Title: The Price of a Soul
 Author: Daydreamer
Posted: 3 April 1999

Summary: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner go to visit the children and
their adoptive parents only to find tragedy has struck and the
children are missing.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"God, I hate these meetings! I don't understand why I have to be
included in this." Mulder was in full whine now, and Skinner had to
fight to suppress his smile.

"You're the head of the department, Mulder. That makes budget
meetings your responsibility."

"But you know and I know Scully does all that administrative stuff.
She's a lot better at it than I am."

"Yes, but that doesn't get you off the hook with the powers that be."
Skinner looked around the empty corridor and allowed himself to smile
after all. "And if you'd shown up for the damn meeting last Monday, I
wouldn't have had to reschedule it for today and we all could have
been on the plane out to see the kids this morning, instead of
letting Scully go on ahead."

Mulder dropped his head, shoulders slumping and Skinner was
immediately kicking himself. He'd meant it as a joke, but he should
have known Mulder would take it seriously and find a way to feel
guilty. Skinner glanced around again, then reached out and patted
Mulder's shoulder. "Hey, don't get like this. We still have the
weekend. The big party celebrating Steven's adoption isn't until
tomorrow and we'll be there in plenty of time for that." He looked
down at his watch, then asked, "What time does the plane leave?"

"I rescheduled us for the 4:15. We'll get in about 7:00 their time." 

"Is Scully going to meet us?" 

Mulder shook his head. "Nah. I told her we'd get a car. I have a
feeling we're going to need one. Have you heard Steven's agenda for
the weekend? Playground, baseball game, zoo, the lake, amusement
park, to say nothing of meeting his teachers, seeing his school and
church, his friends... To be honest, Sir, I get tired just thinking
about it." He looked over at his boss and grinned, pleased to see
Skinner respond in the same vein.

"We'll never fit it all in," the older man said. 

"Well, you can tell him that. I'm just looking forward to seeing the
two of them when no one's trying to kill us and nobody's injured." He
smiled again, shaking his head. "I never expected two little kids to
get to me like this."

"They are special," Skinner agreed. They had reached the parking
garage now, and both men stopped.

"My bag is in my car," Mulder offered. 

"Mine, too." 

They looked at each other, then Skinner said gruffly, "Not much point
in taking two cars to the airport. Why don't you ride with me?"

Mulder nodded and loped off to retrieve his bag from his car. 

Skinner watched him a moment then headed for his own vehicle. He'd
never been a man who was easy to know, and that had kept him from
having many friends. He was still surprised at the feelings of
friendship he had developed toward his two X-Files agents. And more
surprised that those feelings were returned. Surprised, but pleased.
Part of the fallout of age: relationships became more important as
your time on earth grew shorter.

Mulder reappeared as he unlocked the car doors, and with very little
conversation, the two men headed for the airport, and the children
who had changed their lives.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

They pulled up in the driveway of the brick and frame house and sat
for a while, both men lost in their own thoughts. This was a picture
perfect house, in a picture perfect small town, the perfect place to
raise kids. Wholesome, healthy, comfortable. Mulder could imagine
T-ball games and scout meetings, trumpet lessons for Steven, and
flute for Jessica.

"Did you ever want kids?" Mulder asked finally. 

"I thought I did. For a while, we even actively tried to have kids."
Skinner paused, a fond look of remembrance on his face. "That was
fun." He shook his head. "But it never happened."

"You never looked into -- tried to find out why?" 

"I got assigned to VCS. Between the atrocities of war, the things I
saw and the things I did, and then the atrocities of the World, I
just never had much inclination to pursue it." He sighed softly. "I
never felt I was that good with kids anyway. I've always been --
uncomfortable -- around them."

Mulder laughed. "Steven and Jess put an end to that. Made you let
your hair down," he cast a sly look at his boss, "so to speak," and
was rewarded with a sound sock in the arm as Skinner laughed too.

"How 'bout you, Mulder?" Skinner asked. "You ever think of being a
father?"

Mulder laughed again, but it was mirthless and hollow this time.
"With my role models? I don't think so." He rubbed his hands together
nervously. "I don't think the world will be that bereft if the Mulder
genes stopped with me." He was silent a moment, thinking of his
sister, or the woman who purported to be his sister. He took a deep
breath, then added quietly, "When I saw Samantha last year, she told
me she had kids. Two. I'm an uncle."

Skinner was hushed, letting Mulder have a moment, then he reached out
and grabbed the younger man's hand, an impromptu handshake.
"Congrats, Uncle Mulder," he said in a soft voice.

"Uncle Fox," Mulder answered wistfully. "I would let them call me
Fox."

Skinner swallowed hard. "Like Steven and Jess." 

Mulder nodded quiet agreement, then took a deep breath. "Hey, we're
here to celebrate and I have to confess, I'm amazed Scully let us sit
in the car this long without coming out to drag us in."

Skinner laughed and both men slipped out of the car. As they moved up
the walkway, he reached out tentatively, laying a hand questioningly
on Mulder's shoulder. "You all right?"

Mulder nodded. "Oh, yeah." He mustered a smile, a genuine happy
smile, and added, "I'm ready to par-tay!"

They reached the door and Skinner lifted his hand, knocking once on
the etched glass center of the light stained door. The door swung
open silently, a gentle backward motion that should have beckoned
'welcome,' but instead screamed 'beware!' Mulder felt the world go
still, a hush seemed to settle over everything and he could clearly
hear his blood pumping in his ears. He exchanged a quick glance with
Skinner, both drew their weapons, and Skinner pointed with his chin
to the rear of the house. Mulder nodded and leapt deftly over the
porch rail, moving rapidly on cat feet around the corner of the house
and out of Skinner's sight.

He opened the gate to the fence and slipped into the backyard. There
was a deck on the back of the house, triple French doors opening from
the den onto the redwood. The palisade fence and neatly trimmed
hedgerow shielded the yard from prying eyes and provided a haven of
privacy. Mulder moved cautiously toward the wide wooden platform,
eyes on the windows, then dropped behind the far side of the deck as
the den came into sight.

The room was a beautiful great room, tastefully decorated in soft
blues and earth tones. A fireplace took up one wall, with a high
hearth, perfect for sitting on without having one's knees in one's
mouth. Pictures of Steven hung in pride of place over the back of the
large overstuffed sofa, and a crayon drawing of a house with three
people was framed and hung beneath the portraits. The carpet looked
thick and soft, perfect for wiggling one's toes on a lazy Saturday
morning and for laying on to watch the large entertainment center TV
or play the Nintendo 64 that sat atop it. A wooden glider rocker with
light blue cushions sat in a corner and Mulder wondered how many
times Steven and now Jessica had been rocked to sleep in that very
seat.

Over the mantle hung a new family portrait. New, Mulder deduced,
because it included Jessica. The little girl wore a navy blue sailor
dress, with a wide white collar and bright red bow hanging from it.
Steven was dressed in a navy blazer, just like his father, both
wearing light blue shirts with matching red ties. And Susan
LaFreniere wore a light blue dress, matching the shirts, with bright
red earrings and necklace. All four wore beautiful smiles, the
happiness in their faces almost palpable and Mulder shuddered as he
stared.

A perfect family moment, frozen in time to stand forever as a
counterweight to the carnage that now filled the room. The red of bow
and ties and jewelry was carried over to scarlet streaks that covered
the furniture in the room. Great rivulets of red ran down the walls,
entrails hung from the lamps and curtains. The glass of picture
frames and windows and television streamed with still wet blood,
dripping steadily down the polished surfaces.

And in the middle, their abdomens ripped open, insides removed, sat
what was left of Tom and Susan LaFreniere.

Mulder forcibly swallowed a gag, forcing bile back to his sour
stomach. He scanned the room once more for signs of movement, then
climbed onto the deck and moved to the French doors. He could see
Skinner moving down the hall, weapon drawn, eyes moving ceaselessly
back and forth as he surveyed the house, watched for danger. Mulder
tried the door and found it locked. He broke a window pane, watched
as Skinner jumped almost imperceptibly, then moved even more swiftly
to the family room.

Mulder was in now, eyes on the carpet as he looked for places to step
that weren't covered in blood. Knowing that he needed to preserve the
scene. The shock of the situation was abating somewhat, and he could
feel himself starting to slip into profile mode, trying to reason the
who and why of this brutal attack.

Almost as one, the men looked up at each other, Mulder mouthing
'Scully,' as Skinner softly spoke, "Steven, Jessica." They looked at
the stairway, then Skinner moved down the hall toward it as Mulder
veered off toward the kitchen.

"Scully," he called, and could hear Skinner doing the same thing from
the second story landing. "Steven, it's Fox. Fox and Walter." No sign
of anyone in the kitchen so he moved on to the dining room, then the
living room. No answer. Back to the kitchen. This time, he opened
cabinets as he spoke, a quiet chant meant to calm the children,
soothe them, and hopefully reassure them enough to come out. Mulder
could hear doors opening and closing from the top floor as Skinner
made his search of the house.

He had almost finished the kitchen when he moved to open the door to
what he assumed was a laundry room. Hand on knob, gun still drawn, he
was rocked backward when the door flew open and caught him, knocking
him off balance. He had a glimpse of a face, a man with dark hair and
dark eyes, then there was a pain across his belly and a warm wetness
running down his stomach. He dropped the gun, both hands clutching at
his abdomen and the man was by him and gone, out the door to the
garage and disappearing into the world outside.

"Ahhhhh," he cried, a long drawn out squeal of pain and anguish,
finally realizing that the children were gone, Scully was gone. The
blood was warm on his fingers, turning sticky on his pants and all he
could think of was that he'd made a mess in the kitchen. It wasn't
enough the family room was ruined, he'd had to come into the kitchen
and get blood all over in there too.

He was on his knees now, fighting the weakness that was pulling him
down, searching for something, someone. "Scully," he called softly,
"Scully ..."

"I'm here, Mulder," Skinner responded, and there was a renewed pain
in his belly as Skinner was pressing on him, forcing him all the way
down, thick towels held tight to the gash that threatened to cut him
in two. Distantly, as if from faraway, he could hear Skinner speaking
into a phone, and he knew police, and FBI, and medical would be here
soon.

"Scully," he said again. "Have," it was getting harder and harder to
speak, "to find," he coughed and could feel the blood spurt into the
towel Skinner still held to his belly, "Scully." That was it. That
was all he could say. The darkness was upon him now, the black
sucking him under in a vortex of pain and fear and worry and
helplessness.

"I know, Mulder," Skinner was saying. "We'll find her. We'll find
them all."

He could hear sirens in the distance, growing louder as they
approached. The house was silent, the sirens a faraway noise, the
blood pounding in his ears almost drowning out any other sound. He
could hear something though, a persistent drone, deep and resonant
and unyielding.

"You're not going to die, do you hear me?" Skinner was ordering, and
Mulder had to smile. Even now, the man was in command. "You are not
going to die. You're going to be all right and we'll find them,
Mulder, we'll find them. We'll bring them home and we'll find who did
this and we'll make them pay."

His eyes were closing now, and he could feel Skinner shaking him, the
pressure in his belly relieved as the older man shifted hands from
abdomen to grip his arms. "Hang in there, Mulder," he cried, his
voice cracking, and Mulder could hear the genuine distress in his
friend's tone. "Don't you dare die on me!"

"Not. Going. Any. Where," Mulder choked out, and was relieved when
Skinner laughed, despite the tinge of hysteria to the sound.

"No, I guess you're not. You're too damn stubborn to die." 

The pressure was back on his belly and he could hear other people in
the house now.

"Damn. Straight," he said, and sank into the waiting arms of
unconsciousness.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"How long?" Mulder croaked, and Skinner immediately rose and wet a
cloth, holding it against his lips.

"Shhh," he said softly, "take it easy." 

"How long?" Mulder repeated. 

"Almost two days." 

The cloth was back, the moisture a blessing to his cracked lips and
parched throat.

"How bad?" 

"He sliced your belly wide open. Most of the gash was the upper
layers of muscle and tissue, but one corner perforated the bowel and
they had to operate."

"Hurts," Mulder noted. 

"Not surprised," Skinner said gruffly. "Wounds to the abdomen are
always painful." His voice softened and he reached out to touch
Mulder's arm, rubbing briefly above the IV needle. "You're on some
pretty good stuff though. You should sleep and rest, let yourself
heal."

" 's why my head is muzzy," Mulder complained. "I hate that." 

"Believe me," Skinner admonished, "you'd hate it a lot more if you
weren't on them. Your gut is gonna hurt enough as it is."

Mulder nodded thoughtfully, then asked, "Scully?" 

"I have a lead." 

"How?" 

"Unofficial channels." 

"You have been busy." 

"Yeah, well, not everyone could loll around in bed all day," Skinner
said lightly. He turned serious. "There's a farmhouse ..."

Mulder groaned. 

"Yeah, well, that was what I thought, too. Not very original. But if
it worked the first time ..."

"Where?" 

"Not too far. Other side of the mountain. Only one problem." 

Mulder quirked an eyebrow. 

"There's talk of guns and drugs out there and some multi-agency,
multi-jurisdictional task force is preparing to raid the place."

"You gotta get in first," Mulder panted. "That could screw everything
up. They have no idea what they're dealing with."

Skinner nodded. "I'm working on it." He looked up as a nurse came in,
syringe in hand, and headed for the heplock in Mulder's IV. "For now,
you need to let yourself float away on the good stuff, and
concentrate on healing. Let me worry about finding them."

Mulder was protesting, uselessly, and the nurse inserted the needle,
gently depressing the plunger. "Doctor's orders," she chirped, and
even Skinner looked sickened by the false sweetness of her words.

"You gotta get in," Mulder pleaded, as the drugs hit his system and
his eyelids began to droop.

"I will, Mulder. Tomorrow. It's all gonna happen tomorrow." He patted
his agent's hand again, a brief squeeze on the arm as the younger
man's breathing began to even out and the sleep started stealing him
away. "You just rest and I'll be out there in the morning."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The badly marked dirt road turned into a gravel trail as it descended
through the timberline. It was a poorly maintained trail, little
used, and left alone for long periods. The truck slewed around a
curve, and Mulder tightened his hands on the steering wheel. He
peered down the column of light which disappeared into the mist and
the night as if eaten by some looming monster from the unknown.

Getting out of the hospital had been easier than he had expected.
Skinner hadn't even posted a guard. He'd told the doctor the IV
morphine made him queasy and miserable and caused nightmares and
she'd switched him to an oral painkiller. Which he'd been able to
palm and avoid. He'd then waited until it was quiet and slipped away.
A quick rummage in another patient's closet and he'd had clothes and
even shoes. Thank God other men had big feet as well. Then a taxi to
the airport, a rental from Avis, and a stop by the local bureau
office for information on the pending raid -- FBI credentials could
be very useful -- and he was on his way.

He could feel the pull and stutter of the Explorer through the
steering column all the way up his arms and into his shoulders, to
the nape of his neck, which prickled with apprehension. Even for an
unused road, this lane was heavily rutted and rough. The springs of
the rental protested every bump and ridge, though the farther he
went, the less he felt it. His legs seemed to be going numb and he
wondered what he'd done to the wound in his belly with all this
jostling about. That he could feel all too well. Skinner had been
right: gut wounds were painful. He looked up to see the silvery moon
dropping at the horizon, but it still gave enough light to see the
trail by and when he passed a large chunk of granite, split nearly in
two by the power of a pine growing out of it, he paused and shone the
flashlight full on it.

He'd driven up the mountain earlier, trying to survey the farmhouse
even in the dark of early morning hours. And he hadn't seen this
tree. Which meant he was lost. Somehow, he'd taken the wrong turn in
the dark. As the beam played over the pine, he knew this boulder,
this tree, would have caught his attention. He would have seen it at
some point on his trip up the mountain.

He slowly nudged the truck into 'drive' and began his hesitant trip
down the rutted road again. A branch whipped across the windshield
and Mulder pulled hard, the truck swerving across the trail in
reaction. Tires bumped, gravel flew up, then pinged away from the
undercarriage, and he felt the first moist weepings of new blood
under the bandage across his belly. He clamped his teeth together,
defying the pain, and steadied the vehicle as he peered into the
night. Continuing downward, the headlights reflected off two gleaming
orbs, then the sturdy but full-grown neck of a deer, head flung back,
stunned by the illumination, his rack huge and ancient with moss
clinging to it. Mulder hit the brakes. As the blinded stag flung
himself into the road, Mulder veered off the roadway with a curse.

The animal vanished, all sense gone in the instinct to run, careening
through the brush and evergreens. There was a thud of impact and a
sapling bent under the bumper of the truck as it came to a stop. The
Explorer stalled and the woods went silent. He pounded the heels of
his hands on the steering wheel, then shoved himself out the door and
around to the hood. From the radiator hot water and antifreeze spewed
forth in a small fountain. He could smell the heat of the engine, the
smell of burned oil from the manifold where it seemed to accumulate
no matter how well maintained a vehicle was, and the radiator hissed
a soft greeting as it died.

Mulder let the hood drop into place. He climbed back into the cab and
looked around. He had a jacket and a flashlight. He was wearing
comfortable shoes. Aside from the gash in his abdomen, he was as well
prepared to hike down to the site as he figured he could be. In
resignation, he shut off the headlights and the trail went dark. He
pulled the keys from the ignition, pocketing them, and climbed out.
If he started now, he might still make the farmhouse before the raid
began.

Once the heat of his self-anger faded, he could feel a definite bite
in the mountain air. Mulder pulled the collar of his jacket up and
kept his mind on his destination, his stubbornness keeping him on his
feet, keeping him moving, despite the warm, sticky trickle of blood
that seeped from the wound in his belly. He heard a sound, a stick
cracking in the woods, ahead and to the left, and paused. He snapped
on the flashlight, shone it around, and decided to keep on walking.
He may have lost his transportation, but he still had the element of
surprise on his side. Skinner and the rest of the local agents
thought he was safely tucked up in the hospital bed, doped out of his
skull.

Mulder wondered again about Skinner. He knew it was only concern that
had made the older man order him out of this operation, a misguided
sense of what he felt was right. Yes, he was injured, and yes,
perhaps his thinking was a little cloudy from the pain meds, but,
damn it, this was his partner, his Scully, they were talking about.
And the children. Steven and Jess had crept into his heart in a way
he never imagined. How could Skinner expect him to stay out of this
operation?

Mulder ducked his head as if he could dodge his own thoughts and cut
across the curve of the gravel road that was eroding under his steps
to less and less of a pathway. He saw a beam of light cut across the
lower valley. He trod steadily on, ignoring the pain each step
inflicted, still thinking through Skinner's actions and his own
feelings of betrayal. Jolted from his reverie, he jumped as branches
cracked from below. Someone cursed, softly, and moved on, his motion
stealthy.

Mulder bent and circled a hillock. The valley floor, dipping down
from the mountain, was steeped in night and fog, and beams cut it
every now and then, bobbing with the stride of those carrying them.

He did not like what he saw. This was too big, too many people. There
was no way they could have the element of surprise. And Mulder could
not believe that Skinner had approved this massive an operation. Not
Skinner of the one-man rescue missions. What the hell had happened
while he had been unconscious? How had things gotten so out of
control?

The back of his mouth went dry and he dropped to one knee. Every
instinct he had plucked at rapidly fraying nerves. He didn't know
what he was walking into, and he had no intention of staying around
to find out. His goal was still the same. Move in, find Scully and
the kids, and get out. He trusted Skinner's "unofficial channels." If
the big man thought Scully and the kids were here, there was every
chance they were. He lowered himself to tender belly and began a
cautious crawl back uphill, searching for a new way down to the
besieged farmhouse.

Something heavy crushed the back of his shoulder. "Hold it right
there."

Too little caution too late. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite the blindfold, Mulder could tell he was being taken steadily
downhill, over uneven ground, and he could hear muffled voices which
ceased entirely as he approached, then passed by their location. J.
Edgar, as he'd dubbed the young agent behind him, had refused to
listen to his explanation that he was FBI, and he had finally given
up. It took too much energy and he needed all he could get just to
stay on his feet and keep moving. The cuffs on his hands chafed
uncomfortably, and prevented him from checking, but the belly wound
seemed to have stopped bleeding. For the moment. Behind him, nearly
out of range, he could hear the conversation rise again, muffled and
secretive.

Then he heard a mature, decisive voice in front of him. A voice that
rang with an odd mixture of affection, annoyance, and pride.

"Where did you find him?" 

"Up that abandoned gravel trail." 

"Vehicle?" 

"Rented Explorer." 

"He's alone?" 

"Yes," Mulder offered. The blindfold was ripped from his eyes and he
stood blinking, trying to adjust to the flashlight shining in his
face.

The beam lowered and he could see the face of his supervisor. Skinner
was in field dress, his eyes both angry and concerned behind the wire
rims. His chin jutted out and Mulder could make out the vein that
jumped beneath the skin as the older man struggled to control
himself. He wore a Kevlar vest, stenciled with FBI in white across
the black, and Mulder stared away from it, across the camp. They were
on a small rise, a clearing in the midst of a copse of trees, and he
could look down upon their target. A thick fog blanketed the
farmhouse. He could see other men in field gear moving in and out of
the ground-hugging, wet, gray clouds, clouds tinged purple by a dawn
slow in arriving. What in God's name was going down here?

He looked into dark brown eyes, wordlessly pleading for
understanding, and when Skinner nodded slowly, Mulder let out a
breath he didn't realize he had been holding and began to slip to his
knees. Strong arms reached out, catching him, and he felt his face
pressed hard against a sturdy chest.

"Sorry, Sir," he mumbled, as Skinner lowered him to the ground. 

"Of all the ill-conceived, foolhardy ..." Skinner was muttering, even
as he laid Mulder out and called for a medic. Strong, but
surprisingly gentle hands were opening his borrowed windbreaker,
lifting his shirt, and he heard the sharp intake of breath that
confirmed he had, indeed, opened the wound again.

"Give me the keys to the cuffs, you damn fool idiot," Skinner was
saying, and then his wrists were free, and he was lying comfortably
supine, his head propped on a Kevlar vest.

He opened bleary eyes and looked up to find Skinner gazing down at
him with compassion and understanding.

"Why'd you leave me?" Mulder murmured. "You of all people should have
known I had to be here."

Skinner shook his head ruefully, then pressed a clean shirt that
seemed to have appeared out of nowhere over the wound in his belly.
Mulder hissed through clenched teeth, eyelids slamming shut again. "I
was trying to avoid just this situation." Skinner leaned over and
wiped the sweat from Mulder's brow with yet another piece of cloth.
"I didn't want to risk losing you, too," he whispered hoarsely.

Mulder's eyes opened briefly at the unexpected declaration, then
there was another person shouldering Skinner aside and a pressure on
his belly, and the darkness reached up and dragged him under.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Mulder came to again in mere moments, the temporary blackout not
enough to hold him under and make him miss the coming activities. The
medic was finishing changing the bandage around his belly, and he
held out two tablets of something. Mulder looked up, question on his
face, and Skinner answered.

"For the pain, Mulder. Don't argue." 

Mulder nodded obediently and swallowed the little pills. "Makes me
muzzy," he complained.

"Not muzzy enough, apparently," Skinner replied dryly as he helped
Mulder to sit.

"Yeah, well, I may have cheated a bit in that department," Mulder
confessed.

Skinner snorted. "Why am I not surprised?" 

They were in the nominal command post of the raid. Agents in navy
jackets, emblazoned with FBI moved through their midst, along with
local police, state troopers, ATF, DEA, and -- Mulder shook his head
and stared in open bewilderment at Skinner -- NSA.

"NSA?" he whispered. "DEA? ATF?" 

"I know, I know," Skinner responded, the worry in his voice evident.
"It's a fucking alphabet convention up here."

"Why?" Mulder mumbled. "I thought this was going to be one of your
famous in and out operations."

"Best laid plans," Skinner muttered. "Apparently this little
nondescript farmhouse had already attracted some attention. Supposed
cult activity, drugs and guns. The whole damned law enforcement
ensemble is involved. There was no way I could make a move alone." He
shot an apologetic glance at Mulder. "I figured getting on board was
the best thing I could do. Be here and try to control the damage as
best I could."

A vest was produced and Mulder shrugged into it, Skinner fastening
the clasps that his still numb fingers refused to manage.

"So what's happening?" 

Mulder looked around. A portable, but still elaborate collection of
computers and scanners filled the area. An agent sat before them,
headphones in place. As Mulder clambered to his feet, one arm held
tightly by Skinner, the man swiveled around slightly, his gaze
appraising, one eyebrow raised on his swarthy face. He patted the
ground beside him.

"Have a seat, Agent Mulder, but you need to stay quiet. This is the
listening post. I've already briefed the Assistant Director."

"I'll stand," Mulder said stubbornly. He did move closer to see what
was grouped in front of the com tech. There were four computer
hookups, two laptops, two scanners, and some other electronics he was
not entirely familiar with. He knew some people who would know, but
unfortunately, they were beyond his reach at this point.

A metal carrying case was shoved behind him and he was gently forced
down. "Sit, Agent Mulder," Skinner said kindly. "There's nothing else
we can do at this point. That fool Borden," he gestured at a man
staring down at the farmhouse, "is in charge. NSA."

Mulder found he had been holding his breath. He took a gulp that was
spiced with crushed pine needles and mountain air. He wasn't on the
verge of collapse anymore, but the half-numb feeling in his
extremities was back and he wondered vaguely about blood loss and how
long Skinner would let him stay before forcibly hauling him back to
the hospital.

No one came to speak to them; no one offered anything. Agents moved
by like shadows in their dark, drab clothing, their boots
surprisingly quiet on the forest floor. He watched, with a kind of
horrified fascination, as this huge operation moved in on the
farmhouse. He was struck by the realization that they had no idea
what they were up against. He and Skinner alone had only an inkling,
but that inkling made them the most well-informed of anyone out
there. He gazed up at his boss, his friend, in wordless helplessness,
and was rewarded with a hand on his shoulder. He shivered as much in
reaction to what he watched as to the still chill pre-dawn air.

A preternatural hush descended on the area. He recognized it with a
jolt. Just such a hush had fallen over the house, the yard, the
world, when Samantha disappeared. All traffic on the roads had
ceased, the crickets were still, the nightbirds quiet. Not even a dog
dared to break the stillness with barking. It was a quiet that
blanketed the world, but it was a poisoned quiet, evil waiting to
happen.

"In position, Sir." 

The NSA man glanced briefly at Skinner, then ordered, "Send the first
team in."

Skinner stood at attention, looking at home in this quasi-military
operation and for a moment Mulder had trouble picturing him in a
suit, behind a Bureau desk, doing ordinary things like answering the
phone and signing requisitions. In contrast, the communications tech
remained absorbed in his electronics, earnest, intent, concentrated.

Captain NSA -- had Skinner said his name was Borden? -- tracked the
team with binoculars. Skinner had his own pair of field glasses and
he watched avidly as well. Snipes, the comm tech, followed the team
by the electronics they carried with them.

The first team crept downhill and across the clearing toward the
outbuildings, dark shadows flitting among the lighter ones. They had
almost reached their objective when spotlights snapped on, blazing
like a nova, their harsh whiteness pouring through the early dawn
light.

"Motion sensors!" Snipes hunched intently over his display. "Sir, I'm
picking up something --"

And the world exploded. Mulder had never seen war, but this was what
it had to be like. Suddenly the air was wracked with explosions, the
ground leaping to life beneath him. Captain NSA fell, a red hole
blossoming in the center of his chest. Around him men screamed in
agony and fear and he found himself back on his feet, frozen, staring
at the house that was just now beginning to burn. Flames licked up
the wooden siding and an irrational fear began to burn, deep in his
wounded gut. This was the house that could be holding Scully and
Steven and Jess.

"They knew we were coming," Snipes muttered. 

"Ya think?" Skinner responded sarcastically. "Keep your ears on. I
want to know if you hear anything. Anything. This isn't just the
local vegetable farmer and this facility hasn't been cobbled
together. We've seen something like this before, and there have to be
tunnels, passageways, an underground. And I especially want to know
if you pick up any broadcasts. This is a helluva lot more than a
fucking farmhouse." Skinner spat the words out, looking around him to
place the other people.

Snipes gave a satisfied grunt, looking at a monitor in front of him.
"I already got my finger on the layout, Sir."

Skinner was not impressed. "Too fucking much," he muttered. "This is
too fucking much."

Mulder thought he was frozen, but he felt his mouth thin, his lips
draw back in a pain that couldn't be contained. But before he could
give voice to his fear, his agony, Snipes spoke again.

"Got 'em!" 

"You're sure?" 

"Absolutely." He stared intently at the monitor, then lifted a hand
to press the headphones tight against his ear. "You're right --
they've got tunnels. Man, do they have tunnels. It's like a rabbit
warren under there."

"Empty?" 

"No, Sir." 

Skinner looked at Mulder, their eyes catching in shared concern.
Mulder shivered again.

Snipes was speaking again. "Sir, I've got movement down there. A lot.
This place is crawling with people."

"Understood." Skinner in command was a force to be reckoned with.
Mulder watched as he moved to Borden's body, lifted a walkie-talkie
from the man's belt.

"This is Assistant Director Skinner of the FBI. Operation Head Borden
is dead, killed in the crossfire. As the next ranking official here,
I am assuming command of this farce. I want the perimeter held. No
one in ... and no one out. In the meantime, withdraw and hold steady.
Is that clear? Respond in order and I expect to hear from every
team."

A faint crackle. "Team One. Received and understood." 

"Team Two. Yes, Sir." 

Mulder blocked it out as the teams continued to check in and Skinner
reconsidered the situation. He was staring at two pieces of hardware,
wide but low metal rectangles that sat on fat rubber swivel wheels.
Mulder wasn't clear on what their purpose was.

"I want those probes deployed," Skinner ordered. 

Two state troopers grabbed the machines and crept forward to the
fence surrounding the farmhouse yard. With quick economy of motion,
they snipped through the chain-link and aimed the first machine onto
the grounds. Almost immediately, the second one bumped after it, then
made a turn and went in the opposite direction. Short and squat, they
darted across the ground like sophisticated radio-controlled cars.
Mulder had never seen anything like them.

A high-pitched whine cut through the air, building to a pitch which
made Mulder's ears ache. Then a beam sliced through the air. The
probe at the far corner of the yard exploded, orange and blue fire
shooting upward, sparks and debris flying. Snipes crouched and swore.
"Son of a bitch. Lasers. Whoever's in there is not coming out without
a fight."

"What do you hear?" Skinner barked. 

"Mass movement." Snipes blinked sharply and snugged his headset
closer. "Sir, I hear screams. Shots. I can hear -- children -- down
there. It's difficult to make anything out clearly."

Skinner's forehead creased. "I need to know the firing pattern. I
need those grid coordinates before I can send anybody down there." He
shot a look at Mulder, a plea for understanding.

"We can take out the fence," Snipes began as the second probe moved
across the compound. Mulder could hear the whine building again, and
then saw its beam lancing out. The machine disintegrated, fiberglass
and metal bits flying outward in an art nouveau fountain.

"I think I can graph that grid for you now, Sir," Snipes said. 

Skinner trained his binoculars on the farmhouse, a blazing mass of
wood and vinyl. "What will it take for you to be sure?"

Mulder realized Skinner had used the probes to map the sweep of those
deadly beams. The AD had caught on quick, quicker than he had. He'd
taken immediate action to determine how to get in without losing
anyone to the lasers. He narrowed his eyes, fighting the all too
familiar fire phobia, as he watched the farmhouse continue to burn.
He could feel beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. Skinner was
going to send someone into that blazing inferno. He had to. Mulder
didn't envy him the necessity of that decision.

"I'm sure," Snipes said. He reeled off coordinates on the firing
pattern.

Skinner's jaw worked, the vein on his cheek jerking visibly. Mulder
wondered what he was thinking. About the people inside? About Scully?
About Steven and Jessica and their parents' horrific deaths? Or was
he totally focused on the situation at hand? Planning, scheming,
estimating, considering? Skinner looked at him then, taking in the
misery etched in his face, and graced him with a brief smile. It
cheered him immensely and he was once again in awe at the way this
man juggled the myriad things that were thrown his way. As Mulder
watched though, he could see Skinner detaching, pulling back, and
Mulder knew he was preparing to do battle.

"What are you hearing?" he demanded of Snipes. 

The comm tech was pale beneath his dark skin. "It, uh, sounds like a
massacre. Screams. Shots. More screams. It's chaos."

"You've got it on tape?" 

'Why?' Mulder wondered. 'Why was taping it important?' 

"We may need it later," Skinner added, "for explanation or
justification."

Amazing. Mulder couldn't think beyond the immediate and Skinner was
already planning for their defense, knowing what it would take to
protect against any accusations that would arise, and perhaps,
gathering fodder to make his own accusations.

"Yes, Sir." 

"God forgive me, this is on my head," Skinner mumbled under his
breath, and Mulder wanted to go to him, to offer him a grip on the
shoulder or a squeeze of the arm, wanted to remind him he was not
alone, but he was rooted to his spot and could not move.

"All teams. Let's move in. Hostage situation. Use extreme caution."
Skinner's head dropped for a moment, and Mulder saw the slightest
shiver, then the man lifted his eyes again, fastening his binoculars
on the scene before him.

Mulder watched as police and troopers, agents and other feds rushed
the fence, clipping it to short out the electricity, then bringing it
down altogether. As the law enforcement teams poured out into the
farmhouse yard, carefully avoiding the lasers and other armament,
other men flowed out of the outbuildings like worker bees leaving the
hive.

"Guns! They're shooting at us!" 

Smoke followed gunfire through the morning light, barely
distinguishable in the heavy fog. Men from both sides dropped to the
ground. Through the listening post, Mulder could hear them calling to
one another, reassurances of their position and safety. A new sound
rattled through the air, rapid-fire, assault weapons, and the chatter
from the radio ceased.

Mulder put a hand to his face and rubbed, as if he could restore
feeling and sensibility, but he could barely feel the touch of his
own fingers. The gunfire slowed to scattered bursts. Agents pinned
down fired only when fired upon. Snipes was frowning. "Mr. Skinner,
sir, I've got the audio pinpointed. I --" he paused, licking his lips
nervously, "I don't know what the hell is going on."

Mulder moved then, one semi-frantic step toward Snipes. "I need ..."
he pleaded, and the other man nodded and threw him an extra set of
headphones, sounds spewing from it.

It was a child, screaming. Pleading. Begging. "Please, please, no
more. Please. Please don't hurt me. I'll be good. I promise."

"Shut up, Steven." 

Mulder's stomach turned and he gagged on the sudden spurt of bile
that filled his mouth. His hand caught the headphones and slipped
them on, almost without volition. He was retching, hands held tight
to his opened belly, empty stomach struggling to produce, and he
realized Skinner had turned to look at him.

A shot rang out and the big man, his back to the battle below, was
falling, scarlet streaming from a hole in his pant leg, and Mulder
was caught in some sort of schizophrenic dichotomy. He watched in
horror as Skinner stifled a scream and then went down in a graceful,
slow motion collapse.

Frozen again, unable to move, he watched as agents converged on the
AD, heard cries of "Medic!" and "The AD is down!" and listened still
as the sounds from the headphones continued.

"I said shut up, Steven," a cold and callous voice repeated in his
ear, the unfeeling words punctuated by a keening scream of pain, then
another plea.

"Pleeeease." 

Mulder ripped the headphones from his ears then stared in horror at
them, as if distance could erase the unearthly screams that echoed in
the clearing. He lifted his head to stare at Skinner. The man had
shoved everyone away from him. His leg was wrapped in a white cloth,
rapidly turning red, and he held his face in a tightly controlled
grimace.

"Mulder," he called. "Mulder, I have to talk to you." 

"It's Steven," Mulder whispered in horrified astonishment. "It's
Steven."

The sound of the child's fear and torment was ringing in the
clearing. All other noise seemed to have vanished and the boy's cries
echoed loudly in the new silence.

Snipes stared at him, then at the AD. "I can't tell if this is real
time or a playback."

Who would record such a thing? Who would play such a recording?
Steven was dying, being tortured to death as he listened. Mulder
stared down at the burning farmhouse. He saw a wall implode as the
heat and flame crumpled in on itself. Oh, God, he hated fire and the
whole valley seemed to be aflame. Below him, a shock grenade landed
by a garage and the ground itself collapsed, an open area appearing
beneath, just visible to his naked eye. Fuck! Was he standing on a
mountain farmyard or the middle of wartorn Palestine?

Skinner coughed, then cleared his throat. "Patch me through, Snipes,"
he ordered hoarsely. "I need to be heard."

"Yes, Sir." The comm tech's fingers flew over the keyboards, hands
dancing between the laptop and scanner. Before he completed Skinner's
command, there was another deafening BOOM. The ground shook and
Mulder struggled to keep his balance, his ears ringing. Bushes
exploded, clots of dirt and wood and greenery flying everywhere.

"Fuck -- a chisel and a hammer would have more finesse --" 

Skinner snarled, his teeth gleaming in the morning sun. "Pull back!
Pull back!" he screamed into the walkie-talkie, throat straining with
the effort to be heard over the sound of the explosions. Destruction
hit the farmhouse dead center, fireballs rising with the thunderous
sounds of devastation. Columns of smoke and fire rose.

"Jesus Christ!" yelled Skinner. He ducked his head, eyes narrowed as
he strained to see through the binoculars. "Was that propane? Who the
fuck set that off?"

"It must have been them ... We haven't gotten through yet," Snipes
responded.

Mulder peered through the smoke. He had the curious sensation of
being outside his body, watching the whole scenario as if it were a
reenactment of some famous battle. He could see gaping holes in the
ground, holes that revealed the skeletons of tunnel structures. From
where he sat, wounded leg now swathed in bloody gauze, Skinner swung
his glasses over the scene below. "Everyone keep down and HOLD YOUR
GODDAMN FIRE!"

Snipes was talking rapidly into his mike, and Mulder was still
staring dazedly at the devastation that surrounded him, his hands on
the almost forgotten earphones, now deadly silent. He turned his gaze
to Snipes, and the listening post equipment, then picked up a
wireless receiver, and a transmitter.

Skinner had twisted on the ground, turning to stare at him, a look of
dawning comprehension on his face. "Mulder," he called again, the
pain evident in his voice. He stared at the man, measuring the
determination in his face. "You're going down there," he said in
resignation, and Mulder nodded. He coughed, a thick, choked sound.
"Something you need to know."

Mulder walked slowly over to the AD, then crouched beside him. The
pain in his belly seemed to have faded to a distant memory. His whole
being was focused on the sounds he had heard through the earphones.
"I have to go," he said simply.

"I know." 

"Scully could be in there, too." 

"I know." 

"I don't have a choice." 

"I know." 

"They're torturing Steven." 

Strong hands reached out and gripped him, firm pressure against his
arms, yanking him from his self-induced trance. "I know, Mulder."

He raised his eyes, chameleon green meeting worried brown. 

"Something you need to know." Skinner released him, then scrubbed at
his own face, knocking his glasses askew. "After the scene at the
house, the LaFreniere's deaths, I knew you had to know."

"Know what?" Mulder was interested despite himself. 

"I didn't tell you. I'm sorry. I thought they'd be safe with Tom and
Susan. Safer than anywhere else. Relative obscurity."

"I don't understand." 

"I knew after the accident. I had them run blood tests." 

"The accident? Blood tests? What the hell are you talking about?" 

"About the children. Steven and Jessica." 

"They are siblings, aren't they?" Mulder said with a small smile. 

"Yes, Mulder, yes, they are. And I was able to find out something
about their biological parents -- well, one parent at least."

Mulder gasped, then dropped from crouch to rest on his knees. "Oh,
God," he groaned, a tear threatening to slide down his cheek. "Oh,
God, oh, God, oh, God." He looked at Skinner, horror etched on his
face. "They're Scully's, aren't they? Those bastards did this to her
again! I swear to you, I will kill every one of them. I swear I
will."

He started to rise, anger making him strong, fury coursing through
his veins, but stronger hands held him, fingers of steel biting into
his arms.

"No, Mulder, they're not Scully's," Skinner said softly. 

Mulder was confused. "Not Scully's?" He furrowed his brow in
concentration. "Not Scully's? Then what? Whose?"

Skinner pulled Mulder closer, his face almost touching the younger
man, his hands holding him tightly. "Steven and Jessica are yours,
Mulder," he said quietly. "You are their father."

Mulder stared at Skinner in open-mouthed amazement, confusion and
bewilderment warring for dominance in his face. He slowly closed his
mouth, then shook his head.

"Mulder," Skinner was calling him, but it seemed to come from a long
distance. "Mulder, talk to me!"

He turned to look at the scene below, the fiery farmhouse, the holes
in the ground, the shattered outbuildings. His child was in that
inferno somewhere. Perhaps both his children. His children. Oh, God,
what had they done?

"Mine," he whispered, then consumed with a strength he never knew he
had, he shook Skinner off, shooting to his feet. He broke into a
trot, heading for the raw, open wound in the ground, smoke and flames
pouring out of it.

"Mulder! Wait! Get back here! That's an order!" 

But he didn't listen. Static inside the equipment quieted long enough
for him to hear a small boy crying. Steven. His son.

He took one look back. Skinner was standing now, supported by two
agents, binoculars trained on him. He lifted a hand, saw his friend
do the same, then he plunged into hell.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

He stumbled dazedly across charred earth and broken concrete, found
an opening into the tunnels, and plunged blindly downward. For lack
of anything else, he took a piece of burned wood and scratched an
arrow on the mottled gray of the structure. Here. Here is the exit,
the way out. Here is the escape from hell. Mulder dropped the still
warm chunk of wood from fingers gone weak with desperation. He
unclipped the flashlight from his belt and aimed it inward. Then he
switched the torch to his left hand and pulled his gun.

Dust filtered thinly up from the tunnel, willow-wisp tendrils as if
being pulled reluctantly into the open. He hesitated, looking for
smoke, knowing that bad air or heat would be deadly, killing. His
phobia was rampant now, screaming at him to flee but he clamped down
hard on the terror and moved slowly forward. The ground shook again
and the tunnel echoed dully. The walls around him seemed to shift. In
the earphones, he could hear the child's -- his child's -- fright
grow ever more frantic. The man shouted again, no love or care in his
voice.

Steven was going to die, and it would be his fault if he didn't find
him. His son was going to die. He paused a moment, still in shock
over Skinner's revelation. Mulder was still very much in the
adjustment stage. Every time he thought of the boy, the child,
Steven, his mind amended the thought. His son. His child. Made of his
flesh, his bone, his blood. And he was being tortured as Mulder
listened.

Another shriek in the earpiece and Mulder broke into a trot. The
flashlight bounced with his steps, the illumination shaky and uneven.
The air grew denser, coalescing, as he moved fully into the unexposed
part of the tunnel. Dust and smoke made the beam of light less
effective, and he slowed, turning slowly to orient himself. He had
never had a keen sense of direction, but he did have a flawless
memory and he began to relate the tunnel's curvature to the lines he
had seen on the computer screen. A skeletal map, like a spiderweb, it
had been, and he was -- here ... He made an X on the map in his mind,
having a weird sense that this was rather like one of those video
games, the map floating before the hero as he chased the monsters and
sought to rescue the fair maiden. And though he had his own fair
maiden to be concerned about, he was no hero. And it was his child
who needed him now. There was a child's moan in the earpiece and he
turned instinctively, his heart lifting slightly as the sound grew
louder, clearer for a moment, and he knew he was on the right path.

A few more steps, another turn and now, the infrastructure
reverberated as another blast sent skids of earth cascading down
around him. He paused again. Which way? The headphones crackled with
static and his flashlight showed access to a fork in the corridor,
but he had no idea which branch to take.

A sense of urgency pounded like a pulse in the hollow of his throat.
He had to move quickly. He was alone, trusting no one with the single
exception of Skinner. The claustrophobia of being caught down here
with fire, fear, and foe raged wildly for a moment before he stifled
it. He would be of no help to anyone if he panicked. There was
another burst of static, and his earphone went silent. 'Skinner,' he
cried silently, 'don't let them cut me out. I need you.'

He bore left, because it felt right in his memory. The tunnel
widened, grew taller and square, a hallway now, reminiscent of a
school or dorm. Doors left open blocked his way, impeding his
progress and he stepped past warily, shining his light inside.
Overturned chairs, a small table, cots in the corner, bedding pooling
on the floor. The room's occupants had fled in a great hurry. And
yet, he did not have the sense that this had happened just now. The
room seemed chilled, musty, lifeless. If not this raid, who had
chased them out, and when? They'd known something was coming and
obviously evacuated. Why hadn't they gotten everyone out? Steven was
here -- Mulder winced at the memory of the boy's pleading cries --
but had they taken Scully and Jess in the exodus?

He backed out cautiously. Moving onward, he chose a closed door and
touched it. No heat emanated from it. The sheet metal paneling felt
cool, perhaps even damp. The knob turned in his hand and pulled open
reluctantly as if a great vacuum fought to keep it closed. He panned
the flashlight around a laboratory type room, or was it clinic?
Cabinets and sinks dominated the walls. Two exam tables stood in the
center. A third wall was banked with stainless steel cages, specimen
cages. Specimens of what, he wondered. Some were large enough to hold
a human being, or a being human sized. They looked as if they had
never been used. The strangeness of its bland sterility bothered
Mulder. Another lab? It reminded him of more experimentation and
research, more abuse of the unsuspecting. It reeked of antiseptic air
and he closed the door gladly.

The tunnel flooring quivered under his feet. Mulder looked up at the
ceiling, saw it holding firm despite a fine shifting of dust motes
caught in the beam of the flashlight. These rooms had given him a
sense of unease. What had they been planning here, doing here?

The next three open doors he passed were bunker-like residences,
duplicates of the first, each one hastily abandoned. One had a meal
which had slid off the overturned table and had already drawn
scavengers, two squirrels pawing through the morsels only to stare
blindly at him when caught. Who had lived here? What was their
purpose? And how many had been brought here against their will as
Steven and Jess had? The flight had to have happened hours ago,
perhaps even before nightfall. Yet there had been no sign of the
chaos from above. He still didn't understand the failure to get
everyone out. Unless it was deliberate. He shook his head. He
couldn't think about this now.

The last room of the corridor was a hall, a massive one, set off by
movable walls, and he saw computers and blackboards, small desks and
chairs. Alphabet cards decorated the back wall. Unmistakably a
schoolroom. His earphone remained quiet, and he sent another silent
plea to Skinner. 'Help me find my child.' The sight of the hall made
his throat grow tight. What were they doing with children here? His
children. And who else's? Had Scully's Emily spent time in a place
like this? And where were the children, all the children, where had
they gone?

He realized, standing there, that he had gotten warm, and felt sweat
drop from his face and mopped his forehead on the cuff of his
windbreaker. The bulky Kevlar vest Skinner had insisted on only added
to the heat, but he knew better than to take it off now. If for no
other reason than the pressure it kept against his abdomen, helping
slow the trickle of blood he still felt from the gash hidden there.
He backed out of this room too and trotted down to the bend in the
corridor. His earphones crackled faintly and he could hear the voices
of agents guiding each other through the labyrinth. Like him, they
had descended into the darkness and were searching, coming from other
directions. He had no wish to be caught by them. No telling what had
happened above, what orders Skinner had given. They didn't have the
same motivation for success that he did.

In his mind's eye, he could see the spiderweb echo soundings again
and bore left once more.

Shots rang out. 

Mulder dodged to his right, slammed his shoulder into the tunnel and
froze. There was a loud rip and his windbreaker tore on the uneven
graininess of the wall digging into his shoulder. He took a deep
breath as his earphones shrieked with noise, temporarily deafening
him. Dropping the light, he tore them off, wincing, then realized the
shots had been transmitted. A bloodcurdling scream pealed from the
headset in his hand, a man's scream, piercing agony, and guttered
away to silence.

He stared at the headset, found audio and turned it down, then
grabbed up the light again. The metal casing on the torch was
battered and dinged, and would never look the same again. He took
several deep breaths, waiting as his heart steadied.

He played the flashlight over a massive break in the ceiling, where
the tunnel had failed completely, a fall of dirt and debris cascading
down into the corridor. Mulder moved toward it. As he got closer,
something caught his eye. Something foreign, alien. He edged toward
it. Then he saw it. A hand frozen palm upward, fingers curled as if
grasping or beckoning. But not a human hand. Liquid had congealed
around the fingertips as if the victim had tried in vain to claw its
way out from the rock and dirt. Mulder knelt, touched the wrist, the
flesh not cold, but cooling, and no pulse. If you could feel a pulse
on something like this.

Dead. 

He had not expected anything different, but it pierced him to the
core. Proof at last and no one to see it but him. No way to preserve
the evidence. He could stay here until the raid was complete,
refusing to leave, standing guard on what could finally expose them
all. Or ... The earphone crackled again, and a small boy's crying
could be clearly heard.

"Nooooo," he wailed. "Please don't. I'll be good." 

Mulder shuddered then rose to his feet and moved. It didn't matter.
All that mattered was finding Steven. And Jess and Scully if they
were here too.

He found a space between the wall and dirt pile and shoved through,
then turned sideways and inched forward, catching his breath. Unsure
of what led him in this direction, he paused, his chest tightening.
He could feel the wall and debris lean on him, closing vise-like
around him, trapping him. The fear of dying there descended like an
icy cloud, then exploded somewhere in his sternum.

He fought for breath. It would squeeze him lifeless, he could feel
the senselessness of the tunnel and the avalanche. They were claiming
victims. And wanted another.

He opened his mouth, jaw clenched so tight he thought he might have
to unhinge it just to breathe. He could feel his pulse singing in his
ears and his face growing clammy. His eardrums popped as he stretched
for a yawning gasp of air. Two whooping breaths went down, steadied
him. He could do this. He could. He had to. His hearing cleared. His
heart slowed, and he was moving again, inching through, scraping by.
Despite its best efforts the tunnel had not closed inexorably on him.
He shoved away the panic as he slipped through the stone's cold
embrace. Toes pushing, hands held before him, he inched forward until
he broke through.

It was like being born again. This deep in the complex, the corridors
had a semblance of lighting, though it flickered now and then. He
turned off his flashlight and hung it back on his belt. Four long
strides and he halted at an intersection, hallways branching in three
different directions.

He put a hand to his earphone, but all was quiet now. Did Skinner
still have the signal but had lost him, or did Skinner have him ...
and had lost the signal, and Steven? What had he been thinking, that
he could enter this maze and find him, with his sweet childish voice,
raised high in fear and betrayal? Mulder rubbed his forehead. This
was not the right direction. He had had the barest look at the
monitors, but his memory told him the antennae had not been focused
here, at the center of the facility. Steven would not be here. He'd
turned wrong somewhere. Mulder put his back to the wall and retraced
his path, uncertain, doubting himself now. He paused at the cave-in,
then decided he had to move through it again. But not here, not at
this wall. This was too unstable. It could shift further, more
drastically, upset by the periodic vibration of tunnel walls, and
bury him there. The weight of the debris would suffocate him.

He cursed his cowardly heart. He needed to get in, get Steven, and
get out. A dead man could do none of that. Fighting his visions, he
pushed past the cave-in, then stumbled, expecting to grind his face
into the wall. Instead, he fell through empty space. He steadied
himself against a new wall and brought the flashlight up and on,
shining it wildly around. He was in another corridor, a T
intersection which the cave-in had hidden. His sense of direction
swung like the light, dancing in the darkness, then oriented. He
shone the torch down the hallway. Farther down, there was another
glow, and he wondered if he'd set off a system.

He looked down an aisle of ruin. His earphones came alive again with
a cacophony of sound, words machine-gunned over the air, voices
speaking all at once. He thought of chaos and total disintegration.

"AD Skinner? Sir, we need medics down here -- oh, God, there's blood
everywhere --" the distraught voice broke up, followed by more
confusing sounds. He did not recognize the background noises.
Explosions? More tunnels crumbling? Strident voices cut through
again.

"Warning. We're finding mines, trip wires. Watch your step. This
place is booby-trapped ..."

" ... bodies everywhere. No survivors so far. Men, women ... Oh, God,
children."

"Heads up! Heads up! We have heavy smoke, zero visibility. Get some
portable ventilators down here, quadrant -- Jesus Christ, I don't
know where we are --"

"Abort! Abort! Get yourselves out! I don't want to lose anyone down
there." Mulder recognized Skinner's command voice. "Hear me?
Everybody out now, including Mulder if anyone spots him."

Skinner was talking about him, but it didn't matter. He could not
leave before he did what he came to do. He took a deep breath and
smelled only dust, no hint of smoke. He adjusted the volume on the
earphones again, trying to hone in on that one faint voice he sought.

As if in answer to his prayer, he heard Skinner. "Mulder, get out of
there. You have to get out of there." The older man's voice caught, a
terrible sound that echoed in his ears. "It's too late, Mulder, this
is all I can find. Snipes put you on another frequency to feed you
this," and his words were echoed by a whisper, a faint keening, a
small boy crying.

"I'll be good. Please, please, oh please. I'll be good. It hurts,
please, it hurts."

Mulder swung about in the catacomb. Another word or two, that's all
he needed. Although he hated to hear Steven's pleading cries, he
silently asked for another few words.

A high note, almost musical, rang in his ears. Then, "It huuuurts!" 

Mulder turned and ran down the passageway, his heart quickening with
every step.

The tunnel curved slightly, became thinner, lower, but the wailing in
his earphones grew stronger, louder, pulling him onward. His eyes
stung. The lighting dimmed, then came up again, still thin and weak.
Losing power? Battery, rather than generator? The pasty yellow glow
illuminated a pair of doors. But which door? Did he have time to
check them both?

If he picked the wrong one, would it alert those torturing the boy --
torturing his son -- and would they end it before he could get in the
right door?

Then the voice came, as clear as if he stood next to him. 

"I didn't mean to do it. I don't mean to be bad. Please, please don't
hate me ... oh, ow! That hurts! Please, please, please."

Mulder closed his eyes for a second, and chose. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Skinner spoke tersely. "I want med evac in here immediately." Snipes
had patched him into the NSA, the nominal head of this rapidly
deteriorating fiasco, and he found that they were already on their
way in, choppers in the air literally minutes after the disaster had
begun. Score one for Borden. Maybe the man had had some sense after
all.

He growled into the mike, "This was supposed to be a simple raid.
What the fuck did you people know and not tell the rest of us?" He
listened in stony silence to the empty placating words the NSA
liaison mouthed into his ears.

"I don't care. I'll be filing a formal complaint. It's a God damned
slaughterhouse up here."

"More copters are on the way." The liaison coughed softly, an
embarrassed sound that carried through the radio. "And body bags."

"ETA?" 

"As soon as they can get there." 

"It's not soon enough." Skinner's mouth twisted as he looked out over
the charred ground of the farmhouse yard. Bodies were being laid out.
Bureau, Agency, state and local, everyone had lost someone. The air
was filled with pine and smoke, singed plastic and singed flesh, and
over it all, the coppery sweetness of blood. "If you knew what was
happening here, how bad it was going to be, why the hell didn't you
tell the rest of us?"

"Policy." The man on the other end of the radio breathed out. "We're
NSA."

"You're fucking murderers," Skinner responded, deadly cold as he cut
the connection. He stood, bloodstained pants a testament to the wound
hidden beneath the hastily wrapped bandage on his leg. His face
glistened with sweat and his bald head was dappled with soot.
"Fucking murderers," he repeated, eyes watching the scene below him.

"Sir! They're bringing people out, Sir! Children! They've found
children!"

His heart stirred. "Alive?" 

"Yes, Sir!" 

"Thank God," he muttered, and began the trek down to the field below.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The door flew open, and Mulder moved in, both flashlight and gun held
out before him. Time stopped in that odd way it had, stirring
Mulder's mind with snapshots of Steven, even as it froze his present.
Dust blasting inward with him seemed to pause in the sudden flash of
light and drift as though caught and suspended. Before him stood a
large man, oddly out of place in his three piece business suit. The
knife he held in his hand glistening red as the flashlight caught its
edge. He looked confused for a moment, his mouth opening in protest
though no sound emerged. Mulder did not recognize him. He stood in
what appeared to be a general office, a desk and chair centered by
the wall, credenza behind. File cabinets lined another wall and a
computer table took up the third.

The man stood behind the desk, between it and the credenza, knife
upraised in the air as if caught in the act of some strange
encouragement.

And between them lay Steven, limp across the top of the desk, his
arms hanging down, a freshet of blood running across one wrist, his
cries now stilled. He wore a simple T-shirt and jeans and was
barefoot, and as Mulder stared at him, he shivered in the draft of
air that now blew through the open door. His face was wet with tears
and sweat, his hair soaked and clinging to his scalp and forehead.
His eyes were closed and Mulder could just make out a whimper as he
shivered again.

"You've made a terrible mistake, Agent Mulder," the man said softly.
"Leave, while you still can."

Mulder heard the words but meaning failed to register, for when the
man called his name, Steven had turned fractionally toward him, and
his eyes parted briefly. He felt his heart soar. His son was alive!
And he knew that Mulder was there!

"Didn't you hear me?" the man growled again. "Get the fuck out!" 

Mulder moved slowly into the room, his eyes darting back and forth
from Steven to the crazed man who still brandished his knife above
the boy. He felt his gut clench at the sight of Steven laid across
the desk like this, almost as if he were an offering on an altar in
some perverse ritual.

"Give him to me," he ordered. "He needs medical attention. I can get
him out."

The man shook his head then grabbed Steven, lifting the boy
effortlessly and holding him to his chest, the knife against his
neck. Mulder went cold at the man's sudden movement, then chanced a
glance downward. Steven's pale arm dangled from the man's embrace,
and then, barely, he saw a finger twitch. He looked up again and
watched as the knife against his son's pulsing throat brought up tiny
swells of crimson.

He couldn't stand there, but clear thoughts seemed to have bolted
from his mind. All he could do was react to what he saw, and those
reactions kept him still, silent, appalled. Steven was not dead. Not
yet. He looked into the man's eyes, cold and emotionless, afraid he
had felt Steven's movement within his arms.

Mulder found his voice. "There's fire in the tunnels. You should get
out while you can."

The man shrugged as if he had no concerns. "You can't touch me." He
raised the hand with the knife, gesturing toward Mulder, his coat
sleeve fluttering along his brawny arm like a broken wing.

"The smoke will get you before the fire does," Mulder said calmly.
"The tunnels are blown, they're collapsing. You really should get out
while you can."

Mulder could taste the rise of smoke in the air now. It crept in
through the fissures, through the breaches in the room, the tunnel,
damning them all. He could not get Steven out, let alone himself, if
smoke overcame him. He took another step forward, gun still pointed
at the man shielded behind Steven's still body. The man moved and the
blade flashed down to Steven's neck.

The man took a step to the side, then flinched as a blast shattered
the side of the room, deafening, the air filled with dust and debris,
the walls sundering. The shock drove Mulder back and he connected
with the door jamb, coughing, his eyes filled with grit, lungs
choking, ears ringing. The computer table crumbled and there was a
loud popping sound as the monitor imploded on impact with the floor.
The air stank of electrical fire. He blinked wildly, trying to clear
his eyes, and saw the man, still standing, still holding Steven,
surrounded by wreckage and ruin.

Mulder took a deep breath. "You don't have much time." 

"Stand clear," the man ordered Mulder, smiling slightly. "Let me
pass."

"Give me the boy." 

The man looked down, staring at Steven. He took up the knife and
smoothed his hair back from his face, almost tenderly, the knife's
edge tinged red with the child's own blood. "You have no idea what
you are doing, Agent Mulder," the man said softly. "You don't know
who this child is." He looked up then, as if he had made a decision,
and all traces of the odd tenderness he'd briefly shown were gone.
"The boy goes with me."

He started to move to the door. One stride and then he halted, one
leg held back, stuck. He stared down at his ankles and kicked to free
himself. Mulder couldn't see what it was that held him, but the man
cursed as he wrestled with the debris. He convulsed in fury. He
plunged against whatever trapped him from the ruins, kicking wildly
as if that would help. Mulder knew he was out of time.

The man's face was mottled with fury, and he spat venomous words at
the rubble. Mulder could see wire, wrapped in serpentine coils
against the man's ankle. Steven moved again, drawing at the air,
plucking at nothingness as if gathering up consciousness. It was time
to act.

Mulder ripped the headphones from his ears and threw them against the
wall. The man jumped, then shifted his gaze to see what had fallen,
and Mulder fired. A hole opened in the man's forehead and Mulder
leapt across the room, grabbing Steven from him, the child's limp
form as light and floppy in his arms as a rag doll. A tiny moan left
him as he took him up. "It's all right. I've got you," he whispered
into the boy's hair, as he turned and bolted from the room.

As he slipped through the doorway, the whole tunnel seemed to shiver
and he could see a black coil of smoke, low and hungry, crawling down
the corridor's throat. From the corner of his eye, he saw movement.
He leapt again, his momentum carrying him into the open on an angle.

Bullets whipped past him. The tunnel wall spat out gravel like angry
wasps. He never looked back. Steven stirred slightly against his
chest. He ran on, holding him tightly, feeling the bloody warmth of
the child soak into the neck of his shirt, even as his own blood
spread from his abdomen to the child's. Steven murmured, so faintly
he couldn't understand the words. The gunfire a distant echo now, he
slowed, then stopped completely. He brought the boy down, checked his
wounds ... torture wounds, shallow, except along the wrists, where
crosscuts bled insistently, yet not life threatening unless left
unattended. He ripped his shirt and bound them. What in God's name
had they been doing to his child?

"I have you," Mulder told him. "You're safe now." 

The boy's lids fluttered and he opened frightened, pain-filled eyes.
"Fox," he breathed, and Mulder gave a laugh that was more cry, tears
falling unabashedly down his face. "Fox," the boy repeated, and
Mulder nodded, then leaned over and kissed the child's forehead.

Steven murmured again, and Mulder had to strain to hear. "Where's
Walter?" the child asked, and this time Mulder's laugh was one of
joy, even as the child slipped into unconsciousness.

"He's waiting for you, big boy," Mulder said. "Don't let him down."
He rose, lifted the child and looked around. Now, if he could only
find his way out of hell.

---------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------

Skinner limped down the hill to the staging area where the children
had been brought. Ranging in age from very young to early teens, they
sat in small groups, older ones holding some of the younger ones. He
could see bandages on those who had been treated, bruises and blood
still visible on many. He scanned the faces as he moved through the
area, stopping now and then to speak quietly to a worried child or
try to calm one crying.

After his third stop to quell a child's tears, he thought back on his
comments to Mulder from three days ago. How he wasn't very good with
children. He smiled inwardly, murmuring something soothing to the
four-year-old he held in his arms before passing the boy back to a
medical tech. Steven and Jess had changed him.

He scanned the area again, still hoping against hope to see a
familiar face. It was no good. She wasn't here. He dropped his head,
fighting to control the sudden urge to scream in frustration, the
need to break something, to hurt someone, knowing that he needed to
keep his cool. He was about to turn, to retrace his steps back to the
command post and wait for word on Mulder when a small hand touched
his leg. It was a gentle touch, just below his bandage, and a tiny
voice said, "Got owie, Wa - tah?" His heart leapt and he looked down
to see a small, worried face looking up at him.

"Jess!" He reached down to her and she came gladly into his arms.
"Jess," he said more softly, his face buried in her soot-filled hair.
She curled into his shoulder, one chubby arm reaching around his
collar, thumb going into her mouth. Her fingers played with the wisps
of hair at the nape of his neck and he could feel a sudden moistness
on his face.

Jessica pulled back and studied him seriously, then asked, "Cwyin' Wa
- tah?"

Skinner nodded slowly and pulled the baby's head back down to his
shoulder, gently patting her back. " 's OK, Jess, it's going to be
OK."

" 'kay, Wa-tah," she said, sniffling now, and he realized his own
reaction had upset her. He continued to hold her, his eyes still
scanning the area, noting the children with vivid bruises and
bloodstained clothes. There were even a few with broken limbs and he
had to wonder if all the damage had occurred in the collapse of the
tunnels. Seeing the others' injuries, he was suddenly aware of the
fragility of the child in his arms. His friend's child. Mulder's
child.

He drew back to look at her again, scrutinizing her tired little
face, and asked, "Are you OK, Jessie?"

She nodded soberly, and tried to lay down on his shoulder again,
comforted by a familiar presence, but he was still concerned. "Do you
have an owie, Jess?" he tried again.

She nodded again, pulling her little shirt up to point to a livid
bruise on her ribcage. "Owie," she whispered, and his heart seemed to
leap into his throat. Oh God, what if she was seriously hurt? He'd
never be able to face Mulder again.

"Medic!" he bellowed, immediately murmuring to the baby when she
jumped at his roar. "Shhh, I'm sorry, baby, it's OK now. I've got
you. Walter's got you." He looked up again, a female EMT standing
before him. "Check her, please," he said, and started to pass the
baby over, but she began to cry, clinging to him and calling, "No, Wa
- tah, no! Jess tay Wa - tah."

"Perhaps you should hold her, sir," the woman suggested. "She seems
attached to you now. You can help keep her calm."

The baby was crying now, and Skinner felt like a heel for frightening
her. He spent several more minutes calming her again, then limped to
the side of the staging area and found an equipment box to sit on.
With Jessie sitting in his lap, he watched as the medic assessed and
then treated her injuries, giving thanks that they were all fairly
superficial. As the last bandage was applied, his radio crackled and
Snipes came through.

"It's getting worse, Sir. I think you're needed back up here." 

Skinner looked at the medic and she nodded. He rose, still holding
Jessica, and spoke into the radio. "On my way." The hike back up the
small hill to the command post was no easier than the trip down, but
it seemed so, even though he was now carrying an extra 25 pounds or
so. He looked down at the baby, almost asleep on his shoulder, and
sighed. It was because of that extra 25 pounds that his heart was
light and filled with hope now. If Mulder managed to reach Steven,
they would have both the children. He frowned then, knowing that
while recovering the children was important, it was good, hell, it
was wonderful, it wasn't everything. He still had an agent out there,
still missing, perhaps injured, and Mulder wouldn't survive if Scully
wasn't found. His commitment to her was complete, and nothing, not
even his own children, would ever be able to fill the empty places
that she did.

Skinner sighed again, then laughed at the look Snipes gave him as he
reached the summit. "My agent's kid," he said gruffly. "The reason we
were out here to begin with. The boy is his, too."

Snipes' eyes grew wide but he said nothing. The ground suddenly
heaved beneath them, a giant undulating wave that upset boxes,
knocked men off their feet and threatened to uproot the very trees.
The comm tech looked up, concerned. "That last blast must have blown
the antennae. I can't hear a thing anymore."

Skinner considered the irony. The baby slept now, the trust of the
truly innocent allowing her to rest and let him take care of things.
He pulled on a strap, trying to make the vest more comfortable, and
not succeeding. He decided it was his own helplessness chafing at
him. Not that he had lost control of this operation; he had never
really been in control. NSA would handle any investigation that came
out of this. Despite his ability to force Bureau involvement, even
his level of authority would not be enough to supplant the NSA.

However the NSA decided to cover this up, whatever this was, there
was still one question remaining: What about the children?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Muffled against the Kevlar vest, Mulder could not tell if Steven
still breathed or if his heart beat, but his own hammered against his
ribs like a wild thing trying to break free of a cage. At his heels,
with a sound like that of an oncoming freight train, the chaos of
fire gained on them. His own fear of flame was returning, threatening
to drag him down and make him useless. His eyes began to burn, the
reek of smoke filled his nostrils and stung them. He began to talk to
Steven, comfort and encouragement for the child, the same for
himself.

"Hang in there, Steven, just hold on. I've got you, you're safe now.
Just hold on a little longer, baby." The endearment slipped out and
for a moment he was stunned by his own words, but they felt right,
and he hugged the featherweight body tightly as if the embrace would
slow the bleeding, bind the wounds he had no time to attend.

He twisted his way through the corridors, reaching the cave-in. The
air here seemed a little clearer. He slowed, the adrenaline rush of
the search for Steven fading now, fatigue dogging his movements.
Mulder shifted Steven's limp weight in his arms and mopped his face
with the back of his sleeve. His belly was bleeding again, and he
could feel the lightheadedness of blood loss, only being held back by
sheer determination. How long did he have until the needs of the
flesh overcame his stubbornness? A tiny draft of coolness played
against the heat of his brow and he turned toward it instinctively.

"It's all right, Steven. We're almost there." He tucked the boy under
his chin, and the exhalation of his words ruffled the baby fine hairs
on his head, tickling his neck. The child stirred slightly, as if
gaining awareness. "Almost there," Mulder repeated encouragingly.

But then he stopped in his tracks. No way could he pass through the
crawlway holding Steven. Even if he took off the bulky vest and held
him tightly to his chest, there wouldn't be enough room. He would be
trapped between the wall and debris. He took two quick breaths,
thinking, deciding. He would have to go first and pull the boy after,
as quickly and as carefully as he could.

He stepped past the cave-in, then into the cleft in the wall, telling
Steven what he was doing as he did it. "This is narrow here, baby. I
can't go through holding you, but I am not leaving you. I'm going to
pull you in after me. Don't be afraid. I'm not leaving you. I've got
you and you're safe."

He laid him down, easing the fragile body to the ground with utmost
care. Steven stirred, eyelids fluttering, opening, veins like marble
tracings on them, and then he looked at him, fear and uncertainty
slowly being replaced with confidence and trust.

"It's all right," Mulder murmured. 

Steven's lips moved soundlessly, so he raised the child up again and
cradled him close, his ear to the boy's mouth. He trembled in his
arms and slowly repeated, "Like Walter. He wouldn't leave me either."

Mulder swallowed hard and nodded, thinking how incredible that this
child could still trust, could still have faith.

"I'm going to get you out, Steven," Mulder said, and watched as the
boy's chin moved, ever so slightly, in the affirmative. He squeezed
him, a last hug before he spoke. "I have to put you down, just for a
minute. I'm too big to get through if I carry you. You have to be
brave a bit longer, Steven, OK?"

The boy entwined a slender arm tightly around his neck, fear
resurfacing in the face of being put down.

"I'm here." Mulder kissed his brow despite the dirt and smoke smudge
and faint taste of blood. "I'm not going to leave you," he repeated.
He knelt to position him again. Steven clung to him with a wiry
strength that both gladdened and saddened him. He still had strength
in him, despite his torture, his hurts, his fear. Mulder peeled away
his arm and quickly stepped away, holding his hand, their arms
linking them as he extended. Then he let go entirely.

The loss of contact with his son, his touch, his warmth, was like a
physical blow, and he staggered. A coldness swarmed him, and he could
smell anew the acridness of smoke. The tunnel shook with a faint
booming, another explosion, and he could hear the concrete and gravel
begin to slide, the ground shaking beneath his feet. Steven let out a
shrill cry.

Mulder pushed through the narrow passage, then flung himself down on
his stomach, disregarding his own pain, and reached back in, praying
that he had not underestimated the distance. Another blast rocked
through walls and floor, and the mound next to him shifted, dirt
drifting down. Mulder coughed harshly as he shoved himself deep into
the cleft, reaching, fingers splayed out, touching ... nothing.

Oh, God! The panic gripped him and he forgot to breathe for a moment.
He had to be there! He couldn't have moved. Couldn't have crawled
back into the intersection. Couldn't be gone, not beyond his reach.
He lay on his flank, twisting his neck, unable to see, his reach one
of faith and hope.

"Steven! Take my hand! I'll pull you through. C'mon, baby! Hurry!" 

A third blast, so much closer his ears rang with it. Dirt skidded in
earnest, faster and faster, raining down on him, filling his mouth as
he shouted for the child.

"Take my hand! C'mon, Steven. Reach for it! You have to try!" 

He thrust himself in as far as he could, gasping and choking,
straining, hands, fingers, searching blindly. Then, a tiny touch upon
his fingertips. A whisper of sound carried through -- "Fox ..." He
seized on it.

"I'm here, Steven," he called. "I'm here." 

Yes! Smaller fingers, chilled ones, and he captured them and
swallowed them up with his hand, hungry for the child's touch. He had
him! His whole hand, and then, his wrist. Slowly, carefully, he began
to crawl backward. Debris shifted and showered him with every
movement. Jammed between concrete and gravel and dirt, he could see
little as he inched his way back out. The partial cave-in gave way,
cascading down, its weight dropping onto him, threatening to bury
them both. Surging upward in the violent heaves of floor and walls, a
piece of metal rebar jabbed into the shoulder of his vest -- searing
pain -- snagging him immobile.

He squeezed his right hand tighter around Steven's wrist. "I've got
you. This is the tough part. Don't let go!" Squirming, he got his
left arm free and tugged at the stubborn end of the rebar. The
twisted metal had impaled him like a javelin. In his right hand, he
could feel Steven go suddenly limp. Had the dirt smothered him?

"NO! Steven!" He shook the boy as hard as he could with only one hand
on a still, thin wrist. "Wake up, you've got to wake up, and don't
let go!" Fear rocketed through him. He gave a mighty heave, and the
rebar ripped through flesh and the edge of the Kevlar vest and then
he was free. He clamped down even harder on Steven's wrist, so hard,
he knew he was bruising him, risked cutting off circulation, afraid
to grip him any less tightly.

With one last massive pull, Steven's thin form slipped through, as
the tunnel shuddered one last time, like a dying animal, its gasp an
endless shower as it imploded on itself, trying to suck them under.
Mulder gathered the child up and staggered down the tunnel, blind in
the swirl of dust and smoke. Fear dried his mouth. The collapsing
tunnel spat him out like Jonah from the mouth of the whale, in a
spurt of smoke and ashes, his marker showing him the way to the
surface. He clambered up the gully, shouting and coughing.

Hands reached for him and he could hear, finally, something besides
the ringing explosions. They drew him up and out and someone took
Steven from his arms, throwing a blanket over him. Someone else eased
the vest from his shoulder, saying, "Jesus Christ, look at this hole,
he's been shot --" but the words did not sink in. He could not have
been shot, it was the rebar, it must have been but it did not matter.

"Steven!" He pulled away from the hands and reeled after the child
until they reached clear air. He turned and saw billowing smoke
geysering up from the hole in the ground and realized how close to
disaster they had truly been. Nothing could have breathed in that
inferno. Agents drew him with them, the grass dewed with silvery
streaks, and fresh morning light shone down on them, and he went to
his knees, blinking in exhaustion, as they laid Steven gently down.

Like an apparition out of nowhere, Skinner was suddenly there, a
looming presence, familiar and comforting. The AD knelt, his injured
leg making it awkward, and reached out to steady Mulder as he swayed.
"What the hell am I going to do with you?"

Mulder looked at him, saw the compassion and concern, and would have
answered, but he found it difficult to breathe. Skinner was totally
focused on him and Mulder could see the man was making his own
assessment. He wouldn't want to wager on his chances of avoiding a
hospital stay this time. One strong hand still held his arm,
oblivious to the sleeping baby tucked securely in the other. He
started to laugh at the sight, but a spasm of coughing kept him down
until he could finally draw a clear breath. He paused, looked around,
and realized there were bodies on the ground. "Scully?"

Skinner shook his head slowly, and Mulder started to ask about Jess,
but a child's whimper interrupted. "Steven!"

He crawled to his side and his hands, God bless his hands, they knew
what to do as they gently straightened the boy's tangled limbs and
brushed his hair from his face.

Steven gave a rattling breath, and color came back into his paler
than pale skin. He reached for Mulder's hand, and wove their fingers
together, his tiny ones almost lost in Mulder's long, elegant ones.
"Be careful," Steven whispered. "Be careful."

Skinner leaned forward. "Shhh," he soothed, and Steven looked up at
the big man. "Walter," he whispered. "Fox said you were here." He
blinked in confusion, then a smile blossomed on his grubby face. "And
you found Jessie."

His gaze flicked from Mulder to Skinner and back to Mulder. He
tightened his hand about Mulder's and reached for Skinner with the
other one. "Be very careful," he whispered again, his eyes sliding
shut once more, hands going limp.

Skinner put his hand on Mulder's good shoulder. "He's in shock.
Medical's on the way." He leaned over and caught Mulder in a hug,
holding him awkwardly careful of both the sleeping baby he held and
the injuries Mulder sported. "He's alive! You did good, Mulder, you
did so good!"

Mulder nodded, inordinately pleased to have the praise and admiration
of this man he respected. He nodded again, wordlessly, suddenly
growing lightheaded and dizzy, darkness threatening the edge of his
vision. He had gotten Steven this far. And Skinner had Jess. He
gently broke from Skinner's embrace and leaned over Steven again.
"You're alive, son. You're safe, and you're alive."

He lifted his head to meet Skinner's eyes. "But now -- where is
Scully?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Skinner woke suddenly to wiggling weight landing on his chest. He
groaned softly and was answered by a high pitched giggle, echoed by a
voice to his side.

"Steven," he said in mock sternness, "didn't I tell you not to get
Jessie out of the crib?"

"She was getting whiny, Walter," the boy explained. "She isn't used
to having to stay in the crib once she wakes up." The child's tone
turned wistful. "At home, she had a regular bed, only smaller. Mama
worried because she was always climbing out of the crib and she was
afraid she'd fall and hurt herself."

"So they got her a regular bed?" Skinner asked, one hand gently
hanging onto the baby as he hitched to the side to make room for
Steven to climb up.

"Yeah," the boy said sadly. "She only had it a couple weeks but she
really liked it." He lay down beside Skinner, head resting on the
AD's shoulder, and Skinner stretched an arm around him. "Walter?
Jessica and me, we're not going to get to go home, are we?"

Skinner swallowed and looked over at the fourth bed in the room.
Mulder was sleeping, the IV administered pain meds keeping him under.
No help from that quarter. He rubbed the boy's back. "No, Steven,
you're not," he said quietly.

"Because the bad men hurt Mama and Daddy?" 

"Yes." 

"They killed them, didn't they?" 

Skinner swallowed again, still rubbing the boy's back. He wasn't
prepared for this. He would never be prepared for this. Who could
expect to have to be prepared for this conversation? "You know your
mom and dad love you a lot, don't you Steven?" he asked gently.

"Yeah. That's why they were 'dopting me." He paused a moment,
thinking. "We were gonna have a party -- to celebrate."

"I know. It's a good thing to celebrate." 

"They love Jessie, too. They were gonna 'dopt her when she was old
enough." The boy sniffled, and buried his head in Skinner's chest.
From her place on his other side, he could feel the baby begin to
stir fretfully, worried by Steven's obvious agitation. "But they
won't now. The bad men killed them."

"Yes, Steven, the bad men killed them." 

The child was silent for a long time, and Skinner could do nothing
but hold him and hope that his presence was comfort of some sort.
Finally, the boy looked up, meeting Skinner's eyes. "What's going to
happen to me and Jess?" he asked, tears hovering in his eyes.

"For now, you're going to stay with me and Fox," Skinner said
reassuringly. They all turned to look at the man still sleeping in
the other bed. Jessica sat up again, using the hospital bed rail to
pull herself up.

"Shhh," she whispered. "Pox seepin' now." 

Skinner laughed quietly. "Yep, Fox is still sleeping," he echoed. 

"We're gonna stay with you?" Steven asked again, needing to hear the
words. This child had been through so much, his whole world
shattered. Skinner was glad to be able to offer him this much.

"Absolutely. For now, you stay with us." 

"Where's Dana?" the boy asked. "When is she coming?" 

Skinner froze. How to answer this one? He played several options
through his mind and finally settled on honesty.

"Steven? Do you remember when Dana came? Before the bad men?" 

"Yeah ..." the boy answered, slightly uncertain. 

"And then what happened?" 

"We played. She said you and Fox were coming later." He paused, brow
furrowing as he thought back. "Mom fixed dinner and we ate." He
sucked in a gasp of air, trying mightily to stifle a cry. "Then the
bad men came."

"Do you remember what happened to Dana?" 

The little face puckered again, thinking hard. "They brought her with
us," he said finally. "They hit her -- hard -- and then she was
sleeping, but they picked her up and carried her out to the van with
me and Jess. She was fighting but they were really big men. And they
hit her on the head. They didn't bring Mama and Daddy," he added
sadly.

The boy cuddled closer and Skinner held him tight. Bandages stood out
in stark contrast to the boy's darker coloring -- Mulder's coloring
he thought to himself. Around both wrists, beneath the hospital gown,
on his chest, and on both legs, razor sharp cuts had been cleaned and
dressed in white gauze. He'd been cleaned up, given a bath and
Skinner could smell the clean scent of baby shampoo from both
children. He tucked the child in tighter, wishing he could take away
the pain, set things back to the way they were before.

"I tried to fight them, Walter," Steven said in a small voice. "I
tried hard. I kicked and I hit, but the man just picked me up. I was
trying so hard ..."

"You were very brave, Steven," Skinner said, waging his own battle
with the lump in his throat. "You are the bravest boy I know." He was
hugging the child, wondering where the conversation would go next,
when a nurse walked briskly into the room.

"In with you again, I see, Mr. Skinner," she said, smiling. 

"We like Walter," Steven said defensively. 

"Like Wa - tah," Jess echoed. 

"I know you do," the woman said soothingly, "but you know I need you
in your own beds to look at your boo-boos."

Steven rolled his eyes. "You mean my injuries," he corrected. "I
don't call them boo-boos anymore."

The woman smiled again. "Well, then, into your own bed so I can check
your injuries, young man." She came to the side of Skinner's bed and
let the rail down. "And you really shouldn't let them climb over the
rail, Mr. Skinner," she admonished. "It's just not safe."

"I know," he answered, abashed. "But they snuck up on me." 

Steven had climbed down and padded over to his bed. Skinner watched
as the boy jumped up into his bed, not seeming to feel any discomfort
from the numerous cuts and abrasions on his body. The nurse produced
an aural thermometer and Steven tolerated having the thing in his ear
with obvious distaste. He handled the dressing changes better, but
Skinner could tell his patience was wearing thin by the time it was
done.

"When's breakfast?" he asked as soon as the nurse turned away. 

"Soon," she promised as she came back to Skinner's bed, scooping
Jessica up to do her exam. "You must have a lot of pull," she said
jokingly to Skinner. "I've never seen the hospital allow children to
stay with adults -- not even family members injured in the same
trauma."

Skinner gave her a warning look, then said quietly, "We wanted to be
with the kids." It was the truth, but it belied the whole story. The
story that had involved hours of explanations and phone calls, and
was the reason the four of them were sharing a hospital room with two
guards outside the door.

The nurse finished with Jess and put her down on the floor, watching
as she toddled over to the impromptu play area they had established
in one corner of the ward room. The only play room was on Pediatrics,
and there was no way Skinner was allowing the children out of his
sight. He was determined they were all staying right here, together,
until Mulder was well enough to be discharged and they could all
leave together. Then they would have to deal with the legalities of
custody. And the realities of the same.

And then, the search for Scully could begin. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Scully awoke. That groggy feeling that often came from being drugged
was fogging her mind, clouding her thoughts, making it difficult to
get a clear assessment of her situation. She lay on a tattered old
cot. The smell of mildew thick beneath her nose. Her hands were bound
cruelly behind her back. And she could feel wire within the cords
that secured her. Her fingers were numb and she wiggled them
uselessly trying to restore sensation. The room was dim. The only
light coming in was through a narrow grimy window tucked up close to
the low ceiling. Wiggling on the bed, on the cot, she surveyed the
room and decided she was in a basement. Concrete floor and rough
cinderblock walls that glinted with the moisture that sweat through
the brick. The room was quiet. No sound to be heard.

Fighting the chemically induced cloud in her mind, she thought back
on the events that led to this. The trip out to the LaFreniere's had
been uneventful. She had enjoyed an afternoon with the children and
dinner with the family before hell had come to call. She remembered
watching in helplessness as the children were hauled away before her
eyes. And then the feel of the needle sliding into her tightly held
arm followed by the inevitable slide into unconsciousness.

Twisting her head she looked around again. No sign of the children or
Tom or Susan. She kicked her feet experimentally and was surprised to
find them loose in marked contrast to the tight bonds that held her
hands. Fighting a rising wave of nausea, she gave a mighty heave and
shifted to a sitting position, her legs sliding over the edge of the
cot, her bare feet resting on the cold concrete floor.

What the hell had happened? She twisted her head again, taking in the
small, dark, dank room. And where the hell was she?

Rising tentatively to her feet, she stood by the cot for a moment and
then began a careful perusal of the rest of the room. By the heavily
filtered sunlight she could just make out the shape and details of
her cell. She walked across the cool cement floor to stand by the
wall beneath the window. The room was low-ceilinged, barely a foot
above her head, and were her hands free, she would be able to reach
the window with little difficulty. She snorted in disgust. Not that
reaching the window would do her any good. It was too narrow to allow
even her slender form to pass through.

She took three paces from the window to reach the first corner, then
turned and paced five more times to reach the second. Three paces
brought her to a rough hewn door with no visible latch or knob.
Knowing it was futile she nonetheless dutifully pressed against the
door even going so far as to make a running jump and slam it with her
shoulder. All that tactic did was earn her a very sore shoulder. She
took three more paces to reach the third corner, turned again,
repeated the five steps of the short wall, and paused as she reached
this last corner.

There was a small jug of water and a plate that held a chunk of
bread. It almost made her laugh. How was she supposed to eat or drink
with her hands bound behind her? The third object in the corner could
only be a chamber pot. And she became aware of the pressure in her
bladder. Once again, perhaps the thought counted for something, but
the reality of her situation made using the damn thing almost
impossible. She might be able to get her pants down but with her
hands bound the way they were, she didn't think she would be able to
get them back up. And she was at enough of a disadvantage as it was.
She didn't think she wanted to meet her captors with her pants around
her ankles.

Her stomach rumbled and she realized she had been kept unconscious
for quite a while. She looked wistfully at the bread and water but
decided she wasn't ready to eat doggie-style at this point.

Inspection of the room complete, she returned to the cot and sat.
There was no sound from outside the window -- no cars, no barking
dogs, no children playing, no birds, no frogs, no crickets -- nothing
to give her a clue as to where she was. The room itself seemed to
echo with silence. Her own ragged breathing and the blood pounding in
her ears was all she could hear in this eerily silent place.

Since her assault on the island she had kept her distance from others
becoming even more reserved and professional then was her usual wont.
Only Mulder slipped inside the reserve. She smiled as she thought of
her dark-haired lover.

And Skinner. The man who had saved them both. 

But this silence, this isolation, was too reminiscent of that
terrible time. And she knew her strength would be tested. The
residual effects of the drugs still had her confused, mildly
disoriented, and she knew her thinking was not at its best. She took
one last look at the room, realized no miraculous escape had
appeared, and decided sleep and more time to clear the drugs from her
system was her best course of action. Laying awkwardly down on her
side, her right elbow digging into her hip, she closed her eyes and
let thoughts of Mulder carry her away.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Skinner stood by Mulder's bed, the baby snuggled in his arms. She
stared down at the sleeping agent and then demanded, "Pox, wake up
now!" and Skinner chuckled.

"Fox is sleeping now, Jess," Skinner murmured. 

"Pox, wake up now!" the baby repeated more insistently. She began
squirming in his arms and Skinner was hard-pressed to keep a hold of
her.

"I think she wants down, Walter," Steven said from the play area. 

Skinner turned to look at the little boy and the baby took advantage
of his momentary distraction to make her escape. With a kick to his
belly and a sharp pull to the right, she launched herself from
Skinner's arms and swan-dived onto Mulder.

The younger man woke with an "Oomph!" and raised bleary eyes to look
around. Two little hands reached out to each cheek holding him still
as a tiny nose approached his own.

"Pox, seep 'nough! You pease wake up now." 

"Uh, Sir?" Mulder began and Skinner immediately lifted the baby from
her roost on Mulder's tender abdomen -- the baby who promptly began
to scream in protest.

"Sorry, Mulder," Skinner muttered, then repeated himself in a louder
tone when Mulder indicated he couldn't be heard over the little
girl's shrieks.

"Want Pox!" 

Mulder raised his hands and covered his ears briefly then lifted
long-suffering eyes to Skinner. "How did I get to be so popular?"

Skinner snorted. "You've been sleeping for two days. I think she's
getting tired of me."

"Two days?" He looked around carefully, counting beds. "Scully?" he
asked. "Have you found Scully?"

"Want Pox!" the baby shrieked again, flailing her arms and legs. 

Skinner was amazed at how much damage those little feet and hands
were capable of. He lifted her higher in his arms trying to protect
the vital parts of his anatomy from the kicking feet, then held her
straight out from his chest, her feet dancing in the air. "Not yet.
I've got people on it."

"Want Pox! Want Pox! Want Pox!" 

Skinner cast a nervous glance to the door of the ward room and
wondered how long it would be before a nurse came to see who was
torturing this child. As the baby landed another blow, this time
catching him across his tender Adam's apple, he gave a strangled
cough and fleetingly wondered if he had the authority to coerce the
guards outside into a more active form of guard duty. He blinked and
she nailed him on the nose and tears sprang to his eyes. A more
hazardous form of guard duty he mentally amended -- babysitting.
Surely one of them had kids ...

"Want Pox! Jess want Pox!" 

Skinner was at a loss and was ready to put the child down and ask for
help when Mulder spoke again. "Put her next to me," he said to
Skinner. He reached up with one arm and grabbed a wildly kicking
foot, saying, "Jessica, stop this."

The baby's noise ceased as abruptly as it had begun. "Pox wake now,"
the baby said happily.

The baby immediately settled in Skinner's arms smiling with pleasure
at both men.

"Jess," Mulder said quietly, "if you want to sit with me, you have to
sit still."

The baby's face turned serious. "'kay." She reached for Mulder and
Skinner gently set her down at his side. One little hand reached out
and gently traced the bandage on Mulder's shoulder. "Pox got owie,"
she whispered, then leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on Mulder's
hospital gown. Mulder smiled. A kiss from Jess was nice, but he
really wanted Scully there. Somehow her kisses were more healing.

"You're pretty good at this, Mulder," Skinner said. 

"Scully says it's my childlike personality," Mulder responded
self-deprecatingly. "The kids recognize a kindred spirit."

"What's kindred?" Steven piped up. 

"It means alike," Mulder answered. 

The little boy got up excitedly and moved to stand by Mulder's bed.
"We are alike!" he said. "You and me and Jess. We have the same hair
and we have the same eyes. We really are a kindred."

The two men exchanged a knowing look. Mulder seemed to be pleading
silently with Skinner who only shrugged. They probably weren't going
to get a better entre into this sensitive subject than the one they
were offered.

"Steven," Mulder said, "what do you know about your mom and dad?" 

"They're dead," the boy said sadly. He took a ragged breath then
lifted tear-filled eyes to gaze at Mulder and Skinner. He lifted one
hand and placed it over his chest. "It makes my heart hurt when I
think about it."

This was not going as Skinner had envisioned it at all. And he
couldn't stand by and watch this child suffer any more. He couldn't
take away the hurt, but maybe he could do something to help. He moved
swiftly around the bed and lifted the startled child with strong,
comforting arms. The boy's legs wrapped around his waist and his arms
snaked out to encircle his neck, the dark head nestling trustingly in
the hollow of his shoulder.

Mulder frowned up at Skinner and sent a silent query 'Are you sure we
should do this now?'

Skinner tightened his grip on the young boy and nodded. This
conversation was never going to get any easier and it needed to be
done.

"You know your mom and dad loved you, right Steven?" 

The boy sniffed, rubbing his face against Skinner's shoulder and
nodded mutely.

"They loved you very much," Skinner continued. 

"They were 'dopting me," the boy agreed. 

"Do you understand that you have another mother and father?" Skinner
asked gently. "Your biological parents?"

Steven nodded again clutching tightly to the AD. 

In the hospital bed Mulder pressed a button and the top half of the
bed began to rise. The baby giggled happily as she rode the bed to an
upright position. Mulder was sitting up now and Skinner freed one
hand to lower the bed's guard-rail then seated himself carefully on
the foot of the bed.

Mulder spoke, "Steven, sometimes there are tests that can be done to
find out if people are related."

The little boy lifted his head from Skinner's shoulder to look
worriedly at Mulder. "Tests that hurt?" he asked with concern.

"Oh, no," Mulder hurried to reassure the child. "We've already done
these tests, Steven. Do you remember when they took some blood after
we had the accident?"

"When you and Walter came and found us." The little boy nodded.
"Jessie cried, but I was brave."

"Yes, you were," Skinner said, rubbing the boy's back. "You're still
the bravest boy I know."

The boy beamed happily, thrilled to be praised by his hero. 

"Well," Mulder continued, "from that blood the doctors were able to
find out some things."

"What kind of things?" Steven asked. 

"You know how you and Jessie look alike?" 

The boy snorted in disgust. "We don't look alike. She's a girl and
I'm a boy. She's a baby and I'm big."

Mulder laughed and Skinner chuckled, then the older man said, "But
remember what you just said about your hair and Jessica's hair being
alike?"

The little boy nodded and his eyes lit up for a moment, excitement
clearly visible before it died and a frown crossed his face. "But
Jess can't be my mother," he said, causing the two men to burst out
laughing, "and I can't be her father."

"No," Mulder said indulgently. "But you can be her brother." 

The little boy thought about this for a moment and nodded. "Her real
brother, you mean, not just her 'dopted one?"

Mulder started to speak, but his throat closed up and he looked
helplessly at Skinner. Nodding again, the older man rubbed Steven's
back softly, and said, "We know that Jess is your sister but we also
know who your father is. Your real father. Your biological father."

The little boy looked up in curiosity. "Really?" 

"Yep, really." Skinner smiled down at the boy. He glanced at Mulder
and smiled then looked back to meet Steven's eyes. "Fox is your
father. Yours and Jessica's."

The child's eyes widened in amazement. "You mean Fox is our daddy?" 

"Pox daddy," Jessica echoed, and Mulder wondered what, if anything,
she understood of this conversation. She seemed to be listening
avidly, alternately at rest in his arms, or fidgeting restlessly as
her brother grew agitated.

The boy stared somberly at the agent in the bed and Mulder's heart
froze in fear. He had known this wasn't going to be easy but he had
hoped the child would be somewhat pleased at the revelation. Instead
Mulder watched as his son's expression changed from shock to
disbelief and finally to anger.

Steven pushed away from Skinner and slid down to the floor moving
several feet away. "Are you really my daddy?" he demanded petulantly.

"Yes, Steven, I am," Mulder responded quietly with a nod. 

"Daddy Pox," Jessica said throwing her arms around Mulder's neck and
kissing him soundly. Mulder grinned. At least one of the children
still liked him. He patted the baby then shifted slightly as she
settled down beside him. He looked up to meet the angry and confused
eyes of his son.

"If you are really my dad," Steven said, "why didn't you take care of
me when I was little?" His small hands balled into fists at his side
and his body went rigid. "And how come," he continued, "if you really
are our dad, you didn't take care of Jessica?" Steven paused for a
moment, chest heaving, as he fought back tears. "Dads are supposed to
take care of their kids."

Skinner's heart was breaking. For Mulder and for Steven. He didn't
know who needed him more but he feared any offer of comfort to either
of them would be rebuffed. For this, they would have to work it out
themselves.

"I didn't know about you or Jess," Mulder pleaded, the pain in his
voice so tangible it hurt Skinner just to listen.

"No!" Steven said with a snuffle. 

"Yes," Mulder insisted. "I didn't know about you." He extended both
hands toward the boy. "Steven, you have to believe me. If I had known
about you, I would never have let them hurt you."

"Really?" 

"Really." 

"You would have wanted me?" 

"Steven, I do want you," Mulder said injecting every ounce of
sincerity and believability he could into his tone, willing the boy
to believe this most basic truth.

The child stood stiffly, immobile, as he waged an inner battle, and
Skinner and Mulder waited, breaths held, afraid to move.

"You really want to be my dad?" Steven asked finally. 

"Oh, Steven," Mulder responded, "I would be so honored if you would
let me be your dad."

At that, the dam burst and tears began to flow down the child's
cheeks. He ran the few feet to the bed and launched himself into
Mulder's waiting arms.

Skinner was concerned about Mulder's wounds but this was more
important.

The boy clung to his father, weeping, and Mulder's tears flowed
freely too. Steven pulled back from Mulder's arms a tiny bit, and
looked up at him. "You're really my 'logical father?"

Mulder glanced at Skinner, both men smiling now, and answered, "Well,
I don't know how 'logical' it is, but, yes, Steven, I am your
father."

Steven missed the joke, but nodded and continued to stare up at
Mulder. "And you're not going to leave me? Or Jess? You're going to
stay with us and take care of us forever?"

"Forever," Mulder promised. "After all, dads take care of their
kids." He hugged the boy tightly, unwilling to let him go for even a
minute now.

Skinner lifted a hand to wipe his own eyes, happy to see this issue
resolved, but wondering how they would move on now.

As Steven's shudders calmed and the tears ceased, Jessica solved the
problem of moving on when she patted Mulder and said, "Daddy Pox?"

When Mulder looked up at her, she pointed at Skinner and said, "Who
dat?"

Mulder got a big shit-eating grin on his face and said, "Wellll --
Steven, baby Jess, I'd have to say, that's your Uncle Walter."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

When Scully woke the next time, it was dark. The little bit of light
the narrow window had admitted was gone. Her stomach rumbled in
complaint, and her bladder felt full to bursting. The drugs seemed to
have left her system for she felt clear-headed and the annoying fog
that had clouded her mind had lifted. She moved experimentally on the
cot, and was relieved to find her hands had been freed at some point
as she slept.

She rose quickly and moved to the corner where the food and water had
been left - and the other necessity. She took the bread and water
back to the cot, then returned to the corner and relieved herself.
Moving back to the cot, she spared a minute amount of water to rinse
her hands and face, then drank deeply. The bread vanished, followed
quickly by the water, and she was amazed that stale bread and
lukewarm water could taste so good. Scully sat quietly for a few
minutes, trying to get her bearings in the blackness, trying to come
up with a plan.

A sudden cramp clutched at her belly and she was reminded that
gorging on an empty stomach was never a good idea. Her tummy heaved,
and she tasted bile, but she managed not to vomit, although the sharp
stink of mildew and her wastes made it a temptation and her mouth
tasted unspeakably foul. She reached up, clawing her hair out of her
face, then ran a weary hand over her eyes, pressing hard against
closed lids. Her head pounded now, her abdomen quivered, and the
darkness seemed to become denser.

She was alive. There was that. In the dark, in an unknown place, held
captive for an unknown reason by an unknown enemy, but alive. Being
alive was not in itself terribly reassuring. She wondered if the
other occupants of the LaFreniere home had been so lucky. Scully
shook her head, forcing herself to her feet and decided to make
another assessment of her prison. This time with a clear head.

She was content with her measurements from the last time; 6 paces by
5 paces, approximately 12 by 10. The place she was in, other than
being black as pitch, was cool, but not dangerously so. The concrete
was rough beneath her bare feet, and she wondered for the first time
where her shoes were. And why they had felt it necessary to remove
them. She moved slowly to a wall, reaching out tentatively and
touching the damp cinderblock. She traced the blocks, confirming they
were cinderblock, and decided she must be in a cellar or basement,
not too well insulated if the moisture of the ground was weeping
through the block.

The temperature seemed constant, the earth itself serving to regulate
it, and there were no sounds or even vibrations to give a clue as to
where she was, or if she was alone. A sudden thought crossed her
mind, and she felt panic stab at her consciousness. What if she had
been buried alive in this small room? What if there was no house
above? No one to come for her? No clue to where she was? She closed
her eyes tightly, fingernails biting into the palms of her clenched
fists. Think, Dana, she admonished herself, think. Would they leave
you water and food if they were going to forget you? Would there be a
window -- that's right, there was a window -- if this was a crypt?
The temporary insanity receded and she could feel her breathing begin
to slow and even out.

She made her way to the cot and sat again, knowing that she would
have to find a way out. Mulder and Skinner were good, but she had a
feeling her captors were better in this case. It was probably as if
she had vanished off the face of the earth. But she was still alive.
God only knew if any of the others still were. She had a sudden case
of guilt. When the men had attacked, beating Tom and Susan, grabbing
up the children so cruelly, she had been shocked. Not prepared for
violence, she hadn't been wearing her gun and despite her best
efforts had been easily overpowered. She hadn't been able to do
anything to protect the LaFreniere's. Nothing.

But despite her situation, despite her seeming disadvantage, she
wasn't shocked anymore. And she wasn't unprepared. She knew something
that these men didn't know. They would look at her and see a small
woman. Strong, yes, but they would consider her strong for a woman
her size. They would be like most men were who tangled with her.
Unprepared for her advantage. Unprepared for her determination.
Unprepared for her readiness to do whatever it took to get free.

She drew a deep breath and then froze. She had heard nothing, but
there were vibrations where there had been stillness, in the concrete
beneath her feet, and in the air that brushed her cheeks. She paused
a moment, thinking of Mulder. Mulder who was her love, her strength,
her safe place. He was her comfort.

Then she thought of Skinner. A big man, a strong man, who had spent
time with her after the island. Time showing her how to use her size
to her advantage. How to use his size against him. He was her mentor,
her teacher, her friend.

She flung herself back onto the cot, going loose in a facsimile of
sleep or unconsciousness. A lock turned, then a bolt, then a chain.
Hinges groaned and then there was light! Real light. Beautiful,
bouncing, blinding light. She readied herself without moving,
prepared to spring up if the chance presented itself. Tiny, quick
breaths, each one designed to hide the rise and fall of her chest.

There were footsteps in the room now. One man. Were there others
upstairs? She dismissed the thought. One step at a time. If she made
it out of here, she would soon know if this man was alone. She
thought once more of Mulder - his touch, his taste, his tone. She
wanted to experience him again. They had waited so long to know one
another, she wasn't ready to let go yet. After the island it had been
Mulder, and Mulder alone who had let her feel safe enough to be a
woman. Who had made it all right for her to be with him. Who made it
good to not be alone.

And she thought of Skinner -- the black and blue marks he hid beneath
the starched white shirts as he taught her to fight as he had been
taught. The aches and pains he suffered willingly to make her
stronger, to give her back her security. It had been Skinner who had
made her strong enough to be a woman. Who made her know again that
she could take care of herself. Who made her strong enough to be
alone.

She waited in total relaxation on the bed, ready to react to whatever
situation presented itself. And she thanked both of her men that she
was prepared this time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Mulder paced, nervous agitation making it impossible to stay still.
He cast quick glances at the children; Steven playing quietly on the
floor in the play area, Jessie tucked securely in Skinner's lap. He'd
promised them he would take them home. But where was home? He was
practically living at Scully's. He still kept the bare essentials at
his apartment, but he spent almost all his time at her place. She had
a second bedroom -- not perfect for the kids but better than his one
bedroom hole in the wall place.

He thought of Scully, then cursed the men and the conspiracy that had
taken her from him again. This had to stop. There had to be a way to
make this stop. His fist came up, almost of its own accord, ready to
pound the wall, when a throat cleared from behind him. He turned,
seeing Skinner frowning at him, Jess still distracted, but Steven
staring with large, almost frightened eyes. He lowered his hand
immediately and gave a weak smile, waiting until the boy returned to
his toys.

He wanted Scully. He wanted to tell her these were his children. He
wanted -- no, he needed -- her help and support. Without it, he
wasn't sure he could make this transition to instant father. But did
he have the right to invade her home, rearrange her life, make this
decision without her? A sigh escaped him, and he realized how
incredibly lost he was without this woman, the one person who had
ever completely accepted him and loved him unconditionally. She
trusted him, and he wasn't going to abuse that trust in any way. He
would take the children home to his apartment. Then, once Scully was
found, they would work out the details from there.

Finally, he sighed again and lifted the phone, dialing a number he
knew by heart.

"Langly? This is Mulder." He grimaced, but who else could he have
called to take care of these details?

"Let me talk to Byers." 

"No, you can't help me. Well, you can help me, but I need to talk to
Byers first." He started pacing again, the cord on the phone keeping
him tethered near the bed, the wounds in his belly and on his
shoulder keeping him from moving too fast.

"No, I'm not implying anything." 

"Langly, put Byers on the phone." 

"No, I don't want to talk to Frohike. I definitely don't want to talk
to Frohike." Mulder stopped, fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of
his nose in a gesture reminiscent of the AD.

"Well, yes, I am going to need him to help too, but -- damn it,
Langly, put Byers on the phone." He looked at the children guiltily,
already regretting letting his temper force him to raise his voice.

"No, this doesn't have anything to do with your skills or abilities.
Or Frohike's. I just need to talk to John." Oh, God. He was whining.
Time for a new approach.

"Langly -- I work for the FBI. I can create investigations. Put Byers
on the phone!" If you can't reason with them, threats will sometimes
work. Mulder smiled smugly as he heard the receiver on the other end
being handed off.

"John? Yeah, this is Mulder." 

"No, I'm not mad at Ringo." He started pacing again, one hand coming
up to rub his temple. He was getting a headache.

"No, I did not say he was incompetent." 

"Well, I'm sorry his feelings are hurt, and I'm sorry he's sulking." 

"Jesus Christ, John, I just have something I need done, and I think
you're the best one to spearhead the operation without attracting
undue attention!" Damn! He had to get control of his temper and keep
his voice down. The baby had jumped in Skinner's lap when he had
spoken, and Mulder winced at Skinner's reproachful glare.

"NO!" Deep breath, Mulder. Control. These guys are not the enemy. "I
am not implying that your associates are weird. No weirder than usual
anyway. No weirder than you or me. You just dress like normal folks.
Helps you pass." His anger subsiding in the face of the incongruity
of this conversation, Mulder laughed.

"Look, John, I need a big favor." 

He was pacing again, listening. Why the hell did this have to be so
hard? "All right, then, I need two favors. Smooth things over with
Langly and Frohike, then I need you to get some things for my
apartment."

"Look, just do it, OK?" Soft tones, Mulder, soft tones. He glanced
quickly at the baby again, then looked over at his son. "No questions
for now."

"All right. Here's what needs to be done. Ditch the damn waterbed in
my bedroom."

"Yes, I said waterbed!" Another trip around the bed, as far as the
phone cord would let him go, and more deep breathing as he continued
to fight for control.

"No! I don't care what you do with it." 

"If it'll make things straight with Langly, then, fine, give it to
him." Why not? He didn't want the damn thing. Hell, he wasn't even
sure where the damn thing came from. He was thinking that should be
all that had to go, when he looked up in horror. More guilt as he
looked at the kids, and then he lowered his voice. "And tell Melvin
to take all the tapes."

"The videos. They absolutely have to go," he whispered, his face red.
When he looked at the baby again, Skinner caught his eye, a
questioning look on his face. Mulder turned his back abruptly. "Yes,
I'm serious."

Mulder winced as a sudden pain shot through his shoulder, then smiled
grimly. "Well, that's reassuring. So happy to know I am back in
Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum's good graces." And off that topic.

"I need two new beds." Mulder was walking around the hospital bed
again as he spoke, but a bit more slowly now. Surely he could fit the
two beds in his bedroom.

"Yes, two. Get a twin size bed and a crib." 

Steven spoke up. "Jess has a toddler bed now." 

Mulder hit his head. "Shit! No crib." 

He heard a familiar echo from the corner. "Szit!" Skinner looked over
at him, Jess in his lap and frowned.

He paused. "Yes, I did say crib. Now I'm saying no crib. Get a
toddler bed." On top of his other aches, his head was hurting again.

"A toddler bed. One of those half size things that are low to the
ground and have rails."

"How the hell am I supposed to know where to find them?" Low tones,
low tones, Mulder. He took a deep breath. "At the toddler bed store,
I suppose."

"Yeah, good idea, John. That's why I told Langly I needed to talk to
you. You can think normal when you try." He laughed.

"Get sheets and pillows and blankets. Whatever else is needed." 

"How old? Um, seven and two?" Mulder looked at Steven. 

"Two and a half," the boy said in answer to Mulder's unspoken
question. "And Jessie needs a potty." He cast a glance at the
bathroom door. "You know, for when you're still learning."

"John? I need a potty chair, too." 

"A potty chair. If you need an explanation for that one, ask the
salesperson."

"Clothes, toys, games. Kid's stuff." 

"Size? How should I know? They're two and seven." 

Mulder turned to look at Skinner again. "Uh, Sir, could you see what
size her shirt is? And Steven's too?"

"John? 3T and 8." 

"Hold on, John." He moved closer to Steven, as close as the cord
would allow and asked, "Anything else, Steven?"

"We're really coming home with you?" 

"Absolutely!" 

The little boy furrowed his brow, thinking. "Do you have a booster
seat? So Jess can reach at the table?"

Mulder shook his head, then spoke into the phone again. "A booster
seat -- for the table." He frowned, visualizing his apartment. "Oh,
and get a table while you're at it."

"A table to eat at. A kitchen table. Or something. With chairs." 

"You don't have a table?" Steven seemed shocked. "Where do you eat?" 

Mulder shook his head. "I do have one. I just sort of use it as a
desk." This whole conversation was reawakening his doubts as to his
ability to assume his role as father. But, damn it, they were his
kids -- he wasn't going to run out on them. They'd all adjust. "Don't
worry. We're going to have a table."

He returned his attention to the phone. "Oh. The older one's a boy,
and the baby is a girl." He looked fondly at each child as he spoke.

"Can you guys clean the place up a bit, and get some food? Real food,
not that stuff I usually buy. Fruit and juice -- that sort of thing."

"Hey, thanks, man. I owe you big time. Charge everything to my card.
I'm sure you guys can get the numbers." He grinned, then looked at
Skinner who was reading to Jessie in the play area.

"When?" he mouthed. 

"Tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow, John." 

"I know it's not much time. Just get it done, please." God, one day
was not much time at all.

"Do you have a rocker, Fox?" Steven asked, looking pointedly at
Skinner where he sat rocking the baby as he read. "Jessie likes to be
rocked."

Mulder nodded, thinking of the times he'd caught Steven in Skinner's
lap, being rocked as well.

"Oh, one more thing. A rocker, John." He pinched his nose again,
listening.

"Yes, a rocker. Rocking chair. High back, curved bottom? I'm sure
you've seen them."

Mulder sighed in relief, then stiffened. 

"Yeah, actually, they are mine." He smiled in satisfaction as he hung
up on the shocked silence from the other end.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Want juice," Jess demanded, and Mulder laughed when Steven corrected
her.

"How do you ask, Jessie?" 

"Want juice, pease," she repeated, with a slightly less insistent
tone.

The flight attendant looked at Mulder. "I can get her some juice,
sir," she offered, and Mulder thanked her.

When the woman didn't move, Mulder looked up again. 

"Do you have her sippy cup?" 

"Her what?" 

"You are her father, aren't you?" 

"Well, uh, yes, but," he looked nervously at the woman and then at
Skinner.

"He's a new father," Skinner said quietly. "The children have been
living elsewhere until now."

Mulder could see the woman thinking, deciding 'custody battle,' and
then assessing him. He must have passed, because she smiled. "I think
I can find one for you. It's amazing what gets left behind." She
turned and walked quickly up the aisle to the small galley.

"What the hell is a sippy cup?" Mulder hissed to Skinner. 

"How should I know?" The older man was engrossed in his computer,
hooked into the airline's phone system. "You'll find out soon
enough."

Mulder looked at his watch. Another hour and a half. And he was
exhausted already. He checked to make sure Steven and Jess were both
buckled in, then closed his eyes briefly.

A small hand touched his arm. "Go potty pease." 

"Again? You just went!" 

Skinner chuckled and Mulder shot him a dirty look. 

"Go potty now," Jessica said firmly, a very determined look on her
face as she fussed with the seat belt.

"Maybe you shouldn't give her the juice," Skinner suggested. 

"It's a two and a half hour flight," Mulder said in exasperation as
he rose gingerly to take Jess to the bathroom for the eighth time.
All this up and down, and back and forth was not helping his aches
and pains. "How often can she need to go?"

Skinner frowned. "Does she go when you take her?" 

"Yeah, some." 

"Then I guess she needs to go when she needs to go." 

"Go potty, Pox," the baby said, tugging at Mulder's hand. She was
standing in the aisle, waiting for him to rise and perform escort and
support duty. No potty chairs on airplanes.

Skinner chuckled when he saw Mulder return, Jess holding one hand and
a stack of paper towels wiping futilely at the front of his suit.

Mulder looked up, chagrined. "She really gets into the whole hand
washing thing."

Skinner recognized Mulder's insecurity. This was all so new to him.
New to them both. What the hell had they been thinking when they said
they would take the children? What the hell had he been doing when he
facilitated the arrangement? He studied Mulder a bit longer. The tall
man was leaning over, buckling the baby into her seat next to Steven.
He paused a moment, looking at the drawing the boy was making, then
ruffling the child's hair.

When Mulder looked up again, Skinner said, "You're doing fine,
Mulder. It's an adjustment for everyone." He sighed and closed the
laptop he had been working on. "I've got a direction for when we get
back to DC. Someone we need to talk to who may be able to give us
something to go on in finding Scully."

"How? Who?" 

"Dana?" Steven looked up, interested now. "Are we going to get Dana
when we get to your house, Fox?"

"Well," Mulder exchanged a quick glance with Skinner, "we need to
find Dana first."

"The bad men have her." Steven said it in a tone so sad, so final,
Mulder could feel his heart breaking.

"She's going to come back to us, Steven," Mulder said. "I promise." 

Skinner winced, and hoped desperately that that was a promise Mulder
could keep.

Steven was nodding as he listened, then he looked up. "You're going
to be our dad, right Fox?"

"Daddy Pox," Jessica chirped and Mulder laughed and nodded. 

"I am your dad, Steven." 

"Yeah, well, OK. And Walter is going to be our uncle, but not a real
uncle, just a sort of 'dopted one, right?"

Skinner looked across the aisle, wondering where this conversation
was heading. Mulder was nodding again, the same obvious question on
his face.

"So, uh, Fox," the boy continued, "is Dana going to be our mom?" 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

It was amazing what you could accomplish if you were willing to spend
money lavishly. Though it had cost three times what it should have, a
sturdy car seat was waiting for them when they arrived at the
airport.

Mulder carried Jess and her diaper bag -- a gift from the nurses at
the hospital - both bag and baby cradled on his uninjured side. He
moved slowly, conscious with every step of the tender belly and
bandaged shoulder his clothing hid. Skinner carried everything else.
Both men's suitcases, the car seat, the children's small bag of
belongings. It was unfair, and Mulder could tell it bothered the
older man to be so overloaded that he couldn't possibly reach his
weapon, but he trudged on toward long term parking without complaint.

Actually installing the seat took much longer than expected, and
Mulder had to make the slow trek back to the terminal when Jess
insisted she had to "go." He had wanted to put her in a diaper for
convenience sake, but she would hear nothing of it -- protesting
quite loudly at the mere idea. Using the restroom in the terminal was
a new experience, too. On the plane, there hadn't been "Men's" and
"Women's" facilities, but here there certainly were. And taking his
little girl into a bathroom full of urinals and grown men using them,
wasn't his idea of good parenting. God, this was going to be a lot
harder than he could ever have imagined. Scully would know what to
do. She had seemed to fall so naturally into her role as mother with
Emily and all he'd been able to do was make goofy faces for the
child.

He stood outside the lavatory for a long time, bottom lip pulled
between teeth, Jess whining and fretting more with each moment he
delayed. He spoke soothingly to her, but despite his murmured, "Just
a minute more," he knew he couldn't take her in there. He missed
Scully. It was a physical ache, pounding at him relentlessly. He felt
so inadequate. Why couldn't these men just leave him alone? Leave
Scully alone? Leave his children alone? He looked down to see Jess
dancing back and forth on her little feet as she struggled to wait
per his command. God, parents had such power to make their children
miserable and didn't even realize it most of the time. How could he
do this? He was almost ready to take her into the "Ladies" and let
them arrest him, when a man spoke.

"First time?" 

Mulder looked over, not understanding the question. 

"First time you've had to take her?" 

"Oh, yeah," Mulder nodded, coloring as his eyes slipped back to the
child.

"Mom's busy, huh?" 

Mulder nodded again. It wasn't worth explaining. "I don't like the
idea of taking her in there with the urinals."

The man nodded in agreement. "Bothered me at first, too." He moved
slightly closer and spoke confidentially. "Let me go check, see if
it's safe, then I'll let you know."

"Go potty!" Jess demanded, pulling at her pants. 

"I'll hurry," the man said, laughing as he ducked through the door.
He was back in seconds. "Give it a minute. I explained and everyone
is finishing up and putting things away." The man winked. "Parenting
in the nineties, huh? No one thought of this when they designed men's
bathrooms." He looked at his watch, then stuck his head in again.
"All clear."

Mulder breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks. I don't think I would have
thought of that. I was ready to take her to the 'Ladies' and just let
them report me for a pervert."

Jess was whining openly now, and the man chuckled again. "No problem.
Us modern dads have to stick together. Better hurry though, I don't
think she's gonna last much longer."

Mulder took Jessie in, more at ease now, and once finished, lifted
her gently up in his arms for the hike back to the car. He reached
the terminal entrance and was surprised, but relieved, to see Skinner
parked there, waiting. The expedition to the bathroom, on top of the
exertion of the flight, was wearing his still healing body out.

"What took so long?" he asked as he stepped around the car to get the
baby in the new seat. He took a second look at his agent, pale and a
little shaky, and reached for Jess.

Mulder passed her over and she went agreeably. "Well, uh," he flushed
again as he thought back to his predicament. "I didn't want to just
take her in, not with the, well, you know."

Skinner looked at him, uncomprehendingly. He turned his attention
back to the seat, and the harness that secured the child to it. "No,
I don't know," he said, giving a satisfied grunt as the strap
latched. He pulled back out of the car, then stood. "What was the
problem?"

Mulder pushed the door shut, making sure the lock was down, then
mumbled, "Urinals."

"Oh," Skinner responded, understanding dawning in his face. He walked
back around to the driver's side and climbed in. "What did you do?"

"A man went in and made sure it was clear before I took her in." He
sighed, then glanced into the back seat. Steven had his drawing pad
out again and was contentedly coloring a lime green stegosaurus. Jess
had leaned back in the new seat, eyes closing almost as soon as the
car had begun to move, and she slept soundly now. "I had no idea it
would be this hard, Sir," he whispered. "I'm worried about
everything!"

"Give yourself some time, Mulder," the AD advised. "This is still
new, and very unexpected, for you." He reached out and patted the
younger man's shoulder. "You know I'll help in any way I can."

"How can I keep them safe? I didn't even know how to take my daughter
to the bathroom. How the hell am I going to protect them from whoever
is after them?"

"Bathrooms are a new experience for you. You'll learn. As for the
other, that's what you do. It's what you're trained for. And you are
very good at it."

Mulder snorted. He indicated his stomach wound in disgust, then
gently touched his shoulder. "Not that you would notice."

"Mulder, you got Steven out when no one else would have even gone in.
You've tracked down killers, mutants, wild animals, and a few things
I'm not even able to name. You can do this, Mulder. You're probably
the only one who can."

"And Scully?" Mulder asked. "What about Scully?" 

"We'll find her, Mulder. We'll find her. Remember, we've got a lead
now. When we get into the city, we can set up a meeting."

The two men exchanged a quick glance. 

"A meeting?" Mulder looked back at the children. Steven had drifted
off too now, and seeing both children asleep, so peaceful, so
trusting, he was wracked by the damage that would result if he didn't
keep them safe. "We have to find Scully. We have to meet your
contact. But," he turned and met Skinner's eyes, "what are we going
to do with the children?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"There isn't anyone else I trust," Mulder insisted. 

"We can put guards at the foster home, round-the-clock. FBI, not
locals. We can make it safe. I don't think we can drag her into it."

"NO! They're here. They're safe. We told them they were coming home
with me." Mulder paced across the small living room, ignoring the
twinges of pain that flared from his abdomen, eyes darting from the
bedroom door down the hall to the large man who sat on his ragged old
couch. "I promised Steven he was coming home with me." The man
slowed, one hand raking his hair compulsively, anguish and
determination at war in his face. "I won't break my promise. And I
won't consign my children to the foster care system. I won't!"

"Even if it means you can't participate in the search for Scully?"
Skinner was adamant. There was no room for compromise here.

Mulder's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have to be involved. You know
that."

"You can't do both." 

"I can if she'll come. She can keep them here; they'll love her. And
you can put the guards in the hall and outside."

Skinner finally nodded. "If she'll come, then I'll approve it." 

"She'll come. I know she will." 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Fox, I don't understand this at all. Is there any word on Dana?" The
woman looked up at the other man, and an expression of disbelief
crossed her face. "Mr. Skinner," she exclaimed, "I didn't expect to
see you here."

"Mrs. Scully," Mulder took the older woman's arm and led her into the
living room. He gently seated her on the couch, then took his place
beside her.

"Fox? Have you heard something?" Mulder could hear the fear in the
woman's voice and he hurried to reassure her.

"No, no, not yet. But we have a lead. And we'll be checking into it
as soon as we can get this situation resolved."

"What situation?" Maggie looked between the two men, confusion in her
face. "What's going on here, Fox?" she demanded.

"Well," he hedged, "maybe I better show you." He led her down the
hall and opened the bedroom door. From the light of the hall, you
could just make out the two small forms, each in their own bed,
sleeping.

"What is this, Fox? Who are these children?" 

Mulder pulled the door shut and led the way back to the living room.
Skinner was pacing by the window, a silent and almost ominous
presence, and Mulder knew he was planning.

"Well?" Maggie demanded. "What is going on, Fox?" 

"The children are, uh, mine, Mrs. Scully." Mulder finally found his
voice.

The shock in the woman's face was evident, a tumult of emotions
racing across her features. Confusion, disbelief, amazement, concern.
"But -- how?"

"Not in the usual way, I assure you," Mulder said dryly. "And I'm
really not sure how, but the blood tests confirm it. They're mine."

"And the mother? Is it ..." Her voice trailed away, not really
knowing if she wanted to ask or not.

"No," Mulder said sadly. "Not Scully. I don't know who. I wish --
well, I don't know what I wish." He sighed heavily and sat by the
woman on the couch again. "We don't have a lot of time," he said.
"The AD and I have to meet someone, someone who may be able to tell
us something about Dana's whereabouts." He paused, looking back at
the bedroom. "But I can't leave them alone."

Maggie immediately nodded, total understanding on her face. "I see.
You have to go." She looked up at Skinner, "You both have to go. I'll
stay."

"There could be trouble," Mulder said warningly. 

"You're leaving guards, aren't you? Those two young men I saw outside
aren't just lawn ornaments."

Mulder chuckled. "No, they're not. And yes, we are leaving guards." 

"Then go. And don't worry. We'll be fine." 

"There's milk and juice in the fridge; groceries in the cabinets. I'm
not sure what, but I hope it's edible. The baby's sippy cup is in the
sink. Here's my Visa in case you need something. There'll be plenty
of agents around if you need someone to go to the store."

"I have done this before, you know." Maggie arched an eyebrow as she
spoke and Mulder felt his heart break. So that was where Scully had
picked up that mannerism.

Mulder leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I'm going to find her," he
whispered, promise ringing from every word.

"Of course you are," Maggie said serenely. "Now, two things: Is the
baby still in diapers? And what are their names?"

---------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------


 
"Get up!" The voice was harsh, insistent, full of barely controlled
violence.

Scully lay still a moment longer, willing herself to appear
unconscious, but there was a sudden sharp jab in her leg, and she
jumped, a small gasp escaping. She opened her eyes, and sat up
wearily, all hopes of pretense and surprise erased.

"I said, get up!" 

Scully rose slowly, eyes never leaving the man's face. He was big --
six four or better, and easily weighed 240, none of it fat. And he
looked mean. Scully stared at him and confirmed to herself -- he was
big! The tight T-shirt he wore revealed wide shoulders and bulging
biceps, muscles rippling across his chest and abdomen. His bare arms
had the definition of someone who worked out with weights. A lot.

Despite her earlier self-confidence, Scully felt threatened,
increasingly uneasy about being alone with him in this isolated room.
She glanced toward the door, closed but still unlocked. Her only
exit. She moved to the side, a tiny half-step, and watched as the man
smirked as he tracked her movement. He took a step forward, asking in
an oily tone, "Where do you think you are going?"

"I'm not ..." Scully paused, struggling for control. Focus, she
ordered herself. Don't let all those bumps and bruises Skinner
suffered be for nothing. She moved again toward the door, always
facing the man, letting his amusement at her fuel her fury -- and her
strength.

The man took a step toward her, and Scully suddenly had a vision of
the Academy. Her instructor. An enormous man, built like a
linebacker, at least six four. He'd told her to attack, planning to
use her as an example for the rest of the "girls" in the class. Let
no one imply that sexism was dead. She stormed him in a rage, his
verbal taunts and humiliations more than she could tolerate, and he'd
simply picked her up, one hand holding her completely off the floor
with no more effort than a mother cat expended to hustle a straying
kitten back to the nest.

The memory of his laughter as she hung helpless from his hand, arms
and legs flailing to no avail, caused her to flush again now.

'You think you can be a useful agent, little girl?' he had sneered.
Then looking up, he'd sighted the men surrounding the gym floor. The
two other women were staring at their feet, but the men, the men had
watched, fascinated. 'Who wants this little lady watching their
back?'

The man before her took a step, moving so close to her she could feel
his heat and smell the sweat that oozed from his pores. She sidled
away, still inching toward the door, still aiming for freedom. The
man lunged, and Scully recoiled, his pungent odor startling her as
much as his sudden move. He laughed at her reaction, and she bit down
on the fear. Focus, Dana, focus.

The instructor had continued to taunt her, and she had continued to
flail, head whipping wildly about until one of the men caught her
eye. She stared at him for a moment, and saw him visibly relax, then
stiffen. Taking a cue, she had relaxed into dead weight, surprising
the instructor and then kicking him in the softest spot she could
find, grunting in satisfaction as he released her and went to his
knees.

She'd done the same with Skinner, practicing over and over until she
felt the confidence, the security that had been taken from her on the
island return.

Focus, Dana, focus, she reminded herself. She looked at the man
before her, still smirking at her, still so self-assured in his size
and strength. She moved again for the door, then lunged and he caught
her, lifting her as her instructor had done all those years ago, as
her friend had done so many times not so many months ago.

'You want to be a fighter, Dana?' Skinner had screamed at her. 'You
want to win? Then don't struggle. Use your advantage. Stop, drop, and
kick the shit out of me!'

And she had. And she did. As she had practiced so many times that it
was practically second nature, Scully relaxed into dead weight,
waited for the man's surprised shift as his balance was threatened,
then slammed her knee into that vulnerable soft spot on his body. He
dropped her and fell to his knees. She kicked again, then again, and
again, not stopping for the groans, or the blood, his protests
falling on deaf ears. And when she finally stopped kicking, the man
lay still and unmoving at her feet.

Laugh at that, asshole, she thought, as she turned and made her way
out the door.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"I don't like this, Mulder," Skinner said, as he looked at the empty
and decrepit warehouses around them. "I'm not going to let us walk
into this with him holding all the cards." He reached over and
touched Mulder's arm. "Stop the car."

Mulder did as directed, then looked over at the AD. "What?" 

"You go on alone. Meet our contact. Be very careful." 

"Where are you going to be?" 

Skinner smiled, but there was nothing warm or encouraging in it.
"I'll be around, don't you worry. You just watch out for yourself."
Skinner was fiddling with his weapon, checking the chamber in the
gun, and as Mulder looked on, a knife appeared in the man's hand. He
tested the edge, then grunted in satisfaction. Where the hell had
that come from? Skinner looked up and spoke again, "We're running
silent on this." He tapped Mulder's pocket. "Don't forget to turn
your cell phone off."

Mulder nodded and watched as Skinner almost rolled from the car and
seemingly vanished before his eyes. It was uncanny how the man could
do that. And what the hell had suddenly made him so damn nervous?
Mulder put the car in 'drive' and moved on slowly, scanning for the
correct number. Finally spotting it, he stopped again, then took
several minutes to survey the area.

Deserted, decaying, the warehouses lined a narrow alleyway. Once a
vital part of the city's rail transportation, it was a long abandoned
area, prime for stray cats, rabid dogs, drug addicts and their
suppliers. Homeless people, drunk, drugged, or just mentally ill,
shuffled in and out of the buildings, lay in doorways or sat unmoving
on piles of rotted packing.

He shivered once, then checked his gun surreptitiously. His belly was
much better, causing him almost no pain at all when he moved, but his
shoulder was still exceedingly tender. He used his left arm and hand
as little as possible, but still refused to wear a sling, refused to
be that restricted. Besides, the one time he had put the sling on,
Jess had gotten very distressed, and he had removed it almost at
once.

He smiled as he thought of the children. Despite the questions
surrounding their origins, he considered them to be an incredible
gift. He would never have had children. He just didn't trust himself
enough to knowingly bring another life into the world. To willingly
take on the responsibility of that life. He knew all too well how
easy it was to fail in that responsibility. And even though Scully
was supposedly infertile now, they had always used precautions. Just
in case. Neither one of them was willing to risk having a child who
would become the focus of someone else's attention. They couldn't
chance putting a child through that. Not with their history.

Mulder was out of the car now, eyes scanning the alley, walking
slowly but steadily toward the battered door of number 84. A man
approached and he tensed, but the man only asked for change and
Mulder passed over the contents of his pocket. Little enough, but he
could reach it with his left hand, and he wasn't going to put his
right hand out of commission, not even for a moment.

Scully. He was here for Scully. But now Scully and the children were
inextricably mixed in his mind. He could no more abandon Steven and
Jessie than he could ever leave Scully. They hadn't wanted children,
hadn't planned on children, didn't include children in the few
hesitant, tentative discussions they had had about their future. A
future that was itself tentative, uncertain, unstable. For people
like them, what good was planning for a future if you couldn't even
be sure of tomorrow? But that would have to change now. There would
have to be so many changes. Not just potty chairs and sippy cups, but
lifestyle changes, and career changes. The children had to have
security, they had to be safe. God, he could only hope Scully would
be as willing to accept these children of his, as he would have been
to accept her Emily.

He reached the door and pushed, stepping back and to the side as it
creaked open. He pulled his gun, then whipped around the door jamb,
eyes raking the dimly lit interior. Tall, dirt-covered windows, many
broken or cracked, let in weak sunlight, giving the place an almost
other-worldly appearance. The air hung heavy in his nose, dust motes
dancing in the streams of light, and a smell of decay and disuse
teased his senses. He stood unmoving, the hairs on his arms and at
the back of his neck prickling, standing upright as he watched for
any sign of movement. He missed Scully. It was all so different when
you had someone you trusted watching your back.

There was a movement to his left and Mulder whirled, gun pointing
straight at a feral cat, who arched her back and hissed before
darting through a hole in the wallboard. Mulder smiled then. That cat
wasn't the only one to move with feline grace and speed. He looked
around again, looking up at a spiderweb of iron walkways that crossed
and recrossed going up four stories. Where the hell was Skinner? He
shrugged. The man said he'd be here; he was here. Mulder moved on
into the building, the light from the windows fading as he went
further back. Empty packing crates and fifty-five gallon drums, huge
cardboard boxes and stacks of wooden pallets littered the floor of
the warehouse and he threaded his way carefully through the maze.

There was still no sign of anyone else. Mulder found a spot, as
well-lit as he was likely to find, back to the wall, but with good
forward and side visibility, and he prepared to wait.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Skinner moved noiselessly to stand behind the man. A brief, silent
communion with himself -- he kept vowing not to kill again and still
he continued to take lives -- then he reached out and in one swift
motion, broke the man's neck, lowering him slowly to the iron
catwalk. It was the fourth man he'd taken out. And he still hadn't
seen Mulder. What the hell was taking the man so long?

Skinner took a moment to disguise the body from view, then scanned
again, looking for the next target. How many of them were there? The
guard on the building, the guard inside. The two he'd found on the
catwalk. His intuition had been right. This was no meeting to
exchange information on Scully. This was a set-up. He wanted to call
and check on the children, prayed this hadn't been a ploy to draw
them away and leave Steven and Jess vulnerable. He shook his head.
They would be fine. Mulder's apartment and the building were crawling
with agents and local police. No one was getting in there.

There was a flash of movement above him, and he pulled further back
into the shadows, then risked a quick glance upwards. Another one.
Skinner had already acquired two automatic weapons, one cradled in
his arms, one slung on his back, ammunition, three more handguns, and
two knives as he worked his way through the building. At this rate,
he was going to have to start leaving the hardware behind.

There was movement below him now, and he looked down. Mulder.
Finally. The man was moving slowly, carefully, through the labyrinth
of discarded packing crates and cartons, watching for any signs of
others. Skinner sighed softly. Mulder was good -- his eyes never
stopped moving, but the man hadn't looked up once! For someone who
was known for his unorthodox thinking, he certainly seemed unable to
remember the third dimension extended above and below. Ah, good! A
glance up. He was being careful. Skinner watched him a moment longer,
then slipped over to the ladder to head up to the man he had seen
above.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The door led to stairs that creaked horribly as Scully moved up them.
Anyone up there would know she was coming long before she reached the
top, but she continued onward, greatly encouraged by her victory over
the man downstairs. She paused a few steps from the top, drew in a
deep breath, then rushed the last bit up and emerged into a tiny,
untidy kitchen.

The sunlight streaming through the window was blinding, and she
blinked furiously as tears flowed from her eyes. Gasping, she whipped
her head around, looking for any sign that anyone else was in the
kitchen, but it appeared deserted. She paused a moment, giving
herself time to adjust to the light, and to her newly won freedom,
then scanned for a phone. It was there, on the wall by the
refrigerator, but when she lifted it, there was only silence.
Replacing it quietly, she opened drawers until she found what she was
looking for, then moved out of the kitchen, butcher knife clutched
tightly in her hand.

She searched the house, ever ready to meet another foe, and was
almost disappointed to find she truly was alone. The man downstairs,
who would be unconscious for a long time, was her only company. The
house was tiny, consisting of a living room, bedroom, bath, and
kitchen. The basement below completed the house's square footage, and
she went back to the front room, peering through heavy drapes to see
a late model sedan parked in the dirt driveway.

She could see no other houses from her vantage at the window. This
small cottage seemed to sit isolated, surrounded by fields of cotton,
tobacco, and soy beans. Probably an old sharecropper's cabin that had
been let to some hired hand now, or possibly offered to migrants
during the season. She let the drapes fall back in place and dropped
onto the ratty old sofa, her eyes scanning the room as she made her
plans. She had to get out of here. The car was her escape. But that
meant going back down and getting keys from the man in the cellar.

She shuddered involuntarily. Despite her successful defeat of the big
man, she had no desire to tempt fate by taking him on again. She
really didn't even want to see him again. But she had no choice.
Decision made, she rose quickly and descended once more to the
basement.

The man was still unmoving where her attack had left him. Blood
dripped from his temple and he was clearly unconscious. The medical
oath she had taken -- First, do no harm -- flashed briefly through
her head, but she thrust it aside in favor of her own version of 'Do
Unto Others.' Her perverse joke amused her, and she knew she was
bordering on psychological shock to be so easily distracted. She
searched the man quickly, having no compunction at turning him over
to reach his back pockets when she came up empty in front. Still
having no luck, she sat back on her heels thinking. Perhaps he'd left
them upstairs.

She went back up, moving more comfortably through the kitchen and
into the front room, then looking around. The only thing that didn't
seem to belong was a briefcase, tucked between the couch and an end
table, almost out of sight. She could see how she had missed it in
her first hurried look through the place. She pulled it out, placing
it on the coffee table and then sitting on the sofa. Holding her
breath as if she expected the thing to blow up, she opened it
carefully and was immediately rewarded with the rattle of a set of
keys. Keys to the car, keys to her freedom.

She was ready to close the case, shifting it to do so, when one of
the folders inside shifted and a name caught her eye. Mulder. The
folder was labeled Mulder, F. W. Oh, God! She closed her eyes
quickly, suppressing the shudder that threatened her, then pulled it
out quickly.

It was a comprehensive listing of procedures that had been performed,
and monitoring of the results of those procedures. Scully slammed it
shut, and threw it back in the briefcase. She didn't think she wanted
to know. She licked her lips nervously, looking around. She had to
get out of here. She had to read this. She had to tell Mulder. Item
one first, she thought grimly, shutting the case firmly and moving
out the front door.

The car unlocked and started with ease, and she chose a direction at
random, driving a good twenty minutes before she came to a very small
town. The center was really nothing more than a small collection of
buildings along the highway as it ran through the town. Post office,
market, dime store, church, hardware store, a diner, and finally,
what she had been looking for -- the police department.

She pulled in quickly, taking one of the three parking places, the
other two being marked "Chief" and "Official Vehicle," then turned
off the engine. She looked briefly in the mirror, surprising herself
that she could even consider appearances considering what she had
been through. Hell, she didn't even know how long she had been
missing. She wiped the worst of the dirt from her face, and pushed
her rat's nest of hair out of her eyes, then looked down at her
filthy clothes and bare feet. Shrugging, she got out of the car and
walked resolutely toward the door of the building, briefcase firmly
in her hand.

The door opened easily and a young woman in a blue uniform looked up.
Her welcoming smile faded quickly and she wrinkled her nose in
distaste, but she still managed a civil, "May I help you, ma'am?"

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, of the Federal Bureau of
Investigation, badge number JTT0331613. I've been held captive in a
small house about twenty minutes south of here, for --" she paused,
"well, I was drugged and unconscious part of the time, so I don't
know how long I've been missing. Also, I critically injured the
perpetrator in the course of my escape so you'll need medical at the
scene when you go pick him up."

A man walked out of the back office then, and looked at Scully with a
healthy hint of disbelief. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, "but could
you repeat that?"

"Look, I know what this looks like, but I want that car I drove in
impounded, and get on the phone to the Bureau in DC. I work for
Assistant Director Walter Skinner. His office can confirm my
credentials."

The man looked doubtfully at her, and she could see he was trying to
decide if he wanted to risk making a fool of himself by making the
requested phone call. He seemed to be on the verge of declining, when
she said, "Think of how embarrassed you'll be when you find out I'm
telling the truth."

The man studied her a bit longer, then nodded. "Give Ms. Scully the
phone, Marilyn," he said, and the clerk rose and opened a panel in
the counter, allowing Scully to come in and sit at the desk.

"What's today?" she asked as she lifted the receiver and dialed. 

"Friday. Why?" 

"A week," Scully sighed. "I've been gone a week. Mulder must be
almost insane by now." There was a click in her ear and when she
spoke again, it was to Skinner's assistant, Kim. "This is Agent
Scully, Kim, I need to speak to the AD."

There was a burst of chatter that even the police chief could hear,
and Scully smiled as she listened to the story of her missing days.
Finally she interrupted, and asked, "Kim, verify my identity to the
police chief here, and arrange some credit, money, something for me.
My clothes are a disaster, and I haven't eaten in I don't know how
long."

She passed the phone to the man, then asked Marilyn, "Do you have
another line?"

The woman nodded and led her to another desk, pushing a button to
light up the second line. Scully dialed quickly, and was met with a
recording, "The cellular customer you are ..." She hung up before it
could finish. She thought a moment. So Mulder was out of pocket. She
dialed again. Same recording. Skinner must be with him. What the hell
were those two doing now?

The police chief had finished now, and was holding out the phone to
her. She hung up and walked over to him, taking the extended receiver
with a polite, "Thank you."

"Scully here." 

"Agent Scully? I'm arranging a credit voucher to be wired to the
market there in town. The chief tells me it's just a couple doors
down. You can get cash for travel expenses, credit for purchases
anywhere in town. The locals assure me you'll have their full
cooperation. The nearest airport is about an hour away and I'll have
a ticket waiting for you."

"Kim, you're a life saver. Now, where are Mulder and the AD?" 

"They flew in yesterday. They have two people in protective custody
at Agent Mulder's apartment."

"At Mulder's apartment?" 

"Yes. We have a dozen agents detailed there now. You can probably
reach them there, or I can try and patch you through to their cells."

"The cells aren't on," Scully mumbled absently. "I already tried.
I'll call the apartment." She returned her attention to Kim. "How
long till I have cash?"

"About an hour, I'm afraid. But the next flight out isn't until
three."

Scully looked at the clock on the wall -- 10:30 -- then spoke.
"That's fine, Kim, thank you. If the AD or Mulder checks in, tell
them I'm on my way. You can reach me here," she looked up at the
chief, who nodded quickly, then rattled off a number. "I'm going to
get cleaned up, try to find some clothes, eat, and then I'll be on
the way to DC." She said goodbye and started to hang up, but was
halted by Kim's tentative query.

"Agent Scully? Excuse me, and I'm not trying to butt in here, but
shouldn't you have an escort or something?" She paused, and Scully
could hear the woman's indecision. "I mean, you've been missing for a
week. I bet Agent Mulder would have a fit if he found out you just
intended to get on a plane and fly home as if nothing happened."

"I'm fine, Kim, really, but thanks for your concern. And you're
right, Mulder will have a fit, but he'll get over it." She smiled
again, thinking of how much fun it would be to calm Mulder down after
she pulled this little stunt. She was well aware that procedure
called for her to have a full medical evaluation and there should be
a thorough debriefing, and it should happen here, at the site. But
she didn't have time for that. "Thanks again, Kim. I'll check in when
I'm back in DC."

"Agent Scully?" 

"Yes?" 

"That three o'clock plane gets in to Dulles at quarter to six."
Scully could hear the woman toughening her voice. "There will be an
escort waiting for you."

Scully sighed, and Kim went on. "You may be able to deal with Agent
Mulder, but I am the one that has to deal with the Assistant
Director."

Kim was persistent. It was a trait Skinner valued, she knew, because
it kept an amazing amount of trifling things from ever getting
through to him. But right now ...

"Fine." Better to give in gracefully. And the woman was right. She
should be waiting for an escort. The paperwork on this little
escapade was going to take weeks. She dropped her head. And it was
going to cost her the right to torment Mulder over his own foolhardy
stunts. "Thanks again, Kim." She hung up before the woman could think
of another objection.

A throat cleared behind her and she turned to meet the chief's eyes.
"My daughter is about your size. I'll call home and get my wife to
bring you some clothes. What size shoe you need?"

Scully told him, thanked him, and picked up the phone again. She
dialed once more, then stood in stunned silence as a voice on the
other end said, "Mulder residence."

Finally recovering her voice, she asked in disbelief, "Mom?" 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

He wasn't sure what to do next. No sign of the informant, no sign of
Skinner, no sign of anybody. The smart thing to do was probably look
around some more, see what he could learn. He certainly couldn't stay
here indefinitely.

He scanned the area again, almost embarrassed by the strength of his
desire to see the big AD, to just be reassured that he wasn't really
alone. Shaking off his weakness, he pushed away from the wall and
began to move through the building again.

There was a sound behind him and he whirled, gun raised before him,
and then there was a shot and his shoulder exploded in pain. He was
going down before he could even think, and his gun was ripped from
his useless hands. He lay on the floor, panting, agony shrieking from
the shoulder and down his arm, through his chest and back.

He looked up at the man who stood above, wondering who he was, and
why this man had such an interest in him, in Scully, and in his
children.

"Ah, Agent Mulder," the man spoke. "So good of you to come." He cast
a cautious look around, then added, "Though we didn't expect you to
be alone."

"Someone had to stay with the children," Mulder gritted out through
clenched teeth.

The man laughed. "An interesting image. I don't usually picture the
Assistant Director as a babysitter. Though I understand he has become
quite attached to them."

"Who are you?" Mulder demanded. 

"I am the current director of the -- shall we say -- Mulder project.
A project you have seriously compromised with your rash actions."

Mulder shrugged, an incredibly painful action, but one which had the
anticipated effect. The man looked slightly worried, casting a glance
around quickly.

"What project?" 

"Why, you, of course, Agent Mulder." The man seemed truly surprised
that Mulder had asked. "You and your children. You adapted fairly
well to the genetic enhancements that were done in utero, but that
was, of course, a long time ago."

At Mulder's look of horror, the man smiled evilly, and went on. "With
the advances in modern technology, we really expected more success
from mating you with an enhanced female. But it is a tenuous process
at best and we have had more failures than successes."

"What do you mean?" 

"None of that is really important, Agent Mulder. Your usefulness to
the project has ended. We have what we need from you, and your
continued interference in things that should be left alone can no
longer be overlooked." The man seemed to be enjoying his power,
reveling in his supposed superiority over the helpless man on the
floor. "You have had a strong protector in the past, but he, too, has
acted rashly of late, and his position is eroding."

"Who?" 

"I think you know who I mean. You tend to think of him as your
nemesis, but in reality, he's been your chief supporter. An odd
dichotomy, I admit, but one which he managed to balance admirably
until late."

"Why me? Why was I chosen for this?" 

"Everyone in the project from the early days made contributions. You
were your father's contribution."

Mulder shook his head. He didn't want to hear this. "Where's Scully?
And why have you taken her? She wasn't involved in the early days."

"No. But association with you made her useful in the beginning, but
she turned out to have interesting qualities of her own."

There was a sound and the man turned. Mulder lunged forward, his
hands sweeping out and knocking the man's feet from under him. He was
pushing up, forcing himself to rise, to retreat, to run, when he felt
cold metal at his temple, and a voice ordered him back. He went down,
arms collapsing as the adrenaline rush faded, and he laid his head
wearily on the rough flooring.

"Not so smart, Agent Mulder," the man said, finger on the trigger. 

Mulder looked up and could see the man's hand tighten, the finger
pulling inexorably, the trigger sliding back. It moved so slowly he
could see the individual muscles in the man's arm ripple, the veins
pulsing in his hand. This was it. Mulder was surprised to find that
your life really did flash before your eyes at a time like this. And
his thoughts were filled with images of Scully. The first time. The
last time. And every other time. And newer images of the children. Of
Skinner. It was then he realized how much he had changed. It wasn't
until he consciously thought of what was missing, that images of his
mother and father arose, images of Samantha. He pushed them away in
favor of the beautiful, the loving, the caring images of his lover,
his children, his friend.

He stared up as the trigger continued to move back, the slight
creaking it made echoing loudly in the stillness of the warehouse.
Mulder drew a deep breath, wishing it could be Scully's perfume that
filled his nostrils for the last time. His eyes widened and the gun
moved slightly, and he felt moisture on his face.

Thank you, Sir, for all you've done. 

I'm sorry, Steven, I won't be able to keep my promise. 

Ah, Jess, I'll never really know you. 

Scully, my Scully. I will love you forever. 

He watched, mesmerized, as the trigger moved the last fraction, and
there was a roar in his ears and a darkness in his face, and then
there was nothing.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mom?" Scully repeated, a dazed look on her face. "Is that you? What
are you doing at Mulder's apartment?"

"Dana? Dana? Are you all right? Where are you? Oh my, sweetie, what
happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, Mom, no, I'm fine, really. A few bumps and bruises, but I'm OK."


"We've been worried sick! Where have you been?" 

Scully looked around. "I'm still not sure. I don't think ... Look,
Mom, that's not important right now. I love you and I know you've
been worried -- I'm so sorry I worried you again -- but I need to
speak to Mulder now." She smiled a quick 'thank you' to the chief
when he handed her a cup of coffee.

"But Fox isn't here now, Dana." 

"The AD?" 

"Mr. Skinner isn't here now either. Dana, what is so important you
have to speak to them?"

Scully took a sip of the coffee. It tasted wonderful and helped give
her the strength to face her mother. That was her mother's best
"no-nonsense" voice, and it was very hard to resist, but Scully had
had some time to perfect her own version of that voice -- with
Mulder's help -- and she avoided the question again. "Why are you at
Mulder's apartment, Mom? I thought they had two people in protective
custody over there."

Her mother seemed flustered, almost as if she felt the answer to that
one would be obvious. "They do, dear. That's why I'm here." Her
mother paused a moment, then added, "I'm watching them for Fox."

Hot coffee flew out of Scully's mouth as she sputtered over her
mother's comment. She began to choke, and Marilyn slapped her on the
back as her mother called frantically, "Dana? Dana? Are you all
right? Dana Katherine, what the hell is going on over there?"

It took a few more moments, but Scully was finally able to breathe
again, and she gasped into the phone, "Just a minute, Mom." She laid
the receiver down, then rose and walked to the bathroom. A quick
splash of water on her face, and some reality began to seep back into
a world that had suddenly gone very surreal. Her mom at Mulder's
apartment. With people in protective custody. That she was watching
for him. Had everyone lost their minds while she'd been gone?

She returned to the phone, sitting at the desk this time, and spoke.
"Sorry, Mom, I swallowed wrong. Why," she paused as she carefully
considered her next words, "are you watching the suspects for
Mulder?"

Margaret laughed then, and Scully felt her face flush. What had she
said that was so funny?

"Well, dear, they might be suspect in why there is water all over the
bathroom floor, or who stole the last cookie, but I think that's
about the length of their involvement in your suspect list. Dana, I'm
watching the children for Fox. He didn't want to leave them with
strangers."

Scully heaved a sigh. Well, the world hadn't gone completely mad
after all. And the children were safe. "Steven and Jess? They're OK?"

"They're fine, sweetie. Just fine." Margaret looked over to the
corner of the room where Steven was patiently stacking blocks and
Jess was gleefully knocking them down. "Steven is wonderful with the
baby. They've both stolen my heart."

"I'm sure. They have a way of doing that. Mom? Their parents?" 

Margaret lowered her voice. "The adoptive parents?" She frowned.
Didn't Dana know Fox was their father? Maybe not. And maybe she
should wait and let him tell her. "They were killed by the men that
took you, and them. Steven has quite a tale to tell of his rescue by
Fox."

Steven had been listening to the whole conversation and he got up now
and came over to the phone. Scully could just make out his words.
"Can I talk to Dana, Grandma?"

"Grandma? They're calling you Grandma?" 

"Well, Maggie is a little too informal, and Mrs. Scully is too hard
for the baby. Besides, Steven decided it would be a good name for
me." She didn't go on to share his reasoning, but smiled as she
thought of it. Since she was Dana's mom, and Dana was going to be
their mom, then she had to be Grandma.

"Grandma," the little boy wheedled, "please let me talk to Dana." 

Maggie passed the phone over. 

"Hi Dana!" 

"Hi, Steven. How are you?" 

"I'm OK. When are you coming home?" 

"Soon," Scully reassured the boy. "Very soon." 

"Fox and Uncle Walter went to find you." 

She was so intent on the concept of the two men out hunting for her,
she completely missed the shift in the child's language from "Walter"
to "Uncle Walter."

"Steven, I'm really glad you're OK, but I need to speak to Mom, uh,
Maggie, I mean, Grandma now."

" 'kay. Bye, Dana." The boy handed the phone to Maggie and returned
to his toys.

"Sweetie?" 

"Mom? Where did Mulder and Skinner go?" 

"I'm not sure, dear. They said something about meeting someone who
had information about where you were." Maggie stopped for a moment,
thinking. "Oh, well, I'm sure they'll be home soon. Now that you're
on your way as well."

Scully sighed. "Mom, it doesn't work that way. Did they say anything
about where they were going? Did they call to arrange for assistance?
Take backup?"

Maggie began to look worried now. "No," she said hesitantly. "I
thought they were just meeting someone to talk. Honey, I have to
admit, I was a lot more interested in the fact that they might be
able to find out where you were, than how they were going to do it."

"It's OK, Mom, give me a minute here." 

"Are they in danger, Dana?" 

"I don't know!" Scully could hear the frustration in her own voice.
"Is there a computer around there? A laptop, not Mulder's Pentium."

Maggie scanned the room, finally seeing the black case standing by
the door. "I see it."

"Get it, Mom. We need to see if we can figure out where they went." 

"Just a minute." Maggie retrieved the case, and opened it, then
lifted the phone back to her ear. "I don't really know anything about
these you know."

"It's OK, Mom. I'll walk you through it." 

It took a few minutes because of Maggie's unfamiliarity, but she was
finally into the system and had accessed Skinner's most recent mail.
She was reading through requests for reviews, meeting notifications
and reminders, case updates, when a strange one struck her. "This may
be it," she said.

"Look for Agent Mulder's apartment twice when you come to see me at
the warehouse. Ten o'clock."

"Does that mean anything to you, Dana?" 

"I think so, Mom." Scully sighed again. "We need to get some people
out to find them. Now."

"But honey, they're looking for you. Why would they need to be
found?"

"Because they're stubborn, hard-headed, single-minded, foolhardy,
determined idiots when it comes to things like this."

"Like what, dear?" 

Scully swallowed hard. "Like me. Like my safety. I know they went
alone; didn't take backup. If anything happens to them, I swear, I'll
kill 'em myself!"

"Dana! Calm down. I'm well aware that Fox has acted rather --
impetuously -- in the past, but I'm sure Mr. Skinner wouldn't allow
him to go off on his own ..."

"Mother!" God, why hadn't she ever explained this to her mom? "It was
Skinner who led the way the last time Mulder got hurt. Granted, I
don't think he planned to take him, but, I swear, the two of them are
on some male-bonding kick or something and I think they almost enjoy
working together now!" She snorted. "Look, Mom? Get me the most
senior agent on guard detail. I really need to talk to him."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Skinner fired, the bullet hitting the man squarely in the back, and
he toppled over, landing directly on Mulder. The AD moved quickly
down from the catwalk. He was sure he had taken out all the hidden
targets, this one had been last. He had been hoping to get to talk to
him, but when he had put the gun to Mulder's head, pulled the
trigger, Skinner had no choice but to shoot.

He leapt the last way, foregoing the stairs in favor of speed,
irregardless of the shock that rippled up his legs as he landed on
the unrelenting floor. He raced over to the pile of men, wrenching
the man he had shot off of Mulder, and throwing his body to the side.

He looked down. Mulder was breathing. No blood on his face, no open
wound in his head. Skinner closed his eyes, and breathed a sigh of
relief. He had been in time.

He ripped open Mulder's shirt, looking for other wounds, then when he
saw blood on the younger man's shoulder, he pulled the dressing off,
looking for signs of new trauma on top of the old. But there was
nothing. He rolled the man forward, into his lap, and looked at the
wound from the back.

And then he began to laugh. Little puffs of suppressed laughter at
first, laughter that bubbled up from deep in his belly and quickly
turned into huge gulping guffaws. Only Mulder! Geez!

The man in his lap groaned, and Skinner laughed even harder. God,
Mulder was going to be so embarrassed, and Skinner was determined to
never let him live this down.

"Wha?" Mulder said groggily. 

"You awake now?" Skinner asked, the laughter finally subsiding. 

"What's so funny? You get off on seeing me shot and almost killed?" 

Skinner chuckled again. "You wish. You're gonna regret living when
you find out what really happened."

"Huh?" 

"Apparently, Agent Mulder, you haven't been shot at all." 

"No! I had to be! I felt it -- felt like my shoulder exploded again!"


"He missed. Hit the wall behind you. Your back -- and your shoulder
wound -- are full of little pieces of concrete block and splinters of
wood. Must have ricocheted out from the wall when your friend over
there fired. Bet it hurt like hell." He grinned at the man in his
lap. "You fainted."

Mulder groaned. "Tell me I'm dead," he begged. 

"No such luck," Skinner said cheerfully. "But as I said, I'm sure
there will be many times when you wish you were."

"You're not going to forget this, are you?" Mulder rolled far enough
over to look up at his friend.

"Not during your lifetime," Skinner assured him. 

The two men smiled at one another in silence for a moment, Skinner
resting his hand on Mulder's forehead briefly. Then both looked
toward the door as the sounds of sirens suddenly became audible. Lots
of sirens. Heading their way.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Who knew water could be so wonderful. And being clean could be so
decadent. Fresh clothes were a delight to the skin despite -- Scully
looked down at her borrowed retro 60s jeans with the flowers running
down the seams -- feeling that she looked like an overgrown teenager.
And food was positively heavenly. Scully pushed the plate away and
sighed in contentment. She was clean, she was clothed, and her
stomach no longer complained. What more could she ask for?

She glanced up at the clock again. 11:15. The wire from Kim should be
here any time now. Though being in a small town certainly had its
advantages, she no longer needed the funds to take care of basic
necessities. It would be nice to buy a gun but with no ID, and
dressed as she was, that was not going to happen. Scully looked at
the clock again. 11:18. This would never do. She was worried about
Mulder and Skinner but she left firm instructions with Agent Hankins
that she was to call as soon as Mulder and Skinner were located.
Until the wire came, the call came, and time to leave for the airport
came, she needed something to occupy herself.

She glanced around, eyes landing on the briefcase she had carried out
from the small house. She rose and picked it up, laying it on the
desk and opening it. She lifted Mulder's folder out and settled back
in the chair to read.

Subject: Fox William Mulder DOB: October 13, 1961 

Father: William Samuel Mulder DOB: March 19, 1931 

Mother: Martina Louise Kuipers DOB: August 14, 1934 

Conceived approx: January 25, 1961 

Genetic enhancements: 1, 3, 7 performed April 6, 1961 

Scully paused and rifled through the papers in the folder, looking
desperately for the cross-reference. But there was no list, no hint
of what these 'genetic enhancements' could possibly be. She turned
back and continued reading. This top sheet seemed to be a summary of
Mulder's life. She read on.

Milestones: 
Rolled over - 3 mos
Sits without assistance - 4 1/2 mos 
First word - 6 mos 
Crawling - 6 mos 
Pulls self to standing - 6 1/2 mos 
Speaks two word sentences - 7 mos 
Walking - 7 1/2 mos 
Speaks three word sentences - 8 1/2 mos 
Runs stiffly - 11 mos 
25 word vocabulary - 12 mos 
Follows simple commands - 12 mos 
Runs well - 14 mos 
Toilet trained during day - 17 mos 
Recognizes colors - 18 mos 
Sleeps dry through night - 21 mos 
Counts to number five - 22 mos 
Knows ABCs - 24 mos 
Recognizes written letters - 26 mos 
Reads 2-3 letter words - 29 mos 

Scully paused, her finger coming up to tug at her lip as she thought
back on Mulder's development. Several things leapt out at her. He had
developed at an extraordinarily rapid pace. She was willing to bet
those mysterious 'genetic enhancements' 1, 3, and 7 involved gross
motor and language skills. And recognizing Mulder's remarkable
memory, that had to be his third 'enhancement.'

She looked back at the page. There was a notation regarding the birth
of the sibling when Mulder was 4 and his apparent comfortable
adaptation to the change in the family structure. The next entry was
a narrative concerning an exam that had been conducted when Mulder
was 7.

Scully's eyes widened in horror at what she saw next. "Sibling
scheduled for termination at 30 months due to comparative slow
development. Termination cancelled when impact on successful subject
considered."

The phone rang drawing Scully from her reverie. And she looked up at
the clock again. 11:45. The second line rang and she watched as
Marilyn scrambled to deal with them both. Finally, she pushed the
button to end one call, then held the receiver out toward Scully.

"The first one was the market. Your wire is here. And this one," she
waved the phone slightly, "is a very insistent Agent Mulder for you."

Scully closed the folder. She wanted very much to finish reading it,
but it seemed to be something Mulder should see first, or at least at
the same time. It was going to be hard to refrain from looking at it
anymore. She put the folder in the briefcase, then closed it firmly
before she took the phone. "Mulder?"

"Hey, Scully. How you doing?" 

"I'm fine, Mulder. Where are you?" 

Mulder looked over at the ER doctor and grimaced. "I'm, uh, getting
ready to head back to the apartment." He glanced quickly at Skinner,
saw the frown, and began to wonder if he was going to get away with
this. "Hankins said it was you who sent the cavalry after me and
Skinner." He paused again, "There really wasn't any need. We were
doing fine by ourselves." He looked at Skinner again, the frown had
turned into pursed lips, and the man was moving toward him.

"Agent Mulder, give me the phone," Skinner demanded. 

"Uh, Scully, I think the AD would like to speak to you." 

"No doubt," Scully responded dryly. "Maybe I'll find out where you
are now."

"You really OK, Scully?" 

"I'm really OK." 

Mulder lowered his voice and turned his head to the side slightly, "I
missed you, Scully," he whispered. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"I know, Mulder. It's not your fault. We'll have plenty of time to
talk about this when I get home."

"This and some other things," Mulder responded, as Skinner cleared
his throat. He raised his voice and turned back to look at the AD. "I
think Skinner is ready to talk to you. I'll see you soon?"

"Count on it." 

Mulder passed the phone to Skinner. 

"Agent Scully." 

"Yes, Sir." 

"Good to hear your voice. You had us all concerned." 

"Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir." 

"I understand from Kim you're planning to fly home today?" 

Scully swallowed hard. Busted. "Well, uh, yes, Sir." 

"And I don't suppose it would do me any good to order you to stay
there and wait for appropriate escort?" Skinner's eyes were twinkling
as he spoke.

"No, Sir. I'm sorry, not this time." 

Skinner smiled but spoke gruffly, "In that case, I'll have to order
you to be on that 3:00 flight and get your ass back to DC as quick as
you can."

Scully relaxed back into the chair and grinned. "Yes, Sir. Thank you,
Sir. I can do that, Sir."

"See that you do," Skinner said as he hung up the phone. He spoke to
the ER doctor. "How much longer until he can leave?" he nodded at
Mulder.

The doctor, a tall Asian woman, looked up from where she was pulling
bits of concrete out of Mulder's back. "This man has suffered what
appears to be a third significant trauma in a relatively short period
of time. I really feel we need to admit him for observation."

Mulder half-rose from the table and Skinner hurried to push him back
down. "You and what army?" the AD muttered to the woman, patting
Mulder's arm as the younger man relaxed. "He's got to meet a plane in
about 6 hours."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"When's she gonna be here, Fox?" Steven asked impatiently. 

"Soon, Steven, very soon. Come with me for a minute." Mulder pulled
himself up to his feet carefully, then took the boy's hand and led
him to a display several feet away.

Skinner watched from where he sat near Maggie, holding the baby. 

"She's on Flight 426, Steven. Can you find that one?" Mulder waited
patiently, watching as the little boy studied the monitors.

"There!" the child said excitedly, finger pointing up at the display.
"There it is! See?" He turned triumphantly to look up at Mulder.

"That's right, Steven. Very good!" Mulder praised. 

Skinner was watching this scene with a small smile on his lips, when
Maggie said, "He's very good with the boy, isn't he?"

The older man nodded. "Better than me." 

Maggie looked over at the baby, asleep in the big man's arms and
said, "I wouldn't be so sure of that. But Fox has two things going
for him. He's a natural with kids; he really likes them and they can
tell that." She grew quiet, staring at the man and boy as they
continued their lesson on reading airline displays.

"And?" Skinner prompted softly. 

"Well, I'm not positive, but I don't think Fox had the best situation
growing up. Not the best role models for parents." She turned and
looked earnestly at the AD. "Mind you, I'm not being critical. I
don't know what it would be like to lose a child as they did in that
family. I can't imagine the stress it would create." She pursed her
lips slightly, face growing just a trifle hard. "I think it was
extremely hard on Fox. I'm amazed at how well he turned out."

"How does that translate as something going for him?" Skinner asked,
curious about a parent's assessment of Mulder, the new father.

"He's trying very hard to do the right things with the children. He's
patient. And like this. Instead of getting angry at Steven's repeated
question, or ignoring the child, or just answering him, Fox has
turned it into an opportunity to teach something. And a brief moment
to spend some time with the boy." She smiled as Mulder hugged Steven,
and they turned to come back to the seats. "And he certainly seems to
know what not to do, doesn't he?" she finished.

"Grandma, Uncle Walter!" Steven called as they approached. "Dana's on
Flight 426. It gets in at 5:47. It's 5:42 now." The boy held up his
arm, Mulder's watch dwarfing his small wrist. "Fox showed me. That's
in five minutes!" He was dancing where he stood, his excitement
uncontainable for the moment. "Just five more minutes." He looked up
at Mulder, who nodded his approval. "Oh," he added, returning his
attention to Skinner and Maggie, "and the plane's on time." Another
look up at his father. "We checked." 


Mulder was shifting nervously from foot to foot, one eye watching the
monitor to make sure it didn't change, and Skinner patted the seat
next to him. "Sit, Mulder, you're supposed to be resting."

"I'm OK, Sir," the man mumbled, looking again at the display. He
turned to look out the window, then looked down at Steven. "Wanna go
watch the planes land?"

The boy nodded, and Mulder took his hand. "Uh," he looked at Maggie
and Skinner, "you guys OK with the baby?"

Maggie laughed. "Go on, Fox, you're even making me nervous." She
snuck a quick glance at Skinner, then added, "You boys stay where we
can see you," and was rewarded with a red-faced look from Fox, and a
loud chuckle from Skinner.

The plane landed on time, and Maggie, Skinner and Jess joined Mulder
and Steven to stand and watch every passenger who exited. Maggie was
watching Mulder more than she watched the passageway, and she could
tell the exact moment he spotted her daughter. His face underwent an
incredible transformation. All signs of worry and concern
disappeared, his forehead smoothing out and a tension seemed to seep
from his body. His eyes lit up so brightly, Maggie wondered how he
refrained from blinding people with his happiness. He smiled and
started to speak, then stopped himself, looking down at the boy who
clung to his hand. The child was craning his neck around the taller
people, still searching, and as Maggie watched, he too saw Dana.

"There she is, Fox!" he cried. "Dana! Dana! We're over here!" The boy
broke away from Mulder's grasp and raced toward Scully. Maggie was
amused at first, until she noticed how Mulder immediately tensed, how
swiftly he darted after Steven, total terror stiffening his body
again as he eyed the crowds and made a beeline for his son. For a
moment, she worried he was going to yell at the boy, or even spank
him, but he contained himself, and simply stood close, very close, as
her daughter knelt and hugged Steven. Oh yes, Mulder would make a
fine father.

Scully rose slowly from her hug with Steven, her eyes rising to meet
Mulder's. She looked around, saw Skinner and her mother, then said
quietly, "Hey there."

"Hey yourself," he responded, eyes drinking her in. He took in the
retro jeans and tight T-shirt, the complete lack of make-up on her
face, and the little pony-tail she had pulled her hair into. She
looked about sixteen. Sixteen in '65. The business attache she
carried was the only incongruity in her outfit. He grinned and lifted
his hand, the one not holding firmly onto Steven. He spread the first
two fingers into a 'V' and said, "Peace, partner."

Scully flushed, then glanced down at the clothes she wore. She gave
Mulder a wry grin and commented, "Apparently, I'm the same size as
the police chief's daughter. She's fourteen."

" 's OK," Mulder murmured, his hand coming out to gently trace her
cheek. "I kinda like the look."

She smiled softly, then noticed the bulge at his shoulder. She
reached out and tenderly touched the shirt where it covered his
latest wound, and murmured, "Oh, Mulder." A sad shake of her head,
then she lifted her hand to brush his hair back, letting her fingers
linger on his brow before dropping her hand slowly.

He leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against hers, and he
stared into her eyes until he could take no more joy and he was
forced to close them. They stood that way for a long moment, Steven
looking happily up from between them, one hand still holding his
father's. Mulder drew a deep shuddery breath, eyes behind closed lids
threatening to fill. It was always like this. Just being with her
stole his breath. Seeing her filled his heart to overflowing. Knowing
she was safe made his soul sing.

"Daddy Pox!" Jess called, effectively stealing the moment, and Scully
looked up, startled.

"Daddy Pox?" she asked. 

Skinner chuckled and Mulder said, "Long story." 

Maggie laughed too, and moved forward to embrace Scully. She pulled
the younger woman to her, then pushed her away, holding her at arm's
length. "Fox is right. You do look like a refugee from the sixties,
though this is more Melissa's style than yours, if I recall
correctly."

Scully kissed her mother on the cheek. "Since when have you ever been
wrong about anything?" she teased.

Maggie hugged her again, then straightened. "Well," she said, looking
around, "you seem to have things under control, and I have a long
drive home. I think I'll head on out."

Mulder went to her and kissed her forehead. "Thank you so much for
coming, Mrs. Scully. I don't know what we would have done without
you."

"Hush, now," Maggie scolded gently, and she hugged the tall man, then
pulled away. "That's what grandmas are for." She leaned over and
hugged Steven, then kissed Jess who was starting to squirm in
Skinner's arms. "You two be good, and I'll come see you again soon."
She pulled on her jacket, slipping her purse onto her shoulder. "Mr.
Skinner," she said, nodding, and he added his thanks to Mulder's.

"Bye, Mom," Scully called. She now held Steven's hand in hers, and
they watched as Maggie disappeared down the escalator.

When she was gone from sight, Mulder sighed. "No luggage, I take it,
eh, Scully?"

"Just this." She lifted the case. 

"And that is?" Mulder asked. 

"Your life." She turned to Skinner. "Sir, my weapon and my ID were at
the house in my bag. Did you find them?"

Skinner shook his head. "Sorry. There was no sign of any of your
stuff. Almost as if we were meant to believe you had never arrived."
He shifted Jess to his other arm, murmuring to her softly, then
lifted a hand to push his glasses back up his nose. "I've already
made arrangements for you to have a new ID made, and you can
requisition a weapon. I'll sign the approvals. In the meantime," he
met her eyes, "you have a spare?"

"At my place." 

"OK. We'll head there then." 

"Uncle Walter?" Steven had let go of Mulder and Scully and was
tugging at Skinner now. "I'm hungry." He looked around the busy
airport, people hurrying by, planes roaring just outside, the drone
of voices almost deafening. The excitement had worn off, and his face
tightened in distaste as a man almost knocked Scully over in his
haste to get by. "I want to go home."

"We will, Steven. We just need to go to Scully's -- er, Dana's -- for
a minute."

The normally complacent child crossed his arms and planted his feet
firmly on the ground. "I don't want to go to Dana's. I want to go
home!"

Mulder knelt beside him, surprised to see tears in the boy's eyes.
"Shh, Steven, it's OK." He pulled the boy into his arms, then looked
up at Skinner. "Why don't I take them home and you and Scully can go
to her place?"

"Nooooo!" the boy wailed. "Fox, we all have to stay together!" The
tears began to fall, and Mulder rose. He wanted to pick the child up,
but his shoulder wouldn't permit it. Instead, there was a general
shuffling as the adults sorted things out. Steven clung to Mulder's
leg and he stroked the boy's back, murmuring to him, as he explained
to the others. "It's been too much for him. He's had enough. He needs
some stability right now."

Skinner nodded, passed the baby to Scully, and scooped Steven up.
Since he had been the one to suggest going to Scully's, he
half-expected to be rebuffed. But the boy wrapped himself in the
man's arms. Arms around neck, legs around waist, he clung to Skinner
and wept. Skinner held him tight and Mulder stroked his back. Scully
was whispering to him as well, and even little Jess reached out to
touch his forehead. When the boy had cried himself out, Skinner
spoke. "Why don't we go home, Steven?"

"To our home? With Fox?" 

Skinner nodded. "And I can carry you this time." 

The boy sniffed, laid his head on Skinner's shoulder, and was soon
fast asleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The drive home had been peaceful, Steven sleeping most of the way,
and Jess playing quietly in her car seat. The three adults kept the
conversation light, Bureau gossip, weather, what to have for dinner,
almost by unspoken agreement. There was no question that all three of
them would go to Mulder's apartment, and all three of them would be
staying there, at least until the children were settled and a real
discussion could be had.

Scully had been somewhat surprised by the appearance of black sedans
-- one in front of them, one behind. Her  whispered "Is this really
necessary?" had been met with a grim nod from Skinner and was the
only 'serious' conversation they had had.

And now, dinner was behind them -- baths and books and beds were
done. The three exhausted grown-ups lay sprawled on the sofa and
chairs in the living room.

"I'm never going to survive this," Mulder muttered. 

"You're doing fine, Mulder," Skinner hurried to reassure the younger
man. "Even Maggie said you would be a good father."

"Hold it," Scully said, sitting up straighter. "Jess calls you 'Daddy
Pox' now, my mother says you're a good father, Skinner says you're
doing fine, and Steven calls this," she looked skeptically around the
apartment, eyes widening slightly as she realized how clean it was,
and how many toys and books and games had appeared in her absence,
"home." She fastened her eyes to Mulder. "Is there something you need
to tell me?"

"Uh, well, yes, there is," Mulder answered, "but it's not what you
think."

"None of this is what anyone thinks," Skinner interjected. He sat up
straighter too, and when he spoke again, both agents knew that it was
the AD who spoke. "I think we need to go over everything we know.
Share information. Begin our reports." He softened slightly as he
offered a small smile to Scully. "We'll get to everything, I assure
you."

Mulder rose at that. "This could take a while. Let me make some
coffee before we get started." He wandered into the kitchen, picking
up toys, shoes, jackets, as he went, and Scully stared in
open-mouthed astonishment at the sight.

Her reverie was interrupted when Skinner stood and walked over to the
couch, then sat on the coffee table before it. "Agent Scully," he
began, but then his voice softened and he reached up and removed his
glasses. One hand slipped out and gently took her smaller one.
"Dana," he sighed, "are you really all right?"

She smiled at him. "I really am. And I owe it to you." 

He raised an eyebrow and she nodded. 

"Yep. The guy was big, bigger than you. More like Quintano." 

"The instructor at the Academy?" 

Scully nodded again. "My instructor when I went through. Anyway, this
guy, he just wasn't expecting me to be able to do anything against
someone his size. I think it was his own surprise that took him down
as much as anything." She gave a satisfied chuckle, then looked up
again. "We ever get a name?"

Mulder reentered at that moment, three coffee mugs held in his hands.
"Hot, hot, hot," he chanted, "I could use some help here if you two
are done snuggling." He laughed as Skinner dropped Scully's hand and
jumped up to grab a mug. Mulder handed the other one to Scully, then
sat beside her on the couch.

"So, where are we, Sir?" 

"We were not snuggling, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, struggling to
keep the smile off his face.

"He's so easy, isn't he, Scully?" Mulder asked with an easy
familiarity, only to have her punch him lightly on the arm.

"You better play nice," she warned. "We owe him." 

Mulder's face turned serious as he looked at her, then took Skinner
in too. "Oh, that I know, Scully. That I know."

There was an awkward pause, then Skinner spoke again. "All right,
let's get this started. The house, Scully. What do you remember from
the house?"

She quickly recounted the events, much the same as Steven had
reported, and Skinner dutifully made notes.

"What about you?" she asked. "What did you do when you got there? And
how," she touched Mulder's shoulder, "did you get this?" When he
started to protest it was nothing, she narrowed her eyes and added,
"I've been very patient. I didn't even say anything until now. But I
want answers."

Skinner filled her in on the attack on Mulder in the LaFreniere
house, which required a pause while she looked at his stomach wound,
then the fiasco at the farmhouse. "Mulder was the one that went in.
He found Steven, got him out just before the whole damn thing
collapsed," he finished.

Scully was examining the shoulder wound now. "So this was rebar, not
a gunshot?"

"Honest. No gunshots. Cross my heart," Mulder said as he did exactly
that.

Scully snorted at his antics. "Too bad. I thought you might have
figured the first time wasn't enough and wanted more." She looked at
his back. "So what is all this?"

"We're getting there." Skinner was speaking again. "But first, the
house where you were held?"

"I can't tell you much, Sir." She was replacing the bandage on
Mulder's wound as she spoke. "I was kept in the basement, and I
believe I was kept drugged for much of the time. I have no idea why
they allowed the drugs to wear off when they did." She completed her
task, then helped him tug his shirt over his head. A sip of her
coffee, then she looked up. "What did they find out from the man I
took down?"

"Nothing." 

"Nothing?" 

Skinner nodded grimly. "Nothing," he repeated. "When the police got
out there, everything was as you described it, size of the basement,
the wooden stairs, the furniture, even the pictures on the wall. No
doubt you had been there, no doubt you had been held captive. The
rope was still in the bedroom, with your blood on it. No doubt there
had been a struggle in the basement. There was blood there as well.
Not yours, I might add. But there was no suspect to be picked up."

Scully put her coffee down and rose, walking angrily to the window.
She stood silent for a moment, then said, "There is no way that man
walked away from there." She swallowed hard. "I -- hurt him. Bad.
I've been wondering if I killed him." She turned and faced Skinner
squarely. "That man did not walk away on his own."

"I believe you," the AD responded. "But you know what that means." 

"Yes. Someone manipulated the whole thing. The drugs were allowed to
wear off so I could escape. Then, once I was gone, they came and got
their accomplice." She sighed. "But why?"

"Me," Mulder said dejectedly. "The man in the warehouse said I am
part of some damn project. He called it the 'Mulder Project.' Said he
was the head and I guess I was the focus."

Scully walked swiftly to the briefcase. "Not the focus of the
project, Mulder," she corrected, as she opened it and pulled out the
folder. "You are the project."

She pulled out the summary sheet -- passing it to her partner, her
lover, her friend. Skinner moved over to sit on the table again, and
they both began to read.

"Genetic enhancements? What the hell does that mean?" 

Scully spoke. "I think numbers 1, 3 and 7 relate to gross motor
skills, language, and memory."

"How did you figure that out?" 

"The summary. Your development was off the chart, Mulder. Months
ahead of most babies. That clued me on the first two." She flipped
through the folder. "It wasn't until you started school that there
are notations on specific memory traits."

Mulder's eyes were flashing. "They were going to terminate Sam? Just
because she didn't develop as fast as I did?" He finished the page,
then threw it down in disgust. "What the hell were my parents
thinking?"

"I'm not sure your parents had much choice, Mulder," Skinner said
softly. "I don't pretend to understand, but I think that whatever was
going on back then, the men who were in charge? I think they were all
required to make contributions to the project."

"So why wasn't I enough? Didn't the Mulder family do its duty well
enough? Let these monsters practice on an unborn child? Me? That
wasn't enough? They had to take Samantha too?"

Scully had slid over and was sitting next to Mulder, her arm was
around him, pulling him into her, and he sat hunched over his knees,
not really leaning into her, but not resisting either.

Skinner touched his arm, forcing Mulder to look at him. "We don't
know enough yet. We may never know enough." He sighed. "At least the
'enhancements' were good."

"Good?" Mulder exploded, flying off the couch to pace frantically.
"Good? You think it's good? I was always faster, smarter, better than
everyone. I always had to slow down, think before I spoke. Every word
had to be examined twenty times. Can I say this? Will this make me
look too smart? Is this OK? Every action had a thousand questions.
How good can I be? How fast can I run? How high can I jump? I was
always different! I was always apart. Sam was the only one I could be
myself with. The only one! And they took her! They took her away and
she never came back!"

He was gasping now, fighting tears, fighting rage, shuddering at the
effort of self-control. Scully went to him, and this time when she
embraced him, he let her pull him tight against her, holding him
where he stood. His head dropped, resting on her shoulder and he
stood unmoving, breathing heavily, for long moments. Skinner rose,
carrying the mugs into the kitchen, giving them some space.

"Mulder?" she asked finally, when he had not spoken for some time.
"Mulder. You survived. You're here. And you are your own man. No
matter what they did to you, they don't own you. Never have. Never
will."

He smiled then, and she could feel him relax against her. "It's just
-- a shock. I always just thought I was ssmart. I didn't know I was
made that way." He stared back at the bedroom, where the children
slept. "If they've done this to them ..." The thought remained
unspoken, the threat hung in the air.

Skinner returned then, fresh coffee for them all. "We need to finish
reviewing the folder. Let's pull the remaining papers and split them
up."

It wasn't long before Scully gasped, then looked over at her partner.
"They're yours! The children really are yours!"

"What did you find?" Skinner demanded, even as Mulder was nodding. 

She passed the papers to the AD, then spoke again. "When did you find
out?"

"At the farmhouse. Skinner told me before I went in for Steven." 

"Mulder." Skinner's face had drained of color. "Jesus, Mulder." 

Scully was nodding -- she'd already seen this -- and Mulder was
looking confused. "What?" he asked. "What is it?"

"There are eight listed. Eight. Steven was the first. Jess is the
sixth."

"Eight? What do you mean, eight?" 

"Eight 'experimental fertilizations of enhanced material.'" 

"Eight? Then where are the others?" 

Skinner looked up, his face grief-stricken. "They were --
terminated."

"Terminated?" Mulder's head fell into his hands. "Fuck. When?" He
looked up slowly. "No. Why?"

Skinner's voice caught as he spoke again. This was all so fucking
pointless. Innocent lives, innocent children, wasted because they
didn't meet some arbitrary standard. "When? At 30 months." He
swallowed hard again, then went on. "Why? Because they couldn't
read."

"No child reads at that age," Mulder murmured, head falling again. 

"You did," Scully said softly. "So did Steven." 

It took a moment, then Mulder looked up. "Jess, too, right?" 

Scully shook her head slowly. "No. When you and the AD found them,
Steven was there for assessment. Jess was there for termination."

"Nooooooooooooooo," it came out as a long, tortured wail, an unending
release of unending agony. "How can I keep her safe from this?"

Scully reached out, wrapping her arms around the man on the couch.
"We'll help you. We'll be here every step of the way. And we will
find a way to keep her safe. To keep them both safe." She looked over
at Skinner, nodded, and he reached out as well, his hands resting
tentatively on Mulder's arms, then biting down tightly as he sought
to reinforce, to reassure through presence alone.

Mulder shook beneath their touch, a torrent of emotion raging through
him, a storm of passion that could not be contained. "I never planned
to have children. I never planned it," he muttered repeatedly, "but I
have to keep them safe."

This litany went on and on, and Scully began to wonder if she should
consider giving him a sedative. He was frantic one moment, full of
self-contained rage the next, and then almost incoherent. She looked
at Skinner helplessly, but he could only shrug and tighten his grip
to keep the man in one place.

The clock chimed and Skinner began to wonder how long they had sat
like this, when there was a second chime, softer, shorter, singular.
He looked up in surprise, then looked around, his eyes landing on his
laptop, buried on Mulder's desk, but still open, still connected from
Maggie Scully's unorthodox search of his computer. The chime echoed
in his head. He had mail.

He realized Mulder had stilled beneath his hands, and the man was
staring at the computer as well. This was too convenient, too pat to
be anything other than related to this case, this situation. He
looked at Mulder again. "Better get this place swept for bugs," he
muttered as he strode to the laptop.

Opening the mail reader, he saw one new piece waiting for him. With
Scully behind him on one side, and Mulder on the other, he opened it
and began to read.

"Mr. Skinner, You have been most helpful to me in regaining my former
position of authority. Your assistance on the island, and then again
at the farmhouse was invaluable. And though it was not your intention
to aid me again, and though we did not negotiate a price in advance,
your assistance at the warehouse was most welcome. As a token of my
appreciation, I wish to assure you, and Agents Mulder and Scully,
that he and the children will be left alone. There will be no further
work on the 'Mulder Project.' That is my gift to you. For, after all,
who can put a price on a soul?"

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End 
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