TILE: Starkweather: Quanta

AUTHORS: Scully3776 and Spookykat

RATED: R for strong language and explicit content

ARCHIVED: With permission.

KEYWORDS: Crossover, MSR, New Character, Mulder/Scully/Doggett Friendship, The Lone Gunmen, CSM, Marita Covarubias, Mulder/Scully/Skinner Friendship, Post S8

Spoilers: S8 (Especially Vienen)

Summary: A male version of Scully invented a time machine that allows him to swap souls with Doggett to change history for the better. The history he needs to change: The murder in the county jail of the new Deputy Mayor of Washington DC at the hands of Billy Miles. How will he do it? With the help of the Gunmen and a guide from the future only he can see and hear.

DISCLAIMER: Fox, Chris Carter, and 1013 productions, if you wish to see your creations, Agent Dana Scully, Deputy Mayor Fox Mulder, Monica Reyes, and John Doggett, Luke John Doggett, Melvin Frohike, Langly, John Byers, AD Walter Skinner, CBG Spender, Marita Covarubias, Deputy Director Alvin Kersh, Billy Miles and your brainchild "The X-Files" again, I suggest you pay close attention. Scully3776 and her creations: Admiral Jeremy Bailey, Lynette Malone Bailey, Mayor Thomas Swanson, Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather Benjamin Starkweather, Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, J. Stephen Cello III, and various as sundry minor characters with SpookyKat’s creations, Justin Leo, Ana Sedai, Peter Sedai, Lily Stratford, Manuel Ibarra will descend upon 1013 productions in Los Angeles with NBC, Belesarius, and Donald P. Belesarius’ characters, Dr. Sam Beckett and Al Calivici. A hostile overthrow of sporks and flamethrowers will ensue if incompliant to our demands—don’t worry, they are simple and few.

1) Accommodations in Apt. 42 (Lord knows you won’t be needing that anymore sniff! We’ve even worked out sleeping arrangements.)

2) Season-long writing contracts with 1013.

3) A weekly stipend sufficient for groceries, gas, transportation, and long distance service.

You have been warned.

 

 

Prologue:

While theorizing that one could time travel in his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Becket stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator, and vanished. He awoke
to find himself leaping from life to life, putting right what once went wrong. His only guide on this journey is Al, a hologram from the future that only Sam can see and here, and hoping that each time his next leap was the leap home.

June 24, 2011; 7:34 AM
Roswell NM, Area51
Project Quantum Leap Headquarters

John Doggett felt like he had just gotten over a very severe case of vertigo.

He leapt up from the glass table that he hadn't realized till now that he was lying on, not even taking notice of the white spandex he was donning from head to toe that was a far cry from his understated jacket-and-tie FBI attire.

"Luke!" The little boy he lost, unfortunately was one of the few things his Swiss-Cheesed memory could remember.

"Anybody here!" He shouted in the half Brooklyn/half Southern accent that had been perfected over the years with the NYPD.

Upon not getting any response he studied his surroundings the way his finely tuned detective's instincts taught him to. Looking around, he saw that he was in a spacious room with undecorated stark walls, furnished with nothing more than a couch, a desk, and an observation table. From the sparse furnishings, Doggett was doubtless that this place was a government-funded facility. Slowly, his memory was returning to him. He was a FBI Agent in the X-Files division for a little more than a year now. He raked his hand through his hair, and was alarmed not to find his own thin curls, but straight hair—hair that seemed to be longer than his usual length. "What kinda party trick is this?" He mumbled, then looked to the wall opposite a door, and jumped at the reflection that wasn’t his own. "Some kind of hypnotic suggestion could induce this." He explained. "Some kind of hallucinogenic drug, maybe. Whatever the fuck it is, helluva party trick." The only person he knew who could rig up this sorta set-up...

"Muldah! Come on now!" Doggett shouted. "I gotta get back! When Starkweather finds out about the case, the shit's gonna hit the fan!" He yelled, and started to head for the only visible door next to the observation window.

Just then, a short, dark-eyed man with a slight build, dark, coiled hair that was graying at the temples entered the room, and blocked his way. Doggett had no idea who the man was, but from the expression on the man's face, the man obviously knew him.

"Who are you? What the hell kinda stunt are you trying to pull? Did Mulder put you up to this?" Doggett demanded as if it was one fell question.

"Take it easy" Under his breath, the man mumbled "I shudda started a project pool on that question." Despite the man's garish ensemble--this one a glittering silver jacket and pants underneath a cranberry red top with a thin black tie and silver matching shoes--the man's demeanor and steady gaze bespoke authority and seriousness.

"Sir, if you don't mind sayin'," Doggett was one of those rare people who had a forceful drawl, "I'd like to know what's going on. Am I a prisoner here?"

"No, you're not a prisoner." The man replied frankly.

"Then give me my clothes and I'll be on my way. I have business to attend to." Doggett demanded, now visibly agitated.

"So do we. Can you tell us your name?" The man persisted.

"John Doggett. Can I go now?" Doggett huffed.

"I wouldn't leave this room if I were you, Mr. Doggett."

"Why the hell not?"

"It's not what you think out there."

"What's not what I think out there?" Doggett fumed, "Look, could you please get to the point, because I've got things to take care of."

"What case were you referring to, Mr. Doggett?"

"That information's classified, sir, leaked only on a need-to-know basis."

"You are not helping your own situation at all by not trusting me, Mr. Doggett. I think you'll agree with me that we need to know. Now," the man restarted, "what sort of things do you need taken care of?"

The man walked over to the desk and authoritatively sat down behind it, casually perusing the manila folder he came in with. He took an obstinate puff of the cigar he was carrying in his other hand and directed Doggett to the chair in front of the desk.

"What is my own situation?" Doggett reverberated.

"You tell us, Mr. Doggett."

May 22, 2000
Newberry, SC; County Morgue

The Leaper heard shots ring out from his host’s gun, and subsequently heard a resounding thud.

Then a dazzling blue light surrounded him.

Oblivion overtook consciousness for what seemed like a few seconds. Time, to Leaper Dr. Sam Becket lately was quickly becoming a moot point. He didn't know if the duration of the oblivion was really a few seconds or if it was years sped up into a few seconds...or what the case was.

However long the unawareness lasted, he next found himself in the form of whomever soul he had changed places with--leapt into--immediately yanked into the life he was supposed to change within the next few days.

It was a small relief to him that, while he couldn't remember much of anything before he stepped into an accelerator, he could remember the leaps--the lives he had lived, and changed for the better. He could at least vicariously pretend he had some sort of past. As hard as he tried not to, it always embittered Sam a little that he never got to see his work finished. It made the physicist wish sometimes that he could have a life of his own, just once.

But leaps like his most recent, into Special Agent Dana Scully, made all his work and grief worth it. He was part of something greater than himself. He wanted to help her and her partner Fox Mulder with their work, but he knew he had his own job. By Whateveritwas's design, he was pinballed into the next existence, usually never to see the work he had done.

After the leap was over, Sam, as usual, was gone without either a momento or a trace of the lives he effected, and only in two cases had he actually seen his work after he leapt, primarily because most people only have one defining moment that effects their lives forever. Fox Mulder, he would be reminding himself later, was not most people.

The disorientation and feeling of lostness and ambiguity was something he still hadn't gotten used to...no matter how often he leapt, which was generally in bizarre situations--if they weren't bizarre situations, they usually evolved into bizarre situations. Or at least situations that seemed bizarre to Sam. To the person whose life he had swapped souls with, the situation probably wasn't that bizarre.

Sam felt as though he had constant vertigo. It was a small miracle that he hadn't completely destroyed a life from the first moment of the leap yet.

This time, after the oblivion faded, and the circle of bright blue light subsided, and he got his bearings, Sam found himself in a strangely familiar hallway. He had been there before, but he couldn't quite place where he was. It was almost a since of deja vu, but not quite. The dimly lit hallway wasn't alien to him. He felt as though he needed no assistance in figuring out which office was his, but he didn't know why.

In his confusion, lost in musings, he hadn't noticed a girl limping toward him with a hand bound in a cast. He was fishing out his keys when she stopped at a door, obviously waiting for something.

He looked at the paper he was holding, and nearly spilled the coffee he was holding. It was the Washington Post sports section, and the date said June 16, 2001. He knew when he was, and where he was. Well...at least the region. The girl was still waiting at the door. She looked at him,
and Sam, in his distraction, hadn't realized that she obviously knew who he was.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Miss..." Sam read her nametag. "Starkweather"

He said, immediately embarrassed. She wore an FBI tag bearing the name

"Jerilyn Starkweather." He couldn't quite place it, but there was something familiar in her hazel eyes.

"You ok, Papa? Did you forget your keys this morning?"

"Uh...yeah...I...uh...must have." He dug around in his pocket. "Oh, wait, here we go. I feel like an idiot now." Not far from the bottom of the stack of keys was the number that matched the office door. He opened it, and followed the young woman in.

He looked around the office he just entered, and followed her unconscious cues that told Sam that he belonged there, too. One look at the office
told him immediately where he was. He knew exactly whose desk the one in the back belonged to. Piled high with files and an open packet of
sunflower seeds with the "I Want to Believe" poster and about 22 pencils on the ceiling.

::I must have leapt into Mulder:: was Sam's first thought. Part of him was glad to be in familiar territory, the other part wondered what had happened to Mulder to need altering. He walked behind the desk, put the paper down, half-expecting Scully to come through the door at any minute

The young woman was eyeing him quizzically, eyes averting from him to the desk next to his.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"I'm...uh...sitting at my desk. What do you think?"

"That's...not your desk."

She averted her eyes to the desk next to the one he had put the paper down on.

"I--uh--forgot, is all."

"Forgot? Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm--uh...just a bit tired, is all." He glanced at her awkwardly, wondering what was going on, and cautiously moved over to the next desk, which was meticulously neat decorated only with a picture of a little boy with blond hair and striking blue eyes on it. At that moment, he noticed a familiar petite redhead open the door.

"The results came back from the lab, definitely from the same species. Same properties, everything."

He forgot at that split second that he was supposed to be pretending to be someone else, and rushed up to give her a warm greeting. It was really nice not having to guess at people’s identities.

Over Doggett's shoulder, Scully exchanged confused glances with Starkweather. Starkweather circled her pointer finger around her ear, and then busied herself with work.

"What was that for, Agent Doggett? You ok?"

::Doggett?! Who's Doggett?! Where's Mulder?!::

"Yeah, I'm fine." He tried to stifle a chuckle when he remembered how that was Scully's choice phrase in those sort of situations.

"Anyway, I just got the lab results back. Looks like it's the same species that was in South Carolina is the same species on the oil rig, and the same species from Scotland. Too bad the evidence is inadmissible."

"Evidence?"

"...of alien colonization?" Scully answered in question.

"You ok Doggett?" Starkweather was saying, looking obviously irritated. "I'd expect this from the Deputy Mayor, but not you."

"Alien colonization..." He mumbled, then again under his breath, "Oh boy!"

Out loud, Sam said to the young teenaged-looking woman. "The Deputy Mayor???"

"That's Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder, the artist formerly known as Agent Fox Mulder," Al, as usual, appeared unannounced, scaring the bejesus out of Sam, as usual. "They've changed things a bit down in the dungeon." Al looked Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather up and down. "Man, what is this, "Bring Your Daughter to Work Day?""

"What?" Sam said aloud.

"Jesus, Doggett, what's with you?" Starkweather was openly staring at him, her feline eyes studying him, unnerving Sam greatly. "You'd think YOU were with Ben last night at Hooters drinking, not me."

"Ben?"

"Benjamin Starkweather, Al whacked his hand-held console. It squealed until it produced the information he needed. "That's her husband."

"Husband?" Sam said incredulously.

"Ahhh. I see we've graduated to multi-syllables, good job." Starkweather quipped. "I thought you were being the responsible agent, studying case files while doing laundry."

"Sa ---am!" Al hissed. "Make an excuse, get to somewhere private so I can brief you before these G-women think you're completely loco."

"Um, excuse me," Sam turned to leave.

"Where are you going Agent Doggett?" Scully asked.

"Um... the bathroom."

"That's creative," Al groaned as the glowing door opened up behind him. He stepped inside, "Meet you in the john," he said before he disappeared.

Sam smiled wanly at Scully and Starkweather and rushed out the door. Starkweather turned to Scully and said "My first day back after having the snot beat out of me and my partner has a major case of the weirds. Lovely."

Meanwhile…

"Today is June 16, 2001, and you are..." Al whipped out the console,

"FBI Special Agent John Doggett" Sam interjected, and looked in the mirror to see a man with copper hair, an honest, stern face with dazzling blue eyes. "I'm supposed to get Mulder back on the X-files."

Al shook his head. Most of the time these days, Sam could figure out with relative ease who he was. Al's briefing lately was just one of those protocols. "Not quite."

"So what am I doing back on the X-Files? I thought I changed history earlier. And what happened to Mulder?"

"Hell if I know. Ziggy’s a smart-ass computer, but she ain’t no Einstein. As far as our researchers can tell, our project only goes as far as the human race. Mars...or wherever E.T. comes from...is just a little bit out of our district. As to what you're doing back in the X-Files, we dunno. Ziggy says all the cases are under Military lock and key." Al gawked "Military?" Then out in the air. "Goushie, you sure this is right?"

"Why would the military have FBI cases?"

"Who knows?" Al shrugged. "Apparently a few good men are taking a newfound interest in little green ones. As for Mulder..." Al punched a few buttons into the console, it flashed different colors and whirred, and Al's eyes widened.

"They're gray" Sam couldn't help himself.

"One leap on the X-Files, and suddenly you're quoting Mulderisms. This is weird. Ziggy's got a death date on him about a year ago. Huh...musta been one of those clerical errors, or something. I guess he pissed the wrong people off down at the courthouse. Anyway, according to our FBI files, he bowed outta the FBI after an incident involving alien oil, and fills the Deputy Mayor position down at the courthouse."

"Have you been able to get anything from this Doggett guy?"

"No. He's more skeptical than Scully ever was when she was there. Remember that agent who paid us a visit your last leap?"

Sam nodded. "That was him? Sam nodded toward the reflection. "Then why does he not know what's going on?"

"He hasn't been there yet, at least to him. Remember?"

"Any idea at all as to what I'm supposed to do here? Maybe the court records have something."

"Let's see here..." Al punched a few buttons into the console, which lit up and squealed. "Hey! That's great! Scully's got a kid now! Her and Mulder must have been busy bunnies. I guess doctors can be wrong."

"Anything on Starkweather?"

"Ziggy says..."...again a punch of a few buttons "Starkweather the daughter of Admiral Bailey--I know that guy Sam. His wife's a Senator. He's a bit of a nutcase, but a nice guy. She was something of a child prodigy, but she's 28, an ex-Airman, married to Ben Starkweather...who works at Carter, Spangle and Adams law firm...and...Uh oh! Is found dead in a few days...and *Mulder* is found--guilty--of his murder. Mulder?" Al sat there looking at the console making sure he hadn't read it wrong.

"Mulder!" Sam gawked "That can't be right...he may piss people off, but I just don't see him murdering anyone."

"I'm with you. Spooky spends too much energy hunting ET’s and being a horse’s ass to plan a murder."

"Go see what you can find out from Doggett. I'll try and find out what I can from his partners."

"You do that. Hang in there, Sam. I'll get back to you as soon as I find anything."

Before Sam could say anything, Al was gone to see if the subject could offer any information.

After Al left him alone, Sam studied his face in the mirror. Steely blue eyes stared him down.

Because of the leaping process, Sam's memory was basically Swiss Cheese, but he did remember some things from his former life. He ran his hand down the clean-shaven face. ::Man, I look like the bad guy from Terminator II::Sam thought bemusedly as he took out Doggett's wallet to get some basic information on the guy.

Doggett's driver's license provided Sam with an address. Except for a GM MasterCard, a couple of tens and one twenty, there was really nothing informative about the guy, except for a wallet sized copy of the small adorable towheaded little boy which was framed on his desk. "Oh boy," he mumbled. "Doggett's a daddy." Which meant not only did he have a leap to complete, he also bore the responsibility, he mistakenly assumed, of tending to Doggett's son.

Fate saved Sam from making a monumental blunder for when he approached the infamous basement office, he could hear the two doctors debating about why Doggett was behaving so odd.

"I dunno, maybe he got laid last night."

Sam heard Scully snicker at Starkweather's tart remark. He paused outside the door to eavesdrop.

"That's an interesting theory Agent Starkweather," Scully tried valiantly to sound "so serious" but failed at first. She got her cool together for her next statement. "But seriously, I do not believe that would be the case?"

"What else could it be?? He's acting disoriented. Like he's looking through the world with new eyes."

::If you only knew the half of it::Sam thought.

"Mmm," Scully nodded. "Maybe... but if, as you so maturely and succinctly put it, "got laid" last night, wouldn't he be a bit happier?"

"He was sure as hell happy to see you." Silence for a beat. Sam was pretty sure during that time Scully gave the younger agent her famous eyebrow arch because Starkweather said, in a teasing tone. "Whaaaaat??? What's wrong with Doggett?"

"Absolutely nothing," Scully said primly.

"He's single..." Starkweather wheedled.

::Oh God,::Sam thought sinkingly.. ::I'm being pimped out.::

"Uh-uh." Scully sounded disinterested.

"Aw, c'mon Scully! He's nice, he's honest, he's smart, he's funny when he wants to be-"

"Sounds like YOU'RE the one who's interested in Doggett," Scully purred.

"Please," Starkweather said. "I'm an old married lady. My libido is officially in retirement. But... I do have to admit I have a weakness for blue eyes."

"Well," Scully said crisply. "I like hazel eyes."

Silence. But this one rippled with tension, Sam could feel it. ::What in the world???::he wondered.

Starkweather finally broke the awkward silence between her and her friend. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Forgot... but hey!" She said brightly. "If you like hazel all that much, you wanna swap eyes? I'd kill to have blue eyes."

"Starkweather, what are you doing?" Scully asked. Sam could hear papers rustling.

"Looking at Doggett's dayplanner to see if he had any hot dates."

"Jerilyn Starkweather!" Scully had that "Mom" voice perfected. "That's snooping!"

"Dana Scully," Starkweather said patiently. "We're feds, we're paid to snoop- oh shit."

"What?" Scully said as Sam thought the same thing.

"I found out why Papa John's being so strange. Today's his son's birthday... Luke would have been thirteen today."

::WOULD HAVE???::Sam closed his eyes, emphasizing for the man he leapt into. ::Oh no...::

"Oh my God..." Scully said sadly.

Just then, the phone rang. Sam decided to make his re-entrance. "Hi," he said sheepishly.

Scully looked and smiled. Starkweather was on the phone. "Sir?... Yes, sir.... no, sir... I knew he had the case but... yes sir. Yes sir. No sir... I'll be there as soon as I can sir..." Starkweather slammed the phone down. "God damn it! We've got a situation."

"What?" Scully asked.

"My fucking husband is in with Skinner right now, telling him he's got extradition orders for the oil rig explosion case file. I'll be right back." She stormed out of the office.

"Oh boy," Sam said.

"Got that right," Scully agreed

Assistant Director Skinner's Office
June 16, 2001
9:15 AM

Starkweather let herself into Skinner's office without knocking. She didn't even acknowledge Skinner, so hot was her wrath. "Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded her spouse.

"Agent Starkweather," Skinner growled.

"Jerilyn," Ben spoke calmly. "This is official business. Don't get your pantyhose in a wad."

"Well, if this business if official, I strongly recommend you refrain from using inappropriate phrases and to address me with the respect a federal agent deserves, Counselor."

Ben scowled. Jerilyn, self-proclaimed queen of nicknaming, ever since their dating days, had called him 'Counselor' as a term of endearment. Now, it sounded obscene.

"For Christ's sake, Jerilyn," Ben leapt out of his seat and turned to face his wife, his swarthy, handsome face twisted in anger. "As usual, you're blowing this out of fucking proportion. I need that goddamned file to prove that the oilrig was in gross violation of the Environmental Protection Act. Without it, I'm dead in the water."

"Other people are going to be dead if that file become public domain."

"Jesus, Jerilyn!" Ben and Jerilyn were nose to nose now. "Will you lay off the "tough bitch FBI" crap! It's just another FBI file!"

"The hell it is! It's not just another FBI file. It's an X-File. An extremely sensitive X-File, you dumb, arrogant shit!"

Skinner had enough. "STARKWEATHER!" he snapped.

Both Ben and Jerilyn faced him. "WHAT?" they snapped in unison.

Skinner groaned and tossed his glasses on his desk. He rubbed his temples as he asked as nicely as his temper would allow, "Would you two sit down? I have questions I need answered before I decide if that information can be released or not."

Like two bickering children pleading with their father, Starkweather and Starkweather overlapped each other:

"Oh come on, Assistant Director! Sir you can not be seriously considering... That information CAN NOT be released!" Jerilyn cried.

"Sir, with all due respect, I need those files! Several men were killed on that rig, many more lives are at stake. I need those files to close them down!"

"SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN!!!!!" Skinner roared.

Meekly, husband and wife sat down.

"Thank you." Skinner said civilly.

Agent Starkweather," Skinner began. "Did you have any foreknowledge of your husband's involvement with this case against the oil company?"

"Sir," Jerilyn struggled for control. "As of last night, I knew my husband was prosecuting an oil company for negligence. I had no idea that it was THIS oil company until you called me."

"Is that true?" he asked Ben.

"Absolutely." Ben agreed. "For the most part," he glowered at Jerilyn. "We keep our work separate from home life, since we both have issues of confidentially with our respected jobs."

"Then how did you make the connection?"

"Simple detective work, really," Ben said modestly. "Through my research I discovered that the sole survivors of the explosion was the former Agent Mulder and the current Agent John Doggett, who, as it so happens, is my wife's partner. I merely put two and two together."

"And how will having this case file assist with your prosecution?"

"After I thoroughly investigate the FBI's findings, I plan on subpoenaing Agent Doggett and Deputy Mayor Mulder to testify."

"NO!" Jerilyn leapt out of her case. "Ben you can't!"

"Agent Starkweather, you're out of line," Skinner growled.

But once again, Skinner was ignored as Starkweather versus Starkweather, Round Two, ensued.

"Jerilyn, they are the only ones who know what really happened out there!"

"They risked their lives out there. Mulder lost his job because he was out there! Putting them on the stand, ordering them to reveal information that almost killed them once already would be potentially life threatening to them, not mention that their careers would be ruined! Mulder can kiss being Deputy Mayor goodbye and Doggett would lose every chance he has of succeeding Skinner!"

"Agent Starkweather, Mr. Starkweather..." Skinner tried futilely to retake the conversation.

"But what about the lives lost on that rig! What about the biological hazard that's still floating around the debris out in the Gulf? Over thirty men are dead because of this company's irresponsibility plus all of the sea life that was destroyed? How can we honor their deaths if we can't bring their murderers to justice? Jerilyn, you told me once that it was your job to catch the bad guys and it was my job to put them away. Why are you fighting against me from doing my job? I thought you were after the truth?"

"I am after the truth," Jerilyn fumed. "I'm fighting you because you have no fucking clue about the true nature of what happened out there! I read the file! Ben, you'd do more damage dragging Mulder and Doggett into this!" Jerilyn began pacing. "We don't know exactly what happened. But new information has been brought to light that WE need to investigate. This is so much bigger than you realize.

"Agent Starkweather, sit down," Skinner stood up.

"But the only thing solid we GOT on them is their environmental irresponsibility! It doesn't matter HOW we put them away, just as long as they go! Help me, Jerilyn."

"I won't help you by condemning Doggett and Mulder to death."

"I thought you hated Mulder."

"Just because I don't like him doesn't mean I want him dead! Besides, he saved my sorry ass! Is that how you want to repay the man who rescued your wife? By making him a sitting duck? You make me sick."

"Put a sock in it, Agent Starkweather!" Skinner yelled. Jerilyn finally shut up. "That's enough from you. You may return to work, agent." His voice was flint.

Jerilyn said curtly. "Yes sir." She hissed at Ben, "This isn't over."

"See you at home, pumpkin," Ben responded snidely.

"Agent Starkweather, you are dismissed," Skinner barked like a drill sergeant. Jerilyn turned on her heel and left, even more enraged than before. "And you-" Skinner said to Ben as soon as Jerilyn shut the door. "-have no call to be invading my office, giving ME commands. Extradition order or not, I don't have to give you a damn thing if it endangers national security, especially after the way you just spoke to one of my top agents."

"She's not just an agent, she's my wife."

"All the more reason, you cocky little shit." Skinner said. "I don't give a damn who you work for or who you're married to. Bring all the court orders you want, I'll find a way to block them all, that is a promise."

"Sir," Ben said. "If I win this case, Mulder's name is cleared and he can get reinstated, did you even think of that?"

"I have no use for dead agents." Besides, after Mulder failing the fitness requirements when his mysterious ailments started up, there was no way Kersh was going to let him back in. But Skinner kept that to himself.

Ben stood up. "Thank you for your time sir," he said curtly. "My wife spoke highly of you. She said you were a reasonable, sensible man."

"I am a reasonable, sensible man. That's why your attempts to scare me won't work just like your attempts to butter me up with your marriage contacts didn't scare me earlier."

"I will get that file."

"Not if I have a say about it."

"Actually," Ben said pleasantly, checking his watch. "After this interview, you probably don't. I have a ten-thirty appointment with Deputy Director Kersh. Have a good morning." And Ben took his leave.

When Ben left, Skinner put his glasses on and dialed his phone. "The Deputy Mayor please."

"May I ask who's calling?" A perky voice chirped.

"Tell him it's Assistant Director Skinner and it's important."

A minute passed before he heard the familiar sardonic greeting. "Hey Skin-man."

"Mulder, what's your schedule like? We need to talk, we have a major problem."

"Problems? At the FBI. No way."

"Mulder, don't push my buttons today. I have legal papers in front of me ordering to release the oil rig X-File into public domain for a legal battle."

"I have a City Council meeting at one. Give me a half hour to finish up some paperwork and phone calls and I'll be there."

"Good," Skinner grunted, hung up, then picked up the phone and dialed again.

"Scully."

"Scully, I need to see you and Agent Doggett in my office in thirty minutes. We have a major situation on our hands."

"Do we want to include Starkweather?"

"No. Don't be late." He hung up on more time, then picked up one last time that morning to tell Kimberly to hold all calls.

"Yes sir."

Skinner hung up the phone for good now. "Good God..."

Back to the future…

June 24, 2011
Roswell, New Mexico
Area 51; Project Quantum Leap Headquarters

Doggett was getting more than a little irritated with the man.

Doggett sensed that there were things being kept from him. Doggett kept his tone steadily angry. He knew from experience, it did no good to allow his anger and confusion to get the better of him.

Al was looking down at the folder he came in with.

"With all due respect, sir, but where the fuck do you think you get off? You want me to give you information on a classified case, when I have no idea where I am, why you're holding me, or who you are."

"I can't tell that. If I told you, the implications of doing so might change everyone in this building, not to mention everyone around you. Believe me Agent Doggett, we are not holding you captive, but it is in
your best interest, and in the best interest of everyone else concerned that you stay put." Al's tone was calm and commanding.

"Can you at least tell me who you are?"

"That, I can do. I am Admiral Calivici." Al extended a hand in greeting.

"Aw, Christ! A seaman." Doggett grumbled under his breath and grudgingly accepted the handshake.

"What, the Marines have a problem with the Navy?" Al groaned, recalling the infamous pissing contest between Tom Cruise and Kiefer Sutherland in "A Few Good Men."

"No, not at all, we love the Navy," Doggett quipped, "subs make great sandwiches. I caught that movie, too, Admiral."

"Are Horse’s ass lessons involved in FBI training, Doggett?"

Doggett came back with something Mulder said to him a few months ago.

"Naw," Doggett drawled "just comes with the territory. If that is all, can I please get my clothes and leave? Like I said, I have business to attend to. I wasn't kidding when I said shit was about to hit the fan."

"You don't wanna do that, Agent Doggett."

"Why the hell not. Would you please stop giving me the runaround and tell me what is going on here?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"In my line of work, believe me...I think I would."

Fed up with the man at the desk who was apparently not cooperating, Doggett bolted up from his chair, and for the first time, he noticed a reflection in the mirror that was not his own. In the Plexiglas of the observation mirror staring back at him was a tall young man with broad shoulders, dark hair with a white streak descending from the beginnings of a receding hairline, five o’clock stubble grazing a pronounced chin. He thought for an instant that Mulder was watching the whole thing on the other side of the observation mirror.

"That's a neat trick, Mulder, getting an actor to do a mirror routine with me. Or did you get Langly to rig up a computer composite of somebody else's face with motion detectors? I'm impressed."

"It's not a trick, Agent Doggett. As much as it looks like it, Mulder didn't do this. It would be a lot easier for all concerned if you would please tell us what that case is all about that you were working on last. You would be helping a lot of people. The sooner you help us, the sooner we will let you get back home. Can you tell me how it is that you were instated into the X-Files?"

"I was assigned to the X-Files in May last year to find the division founder, Fox Mulder. After his death and res--recovery, my partner, Dana Scully, tried to get him reinstated, but because of his poor health, he failed the physical requirements set by the Bureau, and Assistant Director Walter Skinner recruited the addition of Dr. Jerilyn Starkweather, who was instated after a resurgence of X-File cases. About a month ago, Agent Starkweather was attacked as a direct result of our last case, and by coincidence, Scully's former partner was in the vicinity, and came to her aid.

"What do you mean *death*?" Al queried. He thought that was just a clerical error."

"I was a pall bearer for his funeral, Admiral. We found 'im dead in the woods of Montana after an exhaustive six-month search." Doggett found it odd that this man was accepting everything he had just said.

"Oh boy." was all Al could manage to say.

Back to the Present…

In Skinner's office, Sam sat next to Scully, completely bewildered. He still didn't know a thing about Doggett's life, except that once he had a little boy, but Sam hadn’t even know how the boy died. And now he had been rushed up to Skinner's office about a "situation."

::This leap just keeps getting better and better::Sam groaned to himself as they waited for Mulder. ::Al, where are you? Help me out buddy::he silently implored his holographic friend.

Mulder burst through the door. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized breezily. "Traffic was a bitch."

"Have a seat Mulder, I'll bring you all up to speed." Skinner said. Mulder eyed Sam, sitting next to Scully, for a minute before taking a seat. Skinner groaned. After the nice little domestic spat he witnessed between the Starkweathers, he had no desire to be a referee in a pissing contest between Doggett and Mulder.

And of course, Sam had no idea why he received such a dirty look from Mulder. ::Now what did I do?::Sam wondered.

"Here's the situation, well, more of a clusterfuck." Skinner lapsed into his Marine-lingo. "The Lawfirm of Carter, Adams and Spangle are prosecuting the oil rig company for environmental violations...

::What oilrig?::Sam wondered. ::AL!!!!!!!::

"... they want us to release the X-File, they want to subpoena Mulder and Doggett." Just then Mulder’s cell phone rang and he excused himself since it was the Mayor calling. Skinner let him go before continuing, "Their representative, Benjamin Starkweather is up in Kersh’s office right now, pleading his case."

Scully folded her hands as if in prayer. Sam leaned back into the sofa and tried to piece together the puzzle pieces he just received ::Some oil rig was an X-file, Starkweather's husband is a lawyer trying to prosecute this company who wants their secrets protected....::"Should we be concerned for Starkweather's safety?" he asked.

"Agent Starkweather was not with the X-Files at that time, I'm more concerned for yours and Mulder's safety," Skinner said curtly.

"Not Agent Starkweather, sir. Her husband," Sam stood up. "Look, if I'm right," ::and I hope I am because I am completely guessing here::"Ben is brand new to law, he landed a big case that he thinks will make him big, but he's in over his head. If there are people out there who wants to keep this quiet, wouldn't they go after the prosecutor rather than us?"

"Sir," Scully spoke up for the first time. "He has a point."

"Duly taken," Skinner agreed.

Sam had a brainstorm. "Sir, let me run back to the office quick to get the file. I'll bring it up and we can go through it word by word..." Mulder had just returned to Skinner’s office "so, uh, we can create a coherent argument why this can't be used in a public trial... the trial is going to be open to media, I assume?"

"A young, cocky lawyer wouldn't have it any other way." Mulder said dryly.

Sam excused himself and made his narrow escape. Hopefully, he would have time to at least skim through the file so he could have a minimal clue on what everyone was talking about and maybe figure out why Benjamin Starkweather was going to be murdered and how Mulder was about to be framed and also hopefully find a way to stop it...

When Sam left, Mulder turned to Scully and said "Is it just me or is the Puppy-Man successfully shed his charming Southern-New York hybrid accent in favor of the bland Indianan nuances?"

Scully sighed. "He's having a rough day, Mulder. Let him be."

Sam fairly raced down the hall to the elevator. With a little luck, if he could find a way to stop the X-File from becoming part of the testimony, he could stop the murder from happening, get the X-Files would as back to normal as the X-Files got, and get out of there.

"Al!" He hissed into the air in the elevator. Thankfully, Al appeared.

"Mulder gave me a dirty look earlier. All I did was sit."

"Next to Scully?" Sam nodded sheepishly.

"That explains it. That, and he sees you as Doggett, remember?"

"What's the deal with the oil rig?"

"On Mulder and Doggett's official final case together. Apparently, they were the sole survivors on an oilrig that had been tainted with oil that harbored alien DNA. During the invasion of the body snatchers, there was a giant explosion that Mulder was blamed for. The explosion destroyed the oilrig, and he was 86'ed from the FBI as a result."

"Doggett got Mulder fired?"

"No...no...that's what I thought to, Sam, but as much as Mulder and Doggett piss on each other, Doggett insists that Mulder took the fall for him.

"So that explains why Mulder's not on the X-Files anymore."

Sam was now in the office, Starkweather was busying herself with filing the report on their last case.

"Not entirely, but there will be time for the rundown later. Right now, there's more important things to worry about."

"And what's that?"

"Unless you do something *FAST* the case is going to go to court, and a lot of people are going to be killed. And the idiot Director Kersh will close the door on the X-Files for good."

"The case report for Scotland--? Doggett, are you ok?" Starkweather answered questioningly.

"I'm--uh--fine. Case report--hey, do you think you can get the files for me on the last case Mulder and I worked on, the one with the oil rig? I can't seem to remember where I put it." Sam feigned rummaging through the files.

In light of what the day was, Starkweather decided to forego the usual snide remarks.

"When Scully came in, you would have thought *she* was the one gone for a month. What was that all about?" Starkweather handed him the file.

::Gone for a month?::

"She got in a fight with a big bad alien bounty hunter and almost got herself killed. Mulder was in the area and rescued her." Al prompted.

"Just--uh--happy to see her, that's all. Sam was growing uneasy with Starkweather's suspicious glances averted in his direction. In a flash, he had for the second time that hour, a brainstorm. "You think you can stop your husband from taking the case?"

"Look, I'm watching your back, Doggett. My idiot lawyer husband is not going to run you and Mulder through the mud if I have anything to do with it."

"I'm not worried about Dog--me or Mulder. I'm only worried for him. He's a fresh prosecutor, which makes him a prime target for a big oil company like the one we're working with."

"Yeah, he'll be fish food." Al butted in.

"I think you've been reading too many John Grisham books lately." She snorted and inadvertently went back to her typing.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Sam said, and with that, was on his way back to Skinner's office.

Starkweather looked up from her typing when Sam left, absently nibbling a pen cap. Al hovered about her, lingering for a bit. Despite her massive accolades and credentials, she looked so sweet and young, too young to handle all the insanity that was being thrown at her. "Kid, I know you can't hear me," Al said, "but we're doing everything we can so you and Benny can get old and wrinkly together, okay? You just hang in there."

Starkweather turned her head suddenly and stared wide eyed into the void where the hologram only Sam was supposed to see was standing.

"Kid?" Al said nervously. "You CAN'T hear me, right?"

"Hello?" Starkweather stood up, her voice trembling but a hair. "Is somebody down here?" She walked "through" Al and to the door, looking out. "I CAN hear you..." she turned back around and looked around the apparently empty office. "Where are you?"

::Oh crap::Al thought as he punched the keys on his console that opened the door to leave the hologram room. ::Getting out of here::he thought as he disappeared.

He decided he better do some more research into the enigmatic creature he was leaving behind....

Al slammed the door of his office, shrugged off his garish coat and tore off his tie. He booted up his computer and connected to Ziggy's mainframe. He punched in a few commands and Ziggy started surfing. "Come on, come on..." he muttered as Ziggy combed through millions and millions of files.

"Search completed. Downloading now," Ziggy's snotty voice purred out of Al's computer speakers.

"Thank you sweetheart," Al always felt silly flirting with a computer, but Sam, before his maiden leap, had insisted how important it was to maintain Ziggy's ego.

"Download complete. Shall I start reading now Admiral?"

"Please," Al said, leaning back in his chair.

Ziggy began to drone "Admiral, did you forget to un-format your brainwaves from Mulder's?"

"Yeah - no, oh geez, we didn't!" Al sat up. "Cripes, it's a good thing Mulder wasn't around when I was, he'd see me and everyone would think he's more batty than he already is. But, hey, Ziggy, how does that explain Agent Starkweather hearing me? And why didn't she hear me the first time I dropped in?"

"Because there is an 65.5% chance that Fox Mulder and Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather may be blood relatives."

"WHAT????" Al spluttered. "How??"

"As of right now, there is only one inconclusive DNA test on blood samples taken from the murder scene and from the last person to see Benjamin Starkweather alive. There is no further concrete documented evidence on that unfortunately, since Fox Mulder is still slated to be killed once he's arrested and now Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather will be killed three days afterwards."

"WHAT???" Al spluttered again. "When did THAT happen?"

"A few moments ago, history was inadvertently changed after Fox Mulder's conversation with Jerilyn a few moments ago."

"Aw, great!!! Mulder! You numbskull!!! Whadd'ya say to her!!!!" he shouted vainly. "This is one chick you don't wanna piss off!!!"

"Admiral," Ziggy said pleasantly. "I would suggest you return to the aid of Dr. Beckett, he's trying to break up the fight as we speak."

Just then Goushie burst through the door, "Al, I'm to bother you, but we need you in the imaging chamber, we're having problems with Mr. Doggett." He scurried out again.

Al stood calmly in his office, chewing on his cigar. "This is why I'm losing my hair," he concluded.

Doggett would have to simmer for just a bit.

Al was all set to go help Sam, but was derailed by Goushie. "No, Al, you gotta go talk to Doggett now!"

"B-b-but," Al stammered as Goushie bodily dragged him away going into the hologram room.

"No, man, he hurt himself, you gotta go talk to him."

"Hurt himself, how?"

"He busted through the two-way mirror! Cut up his-um, Sam's head, he's getting stitched up. Man, you gotta deal with him now, before he runs! He's only stayin' put 'cause security's pointing a gun at him while the doc is sewing him up!"

"God damn stupid Marines!" Al swore and ran down the hall as fast as his little Italian legs could carry him.

Al stormed into the First Aid room. The medic was almost finished up with her work on Doggett-in-Sam's body's injury.

"Alright, muy macho man," Al barked. "You and me gotta talk. If you don't cooperate with us right now, both Mulder and Starkweather will be sleeping with the fishes..."

"I was just told that I am in the year 2011 in *ROSWELL* NM." Doggett began incredulously. "Within the laws of physics, it is impossible to be
transported instantaneously through space in a matter of seconds. Let alone time. For arguments' sake. If I were to say that this were all possible, how is it that my actions effect what hasn't even happened yet.
With all due respect and games aside, why the fuck would I wanna believe someone who's holding me hostage, Popeye?"

"Because, Sherlock, there's a great big gun still pointed at your head right now, and you just broke our observation mirror, that's why. This
was completely unnecessary. We are only holding you hostage for your own protection. Jesus, Doggett! You're more stubborn than Mulder ever was! If
you would trust us just a little, none of this would hafta happen."

"I can't afford to trust anyone in my line of work."

"Listen, Doggett. As against you as you obviously think I am, I'm on your side. I'm trying to help your future situation here, I'm trying to save your partner's life, and I'm trying to save Mr. TrustNoOne himself. Me, Dr. Beckett, and all the other employees involved in this venture are risking our lives--our futures--our entire existences--for you and the
rest of the Scooby gang down in that x-file dungeon. If it were up to me, your ass would be grass right now, but it's not up to me."

"Tell me, please." Doggett implored. "I'm all ears. Who is it up to, Admiral?" Doggett interrogated.

"It's up to Him." Al pointed his cigar emphatically upward.

"So, it's up to Him, huh?" Doggett echoed incredulously. "It's up to Him that the x-files office stay open. Tell me this then. Was it up to Him to take Luke? Was it up to Him to take Mulder and leave me with the X-Files? Was all that, and every other tragedy you and Dr. Beckett couldn't stop up
to Him, too?"

"Look, life is pain. Anyone who says otherwise is either stupid or trying to sell you something. I can't tell you how many times I've laid awake at
night asking the same goddamn questions myself, but if you wanna find the Truth that's out there, Doggett, you're going to have to trust me. Any
more damage from you, and I swear to God I'll have you sedated." Al said, leaving the room, making his way to the imaging chamber.

As Skinner waited for Doggett to get back, he decided to take the opportunity to avoid any further squabbles in front of his desk that day. He hated acting like a parent with middle-aged adults, and hated being treated like a parent by his top agents even more. It was a delicate situation though, because Mulder held the power now; and as much as Skinner hated to admit it, Mulder and he were no longer superior/subordinate. It was a delicate situation not because he enjoyed wielding power over his former agent ::here he inwardly cringed::, but because legally, there was nothing more he could do for him and his quest. Skinner prayed silently to the God of Authority and Command that the man still respected him as a colleague enough to listen. Not that Fox Mulder had actually listened while that working relationship *had* existed, but it helped to at least get his attention.

"Mulder, I'm on your side--and as long as I'm in this office, I'll do anything I can to help you out, and anything in my power to keep my promises."

Mulder nodded a thanks.

"But, you have to do your part too. It's not going to do anybody any good to have an argument loud enough for Kersh to hear between you and Doggett. The D.D. wants my ass in Florida ASAP because of the oil rig clusterfuck. I'm doing everything I can to stay put as long as possible. But, please--" he paused here to avert a glance in Scully's direction "for everyone concerned," he pleaded in all seriousness. "Do us all a favor and grow the hell up before Doggett gets back."

"Duly noted, sir." The tone in Mulder's voice was something like an apologetic whimper. He might as well have had a tail between his legs.

Not long after, Kimberly announced Doggett, and Mulder took his rightful seat next to Scully, giving Sam a ::"Take that!":: look, to which Scully and Skinner both shot warning glances. Mulder had a jab ready for him for being gone so long, but wisely decided against it after considering the wrath of Scully later.

"Did you find anything Agent?" Skinner demanded

"Sir, do you honestly think that testimony sounding like it came from a b-grade science fiction movie is credible material?"

"Credible or not," Mulder challenged, "all this prosecutor needs to convince a jury of our peers is proof beyond a questionable doubt."

"I don't see anything in this report that shows that. I don't think this testimony is a valid argument that would hold up in any court. It would only buy Starkweather stage time."

"Starkweather?" Mulder puzzled; his brow furrowed in thought trying to connect the name.

"Benjamin Starkweather is the prosecutor for this case." Scully prompted.

"Any relation to Jerilyn?"

"By law."

Mulder bolted up from his seat, and at the speed of bullets out of a machine gun told Skinner "I gotta go to the restroom."

"Talk about the power of suggestion." Sam said, as he remembered the last time Mulder had feigned a full bladder around him, and decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to follow.

"Mulder, hang on a sec!" Sam called after him, but Mulder had already closed the elevator door. Sam futilely banged on the door and then immediately got into the next one. He could hear the argument as he approached the office.

"Say what you want, Starkweather, but you set me up." Mulder hissed

"I had absolutely no idea until last night that my husband took that case. I had no idea until two fucking hours ago that my husband's case involved you." Starkweather's defensive voice remained controlled and furious.

"You wanna get me back for what I did to your mother." Mulder persisted. Sam peeked just inside the door now. Mulder and Starkweather were as eye-to-eye as the two got. The only time Sam remembered anger being this palpable when he walked in on his little sister Katie and his older brother Tom having a huge fight. "You set me up because you want to punish me, and you're dragging Doggett down with me. Look--this is *OUR* fight. No need to bring Puppy-Man into this."

"I am not going to defend myself to you. Deputy Mayor may I remind you that this is no longer your office." Starkweather replied icily.

"Mulder, she can help us. It's not a good idea to piss her off." coaxed Sam.

"Next time you accuse someone, Mr. Mulder, it might not be a bad idea to make sure your finger isn't barking up the wrong ass."

"If you think I'm done here, you've got another thing coming." Mulder growled, and stormed passed Sam in a huff back to Skinner's office to finish the meeting. This argument would not look good in Mulder's defense if he couldn't stop the murder.

Later that afternoon...

FBI Employee Only
Gym and Weight Room

At the end of the workday, Sam wandered into the giant gymnasium. Two feds were running laps on the track around the basketball court, discussing a case. A few members of the "good old boys" club were taking a quick break from playing three on three on one half of the court. On the other half of the court, Starkweather was hitting tennis balls against the wall, almost as good as a pro.

Sam paused and felt his breath catch in his throat. When he first saw her, she looked like a girl masquerading in one of her mother's business suits, despite her carefully applied make-up and her hair pulled tightly back in a merciless bun. Watching her smash the tennis racket, a very nice Winston Titanium racket at that, time and time again, Sam realized it would be a mistake to ever, ever think that she was physically weak. If she looked like a teenager, she then definitely looked like a healthy teenager involved in every competitive sport at her high school. There wasn't a once of fat on her body, she had rippling of muscle on all the right places without losing any of the supple curves which made her irresistibly feminine. Sam was also surprised by the length of her hair, out of it's rigid military style bun and pulled up into a flowing ponytail.

As Sam approached her, he overheard the sniggering comments about her physique from the "old school" male feds. Sam shot them an evil glance, forgetting that he possessed Doggett's serious craggy face, tall, lean, menacing build and piercing glacial blue eyes, which shamed the "boys" into resuming their game.

Starkweather, not realizing Sam-in-Doggett's body, was less than five steps away, slam the ball into the wall, but missed it's return. Sam caught the tennis ball easily and strolled up to her. "Looking for this?" He asked as he held the ball up to her.

Starkweather accepted it, wiping the sweat out of her eyes. "Hi," she panted, bending over to catch her breath.

"I saw you favoring your right foot," Sam, ever the doctor, told her. "You better be careful you don't want to hurt yourself again."

"I know, I know," she said straighten up. She flexed the fingers barely poking out of her cast. "I'll be glad to get this damn thing off. Thank God I'm ambidextrous."

"Quite a first day back, huh?" Sam said casually.

"Don't remind me," she groaned.

"Starkweather, we got to talk."

"I know, I know," she brushed the sweaty strands of hair out of her face. "I screwed up royally today and I don't understand why. I was doing so good watching what I say when I started here, but today, man, I don't know. I got pissed off and basically did what I did that got me in trouble in Minneapolis. I opened my mouth and sewage just spewed out. I'm so damn mad right now, Doggett. I don't know who I want to kill first, Mulder or my husband."

"You've got to stay focused, Starkweather," Sam told her. "There's too many lives at stake, you can not let your personal problems interfere, no matter what Mulder or Ben or whoever says or does that sets you off." Starkweather looked at her tennis shoes. "Listen," Sam started. "why don't you go get cleaned up and dressed-" he wasn't really comfortable having a heart to heart with Starkweather wearing only a work-out bra and a pair of Air Force issued sweatpants. "-and we'll go..." he was about to suggest dinner, but then he figured she wasn't exactly a fancy restaurant type of girl "... grab a beer and a burger or something and sit and try to make sense of this, figure out a game plan." ::to keep your husband alive.::he mentally added.

Starkweather looked up at him with her hazel puppy dog eyes. "Okay, give me about twenty minutes or so. I'll meet you here." She winked.

When she walked away, Sam realized why those eyes looked so familiar....

Mulder...

"Oh boy..." he said aloud as he sat down on a bench.

Meanwhile

In the present

After the meeting, Mulder offered to take Scully out for a bite to eat. With the swamped cases, she decided it wouldn't be a bad idea--especially
since she could use the opportunity to attempt to talk sense into Mulder. Not to mention the fact that she had no intention of facing Starkweather
after Mulder's outburst. If they were going to get anywhere on the case, then it would not do to make an enemy of Starkweather.

Once at the restaurant, Mulder acted like the previous meeting with Skinner hadn't happened. He rattled on to Scully about something he saw on TV the other night, and the perks about his new office, and asked her about Boo.

"Do you think you were a little bit hard on Agent Starkweather back there?" Scully suggested, biting into her Caesar salad.

Mulder reflected for a moment, and shook his head as he bit into his cheeseburger. "I don't think she's being up front with either you or Puppy-Man, Scully. I think she *did* know what was going on. *Exactly* and wanted to use that against me because of how I treated her mother."

"Mulder," Scully countered, "You don't know that for sure. I'm really surprised at you. Usually you're a good judge of people. I honestly don't think she's got any tricks up her sleeve."

"So you're taking her side now?" Mulder demanded childishly.

"She's on our team, Mulder. She could help her--us--if you give her a chance and stop being an idiot where she's concerned."

"I'm sorry, Scully." He pouted, shoving a handful of fries drowned in ketchup in his mouth. "Just didn't know who else to blame for all of this. She seemed to be the likely choice."

"You of *all* people should know something about things not being what they seem. Maybe you could make peace with her. Please, Mulder," Scully pleaded, "just swallow your pride and let her shed light on this case. She's like you in a lot of ways. In a parallel universe, you two might even be chummy."

"In a parallel universe, Elvis would be a politician." Mulder quipped. He then rose from the table, planting a kiss on her forehead. "I gotta get back to work. I'll see you later to night?" He said, leaving money on the table. Scully got up and nodded with a smile, following him out the door. She hoped she had convinced him enough to amend his previous damage

Later…

Starkweather returned to the gym twenty-two minutes later, carrying her briefcase and her gym bag. Sam felt his breath catch in his throat. Her hair, finally freed from all restrictions, flowed over her shoulders, almost reaching her posterior. She wore a simple gray T-shirt from the Gap and a pair of well-loved Calvin Klein jeans. She was sans make-up and jewelry, save a simple diamond solitaire ring.

Sam looked down at his sober black suit and fiddled with his blue, white and slate gray tie. "Looks like I'm over dressed," he joked, reaching to relieve her of the burden of carrying the heavy gym bag.

Starkweather gave him a disarming smile. "Let's go," she said. "I'm hungry." She relinquished the bag to him.

They wandered downtown DC until they found a pub that seemed somewhat deserted, with the exception of one or two bar flies hovering around the beautiful oak bar. Sam and Starkweather opted for a secluded table in the far back. A cheery server took their drink orders, Starkweather, a Bud Light and Sam, in dire need of a stiff drink, a Jack Daniels on the rocks.

"Alright Starkweather," Sam said after the server brought them their adult beverages and promised to be back in a few minutes for their meal orders, "talk to me."

"I didn't know that Ben was prosecuting that oil rig case, Doggett. No matter what Mulder thinks, you have to believe me."

"I do believe you, that's besides the point," Sam insisted, resisting a weird urge to clasp her small hands in his. "All that matters is keeping your husband safe. We have every reason to believe that the people who want to keep this hushed up are going to try to come after Ben."

"And the people who hushed up the Scotland case," Starkweather said quietly. "I didn't get a chance to tell Scully before she left, but as I was finishing up my report on the jet plane crash there, I stumbled across a coincidence that may not be a coincidence." When Sam asked what, she continued, a little reluctantly. "Andrews, the air base where the plane and the deceased captain were originally stationed and flew out has a major fuel contract with that same oil company. So I did a little digging this afternoon after my chat with the fucking Deputy Mayor and guess what? Two other air bases also have contracts with them. Lackland AFB, where I and the majority of new recruits do their Basic and Tech School training, and Luke AFB in Arizona, where I was stationed as an active airman. I bet if we do some more scrounging, we'll find some more mysterious plane wrecks. And when we do, we can probably gather enough evidence to bring them up on federal charges of willful destruction of government property with intent of murdering American service men. A big juicy federal case which would blow Ben's sad little civil suit out of the water. Plus with a federal case involving breach of national security, we can secure a gag order, which means you and Mulder and my idiot husband will be safe as churches on Easter Sunday."

"How long would the research take?" Sam asked.

"Too long, but I figure, I start now, pull a couple of all-nighters-"

"Starkweather, you need to go home tonight."

"I have no desire to go home...."

"Listen to me, Starkweather," Sam urgently, now taking Starkweather's hands in his. Starkweather looked startled but by all means, not uncomfortable. "You have to go home, talk some sense into Ben. Talk to him as his wife, not as a federal agent. They want to kill Ben. Tell him that. I don't care if it's classified information or not, but tell him the details of the case, make him understand that it's not worth the risk. Tell him you don't want to be a widow. As much as you complain about him, you love him. I see it in your eyes." ::I see Mulder in your eyes too. Why is that??::he thought.

"If I give him any information to him, he will use it and before we know it, it will be my ass on the stand too, now how will that help anything?" she demanded, withdrawing her hands.

Sam put his hands in his lap. She had a point. Before he could say anything, Al appeared behind Starkweather. He gestured with his head for Sam to go to the restroom. Sam looked at Al confusedly. Al groaned and this time with wild and exaggerated movements with his head and arms, pointed at the restroom.

"What is it Doggett?" Starkweather turned around to look where Sam was looking. She saw nothing but the news blaring on the TV behind her. "Something interesting on?"

"No, no," Sam stood up. "I have to use the bathroom. When the waitress comes back, just order me a burger with everything and an order of fries, please."

As Sam walked away, Starkweather shouted behind him. "You have a bladder like a pregnant woman!"

Sam was relieved to find the hideously dirty bathroom devoid of people. Al popped in front of him. "Al, what's going on?" he asked. "Why couldn't you talk to me in front of her?"

"Because she can HEAR me, Sam!"

"HEAR you? Are you sure? How?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Al chewed on his ever present cigar and thumped his little blinking console a few times. "As for how... you ain't gonna believe this, but when that hellcat out there and Mr. Spooky-pants himself find out, they're either gonna throw up or commit suicide, whichever comes first."

"What?"

"When you leaped into Agent Scully, we configured Mulder's brainwaves so he could see me, but we forgot to switch it off. Now, there's some bug in Ziggy's system that we can't turn it off. We're working on it, but it's gonna take time. Time we ain't got, buddy."

"And Starkweather?"

"Ziggy thinks that Starkweather can hear me because there's a 65% chance that... they're blood-relation."

"Are you serious? How is that possible? How are they related? Why only a 65% chance?"

Al rubbed his eyes. His body was screaming for a strong drink and forty years of sleep. "It's possible because Starkweather was found abandoned in the Admiral's car and they adopted her shortly afterwards. Nobody knows who her real parents are. We don't know HOW they're related because after Mulder gets whacked while he's in custody for Ben's murder, Starkweather gets iced three days later in a convenience store holdup, according to police reports."

"Oh no..." Sam leaned against a stall door.

"That's not all, Sam." Al said gravely. "I just found out a few minutes ago that it gets worse. Two months after that, the Assistant Director Skinner gets gunned down in his own home. He holds on for a few days in ICU, but he doesn't make it. Two months after that, these three bozo computer hackers they use as consultants, the Lonely Hearts' Club or whatever... their offices get blown up, kablooey, with 'em all in it."

"Jesus, no," Sam's heart thudded as the death count kept adding up.

"That's not all, Sam."

"There's MORE?"

"After THAT, Scully, along with her mom and kid are run off the road and into the Potomac River, in the dead of winter. There are no survivors."

"Oh my God, Scully too?" Sam felt sick. "And her kid?"

"There's a another one too Sam, we haven't met her yet. One Special Agent Monica Reyes. She joined up on the X-Files shortly after Scully had her kid, but she's MIA right now because she fell off a ladder while helping paint a house. Busted her tailbone along with some minor injuries. Anyway, after the Scully deaths, she's found strangled at a subway station while she was investigating a case in New York."

"Oh, God... all those people. And an innocent child... murdered."

"There's one more Sam..."

"Doggett."

"Twenty-four hours after Jerilyn Starkweather meets her maker, Doggett is stabbed to death waiting for a cab... which means YOU could be standing in line at the Pearly Gates if we don't get you out of this."

Sam was looking at the bigger picture, not just the threat on his life. "The entire X-Files is wiped out."

"It's wiped out, the X-Files goes under military jurisdiction and remains under lock and key to this day. And, just to add to the fiesta, Ziggy just calculated that a year from now, there's a 99.5% chance of a major plague that's not exactly of this world that's gonna wipe out the majority of the human population. And, for the cherry on the shit sundae, Doggett back with us, is being a horse's ass. Completely uncooperative. He busted through a glass window to get out. You're gonna have a real pretty scar on your forehead when we finally get you back in your body, thanks to him. We're holding him at gunpoint. We gotta boogey on this one Sam before everything goes ca-ca."

"Ca-ca?" Sam groaned. "That's an understatement."

"Get to work Sam." Al opened the door and prepared to step back into the future. "I'll do what I can on my end, but you gotta pull all the stops on this one. And we ain't got much time. Ben vanishes off the face of the earth tomorrow night." Al vanished.

Scully's apartment
Georgetown
Much later that night...

She was in Democratic Hot Springs, Georgia again, laying on the blood-spattered sheets, seeing all those faces, staring at her merciless, contemplating her doom while she writhed in agony, trying to expel her son from the safety of her womb into the uncertainty of life. She felt Monica's hands on her knees, hearing her voice begging her, "Push Dana!"

"No, no, it's mine. It's my baby," she whimpered again aloud in her sleep.

"Scully?"

Mulder sat up and shook her gently. "Scully, wake up."

Scully opened her eyes wide and rolled over. "Wh-what? What's happening?" she sat up, only partial in this world, still partially in her nightmare realm.

"You were talking in your sleep. You were having a nightmare." He reached for her, but she bolted from her bed.

"I have to check on William," she muttered as she crossed over to the baby's bed, which had graduated from bassinet to crib. She gripped the railing and looked down at her miracle, sleeping safely, unaware of the painful lessons that life will give him as he grows.

Mulder too got out of bed and went to her, wrapping his bare arms around her petite waist. "Scully? Are you okay?" he whispered, resting his cheek on her hair.

"I'm fine," she said, bowing her head. "It was just a bad dream."

"What was it?"

"It was a bad dream, nothing more," she insisted, pushing away from him, back towards bed.

Mulder followed her and sat down by her. "Are you still mad at me for fighting with Jerilyn today?" He tried teasing. "I promised I'd play nice from now on."

"No, I'm not upset anymore about that," she looked away and lay back down in bed.

Mulder got in on the other side and curled up around her. "Then talk to me." He rested his head in the soft crook between her cheek and shoulders.

"Do you think Ben and Jerilyn talk?" Scully asked, to distract him from prying into her terror-filled sleep.

Mulder paused as his profiler's mind went to work. For a moment, Scully thought he fell back asleep until he said, "I think they try. I think they genuinely care for each other. But, judging from what you've told me, they had a whirlwind weekend romance with Jerilyn commuting from the University of Iowa to Des Moines for her duties for the Iowa Air National Guard but when Jerilyn opted not to become a medical doctor, but an FBI agent, instead of seeing if they could handle awesome responsibility of commitment while she was at Quantico and he was in the Great White North, they leaped into marriage, thinking their strong affection and fairy-tale romance would survive the wedding vows. This is probably Jerilyn and also Ben's first, quote "real" unquote real serious relationship. Because of their inexperience, when he saw her in that white gown and he slipped that diamond ring on her finger, they thought they were going to live happily ever after."

"Then what?"

"Sleeping Beauty woke up and saw the warts on her prince. Benjamin Starkweather is still fast asleep, wondering why Jerilyn is no longer part of his dreams. They aren't going to be together much longer, Scully. They still love each other but they've discovered they don't have what it takes to live together, to share their lives together."

Scully closed her eyes. "Does anybody live happily ever after?"

She felt him pull her towards him, so she rolled over, facing him. He ran his fingers through her hair. "Isn't that what we're fighting for Scully?" He asked. "Isn't that what the X-Files is all about? So that we can at least have the chance of trying to savor the taste of a fairy tale ending?" He kissed her forehead. "So, no more bad dreams, okay?"

For a moment, she buried her face into his bare chest. She kissed the scar down his sternum from that terrible time when the monsters stole him from her life. Then she lifted her head up for him to touch his lips with hers. As the kiss deepened into fairy-tale proportions, she felt him fumbling with the buttons of her satin nightshirt, so she guided his hands with hers where she wanted him to go.

Al, ever mindful that Mulder could still see him, had hidden himself in the shadows of the room. When the situation got hot and heavy, feeling like a pervert, Al slipped through the walls to the other side so the "busy bunnies" wouldn't notice him. "Goushie," he whispered, also mindful that Mulder could still hear them. "Center me in on the Starkweathers."

He was pretty sure there were no sweet nothings and lovin' going on over there.

Ben and Jerilyn's apartment
9:56 PM

Ben paused outside of his door, listening to the faint strains of music from within. He didn't know a thing about classical music before meeting Jerilyn. He knew plenty now, and he know how to judge her moods by what music she was playing. When she was sad or melancholy, she'd play Beethoven's "Fur Elise" or Liszt's "Liebestraum" (Love's Dream) When she was in an amorous mood, she'd play Debussy's "Arabesque" or "Clair de Lune." When she was playing just to play, she'd play the main theme from Jane Campion's "The Piano." She had an amazing, almost preternatural talent for being able to just listen to a song, even the most complicated piece, and be able to play it herself. She could play several instruments, all by ear.

Unfortunately, Ben heard Beethoven's "Presto Agitato", her absolute favorite piece to play when she was royally hacked off. Ben sighed. Since her right wrist was still in a case, he guessed that she must have been playing the CD at top volume. He was surprised that the neighbors hadn't complained yet.

When he let himself in, he was astonished to find her at the piano. The CD player was playing "Presto Agitato", but so was she, only the left hand parts. Her right hand lay useless in her lap. She managed to keep in perfect beat along with the recording. If one would listen very carefully, then you would be able to hear the left hand parts overlapping while the right hand parts standing alone.

Her eyes were closed. Ben shut the door quietly and sat down, listening to her play, formulating his strategies in advance. Being a prosecutor, he wasn't very good at defense and he resented it like hell he'd have to defend himself against his own wife, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Caesar, their fat tabby cat, leaped into his lap and started purring. Absently, he stroked his orange silky fur until Jerilyn finished. When she turned around, he made a feeble joke. "Look, someone around here still likes me."

Jerilyn played along with the next song on her CD, Chopin's "Etude Number 12" still only the left-handed parts. "You made me look like a horse's ass in my boss's office today," she said crisply.

Ben snatched the remote off the coffee table that his parents gave them as a wedding present. He switched off the stereo and Jerilyn stopped playing. "You did that yourself, honey, I hate to break it to you." Jerilyn opened her mouth, but Ben plowed ahead. "Baby, let's not do this tonight, I'm tired, you're tired."

"You're right," Jerilyn said dangerously. "I AM tired. Tired of this bullshit."

She recalled Sam-in-Doggett's body's words: ::Talk to him as his wife, not as a federal agent::and took a deep breath.

"I'm damn tired, Ben," she flung herself off the piano bench and headed towards the kitchen. Ben and Caesar followed. Jerilyn continued her rant as she opened a can of soft cat food for her kitty. "I am so damn tired of trying to get through to you. I yell. I scream. I beg and I cry and nothing, nothing, NOTHING I ever say means a damn thing to you." She dumped the food into Caesar's dish and set it down for him. As the happy fat feline mawed down on his treat, she crouched beside him, petting him. "What do I have to do to get you to listen to me??"

Al, hovering in the doorway behind Ben, nodded his head approvingly. ::Good, kid, good.::he thought. ::For the love of God and everything holy, Ben, listen to her!!!::

"I'm listening now," Ben crouched down and took her hands in his. He brushed her hair out of her face. "Talk to me, Jeri."

"Don't take this case," she stood up, with the pretense of doing the dishes.

"Aw, for pete's sake!" Ben got up again, angry now. "You bitch about me not listening to you but when I am here to listen, it's never about us, it's about YOU. Your damn dreams, your damn wants, needs, career. Jesus Jerilyn, I don't want to hear about YOU. I want to hear about US."

"This IS about us, Ben!" Jerilyn turned around. "You don't understand Ben. I just found something terrible out this afternoon..."

::Talk to him as his wife, not as a federal agent::

"Ben, it's not about Mulder or Doggett, I don't give a rat's ass about any of that! It's about you."

"I'm not so sure about you not caring about Doggett." Ben snarled.

::Uh-oh::Al thought, not liking where this was going. "Goushie," he said as loudly as he dared. "Get me info on the Doggett-Starkweather relationship, STAT."

But Jerilyn was too angry and too involved with her fight with Ben to notice mysterious whispers. "What do you mean by that?" A heavy silence lay between man and wife. "God damn it. Benjamin Lucas Starkweather, you BEST not be questioning my loyalty and commitment to my vows to you."

"I'm not saying you did the naked pretzel with him... yet." Ben felt all of his angry insecurities bubble forth, the fear that maybe he wasn't the man meant to stay by this unique woman's side for the rest of her life. "But you spend an awful lot of time with him."

"He's my partner. I kind of have to."

"Even while you were out on leave?" Ben accused her, face contorted in an ugly mask of jealousy. "You went out to the firing range with him every week."

"To work on my left hand," Jerilyn held up her broken wrist. "This hand is going to be so weak when the cast comes off, I'm gonna have to compensate with my left hand until its up to par again. Doggett spotted me."

"You went out to dinner with him a few times."

"What? I can't have friends now? I can't go out for a burger and a beer without you approving of who I'm with?"

"You went to his house last night. Before we went out to the bar."

"I dropped off a file for him. As a favor for Scully? What about it?"

"That's not the first time you've been to his house."

"So?"

"You care about him."

"He's my partner and he's my first fucking friend I've made down here. Are you begrudging me that?"

"Where were you two nights ago?" Ben snapped. Jerilyn stayed quiet.

::Ohhhh,::Al moaned to himself. ::Jerilyn, Jerilyn, what have you been doing with yourself???::He knew Mulder and Scully caught the love bug while working together. He hoped it wasn't contagious.

"Were you at Doggett's?" Ben asked quietly.

Jerilyn couldn't meet his eyes at first. "Yes..." she looked at him now squarely in the face. "Scully called me. She said Doggett was having a gathering at his place. It was me, Scully, the Deputy Mayor and a couple of other guys from work. You weren't home yet, I was bored, so I went. We all sat around, played cards, took turns holding Boo, watched a dumb movie, drank beer. That's ALL."

"That's ALL? That's ALL, she says." Ben griped to thin air. "So if I call Saint Scully and your daddy's puppet, the venerated Deputy Mayor Mulder plus all these anonymous "guys", they'll tell me you were just holding a baby and playing poker, right?"

"That's right, you son of a bitch."

"You stayed, despite Mulder's presence."

"Because Scully is my friend as well," she growled. "Because Mulder is important to her, and because he saved my ass, I tolerate his presence as long as he doesn't say anything that pisses me off."

"So, if I call all these people, they could swear on a Bible that you did nothing but hang out... can they also tell me what time they left and what time you left?" Jerilyn looked down at her shoes. "They all had work in the morning, you didn't. You were home at about four in the morning. Did they stay out that late too? Scully? With her baby?"

"Ben," Jerilyn said, trying to control her simmering temper. "Doggett is my partner. I trust him with my life. But you are my husband. I trust you with my heart and my soul. I handed those over to you when I changed my last name. Nothing is going to change that. I stayed over a little while longer with Doggett. We had a good talk. We exchanged confidences. He's my friend, and that's all. You're my husband. YOU'RE the one I came home to. The one I'll ALWAYS come home to. What are you so afraid of? Why are you saying these things?"

"Because I think you're full of shit," Ben replied bitterly. "Because I think you've been lying your ass off to me and to yourself ever since you met Doggett."

"Doggett is almost fifteen years older than me. For all I know, he could be my natural father." As an adopted child, Jerilyn couldn't help but look at men old enough to be her father and wonder ::Is it you? Did you help create me?::

"So? Mulder is almost ten years older than Scully. That didn't stop them. And gee, for HOW long did Mulder and Scully claim they were JUST friends?" Ben pointed out.

::Too long::Al thought.

"There's a slight difference. Neither one of them were wearing a wedding band when they met. Ben, when I married you, I married you forever. Better and worse, sickness and health and all of that yukkity-yuk. No matter how pissed I get at you, no matter how lonely I get when you're pulling all-nighters at the office or how scared I am when I go out on assignment that I might not come home, I am married to YOU. Nothing is going to change that."

"You're not married to me. You're married to the FBI. I may as well be a widow."

Jerilyn folded her hands tightly together. "Ben, tell me what to say. Tell me what you need to hear. Because I honestly don't know what I'm doing that's so wrong."

"Tell me you love me."

"Ben, that's not even a question. I love you. I love you so much, it hurts me."

"Tell me you'll stand behind me with whatever I do."

Jerilyn broke away from him and went into the living room. She held herself and looked out at the window. Ben followed her and so did Al.

"I can't... go against my conscience if it tells me what you're doing is wrong," she finally said after an eternity of silence. "Ben, I know what you think you're doing... going after the oil rig... is the right thing to do, but it's not. It's just opening a Pandora's Box, hand-delivered to us from Hades himself." She turned around. Ben was surprised to see tears trickling down her cheeks for she was one who rarely wept, especially in front of others. "Ben, I found out that they're going to silence your case by killing you. You say you're a grass widow. Baby, if you take this case, you'll be making me a genuine widow and I can't handle that."

"Jerilyn," he said "who's "they"?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "But it's like a whole... consortium. A... a.... a Syndicate for lack of a better name. These people are everywhere, making their plots, having no concern for the innocent bystanders they take down in their weird little wars. These are the same people who ordered that... thing in the park to attack me and I would be dead if Mulder hadn't been out early that morning. They kidnap people, they torture... they kill... Ben... I can't possibly explain it because I don't completely understand."

"Did it ever cross your mind that they told you this to scare you? To do what you're doing right now? To talk me out of this?" Ben touched her face and wiped her tears away. "Look at what's happening to us. You talk about this Syndicate, how they've hurt people. What about the X-Files? Look at what happened with all the people that's been involved even remotely with that division. They're all dead or seriously fucked up. I mean... both Scully and Mulder have been kidnapped and tortured. Do you think they rest easily at night? They go after monsters and evil men in dark offices but you never hear about the follow-up. You never hear about these bastards having their day in court. That's what I want to do. I want these monsters put away Jerilyn. Let them rot in the darkest cell so we can get one with our lives. I mean... look at your "friend" Doggett. He supposedly only went in to get in good with the Deputy Director so he can have Skinner's post when he retires. Now, he seems to be sinking into the myth deeper and deeper. He's just like the others. Is that what you want? To be stuck in the basement forever? What happened to teaching at Quantico? I hear you talking about that less and less."

"Ben, so much has happened... I've learned so much since then. Not just about the X-Files, but about myself. Shit that you wouldn't even believe if I told you. Things I'm not sure I believe, things I don't want to believe. Things I thought I didn't want to know, but now I know, I HAVE to."

Al wished he wasn't a hologram so he could give her a hug.

"I mean, I've always lived this pretty illusion that I'm a normal all-American girl, but I'm NOT... and you KNOW that... you've seen the scars on my body... you've heard all about the time when Mom and I were kidnapped... now... I think I've finally found a venue where I can find answers. To find out why I am the way I am."

"You're talking like Mulder."

"Don't insult me like that." But she smiled for the first time.

"Jerilyn, don't torture yourself like this. Mulder and Scully searched for this... fucking truth you're talking about and look where it got them. Do you really... REALLY want to take the chance of being ousted out of the Bureau like Mulder was? Do you really want to give up on your dream of being an instructor at Quantico to chase smokescreens?"

"What do you suggest I do? Keep pretending that everything's okay?"

"When I win this case," Ben said carefully. "Mulder will be cleared of all allegations against him for the explosion."

"So?"

"Then he can be reinstated into the Bureau and back into the X-Files where he belongs."

"He WAS reinstated, briefly. He's out now because his health is in question. Scully thinks whoever took him, wiped out his immune system."

"He had AIDS?"

"NO! It's as if it has no memory. He catches every germ and virus under the sun, but his white blood cells can still fight them. Things that we're immune to after having them once, like influenza or mono, he gets."

"People get the flu all the time."

"No, they get different strains of flu. Once a normal person catches one strain of flu, after they recover, they have immunity against it. But new strains of flu come out all the time. People don't just have "the flu" they are having a new and interesting variety of a flu their bodies never had to deal with all the time. Mulder's immunity system has no memory of what diseases he's already had. Until they figure out how to fix that, he could be reinstated."

"But he COULD be reinstated, right?"

"Sure, if he passes the physical... where are you going with this?"

"They wouldn't need a fifth person there, would they?"

"You want me out of the Bureau." Now Jerilyn was white hot angry again.

::Ben, you idiot::Al rubbed his temples.

"Not of the Bureau, just the X-Files. You're all worried about me, what about you? Your first case and you're almost killed in not one, but two plane wrecks, you're almost run off the road, an army lieutenant gives you a hairline fracture on your upper arm escorting you away from a crime scene that you had every right to be at and some crazy guy tries to kill you while you're jogging. And that was your first case!!! YOU talk about being scared about not coming home from an assignment? What about me? What do you think it will do to me if YOU don't come home? Jerilyn, you swore to me, you promised me that this transfer to DC was just a stepping stone to Quantico. So we left everything we knew to come here. And now, instead of using this as a stepping stone, you're using it as a cornerstone. You know what? I don't give a damn about the X-Files. I don't care about Mulder or Scully or Skinner or Doggett or any of them. As far as I'm concerned, they're using you, they're manipulating you and they're dragging you down. The longer you stay, the further away Quantico gets! You said YOU'RE tired? Know what I'm tired of???"

"Enlighten me."

"I'm tired of laying awake at night, listening you working away at the computer on some damn case, I'm tired of having you leave and be gone for unknown amounts of time, God only knowing when you come home, wondering if you'll come home at all. I am terrified that one of these days they're going to ship you home in a body bag. I am tired of living in limbo, of promises that you'll slow down, take time off, time for us. And they only way you get that time is you get mangled in the line of duty and we spend that time putting the broken bits of you back together, only to have you run off again on another mission. I don't want that shit anymore. I want US, I want Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Starkweather. Not Benjamin Starkweather, counselor and Special Agent Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather. I'm tired of this Jeri. When does it start being about us? When are we going to BE "us" again? What happened to settling down, having kids, having house, having a life. All I want is you, Jerilyn and my life is complete. I can't have... I don't want Special Agent Starkweather."

Jerilyn scowled at Ben, reminding Al of Ex-Wife Number Two. "You can't have Jerilyn unless you take Special Agent Starkweather along with her," she snapped. "And I'm not leaving the X-Files until I'm good and ready, even if it means sharing an office with Mulder, who, as of right now, is only one point ahead of you on my Asshole-Meter." She pushed away from him.

"Jerilyn-"

"No! You don't want me, you want the beautiful lie I've been living. I didn't even know that it was a lie until I came here. What you want isn't real," Jerilyn choked on her rage and her tears. "The only truth I know is that there's something out there, hurting people, that I REALLY want to lay the smackdown on, even if it means going outside the boundaries of the law... and that I love you... but you only love what you want to see. And what you want to see... isn't what you get. I just told you that those motherfuckers are gonna try to take you out and if you die, I will die. For the rest of my life without you, I will be dying on the inside. I am begging you, as a federal agent, as your wife, as just me, Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather... please, don't do this! Don't take this case. If you love me for plain old weird me, don't do this to me!!!"

"Just as you said earlier..." Ben said, painfully slow. "I can't go against my conscience."

"Then there's nothing more to say," she said quietly "I'm going to bed, good night" and, scooping up the cat, went to the bedroom. Ben followed her, but she stopped him at the door, pillows and a quilt in her arms. "Uh-uh. No. You. Couch. Get used to it," she dropped the bedding at his feet and slammed the door.

Al watched Ben make up his bed. "Kid, you blew it," he muttered as he lit a fresh cigar. He said, aloud now, since Jerilyn was not in the room, "Goushie! Bring me to Sam!" Al disappeared.

Meanwhile....

Sam couldn't settle down. After Starkweather left the bar, with healthy promises of talking Ben out of his suicide mission, Sam sat there, nursing his one drink, trying to figure out the next step. By his watch, Ben only had twenty-four hours before he disappeared. Three days after his disappearance, he dies. Then Mulder. Then Starkweather. Then Doggett. Then Skinner. Scully. The Lone Gunmen. And an agent he hadn't even met yet, Monica Reyes. It didn't make sense... why would they waste time with a lawyer...

Unless...

Unless it wasn't the lawyer they were going after at all. That Ben was just a red herring... that the leap wasn't about saving Mr. Starkweather. It was about saving Mrs. Starkweather.

::But how does she factor into this?::Sam wondered. After Al told him about the 65% chance of blood relations between Mulder and Starkweather, Sam couldn't help but stare at her the entire night, partially because she was fairly pretty, but trying to figure out why DNA tests were to be inconclusive.

Same wicked sarcasm. Same genius intelligence. Same crinkly puppy-dog eyes. Same pouty lip. But her skin was very fair, her hair a soft fawn color and stick straight and her nose was very Anglo-Saxon, denoting some Scandinavian blood in her heritage. Plus she somewhere along the way picked up a healthy dose of skepticism that Mulder lacked. Miserably lacked.

The only conclusion Sam came to was that he was very tired. He paid the tab and got into Doggett's car. Instead of driving to Doggett's apartment, he cruised around, still trying to figure out how he was supposed to stop Ben from inadvertently destroying the world.

Sam surfed the radio stations and stumbled across a country station. He wasn't a fan of country, but when he heard the svelte voice of country crooner, Martina McBride, who he didn't remember who she was, he felt himself relax just a bit as he was swept away by her lyrics:

"You think I'm always makin'
Something out of nothin'
You're saying' everything's okay
You've always got an answer
Before I ask the question
Whatever you say...

Now we can change the subject
Pretend I never brought it up
Same old story anyway
Later we can work it out
Right now we're talked out
Yeah whatever you say

Oh I know you can hear me
But I'm not sure you're listening
I hear what you're sayin'
But still there's something missin'
Whether I go, whether I stay
Right now depends on
Whatever you say

You say yes you need me
And no you wouldn't leave me
And that should be enough to make me stay
And even though I want to
I don't hear 'I love you'
In whatever you say

Oh I know you can hear me
But I'm not sure you're listening
I hear what you're sayin'
But still there's something missin'
Whether I go, whether I stay
Right now depends on
Whatever you say

Whether I go, whether I stay
Right now depends on
Whatever you say...."

"Man, if those weren't truer words tonight," Al said, suddenly appearing in the backseat.

Sam jumped. "AL!" he complained. "Don't do that!" he sighed. "Let me get to Doggett's apartment. Then let's talk."

Al nodded. "Sure. Take a left......"

With Al's help, Sam found his way to Doggett's home. He let himself in, turned on the lights and flopped onto the couch. "Well?" Sam asked. "Did you check in on Ben and..." Sam blanked out for a minute. "What's Starkweather's first name again?"

"Jerilyn and yeah I popped in on them," Al grumbled.

"Well?" Sam sat up a bit. "Did she talk to him?"

"Oh... they talked," Al said, lighting a new cigar. "And then she banished him to Sofa-ville."

"Oh, no," Sam groaned.

"Sam," Al said seriously. "I don't see this having a very happy ending."

"We can't think like that, Al," Sam said seriously. "We got to think. We've got to... Al, do we know where and when Ben gets abducted?"

Al punched a few buttons on this little computer console. "According to police reports, he was last seen in his office at the law firm of Carter, Adams and Spangle. He called Jerilyn at five-fifteen, he left the office at five-thirty, he's found as a floater three days later."

"Okay, okay," Sam was pacing. "Then tomorrow, I will just have to stick to Ben like glue, especially during the prime hours. I make sure nothing happens to him. Nothing does happen, history changes and I..." Sam slowed down. "Leap out of here..." he muttered as he wandered off in search of a kitchen.

When Sam got to the kitchen, Al was already waiting for him. "Whatcha looking for?"

"Glasses. I need a drink," when Al stared at him pointedly, he amended his statement, "a drink of water."

"Why did you look so down in the mouth when you figured out a way to leap out of this one?" Al asked suspiciously.

"I am not down in the mouth." Sam got a glass and filled it with water from the tap.

"Well, you wanna leap outta here, don't ya?" Al asked.

"Sure I do," Sam said. "That's all I ever want, to go home."

"Well, we'll get you home," Al reassured him. "And we'll get Doggett home too, he's about ready to go completely postal on us, stupid Marines. Oh... oh... Sam... about Doggett."

"Yeah?"

"Ben made some... uh... accusations... tonight that I'm not quite sure if Mrs. Starkweather answered so honestly."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. Al gave him a minute to let the insinuation sink in. "Doggett and STARKWEATHER??? I don't... no... that can't be right. Where did Ben get that idea?"

"Well, I don't know Sam, I mean, I don't think they're doing the mattress mambo yet. Even Ben said he doesn't think that, but Ben thinks that there's something more between them because the little missus has been spending a lot of time with her partner and I don't mean Ben."

"Oh," was all Sam said.

OH???" Al spluttered. "'Oh', he says. I just told you that Doggett, who's bod you're in right now, is not in good with Benny because he thinks his wife is making goo-goo eyes at Doggett and all you can say is 'OH?'"

"Well is she?" Sam asked.

"Is she what?"

"Making goo-goo eyes at Doggett?"

"How should I know?" Al snapped. "I haven't talked to Mr. The Few, The Proud, The Mentally Deficient in a few hours and when I talked to him last, it was while the doc was stitching up YOUR head because HE decided it would be a good idea to bust through the two way mirror. Anyway, couldn't YOU tell when you were talking to the little lady yourself earlier tonight?"

"I don't know," Sam mumbled. "I mean, I can tell she trusts me... uh Doggett and... um..." Sam paced a bit in the kitchen. "She's an incredible person Al. She's smart, she's funny, she's strong and she's straight as an arrow. I mean, I can't picture her being unfaithful to Ben. It's not in her." Sam dumped out the remaining water in his glass. "But she's not as tough as she likes people to think she is. Underneath it all, she's sweet and gentle, Al, there's an angel underneath all that piss and fire she shrouds herself in."

"Shrouds herself????" Al said, mouth hanging open. "Since when are YOU a poet?"

"I'm not," Sam felt a blush crossing Doggett's cheeks.

"Aw nooooooooooooooooo," Al groaned. "I don't believe this is happening."

"What?" Sam snapped defensively.

"You like her."

"Of course I like her."

"No, you LIKE like her."

"What is this, junior high?"

"You," Al began circling his best friend. "Have the hots for that little hurricane."

"Do not," Sam grumbled. "I just... I just hope I don't forget her when I leap out of here."

"I wouldn't worry about that one." Al said, "Women like her, women like her and Scully don't let you forget them. They stay with you forever, even if it's only in dreams."

"Now who's the poet?"

"Ahhh," Al grumbled, opening the door back into the future. "Get some sleep. You're gonna need it for tomorrow. Just be sure you're thinking with the head on your SHOULDERS tomorrow," was Al's parting shot when he stepped out the glowing door.

"Funny," Sam said when the door closed. He went to lay down on the couch. He grabbed the remote and turned on the stereo for background noise.

"Darkness falls and she will take me
by the hand
Take me to some twilight land
Where all but love is gray
Where time just slips away
Without her as my guide

Night falls I'm cast beneath her spell
Daylight comes our heaven's torn to hell
Am I left here to burn
and burn eternally
She's a mystery to me....."

Sam closed his eyes and felt himself slip away to a twilight land...

Sam fell into a troubled sleep......

He opened his eyes and found himself sitting a car, similar to the one he had before he made his maiden leap into the past. He looked around and somehow knew that he was still in Washington DC, or actually, a nice, middle class suburb. More accurately, he was sitting in the driveway of a modest one story house, tastefully, understatedly decorated, but one where children ruled for toys littered the meticulously manicured yard and a basketball hoop hung over the garage.

Sam got out of car and walked around a bit, admiring the neatly pruned rosebushes. Two little boys, on bicycles wheeled past on the sidewalk. One of the boys, not more than eight or nine, stopped in front of the driveway, near where Sam stood and yelled at his friends. "I gotta go, Will, I'll see ya after supper!" he yelled lustily. His little friend waved and rode away.

The small boy unceremoniously dumped his bike on the grass and even before he ran for him, Sam could see that the child was undeniably Starkweather's. Same crinkly hazel eyes, same elfin face. Dark mocha brown hair though, with a colic. The child flung himself at him. "Hi Dad!" he said happily.

Sam, as if it was most natural thing in the world, swung the boy up in the air, "Hey, you, what's goin' on?" Sam asked brightly.

"Dad, Will's havin' a sleepover at his house tonight. We're gonna watch movies and eat popcorn and play video games on Will's new Playstation 4 and Aunt Dana already said it was okay, can I go, please Dad? I promise I won't be a pain for Aunt Dana, please??? Uncle Fox is gonna be there and he said he was gonna play video games with us, please Dad, can I, huh? Can I go?"

"Well, let's see what your mother says, but I think it'll be okay," Sam put the boy down, took the child by the hand and went into the house.

The living room was spacious and comfortably furnished, but again, kids rules. Sam stepped on a teddy bear by accident before calling out "Doc? Hey Doc, I'm home!"

A petite woman came out of the kitchen, drying her hands with a dish towel and despite the shoulder length dark brown hair and the tiniest hint of crows' feet by her eyes and laugh lines by her mouth, Sam knew it was Starkweather. "Hey, you're early, shock and surprise," she deadpanned as she crossed over the toy strewn living room to give Sam a deep, long kiss.

"Ewwww," the boy covered his eyes.

"Oh, stop," Starkweather crouched to the boy's height. "Look at you," she said as she did a totally "Mom-thing" by licking her fingers and trying to rub dirt smudges off his face. "J.B., what devilment have you and your cousin been up to?"

"Nothin', honest!" he protested in wide-eyed innocence as he wiped "Mom-spit" off his face. "Just playin' and ridin' bikes."

"And getting dirty," She said lovingly.

"Mom, Will said I could sleep at his house tonight, Dad already said it was okay if you said okay. Is it okay? Can I go?"

"'May' you go, and yes, baby, it's okay. Your Aunt Dana already called-"

"Alright!"

"-and invited you and your sister."

"Aw, man," the boy pouted. "We don't want any dumb girls there."

"Hey mister," Starkweather said sternly. "Since when do we talk that way about our twin sister? Bailey's just going to stay for movies and popcorn. She already said she wants to come back home tonight. Now, go wash up for supper. You stink." She kissed the top of his dirty head.

The boy scampered off. Starkweather shrugged. "So much for our night alone, but Bailey is so attached to that new kitten Mulder got her she doesn't want to leave it along for one night. She named him Fox, after him, isn't that revoltingly cute?"

Sam laughed. "Well, it was nice of Mulder to give her that kitten. She was so broken up when Caesar died."

"She wasn't the only one, poor old cat," Starkweather wound herself around Sam. "But, at least we'll have a couple of hours of 'grown-up' time while the kids are out." She kissed him again and Sam felt completed, whole, with her in his arms. She broke away and Sam felt a small part of him die with even that tiny separation. "Hang on a sec, I'll call her inside, she's out back with that kitten, I mean, Jiminy Christmas, I'm almost afraid she's going to love that poor hairball to death, it's so little." She went to the kitchen, Sam following.

"Bailey!" Starkweather shouted out the back door, "Come into house, Dad's home!" Starkweather went back to the counter to finish slicing tomatoes for the salad she was working on. Sam sat at the kitchen table, waiting for his daughter.

A little girl came to the door, with a small white kitten in a strangle hold. Sam felt his heart stop.

The girl had piercing crystalline blue eyes and wavy brownish blond hair. "Daddy," she said, crawling into his lap. "I missed you so much, see what Uncle Fox got me?" she held the kitten up for his approval.

Sam looked over the child's head at his reflection in the toaster. John Doggett's face, aged nine years, stared back at him.

Starkweather turned to him. "Hey," she asked, forehead crinkled in concern. "What's wrong, Papa John?"

Sam woke up with a start. He looked around to find himself in John Doggett's bedroom. He made his way to the bathroom to splash cold water in his face. He looked up into the mirror. John Doggett's face stared back at him. Sam touched the reflection with dripping wet fingers. "God," he prayed. "Please let my next leap be the leap home. I can't do this anymore..."

The shrill ring of the phone bolted Sam from Doggett's bed. He glanced over at the alarm clock, which almost screamed 2:24am.

"Hey Doggett," came a familiar voice on the other end, it took Sam a second in the fog of sleepiness to remember exactly who the voice belonged to. "Mulder here. Hey listen, the boys found something ya might wanna take a look at. I didn't wanna call Scully away from Will, Starkweather's phone is off the hook, I can't get hold of either Skinner or Reyes."

"Glad to be a last resort." He heard himself grumbling. "It couldn't hold till morning?" Sam whined. Part of him really wanted to get back to that dream, even if it wasn't his own life. He needed to get home--and soon--if he was starting to even dream vicariously.

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't get the fun of turning you into an insomniac. All-nighters come with the territory of that basement office." Mulder retorted

Sam sighed defeatedly. "You know you are fucking impossible sometimes." Sam heard himself gruff into the receiver.

"Impossible people do impossible things, Puppy Man."

"It better be damn important, Mulder."

"If we're gonna keep the x-files up and running, this is pretty big news. I dropped by my apartment anyway to get some things I needed. I'll be over in a few minutes. See ya in a few."

Part of Mulder's conversation made Sam jolt out of his fog. Who the hell were "the boys?"

"Al! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!" Sam called out into the air.

Pretty soon, the thin blue light of the chamber door appeared and Al's swanky form graced the doorway.

"Who are the boys?"

"Oh great...not the Lone Gungeeks!" Al groaned. "I think those guys have been beamed up one too many times. They're three hacker friends of Mulder's who write a newsletter called The Lone Gunmen. Your last leap, Doggett enlisted their help. One of them wanted to be beamed up, and another called Ziggy and I quote..."a million megabytes of megabitch," and another one fell in love with her."

"So they're a bit off the beaten path...they can't be that bad." Sam attempted to be optimistic. "Mulder and I are headed over to their place in a few minutes. He's on his way."

"Just don't look too shocked or surprised by what you see when you get to their place."

"Any change in the USMC data system or new light on who kills Mr. Starkweather?"

"According to police reports, blood was found in Mulder's car matching Starkweather's type, making him a suspect. No change on the USMC data system. I think the info Mulder's dug up has something to do with that, though."

"What if I get him to go away for a weekend, or maybe get the sparkplug so the car won't start?" Sam brainstormed, shoveling tennis shoes into unsocked feet.

"Not a bad idea, Sam. See what you can do. Meanwhile, find a way to get close to Bennyboy so he won't get fed to the fishes in a few days."

"I dunno if I can do that, Al. He already thinks I'm after his wife. Why would Doggett spend quality time with a coworker's husband who hates his guts?"

"Well, try...because if you can stop him from getting killed, we may just be able to get you home."

Sam's face got serious for a minute.

"Al, I have a life back home, don't I?" He sounded almost like a little kid, asking a parent about camp or kindergarten.

"Sure you do. It'll be your fifteen minutes after you get back, and everyone's doing their damnest to make sure that happens."

"I know...thanks." Sam said quietly. "You better get outta here. If Starkweather can hear you, odds are Mulder can, too, and he'll be here any minute."

"Hey, you're right. I'll see ya later. Lemme know what the boys find out, and try and find a way to stick to Benny no matter what it takes! I don't care if you hafta kidnap the yutz. Do it!" Al shouted and was out of sight just in time for the doorbell to ring.

"Morning, Dogbreath." Mulder chirped. Sam only flashed him a warning look.

"I don't give a damn if the X-Files stay open, Mulder. I'm too old to be pulling all-nighters."

"This isn't about the X-Files, Doggett. It's about those people that died on that oilrig, and it's about our freedom and safety. Starkweather was right. If we have to testify, we are fair game. I've got way too much to loose these days."

"So that's why you're digging up information?"

"Not exactly. I can't explain it about Starkweather..."

"...say no more, Mulder. I know what you mean."

"Don't tell me you have the hots for that little hurricane!"

Sometimes it was just plain spooky how much alike Mulder and Al were. Sam felt that the comment justified only a warning glare.

"That's not what I meant, anyway...I feel like I need to protect her--like I used to feel like I needed to protect Samantha."

"Maybe you just somehow displace Starkweather with Samantha. You're the psychiatrist--you know about all that Freudian crap better than I do."

"Interesting theory, Puppy Man. Anyway, so much for theorizing. We're here."

::They live in a warehouse?:: Sam inwardly sputtered, trying to conceal the quizzical expression on his face.

"Doggett? You okay?"

"Yeah...just haven't woken up yet, is all."

"Alright. Let's see what the three stooges have found for us."

Something about the way the warehouse was concealed told Sam that being a man who had been in the Gunmen's warehouse would be the acting assignment of a lifetime.

3:19 AM

Tacoma Park Falls, MD
TLG Lair

As Mulder pulled up to the back of the warehouse, Sam wondered why they were stopping. He wanted to clue Starkweather in on what they were researching tonight, but decided against it. He had caused enough trouble between the Starkweathers. Luckily, Mulder's lanky form was a few steps ahead so Sam had no trouble hiding the quizzical expression that seemed to plastered on his face around Fox Mulder. Surely nobody lived here...there were no gutters for running water, and no apparent lights on inside.

"It's us." Mulder said simply up into a security camera that Sam didn't notice until then.

After a few awkward minutes, Sam was grateful to hear the click of the deadbolt...and a little puzzled as to why he heard eleven more clicks of apparently eleven more deadbolts.

"Merry Christmas, Frohike." Mulder said to the stocky man on the other side of the door. He was decidedly odd looking in thin-rimmed owlish glasses framing an unshaven face, and from his peppery greasy hair, he looked to be in desperate need of a shower.

"Little late for that, isn't it, Mulder?" Frohike grumbled, and let them in.

"Well, I missed it last time, remember?" Mulder prompted, and handed him the folder he carried.

"Shit, I forgot. In that case, Happy Hanukah buddy. Now where's my New Years' kiss?"

"Not on your life, Fro." Mulder growled and took one of the hundreds of laptops off the mile-high shelves in the back of the warehouse, where a young bearded man in a suit was obviously looking at some sort of scanner.

"Jesus Christ, Doggett," said a young bearded man in a suit, "your electromagnetic readings on the security cam are through the roof."

Sam wondered briefly if he wasn't brought in as a consultant--surely he couldn't be the third Lone Gunman.

"I think Dogman's been standing too close to the microwave these days, Byers."

"Sorry you hadda be drug out here at this hour." Byers apologized. "We're doing all we can to help the situation." Sam nodded a thanks.

"...most of this stuff wasn't even on the market when I left..." Sam said in quiet awe looking around the lair.

"When you left where?" Piped up a man with blond stringy hair from behind a large computer. The glare from the screen gave his already pale skin almost a green complexion. "The psych ward?"

"Take it easy on him, Langly. It's not his fault--I tell ya, Mulder, it's that FBI coffee." Frohike was saying, hunched over Langly. "I knew they put some sort of mind-deterioration drug in that shit. G-Dog, bring it up here, and we'll run some tests on it. It'll be fun."

"So why was I brought here?" Sam asked, choosing to ignore the remarks at his expense.

"Well, since my new position is about as mind-numbing as watching C-Span, I did some digging this afternoon. Apparently, there was a number called to one of the highest offices of the FBI exactly 36 times both prior to, during, and immediately after our investigation. I'm pooling our resources, trying to figure out exactly who in the FBI was making those calls, and who was doing the calling. If we can find those out, then maybe you, Scully, Reyes, and Starkweather can head up the investigation from there." It killed him that he couldn't be part of the chase anymore.

"Starkweather found several Air Force bases with unexplained crashes like the one we nearly experienced in Inverness. You probably couldn't reach her on the phone earlier because I'll be willing to bet she was doing some digging of her own. She's looking tonight for connections between the oil company in the Gulf and those air bases."

"I've got a lock on that address, guys." Langly piped up triumphantly. "It's a payphone on Penn Avenue, and on the same corner as a bank."

Sam took a laptop off the computer, and the four other men in the warehouse exchanged puzzled looks.

"What in the name of Bill Gates and all that is Holy do you think you are doing?" Frohike sputtered.

"I'm...uh...hooking this up to your mother board to see if I can find the shareholders for that oil company."

The four were all still staring at Sam open-mouthed.

"Gomer, since when did you start hacking? I didn't think Marines had time to score free porn."

"I used to build computers and I configured a data system."

"In the Marines?" Mulder finished. Sam nodded.

"Cool! He's one of us." Langly murmured in admiration. Sam was torn between being flattered and worry.

Meanwhile
Back to the future
Quantum Leap HQ

Al found himself pausing in front of the chamber where Doggett-in-Sam's body stayed. He could hear the hammers while Goushie and some other techs he didn't know very well were putting plywood in place of the mirror that Doggett had thoughtfully shattered for them. He looked at the kid, barely old enough to shave, but old enough to wear military fatigues and to hold a gun that outweighed him. "Howya doin'?" Al said in a defeated voice.

"Sir, lousy, sir," the young man replied formally.

Al grinned. At least the kid's sense of humor hadn't been completely stomped out of him. Al punched in his code and the door swooshed open.

Doggett was sitting at the table, picking at the dinner they had brought for him, by request. He finished his mouthful of corn before he asked. "So, is this my last meal?"

Al looked at the demolished plate of fried catfish, mustard greens, silver queen corn on the cob, homemade macaroni and cheese plus the untouched plate of peach cobbler and the half-empty glass of sweet tea and felt his stomach growl. However he was dreaming of a heaping plate of linguine with a side of chicken breast, drowning in a fine tomato sauce with a big bottle of red wine. He knew he was going to be eating take-out tonight though.

Al pulled up a chair and said, "You really think we're going to kill you?"

Doggett shrugged. "I don't know what to think."

"Listen, Doggett," Al sat down, "we don't have much time here. The big clock is ticking and I don't know how to get you to trust me, so I'm just gonna have to lay it on the line for you.

"Alright," Doggett said, pushing his food away, giving his total attention to Al. "Lay it out for me," he drawled out condescendingly.

Al bridled but kept his cool. "Someone is gunning for Mr. Starkweather," he said "and I don't think he will let Sam help him out of the mess he's gotten himself in."

"Why not?" Doggett asked, feeling his cop instincts kicking in.

"Because Ben thinks you are one step away from boinking his wife."

"WHAT??"

Al studied Doggett before he went on. The look of shock and indignation on Doggett-with-Sam's face had been too quick to be faked. But still, with what Ben accused Jerilyn of earlier that night, with what little she had offered as defense, Al had to know. Ben's life may depend on it.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"You know... you... Starkweather... heavy breathing?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Doggett bolted up, completely infuriated by now. "What kind of soap opera bullshit is this?"

"Look, like it or not, believe me or not, but Sam is parading around in your body. If Ben believe that you and his missus are partners in every sense of the word, it's gonna be next than impossible for Same to help him unless we know how to tiptoe around Ben's ego so tell me straight up right now, you and Starkweather. Are you or aren't you?" Al persisted.

Doggett crossed his arms. "We are not having an affair," he said coldly. "That is insulting to me, to Starkweather, to our work relationship and our friendship."

"Do you have feelings for her?"

"What???" Now Doggett sounded disgusted.

"Don't look at me like I'm nutso," Al snapped back. "I'm not dead yet and I'm surely not blind. Girl's got a nice shape to her, pretty eyes, and that hair! Oh my God in heaven, I saw her tonight with her hair down, why does she punish such lovely hair by putting it up in those God-awful uptight hairdos at work?"

"Quit it," Doggett growled.

"And the girl's smart as a whip, loyal as a dog and a heart of gold. Any man would be a fool not to notice," Al said seriously. "Especially a man who works as closely as you two do."

"You make it sound like we've been together for years," Doggett said evenly. "I've known Starkweather for less than two months. We've only worked one case."

"Two months huh?" Al said. "And yet you guys are comfy enough to spend a late night alone after your little poker party broke up." Doggett fell silent. "You aren't protecting Starkweather's honor if you're holding back. What you say stays here. But I gotta know if there's any reason for Ben being jealous of you other than the fact that he's an insecure prick. Personally, I think their marriage was in the toilet LONG before you were in the picture and Ben is just using you as an excuse but still. I gotta know right now how you feel for that little Hurricane so I can tell Sam what to do, how to behave around both Ben AND Jerilyn. The sooner Sam knows that, the sooner he does his job, the sooner you get out of here and it would be like none of this ever happened."

Doggett, sighed, his shoulders slumped.

Meanwhile...
Ben and Jerilyn's apartment
2:26 AM

Ben tossed and turned on the lumpy sofa bed couch he had unfolded for himself. Eventually, he gave up on sleep, swung himself up and reached for his cigarettes. Lighting up, he looked at the Zippo he held in his hand. Jerilyn had given it to him while they were dating. No special reason, she said. "If you're going to pollute the air, your lungs and me, you might as well look classy doing it," she had said airily while he had unwrapped the paper from the tiny package. Two months later he had scrounged up enough money for the down payment for the diamond solitaire she wore on her left finger.

"Christ," he muttered. Still puffing on his cigarette, he wandered down the hall towards the bedroom he was banished from. He scootched the door open a bit and peeked in.

Jerilyn was curled up in the fetal position, as usual. She had kicked off all the covers, as usual. The cat was sleeping in the crook of her bare legs, as usual. Ben tiptoed in and hovered over her, helplessly. He reached out as if he was about to move a long lock of her hair out of her sleeping face, looking so deceivingly innocent, but he stopped himself and turned away to go out on the balcony.

Outside, taking another Morley out of his pack, he looked out at the city he felt like such an alien in. The East Coast was a whole new world to that Midwestern boy and he wasn't sure he liked it. No, he KNEW he didn't like it, but at the time, it seemed like such an opportunity for Jerilyn. A toe in the door in Washington, a chance to clean up the somewhat blotted record she earned at the Minneapolis Field Office because her partner and her boss either didn't like her intellect, her femininity or both. It was either transfer to DC or have those years spent at Quantico, go to waste. Ben thought the sacrifice wasn't that great for him to make.

Now he found it unbearable. He tried to hide his homesickness from his wife, she of the military moveabout life, knew nothing about roots, lifelong neighbors, friendships maintained from kindergarten. He still found himself wandering the streets of Washington like a tourist, treating the nation's capital like a vacation instead of home. Once he learned of the nature of the X-Files, he had breathed a sigh of relief. Jerilyn was not prone to flights of fancy.

Ben sincerely believed his wife when she told him that the X-Files was just a stepping stone to something bigger and greater. At the time, she desperately dreamed of being an instructor at Quantico. Like a good soldier's daughter, she plotted her life in an intricate battle plan. One, two years maximum tour of duty in the X-Files, clean up her blotted record, then request a transfer to the Violent Crimes Division (VICAP). Three years in the field for VICAP. No more, no less. Then wait patiently for a teaching opening at her mecca, her Holy Land. She preferred a position in forensics, her specialty, but profiling would suit her just as well. Ben went along with her, on the surface, supporting his wife and anxious to see the world beyond the Midwest, but deep down in darkness where he held secrets he didn't even know existed, he had hoped that Jerilyn would get tired of the political bullshit of DC and would want to return to the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes or even the Land Between Two Rivers, he really hadn't minded Iowa all that much during the seven years he spent their for the Air National Guard and for college and law school.

He completely did not expect Jerilyn to completely immerse herself into the X-Files. She had only been on one case so far, which took her to Scotland of all places and had nearly been killed, not once, not twice, not even three times, but four times. He didn't expect his wanderlusting wife, child of perpetually moving military family to sink her roots down in the capital and call DC "home." Ben had prepared himself to spend five years in Washington, then possibly ten more in Virginia, moving closer to Quantico... but he always pictured himself and Jerilyn moving back to Minnesota, buying a house on a lake, opening it up during the summer for the children and grandchildren he was beginning to wonder if he would ever have.

That was the clincher. Ben was not a bad guy, he was just an ordinary guy, a "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" type of guy, but at the end of the movie, Mr. Smith eventually returned home from Washington. He wanted his law practice, he wanted a wife, he wanted kids, he wanted the two-story house like his parents had and the white picket fence, a cat and a dog.

**Well, I've got the cat,** Ben told himself, tongue in cheek as he smoked from his balcony while Jerilyn slept on inside. He had also hoped that once he and Jerilyn started to have children, Jerilyn would rethink about being in such a dangerous profession. Dead wives also make lousy mothers. He snorted in disgust as he remembered their fight earlier that night. He scoffed at the notion that he was in danger. He didn't understand what the big deal was. It was not a mob case. It was not a war crime case. It was a stinking little environmental case that the only winners from the legal battle were going to be the lawyers. Ben groaned. Did Jerilyn not understand how much money he was going to walk away from this? He was a rookie lawyer who, after landing this case, was told to bill the clients, the benevolent government of the United States of America, $150 an hour. He had already put in twenty-five hours on the case, bringing the pre-tax total up to $3750, which the firm advanced him in a pretty check that was folded up in Ben's wallet. Ben, child of a homemaker and a grammar school principal, had never imagined making so much money at once. It was one of the more compelling reasons why he went into law. He was on his way to becoming a wealthy man, a wealthy man who only wanted to spend his money on his family. Before the scene in Skinner's office today, he was daydreaming about what he was going to do with all that lovely money once the case was over and done with. He would send some to his parents because his dad was always talking about buying a new little fishing boat, but never had the cash on hand. He would buy little gifts for the spoiled rotten bratty children of his older sister. He would buy a new car for Jerilyn so they wouldn't have to share the POS Dodge they both have been driving around for two years now. He wanted to get a new motorcycle and let Jerilyn keep the little Suzuki they had now. He wanted to put a down payment on a nice house in one of Washington's finer suburbs. He wanted the life of a well-to-do upper class ordinary man.

To have this, he realized with a sinking heart, he would also have to have an ordinary woman to be his wife and Jerilyn was less than ordinary. Ben paused to think how relations had been steadily deteriorating, long before their move to Washington, long before the tragic miscarriage Jerilyn suffered a while ago. Almost two years too late, Ben made the horrible realization that he married the wrong woman. She was too fiery, too unpredictable, too ambitious, too stubborn, too wild for a simple hearted man like him. He cringed at the idea of divorce, being a good Catholic boy but also because he loathed conceding defeat. At anything. Which made him a good lawyer. But still, sitting alone in his office working on his legal strategies or in his apartment, watching the Twins play ball, sipping beer, divorce was beginning to sound less and less heinous. He was alone all the time anyway, with Jerilyn cooped up in the hellhole the FBI laughingly called "the X-Files office" or when the same said FBI sent her off on another snipe hunt that put her life on the line one more time, putting her right in front of a gun, a poison, a bomb, a speeding van, a crashing plane... being a divorcee seemed infinitely more appealing than waiting to be a childless widow.

There was just one problem though.

He loved her.

TLG Lair
4:17 AM

"If I can find the stockholder's list, maybe we'll get lucky."

"If this is your idea of getting lucky--" Mulder started

"Shuddup, Mulder." Sam grumbled, having about all he could take of Mulder's snide remarks.

"Sorry Doggett." Mulder said sheepishly, "my smart-ass-ometer is in direct correlation to my stress level."

"I know, Mulder. Believe it or not, I'm on your side here. I've got people working for me on another end on our side"

"Doggett, we need Knowle Roarke working for this situation like you need a hole in your head."

::Knowle! Who's Knowle?!:: "It's *NOT* Knowle. Believe me, these friends are on the level. I trust my life with them as much as you trust your life with Scully. The whole world is not out to get you, Mulder."

"Well, I hope you meant what you said about trusting these friends, because the future of the x-files depends on it."

"The X-Files is my job now; I'm not about to let you or Scully down, and as long as it's in my power, I won't let the x-files close. Understood?" ::Your life depends on them, too, Mulder.:: Sam silently added, and continued to key in data, hoping that what he said got through to Mulder.

"Shizayum." Langly said quietly about an hour later. "I've got something here you boys might wanna take a look at." The four crouched around the huge computer screen. "Look who owns 5K of shares in the oil company...about halfway down the list of shareholders."

"That explains a whole damn lot. No wonder the bastard got jumpy when we wanted to investigate." Mulder growled, his voice growing steadily louder. "Dammit...I can't BELIEVE I was fired over a STUPID CONFLICT OF INTEREST!" He said, banging his head in slow repetitive motion on the top of Langly's computer.

"Not too hard, buddy, you'll break the equipment." Langly nasalled.

Halfway down the list earning nearly 2 million in dividends every year in stock of Galpex Oil was Deputy Director Kersh.

Sam whipped out his cell phone.

"Who are you calling?" Mulder asked from his station.

"The Ghostbusters." Sam deadpanned. "I'm calling Starkweather. She needs to know about this mess before she goes to work in the morning." He hit the last button on Doggett's cell-phone, figuring that was the last person he would have added to the list.

"Doggett, what early bird bit *your* wormy ass at this hour? God! The grass isn't even up yet."

"Look, I'm sorry about the hour, but we've been digging all night, and there's something you should know about before you leave for the office."

"I'll bring the doughnuts."

"Kersh is in on it."

"Fuckin' A!" Starkweather murmured, bolting upright. "How?"

"I'll explain later...Scully'll pick you up for breakfast, in a couple of hours and we'll discuss what we'll do then."

Starkweather hung up the phone, and sat still on the bed, half-heartedly praying that this whole night was nothing more than a bad dream. Needing to clear her head, she decided to plait her hair in braids and change into more suitable clothes for jogging.

"Ben?" She called out, timidly opening the bedroom door. "Hey listen I--" She stopped in mid-sentence when she saw that the couch hadn't been slept on, and Ben was nowhere to be found.

"Sonuvabitch musta gotten a hotel room." She growled. "I hope the clerk didn't speak fucking English and the people next door were having REALLY loud sex ALL night long." She ranted, forgetting the hour. She got a bottle of water, then went back for an extra one. She was going to need to run across the country to clear her head of last night’s disasters...but she would have to settle for as long as rush hour traffic would allow her.

Back at the TLG lair, Sam hung up the phone. "She took that well." Sam chagrinned.

"Mulder, you wanna call Scully?"

"Wait to call Scully for another hour, Doggett, unless you wanna face her wrath. She'd kill both of us if we woke up Boo."

Deciding he was right, Sam resigned himself to try and find any connections he could with the oil company and the AFB's.

"Boys, we're not getting anywhere on this." Mulder sighed defeatedly, glancing at his watch. "We might as well give it a rest for a while."

"Mulder, you think the caller would be likely to use the payphone again any time soon?" Sam asked, downing a gulp of coffee. ::If I'm even thinking of volunteering for this, that has got to be a sure sign of psychosis due to sleep deprivation.:: He thought, hoping silently that Mulder wouldn't think the caller would be back.

"They could be." Mulder said quietly after a moment of thoughtful silence. "It's a big possibility--especially with the trial coming up." For the first time that night, Mulder seemed hopeful.

The gunmen all exchanged tortured glances, and then silently made the decision for Byers to relay it.

"What if we did a stakeout of that payphone corner?"

"We could at least get a handle on who's making the calls, and get our first solid link. I think that could be just what you need, Mulder." Frohike agreed.

"Just bring us some supplies, ok?" Langly nasalled.

"Thanks boys, I really appreciate this" Mulder said, and then looking down, evaluating his appearance, he realized he needed something else. "...but what I really need right now is a shower and a shave and a change. I gotta be at work in a few hours."

"Yeah, me too." With that, Sam and Mulder left the warehouse, minds buzzing from too much caffeine and a sleepless night.

"You coming to our breakfast meeting, Mulder?" Sam asked, glad to be seeing the light of day and back in his own house. It wasn't that he didn't like the boys, he just didn't like walking on eggshells constantly.

"Yeah, I'll bring Scully with me. Maybe if we put our heads together, we can come up with something." Something in his tone sounded almost sad and defeated.

June 17, 2001
Georgetown, Scully's Apt.
7:52 am

"Mulder..." Scully scolded, "God, you look awful. You would think you were the one up with Will half the night." She said, handing the baby over to Mulder. "You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago."

"Morning, Sunshine." He smirked. Mulder gave her an apologetic smile and sat down at the breakfast table in her kitchen, and began absently bouncing the baby on his lap, who still had processed plums all over him. "The boys and me were up late doing some digging."

"Will's developed a new sport, haven't you sweetheart?" Scully said in her Motherese voice, bending next to Mulder to wipe the purple babyfood off Will's chubby face, hands, and legs. "It's called Babyfood Toss. The one who gets the most all over Mommy's favorite blazer wins. Extra points for Mommy's hair." Then, in her professional voice, she turned to Mulder. "What did you find?

"Kersh is in on it. We're meeting Starkweather and Doggett over breakfast to discuss a gameplan in about an hour."

"You have *got* to be kidding."

"He gets cushy dividends with that oil company in the Gulf, along with a few other top military officials."

"You have *got* to be kidding."

Mulder shook his head, stood up, and scooped the baby up with him, and held him over his head, sending the toddler giggling. "I don't kid about the X-Files." Then he put Will down in his walker, and sat back down at the breakfast table, raking his hands through his hair. "God, Scully, this is *my* fault...I'm sorry for all this..."

"All what, Mulder? What's *your* fault?" Scully asked softly, and sat across from him, every now and then steeling a glance over at Will.

"If I hadn't been abducted, none of..." he broke off, not being able to finish the sentence.

"That's not your fault, Mulder. You can't blame yourself for what happened. To this day, I think Skinner still feels guilty about what happened to you..."

She cautiously took her hand in his, he was trembling with emotions he wasn't quite sure how to define. Scully moved next to him now, wrapping herself around his shaking form in the chair, firmly squeezing his hand.

"Oh God, Scully," he choked, startled and chastising himself for breaking down in her kitchen. "I'm sorry..."

"While you were gone, I tried to do our job like you did...and I couldn't...and I blamed myself for that...but when Will came, I realized that what happened is nobody's fault except the monsters that took you."

"You really think they're gonna shut down the x-files this time?" He asked, walking over to the baby, and lifting him out of his walker.

"They've shut us down before. Someone told me once to never give up on a miracle. We'll get to the bottom of this, and go back to chasing little green men before you know it."

"They're gray." He deadpanned, and waited with the baby till she got her business suit changed and her hair rewashed.

Back to the Future
QLHQ

Al leaned forward, anticipating Doggett's answer, not really sure what to expect. He just hoped it wouldn't be mushy.

Doggett's fists clenched up. His gaze got chilly again. "Starkweather is a great gal," Doggett said. "I admire her, I respect her. I like her. Not that junior high "do you like me or you like-LIKE me" crap. I enjoy working with her, I enjoy talking to her, I enjoy her company. You are right about her marriage going down the drain. That's what we talked about the night she stayed late at my apartment. She needed to vent. The reason why she didn't tell Ben what we talked about is because she mainly referred to him as ‘asshole’ the entire time we talked."

"Funny," Al said, "she had no problem telling THAT to his face tonight."

"She's thinking about going to a lawyer," Doggett confessed. "She's thinking about getting papers drawn up. And how good is that gonna look, huh? Starkweather just blurting out 'Well, Ben, the reason why I came home so late is because I spent the night weighing the pros and cons of divorcing you with the man you think I'm screwin' on the side.' She was thinking divorce long before I was in the picture. She almost divorced him after her miscarriage-"

"Miscarriage?" Al asked. "What miscarriage?"

Feeling like a traitor, Doggett said, "It ain't really my story to tell. I thought you already knew, since you seem to know so much anyway... about a year ago, the Starkweathers got pregnant and when she was shopping with her mother-in-law, Starkweather started to bleed heavily and ended up losing her baby in a mall's bathroom. According to Starkweather, Ben was wonderful, supportive, so on and so forth. But when they fight, he likes to point out that if she wasn't so career and goal orientated, they might not have lost that baby. He's always apologetic of course... but..." Doggett didn't go on, for the rest of what Starkweather said that night was none of Al's business.

A few days before Sam's leap into Doggett
Doggett's apartment
Washington DC
1:35 AM Eastern Standard Time

"But wow... when he's pissed and it's in the heat of the fucking moment," Starkweather said, sitting next to Doggett on the stairs leading up to Doggett's modest patio in back of his apartment. She shook her head, finished off the last sip of warm Bud Light, then reached behind her for another frosty bottle. She gestured to Doggett, holding the beer with her good hand, holding up her useless broken wrist in the air. Doggett popped the top for her. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"You know, it doesn't help ME get over the miscarriage when it's constantly rubbed in my face that it's my fault," she said bitterly.

"You know it's not your fault."

"I know that intellectually, but in my heart... I don't know, Doggett. I mean... I wasn't ready for kids, I'm still not so I guess it's a blessing in disguise. But, my God, Doggett," there was real hurt in her smoky voice. "I heard its heart beating. I had just been to the doctor a few days before and I listened to the heartbeat and I started to get excited and maternal. I started daydreaming if it'd be a boy or a girl, if it'd look like Ben or me. I started picking out baby names. I called Linda-" her mother-in-law "-and asked her if she wanted to come with me to pick out a crib, maybe look at baby toys. Two days later, I'm waking up in ICU in critical condition because I nearly bled out. I know Ben wanted that baby more than I did... but that was only at first. I was just scared and overwhelmed and panic-stricken and constantly nauseous and in total denial. I just didn't believe that this was happening to me. I was on the Pill. We were careful. I freaked. I was like, "I'm not ready for this." But then I listened to the heartbeat and I thought "Yes I am. I am so ready for this." But it wasn't meant to be, so I guess I'm really not. Wait, I KNOW I'm not. I can't handle the idea of putting my career on hold again to start a family and I REALLY can't handle losing another baby if Ben and I would start a family. Once is enough. You know?"

Doggett had been silent throughout Starkweather's entire speech, nodded. "Yeah, I do," he thought. "My ex-wife wanted to try for another baby after we lost Luke... but..." he shook his head. "I couldn't. I didn't wanna have a kid just replace Luke, like he was the family dog who we put to sleep and we went and got a new puppy the very next day. But I didn't understand my wife's need to have more children. She didn't see it as replacing Luke. She saw it as mourning and honoring out son and getting on with our lives. Eventually, after a long, messy divorce, she found someone else and last time I talked to her, she has had two little girls with him."

The agents sat in a comfortable silence sipping beer; listening to the sounds of a city alive at night in during the shockwave heat of June. "Was it really bad?" Starkweather asked after a bit, in a small voice.

"What? The divorce?" Doggett asked, reaching for another beer. Starkweather nodded her head. "Yeah," he said in his typical honesty tempered by a soft Georgia drawl. "It was bad. The last time my wife and I talked, wasn't exactly civil."

"Hm," Starkweather drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. "I wonder if Ben would contest."

"You're talkin' as if it's a done deal, like you've got your mind made up."

Oh, Christ Almighty Papa John," Starkweather groaned. "You know what a wuss I'm being about this. One minute I'm all "That motherfucker" but the next I'm all "I love him!!!!" I don't know what the hell is going on. He whines about me never being home, but gee, I get bitchslapped by shapeshifting boogeyman and the Skin-man grants me a month of leave and Ben's gone at the office most of the time. You don't know how excited I was to come over and play cards tonight. I was to the point I was almost happy to see the Deputy Mayor."

"Almost," Doggett grinned, ever conscious of the feud between Mulder and Starkweather and yet amused by the amazing (almost creepy) similarities between the two.

"Almost," Starkweather said, rolling her eyes. "Not quite."

"Well, it's an improvement," Doggett mollified her, not realizing the shitstorm that was going to erupt in a few days when Sam would leap into his body and he would be trying to escape the Quantum Leap compound while Sam would helplessly watch the mother of fights between Starkweather and Mulder.

"I suppose," Starkweather said, also not a seer of the future, "he'd alright if he wasn't so goddamn arrogant and condescending."

"Look who's talking!"

"Doggett," Starkweather deadpanned, fluttering her lashes dramatically. "I DO NOT condescend."

"Uh huh."

"Plus I kind of have to be nice to him now since he saved my ass." A sentiment she would throw out the window the minute Mulder stormed into the X-Files office accusing her of setting him up.

"How diplomatic."

"I can be when I feel like it," she said airily, tossing her long hair like a proud pony. "I just wish I could find the right words to make things right with Ben... even if making things right means cutting him loose." She groaned. "This is terrible. I'm talking about dumping my husband while he's working his fingers to the bone at the office trying to secure some big high dollar law suit so we won't be so fucking broke. We got into a spat earlier tonight because he calls and tells me that this weekend we're supposed to go out with a bunch of his new friends from the law firm and their wives. He calls me as I'm doing bills and the money prognosis is not good right now. We blew our savings moving here. We quibble whether or not we can afford to go out to dinner, even though it's just going to beer and hot dogs at Hooters-"

Doggett interrupted her. "Hooters?" he said in disbelief.

Starkweather shrugged. "Retarded, isn't it." She looked up at the few stars brilliant enough to outshine the streetlights. "But that's where his friends go after work, so... and even though money is really tight, especially with me not working at the moment... I gave in. And I hate myself for it." She sighed. "God, this sucks. I don't know what to do, Papa John." She rested her head on her knees, turning her china doll face to look at him, her hazel eyes turning into a deeper golden brown color, shaded by her turmoil.

"Don't look at me!" Doggett said, "I don't got the answers," as he reached over and patted his partner's arm companionably.

"I know," she said miserably, reaching over with her broken wrist and resting her fingertips on his hand, which he left on her arm. "But at least you aren't pulling any fake 'it's-gonna-be-alright' bullshit answers out of your ass."

"You know I won't lie to you," Doggett said seriously, slipping his hand from out under Starkweather's to push a lock of her hair out of her eyes. He hated talking to women with hair in their eyes. "I'd love to tell you that it IS gonna be alright, but we both know that's a load of BS. Just know that I've got your back no matter which way you choose, whether you're gonna stay with 'Mrs. Starkweather' or if you're going to go back to 'Dr. Bailey.'"

Starkweather grinned. "Oh, no matter what happens, I'm going to stick with 'Agent Starkweather'," she said. "It sounds so much more bad-ass that 'Agent Bailey.'" She stood up and stood in front of Doggett. "I better get going... it's way late..." she unexpectedly kissed Doggett on the top of his head. "Thanks for being such a decent human being."

"Doc, I do believe you're tanked."

"Naaaahh," she said, weaving just a bit. "Wha' makes you shay that?"

"The fact that you just slurred that entire sentence. C'mon," he said, ever the gentlemen, taking her small, callused hand into his, touching nothing else. "You're drunk, I'm getting drunk, neither one of us is in any shape to drive you home, the bugs are gettin' bad, come on in and I'll make you some coffee."

"You know," Starkweather said as Doggett lead her up the stairs and inside his apartment. "If we keep up with all this hand holding mushy shit, people at the Bureau might start saying we're the next Mulder and Scully."

"Oh God," Doggett groaned. "I need that like a hole in my head."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Starkweather said with an impish grin. "I'm sure you get laid a whole lot more than Mulder ever did."

"A lady never uses vulgar language, Mrs. Starkweather."

"Pbbsssst," Starkweather blew a raspberry at him. "Since when have I been a lady?" But she still held his hand.

They stood in the doorframe, being sucking on by little vampire mosquitoes, close enough to kiss.

Doggett and Starkweather stood there for a bit, like teenagers loathing to call a night to a close, but realizing that they had curfews to meet. Still holding his hand, Starkweather walked up to Doggett and rested her head on his chest. Doggett, feeling a bit awkward, stroked her pretty hair with his free hand, resting his cheek against her head, saying nothing, just being a friend. But she lingered a little longer than a friend would have normally, still holding his other hand, interlocking her fingers with his, squeezing. Starkweather then looked up at Doggett, and pushed him away. Maybe she heard his heart beating, maybe she heard his breath catch in his throat, but something scared her a little, because Doggett noticed she was trembling and wide-eyed like the proverbial deer in the headlight. "Look," she said "you're drunk, I'm drunk plus I'm depressed and not really in a state of mind to make rational decisions and it's not like... I mean... aw hell, Doggett, things are fucked up as is. I don't want it to get weird." She paused, and grinned. "Damn weird." she mocked him gently.

He laughed. "Jiminy Christmas," now he teased her, using her tamest expletive. "Relax. It's not going to get weird, Mrs. Starkweather." Doggett, holding her good hand, the left hand, lifted it up and pecked it like a gentlemen. He examined the diamond solitaire glistening on the pinkie finger. "Wrong finger, Doc," he said.

"I can't get it on the correct finger at the moment," Starkweather said. "How about that coffee," she said, customary smirk on her face, walking inside, crisis past...

Back at QLHQ

As Doggett glared at Al, he thought ::How am I supposed to explain that when I don't even understand what the hell happened myself?::::

9:05 AM
FBI Headquarters
Deputy Director Kersh's office

"Assistant Director, you should be commended." Kersh began coolly. "With the exception of a few incidents regarding Agents Mulder, Scully, and Doggett, your work record is spotless."

"So for all my efforts, I should be getting stocked up on suntan and flamingos, and expect my company watch in the mail?" Skinner glowered. It wasn't in his character to snap at his superiors, but then again, it wasn't in his character to give up on what was right, either. After all that he had been through for the x-files office, after all everyone involved had sacrificed for the Truth, he couldn't just walk away. He owed Mulder that much.

"For all your efforts, I was going to say that you should be very proud of what you have done, Assistant Director. You seem to have a win-win situation on your hands, A.D. Skinner."

Skinner clinched his jaw, not wanting to hear his options out. "What do I win-win here, sir?"

"Allow Agents Doggett and the Deputy Mayor to testify on behalf of the Bureau and close their investigations into this matter, and rest easy with a tidy petition. It will be not only good publicity for the FBI, but it will exonerate the Deputy Mayor. You would be a damn fool not to cooperate with me on this one, A.D. We all get what we want here. Before you make your decision, I have already allowed litigation to be carried out on the matter. Fox Mulder and John Doggett both have subpoenas, as well as Dana Scully and Jerilyn Starkweather."

"Sir," Skinner almost-growled, trying hard to keep his voice controlled and steady, "if those agents testify, then you may very well lose any chance you ever had of recovering any of the injustices that had transpired on that oil rig."

"Then that is a risk we will have to take." Kersh said, standing now behind his desk. "Those testimonies very well may bring light on the truth. I am trying to do what is best for the FBI here. Frankly, we need good publicity right now with all that's happened around here lately. If the country knows how dedicated its top agents are, it just may do the trick."

"Don't think I'll be bribed to leave my position, sir." Skinner said, standing up now and almost shouting. "I cannot sell out to the people under me."

"That will be all, A.D." Kersh said crisply, and Skinner stormed out.

Skinner wasn't back from the meeting for five minutes before the phone rang.

"Skin--" Mulder was saying, but Skinner broke him off.

"Mulder if you start that Skin-man crap with me today you would rather have your face ripped off again." He growled, throwing his glasses down, clinching his jaw and raking the tip of his fingers up and down his sinuses.

"We've got a situation on our hands here, Sir. Scully's left to get Starkweather, and Doggett's on his way over. I don't wanna say over FBI phones what it is." Mulder said on the other end of the line, hoping that the clank-crash he just heard wasn't an irreparable disaster.

"You don't know the half of it." Skinner growled. "Everything alright on your end?

"Yeah, I'm babysitting at Scully's right now...that kid is superhuman, right, Sir?"

"Cut the "sir" crap, Mulder...you're not working for me anymore..."

"How soon can you get over here?" He said, frantically trying to conceal the dent in the plaster of Scully's kitchen wall that Will's walker had just made with duct tape. Will, still in his walker, was gurgling and clapping his hands.

"I'll be over there in about half an hour." He hung up and told Kimberly to hold all his calls and that he'd be gone for an undisclosed amount of time. "If Kersh calls for me, tell him to go to hell." He said in all seriousness, and stormed out to the FBI parking lot.

Washington, D.C.
Le Pane Cafe (A French Cafe in Downtown Washington)
9:13 AM

Only if you were people-watching would you notice the two elderly men sitting at one of the tables in the back of the cafe.

"I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for all this." One of the men said, swatting at freshly puffed smoke blown carelessly in his face. "My little Jeri can finally have all she deserves. My wife’s last memory should not have been--" the man's broken voice trailed off, emotionally unable to form the words to complete it.

"I should be grateful to you, Admiral," said the other man in a callous, steady voice, taking another puff of his Morley. "All my work has come to this. He has served his purpose for us, and it is too dangerous for him to continue. Who knows who else's lives he's destroyed. Justice can finally be done, thanks to your help. You will be remembered for this. I will see that Agent Starkweather gets all you've ever wanted for her."

"My son-in-law will see to that."

"I have no doubt that he takes care of her, but he may prevent us from finishing our task if his investigations are fruitful in this matter in the Gulf. We cannot fail this time, Admiral. Your daughter depends upon it." He absently took another puff of his cigarette.

"What do you need me to do?

"All I need you to do for her to get that is to set a trap."

"What kind of a trap?"

"A fox trap."

"It will be done."

"For your little girl's sake, I hope so." The old man put out his cigarette and walked out, as if nothing was discussed.

9:07 AM
In Scully's car on the way back to her apartment

Starkweather and Scully sat in silence for a while. It wasn't that they didn't feel like talking...just that the radio was the only thing keeping Scully from falling asleep at the wheel.

The Monkees were blaring over the airwaves at full blast:

"I thought love was only true in fairytales
Meant for someone else but not for me
love was out to get me
that's the way it ...."

...the signal wavered out for a couple of lines as they passed under a bridge...

"Now I'm a believer
Not a trace
of doubt in my mind…"

Starkweather, needing either music to be pissed-off by or to scream, abruptly cut the radio off.

"Something up Starkweather?" Scully asked, after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"Ben and I had a knock-down drag-out last night. He got a hotel."

"What about?"

"I don't even know anymore." She confided. "I tried to talk him out of prosecuting the oil company case, and he made it crystal clear that he doesn't want me in the FBI anymore."

"Is that what *you* want?" Scully implored her, glancing at her as soon as traffic allowed.

"I want to make this marriage work. Love is such a goddamn bitch!"

"For what it's worth, Starkweather, you're an asset to this office. I don't know if we would've found the connection with Kersh without your digging around the AFB's. And don't let what Mulder said yesterday get to you, either. He may be an arrogant shithead sometimes, but his heart's in the right place. Besides, I told him if he starts anything with you at this meeting he would opt to go back with the aliens. So you'll call a truce?"

Starkweather cracked a small smile. "Only if you help me come up with a new nickname for him."

"I think that can be arranged." She said with a wan smile. They erupted into peels of giggling like two high school girls as Scully pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex.

Meanwhile
Back at the QLHQ that morning

Al came in, so proud of his new suit, an obnoxious metallic maroon zoot-suit, with a relatively sober black dress blouse and a skinny matching "Regis" metallic black tie. Goushie looked up. "Geez, Al, don't stand in direct sunlight, you'll blind everyone."

"HA. HA." Al grumbled, not a morning person. "How's Ziggy?"

"Well..." Goushie hedged. "We still working on the error that's allowing Mulder and Starkweather to see you."

"Starkweather can't see me," Al wearily reminded him. "Just hear."

"Um... not yet..."

"What?"

"Um..." Now Goushie cringed. "We think we've picked up a computer virus somewhere and it's mutating. We've got some other programs that are going absolutely haywire right now, but as of right now, nothing that will directly affect Sam's leap," he rushed on, eager to reassure Al.

"Unless something else goes ca-ca and poof, here I am in front of that wildcat. This is a secure building, Goushie" Al growled. "Only certain people have access to the Internet and our Intranet. How did a virus get into our systems?"

"Um, we think one of the boys from Marine Security Forces disabled the security lock-out so he can surf the World Wide Web for porn," Goushie was now visibly sweating. "We've got it nailed down to three suspects right now, they're in lock up."

"Oh that's just great. Terrific. Marvelous. Marines... the Few, the Proud, the Horny," Al ranted. "How's Sam doing?" he asked him.

"Not good," Goushie, through Ziggy, was able to monitor Sam's vital stats through every leap. "His blood pressure is higher than I've ever seen on any other leap. Heart rhythms going batsy too."

"Whaddya mean?" Al asked. "Does Agent Rabid Dog's body have a heart condition that we don't know about?"

"No," Goushie was quick to assure him. "When Agent Doggett is in Agent Doggett's body, he takes very good care of himself. He eats like a pig, but he runs it all off. He was up at the butt crack of dawn, doing calathestinics."

"Goody for him," Al said sourly. He too saw dawn's early light, but that was when he was going home for a shower and a short nap. "What about Sam?"

"Sam's in a state of hyped up adrenaline. Too much sugar, too much caffeine, too much stress. And this is only one day. He's going to burn out fast if he doesn't get some down time."

"Time???" Al groaned. "Goushie, we don't GOT time, you know that!! We are literally," Al looked at his watch "hours away from Benny boy from being lifted. Ziggy's sick with a virus, all I got about the Missus Starkweather from Doggett was a whole lot of nothin'. Sam's out there, twisting in the wind..." a horrible thought crossed Al's mind. "Goushie, this virus is nowhere near the mainframe or the power grid... is it?"

"That's the other thing I've got to tell you..." Goushie said timidly. "We may have to shut down Ziggy for a few hours to-"

"NO!" Al thundered at the poor scientist. "We CAN NOT shut down, we CAN NOT leave Sam back there on his own!"

"What happens if we crash out completely?" Goushie fired back. "What if this virus gets into the modems of the Crays and we go down for days??? Weeks? Sam could leap and we would lose precious time trying to find him. We may never find him. He'd be good as dead."

Al's normally jovial face looked puckered and drawn. He pulled a cigar out of his coat pocket and lit it, chewing it ferociously.

"Look," Goushie said tiredly. "Shutting down is our last resort. The techs are on it right now, trying to reconfigure the coding, to contain the virus so it doesn't spread. They've already got the firewalls built. So far except for the hologram glitch, Ziggy is virtually untouched, knock on wood. The only problem for Ziggy that this virus is causing is that it will not let us de-configure your brainwaves from Mulder's and consequentially Starkweather's. As of this moment, it is a issue, but a controlled one. The problem is what could happen if we don't figure out how to wipe that little bugger out of Ziggy. This virus has also gotten into a few office computers and wreaked hell. The techs are using those as cadavers if you will to figure out how the hell to stop this thing if the virus re-conforms, figures out how to bypass the firewalls and start to take a trip down Ziggy's Memory Lanes. If we shut Ziggy down, it would be for five, six hours max to do a diagnostic and maybe, if worse comes to worse, put a new motherboard in her main modem. Reboot, reinstall the Quantum Leap programming and bring her back up at the bare minimum of capacity until we get her other systems powered up and operational. The holding chamber is on a completely different driver than Ziggy. That does not need to power down. If for some reason, Sam leaps, we've got power to support the leap. The problem is we won't be able to track him for at least a day. The tracking capabilities are tied to the holographic imagining chamber, which is directly tied to Ziggy. If Ziggy gets completely infected and goes down..."

"Sam goes down too," Al muttered. "Alright, Goush. Do what you gotta do, but WARN me if and when you gotta tuck the old girl in for a nap. Sam should be aware that he might be swimming alone for a few hours."

"If it happens, it will happen in approximately 72 hours." Goushie said. "If... and Al, please, remember, this is a BIG if, if it needs to happen, we've scheduled it to be offline at night."

"At night!" Al groaned, shuffling towards the imagining chamber. "Goush, buddy, this is an X-File, all the good stuff happens at night. Ziggy!" he called out. "Sorry you're not feeling well honey, but I need to see Sam right away...."

Back to the present,

Doggett Residence
Falls Church, VA
7:51 AM (earlier that morning)

Sam was not doing well. His heart was beating at an unnaturally fast pace, and his medical training told him that he couldn't live like this much longer without going into cardiac arrest. If he couldn't get to Ben Starkweather in time, who knows how long he would be in that state?

Al was waiting for him in Doggett's house after his long night with the Gunmen.

"How's it going Sam?"

"Besides being in a constant state of hypertension, fine."

"I know, pal. Just hang in there, we'll getchya through this. Doggett's calmed down back there, but one of the stupid marines got Ziggy a virus. We may need to shut down."

"They can't shut Ziggy down! Al," Sam was panicking, "Ben gets killed by the end of today if I can't--they can't--" Sam felt his head spinning.

"Calm down, Sam. It's only a possibility right now, we've got all the personnel we have on this one, making sure that doesn't happen. You, Spooky, and the three stooges find anything last night?"

"Kersh is in on it."

"Why am I not surprised." Al said, and took a puff of his cigar.

"I'm due over at Scully's in a little while with everyone to come up with a game plan. Can you nail an exact time for Ben's death?"

"Coroners placed the time of death between 4 and 4:30 am tonight."

"So, all I need to do is find a way to prove the connection between Kersh and the oil company before the end of the day. Any ideas?"

"I'll go and talk to Doggett back there, see if he can say anything. Figure out what you can from the A.D. and I'll pool my resources to see what we can dig up."

"Remember, hang in there. We'll do what we can to get you outta here as fast as possible." said Al, trying to be optimistic, and opened the chamber door.

Sam got a shower and changed clothes, and left for Scully's apartment.

Scully's Apt.
Georgetown, VA
9:35 AM

"Scully, don't go into your kitchen." Mulder said, grinning sheepishly as soon as her and Starkweather walked through the door. "We're having the meeting here. I just called Skinner over."

"Mulder? What did you do to my--where's Will?" She said, eyes widening, going to the kitchen. "OH MY GOD! Muuuuuuuuuuulder!!"

"Sorry Scully, I'll get you a new kitchen wall." Then turning to Starkweather, says "So, Starkweather, can we call it a truce?"

"If you count a bib with little ducks on it a white flag, sure." She said, awkwardly looking around the apartment.

"Have a seat." Mulder said. "Just for the record, I'd like to forget our little discussion earlier."

"I'll take that as an apology. So whatchya got?"

"You guys playing nice?" Scully said, coming out of the kitchen.

"’It is not perhaps the warmest friendship in the world.’" Mulder quoted a line from ‘The Godfather’

, taking a seat on a chair across from Starkweather. He noticed again how much her eyes looked like his fathers'.

"We won't send each other Christmas gift greetings, but we won't murder each other." Starkweather paraphrased the rest of the quote, doing her best impression of Marlon Brando. "Scully, you made me an offer I couldn't refuse"

"Cue the mandolins." Scully deadpanned, going into the kitchen to rescue Will from his rocker.

"Hey, Scully," Mulder called after her, "If they made a movie about us again, what do you think about Al Pacino playing me? He's cool." Mulder said, taking the baby.

"He's a god, but, Mulder, I thought Paul Reiser was in 'Mad About You'" Scully teased, giving Starkweather an "I-can't-believe-we're-having-this-discussion" look.

"You wanna hold the baby?" Mulder asked Starkweather, handing her the baby.

"Who'll they get to play me?" Starkweather whined, and then in baby-talk, giving the baby a raspberry in between words. "Yeeeeeees Will, who *phhhhbbbbbwwwwt* will *phhhhhhhbbbbbwwwt* play phhhhhhbbbbbwwwt* me?"

"Oh, we'll get the special effects guys to come with something for your part."

Scully and Starkweather both flashed Mulder a warning look. Mulder was saved just then as the doorbell rang.

Scully went to get the door. "Thanks for your help on this. Come on in, John."

"Hey, that bad guy from T2 would be PERFECT to play Doggett." Mulder smirked.

"Shut up, Mulder." Sam returned dryly. Skinner came to the door as soon as Sam came in the door, and Mulder showed them both in. Sam went over to Starkweather and Will, and looked disbelieving over at Mulder and Scully. "Look, Starkweather," he said taking the baby, "finally someone Mulder can relate to around here."

"So what are we going to do?" Mulder asked collectively. They all sat there, all exchanging blank glances for a few awkward minutes.

"Mulder, how does Canada sound?" Skinner suggested, looking at Will as though he would go off.

9:35AM
Law Firm, of Spangle, Carter, and Adams

"Questions for Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder..." Ben dictated into the mini tape recorder. "Please explain to the court the circumstances under which you left the FBI. Please explain to the court why you went against official orders. Please explain to the court why you ordered quarantine. Please describe to the court what you found on that oilrig. Please describe to the court the circumstances under which you left the oil rig." He paused to flip over the tape. "Why do I get the feeling that the jury won't accept the bullshit answers the fucking Deputy Mayor is going to give me?"

"Spooky will at least give the jury something to laugh at in the deliberation room. Jury duty for an environmental trial isn't exactly the feel-good event of the year."

"Deputy Director, always a pleasure to see you sir." Ben said with a smile, shaking his hand and offering the man a seat. "My wife hasn't been sent to the principle's office today, has she?" He said with a grin.

"No, Counselor. This isn't about your wife. This is about your first big case. I want you to know that you've got a friend in the FBI, one who will do everything he can to help you bring justice to whomever is to blame."

"Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me. The Assistant Director isn't as cooperative, and neither is my wife."

"Well believe me, Mr. Starkweather, they both will pay for their behavior if it has obstructed justice in any way. I came to personally deliver the litigation papers on behalf of the FBI to help move the process along smoothly. You will find everything in order."

"Again, thank you sir. It is a relief to know someone in your building is concerned with serving justice. I will make sure the integrity of the FBI remains intact in the process."

"I apologize for any complication that may have arisen on behalf of my colleagues. I guess some people just don't take their jobs seriously." Kersh said, and rose from his chair, dropping a scrap of paper from his folder, and left before Ben could hand it back to him.

Kersh:
"Discuss oil company matter at Lincoln Warehouse 5:30 second floor."
CBGS

The note read. Ben crumpled it up and tossed it into the wastebasket, and glanced back down at his legal pad.

He got the mini tape-recorder out and pressed record. "Questions for FBI Special Agent John Doggett. Please describe to the court what you found on the oilrig. Please explain the circumstances under which you left the oilrig. Please explain to me what you've been doing with my *WIFE!*" He shouted, and threw the mini tape recorder across the floor. He took the piece of paper out of his pocket again, and unfolded it, twirling it around between his forefinger and middle finger.

He went back to the wastebasket and picked up the crumpled note, and unfolded it. He shoved it into his pocket, and turned the tape recorder on again. Forgetting that the tape recorder was still on, he took the piece of paper out of his pocket again, and unfolded it, twirling it around between his forefinger and middle finger. What he wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall at that meeting. Maybe that meeting could give him the answers. It could give him proof of who Agent Doggett really was, and if Jerilyn could see that, maybe she would stop this stupid FBI kick she's on. He could have Mrs. Starkweather back, and all would be as it should be.

He picked up the phone, calling his secretary. "Noelle, do I have any appointments between 4:30 and 6:30 this afternoon?"

A few seconds later, a perky voice chirped, "Yes. You have a 5 with your dentist.

Ben said inaudibly licking his teeth, "I need you cancel that for me, please. Something's come up that can't be moved."

"It's done, Mr. Starkweather. Should I make another dental appointment?"

"Um...I'll let my teeth rot Noelle, thanks." He said, and hung up. Yes, everything was definitely looking up.

9:49 AM
Scully's Apt.

"I don't like the Blue Jays." Mulder deadpanned, shaking his head. "You guys have no idea how much I want to help put that snake back in the grass...but I have my own job, and I've already taken too many sick days."

"We know, Mulder." Sam said. "You're forgetting that this isn't just *your* crusade anymore. It's *my* job now, and Scully's and Starkweather’s to find the Truth that's in those files." Sam didn't know what he'd do if he was forced out of his own project.

"Bottom line is we gotta get into Kersh's office somehow." Starkweather said, pacing back and forth. "We need some way to find out when he's not going to be there for sure."

"Skinner, can you get a hold of his planner?" Scully asked, rescuing Will from Sam, who was scheduled for his morning nap in a half an hour.

"I can try, Scully," Skinner answered, looking decidedly uncomfortable so close to Will. He couldn't help but warm up to the baby when Will reflexively reached out for his nose. When Skinner leaned closer, the baby promptly pulled Skinner's glasses off. "But even if I was able to get a hold of his planner, there's no telling if he has any time away from his office before the trial. I'm going to have to create a diversion." Skinner said, perching his glasses back in their proper place.

"What if I tailed Ben?" Sam suggested. ::And keep him alive!:: He mentally added.

"Doggett," Mulder started, "As much as I'd love to see the crap kicked outta ya, I can't let you do that. What would it accomplish except waste time we need finding to spend finding proof?"

::"It would keep Ben alive!":: Sam inwardly protested. Too bad he couldn't tell Mulder.

"Besides," Starkweather agreed, "as much as it pains me to agree with Mulder, it wouldn't look exactly kosher for someone my husband thinks is gettin' freaky with me to be caught following the lawyer who is about to grill his ass on the stand."

"She's got a point, Doggett." Scully agreed.

"Mulder, Starkweather, tailing Ben is the only way we can make sure Ben ::stays alive!:: doesn't have any tricks up his sleeve." ::I hope they buy that::

"Doggett," Scully protested, "If you're tagging Mr. Starkweather, I'm going with you."

"Scully, I can't let you do that! How ::is Al going to tell me what he's up to if Scully can hear my half of the conversation!:: What are you going to do about Will?"

"Agent Reyes can sit with him. Doggett, I'm not letting you go out there alone."

"Doggett's right," Starkweather interjected, "Let me go."

"Starkweather," Skinner protested, "we need someone to sneak into Kersh's office for evidence during the diversion."

"I wonder if Angie Dickenson ever had these problems." Starkweather deadpanned.

"Alright, gang..." Mulder said, sighing heavily. "I hate to break this party up, but I have to go be a paper-pusher for a while. Let me know how everything turns out later. Who knows? Maybe I can get a buzz watching paint dry today."

"Mulder," Scully protested, "while you're high on the paint, just make sure you don't do what you did on the chloral hydrate in Texas."

"I don't care WHAT you say," Mulder started protesting, heading out the door, "I did NOT recite the beginning of ‘Shaft’."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Scully deadpanned.

"Scully?" Starkweather gawked, "The beginning of Shaft! Oh MY GOD! He DIDN'T!!" To which Mulder inappropriately gestured to Starkweather on the way out a slamming door.

"Yee Haw." Sam said dryly.

"Mulder owes us BIG TIME for this one." Frohike grumbled, pulling the van into the corner.

"Geez, Frohike." Langly whined. "Man....there's this wonderful product called DEODERANT!!!!! Ever hear of it?"

"For Christ's sake, Langly. Did you get those damn Funyons again? The van will smell like shit for WEEKS."

"It wasn't me!" Langly protested, "it was Byers. He had a burrito last night for dinner. Beans, beans the musical fruit, the more you eat the more you..."

"If I only had a brain." Byers sang barely audibly under his breath.

"You see what I see, Frohike?" Langly said, looking through the camera lens.

"Yeah, Langly." Frohike answered, taking the camera lens from him, pointing it away from the phone booth. "Damn, she's tasty. I bet you could eat breakfast on her ass."

"Would you cut that out!" Byers said through his teeth, snatching the camera away from Frohike. "That is Agent Monica Reyes coming going to the FBI building! If she spots us we are dead. Do you HEAR me boys?! DEAD!! Stay DOWN!" They all crouched down under the windshield, and then all three simultaneously, cautiously peered above the steering wheel.

"Langly," Frohike glowered, "could you kindly get your FOOT OUT OF MY CROTCH!"

"It's ok, she doesn't know the van yet..." Byers said, "...we're safe."

"Byers, who's that blonde coming up behind her?" Frohike grumbled, "Ohhhh Christ, doesn't that look like Starkweather?"

Byers and Langly both nodded simultaneously.

"It's ok, isn't it?" Byers asked, now looking with his bare eyes. "She doesn't know the van. The only way we'd be dead right now is if..."

All three men's eyes expanded three sizes at the same time as they saw a familiar red head moving toward them.

"Oh shit..." Langly whispered

"It's Scully!" Byers gulped.

"We're cooked!" Frohike grumbled.

"Very astute observance. That would be my evaluation of the situation." Byers deadpanned as he saw the door handles to the passenger side turning. "Are we insured?"

"Boys," Frohike said, patting them both on the shoulder, "it was nice knowing you." He tried to bail out the back, but Starkweather was poised, trigger-happy.

"Byers," Scully started, cocking her gun underneath his chin. "Don't think I won't pull the trigger. What the HELL do you think your doing?"

Starkweather was holding Frohike in much the same position, she had jumped him a few seconds ago, pinning his arm behind his back, and face down, had a gun ready to fire into the back of his head.

"Nice..." Langly’s Adams' apple bobbed three times... "day for a ride, ladies?"

"We...were just in the...neighborhood..." Frohike whispered.

"...and don't try and cover up for Mulder. His ass is next if he put you up to this."

"We're dead!" Byers grumbled. "I'm going to die. I'm going to die a virgin."

"Ha! Pay up, Frohike!" Langly shouted triumphantly.

"Hey, at least I'm secure in my sexuality." Byers protested, and lurched forward until the barrel of Scully's gun was shoved in his nose.

"Don't knock it 'till ya tried it." Langly nasalled, causing everyone to gawk at him. "Not that I ever--Scully, I swear, it wasn't my idea! Please let me live!"

Reyes, who had her gun poised and ready to fire just behind Langly’s ear grinned and said "I had a *feeling* there was going to be an ass-whuppin' today."

Starkweather, backing off of Frohike, but gun still pointed at him, turned to Reyes saying "Feelin' nothin', Agent Reyes. With the Idiot Troopers an ass-whuppin' is in the forecast 100 peerrrrrcent."

"Feelings, nothing more than feelings." Frohike sang off-key under his breath, shutting up abruptly at the click of Starkweather's cocking gun.

"Spill it boys." Scully glowered. "What are you doing here?"

"Mulder found out that a number from that payphone" Byers said in rapid-fire, jerking his head behind him. "was called lots of times..."

"Twenty six times." Langly interrupted.

"To someone high-up in the FBI, and we needed to know who was making those calls." Frohike continued, almost running his words into one, and finally daring to get up with Starkweather's gun still pointed at him.

"So Mulder could get a solid lead on a connection between the oil company and the FBI." Byers said, who had finally been allowed free from Scully's death-grip and was now straightening his tie and jacket. Reyes, Starkweather, and Scully all exchanged evaluating glances, and silently came to an agreement that their story was believable.

"They may be dolts, but they're not liars." Scully said.

"We're dolts?" All three echoed simultaneously.

"Why didn't Mulder tell us that?" Starkweather demanded Scully.

"We thought Mulder sent you guys to spy on us," explained Reyes.

"Boys, let us know if you find anything." Starkweather said, and closed the back door. "Nice seeing you again."

"We'll have to do this again sometime." Byers said, grinning like an idiot.

"As much as we'd love to chat," Reyes said, shutting the driver side's door at the same time Scully shut the passenger side door,

"We've got work to do." Scully said, and shut the door, making all those in the van feel almost sorry for Mulder...

…almost.

"Scully!" Frohike called after her, Scully opened the door, "so this whole assault on us was to get Mulder?"

"No…" Scully said with a sly grin crossing her lips, "I have my own reasons for beating the crap outta you guys."

"Being?" Byers whimpered, wondering what he did to deserve his punishment.

"Two words…" Scully replied. "Vegas Payback."

Byers landed his head on the steering wheel, setting the horn off.

"I told you that was a bad idea, man." Langly said to Frohike with a thwack on the back of his head.

Assistant Director Skinner's Office
10:00 AM Eastern Time

Assistant Director Walter Skinner had prided himself on being a "by-the-book" kind of man. Not in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine hitching along for a ride on the wild side. Part of him was screaming at him "Jesus, Walt! You are less than two years away from retirement and pension. Why are you throwing it all away now??"

The other part, the part that rose above his uptightness to stand down Krycek, stand next to Mulder and to stand up to the Smoking Man when he was still running the show, said "It's the Right Thing to Do."

And he knew it was. But it still felt wrong.

Still, he got out his cell phone and dialed Starkweather's number. "Are you ready?" he asked her.

"I've always wanted to be Mata Hari."

"Agent Starkweather," Skinner hissed, "may I remind you of the seriousness of this matter? If you get caught, I can't help you."

"With all due respect," Starkweather said sweetly "if YOU get caught, I can't help you either, so it's sink or swim for both of us. I'd rather go down grinning than getting my knickers in a twist about it."

"You're a pain in the ass, Agent Starkweather."

"Yes sir."

"Be careful."

"You too, sir." Starkweather shut her cell off and looked at Scully and Sam-in-Doggett with an evil grin. "It's game time, sports fans. Let's get it on!"

In front of the elevator
The basement of J Edgar Hoover

"So that dark-haired woman was Agent Reyes?" Starkweather asked Scully as she acted as point-guard while they waited for the elevator. "Everything happened so fast, I didn't have time to properly introduce myself."

Scully smiled. "Oh, I'm sure you two will have a chance to talk at greater length in the future."

Sam inwardly groaned. According to the "current" future, Ben was going to die soon, then Mulder, then Starkweather, then... Sam didn't want to think about it.

The elevator whirred down and the doors swished. Scully and Sam got in. "Don't get killed!" Starkweather cheerily bade them farewell as the elevator doors slammed shut, taking her back to the depths of the J Edgar Hoover building.

"She has a way with words, doesn't she?" Scully remarked blandly as they rode the elevator to the parking garage.

"Yeah..." ::Oh boy::Sam thought.

Meanwhile...

Skinner picked up the phone. "Deputy Director, might I have a moment of your time?"

"What is this concerning, Assistant Director?" The words were pleasant enough, but the tone of voice was frigid.

"I've been placed in charge with setting up a task force to monitor possible cult activities in Idaho. I need to talk to you about budgeting and manpower. After Waco and Ruby Ridge, no one is really eager to be a team player when it comes to missions like this." Skinner said evenly, knowing that this would appeal to Kersh's hardcore belief of "The FBI MUST look good at all costs."

"I have some time." Kersh said slowly.

"Let's meet in the cafeteria," Skinner suggested. "I haven't had breakfast yet," which was true. He had declined the doughnuts at Scully's, instead, drinking cup after cup of her good Vienna Roast coffee.

Known more for his girth than his mirth, Kersh agreed. "I'll meet you down there in five minutes." Kersh hung up the phone and went to his file to dig up old cases to use as possible scenarios on how to handle the situation.

Skinner redialed Starkweather's cell on his own mobile. Starkweather, who was already back down in the dungeon, was piling files after files on her desk. "Starkweather."

"We're meeting in five minutes."

"Bring it on," she said to him, hung up, put the last file on top of the tottering stack on her desk. She dialed Skinner's secretary's extension. "Kimberly, hi, it's Agent Starkweather, look I have a BIG favor to ask of you, Skinner asked me to up some old X-Files cases to him, anything that has to do with cult involvement. I've got the case files here, but I completely forgot that the about the rule about not letting the originals leave the office and I have no time to photocopy them," she could feel Kimberly's blood pressure rising. "I'm so sorry, I hate dumping this on you but it would save my ass..."

Kimberly stifled a sigh. "I suppose so," the long-suffering receptionist muttered.

"Say..." Starkweather said, as if the thought had just hit her. "Maybe Kersh's secretary can help you. Kersh won't be there barking orders at the poor girl, she'd probably be happy to get away from him." Starkweather felt relief when Kimberly tittered in nervous laughter. She didn't like Kersh either.

As soon as she finished the call, Starkweather beat feet into the bathroom and waited for the secretaries to come downstairs.

Starkweather didn't have to wait long. She heard two female voices outside. "Ew, it smells funny down here," Kersh's receptionist commented in disgust.

"That's from all the dead bodies they hide down here," Kimberly replied.

"Really?"

"Naw, I'm just pulling your leg," Kimberly said. "But you know what I heard?"

Starkweather rolled her eyes. The women had chosen to stop and gossip in front of the bathroom door. ::Come on::she griped to herself. ::GET IN THE OFFICE!!!!::

"What?"

"I heard that Agents Mulder and Scully used to come in on Saturday afternoons and just go at it right on the floor of their office."

"No!"

"Yes!"

::Oh for Christ's sake::Starkweather bowed her head and put her palm to her forehead in supreme irritation. ::So Mulder and Scully had sex. Big fucking deal... can we GET on with things already ladies???::

"Well," Kersh's receptionist said tartly. "Just goes to show how spooky those two are. I mean, it's not like they're the first male-female to have an affair, but most of them prefer motel rooms."

"I know! And Agent Scully was well... you know... **normal** before she started working with Mulder... although, can you hardly blame her, the man is too die for." Kimberly said dramatically.

Starkweather thought she was going to vomit.

"Oh, I know, I saw him on TV last night for a City Counsel meeting and he was all cleaned up, in a three piece suit... oh! He looked like he could have been on the cover of GQ. Such a sexy man. If I wasn't married..."

"Speaking of married..."

"What?"

"I think the other two agents are trying to follow in Mulder and Scully's path..."

"Agent Doggett and.... But I thought Starkweather was married?"

::Starkweather IS married, you cow::Starkweather fumed.

The voices started to die away just as the conversation was getting interesting. Starkweather pushed her massive irritation away from her (for now) and slipped out of the bathroom and to the stairs where she ran towards her current mission...

Nailing Kersh.

Starkweather slipped unnoticed into the first room of Kersh's office, the secretary's office. She shut the door with a sigh of relief. She went over to Kersh's door and tried to open it.

"You snake from the bowels of hell," she snarled when she discovered the Deputy Director had locked his office door. "You act like a man with something to hide." She reached up and fumbled around with her hair, pulled, as usual, severely up and back in a neat bun. She found a hairpin and as she jimmied the lock, she sighed. "This is so Nancy Drew-ish."

The lock popped open and Agent Jerilyn Starkweather stepped into the monster’s lair.

Starkweather sniffed the air, her mind calculating every observation, forgetting nothing. ::Weird... I smell cigarette smoke... like Ben's cigarettes... maybe Ben was here earlier today... but J. Edgar just went 100% no smoking... hm. Interesting.::

Cradling her bad right wrist in her hand, she sat down at Kersh's elegant mahogany desk. "Son of a bitch gets a mahogany desk and I get plywood. How is this fair?" She asked herself as she opened his desk drawer and riffled through his papers with a gentle lover's touch.

Her clumsy right hand, still in a cast from her rather unfortunate run in with an alien bounty hunter accidentally knocked over a stack of books that were teetering on the edge of his desk.

"Shit!" Starkweather jumped at the deafening noise and looked up, half expecting to see a SWAT team descend upon her.

When no big burly men dressed in black stormed the doors, Starkweather bent down to pick up the books. "'Roots' by Alex Haley. Man," she snickered, immensely pleased with her superior intellect, "I read this when I was ten. 'Kiss the Girls' by James Patterson..." a huge movie buff, she wondered aloud: "I wonder if this is better than the movie," she adored Morgan Freeman. She moved on to the next book. "'The Silence of the Lambs'... okay, Kersh, now you're scaring me." Lastly, she picked up a yellow legal pad and thumbed through it. "Hello... since when did NASDAQ have anything to do with the Federal Bureau of Investigation?"

On the sixth page of the legal pad, scribbled in the corner in Kersh's bad handwriting, were notes that would be gibberish to most, but a lexicon of knowledge and information to a rabid stockholder. "You rat-bastard," she seethed as she rearranged the books and notebook back on his desk exactly as it was. "And you know everything I touch in this office is inadmissible, don't you. Scum sucking, bed-wetting, foul-smelling troll of a man... hello..." Starkweather's eyes lit upon Kersh's Day Planner. "La la la," she sang under her breath as she undid the clasp...

Meanwhile
at the cafeteria

Skinner kept his face stony as Kersh went on and on and on about how vital it was that the FBI's reputation remains unmarred. He was vehemently against Skinner's stakeout plans in Idaho, which he knew he would be. It was just a carrot for the ass to bite. Little did the ass know that Skinner was riding him, making him move forward by holding that carrot ahead of him on a string.

Skinner tried not to look at the clock but couldn't help it. He didn't know how much busy work Starkweather left for the hapless secretaries. He didn’t know how much time she needed in Kersh's office. His stomach was in knots but as usual, he didn't show it, just pleasantly sipped his coffee and listened to his boss enjoy the sound of his own voice.

Doggett sat alone in the imaging chamber, trying to stave off boredom but not really succeeding. Even after Al's barraging, he still didn't quite believe what was going on plus it ticked him off momentously that every question Al posed for him was all about Starkweather. She was married. That's it. End of story.

But as persistent as the scrappy little Italian-American Admiral was, Doggett couldn't help but wonder WHY he was so concerned for his spitfire partner. As she was fond of reminding everyone, Starkweather was a big girl, she could take care of herself...

So Doggett sat there and tried to fight the boredom for he knew that boredom led to nervousness, nervousness led to fear, fear led to mistakes...

Still, he couldn't help but worry... ::I hope she's okay::

Then, the lights flickered, went out, and turned back on. Doggett could hear the sounds of computers rebooting from the outside. ::Shit, I hope I'M okay...::

Al was with Goushie when the lights began to flicker. "Oh crap, what the hell is THIS??" Al gestured upwards pointing to the lights.

Goushie fled to his read-out screen. "The virus has moved! It jumped the firewall. Oh geez... it's in the main power grid," he began typing frantically. "I'm moving Ziggy's power over to the backup generator A." Goushie typed and moved his mouse frantically. "Call the techs," Goushie said, wiping sweat out of his eyes. "Tell them to shut the main power grid down on my count."

Al, for once, did what he was told without questioning. "Hello? Yeah, we know about the power grid. Goush's already moving Ziggy's juice over to a backup generator. He said to shut down the main power on his count," he covered the mouthpiece. "They're ready," he handed the phone over to Goushie.

"Okay, on my count... three, two .... one, NOW!" The lights went off again, but went back on just as fast. All the computers, except for Ziggy went down. Only half of them rebooted.

"I took half of the personal computers offline to save power," Goushie said. "Crap, this is worst than expected."

"What happened Goush?" Al's voice had a dangerous ring to it. "I thought this was under control."

Goushie said. "According to my readouts, Ziggy's still okay. Her RAM, her hard-drive, her modem... all that's still good to go. The virus traveled through her uplink to the computer that controls the power. We've got three more backup generators besides the one we're on now, besides that, the techs are out there as we speak, fixing up the main powergrid so that will be as good as gold by the end of the day. So it's not losing power that I'm afraid of."

"It's Ziggy."

Goushie nodded. "The only clue we're going to have that Ziggy's starting to circle the drain is if you appear to Starkweather."

"That hasn't happened yet."

"You haven't been around her lately."

Al grimaced. This was true. "That's too big of risk to take. Having that wildcat see me. She already thinks she's going insane because she can hear me..."

Al let himself into the holding chamber. The only source of amusement Al was getting out of this entire leap was how uncomfortable and self-conscious Doggett-in-Sam was in that tight tight tight white leotard. Doggett always looked like he was looking for a hole to dive into.

In fact, his first words to Al were: "Hey, if I'm going to be here for awhile, could I at least have a pair of pants?"

"We've got bigger problems than your britches right now, Marine," Al sat down. "We gotta talk. You gotta help me. We're in big trouble."

That was plain talk and that was what Doggett responded to. "Will you tell me what the hell is going on then?"

Present day

City Hall

Washington, D.C.
10:28 AM

"The plans for the new Bay Street Park are ready, sir." Mulder said into the speakerphone.

"Deputy Mayor," said his boss, voice quavering in disbelief, "are you sure this design is what you had in mind?"

"Sure I'm sure. The kids will love it." Mulder said, making the 34th attempt at getting a pencil to stick on his ten-foot-high wooden ceiling.

"Mulder, it looks to me like a spaceship."

"Don't you think the neighborhood kids will get a kick out of it?" Now, he had a different approach. He got a paperclip, straightened it, and tossed it above his head.

"The flower arrangements look like those cartoon aliens."

"Shit!" Mulder cursed as the paperclip landed point-down dangerously close to his eye.

"What was that, Mr. Mulder?"

"Oh, sorry sir, paper cut." ::Paper cuts are a far cry from getting beat up and kicked around by that Flukeman thing:: Mulder inwardly grumbled.

"What, you think I'd make them look like those things in ID4? Hey, what if I added bushes that looked like Sweetums from Marvin the Martian?" ::Oh well, at least Scully and Skinner are still in for a good fight.::

"Mulder, A.D. Skinner may have tolerated your behavior," the mayor barked, "but we don't go for that science-fiction comic strip shit around here. I want a revision of those Bay Street Park plans PRONTO!"

"Yes sir." Mulder said, hanging up. "And while I've got my lips up your ass, I'll just watch as my mind goes numb from boredom." He mumbled. Being forced away from his passion, tucked away like an old toy nobody wanted anymore--that was scarier than any freak of nature he ever faced on the X-Files.

Getting an idea, he picked up the phone.

"Bunny," he said, reveling in the one perk this cushy job had to offer.

"Yeeeeessss, Foxy." She huffed into the receiver.

"Can you bring me some tacks?"

"Anything you say." She said, giggling flirtatiously. What Mulder wouldn't have given for Scully to see that! Now, maybe he could get those tacks up there on the ceiling if he aimed juuuuuuust right...

Just four floors below Mulder's rather sizable office window, completely undetected, two men waited for just the right opportunity.

"Yo, Danny, is that it?"

"Yep, Caster, that's gotta be it...that's the license tag the old man gave us and the 'I Believe' sticker and everything. There's something I can't figure, though."

"What's that?"

"Why he wants it."

"Maybe the guy ticked him off." He offered and began evaluating the kind of lock, getting the toolbox out. "Hey, take the look-out, will ya?"

"Sure thing, Cas."

"You know what else I can't figure?"

"Those Rubik's Cube things?" Caster rambled, "Yeah, those are tough...I can't figure those crossword puzzles in the Sunday paper, neither."

"Would you just get the damn lock off! I ain't talking about that...I can't figure why he wants it brought back."

"He wants it back?!" Caster echoed, popping the lock off finally, and opening the door. He crawled through, and Danny got the toolbox and got in on the other side. "Maybe he just wants to take it for a test drive."

"Whatevah. It's $500 for bothuvus. I figure it's worth it." Danny said, and hot-wired the engine, making off with the vehicle, completely unnoticed.

Mulder, totally unaware of what was going on down on the street below, wished he had a good trashcan to kick as he made attempt number 54 with the tacks. "Maybe I'll get lucky with a green one."

Meanwhile….

Law Firm of Carter, Adams, and Spangle

Yes, for Counselor Benjamin Starkweather, the previous night not withstanding, everything was definitely looking up. Even that would be amended with a peace offering. He had that gift in mind for their anniversary, but something else for that occasion could be arranged. He was not going to spend another night in a hotel room.

All the T's had been crossed, and the I's had been dotted. All there was to do now was sit back and wait. He couldn't wait to see the twelve expressions of complete and total disbelief on the jurors faces as he asked the new Deputy Mayor what happened on his last case with the FBI. "Mulder, I hope you're enjoying that pretty office window view now, because by the time I get through with you, you will fall flat on your face rambling on like an idiot about alien DNA crap. There's no one to cover your ass this time, pal." He said to himself, flipping a pencil in the air. It wasn't that he hated the Deputy Mayor. He had nothing personal against the man...he just resented him for the crusade that drove his wife to that redneck ex-cop partner of hers. Special Agent John Doggett was another man he could not wait to see squirm.

He resented Fox Mulder.

He hated John Doggett.

Meanwhile, parked on the corner going in the opposite direction on the street below, Scully and Sam waited in Doggett's pick-up truck.

"Wanna start a pool to see how long it takes for him to move?" Scully joked, taking a sip of Diet Coke. "I got dibs on 3:15."

"What do you think he's up to?" Sam asked, biting into his overdone, overpriced hot dog with everything.

"He's probably trying to see if he can get a tack stuck on a ten-foot high ceiling." Scully said with a laugh. Sam couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"Not Mulder, Ben."

"Oh." Scully said awkwardly. "Well...I think he's probably been buttering Kersh's bread. I think he believes he's on the right side, and so my guess is he's scrounging up good solid evidence against you to show a jury who watches too much 'Law and Order.'

"'Law and Order'?" Sam questioned. It had been years since he got to watch television.

"Never mind. I forgot you only watch ESPN."

"Sorry we never got the message to you about the boys staking out the payphone." Sam said after a few minutes of silence.

"Sorry for who?" Scully demanded, "Me or the boys?"

"I'm--not sure." Sam faltered.

"Watch the side-view." Scully said flatly.

Back at Kersh's

Starkweather flipped through Kersh's Day Planner, searching for anything out of the ordinary. "Meetings, meetings, meetings, golf. Meetings, meetings, meetings, golf. Meetings, meetings, meeting... whoa... what's this... Northwestern Flight 82A, Phoenix Arizona..." She repeated the city's name, rolling the word around in her mouth as if tasting wine. "Phoenix. Phoenix... who the hell is in..."

She froze, remembering words from a heated fight not that long ago....

Starkweather's apartment
A few weeks ago....

"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!" (from Starkweather:Introitus)

"My father is in Phoenix..." Sedona to be more accurate, but Phoenix was the only city with an airport close by. Starkweather closed the Day Planner and slid it back to its exact position on Kersh's desk. "My father pulls Kersh's leash," she muttered. "Not the other way around..."

Suddenly, her cell phone vibrated. She looked down at the message screen and saw Skinner's cell phone number. She didn't even answer it. It was their signal that the meeting was over and Kersh and his receptionist were on their way back.

Starkweather scurried out of Kersh's office, about to lock the door behind her. Then, she heard Kersh's hated baritone instructing his secretary outside of the secretary's office.

Starkweather, with self-preservation being her goal, went back into Kersh's office, locking the door behind her. She looked down at the expensive leather sofa against the wall and threw herself onto the ground next to it. She had just wedged herself all the way underneath when she heard Kersh unlock the door and walk in.

::I'm toast::she thought, sweating.

Starkweather reverently hoped no one would come in and sit on the couch she was hiding under, she was afraid she would be squished.

She could hear Kersh shuffling papers at his desk, then the sound of fingers hitting the keyboard. She tried to control her breathing as she felt all of her muscles tensing up. She was definitely in a state of "Flight or Fight" mode, which was not good, especially since she couldn't go anywhere yet. ::C'mon c'mon fucker, LEAVE already!!!::she silently beseeched him. ::Don't you have careers to destroy and lives to make miserable??::

The phone rang. Starkweather lifted her head up in surprise, thumping her head solidly on the bottom of the couch. "Mmmff!!" she bit down hard on her little whimper of pain as tears welled up.

Kersh, however, was totally engrossed in his phone conversation. "Deputy Director Kersh.... ahhh... hello!" he said warmly, as though talking to an old friend. "I was just ready to call you... yes, I have my plane tickets ready... oh, really? Oh... they're refundable, it's no problem... it would be a pleasure to have you come to town... where will you be staying... ahhh... yes, I see... mixing a little business with pleasure then???"

::What the holy hell?::Starkweather thought.

"Oh she couldn't be doing better. The Minneapolis Field Office did themselves a great disservice by letting her get away from them. She is one of the finer agents I've had the pleasure of working with. Very dedicated. Very though..... yes I believe she's almost completely recovered from her injuries...oh... what did she tell you..." A hearty laugh, then, "Well, Jeremy, she's YOUR daughter, of course she would downplay her attack... Yes her injuries were quite more substantial than she told you.... But don't worry, all of the superficial wounds on her face have healed completely, the only sign of her attack is her wrist in her cast. We had to FORCE her to take some downtime... like I said, she is far and away one of the most dedicated agents I've had working for me in a very long time..." Another laugh while Starkweather thought ::You lying two faced rat bastard.::

"When can I expect you in town? Do you need someone to pick you up at the airport? Oh, I see... then I can offer you and the Senator dinner when you get into town... wonderful... I'll make reservations for three then... see you when you come in... Good bye Jeremy." He hung up the phone, fussed a bit longer at his desk, then picked the phone up again. "It's me... the Admiral is coming to town... I'm going to wine and dine him and his wife when he gets in... yes, I'll keep you updated." He hung up and made one more call to his receptionist. "I'll be out for the rest of the afternoon. I have some filing for you to do on my desk. Thank you." He hung up, gathered his papers and left his office, locking the door.

Ten minutes after he left, Starkweather with a grunt, wedged herself from out underneath his couch, completely furious.

Her father was coming into town with business with **KERSH** of all people. ::WHY??::she fumed as she left his office, re-locking his door. Kersh's secretary looked up at her in complete surprise. "Agent Starkweather, whatever do you think you're doing???"

Starkweather, smiling dangerously, sat up on the secretary's desk, opening her black blazer just enough so she could see her gun. "If you don't say anything about me being in Kersh's office, I won't do anything about those rather salacious, inappropriate comments you and Kimberly were making about the four of us in the X-Files office." She kissed the receptionist on each cheek, and, probably because of her conversation with Mulder earlier at Scully's apartment and because she was a HUGE movie buff, said "I know it was you Fredo," and pranced out of Kersh's office.

Kersh's secretary was so frightened, she typed up her letter of resignation that day and nearly fled from the J Edgar Hoover Building.

D.C. County Courthouse
Outside the Mayor's office
11:38 AM

Whether he was being bought-and-traded out of the FBI or not, Mulder sincerely liked his new boss. They had hit it off at the beginning, and, even though it was a quieter position than what he was used to, Mulder was beginning to get accustomed to settling down. The Mayor was not Skinner, and it wasn't nearly as fun getting up his craw as it had been getting up Skinner's; but Mayor Thomas Swanson was a good man, despite the legendary reputations that usually haunted politicians.

For once in his life, Fox Mulder was a regular guy. "Spooky" Mulder was a part of his past. Oh sure, he’d go straight back to hunting down the Truth if were he ever given the opportunity faster than you could say ‘alien,’ but yuppy-dom was a nice, comfortable change of pace, albeit sometimes too comfortable for his liking. He scooped the real plans for the Bay Street Park up and began to deliver them to the Mayor's office. He was about to go in when a heated conversation stopped him just outside the door.

"Mayor," a man was protesting, "he is in our way. He can't continue to hold this position without interfering with our agenda. He says it's an issue of priorities and securities."

"Priorities and securities or not," the Mayor said "He's a city-appointed employee, and I cannot legally remove him from his office."

"You didn't get elected to this office exactly legally." Said the voice flatly. "The Admiral can pull some strings to make some sort of a scandal come to the public eye."

"That's blackmail!" the Mayor protested.

"It's not blackmail, it's helping you keeping your priorities straight. You are aware of the circumstances under..." the man started, but the Mayor interrupted.

"Yes," The Mayor began, careful to keep his voice even and angry. "I am aware of how he left, but despite those allegations, I think he's an asset to this city, and I'm willing to give him a another chance. Look, I understand your situation, but I've got the people of D.C. to answer to--not a bunch of fat cats in Arizona."

::Arizona?::

"Soon, when all these allegations are brought to light, you won't think of him so highly. The people of D.C. will think twice about re-electing a mayor who appoints someone rattling off about science-fiction crap in a court of law to a powerful city position."

::My God! He's trying to threaten the Mayor into dismissing me! I might as well kiss my normal ass good bye::

"Be as it may," The Mayor replied heatedly, "I will wait until he proves you wrong."

Mulder took his cue here to duck out of view into an empty conference room.

"I'll see myself out," said the Man, Mulder couldn't get an opportunity to see his face.

"Deputy" the Mayor said, greeting Mulder warmly, "finally came around, huh? Yes...this will do just fine. Good work. Don't forget the town counsel meeting tomorrow at four."

"Thank you, sir" Mulder said simply ::for sticking up for me--I wonder what the boys would think about sneaking into the Mayor's office to find out whose in Arizona:: and took his leave.

12:37 PM

"Scully," Sam sighed heavily, "I don't think he's going to move today until he has to go home."

"We don't know that for sure, Doggett." Scully replied. "He may lead us straight to the solution and be none the wiser."

"Doggett, can I ask you something?"

::As long as it doesn't involve anything specific, yeah...sure:: "What, Scully?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"I figure this is the only way to get any lead."

Scully shot him an imploring look.

"It's right." Sam said simply. Then ducked, because at just that moment, Scully did.

"BEN!" She screamed, crouching from view of the windshield. "Heading for the White Dodge Dynasty! Don't duck, drive!" Scully hissed, forgetting that there was no possible way Ben could hear her from the confines of a truck.

Sam cranked the engine up as fast as his reflexes would allow, and made sure to wait just long enough so that Ben wouldn't suspect he was being followed.

Ben headed down East on Wilson. Sam was following him close enough to keep up, but far enough away not to be noticed. Ben turned a left on Kennedy. Sam got caught by a light, and lost him for a few beats until he saw the Dodge's blinker just a few steps ahead, about to turn down Reagan."

"Reagan!" Scully puzzled. "There's nothing on Reagan but a bunch of flea markets, grocery stores, a photocopy place, and antique shops!"

"Photocopies." Sam realized. "I bet he found something for show-and-tell for those jurors."

"You're right. There he is, pulling into it."

Sam parked the car a couple of blocks down the way, and motioned for Scully to go follow while he parked. Scully crouched down, and waited in the bushes.

"A squirrel just nibbled the heel of my favorite pumps." Scully groaned.

"Sorry" Sam said sheepishly.

"I don't know how much longer I can play Crouching Oaf, Hidden Idiot." Scully said finally after waiting in the bushes for an hour, kicking off her pumps. "I'm gonna see if I can get any closer."

"Thank you Mr. Martin." Ben was saying coming out of the store. "I owe you big time for this one. You just made my night's sleep a lot nicer."

::I wouldn't count on it:: Sam thought.

"You in the doghouse with that spitfire Missus of yours?" Mr. Martin asked, handing a small bag to him.

"Yeah," Ben said with an idiot-grin on his face, taking out the contents of the bag for inspection. "I know when I'm licked."

"Smart man, Mr. Starkweather, smart man." Mr. Martin said, turning to go in.

"That's not what the evidence suggests." Scully grumbled on the other side of the building. She craned her neck as much as she dared, and could barely make out what the picture was.

"Agent Starkweather's got a night of heavy breathing ahead of her." Scully said flatly.

"What makes you say that?" Sam asked, pulling away.

"That was her picture he had photocopied. It's probably a peace offering."

"You still think he's up to something?"

"Oh, he's up to something alright."

"Can you call Agent Reyes and get her to sit with Will for the rest of the afternoon."

"I think that can be arranged." Scully answered with a smile.

3:24 PM
In Doggett's Pick-Up

Outside the Law Offices of Carter, Adams and Spangle

"Not that I'm sure Mulder didn't deserve it, but what exactly does Starkweather have against him?" Sam asked, sipping his sixth bottle of coke.

"Well, from what I can gather from both Starkweather and Mulder, I think Mulder was following up on some research of abductees, and was trying to get information from her mother. Unfortunately, the timing turned out to be his disadvantage, because Starkweather's adoptive mother never regained her lucidity after she lost it during his questioning."

"So Starkweather is taking her anger over her mother's death out on Mulder?"

"Probably. In the X-Files, issues come with the office benefits."

"Apparently. Speaking of issues...what's the deal with you and Mulder?" Not that Sam was usually one to get the skinny on office gossip, but he couldn't help but wonder what happened with the 'we're just friends' stance both usually took.

"Look out your window, Doggett." Scully said flatly, and gave Sam a wan smile.

"You ever noticed the similarities between Mulder and Starkweather?"

"Similarities?" Sam asked, getting his sixth coke out of the cooler.

"Yeah...something around the eyes, same annoying sarcasm, same stubbornness."

"But Starkweather's more skeptic than Mulder is about things."

"True. But still..." Scully broke off, because at that moment, Ben came out of his office again. "Doggett--"

"I'm already on it. Wonder where he's headed so late in the afternoon?"

"We're about to find out."

Sam tore out of the parking lot across the street from the office, careful not to go fast enough to make the tires screech. He followed the car at a safe distance as it turned on Eisenhower, on Kennedy, and then Lincoln. At the light, Sam got an idea.

"Scully, take the wheel, I'm gonna go after him on foot. I'll give ya the signal if something happens."

"Doggett! I can't let you go by--"

"You can argue with me till your face turns blue, and the car won't have a driver by the next light." Sam said, unbuckling his safety belt.

"Doggett, your cell phone won't necessarily pick up the signal inside. Two cans and a string won't exactly work from here."

"Just catch up with me later!"

"Doggett!" Scully protested, but before she could say anything, Sam was out of the car, sprinting down the street.

Mulder, after an early long, BORING business lunch with a group of building contractors who wanted to build ANOTHER shopping mall in DC, gratefully slid into his comfortable chair in his office. He hated to admit it, but he REALLY loved his new office. As much as he desired and longed for the X-Files... it was going to be REALLY hard to go back into the basement. ::It's going to be like going back to your POS car after test driving a brand new Ferrari::he moped as he took out his cell phone and called the Lone Gunmen.

"Frohike."

"Melvin, you sexy bitch."

"Mulder," Frohike fumed. "You could have warned us about the Twisted Sisters coming down on us!!!"

"What?" Mulder asked. After Frohike gave Mulder the lowdown on their run-in with Agents Scully, Reyes and Starkweather, Mulder just chuckled and said angelically: "Oops."

"'Oops,'" Frohike ranted, a rarity from the man of little words. "We just about got creamed by the Bitches of Eastwick and all he says is 'Oops'."

"Hey! At least we found out Byers is a virgin!" Langly piped up.

"Langly, please, shut up!" Byers was in a permanent state of blush ever since he made his faux pas.

"Byers is a virgin?" Mulder had overheard Langly's remark. "Hey, tell him I've got some videos he can borrow."

"Hey, Byers, Mulder said you can borrow his pornos for those long lonely nights."

"I hate you guys," Byers whined.

"Anyways, what's up, Deputy Mayor?" Frohike got back to business.

"I need you guys to get into your black formal wear later on. There's going to be a little party at the Mayor's office when he leaves for the day."

"Now you're talking," Frohike grunted. "What's the occasion?"

"Just that I discovered that I still have the gift of pissing off friends and influencing people into doing harm unto me and the people I either adore or at least tolerate on a day to day basis. Someone was threatening the Mayor into canning me and I want to know why and if it's connected in any way, shape or form with this whole oil rig clusterfuck."

"Really?" Frohike was all ears and little talk now. "What time?"

"The Mayor usually doesn't leave until seven o'clock at night," the Mayor was truly dedicated to his job and his city, "but tonight his granddaughter is having a birthday party so he's leaving early around three. Most people are out of here no later than four-thirty."

"Damn City employees," Frohike complained.

"As far as security, surprisingly it's pretty lax. Some rent-a-cops wander around but they pretty much stay holed up in the security office watching sports on ESPN. There's a cleaning crew that comes in late at night, but that's usually after eight o'clock when everyone is definitely gone."

"Cake walk then," Frohike then.

"Cool, I love slacker jobs," Langly grinned as he munched on Funyons.

"There might be nothing there, but tell me EVERYTHING you find, no matter how small or insignificant you may think it is. I'll be at Scully's the rest of the night."

"You'll be at Scully's the rest of the night," Frohike repeated for the other two's benefit.

"Hey, Byers! Cheer up!" Langly punched him joshingly on his shoulder, "if Mulder can get some; that means there's hope for you yet!"

"I heard that," Mulder said. "I didn't really appreciate it."

"Well, hell Mulder," Frohike reasoned. "Before you and Scully finally hooked up, how long had it been for you? Ten years?"

"GOOD BYE," Mulder snapped and hung up the phone, groaning. ::Why do people make such a big deal about Scully and me?:: he wondered just as his cell rang again.

Expecting it to be Frohike again, he snarled "WHAT???"

"Mulder, it's Skinner."

"Oh... sorry sir." Chastised, he mumbled.

"Don't call me sir. Anyway, have you heard from anyone yet? Doggett, Scully, Starkweather???"

"No si- ummm, Skinner, I haven't. Why?"

"That's just it, I haven't heard a peep all day and I'm getting concerned." Skinner growled, unawares that at that time, Starkweather was still hidden underneath Kersh's couch and Sam-in-Doggett and Scully were staking Ben out on Reagan Street.

"Should I call them?" Now Mulder was worried, typical Mulder, getting his boxers in a knot whenever it concerned Scully.

A pause. "Not yet, but if you don't hear from them by at least close of business today, I want to know." Skinner hung up without saying goodbye.

Mulder, now really nervous, a trait he did not like in himself, got up and started pacing. Just then his cell rang. He dove for it. "Scully?"

"No, Deputy Mayor, it's me."

"Jerilyn?? What happened? Skinner's got his tightie-whities in a bunch about you."

"Huh." Starkweather deadpanned. "I always pictured him as a boxers man, myself. I tried calling him just now, but his line was busy."

"What happened? Did you find anything in Kersh's office?"

"OH MAN!!" Starkweather exploded, sitting safely at her tiny desk in the X-Files office. "You will NOT believe what I just went through!"

Meanwhile
back to the future
QL HQ

Al told Doggett everything, about Sam's maiden leap, about all the lives he's touched and changed, about his first brush with the X-Files when he leaped into Agent Dana Scully (Doggett snorted in disbelief at that one) and about Sam's current mission. Doggett grew very quiet when Al started adding up the death toll. He closed his eyes when Al told him about Jerilyn's impending murder.

"Well?" Al asked.

"Well?" Doggett repeated. "It's a great story for frightening little kids at bedtime, but what proof do you have to offer me? I mean, as far as I can tell, this could all be an elaborate, sick joke. I mean, so far, you've offered me no proof that it's actually 2011?"

"I thought you'd say that," Al said. "So I brought you this." He handed Doggett a police file.

Doggett flipped it open, then bolted out of his seat in horror.

The police photographs fluttered down and Al tried not to look at the graphic picture of Starkweather's murder. But, just like rubbernecks on the freeway, looking back at a gruesome accident, he couldn't help it.

In stark black and white, Starkweather, in a pool of her own blood was laying on the floor of a Kum-n-Go, a bullet wound in her forehead, her eyes wide and staring. Al stooped down, gathered up the files contents and put them on the table. "Before you say that picture was faked, you know Starkweather, as morbid as her humor is, would NOT fake something like that to play a joke on you." Al told an ashen-faced Doggett. "She knows that would kill you and she wouldn't hurt her friends like that. Her death certificate is in there too, along with an autopsy report and newspaper clippings."

Doggett gingerly took the picture again and tried to look at it objectively, but couldn't. "This is suppose to happen....?"

"Three days after Mulder gets killed," and Al held out another folder for Doggett to look at.

The crime scene photographs for Mulder's murder were far and away more disturbing that Starkweather's, for it showed the bars of the prison cell where Mulder was being held for Ben's murder completely torn away, as if they were tissue paper. Blood was spattered all over the walls. Mulder's body looked to be literally broken in half. His eyes, too much like Starkweather's, were also wide open and staring into the oblivion.

"Oh, God," Doggett said, flipping through the pictures. "This is for real, then?" he felt his gut churning. "This ain't a joke?"

"I wish it was and time is running short and we've got a situation with our computer system that making it run shorter-"

But Doggett wasn't listening, he was looking at a picture of the assumed suspect of Mulder's death. "Oh my God... I know that man..."

"What?" Al came over to Doggett's side to look at the still from the prison video monitor system.

With a shaking finger, Doggett tapped the picture. "That's Billy Myles."

"Who???"

Meanwhile, in the Present

Shock me," Mulder said dryly, going back to trying to get a tack on the ceiling, "Shock me with your deviant behavior."

"Mulder--" she warned. "Get back to reality for two seconds, please. Heads up, because this is big news."

"Whatchya got?"

"Well, Dad's blowing into town."

"Thanks for letting me know...tell him I said hi."

"Guess who is wining and dining him when he gets here?"

"You and Ben?"

"No."

"Me and Scully?"

"Hell no."

"As fun as it is playing guessing games with you, just tell me, please...I don't have time for guess who's coming to dinner right now."

"Really, so that's why you asked for a dartboard to put in your office for your birthday?"

"So who's having Daddy to dinner?"

"Kersh."

"Any idea why the Deputy Director of the FBI is having a meeting with an Admiral?"

"I have absolutely no clue."

"I wonder if it has anything to do with someone wanting me 86'ed and the trial coming up."

"Listen, Twilight Zone Poster Boy, quit being so paranoid. Dad got you that job, remember?"

"You won't let me forget."

"He's not about to get you kicked outta that office faster than he put you in it. I don't give a flying fuck about your ass, but I'll be damned if I let Doggett down. I'm gonna do some digging around Dad's office to see if I can find any solid proof at his place."

"Did you find anything in Kersh's office?"

"A copy of "Roots", "Silence of the Lambs", and Kiss the "Girls"..."

"So he's taking some lessons from Hannibal Lector, huh? Wonder what he's going to Phoenix for. What was Kersh doodling? Playing hangman by himself?"

"Some numbers...they looked like stock market jargon." Starkweather said, and told him what the numbers were. She had no clue what they meant.

"That's a helluva hangman score."

"No kidding. I overheard something you might wanna make something of or not..."

"What's that? You making the watercooler gossip again?"

"Kinda...someone in Arizona tried to get me fired."

"Jiminy Christmas! Arizona? Oh, geez...Mulder...I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Why's that?"

"I owe you an apology."

"Jiminy Christmas?" Mulder scoffed, "What the hell is that?"

"Fuck off."

"That's better."

"Mulder," Starkweather threatened, "if you tell ANYONE we had this conversation, I will PERSONALLY make sure you are permanently pissing through a tube faster than you can say extraterrestrial."

"Duly noted..." Mulder gulped. "So, tell me...how did you get a hold of this information?"

"Well, Skinner called Kersh out of his office, and I snuck in."

"How did you sneak out? By slithering?"

"Pretty much." Starkweather admitted. "I hid under the couch and waited till the two-faced rat-bastard left."

"I think two-faced rat-bastard is the chartered name for the bad-guy club down there. How did you get past the secretary?"

"We made an arrangement. She agreed to be silent. I agreed to let her live."

"Sounds like you're learning the ropes pretty fast." Mulder chuckled. "Well, Hurricane, you better let Skinner know Kersh didn't have you for dinner."

"Oh, blow me."

"That's Ben job, isn't it?"

"That's a mature response coming from the Deputy Mayor of Washington. It's a relief to know this city's in good hands." Starkweather deadpanned.

"Oh, *blow me* is *REAL* mature."

"As much as I would love to continue the captivating debate we're having, this little hurricane's gotta blow outta here. I gotta do a little digging."

"Look, off the record, Starkweather, with your adoptive mother...I was only looking for some answers. I almost lost Scully to the same thing she died from, and my sister disappeared when I was twelve. I was trying to find her, and I stepped on lots of toes along the way...and, well..."

"I'll take that as an apology." Starkweather interrupted. "I wasn't kidding when I said I had some digging to do. I won't let anything happen to either Scully or Doggett, and if that means keeping you around, then so be it. This whole oilrig deal is my fight just as much as it is yours, whether we like it or not. Besides, after this deal, I think I'm going to ask to be transferred into Quantico."

"Starkweather, when we first met, you said I was spineless for not being my own person. All I've got to say about you going to Quantico is, if the lab coat fits, wear it."

"Excuse me? I *EARNED* my place here. Being stuffed down into your little crusade was NOT my choice *pal*. What the fucking right do you think you have going around shoving crap in my face like--"

"Before you go off on me, I didn't say you didn't earn your place. I don't think we would've been able to have as many leads on this case right now as we've got without you on the team. All I'm saying, is if you go to Quantico, you are leaving behind every opportunity you've ever had to be honest with yourself and find the truth. I may be spineless, but at least I'm not living a pretty lie."

"My pretty lie is all I have. You're spineless not because you're Dad's puppet, but because you know the truth and do nothing about it."

"What is that lie, Starkweather? A marriage going down the drain? An adoptive father pulling strings under your nose and pulling the wool over the world's eyes? You're a damn good investigator, Starkweather. All I'm trying to say is, maybe the lie isn't as good as the truth could be. I am not in a position to do anything about the truth that's out there right now, but you...are."

"Mulder, this isn't my crusade. If it *is* my crusade," Starkweather softened, hardly able to believe she was pouring her heart out to someone she barely tolerated, "then I have to fight against my father, and I don't think I'm ready to do that."

"I know, Starkweather. Just think at least about staying on with the x-files, ok? Keep me posted on what you find out about the case, too."

"That's my job, Mulder. Getting my ass kicked by ET’s sneaking around two-faced rat-bastard lairs, and keeping you posted." She said, and hung up.

"What bug got up *her* ass and died?" Mulder grumbled, and barely had time to make one more attempt at getting a tack stuck to the ceiling before the phone rang again.

"Mulder."

"It's me."

"What's going on Scully? Everything ok?"

"I'm not sure. I'm on Lincoln Street and Doggett just played half a game of Chinese fire drill."

"What?"

"He got out of the car, Mulder, and is now following Ben on foot."

"What?! Why? Did he give you a reason."

"None whatsoever. Feels like the good old days when *you* used to do the same thing."

"Guess who's coming to town?"

"Elvis. Mulder, I really don't have time for this."

"Go on, guess."

"Mulder, now is *not* the time to go back and forth. I'm pulling into this warehouse."

"Kersh is taking Admiral Bailey to dinner right before our trial."

"And this is important to us, how?"

"Admiral Bailey has a lot of influence over Kersh...he has a lot of influence over a lot of people in very high positions."

"What *OF* it, Mulder?"

"I overheard some water cooler gossip about someone in Arizona needing me 86'ed again. Admiral Bailey is in Arizona."

"Mulder, I think you're jumping conclusions again."

"I think Admiral Bailey has Kersh wrapped around his finger."

"Starkweather?" Scully hissed, scooting down out of sight under some hedges. "You think she's part of the deal?"

"I really don't think she's aware of exactly how powerful her father is, and what's more, I think she earned her place at the FBI. At any rate, be careful. Keep me posted about what you find out."

As much as Sam loved catching up with Scully, he needed to touch base with Al. Getting out of that truck was the only way he could think of to get away from Scully without being sent to a psyche ward for talking to thin air.

"Al! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!" Sam hollered as loudly as his lungs could spare as he sprinted down Lincoln in the general direction Ben's car was headed. It wasn't long before the thin blue light of the door appeared and with the click and sweep of the chamber door.

"The warehouse is a coupla blocks, Sam!" Al shouted after him, "I'll meetchya there!"

"Al," Sam huffed, and doubled over from exhaustion. "I--uh--Ben--"

"Calm down, Sam. I got some good news and some bad news."

"Good news?"

"Doggett finally decided to trust us, and we finally have the story on Mulder's murder."

"Bad news?"

"You're not gonna like this."

"It can't be worse than anything else that's happened today. Out with it..."

"Ziggy's on the fritz still. We can't expel the virus outta the system, so there's still a good chance that we'll hafta shut down in a few hours."

"What do you know...today can get worse." Sam implored no one in particular.

"That's not all."

"That's not all?!" Sam echoed. "What is this? Am I supposed to jump into a whale, build an ark? Tell me!"

"The killer apparently is a super-human alien."

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Sam demanded.

"You're supposed to stop Ben from getting killed. Which, right now, don't look too easy considering he's about to go into that warehouse."

"Jump ahead of me, and see what he's up to, I'm gonna wait on Scully."

Without a word, the chamber door was open and Al was gone.

"Doggett," Scully said, running up from a behind a bush a few seconds later, "For seven years now, I have been putting up with this kinda crap from Mulder, and now, I'm putting up with this from you. Do you have ANY idea of what my life is like?"

"A better idea than you think, Scully." Sam said, going inside.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Doggett!?" Scully hissed, running after him.

They stopped short and crouched behind a couple of boxes.

"What's he doing here?" Sam hissed, keeping his gaze peeled between Ben and the door.

"Isn't that what we're hear to find out?" Scully answered, getting her gun out of her ankle holster.

"I'll check outside and see if anyone's on their way, Sam." Al suggested, and popped out.

A few minutes later, almost instantly, the warehouse door opened like a garage door, and a black sedan drove through. With Ben out of sight, four men got out, one of who was Kersh, another of who was the Mayor, and another of whom was the Admiral.

"You won't listen to us then?" Kersh was saying. "He's the laughing-stock of D.C. A cocktail party joke...the stuff late-night talk shows and political cartoons are made of."

"I don't think our agenda can be met with him here." A man was saying, going to a box.

"I think you're wrong." The Mayor was saying, "A city position such as his has no real power; he knows nothing of our plans, and there is no reason why he has to be taken through the ringer because of it! In all good consciousness, I can't follow through with this."

"He is a threat to our existence, and a threat to my daughter." Admiral Bailey was saying.

"How is who a threat to the little hurricane?!" Al demanded. It was very therapeutic being a hologram sometimes, maddening at others.

"If you won't get him out of his office, we will eliminate him another way."

"Admiral, I smell his brand of cigarettes." Kersh said. "You--think he's here?"

"I--uh--wonder...he wouldn’t' be caught dead in that white dodge that was parked outside, that's for sure." The Admiral said with a chuckle. "My son-in-law has a car like that...had it in grad school."

"If Ben is around here, then he knows our plans."

"We haven't been specific enough, he hasn't heard anything he can back up." The mayor began to protest.

"Exactly whose side are you on, Mr. Mayor?" Kersh demanded.

"The right one."

"For your sake, I hope so." Admiral Bailey replied. "It would be awful if the Mayor had a heart attack in the middle of his term at his granddaughter's birthday party."

"Speaking of which, hadn't you better be going?" Kersh said, grinning like a snake. Three of the men then got in the car. The man that they couldn't recognize went over to one of the boxes, and got out a vile of grass-green liquid, opened the driver's door, and the warehouse door opened again, and drove off.

Later on…

City Hall

Lazily, Morris Nigcht, the security guard looked up from the "Toughman Contest" he was watching on FX to check the surveillance monitor that recorded the ins and outs of the front doors to City Hall. All he saw were three goofy looking guys from the cleaning crew that came every night to pick up the messes the city employees so thoughtfully left for them every night. "Weirdos," he mumbled as he reached for his coffee and doughnuts and turned his attention back to his television show.

Meanwhile, the Lone Gunmen, dressed in the garb of a cleaning crew, armed with caddies of cleaning supplies that they had no idea how to use and a giant trash barrel on wheels, blithely walked right in and into the elevator.

"Damn, that was easy," Langly crooned when the elevator door shut and they were safely on their way up to the Mayor's office.

"Too easy," Frohike grumbled.

"What's got your coaxial cable in a knot?" Langly's nose flared in irritation.

"Got a bad feelin'," was all that could be coaxed from Frohike.

"Frohike," Byers nagged, "a few hours ago, you said that this was going to be a cake walk."

"That was a few hours ago."

Byers and Langly looked at each other and shrugged.

The elevator doors whooshed opened and the intrepid boys let themselves out. "Alright, where did Mulder say the Mayor's haunt was?" Langly asked.

Byers pulled a map out of his cleaning uniform. "He said it was two suites down from his office, on the left... so I think it's this way."

Ten minutes later, the boys turned around and walked the other way towards the Deputy Mayor and Mayor's office. "Damn narc," Frohike grumbled.

"Mulder must have meant HIS left," Byers tried to justify himself.

"Hey, speaking of Mulder," Langly pointed to a heavy oak door with the gold plaque reading "The Honorable Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder" hanging on it. "HONORABLE?? Oh gag me." Langly made retching noises. "I wonder if it's as swank as he tells us it is..." A glimmer of mischief glistened in the eyes behind the thick black glasses.

"Langly, no, we don't have tim-" Byers tried to protest, but too late, Langly had already jimmied the lock.

All three stood in the doorway, gawping. "Whoa daddy," was all that Langly could get out.

Like three alley cats sneaking into an upper class townhouse, the boys tiptoed in, instantly sinking into the luxuriously soft cream carpet. "Damn!" Langly threw himself on the fawn colored leather sofa. "I think his new office is nicer than his APARTMENT!" He looked up. "What's up with all the tacks in the ceiling?"

Byers meanwhile, had made a beeline for Mulder's expensive desk. "Guys, this is solid cherry!" he exclaimed. "I think it's an antique!"

"Who cares?" Frohike was getting nervous.

"Yeah, you nerd," Langly rebuffed him. "No one gives a crap. Speaking of crap, I wonder if he's got his own crapper in this high-fa-lootin' joint?"

"No, that privilege is reserved for those with real power."

Mulder's trademark monotone made all the boys jump up in alarm. "Mulder, what the hell?" Langly said. "Thought you said that you're goin' to Scully's?"

"I will be, as soon as my cab gets here," Mulder examined the doorknob. "I've got to invest in better locks."

"A cab? Why? Car in the shop?" Frohike asked.

"Well, it's probably in a shop of some sorts, being dismantled and sold for hot parts all over the Continental US. My car was stolen this afternoon."

"Man, that sucks," Langly said, now sniffing around the candy jar sitting on the end-table next to the sofa.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious... hey, get out of there!"

Langly, pouting, put the lid back on the jar. "There's nothin' but freakin' sunflower seeds in there."

"Don't you guys have some breaking and entering to do?" Mulder reminded them of their mission to infiltrate the Mayor's office.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Langly unwillingly got off of the sofa. "Nice place you got here, Mr. Honorable Deputy Mayor, sir."

"Thanks. Now," Mulder said, ushering the Lone Gunmen out, "if you're really REALLY good, I'll show you the wet bar they put in here for me."

"You've got a BAR in here!" Langly goggled while Frohike and Byers stared in wonder.

Mulder slammed the door in their faces.

"God damn," Frohike said. "What bug crawled up his ass and died?"

Mulder flung himself onto the sofa and threw his arm over his eyes. Truth to be told, he, again, wasn't feeling well. He could feel the army of the migraines mustering at the tail of his spine and begin their march up to his skull. "God damn it!!" He cursed aloud. "Not now, not now!!!" He was about to get up and fix himself a very substantial adult beverage from his very own private bar when his cell phone rang. "Mulder."

"Mr. Mulder? This is the Yellow Cab Company. We're right outside."

"Thank you," Mulder switched his phone off, pulled on his suit jacket and grabbed his briefcase and went downstairs to his waiting cab and home to a hopefully waiting good Doctor Scully, who is the cure for all that ailed him... he hoped.

Washington D.C.; Lincoln Street Warehouse
4:57 PM

Ben crouched, waiting behind one of the crates as the men left. He couldn't figure it all out. Was the vile some sort of chemical toxin? Surely it wasn't related to his trial...the Admiral CERTAINLY couldn't be in on what was happening in the oil company. He knew that the Admiral had pulled some strings to get him the new job at the law firm, but beyond that, he didn't think that the Admiral was at all involved with his job--he certainly wasn't going to let his father-in-law interfere with justice. These guys were going to pay for what they did, and he was going to be the one to pull the wool off over their eyes. He knew that whatever the vile was, it was something that he would have to look in on after he blew this case out of the water. But, first things first, before he saved the world, he needed to save his marriage. He took out a well-worn velvet-covered box, and procured an antique locket, held the picture up to it, and with scissors that came with his Swiss Army Knife, cut the picture to fit, and snapped it shut and put the box in the paper bag holding the picture, and left.

Sam and Scully crouched behind the rows of boxes close to the door, and silently scooted out of view as Ben left. Scully had parked behind a building across the street, and Al, Scully and Sam gratefully left.

"I wonder what that was all about?" Sam mused allowed as he got into the truck. Al popped in between he and Scully, trying his best to look like he was actually sitting, causing Sam to nearly jump out of his skin and make the car swerve.

"It sure wasn't a Shriner's Club meeting." Al grumbled.

"I dunno..." Then Scully's eyes widened as she got a horrible thought. "Oh God! What if they were talking about Mulder?"

"They were definitely talking about Ben, that's for sure." Al interjected as though Scully could hear him.

"I wonder what that vial was. Could you tell?"

"How the hell should I know?" Scully snapped.

"It looked like green Kool-Aid to me." Al said at the same time Scully snapped. "I wonder how Ben found out they would be there."

"Who knows." Sam said, forgetting that Scully couldn't hear Al's half.

"You ok Doggett?"

"Who knows." Sam said dryly, and then realizing his fumble, stammered, "Who knows...how Ben found out those guys would be there."

"You think Jerilyn tipped him off without her knowing it?" Al wondered.

"It was World War Three in their apartment for the past couple of days, Jerilyn wouldn't let him near any of what she was working on, I'm sure of it."

"How do you think he got a hold of that information, then?" Scully demanded.

"Maybe they were feeding the little worm some bait." Al theorized.

"You really think so?" Sam asked, again forgetting about Scully.

"I have no idea." Scully answered, and then whipped out her cell phone. "Skinner? It's Scully, hey, listen..."yeah, we're alright. Did you and Starkweather make out ok...? We followed Ben to the warehouse on Lincoln Street, and Kersh, The Admiral, The Mayor of D.C., and somebody we didn't recognize all pulled into the warehouse and got this vile... We have no idea...we don't know the answer to that one, either...we've still got a lot of work to do before we know that...yes sir...I'll keep you posted." Scully hung up and sighed heavily. "Doggett...we've been working on this ever since it exploded on our laps, and where has it gotten us? Absolutely nowhere...I don't think I'm helping you or Mulder any more than Will is."

"Sure you are," Sam tried to encourage. "We just need a little more time to gather proof, is all. I tell you what, I'll take you back to the Bureau, and we can call it a night, and you me and Starkweather can pull our heads together over this tomorrow at work."

"Thanks, Doggett...that's the best idea anyone's come up with for the past few days."

"You know Scully," Sam began, "You know how I read through all those files..."

"Yeah?" Scully nodded.

"There's one thing I gotta know."

"What's that?"

"When you were in Antarctica, how DID you guys get back from that spaceship?"

"For the last time there WAS NO SPACESHIP!" Scully fumed. "Just drive." She said flatly. Sam and Scully rode in silence the rest of the way, and Al went back through the chamber door to check on the progress being made on Ziggy.

An hour later that afternoon:

Ben made his way back to his plush office, no closer to a guaranteed win for his case than he was earlier. There was nothing conclusive in that meeting except that someone wanted someone else fired, or worse. Those people had access to a box in that warehouse with a vile. If there was someway he could get a hold of that vile, then maybe he could win that case. The only easiest way he could get the vile, it seemed, was through his father-in-law.

But what was it? What could possibly be in that vial that four undoubtedly powerful men wanted? It certainly couldn’t be liquidated green Jell-O. Maybe toxin? Some heightened synthetic chlorophyll for crops? Regardless, it was a crime against the government, and it had to be uncovered, regardless of who was involved. This might be a bit tricky considering one of the possible people he would be fighting against pulled strings to get his new position at one of the top law firms. The Admiral had opened some doors, and he couldn't just turn him away like that...but by the same token, he couldn't turn down a fight, either.

"Mr. Starkweather," his secretary chirped, poking her head in the door. "This came for you while you were gone. I don't know who brought it. The mail boy brought it up."

"Thanks Noelle." Ben said absently, taking the envelope as though it were something his parents wouldn't let him touch. He took the envelope, and noticed that it was a plain, grocery-store .99 special variety that was unmarked; only his name and law firm address were written on the front. Inside was a typed message written in Times New Roman font, size twelve, all caps

IF YOU WANT TO WIN THE CASE, COME TO THE LINCOLN STREET LAWFIRM AT 4:30 AM, ALONE AND ARMED WITH NOTHING BUT YOUR WITS--A FRIEND INSIDE.

He crumpled the piece of paper up, and threw it in the wastebasket, started to surf the net on insecticides to see if it would lead to any answers as to what that vile was, and soon, his curiosity got the better of him.

Everything was riding on this deposition coming up; but his marriage was riding on tonight. If he screwed up again, it would be World War Four. On the other hand, he rationalized, if I win this case, the X-Files would be closed, and Agent Jerilyn would be Mrs. Starkweather again. "Well, if World War Four explodes in our apartment tonight, I hope she doesn't know how to operate an atom bomb."

Ben closed the laptop, and left the office, heading for the flower shop. If he wanted everything to be right again tonight, he would have to eat crow for supper. For a year. Or as long as Jerilyn was willing to put up a fight for their marriage. Whichever came first.

He hoped the year.

Meanwhile...
J. Edgar Hoover Building

Sam and Scully left from the Lincoln Street Warehouse almost as clueless as they had came in. The only thing Sam knew for sure was that he hadn't changed history yet. At least he had the future suspects narrowed down. If he could somehow get him away from them; to get Jerilyn to protect him somehow, he would be home free. Experience told him it wouldn't be that easy.

They came into the X-Files office to find Jerilyn busily digging in research. "You guys find anything?"

"I found out how to unbuckle my seatbelt and change seats during the time it takes for a light to change." She shot a glare at Sam. "If you do ANYTHING like that to me again I'll--" Scully started, but Sam wouldn't let her finish.

"I gotta go to the restroom." For once in his life, it wasn't just an excuse.

"I don't think he's playing with a full deck today, Starkweather."

Scully said, getting her laptop and briefcase gathered.

"Well, you'd be a basketcase too," she justified, and gestured to Mulder's desk. "If you hadda spend the night with the Addams Family reject, Barbie boy, JFK Wannabe, and Greasy pony tail Quasimodo. Look, Scully...earlier, I put you between me and the Deputy Mayor, and that wasn't fair of me."

"I'll take that as an apology, Starkweather. Hope you and Ben patch things up tonight."

"We will...you were right about Mulder. His heart is in the right place, after all. Along with a couple of...other...pertinent muscles." Scully couldn't help but blush like a schoolgirl at that comment.

"We found out something you might wanna know, Starkweather." Sam said, making his entrance and shot a permissive look directed at Scully. "Someone close the FBI has a lot of influence on a lot of people."

"Any idea who?" She asked.

"We're getting close, Starkweather. What did you find?" Scully pressed, eager to change the subject.

"Chicken scratch on a legal pad. It looked like doodling at first, but I looked closer, and it was stock-market numbers. I did some research, and the stock-market is linked directly to that oil rig in the Gulf, and this same company merged with several other oil rigs--including one in Arizona and in Scotland."

"We know someone's paying Kersh to keep silent. All we need to do now is figure out who, or which organization, or what." Scully said, making a beeline for the door. "I've gotta go relieve Agent Reyes of Will. At least today we got a good start on a lead. It's not solid, but it's a lead."

Starkweather looked nervously down at her desk, and then across at the both of them, as if in debate. She sighed heavily in concluding solo arguments. "I'm going to do some investigating when Dad comes to visit. It's the only way we can find any answers to this thing."

"I appreciate your help, Starkweather, but the answers may not be what you want to hear." Scully warned.

"Neither are the Backstreet Boys." Starkweather replied with a scared smile. "But if that's what it takes to get you two outta this, then I'll do it. See you guys tomorrow." She said heading out the door.

Later that night...
Ben and Jerilyn's apartment

Ben tentatively opened the door to his apartment. He heard Kid Rock blaring out of the stereo: "Yeah, I'm a COW - Boy bay--bee..." He closed his eyes. Hard rock, bad sign. He sighed and went towards the bedroom.

His wife hadn't noticed him. The bedroom was in disarray, piles of clothes separated by color and fabric all over. Because they didn't have an ironing board, Jerilyn had spread a towel on their dresser and was pressing a pair of Ben's khakis. Ben grinned to himself. One of the perks of having an ex-military person for a spouse was their anal-retentive attention to details. Jerilyn had a lot of practice in creating shipshape creases, having done ironing not just for her uniforms, but for her father when he was still active in the Navy.

Ben leaned against the doorframe. "Hi."

He received a withering look and a curt "Hi," in return.

"Have you drawn up divorce papers yet?" he said jokingly.

"Don't tempt me Counselor," she replied, but the name "Counselor" was a good sign, it was her pet name for him. Jerilyn had pet names for just about everyone, friends and enemies. "Monkey boy" for Byers and "Papa John" for Doggett were just two examples of her nick name fanaticism. She was still struggling for an appropriate nickname for Mulder but "Asshole: was still in the running.

"Jeri," he sighed, but stuck to his resolution to eat crow. "Baby, can we... can we... could we start over?"

"Ben, we've started over so many times...."

"Well, three-thousand and one's the charm," he smiled and approached her, taking the hot iron out of her hands and took her in his arms. "Jeri, we don't have to agree, okay, I know you think I'm insane for what I'm doing... but on the flip side, I think you're insane for what you're doing too..."

"Is this your sad attempt at an apology?" but she was smiling when she said that.

Caesar the cat wound himself around their legs...

Meanwhile...
Scully's apartment
Georgetown

"Thanks Agent Reyes for all your help," Scully said, holding Will as she walked Monica Reyes to the door.

Reyes, still recovering from her unfortunate mishap from falling from a ladder, limped to the door. "Hopefully I'll be back in business in a month," she said with her trademark serene smile. "I didn't realize butts took so long to heal." She had broken her tailbone in the fall, putting her out of action for the most post.

"Well, can't wait to have you back, have a good night," Scully wished her well as she shut the door quietly.

After she put William to bed, she had just settled down in her chair when she heard Mulder's key in her door. He staggered in and collapsed on her couch, rubbing his temples.

"Mulder, what's the matter?"

"Bad headache, got any Valium?"

"How would Valium cure a headache?" Scully huffed, irritated as usual at how poorly Mulder always took care of himself.

"It would make me completely numb to the world," he closed his eyes as Scully came over. She sat down beside him and touched his forehead. "No fever, which is a good sign, but Mulder, you can't let yourself get run down, not now."

"I know, I know..." Mulder tried to wave her concern off, but Dr. Scully wouldn't allow it.

"No you don't Mulder," she began sternly.

"Scully," he opened his eyes and started to give her the puppy-dog eyes. "I'm just tired. It's just a headache. I've just had a bad day..."

Scully took his hand. "Tell me."

Mulder sighed. "Someone is trying to get me fired at City Hall...."

"... and to top it all off," Mulder rubbed his eyes again wearily. "My car got stolen."

"Oh God, Mulder, did you call-"

"The police," Mulder finished her question for her, "yes I did. I told them the make and the model and the plate numbers. I told them the color and what the bumper sticker said. I told them where I usually park it, underneath the big sign that says "Parking for the Deputy Mayor Only, All Others Will Be Towed." I told them the last approximate time I saw my car. They thanked me for all the information I provided and told me that they'd get right on it... before they started to laugh hysterically, of course." Mulder looked up at her and deadpanned. "And how was your day, Pookie?"

"Pookie?" she asked flatly. "Barf."

Just then, the baby started to cry in the other room. Mulder's face crumpled in pain as the wails became piercing. Scully, more concerned for William than Mulder, naturally, bolted up, but Mulder grabbed her wrist. "I'll go, haven't seen the slugger all day, except for this morning," and with a sigh, he heaved himself off the couch and down towards Scully's bedroom.

Which was a good thing because just then, Maggie Scully had decided to give her daughter a phone call and was in the mood for a nice long cozy chat. An entire hour had passed before Scully could finally draw the phone call to an end. "Alright, I'll talk to you soon, I love you Mom... ok Mom... Yes Mom... okay, I'll talk to you soon.... I love you too... yes Mom, I'll tell him... okay... yeah Mom... I love you...I'll talk to you soon... okay, Mom... love you... BYE!" She hung up the phone with a bemused smile. Every since Scully had the baby, Maggie had rung up her long distance bill, calling with maternal hints and suggestions.

Scully then noticed how quiet it was. She padded down her hallway, feeling some of that leftover fear that she felt when Krycek, may God rot his lying soul, told her that her baby was "special" and that "they" were coming for it.

The door was partially closed. Only a sliver of light from the baby's teddy bear shaped nightlight shone out. Scully felt her heart pounding. Slowly, FBI slowly, she pushed open the door. "Mul-" she started to say, but stopped.

Back to her, Mulder was holding William, standing in front of the window. Silhouetted by the street lights, Mulder was making a valiant effort to sing... effort being the key word. "Hey diddle diddle put your kitty in the middle and swing like you didn't care," he crooned, softly, gently and completely out of tune, "so I took a big chance at the high school dance with a missy who was ready to play and... um.... la la la la... la... um... don't know the words to this part but...I knew that love was here to stay when she told me to walk this way, talk this way, walk this way, talk this way," he happened to turn around to see Scully standing there. He grinned and sang "Just give me a little kiss..."

Scully went to him and looked up at him with her baby. "You're singing Aerosmith to MY child?" she crossed her arms.

"Sure, they're a classic," Mulder said, at his most maddening, shifting Will to one arm so he could use his other arm to pull Scully to him. "I started to listen to them when I was a kid, so I figured," Mulder shrugged. "Why not?"

"Mulder," she said, wriggling enough to put her arms on top of his to draw him and her baby closer. "That boy is going to need years of therapy if you don't..."

"Don't what?" Mulder kissed her forehead, then kissed the top of the baby's head.

"I thought you had a headache?"

"It's going away," Mulder said, resting his head on top of Scully's. "I could stay this way forever, Scully, do you know that?" as he enveloped her and her son in his strong arms. He gently started to sway, as if they were slow dancing at a junior high dance.

Scully felt her eyes welling up. As she looked up to tell him how touched she was by his sentiments, he began to sing again. "Swwwwwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet emoooooooooooooooooooooootion..... Swwwwwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet emoooooooooooooooooooooootion..... talk about things that nobody cares.... wearing our things that nobody wears, somebody's calling me but I gotta make clear, can't say maybe where I'll be in a year..."

Scully groaned, but then smiled. He wouldn't be Mulder if he couldn't take a perfectly wonderful, sweet moment... and ruin it completely.

Meanwhile

After Mulder had left, the Gunmen made their way down the hall and to the Mayor's office, which, unfortunately was locked. Frohike turned to Langly:

"Got a bobby pin?"

"What the hell makes you think I've got a bobby pin?"

"Oh yeah, I forgot, you don't even brush your hair. Byers, gimme your credit card. I gotta crack this lock somehow."

"Frohike, I refuse to give you my credit card."

"Aw, come on, Virgin Monkey Boy. I promise I won't get the number off of it to buy pornos on the Internet this time."

"That's what you said last time."

"Byers...you need serious help, man." Langly nasalled.

"Look, I'll pay you back." Frohike persisted.

"That's what you said last time."

"I'll let you borrow them."

"That's what you said last time."

"Dammit, Byers, where's your sense of adventure!"

"It went out the window the moment you called me Virgin Monkey Boy. I am NOT having a good day."

"Byers, dude, this is a cakewalk. We'll be in and outta here in a jiffy."

"Why is it on cakewalks we always tend to slip on the icing?"

"Wow, it's good to know our tax money is being well-spent on swanky offices." Frohike grumbled as he opened the newly jimmied door.

"Geeez...this office is nicer than *Scully's* apartment." Langly said, oogling at the bar.

"Langly, get your ass over hear, we're gonna start on his email."

"Awww, man!"

"If you're good, we'll letchya have some of the mayor's candy."

"Oh goodie." Langly said dryly. "Let's see what we got here." He turned on the computer; Frohike kept lookout at the window just in case, and shut the blinds. Byers kept his lookout post near the door. "Hmmm...nothing much here...internet porn...birthday cards to his granddaughter...Hello! Score one for Barbie Boy!" Langly said triumphantly.

"Whatchya got?"

"Looks like someone's jumping down the mayor's throat." Langly answered, busily keying in data, "He's got a couple of threatening emails. The addy is leolaw@juno.net. If we can figure out who that is, we might be able to get a lock on who's trying to get Mulder fired."

"Do your stuff, Langly."

"It's what I live for Frohike. Here we go...but this guy's good...I don’t' have an I.D. on him. I can't trace it."

"Guys?" Frohike said, not really paying attention to what Langly was saying. He was nervously peering out the window.

"What, Fro?"

"The mayor's coming up the walk. I think we better move."

"Shit! What's he doing back here?!"

"Maybe he's come back to look at some of this Internet porn." Langly suggested.

"Shut up Langly." The two chorused in unison. They shut the computer off, and gingerly relocked the door.

"We're cooked." Frohike said in his trademark grumble.

"Guys, we're cleaning dudes..."

"What do you suggest, Langly," Byers said, heading for the doors, "Sweeping the Mayor out? Maybe knocking the mayor unconscious with window-cleaner fumes?"

"Not a bad idea." Frohike approved.

"I suggest we clean." Langly continued, turning off the computer. "Who knows, we may find somethin' out. I mean, hell...a man running with the bad guys gotta have something to hide."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Blondie's got a point, Virgin Monkey Boy." Frohike deadpanned.

"Don't call me that!" Byers and Langly both shouted in unison.

Byers, Langly, and Frohike all scampered across the hall, like three little kids who were trying not to get caught by parents.

"Shit! I forgot to lock the door!" Langly panicked.

"Oh hell." Was all Frohike said.

"If he goes near the computer, we're dead." Byers said in his trademark matter-of-factness. "It's still warm."

Langly, trying too hard to look like he was supposed to be there, sang barely recognizable as melody under his breath "Just slip out the back, Jack, make a new plan, Stan, no need to be coy Roy, just drop the key, Lee, and get yourself free."

"Shut up!" Byers and Frohike hissed in unison, because just then, the mayor was coming up the walk. Langly just barely locked the door in time, and had scooted around the corner out of sight seconds after the Mayor came in the door to City Hall, fortunately for the three cleaning guys, leaving the door open.

"Look at that." Byers whispered, trying not to look like Langly was someone he knew.

"Wonder what he's got there?" Frohike mumbled under his breath, as he watched the Mayor put the vile in a small pocket-sized metal box and locked it. They all watched as he picked up the phone.

"I got it here, and I am keeping it with me. I will not be threatened anymore. Leo, you keep threatening me this morning, and you got the vile for them. You should be more careful where you put things, next time. We started this because we thought it was the only way. Because it was either us or him or us or them. They haven't found proof of anything yet, and I don't think that they will. I don't see any reason for illuminating him, or anyone for that matter; if you do, you can threaten me all you want, you can blackmail me all you want, but it will only keep you from preserving what we originally started fighting for. If they follow through with the plans tonight, this is where we part company."

They waited till the Mayor turned out the lights and locked the door with the metal box containing the vile in his hand, and then made their way down the hall.

"Maybe Leo's a codename." Frohike suggested.

"I thought Frohike was a codename at first." Langly said, starting the van.

"Shut up and drive, Blondie." Frohike grumbled.

"Whatever, Frohike." Langly said, and put Queen in the tape player.

Ben cupped his wife's face in his hand and smiled into the dark pools of her eyes... strange hazel eyes, switching colors with her mood from green to gold to brown to all three colors swirled together and back again. Never the same color twice. "Jeri, even though I think you're wrong, I don't have the right to hurt your feelings." He watched her pretty eyes look away, then look down. "Hey," he said, using his other hand to stroke her cheek. "I know you hate sap and mush, but I mean it. I'm sorry Jeri. Maybe we'll be on the other side of the fence for right now, but I still need you. I don't have to be such a dick because you don't agree with me. We'll go our separate ways on this, but since we are fighting for the same thing, we'll meet in the middle eventually. We always do. Plus I'll work hard if you promise to do the same to keep our professional lives professional and not let it mess with our personal lives."

Jerilyn, still afraid for his safety, could not argue with his logic. He had a job to do. So did she. "Okay."

He took a deep breath. "And... about Doggett..."

Quicksilver, she back up from him, her face puckering up into the most disagreeable expression of anger he had seen in a while. "Oh, here we go..." she snapped.

"No, we don't," Ben took her hands. "I meant to say is... I'm..." ::really wanting to believe you don't have feelings for him::he silently begged her while he said "I'm just jealous that he gets to see you more than I do, that's all."

Jerilyn sighed. "But Ben, that's how it was with my last partner too and you were never jealous of him."

"Honey, that's because he hated you. I had no worries about him moving in on my territory," Ben teased, stepping closer.

"Oh Gawd." Jeri began to let down her guard. "Thanks a lot. Should I go up to my boss tomorrow and say 'Assistant Director, my husband is bitter that me and my partner get along so could you rustle up a real low life, double-crossing bad-smelling male chauvinist pig partner like I had in Minneapolis and assign him to me instead. Thanks, Ben will appreciate it.'" Now she teased, stepping closer to him, fingers playing with the buttons of his perfectly starched white dress shirt.

"There you go," Ben began to pick hairpins out of Jeri's severe bun. "You're catching on to the whole subservient wife thing pretty quickl- oof!!" His "subservient wife" had just sucker punched him in the solar plexus. "Not fair."

"No, 'not fair' would be below the belt," Jerilyn said with a naughty smile as she fussed with his belt buckle. "And don't get your boxers in a truss about Doggett, ok? He's a good guy."

"Okay," Ben said, "but forgive me if I act like a preening male ass sometimes. Especially when it comes to Doggett." He resumed picking hairpins out of her thick luxurious hair. When it tumbled down, he ran his fingers through, marveling how silky it felt in between his paper-cut fingers. "'Cause, like it or not, big bad FBI broad, he does get to see you more than I do," he admitted quietly.

Now Jerilyn was focusing on undoing his tie. Slowly she unknotted it and slid it off of him. "He doesn't get to see EVERYTHING, husband dear," she stood on tiptoes and nibbled provocatively on his neck.

With a groan, he ripped the covers of the unmade bed off and crossed over to shut the blinds. He then scooped Jerilyn up and tossed her on the bed. Laughing, Jerilyn sat up on her elbows. "Is this your idea of foreplay, Mr. Starkweather," she giggled as she threw her long thick hair over her shoulder over-dramatically.

Ben slid on top of her and kissed her into submission. "No, Mrs. Starkweather," he said throatily as he began to work on the buttons of her blouse, "this is..."

He figured he could give her the locket later... much much later... and with that decision made, he went to work on the very serious job of re-consummating their marriage.

Meanwhile,

Doggett Residence

Sam's mind was reeling. He was at the point in exhaustion where reality became surreal, but he couldn't sleep. If he couldn't figure out a way to stop Ben's death, in, according to Al, less than twelve hours, he was powerless to stop every grim prediction Ziggy made. He held on to the faint hope that all the disaster was part of the virus that entered her system, but something told him that wasn't the case.

So far, a night digging around on-line and a day chasing after Mr. Starkweather had left him empty-handed.

"You're taking the expression 'the weight of the world on your shoulders' a bit too seriously, kid. You did what you could today." Al said out of nowhere.

"Al, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry, Sam. I'll wear a little bell on my neck next time." Sam only glowered at him. "You can't hit me, I'm a hologram! Unless you want to swing at thin air."

"How's Ziggy?" Sam chastised himself for taking his anger out on Al.

"We're working on her. Goushie's close to getting the virus purged from her system. For now, shutdown looks probable...but so far, it looks like we won't have to shut her down till the wee small hours. What could happen at 2am?"

"Ben could be murdered, the world could end..."

"...and the sky could fall. Sam, you have got to get a hold of yourself. It won't do anyone any good for you to panic. We've got it under control the best we can. We're running our back-ups to see what that vile was all about, but we got nothing so far."

"Well, do what you can."

"Don't I always? I'm trying to find out what I can from Doggett."

"That's great! How did you manage that?"

"You're not gonna like this, Sam."

"Al...*please* tell me you didn't break the rules..."

"I *had* to, Sam. I showed him the police reports, and it was the only way I could get him to 'fess up and believe me. God...I didn't see the reports myself until just before I hadda show them to Doggett. No *human* could have done that to Mulder."

"Who is the suspect?"

"They have a picture of a man named William Miles. But no HUMAN has that kinda brute strength to tear apart metal bars the way that police photo shows, Sam. They were torn apart like damn paper. Mulder's body was pretty much torn in *half*."

"Al, they have solid evidence that shows a *man* committed his murder. Sometimes adrenaline gives you heightened strength. You and I know that better than anybody."

"Doggett says this guy's an ET By the looks of what he did in that jail cell...going to do...he's on a helluva lot of steroids."

"He's a man...just like you and me."

"I don't think I have the ability to break a guy in half, Sam. Neither do you and you damn well know it."

"I still can't believe he's alien, but I have a hunch that the vial is related to Ben's death, and if Ben's death is related to Mulder's and everyone else’s, then if we can figure out what's in that vile, we've got a lead."

"Even so, Sam, we have no way of knowing where that vile is. The best way to stop the world from going kablooey is stopping Ben's murder."

"The guy hates me. He thinks I'm after his wife. I don't think he's wanna spend quality time with me a few days before his biggest case. Besides, if Jerilyn takes the peace offering he got him today, I don't think I'll need to keep him out of harm's way. But if that worked...why am I still here?"

Al whipped out the blinking console "Could be just Ziggy's virus acting up. Uh-oh...no...Sam...sorry kid...he's still killed tonight."

"Al, you can't expect me to believe Billy Miles is an alien." Sam said, pacing back and forth.

"How else do you explain it? I'm not expecting you to believe it. All I'm expecting you to do here is stop Ben's murder. Stopping Billy Miles might be the only way to do that, and if Billy Miles has the strength to rip those bars apart and a man in half, well...all I'm sayin' is he ain't the Incredible Hulk." Al rebutted, taking a long, much needed puff on his cigar. "The vial that you saw the freaky four get today might have a connection to Billy Miles." He said quietly, and then folding his arms.

"Connection? How?"

"While Goushie was running some tests on Zig and I couldn't get to you earlier today, Doggett and I had a nice little chat. He read the police reports I showed him, and said something didn't match up."

"A lot doesn't seem to be matching up in this leap."

"Yeah, well...something apparently was overlooked in the original investigation." Al said, hoping that Sam would skip the part where he had to break the rules and show him the police report.

"What was overlooked?" Sam asked, and then in rapid-fire speed, sputtered out "How did Doggett know that it was overlooked?"

"A man by the name of Justin Leo who was questioned the first time around mentioned the vial." Choosing not to answer the first question. "This was definitely a high profile case, spread wall-to-wall all over the news, so the questioning officer never gave it a second thought. The vial was never mentioned in police reports."

"How did Doggett know that it was overlooked Al?" Sam demanded.

"I...uh...kinda hadda show him the old police reports..." Al reminded him sheepishly.

"Al! You know we can't do that! Do you have *ANY* idea what might have happened because you told him the deal? You are lucky you weren't yanked off of the project! Or worse! You know what happens when we break policies! Dammit Al! What POSSESSED you to--"

"Goushie, wait!" Al shouted into the air, apparently not paying attention to Sam's ranting. "Sam, I--"

Just when Sam was going to let Al explain himself, he was gone. Sam was alone.

Georgetown
Residence of Justin Leo

In his 33 years, Justin Leo had never in his life had such a long week. In dire need of a stiff drink, he went over to his personal bar and poured himself a tall double-strength martini. Yes, he desperately needed to be numb.

His life had always been lived quite placidly, always keeping at the tip of consciousness what had happened that summer night years ago to Lilly Stanford...Lilly Stanford Leo he always added. He would never forgive himself for letting her be taken.

Until two months ago when he was approached by an Admiral from Arizona to protect certain interests. The Deputy Director was always vague as to what these interests were, but he was fairly certain early in their association that these interests involved some sort of cover-up. As the weeks increased, the money increased, and the errands increased. He became the group's Fall Guy of sorts, tampering with papers, tapering with bank account records, delivering messages that were all done under the command of a man who smoked Morley cigarettes. Justin Leo never knew his name, but somehow knew that his associates' latest target, the Deputy Mayor, probably knew more about him than he should have. The greater part of this morning was spent telling the Mayor why his new man shouldn't be allowed to live. The Mayor couldn't agree with his arguments.

The most bizarre thing he did for these four gentlemen was his most recent task. He drove with all but the man who smoked Morleys and took out a tube of green stuff in a warehouse on a shady side of town. He had no idea what the vile was, or what it was for. He was only aware that it was needed, and that he was the one who was going to retrieve it for him. If it meant finding Lily Stratford then it was all worth it. It was worth everything.

It had never gone this far before. Leo--law-abiding, law-practicing, forthright Justin Leo--had never thought he was someone capable of murder. The very idea of killing someone in cold blood sickened him. He couldn't be involved anymore, but if ending a life led him to Lily, then he would do it. The target would sacrifice his life for hers. Yes, Lily was worth another life. He had been too spineless to do anything about her abduction as he watched her go up into the blue light. Now, he would show her that he was capable of taking good care of her.

He loaded a clipper with a round of shells, and in the dark, eerie light of the TV set, let his mind play back the spark that begun when he first saw Lilly's gray eyes.

Ben and Jeri's apartment
Straight up midnight

Spooning his wife's body, Ben absently stroked Jerilyn's sleeping form, his hand gently caressing the hollows of her flat tummy. Even though he loved Jerilyn's incredible intellect, her steadfast loyalty and her passionate heart, his male ego couldn't help but crow that his wife was strutting around in a world-class body. Hard in the right places, soft in the right places.

Not that Ben was a slouch in the physique department either. Although he didn't work out as vigorously as he had while he was still in the Air National Guard, where he met Jerilyn, he still hit the gym three times a week and every summer was signed up for some sporting league. Still, he managed to cut a dashing figure in his suits and he was proud that he still had fairly hard calf muscles, a toned chest and a nice flat belly.

Speaking of bellies, Ben became acutely aware of the gnawing emptiness of his. He had been in such a rush home to mend fences with Jerilyn that he hadn't stopped anywhere for a bite to eat and well, once things started to rock and roll with Jerilyn, he really hadn't thought about food until now.

Rolling away from Jerilyn, he reached down for his boxers. By the light shining from the hallway, he saw that the cat had them, chewing on the waistband in the doorway.

"You damn cat," he muttered as he rolled off the bed and walked towards the cat. Caesar, thinking that his master wanted to play, bounced away, shorts in mouth.

"Fucking cat!" Ben hissed under his breath and followed him.

Jerilyn, who he thought was sleeping, smiled.

Bare-assed nekkid, Ben chased the cat around his living room for a good fifteen minutes before he was able to retrieve his shorts, and only after a good fight at that.

When Ben finally slipped on his hard-won boxers, he could have sworn the cat was scowling at him. "Hey, don't get pissed off at me, it was HER idea to get you neutered, not mine."

Caesar skulked off to hide under the couch.

Now clothed, Ben went into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator to find a carton of expired milk, half a case of Bud Light and a couple of boxes of Chinese take-out. "Okay, mental memo to self, must buy groceries sometime in the immediate future," he said to himself. He then went to the freezer. A little better luck there, there was two Totino pepperoni pizza and a full container of Ben and Jerry's Phishfood. Ben shook his head as he remembered the razzing that he received when it first got out that he was dating her. "Ben and Jeri huh? Are you gonna name your kids Chunky Monkey and Cherry Garcia?"

Too unambitious to fire up the oven for pizza, he grabbed the ice cream and a spoon and wandered out to the living room. Another trait in Jerilyn that he found attractive was that they were both night owls, though how she managed to drag her ass out of bed at five-fifteen almost every morning for a run was beyond him.

He sat down on the couch, found his cigarettes and lighter, lit up and thumbed through the mail. Bills, bills, more bills and today's newspaper. On the front page, bottom corner left was a dorky picture of the Mayor and his Deputy Mayor at some ribbon cutting. Ben shook his head and tossed the paper down on the coffee table.

Perhaps triggered by the "Ben and Jerry" memory, Ben reached for the photo album on the coffee table. He was an amateur photographer. For Christmas two years ago, Jeri had bought him a nice used old school Minolta manual camera, which he loved. Finishing his smoke, he began to eat the ice-cream and flipped through the album, which started with beer parties pictures from law school, then some bar pictures with his old friends at the Des Moines Air National Guard unit. Then A LOT of pictures of Jerilyn when they first started dating. He smiled as he got to the sequence of pictures when he first took her home to Minnesota to meet his family. He remembered that week up at his parents' summer home on the lake. After that week, he was convinced he was going to marry her.

He paused briefly at his favorite picture of her, the one he had made of copy of and had framed at his office. He had snapped her picture completely unaware. He and his father were cruising by in his dad's boat while she was sunning herself on dock, face tilted towards the sun, long hair blowing in the breeze, back before she started dying it blond...

Ben stopped. Then looked again. He grabbed the newspaper and looked. Then looked at the picture in the photo album again.

Jerilyn was sitting on the dock, completely free and easy, legs dangling in the lake water. The lake surrounding her was a blue as a dream. She was wearing a bikini top and a pair of ratty denim shorts that had seen better days. Her eyes were squinted because of the sun and one hand was pushing her long dark brown hair out of her eyes...

Ben looked back at the newspaper again.

The Honorable Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder was wearing a black suit with a dark blue shirt and a snazzy blue and silver tie. His eyes were squinted because he was facing the sun. One hand was pushing his dark brown hair out of his eyes...

Ben took a quick breath. "Holy God," he said while thinking ::Why hasn't anyone noticed before?????::

Granted, the physical differences would throw anyone. Jerilyn had fair skin and her nose was very small and straight, almost elfish. While Mulder had a swarthier complexion and his nose looked like it had been broken a few times. Plus Mulder was well over six foot tall and Jerilyn only had a few inches, if even that, over Scully.

Still... and Ben knew his Mendolian laws quite well. Plus, as a lawyer and an amateur photographer, he was well trained for looking for the minute details. They had the *exact* same dark hair color, the *exact* same pouty Cupid lips, the *exact* same eye-color and even the *exact* same unconscious facial and body expressions. It was too close to be a coincidence.

"Oh my God..." he moaned. "How do I tell her that the man she hates more than life itself may be her brother... Jesus H., when did my life turn into a freaking soap opera?" He chuckled. "'As the Stomach Churns.'"

Just then, the phone rang. "Who the hell?"

Ben dove for the phone, hoping to get it before the ringing woke up Jerilyn. "Hello?" he asked rudely. It was, after all, way after midnight.

"Didn't you get my message?" A breathy feminine voice asked...

Jerilyn, who was not asleep, had lazily reached for the phone when it rang just as Ben had. She heard Ben's harsh "Hello?" and was about to hang up again when she heard the sulty woman's voice ask if he received his message. Wide-awake now, she bolted up in bed, covering the mouthpiece with her hand, listening....

"What message?" Ben rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Miss, I think you have the wrong numbe-"

"This isn't the wrong number, Ben and you know what message I'm talking about."

Ben remembered. "I'm not going anywhere tonight."

"It won't take long. Jerilyn won't even know you're gone."

::The hell she won't::Jerilyn's rapid-fire temper was already heated up.

"I'm tired," Ben protested. "I am not up for any games in the dark tonight."

"This is no game, Counselor," the woman purred. "I have all the answers to every question you seek."

A pregnant pause. "We'll see," Ben growled.

I'll be waiting," was all the woman said before she hung up.

Ben groaned. Got up, looked at his half-melted ice-cream. Looked at the pictures of his wife and the newspaper paper of the Deputy Mayor. He lit a cigarette, smoking it to the filter while he paced. ::Maybe the truth is out there in that warehouse::he wondered. His curiosity was riled, he crept back to his bedroom...

... and found his wife, standing in the doorway, dressed and loading her gun.

Not a good sign.

"Wherever you think you're going tonight, honey," Agent Starkweather said, holstering her gun. "You're taking me with."

Al, who had been watching the whole time, groaned silently. ::At least she can't see me yet::he thought in relief....

"No you're not," Ben snapped, pushing past Jerilyn to the dresser where he pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

"Excuse me?" Jerilyn put the gun down on the dresser and faced Ben as he dressed. "Some femme fatale calls at the witching hour, telling you she needs to meet with you tonight because she's got "the answers" and you have the balls to tell me that I'm not coming with? Ben, I know you're not stupid enough to cheat on me so I'm thinking this is about that damn oil rig case. And if it is and something is going down tonight, something that we can blow them out of the water with... I don't know, call me silly, but MAYBE you'd want someone with a gun and a badge and handcuffs there. I can call Doggett and the DC PD and we'd be all over it in less than ten minutes."

"How do you know this is even about the case?"

"Because," she said condescendingly, "I work for the *X-Files.* Granted, I'm still a rookie, but a mysterious phone call in the middle of the night usually means some spooky shit is going to go down."

"Jerilyn," he said reluctantly. "You can't come."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because... you're going to be subpoenaed for this case too."

"WHAT!!!!" she exploded. "Is that what you meant by all that "meeting in the middle" crap? Besides, what good is my testimony going to do? I wasn't even working on the X-Files when all of that went down."

"I know, but I need you as a character witness, reaffirming the credentials of Doggett and Mulder."

"And a day ago you were ready to cook me because you thought I was ready to bone Doggett... excuse the nasty pun."

"Aw, Christ, I thought we settled that!" Ben fired back. "I said I was wrong, I said I was sorry."

"Then let me come with you."

"NO."

"Ben, no offense, but you are a desk jockey, okay? Your territory is the law library and the courtroom. If I'm not mistaken, you were trying to sneak out in the dead of night, dressed in black," she looked up and down at his dark jeans and black T-shirt, "you're acting like a man going on a stakeout and that's MY playing field."

"Jerilyn," he said as patiently as he could. "Honey, I need you to trust me on this one. Yes, part of this is about the case, but part of it... is... for us."

"Us?"

"Jerilyn..." Ben said. "I need to go do a little digging. You're right, I'm a desk jockey, so research is MY thing and I've got big time questions, especially concerning the Deputy Mayor." Right away, her face crinkled in distaste, but he plodded on, "I think this case has a lot more to do with Mulder than we realize."

"Aaarrrrrgghhhh, CHRIST!! If it's an X-File, it's about Mulder, whether he's there or not. How does THAT affect anything?"

"Not in a professional sense... personally, it would affect us personally."

"How?"

Ben took her by the hand and led her out to the living room. "Sit down," he said gently. "If I'm right... you're not going to like this."

"Look at this picture," Ben pointed to the picture of her that he was admiring just a few moments ago.

Jerilyn looked. "Yep that's me and I'm cute. So what?"

"Look at this picture," he handed her the newspaper.

Jerilyn looked, then handed it back to him. "And...?"

"You don't see it!?!?" Ben said incredulously.

"See what?"

"Jerilyn LOOK," he said insistently. "The hair, the mouth, the EYES, Jeri, look at the eyes..."

Al, meanwhile was still hovering about nervously, just waiting for Ziggy to go completely on the fritz and letting Jeri see him. The possibility was now inching closer since for some weird reason, his connection with Sam had suddenly terminated and sent him to the Starkweathers. ::Wow, if THAT doesn't send her into supernova...::Al worried.

Jerilyn looked, really really looked. She paled slightly but said defiantly. "NO."

"Jeri, it's a possibility. You don't know who your natural parents are."

"Ben," Now Jerilyn was being patient. "I'm not Samantha, I'm too young to be her. Plus, Scully told me that about two years ago that mystery was laid to rest. The girl is dead. She was killed when she was fourteen. I would have been six at the time."

"You told me all about Samantha's abduction horror story and I'm not saying you're her. What I'm saying is... what if there was another sister?"

"Another sister? That the family CONVIENIENTLY forgot about? They lost one kid so what's another one? Besides Ben, I was found in Hawaii. When Mom and Dad were stationed in Pearl Harbor. As far as I know, Mulder was born and raised on the East Coast. What the hell have you been smoking?"

"What if Mulder's dad had an affair or- or- his mother maybe? And she hid the pregnancy and gave you away afterwards?"

"You are full of shit," Jerilyn said. "You tell me I'm crazy for staying with the X-Files, you think Scully and Mulder are nuts and now you're talking like them! Or, more accurately, you're talking like Mulder. You're coming up with this whole parentage theory based on two photographs."

"Which is why I need to go, by myself." Ben said. "You said yourself these men are dangerous. From what little you've told me, they've been gunning for Mulder since Day One... and anyone remotely connected. Look, maybe I'm wrong, and I know you think I'm wrong... but that's just because you hate the guy and want nothing to do with him. But Jeri, honey," he said taking her hands, "what if these guys... this... what was that name you called them, the Syndicate?" Jerilyn nodded. Ben went on. "This Syndicate thing makes the same assumption that I did. They went after Scully. They went after their kid-"

Jerilyn noticed with bemusement that her husband was the first to refer to the baby as both Mulder and Scully's son.

"- what if they come after you? What if you were right and all that crazy shit that went down while you and Scully and Doggett were in Scotland was nothing more than a ruse just to bring you down."

"People try to bring me down because I'm a federal agent and because I'm the Admiral's daughter. Not because Mulder and I are even remotely related, which I think is crazy and the worst stall tactic I have ever seen you use, Counselor."

"Stall tactic?!?!" Ben's jaw dropped.

"You're trying to piss me off about this whole supposed connection so I'll get mad enough to send you merrily about your way to play Mission Impossible alone. Ben, if you got a tip about these people... it could be a trap and you could get killed. Ben, I watched my partner get wounded and two of my friends die back at Minneapolis because of horseshit like this, and we had a team of six undercover guys on that case."

"I remember that," Ben said grimly, for Jerilyn had been two months pregnant with the child she would lose three weeks after that unfortunate incident.

"You're not going alone."

"Yes I am."

"NO YOU'RE NOT!" Al and Jerilyn shouted at the same time. Jerilyn jumped and looked around wildly.

"What is it?" Ben asked.

"I think I'm losing my mind." Jerilyn mumbled. Then she pressed on. "Fine, if I'm not going with, then either Scully or Doggett IS."

"Goddamn it, I don't need a babysitter!" he yelled.

Ben, you are WAY over your head on this one! If you're going to go, then TAKE someone with. If not, then for god's sake, don't go! Cripes, it's twenty to one already!"

"Then give me the fucking file for the oil rig case!" Ben shouted. "Let me read it so I know what happened so I won't have to jump through these goddamn hoops!"

"I CAN'T!" she yelled back. "Besides, I thought you had Kersh by the nose and he was going to give you that file."

"I may have him by the nose, but your daddy's got him by the balls and I could get that file plus several others if you call him and tell him that we need them."

"You know what?" Jerilyn said coldly. "If you're going to be a damn fool about this, then just go." Ben went into the bedroom to get his wallet and socks and shoes. Jerilyn stood up, pursed her lips together. "Dammit," she cursed. She followed him to the bedroom. "Wait." she asked. Ben stood there, arms crossed. Jerilyn went to small cabinet in their walk-in closet where she kept her weapons and ammo under lock and key. She walked out, loading her little Beretta she wore on an ankle-holster. "Take this."

"Aw, for God's sake-" he started to protest.

"Humor me."

So he took the weapon and walked out. Jerilyn followed him. Ben paused at the front door. "I wish you would trust me," he said sadly.

Icily she replied. "I wish I could trust you too."

Ben slammed the door.

Al shook his head ::Girl, I hope that's not the last time you see him alive::he thought woefully as he punched some buttons.

"Let your fingers do the waking..." Sam mumbled as he fumbled through the yellow pages. There were only five Leo's in the book at all, and only one of them was named Justin. The address was a Maryland one, 242 Washington Avenue. Luckily, since Doggett was recently new to the area, it wasn't hard to find a Maryland City map neatly folded in what Sam assumed was a "junk drawer." He found the address with relative ease, bolted out the door, and didn't care that his tires screamed as he tore out of the driveway. He had to get to this Leo guy before Leo--or whoever--got to Ben. With a little luck, getting to Leo would at least delay what happened.

He drove furiously, and the traffic angels were with him for once. There were barely any red lights or traffic...of course, what can you expect at that hour? He barreled through a railroad track, barely missing the rails.

The neighborhood close to the address was a modest one, on the fringe right where Georgetown started. The yards were mostly small, poorly kept and littered with trash. There were people milling around on the street corner, shouting over the beat of their boom box, eyeing the pick-up as it inched up the street, while Sam looked for 242.

236...238...240...here it was...242. It was a one-story house with cracked dirty-white paint, and dingy blue trim. All the windows were lightless except a TV flickering in a window. Sam made his way up to the door, and pounded his fists. Sam felt like he was in the middle of a bad detective movie. "Open up! FBI!"

A man with dark hair and a ten-o'clock shadow etching his chiseled features opened the door. He donned a ratty Orioles T-shirt as Swiss-cheesed as Sam's memory and black sweats. "Can I help you?" He said, glancing back inside as if he had to get back to something soon.

"Yeah, you're not in trouble or anything, all I need from you is a few answers. I'm Sa-John Doggett with the FBI.

"Well, Agent SaJohn Doggett, what do you need to know?" The man scoffed, and inched away from the door.

"You have a lot of stuff up here about uh...aliens..." Doggett said, looking around the house. There was an "I Want to Believe" poster like the one that hang in the x-files office, and newspaper clippings, tabloid articles, and even a map pinpointing, what Sam guessed, was recent sittings. "Kind of modest for a lawyer."

"Yeah...this hobby of mine is expensive. I didn't know keeping track of little green men was against the law these days."

"No...it isn't...just know someone else who keeps track of this stuff, too. He took out a recent photograph of Mulder that was in yesterday's paper of him and the Mayor at a ribbon-cutting." Mr. Leo shifted glances nervously from Sam to the paper, making the connection all too obvious.

"He found anything?" Leo asked simply.

"He's found out too much. I think that's why some people are out to get him. You know anything about that?"

"What did he find?" Leo begged...and then swallowed, as if he needed oxygen to follow up with the next question. "Did he find Lily?" The man never even faced Sam, and visibly shriveled.

Sam took a gamble and cautiously tried to talk the man out of getting involved with the Smoking Man and Kersh and the rest. It became clear to Sam that this man was only going through the only vehicle he saw possible to find Lily--whoever she was.

"He--we can find her. The right way." Sam was hoping he was getting through to him.

"I can't promise that." Leo said quietly.

"Then I can't promise you won't have a headache later." Sam said rapid-fire. And with one fell swoop, knocked Leo cold, and tied him to the chair.

"Sorry about this. I'll come back to get you in the morning, I'll bring an icepack and some aspirin with me."

Potomac River Bay Warehouse
3:02 AM

Ben sat in his car, chain-smoking furiously. ::Goddamn it::he thought as he smoked down the last cigarette that he had. The fight with his wife, the speeding drive he made down to the warehouse, sitting there for three hours had all come to naught. Oh how Jerilyn was going to rub it in when he told her. "Nothin' but a damn snipe hunt," he growled as he turned his car on and pulled away.

After seeing his father-in-law with all those other men of power earlier today, Ben really wanted to talk to him more than anything else. He was getting to the point where he really wasn't caring about the case anymore, he hated to admit that Jerilyn was right and he was getting over his head. But, after tonight's revelation, he knew he had to talk to the Admiral. He had to know if he was right. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Admiral knew the truth behind Jerilyn's true origins and it was no coincidence that a spot in the X-Files opened up just as Jerilyn's career in Minneapolis started to go down the toilet.

::And if I am right::Ben thought as he pulled up to a Kum-and-Go to buy more cigarettes ::Damn, family reunions are going to be fun.::He could totally see Mulder and Jerilyn start bickering at a picnic table over dessert and Mulder, just to be obnoxious, smearing frosting on her face, then Jerilyn would be up in arms and come after him with the whole damn cake. He could also imagine recounting the events to his colleagues at work. "How was the reunion, Benny?" -- "Oh great, until my wife and my new brother-in-law started a food fight."

Ben bought cigarettes, a hot dog with the works and a bottle of Evian water. He thanked the clerk and got back into his car.

Eating the sloppy hot dog, he drove around a bit, not wanted to go home, not wanting to concede defeat, not wanting to have to spend the rest of the night having to listen to her rub it in what an idiot he had behaved. He toyed with the idea of going to the office and getting an early start, but he nixed that idea. He was tired. He drove around until he found a decent hotel.

He pulled into a Holiday Inn that was not really popular with the touristy crowd and checked in. He took the wallet out of his back pocket of his jeans and Jerilyn's gun out of the pocket of his coat. He kicked off his shoes and wearily flopped down on the bed.

Not even two seconds later, the door was kicked in, shattering the lock. "What the hell?" Ben demanded but the two assailants pummeled him into submission with heavy Mag-Lite flashlights.

Bleeding, broken and unconscious, the two men in black dragged Ben out to the deserted parking lot towards a very nice Taurus with a "I Believe" bumper sticker on the back fender. An elderly man wearing a black suit and trench coat despite the June heat, lifted the hood of the car with his gloved hands. The two men dumped Ben in. The old man took out a small knife and made a cut in Ben's scalp. Not enough to kill him, but enough to make him bleed copiously all over the trunk. The old man slammed the trunk hard and ordered his accomplices. "Plans have changed. We need him alive. Bring him to the round-a-view point. Then take the car back and make sure you're discovered. We'll have you out on bond by the afternoon and you'll each have a million in your bank accounts waiting."

The other two men nodded, got in the Taurus and drove off with the Cigarette Smoking Man lighting up a Morley, watching.

Jerilyn's gun laid on the nightstand next to the alarm clock in the hotel room, untouched, unused and totally useless.

June 18, 2001, 3:27 AM
500 block Pennsylvania Ave.

The sugar and caffeine high from her doughnut and coffee break half an hour ago was not helping Officer Laura Dempsey awake. The drone of the APB's were not helping the situation, either. She willed her second wind to hit as she cruised down Pennsylvania Avenue. It was a quiet night, and she definitely needed some excitement to perk her up.

The blue-hair special, this one a light blue 1999 two-door Ford Taurus a few feet in front of her squealed its tires and wove in and out of traffic like a bat out of hell.

She radioed her Sergeant and started chasing after it.

"I gotta tail on MD license plate MS 101321, an '98, 99 light blue Ford Taurus, two door."

"Our database says that's a hot one." Her boss replied, "I'll send ya some back-up."

"Grandma forgot to lock her door on her way in to play bingo Sarge?"

"It's the Deputy Mayor's car."

"Damn, good to see our tax-money put to use. I'm on 'em."

She put the police lights on, they wouldn't pull over. She turned on the siren, and they still wouldn't pull over. She chased after them down JFK, till a train finally forced them to stop.

"Hold it right there! You're under arrest." Laura boomed through the loud speaker. Finally, the car pulled into a gas station.

"The Deputy Mayor's going to be happy to get his car back, boys." Laura said after the usual cuffing them and reading their rights.

"He hired us." The one named Caster said

"*WHO* hired you? For *WHAT*?"

3:35 AM
Outside of the Leo Residence

Sam, tired of babysitting Leo, ran out of the house, and figured with him tied up, he wasn't going anywhere until he came back for him. Sam decided his best next step would be to see if anyone saw the same car he saw drive up to the warehouse. The kids were all at least twice his size, but he knew how to defend himself if that was necessary, so he went up to them amiably. He wasn't scared of them, and made sure that these people knew that.

"John Doggett FBI. None of you guys are in any trouble, just wanna know something."

"We ain't do nothin'" A tall kid, obviously their leader, with a nose that had been broken a few times, fair skin and bleached white hair defended himself.

"I--uh--didn't come here to arrest anyone, and I am not asking you to rat on any of you, either. Just wanna know one thing, that's all."

"You wanna get us in trouble, Donnie?" Someone who was obviously his girlfriend asked. She was short, but had an odd trick of using that to her advantage, not letting that stop her from showing the kid who was in charge. "Don't talk to him like that, your mamma taught you better...and if she ain't, you know sure as hell I have. Straighten up! Now, agent," She said, turning to Sam and blinking her coffee eyes frankly at him, "whatchya wanna know?"

"Charmaine, you gonna get us into shit we don't need to be in! This ain't our business. Don't tell him nothin'!" Donnie made one final plea.

"Man, Donnie, she ain't never gonna hush up if you don't shutchyer trap. Now, 'fore I shoot your ugly head off, zip it!

"Thank you, Nick." She said turning to the kid. "But if anyone's gonna shoot his ugly head off, it's gonna be *me*!" Charmaine said in the quiet anger of a tiger's growl. "Now, I apologize for my peeps, sir...*what* do you want to know?"

"Just wondering if you guys noticed a nice car driving up to that house over there." He said, pointing to Leo's house. "It's a dark Sedan, newer car. Three or four older guys might be inside. You see anything like that?"

"If we saw somethin' do we hafta come to court?" Nick asked.

"No...nothing like that. I just need to know if you saw something."

"Uh, these dudes were coming up from the direction you came up in a real nice sedan like that...might be navy blue or black. We couldn't tell. Looked real nice. They came up to us and paid us all like a hundred dollars each to come knock on that guys house if any cops were driving around here."

"Thanks. Did they tell you guys why?" Sam was finally getting leads that night.

"No...never did. Hell, at a hundred bucks, we didn't *care* why."

"I appreciate it guys. If you ever need anything, or remember anything, just lemme know, alright?" He said, writing his name and office number on a scrap piece of paper in his pocket. "You guys take care." He said, handing the note to Charmaine.

3:47AM
Washington D.C. Police Department

"The Deputy Mayor's on his way to get his car."

"So, fellas," Officer Dempsey was saying in the police station to the two cuffed suspects, looking at the two incredulously, "you're saying that this old dude smoking a cigarette hired you to steal a car. Sergeant, you wanna look through our database and see if we've got a criminal record for This Old Dude Smoking a Cigarette? I'm sorry gentlemen, but the crumbs here just don't make a whole cracker. Why would someone want to steal the Deputy Mayor's car, to have it being driven back to them?"

"We dunno, all we know is all we know, Miss Officer." Caster said. "He paid us five hundred for the bothovus. We didn't ask."

"I see." She said, eyeing the both of them incredulously.

"I'm gonna book you both for reckless driving and aiding and abetting a crime, and car theft." Then took a big breath, "You Damion Caster and Daniel Carteri have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law, if you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided for you by the state. Do you understand what I'm saying." She finally finished, thrilled with herself that she finally made it in one breath. The officer cuffing Carteri nodded approvingly.

"Pete, you think you can take 'em into holding?" Wordlessly he took both the criminals to their cells just as Mulder was driving up to the station to get his car.

Wordlessly, another officer took them into holding. Almost as soon as he left, Mulder breezed through the door in his sloppiest sweat pants and Yankees T-shirt

"Officer, you said my car was here?" Mulder asked

"Yeah," a surly stick-of-a-man grumbled, "It's in holding. Just fill these out, and you'll be able to get it in the morning."

"The morning! Listen, Officer Krumsky, I'm NOT going to be late for work because I can't get my car out of holding!"

"Sorry, Mr. Mulder, but the holding office ain't open till 7:30. There ain't nothin' I can do. And my name *AIN'T* Officer Krumsky."

"I'm sure there isn't, Officer Krumsky."

"Oh, go blow it out your tail pipe." He grumbled as Mulder turned on his heals.

A black Sedan drove up to the police headquarters. An elderly man got out of the car, and approached the desk. "Is Mr. Mulder's car ready? I'm here on his behalf." He said, slipping a hundred-dollar bill.

"Thank you, sir. Yes, it is. It's in holding though, and you won't be able to get it till it opens at 7:30."

"In holding, eh?" He feigned losing something, "He gave me the slips and the license plate and everything, but I seemed to have lost it. Can you give me another copy."

"Yeah, I think that can be done. Have a nice night, sir. Take care!" The officer chirped as the man walked out.

4:37 AM
En route to Doggett Residence

With at least *some* good leads on, and the main suspect incapacitated, Sam decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to salvage what he could of at least a couple of the hours left of sleep.

He was about to take his turn-off when he saw a black car with two elderly men sitting in the front. There was one in the back, but he couldn't make out who it was. None of the faces looked at all familiar. When they pulled up next to him at the red light before his turn-off, Sam realized that it was the same car.

He waited until it wouldn't be obvious that he was being followed, and decided to take his chance. They waited until they were inside Maryland, and stopped on a bridge, and took a six-foot long unsecured bag out, and slumped it over the edge. Sam waited at the underpass in the shadows, making sure he wasn't spotted. Judging from the evidence of what these men had done before, Sam was sure that waiting till Doggett, Scully, Reyes, and Starkweather could build a strong case against them. It wouldn't do anyone any good for him to have the same fate as the pour soul of whoever was in the body bag. The latest piece of evidence would have to be revealed in the morning with everyone there. Now, Sam thought yawning, first thing's first. If he planned to be coherent at all the next day, he would need at least a little sleep.

"No...I want Starkweather alive, just make it easy to assume that he is dead." Marita said. "You *do* understand, Admiral; we will only kill him if he doesn't help our agenda. He is in no danger at this time."

"It will destroy my daughter." The Admiral mildly protested.

"Oh, so that's why he's in a hotel room tonight?" She hissed. "I'm sure she won't have anymore spirit left in her. That's what we're aiming for."

"I won't be responsible for this."

"You were responsible for the end of many lives, Admiral." she reminded coldly. "What is one more to add to the list? If he dies, she lives...we all live. He will be martyred for all of us. Maybe you can sleep at night if you think of it in that way."

"What can you do about it now, anyway, Admiral?" Kersh agreed. "This has all been set in motion anyway. Our people have already begun the process. You could not stop it if you tried."

"I suppose I can't stop the tides, either." The Admiral said quietly, and turned on his heels, heading back to his hotel room.

Cherry Tree Apartments
Efficiency #1013
Dawn

CBS Spender let himself into the little apartment rented under the name of John Archway. Unloosing his tie, he sank into the Barcolounger he just got yesterday. He toyed with the idea of turning the television on for white noise, but decided the noise of the most influential city in the United States making the transition from darkness into light would be background sound enough.

"I'm getting too old for this," he mumbled to himself as he lit a cigarette. He smiled ruefully as he thought about his life after a year.

Foolish Covarubias and Krycek, leaving him for dead at the bottom of the stairs, without eliminating his nurse. She had rescued him and brought him to "the greys." With Jeremiah Smith as their prisoner, he was forced to heal him. Such irony. The Cancer Man had felt better now than he had in years.

He lay low for the most part, convinced the X-Files would fall apart without the watchful eye of Mulder. He soon learned that, although he admired her, he had also underestimated Dana Scully.

He had also underestimated the new G-man, John Doggett. No one expected the straight-laced modern day Rhett Butler with the Brooklynese accent to last through the weirdness of the X-Files.

He had also underestimated Monica Reyes. She had been foolishly written off as a flake, a nobody, not a force to be reckoned with.

Still he remained in retirement. He was rather enjoying a bit of peace, letting the new recruits slowly rebuild the project.

Then he heard there was Starkweather on the forecast and he seized control of the project he started so many years ago. He knew that he would never know peace again.

Twenty-eight years too late, he realized the Syndicate made two fatal mistakes. The first was only taking Samantha and not Fox. The second was letting the Admiral taking the girl-baby home to his wife when he was ordered to destroy her, at the time the only evidence of successful alien-human hybridization.

He wondered how long it would be before they would figure it out that Jerilyn was in this world but not of this world.

He worried about when Jerilyn would produce a child of her own. Dana Scully and Fox Mulder already created one and that was bad enough. If Starkweather were to ever procreate... he didn't even want to think of it... which was why it was a godsend that Mr. Starkweather had decided to meddle in the oil rig affair. Perfect opportunity to make Mrs. Starkweather a widow.

But that wasn't enough. The Cancer Man knew he had to do more.

For his own reasons, he had tried to keep Fox Mulder alive ever since he was a child. Because of the strength of the Admiral's pleading and the assumption that the infant would die within hours anyway, he let him take Jerilyn home. But now, twenty-eight years too late, he realized that twice, by letting emotions rule instead, he very well may have crafted the doom of his own planet. There was precious little time left to rectify those mistakes.

Fox William Mulder and Jerilyn Michelle Bailey Starkweather were not children anymore. The decision had been made and he could rest with his conscience.

The Mulder dynasty would be wiped out with one fell stroke.

It had to be.

Ben and Jeri's apartment
5:10 AM

The radio alarm clock went off, right in the middle of "The Bob and Tom" show. Jerilyn's hand snaked out from underneath of the covered and solidly thumped the alarm clock. She snuggled deeper under the covers and scootched closer to the middle of the bed where Ben usually slept.

Jerilyn sat straight up in bed. "Ben?" she asked. She leapt out of bed and reached for the phone, calling Ben's office first. It rang and rang and rang. "Don't panic, don't panic..." she told herself as she dialed Ben's cell phone. "Why did I let him go alone..."

The Holiday Inn
Room 127

Detective Edward Carillo surveyed the scene while the forensics team went through the room with a fine-tooth comb. He turned to the night-manager who was perspiring heavily. "And NOBODY saw ANYTHING?" he asked.

The night-manager wiped his forehead with a white handkerchief. "No sir, Mr. Starkweather checked in a quarter to three. Our security guard noticed the door broken into at about four-thirty and saw the blood all over. We called the police immediately. We didn't touch ANYTHING."

Just then, the cell phone on the nightstand next to the gun began to ring.

Carillo took out his own handkerchief and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

A pause. Then, a surly suspicious voice, "You're not Ben."

"No, I am not. Who may you be?"

"Who is this?"

"I asked you first."

"I'm Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather with the Federal Bureau of Investigation who is trying to call her husband on his cell phone. With those pleasantries out of the way -- WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU???"

"My name is Detective Edward Carillo with the DC PD, Agent Starkwe-"

"Detective?? DETECTIVE?? What-- wh-what's going on? Where's Ben?"

"Agent Starkweather, could you meet us at the police station in twenty minutes."

"Oh God, oh my God... WHAT HAPPENED! WHERE IS BEN??" Jerilyn clutched the phone tightly.

"Mrs. Starkweather we need to ask you some questions."

Jerilyn pulled herself together and forced her to think like an FBI agent. "Okay, okay... I'll be there as soon as possible." She hung up the phone. Took several deep breaths, picked up the phone and dialed.

Sam had just got to Doggett's apartment. He stopped at the door, holding the keys in his hands. "Okay, if I stopped Ben's murder, I will leap... now... NOW... NOW NOW NOW..." Doggett's cell phone began to ring. "Oh no..." he answered with a heavy heart... "John Doggett."

There were several deep breaths before: "Papa.. um... it's me, I need a favor..." a small voice on the other end replied. "Ben's gone... nobody knows where he is. A cop answered his cell phone when I tried to call and he told me he wants me to come to the police station... and... and I don't want to go by myself..." her voice cracked.

Sam grimaced. "I'll pick you up," he said.

"Thank you." a subdued Starkweather hung up the phone.

Sam put the phone to his head. "Oh boy."

Back to the future:

Al had been yanked from Starkweathers’ home into complete darkness. He knew immediately what had happened. They had to break Ziggy down to try and purge the virus. To do that, they had to turn off the electricity. Unfortunately, the electricity was killed before Al had a chance to get out of the chamber door.

It was as dark as unconsciousness, which oddly enough served as a small comfort to Al. He couldn't see how small the space was that he was confined in, and that was a great help to his state of mind. He started banging his fists on the door furiously.

"Gooooooooooouuuuuuuuusssssssssshiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!" Al hollered at the top of his lungs.

"Admiral," Goushie stammered, "I'm busy...in a way...over here, trying to fix the mainframe." Goushie always stammered, but it got worse when he had to tell something he knew the recipient didn't want to hear.

"Al, we'll have the electricity back on as soon as we can, meanwhile, just sit tight, okay?" Came Dr. Beeks' crisp voice on the other side of the wall.

Al flicked the gas on his lighter he kept in his pocket for his cigars.

"How's Starkweather?" Doggett asked.

"Dr. Beeks, would you mind telling me why he's out of the waiting room?"

"I can't see to find my way outta here, Admiral." Doggett assured him. "I won't be headin' out any time soon. How's Starkweather."

"Yeah, *sure* he doesn't have any feelings for her." Al grumbled. Then louder to reassure Doggett on the other side, "She's fine for now. Last I checked before the power shut was Mr. Starkweather is still killed tonight."

"Damn!" He shouted, pounding his fist against the door. "Doc, you got a sledge hammer or something I can get this door down with?" Doggett suggested, trying to help.

"In the emergency kit. Tina? You think you can get it for him?"

"Sure 'Beena." Tina chirped.

"NO!" Al protested adamantly. "If you break down that door, I can't get back there, and that's no good for anybody. Least of all for your little chickadee."

"She's not my little chickadee," Doggett argued, "and if we don't get you outta there, you're gonna use up all that oxygen if we can't get the electricity back on, and that's no good for anybody either."

"There's a good chance we'll get the power back on." Al persisted. "I cannot leave Sam back there!" He shouted. "There's enough Oxygen in here to last a couple of days." He said, evaluating the situation. Then turned off his lighter, because that was eating up his oxygen supply. He sat on the floor, figuring now would be a good opportunity to take a nap, fervently hoping that the electricity would turn on before it was too late.

Scully's apartment
right after Mulder gets back from the police station...

Mulder let himself in just as his cell rang. "Mulder," he said in a hushed tone, for Scully and the baby were still sleeping.

It was the Mayor, "I'm hoping that I caught you before you're leaving for work, I just wanted to let you know that the breakfast meeting got cancelled. I don't need you here until about ten or so."

::I love politics::Mulder grinned as he looked towards Scully's bedroom. "Well... if you insist..."

The Mayor chuckled before he hung up. "Go take that pretty redhead of yours out to breakfast. I'll see you around ten-thirty."

Mulder, smiling like a seventeen-year-old boy at prom, crept into Scully's bedroom.

He reflected on the many many classic novels he had to read for his English requirements while at Oxford. They always invariably described the heroine in repose with adjectives such as "angelic", "heavenly" and "queenly."

Scully was none of those while she slept. The covers were kicked off, her pajamas completely rumpled. Her hair was wildly tousled, her mouth wide open, snoring slightly.

Mulder shrugged off his coat and kicked off his shoes. He crossed over to Scully and smoothed her hair out of her face. The slight touch startled Scully out of sleep. "Mulder... what??"'

"Well, Scully, I've got good news and good news."

"That's a first. Normally it's bad news and worse news." Scully sat up.

"The good news is they found my car. I think they're going to sell the videotape of the bust to FOX's "Stupidest Criminals.""

"That IS good news," Scully said. "What's the other good news."

Mulder crawled on top of the bed. "The GOOD news is, that my ass-crack of dawn breakfast meeting has been cancelled and the Mayor just called and said he didn't need me until ten-thirty."

Scully rolled over. "Mulder... this is my day off... I was going to sleep in..." Mulder pounced on her and started to tickle her. "Noooooooo stop stop... you'll wake the baby..." she giggled.

Mulder stopped tickling but he held her down playfully on the bed. "Come on Scully," he teased. "After an eight year long partnership fraught with peril, destruction, terror and unrequited emotional ties, we've got a lot of making up to do."

"Mulder, don't you think having Will is make-up enough?" But Scully was already struggling to get Mulder's shirt off.

"Well, I figure Will makes up for at least three years of unspoken sexual tension." Mulder start planting butterfly kisses on her forehead and face.

Scully smiled and tilted her head up towards his to meet his mouth. "Mulder....???"

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?" He was busy nibbling on her neck and working downwards.

"When did our lives turn into a soap opera?"

"You're complaining?" He was undoing the buttons of her pajamas top. "I mean, if you really not into this, I know of a haunted house that's a twenty minute drive north of town that's supposed to beat the one we went to a few Christmases ago. At this house, back in 1915, an entire family was killed in a house fire and when someone built a new house on the old foundations in 1936-"

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

She placed her hand underneath his chin so he would have to look up at her. "Shut up." She pushed him off and lay on top of him, kissing him as she ran her finger through his hair.

Mulder gave her a naughty grin and shut up.

The Washington DC Vehicle Impound
7:45 am

Norton Guffman walked towards the small office building, balancing a huge box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and two large Jamocha coffees. He kicked the door a few times instead of knocking. His friend and co-worker, Shaquille Rathaman opened and laughed at him. "Shoot..." she drawled."Need a hand?" She took the coffees.

"Ready for another exciting day of paper pushin'?" he asked her as he went inside.

"Oh lord, aren't I always?" Shaquille settled herself behind her desk. "Oh, hey, FYI for ya, honey. We've got the Deputy Mayor's car here in VIP status. He'll be here later today."

"The Deputy wha--? Why?"

"Ah, some punk-ass kids stole his car last night and when the cops recovered it, they brought it down here."

"Huh," Guffman said, looking out the window at Mulder's car while slurping coffee, dribbling it down his freshly washed white blouse. "Damn," he muttered while his partner laughed.

"Your wife's gonna shoot you for gettin' another shirt dirty, Norty."

"Well, and the Deputy Mayor's gonna shoot us for having that car dirty, look at the big grease spot on the trunk." He put the sloppy cup of coffee down and took out his handkerchief. "I'm gonna go clean it off 'fore he gets here."

"Brown noser," Shaquille said before she busied herself with paperwork.

Guffman walked outside, already feeling the oppressive June heat. "Damn," he said again, wiping his forehead. When he got close to the car, he stopped, did a double take and said "What in the world..." Gingerly he touched the spot, looked at his fingers and started to shake... "Oh my Gosh..." he ran back to the office.

Shaquille looked up. "Norty, you're whiter than usual, what's up?" she quipped.

"Shaquille, call the cops and get me the keys to the Deputy Mayor's car."

"What? Norty have you lost you mind-" she started to say but was silenced when Guffman held up his two fingers. They were coated in blood.

"Gimme those keys," he said in a shaky voice. "I think there's somethin' in that trunk."

"You ain't touching a damn thing until the cops get here," Shaquille ordered as she dialed frantically.

Fifteen minutes later, rookie Officer Jennifer Ithenstein opening the trunk open while her partner Howard Lisbon, still bleary-eyed from his call out to the hotel room where the up and coming lawyer Benjamin Starkweather was abducted from, covered her back.

"Holy Schnikes," she exclaimed when the trunk flew open.

"What is it?" Guffman quailed.

But Ithenstein was busy radioing back to dispatch. "We need CSI and some DC "dicks" (police slang for detectives) at the impound ASAP," she said harshly. "I got a trunk of a early model Ford Taurus, dripping with blood."

Guffman fainted.

Lisbon peered over Ithenstein's shoulder. "There's something in there," he said, slipping on latex gloves. He reached in and pulled it out. "It's a man's billfold," he announced. "I'm opening it..... oh my God..."

"What is it?" Ithenstein asked looking at the one thing no one could find at the crime scene at the Holiday Inn: Benjamin Starkweather's wallet.

As Lisbon stared at the Minnesota driver's license inside the wallet, he turned to his partner and said: "Call Carillo."

Meanwhile
Interrogation Room A
Washington DC Police Station
8:01 AM

Sam was leaning against the wall, angrily watching the interrogation dance between Carillo and Starkweather, but holding his tongue.

Carillo rubbed his temples again. "Alright, Mrs. Starkweather, let's go through this one more time."

Starkweather, dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of black dress slacks, her hair pulled up in its characteristic bun, gritted her teeth and glared at the detective. "Sir, with all due respect," she heroically blinked back tears. "I've told you what happened last night twice already. I am well schooled in the art of questioning. If you're looking for discrepancies in my "story", you aren't going to find any."

::They can't suspect her::Sam thought incredulously.

"But you admit that you and Mr. Starkweather are having martial difficulties."

"That's not exactly a deep dark secret," Starkweather said coolly.

"But you let him go alone to a potentially life-threatening situation."

"He was adamant about going alone, I told you this. We got into an argument about him going. He assured me that he would be fine alone, so for my own sanity's sake, I gave him one of my firearms to take with. Ben can handle a weapon. He and his father go hunting all the time. I wanted to go with or have him at least call my partner here, or my superior, Agent Scully. But he insisted on going alone, so I let him." Sam and Carillo could barely hear her say: "I shouldn't have let him go alone."

Carillo pressed on. "That would be Agent Dana Scully? Of X-File fame?"

"Yes sir, we all work on the X-Files."

"And you believe that your husband's disappearance is directly connected to an X-File case that your husband was taking to court?"

"Yes sir."

Carillo's partner just then entered the interrogation room. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak to Carillo privately," said Detective David Somerset.

Carillo excused himself. Despite her knowledge of the two-way mirror and the hidden tape recorder, she turned to Sam and pleaded, "What AREN'T they telling us?"

"I don't know, Starkweather," Sam said helplessly.

Starkweather folded her hands together as if she was praying and pressed her hands against her forehead, her shoulders shaking as she fought tears.

Outside the interrogation room, Somerset asked Carillo. "Whaddya think?"

"Well, she doesn't have an alibi and her reports from her previous field office in Minneapolis don't have much good to say about her, she was written up several times for inappropriate displays of temper... but... I don't know man, my gut's telling me she doesn't have a clue what's going on. I think she's clean."

"Well, I think your gut’s right."

"Whaddya got?"

"Ithenstein and Lisbon went out on a car on a report with blood stains on the Deputy Mayor's trunk."

"What?"

"Lemme finish. The Deputy Mayor used to be a fed, working with the X-Files and it's no secret at City Hall or J. Edgar that the DM and Agent Starkweather do not get along. Plus, he's got no love for her husband ever since he subpoenaed him, along with Agent Doggett, Agent Scully and his own wife for some court case on the last case the DM ever worked on as an official fibbie. I don't know what the nature of the case is, but from what I've been able to gather in a short time, it's a big'un and nobody working for the Spook Squad at J. Edgar wants that case to go to trial."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Lisbon found Mr. Starkweather's wallet in the DM's trunk. The trunk was saturated in blood. We've got samples set to forensics right now."

"You think those two feds," Carillo gestured towards the interrogation room, "may have cooked something up along with the DM so they don't have to go to court?"

"I would have said yes," Somerset said. "Except for the fact that our happy little car-jackers changed their stories. They're now saying that it was the Deputy Mayor that hired him. They're saying that the DM wanted Ben out of the way and when they asked if he was worried about getting caught, he laughed it off, saying that the blame would fall on those two 'cause it's been rumored that those two share more than offices, if you know what I mean. Plus it's also not a secret that the DM's got a major hard-on for Agent Doggett because Doggett supposedly pushed the DM out of the X-Files. Doggett's got a solid history for being absolutely by the book, plus a total career-climber. You're looked at the next possible AD when Skinner retires. As for the missus... well, maybe she's doing the nasty with him and maybe not, but if her Minneapolis transcripts are spotted, her military, her med school and her DC records are squeaky clean, not to mention her personal history of being straight as a die. According to our profiler, if she wanted to get rid of her husband, she'd be more of the type to serve him papers, not blow him away."

"But neither one of 'em got alibis."

"But you just said that your gut says she's clean."

"I know, but I need proof to back up my gut." Carillo said.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Bring me the Deputy Mayor."

Scully's apartment
8:17 am

Spooned around her tiny body, Mulder played with her hair. "Scully?"

"Hm?"

"We should go somewhere."

"Go where?" she asked lazily. "Out for breakfast?"

"No... I mean, away, on a trip. Just me and you and Boo."

"Mulder, do my ears deceive me? Are you actually suggesting a vacation? Like normal people?"

"Well, I haven't really gone on a vacation except for Graceland a few years ago, unless you call being held against my will on a spaceship then being buried alive for three months a vacation."

"Ha ha." Scully turned around to face him. "Where would you want to go?"

"How about the Black Hills."

"The Black Hills?"

"Yeah. The Black Hills, South Dakota. Get a nice hotel room in Rapid City, go see Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse monument, Sturgis, hey in fact, if we can schedule it right, we can go up there the same time the big Harley Davidson rally is up there. Whaddya say, Scully? I won't shave for about two weeks and... neither would you I guess, then get all of us some matching leather pants and I'll get a Hog with a side-car so all three of us can ride up together. They make the cutest little helmets for babies..."

"Mulder, your idea of family togetherness scares me."

"I hope you're not suggesting Disneyland. I have a deep-seated fear of Donald Duck."

"I think William's a little young for Disneyland. I think he's also a little young for Sturgis too."

"Well how old does he have to be before I can take him to the rally?"

"Forty."

Mulder snorted with laughter. "Well, where do you want to go?"

"Name a state that we haven't been to where no type of paranormal strangeness has occurred to us."

"Well, that rules out the majority of the Continental United States." Mulder reasoned. "How about this Scully? This weekend, I'll go up to Mom and Dad's house in Martha's Vineyard and get it fixed up and as soon as this fiasco with Ben Starkweather's law suit gets cleared up, we'll go up there for a long week and pretend we're just the typical boring, middle-aged All-American family."

Scully snuggled closer. "Works for me."

Just then Mulder's cell phone rang. "Arrggghhh... real life," he complained as he reached for his phone. "Mulder... yes... okay... sure that's no problem... what's this about... I see... I'll be there in forty-five minutes." He hung up.

"What's that about?"

"The police station. Something about my car. They said they had some questions for me." Mulder shrugged. "It's probably no big deal." He swung out of bed and headed for the shower.

After checking on Will to make sure he was still asleep, Scully joined him.

The police station
9:16 am

"Have a seat Mr. Mulder," Detective Carillo offered. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, water? Juice."

"No, thanks. What's going on?"

"Oh, I've just got some quick questions," Carillo slid a photograph in front of him. "Do you know this man?"

Mulder picked it up. "Sure, that's Ben Starkweather."

"Do you know Mr. Starkweather very well?"

Mulder's trouble sonar starting beeping loudly within him. "Has something happened to him?"

"You didn't answer my question, Mr. Mulder."

"I know him. Not very well, I'm better aquatinted with his wife."

"Ah, Mrs. Starkweather. Interesting lady, wouldn't you say?"

"I wouldn't say she's a lady."

"Good friends with Mrs. Starkweather?"

Mulder eyed the detective suspiciously. "May I ask what this has to do with my car?"

"I'm getting there. Are you good friends with Mrs. Starkweather?" Carillo asked again, a little more firmly.

Mulder struggled for an answer. "No..." he finally said. "I wouldn't say Mrs. Starkweather and I are friends."

"Uh-huh." Carillo made a note. "Mr. Mulder, where were you last night around.... oh... four AM?"

"I was at Agent Dana Scully's house." Mulder felt himself getting defensive.

"And she is...?"

"My ex-partner when I was still working for the FBI."

"Still good friends with Agent Scully?"

"Yes."

"Very good?"

"We're in a relationship now," Mulder forced himself to say, it still felt weird admitting out loud what Scully really was to him. "We're raising a child together."

"How nice," Carillo said. "Can she corroborate your story, Mr. Mulder?"

"Yes..." Mulder felt more and more uneasy. "Where are you going with this? Has something happened to the Starkweathers?"

"You could say that. Would Agent Scully lie for you?"

"What?" Mulder scowled. "Detective, you better tell me what's going on?"

"Mr. Mulder, the trunk of your car was coated with blood." Carillo informed him pleasantly. "and Mr. Starkweather's wallet was found in the trunk as well."

"WHAT!!!" Mulder bolted out of his chair. "How?!?!"

"I was hoping you could tell us."

"ME?!?! But... I... I don't..." Mulder's mind began working frantically. ::I'm being set up.::"My car was stolen earlier yesterday. I received a call early this morning that it was found... but..." Mulder shook his head. "I don't have any answers for you."

Carillo eyed him carefully. "I see..."

"Have you told Agent Starkweather?"

"We've talked to her."

"Is she alright?"

"I thought you two weren't friends?"

"We're not... but she's doing a good job in the X-Files, my old division and she is fairly good friends with Agent Scully. We don't see eye to eye all the time... Starkweather and I, but I respect her work and don't wish any harm to her OR her husband."

Against his will, Carillo stood up and said. "You may leave Mr. Mulder, but I wouldn't recommend leaving town anytime soon. You never know when an arrest warrant would pop up." He went to the door and paused, fingering the doorknob. "This is your only chance to come clean and tell us what happened. I could recommend leniency."

"I wish I could tell you what happened too." Mulder said clearly, firmly.

"Well, when we do come up with the goods, you better not make me chase after you, Deputy Mayor." Carillo said. "Otherwise that might put me in a real bad mood and I might tell the judge to throw the book at you instead." He opened the door and watched Mulder hurry out.

Somerset came out of the observation room. "Think that was a good idea, letting Mulder go like that?"

Carillo shrugged. "He ain't going anywhere. He's got a girlfriend and a baby to worry about."

Just then, another officer, clutching a Ziplock baggie came running down the hall. "DETECTIVE!!!! Wait!!!"

"What is it?"

The officer, out of breath, "We just found a body off the pier on the Potomac. Some kids can testify that they saw a group of men dump it in the river earlier this morning and that they were driving a late model Taurus."

"Like the DM's!" Carillo grabbed the young rookie by the arm.

"Told ya we shouldn't have let the DM go," Somerset snarled as he ran down the hallway where Mulder disappeared.

"Are you sure it's Starkweather?" Carillo demanded the young rookie.

The rookie held up the Ziplock baggie. "The body was burned, but we took this off of him. It was on the left ring-finger."

Carillo took the baggie and looked at the contents. "Oh shit!" he exclaimed and took off running.

Sam escorted a very shaken Jerilyn Starkweather down the dingy hallway towards the exit. He felt so bad for her that he put his arm protectively around her shoulders. She didn't fight him off. "I can't believe this is happening," she said softly, but dry-eyed.

Sam was bereft words, for how could he say something as hollow as "We'll find him," when he already knew that Ben was dead.

Just as they were about to exit, they met Mulder at the door. Starkweather glared. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Jerilyn, Doggett, I need to talk to you NOW," Mulder said insistently but was interrupted by Carillo and Somerset.

Somerset roughly grabbed Mulder by the arms, pulling out his handcuffs. "You're coming with me, buddy," he sneered.

"What the hell?" Starkweather asked as Carillo pulled her aside.

While Somerset read him his rights, Mulder was yelling at Sam and Starkweather. "Jerilyn! Doggett, I'm being set up. Please! Call Scully, call the Gunmen, find out what's going on! Jerilyn, listen to me, whatever he's saying, it's NOT TRUE!!"

"Mrs. Starkweather, I need your help..." As gently as he could, he told her. "We found a burned body in the river. He was wearing this." He held up the Ziplock baggie. "Can you identify this ring for me?"

Starkweather looked at Mulder, looked at Carillo. She took the Ziplock baggie and took the ring out, saw the initials carved into it and dropped it. "Oh my God," she cried, scooping Ben's wedding band off the ground. "NO." She turned white. "Oh God nooooooooo..."

::NO NO NO!!!::Sam screamed to himself. ::It's too early! They're not supposed to find the body until three days from now!!!!::

"Don't worry Mrs. Starkweather," Somerset tightened the cuffs on Mulder's wrists. Mulder winced in pain. "We've got the killer right here."

"What proof!" Sam demanded.

"It's all circumstantial!" Mulder, forgetting his right to remain silent. "Doggett, get her out of here, call Scully, call Skinner, get the Gunmen and get me out of this! Jerilyn, listen to me, this is a setup!"

But Starkweather was glaring at Mulder, a murderous hatred burning in her eyes for her photographic memory clicked back on the argument they had only twenty-four hours earlier...

::"You wanna get back for what I did to your mother... You set me up because you want to punish me, and you're dragging Doggett down with me. Look -- this is *OUR* fight. No need to bring Puppy Man into this."

"I am not going to defend myself to you. Deputy Mayor may I remind you that this is no longer your office." Starkweather replied icily... "next time you accuse someone, Mr. Mulder, it might not be a bad idea to make sure your finger isn't barking up the wrong ass."

"If you think I'm done here, you've got another thing coming." Mulder growled...::

"It's a setup alright," Starkweather hissed at Mulder. "YOU set US up! All of us! Ben, me, Doggett, hell you even used Scully you sick son of a bitch!!!" She went after Mulder.

Assuming by her small stature, Carillo and Somerset thought she was just going to bitch-slap Mulder, so they made no move to stop her. Sam was the only one who really knew how physically strong she was and he tried to grab her, but her arm slipped out of his hands. Plus she moved so fast, she was almost a blur. She swung her fist and threw a roundhouse punch like a man. There was a sickening crunch of breaking bone and cartilage as Mulder's knees buckled. Somerset pulled him back up and tried to pull him away. Mulder kicked at Starkweather as she grabbed him by the throat and began swearing and squeezing. "Jesus Christ, get her off of him!!!" Somerset yelled.

It took both Sam and Carillo to pull Starkweather off. Mulder, blood oozing out of his nose, gasped out. "You're making a mistake, Jerilyn! I swear, I didn't kill your husband!"

"FUCK YOU FOX MULDER!!" She screamed hysterically as Sam pinned her arms. She lunged, trying to get free of Sam's grip while she continued to yell. "I'll get you for this, I swear to God Mulder, you're going to DIE for this and I'm going to watch!!!!"

As Somerset led Mulder away, Mulder continued to yell out, "Doggett, Doggett, talk some sense into her!!! Get Scully!!!!"

"Starkweather, c'mon..." Sam pulled Starkweather away.

Carillo tried to stop them. "I need to ask her a few questions..."

"Hasn't she had enough today?" Sam snapped, "she just found out her husband's dead....

Benjamin Starkweather opened his eyes. He felt his own blood and sweat crusted on his face. He tried to move his arms and discovered that they were tied behind his back. His entire body hurt like hell.

His eyes couldn't adjust to the darkness, then he realized that he was blindfolded. He did hear the unmistakable sound of a cigarette lighter. "Who's there!" he yelled out.

"A friend," a swarmy voice informed him. "Mr. Starkweather, I have some rather unfortunate news for you... your wife is dead. She was killed, rather unfortunately."

Ben felt his heart drop to his shoes. "What happened?"

"You shouldn't have left her alone in your apartment last night."

Ben bowed his head. "Oh God..."

"Mr. Starkweather," CSM told him, "I'm about to give you the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to avenge the death of your wife."

"What's that?"

"Come work for me..."

Sam was numb. He couldn't believe what had just happened. Had he changed history by trying to stop Leo? Had he set things in motion when he chased that car? Had they spotted him?

"Being angry at Mulder isn't going to help anyone...least of all Ben." Sam said, not quite knowing what to say, praying that he would get through to her.

Starkweather's eyes were dry. She couldn't cry. It hadn't quite hit her yet...if she could be mad at that idiot Deputy Mayor he wouldn't be *DEAD*. Her anger towards Mulder was emotional energy she didn't have to spend on getting past the numbness of the news she just received.

"Ben doesn't need my help anymore, Doggett." She said icily. Then, in a voice that wasn't hers, she finished, "He's gone, and so am I." She locked eyes with Sam for a moment--he saw a familiar combination of Mulder and confusion--then turned on her heel, and marched out, slamming the door behind her.

Sam didn't want to leave her alone, but knew that she would probably shut him out if he offered her his company. He wondered if she even heard what she just said to him.

"Skinner?" Sam said, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

"It's Doggett, Sir." Failing his attempt to keep his professional tone.

"You alright, John?"

"You haven't heard yet?"

"Haven't heard what? Had a midnight flight back from New York State, overslept, and I just got into my office this morning, haven't even had a chance to check the newspaper."

"You won't have to check the newspapers...I'll tell you what's on the front page right now...the main headline is Deputy Mayor of DC Arrested for Murder."

There was a beat of silence.

"They found blood in his car, and a wallet."

"Belonging to whom." Skinner finally managed to croak out.

"Ben Starkweather."

"That little shit deserved it." Skinner growled under his breath. "How can they arre--"

Sam was way ahead of him. "They've got kids who can testify a body was dumped into the Potomac from a car matching the description of Mulder's within a reasonable time frame from when the blood was left in the trunk."

"Since when do they trust the testimony of punk kids?" Skinner growled under his breath, "How's Starkweather holding up?"

"She's still in shock." ::So am I:: "Mulder came down here...I think to make sure she was alright...and that's when they arrested him. She punched him in the jaw calling him every name in the book."

"Doggett, I'll get Kimberly to cancel my morning appointments. I want you up here so we can go over the evidence, and when forensics is through, I want Scully up here. We are going through everything with a fine-toothed comb."

The elevator ride up to Skinner's office seemed to last an eternity. He couldn't understand why this was happening *now*...*then*...or whenever it happened to be...time references are all screwed up for time travelers. He didn't wait for Kimberly to announce his presence. She was too busy on the phone, trying to smooth over broken commitments.

"Maybe this all wouldn't have happened if I hadn't hired Starkweather." Skinner muttered as soon as Sam closed the door.

"Playing what-if games isn't going to help any of us, Sir." Sam said, taking a seat in front of Skinner's desk. "She's proven to be an asset to my division. She was willing to risk her home life for both Mulder and me, and I think she would have had this not happened. I'm afraid *I* am the one to blame for that."

"What the hell gave you that idea?" Skinner demanded.

"I did some checking," Sam began cautiously, "and an attorney named Justin Leo seemed to have the only solid connection to his case. I went to his residence for questioning, and found substantial evidence that lead me to believe he was planning to murder someone. I tied him up for prevention. On my way home, I happened upon the same dark four-door sedan I saw at the warehouse dumping a body in the Potomac. They might have seen me without my knowledge."

"Doggett, that's a lead...it *doesn't* make you responsible for Mulder's arrest. If anything, that may redeem him. There's gotta be something in here. I am not going to sit idly by and watch him be destroyed. Not again."

Back to the Future
QL HQ

"Thank God, thank God, thank YOU almighty blessed God!" Al crowed.

"Um..." Goushie said. "Don't be too thankful... this is just a temporary fix."

"TEMPORARY???" Al fumed. "Whaddya mean TEMPORARY!!!"

"Well, we've cleaned the virus outta Ziggy, but she's still got bugs, like Mulder being able to see you and Starkweather being able to hear you. Plus there's some other things wrong..."

"Like what?"

"Like we're running on auxiliary power. Like... oh... lots of other little treats the virus left behind. We still could potentially crash... but, on the flip side... there's some good news..."

"What's that?"

"According to Ziggy, Ben Starkweather doesn't die anymore."

"He doesn't!!" Al crowed joyfully.

"Then why am I still here?" Doggett asked.

"Um... because he's found wandering the street with partial amnesia... three days after Starkweather is killed and six days after Mulder is killed."

"Aw... SHIT!!!" Al kicked the wall.

"But more good news is, I don't know what Sam did, but he bought us some time. Mulder doesn't die tomorrow like he's supposed but five days from now. That's four more days than what we had originally."

"Well, la-di-da," Al said snidely as he lit another cigar.

"Do they all think back there that Ben's dead." Doggett asked.

"Um..." Goushie squirmed. "Yeah..."

Doggett turned to Al. "You promised me to take me to Starkweather. Take me there, now."

"Al! We can't do that!!" Goushie said. "We're running on low power, we-" he was silenced by a cutting look from not just Al, but Doggett too. "Okay... but make it quick..."

Ben and Jeri's apartment
9:17 am

Starkweather let herself into the home she shared with Ben. Not even twelve hours ago, they had made up, made love, and made complete fools of each other with another fight. Now he was gone.

She had declined Sam-in-Doggett's offer to have him stay with her for a bit. She stood there, alone in her living room, looking at the photographs on the wall, their wedding pictures, her graduation pictures, his graduation pictures... happier times...

Caesar the cat meowed once, as if to ask where Ben was and leaped off the coffee table, knocking over a small box wrapped in soft pink tissue paper, bound by a silver ribbon.

"What did you find, kitty?" she asked as she sat on the couch, reaching for the package. She read on the tiny card attached:

"To my big bad FBI broad
Love, the Counselor."

Gulping back tears, she tore apart the fragile paper and opened the box. "Ohhhh..." she exclaimed, her shoulders slumping as she lifted out a beautiful antique silver locket. With trembling hands, she opened the locket. Her mouth began to work as she saw the tiny picture of her mother holding her when she was a baby. Her sweet adoptive mother who had loved her always and forever just as she was, never trying to make her something that she wasn't, who died when she was only sixteen. Battling a cancer that destroyed her mind, her memory, her soul.

She had told Ben the entire story, even how she overheard a young Fox Mulder badgering her about the possibility of her being a multiple alien abductee right before she descended into madness and death. Ben had only commented. "I wish I could meet her."

::Well, now you get too, Ben...:: Hot tears slid down her face uncontrollably now and in the still loneliness of her apartment, Jerilyn curled up into a ball on her sofa and sobbed like she only did when no one was watching.

Or so she thought…

After explaining the rules to Doggett: "No talking, no whispering, no nothing, ZIP," Al took Doggett by the hand and got ready to open the imaging door.

"Hey, Admiral, I know we're getting along better than before, but I think hand-holding is a little too soon in our relationship."

"Shut up," Al sighed. "I'm not exactly enjoying this either, but I've got to hold onto you somewhere or else you won't be able to see." The door opened. Al re-adjusted, grabbing Doggett by the shoulder instead of his hand. "Let's go."

They walked in just as Jerilyn had opened the gift Ben meant to give her last night but never did. Doggett made a move towards her, but Al pulled him back, shaking his head 'no'.

They watched as she pulled out a beautiful sterling silver locket, cut and marked with intricate and antique carvings, hanging off of a heavy silver chain. Doggett watched Jerilyn open the locket with shaking hands, watched her clench it tight with one hand while putting the other hand (the one the cast) to her eyes as a gut-wrenching sob escaped from her.

Al watched Doggett's own eyes tear up as Jerilyn curl up in the fetal position on her sofa, burying her face in the sofa cushions.

It hurt both of them to see the diminutive tough little lady weep so. Doggett reached out to touch her, to stroke her hair and saw in horror his own hand pass through her head as if it was smoke. "Doc, you listen to me now," he said, his gravelly voice shaking. "You hang in there, everything's gonna be fine, I'm still here, I'm still watching your back, Doc,-" Suddenly Starkweather and her apartment were gone and Doggett was in the imagining chamber again. "What happened??"

"I cut you off," Al snapped. "I told you, no talking... she'll think she's going insane..."

At the sound of Doggett's voice, Starkweather had bolted up. She wiped the tears off her face. "Doggett?" she called out. She got off her couch. "Papa John...." she took a quivery breath. "I'm losing it." She went over to her phone and dialed. She got Doggett's voice mail and left a message. "Papa John... it's me... I'm seriously losing my grip on things... maybe I shouldn't be by myself, so whenever you get this message... whenever you get a chance... come get me... I'd appreciate it," her voice cracked again before she hung up. "Bye," she whispered.

She went back to her couch. Caesar the cat, very unfeline-like, came up to his mistress and licked the tears off her face. "Good kitty," she whimpered while she began to cry again as she stroked her cat.

Meanwhile...
back at the warehouse...

"Work for you?" Ben was completely confused. "Work how?"

"There are governmental forces at hand working on a grand scale conspiracy. Your wife unwittingly played a small part in it and was eliminated for her efforts."

"The phone call... the note..." Ben said slowly. "It was all a ruse to get me out of the house last night, wasn't it?"

"I'm afraid so. Mr. Starkweather," CSM placed a cigarette in Ben's mouth and lit it. Ben inhaled gratefully. CSM took the cigarette out of his mouth and Ben exhaled, blowing great plumes of smoke. "I am a powerful man. I can stop what our government is doing."

"What are they doing?"

"Killing people who get in their way. People like your wife."

"What was she doing that she had to be killed?" Ben felt his heart being torn to shreds.

"She went to work for the X-Files," CSM said gently, puffing on the cigarette he lit for Ben.

Ben hung his head. "I don't believe you," he admitted slowly.

"Understandable. But let me tell you this, the people who killed your wife are coming after you. We had to stage your little kidnapping to throw dust in their eyes. You'll accept my apologies, won't you?"

"Kind of hard to accept your apology while I'm still tied up like a prisoner."

"Of course," CSM took off the blindfold. "Your feet aren't bound, follow me." Ben, followed the Cancer Man towards a fairly large, unused restroom. CSM turned on the light, nearly blinding him. Ben saw a small cot, a smaller table with a pitcher of water, a glass, a pack of cigarettes, matches and a plate of sandwiches and fruit. There was a skanky looking toilet in the corner and a rusted out sink. "I do apologize for the accommodations, CSM said. "But you need to stay here for a while for your own safety until we deal with the men who murdered your wife." He gently pushed Ben inside.

"How do I even know you're telling me the truth about Jerilyn?" he demanded as the CSM untied his hands.

"I'll bring you proof then," CSM said before hitting him hard o the back of his head, knocking him unconscious.

He left Ben's new cell and shut the door tight, locking it. He turned to Covarubias who had been watching the entire time, holding a loaded gun. "Keeping him alive is dangerous," she seethed.

He glared at her. "He has information about the oil rig, information we need. Plus, if he decides to join us... he could be useful. The Admiral said he was a bright boy. And if not... we'll dispose of him once Mulder and Starkweather are eliminated." He approached Covarubias and took her gun away from her. Cupping her narrow chin in his free hand, he said, "You and Krycek should have never tried to trifle with me. Krycek paid the ultimate price... you... have a chance to redeem yourself." He walked away, saying "No one touches Ben Starkweather without my express permission."

Marita Covarubias glared at him, hatred simmering in her blue eyes. "I happen to know Ben isn't dead." Al's voice came from behind him. Sam spun around in his chair.

Back in Skinner’s office:

"What do you mean he isn't dead?!" Sam hissed.

"What do you mean *who* isn't dead...Doggett...I know you've been under a helluva lot of stress lately..."

"Ben...Ben Starkweather isn't dead yet." Sam answered flatly.

"How do you know?"

"I can't tell you yet." Sam said plainly.

"Christ, John, I expect the runaround from Mulder, but not from you." Skinner snapped back.

"Jeri's finally starting to loose it, Sam. The whole situation finally dawned on her. I'm gonna go keep an eye on Dana while you guys are busy with this." Al reported

"You think the DD is on it?" Skinner asked quietly.

"It's hard to say, Sir." Sam said, cautious of who might be listening.

Just then, Kimberly popped her head in. "Sir, I didn't want to interrupt, but I couldn't cancel your 11 meeting. It's with the Deputy Director."

"Thanks." Then turning to Doggett, "Check back with me if you find anything. That'll be all, Agent." Skinner said crisply, and Sam took his leave.

Sam didn't know Starkweather that well...he wanted to be there for her. He was about to head down to his office and get his coat to leave when he found Starkweather's message on Doggett's voice-mail. He had a feeling Al was with Scully at the moment, so she wasn't completely alone. He felt better about that. So he drove back to Starkweather’s apartment.

"I can't BELIEVE those DICKS suspected me for two fucking minutes, Doggett." She hissed incredulously. Her eyes were dry but puffy and red still.

"Well, speaking from experience here, sometimes our job means pulling at whatever straws are there." Lord knows he had to do that enough times as a time-traveler.

"We made up." She admitted softly. "We made up when I came home last night, and then...afterwards...he got a call from some chick with a breathy Russian accent. I know, because I picked up the extension in the bedroom. I went out to confront him about it, telling him I wouldn't let him go by himself; then the fucker used a helluva stall tactic...he actually told me some cockshit theory about that fucker who killed him and me being related. Then," her lips began to quiver now, "I let him go." Then her body started to quake with sobs again, and Sam didn't resist the impulse this time to pull her close to him, letting her go.

"Just let it go, Jerilyn..."

"Goddammit..." she said, shouting now, "the worst part about this whole fucking thing is that I was going to get out of the x-files after this case. He didn't want me to be in the FBI because he didn't want me to die on the job...I didn't think for one minute that I would be the one to outlive him."

"I know...I know..." Sam said softly. He wanted more than anything to tell her he wasn't dead yet, but knew she just needed him to be solid and strong. Bringing someone back from the grave isn't exactly the best way to show someone you're stable.

He stayed with her for a few more hours until she sobbed herself to sleep, just letting her cry.

He decided to check on her again in a few hours, but now, he needed to go over to Scully's. He needed her professional opinion as much as he needed to know she was alright.

Scully didn't look as though she had spent any fresh tears at all when Sam came to her door. Al was still waiting for him there.

"You look like hell, Sam." Al commented.

"Just help yourself to some coffee, Doggett," Scully was saying, picking Will up from his high chair. "Take a seat on the couch for a sec, I gotta put Will down for his nap."

"How did Ziggy find out that Ben's not dead?"

"I dunno, Sam, you musta changed history somehow, because the police reports change. Somehow, the body dumped in the river was discovered not to be Ben's."

"I tied up Leo, Al. He looked like he was getting ready to do something, and I tied him up. I interviewed some kids, and they said they saw the same sedan that we saw in the warehouse drive up to Leo's house, and then on my way home, I saw the sedan dump a body into the river."

"So all we gotta do is find out where Ben is, and we're homefree!" Al exclaimed, tapping a few keys on the handlink. "I think Scully's coming, since we've got bugs in the system still, I better vamoose. Be careful."

"How's Starkweather handling all of this?" Scully asked as she came through the hall. She had a look of complete confusion on her face. "I think I need to talk to more adults besides Mulder...I'm hearing voices..."

"Starkweather's as well as to be suspected." Sam said releasing a heavy sigh as he handed her the photocopies. "I brought you the police reports, thought you might wanna look them over."

"I want to do the autopsy on the body they found." Scully said, perusing the papers.

"90 % of the body is burned, Scully."

"I know...I still want to do the autopsy." She persisted.

"The coroner has already performed the official autopsy...there's nothing we can do about that at this point."

"Don't give me that, Doggett. We've gotta do something. I can't put "my finger on it, but something about this report doesn't mesh."

"We'll find it, then we can go after the people who did this."

"Doggett...I hate to bring this up in your face," Scully said coldly, "but the last time you said something like that was not long before Mulder's funeral. Don't make me promises you damn well know you can't keep." She looked around, wishing she had a glass of water to splash in his face.

"Scully, I--" Sam said in a pained tone, but didn't know how else to finish to make her believe he fully intended to keep that promise.

"I'm sorry. Doggett..." She apologized, "I didn't mean that...I just..."

"Yes, you did." Sam said plainly. "Just what?"

"Just forget it, alright..." She proceeded to pick up baby toys that were lying in the floor.

"No, look..it's ok...I know you're angry...so am I. Finish what you started."

Scully couldn't even face Doggett. "I can't let him down again." She pretended to be cleaning the kitchen as she spoke.

"What do you mean, 'let him down'?"

"I let Mulder down once, and it cost him his life...if it wasn't for Will being on the way, I think it would have destroyed me. I don't know what would happen if I watched him be destroyed again. I'm worried for Will."

"I know, but I can't help but see that there's something else more at stake here." He wasn't lying. Sam knew there was a lot more at stake with Mulder's arrest.

"Doggett...you don't understand..."

"You're right...I don't...enlighten me."

"Mulder is one of the most aggravating people I've ever met."

"I know..."

"He is a jack-ass about 60% of the time."

"That's not exactly what I'd call an enlightened statement." Sam said wryly.

Scully smiled sheepishly. "I joined the X-Files office eight years ago not really sure what to expect of "Spooky" Mulder. I spent the greater part of my eight years with him making a point of proving him wrong. Somewhere along the way, between the freaks of nature and aliens and things that go bump in the night we investigated, I realized that his quest had become mine...and if we found the truth, that's all I needed to make my life meaningful." She hesitated and let out a ragged sigh, "Then he gave me Will...something I never in my wildest dreams thought I could have...and meaning and fulfillment I never thought possible." She buried her face in her hands, and her body finally started to allow her to sob. "God, Doggett...I don't know what I'm gonna do if he looses his freedom. I don't want Will to grow up without his Dad."

"You will keep plugging away at the Truth he started," Sam began cautiously, placing an assuring hand on her shoulder. "But I don't think that'll be necessary. I've got lots of outside help working around the clock on this. I *am* keeping this promise to you, Scully. I'm going to do all I can to make sure nothing happens to him. So are a lot of other people." With that, he decided to take his leave and check on Starkweather.

DC Jail
11:24am

Mulder was beyond pissed about the whole situation. He couldn't end it all here. Too many people had risked their careers...lives...for him to end it all here.

He was rotting in jail for something he knew he didn't do, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. There wasn't even a trashcan to kick around this time, so he had to make do with his pillow.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you. You might want it later, and they won't getchya a extra."

"I'll, keep that in mind." He said, not even looking at who had spoken to him, accentuating each word with an emphatic punch, and keeping it up until there was nothing left of the pillow but shreds.

"Jesus Christ, hombre, who you got in there?"

"Aliens." He said simply with a sloppy grin on his face, waiting for his reaction. For the first time, he saw his cell mate. He was a short, scrappy man with caramel skin.

"And you a regular criminal? Keep talking like that, and they'll give you a single, keep ya all drugged up. I been here two weeks now, I think. They're needle happy in this joint." The man said, climbing down from his top bunk and taking a sip from the fountain.

"Thanks for the tip...whatchya in for?"

"Illegal alien." He extended a finger-tipless gloved hand in greeting. "Manny Ibarra. You?"

"Fox Mulder...murder one." he answered, hesitantly taking the handshake.

"I don't understand what you're still doing in the county jail then, they shouldda put you in the state pen."

"They're going to as soon as my trial is over with. I'm waiting for a judge to set bail later on today."

"All I gotta say is, I'm glad I'm not that pillow."

"Don't worry Manny, the pillow was a different kind of alien. You've got nothing to worry about."

"So you were pretending that was a Canuck?"

"Uh-uh..." Mulder said, shaking his head, "a little gray man."

"GUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRDDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!" Manny shouted at the top of his lungs.

The warehouse
11:42 am

Ben slowly came to. His head hurt like hell. With a groan, he forced himself to stand up but was hit with a bout of vertigo so he sat down on the rickety cot.

Dizzy, he tried to make some sort of sense of what was going on. He was being held prisoner... but the strange man with the cigarettes told him it was for his own protection. Jerilyn was dead. He had followed a lead, but it was a trick to get him out of the house. Jerilyn had told him, begged him not to go, but she was worried about his safety, not hers. Jerilyn was dead. She never worried about her life. Ben sometimes wondered if she thought she was immortal. She had given him her gun, but he never got a chance to use it for the kidnapping happened so brutally fast. Jerilyn was dead, was dead, was dead, was...

"NO," he said aloud. "I don't believe it... I won't believe it... if I believe it... I will go fucking insane... she CAN'T be dead... she's too mean to be dead..." he ran his dirty fingers through his head and tried to breathe, tried to calm down.

Something wasn't adding up right. His instincts were telling him not to trust the Smoking Man. He tried to piece together was Jerilyn was trying to tell him after the third epic war they fought after he dropped the bombshell on Skinner that he was ordering the release of the oil rig X-File into public domain.

"Think, Ben, think..." he muttered to himself. But he couldn't. His body was in one giant knot of stress and pain. He felt nauseous. With shaking hands he reached for the cigarettes and matches the Smoking Man had so thoughtfully left for him. But one drag only added to the sickening feeling in his stomach so he threw the cigarette in the sink and hauled himself to the toilet where he was wretchedly ill.

Clinging to the porcelain god, he threw up until there was nothing but dry-heaves. He slumped to the floor and leaned against the wall.

One thing he knew for sure... he was a dead man the longer he stayed.

"Oh Christ..." he groaned. Then, in complete frustration and heartache he yelled aloud "THIS IS NOT HAPPENING!!!!" He covered his face and spoke to himself. "Jerilyn... when I see you again... you're going to give me the biggest 'I told you so' in the world, aren't you..." He crawled back up on the cot while repeating a mantra to himself: "She's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead..."

It was the only thing he could think of to do to stave off madness....

Jerilyn woke up with a start, heart pounding in her chest, covered with sweat. Shivering, despite the heat, she pulled the afghan quilt around her. ::Maybe I'm having a bad dream::she thought even though she knew she was only lying to herself.

She stared at the phone, knowing that she should probably call Luke and Linda Starkweather, Ben's parents, with the bad news. But she only stared at the phone, not being able to bring herself to do it. The longer she put off calling her in-laws, the longer their son was alive for them.

::And he's dead because of me...::Jerilyn could not stop beating herself up, could not shed herself of the guilt that lay so heavy in her heart. ::If I had only followed my gut, if I had only gone with... if I had not been so damn ambitious and jumped the gun to come out to DC with the first job offer from the FBI... if I had waited until something would have come open at Quantico...::

But even in her guilt, she knew she wasn't going to quit the X-Files. Not now.

If Samantha had been Mulder's quest, then Ben was going to be hers.

Mulder... Starkweather's eyes narrowed into catlike slits when she even thought of his name. "I'm going to watch him BURN for this..." she promised herself aloud.

But, because she was always coldly, brutally honest with herself, her alter-ego asked her bruised and hurting ego: ::Do you REALLY think Mulder did it?::

"All the evidence points to him." she said aloud as she thought: ::It's all circumstantial and you know that.::

"He's capable of murder, he's killed people before," she sneered aloud to herself.

::So have you, in the line of duty, like he has::her common sense reminded her.

"I fucking hate him," she said bitterly, staring with teary-eyes at her wedding ring.

::Then hate him for something that he DID do::Still, her reason tried to overpower her emotions.

"Why the hell shouldn't I believe that he did it?" her heart cried out.

::Would Scully stay with him so long if he was that kind of a man?::

That got her. As much as she loathed Mulder, she admired Scully. Scully was no fool. Scully didn't knuckle underneath anybody.

::Okay, Starkweather::she told herself as she started to build up walls around her broken heart. ::Stop thinking like a pathetic widow and start thinking like a goddamn FBI agent. Get the evidence, separate fact from fiction, logic from emotion. Get your poop in a group and get to work. If Mulder is innocent, fine. If he's not, fry him. But get the facts straight first. And first things first, get inside Mulder's head.::

Although her expertise in the X-Files was forensics, she knew she was being groomed to take over for Scully when Scully was ready to leave, she also had experience as a profiler. The X-Files gave her freedom to explore her profiling skills and she had to admit, she was getting pretty good at it. She went to the phone but she did not call Ben's parents. She called Skinner's secretary.

"Kimberly, hi, this is Agent Starkweather," Starkweather listened to Kimberly offer her condolences. "Actually, yes, there is something you can do. I need every scrape of information on Fox Mulder, from when he was an acne-ridden teenager in high school up to present day... yes, I said everything... and compress it into a ZIP file and email it to me at home. Skinner will give you clearance. Tell him I'm playing profiler-for-a-day and I'm trying to figure out what the fuck is really going on. Thanks."

Two hours later, Starkweather was deep into the files of Fox Mulder's life history, up to the point of his transcripts from Oxford when there was a knock on her door.

She got up and let Sam in.

Sam followed Starkweather into the spare bedroom that she and Ben had converted into an office. "How are you doing, Starkweather?" Sam asked cautiously as she sat down in front of the computer.

"I've had better days," she said grimly.

"Yeah... well..." Sam said awkwardly. "What are you doing?"

"Going through Mulder's records." She said, gnawing on a pen cap. "I've been trying to get inside of Mulder's head..."

"How's the view?"

"Scary." Starkweather let out a big sigh. "He is one paranoid mo-fo."

Sam chuckled. "That's one way of putting it." Carefully, he asked, "But do you think he's a killer?"

Starkweather rubbed her eyes and propped her chin in her hands, "He is capable of murder... but that doesn't jive with the profile I'm getting from him... Mulder is very paranoid... especially about our fine government... he's almost an anarchist... the only thing that keeps him grounded is his thirst for the truth. Mulder isn't the type of guy who sweeps things under the rug to save his own ass... I don't... god, what I put together... he just WOULDN'T do this... he wouldn't... dammit!!" she pounded the desk with both fists. "All the evidence points to him... but..."

Sam put his hands on her shoulders, "You don't want to believe..."

Starkweather said "Look... Doggett, you were a cop before all of this... would you have slapped the cuffs on the Deputy Mayor on circumstantial evidence? We've got the word of some junkie kids and second-rate car thieves... the thieves who changed their stories from a cigarette smoking man hiring them to kill him to the Deputy Mayor. Something stinks in Denmark..."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "You think Mulder is innocent then."

Starkweather sighed, but it was a sigh of resignation. "Well, he's NOT an innocent man... but I think he's innocent of this... I'm beginning to think Mulder just pisses people off wherever he goes... myself included... Doggett... I think I'm getting as paranoid as Mulder... I'm beginning to think there's something way way bigger going on... and that we're all just getting used..."

"Based on...?"

Starkweather groaned. "That's the problem. It's based on my sad profile on Mulder. I have nothing else."

"It's something." Sam turned Starkweather around in her desk chair. He stared down intently at her, holding her hands. "So will you help us clear Mulder's name?"

"I will help as my conscience dictates," Starkweather said slowly. "If my work clears Mulder's name, fine. Great, wonderful. Peachy-keen. If not... I'm bringing him down."

"Fair enough..." Sam said, kneeling down. "It's the least you could do. I mean..." Sam couldn't help but smile wryly. "You broke the man's nose."

Now Starkweather couldn't help but smile. "Ben always said I was going to hurt someone with my temper someday..." she took one of her hands out of Sam's to cover her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Aw, honey..." Sam said, clasping her hand in the cast with both of his hands.

"Don't get sappy," she said in a shaking voice. "I'm trying not to be."

"Starkweather," Sam said softly. "You don't have to be so tough all the time."

"Yes I do," her voice cracked. "It's all I have left now... just being a..." she started to sniffle "... a big, bad FBI broad... oh Christ..." she whimpered. "I don't even have the balls to call his parents to tell them the news... and Ben always thought that I was so strong... Jesus... what a joke..."

"Starkweather, you just hang in there. I promise you," Sam said, "I'm going to make this right..."

Starkweather pulled herself together. "I need coffee. Do you want some?"

"Sure." Sam said as Starkweather pulled herself away from him and left the room. He then noticed a fat, orange lap cat crawl out from underneath the desk. "Hi kitty," he said affably.

Caesar spat and hissed at him before streaking out of the room.

"That's why I'm a dog person." Sam mumbled as he went to the kitchen and sat at the tiny little table.

Starkweather started to brew coffee. She opened the fridge. "Um... I'd offer you food, but looks like we don't have any."

"It's okay," Sam said, momentarily puzzled by her sudden Dorothy-Domestic hospitality mode. Then he realized she was trying to keep busy, to keep her mind off of her sorrow.

::But Ben isn't dead!!!::he wanted to scream at her, hold her tight, smooth her pretty hair, tell her everything was going to be alright... that he would never forget her, no matter how Swiss-cheesed his memory may become in future leaps. But all he said was "Do you want me to call Ben's parents?"

She was quiet for a moment. "No..." she said slowly. "No... I need to be a big girl and do it myself." She opened the cupboards and grabbed a can of Nine Lives cat food. As she opened the can, she called out. "Caesar!! Here kittykittykittykittykittykittykittykitty!!"

Caesar stole into the kitchen and wound himself around her legs. She dumped the cat food in his dish and he dove in with relish.

Sam said, apropos of nothing, "Your cat hates me."

"My cat hates everybody." Starkweather poured coffee into two mugs, dumped heaps of sugar into one for her, but served Sam's to him black. Sam was about to object but shut his mouth in time to realize that Doggett probably wasn't the cream-and-sugar type.

"Thanks," he said.

"Actually," she said, her tone growing softer, "Caesar was my engagement ring. I've always loved cats, always had at least one or two of them around the house when I was growing up. Being a military brat, my pets were my security, my sense of familiarity. Of home. I was really bummed when I left for the Air Force because I lived on base the entire time I was Active and so... no pets. When I went Guard, I was commuting from Iowa City, where I was doing Med School at UNI, to the 132nd in Des Moines, where I met Ben. When things got serious, he asked me what kind of a ring I would like. I knew that he was broke... going to law school at Drake and all... I told him to save his money and we'd get a ring when we'd get on our feet. Well... Ben got a hold of my dad and asked him permission to marry me... and in lieu of a ring... what should I get her instead? Dad told him a cat. So Ben went to the animal shelter and adopted Caesar. Because my apartment didn't allow pets, Caesar lived with Ben until I finished Med School and moved in with Ben in Des Moines. Once I was in with Ben and helping him out with bills, he scraped up enough money to get me this..." She looked at her simple diamond solitaire with bright eyes, but did not weep. "I have a wedding band... but I don't wear it and we never had the money to get it sodered onto my engagement ring..."

Starkweather continued, confiding as she only would to a best friend, whom Sam realized, with confusing sensations of jealousy, is how she viewed Doggett. :: he mused as he listened to her.

"Do you know how shitty I feel right now? Four nights ago, I was at your house, talking about drawing up divorce papers and now he's gone. Forever... I can't... if..." she gulped, "the body is as badly burned as the cops say it is, it's going to have to be closed-casket... I won't ever see him again..."

Sam said firmly, "Starkweather, you can not start blaming yourself for this."

"Doggett," she insisted. "You don't understand. Four nights ago... hell... LAST NIGHT... I would have paid money to get Ben out of my life... I was TIRED of being married. I was tired of having to justify my actions to him. Tired of being pressured to settle down, plunk out a couple of kids, get the house in Suburbia with the rose bushes and the white picket fence. We were ALWAYS fighting. And not just about me in the FBI and that damn case... but everything. We fought about everything. About settling down. About money. I used up my GI Bill by the time I got to Med school, so I'm struggling with those payments plus I'm still paying for my training at Quantico. Plus Ben and I racked up a pretty heavy duty credit card debt when we were planning our wedding.. to the tune of over three-grand." Sam whistled. She went on, "Yeah. So we've got that. Plus Ben's paying off law school and then there's the whole cost of living thing... as good hearted Ben is... was... don't kid yourself Doggett. He took the case because of the money. He was going to make over a $100 per hour."

"Wow... I am in the wrong business."

"You and me both, brother," Starkweather said. "But there were just other things too... stupid shit like... well, he's SUCH a slob. I come home after a long ass day and the apartment's trashed out... plus he would make plans and just assume that I would want to come with. Not ask me, just say "Oh, Jeri by the way, I told so-and-so that we'd meet them for dinner..." and I wouldn't want to go and he'd get mad and... god...I wish I could just pinpoint where things went wrong and go back in time and fix everything..."

"That might be possible someday," Sam said gently.

Starkweather sniffed. "If I could go back in time... I probably wouldn't have married Ben and he'd still be alive. I love him but I shouldn't have married him... that would have fix everything."

"Starkweather, beating yourself up is not going to solve this." Sam told her gently. "Guilt is not an effective tool in crime-solving."

"But it sure is a powerful motivator. I owe Ben at least this. I denied him everything else. Kids, family life... hell, I knew he's been miserable here in DC ever since we moved here. He would have been so much happier if we stayed in Minneapolis near his family but... he put my happiness in front of his... look what it got him." She looked up to her ceiling and yelled, "BEN, YOU DUMB SHIT!!!" She looked back at Sam. "You know what the sick thing is though?"

"What?"

Starkweather shook her head, "If, by some miracle, Ben walked through those doors... nothing would change. I'd still be off being the 'big bad FBI broad' and Ben would still resent me for it." She put her elbow on the table and rested her forehead against her palm. "I wish I could say that I would change my sinful ways and everything with me and Ben would be bright and sunny and we'd skip off into the sunset together... but that would be a lie. I know me too well." She dropped her hand into her lap and stared at Sam with her big hazel doe-eyes. "Terrible, isn't it?"

"No," Sam assured her. "It's very honest. Most people have a hard time being truthful with themselves, especially about their faults and failings. The key is whether or not you want to work on your..." he scrambled for the right words "lack of desire to be a traditional wife for Ben."

Now the doe-eyes became feline again, eyeing Sam warily. "Doggett, you're talking as if Ben's still alive..."

Sam groaned, realizing his slip up. "Well..." he said carefully. "We all thought Mulder is dead."

Starkweather glared at him. "Earth to Doggett, come in Doggett. We've got the body. It was showing no vitals whatsoever." She bowed her head. "Don't give me false hope, this is hard enough as if."

The phone rang. Starkweather got up to answer, "Hello?.... oh.... crap... I totally forget... Can I reschedule? I've... I've had a death in the family, I just... no, on second thought, I don't want to reschedule. I'll be there as soon as possible. Thank you." She hung up. "I've got to go. I completely forgot I had my doctor's appointment to get this thing-" she raised her wrist that was in a cast "off of me."

But during Starkweather's phone conversation, Sam was hit by a brainstorm. "Scully!" he said aloud.

"What?"

"After you get your cast off, come over to Scully's place."

Starkweather hesitated. "That might not be a good idea... like you said... I just broke Mulder's nose this morning..."

"You know, Scully once shot Mulder in the left shoulder?" Sam said.

"Really?" Starkweather couldn't help but grin a little. "Cool."

"So I think she'll understand or at least forgive." Sam got up to leave. "Just come over to Scully's as soon as you're done at the hospital. I just had an idea that may shed some light on everything."

"What?"

"I'll tell you when you get there," Sam insisted. "I've got to talk to Scully first."

"Tell her I'm really sorry about punching him out, but at least I didn't shoot him."

"I will," Sam went to the door.

"Hey, Papa John?"

Sam turned at the sound of Doggett's pet name. "Yeah?"

She had the ghost of a smile on her pale lips. "Thanks for sticking with me on this."

Sam came back and hugged her. Since Starkweather has had very minimal physical contact with Doggett, she was taken aback by Sam's expansiveness. "Whoa... down, boy," she said.

"Sorry," he said, breaking away, but smoothing a strand of hair out of her face. "It just looked like you need that."

Even in the pits of absolute misery, Starkweather's sarcasm always bubbled forth. "Awww... Doggett... have you been listening to those Male Sensitivity 101 tapes again?"

Sam smiled. "Something like that. Meet me at Scully's?" She nodded and said okay. With that, Sam left, promising himself he was going to bring Ben back to her. Even though it was going to break everyone's heart, including his own.

Scully, donned in surgical greens, pulled down the microphone. "The subject is Benjamin Lucas Starkweather, white, thirty-one year old male... on topical examination, it appears that Mr. Starkweather died due to third-degree burns covering 90 percent of the subjects body... also on topical examination, there is also evidence of tissue damage due to being submerged underwater for a short period of time... however I will conduct a full autopsy to either confirm or disprove my initial theory on cause of death. I am starting the autopsy with the head and throat... looking for possible foul play. Strangulation. Possible poisoning prior to death. " Scully got her scalpel and poised over the body's face. She paused, looked sadly at the remains. Remains... a woman's husband reduced to remains

Al breezed through the chamber door, and began barking orders, oblivious to the fact that the project computer specialist was doing a delicate balancing act with a motherboard and a toolbox.

"Goushie! I want anything you can get...job and med history, grocery lists, favorite TV shows, favorite Backstreet Boy on somebody named Justin Leo, SSN 138-99-2568 PRONTO! We had a major situation back there. Verbeena," he said, turning to a very ragged Project psychologist, "I want you to round up all the slicers and dicers we got...I need forensics to go through the autopsy reports with a fine-tooth comb looking for any discrepancies. Tina," he said, I want every possible scenario with this Billy Miles guy. Time ain't a luxury!" He spat, and went into the waiting room, collapsing into the chair behind his desk.

"Admiral, I've been looking at these police reports, and there's nothing solid to convict 'im on. It's all circumstantial evidence...there's no real proof here. There's no corroborating testimony for Mulder's whereabouts except for Scully's saying she..." here, his jaw dropped, "was with him that night."

Al nodded. "Before we hafta mop your tongue off the floor, between you and me, Doggett, Scully and Mulder had a thing for each other years ago, but either couldn't tell the other their feelings until...as far as I can figure...just before he was abducted."

"Goddammit Al...Mulder's a jackass, but he's no murderer. I know he wouldn't kill anybody unless it was in the line of duty. Tell your friend Beckett that if Mulder needs a lawyer I got a friend back home in Georgia named Matlock. He's a bit expensive and beats around the bush worse than Columbo, but with a case this strong, I bet he would come outta retirement."

"Thanks, Doggett...but now, Ziggy's saying Mulder doesn't even go to trial. If we don't do something fast, history's gonna repeat itself. How'd you figure with Mulder and Scully?"

"I'm not blind, Admiral...I think I figured out that soap-opera plot the day Scully threw water in my face. I'm just shocked she admitted it. What I don't get is how they got a warrant passed. Whatever got 'em to pass the buck on that, I ain't buyin'."

"What do you know of the Syndicate?"

"A former conspiracy outfit that ended with the deaths of an anonymous Smoking Man and a former FBI agent named Alex Krycek." Al shook his head slowly.

"Not former."

"You have *got* to be shittin' me, Al...I saw Krycek's body!"

"It' ain't Ratboy...it's Old Smokey...he's back."

"The cat came back, thought he was a goner..." was all Doggett managed to mumble.

"You think there's someone workin' inside the police department?" Al posed, making a face as he took a long draught of strong, bitter coffee.

"Damn possible."

Back to the present:

The face was badly burned. The lips and nose were nothing more but a crusty mishmash of fried flesh. The right hand was burned onto the face, covering the other face, in a self-defensive movement. One eyelid was fused shut. Scully carefully cut the hand after from the face, grimacing at the noise of crusty flesh breaking apart. The other eyelid was half-open, the eye itself blue and staring, looked up at Scully.

Scully stared at the eye, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. She put the scalpel down and went to the thick police file on the counter. She flipped it open and stared at the crime photographs. "On re-examination of the crime scene pictures, when the subject was recovered from the river, it was in a garbage sack. The right hand was covering the upper potion of the face, as if warding off an attack." She looked at the picture of Ben Starkweather the police used to ask Mulder if he "knew this man."

"Oh my God!" Scully exclaimed! She looked at the body again, looked at the picture.

In the photograph, Ben, very clearly had green eyes. The body's one open staring eye was blue.

Scully ran for her phone and dialed.

"Detective Carillo."

Scully stopped. "Sorry, wrong number," she muttered as she hung up. She re-dialed.

"Assistant Director Skinner."

"Sir, it's me. I need to talk to you. I need to talk to someone that I can trust. I think I have proof that Mulder is being set up."

"Don't say anything more. Come here, quickly." Skinner hung up.

Scully took out her digital camera, took pictures of the body's face and eye, put the camera back in the bag and called Quantico's assistant coroner. "Can you finish this autopsy, something's come up, I need take care of my son."

She smiled. As much as she loved her son... she had to admit, he made a great excuse for a quick getaway.

Later at Skinner’s office:

"What we need," Scully said, putting Will down in the playpen, is to get some connection between this murder and the oil rig."

"I wish I could get you clearance into something that would help, Scully...but I honestly don't know what to tell you..."

"I used to know Admiral Bailey from when our families would spend the summers on Martha's Vineyard. I did some digging and found out that he's taken some recent flights there."

"You think he's hiding something at the vacation house?" Skinner finished.

"It's very possible...could you get me a warrant for searching the premises?"

"I'll do what I can...but remember if Kersh is in on this, he may be hesitant to issue permission to search."

"We've got other avenues besides Kersh, Sir...I think if we can get into that house, we can find the proof we're looking for."

"I have no intentions of transferring Starkweather, Scully, but I may relocate her to a new division. She's against its senior member because of your ties to the founder...it's obstructing the case."

"Sir, I think she'll understand once we bring evidence to light that Mulder isn't guilty and I don't think there'll be a need to transfer her. She's good for the X-Files."

"I'll trust your judgement on that. If I'm going to get that search warrant issued, I'd better hurry before everyone goes home for the night."

"Thank you for all your help on this, Sir."

"Scully, off the record, I've got too much invested in you, Mulder, and that damn basement office to sit back and watch it all go down the drain now...it's as much my fight as it is yours. I have a warrant to get...and you..." he said looking from Will to Scully, "have some a--" he stopped himself, "I mean, uh...you know what I mean....Call me when you find something. Be careful. That's an order."

"Don't worry, I will." Scully said, ushering him out the door. She turned on her computer, and booked the first flight the next day with the FBI credit card to Martha's Vineyard.

D.C. County Jail

"Mulder, you've got a visitor" The guard yelled, upset. "Your attorney's here.

"Attorney? I don't have an attorney..." Mulder's nose crinkled in confusion as his mind reeled through any possibility.

"The law fairy," the guard grumbled.

"I guess in this profession you gotta keep a sense of humor, huh?" Mulder mumbled, and was lead into a room with tables split between cages.

At one of the cages, waiting for Mulder's arrival was a young man with sandy hair and a thin smile, that, for now, had a small bandage over it.

"I am an attorney, Mr. Mulder. I read about your case and have heard a lot about you. Just from glancing over the police and autopsy reports, I can see that most of the pile of evidence against you is a bunch of circumstantial crap. I think we can build a good case toward proving your innocence."

"I heard lots of lawyer jokes, but never actually thought somebody would rough one up, what happened?" Mulder asked, taking a seat on the opposite side of the gate.

"I got into a little rough-and-tumble with my brother, nothing to worry about." The man lied. Mulder knew he lied, but was careful to conceal his observation. For now.

"I appreciate your help, of course, Councilor, but I'm not quite sure I can trust your intentions. There are lot of questions I need answers for...like...your name, for one...and your credentials."

"I graduated from Virginia State University Law School, and set up my own practice. I want to help you for lots of reasons. One of the biggest is that I'm a new lawyer and need the publicity..."

"The other?"

The lawyer let out a heavy sigh, and cast his eyes downward. "I know your background at the FBI, Mr. Mulder. You work with...um...UFO's. Especially alien abductees."

"I don't understand..."

"I was eighteen. Two weeks before graduation, me and my then-girlfriend Lily were out in the woods in my Caddy convertible." His voice became soft and detached, "The sky was so full of stars that night. She was eighteen, and wearing this blue sundress...I had saved for a year for an engagement ring for her...I was about to give it to her when she happened to look up and noticed a bright light...I just stood there, watching her floating up into this beam...then she was gone...the beam of light was gone, and the ship..." he broke off, not able to regain composure.

"So you think Lily was abducted by aliens?" Mulder finished for him.

"I know she was...I watched her...I wanted to take your case, because I knew if I could get you in the clear, you could help me find her again."

"So, how are you planning to defend me?"

"Well," the lawyer began slowly, "like I said, it seems to me that their entire case is pretty much circumstantial. I also think if I do a little digging, I can find the truth behind who really murdered Mr. Starkweather."

"What's your fee?" Mulder demanded, still cautious of this man's intentions.

"Because I think you can help me after I get out, I'm doing this pro bono."

"One service for another?"

"Exactly." the man said, punctuating it with a nod of the head. "You're scheduled for trial in an hour. Have we got a deal?"

"We've got a deal Mr...." Mulder replied, hinting that he never got a name.

"Leo." The man answered, picking up the hint. "Justin Leo. I have no doubt that you'll be back with that girl and baby boy of yours in no time." He said with a grin.

"The beginning of a beautiful friendship..." Mulder mumbled almost inaudibly, as he was led back to his cell.

"Sandy?" Leo said as soon as Mulder was lead out of the visiting area. "I want you to check and see who's on the docket for this afternoon. Can you do that for me? Judge Carlson? Thanks. I owe ya one. Bye..." he dialed another number. "Judge Carlson, Leo here...the powers that be don't want this Mulder case to go. Can you do me a favor?...Can you set bail as high as the books will letchya? Thanks. I really appreciate this. I owe ya one." He said, turning off his cell and packing up his briefcase. "After this is over, I'll be up to my ears in I-O-U's...but, if it buys me Lily..." he said sighing, and left the room.

As promised, the preliminary hearing was scheduled with arraignment court in an hour.

In a half an hour, Leo was prepared for the case, procuring a suit with an unMulderlike pinstriped tie for Mulder to wear during the trial.

"Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder versus the City of Washington, D.C., Your Honor." The court clerk introduced them as a bailiff brought in Mulder. "The charge is one count of premeditated murder."

"Fox Mulder was brought in for murder when a body," the DA began, hesitating to open a folder for the "90% burned confirmed to be that of one Benjamin Starkweather, an environmental attorney who was building a case against the FBI, Mr. Mulder's former employer, regarding the case which led to his dismissal from his former position regarding the division he led known as the X-Files."

"Mr. Mulder, how do you plea?" The Judge inquired, looking him squarely in the eyes.

"Not guilty, your honor." Mulder said simply, "I'm innocent of all the charges brought against me, and fully intend to prove that contention."

"We'll let a jury decide that once a trial date is set, sir. Charlotte, you got anything to say to this?" The judge said, eyeing the DA over her glasses.

"Your Honor," the DA began, her green eyes scrutinizing the defense lawyer, "the defendant is a former FBI agent. He is well-trained in manual force, and is well-versed in how to use a weapon. He also has a record for loosing his temper, and a reputation for violence. I think it is a hazard to this community for him to walk the streets. It is my recommendation that this court sets bail at the maximum amount."

"Your Honor," Leo began pretentiously, "his assistance in solving this case is crucial. His clearance with the FBI could shed light on my argument better than anyone else. He is also a servant of the city, currently employed by the city as Deputy Mayor. I should also add that he is a new father."

"Mr. Mulder, while I congratulate you on your new baby, I cannot, in good conscience, allow someone, as the DA pointed out, who knows how to incorporate manual force and is suspected of premeditated murder walk scot-free. Bail is set for the maximum amount of $65,000."

With the rap of the gavel, Mulder was back to square one. "Fox Mulder, your case is dismissed. Bailiff, please remove the defendant from the courtroom."

Meanwhile
Scully's Apt.
Georgetown

Skinner met Scully at her apartment within a couple of hours.

"What's this all about, Scully? This proof you couldn’t tell me about in my office?"

"Mr. Starkweather was not the man whose autopsy I performed a couple of hours ago."

"How do you know?"

"Dental records matched...I don't know how...but the dental records matched. I didn’t realize that the body I just finished an examination of was not Mr. Starkweather's."

"That still doesn't explain how you know it wasn't his." Skinner persisted.

"I was looking at what was left of the victim's eyes for detection of poisoning beforehand, and the color wasn't right. Starkweather had green eyes...the body I examined had blue ones."

"So what do you think that means?" Skinner asked, messaging his sinuses.

"I'm not sure..." Scully hesitated, "it could be entirely likely that Ben Starkweather is still alive."

"Have you showed your evidence to the detectives in charge of this case yet?"

"No..." she said, taking a deep breath, "As long as we think Ben Starkweather is dead, whoever is behind this whole mess won't harm us."

"Scully..." Skinner began cautiously, "I think Mulder's getting to you...do you realize what you're implicating? I *know* he didn't do anything he was charged with, but to say it's part of some giant conspiracy is a bit far-fetched."

"I know it's out in left-field...but Doggett and I saw four men...one of them Mulder's boss and one of them ours. Another was Admiral Jeremy Bailey..."

"Starkweather's father?" Skinner blurted out. Scully nodded. "Do you think Agent Starkweather was put here to cover for her dad?

"It's possible...but Sir...she's one of the best Agents I've worked with in a long time...she's held her own in that office, and just because her adoptive father's used her as a pawn is not cause for dismissal."

"I agree completely..." Skinner "I have absolutely no intentions of transferring her. Kersh would be all too happy to see her go."

"I'll bet Kersh is dancing on Ben's casket." Scully said with a sly grin.

"Well, Kersh is thrilled with this incident," Skinner admitted. "With Mulder out of the way like this, and Doggett concentrating on his own issues, there's no time left for investigation of his own office, let alone media frenzy reflecting negatively on the FBI. The FBI is positively glowing right now. How's Agent Starkweather holding up?"

"Doggett's the better one to field that question, sir. Quite frankly, with my ties to Mulder, I'm not sure I want to be caught in her crossfire just yet. She's got a very strong spirit, Sir."

"Wilting flower, Jerilyn Starkweather ain't. That's for sure." Skinner growled. "How do you propose to prove all this implications?"

Sam knew Mulder's only offense was his talent to get people annoyed at him, but jack-assness wasn't something that was punishable by law. As aggravating as he was at times, Sam was beginning to understand that Mulder sometimes had to forego being likable in order to find the truth he made his life's work to seek. Despite that, or maybe even because of, Sam still found himself wishing he could spend more time on Mulder's quest for the Truth, and more driven than ever to stop his projected end. People that driven by such a one-sided cause are sometimes as compassionate as they are purposefully irritating. But...Sam decided...that just came with the territory. Either way, he couldn't let Mulder end his quest...not now.

The first step in that direction seemed to be getting Starkweather convinced that Mulder didn't commit her husband's murder. He had to convince her somehow that there was no murder even committed, but that wasn't the first priority for now. The first priority at this moment was getting Scully to convince Starkweather that Mulder wasn't playing her for a fool.

Sam got in the pick-up and headed to Doggett's house, whipped out the cell phone, and dialed Scully's number.

"Scully, it's Doggett."

"What's going on? You found anything?"

"Sorta...how do you feel towards Starkweather right now?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Scully demanded

"Oh...nothing..." Sam lied, "just answer the question, will ya?"

"Um...no hard feelings, sympathy...why?"

"Wouldn't you agree that she'd be a good ally to have on this case?"

"Of course...but she won't stand up to her father, and she thinks Mulder killed her husband. I wouldn't wanna stay in the X-Files if I were her either."

"Well...I think she might have changed her mind about staying in the X-Files. What if I brought her over to your place say around six to talk things over?"

"Sure...that sounds fine...I'll order some pizza or something for dinner. I'd fix a real meal, but there isn't many groceries here beyond baby food."

"That'll be great Scully...thanks. Making any progress?"

"Uh huh," Scully said, nodding her head as if he could see her, "Booked a flight to Martha's Vineyard a half an hour ago. Skinner's going to get me a search warrant for the Admiral's summer home. I'm hoping I'll have something solid there."

"Me too...see you at six." He affirmed, and hung up, hoping that he would be able to touch base with Al. As hard as it was going to be for him, he needed to give Starkweather some proof that Ben was still alive.

He hoped that was what she really wanted.

Sam knew Scully would straighten Starkweather out where Mulder was concerned, now all he needed to do was come up with some way to convince her that Ben was still alive. Al was waiting for him inside.

"How's it going, Sam? How's Starkweather holding up?"

"She'll be just fine if I can figure out some way to convince her Ben's still alive. We need her as an ally. I think she's coming around, though."

"That's good to know..." Al said it as if he was waiting for something more. When Sam filled the beat of silence with a gulp of coffee, he decided to drop the issue. "Any ideas?"

"Al...I know what you're thinking..."

"Sam...it would be much easier if you just follow my philosophy with women, you know buddy?"

"...over one million served is a slogan with golden arches under it...not a philosophy." Sam growled.

"I just hate seeing you beat yourself up over women every single time. Your brain ain't the only organ Swiss-cheesed."

"My love life is not up for discussion, Al..." he hissed indignantly, "this is about getting Mulder out of jail so I can leap...who knows..."

"...yeah, I know...I know...for now, though, we gotta come up with some way to get the Little Hurricane to help break Spooky outta the joint...listen to me...I sound like someone off the A-Team..." he grumbled, shaking his head.

"Can she still hear you?"

"Huh?"

"Starkweather...can she still hear you?"

"I think so...why? What have you got up your sleeve, Sam?"

"How are your wings?"

"My wings?" Al sputtered, "Sam...I think the Swiss-cheese effect has gotten to your head, kid."

"Polish your halo, Al...Starkweather's gonna have a revelation tonight."

"Sam...I think I lost my halo with my Little Orphan Annie decoder ring. No...wait," Al spat, "I lost *that* with my virginity...I lost my *halo* somewhere in the Pacific...we got bored, so we started playing Frisbee with it, wind caught...and..."

"Al..." Sam admonished, pretending to be annoyed.

Then he headed out the door to Scully's place

Scully, still waiting for files to load, picked up her cell phone again.

"Byers, its Scully. Can you boys do something for me please?"

"Sure, Scully. What's up?"

"I need you to get something for me. Is there any way you can access Mulder's phone records and personal files and fax them to the office?"

"Yeah, sure..." Byers started, but Langly took over.

"Only if you tell me why you need them."

"You don't think he's up to something, do you?" Frohike butted in.

"You haven't read the paper this morning yet have you?" Scully said with a heavy sigh. She really hated giving them bad news.

"Scully, we don't exactly have a mailing address, remember?" Frohike reminded.

"I don't think he's up to something, but we...I...need those as proof."

"Proof for what? Mulder's in trouble again?"

"We have to ask that, Frohike?" Langly butted in.

"He was arrested this morning for the murder of Mr. Starkweather. We need that stuff as proof so we can get Mrs. Starkweather..."

"The one who had me in a death grip yesterday?" Frohike interrupted.

"That's the one." Scully answered with an annoyed tone.

"Nice girl." Langly chided.

Scully barely held in a scream. "We need that proof so we can get Mrs. Starkweather on our side. If she's convinced Mulder didn't kill her husband then she'll help us clear his name."

"That shouldn't be a problem." Frohike said. Scully heard the beeping and whirring of a computer being booted up. "We can send it to you as a .ZIP file in about half an hour."

"That'd be great guys, thanks." Scully said, taking off her glasses and messaging her forehead, "I appreciate it."

"How's Will doing?" Frohike managed to sputter out before Scully hung up.

"He's asleep." She said flatly. "Frohike, I'd love to chat, but I'm just a bit busy at the moment." She abruptly hung up on him as the files she was waiting on finally printed out.

Just as the last page printed out the phone rang again.

She would've just left it to order the pizza, but the CLD identified the number from the FBI. "Scully." She responded curtly.

"I've got the warrant issued." Skinner was saying. "I had to pull a few strings, but I got it. All you have to do is pick it up before your flight departs."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. See you tomorrow." She didn't wait for him to say anything before hanging up.

Then she dialed for pizza.

Later on that afternoon....
George Washington University Hospital
901 23rd Street NW
Washington DC

"Ready, Mrs. Starkweather?" The doctor said with a smile, holding the small circular saw, which he was going to use to cut the cast off.

Starkweather flinched at the word 'Mrs.' "Ready," she said, positioning her arm.

The saw gnawed loudly through the plaster. Starkweather turned her head away. "Here we go," he said, peeling the rest of the cast off of her. "Looks good as new," he proclaimed.

Starkweather thought it looked skinny and dandruffy. "Gross," she muttered, brushing the dead skin flakes off and away.

"That will all wash off." The doctor said good-naturedly. He rotated her wrist. "Any pain?"

"No."

"Tingling sensations in the fingertips?"

"No. Feel fine."

"Then, why are you so pale, Mrs. Starkweather?"

"Um... I just received some REALLY bad news before I came here."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said but did not push for which, Starkweather was infinitely grateful.

He fitted her with the splint that she had to wear for another month, which would be a pain, but infinitely preferable over the hot, heavy cast she had been wearing for over a month. The doctor gave her some instructions for her at-home physical therapy and released her.

Starkweather got into the car, but did not go home. She did not go to Scully's right away either.

She went to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

She needed to re-read that damn file that started this entire mess. Starkweather was convinced that there was something that everyone was overlooking.

"Unfortunately, I'm only gonna know it when I find it," she muttered, flexing her "bad" hand, the right hand, before she started up the car and drove away while thinking guiltily ::I wonder if I can handle the motorcycle now that the cast is off?:: for only a few nights back, she told her husband not to drink too much while at dinner with friends because she wouldn't be able to work the Suzuki very well with her broken hand.

In a park in Starkweather and Mulder's neighborhood...

"Look, Admiral," Kersh was saying, "I'd like to stop it, but we've gone too far now. The scale is too momentous; your daughter is only a grieving widow now. Undoubtedly, she will leave her position on the x-files after this ordeal, and do so with her career unscathed."

"Kersh," the Admiral replied, skirting around him making it certain that they wouldn't be seen talking, "how long have you been working on the FBI?"

"A very long time, sir."

"In your entire career, have you ever known someone to willingly leave the x-files office?"

"Come to think of it Jeremy," Kersh paused for a thoughtful beat of silence, "I haven't. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Mulder still sucks people in somehow."

"That senior officer, Agent Scully..." Admiral Bailey mused, "I knew her as a little girl. We'd vacation over the summer. I would never have figured her to work with the likes of Fox Mulder. Even as a little girl, she was all seriousness. I don't want to start anything that leads in bloodshed. I just want my little girl to stay ignorant."

"If that's going to happen, Admiral," Kersh answered, "we're going to have to close the X-File Division. Even then, we still can't guarantee your daughter won't find out the truth through other venues. Some people will have to be terminated."

"I can't have that weight on my conscience, Alvin. Knowing the truth would kill my little girl...but not at that cost."

"People will be terminated, Admiral Bailey, regardless of what Jerilyn may or may not know. The x-files division cannot remain open if our cause is to continue. What if we save thousands of lives at the sacrifice of a few, or what if we save the human race..."

"What-if games only get people killed." Mayor Swanson softly insisted as he approached the pair. "I want them stopped. We have done enough--we have done too damn much. Admiral, do you want your little girl to love you for a lie?"

"I don't want her to hate me for the truth." The Admiral answered in a self-admonishing whisper.

Without a word, Kersh pointed a gun at the Admiral. "I think you should reconsider your stance on this, Jeremy."

Mayor Swanson stood wide-eyed at the barrel pointed at the Admiral. The Admiral closed his eyes slowly. "Lynn, honey..." he murmured softly looking Heavenwards.

"Alvin, are you sure you know what you're doing?" the Mayor began cautiously. "In a public place...in broad daylight...we'd be found for sure."

"No one's around for a few miles, Harry. No one but the birds and squirrels, and they ain't talkin'." The gun clicked as his finger tightened around the trigger.

Despite Mayor Harry Swanson's slight build, by having the advantage of surprise, he managed to grab Kersh's arm and point the gun skyward. "Jeremy!" Mayor Swanson hollered, and the Admiral leapt to his feet, both the men tackling Kersh, the Admiral belting Kersh in the stomach, hard enough to make him double over.

"Murder is not our policy." The Admiral hissed, shakily holding the gun in Kersh's ear.

"I'd keep that in mind if I were you, Alvin." Mayor Swanson chided. "I heard about how you ran things." The Mayor said, giving him a swift kick in the gut, eliciting a low groan. "My Deputy told me everything."

"You're right...no one around..to hear us...but birds...and squirrels...for miles." the Admiral said, accentuating every so often following the Mayor's movements. "And they ain't talkin'."

"Mulder's in jail now," The Mayor said, silently admonishing himself for the small part he played in that, "the X-Files are no harm to our cause anymore. There's no need to bring any bloodshed unless it's from your own ass. I can't...I can't do this anymore." He glanced at both at them. "You both make me nauseous." he fumed indignantly, "How you two can sit back and save the world at the cost of the people who make living in this world worth it is beyond me!"

"You are such a hypocrite, Harry." Kersh growled as soon as he was able to catch his breath, "Here you are pontificating about what you were doing, and there you go sitting on a fence. At least we are choosing to do something about our fate."

"Our fate was something we could do about?" The Mayor fired back, and stormed off. The Admiral shot Kersh one last dirty look, and followed him.

They didn't stay long enough to see Kersh's form twist and contort until Kersh was no longer recognizable as the Deputy Director of the FBI...

...but as Billy Miles.

Later on....
J. Edgar Hoover Builder
The X-Files Office

Starkweather had been sitting at Mulder's old desk for over two hours now, pouring through the oil rig case file, unconsciously nibbling on the sunflower seeds that had been laying on his desk. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck, FUCK!!!!!" she finally cursed aloud, in complete frustration. With one sweeping motion, she knocked EVERYTHING off of his desk. She buried her face in her hands.

Skinner walked in just in time to see pens, sunflower seeds, pages of files, folders, desk planner, highlighters, paper clips, a calculator and a coffee mug flying everywhere. The coffee mug shattered on impact. "Agent Starkweather?" he asked carefully.

She didn't even look up. "Yes sir?"

"You should be at home."

"I was going insane at home sir. I thought if I came here, maybe I could be productive," she finally looked up. "Ha," she said bitterly.

Skinner coughed before going on. "I took the liberty of notifying Ben's parents of the bad news," he said gruffly. "I hope I didn't overstep my boundaries."

If Skinner was worried about being on the receiving end of her mingled wrath and grief, the look of gratitude on her haggard face relieved any concerns. "No... that... that was good of you," she said, equally gruff.

"Starkweather, go home."

"Sir, with all due respect... I can't... I have to..."

"You have to take time to grieve, Agent," Skinner said sternly. Starkweather rested her head in her hands again. He crouched down to pick up the scattered sheets of paper from the file she sent sailing across the room. "Let Scully and Doggett take care of this. You need to tend to your personal needs," he stood up, holding papers in his hand. "That is an order, Agent Starkweather."

But Starkweather wasn't listening to Skinner, she was staring at the photocopy that he was holding. "Let me see that sir," she said, getting up from Mulder's desk.

"See what?" Skinner asked but she had already taken the paper from him.

"Oh my God... oh my God... this is it... this is the link. Jesus... sir... if Mulder is innocent... then this entire fucking game makes sense..."

"What is it?" Skinner instantly forgot his order for Starkweather to relieve her duties.

"It's not conclusive, it won't get Mulder out of jail... but it makes perfect sense... and it's a start," she waved the photocopy of an indigenous man's green card in front of him. "I can't believe I missed this. According to Doggett's report, two men were singled out and killed on the rig. Two men from a remote indigenous village in Mexico. They were immune to that black oil stuff. Now, whether it's truly go from Mars or a man-made biologically engineered nightmare is inconclusive, but it HAS been proven that it exists and documented that it is a virus, capable of destroying a living organism within days, correct?"

"Yes..." Skinner said slowly. "You can say that."

"Plus, it has also been proven and documented that Agent Scully was infected with this black oil by a bee sting and was saved by a vaccine given to Mulder from a dubious source, correct?"

"Yes... but I don't follow Starkweather."

She continued, growing excited. "If Mulder's wild tales are true... about the Syndicate... launching a massive biological war on the public... as dogged as our fine media is... the minute they would find out there is a deadly virus out there, but there was a race that was immune to the disease, they would broadcast it to the four winds. As advanced as our medical technology is as well... WE could have our own vaccine or maybe at least a therapy to slow the progress of the black oil's effects until a cure could be found. Plus, if you connect it to the whole bee-sting thing... if you remember, a few years back, there was a scare about killer bees, aggressive, volatile stinging bees coming into the United States from Mexico. Scully was stung by a bee in Texas and according to THAT file..." she dove into the tall file cabinet, thumbed through some files, pulled out the one she wanted and flipped through the pages, "she was stung by a African honey bee, the same bee that was imported from Africa to Mexico that started the panic. The bee that stung Scully came from Texas, near the Mexican border." She said triumphantly. "Don't you see? It would completely blow the conspiracy into the open. Mulder and Doggett didn't want this to come to light because they were worried about the safety of their near and dear ones... but they never thought about the bigger picture."

"Which is?"

"The AIDS virus has been around for years, decades. So has Ebola, the Hanta virus... you name the disease, it has been around longer than the dinosaurs. There is no such thing as a 'new' disease. People think it's new because they've never heard about it before. Only when they become educated about it, then they panic and start screaming for a cure. Plus, if it comes to light that the oilrig has been attempting import the virus itself to the United States, all hell would break loose. The Syndicate would be screwed because either A-- if they really are aliens and they're in cohorts with them... they're screwed because ET is going to be pissed that the race of immune humans were not taken care of. And then we're talking about 'Independence Day.'Or B -- if they are doing this themselves... with all the information Mulder and Scully have complied over the years... we've got the makings of a real witch hunt right here. Heads would start to roll. And all of this would have come out if Ben would have succeeded in bringing it to trial. "

"How does that clear Mulder of..." Skinner stopped himself before he said "Ben's murder."

"That's the problem..." Starkweather said. "It doesn't. But it's making me re-think some things..."

"You think Mulder's innocent then?" Skinner asked hopefully.

His hopes were dashed when she said "I said it's making me rethink some things. I only said this theory makes sense if Mulder was innocent, but I have no evidence. Just a hunch. I'm not going to run on a hunch, I'm going to research it. I'm making no moves until I have conclusive proof of either his guilt or innocence."

"A man is innocent until proven guilty." He reminded her.

To which she responded, "Every man is guilty of something."

Skinner couldn't place it, but the way Starkweather looked up at him, and the way she was sitting at the desk with her arms crossed confrontational echoed something familiar. He stooped down, helping her pick up the debris on the floor.

"Regardless of whether or not Mulder's guilty or innocent of his charges, you still need the rest." Skinner insisted.

"Sir, I'm only going to be able to rest until I find out the truth behind what happened to my husband. That truth may or may not clear the X-Files, and along with it the founder of this division. Scully and Doggett both have their hands full right now."

"I appreciate your dedication to finding the truth, but your health and well-being is not up for discussion. Scully and Doggett are very capable of carrying on this investigation by themselves."

"Is that all you came down here, for, Sir? To tell me to go home?" She said, crinkling her nose in amusement, making Skinner wish again that he could remember why that seemed so familiar, "Because I have a hunch to research, and Ben's not going to rest in peace until I resolve his case."

"Yes, I did come down here for something. Deputy Director Kersh wants you, me, Doggett and Scully all in his office tomorrow for review, and I have a s--" he stopped himself short of saying 'search warrant' "something for Scully."

"I'm on my way over to her apartment in a few minutes, I can deliver it for you."

"That won't be necessary, Starkweather, but I appreciate the offer. Off the record, Jerilyn," Skinner began gruffly, "I'm sorry for your loss."

"You're only sorry Ben was murdered" Starkweather hissed coldly, "because the FBI's former Golden Boy is in trouble for it, and will probably spend the rest of his life behind bars for what he did. With all due respect, I know full well that if Ben's case had been allowed to continue, your little cause would be shot down in a heartbeat, and your career would most likely be over." She glowered, her gaze full of ferocious intent.

"Agent Starkweather," he growled with his jaw clinched fiercely, "are you even aware of what you just implicated? You have just proven to me now more than ever that you need your grieving period. Don't think for one minute that taking your anger out on me, Mulder, or anyone else is going to bring Ben back. And if this anger harbored towards anyone is causing friction within the ranks of this division, believe me, I will not hesitate to recommend a transfer." With that, he stormed out.

At that moment, Starkweather was grateful that her wrist had just been taken out of the cast, because she needed to throw something.

Hard.

"Well, Ben got what he fucking wanted." She grumbled.

She picked up one of the larger fragments of the mug that was still scattered on the floor and threw it against the wall, smattering it into smaller bits and then landing it in the trashcan.

"You hear that Ben!" She screamed picking up another piece, and promptly smashing it against he wall, "I fucked up ANOTHER position, got on ANOTHER boss's bad side."

The motion was followed again swiftly with another of the larger fragments. She didn't notice that her wrist was throbbing.

"I'll be lucky now to get a janitorial position at Quantico after this." She almost-whispered, nursing her wrist. She sat back down at the desk, hoping one more look would earn her the answers she needed, looking sadly over at Doggett's desk.

Doggett, for reasons beyond her comprehension, seemed to think Mulder was innocent. She knew Skinner was certain of his former agent's innocence. Her eyes averted to Scully's desk. She walked behind it, and glanced at the picture of her, Mulder, and Will at what was a apparently taken at Will's christening.

She didn't know Scully for very long, but the brief period of time that she had watched Mulder and Scully interact showed her that Scully was no pushover. There wasn't very much that Scully let Mulder get away with, and as much as she wanted to hate Mulder, she knew that it was illogical to think that Dana Scully would allow herself to be taken for a fool. She glanced at her wristwatch.

Maybe, Starkweather hoped, the meeting in Scully's kitchen was for answers. She locked the door behind her and headed for her car.

She drove by just missing the stiff movements of a form that what was once Kersh, and what was once a human Billy Miles swiftly approaching the tourist entrance of the FBI office.

En Route to Scully's

Something gnawed at Starkweather as she started up her car. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something wasn't right. She stopped by the county courthouse for the arresting report. To Starkweather, Mulder had a crystal clear motive for killing her husband. Ben's investigation would challenge the world as we know it. If they wanted to nail Mulder, the strongest evidence for the prosecution would be any piece of Ben's argument.

But the hole in her case against Mulder was that there was none of Ben's evidence in the police reports found in the searches done either at Mulder's or Scully's apartments:

"It's the end of the world as we know it
(I I am am not alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it
(I I am am not alone)
It's the end of the world as we know it
And I feel fine…"

"Michael Stipe, you don't know the half of it." Starkweather grumbled as she flipped the station. She couldn't deny that a lot of the police evidence piled up against Mulder was circumstantial.

"I know your only protecting yourself
I know your thinking of somebody else
Some people look for a miracle cure
Some people just accept the world as it is
But I know this is a fight I can't lose
The accused is an innocent man"

Starkweather was thrilled at that moment that she just pulled up into Scully's place. It hit her as she ascended in the elevator. Doggett could have easily been set up, or herself for that matter. It made sense that Mulder would have been set up, but she still needed proof that he didn't commit the crime.

She approached Scully's door with a great deal of apprehension. After all, she did just destroy the X-Files Shrine. Maybe she shouldn't own up to that just yet.

"Starkweather, come in, I've got pizza on the way. I'm...uh...sorry for your loss." Scully said rather awkwardly with a strained, thin, smile crossing her lips, and ushered her on the couch. "Doggett's on his way. I've got some fresh coffee brewing if you'd like some."

"That'd be great, Scully, thanks. Listen...about what happened this morning with Mulder..."

"Starkweather, it's alright." Scully consented, rising to get the coffee. "I know what it's like..." she handed her the mug, "not to belittle your situation, but the strange thing about what you did is that I've seen Mulder act the exact same way." She buried her head sheepishly in her hands. "If I wasn't around a bunch of people when I first met Doggett, I would have done a lot more harm than get his face wet. It's forgiven and forgotten."

"Do you have any idea why Doggett asked me here?" Starkweather questioned, taking a long gulp of coffee.

"I think it has something to do with the case. I've got something to show you. I want you to know that I still count you as an ally, whether you think Mulder is guilty or not."

"I appreciate that..." Starkweather hesitated, "but there's something else you should know before you stick up for me..."

"Just because Skinner threatened to transfer you doesn't mean we're going to let it happen..." Scully started.

"That's not it..." Starkweather said sheepishly.

"What is it?" Scully asked harboring a quizzical smile across her face.

"Gravity." Starkweather replied slowly

"Huh?"

"I was looking for anything that might help Doggett's case," Starkweather began sheepishly, "and I kind of knocked everything off the shrine. The mug...everything...I'll replace the mug, of course..."

"That's all right Starkweather," Scully said with a groan. "I dunno why we keep his old desk like that. While he was missing it was a way of keeping him in that office, as though he'd be coming back. Doggett kept it up out of respect for me, but eventually when Reyes gets back full time, we'd have to make room for her. I appreciate your honesty."

"Well," Starkweather replied. "I'll go in tomorrow and put the mess back. Any new light on the case?"

Just then the doorbell rang. Just behind a youth with a face just as pepperonied as the pizza in the box he was carrying came Sam. He took the box and paid for it.

"You didn't have to do that, John." Scully said with a broad smile.

"Consider it a consolation prize." Sam said dryly.

"Scully," he said, setting the pizza box down on the kitchen counter, "I want you to explain to Starkweather exactly why Mulder couldn't have been guilty of killing her husband." He felt like a parent talking two kids out of a fight.

It was Scully's turn to hesitate, she prolonged the answer by playing hostess. "I'll get some plates."

"I need to hear why you think Mulder's innocent of his charges, Scully." Starkweather started.

"Starkweather, the e-mail I was printing out earlier is something I want you to look at." Scully said, skillfully skirting the question Sam had wanted her to answer. "I had Byers scan me a copy of Mulder's phone records and email all his e-mails, from both his work account and personal account. They're all to either people with the FBI or the Gunmen. Not one of those numbers is questionable. None of his e-mails are questionable either...well...unless you count his sense of humor...but his behavior is completely in line."

"You asked me here to get me to believe Mulder's innocent?" Starkweather demanding, her eyes glancing from Scully to Doggett. "That is fucking incredible..." she murmured.

"Starkweather," Sam began desperately, "look, if it *was* a set-up for what happened on that oilrig case, I could have just as easily been set up as Mulder was, or Scully."

"We're not trying to persuade you to believe anything, Starkweather." Scully argued. "We're trying to find the truth here. I understand that the grief is clouding your judgment right now, but I think you missed one clear piece of evidence."

"And what was that?" Starkweather questioned fiercely.

"That all the evidence built up against Mulder was circumstantial." Scully finished, sighing exasperatingly.

"They are about to hang someone over proof no more solid than"--he saw Al appear in a shadow just then, "a hologram." Sam offered.

"Look Starkweather," Scully persisted angrily, "The reason I know positively beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is innocent of those charges is" here she glanced warningly at Sam, who in kind gave her an urging nod, "he was with me that night." She finished softly with a sigh.

*Busy bunnies* Al mouthed from his shadows. Sam shot him an annoyed glare.

"Oh God." Starkweather whispered. "Scully...I didn't....well, I did but...Jesus fucking Christ, Scully...I'm really sorry."

"Starkweather, it's alright...you didn't know." She looked apologetically up at Sam. "Nobody knew."

"I think they got the idea when Will came along." Al couldn't help himself from whispering, earning him another warning glare from Sam.

"Who said that?" Starkweather demanded, snapping around in the direction of the whisper. Sam feigned ignorance. "Damn, I need to lay off the coffee. Ever since this whole thing exploded, I've been hearing things. You think the alien DNA is contagious?"

"Do you still think Mulder's guilty of killing your husband?" Scully softly persisted.

Starkweather bit her lip, pressing her palm in her forehead with her elbow propped on the edge of the couch. "I don't know what to think, Scully. If he was with you...I believe you...but if he's innocent of these charges..." her voice wavered and her lips quivered as she made the realization. "...then there's only one other likely possibility here..."

"Your father?" Sam finished for her, and over her shoulder, gave an urging glance over at Al.

*I'll find what I can* Al mouthed. Starkweather bolted up the minute the click and sweep of the chamber door resounded.

"I'm losing my fucking mind." Starkweather mumbled.

"Starkweather," Scully hesitated, "If you want a transfer still..."

"No." she answered firmly, "This is the only way I can protect Ben's memory..." a thin smile crossed her lips, "by fighting the Dark Side. So...where do we start looking for evidence."

"Doggett and I will handle gathering evidence. Starkweather," Scully insisted gently, "you have to take time for yourself now."

"I *need* to find the truth, Scully."

"I know you need to find the truth, but you won't find it with a clear head." Sam insisted.

"Sometimes," Scully said thoughtfully, "the truth is like rain--repressing, oppressing, comforting, gray, and drenching all at once but in the same composition, refreshing and life-giving; offering rainbows or clear skies at its end. Get out of the rain for a little while, Starkweather. You need to rest."

Sam drove Starkweather home. During the pow wow, he couldn't help but notice that Starkweather had kept nodding off, jerking her head up whenever she started to doze off. Her exhaustion caused her to miss another opportunity to formally meet Agent Reyes as she came over to sit with Will again. Starkweather just sort of mumbled hello with her eyes closed as Sam lead her out the door.

In her daze, Starkweather went to her car, dropping the keys on the sidewalk. Sam scooped them up. "Uh-uh, you're coming with me."

"Aw, Doggett, come on..." Starkweather complained. "I'm not that feeble."

"But you're exhausted," Sam argued. "And it's been proven that more automotive accidents are caused by sleep deprivation than drunken driving. I'll take you home."

And so, as Sam took her to her apartment, she had fallen asleep, her head leaning again the window. Sam kept stealing looks at her. She was still wearing the white shirt and black dress slacks she had on this morning when they went to the police station. The cast was gone though, replaced by a slender white splint that molded to her wrist. Her hair, lock by lock, was beginning to escape the military perfect bun she usually styled her hair in.

Sam parked Doggett's truck in front of Starkweather's apartment building. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror.

Doggett's tired face stared back at him. Huge purple-smudges ringed the icy blue eyes. The lines in the craggy face looked even deeper than before. He needed a shave. He needed to sleep, perhaps even worse than Starkweather. He had almost nodded off a few times himself as he drove Starkweather home.

"Starkweather?" he said gently. "Jerilyn? Hey, wake up."

"Huh?" Starkweather's eyes popped out as if waking up from a bad dream, then her eyes fluttered shut again.

Sam smiled wryly. He got out and walked around the truck to Starkweather's side. He carefully pried Starkweather's house keys out of her hands. He picked her up and slid her out of the truck. Awkwardly, he managed to hit the power locks of the trucks, then kicked the door shut. Starkweather never stirred.

Sam carried her up the stairs to her apartment and into the living room, placing her gently on the sofa. He found two pillows and propped them behind her head. Then he fumbled through her darken apartment to hopefully find blankets.

In the process, he tripped over the cat that was laying peacefully in front of the open doorway to Starkweather's bedroom

"Ooff!," Sam landed face first.

He could have sworn he heard the cat snickering.

Grabbing a quilt off of the bed, he went back to the living room. He covered Starkweather. But she still looked dreadfully uncomfortable, so Sam tilted her head up just a bit and one by one, plucked the hairpins out so she wouldn't be laying on an uncomfortable knot of hair. The only sounds in the moonlit apartment was the **plink plink** of metal hairpins dropping on the coffee table. Starkweather, as if drugged, never even stirred.

Sam gently lowered her head back on the pillow, pushing her long, thick hair out of her face. He pushed her heavy bangs out of her eyes and noticed an odd looking scar on her forehead ::Wonder how she got that::Sam wondered. He noticed that, even in sleep, her brow was crinkled in dismay and her lips were turned down. Not even in sleep was Starkweather getting a reprieve from the guilt and sorrow that hounded her.

Sam turned his attention to her socks and shoes, lifting the blanket off her feet so he could remove her sensible black penny loafers, shined to a military spit polish. Starkweather moved slightly, giggling just a little in her sleep as Sam slipped her shoes and socks off.

Sam could not suppress a grin, "Ticklish, huh?" he said quietly as he turned back to look at her face, which looked a little more peaceful. "Sorry," he whispered as he kissed her cheek.

"SAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM," Out of nowhere, Al's voice, chock full of warning rang out. Sam turned and saw Al glowering at him at the foot of the couch. "Uh-uh, she's a married woman."

Meanwhile... Starkweather twitched... dreaming.

Later...
The Mayor's office
City Hall
Washington DC

The Admiral sunk into the Mayor's comfortable leather sofa. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. The Mayor went to his little private wet bar and prepared two stiff drinks. "I made you a double, Jeremy," he said, handing him the glass.

The Admiral took a long pull from the glass, letting Dr. Jack Daniels work his miracle cure. "Deputy Director Kersh seems to have forgotten himself," he mumbled.

"I'll say... Jesus, Jeremy... I thought you said you have control over him?"

The Admiral shook his head miserably. "Control is an illusion. I haven't had control over anything for the past twenty-eight years." He turned to look at an ashen-faced Mayor. "Oh relax," he chuckled. "I still have the power to destroy Kersh's career if push comes to shove. The gun just surprised me though. So not Kersh's style. He's not really into blatant threats, just slithering innuendoes, like a rattlesnake sliding through the desert sands, waiting for a victim to pounce on."

The Mayor took a swallow of liquid courage before continuing. "Jeremy," he said seriously. "I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, what you've been involved with for the past thirty years. I don't know what strings you pulled to get me this position. And now the strings you pulled are going to strangle me."

The Admiral looked at his old friend. "I never meant to get you involved this deeply."

"This deeply! Do you realize what I stand to lose?" The Mayor looked out of the window at the city below him. "My job... my family... Jesus, I have my daughter to think of. My granddaughter as well."

"I have my daughter to think of as well," The Admiral retorted hotly.

"YOUR daughter?" The Admiral turned to face him. "YOUR daughter?" He snorted with ironic laughter. "I hired Mulder, as a favor, to you, to protect YOUR daughter. Now, this man, who I actually like and respect very much; this same man you begged him to find the truth to protect YOUR daughter, is rotting in jail for something we both know he damn well didn't do to once again, protect YOUR daughter."

"If I didn't help set Mulder up, Jerilyn would be dead. I don't know how they figured out I went to Mulder and Scully for help, but they did and they threatened to kill Jerilyn. They almost succeeded twice before. I didn't want to find out that the third time was going to be the charm so, against my better judgement, I went along with it... and sacrificed not only Mulder... but my son-in-law in the process."

The Mayor went to the Admiral and took his glass. As he prepared two double strength Jack and Cokes, he asked quietly, "Jeremy... you know... and I know that Benjamin Starkweather isn't dead."

The Admiral jerked his head up. "How did you find out?"

The Mayor handed his friend, his buddy from the nightmarish haze that was Vietnam, whose life he saved, who had been trying to repay him for his heroic deed ever since. "I have a dirty cop on the take. A Detective Somerset. The Chief and I have been after him for years. But he's worse than Teflon. Anyway, two and a half years ago, we assigned Carillo to go on deep undercover on this case we've been building against Somerset. For two years, Somerset has been buddy-buddy with Carillo and have been absolutely clueless."

"Carillo is good," The Admiral mumbled.

"Carillo is VERY good," The Mayor agreed. "But he hadn't been able to get anything on Somerset. Until today..." The Mayor sat on his desk, folded his arms. "Right before we went to our happy meeting with Deputy Director Snakebite, I got a call from Carillo. He thought it was a little fishy that Somerset had such a hard-on for Mulder..."

The Mayor took another sip of his drink before continuing. "Especially since all the evidence was circumstantial. Especially since all the evidence is still circumstantial. No matter how many judges that little shit Justin Leo has up his sleeve, the DA is MY friend and she is drooling for a judgeship." The Admiral looked up at his friend in surprise but the Mayor kept talking. "She would not allow herself to be made a fool of and bring a weak case to trial, especially if she knows that bringing Mulder to full trial would piss me off. She knows the case is too full of holes. Motive yes, but she has to rely on the word of two drugged-out car thieves, she has no murder weapon and the accused spent the night at Agent Scully's. The DA would plead-bargain it and get him off with time served."

"How does Somerset fit in?" The Admiral asked wearily.

"Somerset is caught on tape," The Mayor took a security cam tape out of his briefcase. "Carillo's got a copy, the Chief's got a copy, the morgue... Washington Hospital reported theft of a body... a burn victim... from their morgue late last night..." the Mayor said smoothly, "know anything about it?"

The Admiral hung his head. "So that's where the body came from."

The Mayor leaned forward. "It's only a matter of time, Jeremy. Carillo doesn't think Mulder's guilty, he's using the man as a front to get to Somerset to get to the man he's working for. Somerset's under twenty-four hour surveillance, Leo is a heartbeat away from getting disbarred, the evidence is mounting, Carillo is ready to pounce."

"The minute Carillo pounces, both Jerilyn and Ben are dead," the Admiral protested.

"The minute Carillo pounces, EVERYTHING comes out in the open and I'm out of a job. If I'm out, Mulder is out too." The Mayor sighed. "And to think... I helped the Chief start his undercover campaign for Somerset. Now it's going to bite me in the ass... unless you and I find a way to solve this, quickly and quietly."

"You don't know these people," the Admiral said quietly.

"Then you better give me a crash course," the Mayor said firmly. "Because I am not going to lose the job that I love or risk the well-being of my family because I allowed myself not to be educated about the risks."

"The best defense you can take," the Admiral said. "Is to stay out of it and let me take care of this. These people are ruthless. Twelve years ago, I threatened to blow their conspiracy to the media and let the press try them." The Admiral was very quiet for a moment. "They killed Lynette."

The Mayor looked confused. "I thought your first wife died of cancer?"

The Admiral glared at him, "They killed Lynette," he repeated himself. "And they promised me if I played by their rules, not only would I have all the political clout I could ever dream off, but Jerilyn would not be harmed."

"Looks like they're not keeping up with their end of the bargain if they're still after her." The Admiral fell silent again. The Mayor cleared his throat. "Look, say what you want, but I'm in this up to my neck. I'm not staying out so I need you to tell me the truth."

"What truth is that?"

The Mayor ran his fingers through his hair. "Jeremy... you know I love Jerilyn too... I watched her grow up, I was at her wedding, she was bright as a button as a kid and she's grew up to be a pretty great person but... Jeremy... admit it... she's not exactly..." he searched for an appropriate word, "normal? I guess? Am I right?"

"You are right," he said slowly. "Jerilyn is very special."

"Jeremy... buddy... whose daughter is she?"

County Jail
DC

Mulder sat after the trial with a dejected expression on his face.

"Tough day man?" Manny asked sympathetically.

"Well...they set bail at this insane amount, so there's no way I'm getting out before the trial."

"You got a lawyer?"

"Yeah...I've got this guy who offered to take the case for free--"

"Oh...one of them spring chickens who need a case."

"Not quite..." Mulder said with a heavy sigh, "He offered my services for his."

"What do you do?"

"I'm an FBI agent." Mulder said disinterestedly.

"Really? I guess lawyers need protection." Manny remarked flatly.

"So what do you do?"

"A little of this, a little of that...mostly I'm in agricultural enhancement." Manny shrugged.

"When my partner and I were off my Division, we were placed dealing with shit...literally."

"Manure?" Manny finished incredulously.

"Yep...the powers that be tried to shut our division down, and they sent us on the crap cases... investigating farms and manure and stuff."

"Oh man...that stinks."

"No pun intended, huh?"

"Right..."

"Well, believe what you want, but it's the truth. I've investigated conspiracies, aliens, freaks of nature..."

"That's just plain bizarr-o, man."

"No... that liver-eating mutant...*that* was bizarr-o."

"Hombre, you're a nice guy, so I'm gonna tell you this for your own good. Lay off the science fiction flicks."

"Oh man...science fiction makes up half my video collection!" Mulder announced excitedly.

"What makes up the other half?"

"Porn." Mulder answered flatly.

"No kidding!" Manny whispered. "That's scary..."

"Not half as scary as this smoking guy who has the FBI under his thumb."

"What's the dude's name?"

"Doesn't have one." Mulder said shaking his head, "We just call him the Smoking Man... evil doesn't need a name to be identified."

Later that night
Martha's Vineyard

The Admiral, carrying a duffel bag and a small bag of groceries, let himself into his summerhouse he hadn't been to in over fifteen years. However, he made a tidy little profit by renting it out to vacationers. He knew that it was going to be empty for the next two weeks before the new renters came down to escape from the pressures of the city. Plus, he could take a look-see to make sure it was still in pristine condition... which, naturally as he only rented it out to extremely wealthy people, it was. Plus, his current wife, the Honorable Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, United States Senator for Arizona, used it quite often to entertain guests and potential political allies. She always double-checked to make sure it was in shipshape condition.

The Admiral knew a pang of guilt. Not only has he not called his daughter, but his wife. He liked Jenny, they had always been friends but they did not married because of unbridled passion for each other. They needed to form an alliance, so, much like ancient Rome, where men wed their friends' daughters to earn their respect and support, the Admiral and Jenny married each other so they could both reap the benefits of their political clout. And with a Republican president in the White House, Jenny's clout increased tenfold.

But even Jenny was on a leash. Jenny's power would remain as long as she voted the way THEY wanted her to vote. So she did. She lobbied hard against ethanol, alienating herself from the Iowan, South Dakotan and Nebraskan senators whose state economies depended on the fuel from corn to sustain their small state. But Jenny wouldn't budge. If the country went from petroleum to ethanol, it would become increasingly difficult to smuggle the lethal black oil into the country. If ethanol was approved and became mainstream... the oil company that Doggett and Mulder risked their lives on and which Kersh received healthy dividends on would lose their contracts with the military bases... military bases who coincidentally had planes go off radar and crash miles and miles and miles off target... such as the plane Starkweather, Scully and Doggett investigated in Scotland just a month and a half ago....

The Admiral closed his eyes. ::I am doing the right thing, I am doing the right thing::he told himself as he put his groceries away in the kitchen.

But his mind's eye betrayed him and replayed a scene from the not-so-distant past:

A month and a half ago...
The Admiral's house
Sedona, Arizona

"So, you met Deputy Mayor Mulder," he got right to the point.

"Yes."

"What did you think?"

"He's insane... 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...

(From Starkweather: Introitus)

::"But why me? What did I do?"::::

Sitting on the porch, alone not even the roars of the ocean at sunset could banish his daughter's broken voice from the Admiral's ears. "Angel, I don't know... but I'm going to find out... and I'll get Ben home to you... I just don't know how yet..."

He didn't know how much time on the big clock was left for either Mulder or Ben. He knew he had taken a big risk going to Mulder to ask him to help him protect Jerilyn but he was running out of options. Mulder had been the logical answer. But the Admiral had a sinking feeling that it was only a matter of time before the Syndicate would wise up, stop playing Austin Powers/Dr. Evil World Domination games with Mulder and just kill him off for good. Ben, on the other hand, was a different story. He was a civilian in this war, the classic case of wrong place, wrong time.

::But I don't even know where to look or where he is::he mourned to himself. ::And I don't know where else to go for help.::He turned his head to pop his neck and looked over at the little bungalow a few yards away... the answer hit him... "Scully..." he said aloud.

He had been a good friend with Agent Scully's father while they were both in the Navy. They had been stationed at the same time in San Diego and on the recommendation of another mutual friend of theirs, vacationed out at Martha's Vineyards one fine summer. The Admiral smiled as he remembered the good times... little Dana Scully, dirty and barefooted, running after her hulking brothers on the beach, just to prove she could keep up with the boys. Maggie Scully and Lynette sitting on the porch, either playing cards or working on various sewing projects; Lynnette was always making fancy quilts or frilly dresses for Jeri, when Jeri would wear frilly dresses while Maggie patched the boys and Dana's torn jeans and overhauls. He and William Scully would usually get the boat out and go deep sea fishing together, talking shop and talking about family life. And Melissa Scully, luminous and spiritual even at that tender age, would stay and watch the baby Jeri. In fact, Jeri's first words were not "mama" or "dada" but "Missy."

The smile faded from the Admiral's lips.... just two miles away from here was the Mulder summer home, where a thirteen year old Fox Mulder struggled through his first summer without his sister, not realizing how close he was to his future partner who, at the time, was a grubby little tomboy. Neither Dana, nor her brothers nor her parents, nor Lynette and certainly not little Jeri knew what the future held. Teena Mulder and her son certainly did not know what was going to happen either... but the Admiral did. And Bill Mulder did. Bill Mulder was the one who clued him on what the future held.

The Admiral went inside and went to the picture hanging over the fireplace. He took it down and turned it around. Taking his pocketknife out, he flipped it open and cut down the back of it. A letter, hidden for twenty-seven years fell out. He picked up the letter and unfolded it... reading it for the first time in almost three decades.

He placed it on the coffee table, partially hiding it under some magazines. He would call Dana Scully tomorrow. He would invite her here in the guise of helping her clear Mulder's name when actually, she would be helping him save Jerilyn and Ben's life.

After Lynette's death, Jerilyn was all that he had.

A couple of hours later in the same Jail cell...

"...you like porn huh?" Mulder asked.

"What guy doesn't?" Manny returned.

"You ever see Forrest Hump?"

"Space Kittens From Mars..."

"Yeah. Oooohhhhh...I didn't know that position was humanly possible..."

"Don't laugh, but I got the most hard ones off of Madonna's Erotica." Manny said sheepishly.

"Bwaahahahaha!" was all Mulder contributed to the rest of that conversation. He was still bursting out laughing when Scully approached.

Manny and Mulder both exchanged glances and burst out laughing.

"Mulder...I'm glad you two howler Monkeys find me so amusing..." Scully started flatly.

"Monkeys!" Manny blurted out, sending the two into fits of laughter.

"Mulder...I can come back another time if this isn't working." Scully said crossly.

"Scully...I'm sorry," Mulder tried to apologize wiping tears of laughter away from his eyes. "Hey Manny, this is my partner, Scully. Scully, Manny the Illegal Alien"

Scully was not amused. "Manny, do you think you can give us a little privacy here, man."

"Sure, I'll uh, make myself scarce here."

"Thanks, Manny." Scully said. "Glad to see your playing nice with your roommates Mulder." Scully said with a slight grin.

"Where's Boo?"

"It's after 9 o’clock at night, Mulder, he's sleeping. I left Reyes with him."

"Scully, what color license plate do you want? I've been looking at the activity schedule, and we've got poetry coming up..."

"Mulder..." Scully said, taking his hand through the bars, "you're innocent. You're going to be home next week. Skinner, Doggett and I have already got leads we're looking into and we'll find out who really did this."

"Well, that's good, Scully, because orange is not my color." He smirked.

"Don't do this, Mulder...please...no jokes. We're doing everything humanly and nonhumanly possible to get you out of this. Just hang in there, alright?"

"You better, I don't think a jail is a good place to bring Will. I mean, no offense Manny, but you wouldn't make the best Uncle."

"I don't think the Lone Gunmen are a good influence on him either, but I still let them come over." Scully said with a small smile. "I'm not going to let them keep you here for long. Don't forget that."

"Scully, you and Will are my freedom." He said softly, caressing her face.

"I'll bring a barfbag when I come next time." Scully said with a slight smile, voice quivering and eyes tearing.

"Scully, this place has so much potential for us here." Mulder was saying, "I mean... bars... handcuffs... public place...this is a 900 caller's fantasy."

"Mulder you better watch it, if you take a cold shower around here you have to take it with some ex-con named Barry."

"Oooohh...people watching us...Scully! You little sex-kitten! I didn't know you had it in you!" Mulder teased.

"Mulder, don't think I won't be able to kick your ass from here." Scully threatened.

"Oooohhh, S&M...even kinkier!" Mulder smirked.

"Mulder..." Scully said, sighing defeatedly.

"This is nothing, Scully...just wait...a month down the road with no women around...unless you count Klinger impersonators."

"Mulder, before me how long had it been since you were laid? Ten years?" Scully returned.

"Yeah, well...chasing little gray men and mutants kept me from dating. How about you? You didn't have much of a sex life before me, either...that vampire with the bucked teeth?"

"He did NOT have bucked teeth!" Scully protested.

"Yeah...neither did Bugs Bunny."

"Two words for you Mulder...Diana Fowley" Scully said with a grin.

"Two words for you Scully...Daniel Waterson." Mulder retorted. Scully was opened and shut her mouth a couple of times before she realized that Mulder was going to have the last word.

"Cheap shot, Mulder." Scully admonished.

"Yeah well...you must be losing it, Scully...'cheap shot' is the best comeback you can think of?" Mulder taunted.

"It's late..." Scully began.

"Yeah...you better get back, I bet Boo misses his Mommy."

"He misses you too, you know." She said softly

"Yeah...I know..." Mulder croaked.

"What's that noise?" Scully said as she heard sniffling in the corner.

"I think someone forgot to turn off the waterworks." Mulder said in his monotone.

"You guhihihis...you're like...Bogie and Becall...better....*sniff!* than Bogie and Becall"

*Bogie and Becall?* Mulder mouthed to Scully.

"You know, they both want to be together *sniff!* but they can't. It's soo beeeeeeeeautiful *Pfffffmmmmmmmmmt* said Manny blowing his nose.

"Scully!" Mulder begged with desperation.

"Mulder, you two were getting along. Why...of all the offices...in all of Washington, did you hafta walk into mine..."

"Uhhhh...you walked into mine, Scully." Mulder retorted.

"Mulder, do a Bogie impression and I'll kick your ass."

"Scully...just get me outta here, please." He pleaded almost in jest.

"Don't hold your breath, Bogie, I've got Dolf Lundren waiting at the airport for me." she said with a sly grin on her face and with that, decided to leave.

Meanwhile...
The Lone Gunman's Lair

Langly, the insomniac, was the one who noticed the persistent knocking on the door. Byers, not a night owl by nature, escaped to the small room in their secret compound that he had commandeered as his private bedroom. Frohike, meanwhile, had fallen asleep at his computer console, mumbling incoherently in his sleep.

Langly continued to work on by himself for a little while, but eventually, frustrated by his lack of progress, gave up and hopped online to play "EverQuest."

So deeply into the game, it took a little while for Langly to notice the knocking on the door, but eventually it got loud enough to annoy him. Langly checked out the video monitor that fed him images of the outside world. A figure, dressed in a long black trench coat and wearing a black hat was persistently pounded on the dress.

Langly licked his lips. He may look like a scrawny chicken man, but he was just as brave as Mulder or Doggett... when he had to be. He picked up a wrench and went to the door. Clenching the wrench tightly in his hands, he called out, as intimidating as he could with his nasally voice "Who's there?"

The knocking stopped. Langly stood there for at least five minutes. He turned back to check the monitor. There was no one there, but there was a package on the doorstep.

Langly put the wrench down and went to Frohike: "Dude, wake up."

Frohike murmured "Dana... my pet..."

"Oh BARF," Langly groaned. He shook Frohike awake. "Dude, GET UP. I need your help."

"Huh?" Frohike joined the world of the living. "Langly, what the Sam hell are you doing?"

Langly filled him in. "I'll cover your back, you get the package."

"Wait a minute, why should I have to go out? YOU go out there and I'll cover your back."

They argued like that, wasting more time until Langly said: "Let's get Byers to get the package."

"Now you're thinking," Frohike went to wake Byers.

Byers, in a black T-shirt and blue boxer shorts with purple and green polka dots stumbled out after Frohike. Yawning enormously, he asked. "Wha'?"

"Get the box that's on the doorstep," Langly told him, picking up the wrench again. Frohike found a dusty, never used tennis racket and poised by the door, ready.

Made stupid by lack of sleep Byers mumbled, "Oh, okay." Langly unlocked the door and threw it open. Byers stepped out, picked up the box and carried it inside without incident. Langly slammed the door shut and locked it.

Starting to wake up a bit, Byers asked "What is this?"

"We don't know," Langly said and he filled him in on what he saw.

Which woke Byers up completely. "You-you-you l-let me go out there!!!" he sputtered furiously.

"Hey, buddy, we had your back," Frohike said as Langly got out a stethoscope and a small metal detector.

Langly swept the metal detector over the box without getting so much as a crackle. He then listened to its contents with the stethoscope. "Nada," he concluded. "It ain't a bomb." He reached into one of their many junk drawers and pulled out an exactor knife. "I'm gonna open it."

"If Gwyneth Paltrow's head is in there, I'm gonna puke," Frohike mumbled.

"Shh," Byers hushed him, scratching his beard as Langly put on a pair of latex gloves before starting his work.

Langly carefully cut through the paper wrapping and sliced through the duct tape that kept the box shut. Uneasily he opened the box lid. "Oh man..."

"What?" Byers asked as he and Frohike came closer. "What is it?"

"Well, it ain't Gwyneth Paltrow's head... but there's blood."

"Blood?" Byers instantly paled.

Langly lifted out two plastic vials of blood. "What the fuck, man?" Langly quailed.

Frohike adjusted his glasses and peered at the vials. "They look like blood samples... like from a hospital," he observed. "They're labeled too... I can't read 'em from this far away, what do they say?" he stood on tiptoe to try to get a better look while Byers put a pair of latex gloves on his shaking hands.

Langly put one vial down. He read the label on the vial he held to himself. "What the fuck...?" he repeated as Byers took the vial Langly had put down.

"What IS it, Blondo?" Frohike snapped.

"Mulder," Langly read, "Fox, William."

"WHAT?" Frohike exclaimed.

"And this one reads, Starkweather, Jerilyn M.B." Byers said.

"I don't get it," Langly said. "What the hell is someone doing sending up *blood*, an' Mulder and Starkweather's blood, of all things?"

"And how do we know if it's really theirs?" Byers reasoned. "We could very well be set up on a wild goose chase."

"We compare it with other DNA samples." Frohike went to the closet and pulled out the coat he had been wearing the first and last time he had been to the Starkweathers. He pulled off a long blond strand of hair that had clung to his coat via static electricity. "Girl sheds like a cat," he grunted, putting the hair into a jar. "Almost two months later and I'm still picking her hair off of my clothes."

"Alright," Byers said. "But what do we have of Mulder's that was can test against?"

The Lone Gunmen pondered for a bit. Then Langly remembered something. "His puke!"

"WHAT??" Byers and Frohike asked in unison.

"Remember after our... um... unsuccessful visit to the Starkweathers, Mulder had gotten sick," Langly went on. "When we got 'im to Scully's, he threw up on her shoes. Well, some of the barf got onto some of my clothes too... wait a minute..." and he bounded off.

Frohike grumbled. "No wonder this place stinks."

Byers, meanwhile busied himself, examining the box. "There's an envelope in here," he said, taking it out.

Langly came out again, holding a pair of jeans and one sock, stained with vomit. Frohike sniffed and gagged. "Gross."

"Do you think it will work?" Langly asked. "I mean... these stains are pretty old."

"Just think how old the stains were on Monica Lewinsky's dress," Frohike pointed out, holding his nose. "It should work."

"Guys, listen to this," Byers said, reading the letter he had taken out of the envelope:

"The truth is not out there
It's in here."

"And these two color photo copies were enclosed with the letter," Byers laid the last two pages on the counter top.

"Pictures of kids?" Frohike asked, looking at the photocopies.

"Not just any kids," Byers said, pointing to the typewriter names and dates on the pages.

"Holy shit," Langly said, looking at the picture of the little boy. "Fox Mulder, September 15, 1969."

Frohike read aloud the name and date on the picture of the little girl. "Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather, September 8, 1981." He looked up. "Pictures of Mulder and Starkweather when they were age 8."

"Are we sure it's really pics of them?" Langly asked even though they all knew the answer. It was undeniable. The little boy had a small birthmark on his face in the same place Mulder did. The little girl's nose was crinkled in amusement the same way Starkweather's did when she was privately laughing at some joke.

"And look at this," Byers, using his hands, covered up the long braids that hung down, in front of Starkweather's ears.

Langly and Frohike looked. "Holy Jesus Christ on a Pogo Stick," Langly burst out.

"Looks like the same kid, doesn't it?" Byers said. He picked up Starkweather's vial of blood. "Make some coffee, Langly," he said with a sigh. "Looks like we're going to have a long night...."

The figure in the black trench coat had waited patiently in the shadows until the tall man with the beard came out and picked up their gift from her. Only then did she slip into her car, take off her hat, shaking her platinum blonde hair out of its bun and drove away without looking back.

Marita Covarubias knew that these men had helped the X-Files in the past. She knew that they would get conclusive proof of the truth that the Cancer Man had desperately tried to hide. She knew she was endangering the project with the truth, but she had motive. She had been scorned by the Cancer Man and hell hath no fury...

The Syndicate had been running fine until the old man seized control again. Now they were back in the olden days of long drawn out conspiracies and complicated plans and other such foolishness. Like keeping Ben Starkweather alive. This idiotic plan of planting a fake body, forging the dental records and trying to entice Ben into working for them was ridiculous. But, as usual, CSM wasn't listening to anybody and everyone else was too scared to stand up to him, herself included.

Eventually, Mulder and Starkweather would have to be taken out... but first, let them to the dirty work of distracting the Cancer Man. Maybe they'll even get lucky and do what she and Krycek couldn't... which was wipe him out. Permanently.

Starkweather dreamt she was in a kitchen of a modest one story, three-bedroom home with a large front yard and an even bigger backyard. Big enough for a small vegetable garden, a swingset, a playhouse and a flower bed.

She dreamt she was standing at the counter, slicing vegetables from her garden for a salad as she talked on the phone. "That would be awesome if you could do that... as long as you don't care... let me ask..." she turned around to look at the little girl playing with a kitten at the kitchen table, "Bailey," she said firmly, "what did we say about animals on the table?"

The little girl looked up at her with brilliantly beautiful blue eyes "We said no animals on the kitchen table," she said sliding the kitten off the table into her lap.

"Alright then, say..." she softened her tone, "your Aunt Dana called, she wants to know if you and your brother want to spend the night at their house and watch movies."

"Can I watch movies then come home?" the little girl asked hopefully.

"You don't want to sleep over?" Starkweather asked her.

The little girl shook her head. "Fox might miss me," she said, hugging her kitten tightly, nearly squishing him. The kitten looked up at Starkweather as if to say: "Kill me now."

"Honey, you're going to squeeze the life out of him, remember, he's only a baby, hold him like a baby, hold on Scully," she said into the phone before she put it down to teach her daughter how to hold a kitten. "That's better. Well... if you don't want to spend the night, I suppose you don't have too. Why don't you and..." she grimaced as she said the kitten's name "*Fox* go play in the back yard until your dad comes home." Bailey, carefully cradling the kitten in her arms, scampered out. "Well, Bailey doesn't want to spend the night because she wants to spend time with her new kitten... did Mulder get the thank you card from her? Okay... good... sure, I can send Will home for you. I'll talk to you later, bye..."

She left the kitchen and went to the front door and yelled at two little boys tearing around on their bikes. "WILL!!! YOUR MOM CALLED!!! SHE WANTS YOU TO COME HOME... AND JB.... YOU COME IN AND GET CLEANED UP BEFORE YOUR DAD GETS HOME!!!"

A desolate voice called back "Oh... alright..."

Before going back to the kitchen, Starkweather paused in front of the mirror over the fireplace of her cluttered living room, constantly littered with toys and books. She had tried to keep it neat, but with a pair of active and mischievous twins... it was impossible so she gave up. She took her glasses off and examined the crow's feet at her eyes. She couldn't help but notice just a touch of silver in her shoulder length brown hair. She wondered if she should start dying her hair again but really didn't want to.

She sure couldn't pose as a teenager anymore, but she still did not really look her age. She looked to be late twenties, early thirties, not staring forty straight in the face.

She had just started to slice up the rest of the cucumbers when she heard a familiar voice yell out over the slamming of the door. "Doc? I'm home!"

Starkweather rinsed her hands and walked out into the living room, drying her hands on a dishtowel that has seen better days.

It was undeniable that the little boy was hers. He had a moptop of dark brown hair and a pair of sparkling hazel eyes like her own. With a huge gap-tooth smile, he started up at his father.

Starkweather gasped when she looked at the man whose hand the boy was holding. He was tall, broad shouldered, with straight dishwater blond hair save for one lone lock of hair that had gone completely gray. He had kind eyes. But he was not her children's father.

She snatched the boy away from him and pulled her ever-faithful Baretta out of her ankle holster. "Who are you?" she said, holding her son, stepping away from the stranger, pointing her gun at him.

"Mom," the boy said calmly, taking the gun away from her as if it was a toy and handing it to the stranger. "His name is Sam and he said he can bring Dad home..."

Starkweather woke up with a gasp and found herself in the little apartment she had shared with Ben...

Meanwhile...

"Ticklish, huh?" Sam said quietly as he turned back to look at her face, which looked a little more peaceful. "Sorry," he whispered as he kissed her cheek.

"SAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM," Out of nowhere, Al's voice, chock full of warning rang out. Sam turned and saw Al glowering at him at the foot of the couch. "Uh-uh, she's a married woman."

Sam sighed forcefully. "I know," he snapped at Al. "But she's not happy though."

"Well, of course not, you dummy," Al lit up a cigar. "She thinks Ben's dead."

"Have you guys been able to get a lock on Ben's location?" Sam got back to business.

Al fussed with his hand held link. "Ziggy's still not completely up to speed, the virus is out of her, we're still cleaning up the mess that it left behind. The good news is that we don't have to worry about her crashing and burning anymore..."

"'And the villagers rejoiced'" Sam quoted Monty Python. "'Yay...'"

Al glowered at Sam, "How is it..." Al asked "that you can forgot almost all of American history but your Swiss Cheesed memory can remember 'The Holy Grail'?"

"Just lucky, I guess," Sam grinned for a minute before getting back to business. "Now, about Ben?"

"Oh yeah..." Al thumped the console. It squealed like a dying animal. "Well, so far, we've figured out that Ben's still in DC, which is good, but we can't get a lock on his exact location. Goush is working on that." Al smacked the console again. "As for other news... well, we've got four days left before Mulder gets his internal organs re-arranged... but I finally have some good news for you Sam... Sam... Sam, are you listening to me???"

Sam had been staring at Starkweather's sleeping face, watching her lips moving along with her dreams. "I heard you... it's about time that we got some good news..."

Al groaned, "Sam... look... I know... she's a great girl... I understand what you're going through..."

"Do you Al?" Sam snapped. "Do you really? Do you know what it's been like... these past fifteen years, drifting in and out of lives... getting so close to so many people... being treated like a son, a father, a brother, a lover, only to disappear out of their lives again and I can't even give them the courtesy of remembering their names. Not to mention the loved ones I may have back at home that I don't even remember... I don't even though if I'm married or not, Al... and don't you DARE tell me if I am or not... well," Sam looked at the floor for a minute, "I guess it wouldn't matter since I was instantly forget the minute I leapt into a new life, wouldn't I Al... Al... Al...?"

But Al had stopped listening to Sam. He was staring wide-eyed at Starkweather.

"Doggett?" Sam suddenly heard as he felt her hand, trembling, on his shoulder. "Please tell me you see a little man in an electric blue zoot suit and a butt-ugly tie," Starkweather said in a trembling voice as she locked eyes on Al.

"Um..." Sam tried to stall.

Al leapt into action, hoping that she would still be in the greylands between sleep and wakefulness. "He can't see me honey because you're still dreaming. Just close your eyes again and go back to sleep. Your nerves are shot from what happened today, just go back to sleep," he said in a lulling voice, as if trying to coax a child back to bed.

Sam noticed that Starkweather was not buying it. She leaned over and pinched Sam on the arm, hard.

Sam leapt up. "Ouch!!!" he cried, "What was that for?"

"You think I'd pinch myself????" Starkweather kicked off the covers and pulled her gun out of her holster.

Al dropped his arms, sagging in defeat. "Honey, that's not going to do any good."

Whispering to Sam, she said "Doggett, am I losing my mind or is there really a little dude smoking a cigar over there?"

Al burst out, "He can't me, only you can."

Sam mumbled lamely, "I don't see anything..." Starkweather started to shake. Sam, nervously asked, "Starkweather let me have the gun..."

Starkweather turned it on him. "Who are you?" she demanded as she took the safety off.

Sam thought very very quickly as he stared down the shaft of Starkweather's gun. Noting how badly her hands were trembling, Sam realized that she was one heartbeat away from becoming totally unhinged. With that realization, he took a chance, swinging his hands in an inside-out guarding block, knocking the gun from Starkweather's unsteady hands. He grabbed her shoulders and yelled at her, "Listen to me, Jerilyn, okay? It's ME. It's John Doggett," Sam lied, knowing that the truth would probably send her over the deep end. "I'm your partner, I'm your friend... Jesus, Jeri, look at me!!!" he shook her a little bit.

Starkweather twisted her way out of his grip. Sam tried to grab her again, but she leaped over the coffee table like a hurdler and snatched up her gun. Hands no longer shaking, she pointed it at Sam again. "Doggett," she informed him coolly, "NEVER calls me by my first name."

::SHIT!!!!!!!::Sam groaned to himself. "Starkweather-" he started up lamely, while watching Al who was standing behind Starkweather now. Al had tucked the console in his pocket and was trying to use sign language to him while at the same time mouthing a word, a monosyllabic word... it looked like...

"Doc..." Sam spluttered out. "You're being ridiculous!" he snapped, hoping he correctly guessed Al's charades and that he was nailing the character of John Doggett. "What is with you? Put that gun down!"

It worked. With a stifled sob, Starkweather safetied the gun and handed it to Sam. "I don't know..." she whimpered. "Jesus... I just came back from a month long medical leave... I haven't even been back two whole days and I'm being sent right back out again..." she put her hand to her head. "I just... I don't know... nothing seems real... I mean... it doesn't even FEEL like Ben's gone and now I'm SEEING things and I'm HEARING things...." Al decided that now would be a good time to leave.

When Al had left, Sam said, "There's no one here, honey."

Starkweather, dry-eyed but still over-emotional, started to shake again. She leaned against the wall, and slid down, holding herself. "Oh God, oh god, oh god..." she whispered as she hung her head. Sam went over to her in a shot and wrapped his big arms around her. She felt cold. She was in shock. Seeing Al was too much for her. "Come on Starkweather," he said, rocking her back and forth, wishing she'd cry or yell or do SOMETHING.

Finally, she came around, "I'm sorry I freaked out on you," she mumbled.

Sam laughed "It was the cherry on the Sundae from hell," he said.

Starkweather scootched closer to him and hugged him fiercely around the neck. "Is this nightmare going to end?" she asked.

"God, I hope so," Sam said to her, holding her tight. Then, to himself he muttered again. "God I hope so."

And so, huddled together like two refugees from a war-torn land, the agent and the time traveler fell asleep, only holding it together because they were holding each other.

The next morning...
Ben and Jeri's apartment
June 18, 2002
7:17 AM

Sam awoke, feeling bright sunshine on his face. His neck was one solid stress knot from sleeping leaning against a wall. He looked down and saw Starkweather's head resting on his chest. He craned his neck and noticed that in the crook of her legs, Caesar the cat was sunning himself, purring loudly, looking as smug as only a cat could.

Laughing a little, Sam leaned back against the wall. He rotated his neck in a vain attempt to work out the kinks. Then, he took Starkweather in his arms and scooped her up. Slowly, he stood up and staggered over to the sofa and laid her down. "Let's try this again," he said as he covered her up with the quilt. Caesar leapt upon the couch and sat on Starkweather's stomach, hissing and growling at Sam. When Sam tried to rearrange the blanket, Caesar swiped at him, claws extended, catching his hand.

"Ow!" Sam exclaimed, putting the scratches to his mouth, sucking on the wounds. Caesar merely glared and spit at him.

"He knows you aren't Doggett," Al said casually, suddenly appearing next to Sam.

"Al!!!" Sam said, "what the hell happened last night?"

Al sighed and started punching on the console, "Well, I told you that the virus left little surprises in Ziggy.... last night was one of them... fortunately, like I said... she's stable right now."

"But SHE isn't!" Sam gestured to the sleeping Starkweather. "Al... when I was looking down the barrel of that gun, I really thought I was going to bite the big one there for a second."

"Me too," Al said. "Buddy, I had to check my drawers for cake when all was said and done." Al cleared his throat. "And don't think for a moment that telling her the truth is going to make it okay. That will only send her screaming for the nearest padded cell... if she believes you."

"Al..." Sam said with a rueful smile. "I think it's time for you to get on those wings..."

"SaaaaaaaaaaaAM," Al whined. "I really hate doing the whole guardian angel crap."

"Would you prefer I have you dress in a diaper and boogey like the dancing baby from Ally McBeal?" Sam fired back.

Al rolled his eyes. "Angels we have heard on high..." he crooned out of tune.

"That's better," Sam said, scribbling a note to Starkweather. "Now... I'm going to go to Doggett's to take a shower and get some clean clothes. Before you don your halo for Starkweather, I need you to do something for me, Al."

"Name it buddy."

"Go pay a visit to the Deputy Mayor."

"Anything but that."

"AL," Sam hissed as he walked to the front door. "Mulder WILL figure out that I'm not Doggett. Just two days ago, I overheard him make the comment on why I didn't have a Southern accent anymore. I didn't know Doggett HAD a Southern accent."

"Oh," Al said, guiltily. "Hey, Sam? Doggett has a Southern accent."

"Gee thanks." Sam retorted. "Al... I need you to clue Mulder in on what's going on. He may be able to help us. Starkweather was in the process of finding a connection between the oilrig case and the case they had just worked on concerned a crashed F-15 in Scotland. But her concentration is shot to hell right now. Maybe Mulder can finish what she started. If we can make the connection, maybe we can stop this nightmare."

"Fine, fine... I'll go say hi to Spooky in Sing-Sing..." Al punched out...

Sam left the apartment.

The County Jailhouse
Washington DC
7:45 AM

Mulder, after returning to his cell after the insanely early breakfast, lay down on the bottom bunk. Manny had not returned to his cell, as his court appointed lawyer wanted to meet with him. So Mulder planned on enjoying a little bit of solitude.

It didn't last long.

"Hiya, Spooky," Al said, gnawing on his ever present cigar.

Mulder jumped and banged his head on the top bunk. "YEOWWW!!!"

The bored voice of the guard called out from the end of the hall. "Keep down, down there."

Mulder, rubbing his head, looked up. "AL???" he whispered incredulously. "You're back..."

"What can I say?" Al said drily. "I can't get enough of ya, baby."

Mulder reached out and watched his hand pass through Al's body. "This means Sam's back too..." Mulder remembered from last year, when Sam had leapt into Scully. A queasy feeling settled in his soul. "Um... how long have you guys been here..." assuming Sam was back in Scully.

"This is the third day." Al said, wondering why Mulder was turning very very green.

"And you waited until NOW to tell me?" Mulder said, clutching his stomach. "You mean to tell me that was **Sam** just walked out of here last night!" He went from green to grey. "Oh my God... the remarks I made last night about handcuffs and bars and being a sex-kitten... and yesterday, I made love to her... him... oh God..."

Al couldn't help himself but let Mulder torture himself for just a bit longer.

"In fact... we had sex not just yesterday morning, but the night before... and the night before..." Al arched an eyebrow at him. Mulder bridled at him. "Hey, we have eight years of stupidity to make up for..." now he went from grey to white. "... but the past three days... it wasn't Scully... I feel so dirty..."

Al let Mulder off the hook. "Mulder, you moron, Sam's not in Scully!"

"Oh." Feeling like a complete nitwit, Mulder tried to save face. "If Sam's not in Scully... who's he in?" A thought crossed his mind. "Starkweather?"

"No no, that would be too easy," Al sighed. "He's in Doggett."

Mulder's face color returned to normal as an evil grin crossed his face. "Sam's in the Puppy-Man?"

After all the grief Doggett-in-Sam had given him, Al couldn't help but grin nastily. "Puppy-Man, huh?" Al took out his Palm-Pilot "Memo to me...."

Georgetown
Scully's Residence
7:46 AM

"What the hell do you mean I can't go to Martha's Vineyard today?" Scully snapped into her phone.

"Scully, I hate to tell you this, but we have a review up before Kersh this morning at ten. Apparently, he's calling you, Doggett, Starkweather and me on Mulder's arrest and Ben Starkweather's murder."

"Sir, he can't do that! We have absolutely nothing that can implicate anybody on this case!"

"The fact is, Scully, that you have a history for covering for Mulder." Skinner said before he realized it.

"Sir, so do you." Scully replied frankly.

"You and I both know that, Scully, but at least Doggett and Starkweather will be there to back us up on this. Look, if there was anything I could do to stop this meeting, believe me, I would do it. But Martha's Vineyard will just have to be delayed a little bit."

"Delayed!" Scully erupted, "Sir! I was heading on my way out! If it is true that whoever is behind this is inside the FBI, then it is very possible that the evidence we need will be removed from the premises! I think it is very possible that this whole meeting is nothing more than a front to keep me from finding out what they don't want us to know."

"Scully, I just can't grant you a reprieve on this as much as I'd like to. The future of the x-files division may very well hinge on this meeting. We need your input on this matter. Besides," Skinner sighed grudgingly, "if you don't show up, that's just going to make it easier for them to hang you later."

"Is there something you’re not telling me, sir?" Scully demanded.

"Billy Miles came into this building last night." Skinner confessed. "He murdered the security guard and the only reason you, me, Starkweather, and Doggett aren't split in half at this very moment is because we weren't in the building."

"Fine. I'll uh, change my plane reservations and see you in a couple of hours." Scully consented, hung up, and hopped on her computer to print out her findings on the current case.

Meanwhile...

Mulder lay back down on the bunk, idly kicking the bottom of the top bunk's mattress. "If I remember correctly," Mulder droned, "Dr. Samuel Beckett theorized that one could time travel in one's own lifetime. He started up a massive project back in 1999, calling it Quantum Leap. For some reason or other, he decided to test Quantum Leap before it was 100% ready. He stepped into the chamber and vanished. Lost in time, Sam leaps from life to life, putting right what once went wrong, hoping that each time, the next leap, will be the leap home."

"Well... yeah that's pretty much it... in a nutshell."

"And it is safe to assume that me being arrested for Ben's murder is what went wrong."

"You could say that..." Al said. "Except that somehow, history changed. He's not dead."

Mulder sat up, hitting his head again. "OW! Damn it."

"Stop doing that, it hurts," Al warned him helpfully.

Mulder glared at Al. "Ben's not dead?" he croaked out, rubbing his noggin. "Well, zippee-do-da, that's great, so why the hell am I still here?"

Al groaned and rolled his eyes. "I forgot what a joy and pleasure it is to be around you." Al lit up another cigar. "Ben's not dead, but he's being held prisoner somewhere. We believe that Ben's disappearance is directly connected with the oil rig case that you and Doggett worked on."

"Galpex Petroleum Orpheus," Mulder said, laying back down, head throbbing. "Yeah... and Mr. Mini-Johnny Cochran thought he was going to take that case to trial and be a big legal star."

"Starkweather was working on a connection between the oil rig and the downed plane in Scotland-"

"Which one?"

"Which what?"

"Which Starkweather?"

"Oh, sorry. Jerilyn." Al had forgotten that the Mrs. Starkweather did have a first name. "Anyways, she was working on a connection and we think if we could just figure out what the big hairy deal is between Scotland and the oil rig, we might be able to figure out exactly WHY Ben was snatched and maybe even find him."

"So," Mulder huffed. "Go ask Starkweather."

"Um... she's a little... testy right now."

"A LITTLE testy?" Mulder turned his head. "If this," he pointed to his face, "is what you classify as 'a little', I would hate to see what you call 'a lot testy.' Personally, I would file this under 'Hormonal Bitch' but that's just me."

Al took a closer look at Mulder. "Oooh... Geez... she did THAT?!?!?"

Meanwhile…

LGM lair


"You think we're looking at this wrong, Byers? I mean, we could just be seeing the results funky because we're sleep-deprived." Frohike grumbled, staring open-jawed at the DNA samples.

"Who knows, maybe we're still in the middle of a nightmare."

"Hold out your arm." Frohike demanded to Langly.

"What for?" Langly wanted to know.

"Just hold out your arm." Frohike said, and then immediately pinched what little was showing underneath his long-sleeved shirt.

"Ow!" Langly shouted, and threw up his arm, unintentionally bitch-slapping Byers.

"This is reality." Byers said, heaving a disappointed sigh.

"Whatever the hell this is, I sure as shit ain't gonna be the one to spill it to Scully."

"Do it again, maybe we did the tests wrong." Frohike suggested hopefully.

"Maybe the two-month-old vomit sample isn't reliable...maybe the aliens changed the DNA make-up when he was abducted..." Langly frantically reasoned.

"Didn't Mulder say she was possibly abducted, too?" Frohike interjected.

"There's only one way to find out." Byers answered.

Again, Byers took another of Mulder's two-month-old vomit sample.

"Got another piece of her hair, Frohike?"

"Double double, toil and trouble." Frohike mumbled, plucking a blond strand from his jacket.

"We've got the horny toad," Langly said, nodding in Frohike's general direction, "All we need for a complete spell now is an eye of newt."

That hair strand and the vomit were put on slides and the levels were compared.

"It's a match..." Byers croaked unbelievingly, "98.5%."

"You don't think they can kill us for telling them, do you?" Langly nasalled.

"We better change our locks." Frohike suggested.

"We better change our identities." Langly offered.

"It's a match...that changes everything..." Byers concluded.

Mulder had small purple bruises around his neck, where Starkweather had tried to choke him. His nose, broken before and broken again, had puffed up. As she had punched his nose, she also had split his upper lip, which the prison doctor had to stitch shut. "I spent three hours in the infirmary being stitched up by Dr. Frankenstein before they took me off to be strip-searched." Mulder said, rolling back over. "Yesterday wasn't exactly a banner day for me."

Al, was still in total shock. "SHE did that?"

"No, the other little bitch who thinks I killed her husband."

"But if we find the little b- um..." Al tried again. "If we can find Ben, they all will be well and we can get you out of here, so dammit I need to know what is so crucial about that case staying in the dark, other than the fact that you and Doggett's careers get shot to kingdom come!!" Al was getting REALLY tired of the G-men from the X-Files.

Mulder turned his head again. "There's something you're not telling me." Al opened his mouth, then shut it again. Mulder rubbed his eyes. "Come on Al, I've been in worse positions that this."

"Um... if we don't find Ben and prove that you didn't kill him... thenbillihkljhfdsfr," Al mumbled.

"What?"

"If we don't find Ben and prove that you didn't kill him... then someone... or something named Billy Miles is gonna come and rearrange your face worse than that Hurricane did."

Mulder was quiet for a moment. "Okay... that's a new one." Mulder said. "So, because Starkweather married an idiot who got himself involved in an X-File when he had absolutely no right to, I'm going to be bent, stapled and mutilated unless I pick up where Starkweather, and that's the Mrs. Starkweather I'm referring to, left off, find out, from my locked jailcell, if you will, on what secret that oil rig contained and how it's connected to the case Starkweather, again, Mrs. Starkweather, Scully and Doggett worked on. Once I figure out this secret, this secret by the way I have been pursuing for about ten years, we can also figure out where the idiot, and I'm referring to MR. Starkweather now, where the idiot is being held, reunited the Starkweathers, Mr. and Mrs. and I can skip out of here a free man... but there's a catch, isn't there Al? I'm working under deadline, aren't I?"

"According to Ziggy, we've got four days left."

"Of course we do," Mulder grumbled, starting to massage his temples. "Almost a decade of chasing after the truth and I've got to catch it, from a prison cell, in less than ninety-six hours," Mulder groaned. "That woman," he said, referring to the Mrs. Starkweather, "has been a pain in the ass since I've met her."

Al, overtired, overwrought, scared for Sam and in dire need of a stiff drink, retorted "Must run your the family, bucko."

"What do you mean?" Mulder said caustically. "I have no family save for Scully and Wil-." Just then the clue bus made a stop and Mulder climbed aboard. "Oh my God-" he sat up again and again banged his head. "OW!!! GOD DAMN IT!!" He swung his long legs out and sat on his bunk, glaring at Al. "Are you saying that... Starkweather and I... are related...how? My parents were both only children, so I have no cousins. It was confirmed that Samantha was killed, so I have no nieces or nephews." But Mulder's mind began to race, thinking about all the times he and Starkweather had met and talked, how there was a spark, a surge, a preternatural sensation of

::Family??::

that would sear his soul even when he was the most inflamed at her cutting tongue.

Al finally said what had never been spoken aloud for twenty-eight years. "She's your sister."

Mulder's fists were clenched in rage. "Samantha's dead."

"I didn't say she was Samantha, I said she was your sister. Half-sister anyway." Al got out his handy-dandy console. "Ziggy said that it's 65 perce- holy Moses roses!" Al said, looking at the new figures. "History changed again Mulder, I dunno how, but now Ziggy's saying that there is a ninety eight point five percent change that you and Starkweather share the same biological..." he looked down at Mulder. He was not taking this well. He was not going to take the next word well either. "Father."

Mulder closed his eyes. "My father had an affair?"

Al said sadly, "I can't get you answers until you get me answers."

Mulder opened his eyes. "Alright, I'll do what I can."

"THANK YOU," Al said opening the chamber door. "I'll be in touch... no pun intended."

"Ha." Mulder deadpanned.

"Goushie," Al said, "center me on Starkweather."

As Al disappeared, Mulder couldn't help but allow himself a mean little smile. ::We're brother and sister??::he thought in glee. He couldn't wait for Starkweather to find out. ::That is going to ruin her entire day.::

Just then the guard came to let Manny back in and Mulder out. "Come on, Mulder," the guard said, none too friendly. "Your lawyer's here."

Mulder wondered if he should tell Justin Leo that Ben might be alive.

As he was escorted to a private interview room, Mulder tried to hurry and organize his scattered thoughts and emotions into one nice neat line. Of course, it was hard being cool, calm and collected while wearing a bright orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, but Mulder did the best he could. It was, after all, not the first time he did jail time.

The unsmiling guard let him into the interview room where Justin Leo awaited his arrival. Uncuffing him, he told Mulder. "Behave yourself."

Mulder resisted the impulse to salute him but he did say casually, "Yes, mein Fuhrer."

The guard snorted. "Pain in the ass," he muttered as he swung the heavy steel door shut behind him.

Leo looked up from his legal pen. "Mr. Mulder," he said warmly as he stood up to shake his hand. "How are they treating you?"

"The service here is awful," Mulder said, absolutely straightfaced. "I plan on writing a letter of complaint to the management."

Leo laughed. "They told me you had a quick wit."

"I was hoping your legal maneuvering would be quicker than my wit."

"Well, we'll have you out in no time," Leo said sincerely.

"Funny, I thought I'd be out now on bail since all the evidence is purely circumstantial," Mulder found himself becoming resentful towards the neatly dressed lawyer sitting across from him. He couldn't quite place his finger on it. ::Maybe I'm just jealous that he's on the outside and I'm stuck in here::he reasoned.

"I understand you're frustrated," Leo said, "believe me, I can't tell you how disappointed I am at the judge's ruling. Between you, me and the fence post, I think he's on the take, and let's face it Mr. Mulder, you've gotten on the bad side of a lot of powerful people. I wouldn't be surprised if the judge is being paid by someone to make your life a living hell."

"But who could that be?" Mulder said. "Everyone I pissed off is dead."

"I beg to differ." Leo argued gently. "Deputy Director Kersh is alive... Jerilyn Starkweather is alive."

"Kersh works for the FBI... he doesn't have the money to bribe anyone," Mulder said while thinking ::But if he's getting regular dividends from the oil company...::"and Starkweather... bribery is not her style. She'd rather just beat the shit out of me rather than waste money bribing a judge."

"Do you want to press charges against her for... um..." Leo pointed at his face. "That?"

Mulder shook his head. "She's suffering enough right now." ::Just having her find out that we're family is going to be punishment enough.::

"Are you sure?" Leo argued, a little more heat now, but not much. "I've been doing some research into Agent Starkweather and she's a huge liability to our case."

"I'll say," Mulder said dryly. "She thinks I killed her husband."

"Sir, with all due respect," Leo said. "I think we should go after her for her attack on you. Not only will you get monetary recuperation for your injuries, but since she's one of the main witnesses for the prosecution, a law suit against her might help us discredit her, if the judge will allow it, of course."

Mulder, in light of the information he had just received this morning, shook his head. "I'm not comfortable with that line of defense, Mr. Leo."

"Why not?" Leo persisted. "She's in the way. I am not comfortable with her out there as their star character witness. She'll be on that stand, telling them about the argument you two had at J. Edgar and weeping crocodile tears for her poor dead husband...

"Is there a chance that the dead husband isn't dead?"

Leo sighed, exasperated. "Mr. Mulder... I understand that you recently underwent an experience which makes you question the permanence of death but I can assure you. Mr. Starkweather is NOT partially dead or even mostly dead. He is completely dead. And the prosecution is going to use the grieving widow to gain sympathy for their case. Face it Mr. Mulder, I know your scruples are up in arms about attacking Agent Starkweather's creditability, but her testimony completely interferes with our defense strategy. Discrediting Starkweather is an issue of priorities and securities, Mr. Mulder. Not whether or not we're comfortable."

Mulder merely murmured thoughtfully, "I see..." he closed his eyes. "Say that last part again?"

"Whether or not we're comf-"

"Before that."

"Priorities and securities?"

::"Mayor," a man was protesting, "he is in our way. He can't continue to hold this position without interfering with our agenda. He says it's an issue of priorities and securities."::

Mulder, like a lazy tiger, opened his eyes and stared at him as if the lawyer was a sleeping gazelle. "I think, Mr. Leo," Mulder said calmly. "I need another attorney."

Leo also eyed Mulder as if he was the predator and Mulder the prey. "I understand," he said evenly. "Good day, Mr. Mulder." They shook hands and Leo took his leave.

The minute Leo was out the door, Mulder yelled, "GUARD?!?!?! I NEED TO USE THE PHONE PLEASE?"

The minute Leo was out of the jailhouse, he pulled his sleek little Nokia phone out of his pants pocket and hit speed-dial. "It's Justin Leo. We have a situation.... he figured it out."

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
9:04 am

"Sir," Skinner was saying. "I think pending the investigation Doggett will raise in the coming weeks once this oil-rig matter blows over, the findings will give you no room to squirm. It will not be in your best interest to put anyone involved in the X-Files division underfire." He decided the best tactic to employ in this situation would be to try and persuade his superior the good reasons for alleviating blame from the X-Files division.

"Walter," Kersh refuted, "I have good reason to believe that justice has been obstructed here, and I will do my damnedest to make sure that the proper measures are taken against that. You've had a distinguished career, A.D., I'd hate to see it all end up in smoke."

"Or in oil." Skinner mumbled.

"I am allowing Doggett's investigation of my office to continue" Kersh went on, disregarding Skinner's remark, "because I am positive that he will find nothing wrong while in this position. I am bringing the members of the X-Files Division here today because I believe that some aspects of their current situation needs to be brought to light."

"Interrogating them in this manner is not going to bring any answers to light, Sir." Skinner rebutted, "All questioning will do is arouse Doggett's suspicions of your own behavior, further giving him cause to probe into your term as Deputy Director.

"Nothing is going to interfere with this investigation. I am not--"

Kersh stopped in mid-sentence because just then there was a resounding BOOM! Followed by an obvious voiceless scuffle, then a silence.

Skinner spat up and spun around, not loosing any time getting his gun out of his ankle holster.

"I think nothing's at the door, Kersh." Skinner said, poising his gun.

The door flung open, and a tall man with dark hair, eyes searching but not 'seeing' lumbered past Skinner and went directly for Kersh.

Billy Miles, moved arms zombielike outstretched, directed at Kersh's necks. Kersh, wide-eyed, stood paralyzed, unable to do anything defense-wise except cower under his desk

Skinner, not blinking once, shot at the tall form, but missed the crucial spot due to Billy Miles' own swift movements. Green ooze protruded from his shoulder-blade. In one fell swoop, Billy Miles picked up the desk, threw it at Skinner, who barely managed to side-step it.

Skinner suddenly came to the realization that Billy Miles had been programmed to attack Kersh. There was some connection between Kersh and Miles, but for now, that would have to wait. Trying to keep himself from being flung like that desk and his superior alive was the immediate priority.

Kersh, in reflex, grabbed the flagpole that stood in his office for defense. He idly swung to the left, and then swiftly again to the right, looking a little to Skinner at the moment like a majorette, and would've laughed at that thought had the situation not been so dire.

Billy Miles' form snatched the flagpole from Kersh, who shot a desperate glance at Skinner. Billy Miles first swung the pole in the direction of Skinner, barely missing and swinging the pole into the wall in the process, also knocking his pistol out of his hand. He then swung at Kersh.

"The oil...the oil stocks..." Kersh's voice shook in cowardice. He began confessing to the monster formerly known as Billy Miles, hoping to gain a reprieve. "The oil company involved in the case that got Agent Mulder fired is currently earning me hefty dividends. Investigation...would have gotten me reprimanded or in legal trouble."

"Is that true?" Skinner questioned as he ducked another swing.

Kersh nodded as he backed up against the window. Skinner watched in horror as Billy Miles throttled his neck through the blinds, and shattering the glass.

Skinner plunged for his gun, which laid somewhere under the rubble that was formerly his superior's desk. He grabbed the gun.

With the abruptness of a summer storm, Billy Miles released his grip. Kersh clutched the ledge of the window, and Skinner helped him up as Billy Miles robotically left the room.

Scully stood jaw gaping as she surveyed the disaster that was formerly an impeccably organized Deputy Director's office. Kersh was still doubled over, just holding the two ends of the flagpoles.

"Sir? What--" Scully said, looking puzzled at the mess. Being ever the medical doctor, she went to Kersh, doing a topical examination of his injuries.

"Billy Miles was here." Skinner began.

"He did this--but I thought--" Scully stammered in disbelief

"Whatever that virus was that he and Mulder were infected with last winter made Billy Miles indestructible.

"What is going on here?" Sam demanded, surveying the damage. "I saw the paramedics outside and--"

"Holy smoke, Sam," Al blurted out when he appeared, letting out a low whistle "looks like my place after ex-wife number 3 found out about ex-wife number 4"

"I think these agents deserve an explanation." Skinner cued to Kersh, who admonishingly sighed, closing his eyes.

"Billy Miles came after me." Kersh began softly.

"Why? Why does Billy Miles want you harmed?" Sam-in-Doggett demanded, and flashed a quizzical look at Al, who quickly jumped in with the answer.

"Billy Miles is the main suspect charged with Mulder's murder, T-1000 style." Al finished.

"For a sizable sum of money in oil stocks, I was paid to let certain things within the Bureau slide." Kersh admitted.

"You are aware that a man is rotting in jail right now for a crime he didn't commit." Scully pointed out.

"All the evidence against him suggests otherwise, Agent Scully." Kersh argued.

"All the evidence against him is circumstantial, Kersh." Sam fired back. "The defense attorney working his case has a questionable background."

"Not questionable, Sam...Leo's as crooked as Quasimodo's back." Al butted in.

"Agent Doggett, don't think I'm in anyway connected with that attorney assigned to him."

"The wicked flees when he's been caught holding the bag." Al grumbled.

"I think you're hiding something." Sam-in-Doggett glared. "I think you know exactly who's behind all this and I think that unless you come forth with that information, a lot of people are going to be killed." He said, storming out.

"Sir, I think Doggett's right." Scully seethed. "You are letting an innocent man rot in jail and you are putting everyone here at risk. If our investigation of your office finds anything--even a pack of cigarettes on the FBI's dime--you are going to wish Billy Miles split you instead of that pole. If you'll excuse me, I have an investigation to pursue." She finished, and stormed out.

Meanwhile...
At an horse farm in rural Maryland...

Marita Covarubias was out in the barn saddling up her favorite mare, Arwin, a placid palomino, when her cell phone rang. Arwin twitched an ear in interest but made no other movement, as well-trained as she was. Marita looped the reins around the fences, stepped away from the animal and answered. "Hello?"

"It's Justin Leo. We have a situation.... he figured it out."

Marita bit back a howl of frustration. It was all going to hell. First, that smoky son-of-a-bitch's coup de tat, re-seizing control of the New Syndicate. And now this. She had gone against her better judgement about allowing Leo to be a part of this project. He was too personally involved. Now she was going to pay for it.

Calmly, as if talking to an idiot child, she said, "Go to the safe house and don't move until I say so. We'll have to arrange a flight and money and lodging for you."

"You talk as if I'm in danger," Leo said as he hailed on of DC's colorful cabs.

Marita, losing her calm just a hair, informed him, "You don't think Mulder is on the phone to Agent Scully right now, telling him what's going on? The man still has connections. Plus we have the very unfortunate situation where most people don't believe he's guilty."

"The judge is fixed."

"The judge is dead," Marita took great pleasure in telling him while she thought ::Or at least, he will be after I get off the phone with you, you waster of oxygen I could be breathing.::

"WHAT???" Leo was in the cab now, clutching his briefcase. "Capitol Hill," he told the cabbie before resuming his conversation. "Why the fuck did you do that?" he snapped. "He was an valuable asset."

"This entire mission is getting too messy," Marita spelled it out for him. "The goal was to get rid of Mulder and Mr. and Mrs. Starkweather. The more people who get involved with this, the more potential we have for information slipping out."

"While you're at it," Leo seethed, "why don't you just take out the entire X-File Division? Skinner, Scully, Doggett, Reyes?"

"I just might," she told him coldly before she hung up on him.

After calling her favorite hitmen to take out the judge, Marita walked back to Arwin, patiently waiting for her. She scratched the horse's ears while she debated with herself on what to do next. Finally, she did what she knew she was going to do all along.

Damn the old man and his obsolete ways. His ways didn't work anymore. She finished saddling up Arwin and swung herself up on her back before she dialed again.

"Things have changed. Send the replicant to Mulder's cell tomorrow night." She said crisply. "And then, afterwards, get rid of Benjamin Starkweather permanently. I'm calling for a full abort of the mission. In forty-eight hours, all evidence must be destroyed."

She knew she was taking a risk in waiting so long in eliminating Mulder and Mr. Starkweather, but she needed some time to pull the wool over the Cancer Man's eyes, to let him think HE was in charge.

Gently, she nudged Arwin in the ribs and took off at a gallop.

Scully, having an overnight bag to pack, Will to check on, and plane reservations to change--again--practically flew to the FBI employee parking garage after the encounter with her superiors.

Mick Jagger whined over the stereo

"Tiiiiiyiyiyime is on my side
Yes it eeeehhhhhhis
Tiiiiiyiyiyime is on my side
Yes it eeeeeeehis"

Scully hoped so.

The trance-like state she was in from the music and her fatigue was interrupted by the shrill ring of her cell phone.

"Scully, it's Byers. We found something you might wanna know."

"What did you get, Byers?" Scully asked, turning the car radio on mute.

"Are you sitting down?"

"I'm driving." Scully said flatly.

"Oh well...I hope your at a stoplight or at a stop sign or a traffic jam..." Langly nasalled in the background.

"Sorry Scully, we hadda put you on speakerphone." Byers apologized meekly.

"That's ok, Byers...what did you guys find out?"

"Um...we got this package." Byers hesitated. "It had Mulder and Jerilyn's blood in it. We ran tests, and the chances are less than slim that they are blood related."

Scully's car screeched to a stop at the result.

"How?!"

"We don't know." Frohike butted in. "Scully, we heard tires screeching. Everything alright?"

"Yeah...everything's fine." Scully said quietly.

"I don't think Luke and Princess Leia will be happy when they find out about this." Langly nasalled.

"I think we're lucky Starkweather doesn't have her own personal Chewbacca." Byers commented.

"She's got Doggett." Frohike grumbled. "He's close enough."

"Guys...how did you get this information?" Scully demanded after her nerves were calmed down enough to concentrate on driving.

"We got these test tubes from some guy in a trench coat."

"Some guy in a trench coat...you guys sound like something out of a really bad old detective movie."

"Scully, dollars for doughnuts, this is real..." Byers assured quietly.

"Hang on, Byers, I have a call." Scully thankfully took the incoming call.

"Little Dana Scully!" a male's voice boomed on the other end. "How's that little boy of yours? I can't call you Little Dana anymore with a child of your own, can I?"

"Sir, Williams fine. How are you?"

"Well, I'm upset about this whole mess with my son-in-law and the Deputy Mayor, Dana. I was hoping you'd set me straight with the details."

"Sir, I'm right in the middle of an investigation right now." Scully said ...of you...she silently added.

"I realize your busy, Dana...but I really would like to see what you have so far on the case. For my little Jeri's sake. Is there anyway you can make it to Martha's Vineyard this weekend?"

"I think that can be arranged sir. I'll be there late Friday."

"Wonderful." The Admiral replied, "You know, Dana, I don't want to believe he's guilty..."

"I think the evidence against him is circumstantial, and hopefully my investigations will prove that."

"I hope so, Dana. Take care of that little boy, and feel free to bring him along. I'll see you this weekend."

"Thank you Admiral. See you then. Bye."

Maybe she'd take this visit to get some sun and do a little interrogation.

With a push of a few buttons, she was back in touch with Byers.

"I'll pass the word along guys. Thanks for letting me know."

"May the Schwartz be with you." Langly cautioned, and with that, Scully hung up.

5:37 PM
Martha's Vineyard

Scully wound down the endless sea of vacation houses on Martha's Vineyard. It certainly hadn't changed much since she had been here as a child. Being the middle of summer, the tourist-season was just hitting its stride, and the streets were dotted with bicyclists and children bouncing balls across the streets.

She caught sight of the beach and memories of her brothers dunking her in the water and chasing after her and Missy when she was in the middle of itemizing seashells and poking at gelatinous jellyfish corpses dotted along the shoreline. To her, they weren't gross, but beautiful and fascinating.

She made her way to the Bailey summer home and found the front door surprisingly unlocked. She opened the door to find the furniture redecorated and covered in plastic, most likely by Mrs. Bailey.

"Did the Pottery Barn throw up in here?" She mumbled.

She walked over to an unfinished chamois and lifted the plastic. From behind the plastic, a yellowed and doily-thin letter feathered down at her feet.

She picked up and her jaw dropped like nighttime temperature in the desert as she continued to read the letter's contents:

"Dear Jeremy

I know you and your wife will raise this baby girl as your own daughter, and I am sure she will make a fulfilling addition to her family. She will be happy with you, I am sure, unless she finds out her true origins.

At all costs, you must keep this secret from her. She will be a part of your family until our cause has use for her. Her father has recently lost his only daughter and youngest child, Samantha to the cause, and his wife Teena--for the sake of their 12-year-old boy does not wish for her father's part in this to be revealed. Your new baby girl's mother remains a mystery to me, but I believe she is special...the only one of her kind, more so than most parents wish their children to be.

Enclosed you will find forged adoption papers with people who are not living. In this way, if your new baby daughter chooses to search out her origins, she will arrive at a dead end.

I wish all the happiness and promise a young girl can bring to a father. Keep her part in our cause a secret, and she will be a happy, well-adjusted, child. Best of luck to you and your new family.

Sincerely
CBG Spender"

::Oh my God...the tests...they were accurate...he's in with Spender...he's part of all of it...it's all coming together now.::

::Why is it,::Scully wondered, ::that whenever an X-Files case started to come together, did that usually mean my world was about to fall apart?::

Now, this letter was proof that he was connected to the Syndicate. Now, he just had to find a connection with the syndicate to Ben's murder. She was wasting rummaging through the cubbies in the desk and was so intensely determined to find evidence that she barely heard the doorknob turning.

Scully ignored her first instinct to dive in a good hiding place when she heard the click of the doorknob. Instead she pulled her gun out of her shoulder-holster.

She had every right to be here, and the warrant to prove it. Problem was, she felt like a kid being caught red-handed.

Admiral Bailey stood at the threshold, wide-eyed and opened-mouthed.

"Dana?" he finally croaked.

"Admiral, can you please explain the meaning of this," she said weapon still trained on the old man, she brandished the old letter with her free hand.

"The meaning of what?!" Admiral Bailey

She read the letter verbatim.

"Are you involved with a Syndicate of conspirators involved with alien/human hybrid projects?" She demanded when she finished.

"When I joined them, I didn't know who they were." He admitted, sighing defeatedly. "I just got back from serving in the Vietnam War, and after seeing all that destruction, I wanted desperately to give a life everything a human being deserved. My wife and I wanted a daughter, and soon after I was told she was unable to have children, a man approached me. They had a little girl who needed a family, and we needed a child to make our house a home. When I agreed to take her, I had no idea as to who the man was. As time passed on, I was pulled into the group, conspiring with them, pulling strings for a single cause. I'm not a bad man, Dana. To protect the people I love, I had to do some very bad things."

"Did you have anything to do with Mulder's arrest?" Scully demanded, gun still trained on him.

"Oh God, Dana...I didn't want that to happen. After all, Mulder was the one standing between that man and my little girl. I wish there was something I could do to get him out of this ordeal." He sighed regrettably.

"Sir, there is." Scully replied frankly, taking off the safety. "You can come forward with this information."

"I know, I know...but if I let on that I come forward, they'll come after me and Jerilyn. I don’t care about my own ass, but I'll be damned if I let them take Jerilyn. You'd do the same for little William, and you know it."

"Sir, I wouldn't if that meant two lives were to be destroyed because of my actions." She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a search warrant. "Admiral Bailey, I have a warrant to search your premises. Am I going to find any more damning evidence?"

"You can search all you want, Dana." The Admiral said softly.

"Sir...I think you need to come back with me and explain all this to my partner."

"Let me get my bags." Admiral Bailey consented.

After the police left and the smoke cleared from the Deputy Director's office, Sam got the Assistant Director's permission to go home and rest. Lord knows he needed it after not sleeping more than three hours for the past two nights.

He barely remembered hitting the pillow, but Sam still had a very troubled sleep.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Starkweather seethed, a little girl stood with her blue-eyes wide at her pointing a gun at Sam. "Bailey," she said, eyes shifting to the little girl running out of the kitchen, but not allowing the gun to move, "I want you to go to your room and play."

"But Mommy!" the girl protested, "He said--"

"Bailey," Starkweather insisted sharply, "I want you to go to your room and play with your toys. Please sweetheart, both of you, just go...I don't care what he said..."

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!" She began as soon as Bailey and JB were safely upstairs.

"I'm only trying to help." Sam insisted quietly.

"Help what?" She fumed, "My husband is supposed to be here now, not you. If you have abducted an FBI agent, sir, you should know that I will not hesitate to make sure you pay the full legal penalty." She cocked the gun, "or maybe I should just let you rot in hell. Tell me, which do you prefer?"

"Jerilyn, please," Sam pleaded, "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to make everything right."

"Where did you come from?" She demanded, turning the safety off.

"That's hard to say." Sam answered sheepishly.

"Sir, you've got a gun pointed at you about to go off. I'd hate for your last words to be 'that's hard to say', wouldn't you? Now, before I blow your fucking brains out, I suggest you tell me where my husband is."

Somehow, Sam knew she was referring to Doggett.

"Your husband is safe, Jerilyn. I'm here to help bring him home." Sam said simply.

"How the hell am I supposed to believe that?" Starkweather retorted.

"Why would I lie about something like that?" Sam answered bluntly.

"Because you want me to let my guard down so I won't introduce you to St. Peter." Starkweather glowered, slowly stepping up to him brandishing her gun.

"Starkweather...please...just listen for a second."

Starkweather glanced at the clock, "You've got exactly three minutes to explain yourself." She threatened.

"I built a time machine..." Sam began desperately, "Most of the time, people see me for whose ever life I am changing, but for some reason, you're seeing me for me."

"And John Doggett is--"

"In Project Quantum Leap waiting room--the government experiment enabling me to be here. He's safe, he's alive. People I trust implicitly are making sure of that."

"Why are you here?" She said, finally putting the gun down.

"To make sure things go the way they're supposed to."

Sam woke up with a start.

Dreams these days.

Later that afternoon

Jerilyn spent the early afternoon trying to make the pieces fit, but it was like trying to merge fettuccini Alfredo with a bean burrito deluxe.

Doggett wasn't even being Doggett anymore...that was unhinging.

Every ounce in her wanted to make Mulder pay for Ben's death. She wanted someone to pay for what happened, and Mulder was in the closest proximity to guilt.

But it was true...all the evidence piled against him was circumstantial. It was also true that he didn't behave at all questionably before the murder. Something resounded in her with Mulder during their first encounter. Something familial. If he weren't such a jack-ass, she might actually be friends with him.

"But facts is facts." Starkweather mumbled. "He's being prosecuted for my husbands murder, and nobody else seems to be guilty for it." She plunked the half-consumed Jack Daniels bottle down on the ground.

She slumped onto the couch, and fell into a deep undisturbed sleep.

Her next conscious moment was several hours later, it was dark outside and it took her a few minutes to register that someone was there in front of her.

"You look like hell." Al said simply.

Starkweather bridled in pain at the headache. She lunged at him, but just passed through him.

"Who--" she sputtered, "What...the FUCK are you?!"

"I am your fairy godfather. I'm here to make you an offer you can't refuse."

"Gimme a break, she studied him quizzically, you sure as hell ain't Brando."

"Maybe not...just think of me as your guardian angel."

"Where are your wings, Clearance? And why the hell are you wearing a flaming red suit?"

"St. Peter decided to let us wear colors because the stains were hiking up the cleaning bill." Al retorted.

"Hey wait...I remember you!" Starkweather blurted out, "You're that guy--the one that was hear earlier--when Doggett wasn't Doggett!"

"I don't know what the hell you’re talking about, Jerilyn."

"How come you know my name?" Starkweather demanded.

"We've been watching you for the past few days."

"Watching me?" She puzzled, "Who's 'we'"

"You know...us." Al said.

"Why have you been watching me?" She demanded.

"Basically because we don't get cable up in Heaven." Al deadpanned. "Harps lose their interest pretty quick."

"What is in those clouds? LSD? Come off it! You are not an angel any more than I'm Shirley Maclaine."

"Look," Al insisted, "I'm here to tell you Ben is fine. He's alive and he's fine."

"The Gospel According to Fun-House-Mirror-Freak-in-a-Clownsuit." Starkweather deadpanned. "Ben's fine?!" She echoed immediately. "Look, Casper, I wanna believe you...but, since when do angels smoke?"

"Alright, alright," Al admitted, "Ben's alive in a warehouse somewhere around here being held by the same people responsible for Mulder's abduction. I'm not an angel. I'm part of a top secret government project involving time travel called Quantum Leap. I'm a hologram here from fifteen years in the future and I'm here to make sure you're safe."

"Yeah." Starkweather began incredulously, "Riiiiiiiiiiight. Well...I'll believe you are no angel."

"Believe me, you're on thin ice right now Queenie...you shouldn't be mad at Mulder. He's done nothing to be mad *about*."

"Alright...I won't be mad at Mulder, Ben's alive...maybe if I smile and nod you'll go away." Starkweather said crisply.

Al sighed heavily, "Starkweather, you've gotta help Mulder." he pleaded quietly.

"Why?" she fired back, "he deserves to be in jail for what he did."

Al shook his head.

"Doesn't he?" She questioned. For some reason, against all logic and explanation, she believed the man standing before her.

Al was getting desperate for answers. He wasn't getting through.

"That's not the only reason you have to help the Deputy Mayor."

"Just because he saved my ass doesn't mean I have to break him outta jail like some bad episode of the A-Team!" She fired back.

"No...because," Al said with a heavy sigh, "he's family."

Starkweather stood open-mouthed. "He's WHAT?!"

"There is a 98.5 % chance that you and Fox Mulder are blood-related."

"What?!?! How?!?!?"

"That is being investigated." Al replied. "We don’t know, but that's being looked into."

"By whom?"

"Scully." Al answered simply. "As we speak, I think."

She shot up and whispered, "Fuckin' A!"

"My sentiments exactly. Look, please...just don't point fingers at Mulder. He can help you keep Ben alive."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Starkweather demanded.

"Kid, this is too hard to pull outta thin air. My name's Calivici. Just look me up in about fifteen years and I'll explain everything."

"Oh, I'm gonna be dead in fifteen years." Starkweather smirked "That's comforting."

With that, the man in front of her pushed a couple of buttons, a bright blue rectangle appeared, the man stepped through it, and Al was gone.

"Geez...I always thought heaven was white, not blue." she mumbled, and nursed her hangover with a long bubblebath.

Meanwhile...
Back to the Future...
QL HQ

Doggett REALLY hated wearing the white leotard. He found it uncomfortably tight, especially around certain sensitive special areas. He felt like he was walking around with a permanent wedgie, which would ruin any man's mood.

So Al should have been more forgiving when Doggett bit his head off when Al popped in to check on him. "What the hell's been going on???"

Al, tired, annoyed and thoroughly sick of just about anybody even remotely connected with the X-Files, glared at him, "Shut up, Puppy Man," he snapped.

"I see you've been talkin' to Mul-dah," Doggett drawled nastily.

Al resisted the urge to slug him. "Yeah, I popped in on Spooky." Al pulled up a chair. "And Starkweather."

Doggett, barely noticeable, softened at her name. "And?"

"Well, he's in jail, she's a mess, other than that," Al light up a cigar, "Pretty good."

"PRETTY GOOD????" Doggett exploded, taking the cigar out of Al's mouth and throwing it across the room. He loomed over Al, thrusting a finger in his face. "Now you listen to me you slippery son-of-a-bitch, don't you just stand there and give me smartass comments about 'pretty good,'" he yelled. "I'm sick of this BS! I'm sick of gettin' jacked around. I'm sick of Starkweather getting the shaft because you're dicking around with me, not telling the whole truth. If finding Ben's what we gotta do, then let's do it instead of standing around and pissing in the wind. I'm sick of this hellhole, I'm sick of these tights, I'm sick of you and I want to go home."

This time Al didn't hold back his urge to hit Doggett-in-Sam. His punch landed solidly on his jaw. He stood up and pushed Doggett away from him. "Now YOU listen to ME, buddy-boy. I'm just as sick of this crap as you are! I wanna get rid of you as bad as you want outta here. The only way we can do that is to put right what went wrong and what went wrong is Mulder and Starkweather getting killed so instead of acting like a typical Marine jackass, act like a god damn fed. I need your help Doggett. Mulder and Starkweather are dead in the water if you don't grow the fuck up!"

Doggett-in-Sam wiped the blood off of his lip. "You throw a good punch, seaman," he said gruffly.

Al pulled out another cigar and lit it. "Yeah... well..." Al muttered "my hand's gonna hurt for the next few days."

"Good."

"Can we get to work?"

"Alright."

Verbeena had watched the entire exchanged through the newly reconstructed two-way mirror, shaking her head.

::Men::she thought as she went to check on Ziggy. ::Past, present, future, it didn't matter, they were still unfathomable...::::

"So," Doggett said, subdued. "Wha'cha got?"

Al rubbed his eyes. He was very tired. If Sam had only gotten three hours of sleep, Al had gotten less. "Well...as far as info, not much, except confirmation from Ziggy that Mulder and Starkweather are brother and sister."

If Doggett was surprised by that revelation, he carefully concealed it. "Did you tell them?" he asked evenly.

"Yeah," Al said, fighting to keep his eyes open. "Actually that part was kind of fun."

"I assume they took the news less than well."

"Safe assumption," Al nodded. "Anyways, beyond that... we're still on Square One."

Doggett sat quietly, lost in thought. "There's the old cliche..." he finally said after enough time had past for Al to smoke half of his cigar away, "'those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it.'"

"Boy, ain't that the truth," Al said, "I flunked sixth grade American history. Had to do a whole session of summer school or else they were gonna let me go on to junior high. And I squeaked by with a C minus ‘cuz this really cute girl who liked me wrote my history papers for me..." Al trailed off, noting that Doggett-in-Sam was once again giving him the look of death. "Sorry... anyway... continue..."

"I was sayin'" Doggett said patiently, sitting down at the little table, reaching for the file, "that I think the truth is in here. In the past. There's gotta be somethin' more, somethin' we're missing. Somethin' we've got to study up on to more understand what the holy hell is goin' on." Doggett got out the legal pad and pen he had received yesterday. He tore off the page of doodles and the beginnings of brainstorming and started with a clean sheet. "Okay, fill in any blanks if you can, Admiral. So," he began to theorize aloud the list as he wrote, "Now, this whole mess started a year ago when Mulder and I investigated the oil rig. A year later, me, Scully and Starkweather investigate a fighter plane crash whose base has an fuelling contract with the same said oil rig. Suddenly, here comes Ben, prosecuting the oilrig for environmental negligence, a whole year later," he sighed. "And that's what's getting ME. That's the second thing doesn't make sense to me." He scrawled on the page his two questions. "One, what IS the connection between the oil rig and the plane crash in Scotland-"

Al interrupted. "Starkweather was working on that, but after her... um, personal difficulties, I asked Mulder to pick up where she left off."

"Can you get me what she had so far?"

"I can try," Al said. "But remember, in the future, the X-Files is under lock and key. It was reclassified into a military jurisdiction and no fed or laymen could get their hands on any X-File."

Doggett, for the first time in a long time, smiled. "But you AREN'T a laymen or a fed," he reminded him. "You're a retired Admiral."

"Ahhhhhhhhhh........" Al said. "I'll get right on that. What was your second question?"

"My second question is... why did they wait so long to prosecute Galpex? And for something as weak as environmental destruction? Why not the murders of the men on board? I understand that law suits take time... believe me, I fully understand that... but, from the way Starkweather was talking, this was sprung onto Ben like less than three weeks ago... it's like pulling a rookie out of the minor leagues and telling him he's going to take Sammy Sosa's place for the day." Doggett shook his head. "And the revenue the law firm was going to earn from the case was astronomical..."

"So why let a kid handle it?" Al was beginning to see where Doggett was going.

"Exactly," Doggett said, opening the file up. "I'm just wondering if someone dirty is working at the Law Firm of Carter, Spangle and Adams." He started thumbing through the file pages. "Someone dirty, someone with power enough to manipulate case assignments but still being maneuvered by someone else, someone with a vendetta..."

"Someone like-" Al started to say but Doggett beat him to the punch.

"Justin Leo."

"Hot damn!" Al yelped in glee, but stopped his victory dance when he saw the look on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Al..." Doggett said, thin-lipped and white. "Maybe I'm goin' stir crazy and all... but... Mulder's murder date changed."

"What?" Al said, heart sinking lower and lower into his bowels.

"I swear to God, it was dated four days from now... now it's saying time of death, 6:30 PM, June 19... that's tomorrow night... am I losing my mind?"

"No," Al said, trying to fight off the panic. "That's the hazards of working in Quantum Leap..." Without saying goodbye, he stormed out of the chamber, issuing orders at a bark, "Verbeena, get General Keeling on the phone, tell him I need File X081601 emailed to me sometime in the next two hours and remind him he owes me a big time favor since it's because of me that he's not in jail and he's not divorced. Tina, darling, me everything there is about Carter, Spangle and Adams and that little shit Leo. Goushie!!! Find Sam and center me on him..."

The shitstorm of all time was about to strike.

Meanwhile...
back at the warehouse...

After sleeping for a bit, Ben finally gotten over his nausea. He managed to even get cleaned up a little bit, there was a bar of moldering soap on the ancient sink and a ratty old washcloth. After scraping off the scum from the soap, he stripped down to his boxers and gave himself a sink bath, which, afterwards, he felt marginally better.

Air-drying, he sat on his squeaky cot and ate the sandwiches and fruit left behind for him, surprised to find himself ravenously hungry. When finished with the meager meal his captors/protectors left him, he smoked a cigarette, pondering on his next move.

Feeling better, despite the headache that lingered from the blow giving to him from CSM, Ben found, to his immense relief, his wits were beginning to come back together again.

He did not believe for one red hot minute that Jerilyn was dead. He did not have any logic or tangible evidence. He was listening to his heart, for, even though the girl exasperated him, frustrated him and infuriated him, he knew she loved him and he, her. They had "clicked" the minute they met each other. They were tied together through a force stronger than friendship, stronger than sex, stronger than marriage. And Ben fully believed in the spiritual ties between people who loved each other. He would have known, somehow, if something bad would have happened to her. If she would have died, he would have felt a part of him die with her within his soul. They were, he firmly believed, soul mates.

Just because they were soul mates, didn't necessarily mean they should have been married, but Ben remembered the thundering voice of the priest who married them "Let no man bring asunder what God hast bound together." Which troubled him, but that was a bridge they would jump off together once they were finally together again.

Pushing their marital issues onto the back burner, Ben redressed and began to assess his present situation, which was not good, he realized with a faltering heart. The door was metal and barricaded from the outside. There were no ceiling panels he could climb out of. There were no windows. Ben didn't even really know how much time had passed, his watch had been broken during the scuffle with the Men in Black who had borne him away to this nightmare.

Pacing, smoking another cigarette, Ben, just as big of a movie buff as his wife, drew strength from quotes from two of his favorite movies: the line Tom Hank's Oscar winning character muttered over and over in the movie "Philadelphia" - "For every problem, there is a solution" and from Alan Ruck's indelible portrayal of the uptight Cameron in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" - "I am not just going to sit on my ass..."

"'I am not going to sit on my ass,'" Ben mumbled, throwing the butt of his finished cigarette into the toilet and reaching into the pack of a new one "'For every situation... there is a solution...'" He told himself that he had served as a soldier in the United States Air National Guard. He told himself about the time he and Jerilyn went to New Orleans for their honeymoon and he had fought off the thugs who tried to steal Jerilyn's purse when they had gotten lost in a "bad" part of town. He told himself that he was married to one of the finest and sharpest FBI agents ever to have graced the halls of J. Edgar Hoover, albeit also the crankiest. He was betting on her tenacity and her arrogance to go blithely off and try and save the world, to discover the truth behind whatever lie they fed her about his disappearance.

However, he also knew he couldn't just wait around for Jerilyn to be leading the cavalry to him. He had to meet her halfway. He had to get out of this pit. Plus, he worried greatly, what if he was merely a lure to draw Jerilyn into the open... these mysterious people, the ones she had referred to as "The Syndicate" had tried to kill her once... no... twice... no three times before and that was just on her first official case on the X-Files. What if his disappearance was just one big trap?

Ben sighed as he lit his cigarette. Then, his eyes widened as his looked at the glow of the cherry. His holders had left him a weapon... they had left his hand unbound and they left him a weapon.

Ben checked the box of Morleys. He had half a pack left. He had a lighter. He had the strength of a youthful, free body to his advantage. He sat down on his cot, smoking, with a grim smile on his face.

Let that smoky bastard come visit him again. He would get the burn of his life and then Ben was going to run like hell.

He had to. He had a goal to live for. He had to keep together what God hast bound. He was not going to let those vows be brought asunder by Special Agent John Doggett.

Meanwhile
back at Ben and Jeri's apartment

Jerilyn got out of the tub, shivering. She toweled herself off and coiled her wet hair in a bun. She crossed over to her bedroom to get dressed. Just then her phone rang. She checked the caller ID: **Mom and Dad S**. Jerilyn closed her eyes. It was the call she had been dreading.

"Hello?"

"Jeri, hi, it's Linda," The voice of Ben's sweet, gentle mother crackled through. "We hadn't heard from you yet. We were getting worried." It wasn't intended as a guilt trip, for Linda Starkweather did play those kind of manipulative games. She was one of those very rare people who always always put others in front of her, even when she herself was in great anguish.

Still, it made Jerilyn feel terrible. "Oh, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to worry you, it's... these past two days... have been really hard..."

"I know, I know," Linda's voice was calm but quiet, as if she had already cried her tears and was now dealing with the inevitable. "It's been hard for us too. We understand completely but please, don't keep all of your hurt locked up within you. You're all we have left of Ben now. I don't want you to shut us out."

Jerilyn cracked a thin smile. "You know me too well."

"Well, your boss, that nice man... Mr. Skinner? When he told us... the news... he asked us to look out after you. He said you weren't taking what happened very well."

Jerilyn pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. "It's... it's just been really hard," she repeated, her voice cracking.

"That's why I wanted to get in touch with you. It IS hard," Linda said "but we have to stay together to get through this together." When Ben told her that Jerilyn had lost her mother to cancer at the tender age of sixteen, Linda went out of her way to act as a surrogate mom to her. "We're family, Jeri. Just because Ben's gone, doesn't mean we're still not family."

Fresh grief ripped Jerilyn apart. "Okay..." she whimpered to her mother-in-law. "Okay..."

"We would love it if you would come stay with us for awhile. Or else Luke and I can come and stay with you... I... wouldn't mind looking through Benjamin's things for some keepsakes..."

A fresh wave of guilt crashed over her. A bad memory gushed forth... the night she had left for Scotland... the huge fight she gotten into with Ben because she was leaving for a case while his parents had made a special trip from Minneapolis to DC to visit... "I would love it if you would come," she said. "That would be really nice."

"We would like the funeral to be here... to have Ben buried in the family plot."

"That's not a problem..." Jerilyn clutched the phone. "Ben would want that." The ultimate irony. Ben would be going home at last.

"We can arrange the funeral from here... but Jeri, dear. Could you pick out a suit for him? Or maybe get his dress blues (his formal uniform from his days in the Air National Guard) dry-cleaned? I know..." now Linda's voice cracked. "I know the funeral has to be closed-casket and all, but..."

"I think he'd want to be buried in his blues. I'll get those ready." Jerilyn gulped, took a deep breath and asked, "How's Luke?"

"Oh... he's taking this hard. We all are." Linda said softly, "He's been spending a lot of time at church, talking it over with Father Anderson... trying to make sense of it all."

"Tell him... tell him Ben died a hero..." Jerilyn still fought against the tears. "Tell him Ben was just trying to do what he thought was right..."

Silence. Then the sound of muffled weeping. "Yes. Yes... I will tell him. Stay in touch, Jerilyn."

"I will..."

"We'll see you soon."

"Alright... goodbye." Jerilyn put the receiver down. "He was just trying to do what was right..." she repeated as she stood up to get dressed. She slipped on a pair of khaki shorts and a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater. She went to the closet and started digging for his old uniform, which she found easily enough, but was unsure as to where his decorations and dress shoes would be.

Standing on her tiptoes, she looked at the neat rows of labeled boxes on the top shelf. Finally, she found the one marked "Air Force Stuff" and she pulled it down.

When she took that box down, the one on top of that fell to the floor, landing upside down. Putting the Air Force box on the bed, Jerilyn crouched down to pick up the fallen box but all the contents fell out. "Oh God..." she moaned, sitting down, Indian style, casting the empty box aside.

Baby clothes. Tiny little shoes. A pacifier and some small stuffed toys. The things Linda had bought for her at Baby Gap and Toys 'R Us that horrible, horrible day they went shopping at the Mall of America for her unborn child. Her hospital wristband they had put on her when paramedics wheeled her into the emergency as the baby left her body in a quagmire of blood and fluids. A bouquet of dried roses, what Ben had brought her when she was finally released from Intensive Care and into a regular hospital room.

Jerilyn reached for the little stuffed Beanie Baby teddy bear and held it close to her.

::You're all we have left of Ben now.::Linda had said.

::But I have nothing::Jerilyn thought and clutching the small stuffed toy, she leaned against the dresser and began to cry.

Later that afternoon
5:47 PM
Washington, D.C.

"Dana," the Admiral said as they climbed into the car. "I wish I could say something to make you understand why I worked with those people."

"The only thing I understand is that a man is dead and another man's life for all intents and purposes is over" Scully fired back, "because you didn't give your daughter the chance to fight for herself."

Aside from the pleasantries and occasional considerations, not another word was said between them for the rest of the flight.

Instead of taking a second class plane back, as angry as she was, Scully didn't decline the Admiral's offer to take his private jet.

After an hour and a half of uncomfortable silence, Scully was glad to get off the plane with the Admiral. She really felt sympathy for Starkweather. She was going to have to learn the truth about her father and the man who raised her, whether she wanted to hear it or not.

They finally made it to her apartment but Scully couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the old family friend. He's right, after all. She would have done the same for William. Without a second hesitation.

"Admiral, for what it's worth, she's a strong woman." She said as they pulled up to her apartment. "I think she would have been able to protect herself just fine. I just hope you two can make amends once the air clears."

"Dana, I owe it to Lynn to be honest about this. I am going to come clean with her. If I ever hope of earning her trust and respect back, we must be truthful."

"Admiral, can I ask you something?"

"Sure Dana." He replied slowly.

"Is Ben still alive?"

"Dana--you did his autopsy."

"No." Dana answered bluntly, "Ben had green eyes. The man I did an autopsy on had blue eyes. Is your son-in-law still living? Before you answer that, you better think good and hard about the criminal charges I promise you'd be facing for aiding and abetting a murder."

"Is that a threat Dana?" He tested.

"Sir, I think that's a guarantee." Scully fired back, with a look that didn't need the barrel of a gun to accompany it.

Suddenly, the Admiral looked about forty years older as he sighed, looking as though all the air had been let out of him.

"At least I feel safe with my little girl in the FBI with you watching her back."

"Sir, like you said, you owe it to your family to come clean with this. Please." Scully pleaded with him now, "No more lies. No more half-truths. No more excuses."

"Yes." He admitted softly. Ben's alive. He's in the Lincoln Warehouse being held there."

"Thank you sir. I hope Jerilyn can forgive you easier than I can.

With that, Scully climbed out of the cab, and the Admiral whipped out his cell phone as the cab drove off.

"God, I hate these things." He mumbled to himself. "Leo," He said as soon as Justin answered, "make sure the counselor is moved from his current location."

Meanwhile...
Back at Ben and Jeri's apartment

Jerilyn had cried herself back to sleep. Sleep was such a welcome escape, when she wasn't plagued by strange dreams.

The phone woke her up with a start. Jerilyn crawled to the nightstand and looked at the caller ID. **Admiral's cell**, it read.

Jerilyn grabbed the phone. "Dad?"

Alone, in his hotel room, the Admiral nursed a drink. "Angel," he said.

"Dad... Ben... he's gone... they killed him," she began to blubber incoherently.

"Jeri, Jeri, I know, I know... I heard the news... angel, I'm so sorry..." The Admiral was sickened by his own hypocrisy but the wheels had already been set in motion. He only hoped that Scully would find Ben in time, despite the phone call to Leo. In time to save Ben, but only after Mulder was eliminated. ::If there was only a way to save all three::the Admiral mourned, for he genuinely liked Mulder, had sought him out to save Jerilyn from the Syndicate. But the Syndicate had discovered his double-cross and now someone would have to pay the price. Not Ben. And definitely not Jerilyn. Not his little girl. He already had to sacrifice Lynette, his first wife.

Plus... there might... however slim... there might be a chance that Mulder could even save himself, although the Admiral wondered how. But then again, this was a man who nearly drowned, escaped a burning train car, survived from being lost in the desert and being lost in Antarctica, defused a bomb threat in a bank, was abducted by God-only-knows-what, hell, literally rose from the dead... there might be a chance.

The Cancer Man had referred to Mulder as the alley cat with nine times nine times nine lives. The Admiral, perhaps due to his retirement in Arizona, had thought of Mulder more along the lines of the Phoenix, the beautiful mythological bird who purposely built a funeral pyre only to rise from the flames, more powerful and lustrous than before.

As he listened to his twenty-eight year old daughter weep for her husband, he sincerely hoped Mulder would pass through these flames unscathed.

But he doubted it.

And so, it was up to Scully to save Ben. He prayed that she wouldn't be killed in the process, he'd hate to see William grow up an orphan.

"Jerilyn, angel, believe me," he said, breaking into his daughter's sobs. "It will get better," hopefully with Mulder out of the way and Ben home.

Starkweather was sound asleep finally after the emotional exhaustion of her mother-in-law's phone call. And then again with her adoptive father. The room was dark when she awoke from her couch. The abrupt reality was finally sinking into her system. She had dabbled in a few psychology courses at Quantico. What did that chapter on grief say? Her photographic memory told her that there were five stages of the process.

She wondered if people who had made that process up had ever actually experienced deep grief. Acceptance was the last stage of grief, but it seemed to Starkweather that she had already accepted the fact that he was dead. Shock and denial were the first two steps and she seemed to have skipped those altogether.

The news of Ben's death immediately sparked anger. Angry with Ben for leaving her, especially without reconciliation, but Ben wasn't at arm's length. Mulder, unfortunately for her future working relationship with Scully and Doggett, was. Bargaining was the next stage. To Starkweather's mind, she had absolutely nothing to bargain with. If they hadn't fought that night, Ben wouldn't have died. But, Jerilyn thought with a sigh, she wasn't the first widow. People die every day as long as people have been living. Simple as that. It was a common tragedy and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about changing that fact except making sure the people who did this to him paid for their crimes. Maybe then Ben's ghost would let her rest.

Starkweather was jolted out of her thoughts with the shrill ring of the phone.

"Mrs. Starkweather, this is Jessie Spangle on behalf of Carter, Spangle and Adams. I'm calling to personally offer condolences on behalf of all of us here. We all miss him."

"Thank you." she said softly.

"I'm truly sorry for your loss. I hate to bring this up at such a tragic time as this, but Mr. Starkweather's personal affects are still in his office..." the man trailed off awkwardly.

"Oh--I--uh--completely forgot. I'm terribly sorry, Ms. Spangle." Starkweather stammered sheepishly.

"Mrs. Starkweather," she corrected, "if you would prefer, I can get his things delivered to your apartment.

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that." She said softly. Then, lightening-quick, she had an idea. "Can you send me the files of his last case?"

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid we can't, Mrs. Starkweather," she answered. "That information is in the senior partner's hands now to prepare for prosecution of the upcoming murder trial of Deputy Mayor Mulder."

"I thought the DA typically handled situations such as those." She fired back. "Since when does an environmental practice take care of murder charges."

"We are part of the DAs argument on a consultant level." Jessie replied coolly. "Mr. Starkweather's case was a direct result of the Deputy Mayor's arrest, and we are continuing with the investigation in his memory."

"I see." Jerilyn answered. "Thank you. Have a good evening."

She needed access to that casefile from the lawfirm's database. Unfortunately, the only people she knew who could hack into that file were three people in the running for computer geeks of the year.

Meanwhile.....

Sam pulled up in front of Starkweather's apartment building, slightly apprehensive. Starkweather, to say the least had almost left the Land of Sanity for a trip to La La Land.

With trepidation, he let himself in and rang her doorbell. Starkweather opened the door, "Hey Papa John," she said, with a weak smile. Sam noted, with a little amusement, that Starkweather was not an attractive lady when she wept or recovering from a bout of tears. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was blotchy. Starkweather must have realized how un-pretty she looked because she said wryly "Yes, I don't cry like a Hollywood glamour puss. My nose drips with snot, my eyes get all red..." she shook her head. "Come on in, Doggett."

Sam did. "You should have called," he chided her.

Starkweather shrugged. "Yeah... well..."

"Starkweather..."

"I know I know... stop being a lone soldier, let others help you, but dammit Doggett... tell me who the fuck I can trust? Skinner's pissed at me because I've been least than professional... Scully is awesome... but... lord... I knew she and Mulder had some sort of thing going on... but I didn't know it was THAT serious... I mean I heard the rumors that Mulder may very well be the proud papa of Will... but... well... what if Mulder's guilty you know??? Shit, man... I feel like I can't even trust my own father... I can't even trust my own MIND... I had a mental breakdown earlier... I'm seeing things... a person who's not even there... so who? Who can I trust?"

"Me," Sam put his hands on her shoulders. "You can trust me, Doc."

Starkweather looked up him. "Yeah..." She clenched and unclenched her fists over and over. "Doggett, if you weren't here... I don't know..." she looked at the ground, trying not to succumb to a fresh bout of tears, trying to revert back into FBI mentality. "I'm going to get the... um... Lone Gunmen to hack into the mainframe of Carter, Spangle and Adams so I can get a hold of the oil rig case that Ben was working on... I swear to God... there's a connection to this... and I owe Ben at least this much... to figure out exactly why he was..." She put her hand to her eyes. "Oh god dammit Doggett," she whimpered, "Things with me and Ben were supposed to be BETTER when we moved here."

Sam drew her close to him. "Starkweather... as hard as it is to believe right now... it will get better..."

Starkweather didn't respond, she had lost her battle with the weak tears and was sobbing silently into his chest.

Sam so desperately wanted to kiss her. Not to "start" anything, he respected her too much just to jump into the sack with her. Just to comfort her, to give her physical reassurance, to make her like that someone gave a damn.

But Ben was still alive... and he didn't think the real Doggett would have, so he just cuddled her.

Just then, Al appeared.

7:43pm
Sedai Residence

Ana Sedai sat in her kitchen nervously fidgeting with her coffee mug waiting for the water to boil. Her hair, originally mousy brown and now dyed a vibrant red, glistened in the light of the setting sun shining through the window. She thought the light almost looked tangible just then, the way the beams came up through the clouds. If you found just the right spot, she wondered if you could climb up to the very sun itself.

Her brother Justin was on his way over for dinner with her family that evening. She hoped, for his sake as well as her own, that he had let Lily rest in peace.

Ana was good friends with Lily before she disappeared. They had gone to church together, sat side by side in the choir, worked side by side at charity functions. The weeks before graduation, Lily had bored Ana to tears with stories of how wonderful her stepbrother was. She remembered Justin showing her the ring he was planning to give her and wondering flippantly if he would ever actually have the guts to give it to her.

"That would be Justin." She said quietly, sighing anxiously as she went to answer the door.

Her son Peter was sitting in the great room zombielike staring at the television set. Sometimes she wondered if he was conscious of what he was looking at. If she was going to have a heart-to-heart with her step-brother, he would have to go.

"Peter, honey," she chirped sweetly, "can you go play video games in your room while I talk with your uncle?"

Without a word, the boy left the room, and she opened the door.

"You look...tired...Jus." she said after they hugged their hellos.

"Just a lot going on these days, Ana. Big case at work piling up on me. Where's Mr. Sedai?"

"He's got a convention in Boston, Justin," she looked at him frankly, "you're not a part of a law firm anymore."

"Who told you?" he demanded.

"You still have my house listed as your mailing address. Your unemployment check came Thursday." She said with a thin, wan smile crossing her lips, waving the check like a white flag.

"I'm working...with some people that may help me find Lily, Ana." he said, sighing heavily. "They told me they know where she is and a man told me he could get her back."

"Do you really think Lily is going to want you anymore?" She fired back. "You're not the same man you were the night she left!" Her words seared into him. "This--obsession--you have with her--has turned you into some kinda monster. You're not a man anymore." she said sadly. "You're her ghost."

"I don't know what else to do, Ana." He whispered hoarsely. "I can't give up on her. I don't even care if she would still marry me anymore. My life is no longer my own. I can't sleep--I barely eat enough to live. If these people are who they say they are and can help me find her--then maybe I can be redeemed. I am the reason those--those--things took her. The worst part of it is," he said, choking down sobs, "I didn't do a damn thing to stop it. I just let that beam carry her up. I just let them take her away."

"Be fair to you, Jus. To me." She pleaded. "Could you honestly have done something without getting yourself killed?"

"The scary part is, ever since that night, I don't think I've been alive."

"Do you think Lily would be happy right now knowing what this has done to you? Now," she said with a warm smile, "come on and help me with the salad."

The dinner table was nervously quiet; forged conversations had never been either one's forte. The meal, consisting of Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes overdone lima beans and a salad, gave all that were present a grateful excuse to be silent.

Finally, Peter broke the silence with an announcement after one last long gulp of milk. "The coach wants us there forty-five minutes early for pictures at T-ball practice tomorrow, Mom."

"I hated picture days when I was your age." Justin began. "This one time, I was on a team just like you are and we had to take a picture, only just before, two of the guys on my team had bothered a wasp nest under the bleachers. Right before picture time, a whole bunch of wasps came flying at all of us. We musta looked pretty silly all nine of us hopping into the Coach's van!"

"I betchya would've looked even sillier in the pictures if the wasps hadn't come." Peter snickered.

"Eat your lima beans, Peter." Ana scolded her son crisply. "If you don't finish them you won't get desert."

"Your Mom has cherry pie tonight, Pete. You better eat up." Justin urged helpfully.

"I don't like cherry pie." Peter grumbled.

"You haven't had *this* cherry pie." Justin coaxed.

"I've had five pieces of cherry pie, and I didn't like any of 'em. Why should I like the sixth."

"Your mom didn't make this one." That remark earned Justin a playful punch in the shoulder from his step-sister.

"We have your favorite ice cream--the Ben&Jerry's Phishfood in the freezer. That's where it will stay if you don't finish up your lima beans."

"Besides, kiddo, you gotta eat your veggies. If you don't you'll look like me and girls won't touch you with a ten foot pole."

That got the boy to eat his lima beans. With those finished, he took his plate over to the sink, and the other two adults followed.

"He's at a difficult age." She said, excusing his bratty attitude.

"So am I." Justin replied as he began clearing the dishes.

"So how's the job hunt coming?" Ana asked as she ran the plates under the faucet.

"I told you, I've got a job." Justin answered, subsequently loading the plates into the dishwasher. "I'm defending the Deputy Mayor of DC. It's all in the papers."

"Yeah, I heard about that. The case any good?" She said over the running water rinsing the silverware.

"All the evidence against him is circumstantial. The DA's got nothing solid on him." He said over the clinking of the silverware in the dishwasher.

"I don't think you're telling me everything, Justin."

"I don't think you need to know everything, Ana."

"Listen, Jus. I'm looking out for *you* here. You’re my half-brother...but I never thought of us like that. I just don't want anything to happen to you because of someone who may or may not be alive."

"When the Deputy Mayor was in the FBI, he specialized in alien activity. If he can't help me find her, then the people who put me on that case can."

"What do you mean?" She demanded, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"These people who put me on this case...they're fighting a cause...this old guy and this blonde Russian bitch are at the healm. They have a lot of power."

"Jus...these people sound dangerous." She answered angrily.

"They're powerful, too, Ana." He fired back desperately. "They can get me the answers I've been after ever since that awful night."

"I just don't want you to be wiped off the face of this earth like that poor girl was. You are in way over your head Big Brother," she warned.

"I think I was in way over my head with Lily." He answered softly.

"Remember when we were kids? I think when they hire faculty for the school, they ask for teachers, a principal, a vice-principal and a bully. Anyway...it was your last year in grammar school and it was my second year, and you found out somehow that a bunch of bullies were stealing my lunch money. You went to confront them, but got into a brawl." Her features became drawn... "They broke your nose, and fractured your wrist...if the teacher didn't break it up, I think you would've had a broken neck. You've always done stuff like that. I'm just wondering when the teacher won't come out to save your ass."

"I'll turn the porch light off on my way out." Justin growled and stormed out the door. Ana hoped that he wasn't going to get bitten by the sharks.

Out of her giant bay window, Ana watched Justin storm off the porch and down the sidewalk towards his car in a huff. She heard a buzzing noise in the background.

"Mom," Peter said in his squeaky eight-year-old’s voice. "MOOOOOOOOOOM... hell-LO, earth to Mom."

Startled out of her reverie, Ana turned to her boy. "What?" she said, a little more tired than she meant to be. Sometimes, Justin just drained the life out of her.

"Phone," Peter said. As Ana walked back to the kitchen, Peter tailed her. "Hey, Mom, can I go to Mike's house tonight?"

"Clean your room first," Ana said automatically which sent her son grumbling upstairs. She picked the phone up. "Hello?"

"Mrs. Sedai?" A swarmy male voice asked.

"Yes?" ::Oh no, a telemarketer::she groaned inwardly.

"You have five minutes to get out of the house." Dial tone.

Ana raced out of the kitchen and to the foot of the stairs. "Pete! Peter, come down here, now!"

Peter, alarmed by the panicky tone of her voice, actually came down immediately. "Wha-" he started to say but his mother grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the door...

Justin Leo was four blocks away from his half-sister's house when he saw the explosion in the rearview mirror. Cutting off a Subaru while doing an illegal U-turn, he floored it back to Ana's house...

The wailing of fire trucks was in the distance. Startled neighbors were standing in their doorframes stunned. A few had come to their senses and were coming out to assist the figures lying in the middle of the road.

Leo squealed his tires to a halt and ran to Ana, who was sitting up, holding a weeping Peter. "Peter, Peter, buddy," Leo grabbed the boy's face and kissed his forehead soundly. "Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head but pointed to the hole in the ground where his house used to. "Smokey was in the house," he sobbed, referring to his beloved dog.

As the ambulances pulled up to assist a shaken Ana and her devastated son, Leo's cell phone began to ring. He answered as the paramedics lifted Ana onto a stretcher. "What?"

"Consider that a warning, Leo," Marita Covarubias hissed. "I told you to get your ass to the safe house." She hung up the phone with a vengeance.

::That little punk::she seethed, ::better get his priorities in line.::He worked for HER, not CSM, not the Admiral. He worked for her and he screwed up royally. She was glad she had the foresight to put listening devises in Ana's house years ago when Leo came to work for her. She figured it would keep him honest. Now he just about blew the entire mission to her. So, Marita reasoned, she blew up the house.

Next time he screwed up, she'd make sure she'd kill more that just a dog.

*sniff!* What's left of the Sedai residence

"You two are staying with me tonight. Peter, on the week-end, we'll go to the pet store and get you another dog, alright?"

"I don't want another dog." Peter mumbled, horrified of the thought that Smokey was as replaceable as his clothes.

"Peter, don't talk that way to your Uncle." Ana scolded, then turned her wrath on Leo, who had just finished talking with the police. "Justin, what if the--those people--the ones who burnt down my house come after you?" She seethed. "Justin, whatever the hell it is you've gotten into, I want you out! I don't give a damn what you do to yourself anymore, but I will NOT let you destroy my son!"

"How come you can yell at him but I can't?" Peter whined, but wished he could take it back as soon as he saw the damning glare his mother flashed him. The defensive, recoiled look in Leo's eyes made Ana realize the harshness of her words.

"Oh, Jus...I didn't mean it like that--" she immediately apologized.

"It's ok...and you're right." He said, sighing heavily. "The people after me may hit again. I should have thought of that. I'll put you and Pete in a hotel tonight until I figure out how to stop these people."

"Justin...I have lost my house." She said pointedly. "I think I deserve to know what the hell is going on."

Meanwhile...
In Coffee is My Friend 24 hr Coffee shop

"Ana..." Justin began, fiddling with the cigarette holder in his breast pocket. Ben tried to use the lighter as a weapon in the struggle a couple of nights ago, and with possible traces of skin and fingernail on it, there was no way he was going to let it be found in the car. Not wanting to look at her, he simply replied, "I can't."

"Jus," Ana countered, "we were almost blown up tonight. Everything I own is GONE...you HAVE to tell me."

"If I tell you, they'll kill all of us."

"Who's *they*?" She demanded

"Them." Leo answered flatly. "I seriously don't know who THEY are beyond a group of people I work for." Then eager to end the conversation, he steered the topic, "Come on, you need to find a place to stay. The sooner we get you guys outta here, the safer you are."

"You mean the safer *you* are." She hissed. "Justin exactly what have you gotten yourself into?"

"Deep shit." was all Leo could answer.

"Apparently." Ana snorted. "I can't handle this Justin," she said with a frustrated sigh, "I love you, but if you don't stop dealing with this group, I'm going to have to put a restraining order on you."

"I don't blame you, Ana. Look...I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused."

"When all is said and done, do you think it will really help you find Lily?" she asked quietly.

"Yes...they promised me that...but if that means you shut me out then..." Leo couldn't finish.

"Are these people good at keeping promises?"

"I don't think so."

"Then you should get out. Get away from them. Get a fresh start."

"I don't think I can."

7:42 PM
Cherry Lane Apts.

Marita knew that Justin Leo was not fooling himself. He worked for her and the rest of the consortium for one reason, and one reason only: to find someone he lost. He always held the false illusion that the tasks he performed were to find Lily--which he was on a quest.

Marita banked upon that mistake and allowed him to keep the illusion.
After all, as long as he proved useful to her, what was the harm in allowing him to think that that poor dumb girl was still alive? He pined after Lily, and allowed himself to believe that he was performing his tasks to find her. His quest was under false pretenses though; only brave men go on quests.

She was beginning to discover however, that a Luke Skywalker costume was hard to fit on Chewbacca.

She knew that Justin Alexander Leo possessed absolutely no balls...and for that quality, she kept him at her heels. Cowards are easily intimidated and very gullible. She knew this, and used it to the Ultimate Advantage.

There were still too many things standing in the way of the Ultimate Advantage. She knew that those things would have to be eliminated. The first steps were taken already, but until the Smoking Fucker was out of the picture, she knew that these steps wouldn't be taken.

Under her careful supervision, the syndicate was finally gaining a stronger hold, and more paranormal cases were brought to the FBI's attention. Careful strategizing went into placing the Starkweathers in the Nation's capital, and careful strategizing went into expelling Mulder from the FBI. With the truth revealed about his sister, Marita and CSM were both delightedly surprised she chose to stay in the FBI; but admittedly, it was the dumb luck of Vietnam that landed Mulder at City Hall.

His abduction was not, however, part of the plan; nor was his death. The syndicated HAD been participating in abduction conspiracies for years. Lily and Samantha were both planned to be taken at different times as part of a contract made under Spender. The best she and Krycek could determine when the news reached them was that Mulder's disappearance had been the work of the alien rebels.

The Ultimate Advantage now was to find out exactly what the alien rebels were fighting against, and how to negotiate with both. Marita knew that by controlling Billy Miles she was getting close to the Ultimate Advantage.

Giving Dana Scully and Fox Mulder the Truth behind Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather was done because she also knew that if Agents Scully and Mulder and the rest of the members of the X-Files and their cohorts had a distraction. Then it would take them off their guard and allow Mr. Leo to perform his tasks and her Syndicate time to take control of the situation.

Ben Starkweather and Justin Leo had one very crucial commonality: they both lacked any ounce of courage, but they needed to believe that they strove to do the Right Thing...and that false belief drove their very Existences. She knew that this tendency would be the convincing factor in proving them useful to the Ultimate Advantage.

There was a swift knock at her door. The old man drew a long puff of his cigarette when Marita opened it.

"You are a fool if you think the Truth is a good distraction for Agent Scully." He told her. "Against your advice, Ms. Covarubias, I have set Mr. Miles in motion."

"Then we risk finding what we need to know. They can help us." She insisted

"It is too late. It has been done."

"Then you are the fool," she hissed. "Because any stronghold we had is going to be lost now. The lie will be gone!"

"You should watch yourself, Marita." The old man purred. "The lie is about to explode. But I wouldn't disappear. You and your handyman will be useful in the near future. We might be lucky. They might crack. We might survive."

"You can only threaten me with *might*...not with *MIGHTS* you B*STARD!" She exploded, and an with an emphatic BANG slammed the door in his face, not caring that it was the most immature reaction she could have to his maddening words. More importantly, it proved to him that she was loosing her control...but she had to admit, it was therapeutic.

She ran to the closet where her suitcase gathered dust, and against his advice, began to pack it.

Justin Leo watched his stepsister leave. He understood her fears, and admonished himself for not sending them away before she threatened the restraining order. He really couldn't blame her. But, what could he do? He was too far in to get out now.

The coffee shop was near a college, and the owner had the foresight to install a few modem hook-ups. He booted up, logged on, and went into the UFO chat rooms, clinging to the faint hope of helping him find answers, and surfed UFO newsletters for possible clues. The hope that Marita Covarubias and her colleagues would help him find Lily was slowly dimming.

He whipped out his cell phone at its obnoxious whirring beckon.

"Leo." Marita hissed coldly, "you have a chance to redeem yourself after your last blunder." then calmly, "One last chance to get her back."

Deciding it best to remain silent, he said nothing, waiting for her to continue, and nodded as if he could see him.

"We have an emergency on our hands. I need you to drop all contact with the Deputy Mayor. I need you to get the serum and send the replicant to his cell tomorrow afternoon. You’re the only one with the information to send the replicant to the correct location. We'll be so much closer to getting Lily back...and others..." her voice trailed off.

Without a word, he hung up and logged off, leaving the coffee shop.

After making sure Ana and Peter were safe; Leo finally went to the safe house like he had been ordered to earlier that day. Marita was waiting for him. "You little bitch," Leo started to say, but Marita pointed a gun at him.

"You have but one chance to redeem yourself Leo." She purred, coming closer to him, step by step until the gun barrel was shoved painfully into his chest. "Agent Starkweather is a problem we need solved. Now. Tonight." She turned the gun around and handed it to him. "And don't even think of turning it on me. It's not loaded. You'll need to get your own bullets." She handed him the manila envelope:: "Here's a better picture of her. The address is on the back. I want this done right. Make it look like a robbery gone wrong." She turned her back on him and left him alone.

Leo, fuming, ripped open the envelope. He pulled out an 8x10 color glossy print of a photo of Starkweather from a surveillance shot. She was getting out of a white Dodge Dynasty that had obviously seen better days, one hand still on the wheel as she looked off to the right at something. Her hair was bundled on top of her head in a heavy-looking bun. She wore a nice black suit and a blue silk blouse, with a blue and silver scarf knotted at her neck.

Leo dropped the photograph, exhaling. The hair color and the eye color was wrong, of course but the face... "**Lily**" he gasped.

While Leo goggled at the photograph, Marita went into the kitchen to answer the ringing phone. "Marita, you should have been more careful." The Admiral reprimanded. "Blowing up a house like that only makes us high profile. The police will want to know what's going on."

"I made sure that there's nothing left to investigate. No arson charges will be made tonight. Look, old man," she seethed, "I had to make sure that cocky little shit knew who was in charge."

"Are you in charge, my dear?" The Admiral demanded.

"If the human race can keep the illusion that we're in control of this planet just a little bit longer, and if that means keeping Spender and Leo in check, then yes...I'm in charge."

"How can you be so sure?"

"The same way anyone is sure of anything." She said with a sly smile. "By not thinking too hard about it."

The news was all over the explosion in the quiet suburban neighborhood. The Lone Gunmen, still so stunned by their recent discovery of the link between Mulder and Starkweather however, probably would have paid no mind to the horrifying event if Langly hadn't looked up at the TV and said "Crap."

"What?" Frohike adjusted his glasses, smudged with fingerprint dust. The boys were trying to deduce who the benefactor of their package was.

"You guys missed it," Langly said. "A house blew up for no reason in the 'burbs and guess who was in the neighborhood?"

"Tom Hanks?"

"No... and Byers what kind of stupid, lame-ass answer is 'Tom Hanks'?"

"Well... he did make that terrible comedy called "The 'Burbs", naturally this was all pre- 'Sleepless in Seattle', 'Philadelphia', 'Forest Gump' and let's see... oh yes! 'You've Got Mail' and 'Saving Private Ryan' and 'Castawa-"

"Hey, Leonard Maltin!" Frohike snapped. "Get to the point."

"Well, I was merely making an attempt at humor since the atmosphere has been quite dark ever since we made the discovery that Mulder and Mrs. Starkweather share more that just the supreme talent of getting under everyone's skin."

"You're just pissed because she made you crap your pants when she stuck that gun in your face, Virgin Monkey Boy."

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!!!"

"Dudes!" Langly broke in. "Mulder's lawyer was in the neighborhood."

Frohike shrugged. "So?"

"Well..." Langly babbled. "Doesn't that strike you as kinda weird?"

"Why?"

Langly paused. "I dunno," he admitted.

"Langly," Frohike spluttered, absolutely frustrated. "I think the peroxide is soaking into your brain. And I can't find one damn print on this box."

"What about the vials?"

"Worthless. We handled them too much."

"Wait a minute..." Byers said quietly, going to the computer.

"What?" Langly asked.

"Langly, you may have for once in you life, been observant about something."

"So the LSD didn't kill off ALL of his brain cells? That's a relief," Frohike grumbled.

"Well... call me insane-"

"Insane," Langly and Frohike droned at the same time.

"But personally, I think it would be odd that a prominent lawyer would be at the site of an explosion but not necessarily damning..."

"So... how was I observant?" Langly demanded.

"Well, when you pointed out Mr. Leo to us on the TV, that reminded me that I had asked one of our associates to get documented history on Mr. Leo, because... again... another coincidence... when I spoke to Mulder on the phone-"

"When did you get to talk to Mulder?" Frohike pouted.

Byers ignored him "-he mentioned his defense attorney was from Carters, Spangle and Adams... which was the law firm Mr. Starkweather worked for..." Byers opened his email and saw a message from Jimmy Bond with a ZIP attachment. "Now... does that strike you as odd?" he queried as he opened the email and waited for the ZIP file to download.

"No." Langly said. Frohike stood on his tiptoes and slapped him upside the head. "Ow!!!"

"Why would a lawyer from the firm Ben was working at send a lawyer to defend Mulder?"

"Cause lawyers are dogs?"

Frohike hit him again.

"Stop that!"

"Well," Byers said mildly. "Not all, but THIS lawyer is a dog, like I suspected."

"Wha'cha got?" Frohike leaned in closer.

"HR records from CS and A. Mr. Leo was terminated from the firm as of May 13, 2001. And this... if Jimmy did his job..." Byers double-clicked his mouse. "Ah ha..."

Langly and Frohike looked at the jibber-jabber on the scene. "What the hell is that?"

"Data retrieved from Washington DC Workforce Development. Mr. Leo is a lawyer on unemployment." Byers clicked on the next file. "His bank statement Yves hacked from Wells Fargo site. Virtually empty."

"So what the hell is going on?" Frohike said. "If he's getting a payoff, where is it? And what made you so suspicious of Leo in the first place?"

"Mulder said that Leo is doing this case pro-bono."

"AHhhhhhhhhh," Langly and Frohike said.

"And, well, when Mulder said that... I had to do a little digging. Find out what kind of character that this Mr. Justin Leo is. And I find this..." Byers shook his head. "But when we got that package... I completely forgot all about Leo and the case."

"Me too," Langly admitted.

Frohike closed his eyes. "Guys... we've been had."

Byers and Langly exchanged confused looks. "I don't follow," Byers said slowly.

"This," Frohike held up the note from the package. "'The answers are in here?' Bullshit. We were sent this to keep us busy. To throw us off the trail."

"Because the answers in there..." Langly said, putting the pieces together. "would distract us from what we were working with Mulder and Dog-breath in the first place... The fuckin’ oilrig!" he cried as he raced to his computer and started to type frantically on his computer. Then, his body slumped in his sit, head lolling back in defeat. "We're too late. There's massive firewalls built around the Galpex site. They even found the rabbit-holes we created and filled them. It's going to take time to get back in there."

"Time we ain't got." Frohike ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. "Fuck," he muttered inaudibly.

"I hear ya, brother," Langly groaned, pulled on his own hair in frustration. "Why were we so stupid????"

Byers scratched his beard. "We're not stupid." He said in his quiet voice. "We were distracted by the red herring. But we are not stupid." Byers began to type. "Mrs. Starkweather was working on a connection between the oil rig and the Air Force base where the downed planes came from and I think it's safe to say that the USAF and the FBI have not strengthened their firewalls as Galpex has."

Frohike and Langly raised their head. "Well, Hippie," Frohike said. "Make some coffee...."

Meanwhile....

Back in Jail...

Manny was sound asleep, snoring loudly as drool dribbled down his face. Mulder paid him no mind. Under the guise of reading a book, Mulder was trying to quietly finish piecing together what Starkweather had started.

But first he had to get inside her head. ::Oh God...::he moaned to himself, little realizing that Starkweather had the same reaction when she had decided to profile him.

"Alright, Jerilyn," Mulder closed his eyes remembering their first encounter. He had by surprised at her small frame and baby face. She was a woman creeping towards middle age with extreme defiance. Nature had been very kind to her, and Mulder remembered she was damn well how kind Nature was to her and used Nature's kindness to her advantage, lulling people into a sense of security... until they pissed her off and she opened her mouth.

Judging by their few and far in between meetings, for Starkweather did not hide the fact she was not overtly fond of him and so did not make a point to talk to him, unless she absolutely had to, Mulder knew for a fact she rarely backed down from confrontation. Plus she was not afraid of using force, at all, Mulder recalled, ruefully rubbing his neck where she tried to choke him. ::Bitch::he couldn't help thinking. But her violent outburst only proved what Mulder had thought from the beginning, if someone could look beyond the childishly sweet face and into her eyes and ignore the cutting tongue, they would see the passionate and loyal heart that drove Starkweather into doing what she believed was right. Coupled with her feral intelligence that took swipes at people's foolishness and corruption fearlessly, someday she would be a force to reckon with. But not until she learned to curb her naturally salty tongue. Her mouth and her attitude was going to get her in trouble time and time again until she grew up. In fact, Mulder's ears still rang with the snarls of his first fight with her, when she had busted him and the Lone Gunmen for trying "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"

:: "I'm a federal agent. My life is in danger everyday due to my choice."::

And that was the stumbling block, Mulder reasoned, keeping Starkweather from achieving healthy self-actualization. ::**I'm.** **My life** **My choice**::Her pride and her arrogance and fear of loss, fear of being alone. Never a **we** heard anywhere.

Mulder smiled and shook his head. ::Like looking in a mirror::he sighed to himself.

Pushing his own issues aside, he delved deeper into Starkweather's psyche. As of right now, she believes her husband is dead and her dedication to duty and honor is probably fueling the fire of guilt that's burning her up. She believes that she should have stopped Ben from his fool's errand and now that he's gone, she owes it to him to find the truth.

::Why does that sound familiar?::he wondered before his profiling went on...

So where would she go for answers? Well... she probably checked HIM inside and out. If she was as good as people were saying, Mulder thought smugly, then her profile is not going to match the true "murder" suspects, which will raise the hairs on the back of her neck. So now she's dealing with whether to believe or not believe, to be or not to be, the eternal question. Unable to handle emotions, she probably hides away to cry, only to come out feeling worse, but in extreme denial and harboring much guilt, she will try to shove those feelings even deeper down, trying to be professional...

Until a gesture of sadness or kindness makes her crack. Mulder sighed. Or a hologram appearance, that could make her crumble.

::So...::Mulder backed up. While she was in professional mode, she probably went back to square one. That damn oilrig. There was a reason why Ben was ordered to prosecute it and why he was silenced for it. Mulder wondered how far back in the oilrig case did she go? Did she explore the history of the vicious Black Oil known as Purity?

She would have... Mulder believed... or at least... I would have...

He scoured his memory for the conversation he and Scully had after her mission to Scotland, with Doggett and Starkweather in tow. Incidentally, it was Starkweather's first X-File.

The Lone Gunman had just brought him to Scully's after his futile attempt to make the Hurricane understand how much danger she really was in. He was wretchedly ill, literally. Before Scully brought him to bed, he threw up her favorite shoes.

After she took his temperature and listened to him whine about how he felt like such a loser, a puppet, a sell-out, thoughts planted by the benevolent Starkweather herself. Scully had basically told him to stop whining because she was there and together, they had battled worse odds. To change the subject, Mulder had asked her about the trip.

"A complete disaster," she had said, once again mopping his hot brow with the soft, cool, damp cloth. "We lost our only witness and the legal evidence was confiscated by the United States Army. It's under lock and key, we can't touch it. The case is dead in the water."

"Legal evidence?" Mulder had rasped, stricken with bronchitis. He remember how much it hurt to breath, how much effort it took to even keep his eyes open, but he wanted to listen. He wanted to stay awake. "Are you implying that there's not-so-legal evidence?"

"Starkweather killed a bounty hunter. She doesn't believe that it was alien, of course, but... anyway... samples of the blood was collected to be sent to Quantico, but Doggett took one of the samples."

"Doggett?" Mulder had hardly been able to contain his mirth, despite how bad he felt. "Puppy-Man?"

"Stop it Mulder," Scully gestured Mulder to sit up, which he did. Scully slid behind him and he rested his head on her, closing his eyes as she continued to bathe his face, throat and chest with the cooling water. "And when we examined the downed aircraft, Starkweather noticed an abnormality with the cockpit shield... she said the glass looked to be heated enough to liquidify, then cooled down and solidify again. Starkweather helped herself to a piece of glass." Mulder had chuckled. "Mulder, it's not funny. They violated a crime scene, they disturbed evidence..."

"Scully, Scully, Scully, how often has our work been sabotaged? I think Starkweather and Doggett are engaging in a little CYA if you ask me." Mulder had sighed in exhaustion and relief when he felt Scully's cool fingers rub his temples. "But you still have no idea why this plane went down?"

"I can't think of any. Starkweather was muttering she might have a hunch, but before she said anything, she passed out and Doggett took her home." Mulder had startled at that, tried to sit up, but Scully had pushed him gently back down against her again. "Remember how I told you that van the bounty hunters were driving were hurtling towards her? She threw herself across the hood of another car to avoid being mowed down by the runaway truck. Also an Army lieutenant hurt her arm pretty badly. Come to think of it... she also hit her head pretty hard when we had to make that emergency landing in Rome... I'm surprised she held up this long."

"But you don't remember what her hunch was?"

"Mulder, don't press. It's not good for you, it's not good for me. You're sick and I'm tired." She had stroked his hair and used the same soothing voice that she did with little Will when he was fussing. "Mulder, just let it go... it'll be fine, just rest, just close your eyes and let it go..."

And Mulder had let go and fallen into fitful sickly sleep until the LGM returned from the errand to the drugstore like Scully asked him. She had roused him enough to take a heavy-duty antiboditic and an even heavier decongestant. Then he truly let go and slept like the dead...

Now, trapped in a cell which seemed to grow smaller and smaller every hour, Mulder was reaching for the thread that Scully told him to let go. ::The oilrig, the oilrig... Al said Starkweather was working on a connection between the rig and the crash in Scotland. They were intertwined and the reason for this whole nightmare....::Mulder's teeth clenched together. He longed for a sunflower seed.

Stretching, he rotated his head left to right, hoping to pop his stiff neck. As he did this, he happen to look at Manny, still sleeping, still snoring...

And the answer hit him like a Mack Truck.

"Oh my God..." Mulder said aloud.

He had the answer. He just hoped there was physical proof... he hoped it could be found before good ol' Billy Boy paid him a visit.

"What if the plane was SUPPOSED to crash???"

Manny snorted in his sleep and rolled over, continuing to snore.

Mulder began to pace. It made sense, it made perfect sense... according to what little Scully told him about the case in Scotland before she left with Doggett and Starkweather... several other military planes had taken off for routine missions and crash-landed way off course days later. According to Starkweather, several airbases had fueling contracts with the oil company. If Mulder was right... if the oil company was just a cleverly simple facade for their real mission, to secretly import Purity into other countries...

Mulder continued to pace. But didn’t bees transmit the Black Oil? He knew it was, Scully had nearly died from a bee from that weird farm in Texas. But just touching it also transmitted the Black Oil. Plus... God only knew how many other places there could be in the world that was genetically engineering killer bees...

Mulder went to the bars and grabbed the bars in desperation, wishing he had the strength of Billy Miles. If Ben had been successful with bringing the case to trial, everything would have come out. Including the race of indigents that were immune to the Black Oil... which, Mulder realized frantically, is what the Syndicate was hiding... or rather the New Syndicate. Even though he knew that most of the "Old Guard" had been killed, he had the sneaking suspicion that someone was waiting in the wings for just such an event so he... or she could grab the reins.

And if the New Syndicate was anything like the Old Syndicate... pretending to help the alien nation while trying to undermine their efforts... they would NOT want it to become public knowledge that some humans were immune... humans like the two brave souls who perished on the oilrig trying to stop their evil work... humans like himself and Scully... possibly Starkweather... but definitely...

"William..." he breathed. "Oh no..."

If Starkweather didn't wake up, if he didn't get out of this cell... the hell with the rest of the world, who was going to protect Scully and Will?

Meanwhile

"D-d-doggett..." Starkweather stammered "I think I should lay off the J.D.'s."

"Starkweather?" Sam asked with an expression of forged confusion plastered on his face. After fifteen years of leaping, he had acquired acting skills. In a flash, he pulled the gun out of the shoulder holster and had it poised toward the gun.

"Please..." she stammered, "tell me you see a man in a God-awful suit in this room? Because if you don't, Clarence is back...and you should check the yellow pages for nutfarms."

"Awful?! What the hell do you mean awful?!" Al objected. "This material is top-quality 100 % silk! He can't see me. You're the only one who can see me honey." Al fibbed.

"I think I'm going fucking insane..." She closed her eyes. "He's not real, in a minute, I'll wake up and this will all go away...he's just a figment of my imagination..." Mumbling, she walked over to the liquor cabinet, and poured every drop of liquor that existed down the drain.

"Who's there?" Sam immediately recoiled, poising his gun for show.

Sam and Al, meanwhile, took the opportunity while her back was turned to them to relay a message

*Mulder* Al exaggeratedly mouthed and pointed at his watch then pointed at Doggett's gun and then emphatically pointed at his head

"Calivici," she swung around, and immediately Al and Sam both stiffened up, "Why'd you come back?"

"Ummmmm...St. Peter wanted me to tell you that unless you stop cryin' me a river, Mulder's going to be killed in prison within..." he held up the comlink and punched in data, "twenty four hours."

"Glad to see Heaven's gotten an upgrade." Starkweather purred.

"Why do you think we couldn't afford the cleaning bill?" Al retorted.

"Oh, I see. You can’t afford a cleaning bill but you can afford technology that doesn't exist yet. It's a God damn miracle."

"That's what Angel's gotta do, isn't it?"

"I can't believe I'm arguing with a figment of my imagination. God...I must be insane."

"I'm not God, I'm--" Al protested.

"Shut up!" Starkweather barked.

It was hard for Sam not to hide his urgency. Aside from finding this situation slightly amusing, he desperately needed whatever information Al had to give him. So, he continued to play along. "Starkweather? Who are you talking to?"

"Calivici...my guardian angel...with a pretty blinking calculator..." she said quizzically.

Just then, Starkweather's cell phone rang. Scully's voice was urgent on the other end.

"Starkweather, turn on the local news. There's something you should see.

Sam gave her a questioning glance that was unanswered. Starkweather turned her television on from cable to local television.

"A Gap commercial?"

"No no no...it just went off the air...Mulder's lawyer is connected to an unexplained explosion.

Al and Sam were both starring wide eyed at the next newsclip from the Spangle, Adams and Carter law firm.

"Jiminy Christmas!" Starkweather murmuring at the sight of the man on the screen. "Look at that..." eyeing the cigarette holder..."looks a helluva lot like the cigarette holder I gave...he knows...holy fuck! I think that man killed Ben...if he didn't kill Ben," she finished quietly, "...then he at least knows who did..."

Starkweather faced the television set, nibbling her thumbnail, oblivious to Sam or Al.

"Unless, he's in on it with Mulder, he is his lawyer, but... no if he was in with Mulder, he would have gotten him off on bail, if Leo was in on it with Mulder, there is no logical reason why Mulder would still be sitting in that jail cell." She bit her lip. "Unless he's being set up..." she muttered to herself as the commercials droned on and on, a McDonald's spot, then a local spot for a furniture company, then the news was back on. The way-too-happy anchorwoman re-informed Washington DC and the surrounding areas of the unexplained house explosion in a nearby suburb of DC. As the already over-played footage re-aired, the woman's voiceover announced how the fire marshal suspected foul play, but has not yet been determined. The picture flashed back to the family, a woman, cut, scraped and mildly burned hovering over her fear-stricken son while a man, Justin Leo, tried to comfort them both.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," she whispered to herself, still thinking.

"Starkweather?" Sam asked. "Doc?"

"Hang on a sec," she said, dashing off into the bedroom.

Sam was about to follow, but Al already vanished, centering on her. Sam heard a loud "CAN'T A GIRL GET SOME FUCKING PRIVACY YOU PERVERTED LITTLE HALUCINATION??????" Al returned to Sam quickly, very red-faced, a rarity.

"She's changing," he mumbled, punching at his little com-link to cover his massive embarrassment.

"What's going on?" Sam hissed insistently. "Does anything change?"

Al began punching at his com-link for real now. "Mulder still croaks tomorrow night at straight up five o'clock Eastern time-"

Just then, Caesar the fat orange cat rounded the corner. His tail puffed up three times its normal size, hissed at Sam, glared at Al. He lowered himself to ground, just like his bigger and wilder relations in Africa, waggling his rump, tensing his legs, preparing for the attack. Suddenly he lunged himself off the floor, hurtling himself towards Al, claws extended. Al, by now, used to animals freaking out on him, put his hands behind his back and waited patiently. The cat sailed right through him. Confused, Caesar flailed his paws wildly as he tried to control his landing. He belly-flopped onto the polished oak coffee table, sliding across it, knocking magazines and coffee cups off and falling into an undignified orange heap on the floor. Tucking his tail between his legs, Caesar slunk off to nurse his wounded pride in peace. "HA!!!" he barked at the retreating cat. "That makes up for every damn cat Ex-Wife Number... Four... Five... whatever... brought home to destroy my house."

"Al!" Sam snapped, although the entire scenario had privately amused him.

"Oh oh oh right..." Al got back to work. "Oh... no... Sammmmmm.... Starkweather gets killed **tonight** now."

"WHAT?!?!?!" Sam felt his heart and head spin. "How??? Why?"

Just then, Starkweather came back, in baggy khakis cargo pants cinched tightly at her waist with a thick black belt, a chest-hugging tight black t-shirt while wearing one of Ben's dark gray dress shirts over it. On her feet were shiny black boots Sam correctly guessed where from her days in the Air Force. Her hair was pulled tightly back in a harsh French braid. Over her head, she had tied on a black handkerchief, pulling her bangs back so anyone could clearly see the ugly scar she earned when her flight to London was crash landing in Rome. The tail of her braid swished back and forth as she walked out. She wore dark black sunglasses. Her mouth was pulled down what seemed to be a permanent frown. She looked evil.

But what scared Sam more was the gun she was loading. "Starkweather, what are you doing?"

She smiled coldly at Sam, the smile worse than the frown. "I'm gonna go have a chat with Mr. Leo," she said wickedly. "Don't know if you wanna come with Doggett. The game just got dirty and your suit is still sparkly clean."

Sam looked down at Doggett's neatly pressed black suit, starched white shirt and gray and red and violet striped tie. With a sigh, Sam took his gun out, checked it, took it off of safety and put it back in his holster. "My suit's washable," Sam said.

Starkweather stuck the gun in the back of her waistband, pulled Ben's shirt over it and grabbed her car keys.

"Oh boy," Sam said, following...

Later…

After Scully had left the Admiral, she could not shake the feeling that he was not going to be honest with her. He was an old family friend, and she believed he truly wanted to do right, but that other forces were compelling him to do wrong.

It was her job now to flush the compelling forces out and uncover the truth. The truth now, she hoped, would set Mulder free...literally this time.

She needed to go to the county jail and tell Mulder everything she found. He would want to know he had a sister again, even if it was someone who had a powerful left hook that liked to meet his face. She had come to rely on Reyes in these times when she needed someone to stay with Will while she perused these questions, and was really not quite sure how she would repay the favor.

The house phone rang just then, interrupting her train of thought; which was in the middle of trying to determine the best next step in this investigation.

"Dr. Scully, my name is J. Stephen Cello III." a young man began, "You don't know me, but one of my late colleagues worked with one of your colleagues."

"What's this all about?" Scully was slightly irritated with a man automatically introduced himself as someone whose name sounded like the closing of Sesame Street ::this Sesame Street was brought to you by the letter J and the number 3::.

"Mr. Starkweather was my colleague." He answered sadly. "I was going over the police reports here in front of me on behalf of our law firm and your name came up. I think some things need to be brought to your attention."

Scully got off the phone completely outraged. The young lawyer was setting up Mulder, and she was sure it had something to do with the oilrig. Now all she had to do was find the connection. She picked up the phone again.

"Byers. It's Scully. Listen, I need you guys to do me a favor as fast as you can. Can you get me the phone records for Justin Leo and fax them for me? Thanks, I appreciate it."

She was slightly puzzled when the records pulled up on her fax machine immediately.

Al, taking a puff of his cigar, stood in the shadows. When he realized she didn't see the smoke, he stepped into the light.

"Mulder..." she mumbled to herself, a thin smile gracing her lips, "you are one paranoid piece of work..."

"Ain't he though?" Al said, grinning over her shoulder.

Her brow crinkled in confusion when she saw one number from Sasha Krycek at PO Box 37 Cherry Lane Apts.

She was interrupted on her way out again by yet another phone call. This time it was her cell, so she wasn't completely stopped.

"Scully," Skinner began, "what have you found so far? I tried to get a hold of Starkweather, but she's busy at the moment."

"Sir, I wish I could fill you in, but so am I. I'll get back to you in a few hours."

Feeling in the way and out of the loop, Skinner sighed and dialed the number for the mayor. When he got a busy signal, he resigned himself to trying again later.

Later…

Scully wound down the streets towards the county jail apprehensively, and it had nothing to do with the place she was going. This whole ordeal was completely illogical. Who gets arrested on pure circumstantial evidence? Why did the judge set the bail so high? Where did the body come from? The only question unanswered surrounding the whole mess was that Ben was opening doors someone intended to keep locked. Tonight, before The Gunmen, Starkweather, and Doggett came for Mulder, she knew that she needed to find at least seven out of ten. If they weren't all going to serve time in prison, she needed solid proof.

From what she could tell from Ben's colleague, Mulder's current lawyer was someone definitely working with someone who had connections...but as far as she knew, the most connected man in Washington was dead.

But, she reminded herself with a heavy sigh, "The phrase 'as far as I know' has a way of not going very far in this job."

She knew without a doubt that if the break didn't succeed, Mulder would be moved to a state penitentiary. That wasn't the worst of the consequences, though. Her mother would undoubtedly be given full legal custody of William, while she, Starkweather, Doggett and the 3 Musketeers would be at the mercy of the court system. The truth that's out there would be abandoned, ignored, closed completely.

But that wasn't going to happen.

She was going to find the proof they needed. Mulder was going to help her after rush hour tomorrow, and then everything would be back to normal.

Scully pulled into the parking lot and got out the paper she reached for after the Gunmen called. She scrawled the message that Starkweather was coming for him at rush hour, and beneath that some questions she knew Starkweather would need answers to if the stunt was to be successful. She folded up as small as possible and tucked it in her skirt.

Because of the late hour, she was escorted into the visitation room by a guard, and while the guard went to get Mulder, she took the opportunity to get the paper out. She fervently wished that she could have brought Will with her. She knew Mulder would want to see him, and that maybe he would give the motivation she knew Mulder would need to pull this off. But it was past her bedtime. She knew that Parenting Magazine would not approve of bringing an infant to a jail at such a late hour.

Scully never doubted Mulder's innocence. Even still, after all the horrors he'd been subjected to, she knew those monsters hadn't robbed him of his compassion. The only doubt that existed in her mind was whether or not they could prove it. She wasn't ready for this to be their goodbye. She sighed tentatively as she waited, and resolved that she wouldn't let that happen.

Mulder was finally escorted into the visitation room.

"You look tired, Scully." He said quietly, and took her hand through the glass. Scully thought he looked like he had probably stayed awake the entire time he was in custody.

"It's been a hellish day. I went to Martha's Vineyard."

"Finally decided to take a vacation there like a normal person?" He answered dryly. "Wow, Scully. I'm impressed. If that's what it takes to get you to have a vacation, I shouldda gotten arrested long ago."

"Yeah, Mulder." She answered. "I went there to have my yearly rendezvous with the pizza guy." Scully deadpanned.

"That explains why you look so beat." He answered in his annoying monotone with a sly smile. Not skipping a beat, he took her hand through the gap in the Plexiglas at the bottom, and in the same tone of voice, he asked "How's Will?"

"A lot like you at this moment." Scully said with a wan grin of her own. Then slid the paper into the palm of his hand. And with one glance into his eyes, she made it understood that this wasn't something to clue the guards in on.

"I haven't passed notes to a girl I liked since grammar school." He mumbled only loud enough for her to hear. He cracked a slight smile as he read the contents of the note. "My apartment until two weeks, Scully...that's where I'm staying." he said, hoping she'd get the hint.

For a moment, she looked confused, and then her face lit up in understanding as she realized what he was saying. ::42 until...minus...two weeks...fourteen days...42 minus 14...28.::

"Scully, the way I see it, we've got proof already. I know what Doggett and I saw on that oil rig, and I think the connection lies in my cell mate."

"Manny?" Scully asked incredulously.

Mulder nodded slowly in response. "They were using people who wouldn't know any better...and if they did know better, they'd need the job too badly to quit, and be willing to take the risk. The people on the oilrig were transporting alien oil...same as we saw in Tungeska...the same oil that was being used in those planes in that airport in Scotland. Certain higher-ups were getting they're palms greased..."

"No pun intended?" Scully interrupted.

"Right..." he continued, "...anyway...the connection is that oil, and those workers...if we can get proof that Kersh and whoever else is connected get those stocks the boys and me found, then I'm home free."

"There's something else I found out today. I found proof that the Admiral has been dealing with the Syndicate. They are the ones who adopted Jerilyn through a black-market adoption agency. Leo has been parading as a lawyer for the past two weeks. He was fired from his firm, and is connected to a bombing of a home in a residential neighborhood. Your old lawyer has been calling this one number quite a bit for a Cherry Lane apartments, and they've been increasing lately. When I leave here, I'm finding out who lives at that address."

"Scully..." Mulder began hesitantly, "if this doesn't work out, and I..."

"Mulder..it'll work..." she said firmly.

Mulder was lead back to his jail cell, and with Manny oblivious to the world around him. He wasn't prepared for the possible scenarios that might unfold tomorrow. He envied Manny of his oblivion, and wished insomnia hadn't worked its spell.

"Kid, I'd get some shut-eye if I were you, tomorrow's gonna be a helluva day." Al growled. He popped in, perched in the middle of the top bunk. At the unexpected sound, Mulder jumped out of his skin.

"Al...tomorrow..."

"I know kid, I heard."

"Why is Starkweather coming?"

"Because..." Al began, inhaling a puff of her cigar, "I think she knows as good as Sam, me, Scully and Doggett that you didn't do this."

"You get anything from Doggett?" Mulder asked, raking his hand through his hair.

"Nada. He went psycho on us earlier...the project psychologist said he kept screaming some cryptic shit about seeing his son...and some number. Beeks finally hadda..." Al started to tell Sam what had happened to Doggett…

Meanwhile, earlier that day, back in the future

Back in the waiting room, while Al was with Sam and Starkweather in his time, Doggett was going stir crazy in a time and body that was not his own.

He hated being ordered. He hated not being able to do anything about the situation back in his own time. He hated seeing a stranger's face in reflections, and hearing another man's voice come from his mouth.

He was angry and trapped, and of course those feelings manifested themselves as a jackass, making him lash out at anyone in arm's reach. He surprised himself when he didn't punch the Italian Seaman back.

He hated not being there for either Scully or Starkweather.

When he was assigned to Scully's department, he made a promise to her to watch her back and to find Mulder. He was about to break both of those promises.

He'd already broke one of them once.

He knew he earned his trust after two years of partnership, but unless something was about to change drastically, it looked as though all that trust was about to be shot out of the water. Not that her trust mattered if she was going to be killed, he thought, exhaling in rage.

Jerilyn Starkweather was a different matter altogether. Doggett felt a need to protect Scully, but something seared much deeper for Doc. Somehow, he felt a bond that hadn't even been there with the former Mrs. Doggett.

He knew both of them must have been going through a Hell worse than he was at the moment, but all the same he just couldn't stand around and wait for disaster to strike. He had abandoned both of them, and wanted to get back.

But to return, he had to believe that this was possible. That this was real. That this wasn't a nightmare, a cruel joke, a neat party trick, a hallucination, or something in between.

Part of him wished fervently that this were possible. If time-travel was possible, then there existed a slight chance that someone could go back in time and stop the death of Luke, who would have been 13 three days ago...or was it fifteen years and three days ago? That was becoming more and more arbitrary to Doggett. The only time reference that mattered to him now was how much time remained until disaster struck.

The catch of the century was that if time travel *was* possible, then that meant that Luke could have been saved. There was something he could have done to prevent his son's horrible murder. That wasn't something he was prepared to believe. That wasn't something he was prepared to understand. That wasn't a road he wanted to go down.

Doggett let out a ragged sigh; one more time he half-heartedly studied the police photos Admiral Calivici had left with him. Clinging to the possibility that maybe *this* time something would reveal itself that hadn't come to light before.

Doggett wasn't aware of falling asleep. The almost-arbitrary time had gone undetected, but in his next conscious moment, he was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, blinking in disbelief.

"Calivici!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, not taking his eyes off of the sight before him. "What the FUCK is going on here. What the HELL IS THIS!? DAMMIT I..."

"Agent Doggett..." Verbeena came in, eyes widening in puzzlement.

"Where's Calivici."

"In the imaging chamber."

"Did he have anything to do with this?" He managed to stammer, pointing a finger at what Verbeena Beeks couldn't see.

"What--*this*--exactly are you referring to. Agent Doggett... John...I assure you we are not a part of what you are upset about." Dr. Beeks had never experienced a reaction like this from Leapers before.

The image of an illuminated towheaded little boy with piercing blue eyes appeared to be unalarmed by his outbursts. Doggett thought he heard the boy saying "Daddy." He was mouthing *thirty-seven* over and over again.

Then the boy was gone.

"Thirty seven...thirty seven...God dammit! Thirty-seven WHAT?!?! THIRTY SEVEN *WHAT* LUKE?!!!!"

Verbeena ordered the nurses to prepare a sedative.

Back to the present…

Sam mused, "Walk-ins...Star-light..."

"Don't tell me cryptic shit disorder's catchy?"

"Walk-ins are souls trapped in some kinda limbo who try to help the living. They helped me find Samantha...Luke died suddenly and before his time. I think thirty-seven's gotta be tied to this somehow."

"Well if he's trying to tell us something," Al grumbled, "I wish he'd give us some useful information...like who's gonna win the World Series in 2012."

"Check on Scully, will ya?"

"Mulder, I wish I could...but I need to check in on Sam...I gotta update him on Puppy Man..."

"Al...go check on her..." Mulder implored simply.

"Mulder, Scully's a strong woman, she can take care of herself. Sam's at the mercy of Starkweather and the Gungeeks..."

"They're harmless..." then, running his hand along his stitches, he decided to change the assessment, "well...she won't do anything with witnesses..."

"I'm only one guy, kid..." Al began to protest, "I can't be in two places at once."

"In my line of work...believe me...you can." Mulder deadpanned.

Letting out a relenting grumble, Al flashed him a dirty look as he called out to Goushie. "Center me on Scully!"

Meanwhile...

Scully left the courthouse, and headed down the bypass on her way to the address she found for Cherry Lane apartments. Over and over again, she went through the evidence they found. Scully never saw the lawyer who was supposedly representing Mulder. She never knew what he looked like. Was it safe to assume that the man in the car getting the vile in the warehouse just the day before had been Leo? She wished that there were enough time to call Starkweather to find out what the Admiral told her.

But there wasn't enough time to do two things at once at this point. She was approaching the neighborhood, and if the caller was involved at all in these operations, then it was an easy conclusion to arrive at that the caller would be on the move, and if that were the case, she needed to catch the caller out the door.

Undetected, Al appeared instantly on Scully's passenger seat.

"Where we goin' Scully?" He asked as if she could hear.

She pulled into the apartment complex and counted down the doors till she came to the right address. He saw two cars, did a license plate check on both. There was one registered to a Sasha Krycek and to an Ana Sedai.

As Scully made her way up the door Al followed, and as soon he caught sight of the door number, it hit him...

Scully rang the doorbell to apartment 37C, shouting "Open up! This is the FBI!"

After repeatedly pounding on the door, she whipped out her gun and turned the safety off.

Al, bug-eyed and anxiously jingling change in his pocket, gnawed nervously on his cigar. "Scully, I wouldn't go in there without back-up if I were you, sweetheart." he warned unheard, and a relieved smile spread across his face as he saw her slip the gun in her breast pocket and whip out her cell-phone lightening-quick. "'Atta girl! Going in there without back up is more along Spooky's line."

She dialed Skinner's number, and as soon as she heard him grumble a barely comprehendible hello into the phone, without waiting for pleasantries, she began spatting instructions. "Sir, it's Scully. You want to know what's going on, I'll let you know as soon as you get to 37C Cherry Lane Apartments in Georgetown. I'm about to make an arrest, and I need back-up." She hung up, not waiting for a reply, and whipped her FBI-issued revolver out of her pocket reflex-quick. With the safety clicked off, she aimed at the doorknob, and with a bang, the lock shot open.

"COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!" she screamed, aiming her gun at shadows. "THIS IS THE FBI! YOU'RE UNDER ARREST!"

"Who the hell is she?!" Al sputtered, wishing to God that he could be seen. What the fu--?" He stammered as he saw something darting between the hall way and the counter.

"Oh, come on, Agent Scully!" Marita purred incredulously, emerging from the hallway. "You don't have to be so Goddamn melodramatic." If Scully was surprised to see her in the dark, modestly furnished living room, she gave no indication.

Scully and the strange woman and the apartment began to flicker and fades like lights do when the electricity goes out. "Goushie! NO!! Keep me up as long as you can't! Dammit!! I don’t' care whatchya gotta do, keep me here!" He hollered helplessly.

"You are under arrest for conspiring to murder Benjamin Starkweather and Deputy Mayor Mulder, and interfering with police investigation."

"I think you've been watching too many cop movies...you're acting like a fucking action hero" she sneered coolly. As he heard the two women spitting their fire, Justin Leo decided to take the opportunity to head for the door.

Scully's attention was averted just then by movement in the shadows, but she kept her gun trained on her target.

"You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of--who's there? Hey!" Scully demanded as Leo made a run for it towards the exit. He knew that if he stayed, Lily would slip through his fingers like an abstract. Marita saw her opportunity and took it.

"The cavalry isn't helping you now, sweetie." She sneered with a swift kick, knocking Scully's gun from her grip.

"You bet your sweet ass they are Lucrezia Borgia." Al combated as if Marita could hear. If it was at all possible, his eyes got even wider like a cartoon character, as Marita poised Scully's own fire arm at her.

Scully swung at her, and dove for the gun, but Marita was quicker. Leo had moved from his shadow, and was now starring shit-faced and wide-eyed at Al.

"He can see me! Holy shit! He can see me!" Sputtered Al as he stared just as bewildered and white-faced, and consulted his hand-link. "Goushie, what the F*CK is going on here?!" he hollered helplessly into the air.

"It's a gun, Leo, not a ghost." Marita said in his direction while her intent stare never diverted from Scully. "Now get out of here and do your job while I do mine." She snarled. Leo did her biding, and quickly bolted for the door.

"You, honey," Al began "are a good argument for the people against the right to bare arms. Guns don't kill people. Psychochicks with a gun kill people." Al smirked. "Goushie! He hollered desperately, "try it again, center me on Sam! Pronto!"

The women’s voices were crackling like radios and cell phones do when the frequencies are off, and with one last flicker, Al wasn't connected with the room anymore.

"That's what I get for getting a nutcase to work for me, isn't it." Marita said with a smirk. "But he *is* efficient, so I think I'll keep him around."

Scully saw the blue lights flickering in the window from the street below, and in an almost automatic action, she lunged at Marita, gripping for her arms first, in attempt to point upward.

But without even aiming the gun steady, Marita fired when she saw the blue and red lights get more intense. Skinner heard the blast from inside, and rushed his crew inside apartment 37C.

Scully didn't think she heard any kind of gunshot. She felt rust-warm and sticky substance on her FBI-approved navy blazer. The only thing she remembered was jerking back. She was dimly aware of footsteps coming up to the front door. She was aware that she was falling.

And then she was aware of nothing more.

With Scully's urgent call moments before, Skinner called reinforcements as quickly as he could, confident in his agent's ability to keep the situation under control. He had no doubt in his mind that her ability to do that alone had saved both the x-files and Mulder's life too many times to count. If Scully was calling for back up, he was sure this whole matter was going to be resolved, and for that he was relieved. It wouldn't be long now before the x-files could get as back to normal as the x-files got.

He turned into the neighborhood the apartment complex was in, and the shrill ring of the cell phone broke his concentration on the route to the apartment. He wouldn't have taken the call at a time like this normally, but his CLD told him that it was from Starkweather's father.

"Look, I don't have a whole lot of time on my hands, so unless this is urgent, I don't want to hear it." He would have barked if it hadn't been someone so important.

"A.D. Skin-man" the Admiral slurred, chuckling at himself. Skinner was not amused. "Skin-man! Damn if um gooohaaana miss that Mulder guy. I'm tooaaaaaaaaaaaatally PLAHASTERED! I'm having trouble---hehehehe---getting my Lipttttths to wohk wissttth mah mouth." He burst out into fits of laughter that transformed into sobs.

"Look, Admiral, I don’t have time for this, I'm in a very tight situation here, so if you don't mind, please walk it--"

"Shhhhstshkin-mannnner, I sthing sthish Mahahahrita chickah issth um gonna send Billy the Kid...Heheheheheeheee! Billy the KID!! On the DM!" Then he burst into laughter; which evolved again into tears.

"Oh hell." Skinner finally said after a short pause while the inebriated man's sobs dwindled. "Can you tell me how you know this?"

"Sttthhhe said she wouulhuhuhuhuhud" He sobbed.

"Admiral? Admi— from the silence on the other end, Skinner was sure that the man had drowned into oblivion, and was grateful.

He pulled up to the apartment behind the half-dozen squad cars, wondering how much of this information Scully already knew, and wondering who lived in this apartment. Instinct told him it was someone from the syndicate, or someone who affiliated them with a new ring. Either way, the suspect was someone who didn’t miss their target.

Skinner climbed out of his car as one of the feds approached him warily. "Sir, we’ve searched the premises for the suspect and there was none. A shot was fired, and we went ahead. Your agent didn’t have her service weapon in her possession when we found her."

"Did you question the landlord?" He was not ready to deal with the darkest possibilities yet. For now, he needed to get his job done.

"A woman by the name of Sasha Krycek lived here with her grandfather according to the landlord." Was the man’s quick reply.

Meanwhile, inside the apartment, once Scully was no longer a force to be reckoned with, Marita knew that this was the opportunity to flee. Abandoning her suitcase but arming herself with the service weapon, she made her way down the fire escape with the grace and speed of a gazelle.

Scully was first aware of the coppery smell of her own drying blood. Then a massive headache coupled with the dull ache in her left side screamed at her nervous system back into full alertness.

Seconds later brought footsteps up the stairs and a band of uniformed officers. Realizing with a sigh of relief that the bullet had only glazed her shoulder. Clutching it when she saw the officers approach her, she applied pressure on the table, and managed to struggle to a sitting position.

Skinner soon followed with a concerned and relieved expression taking over his normally stone-stern features, he made sure that the EMS had, in fact, been called.

"Scully, I wish you had told me sooner what was going on, I would have sent back-up long ago and this would have never happened," he scolded more like a parent than a boss.

"Sir, Marita was here. I tried to arrest her, but she got the gun away from me and fired my gun and escaped."

Skinner’s expression turned from relieved to shit-faced.

"God…Scully…I wasn’t going to let you bury Mulder again…but if what the Admiral said was true…"

"What did the Admiral say?" Scully demanded as the EMT tech took her pulse.

Skinner couldn’t bring himself to admit to her his conclusion.

Tacoma Falls
LGM Lair

Langly got off the phone with Starkweather and finished his game of Starcraft.

Of course he was going to help her. She knew where he lived. She got Byers to confess his virginity. She had a gun and knew how to use it. "You gotta love a girl who knows how to put a guy in a death grip." He said with a sigh.

But there was one thing he had to do before he began. He logged on and pulled up his play list. As much as he loved Megadeth and The Rolling Stones and Hendrix, it was time for some new stuff.

"Frohike!" He hollered "What the hell is Elvis doing on my play list!"

"Blame it on Mulder." Frohike grumbled back. He was busily pecking away. Langly leaned over his shoulder. "Since when are you a fourteen year-old girl, DanasRomeo?"

"Since I logged on." Frohike replied.

"That is just plain SICK, man." Langly said, turning back to his computer and pulling up his favorite MP3 site.

"Not as sick as having a crush on Mulder's SISTER." Frohike retorted.

"I do NOT have a crush on Starkweather!" Langly pouted.

"Deny, deny, deny...but it's as plain as the ridiculous glasses on your face." Frohike refuted, not even glancing up from his screen.

"That does not even dignify a response!" Langly answered and went onto the Kazaa website, typed a search for Metallica, not because he actually liked their music, and spitefully right-clicked every song on the list.

"Get jiggy with THAT Lars Ulrich" he muttered and waited for each song that snuck its way into that search.

The song began to play, and Langley and Frohike both exchanged confused glances. "Since when did Lars Ulrich play the trumpet?" Langley wondered.

"I want a girl with a mind like a diamond
I want a girl who knows what's best
I want a girl with shoes that cut
and eyes that burn like cigarettes
I want a girl with bright allocations
who's fast and thorough and sharp as a tack
she's playing with her jewelry she's putting up her hair
she's touring the facilities and picking up slack

I want a girl with a short skirt
and a loooooooong jacket

I want a girl who gets up early
I want a girl who stays up late
I want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity
who uses a machete to cut through red tape
With fingernails that shine like justice
and a voice that is dark like tinted glass
she is fast thorough and sharp as a tack
she is touring the facility and picking up slack

I want a girl with a short skirt
and a looooonnng long jacket

I want a girl with the smooth liquidations
I want a girl with good...dividends
At city bank we will meet accidentally
We'll start to talk when she borrows my pen
She wants a car with a cup holder armrest
She wants a car that will get her there
she's changing her name from Kitty to Karen
She's trading her MG for a White Chrysler LaBarren

I want a girl with a short skirt
and a looooooooooooong jacket

"She's got great dividends." Frohike said dryly.

"You think Lars Ulrich knew Starkweather?"

"I don't know what the fuck that was...but sure as shit wasn't Metallica."

"Sometimes people don't do their homework when they upload these files." Byers said, coming in the lair. "According to those idiots, "Leaving on a Jet Plane" from the Armageddon soundtrack was recorded by Bjork and Jewel.

"What ever happened to the days when bands had normal names...like They Might Be Giants..."

"...and The Who, and The Kinks?" Frohike finished.

En route to Justin Leo's

Starkweather kept her eyes on the road, darting around cars, zipping around semis. "Get out of my way," she muttered to a large 1977 puke-orange Chrysler Landau that just boxed her in. "I'm gonna miss my exit," she snarled, fuming. "God dammit all."

"Starkweather," Sam said patiently as Al sat quietly in the backseat, sweating. "Slow down."

"I'm only doing 65."

"No, I mean slow down your thinking. You're going off like a bat out of hell on a hunch. That's a little too..." Sam grimaced. "Mulder-like for my taste."

"That's not even funny, even by your redneck standards."

"Why Leo? If I'm going to get dirty with you, I need to know why."

Starkweather sighed. "I wish I would have thought of it sooner, it would have saved everyone a bunch a grief, Mulder and Scully especially. But y'know when you're suddenly widowed, things have a tendency to slip your mind. I could just kick myself Doggett. You were right, Mulder IS getting set up, possibly to go to prison, but more likely to be killed and it's because I had my head up my butt."

"What are you remembering?"

Starkweather sighed with relief as she passed the Chrysler and floored it, going 80 mph now. "Before all this shit went down, you know how I stopped by your house a few days ago to drop off a copy of the Scotland file you wanted to look over? And I told you how Ben and I were going to go to Hooters to celebrate him getting his new job and his first solo case?"

"Hooters?"

"Yeah, I know... real classy... anyway, the beer started flowing and people stop talking and start gossiping....."

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.

Several beers later, Jerilyn finally managed to forget about the existence of Mulder and got drawn into petty scandals that plague every business and occupation.

J. Stephen Cello III, recently promoted to the status of "partner" at Carter, Spangle and Adam, ordered another round plus another plate of raw oysters on the half shell, turned to Margot Marie Rogeux-Brandybuck, the lone female lawyer present, and said "Hey Meg, psycho-boy finally got canned."

"I thought he was fired a long time ago?" Meg said after she downed her beer in one big chug. Her name was prettier and bigger than she was, but her personality made up for lack of looks. She could also outdrink almost all of her male co-workers, which was amazing since she was more petite than Starkweather or Scully even. She was also as lethal as arsenic in the legal arena. "Did you order me another beer, Steve?" She lit a cigarette and offered one to Ben, which he accepted.

Steve, meanwhile was so devastatingly handsome, he could make women forget the existence of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Russell Crowe. When Ben introduced him to her, Jerilyn had a huge "Damn, I'm married" moment when she looked into his dazzling green eyes and perfectly white smile. "You doubt me?" He said mockingly. "No, I mean, it's official. Jessy Spangle herself told me they officially terminated him today."

Jerilyn had a pretty good buzz going, feeling like a wimp next to Meg and Ben was feeling no pain. She devoutly hoped he remembered that they had taken the motorcycle out and she was in no shape to drive them home on it. She shrugged it off. There was a Motel 6 within staggering distance. A devilish little smile played on her lips. ::Now, THAT might be kind of fun...::

Ben broke into her impure thoughts. "Wait, guys, I'm lost. Who's psycho boy? I don't think I've met him.....

You weren't missing anything," a voice drawled from further up the table. Snickering was abounding.

Ben, who loved gossip worse than an old woman, persisted. "So what's the story with Pyscho-Boy?"

Meg took a long pull on her newest beer before she started. "Young kid, fresh outta school. Jessy and Lisa (as in Lisa MacKenna Carter, daughter of the decreased law firm founder, Malachy Carter, second in line after senior partner Jessy Spangle) were recruiting him hardcore. Finished first in his class in his undergrad years at Purdue in Indiana, fucking second out of everybody at his class at Harvard Law. We get him here and he's doing crackerjack good. Nailed his first two cases, got a sweet out of court settlement on his third. Was making the firm not just good money, but real money. Then after awhile, I don't know. He got weird on us."

"Define weird," Ben asked.

Meg and Steve looked at each other, then looked at Jerilyn. "Well... we don't want to offend anyone, especially you, Jeri," Steve said, giving her a smile that made Mrs. Starkweather want to melt at his feet. ::Motel 6, Motel 6::she told herself as she leaned her head, spinning just slightly from all the beer, onto Ben's shoulder.

"It takes a lot to offend me, Steve," she said, snuggling into Ben.

"Well, I gathered that... but Ben told us that you've had the dubious honor of being assigned to the X-Files Division at the Bureau and we've all heard stories about your predecessor, Special Agent Mulder."

"That's Deputy Mayor Mulder, if you please," Meg said, lighting another cigarette. "How the hell did he get THAT job?"

::My daddy::Jerilyn thought with a groan as she said "I heard the stories too and a lot of it is just that. Stories. Really, the X-Files just checks into shitty crimes that normal feds can't explain away. We're the IRS of the paranormal. We audit these claims of strange happening to see if there's for real or not and a lot of times they're not... but the times they are... damn, watch your step, the first one's a lu-lu."

There was chuckling abound again, but then Meg asked. "So do you believe in that stuff? UFOs and whatnot?"

Jerilyn thought carefully. She knew she was drunk, so she made herself speak slowly. She did not want to spew out: ::Actually, about a month ago, I was attacked by a homicidal shapeshifter which my colleagues believe is from another planet.::"Oh, I don't know. With an universe as big as ours, its illogical to even pretend that other life cannot exist out there, but on the other side, the only aliens I've seen for sure are on the movie screen." Jerilyn shrugged. "I have an open-mind, but not so open that my brains will fall out."

"Well, that's what happened to Leo. His head opened up and his brains plopped out onto the floor," Steve said before he sucked down an oyster. "Damn shame. A damn shame."

"Leo?" Ben asked. "Who's Leo?"

"Justin Leo. Psycho Boy." Steve devoured another oyster. "About four months ago, he just came unglued. Guess he had some girlfriend, a high school sweetheart that was abducted and he had never been able to deal with the truth of what happened."

"Which was?" Ben asked.

"According to police reports, the kids were on a date, she wandered off into the woods and was never seen again. Leo swore up and down that she was abducted. By aliens. And he saw them take her. He must have realized that he sounded less than sane because he never spoke of it again. But he started messing up at work. Missed a few court dates, was put on probation by Spangle. Didn't show up for work a few days, kept calling in sick, got put on Short Term Disability and Lisa suggested he get some professional help. Came into work a few weeks later, and this was right before you started, Ben. Like literally days before you and Jerilyn moved down here and even interviewed with us." Steve helped himself to yet another oyster. "Want one?" he gestured to the plate. Ben and Jeri both shook their heads.

"He came into work," Steve went on, happy that he could have all the raw oysters to himself, "and it was so obvious that he hadn't slept at all. He looked like shit and he was co-representing a big, big client with me, or well, was supposed to. I had called him just a few days before that to see if he got the notes and files I sent him and if he had his shit in gear and he said yes, he was ready to rock and roll, so I left it at that, but when I saw him stagger into the office..." Steve shook his head. "And I felt bad what I did, but if I told you how many hours I logged into that case and how much I stood to gain, not just my salary, but what I was going to be bringing into CS & A, you would piss yourselves."

"Was he drunk?" Jerilyn asked, appalled at such unprofessional behavior. She had done some things on the job that she regretted wholeheartedly, but she had never gone into work under the influence.

"No, just sleep deprived. So I pulled him aside because, well, we weren't the best of friends, but we were bar buddies and we used to play squash together on a regular basis before he flipped out on us. But I think I was the closest thing to a friend that he had at that point so I asked him what was wrong with him and did he realize how close Jess and Lis were to firing him. And he told me that he had been moonlighting for a secret agency that would help him get his high school sweetheart back. He told me crazy shit no self-respecting lawyer would do. We get such a bad rap about being money-grubbing and corrupt and all it takes is one bad lawyer to make those of us who try and follow our code of ethics look really bad. Plus, he was making Carter, Spangle and Adams look bad. He had dirty deals going all over the place. I can't even imagine some of the crap he's pulled, judges in his pocket, taking payoffs, bending tax laws for businesses we wouldn't even touch-

"Why not?" Jerilyn asked.

"Because we believe they're not businesses at all but fronts for illegal operations. I was disgusted. So..." here he sighed. "I knew I was going to destroy his career, but dammit, I was not going to have my firm get pulled into an investigation for one little pissant crook, no matter how smart he was. Especially after I was just made partner. So... I went to Levi (Levi Adams, the third and last living founder of the law firm, technically in retirement since he was nearing eighty, but still owned the firm and still came into the office to offer advice, except when the weather was good for golfing) and told him what was up, what Psycho Boy told me and you know what? That old man can move **fast** when he gets a burr up his butt. Tracked Leo down, told him in no uncertain terms that he's suspended without pay or benefits until further notice, the senior partners will review his contract and he will recommend an investigation and a disbarment hearing. Nobody had seen him since. I had lunch with Jessy today and she told him that Psycho Boy had been officially terminated as of today and Lisa is starting a quiet, low key investigation of him."

"What a nut job," was all Ben had to say before the next bit of tittle-tattle popped up. "Speaking of nut jobs, have you ever heard of a guy named...."

Back in Starkweather's car

Starkweather shook her head. "So, you see, nobody hears from Leo and all of a sudden, he's representing Mulder? For the murder of a lawyer from Carter, Spangle and Adams? Leo must have done a good job keeping it quiet because if CS & A knew he was practicing law again, they'd be all over him like a cheap suit. ESPECIALLY if it is to defend the man who is suspected of killing one of their own. And CS & A love Ben's ass. I know that for sure."

"So what are you going to do when you get to Leo's?" Sam asked.

"Get Ben's lighter back."

"Starkweather, pull over," Sam said.

"Sorry, but you should have gone before we left."

"Starkweather, I am serious. Pull over... there, the next rest stop. We need to talk before we do this."

"Talk about what?"

"The fact that if Mulder is being targeted, that may very well mean that Scully's being targeted, Skinner's being targeted, Reyes, myself, you... we can't just go storming into Leo's like... like... an action hero. We need to think this out, what to do. How to help Mulder. Because if you get yourself killed, that won't help any of us." Sam looked at Al out of the corner of his eyes.

Al looked down at his com-link, looked back up at Sam and smiled, nodding his head. He had good news.

Starkweather sighed. "I'm going to use the little girl's room then," she muttered. "I'll be back."

The minute she disappeared into the women's room, Sam turned around, "Al?"

"Starkweather's going to be okay for now. She avoids Leo, who was sent out to kill her. Leo gets busted breaking into her apartment by an off-duty cop who lives across the hall, so he's going to be out of the picture for a little while. So, she's going to be fine for a little bit." Sam breathed a long sigh of relief. "Don't get too comfortable Sam, Mulder's still in trouble. The X-Files still gets shut down and all the X-Filers get picked off one by one, Starkweather included."

"What do we have to do, Al?" Sam demanded.

Al shook his head. "We gotta get Mulder outta that cell. And we gotta get Benny-Boy outta harm's way."

"Oh boy..." Sam muttered. "Wonder who I can call on to plan a prison break?"

Al hesitated, then said, "Well..."

Sam read his mind. "NO."

"Sam."

"NO."

"Sa---AMMMM..."

"I have no choice?"

"Not at this late in the game."

Sam pursed his lips and slid over into the driver's seat just as Starkweather came back. "What are you doing?"

"Get in," he said. "We're going for a ride."

"Where to?"

"The Lone Gunmen."

"OH GAWD....." she bitched heartily but she got in and let Sam-in-Doggett drive.

The LGM's Lair
9:00 PM
Twenty-one hours away
from Mulder's predicted death

Sam had wasted precious time getting lost. For the life of him, he could not remember how to get to the Lone Gunmen's lair, since the first and last time he was there, Mulder had driven. Al had left much earlier, mumbling something or other about checking in on Scully. Starkweather had never been to the infamous Lair before and asked him several times, "Are you sure you know where you're going?"

But at straight up nine o'clock Sam finally pulled into the dirt parking lot in front of the warehouse the Gunmen had commandeered. Sam and Starkweather got out of the car. "Where's the door?" she asked as she followed Sam around the building.

"Here it is," Sam knocked on the heavy metal door, blended in with the rest of the rusted-out building. "Ow!" He shook his hand after pounding on the door.

"See... this is what's cool about metal-toed boots," Starkweather gave the door a few swift kicks.

The peephole slid open and Langly’s nasally voice was heard, "Oh, it's you," he said disparagingly to Sam-in-Doggett.

Starkweather reached through the peephole and poked Langly in the face hard. "Let us in, Blonde-O."

"OW!! CRIPES!!" Langly hollered as he backed away. Shortly after, the door itself opened. Langly stood there, rubbing his face.

"Welcome," Byers said, a little nervously. "Is it safe to assume that you've spoken to Miss Scully then?" he said to Starkweather.

"I haven't talked to Scully in a while. Why? What's up?"

Byers looked at Frohike and Langly. Langly was still rubbing his face. Frohike suddenly looked down at his computer screen. "Um... so you didn't talk to Miss Scully at all?"

"NO. And, frankly, we don't have a lot of time Byers. Unless what Agent Scully had to say pertains to Mulder or Ben or both, I really don't care."

"Well... it does have to pertain to Mulder and Mr. Starkweather..." Byers licked his lips. "And Frohike will be happy to tell you all about it," and with that, Byers retreated to the bathroom.

"Chicken!!!" Frohike yelled after him. Frohike stood up, smoothed his rumpled vest. And, using his computer as a barrier between himself and the Hurricane, made the longest speech anyone has ever heard from him. "Well someone figured out that we were trying to help because we received a package from an unidentified source that completely distracted us from our true mission which was getting inside of the oil rig mainframe."

"What was so distracting? New Disney movies? Jose Cuervo? Shiny objects? Help me out."

"Blood samples."

"Blood samples."

"Of you and Mulder."

"Me and Mulder? How did you know they were actually mine and Mulder's? And how would anyone get a hold of my blood?" She crossed her arms.

"They were labeled," Langly offered helpfully.

Starkweather, Sam and Frohike both turned to glare at Langly. "You are as dumb as you look," Starkweather snorted.

"I had strands of your hair all over my coat," Frohike went on. "Mulder threw up on Langly a while back. We compared the blood to those samples."

"And?"

"Your DNA and Mulder's DNA were very similar."

"HOW similar?"

"95.5% probability that you two share the same father. Please don't hurt me, I'm just the messager." Frohike sat back down and continued to hack away at the Carter, Spangle and Adams website.

Sam half-expected Starkweather to explode. Instead, she merely lifted her head up and implored "Stop this ride... I wanna get off now..."

Sam decided to take control of the situation. "Look, all of that aside, we need your help."

"With what?" Byers had just come out of the bathroom.

"Mulder is in trouble-" Sam started.

"No shit," Langly interjected.

"I have reason to believe that he could very well be killed tomorrow."

"That's not good," Frohike stated the obvious.

"Especially since he probably used up his last of his nine lives," Langly added, going to the mini-fridge to see if there was any ice. He could feel his face swelling up from where Starkweather had poked him.

"We need to get him out of that cell," Sam said.

Everyone stopped what they were doing. "Doggett, you are NOT suggesting a prison break!" Starkweather gasped.

"Starkweather, you said yourself that the game just got dirty."

"Well, I KNOW... but, God, Doggett... our careers... and Mulder? What are we going to do with him? Let him go on the lamb? What about Scully and the baby? And what if we're wrong? We don't have a shred of physical evidence of either guilt or innocence and we get him out and-"

"Mulder's NOT a killer," Frohike interrupted staunchly. "I'm in."

"I don't believe that he's a killer either, not anymore, but if we don't have sufficient proof that he's innocent, we could ALL go to jail for a very long time. And I look terrible in orange." Starkweather defended her stance. "We need to go through the proper channels. We need to find Leo-"

"Starkweather, I'd hate to interrupt," Sam said, "but you weren't exactly thinking about going through proper channels when we were about to go after Leo tonight."

Starkweather scowled. "I wasn't thinking clearly and you set me straight. But there's a difference between misdemeanor assault and a felony offense. Mulder IS in trouble, but let's get him out of the county lock-up, get him into solitary at a secured location and lets work the legal system. We're FBI agents, not the fucking A-Team."

"I LOVE that show!!!" Langly said. "I'm in!"

"Starkweather," Sam said patiently as he felt her hazel eyes bore into him. "There isn't time to play by the rules anymore. We need to get Mulder out now. Tonight preferably."

"Tonight's no good," Frohike said, who had switched computers while his was downloading information from CS & A. "County doesn't have the best security system in the world, but still, it's pretty intricate. We could probably have their systems crash by tomorrow morning, tomorrow afternoon by the latest."

Starkweather was totally ignoring Frohike's speech. "What proof do you have Doggett? That Mulder's in this much danger that there's no other alternative?"

Sam thought fast. "The house explosion. If these people can blow up a house of an innocent woman... who's to say who's next? Plus we need Mulder. We need him to find out what really happened to Ben. I have trouble believing the body they pulled out of the river is really him," he HAD to get her to trust him. "There's a chance that Ben could still be alive."

Starkweather sadly dug something out of her pocket. "This IS his wedding ring though." She held the golden band up for him to see.

"But Doc," Sam said, "if you saw Leo holding Ben's lighter, who's to say they didn't take other things from him?"

Starkweather thought carefully of the "hallucinations" she had been having lately. "Do you think there's really a chance that's true?" she said in a voice that wanted to hope.

"I do, I really do," Sam said, longing to reach out and hold her tight but instead just taking her hand that held Ben's ring. "I really believe you're going to see Ben again to put that ring back where it belongs."

Starkweather's eyes got all bright as if she was about to cry, but she was fully aware of the three spectators around her. "WHAT???" she snapped at them. She put the ring back in her pocket and pursed her lips. "Alright, how are we going to get the cocksucker out of jail?" she asked the Lone Gunmen.

Meanwhile...back in the future...

Dr. Beeks felt sorry for the man falling under the forged spell of the sedative, but she was really left with no choice. In the agitated state brought on by undoubtedly heightened psychological stress, the leapee was acting irrationally and would possibly do more damage that the already ridiculously tight project budget could stand. The Admiral would undoubtedly give her a mouthful when he returned from the chamber to check on the situation on the slight chance that Doggett could provide anymore useful information, but there was little she could do. Her hands were tied and Doggett slipped into unconsciousness, mumbling something to her about finding the Admiral for him and finding out about 37...

In Doggett’s next conscious moment, he found himself climbing out of Mulder's car in a driveway of a modest home with his own name in blockletters sternly propped on the mailbox. He reached down for his clipper when he saw his truck was in the driveway. Passing the rearview mirror, he paused and ran his hands over the peppering hair and more obvious crow’s feet, but that wasn't what unnerved him. What made him stop in his tracks was his own reflection starring back at him. His pulse raced as he touched the hood.

"Who the hell was driving the truck?" Doggett murmured as he ran as stealthily as possible into the house.

He whipped out his cell. "Mulder, I need you back over here, something's up." Without a word, he tucked the cell back in his pocket and burst open the door, wielding his gun.

"What the hell did you do with Doggett?" Starkweather, obviously fifteen years older, was demanding a stranger.

Starkweather gave him an imploring glance, and Doggett ran upstairs. A fair-haired little girl with his eyes met him in the hallway. He got down on a knee so he could be eye-level with the little girl.

"Daddy, Mommy isn't going to hurt that man in the kitchen is he?" She said, running up to him and putting her arms around his neck. Doggett somehow accepted this as a perfectly natural thing. "He said he was bringing you here, but Mommy looked scared when he came in the house. I don't think he is here to hurt anybody."

"What's his name?"

"Sam."

"Well, I better make sure your Mommy and *Sam* aren't going to mess up the kitchen. You go play in your room, okay?"

"Okay Daddy." She chirped and planted a kiss on his cheek.

He went into the kitchen, where Starkweather was still welding a gun at Sam. In the next few minutes, Doggett saw Mulder pull into the driveway and come into the house, bursting through the door.

"Sam?!" Mulder sputtered.

The man nodded.

"You know this creep?" demanded Starkweather, not taking her eyes off the man.

Earlier that evening
Cello Residence

With a heavy sigh, J. Steven Cello III plopped down his briefcase in the hallway and slung his coat haphazardly over an easy chair. The female members of is law firm often marveled at how a man with Rock Hudsonesque looks, Roman numerals behind his name, a successful career, and a 1956 red Porsche convertible stayed single as long as he did.

Steve went for the freezer and got out what Ben had called once the Bachelor's Special, then went to the fridge for a Heineken, took a long sip and set the microwave for his frozen dinner. When his dinner had heated up, the phone rang. Steve grabbed it. "Hello?" he said as he took his meal out of the microwave.

"Hey, Steve, did you see the news tonight?"

"No, all I pay attention to is how the ball falls, how the rain falls, how the market falls, and how the gavel falls, and that I can get online. The news is too goddamn depressing." Steve grumbled back, taking a cardboardish mouthful of his unevenly heated chicken.

"Well...turn to channel seven, will ya. It's depressing...but you sound like you could use a good car wreck to watch."

"If you're just joining us we're at the site of an explosion that happened right here behind me. Earlier this evening this lot behind me had a house in it. Luckily, all occupants have survived, no one has been hurt, but questions remain about the origins of the explosions."

"I saw Psycho Boy in a clip earlier and did some quick checking. Turns out that the house belonged to Ana and Harry Sedai...his stepsister."

"Well, if that don't put the vodka in the Jello shooters." He whistled.

"You wanna hear something else?" Meg egged on

Steve nodded his head as if she could see him.

"I did some more digging and get this...the little rat has been charading as one of our lawyers. And according to your good friend and mine, the DA, said that she got the impression Leo was just going through a song and dance, and the DM's bail was set through the roof."

"I can't believe that little shit!" He muttered. "I tell you what," he offered, "you fax those police reports to me and I'll do your homework for ya. You take the rest of the night off."

"I appreciate that, Steve. The police reports are fucking captivating. They read like some goddamn lawyer novel."

"That's why I love this job, Megaparsec! I'll see ya tomorrow." He said and hung up. He booted up his computer, and pushed play on his stereo. "Phantom of the Opera" blasted through the house as he went to the court TV website.

Meanwhile....
The Potomac River Bay Warehouse

Ben was getting antsy. No one had come to check on him at all since the old man with the cigarettes put him in this God Awful room. He fought the panicky feelings of being left to die.

He looked longingly at the pack of cigarettes. There were three smokes left. He had been trying to ration them out for one had to be spared as his weapon. He smiled wryly as he remembered one of his many trips out to Quantico to visit Jeri while she was in training and she showed him self-defense moves. "Eyes and balls," she had said playfully as they tussled in the squeaky bed in the cheap motel room Ben always rented when he made his marathon weekend commutes from the Twin Cities to the East Coast. "Eyes and balls."

Well, he knew he couldn't ever go after a guy's unmentionables, but eyes he had no problem with. They apparently knew he was a chain smoker, which is why they must have left him the Morleys so they wouldn't be suspicious if he lit up while somebody came back.

If somebody came back.

Ben prayed that he wasn't left behind to rot away or else he'd have to move to Plan B.

Problem was, there was no Plan B yet...

Meanwhile

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Assistant Director Skinner's office

Skinner returned to his office, still feeling out of the loop, he tried calling the mayor again.

"Hello?" the Mayor answered his own phone.

"Mayor, sorry to bother you, it's Assistant Director Skin-"

"Ah, yes, AD Skinner, I do need to talk to you, but can I call you back in a minute? Thank you." Click of the receiver, buzz of the dial tone.

"I don't believe this BS," Skinner fumed as he dialed Doggett's cell number.

Sam was in the middle of an argument with Frohike when his cell rang. "You've got to get us more time!" ::Oh, more time... the irony::he thought grimly as he pressed on. "We don't even know what cell block Mulder is in and county lock up, by the looks of the architecture, is bigger than it appears. We've GOT to have more than twenty minutes!"

Starkweather had jumped into the bickering. "Can't you even push it to thirty minutes? After all, it is YOUR hero we're saving."

"And YOUR half-brother," Frohike fired back.

"SHUT UP."

"Let's not worry about that now," Sam snapped. "Frohike, please, Mulder's life is on the line. Is there any way-"

"Look, Puppy Man," Frohike borrowed Mulder's favorite insult for Doggett. "I am already pushing it as is. Twenty minutes is all we got. I'll get into the main frame and find out which cell Mulder is in. That should cut your time."

"Unless we have to run up or down stairs!" Starkweather snapped. "With you disabling their security, you are also locking the elevators up too!"

"Isn't that what you wanted???" Frohike growled.

Doggett's cell phone rang. "John Doggett," Sam snapped.

"Doggett, it's AD Skinner and I need answers-"

"Yes sir, I'll call you back with them," Sam replied as he hung up the phone to continue he discussion with Frohike.

Skinner made one last call to Agent Reyes' phone. He heard the sound of a wailing baby in the background. "Agent Reyes? It's AD Skinner and-"

"Oh, sir," Reyes sounded fried. "I wish I could talk to you but I'm watching Scully's baby and he's really cranky. I'll call you back when he's in bed." She hung up on him.

Skinner groaned. He really hated not knowing what was going on, especially with the basement crew.

Sam was hovering over Frohike's shoulder. Byers and Langly were gone, sent on errands such as gassing up the Lone Gunmanmobile, filling a prescription for a sedative that Dr. Starkweather wrote out, buying supplies like bullets, batteries, beer, pizzas, a hat, a pair of reading glasses, theatrical makeup and a pair of ladies shorts and a tank top and to get Ben's motorcycle from the Starkweathers' garage. Starkweather was sitting by herself in the corner, cleaning her guns and Doggett's as well.

"Okay, here's the scoop," Frohike said, pointing at MapQwest on the screen. "Here's where me and the calvary will be operating. Once you and Freezie Queenie over there-" Starkweather shot him a dirty look, but Frohike ignored her "-get Mulder out, we'll roundaview two blocks south of lockup. You and Starkweather go together but don't take her piece of shit car and don't take your truck. Hopefully, we'll have the surveillance equipment so screwed up and you guys will have the main guard so drugged up, they wouldn't be able to pin it on you. But you guys gotta move fast. Once we do our kung-fu on their systems, we've got a window of twenty-five minutes."

"That's not a lot of time," Starkweather said, extremely concerned. She had just finished up Doggett's side arm and had started working on her little Baretta she liked to wear in her ankle holster. Just then, her cell phone went off. "Agent Starkweather."

"Starkweather, it's AD Skinner. I'm very concerned for you-" Starkweather half-expected him to call her "young lady."

"I know sir, and I'm sorry, but can I call you back? Thanks." She hung up on him before he even gave her his consent. Best to leave the AD out of the loop as far as illegal activities go…

Later…

Lone Gunmen Lair
3:00 AM Eastern Standard Time
Fifteen hours to Mulder's projected death

The plans were set in stone. Every detail had been finalized. There was no turning back now.

Byers had retreated to the tiny room he had made into a bedroom for himself. Langly was still up, double checking the Lone Gunmanmobile to make sure the fine old Volkswagen Van wasn't going to pull any unexpected surprises during their (in Starkweather's very vocal opinion) suicide mission. Frohike had fallen asleep in front of his computer, his unshaven cheek resting on his keyboard.

Sam had collapsed in a very uncomfortable armchair and was trying to grab some shut-eye. His mind, however, wouldn't shut off, it kept playing a preview of the morning's events. Against Sam's better judgement, it had been decided that the best time to get Mulder out would be four o'clock, when downtown DC rush hour started. Plus, as Frohike pointed out, most of the city and county employees would be going home about that time. Since Ziggy said was Mulder murdered at five, that was cutting it a little too close for Sam, but he was overruled.

However, that did give them time to rest and eat properly before charging into an undertaking as massive as a prison break. Byers had already volunteered to go get something to eat for everyone around noon. Then after everyone got something in their stomachs, Sam would be wired with an earpiece and a mike before he left to drop off Doggett's truck at Doggett's apartment and take a cab to get the rental car registered under a false name. He would then drive it downtown, leave it two blocks away from the jail. He would monitor the comings and going of Mulder's prison, just in case history changed again. Starkweather, meanwhile, would ride with the boys and stake out the jailhouse while the three stooges got everything set up and the boys would start working their hacking magic.

At ten to four, Sam would go inside the jailhouse, armed with a pair of Ray-Bans, a briefcase and his side arm and his ankle-holster. He would tell him he was a lawyer who was early for his appointment with one of the prisoners and take a seat.

Then Starkweather would come in at five ‘til four with the phony INS ID Langly whipped up for him ("That is SO wrong" Starkweather had wailed when she saw how easy it was for Langly to create such an authentic looking fake.) She would wait patiently as the befuddled guard would look for her appointment. She would get bitchy, as only Starkweather could do, frazzling the poor hapless guard even more.

As soon as Sam would get word from Frohike that the switch has been thrown, that all systems were go and the clock was ticking, Sam would give Starkweather the signal. "Miss, I'm sorry to bother you, but do you have the time?"

And all hell would break loose.

::And we WILL get Mulder out and we WILL find Ben and...::Sam looked at the figure of a sleeping Starkweather, curled up on an old smelly mattress the Gunmen so thoughtfully pulled out from God-only-knows where for her. ::.. and I'll never see her again. I don't know if I'll even remember her::even though Al had promised that women like her and Scully wouldn't let him them forget them, that they will haunt his dreams...Starkweather shuddered in her sleep and Sam crouched down beside her and stroked her hair as if she was a overwrought child trapped in a nightmare but could not be awaken. Sam's eyelids felt very heavy and as he settled himself on the floor, he let his head loll to one side and he closed his eyes for one second. For just one second he made all of this madness go away. Nothing but sweet oblivion... until he opened his eyes and stared at Starkweather, her sweet face twisted up in agitation, pointing her ever faithful service weapon in his face.

Sam felt a sickening sense of deja vu, remembering how she had nearly snapped when Al appeared to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man slip up the stairs...

Doggett ran upstairs. A fair-haired little girl with his eyes met him in the hallway. He got down on a knee so he could be eye-level with the little girl.

"Daddy, Mommy isn't going to hurt that man in the kitchen is he? He said he was bringing you here, but Mommy looked scared when he came in the house. I don't think he is here to hurt anybody."

"What's his name?"

"Sam."

"Well, I better make sure your Mommy and *Sam* aren't going to mess up the kitchen. You go play in your room, okay?"

"Okay Daddy." She chirped and planted a kiss on his cheek...

Verbeena watched in the two-way glass, frowning. The sedative hadn't settled Doggett-in-Sam down as much as she had hoped. He was perspiring heavily and talking in his drug-induced sleep. Sometimes she could make out names. Luke and Starkweather she recognized. Mulder as well. But who was Bailey? JB? Her heart went out to him, but there wasn't much more she could do for Doggett now except help Sam and Al save Deputy Mayor Mulder. Everything hinged on whether or not he lived or died. Verbeena smiled. She hoped he lived... he was rather dreamy.....

Mulder went into the kitchen, where Starkweather was still wielding a gun at Sam. In the next few minutes, Doggett saw Mulder pull into the driveway and come into the house, bursting through the door.

"Sam?!" Mulder sputtered.

The man nodded.

"You know this creep?" demanded Starkweather, not taking her eyes off the man.

Mulder crossed his arms and leaned against the dishwasher. Sam noted that in his golden years, Mulder looked even more distinguished and arrogant as ever. The lines in his face had grown more

pronounced, he had to wear his trademark wire-rimmed glasses all the time now instead of just when he was reading and somewhere along the way, he had decided to grow a beard, which he kept neatly trimmed along his jaw line. His full head of hair and his beard were salted with strands of white, but his hazel eyes still sparkled as if he was laughing at a private joke and his mouth still pouty sensuous and dangerous. He was no fatter or thinner. He was still Mulder. "Doggett, come down here," Mulder yelled out casually, as if Starkweather was not pointing a gun at Sam's vulnerable head. "Come meet an old friend of mine."

Doggett told Bailey and JB to stay put. "I wanna come," the boy said stubbornly, looking like his mother when she wanted her way, but Bailey, a gentler soul, cuddled her kitten and looked like she was about to cry. Doggett escorted the kids to the TV room and sternly ordered them to stay put. He pulled out his gun and went downstairs.

"Mul-dah," Doggett growled, "you better have a good explanation for this," he stood next to Starkweather.

Mulder grinned. "Oh, I do," he said dryly as he morphed into Billy Miles. Starkweather gasped but turned her gun onto the monster and unloaded her clip into his face and chest, but Billy still came, his wounds pumping with green glowing poisons. Sam jumped onto his back but the monster shook him off and Sam sailed into the kitchen table, breaking it with his fall, wheezing in pain from the landing and from the chemical burns on his skin when he made contact with Billy. Doggett pushed Starkweather out of his way and as she ran to get the children, Doggett fired fired fired fired, but there was no stopping Billy. He wrenched the gun out of Doggett's hand and threw him into the living room just as Starkweather was at the bottom of the stairs, carrying Bailey and holding JB's hand.

"**DADDY!!!** Bailey screamed but Starkweather pushed the kids out the door.

"RUN, GET AWAY!!!" she yelled after the twins as they scurried down the street. She hurled herself into Billy like a forward in a rugby game, never minding the burns and the smell of crisping flesh, completely running on motherbear instinct now. Billy grabbed her by her hair and flung her onto the ground, next to Doggett. He pulled her away from Billy just as he was about to step on her. Doggett put Starkweather behind him and tried to get up, but couldn't. Starkweather's eyes widened as she saw the ugly white jag of bone jutting up through his denim pants.

The monster laughed as he pulled out a pack of Morleys. As he lit one, he said mockingly, "Even Agents Mulder and Scully were not as foolish as you have been," while he morphed in the Cigarette Smoking Man. When his transformation was completed, he pointed a gun at Doggett's head. Doggett willed Starkweather to run, but only felt her arms tightening around him.

"Fuck you old man," she seethed at him. "You'll have to die someday."

CSM opened his mouth to speak, but his head exploded instead. Starkweather turned her face to the side and Doggett lifted his arms but still their faces were covered with blood and brains. The body stood, like a decapitated chicken would, then slumped over.

Sam, holding his own gun, burned and bruised, stood over the body which dissolved into nothingness. The children came running through the kitchen with the real Mulder and Scully in tow. Scully, eyes wide and blue as ever although her hair had burned out from it's volcanic red to a dying flame. "What happened?" she said, surveying the wreckage, eyebrows, still, communicating her thoughts even before she voiced them. She turned to the stranger as the children ran to their parents. Starkweather clung to the boy like no tomorrow while the girl sobbed over her daddy's hurt leg. Scully, through gritted teeth hissed at him. "What the hell did you do to us? To all of us?"

But Mulder put his hand on her shoulder. "He did what he was supposed to do, Scully."

At Mulder's words, Sam vanished in a nuclear blue

flash of light....

And Doggett-in-Sam woke up in Roswell, New Mexico fifteen years later and Starkweather and Sam-in-Doggett woke up fifteen years past...

Starkweather's eyes snapped open, her breath caught in her throat. She exhaled carefully as already the dream faded from consciousness. She turned her head over to see Doggett, or to be more accurate, which she assumed was Doggett.

Sam too, had woken up from his nightmare. "Hey," he said softly. "you okay?" concerned the deep purple smudges under her eyes, war wounds from the battle for sleep.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just had a bad dream," she said like a child.

"This entire mission has been one bad dream," Sam muttered. He wrestled with his conscious for a minute. With the profile Al gave him about Doggett, he knew that Doggett would approve of his actions, once he got done hemorrhaging over all the laws and general rules of society were broken. But there was one part of the plan that Sam rightly guessed Doggett would not be too cool about and truth to be known, Sam wasn't either. "Starkweather, you've been through a lot these past few days. With Ben disappearing and Mulder and everything else... it's not worth it to throw your career away too, on a hunch, a feeling... a leap," Sam said with a wry smile. "Starkweather, if any of us get caught... we could be looking at ten, fifteen years at a federal prison. You said yourself you don't look good in orange."

Starkweather lay back down on the mattress. "What are you saying Doggett? That you want me to stay in the kitchen baking cookies whilst you and the Three Calabraros go save Spooky's ass? Uh-uh... not happening."

"Starkweather..."

"Doggett... tell me... do you... oh Mighty Skeptical One, believe that Ben is alive and Mulder can find him?"

"Yes." Sam said sincerely, "I really do."

"Then I trust you. I trust that you and I and Big Creepy Brother," she made a face before going on seriously. "will put things right that once went wrong and we can all go home." She rolled over onto her side. "I'm going back to sleep Doggett... sorry," she yawned.

"Goodnight, Starkweather," Sam said but as she drifted off into dreamland, Sam, wide awake, stared at the wall and said aloud, hopelessly "Home..."

Later

5:57 AM Eastern Standard Time

Ben and Jeri’s apartment…

Justin Leo walked down the hallway, comforted by the dimness before the sunrise. He quietly counted the number of doors before finding Ben and Jeri's apartment. He jimmied the lock quite easily and let himself in, not knowing that if he didn't shut the door all that tightly, the cat liked to pry it open with his paw and sneak out.

Leo cocked his weapon and stole through the living room and down the hallway. He poked his head into the bedroom, the office, the bathroom. No Jerilyn. "Dammit," he muttered. Well, he would just have to wait for her to come back, he supposed.

He worried about the other errands for Marita Covarubias had demanded of him. Getting the serum and the information to that thing which was once a compassionate human being, now only a lethal drone that Leo could not even comprehend. He felt himself start to panic because he didn't know where Agent Starkweather was. Marita had demanded that Starkweather be neutralized first: "Agent Starkweather is a problem we need solved. Now. Tonight." She had said before handing him the gun and picture of her. It had to be done right. It had to be completed before dawn. Leo watched the living room slowly brighten as he clasped the weapon in his hand, oblivious to the cat sneaking out the door. Leo was lost in his own thoughts for the photo album was open to the page Ben had shown Jerilyn when he had first suspected a connection between her and the Deputy Mayor.

Leo picked up the album for a better look. As he lifted the heavy book, he noticed a silver antique locket lying on the coffee table. He picked it up and opened it, looked at the picture of the woman and child together. After stuffing the locket in his pocket, he then took the picture out of the album. Looked at the long dark hair and the catty greeny-gold eyes and felt bile bubbling up his throat. He didn't understand. Lily was blonde with gray eyes. But this brunette with hazel eyes had her face and her smile and her body... Leo's eyes were drawn towards the mantle. At a tastefully framed five by seven photograph of someone's wedding. Leo got up to examine the two-dimension image of Benjamin Starkweather in a rented black tux, smiling broadly for all to see and of Lily, with her hair now blond like he remembered and softly curled, clinging to her groom in a simple white gown and in lieu of a veil, a halo of creamy pink roses and baby's breath sat onto of her head like a forest nymph's crown.

The sickness left Leo, replaced by a rage and a hurt that threatened to over take what was left of his control. Lily, alive after all these years. Lily, disappeared at the tender age of eighteen to reappear ten years later as this almost legendary bitter, bitchy fed. Lily, married to another man, loving another man, fucking another man.... Leo's lips pulled together in a thin tight line, clenching the gun in his hands. He looked too and hard for Lily, Benjamin Starkweather was not going to corrupt her anymore. Leo already decided that Lily was not going to die. Not today. He'd wait for her to come and he'd warn her and take her away. But the minute that Mulder was at the mercy of the replicant-slave, Ben too, would breathe his last...

It never even crossed his mind once that Starkweather was not Lily, would never be Lily, but was the key to finding Lily. He was what Scully had always privately feared Mulder would become if she had not been there to keep him honest. Completely, totally, irrationally obsessed.

Caesar the cat had succeeded in getting out of the apartment and had decided to take a nap in the doorway of Officer Beth Johnson's doorway, which had just gotten home from a twelve-hour overnight shift. Her bleary eyes blinked a few times when she noticed the cat. "I don't have a cat," she mumbled as she stooped down to examine the tag. "Oh... it's you Caesar," she groaned, picked the cat up. "Playing Houdini again, I see," she crossed down the hall to return the cat.

She noticed the door was opened, just enough for the sly feline to slip out. Officer Johnson heard the sound of weeping coming from inside. Under the circumstances, normally, she would not have put the cat down and drawn her gun because she had heard all about sensationalistic way the unfortunate Mrs. Starkweather become a widow.

**But it was the sound of a MAN crying** Johnson crept up to the door, tapping on it. "Mrs. Starkweather?" she said cautiously.

Leo was so beside himself he didn't hear the cop's voice. The cop slid through the kitchen and peered around the corner, looking into the living room. She saw the stranger, sobbing his heart out, his hand on the Starkweathers' wedding picture, his other hand, clutching a loaded gun.

She swung out of her hiding place, pointing her service revolver at him. "Drop the weapon, immediately!" she ordered.

Leo jumped and fired at the cop, hitting her in the shoulder. Johnson went down, but not before she fired at him, getting his upper arm.

Leo unwittingly changed history, not by going through the front door and collapsing for Johnson to nab, like Al had told Sam what would happen... but instead he staggered through the apartment, blood staining the carpets forever, into the Starkweathers' bedroom and out to their balcony and down the fire escape...

Johnson crawled towards a phone.

Meanwhile…

Washington University Hospital

Emergency Room

The female EMT interrupted Skinner and Scully in mid conversation. "Ma'am, all vitals are normal. The wound seems to be superficial. Is there any pain?" When Scully shook her head, the EMT continued. "Looks like you're set then. I'll just need you to sign these release forms since you're acting as your own physician, and you'll be on your way."

Scully nodded a thank you as Skinner approached.

"Yet another blazer ruined..." She sighed regretfully. "And I got this one at a really great sale..."

"Scully, care to fill me in? What the hell happened?"

"In my professional opinion?"

Skinner simply nodded.

"The bitch is back...ohhhhh...sorry sir...blood loss...uhhh...I honestly don't know what to think...I know Marita is connected with all this. I came here with damning evidence on Mulder's defense attorney who was connected to this address. She caught me off guard, Justin Leo came out of hiding, and looked like he saw a ghost. He was acting and looking as though he was on some sort of hallucinogenic drug. Then Marita ordered him to finish his 'job' and she shot me, and that's the last I knew."

"Scully, you go home and take care of Will, I'm going to follow this up."

"Sir," Scully insisted with a sigh, "with all due respect I can't just take a back seat in all this. I found a connection between the Syndicate and Agent Starkweather involving Mulder's father and Starkweather's adoptive father yesterday, and after what I saw tonight, I think Leo's involved with this somehow..."

"Scully, I'm not going to allow you to put your life in danger anymore over this matter." Skinner scolded, "I know you wanna help Mulder, but we have plenty of manpower right now to put out a hunt for Leo. Catching Leo is not going to be an issue." Skinner began slowly.

"Then what is the issue, Sir?" Scully demanded.

"Point blank, Scully, Billy Miles is being sent to kill him." Her boss said matter-of-factly. "He's being sent to his cell tomorrow afternoon..." Scully's eyes widened as he spoke, "that's why he had been in the county jail instead of the state penitentiary after his trial...that's why..." he couldn't even finish.

"That's why he was set up?" Scully outraged, "To be baited? If that's all, Sir, I've got...oh my God...Starkweather..."

"I still don't see how Starkweather fits into this equation at all, Scully." Skinner persisted as Scully ran out of the hospital.

Outside of Ben and Jeri’s apartment, fifteen minutes later…

Scully was just getting out of her car when her cell phone rang. "Scully."

"Scully," Skinner began, "just make sure all your ducks are in a row. If Leo gets away...Mulder doesn't stand a chance. Remember...he's a trained lawyer, he'd take legal loopholes and make them into your noose."

"You don't have to worry about that, Sir." Just then, she looked down and saw the trail of blood going out the balcony. "Sir...I've got to go...I'll call you back when I know anything." She didn't wait for his goodbye as she looked down and saw the trail of blood.

"We need a SWAT team out here NOW! Officer possibly down--Yes, I'm the agent you just sent a team out for--Poss...possibly down because I know an officer lived--*lives* here and there is a pool of blood in the living area and a trail of blood leading out to the bal--" as she barked orders into the phone, she followed the trail out to the balcony, as she saw the window ledge painted with dried blood, and looked down below, she froze. Justin Leo, having passed out in the bushes momentarily from loss of blood, was just beginning to weave through the shadows. Detecting his movement below, Scully changed her plan. "Call ya right back..." she said, and pocketed her phone. Then, she made a lightening-quick decision on her easiest way down.

"Mulder, you owe me a new outfit." She mumbled kicking off her pumps and slipping out of her stockings so she could scale the drainpipe in hot pursuit without a slip, and sticking her clipper inside her skirt, she got her footing.

High on adrenaline, Leo bolted away from the apartment complex as soon as he spied a petite form clinging to the drainpipes, his ambidexterity helped him to aim at the movement on the pipes who was slowly making her way down. Since they were both moving targets, Scully only flinched at the sound of the firing.

"I'mcomingLilynotmuchlongernowbabyI'malmostthereLilyjustgottamakeittothecarLily" he half-mumbled, half-growled incoherently as he sprinted down the sidewalk.

Scully wasn't far behind him. She winced as the gravel bore into her feet, but in the moment of the pursuit, it wasn't consequential.

She pulled her gun out from underneath the elastic in her belt.

"STOP YOU'RE UNDER ARREST YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT ANYTHING YOU SAY CAN AND WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU IN A COURT OF LAW YOU HAVE THE RIGHT--!" She barked, aiming her gun. When he got to the apartment-complex parking lot, she realized where he was headed. "Oh no you don't..." she mumbled, and changed direction, going to her own car.

Frantically, she pulled out her cell phone as her engine revved up, she dialed Doggett's cell. No answer. "Come on, come on, pick up!" She coaxed as she tore out of the parking lot, she dialed Starkweather's cell, carefully snaking in and out of traffic as fast as she could, gaining steadily on her target. "Dammit!" she hissed when Starkweather didn't respond. Thankfully, it was light traffic, and Leo was leading her to an evidently residential area by the Potomac River. Racing after Leo, she then dialed Skinner, "Sir, I'm nearing a neighborhood called Potomac Court in pursuit of Justin Leo, he is armed and may still be under the influence. We appear to be stopped at some sort of warehouse. No sir, it's not marked...I can’t tell you which one," Scully said crouching under the dash.

"LILY!! LILY!" Leo was screaming, his pistol had clunked on the gravel, and he was now furiously pounding fists rattling the sheet metal, making the warehouse door sound like falling rain.

Scully took this opportunity to make her arrest. Slowly and as soundlessly as possible, she opened her door. She grabbed her gun in the seat next to her and grabbed a set of handcuffs.

"JUSTIN LEO!" She shouted, aiming her gun at the man for the second time that night, "YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!," now the cuffs slapped and clicked shut. He was red-faced and swollen now from hysterics. "You have the right to remain silent," Which the suspect did, save for quaking sobs, "anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you can't afford an attorney the court will appoint you one. Do you --"

Scully stopped in mid-sentence, the door had been pounded open and cries for help from an apparently gagged mouth could be heard towards the back.

"Who the hell have you got in there?" She demanded her prisoner. "Jimmy Hoffa?" She cuffed the other end of the links to her own wrist and led him through the stacks of boxes back to where the muffled cries were coming from.

There was a locked room in the back, "Stand back, sir!" she commanded, "I'm going to shoot the door down, we're getting you out of here!"

With a bang, the lock blew open, and there sat Ben, bound and gagged in a huddle on the floor. She didn't have the heart to correct the charges against Leo in front of her husband and hastily, albeit unmercifully, yanked the duct tape from his mouth. She then took a piece of glass on the floor and cut the tape binding his feet, followed by his hands.

"Agent Scully...I..." Ben began.

"Just get in the car," she said as they headed out the door. Leo had just been uncuffed and forced into the back seat when the same black sedan she had seen earlier screeched to a halt behind her own car, sending dust and gravel flying.

"Agent Scully," a familiar old voice cracked as a tall figure emerged from the car, "I wouldn't fire if I were you. Kill me and you kill Mulder. Kill them all." Two more goons emerged, both aiming their own weapons. "I'm the only one who can stop it." Now it was Scully's turn to surrender her weapon to the gravel. She heard Ben wince in pain and then fall limp, and saw them toss him unceremoniously into the backseat.

"The agent?" one of them asked.

"She will be of use to us later. Without her prisoner, her proof, or her partner she will comply. Without her husband, Widow Starkweather will comply with our demands as well. For now, leave her be." The man commanded softly as he puffed his cigarette.

Having just gotten his orders from the men who assailed Ben, Justin Leo knew his task, and tore out of the parking lot in Scully's car.

The three men climbed into the sedan, and sped off in the opposite direction. Needing to hold her son just then, she dialed her boss's cell phone, knowing he could give her a lift home.

With quiet heaviness, she barely waited for Skinner to reply. "Sir, I've lost them. The Gunmen covertly received blood samples from Mulder and Agent Starkweather that showed a good match. From everything I've found in the last two days, Starkweather IS the connection..."

"Scully, I think you need to talk to more adults than the Gunmen and Mulder." Skinner finished.

"Don't you get it? Sir...Leo's target is Starkweather."

Skinner sighed defeatedly and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "I need an APB out to the residence of Agent Jerilyn Starkweather. 3776 Pennsylvania, Calvin Coolidge Apartments to apprehend suspect Justin Leo. He is considered to be armed and dangerous, possibly under the influence of a hallucinogenic drug, male, 33..."

He wanted to fit more of the case together, he still wanted to know where the proof was that Starkweather, Leo, and Mulder were all connected, but while he was busy giving out an APB, Scully had apparently taken her leave.

"Sir," Skinner nodded in the general direction of his voice as he climbed into the car, "They came up empty in the trashcans except a pack of cigarettes and several butts."

"What brand?"

"Morleys." The agent answered quizzically.

"Tell your men to clear out, we've collected all the evidence necessary." Then he dialed Scully's number. "Scully," he said not waiting for a greeting, "he's back...I dunno how but Spender is back and there's a direct connection this time with her and Marita Covarubias."

"Sir, I'm back at the Starkweather's looking for more evidence."

"I know Ben smoked Morleys..." Skinner began.

"No...there's a fresh one in the ashtray that hasn't been smoked yet. He's leaving us a trail..."

"One question I've got is what use does he have to keep Ben alive?"

"I think I just found it sir..." Scully said as her eyes fell on the open scrapbook and Mulder's picture alongside a freshly smoldered Morley propped on an ashtray.

Scully’s apartment

8:30 AM Eastern Standard Time

On the way there, Scully recounted what had happened, and everything she had found in her investigation. She also knew that as long as Mulder and Starkweather were both alive, then Ben Starkweather would still be living. Although the Syndicate apparently gained the upperhand during her run-in at the warehouse, what CSM had to say about Jerilyn still being alive gave her hope.

"Agent Reyes, I can't thank you enough for all your help." Scully said when she finally made it to her apartment.

"Agent Scully," Reyes replied with a thin smile, "I wish I could do more than babysit to help you out. Hopefully Agent Starkweather and I can have a more formal introduction "

"Just call if you need anything." Scully said as Reyes took her leave.

"Scully," Skinner began cautiously, once they were alone in her apartment, "I want to help you, Mulder, and Will as much as my position permits, but I can't do that until you tell me what's going on."

"Sir," Scully replied a little more harshly than she intended, "if what you say is true about Billy Miles, then I don't think the President of the United States can help us."

"If we get to the men who have Billy Miles under control," Skinner argued, "then we can get to Mulder and Starkweather in time. All I need from you is the information you have on Justin Leo. If I can track him down, or at least the people who have him under control, then there is a good chance we can protect both Mulder and Starkweather."

"Sir, with all due respect...as much as I appreciate your concern, I doubt seriously that tracking down Leo will lead to any kind of results except putting you at risk!" She hissed, careful not to wake Will.

"Scully, if what you say is true about the link between Mulder and Starkweather, then it is reasonable to assume that everyone--Will, you, The Gunmen, and me--are at risk for their exposure to the truth. Besides, in my profession, I'm at risk every day of my life. All of us in this business are."

"There's a difference between putting your life on the line and being stupid. With all due respect sir, I think this borders a little on the stupid side. I can't let you go out there with no back-up."

"Scully," Skinner's tone was quiet and firm, "For now, there's nothing you can do but wait. I made a promise to both of you a long time ago to do what I could to protect that division. Don't ask me to break it now. Not after all we've seen. Now...we can do this the long way or the shortcut around. Either give me the address, or I will get it myself through other sources."

With a heavy sigh, she handed him the notes she had taken on the evidence she had found on the man who instigated the situation at hand.

"Let me know what you find out as soon as you can."

"Get some sleep, Scully...you look exhausted."

"You forget sir," Scully said with a wan grin, "I got less sleep before I took maternity leave being Mulder's partner...Will's less demanding."

"I'll call when I can." Skinner said and turned and left, determined to get to the bottom of the pending fiasco.

Skinner made his way as quickly as he could to Leo's address. He doubted the same things Scully had, but at the same time, he couldn't just sit idly by and let everything slip out of his hands. Leo's obsessed mindset had not allowed for simple cautions, such as making sure the door was locked.

He found the house exactly as its inhabitant had left it, with a bulletin board and stacks of files that were all abduction related. He went thumbed through them and found anonymous correspondence dating back from two years ago giving little tasks, such as stopping environmental case lawsuits from getting to a judge, or hampering with evidence on fraud charges.

He logged his computer on, guessed the password of an obsessed man easily, and found his way through his Internet history to abductee chatrooms.

"These days," an old voice cracked out of the darkness, "You don't need to wish to be a fly in the wall. These little cameras make everything quite clear."

"You had this residence monitored?" Skinner growled.

"Of course. We had to. It is necessary sometimes to make sure an associate of ours stays on track, completes his task."

"Where is Billy Miles?" He fumed.

"That, I don't know. I wanted to employ that killing machine as protection against the coming invasion. I have every intention of keeping all those involved alive until they are of no use. There is another party involved here, and I'm afraid it is not my decision to make."

"What isn't your decision to make?"

"Whether or not we use the replicant."

"Like hell it isn't." Skinner barked back.

"Assistant Director, you stopped cooperating with us years ago. I know what happened to Alex Krycek. My associates and I can easily make things look so much worse than they actually are. It would be a shame to see such a distinguished career and a man's freedom go up in flames over one cause. I am not an unreasonable man. You know that I am a very powerful friend to have."

"Are you trying to cut me a deal?"

"Precisely. Obviously a monster running amok in the streets of our Nation's Capitol after a local hero would not bode well for the FBI. Stop Doggett's investigation into Kersh's office, and I will hand over the serum that controls the alien."

"Why the hell should I take credence in any promises or bargains you make?" Skinner demanded.

"People make bargains with the devil every day, Mr. Skinner. Either way, your career will be up in smoke once Agents Doggett and Reyes begin their investigation. You really have no choice but to comply."

"Where's the serum?"

June 19, 2001
The Lone Gunmen's Lair
11:00 AM
Six hours away from Mulder's projected death

Everyone started to move around nine-thirty. Starkweather took over the bathroom first and the "boys" (Sam included) waiting with impatient feet and full bladders for her to get out. Finally, Frohike declared, "Dammit, I'm a man. I'm going to find a bush," and stalked out while Starkweather finished her shower. She came out, hair wet, wearing the tight white tank top and cargo shorts that Langly had bought for her last night. "Little short, Langly," she grumbled at him as she walked by, showing a little more leg and thigh than she was used to.

Langly only grinned like an idiot and went about his work humming "I want a girl with a short skirt and a lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng jacket."

Starkweather had flashed him a dirty look as she parted her damp hair and started to plait it into two thick braids. As she fixed her hair, Sam dove into the bathroom and washed up, putting on one of Byers' suits. Byers himself had left to get food. He came out to find Starkweather with a Swiss Miss hairdo, pushing hairpins into her scalp while Langly watched in awe. "Dude, she looks like Princess Leia in 'Empire Strikes Back'!"

"Oh shut up," both Starkweather and Frohike snapped.

"Sit down, Doggie," Frohike ordered him gruffly. Sam did and let Frohike unbutton his shirt.

"Kinky," Starkweather purred as she patted the braids around her head.

"Careful, Mulder'll get jealous," Langly said as he started to pack up his gear.

"Stick your head into a bucket of Chlorox," Frohike snarled as he taped the microphone to Doggett's chest. "Now this is plastic," Frohike lectured him, "so the sound quality ain't that great, but you won't be setting off any metal detectors. So you gotta speak up good and loud, but not too loud." Sam buttoned up his shirt as Frohike went to get the earpiece. "This cell phone," he held up a Nokia 5100 model "is a fake, don't bother trying to call us on it. It's camouflage for this," He held up an ear piece. "See, the cord can become detached," He demonstrated then put the cord back into the earpiece and connected the cord to the phone, "and it'll still work. Once the clock starts tickin', if the cord gets ripped away from the phone, don't worry about. Keep your real cell phone in your shirt pocket so you don't lose it. Now, you'll be able to talk to both me and Starkweather," he turned to her now, carrying a small headphone with only one earpiece that had a small boom microphone attached.

"Oh goody," she said. "I get to be Garth Brooks."

Frohike carefully slid the headpiece on, positioning it underneath her braids. He fiddled about with the mike. "How does that feel?"

"Weird. But I'll live. Does it come with a fake cell phone too?"

"No ma'am," Frohike said. "Yours is real. You're paired up with Mulder so if we for some reason we get separated from you two and out of radio contact, we still have digital contact." Frohike took her hand and guided it to a small switch on the headset. "If we start breaking up, flick this small button "Up" and then hit the number three and the "Send" button. You'll get us, I promise."

"What if I get separated from Mulder?" Starkweather asked.

Frohike glowered at her. "Your job is NOT to get separated from Mulder."

"I'm not PLANNING on it!" she snapped.

"Hey, hey, hey..." Sam said. "We're all getting a little tense. Let's just... take deep breaths. Cool down. We need to be calm to pull this off." Sam sounded more relaxed than he felt.... he looked at his watch.... straight up eleven o'clock. Six hours away from Mulder's predicted doom... "Oh boy..." he muttered as Byers came back from McDonalds with enough grease to clog the arteries of everyone in a small county.

::Al, where are you??::he wondered.

He also wondered what Scully had found out last night.

June 19, 2001
3:16pm, Eastern Standard Time
Forty-four minutes away from Mulder's projected death

Sam had been sitting in the rental car, a nice looking Ford Explorer that blended in nicely with all the other cars in the busy Washington DC traffic, for hours now. His wait was nearly over. He looked his (Doggett's) watch. Three-sixteen on the dot. Sam's Swiss cheesed memory tormented him. He knew that those two numbers had Biblical significance, but for the life of him, he could not remember what....

"Hey Papa John," Starkweather's voice burst into his thoughts. "You good to go?" Because of the earpiece, her voice sounded tinny.

Sam leaned casually on his steering wheel, as if he was waiting for someone, when actually he was looking across the street and the Lone Gunmenmobile, which was posing as a touristy T-shirt vending booth.

"Locked, loaded and ready to go," Sam told her although he was privately thinking ::Al! Where the hell are you???::"Are you sure you guys are secure selling shirts?" Sam asked nervously. The last thing they needed was for his crew to be busted for selling without a license.

Langly broke in. "It's all good, man, we do this in our spare time. The shirts are no big deal, Byers likes to tie-dye stuff, so we buy Rit dyes and white shirts and let Byers go to town and when the Net is slow or the servers are down, we hock his shit. We've got a permit and everything and we even make a coupla bucks off of it."

"Want me to save you a shirt, Doggett?" Starkweather asked dryly. "They are truly works of art."

"No thank you." Sam assured her as he looked at his watch again. Three-twenty-six... he felt the fluttering wings of butterflies doing aerobatics in his stomach. He worried not only of the very real danger that lay ahead, but also of Scully. What else happened last night? Was she all right? Was she safe? Did she get to see Mulder?

But he dared not to call her... Time was too precious now... Sam checked his watch again... Three twenty-seven...

Time was very precious now.

3:45 PM Eastern Standard Time
County Jail

Sam stepped into the guard's desk, "I have an appointment to see the warden at four," Sam spoke with a calm he did not feel.

Frohike was talking in his ear. "You're all good buddy, Langly's already in the system, Barney Fife there should be pulling up the fake appointment..."

"Special Agent Frank Black?" the guard asked. Sam nodded and flashed the fake ID Langly whipped up for him. "Alrighty, have a seat." The guard waved him over to a chair.

After Sam sat and pretended to peruse his notes, Starkweather walked in, wearing Byers' baggy dress slacks, white dress shirt, hanging loosing over her tank top along with Byers's suit jacket. She carried a big black purse over her shoulder. She was sipping from a gargantuan mug from some gas station.

The guard looked up to see the mannishly dressed woman with the Princess Leia hair-do. "Can I help you?" he asked wearily. His day was almost over. The night crew would be there to relieve him in 25 minutes, he couldn't wait. He did not feel like dealing with this she-man.

"I'm Diana Fowley, from INS," said Starkweather, holding up her fake ID. "I'm here to see Manuel Diego Ibarra."

The guard checked his computer. "Ibarra don't have any appointments today."

Starkweather flipped the bitch switch from off to on. "What do you mean, no appointments?" she seethed. "There was set up two weeks ago. By the Assistant DA."

"Well... I suppose I could... I mean... it's just that it's getting close to the inmates suppertimes... if Ibarra don't eat with the rest, he don't eat at all and inmates get kinda cranky when they don't get to eat an-"

"You think I care about Ibarra's dietary habits?" Starkweather snarled as she set the mug down on the desk with a slam. She dug in her pockets and pulled out a sugar packet. She put the packet in her mouth and opened the lid of the mug. Steam from her hot tea came out in wispy tendrils. "All I care about is getting my questions answered and then tossing his illegal ass back to El Mexico where it belongs."

Just as Starkweather made that very uncharacteristic derogatory remark, Frohike said to Doggett. "We've got you bumped to twenty-five minutes. It's go time, we're in. Clock's ticking, Puppy-Man."

Sam got up from his seat, confident in the knowledge that the Lone Gunmen had control of the jail's surveillance and security. "Excuse me, miss?"

"WHAT????" she snapped.

"I hate to interrupt, but do you have the time?"

Starkweather picked up the mug and threw it's boiling contents all over the guard. As the guard covered his face in real pain, Starkweather took the syringe out of her purse, already loaded with an incredibly powerful drug called Verstat. "Here's the mickey of all time, buddy-boy," Starkweather said while Sam pinned the guard's arms, Starkweather ripped apart the man's sleeve and jabbed him with the needle. "Beautiful," she murmured as she pushed the plunger.

"Verstat is a lovely, lovely drug. You feel everything, you see everything, you hear everything, but you will forget everything." Sam punched the burned man, knocking him unconscious. Starkweather was already pushing through the doors. "Alright guys, lets go get Big Brother... Frohike... FROHIKE!!!" She pushed the earpiece into her ear better. "You're breaking up. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying get your asses in gear. Billy Miles is in the building."

"WHAT?!" Sam cried out! ::Can't anything in this damned leap go right???::Sam didn't know that when Leo got away from the police officer, history changed again and Mulder was killed at four, not five. He checked his watch. 3:52.

Starkweather took her little Beretta out of her ankle holster and her service weapon out of her pants. "Holy jumping Aloysious God," she groaned. "Cover me," Starkweather pushed through the doors, Sam, both guns out as well, followed, running down the stairs to the basements, where they could already hear screams of terror welling up from below.

The guard felt eyes on his back. He turned around and saw a lanky man with dark brown hair and brooding eyes. "Hey," he said, friendly-like, but nonchalantly moving his hands to his MACE. After all, the guy was unarmed. "Are you lost? You're not supposed to be here without an-"

A wailing scream echoed throughout the cellblock. Mulder lifted his head up. "Oh damn," he muttered.

Soon, amongst the screams were cries of "Get me the fuck OUTTA here!!" "It's a monster!! For the love of GOD GET US OUT!!!" "HEELLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPP!!!"

"What is goin' on out there?" Manny said as he got up from his bunk and went to the bars just in time to see the guard's head bouncing along on the floor and land directly parallel to Manny's feet, his sightless eyes staring up at him, his speechless tongue lolling.

"GUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRD!!!!!!" Manny hollered, backing away from the bars.

Billy Miles kicked the decapitated head aside like a soccer ball and stared at Mulder dispassionately.

"Hi ya, Billy," Mulder said, not moving, hoping that maybe there might be a shred of the real Billy Miles left in that shell of a man. "What's up?"

Billy grabbed a steel bar and started to twist it....

Starkweather and Sam heard the pandemonium as they raced down the stairs. "Two more flights to go..." Sam panted.

"HURRY THE FUCK UP!!!" Frohike was screaming, "ITS AT MULDER'S CELL!"

Starkweather, as she ran down the stairs, shoved the guns in the back of her pants, grabbed the railing, vaulted over the rails and landed solidly onto the next flight of stairs going down.

"STARKWEATHER!!! COME BACK!!!" Sam yelled uselessly as he ran after her.

She did that trick again on the next set of stairs and found herself on Cell Block B. She pulled her guns out and saw Billy Miles pulling the bars away like string cheese. Over the din of male prisoners she raised her female voice: "HEY! BILLY BOY!!!!"

Billy stopped his chore and looked straight at her. He abandoned the bars and walked straight for her.

"Bring it on," she said before she started firing.

Starkweather emptied her clip of her service weapon into Billy Miles' face. Blood, flesh and skull splattered the walls and bars of the cellblock. Headless, the arms reached out for her while the body still walked towards her.

"You're supposed to STOP after I shoot you! What part of DEAD don’t you understand?" she cried as the creature kept coming forward. She whipped out the Beretta and fired into his chest, his crotch, his gut and his knees. The thing flopped over and wriggled its way towards her, flopping around like a fish out of water.

"MULDER!!" she called out as she kicked at the gory mess still crawling reaching for her. "Ew ew ew," she said as she kicked away a reaching hand and quickly stepped over the dead/alive remains. She reached into her purse that she still carried and pulled out two clips and reloaded both weapons, walking backwards, looking for Mulder's cell, waiting for Doggett and watching the soggy heap of body part slowly swing itself around and start pulling itself in her direction again. "Mulder, where are you?"

"Over here!" Mulder stuck an arm out of his cell. "The one where the bars are pulled away."

Starkweather back-pedaled to where Mulder was being held. Mulder took one look at her braided hairdo and quipped "Hello Your Worshipfullness."

Starkweather was examining the bent bars. "Han Solo you're not... my God... that thing did this?? Jesus..." she tried pulling on the bar and the bent iron bar defied her, staying stubbornly bent. She took out the skeleton key that Byers fashioned for her to open the cell. "Shit... SHIT!!!! Byers!!!" she snapped into the headset. "YOUR KEY'S NOT WORKING!!"

"Billy must have damaged the tumbler of the lock when he started to bend away at the bars," Byers' strained voice filled her ears.

"I don't think we can get the cell door," Starkweather said, panicking a little. They had twelve minutes to get out of the jailblock before Frohike's window closed. "Can you slid through the bars?"

Mulder tried, wedging his body through the bowed bars created by Billy. "Dammit," he said, "Billy has a more girlish figure than I."

"Well, we wouldn't be having this problem if someone didn't sit on his ass all day and eat sunflower seeds." She grabbed his arm. "YOU! Back there, hiding under the bunk bed!" Manny, with a hangdog expression on his face, complied. "You push, I'll pull."

"ARRCCKKK!!" Mulder said as his face was shoved past the bars. "Don't you have a better way of doing this?"

"Sorry Pooh-bear," Starkweather snapped, "I'm fresh out of butter and I left my flame-thrower in Byers' other pants. PUSH!!"

"We're not having a baby," Mulder grumbled as his torso was forced through the narrow space between the bars. "STOP STOP STOP I'M STUCK!!" he yelled out in pain when he was half-way out, his upper body, supported by Starkweather while Manny was trying to lift his legs up and out. Mulder looked down, "Starkweather..."

Starkweather, burdened under Mulder's weight, looked down as well. "Oh damn," she sighed as she tried to kick away at Billy's body, only a few feet away from her.

Sam made it to the bottom of the stairs and felt his stomach lurch at the sight of the moving dismembered Billy Miles slithering towards Starkweather. He could hear the inmates discussing pleasantly amongst themselves: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING!!! WHAT THE FUCK MAN!!!"

Sam took out Doggett's gun and ran towards Starkweather, unloaded it into Billy's back, severing the backbone. Billy stopped moving.

"Doggett!" Starkweather said, "help me," she started pulling on Mulder again. Sam came around to the other side of Mulder.

"Hold on, his suit's stuck," Sam pulled on a wad of clothing that had become impaled on a piece of metal.

"No time for that," Starkweather pulled a pocketknife out of her pocket and both anyone could freak out or protest, slit away at Mulder's jumpsuit. "Doggett, help me pull him out of his suit," she ordered as orange material fell away from Mulder. Together, Sam and Starkweather pulled Mulder free, leaving him to stand in the cell block hallway in his skivvies.

"Didn't know you were a whitie-tightie man," Starkweather deadpanned.

"They took away my boxers."

Manny, being far more slender than Mulder, hopped through the bars easily. "Let's get out of here."

"Oh no," Starkweather pointed her gun at Manny. "Get your law-breaking ass back in that cell."

"We can't leave him here," Mulder protested.

"Mulder, I am already sticking my neck out for your sorry ass, I can probably kiss my job goodbye for freeing you, I am not going to add releasing a possible felon to my new rap sheet!"

"Um, I just snuck into the county without a green card," Manny interjected.

"If we leave him here with no protection, he's going to get killed! We can't leave him you egotistical, self-righteous cow!"

"Guys," Frohike broke into their fight through Sam and Starkweather's earpieces, "You've got seven minutes to get out before the window closes."

"COW!!!" She fumed. "Listen, you spineless, delusional, arrogant ASSHOLE, I wouldn't be in this situation if your monumental STUPIDITY on the oil rig hadn't gotten my husband sucked into this insani-"

"Starkweather," Sam interrupted warily, pointing his gun down at Billy's remains.

Starkweather looked down. Her eyes widened as Billy's body parts were slowly coming together. "You," she grabbed Manny by the collar of his jumpsuit and yanked him over to Doggett. "Go with him. You're with me, come on," she slapped her Beretta in Mulder's hand and pushed him towards the door...

Starkweather pushed Mulder into the nearest restroom while Doggett and Manny kept running up the stairs. "What are you doing?" Mulder fumed.

"Trust me," Starkweather said as she unloosened her tie.

Meanwhile, Sam stopped Manny to slap handcuffs on him. Manny wailed "What are you doing???"

"Trust me," Sam said gruffly.

Meanwhile...
back at the County Jail...

The Front Guard Room -

The guard that Starkweather burned and drugged was slowly coming too. He looked up and saw the last thing he remembered, which was that FBI agent...Frank Black, looming over him. "It's okay, it's okay..." the agent was saying.

The guard was suddenly aware that he was in acute pain. He tried to speak but his lips were burned.

Sam-in-Doggett-posing-as-Agent-Frank-Black told him, "I've called the paramedics. You were attacked, your burns are superficial but very painful. I've caught the guy who came after you and I'm taking him to a psychiatric facility."

Meanwhile Manny was sitting on a bench, still handcuffed was wailing, "I didn't DO it!!!! I swear!!!!"

Frohike told the agents through their earpieces, "Okay, the window's shut. Normal security and video surveillance is goin' on. Stay cool."

Back down in the bathroom, Starkweather shrugged off the bulky black purse she was carrying. She stripped off the suit jacket, pants, dress blouse and tie she was wearing, leaving her in nothing but a skin-tight tank top and the Lara Croft khakis shorts Langly had gotten her. "Get dressed," she ordered him as she pulled out a pair of black socks and shoes for Mulder. While Mulder dressed, she also took out a can of aerosol hair coloring used primarily during Halloween, a pair of glasses, spirit gum and a brown-fading-to-gray fake beard and moustache. Once Mulder was more or less dressed, she dabbed spirit gum on his face and applied the beard and moustache. Quickly she sprayed his hair with the coloring, streaking his brown hair with gray. "Put these on," she said, handing him the glasses as she crouched down again to put Mulder's disguise material back in her back and to take out her own camouflage, a pair of stylish sunglasses Starkweather normally would never wear and a white handkerchief she folded quickly into a triangle. Quickly, she took the hairpins out one by one until the braids flopped down her back. She tied the handkerchief around her head and put the sunglasses on.

Standing next to a suddenly aged-Mulder, she looked like his teenaged daughter. As she put her gun in her purse, Mulder asked "And how do you plan on getting past the metal detectors?"

"Like, chill out dad," she said snidely. "Langly's gonna infect this place with a very obvious computer virus which is going to wreak hell on their system."

"How?"

"All the doors to the Cell Block B are going to open. The guards will be so busy, plus with the police that will be coming with the paramedics for the guard that I um... roughed up, they'll be so busy, they won't pay mind to us. Plus, while they're wondering why there's no footage of the guard being injured, they'll assume it's the same virus that caused the computer to think the cell block doors need to be opened."

"You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

Before Starkweather could snap back at him, Frohike told her, "Virus is in, get your asses out of there."

Mulder and Starkweather could hear the slam of doors opening below. They crept out of the bathroom and as casually as possible, got onto the elevator to go above...

Meanwhile...

The upstairs was total bedlam. As the police sirens howled in the distance, Sam administered first aid while the minimal security staff ran around like chickens with their heads cut off trying to round up the prisoners who were suddenly free. Fortunately, only severe misdemeanors and "special" cases like the Deputy Mayor were kept at the County, so there really wasn't much of a threat. Most of the criminals, after watching Billy rebuild himself, were far too terrified to move out of their cells.

Sam quietly stole away, taking Manny with him. The Lone Gunmenmobile was parked right across the street next to a police paddy wagon. It was perfect, it appeared to onlookers that Sam-in-Doggett was leading a prisoner to be transferred to a different prison. Instead, the doors to the Gunmenmobile opened up and Sam tossed Manny inside before he hopped in. The Gunmenmobile stole away, driving to Starkweather's and Mulder's meeting point.

Mulder couldn't believe it, he and his "daughter" were being personally escorted out by a police officer. When the elevator stopped at the first floor, it was total chaos. The cop didn't even look at him that closely, he just grabbed Mulder by the arm and said "Sir, you and your daughter need to evacuate immediately."

And when the metal detector went off, the cop didn't even flinch, he just assumed it was his own weapons setting off the alarms.

And Mulder and Starkweather hurried away from the crime scene virtually undetected. The van was waiting for them and they hopped into its cramped security. It was too easy...

Or it would have been, if Billy Miles hadn't seen them leave.

Frohike was driving, Sam-in-Doggett was in the passenger seat. Crammed in the back, Langly was high-fiving everyone he could reach. Byers, Manny and Mulder were scootched in together on a bench, Starkweather was watching out the back window.

"We DID it! We freakin' DID it MAN!!" Langly crowed. "Mulder, dude, can you believe this? You are totally a free man!"

"I'm a man totally on the lamb you mean," Mulder corrected him dryly. "And what's with the bikes?" He rested his palms on Ben's Suzuki, which was leaning into his knees.

"Well, the game plan is that we are going to go our separate ways and meet at the round-a-view point so we can start the search for Mr. Starkweather. As for your status, we plan on telling the authorities that you voluntarily surrendered to Agents Doggett and Starkweather and hence in federal custody." Byers informed him, "Once we find Mr. Starkweather, all charges SHOULD be dropped, isn't that correct, Mrs. Starkweather?"

But Starkweather wasn't listening, she was watching too intently outside the window.

"Mrs. Starkweather?"

Meanwhile Sam was pondering ::Okay, we saved Mulder, shouldn't I have leapt by now? Or do I still need to rescue Ben? What if he's been killed? Am I trapped here then?::

His reverie was broken by Starkweather's voice. "Doggett. Frohike."

"Yeah?" Sam and Frohike unintentionally said in unison.

Starkweather pointed out the window. "He followed me home, can I keep him?"

Frohike looked into his rearview mirror. "Shit," he muttered as he saw Billy Miles weaving in and out of cars in the heavy DC rush hour traffic. "Lock and load boys."

"You guys carry guns now?" Mulder said incredulously. "I feel safer with Billy."

"He means get wired up," Langly said as he hooked up his earpiece. "We might get separated faster than we thoug-."

"FUCK ME!!!" Starkweather interrupted, pulling her gun out, "WHERE DID HE GO!!!"

Then there was the sickening sound of a thud on the roof of the van. "Oh crap," Frohike said.

"BRAKE BRAKE BRAKE!!!!" Starkweather screamed. "SLAM ON THE FUCKING BRAKES FROHIKE!!!"

"Hang on!" Frohike stomped on the pedal and watched Billy go flying into the next car ahead. Then the car behind them rear-ended them and everyone went sprawling. Starkweather's gun went sailing out of her hands. Byers and Manny knocked heads. Mulder grabbed his knees in real pain after the bikes scraped past him. Sam gasped for breath as the seat belt choked him. Langly groped for the glasses that flew off his face and found Starkweather's gun instead. "Here," he handed it Mulder. Mulder handed it off to Starkweather as she reached for it while asking

"WHERE'D HE GO?"

Billy just then lifted his mangled body off of the Volvo he landed on. As horns honked frantically, he leapt off the smushed car and onto the hood of the van.

Sam looked death in the eyes and ducked just in time before Billy smashed the glass of the windshield in.

"GO!!" Frohike yelled as he barreled out the car door. Sam bolted out of the door and started to run out down the street after Frohike, looking over his shoulder as they ran for his rental car, praying everyone else had a chance to get away.

Which, they did, action-adventure movie style.

The back door of the van flew open, a ramp was hastily thrown out and on a decrepit moped, Langly, Byers and Manny buzzed out of the van with Mulder and Starkweather on Ben's motorcycle hot on their heels.

"Make this thing go faster!!!" Byers said, clutching Langly's skinny waist.

"My butt's half-off this thing!!" Manny wailed.

"This bad boy wasn't made for three!" Langly complained as he maneuvered the beat-up moped in and out of traffic.

They shouldn't have worried however. Billy Miles' tunnel vision was focused on his target. He pulled his arm out of the broken windshield, not even flinching as the glass sliced up his arms. Drivers and pedestrians who witnessed his horrific attack screamed and fled, frantically dialing the police on their cell phones... which worked for Mulder and Starkweather's advantage for when traffic came to a dead stop, Starkweather was able to weave in and out around the parked cars with greater ease. "What are you going?" Mulder yelled in her ear as he tried to hang on.

"The freeway!" she yelled back. "Stop being such a wuss and hang onto my waist Mulder. Scully will skin me alive if I don't bring you back in one piece!" She shifted gears and took the appropriate exit onto the busy freeway.

Billy stalked around the van and went up to a 2001 Ford Ranger which was abandoned by its burly driver after it rear-ended the Lone Gunmanmobile. It was still humming when Billy got in. For a moment, the glowing buttons of the CD player mesmerized him. He hit **Play** and the familiar bass line from Metallica's greatest hit roared from the speakers.

"Say your prayers little one
Don't forget, my son
To include everyone
Tuck you in, warm within
Keep you free from sin
Till the Sandman comes

Sleep with one eye open
Gripping your pillow tight

Exit: light
Enter: night
Take my hand
We're off to Never Never Land...."

Billy threw the truck in reverse, smashing the car behind him, did a u-turn and followed Mulder and Starkweather to the interstate, plowing into parked cars with abandon.

Starkweather had just merged with the traffic. Dust was flying into Mulder's eyes so he turned his head away. When he looked behind, he saw in horror a brand new Ford truck with a smashed front bumper running cars off of the road, accelerating faster and faster all the time, heading straight for...

"Starkweather, Billy is behind us!" Mulder told her.

Starkweather glanced into the tiny rearview mirror. "Jesus, DIE ALREADY!!!" She swerved into the next lane, cutting off a Volvo and gunning it.

"We got to get off this road," Mulder yelled. He looked back just in time to see the Ford truck sideswipe a 1992 bright green Dodge Neon. The car spun out and hit a 1999 black Mustang convertible. And Billy was gaining speed. It didn't appear that anyone was hurt but still... "Fuck, Starkweather, he's gonna kill everyone that stands in his path!" Mulder looked behind him again. Billy was boxed in between semis, but not for long. One semi blew its massive horns as Billy butted the semi again and again to force it to move out of his way.

Starkweather shifted again. The motorcycle was well exceeding safe speed limits. "Hang on!" she said as she whipped around three cars in and out, "Where should I go?" she yelled back to him. "I can't have that thing follow us into a residential area!"

Mulder pointed at a sign. "Take that exit!"

"That's a construction zone, are you fucking out of your mind??" She quickly looked over her shoulder and saw that Billy had pulled onto the side of the road and was in the process of passing the semis. "Shit..."

"now i lay me down to sleep
**Now I lay me down to sleep**
the lord i pray my soul to keep
**The Lord I pray my soul to keep**
if i die before i wake
**If I die before I wake**
pray the lord my soul to take
**Pray the Lord my soul to take

Hush little baby, don't say a word
and never mind that noise you heard
It's just the beasts under your bed
In your closet, in your head

Exit: light
Enter: night
Grain of sand

Exit: light
Enter: night
Take my hand
We're off to Never-Never Land...."

Starkweather, at the last possible minute, broke out of the traffic and steered around the big orange sign that read "CLOSED, CONSTRUCTION ZONE."

Shortly afterwards, Billy took his battered truck, once so shiny and new, straight through the sign, in hot pursuit of his prey.

In the distance, thunder rumbled and the skies darkened...

Sam-in-Doggett, Frohike met up with Langly, Byers and Manny at the Lone Gunman's secret lair. "Where's Starkweather and Mulder?" Sam demanded as Langly, Byers and Manny got off of the sputtering moped.

"We don't know," Byers said. "I could not hail them on the cell phone."

"Oh God," Sam muttered as he dialed Starkweather's extension. "You guys," he said, pointed at the Lone Gunmen and Manny. "Get to work on figuring out where they might be keeping Ben. And for God sakes, somebody get a hold of Scully." That had been scaring him all day. He had not heard a peep from Scully all day.... or Al come to think of it.

::Why haven't I leapt yet?::Sam wondered as Starkweather's cell rang. ::God, are we too late and Ben's dead?::"Pick up," Sam said aloud, dreading the worst. "Pick up pick up...."

Starkweather couldn't even hear her own phone ringing, the roar of the construction trucks around deafened her completely. With Mulder clutching her for dear life, she used her husband's prized motorcycle as a Motor Cross dirt bike, whipping around road block signs as fast as she could. Billy was still gaining on them.

Mulder, meanwhile, had Starkweather's long braids repeatedly hit him in the face over and over. At the speed they were going, the thick cables of hair stung his cheeks like bullwhips. He could hardly hold his head up. He could hear the honks from the annoyed drivers of the dump trucks and road graders trying to do their jobs.

Mulder and Starkweather gained a moments advantage when a dump truck pulled right in front of Billy's truck that turned into an enormous fireball when the truck plowed right into it. Starkweather wheeled the bike around in a perfect one-eighty, throwing gravel everywhere. "Oh my God!" she cried out as the driver bailed out of the dump, on fire. His co-workers ran to his aid. "I've got to help that man," Starkweather started to get off the bike, but Mulder pushed her back down.

"Starkweather, we've got to go."

Starkweather turned and said ferociously to him, "Mulder you piece of shit, that man is injured and it's our fault. Besides, that thing could not have survived that!" She turned to point at the flaming trucks and gasped in horror.

Inside the flames was a lean man, walking calming towards them. Like Shadrach in the furnace, Billy walked inside the roaring fires towards them, perfectly calm despite the face that his flesh was melting off his bones from the heat of the flames roasting his hair and clothes.

"HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!!!" Starkweather wheeled the bike around and took off, without looking back. Mulder barely had a chance to grab onto her again, but he did manage to yell in her ear "TOLD YOU SO."

"BITE ME-" Starkweather started to say but instead suddenly applied the breaks. The bike screeched and toppled over, sliding away. Mulder fell off and rolled but Starkweather held onto the handle bars, grimacing in pain as the road tore up her bare leg on the outside and the muffler burning the same leg on the inside. Despite the agonizing pain, she clung to the bike so it wouldn't go over the edge of the bridge that the road crew was working to hard to repair.

Bruised, but not broken and on the first adrenaline high since he left the X-Files, Mulder picked himself up and ran to Starkweather and helped her pulled up bike up and parked it safely on the edge. He then examined her wounds. Tears stood in her eyes but did not brim over. Through clenched teeth, she told him. "I'm fine." Her leg on the side that the road was completely scraped up, bits of glass and gravel lodged into her skin. That same leg had a huge burn mark on the inside of her calf where the muffler had landed on.

Mulder helped her up. Starkweather tried to stand but her knee buckled. She collapsed against him. Mulder supported her by her elbows. He looked towards the billowing smoke from the fire and said. "Damn."

"What?" Starkweather turned her head. "DAMMIT!!!" she screamed at Billy approaching them in the distance, skin completely burned away, hair still on fire. "DIE!!!!!!!!!!"

Mulder picked Starkweather and put her on the motorcycle. He got on and revved up the engine. She wrapped her arms around his waist. "What are you doing?"

"Hang on, close your eyes and pray," Mulder said as he spun the bike around, driving towards Billy.

Starkweather squeezed her eyes tightly shut as Mulder got some distance from the edge of the broken bridge. Meanwhile, Mulder was doing some quick math in his head. ::The gap between the ends of the bridge that is being repaired is only about the length of a city block, so I need to get at least twice the length of that away and have to hit well over 100 mph to ramp it... oh God...::Less than fifteen feet from Billy, Mulder swerved around and started back towards the bridge, speeding up. Starkweather, eyes still closed, heard the engine continually shifting gears, tightened her arm around Mulder's waist even more and buried her face into his back. Billy started to run after them, unbelievably almost keeping up with the Suzuki.

The edge loomed. Mulder gunned the engine and pulled up on the handlebars and the motorcycle was airborne.

Actually, the gap in the bridge was only about seven feet but it was straight down to the mix-master right below, roaring with speeding vehicles. And seven feet is seven feet. Fortunately, at the speed Mulder was going, he ramped the gap quite easily and the two tires touched down on the other side. Mulder let off of the gas and the bike rolled to a stop. He wheeled it around again. Starkweather opened her eyes and peered around Mulder's body just in time to see Billy Miles jump off the edge of the bridge towards them, like Agent Smith in "The Matrix." The only difference, Billy missed and went spiraling down into traffic where he was run over by a Pinto.

Starkweather heaved a big sigh of relief. "I didn't know you could do stunts," she said.

She didn't see Mulder's face; which was stark white and beaded with nervous perspiration. "Neither did I," he mumbled as he started up the bike again and headed towards the Lone Gunmen hideaway.

Meanwhile, at the Lone GunmenLair

Sam was having certain doubts about letting Frohike drive Doggett's truck back with Manny in tow, but Sam wasn't about to do the navigating, being unfamiliar with the DC area and needing desperately to get in touch with Scully or Skinner. After nearly missing a couple of cars and sideswiping a curb and putting a nice pole-shaped dent in the side of Doggett's F150, Sam neglected getting in touch with Skinner or Scully or any of them till after they got to the lair...just in case final prayers suddenly became necessary. Manny next to him was more vocal about the situation, screaming choice Spanish expletives. If they hadn't been so nervous about the situation at hand, both men would have kissed the ground when they finally arrived at the lair.

"That's it, hombre...next time I'm drivin'." Manny declared.

"Frohike," Sam began shakily with his face as white as a sheet once they finally got the lair, "Where did you get your license?"

"We rigged one for him here, Doggett." Byers began apologetically, giving Frohike a dirty look.

"Well you were gonna drive like an old lady, and we would've been stuck in ass-to-ass traffic jams and we would've been S.O.L. if it weren't for my skillful offensive driving techniques."

"Your skillful offensive driving techniques almost made us tortillas!" Manny yelled. Then he turned to Byers and Langly, "any you guys got a phone I could use por favor?"

To which Langly responded by opening a drawerful of wireless phones and cranking up about five of the desktops that weren't in use at the moment. "Take your pick, man."

"Gracias." Manny said quietly, picked one from the drawer, and dialed. "Local call...I know people." Then he began rattling off a Spanish conversation, pausing briefly for a response.

"I understood ::Mi amigo::" Langley murmured

"I heard Mulder in their somewhere I think."

Sam, fluent in Spanish, would have been able to understand what he was saying very well, didn't hear any of the conversation because he was outside relaying what had happened to Skinner.

"Guys, something on the squawker." Frohike said quietly, now frantically keying in the local news channel websites. "Traffic jam on the freeway."

"WHAT THE F*CK JUST HIT ME?! WHAT THE F*CK JUST HIT ME?!" A trucker screamed across the CB waves.

"That's our boy." Langly mumbled.

"Oh shit!" A scratchy voice came over the police radio the gunmen had hooked up and turned on in their warehouse. "It's like outta that Terminator movie..."

"I'm checking the CB." Byers informed his comrades, and began hooking it up, putting the headphones.

"I hate to break to you buddy, but this ain't no movie." A female's voice scratched back. SWEET JESUS WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"

"There's a Suzuki...a blonde chick's drivin'...with some old guy...that Ford Truck's chasing it"

"This can't be good." was Manny's grim prognosis.

Frohike went back into a room and got out a bottle of Wild Turkey Bourbon and downed a shot's worth.

Just as Frohike pulled Doggett's sadly abused truck next to the Lone Gunmen lair, Starkweather and Mulder pulled into the lot, Mulder driving, Starkweather clinging to him like the toy clip-on koalas that were so popular in the early eighties. Both were white as ghosts.

"Mulder!" Frohike cried out as he ambled out of the truck and scurried to him, Manny and Sam-in-Doggett following.

Mulder lifted Starkweather off the bike, Starkweather wincing in pain, clenching her teeth. "Hide the motorcycle," he instructed to no one in particular. "About every cop in a twenty mile radius is looking for it right now." Frohike took the initiative and wheeled the bike inside the lair.

Sam only had eyes for Starkweather at them moment. "What happened?" he said, urgency tingeing his voice. Then he looked down at her leg and saw the massive abrasions. "Oh boy," Sam said in horror. "Starkweather...."

"Mulder," Starkweather tugged on his sleeve. "You need to get inside. You're a fugitive now."

"Been there, done that," Mulder muttered as he carried her inside, Sam and Manny following.

Mulder began barking orders the minute Frohike locked the door. "Langly, find some clean, emphasize on CLEAN sheets and lay them across the table and a pillow. Byers, I need a pair of tweezers, cotton pads, ACE bandages and sterilizing solution: iodine, alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, anything that will kill the germs." After Frohike cleared a table with the sweep of his arm and Langly threw a sheet over it and positioned a pillow just so, Mulder put her down. Starkweather closed her eyes. "God knows, I've have Scully piece me back together enough times, I think I can handle this," Mulder said to Sam as he referred to her scrapes and contusions. "I don't know about this," he moved her injured leg just enough for Sam to see the blistering burn on the inside of her leg.

"Oh my God," Sam said in horror. "Mulder, that's at least second-degree. We need to get her to a hospital."

"Or at least a doctor," Mulder said. "Call Scully." When his request was met with dead silence, Mulder asked. "Why is no one picking up the phone?"

Starkweather raised herself up on her elbows. "Because," she said wearily, "we haven't been able to get in touch with her since last night."

Sam was quick to reassure him, "William is fine, he's safe, he's been guarded by Skinner and Reyes the entire time this mess began. I'm sure Scully is safe," Sam hoped he sounded more positive than he felt. "We would have heard if she wasn't."

"Besides," Starkweather's dry voice cut into the conversation, "you have bigger problems than the whereabouts of Scully right now."

Mulder and Sam both turned around. Starkweather was aiming her gun at Mulder. She just clicked the safety off.

"Oh crap," Frohike said as Langly and Byers froze. Manny said something in Spanish that sounded suspiciously sacrilegious.

"Starkweather," Sam said slowly, "what are you doing?"

Despite her injuries, Starkweather managed to sit up, face Mulder and hold her gun in the perfect FBI grip, aiming right between the eyes, point blank range. If she chose to fire, **if she chose to fire**, no vaccine would bring him back from the grave this time.

"Starkweather, you don't want to do this," Sam said, inching towards her, prepared to wrest the gun from her hand... again. ::I'm getting too good at this...::Sam thought as beads of perspiration collected on his forehead.

"Doggett, shut up," Starkweather said pleasantly enough. She tilted her head and looked at Mulder straight in the eye. "Did you kill my husband."

Mulder, who had been completely unruffled the entire time said without batting an eye "No."

"Do you believe he's still alive?"

"Yes."

"Will you help us find him?"

"I would even if there wasn't a gun pointed at me," Mulder said in his monotone at its most nettlesome.

Starkweather gritted her teeth, put her weapon back on safety, set it down beside her, and fainted.

Sam released a sigh of relief. Mulder turned to him and said, the tiniest hints of surprise and rebuke coloring his voice, "You didn't really think she was going to fire... did you?"

Sam looked at Mulder in shock. "She has been on the Emotional Rollercoaster from Hell, Mulder," Sam snapped on him. "I'm surprised she didn't fire on me as well." ::since part of her still probably suspects I'm not really Doggett.::

Mulder shook his head. "She's in shock from her injuries. Starkweather's hot headed, but she'll be fine once we get her stabilized." he said, coming to her and taking the gun away, hitting the button with released the clip. A full cache of bullets landed in his hands. He handed them to Sam. "Still," the mischievous twinkle was back in his eyes, "better treat her like Barney Fife for a while." He walked away, whistling under his breath as he went to scrounge with Byers for more medical supplies.

Sam folded his lips tight. ::The cocky son-of-a-bitch.::he thought... although... deep down, he knew Mulder was right. She would have never fired, she was only trying to rattle him... and failed utterly. Sam went up to Starkweather and stroked her hair. "Hang in there, Doc," he said softly. "We can see the light at the end of the tunnel now..."

Mulder propped Starkweather's injured leg on top of a pillow. Miraculously, Byers found a first aid kit that had silverdine ointment in it, a wonderful cream used to treat serious burns. He handed the tube to Doggett and told him "You do the honors" as he sterilized the tweezers in hot water.

Gingerly, Sam applied the cream to the burn on the inside of her leg. "Ben would shoot me if he saw this," he muttered.

"Starkweather is going to want to shoot me for real once I start digging the gravel out," Mulder said as he used tongs to fish out the hot tweezers and set them on the table to let them cool before he went to work.

"HOW did you know she wasn't going to shoot you???" Sam burst out.

Mulder shrugged. "She wanted to get my attention. She got it."

"But you weren't worried?"

"No."

The Gunmen in the back were cooking on something on their computers. Sam only hoped that it was about the case.

"WHY does she... um," Sam tried to pose his question delicately as he finished applying the salve and went around the table to assist Mulder in his dreaded task.

"Hate my guts?" Mulder finished Sam's sentence for him. "Well... when I was young and stupid, I had gotten a lead about an abductee named Lynette Malone. She was a multiple abductee until she turned nineteen and married a fine young sailor in the Navy. The source that tipped me off said there was something very special about Miss Malone that would affect me personally. Of course, I assumed she had information about Samantha. I took the address and flew out there like a bat out of hell. Unfortunately, my source failed to tell me that Miss Malone was now Mrs. Bailey and was dying of cancer, leaving behind a husband and a sixteen year old daughter."

"Starkweather," Sam said, under his breath.

"Mrs. Bailey was perfectly lucid when I met with her and we chatted for a good ten minutes before I started my questions. Even in the beginning of my interview, she opened up just the tiniest bit, but..." Mulder shook his head as he readied the tweezers. "Mrs. Bailey was suffering from a rare type of brain cancer, rare in most people, but common in women who have been abducted, tested and made sterile due to the tests. Scully nearly died of the same cancer," Mulder looked at Starkweather. "Good thing she passed out, this is going to hurt like a bitch." Mulder pulled the first piece of gravel out of her leg. Starkweather flinched, but didn't wake up. "Anyway, Mrs. Bailey was in the final stages of the cancer and her lucidity was slipping away. She became frightened, disorientated. Instead of calling the nurse, I pressed on, hoping that she'd come back from the hell the tumors were creating for her just to breath to me the secret I was convinced she held that would help me find my sister. Little did I know that Starkweather had been outside, listening in on every word. Her mother completely collapsed the next day, slipped into a coma and passed away. Starkweather never forgave me for not letting her mother have a peaceful death, and I never forgave myself." Mulder sighed as he continued to pick out the gravel. "And the irony was, after all these years, my source WAS correct. Mrs. Bailey did have something that was intensely personally to me. She was raising my father's daughter."

Startled, Sam stared at Mulder. "How did you know that?" he asked cautiously.

Mulder looked up at Sam, a wicked twinkle in his hazel eyes, "Because," he said lowly, "Al told me, Sam."

Sam exhaled. He had forgotten that he had deployed Al to Mulder's cell to tell him the happy news.

Where the hell was Al anyway?

"I'm not going to say anything," Mulder continued to speak sotto voce. "You don't need to be added to their online newsletter," he subtly nodded his head towards the Gunmen.

Sam, meanwhile was watching Starkweather, "She's waking up," Sam warned Mulder.

"Damn," Mulder muttered, trying to pull out a very difficult shard of glass that refused to budge. "Could you bludgeon her with a heavy object so she'll stay unconscious for at least five more minutes? I'm almost done."

"I heard that," Starkweather opened her eyes. "Help me up," Starkweather asked Sam. "I wanna see what Dr. Frankenstein's doing to me."

Mulder didn't even look at her, "It's alive, it's alive," he said in his monotone. "Starkweather, if there's something to hold on to or bite on, do it, because, of course since I don't hold a degree in medicine, I'm making an assumption, but this is going to hurt. A lot."

"Joy." Starkweather said as she gripped Doggett's wrists. "Bliss." She took a deep breath. "If it's glass, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but pull it out slow. I would be slightly on the unhappy side if it broke and a chunk of glass was still in my leg."

"They look to be mostly flesh wounds though," Mulder said, "Okay, count of three," Starkweather looked away, "One- two- deep breath- THREE," and Mulder pulled the last stubborn piece of glass out of her leg. Starkweather's nails dug into Sam-in-Doggett's wrists and tried to hold in the whimpering sounds. "Okay," Mulder held up the glass. "it's out."

"How much left to do?" Starkweather leaned forward to examine her own leg. "My God..." she muttered. "Gives all new meaning to the phrase 'That's gonna leave a mark.'" The doctor bent forward as far as she could to continue her topical exam. "I think you got most of it, though. There's a few big pieces of gravel that should come out, but anything else will probably work its way out in time." She leaned back into Sam's belly. "Let's get it over with."

So Mulder was back to work. By the time he was done, tears were steaming down her face. "I didn't mean to hurt you," Mulder said.

Sam caught the double-meaning. He wondered if Starkweather did.

"I know, I know," Starkweather, feeling like a bawl baby and hated it, sucked it up and dashed away the childish tears with a flick of the hand. She watched Mulder put a sterile cotton pad on her burn and then using clean cotton bandages, started to wrap her up. "So..." she said wearily, accepting the glass of cool water Langly brought her. "What's the master plan of getting Ben out of this clusterfuck?"

Both Mulder and Doggett looked at her in shock. Starkweather opened one eye and said airily "You boys didn't dream for one second you were going to cut me out of the action, did you?"

Stammering, Sam said "Your leg..."

"Doggett, obviously I never told you about my motorcycle accident I had when I was stationed at Whiteman AFB in Missouri. Made this one look like a kiss of a ladybug. I was almost given a medical disability discharge." She sighed. "That might be Ben's bike, but I was the one who taught him how to ride."

Mulder and Doggett believed her.

"Well-" Mulder was about to launch into one of his profoundly weird but almost always eerily correct theories when Byers interrupted.

"There's someone at the door," Byers said, looking through the peep hole, "Someone," Byers looked at Mulder, "you probably have been waiting to see." He undid the many locks and in walked Special Agent Dana Scully, carrying a sleeping Will. Mulder crossed over to her. Typical of their extremely private, personal relationship, Mulder only put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead, then kissed the baby. Old habits die-hard. Or maybe he was actually being considerate of Frohike's feelings for once, since the truculent little man still carried quite the torch for her. Scully only closed her eyes in relief that Mulder was out of harms way. She did shift the baby into one arm and with her free hand, reached for his, which he grabbed and interlocked his fingers with hers.

"Scully," Starkweather raised a hand in greeting. " 'Sup???"

"What happened to you?" Scully's eyebrows flew up in concern.

"I'll live," Starkweather sidestepped her question. "Where the hell've you been?"

Mulder's hand left hers and he had began to put it around her shoulders, a little more PDA that she was used to, than either of them had been used to, but she welcomed it, until her shoulder reminded her that she had been shot there.

"Ow," Scully folded her lips together.

"What's the matter, Scully?" Mulder took Will and passed him off to Sam.

"Mulder, I'm fine." she protested when he pushed away her coat and tugged at the collar of her shirt gently to try and see more of her shoulder.

"Scully, when you translate those two words from Scullyese to Basic English, 'I'm fine' really means 'Something bad has happened, but I'm going to lie my ass off about it because I don't want to worry anyone about it.'" He pulled Scully aside, glared at everyone else. Everyone else scurried off and became really interested in whatever task they had been working on. Except for Starkweather, she just lay back down and started to count the cracks in the ceiling.

"Scully," Mulder scolded her. "We've been through too much already for you to start this 'I'm fine' bs again. What happened? Why is your shoulder bandaged like that?"

Scully sighed. He was not going to take this well. "Mulder, I was shot at yesterday." She saw his eyes change from the warm golden hazel to that strange honey-green color whenever he was enraged.

"Who?"

"Marita Covarubias. She's involved with this. But I AM fine, Mulder. It was a flesh wound. The worst that it did was ruin another blazer." She tugged at his hand. "Mulder, listen to me. There isn't time for this. I've discovered some new information that clear your name completely and blow this case wide open. I need to tell you and Agent Doggett and Agent Starkweather what's going on. I saw Ben, with my own eyes. He's alive. But unless we do something soon, I don't know how much longer he'll stay alive. I need to brief you and the others. Immediately," Scully insisted.

Mulder's eyes never left her face. "Why did you bring Boo here?" Scully dropped her eyes to her shoes. "Something must have happened if you did not feel secure enough to leave him with a sitter."

Now Scully's eyes teared up and Mulder hated himself for it. He had woken up many a night in a cold sweat because of very real fears of William's safety. For as long as he had known her, Scully had always been a meticulous agent. Harm has never fallen on anyone because of irresponsibility on her behalf. Whatever Scully had stumbled upon must have been big, big enough into scaring her to collect Will and flee to the Gunmen strong hold. "It's okay," Mulder said, discreetly kissing her cheek, taking her hand again. "Just tell us what happened."

So they rejoined the group. Byers got a chair for Scully and then got a chair for himself. Manny came up to the group apprehensively and hovered on the fringe. Frohike stayed at his computer. Langly leaned against a table, next to Starkweather, who had sat up and swung her legs over the edge so they were dangling. Sam gave Will to Mulder and flanked Starkweather on her other side. Mulder stood behind Scully, prepared to memorize every word. They all were.

Scully took a breath, "Agent Starkweather, as of three hours ago, I can confirm that Ben is still alive."

Now Starkweather took a breath. She fiddled with her wedding ring. "Tell me."

So Scully started to recant her tale of the past day's events.

Back to the Future...right after he left 37C

Al came storming through the chamber door, livid.

"Dammit Goushie! I don't care if I hafta sell my soul to do it, GET ME BACK THERE!"

"I-I-I would if I could, Admiral...but that's a bit difficult right now. Ziggy's gotta glitch and I haven't figured out where it is. Is the handlink uh...up and running?" Goushie stammered.

"You know," Al ranted, "you'd think with a time machine, we'd have all the time in the world on our hands...but tonight, things could get very very bad very very fast if I don't get to Sam NOW!"

"The handlink, admiral...is it running?" Goushie persisted. Al looked down and only nodded.

Then he stormed into the waiting room, and saw Doggett sedated and unconscious. "Damn stupid marine." He mumbled, accentuating each word with a bang of his head against the plexi-glass.

"Verbeena," Al growled as soon as the psychologist was in view, "please tell me he's just taking a little snooze."

"He's just taking a little snooze..." under Al's scrutinizing glare, she revised her statement, "...with the help of some ethanol." Dr. Beeks returned with flat caution. When Al's glare persisted, she added hastily, "You gave me orders to sedate him if he became violent again...and he did. I had no choice in that."

"Verbeena...I don't care if you hafta pump black coffee through him intravenously...I need what he knows. We've got a situation back there."

"Al," Dr. Beeks interrupted firmly. "If Goushie can't even get you back there, what good his Agent Doggett's information going to be to you until then?"

"Admiral..." Goushie began cautiously, "I'm afraid...you're gonna hafta sit tight here for a while. We've got a corrupted component that we won't be able to have replaced till morning. Besides...I know you're exhausted...I think a night's sleep will do you good."

"Is there any way you can get the imaging chamber and the handlink to coordinate without that component?"

"Yes, but there are several possibilities if you do make contact with Dr. Beckett."

"They are?"

"Either you or Dr. Beckett will be unable to retain either visual or auditory links, or everyone in the world will be able to see you, or you might have trouble with the handlink."

"Goushie..." Al returned, eyes widening in alarm, "I think there's already been a glitch in the handlink...now there's a report of what looks like from the article, Billy Miles, chasing Diana Fowley and...CBG Spender? on a Suzuki...at rush hour? Goush...I don't think folks'll be too spooked by me walking through walls if that ain't a tabloid heading."

"I'll do what I can to get you back there." Goushie promised, and scurried back to the console. Al went back to his apartment...but he doubted he'd be sleeping much.

"The Present"
LGM lair

"Mulder," Scully began with a sharp, cautious sigh, "I can also confirm that as of six hours ago Spender is alive too."

Mulder slammed his fist down on the makeshift computer desks. "So that's why you had to bring him here...he's going after you and William to get through me..." his voice was shaking now, "God DAMMIT I can't let that happen! Starkweather...as soon as he finds out our connection, he'll get to you too."

"An old man dying of emphaszema smoking a cigarette..." Starkweather deadpanned, "Oooooh...scary...now I'll sleep with the lights on with that mental picture."

"Frohike," Mulder mumbled only loud enough for him to hear, "hop online and see what you can do about hacking me a plane reservation..." Mulder began shakily.

"Mulder..." completely hammered by this point, and glancing wide-eyed and white-faced over at Scully, "if I get you the plane tickets, promise me she's not gonna blow my ass to kingdom come."

"Starkweather," Sam warned, "That old man is probably responsible for that leg...don't write him off so fast..."

"Langly, please..." Mulder hissed cautiously so as not to wake up William, "get me a fake birth certificate, SSN, and ID...Scully...if he's using you and Will to get to me, we'll be dodging Billy Miles all our lives, that's not fair to either you or him...I can't let that happen."

"Mulder, just what do you think your doing?" Sam hissed adamantly, "after all me, Scully, everybody went through to make sure your kid has a father around, I sure as hell am not going to sit by and let you run."

"Doggett," Scully scowled, eyebrow raised and jaw clinched "let me handle this," then she seethed towards Mulder, "Mulder, you think for one minute he's not going to try to get to me through you or William, too? That terrifies me...every damn day I wake up in the morning with that fear...but what kind of lesson is that to teach him? To run from everything lurking in the shadow? You really want him to grow up resenting you the way you resented your father?"

"Scully," now Mulder's jaw was furiously clinched and his own voice was raspy, if everyone hadn't been there to witness their conversation, "I'm a fugitive now...not only from Spender, but from the law. If I stay, I'm a threat to you and him. What do you think he'll resent me more for? Making him afraid for his life and yours every day he lives or my absence?"

"Saved by the bell, man." Langly nasalled. "That same trenchcoat I saw walking away that night" Then he looked in to see a woman holding gun at the cameras "...oh shit. Boys...we've got company." His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he unlocked the deadbolts one by one.

He opened the door, and heard the cock of a gun. Sam drew out Doggett's government-issued clipper.

Marita emerged in the doorway with Scully's FBI-issued .32 caliber pistol at Langly's head."

"I am NEVER answering the door again, man." Langly wavered.

"Go ahead, kill 'im...he's annoying as hell..." Frohike grumbled.

"Relax," Marita purred, "I'm only using the gun for persuasion. I need your help as much as you need mine."

"I don't know who the hell you are," Sam growled, getting his own FBI issued gun out of its holster, "we've got our own persuasions, too."

"You don't belong here, do you?" Marita mused in Sam's direction.

::Am I really that obvious?:: Sam tried not to make it obvious that she was right.

"Agent Scully, to show I'm here with good intentions, here's your weapon." She said, giving the gun to Scully. "Sorry about the bullet wound, I had no choice in the matter. I am a desperate woman."

"You almost killed me." Scully hissed.

"Agent Scully, I'm a better shot than that. If I wanted to kill you, I would have." Marita spat back.

"You're not exactly what I'd call a Mother Teresa." Starkweather mumbled under her breath.

"Marita, if you're here to help us, then why did you send a lawyer to frame me?" Mulder demanded.

"Yes, that was my doing..." Marita answered with a ragged breath, "but it was for your protection. It was the only place I could insure that you'd be safe. I had no choice in sending the replicant to your cell. The old man doesn't see things the way I do. He thinks that your dynasty should be destroyed while there is still time."

"Why protect me?" He mumbled, raking a hand through his hair.

"You and your family," she said, glancing at Will and Starkweather, "are the only thing keeping this planet from colonization."

"So what, I get to save the world?" Starkweather smirked. "Neato." She finished dryly.

"This isn't her fight," Mulder began but Starkweather stopped him in midthought.

"Look, Big Brother," Starkweather spat back, "Thanks for sticking up for me on the playground and all but this IS my fight too. They took my husband...the one part of my life that is anything close to fucking normal. If he is still alive, then I'm going to make damn sure he stays that way. This is too damn personal for me to back out of now. Whether we like it or not, I'm in this as deep as you are."

"If we are to succeed, we don't have much time." Marita cautioned.

"I still don't get it..." Sam began, "If you're trying to take control of the Syndicate, why help us out?"

"The old man thinks colonization of the blue-collar working class is the only way to save the few privileged." Marita answered quietly,
"What he doesn't get is that they won't take some of us...they'll take all of us. Destroying both Mulder and Starkweather professionally and keeping them away from the area is the only way I can do that. I've let the Old Man think I'm doing his bidding. Distract his goons by getting the lawyer out of the warehouse, and I can regain control of the Syndicate."

"How the hell do you expect us to take your word now after all the lies you've told?" Scully seethed.

"What choice do you have?" She answered evenly without batting an eyelid. "I'm going to take control of the Syndicate whether you help me or not. I can find another way. I realize my actions have been dubious...but you must realize that it's all done for what's right. I sent the replicant betting that you'd be able to defeat him. I didn't count on the regenerative properties to only be enhanced every time he's destroyed. Make your decision quickly. Ben is back in the Lincoln Street Warehouse."

With that, she made her exit.

"What the fuck are we going to do..." Mulder mumbled, ragging his hand in his hair. "We sure as hell can't trust her. Like I was saying before...I think our safest bet is for me to leave..."

"What she says does match up with what the detective told me last night." Scully admitted in between coos to William who was now very much awake and cranky.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but...Mulder's kinda making sense here...at least about trusting her. What if it's a trap?" Sam wondered as Starkweather reached out for William who wailed at a decibel level that should have broken all the computer screens exposed in the warehouse.

"You wanna play target practice, kiddo?" Starkweather cooed. Frohike flashed her a dirty look and snatched him up.

"Come on, kid," he grumbled, Uncle Melvin'll show you how to hack into national security."

"Scully, what did you find out last night?" Scully and Mulder both glancing nervously behind them at what Frohike was doing.

William was content with banging on the keyboard. "You looking for a consultant position with us, Will?" Byers said as he came out of his room in the back.

"Guys, I found something on my Mac you might wanna take a look at...Mulder, looks like your arresting officer is buddies with Kersh. You guys might wanna take a look at this." Frohike hurriedly passed William to Starkweather like a hot potato as he ran to the room as he went to see what Byers was talking about.

"Yeah, way to treat a cripple, guys!" Starkweather hollered after them all in protest. "Well Will...looks like it's you 'n me, buddy. You think the guys have surveillance cameras around here?" Will's face started scrunching up again in aggravation. "Oh come on, kiddo..." Starkweather cooed, hoisting him up so that his head was level with hers. "We're family, I'm not gonna really use you as target practice...I was just kidding. You know, if you need me to beat up your Daddy for you, I'll be happy to do that...or if you need advice about girls, I can do that too...I am one you know...your daddy took seven years to get your mommy, so he's not exactly the best person for advice in that department...or if you want a really cool toy, I'll see what I can do about negotiating with Santa Claus speed it up." She glanced nervously back towards the room to see if anyone was coming out any time soon. Then she did something thoroughly uncharacteristic.

She began singing.

Unlike her colleagues, her voice was actually a pleasant sound.

"When your down and troubled/and you need some lovin' care/and nothin', oh nothin' is going right/close your eyes and think of me/and soon I will be there/to brighten up even your darkest night

You just call out my name/and you know wherever I am/I'll come runnin' to see you again/ Winter spring summer or fall/all you hafta do is call/and I'll be there you've got a friend

If the sky above you/grows dark and full of clouds/and that old north wind should begin to blow/you just keep your head together/and call my name out loud/and soon, you'll hear me knockin' at your door

You just call out my name/and you know where ever I am/I'll come runnin, runnin' yeah/to see you again/Winter Spring, summer or fall/all you hafta do is call/and I'll be there yes I will

Now ain't it good to know that you've got a friend/when people can be so cold/they'll hurt you, yes and desert you/and take your soul if you let them/but don't you let them

you just call out my name/and you know whereever I am/I'll come runnin', runnin' yeah to see you again/Winter spring, summer or fall, all you hafta do is call, and I'll be there yes will"

Starkweather was belting it out much to Will's delight, and Sam heard the commotion from the front room and rushed to see if Starkweather was in pain or having trouble controlling Will. He approached cautiously when he realized she was singing, and at the scene of her with her nephew, Sam wished almost bitterly that the strange dream he had had a few nights ago could be true.

Starkweather looked up. "Doggett," she said, unabashedly. "What's up?"

"You better come here," Sam said solemnly. "We're figuring out a game plan."

"What's the play, Papa John?"

"We're going in."

"'We' as in you and Mulder or 'we' as in you, Mulder and myself?"

"Starkweather, your leg-" Sam feebly protested, knowing that it was going to do no good.

She scowled at him. "Here," she thrust Will at him. Sam gingerly took the baby. She took a step back, then a step forward, going head over heels, executing a perfect cartwheel. "I'm fine. I'm in. Whether you like it or not."

"Doesn't sound like we have much of a choice," Mulder's dry voice came up from behind Sam.

"Here," Sam handed Will to Mulder. William, since he was a very young child, could see Sam as Sam. Not sure of strangers, Will had stared at Sam, his big eyes filled with terror, his puckered up on the verge of a cry.

"What's with you, Boo?" Mulder asked Will who snuggled as close to Mulder as he could. "Byers is calling Reyes. He's giving her the information that Scully collected. That's enough for a search warrant for Justin Leo and the lovely Detective Somerset. He liked strip-searching me a little too much." Mulder droned on, absolutely straight faced.

"Thanks for sharing," Starkweather quipped.

"So while their privacy is being invaded, we're going on a field trip to a certain warehouse where hopefully Mr. Starkweather is still in one piece."

"We're going heavily armed, correct?"

Mulder crossed over to his half-sister. "This is no game, Starkweather. You saw what Billy Miles is capable of." By this point, everyone else had re-entered the room.

"I know. That's why I asked if we were going to be heavily armed."

Mulder folded his arms. "Why don't you be in charge of munitions?"

"Does anyone have a shotgun?" When Sam and Mulder glared at her, she replied "I'm serious. Maybe it wouldn't kill him, but a hole through his gut might stall him. A bit."

"I've got one," Langly ventured shyly.

All turned. "What the hell are YOU doing with a shotgun?" Scully cried.

Langly shrugged. "I won it in a game of D and D."

"D and D??" For once, Starkweather was stumped.

"Dungeons and Dragons."

"Never mind..." Starkweather said. "When are we leaving?"

"As soon as it's dark," Scully said. "It'll be the four of us. The Gunmen are staying behind to care for Will," she reached out to touch William's head.

"What if," Starkweather said, softly now, "what if that blond bitch is lying?"

"She probably is," Mulder said. "But not about Ben being dead. Not yet. We don't have a lot of time, but we've got some."

"Hey Mulder?"

Mulder came closer to her. "Yeah?"

She reached up and tore the fake beard and moustache that he had been wearing since he left the prison. "YEOOOOOWWW!!!!" He grabbed his face in pain. Tears came to his eyes.

"That's for even contemplating the possibility of being a coward and running away," she snapped as she reached into his coat jacket and retrieving her gun. "Let's go."

Meanwhile....

As she crossed the deserted intersection, Marita Covarubias adjusted her hat, a vintage scooped hat circa 1921. Not only was it trendy again, but it also hid her face nicely.

Still, they managed to find her.

A sleek black Toyota Supra pulled up beside her. Two men bailed out of the backseat. The same two, coincidentally, who kicked down the hotel room down and snatched Benjamin Starkweather away in the dead of night, snatched up Marita. They threw her unceremonially into the backseat. Then they got back into the car and the Supra went forward.

Sandwiched between the two thugs, Marita had no choice but to sit very still. The interior of the car reeked of nicotine. The passenger up front didn't need to identify himself.

But he did anyway.

"You little rat," The Cancer Man pulled out another cigarette from his pack. He lit it with his little butane lighter before continuing on, never turning around to face her. "Did you learn nothing from the death of Alex Krycek?"

"Alex Krycek," she seethed "was murdered by Assistant Director Walter Skinner."

"I ALLOWED Krycek," he corrected her, "to be murdered by Assistant Director Walter Skinner. When Krycek became a nuisance, I lifted his protection. As I will soon to you if you don't cease this scampering about."

One of the thugs pulled out a long knife. Marita tried not to look at it. Still, the Smoking Man never turned around. "What confidences did you share with the Mulders?" he asked. "Happy little family, aren't they?"

"You're never going to win, old man," she informed him, still trying to hide her nervousness about the knife. "Not with your dithering."

Finally the old devil turned around. "Dithering?"

"Kill Mulder, don't kill Mulder. This crap has been going on since I joined the Syndicate. Time and time again we've had the chance to get rid of him. Time and time again YOU have found a reason not to do it. Even you order the hit to be made yourself, some how, you find a reason not to go through with it, even though the Old Syndicate was destroyed because of it."

CSM smiled. It was not a pleasant sight. "And yet, you had the opportunity of a lifetime tonight, didn't you. To wipe them ALL out. Mulder. Agent Scully. That new fellow Doggett. And of course, Mulder's long lost little half-sister. Not quite his beloved Samantha, but she'll do." He inhaled deeply. "And you speak of such nostalgia for the Old Syndicate when the New Syndicate is so much more powerful. And YOU have so much more power and status in the New Syndicate than the Old. And yet, you went intriguing tonight. What was the point of your little adventure Marita, dear?" The thug with the knife swiftly slashed the top of her leg. It was not a deep, life-threatening cut, but it bled copiously and hurt like hell. Marita gasped and pressed her palm to her wound to stop the flow. "You wouldn't be foolish enough to share the location of Mr. Starkweather, would you?" The thug on her other side suddenly produced a knife and slashed her other leg. This cut was a bit deeper and hurt a lot more. Marita whimpered and pressed her other palm into her other leg. Her periwinkle slacks were turning a deep red. The Cancer Man sighed. "Silence is the same as consent."

Marita, defiantly, although she was beginning to feel light-headed, snapped "You'll never be able to wrest control of the Syndicate this way." She pressed her palms down on the cuts harder. She watched her own blood ooze from between her fingers. "No one in their right minds will follow you again."

"Nor anyone will follow you," Cancer Man reminded her gently. "So, you see, Marita, we are in the same boat after all." He snuffed out his old cigarette and lit a fresh one. "I'll tell you why I always hesitated when it concerned killing Mulder. I liked him. I've always liked him. I knew him as a boy, although he doesn't realize, doesn't remember. But more importantly, I admired his father. Bill Mulder was my friend. Even when The Project forced us to take separate paths, I've always admired him. I have always felt that I at least owed it to Bill to protect his only son... and his youngest daughter."

"You speak of Starkweather as if she was normal," Marita knew she was about to pass out. She assumed she was going to die tonight, so she was determined to die with at least the truth. The dirty bastard owed her that much at least. "We both know she is not."

The old man smiled again. "Starkweather is a very special woman," he said slowly, emphasizing 'special.' She was meant to be a gift to the Mulders."

"How convenient. Take one daughter and replace her with another. Interesting how you all keep referring her as Mulder's half-sister. If Bill Mulder is her father... who is her mother?"

The Cancer Man ignored the second question but answered the first. "No one could replace Samantha, of course, but a child always has a way of lighting a dark room... similar how young William lit up the life of the lonely Agent Scully." He shrugged. "It was a mistake for us to allow the existence of Starkweather just as it was a mistake to allow the existence of William. Two mistakes that will be rectified soon."

Marita wanted to hear more but she was graying out. "Heartless monster," she managed to mumble out.

The Cancer Man shook his head. "No," he said. "That's the problem. If I were truly a heartless man, Fox Mulder would have been smothered in his cradle as I had been originally ordered to do. And none of this would be happening now, would it?"

Marita passed out.

CSM turned around. "Bind her wounds," he ordered the thugs in the backseat. "And don't let her die. Take her to the hospital. Let her be arrested. She needs a reminder of her position with the Syndicate, Old or New. We'll get her out of prison when we need her again. After the hospital, to the warehouse," he sighed. "Mulder and Starkweather probably already have a head start."

He opened the glove box, took out the Glock with the silencer and checked it over carefully as the driver cruised on and the thugs attended to Marita's injuries.

The gun was locked and loaded.

Thug 1 and Thug 2 deposited Marita Covarubias unceremoniously off at the doors of the hospital. Instead of getting back into CSM's car, they walked into the nearly deserted hospital parking garage where a non-descript brown 1985 Celebrity was waiting.

"What do you think the old man's got in mind?" The thug asked his colleague conversationally before he got into the car.

He never got an answer. His colleague turned to him and buried his knife deep into his gut. Blood spurted out of him mouth. He crumpled to the ground and died. The colleague picked up his companion and put him in the trunk. The colleague got into the car and drove away.

As he drove away, he pulled off the fake eyebrows, the fake beard and moustache. He took off the hat and long curly brown hair tumbled down. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

Meanwhile....
The Washington DC Marriott
Room 12754

The cell phone on the table rang startling the Admiral out of his sleep. "Hello?" he said, rubbing his brow, still feeling the effects of the hangover.

"Admiral," a light voice said. "It's Jennifer."

"Jennifer." One of his spies. "What did you discover?"

"Ben's alive. Mulder's alive and he's free. And Jerilyn's safe."

"Thank God, thank God." The Admiral breathed a sigh a relief.

"It's being assumed that they're going to the warehouse to retrieve Ben. What are your orders sir?"

The Admiral paused. The Syndicate had ordered him to help them eliminate Mulder if an opportunity arose. And boy, did an opportunity arise when Benjamin Starkweather accepted the Galpex Oil Company case. A case that had been given to him thanks to that little shit, Justin Leo. The Admiral knew he owed the Syndicate everything. His wealth, his career, his daughter.

This was a debt they were expecting to be paid for. However, they didn't realize that he was a political power in his own right. He was married to one of the most powerful senator in the United States who had no ties to the Syndicate. And perhaps they figured out he had originally gone to Mulder and Scully to beg for them to protect Jerilyn... they still didn't know that he was one of the major bankrollers of the small but strong resistance group which was beginning to mobilize against the inevitable darkness forces hovering in the heavens they had no right to fly in.

It was time to decide allegiances. He had dithered long enough. He had lived a long life. He was ready for the consequences of his actions.

"Call the officer in charge, that Detective Edward Carillo. Tell him you just received a tip from a secret source of the location of Ben Starkweather. Tell him that your source told you that Ben is still alive. Have them hurry."

"Yes sir."

"You're looking at a promotion Jennifer."

And Officer Jennifer Ithenstein, the young rookie cop who had been called to the impound to investigate the blood stains in Mulder's trunk, who had been working for the Admiral since she retired after six years of service to the Navy, who had risked her life by infiltrating the Syndicate, disguising herself as a man, slicing open Marita Covarubias' leg and killing a man tonight, merely said "Thank you sir."

"Call me the minute Benjamin is found. And I want Mulder alive. Disregard my previous orders."

"Yes sir."

The Admiral sat down with a legal pad and began to make out a will. It was witnessed by a maid from housekeeping and a security guard wandering the halls.

After the Admiral hung up, Ithenstein called Carillo.

But by the time the police and FBI were mobilized, Sam-in-Doggett, Mulder and Starkweather were being held at gunpoint, Scully, Manny the Illegal Alien and Ben were trapped in a locked room and the warehouse was on fire.

In the shadows, the five crept around the building, Mulder and Manny leaving their flashlights off.

"Looks deserted," Manny whispered.

"If Ben is truly here, there'll be guards," Scully whispered back, trying the door. "Locked. Dammit."

"Shoot the lock," Manny recommended.

"Not wise to waste bullets on a door," Starkweather murmured, feeling the wood.

"Especially with Billy Myles lurking around here somewhere," Mulder reminded everyone of that unpleasant fact.

"I thought he got run over by a Pinto?" Manny asked.

Sam grimaced. He was peering through the dusty window. "I dunno guys..." he said. "It really looks deserted. Scully's right. If Ben's here, there'd be guards. I think we were lead on a snipe hunt."

"No you're not Sam!" Al suddenly popped in. Sam, Mulder and Starkweather jumped. Scully and Manny looked at them in confusion.

"Al?" Mulder and Starkweather said at the same time. Starkweather turned to Mulder and said, panicked "Oh no, not you too?"

"You too what?" Mulder was completely lost.

"Look, you knuckleheads, there's no time, Ben's in there, they beat the snot outta him, I'm sorry Starkweather, he tried to escaped and actually hurt one of the guards badly. He needs to get to a hospital so quit staring and get your butts in gear!!!"

"Who are you talking to?" Scully exclaimed.

"'Otra locos mas,'" Manny groaned. "'Cuecha te madre.'"

("Another crazy one," Manny groaned, "'Motherfucker.'")

"Why did you call him Sam??" Starkweather demanded the hologram.

"Because-" Mulder started to say, but then Sam slugged him.

"Because, honey, I wish I had time to explain, but I can't, all I gotta say is look me up in about fifteen years in Roswell, New Mexico. My name is Admiral Al Calavicci and I'll explain everything then. Now, go with DOGGETT," here Al looked pointedly at Mulder. Mulder, for once, got the hint and shut up. "and go get your husband. He's on the third floor, second door to the left." Al took out his comlink and zapped himself away.

He re-appeared in Ben's prison, this time a glorified broom closet. Ben's plan to escape by burning his captors with a lit cigarette backfired horribly. His guards beat him until there was almost nothing left to beat before taking him to a different warehouse. He wasn't sure if he had really seen Agent Scully or if he was hallucinating. Now, he lay, slumped in the corner of the locked closet, face bruised, lip split, shirt crusted over in blood. The kid was in bad shape. Al crouched down by Ben. He was out and he needed a doctor, but he wasn't going to die. Not yet. But he kept slipping in and out of consciousness. "Come on kid," Al beckoned to Ben as if he could hear him. "Stay with me. The Hurricane's here and she's brought the cavalry. "WHAT?!?!?!" Al yelled up to Verbeena. "What do you MEAN there's going to be a fire?!"

Meanwhile…

"What the hell is going on?" Scully demanded.

"You DIDN'T see him then?" Starkweather asked.

"See who?"

"Al?"

Scully's brows furrowed. Al.... why did that name sound so familiar? She couldn't place her finger on it... and yet, she almost could. She looked at Doggett, opened her mouth and shut it.

"There's no time for this," Mulder said. "Starkweather, if you were ever to trust me, now is the time."

Starkweather looked at Mulder, lips curling down in the most unpleasant frown. "Okay, then," she consented. She looked at the door, looked at Mulder. "Cover us," she told Scully and Sam as Mulder tossed the flashlight to Sam.

Mulder and Starkweather faced the door, guns in hand. Scully and Sam stood behind them, brandishing their weapons. Manny stood behind them..... WAY behind them.

"On three," Mulder said. "One- two-, THREE!" At the same time, Mulder and Starkweather kicked and the door came tumbling down. Mulder and Starkweather crouched down load and pointed their guns into the darkness while Scully and Sam stood above them, guns also out.

There was nothing but darkness and the sound of the rain pitter-pattering down.

"Well..." Starkweather said. "I feel stupid."

"Look on the bright side," Mulder said, "If this FBI thing doesn't work for you, you'll always have a future as a Charlie's Angel."

"Oh shut up."

Sam turned on the flashlight. "What a dump," he muttered. "Be careful," he said warily as they all slowly entered the pitch-black warehouse. "We don't know what's her-" Sam never got to finish his sentence.

Despite his brilliance as a physicist and doctor and the wealth of experience he earned from leaping from life to life, he never underwent the extreme training that FBI agents experience during their time in Quantico. He made a mistake that no federal agent worth their salt and alive today would make.

He forgot to check his blind spot.

Where Billy Miles was lurking.

Mulder had just turned while Sam was talking to check *his* blind spot and had just opened his mouth to shout a warning to Sam when Billy picked him up and flung him across the room like a rag doll. Sam felt his body slam against a ladder built into a wall and firecrackers of pain were lit throughout his body. The gun skittered from his hand.

"SCULLY!" Mulder yelled

But Scully had already lifted the shotgun and fired pointblank range at Billy, ripping away his midsection.

Starkweather, taking advantage of the rigamarole, darted behind Scully and ran to Doggett's aid.

"Doggett, Papa John, GET UP," Starkweather shook him as she kept the gun pointed at the replicant.

"Dios mios!" Manny cried, but he did something extraordinarily brave and extraordinarily stupid. As Billy crumpled to the ground, Manny jumped on top of the monster and drove his knife into its neck. While Mulder ran to Sam and Starkweather's aid and Scully kept the gun aimed at Billy, Manny got up and ran back to Doggett's truck.

"What are you doing?" Scully cried out after him while constantly watching her and everyone else's back. Mulder and Starkweather helped Sam up to his feet. "I'm fine," Sam insisted although he had one hell of a headache.

Manny came bouncing back, carrying the gas can.

"Manny," Starkweather started to say. "What are you doin-"

Manny squirted Billy with gasoline. He then took out the book of matches and lit them all.

Sam then looked down and noticed the streaks of oil on the floor of the warehouse. "Oh Jesus, God, Manny DON'T!!"

Manny dropped the book of matches on Billy's gasoline soaked-back. Billy burst into flames as did the oil puddles. The entrance was completely blocked by fire.

"SCULLY!!!" Mulder yelled.

The flames had already started devouring the wood in the building. "You stupid idiot!" Scully shrieked at Manny, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Mulder swung up on the ladder built into the wall and started to climb up the catwalk. He hated heights, but he hated fire more. "Go, go!!!" Sam pushed Starkweather towards the ladder. Coughing, gagging on the smoke, she stuffed the gun into her waistband of her pants and started to climb. Sam followed. The metal ladder was already hot from the heat.

Mulder helped pull Starkweather up onto the shaky catwalk. He looked over his shoulder down below to see Scully dragging Manny up the stairs and disappear through a door. Sam-in-Doggett was right behind Starkweather. Both Starkweather and Mulder helped Sam up. Below them was a sea of fire. The smoke was beginning to billow in the warehouse. The flames crackled merrily, consuming the many cardboard boxes and wooden beams. The catwalk swung precariously on the chains that held it up.

For once Mulder and Starkweather were devoid of any witty repartee. "Come on!!" Mulder cried, grabbing Starkweather by the arm and pulling.

"I can't see!" she yelled out, coughing.

"Move it, Doc," Sam-in-Doggett yelled. "We got to get out of here."

Mulder looked down again and said "Oh shit."

Sam looked down and through the flames and smoke, saw the fiery figure of Billy Myles stand up, tilt its head upwards and look right at them. "Oh boy," Sam said understatedly. "Move, Starkweather, move, NOW!!" He pushed her along.

Starkweather blinked the soot and smoke out of her eyes just enough to see Billy. "DAMMIT!!!" she swore. "DIE ALREADY!" She followed Mulder across the catwalk, running backwards, pulling her gun, pointing it at Billy who was climbing the ladder up to the catwalk, still limping. She was starting to fall behind Mulder and Doggett.

Mulder stopped, turned around, unceremonially grabbed Starkweather around her waist, half-carried, half-drug her the rest of the way to the other side of the catwalk. He tossed her over the railing of the balcony lining the wall to the offices of the third floor. Sam was almost there when Billy got off the top rung of the ladder and swung onto the catwalk.

Sam and Mulder clambered over the railing. Sam, using his elbow, smashed the glass of the office door, reached in and opened the door from the inside. "Come on!" he said and Mulder and Starkweather ducked inside.

Billy was still coming.

Meanwhile...

Scully, still dragging Manny went up one flight of stairs, then another. She kicked open the door, still carrying the shotgun.

"Where are we?" Manny said, scared witless by the destruction he unintentionally created.

"The third floor," Scully said, coughing still. The third floor was not on fire yet, but smoke was steadily creeping up from below. "Office space."

Al, meanwhile, was in the broom closet with Ben. Al, upon hearing Scully's voice, began to scream hysterically at Ben. "Kid? KID GET UP! THE CALAVRY'S HERE!! COME ON!"

Ben, disorientated, almost unconscious, let his head loll around, as if it was barely connected to his neck. His eyes fluttered open then shut.

"BEN COME ON," Al pleaded. "I can't help you kid, make some noise, get up, get up!"

Ben, raised his head. He did not hear Al, of course. But he heard Scully ".... must be a fire escape... something... was right... nothing but a big trap..."

Ben tried his voice. At first, nothing but a croak came out. The second time, he got results. "Help..." he cried out as he pulled himself up, his big hand pressing against his broken ribs.

"Atta boy," Al crowed. "Sportsfans, the kid is UP! COME ON SCULLY!"

"Somebody... help me," Ben staggered the short distance to the door. He sank to his knees and began pounding on it. "Get me out of here."

Scully froze halfway down the hall. "Did you here something, Manny?"

Manny turned around. "It's coming from that closet," he pointed at the door.

"... help... I need a doctor... please..."

"Ben," Scully whispered. Then louder, running down the narrow hallway, "BEN! BEN STARKWEATHER, WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Here!" Ben said, almost afraid to hope. "I'm in here. Is that you, Agent Scully??"

"Yes it's me Ben," Scully announced, coughing on the smoke that was getting thicker. "And Mulder and Doggett and Starkweather are here too."

"Starkwea- Jerilyn? She's alive? They told me she was dead."

Scully examined the lock. "Ben, get as far away from the door as possible," she ordered him. She handed the shotgun off to Manny and took out her handgun. She fired, blowing the doorhandle off. She pushed open the door. "Ben!" she gasped in horror at his appearance.

"Agent Scully, god, it's good to see you," Ben took a step forward but groaned in pain, collapsing.

"We've got to get you out of here," Scully said, looping his arm over her shoulder. "Manny! Manny I need your help!! Dammit!! Where did he go???"

"Here, Agent Scully," Manny said, pale faced, arms over his head, the barrel of Langly's shotgun to his head.

"Agent Scully, if you and Mr. Starkweather would be as so kind to step out," Justin Leo said pleasantly, despite the billowing smoke and blasting heat. "And feel free to toss me your gun while you're at it."

Fuming, Scully tossed her gun onto the floor and walked out of the broom closet with Ben still leaning on her shoulders. "Damn you Leo," Scully seethed, "you bastard."

But Leo wasn't looking at Scully, he was staring at Ben. Hate simmered in his heart, jealousy poisoned his soul. With a kick, he forced Manny to join the trio. He pointed the shotgun at Ben's head.

"Who ARE you??" Ben blurted out.

And Leo lowered the gun. This guy, this man that Lily had married instead of him (or so Leo believed) had no idea who he was. He was completely clueless.

As the smoke began to build up even worse and the hallway got hotter, Leo opened the door to an unused storage room. "Get in," he ordered, still pointing the shotgun at them.

"Hey man, no way!" Manny yelped. "The damn building's on fire!"

"Then it'll be a nice preview of hell for you three. Get in."

Ben, still in terrible pain, summoned up all of his diplomacy skills. "At least let Agent Scully go," he begged.

"Get in there," Leo came closer to them, shotgun pointed at Scully's chest.

"For God's sake, she's got a child!" Ben tried one last time. "Just let her go, man!"

Leo raised the gun to Scully's head.

As calmly as she could, Scully said "It's okay Ben, we'll do as he says." She slowly began backing into the room. "Manny, come on, cooperate." Manny, wide-eyed, coughing followed Scully and Ben.

Leo flung the door shut, locked it and went off in search of Starkweather.

There was no light in the storeroom and was becoming unbearably hot. "Oh my God," Manny said, gagging on the smoke. "We're gonna die."

"Manny," Scully snapped. "We don't have time for pessimism. Do you still have that flashlight?"

In the stifling darkness, Manny managed to fumble the little Mag-Lite flashlight to her. Scully switched it on and took a look-see. Her heart began to falter. Maybe Manny was right...

But Ben had a strange silly little grin on his face. "Hey Agent Scully..." he said, looking up at the low ceiling.

"Yeah..." Scully buried her face in the crook of her elbow to cough

Ben was just as big of a movie buff as Jerilyn was, one of the many reasons why they were attracted to each other in the beginning. "Ever see the movie 'The Breakfast Club'?"

Scully looked up at the ceiling panels and grinned, knowing exactly what Ben was talking about.

Meanwhile....

Fleeing into the office, Sam shut the door behind him.

"This isn't good," Starkweather informed everybody.

"Thank you Captain Obvious," Mulder snapped back at her.

"Eat me."

"I lost my gun," Sam told them. "Are you two still armed?"

Starkweather and Mulder both pulled out their guns and scurried to the door. Sweat poured down Mulder's brow and he wiped his cheek on his shoulder. When Billy got off the catwalk and climbed onto the balcony, Mulder and Starkweather both stepped out and fired point-blank range at the replicant. Billy staggered backwards. When their clips were empty, Sam rushed the monster, just like how he used to rush the quarterback during high school football. With one gigantic push, Sam forced Billy over the edge of the balcony and Billy plummeted back into the sea of flames below.

Al popped in. "Nice shot Sam! Now get those kids," he jerked his head, indicating Mulder and Starkweather, "out of here."

The heat drove Sam back inside the office. Just then, enough smoke had filtered upwards to trigger the sprinkler system. A weak spray of water coated everything, doing little to alleviate the inferno below. "We've got to find Scully and Manny!" Mulder told Sam, gagging on the smoke.

"Ben might be here too," Starkweather said to Sam.

"They're okay," Al told Sam. "Scully's in the process of getting Benny-boy and Manny out as we speak. They're gonna be fine. You guys are gonna get cooked, literally if you don't get out of here!"

"Come on," Sam grabbed Starkweather by the arm and took her out of the hallway through the other door in the office. Mulder followed.

"Scully!!" Sam cried out. "Ben! Manny, Scully!"

Mulder and Starkweather joined in on the chorus. Starkweather turned around. "Jesus Jumping Christ, Mulder!" she pushed Mulder out of the way just as Justin Leo came out of the shadows and fired Scully's handgun at them. The shot barely missed them. The three of them started to run.

"Come on, Sam!" Mulder yelled, completely forgetting that Starkweather had no knowledge of the Quantum Leap Project and was under the illusion that Doggett was still Doggett.

Not that Starkweather was particularly paying attention. "Over here!" she cried and darted up a stairwell that lead to the rooftop. Sam and Mulder followed.

So did Justin Leo.

Meanwhile...

Inside the storage room, Scully instructed Manny, "Lift me up first."

Manny crouched down, Scully clambered on top of his shoulders. The smoke was building up. Coughing, Manny stood up carefully. Ben leaned against the wall, cold sweat covering his face as he was still in horrible pain. Scully weaved a bit, got her bearings, then reached for the fake ceiling panel and lifted it up easily. She reached and grabbed the pipe that was directly above her head. She started to pull herself up. Manny gave her a bit of a boost up and Scully was able to get up. Scootching herself into the ceiling, she leaned over the edge, reaching her arms out to down below. "Help Ben up, and hurry!" she yelled, gagging from the smoke.

Manny went to Ben, "Okay, hombre," Manny said sorrowfully. "This is gonna probably hurt. Lo siento, lo siento."

"Okay," Ben got up, wincing, clutching his ribs. "Let's get out of this hellhole."

Manny, despite his wiry, weenie appearance, was actually fairly strong. He wrapped his arms around Ben's middle and lifted Ben up. Ben tried to stifle a cry of pain, but couldn't help it. "Lo siento, lo siento!" Manny yelled out again.

Scully grabbed Ben's wrists and pulled him up. Once Ben was up, she reached back down, "Come on Manny!" Just then, she heard Starkweather cry out "Jesus Jumping Christ, Mulder!!!" and then a gunshot.

"Oh my God," Scully turned her head towards the sound. "Manny come on!" Manny jumped, missed Scully's hands. "Manny, come on!!"

Manny jumped again, this time grabbing Scully's hand. Scully tried to pull him up, but couldn't get the leverage. Scully could hear commotion in the hallway with Starkweather screaming at Mulder and Sam-in-Doggett to follow her ::Follow her where?::Scully wondered wildly. Suddenly, a pair of sooty, bloodied hands clamped down on hers. Ben, despite his own injuries, had crawled over to Scully's side to help her pull up Manny. Together they got him out of their prison.

"Let's get out of here!" Manny suggested and Scully and Ben decided that was an excellent idea. They crawled through the ceiling, coughing all the while. The smoke was thick, almost blinding now.

As they crawled, Scully had a hideous thought. "Guys, wasn't there a scene in 'The Breakfast Club' where the ceiling panels colla-"

The ceiling panels collapsed and Scully, Manny and Ben tumbled down into the hallway.

Meanwhile…

Starkweather made her way up the ladder.

"SCUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYYYY!" She heard Mulder call out at the top of his lungs below her.

"Mulder, RUN!!!" Sam was bellowing at top of his lungs

"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" Starkweather emphasized each step back down the ladder with a swear, and drew her gun. "Mulder, don't panic yet. There's a roof up here, there's a river. We've just gotta get to the river."

Mulder began to protest, but Billy Miles still staggered forward, and Leo, who had been firing shaky shots at Sam and Mulder the whole chase, had just dropped his gun.

"LIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!" Leo screamed, lurching forward at Starkweather as soon as she had emerged from the ladder.

"No...Not Lily...me Jeri, you psychoboy."

"They just programmed you to say that..." he stammered, backing away from her slowly, "they gave you this whole new identity..."

"Leo," Mulder cautioned in his flat monotone, "I know people who can help you find the answers you want. I know you think she's Lily but it's not her, Justin. It's not her."

"Mulder duck!" Starkweather screamed, for Billy Miles had wrenched a pipe free from the warehouse and was about to swing at him.

"Starkweather GO!" Sam yelled.

Mulder managed to grab onto the pipe in one of his swings, but Leo pushed the bar out of Mulder's grip and ran up the stairs.

"STARKWEATHER!" Mulder bellowed after her.

Leo pursued the monster up the ladder, visibly coiling at the pain in his arm.

"LEO!" Mulder called out futilely. He didn't seem to be in tune with anything else around him.

"Hang on, Lily! I'm coming!" Leo shouted after Starkweather.

Billy Miles was inching closer on Starkweather.

"Sam," Mulder said in panicked realization, "That thing is going after me, Starkweather...and Will."

"Not if we can hit it off at the pass." Sam offered, "Come on!" he urged unnecessarily, and then began the ascent up the ladder, followed closely by Mulder.

There, they watched as Leo threw his own body in between Billy Miles and Starkweather. Starkweather, Mulder, and Sam both watched in horror as the two wrestled their way off of the rooftop, and down into the river.

Al popped in just in time to see Leo and Billy Miles plummeting down to the rapids of the Potomac River.

"Agent Starkweather, Ben's ok, you just gotta get off this warehouse in a few minutes before it blows to kingdom come! Ben and Scully and Manny are all outta there, and they'll be just fine! You gotta jump into that river, you here me! JUMP!"

"Mulder, I hope you know how to doggy-paddle."

Starkweather stared down at the roaring Potomac for a few seconds, faced down, closed her eyes, and heard Sam's splash. Then she muttered something and pushed Mulder forward towards the raging rapids. Then she dove in herself. Being summer, the water wasn't cold, but the storm made it colder than usual.

"Starkweather!" Sam was calling out frantically. "Doc!"

"Over here, Papa John!"

"Mulder?!" Sam called out treading water next as Starkweather scrambled to the banks, watching the building being swallowed in bright orange flames.

"MULDER!!" She called out as soon as she made it safely to the bank

Meanwhile...

As they crawled, Scully had a hideous thought. "Guys, wasn't there a scene in 'The Breakfast Club' where the ceiling panels colla-"

The ceiling panels collapsed and Scully, Manny and Ben tumbled down into the hallway.

Buried underneath ceiling crumbles and two men, Scully mumbled "Could you please get off of me?"

At the sound of the crash, Sam-in-Doggett and Mulder jumped. They had only started going up the stairs that led to the ladder up to the roof. Starkweather had already begun to ascend to the roof. Mulder pushed past Sam. He saw Leo coming after them with Scully's gun. He also saw Billy Miles fling open the door and head towards them.

He walked right over Ben, Scully and Manny, not even noticing them.

"SCULLY!" Mulder cried...

Starkweather, meanwhile had almost gotten to the roof, heard Mulder's cries. "Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit...." she cursed on her way down to retrieve her partner and her half-brother…

While the chaos with Leo, the monster, the agent, the time-travler and the Deputy Mayor ensued, Scully, shaken that she, again, had been so close to the monster who was sent to steal her child but at the last minute, did not, got up to chase him. But Manny grabbed her, "Agent Scully, PLEASE, let's get OUT OF HERE!!! Senor Starkweather needs a doctor, pronto. Por favor, vamos por la amor del Dios!" Poor Manny was so frightened, he lapsed into Spanish.

But Scully caught the gist. Plus Ben, after all that lifting and pulling and crawling and falling with his broken ribs not to mention the smoke inhalation everyone was suffering, was in really bad shape.

The doorframe to the staircase leading down to the main floor of the warehouse just caught fire. Scully heard the building crack and groan, on the very verge of total collapse. "Help him." Scully ordered Manny, heart pounding in fear, fear for Mulder, for Starkweather, for Sam-in-Doggett.

Manny slung Ben on his back, piggyback and made a run for the open window at the end of the hallway. "There's a fire escape!" he yelled in glad relief.

::Why didn't Mulder and the others go out this way?::Scully wondered. Probably because with a gun-wielding nut and bloodthirsty replicant at their tails, they probably weren't thinking very rationally.

"Go, go, go!!!" Scully said.

Manny swung out the window. "Hold on tight, amigo," he told Ben as he started to climb out. Scully followed...

Meanwhile...

Assistant Director Skinner was in the squad car with Detective Edward Carillo as they went flying towards the warehouse. They were still a good half-mile away when they were able to see the flames. "Holy God," Carillo said.

Skinner sighed. The man didn't even work for him anymore... how was it still possible that massive destruction of property occurred whenever Mulder was involved with something? "Let's just hope that people are still alive, Detective," Skinner said curtly.

In the distance, the sirens from fire trucks and ambulances blended into on hellish wail. Skinner felt physically ill as he thought of the devil's deal he made with that smoking bastard. He hoped there was someone to pull out from the wreckage.

Half a block away, all the closer they could get, the squad car squealed to a halt. Carillo and Skinner fairly flew from the car, guns drawn.

Two sooty figures were running from the building. As they got closer, Carillo and Skinner realized that it was three people, one was piggybacked on the other and obviously injured. As they got even closer, Skinner realized who they were and his heart leapt in joy.

"DANA!" he cried, holstering his gun. Forgetting propriety, he engulfed Scully into the bearhug he would have given a long-lost daughter if he had even taken a break from his career to have a family. "Thank God," Skinner broke away, remembering himself. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Scully said, "but this man needs to get to a hospital ASAP." Manny slid Ben off his back and laid him on the ground.

Carillo crouched down. "Well, I'll be damned," he said in wonder. "Mr. Starkweather, there's gonna be a whole lot of people happy to see you, sir."

Ben clutched at the detective's jacket. "You're not taking me anywhere until somebody gets Jeri off that damn roof."

"WHAT?!" Skinner and Carillo unintentionally spoke in unison.

"Jeri, my wife, she came for me," Ben coughed, feeling the effects of smoke inhalation. "Jeri, her partner John Doggett and her brother Fox Mulder-"

"Mulder?" Carillo looked up at the building, almost totally engulfed in flames. "Mulder was implicated in your disappearance, Mr. Starkweather."

"Brother??" Skinner was lost, which was nothing new.

"Mulder?" Ben looked completely confused. "What the hell for?"

"Sir," Scully said urgently, "I strongly recommend you call a SWAT team. Billy Miles is up on that roof."

"WHAT!??" Skinner squawked. He pulled out his cell phone and was about to dial when Manny said:

"Not any more," he pointed to two figures plummeting into the roaring Potomac River.

"Who was that with them?" Skinner asked.

"I don't know, sir," Scully felt panic butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "I can't see." Smoke curled out of the windows in thick plumes...

In a non-descript car, much like Nero while Rome burned, the Cigarette Smoking Man watched the scenario expressionlessly. He sighed. It was out of his hands now. If Mulder and Starkweather were killed, problem solved. If they lived... well... there was always next time. At least they were able smuggle the vial of Purity out of the country easily. And he was pretty sure Ben's case with the oil company would be closed down. At least two of the four major objectives were achieved. "Drive," he ordered the driver dryly as he lit a cigarette. The car disappeared from the scene unnoticed just as the Admiral's car pulled up. The Admiral got out of his car, saw Scully and Ben with the others but did not approach them, not yet.

Fire trucks were lining up, hooking up the hoses to the hydrants, brave men and women in their bright yellow suits and oxygen masks started to run towards the building. One of them reached the doorway and turned back, motioning his fellow firefighters to turn back.

"She's gonna blow!!!!" He yelled.

Just then, a figure leapt from the roof. "That looked like Doggett!" Scully cried as Sam-in-Doggett hit the water. Then another male figure plummeted into the river ::please let that be Mulder!:: she prayed. And finally a female form dove into the Potomac. Scully knew that was Starkweather. Scully left Skinner, Ben and Manny and ran towards the shore.

"Mulder, I hope you know how to doggy-paddle."

Starkweather stared down at the roaring Potomac for a few seconds, faced down, closed her eyes, and heard Sam's splash. Then she muttered something and pushed Mulder forward towards the raging rapids. Then she dove in herself. Being summer, the water wasn't cold, but the storm made it colder than usual.

"Starkweather!" Sam was calling out frantically. "Doc!"

"Over here, Papa John!"

"Mulder?!" Sam called out treading water next as Starkweather scrambled to the banks, watching the building being swallowed in bright orange flames.

"MULDER!!" She called out as soon as she made it safely to the bank. "Oh sweet Jesus," she said, for once, in prayer. She bellowed again: "**MULDER!!**"

Meanwhile, Sam dove back under the water. He forced himself to open his eyes underwater, but could see nothing. His lungs screamed for oxygen so with a kick of the legs, he swam upwards. He burst up to the surface. "MULDER!!"

Scully saw Starkweather standing on the shoreline, looking out at the river and starting running. "Agent Starkweather!" she cried. "Where's Doggett?! Where's Mulder?!"

Starkweather felt sick to her stomach. She blinked back tears. "I don't know..."

Scully felt her heart drop. "What do you mean you don't know?!?" Scully cupped her hands around her mouth, "MULDER! MULDER!!!"

Starkweather closed her eyes in horror. She put her hand over her mouth while Scully cried out Mulder's name.

Sam, treading water, turned to his left and gasped

Mulder was floating about three yards away from him, face down in the water. "Oh no, oh no, oh no," Sam gasped as he swam towards him. "MULDER!" Sam reached for his arm and pulled him towards him. He flipped him over to his back. His eyes were closed, his mouth was open. "Oh boy, c'mon Mulder, don't do this!" Sam cried as he wrapped one arm around Mulder's chest and began swimming for shore.

"Starkweather!" Sam cried out. "Starkweather!!"

Starkweather's eyes popped open at the sound of her name. "Doggett!!" she answered back. "Oh my God!!" she cried when she saw Sam dragging Mulder to shore. She leaped back into the river and waded out to them.

Scully followed Starkweather, not noticing the biting chill of the water. "What happened? What's going on?" She then saw that Mulder was not moving at all. "Oh God! Mulder!"

"Get help, Scully," Sam yelled at her as he and Starkweather brought Mulder to dry land and laid him on the ground. Starkweather put her ear to Mulder's mouth. "He's not breathing."

"Doggett, do you know CPR?"

"Yes." Sam instantly snapped into doctor-mode and crouched by Mulder's chest. "Scully go!!" Scully hesitated for the slightest second, perhaps reminded of that horrible time when he had been found dead in that field in Montana. But she ran for the paramedics.

"Start chest compressions," ordered Dr. Starkweather.

Dr. Beckett pressed his big hands into Mulder's sterum. "One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, breathe!!"

Dr. Starkweather clamped her mouth over Mulder's mouth and nose and puffed air into his lungs. "Nothing, chest compressions."

"One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, breathe." Sam pumped Mulder's chest. "Come on Mulder, dammit."

Starkweather puffed air through Mulder's mouth to his lungs again. "Nothing. God dammit Mulder," Starkweather yelled at him as Sam pumped at his chest again. "Don't you fucking die on us."

"One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, breathe, dammit, Mulder, breathe!!" Sam begged him.

Just as Starkweather was about to bend down to breathe for him again, Mulder gagged. River water trickled out of his mouth. He tried to sit up. Starkweather and Sam helped him up as he started to vomit water.

"Easy does it, easy does it," Starkweather said in her best bedside manner voice. She smoothed his hair back from his brow. "My God, you have more lives than a cat," she said, voice shaking from relief.

Mulder gulped air in great whooshes. He looked at Starkweather. "You... performed... C... PR?" Starkweather nodded. "If... this... was.. Arkansas, I'd... I'd be turned on right now," he grinned at her even as his body was wracked with dry heaves.

"You asshole," Starkweather gave him a well-meaning thump to his shoulder. Sam sighed in relief and helped him stand up.

Scully just came sprinting down the slope again with two paramedics in tow. When she saw Mulder standing, leaning on Sam, but still standing up, she flew towards him. "Mulder!! Mulder!! You're alright!!!" she said joyously as she approached him.

Mulder stared at her. "Who are you?"

Scully stared, mouth dropping open. Then she burst into tears and punched Mulder in the gut. "Dammit, Mulder, that wasn't funny the first time you did that, and it's not funny now..." Mulder leaned into Scully and hugged her.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," Mulder mumbled into her hair.

"Do you need us then?" One of the paramedics asked.

Sam told him. "I think he'll be okay. Probably just needs bed rest and Agent Scully's a medical doctor, I think she'll look after him. But maybe you should come and look at Agent Starkweather's leg..." Sam turned to find Starkweather standing apart from everyone, holding herself, staring at the burning warehouse.

"Starkweather," Scully said, supporting Mulder. "We found Ben."

Starkweather turned around. "What?"

"He's fine, he's hurt, but he's going to be fine, he's with Skinner..."

But Starkweather didn't wait for Scully to finish her sentence. She took off towards the flashing lights of the fire trucks and police cars.

Ben was being loaded up onto a stretcher despite his protests. He lifted his head one more time to argue with the paramedics that he wasn't going anywhere when he heard someone crying out his name.

"Ben!! Ben!!"

"Jesus, guys, stop!!" Ben told the paramedics on last time as Jerilyn ran to the ambulance. She pushed past the paramedics. "Oh my God!!" she wept as she took his hands and kissed him full on the mouth. "Oh my God," she said again as she ran her fingers through his hair. "What did they do to you?" she choked out through her tears.

"Broken ribs mostly, lots of bruising, we're taking him to the hospital to make sure there's nothing else ma'am," the medic said patronizingly.

"Don't talk to her like she's an idiot," Ben told him. "She's a doctor and she carries a big gun."

The paramedics backed off, just a little.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she sniffled as Ben wiped tears off her cheeks. She clutched his hands. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry you got dragged into all of this."

"They told me," Ben nodded his head to Carillo and Skinner, who had been hovering over him like angry mother bears the entire time, "that someone was trying to frame MULDER for my MURDER? Are they serious?"

Jerilyn nodded. "Oh Jesus, Ben. It was insane. This whole thing... and we don't even know WHY they did this to us..." She tried to gulp back the tears.

"I don't think we'll ever know," Ben said helplessly. "But everything's okay now, Jeri. I promise, everything's going to be okay now." He wiped more tears from Jeri's face even as his own eyes welled. "Hey. Hey now... big bad FBI broads don't cry." His voice cracked.

"Neither do Counselors," she whispered as she kissed his hand. "Oh!" she suddenly realized and started digging into her pocket. She pulled out his wedding band. "Missing something?" she said with a teary smile as she slid his wedding ring back on its rightful place.

"Mrs. Starkweather," the medic told her gently. "We really need to get him to the hospital. But you can ride along if you like..."

Ben answered for Jerilyn. "She's got FBI stuff to do first," Ben said, intertwining his fingers with hers and giving her a squeeze. "Plus, I'm guessing," he chuckled, "she might want some dry clothes. Hell..." he grinned, feeling better by just seeing Jerilyn again, "*I* would like some clean clothes myself. I've been wearing the same boxers for about a week now and they're beginning to chaff."

That did it. Jerilyn smiled spontaneously and joyously for the first time since the ordeal began. "Are you sure, baby?"

"I'll see you at the hospital, Jeri," Ben kissed her hand again. "While you're at it, smuggle me some beers and Caesar for me while you're at it."

"Deal," Jerilyn leaned over and kissed Ben on the lips again. "I love you Counselor."

"I love you too," Ben reached up with his free hand and stroked her hair. "And I did learn one thing from this whole clusterfuck."

"What?" Jerilyn finally released his hand and let the paramedics do their job.

As the paramedics lifted the stretcher into the ambulance, Ben said "I'm gonna leave this X-File shit to the experts," with a groan.

Just as the paramedics shut the door to the ambulance, Scully, Mulder and Sam-in-Doggett approached Starkweather and Skinner. "Mulder," Skinner asked gruffly "how many guardian angels do you have???"

Mulder, still leaning on Scully replied in all seriousness. "It's got to be up in the thousands."

"I don't mean to alarm you, but you should be aware, the police and federal agents are making a sweep of the area, but so far, there is no trace of Billy Miles or Justin Leo."

"Typical," Mulder snorted. "Slipped through our fingers again."

"I've sent agents to all of your respective homes for surveillance, just in case one of them rears their ugly heads. That's all we can really do for now." Skinner said. "And now," he said impatiently, "can someone explain to me how YOU," he looked at Mulder "are related to HER," he looked at Starkweather.

Mulder opened his mouth to speak but whatever he was about to say was lost for the Admiral finally approached the group.

"Jerilyn," the Admiral reached for her. Jerilyn recoiled, anger clouding her face.

"You..." she said bitterly. "You knew about this the entire time... you had to of..."

"Jerilyn?" The Admiral stole a glance to Scully, who only glared at him stonily. "Honey, what are you talking about? I came into town when we thought Ben was gon-"

"Liar," she hissed. The Admiral looked as if she had slapped him. "You were planning on coming into town before all of this happened to meet with KERSH, of all people. I saw it in his planner. I heard your guys' phone conversation."

The Admiral knew when he was defeated. "Jerilyn," he said painfully. "Everything I did, was to protect you."

"Then why didn't you tell me the truth when I came to Sedona last April?"

"The truth would have killed you," the Admiral protested.

Starkweather glowered at him. "It already has."

The Admiral had to make one last try. "Jerilyn, everything I have done, everything I have lived for was to protect YOU. I know I haven't been the perfect father bu-"

"My father is dead."

"Jerilyn," the Admiral sighed. "That's a little extreme. I know you're upset with me bu-"

"NO." Jerilyn took a step away from him. "MY father," she turned to face Mulder. "is dead. He was murdered by a man named Alex Krycek." She turned to face the Admiral again. "Does that ring any bells?"

The Admiral looked to Mulder, Scully, Skinner and Sam-in-Doggett for help. All he received were unsympathetic, angry glares. "You were never meant to find out," he said lamely.

"Ben was almost killed tonight," Starkweather said angrily. "And you knew about it the entire time and didn't lift a finger to stop anything, did you???"

The Admiral could have argued that point, but one look in her eyes told him that any further debate on the subject would be an exercise in futility. He lowered his head and walked away.

Yes, he had saved her life... but he had lost her forever.

After the Admiral had left, Mulder said softly to Starkweather, "I'm sorry, Jerilyn." Only Mulder could truly sympathize with how devastating it is, even to an adult child, to be completely dillusioned by their hero, their parent that they had adored.

Starkweather turned to Mulder. Despite all of her not-so-outstanding qualities, her one redeeming characteristic was that if she was wrong, she admitted it. "No, Mulder. **I'm** sorry. I should have known better." Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as Starkweather and Mulder finally shook hands and ended the duel of wills.

But Mulder continued with the snipe-war as he thumped Starkweather on the shoulder and said "See you at the family reunion. Maybe this year you'll get to sit with the adults."

"As if you have any experience in being an adult."

"Well, I do have at least twelve years on you, baby sister."

"Oh do NOT start calling me 'baby sister', I will fucking deck you again."

"Tsk tsk little Hurricane, such foul language from a pristine lady."

"Hurricane!?!?" Starkweather spluttered. "Now, listen here, *Spooky*-"

"Both of you!" Scully snapped in her best "Mom" voice. "Enough!"

"He started it," Starkweather whined.

"She hit me," Mulder whined right back. "She broke my nose when I got arrested."

"It was an easy target, big schnozz that it is."

"Alright you little twerp-"

"You're BOTH sitting at the kids' table for the holiday meals!" Scully yelled at them. "Maybe William can teach you two some manners."

"Agent Scully," Detective Carillo, stifling guffaws, said "since the Deputy Mayor is cleared of all charges, why don't you take him home before these two tear each other apart."

"An excellent suggestion," Scully said with a relieved sigh. "I know there's a certain little boy who's eager to see you."

"Later Hurricane," Mulder, still leaning against Scully, limped towards Skinner's car, volunteering him to give them a ride home.

"I'm gonna buy your kid a drum, Mulder!" Starkweather threatened.

Mulder, as usual, had the winning shot with "Good, I'll have him bring it over when you babysit him."

Sam shook his head. As entertaining as the Mulder and Starkweather show was... he couldn't help but wonder...

::If everything's okay now... why haven't I leapt?::

Al popped in again. "Well, everything's turning out to be pretty okay," he told Sam. "The plague, obviously, never happened and aliens never took over the world." He thumped his comlink. "Mulder gets reinstated to his Deputy Mayor job, which he does for another year before... before..." he hit the comlink and it squawked at him. "Before going to work for the CIA as a consultant? That's scary. Anyway... Scully ends up leaving the X-Files in about two years, but she's still around to help out Reyes, Doggett and Starkweather every now and again. And... on September 10, 2010, those two crazy kids finally tie the knot in a private ceremony at Mulder's childhood home in Martha's Vineyard. And even though they're not with the FBI anymore, they're both kept on retainer to consult on X-File cases. So a big shiny happy ending for those two. It only took them," Al did the math, "met in 1993.... only took them seventeen years."

"What about Starkweather? Do she and Ben work out their differences?" Sam asked.

Al consulted his comlink. A look of pain crosses his face. "I'm sorry Sam," Al said. "Ben's out of the picture by Christmas time."

"What?!" Sam's shoulder's slumped. "Does that mean I have to stay here until Christmas to help those two repair their marriage?"

"I don't think so Sam," Al said quietly. "Believe me, speaking as a man quite experienced in the ways of failed relationships, some things aren't just meant to last."

"Then why am I still here Al?"

"Ziggy?" Al consulted the super-computer. "What's the word? Why're we still here??" Al looked down at his comlink. "What the hell...." Al's brow furrowed in confusion. He chewed on his cigar for a bit. "Well... according to Ziggy... she says that for you to leap now... you have to..." he read aloud from the comlink. "say goodbye to Starkweather and start the DSwR. DSwR?? What the hell does that mean? Ziggy! Translate!"

"She doesn't have to," Sam said, a little sadly, looking at Starkweather, who was giving her statement to Detective Carillo. "I know what she means. Al... can you promise me something?"

"Anything buddy," Al said.

Sam took a deep breath. "Whenever something is going wrong with a future leap and it looks totally impossible... break a rule and remind me of Starkweather. Of her strength. Her loyalty. Her perseverance."

"You got it Sam," Al promised. "Go. Say goodbye."

Sam-in-Doggett went up to Starkweather. He grabbed a gray flannel blanket from one of the lingering paramedics and wrapped it around Starkweather's shoulders. "Are you finished here?" Sam asked Carillo.

"All done," Carillo put his notebook in his jacket pocket. "Get some rest you two. Good night." And Carillo walked away, pleased that one of his cases finally had a happy ending.

"How're you doing, Starkweather?" Sam asked her, wrapping the blanket tighter around her, making her look like a papoose.

She shrugged. "Tired. Ecstatic. Angry. Tired. Thrilled. Scared. Tired. Did I mention tired??"

Sam laughed. "No. Are you tired?" he teased her.

"I could sleep for a thousand years," she groaned. "Doggett... you were right. About Mulder. About Ben. About everything. I couldn't have gotten through this nightmare without you."

"That's what I'm here for," Sam said.

"And I count on that," she replied. She opened her arms and engulfed Sam in the world's biggest hug.

"Thank you for helping me find Ben."

"You're a special lady, Starkweather," Sam said in her ear. "Don't ever forget that. Don't ever forget that I said that." Sam stepped away. Trying to figure out how to do what he needed to do. To say goodbye. To lead Starkweather towards the path where she was meant to go.

To put right what once went wrong.

And Sam realized what he needed to do. It was so simple. It was safe, and yet not. Everyone had seen Mulder and Scully do it a thousand times.

He put his hands on Starkweather's shoulders and kissed her forehead.

Al looked at his comlink and smiled. "Goodbye Starkweather," Al said as he and Sam vanished in blaze of blinding blue light.

John Doggett opened his eyes and saw Starkweather standing in front of him, soaking wet, wrapped in a gray blanket, smiling at him. ::I'm back:: Doggett realized. Then instantly thought: ::where did I go??::

"Starkweather, what the hell happened to you?" Doggett turned and saw the blazing building that the fire fighters were still trying to put out. "Oh my God... what the hell happened here?"

"Doggett, I think we'll be trying to figure that out for years," she said, still smiling. "Come on Papa John, you better come to the hospital with me. It looks like you might be concussed."

Doggett put his arm over Starkweather's shoulder and together they walked to his waiting pickup truck.

It never felt so good to hear her call him 'Papa John' before.

Fifteen years down the road:

With another upsurge of paranormal cases on the horizon and FBI agents' talents being currently directed on security issues, it was time for A.D. Starkweather to assign the head of her old division a new partner. Agent Reyes was talented, and had a high success rate in investigating paranormal cases, but nobody could work alone in those conditions for very long. Besides, if she didn't assign somebody soon, it looked as though she would have to shut the division down. She made a promise to somebody a long time ago that she wouldn't allow that to happen as long as she could do something about it.

One applicant seemed to stand out in the screening process for the job. A physicist's daughter who had graduated five years ago from MIT was an Alabama native, Samantha Jo Fuller had specialized in quantum mechanics both in Quantico and in her work with unspecified government projects. According to her superiors in New Mexico, she had medical training at Quantico and developed quite a flare for profiling, and from experience Starkweather knew that the basement office could use that kind of expertise.

Starkweather was on the phone when the applicant came in. She motioned the new agent to come in, smiling apologetically. The young woman, who appeared to be in her late twenties twirled her honey-wheat hair nervously around her index finger. She tentatively sat down, and brushed her one white strand that accentuated her face.

"Yes, I know we need all the manpower we can get on this case, but I just can't close that office to accommodate you." Starkweather was insisting. At her next remark, the girl jumped. "The FBI's investigation into the paranormal has been justified for nearly TEN YEARS now...no...we need Agent Reyes in that office. If you have issues with that you can take it up with Deputy Director Doggett." She barked, and slamming down the phone, smiled sweetly at the woman who just came in.

"Before you enlisted in the FBI, what was that project that you worked on in New Mexico?"

"That's classified ma'am." The new agent said flatly. She was uncomfortable calling someone who looked her age ma’am, but she wasn’t about to start a new position on a sour note. Starkweather inwardly grimaced at being called ma'am.

"My sources tell me it had something to do with time travel."

"Sources?"

"If that's true, you will get along just fine with your new partner." Starkweather replied not missing a beat. "Were you informed of the type of cases your division investigates?"

"If I understand it correctly, the X-Files Division deals with paranormal and unexplained phenomena." Fuller recited. "But I didn't think the FBI investigated those kinds of cases."

"I wasn't aware that the government backed time-travel experiments either" Starkweather returned with a sly grin. "Come with me, and I'll show you to your new office. Sorry I don't have much time to acquaint you with the building, but I have a flight out to New Mexico on personal business that leaves in an hour."

Agent Fuller nodded in understanding and followed her petite superior down the halls of the J Edgar Hoover building, and wondered why there were mile-long lines of tourists for office buildings.

"...And this," her new boss said unlocking the door and handing her a lone key. "Is your office. I hope you'll find everything you need, Agent Fuller. Call me on my cell if you need to be in touch with me. If you'll excuse me, I have a flight to make. Agents Reyes and Gallimore should be in shortly." With that, her new boss turned and left.

The Agent glanced tentatively at her new surroundings. She saw a neatly kept office with two desks, and a huge filing cabinet. The occupied desk facing the door was neatly kept with photos of a small boy and a girl, her new boss and her boss's superior, a hazel-eyed man with peppering hair and a pretty, petite redhead holding a small redheaded boy standing next to him, next to him, a tall man with a wreath of white hair, a man with a neatly trimmed beard in a suit was next, then a shorter, balding, odd-looking man, then a tall, lanky man with blond stringy hair with thick glasses perched on his nose all posing uncomfortably around a Christmas tree. The nameplate on the desk read "Special Agent Monica Reyes." The other desk’s nameplate read "Special Agent Alexander Gallimore."

The office itself looked like it was barely big enough for two people. There were rows of filing cabinets, all labeled "X-Files". There was barely walking space between two desks, but there were a couple of plants that made it look comfortable. The walls were sparsely decorated, with the exception of a yellowed and frayed poster with an obviously forged depiction of a flying saucer, proclaiming "I WANT TO BELIEVE." She took the empty desk closer to the door, and decided it was in her best interest to familiarize herself with the cases. She opened the "A" drawer and began reading.

She was halfway through the contents of her first folder when there was a knock at the door.

"Great, here comes Princess Leia." Fuller groaned, thinking it was her new boss, and put on her best professional smile. "Come in." She called out.

Instead of her boss like she expected, a petite redhead with an FBI guest badge on her lapel. She didn't look up from the file until the woman spoke. "Ma’am, the senior partner isn’t here yet. Let me redirect you. Just one…" She went over to the phone and saw that the woman was in the picture with the family.

"Deputy Director Doggett asked me to come by and introduce myself and show you the ropes around here. Your senior officer isn't going to be able to come in till after lunch."

She smiled apologetically and stood up, extending a hand in greeting. "I'm sorry ma’am," she flustered, "just doing some research."

"So what do you think about UFO's after reading that file?"

"To be perfectly honest, ma'am," Fuller answered carefully, "I'm not quite sure what to think. I am aware of what the founder of this division seems to believe is a conspiracy, geared towards covering up a plot of colonization. I need physical evidence to back that up before I concur."

"Sounds too much like Star Wars?" the woman asked, her lips curling into a knowing smile.

"There's no documented scientific evidence yet of the existence of extra terrestrials." At Fuller's answer, the woman raised a questioning eyebrow, and approached the desk.

"Twenty years ago," Scully replied, crossing her arms. "I would have said the same thing. I used to be you, Agent..."

Later on that day
Quantum Leap Headquarters
Roswell, New Mexico

Al left the imaging chamber, rubbing his temple. Now THAT was one hell of a leap. One destined to go down in the record books; that was for sure. He looked at Goushie. "Let me know when Sam's in a new body," he said as he shuffled towards his office.

"Yes sir," Goushie said.

Al had just sat down in his big comfortable chair when his phone rang. "I don't want any calls today. I don't care who it is."

Tina said nervously. "Um... I don't think this person is going to go away, Al. She said that she made this appointment fifteen years ago???" Tina sounded completely and utterly flustered. "She says she's the Assistant Director for the FBI????"

"I'll be right out," Al said, jumping out of his chair.

Now, to Starkweather, Al looked exactly the same as he did when she saw him last. But to Al, she had changed, extraordinarily.

She was still slender and youthful-looking. She still wore her uncompromising black business dress suits. However, she no longer had the deceptive guise of a teenager. There were one or two crow's feet by her hazel eyes. Her hair was no longer Rapunzel-long and dyed blonde, but shoulder length and dark brown. Only the gold wire eyeglasses and the few strands of silver at the temple of her hair betrayed her age of forty-four years.

Her voice, however, was as strong and yet feminine as ever. "Admiral Calavicci?" She still had that Sphinx-smile, that sense of mystery.

"Agent Starkweather," Al said. "My, you've grown up."

"With all due respect," her smile dissolved into the trademark Starkweather smirk. "it's Assistant Director Starkweather now." She held out her hand. As Al shook her right hand, he noted that her left hand no longer bore a wedding ring. "Well, Admiral, you said to look you up in fifteen years and you'd explain everything."

Al clasped his other hand over hers. "Yes, yes I did... Assistant Director."

"Funny, you don't look any more angelic as you did when I saw you last." Her eyes twinkled in delight. "I thought I was ready for the funny farm when you popped in, you know."

"I know, I know," Al groaned. "And I'll explain everything to you."

"Well... before you start... I'd like to have you meet some people first... you see... we figured out a lot of things on our own before coming here... but there's still some gaps."

::We??:: Al wondered as he followed Starkweather to the outer waiting room.

"I found him," Starkweather said to the man sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper.

And Deputy Director John Doggett stood up. Still tall, still had those brilliant blue eyes, although he also wore eyeglasses now. Although he was lucky enough to have kept his hair, it had faded from it's coppery-yellow hue. He also now sported a neatly trimmed goatee. He was still a good-looking man, albeit it, obviously, an older man. ::Geez... he's got to be pushing sixty by now:: Al thought as he shook Doggett's hand.

"Admiral," Doggett also still never shed that gravelly New York-Deep South hybrid accent. "Good to see you again... though I must confess, I really don't remember much of our first meetin'."

"That's alright," Al said. "I'll remind you of every humiliating detail."

"Oh good," Doggett deadpanned. "Kids, come here," he called.

"Kids?" Al asked.

A boy and a girl, both the same age, looking to be about twelve, left the television set they were avidly watching and joined the adults. "This is our son," Starkweather put her hand on the boy's shoulder. "John Benjamin."

"Hi," the boy said brightly. And Al realized that he was looking at what Mulder must have looked like when he was a boy. A mop of unruly brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes. No trace of shyness whatsoever.

"And this," Starkweather put her other hand on the girl's shoulder. "Is our daughter, Bailey Fox."

"Mom, **please** don't tell strangers my middle name," she whispered, mortified. "It's embarrassing."

Bailey was the spitting image of John Doggett. Same curly shiny blond hair, although she wore hers considerably longer than her father. Same brilliant piercing blue eyes. She even spoke with the barest trace of a Southern accent.

"Looks like you two have some things to tell me too," Al said. "Ziggy left some things out in her diagnostics."

"Ziggy?" Starkweather crinkled her brow in confusion.

Al companionably put his arm through Starkweather's. "I'll explain... let me give you a tour."

When they got to the "holding" chamber, they all stopped. "Is this??" Starkweather started to ask, but stopped.

Al answered her unasked question. "Yes. Sam's body is in there, but not Sam's soul. Sam hasn't found someone to switch souls with yet, so the body is in suspended animation, so to speak."

Doggett was looking around. "Some of this looks familiar."

"I wouldn't have believed this if I wasn't here right now," Bailey said.

John Benjamin aka JB scoffed at his twin sister "You never believe anything until you see it anyways. You're worse than Aunt Dana."

"Kids," Doggett said in his quiet authoritative tones, "zip it." The twins immediately fell silent.

While everyone else hung back, Starkweather walked up to the two-way mirror, that Doggett-in-Sam had broken days ago. It was repaired now. Starkweather looked through the glass and saw a handsome man with sandy-brown hair with one lock gone gray.

Starkweather put her hand on the glass. "Thank you Sam...." she whispered before Al led her away to explain the past to her and her family.

**THE END**

Quanta Soundtrack:

X-Files Main Title: Mark Snow

Fur Elise: Beethoven

Liebestraum: Liszt

Arabesque: Debussy

Clair de Lune: Debussy

Music from "The Piano": Michael Nyman

Presto Agitato: Beethoven

Etude 12 (Revolutionary): Chopin

Whatever You Say: Martina McBride

Mystery Girl: Roy Orbison

I’m A Believer: The Monkees

Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover: Paul Simon

It’s the End of the World as We Know It: REM
Innocent Man: Billy Joel

Cowboy: Kid Rock

Goldberg Variations: Bach

Time is on My Side: Rolling Stones

Walk This Way: Aerosmith

Sweet Emotion: Aerosmith

Girl with a Short Skirt (and Long Jacket): Cake

You’ve Got a Friend: Carole King

Music from "Phantom of the Opera": Andrew Lloyd Webber