Starkweather: One Nation, Indivisible

September 17, 2001 Monday MNBC New York Studios 8:40 am, Eastern Standard Time

"Alanda?" The young intern knocked on her dressing room door. "Twenty minutes." Alanda Klein turned away from the mirror. "Thank you," she said calmly. She stood up and gathered her note cards she had been studying. She took a deep deep breath. This was the big one, the big interview that could make or break her journalism career. She had worked long and hard, eked out a meager existence post college by working at the mall at the Gap so she could work part-time at a television station, keeping her toe in the door. She had moved far far from her small home town in Alabama, successfully shed her Southern twang, much to her grandmother’s shame, sacrificed stability, turned down two marriage proposals and three more financially secure job offers, for this. It all boils down to this moment. This moment would decide whether she would be the next Barbara Walters or the veejay for E! Entertainment. The irony was, if she could, she would wish away this moment forever if the events in the past week that led her to this moment would have never had happened. She would trade in all the money, all the perks, all the fame, for a second of the glorious sensation of normalcy.

She took a breath. She was not God. She was not a time traveler. She was just trying to do what she felt, and what her producer felt and what her new editor felt was right. She hoped what she was doing would be perceived by the nation as right and not as "tacky" or as "rating-grabbing."

She reviewed her notes one last time before stepping out of her dinky dressing room. This interview would not be easy, for anyone.

One, because they weren’t going to be very talkative about the nature of their official involvement, partially due to national security, which was of course, completely understandable. But mostly because of their recent credo of "The FBI must look good at all costs", a mantra mandated by Deputy Director Alvin Kersh, which, most of the press agreed, was a royal pain in the ass.

Two, the male agent, was notorious for being the "strong, silent, supportive" type, emphasis on "silent" when it came to interviews. He was going to be a real challenge to open up, especially the losses he had to have suffered this week.

But as difficult as he was going to be, his partner, the female agent, was going to be worse. According to her sources, she was just a bitch from the word go. She was one of those "too smart for her own good." Alanda had been warned by several sources that the female agent had a sharp tongue and would have no problem cutting her down to size on national television.

Alanda put the note cards in her pocket. She was as prepared as she was ever going to be. She had the experience, she had the training, she even had the compassion. She just prayed she had the talent to be a star journalist, that she could do the impossible, which was to put a human spin on an tragic act, that she could show her suffering nation, that good can prevail out of evil…

Alanda walked onto the set. The agents were already there, seated while make- up artists touched up their foundation, which the male agent was grimacing throughout the entire process. Alanda pulled out a note card. "John Doggett," she whispered to herself as she adjusted her very conservative navy suit while standing in front of the mirror. "Special Agent John Doggett and Special Agent Doctor Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather." She hoped she was pronouncing their last names properly. Nothing blows credibility than having your guest correct your pronunciation.

The make up artist finished with Agent Doggett and came over to her, added a little more powder to her face, made her blot her lip stick, adjusted the collar of her black silk blouse. "How are they doing?" she asked the make up artist as she dabbed just a hint of blusher to her high cheekbones.

"Nervous," the artist replied blandly. "Just like you." "Alanda," the director whispered. "Five minutes." "Thank you," she said as the sound guy came and clipped the microphone to the lapel of her suit. She then crossed over to the stage, where the agents where sitting in comfortable taupe chairs. Alanda first went to John Doggett, who, although looked drawn and exhausted, appeared more approachable than his partner, who was pale and nervously fiddling with what looked to be a wedding ring, but these days, who could really tell anymore.

"Agent Doggett," Alanda held out her hand. She liked the way he rose from his seat to shake her hand. "I’m Alanda Klein, it’s nice to meet you sir."

"It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am," Doggett said politely as he sat down again, adjusting the microphone on his somber gray tie.

Alanda turned to his partner. "Dr. Starkweather." At the sound of her name, the doctor tilted her head up at the reporter and smiled thinly as she held out her hand. The hollows in her cheeks and the heavy purple rings on a face that normally was so deceivingly girlish and sweet struck Alanda like a backhanded slap in the face. <<This woman has been through hell>> she realized as she clasped her hand warmly. "Thank you for being here today, Dr. Starkweather," she said sincerely. The doctor only smiled and nodded her head.

"Alanda," the producer said. "One minute."

Last second checks. Water was poured for all three and the pitcher left behind. Alanda got her notes out of her pocket and held them incompiciously in her hand. The lights dimmed. Alanda closed her eyes, then opened them, keeping them glued on the cameraman who would give her the cue she desperately needed to start her job. The intro music played on the speakers. The lights brightened over the main anchor desk. Alanda barely registered the anchorman’s opening remarks as she focused on the cameraman who was whispering "Eight… seven…. six…" he then held up his hand to count down the last seconds… five… four… three… two… one… and the nation’s eyes were on her as light re-entered her world.

"I’m Alanda Klein," she said clearly, calmly, professionally. She continued to speak in such a cool, comforting fashion as she read off the teleprompter. "September 11, 2001. The day the towers fell, the day security at our military headquarters was breached. The day of incredible cowardice, the day of inspiring heroism and devastating loss. The day we, as a nation, will relive in our nightmares, both asleep and awake for many years to come. It is difficult for those who do not live on the East Coast to comprehend the massive destruction caused by these faceless enemies. The words ‘surreal’, ‘unbelievable’, and ‘unfathomable’ are popular adjectives used to describe the events of last week. We all saw the images on our televisions, of the airplanes, smashing into the World Trade Center Towers and then again, into the Pentagon, and then again, crashing outside of Pittsburgh. We watched the Towers collapse upon itself and the city coated in its ashes. Watching these images, over and over, does gift it with a sense of surreality, as if we’re watching a bad action movie…" Alanda turned to Camera B, the camera used to pan out to get a group shot of the interviewers and interviewees. "Today, we will replace surreal with real. Today we will be speaking to two people who were at Ground Zero when the attack transpired…."

"And we’re clear," the cameraman said as they cut to a video tape feed of the brief photographic history of John Doggett and Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather while Alanda illuminated the highlights of their personal lives and careers through a previously recorded voice over. Alanda watched the video monitor in the corner, listened to her own voice telling the brief life history of the agents:

"Born in Democratic Hot Springs, Georgia, Special Agent John Doggett spent his childhood in the South. At the age of five, his family moved to the coastal city of Savannah where he stayed until he enlisted in the Marines at the age of eighteen. Former classmates and teachers all have said none of them had been surprised at any of Agent Doggett’s career choices, that those choices mirrored the kind of person Agent Doggett has always been, even as a small boy." The video feed, (after it got through it’s predictable montage of John Doggett as an infant, as a gap-toothed, brushy haired seven year old in his Boy Scout uniform, as a lanky, awkward looking fifteen year old playing junior high basketball and as a handsome young man in a tuxedo pinning a corsage on his senior high school prom date) then segued to the taped interview segments.

In a thick Georgia drawl that was almost incomprehensible, Doggett’s second grade teacher, Mrs. Suzanna Browning told the world: "Johnny was always a good boy. He was never cruel as sometimes youngsters can be. Not to say he was perfect, he liked to roughhouse just like most little boys do, but he was never mean. Never picked on the kids who were normally the ones who got bullied. Never started fights either. It was a real joy to having him in my class and when I saw him on the TV, after all what had happened, it was a real sense of pride to me to be able to say, "Yes sir, he was one of my kids.""

The next taped segment was of one of Doggett’s former classmates, Lindsay Buckle, a defense attorney in Atlanta, Georgia. "Being born and raised in the South, of course we are going to be in the spotlight more than other states when it comes to the issue of racial discrimination. Plus we are always going to have the problems with the "good ol’ boys" who think that bigoted remarks and actions are okay. One of the things I remember most about Johnny was that he never really acted that way, ever. Even when he would be hanging out with the jocks and they’d start making their little derogatory jokes, Johnny never joined in. He was always the peacemaker. He’d be like ‘C’mon y’all, that’s not cool.’ He was never a snob either. He wasn’t the most popular boy in class, he wasn’t the rich kid or the football star, but everybody liked him. "

Alanda’s voice came on again as more pictures of John Doggett were trotted out. This time of him in his Marine dress blues during his graduation ceremonies, then in a police uniform during his graduation from the police academy, then in a somber black suit, crisp white shirt and slate gray tie during his graduation from FBI training. "Agent Doggett’s colleagues during his years with the Marines, the New York Police Department and with the Federal Bureau of investigation also expressed how he was not only a likeable person to be with, but also dependable." The footage now cut to a taped interview with Special Agent Doctor Dana Scully, current head of the X-Files Division of the FBI. "Agent Doggett and I did not meet under the best of circumstances and it took me a long time to trust him as my new partner. Even though I had extreme doubts about his expertise to handle the kind of bizarre cases that fall in the X-File jurisdiction, he stepped up to the challenge each time, excelling each time, learning each time. Also, he was very supportive of me during a very difficult period in my life when he had absolutely no reason to be since I was not as kind as I perhaps could have been when we were first partnered up. However, I can say now with full confidence that Agent Doggett is a very ethical and through investigator and it has been an honor for me to not only work with him, but to also count him as one of my friends."

Alanda’s voice over blended the footage from the Agent Scully interview to a taped interview with Special Agent Monica Reyes, Scully’s current partner in the X-Files. "But Agent Doggett has had his share of tragedies as well where friends rallied to his side. Just shortly after graduating from the FBI Academy, his son, Lucas John Doggett was kidnapped and murdered when he was seven years old. Agent Reyes began speaking. "It was a terrible time. Both Doggett and I were on the scene when we discovered Luke and…" she shook her head. "John is a very strong man. He bore the anguish of such a senseless and heinous crime with dignity, but you can still see the hurt in his eyes. But… I don’t feel it’s very appropriate for me to go on, since this is such a private tragedy and not necessarily for me to expound on, especially on national television. However, I will say that I believe that John’s strength comes from his deeply rooted beliefs in the sanctity of family and defending those who cannot defend themselves. I believe that is how he got through the pain of losing his only child. I believe that is how he will get through what happened that horrible day in New York and Washington DC. And I believe he will receive support from his friends and family here in DC and back home in Georgia. If he hadn’t had such a warm, stable childhood, he would not be the good man we all admire."

Alanda’s voice again broke in as Agent Reyes’s face faded out and still images from Agent Starkweather’s infancy and toddlerhood faded in. "If John Doggett had an uneventful childhood, his partner, Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather had anything but. Jerilyn Starkweather had what might be called a modern day Cinderella story. Discovered in the backseat of his car by what would become her adoptive father, the Admiral Jeremy Bailey of the Unites States Navy, Jerilyn was a victim of severe malnutrition and what appeared to be systematic ritual abuse." The frame cut to the aging doctor who cared for her when the Admiral and Lynette Bailey took Jerilyn to the naval hospital at Pearl Harbor. "It was 1973, so stories of abuse were not as prevalent as they are now," said Dr. Rory Mendelsson. "But this child, when the Baileys brought her to me, she was half- dead from extreme child abuse. Whoever her biological parents were, they, in my opinion, have to have sprung from the very bowels of hell for they treated this child like a science project. She was cut up, dehydrated and starved. They even pulled her fingernails out, an infant, aged three months. We did not expect to her live through the night. If she did live, we expected the psychological and the physical damages to be severe. I warned the Baileys that if they decided to pursue adoption for this child, they would be adopting a special needs child." Alanda’s voice over continued as more pictures of Starkweather as a little girl with pigtails, as a preteen with surprisingly short boyish hair, holding up a great white cat with a blue ribbon attached to its neck and then as a teenaged girl graduating from high school two years early, posing for a picture with her father.

"She not only shocked and surprised the doctors by surviving the night, but growing up to be healthy and more than an average intellect." "I saw Jeri thirteen years later and I couldn’t believe it was the same person," Dr Mendelsson said in a voice as a scene from a home movie of Jerilyn’s thirteenth birthday party played. "She was healthy, she was psychologically and physically sound but also, interestingly enough, she seemed brighter than most kids at that age. With the permission of her parents, I gave her a standardized IQ test…. Even at that tender age, her results were off the charts. She couldn’t be measured. I asked her afterwards, out of curiosity, what she wanted to be when she grew up. She said. ‘A doctor.’"

The next picture was of Agent Starkweather in military fatigues with friends. "After graduating from high school at age sixteen, Agent Starkweather completed two years of undergraduate study at the University of Arizona before enlisting in the United States Air Force." The picture cut away to Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, Agent Starkweather’s stepmother. "When I first met Jeri, I thought it was odd that she went into the Air Force and not the Navy like her father. Turns out, before her mother lost her life to cancer, she asked Jeri to promise not to jump right into going into the military, especially the Navy, but to enjoy life a bit before committing. To at least wait until she was 18. And if she still wanted to go into the military, research which branch would be best for. Then her mother died shortly after that talk. And Jeri took her promise to heart."

While pictures of Agent Starkweather in the Air Force played ad nauseum, Alanda’s voice droned on: "Trained as a medic, Agent Starkweather completed not only her BS but also her pre-med requirements while in the service. She transferred out of Active Duty into the Air National Guard so she could attend medical school at the University of Iowa. While working her weekend duties at the 132nd Fighter Wing in Des Moines, Iowa, she met her husband, Benjamin Starkweather, also an Airman in the Air National Guard, but at the time, a law student at Drake University in Des Moines." A mutual friend of Ben and Jerilyn, Master Sergeant Adam Cattsman came on, dressed in fatigues and wearing a beret. "They clicked right away. It was… I don’t know… sweet. They weren’t like passionately in love, more like best buddies. Good friends. Never sappy or mushy but they were good to each other. They were good for each other."

Predictably, their wedding picture aired next, Benjamin Starkweather, freshly retired from the Guard, finally had a chance to let his hair grow out. He looked like a hero from an old movie from the Forties with his suave black tuxedo. Meanwhile, his bride, dressed in a simple, off-the-shoulders white gown, clung to his arm with one hand and to her massive bouquet of roses, ferns and baby’s breath with the other. In her curled hair, she wore a crown of roses instead of the more traditional veil. She looked sweet, fresh-faced and incredibly innocent. "Shortly after their marriage, it was back to school for Agent Starkweather. But not the rounds and rotations a student fresh out of medical school would be expected to make." The film cut back to the Master Sergeant. "Airman Bailey – even after she got married, we still called her Bailey, otherwise both of ‘em would answer if we’d said "Starkweather." Anyway, Airman Bailey had been making noises about the FBI for years. Anyways… she passed her boards, became a doctor, got married, became a wife… then went off to Quantico and became a fed." Again predictability was a key factor as the next picture was of Agent Starkweather at her graduation from the FBI Academy. "After graduation, Agent Starkweather returned to work at the Minneapolis Field Office and to resume life with her husband. A year later, Assistant Director Walter Skinner put out a notice to the Bureau that there was a vacancy in the X-Files Division, which desperately needed to be filled. Of all that were interviewed, Agent Starkweather was appointed to transfer to Washington DC…" Back on the set, Agent Starkweather whispered her first smart-assed comment to Agent Doggett. "I was the only one who interviewed," she muttered.

Alanda cringed at her remark, thankful that the microphones on their clothes were turned off. At least the montage looked nice.

"… where she was partnered with Special Agent John Doggett in the X-Files Division. Through the brief time they have worked together, they have not only become partners, but very special friends. Working closely together, exploring crimes with its roots in unexplained phenomena under some times dangerous circumstances, Special Agents Doggett and Starkweather gained a one-in-a- lifetime relationship based on trust and respect." Alanda looked over to see Agent Doggett shaking his head and rolling his eyes. She heard Agent Starkweather grumble "Barf," under her breath. Alanda learned from her first mistake – never disregard your first instincts. When she first read the copy for the montage, she thought she was going to go into diabetic shock, but the producer okayed it, saying "We want the public to see them as human beings, not just as suits with guns."

Next time, she would fight them harder if she thought the copy was crap. The interview was going to hell already because of it and she hadn’t even talked to them yet.

Thankfully the montage ended. The camera was back live on her. "But even that relationship, like everyone else in the nation, was put to the test on September 11. With me today, are Special Agent John Doggett and Special Agent Doctor Jerilyn Starkweather. Agents," she said formally. "Thank you for joining me today." "Thank you," Special Agent Doggett said in his gravelly Southern-New Yorker accented voice. Special Agent Starkweather only nodded her head.

"Special Agent Doggett," Alanda went with her first instinct and spoke to the guest she thought would open up to her first, "tell me, what brought you and Special Agent Starkweather to New York City that day?"

Special Agent Doggett heaved a sigh before he began. It was painfully apparent he was not comfortable in front of a rolling camera. "Well…."

***************

Monday, September 3, 2001 Labor Day Special Agent John Doggett’s apartment 11:09 AM

Unlike his companions in the X-Files Division, Doggett was actually sociable. When he was granted time off, he did not take it upon himself to clean his apartment from top to bottom, to catch up on case reports or do yard work. He actually would call up friends and family to spend time with them and enjoy their company. A foreign concept to most involved with the X-Files.

In fact, already, the Thursday before Labor Day, he was already packing up his belongings, loosening his tie and whistling through his teeth. Starkweather looked up from her computer, a puzzled expression on her doll’s face. "Dude," she looked at the clock, "it’s only three. Where do you think you’re running off to?" "I’m off," he informed her with a smug grin. "I requested a half a day today and all of tomorrow off. I’m going on vacation." "Vacation???" The puzzled look became mock perplexed. "We’re allowed to have vacation here? Since when?" "Since now." Doggett said. "I’m goin’ to Atlanta for a few days. Gonna see my friends.

"You have friends?" "Ha."

"And I suppose these friends are NASCAR-junkies too, huh?" Starkweather smirked naughtily. "Gonna go see the fast cars go vroom vroom?" Doggett had squirmed. Sometimes, he wished Mulder would come back to the X- Files, just so he wouldn’t be the lone male in the basement. Starkweather, Scully and Reyes sometimes gained up on him unmercifully, especially about his "manly" pursuits. Starkweather, no surprise, was his chief tormentor.

"I’m comin’ back Sunday. Can you water my plants?" "Sure." "WILL you remember to water my plants?" "Go away," Starkweather had buried her head in the case file she was trying to create a report on. "I won’t let your plants die."

"Have a good Labor Day weekend." "Crush a beer can on your forehead for me."

Doggett stayed with an old friend from the Marines and not only did they go to the races on Saturday, the Friday before they got to sneak in about five hours of good fishing at a small lake near Macon. He did all the things Starkweather, Scully and Reyes teased him about: drank beer, watched races, played poker and told fishing lies. Doggett had a great time.

In fact, when he got back late Sunday night, he was still in a festive mood. He didn’t want the party to end. He went to bed with a little grin on his face. The next morning, after showering and shaving, after watering his plants that Starkweather again neglected and listening to his voice messages ("Agent Doggett, this is AD Skinner. I have you and Starkweather signed up for a ‘Budgeting your Bureau Bucks Better’ class in New York City. It’s a four-day seminar starting the ninth. The Bureau WITH IN REASON will compensate your room and board. This seminar is not optional. I’m still pissed about that $1200 balance you let Starkweather and Scully run up when they were preparing for that undercover mission in Sioux City. Have a happy Labor Day.") he began making phone calls….

"Hello??" Scully sounded absolutely frazzled, as she always did when she had a long stretch of undiluted Mulder time. He wondered how she put up with him will he was unemployed. "No, Will, put that down, Mulder, would you watch him??" Doggett heard Mulder in the background saying "I am watching him Scully, I think this is funnier than hell." "First of all, do not swear around the baby-"

"*Hell* is not swearing."

"- and second of all, watching him means STOPPING him when he’s being naughty… oh, I’m sorry, who is this?" "Agent Scully, its John Doggett." "Doggett," Scully sounded relieved to be talking to another adult. "Hi. How are you, Agent Doggett?" "Good, good," he thought about asking her how she was doing and then swiftly decided against it. "Say, what are you and Mul-dah doin’ later on this afternoon?" "Um… well…" Scully looked around fretfully at her completely trashed out apartment, especially at the mounting pile of case reports she needed to complete yet. Plus the laundry needed to be done, the carpets needed to be shampooed, plus she really wanted to sort through Will’s old baby clothes and give what he outgrew to the Goodwill…

She looked around at her dirty apartment again. At Will giggling as he continued to play with the pair of her good pantyhose somehow he managed to get his little chubby hands on and at Mulder with a three day old beard growth, in the grubby gray T-shirt and black sweatpants he had been living in since he announced that he wanted to spend Labor Weekend with her and the baby. Which had translated into playing with Will, but passing him off to her when he got cranky, eating junk food and watching sports. She was getting ready to severely maim him. "We don’t have plans, why?" <please invite us over, pleasepleaseplease> As much as she loved her family, Scully felt the screaming need to be with other grown-ups. "Havin’ a barbecue. Was wondering if you and Mulder wanted to come over. Bring the baby too," Doggett said grinning, as if leaving William home was an option. William, or "Boo", the nickname the Lone Gunmen adorned him after Mulder and Scully threatened certain death if they continued to call him "Spooky Jr.", definitely held a large soft spot in Doggett’s heart.

"Want us to bring anything?" Scully said, eager to get out of her filthy apartment.

"Um…" Doggett examined the contents of his refrigerator. It contained a box of Arm & Hammer and a container of milk dated August 1. "Well, I got to run to the store anyway, but if you wanna bring something, go ahead. Maybe a salad or something," he said, remembering Scully’s almost compulsive healthy eating habits.

"Alright, what time?" "Oh…. I’ll fire up the grill ‘round two or so. Come whenever." "This sounds like fun, we’ll be there."

Doggett called Reyes who jumped at the invite. She was moping over a recently failed relationship with some guy named Follmer. She didn’t give details and he didn’t pry. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that her feelings had been hurt by the way it ended so a party was perhaps not the cure-all for her heartache. But it couldn’t hurt and by the eagerness in her voice, he could tell that Reyes was tired of being sad and was ready to re-enter the world. Doggett called Skinner, but he already had plans, he was going to spend some quality time on the golf course before the autumn chill. Doggett was about to call the Lone Gunmen, but hastily, guiltily, changed his mind. He dialed the Starkweathers’ home number.

"’Lo?"

"Hey Ben, its John Doggett." "Hi." Ben said politely, coolly. "Which end of the earth are you dragging my wife to this time?" Doggett bristled. He wished Ben would grow up. Jealousy was so unbecoming to him. "Actually, I’m having a cook-out and I was wondering if you and Starkweather would like to come over."

"Who’s all coming over?" "Just a few of us from work. Mulder and Scully. Monica. That’s about it." A pause. "Yeah, that’d be alright," Ben said slowly. "I’ve been buried at the law firm all weekend. And if you can pry Jeri out of the office, that would be about a miracle. Geez, I don’t think she’s seen the sun all weekend." "Well… I’ll give her a call then."

"What do we need to bring?" "I dunno. It’s kind of potluck. I’m going to the store to get steaks and potatoes and veggie burgers." "Veggie burgers?" There was true disgust in his voice. "For Scully."

"Ah," Ben said. "Okay then, what time?" "People are going to start rolling in around two or so." "Okay, yeah, that sounds great." Ben actually sounded friendly.

"See you there then?"

"Yeah, you betcha." Doggett hung up and dialed Starkweather’s extension at the J. Edgar Hoover Building. The phone rang ten times before she picked up. "Agent Starkweather." There was pounding techo- sounding music in the background. Loud techno- sounding music. With screaming in the background. And a heavy bass beat. "You forgot to water my plants," he yelled into the phone. "Are they dead?" "No." "Well, I said I wouldn’t let them die, right?"

"No, but-" Doggett started to say but then he caught the lyrics of the song: "….Now move your big ass around So I can work on that zipper baby Tonight you’re a star And I’m a Big Dipper…." "What the hell are you listening to?" "Prince. Or rather, the Artist Formerly Known as Prince."

"PRINCE??" Doggett said, his jaw dropping. "I thought you liked hard rock."

"I do, but Ben got me hooked when we started dating. Prince’s originally from Minneapolis, did you know that? He started a kick-ass dance club downtown. " She started to sing along to the chorus:

"Gett off Twenty-three positions In a one night stand Gett off Only call ya after you say I can Gett off Let a woman be a woman And a man be a man Gett off If you want to baby, Here I am…"

"Turn that crap off." Starkweather turned the volume down instead. "So, I take it you the Skin-Man’s message about New York." "Yeah," Doggett grumbled. "Although I think it should be you and SCULLY to go to that seminar. It wasn’t me who racked up that credit card bill." "Doggett, I’m hurt and appalled," she said in a tone of voice that implied neither. "You sound as if you don’t want to take a trip to New York with me." "I don’t! Don’t take that the wrong way but I’ve got shit to do." "Why do you think I’m down here in the dungeon on a beautiful Labor Day?" Starkweather said as she continued to type away at her case report and eat Oreo cookies. "Well, anyways look on the bright side, it’s a free trip to the Big Apple. Don’t you have old friends up there still when you were with NYPD?"

"Yeah… I could give ‘em a call," Doggett mused. "But anyway, that’s not why I called." "Oh?" "I’m having a barbecue." "Will there be lots of greasy food guaranteed to plug up my arteries, causing my heart to shrivel up and give out, therefore sending me to an early grave?" "Yes." "I’m there. Need me to bring anything?"

"Nah, Ben said he was going to bring food so just bring yourself." "Ben?" Starkweather sat up in her chair, nibbling thoughtfully on her cookie. "Did you call him at the office." "No. He was at home." "At home? Huh…" There was a thoughtful pause. "Well, he must have gotten done early. Anyway, what time do I bring myself over?" "Around two or so." "Sweet. See you later." Starkweather hung up on him and buried herself into her report again. Abruptly she stopped typing and picked up the framed photograph of her wedding that sat on her cluttered desk. She folded her lips tight and muttered, "You fucking liar" through her teeth. She slammed the photograph down on her desk, took her reading glasses off, threw them on the keyboard of her computer and rubbed her temples. She put her glasses back on and got back to her work.

********************** Doggett’s backyard 8:49 PM

Doggett’s duplex had a little common area behind the building that tenants could use for grilling out or whatever. Most of Doggett’s neighbors had left for the weekend, so the green area was all theirs for the afternoon and well into the night. Doggett wheeled out his propane grill, dusty from non-use and played the master chef well into the night. Everyone ate and drank like kings. Even Scully was coaxed into ingesting some red meat into her trim little body. After they had cleaned up the food, the X-Files team continued to sit around, drink beer, like normal people.

The party, of course, did have its little snags. Mulder and Starkweather sniped at each other every chance they could. Will threw food all over, staining Reyes’s favorite white T-shirt. Ben apparently still had the green eyed monster on his shoulder for he glared at Doggett childishly every thing he and Starkweather would start joking around. Some honeybees decided to crash the party and Scully got stung. She panicked for about a minute until Mulder reassured her that it was just a "normal" bee. Then she relaxed and let Starkweather take the stinger out.

Still, it had been a great time and now the party was finally winding down now as the city faded into darkness. Scully and Doggett sat on the bench on the little porch that was attached to Doggett’s back door, sipping Jack Lynch Lemonades. Mulder was sitting alone on the stairs, drinking a Heinekens and looking at the stars. Reyes and Ben, the lone nicotine addicts, stood away from the group and each enjoyed a smoky treat. Starkweather was sitting in the grass playing with Will. She had stopped at a toy store and bought a bottle of soap bubbles and now was blowing giant bubbles at Will, who shrieked in delight and reached to touch the filmy floating orbs only to have them burst and shower them with sweet smelling sticky soap.

"Doggett," Mulder said, turning to face him, "I have to admit it, this was a great idea. I haven’t done something like this in years." He had finally changed out the ratty clothes he had been existing in at Scully’s for three days into a clean pair of jeans and a well-loved gray T-shirt. He turned to grin at Scully, who, for the first time in a too long of time, looked completely relaxed and carefree, sitting pretty in a simple sand-brown sundress that she hadn’t worn in ages. Doggett had a companionable arm over her shoulders like a protective older brother.

"Thanks," Doggett said, getting up to get another drink. "It seemed like a good idea. Dana, you want another one?" "Careful John," Reyes said with a playful grin on her serene face. The cloud of sadness finally lifted from her face, she was on her way to recovery. She finished her cigarette and walked back towards the group on the porch, her legs endless in her faded jeans. "She gets a little crazy when she gets liquored up."

"I do not," Scully protested as Reyes stole Doggett’s seat and gave her a hug.

"Right," Mulder said airily. "Everyone gets tattoos of a snake when they get liquored up."

"It’s a neat tattoo," Scully said with a pout while Doggett chuckled and shook his head.

"You have a tattoo?" Ben said in wonder as he crushed out his cigarette. "Saint Scully, my entire image of you is being shattered of you as we speak." He sat down by Mulder. Starkweather piped up, "I told you she was a rebel." "I am not," Scully continued to protest. "I’ll have one more, then I’ve got to get home. SOME of us still have to go to work tomorrow." "Who gets tomorrow off too?" Reyes asked before she noticed the Cheshire Cat’s grin on Mulder’s face. "Ahhh… the perks of working for the City." "Damn right." Mulder said as Doggett handed him another beer.

"Ben, you want one?" Doggett asked him.

"Nah, I’m fine," Ben said quickly before asking Mulder. "Man, I want your job. I get to spend all day tomorrow in the law library researching."

"Don’t be too envious," Mulder said. "I have to go out of town in a few days for conferences and they're going to be boring as hell." "Oh yeah?" Starkweather said as she continued to blow bubbles at Will, who continued to squeal in delight. "What’s that Boo? Huh? Are those pretties? Hm?" She blew more bubbles for Will to try and catch before asking Mulder. "Where are these conferences at?" "I have to spend a few days in Boston, then I’m going to LA for a few days." "Maybe you’ll get lucky and run into Tea Leoni in LA," Scully teased.

Mulder brightened. "Really? You think so?" Ever since he met her on the set of that horrid movie based on the X-Files, Mulder has had bad case of puppy love for the pretty blonde actress. "Forget it Mulder," Starkweather said as she tickled the baby gently. "She’s married to some actor named David Duchovny." Mulder’s face fell as Scully asked "Who?"

Starkweather only smiled slyly. Ben lifted the old manual camera he had been carrying around all-day and snapped a few shots of Starkweather. She had her long hair tied back with a white silk ribbon in a loose braid and was dressed simply (as always) in a sky blue T-shirt and khakis shorts, laying on her stomach in the grass, playing with Will. Ben had been a shutterbug all day, probably taking what will be the only candid shots of everyone for a long time. Doggett heaved a sigh. He couldn’t help but notice the look of sadness that shadowed Ben’s face as he watched his wife play with another man and woman’s child. Doggett knew that Starkweather’s stance on waiting for a while before they started a family was a sore spot between her and her husband. Doggett had heard all of Starkweather’s reasons for waiting, but now, watching tonight, he felt as if he was starting to understand Ben’s stance a little better. She was really good with kids. She would be a wonderful mother. Doggett brushed the thought aside. It wasn’t his place to be judging her or anyone. Ben and Jeri would work out their own issues about children without Doggett’s opinions.

"Speaking of trips," Reyes said. "When do you and John leave for New York?"

"We fly out on the eighth," Doggett said wearily.

"You don’t sound excited John." Doggett shrugged his shoulders. "Why would I be excited, Monica? I lived there for years. I really wasn’t wild about that place." "You didn’t LIKE New York?" Starkweather sat up, cradling Will against her torso. Will cuddled into his aunt’s arms.

"I’m too much a Southern boy to feel at home in a big city."

"Well, I can’t wait and I… yes, me, Miss Workaholic USA, is actually taking a little vacation and staying up in New York for a few extra days to be hopefully joined by my wonderful husband for a weekend of wining and dining…" "What?" Ben said, startled.

"Surprise, " Starkweather said with a smile as she got up from the grass, carrying Will. She sat in Ben’s lap. "I talked to your secretary, she said your schedule was pretty light for this week, so I bought a ticket for you to come out on the fourteenth and then return flights for following Sunday." Ben’s mouth dropped open and for a minute it looked like he was about to protest, but then he smiled broadly. "Well, I’ll be damned, you sneaky FBI broad."

Like an excited little girl, Starkweather started making plans. "And I want to totally geek out and be all touristy. I wanna see the Statue of Liberty, I wanna see a Broadway play ON Broadway. I wanna go to Bloomindales. I wanna see the Brooklyn Bridge. I wanna go to the Metropolitan Museum. I wanna have dinner at the Windows of the World. I wanna go to Central Park. I wanna go to the Hard Rock Café. I wanna go to the Empire State Building. I wanna see the Yankees if they’re playing a home game. I wanna go to Chinatown. I wanna-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa…" Ben laughed. "Okay, okay. We will," he promised. "I can’t believe you got the time off. This will be great." But then Ben yawned. "But I’ll have to dream about it until then. I do have to get up early tomorrow, since I slacked off today and blew off going into the office to work."

Reyes checked her watch. "Shucks, it’s only a little after nine." "Well, even us evil lawyers must sleep once in a while. Jeri, I’m going to load up the car," he said, dropping a wink to her. Starkweather smirked as she watched Mulder palm his car keys off before she got up to let Ben get up.

Scully stretched like a cat and also got up. "Doggett, do you need any help?" She came down and retrieved Will from Starkweather. "Nah," Doggett said. "We’ve got it under control. How’s your arm?"

"Oh," Scully looked at the puffy pink lump that sprung up after she had been stung. "It’s not so bad. Sorry so being such a baby when it happened, but… the last time I was stung, I had an… unusual reaction to the venom." She sat down by Mulder, who now put his arm around her shoulders. "Yeah, we read about it in the X-File," Starkweather said dryly. "Don’t apologize Scully. If a bee in stung me Mulder’s hallway and the next thing I knew was I was waking up naked in Antarctica, I wouldn’t react with dignity and grace the next time I got stung. Hell, I’m surprised you didn’t pee yourself." She picked up Ben’s camera. "Okay kids, smile." "Is it bright enough?" Mulder asked.

"Yeah, plus Ben’s got 800 speed film in here, so it’ll be okay." Starkweather lifted the camera to her eye. "Alright, say ‘They’re gray, not green!’"

"Ha," Mulder said flatly, but smiled broadly at the camera. After Starkweather took the snap, Mulder said, "Look Scully, we’re acting like normal suburbanites. Eating like pigs on a holiday weekend, getting liquored up, taking cheesy family pictures the kid will hate for taking fifteen years from now." Actually, the picture Starkweather took would be one of the best of the trio taken in that time. Mulder looking straight at the camera, his smile lighting up his entire face while Scully leaned her head on Mulder’s shoulder, her smile small and shy as it always was when someone took her picture, while Will lay contentedly in the crook of Scully’s arm, beginning to doze off.

"Yeah, Mulder," Starkweather said as she handed the camera to Reyes. "All you got to do to be the perfect all-American couple now is to slap a big ol’ diamond ring on her hand and have a big old fashioned church wedding with eight or nine bridesmaids decked out in pink chiffon." Both Mulder and Scully cringed.

"That’s scarier than the Flukeman," Mulder said.

"Hey, y’all never saw that Batman thing," Doggett argued. "Oh yeah?" Mulder said good-naturedly. "Ever been chased through a shopping mall by a creature over a hundred years old that comes out of hibernation every twenty-nine years or so to consume human livers before returning to a state of hibernation?" "Ever cut a parasitic worm out of your partner’s neck that a fanatic religion group put in there because they thought it was a god?"

"Ever been pelted by manure when a research lab exploded?"

"Ever been barfed back into life?" "What?" "I win."

"Ever give birth while a hoard of aliens looked at your exposed groin area?" Scully injected. Mulder pointed at Scully. "She wins." "Well," Starkweather said to Reyes. "There went our illusion of normalcy." "It was nice while it lasted, wasn’t it?"

"Yup."

Just then Ben returned. "Everything’s ready," he said as he handed the keys to Mulder and took the sleeping Will from Scully.

"You put the car seat in the backseat of the car, right?" Mulder said.

"Yep and Jeri is going to take the motorcycle back so you won’t have to worry about her driving William to the house." Ben said with a massive grin as he took Will to his car. "See you back at the house Jerilyn!"

"I’ll be there in a bit, hon," she called back

"What’s going on?" Scully asked bewildered.

"Ben and I are going to play house tonight. You and Mulder are probably going to go play something else," Starkweather said with a smirk.

Mulder pulled Scully up and took her aside, whispering something in her ear. Scully, acting completely un-Scully-like, put her hand to her cheek and smiled. But she wouldn’t realize that Mulder had come over and trashed her apartment on purpose because not only had the landlord finally come and repainted the walls but he had just cleaned his apartment up, for once, so she could tolerate spending the night at his place, for a change.

Doggett, grinning, sat down on the step. Starkweather sat beside him, leaned over and whispered. "You can always tell when Scully’s gonna get laid. She turns bright pink." "Oh hush," Doggett said. "Y’know, that’s real nice for y’all to take Will for the night." "Ah, its no big thing, Will’s a good kid."

Reyes, meanwhile had snapped another candid shot of Mulder and Scully standing in the security lights of the apartment lot. She turned and focused the camera on Doggett and Starkweather. "Okay, smile guys." Starkweather spontaneously threw her arms unabashedly around her partner and smiled shamelessly at the camera. Doggett started laughing when Reyes took the picture.

"Alright, I’ve got to go," Reyes said handing Starkweather the camera. "This was fun, Doggett. We’ve got to do stuff like this more often." "I agree," Starkweather chimed in. "Let me leave first and you guys help Mulder stall Scully," she said lowly. "Mulder asked me to go over to his place and light candles for him before he brings Scully home." "Awwww…" Reyes said.

"He’s being such a gentleman, he could almost pass for Southern," Doggett drawled.

"We’re going to give them both a HUGE ration of shit for this afterwards, right?" Starkweather asked.

"Oh, absolutely," Reyes said.

"Hell yeah." Doggett agreed. Starkweather grinned. "Sweet. Alright, I gotta go…."

*************************************** September 17, 2001 MSNBC Studios

Alanda nodded her head in an understanding manner as Agent Doggett finished talking about the impromptu holiday party he threw at his place. "After hearing that, would it be safe to assume that all the agents involved with the X-Files are very close?" "Well…" Agent Doggett said carefully. "We sometimes don’t always agree with each other and sometimes tempers run hot, but… we all strive to treat each other with respect. We are all on the same team y’know. We watch out for each other, even when we don’t all like each other at the time."

"Agent Starkweather," Alanda turned to the stony faced female agent. Time to try and get the lady to talk. "You almost cancelled on the seminar in New York City. What happened?" Agent Starkweather said lowly, almost too low for her microphone to pick up. "My husband caught a cold a few days prior to my leaving for New York. He was…" here she tilted her head and began to look a little more human and a little less Ice Queen. "really not feeling well. I was concerned and felt maybe I should stay home to take care of him…" *********************** September 7, 2001 Ben and Jeri’s apartment Washington DC 10:34 PM Eastern Standard Time

Jerilyn pulled the thermometer out of Ben’s mouth. "Really, honey," Ben said, his voice a croak. "I don’t feel that bad." "Uh-huh," Jerilyn said, unconvinced. "You always feel like a million bucks when you have a temp of a hundred." She looked at Ben lying in bed, shivering as he lay underneath two heavy blankets while wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of Jerilyn’s old hospital scrub pants. "Baby, I think you’ve got your annual case of bronchitis early this time." Because he was a two-pack smoker a day man, Ben had chronic bronchitis. He usually got sick in October when the weather turned cold and stayed cold. And he would stay sick for no less than a week.

"Damn," he said and coughed. "So why does my face hurt?" "Your face hurts?" Jerilyn said, her face creased in concern. "You didn’t say anything about that. Is it pain or pressure?" Ben thought for a moment. "Pressure," he finally said.

Jerilyn swept her long hair out of her face and tapped on Ben’s cheekbones gently but firmly with the tips of her two fingers. "Does that hurt?" Ben winced, "Yeah." "Do you have an headache too, baby?" Ben was coated in a cold sweat. "Yeah…" he said defeatedly. "But I’ll get over it. I’ll be able to go to New York still." Jerilyn smoothed his hair back. "Honey, no you won’t. You’ve got a triple whammy of bronchitis, a throat infection and a sinus infection. You’re out for the count for at least a week." "Aw dammit," Ben said, closing his eyes in real disappointment. "I’m sorry, honey," his shoulders shook as he coughed.

"Well," Jerilyn spooned around him, cuddling him as Caesar; their obnoxious giant tabby cat jumped up and curled up in the crook her legs, purring. "It’s not like you went up to a sickly wino and asked him to breathe on you so you would get out of going on a trip with your wife. Shit happens, you know? You can’t help this." She kissed his sweaty brow. "I’ll call Scully tomorrow and have her recommend a DC doc for us and make an appointment so he can prescribe some good antibiotics. I mean, maybe I’m being pessimistic, maybe you’ll feel better by Thursday, but I don’t think so. Besides, if you’re even just slightly sick, the cabin pressure is going to kill you. Trust me. When Dad got transferred to the Med when I was kid, I had a terrible cold when Mom and I flew over to meet him there. I wanted my head to explode, that’s how bad the pressure affected me." Ben was only half-listening, shivering. "I can’t get warm." "Ben, you’re burning up, baby," she said even though she sat up, shooed Caesar away and drew another blanket over him. She touched his forehead again. "Dammit," she whispered. She got up and paced a bit. "Screw it, I’m calling Skinner and telling him I can’t go." "Jeri, don’t do that." "Ben, I don’t want to leave you alone if you’re this sick."

"I’ll be fine," he said. "Just drug me up with whatever you got over the counter here so I can sleep. I’ll go to the doctor early tomorrow and just sleep the rest of the day. We’ve done this before and we’ll probably have to do this again as long as I’m a dumbass that smokes. The only thing that’s gonna get this shit out of me is sleep and drugs. Having you hovering around the house like a nervous Nellie is not going to speed up my recovery to health, don’t you know. ‘Sides," he opened his eyes like a sleepy little boy. "I know how much you’ve wanted to go to New York. I had a great time when I was there. One of my buddies from Drake University grew up on Staten Island. I spent a month up there visiting him with a bunch of my other buddies from college. I know how much fun you’re going to have. It’s a cool town." A sly smile crossed his lips. "Almost as cool as Minneapolis." "Now I know you’re delirious," she teased him. Then she sighed. "But I really wanted it to be a special trip for just the two of us. Ever since we moved to DC things have been…. Less than normal for us?" "That’s an understatement."

"Well, yeah, I know… but…. " she sighed. "I just thought it would be a nice surprise," she said, disappointment etched in her voice.

"It WAS, Jeri, it was an awesome surprise, but don’t bail just because of me. Ever since Doggett’s party, you have been talking nothing but New York, New York. You’ve been so excited for this trip. I mean, come on, you’ve been dying to go to New York for years now. " "I was excited because I thought you were going to join me there." "Oh, you can still geek out and be touristy without me." Ben sat up. "How about this. Let’s go over New Year’s Eve Weekend. Do you think you can get the time off for that?" "I can try, but you know I’m at the mercy of the X-Files. If a case pops up," She shrugged helplessly.

"Try," Ben said. "And if you get it off, we’ll go spend New Year’s up in New York, okay? How does that sound?" "Actually…" Jerilyn began to grin. "That does sounds kind of cool."

"Okay, then lets plan for it." Ben flopped back to bed. "Can I please have Nyquil now?" "Can you survive for just a half-hour more?" Jerilyn asked. "I’m going to run to the drug store and get some medicine that will help with the sinus pain. But first I’m going to make you a big cup of good old fashion Malone mystery tea." Ben smiled wearily. "The Lynette cure-all." Malone was Jerilyn’s adoptive mother’s maiden name. "Damn straight," Jeri said. "Not exactly cutting edge medicine, but Mom swore by it." Jeri disappeared into the kitchen to boil water. As the water began to burble from the heat, Jeri cut up an apple and a lemon. She put a teaspoon of honey, a teaspoon of sugar and a tablespoon of Irish whisky in the bottom of a giant coffee mug. She added the slices of fruit and two blackberry teabags. Finally, she added the boiling water and let the ingredients mingle and get to know each other. She slowly carried the hot mug back to the bedroom. "Sit up, Ben," she chided him. When he was, she handed him the mug. "Careful," she cautioned him as he sipped away at the steaming mix. As Ben drank down the old family concoction, Jerilyn slipped away again. She had returned when Ben drained the mug, carrying a pitcher of water and holding two vitamin C tablets in her other hand. "Just make sure you keep drinking," she told him as she poured cool water in the empty mug. "And take your vitamin C. I’m going to go to the drug store now." After Ben did as he was told, he fell into a fitful sleep where he dreamt of devils in clouds and people falling and Jerilyn screaming his name….

Doggett’s duplex 10:55 PM

Doggett had just stepped out of the shower when the phone rang. He grabbed a giant fluffy towel for decency’s sake and wrapped it around his trim waist before he made a runner’s sprint for the telephone.

"John Doggett." "Hey, Papa John, it’s me." "Starkweather, you have impeccable timing, do you know that?" Doggett said, with a grin as water from his soaked hair trickled down his face.

"You mean I caught you in the shower again?" "Yep." "Stop, you shouldn’t fill my married mind with such indecent thoughts." "What’s up Doc?" "Well, other than hunting for wabbits," Starkweather said, playing off of Doggett’s intentional pun, "I actually wanted to bounce an idea off of you." "And that is…?" "How mad do you think Skinner will be if I bail on the New York trip?"

"Pretty mad." "Now, when you say ‘pretty mad’ are we talking ‘pretty-mad-that-Scully-stood-up- to-him mad’ or ‘pretty-mad-because-Mulder-did-something-stupid’ mad." "Probably the ‘pretty-mad-because-Mulder-did-something-stupid’ mad." "Damn." "Why, what’s going on?" "Oh, Ben’s really sick and I’m just not cool on leaving him alone. " Starkweather heaved a sigh as she looked both ways before darting across the street. "I’m walking to Wal-greens right now to buy Tavist-D for him."

"Is it serious? His illness?" Doggett walked back to his bedroom to towel off and to put clean boxers on.

"Well, it’s not going to make him buy the farm if that’s what you’re asking, but he’s pretty sick and … oh, I don’t know Doggett. Part of me thinks I should stay home and take care of him….." "But…?" Doggett sighed.

Ben and Jeri’s marriage was not an easy or happy one. In their private conversations together, Mrs. Starkweather had dropped the word ‘divorce’ a time or two but never really pursued it. Doggett knew she was not happy being married to Ben anymore. Doggett personally had nothing against Ben, other than the fact that Ben was patently suspicious of his relationship with Jerilyn, which annoyed him to no end. Now if Ben had ever hit her or abused her in any way shape or form, Doggett would have personally ground him up into cat food to feed to Caesar. But other than not being supportive of Jerilyn’s career choice and running off his mouth when he was mad at her, to be perfectly honest, in Doggett’s mind, there were no grounds for divorce. As much as he treasured Jerilyn as his partner and friend, he was realistic about her too. She was a selfish bitch a lot of the time. But then again, so was Ben. It was the classic American marriage of both parties wanting their own cake and eating it too, but having no intentions of sharing with their partner. But he also figured out that the two still loved each other. It was not a healthy situation for either one of them. But they loved each other, so there was still hope.

"He lied to me about being at the office Monday." "I thought he said he blew off work on Labor Day." Doggett said, sitting on his bed.

"He left for the firm before I left for J. Edgar and I left at eight o’clock."

"Maybe he got sick of it and came home early." "Maybe…"

Doggett blurted out the obvious "You think he’s cheating on you?" "No," Starkweather said quickly. "No, because one, that’s not in Ben’s nature, two, even if his nature changed to be a cheater, he knows I’ll kill him if he starts screwing around and three, all the women at his law firm are ugly."

Doggett chuckled. "So what’s the big deal?" "I don’t know," Starkweather said as she walked into the Wal-greens, "It’s just making me…" "Suspicious?" "Concerned," Starkweather started to pace the aisles, looking for the right medicines.

"I think you’re makin’ mountains outta molehills." "Do you?" "I do." Doggett said as he pulled the covers of his bed back and got in. "Unless you think he’s fakin’ this sickness." "Oh no," Starkweather said breathlessly. "No, I checked him out. His lungs are clogged, his throat is inflamed and he has a very high temperature."

"But it’s not serious?" "He won’t die from it, no." "And you don’t think that Ben’s cheating on you?" "No!" Now Starkweather sounded offended that he would even mention the possibility.

"Then I would say," Doggett said yawning as he turned off the lamp. "To pack your bags ‘cause I don’t think Skinner’ll let you off the hook because your husband’s got the flu and you caught him in a white lie." "He has bronchitis, and you’re right," Starkweather said. "But I don’t think I’ll stay the extra days in New York like I planned. I think I’ll just fly home with you and use my time off with Ben at home." "That’s smart thinkin’…. I’m sorry Doc, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m dead tired…" "No, it’s cool. I’m sorry I called so late." "Forget about it. I just hope Ben feels better." "Me too. Am I picking you up tomorrow night?" "Nah, I’m going to stay late at the office and catch a cab to the airport." "Alright, see you tomorrow then." "Good night," Doggett switched off the phone and fell asleep.

********************************** Meanwhile…. Scully’s apartment

Her cell phone rang. Scully, clad in a soft blue short sleeve pajamas top and a pair of Mulder’s boxers, padded out into the living room where she had left it and answered "Hello?" "Scully, it’s me." "Hi," Scully sat down in her favorite easy chair. "How’s Beantown?" "Oh, I’m just havin’ a wicked time here in Baw –ston, havin’ beers in the yard," Mulder shamelessly desecrated the infamous Bostonian accent.

"How are the conferences?" "Boring as hell," Mulder reverted to his normal monotone. "And guess what? They’ve extended it, so now I get to fly out to LA on the eleventh instead of the ninth. Whee."

"What’s the flight number?" Scully asked.

"American Airlines Flight 11, leaving at 7:59 in the morning. At least it’s not a red- eye flight so I can’t complain too much."

"Oh Mulder," Scully said. "So does that mean you’ll be staying in LA longer too?" A pause. "Well, that’s what I called to talk to you about," he said in that hesitant tone he always used when he had to tell her something that she wasn’t going to like very much.

"What?" Scully sat up immediately, recognizing that tone.

"I’m going to stay an extra week in Los Angeles." "Why?" The question came out, very frosty.

"Last week, someone, someone who used to work very deeply in the Syndicate but got out and now is living in hiding approached the Lone Gunmen via email. He said he had information." "What KIND of information?" "Information about something very personal to us." "Mulder," Scully said, now getting out of her chair. "You called me on my cell phone which you know is a secure line and I’m assuming you’re calling from your cell too, so cut this beating around the bush and tell me. What information?" "About William." Scully folded her lips tightly together. "No." "Scully, listen-" "No, Mulder, YOU listen. We’ve discussed this before. I refuse to have my child turned into an X-File." "Scully, he may have the answers for us," Mulder pleaded. "How William came to be. How a barren woman could produce a child against all scientific odds?" "For once in my life, I don’t give a damn about science. Not in this case. William came to be because of faith. YOU, of all people, told me not to give up on a miracle," Scully seethed. "And I didn’t. I do not want that miracle to be dissected."

"Even if that means sacrificing his safety? Just because they didn’t take him at birth doesn’t mean they aren’t waiting until a later date to take him." "They aren’t going to take him!" Scully cried out. "Krycek’s theory of Will being ‘more human than human’ has already been disproved, Will has had all the ailments normal to an infant. Teething, earaches, colic, hell, Mulder, he had the chicken pox just a few weeks ago!"

"We both know that Krycek’s a liar." Mulder pointed out, "And I think you and I both deserve to know the truth." "I don’t want to know the truth. Not this time," Scully snapped. "I am just grateful that I was able to have a son. A healthy, happy son. That I love. That’s all the truth I need to know. And if that’s all I need to know, what more do YOU need to know." Painfully, Mulder said again, "I need to know how he came to be." "What does it matter?" Scully fumed. Then softly, dangerously, she asked again, "What does it matter, Mulder?"

In his hotel room, Mulder now was pacing furiously, still fully dressed in the three- piece suit that he wore when he delivered his speech about the importance of city-to-city cooperation when it came to the matters of welfare and poverty in each city’s own slums. "It matters Scully because even though Krycek was a liar, there was always one grain of truth in his fields of deception. I believe that William is special, I believe that your fertility was returned to you not by an Act of God, but by the whims of selfish men and militant beings not of this world. I believe there’s a greater plan out there that we, in nine years, haven’t even began to scratch and I believe that William is central to it and if I meet this person in LA-" "How do you know this person who contacted the Lone Gunmen isn’t a liar? Or a nutcase? Or- or maybe he, she, whatever WAS part of the Syndicate but never left? What if it’s just another elaborate lie to trap you, to kill you? Even though you aren’t officially a federal agent in the X-Files anymore, Mulder, YOU’RE still a threat to them, YOU still know too much." "Scully, pretending that William is just a normal little boy is not going to help him in the future. Look at Starkweather and her childhood. The Baileys tried to deny what she is and-" "What is she Mulder?" Scully challenged him. "And do you have proof to back it up?" "The fact that she was tortured when she was just an infant, torture that is consistent to alien experimentation. The fact that she displayed abnormal psychological behavior during the first six years of her life. The fact that she and her adoptive mother were abducted and were missing for over six months. The fact that when she was returned, her intelligence went off the charts." "But does that MATTER, Mulder? Does any of that really matter to you?" "There are still people and other entities trying to kill her," Mulder pointed out "That matters deeply to me." "Starkweather is a decorated retiree from the United States Air Force. She is a highly trained, exceptionally competent federal agent. She is a bright young woman who can take care of herself. She is also your half-sister and my friend, who I trust completely and I ask nothing more of her, so why should you?" "Because the Admiral asked us too." "The Admiral was wrong." Scully said bluntly. "The Admiral was wrong to lie to her for all these years about her origins and then to use deceit to protect her." "Isn’t that what we’re doing now? Lying to William? About his origins?" "William can’t even talk yet so how are we lying to him?" "Someday, Scully, he will be able to talk and ask questions and how can I stand there and not have answers for him? What am I supposed to tell him, oh well, your mother couldn’t get pregnant and then *poof * there you were? Should I throw the Angel Gabriel in there while I’m at it?" Scully shot back, "THAT’S why you’re doing this! It has nothing to do with William’s safety or the alien invasion or the X-Files or anything like that! This has to do with the fact that you’re worried that you’re not really William’s father. That it may be someone or something else’s son." "I would still be there for William to be his father even if was ET who had come down and gotten jiggy with you," Mulder’s tone was nasty. The entire discussion had turned nasty. "But, since you brought it up, yes, I still have questions. I still have concerns. And it has nothing to do with the inglorious male ego. "

"Bullshit," Scully snapped. "If you are so determined to be here to be William’s father, then you need to grow up and act like it. Being William’s father doesn’t mean running off on a wild goose chase. It doesn’t mean showing up at the apartment when you feel like it, playing with William when you feel like it then handing him off to me when he gets cranky. It’s means that you are HERE for him. As a role model. As an authority figure. As someone who will love him unconditionally no matter what he does or who he is or who his biological father may be." "You make me sound like I’m a dead-beat dad," Mulder said resentfully.

"If you keep running after shadows instead of spending time with Will, then you are," Scully countered.

"I’m running after shadows for William." "No, you’re running after shadows for yourself, Mulder." "What are you saying?" "I’m saying," Scully’s voice trembled with mother-bear rage, "I’m saying that if you go to Los Angeles to meet this man, then don’t bother coming back here," and she swiftly hung up the phone and turned it off. Mulder stared at his cell phone incredulously. "God damn it," he swore. He started to re-dial, but changed his mind. He took his tie off with a furious jerk, shrugged off his jacket and slung it across the room along with the vest. He paced in his hotel room for a bit, biting his lip. Then he picked up his wallet and went down to the hotel’s well-stocked bar.

September 9, 2001 Holiday Inn Conference Room 1-B Newark, New Jersey 1:35 PM Eastern Standard Time

The lecturer was a little pedantic middle-aged man with a bad comb-over. His thick glasses kept slipping off his face as he wrote on the chalkboard. He had a worse monotone than Mulder and as he droned on and on and on, Doggett felt like he was back in seventh grade algebra. He looked around the room. The other field agents assigned to the ‘Budgeting your Bureau Bucks Better’ all had the same glazed eyed, slack-jawed expressions of extreme boredom on their faces. One agent was actually falling asleep, but jerking himself back awake, then slowly start nodding off again. The seminar started at ten-thirty and lasted until four o’clock in the afternoon with a half-hour break for lunch at twelve-thirty.

Doggett didn’t know if he could stand three more days of this drudgery. He thought of the mounting paperwork on his desk and groaned to himself. He looked over at Starkweather. She was ostentatiously ignoring the lecturer, staring out the window, chin cupped in her hand, lower lip stuck out in a pout. The magnificent skyline created by Lower Manhattan was clearly visible from the window. It was a gloriously cool yet comfortable autumn day in New York. Doggett, coming from a climate that rarely changed season to season had forgotten how he did enjoy New York autumns, how blue the skies were, how the vibrant the crimson and gold the leaves turned into at Central Park, how the even the smog would smell good.

Doggett knew that Starkweather truly hated Skinner at the moment, who told them both that the seminars were in New York City. Actually, the seminar was taking place in a crappy airport hotel in Newark, New Jersey but it was temptingly close enough to New York to drive Starkweather insane. She could see clearly the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center. She sighed mournfully.

"Agent Starkweather," the lecturer, one Leslie Miscotti, put his hands on his hips like an old schoolmaster and glowered at the daydreamer, "are you paying attention?" "Yes sir," Starkweather droned, not even giving him the common courtesy of turning her head to look at him, so enchanted by the exciting city across the river.

"Then what did I just say?" Doggett expected him to start tapping his foot.

"’That we, as servants of the public good and defenders of crime on a national scale, have an awesome responsibility to manage the money allotted to us for personal expenditures during missions of extreme secrecy for those monies come out of the pockets of Mr. And Mrs. Taxpayer who do not want their funds to be wasted any more then we would want ours to be.’" Starkweather quoted him verbatim as she continued to stare out the window.

Befuddled, Miscotti fumbled through his notes. "Um… yes…. Yes… very good Agent Starkweather, very good. As I was saying…" Under her breath to Doggett, Starkweather mumbled "Bueller… Bueller…"

Doggett covered his grin with his hand. Lowly he mumbled, "Bet your teachers hated you in high school." Starkweather whispered back "Elementary, middle school, high school, college, med school, tech school, Quantico... they ALL hated me."

"That’s a little harsh." Starkweather shrugged. "Teachers get pissed when they have a student smarter than they are." " Of course your attitude had nothing to do with it." "My attitude was perfect. I was an angel. Pure as the driven snow." "Bullshit." "Agent Doggett, is there something you want to share with the class?" Miscotti demanded.

Starkweather snickered. Doggett somehow produced a beatific smile and said, "Oh no sir, I was just asking my partner here to catch me up a little since she has SUCH an amazing memory." He winced after Starkweather kicked him in the shin.

"Oh, well… Agent Doggett, if you are having trouble keeping up, please let me know, I CAN go slower." There was an audible groan throughout the class. Starkweather finally turned her head to glare at her partner. "Thanks a lot," she whispered as the lecturer began droning on again.

Later on that day, The hotel lobby 4:54 PM

"He let us go forty-five minutes late," Starkweather fumed, storming out of the Conference room.

"You keep blamin’ me as if I had somethin’ to do with the fact that his tongue moves slower than roadkill." "Loverly imagery." Starkweather plunked down in a chair and pulled out her cell phone.

"What are you going to do for the rest of the night?" Doggett asked. "First I’m going to call Ben and see how he’s feeling," she said as she started dialing. "Then I don’t know. You?" Doggett pulled two tickets out of his jacket pocket. Starkweather stared at them. "It ain’t the Yankees but…" "A Mets game!" Starkweather squealed in delight. "Oh you are a prince!"

"I know," Doggett said humbly. "So hey, make your call and hurry up and change, unless you WANNA wear that to a ball game," he pointed to her black skirt and maroon sweater-set.

"Oh, hell no," Starkweather said as she put the phone to her ear and started to walk away from him, "Meet you down here in fifteen minutes, hello? Oh, hi Ben… oh… honey… you sound awful…."

Ben was lying on the couch with a cold washcloth on his head and Caesar on his stomach. He had almost completely lost his voice and could barely whisper. "Believe it or not, Jeri, I feel a lot better today. How’s New York?" "I don’t know, I haven’t been there yet," Starkweather fumed. "Skinner played a delightful little joke on us. The seminar is actually in Newark." "Ouch." "Yeah, I can SEE New York from my hotel room window." "Jeez," Ben coughed as he channel surfed "I don’t feel so guilty about not being able to come up. Are you going to go have ANY fun this week?" "Well, I just found out that Doggett scored tickets to a Mets game, so that will be fun, but other than that… probably not." Ben frowned. Jerilyn and Doggett together at a baseball game. Sounded cozy to him. But she sounded really down, so Ben made the monumental effort to push his jealous aside to say, "Please don’t nerd out and stay in ‘cause I can’t be there. I’ll feel bad." Starkweather smiled as she let herself into her room. "Well… maybe I’ll go see the Statue of Liberty tomorrow…" "Take pictures." "I will. I gotta get out of this skirt. Feel better, baby, okay?" "Working on it. Catch a foul ball for me." "I’ll try. Love you." "Love you too," Ben said and hung up. He coughed and shivered and muttered. "Damn."

Shea Stadium Flushing, Queens 11:45 PM

Doggett and Starkweather were making their way down the stairs of the stadium. Like an excited schoolgirl, Starkweather kept chattering about the game had just ended. "… and oh my God, did you see that last pitch? Un-by-God-believably horrible."

"What was the matter with his pitch?" Doggett asked.

"Oh, come on, Doggett, he pitched like a girl."

Just then, Doggett accidentally bumped into a smaller man trying to also maneuver down the stairs. The man’s popcorn bucket flew to the ground. "Hey, watch it budd-" the man growled in a thick New Yorker’s tough man accent, but then his brown eyes widened in recognition. "Well, I’ll be god damned." He reached over and shook Doggett’s hand vigorously. "I’ll be god damned. Wha’cha thinkin’ you doin’, sneakin’ inta town without calling me, you red necked bastard?" "Hey, I was gonna give you a call tomorrow night. I didn’t think I’d run into you at the game." Starkweather noted with amusement that the New York side of his hybrid accent was overpowering the Southern drawl.

"Ahhh.. forget about it, hello, who do we have here?" The man with the big friendly brown eyes and thick black shock of hair finally noticed Starkweather standing beside Doggett. "Doggett, did you finally get yourself a new woman?" "Kind of," Doggett finally made proper introductions. "Mickey, this is my partner, Agent Jerilyn Starkweather. Starkweather, this is my old partner from the NYPD, Jason Mick." "Howya doin’," Jason Mick took Starkweather’s hand.

"Nice to meet you," Starkweather said.

"Hey, Doggett, she’s kinda cute." "Hey, Mick," Starkweather waved her left hand about. "She’s kinda married." "And she’s a smart ass, I like her already."

Doggett grinned. "Thanks, I think I’ll keep her." "So hey Doggett, when are you gonna offer to buy me a beer?" "Aw, shit, here we go," Doggett groaned in good humor. "I think its YOU who owes me a beer." "Yeah yeah, whatever. Anyways, how’ve you been, man?" Mick punched Doggett affectionately on his shoulder.

"Doin’ good, doin’ good." "What brings you to New York." "Seminars." "Ahhh," Mick crinkled his face, making him look like a little monkey. "You suits and your seminars. Hey, tell you what. A bunch of us from the old prescint is meeting out for beers after the game. You should come. Bring the dame along too," he winked at Starkweather too quickly when he said the politically incorrect noun for "woman" so Starkweather knew off the bat he was only teasing her. "Come on man, the guys would love to see ya."

Doggett turned to Starkweather. "Do you mind?" Even if she did, there was no way Starkweather would deprive her friend of his fun. "Mind? Why would I mind? Let’s go."

"Alright, we’re meetin’ at Sully’s. You remember where Sully’s is?" "How could I forget?" Doggett said, patting his friend on the back. "I’ll see you there." "I BETTER see you there." Mick threatened as he hurried to catch up to his friends while yelling "Hey, guys, guess who’s here?" Starkweather turned to Doggett with a grin. "Did he say meet at Scully’s?" "No, you misheard. It’s Sully’s. It’s an Irish pub and… well, you’ll see for self. You did say you wanted to… what was the phrase… ‘geek out and be all touristy?’"

"Yeah??" Doggett grinned, "Come on then, Mrs. Starkweather, New York don’t get much better than an Irish bar after the Mets lose."

Sully’s Irish Pub Flushings, Queens 1:45 AM

There was a lot of back patting and hand shaking going on when Doggett entered the bar. As Starkweather watched Doggett go from old friend to old friend, Starkweather realized that this man had been universally adored by all of his former co-workers. <<Why did he leave all of this?>> she wondered as the beer began to flow as freely as the good cheer was. <<Man, if I had friends like this back at my old field office, I would have never left Minneapolis for DC>> she reflected with a twinge of jealousy. Starkweather and her first partner hated each other and her relationship with her ex-boss was not much better.

"Doggett, hey Doggett," Mickey was dragging a good looking youth to him. "Guess whose here?" Doggett did a double take. "Danny???" he exclaimed as he reached out to shake his hand. "Little Danny Mick?"

"Hey, I haven’t been ‘little’ in years!" The handsome man with the velvet brown eyes protested with a smile.

"Who’s this?" Starkweather asked.

‘This is my baby brother, Daniel Mick," Mickey said proudly. "Just got done with firefighter trainin’. He’s with Engine 47 now. The yutz." He thudded his brother proudly. Danny, not as boisterous as his older brother, grinned shyly.

"I used to coach him in Little League," Doggett groaned. "Are you old enough to even BE in here??" "I turned twenty-one two months ago," Danny grinned broadly.

"Oh my God," Doggett groaned as he allowed himself to be herded to a giant round table. "I feel old." "You ARE old," Starkweather reminded him.

"YOU shut up," Doggett fired back cheerfully.

Mickey laughed, "I like you so much," he said to Starkweather as he bought a round of beers for everybody. "How did you get stuck with this schmuck?" "I pissed off my superior in Minneapolis and got transferred to DC." "Everybody’s a comedian," Doggett said.

"Well, you provide so much material." "Yeah, well, don’t quit your day job, you little brat."

"Speaking of little brats," Mickey said to Doggett, "the girls will kill me if they knew that Uncle John was in town and didn’t come and see them."

"How are the girls?" Doggett said with a smile. "I don’t know if I’d even recognize them if I saw them now." "Yeah, well, they’d recognize your ugly mug anywhere. Cindy still talks about the year you dressed up for Santa Claus for them." "Awwwww…." Starkweather cooed.

Mickey whipped out his wallet to show Doggett and Starkweather the school photos of his kids. All three girls had his dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, although the youngest child had a head full of ringlets while the older two did not. "Cindy just had a birthday, she’s fifteen now and oh my God, determined to send me and her mother to an early grave. She’s doin’ okay in school, more concerned about cheerleading and dating than studyin’ but whatever, she’s not getting in any trouble. Claudia’s a senior in high school this year and her mother’s already getting empty nest syndrome. Claud’s the book smart one and she’s talking Yale or Harvard or Stanford and I just look at her and say ‘On a cop’s paycheck? Are you kidding me???’ But she’ll do good, she’ll get scholarships. And Laurie, our baby, just turned twelve last month. Still a daydreamer. Likes to do artsy fartsy stuff, but that’s okay."

"I haven’t seen Laurie since she was a toddler," Doggett said with wonder tempered with a little sadness in his voice.

Mickey put the pictures away. "Didn’t mean to open up old wounds, man." "Naw, it’s alright. Order me another beer, I gotta go to the men’s room," Doggett said as he slipped away.

Mickey quaffed the rest of his beer, "Aw shit," he muttered.

"What?" Starkweather asked.

"You two seem pretty tight, so I’m taking a chance and assuming that you know about his boy, right?" Starkweather nodded. "He doesn’t like to talk about him much, but yeah, I know. It’s…" she shook her head, "horrible what happened to that child. I can not imagine cruelty like that. It’s beyond words." "Yeah, well, Doggett not only don’t like talking about it, he don’t like bein’ reminded of it either. His kid and my youngest, Laurie, used to play together," Mickey said sadly. "It’s a damn shame, a damn shame. He’s a good guy, Doggett. Didn’t deserve to have what happened to him, happen." "I know," was all Starkweather could say before Doggett returned.

"I hate to break up the party," Doggett said, checking his watch. "But it’s getting late and we still have to get to Jersey." "Hey, whaddya doin’ tomorrow night?" Mickey asked. Before Starkweather and Doggett could answer, Mickey told them "Come over to our house for dinner."

"You sure Minni won’t mind us droppin’ in such short notice?" Doggett asked.

Starkweather snorted. "Minni???" she asked. "Like, Mickey and Minni?"

Half-drunk and affable, Mickey thumped her on the shoulder like a buddy. "Hardy-har-har."

Doggett smiled at her "Yeah, you just keep talkin’….. Ben and Jeri." "Oh shut up."

"You know Minn would be thrilled to see you again." Mickey stood up, stretched and yawned. "And the girls." "You up for it, Starkweather?" Doggett asked his partner.

<<So much for the Statue of Liberty>> Starkweather thought but said agreeably "Hey, as long as we aren’t imposing…" she yawned halfway through her sentence. "Sorry."

"Forget about it," Mickey waved his hand. He took a bar napkin and scrawled an address and phone number. "We’ve moved up in the world," he said proudly. "I’m just down here tonight to hang out with Danny," he thumped his brother on the back "and the guys." "Manhattan?" Doggett said. "So those skims off of busted drug deals finally paid off," he joked with him.

"Hey, I gave you fair deal, ninety-ten split. No, actually, its Minni’s money we’re living off of. She’s got a great job now, corporate lawyer. I keep telling her I can quit the force and be a house husband. I am perfectly secure in my masculinity and have no problem doing laundry and watching soap operas. She said no." "Imagine that." Doggett shook his head.

"So we’ll see you tomorrow." "Yeah, we’ll be there. It’s be great to see Minn and the girls again." "Looks like the party’s breaking up. Better get home." Mickey checked his watch. "Minn’s gonna raise hell." He shrugged his shoulders as if to say "Oh well." After a long and projected goodbye from Mickey and the rest of the guys Doggett used to work with, Starkweather found herself alone with Doggett. Doggett quickly lost the joviality he carried all night and relapsed into his seriousness. Starkweather rubbed her arms as they waited for a cab to come.

"Cold?" Doggett asked her.

"A little, but I’ll live." Starkweather said, tucking her hands into her jean pockets. "They were nice," she said lamely.

"Yeah," Doggett said, looking off into the distance.

"You had no intentions of calling any of them, did you?"

"Why do you say that?" "Well, because Mickey seems like a great guy and he was thrilled to see you. And he’s invited both of us, and he barely knows me, to his house tomorrow…" Starkweather trailed off, aware of Doggett’s icy blue eyes boring into her, flashing a message that said ‘Don’t go there.’ "It’s just a mystery, that’s all," she finished.

Doggett was quiet for a long time, up until the time a cab finally cruised past and Doggett hailed it like a New York pro. He was quiet until the cab took them back to the Stadium where their rental car was waiting. He was quiet in the parking lot. He was quiet until he pulled out of the lot and they were heading back to New Jersey. "Those guys bring back a lot of memories." Doggett finally said. "Some good. Some not so good. I wanted to call them. But I didn’t know if I was going to or not."

"But you hung out with your old Marine buddies Labor Day weekend. What’s the difference with your cop buddies?" "It just is," he said firmly.

It was on the tip of Starkweather’s tip to ask him if his reluctance to look up old New York acquaintances had anything to do with his ex-wife or his poor little son. But the silence she kept. She had no desire to break the cardinal rule of "Thou Shalt Not Inquire into My Past" with her friend. <<When he’s ready to tell me, he will. If he doesn’t tell me, then it’s none of my business.>> She yawned and nestled her head against the window and closed her eyes.

Doggett looked over to her, smiled a little, then turned his attention to the wilderness of roads that the urban jungle created. *******************************************************************************************

September 10, 2001 10:35 AM Dr. Patrick Roberts’ office Washington DC

"There we go," Dr. Roberts cooed as he finished giving little William his last booster shot. William’s face puckered up and big tears rolled down his puppy-fat cheeks. Scully wanted to cry right along with him.

As Dr. Roberts handed William to Scully, he said, "I’m never sure, during these kinds of check-ups, whose it’s worse for. The baby or the mom." "Oh," Scully was still teary eyed. "We’ll be fine." "Well, the good news is that William is in perfect health," Dr. Roberts said, tickling underneath William’s chin. The baby was at first unsure about this, after all, this big person just poked him with a needle which didn’t feel good at all. But eventually he was squealing in delight, batting the doctor’s big finger with his little hands. "Although I did see some evidence of an ongoing rash. You may want to switch laundry detergent." "Oh… that might be left over spots from chicken pox," Scully said.

"Chicken pox?" "He and his… dad," it took Scully a little bit to say "Dad" since "Dad" may be out of the picture if, in Scully’s opinion, didn’t get his head out of his butt, "had the chicken pox a few weeks ago." "Ms. Scully," Dr. Roberts said, putting his big shiny pen on the counter. "I’ve been a pediatrician for over twenty years now. I can tell you with perfect confidence that your son did not have the chicken pox. This is irritation from a harsh laundry detergent." "But…" Scully faltered, remembering Alex Krycek’s words: **More human than human.** No human weakness, no human frailty. "But… he had spots all over him… on his head even…" A sickness invaded her stomach as she nervously clutched William to her.

Dr. Roberts sighed. "Do you use the same detergent for everything of William’s? His hats? His socks?" "Well, yes… but he was running a fever too." "Some babies do run temps when teething and this little guy," he tickled William under his chin again. William giggled and his eyes darted around, checking out all the neat objects in this strange room. He spied the shiny silver fountain pen and reached for it. Neither Scully or the doctor paid him any mind. "I’m a doctor too," Scully protested. "And I can assure you, William had the chicken pox." "Ms. Scully," Dr. Roberts said. "I deal with kids day in and day out. I’m sorry, but you still have the chicken pox to look forward too. William did not have them." The pen went skittering to the floor. Dr. Roberts looked down. "Huh…" he muttered, confused. As he bent down to retrieve his pen, he said, "Ms. Scully, all it is, is a simple irritation of the skin." He put the pen back on the counter and pulled himself up. "Babies has extremely sensitive skin. I would recommend switching-" he then finally saw that Scully’s face was pale as snow. "Ms. Scully? Are you alright?" He touched her hand in concern. It was clammy. Her eyes were wide and staring down at William, who was reaching for the pen again. "Ms. Scully, are you sure you’re not ill? You’re white as a ghost." Sure enough, as the doctor, with his back turned to the pen, while he continued to ask if Scully was all right, the pen stirred, then rolled off the counter. The doctor turned around. "Well… hm… this counter must be crooked."

"Um… thank you Dr. Roberts," Scully said. "I’ll… I’ll do as you say… um… we have to go." She bolted from the doctor’s office.

Dr. Roberts scratched her head. What got into her? He shrugged. New mothers.

Scully fairly fled from the clinic, clutching William. The boy, sensing something was not right, began to snuffle and whine.

With shaking hands, she proceeded to buckle him into his car seat. William, now scared, began to cry full out. "It’s okay, it’s okay…." Scully whimpered as she tried again and again to snap the clasp of the car seat. " She gave up and took him out of the car seat. William was sobbing now and Scully clung to him with tears streaming down her own face, leaning against the car, not caring who saw her. "It’s going to be okay, sweet William," she promised him as she kissed him. "Everything’s going to be alright."

Later that night… 6:14 PM Eastern Standard Time Jason and Minerva Mick’s apartment Manhattan, New York

"Wow," Starkweather said as Minerva took her coat as well as Doggett’s. "What a great place." "Thank you," Minn looked to be a down-to-earth housewife. Who would have guessed, with her plump, pink cheeks and Phantom of the Opera sweatshirt and well-worn jeans that she was a devilishly clever corporate lawyer. "Someday, we hope to get a house, but it’s just so convenient to live in the city. Plus, the girls aren’t complaining." With a smile, she called out, "Girls, the company’s here!"

Three beautiful girls, slender and dark-haired, like ravens they flew into the living room. "Omigod!!" The eldest, Claudia, squealed. "Ma, you didn’t tell us it’d be Uncle John!" She ran for him and hugged him around the neck.

"Claud, I don’t like that kind of talk. No cussing," her mother admonished her, but the lecture was tempered with a smile.

The middle girl, Cynthia, also attacked Doggett. "Hey Uncle John, where’s your red suit and sleigh?" she teased. "Left them up at the North Pole," Doggett freed himself from the girls. "Wow… I hardly recognize you guys. Y’all went and grew up on me." "’Y’all," Cindy snickered. "Pop’s right, he’s still a redneck." "Cindy," her mother said. "Be nice." "I’m ALWAYS nice, Mother." The youngest daughter, Laurel, lingered in the doorway, hesitating. Doggett approached her and crouched down. "Hi," he said kindly. "Do you remember me at all?" God, she was so tall and pretty now. She had been practically a baby when he saw her last.

She looked up at him shyly with her giant doe-eyes. "You’re Luke’s daddy, weren’t you?" she finally whispered.

Doggett smiled at her. "Yeah… I am." He swallowed down the giant lump in his throat. "C’mere, lemme introduce you to a friend of mine." He took Laurie’s hand and walked her over to Starkweather, who was already being interrogated by Claudia and Cindy.

"You’re a **doctor** too!!! Wow. How did you decide you wanted to be a doctor? I graduate this May and I can hardly figure out what school I wanna go to, let alone what I wanna BE yet." "Well…" Starkweather said. "It did take me awhile to figure it out. I mean, I don’t practice medicine, I’m a FBI agent like Doggett…. I mean… John." "You don’t call ‘em by his first name?" Claudia was aghast at this breach of protocol.

Cindy saw Doggett and Laurie approaching them, hand in hand. "Hey runt," she teased her.

"I’m NOT a runt," Laurie fired back.

"Can we call you by your last name?" Cindy asked Starkweather.

"Only if you prefix it with a ‘Mrs.’" Minn frowned at Cindy’s lack of grace. "I raised you better than that, young lady." She disappeared into the kitchen. "Sorry," Cindy muttered, not sounding very sincere.

"So, anyway, MRS. Starkweather," Claudia frowned at Cindy before going on. "How did you FINALLY decide on being an FBI agent?" Jason Mick burst through the door. "Don’t scare off the company," he told the girls. "Go help your mother." As the three girls reluctantly joined their mother, Mickey shook Doggett’s hand. "Glad you could come. Find the place alright?" "No problem," Doggett said. "Wow, when you said you and Minn moved up in the world… you weren’t kidding. This is a great place."

Mickey beamed. "Ain’t it something? Let’s go out on the balcony. Hon? Need anything?" he called to Minn in the kitchen. "I’m fine. Dinner’ll be ready in about fifteen minut- no, Cindy, the spoon goes on the RIGHT hand side, next to the knife. I swear, child….." Mickey hooked his arm through Starkweather’s. "Mrs. Starkweather, if I could escort you to the balcony.

The balcony itself was not that big, four people could maybe fit on it comfortably, but the view was spectacular. "Oh…. Wow….." Starkweather looked at the skyline. "This is incredible… I wish I would have brought my camera." "So…" Mickey said with a grin to Starkweather. "You likin’ New York so far?" Starkweather grinned. "When I’m actually IN New York, I love it. I haven’t had much of an opportunity to do the tourist thing yet."

"You know what?" Mickey was hit by a brainstorm. "You know what would be fun? Ever hear of the Windows of the World?" Starkweather smiled broadly and nodded her head "We should go tomorrow night. You can see the whole city from there. It’s awesome. Took Minn there for her birthday last month." Starkweather, like a little girl, turned to Doggett. "Can we go????" Doggett, still a little shaken by Laurie’s insight. "Huh? Oh… sure… that would be great."

Minn came out. "Dinner’s ready. Sorry there won’t be any wine with the dinner, but we don’t drink in front of the girls. Once they’re in bed for the night, we can break out the cocktails." "Hey, honey, wanna go to the Windows of the World for dinner tomorrow?" Mickey asked her. "Honey, we can’t. I’ve got a PTA meeting for Laurie’s school tomorrow and you’re working a late shift."

"Oh," Mickey looked crushed. "That’s right, I forgot."

"Why don’t you three do a breakfast?" Minn suggested.

"They do breakfasts?" Mickey asked. Minn shrugged. "I don’t see why not. Come on, let’s not talk about breakfast. It’s dinner time and I have a beautiful lamb roast that’s getting cold…" she put her arm around Mickey’s waist and led him through the living room towards the kitchen.

Starkweather looked sideways at Doggett as they followed. "You okay?" she murmured, concern shining in her eyes, those dark, strange Mulder-eyes.

Doggett smiled at her. She must have overheard Laurie’s comment to him. The woman missed nothing. "Sure," he said. "It’s okay." Starkweather patted him on the back and smiled sympathetically as they went to dinner.

Meanwhile Ben and Jeri’s apartment Washington DC

Ben, head aching, at first was going to let the answering machine take the call. But when he heard a familiar voice say "Jerilyn? Ben? It’s me," Ben rolled off the couch to answer. "Hi Jeremy," Ben said to his father-in-law, stifling a cough. "Ben, hi… are you alright?" The Admiral Jeremy Bailey asked him. "Oh, just fighting a cold. How are you sir?" Ben said, hating himself for being so stiff and chilly. On the other side, this man, who had adopted Jerilyn as an infant was just recently exposed for being a part of the dreaded Syndicate. That foul and secret organization who stole away Mulder’s full sister Samantha, implanted chips into Scully’s neck to give and take away cancer, not mention give and take away fertility, murdered Mulder’s father, murdered Scully’s sister and may have done terrible things to Jerilyn when she was a helpless baby. Plus the Admiral’s involvement with the Syndicate nearly got Ben killed for the simple fact that he was the poor mortal who married Jerilyn. Ben never really got over that.

But dammit, he seemed to be such a frail and broken man. Ben still had trouble believing that the Admiral was capable of what he was accused of.

"Not too bad, not too bad. I just… I wanted to call to say…" the Admiral sighed, giving up. "She still won’t talk to me, will she, son?" he asked mournfully.

Ben sighed too. "I’m sorry Jeremy," Ben said sincerely. "She’s still really upset over what happened." "You know I did everything I could to get you out of that mess, Ben." Ben wanted to believe him. He lit a cigarette and remembered being beaten and drug out of his motel room. Thrown into a trunk of a car. Told Jerilyn was murdered. Left to die in a burning warehouse building. If Scully and that funny little man, Manny Ibarra, hadn’t found him, Ben would be one crispy critter. Ben wondered what the old man did to aid in his rescue. "I know," Ben lied, opting for diplomacy. "It’s just… the whole thing’s just overwhelming, you know?"

Jeremy sighed, looking up at the ceiling, while laying on a comfortable bed in his favorite hotel in Washington DC. "Trust me, I know how you feel." The Admiral said with a sigh. "Is Jerilyn not there?"

"No," Ben said bitterly. "She’s in New York right now on a seminar." "Oh," The Admiral said, disappointment deepening his voice. "Well… Ben… I’m in town for a few days… I’d love to see you. Maybe… you can help me mend bridges between me and my daughter?" Ben about erupted into mad laughter. <<ME??? Help YOU mend bridges?? How am I supposed to fix things between you and Jeri when I can’t even fix things between me and Jeri.>> "Well… I wouldn’t mind seeing you," Ben said slowly. "Maybe meet for lunch tomorrow." The Admiral sounded like he just won the lottery. "That… that would be great, Ben. Want to just meet me at the Marriott? That’s where I’m staying." "Sure," Ben always wondered why the Admiral stayed at a hotel when he was married to Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, currently one of the more influential senators in Congress right now. But he never asked. "Noon?" "That would be great," the Admiral said again, almost pathetically. "Looking forward to it." "Okay," Ben said. "I’m sorry, I hate to be rude, but I need to lay down." "Oh sure, oh sure," the Admiral said quickly. "See you tomorrow." "Bye," Ben said and hung up the phone. "God…." He said. He had enough problems, he did not want to get caught in between Jerilyn and the Admiral.

The Admiral, meanwhile, put the phone back on the hook and took a deep breath. It was a small step, but a step nevertheless, towards redemption. It had to be. The Admiral could not believe that his dark secrets could have cost him the one thing he loved more that his career, more than his dearly departed first wife, Lynette, more than his own life.

He was confident that Jerilyn would stop referring to Bill Mulder as her father and start calling him ‘Dad’ again.

Later on that night… Mickey and Minn’s apartment

The mammoth meal had finally tapered off to coffee spiked with Bailey’s Irish Cream, out on the balcony. After much pleading, for the girls adored their "Uncle" John and wanted to monopolize his time, Mickey finally ordered the girls to retire to their rooms for the rest of the evening. "It’s grown-up time. Now SCRAM!"

"But Pop," Cindy whined. "I’m not a baby. I’m practically an adult already." "An adult at fifteen, God help us," Mickey groaned. "Oh no fair," Claudia instantly jumped in. "If she gets to stay, then I do too. I mean, I’M the one who’s graduating this spring. Cindy JUST started high school!"

"I get to stay too then," Laurie crossed her arms and pouted. "I’m not a baby either." "Youse three are all babies. As long as you live in my house-" "This isn’t a house," Cindy pointed out, "it’s an apartment."

Mickey continued his tirade as if his wise-assed middle child hadn’t spoken "- and eat my food, youse are my baby girls and youse three best GIT," Mickey roared but it good-natured. Starkweather suspected that this little comedy was performed nightly.

"Dad-" "GO!!" he barked. Then he said, "But gimme some lovin’ first." He pointed to his cheek. Dutifully each girl pecked his cheek. "Alright. Good night." "Night, Pop," Cindy said sulkily.

"Dibs on the computer," Claudia announced and ran off.

"NO FAIR!" Cindy yelled.

"I got research for a paper to do, so shut up!" came Claudia’s merry voice down the hall.

"Ma, she’s gonna tie up the phone line and I’m expecting a HIGHLY important phone call later!" Cindy appealed to her mother.

"What fifteen year old child gets important phone calls?" Minn challenged her.

"From her boyfriend," Laurie announced in a singsong voice.

"Why, you little rat!!!" Cindy swatted at her little sister who dodged the blow and ran to her room. "A boyfriend??" Minn smiled. Starkweather and Doggett politely retreated to the balcony to lessen Cindy’s humiliation. Even with the glass door shut, Mickey’s boisterous voice could be heard: "BOYFRIEND?? What’s this about a BOYFRIEND??? At YOUR age???" "Gawd, POP…." Starkweather shook her head, sipped her coffee. "You couldn’t pay me enough to be fifteen again." Doggett shrugged. "Ah… it wasn’t so bad." "Oh God, you’re not one of those who… LIKED high school, are you?" "Well, I didn’t HATE it. "

"Oh lord, I don’t trust ANYBODY who even remotely enjoyed high school one little bit. Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you played high school football."

"Offensive linesman." "That’s it. I can’t talk to you anymore." Minn joined them, shaking her head. "Teenagers," she chuckled. "You couldn’t pay me enough to be fifteen again." Starkweather looked at Doggett and stuck out her tongue.

"Hey, Doggett!" Mickey stuck his head through the door. "I finally got rid of the rugrats. I was just about ready to resort to hugging them in public-" "Kill ‘em with kindness," Minn said with a grin. "It’s a great parenting tool. Especially with teenagers when they’re positively allergic to your presence." "Come play bartender with me. Minn, whaddya want?" "Sweet and sour vodka." "And, the lovely Mrs. Starkweather? What’s your poison?" "Do you have Jack?" "Jack? Jack’s a very good friend of mine. ‘Long with Jim, Johnnie and Captain Morgan."

"Jack and Coke please." "As the lady wishes." Mickey bowed theatrically. "C’mon Doggett, I need a barback." Doggett grinned and went inside, walking toward the kitchen.

"There you are!" Mickey boomed when Doggett came in. "Get lost?" "Just about. Shoulda left me a map." "Thought about leavin’ a breadcrumb trail, but you know. Minn would scream about the carpet, tell me to vacuum. I’d tell her no, that’s women’s work, she’d make me sleep on the couch, yadda yadda yadda." "You watch too much ‘Seinfeld’." "Shut up and get me some ice." Mickey said. "And hey, whaddya you want?" "Jack and Coke’s fine with me too." "’Kay that’s three JD’s and one foo-foo drink for the missus." "Speaking of missuses," Doggett began awkwardly. "How’s… um…" "Your ex?" Mickey finished for him. "Same. Still a bitch, but that’s my opinion. She and Minn still thick as thieves so I say no evil, see no evil, hear no evil. Why you ask? Thinkin’ ‘bout mending fences. Or lookin’ for closure?" "Both." Mickey handed him his and Starkweather’s drinks. "Look. I know you loved her. And you love her still, it’s in your face man, I ain’t stupid. Nobody is. But…" he shook his head. "Let sleepin’ dogs lie. She’s bitter. She’s unhappy. Havin’ you pop back in the picture isn’t gonna make one damn bit of difference, especially while she’s busy making her new husband miserable. So, just forget about it. Forget about her. And start hopin’ that the enticing Mrs. Starkweather gets divorced." "Ha," Doggett said, lamely.

Meanwhile, out on the balcony, the enticing Mrs. Starkweather turned to Minn, "In case I forget or I’m too bombed to form complete sentences," she grinned at her, "I had a really great time tonight." "Well, it’s nice to meet you Jerilyn," Minn said, "I’m glad you and John came. I was half afraid he wouldn’t, that he’d make some excuse," she sighed and drained the rest of her coffee.

"Dogg- er… um, John," his first name fell awkwardly out of her mouth, especially without the prefix of "Papa" she bestowed on him because of his continual fussing over her, "isn’t the type to duck out of things." "Oh, I know, but circumstances are a little different…" she leaned on the balcony rails and looked out into the glittering city below. Starkweather finished her coffee and joined her, awed and humbled by the power man had over steel, brick and electric light. In a soft voice, Minn said, "Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you and John seem really close. Not like that!" she chuckled when she saw the look of dismay cross her face. "My husband was teamed up with a female cop once. I had no problem with it but her husband… let’s just say he was less than trusting." <<I can relate>> Starkweather thought dismally but said nothing.

"But, it’s safe to say you two are friends, right?" "Oh yes. He’s one of my best friends." Starkweather nodded. "He’s a great guy." "I know," Minn said. "That’s why I fixed him up with one of my best girlfriends. He eventually married her… and she ended up divorcing him." "Oh. Jesus," Starkweather said sympathetically. "Talk about being in the middle." "It was not a good time. It would be easy to blame their marriage’s disintegration on the death of that poor little boy… god…" Minn’s eyes teared up a little. "Sorry, but, you didn’t know him. I did. Such a sweetie. Like his daddy in every way. He used to play with my youngest," she shook her head. "It’s just something you never get over, I guess. Maybe they would have worked things out if Luke was still here, but… when all of that happened… there wasn’t a chance in hell." "Oh god," Starkweather’s heart ached. Her martial issues seemed petty now. "I didn’t know." "John’s never been good about talking much about what’s goin’ on in his heart," Minn smiled knowingly. "That’s what was his fault in the marriage. I’m not being disloyal. His ex-wife and I are still good friends. But she did things that were wrong and he did things that were wrong. My mother had a great sayin’, there’s three sides to a fight, ‘their side, your side and the right side.’"

**************************************************

September 11, 2001 Logan International Airport Boston, Massachusetts 8:03 AM Eastern Standard Time

Mulder ran through the airport as fast as his legs could carry him, cursing himself for oversleeping and cursing flagging down the one cabbie who refused to drive the taxi any faster than the legal limits. <<Where do I go, where do I go???>> he thought, panicking, looking for the American Airlines terminal.

Panting, he ran up to the ticket counter, "Excuse me, miss?? Am I late for Flight 11 to Los Angeles?" The attendant, blond, pretty and sympathetic, smiled and said, "I’m sorry sir, but it’s already pulled away from the terminal and getting ready for take-off." Mulder’s shoulders slumped. "No," he went to the windows and sure enough, he saw the silvery Boeing 767 disappearing down the runaway. "Damn," he said in frustration. Dragging his suitcase, he returned to the ticket counter. "Miss," he said wearily, "when’s the next flight to Los Angeles?" After she consulted the schedule and gave him the information, Mulder slumped down in a chair to wait and feel sorry for himself. This week was not going well at all and it was only Tuesday.

The Pentagon Washington DC 8:30 AM Eastern Standard Time

"Knock, knock," The Admiral Jeremy Bailey said, letting himself into his old friend’s office.

Admiral Edward Martinsburg beamed. "Jeremy!" He got up and went around his desk to shake his hand. "You ol’ sea dawg. What you’ve been up to lately?" "Oh, just in town. See the wife, see my little girl."

"How’s Arizona treatin’ ya?"

"Not too bad," Jeremy chuckled.

"Heard your daughter working at the J. Edgar Hoover building now," Edward said affably. "Good for her." "Yeah," Jeremy said, kind of faintly. "We’re proud of her." He quickly changed subjects. "Listen, you got time for a quick coffee break? I’d love to catch up with you, but I’m already meeting my son-in-law for lunch." "Hell, Bailey, you know I’ll always make time for you," the crusty old Admiral said to the other crusty old Admiral. "Let’s hit the chow hall." "You go ahead, I’m gonna run over the Army side and see if I can’t find Rowley," another old friend of theirs. Jackson Rowley was an old school friend of Bailey’s. When Bailey left for the Navy, Rowely signed up for the Army. Bailey, through all the years had stayed in touch with Rowley, now a bird colonel.

"Alright, then," Martinsburg patted Bailey on the back. "See you in a bit then." The Admiral then made his way down towards the Army branch of the Pentagon.

Little Eagles Daycare Center J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington DC 8:36 AM Eastern Standard Time

Scully handed William off to Patti, who cuddled Will. "Hello William," Patti cooed. "Welcome back," Patti looked up and asked. "Are we staying on campus today or going out in the field?"

"Staying on campus," Scully said, "Lots of paperwork to do. Let go of Mom’s finger Will," Scully looked up at Patti. "I’m probably going to come down here during my lunch break," she told her.

"Oh that’s fine," Patti said. "About what time should we expect you?" "Noon?" "Alrighty then, say bye-bye, Mom! Bye-bye!" Patti helped William wave.

Patti wondered why Agent Scully looked like she was about to cry when she walked away. She shoved that thought out of her head and went to the very serious work of minding the several small people entrusted to her care.

Scully, meanwhile, got into the elevator and pressed the "Down" button. She closed her eyes, straightened her navy blue suit and forced herself to concentrate on the pile of files waiting for her on her desk in the basement.

Trinity Church Manhattan, New York 8:43 AM Eastern Standard Time

The streets of Lower Manhattan swelled with its usual crowd of native New Yorkers and tribes of tourists. The day was bright and cool, a gift from God most ignored as they took notes in their Palm Pilots, gabbed on the cell phone or snapped photographs of points of interest. Being such a perfect, crisp clean autumn day, Doggett, as Starkweather’s request, asked the cab to let them off at Trinity Church so they could enjoy the weather while they walk to the World Trade Center to meet Mickey for breakfast.

Starkweather bustled out of the cab and tilted her head up, admiring the view of the Twin Towers, hovering above. "Wow," she said. "I’m going to have to come back later with Ben’s camera."

"We really shouldn’t be doin’ this," Doggett grumbled as he tipped the cabbie.

"What??" Starkweather asked. "Meeting your friend for breakfast?"

"No… I mean, bein’ late for the seminar." "Oh God, Doggett," Starkweather sighed. "Class doesn’t even start until ten or so. Stop being such a partypooper." "I am NOT a partypooper," Doggett grumbled, putting his hands in the pockets of his sleek black suit. "I just don’t like takin’ unnecessary risks, that’s all."

"You talk as if we’re in a war," Starkweather said, determined not to let Doggett’s by-the-books attitude ruin her good mood. "What risks are we taking? We’re blowing off a class neither one of us wanted to be in. Big deal."

"Yeah but-" Frustrated, Doggett looked up at the sky.

"Yeah, but nothing." Starkweather put her hands on her hips. She looked like a defiant teenager. Much like Mickey’s daughter Cynthia, despite wearing a form- fitting white blouse and black slacks, her long pretty hair bundled back in it’s usual boring bun. For fun, she had tied a black, midnight blue and silvery striped silk scarf around her neck, while making the fashion faux pas of not taking off the holy medal of St. Christopher that she wore on a chain around her neck. "What’s the absolute worst that could happen if we come back to that damn seminar late? I hardly think they’re going to kick us out of the FBI because we ditched a seminar everyone else is sleeping through. So c’mon," she playfully pulled on his arm. "Be a rebel." But Doggett wasn’t even listening to her anymore. He was squinting up at the sky. "Hey, Starkweather?" He took off his sunglasses for a better look. "Yeah?" "Lookit that," he pointed. Starkweather looked up again, up at the Twin Towers. "What am I looking at?"

"Over there," Doggett said lowly, pointing up. Several others on the street had paused as well, looking up where Doggett was looking.

Starkweather also took off her sunglasses. "Oh my God… Doggett…" the retired Airman said to her partner. "That plane… it’s flying too low." <<And fast>> she thought to herself as she watched the silvery plane grow bigger and bigger.

"Looks like someone’s sleepin’ in air traffic control," Doggett growled, reaching for his cell phone clipped to his belt. "I’m callin’ someone."

Starkweather continued to watch the plane. "Doggett," she said, tugging his coat sleeve. "Something’s wrong."

Doggett, holding the cell phone to his ear, looked up. "Holy Mother of God." "John-" At 8:48 AM, Eastern Standard Time, an American Airlines Boeing 767 slammed into The North Tower of the World Trade Center and hell was literally unleashed in New York.

Logan International Airport Boston, Massachusetts 9:01 AM Eastern Standard Time

"Holy shit," a teenaged boy with spiky hair and a pierced tongue exclaimed, eyes riveted to the television set mounted from the ceiling.

Mulder pulled himself out of his pity party enough to look up. "What?? What the hell?" he said aloud as he along with countless others flocking around listened to the voice of the anchorman. "American Airlines Flight 11 from Boston bound for Los Angeles, crashed into the North Tower 1 of the World Trade Center…." Mulder’s mouth dropped open and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. He felt his legs shaking. He along with the others watched the live footage from the scene. **The scene** This was unreal. This was unbelievable.

"It looks like a movie," a girl next to Mulder said in a hushed voice.

The movie just got worse as a second plane, another Boeing 767, this one from United Airlines, slammed dead-on into the South Tower 1. Mulder and everyone else jumped. A few screamed.

The minute Mulder saw the second plane crash into the South Tower, he broke away from the mob and tried to find a quiet corner. But hysteria was mounting at Logan International, as it was across the nation as the news spread. Mulder finally burst into a men’s room and dialed Scully’s cell phone number. It rang once then stopped. Mulder looked at his phone. The battery had died, he forgot to charge it last night. Mulder got out of the men’s room and looked for a toll- phone. Already the lines were forming by the phones.

He went to the counter, where the blond, pretty, sympathetic attendant still stood, only this time, her face was frozen in a mask of horror. "Miss, miss?" Mulder pleaded with her. "Miss, please, can I use your phone? I need to call home," Mulder was already reaching over the counter top to the phone. "Sir, I’m sorry, this phone doesn’t have an outside line," the attendant told him.

"You don’t understand… my family… my son… everyone thinks I was on Flight 11, I gotta call home, but my cell is dead. I need to tell them I’m okay. Please."

The pretty girl looked at the cell phone he was clutching. "You can borrow my charger for your phone," she told him. "We have the same model, so it’ll work." She unplugged her dead cell phone. "Thank you," Mulder said with a shaking voice as she took the phone out of his hands and plugged her charger into it. He took the nearest chair to the counter, still trembling.

Then another horrifying thought struck him, like a splash of cold, unwanted water. Starkweather and Doggett were in New York.

Mulder put his hands to his face. It just felt too unreal. Everyone probably thought he was dead and his half-sister probably really was.

********************************************************************************************

Assistant Director Walter Skinner’s Office J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington DC 9:05 AM Eastern Standard Time

After a long association with Fox Mulder and the X-Files, there was very little that surprised AD Skinner anymore. He watched his television set with mounting rage but he buried it deep down. Now was not the time. Not now. He clicked the television off and made a few quick calls to some of his best agents. It didn’t matter what department they were in. He tried to call Doggett’s cell, but for some reason, he was receiving a "no service for this number" message. He had a very bad feeling about that.

But still, it was a cool and collected Skinner Director Deputy Director Kersh found that morning when he barged into Skinner’s office.

"We have a situation," Kersh said tensely.

"I know," Skinner growled. "I saw on the news."

"The Director wants all of us in his office now," Kersh said. "The South Tower has been hit as well." "What???" Skinner’s phone rang shrilly. "Skinner…. Yes, sir… yes, I just heard the news. We’re on our way." He hung up. "That was the Director. Let’s go." As he and Kersh left Skinner’s office, Skinner barked a few quick instructions to Kimberly, his receptionist, who was very pale. "I’m taking no personal calls today," he told her. "And try to reach Agents Doggett and Starkweather. They’re at a seminar in New Jersey. Tell them I want them to report to the New York Field Offices."

Ground Zero 8:48 AM Eastern Standard Time

The explosion was almost instantaneous. It sounded like a quick clap of thunder as the North Tower swallowed up the plane. An enormous fireball erupted from the desecrated building. The glass windows rippled like water. Vile poisonous black clouds welled up and began overtaking the pretty blue sky. Screaming was everywhere. Ash fell like giant snowflakes from hell. Doggett grabbed Starkweather and, like a cape, covered Starkweather’s head with one half of his jacket while he buried his face in the other half. Blindly, he guided them back to the church, huddling in the doorway. Debris was falling everywhere.

Starkweather peeped out from under Doggett’s jacket. "Oh my God." Above the screaming and the roar of the flames, sirens wailed in the distance already. The reactions of the crowd were mixed, anywhere on the disbelief spectrum from sprinting away out of sheer panic to staring up at the thick black clouds in the sky with wide and horrified eyes.

Police cars and fire engineers were beginning to zoom towards the burning building. One squad car pulled up by the church and the cops got out. Doggett and Starkweather, producing their FBI badges ran towards them.

"We’re FBI agents!" Doggett called out when they were within shouting distance. The cops looked behind them and beckoned them towards them but did not slow up their run towards the World Trade Center. When they were closer, Doggett said to them, "I’m Agent Doggett, that’s Agent Starkweather, tell us what you need." There was no time for the petty rivalry that normally existed between the police and FBI. The air already began to smell foul, worse than the normal smog. <<Jet fuel>> Doggett realized. "I’m Officer Bradley," the female cop said, "that’s Officer McNamara," she gestured towards the other officer. "We’ll take all the help we can get. This is a bad’un. There’s rumors goin’ down that the plane was hijacked so for once in my life, I’m glad to see some fibbies ‘round here." "Hijacked??" Starkweather said in disbelief. "Here???" referring to the United States. "How??? When?"

"That’s the story that’s flying around," McNamara said. "What kinda training youse two got?" "She’s a med doctor and I’ve got battle trainin’, I was in Lebannon," Doggett told him. "Just point us in the direction where you want us to go and we’l-" Doggett never got to finish his sentence because a loud roar from up above drowned him out. Still running, they looked up.

"Oh what the hell???" Bradley exclaimed.

None of them would ever forget the sound of Flight 175’s engines speeding up as it turned sideways and rammed into the South Tower. Another fireball lit up the sooty skies. Doggett roughly pushed Starkweather down and then flung himself over her to shield her from the falling debris. He covered her head with his arms and shielded his own face against the street. Smoke was now billowing from both buildings. Day melted into unending night.

Four blocks away, Officer Jason Mick watched, mouth dropped open in horror the first plane obliterate the North Tower, then the South. "Holy God," he said as the cab driver sat in stand still traffic, too stunned to move. Mickey licked his dry lips, thinking of his best friend and the little spitfire he was now assigned to. <<Jesus God, they could be in there.>> The sound of sirens and people screaming snapped Mickey out of his reverie. He got out of cab, threw some money at the petrified driver- "Get out of here, now!!!" and ran towards the building, holding out his shield. The cab got out of the way for the police cars and fire trucks that sped towards the burning towers. One of the squad cars saw Mickey running towards the building, shield in the air. It pulled over "Get in," the driver told Mickey. "We need all the help we can get." "Radio into my precinct," Mickey told him. "Tell ‘em I’m here too. I’m Officer Jason Mick of the Manhattan 1121," he said businesslike while his insides were churning. <<Please don’t let Doggett and Jeri be in there>> he prayed fervently. <<Please let them have been late like me….>>

Four blocks Southwest of the Pentagon 9:31 AM Eastern Standard Time

Special Agent Monica Reyes originally was supposed to be meeting with a top- ranking Pentagon official who was supposed to have answers concerning the infamous oil rig case, which got Mulder booted off the X-Files. On her drive to the Pentagon, she listened to the news with dread, a morbidity that was seeping through her skin and into her veins, filling her with such heaviness, she felt unsure of where her place was to be. She got out of her car, two blocks away from the Pentagon and called Skinner to let him know of her status and to ask where he really needed her. Also, she hoped for news of Doggett and Starkweather. She had an awful feeling that neither one of them were actually in New Jersey, attending their seminar like diligent little FBI agents.

Kimberly had no news of Doggett or Starkweather, but she did have other news for her. "Sit tight, Agent Reyes," was her advice, "we just received word from the President. He is calling the crashes an act of terrorism." The heaviness increased. Reyes thanked Kimberly and then, with shaking hands, dialed Doggett’s cell phone, knowing that she was performing an act of futility. She dialed Starkweather’s cell. Nothing. She leaned against her car and tried not to succumb to the feelings of panic, disorder, terror and anger that seemed to be radiating off of every human being in the nation and boring into her. She tried to think like a FBI agent. She took deep, cleansing breaths. And decided that the best action would be to return to the J. Edgar Hoover building.

Then she looked up.

The Pentagon 9:36 AM Eastern Standard Time

Admiral Jeremy Bailey and Colonel Rowley’s discussion on the merits of the Navy and Army football teams had been interrupted at roughly 9:10 when a very pale Army lieutenant knocked on the door and gave the officers the news of the events in New York.

The Admiral turned very pale, his thoughts, naturally turning to Jerilyn. The Colonel sent the young man on his way and turned to his old friend. "I’m sure Jeri’s fine," he tried to reassure his buddy. The Colonel tried to sound positive but he was an old man, two years shy of retirement and he knew how cruel the world could be. Three out of the five boys he had went into the Army, wanting to be like their old man. The fourth boy elected the Marines, out of spite, was the old family joke. The fifth was still a child, a high school senior. The Marine was brought home in a body bag from Lebanon. The other three served during the Persian Gulf and all suffered severely from Gulf War Syndrome. The Colonel prayed his youngest son would choose a civilian’s life but already the boy had been talking to recruiters.

The Admiral had smiled, tight-lipped. "I’m sure she is," he said, trying to sound more confident that he felt. "Damn kids. All they’re good for is worrying their parents."

The Colonel had patted The Admiral’s shoulder. "I need to get to that meeting Lieutenant Walshingham was talking about. Why don’t you use my phone to get in touch with your son-in-law? He’s probably sick with worry." He patted The Admiral again and this time let sentimentally leak out, a little. "Your girl’ll be in my thoughts, Jeremy. Okay?" "Thanks," The Admiral had smiled. "See you later." He had dialed Ben’s number, but the line was busy. He tried two more times before he gave up. He had then decided the hell with it and go directly to Ben and Jerilyn’s apartment. More than likely, Ben was on the phone, trying to get through to someone at the FBI to give him the whereabouts of his wife. So he had left his friend’s office shortly after 9:30. He walked as quickly as he could through the corridors, trying not to notice the pale, worried looks on all the officers and enlisted that he passed as he made his journey back to the Naval Side, as his car was parked on that side. But his knees, shot after years playing on the Navy football team, protested and he slowed down. He checked his watch, a Father’s Day gift from Jerilyn two years ago. 9:37. He felt like he had been walking forever. His joints ached. He despised being old.

And he saw the most beautiful, the most bizarre thing ever to be present in the corridors of the Pentagon.

A figure, in a shimmering white hooded cloak, stood in the middle of the hallway. People were walking past her, not even noticing. Despite his unease about this being, with its face hidden by the hood, The Admiral felt compelled to walk closer. When he was at arm’s length away, the being, lifting its pale arms, took the hood and pushed it away from its face and Jeremy gasped in recognition of the heart-shaped face, the sweet gray eyes lined with crows feet and the long curling auburn hair with streaks of white. "Lynette," he whispered.

Lynette Malone Bailey, his first wife and true love, held out her hand. "Take my hand, Jeremy," she said with a sweet reassuring smile.

Jeremy reached for her hand and grasped it tightly, astonished to actually feel her soft hand, that this wasn’t an illusion or a ghost.

He never knew what hit him.

Four blocks Southwest of the Pentagon 9:38 AM Eastern Standard Time

Reyes watched in complete horror and helplessness as American Airlines Flight 77 bulldozed its way through the Pentagon. She heard the roar of the plane, sounding like a wounded demon returning to hell, fly over her and she watched the Pentagon erupt into flames. Soon, smoke began to overpower the beautiful blue autumn sky. Her eyes watered and burned from the jet fuel fumes and the black smoke wafting through the air. She couldn’t even see the slender Washington Monument in the distance. But she could feel the heat of the burning buildings and she could smell the noxious odor of jet fuel.

She did the only thing she could think of. Despite her stinging eyes, she started to harangue the on-lookers, stupefied by the unbelievable. "Go!" she said, pounding the stopped cars, waving her badge. "FBI! Get out of here! NOW!!! MAKE ROOM FOR THE FIRE TRUCKS!" she screamed as she began to direct traffic as sirens wailed in the distance.

<<This is not happening>> she thought as she encouraged frightened spectators to run away.

J. Edgar Hoover Building AD Skinner’s Office 9:49 AM Eastern Standard Time

Scully, with shaking hands, again tried Mulder’s cell phone. Apologies from the depths of her heart were bubbling up but she had no one to tell them to.

She didn’t even know why she was bothering to call. It was all over the news. American Airlines Flight 11, en route from Boston to Los Angeles, crashed into the top of the North Tower of the World Trade Center in what is now being declared a terrorist attack on the United States. Skinner had called on immediately with the news and told her to report to his office immediately. Not realizing that Mulder had a plane ticket on Flight 11, he brusquely told her to stay in his office and remain on "stand-by." He told her if things escalated, he didn’t want her to have to try to evacuate the building from the basement. He told her that there was a possibility that she would be dispatched to New York. Partially because there was a shortage of doctors and they could use anyone and everyone. Partially because he wanted "one of my own" down at the New York Field office, because there was no sign of either Agent Doggett or Agent Starkweather. It had confirmed that the two agents left the hotel early in the morning to sneak in some sight-seeing and breakfast with a friend of Doggett’s before going to their seminar.

Scully swallowed tears and nodded as Skinner left the office again for another briefing. Not only was Mulder was gone, so was possibly Doggett and Starkweather. Scully sank onto the couch, her knees weak with sorrow and fear. She fought with herself, knowing she must obey orders, but desperately wanting to get her son.

When the news reported the attack on the Pentagon, she made up her mind to cease "standing by" and go get William. She grabbed her purse and cell phone and just as she was about to leave, an announcement came across the speakers throughout the entire building. A Code Red had been declared. All federal buildings were to be evacuated. Scully burst out of the office at a dead run, running down the stairs with everyone else, but when she reached the first floor, she tried to get back inside, to the Little Eagles Daycare. Someone strong grabbed her and started to pull her along with him. She looked up and saw Deputy Director Kersh. "Sir, let me go!" Scully’s voice pitched up hysterically. "I have to get my son." "It’s being taken care of, come with me, Agent Scully," Kersh said firmly, keeping a firm hold on her as he dragged her with.

"NO! Goddamn you Kersh, let me go, you bastard!" she screamed at him.

"AGENT SCULLY!" Scully turned around and saw Skinner running towards them, carrying William. "This way!" Skinner said and Scully and Kersh followed him outside to the street, where Skinner’s car was waiting out front with Kimberly in the driver’s seat, pale and shaking so badly her teeth were chattering. "Move over," he growled at the poor girl. Kimberly scooted over to the passenger side. Skinner passed William off to Scully and she, the boy and Kersh got in the back seat. They positively flew away from the building.

Skinner filled Scully in. "There’s a report of a car bombing at the State Department building. We’ve got agents investigating that right now. The President is on Air Force One, en route to Offut Air Base. There are reports of a fourth hijacked plane." He turned on the car radio.

Scully held William tightly to her. "Any word on Doggett or Starkweather?" Before Skinner could say a word, the reporter on the radio, in a very shaken voice, announced the collapse of The South Tower.

Ground Zero 9:08 Eastern Standard Time

"What’s happening!!!" Starkweather yelled to Doggett, but he couldn’t hear her over the roar of flames and sirens. "What is happening!!" she yelled again. The skies had gotten darker. Her eyes and throat burned.

"I dunno!" Doggett heard her the second time, "but we gotta move, c’mon Doc!" he got off of her and helped her up. Debris was falling steadily now. Bits of furniture, pages from accountant’s books, unpaid parking tickets, limbs severed from their owners and the shattered fragments of windowpane glass.

Officers Bradley and McNamara were already on their feet. "C’mon, let’s move it!" McNamara waved the agents to follow them.

Doggett and Starkweather pushed their way through the crowd, the dazed crowd that were milling around, looking up at the impossible, not believing what their own eyes told them. The smell was overpoweringly horrible, the smell of jet fuel and burning flesh. Starkweather was gagging. "Over there!!" McNamara told them, pointed at a nearby ambulance. "Go over there!!" McNamara and Bradley kept running towards the building. Starkweather, realizing that this is where she needed to be, veered off toward the ambulance and the medics.

Doggett looked towards the ambulance, then at the cops running towards the Twin Towers. He started to run towards them, but was halted by someone grabbing his coat sleeve. Starkweather. "Don’t you fucking dare leave my line of sight!" she shouted at him over the din. "We’re partners and I need you with me! So come on," She tugged at him insistently. "Come on! Dammit, come on!!"

Doggett, still looking up at the building, still watching the police officers and fire fighters rushing inside. "I gotta go find Mickey." He looked up at the Towers, smoke and flames seeping out of the jagged cuts in the wounded building, as if they were the teeth of murdered dragons, belching out their last gasps of fight. "Doggett, NO," Starkweather snapped, grabbing his coat lapels and shaking him, hard. "I need you with me! I need you to direct THEM," she pointed at the walking wounded staggering out of the buildings, "to me and the other medics. I need traffic control. I need help. Jesus Christ, Doggett, please!!!" When Doggett hesitated, Starkweather screamed, "Doggett, God dammit, we’re wasting time!!! Now come ON!!" She pulled on his coat. "Either you come with me, or I go in with you in that building. It’s up to you, but fucking make up your mind NOW!!!"

Doggett looked up, then looked down at his partner. "Okay," he said. "Okay, let’s go." He broke away from Starkweather and ran towards the ambulances. Starkweather, sending up a heartfelt prayer of thanks followed. She also hoped that Mickey was not inside. She pushed the thought of her mind. She had too. <<This is what I was trained for>> she told herself sternly. <<Medical care under combat conditions. Combat conditions. On the streets of Manhattan, oh holy God. Stop it Jerilyn. Pull it together girl. Pull it the fuck together. Cry later. Work now.>> Her heart was pounding. Her ears were filled with screaming.

"OH MY GOD!!!" A nearby onlooker shrilled out. "THERE GOES ANOTHER ONE!!" <<Another what?>> Starkweather thought stupidly.

Doggett had also heard the onlooker and he looked up. He had noticed large shapes tumbling down from the buildings earlier but it hadn’t registered. When he looked up again, it finally clicked what he was witnessing. "Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed in horror. "Jesus Christ, Starkweather, do not look up, just look ahead and run." He pushed her along "Why?" she said, panting. She felt like she was choking on gas fumes. Her hair was coated with a fine layer of ash. Papers, datebooks, computer disks and glass, the never-ending glass shards were still raining down. She could feel the heat of the raging fire up in the skies pushing down on her. Her eyes stung.

"People are jumping." "WHAT?" Starkweather looked up just in time to see a man try and shimmy down the slick glass of the South Tower. His footing slipped and he plummeted to the earth, somersaulting all the way down. "Oh God!" She felt frozen to the concrete, her feet positively would not move as she watched more and more people flinging themselves from the Towers, fluttering to the ground like doomed rag dolls.

An ear-piercing shriek ripped through the already horrified crowd. The victims inside of the building were now accumulating on the street. "Help me!!" A woman cried in pain. "Help me!!" Her legs were coated with bright red blood, arterial blood. The left side of her body looked severely burned, the skin peeling off.

The sight of the injured woman snapped Starkweather and Doggett out of their nightmarish contemplation. They ran to her just as she collapsed.

Starkweather reached her first. She crouched down to her and while doing a quick external exam, shook her arm. What skin remaining on the left side of her body was covered with gruesome blisters, pink and pus-filled. <<Where is the blood coming from????>> "Ma’am! Ma’am, can you hear me? Tell me your name!" When she got no response, Starkweather groped around the woman’s neck, searching for a pulse.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," she cursed, her hand coated in the woman’s blood. She quickly scanned her body, trying to find the cause of the massive blood loss. She lifted up the woman’s skirt and saw an ugly wound on her upper leg, pumping out blood with every beat of her failing heart. She ordered Doggett to "Gimme your tie" she. Doggett complied and helped her tie a tourniquet."

"Goddam, she’s still bleeding," Doggett swore.

"Let’s move, come on!" she yelled at him. Doggett picked up her up and they hauled ass over to the nearest ambulance.

When they got closer, Doggett began yelling "HEY!! We need help here!!!"

A paramedic heard them and started to run towards them. Doggett and Starkweather ran towards him as fast as they could go. "My name is Dr. Starkweather, this is Special Agent Doggett, we’ve got a female, mid to late twenties, second to third degree burns left side, face, arm, leg. Wound on upper right thigh, gusher, losing blood. There’s a tourniquet, but it’s not helping. Pulse sluggish. She needs a saline drip and she needs a blood transfusion. She’s got a shot if she gets to an ER NOW." "Let’s hit it," the paramedic said and led them to the ambulance. "C’mon, we gotta live ‘un, let’s move!!" he said to his fellow medics. They took her from Doggett’s arms. His shirt was soaked with her blood. The medics shouted instructions to each other as they put her on a stretcher and inside an ambulance. The ambulance howled to life and drove away.

A cop came running up to them. "You guys need to get away from here," he ordered them.

"We’re federal agents," Doggett told him. "She’s a doctor. Tell us what to do."

************************************************************************************ September 17, 2001 MNBC New York Studios

"Mostly," Special Agent Doggett said to Alanda Klein and the rest of the nation tuned in, "I helped direct the victims over to the medics. Dr. Starkweather here did most of the hard work, triagin’ the victims." Alanda turned to the doctor. Except for the bit about nearly bowing out of the trip to New York because of her husband’s illness, Dr. Starkweather really hadn’t contributed much to the interview. "Dr. Starkweather, can you explain what Agent Doggett means by "the hard work?" for us." "Triage," Dr. Starkweather said in the absolutely cool and clinically detached voice possible, "is probably the worst situation for anyone in the medical field to be in because you are literally playing God. You are deciding whom, for lack of a better phrase, is worthy of treatment, and who is not. "Triage", actually, is a French word meaning ‘to sort’ and that is exactly what you are doing. You are sorting out the patients to determine the most critical treatment priority. There are typically three levels of the triage – superficial, critical and mortal. "Superficial" are your cuts, bumps, bruises and breaks. Walking wounded. Injuries that may be painful to the patient, but there is no risk of death. So they can wait. Critical are serious, potentially fatal cases that have a good survival rate if the patient receives the necessary treatment immediately. These are top-priority such as burns, head/spinal injury, shock. Abdominal bleeding, hemorrhaging, respiratory problems, cardiovascular trauma. "Mortal" are the cases where there is literally nothing that can be done to save their lives. And the doctor or nurse working triage live everyday, hoping that they sorted the patients correctly, that a Critical patient that could have been saved wasn’t inadvertently classed as a Mortal patient." "When you were treating the victims," Alanda asked gently, "what class of triage were most of them in?" "Before the Towers collapsed?" Starkweather asked. "Well…" ****************************************************************************** September 11, 2001 Ground Zero 9:45 Eastern Standard Time

"STARKWEATHER!!!"

Starkweather looked up from the patient she had just stabilized. Doggett, along with two Port Authority cops were carrying a badly injured man on a makeshift stretcher created from a chair they found lying on the street.

"Get her to St. Vincent’s," she barked at the young paramedic. Starkweather didn’t even know where St. Vincent’s was, just that it was where they were sending the majority of the victims.

"DOC! WE NEED YOU!"

Starkweather, coated with the blood of all the people who stumbled towards her, crying in fear, screaming in pain, looped the borrowed stethoscope around her neck and ran towards them, ripping off the latex gloves and throwing them to the ground while groping in her pockets for another pair. She had jumped into the ambulance and quickly snagged herself a surgical mask and handfuls of gloves that she had just jammed into her pants pockets. In her coat pockets, were triage tags and her useless cell phone. She didn’t remember where the stethoscope came from. She never did put on the surgical mask, what she did instead was to take her pretty new silk scarf and tie it around her nose and mouth just like the banditos did in spaghetti westerns.

"What do we got?" Starkweather said as Doggett and the two Port Authority cops set the man down. "Sir, my name is Dr. Starkweather, can you tell me your name?" she yelled to the man as she started to examine him. Over ninety percent of his body was burned. He looked like he was charcoaled instead of the pig at a luau. There was even the strange sick smell of roasted pork. For the umpteenth time that day, Starkweather thought she was going to throw up. "Oh god, oh god, oh god," the man moaned. "Am I gonna die? Am I gonna die?" His breathing was labored.

Doggett looked on in horror, then looked at Starkweather who was saying to the man "We’re gonna take good care of you sir," she said as she fumbled in her coat pocket for the triage tag. She took out a black tag. Doggett opened his mouth but Starkweather shook her head. <<He isn’t going to make it>> she telegraphed to her friend. "Bring him over there," she pointed to towards the direction where Mortally injured victims were being brought to.

The two Port Authority cops left with the dying man. Starkweather reached into her pocket and handed Doggett the surgical mask. "Here, this will help block out some of the fume-" "HELP!! WE NEED A DOCTOR OVER HERE!!!" A panicky voice screamed out.

"Help me, Doggett," Starkweather said pathetically.

But before they could run towards the voice in need, a sickening, thundering groan came from up above. "What was that?" Starkweather asked in horror.

The South Tower The 63rd Floor 9:50 AM Eastern Standard Time

"Hey buddy," a man in an ash-coated business suit smiled wanly at Officer Jason Mick, dressed in his civilian clothes, as he continued his climb up the dimly lit stairwell, trailing the FDNY, "you’re goin’ the wrong way." Mick grinned at the man, holding up his badge. "My job to go the wrong way," his voice was muffled by the surgical mask he grabbed before going inside. He tightened his grip on the first aid kit he had also grabbed. "You okay? You need anything?"

"How about a ladder down?" the man quipped as he continued his slow descent. The other people going down with him, the lawyers, the bankers, the receptionists, the janitors and the administrators all chuckled appreciatively. There was a weird sensation of calm.

All through his journey up the stairwell of the South Tower, there had been a smattering of applause for him and the firefighters every time they arrived on a new floor. Anyone who had a cell phone was talking on it. He figured he heard the phrase "Honey, I love you," in at least six different languages. A business intern, fresh from college had yelled out "Yeah! You guys rawk!" when they had made it to the fortieth floor.

The higher they climbed, the thicker the air felt. Some people were gagging. Women had taken off their fashion scarves to re-tie them around their faces. Men were breathing through their ties. And they were still about forty floors away from the floor the airplane flew through. The smell of jet fuel was strong.

<<Doggett, buddy, you’re gonna owe me one for this>> he thought to himself to keep his own morale up. As he traveled up, he had scanned every face, hoping to find either his pal or his partner (preferably both) making their way to safety. He thought about the beer he was going to make Doggett buy for him. He thought about the ration of crap he was going to give Jerilyn for not keeping Doggett out of trouble. He thought his wife fussing over them, ordering them "Don’t you ever scare me like that again!" He thought about his girls, his three sweet baby girls… "Just hang tight everybody," one of the firefighters called out, "stay calm and we’ll get everybody outta this fix. Be sure to let the pregnant and elderly and the injured down first. And don’t panic."

The building then trembled violently. People cried out. "What is it?" "What’s happening?" "Is it another plane?" There was a ripping sound from above, similar to the sound of dry spaghetti noodles being broken apart, only amplified about fifty times louder. "Oh my God," one of the grizzled firefighters said quietly. "The building’s collapsing."

Mickey looked down the stairs, at all the frightened faces. He just thanked God that his beloved Minn did not work anywhere in the World Trade Center and his sweet baby girls were safe at school and waited for the inevitable.

<<It’s my job to go the wrong way.>>

He clutched his police badge.

****************************************************************************** Ground Zero 9:55 Eastern Standard Time

"IT’S COLLAPSING! RUN! THE SOUTH TOWER’S COLLAPSING!!!"

Cops and firefighters were now running away from the South Tower, barking at everyone to get away. There was more screaming. "You see me runnin’? That means you should be runnin’!" one cop screamed at the crowd.

"Doc, we gotta go," Doggett said. "We gotta get out here!" The agents began running, along with the terrified pedestrian, police officers, firefighters and new reporters. Doggett reached for Starkweather and grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him, making her run with him, not taking the chance of losing her in the stampede. Everything just went from black to blacker as dust, ash and soot from the imploding tower filled in whatever cracks that were in the sun-blocking billowing clouds of smoke. Chunks of concrete were flying like shrapnel everywhere. The street was slick with the blood of the victims.

"RUN!!!" Another cop was heard shouting to the crowd. "OR THE SMOKE WILL GET YOU!!!"

Doggett turned his head and saw the South Tower sinking into itself, enveloped in noxious clouds of choking black smoke. <<We’re not gonna outrun this>> he thought in horror. <<Jesus, we’re gonna die in these streets.>> His Marine discipline rebelled against his civilian fear. <<Like hell we are>> he thought defiantly while desperately scanning the streets for cover.

A man, blind in his panic, ran straight into Starkweather, knocking her down. Doggett didn’t even give her a chance to get up on her own for her swooped down and picked her up again. As black soot coated everything, like a tidal wave, as larger and larger bits of debris fell upon the screaming, helpless crowd, Doggett ran towards an abandoned fire engine. "Get under it, hurry!" he yelled in Starkweather’s ear as he crouched down and let Starkweather down.

Starkweather shimmied under the truck quickly and Doggett followed, barely fitting underneath. Starkweather, lying flat on her back, covered her face with her hands, her entire body shaking. Doggett spooned around her, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder.

It sounded like Armageddon out there.

Starkweather lost all track of time, of how long she and her partner had remained huddled under the fire truck. "Is it over?" she asked in a very small voice after the preternatural silence that followed the Tower’s fall.

"I dunno," Doggett said. "I dunno."

FBI Temporary Headquarters Secured Location 10:35 AM Eastern Standard Time

"They’re blaming US," Kersh roared, slamming down the phone. "We don’t even know what the hell is going on and already journalists are reporting that people are blaming US, the Bureau for ‘letting this happen.’ We don’t even know what THIS is." "Sir," Skinner said coolly. "The need to assess blame is very natural." Kersh glared at Skinner and opened his mouth to blast the Assistant Director, but was interrupted by Kimberly, entering as she tapped on the door. "Sirs? I just received word. The North Tower had also collapsed." Her face was streaked with dried tears. "The Director called to let you know he is in a meeting with the Director of the CIA but will be here soon."

Skinner closed his eyes. "Any word from the New York Field Office? Or the New Jersey?" "No sir." "Has either Agent Doggett or Agent Starkweather reported in?" "No sir." "Agent Reyes?"

"She called a few moments ago. She’ll be here shortly."

"Thank you Kimberly," he nodded curtly at her.

Kimberly shut the door behind her. She sought out Agent Scully, who, along with some of the other agents, was watching the news while bouncing William on her knees, absently. She looked at Agent Scully and waved her over. "Yes?" "You told me to let you know if we received word from anyone in the X-Files Division." "Yes??" "Agent Reyes is on her way." Scully exhaled in relief. "That is good news," she said softly, getting up so she could meet Reyes the minute she walked in the door.

When Reyes arrived, she looked shell-shocked. "Dana," she said as the two friends embraced. "And you," she said to William. "May I?" she asked.

"Oh… here you go," she relinquished William over to Reyes.

"Hi sweetie," Reyes said to the boy, stroking his downy head. She looked up at Scully and smiled. "There’s just something nice about babies, isn’t there?" Scully blinked back tears. "Yes… there is…" "Dana… what happened?"

"We can’t contact Doggett or Starkweather. Nobody knows where they are, but one of the agents at their seminar had overheard their plans last night. They were going to play hooky today and go meet one of Doggett’s friends at the World Trade Center."

Reyes turned whiter yet but said resolutely, "That doesn’t mean anything Dana. We don’t have confirmation yet," <<and I don’t’ want to believe it.>> Reyes looked at Scully closer. "There’s something else." "Mulder," she whispered.

"Mulder? Wait, I thought he was in LA already?" "No… the seminars in Boston were delayed. He was supposed take Flight 11 out to California today," she fought tears. She steadied her voice. "He was on that plane that crashed into the towers."

Reyes covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh Dana…" she hugged her again but Scully broke free.

"Monica, I know you’re just trying to be nice and just trying to be my friend, but I can’t afford to fall apart now," she wiped a few renegade tears away and looked at William. "There’s work to be done. And I have to stay strong. I have to stay strong for my son." Reyes nodded, but she took Scully’s hand and squeezed it. "It’s not a sign of weakness to cry, Dana." Scully squeezed back. "Thank you, Monica."

"You’ve got mascara running down your cheeks," Reyes said, letting go of Scully and digging a tissue out of her pocket.

"Thank you," Scully said again and dabbed her eyes. "Skinner wants to see you." "Okay. Hey you, mi nino favorito," Reyes said to William. "Here’s your mom." She handed him back to Scully. "Talk to you later." Sorrow ringed her café au lait eyes. She smiled at Scully, only Reyes could produce a smile at a time like this, then walked away to give Skinner and Kersh her report of the Pentagon.

*************************************************************************************

Hertz Car Rental Logan International Airport Boston, Massachusetts 10:40 AM Eastern Standard Time

By the time it was Mulder’s turn to try and rent a car, it had been confirmed that the North Tower had been lost. The Pentagon was still on fire. There were wild speculations that another rogue plane had been shot down by the Air Force and it crash-landed in a field in Pennsylvania. Every airplane, unless it was military, had been grounded.

Mulder had already made up his mind that he was not spending one more minute in Boston than absolutely necessary, had sprinted to the car rental counter, only to find thirty people with the same thoughts as his, already standing in line.

"Sir?" the woman at the rental counter said to get his attention. "Sir, can I help you?" "Huh? Oh," Mulder came back to reality. Bitter reality. "I need a car. I don’t care about the condition or price, just as long as it runs." He whipped out the City of Washington, District of Columbia credit card.

Ten minutes later, Mulder, with only his carry on luggage and his briefcase, his luggage, was God only knew where now, Mulder went out to the parking lot where all the rental cars were kept. He didn’t care if he drove all night. He was going home.

But first, he dialed his freshly charged cell phone, tried Scully’s home number. "I’m sorry, all lines are busy right now. Please try your call again." Tried her cell phone. "I’m sorry all lines are busy right now. Please try your call again."

Mulder hung up. "Dammit," he said quietly. He looked at the atlas. It looked like a long trip. He was going to have to buy more sunflower seeds and…

"Maggie," he said out loud. Margaret Scully did not live in Washington or New York. There might be a chance… he dialed.

"Dana?"

"Mrs. Scully, it’s me." Mulder could have cried in relief.

"FOX!!" Margaret Scully actually began crying in relief. "Oh Fox, what is happening?" "I don’t know Mrs. Scully," Mulder told her. "I don’t know and I can’t get through to Scul- Dana. I’m stranded in Boston. All flights have been shut down." "Oh my God, what are you doing in Boston?" "It’s a long story, but I got a rental car, I am driving back to Washington as fast as I can. But I need your help. I need to you keep trying to call Dana. She… she thinks I was on that plane, Mrs. Scully. She thinks I was on the flight that crashed into the World Trade Center." "Oh my God," Maggie gasped again.

"Please keep trying," he begged her. "Please let her and William know that I’m okay. Try her work number-" "Haven’t you been watching the news?" Maggie said. "They’ve evacuated all the federal buildings, she wouldn’t be at work." "Try anyway. If anything leave a voice mail. Try her home, try her cell. I’m going to give you some other numbers to try as well, Maggie. At least maybe leave a message." He gave her Walter Skinner’s cell phone and Ben and Jerilyn Starkweather’s home phone.

"Be careful Fox," Maggie said, "we don’t know what’s going on with the state of the nation right now. Who knows what could happen next." "Take care Maggie," Mulder said and hung up. He started the car. Forget getting sunflower seeds, he’d get them when he stopped for gas.

Ground Zero 11:02 AM Eastern Standard Time

"Is it over?"

"I dunno," Doggett said. "I dunno." His mouth felt grainy. He tasted soot.

"It’s quiet now," Starkweather whispered.

"Let’s get out of here," Doggett decided. He turned his head. "We’re gonna have to be careful, Doc, but I think we can get outta here." "Okay. Lead the way." Doggett slid out first and maneuvered around the debris, gagging on the ash and dust. Everything looked dark and grainy. Everything was coated in dust.

Doggett looked around, remembering the nightmarish days when he was in Lebanon. He remembered the utter destruction, the utter hopelessness. He thought he was having a flashback. He rubbed his eyes, they burned like fury.

"Doggett?"

Starkweather had just crawled out from underneath the truck but he could barely see her. In the haze, he could just make out the outline of her figure. She was coughing severely, gagging.

"You okay?" Doggett started to say, but he started coughing too. The dust and the smoke were so thick.

Starkweather held one hand to her chest, one over her mouth. Her silk scarf had fallen around her neck. "Hurts to breathe," she wheezed. "Must have breathed in the smoke or something," her body was wracked with coughing again.

Doggett leaned against the sooty truck that saved their lived and tried to spit out the taste of ash and death but it was clinging to his lungs. "C’mon Doc," he said. "We gotta move," he pushed himself away from the truck, took her arm and started to walk. Disorientated, Starkweather asked, "Which way do we go?" "We’ll keep movin’ ‘til we see a landmark or somethin’. Then we gotta find a phone." He pulled her closer.

It was slow going. Rubble and debris were everywhere. Every now and again, a explosion could be heard from behind them. Starkweather’s heart thudded loudly in her chest. She felt as if she was not getting enough air. She held her now ragged silk scarf to her mouth, but it did little good.

Meanwhile, Doggett’s burning eyes began to hurt worse and worse. His chest ached like Starkweather’s, he was breathing in too much smoke and dust. He felt dizzy and nauseous.

Starkweather’s legs were beginning to buckle. She clung to Doggett. "C’mon, Doc, we gotta keep going," he said as he coughed. He thought about carrying her, but didn’t know how much was left in him to go on. He didn’t even know where he was and he had lived in this city for years. All familiar landmarks were either covered with ashes or reduced to dust.

Just then, out of the smoke, a police officer was running towards them. "Hey!!" he yelled, "You two! Over here!!" he was waving his hands. "Need a hand?"

"God, am I glad to see you," Doggett said. "How do we get out of here?" The police officer, like them, was covered in the silt like dirt that now coated most of downtown Manhattan. "Just follow m-" he stopped. "John Doggett, that you?""

"Yeah…" Doggett squinted at the cop for a minute, then he realized "Jesus, Andy? Andy Borski?" Doggett gagged again. Starkweather clung to him, her face buried into his side. "Yeah, man." Officer Borski said, grabbing Doggett’s arm and starting to pull him towards him. "Goddamn, I’ll never forget that fucked up hillbilly voice of yours." Borski started to lead them away from Ground Zero and out towards cleaner air, water, medical help, relative safety. "Jesus Christ, dude, what the hell are you doing here????"

Before Doggett could answer, Starkweather fainted. Doggett picked her up, "Come Doc," he said, slapping her cheeks slightly. He turned his head away so he wouldn’t cough on her.

"Gimm’er to me," Borski ordered him. "You’re not in any better shape than she is and we gotta move. All these buildings around here are unstable. Who knows which’s one’s next to fall." Doggett handed Starkweather’s limp form over to Borski and continued to follow him. "What the hell happened?" Doggett asked.

"You’re the fed. Was hopin’ you could tell ME." Borski said as they maneuvered through the ghost town of Manhattan.

"I dunno what this is." "Heard on the radio that the President’s callin’ this a terrorist attack."

"What?" Doggett said. He half wondered if he had crossed over into one of those parallel-dimensions that Reyes and Mulder had rambled on about once. Because things like this do not happen in the United States of America.

It was easier to believe that aliens existed rather than what he was witnessing with his own burning eyes. He put one hand to them and with the other, grabbed Borski’s shoulder and let him lead them out.

"Yeah man. That’s why I thought you might know more what’s goin’ on." "I," Doggett coughed. "was here for a seminar. She wanted to go sightseeing. Was supposed….. " Doggett’s stomach twisted. "Andy, have you heard from Jason Mick? We were supposed to meet him here." "I don’t know where half of the prescient is, man, much less Mick. Lotta guys went inside. Lotta guys didn’t come out." Finally, they were out of the abyss, or so it seemed. Doggett could here the sounds of more and more people milling around. He could hear the sounds of weeping, of mass desolation. He heard Borski say to someone "Take care of ‘em." He felt hands gently guide him away from Borski and help him sit down.

"Starkweather," he said, struggling to get up as he felt cold water splash into his eyes.

"Your wife’s right over there, sir," a firm voice said. "We need you to sit still, there’s a lot of debris in your eyes." More cold water splashed in his eyes. Felt the plastic cup of an oxygen mask held to his face, "Breathe," the voice told him and greedily he inhaled the clean air. He opened his eyes and looked into the face of a firefighter, with a face coated in soot and eyes as black as onyx. She looked like Reyes. "Sir, you all right?" she asked.

Doggett sat up and looked around the firefighter. He saw Starkweather leaning against the railing of a subway entrance. She was conscious and was just handing the firefighter that was helping her back his oxygen. He handed her a bottle of water. Affectionately, he smoothed back her dirty hair as she cracked open the bottle and took a tentative sip.

Doggett leaned back against the bench they had propped him up against. "Yeah… I’m okay." "Think you can get out of here on your own?" she asked.

"Yeah…" Doggett said, looking around him. At all the paper, the dirt, the lampposts bent crookedly, at the injured people being treated under the most primitive circumstances, at what was left of the NYPD and the FDNY working hard to save what was left of the Manhattan way of life and finally, he could see the outline of what remained of the Twin Towers. He felt tears come to his eyes and tried to blink them back.

The firefighter with the obsidian eyes said to him in a whisper, "Go ahead, it’s okay," tears were shining in her eyes as well. "It helps to wash the dirt out." "Ma’am," Doggett said. "I’m Special Agent John Doggett and the lady over there is Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather. She’s a doctor. A medical doctor. I’m a retired Marine. Is there anything we can do here?"

"Can you go back in time?" she said bitterly.

Doggett looked up at her helplessly as she handed him a bottle of water and got up to help the next victim. He got up on shaky legs and walked over to Starkweather who was using the railing to pull herself up.

Doggett took her hand, "Come on," he said as she brushed the tears out of her eyes. "Let’s find the New York Field Office and report to duty, okay? "Okay," she said in a shaky voice. Doggett put his arm around her and together they began to again walk through the relics of a desecration.

Doggett put his hand in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. It was smashed beyond repair. "Your phone still work, Starkweather?" Starkweather dug into her pocket. "I can’t find it," she said. "I must have lost it." "Well, as soon as we get to the field office, we’ll call in to Washington to let everyone know we’re in one piece," Doggett said, ignorant of the events in the nation’s capital. "And you’ll probably want to call Ben." A woman, covered in soot like them, approached them. A cameraman followed her. "Sir, sir, could I talk to you??" "Go away," snapped Doggett.

But Starkweather had an idea. "Doggett… we don’t even know if there’s still a Field Office. It could have been blown to bits with the rest of downtown…."

*********************************************************************************** FBI Temporary Headquarters Secured Location 12:01 PM Eastern Standard Time

"Sirs! Sirs!" Kimberly burst into Skinner and Kersh’s temporary office without even knocking. "Come quickly!" Skinner and Kersh ran after her, to the makeshift communications room where several televisions had been set up. Before they even entered the room, they could hear the enthusiastic cheers of law enforcement agents receiving a bit of good news that was so desperately needed.

On the channel that until further notice was tuned to MNBC, the dirty face of Special Agent John Doggett was seen speaking to rookie reporter Alanda Klein. He was barely recognizable. Dirt and soot was crusted onto his craggy face. He was just wrapping up his description of what he had witnessed. "We’re tryin’ to find our way to the Field Office now, if there’s still a field office, but we just wanted to let everyone know that I’m alright and my partner, Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather-" the camera panned over to a filthy Starkweather who was hugging herself. She nodded at the camera as Doggett could be heard saying "- is alright. We’re shook up, but we’re alright." Another cheer resonated through the room. Reyes leaned against the wall and started crying in sheer relief. Scully, carrying William, slipped out of the room, giving a small smile to Skinner. Skinner patted Scully on the back and let her go.

"This is good news," unexpectedly Kersh said. Kersh and Doggett were at odds at each other, mostly because of Doggett’s ongoing investigation into Kersh’s office. Skinner stared at Kersh in surprise. Kersh shrugged. "They’re good agents. Misguided. But good." He left the room.

Skinner started barking orders. "Somebody see if they can get a hold of the New York Field Office. Or New Jersey."

Meanwhile Ben and Jerilyn’s apartment

Ben had been glued to his television set and telephone ever since the sonic boom from the airplane crashing into the Pentagon rattled the windows of his apartment. He had been desperately trying to reach the Admiral and Jerilyn, with no success.

While wrapped in a quilt, he half wondered if he should crate up the cat and evacuate his home, for he could see the billowing smoke from the blazing Pentagon from his window though the Pentagon was miles and miles away. Ben still shivering with his illness, continued to try and reach his wife and his father-in- law while Caesar sat in his lap and purred.

He had just been channel surfing when he hit MNBC during Doggett’s interview. "….if there’s still a field office, but we just wanted to let everyone know that I’m alright and my partner, Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather is alright. We’re shook up, but we’re alright."

Ben burst into tears as he looked at the picture of his wife, almost unrecognizable with her unkempt hair and sooty jacket and slacks. He picked up the phone and this time dialed his parents’ number in Minneapolis.

"Mom?" "Ben," Linda Starkweather was instantly alarmed. Ben, even as a little boy, hardly ever wept. <<She’s dead>> she thought in dread.

"She’s okay," Ben sobbed. "Oh Mom, she was there, she saw everything, but she’s okay, she’s okay, she’s okay…." Linda couldn’t answer her son for she was crying too hard herself.

September 17, 2001 MNBC New York Studios

Alanda Klein did not miss the fact that Special Agent Doggett’s hands were shaking a little as he was poured water for himself and his partner. She also saw how Dr. Starkweather’s face kept turning whiter and whiter throughout the entire interview. Alanda was torn with guilt for having to make them relive all of this again. <<Come on guys>> she thought. <<Just a little bit longer to go.>> "So, when you finally made contact with the FBI, what happened then?" "Well, the suggested that we return to our hotel room and rest up, ‘cause they wanted us to report in bright and early the next day, but…" he looked over at his partner. "We thought it’d be best, with Agent Starkweather’s medical trainin’ and all, to return to Ground Zero and see what we could do. And," Doggett finished his train of thought bitterly, I wanted to see if I could find my friend." *****************************************************************************************

Ground Zero 3:33 PM Eastern Standard Time

Starkweather and Doggett waded through debris that was up to their knees. Wearing painter’s mask an owner from a hardware store in Brooklyn had donated by the hundreds, they trudged along with the firefighters and policemen and other FBI agents that had come out to assist. In the inky gloom that descended on the city, it seemed hopeless. Walkie-talkies hung on their belts as cell phones were now essentially useless. The antennas for most of the cell phone service had been on the North Tower. Starkweather was cringing every time something crunched under her feet, afraid she was stepping on a body. She clutched the handle of the first aid kit a medic gave her like the corner of a security blankie. Doggett resembled a zombie, the front of his dress shirt covered with dried blood of the victims he helped, his eyes blank and staring ahead. He had shed his dress jacket long ago. Starkweather had given hers to a woman who they had discovered sitting shell shocked on a street corner not too far way from the remains of the World Trade Center. While Starkweather had tenderly wrapped her in her blazer, the woman, with tears cutting through the dust on her face, had looked up her and whispered, "Have you seen my husband? He works on the 101st floor of the North Tower. His name is Maxwell Scelfo. He’s five-eleven, brown hair, blue eyes, he has a scar down his left cheek from a car accident he had when he was sixteen years old." She looked up at Starkweather and Doggett, begging them to give her hope.

"I’m sorry," Starkweather had said, while feeling her throat tighten, "I haven’t seen anyone fitting that description ma’am."

And she still hadn’t. She hadn’t seen any sign of life except for the surviving police officers and firefighters. Buildings and cars were still burning. Paper still fluttered around like confetti.

She kept looking up at Doggett, wishing she knew the right words to say to him. He had worked with the grand majority of the men and women that ran into the burning Towers. And he would have ran right in after them, had she not begged him to stay and help her. The Catch-22 of surviving. Yes, he was alive, but he’d live with the knowledge that he was alive while they were not. And she’d live with that dual burden of guilt and thanksgiving as well.

She prayed that maybe his best friend had been spared that eventually they’d run into him on the street, he’d start haranguing Doggett about meeting at the Windows of the World restaurant. Starkweather felt another stab of guilt as she watched another body bag being borne away by weary and grieving police officers. <<Why didn’t I say to meet somewhere else?>> she castigated herself.

"HEY!!" A voice suddenly cried out. "WE NEED HELP! WE GOT A SURVIVIOR!!"

Doggett and Starkweather, as fast as the foot high debris would allow them, hurried towards the yelling. Starkweather watched as Doggett joined the firefighters to help them gently as possible, extract a man from the rubble. Another medic appeared with a backboard. Despite the firefighters’ care in putting him on the hard stretcher, the victim cried aloud in pain. They carried him over to Starkweather, who was grateful to see at least one that lived through the mayhem. "Sir," she said, numb with professionalism. "My name is Dr. Starkweather, can you tell me your name?"

Doggett stepped back, disappointed. Happy that a survivor was found, but it wasn’t Mickey. Doubt clawed at his mind that Mick would be found, but he didn’t want to give up hope. Not yet. Not yet. After all, this guy was found.

******************************************************************************************

FBI Temporary Headquarters Secured Location 5:55 PM Eastern Standard Time

"Thank you Kimberly," Skinner said automatically as she set a cup of coffee down on his makeshift desk that he was currently sharing with Kersh. It was the first time all day he had a chance to sit longer than three minutes. He had just come in from a very long meeting with the Director of the FBI and the Director of the CIA. During all that time, his field agents had been excruciatingly busy. Reyes, along with several other agents, went back out to assist the DC police in traffic control, to restore order in the panic stricken Capitol. Meanwhile, the others that had remained behind were scouring the databases, digging up any information, any leads that could point them to the enemy behind this travesty. Scully had called in early, saying that so far, although not completely conclusive, their preliminary findings were pointing towards Osama bin Laden, a militant overzealous Muslim hypocrite, accused of backing several previous terrorist acts in the name of Allah. "Terrific," Skinner had said with a groan and went to report that intelligence to the Director. Then the report came through that 7 World Trade Center Building had fallen. At the rate the buildings of the World Trade Center were collapsing, there was going to be nothing left to save.

After that disheartening news, the Director had called for a brief respite. Skinner sipped at the coffee, black and boiling hot, just as he liked it (<<Thank you Kimberly>> he thought as he jotted memo to himself to make damn sure Kimberly gets approved for the hefty raise he was trying to push through for her) he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Then his cell phone rang. Skinner groaned and seriously thought about not answering. "Assistant Director Skinner." "Mr. Skinner?" A hesitant feminine voice piped up. "My name is Margaret Scully and I am so sorry to disturb you at a time like this…" Ten minutes later, Skinner burst out of the tiny room, in search of Scully, half furious, half grateful. Grateful because, as usual, Fox Mulder was the luckiest son-of-a-bitch that had ever graced God’s green earth. Furious because, as usual, Scully had said nothing, just swallowed up whatever misery was plaguing her and just trudged on without even a tiny whimper of complaint. He had only ever seen her cry twice in the nine years he had known her: when he told her Mulder was missing and at Mulder’s funeral.

He made a mental note to make sure Scully got a raise too.

Meanwhile, Kimberly was making the rounds, passing out coffees in the main conference room where agents were bent over notebook computers, accessing the Bureau’s database through there. Scully threw herself into her work, anything to delay the mourning process. She knew that this wasn’t healthy, but dammit, she had lived through his death once before. She wasn’t ready to go through that again. Not yet. She lifted her head to see who had William now. <<Agent Won- Hyo. Okay,>> she thought as she put her head back down again.

Scully had been afraid that the other agents would see her son as a nuisance. Actually, turned out, he was a welcomed stress reliever. As Reyes said, there was something nice about babies. William was such a good natured tyke, that most agents, even the seasoned grizzled agents, appreciated the chance to take a small break to feed him or change his diaper. Or were just content to cuddle him as they pounded away on their computer keyboards or barked into the phone. And William loved the attention. He babbled cheerfully, innocent of the evil just outside the door. It was as if the child’s innocence gave the other agents the resolve to continue on. Scully smiled. The boy looked like her with his guileless cornflower blue eyes and he had his father’s temper, how he howled whenever somebody told him ‘No’ but there was a sweetness to him that Scully wasn’t sure where he inherited that from.

She forced herself not to think of her son’ s father.

What she thought of instead was a conversation she had with her own father years ago. She was home for the holidays, fresh from Quantico. Her parents had been living in California at the time, before Maggie had put her foot down and said she wanted to move back to the East Coast….

Margaret and William Scully’s home San Diego, California December 23, 1991

"Okay, Charlie," Maggie Scully’s voice cracked. "We understand."

Dana looked up from the Monopoly game she was playing with Melissa and Bill, a Christmas time tradition she had been looking forward to ever since she got on a plane to fly home, along with all the other traditions. Along with the monster marathon board games, there was making cookies and fudge with Missy and Maggie. The touch football games outside (if they were stationed in a warm climate. If it was a colder one, snowball fights.) The Midnight Mass. The orgy of present opening on Christmas Day. Watching ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ for the leventy-leventh time. Traditions were very important to military families who were uprooted on a nearly annual basis.

Missy looked back at Dana and tried to smile. Dana tried to smile back and ran her fingers through her long strawberry-blond hair nervously. She again toyed briefly with the idea of bobbing it short, and maybe coloring it a brighter red. <<Mom would have kittens>> she decided as she listened to the rest of her mother’s conversation with her brother.

"We love you too. Be careful. We’re so proud of you Charlie… we miss you… call again if you get a chance. I love you… bye…" Maggie discreetly wiped away a few tears before turning to her family. She surveyed them briefly, her own little kingdom before giving them the news. Bill Senior was in his Barcolounger, reading a Louis L’mour story, feet clad in fuzzy slippers Dana had gotten him last Father’s Day. Missy, with her warm cocoa eyes, constant serene smile and her curly hair she had just recently dyed a darker richer red that made Maggie want to have fits. Bill Jr. Dark haired, dark eyed like herself, but so tall! She was still in awe that once upon a time, that giant had been little enough to lay underneath her heart inside of her. And Dana. The baby of the family. Definitely lived up to the redhead stereotype. But there was a softness in her pretty blue eyes that Maggie hoped would never go away. She had been such a gentle child. She had even cried when she killed a garter snake with a BB gun when she was a little girl.

"Well," Maggie finally said as her family looked up to her. "Charlie said he can’t make it home for Christmas. He’s being shipped out to the Persian Gulf," she tried to sound confident and brave. "He told me to tell you all that he’s sorry he couldn’t talk to everyone, but he didn’t have a lot of time." Missy, with a rustle of the long velvet skirt she was wearing, got up and walked over to her mother, her bracelets and other trinkets jingling. "Oh Mom," Missy hugged her. "It’ll be okay." Maggie patted her hand and nodded. "Oh I know," she said lightly.

"Damn towel-heads," Bill Senior, retired old Naval seadog, grunted. "We should bomb Saddam and all of ‘em to hell. Just wipe Arabia off the map."

Bill Jr said "Yeah," in agreement but Dana, as usual, was up in arms.

"Ahab," she scolded him. "That’s not polite. Besides, there are thousands of poor people in Iraq who are innocent of any wrongdoing. We can’t just lump them all into one stereotype an-" Bill Senior interrupted her monologue. "Starbuck," the Navy veteran said gently, "if you’re going to run with the spooks, you can’t have any sympathy for the enemy. Military, FBI, whatever. If your job is to defend our civilian population, you can’t afford the luxury of feeling sorry for theirs. You’ve got to keep your guard up. Be tough. Besides, you think those bastards give a damn about our innocents? They’d blow us up in a heartbeat if they ever got the chance…." ************************************************************************************* FBI Temporary Headquarters Secured Location 5:55 PM Eastern Standard Time

Scully remembered how angry she had been at her father, for his dismissive attitude, how he had just lumped the Arab nations into one conglomerate enemy.

As more and more evidence was being complied against Osama bin Laden, Scully fought harder and harder with herself not to think the same as her father. But now she understood why her father thought the way he did. At the time, she thought he was just being prejudiced, that he didn’t know better or he didn’t care to learn better. However, as she ploughed through her work with a detached professionalism, through the numbness, she could feel the hate chewing away at her. The desire for retribution. For vengeance.

"Man," one of the agents said suddenly. "If bin Laden’s really behind this shit, there is gonna be a long line of people wanting to pop a cap into his ass."

And Scully couldn’t help but think of her smooth sleek Smith and Wesson, the feel of the cold metal against her hand, pressing the barrel against his forehead… Scully closed her eyes, willed herself not to think about that either.

"Agent Scully?" She opened her eyes, looked up at Skinner. He was holding William who was playing with his necktie. "Could I have a word with you, agent?" "Yes sir," Scully rose from her seat and followed him outside.

Skinner shut the door and pulled Scully aside. He was actually smiling. "Dana, I have some very good news for you," he said. But before he even got the chance, Scully’s cell phone rang. Scully looked down and her eyes about fell out of her head. The caller ID was flashing Mulder’s cell phone number. She looked up at Skinner, bewildered, realizing what his good news was but still afraid to believe. She answered with a shaking voice, "Scully." "Scully, it’s me…" It was the third time Skinner had ever seen her cry.

September 12, 2001 Holiday Inn Newark, New Jersey 1:35 AM Eastern Standard Time

Doggett and Starkweather finally staggered back into their hotel. The lobby was full of people, everyone who had been stranded at the Newark International Airport when the all airports were shut down. Some where sleeping in chairs. Others were huddled against walls. Still others were still milling about. All looked uncomfortable, unhappy, unsure and frightened to death.

"Doggett," Starkweather said, looked at all the pale ghosts hovering about the lobby with no place to go, "would the Bureau frown if I gave up my room and crashed with you so that somebody would have a bed to sleep on tonight?" "At this point," Doggett said, "I don’t think they’d give a fat rat’s ass." Doggett had still received no news of Mickey, but he had gotten news about his little brother, Daniel. After the third building from the World Trade Center collapsed, Doggett and Starkweather again, started to maneuver through the wreckage, in vain hopes to find somebody, anybody alive in that mess.

They had passed a firefighter, sobbing on what was left of somebody’s Ford Taurus. Starkweather had noticed the blood seeping down from a cut on his arm and so attended to him. "Are you all right, sir?" she asked at she dabbed at the wound with an alcohol pad. Noting that it was actually quite deep, she had pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and said to Doggett, "I need you to be my nurse, I’m going to stitch this up."

Doggett had held a small flashlight up for Starkweather to sew by, as the smoke still rendered most of downtown pitch black. He had passed Starkweather needles and thread from the medics kit and listened to the firefighter tell his tale. "Sorry to be such a baby," he said, wincing as the needle passed in and out of his flesh, closing the wound, "but Jesus, I had to take a time-out and cry. I’m not… it don’t seem real yet." "Who are you with?" Starkweather asked. "New York or Port Authority." "New York," he said in his heavily Brooklyn accented voice. "Engine 47. We were the first on the scene."

"Forty-seven!" Doggett said suddenly. "Did you know a Daniel Mick? Young kid, fresh outta training?" The firefighter looked up at Doggett with grief-stricken eyes. "Yeah, I knew ‘im."

A torrent of questions burbled forth from Doggett, "Well, is he okay? Where is he? Have he been able to get a hold of his family, has he…" Doggett trailed off as the firefighter continued to look at him with sad eyes. "He didn’t make it out, did he?" Doggett said.

"I lost about thirty of my brothers today," the firefighter said. "All good people. Danny-boy died a hero."

Starkweather had to take a second to wipe tears out of her eyes before finishing up her stitching. "Who gives a shit he died a hero," she spat out resentfully, articulating her rage for the first time that day. "He was just a baby. He was barely twenty-one." She bowed her head and finished her suturing. "Sorry," she had mumbled to him, apologizing for her outburst. "Doggett, hand me one of the big Band-Aids," she didn’t even look at him, she knew she would burst out in hysterical tears if she did. "Try and keep this clean," she said. "Get some antibiotic salve and put some on tonight when you get a chance." "Thanks Doc," the firefighter said, unknowingly called her the military’s nickname for its combat medics and Doggett’s pet name for her. He got up. "I’m sorry ‘bout Danny," he said to Doggett. "He was a good kid." Doggett looked at him and nodded, not being able to speak. "Well," he said, a bleak smile on his face, "back to work," and he had picked up his axe and went to rejoin what was left of the FDNY to continue the futile search for survivors.

"Doggett," Starkweather had said helplessly.

"Gimme a minute," he said thickly and he walked away from her.

Standing alone in the remains of Liberty Street, Starkweather watched Doggett’s retreating back. Putting one hand on her hip and the other over her mouth, and had began to sob, coated with soot, blood and sweat, surrounded by smoldering building remains and ashes.

One of the medics that had accompanied them back to Ground Zero had seen Doggett walk away and Starkweather crying so he plodded through the debris to her. "You okay, Dr. Starkweather?" he had asked.

Starkweather, looking at him and shaking her head had said, "Considering the situation, that’s kind of a stupid question, don’t you think?" but she had tempered her harsh statement with a smile.

Finally, while watching firefighters raise an American flag in the remains of the Twin Towers, the New York Field Office radioed Doggett and Starkweather. The order was simple: Go home.

So they had made their way back to the hotel in Newark. The journey was impossibly long. There were no cabs, the Holland Tunnel was shut down. Eventually, an empty ambulance, feeling sorry for the agents and having no other precious cargo to bear, stopped for the walking agents and gave them a lift to where the Coast Guard were ferrying people from New York to New Jersey. Exhausted, the agents had slumped onto a bench. Doggett’s head drooped to one side and he had briefly slept on Starkweather’s shoulder. Heart aching for her partner, she affectionately ruffled his hair in his sleep and stared out across the Hudson River at the morbid gloom she was leaving behind.

She could barely make out the outline of the Statue of Liberty. Her torch was defiantly lit up, although no people were allowed to wander up the stairwell inside of her, climb through her torso, up her arm and stand on the torch she held to survey the width and spread of America the Beautiful.

<<Home of the Brave.>> she had thought as a wave of crushing sorrow washed over her.

As she packed up her room, she still felt as if she was drowning in misery. During the ferry ride, she had spoken quietly to one of the Coast Guard captains and gotten caught up on the State of the Nation as Doggett slept. Wall Street had closed. All federal building in Washington DC had been evacuated. Disneyland in Anaheim and Disney World in Orlando also had been evacuated. The Space Needle and the Sears Tower had been shut down. The Mall of America was emptied of patrons. All flights, foreign and domestic had been grounded until further notice. The President had returned to the Capitol. The fourth plane that crashed in eighty miles southeast of Pittsburgh was not shot down as rumored. Now they believe that the passengers rose up against the terrorists and crashed the plane themselves, rather that have it hit it’s target, which the military was thinking was either the White House or the Capitol. They, like Danny, died heroes. Cold comfort for those they left behind.

Starkweather zipped her duffel bag shut. Before going over to Doggett’s, she picked up the phone. She tried to call Ben, but the phone lines were still jammed. She tried his cell and got his cell phone. "Ben, honey, it’s me," she tried hard not to let her voice quaver. I hope you get this message. I can’t get through to you on a landline. But I’m okay. And I love you and I miss you and… I’m in Room 345. Um, I lost my cell phone, so just call the hotel and leave a message if I’m not in. I’m going to stay and help the New York Office for a while so I don’t know when I’m coming home. I’ll call tomorrow. Bye."

She took a shaking breath. Debated. Then picked up the phone again and dialed.

"Hi, this is Jeremy Bailey. I’m not in right now, so please leave your name, number and a detailed message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible." After the annoying beep, Starkweather said, "Daddy? Dad are you home? It’s me, Jeri. Um… I know that we haven’t exactly talked in a while and I’m still pissed as hell at you. For lying to me. But… um… I don’t know if Ben talked to you, if that’s why you’re not answering ‘cause you’re on the phone with him, but something happened…um…. I’m in New York. Um, I saw everything, Daddy. I saw the planes crashing into the Towers and… people jumping from the buildings and…" her breath was coming out in gasps now. "Oh Dad, this sounds so lame and cheesy, but it’s not worth it. I don’t want to be mad anymore. I wanna talk to you, I miss you so much. I’m so sorry I was such a bitch to you. Please call me. I lost my cell phone so just call me at 201-555-7891. I’m in Room 345. Please call me," she was sobbing freely now. "Please. I need to talk to you so bad right now. I love you and I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I have to go. Bye Dad," she whispered as she hung the phone up. She wiped the tears away and gave herself a minute to compose herself. Then she picked up her luggage and walked down to Doggett’s room.

He was still dressed in his sooty and bloodied clothing. "Hey," he said, moving aside so she could come in.

She dropped her luggage with a clunk. Plunking down on the foot of the bed, she said "Sorry it took so long. I was trying to call Dad and Ben." "Any luck?" Starkweather shook her head. "No. Got their voice mails though, so I told them to call here. I wish I hadn’t lost my cell phone." "I wish mine hadn’t broken," Doggett said as he pulled out clean clothes from his suitcase. "Do you want to get cleaned up first?" "No, go ahead," Starkweather said. "I want to babysit the phone for a bit, in case either Dad or Ben calls." Doggett nodded and went into the tiny hotel bathroom. He stood under the streaming hot water for what felt like centuries. Doggett closed his eyes and let the boiling clean water pelting him from the showerhead massage his sore muscles and wash away all traces of this terrible day. The water going down the drain was black.

Doggett came out of the shower, dressed in a white T-shirt and sweatpants. "So which bed d’ya wan-" he started to say, but then he noticed that Starkweather was curled up in the fetal position at the foot of the bed nearest the bathroom. "Guess you want this one," he said to her sleeping form.

He took off her shoes, still covered in the ashes of the fallen and gingerly, feeling extremely uncomfortable, slipping his hands up her pant leg to remove her knee high stockings. <<Thank God she shaved>> he thought. As if he wasn’t feeling uncomfortable enough. It would have been worse if he had to contend with stubble

He picked her up, whispering "Come on," as if he was putting a child to bed. Awkwardly, he took the covers off and put her back down on the bed. He smoothed her bangs away from her face, her sooty gray face. Her hair felt crusty and dirty. In the dim light of the room, he could still see tear-streak stains down her cheeks.

After turning out the lights in the main room, he went back into the bathroom and took a washcloth off the towel rack. He ran it under warm water and wrung it out. Grabbing a hand towel, he returned to Starkweather’s side and by the light from the bathroom, he gently wiped the ashes away from her face, starting from the brow, down to her chin. He took out her earrings. He took off her necklace. He moved slowly, as to not disturb her. Her eyebrows were scrunched tightly together, Doggett knew she had to be reliving today in her dreams tonight. He then took each hand and also wiped the blackness away. He removed her watch, but not her wedding band. Her skin, despite the gentle cleansing, still felt gritty. He wanted to take her hair down but was afraid that would wake her, so he let that be. She still looked like she was in the throes of a bad dream.

But then, so was he and he wasn’t even asleep yet.

Doggett sat on the edge of the bed, twisting the filthy washrag, his breaths coming out in sporadic bursts. Everything hurt, his head, his body, his heart. He looked around the room, as if he was looking for an escape route, completely unaware of the tears pouring down his face. He just wanted to run, to turn back to the clock, to go away, somewhere, sometime where this wasn’t happening. He knew those guys. The NYPD. The FDNY. Danny, little Danny Mick, for God’s sake, he had coached him in Little League and now he was a firefighter. He was running into the buildings instead of running away and his older brother, Mickey. His first partner, one of his best friends, he hadn’t even known if he was going to call him or not because his ex-wife was still friends with Minn and he didn’t want to make things awkward, but fate stepped in and he was supposed to meet him for breakfast… Dear God, what was he going to tell Minerva? What was he going to tell the girls? Doggett began to rock back and forth slightly, now noticing the tears but trying to keep quiet. "Doggett?" Hastily wiping away his tears on the back of his hand, he said roughly, before turning around, "Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you." Starkweather was sitting up, Indian-style, her arms wrapped around herself as if she was cold. "Don’t give up hope yet. We don’t know if Mickey was in the building when it collapsed. The phones are all jammed up so Minn wouldn’t be able to call us with news one way or the other. There’s still hope. He might be okay."

He looked over at her now. She looked so so young, like a teenage girl trying to comfort her grieving father. "That’s what Reyes said," he whispered, "before we found Luke. And I knew she was wrong," he said brokenly.

Starkweather’s face contorted, as if she was going to cry too. "Then don’t blame yourself. This isn’t your fault any more than what happened to your boy was."

Doggett lowered his head, shoulders shaking. Moved to tears, Starkweather crawled across the bed behind him and threw her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. Doggett clasped her tiny hands tightly, "Oh God," he sobbed. "This can’t be happening," he shook his head.

Starkweather hugged him tighter, at a loss for words. Doggett squirmed out of her embrace, making Starkweather feel like maybe she overstepped the boundaries, but it was only so he could turn around and hold onto her tightly, facing her.

"At least you’re okay," Doggett said. "Thank God for that. You’re okay."

"I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re all okay, we’re good enough, smart enough and doggone it, people like us," Starkweather tried vainly to crack a joke, but she snuffled her way through most of it. She turned her head to give him a friendly peck on one cheek while wiping tears away on the other. Still holding one side of his face with one hand, she broke away from him just a little bit so she could cup the other side of his face with her other. Using her thumb to wipe away tears on the other side of his face she whispered raggedly, "It’ll be okay," as her own tears streamed down her face. "It’ll be okay." She kissed his forehead and then, to his surprise and hers, his lips.

There was nothing sexual about the kiss, nothing carnal or hormonal or erotic. It was soft, gentle and closed mouthed. A brushing of her lips against his. The kiss itself was practically G-rated. Starkweather held his face and Doggett put his arms around her waist, holding her as close as possible and they exchanged two or three more kisses like that, tender, affectionate and mild.

They broke apart and Doggett put his hand to her dirty cheek, mutely telling her thank you for her unwavering support. Starkweather smiled sadly, rested her face in his hand for just a minute, then turning her head away, she slid off the bed, going into the bathroom. When he heard her shut the door, Doggett laid down where she had been and closed his eyes.

Starkweather turned the shower on full blast and stepped into it fully clothed. It was a strange act she had performed for as long as she could remember, stepping into a running shower with all of her clothes on whenever she felt too overwhelmed to go on. She slid down the shower wall and sat in the bathtub, arms around her legs, chin on knees, feeling the cold water penetrate into her.

September 17, 2001 MNBC New York Studios

Of course that part had been left out of the interview.

Alanda turned to Starkweather again. "Tell us about the next day." "It seemed to be an exercise in futility," Starkweather said. "Agent Doggett and I reported to the Field Office. They sent me to Bellevue to attend to any possible survivors while Doggett was sent to question possible suspects. The day was long and miserable. Bellevue for the most part was empty. Most of the people, well, there just wasn’t anything left, really, as horrible as that sounds. When those planes hit, the people were literally vaporized in the explosion. Cremated instantly. It was definitely a ‘hurry-up-and-wait’ kind of day." Alanda nodded, taking a moment to ask the next question, the question she had been dreading to bring up since the interview began. "And when you left the hospital for the evening, what happened to you, Agent Starkweather." Starkweather had been anticipating this question as well and dreading it. She started fiddling with the Holy Medal she wore around her neck. "Um…."

September 12, 2001 Holiday Inn, Room 345 Newark, New Jersey 9:35 PM Eastern Standard Time

Starkweather, still clad in the pea-green hospital scrubs met Doggett at the door to their hotel room. "Hi," she said.

"Hi," he said gruffly as he unlocked the door. "How’d it go?" She shook her head. "Don’t ask. You?" Doggett now shook his head. "Don’t ask." "Mind if I use the bathroom first?" Starkweather asked. "I am dying to get out of these scrubs."

"I don’t care," Doggett said, sitting on the foot of the bed, unloosening his tie. "Hey, I talked to Skinner today," he said as he kicked off his shoes while Starkweather walked into bathroom.

She stuck her head out the door. "Oh yeah? What’d he say?" "That we’re probably gonna be TDY’ed here for a while." "What’s ‘a while’?" "Hell if I know." "Great." She put her head back inside and shut the door. Doggett heard the shower turn on. "Starkweather, have you eaten?" he yelled to her. "WHAT?" She yelled back. "I can’t hear you." "Have you eaten? I was gonna call room servi-" He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Hold on," he stood up and peered through the peephole. "Well, I’ll be damned…." He muttered as he threw open the door. "Mul-duh you gotta have more lives than a cat!" Doggett shook his hand before letting him come in. "Stawk – weddah and I talked to Scully this mornin’ before goin’ out into the field. You need to stop scarin’ that poor woman like that." Mulder had dark rings under his eyes. He had driven nearly nonstop from Boston to New Jersey. It had been Scully’s suggestion to stop in Newark and stay with Doggett and Starkweather before continuing on to DC. "The last thing I need right now," she had sniffled to him over his cell phone, "is to have a state patrolman call me and tell me you died in a car crash because you fell asleep at the wheel."

"I’ll make a note of that," Mulder said blandly as he put his meager luggage down. "How are YOU doing?" he asked in genuine concern.

"I’ve been better," Doggett said bluntly.

Starkweather came out of the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a loved gray t-shirt from the Gap. Her hair was damp and hung loose down her back.

Mulder smiled at her. "Hiya Hurricane." As if current affairs weren’t unbelievable enough, then the impossible happened. Starkweather crossed over and hugged him tightly around his neck, ending the feud that started before they had even met face to face. "Hey Spooky," she said back to him.

Surprised, Mulder hugged her back. "Piece of hell must be freezing over right now," he quipped. "That, or you got hit in the head." "Ha." Starkweather said. "Last time I’m ever nice to you," she added when she broke away from him, but her eyes were glowing in genuine happiness that he was all right.

The phone rang. As Doggett rushed to get it, Mulder said to Starkweather. "I did stop one the way to pick up some very hard and very expensive liquor. If memory serves, you are a Jack Daniel’s lady?"

"I’ll go get some ice and Cokes," Starkweather said, one of her devilish grins lighting up her face. She grabbed the room key and some change. Meanwhile, Doggett answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Doggett? It’s Ben, is Jerilyn there?" "Starkweather!" Doggett called out to Jerilyn left. "Shit, she just stepped out to get some ice. Do you mind waiting?" He then heard that Ben was breathing heavily… no, it sounded more like crying. "Ben, what is it." "Oh God, I don’t know how to tell her this. The Admiral’s dead. He was killed at the Pentagon." "WHAT??" Doggett exclaimed.

"What happened?" Mulder mouthed to him.

"He came into town to see Jeri. Wanted to mend fences. We were supposed to meet for lunch yesterday… he went to see some old friends at the Pentagon and… he was there when that plane hit," Ben’s voice sounded strangled. "I haven’t returned any of Jeri’s calls because I’ve been trying to find the Admiral. And it was just confirmed that he’s missing, presumed dead. He was last seen leaving an office of a buddy in that corridor where the plane hit." Doggett felt his blood turn to ice. "Oh my God. Oh my God." "What happened," Mulder demanded out loud, seeing how all the blood drained out of Doggett’s face.

"Jerilyn’s dad’s dead," he said to Mulder. "What?!?!? When!?!?"

"Yesterday," Doggett said, feeling a helpless rage creep over him. "In the Pentagon. "Oh Jesus Christ."

"Who’s there with you?" Ben asked.

"Mul-duh." "You guys, please stay with her after I tell her," Ben pleaded. "I’d come up and get her, but all the flights are still grounded." "Don’t worry Ben," Doggett promised. "We’ll take care of her." Jerilyn walked through the door, balancing three cans of Coca-Cola and the ice bucket. She immediately sensed the tension in the room. "What is it?" she asked, putting the sodas and ice down. "What happened."

Mulder opened his mouth, but closed it, his hazel eyes deepening to brown in his sorrow. Doggett looked like he had just run over her cat. "Here she is, Ben," he said into the phone, then, swallowing hard, held the phone out to her. "It’s for you, it’s Ben." Sick with nervousness, Jerilyn accepted the phone. "Ben?" "Hi baby." "Ben, you sound awful. Aren’t you getting better?" she gently chided him.

"Baby," Ben said just as gently. "You need to sit down." "Why?" "Honey, I’ve got some real bad news for you." Jerilyn took several deep breaths, twirled the phone cord with her fingers. "Um… define bad?" she tried to be her usual sarcastic self but she sounded pitiful, like a child whistling in the dark to scare away the boogie man.

"Honey, your dad’s gone." "What… what?"

Ben was over at Scully’s, at her request. She didn’t want him over at his apartment all alone, as ill as he was, especially with the Admiral missing. Her eyes were red with crying for the Admiral had been an old friend of her family, one of her father’s best friends.

Ben looked up at Scully and then ran his fingers through his hair. "Honey, your dad was in Washington." "No he wasn’t," she said in the same pathetic little-girl voice.

"Yeah, he was, Jeri. He came down for a visit." "No… he’s in Sedona," her voice cracked. Doggett and Mulder stood there, feeling absolutely powerless. "He’ s in Arizona."

"No, honey, he came to Washington to for a visit. He was at the Pentagon yesterday," now Ben’s voice cracked.

‘Well… that doesn’t mean anything," Jerilyn said desperately. "The Pentagon’s a huge complex…"

"Jeri, I got a call from one of the commanders in charge of the rescue effort," Ben said as Scully sympathetically put her hand on his shoulder. "It was confirmed. Honey, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but baby, your is dad is gone." There was a long pause. "Jeri? Jerilyn, are you still there?" Jerilyn had slumped against a wall, her back to her brother and her partner. "I’m still here," she said in a shaking voice. "I’m still here." A huge sob welled up from her chest. "Oh God….." she put her other hand to her eyes.

Doggett walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder. Mulder put his hands in the pockets of his travel-rumpled slacks and looked at the floor.

"Jerilyn be strong, okay? I wish I could be there. I’m sorry I’m not there,’ Ben said, his heart ripping in half listening to her cry hundreds of miles away. "I love you so much, sweetheart and I hate like hell that this is happening."

"Oh Ben," she sobbed, "why???"

And that Ben or anyone else had an answer to that. He tried to talk to her for a little bit longer, but it got to a point where he couldn’t understand what she was trying to say. Doggett eventually took the phone from her and said "Ben, its John Doggett." Anguished, Ben asked, "Oh God, is she okay?"

Doggett looked at her. Mulder had come, kissed her on top of her head and wrapped his long arms around her. "It’s okay," he said over and over in the same voice he used with little William when he had a tumble. "It’s okay, sweetheart" he stroked her still damp hair.

"She will be," Doggett said. "And we’re going back to DC tomorrow. First thing."

"Thank you Doggett," Ben said raggedly. "I won’t forget this." <<Yes you will, you jealous prick>> Doggett couldn’t help but think. Then realized that Ben actually finally had the grounds to be jealous and didn’t even know it and the guilt doubled.

Doggett bent over her, her face buried in Mulder’s shirt. "Jerilyn?" he said tenderly, putting his hand on her back. She turned her head towards him; her eyes nearly swollen shut with her weeping. "I have to go do something, but I will be right back. I promise," he added when her hand shot out and grasped his coat sleeve and whimpered. As if she was afraid of losing one more person. "I’m gonna borrow Mul-duh’s cell so if you need anything, call, okay?" Doggett pressed his lips together. "I’m so sorry. I… I wish I could fix this." He looked up at Mulder. "You gonna be okay here?" Mulder nodded, putting his chin on top of Jerilyn’s head, holding his sister tenderly and tightly. "We’ll be okay." He held out his cell phone. Doggett nodded and took the phone.

As he left, he was very grateful that Mulder and Starkweather finally reached reconciliation.

But what a price. Jason and Minerva Mick’s apartment Manhattan, New York 10:59 PM Eastern Standard Time

"Sorry it’s so late," he said, kissing Minn on the cheek.

"It’s alright," she said, letting him in. Her eyes were bloodshot. "I’m just glad to see you in person." She led him to the quiet living room. The windows that faced downtown had the shades pulled down. "Jerilyn didn’t come with?"

"No… she received some news from home… um… her father was a retired Admiral and he happened to be in the Pentagon when that plane…" Doggett trailed off, looking at the floor.

A black look crossed Minn’s face. "It never ends, does it," she asked bitterly.

"I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner," he said.

"Well, I figured you’d be busy," she said simply. "When I saw you and Jerilyn on TV… I was just so grateful that you two were in one piece… it gave me hope," she tried to smile bravely, but her face crumpled. "Oh John, this is so hard," she buried her face in her hands. "I don’t know what to tell the girls."

Blinded by his tears, Doggett got up to sit next to Minn. He hugged her tightly. "I tried to find him," he choked out. "I looked. I couldn’t find him."

Minn clung to him. "I don’t know whether to hope that he might walk through that door or to accept that he’s never comin’ home," she sobbed. "I just wish I KNEW. Even if he was… gone. If I could just know for sure. I don’t know what to tell the girls. They’re so scared right now." "Minn," Doggett said brokenly. "I don’t have news about Mickey… but I found out what happened to Danny."

Minn looked up at him. "Is he…. Gone?" Doggett nodded. "Jerilyn and I, while we were tryin’ to find survivors, ran into a guy that worked with Danny. He said Danny never made it out."

Minn sighed, a trembling sigh. "At least we know," she said, wiping away her tears, then wiping away Doggett’s. "Maybe, maybe we should just start accepting that Jason’s gone… so if he does come home, it’ll be a double-blessing. A wonderful, wonderful surprise."

"I hope he comes home." Minn, a woman wise beyond her years, said woefully, "He’s not going to though, is he?" Doggett shook his head, feeling another bout of tears threatening. "I don’t think so, Minni." Minn pressed her lips together and nodded her head. "That’s what I think too. It just took another person to say it outloud to make it real."

Painfully, Doggett said, "Minn, I have to go back to DC tomorrow, but I will come back very soon. I’ve been temporarily assigned to the New York Office until further notice." Minn smiled through her tears. "I’m glad you’ll be here for a little while. It’ll make thing easier. Could you do me a favor? Go say good-bye to the girls before you leave? This is worse for them than it is for me. I’m an adult," she laughed darkly. "I’m supposed to have the answers and have it all together." Doggett nodded, kissed Minn on the forehead and got up. Before he disappeared down the hall to the girls’ room, Minn said. "Barbara called." At the sound of his ex-wife’s name, he paused. "Yeah?" "She said to tell you she’s glad you weren’t hurt." "Tell her… thanks. Tell her I’m glad she’s okay too."

Claudia and Cindy, as Doggett visited each girl separately, had flung themselves at him, and cried and cried and cried as they clasped to him.

"He’ll never see me graduate!!" Claudia had wailed. "He’ll never see me get married and have my own kids." Cindy meanwhile was in deep denial. "But Pop COULD be alive," she had whimpered. "I mean, he could be buried underneath all that stuff and the firemen could dig him out and he’d be okay, right? Right?? RIGHT????"

But his visit to Laurel, the littlest one, was the worst. "Hi," Doggett said to the girl sitting on her bed, hugging a bedraggled stuffed panda bear to her chest.

"Hi," she said, tearless.

"I just wanted to stop by to see how you were," Doggett said gently.

"Mom and Cindy and Claudia won’t stop crying," she said, hugging the toy closer to her.

"Well," Doggett said. "It’s a real tough time right now for them. For everybody." Laurie studied him. "You’ve been crying too," she accused him.

"Yeah," Doggett said honestly.

Her dark eyes flashed balefully at him. "My Pop’s not coming home, is he?" "No sweetie, I don’t think he is." When she turned away from him wrathfully, Doggett asked tenderly, "Are you mad at me for that?"

"No," she said angrily. "I dunno who to be mad at."

"I don’t either," Doggett told her truthfully.

She turned back to him. "Are the FBI gonna get the bad guys who did this?" "We’re workin’ on it, sweetie," he said to her. "Me and Agent Starkweather and the whole FBI… we’re workin’ very hard on it."

"Where is Mrs. Starkweather?" "She… she’s back at the hotel. She found out that her daddy died yesterday in the attacks too."

Laurie’s eyes filled up with tears. "But she’s OLD," she burst out. "She doesn’t NEED her dad anymore. I DO," and she finally began to cry. "Pop taught Cindy and Claud how to drive an’ he went to all of Claud’s dumb basketball games and Cindy’s dance recitals and he taught them out to cook real Irish food and stuff. Who’s gonna do that for me?"

"I can," Doggett promised her as he gathered her into a hug. "I can do all the stuff your daddy was gonna show you." He rocked her back and forth.

"You," she said, "live in Washington. You don’t live here." "I’ll come up," Doggett vowed. "Whatever you need. You just call me. I’ll come." "But you won’t be here everyday," she sobbed. "You’re just Uncle John. You’re not my dad."

"I know," Doggett said as his own tears spilled over and fell on Laurie’s head. "But I’ll try. I’ll try."

"I want him to come home," she moaned and the fatherless child succumbed to desolate sobbing, clinging to the childless man, who joined her in her tears.

Meanwhile….

Holiday Inn, Room 345 Newark, New Jersey

"Here," Mulder handed Starkweather a very strong Jack and Coke he had just mixed. Starkweather lethargically, accepted. She sipped, then she threw the entire contents down the back of her throat and swallowed the fiery whiskey. "Thanks," she said.

Mulder pulled up a chair next to the bed Starkweather was laying on. Her face was blotchy from crying. "You know," Mulder said as he sipped on his own drink, making a face. He was not partial to Jack Daniels. "It’s not often I don’t know what to say." Starkweather shrugged, already feeling the effects of the alcohol. She had taken no food yesterday or today. She liked the feeling of numbness that was coursing through her body. "Nobody can say anything Mulder," she said. "Words can’t fix this. Words can’t make this better. Only time can. And I don’t know if it will even be in my lifetime before its better." Mulder didn’t say anything. Starkweather, after a pause, continued. "You know how you’re just convinced aliens are poised right on the edge to take over the world?" "Yeah?" Starkweather closed her eyes. "I say, if they want this shitty planet bad enough, I say, let them have it."

Mulder smiled. "Jerilyn," he rebuked her kindly, ‘if you really believed that, you wouldn’t have been out there, busting your ass just to save one."

"I didn’t do anything special out there," she said.

"And that’s what made it extraordinary." There was a silence. Then Mulder reached for the Jack bottle. Taking her glass, he poured her a straight shot and handed it back to her. Pouring himself a shot himself, he said quietly, "Your father would have been proud of you." Starkweather smiled wryly. "Which one?"

Mulder held up his glass. "To Bill Mulder and Jeremy Bailey. One for his creation and the other for his maintenance."

Starkweather clinked her glass against Mulder’s. "I wish I could have met Bill." "He would have liked you." ********************************************************************

September 14, 2001 Washington National Cathedral.

Doggett waited patiently under a tree near the cathedral for the others to arrive. Skinner, upon hearing the news about Starkweather’s father, agreed to let them come home for a few days to recuperate from her loss and to go the National Day of Mourning held at the Washington National Cathedral at the President’s request.

Doggett was dressed in his solemn dress Marine uniform, a silent tribute to his fellow men in uniform that died in the Pentagon attack. He was wondering if he was being presumptuous until he saw the Starkweathers approach him. Both were clad in the somber dress blues of the formal Air Force uniform. Jerilyn’s hair was pulled back even tighter than usual in a perfect military bun. Ben was clean- shaven. They were holding hands. Ben only let go to shake Doggett’s white gloved hand. "I can’t thank you enough," he said lowly. "For what you did." Jerilyn only smiled weakly at him, her pretty hazel eyes ringed with sleeplessness. "Don’t worry about it," Doggett told him as he caught sight of Mulder and Scully.

Mulder was dressed in an inky black suit with a charcoal gray shirt and a gray, silver and black striped tie, tame for him. Scully was dressed in a severe black dress, her fiery hair held back by a black hair band, her golden crucifix glistening in the scanty sunlight. Mulder was carrying William, Scully held Mulder’s hand.

Their dignified appearance gave no hint to the joyous, tearful reunion that occurred the minute Mulder unlocked the door and bawled out, "Scully, it’s me." Scully had run from the bedroom where she had just put William down for a nap. She threw herself at him, nearly knocking him over, crying so hard, her entire body hurt later. She couldn’t stop touching him, just to make sure he was real while the entire time Mulder had wept and begged her forgiveness. "I was so stupid Scully, you were right, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter just as long as William is happy and healthy and safe, I don’t care. I won’t leave you. I won’t leave to chase shadows ever ever again. I won’ leave unless you tell me to." They had spent that entire day cleaved to each other, only moving to attend to William’s needs. And Scully nearly had to pry William out of Mulder’s hands to give him a bath or to put him to bed. The best part of that entire day was when the three of them were cuddling on the couch, no TV, no radio, no outside presence, just their little family, safe, together.

Even now, Mulder and Scully held hands tightly, just to reassure themselves that the other was there. Mulder clutched at his son. Doggett, looking at Mulder and William together, couldn’t help but feel a little envious. "Who’re we missing?" he asked as Ben put his arms around Jerilyn.

Ben worried about his wife. Instead of coming together like Mulder and Scully had, she seemed to be disappearing into herself, distancing herself from him. Granted he had held her all night on the couch as she sobbed like a little girl but she didn’t talk to him, didn’t share her grief with him, no matter how much he pressed her too. He didn’t know how to console her. He didn’t realize that she was inconsolable. All he knew that a huge part of her died on September 11. He didn’t realize that in that void was room for something beautiful to be born.

"No one, here comes Monica and Skinner," Scully said looking around Doggett. Skinner, although had thought about dressing in his dress uniform, had opted for a coal black, three-piece suit with a white dress blouse and a matching tie. Reyes, also clad in black, chose a very conservative dress suit. Her mane of midnight black hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. She hugged first Doggett, then Mrs. Starkweather when she saw them.

"Shall we?" Skinner said morosely, gesturing toward the church, watching all the dignitaries and the nobodies, moving inside to seek comfort as one.

Mulder and Scully, still clinging to each other walked up the stairs to the massive cathedral first, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Starkweather. Doggett escorted Reyes and Skinner brought up the rear.

September 17, 2001 MNBC New York Studios

"So," Alanda said incredulously to Dr. Starkweather after she finished her description of the services at the Washington National Cathedral, "you and Agent Doggett returned here, to New York, to continue investigating the attacks? Surely you, after everything that had happened, could have been granted compassionate leave, Dr. Starkweather. Why come back?" Dr. Starkweather finally looked like a human being. Her hazel eyes, flinty, feral, feline, finally softened, brimming with unshed tears. She looked at Doggett, who smiled at her, encouraging her. "It’s my job," she said finally after a long pause. "It’s what I do," she looked down at the floor. "It’s what my father would have expected me to do."

September 14, 2001 Washington National Cathedral

Admiral Jeremy Bailey opened his eyes. He was standing in the middle of an aisle in a colossal church. He deduced that some special service was completed. He looked around and saw the President of the United States, sitting next to the First Lady. He watched as his father, a former President himself reach across and grasp his son’s hand as a show of support.

**What the hell is going on?** Jeremy wondered as the congregation rose at the first chords of the final hymn of the day. He listened to the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" and wandered down the aisle, trying to figure out what was going on.

A few rows behind the President and his family, sat the Director of the FBI. Next to the Director was Assistant Director Skinner. Next to Skinner was Mulder and Scully, Scully holding that adorable little boy of theirs.

Next to Scully sat Ben. Next to Ben was…

"Jerilyn!" he cried out but she acted like she didn’t hear him. "Jerilyn!" he tried again.

"She can’t hear you," a soft voice said behind him.

Jeremy turned around and saw Lynette, smiling sadly at him.

"Go say goodbye Jeremy," she instructed him. "You can’t protect her anymore."

The congregation rose as the President took his leave. As he passed, Assistant Director Skinner, Ben, Jerilyn and Jerilyn’s FBI partner snapped perfect military salutes at him as he passed by. The Director, Mulder, Scully and an attractive dark-haired woman who sat next to Jerilyn’s partner bowed their heads in respect for their Commander-in-Chief.

After the President passed them by, Jerilyn lost her soldierly composure and crumpled into herself, sobbing into her hands. Ben put his arms around her shaking shoulders, whispered something in her ear and kissed her. Her partner looked on remorsefully. Jerilyn hugged her husband tightly but looked over at her partner as tears slid down her thin cheeks.

Standing in the empty chair in front of Jerilyn, Jeremy said to his grieving daughter, "Don’t cry for me, angel. My time’s done here. I will see you again someday. But not for a long long long time. You’re going to be an old lady with white hair, wrinkles and hordes of grandchildren before I see you again. I love you, angel. And I’m gonna miss you. But everything’s gonna be all right. I promise you. Goodbye," he choked on the last word before he returned to his wife, who was waiting patiently for him to come back to her.

The congregation sang the last chorus loudly: "Glory, glory hallelujah Glory, glory hallelujah Glory, glory hallelujah His Truth goes marching on"

**THE END**