Title: Starkweather Season One: 01 Introitus

Author: Scully3776

Rating: PG-13

Category: X-Files Mytharc

Summary: A new agent has been assigned to work with Agents Scully and Doggett, but is she working for the X-Files or IS she an X-File?

Spoilers: Season Eight

Disclaimer: Any characters and story lines associated with the FOX television Series The X-Files is the property of Mr. Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. The characters of Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather, Benjamin Starkweather and Admiral Bailey, which have been created and copy-write, protected by me. So there. NYAH :P

Feedback: Pweeeese?! pwetty pwetty pweeeeese withMulder on top? Send it all to Scully3776@aol.com

Prologue-

To the rest of the world, destined to be deceived, it looked like a van from a popular housekeeping service in Washington D.C. In fact, two women did depart from the van; clutching cleaning caddies and work orders to tidy up a recently vacated apartment. A minor detail in a typical Monday morning.

However, the average adult human being, consumed with their own affairs, invariably sweating over small petty details, forget to step back to see how those details fit into the proverbial big picture. Passerbys saw the van in front of the apartment complex, they saw the two women in housekeeping uniforms go inside of the apartment complex, but did they see the two men that stayed inside of the van? And if they did, did they care? Or are they more concerned about the bus they're going to miss, the bad haircut they received yesterday, the breakfast they skipped because they had overslept?

Mysterious forces, here in our nation's capital, count on these day-to-day details to work as a constant distraction, so their work can be continued. No one noticed the two men inside the housekeeping van, watching the apartment complex across the street.

They had been waiting since four in the morning, Their wait had been paid off; she was an early riser. "There she is," one man said to his partner at roughly a quarter to seven. His partner peered through the tinted glass to see a young woman descend the steps of her apartment complex, clutching a black briefcase in her right hand, a large make-up bag tucked under her right arm, checking her watch on her left hand. She walked briskly to her car, a boring practical looking white four-door Dodge. Digging her keys out of the pocket of her well-worn leather jacket, she unlocked her car door and tossed her briefcase and make-up bag into the passenger seat before she got in.

But she did not leave right away. "What is she doing?" the second man demanded.

"She's putting her makeup." The first man replied to his partner.

"Putting on or touching up?" He was stickler for details.

"Putting on."

The second man grunted and got into the driver's seat.

Finally, the woman finished her primping and started her car. Completely unaware of the van behind her, just a minor detail in a typical Monday morning, the woman maneuvered expertly through the horrendous DC rush hour traffic. Twenty-five minutes later, she found a parking garage, deposited her car and started walking.

The van was parked kitty-corner from the building she needed to go to. The men watched her walking closer to them.

She was not gifted with a beauty to stun Hollywood, but she possessed an everyday prettiness that charmed most people. Perhaps, by just looking at her, the only extraordinary feature she owned was her extremely youthful face, almost teenagerish youthful. She was young, one of the youngest in her field actually, but a teenager she was not. She was old enough to have spent six years in the military as a medic before going to medical school. She was old enough to enter the FBI Academy after medical school. She was old enough to have spent a year at the Minneapolis Field Office before being transferred to Washington D.C.

She was definitely a fed; her dark suit and sunglasses gave that away immediately. So why did she walk past the J. Edgar Hoover Building inside of going inside?

"She'll be back," the second man said over his shoulder to the first man.

"You think so?" "Sure," the second man settled himself comfortably into the driver's seat. "It's her first day, she's early, she's probably nervous. She's probably going to take a stroll around the block. She'll be back," he said confidently.

Fifteen minutes later, he pointed the woman out to his partner as she rounded the block. This time, she went straight to the entrance of the J. Edgar Hoover Building...

Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather paused in front of the big glass doors, clutching her briefcase tightly. She looked up, up at the top of the building, up at towards the sky, towards heaven. She took a big breath.

She was still going to be obnoxiously earlier for her meeting with her new supervisor. She was annoyed with herself for being so nervous, the last time she felt butterfly-in-the-stomach nervous was her wedding day, two and a half years ago.

"Come on, girl" Starkweather said to her reflection in the glass doors. "Get it together." She pushed the doors in, but that action did not dispel the agitation rushing through every fiber of her being.

She was nervous and had every right to be.

She didn't know if she was going to like her new boss, Assistant Director Walter Skinner.

She didn't know if she would like working in the X-File Division... whatever the hell THAT was.....

End Prologue-

Assistant Director Walter Skinner sat at his desk, sipping coffee, looking over the history of his newest agent. He wasn't truly reading however, his mind drifted to more current worries.

Mandatory retirement was looming in his future. He only had two years left before the FBI would require his resignation. He didn't even feel that old, but he was. It was the rules. Skinner, unless under extreme circumstances, was a man who played by the rules. So, that left him only two years to secure the future of the X-Files. Skinner knew the minute he was out the door; Deputy Director Kersh was going to use every bit of clout he possessed to shut the X-Files down, forever. Skinner had made a promise to a friend that he would never allow that. But he only had two years to keep that promise.

The last few months had been sheer nightmare for all involved with the X-Files. Someone had opened the floodgates to the keepers of the paranormal. More and more cases were being assigned as X-Files. Many, like in the past, were hoaxes. But more and more were authentic. More and more evidence proving Special Agent Fox Mulder's extraterristal conspiracy was being compiled in the infamous basement office.

But there was the crux of the problem; the cornerstones of the X-Files were missing. Mulder was gone. Scully was still technically out on maternity leave with her brand new child. Special Agent Monica Reyes, who had assisted Scully and Doggett with the Mulder abduction case had been temporarily assigned to work with Doggett while Scully was on leave, but only a few days later, while helping a friend paint his house, had slipped off a ladder and broke her tailbone plus her leg, rendering her essentially useless.

Which left Doggett. Alone, totally overwhelmed, completely swamped by file after thick file, Doggett had stormed into Skinner's office and demanded help. "I'm dyin' down there," he had said, his steely blue eyes flashing with rage. "I don't know what's going on," he had gone on with that Southern drawl that completely contrasted with his harden street smart no bullshit personality. "But something's out there is got more and more folks scared out there and I can't take this caseload on by myself."

Skinner had made a phone call to Scully and begged her to come back early, as a part-time consulting status. Reluctantly, she had agreed, but only after hearing about the sudden and inexplicable deluge of X-File cases. Unfortunately, even with Scully's partial help, it was not enough. They needed another agent.

So after arguing with the budget committees, Skinner finally got permission to create a new position in the X-Files Division. And the recruiting response he received was zero. The rest of the world was becoming more aware and more frightened, but the Bureau still treated the Files like a joke. Then, three weeks ago, the Minneapolis Field Office produced a miracle. "I got a candidate for you," the head of the Minneapolis Field Office had said to Skinner. "I'm faxing her credentials now, well the bare bones of 'em anyway."

Skinner had ripped the fax out of the machine impatiently. Her credentials had seemed too good to be true. Graduated high school at the age of sixteen, completed two years of general undergraduate study before enlisting in the Air Force. Trained as a medic, did exceptionally well. Completed her Bachelor of Science AND Pre-Med studies while in the service. Stayed in for six years before transferring into the Air National Guard while she completed medical school. Top quarter of her class. Went straight to Quantico after medical school ::That sounds familiar:: Skinner had thought. Was in the top ten of her class. All of her references had used either the words "brilliant" or "exceptional intellect" when describing her. Her specialty was forensics, but had displayed a talent for psychological profiling as well.

"Are you sure you want to lose her?" Skinner had asked the Minneapolis Field Office's head. "You don't want to keep someone like this in your offices?"

"God, no," he had groaned. "She's a pain in the ass." Skinner had grimaced. It WAS too good to be true. He was receiving a troublemaker. But he really didn't have a choice anymore. Doggett and Scully were preparing to rip his head from his body with their teeth if he didn't get more help so he approved Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather's transfer from Minneapolis to Washington DC.

Skinner checked the time. Eight o'clock on the dot. He told his newest agent to meet with him at this time, more of a welcome briefing than anything else. Skinner closed Starkweather's file, took one last sip of cold coffee, put on his suit jacket on and stepped outside.

His ever faithful, long suffering secretary, greeting him with a smile, said "Agent Starkweather is here to see you, sir."

Muttering a gruff thank you, he stepped out into the hallway where Starkweather was sitting.

"Agent Starkweather?" he said in his customarily crabby tone. She turned her head towards him, smiled politely and stood up, extending her hand. "Yes, you must be Assistant Director Skinner, it's nice to meet you in person." Skinner made the "welcome to Washington DC" speech to her completely on autopilot. He was taken completely aback by her girlish appearance. Yes, he had been expecting a woman younger than Scully but she looked like a teenager masquerading in her mother's dress suits. Her hair, long and straight, was pulled away from her face in a severe ponytail. Her makeup was minimal. Her eyes were as wide and staring as a lonely child's. Her sunglasses were resting ontop of her head. Her hands clutched her briefcase. A diamond solitaire glittered on her left ring finger.

"Are you and your husband settled in?" Skinner asked her as they began walking towards the elevators.

Starkweather nodded. "We're almost finished with the unpacking sir," she said. "Ben's parents are flying in today with the things we had to leave behind."

"And what does Ben do?" Skinner hated small talk but he wanted to dig a little more into this girlish enigma that Minneapolis had sent him.

"He just passed the law bar, sir," Starkweather replied politely. "He'll be looking for a good law firm to join."

"Ah," Skinner said, reaching the elevator. They stopped at the doors. Skinner did not hit any buttons and neither did she. "Agent Starkweather," he asked. "Did your former supervisor brief you on the nature of work that you will be doing here when they offered you this transfer?"

Starkweather seemed to stare ahead at the metal doors. She glanced shyly at Skinner. "Well," she said, paused, then continued. "I was told, with my lack of experience, as I only graduated from the Academy a year ago, that this transfer would be an excellent advancement opportunity in the Bureau for me because my eventual goal to be an instructor at Quantico. As far as the nature of the work... I was told that it would be interesting... cases that are left unsolved due to unusual circumstances." She looked away from Skinner, the faraway look in her huge eyes growing even further away.

Skinner gritted his teeth. ::Those bastards:: he seethed to himself. He decided that Starkweather must be a victim of the "Boys Only Club". Somebody, probably the very head of the office himself, the one that called her a "pain in the ass", was threatened by not just her degrees and decorations but possibly her gender. Taking advantage of her inexperience of Bureau politics, they fed her a bunch of misinformation and shipped her off the first chance they got.

"Do you know anything else about the nature of the X-Files?" Skinner asked again, not expecting much.

Starkweather still had that thoughtful, faraway look in her childlike eyes. "Well... it was considered a joke at first, a hopeless and laughable crusade headquarted in a dirty FBI basement. The joke of course was the nature of the cases; from vampirism to Feejee mermaids to talking tattoos to Internet hacking to mind control, and finally to the infamous little green men colonization theory.

"However, in the last few months, it has gained notoriety due to a recent onslaught of global events that have some prominent scientists and law enforcement agencies labeling them 'supernatural' or 'paranormal.' In our country, these events, provided that they have some criminal connection that threatens national security, has been sloughed off to the X-Files Division, headed by Special Agent Dana Scully. Who I believe is on maternity leave. And Special Agent John Doggett, designated head of the Division until, if rumors are to be believed, naturally, in the wake of your eminent retirement in two years' time, will be then promoted to Assistant Director." She stopped, took a breath and turned to look at Skinner again.

The dreamy, faraway look in her eyes had disappeared, replaced by a ferocious, almost feral intelligence. Again, Skinner felt unsettled. Maybe she wasn't a "Boys' Only Club" victim after all. Maybe she took advantage of them instead, hiding her considerable intellect behind that sweet bland baby's face. Until she got what she wanted and the gloves, along with the innocent girlish mask, came off.

But she had definitely done her homework. She almost knew what she was getting into.

In her little dissertation, however, Skinner had noticed that one very principal name had been omitted, perhaps deliberately so. "And tell me about the..." he searched for the correct title, "founder (::not exactly right, but close enough:: Skinner rationalized) of the X-Files, Special Agent Fox Mulder?"

Her eyes, still brilliant with the powers of her minds still glittering, (::Like a cat about to pounce:: Skinner thought) fixated on her new boss. She said, "Fox Mulder... would he or she be any relation to Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder?"

The question was posed innocently enough, but Skinner felt as if he was just checkmated in a clever move.

Mulder, naturally after his resurrection, if you will, was re-instated to the FBI, just in time for Scully's departure to have her baby. His return to the Bureau was not as smooth as Skinner assumed it would be. First of all, Mulder hated Doggett on sight, which made the work situation intolerable, especially for Scully, torn between her devotion to her old partner and her friendship for her new one.

Worsening matters was the general attitude of other agents towards him. Instead of hailing his return as the miracle that it was, they treated him like a monster, a freak. People in the Bureau would purposely cross to the other side of hall, duck into the first available office, suddenly decide to get out of the elevator on whatever floor they happened to be on, just because Mulder was there. No one bothered to even make polite talk to him anymore. Mulder summed up the chilly reception to Skinner one day as he happened into the cafeteria and noticed Mulder sitting dismally alone, his table surrounded by four empty tables while other agents and federal employees squished together around the small tables, away from him.

"I feel like the kid picked last kickball," Mulder had whined when Skinner approached him and asked how he was doing.

No one respected his professional opinion anymore either. Briefly, Mulder had been temporarily assigned to a case that had nothing to do with the X-Files, but desperately needed his expertise as a profiler. During one meeting, when Mulder volunteered, for once, a perfectly sound and logical theory, the head of the investigation not only blatantly ignored him, but got on the phone with Kersh the minute Mulder left the room and begged him to personally remove Mulder from the case.

And no one, not even Scully, could deny his deteriorating health. Doggett and Mulder worked grudgingly together when Scully announced her six-month leave of absence. Doggett was the first to notice how quickly he tired, how sometimes he had to stop to catch his breath.

Soon, it became a pattern without fail. Mulder would work a case, tire himself out and become sick. Bronchitis. Walking pneumonia. Mononucleosis. Strep throat. Influenza. Several times, he wound up in the hospital. High fever. Dehydration. Scully theorized it was possible that who or whatever had him during his disappearance experimented with his immune system.

"So, what?" Skinner had asked. "Does he not have an immune system anymore? Is it like AIDS?"

"No," Scully had mused over the phone, holding her little one. "No, he still has an immune system, but he's susceptible to everything. It's almost as if his immunity is starting over... that... if you will sir, that whatever had him, had wiped out the memory of his white blood cells so that every disease he catches, is like the first time he's ever had it..."

Kersh, gleefully taking advantage of Mulder's constant sickness, required him to complete a standard FBI physical fitness exam, which Mulder failed miserably. He was out.

Not completely, however. Skinner was able to call in on some favors to change Mulder's expulsion to leave of absence until further notice, available for consultation. Until he stopped catching every little germ under the sun, however, he could never be reinstated full time again.

So Mulder disappeared from the scene a bit. Scully knew how to reach him, which was all that mattered. Then, just a few weeks ago, it reached Skinner's ears that Mulder had been working at City Hall, that he had done such a good job, they promoted him to Deputy Mayor. Ironically, the absence was created because the previous D.M. wanted to become a stay-at-home mother. Mulder didn't broadcast his FBI past, but he didn't shy away from it when it was brought up.

The joke known as Spooky at the Bureau was suddenly a quiet, respectable pillar of the community.

"Bullshit," Skinner had said to Scully. "What's he up to?" but Scully had just smiled.

So now Skinner's newest agent not only got an 'A' for doing her homework, she got a row of gold stars for extra credit.

"You know they're the same person, Agent Starkweather," he snapped to her.

Starkweather shrugged. "Mulder is a touchy subject here, sir. You'll have to forgive me if I..." She paused, considering the right word to use, "am careful with what I say concerning him."

"Fair enough," Skinner said. "Well," he cleared his throat and pushed the basement button on the elevator. "I can show you to your new office."

"It's still in the basement," the barest trace of amusement audible in her voice.

"Yes," Skinner said. "But we've remodeled. It's bigger now. Knocked out some walls. We have a desk for you."

"How exciting," Starkweather demurred. "Well, sir," she held out her hand again as the elevator doors opened. "I don't want to keep you, I'm sure you're busy. I'll find my own way." She stepped inside.

Something about her final statement unnerved Skinner, as if he hadn't been shaken up by his new agent from the moment he met her. As the doors were about to slam shut, Skinner grabbed the door, re-opening them. "Agent Starkweather."

"Yes sir?"

"Once you get off this elevator and go into that office and see what Mulder, Scully, Doggett and myself have seen... there is no turning back."

She stared right back at him, a half-smile tugging at her lips. "I know, sir." Skinner stepped back, letting the doors slam shut.

Doggett was perusing the file Scully just shoved under his nose as she brewed a fresh pot of coffee. One of the perks of the newly refurbished office was there was finally enough electrical outlets for everything. Doggett lifted his head at a familiar sound, but one unusual to be heard down here in "the cellar" as Doggett called it. The click of high heels. Scully, for the time being anyway, had stopped wearing her heels since the baby, complaining about swollen feet. "Sounds like she's here," Doggett commented.

"About time too," Scully smiled and settled into her desk, still secretly thrilled that she had her own desk. "I would like to get back to maternity leave, or what's left of it."

"Hello?"

Doggett and Scully looked up, looked at each other and looked again at the young girl. "Can we help you?" Doggett asked politely.

"Are you Agents Doggett and Scully?" the young girl asked them.

"Yes," Scully said hesitantly.

"My name is Jerilyn Starkweather, I've been transferred here to you from Minneapolis." She made no move to enter the room, just stood there patiently, still clutching her briefcase.

"Oh!" Feeling like a horse's ass, Doggett got up to go shake Starkweather's hand. "Come in, come in, sorry, we just didn't expect you-"

"To be so young?" She commented dryly, but a ghost of a smile haunted her lips.

"To be so early," Doggett amended, flustered. "Well, here's headquarters for us. It's not great, but it's not so bad once you get used to it. We got a desk for you, it's not really that impressive but we're not in the office very much."

Scully hid a smile as she sipped her herbal tea. Doggett looked like he had caught a very bad case of a schoolboy crush. And well, why wouldn't he? Scully reasoned as Doggett lead Starkweather to her desk. She was pretty, not a heartbreaker but fresh-faced and sweet looking. ::Too bad for Agent Doggett she's married:: Scully sighed to herself, noticing the flash of diamond on her left third finger.

Meanwhile, Starkweather's eyes flicked about like an inquisitive feline, noting the overflowing file cabinets and crates, jammed full of files and more files. The maps hanging on every available space of wall. A slide projector, sitting covered with dust in the corner. Next to it, a TV and VCR on a cart. Doggett's desk, plain and austere. Mountains of files neatly stacked up in the "IN" box. Nothing in the "OUT" box. His computer was off at the moment. No decorations except for a small framed picture of a little boy.

Scully's desk, anally tidy, but next to her computer, which was always on, was a small cluster of framed photographs. Starkweather's desk was right next to Scully's so when she sat down, she could see very clearly that one photograph was of her entire family when she was little, dad, mom, sister and two brothers. Another photograph was of a beautiful red-headed woman, looking like Scully, but not Scully ::Sister??:: Starkweather wondered. Another picture was of a cute little mutt. Another photo was of a precious redheaded little girl. ::Niece? Cousin?:: At least four or five others were of her new baby. The last was quite possibly the only candid photograph of Mulder in existence. He was taking the baby, who was wearing an elaborate christening gown, from Scully's arms. Both were smiling, a rarity. Neither Scully or Mulder looked aware that someone was taking their picture.

Finally, Mulder's desk, acting as a shrine, left just how it was the last time he worked in an official capacity for the FBI: from the cluttered desktop to the "I Want To Believe" poster hanging on the bulletin board under the window. It was as if Mulder had just left to run to the restroom or something and was going to be back in a moment...

Starkweather glanced idly at the opened bag of sunflower seeds on Mulder's desk. Setting her briefcase on her desktop with a thud, she smiled and said, "I can set up my desk later on, do you want to bring me up to speed on what we're working on?" Scully got out from her desk and crossed over to Doggett's. She got the file Doggett had been reading and placed in on top of Starkweather's briefcase. "We'll be heading to Scotland in a few days," Scully said crisply.

"I didn't know the Loch Ness Monster was in our jurisdiction."

Scully glanced sideways at the new agent and caught a glimmer of something... familiar... glittering in her eyes. "No, but we have just received word that one of our F-15's crash landing in Scotland."

Starkweather nodded. "I read that in the paper. What does that have to do with us?" "That plane's s'ppose to be in Florida." Doggett said.

Starkweather arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Scully opened the file and started reading aloud, still not comfortable in the role of lecturer. "According to the Hurlburt Air Force log books, this was just a routine flight exercise. However, a storm flared up unexpectedly and the plane vanished from radar."

"And reappeared in bits and pieces near a small Scottish village a hop skip and jump from Inverness." Doggett finished.

"Are we sure it's the same plane?" Starkweather immediately questioned. "Don't get me wrong, normally I wouldn't turn down a trip to Scotland on the Bureau, but there are literally hundreds of American military bases in the Eastern Hemisphere. Are we one hundred percent sure that this plane, this plane in bits and pieces a hop skip and jump from Inverness, is the plane that vanished from Hurlburt's radar?"

Scully and Doggett exchanged looks. Doggett grinned quickly, as if to say 'One for the skeptic's side!' "Confirmation was made at oh-seven hundred AM, our time." Doggett told her. "It's the same plane."

"Hmm," Starkweather knitted her eyebrows together. "What about the pilot?"

"The pilot hasn't been recovered," Scully said.

"We are assuming he's dead, correct?" Starkweather started thumbing through the heavy file.

Scully hesitated. "It is not wise to assume Agent Starkweather," she said gently.

Starkweather nodded pursing her lips. "Of course," she said gravely, hunching over the files, beginning to read. Scully could have sworn that she had seen mocking amusement in Starkweather's eyes.

Scully closed the door behind her with a sigh, lifting the fold of a soft yellow blanket off of the face of the child she held in her arms.

"Hello you," she said, love radiating in her voice. "Bet you're hungry, I sure hate waking you up though."

Scully didn't get a chance to call Mulder until after she fed, bathed and changed her child. Scully took one last peek at her pride, her joy, her miracle, sleeping safe in the bassinet before she changed into her pajamas. She padded barefoot to her big overstuffed chair and settled down with a sigh. She picked up her phone and hit her favorite speed dial button.

"Hello?"

"Mulder, it's me."

"Hi, what's going on?" "How's work going," Scully asked as she stretched her legs.

"Well," Mulder was lying on his couch, watching a "movie", as usual. "I broke my all time record high today."

Scully smiled and rolled her eyes as if he could see her, "So that's what, fifty pencils stuck to the ceiling?"

"No," he said primly. "Fifty TWO, thank you very much." Only to Scully did Mulder confess how bored he was at his new job. "Ah, Scully, politics is so petty, nothing but men... and women with too much money and too much time on their hands, sitting in meeting after meeting getting nothing accomplished because of idiotic power plays and hidden agendas and yet we depend on politics to protect our future."

"Don't get too pious, Saint Mulder, you have your own hidden agendas too, you know."

"And I finally have an office where I can see the sun." Mulder reached into the bag of sunflower seeds lying on his stomach and began to munch. "So, Saint Scully, what's going on? Did you guys get that new agent yet?"

"Yeah, we did, and Mulder, you will never guess who it is?"

"Enlighten me."

"Admiral Bailey's daughter, Jerilyn." Scully said.

"Really?" Mulder sat up, spilling seeds all over. He turned the sound off of the TV. "Are you sure?"

"Mulder, you didn't know anything about this?"

"No, Scully, I really didn't, otherwise I would have told you ahead of time. Are you sure it's really the Admiral's daughter?"

"Well," Scully twirled the phone cord around her fingers. "I didn't recognize her because the last time I saw her, I was a kindergartner and she was in diapers. And besides that she looks so young... well, she is a few years younger than me, but not by that much. She looks like she found the Fountain of Youth and swam a couple of laps. Plus she's married now so her last name is different, but today... after lunch, as she was organizing her desk, she set out a picture of the Admiral, I asked who that was and she said her dad, so..." Scully paused. "Mulder, do you think Jerilyn's re-assignment was a coincidence?"

"I don't know," Mulder frowned. "Even though he's retired, the Admiral is a powerful man who still has a lot of influence, not just at the Pentagon, but at the White House, the Bureau, the list goes on and on. If he needed to get a favor to have his daughter sent to us, he'd get it."

"But why?"

"I don't know," Mulder said again. "I would think he'd at least tell us, or at least you. What's she like? Jerilyn... what's her last name now?"

"Starkweather." Scully thought back to her first impression. The nagging feeling of familiarity tickled her again. "Well... she's condescending... arrogant... sarcastic... brilliant..." Realization sunk in. "Mulder, she's a female version of YOU."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he said in a wounded voice.

"She's also a highly trained, rational scientist with a strong military background, so it's not going to be easy for her to understand completely the nature of the X-Files. The first big test is when we go to Scotland, whenever that gets approved."

"Can you get out of it?" Scully, again as if he could see her, shook her head. "Skinner wants me to go with them, basically to help her on her first case."

"From what you say, Starkweather does not strike me as the type needing her hand held."

"Nor I, but Skinner insisted." Scully closed her eyes. "I'll know for sure tomorrow when I'll be leaving. Are you sure you don't mind watching the baby while I'm gone?" her voice quavered.

"Scully," Mulder said patiently. "I've been shot, stabbed, slapped, punched, poked, prodded, dehydrated, diseased, drilled into, half-drowned, blown-up, bitten, burned, yelled at and oh yeah buried alive for three months. I think I can handle the antics and bodily excretions of a three and a half month old infant."

Scully smiled. "Okay, okay."

Mulder paused. "Sooo... can I come over for awhile?" he asked self-consciously.

"Sure, just be quiet when you come in. I'll be up."

Jerilyn Starkweather was washing up the breakfast dishes left by her husband when there was a knock at the door. "Jeri, open up, it's me." She dried her hands and went to the door. "Jeri, hurry up," the impatient voice of the husband said from the other side of the door. "My arms are full."

Jerilyn opened the door, "Hey honey," she kissed his cheek as she took overflowing bags of groceries from his arms. "I thought your parents would be with you?"

"They were so tired, Mom said they had a hellish flight from the Twin Cities. They wanted to go straight to the hotel... after they took me grocery shopping." Ben grinned sheepishly, shutting the door, being careful with the pet carrier he also held.

Jerilyn smiled. ::He's so cute:: her heart still skipped a beat at his goofy lopsided smile, his puppy-dog greeny gold eyes and tousled brown hair. "Jiminy Christmas, Ben," Jerilyn put the groceries on the cluttered kitchen table and poked into the bags, "does your mom think I'm starving you?" She looked down at the pet carrier Ben was holding. A big grin crossed her face. "Is that who I think it is?"

Ben sat the carrier on the table. "Safe and sound and finally back with us. He opened the carrier and Jerilyn reached inside.

"Hey baby, hey Caesar, oooh, I MISSED you," she cooed, cuddling her big fat tabby cat. "Did you tell your folks that I really appreciated them Caesar-sitting while we were moving?"

"Actually, I thought I'd have to rip him out of Mom's cold dead hands," Ben quipped, starting to put the frozen food in the freezer. "Well, this place is starting to look livable," he chuckled, "Is it my imagination, or is this place smaller than the one back home?"

"Ben," Jerilyn put Caesar down to let him explore. "This is home now." She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice and failed.

"You know what I mean," Ben tried to cover up his homesickness.

"Sure," Jerilyn gave in, a rarity. She went to the living room and started to rummage around one of the many moving boxes still sitting around. "Well, the good news is that the bedroom and bathroom is completely unpacked and tonight while you were at the airport, I got the living room and kitchen pretty much completely scrubbed down, so we can get all of that finished."

"I don't want to hear about moving," Ben groaned. "I'm so sick of moving. Tell me about your day, big bad FBI broad," he lowered his voice comically. In his normal baritone, he asked, "Want a beer? I'm going to have one."

"Sure. Did your mom buy us any junk food?" Ben took a bag of Doritos and made a spiral pass to her which Jerilyn intercepted with a giggle. She flopped on the couch and tore into the Doritos. Caesar landed on her lap with a thud and Jerilyn groaned. "God, what did Grandma feed you Baby?" The cat just purred. "Well," Jerilyn took the bottle of Bud Light from Ben when he sat besides her. "Looks like my supervisor is going to be more of a hardass than my last one, which is just terrific. He's got to be old-school Marine."

"You sure?" Ben asked, already knowing the answer. After a childhood as a Navy brat and twelve years in the Air Force, Jerilyn just had a radar for military.

"You can smell it on him. What else... well, my desk sucks, it's smaller than what I had in grade school, but my partner assures me that we don't spend much time at our desks, which is good."

"Your partner? Is he a manly man, am I going to have to beat him up?"

Jerilyn poked him. "Quit. Yes, my partner is a "he", my beloved Neanderthal spouse, his name is John Doggett, and he's pretty cool, but he's old school Marine, all the way plus he's old enough to be my dad so you don't have to worry about me spending any late nights gazing into his eyes and worrying if he wears boxers or briefs," she purred, snuggling into his shoulder.

"I thought you were working with a chick too."

"Yeah, Agent Scully. She's a bitch," Jerilyn said in awe, "but I think I'm going to like her. She's a doctor like me. She went straight to Quantico after med school, like me. I thought I was the only one insane enough to do that, but guess not. She's doing "Mom-hours" right now, she's got a brand new baby, she showed me pictures, what a little doll," Jerilyn sighed. "Her last name is familiar... my dad used to be friends with a guy named Scully while he was still in the service... I wonder... hmm. Anyway, that's about it." She gazed up adoringly at Ben. "What about you? How was your day?"

"Well, I sent off some more resumes today, I have an interview next Monday, but it's with an ambulance chaser firm so I don't know-"

"It's a start." Jerilyn said firmly.

"I know," Ben said hastily. "Then worked on the apartment a bit, went to the airport to get Mom and Dad. They're so excited to be here. I told them that you'd meet us for lunch tomorrow," he announced proudly.

Jerilyn scowled. She really hated it when Ben planned events without asking her. "I'll try to make it."

"That means no," he pouted. "No, that means I'll try," Jerilyn retorted. "Come on baby, it's only my second day tomorrow and they've already thrown me into a really f*ck*d up case. I want to make a good impression." Jerilyn scooted closer. "Besides," she nibbled on his neck while she fussed with his shirt buttons. "Why fight when we haven't even christened the apartment properly?"

Ben grinned. Jerilyn was so persuasive. "As long as you promise to spend some time with me and the folks while they're in town."

"Oh, absolutely..."

The next day…

"We leave for Scotland tomorrow," Scully handed Starkweather her plane tickets as she walked in the door.

"Tomorrow?" Starkweather could not keep the dismay out of her voice.

"Is that a problem Agent Starkweather?" Scully asked coldly.

Starkweather arched an eyebrow. "No. No problem." ::Just that my husband is going to kill me...:: she thought dismally behind her girlish poker face.

The Washington DC

Marriott Restaurant and Lounge

12:44 pm.

Jerilyn Starkweather kissed her husband on the cheek and beamed at her in-laws. "Sorry I'm late, traffic was a nightmare," Jerilyn burbled.

"Oh, don't worry, dear," Linda Starkweather patted her hand. "We just got here a little bit ago ourselves."

"So how's the Bureau treatin' ya?" Luke Starkweather boomed with his very thick "Fargo-esque" accent, which always made Jerilyn want to laugh, and always made Ben mad at her for wanting to laugh.

"So far, so good," ::Maybe I should break the news now:: Jerilyn debated. "In fact, I'm already being shipped out for an assignment... overseas." She bit her lip, looking at Ben, an apology shimmering in her big eyes.

"Where?" Ben asked innocently, but Jerilyn could tell she had miscalculated, she should have waited until they were home alone.

"Scotland," she said, suddenly reaching for her water glass.

"Scotland, how exciting for you," Linda smiled. Jerilyn loved Linda as if she was her own mother. Never a more sweet and unassuming woman that Linda had ever graced this planet. She could find a silver lining in a monsoon. "I hear it's a beautiful country, will Ben be allowed to come along?"

"I wish," Jerilyn said sincerely, noting that Ben's jaw was locked tightly together. "But it's strictly business unfortunately."

"Well, that will give Ben more time to work on his resumes while he has the apartment to himself," Linda, ever the peacemaker, said evenly.

"When do you leave?" Luke asked.

"Um..." Jerilyn smiled weakly at Ben, "tomorrow morning at four AM."

"Oh," Luke said disappointedly. "Shoot, we're hoping to spend some time with ya, Jeri, we never get to see you that much."

"Join the club," Ben said bitterly.

"Benjamin," his mother admonished him like a child, "mind your manners now."

"Yah, she's got a job to do, you know," Luke put in his two cents.

Jerilyn was never so thankful to see a waiter come to her table.

Jerilyn and Ben's apartment

6:45pm

Jerilyn stalked around the apartment, going to and fro the bathroom and bedroom, packing her FBI field kit and her duffel bags. Ben, sat on the couch, sullenly smoking. "What do you want me to say, Ben?" Jerilyn yelled from the bedroom, stuffing the last pair of socks into her small carry-on bag. "That I'm sorry? Okay. Fine! I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm assigned to go to Scotland. I'm sorry I don't get to hang out with your parents while they're in DC. I'm sorry I'm leaving the rest of the unpacking to you. What else can I say?"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Ben shouted at last. He had been giving Jerilyn the cold shoulder ever since she had come home from work. Jerilyn's little tirade finally caused him to snap.

Caesar the cat hid under the kitchen table.

Jerilyn came out, carrying her luggage. She set them down by the front door with a sound thump then wheeled about to face her angry husband. "Because I didn't know until this morning when Agent Scully handed me my plane ticket, okay?"

"You knew you were going away though," he accused her.

"I didn't know when. I honestly didn't."

"I thought things were going to be different here in DC, Jerilyn."

"They will be. You're just going nuts right now because of the job hunt-" Jerilyn started to say before Ben jumped off the couch to interrupt her.

"No! This has nothing to do with that. I want things to be different, that's why I thought it would be a good idea to take this transfer to DC, that maybe you would-"

"What?" Now Jerilyn snapped. "That I'd be working a desk job? Ben, come on. We've talked this to death. I am a cop, okay? Strip away the fancy title, all that "Special Agent" crap and the bare bones of my job description is that I am a cop. My job is to catch the bad guys and your job is to make sure the bad guys stay locked up. It is NOT a nine to five job. And you knew that when you met me and I told you I wanted to be a fed after I got done with med school, you knew that when I went to Quantico, you knew that when we got married, I don't understand why we're still fighting about this. I thought that with both of us, together, with new jobs in a new city, we'd be able to grow past my weird work hours and change everything that's wrong with us-" Jerilyn pleaded.

"Change what?" Ben yelled. "What's changed? Once again, you're almost never around. You've already started to take your work home with you. You've only been at this new job for two days and you're already going to Ireland-"

"Scotland."

"Whatever. Jerilyn, did you even sleep beside me last night? No. You tiptoed out the minute you thought I was asleep and you were at that damn computer-" he gestured towards the tiny spare bedroom they had converted to an office, "and you were up until, what? Three, four in the morning, working!"

"Did you see the size of that case file?" Jerilyn growled. "And don't get all holier than thou on me. I didn't even see you at all those weeks you were studying for the bar exam. And once you get going at some law firm, you're going to be busier than hell too so don't jump all over my ass for doing my job."

"I will never be too busy for my family."

"Ben, I said I was sorry about not being here for your folks. You don't understand how heartbroken I am about missing them." Jerilyn spluttered. "But it's my first week and you don't understand how whacked these X-File cases are. I'm serious, some of them are serious head-trips and this one is no exception. Just let me get in good standing with my new partners and then, I'll slow down a bit-"

"When?" Ben demanded. Jerilyn started to say 'I don't know' but in his blind rage he overlapped her statement, angrily spitting out. "Do we have to lose another baby to have you slow down?" The minute he spit those words out, he wished he could eat them. "Oh God, Jeri, I didn't..."

"Fuck you." Resentment, rage and an untouchable ache all flickered in her eyes. Ben tried to approach her but she held her hands up as a warning. "Go to hell," she snarled as she pivoted away from him and stomped to the door, grabbing her bags.

"Jeri, please, please, don't leave like this, I'm sorry, I am so sorry, God, Jerilyn-" Jerilyn turned to face her spouse, pure hate contorting her fine features. "Ben, why don't you just quit when you're ahead, huh?" She slammed the door in his face.

Starkweather dropped her bags besides her dinky desk with a thump. She slumped into her chair and half-heartedly rooted around in the greasy McDonalds bag for her Big Mac and fries. The fries were cold, so she just dumped the entire box into the trash and began unwrapping her burger, but Ben's cruel words about the child they lost last year kept stabbing at her, pricking her heart like a proverbial pin cushion. Putting the burger down, she pushed it away from her and buried her face in her hands, mentally repeating her mantra for strength ::I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry::

"Agent Starkweather?"

Startled, Starkweather looked up and saw her partner, Doggett, framed in the doorway, his fair brow crinkled in concern. "Yeah," she said, running her fingers through the disheveled hair she normally kept in a severe ponytail, tight French braid or thick dancer's bun. She loved her long hair, but hated it in her face, like it was right now.

"What're you doin' here, Agent?" Doggett came in, grabbed his chair, pulled it from his desk to the front of hers so he can face her when he sat down. "It's late, y'know."

"You don't have to be so formal," Starkweather said, that enigmatic hint of a smile at her lips again. "I have a first name."

"Were you on first name basis with your last partner?"

"No," The hint blossomed into a full smile.

"What did he call ya?"

"Bitch." Doggett chuckled at her bluntness. "It's true," Starkweather shrugged. "He wasn't exactly comfy working with someone of my..." Starkweather halted. She knew her intellect was beyond any standardized test and normally she had no problem advertising her considerable brain power, but something about Doggett's no-b*llsh*t attitude made her not want to brag. "...Experiences, I guess."

"Threatened by your IQ and gender, you mean," Doggett amended her modest statement. Starkweather arched an eyebrow, reminding him of Scully for one New York minute. "Skinner gave us your profile. Your former supervisor said you were a pain in the ass." Starkweather snorted and shook her head. "Well, we need smart people here with the X-Files and I don't care if they're a guy or gal or whatever."

"You really mean that," Starkweather said. "Don't you?"

"I wouldn't say it, if I didn't mean it," Doggett drawled. "I'm not that type of guy. I don't put up with much horseshit. Neither does Scully. Neither do you, I think."

"Putting up with horseshit is not one of my hallmarks, no."

"So that makes me wonder why you're here at almost ten o'clock at night when we're flying out at oh-four-hundred next morning." Doggett leaned closer. "I know this is kind of a bum rap for you. I know your old supervisor is a pious assh*l* who shipped you out the first chance he got. I know the X-Files can be extremely overwhelming. Trust me, when I got re-assigned to this department, I thought I was in over my head-"

Starkweather interrupted. "No, it's not the X-Files. It has nothing to with my ability to be a team playe-"

Now Doggett interrupted. "Agent, I just said I was a no bullshit kind of guy. You better talk to me. Believe me, once you really get going with the X-Files, you're gonna find there's a lot of people who are gonna try and screw with ya, just because you work with the X-Files, whether you believe in hocus-pocus and little green men or not. I found out the hard way that the only people that you can really trust are AD Skinner, these three bozo hackers called the Lone Gunmen, Agent Scully, Deputy Mayor Mulder-" His quick icy blue eyes noted an ripple of animosity wave through her eyes at the sound of Mulder's name, but did not push the issue, "and myself. So if there's something wrong, something's that's going to affect your work, you better 'fess up, Agent. It's not gonna go any farther than here. You have my word....."

Starkweather bit her lip. "Well, I'm not exactly a sharing person, so... I mean, I don't know, talking about my problems isn't exactly my forte, I'm good at solving crimes, other problems, other people's problems..." She shook her head. "Maybe that's why my marriage is going to hell in a handbasket." She smiled woefully. "There. That's why I'm here instead at home snuggled up with my husband and cat before I go away for an undetermined amount of time." She fiddled with a pen. Doggett waited with the patience of a priest with a child making his first confession. "I love Ben, I loved him the minute I saw him, but..." She shook her head. "We've should have never married. I'm too selfish; I've always been self-absorbed in my own goals, my own pursuits. Ben's the complete opposite. He's giving; he's caring... I don't know..."

"How did you two meet?"

Starkweather shrugged. "When I put in my six years, I went from active to reserves. I joined the 132nd Fighter Wing in Des Moines and lived in Iowa City; working on my medical degree at U of I, all paid for by Uncle Sam. So once every month, I would spend the weekend in Des Moines for Guard.

"Ben was in the 132nd too, but he was never Active like I was, he joined simply to pay for college. He was during his law degree at Drake University in Des Moines. He was a medic, like me, but his heart was in the law. One night, we all went out to the bars during Guard Weekend and Ben and I started talking and..." Starkweather blushed. "I don't know. We became friends. We fell in love, we got married...

"Ben always knew about my ambitions, like I knew his. The problem was, I was a Naval brat and an active Airman. I was used to moving around a lot. Ben was born and raised in Minneapolis. Until now, of course, the furthest he had ever been from home was when he was at law school. Luck had it that there was an opening at the Minneapolis Bureau when I graduated from the Academy so we went home."

Starkweather sighed. Normally very closed-mouthed, she felt her body lighten as she spilled her guts to her new partner. She had never been able to talk to anyone like this in a long time. She wondered if she was making a friend in the process as well as cementing the trust between two agents. She went on. "Naturally nothing turned out the way Ben and I thought it would. I think everything started to fall apart when Ben failed the bar exam the first time he took it. Smashed his ego to bits, of course. Got a job as a legal assistant at a decent firm in St. Paul, but you know it's not the same thing. Meanwhile, I was struggling with Bureau politics. You're right about my former boss being a pious asshole. We hated each other on sight. You read it all in my profile. I've got a mouth and I am not afraid to use it which means I rubbed people the wrong way but you know what, it's not really my job to be nice to people, my job is to protect people....."

Doggett nodded. She had made a typical rookie's mistake in Minneapolis. She didn't know how to be subtle yet, to get around the idiotic office politics that plague every business. According to Skinner, the way she tap-danced around his question about Fox Mulder, she had learned to maneuver a little, but she was still very gung-ho and if someone really pushed her buttons... Doggett closed his eyes for a brief second as he continued to listen to Starkweather vent. He had seen Agent Scully go on a rampage in all her red-headed fury, had the honor of AD Skinner eating his rear for breakfast and even had Deputy Mayor Mulder completely lose his grip and get physically violent with him because of his blind fury with the world. All three of them, ugly sights to behold when their tempers were lost. Doggett had a sinking feeling that Starkweather's temper could put all three of them in the shade.

Starkweather was still talking, lost in herself, her thoughts, her fears. "Ben was hard to be around while he had to wait to re-take the bar. When I'm upset, I yell and scream, stomp around, act like a typical female on a PMS rampage." Doggett allowed himself another chuckle as Starkweather went on. "Not Ben, he does this silent treatment... thing, where he'll just sit and simmer and... you can't reach him. Until he explodes. Then I fire back and... it's a cruel cycle we've put ourselves in... so I buried myself in my work, which sucked as bad as my homelife...

"Then..." Starkweather stopped, again, hearing Ben's hateful words in her ears. She looked down. "then... well, Ben and I weren't exactly trying for a baby, but you know how they just... appear when you least expect them to." Doggett, reflecting on his lost little boy, nodded. Starkweather continued. "Ben was ecstatic. He always wanted to be a daddy. I... was less than thrilled, but what could I do? I converted to Catholicism when Ben and I married, the will of the Church is VERY strong in this area, plus... well, I'm not a screwball militant Pro-Lifer... if other women want to..." she groped for a polite word, "terminate a pregnancy, that's their business, but I was adopted. My parents struggled for to have a baby for years and my dad said when I came to them," she smiled, full of love for her 'father.' "'I made their lives complete.'" Her smile turned wry. "Kind of hard to be Pro-Choice after your adopted parent says that to you, you know... so even though I wasn't happy about being pregnant, wasn't ready to be a mother, I just sucked it up and went about life." Her face became long and drawn. Her voice became very quiet. "I didn't realize how much I wanted that baby until I miscarried him all over the floor of the ladies room in the Mall of America." She closed her eyes, "Baby-shopping with Ben's mother."

"Christ," Doggett folded his hands tight. "I'm sorry."

Starkweather shrugged. "Anyway, Ben and I had another monster fight this evening, about me working so much, that he's mad that once again I'm blowing him off, putting my career and dreams before him and he brought up the miscarriage... I just grabbed my stuff for tomorrow's trip and... arrghh. I'm sorry." She cracked her neck. Doggett winced at the popping sound. "I didn't mean to chew your ear off. But that's why I'm here so late. Incidentally," she looked at Doggett seriously. "Why are YOU here so late?"

Doggett looked at the floor. "I don't have anything to go home to. My marriage crashed and burned a few years ago....

"Ah," Starkweather said in sympathy. "so you know what I'm talking about."

"Unfortunately too well." Doggett nodded, trying to recollect the beautiful happy girl he had married, but could only see the sullen, bitter woman he divorced. "You're singin' a very familiar song, one that alot of federal agents can sing along too."

"That not exactly what I want to hear right now." Starkweather grimaced.

"Agent Starkweather, do you or do you not want your marriage to survive?" Doggett asked her point blank.

"No bullshit?"

"No bullshit."

"I don't know," Starkweather had completely dropped her defenses. She felt she could truly trust Doggett. "Part of me loves being Mrs. Benjamin Starkweather. I don't think I could ever be just Jerilyn Bailey again. He's a part of me, forever. On the other side... this life is not fair to him, at all. He deserves a better woman than me." Starkweather shook her head. "Kind of a wishy-washy answer, huh?"

"Maybe, but it's an honest one." Doggett got up, looked at his watch. "Look..." Suddenly he felt nervous. He didn't want to leave her alone, he felt a strange sensation permeate his bones. He couldn't explain it, he wasn't sexually attracted to her, he liked her but knew fully well that despite the problems, she was still committed to her marriage vows and he respected her for that. But he felt his heart warming up to her, his soul aching to learn more about her, to help her in any way possible. If he had maybe confided his feelings with Agent Scully, she would have nodded in complete understanding, for she had the same strange sensations when Mulder first confided in her about the abduction of Samantha. Perhaps that was why he was nervous, the walls still echoed with the nasty implications of Mulder and Scully's relationship and the gossip mongers just ate it up that Scully was mysteriously pregnant all of a sudden... Doggett hated rumors, hated being part of rumor and would hate to have people talk about him and his new partner, his VERY married partner they way they talked about Mulder and Scully still... ::The hell with it:: Doggett decided. "Look," he started again. "Seeing how late it is and since I told Scully that I would pick her up and bring her to the airport anyway... I'm betting you're not planning on goin' back home..."

Starkweather crinkled her nose in dismay. "Doubtful. Real doubtful."

"Well, since neither of us are gonna get much sleep anyway... wanna come have a cup of coffee with me? Not talk shop or anything... just kill time 'til we have to go get Scully."

"Make it a beer and you got a deal," Starkweather smiled, thankful that her new partner was a nice man.

Doggett got her large duffel bag while Starkweather threw her uneaten burger in the trash with her fries and picked up her other duffel bag and FBI field kit. "So you rather have me call you Jerilyn, huh?" Doggett said as they walked to the elevator.

"Actually no," Starkweather said. "I really hate my first name." "How 'bout just 'Starkweather' then?" Doggett always kind of liked how his predecessors referred to each other as 'Mulder' and 'Scully'.

"Works for me," Starkweather said, looking cheerful the first time that evening. "Doggett."

Scully crept out of her bedroom quietly, carrying her suitcase, briefcase and purse.

Mulder looked up from the TV. "The baby asleep?" he asked.

Scully nodded in relief. "Out like a light, finally." She gently set her luggage down and went to Mulder's side. She curled up next to him as he turned off her television.

"You okay?" Mulder asked, putting his arm around her, resting his cheek on her hair. He hated to see her so unhappy.

"Oh, I'm just having separation anxiety," Scully tried to sound brave and failed dismally. "No, that's a lie. I'm angry Mulder. I'm really angry. I'm supposed to have six months of leave, six months to get to know my child and what happens? Skinner calls, begs to come back as a part-timers and there's no such thing as a part-timer with the X-Files. Now, I'm being sent far away from my baby, to the other side of the world to supervise a very intelligent, very capable agent who probably doesn't need my help. I don't want to go to Scotland," she said like a stubborn child. "I want to stay here with my baby. I'm angry Mulder, and I'm afraid. I'm afraid if I leave, if I turn my back for just a second... whatever it was that took me, took you, will come for my child and instead of focusing on the case at hand, I'm going to obsessing about when I can call home again to make sure everything's alright, that my child is still safe-" her voice cracked.

Mulder hugged her tight. "Aw, Scully, don't..." He always felt helpless when Scully cried. "I won't let that baby out of my sight for even two seconds, you know that. Your rugrat goes where I go, I don't care who laughs at me, I'll strap on a carrier and bring the rugrat to work with me everyday, if that what it takes."

"Really?" Scully rested her head on Mulder's chest.

"Sure," Mulder said lightly. "Babies are great chick magnets. OW!!" Scully thumped him soundly on the chest.

"Do we have to go through the rules again?"

"No using the baby to pick up chicks, no watching pornos with the baby, no taking the baby to the bars, no using the baby as the ball while playing basketball, no leaving the baby alone in a hot car, you're really no fun, Scully."

"And PLEASE keep the house picked up and no matter what, I don't want the Lone Gunmen over. Don't get me wrong, they've saved our butts a time or too, but they're such slobs..."

"Don't worry Scully," Mulder stroked her hair. "Me and the rugrat are just going to hang out, watch the Duke versus Arizona game and eat strained peas together."

"How do you feel Mulder?" she asked seriously, ever vigilant about his poor health.

"Fine," he lied. He woke up with a slight fever this morning but brushed it off.

"Any more information about Starkweather that we should know about?"

Mulder shook his head. "The stooges are still digging. The Admiral isn't returning my calls. I will call you the minute we get any kind of news. I do not believe that for one second that Jerilyn's transfer is a coincidence, Scully. Something's up." "I agree with you," Scully said.

"You agree with me?" Mulder said in mock disbelief. "Stay there, I need to mark this occasion on my calendar."

Scully rolled her eyes. Just then her doorbell rang.

"That will be Dog-breath," Mulder quipped.

"Mulder," Scully scolded him. "I thought you liked him."

"I do." Mulder grinned, standing up then helping Scully up. "It's just fun to antagonize him, like the Skin-man." Scully hugged him tight. "Maybe I shouldn't go..." her voice started to quaver again.

"Go, go to Scotland, take a picture of Nessie, play golf. Everything will be fine. I promise." Mulder let her go and gave her a playful push away from him. "You have my word."

Scully rushed back to him and hugged him so tight, his ribs hurt. "Call me," she whispered.

"You too," Mulder again stroked her pretty hair. He bent to kiss her lips, missed and kissed her cheek instead. "You're going to miss your flight." He touched her cheek gently with his fingertips.

Scully forced herself to back away, pick up her bags, smile teary-eyed at Mulder, her hand on the door knob.

"You're making Puppy-Man wait," Mulder quipped.

That did it, Scully shot a murderous glance at him and managed to force herself out the door.

The minute the door shut, the baby began to wail. "Figures," Mulder muttered as he walked to Scully's bedroom.

Scully checked her watch and groaned. Four more hours to London, a few measly hours of sleep at the United States Embassy, then off to Inverness. Scully rotated her neck, tried not to obsess about Mulder alone with her baby, but, like every new mother, failed miserably.

For the first hour of the flight, Doggett, Starkweather and Scully had sat squished together in their tiny aisle row. Scully was thankful to whatever patron saint of the airlines that she had the window seat. The plane could seat over a hundred people; there were maybe thirty people on board, including the pilots and flight attendants.

Finally, Doggett had gotten fed up and muttering something about this being "for Got-damn ridiculous", had unfolded his lanky frame out of the tiny seat and crossed over to the completely empty row and laid down, where he had instantly fallen asleep, snoring lightly, a "Ducks Unlimited" magazine covering his head.

Starkweather, to make more room, she said, had hopped over to where Doggett had been sitting, dug out her CD Walkman, put in a disk, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, bowing her head so her baseball cap partially covered her face. Scully had tried to read the case file, but was too tired to handle the small print, so she rummaged through her purse for the "Parents" magazine she had bought minutes before they boarded the flight. Her fingers brushed a bulky envelope. Frowning, she pulled it out. The frown one-eightied into a huge smile when she recognized Mulder's handwriting on the outside of the envelope. Feeling the lump, she murmured, "What in the world...?" as she tore it open.

It was a cheesy little Star Trek Enterprise key chain. Scully shook her head, wondering how many quarters Mulder wasted until the gumball machine gave him that very plastic kitschy ornament. Attached to the chain was a note:

"To boldly go where no G-woman has gone before... See you soon. Send me a postcard. Have fun. - Mulder"

**Have fun** Only Mulder... Scully wiggled her toes in her running shoes. She could feel her feet swelling up. She looked over at Starkweather, unsure if she was asleep or not. She couldn't help but silently examine what she could see of her fair face. **She looks like she's ten, fifteen years younger... but I know for a fact she's only about four or five, maybe six years younger..**

Starkweather's head suddenly snapped up. She opened her Walkman to take out the CD. "Hi," she said abashedly, as if she was used to people staring intently at her.

Covering up her mild embarrassment, Scully asked, "What CD is that?"

" "Just Push Play", Aerosmith." Starkweather put the CD in it's jewel case. She felt awake and chatty, so she turned to Scully. "My roommate at tech school was a huge Aerosmith fan and she got me hooked," she grinned. "My roommate at med school however, thought I was insane to be cramming for finals to ‘Walk This Way’ and ‘Sweet Emotion’. Do you regret not going into private practice Agent Scully?"

Scully leaned back in her seat. "That's a loaded question, Agent Starkweather."

"Those are the only kind I ask."

Scully looked out the window. For a moment Starkweather thought she had gone too far, but then Scully said. "If I had gone into private practice, I wouldn't of had to make the... sacrifices..." Stability. Money. Prestige. Good health. Normal family life. Melissa. "... I have made. But... one the other side... I am proud of the work I do... and the benefits reaped." Lives saved. Lies exposed. Emily. Her new baby. Mulder. "What about you? What made you decide to go to the Academy instead of private practice?"

Starkweather tilted her head. "Do you remember the big crash of Flight 232 in Sioux City, Iowa?"

"Ugh," Scully turned away from the window. "Let's not talk about crashing while we're up here."

"Sorry. But you see, when I was younger, Dad got sent on a TDY to the Air Guard base there, I have no idea why. But Mom and I came up for a visit for a week. Anyway, the day of the crash, I was horsing around at the pool, doing what kids do at pools and, well, you see, the motel Mom and I were at was really near the airport. I could see ambulances and cop cars and news vehicles, flying by. So, I ran upstairs and sneaked up on the roof. I could see everything... I saw the plane crashing the cornfield, bursting into flames," Starkweather paused. "I felt the plane go over me before it crashed. I saw the aftermath. My mom found me on the roof with the other spectators chewed me out royally, grounded me, so on and so forth. For days, all I could hear were the wailing of sirens everywhere. Sometimes, I hear them in my dreams. I think my journey to the FBI was started by the sound of sirens, but I think was confused by at first which siren to follow." Scully confused at Starkweather's metaphor, asked her to explain. "I thought I was meant to follow the sound of the ambulance," Starkweather shrugged. "but in reality, it was the cop car. I'm a cop. A cop that can wield a scalpel, but a cop."

"But why the FBI? Why not the regular police force?"

"You guys have better toys."

Scully smiled. "Your father is in the Navy?" She asked innocently, hoping to maneuver the conversation towards perhaps the Admiral's true intents for his daughter. Starkweather nodded. "And you joined the Air Force, why?"

Starkweather creased her brow in thought. "Well, in the Army, you're basically a bullet-sponge, that didn't sound fun. The Marines are just a smidge on the intense side, you know "The Few, the Proud, the Criminally Insane."

Scully prodded, hoping she'd start talking about her father, "And the Navy?"

"I hate boats," Starkweather deadpanned. Scully stared at her until Starkweather's ghost of a smile made its apparition on her lips. Then Scully laughed, shaking her head.

"Really?" Scully's infamous eyebrow arch was accompanied by a rare smile. Scully, despite her suspicions on Starkweather's true purpose of joining the X-Files, was beginning to warm up to her.

"No." Starkweather got that eerie far-away look in her eyes, the look that spooked Skinner the first day he met her. "As you may have gleaned from my personal file, I graduated annoyingly early from high school and I was all gung-ho about the Navy, see, because I'm Daddy's little girl. In all of my adolescent maturity, I was going to force my parents to give me permission to enlist early and I was going to become a Naval doctor. Well, my mom, God bless her heart, sat me down and made me promise first do two years of 'regular' college, and then to sit down seriously and research each branch of the military to see which one would fit me, if one would fit me at all, if I still wanted to join up. After all, what may be good for Dad, may not be so wonderful for me. And she was right, after talking to some recruiters plus enlisted people from all branches, I would have been miserable in the Navy. The Air Force gave me what I needed at the time. Plus Air Force uniforms are cuter. I look good in blue," she finished smugly.

"Are you close to your parents?" Scully was still trying to work the family angle.

"My dad, yes, my mom... we were, but she died shortly after I graduated from high school. That was the last piece of advice she ever gave me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. She had a horrible type of brain cancer and suffered terribly for years. Her death was a blessing. Really. I believe that," Starkweather put her Walkman into her carry-on bag and pulled out her reading glasses. "Anyway, a couple of years later, Dad got remarried to a nice lady named Jenny and we've grieved and moved on. And speaking of moving on." Starkweather put her glasses on. "I don't know about you, but I'm all kinds of awake, want to discuss this case a bit, toss theories around?"

Scully nodded, temporarily defeated, but not completely. The "nice lady" Starkweather had referred to, was Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, a very powerful woman in Congress. **Maybe Starkweather doesn't have her own agenda, but I but Dad and Stepmother have something up their sleeves** Scully mused as she bent down to get the case file about the Inverness plane crash.

The lights flickered for a moment. Scully and Starkweather looked up. "That was weird," Starkweather said breathlessly.

"Yeah-" Scully started to say just as the plane started to shake violently. Both Scully and Starkweather's glasses flew off their face, the lights now flashing violently. Scully looked out the window and saw nothing but black skies and clouds skudding by violently. People behind them were screaming. Doggett was thrown from his impromptu bed onto the floor. The plane shook so badly; he couldn't get on his feet. The "No Smoking" Sign flashed on. Personal effects fell out of the overhead carriers. Doggett covered his head as books and coats and backpacks crashed around him. Starkweather was shrieking at Doggett to get up, get in a seat as she buckled her seatbelt. Scully fastened her seatbelt and discovered she was gripping the armrest with one hand, the silly toy spaceship Mulder gave her in the other.

Confused, she gasped in shock as the oxygen masks dropped. An infant howled in the back somewhere. Scully closed her eyes as a moment of clarity slammed into her.

She would never see her baby again. Her plane was going to crash in the ocean.... As it hurtled towards the angry Atlantic below, the plane groaned as if it was going to start coming apart. Scully put the oxygen mask over her face, looking over at Doggett, helpless on the floor, gasping for air as the cabin pressure went to hell.

"SCULLY!!!" Starkweather screamed over the chaos. "HANG ONTO MY BELT!!!" Scully nodding, understanding what she was going to do, as papers and plastic cups swirled around them, screams circling the air as the plane continued to fall. Scully wrapped her fingers around Starkweather's belt as tight, nodded again to her. Starkweather unsnapped her seatbelt and threw herself to the floor, Scully hanging onto her for precious life. Starkweather stretched her arms out. "DOGGETT!! DOGGETT!! GRAB MY HAND!!!" she tried to yell above the hellish din.

Doggett had hit his head pretty hard when he tumbled from the seats he was sleeping on; all he heard was a surreal humming. He could see Starkweather on the floor, being held by Scully. He lunged for Starkweather's hands and she caught it in a fireman's grip. Scully heaved with all her strength to get them back up. They clamored into their seats, slid the masks over their faces and clicked their belts in place; Scully held Starkweather's right hand, Doggett, her left. Neither one of them realized how hard all three of them were praying.

Scully could hear the captain come on over the intercom, telling them to brace for impact. She took one last look out the window... and was blinded by a powerful white light. The plane suddenly stopped hurtling to the black waters below but surged violently upwards. Everyone on the plane was slammed back into his or her seats by the force of the accelerating raising upwards. Starkweather's hand slipped from Doggett's and her wrist hit her forehead, shattering the crystal of her watch, the pain of the deep gash not even registering. Blinded by the light and by her own blood, in her disorientation, Starkweather thought she was already dead.

Doggett just closed his eyes and prayed the end would be quick.

As quickly the plane went into peril, it righted itself again and continued to fly smoothly as if it had never been interrupted. The lights came back on....

Scully and Starkweather let go of hands. Starkweather turned to examine the large swelling bump on Doggett's head. "Starkweather, let Scully look at YOUR head, I'm not bleeding," he insisted.

Starkweather turned to Scully. "Oh my God," Scully reached into her bag for a tissue. "That's really deep, you may have to get stitches when we get to London."

"Super," Starkweather held the tissue to her wound, the white square became ruby red the minute she put it there. "So," she attempted to sound perky and glib, but she was white as a sheet and perspiring. "Typical day on the case?"

Doggett and Scully looked at each other over Starkweather's bleeding head and grimaced. "You ain't seen nothin' yet," Doggett said, completely serious.

Captain Neil Hamil turned to his co-pilot, Kevin Fischer and asked: "What the Sam hill just happened?"

"Oh man," Fischer gulped. "I have no idea. But everything's looks okay now, all the instruments and equipment are okay... we're probably a bit off course, give me a minute to figure out how far off." Fischer looked out the c*ckpit window before bending down to his maps and instruments. **The stars don't look right for London** he thought before he bent to his work.

Captain Hamil clicked on the intercom. "As soon as the captain turns off the 'No Smoking' light, we should probably see if anyone else needs help," Scully said as she handed Starkweather a fresh tissue.

Starkweather nodded. "Good idea," she agreed. "Minding, of course, that the patients don't mind that one of their docs is bleeding all over them."

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," the captain's voice, choosing light words to contradict the tremors in voice, "we had a little scare there-"

"Little my ass," Doggett grumbled. "Insanity."

"-but everything's under control now an- what the hell?"

"That can't be a good sign," Starkweather said to Scully, who was listening intently to the words over the intercom:

"What do you mean we're approaching Rome? We can't be approaching Rome, we're supposed to be-" the intercom switched off with a squawk.

The plane was dead silent. Even the baby wasn't crying. It was worse than the panicked screaming minutes before. "Rome." Scully intoned in the same flat voice she used with Mulder whenever he announced one of his eccentric theories. "As in Rome, Italy? Or is there a small English village called Rome that we just don't know about?"

"Well, Rome did leave it's mark on Britain," Starkweather said. "We can't... it's not possible... if that's right..."

"Insanity." Doggett said again, a little shell-shocked. "There is no way we could have gotten THAT far off course, that fast..." he let his words trail off for a bit before picking them up again. "Scully," he asked dropping formality. "Where was that fighter pilot supposed to be goin'?"

"Just a routine mission in Florida." Scully's eyes widened.

"Where did they find the plane?"

"Scotland." Scully looked out her window again, could see the lights of a major metropolitan area sparkling ahead in the not-to-distant distance. "Oh my God..."

"I've got a real bad feeling about this," Starkweather suddenly said. "Because, if we're supposed to be in London, but we're really in Rome, Italy and the Italian air traffic doesn't know we're here, in their air space...." Starkweather bit her lip.

Scully and Doggett realized the point Starkweather was driving at the exact same time. "Oh shit!" Doggett said, rebuckling his seatbelt.

"Mulder investigated an X-File similar to this..." Scully looked out her window again. "A plane vanished and reappeared, crashing into another..." She didn't finish her sentence for the lights began to flicker wildly again as Delta Flight 2485 suddenly nose dived to avoid a Boeing 337 taking off.

Passengers began screaming again. The captain began radioing his mayday. This time, Scully, Doggett and Starkweather put their heads in their laps and covered their heads with their arms.

On the bright side, they weren't going to crash into the ocean...

"Signora? Signora?"

Starkweather lifted her weary head. An Italian woman with a kind face was holding a Styrofoam cup of espresso. With a trembling hand, Starkweather, accepted the cup, "Grazie," she muttered.

Stupefied by exhaustion and bruising, Starkweather tried to absorb her surroundings and for once, her brain couldn't process what had happened.

The emergency landing was rough. It had gone down too fast and crashed into the large chain link fence at the very end of the airstrip. Miraculously, the fence had stopped it. Even more so, no one was seriously injured. Starkweather had raised her head to the sound of sirens once more. She vaguely remembered Roman medics helping her out of her seat, speaking in rapid Italian, poking her, prodding her, asking her questions.

The thirty people were sent to the American embassy. The passengers milled about in the massive dining room, dazed by the entire affair, expecting to be in London, winding up in Rome. The pilots were being interrogated by the ambassadors and a few high-profile military officials stationed in Rome, trying to explain an inexplicable situation.

Starkweather was sitting on her duffel bag. Her carry-on and her FBI field kit had been recovered. Her reading glasses had not. She looked around with glazed eyes. Doggett was trying to talk into a cordless phone, slumped in a chair right next to her, finger in one ear, phone in the other. Scully was going to passenger to passenger, offering her medical services. Starkweather had tried to help, but Scully ordered her to sit still.

"You're in shock," Scully had thrown a blanket over her shaking shoulders. "Just stay still, I don't need any help."

"Don't mother me," Starkweather started to say, but began to retch instead. Scully, mercury-quick, grabbed a trashbin for Starkweather to be sick in, then guided her to sit with their luggage.

Embassy employees, some American, some Italian, milled about offering the only assistance they could, cold sandwiches and hot Italian coffee. Starkweather had just began to sip the bitter brew when Scully approached her. "How are you feeling?" She asked, examining the garish slash on Starkweather's forehead. "Follow my finger with your eyes."

Starkweather watched Scully's pointer finger go left, go right. "Everybody okay?"

"Lots of bumps and bruises, a few concussed."

"How about me?"

"Still nauseous?"

"No."

"Who's Doggett talking to?"

"I have no idea, but that bump on his head is turning interesting colors." Starkweather tried to sip the coffee again.

Doggett got off the phone as Scully was preparing an ice pack for him. "Here," She handed to him. As he put the cool bundle to his bruised head, he groaned in relief. "Who were you talking to Agent Doggett?"

"Skinner." Doggett grunted. "He said he'd call Mulder for you."

Scully said, "I hope he'll be tactful about it, I don't need Mulder being scared to death on the other side of the world."

Almost, but not quite, belligerently, Starkweather asked, "Why does Mulder need to know?"

Scully didn't like her tone. "He's babysitting." Starkweather wasn't satisfied with the answer, but let it slide. "What else did Skinner say?"

"Well..." Doggett gritted his teeth. "He said he can get us a flight to London from here tonight yet."

"A flight???" Scully closed her eyes.

"I rather catch diphtheria than get on another plane right now," Starkweather ran her fingers through her tousled hair. She had lost her baseball cap in the chaos as well as her glasses.

"But I told him that we'd be better off with a few hours of sleep and then flying out this afternoon," Doggett said to the G-women's relief. "I don't know 'bout you, but I could use a shower and forty winks."

The room the Embassy provided for the agents was laughable, if any of them had any shred of humor left. "All three of us in here?" Starkweather wrinkling her forehead in dismay, looking at the double bed and love seat. "Where are we going to put everyone?"

"You and Agent Scully take the bed. I'll make do with the couch thing and footstool," Doggett offered graciously. "Look, I'm gonna run downstairs to make a few calls so, Starkweather, Scully, that'll leave the phone open for you." He took off his tie, spattered with Starkweather's blood. He looked at it and dropped it in the trashcan. "You both okay? Starkweather? Scully?"

Scully put her suitcase on the bed and began to unpack. "We're okay, just tell us what Skinner says."

"You gonna call Mulder?"

Scully shook his head. "Not tonight, I'll talk to him when we get to Inverness. If Skinner's already told him the news," she shrugged. "I'd be waking him up for nothing. It's what... seven hours later there than it is here?"

Starkweather looked at her watch. Despite the broken crystal, it still ticked beautifully. "It's not that late." She had not adjusted her watch to the time changes yet.

"Mmm," Scully pulled out an oversized T-shirt and her robe. "Still, all I want is to clean up and go to bed."

When Doggett left, Starkweather said. "You can take the first shower, I'm going to call my husband."

"You sure?" Starkweather nodded. "Thanks," Scully tried to hide her immense relief. "Are you alright, Agent Starkweather?"

"Oh sure, it takes more than almost dying a plane wreck not once but twice during the same flight to spook me," Starkweather deadpanned. "Oh, ignore me, I'm tired, my head hurts, but that's it. I'm just going to go scare the living bejesus out of Ben now."When Scully stepped into the dwarf-sized bathroom, Starkweather picked up the phone and sank down on the bed, sitting next to Scully's luggage, twirling the phone cord as she waited for the operator to put her international call through.

"Hello?"

"Ben, hi, it's me, I just wanted to call to let you know I made it to Rome okay," she said subdued, the sour taste of their fight still coating her tongue.

"Oh." His voice didn't emit any emotion at first. "Okay... wait... Rome?" Ben asked warily. "Did your assignment get changed or something?"

"No... our plane had to make an emergency landing in Rome..." She paused, feeling the hated, weak tears welling up.

"Why?" Now he sounded worried, frightened even. "What happened? Jeri, are you okay?"

"Um, well, I have a real pretty cut on my forehead and I'm gonna have a hell of a shiner tomorrow, but I'm just gonna tell everyone you abuse me," Jerilyn tried to laugh, ended up wiping away a tear or two.

"Oh my God, Jerilyn, what happened?"

"Our plane almost went down," her voice cracked. "We all got banged up but it's okay because... I wanted to tell you before you heard it on the news or got a call from my boss or something..."

"Jeri, oh Jesus," Ben's voice now sounded strangled, as if he was choking on his own guilt of harsh words that should have remained unspoken. "You're okay, though right?? You're gonna be okay?"

Jerilyn, unconsciously, placed her hand on her abdomen, remembering hearing Ben say the same phrase to her over and over, squeezing her hand, stroking her hair, when she had come out of her stupor after she lost their baby, listening to Ben try to thank the doctor without crying, having the doctor smile sympathetically and pat her hand as he said "You're a lucky woman, you nearly died." "I'm fine, I'm going to counting the minutes until I get the hell out of here and back home... because from what I've seen, Europe, in my humble opinion, is a tad overrated.

When Ben started laughing, Jerilyn knew they had survived the crisis that nearly set them back when she stormed out of the apartment. When they said their 'I love you's' and good-byes, Jerilyn hung up the phone, remembering now what her new friend, Agent Doggett said to her just last night, in the safety of the office: "Do you want your marriage to survive or not?"

"I don't know," Starkweather said to herself while Scully finished up in the bathroom. "I don't know."

Agents, Doggett, Scully and Starkweather trudged wearily through the crowded airport terminal, completely dreading getting on board yet another flight. "You think this time, maybe, we can end up in London, whaddya say?" Starkweather muttered as she collapsed in a plastic seat outside their boarding gate.

Doggett and Scully sat in the chairs in front of her. "You know what really strikes me as strange about last night's flight?" Scully asked her partners, all business now, for they had forty-five minutes to kill.

"Other than the part about the plane nearly crashing twice but it has been officially determined that there was no mechanical or human error?" Starkweather said in what Scully had privately began to call that particular sarcastic tone Starkweather's voice took as "the Mulder voice."

"No," she said. "The fact that we were still two hours away from Great Britain when the plane first began to descend. It was still dark outside, and yet when the plane righted itself, we were in Rome, in a different time zone, but the travel time doesn't match. It should have been four hours later than from when the plane first started to fail, to Rome. But it was only minutes later after the plane recovered itself that we were in Italian air space."

"You're right," Starkweather rubbed her eyes. "That completely defied every law of science that deals with time, speed, physics, aerodyamnics... unless some how, the engines got a burst of power and we were able to go at the speed of sound like a Concord jet." Starkweather looked at the ground. "Look it would be great to connect this weirdness with the Scottish weirdness, but planes can go fast. Real fast. Most military aircraft, by the time you hear it, it's already gone. Now, commercial flights, uhh, no, most don't have this speed capability, yet. Which is why-" Scully groaned and rested her head on her hand. She and Starkweather had been debating -- NOT fighting -- about the credibility of the inquiries and investigations into Delta Flight 2485 all morning and into the afternoon. "-- I think the findings of yesterday's interviews is bunk. It has to be mechanical error. Something happened to that plane made it whizz-bang, super-fly, you know? And the pilots didn't know how to deal with the sudden surge of power."

"What about the lights outside the plane?" Scully countered.

"Lightening."

"Look," Doggett jumped in, eyes ringed by jet-lag, "let's just let what happened last night sit on the back burner for a minute. We can't make any assumptions 'til we see that plane up there. The findings of the investigation in Rome are being faxed and emailed to Skinner as we speak. We'll check out the wreck in Scotland and see if they match up. If they do, well, maybe we'll catch a break. Right now, Skinner just gave me a heads-up on what's goin' on up there."

"What happened?" Scully tried to swallow a yawn as she turned to Doggett.

"Well, somebody's scarin' the locals. All the people that were interviewed by local law when the plane went down, suddenly changed there stories. They're saying they heard nothin', saw nothin'." When Starkweather asked why, Doggett said "I don't know, but I wanna find out."

Scully started to ask questions and soon she and Doggett started offering up theories. Because of the jet-lag, Starkweather zoned out for a little bit. Nobody slept well last night, especially poor Doggett, all scrooged up on the decorative and uncomfortable divan. Starkweather lay awake all night, thinking of Ben and wondering what avenue through hell her marriage was going to race through next. Absently, she looked at her broken watch. It was still ticking but it was on Eastern Time. Seven-eleven. In the morning, in Washington. ::No wonder I'm half-dead:: she thought as she looked up at the giant clock in front of her and re-set her watch, knowing that in a few short hours, she'd have to re-set it to London time anyway. Still she set it anyway, looked at her watch, looked at the clock, looked at her watch, looked at the digital time, still Eastern standard, on her cell phone. "Hey guys..."

Scully and Doggett, used to it being just the two of them kept playing Devil's Advocate with each other. "Maybe it's the military, that actually, the pilot was on a top secret mission for our government and we're trying to keep it quiet..."

"Agent Scully that doesn't make sense, then why would WE be here?"

"Hey guys..." Starkweather tried again,

"Plausible deniability. Besides, think of the embarrassment the United States just suffered with that turmoil in China..."

"You really think that the Royal British Military is gonna let the United States muscle a village of their loyal subjects? Come on..."

"Guys," Now Starkweather was insistent. But still, Scully and Doggett brainstormed on until Starkweather borrowed a line from one of her favorite movies, "Men in Black": "Hey, OLD people!!!!"

Irritated at being referred to as OLD, they turned to her.

"Don't think I'm insane..." Starkweather started.... "What is it?" Scully asked, still rankled by the "OLD people" comment.

"My watch is off by nine minutes," Starkweather looked at Scully, then at Doggett.

"So?" Doggett didn't understand the significance of the lapsed time whereas Scully did.

"Are you sure your watch isn't just slow?" Scully asked carefully.

"Well," Starkweather pulled out her cell phone. "I thought that at first, but then I checked the time on my phone," she handed it to Scully. "It's still on Eastern Time, but it's off by exactly nine minutes too. So," Starkweather closed her eyes. "humor me, please."

"How?" Doggett took the phone from Scully, looked at the time, looked at the clock on the wall and did the math. It was exactly nine minutes off. As if time had ceased, then started to tick again nine minutes behind, nine missing minutes later.....

"Set your watches to Roman time. Maybe by some sheer coincidence, my batteries in both my phone and watch are fizzling out..." ::I hope:: Starkweather thought. Scully and Doggett complied. "Huh," Doggett said, staring at his watch, completely stupefied.

"We lost nine minutes," Scully said in an awestruck voice just as the air attendant started to make the announcements in English, Italian, Spanish and French that first class ticket holders could now begin boarding the plane.

Scully, Starkweather and Doggett looked at the gate in dread....

Of course the flight from Rome to London had been completely uneventful, totally anti-climatic for the American agents gripping their armrests with their fingernails the entire journey, including steadfast Agent Doggett.

None of them talked very much through the flight and the cab ride to their hotel, which was much fancier than their standard lodgings provided by their native government. However, the minute the trio were settled into their rooms, Doggett brought his slim new computer notebook into Scully and Starkweather's room, Scully ordered room service and Starkweather found her spare pair of reading glasses and whipped out her steno pad and favorite pen. By the time the coffee and dinner plates came to their door, they had been in business for forty-five minutes.

Five hours later, they were all drained and no closer to what in the world happened in Scotland. Doggett was slouched in a chair, staring at the masses of emails Skinner had sent him. Starkweather was laying belly down on her bed, nibbling on her pen. Scully was pacing, thumbing through the massive file.

"We've GOT to be missing something," Doggett shut down his computer and set it on the bureau.

"Yeah, the pilot," Starkweather flipped through the pages and pages of notes. "After re-reading what we've talked about, it seems like he's the missing link, so to speak." She took off her glasses. "God, I'm tired," she set her reading glasses on the nightstand. "Sorry."

"No. Don't be," Scully admonished her gently. "We're all worn out from the jet lag and the crash. Plus you sustained a fairly severe blow to the head. I'm surprised that it took you this long to complain," she crossed over to the bureau and placed her thick stack of files next to Doggett's computer. "The worst thing you can do, that any of us can do, is wear ourselves out. I know I didn't sleep well last night," for she had tossed and turned, obsessing and missing her child, "I think it would be best if we just called it a night. Eight hours of straight sleep. Doctor's orders."

"And when two out of two doctors agree," Starkweather slid off the bed, "you know it's for real. But," she stretched her arms. "After all that coffee we had, I'm going to need to wind down. THIS doctor prescribes a medicinal drink, down at the bar. Any takers?"

"A beer would be great right now," Doggett got up and finally took his tie off. Rolling it up in a ball, he shoved it in his pocket. "I wonder if they have any American beers there."

"I'd kill for a Bud Light right now," Starkweather undid her French braid, unconscious of the Rapunzel effect of her wavy hair tumbling down over her shoulders. "But right now, I'd settle for cold syrup. Scully? Coming with?"

A crisp glass of cold white wine would have made her tastebuds and her throat sing but first things first. "Maybe I'll join you in a bit, but I need to call home to see how things are with Mulder and the baby."

"You trust that guy with your kid?" Fatigue made Starkweather careless. She regretted her slip of her tongue the minute Scully pointed her icy glare in her direction.

"I trust him with both our lives," she said coolly.

"Sorry," Starkweather said contritely. She grabbed her wallet and slipped out the door. Doggett, watching her, shrugged at Scully and followed. Granted, when he and Mulder first met, it wasn't pretty and sometimes the man still rubbed him the wrong way (he really HATED it when Mulder called him 'Puppy-Man') but all in all, in time, they learned to tolerate each other's work differences. As far as Doggett knew, Starkweather hadn't even MET Mulder yet, but she hated him. She really hated him, but never said why and until exhaustion set in, had always watched her mouth about Mulder around Scully. Another mystery for Doggett to unravel as he followed the enigma down the hall to the elevator and to the blessed English bar.

Scully shut the door with a cleansing breath. She knew why Starkweather was so hostile to Mulder, although it was imperative right now that Starkweather be kept in the dark about her father's true role in the grand scheme of everything.

Before she called home, Scully paused to stare out the window at the beautiful London city lights. She ached to go exploring, for they were literally only minutes away from museums, theatres and the famous Kensington Palace. She would have loved to be a normal tourist, to go shopping, gawk and take pictures, see a play. Of course Mulder had been shameless about using Bureau time and money for his entertainment. Wryly she remembered him volunteering them for a case in Minneapolis in fact, so they could see the Redskins play the Vikings. Of course, instead of seeing a football game she ended up being kidnapped by the death fetish Donnie Pfaster... so much for Mulder's fun plans for THAT particular trip...

Thinking of him reminded her that she needed to call him...

Scully's Apartment

Georgetown

2:48 PM Eastern Standard Time

"Hello," Mulder coughed when he answered Scully's home phone.

A crackle of extreme long distance then "Mulder, it's me."

"Scully," Mulder sighed with relief. "Skinner called me yesterday and scared the hell out of me. You alright?"

"I'm fine. I didn't get hurt. Doggett and Starkweather got banged up pretty badly, but for some reason I lucked out. But Mulder, something strange happened during that flight..."

"You mean besides the plane nearly crashing twice and yet it has been determined that is was not caused by mechanical or human error?" he asked placidly.

Scully smiled. ::If only Starkweather realized the similarities between her and Mulder:: Scully thought. ::she would die, she would just die:: "Mulder, we lost nine minutes."

"What?"

"Starkweather noticed it. She was setting her watch to Roman time and saw her watch was off. And her cell phone and her travel alarm clock and both mine and Doggett's watches."

"What does Dog-breath think?"

"He hasn't said," Scully chose to ignore the 'Dog-breath' reference. "He thinks we need to put what happened on our flight on the back burner until we see the wreckage in Scotland and then determine if they are related."

"And Starkweather's thoughts?"

"She thinks somehow the engines were tampered with and suddenly we had the speed capabilities of a Concord jet."

"What do YOU think?" There was a hint of a challenge in his voice. As usual.

"I don't know... it was definitely paranormal because it was a clear night, almost daybreak... I don't want to leap to conclusions..."

"You don't want to leap aboard the flying spaceship."

"Mulder," she said patiently. "After what we've both been through, you know I don't doubt you about extraterristials anymore but I don't want to use that theory with every case. Some X-Files have nothing to do with aliens. Like... remember one of our first cases... the one with the two twin little girls... Eve?"

"Ah, yes, such sweethearts, such cherubs, such satanic little archangels who dumped poison in our Cokes." Mulder remembered fondly. "Scully, I understand your hesitation, but don't completely rule out the extraterristal either. Especially with losing nine minutes."

"I'm not," Scully felt herself get defensive, as usual. "I'm just not using it as my ONLY theory either."

"Keep me updated," Mulder told her. "I will help in anyway I can."

Scully could hear the desperation in Mulder's voice, his desire to be back in the X-Files full time instead of the consultative position Skinner created for him. "You know I will," Scully said. "Speaking of Starkweather..."

"Get this Scully," Mulder rubbed his temple. A really bad sinus headache had begun to cross over his face. He hoped he could handle the rest of the phone call. "We were right, Starkweather's transfer was no coincidence. The Admiral's wife, the good Senator, was in Minneapolis four weeks ago. Naturally, she visited her stepdaughter and step-son-in-law, wow Scully, say that five times fast. Anyway, she also made a stop to visit Starkweather's old boss. All of a sudden, a rookie is offered a position in Washington? Even though it's the X-Files, it's still DC and to a rookie..."

"It's like hitting the lottery." Scully mused, "How..."

"Did the Senator do it? They went to college together. My guess is he owed her a favor, but to him, she did him a favor..."

"Because Starkweather was a pain in his ass." Scully finished Mulder's sentence for him.

"Exactly. So the Admiral definitely wants his little girl to be in our shadow, so to speak." Mulder sat down, now rubbing the bridge of his nose. His head really hurt. "And guess what else Scully?" He didn't even give her a chance to try. "The good Admiral also lied to us about Jerilyn....

"Should we be concerned about Starkweather's motives?" Scully asked.

"No," Mulder instantly assured her. "Jerilyn has no idea what's going on behind the scenes. There is so much she doesn't know, can't even began to understand." He forced himself up and trudged to the kitchen where the Lone Gunman had set up shop. Byers was typing away at his laptop, Langly was raiding Scully's fridge and Frohike was wearing Scully's baby carrier, stroking the infant's downy head. As defensive he was to anyone who even looked at Scully's baby wrong, one might assume HE was the father.

"What did the Admiral lie about?"

Mulder put his fingers to his lips to warn the Gunmen that he was talking to Scully. Knowing that they weren't supposed to be there, they hushed up as Mulder spoke: "Remember how the Admiral told us that when Jerilyn was a very little girl, he was sent to sea for six months and no one told him that his child was missing and it was only through... what did he say, "the grace of God" that she was returned?"

"Yeah?"

"I had the boys do some digging," he walked over to Frohike to kiss the baby's forehead. Then he went to the drawer where Scully kept her medicines. He talked as he rummaged for aspirin. "And Langly found some interesting medical records and a news story the Admiral just plumb forgot to mention."

"Tell me."

"Yes, when Jerilyn was six years old, her father was sent to sea for a six month mission. What the Admiral forgot to mention was that two years prior to this mission, that child had been in and out of hospitals due to unidentified psychotic episodes."

"They labeled a child psychotic?"

"They didn't have a choice Scully," Mulder found the aspirin and handed it silently to Langly for him to open. "When she got out of the terrible twos, the terrible didn't stop. But they just assumed she was a brat. When she turned four, the shit hit the fan. Emotional unstability. Deep depression. Bedwetting. Obsessive-compulsive behavior. Pathological lying. Screaming fits. Overeating for days on end, then absolute refusal to take food or water. Physical violence towards her playmates. Her adoptive mother, Lynette Bailey, pulled her out of her playgroup by the request of the other parents. She tried to feed Cholrox to her cat."

"And she was four???"

"When it started. She was shunted to every medical center in the nation. Mayo Clinic. Bethsheda. St. Jude. She was tested for every childhood disorder and a few adult ones too. Autism. ADS. So on and so forth. She was given every mind and mood-altering drug known at the time too. It would work for a brief span of time, Jerilyn would behave like a normal well-adjusted little girl, then she would build an immunity to whatever drug and it would start all over again. For two years, the Baileys' lives were made sheer hell by this child. They were investigated by not just civilian social services, but by the military as well. The Baileys' nearly divorced over the issue of what to do with their adopted daughter, papers were drawn up, but never signed.

"A few days after Jerilyn's sixth birthday, actually, the day the Baileys' decided would be Jerilyn's birthday, the Admiral, not an Admiral at the time, of course, went out to sea for a six month tour. A few days after he left, not only did Jerilyn vanish, but so did Lynette Bailey."

"What?" Scully finally managed to get a word in edgewise.

But a word was all she got for Mulder was in full steam. "The Navy did not tell the Admiral about his missing family, although there was a massive manhunt for the mother and child. Because of their domestic problems, they charged Lynette with kidnapping Jerilyn.

"So you can imagine how frightened and furious the Admiral was when he left that ship only to find that his wife and daughter had vanished without a trace. He was given sympathetic leave until further notice. He joined the manhunt, offered a sizable reward, did everything in his power to find them.

"Then, two months after he had been on leave, he gets a call from a hospital in Helena, Montana. The doctor was treating a woman and a young girl, left for dead in the mountains that he said matched the description of Lynette and Jerilyn... sound familiar Scully?"

A snippet of her conversation with Jerilyn en route to London from Washington flashed back to her. "Mulder, Starkweather told me that her mother died of brain cancer... was it the same as my cancer?" A long pause. "And they found a chip in Lynette's neck. She had it removed when Jerilyn was about fourteen. She contracted the cancer shortly after that. And died after Starkweather graduated from high school at the young age of sweet sixteen."

"So you believe that Starkweather and her adoptive mother are abductees... but what about Starkweather's mental illness?"

"That's the amazing part, Scully. It was as if her disorders never happened. Not only does she not remember her abduction, but also she has no memory of the first six years of her life, especially about her childhood psychosis. Whatever mental malfunction she had, was cured during her disappearance... but shortly after her return to her father is when she began to show signs of genius capabilities." Mulder took two aspirins and chased them with the glass of water Frohike poured for him. "But that's all I have now."

"I wonder why the Admiral didn't tell us that, that is important information." Scully sounded angry.

Mulder turned his back on the Lone Gunmen and walked back to the living room, making a beeline for Scully's soft armchair. He could feel the headache creeping down from his face into his neck and back. "We're working on it," he said as he shut Scully's blinds, the sunlight was killing his eyes.

"You sound terrible," Dr. Scully suddenly burst out. "Mulder, why aren't you at work? What time is it there, only three or so?" Scully said accusingly. "Mulder, you need to be careful with your health, you know that."

"That's why I went home early Scully," Mulder lied. "I'm a little tired and I woke up with a fever" - for the second day in a row - "so I'm just going to hang out with the rugrat for the rest of the day and let the stooges do all the dirty work. Happy?"

"How is my baby?" Scully willed herself not to cry. Her arms ached to reach out across the seas, just to touch her miracle.

"Aw, just fine, Scully." Mulder assured her. "Sleeping like an angel," strapped to Frohike's belly, but he decided Scully didn't need to know that. "Misses Mommy, of course." He looked through the kitchen doors at the Gunmen. He couldn't see Langly, but Frohike was pacing the kitchen, his movement lulling Scully's sweet child to sleep and Byers still hard at work at his computer. "I miss you," he said in a low voice, confident the Gunmen couldn't hear. Back in London, Scully smiled as twin tears slipped down her face. It wasn't often that Mulder was so point-blank about his feelings. "I miss you too," she whispered back, as if she was speaking a secret so fragile it would shatter the minute someone else would hear. "I wish you were here. Not just for the X-File, but... just because."

Mulder was about to say something sweet and wonderful but the second he opened his mouth, a huge crash erupted in the kitchen. The baby began to wail. Both Mulder and Scully, at the opposite sides of the ocean, jumped at the same time. "What the hell..." he groaned.

"Mulder, what's happening?" Scully, panicked, asked. Her panic turned into irritation when she heard Langly's familiar nasal voice ask: "Hey Mulder, was that china tea set thingy valuable you think?"

"Mulder," she said sternly. "Those guys better not be at my apartment. Not after I specifically told you I didn't want them there when I'm gone."

"Maybe we can Krazy-Glue it," she heard Frohike yell over the cries of baby.

"Mulder...." Scully said again.

Mulder cringed. She had that "I'm-going-to-kick-your-ass" tone of voice. "I gotta go Scully," he said rapid-fire quick. "The baby probably needs to be changed, call me when you get to Inverness, I love you, bye." Then there was a click and dial tone.

Scully stared at the phone and shook her head. "I'm going to kick his ass," she grumbled as she wiped the tearstreaks from her face and went to join Starkweather and Doggett at the bar.

Mulder surveyed the damage in the kitchen. Not had only Langly broken the tea set Scully's grandmother had given her, the sink was heaped with dishes, the countertops were spattered with food stains and the garbage was beginning to smell funky.

Fortunately, Frohike had calmed the baby down. Mulder took the infant out of the carrier and cuddled the child in his arms. After kissing the baby on the forehead, he looked coldly at the Lone Gunmen, sheepishly trying to clean up the shards of porcelain on the floor, which was beginning to look grimy. Mulder also noticed the mess was starting to migrate from the kitchen to the rest of the apartment.

"Guys, if we don't get this cleaned up before Scully gets home, she's going to kick all of our asses," he said before taking the baby into Scully's room for a fresh diaper.

The agents left London early to get to Inverness on time. They had an appointment with an officer from Scotland Yard at their hotel.

Of course all three of the American agents had seen "Braveheart" so they were prepared for the mossy mountains surrounded by mists. However, they were surprised by the masses of flowers everywhere. Or the huge suspension bridges over the rivers. Again, Scully felt the weird sensation or perhaps desire would be a better term, to be "normal." She did a little homework on the capital of the Scottish Highlands. ::Mulder would do backflips if he could be here:: she thought as she read about the ghost of the "Green Lady" haunting the Eden Court Theatre, King Duncun I haunting the River Ness, near Inverness Castle, the reputed castle where the true story of Macbeth supposedly occurred and of course the infamous Loch Ness not that far away. It was a paranormal paradise.

However, no ghosts or goblins today. Her mission, along with her partners, was about an aircraft crash and a missing pilot. She wrapped her clinical detachment around her like a magician's cloak. Later she would think about missing her child. Later she would worry about Mulder's absence from work. Later she would plan the perfect words to rip into Mulder's butt for letting the Gunmen come over to her pristine apartment. Later she would get her hands on Jerilyn Starkweather's medical files and delve deeper into this mysterious woman. Later. All would have to wait for later.

Again, their lodgings were far and away better than anything the FBI had provided for any of their agents. "Wow..." Even stoical Doggett's mouth dropped open in awe as the three of them stepped into the Resident's Lounge, taking in all the antiques plus pink and mauve chairs that looked sinfully soft to sink into.

Starkweather went to the enormous sparkling clean window. "Look at all the trees... I can't believe how green everything is here..."

Despite her current detachment, Scully looked at Starkweather with new eyes after Mulder's dissertation. The world saw a capable, bright young woman in a neat black suit and an emerald green silk blouse. Scully saw a frightened little girl, possessed by a frenetic energy and mental hyper-stimulation that baffled the creme a la creme of the medical experts.

Her reverie was broken by a feminine Scottish voice, speaking slowly, knowing her thick Scottish accent might be unintelligible to ignorant American ears. "Are you the American detectives?" The trio turned to see a striking Scottish woman in a midnight blue dress suit waiting patiently for their answer.

Doggett made the first move towards her. 'Detective' wasn't the right title, of course, but it was close enough. "Yes, we're from the American Federal Bureau of Investigation," Doggett maneuvered around her faux paux. "Can we help you?"

"I am called Antonia Mackenzie and yes, I am with the Scotland Yard. And what are you called?"

"I'm Agent John Doggett, this," he pointed to each woman as he said their names. "Is Agent Dana Scully and Agent Jerilyn Starkweather."

"Ah, very good," Mackenzie nodded. "Well, then, I was informed that you wanted to see the wreckage site immediately so let's bring your belongings up to your rooms and then off we'll go. Beautiful place this is," she said fondly, her eyes sweeping over the magnificent room. "My husband and I honeymooned here. Lovely, lovely place. I am here to help you in any capacity from legal questions to the best place to dine in Inverness. I would recommend Givan's Restaurant on Bridge and Barrett. Shall we go on then?"

Doggett, Starkweather and Scully picked their bags up again and followed Mackenzie out.

Mulder had kicked all the covers off, sweating out a bad dream. He was back in that torture chamber, needles piercing his face, a saw going through his chest while he was wide awake and fully aware. Hazy faces stared at him, nodding approvingly as he screamed out in agony and disbelief that this was even happening: "SCULLY!"

The baby's piercing cry brought Mulder out of the nightmare. He sat up, heart pounding. His yelling had woken the baby up. "Oh sh*t," he murmured as he slid off Scully's bed and stumbled in the dawn's half-light towards the bassinet. He sweated profusely even though Scully kept the apartment at about 68 degrees and he was in just boxers. Checking on the squirming, screaming infant, he discovered, with great relief, that a diaper change or a feeding wasn't necessary. "Awww, kid," he crooned as he picked the baby up. "I'm sorry," he kissed the baby's forehead and sat back down on the bed, thinking about Jerilyn Starkweather, about the tortures she must have endured during her disappearance, during her infancy even, before the Baileys found her. Pain that Sammantha must have suffered when she vanished into thin air. Tortures that this sweet child of Scully's must never never endure. That no child should ever have to go through. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"Mulder," Frohike tapped on the doorframe. "We heard you yelling. You okay?"

The Lone Gunmen decided to stay with Mulder until further notice. Their "new recruits" Jimmy and Yves were holding down the fort while Scully was gone. It was more Frohike's idea than Byers or Langly.

"Sure," Mulder said to his oft abused yet still loyal friend. "I just... had a bad dream," he said lamely.

"You look like shit."

"Melvin, you always warm my heart."

"Boo okay?" At first the Gunmen had jokingly nicknamed the baby as "Spooky Two" but after an ass chewing from not just Scully, but Mulder, Skinner AND Doggett, they began calling the baby "Boo" instead. They got away with that one because it sounded cute.

"Boo's fine," Mulder stroked the baby's pretty head. The baby still snuffled a bit. "Go back to sleep Melvin, it's Saturday." Frohike nodded and disappeared. Mulder still feeling terrible carefully slid back onto Scully's bed with the baby still in his arms. The headache never really went away and now his ears were ringing. The baby still whimpered. He leaned against the pillows, cuddling the still frightened child to his bare chest. "Shh, shh... it's okay. Mommy's hunting bad guys, but she'll be home soon." Even though his singing voice was execrable, he gave a lullaby a shot anyway. "Hush little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird....

Mackenzie fiddled with her keys. "We brought what was left of the aircraft back here to protect it from the elements for further investigation. We have recreated how the plane was found as closely as possible, but of course we had our crews examine it with a fine tooth comb plus take many photographs that you should have received in your files." She finally unlocked the giant swinging doors. "I had just received notice from your military that they want this plane back on American soil in no less than forty-eight hours, which I'm afraid doesn't leave you much time." She moved aside so Doggett, Starkweather and Scully could go inside.

"Jiminy Christmas," Starkweather murmured, looked at the heap of twisted metal in front of them.

"Any word on survivors?" Scully asked, snapping on her latex gloves.

"None of yet to my knowledge," Mackenzie replied.

"Well, ladies," Doggett drawled, digging his gloves out of his coat pocket. "Let's get to work."

"Mulder, dude," Langly brought him a sloppy glass of orange juice as Frohike relieved him of the baby. "Drink up buddy."

"Is it a screwdriver?"

"No."

"Then screw you." Mulder smiled weakly.

"Hey, man," Langly huffed, "If you're still sick when Scully gets back, she's gonna kick our asses, which is gonna suck, so drink up. My mom said orange juice is good for you."

"You had a mother?" Mulder said incredulously. "I thought you just sprouted from somewhere," but he took the sticky glass from him and downed it. He found he was really thirsty and his throat hurt a little. ::Not strep throat again:: he moaned to himself. He got up from Scully's chair and trudged to the kitchen, which looked even worse from last night. Mulder noticed small puddles of orange juice splattered on the floor and even he in his slovenly ways felt the hairs on his neck stick up in revulsion. ::I'm messy, I leave clutter around and let dust build up, but wow, these guys...:: he devoutly hoped he could get Scully's apartment up to par by the time she got home. "Byers, what do you got for me on Golden Boy?" he clapped Byers on the back.

Byers had spent all night hacking into the Starkweathers' personal accounts and files. "Not much. Luke Starkweather is originally from Fargo, North Dakota but moved to Minneapolis in 1970 with his wife, a former Linda Horner to take a job as a high school teacher and football coach at a private Catholic institution until his retirement five years ago. Linda was a homemaker who raised Ben and his older sister Mary Paula. Mary Paula is married with two kids working as a social worker in St. Paul. No one in their family has had any usual ailments in their lifetime. No history of criminal offense other than a speeding ticket here and there. The Starkweathers are clean."

"Makes ya sick doesn't it?" Langly said cheerily, eating Cornflakes directly out of the box.

"How is the search going on Jerilyn's adoptive mother?" Mulder felt nauseous watching Langly eat. He held his arms out to Frohike for Boo and Frohike reluctantly yielded the baby to him.

Byers turned to face him, "Why don't you rest a bit and as soon as the files finish downloading, I'll print them and bring them to you to read."

"Why do you say that?" Mulder was tired of being treated like a cripple. Ever since his resurrection and subsequent rejection from the FBI, everyone walked on eggshells around him. Except Scully, Doggett and Skinner, of course. Those three, he wished they would cut him a little slack.

"Because," Byers said patiently. "You're white a ghost."

"Oh."

Frohike took the baby away from Mulder again.

Scully took pictures of the wreckage with her digital camera, Doggett with his old trusty 35mm manual Minolta and Starkweather with her phenomenal photographic memory.

One of her extraordinary talents was her ability to have her mind on two subjects at once and never missing a beat or mixing subjects up, a great talent to possess especially in high school; she could daydream incessantly and yet answer the teacher correctly without hesitation. While she was peering so close to the wreckage that her nose was touching the glass of the canopy, she debated on what to say to Benjamin the next time she called home, if she even called him at all. Not because she was angry, but she knew she really needed to think about where she wanted to her marriage to go. It sure wasn't going on love alone, although love for Ben, she had plenty of. "Hello, what is this," she pressed on the glass canopy of the aircraft. "This didn't shatter on impact?" she called out to Mackenzie.

"Amazingly enough, no," Mackenzie replied. "It had our inspectors just as baffled as you. As badly damaged as the craft was, we were surprised to find the canopy in one piece. We never did find the left wing at all."

"Scully, Doggett, look at this please," Starkweather traced her finger along the canopy where glass and metal met. Scully and Doggett flanked each side of her. "What're we lookin' at?" Doggett asked.

"I don't know," Starkweather said. "Because... if it's what I think it is... then it doesn't make sense. Um, Inspector Mackenzie?" Starkweather asked, not sure of her proper title, but considering the fact she referred to them as "Detectives", Starkweather wasn't too concerned about ruffling feathers over nametags. "Are you absolutely sure no one has tampered with this beyond transportation?"

"Absolutely," Mackenzie said curtly, miffed that her word was being questioned.

"And this canopy was found exactly the way it is now."

"Aye."

"Wow, I thought they only said that in the movies," Starkweather mused aloud. "Anyway, and we still haven't recovered the pilot."

"Aye."

"That makes no sense," Starkweather fumed. "None at all."

"Why?" Scully said.

"Look at this canopy, he never punched out." Starkweather began to pace and bite her lip. "The plane was crashing, he never punched out, the cockpit is a shambles, there's no body, but this canopy never opened for him to evacuate."

"Are you sure?" Scully came closer to the plane to take a better look.

"I dated a few pilots while I was still active Air Force, I know I know, shock and surprise, try and control yourselves," Starkweather said in a monotone. "A couple of them tried to be all macho and cute and show the itty bitty medic girl how the big bad planes fly. They didn't realize that the little medic girl would remember verbatim." Starkweather said grimly, remembering those insane whirlwind military relationships. "This canopy never opened."

"Then where's the body?" Doggett demanded. Scully gave him a pained look. "'Scuse me," Doggett amended his statement. "Where's the pilot?"

"Oh come ON!" Starkweather sighed. "Please. There's no logical way a human body can pass through glass and live."

"Actually," Scully found herself going into "Mulder-mode" which always irritated her slightly ::What happened to MY personality?:: she would privately bemoan before giving out a very Mulderesque theory. "Glass isn't a true solid. It's a liquid. The only solidified liquid known to man. When it's heated up, it becomes a liquid again."

"Scully," Starkweather said patiently. "Do you know how HOT it has to get for glass to liquefy? And if someone were to pass through liquid glass, he'd wish he were dead if he survived. Besides, how could something heat up so fast, allow enough time for a pilot, fully strapped to his seat, to pass through the liquid, and then cool off enough to return to glass and yet there is no deformity to the glass?" She thumped the glass with her gloved knuckles. "There's no sign of warping to signify any extreme heat enough to melt glass and cooling to solidify it again."

"Maybe it takes nine minutes," but the moment the words were out of her mouth, naturally skeptical Scully wanted to recant them.

Starkweather paused, fighting against a very natural reaction to say: "Are you a raving lunatic?" But her time in the Minneapolis Field Office did serve her well. She chose to learn from her mistakes. She had already taken a tour of Scully's bad side and really didn't care for the view. She chose her words carefully. "I don't perceive any of the usual documented evidence of extraterrestrial involvement."

"I don't know, Agent Scully," Doggett walked around the plane. "I think I have to go with Starkweather here. I don't think it's," he grimaced. "Alien. But...it's weird. Damn weird. I would have to lean to something..." it seemed he had to physically force the word out of his mouth. "Paranormal."

"I'm not trying to be difficult," Starkweather said bluntly. "But I agree with Doggett, Scully. I just don't think it's our boys in the sky causing this shit." She shook her head. "I don't really enjoy blowing your theories out of the water-" okay, that was a white lie there was nothing she enjoyed more than proving people wrong, but Starkweather opted for diplomacy "- but it seems that every finding I make, only serves to complicate the case further," which was the truth in her eyes. Her next statement was also sincere. "I'm up for any suggestions to gain some clarity."

"I'm thinking we have a chat with the village locals," Doggett leaned on the plane.

Scully nodded, feeling completely gained up on, but respecting their opinions. For now. "I think you're right."

A bell jangled harshly as Scully opened the door to the darkened pub. It was virtually deserted, except for a surly bartender and Agent John Doggett, sitting alone at a table, going over his notes. He looked up, frustration subduing the brilliance of his blue eyes. "Agent Scully," he said in his formal-Southern-gentleman manner. "How did it go?"

"It went nowhere, Agent Doggett," it was an inside joke between them now, to refer to each other as 'Agent', just as she had never called her former partner 'Fox.' "The only thing I could gather is that they all changed their stories from hearing the plane going over their town from a southeastern direction, which would be direction the plane would be going if it flew to here from Florida, to that they heard nothing except for a rumbling in the distance straight north of here, which would be correct if the plane flew straight east. They wouldn't have heard the sonic boom of the plane, just the sound of the crash."

"So why the story change? What's so special about that damn plane?"

"According to the findings, it's just a standard F-16 fighter jet. No stealth capabilities, no nuclear weapons."

"So why lie?" Doggett questioned.

"Until we find solid proof to corner someone, anyone about their lie, I don't know." Scully leaned back in her chair. Her lovely Madonna face was clouded with fatigue and annoyance. She was so tired of the same old jerk-around, go-around. ::They didn't need me here for this crap:: she thought bitterly. ::I could be home right now:: She forced herself back out of "Mom-mode" and back into "FBI-mode." "Should we question him?" She nodded at the bartender who eyed the two Americans with great distrust.

"Maybe we should wait for Starkweather," Doggett said.

As if it was a television show, Starkweather pushed her way through the door on cue. She stood for a moment, her eyes flickering here and there, like they did when she first entered the X-File office. Scully observed the odd mannerism with curious medical interest. ::Is the mannerism due to her massive brain energy or is it a nervous twitch due to her childhood traumas?:: she wondered.

Suddenly, a dusty object caught Starkweather's eye. "Oh, a piano!" she shouted out in glee.

Scully and Doggett both gave each other a "what the hell" look, then looked over at the very professionally dressed woman, skipping over to the old stand up piano like a little girl. "Do you mind? Is it in tune?" She leaned up against the bar and smiled sensual-sweet.

The bartender, taken aback by the vivacious lady dressed in black with the American accent. "Aye, it be in tune," he said slowly. "Tuned it every first of the month."

"Thank you!" she patted his hand and went to the piano. She sat her valise next to her on the bench, clicked the snaps open and pulled out a tape recorder. She hit Record/Play and set it on top of the piano. She tentatively tapped the middle C note three times, listened, played a halting rendition of "Chopsticks."

Scully and Doggett looked at each other again. Scully rolled her eyes. She couldn't help it. Doggett smirked and looked at the floor.

Starkweather put her finger to her lip, thought for a bit, then put her fingers to the key and began to play, flawlessly, ears down low near the keys, eyes closed, the main theme from Jane Campion's film "The Piano." Scully, Doggett and the bartender's mouths all dropped open in surprise. After she finished played, she wheeled around to face the bartender. "Tuned the first of the month you say," she said, voice still sweet, but her eyes were not.

"Aye," the bartender said uncomfortably.

"That was... six days ago?"

"Aye." "A plane crashed here four days ago."

"Aye, crashed straight north of here. Bloody mess it made."

"Straight north? Didn't fly over the town at all?"

"No'm," he said warily, feeling himself falling into a trap he couldn't see.

Starkweather stood up and shut the tape player off. "Pianos are far more delicate that they appear. Any type of disturbance can knock it out of tune. My piano got so out of tune being rattled around in a U-Haul, driving cross-country, I thought it would never be in tune again. When I was a little girl, we lived so near an airfield, that every week my mother had to call the tuner in to fix the piano because the sonic boom of the jets taking off would shake our house, which means our piano got rattled out of tune." She hit the middle C note again. "This piano is out of tune by one full note, which shouldn't be if it was tuned four days ago and judging by the dust, played never. Unless something rattled this building, like a jet plane crashing. So why don't you tell us what your village of three hundred people, including the sheep, won't." The smile disappeared from her face.

The bartender physically sagged.

Now Scully and Doggett shared a triumphant smile.

"Ach, what the bloody hell, I donna have nothin' to live for anyways," the bartender said miserably as he left the bar and sat by Scully and Doggett.

"Did someone threaten you, Mr...?" Scully started.

"Threatened? That's a light word for the deeds being done to this town ever since that bloody jet went down..."

Then Scully's cell rang. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "Scully... are you serious... alright, we'll be there as soon as possible. Thank you." Hanging up, she said. "That was Antonia Mackenzie. They found the pilot's body. They want us there for the autopsy."

Starkweather leaned against the dirty piano. "Can you come with us to Inverness? I'm sorry, we never got your name."

The barkeep grinned grimly. "Wallace."

Starkweather, a huge movie buff, appreciated the irony. "I think you can be a hero without your head being cut off."

The same dark duo who watched Jerilyn Starkweather leave for her first day at the X-Files, watched the American agents lead the bartender to their rental car. "Is it her?" The first man asked.

"Yeah." The second man said laconically.

"Any instructions?"

"Yeah," the second man started up the van once the agents' car was down the road and out of sight. "Wait 'til she's alone in Inverness."

Drs. Scully and Starkweather entered the autopsy room, donned in pale pea green scrubs. Scully already had her fiery hair tucked up in her surgical cap, but Starkweather was still braiding her long long hair into a thick coil as she trailed Scully. "Where's Doggett? Should we wait for him?" She wound the coil into a bun and threw the cap on.

Scully was pulling the recording microphone down so it would hover right over the covered body. "He's questioning Mr. Wallace with Inspector Mackenzie. He'll join us when he's through." Scully made a small flourish towards the table. "Want to do the honors?" Sometimes, Scully missed being an instructor.

Starkweather approached the table. "Is it on," she gestured towards the microphone. Scully nodded. Starkweather plunged in. "Case File Number X - 3776133, date, April 6, 2001, time, six-forty-seven PM Inverness time, one-forty-seven PM Eastern standard time. Subject has been positively identified as Air Force Major Vincent Ford from his dogtags and dental records." Starkweather pulled the sheet off of the victim. "Holy shit!" she gagged from the burnt stench from the body.

Scully retched too, but then stared too. The corpse was badly burned. "Third degree burns over 80 percent of his body," she pronounced ominously. "Scully, I think we need to get a sample of that glass from the cockpit," She peered closer to the corpse just as Doggett swaggered in, obviously angry. He turned a slight shade of green at the stink of the deceased, but did not gag. He did not look happy.

"Agent Doggett, what's the matter?"

"Wallace is claiming that men from our government visited the village and warned them to keep their mouths shut. Or we'll burn their village down and there's nothing the Royal British government will do about it," his lips were pressed into a thin, narrow line, making his face look even more cragged than usual. "I don't know if these people are with our government or not, but just before I left to come here, Mackenzie got a call. The pub Wallace worked at is burning uncontrollably as we speak. Wallace is in Mackenzie's protective security."

"Oh my God," Starkweather clenched her scalpel tightly. "What secret is so vital that they're resorting to hurting civilians?"

Scully was still poking around the body. "Or killing a badly injured man instead of bringing him to a hospital?"

"What?" It was almost comical that Doggett and Starkweather said that at the same time.

"Starkweather, come here and look at this."

When Starkweather bent over the body, Scully noticed, with horror, a strange scar on the back of her neck, normally hidden by her ponytails, braids and buns. ::Oh God,:: Scully made a mental note to call Mulder tonight.

Wallace sat nervously in the passenger seat of the bad-smelling Alphasud, with Antonia Mackenzie driving. When it became glaringly obvious that they were leaving the twinkling city lights far behind them, he demanded "Where're ye takin' me?" Mackenzie drove in silence until they came to a deserted bit of fields near the rivers. She pulled out of her gun. "Get out." She said in a masculine voice, her body stretching and expanding into the form of a man. Wallace screamed.

In less than fifteen minutes it was over. The bodies of Wallace and Mackenzie, which had been decomposing in the hot trunk since right after she made the call to Scully that the body was found, had been neatly weighted down and tossed into the roaring river. They wouldn't be found for months. Emotionless, he morphed back into Mackenzie and went back to the waiting vehicle. He hoped his partner had a clear shot at Starkweather. He cursed her existence. He had not realized how acute her observational skills truly were. If not for her, Doggett and Scully probably would have never known that the canopy never opened.

He had never worked with a partner before. He hoped he could do the job, with the minimum of fuss.

He cursed the fools who allowed Jerilyn Starkweather live to see adulthood. She should have been destroyed along with the others in her infancy. No one would have missed her back then. He was not a religious man, but he was infinitely grateful to whatever power was higher than he, that her offspring never survived to be born, for Starkweather herself, in his eyes, should have never been created in the first place.

He started the car and drove back to Inverness.

Scully and Starkweather prodded the body, murmuring to each other in highly medical terms, completely losing Doggett. "Hey Doc," he said, unconsciously gifting Starkweather the nickname she would carry for the remainder of her FBI career and her life, "wanna translate into English?"

"Sorry," Starkweather moved aside so Doggett could see. She pointed to a tiny hole in his chest, right over his heart. "Stab wound."

Doggett, unafraid of the dead **provided that they were truly 100% dead, of course** leaned closer. "It's not a knife. Looks like ice pick or something. Long, sharp, smooth."

"And big," Scully, ever fearless, stuck her gloved pinkie into the hole. "The weapon went through flesh, muscle and bone, cleanly and smoothly."

"Could've happened during the crash?" Doggett said.

"No," Scully said. "He was alive when he was stabbed."

"He survived... THAT?!?!" Doggett gestured over the body, indicating the wounds. "Well, remember what Starkweather said," Scully said. "He'd wish he was dead if he survived passing through heated liquidified glass. Third degree burns are the most severe burns a body can withstand."

"Survival is possible," Starkweather chirped up. "But like I said earlier today, most of the time, the survivors wished they were dead."

"So this was a mercy killin'?" Doggett sounded doubtful.

"Well, it was a killin' anyways," Starkweather mimicked Doggett's Southern twang playfully. "Well, let's see, we've got a whole town scared shitless, a pub that burned to the ground because the barkeep came with us and a dead pilot who might not have been dead if he hadn't been found by an angel of mercy. Somebody really doesn't want anyone to know what happened to that plane."

Scully frowned, a sacrilegious act for her lovely Madonna face to commit. "Which makes me really to find out the truth even more."

::Scully sounds so determined,:: Doggett thought with a wry smile. ::Mulder would be proud.::

Scully's cell rang. "Scully...... ok.... sure.... we'll be there." She hung up the phone with a snap. "That was Mackenzie again. She said she on her way back from depositing Wallace at a safehouse in Edinburgh. She gave me a name of a restaurant she wants to meet us in about ten minutes."

Doggett nodded in approval. "Let's get going then."

As they were walking out of the morgue, Starkweather couldn't help vocalizing a nagging worry that nibbled at her spine ever since Scully said 'Edinburgh.' "How far is Edinburgh from Inverness?"

Doggett and Scully stopped. They looked at each other. Doggett pulled out a battered map of Scotland. He frowned, meticulously refolded the map, took out his gun, checked the magazine and took it off of safety.

Scully and Starkweather did the same.

"Call Skinner," Scully said to Doggett. He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial. "Get him to find out from a reliable source where Wallace is. Tell him time is vital."

"Oh shit," Starkweather groaned as she loaded a fresh clip into her weapon. "This can't be good."

The trio walked to their rental car.

Mackenzie - or rather, the being posing as Inspector Antonia Mackenzie - waited patiently outside the restaurant, fuming. Her "partner" had gotten tied up in traffic. She would have to handle the situation on her own. It was going to be public and messy and she hated that. It would have to be with a gun too. She hated that even more. She saw the agents approach them on foot so she waved in greeting. "Good evening," she said naturally. "I trust the autopsy went well, ladies," she said genially to the female agents with pleasant blank expressions. Maybe this nasty little chore wouldn't be so difficult after all. Wait for Starkweather to use the restroom, or better yet, make some excuse to have Starkweather go with her... maybe she wouldn't have to use a gun after all... grab her by the throat, squeeze, stab, then slip out the window. Let them find the body. It would be an irrelevant X-File case for Scully, Doggett and Mulder to chase after while the real work was in progress. Mackenzie felt good about her decision about throwing them a red herring. Starkweather was no threat dead. Drawing breath, on the other hand...

"The autopsy didn't any conclusive findings about how he was able to escape the plane," Scully said politely. "If it wasn't for Wallace, we'd be at a dead end."

::Something's wrong:: Mackenzie thought. "Aye, Wallace." She nodded gravely. "Let us discuss this over the dinner. I am famished."

"I'm sure you are, after that long drive," Starkweather said gravely.

And Mackenzie realized her mistake, but tried to cover. "Ach, broke every motor vehicle law trying to get back here at a proper time. Shall we go inside?"

Doggett looked at the women. Scully and Starkweather looked at the man, both arching their eyebrows. "Miss Mackenzie," Doggett drawled, oozing out the Southern charm, "we feel right bad 'bout you makin' that long trip alone, we'll have to buy you a beer just for that." He, now all buddy-buddy now, clamped his big hand on her petite shoulder; she was more delicate-looking than Scully even.

"Actually, a lager would be lovely right now," Mackenzie didn't like Doggett's big paw on her person. However, she was infinitely stronger than he was, but to cause a scene would be catastrophic right now.

"I mean," his hand tightened on her shoulder. "Makin' that LONG drive to Edinburgh, when your super right here in Inverness had a little place for Wallace all made up for him," Skinner had delivered the goods. Doggett felt that rush he always got when he nailed a bad guy. "And your boss is still sitting at Wallace's safe house, all alone. Waitin' for Wallace and waitin' for you to get in touch with him and all, seeing that nobody told him you were gonna be late and nobody at Edinburgh has any idea that you and Wallace were supposed to be comin'. But that probably that don't matter since you and Wallace never showed up." He squeezed tighter, Mackenzie made a little yelp, he was hurting her now, and "so how about you quit the crap and tell us who you're working for and what's so Got-damned important about one measly little fighter jet that got off course?"

For some strange and wonderful moment, whatever Greater Being ruling the universe, had it written in his master plan for Dana Scully to look over Mackenzie's shoulder.

"Doggett! Starkweather, get down!" she drew her gun and pushed Starkweather roughly to the ground as shots were fired from behind Doggett and Mackenzie. Just as Scully had shouted his name, Mackenzie threw Doggett off of her into the glass window, cracking it but not shattering it.

Scully fired after them. Starkweather got up, drew her weapon and ran after them. Doggett, high from adrenaline, shock and pure anger, followed suit, Scully, right behind them, weaving through the screaming panicked crowd holding up her badge yelling "FBI! Federal Agent!" forgetting that those titles mean absolutely nothing to the locals.

Starkweather had the lead of the other two agents, in hot pursuit of Mackenzie and the gunman. "Federal Agent! American Federal Agent, GET OUT OF MY WAY!" she screamed as she fished awkwardly in her coat pocket for her badge.

Starkweather saw the duo kitty-corner over to the other side of Holland road towards a crummy looking floral delivery truck. She kept running straight, hoping to maybe corner them. She ran into traffic, weaving in and out of the tiny European cars, getting cursed at.

Meanwhile, the adrenaline had flowed out of Doggett's body and the pain began to set in. Still, while gulping great big drafts of air, he ran on, keeping Starkweather in his sights, watching her maneuver through all the little cars. He saw the delivery truck start moving. Doggett paused to shoot out the tires, plugged one of the back tires, but still it drove on, gaining speed.

Scully was only a step behind Doggett. She too, fired at the tires, but missed. "Damn!" She stopped when she heard the sirens in the not too far distance. Someone had to stay behind and explain to the Scottish police exactly why shots were fired in a busy peaceful street.

Doggett had almost caught up with Starkweather. All the cars had pretty much swerved out of her way, especially after seeing her drawn gun. She was in perfect firing stance, gun gripped firmly in both hands, one foot in front of the other. She was aiming at the delivery truck, hurtling right for her. She fired, destroying the front tires. It still came right for her. She fired again, blowing out the windshield, it still came right for her.

Doggett, helpless on the sidelines, surrounded by gawking and terrified civilians, didn't have a clear shot. All he could do was scream: "STARKWEATHER!!!!!"

The van was less than ten feet away from her.

Exhausted, Doggett leaned against the wall, looking out the window as Scully sat on the edge of her bed, recounting the evening's events to Mulder. There was a crackle of static, then she heard Mulder ask "So what happened next?"

"Remember when we went and saw 'Hannibal'?" Ever since that horrid movie based on their work came out, Mulder and Scully would once in a while check out a movie that had anything to do with the FBI, mostly to snicker and say "That's not realistic." Last movie like that they saw was the sequel to The Silence of the Lambs. Doggett and Monica Reyes had gone with.

"Sure," Mulder said. "It sucked."

"Mulder, I'm not here to argue the merits of a movie. I'm just saying do you remember the scene where Julianne Moore was firing at the van and then threw herself away from the van, rolling on the hood of a parked car. That's exactly what she did. The van was literally inches away from her right before she did that. The van lost control and crashed a few feet away," Scully sighed. "Agent Doggett caught up with Starkweather and the van, he should probably tell you the rest." She held the phone up for Doggett.

"Hi, Puppy-Man," Mulder said cheerily.

"Deputy Mayor Mulder," Doggett said formally, fuming at the hideous nickname that stuck to him like flypaper. "Agent Starkweather and I investigated the van. The passenger was gone, Starkweather swore that she hit the driver." He stopped dead.

"But what?" Mulder prodded, aching to be there, hearing the call for battle, feeling like the decrepit war-horse put out to pasture. ::Better than the glue factory:: he reminded himself.

"There was nothing in the driver seat but this green goo that was eatin' away at the upholstery."

"Green?"

"Yeah, we've got a sample sent to Interpol labs and to Quantico."

Mulder closed his eyes as he rubbed the baby's tummy. He was laying shirtless and sockless on a fuzzy yellow blanket with the baby, enjoying a moment of peace without the Gunman. Scully's apartment was in shambles, but Mulder was confident he'd have it clean in plenty of time before Scully came home. He wiped his face with his hand. Still sweating. ::God, it's hot in here:: he thought as he continued to talk to Doggett. "How's the kid? Where is she now?"

"She's still giving her statement to Interpol and the local law. She's doin' okay. Pissed as hell that the suspect got away." Doggett said as he recalled the Starkweather exploding into such profanity that it would have made an old-school Marine blush when they discovered the van devoid of passengers.

"Put Scully back on for a second," Mulder asked. When Scully took the phone again, Mulder said "Scully, someone wants Jerilyn dead. The stooges dug up some more medical records and they're pretty sick," Mulder looked at the baby, reached to touch fondly the child's fuzzy head. The baby gurgled happily; the little arms and fists waving in simple innocent joy. "Scully, when Starkweather was no older than your baby right now, she was horribly tortured. Torture consistent of most alien abductees. Starkweather spent nearly a year in the hospital recovering from something she wasn't even supposed to recover from. For the first three months of her life, Jerilyn was nothing more than an infant lab rat."

Scully closed her eyes, listening to Mulder, gripping the bed. Doggett sat beside her. "You okay?" he mouthed to her. Scully, heartsick at the idea of someone -- or thing -- hurting a helpless baby made her physically ill. "They did something to her, those bastards and now they want to undo what they have done." Mulder went on. "I think we need to tell Doggett what we know about her. If her life's on the line, he needs to know...." Starkweather entered the room while Scully was still on the phone with Mulder.

"Agent Starkweather, what took so long," Scully said evenly, while hoping that Mulder realized that she wasn't going to discuss Starkweather's history while she was in the room.

Starkweather began to undo her bun, again, unaware of the child princess effect of her hair tumbling over her diminutive shoulders. "Oh, after giving my statement, I had to go to the hospital for my arm because it was hurting." She ruefully rubbed her upper arm. "Hairline fracture from when I hit the hood of that Yugo," referring to when she rolled onto the vehicle to get away from the floral delivery truck hurtling towards her. "Gave me some mild pain killers, but they really can't do anything more. Hurts like a bitch though." Starkweather turned to Scully, asking, "Is that Skinner?" on the phone.

"No," Scully replied. "It's Agen-,um, Deputy Mayor Mulder. I'm checking in on how my baby is."

"Ah." Starkweather nodded. "Well, then, I'll just leave you then. I'm going for a walk." She smiled wanly. "I'm a little wired, I need to wind down." She left the room, silently shutting the door behind her.

"Agent Doggett, why don't you go with to make sure she's okay," Scully suggested.

Doggett said "Sure," understanding that one, Starkweather was more than just "a little wired" and she may need her partner, and maybe her friend to confide in, and two, Scully may want some private time with Mulder. He left the room swiftly, hoping to catch Starkweather before she got too far ahead.

Scully resumed her conversation with Mulder. "I'll talk to Doggett as soon as I get a private moment with him."

"Don't put it off too long Scully."

"I understand the urgency Mulder," Scully used that patient tone of voice that irritated Mulder into rationality. "Mulder, now that Doggett is gone, I can tell you what else I observed about Starkweather."

"What?"

"When she put her hair up before we did the autopsy on the dead pilot, I saw scarring on her neck. Scarring similar to mine." Scully lay down on the bed, kicking off her heels, hearing them clunk to the floor as she wiggled her toes. "But Mulder, what I want to know is, how are you? You sound congested."

"Oh, I'm fine," Mulder lied, wiping his nose with a Kleenex, then pitching it into the trash can nearby. He ached all over and his chest and sinuses felt painfully tight. "Must be the connection. You sound muffled too."

"How is my baby?"

"Oh fine," Mulder rested his head on the blanket, eye to eye with the baby. The child cooed in recognition, reaching for Mulder's big, broken nose eagerly. Mulder smiled and adoredly rubbed the baby's nose with his fingertip. "Growing leaps and bounds. I've been taking pictures to mark the progress."

"Mulder," Scully sighed, closing her eyes. "Take care of yourself. I not only trust my life to you, but the life of my child as well."

"Wow," Mulder said dryly. "No pressure."

"Mulder," Scully now had that infamous warning note in her voice.

"Scully," Mulder teased, aping her warning note.

"We'll be home soon."

"We'll be waiting with bells on, won't we Boo?"

Scully smiled contently as she heard the chortling of her baby in the background. "I miss you two."

"We miss you too, G-woman. Get some sleep, it's got to be one in the morning over there."

Scully was exhausted but loathed to hang up the phone quite yet. "You get some rest. We can't have you getting sick on us."

"Yes Mother."

"Mulder..."

"Nobody likes a nag, Scully,'" he teased.

"What a romantic you are," Scully teased right back.

"Oh, you want romance?" Mulder was still in a joky mood. "The formidable, undefeatable, tough-as-nails Federal Agent Doctor Dana Katherine Scully wants romance??? From ME?? Of all people." He sighed theatrically. "Alright, alright... romance, romance... um, how about..." his tone changed lightening fast from humor to dead serious. "You know you're everything to me. You're my one in five billion."

"And you are mine, good night." And Scully, completely homesick, hung up the phone to cry herself to sleep before Starkweather returned.

Meanwhile, back at Scully's now messed-up apartment, Mulder propped himself on his elbows, picking up the Polaroid camera again. "Mommy didn't believe me," he said to Boo as he arranged the props around the baby. "That hurts my feelings." He snapped another picture.

A few blocks away from Cuchillin Lodge Hotel

12:32 AM Inverness time

Doggett saw Starkweather a little ways ahead of him, head bowed, shoes in her left hand, her right hand in her pocket, her long hair blowing in the breeze.

"Starkweather!" Doggett called out. She turned, illuminated by the streetlights and the moon.

Now no one was straighter as than an arrow than Agent John Doggett but he also wasn't a blind man. Of the two, Scully definitely had the more striking features, with her flaming-red hair constantly dueling with her icy-blue eyes. Starkweather, however, didn't stop traffic like Scully could. (or would if she chose to glam up her image a bit, Doggett, along with his colleagues, Skinner, Mulder and the Gunmen, believed that if Scully hadn't become a federal agent, she would have become a movie star.)What Starkweather possessed however, was the charisma that sustained great women through the centuries during the trials and tribulations that were their destiny. Women like Cleopatra or Elizabeth, the Virgin Queen. None of them runway models but their humor, prevarication and monstrous intellect intrigued all that spoke to them. Perhaps it was the mystery that was the attraction.

"Yeah?" Starkweather's voice broke the weird spell that bewitched Doggett for a moment.

He approached her. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Who? Me? Yeah, I'm fine." She paused, "No I'm not. Doggett, I SAW him," Starkweather clutched her scuffed shoes in impotent fury.

"Who?"

"The driver, I mean, I killed him. I nailed him in the eyes and in the throat. At pretty close range. You can't tell me a man could walk away from that. And where did the hell did Mackenzie disappeared to? And what the hell was that green shit everywhere? It was eating the upholstery. And what's so god damned special about that pilot that some sick twist killed him with a damn big ice pick or something instead of getting him to a hospital. And what the hell is up with that fucking plane?? There's more circles here that in geometry class and I'm, I'm totally lost. That's not a sensation I get very often and I don't like it." Starkweather finally wound down her tirade. "Sorry," she muttered. "What are you doing here?"

"You shouldn't be wanderin' around alone in a strange city if you're this rattled."

"Okay, Papa John," Now Starkweather unwittingly bequeathed him with a nickname he would carry for the rest of his career and life. Much preferable over "Puppy-Man" or "Dogbreath" or all the other monikers that Mulder cheerfully dreamed up for him.

"I'm serious, we don't know what's going on, we lost our witness. We're better off presuming he's dead" - ::although Scully wouldn't like that:: he thought - "and we've got instead of a plane wreck victim, a murder victim and after tonight's little show at the restaurant, we're in the spotlight right now. If someone is trying to hush this up, well, anyone of us could be next."

"I'm not a little girl," Starkweather began to walk again, Doggett joined her by her side. "I don't need a bodyguard."

"It's not like that," Doggett growled, minorly piqued at her "I-am-woman-hear-me-roar" attitude. "It's about trust, it's about partnership. It's about me watching your back like you watching mine. Look," he stopped her, putting his hand on her shoulder, not hurting like he did Mackenzie though. "Alright, I don't know you very well. But after we talked the night 'fore we left for this fucked up trip, I think I got to know you a little bit. You're used to taking care of yourself; you're not used to depending on anyone. Well, let me tell you, Doc, that crap's not goin' work on this team. Because that's what the X-Files is, a team. Maybe we don't all agree on the same sh*t, maybe we don't even all like each other at times, and by the way," Doggett dropped his hand, it didn't seem necessary to hold her there anymore, she wasn't going anywhere, she was listening. "Helpful hint, you might want to cover your distaste for Mulder a little better than you have been 'round Scully. They've got a very intense relationship. And yeah, I noticed you got a bug up your butt about Mulder and I'm not tellin' you to like him, but you better trust him. He started the X-Files. He's still part of the team, he's always gonna be part of the team, whether or not his ass is in that chair back at J. Edgar Hoover or at City Hall. We're all in this together, and for the same reason."

"And what reason is that?" Starkweather tilted her head up defiantly.

"To protect and serve those who can not defend themselves," Doggett said solemnly. "To not allow the events that have touched our lives, destroy the lives of others."

"Such as?"

Doggett took a breath. This was going to be hard. But he had to convince Starkweather that she was not a lone soldier in this battle, she couldn't DO crazy things like the stunt she pulled earlier. She could have been killed. He wondered briefly how a personality as autocratic and passionate as hers survived in the "Thou-shalt-conform" attitude of the military. He rightly guessed she was just a very good actress.

"The abduction and murder of Mulder's sister. The murder of Mulder's father. The murder of Scully's sister." Doggett watched Starkweather lower her head in respect. He closed his eyes. "The murder of my son."

Starkweather looked up and saw overwhelming sorrow in his eyes. She exhaled softly, remembering the lone photograph of an adorable boy on his desk. "Oh, God, Doggett... I... I don't even know the right words to say..."

"There are no right words," Doggett said gently. "Just like there were no right words for me to say when you told me about your miscarriage."

Starkweather looked down to the ground. "No, there aren't."

They stood there, an awkward silence enveloping them, punctuated by the sounds Inverness in the hours after midnight humming behind them. Doggett turned away, running his fingers through his hair. Starkweather crossed her arms and looked up at Doggett's profile. She saw strength and dependability personified. And miles of hurt hidden beneath the iceberg blue of his eyes. "Um," Starkweather said, uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. I didn't... I'm not a femi-Nazi, but... you're right. I am used to taking care of myself and I don't depend on anyone. I mean, God," she shook her head, irritated with herself. "I can't even depend on my own husband. And you're telling me that I have to trust seven people. Seven people that two weeks ago didn't even exist in my world, that my life depends on trusting you, and AD Skinner, and Agent Scully, and those Gunmen Loner guys and Deputy Mayor Mulder, and yes you busted me on that. I don't like the guy. I know he's the God of All Extraterrestrial and Paranormal, but..." she stopped mid-sentence, thought very carefully about her next words, then went on. "But if what you told me back in DC before we left is true, that I'm going to get fucked around with. Just because I was re-assigned to the X-Files... then I have no choice but to trust a man who's sanity I question, some computer hacks I haven't even met yet, an AD who's two years shy of retirement and a female agent who is more worried about her new baby back home instead focusing on chasing ghouls and goblins... and you." Starkweather looked to the stars. "The others will come in time, Doggett, you can't ask me to trust six strangers overnight."

"I understand," Doggett nodded.

"But I trust you," she said quietly. Doggett turned his head to look at her. She met his gaze evenly. "And I am learning to trust Agent Scully. The others will come with time. That's all I can offer you."

Doggett half-smiled. "I'll take what I can get."

"Aren't you tired?" Starkweather gently asked, noting the purplish circles under the blue eyes she would later come to think were beautiful.

"No," he lied. "You?"

She lied right back. "No."

"Wanna go look at a plane?"

"Should we call Agent Scully?"

"Let her rest," Doggett advised her. He couldn't tell what Mulder was telling her over the phone, but from her troubled facial expressions, it couldn't have been good news. "We can call her if it's real important, otherwise we'll just fill in her in tomorrow."

"You mean today."

"Whatever." Doggett waited for Starkweather to slip her shoes on again. "Let's go back for the rental."

"Wait, twist my arm."

Side by side, the partners walked back to the hotel...

Doggett, still not used to driving on the "wrong" side of the road, carefully eased out of traffic to park the car. "What the hell?" he muttered as he observed all the military vehicles surrounding the building.

"Awfully busy for this time of day, don't you think?" Starkweather muttered as she twisted her hair back up into a messy topknot. Using a pencil she found in the car, she shoved it into the hapharzarded bun and got out of the car, slamming the door shut.

They both clipped their badges to the lapels of their coats and made a beeline inside.

They stood there for a moment, dumbfounded watching all the men in fatigues, packing up the wreckage, putting things in boxes, carrying items outside, shouting orders.

Starkweather was the first to notice that these soldiers were part of the United States Army. "What are these bullet-sponges doing?" she said to Doggett. "Hey, you," she stopped a very official looking Lieutenant. "Sir," she tugged her ID. "Are you in charge? If so, who authorized this?"

"That's classified, miss," the lieutenant didn't even look at her, annoyed at her female presence. "And you are?"

"Agents Starkweather and Doggett, FBI. We were assigned to the case and no one informed us of this decision." Starkweather fumed. "My apologies," he said as he began to escort the agents out. "Now, please, we are already behind schedule so, please, we will be sure to brief you in the morning as soon as we receive clearance."

"Where are you sending the evidence?" Doggett stood like a granite sculpture.

"That's also classified, look, you're not even supposed to be here."

"Why not?" Starkweather snapped. "This is OUR case."

The lieutenant, educated in the ways of "old-school military" -- meaning he believed that those who "squat to pee" shouldn't be involved in anything military, was becoming more irritated with this little bitch. "Due to recent events, the investigation has been re-classified to military jurisdiction. Now, please, move along," his hand moved to his side-arm, making a mental note to eat alive whoever the moron was that let this whip of a girl and the stone-man inside in the first place.

"When was this decision made," Doggett felt himself feeding off of Starkweather's rage.

"Sir, I'm sure your superiors will brief you on everything in the morning, now, for the last time, I'm asking nicely, please remove yourselves from the property."

"Look," Starkweather hissed as she tried to push past him. "I don't know what your problem is, but I bet it's hard to pronounce. So could you please at least let us stay so we can ensure that the evidence is being handled properly?"

"Alright, that's it, little lady," he grabbed her harshly by her hurt arm. Starkweather's knees buckled, but she stayed standing. "Out, before I arrest both of you." He let Starkweather go and called for the guards to escort Doggett and Starkweather out by gunpoint.

Once outside, Starkweather slumped in pain into Doggett. He caught her before she fell to the ground. "Jesus, you're hurt worse than you said," he said picking her up.

Ashen-faced, she looked up at his face for a second before she rested her head against his chest. "I'll live. But it looks like the screw-up fairy has paid us a visit," she muttered snidely before she passed out.

Doggett placed her inside the passenger seat and hurried to the driver's side. As he started the car, he pulled out his cell to start making calls. She was out cold during his conversations with Skinner and Mulder, but she was awake by the time he reached Scully. "Agent Scully, we've got a situation on our hands, me and Starkweather'll meet you at the lodge...."

As Doggett and the unconscious Starkweather pulled away, the lieutenant made a call of his own, "Sir, we've got a situation. Those agents came back...."

Skinner looked up from his phone to see Mulder coming in, Scully's baby strapped to his back in an infant carrier. "Make it happen," he barked into the phone before hanging up. "Mulder, you've heard?"

"Doggett called me just a bit ago. Can you help me get the kid out?"

Skinner obliged, even holding the baby as Mulder divested himself of the carrier. He took the sleeping child from Skinner again. "Mulder, you look like sh*t."

"Aw, Skin-man, you say the nicest things."

"I mean it Mulder, I can't get you reinstated if you don't take care of yourself and stop getting sick. Plus, if you jeopardize your position at City Hall, I don't know how we can help you."

"It's not about me though," Mulder sank into the couch, suddenly tired from standing. "I don't think this case is about the aircraft at all. I think someone just tossed us a red herring."

"Explain."

"I think Jerilyn Starkweather may be the link we've been looking for, concrete evidence of extraterrestrial interference with our race for the purposes of colonization. And now they're out to destroy this link. This case involving the plane crash is just a lucky break, a cover for the enemy to complete their mission of eliminating her. I don't think Jerilyn is meant to survive this case." Mulder held out a computer diskette.

Skinner slid the diskette in. "Oh my God..." he muttered.

After her conversation with AD Skinner and Mulder, Scully flew into action, packing not only her things, but Starkweather's as well, hoping that Doggett had his luggage together. She was just finishing washing her hands when Starkweather and Doggett came in.

"I just got off the phone with Doggett a few moments ago," Scully said coming out of the bathroom. "He wants us on a flight back to DC as soon as possible. I already paid the hotel bill."

"Now??" Starkweather's jaw dropped. "With what's going down with the plane and we're supposed to hightail it back to DC?"

"Skinner's right," Doggett said. "If whoever's behind this shit is takin' this much trouble to move the plane, we can't afford to sit here with our photographs and samples of that green shit and let them take them too."

"You have samples of the green residue?" Shocked that he actually did something not by the book, Scully scolded him, "Doggett, that stuff is highly corrosive."

"Yeah, well, evidence has a way of vanishin' on this type of cases."

"I wish we would have gotten a piece of the cockpit glass though."

"We do," Starkweather confessed. She dug in her coat pocket and pulled out a shard of glass in a Ziploc bag. "I took a little detour from coming back from the hospital. My last act as a lone soldier," she added sheepishly.

"Starkweather, this time we'll forgive you. I'm gonna go get my things." Doggett hurried out of the room and into his to grab his meager luggage. It didn't take him long to return with his things. "Let's go." The trio trooped downstairs to the waiting rental. Soon, they were down the road, making the long, long drive back to London.

The agents didn't even bother to get out of their seats during the layover in France. They were too exhausted to even move.

This time, Starkweather had the window seat and she gazed out, watching all the other planes landing and taking off. "Hey, Agent Scully?" she asked.

"Yeah," Scully didn't even look at her, she was too tired to make that effort.

"Those little phones on the back of the chair, who's dime is it if I make a call home?" ::It'd be nice if Ben could pick me up:: she thought.

"The Bureau," Scully replied before dropping off to sleep.

"Cool," Starkweather reached for the phone, listened, pressed **one** for English and punched in the Bureau credit card number. Ben picked up after the third ring. "Hey, honey."

"Jerilyn, where are you, the connection is terrible."

"I'm sorry, can't help it, I'm on a plane waiting out a layover in Paris, of all places. I just wanted to tell you I'm on my way home."

"Oh," he sounded disappointed.

"Oh, what?"

"It's just that, I didn't expect you to be home so soon, so... I booked a flight home to visit Mom and Dad for a week. I'm leaving tonight, actually..."

"I see..." "But you see, it's because I have good news," Ben hurried on. "I got a job offer yesterday from my second choice law firm and the money's better than my first choice and they're letting me start in two weeks, so I thought while you're gone and I'm all by myself..." he trailed off.

"Who did you get to take care of the cat?"

"Oh, he was going to come with, but now that you're coming home, I'll leave him here. Jeri, geez, I'm sorry, baby. If I would have known you were on your way-"

"No, don't worry about it," Jerilyn bit her lip. "It's okay, I didn't know I was coming home today either... some... things... happened."

"Call me at Mom and Dad's when you get over your jet-lag, okay?"

"Have a good trip."

The entire conversation was stilted and hideous. Jerilyn wished she had never called. "Tell your mom and dad I said hi," she added pathetically after a heartbeat of heartbreaking silence.

"Okay." A pause. "I love you." It sounded forced.

So Jerilyn forced herself to reply. "Love you too," and she hung up the phone. She folded her hands primly and stared at the diamond solitaire glittering in the fading Parisian daylight. She slid the cover to her window shut, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

Doggett dropped Scully off in front of her apartment. "You okay?" he asked.

Scully nodded, "Thanks for the lift, see you in the office?"

"Tomorrow," Doggett said wearily.

"Take care of her," Scully nodded to the sleeping Starkweather in the backseat.

"Sure, sure," Doggett said. Scully waved as Doggett pulled away. Her cell rang. "Scully?" she said, exhaustion and annoyance tingeing her voice.

"Hi Scully, it's us," Langly said, a little too happy for the twilight hours before dawn. "Over here, in the van." Scully looked over the shoulder, then groaned. Sure enough, there was the Lone Gunman-mobile.

"Oh, Jesus," she muttered.

"Mulder's inside with the kid, don't worry everything's fine. Skinner told Doggett to keep Starkweather at his house 'til he can rustle up some surveillance for 'er," Langly went on. "Mulder's got more info on her. Oh, by the way, sorry about your house."

"Why?" Now Scully's voice was dangerous.

"Um, well, we cleaned it the best we could."

"Langly," Scully thundered in the middle of the road, turning completely around to face the van. "I'm going to kick your ass!"

From inside the van, Byers looked nervously outside the window. "She can't get in here, can she?"

Frohike grumbled in the driver's seat. "Remember, she said she's gonna kick YOUR ass, not mine."

Scully snapped her phone off, turned on her heel sharply and stormed into her apartment. She paused in front of her door, key in hand. "Hail Mary, full of grace," she prayed without hope. She opened her door. "Oh my God..." she dropped her luggage in shock.

The living room was strewn with paperballs and files all over the place. Nothing had been dusted or vacuumed during the time she had been in Europe. Fast food wrappers littered every surface of her living room. Scully shut the door firmly behind her, locking it. She ventured into the kitchen to survey the damage.

The kitchen was worse than the living room. Again, McDonalds and Burger King and Taco Bell wrappers, bags and boxes everywhere. The garbage hadn't been taken out since she left. Dishes overflowed. Scully gingerly picked up one cup, peered inside and noticed the mold. "Arrghh..." she put it down on the counter with a sound thump. She wheeled around to yell out Mulder's name in all of her red-haired fury when she looked at the kitchen table.

On a red poster board, carefully attached, were several Polaroids of her baby. Next to the baby was a letter cut out in blue construction paper. Every letter was different in each picture. All the letters in the photographs spelled out. "We missed you! Welcome home, Mom."

Tears flooded her eyes, only this time in joy. ::I AM home:: she realized, looking around ::crumbled it may be.::

So, wearily, she made her way to the bedroom. She stood in the doorway. "Ohhh," she breathed, slipping her shoes off, padding quietly to the sleeping duo.

Mulder, overtook her bed, snoring lightly. The baby was sound asleep on his bare chest, his hand protectively covering the baby's tiny bare back. Scully leaned over the two people she unreservedly adored more than anyone else in the world. Mulder's head rose an inch from the pillow. "Mulder," she whispered, noting the gun on her nightstand, "it's me, it's okay," she reassured him as she picked the baby up, careful not to wake her child. "Hello sweetheart," she cooed. "I love you." Carefully, she climbed into bed with the baby in her arms. She placed the slumbering babe back on Mulder's bare chest again, watched his hand return to lie on her child's back. She cuddled next to Mulder, feeling his other arm wrap around her shoulders. She heard his snores start up again. "I love you," she said to anyone in the room listening...

Later on in the afternoon, same day...

The pain in her upper arm finally forced Starkweather to open her eyes. She reached for her little lamp on her nightstand, but couldn't find it. Then she realized the nightstand was not in its usual spot. Sitting up slowly -- she ached all over -- she groggily looked around the darkened room. "Ben, did you move furniture around again," she groused before she remembered Ben was in Minneapolis. "Oh, well," she muttered as she dropped back down onto the blissful softness of the bed, still tired, but not tired enough to close her eyes again.

Her eyes finally adjusted to the dimness of the room. She bolted upright in bed, realizing she wasn't lying in her bed. She rolled to the OTHER side, where the nightstand was and turned on an unfamiliar lamp. "What the fuck?" she whispered to herself as she looked around the room, obviously a man's room, but a man with very good taste. Beautiful oak furniture, meticulously clean.

Starkweather got up. Her blazer, blouse and trousers were folded neatly, sitting on top of the dresser. Her gun and ID were lying on top of her clothes, her shoes next to her clothes; her pantyhose balled up in stuffed in the toe of her right shoe. Starkweather looked down at herself. She was wearing a Marine Corps - issued T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants WAY too big for her. She looked at her hurt arm. Someone had wrapped an ACE bandage tightly around where her hairline fracture was.

Starkweather looked around wildly for a clue where she might be. ::I don't remember anything after getting off the plane:: she battled with herself to keep fear at bay. Having a photographic memory yet no recollections whatsoever of her first six years of her life, she always panicked whenever her memory lapsed, even just a little. Finally, she looked in the mirror.

She looked like hell. White as a ghost, giant violet smudges under her eyes. Her hair, freed from its usual restrictive styling, had frizzed out and went every-which-way. After grimacing at her reflection, she then noticed the photograph stuck in the frame of the mirror. An adorable little boy. A familiar little boy. A little boy she would never meet.

"Holy shit," Starkweather put her hand to her mouth.

She was at Doggett's

Starkweather heard music coming from the living room, the tail end of a Roy Orbison song:

"One sunny day I'll get back again Somehow, someway But I don't know when California blue..."

Starkweather hesitated, standing right outside of the doorway.

While Starkweather had slept, Doggett had putzed around the apartment, trying to put to rights what had been neglected those few days he had been out of town. The quiet of the apartment unnerved him, so he put in an "oldie-but-goody" CD in the stereo. Roy Orbison's svelte crooning calmed him a bit as he went through the mail, paid bills, even dusted (but not very thoroughly) and did the few dishes he left behind before the voyage to Europe.

Still, he felt shaken. He couldn't put a finger on it. It wasn't his usual disconcertion he felt during an X-File. Yes, the case bothered him, but Skinner told them to sit tight until he figured out why it had been reclassified as a military investigation.

He pulled out his dirty clothes from his luggage. As he prepared to do a load of laundry, his favorite song, "California Blue" ended and the following song he usually skipped over or ignored for once, finally caught his attention.

"Darkness falls and she will take me by the hand Take me to some twilight land Where all but love is gray Where I can't find my way Without her as my guide Night falls and I'm cast beneath her spell Daylight comes our heaven's torn to hell Am I left to burn and burn eternally? She's a mystery to me....."

Doggett looked up and saw Starkweather standing uncertainly in front of him. "Hi," he said as he dropped the clothes in the laundry basket. He clicked the stereo off. "How're you feelin'?"

"My arm hurts." Starkweather said.

"Lemme see," he sat on the couch. Starkweather tentatively sat besides him. He undid her ACE bandage gently. He whistled when he saw the bruising. "Let me get you an ice pack."

"Doggett," she said as he got up. "Okay, this is going to sound... weird but..." She looked around. "Nice place you have here, by the way, why am I here instead of home??"

"Skinner told me to." Doggett said.

"Why?"

"When Scully told him about your injuries, your head, your arm and that your husband was out of town, he said he'd be more comfortable with someone with you, 'specially after we stopped by the pharmacy to get you some heavier painkillers that Scully prescribed for you. You were out like a light."

"Oh..."

Doggett grinned at her discomfortitude. "I took the couch, Mrs. Starkweather." He ducked into the kitchen to make an icepack.

"That's Doctor Starkweather to you, Papa."

"I've been given some odd nicknames in my lifetime, but why Papa?"

"Papa John? You've never heard of Papa John Pizza?"

"Oh, thanks."

"Better than Puppy Man."

"How did you find out... never mind..." he grumbled while Starkweather giggled.

"Sorry Doggett." Starkweather held her hand out for the icepack when Doggett returned. "Oof, brr," she grunted as she put the pack to the bruising. "Wow, that bullet-sponge grabbed me harder than I thought."

"Doc, you fainted. How hard did you THINK he grabbed you?"

"Not hard enough to give me a lasting reminder." Starkweather lifted the pack briefly to inspect all the pretty blues, greens and purple splotches on her upper arm. "Um. Just one more wacky question. But..." she looked at her ensemble. "Who... how... my clothes?"

Doggett looked at the carpet. "You were with it enough to get your nylons off. You passed out after that... um... I- I... aw, hell." Doggett started to turn pink. "I couldn't let you sleep in your clothes."

"It's okay," Starkweather smirked. "Not to take the winds out of your sails but this isn't the first time a strange man has removed my clothes. But that used happen before I was an old married woman and went out on weekend warrior alcoholic benders." Doggett chuckled. "Your luggage is in the bathroom if you want to shower and change."

"Thanks, but I think I'll just wash my face and change though. A long hot bath sounds better than a shower and I'd rather do that at home."

The phone rang. Doggett said "Excuse me," and got up to answer. "John Doggett," he said placidly

"Agent Doggett, it's me," Skinner said. "I need to see you. Is Starkweather still there?"

"Yes."

"Bring her home and then come to my office immediately."

"Well, her car is at the Bureau. Should we both report?" Doggett asked while Starkweather stared quizzically. Doggett shrugged as if to say "I have no idea what's going on."

"No. Send her home. Scully and I need to speak to you privately."

"Alright." Doggett hung up. "Sorry, don't mean to be a bad host, but something's come up with Skinner. I'll bring you to your car after you change."

"Why doesn't Skinner want to see me?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Strange..." Starkweather got up. "I'll be ready in a minute..."

As Starkweather went to change, Doggett frowned. ::What could Skinner want?:: he pondered while she was in the bathroom....

Starkweather, with her arms laden down with a heavy grocery sack, takeout and her luggage, pushed her door open with her shoulder.

Caesar the cat joyfully wound his way around her legs. "Damn cat, only affectionate when my arms are full," she sighed as she nudged the cat away from her before she kicked the door shut.

Knowing Ben well enough to realize he probably left the cupboards and refrigerator bare, she stopped to pick up some groceries after Doggett dropped her off at the parking garage. Then, only after spending forty dollars on the life's essentials: milk, bread, butter, hamburger, Hamburger Helper, beer and so on - did she decide that preparing a solitary supper was depressing beyond words. So she stopped at Subway, picked up a six inch cold cut deli sub and Doritos and finally battled through the traffic to get home, only to decide again, she wasn't really that hungry.

So after putting the groceries away, she also tossed the Subway sack in the fridge as well. She took a deep breath, crinkled her nose. "Ew. Ben didn't' change the kitty litter before he left, did he baby?" she asked the cat, perched on top of the fridge like a goddess surveying her realm and all the mortals dwelling beneath her.

After performing that revolting chore, she stood in her living room, tapping her teeth, wondering what to do. What she wanted to do was to storm Skinner's office and demand what was so damned important that she was being left in the dark about. That wasn't an option. Starkweather had no desire to alienate another superior.

She didn't feel like watching a movie, the cable still wasn't hooked up yet. She got out her tennis racket and thumped a tennis ball against the wall a few times before she realized that the banging sound might annoy her neighbors.

She crossed over to her piano. Because she was in a melancholy mood, she started with "Fur Elise" and then continued with the Beethoven mood: Adagio Sostenuto, Adagio Cantabile and so on. Eventually, she tired of playing. She got off the piano bench, stretched and went to the bedroom.

Although this apartment was infinitely smaller than the one she and Ben shared in Minneapolis and cost infinitely more, one major perk was it had a balcony right outside the bedroom. She stepped outside for one moment and gazed out at the city, pulsating and vibrating with lights, crimes and secrets. Starkweather enjoyed the view for a bit, but then looked warily at the lone tree not too far away from the balcony. If she could reach out, she could grab a leaf. She frowned. A security hazard, but the apartment compensated by putting thick bars on the balcony door and a heavy lock. But still, the nearness of the tree disquieted Starkweather. Especially when she had that creepy sensation of being watched. Sighing, she went back inside to take her bath.

Shortly afterwards, a voice from the tree said nervously "Guys, I think she saw me."

Frohike and Langly sighed.

"I knew we shoulda sent Yves in instead," Frohike crabbed, behind the driver's seat, as usual.

Langly, also as usual, was in the back of the van, at the computer, headset on, coaching Byers, who was hiding nervously in the tree. "Byers, you're worse than an old woman."

"Why couldn't we have finished the tap hook up while she was gone?" Byers whined. He didn't appreciate it that Langly had told him to stay in the tree while he skaddled to the safety of the van when Frohike gave them the heads-up that Starkweather pulling into the driveway.

"Relax, amigo," Langly said via headset. "I've got visual on her," they had also installed a mini-cam in her living room and kitchen. Frohike had mentioned adding cams to her bathroom and bedroom, but Mulder informed him that if they did so, he would find a way to make them a trio of Capastrato sopranos, even this late in life. So recording bugs and phone taps would have to do. All they have left to do was tap the phone in the bedroom. "She's in the kitchen, barefoot and in a god-awful ugly bathrobe, hot chick like that shouldn't wear granny-stuff like that, anyway, she's getting a drink, I hear bathwater runnin', soon as I hear the bathroom door lock, just zip in, and do your kung-fu and out again. It's cake man, you'll be fine."

Byers sighed.

Ten minutes elapsed when Langly finally gave him the go-ahead. Byers was out on a limb, literally, hanging off of the branch, reaching for the railing of the balcony. He could hear the tree groaning under the stress of his weight. "Oh dear," he groaned as his black gloved hands just barely grazed the railing.

"Hey, Byers," Langly's voice rang in his ears.

"Not now, Langly!" Byers said irritably as he scootched out as far as he dared on the branch. The branch was seriously moaning now.

"Byers, dude," Langly said insistently.

The tree branch creaked ominously now. Byers made a flying Superman leap off the branch and grabbed the railing for dear life as the branch fell three stories. Sweating, he tried hoisting himself up, feet dangling below with nothing to stand on.

"BYERS! Can you hear me!!!"

"I'm BUSY right now!" It was as close as rude that Byers could get.

"Dude, I lost visual on Starkweather!"

Suddenly Byers felt something cool and cylinder on the top of his head. "That's okay, I have visual."

Starkweather, barefoot and in the ugly green robe Langly was referring to, glowered at him. She cocked her gun.

She didn't even bother to help Byers up, she watched him founder up the railing. Still pointing her gun at him, nodded to the lock. "I'm sure you have the capability to break into my apartment."

"Then how did you get out here?" Byers' eyes, big as CD disks, warily watched the gun.

"I slipped out the front door and climbed up the balcony stairs." Starkweather continued to glare at him. "Alright Monkey-boy, let us in, I'm cold."

"Ask her how she knocked out our cameras man!" Langly exclaimed, tapping the black screen on the computer.

"H-h-how did you kn- kn- knock out the cameras?" Byers teeth chattered as he proceeded to pick the lock.

"The fusebox is in the bathroom. Hard to see or hear anything when there's no power, isn't there?" Byers got the door unlocked. "Stop." She ordered him, fumbling in the big polka-dotted pocket of her ugly robe, fishing out a pair of handcuffs. "Put these on."

"Miss, I swear, I'm not here to harm you. I won't hurt you."

"But I might hurt YOU." Starkweather tossed the cuffs at him. Byers clumsily caught them, then snapped them on each wrist. Starkweather roughly pushed him and he stumbled into the darkness of the apartment.

"Dammit Byers!" Langly yelled, pounding his fist onto the computer console.

"Mulder's gonna be pissed," Frohike groaned, leaning his head onto the steering wheel. "Jesus, what a clusterfuck."

Starkweather left Byers in the hallway as she switched the fuses back on. Byers was blinded by the sudden surge of lights and nearly fell as Starkweather grabbed him and pushed him into the living room. She shoved him into her easy chair. "Who else is with you?"

"Come on, dude," Langly muttered. "Be strong."

"N-n-no b-b-body," Byers stammered.

Starkweather shoved the gun in his chest. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

"There's two others!" Byers exclaimed, breaking out in a cold sweat.

"GOD DAMNED NARC!!!" Frohike exploded.

"They're outside, in the van," Byers admitted defeatedly.

Starkweather ripped Byers' headset off. "Hello sexy bitches. She purred wickedly. "You have exactly thirty seconds to get your asses up here or else there's going to be bits and pieces of your Monkey-boy splattered all over my pretty living room carpet. She snapped the headset in half.

Frohike looked at Langly, "Do we really need him?"

"Well, I don't want 'im dead!" Langly took off his headset. "Come on, let's go save Byers' butt." "God damned narc," Frohike muttered as he followed Langly to Starkweather's apartment....

Langly knocked on Starkweather's door. "It's open!" a female voice beckoned.

Langly and Frohike looked at each other. "We're dead," Frohike said.

"Been good knowing you, man."

"Hope she lets me slap Byers before she shoots us," Frohike said as he nudged the door open. They went into the living room. To their relief and irritation, Byers was okay, handcuffed, terrified but okay. Starkweather's two kitchen chairs were in front of Byers, back to back. Starkweather was leaning against her entertainment center, gun still out, safety still off. "Hello gentlemen," she said. She through a roll of duct tape at Langly. "Bind your buddy's wrists and feet," she ordered him as she pointed her gun at Langly's face.

"Miss, we're the good guys!" Langly pleaded, understanding now why Byers was petrified. Starkweather's face emoted no pity so Langly did what he was told, helping Frohike to a seat. Starkweather told Langly to give her the tape back and when he did, she put her gun down and quickly bound his hands so quickly and tightly that Langly didn't have time to protest. She shoved him into the other chair, then pulled the phone cord out of the wall, winding it around Frohike and Langly. She picked her gun up again.

"Alright, who are you?"

"I'm Langly, that's Frohike over there, and you already know Monkey-Boy...er...Byers." He gleamed with pride as if a theme-song we're being played. "We're the Lone Gunmen," Langly an-nounced proudly. "We're on a crusade to fight the evils of corruption and conspiracies, governmental and otherwise defending the defenseless and stuff like that."

Lone Gunmen... that name was familiar. "You're computer hacks."

"But we're the BEST computer hacks!" Langly protested.

"Who sent you?"

"Umm," Langly tried to stall. "You see, it's someone who... uh, really really really cares about your well being. This guy... or gal... really wants you to be like safe 'cause there's bad guys out there and.. well...look, lady, just trust us okay? You don't have to be all big and bad and wave your gun around in that butt-ugly gown like that. So just flipping chill, okay?"

Starkweather glared at him. She picked up the duct tape again, tore off a piece and slapped it firmly over his mouth. "Bachelor Number Two," she wheeled over to Frohike. "And let me remind you of three things. One, if you call me lady, I will shoot your manhood away. Two, I am a big girl, fully capable of taking care of myself. Three, if this guy or gal sent YOU clowns to protect me, I'm not real impressed. So, that said... who sent you?"

Frohike took a breath. "You're not gonna be happy when we tell you."

"Do I look happy now???"

"Um, no."

"Frohike, just tell her." Byers begged.

"Hey, I don't want 'im yelling at me," Frohike snapped.

"Do you prefer me shooting you?" Starkweather asked pleasantly. "Nobody will yell at you ever again."

"Deputy Mayor Mulder," Frohike confessed.

"God damn narc." Langly bitched.

"God dammit," she snapped. She snatched up her cell phone. "What's his number? His private cell number?"

Frohike gave up the number. She dialed and held the phone to his ear.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, it's Melvin... we've got a... um, situation," Frohike started to say but Starkweather pulled the phone away and put it to her ear instead.

"And the situation is ME, Deputy Mayor. So I strongly recommend you come over to my place immediately and tell me why these three idiots have illegally bugged my home." She hung up and disappeared into the bedroom.

Mulder had been in his car, on his way to Scully's when he got the call. "Dammit," he muttered when Starkweather hung up on him. He made an illegal U-turn and drove to Starkweather's. About twenty five minutes later, Mulder arrived at her apartment complex. He hit the buzzer button above the Starkweathers' mailbox. "Deputy Mayor?"

"Yes," Mulder said. "Is this Jerilyn?"

"Let yourself in, the door is unlocked."

Mulder heard many an angry female in his lifetime, but he had never heard a woman's voice so bitterly cold. "Ooh," he said as he made his way up to her apartment, not looking forward to this at all.

He let himself in, "Hello?" he called out.

"The party's in here, Mulder," said Frohike.

Mulder shut and locked the door behind him and followed Frohike's voice. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the Gunmen bound and Langly gagged. "I see you three have set aside this special time to humiliate yourselves," he remarked blandly. At that, Starkweather emerged from her bedroom. After the call to Mulder, instead of the long hot bath she was dreaming about, she took a quickie shower and changed clothes. Her hair was still slightly damp. She stood there quietly, surveying him as he did likewise to her. The Gunmen would later describe the scene to Scully as two stray felines eyeing each other warily before the big catfight to claim territory.

Starkweather had changed from her granny-jammies to a pair of well-loved Calvin Klein jeans and a red T-shirt. She had clipped two locks of her long hair to the back of her head with a pair of silver barrettes. She was sans jewelry, except for the ever-present wedding ring. Mulder, having never met her in person before, was, like everyone else, startled slightly at her girlish face and figure. Once he got over the shock of unexplained youth, Mulder decided that he thought she was very pretty. Quietly profiling her by just reading body language, he learned that she rarely backed down from confrontation, that she didn't have time or patience for frills and fuss and that she was well aware of her youthful features and used them shamelessly to keep an upper hand over most people, hiding her astounding intellect behind the doll-like poker face. However, only those with perception like Mulder's could look beyond the face and into her eyes and almost feel the viper-like intelligence that could strike, without fear, without warning. He had the unsettling feeling that he finally met someone that actually might be smarter than he was. However, still looking into her eyes, he felt another sensation, the odd feeling of familiarity, of family even. He didn't know why.

Meanwhile while he profiled her, she him, keeping her composure well although inside she was a nervous wreck. She had seen him on television and pictures in previous case files, but that didn't do him justice. She had written him off as a dweeb. She didn't realize that he just didn't photograph well so in person it was a whole different ball game. Mulder, standing there in a black leather jacket, a gray T-shirt and well-loved faded Levi's, personified confidence, arrogance and intelligence that Starkweather knew with a sinking heart at least matched hers, maybe even exceeded. With Doggett, she hadn't felt this shaken up, with Doggett she felt security, strength, bravery and honesty radiate off of him. She had an absurd desire that Doggett be with her now as she was face to face for the first time with the man she had detested since she first heard his name spoken. Not that Doggett was, well, a dog in any sense of the word -- she thought he had the most beautiful bluest of blue eyes ever -- but Mulder just oozed sex appeal. Even though she hated him, she couldn't help think ::Man, if I wasn't married and if he wasn't an asshole... sexy bitch...::

Mulder was the first to break the silence. "Agent Starkweather," he said formally.

"Deputy Mayor," she replied cordially.

"I don't like guns pointed at me."

"It's not pointed at you, sir," Starkweather spoke civilly, as if they were at a luncheon, discussing a business proposal. "It's at my side, pointing at the floor, safety on."

"I don't like having conversations with people who are upset with me that are holding guns, safety on or not," Mulder continued pleasantly, knowing very well how fast a gun's safety can be switched from "off" to "on".

"This is fucked up," Frohike said to Byers.

"I think we can let them go," Mulder said, still polite. "They're hardly dangerous criminals."

"Really?" Now Starkweather let a little sarcasm creep into her voice.

Which gave Mulder leave to let his sarcastic streak loose as well. "Look at them."

Starkweather did. "You've got a point." She uncuffed Byers and untied the other two. "Forgive me for my inhospitality, but I get miffed when people are spying on me. Please have a seat and stay for the show," she said sweetly as she unmercifully ripped the duct tape off of Langly's lips.

"YEOWWW!" he howled....

Mulder said to the Gunmen, "Get comfy boys, we might be here for a while." The Gunmen complied, Byers rubbing his wrists, Frohike glaring at Byers for getting them into this and Langly rubbing his lips, muttering "This sucks."

"So they're the good guys, why were they invading my privacy, Deputy Mayor, sir?" Starkweather sat down on the kitchen chair Frohike had occupied. She gestured for Mulder to sit in the easy chair Byers had been. Mulder, still feeling ill, did so.

"For your protection."

"My protection?" Starkweather leaned back in her chair, cradling the gun in her hands. "You told these three geeks, no offense-"

"None taken," Byers said.

"Shut up," Langly and Frohike rebuked him.

"To break into my home, to tamper with my phones, to add surveillance cameras to monitor my movements for my protection? That a little Air Force medic retiree and current FBI agent, who survived Basic training, medical training, FBI training and a Slipknot concert is so inept at self-defense that a illegally placed surveillance equipment is going to be adequate protection?"

"I don't doubt your abilities to take care of yourself, Jerilyn," Mulder said patiently. "You're a very capable, competent woman-"

"Gee, can you be any more patronizing?"

"Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather, do you have an open mind?"

"It's fairly open, but not so much that my brains fall out."

"Jerilyn, you need to listen to me now, your life is in danger."

"I'm a federal agent. My life is in danger everyday due to my choice."

"No." Mulder said. "Not like that. Your life is in danger not by your choosing. You never had a say in this at all. Jerilyn, how much do you know about your birth parents, about your subsequential adoption by the Baileys?"

"Just what my parents told me."

"Tell me the fairy tale your mother and father spun you and I will patch up the gaping holes with what they left out...."

Starkweather folded her lips tightly, not appreciating the fairy-tale remark. "I suppose it could be viewed as a Cinderella story of sorts. The little urchin, taken in by a king. My father and mother were stationed at Pearl Harbor at the time. My father, for his exceptional service during the Vietnam Conflict was rapidly promoted. By the time they were sent to Hawaii, he had enough money to afford off-base housing. My father had just gotten off of duty, walking to the parking lot to drive home. This was back in the days where nobody locked their cars on base. He was about to get into his car when he heard a cry in the backseat. He opened the backseat door and found a baby girl, wrapped in an Army-issued blanket."

"You." Mulder said.

"My, you're quick," Starkweather said tartly. "It was late. He told me he didn't know what to do. Who to report an abandoned infant to and he felt he had no choice but to take me home. My mother couldn't bear children, so she fell in love with me instantly. They petitioned for foster care, then adoption. They named me "Jerilyn", a conglomeration of their names, Jeremy and Lynette. The end."

"No," Mulder said. "Not the end. Only the beginning."

"Excuse me?"

"Jerilyn, you must listen to me now. What I'm about to tell you is the truth and it's not going to be easy for you. But your life depends on you believing me." Starkweather made no movement so Mulder took that as the green light to go ahead. "Your parents told you that you were found in the backseat of your father's car, wrapped in an Army-issue blanket, didn't strike you as strange, being a Naval brat, that you would be found at a Naval base in an Army blanket?"

"Pearl Harbor is base to many military branches, the same as Hurlburt, Lackland, et cetera, et cetera."

"But what your father didn't tell you what you were so ravaged by disease and injuries that the reason why he didn't take you to the proper authorities immediately was he didn't expect you to last the night. He felt that, as tortured as you had been, you deserved at least one night in a normal house, in a warm room, to be held, to be sung to. Yes, your mother Lynette loved you on sight. Being barren, she had always longed for a child to call her own. You were a gift from God to her. Lynette holding you through the night, singing to you, was probably the first gentle human contact you had in your entire life. Perhaps the therapeutic touch she gave you, holding you, cuddling you, kissing you, was what saved your life, gave you the will to survive, that life was more than what you had been subjected to.

"Your parents brought you to the hospital the first thing in the morning. You were hideously malnourished. Someone or something had removed all your fingernails and toenails. You had scarring on your head, chest and belly, as if someone had done exploratory surgery. You were supposed to die. But Lynette had faith, she believed that her love would sustain you through the hospitalization. That her presence would give you the strength to fight, to live, to come home. All she wanted in return was for you to call her 'Mom.'" Mulder paused. "She came every day, and your father every other day. They petitioned for foster care, they petitioned for adoption. There was an investigation, of course, to perhaps find your birth parents and to find the monsters that tortured you. By then, your father had begun to gain political power, so they succeeded. Eventually you were well enough to come home with them."

Mulder continued, "For a while, you lived as an average, healthy little girl. Right before your third birthday, or rather, the day your parents designated as your birthday-"

"The anniversary of when they found me," Starkweather interrupted.

"You began to exhibit signs of extreme hyperactivity. Soon you were out of control. Hurting your playmates, hurting animals. You tried to feed your mother's cat liquid bleach. Purposely. The doctors theorized that you were merely finally reacting to the abuse you had suffered as a baby, the unconscious memories of the unspeakable horrors you endured pushing you into madness. You acted like one possessed by a devil. Screaming fits into the nights. Biting. Kicking. Clawing. Your parents sent you to every hospital in the nation put you on every psychological drug available at the time but to no avail.

"Your parents' marriage began to disintegrate. Your father felt there was no option but to put you away, in a mental asylum. Your mother fought him tooth and nail. She was convinced that her love saved you once before, will save you again. "Then, around your sixth birthday, while your father was away at sea, you and your mother disappeared. Vanished into thin air."

Mulder stopped again to gage her reaction. Her face, except for her eyes, were still the pretty porcelain doll mask. Her eyes burned with a resentment and disbelief beyond words. That did not deter him, however. "What your father didn't know, until after you and your mother were recovered in Montana, that your mother, when she was a teenager, was a multiple alien abductee. Until the summer when you and your mother disappeared, the abductions stopped after her eighteenth birthday. Unlike other abductees, she remained silent, confessing her traumas only to her journal, never coming forward to anyone else with the truth of what happened to her, until after your abduction. Then she told your father everything.

"Your mother had been brutalized. You were fine, except for some unexplained puncture wounds, needle marks at the base of your spine, in your neck, on your temples and in the joints of your arms. However, the derangement you suffered as a small child was gone. You spoke and behaved like a perfect six-year-old child. It was as if the mental disorder never happened.

"After your mother recovered from her injuries, your father took you both home. A few days later, your father discovered you reading a book. And this you should remember, what book was it?" When Starkweather refused to answer, Mulder answered for her. "It was a book no normal six-year-old going on seven should be able to read or understand. 'To Kill a Mockingbird.' Due to your mental unstability, you weren't in preschool long enough to master coloring within the lines let along to know your ABC's or to count. Six months later, after your disappearance, you were reading a novel that high schoolers have difficulty understanding. What was it that you asked your father about that book?"

This Starkweather answered, "I asked him, 'Daddy, am I a freak like Boo Radley.' And naturally he said, 'Of course not, angel.'"

"Your intellect grew leaps and bounds. Beyond your parents, beyond your teachers. You also grew in musical prowess. What musical instruments can you play?"

"The piano." "What else?"

"Flute. Piccolo. Clarinet. Guitar, electric, bass and acoustic. Banjo. Drums. Violin. Harmonica."

"Harmonica?" Langly asked in disbelief.

"Hey, I was bored," she snapped.

"Who taught you?" Mulder asked. "Who taught you how to play all those instruments?"

"Nobody. I taught myself."

"Do you use sheet music?"

"No. I play by ear."

"Starkweather, you have been given a gift, a gift beyond human comprehension," Mulder went on, more intense now. "Many could have taken that gift to a dark place-"

"But I have chosen to use my powers for good instead of evil," Starkweather deadpanned.

Mulder fought a grin. ::I could really like her if she wasn't such a bitch:: he thought. He then found himself wishing that he could like her, the connection he felt with her was strong, as strong as his connection with Scully, but this was different. ::Family:: popped in his head again but he dismissed it. "But whoever had unlocked this power with in you, wants to shut it down again.

"After my, ahem, fall from grace at the Bureau-" Mulder started.

Langly interrupted "Which time?" he snickered.

"Shut up," Mulder and Starkweather said at the exact same time.

"I didn't know what to do with myself. The X-Files are my life, but I was too sick to continue with my life. Skinner pulled some strings to keep me on board as an consultant, but..." Mulder shook his head. "It wasn't enough. Then, out of the blue, Scully approached me. Her father's old Naval buddy, the Admiral, your father, had contacted her. He wanted to meet us. So, he came to DC to meet us. He told us about your childhood, your mother's abductions and her battle with cancer after she removed a metal implant from her neck....

Mulder flashed back on that day...

"Little Dana Scully," Admiral Jeremy Bailey beamed as she brought him a cup of coffee. "If I'd had known that such a scruffy little tomboy would turn into such a beauty..." he sighed contently. "Your father must have been so proud," he paused. "I am sorry I was not able to attend the funeral, however, you have my deepest apologies. Your father was a good man and one of my best friends. And he loved you kids to bits." He paused again. "I am also sorry about Melissa. She was such a nice girl. Lynette always loved having her watch Jeri. Jeri loved her too. One of her first words was 'Missy' did you know that?"

Scully shook her head, too young to clearly remember living next door to the Baileys. "No, I didn't, sir."

"I'm sorry to bring up such bad memories."

"No! Oh, no sir. Missy could never be a bad memory to me."

"The thing is, I just don't want what happened to Missy, or to your family, Mr. Mulder," he said, looking at Mulder who was barely recovered from a bad bout of pneumonia, "to anyone else. The thing is, if you can help me, I will help you."

"Help? How?" Mulder asked. "Help me," he pleaded, "and I will help you continue your work," he said to Mulder.

Now he had Mulder's attention. "How?"

"I have a few friends at City Hall. The Deputy Mayor is retiring because she wants to be a stay-home mother. I can get you that post, Mr. Mulder."

"I don't want it."

"Listen to me," the Admiral urged. "I have eyes and ears all over this city. You're in bad ordure with the Bureau. I CAN get you back in, but that will take time and you can't be unemployed during that time, especially with your now-spotted record, damn Kersh. I know him well," he said grimly. "The Deputy Mayor position is essentially the same as the vice-presidency. All of the power, all of the respect. None of the headaches. You'd be good at it too, plus it will bring you much needed income and a perfect cover to continue what you've started. Do you realize how close you are to blowing this conspiracy out of the water? You can't stop now."

"How close is close?" Mulder asked wearily. He had been "close" so many times.

"I have the evidence of alien experimentation upon our species," the Admiral said quietly.

"What's the evidence?" Scully asked.

He struggled with himself. "My daughter," he voiced cracked. "Please, they're after my little girl. You have to save her. Please, don't let them do to her what they've done to so many people.

"Jerilyn, somehow, before she was brought to me and my late wife, has been given a gift, a gift beyond human comprehension. Whoever gave her this gift wants it back. The only way they can get it back, is by killing her." he handed Mulder a diskette. "This is all the information I dare to give you right now. The rest, is up to you."

Mulder accepted the diskette and his future as a respectable man.

The Lone Gunmen, too intrigued to leave, listened to the story unfolding intently. "This is better than Star Wars," Langly burst out.

"Langly, do you want the lady to reapply the duct tape?" Mulder asked.

"Don't call her a lady," Frohike warned him.

Mulder turned his attention back to Starkweather, "I know that this is a lot to take in. But everything is being done in your best interest. We have reason to believe that the case you and Agents Scully and Doggett were working on in Scotland was being used as the perfect cover for their plot to destroy you. Young rookie caught in the line of fire. Burial with twenty-one gun salute, problem solved. But you surprised them, Jerilyn; you took one of them out. They don't repeat mistakes, they learn from them. They're re-doubling their efforts to take you down, which is why we are using every precaution to ensure your safety, going against your father's express wishes that you stay unaware of your past. He thought it would be best that you exist in an aura of ignorance." Mulder paused, "Any questions?" he asked like a nerdy college professor.

Starkweather furrowed her brow in deep concentration. "So... Deputy Mayor, sir... when they dug you up from your grave, did they leave your brain behind by chance?"

Mulder rubbed his temple; "I'll take that as a 'no.'"

"Oh I have questions, Deputy Mayor, such as who the hell do you think you are??? You have no right, legally, morally or otherwise to come barging into my life with this... bullshit." She sprang out of her chair, dropping her angelic mask, furious now. "Aliens? Jesus fucking Christ, you really need to get a life, man."

"Are you discounting the existence of life elsewhere than our planet?"

"No. That would be illogical. There are too many stars out there, like our sun that could potentially have planets rotating around it that have the capability to sustain life. The universe is too big to rule out other life out there. But what you are suggesting is science fiction. A television series. Bad movies those robots from "Mystery Science Theater 3000" make fun of."

"Great show," Langly said.

Starkweather put her gun down on the coffee table with a thump, picked up the duct tape, tore off a piece and slapped it on Langly's mouth again.

Mulder sighed. "Thank you."

"Fuck you, I didn't do it for you, I did it for me." Starkweather put her hands on her hips and scowled at Mulder. "I've heard about you 'Agent' Mulder. I read your files. I know all about your professional career, I've had all the legends and mythologies about you shoved down my throat before I was transferred here. 'Oh, gonna go take Spooky's place at the X-Files, huh, hardy-har-har. Who did you piss off to get stuck in the basement?' The only ONLY reason I took this job is to get one step closer to Quantico. I'm going to be an instructor. I'm going to teach the next generation of FBI agents that their sole mission is to defend those who can not defend themselves, not to use the powers bequeathed to us once we take that oath to serve and protect, not to grind axes and to settle old scores. What happened to you as a kid was horrible and I'm sorry, okay, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy but you got to let this go. Not everything is an alien coup de tat. Not everything is a governmental conspiracy to wipe out our civilization. My life is not that extraordinary. All you need to know about me is that I'm a federal agent and a damn good one, busting my ass out there, so that John and Jane Doe can eat, sleep and procreate in a peaceful environment. All I want to do is get the bad guys, then teach the next wave how to catch the bad guys."

Mulder didn't even bat an eye during her tirade. "How can you catch the bad guys if you can't even see who the bad guys are?"

Starkweather, completely exasperated rolled her eyes. "Wow, you just don't get this, do you???? I don't want you interfering with my personal life. You have no right to do so. No right whatsoever," Starkweather ranted. "I mean, how would you like it if I started digging around in your personal life?"

"You know most of my personal life, it's in my files at the Bureau," Mulder said calmly. "I see," Starkweather mused. "Everything except who the father of Scully's baby is. Care to share that tidbit with the rest of us?"

The proverbial pin drop could have been heard in the silence that followed. Mulder clenched the armrests of her chair in carefully controlled rage. The Gunmen shrank into the couch, hoping that they were invisible. Starkweather crossed her arms and regarded him coolly. Finally Mulder was the first to break the silence, but not his eye-lock on Starkweather. "That was uncalled for."

"So is this!" She pointed her hands at the Gunmen. "I'm not sending these yahoos into your home to do God knows what, you have NO valid reason, whatsoever to do the same to me, despite what my father may have told you. I don't want your protection, I don't need your protection. I want you to stay the fuck away from me. I am not a god damned X-File, you obsessive compulsive paranoid asshole."

Mulder got up and got into her face. Starkweather held her ground not deterred at all that he towered over her. "Look, I'd apologize for tonight if I believed you were just pissed about tonight. But you've had a problem with me before you've even met me and forgive me for being sensitive, but that hurt my feelings. So why don't you clue me in on what great sin I have committed in your eyes so that I may be absolved?" he snapped.

"Sin?" she sneered. "It was more than sin, it was sacrilegious," Starkweather informed him coldly. "The last few months for my mother was nothing but pure hell for her. The cancer was eating her alive. My father and I were praying that she would die. It seemed to be the only way out of her agony.

"Now, I don't know if you were officially in the Bureau yet or in training or what, but you visited her a few days before her death that we were praying for. Do you remember that?"

Mulder nodded, "I remember. But I didn't see you there."

"I didn't see you per se either, but I heard you, behind the curtain." Starkweather said. "I heard your voice, questioning her, interrogating her about her "experiences", her "abductions." I stepped outside when the nurse came in to tell you to get the hell out because you were upsetting her, but you ignored her. You lied to the nurse and stayed for another hour, treating her like a police suspect. You didn't treat her like a person. You didn't give her the courtesy that a terminally ill patient deserves; you just harangued, trying to squeeze any information out of her. Even though you had to realize with her brain cancer, she was either delirious with pain most days or stoned from the morphine so the entire purpose of that interview did nothing except to increase your ego about in the purity of your God-forsaken quest. You didn't care about finding the truth to so others could be saved. All you cared about was yourself and how my mother's suffering could be used to serve your purposes. But it was for nothing, she could barely talk after that interview."

Mulder closed his eyes briefly. He remembered now. In his youthful arrogance, he had followed up a tip about a woman who he had only known as "Lynn" who supposedly was an alien abductee. Mulder was told that her one of her many abductions was the same night as Sammantha's and in the relative vicinity. He had harangued the poor woman, like Starkweather said, but not maliciously, just out of frustration that the answers were so close, but so far away. He had left discouraged but not realizing that he had also left behind seeds of hatred to be cultivated in the heart of a very upset and frightened sixteen year old girl who had watched her mother dying the last two years.

"My mother was barely coherent when I came in. We spoke briefly. She begged me not to just jump into the Navy right away after my high school graduation. But to do two years of regular college and to research all the branches of the military before I enlisted, if I still wanted to enlist..." Starkweather closed her eyes as she remembered that horrible day....

"I won't," Jerilyn said in the "yeah-right" tone of an average sixteen-year-old girl.

Lynette's withered clawlike hand suddenly gripped Jerilyn's wrist. "Promise me, Jeri," she insisted, her eyes burning feverishly.

The crazed light in her mother's eyes frightened Jerilyn into sincerity. "I will, Mom, I promise. I'll go to school first and I'll check out the other branches before enlisting." She put her hand on her mother's skeletal hand. "Okay?"

Her mother seemed to relax but then after a quiet minute: "Oh, Jeri, they're coming for me again, there's no time, no time left, there's nothing, oh, they're coming, they're coming..." she started to rave.

"Mom, please," Jeri reached out to stroke her mother's face, the face that had always been her constant, her touchstone during her Naval brat's life. A face that was once so pretty and unlined was now hollowed and gray. "Please, nobody's here, nobody's gonna hurt you. Nobody's coming for you," she adjusted the little pink turban she had made for her when the last of her beautiful auburn hair had fallen out. "Stay with me Mom, stay with me," ::forever and forever:: the childish side of her teenager soul cried out even though at the same time, her adult side longed for her merciful death. "Nobody's gonna ever hurt you Mom, I'll kick their asses if they try."

Her mother slowly grasped a tentative hold on lucidity. "Watch... your... language... young lady," she said slowly painfully. "Could you get me a drink, please?"

Jeri poured a glass of ice water, popped a straw in the glass and held it up for her. Lynette sipped slowly, then collapsed into her pillow, muttering nonsense.

"Mom, who was that man?" Jeri asked without hope. The cancer had devastated her mother's short-term memory months ago. "Who was that man that upset you?"

"Idunknowcopmaybefoxfoxfoxcopscaredmecominforsistercominforme," she garbled out.

"Mom, please, tell me so I can tell Daddy. We can ban him from the hospital, he won't- he w-w-won't," Jeri started to cry, not feeling like the breezy, overconfident overachiever that her friends and family recognized. She felt overwhelmed and completely alone.

Then Lynette Bailey experienced her last moment of clarity. "Oh, baby, don't cry for me," she reached up to wipe the tears from her daughter's face.

"I'm sorry," Jeri wept.

"Baby, I'm sorry, I did what I could, but it's not enough. It's up to you now..."

"Up to me to do what?" Jeri asked, pretty sure her mother was slipping back into delirium.

"Fight the future," she whispered before she descending into her cancerous madness again, this time permanently.

The nurse came in to shoo Jeri out. As Jeri was gathering up her school things, she noticed a piece of paper neatly folded on the nightstand. While the nurse was fussing with her mother, Jeri slipped the note into her pocket and didn't read it until she was in the parking lot:

"Call if you remember anything Fox Mulder 555-3325"

Starkweather had taken out her wallet and pulled out a brittle slip of paper and handed it back to Mulder. "What were you thinking? That she was going to jump out of bed, call you up and say 'Oh yes, Mr. Mulder, I remember everything now!' That was the last time I ever got to talk to my mother. She slipped into a coma that night. She finally died a few days afterwards."

Mulder took the slip of paper, yellowed with age, recognizing his handwriting. Apologies never came easy to him but he made a valiant try. "I don't know what to say except I'm sorry," he said. "I know that must sound hollow after all this time. I thought there was a connection between my sister's experiences and your mother's-"

"What experiences!" Starkweather exploded. "You've spouted off all these theories and whacked storied but not offered one shred of physical evidence or proof."

"Call your father, ask for your mother's journal," Mulder said placidly. "As for other evidence, we've discovered the medical files on all of your hospitalization. All show the classic signs of alien experimentation-"

"That's not hard proof. That circumstantial evidence which supports your theories but they don't cement them. So I was in the hospital a lot. Big deal. Maybe my birth parents abused me." "Then why did your father approach us? To protect you?"

"Because he wants something," Starkweather hissed. "Just because I love my father doesn't mean I'm blind to his actions. I know the political power he wields, the friends he has."

"That's not what I think," Mulder said.

"Oh, yeah? Guess what I think?"

"Surprise me."

"You're humiliated."

"Humiliated?" Mulder exclaimed with a short laugh.

"Your ego gets fed by being one step ahead of the enemy. I mean, every after you got fired, FIRED, canned 86'ed from the Bureau for taking the fall for that oil rig explosion, you STILL found a way to get reinstated. But you weren't expecting your body to fail you, did you? How many times were you out sick before Kersh ordered the fitness test? You were screwed and this time there was nothing you could do about it. But ever after Kersh found a way to get rid of you for good, you still found a way to weasel back on to the X-Files, but Skinner could only pull enough strings to make you a consultant. But you know what they say, those who can't do, consult. Not the same as being out in the field. Ego in shambles, when my father approached you, you whored yourself out worse than a lot lizard in Arkansas. You hate yourself because you said 'yes' to him because you have always prided yourself being your own man, but now you're just one of his many puppets he has all over the United States. And you sit in your pretty office, bored silly because handling a garbage strike isn't exactly in the same league as black oil and fallen angels. But instead of getting off your ass and fighting like you used to fight, you sit and play the political game, waiting for my father to come through because he's the last angel in the government game that you've got left. He's the only one who can get you back into the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

Mulder's eyes crinkled in amusement. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because the Admiral is the one holding Kersh's leash," Starkweather said smugly. "When my father feels like repaying you, he'll pull Kersh's chain and you'll have your little dungeon office back. But he's probably going to wait until Skinner's retired and Doggett takes his place as AD. You have two very long years at City Hall to look forward to. Two long years of sweating it out, wondering what else my father may request of you. I'm know my dad well enough that he wants more than just to watch my ass."

"I assure you," Mulder said in his maddeningly expressionless manner. "Your father came to us in all sincerity, concerned about only with your safety. I am well aware of his power, but he has no other agenda. That is the truth."

"Bullshit!" Starkweather snapped. "He wants something else and you sold out! Did your balls get left in the casket along with your brain? I've seen him do this before!"

Now Mulder crossed his arms. "What a mystery you pride yourself to be. You hate me for hurting your mother, which I am so sorry about, and yet you're warning me about the long reach of your father's arm, the warning hiding underneath biting language which may be offensive to our little Byers' virgin ears by the way. You tell me that you're simply using the X-Files as a springboard to an instructor post to the Academy and yet, you put your life on the line, broke rules and regulations and pissed off an Army lieutenant in order to discover the truth. That's not the actions of a career-climber. The fact is," Mulder leaned in closer and now Starkweather was unnerved by his height. "The fact is, that you're too smart for your own good. You know you're special, you're," whispering now "not like the other girls. You have a phenomenal intellect that you hide behind that pretty school-girl face because you don't want people to figure out how intelligent you really are until you're in a position of superiority and you can wield your intelligence over them like a queen. You feel that you're nothing better than a con artist, getting what you want through manipulation and poker faces, but you're too afraid to let the real Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather come through, the one that's a gentle, kind-hearted, good person. The woman your mother raised you to be. The woman your husband married. But until you discover your past, who your birth parents are, who hurt you so horribly as a baby and again as a child, will not only others will be continued to be destroyed by this inhumanity, but you will never be free. To be free, meaning facing your childhood, knowing what truly happened in your past."

"I don't want to know," Starkweather hissed. "Did that thought ever cross your mind?" "I find that hard to believe that you have no desire to seek out the authors of your creation," Mulder, still unruffled, said demurely.

"Well, thank you Deputy Mayor, we've all been refreshed and challenged by your unique point of view but seeing that you've become one of them, you need to leave now."

"What do you mean, 'one of them'?"

"Didn't it just irritate you, I mean really just get under your skin to have all this sources, these Cloak and Dagger informants, only give you a puzzle to solve but they forgot to give you the most important pieces so the picture is still incomplete. They hide behind respectability like Senator Matheson or they only lurk in the shadows, coming only when you offer a sign, like a piece of masking tape on a window pane, baiting you with promises of the truth. And you almost always took the bait and ran, but you ended up running in circles. And now here you are. A bullet away from running the most important city in our political frenzied world and you have the nerve to stand there, when I asked you where do you get the right to invade my privacy, instead of a straight answer, you hand me a puzzle. With key pieces still missing. If I'm so important, so gifted... why do they want me dead? What is the big threat to them about allowing me to continue to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide? Whoever "them" may be. And what proof, not theories, not beliefs, proof, evidence that would stand up in a court of law, substantiates what you're saying." Mulder held his tongue, a rarity. Starkweather went on: "The truth of the matter is, you don't even know, because you're still being jerked around by people above you. Maybe you were never really your own man after all. Perhaps that's what humiliates you the most."

Mulder cracked a half-smile. "I like you, you remind me of when I was young and stupid."

"Well, I am really easy to get along with once people learn to worship me," Starkweather picked up her gun again. "Thank you for your," she fluttered her eyes "'deepest concern' Deputy Mayor, but in all due respect, sir, unless you have something solid to offer me, you need to back the hell off."

She led Mulder and the Gunmen to the door. Mulder tried one more time. "Jerilyn, I am sorry about tonight's clusterfuck and any past insults. Believe me or not, I am just trying to help as per requested by your father." "I don't want your help," she snarled.

"Not right now, no," Mulder said arrogantly. "But someday, you will ask for my assistance. And despite what you believe, I will be there."

"I'll remember that when the time comes," Starkweather nodded thoughtfully. "How about... never? Is never good for you?"

Still full of himself, Mulder's parting shot was "Jerilyn, I will always cherish the initial misconceptions I had about you," he left before Starkweather got a word in edgewise.

Standing awkwardly, the Gunmen hovered near by. "Um... Mrs. Starkweather," Byers said nervously. "The Deputy Mayor truly has your best interests at heart-"

Starkweather took her gun off of safety and pointed it at them. You have five seconds to get the hell out of my house before I start firing at the first moving object. Five.... four..."

The Gunmen scurried out her door and Jerilyn locked the door. She leaned against her door and slid down to a crouch, her hands still cupping her gun...

The Lone Gunmen burst out of the apartment building at a dead run, heading for the van. Langly turned his head and saw Mulder, hands on the hood of his car, head hanging down. "MuysmookmitsMoowder," he garbled, stopping dead in his tracks.

"What?" Byers stopped as well.

Frohike went up to Langly and ripped the duct tape off his face again. "YEOOWWWWWW!"

"What?" Frohike asked.

"I said, "Guys, look, its Mulder." He pointed to him.

The trio of hacks hurried to their hero. "He doesn't look good," Byers said quietly to his partners as they approached him.

"Mulder," Frohike patted him on the shoulder.

Mulder looked down at him. His face was stark white and drenched with perspiration. He was trembling from head to toe, burning alive now with the fever he had steadfastly ignored for the past few days now. He smiled bitterly. "Well, that went well," he quipped.

"Okay, we're gonna take you to Scully's now," Byers said gently, getting into the driver's seat of Mulder's car.

"Byers, Byers, you're worse than an old woman," Mulder protested.

"Not the first time I've heard that," Byers mumbled.

"I'm fine," Mulder started to say as his knees buckled. He probably would have pitched headfirst into the pavement if Langly and Frohike hadn't caught him. "Hey, guys, how 'bout you bring me to Scully's?" Mulder asked, waves of nausea and vertigo overtaking him.

Scully had just finished telling Doggett essentially the same story Mulder told Starkweather. Doggett's glacial eyes met Scully's crystalline gaze evenly. "You expect me to believe that horseshit?"

"Agent Doggett," Scully said patiently. "We have proof."

"Circumstantial proof," he drawled. "Just like everything else in this damned department."

"Then why do you stay John?" Skinner from behind his desk brusquely. "I thought after this time you were committed to the X-Files or are you just biding your time, waiting for me to hand in my two weeks so your butt will be in my AD chair?"

"Sir," Doggett said. "I believe in the X-Files. Don't think I'm not committed just because I don't swallow every story told to me. I believe that Starkweather's life may be at risk but I just don't buy the whole alien thing. Not every god damn case we examine is gonna be about UFO's. Those bat-things," he said to Scully. "Weren't alien. Those were just creepy."

"Then why do you think Starkweather's life is in danger?" Scully asked.

"Plain old boring politics," Doggett proclaimed. "We all know who Admiral Bailey is. He's a powerful man, has his fingers in a whole lot of pies but he's also pissed off a lot of people. What you didn't mention, Agent Scully," he stood up and began to pace. "Is that after right after Lynette Bailey and Starkweather's disappearance is that a few weeks later, a left-wing radical anti-war group claimed responsibility for the abductions. The taking of a military's wife and child was their protest of our military supposedly harming and killing civilians in foreign military engagements."

"That claim was proved to be a hoax," Scully protested.

"No, there just wasn't enough evidence to prove their claims. Just like there's not enough evidence to prove this alien theory. We got a lot of medical evidence about torture and..." he swallowed. Harm unto a child always disturbed him. Scully and Skinner had showed him the police photos of the disfigured infant Starkweather and Doggett could have wept. "The Admiral married a very powerful Senator and they back very power factions. Not just lobbying for a stronger military, but they back all the "biggies." Big Oil, Big Tobacco, Big Corporate Farming and so on. Thanks to the Admiral's influence, they nearly killed the Ethanol movement, which pissed off the farmers in Iowa wholeheartedly. Now I don't know if a bunch of Midwestern small family farmers are going to gang up and plot an assassination but I bet dollars to doughnuts there are nutcakes out there that have the Admiral on their hitlist. Would they risk going after his only daughter to make their point to him? You bet they would."

Scully frowned. She hated to admit it; Doggett's theory made more sense than Mulder's. But... "The Admiral told us that Starkweather was living evidence of alien experimentation."

"How many times have people told you and Mulder things you wanted to hear just to light a fire under your rears so you'd spring into action?" After mentioning Mulder's name, he realized that Mulder was missing from this pow wow. "Where is Mulder right now?"

Scully told him, "He said he was going to work late at City Hall then go home." "You sure?" Doggett asked. "He's wouldn't think of goin' over to her house and filling her in on his theories, would he?"

Scully paused, "Oh my God..." She covered her eyes with her hand.

"Oh that's just great," Doggett groaned. "You realize how much she hates him already, don't you? This isn't gonna exactly endear him to her heart." When no one answered him, he went on. "Look, I'm doin' my best here to make the X-Files credible again. Yeah, even though our caseload has increased tenfold, we're still the laughingstock of the Bureau. I don't want Starkweather's reputation marred because of another Mulder-stunt."

"Starkweather's performance as an agent is above reproach," Skinner said. "I wouldn't have brought her on board if it wasn't. Any theories on her past will not hurt her career. In fact, the only thing that could hurt her career is her own mouth. I gathered she told a Army lieutenant back in Scotland exactly what she thought of him."

Doggett grinned. "The lady has a way with words."

"I see," Skinner said. "Just for further reassurance, this meeting is strictly top secret between the three of us. As far as anyone else is concerned, this discussion never happened. We," he looked at Scully, then continued, "felt you needed to be up to speed with the possible threat on your partner's life."

"And I thank you," Doggett got up. "Anything else? Anything on the case in Scotland?"

"Still working on it," Skinner grimaced. "Go home, John. I will call if anything comes up." Skinner walked over to the infant carrier sitting on his conference table. He liked babies, but was nervous around them too. He preferred to admire from a distance. "Scully, I think this little one needs to go home."

Scully picked up the carrier. "Thank you sir," she said.

Skinner nodded and busied himself at his desk, his dismissal sign to the agents.

Doggett walked Scully to her car. "I'm sorry Agent Scully," he said as she strapped the baby into the car seat in the backseat. "I know you and Mulder mean well, but... " "Agent Doggett," Scully gently shut the back door and walked to the driver's side. "Let me just say that I sincerely hope that Mulder and the Admiral are wrong," she admitted her small disloyalty.

"Me too," Doggett said. "Otherwise we're gonna get the biggest 'I told you so' in the history of our planet." He walked to his car and drove home.

Scully also drove home, mind whirling. As usual, her heart and her common sense were at odds at each other.

All of her conflict flew out of her mind when she pulled up, shocked to see the Lone Gunmen van and Mulder's car outside her apartment building. She got her baby out of the car and rushed over to the vehicles. "Oh my God!!!" she gasped as she approached them just as Byers and Langly were helping Mulder out of the car. "What happened?" she cried as she handed the baby off to Frohike. "Mulder?"

Mulder opened his mouth to say something, but ended up throwing up on Scully's shoes.

Scully grimaced. "Get him inside." Byers and Langly half-carried, half-dragged Mulder to Scully's couch while Frohike put the baby to bed. Scully took her dripping shoes off at the doorway. With medical detachment, she examined the content of the vomit, which she determined was mostly mucus, spattered on her favorite shoes. She mourned the loss of her expensive pumps, which were now completely ruined by Mulder barf, with a sigh before tossing them in the trash.

Barefooted, she went to Mulder's side. "Langly, my stethoscope and thermometer are in the hall closet, go get it," she ordered as she checked his pulse, "and get me my small flashlight." She felt his throat, then checked his lymph nodes for swelling. Langly returned with her medical items as requested. Sticking the thermometer in his mouth, she listened to his heart and his chest while waiting for his temp. Frowning, she checked the thermometer when it beeped. "Damn," she muttered. "Byers, by my computer is a prescription pad, bring it here." He complied and she scrawled out what she wanted quickly. "Go to the nearest drug store. I've prescribed a heavy duty antibiotic and a decongestant."

"Is he going to be okay?" Byers asked nervously. "Yes, of course," she said. "Mulder, listen to me, you've got yourself a heavy duty case of bronchitis, topped with a sinus infection and ear infection. What you vomited was just the built up mucus from your sinus infection that slid down your throat and into your stomach."

"Yum," Mulder weakly quipped.

"But you have a very high fever, you need to rest, I want you to stay here tonight, shut up guys," she didn't even need to look over her shoulder to see the knowing looks the Gunmen gave each other. "Just please go and get the medicine."

As soon as the Gunmen left, Scully got up to get a washcloth, a bowl of cool water and a drink. She sat down by Mulder again.

"I'm sorry about your shoes," Mulder gave her his infamous puppy-eyes look.

"Just warn me the next time you think your going to throw up," Scully said while thinking ::I bet he's fun to take care of after a bender:: "Drink this," she handing him the glass.

Mulder sipped and made a face, "Jesus Scully, that tastes terrible, what is it?"

"Lemon lime Crystal-lite."

"Ugh, you're giving me healthy stuff?"

"You need to drink. It will keep you from getting dehydrated and hopefully get your fever down." When Mulder gulped down the horrible concoction, he let Scully remove his shirt and he wearily dropped down and let Scully cool his burning face with the wet cloth. "Mulder, were you at Agent Starkweather's tonight?" Mulder nodded. "Did you tell her?" Mulder nodded again. "And how did she take it?"

"Like I had bought her a cute fuzzy puppy... and shot it in front of her," Mulder breathed in relief as Scully damped his neck and chest. "Oh, that's feels wonderful, Dr. Scully. You do have the healing touch," but he quit joking when he closed his eyes. "God, I feel terrible. It's so hot in here."

"It's not my apartment that's hot, it's you. Mulder, you can't run yourself ragged like this. How are we supposed to prove to Kersh you're fit for duty when you don't take care of yourself." "You think I'm hot? Alright..."

"Mulder, I'm serious," Scully said. "If you start to feel just the slightest bit sick, you have to tell me so we can hit it head on."

"What's wrong with me?"

"I told you, you have bronchitis-"

"No, no," Mulder opened his eyes, bright with fever, "I found out why Starkweather hates me. Long time ago, I questioned a dying woman about her abduction experiences. As irony would have it, it was her mother. She died a few days afterwards."

"Oh Mulder..."

"I prodded that woman at the height of her suffering. For information that would have only served me, not her. And tonight, even though Jerilyn was sending me signals loud and clear to stay out of her life and the X-Files, I still pushed on. I can't ever just not do anything, even though my life, my health is at risk now. Even though you and Puppy-Man are handling the X-Files just fine without me, I still push on, even becoming the Admiral's puppet because of a promise that I'm not even sure can be fulfilled."

"Mulder," Scully said urgently. "You are no one's puppet."

Mulder looked up at Scully. "I didn't sell out?"

"No! Where did you get such an idea? Mulder, listen to me, you push because it's the right thing to do. The truth is out there; it's not going to come find us. Whether or not Starkweather appreciates you telling her of your suspicions, it was the right thing to do. You push on because it's the right thing to do, whether or not you're officially on the X-Files or not. It's a matter of morality, not ego," she took his hand and squeezed. "Whether or not the Admiral has ulterior motives, his love for his daughter is sincere. He asked us to protect her. And we will, because it's the right thing to do, whether Starkweather likes it or not." Mulder lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her gently, giving her a grateful look. "Try to sleep Mulder," she whispered, still caressing his hot face with the wet cloth. "We've battled worse odds."

Starkweather got up from her crouch to walk through her living room and cautiously peer through the window. She watched two out of the three geeks help her nemesis into his car. She frowned. Sure, she disliked him wholeheartedly, but the compassionate part of her nature that Mulder alluded to didn't truly want any harm to come to him. Just because she didn't like the man, she didn't want him sick, just out of her hair. She sighed, safetied her gun and picked up her living room, returning the kitchen chairs to their rightful places around the tiny kitchen table.

Extremely tired now, she turned off the lights and beckoned her cat, "Come on Caesar," she said. The cat, finding a cozy place on the couch, ignored her. "Typical," she muttered.

She only turned on the small lamp on her nightstand. She threw off her clothes and dressed in the flannel shirt of Ben's she used as a nightgown. She picked up her hairbrush and sitting down on her bed, she unclipped her barrettes, tossed them onto her dresser before lovingly brushing out her thick long luxurious hair.

Her fingers accidentally grazed the base of her skull while she brushed. She paused. Slowly putting the brush down, she trepiditously touched her neck again, feeling the scarring. She took her hands away from her neck and examined her fingernails while wiggling her toes.

Still moving slow motion, she unbuttoned Ben's blue flannel shirt and pulled it away from her slender body just enough so she could examine the long, thick scar right down the middle of her chest, a gash in between her breasts, along with all the little scars around her belly button. Pinpricks of paranoia poked her as pieces of her heated discussion with Mulder came back to her.

::Oh my God, what if he's RIGHT???:: she thought in horror as she stood in front of the mirror, examining her reflection as if it was an autopsy corpse. The phone rang, scaring Starkweather out of her reverie. Wrapping the flannel around her tightly, she dove for the phone. "Hello?" she asked as she re-buttoned the shirt.

"Jeri, it's me." "Ben, hi... it's late, what are you doing?"

Nervously he said, "Checking to see if you got back from Scotland okay. I thought you were going to call when you got over your jet lag tonight."

"Shit, I forgot, I'm sorry honey, it's just that... well, something's come up. I've got to go to Arizona." She bounded up, dumping her travel bag out unceremoniously, throwing dirty clothes into the hamper, re-packing the clean clothes.

"Arizona?" Now nervousness dissolved into patient irritation. "Now what wild goose chase are they sending you?"

"No, baby, it's not for work, it's, its Dad. I gotta go see my dad."

His irritation melted into fright now. "Jeri, what's wrong? Is your dad sick? Do you want me to meet you in Phoenix? Mom and Dad will understand."

A little more vehemently than she meant to she snapped, "No!" Then she took a breath, ::Come on Jerilyn, get it together girl:: "I'm sorry, baby," she said, telling him one of the few lies that she would ever tell in their marriage. "It's not like that, it's Jenny," her step-mother, the Senate Minority Leader Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, "Dad asked me all in a tizz to come see him for a few days, I've got some personal time," lie number two ::how am I going to explain this to Skinner?:: "because of the weirdness in Scotland. I'm only going to stay for a few days. Hell, I'll be home before you're even back from Minneapolis."

"Who'll watch the cat?"

"I'll take him with."

"What's going on with Jenny? Are they divorcing?"

"I don't know," Jeri slumped onto the bed, "I'll explain everything when you get back."

"Okay, I love you, you big bad FBI board."

"I love you too, Counselor." Jerilyn hung up the phone. To her cat that had just wandered into her bedroom, she said, "'I'll explain everything when you get back.' Darling, I just wanted to let you know you may have married an alien hybrid, but let's not let that affect our marriage. Awww, God....." She buried her face in her hands. "I'm losing it, I am seriously losing it..." She picked up the phone to leave Skinner a voice mail.

"AD Skinner."

"Oh... sir! I wasn't expecting a live voice, I'm sorry."

"What can I do for you Agent Starkweather?"

"Um... sir, I hate doing this, especially being so new to the department, but I have... um, some personal issues, that I need a little time, to possibly resolve..."

"Did Deputy Mayor Mulder visit you tonight?"

"Yes sir."

"You have two days to go visit your father in Arizona. For the next two days, you are officially sick with the flu. So stay out of the sun while you're down there. Nobody's gonna buy the flu story if you come back with a tan."

"Yes sir."

"Leaving tonight?"

"Taking the first flight to Phoenix that I can grab."

"Good luck. This conversation never happened," and Skinner hung up the phone. Starkweather finished her hasty re-packing job. Caesar meowed. She got out his cat carrier.

"Come on pusskins," she beckoned the tabby. "We're going for a ride..."

As Starkweather drove to the airport, she broke on of her biggest driving no-no's, talking on her cell phone while on the road.

"Hello?" a tired voice answered.

"Daddy? It's me."

The Admiral was wide-awake at the sound of her voice. "Jeri, angel, it's late, is there something wrong?" "Um, yeah, Daddy, there is. I need to talk to you."

"I'm all ears."

"No. I'm coming to Sedona. Tonight."

"What? Jerilyn, it's late... what time is it there, what's the matter, what happened?"

"Dad, a man named Fox Mulder came to my apartment tonight."

She anticipated the silence. "I see," he finally said. "Do you want me to pick you up at the airport?"

"No, I'll just get a rental car and drive down."

"Call me when you arrive at Phoenix so I'll be ready for you," he sounded so defeated, as if he had be waiting for this day while hoping it would never happen. "Is Ben with you?"

"No, he's in the Twin Cities, it's just going to be me and Caesar for two days."

"You're bringing the cat..." a huge sigh. He hated cats, had only tolerated them for Lynette and Jerilyn's sake. He now existed happily in a feline free environment. "Alright, I'll see you soon."

"Bye Dad." As Starkweather switched off her phone, she tried valiantly to remember anything from the first six years of her life and failed dismally.

It wasn't as if her memory was like a chalkboard somebody had taken a wet rag and wiped all recollection away. It was more like a wall painted over several times. If she looked close enough, she could swear there was something underneath, but the more she picked away, flake by flake, the more covering paint she discovered.

She brought herself back to her first bona fide vivid memory. She remembered waking up, without a stitch of clothing, at the base of the mountains in the haunting hours before dawn. She remembered being very cold and very hungry. She remembered seeing, then recoiling away from a woman she would be later told that was her mother. She remembered shaking and crying at the sight of the brutalized woman who looked like she had been scrouged along with Christ before the Crucifixion. She remembered looking for a place to hide when the bright lights appeared, when the military jeep pulled up and two young men in BDU's (Basic Dress Uniform AKA fatigues) approached her. "Oh my God," was all they could say. She remembered being wrapped up in a warm blanket and being taken to a hospital in Helena. She remembered the social workers and the cops asking her questions she was too afraid to answer, like "What's your name?" She remembered the nice lady doctor giving her ice cream, telling her that her mommy woke up and told them that she was her little girl and that her name was Jerilyn Michelle Bailey...

(but to this day, Starkweather could have sworn on her mother's grave she thought her name was Echo...)

and that her daddy had been called and he was coming to take them both home.

Starkweather shivered. Not exactly a warm and fuzzy memory of earlier childhood.

As much as she detested him, what Mulder said was affecting her. Until she confronted her past, she would never be free.

Mulder said her mother kept a journal. Fine, when she got to Sedona, she would ask for her mother's diaries. She would ask the man who accepted her not blood of his blood, not bone of his bone but still as his own daughter to tell her the truth.

"Who the hell am I?" she asked aloud while thinking ::or WHAT the hell am I?"

She left her car in long-term parking, grabbed her overnight bag and the cat carrier and went in search of the first available flight to Phoenix.

Starkweather damned the expense and rented a 2001 convertible Mustang, much sweeter than the "family" car that she and Ben shared. ::What the hell:: she justified the expense as she handed over her Visa to the smiling Hertz lady ::I've had a VERY bad past couple of days plus I'm married to a lawyer... so screw it.::

So, top down, kitty carrier safely buckled into the backseat, Starkweather escaped the urban confines of Phoenix and in the early morning light, exceeded the speed limit all the way to Sedona, enjoying the rush of the fine vehicle purring as the wind rushed through her pony-tailed hair.

She stationed surfed for a while. She caught the tail end of a country song:

"There is no Arizona No painted desert No Sedona If there was a Grand Canyon She could fill it up with the lies he told her 'Cause don't exist Those dreams he sold her She'll wake up to find There is no Arizona....."

"Ick," Starkweather grumbled, a devout country music hater and found to her joy and bliss, a harsher sounding music format to listen to during her drive:

"'And Dr. Dre said... nothing you idiots, Dr. Dre's dead, he's locked in my basement," her sweet girlish voice chanted along with the vile lyrics... but she couldn't get the country song out of her head.

Maybe this was all just a bad dream, maybe she was going to wake up and find out there was no Arizona.... no Sedona...

::Won't the real bad guys please stand up, please stand up?:: Starkweather prayed.....

She hoped her father wouldn't stand up...

Starkweather parked her flashy rental in the driveway of her father's home. Her father's old Navy cronies had teased him a bit about retiring in a town where the ocean was nowhere in sight. But once she visited her father, she knew why he decided to put down roots there, the little village radiated peace and beauty. She took a moment to take in the natural wonder of the small tourist town. The stark taupe desert landscape meshed perfectly with the snowy capped mountains, shadowing the picture-perfect secret town. The sky was an unbelievable shade of blue... ::like Doggett's eyes...:: Starkweather found herself thinking, then instantly chastised herself: ::Jesus Christ, Jerilyn, get a grip, just because things with Ben are shitty right now...::

She grabbed her overnight bag and the cat carrier and let herself inside. "Dad?" she called out.

She let Caesar out of his confines and, stir-crazy after hours being trapped in his carrier, darted out and instantly bounded on top of her father's leather couch, digging his claws in. Starkweather winced. "Ooh," she cringed watching her cat happily shed all over the furniture. "Good thing I live in DC now."

She left her cat alone to destroy the rest of her father's living room. She poked her head into his study, his bedroom, the kitchen. Finally she went into the backyard.

She found her father, in a polo shirt and khakis shorts, tending his lemon and grapefruit trees. Even though he had remarried, the Admiral lived alone for the Senator's interests and work kept her primarily in Washington DC. Starkweather hadn't even bothered to look her stepmother up. Not because Jenny was the typical wicked stepmother, simply because the Admiral had remarried while Starkweather was stationed at Andrews AFB during the time, not really getting a chance to get to know Jenny. They enjoyed a superficial friendliness; not a true bond like Starkweather had known and missed with Lynnette.

Her father didn't even look like the political intriguer people painted him to be. Ever since his honorable discharge from the Navy, he lived and dressed very simply and casually. He played cards at a cafe where all the snowbirds gathered in the winter months. He never watched television but read all newspapers voraciously. He visited the library twice weekly. The radio was on NPR constantly. Despite the blistering Arizona heat he found a way to continue being a manic gardener. He played golf. He looked like somebody's grandpa.

"Daddy," she said after watching him lovingly pick fresh lemons.

He looked up and smiled. "Angel." Then he looked closer. "Jerilyn, my God, what happened?" She touched her forehead, had completely forgotten about the huge cut she got when her flight to Scotland was crash landing, the first time. Plus, the ACE bandage on her arm was peeping out from underneath her shirtsleeve. Plus, she was even more jet-lagged than before, so the circles under her eyes looked almost black. "Oh, it's nothing," she walked over and picked up the basket of fruit. "Tree looks good," she said, a non sequitur, she was stalling.

"I made iced tea," he said. "I thought some fresh lemon would be good with it."

"Sure," Starkweather was about to carry the basket inside when her dad took it away from her gently.

"Sit in the shade," he said, indicating the umbrella-ed table and chairs in the yard. "I'll bring everything out... and then, we'll sort everything out."

Mindful of Skinner's warning, Starkweather made sure she was completely in the shade. Not normally a fidgety person, she fiddled with her wedding band. She watched her father come out with two giant glasses of ice tea, with ice and slices of fresh lemon floating to the top. Starkweather's heart pounded in dread. She really didn't want to do this; she really didn't want to have this conversation.

But Starkweather had never shied away from confrontation before, so why should she stop now just because it was her father she was about to go head to head with.

The Admiral after placing the glasses on the table, sat down. "So, you met Deputy Mayor Mulder," he got right to the point.

"Yes."

"What did you think?"

"He's insane."

"Not completely, or else you wouldn't be here."

"Dad, the Deputy Mayor said that Mom kept journals of her childhood."

"Until she too sick to, she faithfully kept a diary."

"Can I see them?"

"I'm afraid that's not possible, sweetie," he said gently.

Starkweather felt herself shift into interrogation mode. "Why not?"

"Because I destroyed them all," he said reaching out to touch her hand but Starkweather recoiled.

"You destroyed them?"

"Because what was written in them," he said carefully.

"Do you remember any of it?" When her father didn't answer, she demanded "Was any of the horseshit the Deputy Mayor told me true?"

"I really wished he hadn't told you anything."

"Was any of that horseshit true? Yes or no, Daddy?"

The Admiral shifted in his chair. "I did summon Agent Scully and Deputy Mayor Mulder to dig into your past to discover what really happened to you as a child, yes."

She repeated to him what she had said to Mulder "Did it ever cross your mind that I don't want to know?"

"I had counted on that."

"Okay, Dad, I really don't get this. In the same breath, you said you asked Scully and Mulder to get the true story about my childhood but at the same time, banking on the fact that I don't want to know? What???" She dropped her hands into her face. "I get promoted to the X-Files and instead of working on the cases, I become one of the cases?" To temper her anger with humor, she said: "That will not look good on my resume."

The Admiral laughed. She had begun to develop her biting sarcasm around the age of twelve. Lynette had tried to curb her daughter's blooming acerbic humor, but the Admiral had secretly cultivated it. When Lynette passed away, only the drill sergeant had the power to still her tongue, but only during the trauma of Basic Training. Once she made the return to "real life", the pent up sarcasm erupted.

"Dad, I'm serious," she said. "Look what happened to Mulder. I don't want to be forced out of the FBI because of little green men. Yeah, okay, so I'm investigating paranormal and other weirdness now, but Dad, how can I do my job when people are questioning my credibility because they think I a nutcake alien abductee?"

"We don't know that for sure."

"Mulder seems to think so."

"It's a possibility that I've asked Mulder to explore," the Admiral admitted slowly.

"What? Dad, no. You can not be serious." Starkweather bounded out of her chair in anger. "Dad, I do not want that man involved in my life whatsoever. I don't want all of this. ANY of this. Please," she knelt by his side, her big eyes gazing up him, pleading. "Daddy, whatever influence you used to start this, please stop it. Please let me live a normal life. If I am," she rolled her eyes in disbelief that these words were about to leave her mouth, "an alien abductee or experiment, whatever, I don't want to know. Okay? Please get Mulder out of my life. Please let me live like everyone else."

"But angel, you're not like everyone else and you KNOW that," he said insistently, gripping her small hand. Starkweather didn't pull away. "My God, Jerilyn, you learned by ear to play Bach's "Goldberg Variations' flawlessly on the piano when you were seven years old. You've always been special and people want you dead because of it. Baby, even if I wanted to stop this, I can't. This is so much bigger than you and me and your private life. There's so much you don't understand!"

"Then TELL me! For Christ's sake, Dad, I'm not a little girl anymore! I haven't been one for a very long time. I'm old enough to have had a military career, complete a medical degree, go through FBI training. I'm old enough to be a federal agent who willingly puts her life on the line every damn day. I'm old enough to be someone's wife. I'm old enough to have carried and lost a child. Dad, if I'm old enough to be, to have all of that," Starkweather gripped his hand, "then I'm old enough to hear the truth on why you went behind my back to have an unwanted investigation about my childhood, only to have me find out from someone I completely and totally hate? Do you know who Fox Mulder is? He's the man that upset Mom so bad a few days before her death? He's so blinded by his quest, he couldn't even let a suffering woman die in peace. So you tell me, you tell me right now, what the hell is going on and why are you treating me like an idiot child?"

The Admiral looked down at her with genuine tears in his eyes. "Because, even though you're a retired Airman, even though you're a doctor, even though you're a highly competent and exceptional FBI agent, even though you're married and even though you and Ben will someday have grandchildren for me." Starkweather laughed a little, but only a little. "You're still my little girl. Even when," he stroked her pretty hair with a trembling hand, "God willing that I live long enough, you hair turns gray, I'm still going to see you with hair ribbons and curls. Yes, I used my politic influence to investigate what sick monster could... do what they did to you. But I went behind your back, hoping you wouldn't find out, so you COULD live a normal life. Because a normal life is what you deserve, because a normal life was a luxury you never had as a child. Angel," he touched her face. "Even to this day, I still get death-threats, not for me. For you."

Starkweather felt twin tears slip down her cheeks. "But why me? What did I do?"

"It's not what you did. It's what you are."

"So, what am I?"

"That's what I asked Mulder and Scully to find out. That's why..." he paused, debating whether or not to tell her, deciding to confess, "that's why I had Jenny pull strings to get you transferred to the X-Files. Jerilyn, listen to me," he said urgently. "All of this," he waved his hand around, indicating his garden, his house, his wealth, his being. "All of this, means nothing if anything happens to you. I've told you all I can tell you. Anything more, endangers your life even more. Hate Mulder all you want, but let him help you," he insisted. "If not for yourself, but for me, for Benjamin, for everyone who loves you and whose world would collapse without you in it," his voice cracked at the end of his speech.

Starkweather wiped her tears away, then his, and finally embraced her father tightly. "I thought airmen didn't cry," the old Navy man teased her, ever mindful of the rivalries between the military branches.

"Yeah, well, that's why the Air Force is known as the pansy branch," she said in a quavering voice. "So now what?" she whispered.

"Let's go out for breakfast," her father suggested. "And at least live the illusion of normalcy."

Later that night, the Admiral sat in his yard, with that obnoxious hairball Caesar, purring in his lap. He listened to his daughter play the "Aria da capo" from the "Goldberg Variations" inside on her mother's piano as he gazed at the black sky above, studded with thousands upon thousands of diamondesque stars.

He prayed he did the right thing. He prayed he was doing the right thing...

The radio alarm went off. The sounds of the popular syndicated radio series "The Bob and Tom Show" filled Starkweather's bedroom. Starkweather's arm snaked out from under the covers, grabbed the clocked, yanked it so hard, the cord was pulled out of the socket. She then half-hearted threw it across the room.

She sat up with a groan, stumbled out of bed, fed and watered the cat, then stumbled back in the half-light to get dressed for her daily morning run before work.

The cut on her forehead was actually healing up fairly quickly. Her arm felt infinitely better. Ben was due to be home within a few days. ::Who knows:: she thought as she laced up her running shoes. ::Maybe I'll look human by the time he gets back.::

She had done her best to live "normally" but ever since her encounter with Mulder and her visit to her father, she was viewing everyone and thing with an unhealthy amount of distrust. Maybe her father was right, maybe it was better she had never been told the truth at all. She had lived quite happily without knowing someone had horrendously mistreated her as an infant, kidnapped her when she was six and had been trying to kill her ever since her return.

She stretched in the living room, did twenty-five sit-ups and push-ups and then went to leave. She paused at the door. Debated. Sighing in defeat, she returned to her bedroom to get her FBI badge and clip it to her shirt and to strap on her ankle-holster. She loaded her little Baretta, slipped it into the holster and pulled the pant leg of her slicky-pants over it.

She locked her door and jogged down to the little park down the street. She liked the park because not only did it had great jogging and biking trails, but because it was an unexpected oasis of greenery in the cement urban jungle.

She stuck to the well-traveled paths, and soon lost herself into the rhythm of her jog and her thoughts. As always, her thoughts turned to work. The fighter jet in Scotland was still niggling at her. She thumbed through the files of her photographic memory, hoping to see something she may had missed before...

As she ran, she had the creepy feeling that someone was following her. As casually as possible, she turned her head ever so slightly to see who was behind her. Two feet behind her, in a baggy blue running suit, was Antonia Mackenzie.

Starkweather spun around. "Hold it right there, you backstabbing little bitch," she snapped. Mackenzie stopped, grinned smugly and to Starkweather's disbelieving eyes, morphed into the body of a well-built man with slicked back hair and penetrating eyes.

"Holy shit!" Starkweather backed up, but not fast enough as the Alien Bounty Hunter sprang upon her and threw her into the forestry beside the trails.

Even though he was finally feeling better, Mulder didn't rest worth a damn last night. The dreams of his abduction came to steal sleep away and he kept tossing and turning in his waterbed until about four in the morning when he finally gave up, got up, made coffee and found a stale bagel which he nibbled on as he worked for a bit on his proposal for a new skating park in Washington DC.

He worked until about five, then had the inklings to go for a walk. Actually, he would have preferred a run, but he was still a bit wheezy from the bronchitis, so a walk it would have to be.

He put on one of his gray T-shirts; a pair of jeans that should have been washed about two days ago and his running shoes. Out of habit, he strapped on the little ankle hostler that he REALLY wasn't supposed to have anymore but it was one of the "favors" the Admiral did for him, paying big bucks under the table so Mulder so still have a concealed weapons permit. He slid his wallet into his back pocket and went outside. Noting the slight chill outside, he went back inside to get his Redskins sweatshirt.

He went to the little park near his apartment. The park was virtually deserted, except for a young girl jogging ahead of him. He stuck his hands in his pocket and continued to stroll, enjoying the hazy post-nighttime peace before the nation's capital roared to life by the dawn's early light.

An incredibly striking woman brushed past him rudely, jogging to catch up with the girl ahead of him. Mulder scowled but didn't say anything, but he looked up to see the girl jogging slowing down cautiously. He then recognized the ponytail. ::Hey, that's Jerilyn:: Mulder backed off a few steps. After the first initial meeting, he really didn't feel like clashing with her again, especially so early in the morning. He was about to turn around to go home when:

"Hold it right there you backstabbing little bitch!" Starkweather's voice rang out with authority.

Mulder whirled around just in time to see to see the beautiful backstabbing little bitch morph into the Alien Bounty Hunter. "Holy shit," Mulder said.

"Holy shit!" Starkweather cried. Mulder watched as the bounty hunter sprung upon her and tossed her like a garbage bag into the woods along the trails. He disappeared into forest after her.

Mulder leapt into woods as well, crouching down to retrieve the smooth little gun out of his holster. Keeping low, he maneuvered through brush and trees as quickly and as quietly as he could.

He hoped he could get there in time. He hoped that he would get a clear shot....

Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather bounced to the ground like a basketball. She had landed on her side and was barely coherent enough to roll under the bushed she landed near. She crawled from out underneath and dragged herself to a tree and, leaning against it, she pulled her gun out of it's holster. She heard crackling and rustling behind her. She pulled herself up into a standing position ::Oh shit, I did something to my ankle!!:: She clamped her mouth down tightly as tears of pain sprung to her eyes. ::Better make this shot count because you sure as hell can't run...::

Clinging to the tree for support, she revealed her position to the bounty hunter. She pointed the gun levelly to his chest. "Freeze! Federal Agent!" She barked, feeling blood trickling down her face. The cut on her forehead had burst open in her fall. The bounty hunter kept advancing, pulling a silvery smooth oblong object out of his pocket. Starkweather heard a "shush" sound and then that the silver thing looked more like an ice pick than.... her mind suddenly put two and two together... ::The dead pilot with the hole through his chest... as if someone stabbed with... oh my God:: "Sir, you under arrest for the murder of Major Vincent Ford! Get your hands on your head and get on the ground NOW!" But he kept advancing. Starkweather shot him in the leg. Her eyes widened in horror as green ooze began pumping out of his calf, but he still kept advancing. She fired twice again, a shot in each shoulder, he winced, but he kept advancing. She pumped two slugs into his chest. "You're supposed to stop after I shoot you!" She howled when the bounty hunter reached her. There was no where and no way to run. Starkweather, leaning against the tree, still pointed her useless gun at him. With a smile full of cunning and hatred, he grabbed her dainty wrist and squeezed until she crumpled, screaming. When she dropped her gun, he threw her to the ground and rolled her over to her belly. He put his foot on her head and pulled out a lighter. He tore of the sleeves of his shirt as if they were made out of tissue paper. Grunting, he self-cauterized his wounds so the dripping acidic blood wouldn't get in the way of his work. After that he knelt down, putting the big knee of his uninjured leg onto her head. He brushed her hair aside to find the kill spot...

Mulder slowly aimed. This shot was risky, but there was no more time. Out of habit, he yelled "Federal Agent!"

Surprised, the bounty hunter looked away from his prey and at Mulder.

Mulder fired and the shot hit home. The slug completely tore its neck away, almost decapitating the vile creature. Mulder picked up a heavy branch and flung it at the Alien Bounty Hunter. The branch hit it solidly in it's chest, causing it to fall off and away from Starkweather. Mulder ran and pulled Starkweather away from the extraterrestrial monster. Worried about the poisons in the creature's blood, he examined her for burns. To his heartfelt relief at first, and then dismay, he saw nothing but a garden variety of cuts and scrapes. Blood was everywhere, but it was all red. By some miracle, despite the injuries Starkweather had inflicted upon it and despite Mulder blowing its head off, none of the green goo had dribbled onto her body. "You okay? Did any of that green stuff touch you?"

"NO! Fuck no," Starkweather, owl-eyed, watched the monster distintergrate. "What the HELL is that!!!" still in shock, she shrieked. She put her scraped up hand to her bloody nose, tilting her head back just a tad, closing her eyes in disbelief.

"Just your friendly neighborhood Alien Bounty Hunter." He crouched down besides her, helping her sit up. He found a couple of Wendy's napkins in his jean pocket gave one to Starkweather to shove up her bleeding nose and used the other ones to mop away the blood off her face. "Are you absolutely sure none of his blood got onto you. It's a biotoxin, highly acidic."

"I'm sure but that... that.... THING... did something to make me drop my gun," she cradled her useless right hand. "I think the fucker broke my wrist." She held up her mangled wrist. "Plus I sprained my ankle in the fall." She didn't mention that every part of her body that had a nerve ending was singing a fully orchestrated opera of pain. And on top of that, her brain was about to overload at the visual stimulation it received today, for, as calculated and precise and articulate and educated as she was, until today, she could not have even comprehended logically that a creature like that existed outside of the movies.

Mulder was no doctor but even he could see she was in bad shape. "Oh, man," he said while police sirens wailed in the distance. "Someone must have reported the gun shot. We need to get you to a hospital." Mulder, carefully, lifted her like a bride and stood up.

Starkweather rested her head against his chest, still looking at the puddle of glowing green gunk, listening to the beat of his heart, the breath of his lungs. ::Still sounds a little congested:: the nonchalant doctor thought. Then the fed came out as Mulder carried her through the trees, towards the sound of sirens.

"Deputy Mayor, you're not supposed to have a firearm," she exclaimed weakly, her head hurt so bad, she sincerely believed at that moment that the only way the pressure was going to be relieved was if her head exploded. "Give it here, quick!" Mulder placed the safetied gun in her left hand. Awkwardly, she shoved it in the waistband of her slicky pants, covering it up with her shirt. "Okay," she said, closing her eyes. Mulder felt her relax completely in his arms. He guessed, correctly, she fainted. Despite the clotting cuts, with her eyes closed, head lolling and little rosebud mouth slightly open, she looked sweet and vulnerable. ::Sweet, my ass,:: Mulder thought proudly. ::She got damn lucky today, but she was bound and determined on taking him down to hell with her if she was going to be killed.:: Mulder peered at her unconscious face, again feeling the weird pull of familiarity. He looked at her mouth and eyebrows. He looked at her cheekbones. ::Maybe...:: he thought, hope touched his heart just barely. "Nah..." he brushed hope off, like a skeptic Scully thought he could never be.

Mulder went into the street. He plucked Starkweather's FBI clip on badge off her shirt and held it high in the air for the cops to see as they came to the rescue.

Dressed in the delightfully airy paper hospital attire, Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather leaned back on her bed. Deputy Mayor Mulder finally took his leave of her once the doctors assured her that her wounds were mostly superficial and non-life-threatening.

Mulder met Doggett and Scully, babe in arms as always, just as they were entering the hospital. "How is she, where is she?" Doggett demanded, concern darkening his eyes.

"The doctors say she looks a lot worse than she feels. She's in room number one," Mulder said. Doggett, without saying anything else, bolted away from them, walking down the hallway.

"Mulder," Scully shifted the baby's weight in her arms. "This is bad, in all of our experiences, the bounty hunters have never attempted such a public kill before."

"I know," Mulder agreed. "It's out of character. Jerilyn must be important to them..." he murmured. "Scully, how much has the case load increased?"

"In the past few months?" Scully did a rough mental calculation. "I would say at least thirty percent. Give or take."

"It's crunch time Scully," Mulder said. "They're poised on the edge, ready to begin what they've been preparing for even before our birth. But they're nervous, in their hindsight; they're only now seeing mistakes. So they're trying to correct mistakes before they launch their final project. But instead of mistakes being corrected, they're being compounded. The newsrooms all over the city heard what happened today on their police scanners, it's going to be on the local evening news tonight and I wouldn't be surprised if the AP wire picks it up. Because of this hunter's blunder, our little Jerilyn is going to become public domain."

"So are you Mulder," Scully said quietly.

"Ah, well," Mulder flustered a bit. "Everybody gets their fifteen minutes, right?"

"But Mulder, now what? Just because Starkweather is going to become more prolific, doesn't mean they'll stop trying to kill her."

"No, but I bet we start seeing more mistakes. Every X-File that starts rolling in, is going to be one of their mistakes. Don't you see Scully," Mulder's eyes gleamed with an energy she had thought would never see again. "The Admiral is right, we ARE getting close to blowing them out of the water."

She really hated to deflate his balloon, but.. "Mulder, these creatures do not think with a human mentality. Their intellect could be, excuse the bad pun, light years ahead of ours. How can you be so sure that they're making mistakes?"

Mulder grinned, kissed her cheek, then kissed the sleeping baby. "Because they trusted members of the human race to get the legwork done for them. And that, my dear doubting Doctor Scully, was their first and fatal mistake." He walked towards the door. "I know that if I were going to take over the world, I sure as hell wouldn't trust the members of my fair species to do it for me." He grinned. "I've got to go Scully, I've got a meeting at eleven and I need to shower and change yet."

Scully smiled. "Mulder."

"Yeah?"

"What species would you deem trustworthy enough to assist a global effort to wipe out civilization as we know it?" she asked in complete seriousness, not daring to believe the end was actually near.

Mulder leaned against the door, frowning in thought. "Dolphins," he finally said. "It's already been proven that their intelligence equals our own, possibly exceeds it, they're loyal, social groups who don't seem to comprehend the concepts of greed and ego. Plus, they're just so damn cute with their little smiley faces and funny dolphin noises that they make."

Scully shook her head in exasperation. "Mulder, go away."

"Can I come over tonight? Watch a movie?"

"Sure."

"'Flipper' maybe?"

"Mulder..."

"I'm going, I'm going," Mulder flashed a brilliant smile at her before he departed.

The baby stretched and yawned, opened the big eyes that Scully could literally lose herself for hours, staring at them. "Were you listening to all that?" she asked the baby, who only continued to stare back at her, waving the little fists about. "He's crazy, isn't he?"

Scully could have sworn she saw the baby smile in agreement.

::It's waaaaaaaayy too early:: she thought as she walked down towards Starkweather's room....

While Mulder and Scully were having their discussion about marine life, Doggett found his way to Starkweather's ER room. He poked his head in the doorway. He exhaled. Over the phone, Mulder had told him that she was beaten up very badly, but he wasn't expecting what he saw. New stitches on her wound she received during the plane crash. A fresh ACE bandage on her hairline fracture she received when she tumbled on the hood of the parked car when the Scottish delivery truck sped towards her. A huge shiner plus abrasions where she had been thrown face down in the dirt. Her nose was completely swollen up. Her damaged wrist, wrapped up in an ACE bandage for now. A splint on her hurt ankle. She definitely didn't look pretty.

"I'm not asleep, Doggett," she murmured through cracked and puffy lips. She opened her good eye.

Doggett entered the room, pulled up a chair and sat down. "Scully gotta hold of your husband," Doggett told her. "He's on a flight back home as we speak."

Starkweather attempted a smile. "Is he going to recognize me?"

"Oh, you look..." One glare from Starkweather silenced Doggett's polite white lie. "Like hell. You look like hell." Paternally, he patted her hand. "But I'm glad to see you look like hell rather than look good in a coffin. You know how lucky you are?" He left his hand rest on top of her scraped hand.

Starkweather smiled. "Yeah, Papa, I do. And not just having," she heaved a big sigh. "Deputy Mayor Mulder save my ass. But by having a partner that actually gives a shit whether or not I'm okay." Doggett, nonplussed, looked away, looked at the floor, muttering non-sequitors. "Look, I'm not trying to embarrass you by being all sappy and emotional. But I'm serious. You've been watching my back since Day One and that means a lot to me."

Doggett smiled. "You're my partner and I'm always gonna watch your back, no matter what. Plus, you got the added bonus that I think you're a bright woman who just happens to be one of the finest, most dedicated agents I've seen in a long time. I enjoy working with you. And I enjoy your company as well."

"I know, I know, It's just that... it's ... rare for someone to actually gives a damn about me for me... not me the Admiral's daughter or me the abductee's daughter or me the lawyer's wife or me, some nutcake's science project or whatever."

"Doc, I don't give a damn who's kid or wife or science project you may be. I don't give a damn about any of that shit," he paused. "I'm not good at any of this 'sensitive male' crap, so bear with me." He looked up at her, heart plain on his face. "I'm just glad you're alright. I'm happy to see you here, all beat up instead of having to identify your body at the morgue, then tellin' your husband."

Starkweather smiled. "Thanks." She leaned against the pillow. "Thanks for being happy to see me. And for the valiant attempt at the male sensitivity crap. That just warmed my heart." She closed her eye again. "I'm happy you're here, too."

A nurse knocked on the door. "Are you Mr. Starkweather?"

"No, I'm," he pulled out his FBI badge. "I'm her partner, Special Agent John Doggett. Her husband's on the way."

"Would you like to step out into our waiting room?" the nurse asked politely. "Radiology finally has a free room and we need to take Mrs. Starkweather down to see how bad her wrist is broken." She moved past Doggett to wheel Starkweather away.

"Wait!" she exclaimed weakly. "Nurse, I'm sorry, could we have just a few minutes, I just need to brief my partner quick in confidence."

"Only for a few minutes," the nurse conceded and she ducked out of the room.

In a whisper, she hissed, "I almost forgot, but see my clothes over there?" Doggett nodded. "Okay, hidden in my slicky pants is Mulder's gun in my holster. I took it so he wouldn't get busted for having a concealed weapon-" she didn't know about Mulder's gift of a concealed weapons permit from the Admiral. Mulder had decided to go along with Starkweather's decision to take his gun to spare himself from explaining to the police how and why he still had a firearm, "-I'm sure he'd like it back though."

"Sure," Doggett swiftly rummaged through her clothes, found the sleek little Baretta and slipped it in his coat pocket. "But why in the hell does he still have a gun?" he whispered back to her.

Starkweather shrugged. "Why does Mulder do anything?"

"Good point."

The nurse came back to wheel Starkweather to the X-rays.

"I'll be here when you get back," he called after her.

"I'm counting on that!" she shouted back as her gurney bed disappeared between the swinging doors leading to Radiology.

As Mulder predicted, the reporters that were on their toes caught the incident on their police scanners and the story hit the early evening news on all local affiliate. The following day, it was front page news.

The police, under the recommendation from the FBI, did not release any information about the paranormal angle of the incident. During an impromptu afternoon press conference, the Chief of Police and the Mayor's top PR man confirmed that a young female FBI agent was attacked by an unknown, armed assailant but was rescued by the timely intervention of the Deputy Mayor, a former FBI agent himself who just happened to live in the same neighborhood. They told the press that their "top law officials" were "on top of the situation" and the attacker would be found and brought to swift justice. They also offered a warning that young females should avoid being alone in deserted, dark areas until further notice, which was just common sense anyway. The press was mostly satisfied with what they were fed, content on reporting that a politician actually put someone's safety ahead of his own. A few enterprising rookie reporters smelled something more behind the tale, but they were encouraged by fat payoffs from the Admiral to keep their peace. "No need alarming the public about something that can't be proven," is what the starving journalists were told when they received their substantial checks. Mulder saw red when he learned about the Admiral's hand in the cover-up. It took Scully three hours to calm him down. She, too, was livid about the cover-up, but she realized that there was nothing that could be done. It was just one more willful exchange of misinformation that they would have to live with.

Because of this exchange of misinformation however, the Deputy Mayor became a local hero, which Mulder and City Hall reveled in, but the Bureau privately groaned, especially when the Editorial Page was flooded with letter after letter on "why was this man let go from the FBI?" The Bureau, once again, looked foolish because of Mulder's actions, which sent Deputy Director Kersh through the ceiling. He left a hostile message on the Starkweathers' answering machine that Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather was to report to his office immediately the next day.

But Kersh made a fatal mistake. He scheduled the meeting for 2:30, which gave Starkweather time to have a top secret pow wow luncheon with Mulder and Doggett on how to handle Kersh.

"He's an asshole," Mulder had warned her over a greasy lunch of Whoppers and onion rings at a nearby Burger King.

"He's more'n that," Doggett said, picking off the pickles he had specifically ordered NOT to be on his sandwich. "He's a micromanaging slippery son-of-a-bitch who will make your life a living hell if things don't go exactly the way he wants 'em to."

"Gee, guys," Starkweather said, sipping morosely on her Coke slushy drink. "Don't sugarcoat it, tell me how you really feel." She put her slushy down. "Okay, guys. I'm the rookie, 'specially when it comes to office politics. Tell me what I need to do."

"Okay," Mulder said, completely into 'Mentor-mode.' "As far as the world knows, you were off-duty, taking a stroll when you got jumped. First thing you need to understand that this does not whatsoever reflect on your actions as a federal agent. This is all about office politics. Kersh hates me and I just made the Bureau look bad, which makes him look bad. If it's all about politics, then use your political connections."

"I really don't want to involve my father or step-mother."

"Don't forget your husband the lawyer," Mulder told her. "Look, politics, for lack of a better word, sucks. Kersh is only hauling you in because he needs to assign blame for the Bureau looking stupid right now. I'm not within his jurisdiction anymore. Scully is only a part-timer right now. Puppy-Man here," he grinned at Doggett, who gave him a look that could have melted glass, "is still a favorite amongst the top top brass and also in the running for Skinner's seat when the Skin-man pries his cold dead fingers off of it, so you're the obvious choice to make to look bad so he looks good. He's going to come down on you like a ton of bricks. You've got to fight back with every advantage you have otherwise your former field office in The Great White North is going to look like a church picnic in comparison."

"This doesn't happen often," Doggett said gravely, "but I agree with him. I can't have a partner whose hands are tied up by office bullshit. When he gets done with his tirade, remind him who your daddy is. Nicely. Politely. Subtly. And, don't let 'em intimidate you. Stand your ground. But be nice about it. Give him the same respect that you would a general."

"That doesn't mean I have to salute him, does it?" She raised her right hand, the wrist now encased in an ugly cast. "That might be a touch on the awkward side."

"No." Doggett crumpled up his Whopper wrapper. "Just don't lose your temper. Don't say anything that will come back to haunt you or that you can't stand behind. And remember, me, Scully, Skinner and Mulder here have all got your back. We're pulling for you. That, you can count on, Doc."

"Doc??" Mulder looked at Doggett quizzically.

"Long story."

Armed with this knowledge, Starkweather had hobbled, still unaccustomed to maneuvering on crutches to Kersh's office.

As Doggett dismally predicted, Kersh, after making the barely polite remarks that he was glad to see her looking better, began to rip her a new posterior orifice. Keeping Doggett's advice about not losing her temper well in mind, she slipped on her bland schoolgirl's mask, making the right noises and head nods at the right time while meanwhile, behind her poker face and feline eyes, her feral mind crouched down and waited for the rat, her quarry, to make a mistake.

And Kersh made his second mistake, a huge, fatal mistake at that: "And what in the hell where you doing out there at that ungodly time of day, a young woman by yourself? You know better!" he nearly shouted.

"Sir," she said, pleasantly. "I hope you are not insinuating that I brought this attack upon myself due to my gender."

"Wh- wh- what?" he spluttered, not realizing his mistake until her next statement.

"I mean, with all respect, sir, I am hoping that you'll get to meet my husband under more cordial, civil circumstances but if you're implying that my misfortune and the unfortunate backlash to the reputation to the Bureau is because of the fact that I was a woman... Well sir, I am deeply committed to serving the people in the FBI, just as I was equally committed to serving my country in the Air Force, but if I'm going to have to fight sexual discrimination just to perform my duties, I feel that I'm going to have no choice but to tell my husband to file suit."

With a sinking heart, Kersh asked, "And your husband is?"

"Benjamin Starkweather. He just recently joined the firm of Carter, Adams and Spangle. Are you familiar with them sir?"

Kersh glared at her, not wanting to admit he was losing this fight but realizing that Starkweather just gained the upper hand. Carter, Adams and Spangle was the third oldest and prestigious law firm in DC, plus their reputation for aggressive victories preceded them. "Yes, I am familiar with them," he growled. "And you misunderstood me, Agent Starkweather-"

Starkweather sweetly interrupted him. "Oh, my apologies then, sir. You have to forgive me, I have a tendency to, for lack of a better phrase, get het up about issues involving political incorrectness such as that. I completely took your statement the wrong way when you were merely expressing concern as my father would. He sends you his regards, by the way."

"Your father?" Kersh hadn't done his homework on his latest agent. Starkweather knew she won the day. "Yes, the Admiral Jeremy Bailey. He said you and he go way back." She fought with herself not to smile.

Kersh conceded defeat. The blame was going to assigned to him and if he valued his job, he had no choice but to eat it. "Yes, we do," he said curtly. "Rest assured, we will do what we can to discover the motive behind your unfortunate attack."

"Thank you very much sir, please don't think I'm being rude," she offered her left hand instead of her damaged right, "but I have pressing errands to run this afternoon, my step-mother," she sweetly stuck her final knife into Kersh's ego, "Senator Wesley-Bailey is coming by for dinner so, unless there's anything else....?"

"No, no, Agent," Kersh said bitterly, shaking her left hand. "That's all." When Starkweather closed the door behind her, Kersh slumped into his chair, wonder whose ass he needed to chew for not informing him exactly who Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather was. "What a pain in the ass," he grumbled before he picked up the phone to tell his secretary to hold his calls for the rest of the day.

::The X-Files are definitely going to drive me to drink... more.:: he thought as he tried to put order back into his life.

The motorcycle zipped in and out of traffic easily, the driver maneuvering to the exit with the ease of one who had been on a bike longer than he had been driving, with his passenger clinging to him. They pulled into the parking lot of the popular nationwide tacky tourist trap. Ben eased his sweet little Suzuki into the parking lot. He turned the engine off, then removed his helmet, running his fingers through his hair.

"Ben," Jerilyn's voice was muffled by the helmet. "You're gonna have to help me get this damn thing off." She waved her casted hand about as a reminder.

Chuckling, he removed her helmet and laughed at her staticky hair. "You've got helmet head," he teased. Starkweather, against her better judgement, actually wore her long hair done, unbound, untethered. She smoothed her hair down with her good hand. "Great," she groaned. She hopped off the motorcycle unassisted. Her sprained ankle was completely healed as well as her various cuts and bruises. The only reminders of her injuries was a permanent scar on her forehead, which she covered up by cutting bangs long enough to hide it, and the cast which was going to be on for one more week. "Ben," she whined. "Do we HAVE to go here?"

"Aw, geez, c'mon," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "You said we could go where ever I wanted to for my celebration-" he had just landed a very lucrative environmental case for Carter, Adams and Spangle, something to do with an oil company up to its eyeballs in legal woes. "- plus all the guys from the firm said they were coming here. Plus," he cuddled her closer to her; "this is our last night of freedom before you back to the Bureau full-time. Let's just go party like it's 1999. If it gets boring, we'll leave, okay?"

Jerilyn sighed. "The food better be damn good."

He laughed. "Oh, honey." He kissed her cheek. "You don't know how happy I was to have you all to myself for a whole month."

Jerilyn rolled her eyes, laughing. "Oh, yeah. A whole month of 'Beeeeeeeeeeeennnnnnnnnnnn! Can you help me?'" she whined, in fun.

"I'm serious, Jeri." He paused in the brightly-lit parking lot. "Baby, I love you and I loved actually BEING with you. I'm so glad Skinner gave you that month off." He hugged her and kissed her sweetly on the lips which Jerilyn enthusiastically kissed him back. "But, honey, the next time you need some time off, don't get almost killed in the process, okay?"

"MMMmmmmmm, mental note... don't get killed. Okay, got it."

"Smart-ass. C'mon, hon," he draped his arm over her shoulders again. "Let's get stinking drunk."

"Not too drunk, remember," she waved her hurt wrist. "I'm not going to be able to take you home on the bike until I get this damn thing off." She snuggled into his side as they walked towards the restaurant. "But once I do, I can take the bike to work until we get enough saved to get a second car. I can't believe it Ben," she said jubilantly. "We're actually NOT going to be broke anymore!"

"Especially if this case pans out," Ben's eyes shined with happiness, happy that he was actually a real lawyer now, on a real case, happy that his wife was actually at his side, enjoying his success.

"Really? You've got a good shot at winning?"

"Well," he puffed out his chest. "The lawyers are the ones that are going to win this one, no matter which side the judge rules on."

"Then lets start laughing our way to the bank now, Counselor," Jerilyn took his hand as they went inside.

Ben found his new friends quickly; they had rock-star seating in front of the big screen TV. Ben introduced Jerilyn to everyone as his "big, bad FBI broad," which broke the ice immediately. Jerilyn was relieved to see a lot of the lawyers had brought girlfriends and wives. Soon, the beer was flowing and Jerilyn found herself laughing along with everyone else, feeling for the first time in a long long time, like a normal woman.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a familiar dark-haired, hazel puppy-dogged eyed man, so slowly, she swiveled her head around and sure enough, there was the Deputy Mayor, watching the game with some of his City Hall cronies. He grinned at her and Starkweather forced herself to smile back and, as politely as possible, turn her attention back to the game. ::I don't know what's worse:: she grumbled to herself as she sipped her beer. ::Almost being killed or having to be nice to that son-of-a-bitch for the rest of my life.::

Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that the 'son-of-a-bitch' was growing on her. She couldn't explain it, didn't even try to explain it Ben, to Doggett, to anyone, but she felt like she knew him from somewhere before. Perhaps in a different lifetime, but, even though she still personally didn't care for him but was slowly learning to accept his assistance and advice... whenever she was in his presence, she felt a strong aura of... ::Family?::

She couldn't figure out why that word kept popping into her head. She took Ben's hand and tried to enjoy the rest of the night.

Mulder, amused at her barely concealed distaste, bought another round for his fellow City Hall civil servants and had a round set to Starkweather's table. He knew she wasn't fond of him, but it didn't annoy him like it probably should have. He thought it was kind of cute, actually, in a funny way. He felt strangely proud of her, proud like... like... the way an older brother when he sees little sister all grown up and on her way... ::Stop it Fox:: he told himself. ::She isn't Samantha... she's too young to be Samantha... she doesn't even look like her...:: He tried to convince himself that he was just missing Samantha especially a lot today, since it would have been her birthday today. ::Jerilyn just holds the promise of what Samantha could have been:: he told himself sadly as he tried to concentrate on his beer... and to ignore the fact that Jerilyn Starkweather had the same eyes that he, his sister and his father shared...

With only the radio on, Scully sat in the dimness and peace of her apartment, rocking little Boo to sleep. She enjoyed Mulder's company, of course, but he was in such a melancholy mood, being his late sister's birthday today, she encouraged him to go out instead of spending the night with her, playing house.

Mulder was the X-Files and nothing, of course, would quench his thirst for the truth out there, but Scully had to admit that having him working in City Hall had done wonders for him. Mostly because he was making friends. Not friends he'd trust his life with, naturally, but friends he could have conversations with without involving words like "E.B.E", "alien abductions", "Cancer Man", "conspiracy" so on and so forth. Guys he could just hang out with and talk about basketball or whatever. To give him a taste of a normal life. He needed that so desperately sometimes.

And tonight, was her taste of normalcy. In the security of her home, she could hold little Boo, smell the sweet scent of Johnson & Johnson's baby lotion, feel the tiny, squirmy, warm body in her arms and sing lullabies. Putting off bedtime just for a bit, so she could continue to hold her miracle, her baby, flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone, her very own piece of immortality. For just a little bit longer.

Out there, deception and hatred lurked and others had the luxury of looking away, not noticing man's daily inhumanity to man because of people like herself, and Mulder, and Doggett, and Skinner and now Starkweather, who daily risk everything, love, healthy, security, family. To give the people what she was enjoying right now, a quiet night with the person loved unreservedly and unashamedly more than anything. Scully closed her eyes and turned her head towards the open window, feeling the breeze graze her face. The enemy was still out there, fighting to dominate the future but tonight belong to her and she immersed herself in it, grateful for moments like this.

Still, her mind could not help but wander towards work, towards the unsolved crash-landing in Scotland, to Doggett, to Mulder, to Starkweather...

She hadn't mentioned it to Mulder, he definitely hadn't said anything, nor did anyone else, but she wondered if anyone else had noticed the striking similarities between Starkweather and Mulder... not just the genius intelligence and the evil sarcasm, definitely not Starkweather's fair skin and hair, but the eyes...

Doggett sipped a beer, while reading through case files and watching the game on TV with the sound off because he was listening to the stereo. The case was still classified under military jurisdiction, which just burned Doggett. All night, he had gone through the case with a fine tooth comb, trying to figure out the exact point when the Army decided not to let the FBI handle it anymore, but to take over. Especially since it was an Air Force plane that went down. When did the Army fit in?

Doggett swiveled his head, left to right, trying to ease the creak in the back of his neck. Skinner had just dump a new twist to the mystery: everything from the case had disappeared. The plane wreckage, the pilot, everything, except for the vial of green ooze he had confiscated and the piece of broken cockpit glass Starkweather had swiped. Since they had both taken evidence illegally, if the case ever made it to court, their findings would be inadmissible, making the evidence virtually useless. ::Starkweather's gonna flip out when she hears 'bout that:: he thought to himself. He found himself glad that she was coming back tomorrow. Glad not just because, with Scully back to her "mom-hours", the caseload became overwhelming again, but because, he discovered that he missed her irascible presence. He missed talking to her, even if it's just to listen to her bitch about her husband. He just missed her...

"Aw Christ," he leaned against his couch, rubbing his eyes as Roy Orbison finished crooned "California Blue". "Johnny, you need a life." he told himself sternly. "You're gonna turn into Mulder 'fore you know it."

::Why do I miss her so much?:: he wondered.

The next song on the track purred the answers through the speakers...

"Aw, God," he said in disgust and he turned the stereo off and turned the volume of the television back up.