knowing too much. She never should have told them anything at all. It was so hard to have friends in the life she had. She either had to keep a thousand secrets and make up a thousand more excuses to protect them, or she had to tell everything, and risk their lives and livelihood. Hospitality was the only way she could make up for it. Doug and Carol were her friends, her good friends, and she would do anything she could to make sure the truth didn't burn them too, so to speak. She got some things ready for them. The guest bedroom on the first floor was always kept for when relatives came to visit, she added clean towels to the bathroom, and put a change of clothes on the bed. Her clothes were probably going to be a little snug for Carol, but a big tee shirt and a pair of drawstring pants would do. She estimated that Doug was about the same size as Mulder, so a shirt and sweatpants would do for him as well. That finished, she spread an open sleeping bag on the floor in the nursery, and provided pillows and blankets for the girls. They would be used to it, only thinking it was one of the sleepover's they had before. When she was finished making accommodations, she made some tea to settle her nerves, and then sank onto the sofa to wait. A little less than an hour later, Mulder returned with Doug and Carol and the twins. Mulder carried the two sleeping girls in. They were dressed in two-big green scrub tops and their pajama pants, they didn't have coats. They were clean at least, one of the nurses had cleaned them both free of soot and the smell of smoke. Carol and Doug were a different story. Doug came in with a crutch and walking cast on his right foot, having fallen on it wrong and broken the metatarsal of his big toe. He had on scrub pants, as he came in only boxers. Carol seemed physically all right, but her expression was blank and unperceptive. They were both still dirty and streaked with soot, and perhaps still a little in shock. Mulder carried the girls upstairs, doing Carol a favor by getting them into the spare clean pajamas in the nursery and putting them to bed. Scully looked at the two, barely able to control her own emotions. Now seeing her friends, she felt even worse. "I'm so sorry, Carol," She said, advancing toward Carol to embrace her. "I know," she replied. "It's not your fault. At least we're all more or less okay." Scully nodded in agreement, almost afraid that if she said anything else she would break down and cry. And she simply couldn't allow herself to do that. Taking a deep breath, she turned back toward the kitchen and hallway. "I uh...I set up the guest room for you." She told them as she led them back. The rear hall behind the stairs led back to the guest room, on the right, and the office, on the left. In the guest room, she showed them the bathroom and the clothes she put on the bed. Carol washed up a little bit, but Doug went in to take a shower first. Carol sat on the living room sofa, waiting her turn for a shower. Scully joined her after a few minutes, bringing her a steaming cup of Lipton tea. They sat in the living room for a while, just sipping tea and saying nothing. Carol's eyes wandered to the front left corner of the living room--by the bay window--where the Christmas tree stood. It was four days, actually three in these early morning hours, until Christmas, and Scully's tree had only just been decorated early in the evening. Carol knew because Scully was saying how the tree was sitting in the living room bare and probably wouldn't get finished until that Saturday. Suddenly she realized that her own Christmas tree was gone, now nothing but a charred skeleton amidst the blackened ruins of her house. She was the first to speak, still looking at the Christmas tree. "The girls think Christmas is gone now because of the fire," She said. "They were so upset. Doug sat down with them in the ER and told them that no matter what had happened, Santa would still get to them. I wish it was true, but all the presents are gone." She began to feel the tears she had not yet cried brimming her eyes. She sniffled and wiped them away with her hand. Scully got up and moved over to the sofa with Carol, to comfort her. "We moved here to get away from everything that has happened to us," Carol continued, beginning to cry more openly. "Now it just seems like we can't get a break." Her voice cracked on the last word and she began to sob. Scully gathered her up and held her, letting her cry it out. She spoke soothing words in a gentle, maternal fashion, even though she was near the breaking point herself. "I'm sorry Carol, I'm so sorry," She whispered. But Carol didn't understand what she was sorry about. As far as she knew, her house was gone because of a bad gas line. Scully knew the truth. Scully knew that it was what she had told them that made their lives go up in smoke. Once Doug was finished with his shower, Carol took hers. They both checked on their daughters one last time and then went to bed to try and get a few more hours of sleep. Mulder had to let Jake outside for few minutes, and then lock the doors and turn out the lights before he went back upstairs to get some more sleep too. When he got into the bedroom, Scully was sitting up on her side, her knees drawn up to her chest, and sobbing into the sleeves of her sweater. Concerned, Mulder climbed into the bed beside her and put his arms around her. "It's all my fault," She whimpered into his shoulder. "It's my fault their house burned down and they lost everything." Mulder pulled back and looked into her eyes, cradling her face in his palms. "It is not your fault. You were only telling them the truth." "Yes it is. If I hadn't told them everything, they would still have a house, and the girls would still have Christmas. Doug tried to find out more information after what I told him and it got them into trouble." She said. Another tear slipped down her streaked face. She closed her eyes in a long blinked to try and stop them from watering. He wiped away the tear with his thumb and searched deep into her shimmering blue eyes, trying to find a way, any way, to comfort her. "Bad things just happen to good people. You had no way of knowing." She opened her mouth the say something, but he cut her off with a shake of his head. He knew she was going to argue that she should have known. "You only wanted them to know the truth. It's the people we're against that hide everything, they did this." Scully touched his hand with one of hers, bringing them away from her face. Then she sank into his embrace again. "We have to stop them. They can't do this anymore." She said quietly, closing her eyes again. "I know," He answered, rubbing her back comfortingly. "I know." They slept the rest of the night in each other's arms. It may not have been a peaceful sleep, but it was together. Now the battle was over. But the war had just begun. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 8 Bethesda-Chevy Chase High School Bethesda, Maryland Monday, December 23, 2001 "Okay, everyone get out your books and turn to page two forty- three." The teacher told her class, switching off the overhead projector. A few select forgetful students raised their hands and announced that they didn't have their textbooks, to which the teacher merely shrugged and told them to share with someone. Zoe sat in silence, lost in a daydream, until her friend Jessica's had fell on her shoulder. "Psst, Zoe, I gotta borrow your book," She said. Zoe, shaken from her trance, commonly known as 'La-La Land', nodded her comprehension and pulled out her thick Chemistry II book. She watched as Jessica opened the book to the correct page and placed it on the lab bench between them, beginning to study the assigned chapter. Jessica was sixteen, blonde (all though she obstinately argued that she wasn't), smart--all though perhaps a bit ditzy at times--and one of Zoe's greatest friends. Some people thought it strange that a young child could development a mutual friendship with a teenager, but then Zoe was not an ordinary young child. "Ugh! I hate Chemistry!" Jessica burst out, her face twisting in frustration. The girl that sat in front of her--also one of Zoe's friends--turned around, a mocking grin on her face. "Having a little trouble, Jes?" She asked patronizingly. Jes glared at her evilly. "Leave me alone, Briehan." She said, going back to the reading. Briehan was also sixteen, although several months older than Jessica. She was perhaps Jes's exact opposite, brunette, sharply intelligent--described as anything but ditzy--and with an insane sense of humor, rather than Jes's lucid wit. She and Zoe shared one passion above all else, perhaps the one thing the girl's of very different ages had in common, an obsession for a certain television show called Cases of the Unexplained. Briehan, still turned around in her seat, propped her elbows on the edge of Jes and Zoe's bench and began talking to Zoe, clearly uninterested in bookwork. "Zoe, did you see 'Cases last night?" She asked, trying to disguise the excitement in her voice at discussing her favorite subject. Zoe looked up at her skeptically, raising her eyebrow in an expression that was characteristically Scully-like. "Of course, I wouldn't miss it." Brie's smile grew wider. "I loved that hug," She sighed, her eyes misting over in remembrance. Her favorite aspect of the show: the will-they won't-they relationship between the two main characters. Zoe smiled too, "My mom actually watched it with me," She said. "Really?" Brie's eyes lit up. "Yeah, she didn't like it. She said it was a lame show about some lame actors trying to be FBI agents with lame cases. And I said, 'isn't that what you do for a living?' and she didn't really appreciate that." Brie laughed. Jes looked at the two of them, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "You guys are way freakish." She said. It was Brie's turn to leer. But rather than waste her time with words, she simply turned back around to her work. Zoe giggled, knowing what Briehan was thinking. They continued on with the assigned work in the book for a good part of class. Near the last half hour of the ninety-minute "mod", a sharp, throbbing pain suddenly struck Zoe in her temples. She touched her cool palms to her hot face, trying to soothe the pain. Then it wasn't just pain her in her head, it was a ringing, a buzzing. She cringed under the pain. But then it wasn't pain, it was speaking, a message. It was a sweet, hypnotic voice in her head, telling her something to do. In an inexplicable trance, the dropped her hands to her desk and picked up her pen. On the open blank sheet of her notebook, she began to scrawl some figures. All the while, she was not looking at her work, but straight ahead, apparently at the wall, but really at nothing. Conscious thought no longer controlled her. Jes looked over at her young friend, noticing her madly writing something on her notepad. "Zoe, what is that?" She asked curiously, trying to see what was being written. Zoe was unperceptive, lost in her own subconscious. She had a burning fever and her lungs were beginning to ache as she breathed, but she never noticed it. She was too far gone to realize that something was wrong with her. Jes looked at Zoe, more concerned than before. She stuck her hand in front of Zoe and waved her fingers before the girl's open eyes. No response, not even the bat of an eyelash. She snapped her fingers a few times and spoke, "Zoe...Zoe come back to us, we miss you, dear." Noticing what was going on, Briehan and the girl that sat beside her, another girl named Kim, turned around and also looked at Zoe. All of a sudden, Zoe gasped like she was waking up from a nightmare and dropped her pen. Her eyes flicked around to each of them, her mouth hanging open stupidly, her chest heaving with deep, coarse breaths. "We're here!" She whispered cryptically, just loud enough for the three to hear. She whispered again, repeatedly, we're here, we're here, we're here... Over and over, scaring her three friends. Then she fainted. All three girls reflexively sprang from their seats, too shocked to remember to do anything. The teacher was at their side, immediately seeing what was wrong. She stooped down over the young child, checking her pulse and breathing and shouting for the other students crowded around to back away. She called for an anonymous student to run downstairs and get the school nurse. She touched Zoe's forehead, she was burning up, her chest continued to heave in her unconsciousness. Something was definitely, terribly wrong. The crack of an ampoule of smelling salts and the pungent scent of ammonia brought Zoe back to the world of the living. She gasped and then began coughing and sputtering, her lungs heavy in her chest. The nurse helped her to sit up, asking her how she was feeling. She could only nod yes and no, the pain in her head too much for anything more than that. She only vaguely heard the nurse ask her if she could stand. She nodded her head and slowly got to her feet from the floor. When she tried to take a step, her legs faltered. She stood still. The voices of the people talking around her were echoes, like they weren't there at all. The kind-faced nurse said something to the teacher, and then bent down and picked Zoe up. Zoe didn't resist, knowing she couldn't walk herself. As she was carried downstairs to the Health Office, the child side of her began to take over. She felt sick, very sick and she wanted to go home, go to sleep, she wanted her mommy. The nurse sat her down on the plastic covered bed and retrieved a pillow for her. She took her temperature and her pulse and then sat down behind her desk to flip through the emergency cards. She thumbed through the M's, Manners, Menikheim, Miller, Mulder, there it was, Mulder. The hand-filled card had a ton of different numbers on it, three per parent, a grandparent, and a friend of the family. She glanced up from the card and looked over at the ailing young student over her reading glasses. "Zoe, is anybody at home today?" She asked. "My dad might be," Zoe managed to whisper. "But my mom's definitely at the clinic, call her cell phone." Nodding, the nurse picked up the phone and dialed the number printed on the card. A few rings passed before a woman answered with a brisk, "Scully," The nurse was confused a moment by the answer, "Hello, is this Mrs. Mulder?" "Yes it is," The nurse noted the change in tone when the married name was used. "Mrs. Mulder this is the nurse at BCCHS, I have Zoe here in the health room." "What happened?" Scully asked; her tone again transformed to apprehension. "She fainted during class. She also says she has a headache and she feels dizzy. She does have a temperature of 104°. I'm a little concerned about her pulse, it's a little thready and her breathing is a little labored. Has anyone in your family been sick lately?" Scully's response was obviously surprised. "Um, no, do you need me to come pick her up?" "I think that's what would be best for her, if you or your husband could come," "Yeah, I can come pick her up." Scully replied promptly. "I can be there in half an hour, I hope. Tell her I'll be there soon." The nurse answered that was fine and hung up the phone. She got up and came over to Zoe to take her temperature and pulse again and record any changes. Zoe remained stoic, unspeaking. Her head continued to throb and her lungs burned. Her chest ached too, like a vice was squeezing her heart against her chest. With all her knowledge, combined with that of the nurse, she didn't know what was wrong with her. Worst of all was the voices in her head. They weren't the commanding, oppressing voices of a schizophrenic; they were whispering, hypnotizing, and frightening. They weren't voices she recognized, and she didn't understand what they were saying to her. They were the buzzing, whining tongue of an ancient language long forgotten, or perhaps one the humans never knew. She put her palms on her cheeks and pulled them down her face, dragging the skin taunt across the bones in a rather comical, maddened appearance. Then she sighed a painful sigh and tried to open her mind, to free it of all thought. But the voices would have no part in that, they continued on, whispering, murmuring, seducing. She didn't know exactly when they started because she couldn't remember blanking out. She remembered having a vision that she couldn't see at the moment, and then she was on the floor, breathing in smelling salts. She could only guess the voices suddenly started somewhere within that period, like the headache and the bad breathing. Whatever they were, wherever they came from, whatever their purpose, she only wanted them to stop. Stop driving her insane! Mulder Residence Scully came and picked up Zoe around the time she said she would. She drove home and sent her daughter straight to bed. While Zoe changed her clothes to more comfortable pajamas, Scully changed from her normal suit and jacket to lounging clothes. She checked on Reese in the living room (having picked him up too), read the note from her wayward husband on the kitchen table detailing where he was--written to Doug and Carol--and went to the bathroom the retrieve some child ibuprofen. Cup of water and pill in hand, she returned to Zoe's room. Zoe was already lying in her bed under the covers. Scully gave her the pill and the water, which she swallowed without protest. Touching her daughter's face with the back of her hand, Scully sat down on the edge of the bed and visually examined the girl. "Feeling any better?" She asked. Zoe shrugged, looking at the bed. The voice has dissipated, and the echo quality of over people's voices was gone too. But her head still throbbed, her fever burned, and her chest ached. And she had strong doubts that the mild ibuprofen would work. As the voices calmed the vision that she had before she fainted became clearer. It was the same vision that she had been having as a dream for the past few weeks. She had not told anyone about the dream, for it was far too disturbing for anyone else to know about. On the other hand, she had a feeling the dreams and the visions and the voices weren't going anywhere soon and she needed to tell someone. And Scully was always there to listen. "Mommy, can I tell you something?" She asked a little hesitantly after a moment. "Sure," "Well, I've been having this dream lately, and...I dunno...it's kind of starting to scare me." Scully's face told her to go on. "It's always the same, sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less. I'm always here, in my bed, trying to go to sleep. But I can't sleep because everything's too weird. It's like...it's really quiet, almost like I'm deaf. Except I'm not, there is nothing to hear, I can hear my breathing and my heartbeat." As she spoke, she picked up her old doll, aptly named Polly, and fiddled with it in her hands, studying it to focus her thoughts. "I have this feeling that something is going to happen, something bad, but I don't know what, and I don't know when. A long time passes, and there's an explosion, just outside, across the street I think, but it doesn't scare me, I knew it was going to happen. There's some more explosions after that, and fires. And then there's people screaming so loud...so loud...it's inhuman..." Scully listened carefully to the story, shocked that a child's subconscious could come up with such a horror story. And the way she told it...her voice was so soft, but so intense, it was perhaps more frightening than the dream itself. "By then I move to the corner of the room, by the door," She pointed across the room to the corner where the door hinged. "I stay like that all night, listening to the fires and the screaming, until morning. In the morning I get up and go across the room to the window. Sometime in the night the window blew in and I cut my feet on the glass, but I don't notice it. I look out my window and I see..." She trailed off, shaking her head and trying to swallow the lump in her throat. "I see all these bodies. Some of them are all torn apart from the explosions and some of them...died of some disease. They just fell where they stood and died. There's this black...oil on the eyes and cheeks and the ground...and..." Again, she had to pause and catch herself. Tears stung her eyes and her breathing was becoming choked again. "And there's a message in the street written in red spray paint. It says 'all dead now'. All dead now," The first tears trailed down her reddened cheeks, but left her undeterred. "The dream used to end there, but last night there was more. I looked up after the message, and the sky was red and the sun was black. And this ship flew over the neighborhood. It wasn't like a plane it was like...like a triangle, I dunno..." She looked up at Scully, unable to explain the "ship". "Like this," She held her hands in the air, forming a making a triangle with her thumbs and index fingers. Scully nodded slowly; stunned beyond words. The sky was red and the sun was black...that was straight from the Bible. Her daughter had been having a recurring dream about Armageddon. "'And the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood'," Zoe quoted, looking to Scully with teary eyes. "It scares me, Mommy," She said and frowned deeply. It broke Scully's heart to see her daughter in such pain. She moved over and pulled Zoe up in a hug. As any mother would, she wanted nothing else in the world than to see that her children were safe and happy, but it just seemed like there were some pains in Zoe's life that she couldn't heal. She would never understand all that went on in the girl's mind, or what everything meant, it was to complex and Zoe too reluctant and unable to remember. Zoe sat for a long time just crying into her mother's shoulder, before pulling away, sniffing back her tears. There was still more her mother had to know. There were other things that had developed around the time that the dream did. The trances and the visions were one. She lifted the quilt from her legs and got up, Scully watching her in wonder. She stumbled over to her little desk on the wall between the closet and hall doors and pulled a handful of rumpled papers from the drawer. Scully took the papers from Zoe and looked at them. There were words in crayon scrawled on them, not following the lines, but making blocks of writing askew all over the papers. "I...I don't know what they say." Zoe confessed, climbing back into the bed. Scully studied the papers, trying to make out the words. It was not Zoe's normal handwriting, much sloppier and formed differently. It took her a moment to make out the letters and realize the words were in Latin. "It's in Latin," She said, trying to remember all the Latin she had to learn in Catholic school. They were all passages from the Bible. She looked back to Zoe. "Did you write these?" Zoe nodded. "In my sleep, I guess. I just woke up some mornings and they were there. I don't even know Latin." Scully stacked the papers together, prepared to show them to Mulder. Zoe was looking at the floor. "That's not everything," She said. She looked to the floor at a rubber ball that Jake had left behind. "Watch the ball," She waited a moment until Scully's eyes fell on the blue rubber. Then she focused her mind on the ball. Every single conscious thought she had was focused on that ball, on its size, on its weight, its shape. She imagined it weightless and she picked it up with her mind and cradled it with the air. She found in recent weeks that her mind was like a muscle, needing only to be exercised. She could flex, and make things happen. "Keep watching," She muttered. Closing her eyes, she flexed that muscle, and made it so. Before Scully's eyes, the blue rubber ball defied every law of gravity and elevated into the air. Naturally not believing it, Scully blinked hard and looked again. The ball hung in the air, a little more than three inches above the burgundy carpet. In shock, Scully covered her mouth with her hands, breathing heavily, trying as hard as she possibly could to apply rationality to this. It only lasted about three minutes before Zoe couldn't hold it anymore. The flex drained her terribly, nowhere near as badly as reading minds did. That barely drained energy at all anymore, but she could only flex for so long. Scully turned and stared at Zoe, her mouth hanging open in utter disbelief. "Zoe, why didn't you tell me about this before? Why didn't you say anything about the writing and the dreams and...and this?!" She asked the girl, not yelling, definitely surprised at her. Zoe's faced twisted in a frown again. "I don't know," She whimpered, "I just...I guess I thought you wouldn't believe it. I don't even know if I believe it. I can't keep it to myself anymore because...because I feel like something's wrong." "Something's wrong, like you're sick?" She shook her head. "No, I know that. Like...like...I can't explain it..." She yawned suddenly and looked back up at her mother. "I'm really tired." Scully mumbled something incoherently, still shaken by what Zoe had told and shown her. She stood up from the bed, the crumpled stack of notebook papers clutched tightly in her hand. She pulled the quilt and sheet up to Zoe's chin, and tucked it snugly around her body. "My little burrito baby," She said, trying to give her a relaxing smile with the familiar words. "You're out of luck if you have an itch." Before she left, she smoothed the child's blonde hair back and kissed her livid forehead. "Sleep tight," She said as she shut off the light and closed the door behind herself. Back down in the living room, Scully sank onto the bay window seat, resting her head against the cool glass of the window. None of the science or rationality she possessed could comfort her with all she had witnessed. She knew for certain only what she had been told: Zoe was having a recurring dream about the end of the world. Presumably during those dreams, she was sleep-writing Latin passages, mostly from the Bible, and mostly from Revelations. Last, and perhaps most bizarre of all, she had developed advanced telekinesis. And Scully knew for a fact Zoe was not able to do it before. Now who knew what else she could be capable of? Most of all, Scully's thoughts revolved around two questions: What brought all of this on? And what did her illness now have to do with it, if anything? Maybe there was no dream. Maybe Zoe made it all up in a fever- induced delusion. Maybe the ball never floated. Maybe Scully herself was coming down with something and her own fever was combined with Zoe's in the delirium. In that thought, she got up and retrieved the digital thermometer from the table by the couch, and stuck it in her mouth under her tongue. Pacing across the room, the thermometer jutting out of her mouth like a cigarette, she continued her deliberation. Zoe had explained the dream out of delirium. The telekinetic ball was a combination of two people's fevers, provided Scully had a fever. But the one thing that illness didn't explain was the papers, for they were physical, they were actually there. Someone had written them, most likely not under the influence of a fever. The beeping thermometer pulled Scully back from her thoughts. Its digital display said the normal 98.7° degrees. She cursed under her breath and returned to the seat and the papers. Most of the papers had been labeled with the chapter number and line, 1:28, 6:8, and 6:12. Two of the others were not in Latin and Scully couldn't read the language. They obviously weren't from the Bible. The first, was Genesis 1:28, again, in Latin: benedix itque illis Deus et ait crescite et multiplicamini et replete terram et subicite eam et domin amini piscibus maris et volatilibus caeli et universes animantibus quae moventur super terram She read it over a few times, trying to remember how to read Latin. She knew mostly scientific names, and couldn't translate large hunks of the passage. Luckily, she had Genesis memorized. One of the many talents acquired after attending years of private school. She said it aloud; "'And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.'" She sighed after reading, allowing herself to absorb it. It just made no sense. Why would Zoe be writing passages from the Bible in her sleep? Another interruption came when Reese began to cry. As she got up to get him, she looked at the clock. It was near one; time for another feeding. She picked him up, talking to him, although knowing he wasn't going to quiet down and until his tummy was full. She sat down again in the rocking recliner with Reese in her arms. She rolled her shirt up above her breast, expertly unfastened the cup of the irritating nursing bra, and held the baby up to the teat to nurse. Although Reese was capable of quite a chomp, she had grown used to it over the months, and learned to enjoy the peaceful moments. Within seconds, Reese had stopped blubbering and settled into a calm, the only sounds he made being a soft rhythmic sucking. To fill the quiet and to add to the calm Scully had developed the habit of humming or singing to her son. She did it the most when he was only a few weeks old, to comfort him. Now it was mostly because she knew he liked the sound of her voice, even though she wasn't the best singer in the world. Her choice song was from a Natalie Merchant CD she had. She was rocking Reese to sleep after he finished nursing when the sound of the front door locking signaled Mulder's return. Jake came running into the living room from wherever he had been sleeping, eager to greet his master. With his excellent timing, Reese had dropped off as Mulder walked in the door. That was good because Scully desperately needed to talk with her husband...no, her partner. She needed one of those conversations with the emotional impartiality and irrational explanations. She got up slowly and put Reese down in his playpen to nap. When she turned to Mulder they both started speaking at the same time: "Scully, I've got something to--" He began. "--Tell you," She finished. If it had been the right moment, it probably would have been funny. But both of their expressions were of dire seriousness. Scully had the news about Zoe, and Mulder with something of equal importance. Scully gestured for him to go first. Mulder showed her the papers in his hands. She studied it while he spoke, "It's a satellite transmission from Langly Air Force base in Virginia. Actually, all receivers capable of getting radio transmissions from space received the same one." "I showed it to the guys, and we started doing a little digging." he continued. "There was information 'floating around' on the Internet about a new transmission being received every twenty-four hours." Flipping through the three pages of the dizzying pattern of numbers, Scully listened to what he was saying, nodding along. Finally, she had to ask, "What does it mean?" "I'm getting to that," He replied, holding up his hand in wait. "One of the things we found out was that no one that got this knows for sure where it came from, or who sent it. It was received by a satellite and relayed to the normal channels, but no one takes credit for it. Those stations with audio capabilities observed hearing a series of beeps in certain patterns, and an abnormal amount of static. They are starting to speculate that it came from somewhere around the vicinity of Mars." She cocked an eyebrow in response and looked back up at him. "Mars, Mulder?" she began in a tone of skepticism; but then stopped, changing her mind. "What does it say?" She asked again with more force. "Well, it's a simple numerical code, where each number represents a corresponding letter in the English alphabet. A is one; B is two, etcetera, etcetera. The biggest problem we had translating it was figuring out where the spaces were, like if twenty-three was 23 or 2 and 3. Other than that, it was so simple it's almost like they wanted us to figure it out." He noticed the impatient glare in her eyes. "It says the same thing over and over: We are coming. Then, every fifteen lines exactly it says: Extermination is imminent. Kinda creepy, huh?" She still looked skeptical. "I don't know, Mulder, it sounds like a hoax." He had a line to come back with, but bit his tongue against it, and changed the subject. "What did you need to tell me?" She sighed and gave him back the satellite printouts. "Actually, it's about Zoe." "Oh yeah, how is she?" "She's sleeping right bow and she still has a high fever, but I think she's feeling a little better." While speaking, she turned away from him, pacing again. "She told me some things today that I'm kind of...worried about. She said she keeps having a recurring dream about the end of the world." "That's easy, she watched too much TV. What's that show she watches? They're always talking about the end of the world. I get nightmares too when I watch stuff like that." Scully shrugged. "I don't know..." She murmured. She wasn't sure if she really thought it was a cause of American television or not, but it would help settle her subconscious now that Mulder thought that too. That was one weird thing down, two to go. She picked up the papers that had been temporarily forgotten on the window seat. "She gave me these, too." She said, showing him the papers. The same puzzled look appeared on his face as hers when she looked at the printouts. "They're all passages from the Bible; in Latin. Zoe doesn't know Latin and she doesn't know those passages without help. She said she thinks she wrote them in her sleep." "Would you like to translate them for me?" He asked mockingly. She jerked the papers back from him, irritated. "Well, I can't read that much Latin, but I know the passages by heart." He gave her an inquiring look; close to telling her she had no life. Knowing the very expression, she replied off-handedly, "Catholic school," She held up the first passage, from Genesis, and recited it to him, "'And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over ever living thing that moveth upon the earth.'" He nodded understanding, his arms crossed in thoughtful contemplation. "The next one is from Revelations, 6:8." she paused to remember the passage, and continued, "'And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat upon him was Death, and Hell followed with him and power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with the sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.'" She put the last one on top and remembered it. "6:12: 'And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood...'" When she had finished, she sighed and returned her eyes to him. "Armageddon," He whispered to himself. "I know that activities like this are fairly common during sleep, but it's just so odd. She never did it before. I'm just hoping it's from being sick and nothing serious." He agreed. She paced a little more, forehead furrowed in thought. Her downcast eyes clearly showed she had something else on her mind, but she was unsure of what she was going to do. As he stood and watched her, she glanced up at him a few times, then shook her head and bit her lip as she did when something was bothering her. He waited a few more minutes, then asked, "Is there something else?" She stopped and looked in his direction. She had wanted to tell him about the ball, she wanted to tell him very badly. But now as the time had passed since she witnessed it, she wasn't so sure she had actually seen it at all. It could have been her imagination. It could have been Zoe's imagination playing on hers. Now she wasn't certain that she should tell him, because she knew she would look like a fool. She would look weak, and she couldn't have that. "No...no there's nothing else," she said hesitantly. "I was just worried, that's all." Mulder nodded, coming around into the living room and sitting heavily in the recliner. "Where are Doug and Carol?" He asked as she sat in the opposite chair closer to the door. "They went to meet with the arson detective and go back to the house to see what they could salvage." She answered in an exhausted sigh. After a few minutes, Scully turned her head and looked over at Mulder. He hadn't yet turned the TV on, and was only sitting in the chair, his eyes closed, one hand scratching Jake's head as he rested it on his lap. As she studied her husband, her thoughts finally managed to wander from her ailing daughter. Sometimes she found herself in a similar position, just sitting and watching Mulder. She didn't know why, but she was drawn it, to memorizing his every feature, every nuance. He was always changing, yet always the same old Mulder. Things happened, bad things and good things, that changed him. Some of them broke him down, deterring his beliefs and his faiths. Then something else would come along, rebuild it, and move on. It was that way always, a battle between good and bad. It was such a normal thing it became something of a rut. He still had a cut on his right cheek where the CIA agent had hit him. True, it had been only five days since the...episode, but it always seemed like he healed so much faster. She did his stitches herself the day she came to post his bail. She did an admirable job too; it probably wouldn't leave a scar. Or so Carol told her. And if it did scar him, it would just be another battle marking to go with his collection. His face as a whole was finely etched and angular. The pronounced nose he was so self-conscious about only added to his looks. He had soft, expressive hazel eyes that could be the tenderest shade of brown or the fiercest flaming green. If anything could be said, it is that he was handsome. Chiseled jaw line, full lips, and a darkened complexion with a seemingly ever-present five o'clock shadow gave him that rugged quality so adored by the opposite sex. Not quite Bruce Willis rough-and-tumble, but more like Richard Gere or a Baldwin brother, with the more boyish face. As usual, he had his hair just a bit too long to be classified as a clean-cut federal agent. It, as with most things, had changed with time. When he was much younger, it had a windswept "I drive a convertible" (even though he didn't) look that Scully didn't care much for. Then he had grown it longer, and then cut it again and gelled it. Weed-whacker head. His obsession with his hair had earned him the nickname of "Captain Hair" from Zoe after she watched a TV show with a bald skit character with the same name. She thought it fit him well. So did Scully. Now, at least, he just let it be, trimming it when necessary. It waved the tiniest bit and always seemed to fall over his brow in the same place. Those genes were reflected greatly in Reese. As she looked on, he lifted his hand from the armrest and combed his fingers though his hair and off his forehead, sweeping it back in waves and furrows. He had the characteristic large hands of a basketball player. They were finely boned and steady. They could be strong and harsh, or they could be gentle and soft, and she had seen both sides. She mused for a moment on how people teased him about his big hands. Well, she could say, what they said about men with big hands was very true. She had to fake a cough to cover the giggle that went along with that thought. He looked over at her curiously, and she merely shook her head. Strong hands on strong arms with a muscular torso, a six-pack abdomen and trimmed hips on well-toned legs. What else could she ask for? As far as purely physical and artificial satisfaction went, she counted herself very lucky. There were many times when she had seen women in a crowded room make a beeline for him when he entered. The same thing that always got her nabbed them as well, the charm, the dry wit, and the smile. The smile that lit up his normally lax expression and was so infectious, its appearance could make people around smile too. All this was fine and dandy, but in truth, it was the things that couldn't be seen that she had fallen in love with. His passion, his fire, his never-say-die attitude, while they were faults they were also some of is greatest attributes. "Hey, Scully," He beckoned, stealing her from her reverie. The blank expression faded from her eyes and she raised her eyebrows, asking what he wanted. "What are our plans for Thursday?" Thursday was Christmas. Scully was dreading it. What used to be her favorite holiday had slowly mutated over the years to a lurking beast that came around in late December to bring Hell to earth. Not to mention Uncle "Pull-my-finger" Paul. "We're going to Mom's house for dinner at three. Bill's flying in tonight, and Charlie should be here tomorrow. Tara wants to come over tomorrow night to see Reese again. Other than that, we're on our own." Mulder nodded, "I can't wait." he said with equally faked enthusiasm. He continued staring at Scully even as they fell silent. Very similar to her, he did a lot of observing of her. He had been doing it for years. And it was more than just fantasies about her body, but they were in there too. He loved her more than anything in the world, and wanted to make sure he never forgot anything about her, should something ever happen to one of them. Besides that, he was still trying to figure her out. Her soul was so complex no one would ever know what exactly went on in that mind of hers. She claimed to be as hell-bent on finding the truth as he was yet she refused to believe all that she had seen. She wanted the answers, but she didn't want to open her mind to them. Sometimes he asked himself what made her stay with him. She was beautiful, smart, and had so much going for her; he didn't understand why she stuck with such a crackpot over the years. They were total opposites, she the scientist, he the believer. He was the social outcast while she attracted attention like moths to a flame, although she usually turned that attention away. That attention was usually from other men. There was simple enough reasoning behind that; she was an attractive woman. No. She was very attractive. Her face was perfect, her skin the softest porcelain. There was not a blemish on that face, even the beauty mark above her lip added to the perfection. Her nose was small and Roman, her lips red and full, her smile dazzling. Her eyes were blue pools that reflected her emotions exactly, whether icy in anger or warm in kindness or dewy in sadness. Her hair was flowing Irish fire that smelled of flowers or strawberries. Her body was flawless as well; toned and in shape. She had worked off all of the extra pregnancy pounds, not resting until she did so. Now she looked the same as she always had, and was more than fit enough to get back to work. Her arms were strong, but not too masculine, and her hands were beautiful and well manicured. Her breasts were full, her waist was snug, and her hips just perfectly shaped. She went for a run everyday (or when she could), so her legs were muscular and devoid of fat as well. There had always been the physical attraction between them. There were times when he wanted nothing more than to take her and fuck her so hard the last word on her breath was his name. There were times when he had. Heaven help the poor dumb shit that tried to make a move on her, even before they were married or in a relationship, for that matter. Just the same as her, the physical thing was great, but merely a bonus. It was their bond that brought them together. It was the fact that they were each other's best friends. It was that she actually took the time to listen to what he had to say like no one else ever did. He had been with attractive women in the past, but had never loved them like he loved her. He would die for her without a second thought about it. "What about your sister?" Similarly, her voice tugged him away from his thoughts as he had hers. "Hm?" He asked, not hearing the question at first. "What about Samantha?" She asked again. He shook his head a little and didn't answer. He had not spoken to her for two weeks, not since he had confronted her. He honestly couldn't. He couldn't look at her and he couldn't speak to her, and couldn't listen to her without feeling some kind of scorn. She did the one thing that hurt him the most. She hurt him. Scully spoke again, looking away from him. "I'm not going to tell you that you need to talk to her." She watched his blank face for a moment. "And I'm not going to tell you that no matter who she works for, she still the same Sam." "But she's not," He replied softly. "Scully, I spent thirty years looking for her. Thirty years of my life searching for her on nothing more than a vague memory I had when I was twelve years old. When everyone else gave up hope and just thought she was dead, I kept going. You know that," He gazed over at her. "Then when we saw her at the fair...I just...had this feeling, like, there was my mission, there was what I had sought for all those years. She was alive and she was happy. I hadn't been searching in vain. It gave my life...meaning. Well, a least part of it. But, she lied to me. Everything. Everything she told me was a lie. She's known for years where I was and how to contact me. Half the reason we're stuck with no evidence about anything we've seen is because she took it away. She's one of them." Scully was speechless. She had no idea what to say to comfort him. This was very hard on him. It was like, instead of finding his sister, he met his enemy. That was what she was, the enemy. Scully had never disliked as a person. Before all of this came out, they had some pretty good times. Now...they would probably never meet as a family again. If there was one thing you didn't do to Mulder, it was betray him. And Samantha had done it the worst. A knocking on the door halted the touchy conversation. Jake was up off the floor at Mulder's feet and skidding across the room, emitting a few intimidating barks. He sat in front of the door patiently, waiting for someone to open it. Scully rose first. As she went around her chair to the door, she paused and picked up Mulder's hand from the armrest to give it a reassuring squeeze. When Jake's barks became more impatient, waking up Reese in the process, she let go and answered the door. Mulder got up to tend to his son. Zoe's friend Briehan stood on the porch, a purple spiral notebook in her hands, shivering in the cold evening. Scully looked surprised that she would come to visit, but ushered her inside out of the cold just as generously. Jake was at their feet to sniff and greet as always, and when he was through he marched away, tail erect, as if saying all was clear. "The guy that brought Zoe's books down to her forgot this." Briehan said to Scully, handing her the book. "So I figured I would bring it by, it might be important." "Oh, okay, thank you," Scully replied with a smile, tucking the book under her arm. "How is she?" Briehan asked. "She's sleeping right now. She probably just has the flu." Scully said. She hoped Zoe only had the flu. Briehan barely heard Scully's reply. Her eyes were back on Mulder in the living room. He was holding Reese in one arm, Reese grasping his proportionately large finger on the other. Mulder was dancing around-- if it could be called that--and bouncing Reese. "You guys are really FBI agents?" Brie questioned, continuing to watch Reese and Mulder. "Yeah," Scully answered. "Why would you ask?" "Because you really don't act like it." She watched as Mulder settled Reese onto his hip, baby-talking to him. "Do you have a gun?" "Well, they took Scully's away coz she kept shoot me with it." Mulder cracked without missing a beat, grinning at Scully. Scully rolled her eyes. Brie looked astonished. "You shot him?" She asked Scully. Scully gave Mulder a 'you'll-pay-for-this-later' glare and answered reluctantly. "...I did, once, it's a really long, really boring story." Mulder continued to smile at her. Brie looked at them both. "Zoe's right, you two are like the people on Cases of The Unexplained." She said, then she smiled and stepped back out the door, biding them good-bye. Scully held the door open, watching her pull out of the driveway, thinking about what strange friends her daughter had. Just before she pushed the oak door closed again, Jake bounded by and outside, knocking into her and the book from her hand. "Dog, I swear to god, one of these days..." She shouted after him, not finishing the threat as usual. She was choked short when she stooped down to pick up the book and saw what was scrawled on the pages that flew open. One side was a number code, like that of the satellite transmission. The other side was another Latin passage written over and over. She lifted up the book, shock registering on her face. "Mulder, come and look at this," She beckoned. Mulder put Reese back into the playpen to play with some of his little hanging plastic toys and went to Scully's side, seeing the expression on her face and Zoe's open notebook in her hands. "Is it the same code as the other one?" She asked, showing him the page. Mulder studied it for a moment. The pattern was similar, very similar. But not exact. 235118585185235118585185235118585185235118585185235118585185235118585 1852351185851852351185851852351185851852351185851852351185851852351185 85185... "No, it's different," he said, taking the book from her and grabbing a pen from the table by the sofa. He propped the spineless notebook on the back of the recliner, and wrote the letters in above the numbers. WEAREHEREWEAREHEREWEAREHEREWEAREHERE WE ARE HERE WE ARE HERE WE ARE HERE WE ARE HERE WE ARE HERE . . . Scully's eyes met Mulder's after reading what he had written. There was something present in those pools of blue; he couldn't tell if it was fear or just plain confusion. He guessed it was a lethal combination of both. "What is going on here?" She said in a trembling voice, unable to find her more confident one. "I wish I knew," Mulder muttered back. He looked on the opposite page at the long, repeating Latin passage. "What's this say?" He asked her, pointing to it. Scully read the passage, only able to translate a few words. Like the others, it had a number where the passage repeated. 6:17. She remembered what that Revelation said, and recited it, "'For the great day of his wrath is come, and who shall be able to stand?'" "What does it all mean?" Mulder asked, more to himself than anyone else. Scully stared at the repeating passages of Latin that her seven-year- old daughter had written. She answered him in way that only seemed to make his query more important. "Maybe that's the biggest question of all. What does it all mean?" ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 9 Mulder Residence Wednesday, December 24, 2001, Christmas Eve Christmas Eve managed to roll around with a surprising amount of peace. There was no explosion, no fireworks, no roaring celebration or catastrophe announcing its arrival as with so many things in life. Everyone in the Mulder household, the four adults, four children, and animals, just went to bed, dreamed their little dreams, and when they woke up, there it was. Calm, serene, and crisp in a sparkling new blanket of snow. Scully and Reese were the first up, at around seven, for his breakfast. Scully couldn't remember the last time she had slept past eight. Between work, which was ever time-consuming, and the new infant in the family, sleep had to be sacrificed. Even when she was still pregnant, she couldn't sleep that long, it killed her back. Now they were the a.m. feedings. They were less frequent than when Reese was a newborn, but there was still that midnight killer. She never realized how much of a morning person she was until she had to be up every morning at seven, regardless of the weekends. Nor did she know how to fully appreciate the stillness that early morning could provide. When she had lived in alone her apartment, it was always quiet. In fact, it felt so empty, she sometimes had to turn on a radio or the TV just to keep herself company, but it was rare she was home all that long anyway when she wasn't sleeping. After she adopted Zoe, the quiet dissipated a little, with the constant noise of a young child. Then Mulder moved in not long after, and she could say good-bye to the peace. Reese stole the silence of the nights. So, one could say, she was used to the noise. But she had found these early mornings, the only part of the day when everyone was asleep. After she got Reese up, he was quiet, and Mulder and Zoe still slept. With the houseguests, they slept too, even the twins. The morning of Christmas Eve was the same as all the others, except that it had that magical feeling of Christmas. Even though Scully loathed most aspects of Christmas, there were a few things unscathed by the flames of the past. This particular Eve morning, she sat at one of the chairs at the kitchen table, the one with its back to the glass sliding door that led to the back deck. Reese was in his versatile little baby seat on the table before her. He was quite content in eating his peach puree baby food and gumming down Cheerios. Scully was content in sitting in the soft white sunlight that shone through the glass and listening to the silence. There were birds chirping outside, little gray birds with white bellies that played in the fresh powder on the deck, snow birds, as they were simply called. The cream-colored, striped cat DJ sat at the door, watching them, but not wanting to go out in the cold. Jake lay snoring on the floor by where the vinyl flooring of the kitchen met the old hardwood of the rest of the house. It was nice. At around seven thirty, the silence was over. Tess and Kate came scampering down the stairs and tromping into the kitchen. Scully got little sippy-cups with orange juice for them and turned on cartoons in the living room. That would keep them occupied for the next hour or so. Zoe was up not long after them, and the first odd thing of the day came forth. Zoe was perfectly fine. The fever was gone, her breathing was back to normal, and she had no complaints other than the normal hunger. She informed Scully that she had no nightmares, and she was, in fact, feeling much better. She went into the living room and plopped down on the couch to watch cartoons with Tess and Kate. Mulder and Carol came out not long after Zoe. Mulder greeted Scully in his usual way, with a bright grin and a hazelnut-laced kiss. He played with Reese for a few moments, talking to him as if he really understood what was being said. Carol got her coffee, added a large portion of sugar, and sank into the chair adjacent to Scully at the table. She yawned and ran her fingers through her unruly long, brown curls. She and Doug had worked the late shift the night before after taking the day off. She looked tiredly up at Mulder's cheery face and distinguishable good mood and frowned. "Damn the morning people," She muttered, obviously not being one of them herself. Mulder's grinned widened and he chuckled, turning to go out in the living room with the children. Doug was the last one to get up and join everyone else. He came limping down the hall, rubbing the sleep from his haggard features. Despite his immediate expression, he seemed awake enough, giving Scully and Carol a greeting smile. "Good morning," he said brightly, bending low to kiss Carol in more intimate greeting. Carol rolled her eyes in sarcastic response. "Why is everyone in this house so damn chipper this early in the morning?" She questioned with irritation. Scully had to chuckle. "Get used to it," she said, "Mulder's worse than Doug. Sometimes he gets up whistling, and then he drinks coffee, and it gets worse." Carol groaned. "Would you be terribly upset if I accidentally smacked him?" "Not at all, I do it myself sometimes." "I heard that!" The man in question called from the living room. Laughing at the two women, Doug went out to the living room with the rest of the children. Mere moments later, rather off-key singing was heard from that same room: "Scooby-dooby-doo, where are you? We got some work to do now..." The voice was distinctly Mulder's, and a shouting chant more than singing. It was loud enough to raise the dead, or at least piss off some neighbors. "It was Mr. Green the garbage man! He's the swamp monster!" Doug called childishly in response. Mulder's reply came next, in a gruff, faked voice and accent, simulating the alleged 'Mr. Green', "And I would've gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for you meddling kids! And that dog!" They laughed. Scully at Carol, raising her eyebrows, and Carol rolled her eyes. "My husband is forty going on five." Scully muttered, sighing and shaking her head slowly. Carol had to laugh. She felt the same way. Ignoring the laughter and sounds from the television, Scully danced her fingers around the edge of her orange juice glass, and started a new conversation. "So, uh, what did you find yesterday at the house?" Carol downcast her eyes to the table and drummed her fingers on the table. "Well, we met with the arson detective and he said it was definitely arson. The gas line was cut, not broken, and someone had to light it. Doug swears he saw the oven counting down...like a bomb, but they didn't find any explosive devices." "Was there anything left?" "A little." Carol recollected for a moment, standing in her driveway, looking at the blackened remains of her new home and her new livelihood. She had stood for a long time like that, staring at the house, even as Doug braved the ruins to see if he could find anything. She had trembled and cried silently there, feeling utter hopelessness. The little that they had managed to build upon in the brief eighteen months had, literally, gone up in smoke. "Most of the second floor was gone," she continued. "The bedrooms, all of our clothes, all of the girl's things. The kitchen was hit the worst, and the living room. All of the photos we had on the walls are pretty much gone. It's going to take a long time to rebuild everything." "At least no one got hurt," Scully said as condolingly as possible. "Yeah, but it just seems like we'll never get cut a break." "Oh, I know what you mean by that one. I've been saying that for years. Eventually...you just kind of learn to accept, but it doesn't get any easier." Scully said, rising, and scooping up Reese from his seat. "Now, c'mon, we're going shopping, what better excuse to get new stuff?" Carol stood as well. She couldn't agree more. Beltway Plaza Mall 11:42 a.m. Under normal circumstances, neither Scully nor Carol would have ever dreamed of going anywhere near any public shopping area so close to Christmas, much less Christmas Eve. But then, when was the last time either of them did anything under normal circumstances? After leaving the twins and Zoe with Doug and Mulder, they gathered up Reese and themselves and set out for some last minute Christmas and fire replacement shopping. They had already been shopping for a little over an hour, and were stocked with plenty of new clothes, for the girls and Doug and Carol alike, as well as some replacement Christmas presents. Though no money had been directly lost in the blaze, a lot would be have to put in rebuilding, and a lot was lost in things already bought. It would definitely affect the cash flow for the Ross family. Scully helped buy the girls some presents, because she was just that way, but money was okay so far since Christmas bonuses had come in. "What did you mean when you said you moved here to get away from everything?" Scully asked Carol as they walked down the main aisle of the mall, finally getting to the subject that she had been curiously contemplating since the other day. A beat passed before Carol responded, "Where do I begin?" She started. "I guess I've just...disliked most of my life. Don't get me wrong, I love my girls, and I love Doug, but I hate the way some things turned out." She paused as they walked idly around a crowded group of bustling shoppers, Scully wrestling the baby stroller through, then she continued, "You know, I've known Doug since I was twenty-three. I was young, I was naïve, and I was madly in love with him. And he broke my heart...more than once. There was a time when he would jump into bed with anyone that propositioned him." Then, with a reminiscing look in her eyes she said, "I almost killed myself once because of him." Shock registered faintly on Scully's face. "Oh my god..." She began to mutter, changed her mind, and finished with, "I'm sorry," In an apologetic tone. "Don't be," Carol, replied quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly by the continued apology on her friend's face. With a smile, she went on, "It's made me stronger, maybe not wiser, but definitely stronger. I wish I had gotten some of the wisdom though. When Doug finally got serious, I wasn't. There was a whole ordeal with work...and he moved to Seattle. I didn't go with him. He didn't know I was pregnant when he left. He wasn't there when the girls were born. I was too stubborn to go to him, but I could not raise twins on my own. Finally, I moved to Seattle with the girls. And then we decided to leave everything behind and start over. All there was left to do was run. It's worked so far...until the fire." She added with a forced chuckle. "I guess nothing's easy though, huh?" Scully nodded slowly, the sorrows of her own life surfacing and weighing down on her heart. "I wish I could just run away." She said after a few minutes. "But I never could." Carol looked interested in her story. She had expounded hers, now it was Scully's turn. Scully continued, "I hate most of my life too, at least seven or eight years of it. I have enough bad memories to fill volumes of a novel. Liver- eating mutants, Flukeman, shadowy government informants, psychotic death fetishists...killer bees...alien virus...lies, death, betrayal, murder..." She stopped and sighed, realizing that she was rambling, and Carol looked rather skeptical. "My life sucks," She said humorlessly. "You've really seen all that stuff?" Carol asked. "I don't know what I've seen." "I wouldn't believe it either." "Well, that's not even the worst of it. Most of the shit that I've been through seems to revolve around this wonderful holiday we call Christmas." Carol definitely looked intrigued by this, wondering why Scully seemed to resent Christmas so much. "Christmases have pretty much sucked for the past several years." Scully continued without pause. "Last year, I was pregnant and miserable and I had to go to San Francisco to visit my older brother-- and he hates Mulder--so that was a lot of fun. The year before that it was pretty similar, we announced our engagement, and it didn't go over too well with my family. Before that wasn't as bad, I can't even remember if anything happened...actually I think that Christmas was pretty nice. I spent Christmas Eve of '98 in what Mulder said was a haunted house, fun, fun, fun. '97 was the worst year of all, I nearly died of cancer and my daughter died--" "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Carol cut her off, waving her hand to stop her. "I was following along all right for awhile, but now I'm lost. Cancer? Your daughter?" Scully looked mournfully at her friend. There had been so much pain over the years; it was just easier to bury most of it all inside, in the deepest, darkest pits of the soul, than to recall it all. Carol was absent from Scully's life during these times, and knew very little of this pain, and had asked about it, forcing Scully to bring it all to light. Scully had never explained it to another person before. She wrote her feelings in a journal, and never had anyone to tell other than Mulder, and Mulder knew all. Now Carol had inquired, and Scully answered: "About four--maybe five--years ago, I was diagnosed with cancer. They found a malignant mass in my temporal lobe. A few months before Christmas it metastasized, my oncologist all but told me it was over. I thought..." Scully's averted eyes raised to Carol's. "I thought I was going to die." Carol could say nothing--do nothing, but stare blankly at Scully. Here she was, with her soap opera life, while her once best friend battled a terminal illness. Oh how the years could part people. "But you're all right now?" She asked, attempting to reconcile for even asking in the first place. A faint smile crossed Scully's lips. "It went into remission. The tumor is almost gone." "And your daughter?" Carol dared to press; she was just too curious, she had to know. A heavier sigh escaped Scully. Her grip tightened on the stroller so tightly her knuckles whitened to the color of bone. "Emily," She muttered. The subject of the passed child struck a heavy chord with her, and it was rarely--if ever--spoken about. "I was visiting my brother and his wife for Christmas. I came across a little girl whose mother had been killed, and her father not long after. Long story short, I found out she had been adopted, and she was my daughter. I never even knew I had a daughter; she was the product of in-vitro fertilization. Social services wouldn't let me adopt her, and she was dying of a rare genetic disorder. I found out that during my uh...kidnapping, they removed my ova through a process of super- ovulation that rendered 'patients' sterile. Emily was born-- unknowingly--to a woman in a nursing home and adopted. She died before anything could be done about it." Again, there was nothing for Carol to say short of a stunned "Oh my god." Her mouthed moved around questions she wanted to ask, but her voice refused to come. Scully stopped pushing the stroller as the came alongside a fountain in the center of the mall. She sat down on the bench and pulled the front of the stroller towards herself so she could see her son. Seeing Carol contemplating a question as she sat down as well, she spoke up, "I don't like to talk about it much," Carol completely understood. So, instead of asking a question, she said, "You win the shitty life award." An easier smile brightened Scully's face as she picked up Reese from his stroller. The smile was in part due to the mood-lightening joke, and partly due to the beautiful baby boy now in her lap. After all that pain and the lonely nights and the emptiness, her children, wonderful Zoe and miracle Reese, and Mulder, of course Mulder, all made up for it. "I just have one more question," Carol said after a few minutes. With Scully's nod, she asked, "If that procedure you talked about made you sterile, how is this little guy possible?" She stroked Reese's tiny arm and smiled at him. Scully only shrugged. She brushed his soft hair with her hand, lifted him to his feet, and kissed his cheeks and forehead in a loving matter. He beamed at her and cooed. She had no explanation for how her son was conceived, and she didn't really care. All she knew was that after a chilly October night and her and Mulder's first experiment of sex in the new hot tub; she was pregnant. Mulder had his theories about the possibility. And, like normal, Scully avidly disbelieved them. She didn't want to know. After spending much of her adult life looking for answers, she was starting to realize that some questions were better left unanswered. Sometimes those answers could be more painful than the questions themselves. Mulder Residence "If you fall, I'm not catching you!" Mulder heard shouted from thirty feet below him. Standing with one foot on each side of the apex of the roof, he turned to Doug and yelled back: "If I fall we're both screwed!" Doug laughed. Mulder was on the roof hanging--or attempting to hang--the outdoor Christmas lights. Taking advantage of his wife's absence, he went ahead and did something she explicitly told him not to, put up the Christmas lights. "You've never done it and you don't know how to. You'll kill yourself." She had warned before she left when he said something about it. He shrugged off the statement, as he did more often than not, and climbed onto the roof, strands of Christmas lights in hand. The lights he bought were of the newest fad: the icicle style. Rather than the lights being stretched straight along the wire, they were made so that strands of different lengths hung down from the main cord, producing an icicle effect when the lights lit up. They looked really spectacular in the picture on the box, and had seemed easy enough to put up. They simply had to be strung on rain gutter clips along the length of the house and the porch, and hung from shingle clips along the width. The trouble was in getting the lights to lay right, it had been frustrating Mulder all morning. "Hey Mulder they're kinda crooked right there!" Doug shouted after a moment, watching Mulder futilely trying to untangle a new strand. "I don't see you up here helping me." Mulder replied. Doug gestured down at the cast and Velcro brace around his foot. "I don't think my wife would appreciate me injuring myself again. She might just decided to put me out of my misery." "I'll lend her my gun!" Mulder tossed back flippantly. Doug grumbled something under his breath and returned to the porch banister, where he had been neatly wrapped single strand white lights around the posts and banister. Christmas Eve and he was helping to hang Christmas lights. Nothing like waiting until the last minute, huh, Mulder? It was all right though; he hadn't even planned on lights on his own house. Not that it mattered anymore. Doug was interrupted yet again when a series of snowballs were pelted into the back of his new parka. Quickly draping the lights over the banister, he spun around, scooping up a handful of snow in one of his gloved hands. Behind him stood the twins, wild and mischievous grins lighting their frost pink faces, the snow on their gloves catching them red handed as the snowball throwers. They were dressed identically in pink snowsuits, boots, hats, and scarves, all brand new. Kate hunkered to the ground to gather more snow while Tess stood over her, laughing simply for the sake of it. Their father smiled and shook his head, then lightly tossed the loose snowball back at Tess. It fell apart in midair, raining down on her like powder rather than hitting her. She shrugged her shoulders and stuck out her tongue to try and catch some in her mouth. Giggling, Kate jumped up and threw her snowball at her sister. Tess squealed and chased her sister around the yard. Zoe was by the weeping willow near the corner of the yard, trying to build a snowman out of the powder thin snow. She got as far as the bottom before Jake came galloping over and trampled her work. She would scold him and then throw a snowball to get rid of him. "Snow angels!" One of the twins exclaimed. Doug's gaze followed the voice to where the girls had run. They both fell onto the ground on their backs and flailed their arms and legs back and forth in the snow to create the imaginary imprint of an angel. Doug smiled again and returned to the lights. Even through all the bad, at least children could find the joy in Christmas. 4:20 p.m. The smell of steaming shrimp and simmering tomato sauce wafted from the kitchen, bringing a comforting atmosphere to the house. Doug and Carol sat in the living room, watching the clay-animation version of Rudolf The Red-Nosed Reindeer with Tess and Kate. Zoe was sitting on the floor playing with Reese as Jake looked on. Scully was in that delicious-smelling kitchen, learning how to prepare a Mulder specialty. Shrimp Creole. A dish, Mulder explained, made from fresh tomatoes, peppers, onions, and the right seasonings, with steamed shrimp mixed in, simmered until perfect, and served over white rice. He had made it once or twice before, and now declared that it was going to be a new Christmas Eve tradition. When asked where he learned to cook such a meal, he merely shrugged and said, "I'll never tell." "Taste this," Mulder bid Scully, dipping a bit of the Creole sauce onto the wooden stirring spoon and directing to her. She turned from the serving counter where she was mixing a salad tasted the sauce Mulder held out for her. She took a moment to savor the slightly tangy, slightly spicy flavoring, and then gave an "Mmm," "Good?" She nodded and licked the remaining sauce from her lips. The spoon still in one of his hands, he dipped his head low and met her lips with his, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth, for a brief, but very nice kiss. Pulling back, he smacked his lips similarly picked up a thoughtful expression, saying, "You're right, that is good," Scully smiled and turned back to the salad. "Where did you learn to cook, Mulder?" She inquired again after a few moments as he added the steamed and cleaned shrimp. "The extent of my abilities goes to scrambled eggs and grilled cheese." "I have many talents you don't know about," He replied smugly. She let out a skeptical chuff and said, "Yeah right, like what?" He shrugged in sarcasm. "Maybe I'll show you some of my talents as an early Christmas present." "Mm, I'd like those talents..." "Are you using innuendo on me, Scully? Jeez you've got a dirty mind..." He deadpanned. "Dirtier than you think..." She muttered low under her breath. Mulder turned back toward her, catching her arm and spinning her back before she could turn away. "What was that?" He asked just as quietly. She smiled. He bent to kiss her again, and lo and behold, the phone rang. He grunted frustration. "Why does this always happen to us?" She smirked again and gave a consoling shrug, freeing herself from his grip and starting to the phone. Mulder checked his Creole sauce and went to finish mixing the Caesar salad while Scully addressed the caller. He was thinking it was probably those annoying, opportunistic telemarketers again until he heard her exclaim, "Bill! How are you? When did you guys get in?" And knew it wasn't. No, who was on the line was much more fun to toy with: big brother Bill. "How's Matt? Did he enjoy the flight?" She inquired, tucking the phone in the crook of her neck and shoulder. She returned to the counter, trailing spiraled phone cord behind her. Shoving Mulder away from her job, she picked up the spoons she was using and resumed tossing the salad, laughing as Bill said something funny. Bill was a good older brother to his siblings, as far as elder siblings went. Having one sister killed years ago, he had grown increasingly protective of his remaining baby sister. It was obvious that he adored Scully, but there was a single problem: He despised Mulder. And he had from the beginning. It was still unclear, even to Mulder, why Bill hated him so, but the hate was there, and had only grown over the years. Mulder could only guess that Bill disliked him because he felt his sister's best friend treated her badly. Bill heard about all the times when Mulder had ditched her to go off on his wild goose chases, his hunts for the little green men. Once he went to Russia, for weeks on end; another time he was away while she battle cancer and bade off death; and he left her with a note and fear when she was three days away from delivering his child. What Bill hadn't hear about however, was how Mulder went to the ends of the earth--quite literally--to save her life on nothing more than the word of his enemy; or how he held her tightly and comforted her when her defenses fell and she cried into his shoulder. Still, in Bill's mind, Mulder was a terrible person for doing the things he did. He had resorted to calling him names--both to his face and behind his back--scoffing his name, telling Scully she could do better, and was nearly reduced to physical blows at the baby shower. Mulder felt terrible for the tings he had done, but also felt as though they were things he needed to do. In truth, he really couldn't care less what Bill thought of him. He loved Scully, he worshipped Scully, and as long as she new that, all was good. Screw the rest of the dysfunctional family. For now, his favorite past time was pissing Bill off. And there were a million ways to do it. As she spoke to on the phone, Mulder approached her, slipping his arms around her waist and seeking out her neck with his lips. She put down the salad utensils and gathered the phone into her hand. He continued kissing her neck, up to her earlobe and sensitive area along her jaw. At first she just played unresponsive, until he really got to her. Then she had to tell her brother to hold on, pull the phone from her ear, and twist from Mulder's embrace, trying a scolding glare on him. It wasn't too convincing. "Mulder, this is Bill, the one that hates you, remember?" She hissed. He shrugged. "So?" She bit her lip and shook her hand and put the phone back to her hear, telling Bill she was back. Mulder let it go for a moment, but was right back at it before Scully could tell him not to. He poked at her jeans pockets, pulling her close to him by the straps of the belt loops. He tickled her until her face turned bright red from trying not to laugh; he made faces at her; he even went so far as to playfully grope her, all in good fun. She jerked the phone from her ear and glared at him again, he just smiled. "Bill, I've got to go. See you tomorrow at mom's." She said; her eyes locked on her husband, a fair distance between them. There was a pause as Bill said his goodbyes. "Merry Christmas to you, too. 'Bye." Her glare remained a mocking ghost of anger for a moment, and then faded into a smile as she hung up the phone. "He interrupted me first." Mulder said. Scully came back to him and laced her arms around his neck. "Where were we?" She purred, kissing his lips softly. "About there is good," He said and kissed her again. Doug appeared in the kitchen entryway minutes later, beckoning for Mulder. "I hate to interrupt," He apologized, seeing the two together and knowing what interruptions were like. "But there's someone here to see Mulder." Mulder hung his head and groaned. Scully's gaze was sympathetic but didn't make up for what they were lacking. He let go of his wife to allow her to finish up with dinner, and followed Doug out to the living room. "She said she didn't want to come in," Doug informed him, sitting back on the recliner to elevate his foot. "She?" Mulder said, opening the door and stepping outside, completely oblivious to who could be there. He stepped out into the cold on the swept porch in his bare feet, crossing his arms to conserve body heat rather than go back inside for a coat. He saw no one at first, until the familiar creak of the porch swing brought it attention in that direction. The 'she' was Samantha. She sat on the porch swing, her breath a vapor before her, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her classy overcoat. Mulder approached her slowly, his eyes never leaving sight of hers. She stood as he neared, offering him a weary smile that he couldn't bring himself to return. Even after all the weeks that they hadn't spoken, he still felt resent towards her, and she had may no attempt at apology. The fallout had been brief but painful, and their relationship was probably lost forever. The hopes were that they could at least be civil once again. "Fox," Sam began first. "I came to talk to you. We need to talk...I'm sorry we haven't spoken before; I've been busy. I think everything was a whole misunderstanding...Fox...Fox, please talk to me." She pleaded, trying to gain the attention of his eyes. Mulder's face had since iced over. His eyes shot straight ahead, out into the darkening evening, his lips pursed in a bitter line. His defenses had been put him, his fortress barricaded, and the drawbridge closed, now not even the bravest warrior could breach those high stonewalls. "What do you want me to say?" He asked coldly. She seemed a bit irritated by his stony façade, but she would be relentless, unknowing that only one person could gain access to his emotions when he penned them, and that one person was not her. "I don't know...I want you to say you agree with me...that this...this argument was neither of our faults, it was just a misunderstanding." His eyes finally focused on her with a turn of his head. Those eyes scared her. She had never seen him like this, at least not as far as she could recall. They were unbelievably frozen, unemotional, a cold, hard gray. "But it wasn't a misunderstanding, Samantha. You lied to me." "When? When did I lie to you?" "You lied about everything! You lied from the first day I ran into you. You pretended not to know me. And then you lied about me endangering your life, you lied about the so-called Resistance, and you lied about Anthony DeCaro." Anger boiled in her for a moment, and then came the overwhelming urge to apologize. She conceded to the urge, sinking onto the swing again and heaving out a sigh that escaped her lungs in a stream of white mist. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Fox." She looked up at him again as he stood with his arms crossed and his face cast towards the yard. "My job is dangerous, no matter how you put it. I only lied to you to protect you." Somehow he didn't really buy that. But as he turned and looked down at her, and saw the apology written on her face, he knew she should at least be forgiven. Scully was right. She was his sister, he had spent thirty years of his life looking for her, why waste that now, over this? It had been far too long and too hard of a battle to let it go over one little tiff. He would forgive her. But if anything like this came up again, he wasn't sure he would be able to do it a second time. "Do you wanna come in for dinner? We've got plenty to go around." He asked softer than before, with more loving emotion present. She sniffed back the tears that had barely begun to arise in her throat and answered quietly, "I'd like that." He gave her a smile that was barely forced and guided her through the door. He inquired about where her husband and son were on this Eve, and she told him they were in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, visiting his mother and father, and she couldn't come because of work. She didn't bother to say what work that was, nor did she talk about the domestic problems she was having with her husband, and it was all for the better. Long fights forgotten, they all gathered around the dining room table for some Christmas Eve Creole and the beginning of a new tradition. Another Christmas dilemma resolved. Margaret Scully Residence Edgewater, Maryland Thursday, December 25, 2001, Christmas Day The house Maggie Scully resided in was the very house that Scully had spent the last few years of her childhood. After moving to Annapolis when her Naval Captain father was transferred from further north, she spent her entire high school career attending public school for the first time in her life. She had grown up in Catholic private schools and the Maryland Public School System was a refreshing change for the fourteen-year-old rebel, her two older siblings, and one younger. The house, as it always had been, was beautiful in its simplicity. It was a plain, two-story single-family home on a quite street just outside of tiny Annapolis. There was still a tire swing roped to an old maple in the front yard that the grandchildren played on when they came to visit. The backyard wasn't enormous, and the children were getting older by the time they had moved in, so it hadn't really mattered. Young Dana Scully was no longer the rough-and-tumble tomboy she had once been, but followed more after her older sister in the ways of teenage sophistication. That Christmas afternoon, the yard was barren with snow, no children running around and playing. Scully stood on the curb of the front yard, looking at the house, remembering her long-passed childhood. Here she was, in conservative attire, yet soft-toned for her tastes, a black satiny skirt that fell to mid-calf with a wine purple, v- necked cashmere sweater, accustomed three-inch heels, and a faux fur- lined anti-government-issue winter parka. She had changed so much since she was a teenager, and sometimes she wasn't exactly sure it was for the better. At least now she had one thing she didn't have then... "Scully," beckoned Mulder from behind her. She turned and looked at him over the roof of his navy blue Taurus, questioning what he wanted, unable to help the tiny trace of a smile from crossing her face at the sight of him. He gestured absently to the diaper bag as he tried to balance Reese in his carrier and the vegetable platter. She chided herself for forgetting about it and reached back into the car for it. She shouldered the bag and took the platter from Mulder so he wouldn't risk either breaking the crystal dish or breaking their son. They started up the shoveled driveway, Zoe trailing behind them. There were cars filling the driveway and lined up and down the street. Somehow, Margaret had managed to invite a significantly large portion of the family for this Christmas. What would possess her to do so, neither Scully nor Mulder would ever know. All they knew, was there were a lot of people in that little house. As soon as they stepped through the door, a flurry of people greeted them. Zoe immediately ran off to join the herd of children playing in the informal living room. Maggie was the first to greet them with a big smile and hugs and kisses to go around. She relieved Mulder of Reese and started back to the formal living room where the rest of the family was, announcing for everyone to "Look who's here!" Mulder took off his coat and helped Scully with hers, then gave the coats to an older boy who stood by the stairs, appointed to take everyone's things upstairs. Mulder followed Scully in the direction Maggie had gone, off to the right of the front foyer. There were perhaps more than a dozen adults in that formal sitting room. Some were actually sitting, some were standing, and some were bustling around, in and out of the kitchen, finishing the lavishing supper that they would be eating around two. They stood rather uncomfortably at the fringes of the party, overwhelmed by so many relatives all at once. Two women Mulder recognized as an aunt and a cousin stood across the room, cooing and playing with Reese. The poor baby looked utterly frightened and bewildered. An older gentleman--possibly in his sixties--dressed in a taupe suit that reeked of cigar smoke approached them from where he had originally stood talking with two other men. "Well, if ain't little Dana!" He said boisterously. Scully used her strained smile on him as he embraced her. She tried not to grimace at his smoky odor. "Well if it ain't Uncle Paul," She replied in a mocking manner he didn't quite catch, but laughed heartily anyway. He complimented her on how she looked and how he missed seeing her. Then, with his drink of brandy in one hand, he stuck out his free hand, index finger pointed to her, and joked gruffly, "Pull my finger!" Scully smiled and shook her head, lowering his gnarly old hand with her own. "No, Uncle Paul, I'm not six anymore, I'm not going to pull your finger." Paul passed her a look that said simply, "Aw, shucks!" Then brushed it off and looked to Mulder, summing him up and down. "And who is this?" He asked. Scully nudged Mulder with her hand on his shoulder. "Uncle Paul, you remember Mulder, from the wedding last year? My husband?" Uncle Paul immediately looked shocked. "Your husband!? When did you get married, Dana? Well, congratulations!" Before either of them could respond, he walked away, mumbling to himself. Scully looked up at Mulder, shaking her head and twirling her finger by her ear, signifying that Uncle Paul was, indeed, crazy. "He probably slept through the entire wedding, besides the fact that he's going senile in his old age." "Well he's certainly an odd one if anything," Mulder remarked, turning his head to follow the direction Paul had wondered to. "I wonder what will happen when he sees Reese." Already forgetting the minor incident, Scully tugged at Mulder's hand, leading him deeper into the sitting room with a "C'mon," Scully led Mulder over to the empty, stuffy, wood-legged couch by the wall and next to the fireplace. Somewhere in the background a piano tinkled a bad version of Fur Elise. Mulder scanned the room and saw the upright piano across the room where a young girl of eleven or twelve sat, attempting to play the difficult piece of music. While Scully talked with a relative, Mulder thought and mused to himself. The woman Scully was talking to was her aunt, on her mother's side, Virginia. She was younger than Maggie, and therefore, not insane, like her older brother. The two women that had been playing with Reese were Virginia and her eldest daughter, Margaret, after you-know- who. Now Cousin-Margaret sat in a high-backed chair with Reese in her lap. Scully's other uncle, her father's brother, stood talking to Maggie and Crazy Uncle Paul. They were other adults Mulder didn't recognize, a dark-haired, middle-aged woman, a red headed man of around the same age, and a fat, fifty-ish man with no hair at all, among others. Over to the right, by the kitchen door, was Scully's younger brother Charles, or, to Mulder, The Nice One. His wife, Abigail, was talking with Tara, who was Bill's wife. Tara was pregnant again with their second child. Abigail and Charlie lived at Andrew's Air Force Base where Charlie was a pilot; he was in uniform as expected. Bill and Tara lived in San Diego where Bill was a lieutenant commander in the Navy, Bill was in uniform as well. Abbey and Charlie had four rug- rats: aged fifteen, fourteen, twelve, and ten, named Joshua, Andrew, Jillian, and Robert, in that order. They started early, Mulder thought with amusement. Jill was the one tinkering around on the piano. Bill and Tara, on the other hand, had one son, Matt, who was going on four, and one on the way, obviously. Mulder hadn't a clue to whom all the other children belonged, or even who most of the adults in the room were. Bored with Scully's family, he began watching her as she continued her conversation with "Aunt Ginny". Rather than think about how much he liked seeing her in the family environment that she honestly didn't seemed to mind, he thought about some other things. I think she liked my early Christmas present, he thought. I didn't hear any complaints. His early Christmas present to her had consisted of some lingerie and some lovemaking he swore would blow her mind. He wasn't so sure now about the latter part, but it had gone on for hours. Just call me Stamina Man. . . Great, here I am at Christmas dinner with all of Scully's respectable Catholic family thinking about how I fucked her last night. How charming am I? But who the hell cares, these are my thoughts and I am entitled to them. No one here can keep me from fantasizing about my wife. I mean she really does have a fantastic body. Especially that ass, he watched her get up at Tara's bidding and walk across the room to talk with her. Yep, definitely the ass. The piano playing started up again, and Mulder had another thought, one of a very different variety. He too, got up and went across the room, but to the piano where his niece sat. He directed her to scoot over and sat on the bench beside her. Twelve years of forced piano lessons was going to pay off after all. "Is this the music you're playing?" He asked, indicating towards Beethoven's Fur Elise before him. Jill nodded, wondering what he was going to do. Shrugging a little to himself, he touched the keys with his fingers, and began to play. He was really, pretty good, a little rusty after so long of not playing, but still, better than Jill. At the change in the quality of the music, Scully turned and looked toward the piano. She was very surprised to see Mulder playing Beethoven on the piano, and playing it well. She didn't even know Mulder could play the piano. "Play something Christmas!" Uncle Paul yelled from the corner. Mulder twisted around on the bench, shocked that anyone had even noticed. He thought no one was really paying attention. He saw Scully smiling at him, shrugged again, and begin digging through the pile of music for something Christmas. He found "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" among the lot, and began to play it. He finished the song just before Maggie announced dinner being ready, and everyone applauded lightly. Mulder, taken aback that anyone actually cared, smiled modestly and closed down the piano, rising from the bench. Maybe this family doesn't think I'm a big joke after all. As the crowd slowly migrated to the big joining dining room, Uncle Paul came up to Mulder, clapping him on the back. "Not bad, son!" He barked. "The aliens teach you to play like that?" Then he began laughing hysterically, a few other relatives chiming in. Mulder tried to pretend it was funny, even though it wasn't. Okay, never mind the big joke thing. Dinner was extravagant, as expected. Maggie, Tara, and Aunt Virginia had prepared it, with a little bit of help from Virginia's girls. The children were given food and sat at the kiddy table in the kitchen, leaving the adults to cram into the dining room. Mulder and Scully sat together near the end of the table, mostly silent for the meal. Virginia's daughter had put Reese down upstairs for a nap upstairs, so he wouldn't have to be worried about. Mulder ignored most of the humdrum conversation, not wanting to add anything and become the object of mockery again, even though he couldn't prevent it. That lasted, until someone said something to Tara that he decided to listen in on: "When are you due?" They inquired about her baby. She and Bill had apparently been trying for another baby, and finally achieved success over the summer. "Not until March," Tara answered, sighing. She was only in her second trimester, and really wasn't that big, but Mulder could remember how uncomfortable Scully had been. Yep, it was around that time the year before that Scully was just starting to show signs of pregnancy. How fun it had been. "So, what do you think, Dana? Are you going to try for another?" Maggie inquired, sitting across from them. Mulder's eyes immediately went to Scully. This was something he wanted to ask her for a while. He kind of thought having a little baby around was fun, and wouldn't mind doing again at all, but he wasn't quite sure of Scully's opinion. "I don't know," She answered after a few moments. "I'm not sure I'm really one for being pregnant." Okay, there was Mulder's answer. He would have to work on her about that. Dinner went relatively smoothly for a little while longer, Bill telling one of his lame jokes, Uncle Paul telling one of his, Aunt Virginia telling about her safari to Africa. Mulder was starting to get the gist that most of Scully's family was a little...well...eccentric. After awhile, they started talking about the past, when the children were children. Some of those stories were rather embarrassing to Scully. She excused herself to go check on Reese, leaving Mulder to fend for himself. Of course, the family would never say anything about Mulder without their beloved Dana around, but as soon as she left, anything was fair game. Even Maggie, who was normally on his side, didn't defend him. It was mostly Bill and Uncle Paul. Mulder excused himself, too, after a few minutes of "Poke Fun at the Alien Chaser". He wandered upstairs as well; following the trail Scully had taken. The upstairs had three bedrooms and two baths. The two bedrooms on the left of the hall were the ones the four Scully kids had occupied when they were young. Mulder found Scully in the far room, sitting on the bed where Reese was sleeping. The makeshift, pillow surrounded crib kept the baby from rolling off, and Scully sat beside it, tenderly stroking her son's arm and tummy. She looked up as a floorboard creaked when Mulder entered the doorway. "Had to get away from the circus, the ringleader and clowns were ganging up on me." He explained, approaching her. He sat down beside her, watching Reese sleep. After a couple of minutes, he looked around at the old posters and toys in the room. The walls were pale blue, and the curtains and bedspreads of the twin beds a shade darker. "This wasn't your room, was it?" He asked. "No, this was Bill and Charlie's room. Missy and I shared the room next door." Mulder stood up, taking Scully's hand. "Show me your room," He beckoned, tugging her hand. She stood reluctantly. "Mulder, you've seen my room." "I know, show me again." He told her, leading her down the hall to the other room, rather than the other way around. The other bedroom, was the same, but characteristically female. The walls were pink, as were the curtains, and trim, and bedspreads. There was a table between the two beds on it was a picture of each of the Scully girls. The one on the right was Melissa, tall, red-haired, soft-featured, and breathtakingly beautiful. In the picture, she looked to be about twenty, and was the oldest of the four. She had been brutally murdered about six years ago, leaving a gaping hole in Scully's heart that was painful to discuss. The bullet that Missy took was meant for her sister. Scully crossed the room and sat on her old bed. Mulder came and sat next to her, picking up the picture on the bed stand of her. She was about sixteen in the photo. Her hair was past her shoulders, curling at the ends. Her face was sweet and innocent, but betrayed by the fact that she was sticking her tongue out at the camera. She wore a tank top and frayed "come get me" cut-off shorts, and was leaning against the railing of a pier or something, the ocean stretching off behind her. "Why don't you dress like this anymore?" Mulder asked, showing her the picture. "I like to make you use your imagination." She told him. He looked her up and down a few times. "I'm doing it as we speak." "Eat your heart out." She said, tilting her head to the side dramatically. "Okay," He replied quickly, snaking his hand around her neck and pulling her lips to his for a long, passionate kiss. As they shared that kiss and the waltz of the tongues, she groaned into him in that way that never failed to turn him on. He broke the kiss after a few long minutes, and the lied back on the bed, sighing. He kicked off his shoes and crossed his arms behind his head, pretending to go to sleep. "I could stay up here for the rest of the evening, I doubt anyone would even notice we're gone." "I'm not supposed to have boys in my room though, my parents wouldn't approve." He opened his eyes and grinned wryly. "Your parents wouldn't approve of what you were doing last night either." he said. She had remained sitting up, but twisted her body around so she was looking him in the face. "Oh, c'mon, it really wasn't anything really anything that out of the ordinary." He sat up again, and pulled the collar of his sweater out so he could look down at his chest. "Oh yeah...I've got so many hickeys I look like a leper." "You didn't do so bad yourself," "Really? Lemme see..." He leaned forward, tugging at the collar of her sweater to look down her shirt as well. Then he giggled like a thirteen-year-old boy. "Ooh, boobies," he snickered. She playfully shoved him away. Laughing, he flopped back down on the bed, this time with her joining him. They lie in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's presence. Mulder took Scully's left hand in his left and held it, then splayed his fingers against hers, rough, large palm to the soft, small back of hers. He smiled as their wedding rings chinked together. "Do you want to have more kids?" He asked her, breaking the silence. She turned her head and looked up at him. "Where did that come from?" "At dinner, you said you didn't know if you wanted another baby." "I didn't exactly mean that," she sighed. "I just had a baby, and I love him, you know that. I'm just not sure I'm eager to be thinking about another one right now. Maybe in another year or two..." She paused. "But of we do decide to have another one, we get to switch roles. You be pregnant, and I'll just be happy about it." He chuckled. "I don't exactly think I works that way," He removed his hand from hers, and laid both of them on her tummy. He had actually liked it when she was pregnant, watching her grow everyday, and knowing that it was a human being growing inside her, a life he had helped to create. His favorite part had been when Scully went into labor, and the obstetrician let him catch the baby. He was the first one to lay eyes on their son. It amazed him how much he could love someone he had just met. He would never give up a day of it. Nope, he would not mind having another one bit. She interrupted his thoughts, saying, "All right, the rating of this Christmas; one to ten." He had to contemplate on that one a moment, and then replied. "Seven. Aside from the fire, it was one of the best we've had. I like having Doug and Carol around, it's kinda like that big family environment I never had." Her gaze went up to him again. "That's sweet, Mulder." She told him honestly, not the hint of sarcasm in her voice. "What about you?" "Six. Aside from the fire, and Uncle Paul, and the fact that I couldn't have any wine because I'm nursing, it was an okay Christmas." "It's not over yet. Let's get of here early, take Reese and Zoe home; it'll be just the four of us. It'll be fun." He said, sitting up, and causing her to as well. "Okay," She quickly put her shoes back on, stood and started to the door. "Scully," She turned back around, looking at him expectantly. "When was the last time I told you I loved you? I just want to make sure that you know that, all the time, wherever you go, whatever you're doing. I love you." The brightest, most loving smile ever to grace the earth appeared on her face. She came back across the room and embraced his neck, kissing him warmly on the mouth. "I love you, too." She whispered as they stood, forehead to forehead. She let her nose touch his for a moment, then smiled again and kissed him once more. They left the room hand in hand to finish one of the best Christmases they ever had. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 10 The Watergate Apartments Washington, DC Sunday, December 28, 2001 Dmitri Oslev had grown to love his apartment, as he had grown to love the United States. He rented a corner penthouse with a fabulous view of the view of the Potomac River. His favorite thing to do in his free time was to relax in a chair and watch the boats out on the water. It was always so calm, and quiet, and serene. And now that he was no longer an active part of the Project, he had a lot of free time on his hands. At least, until recently... He had known for a long time that the virus, in its final form, would be released on Christmas day. There were multiple ways it was to be transmitted, and it was only a matter of time before the first incident came out. He had heard nothing, until this particular morning. As he always was around nine o'clock, he was at his desk, working on paperwork. Even though he was not exactly working, there was always paperwork. There were letters to write, contacts to keep, bills to pay, and checks to endorse. He no longer worked for the Group, but against, and it was as tough a business as any. Even though the Cancerman knew of his snitching hobby, he had done nothing about it. So, as long as Dmitri kept his work quiet and his contacts informed, he was safe, so to say. His assistant, a young man by the name of Henry, that ran errands and performed the acts of a secretary, brought him his newspapers, as he did every morning. Dmitri was subscribed to many different papers, including The Washington Post, The Baltimore Sun, The New York Times, a Californian papers, a few small-town posts, a Russian newsletter, and received a publication of the CDC paper Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report. Since the fast approaching viral release, he was very interested in what the CDC would have to say, if anything. Henry gave him all of his papers, except one. When the older Russian looked at him pointedly, he held out the paper by the fold so the story below it could be seen. "Sir, you may want to look at this one." He said, and thrust it closer to Dmitri. Dmitri took the paper and read the bold, black headline: Violent bee swarm kills 3 He glanced up at Henry, blinked, gulped, and reread the line, making sure it wasn't a trick on his eyes. It was the same. He unfolded the paper in a swift motion. It was one of the small-town papers, the Bee County Times. Settling back in his chair, an expression of stressed anxiety edging the lines of his face, he read the article: Violent bee swarm kills 3 Others wounded as experts ponder occurrence The afternoon calm of Saturday afternoon was shattered by the mourning of three lost souls. Jimmy Billings, Arnold Strong, and Sarah Parker were among those at Farmer's Market 4th annual picnic when the swarm came. There is speculation that a large nest of the honeybees was upset during decorating for the event. Experts are saying the bees were of the Africanized variety, making them more aggressive and prone to attack. "The three that were killed sustained over one hundred individual stings, even through clothing," one doctor said. "Those injured received less than that and were not as sensitive to the toxin." Over forty other patrons to the picnic were hospitalized, some treated and released while the more serious injuries remain in critical condition. Agriculturists urge locals to stay indoors until the source of the swarm can be found. If you must go outdoors, try to stay away from heavily wooded areas and attempt to avoid contact with the insects if at all possible. Funeral arrangements are being made at Brad- son Funeral Home. --Vicky Warren, Editor in Chief. After reading the column, Dmitri lowered the paper, looking up at Henry. This was exactly what he had been anticipating. He was willing to bet money there would be reports of other such attacks elsewhere in the warmer regions of the world. It would be all too soon before unknown infection deaths were reported in the colder hemispheres. He dropped the paper on his desktop, rising quickly from his chair. "Henry, inform my contacts of what is going on. See if they know anything about the base." He commanded, crossing the office for his coat and hat. He returned to the desk and picked up the paper, and then headed to the apartment door. As he opened the door to leave, he added over his shoulder, "And get Alex Krycek here by ten, I need to speak with him as well. Use any means necessary to drag him here." Slamming the behind him, he marched straight down the hall in the direction of the elevators. This is what he had anticipated for so long. Now all he needed was for all the parts to come together as a whole and work in cooperation. Either that, or all would be lost. Mulder Residence Mulder nearly tripped over the folded newspaper placed strategically on the welcome mat of the front porch. He was only half-awake, stumbling outside in flip-flops and his pajamas to fetch the paper when his foot landed on a paper, and nearly launched him down the steps face first into the snow. It wouldn't be the first time for that. Instead, he caught his balance and scooped up the treacherous newsprint. The first thing he noticed was the rubber band holding it together and bound. The second thing was that he knew for damn certain he was not subscribed to the Bee County Times. Either someone was playing tricks on him…or someone wanted him to catch up on his reading. He looked up and around the neighborhood for any anonymous, trench coat-wearing Russian informants. Seeing no one other than Mrs. Franken from down the street walking her dog, he went back inside. "Scully," He beckoned, heading back for the kitchen, attempting to pull the rubber band from the stiff paper. "Upstairs," Carol informed him from the kitchen. He wheeled without pause and headed up the stairs. Having succeeded in rolling the band from the rolled paper. Holding the edge, he allowed it to unroll itself. A slip of yellow paper slipped out from the center and drifted to the floor. Catching it out of the corner of his eye, Mulder stopped and picked it up, reading the scratched print on it. It was an address for nothing other than a memorial structure and a time that fell during the late night. "Scully," He called again, this time more urgently. "In here!" He heard called back. He followed her voice through their bedroom to the large master bathroom. He found her in the bathroom, bathing Reese in the Bathinette. Swept up in Scully and the baby, he momentarily forgot what he had needed her for. She talked softly to her son as she propped him up with one arm in the tub, cleaning him with a soft washcloth. He loved the water, smiling brightly and laughing. She kissed his tiny wet hands as he reached up for her chin, and laughed as he tried to eat the washcloth. It was one of the things Mulder loved seeing most in the world, Scully with Reese. Even through the mystery of how Reese was ever conceived in the first place, he adored seeing her as a mother. She was a terrific mother to both of her children. And it made him happy that she finally got back what had been taken from her, the very chance for motherhood. She lifted Reese from the tub and wrapped him up in a huge pale blue towel. Amused by the shimmering gold, he reached up to her neck and grabbed the dangling cross on her necklace. "Do you like my necklace?" She asked him softly. "You like my necklace, Reese? Hm?" She pried his chubby little fingers from the pendant and brought his hand to her lips, kissing it. Mulder smiled. She brought Reese over to him and he straightened from where he was leaning against the doorframe. "Hold him," She directed. He did so, holding the baby in one arm. Reese could just about sit up by himself, and could be held up against one's side. Mulder took his turn to talk to the infant, planting a kiss on his soft head. Scully was using a towel to wring the splashed water of the old FBI tee shirt she was wearing. When she was finished, she took Reese back so he could be dressed. "What did you want?" She asked as he followed her back to the nursery. "What did I…" He began, and then remembered what had brought him upstairs in the first place. He held up the newspaper in one hand. "Did you happen to subscribe to an obscure, small town Texas newspaper?" She looked up from where she had laid Reese on the changing table. Her raised eyebrows answered the question. "Okay, well, then someone wants me to get some more culture. I found this on the front porch, and this was in it." He showed her the paper and the note. She glanced at them, busy with diapering Reese. "Did you read the paper?" "Not yet…that was next on my things to do." His eyes immediately when to the story below the fold of the front page, he skimmed the article, his face going slack in shock. He looked up from the article. "Uh, Scully, you may want to read this." Sighing exasperatedly, she directed Mulder to finishing dressing Reese and began to read the paper. Halfway through, she stopped, shaking her head in annoyance. "Big deal, Mulder, bee attacks happen everyday. These three people were stung so many times the toxin caused them to go into anaphylactic shock even without an allergy." After putting little baby pants on his son, Mulder sat him up and gently attempted to get a tee shirt over the squirming infant's head. "Yeah, but it's Texas. You do remember, Texas?" "How could I forget?" She moved Mulder out of the way, seeing his unsuccessful attempts at getting a shirt on Reese, and put it on the baby herself. "As far as this paper says, theses bees weren't in a giant white dome in the middle of a cornfield, like the ones that we encountered." He picked up the paper again from where she had laid it on the corner of the table. "But, bees can travel far, can't they? Remember?" He pointed his index finger at the air and made a buzzing sound, and then grabbed the back of her neck. She recoiled, slapping her hand onto her neck. "That's not even funny!" He shrugged. "Little bee travel long distance." He said, referring directly to the damned Texan honeybee that had hitched a ride in her shirt collar and earned her a trip to Antarctica. Not to mention the emotional damage it had caused by interrupting what was almost their first kiss…"Damn bee." He muttered under his breath. Having finished getting Reese dressed, she picked him back up and gave him one of the pacifiers that lay on the table as well. "So what exactly are you trying to say?" She asked. "I'm saying, what if these are the same bees? They could have migrated or something. A lot of people could become infected with that virus." Scully tilted her head a little and raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "I think that's an awful lot of speculation after reading one article from the…" She glanced at the paper name, shaking her head at the not- so-funny coincidence. "Bee County Times. Besides, there's been no evidence of any infections of any sort." "Not yet," She expelled a long sigh and started out of the nursery and down the hall, he following her. "What are you gonna do about it Mulder? Are you gonna go back to Texas?" "I don't know," He said from behind her as they descended the stairs. "For starters, I'm going to go to the Vietnam Vet Memorial at nine tonight like this note says." "Who do you think left it? That Dmitri guy?" Mulder nodded. "I'd place bets on it. I haven't heard anything from him in awhile." He continued talking as he followed Scully to the now empty kitchen, where conversation wouldn't be as overheard. "If it is from him, I'd also bet that this bee attack is like what we saw in Dallas." Her eyes averted to the floor, her hand slowly and subconsciously moving to massage the back of her neck. "I hope not." Vietnam Veterans Memorial Washington, DC 9:00 p.m. The night, like the day, was cold and bitter. A brisk wind blew through the trees of The Mall, rattling their branches like ghostly, bony hands. Mulder shivered and shoved his hands into his coat pockets to keep them warm. His breath puffed before him like smoke, but he could only just see it in the darkness. The park was virtually deserted, despite the fact that it wasn't that late of an hour. But then, only the dead would walk the streets in this cold. At least the police wouldn't have to worry too much about gang violence tonight. There was a homeless man walking circles on the corner, muttering to himself and waiting for someone to beg money off of. A stray cat yowled from a hidden alley. Off in the distance, Mulder could make out the motion of the Reflecting Pool as it glimmered in the moon and streetlights. He looked up at that uncertain, hallowed moon, thinking about an old wives' tale: Ring around the moon, snow to come soon. He turned to the black marble memorial wall, glancing upon the thousands of names engraved into its face. They were the names of the soldiers that lost their lives in the Vietnam War. He was studying this wall, until he heard the sounds of footsteps behind him, and turned around in the direction that they came. He immediately recognized the figure of Dmitri Oslev approaching him, and took a few steps toward the gentleman. When the two men met up, they shook hands cordially, and then stood in the path to converse. "Agent Mulder," Dmitri said after taking a drag on his crude cigarette. "I'm very glad you decided to make this meeting." "What is this about?" Mulder asked. Dmitri didn't answer at once; he just stared at Mulder for a long time. His eyes were more piercing than before, and there was something else in them…like fear. "You read the newspaper?" He questioned finally. "Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" Dmitri reached a gloved hand into his pocket and brought out an envelope. "Autopsy photos of the three victims." He said, handing over the crisp, goldenrod envelope. "I'm sure you'll find them very interesting." Without hesitation, Mulder unfastened the envelope and pulled out the pictures. Just as he had feared, the three victims looked like all the others; the body in Dallas two years before, Anthony DeCaro in Chicago, and the man in DC that Scully told him about. The only difference was that these bodies were swollen, and the pustules from the beestings leaked black oil. Swallowing hard, Mulder stuffed the pictures back into the envelope and buried it in his coat pocket. "There were twenty-five other victims admitted to a hospital today, plus thirty from yesterday. Fifteen of them are dead. All the rest are in critical condition." Dmitri explained. "Fifteen dead…in a day?" Mulder stammered incredulously. "From this…this virus?" The old Russian nodded somberly. "And you can expect the rest of the lot to be dead before tomorrow evening. But here's the real mystery: only five of those victims were ever stung." "It's airborne." Mulder half-stated, half-asked. "Yes. All I know is that there are two strains. Honeybees-- Africanized honeybees--are the primary transportation devices. You saw all of that in Texas, the transgenic corn and the domes. But since this is all coming down in the winter, they found problems with getting the virus to the colder hemispheres. So they created an airborne strain. That's what they've been testing." "Are you asking me to go back to Texas?" "No, I'm not." Dmitri said, and gestured for Mulder to walk with him up the mall pathway. "As with any type of war or invasion, there has to be a headquarters for operation. That is what this is, Agent Mulder, a war. Don't ever forget that we are fighting a war here." Mulder nodded. "So where are these headquarters?" "In Siberia." Dmitri noted the slightly apprehensive look on Mulder's face. "I can understand your reluctance to want to ever go back there. After spending all that time in a Russian gulag and nearly being killed, I would not want to go back either. But this is the only way. The base is at an isolated location in East Siberia, up in the north. You can either go along, or you can stay behind and watch. Your choice." Mulder stopped walking. "Are you asking me to decide now?" "No, but I'm asking you to think about it. The right answer will come to you, and when it does, your partner will be very interested in hearing it." "Of course I'm going to tell Scully." "I'm not talking about Scully, I'm talking about that young man you've been working with. It's about time he knows the truth." "Jack?" Mulder asked and Dmitri nodded. "Think about it, Agent Mulder. Once you decide, give me a call. The plane leaves for Moscow at six-oh-five tomorrow evening. If I don't hear from you by then, I'll assume you're not coming." He turned to walk away with that, but then wheeled back when he was a little more than a few feet away. "This is what you're thinking. It's the truth you've been chasing for your entire life." Mulder stood and watched Dmitri as he disappeared into the shadows. A lot had just been laid on his plate, and he wasn't sure if he could digest it all. Dmitri wanted him to go to Siberia, but Siberia was the last place he wanted to be. Dmitri wanted him to bring Jack, but he wasn't sure if he could trust Jack. Hell, he wasn't sure if he could trust Dmitri either. And the biggest question was: What would Scully think about all of this? After a few moments, Mulder turned and walked in silence back to where he had parked on Constitution Avenue. Before going directly home, Mulder drove around aimlessly for a little while, trying to clear his thoughts. Still, try as he may, everything was jumbled and confusing. And all through this time, the words of a man by the name of Kurtzweil whom he once knew from two years ago rang in his head: "The plague to end all plagues, Agent Mulder, a silent weapon for a quiet war. The systematic release of an indiscriminate organism for which the men who bring it on still have no cure. They've been working on this for fifty years…" Could this be the vary plague the man Kurtzweil had spoken of? It was the same virus Scully had detected on the firefighter from Dallas, and Dmitri, and ex-member of the Consortium, had said they were releasing it. With his hands at ten and two on the wheel, Mulder drove home, thinking about this possibility, as well as everything else that he had uncovered over the single expanse of a month. The lies were overwhelming. The lie about who is father really was, the lie about who his sister really was, the lie about his mother's loyalty…what was next? One event, one single event, the death of a New York man visiting Chicago had blown Mulder's mission wide open. All the paths stretched before him, and he hadn't a damned clue which route to take. Mulder Residence 11:04 p.m. The house was blanketed in complete silence when Mulder got home. Everyone had turned in probably and hour before, leaving only a small living room lamp on to light Mulder's way. Mulder turn off that lamp and headed upstairs into the silence. He went into the master bedroom, moving through the darkness by memory. As his eyes focused in the dark, the room became brighter, lightened by the moonlight filtering through the white Venetian blinds onto the bed. He detected two sleeping figures, rather than one. One was Scully, as expected, and the other was Zoe. Then he remembered that Zoe hadn't been feeling well again and probably had a bad dream. She was sleeping on Scully's side, in the space between the mattress and the wooden side. He shed his shoes and shirt and exchanged his jeans for sweatpants. In trying to get to the bed, he stepped on a squeaky dog toy that emitted a loud eeeeekkk, into the silence. Scully began to move in the bed, yawning, and turning over from her side. "Hey, baby," She whispered as he climbed into the bed beside her. "Hey," he whispered back, slipping beneath the covers. "Sorry for waking you." She shrugged and smiled and moved closer to him. He pulled his arms around her warm body and nuzzled his face into her neck. "What did Dmitri say?" She asked him softly. He inhaled and exhaled a long breath. He thought about telling her everything then and there, but he couldn't. He hadn't had enough time to let it all settle within himself before he told her. Besides, he was tired, and so was she. "I'll tell you later." She listened a moment longer to his breathing, just to be sure he wouldn't change his mind. Then she turned back to her side and began rubbing Zoe's feverish back with one hand as the girl stirred a little in her sleep. Mulder just spooned up and went to sleep in silence. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 11 Apartment 410 Alexandria, Virginia Monday, December 29, 2001 Alex Krycek woke up later in the morning than he was accustomed to. White sunlight was already filtering through his dingy bedroom curtains when he finally pried his eyes opened. It was usually still dark when he got up. The sleeping form beside him was also a surprise. She was usually long gone before he roused. He sat up and turned to her, gently stroking her bare arm to wake her. "C'mon, Sam, you've got to get up," he told her when she groaned and rolled over. She yawned and turned back over to her back, opening her eyes. Krycek gazed at her and smiled. Her eyes did the same. She had very pretty eyes of soft hazel that complemented her dark, wavy hair perfectly. The affair had been going on for almost a year. Krycek and Samantha had a lot of contact through their job, and it wasn't long before extracurricular activities began to occur. Her husband had only recently caught on to something, and she began to spend nights with Alex. Who would have ever thought Fox Mulder's worst enemy would end up sleeping with his little sister. Sam sat up as well, the single sheet covering her falling down from her nude body. She rubbed the sleep from her face and spoke in a sleepy voice, "Good morning to you, too, Alex. What time it is?" Krycek, who had gotten up and begun the task of dressing, turned and looked at the alarm clock. "Almost nine." he answered. "Oh shit!" Sam cursed, throwing off the covers and standing to retrieve her clothes. "I have a fucking meeting in half an hour. You're not supposed to let me sleep that late." Laughing, Krycek pulled on a tee shirt with his one arm as easily as any man with two. He sat back on the edge of the bed and watched Sam dress for a moment. "Speaking of work, have you heard the latest?" he asked. Without looking up from pulling on her nylon pantyhose, she answered. "I don't want to talk about work, Alex." Ignoring her, he continued, "Dmitri Oslev is taking Mulder to Russia." That immediately got her interests. "What?" she asked, unable to believe what she thought she heard. "That is, if he'll go. He hasn't called yet. Dmitri wants him to see the base." Sam zipped up her skirt and began across the room for her blouse, in even more of a hurry than before. "Alex, my brother cannot go to Russia. We have to stop him. We have to tell my father." Alex stood up. "I'm not telling Spender." "Do you realize how much Fox's seeing of the base could jeopardize the project? If he sees it and tells about it, that will be fifty years of work down the drain. I can't stand by and let that happen!" "Why not?" he asked, blocking her exit from the apartment. "Why are you so driven by this project?" She glared at him, not answering. "What, is it because you think your loyalty will be rewarded? It won't! I can tell you it won't." He placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. "You think they'll save you if you help them. But it's not true. They don't give a damn about you. The only reason you're still alive is because you've got some brain in your head. After this is all over, you're dead." "I refuse to believe that." She turned away from him, eyes focused on the table in the corner of the room. "Besides, what would you know? You're just a hit man. You don't care, as long as you get paid." "I know more than you think. And if I was only in this for the money, why didn't I just take those kids? They offered me ten grand for that job, but I refused it. I have been far and wide, and I know the truth. The truth is, we're all going to hell." "I don't care," she said coldly, edging past him for the door. "I'm going to keep doing my job. Even if it means sacrificing everything." "I'm going to Russia, Samantha!" He called as she opened the door. Sam ignored him; slamming the door shut. She knew that Alex Krycek could not be trusted. He had never been completely faithful to the Project, and now his little allegiance was breaking free. But she didn't need him. She had worked too hard for too long to let it go to waste, to let her brother unearth it all. With deep-rooted ambitions that this was all for the better, she left Krycek's building, never to return again. 3:15 p.m. While his sister battled her job and her loyalties, Mulder battled his conscience. He had been spending the entire day mulling things over in his mind. He had told Scully about his meeting with Dmitri earlier in the day, and he was still stuck with one of two decisions. In one hand, he had his family. He had everything he had achieved over the past two short years. He had Scully, who was, beyond the shadow of a doubt, his everything. He had two children that adored him. He had his future and his life. If he were to leave that, he could never live with himself. In the other hand, he had his past. Everything he had searched for, his entire mission, the X-files. If he left that, his life would have been lived in vain. All that he and Scully had seen and done would be without end. Whatever he chose, there would always be the nagging "what-ifs" in his mind. For now, he sat in a park in the cold, thinking. He didn't mind the cold at all; it was the silence he was after. He had the park bench to sit on, and his coat to keep him warm, and he vowed to not leave until he figured something out. He had been there for two hours. His mind kept slipping back to Scully and Zoe that morning… Three hours earlier. . . He had been sitting at the kitchen table, the autopsy photos and the mysterious satellite transmission spread before him. He had not told Scully anything yet. And it was annoying her. Finally, she came out and sat down adjacent to him, looking at the pictures and then staring at him. "So?" She said. "Are you going to talk to me?" He glanced up, wetted his lips, and sighed. Then he swept the pictures toward her. "Those are the three victims of those bee swarms in Texas. They're just like that fireman from Dallas and Anthony DeCaro." She studied the photos a few moments, her eagerness to hear what he knew growing still. "There were fifty-five other victims, most of which are probably dead by now. But only five of them were stung. They created an airborne virus." Scully looked shocked at first, and then confused. "But why? Is it some kind of terrorism?" Mulder stared at her intensely. "Do you really think its terrorism, Scully?" "Well, I don't think its alien. But I do think something very strange is going on here." "Very strange," She leaned back in the chair, a look on her face like she was thinking about telling him something, but wasn't sure if she should. "What is it?" She looked down at the table, pretending to be straightening the pictures. "Um…when you were gone last night, Zoe and I watched that show uh…Cases of the Unexplained," she paused and shook her head, as if that wasn't important. "Anyway, I sent her to go brush her teeth after it was over. She came back to me, after about fifteen minutes, in tears. She said she saw something in her mind, but she wouldn't tell me what it was. Her fever had shot up to one-oh-three from ninety-nine and she was…panting, like she had run a mile! But I can't find anything physically wrong with her." Her eyes finally met his, and there was an unmistakable hint of fear lighting them. "I'm going to have Doug look at her when he gets back…" Again, her voice trailed off, as if there was something she wanted to say, but just couldn't bring herself to. "Any idea what could be causing it?" She brought her hand to her face as she shook her head, trying to massage the headache from her temples. "I don't know," she said, her voice muffled by the heel of her palm. She combed her fingers through her auburn hair and looked to his eyes again. All at once, she got up, speaking, "There's something else I haven't told you. I can't explain it but…" She didn't finish her sentence, but turned and hurried upstairs to something. She came back down moments later, this time with a sleepy Zoe in her arms. Zoe was so tiny for her age; Scully could carry her with ease. She sat Zoe down in the chair across the table from Mulder. The child looked tired and upset, and Scully waking her from a nap hadn't helped. Touching her forehead and face for some estimate of a temperature, Scully stooped before her, her gaze intent. "Zoe, I know you're tired, sweetie, but I need you to show Daddy what you showed me with the rubber ball. Do you remember?" Zoe nodded slowly and rubbed her eyes. Scully rose and placed the blue rubber dog toy in the center of the table. Mulder gave her a sideways glance, and then looked back to Zoe and the ball. "Watch the ball," Zoe whispered quietly. She stared at the ball for a moment, and then pinched her eyes shut. Within seconds, the ball wiggled a little, and then lifted from the table, like there was no weight to it at all. Mulder's jaw fell agape as the ball rose to three and four inches above the table surface and then hung in midair. He jumped from his seat and leaned over the table. Hesitantly, he reached out with one hand, jerking it away as he brought it too close to the ball as if it might burn him. With more confidence, he passed his hand under the ball and over it and all around, confirming that there was nothing holding it up. Then, he plucked the ball from the air, half expecting to be met with resistance. Zoe's eyes flashed open, her concentration interrupted. Mulder sank down into the chair Scully had vacated. He held the ball before his daughter. "How did you do that?" he asked carefully. Zoe shrugged. "I don't know how. I just do it." She rubbed her droopy eyelids, her bottom lip beginning to poke out. She was exhausted beyond recognition, and it made her grumpy and easily upset. She looked up at Scully. Scully bent over and lifted her back up. There was concerned etched on her face. Mulder waited as Scully took Zoe back upstairs. He sat in the chair, turning the ball over and over in his hand, and all information he had been presented over and over in his mind. Scully came back and leaned against the counter. "Did Zoe ever have the capabilities for psychokinesis before?" Mulder asked, standing up from the chair. "She says not, and the tests performed on her never confirmed those abilities." She said, and crossed her arms. "Something caused this. It all started when she started hearing voices and got a fever and the blackouts started. I just can't figure out what. I've been apprehensive about taking her to the hospital after everything that's happened. I'm afraid it would just be too dangerous." Mulder agreed. He bit the inside of his lip, thinking, and the asked when everything started. "Um…last week of November." He turned to the table and picked up the satellite transmission Dmitri had brought him. "This transmission was received the last week of November. What if whatever is sending this, is also causing Zoe to be sick?" "How? Like…like her brain is some kind of satellite dish? The brain doesn't exactly work like that. We can't just intercept radio transmissions. Even you know that." It was too late Mulder was too far into his newest theory. "Maybe we can't, but most people aren't Zoe. Neither of us knows exactly what she is, what she is capable of." "Mulder," Scully replied, arms dropping to her sides in exasperation. "You're talking about her like she's some X-file. No matter what was done to her as a child she's still a human being. People are not capable of receiving satellite signals." Mulder knew he wasn't going to get his point through without proof. He also knew that the proof would be in what exactly was done to Zoe when she was a young child. And those answers would most likely be in Siberia. He decided then, to tell Scully: "Uh, Dmitri also told me about a base…in Russia, er, Siberia actually." He began. "A base? What kind of base?" She asked, surprised by the change in subject. "The headquarters of the entire Project." "What?" "He wants me and Jack to go with him. He wants to show us the base. Every answer to every question we've ever asked is there." She looked shocked. Last time he went to Russia, she spent the entire time worrying about him, just hanging onto the notion that he was still alive. "Are…are you going?" she stuttered. He sighed. "I don't know yet." They shared a look, and it ended there. * For the rest of the day they were constantly stepping on each other's toes. She wanted answers and he wanted to think about it. They argued off and on about stupid, meaningless things. It was as if the tension was building up around them like a blister filling with blood, and as his decision came, it would burst. Once again, Mulder rolled it around in his head. One hand contained his family. The other contained the answers. He had laid one card on the table in favor of the answers. With all that had happened and all the questions asked, the answers were starting to gain weight. Even Scully would have to understand that he couldn't just leave things unresolved. He had to know. He had to know everything that had happened to Scully, and to Zoe, and to himself. He laid another card on the table for the answers, to win. Rising from the park bench, he dug out his cell phone and dialed the number Dmitri had given him. He didn't respond to the Russian's hello as cordially, only saying, "I've decided. I'm coming with you." As he talked, he started back to the car. All cards had been played; there would be no folding now. Mulder Residence 3:32 p.m. As soon as he got home, Mulder went to the bedroom, dug out his well- used suitcase and began tossing clothes into it. Scully came into the room as he was arranging everything to fit. She inquired as to what he was doing with a tone of it-better-not-be-what- I-think-it-is like she used with small children. "Packing," He answered nonchalantly. "You're not…" "I am," he replied before she even finished the question. "I've decided. I'm going to Russia." He zipped up the bag and hoisted it to the floor, his eyes barely catching hers. "Mulder," She followed him into the bathroom as he retrieved toiletries. "Mulder, why? It's stupid." "Nice to know you so highly regard my decisions." He said more coldly than he anticipated. "That's great, Mulder. That's just great. You're going back to the place where you were nearly killed on even less of a lead than you had the first time." He finished packing the toiletries and passed her by the bathroom door, answering as he did so, "Dmitri says all the answers are there, Scully. Who am I to pass that up?" "You don't even know this guy!" She exclaimed. It was hard to ignore the irritated tone in her voice, and that only drove him harder. "I know him well enough." He picked up the bags and started down the hall, she trailing him. "This is the chance of a lifetime, my lifetime. I can't just stand by and watch." "What if I said I didn't want you to go?" She said, standing fast at the bottom of the steps. Of course he wouldn't leave right away. "I would say, sorry, but I'm going. I believe that whatever is out there could answer everything. Everything." She rolled her eyes and turned her head away. "Oh god, Mulder, that is so typical of you it's almost cliché." "What do you mean by that?" He dropped his bags by the door, meaning to finish this conversation. "You always do this. You run off on a tiny little hint of a lead. It's immature, irrational…it's incredibly stupid." He licked his lips. "And because I do that, we have the answers that we do." "But we don't have anything, Mulder!" She cried. "We've got nothing. All we've ever gotten from this whole goddamn truth is pain!" His demeanor softened, "What are you saying?" "You never give up. You will never give up. I feel like we just keep running in circles, never getting anywhere. You don't even know what we're running after anymore. But you'll just keep running until it kills you." "I can't believe this!" He yelled. He actually yelled at her. "I can't believe you're giving up on me! After all we've seen and done and been through, you're finally just giving up!" She was livid, her eyes boring holes into his. She had to glare up to glare at him, but even so, he could never talk down to her. "I am not giving up! I just can't sacrifice my life for this anymore. There's too much at stake." "Oh bullshit! You just don't want to do it anymore because you're too close to believing and it scares you." She clenched her jaw in anger and did the thing she had wanted to do all day: She hit him. She didn't punch him, but she did smack him hard enough across the cheek to cause him to reel back. "You know what, Mulder, fuck you!" She shouted. "Fuck you! If you wanna piss the rest of your life away, you do it, but I quit! I have two children to raise and I have my life ahead of me. My battles are finished, but obviously yours never will be!" Hot tears stung her eyes and her face was livid, but she would not cry. "I'm sorry you feel that way…I've got a plane to catch." He started to turn away, but she prompted him back. "I mean it, Mulder." Her voice was softer than before, all the rage fired out of her. "I can't do this anymore. It hurts too much. It hurts…" A tear trailed down her cheek and she stubbornly wiped it away. "I'm serious. If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back." He heaved a long sigh, but his mind was made up. All bets were final. "I have to do this," He said earnestly. "I hope that one day you can understand that." He reached out to touch her cheek, but she jerked it away. Hanging his head, he put on his coat, picked up his bags, and left. He never said good-bye. Scully waited until she heard the sound of the car roar to life and then descend down the driveway. Then, as if all the strength had been sucked from her knees as he had gone, she sank to the stairs. Hot tears burned trails down her face and she nearly succumbed to the cry that tried to escape her throat. But she would not cry. That was his decision. She would not cry over it. She wiped her face off with the back of her hand, but remained sitting on the stairs, hanging onto one of the banister rails. She actually couldn't believe he left. He never said good-bye. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 12 Mulder Residence Tuesday, December 30, 2001 It had been one day since her father left. More so than Scully, Zoe couldn't believe he actually went. But unlike her mother, Zoe felt as though his reasoning was his own, and only in making the mistake would he learn the error of his ways, if there was an error to learn. Zoe was having problems of her own. To her, it was as if her mind was against her. It no longer performed the tasks she wanted it to, but picked up things on its own. When people spoke to her, she could barely hear their voices over their thoughts. Normally she could ignore the thoughts and hear the words, now it was impossible. And she knew things. Things she couldn't explain. Things she didn't want to explain. People were dying at staggering rates already. She saw it in the eyes of Doug and Carol when they returned from the hospital the previous day. They had lost three, to the same thing, the same mysterious infection that left them stumped and bewildered. Scully had gone back to the hospital, not to work at the clinic, but to work in the labs and the morgue. She didn't spend time trying to work things out with her estranged husband. He had called twice since he left, only to leave unanswered messages on the machine. Scully was not a mourner, she was not one to sit around and feel sorry for her self. There were more important things to do, plain and simple. Zoe didn't possess that ability to just leave things where they dropped. She missed Mulder. She understood without fail that he and Scully were two halves of a whole, and when one was gone, there was emptiness. For now, all Zoe could do was sit and wait. She had a feeling. It was in the cold, prickling sensation crawling up her neck. It was in the tears that relentlessly streamed down her cheeks. It was in the way her heart pounded behind her ribs. It was like her dreams. She knew bad things were going on and more bad things were coming. She tried to figure them out, only hurting herself. Her eyes and ears and mind were at full alert. Her eyes weren't much help to her, so she closed them. She could hear the sounds of the house, the heat creaking through the floor registers, even the foundation continuing to settle. On the wall to her left there was a clock, one of those black and white cat clocks with moving eyes. The second hand produced a steady, rhythmic ticking. Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . It was hot. Sweat poured down Zoe's forehead and cheeks, but she shivered. The voices in her head were back, and they had been back since the man she took as her father had left. She still couldn't understand them, regardless of how hard she tried. But they weren't just whispering nonsense to her anymore, they were screaming at her. When she closed her eyes, she opened her mind. And she saw things. And heard things. What she saw she couldn't comprehend, she couldn't explain. But it was frightening. She saw death and dying and murder and hate and . . . beings. She could see the crimson of freshly spilled blood, the wicked orange fires of a thousand buildings burning. And she could smell the reek of rotting flesh, and hear the sound of people dying. Children were screaming in the night for mercy. Adults cried for resolve. The Beings were cold. They didn't care. Her father was dead. Her mother was too. Everyone was dead. She took a heavy gasp, shaking so hard she could barely breathe save for a muffled cry. Everyone. Was. Dead. DC General Hospital "Dana, it's Zoe, they just brought her in the ambulance!" Those words pounded in Scully's head as she rushed down the ER corridor in search of her daughter. She saw no signs of her on a gurney or in the Trauma rooms. Carol ran alongside her, having made the announcement, but had no idea where they had taken the child, she had only seen her come in. Carol was working the clinic, Scully in the labs under federal jurisdiction. As soon as Carol saw them wheel Zoe in, Doug trailing behind them with the other three kids, she hurried down to the labs to find Scully. Scully was frantic, stopping at nothing until she found Zoe. She dodged a woman in a wheelchair and almost shoved a doc and an intern out of her way. She paused at the nurse's station and asked where the little blonde girl had been taken. A Physician's Assistant answered that he though Exam room one, but he wasn't exactly sure. It was a better answer than none. She and Carol continued in the same direction down the hall, past the Employee Lounge and the lockers to Exam 1. In her fearful haste, Scully nearly ran headlong into the doctor in a green-blue scrub top exiting the room. It was Doug. Scully looked relieved to see him and all the more eager at the same time. "Doug; how is she? Where is she? What happened?" She spat out all at once. Doug wheeled around, guiding her back to Curtain 2 where Zoe was. He didn't try to answer her questions right away, knowing she wouldn't hear him until she was calmed down and had seen her daughter. Zoe was in the crisp white bed, and oxygen mask affixed to her mouth and nose. A nurse was taking her blood pressure and an intern that worked with Doug named Brian McCoy was starting an intravenous line. Nothing in the world broke Scully's heart more than seeing a child hooked up to so many lines and machines, a look of fear and confusion on their innocent little face. It hurt even more that it was her child. They already had her fixed up to a heart monitor, and it emitted a steady bleep into the room. Scully sank to the bed beside Zoe, picking up her tiny hand. The girl was stoic, but there were fresh tear tracks marking her pink cheeks. Her skin felt unbelievably hot, even though there were two blankets over her and she was still shivering. She didn't speak at all; looking too scared and upset to say a word. Scully knew about her terrible fear of hospitals, and did the best to comfort her. "It's okay, Zoe, shhhh . . . it's okay," she soothed, stroking her daughter's livid forehead. "Dr. McCoy is just giving you an IV to make you feel better." She said when she saw Zoe's eyes dart to the syringe in McCoy's hand. "What happened?" Scully asked again, turning back to Doug. Carol had disappeared, probably to check on the other three children. "Um," Doug began, looking over Scully's shoulder at Zoe. "I know Zoe knows everything I'm about to tell you, but I'd feel more comfortable if we could talk outside." Scully nodded her understanding and stood, promising Zoe she would be back with a kiss on her cheek. She followed Doug out of the Exam room to the hallway. She knew that he didn't want to talk in from of Zoe for fear of upsetting her; she understood everything he could explain. "I don't know exactly what happened," He began, clutching the metal chart against his chest. "I came upstairs to see what she wanted for lunch, you know. When I got there, she was laying in her bed like she was sleeping, but something felt wrong. I went in to check on her and found she wasn't breathing and she barely had a pulse. I performed CPR and she came back and . . . vomited on me." He gestured to the scrub top he wore. "And then she started screaming and crying . . . I called for the ambulance. Her heart rate was sky high and irregular, she was breathing too hard, and she had a fever of 105. By the time the ambulance got there she was getting worse. She got sick again and kept screaming about something. I had to follow in the car with the twins and Reese, but when we got here one of the paramedic's told me they were about to administer some lidocaine to stop the heart palpitations, and then she stopped. She stopped screaming, she stopped crying, she started breathing again, her heart rate and BP fell back down and her temp dropped to 101. Just like that." Scully's eyes drifted from Doug to nothingness as she tried to think. She crossed her arms and began to gnaw on her lip. "I sent down blood work and a dip of urine as soon as we came in, hopefully that will reveal something. She's stable right now, but she's dehydrated, her blood ox is a little low, and she has a high fever." He glanced down at the charts, and then at Scully, cocking his head in a familiar thoughtfulness. "Dana, do you have any idea what could be causing this?" Scully was still thinking about everything she and Mulder had discussed. He thought Zoe's illness and experiences were cause by the radio signals. That was preposterous, and impossible. There had to be a simpler explanation. What was it? "I don't know yet, Doug." She answered. "Well, we'll see what the blood work reveals." He said. Scully turned away slowly and went back into the exam room and her daughter's bedside. Dr. McCoy had moved on to another patient, and the Nurse, Jen, was having Zoe take an aspirin for her fever. Scully pulled up a chair and sat down beside Zoe's bed. Zoe turned her face to her, and gave a little smile. A less irritating nose tube had replaced the oxygen mask over her face. "Feeling better?" Scully asked quietly, her nurturing instinct coming on full blast. She leaned forward and brushed Zoe's long, blonde hair with her fingers. Zoe nodded bravely. "How long do I gotta stay here?" She asked. "We're going to wait for the blood tests to come back, okay? We just want to make sure everything's all right in your body." "No more needles?" Zoe glanced down at the IV poking out of her wrist and fingered the tape a little. "I can't make any promises, but we'll see what we can do." The girl nodded again and looked around the room some more. There were machines next to her, and an IV bag on a stand on the opposite side of her. There was a heart monitor wired to a plastic thing on her left index finger. The end lit up in a funny way. Zoe studied it, and then lost interest. She hated hospitals. She hated the way they smelled, and they way a lot of doctors always had false cheery faces that everyone tried to believe was good and nice. But it wasn't true; a lot of doctors were mean and evil. Her birth parents were those kinds of doctors . . . They were always poking her with needles, and drawing blood, and running tests on her. They told her it was for the better. They told her it was what she was made to do. But those tests hurt, and they certainly never did her any good. That was why Zoe was glad Scully wasn't like that. And neither was Doug or Carol. They were all good doctors. Some of these hospital doctors were good, and some of them were not. A lot of the doctors that seemed good really weren't, and they wouldn't be if they knew about Zoe. They would just want to run tests on her too. Two years gone by, two years, and the scars of being a lab rat still hadn't healed. Scully was thinking about her. She loved Scully more than anything in the world. She was more of a Mommy than her birth mother ever was. With Scully and Mulder, Zoe felt more love than she had ever known before. These last two years of her life had been the best. Now Scully was scared. Mulder was gone. And the world was ending. There were a lot of things to be scared of. "Don't be scared, Mommy." She whispered, bringing her palm over the Scully's cheek. "Daddy will be back soon, it'll be okay." Scully smiled and took Zoe's hand. "I won't be scared if you won't, my brave baby." "I did have another blackout." Zoe continued to whisper after lingering on the thoughts in her mother's mind. "Can you tell me what you saw?" Scully picked up without missing a beat. Zoe paused a moment to deliberate on that. She couldn't tell. She wouldn't. No one would believe her. She shook her head. Scully persisted, "Why not?" "Because you won't believe me," Zoe told her, "And because . . ." She trailed off, and then just shook her head again. "I wish you would tell me, Zoe. Then maybe I could help you." "You can't help me, Mommy. Nobody can." She said, and sniffed back tears that threatened to fall. Zoe thought for a long while. How was anyone supposed to help her when they didn't even know what was wrong? She didn't even know. Something was hurting her. The voices? The Beings in her dreams? Maybe everything, maybe nothing. Then suddenly, it hit her. Hard. She was dying. That had to explain it. The voices weren't real. Neither were the dreams or the visions. No, the Visions, they seemed too divine to be anything but. It was all illness and fever-induced delirium all along. It was killing her. Death scared her more than anything, because she didn't understand it, and because she knew nothing could escape from it. Not Scully, not Mulder, not Doug, or Carol, or Reese, or even her. Everyone was going to die. Her lower lip trembled. She looked back to Scully behind a watery gaze. "I don't wanna die, Mommy." She sobbed. Overwhelming pity and sadness filled Scully's face. She rose and embraced Zoe tightly. "You are not going to die, Zoe. I promise you. I won't let you die." She whispered fiercely in the girl's ear, trying to hold back her own cries. "Never again, Zoe." "I'll never let you be taken from me again." 5:32 p.m. Now Scully was at a loss for what to do. The blood tests had only given them more questions, no answers. Zoe's white blood cell count was low, which meant her body wasn't fighting anything off, which probably meant whatever was hurting her was not being recognized as something to attack. That could mean any types of diseases without an infectious agent, including cancer. Nothing could be known for sure without more tests. More tests would equal more pain for Zoe, and more grief for Scully. The vigil had begun. Doug had decided to admit Zoe until they knew what was going on, and how they could treat it. They had moved her from the ER up to the fifth floor Pediatric ICU, just to be safe. As Doug was the Pediatric Attending in the ER (part of the reason he was hired in the first place), he was up periodically to check on Zoe and Scully alike. Zoe had fallen asleep around four, and would probably sleep through the night. Scully already planned on spending the night with her; once she found someone to watch Reese. For the time being, Scully felt hopeless. Zoe thought she was dying. Scully didn't even want to think about it. It felt like her cancer all over again, only now she was watching it instead of living it. Oh, god, what if Zoe did have cancer? No, that didn't explain the fear Zoe had, and the voices she claimed to hear, or the floating rubbed ball. There was something else . . . Whatever it was, it was hurting her. And she wasn't getting better, only worse. The worst part was, there was nothing Scully could do about it. She could shower her daughter with soothing kisses, but that wouldn't take the horrible fever away. She could hold her forever, but that wouldn't stop her off-and-on shivering. She could talk to her, and comfort her with all her heart and soul, but that wouldn't take the fear from Zoe's baby blue eyes. Scully had gone through this before, but never like this. She never had to sit aside and watch her child in pain, knowing she could do nothing about it but wait. It hurt so much . . . A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. She quietly gave consent to enter. It was Jen from the ER; she had a whimpering Reese in her arms. Scully stood and took her son from the nurse. "He started fussing in the daycare, they were looking for you downstairs so I brought him up," Jen explained in a hushed voice. "Thank you," Scully mouthed back. Jen nodded and left. Scully sat back down with Reese, rocking him and trying to quiet him. He was cutting teeth, and it was very difficult to ease his pain as well. Scully suddenly found herself in a situation she had never been in before, and one she never wanted to be in. Alone. Alone, with two children. Sure, she was a big girl; she could take care of them. But who would take care of her? She never needed someone there to pick her up and hold her before, but before she didn't have these two kids, one very ill, and one too young to know the difference. Who would take care of her? Damn you, Mulder. Damn you for leaving us like this. ~*~*~*~*~X~*~*~*~*~ Chapter 13 Siberia Russia January 3, 2002 The fire spit and crackled ferociously as Jack tossed the last of his drink onto it. The strong brew of alcohol lingered, burning in the air a moment, and then disappeared in a puff of smoke. Jack sat back on his bedroll, tossing his tin cup on top of this backpack. "I don't know what you put in that shit, Dmitri, but I can't drink anymore of it." He protested, exerting a loud belch. "Softy," Mulder said. He was shaving using the refection of an aluminum plate. There was really no point, he would have a shadow again by the same time the next night, but it passed away the boredom. "This shit, as you so eloquently put it, is homemade, real Russian drink." Dmitri added from over the fire. "Yeah, well, I'd prefer a ice-cold, domesticated Miller Lite any day. Go ahead and say what you will." Jack made an uptight face at both men and resumed poking at the red-hot logs with a stick. "Softy," Mulder repeated with more 'I told you so'. It must have looked odd enough. Three grown men sitting around a good-sized open fire, chatting like there was no importance left. Two of them were diehard city-boys, and the third, an aged, Russian diplomat. What a group. Finished shaving, Mulder rinsed tossed his disposable Bic razor into the fire, splashed a little canteen water onto his hand and wiped off his face. Then he stretched out and leaned against the little log behind him. He looked a moment at his two travel companions, trying to remember why they were really out in the middle of nowhere, Russia- -to coin a phrase once used by Scully, onnly with the word 'Texas'. Jack seemed confused enough for all three of them. He was ready enough to jump on a plane to Moscow, picking up bits and pieces of information as they went along. But this was all just a game to him. He didn't know what was at stake. Too bad the innocence of youth could cost a man his life out here. Dmitri was all knowing, all wise, as they had expected him to be. He was busy whittling away at a hunk of wood with a crude knife. He hadn't told Jack much; that would all probably come out tonight, their first real night in the woods. He mostly kept mum, only speaking when he felt necessary. Mulder guessed he would be the fountain of information once they reached the Base. Yes, the Base. That was what they were there for. One of the horses nickered behind him, pulling him from his silent little trance. He twisted around and looked at the animal, trying to see what it wanted. Nothing. Just attention. The trip had been hell. First, there was an eternal flight out to Moscow, to get supplies. Dmitri had money in Moscow. They got hiking packs, parkas, boots, and rope, all of the essentials for a long trip in the forest. A hell of a lot more than Mulder had last time he was in the country. Then, they flew a Russian airline to the city of Novosibirsk, then drove to Lesosibirsk, and then drove to a small town, where they got the horses. Three men, three animals, and Dmitri paid in full. Jack never noticed that Dmitri actually bought the horses, not borrowed them. He wasn't planning on bringing them back. Mulder noticed it. Mulder was about to ask how much further they had to ride, when Dmitri started conversation, for a change. "So, Jack, tell me about your family, I'm very interested in hearing about your background." He said. Jack looked taken aback by the inquiry. "Well, what is there to tell? I've got four sisters, one younger, three older, my parents are dead, I guess, and I've got no wife or girlfriend, and therefore no sex life." Dmitri chuckled. "What do you mean you 'guess' your parents are dead?" "My mom is, but I don't know about my dad . . ." He paused, his eyes focused on the fire as its orange light danced on his face and reflected in his blue-gray eyes. "I haven't seen him since I was a kid. He was an alcoholic and a wife-beater. Used to smack my mom and my sisters around a lot . . . He never hit me, I guess he was afraid I could hit back or something, I don't know. I remember when I was about twelve years old, I think, he uh . . . he'd gone out to the bar, got a little drunk, ya' know, came home and beat up my mom. I remember her in the kitchen, blood all over her face, saying daddy would never do it again, and my dad in the living room, crying, saying he was sorry. I just went up to him and said, 'Y' know, we don't need you around here anymore. You can quit hitting my mother before I kill you. Now you pack up your stuff, and get the hell out of Dodge. We can take care of ourselves.'" He looked up at the two men around the fire, his eyes intense in remembrance. "I was so scared he was gonna hit me. But he didn't. He just left. I haven't seen him since, and we've never been happier. Now my sisters are all married, they've all got kids. I've got five nephews and five nieces, plus I feel like Mulder's kids are another niece and nephew, I don't need kids of my own." He said, laughing. Mulder and Dmitri laughed as well. "What about you Dmitri, what about your family?" Jack asked, all too eager to change the subject. Dmitri shrugged. "A family, I've got one. I haven't seen them in years, but I've got one." "Where are they?" Mulder questioned, feeling the pangs of pain in missing his own family. "Are you going to let me tell the story?" Dmitri scolded. "They live in St. Petersburg. I haven't seen them in three years now. I have two girls, Liana and Natalya, and a beautiful wife, Aleksandra. I worked with the project from my home for many years. When I was offered the job in America, back in 1997, my decision all came down to my beliefs or my family. The rest is history." He sighed and shrugged his rounded shoulders. "A lot of men would kill for my position. They say I made the right decision in leaving my home behind." He shook his head, looking especially at Mulder. "But I did not. In Russia, I am scholar of Philosophy. I have big house, and a family that loves me. In America, I am nobody. I have no identity, and no law can prosecute me. I would be killed before I would be thrown in jail . . . But I am alone." Mulder stared at the ground like it was the most interesting thing he had seen all night. He couldn't believe he made the same mistake Dmitri did. He had to. He had to see what was out here. He tried to fix things. He called twice, and no one answered. Now there were no phones. Instead, he went into his backpack and pulled out a steno pad that he had been writing notes on and a ballpoint pen. He could write a letter home. Perfect! True, he would be home before it ever got mailed, but it would at least provide some comfort for his subconscious. Too bad he couldn't think of anything more than "Dear Scully," Fed up after ten minutes, and ignorant of whatever Jack and Dmitri were talking about, he stuffed the ripped-out paper into his coat pocket with the pen, for later. "I'm uh . . . I'm pretty beat. I'm gonna turn in." He announced, knocking back the last gulp of his liquor. "Good idea, we should be up bright and early tomorrow. We've got another twenty or thirty so miles until we get near the base. Good night." Dmitri replied. Mulder added his good nights and then stretched out in his sleeping bag. The homemade liquor heavy in the pit of his stomach, and the pain of missing his home in his heart, he turned away from the fire, and went to sleep. Morning January 4, 2002 Mulder awoke when something began insistently nudging his cheek. He pushed it away, thinking nothing of it. Whatever it was only came back, shoving his face harder. He finally allowed his eyes to slit open, only to stare up the muzzle of one of the horses. He pushed the horse away again and sat up, annoyed. "He's hungry. He wants you to feed him." A voice called from somewhere beside him. Mulder's attention drifted in that direction, seeing Dmitri cooking something over what was left of the fire. "There's feed in the feed back. Strap it over the muzzle like I showed you." Dmitri added, stirring something in a pan. He had been teaching basic horse care to the two city slickers all throughout the finale leg of the trip. Neither of the two had ever owned horses, much less cared for them. It was lucky Mulder had ridden once or twice before, and Jack was a fast learner. Mulder got up, rubbing the sleep from his face. Then he dug through his things to find a sweatshirt and clean socks. It may have been daylight, but it was still incredibly cold. It wasn't snowing anymore, thank God, but it was still colder than a witch's tit in December, as Jack had put it the day before. "I need some coffee," Was suddenly groaned from the heap of blankets and sleeping bag folds outside the fire pit. Mulder stumbled over to the moaning lump and nudged it with a booted foot. "Get your lazy ass up, Jack." He grumbled, and continued walking away from the camp in search of a suitable tree. They ate a meal of coffee, boiled in a pot over the glowing orange embers, potatoes bought from the last village, a little homemade bread, and a little cheese. The salted meat Dmitri had purchased was reserved for dinner. No time was spared for hunting. After breakfast, they began packing up the gear again in preparation for a long ride. Dmitri informed them that they would not set up camp again until there were near the base. "How much longer do we have to ride?" Jack asked as he rolled his bedroll up. Dmitri stepped up into his stirrup and lifted himself onto the gray gelding. He sat in the saddle a moment, staring off into the woods as if judging the distance. "It's in that direction," He said, pointing off towards the Northeast, "Just near the edge of the woods. We should probably be there by sundown." "Hopefully," Mulder added, buckling the saddlebag on his horse's rump. He pondered silently a moment on how Dmitri knew where they were going without a map, shrugged, and forgot about it. "And how long are we going to be out here?" Jack questioned next. Dmitri shrugged. Mulder looked at the ground. Jack looked back and forth between the two of them, confused. "What?" He said. He waited a moment, and then his companions' quietness made him a little perturbed. "I want to know how long we're going to be out here." He stepped away form this horse, beginning his list of oppressed demands. "As a matter of fact, why are we really here in the first place? You two seemed to know more than you're telling me, which is a whole lot of nothing." Mulder turned toward Jack, grasping the worn leather reins in his left hand, his right hand habitually scrubbing his chin. "I told you, Jack, we're out here to see a base, the objective of which may be extra--" "Extra-terrestrial. Yeah, I know," Jack cut in, "The only problem is that I don't believe that bullshit. What exactly is out here, there, wherever--that we are trying to find?" "We don't--" Mulder began to say, but was again cut off by a short, stunning quip from Dmitri: "Every answer to every question ever asked." However, the Russian's face bore no hint of mockery. He had wheeled his horse around to face Jack and Mulder, as was looking sternly at both of them. "The complete truth is, I have no idea what we are going to find out here. I don't know what to expect. We could be riding back into town in a few days. We may never get home. I don't know." "Are you saying we could die out here?" Jack asked. When neither answered him right away, he kicked at the dirt and glowered. He had not expected this. When Mulder asked him to come to Russia, he had expected adventure, a little action, maybe a nice Russian chick with big boobs, not to risk his life. "Thanks for telling me this would be a suicide mission." He said sourly. "It's not a suicide mission. We're just not taking any chances." Mulder argued. "We're on dangerous turf right now. If someone found out we were here or where we're going, they'd kill us. But it's all in the name of the truth." "That's the difference between you and me, Mulder!" Jack yelled, advancing a few steps towards Mulder, and pointing out an accusatory finger. "I don't care about the truth. I don't believe in it. I don't believe that any mother-fucking aliens are going to come here and take over the world. I wasn't sure what we were coming over here for, but I'm young, I'm not tied down, so I didn't really care." He exhaled loudly and turned away, when he turned back, his eyes burned, but his face was calmer. "If I had known I was coming out here for this, I never would have come." Mulder had to keep his cool. He wanted nothing more than to give this kid a big, fat shiner, but turning cold and angry would only hurt them all. "Let me ask you something, Jack: Have you ever once just been curious that we might not be the only ones here?" Jack shot him a characteristically apathetic glare. "Whatever is out there," Mulder pointed out into the woods in the direction Dmitri had hinted to earlier. "Could give you that answer. Aren't you the least bit curious?" Dmitri spoke before Jack answered. "We can't force him to do something he doesn't want to do." He said. Then to Jack: "Agent Harley, I wanted you to come because I thought you had the ability and the mind to help. Now that you are here, you have two options; you can go home and never think about this again, or you can come along, finish the journey, and see things no one else will ever have the opportunity to see." Jack stared at him, long and hard. He had not though of it like that before. He rubbed the side of his face and his week old beard with a weary palm and dropped his hands to his sides in submission. Then he staggered over to his horse and climbed aboard. "Lead the way," he said reluctantly. Dmitri shot Mulder a knowing little smirk, the glitter of triumph sparkling in his eyes. Then he kicked his horse's flank and began moving into the woods. Mulder mounted his horse and trailed behind, unable to stop feeling like he had just pressured and innocent man into a suicide mission. Late Evening They rode endlessly all day. Only a short break was allowed around noon for lunch. Jack dozed off on horseback more than once. The most interesting thing he had seen all day were some large cat footprints in the snow by a fallen tree. Dmitri told him they probably belong to a Siberian Tiger. For a born-and-raised Baltimorean, that was pretty cool. As the day had worn on and faded into twilight, the cold bore on them heavily. Night approached like a predator, creeping up form behind and pouncing, drowning out the warmth and light of the sun. Out came the flashlights and the lantern, but even in the low light, eyesight was virtually useless. They had to rely on their ears and the surefootedness of the stocky trail ponies to guide them through the night. Dmitri kept his face to the ebony blanket of stars, pinpointing certain ones. That was his secret to navigation. The woods were more than intimidating to Jack. They were something out of a fairy tale. Each time they passed one of the large, looming conifers silhouetted in the darkness, he expected a ghoulish face to roar at him and pluck him from the trail on long, spindly arms. His senses were on full alert, flashlight waving back and forth across the trail, imagination running wild. His ears picked up the tiniest sounds; half expecting to hear the hot, stagnant breathing of the big bad wolf. Suddenly, he did hear something awkward. Thud-thud-thud . . . He listened. Thud-thud-thud-th . . . It was quick, like a racing pulse. It seemed far away, muffled by distance and the trees around them. It was too quick to be running or the galloping of a horse, and too precise to really be anything natural. The more he listened, the more his mind familiarized it, and the louder it became. "You guys hear that?" He inquired after listening a little longer. "Yeah," Mulder answered, cocking his head slightly to the side as his perking his ears up. "It's a helicopter," Dmitri stated, bringing his horse to a standstill. No sooner had this realization hit them; when the treetops became flooded with white light and the chopping thud fell upon them. All three men looked to the dark heavens all at once, spotting the silhouetted black helicopter gliding over them. In a matter of seconds, the white light had washed over them, and then retracted away as the helicopter passed. The muffled chopping of blades beating air lingered in the distance and then disappeared as well. "We're not far now, gentlemen," Dmitri said in a low voice. "It should be just over this ridge." He gestured to the way the ground was beginning to incline. Trying as hard as he could within the dim pool of lantern light, Jack peered off into the distance. About a hundred or so yards ahead of them, the incline turned steep. After that, there was another short distance up to the crest of the ridge. Thankfully, the trees were just dense as dense for covering as they were in the valley. So, just in case Dmitri was correct, they would still be hidden. Jack nudged his horse along at a slow pace, urging the tired animal to keep going. He leaned forward closer to the horse's neck as the incline became steeper, remembering what Dmitri and Mulder had told him. He arrived at the top of the ridge last in the miniature caravan, his horse traveling a few lengths behind Mulder's. When he got there, Mulder was directing his horse to steady in a firm, yet hushed voice. But his attention was not directly on the horse, it was on the area over the hillcrest. Jack pulled up beside Mulder and looked down in the direction Mulder was focused. He saw it immediately. It wasn't too far away, just in the valley between their ridge and the start of a larger ridge; a ridge that broke the horizon before the mountains took over. About a hundred odd yards down the much less steep decline of the ridge, the trees ended abruptly to a muddy dirt track and a thirty-foot chain-link fence. Distant shouting, machinery, and idling diesel engines had shattered the previous silence of the forest. Jack dismounted his horse in one swift motion and pulled his binoculars from this saddlebag. He stood slightly behind a tree and swept over the facility with searching eyes. There were two perimeters to this base, and inner and an outer. The outer fence was about thirty feet high, barbed wire entwined throughout the links and looped over the top. After the first fence, there was about ten feet of space before the next fence. That space was a dog run. As Jack watched, two huge rottweilers trotted by, glowering at two armed soldiers guarding the fence. They were military dogs, trained and bred to kill without mercy. The second fence was only about twenty feet high. Instead of barbed wire, there was straight, silver wire woven through the links. It was electronically charged, judging by the warning signs near the gate, written in both Russian and English. Beyond that, the base somewhat resembled a standard, temporary military installation. There were a few large sleeping tents here and there, a large medical tent, a mess tent, and a firearms storage bunker. There were also a number of unmarked concrete buildings, hastily built for storage of God-knows-what. They had horses tied under lean-tos and about a dozen cargo trucks and jeeps. From what Jack could see, there was a beaten mud road cutting the compound in two. It started at the only gates and ran right into the ridge where the fences turned. There was a tunnel there. Part of the installment was underground. He looked as far along the length of the base as he could--which was greater than the length of two football fields end to end--trying to spot anything of encouragement. Past too large tents and two of the concrete buildings, he saw something squatting in a large opening in the center of the compound. He could only see a piece of it behind the buildings. It was gigantic, much too large to be a vehicle or a helicopter. From what he saw, he could tell the sides were smooth, only marked by tiny--almost imperceptible from his view--scratches. It was too oddly shaped to be a building. He thought for a moment that it was a plane, a jet perhaps. In the bright floodlights, he could see the color held a glossy, silvery, metallic sheen; all wrong for any plane he had ever seen. All he did know was that it was like nothing he had ever seen before, and he was determined to find it out. * They conceived a plan to get into the building within an hour. The perimeter was too well lit, so they couldn't just sneak in using a conventional manner. It was Dmitri's idea that they would have to play it dirty. It would cost a couple of guards their lives. On the farthest part of the outer fence as they could see, there was such a pair of guards. The floodlights were sparser towards this outer edge, and the shadows presented were certain to play in their favor. The two guards appeared bored as hell, shuffling their feet, smoking, and chatting in Russian. The smaller of the two had a rifle slung over his shoulder, while his larger companion had a good-sized pistol on his hip. The plan was to have Jack; younger and faster of the three, rustle the bushes a bit to get the guards' attention, then Dmitri and Mulder would take them by surprise. Dmitri and Mulder hunkered down in the brush on opposite sides of Jack's position, both about ten feet away from him. When he received the all-clear signal from both men, Jack began violently shaking the bushes and the young saplings near him. He stomped his boots on twigs and made an all out ruckus. The guards looked at each other, and then became very interested in what was happening in the trees. Side-by-side, they crept up to the edge of the trees, possibly expected some animal to jump out at them. When they stood about a foot away from where Jack was crouching, Mulder and Dmitri sprung. Mulder grabbed the smaller of the guards, yanking the rifle away and pulling the man's arm behind his back, immobilizing him. He spouted and yelled and cursed in Russian. Dmitri had his captive similarly contained. It had been agreed that Dmitri would do the deed, and he held his end of the deal. The homemade knife he had been whittling away at a hunk of wood with the night before was in his fist, blade up. Without a word, in a swift, cunning motion, he brought the sharp side of the blade across the guard's trachea, from ear to ear, slicing the soft flesh covering the blood vessels. He held the man's head a moment as the blood gurgled in his throat and spilled to the ground, and when he was certain he was dead, let him drop to the ground. Next he turned to Mulder's captive, who was squirming and squealing like a stuck pig. In a harsh voice Mulder had never heard and a stone face he had never seen, Dmitri hissed some orders at the man in Russian, threatening the knife at him. Dmitri was asking what was needed to get inside. The guard didn't reply, only growled and spat into Dmitri's face. Dmitri yelled, and lunged at the man, pressing the blade against his throat. Mulder felt the guard tense in his grip, trying to inch away from the weapon. Dmitri repeated what he said before, this time receiving a reply from the guard. Then Dmitri grabbed him by the throat, pulling him away from Mulder, and kissed his cheek in a showy sign of respect. And just as quickly as before, he killed him. This time Mulder looked away. Never pausing for an instant, Dmitri began to strip the first body of his uniform, exchanging his clothing for it. Mulder remained frozen for a moment; a bit unable to believe they had actually gone through with it. "Get the uniform!" Dmitri finally barked, having his halfway on. Mulder geared into action, removing the uniform from the smaller guard, exchanging it for his clothing. He left his lightest layer on, and put the guard's camouflage-brown uniform on over top. Then he shrugged on the dark overcoat and slung the rifle over his shoulder to complete the look. They concealed the bodies in the brush and went back to the fence. Dmitri ran a quick surveillance, and deciding that no one saw them, directed Jack to walk ahead of them, at Mulder's gunpoint. They went this way to the gate, Jack ahead of Mulder, nudged along by the barrel of his rifle, Dmitri walking alongside. Just two border guards and their prisoner. The guard at the gate was dressed in a black uniform, a red beret on top of his thick head. He was bigger, and had a harsher demeanor than the two guards they had disposed of. He had a bull-like neck and a coarsely chiseled face. He peered at them sternly with deep-set amber eyes, halting their entrance to the compound. Dmitri laid a hand on Jack's back and shoved him forward. Jack stumbled in the mud, sloshing it onto his pant legs and nearly losing his footing in the process to regain his balance. Dmitri then explained where they had found him in Russian. The guard nodded, and looked at Mulder. He asked Dmitri something. Dmitri replied. Dmitri had told Mulder that if anything was asked about him, since he didn't know Russian, he was going to say his tongue was cut out, and he therefore couldn't talk. Mulder was only to hold the gun on Jack, and say nothing. Ever. The requirement to gain entry to the compound seemed ridiculous, but quite clever once one thought about it. The gate guard was to ask, "How is the weather today?" and the enterer to answer, "Quite nice, but a bit too warm." If the one trying to gain access hesitated or looked around, the orders were for them to be killed. The guard asked abruptly, and Dmitri replied smoothly. It worked. They expected the guard to wave them through after that, but he did not. He did something a little peculiar. He approached Jack, and stood a few inches before him. Jack had been directed to be quiet, keep his head down, and his arms by his sides. He was not supposed to speak. The guard grabbed his chin and brought his face up, so that his dirty blonde hair fell away from his face and his features could be seen. "American?" The guard asked distinctly without a Russian accent as he held Jack's face this way. Jack nodded a bit and gave a slurred, "Yes." "What are you doing out here, boy?" The guard asked of him, a slight southern drawl in his speech. Jack looked at the ground, and then glanced to Mulder. It had become clear that there were US troops here as well. That would explain the difference in uniforms. "I asked you a question," The troop said angrily, the tendons of his muscular neck standing out in intimidation. "What are you doing out here?" Jack snorted and replied, "Huntin' aliens." The guard began to laugh, looking back and forth at Dmitri and Mulder, who could do only in their powers to keep from looking nervous. Then, all of a sudden, the guard brought his right fist down and slugged Jack hard in the gut. Jack doubled over, coughing. "Next time you'll answer more promptly, and leave the jokes at home." The guard said, clapping his hand firmly on Jack's back, and then waving Mulder and Dmitri through, presumably to take 'the prisoner' to the compound jail. Mulder shoved Jack and hurried him along through the gates. They kept this composure as they walked along the main road, the one that cut the installation in two. There were mostly tents along this road, and two of the concrete buildings as they neared the center of the base. The road was completely mud, ruddy and grooved by footprints and tire tracks. There were a few men splattered here and there, hanging out in front of tents, chatting and smoking in comradeship. No one gave them a second glace. They played as they appeared: Two border guards leading a heaving, grimacing prisoner to incarceration. Since none of them had any clue where the jail was, they had decided to walk long the road until they found a place to dodge off to. Such an opportunity came between the two concrete buildings, in the form of a three-foot wide alleyway. Jack went first, then Mulder, then Dmitri, as he covered their backs. They went around to the back of the buildings where there was less activity. Jack took a moment to lean against the building and get his breath back after having it knocked out of him. "That . . . was close." He finally managed to huff. "That was more than close," Dmitri added, looking around nervously, his stolen sidearm in his leather-gloved hands. "That was a blessing from God." "Did you see the patch on his arm?" Mulder whispered. "These guys are US Marines, some kind of black-op project." Dmitri nodded and Jack shook his head. By the look in the younger man's eyes, he was feeling the same way Mulder was: purely and utterly betrayed. Jack stood still for a time; allowing his breathing to come back to normal. Dmitri was keeping watch, and Mulder was trying to figure out what to do next. They were standing behind some kind of bunker, for storage or something. There was a small road before them, and the backs of two more buildings, with a similar alley. Down this muddy alley, Jack could see a large sliver of the object he had seen earlier in his binoculars. It curved out low, not over the tops of the buildings, and was obscured by the tip of a tent. But they were close. He could see its metal surface glistening in the floodlights. He grabbed Mulder's arm and pointed him toward the structure. "Mulder, look at that," Mulder stared at it a moment. "What do you think it is?" Jack breathed in a raspy whisper. Mulder studied it for a long time, finding some vague familiarity in the small piece he could see. It gave him a feeling. He had always believed in his intuition, and it was running rampant as his eyes looked over the greenish-gray surface. Whatever it was, it was imperative he see it. "There's only one way to find out," he finally said, and started down the alley in that direction, without hesitation. Before Jack realized what was going on, Mulder was already across the back road and into the next alley. He called for Dmitri's attention and started after Mulder, jogging to catch up. The structure was much closer than they had anticipated. Mulder breached the edges of the two buildings, and there it was big as life. In a round clearing, surrounded by the concrete bunkers. It was twice the size of anything Mulder had ever seen like it. And in the direct light from the floodlights mounted on poles, it shined and glistened like something that had just fallen from the heavens. Jack came up beside him, not noticing what was before him, too focused on his lungs heaving against his bruised abdomen. "Mulder . . ." he began to exhale, but trailed off when his eyes drifted upwards. The light shining on the structure reflected off its metallic surface brightly into Jack's eyes. He squinted as his tired pupils struggled to focus. Once he got used to the light, his eyes scanned over the sleek surface before him, his ever-inquisitive mind soaking up everything. In a nutshell, it was a flying saucer. Just like out of old comic books. Except it didn't exactly look like the ones out of comic books. It wasn't round. Rather, it was triangular. Their view of it was from the side, one gigantic "wing" stretching almost over their heads. It was shaped much like an oblong triangle, in a way similar to the stealth fighter jets the military was so proud of. The length had to be at least one hundred feet, from wingtip to wingtip, and at least half that wide. It was easily thirty feet tall, supported by three large legs that folded up into the body. The legs themselves were only about a foot tall, keeping the ship lower to the ground. How could they have not seen it from the hill? Simple. The buildings around it were purposely built tall, and the tents clustered so close their olive-green roofs obscured the exact shape and size. The surface of the ship was not gray, but it was not green. When the light hit it a certain way, it was a little of both. And it was covered by markings. At first they looked like random scratches in the surface, but upon closer inspection it was actually writing. Not English, something Jack couldn't identify. There was no visible windshield or portal for view inside or out. Which meant it was flown by means other than the ordinary. As he stared at the ship, revelation slowly began to creep into his mind. The revelation was that it was real. The ship was there. They were standing before it, looking upon it. But Jack's rationality refused to believe it. It couldn't be possible. Could it? "Holy Mary mother of God," he finally managed to strangle from his dry and cracked lips. He ran his tongue over them, only to find it dry as well. "That is not what I think it is." His words were met at first by silence from his companions. Faint shouting and a diesel engine could be heard far off, but all else was quiet. "It's exactly what you don't think it is," Dmitri answered him cryptically with his soft, rumbling voice. Mulder took a step forward, unable to resist the magnetic force the ship had on him. His eyes were unable to break away from it. Something was even familiar about it, but he wasn't sure what. "The holy grail." Jack and Dmitri looked from the ship to Mulder, having heard him finally speak. But Mulder was unresponsive to them, continuing to study the ship with probing eyes. All three men eventually wandered around to what they deemed the rear of the ship, in earnest search of a way to get on. The back of the ship was what would be the base of the triangle. And while the bottom of most of the ship was curving up from less than a foot to nine feet off the ground, the back of the ship angled up steeper. It was there that they found the edging of what was guessed to be the door. It was about ten feet wide, expanding up to the edge where the side of the ship turned to roof. Jack and Dmitri studied this edging of the door. The surface of the door and the surface of the ship were so impeccably placed together, they could be once piece if not for a hairline crack dividing them. "There's no buttons, there's no levers . . ." Jack grunted, stating the obvious as he tried vainly to pry his fingernails into the crack of the door. Dmitri stood beneath the overhanging edge of the ship, pressing his palms up against the door. He rose to his tiptoes, pushing against the door. Nothing. It didn't budge at all. Frustrated, he pounded the heel of his fist against it, producing a hollow bang. "There has got to be some way to open it," Dmitri ground through gritted teeth, looking at Jack. His attention drifted to Mulder. At the look of the inquiring FBI agent, he crossed his uniformed arms over his chest. Mulder hadn't tried to mechanically pry the door open. He only stood, staring up at the ship, as he had been when they first stumbled upon it. It was as if he was mesmerized by it, so invariably hypnotized he was unable to move save for a systematic squint and blink of his dark eyes. "Mulder," Jack beckoned, hoping to yank his senior partner from his trance. Mulder's eyes never left the ship. "Yeah," he responded, but was clearly not interested in talking to Jack. He drew his lower lip between his teeth and gnawed on it wonderingly. Then, like a message from God, he knew what to do. He raised his left hand into the air and laid his palm gently on the surface of the ship. It was not cool as metal should be. Rather, it was warm and vibrated with an immense amount of inner energy. The door began to move. Jack and Dmitri scurried out of the way as the door dropped open slowly, groaning and hissing with pneumatic motion. It remained connected to the ship near the bottom, the top edge coming down to the ground like a ramp. There were no stairs of any kind, just another smooth metal surface. The three men watched in wonder as the door opened dramatically like something out of a movie. Not darkness, but a white light emanating from within the ship met them. It was a bright light, so bright they were forced to bring their forearms over their eyes to shield them until their pupils could adjust. "How did you do that?" Jack breathed in a heavy whisper, squinting into the light. Mulder answered slowly, barely able to articulate any words at all: "I don't know." The door hit the ground and halted, leading up into the heart of the ship. None of them moved at first, simply content to stare at the opening, processing all of the information in that short amount of time. "You boys go ahead," Dmitri urged, stepping back from the entryway. Jack looked at him. "What about you?" He shrugged. "Someone has to stay out here and keep watch. Besides, I have my truth. It is yours that you will find in there." Mulder also managed to pull his eyes from the spacecraft long enough to look Dmitri in the eye. For a fleeting instant, he wasn't sure whether he should trust the old ex-conspirator or not. In all his experiences, it was men like Dmitri who claimed to be allegiant that were the most likely to betray him in the end. But the Russian had led him this far, what good would it do to show him so much only to turn them in? Finally deciding not to wait another moment, Mulder patted Jack on the shoulder and started up the ramp boldly, adding a brusque: "Let's go," The interior of the ship was plain and undeniably sterile. The ramp/door led to a small room with bare walls and nothing in it. The floor was similar to the exterior of the ship, only lacking the etched writings. They could see clearly into this room from the top of the ramp, as if the blinding light they saw outside came from nowhere. Jack stepped into the room first, turning and looking around the foreign place. His hiking boots sounded neither hollow nor solid on the floor, and strangely left no footprints despite the heavy amount of dark mud caked on them. Mulder lingered at the top of the ramp, hesitating to step fully into the ship. The ramp itself seemed to defy gravity. Although it was a definite ascent up to four feet, and the surface was smooth, it took no effort at all to walk up it or to keep from sliding. Inhaling a deep breath, Mulder took a step into the ship. Immediately as both feet were planted firmly on the smooth clean floor, a loud buzzing filled his head. He grimaced and clutched his temples in agony, as the buzzing grew louder to a constant pain behind his eyes. Jack rushed over to him, grabbing his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked at his companion. Jack was asking him if he was okay, but he couldn't hear him. He took a few deep breaths and pinched his eyes shut, trying to ease the pain in his head. It was the exact pain he had felt two years before, brought on by the rubbing of the piece of ship from the Ivory Coast. After a few minutes, the pain began to subside, leaving in its wake a hollow, tolerable, whispering. It only took him a moment to realize that the whispering sounds were thoughts, Jack's thoughts. "Mulder, you okay?" Jack asked for the umpteenth time, gripping onto Mulder's muscular should to keep him from keeling over. "Yeah," Mulder mumbled, rising to surprisingly solid legs. "What the hell was that all about, man?" Jack had his hands firm on Mulder's shoulders, supporting him to stand. His eyes were intense and questioning. Mulder shook his head, trying to rid his mind of Jack insistent, probing, cursing, whining internal thoughts. Jack repeated his question, asking Mulder what was wrong, what had happened. His voice was collected, but the thoughts Mulder received were panicked and afraid. "It's nothing, Jack. Just something that happened a long time ago." Mulder answered finally, rubbing the back of his neck with a dirty palm and stepping out of Jack's grip. "Mulder are you in danger being here? Because I don't--" Mulder brought up his hand to silence Jack. The last thing he needed was Jack nagging at him times two. "A brain anomaly," Mulder said simply, "A few years ago, I had a mysterious brain anomaly caused by a rubbing taken from a piece of a ship like this found on the Ivory Coast in Africa. It allowed my mind to . . . to . . ." He stumbled around the phrase, trying to figure out how to explain what he had gone through in a single phrase. "To be more alive." Jack eyes became more questioning, but he gave up trying to get answers with a surrendering shake of his head. For the first time since he had stepped onto the ship, Mulder had a chance to look around. He studied the plain, singular sheets of metal that made up the walls. He looked down at the smooth floors, lifting his feet and planting them again, hearing the foreign sound of a new metal striking the soles of his boots. "Would you look at this place?" he said in awe, his attention finally catching the narrow hallway directly ahead of the still open doorway. "Yeah," Jack agreed with a little less enthusiasm. "Not much to look at. I kind of expected a laser show and tractor beams." Hearing this, Mulder smiled, amused. "You watch too much TV, Jack," he said, stepping slowly towards the hallway. "That stuff only happens on Star Trek." Jack followed close behind him, absently reaching out and touching the smooth walls. "Sure, Mulder, you've got a lot of room to talk. Dana told me about that obsession you have with incessantly watching the same old black-and-whites over and over . . ." Jack's voice trailed off on the second "over", the flesh of his palm signaling to his brain that the metal was strangely warm. He hadn't noticed outside because he wasn't as sensitive to it as Mulder. Mulder didn't hear Jack speak at all. He had stepped into the passageway and was looking around it. As soon as he left the room into the hall, a dry heat poured over him. He touched the smooth wall again. It was extremely warm, nearly on the brink of being uncomfortable. He moved forward as Jack entered the three-foot-wide passage. "You feel that heat?" Mulder asked him, his face turned toward the ceiling to search for the source. He heard Jack answer that he did, unsure whether or not his young partner had said it or merely thought it. "Where's it coming from?" Jack inquired, this time definitely vocalizing. Mulder shrugged. The ceiling was just like the walls, bare and smooth. There were no vents anywhere. The floor had changed, however. Rather than the smooth metal, it became a heavy grating, like a stage catwalk might be made of. There was a white light beneath it, illuminating the floor from an unknown source as well. Mulder stooped and felt the grating. Unlike the walls, it was cool. That was not the source of the heat. "They must have some kind of advanced environmental control in here." Mulder proclaimed. The hall ended about ten feet from where it began, opening to a huge central room. The floors of this room were all made of the cool grating. The walls were the same, but a grid of round fluorescent lights broke up the solidity of the ceiling. The room itself was octagonal in shape. On the left half, where was a closed doorway on the leftmost side. The right half, which drew both men's attention, had open storage shelves and an open doorway to a laboratory. Wordlessly, they trekked across the room to the shelves, boots clanking dully on the metal grating. There were three shelves, the lowest being about two feet from the ground, the highest at five feet. On this top shelf, there were glass tanks, somewhat resembling that of an aquarium. Five such tanks and a large, sealed jar at that end took up the expanse of the broad metal shelf. The other two shelves were empty. The first tank was filled with water, nothing else, just pure, clear water. It sat motionless and, more than likely, stagnant in the clean tank. The second tank was filled with black, pungent smelling dirt, mixed with pieces of dead leaves: Natural compost. Jack gave Mulder a questioning glance and looked to the third tank. In it, the bottom was covered with about two inches of white sand. A large fake rock sat in the corner. Crawling all over the floor of the terrarium were spiders. For of them, as big as dinner plates. Jack stepped up to this tank and tapped it thoughtfully with his fingertip, shuddering a bit as one of the huge arachnids reared up on its hairy back legs, displaying two, sharp three-inch fangs in mock attack. The fourth tank was empty. The fifth tank was too, except for a dark gray, furry mass in the center. Mulder stood before it, peering over the smooth, glass edge at the lump of fur. Jack looked at it a moment too, knowing what it was. The same thing that scattered country roadsides with their corpses and ate out of garbage cans on college campuses. "It's a--" "Dead squirrel." Mulder cut in, grimacing slightly. He looked away and shrugged, adding a sarcastic, "Yum." Jack studied the little rodent's body a moment or too more, amazed at how the squirrel was dead, but showed no external signs of injury or decomposition. "You kill it, we grill it." He muttered half- heartedly, his eyes following to what Mulder has discovered next. The large jar on the end of the shelf contained a clear, brownish- yellow fluid. Floating perfectly in the center of this fluid was a human brain. Jack's brows came together as he made an inquiry, "Why on earth would alien beings have this stuff here?" "Souvenirs," Mulder answered justly, rolling his shoulders up in a shrug. He lingered by the shelves of mismatched items for a second longer and then started to the open doorway, Jack again trailing him closely. The laboratory beyond the door was more brightly lit than the previous room, and once again resumed the plain, smooth flooring, except for a grate i front of what looked like a sink. This room was shaped with two wings, joining together in an obtuse angle. At the center of where the angle folded, and sitting in the center of the room, was a strange looking table. Strange because it was so short, only up to the tops of the grown men's knees. On the left wing was the sink, joined by a bare metal counter. Alongside the counter was a tall, closed cabinet. The rest of that wing was bare. But as Mulder's curious eyes wandered to the left wing of the room, he held his breath in sheer fascination. There was another counter, with two cabinets on either side. Before this counter was a panel of buttons and tiny computer monitors. No chairs sat near this counter, but it was obviously some kind of scientific workstation. It was on top of this deep counter that caught Mulder's attention immediately. It was two tubes of glass, beginning at the counter top and ending at the ceiling, about three feet of opening. Within the tubes was a floating form, encased in a greenish fluid. As Mulder took slow, short steps towards the counter, it became clear what the forms were: Babies. Fetuses, to be exact, both in an early stage of gestation, just past being an embryo. They both still had the umbilical cord attached at the navel. Mulder crept up to the tubes, completely transfixed on them. Finally, he spoke, resting a hand on the warm countertop: "Look at these, Jack. Do you know what they are?" Jack nodded slowly, his eyes darting back and forth from tube to tube. Mulder faced the tubes again, revelation and excitement tugging up at the corners of his lips. Few things thrilled him more than a new discovery of the truth. The fetus to his right was definitely human, complete with five tiny, fisted fingers and toes and a proportionately too-large head. "This one's human," Mulder stated, pressing his palm against the presumably thick glass, feeling the odd warmth radiate into his flesh. He looked to the other tube, removing his hand from the first. "This one . . . isn't." he began to mumble, trailing off as he studied it. It looked human at first glance, the color being the same due to the preserving fluid. It was structurally similar to the human fetus. In fact, frightening similar. It had a small, thick torso, with its arms and legs folded up in the proper fashion of a human being in fetal position, developed fingers and toes, a central umbilical cord like a mammal, a bulbous head, and a distinguishable face. However, it was clearly not human. The large, lidless, black eyes, stubbed nose, lipless slit for a mouth, nonexistent ears, and lack of a fifth finger and toe gave it away. It was an alien fetus. "They look so alike," Jack said, crossing his arms over his chest, his voice reverberating the awe held in his eyes. "This is proof," Mulder sputtered, "Proof of everything." Jack looked at him and was about to ask him what, exactly, "everything" qualified as, when Mulder continued heedlessly: "The theory of evolution is supported by certain criteria. One of those criteria is similarity in embryological development of organisms. It basically says that the reason a chicken embryo looks human embryo which look similar to a snake embryo is because they all once shared a common ancestor. Taking it a step further is the similarities in a fetus like these. So, why is it that two creatures from presumably different planets could have fetuses that look so undeniably similar?" Jack's lips curved to a smile of revelation. "Unless they developed from a common ancestor." "Exactly," Mulder pointed an index finger for emphasis. "We . . . we always wonder where life on this planet comes from. Who struck the spark that ignited the flame? This proves that life came from them. We are a part of them. They created us. They were here before the dinosaurs." His eyes were intense on the young skeptic before him, as if daring him to contradict. "How else could that alien virus be as old as it is? They were here, they created life, and then they left. But now they're back." Mulder spun from Jack, back to the tubes. "Why?" he asked himself, resting his palms on the edge of the workstation, the panel of buttons and windows before him. He lifted his right hand to brush it thoughtfully through his unruly hair, sweeping it away from his eyes. He closed his eyes as he dropped his hand back down, misjudging where his palm would lay. He ended up placing his palm directly on a black glass panel. Immediately, electricity surged through his body. His eyes flashed open in time to see the work station coming to life, the buttons lighting up followed by a round of systematic clicks and whirs. Mulder was unaware of this. The black panel had turned to white as he sank to his knees in torment. It had grabbed his hand, making him unable to pull it away. The ringing, buzzing, whining sound had returned to his head, pulsing out pain within his temples. As he closed his eyes in all hopes of ending the pain, he began to see images in his head: images that caused him to stop crying out in pain, that made his jaw fall open, and his eyelids free themselves from sightless eyes as his mind, filled with the images from the alien ship, played out a movie for him. He saw a roiling, frothing, burning Earth. Red-hot magma spewed from cracks in charred black rock, forming new land in the cooling, surging ocean. The sky itself was a sea of fire, where yellow and pink tendrils of atmosphere played and danced, dampening the harsh rays of the sun. No life could be seen on the earth, only the rocks, the sky, and the sea. And there, in the newborn sky, he saw a ship exactly like the one he crouched in now. The ship was leaving, beginning its ascension into space. Next he saw time pass before his eyes in a heartbeat. He saw the beginning of humans, building feeble homesteads, forming empires, and destroying each other. He saw hate, he saw death, illness, starvation. He saw a poor beggar in medieval times, stripping pocket change from bodies dead of the Black Plague. He saw atom bombs, guns, violence, and war. Last, he saw a shadowy group of men in a smoky room, debating heavily as one man presided over them, the glowing embers of a long cigarette jutting from his mouth. The images faded and a booming voice filled his head. A voice, speaking a language he at first thought he couldn't understand, as it was not English, but then realized that he knew what the voice was saying. It spoke to him slowly at times, innocently, the voice of a child. Other times it was playful, lusty, the teasing voice of a lover. Still other times it was a simple boom, a harsh shout that rattled deaf eardrums. Suddenly he heard Scully, her voice ringing above the other, words she had spoken running together in his mind, forming something almost incomprehensible: "The answers are there you just have to know where to look the truth is out there Mulder but so are lies I had the strength of your beliefs I've heard the truth Mulder now what I want are the answers not everything's about you Mulder this is my life I have cancer who are the men you would create a life whose only hope is to die I don't know what to believe anymore Mulder I was so determined to find a cure to save you that I could deny what it was that I saw and now I don't even know I don't know what the truth is I don't know who to listen to I don't know who to trust you don't even know what we're running after anymore but you'll just keep running until it kills you I can't do this anymore it hurts too much . . ." Scully's voice drifted off into silence. Mulder began to feel a shaking on his shoulder. He released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Then he heard a snapping, the sound of the human thumb sliding across the middle finger to snap the bones and tissue in a hollow sound. His eyes focused and he became aware of a hand waving before him and a tight grip on his shoulder. Jack's voice followed faintly, growing louder by the passing second. Mulder released his hand from the black plate. His vision became swimmy for a moment as Jack caught him under the arm, helping him to stand. "Jeez, Mulder, this place does not like you," Jack was saying, once again bracing a swaying Mulder. Mulder clutched is forehead in his palm, trying his best to ease away the lingering ache. "I saw everything," he muttered quietly. "I know why they're here, where they're from, and their intent." Before Jack could react, and no sooner had the words exited Mulder's lips in a breathy mumble, then they heard approached footsteps thudding quickly up the hall. Something was barked in Russian and the footsteps hurried, falling upon them. Both men whirled around, Mulder not quite as limber as Jack. Two Russian men charged into the lab, rushing them head on, high-laced combat boots ringing through the expanse of the metal walls. Mulder and Jack split for opposite ends of the room, but Jack was caught off- guard and Mulder couldn't see straight. Mulder whipped toward the uniformed man as he found himself cornered, fists flying. He planted one firmly in the troop's jaw, making the hefty man reel back for a moment. Mulder clutched his fist in his other hand as the bones wrenched with pain. The troop was more cunning and back on balance, his rifle in his hands. He forced Mulder against a bare part of the wall, pressing the long narrow muzzle under his chin. Mulder grimaced, kicked his legs, and thrashed his arms, but the guard was stronger, subduing him. He could feel the heat of the wall through his stolen trench coat, and the chill of the gunmetal against his throat. He glanced over the troop's bulky shoulder, seeing Jack pinned on the floor by the other troop, cussing and spitting up a storm. Two other men entered the lab, their matching footsteps slower and more meaningful. One man was the American troop from the gates, a victorious, sneering grin spread across his face, flashing his pearly white teeth. He stood at ease by the door, awaiting orders from his companion. The second man did not speak at first. He merely dug into his coat pocket for a cigarette, and struck a match to it, breathing in to catch the end in glowing embers. Mulder saw the Smoking Man enter the room and start another cigarette. He was suddenly filled with anger. An anger welling up from a deep hate in the pit of his stomach. He remained in submission against the troop, his face contorting to match his emotions. His normally soft eyes burned a fiery green. In one hissed phrase, "You bastard!" he flung himself against the troop, freeing his movements away from the wall. He pounced for the cigarette wielding old fart, an inarticulate series of sounds escaping his maddened lips. "It's your fault," he cried, lunging for CGB Spender's throat. "It's all your fault you lying sack of shit--" As the space closed between Mulder and the vilest being on the face of the planet, the American guard stepped between, delivering Mulder a hard slug in the left cheek. Mulder fell backwards, his rage becoming an overwhelming fire. Before he could get to his feet and another go at the suited man before him, he had been seized from behind by the American troop, his arms twisted behind in a painfully tight grip. Spender took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled a gray cloud of smoke into Mulder's bruising face. He squinted his beady, glittering eyes and began to speak: "I was going to let you go, Mulder. I was willing to let you survive this, provided you could keep to yourself. But I should have known that was impossible for you. Your pathetic truth is like an addiction. You can't get enough of it and you can't let it go." He sucked in a deep breath, his hard eyes never leaving Mulder's. "I'll have someone look after your children." With that, Spender turned away. Before Mulder had time to let a thought in his mind pass, the butt of a rifle struck him from behind. In the instant before his vision blacked over, he glared up at the Smoking Man, the man who was his father, the very man who had caused him more pain and malice than anyone else. He vowed then that he would have vengeance. He would have the truth, and in that he would have his revenge. His face hit the smooth floor and the fire burning within extinguished. Spender looked from Mulder to Jack, both knocked out by blows to the head. He took another puff on his cigarette, tapping ashes to the floor. "Lock them up. Lose the key." The Smoking Man turned from the room and walked out, leaving his son and his lingering hopes for the future behind. ~*~*~*~*~X-End of Book 1-X~*~*~*~*~