Starkweather: Meum Mel II Echo of Eden

Author: Scully3776

Category: Mytharc

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I am not making any money off of the creations from 1013 Production's "The X-Files" so please, pretty please, don't sue me. I have actually invested several hundreds of dollars into X-Files merchandise. Including autographed pictures of David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, various VHS tapes, s1 DVD, the infamous 'Rolling Stones' issue of a nekkid Mulder and Scully and yes, the 'Mulder and Scully' Ken and Barbie doll all while making payments on the s2 DVD that's on layaway so sad is my devotion to this show is. Therefore, I am already giving you guys’ money. So why sue? 1013 is already receiving of huge chunk of my income.

* Author's Note: I have inserted an extra year in-between s8's "Existence" and s9's "NIHT". The only thing off continuitywise is William's age.

Summary: Part Two of the Meum Mel mytharc trilogy. If you're a new reader and like to know how this insanity began, I'd recommend starting at the beginning. Visit our brand new website http://www.geocities.com/phantmoftheopera/XfileJerilynStarkweather.htm l or look up the old thread numbers:

Introitus: 48869.1 Quanta: 57035.1 Frequency Modulation: 59573.1 Rex Tremandae: 76197.1 One Nation, Indivisible (website exclusive or email me for a copy) Meum Mel I: 79071.1

Or if you're lazy, and trust me! I can relate - the next post is a Cliff Notes of the entire sage thus far, which pretty much brings everyone back up to speed. :) Enjoy!

Previously on the X-Files...

Things just keep getting better and better for our basement crew especially for the latest recruit, Dr. Jerilyn Starkweather, who joined the team last April despite the reservations of her husband who did not want to leave his hometown of Minneapolis to move to Washington DC. Teamed up with her new partner, John Doggett, her first mission with the X-Files nearly killed her as Scully and Mulder, newly inducted as the Deputy Mayor of Washington DC after his fall from grace out of the Bureau, discovered that she had some strange mysterious link to Mulder's past. (Introitus)

The mystery is solved later that summer when Dr. Starkweather's husband disappears because he got too close to the Truth when his lawfirm assigned him to prosecute the Galpex Oil Company, specifically, the oil rig that Mulder and Doggett accidentally blew up. Thanks to the help of a time traveling quantum physicist named Dr. Sam Beckett and his hologram companion Al, it is discovered that Starkweather is actually Mulder's half-sister, as they share the same father. Mulder and Starkweather at this time, can not stand each other, so they were not thrilled, especially since Mulder was framed for the disappearance of Starkweather's husband, Benjamin. However, Mulder and Starkweather got over their differences and with a little help from Scully, Skinner, the Lone Gunmen, a illegal alien named Manny Ibarra and Sam, who's soul was in the body of Doggett, Ben was recovered and the Syndicate's plans where thrawted. However, Ben was returned to them for a price. Starkweather learned that her dearly loved adoptive father, the Admiral Jeremy Bailey had been a part of the corrupted Syndicate and had lied to her about her origins all these years. (Quanta)

The more and more Doggett and Starkweather worked together, be it undercover at a radio station (Frequency Modulation) or on a jungle remote island (Rex Tremandae), the more and more threatened by their relationship Ben became even though Starkweather desperately tried time and time again to convince him that she was committed to their marriage. Ben desperately tried to believe her.

On Halloween, the day after Doggett and Starkweather returned from being temporarily assigned to the New York Field Office to assist with the aftermath of the September 11 attacks (One Nation); a deranged woman who uncannily resembles Starkweather attacks and murders a liquor store owner. The next day, Doggett, Scully and Reyes apprehend the woman in Starkweather's apartment, but only after the deranged woman, Charlie, viciously attacks Reyes and another woman, cloaked in black, shoots Doggett in the chest. Doggett survives because of his bulletproof vest. The woman in black escapes but Doggett admits that her voice was similar to Starkweather's. Mulder theorizes that perhaps these lookalikes could be part of a genetics experiment as Starkweather herself may have been. Starkweather is less than open- minded to the possibility, but the physical similarities between her and Charlie can not be denied.

Meanwhile, Mulder's health begins to deteriorate, showing the same symptoms he had experienced a few years ago after being exposed to a piece of alien metal believed to be from a spaceship (The Sixth Extinction) While in Arizona, packing up her adoptive father's house because he had been killed in the Pentagon attacks on September 11, Starkweather is approached by an old lover, Lux Carlos, who deserted her to join the CIA. He gives her a serum that can control Mulder's illness but not cure him. This serum comes with a price; the CIA wants Mulder to join them. Meanwhile, while going through the Admiral's library, Ben finds a very mysterious videotape...

Starkweather tells Doggett, Scully and Mulder about the serum. Scully insists on testing it to make sure it's safe. When Reyes arrives at the lab, Scully and Starkweather make the discovery that Mulder and Charlie are actually suffering from the same ailment. Scully gives Mulder the serum and Starkweather and Doggett to Charlie. Both are temporarily healed, but must take the serum again if the symptoms reappear. The doctor in charge of Charlie's case balks because she learned that the serum is not approved by the Food and Drug Administration and threatens to report their actions to the Bureau.

However, Starkweather pleads with her to compromise, not to go to the Bureau and that they won't give Charlie anymore of the serum until it's approved and approval will be easy because she can push through legislation with the help of Mulder's old contact, Senator Matheson and her stepmother, Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey.

Before Starkweather and Doggett had gone down to the asylum to confront the doctor, Ben provoked a fistfight with Doggett. Starkweather tried to pull Ben off, but he accidentally slammed her into a wall, hurting her and enraging Doggett, warning him "If you ever touch her again, I'll kill you." Doggett later admitted to Reyes that he felt he was "in trouble" because of his feelings for his partner. Meanwhile, Scully and Starkweather debated whether or not her childhood trauma of being kidnapped is in any way related to the mystery surrounding Scully and Mulder's son, William. Scully admits she has doubts of the validity of the diskette given to Mulder, a diskette that supposedly contains Starkweather's adoptive mother's journal, a woman, according to Mulder, was a multiple alien abductee. Starkweather, because of seeing Ben's car at a motel when he told her he was in Falls Church visiting a colleague, suspects he has started cheating on her. Her suspicions are confirmed when she smells the perfume of Noelle Goodhall, the receptionist/legal aide that works at Carter, Spangle and Adams lawfirm, a perfume she had smelled before in her apartment. Before visiting a different lawfirm to draw up divorce papers, she is again confronted by Carlos who tells her she shouldn't have given the serum to Charlie and to not bother with the senators about FDA approval because if she does, he will make sure it gets tied up in red tape for years and that she would also be transferred to the New York Office.

Starkweather returns home to confront Ben. He confirms that he and Noelle began a relationship but he justified his adultery with his suspicions of hers, confirmed of surveillance photographs of Starkweather and Doggett together. Starkweather tries to explain to him that the pictures are innocent but he disbelieves her. They get into a fight and Starkweather leaves him, staying "I wish I would have left you in that warehouse to burn."

The next day, because she missed a meeting at Scully's apartment concerning the situation of Charlie and Carlos, Mulder calls Starkweather from work and invites her to lunch so he can fill her in on what she missed. Starkweather agrees to meet him on the steps of City Hall. When Starkweather had left, Scully receives a cryptic phone call from the woman in black with Starkweather's voice - Bravo. Acting on orders of the Cigarette Smoking Man, she tells Scully of a Syndicate sanctioned assassination on Mulder. They are to fire the minute he steps outside City Hall. Scully tries to reach Mulder but he had left his cell phone on his desk. She gets Skinner and they rush to City Hall with backup.

Meanwhile, Ben is also rushing to City Hall. After telling Noelle that his marriage is over. Noelle tears up and says "I have something to tell you something..." After hearing what Noelle had to say, Ben realizes he must inform Mulder. He gives Noelle the videotape he found, ordering her to hide it and if something happens to him or Starkweather, to give it to someone in the X-Files Division. "I don't care if it's John Doggett," he says as he storms out.

Mulder and Starkweather are less than receptive to Ben's presence. Starkweather tells Ben to leave. Ben begs them to listen to him...

From Starkweather: Meum Mel Part One

On the steps of City Hall...

"Mulder," Ben pleaded. "I need to talk to you."

"I really doubt you have anything of interest to tell me," Mulder said in his most maddening monotone.

Ben looked from Mulder down to his future ex-wife who was now standing beside Mulder and in front of him. And when they stood side by side like that, there was no denying they were from the same bloodline.

They had their arms crossed the same, their pouty lips clenched tightly in the same frown. Even their hazel eyes had flared into that strange yellowish color ringed by fire, the color their eyes changed to whenever they were lividly angry.

"Then let me talk to you Jerilyn," he begged her.

"I think enough was said last night," she said coldly. She looked up at her older brother. "Mulder, let's go, pleas-"

There was the sickening sound of tires squealing and people screaming.

Mulder, Jerilyn and Ben all turned their heads to see a tan SUV hurtling down the street, men dressed in black, with black ski masks over their head, hanging out of the windows with semi-automatic weapons in their hands, weapons pointed up...

... at them...

And they began spraying bullets at the steps of City Hall.

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

December 11, 2001...

Snow, like giant cottonballs fell from the gray sky. The tombstones and mausoleums lost their threatening, haunting appearance as they were coated with the fluffy snowflakes. An infant cried, tired and cold. His mother held him closer, her fiery red hair being covered with the snow.

"I know, I know," she whispered to the whimpering boy as the priest read from the Bible in front of casket. A casket that had been awash with deep red roses, bright green ferns and creamy pink lilies but now those vibrant hues were also being diminished by the falling snow. "Just a little bit longer," she whispered, kissing her baby's cheek, "not much longer now," she stifled a quiet sob as she tugged on his little stocking cap and then looked over to her left.

Mulder, seeing her head turn towards him, looked down and smiled sadly at her. With his arm in a sling, he hadn't been able to put his arm through the sleeve of his good black dress coat so he was shivering more than she or William. But he had insisted on working his arm into the sleeves of his inky black suit jacket and with her help, he slowly managed it. She also had to help him with her tie, but it was a mundanity she cheerfully performed, so grateful she was that he had not been injured any worse than he had been in the shootout on City Hall.

Scully shifted William to her other arm and reached for Mulder's hand. Mulder clasped it tightly, interlocking his fingers with hers, as if he was afraid to let her go. They stared ahead at the priest, trying not to look at the casket or the yawning black square shaped hole in the ground.

Scully's turquoise eyes flicked to her right, tired of looking at the priest in his purple vestibules, droning on about ashes to ashes, dust to dust. She believed in God, Maker of Heaven and Earth, but the words where nothing more than cold comfort right now and she was weary of it. She wanted more than just comforting words, she wanted the power to make it better, to play God, just once.

On her right, stood Assistant Director Skinner, solemn as always. His hands, clad in black leather gloves were clasped in front of him, his head politely down. Next to Skinner, starting the circle that formed around the gravesite, was Special Agent Monica Reyes. Her blackish- brown hair was pulled back in a bun, the only time Scully had ever seen her hair so properly styled. A thick violet cashmere scarf was around her neck but her coat was black, just like the suit she wore. Her coffee brown eyes met Scully's, still bright with unshed tears.

Scully remembered that Reyes had a psychic gift, that she could sense the energy of the people who had been there and who were there now. She wondered how she could bear feeling the crushing sorrow of everyone around her.

Next to Reyes, stood John Doggett and he literally looked like hell. Granted he was clean-shaven and his suit was fresh from the dry cleaners, his black trench coat was neatly belted around his waist and his dress shoes shown with a martial perfection. But Scully saw him struggling with a sorrow he yet did not even comprehend. Doggett was not the most "readable" of people but in his eyes was a hurt and a rage that hinted at the conflict within him.

"In conclusion," the priest closed the Bible, "in conclusion... I know today, we all struggle to accept a great loss," he paused as people began to sniffle around him, to dig in their pockets for Kleenex. Mulder clutched at Scully's hand tighter. Scully closed her eyes. "There is a void that will be hard to filled. There was never anyone with more passion, more dedication, more loyalty, more heart..."

<<I don't want to be here anymore>> Scully thought as a tear slid down her face. William began to cry again.

"... than Benjamin Lucas Starkweather." The priest clutched the Bible to his chest. "I've known Ben all of his life. I baptized him," he said, looking at Ben's parents, Luke and Linda Starkweather. Linda leaned against Luke's tall frame, sobbing quietly against her husband's body as he held her close. "I consoled him, I counseled him and I married him," he said gently, now looking at his widow.

At that part, Doggett looked up and stared at his partner, who stood across from him on the other side of the casket. Ben’s father and uncle flanked her. His uncle, Matthew Starkweather, had helpfully opened up his big black umbrella when the snow began to fall and held it over Jerilyn while continually wiping his streaming eyes. Jerilyn appeared not to even notice this small comfort, she looked absolutely shell-shocked and absolutely vulnerable, bundled up in a thick black coat Scully had loaned her for the occasion. The only black jacket Jerilyn owned was her leather jacket, not appropriate for the occasion plus too minimal of protection against the bitter Minnesotan winter. But the simple black dress she wore was hers as well as the boots she wore. Her long hair was brushed severely back from her face, but she didn't bundle it up in the prim little bun that Doggett and everyone else were used to seeing her sport. It was as if she didn't have the energy to do more than run a brush through her hair. She did put on powder, lipstick, eyeliner and mascara but it was not enough coloring to camouflage the pallor of her cheeks, the rings under her eyes, the despair in her eyes.

Doggett would have sold his soul right there on the spot if he would have been granted the power to change the past.

December 7, 2001 City Hall Washington DC

There was the sickening sound of tires squealing and people screaming. Mulder, Jerilyn and Ben all turned their heads to see a tan SUV hurtling down the street, men dressed in black, with black ski masks over their head, hanging out of the windows with semi-automatic weapons in their hands, weapons pointed up...

... at them...

And they began spraying bullets at the steps of City Hall.

Ben threw Jerilyn down onto the stairs hard. Jerilyn heard the sickening crunch of her own skull hitting the hard stone steps and grayed out. She could still hear bullets flying in the air, people screaming, police sirens in the distance. She felt heaviness over her body, a fluid stickiness coursing down her.

She could hear Mulder groaning nearby her. She then realized that the heaviness was Ben laying on her. "Ben??" she squirmed beneath him.

"Jerilyn," Mulder moaned, sitting up. Blood squirting from two bullet holes, one square in the shoulder, near the spot Scully shot him years and years ago, and one right in the meat of his upper arm. It hurt like hell, a burning screaming pain as he bled. He blinked his eyes to regain focus. He saw Ben lying on top of Jerilyn, not moving. "Jesus, God," he swore as he crawled towards her while the ambulances swarmed to the steps of City Hall. EMTs ran to attend the eight innocent bysiders, caught in the line of fire directed towards the Deputy Mayor.

Skinner pulled his car up next to one of the ambulances and Scully jumped out before Skinner fully stopped the car. Holding her badge high, she yelled, "Federal agent!" as she wove through the bedlam, crying out "Mulder! Starkweather! Mulder!!"

"Scully!" Mulder yelled when he heard her voice as Jerilyn rolled Ben off of her.

Jerilyn, for once in her life, lost the guise of professionalism as she screamed shrilly upon seeing the bullet-ridden body of her husband. The worse part was he was still alive and obviously suffering. She helped him lie down on the stairs and through her almost hysterical tears, tried to assess his injuries. "Ben! Oh God," she sobbed, shrugging off her jacket and pressing it to Ben's chest and abdomen. Ben tried to talk, but blood spewed from his mouth. "Baby, don't," Jerilyn begged him, stroking his hair, her hands stained with his blood. "Just hang on, stay with me..."

Scully, followed by Skinner and three EMTs ran up the stairs. "Oh God!" she cried out, seeing the blood literally dripping down the stairs. Mulder tried to get to his feet and sank back down again, his knees buckling, his body going into shock. An EMT ran to his aid as the other two beelined for Ben.

Jerilyn turned her head at the sound of her voice, "Scully," she said raggedly, "help me..." she begged as Ben began to struggle to even breathe. Jerilyn's pretty cream suit was spattered with bright red splotches. Her winter coat, a soft yellowish leather jacket with lamb's wool lining, was ruined

"Miss," an EMT tried to move her aside, "let us help him now."

"Fuck you," she told him hoarsely, "I'm a doctor."

"Ma'am let us help him," the EMT said more firmly as Scully ran up and pulled on Starkweather.

"Let them help him, Jeri," Scully begged her helping her up. As she supported Jerilyn while following the EMTs hustling Ben on a gurney to the awaiting ambulances, Scully looked behind her, to see Mulder being assisted by the other EMT, walking, gray-faced, but walking. He grinned weakly at her as the EMT continued to apply pressure to him wounds.

Sibley Memorial Hospital 5255 Loughboro Road NW

Skinner burst through the door, having followed the ambulances in his car. He had to cruise the lot twice to find a parking spot while the ambulances unloaded their precious cargo. Jerilyn and Scully rode along in the ambulances of course and Skinner didn't blame them in the least, especially Agent Starkweather. Seeing Ben's body gave him a small taste of flashback, remembering his fallen comrades in Vietnam. The only difference really between today and Vietnam was his buddies' wives didn't have to watch them bleed.

"Fox Mulder and Benjamin Starkweather," he barked at the nurse sitting at the Admitting Desk. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of familiar red hair. "Never mind," he told her and he stalked over to Scully.

"Dana," he said. "What's the word?"

Scully quietly responded. "They're prepping Mulder for surgery. His wounds, though serious, are not life threatening. He asked me to stay down here, with her," and she inclined her head towards Starkweather, who was pacing like a nervous tiger near an emergency operating room, trying to look through the small windows in the doors.

"What's the word?" Skinner lowered his voice another notch.

"I don't know," Scully said. "There wasn't time to ask for a prognosis." She looked over at Starkweather nervously before saying, "Reyes and Doggett are on their way. Doggett is going to stop at the office to get Starkweather's planner so we can start calling Ben's family... to let them know..."

"What about Starkweather?" Skinner asked. "Shouldn't we be calling her family too?"

"Sir," Scully whispered. "'We' are her family now."

Sibley Memorial Hospital Parking Lot...

As Reyes circled her SUV around the lot again, searching for a parking spot, her cell phone rang. "Reyes?"

"Monica, it's me, are you there yet?"

"I'm in the parking lot," she told Doggett. "I'm trying to find a place to park."

"I'm at the office," Doggett said, standing over Starkweather's desk, clutching her leather day runner she always kept at her desk, "I got her address book. I'll be over as soon as I can."

"Okay," Reyes said, finally finding a spot. "I'll tell them."

She slammed her blazer door shut and sprinted to the hospital. She burst through the doors just in time to see a very distraught Starkweather pushing the doctor away from her and walk away from him. Skinner started to go after her, but Scully stopped him. "Just... sir, please, just let her go," Scully told him brokenly.

"Dana?" Reyes said, already knowing what happened but asking anyway. "What happened?"

Scully swallowed and turned around, crossing her arms tight against her body. "Ben coded. They couldn't bring him back. He's gone," she finished the sentence with a whisper.

Reyes didn't know what to say, how to feel. "Doggett's coming," she finally said. "He said he had Starkweather's planner so we could... call Ben's family..."

"This will be the second time they've heard this news," Skinner said softly, remembering how he made the call to Ben's parents when Mulder was being framed for Ben's kidnapping and presumed death last summer. "They were after Mulder," Scully said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I received an anonymous call warning me. Telling me about a contract on Mulder's life. That they were waiting for him to leave City Hall so they could open fire."

"Does Mulder know this?" Skinner asked.

Scully shook her head. "He was too doped up by the time I went up to his room to check on him," she told them. "He was barely coherent enough to tell me to stay with Jerilyn."

Doggett walked in. "Sorry I'm late," he said, approaching them. Seeing their pale faces and scrunched brows, he asked them solemnly, "You don't have good news, do you?"

"Mulder's in surgery," Scully said again, tired of the role of the messager. "He's going to be fine."

"What about Ben..." Doggett started to ask but the silence of all three, their eyes looking everywhere but at him gave him the answer to that question. "Oh no..." he looked around the busy hospital corridor. "Where's Starkweather?"

"We don't know," Skinner said. "The doctor gave her the news and she took off."

"Which way did she go?" Doggett demanded.

"John, I really don't think that's wise," Scully tried to tell him but Doggett stared her down.

"Which way did she go?" he asked again, barely polite.

Reyes spoke up, "Down the hall, then she took a right."

Doggett slid by them and started down the hall.

He wandered the hospital hallway, trying to figure out where Starkweather could have run off to.

"Sir, can I help you?" A nurse asked him as he brushed past him. He mumbled a no, but then stopped, turned around and said, "Actually, yeah... can you tell me if where the chapel is?"

She gave him a few simple directions and soon, Doggett found himself in front of the chapel door. He looked in his hand and saw that he still was holding her day runner.

He grasped the brass handle and pulled the door open slowly.

The hospital strove for something non-dominational and non-offensive. Making the room feel very generic and heartless. It screamed for something, flowers at least.

A few people knelt in prayer in the pews further up the chapel. One woman held a rosary, fingering one bead after another as she silently beseached the Mother of God. Doggett scanned the small crowd silently until, in the very back corner of the chapel, he spied a familiar blond head. Quietly he made his way over to her.

She didn't see him coming, she was sitting on the pew, with her arms resting on the top of the seat in front of her, her head laying in the crook of her arm, her eyes closed. Doggett had trouble remembering that it was the same day, the same day that she breezed in, wearing a suit he had never seen her in before, normally she stuck religiously to the black-blazer-and-slacks combo. But in honor of her big presentation to the Senior Staff of the FBI, she appeared in something very soft and feminine, and yet, absolutely appropriate for a meeting with the top brass with the Bureau. She even styled her hair different, still pulled back, but in that complicated French chignon that invoked the era of sleek Cadillacs and Grace Kelly. She had looked so cool and confident and irresistibly feminine, which was her greatest charm. She was brilliantly intelligent, but she liked being a girl and she liked to keep everyone guessing about what was going on behind her witchhazel eyes.

Now, only a few short hours later, there were no secrets in her eyes when she lolled her head over and looked up at him. Her pretty suit was crumpled and stained with blood. Her hands and face had specks of dried blood on them. Her hair was falling out of it's intricate styling. Doggett felt a heaviness pulling at his chest and a weird sense of deja vu. "Hi," he said softly, not coming any closer to her, staying exactly arm's length away.

"Hi," she responded, sitting up, crossing her arms against herself very tightly. "You heard then?"

"Yeah," Doggett said. "I did." After an awful moment of silence, he tried to tell her "Jerilyn, I'm sorr-"

"Don't," she said forcefully but quietly. "I don't... I'm not ready... just..." she covered half of her face with her hand, let it rest their for a moment, then allow her hand to slide off after taking a breath. "And don't call me Jerilyn. You NEVER call me that." She took a shaky breath and looked away.

At a complete lost, Doggett asked her, "Is there anything you want me to do or call or-"

"Look," she said, louder and more forceful than before, but her voice was quavering, on the edge of collapsing, "I know you're just trying to be nice and I appreciate it, I really do. But right now, I just really want to be by myself for awhile." She looked up at him, "Please, Doggett," she begged him. "Just go away."

Stung, he replied after a surprised moment. "You know where to find me if you need anything?" She nodded and without another word, he left her as she requested.

When he left, Starkweather drew her legs up onto the hard bench she was sitting on and wrapped her arms around her folded up legs, resting her head on her knees, rocking back and forth slightly, still too stunned to cry.

Doggett found his way to the waiting room. Skinner was talking quietly on his cell phone. Reyes was pretending to read the newspaper. Scully was standing by the window, looking out. She looked up at Doggett when he entered.

"She's in the chapel," he said gruffly.

"Should she be left alone?" Reyes asked.

"She asked to be left alone," Doggett told her.

Skinner got off the phone. He turned to address his agents. "Our men found the vehicle abandoned at a gas station. We've got forensics down there working it over right now."

"But no suspects?" Reyes asked.

"Nobody saw anything," Skinner told her. "Suspicious," he finished sarcastically. He looked at Doggett. "Do you want to call Mr. Starkweather's family or do you want me to?"

"I'll do it," Doggett said and walked out again.

Scully turned her attention back to the window, wishing she was somewhere else.

Doggett went down to the cafeteria, got a cup of coffee that he ended up not drinking and went to claim a table.

As he sat down, he laid the day runner on the tabletop. It took him a moment to get over the unease of voyeurism before he undid the clasp to open the book.

Several photographs that were tucked into the inside flap of day runner, fell out along with a dry cleaners ticker and a grocery list scribbled in Starkweather's atrocious script. <<She certainly has a doctor's handwritin'>> Doggett grinned just a little looking at the list. <<Does that word say "orange" or "Oreos"?>> he shook his head. <<No wonder she types everything.>>

Guiltily, he put the list and the dry cleaning ticket back in the flap, knowing he really shouldn't be looking through her personal items and knowing he was looking at them because he was procrastinating making the call he didn't want to make. Still, his eyes strayed to the photographs.

There was a 2X3 of her adoptive parents on their wedding day, turning yellow with age. There was another 2X3 of a young man with a serious face in an Air Force captain's uniform. <<Lux Carlos>> he realized, recognizing him from following Starkweather that day to the Holocaust museum. Then the picture sizes grew, the next was a 5X3 of her with her mother on what looked to be her eighth birthday. <<Aw, she was cute>> Doggett smiled again, looking at the frozen image of a gap- toothed little girl with big expressive hazel eyes and masses of long, dark brown hair, curled for the occasional. The next few pictures were more recent and all were standard size, 4X6: a picture of her in her Air Force dress blues, posing with her father on her Graduation Day from Basic Training. A picture of, believe it or not, Mulder and Starkweather, sitting side by side in Doggett's backyard, with Starkweather holding William. <<Oh yeah... our Labor Day party>> he remembered <<before we went... to New York...>> He pushed September 11 out of his head, choosing to remember the Labor Day picnic. He knew for a fact that the photograph she had stuffed into her planner was the only photograph of them sitting together (civilly) in existence. And upon further examination, there was no denying the family resemblance. Doggett just wondered why it took everyone so long to notice. <<Maybe it's because she's a blond now>> he thought. The next picture was another picture of Jerilyn at the same Labor Day party, but she was laying in the grass with just William, blowing bubbles for him.

The next shot was a studio proof of her wedding portrait. Doggett stared hard at the picture of the young man in a classic black tux, smiling wide, smiling at the bright future that lay ahead of him. He looked at his bride, in a simple white satin gown with a wreath of roses in her hair instead of a veil.

<<Quit stallin'>> he told himself as he put the pictures away. "Oh shit," he muttered, realizing he forgotten one.

It was the both of them, sitting together on his porch step at the same Labor Day party. Feeling a lump in his throat, he remembered how Ben, an avid amateur photographer, had spent the majority of the day taking pictures of everybody. However it had been Jerilyn who took a fantastic picture of Mulder, Scully and William together. Ben had left before everyone else, taking William home because he and Jerilyn had offered to baby-sit the baby while Mulder took Scully out to wine and dine her. Reyes had picked up Ben's camera when Jerilyn sat down beside her partner and said "Smile!" And Jerilyn had thrown her arms around him and grinned like a Cheshire cat for her while he was trying to duck his head, to avoid the all-seeing aperture of the camera. Doggett put the photograph away with the others and hastily opened the day runner to the "S" section. "Starkweather, Luke and Linda" were on the third line down.

He dialed, the heaviness he had felt in his chest spreading throughout his entire body. He listened to the phone ring.

"Hello?"

"Is this Mrs. Starkweather?" Strange, to be addressing a woman other than Jerilyn as Mrs. Starkweather.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Mrs. Starkweather, my name is John Doggett, I work with your daughter-in-law, Jerilyn-"

"Oh my God, something's happened to Jerilyn..."

"No ma'am," he said, hating his job and hating his mission. "But I'm afraid I do have bad news for you... are you there by yourself?"

One of Doggett's favorite quotes had been from Hemingway: "The world is a wonderful place and worth fighting for."

He wasn't so sure about that now.

Later...

Scully sat beside Mulder's bedside, watching him sleep. <<How many times have I been in this position?>> she thought observing how his chest rose and fell slightly with every breath.

Eventually, he opened his eyes. "Hey..." he said, turning his head towards her. "I must of died and gone to heaven," he told her, looking directly at her.

"You must still be feeling the effect of the anesthesia." Scully replied with a wry smile.

"That too... I was wondering why I can't feel my tongue." He shifted his head to look at his arm. "How bad is it?"

"Some damage to muscle tissue and bone of your shoulder and upper arm... superficial mostly. They removed all the bone fragments. They'll want you to keep it mobilized for at least a week. You may have to do some minor physical therapy. But other than that... you're very very lucky Mulder... as usual."

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked her.

"That the police are going to want to talk to you when you are up to it. And the Bureau."

"Why?"

"Because... I received a phone call, an anonymous tip..."

"About the shooting?" Mulder asked her. When she nodded, he said "They were gunning for me, weren't they?"

"Yes."

Mulder groaned, partially because of anger, partially from discomfort. "Why?" he asked again.

"I don't have that answer yet," Scully told him. "But we're working on it."

"Where's William?"

"Mom came to the daycare and picked him up. She took him to her house. Skinner has sent out 24 hour surveillance on them at my request," Scully reassured him. "He's safe."

"What about Jerilyn?"

"She's here, she's..." Scully searched for a word.

But Mulder beat her to the punch. "Ben died, didn't he?"

Scully nodded again. "There was just too much damage... they couldn't control the bleeding. Then he went into a full code and that was it," she told him quietly. "There wasn't anything else that could have been done. John called Ben's parents... they're flying into DC tomorrow to... get his body..." she blinked back tears. "They want Ben to be buried in Minneapolis. In their family plot."

"I want to go to the funeral," Mulder told her point-blank. "Do you think I'll be released in time?"

"They'll probably release you the day after tomorrow," Scully said.

"Good," Mulder said. "I wonder if I should just reserve a suite of rooms for myself here," he mused. "I'd loan it out free of charge to anyone in the X-Files Division who gets shot, stabbed, beaten, bruised, bent, stapled, mutilated, frozen, burned, bitten, injected, impregnated, scratched, clawed, run over or just in a general state of physical distress." After finishing his diatribe, he said, "Where is Jerilyn staying tonight?"

"With Reyes," Scully informed him. "What about you? With no William, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to stay right here."

"So this is heaven."

"No, it's Washington DC."

"Doesn't have quite the same ring as "No it's Iowa", does it?"

"You've seen "Field of Dreams" one too many times."

"Tell Jerilyn I want to see her tomorrow sometime."

"Okay." She stood up, kissed his forehead, ran her fingers through his hair and got up to find Starkweather before she left with Reyes.

Mulder laid there, staring up at the ceiling, frustration and rage eating him alive.

Still later that day...

"Mulder wants to see you tomorrow," Scully told Starkweather as she and Reyes were getting ready to leave the hospital.

"Okay," she said, still ghostly white, still subdued, allowing Scully to drape her long black winter coat around her shoulder's as Starkweather's had been ruined when she tried to use it to cease the bloodflow from Ben as he lay bleeding all over the City Hall stairs. Doggett, mindful of her request earlier that day, stayed a respectable distance away, only coming close enough to hand give her the day runner back. "I called Ben's parents," he told her quietly. "They're flyin' in tomorrow. I'll pick them up."

"You don't know what they look like," she reminded him.

"But I told them what I look like and where I'll be standing. They'll find me. Don't worry."

"Okay," was all she said, looking down at the squeaky-clean linoleum floor.

"Are you ready?" Reyes asked her gently.

She nodded her head. "Let's go."

The weather had gotten progressively colder and colder. But that didn't deter the reporters that had gathered outside the hospital. They were just waiting for someone form the shootout at City Hall to walk out. Unfortunately, they recognized Agent Starkweather, from her appearance on an MNBC talk show concerning her experiences at Ground Zero.

"Agent Starkweather, can you tell us what happened?"

"Agent Starkweather, can you confirm that the attack was indeed an assassination attempt on the Deputy Mayor?"

"Agent Starkweather, are there any suspects yet?"

"Is the Bureau going to get involved or is this going to be handled by local authorities?"

"Agent Starkweather, is it true your husband was killed in the crossfire?"

"No comment," Reyes told them firmly as she helped Starkweather push and shove through the media moguls to get to her car. Starkweather held her hand in front of her face to shield it from the flash of the still cameras, the glare from the film cameras. They bolted inside and left the journalism sharks to freeze as they waited for their next prey to exit the hospital.

"I should have gotten the car and came and got you at the door," Reyes said apologetically as she merged with traffic on the interstate. "I'm sorry."

"S'ok," she said, staring out the window.

"Do you like music? Do you mind if I put a CD in?" Reyes asked her.

"I don't care."

"What do you like? I've got Sheryl Crow, Enya, Yanni, Indigo Girls, Dave Matthews Band, Creed-"

"Creed?" Showing some life for the first time since the tragedy, Starkweather turned to Reyes. "I really didn't picture you listening to loud and angry music."

"Well, I don't," Reyes said as she pulled out Creed's debut album and expertly popped in the CD as she wove in and out of traffic. "But if you listen to words... there's more to it than just screaming guitars and a pulsing base beat."

She hit skip until she got to the third track.

Reyes turned the volume up a bit...

"A court is in session, a verdict is in No appeal on the docket today Just my own sin The walls are cold and pale The cage made of steel Screams fill the room Alone I drop and kneel Silence now the sound My breath the only motion around Demons cluttering around My face showing no emotion Shackled by my sentence Expecting no return Here there is no penance My skin begins to burn

"So I held my head up high Hiding hate that burns inside Which only fuels their selfish pride We're all held captive Out from the sun A sun that shines on only some We the meek are all in one

"I hear a thunder in the distance See a vision of a cross I feel the pain that was given On that sad day of loss A lion roars in the darkness Only he holds the key A light to free me from my burden And grant me life eternally Should have been dead On a Sunday morning Banging my head No time for mourning Ain't got no time Should have been dead On a Sunday morning Banging my head No time for mourning Ain't got no time

"So I held my head up high Hiding hate that burns inside Which only fuels their selfish pride We're all held captive Out from the sun A sun that shines on only some We the meek are all in one

"I cry out to God Seeking only his decision Gabriel stands and confirms I've created my own prison

"I cry out to God Seeking only his decision Gabriel stands and confirms I've created my own prison

"So I held my head up high Hiding hate that burns inside Which only fuels their selfish pride We're all held captive Out from the sun A sun that shines on only some We the meek are all in one (I created... I created... I created... I created) (I've created my own prison...)

"Should have been dead On a Sunday morning Banging my head No time for mourning Ain't got no time."

Reyes turned the volume down again. "I think of John whenever I hear this song."

Starkweather turned away from the window to stare at Reyes' profile, startled at her conversation topic. "Why?"

Reyes reached for her pack of cigarettes on the dash. "Do you mind?" she asked. When Starkweather shook her head, Reyes pulled a cigarette out of the pack with her lips while pushing in the car cigarette lighter in a fluid singular motion that led Starkweather to believe she had done this several several several times. When the lighter popped out again, she seized it, lit her smoke, popped the lighter back in place and unrolled her passenger side window just enough to let the smoke stream outside. She took a drag.

"A long time ago, I have done some things that I regret," she said carefully. "More so now than ever. But I decided, when I entered Quantico, that I was not going to let that stop me from living my life to the fullest and completest, if completest is a word."

"It's not," the grammar police told Reyes. "But go on."

"I have my skeletons in my closet, the same as you and anyone else. Things that I did and said that I am not proud of. But I can't. I can not relive what has already happened so the only choice I have is to go forward." Reyes sighed and took another drag on her cigarette.

"John hasn't been able to go forward yet. He allows the memory of his poor little son's death hold him back. I don't know how much you know of the case. The boy was snatched while riding his bike in New York, and found in a field in North Carolina.

"I met John when that happened. I was the agent of record on the Luke Doggett case. I was fresh from Quantico. John was still a member of the NYPD at that time, he had made detective at this point, but he was making noises about leaving to join the FBI. I worked closely with the NYPD at that time. Because after Luke's death, there were several copycat kidnappings with the same results. Except the children weren't found in fields in the South.

"When I met John, he was the same as he is now. Quiet. Dependable. Honorable. Very comfortable to be around. And grief-stricken. And untouchable. And unreachable.

"I became friends with his friends, especially Jason and Minerva Mick," she said, referring to Doggett's old partner in the NYPD and his best friend.

"I met them," Starkweather said weakly. "We had dinner with them... before September 11." Jason Mick had been killed in the blast along with his younger brother Danny, who had been a firefighter.

"One of a kind, wasn't he?" Reyes said, her eyes tearing up just a little bit, thinking of the sadness that was mounting around her, tormenting the people she loved and trusted best. "When John and Barbara finally separated, Minni, always playing matchmaker, tried to... well... she tried to... hook us up, I guess. I laughed it off, told them that he was my friend and I wasn't interested. Besides... I was... in an unauthorized fraternization with my superior at my field office at the time..."

"Wow..." was all Starkweather said.

"... so I tried to make a joke of it, told them that John was 'too serious', not my type. Well, we were all three sheets to the wind anyway, but something about my statement prompted Mickey to tell me all about John. How he changed drastically after Luke's death. How he became inverted, almost a hermit. How he became a loner, especially after his wife finally left him. How he used not be that way. How he used to outgoing. How he used be involved in things like... oh.. he coached Little League. Things like that. Community service stuff. How he was usually up for going out, as long as they could find a sitter, of course. How he used to be 'fun'."

"Fun??? Doggett???" Starkweather said uncomprehendingly.

"Hard to imagine, isn't it?" Reyes smiled, taking another puff. "Not saying he's boring, but it is like pulling teeth to get him to do anything."

"Little bit," Starkweather said faintly. "Unless it's something he really really really wants to do, like a baseball game. We caught a Mets game in New York... we ran into Mickey afterwards and we went out drinking that night... Doggett said to me later that if he hadn't ran into them at the game, he probably wouldn't have called them. When I asked him why, he told me it was none of my business, I shut up and left it alone. "

Reyes nodded. "Typical of him. To refuse an act of kindness, even if it's from one of his closest friends or loved ones." It did not escape Reyes that Starkweather looked away suddenly, as if the passing landscape was more appealing to watch than Reyes. Reyes continued on smoothly. "I was reassigned to the New Orleans Office about the same time he was accepted at Quantico. We kept in touch throughout the years. And, granted, I didn't study psychology at Oxford and I don't have a medical degree, but it doesn't take a doctor to figure out that he hasn't let Luke go. That he clings to the guilt. The guilt dissolves into fear, the fear, isolation. I've watched him through the years. Burying himself into work. Making excuses to turn down an invitation. Leaving a party early. Having 'safe' crushes, but never making a move."

"'Safe' crushes?"

"Infatuations with women that are, in his eyes, unavailable. Therefore, he never has to get his feet in the dating pool. Taking the risk of drowning. John Doggett," Reyes proclaimed, "is the nicest man in the world, but don't kid yourself. Until he learns that it's okay to let Luke go, to accept that it wasn't his fault. That grieving means letting go... he's never going to move on. He's created his own prison." She took a breath. "And I'd hate to see you do the same thing, Jerilyn."

"Reyes, don't-"

"No, Jeri, listen to me. Maybe you feel it's too soon to deal, but it's never too soon to hear the truth. And the truth is... this isn't your fault. Yes, mourn that he died. But this... this was a horrible act of violence that was beyond your control. You had no prior knowledge that this was going to happen. Feeling guilt for an action that you contributed nothing to is an act of futility. It's not going to help, it's not going to bring Ben back, it's not going to give you absolution. Because there is nothing for you to be absolved of. You did nothing wrong. I don't know how you're feeling right now, I've never been married. My last relationship was with an egotistical man who loved his career more than me. But I know you had a horrible fight with Ben last night. I know you drew up divorce papers yesterday. Jerilyn, you and Ben have been having problems for a long long time. That doesn't make you a bad person or Ben a bad person. You just couldn't live together as man and wife anymore and that happens."

Starkweather's shoulders were shaking, her forehead resting on the glass of the passenger window. "I told him," she sobbed, "last night I told him I wish I would have left him in the warehouse to burn..."

"And today you tried to save his life," Reyes told her as she pulled over to the side of the road. "What do you think his last memory is of?" She unbuckled her seatbelt, closed the flap on the console in- between her seat and the passenger seat so she could sit on it and slid over. She put her hand on Starkweather's shoulder as she finally crumpled over, sobs wrecking her body.

"I didn't want this," she wept. "I didn't want to leave him, I just wanted him to trust me... but he couldn't... he wouldn't..." the rest of her words became distorted as her weeping turned into a soul- quaking crying jag. Reyes thought she said: "I just wanted to be loved for me, not what he wanted me to be," but she wasn't sure.

Reyes wrapped her long arms around the widow, stroking her hair. "It's going to be okay, Jerilyn," she whispered. "I don't know how, but it's going to be okay... I promise."

"I cry out to God Seeking only his decision Gabriel stands and confirms I've created my own prison. I cry out to God Seeking only his decision Gabriel stands and confirms I've created my own prison

"So I held my head up high Hiding hate that burns inside Which only fuels their selfish pride We're all held captive Out of the sun A sun that shines on only some We the meek are all in one...

"Should have been dead On a Sunday morning Banging my head No time for mourning Ain't got no time."

December 11, 2001 Luke and Linda Starkweather's home Bloomington Minnesota

Doggett staked out a corner of the living room so he could observe the people milling in and out without being bothered. Leaning against the wall, not only did he watch the friends and relatives in black cluster together like crows, but he looked around the living room, which hadn't been changed since 1989, with the exception of pictures added to the wall, detailing the lives of the Starkweather children, grandchildren and in-laws. His eyes flicked up at Ben and Jerilyn's wedding portrait, and then flicked down towards the ugly shag brown carpet. He felt out of place.

He also felt the eyes of the mourning friends and family, letting him know that he was out of place. Lifting his head up again, he sought out his friend.

He could see her in the other room, Luke Starkweather's study. A former high school teacher and football coach at the prestigious DeLaSalle Catholic High School, memorabilia of his teaching days overwhelmed the small room. Jerilyn was sitting at his desk. Assistant Director Skinner was talking to her.

"I wish I could stay longer, but I have to be back in DC tonight."

"I understand. Thank you for coming sir."

"Agent, is a two week leave going to be long enough?" Skinner asked her, concerned. "With the holidays coming and all."

"Two weeks is fine, sir. Trust me. I'll need the distraction. Work will be a welcome relief." She stood up. "Have a safe flight back."

"Take care," and Skinner took her small hand and squeezed it gently. "If you need anything, call. You have my cell."

"Yes sir." She tried to smile. "Thank you for putting up with me."

"Jerilyn, I wouldn't wish what's happening on anybody," he told her gravely before taking his leave to say goodbye to Luke and Linda Starkweather before leaving for the airport.

Jerilyn sat down again. Catching Doggett's eyes, she gave him a small smile just before the next set of mourners, friends from the Air National Guard 132nd Fighter Wing came to hug her and talk to her. When they learned of valiant way that their friend died, the medics from the military clinic where Ben and Jerilyn first met instantly volunteered to drive the four hours from Des Moines to Minneapolis to give Ben a twenty-one gun salute.

They had no idea that she had filed for divorce.

Nobody in that house did. Except for Doggett, Reyes, Scully and Mulder and they weren't telling a soul.

Reyes, carrying two cups of coffee, wove through the crowd to Doggett. "Here," she said, offering him a cup. "Black."

"Thanks," he told her, accepting. "I hate things like this," he admitted to her in a whisper. "Never know what to say."

"Things like this are always uncomfortable," Reyes told him, blowing on her coffee before sipping it.

"And," he said sotto voce, "it don't help when you got folks starin' at you like you're doin' something wrong."

"Who?" Reyes whispered.

"Tall gal, over there by the doorway." Doggett nodded his head at the thin woman, old before her years, glowering at him, arms crossed.

Reyes casually turned her head. "There's a lot of anger in her," Reyes told him, turning back to him. "And that's just reading her body language. I sense bitterness. Resentment."

"Great," Doggett muttered. "And she's givin' ME the evil eye. What the hell did I do now?"

The tall woman stalked off in a huff and disappeared into the kitchen, where her mother sat, speaking with Scully and holding William. "Mom," Mary Paula Christie nee Starkweather asked her mother, "would you like something to eat? Or drink?"

"I'm fine," Linda Starkweather said peaceably. "Why don't you check on your dad for me?" When Mary Paula left the kitchen, she sighed. "She's taking this harder than expected. Ben and Mary were never... close," she admitted sadly.

"Mrs. Starkweather," Scully said, tickling William's little socked foot. "I just want to let you know that the FBI has jurisdiction over this case now. We will do everything in our power to bring Ben's killer to justice."

Linda looked up at Scully, her eyes sad and yet serene. "I appreciate that, Miss Scully, but Ben's killers will receive their justice on Judgement Day," she said firmly. "And we will see him again someday. Just not yet," she rested her head on William's fuzzy head as he played with the teddy bear Linda found for him. "The only thing I can't help being selfish about is I wish Ben and Jerilyn could have had a child before all this. I know Jerilyn isn't ready to be a mother... but it would have been nice to have a grandchild... to know that a piece of Ben would still live on," she wiped away the renegade tear that slipped down her wrinkled cheek.

Just then, two sullen faced young girls entered the kitchen, Mary Paula's daughters, Ruth Elizabeth and Mary Naomi, fourteen and twelve respectably. And they were horrible little brats, Scully decided when she met them at the church service. <<MY mother would NEVER let ME go to a funeral with purple hair>> Scully couldn't help think when she stared at Ruth's dyed locks and mutilated face. <<Or a nose ring.>> She devoutly prayed that William would NEVER do anything like that to himself when he became a teenager.

"Grammy," Ruth, the elder, demanded. "Can we go upstairs and watch TV in your room?"

"We're tired of everyone askin' us if we're okay," Naomi, the younger whined. Naomi did not have purple hair or a nose ring, but every word out her mouth had the taint of a whine on it.

"Go," Linda said wearily. When the girls, after grabbing ham sandwiches and cookies, disappeared, she looked at Scully and said "See why I wish Ben and Jerilyn would have had a baby? I KNOW," she said, lowering her voice to a conspirator's whisper. "Jerilyn would have never stood for THAT."

Scully nodded, wondering where Mulder disappeared to.

Mulder was making the rounds throughout the house, offering apologies, making small talk, trying to make this horrible event go as smooth as possible. After talking to Ben's father down in the den in the basement where most of the men congregated, Mulder got up to go back to Jerilyn, gripping the banister with his good arm. It had only been four days and he was already sick of his arm in a sling. He went through the kitchen, smiling at Scully and Linda before continuing his journey to find Jerilyn.

A gaggle of women stood in the hallway, blocking his path. So absorbed into their gossip, they were blind to the 6'2" hazel-eyed man with an injured arm standing behind them, listening in on them.

"Is that him?" one of the woman asked.

"Uh-huh," Mary Paula said, giving Doggett another look of death. From across the room, Doggett gave her another bewildered "Now-what-did-I- do???" look. Reyes, however, more in tune with emotions, had started to do the math. She glared back at her furiously, waiting eagerly for Mulder to make his presence known to the old bats.

"I just can not believe that."

"And here she is playing the role of the grieving widow."

"And he has the nerve to show up here."

"What a little slut."

"Excuse me," Mulder said pleasantly. All three of the women, Mary Paula and her two cousins, jumped and turned, staring up. "I hope you aren't referring to my little sister. My little sister that I watched try to save Ben's life as he bled to death on steps of City Hall." He leaned down and got into Mary Paula's skinny face. "You know, it is possible for a man and a woman to be friends and not have a sexual relationship. I would recommend you trying it, but you have to be a nice person to attempt friendship and I think you're evidence that kindness gene skips a generation... or two," he added, thinking of her evil little children. "Excuse me," he finished, rudely pushing through them to get to Jerilyn.

Mary Paula flushed a deep crimson, but she followed Mulder in a huff. "Excuse me, sir," she snapped at him as he stood in the doorway from the living room to the study where Starkweather was sitting in. "But where do you get off??"

Jerilyn raised her head. "Mary Paula," she said in a tired voice. "Lay off."

Mary Paula ignored Jerilyn. "It's your fault Ben died," she hissed at Mulder. "You and the X-Files. If you hadn't gotten Jerilyn mixed up in this rot, none of this would be happening right now."

"Mary Paula," Jerilyn said in the same tired voice. "I chose to work in the X-Files. Mulder didn't twist my arm to do so."

"But he twisted your arm to stay," she snarled at Jerilyn.

"This is gonna get ugly," Doggett murmured to Reyes, "ain't it?"

"No. He didn't," Jerilyn continued with the tired voice. "You know me better than that, Mary. Nobody **makes** me do anything."

"Obviously," Mary Paula told her. "Your deplorable behavior around your FBI **partner** can testify to that!"

"We've achieved ugliness," Reyes sighed to Doggett as he hung his head in abject humiliation.

Jerilyn sighed as well, rolling her eyes. "So that's the bug that crawled up your ass and died," She got up, smoothing her dress. "I was wondering why we had some many long distance calls to St. Paul in the past few months, especially since all the years I have known him, Ben led me to believe you two weren't really that close."

"He had to talk to somebody," Mary Paula said smugly.

"Well, good for him," Jerilyn said. "I'm glad his distrust for me enabled you two to finally have a loving brother-sister relationship."

"I told him to leave you," Mary Paula took great pleasure telling Jerilyn this. "I told him he could find somebody better. Someone more dependable, more stable." She leaned down into Jerilyn's face. "He told me about the pictures. He told me about all the time you spend with that redneck on **cases.** So you might as well stop those alligator tears because I don't buy it. He told me EVERYTHING."

Jerilyn shook her head. "No," she said with a funny smile on her face. "Obviously, he didn't." She pushed past Mary Paula, lowering her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at anyone, especially Doggett.

Mary Paula turned around and shrieked at her, pointing at Doggett, "He's old enough to be your father, aren't you ashamed of yourself???"

Doggett had a look on his face that clearly expressed he wanted to find a hole to crawl into. Reyes balled her hands into fists and Mulder started to say, "Alright, listen lady-"

But Jerilyn's voice rose above his. "He's twelve years older than me," she told Mary Paula. "And I haven't DONE anything to be ashamed of. Unless suddenly it's a shame to have someone with a good heart and calm nature decide to be your friend," her eyes flicked over to Doggett, her last statement a roundaboutway apology for her coldness to him during these past few days. "Shame should be applied to women who ignore their daughters as they hop from man to man after their husband is killed in drunk driving wreck."

Mary Paula gasped. "You little bitch, you have no right-"

"If YOU can drag out my dirty laundry, then I can air yours!" Starkweather shrieked right back at her. "Ben is GONE. This day isn't about YOU, it's about HIM. You and I are NEVER going to see each other again after this so what the fuck are you trying to prove? That I'm a bitch? Fine! Proven! That I wasn't good enough for Ben? Fine! Proven! But I didn't cheat on him. And that, my good lady, is the truth. So can the dramarama already. Save the theatrics for the community theatre," she turned around again to head upstairs to get her coat.

"Mary Paula," a calm voice said. "Could you come into the kitchen and help me for a second?" Linda politely requested the services of her daughter. When Mary Paula hesitated just a minute too long, Linda said with a hair more force, "Now." Mary Paula, with one last murderous glare in Jerilyn's direction, stomped back into the kitchen just as her oldest daughter, Ruth came clomping down the stairs.

"Hi Ruth," Jerilyn said, exhausted now. "How are you?" she asked, making one last stab at civility as all the spectators tried to forget about the nasty scene that just played out a few minutes ago, going back to their mindless chitchat. Doggett, Reyes and Mulder watched Jerilyn nervously.

Ruth, wearing too much makeup for a fourteen-year-old girl, rolled her eyes. "Happy that you aren't going to be my fucking aunt anymore," she told her tartly.

Jerilyn's arm shot out, her hand grabbing Ruth's face, ruthlessly shoving her head into the wall. Ruth cried out when her skull connected with the wall behind her. Everyone in the room gasped. One nice old lady even screamed.

"STARKWEATHER!" Doggett cried out.

Ten heads whipped around and looked at him.

"Doc!" he tried again.

Loudly, clearly so her voice could be heard over Ruth's blubbering, "Maybe I'm not your aunt anymore, but I'm still a federal agent and I can smell pot on you a mile away," she squeezed her hand over Ruth's face just a little tighter. Mary Paula and Linda came back out. Mary Paula gasped and made a move to collect her daughter, but Linda grabbed her arm and forced her to stay there beside her. Jerilyn continued her diatribe. "If I go upstairs, is your grandma's bathroom going to reek of weed like you do? If I search your purse, am I going to find your stash?"

Scully came out of the kitchen, carrying William. She stood next to Mulder. "What's going on, what did I miss?"

"The reason why we don't have family reunions," Mulder deadpanned.

"Doc," Doggett said again. "Let her go. Just... please let it go."

After a nail-biting second, Jerilyn released her hold on Ruth's face. Ruth ran sobbing to her mother, wrapping her arms around her waist. Mary Paula escorted a sobbing Ruth out of the living room. Minutes later, Mary Paula's bitchy voice could be heard as she berated her daughter: "You had the NERVE to get high at YOUR UNCLE'S FUNERAL?"

"God, I think I got high from the kid just walking past me," Mulder said crinkling up his face when Ruth ran by them to get to her mother.

"Her pupils *were* dilated," Scully murmured.

"Putting the *fun* back in *funeral*," Mulder sighed, putting his good arm around Scully. "Let's go back to the hotel, *please*."

Painfully aware of all the eyes on him, Doggett crossed over to Jerilyn. "Go get your coat," he told her, almost begging her. "I'll take you back to the hotel."

"Okay..." she said and she started up the stairs.

"John," Reyes said when Jerilyn disappeared upstairs. "I'm supposed to fly out later tonight back to DC but I can make arrangements if you need me to stay here-"

"No Mon," Doggett told her. "I think, I think it's gonna be okay. We're all leaving for DC tomorrow anyway. I think we just need to get her away from this insanity."

"Okay, then I'm going to call a cab and head over to the airport." She hugged Doggett. "Hang in there."

"I'm fine," Doggett told her. "I'm not the one who was made a widow."

"Mr. Doggett?" Linda Starkweather piped up behind him. They turned around. "I want to apologize for the actions of my daughter. She's been traumatized by Ben's death." She said it loud enough for all the eavesdroppers and gossipers in the room. "She didn't mean it. She is extremely upset and distraught by this."

"I understand," Doggett said gravely.

"Are you leaving soon?" When both agents nodded yes, Linda, ever the peacemaker, first took Reyes' hand and thanked her profusely for her kindness. She then turned to Doggett and shook his hand as well.

"Thank you for everything you have done for us, Mr. Doggett," she said firmly. "And thank you for helping Jerilyn get through this."

"Sure," Doggett said awkwardly while thinking <<she hasn't talked to me since the hospital and today was the first day she remembered I existed because her bitch sister-in-law made a big scene in front of all her friends and relatives 'bout how I'm sleepin' with her ... yeah... I'm a BIG help to her>> "it's no big deal."

She must have sensed Doggett's doubt because she clasped her hand over his tighter and said "Yes it is. You're assuming her burdens for her and that's very noble." She then quoted from the Bible for him: "'Bear one another's burdens and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.' Saint Paul to the Galatians, Chapter Six, Verse Two." She held his hand for a second longer while looking into his clear blue eyes. "You've been touched by God, Mr. Doggett."

<<Lucky me>> Doggett couldn't help but think sarcastically.

En route to the hotel...

Doggett and Starkweather were silent for most of the car ride. Until Starkweather finally burst out: "Goddamn bitch."

"Was wonderin' how long you were gonna hold that in," Doggett drawled.

"Mary Paula had the misfortune to be born into a super-religious family. She got pregnant with Ruth when she was eighteen and her parents organized a shotgun marriage post-haste. Then Naomi came. Then Fred was killed and Mary Paula has been bouncing from loser boyfriend to loser boyfriend ever since. Letting her daughters to fend for themselves. Ruth starting becoming a hellraiser right around the time Ben and I started dating. Naomi's going down the same road. Mary Paula's always been resentful about how her life turned out. And she's always been jealous of Ben. But she likes to feel needed so I bet she just ate it up that he called her about his martial woes," she finished bitterly.

"Why jealous of Ben?"

Starkweather shrugged. "He was always the Golden Boy. He could do nothing wrong and she could do nothing right. I'd feel sorry for her if she wasn't such a bitch." She shook her head. "Not that it matters anymore. I'm not going to be a part of their world anymore."

"Oh come on, Doc-"

"Doggett, everyone in his family except for Linda blames me for what happened to Ben. Linda doesn't just because she's so goddamn nice she doesn't even blame the mosquito that gave her a bug bite. But she won't go against Luke and Luke wouldn't even talk to me," she said miserably. "So it's not like it matters anymore. What they think."

Doggett concentrated on the road as the snow started to fall again. "So..." he asked, a question that had been on his mind for a little while now. "Are you gonna go back to your maiden name?"

She shook her head. "I'm still Starkweather," she said firmly. "Whether THEY," referring to Ben's family, "like it or not."

The car ride became quiet again as Doggett couldn't think of an appropriate response to her defiance. He didn't speak until he pulled into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn that he, Starkweather, Mulder and Scully were staying in. Scully, William and Starkweather were sharing a room as he and Mulder were sharing a room to help save some money. Needless to say, Doggett wasn't exactly looking forward to spending the night with his roommate. But still, not that he had much of a choice. He parked the car, turned it off, then got out the same time she did. She walked away from him very quickly, the wind playing with her long, unbound hair.

He couldn't explain why her hurrying from the car towards the hotel hurt him to the core. He took long strides but didn't try and catch up with her. It was apparent she wanted to get away. But he did call out: "Hey Doc?"

"Yeah?" she stopped but she didn't turn around.

"Thanks for stickin' up for me at your in-laws," he called out to her. She turned around, just a little, her hair acting like a veil, "Thanks for putting up with me."

"Oh well... I..." Doggett said awkwardly but she had already starting walking away from him again.

She walked away from him, almost running, because she didn't want him to see her crying.

St. Mary's Cemetery Minneapolis, Minnesota

In the gloom of the evening's snowfall, a gloved hand wiped the snow off of his headstone while weeping. Even in the dim light, she could read the chiseled words: "Benjamin Lucas Starkweather. May 1, 1971 - December 7, 2001. Beloved Son, Cherished Husband."

Sobbing, Noelle Goodhall, the legal aid for Carter, Spangle and Adams and Ben's paramour laid down a bouquet of roses, daisies and baby's breath beside the grave marker. "Ben," she wept. "I'll make this up to you, I swear, I'll make this right."

Finally she could bear the cold no longer. She wiped the freezing cold tears off her face and walked towards her car.

She hoped her sources found the right hotel the Widow Starkweather was staying at.

She hoped she would listen to her.

Later... The Holiday Inn Room 978

"Hey," Mulder said when Doggett came in. Mulder, with some help from Scully, had changed out of his suit. Now clad in a comfortable navy sweater and jeans, but his arm still in the sling, Mulder was in the process of putting his shoes on when Doggett came in.

"Hey," Doggett said, loosening his tie. "Hell of a day, huh?"

"Just when you thought the phrase 'Putting the fun back in dysfunctional' was about to become cliche," Mulder replied dryly, standing up. "We're going downstairs to the lounge to see if they're still serving food, maybe grab a beer, wanna come?"

"Who's we?"

"Me and Scully... and William since we don't have a sitter, but Scully brought his stroller and that thing is better than a Transformer. It can turn from a stroller to a bed to a high chair to a carrier to a VW Bug. But he was pretty tired so he'll probably sleep. We'll probably only stay until the bar flies start coming anyway, Scully wouldn't want the baby in all that smoke."

"Yeah, I'll be done in a bit," Doggett said, shrugging off his coat. "I wanna get out of this damn thing first," he told him, hanging his coat up in the meager closet he was sharing with Mulder.

"I'm going over to get Scully then," Mulder said. "See you in a bit."

"Yeah, okay."

In a rare moment of seriousness, Mulder asked "You alright?" as he paused by the door before leaving.

"Why is everyone askin' ME if I'm okay?" Doggett responded in a rare moment of irritation. "I'm not the one who buried their spouse today."

Mulder reverted back to sarcasm, a sentiment he was more comfortable with, "It's just that you're not your charming self," he deadpanned.

"I'll see you downstairs," Doggett said, wishing he'd go away so he could change in peace.

"Believe it or not," Mulder droned. "I can take a hint," and he left.

The Holiday Inn Lounge and Restaurant

Doggett, now dressed in a pair of well worn, well loved faded jeans and a black sweater, decided to take the stairs down to the lounge. He could hear piano music before he entered the room. And he wasn't the hick everyone made him out to be, he recognized the strains from Debussy's "Clair de Lune."

He stood in the doorway, leaning against it, outside looking in. The little lounge was virtually deserted. The only people there were Mulder and Scully, sitting together at a table for four. Scully, now wearing a pair of khaki slacks and a cable-knit hunter green turtleneck sweater, pushed William's stroller back and forth gently. The little boy was sound asleep, covered with his blue "blankie." Mulder had his good arm resting casually over Scully's tiny shoulders. Tiny shoulders that bore so many burdens and yet, never slumped once. There was a waiter going around the room, lighting candles on all the tables. And a bartender, leaning against the bar, listening to the piano player. Doggett smiled as he listened to the piano player, watching her lose herself in the music.

"You play real nice," the bartender said flirtatiously, having no clue he was speaking to a widow. He only saw a pretty blond woman in jeans and a denim shirt over a black turtleneck playing the piano. "Bet you can sing nice too."

Starkweather smiled a little and effortlessly segued from "Clair de Lune" to a different song:

"Listen to the wind blows from across the great divide Voices trapped in yearning Memories trapped in time The night is my companion And solitude my guide Would I stay here forever and not be satisfied?

"And I would be the one to hold you down Kiss you so hard I'll take your breath away And after I'd wipe away the tears Just close your eyes dear

"Through this world I stumbled So many times betrayed Trying to find an honest word To find the truth enslaved Oh you speak in riddles and you speak to me in rhymes My body aches to breathe your breath Your words keep me alive

"And I would be the one to hold you down Kiss you so hard I'll take your breath away And after I'd wipe away the tears Just close your eyes dear

"Into this night I wander It's morning that I dread Another day of knowing the path I fear to tread Oh into the sea of waking dreams I follow without pride Nothing stands between us here And I won't be denied

"And I would be the one to hold you down Kiss you so hard I'll take your breath away And after I'd wipe away the tears Just close your eyes..."

"Whoa..." the bartender said as she segued into Beethoven's 'Fur Elise' "You wanna job?"

Doggett entered the bar and sat down next to Mulder and Scully.

"Got a perfectly good job thanks," Starkweather said watching Doggett come in and sit down by Mulder and Scully.

The bartender, feeling a little more relaxed since his lounge was still virtually deserted called over to Doggett, "Hey, you want anything?"

"A beer'd be fine... whatever you got on tap," Doggett drawled back to him. To Mulder and Scully, he said, "How she doin'?"

"We were hoping you'd tell us," Scully said.

"She... she's really not talkin' to me right now," Doggett admitted.

"Don't take it personally," Mulder said. "She's not really communicating with any of us right now."

Just then, Doggett spied motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head and saw a young woman who looked absolutely terrified, standing in the doorway, her eyes flicking back and forth from Starkweather at the piano, to them at the table.

"Mul-duh," Doggett said as the bartender brought him his beer, "you know that lady standin' back there?"

Mulder casually turned around. "I have no idea, but she looks scared to death... and she's walking this way."

Scully, maternal instinct welling up in her, reached into William's strolled and pulled the sleeping boy out, cradling him in her arms. "Can we help you?" Scully asked politely when the woman reached them.

"I hope so," she said, her face drawn and white. "I need... I have to tell someone... and I have to talk to her... but I'm afraid she won't listen to me..."

Just then, Starkweather looked up, saw Noelle standing there. She slammed her hands down on the piano keys, creating a chord from hell, waking William up. He started to cry.

The bartender watched Starkweather stalk over to the table while muttering "Oooooooooh sheeeeeyet," and he suddenly became very involved with washing the margarita glasses.

"You have a LOT of freakin' nerve, Noelle," Starkweather spat at her viciously.

"What is going on?" Scully demanded as she comforted William.

"Please... Mrs. Starkweather," Noelle pleaded. "I have to talk to you. I just need fifteen minutes of your time and then you'll never see me again."

Doggett noticed the woman was trembling. "Miss, how can we help you?"

Starkweather shot Doggett a venomous look, "WHY should we help you?" she snapped, undermining Doggett's politeness.

"It's not me that you would be helping," Noelle said, digging into her coat pocket. She took out a battered photograph. "It's HER that you'd be helping," she handing the picture to Doggett.

Doggett did a double take. "Holy shit," he said, looking at the picture, looking up at Starkweather, then back at the picture. Mulder and Scully leaned over to check out the photo as well.

"Oh my God..." Scully said.

"Jerilyn," Mulder said. "You may want to listen to her."

Doggett held up the photograph. Still glaring at Noelle, she took the picture from him. Her mouth dropped open. "I don't believe this... I'm not seeing this..."

It was a picture of three woman posing.

Noelle.

Marita Covarubias.

And a woman who was the mirror image of Starkweather, only she had soft brown hair and blue eyes.

"Where did you get this?" Starkweather demanded.

"That's the only picture of the three of us together as adults," Noelle said, taking the picture back from Starkweather. "Please, help me. Help me save my sister." She looked pointedly at Starkweather.

"Help me save OUR sister."

"*WHAT???*" Starkweather squealed. "Bartender!!" she hollered, "I need a drink after all."

"Whaddya want?"

"Everclear."

"Doc..."

"Jack and Coke," Starkweather grumbled, sitting down. "Okay, Noelle, start spilling the beans. Such as, who the hell you really are. And who that chick in the picture is."

"My real name is Felitza Covarubias. She's my half-sister," the woman they thought was named Noelle said. "She was brought into our family when she was three years old. I'm two years older than she is, than you are," she took a quavery breath and looked around the table. She wished everyone didn't look so intimidating. Scully and Doggett both had glacial blue eyes that seemed to freeze your soul. Whereas as Mulder and Starkweather had those weird hazel eyes, not brown, not green, not gold, but a perfect infusion of all three shades and how they burned. Noelle licked her lips and continued. "She was adopted. Marita and I never questioned why. One day I was the baby of the family, the next day, I had a baby sister. We lived together, we had a normal childhood. We never knew...

"Until Marita got involved with the Syndicate. Marita and I were never close. Whereas Samita and I," she looked down at the picture. "Samita is my best friend in the world and I would die for her. But anyway, when she was still working with for the government, before she became an outlaw, she stumbled across something called the "Eden Project" the birth of the human genetics program."

"What kind of genetics?" Scully asked unconsciously clutching William who had stopped crying but now was staring at everyone, wide eyed.

"I don't know," Felitza/Noelle admitted. "I don't know much. I only know what little Marita told me. How she was part of this Eden Project. How her code-name was Delta. How she was "special." How our father hid her, renamed her, protected her."

"Delta..." Mulder murmured.

"Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta..." Doggett looked over at Starkweather, "Echo..." He felt his gut tightening while thinking <<No freakin' way can what she be sayin' is true... it can't be...>>

"How was she special?" Mulder asked.

"She was just... better than all of us at things. In school, in sports, in music. She was a child prodigy. She has a photographic memory. She remembers everything. And she's so smart. Almost too smart," Noelle whispered, trying not to look at Starkweather's paling face. "She was too smart for her own good. So she always hid her light under a barrel. Samita's always been shy.

"Marita's been a double agent for the Syndicate from Day One. After she discovered the Eden Project, she got involved with them. To protect our sister. Because she found out that the Syndicate was looking for her. And the other two that were still out there. Alpha and Echo." She gulped and whispered. "Lily Stratford and Jerilyn Starkweather. Mrs. Starkweather," now she peeped up at the widow, "they've been watching for years. Lily, they have no trace of. She vanished from the face of the earth."

"Literally," Mulder said, "if Justin Leo is to believed."

"When Marita learned from her sources that the Starkweathers were moving to DC because Mrs. Starkweather got a job with the X-Files, she came to me. She begged me to help her spy on the Starkweathers, to get information from the X-Files. Information that could protect Samita... you don't understand!" she cried out. "Samita has no idea of any of this! She's married. She's a kindergarten teacher in a small town in Virginia. She and her husband just adopted their second child last spring. She has a normal life, a happy life. I can't... after the things Marita told me about... about Krycek killing your father," she said to Mulder, "about Agent Scully's abduction, all the horrible things that the Syndicate has done... I couldn't let them destroy Samita. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing while Marita put herself at risk.

"So I agreed to help her. Marita helped me create a new identity. A new name, a new," she pulled at her mousy brown hair, "look," she finished bitterly. "I got a job as a temp receptionist and I floated from lawfirm to lawfirm until I received placement at Carter, Spangle and Adams. And I befriended Benjamin Starkweather... to get information about his wife and her findings in the X-Files..."

"Then," her eyes welled up. "Marita contacted me again, with a different mission. She asked me to help distract the Starkweathers. Because Jerilyn was getting too close to the truth. The truth that would lead the Syndicate to Samita's doorstep. So..." she took a deep breath. "I don't know where Marita got all those pictures of Agent Doggett and Mrs. Starkweather but it was my job to make sure they ended up on Ben's desk. And to make sure to flame the fires of martial discord enough that Mrs. Starkweather would pay more attention to her home life than her professional...

"But something happened that wasn't supposed." She looked up at the ceiling. "And I don't expect any pity. But... even though... it started as an act to be his friend... we really did become friends. And then... I fell for him... and he for me," her voice cracked. Starkweather, thin lipped, crossed her arms and looked away, ignoring the drink the bartender just then set down in front of her.

Doggett said to Felitza, "Go on," gently, wondering if what she was telling them was true or not.

From the look on Mulder's face, it was obvious he believed her. And Scully looked petrified, clutching her son as if she was expecting someone to snatch him away at anytime.

<<I'm gonna hear this out first>> Doggett decided. <<'Fore I make up my mind 'bout all of this...>>

He decided that because deep down, he didn't want to believe that Jerilyn could be anything but a normal woman.

Felitza looked at Starkweather with anguished eyes while Starkweather became suddenly very interested in picking nonexistent lint off of her jeans. "He was frustrated... he didn't know what to do. He loved his job, but he hated Washington. He missed his family, his friends back in Minneapolis. He hated your job, Mrs. Starkweather. He said that your career overshadowed his. He said that he was afraid he couldn't protect you. He said he was afraid one day you'd go into the field and come back in a body bag or worse, not come back at all. And I listened to him. At first, I was just a sympathetic ear... but then it got out of hand. I didn't mean... I didn't expect... it wasn't supposed to happen like this...

"When Ben came to work that day and told me you filed for divorce, that you were one step ahead of him as always... I knew... I couldn't go through with my act anymore. Because I loved him. We had made plans that I would move back to Minneapolis with him. That we'd settle down and have what he... what I... what we always wanted. But I knew it wasn't right. Because I was just acting in the way he wanted me to be. A quiet domesticated thing. And I guess I am... but... it was still a lie. He loved Noelle Goodhall, not Felitza Covarubias... and I knew if I went with him back to Minneapolis, I would be leaving Samita at the mercy of the Syndicate...

"So I told him the truth. Because of Samita and because I could tell he still loved you so much, Mrs. Starkweather. He would have never left you if I hadn't been in the picture, making trouble. And if you would have done what he was most afraid of..." here Felitza stole a nervous glance at Doggett, "left him for your FBI partner, he would have contested it. He would have made sure it drug on for years. Because deep down, he didn't want to leave you."

Starkweather looked at the floor now, blinking back tears.

"When I told him the truth, he lost all faith in me in a heartbeat. He told me that he never wanted to see me again, that I ruined his life. He said that he was going to go talk to Mulder," now she looked up at Mulder, quaking under his sullen, solid gaze, "and tell him everything that I told him. Before he left..." she dug in her coat pocket, "he gave me this," she slid a videocassette tape across the table as if it was a peace offering. "He said he found it at the Admiral's when they were cleaning out his house in Arizona. He said that he never had a chance to show Mrs. Starkweather because she was out in the field. He said it was concealed in a hollowed out book. And because of his connections with the Syndicate, it had to be important. He said if something happened to either him or Mrs. Starkweather, to get it to someone in the X-Files, that he didn't care if it was Agent Doggett that I gave it to."

"What's on that tape?" Scully demanded.

"I don't know," Felitza admitted. "I hadn't watched it. I've been hiding ever since Ben's death. I wish I had more to say, to help you, but I don't," she said in a stilted voice. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry... I just wanted to protect my sister."

"Is..." Mulder found his voice. "Is Samita my sister too?"

Felitza shook her head. "No. Only Mrs. Starkweather. Five sisters, five fathers, one mother. That's the only thing I know for sure." She stood up. "I have to go."

"Wait," Starkweather now found her voice. "You can't leave, not now."

"I've told you everything that I know," Felitza said frantically. "I'm as good as dead once the Syndicate finds out that I've been helping hide Samita all these years."

"Stay with us," Doggett said. "We'll protect you."

"Like you protected Billy Miles?" she challenged him. "Or Absalom the Prophet? Or Gibson Praise?" she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I know you did the best you could trying to help those people. But please, don't waste your time protecting me. Just promise me you'll keep Samita safe. Marita's been able to keep them at bay all these years, but the Syndicate changed after all those old men were killed in that inferno. Somebody else is in charge now. And not the Smoking Man."

"NOT the Smoking Man??" Mulder choked out.

"Then who?" Scully asked. "Everyone else who held power in that group is dead."

"I don't know who," Felitza said. "All I know is that there's a power struggle going on to hold the reins. That's what Marita said. She said the Smoking Man is trying to regain control, but it's not going well. The 'New' Syndicate is more ruthless and more direct. Not as subtle as it used to be, which is why a contract was put out on Mr. Mulder, they want their kills to be public now." Felitza licked her lips. "I'm sorry for everything," she whispered and she ran away.

"Well..." Doggett said. "You think she's for real or full of shit?" Mulder picked up the videotape. "Think this place has a VCR somewhere?" he asked.

"I'll get the popcorn," Starkweather sighed.

Scully and Starkweather's Hotel Room Two hours later

Scully was paying the Domino's delivery boy for the two large pizzas he was holding just as Doggett and Mulder came stalking down the hallway, Doggett carrying an oblong package, muttering "I still don't see why we had to put this on MY credit card."

"Because mine is maxed out," Mulder said blithely. "What did you order?" he asked Scully as she took the pizza boxes from the boy. Since they ended up not eating down in the lounge after all, Scully and Starkweather took it upon themselves to order pizza while Doggett and Mulder went in search of a VCR.

"One is half the works, the other half veggie," Scully told him, carrying the pizzas in with Doggett and Mulder following. "The other is half beef and mushroom and half Canadian bacon and pineapple."

"Pineapple??" Doggett's face scrunched up in disgust. "Who ruins a good pizza with fruit?"

"Who ruins a good pizza with a fungus? And for your information," Starkweather said as she covered William up with his blankie as he slept in the playpen Mulder and Scully drug along for the trip, "Tomato is also a fruit, which is used to make the sauce, smart ass." She crossed over to help Scully with the food as Doggett put the package down. "Did you go out and buy a VCR???"

"Didn't have a choice," Doggett muttered as he opened the box. "What the hell I'm gonna do with two VCRs is beyond me."

"Start a video piracy ring?" Mulder suggested helpfully as he struggled to get his coat off. "Damn sling," he muttered.

"Oh that would be great," Starkweather said picking up a gooey slice of hot pizza, the first thing she will have eaten in days. "So when we go out to actually bust people for making unauthorized copies like we threaten to do in the FBI warning on movies, we catch one of our own??? Brilliant."

Doggett hooked the VCR up to the television set as everyone got situated. Mulder and Scully sat on the edge of the bed next to the window. Scully peered down into the playpen that was smack dab in the middle of the queen sized beds, then leaned against Mulder.

Starkweather was on the other bed, laying on her stomach, eating the toppings first. Doggett picked up the tape that was laying on the dresser. "Here goes," he said, popping the tape in. He stood there for a minute, debating where to sit, but he ended up just leaning against the wall, like he had been at Starkweather's inlays earlier that day.

The television set flickered, showed nothing but static at first. Then, a room. A library. Starkweather recognized it immediately as her adoptive father's library at his house in Sedona, Arizona. She teared up as the Admiral sat down in his favorite chair, positioned in front of the video camera but blinked them back.

"Jeri, I don't know how to start this. I don't know where I went wrong. I never meant for any of this happen. I especially never meant to get Ben messed up into all of this. I thought I was protecting you. I thought a lot of things.

"I had Jenny pull some strings to get you into the X-Files. Because I thought if you were with the X-Files, you'd fall into the protection of Mulder and Scully. I should have known better. I should have known that once you had the resources, you would search for the truth. Especially when the Syndicate took Ben.

"Jerilyn, angel... I am making this tape right now because... well, sweetie, you're mad as hell at me and I'm not sure you're going to speak to me ever again. Not that I blame you really," the Admiral said sadly in his video. "Because I lied my ass off to you. And to Agents Mulder and Scully, who I enlisted to protect you. And I thought that withholding the Truth from you was how to protect you.

"But I was wrong. God, I was wrong. And I know that now.

"I hope I can tell you this in person, angel. I really do. But... in case I can't... I hope this tape finds you.

"I'm going to tell you where you came from.

"I'm going to tell you who your parents really are. You already figured out that Bill Mulder is your natural father.

"Now it's time to tell you who your mother is."

Lieutenant and Mrs. Bailey's Residence Pearl Harbor Naval Base April 22, 1973

"I'm really sorry," Anthony McAlpine, the representative from the adoption agency hated giving couples bad news. Especially when they seemed to be such a nice couple. But the guidelines were very clear. "I wish I had better news," he told them gently. "It's just that with the conflict in Vietnam and Mr. Bailey being Active Duty and all..." he trailed off, not knowing how to finish. He never did.

The officer, a handsome young man turned to his wife, a pretty little thing with a sweet heart-shaped face and long curly auburn hair and patted her back. "We'll find another way," he told her.

She smiled, defying the tears in her pretty silvery-gray eyes. "It's okay," Lynnette Malone Bailey told her husband, an up-and-coming officer. "I understand." She smiled, rising gracefully, ever inch the perfect lady. "Thank you for coming, Mr. McAlpine," she held out her hand for him to shake.

Befuddled by her grace, he accepted her hand, small and smooth. Then he took Jeremy's, knarled and callused already at the tender age of twenty-five. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again and he took his leave.

"Lynn, honey," Jeremy started but Lynnette was already leaving the living room of their pitifully small living room of the off-base housing. "Wait..."

"I have to go feed the cat," she said as she past through the doorway. Jeremy closed his eyes, feeling the disappointment eat away at him. They had been married for five years now. Lynnette was only twenty- three years old. For most of their marriage, Jeremy had been away at sea, fighting an enemy he, for the most part, never ever saw. He knew she was lonely. He knew she wanted a child so badly. And he wanted one too. It had been hard on his ego to know that he would never have a son or daughter of his own. That he would have to raise another man's kid, somebody's cast-off. But just knowing how much it would mean to Lynnette... and now another adoption agency turned them down.

He went into the kitchen and into the backyard. One thing had to be said about Hawaii, the beauty was real. The sand was really so white it looked like glistening snow at times. The sea was really ten thousand shades of blue. The flowers were really blossoming everywhere. It really was paradise. A lonesome paradise.

Lynnette was sitting in the grass, looking out towards the mighty Pacific Ocean, only a five minute walk from their house, the first house that they have purchased, the first house that was not on base. Pearl, the snowy white cat Jeremy bought for her when they first moved to Pearl Harbor, sat on her lap. The tropical breeze blew gently, ruffling her hair and her skirt.

Jeremy sat down besides her, putting his arm around her tiny shoulders. "We'll find another way," he told her firmly.

Lynnette leaned into him. "Jeremy, it's okay, really," she said softly. "Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. Maybe we just weren't meant to be parents." She raised her head. "And I won't do black market adoption. I'm sorry Jeremy, but if we adopt, I don't want anyone to question if that child is ours or not."

"Lynn," Jeremy said seriously. "With your health and my career and this fucking war... we might not have a choice."

"I don't want to do something illegal just to have a baby," Lynnette said stubbornly. "And don't swear, it's vulgar."

"I'm sorry," he apologized, kissing her temple. Together, they watched the fiery sun descending into the ocean, the peaceful blues transforming into wild shades of pinks, violets, oranges and gold.

"Lynn, just... don't give up. We'll have a family yet," he promised her. "We'll find a way."

<<There's GOT to be a way...>> Jeremy pondered for a solution

April 23, 1973 First National Bank Keystone, South Dakota (Home of Mt. Rushmore)

They claimed to be real estate investors. They told the bank they were thinking about purchasing land to build a tract of hotels to generate more tourist dollars at Keystone. They had rented the conference room of the bank as a facade so they could all meet and speak in private about their real work.

The one they sneeringly called "The Well-Manicured Man" was fashionably late, as always. "My apologies," he said smoothly.

"We just about gave up hope on you," said one of the members coldly, a portly man with a wheezy voice. As if he was the one with a two pack a day smoking habit. "Now we will proceed."

A slender man, with a heavy German accent, stood up. "The Eden Project is proceeding on schedule," he announced. "We expect results in less than two weeks." He sat back down after a smattering of applause. "The only issue we must deal with now, is of course security," he continued on. "If they were to learn of our work against them, who knows what might happen."

"We're working on that," the heavy-set man with the wheezy voice informed him. "We've devised a ploy that will distract the Visitors while we continue our work against them. All we're waiting on..." he turned to face a quiet man with somber hazel eyes and dark brown hair, sitting alone on a leather sofa. "is for the last member to respond. Mr. Mulder," he said sharply. Bill Mulder raised his head. "We're waiting on you. We need an answer. Today." When Bill hesitated, the Heavy-Set Man softened his tone. "I understand what a difficult decision we are asking of you. But you understand it's for the greater good. And that we've all sacrificed someone to the Cause. And that you're receiving a far greater gift in return. But we must know, today. Who from your family is going away."

Finally, after an agonizing moment, Bill croaked out, "Samantha."

"Very well," he made a quick note in his journal. "We'll have more information for of her departure date as well as when we anticipate her return," he told Bill briskly. "Now then, because of Mr. Mulder's sacrifice, we must ensure the security of his merchandise, especially since it's due to arrive in less than two weeks time."

"I am handling that," a swarmy voice came from the back of the room. There was a flash of flame as he lit his cigarette. "I believe I found someone trustworthy enough to succeed in this endeavor as well as weak enough to bend to our will."

"When will it be done?" the Heavy Set Man demanded.

"I am flying out to Pearl Harbor to meet with him tonight," the Cigarette Smoking Man informed the group.

The Well-Manicured Man frowned, but said nothing. He was having his doubts about this entire enterprise.

And was devoutly grateful no one knew about the existence of his two daughters, Marita and Felitza. He knew he couldn't bear to make the decision Bill Mulder just did, no matter what they were giving him in return. And the Well-Manicured Man knew fully well what Bill Mulder was going to get in return.

A damn miracle.

Lieutenant and Mrs. Bailey's Residence Pearl Harbor Naval Base April 24, 1973

Lynnette leaned against the doorway of their tiny home. She put her arms around his waist. "Be careful," she told him in a steady voice.

"I will," he promised her, kissing her tenderly. "I'll miss you honey," his voice quavered. He hated himself for being so emotional whenever he left her, but before Lynnette, he had never been loved unconditionally before. Even after five years of marriage, it was still a novelty to the young man who enlisted into the Navy the day he turned eighteen so he could escape the coldness of his Chicago childhood home.

"And I you," she said firmly, hugging him tightly to her as Pearl the cat wound herself in and out of their legs. "I'll be counting the days until you come home again."

Jeremy kissed her again, passionately this time. Pressing his forehead against hers, he promised her "And I'm serious about the baby-thing, Lynn. We will find a way. I swear. Just trust me."

"Just don't do anything desperate," she asked him. "Just don't do anything that would compromise yourself or us."

"Darling, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you or us," he promised. Jeremy should have known better than to make a promise he wouldn't be able to keep.

When Jeremy's friend pulled up to give him a ride to the naval base, he kissed her one last time, heart breaking as the inevitable tears began to slip down her pretty pale face while he began the painful process of walking away. "I love you, honey."

"I love you too," she smiled through her tears, leaning against the doorframe. "Write me!"

"Everyday," he yelled back at her as he got into the car.

Lynnette watched the car pull away. She did not realize that she was being watched.

But the Cigarette Smoking Man, from the house across the street observed the entire touching family scene. The dutiful wife watching her husband the sailor go out to sea.

How would she react if she found out her husband was being sent to a place where there was no ocean? He peeped through the blinds, once again, stunned by her humble beauty. An avid reader back when he had the time to read, he recalled a passage from Margaret Mitchell's magna opus 'Gone with the Wind': "She looked - and was - as simple as earth, as good as bread, as transparent as spring water. But for all her plainness of feature and smallness of stature, there was a sedate dignity about her movements that was oddly touching..."

Yes, that's what he remembered most about her. That strange dignity that not even the most bizarre inhuman trauma forced upon her frail frame in the years before she met the sailor could strip away.

He wondered if there was anything that could break her.

He was beginning to doubt it.

Sighing, he checked his watch.

He had to meet Jeremy in an hour.

He stubbed out his cigarette.

Pearl Harbor Naval Base An hour and fifteen minutes later...

Lieutenant Jeremy Bailey sat in the uncomfortable chair outside of his CO's office, nervously. He didn't understand why he was signaled out, why he had to be briefed separately before being sent out to sea.

After all, it was just a routine mission they were running...

<<Right??>> he questioned himself. Jeremy only expressed his true views of the Vietnam Conflict to Lynnette. As far as the United States Navy was concerned, he was willing, able and happy to serve his military duty. Privately he told his wife he thought the war was a waste of time and money and that it sickened him that so many young men were going into that humid marshy hellhole and coming back in body bags and he couldn't wait until the top dogs at the Pentagon "pulled their heads out" as he said flatly to Lynnette and suggest to the President that maybe they should terminate the entire mission. After all, what purpose where they serving there anyway? A pretty Naval enlisted, dressed in the sleek white Navy dress uniform left his CO's office. "Sir, he's ready to see you now, sir," she told him politely.

"Thank you," he said, standing up, tucking his hat underneath his arm and entering the office.

He frowned when he saw a man dressed in a civilian’s suit, sitting at his commanding officer's desk. Jeremy looked around, confused. "May I help you?" he asked politely.

"No. You can help me," the Cigarette Smoking Man pulled out his pack of smokes out of his breast pocket.

"I don't understand."

"You are an ambitious man, are you not Lieutenant?"

"Yes sir," Jeremy said warily.

"Always looking for promotion, are you not?"

"Well... yes sir..."

"Would like to be called 'Admiral' someday, wouldn't you?"

"Admiral???" Jeremy choked out. "No offense sir... but my goals are not that lofty."

"And why not? You're a bright young man. Talented. Skilled. The only handicap you have, is you don't have a patron. Someone who can whisper into the ears of the influential, who can make things happen. For a price, of course."

"What price?" he questioned while thinking <<what adoption agency would deny an Admiral and his wife a child...>>

"Loyalty. Confidentially. Trust. And service. But what you will receive will surely outweigh what you give. You'll have wealth, politic power and a solid reputation no one would question."

"What do you want me to do?" Jeremy couldn't help but feel uneasy. "And what proof do you have that you can make these things happen? Especially helping me become an *Admiral*?"

"You and your wife are trying to adopt, correct?"

Startled, Jeremy spluttered "How in the hell did you know that?"

"My first gesture of goodwill would be to smooth the path to adoption. But I can not do that without a commitment. You would go into deep undercover for several months. Everything except the confidential details of your mission is on your CO's desk. All it needs is your CO's signature to TDY to us. All I need to get your CO to sign it is a yes or no from you." He took a long drag, exhaled.

Jeremy took a breath. "Tell me what I have to do," he said finally.

The Cancer Man smiled.

April 26, 1973...

The two day trip from Pearl Harbor to... wherever had been very comfortable for Lieutenant Jeremy Bailey.

Except he had been blindfolded the entire time.

"How am I supposed to protect something if I can't see?" Jeremy had complained but the Cigarette Smoking Man had been firm.

"It's a matter of national security," he told him. "If you were to be captured, it's better if you can't tell them the location of the project rather than have you trying not to tell."

So Jeremy bore the blindfold for the entire flight. He knew that they had landed and taken off from several locations but had no way of telling where they had touched down to fuel up. He ate little and slept a lot during the trip.

He woke up again to the Cigarette Smoking Man gently shaking him. "We're landing," he told Jeremy. "We've arrived."

When the plane landed, Jeremy reached up to take off the blindfold but someone grabbed his arm. "Not yet," CSM said. "Wait until we've reached headquarters."

"When are you going to tell me what's goin' on?" Jeremy said wearily. He was already tired of the games and had began to regret his decision. Only the idea of being able to bring a child to brighten their lonely home kept him from saying "Forget it, take me back."

"As soon as we reach headquarters," CSM told him smoothly as he helped guide him out the plane and to the vehicle waiting to bring them to headquarters.

The Eden Project Headquarters The Black Hills, South Dakota Two hours later

Finally the Cigarette Smoking Man undid Jeremy's blindfold. Jeremy blinked his eyes and found himself in a small yet comfortably furnished apartment, complete with a tidy kitchenette, a color television set, and a washer and dryer in one of the closets. The entire place was decorated in the garish colors popular during the Seventies. There were no windows.

"This is where you will call home until further notice," the Cigarette Smoking Man informed the young lieutenant. He sat down on the sofa, plunking his briefcase on the gaudy coffee table, opening it. He took out a manila envelope and handed it to Jeremy. "This package has further information which you need to read and destroy immediately afterwards. Your mission is deep background.

"What is my mission, sir?" Jeremy felt more comfortable lapsing into military protocol in dealing with this strange man who chain-smoked.

"Security for the Eden Project."

"And what is the Eden Project?"

"A top secret governmentally funded experiment for developing biological weapons against the enemy."

"Chemical warfare isn't enough against the Viet Kong?"

A thin smile appeared on the Cancer Man's lips. "The Viet Kong are hardly the enemy, Mr. Bailey."

"Excuse me?"

"Have you heard of a place called Roswell, New Mexico, Mr. Bailey?"

"No."

The thin smile stayed on the Cancer Man's lips. "Come with me now. You can read your narratives later."

Jeremy followed the Cigarette Smoking Man out of his apartment and into a corridor that appeared to be an ordinary hallway in a nice hotel. Jeremy still had no idea where he was.

The Cigarette Smoking Man tapped on the door that was to the left of Jeremy's apartment entrance. "This is my place," he said. "If you need anything, just knock. Or use the intercom system."

"How am I supposed to call you if I don't even know your name, sir."

"Mr. Bailey, and this will be the last time I will address you as such, in this undertaking, we don't have names."

"Then-"

"Call me CSM," the Smoking Man said, beginning to walk briskly again.

"Yes sir."

"As head of security of the merchandise scheduled to be delivered in less than two weeks, you will be serving three masters. Myself and two others who are called WMM and DT. Any inconsistency, any mistakes, any breach of security or conduct will be reported to us immediately."

They stopped at an elevator.

The Smoking Man took out a plastic card. Jeremy stared at it, puzzled as he slid it into a slot next to the elevator. The doors slid open. There was a man in battle fatigues, holding an M-16 inside. "Which floor sir?"

"Sixth."

"Clearance code, sir."

"Sierra Sierra Alpha Tengo Bravo."

The soldier stepped aside to admit CSM and Jeremy. Jeremy was feeling more and more nauseous about the enterprise he was embarking. He forced himself to listen to his new superior.

"... one of you other duties is the maintenance of the security codes. All codes are changed on a normal basis every twenty-fours. After a security breach, one hour."

"Yes sir."

The elevator doors swooshed open. CSM and Jeremy stepped out. "But this floor and the floor below are going to be your main concern. You are going to live and breathe these floors."

"Why is that sir?"

"This is where the merchandise is going to be delivered. And the floor below is where it will be stored."

Jeremy looked down the corridor. White and stark, inside of a hotel, it resembled a hospital or laboratory hallway. The walls were lined with mirrors. "What is this?" he breathed.

"I'll show you," putting his arm around Jeremy's shoulders, he guided him to the mirrors.

Jeremy looked in and gasped in horror.

"Don't worry," CSM said smoothly. "It's a two way mirror. She can't see you."

A pregnant woman was sleeping on the bed, totally unaware of the two men staring at her.

Jeremy moved from mirror to mirror, mouth hanging open in shock at the pregnant women from all walks of life, all apparently extremely well- cared for but obviously kept there as prisoners. He counted, nine women in all. "What the hell is this??" he wheeled around.

The Cigarette Smoking Man lit a cigarette. "The future

"The future," Jeremy sneered. "Holding pregnant girls captive is the future??" He turned to look through a mirror at a Hispanic girl who couldn't be any more than fifteen.

"We saved most of these girls from a fate worse than death," CSM told him. "We bought them from either white slave rings or from violent and greedy pimps. Instead of being abused, they are fed, clothed, kept warm. Most of these girls had fled to the United States to escape the brutalities of their homelands. Some of these girls can't even speak English. Once they got here, they were easy prey for the scum of the streets. If we returned them to there country, they would be outcasts. We are keeping them safe here."

"For how long? And what about when their children are born?"

"Those aren't their children."

"WHAT!?!?"

"Think of them as... surrogates."

"WHAT!?!?"

"Conception began in a test tube. Once fertilization was achieved, these girls, as payment for our hospitality, agreed to be the carriers for the life that is not genetically theirs."

"That is not possible."

"I assure you, it is," the Cancer Man said. "The Eden Project is a massive genetics program."

"You're cloning people??"

"No. We are about twenty years away from that technology."

"All of those girls are carrying somebody else's baby?"

"Yes, but we chose not to think of them as 'babies', to avoid attachment, with one exception," he led the bewildered sailor to the mirror at the very end of the hall. Jeremy looked into the mirror and saw a beautiful nineteen-year-old girl with a swollen belly, quietly reading a book she probably read a thousand times.

"There are eight test subjects. But as you probably already counted, there are nine women. This girl, this girl is carrying the child of a man who has made the ultimate sacrifice to our Cause."

"What's that?"

"He lost his daughter."

"Oh God, how?"

"Abduction," the Cigarette Smoking Man said smoothly. "After this child is born, as soon as a safe date can be arranged, we need to bring this baby to this man and his family. The child," he put his hand on the glass, "until further notice, is named 'Echo.' Your other responsibility is to ensure she stays separate from the merchandise. That this baby is not involved in Phase Two of the Eden Project." Jeremy felt extremely uncomfortable with the Smoking Man referring to the other unborn children as "merchandise." "What is Phase Two? Hell, what is Phase One?"

"This is Phase One," the Smoking Man gestured with his hands, indicating the maternity ward. "Phase Two is research on what the merchandise is capable of."

"Capable?"

"Do not think of these children as human because I can promise you they are not. We designed them not to be. These children, their destiny is to protect us."

"Protect US? From WHAT???" Jeremy knew now he was in over his head and frantically tried to think of a way out of this monumental error of judgement even though he knew he was already in too deep. <<Lynnette, I'm so sorry>> he thought in anguish while he said "The Communists??" The Smoking Man laughed. "The Commies are HARDLY a threat."

"Then what? What are these babies going to protect us from?"

"A fate worse than death." And that was all the further CSM would expound in the subject.

The Eden Project Headquarters May 1, 1973 1:35 AM

Although it appeared that Jeremy was watching with an impartial eye as the scientists and soldiers hustled about, inside the queasy feelings of guilt were increasing. <<What have I become a part of?>>

After his tour, Jeremy was escorted back to his apartments where he had read the narrative forwards and backwards and really didn't understand a whole lot of it. The basic gist was that it was his job to make sure the Eden Project was not discovered.

He figured out that the complex was literally underground, but in what part of the earth he was under he had no idea. He didn't even know when he would see the sun. He didn't know when he was going to be able to go home, which was killing him. He was forbidden to go outside. He was forbidden to send or receive letters from Lynnette. The Smoking Man was right - he was going to live and breathe these three floors he had been restricted to.

And so far, it had been desperately boring. When he wasn't personally patrolling the maternity ward and the laboratory floor, he was in his apartment, doing whatever he could to alleviate the boredom and the fear. He didn't watch television very much, mostly because the signal was so crappy. Someone had graciously given him a record player and a huge pile of an electric collection of vinyls to listen to, so Jeremy took it upon himself to have music nights. He surprised himself when he discovered he enjoyed classical music.

But even the heavenly melodies of Handel, Bach, Hayden and Beethoven couldn't heal the sickness sitting in his soul. Whatever this project was, it just didn't feel right. Children, being grown like vegetables, "designed" to fight... fight what?? The Smoking Man never expounded on what was a fate worse than death. And if the children were not blood of the blood of the women who carried them beneath their hearts, whom did they belong to?

And why was the unborn child "Echo" not to be included in "Phase Two"? What was so special about her father? Other than he had already lost a child, granted. But a lost child could not be replaced in the same way as a lost dog is. So what was the deal?

Jeremy just prayed that the time for him to be released from his duty to this strange and unethical enterprise would come soon.

Then, on April 30, a few days earlier than expected, one of the girls went into labor at 11:30 that morning. Inexplicably a chain reaction began and soon all were in labor.

The first child was born on April 30, 1973 at nine o'clock on the dot.

The last child, "Echo" was born one-thirteen AM, May 1, 1973. Jeremy couldn't help but smile when it was reported that "Echo" was a girl. A new daughter to replace the lost daughter. Fitting.

With a stony face, Jeremy watched as the doctors tended to the women and the babies. The doctors then came to Jeremy and reported to them the condition of the women and infants while men in fatigues came with wheelchairs and infant carriers to bear the women and babies away.

Except Echo. A hospital bassinet was set up and after the doctor cleaned the child up, he efficiently tied on a cloth diaper around her bottom, swaddled her in a gray blanket and put her in the bassinet without a second glance while the child cried as the woman who carried her was placed in the wheelchair.

"Please..." the girl pleaded as the soldier took her away. "Just let me hold her... just for a little bit, let me hold her..."

Soon, others came and stripped the beds and bore away the furniture and the girls' meager possessions. Soon, all the rooms were empty, with the exception the room Echo was still in, still crying.

The elevator opened up. The Smoking Man came out. "Well?" he said. "What is the report?"

"Four boys and five girls were delivered," Jeremy said dispassionately. "The boys were all stillborn."

"Dammit," the Smoking Man cursed. Pulling out his cigarettes, he said "Well, at least we can still study their genetic makeup. And the girls?"

"They were delivered to the seventh floor."

"And Echo?"

"She's right here," Jeremy gestured to the mirror. "She probably need to be fed soon."

"I'll have one of the doctors hook up an IV," the Cancer Man said dispassionately. "Until a better solution can be found. *I* certainly don't have time or patience for three AM feedings, do you?"

Jeremy asked "Why don't we just bring her to her father now?"

"Too risky now," the Smoking Man said quickly. "But I going to go see the father tomorrow and let him know of the good news." He patted Jeremy on the shoulder. "You did a good job ensuring the smooth runnings of the operation. Your obligation to this operation will be lifted tentatively September. And to set your mind at ease, your wife is fine. Missing you, of course, but I had one of my men go visit her and explain the immense secrecy of the mission and why you have not communicated with her. She gave him this," he took an envelope out of he coat pocket. Jeremy smelled Lynnette's favorite perfume scenting the paper and felt tears well up. "to give to you." He left him.

Jeremy wanted to run upstairs and read his wife's words. But first... but first...

He entered Echo's room. The infant was now snuffling. After putting his wife's letter in his pocket, he picked the little girl up.

She had lots of dark curly hair and cloudy blue eyes that already promised to change to a darker color. Her skin was still blotchy from the trauma of birth but she had a sweet rosebud mouth.

"Your daddy is going to be a lucky man when he gets you," he said. "And you are a damn lucky little girl, not to be in Phase Two."

He started to wonder if he should find a way to stop Phase Two.

Bill and Teena Mulder's summer home Martha's Vineyard May 3, 1973

Due to an unexpected school vacation, a week long teacher's in- service, Teena thought it would be an excellent time to go down and spend the week thoroughly cleaning the summerhouse. The children enthusiastically agreed, much to Teena's relief. She wanted to spend as much time with them before... before... Teena's eyes welled up with tears as she peeped through the blinds, watching her boy and her girl playing on the beach. She didn't know who to be more afraid for, her darling little girl, for where she was going... or for her serious son, too smart for his own good, extremely shy and in her opinion, extremely gullible. He believed almost anything. Hopefully, he'd believe the lie they were going to tell him when Samantha eventually went away.

Once again, Teena thought about how much she hated her husband.

Meanwhile, on the beach, Samantha was pirouetting in the wet sand, shrieking as the waves crashed on her bare feet. "Lookit me!" she hollered at her brother. "Lookit me, Fox!"

"Yeah, whatever," Fox muttered, sitting on a rock, reading a 'Batman' comic book his dad just bought for him earlier. Dad, who usually didn't notice him unless he did something wrong, had been paying a lot of attention to both him and Samantha lately. Taking them out for burgers for supper instead of yelling at them to eat their broccoli. Buying presents out of the blue, like a new Barbie for Samantha or a comic for him. He pondered whether or not to question his father's motives or just be grateful for his unexpected generosity and reap the benefits. Being twelve, he opted for the latter.

"FOX!" Samantha hollered, putting her hands on her hips in an unconscious imitation of her mother. "You aren't looking."

"Am too," he responded, eyes glued to his comic.

Samantha run up to him, pulling the comic out of his hand.

"HEY!" he yelled. "Gimme that back!"

"No! Not 'til you watch me dance."

"I already did, Sam. I'm sick of watchin', now gimme my book!"

Samantha, in a bratty mood, threw his comic towards the ocean, giggling. The breeze pushed the flying book into the water. Fox punched her in the shoulder and ran after his book as his sister burst into fake tears to guarantee her brother would get in trouble. "I'M GONNA TELL!!!" she threatened and ran towards the house. Fox ignored her as he waded into the still biting cold seawater to retrieve his comic.

The salt water ruined the book. "Dammit," he said, as he had just embraced learning the fine language of cussing. He was also studying on the nuances of sarcasm, but he had already learned to be careful when opening his mouth around his mother. While Dad was acting like a king, Mom was acting like the wicked queen, snapping at him at every turn while practically coddling Samantha. He had already been grounded three times in the past two months for his mouth. Still, that didn't stop him from plotting on stealing Samantha's roller skates and taking the wheels off. She was such a pain sometimes and she NEVER got in trouble at least not from their mother because, as she always said "She's only eight Fox and you're older and you know better!!" It just wasn't fair. Why was Samantha the chosen one??

But Fox's anger dissolved instantly when he looked up and saw Sam running back down the dune towards him, her face white, the crocodile tears gone, her long dark brown hair streamed behind her. "Fox!!"

"What?" Fox waded out of the ocean, walking towards her.

"That man's back."

"What man?" Fox asked, hoping her imagination was just running away.

"That man who smokes all the cigarettes. That man Mom and Dad were yelling at those nights when he was comin' to our house. Fox," she confessed, fear dilating the hazel eyes she shared with him and their father. "Fox, I'm afraid..."

Fox was afraid too, but didn't want to admit it. "C'mon," he said gruffly, pulling her close to him, arm awkwardly around her puppy-fat shoulders. "Let's walk to the boardwalk and see if the ice cream place's open and get something."

"You got money? 'Cuz mine's in the house and that's where *he's* at." Fox pulled out a few soggy dollars out of the pocket of his wet jeans. "I'll get ya something," he told her as they began to walk up the dune. "Let's just get outta here until that guy leaves."

As they left the beach, Fox threw the ruined comic book in a garbage can. Meekly, Samantha said, "I'm sorry 'bout your book. I didn't think it would go into the ocean."

"I'll buy 'nother one with my allowance," Fox muttered as they sauntered past the house. They could hear yelling through the open window.

"YOU THINK THAT'S GOING TO MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER!?!?!" their mother was shrieking. "YOU THINK THAT'S GOING TO MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER?"

"Teena," their father was pleading, "please..."

"You bastards," she seethed. "Both of you."

"Fox," Samantha pleaded in a whisper, squeezing his hand, "let's go."

Fox nodded and they crept to the garage, retrieved their bikes and pedaled down to the ice cream shop on as fast as they could.

The Eden Project Headquarters June 1, 1973 1:21 AM

The Well-Manicured Man sat patiently in his apartment, waiting. Finally the knock he had been anticipating came. "Come in."

The soldier opened the door. "The Security Director is in his apartment sir."

"Thank you." he told him and the soldier shut the door. The Well- Manicured Man stood up and left his apartment quickly.

He went to the elevator and using his access card, hailed the elevator.

"Which floor sir?" the guard asked.

"Seventh."

"Access code?"

"Zulu Zulu Alpha Mike Zulu."

The guard moved aside to let him in. The Well Manicured Man looked calm and dignified as always but inside he was a nervous wreck. If he were to be caught, his life would be over.

But he didn't care. She was his daughter, dammit and he wasn't going to stand by and let them torture her anymore.

The doors slid open. His contact, the guard that had alerted him to Jeremy retiring for the night was waiting for him. "Everything is in place?" he murmured to him as they hurried to the laboratory.

"Yes sir," the soldier said as the Well-Manicured Man opened the door to the lab where the girls were kept.

He averted his eyes to the other babies, hooked up to every known monitor, twitching in discomfort and pain. His baby, the one they called Delta, was laying on the table in a carrier, bundled up in a blanket. But he had already re-named her.

"Hello Samita," he cooed to her, picking her up. "It's alright, it's alright my love, it's over now, it's all over now," he smoothed her hair as the one month old infant whimpered, not knowing how to react to a tender touch. Kissing his child on the forehead, he handed the baby off to the soldier. "Make sure she stays safe."

Watching the soldier disappear with the baby, he prayed that his plan worked. That the child would be delivered to his mother's estate in England safely. That his mother would be able to care for the child for a few years before she was returned to America, to be surrendered to the care of his estranged wife, who he persuaded to assume another name and hide away with his other two daughters.

He had joined the Syndicate to protect his daughters from the Visitors. Now he had to stay in to protect them from the Syndicate. He honestly didn't which one was the greater of the two evils. "Yes sir," and the soldier ran

The Eden Project Headquarters June 1, 1973 7:47 AM

The Cigarette Smoking Man got off the elevator, walking towards Jeremy who was angrily berating a young guard.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE DONE??"

"Sir, I was just following orders."

"MY orders supercede the orders of the scientists!!"

"What is going on?" the Cancer Man demanded.

"Delta died in the middle of the night!" Jeremy snapped. "No one alerted me to it. No one notified me. So they took ECHO to take her place, the damn scientists are working on her right now!!!" he snapped, furious that chain of command had been broken down. Furious because he had gotten very attached to Echo. He had made it a point to visit her, to talk to her, to hold her because nobody else would. Because that is what Lynnette would have wanted him to do.

It was as if she was his own daughter.

The Smoking Man was also angry, that was obvious. "Were you on patrol last night?" he asked the guard quietly. "Yes sir."

"And you were notified of Delta's death?"

"Yes sir."

"And you allowed the scientists to take Echo despite our explicit orders that she was not to be touched?"

"Yes sir."

The Cancer Man took out his gun and shot the guard in the head. Blood sprayed Jeremy. Safetying his weapon, he barked at the other horrified guards, "Clean up this mess!!!" Putting his arm around Jeremy, he walked him to the elevators, muttering, "There is a problem and it is a problem for you to solve. Delta did not die. There is no body. The body would have been kept for research. Delta was removed from here. You need to find out who, and handle it."

"What about Echo? What about the family that is waiting for her?"

The Cancer Man sighed. "I will handle that."

Later on that day...

The heavy man with the raspy voice hung his head when he received the Cancer Man's briefing. "This is most unfortunate."

"Please advise."

The Heavy Set Man wheezed out, "Have Mr. Bailey find out who's responsible and once that is discovered, have him delivered to me. I will deal with him personally."

"And the Mulders?"

"Can the testing process on Echo be stopped?"

"No."

"When is their daughter... Samantha... when are They coming for her?"

"The date is set. August 20."

"They'll just have to understand. Things change."

"Why risk our relationship with Bill Mulder with the truth? We still need him? I'll tell him the baby died."

"As you wish," the Heavy Set Man agreed. "How are the tests going?"

"Very well," the Cancer Man said. "So far, two of the hypothesizes are being proven correctly."

"Which is??"

"That they are immune to the Visitor's Black Oil. And, the aging process is slower with them. Their epidermis is not like ours. They will not wrinkle or sag like us. They are going to always look at least five years younger than what they really are. Also their muscle and skeletal structure is different from ours. The scientists believe that Bravo is going to be considerably stronger than most women when she gets older. And..."

"And..."

"Already the preliminary reading from Echo's brainwaves are extraordinary. Granted, all the subjects have high readings but Echo... I believe Echo is going to be something very special. Perhaps the disappearance of Delta was truly a gift in disguise."

"Do you think... do you think this one, Echo, is The One then?"

"If she is," the Smoking Man said, "then we must take great pains that the Visitors never find her. But she's only an infant, it's too soon to tell. We won't be able to know, until she's old enough to read, unfortunately."

The Eden Project Headquarters July 1, 1973 7:35 PM

Jeremy stormed towards his apartment. An entire month had passed and still no indication of who the perpetrator could have been. And he was getting some serious heat from the powers that be above him.

And he was blaming himself. For the umpteenth time, he berated himself "If I had just made one more round, made one more check, if I had insisted that Echo be moved into my quarters...>> "God damn it," he cursed, banging his fist on his door.

"That's NOT going to do any good," a silky voice behind him informed him. "It won't help you find the answers you're looking for... or should I say, the answers you think you're looking for?"

Jeremy whirled around. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

Deep Throat chuckled. "An interested party, and the third member you're supposed to report too. However... I haven't been around very much, I'm more of a silent partner. Mr. Bailey, I can tell you things but only if they suit my purposes. My pursuits."

"What is your purpose, your pursuit?"

"The truth."

"Can you tell me what the hell this project is for? Why those little girls were created? What they are being tormented for?"

"I can tell you what I can, Mr. Bailey. You better come into my apartment. It's the only one without listening devices, I made sure of that," and Deep Throat walked away, with Jeremy following.

Deep Throat's apartment

"A drink?" Deep Throat asked. When Jeremy declined, he fixed himself a strong scotch on the rocks and sat down.

"Now, our friend the chain smoker asked you if you had heard of Roswell, New Mexico and you told him no, correct?"

"Correct."

"In the late Fifties, there was a crash, an very significant crash. A crash our government took pains to cover up." When Jeremy asked why, Deep Throat responded "Because we performed an unauthorized autopsy on the pilot and the pilot's homeland decided that was an act of war and we have been on hostile terms with them ever since."

"Which country did this pilot come from?"

"'Country' is the incorrect term to use, Mr. Bailey."

Jeremy stared at Deep Throat, feeling stupid. "I don't understand."

"Do you believe in UFOs... aliens... extraterristials... things that go bump in the night, the unexplainable?"

"No."

"And yet, here you are, head of security of a massive genetics experiment, an experiment that you were told was to create biological weapons against and unseen enemy and yet you have no idea why you are here. You think you were selected because of your fine military career? Or perhaps this was all just a big coincidence?" "I'll admit, this is a little overwhelming."

"Mr. Bailey, how well do you know your wife?"

"She's my best friend and I love her," Jeremy snapped, instantly defensive. "I know her from the inside out."

"Do you?" Deep Throat took a sip of his drink.

"When the Eden Project was proposed, three of us were approached to be... how shall I say, biological donors? Myself, the Smoking Man, and the Well Manicured Man. They wanted a nice genetics mixture. Different hair color, different eyes. Different intellect. However, they wanted the ova to come from the same woman. Kind of a control.

"There was a woman who had been repeatedly abducted ever since she was twelve years old. She lived with it, thought it was a great shame. Thought no one would believe her if she told them about the bright lights, the loud ringing, how she would rise out of her bed and float through the windows up to the sky. How horrible tests were performed on her. Tests that weakened her, gave her migraines. Weakened her immune system, rendered her barren. She hid all of these experiences from everyone, including her husband.

"One of these tests removed all of her ova, to be used in a later date. After the... faux pas concerning the autopsy, a delegation was created to deal with the angry... Visitors. During our negotiations, we learned of their plot to overthrow civilization and make this world, theirs and I assure you Mr. Bailey, they have the technology to do so... however their technology would scorch the earth and why ruin a good resource? They would rather cultivate it than destroy it. And time? Time is irrelevant to them. Twenty years to us is like a week to them. So... our delegation formed a Syndicate with our diplomatic leaders across the globe and thus we plotted our double-cross. We convinced them that we are on their side, which we are paving the way to make colonization easier and they give us things, tools that they believe benefit them, but actually benefit US.

"They gave us this woman's ova, to start research on cloning. To create... how should I say this? Super-soldiers? To infiltrate our population and slowly either breed us out or wipe us out.

"Instead, we used this ova to create these children. Children who are immune to the aliens' weapons. Immune to the aliens' control. Children who are our intellectual and physical superiors who can battle against them, fight fire with fire and yet, retain their own humanity. Unfortunately, to accomplish this, we needed to create a diversion... such as supplying the Visitors with test subjects."

"You are serious..." Jeremy finally croaked out. "You really believe what you are telling me..."

Deep Throat continued as if Jeremy never spoke. "The diversion is test subjects. We help them by supplying them with test subjects. And now they want to study children. So...

"Our friend, the Cancer Man has already sacrificed his wife and son. A trusted contact, Bill Mulder, will be giving up his youngest child, Samantha because... and this may sound trite, but this is what he believes and a man has to believe in something... his eldest son, Fox, is very bright. He believes that if something goes wrong, if Samantha is not brought back, his son will go find her." Deep Throat shrugged. "To ease his pain, we offered to... give him a child. Not to replace Samantha, but to help ease the suffering. So he was the fourth to be a donor and so that is how the child Echo came to be.

"Echo is dying, Mr. Bailey. As all the children are. The scientists have tendency to be a little over zealous in their work." Deep Throat frowned as he remembered voicing his objections in having Nazi war criminals work for them. "To have the children die is not my wish nor is it the wish of their biological mother."

"Who is their real mother then?"

"Your wife."

"WHAT?!?!??!?!?!"

December 11, 2001 Holiday Inn, Minneapolis MN Scully and Starkweather's room

"Stop the tape!" Starkweather cried out. Doggett, acting as remote control complied. "Rewind it."

Doggett hit the rewind button, let it go back a few minutes. Then he hit the play button. The Admiral repeated himself.

"And that's when he told me that Lynnette was the natural mother of all the girls... including YOU Jerilyn." Doggett hit the stop button. "Doc..." he said warily. "You okay." Starkweather just sat there, blinking, hand over her mouth.

Scully and Mulder looked at her. "Starkweather?" Scully asked softly.

Starkweather shook herself. "Keep it going, Doggett," she said softly as Mulder got up from Scully and sat beside her. He put his good arm over her shoulders and instinctively, Starkweather curled up into him. Only eight short months ago, she hated this man with every fiber of her being. Now she clung to him, needing him to support her. Needing her older brother.

Scully stared at Doggett, who took up his position against the wall again after hitting play. He shook his head at her, telegraphing that he was not swallowing the yard the Admiral was spinning for them on tape. Scully found herself not wanting to believe, her very personality screaming at her not to believe.

But she looked down into the playpen at her sleeping baby, remembering her own abduction and became very very afraid.

The Eden Project Headquarters Deep Throat's apartment July 1, 1973

"That is NOT possible!" Jeremy spluttered, getting to his feet. "Lynnette can not have children."

"Because her ova was harvested in on of the experiments she was subjected to," Deep Throat took another sip of his scotch.

"This is bullshit," Jeremy spat at him. "What proof do you have?"

"And that's the rub, Mr. Bailey, as of right now, I have no proof to offer you, just my word."

"Oh, well, that's helpful, thank you."

"Mr. Bailey, there are traitors to the traitors in this ring of conspiracy. I am telling you these things as a favor. A favor to YOU, to get you the hell out of this mess and back to your pretty wife. And a favor to those children so that can have an opportunity to have a normal life." Deep Throat gestured towards the couch. "Sit. Please." Jeremy sat. "So you don't support the Eden Project."

"Oh I support it... actually it would be more accurate to say I supported Phase One. Remember Mr. Bailey, I am one of the donors. The third child, Charlie, belongs to me. Phase Two however is going to end up destroying what we have. I initially proposed having the children set up in adoptive homes, to have them raised as normal children and monitoring them. I was overruled. And now the children are slowly withering away and we simply as of right now, do not have the manpower or the money to launch a second Eden Project. In five years perhaps. But not now."

"What are you proposing now?" Jeremy finally asked after a beat. He wasn't sure if he believed all the alien rubbish this strange man was spewing out and he sure as hell didn't believe the crap about all those children belonging to Lynette. But, he did know that the kids were suffering, dying even, at the hands of the scientists who poked and prodded them on a daily basis.

"I need your help Mr. Bailey. Help me and I will help you get out of here before September and you will be rewarded by me far more than by the Smoking Man and yet I will ensure he continues to assist you in your military career. You will be an Admiral yet."

"What do I need to do?"

"Overlook a security breach."

"How?"

"To the lab," he said simply. After Delta vanished into thin air, stricter security measures were taken. The scientists were escorted to the door under armed guards. Only Jeremy and the Smoking Man had the cards that accessed the laboratory doors. Two guards stood in front of the lab doors at all times, with the orders of shoot to kill.

"When do you need this by?"

"August 1."

"Will the girls last that long?"

"They won't last any longer than that."

"And you can get them out?"

"With your help."

"I'll do it," Jeremy told him, knowing that saving the babies was the only redemption he was going to receive for the role he played in this gruesome charade.

Deep Throat's apartment July 31, 1973 1:45 AM

Jeremy knocked on his door. "Come in."

Deep Throat was reclined on the sofa, reading 'Moby Dick.' "Ah, Mr. Bailey," he said. "Is everything in order?"

"Yes sir," he said, handing him the access card.

"Good," he pocketed the key. "Care for a cocktail?"

"Yeah..." Jeremy said, still shaking from the chaos he had quietly created. In all the mission he had been involved in for the Navy, he had never been afraid that he wasn't going to come out alive. Now he wasn't so sure. He had witnessed the ruthlessness of the Cancer Man.

"You're an Irishman, so I'm assuming whiskey."

"Yeah, yeah that would be good."

Deep Throat poured out a double-shot of Jack Daniels on the rocks while he fixed himself a martini. "I was a bartender when I was younger," he told Jeremy, the only personal information of himself he would ever offer anyone. "At a fancy hotel while I went to college."

Jeremy bolted the drink. "I went straight into the Navy after high school... I can't wait to get on a ship again."

"And where will you go, after the Navy."

"I want to go somewhere where I'll never see water again," Jeremy said bluntly. "I love the sea but when something is over, it's over and I don't want to be reminded of it. I want to live in the desert."

"The desert..." Deep Throat mused. "Well... there is a lovely sleepy little town in Arizona called Sedona. It's at the base of the mountains. Beautiful place. Warm year round and yet, winter is only a hike away. I would like to retire in such a place." "Sedona," Jeremy said the word, tasting it as if it was a sweet and exotic new fruit. "Sedona. I will remember it." Jeremy said as Deep Throat poured him another drink. "So now what happens?"

"Tomorrow, you will be briefed by our tobacco addicted friend, thanking you for your service and relieving you. You will be brought to an airport and put on the first plane back to Pearl Harbor."

"What happens next?"

Deep Throat looked at him, a sardonic smile on his face. "I told you I would only tell you things that would suit my purposes, Mr. Bailey. And it does not suit me for you to know. But I can assure you, the girls will be all safe now."

Jeremy finished his second drink. "I have to make my last round of the evening."

"Of course," Deep Throat said. "Goodbye Mr. Bailey." When Jeremy left the room, Deep Throat took the access card out of his pocket. "Goodbye Mr. Bailey," he muttered again.

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii August 3, 1973

Jeremy had his cab drop him off a block away from his home so he could surprise Lynnette. He was still in shock that he had made it this far, alive.

So far, everything proceeded exactly as Deep Throat predicted. The very next day, the Cancer Man brought him into his apartment, thanked him profusely and told him he was relieved of his command. He was given three thousand dollars in cash and told to pack his things quickly and prepare for departure. Jeremy packed feverishly, anxious to get out of there. Anxious to get back to life in the Navy, life with Lynnette before they figured out his double-cross, how Deep Throat had the real security card to the lab and how he had turned in a fake card to the Cancer Man. How he leaked the security clearance codes to Deep Throat. How he made a spare key to the weapons closet to Deep Throat. Now all he could do was pray. Pray that Deep Throat got those girls out of there and pray that the long arm of the Syndicate did not reach down to Hawaii. He would die if anything happened to Lynnette because of his recklessness and his pride.

He let himself into his house. His heart pounded in fear for just a moment when he found it standing empty. Pearl, the cat was sound asleep on the sofa. "Lynn?" he called out. "Lynnette? Where are you?" He walked through the house and out the back door. And his heart knew relief when he saw her on the beach, wading in the ocean, looking for seashells. Jeremy stood there and just watched her, watched her long curly hair blow in the breeze. She paid no attention to fashion, refused to feather her hair a la Farrah Fawcett or wear those ridiculous hip huggers or clogs. Her style was as timeless as the sea she waded in. She wore a pair of chinos that she rolled up to above her knees so she wouldn't get them wet, a fairly modest bikini top and one of Jeremy's old blouses over it. She also wore a giant straw hat she found on the clearance rack of the VX so her pretty pale face would be shaded from the sun. She didn't tan, she freckled, like a typical redhead. The only jewelry she wore was a pearl ring that Jeremy gave her as an engagement ring, too poor to afford a diamond.

Just then, Lynnette looked up, and saw a handsome sailor with blue eyes and dark hair, standing up on a sand dune, clad in Naval dress whites, with a duffel bag at his side. Her entire face lit up and she ran out of the Pacific, across the beach, towards him. When she reached him, she engulfed him in an enormous hug and kissed him. "I'm so happy to see you," she sighed, pressing her smooth cheek against his. "I missed you so much." Jeremy clung to her. "I'm sorry about not be able to write you, honey. I thought about you every day."

"It's okay. When Major Mallhark came and explained the security risks your mission entailed, I understood. I just wish I would have known before you had left."

Still holding her, he told her, "I didn't even know what it entailed until I got to base." Jeremy held her sweet heart shaped face in his big hands, kissing her, feeling her melting into him. "God I love you," he whispered, tracing her lips with his finger.

"Was it that bad?" Lynnette whispered. "The mission?"

Jeremy could still hear the screaming of the infants he left behind.

"Lynn, honey, I never want to see the things I saw again." His fingers left her lips and butterflied down her chin, her throat, her breastbone and her bare stomach. "I just want to see you."

They went inside the house.

Pierre, South Dakota August 15, 1973 7:16 PM

Deep Throat sat down at the bar, pushing the envelope towards his contact. "Everything you need is right here," he told the man.

He took the envelope and put it in his breast pocket of his coat.

"Everything is ready?" he asked.

"Yes. I apologize for pushing up the date, but we have no choice."

"Say no more," the man said calmly, paying the tab. "See you tomorrow," and Lt. Governor Matheson walked out of the bar.

The South Dakota State Capitol Pierre, South Dakota 8:17 PM

The Lt. Governor let himself in his office. Before shrugging off his coat, he took out the envelope. He picked up his phone and dialed.

"Hello?"

"It's me, the package is here."

"I'm on my way."

Matheson hung up the phone and turned to look out his window.

Suddenly, the United States Senate didn't seem so far away after all...

Outside the Eden Project Headquarters Midnight

The Cancer Man was sound asleep when the alarms sounded. But he bolted up immediately and smelled the smoke. "What the hell???" he said as he scrambled to dress. He put on his belt holster and his ankle holster before leaving the apartment. Everyone was running around like the proverbial chickens with their heads cut off. "What is going on?" he demanded, grabbing one frightened guard.

"Intruders sir," he stammered. "On the third floor. They got into the weapons cache, they've already killed all the scientists. They've started a fire and they're working their way down..."

"Shit!" CSM swore. He stopped two soldiers he knew were loyal to him and said, "Come with me" and ran to the emergency stairs.

When he got to the seventh floor, he saw the soldiers already at the lab, disconnecting the tubes and IVs in the infants and putting them into carriers. The Well-Manicured Man was assisting them. "How in the hell did you get in?" he demanded. The Well-Manicured Man was holding Alpha. "We are proceeding with the evacuation plan," he said evenly.

The Cancer Man snatched up Echo. "You two," he pointed to two soldiers who followed him. "Take those two," he pointed to Bravo and Charlie. "And go to the rendezvous point as planned."

<<Dammit!>> The Well-Manicured thought as he watched Deep Throat's well-calculated plan go to dust. <<Well, at least this child will be saved>> he told himself as they ran up the emergency stairs and out of the burning complex.

His friends, the Stratfords, were waiting for her.

Denver, Colorado August 18, 1973 9:15 AM

Deep Throat was getting nervous. He had not been in contact with anyone, not the Syndicate or the traitors within the Syndicate. Finally, his phone rang. "Hello?" He pressed the phone closer to his ear. He could have swore he heard an infant crying in the background.

"It's me," The Cancer Man said, pacing in his small hotel room in San Diego, California, chain smoking as the infant cried weakly. "We have a situation."

"I'm listening," he said evenly while his heart pounded in his chest as the Cancer Man recounted his point of view of the attack on their complex. Deep Throat closed his eyes in defeat as he told them how his two soldiers made it to their complex outside of Arlington VA with Bravo and Charlie. But tasted a little slice of victory when he told them that the doctors had all been killed and the equipment had been destroyed, so the physical testing had to be postponed. The slice got bigger when he told him how the Well Manicured Man had been found in a hospital in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, delirious and childless. They had no idea where Alpha disappeared too. <<Thank God, our ruse worked>> Deep Throat thought, glad that he went with his instinct and recruited the Briton. He had suspected him in the disappearance of Delta anyway.

"So," Deep Throat said after he finished listening to the Cancer Man rant. "You have Echo then."

"Yes," he said. "But it's too dangerous for me to go to Arlington right now. I'm stuck here and this infant is very ill and I don't dare bring her to a hospital."

Then Deep Throat was struck with inspiration. "Do you think... you could get a flight to Pearl Harbor?" "What do you have in mind."

"My old friend, I need you to listen to me with an open mind now..."

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii Jeremy and Lynnette Bailey's residence August 19, 1973 9:14 AM Pacific Time

"Hello?" Lynnette answered the phone, abandoning the laundry she was sorting in the living room.

"Is your husband home?" Lynette frowned. The voice sounded so familiar to her. She shook off the feelings of deja vu. "He is, just a moment." She put the phone down and went outside, where Jeremy, since he was granted a month of leave after his TDY mission, was dressed in his grubby work clothes, touching up the trim around the windows.

"What is it honey?"

"Phone," she said, calling over her shoulder as she walked back inside, "And don't get paint on the floor please." "Hello," Jeremy said cheerfully. His mood had improved considerably the further and further time moved him away from his miserable experiences with the Eden Project.

The voice of Deep Throat brought it back. "Remember how I promised to reward you, Mr. Bailey?"

"Yes," Jeremy said tonelessly.

"Jeremy, what's wrong?" Lynnette asked, seeing his face turn pale. "Our Smoking Friend will meet you on the Naval Base tomorrow afternoon. Bring your car." "Okay." Jeremy said lifelessly, hanging up the phone.

"Jeremy..." Lynnette said, becoming frightened now. "What is it?"

"Nothing, honey," he said in that same dead voice and he returned outside. Lynnette watched him walk away, twisting and untwisting the towel she had been holding as the cat rubbed her leg.

Pearl Harbor Naval Base Pearl Harbor, Hawaii August 20, 1973 4:01 PM Pacific

Lieutenant Jeremy Bailey parked his car, a very nice, very sedate Chrysler next to a very sleek Cadillac. The Cancer Man sat at the wheel. Jeremy was shocked to see the normally well groom man so unkempt. It was obvious he had been living in the same suit of clothes for the past several days now and sleep had been avoiding him. He hadn't even shaved. But his eyes still had that wicked gleam and he was still surrounded by a haze of smoke. "Your package is in the back seat." He said, lighting another cigarette.

Jeremy got out of his car and with much trepidation, walked around to the Cancer Man's car. He gasped when he looked through the window of the backseat. "Oh my God!!" he cried out. "Oh my fucking God!"

He couldn't believe it.

Echo.

Martha's Vineyard Bill and Teena Mulder's summerhouse August 20, 1973 9:01 PM Eastern Standard Time

"Fox! I don't WANNA watch that!!!!"

"Well, I do, so stuff it."

"I'll tell Mom you're being mean to me."

"Don't care."

"I'll tell Daddy about the dirty magazine you have under your bed."

Before Fox could retort, the reception on the television set went out. "Oh dammit!"

"And I'll tell them you're cussin'."

The lights began to flicker.

"What tha..." Fox said, looking up at the lights.

"Fox..." Samantha whimpered. "Is it gonna storm??"

"I dunno," Fox said. "It didn't say it was gonna..."

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii 4:15 PM

"Where, what... oh Jesus," Jeremy exclaimed as he undid the dirty Army blanket that the Cancer Man had wrapped her up. "Oh Jesus, God," he said, looking at the ravaged bony body. There were scarring everywhere. "They took her fingernails???" Jeremy said in horror, examining the tiny little hands. "They took her fucking fingernails?"

"If she lives through the night," the Cancer Man said. "She's yours to raise. Yours and your wife. Your own daughter."

Jeremy looked down at that tiny face, her eyes too big for her starved face. Eyes that had made the final transition from the cloudy grayish blue to a strange hazel color.

Martha's Vineyard 9:15 PM Eastern Standard Time

Samantha scooted closer to Fox as the flickering of the lights increased. She screamed when the house began to shake. The windowpanes, the walls, everything. Figurines crashed down from the shelves. Samantha screamed again, terrified. "Make it stop!" she started to weep. Fox leapt from his spot on the floor and ran to the cabinet where his father kept his gun. His small twelve-year hands reached for the box of bullets and tried to load the pistol. But suddenly his hands stopped working. His entire body stopped working. He was paralyzed.

But he could hear and he could see.

"FOX!!!!!!!!"

Pearl Harbor, Hawaii 4:20 PM Pacific Time

"Tell your wife a pretty lie," the Cancer Man instructed him. "Tell her the baby was found abandoned in your car. Make the story sound like a fairy tale. If she lives, make sure she doesn't try and find her natural parents. And if she dies, make sure the body is never found. Now... get her out of my car," the Cancer Man snapped, exhausted by trying to care for a sick baby for over four days.

With shaking hands, Jeremy re-wrapped the baby up in the dirty blanket and carried her to her car.

Jeremy and Lynnette's house 4:50 PM Pacific Time "Lynnette!" he cried out, getting out of the car. "Lynnette, come quickly!" he hollered as he ran to the house.

Lynnette opened the door. "Jeremy, what is it?" she asked. Then her eyes widened when she saw the bundle in his arms. "Oh my God!" she cried out as Jeremy pushed past her, going into the living room. "Somebody put her in the backseat of my car," Jeremy said, using and abusing all the love, trust and devotion she invested into their marriage so she would believe him. "I didn't even realize it until I heard her crying a little while ago."

Lynnette was undoing the blanket around the baby. She gasped out again. "Oh my God!!" when she saw the poor abused little body. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. "Who could do this? Who could do this to a little baby," she began to sob as she took the infant from Jeremy. She kissed the head of matted brown hair and whispered. "It's okay, little one, it's alright. You're safe now." She kissed the balled little fist that waved weakly in the air. "What an angel you are," she whispered to her, "that's right, a little angel."

"Lynnette," he whispered. "She's in bad shape."

"I know," she whispered back. "That's why she's going to stay here tonight and then tomorrow we'll take her to the hospital."

"Shouldn't we take her tonight?"

She looked up at him, a strange glint of hardness visible for the first time in her soft gray eyes. "If she's going to die, then she's going to die here, with somebody holding her, not in a hospital crib alone," she said softly but strongly. "I won't have it any other way." Her eyes welled up tears again as she stroked the baby's cheek. "Look at her, Jeremy, look at what they did to her. Oh God, did ANYONE hold her?"

<<Yeah>> Jeremy thought helplessly. <<Me.>>

"Go to the VX," Lynnette ordered him. "And get diapers and formulas and some baby clothes if they have any. I'm going to try and bathe her. And some Vick's vapor rub. She sounds congested. And hurry."

Jeremy bolted from his house, head spinning as he prayed <<Don't die, Echo, don't die now. Not when you just found your mother.>>

He saw and couldn't deny the resemblance. The pale skin. The shape of the nose, the shape of the face. The arch of the eyebrows. Deep Throat did not lie to him. That child belonged to Lynnette. Meanwhile, back in the house, Lynnette ran a soft washcloth under lukewarm water and washed the dirt off the neglected child as gently as possible. "Oh, I know, I know," she crooned as the baby cried. She made a makeshift cloth diaper out of one of Jeremy's old handkerchiefs. Then she wrapped the baby up in a soft quilt she had pieced together a few weeks ago.

Humming under her breath, she carried the baby over to her rocking chair and sat down, holding the baby up so she could breathe better.

There was no way in hell she was going to let this child go.

Lynnette saw the scars on her little defenseless body and knew exactly where they came from.

From the same bastards that took her.

"I think," she said dreamily as she prepared for her nightlong vigil with the child, "I think I will call you Jerilyn."

She began to sing:

"Lullaby and good night Go to sleep little baby..."

December 11, 2001 The Holiday Inn Minneapolis, MN 11:55 PM Central Standard Time

"... and the rest, as they say, is history," the Admiral finished his tale. "I wish I could tell you more. I wish I could tell you what caused your illness when you were four and what cured you when you were six. I wish I could tell you who or what took your mother away from us when I was away at sea. I wish... well, I'm an old man. I wish for a lot of things.

"But those things are a mystery to me. But knowing you, you'll piece it together. With the help of the Deputy Mayor and Agent Scully." "Jerilyn, I know this has been very hard for you to hear. And I know you're having a hard time believing it, especially since I lied to you for most of your life. Telling you that you were an ordinary girl when you are so not ordinary. You are beyond ordinary.

"And I lied to you about the existence of your mother's journals. Last April, you came to me, on the advice of Mulder, asking me for the journals. And I told you, for you own protection, that I had destroyed them. But I did not. One journal, I transcribed onto a Word Document and put it on a disk. I gave that disk to Mulder and Scully, so they could research if what happened to Lynnette, really was what she thought happened to her. Her other journals are in a safety deposit box at the First National Bank in Washington DC. Jenny, your stepmother has the key. She has been ordered to surrender it to you if you ask for it.

"Jerilyn, I hope you don't see this tape. I hope I can tell you these things in person. I hope you will talk to me. I hope you realize that all the mistakes I made, were made because I loved your mother. And I still love you, angel." The tape cut off.

Everyone sat there for a minute, watching the snow on the television set. Starkweather then muttered, "Excuse me," bolted up and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Soon, the sound of retching could be heard.

"Well, she took that well," Mulder said flatly.

"You can't possibly be buyin' all that," Doggett said. "The man's a liar, you know that. You told me that."

"Still," Mulder said. "A lot of it made sense."

"Oh it made sense," Doggett said sarcastically. "In a Twilight Zone kinda way. But just 'cause something makes sense, don't make it true."

Faintly Scully said, "But what he said correlates what Felitza said about the five sisters, five daughters, one mother."

"Aw, Dana, c'mon," Doggett pleaded.

Starkweather came out of the bathroom just then. She still looked very green. "I'm gonna go get ice," she said weakly, grabbing the ice bucket. "I'll be back in a bit." She practically fled the room.

"This is getting too much for her," Mulder sighed. "First me, then the Admiral, then Ben, now this."

"How much more can she handle?" Scully asked.

Doggett glowered at them both. "Lot more than y'all give her credit for," he said quietly. "Especially when we prove that all that crap the Admiral was spoutin' off is just that, crap." He left the room in search of Starkweather.

Scully got up to stand in front of Mulder. Mulder looked up and hated seeing the fear in her soft cerulean eyes.

"What if it's not crap?" she whispered. "What if it's all true? And that the Litchfield Experience is a spin-off of the Eden Project and... oh God, Mulder... William..."

"I know Scully," Mulder put his good arm around her waist. "God, I know the thought crossed my mind."

Scully moved to sit down beside Mulder, curling up next to him, shaking with fear. Fear for her son.

Fear that Mulder was contemplating Lux Carlos' offer.

Meanwhile, Doggett wandered down the hallway, looking for his partner. He wondered why he felt deja vu, then he remembered. It was because he had wandered down the hallways of the hospital looking for her when Ben died. <<Well, an ice machine gotta be easier to track down than a chapel>> he thought.

He found her easily enough. She was standing in front of the ice machine, examining her reflecting in the metallic door, her hand to her cheek, touching her face. As if she was checking to see if she was still real or not.

"Hey," Doggett said softly, leaning against the wall.

Startled out of her reverie, she threw open the door to the ice machine and started shoveling ice into the bucket. "Hi," she muttered darkly. "You know, this fucking day just keeps getting better and better. Not only did I just pay my last respects to my dead husband today but I find out that my dead adoptive mother may really be my dead REAL mother and my dead son-of-a-bitch adoptive father KNEW and never told me." she slammed the door to the ice machine furiously, then wearily leaned her head against it. "Sorry," she muttered hoarsely. "I'm not exactly Mary Sunshine right now."

"S'ok, Doc," Doggett said. "But let's think for a minute. We got proof that the Admiral's tellin' the truth this time?"

She let go of a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. "When my mother got sick with her cancer," she said, struggling with the word 'mother'. "She cut her hair very very short so she wouldn't have to deal with the trauma of it falling out when the chemo started. She had long curly auburn hair. I loved her hair. I threw a fit when she cut it and threw a bigger one when she said she was going to sell it to a wig maker. She collected china dolls. And she had a friend who made porcelain dolls. So, she asked to make a doll for me and use part of her hair for the doll's hair and the rest she donated to a place that made wigs for cancer patients, ha ha, oh the irony.

"I still have the doll. It's at my apartment. I can take a strand of that hair and run a DNA test against me... and Charlie. If they don't match... then we'll know that Admiral was lying, easy as that." she said in a strangled voice.

"And if it does?" Doggett prodded.

"And if it does," she shrugged. "I'll have to deal with it." She turned around to lean her back against the ice machine. "Merry Christmas to me, Merry Christmas to me," she sang sarcastically to the tune of 'Happy Birthday'.

"Speakin' of Christmas," Doggett said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm goin' to Georgia for Christmas, for REAL this time," he added, remembering how she figured out that he was going actually spend Thanksgiving alone when he told her he was going to Savannah. "And I don't know what your plans are, if you're gonna go over to Scully's or what, but you're more than welcome to come with m-"

"NO." Starkweather snapped, clutching the ice bucket, starting to walk away. "I'm staying in DC."

"Doc, did I do something to you that I don't know about?" he called out to her retreating figure.

She stopped, shoulders slumping. She turned around, like a chastised child, looking far far younger than her 29 years. Dragging her feet she returned to him, looking at the floor. "No. You didn't. But... um... the day when all this shit started happening, after I gave that big speech to the Senior Staff, Skinner pulled me into his office to give me a head's up. That... um... he was backing you for the Assistant Director position when he retired. That he was going to do everything in his power to push it through and that... he was giving me an official warning to watch my conduct around you because if people got the wrong idea, you could lose your chance to get out of the basement and up into the ranks of Senior Staff."

"Oh Jesus Christ!" Doggett burst out. "Are you serious? So, what? We can't even be friends? Is that what Skinner's telling you."

"Doggett, if Ben got all those fucking pictures of us together who knows who else does? Kersh maybe? Or the goddamn Director himself?"

"Each one of those pictures we can explain. And the one of us kissing in the nightclub is documented in our field report for that case because we had to do something to save our cover."

"Doggett, have you looked at my track record lately? I'm kind of an Angel of Death right now. Who knows? The next thing to die could be your career because of me."

"You didn't do anything wrong. *We* didn't do anything wrong."

"Oh yeah?" she challenged him. "September 11. You look me in the eye and tell me what happened in your room wasn't wrong."

That caught Doggett off guard. Neither one of them spoke of the kiss they shared in his room during that uncertain time. They both had an unspoken agreement that it was a monumental mistake never to be repeated or discussed. Until now. "It wasn't right," he finally admitted. "There's no way 'round it, it wasn't right. But that doesn't mean that I'm just gonna drop you like a rock just 'cause a promotion is on the line. Just like I'm not gonna let you try and push me outta the picture 'cause a promotion is on the line."

"It's more than a position," Starkweather said. "It's the insurance of the X-Files. If you're not AD after Skinner, who's going to fight to keep that Division open?"

"We'll jump off that bridge when we get to it," he said, taking the ice bucket and putting his arm around her shoulders, walking her back to her hotel room.

"I dunno Doggett, if I were you, I'd run away screaming."

"And that, Dr. Starkweather is what makes you different from me."

"How so?"

"I'm a lot nicer than you."

"Fuck you."

"Point proven."

December 19, 2001 Jerilyn and the late Benjamin Starkweather's apartment Washington DC 6:55 PM Eastern Standard Time

Starkweather let herself into the apartment, greeted by the cat, who had been acting strangely since Ben died. Caesar kept roaming the apartment, mewing petulantly, looking for Ben. And at around seven o'clock, he would park right in front of the door and wait for Ben to walk in. Because Ben usually came home from the office about that time and he normally gave Caesar a Pounce! cat treat. Starkweather tried everything, even tried caviar one night, but Caesar wouldn't budge for at least an hour. Then finally he'd slink away.

"I'm sorry, buddy," Starkweather said helplessly to the cat, who flattened his ears in disappointment when he saw it was just her. "I don't speak feline though. I don't know how to tell you he's not coming home, kitten-critter."

Caesar sat at the door, almost canine patient.

Sighing, Starkweather threw her gym bag on the table and looked around the bare apartment. During her leave of absence, she mainly spent the time looking for a new place, packing up her old place and dealing with the shock of learning that for once the Admiral had told the truth... at least about one time. The DNA test came back positive. Lynnette was Jerilyn and Charlie's natural mother.

Starkweather just locked it tight up inside of her, because, in her mind, there was nothing she could do about it. No amount of screaming and yelling and kicking and weeping could undo what was already done. What good would it do? It wouldn't bring Ben or Lynnette or the Admiral or Bill Mulder back. She forced herself just to put one foot in front of the other, to keep going.

And she had been avoiding her friends like the plague. Scully and Reyes caught the hint and left her alone, realizing that she would come to them on her own terms. Mulder and Doggett, both playing the "big brother" role, called her at least once a day. Starkweather got to the point where she stopped answering the phone, but that was proved to be a mistake because both of them hopped in Doggett's truck and drove to her apartment. Although she appreciated the sentiments, she could have choked them. Instead, she conned them helping her pack.

She sighed and went to heat up a slice of left over pizza. As the microwave hummed, she bounced a tennis ball on the floor as she waited. She couldn't wait to get back to work. She was sick of being alone with her thoughts, with her guilt.

Then, the doorbell rang. "Twenty bucks, it's either Doggett or Mulder," she groaned, bouncing the tennis ball to the empty living room. Kicking off her shoes, she walked to her door and looked through the peephole. "Oh God, it's worse," she sighed as she opened the door. "Hi Ringo."

"Hi," Langly said awkwardly, shuffling his feet.

"What's up?"

"Um... I..." Langly blushed. "Look, I don't wanna be weird and all..."

<<Oh God>> Starkweather thought in dread. <<Langly, Ben's body is barely cold, I can't deal with your stupid crush right now...>>

"... but... I just wanna say that I'm real sorry 'bout Ben. I know me and the guys hadn't really come over and visited you and all... did you get the flowers?"

"Yes," Starkweather nodded. "They were lovely."

"Oh okay... cool... okay, look. I'm not tryin' to... I'm not... I don't want to think I'm bein' weird or rude or...or... whatever... but... we got an extra ticket to see 'Lord of the Rings'," he finally blurted out. "Me and Fro and Byers and... I asked if they would mind if you came with 'cause we know that you've probably hadn't had a chance to just go do normal stuff. It's NOT a date," he was quick to reassure her. "We're just hangin' out... we want you to come hang out, 'cause... well, we all like you... NOT like that... but we like ya even though you scare us shitless most of the time and we don't wanna have you sit her alone." he finished, beet red.

Starkweather smiled, leaning against her doorway. "You know... I really appreciate the offer..." she was just about to decline and then re-thought her decision. Maybe losing herself into three hours of fantasy wouldn't be such a bad thing. "Can you give me a minute to change out of these sweatclothes?"

"Yeah, no problem."

"Come in," she said, letting him in. "So," she said as she disappeared into her bedroom. "I scare you all, huh?"

"Yeah," Langly admitted. "You're damn freaky when you're pissed."

"Just remember that if you suddenly get touchy-feely tonight."

"I know," Langly said. "I've seen your gun. Up close and personal."

December 19, 2001 outside a Washington movie theater four and a half hours later...

"My ass is numb," Frohike bitched as they left the theater.

"We toldja it was gonna be three and a half-hours long," Langly said.

Starkweather smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her new winter coat. True to Langly's word, the Lone Gunmen had been complete gentlemen... well, as close to gentlemen as they could be. And they had been joined by their friend Jimmy Bond, which Starkweather wasn't exactly sure what to make of him. She caught the "nice guy" vibe from him right away, but she couldn't ignore the fact that the popcorn she was eating was smarter than him.

But she elected to sit next to him anyway because she decided -- quickly -- she'd rather sit next to him than Frohike, who kept muttering "Damn, she's tasty" whenever Liv Tyler or Cate Blanchett was in a scene.

Walking behind "the boys", Starkweather shook her head as she listened to them dissect the movie. She had been surprised they had even paid attention, especially since Langly revealed to her that they had already watched a pirated copy they downloaded from the Internet. "Then why even go?" she asked. "Want to see it on the big screen," Langly told her as Byers visibly squirmed while he admitted to a federal agent that he watched a stolen movie. Starkweather had merely rolled her eyes and expected them to play "Mystery Science Theater 3000" during the entire show but to her surprise, they stayed pretty quiet, except for the occasional "Yum" from Frohike whenever Liv Tyler or Cate Blanchette was in a scene and one unexpected smart-assed remark from Langly that even Starkweather couldn't help but laugh her ass off. In the scene where Aragorn was helping his true love, Arwen Evenstar take Frodo to safety, right before he slapped her horse, he said "Ride hard and don't look back," Langly had muttered: "Yeah, that's what I tell all the girls." Starkweather nearly snorted Pepsi through her nose as she along with the rest of the party tried to smother their laughter.

It felt good to laugh. It felt good to smile. It felt good to be with people who didn't feel the need to coddle her. It was nice not to talk about genetic experiments, alien invasions and fucked up family trees. Starkweather remembered then why she loved movies so much.

"Although I was remarkably impressed by how true Peter Jackson remained to the book-"

"There's a book?" Jimmy blurted out.

Byers gave Jimmy an exasperated book. "But I was disappointed they didn't include my favorite poem."

"Which poem is that?" Starkweather asked as snow began to gently fall from the hazy night sky.

Byers recited like a schoolboy:

"All that is gold does not glitter Not all those who wander are lost The old that is strong does not wither Deep roots are not reached by the frost From the ashes a fire shall be woken A light from the shadows shall spring Renewed shall be the blade that was broken The crownless again shall be king."

"Wow," Jimmy said. "I can't believe it was a book."

But Byers was ignoring Jimmy's stupidity. "Dr. Starkweather?" he said, noticing that she was whiter than the falling snow. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said faintly, lost in a memory...

November 1, 2001 2:55 AM Eastern Standard Time Ben and Jerilyn's apartment

"What the hell is that?" She pointed to their door. An envelope was taped below the number on their door.

Ben frowned. "I don't know," he said. He was extremely nervous all of a sudden. Jerilyn had opened her bag and was drawing out a pair of latex gloves. "Baby, maybe you shouldn't open that here," he said as she dropped her bag on the floor and drew on the gloves. "You know with that anthrax scare going on..."

"Oh you big baby," she admonished him. "Anthrax is completely treatable is caught in time." She tore open the envelope. "No dust, no powder..."

"What's in there then?" Ben asked quietly.

"A letter... to me..." Jerilyn scrunched her eyebrows in confusion.

"From who??"

"It's not signed."

"Well what does it say????" Ben asked.

Jerilyn read:

"All that is gold does not glitter Not all those who wander are lost The old that is strong does not wither Deep roots are not reached by the frost From the ashes a fire shall be woken A light from the shadows shall spring Renewed shall be the blade that was broken The crownless again shall be king."

"What the hell does THAT mean??" Ben asked, not nervous any longer, but angry.

"Well...it's a poem from 'The Lord of the Rings'."

"The what???" Ben was not into the fantasy genre.

"It's the series of books the movie you were talking about that you wanted to see is based off of. Remember? You saw a preview of it when you went and saw a movie with Cello and Meg (his friends from his lawfirm)a while back. It was the one with all the monsters and sword fighting and shit."

"Oh yeah! Okay, sure. It was a book? When did that come out?"

"Didn't you have to read 'The Hobbit'? in high school?"

"We were supposed to but I never did."

"What about college?"

"I was a history/criminal justice major. I kind of floated through my English requirements. Besides, I don't like fluffy fairy tales."

"You are such a Neanderthal. It's not a fluffy fairy tale! 'The Lord of the Rings' is one the greatest literary accomplishments since Shakespeare himself graced God's green earth. JRR Tolkien single- handedly created the entire fantasy-adventure genre-"

"Blah blah blah," Ben said. "Jeri, I'm tired, I'm drunk and some weirdo is pinning notes on our door. Can you spare me the literary lecture and just tell me what the hell is going on?"

"I would," Jerilyn said icily. "Except that I don't KNOW what's going on. I haven't read these books in years. To be honest, I haven't even thought of the books in years until you mentioned the preview you saw. But anyway..." she looked up and saw that Ben really didn't care.

"I'll bring it into the office and let the others take a peek. I don't think it's a threat though. Can you open the door, please?" she finished tiredly.

Ben looked at her strangely and then unlocked the door. He went in and went straight into their bedroom. Jerilyn paused in the kitchen to get out a Ziplock baggie to put the strange note in..." +++

December 19, 2001...

"Dr. Starkweather?" Byers asked.

Starkweather shook herself out of her reverie. "I'm fine," she reassured him. "But I think I'm going to skip out on the pizzas and beers and go home."

"Aw, come on," Langly cajoled her. "You don't have to work tomorrow."

"No, but I'm really tired," Starkweather said. "Is it too much of a pain to have you guys drop me off at my apartment? If it is, I can call a cab."

"No, no." Byers was quick to say. "We'll take you home."

The ride home was quiet. Starkweather felt bad, she didn't mean to ruin the party atmosphere of the evening, but she knew she had to write down the flash of clarity she experienced when Byers recited the poem. It was so beautiful, the simplicity of the message buried under the complexity of the language.

"Good night!" she cried out, bolting from the van, running inside.

She let herself in, locking the door behind her. Caesar, laying on the countertop, opened one lazy eye, then closed it again, ignoring Starkweather as she pulled on pair of latex gloves, then taking out the mysterious letter that had been taped to her door out of her briefcase along with a pad and pen. Sitting down at her kitchen table, she began to write while re-reading the poem:

"The first paragraph is alluding to the Syndicate’s return to power, especially pertaining to the return of CSM. {The old that is strong does not wither//Deep roots are not reached by the frost} The second paragraph is in reference to Mulder, how the CIA is trying recruit the "pioneer" of the X-Files in the FBI, to work for them in their own paranormal division. {From the ashes a fire shall be woken//A light from the shadows shall spring//Renewed shall be the blade that was broken//The crownless again shall be king}"

"God damn it," she cursed as she reached for her cell phone and dialed Doggett's number.

Meanwhile John Doggett's house Falls Church, VA

Over the roar of the water cascading out of the showerhead, Doggett heard the phone ring. Sighing, he quickly rinsed his shampooed hair and hopped out of the shower, grabbing a towel to wrap around himself. "Twenty bucks, it's Doc," he grumbled, reaching for the phone just before his answering machine picked up. "John Doggett."

"It was Lux who put that letter on my door."

"Huh?"

"Remember that poem that was taped to my door on Halloween Night? From 'Lord of the Rings'? That I was trying to show you before those cops hauled me to Carillo's office because of Charlie?"

"Yeah... I thought we talked about this though. At the Holocaust Museum, you heard Carlos say to Mul-duh as he was walkin' away... shit, what was that line... 'The crownless again shall be king.'"

"I know, but I didn't understand why he put that note on my door especially since he was hellbent on keeping me out of it."

"Yeah..." Suddenly, it dawned on Doggett. "You think it was reverse psychology? Him tellin' you 'no' so you would say 'yes'?"

"I don't think, I **know**." Starkweather said. "He knows me too well, Doggett, he knows that all you have to do to light a fire under my ass is to tell me I can't do something."

"I don't get it, why didn't he just ask for your help?"

"Because, like I said, he knows me too well. If he just asked for my help, I would have told him to kiss my lily white ass."

"Bitter?"

"Oh... just a little," she said sarcastically.

"Couldn't tell."

"Doggett, c'mon, it's not like I'm being a bitch without a good reason. He left in the middle of the night without even a goodbye. His poor mother doesn't even know what happened to him. That's a shitty thing to do to someone, I don't care what the reason is."

"But still, why the damn poem?"

Starkweather explained her hunch. "He's warning me... us... whatever. It's a message. The Syndicate is stronger than what we believe. And the CIA believes that they need Mulder to help them undercover what they're up to."

"Problem is Doc," Doggett pointed out, drying himself off. "We don't know what they're up to."

"Well, Somerfield, that dirty cop Carillo busted was definitely interested in everyone involved in the X-Files and someone gave him that old case file about the Litchfield Experiments, those two girls, Cindy and Tina? And then Dad's video..."

"Doc," Doggett said gently, "do you really believe what the Admiral was sayin'?" "Doggett, he told the truth about my mother."

"But he lied about a whole lotta other stuff."

"Maybe I'm trying to hard for a Mulder-leap."

"Maybe."

"Did I wake you up?"

"No, I was gettin' ready to go to bed."

"Caught you in the shower again, huh."

"You do have the most impeccable timin'."

"Sorry to bother you."

"Honey, we'll figure out what Carlos is up too. And who put the hit out on Mulder. We're gonna get Ben's killer. I promise."

Starkweather hated herself for tearing up. In a clear voice, she said "Talk to you later," and after she hung up, she put her head on the kitchen table and sobbed while the cat ignored her.

Saturday December 29, 2001 The Lawfirm of Carter, Spangle and Adams 6:30 PM Eastern Standard Time

Starkweather parked her car in the deserted parking lot outside the law office. "Well," she said, after taking a breath. "Here we go."

She made it through returning to work, she made it through Christmas. She made it through finding another apartment to live in, a small attic loft in a converted Victorian house in Arlington, not too far where her apartment with Ben was in DC and even closer to Mulder's place, which made her cringe and yet feel strangely grateful at the same time. All she had to go through now was cleaning out his office and try not to think about the tentative trip to New York they were planning on for New Year's Eve.

Using Ben's key, she let herself inside the building, awkwardly juggling the two cardboard boxes she brought along. To her dismay, the lights were still on. <<Now who's here?>> she groused. She purposed picked the Saturday after Christmas because she wanted the place to be absolutely deserted when she came in to pack.

Her question was soon to be answered. "Jesus, Jerilyn," croaked out one of Ben's friends from the firm, Margot Marie Rogeux-Brandybuck, a woman whose name was longer and prettier than she was. "You about gave me a heart attack. What the hell are you doing here?" She shut the door to her office behind her firmly.

"Hi Meg," Starkweather said with a wan smile. "Just here to pack up Ben's stuff. Sorry it's taken me so long but..."

"Oh Jesus, girl," Meg moaned. "Like we wouldn't understand. This whole fucking thing... I mean... Jesus," the lawshark finished lamely. "Jesus."

"Yeah."

"Did you have an okay Christmas?" Meg asked, wearing a pinched face.

"It was alright. Spent it with my brother and his family."

"And how is the Deputy Mayor doing?"

"Okay. Sore, but he doesn't have to wear the sling anymore."

"Thank God," she said. Awkwardly she said, "I'm supposed to meet Steve for dinner, but I can cancel if you need help-"

"Oh no. Thanks but no. This won't take long. To get his stuff."

"Okay then... don't be a stranger, okay Jerilyn?"

"I might be back sooner than you think. The City of Washington DC has officially charged Charlie with those murders from last October."

"Come see me first thing Tuesday," she said. "I'll take her case pro bono."

"Meg, you don't have to-"

"Pro bono," she repeated herself. "After all this bullshit," she looked over at Noelle's empty desk. "It's the least that I could do." Starkweather glanced over at the receptionist’s desk as well. "So you knew then too," she said flatly.

Meg had the grace to look uncomfortable. "I suspected," she said finally. But I didn't know for sure. And you're a fed. You know better than I do that you don't go in making accusations-"

"-unless you have proof, I know," Starkweather finished for her.

"Come see me Tuesday?"

"Unless I get sent out into the field, which I doubt."

"Fair enough," Meg said pulling her coat on. "Talk to you later."

"Bye Meg," Starkweather watched her leave. Heart sinking, she let herself into Ben's office.

A few hours later...

"Well," Starkweather said aloud in the empty office as she put the last photograph into her cardboard box with the rest of Ben's personal effects. "That's it, I guess." Sad, how a man's life fit into two boxes. She took the photograph out of the box again. It was a picture of them, before they had been married. Her hair was still dark brown. They were sitting on his motorcycle, smiling. She was driving, he had his arms around her, chin resting over her shoulder.

She blinked back the tears and dropped the picture back into the box, shaking her head. He had been the best boyfriend. What happened that made him a bad husband? <<Or maybe I should be asking why I was such bad wife for him. Respect is a two way street, Jerilyn.>> Heaving a sigh, she turned off the lights and closed the door behind her. But she paused at Noelle's desk. <<Bitch>> she couldn't help fume. But then put the box down, sat down in the leather chair near the desk in the waiting area and stared at the dust-coated desk intensely, holding the box on her lap. Then, she put the box down on the floor and crossed over to Noelle <<Felitza? Noelle? Felitza? How about *Tramp* we'll just call her the Tramp>> Starkweather thought as she sat down in "The Tramp's" chair. Opened her drawers. Empty. Turned on her computer. "Dammit," she cussed when it asked her for the passcode. She turned it off again. Leaned back in the chair.

Her eyes darted across the room in the same unsettling fashion as a cat, looking for prey. The hazel orbs finally rested on the Filofax on the desk she was sitting at.

Starkweather leaned forward and started to flip through the cards. She found the home address of Noelle... Felitza (<<whatever>> she sighed to herself)and the phone number of a DC judge she knew was fairly open-minded and liberal.

She picked up the phone and dialed. "Judge Lackey please? I don't mind waiting... Your Honor? I apologize for the late hour, but I need a big favor sir. My name is Special Agent Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather... yes sir, I'm the federal agent who lost her husband in the shoot-out at City Hall... sir, I need a search warrant."

Later... Smithsonian Hill Apartments Washington DC

Armed with her service weapon, her badge and a search warrant, Starkweather crept through the hallway of the apartment where Noelle/Felitza lived. She noted with unease that several of the lightbulbs in the apartment were burned out.

<<Don'tlikethisdon'tlikethisdon'tlikethis>> she thought, pulling out her weapon. Something wasn't right. She stopped underneath one of the burned out lights and took out her flashlight. Snapped it on, pointed it up and said "Oh man," quietly. The light hadn't burned out, it had been broken out. Starkweather looked around the hallway again. This apartment was not in the ghettos of DC, it was in a fairly nice part of the city. From what she could gather, the apartment building was old but well maintained. She looked around again, debated whether or not she should call for backup.

"'It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day in the neighborhood, won't you be mine? won't you be mine? Won't you be, my neighbor?'" Starkweather sang quietly as she made her way towards Noelle/Felitza's apartment. She rapped loudly on the door. "Noelle Goodhall????" Starkweather said forcefully. When she got no response, she said even louder "Felitza Covarubias? I'm a federal agent. I have a search warrant for these premises, open up." She banged on the door again. "Felitza, it's Agent Starkweather, if you're in there, hiding, you better come on out and open this goddamn door." Still no response. "Jerilyn, you idiot," Starkweather sighed. "She's probably not in there." She took a step back, aimed and kicked hard at the doorknob.

The door flew open.

Starkweather aimed her gun and her flashlight inside. "Oh man..." she breathed, viewing the interior. She entered quickly and secured the area, turning on all the lights and making sure nobody was still in the apartment. "Jesus fucking Christ," she breathed when she finished, returning to the living room, surveying the scene.

The apartment had been completely demolished. Somebody had crushed the TV, stereo and VCR. All the pictures were broken, the furniture slashed. Houseplants thrown against the wall, bits of broken pottery everywhere. Dead fish lay rotting on the carpet, below the huge twenty-gallon fish tank they used to live in. The glass of the aquarium had been smashed in. The kitchen, living room and bathroom were all in the same condition. Someone was definitely looking for something. Or something was looking for someone...

Starkweather took a step backwards, heard something wet squish underneath her boot. Grimacing, she lifted her shoe, expecting another dead fish. "Oh my God..." she gasped, looking at the carpet. She crouched down and pushed the sofa a good foot or two. "Oh my fucking God..." she gasped again.

The carpet underneath the sofa was completely saturated with blood.

"This makes no sense," she breathed to herself as she pulled out her cell phone. "This makes no fucking sense."

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"This is Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather with the FBI, Badge Number Tengo 1-2-1-7-8. I'm at 8791 M Street, Smithsonian Hills Apartments, Apartment Number 1013. I need backup." Starkweather looked around the apartment again. "I have a missing person scenario, possible homicide. I need a forensics team. And I need my partner, Special Agent John Doggett." She gave the 911 operator his number.

"Backup is on the way, Agent." The operator said smoothly. "And I'm dialing Agent Doggett now, we'll patch you through as soon as he answers.

"Thank you."

Less than a minute later, Doggett was on the phone, "Starkweather, what the hell is going on?"

"I need you," Starkweather said simply, crouching down, touching the blood, rubbing it in-between her fingers. It was fresh. She looked at the ruined furniture. Thick dust coated almost everything. "I need you here with me."

"Why? What's happening?"

Starkweather sighed. "You're not gonna believe this..."

Later still Deputy Director Alvin Kersh's Office J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington DC

Starkweather examined each face while they read the preliminary findings. In the back of her mind, it amused her how everyone was dressed. Scully was again clad in one of Mulder's sweatshirts, her fiery hair pulled severely back in a ponytail, her lovely sky blue eyes hidden behind her glasses. She had been getting ready for bed when the call came in so she was sans makeup. She was very very pale and appeared to have no eyelashes. Reyes on the other hand, was in a slinky black skirt, a low cut red shirt, thigh-high "Pretty Woman" style boots and lots of amber and silver jewelry; some old friends from New Orleans were in town for New Year's Eve and they had gone out on the town. She was sucking down the coffee like there was no tomorrow in a valiant effort to work off the good buzz she had going at the bar when her cell phone rang. Doggett had been sound asleep in front of the television set when Starkweather's 911 call came in, he didn't even take the time to comb his hair. He just changed out of the sweatpants into a pair of decent jeans, threw a clean flannel shirt over his white t-shirt, pulled on his FBI windbreaker, strapped on his gun and hurried to the scene. Skinner was wearing a sleek black tuxedo, complete with a silk cumberband and gold cuff links, he had been called away from a wedding where he was the best man. All the other agents assembled in Kersh's office were in similar states of dress or undress. Starkweather herself was wearing a pair of very old jeans, scuffed hiking boots and a faded orange sweater from the Gap that had seen better days. Only Kersh looked official, in his usual three-piece suit and mundane tie. <<He probably sleeps in the damn thing>> Starkweather refrained from an eyeroll as Kersh droned on about the preliminary findings in Felitza's apartment.

"... forensics have determined that the blood is only a few hours old. However, after analyzing the dust content and the degree of decay of the fish on the floor, nobody had been in that apartment before then for eighteen days. Agent Starkweather?"

"Yes sir." She hated calling him sir.

"When exactly did this Felitza Covarubias approach you, Agent Doggett, Agent Scully and the Deputy Mayor?"

"It was late," Starkweather told him. "I didn't have a watch on, so I don't know the exact time. But it was after the wake at my in-laws. We were at the hotel, in the lobby. So, an estimated time would be about seven, seven-thirty, Central Standard Time."

"I've already called the Minneapolis Field Office," Scully interjected. "They are contacting the Holiday Inn to see if their security cameras have Felitza on tape. The Minneapolis Office said they would be more than happy to review the film and report back to us."

"Thank you Agent Scully," Kersh droned.

"Why didn't anyone report Felitza's... Noelle... whatever... why has this girl been missing for over eighteen days and nobody noticed until now?" Skinner asked.

Starkweather replied. "She put in her notice after Ben's death. Her last check was mailed to her. Other than Marita Covarubias, who is on the Bureau's Top Ten List and not likely to surface anytime soon, she has no family. Margot Rogeux-Brandybuck and J. Stephen Cello said they can't recall her having any other friends. To be perfect callous and blunt, sir, until I knocked down that door, nobody cared where she was."

"What prompted you to get the search warrant, Agent Starkweather?"

"I wanted to see if there was anything in her apartment that may or may not back up the allegations she made when she met with us in Minneapolis sir. Felitza's visit to us made me believe that she had information pertaining to the hit on the Deputy Mayor. The hit was ordered because the Deputy Mayor was coming to close to the truth. The truth about a renegade genetics experiment unwittingly funded by our government that our father, Bill Mulder was party to."

"And how did Felitza provide this information?"

Starkweather pursed her lips, looking at Scully. On her way down to the Bureau, over the phone, she and Mulder had gotten into a heated argument about disclosure of the Admiral's videotape.

"You tell them about that tape, and a whitewash campaign will begin!"

"I don't tell them about the tape and my career is over. I HAD to have probable cause to get a search warrant for Felitza's apartment. Just because she was boning my dead husband isn't sufficient! Besides, the Lone Gunmen made copies. I have a dub and the master. The master is in my safe-deposit book and the guys hide copies throughout DC. The truth is out there Mulder. They can't hide this and we gain nothing by hiding what we know. Except maybe my job."

"Jerilyn, if they want you out, they'll find a way and you may have opened your own exit door."

"Then I'll climb back in through the window."

"Jerilyn, don't be naive. They won't just fire you, they'll kill you."

"Fox, don't be stupid. They're already trying to kill me. **Us.**"

"Don't call me Fox."

"Then don't call me Jerilyn."

"Agent Starkweather?" Kersh prodded Starkweather back into the present. Starkweather sighed. <<God, I hope this isn't a mistake>> she thought as she took the tape out. "Felitza Covarubias provided this videotape..." she started to say but then another agent just burst in.

"What is it, Agent Bramson?" Kersh barked. Agent Bramson opened up his file and started to put faxes onto the rectangular table they were all sitting at. "You've got to see this sir," the young agent puffed. "This correspondence came from the Honolulu Field Office just minutes ago."

Doggett picked up the grainy fax. "Felitza," he muttered, passing the fax to Scully who nodded and passed it to Starkweather.

"That's her," Starkweather said, examining the picture of a woman being manhandled off of a helicopter. "But who's that behind her?"

Agent Bramson paled slightly, gulped and handed her the next fax. "I told you you've got to see this."

The fax fluttered from her hands. "Oh fuck," she whispered, covering her face with her hands.

Doggett seized the fax. "Holy God," he groaned, passing it to Scully. The woman behind Felitza, looking absolutely terrified, was a dead ringer for Starkweather.

"Samita," Scully breathed. "They found her."

"Here's the clincher though," Agent Bramson said. "And this intelligence comes from our Richmond field office. Neighbors upon hearing screaming, called 911. One neighbor, Sheryl Smyth, claimed to see Mrs. Samita Saint-Claire being taken out of her house by force, in men dressed in black. Police arrived on the scene, found the husband, a bloody pulp, currently in a coma, condition listed as "critical." Their children had, thank God, slept through the entire ordeal. Here's the rub though," Agent Bramson sighed. "According to the police reports, Samita's abduction took place roughly around seven-forty- five, THIS evening. THAT photograph the Honolulu office gave us," he pointed to the fax, "was taken by CIA an hour and a half ago. They pursued but lost them."

"How in the hell," Doggett demanded. "Does somebody get from Richmond Virginia to Honolulu Hawaii in under five hours without the use of military fighter jets?"

"The airplanes," Scully said faintly. "Doggett, remember our flight to London when we three were sent to investigate the fighter plane crash outside of Inverness, Scotland?"

Starkweather touched the crescent shaped scar on her head. She had earned that scar in the subsequent emergency landing. "Doggett, one minute we were flying towards London, a flash of light later, we were en route to Rome, Italy. We still haven't explained HOW it happened, be it a bug in the engine system that gave the plane Concord jet capabilities or..." she glanced at Scully. "... other extreme possibilities. But it happened. It's improbable... but, as we learned, not impossible."

"My mind doesn't work that way, Doc," Doggett said stubbornly.

"Mine doesn't either!" she snapped. "But it happened, you were there, Scully was there and I was there, I saw it happen and I can't deny what happened. Just like we can't deny what's happening now. That there is a conspiracy, a massive cover-up plan. Samita Saint-Claire, was kidnapped and brought over statelines, making this case federal jurisdiction. Felitza Covarubias admitted to us she was working with Marita Covarubias to gain information into the X-Files. And YOU," she glared at the other agents who were sniggering slightly at the word 'X-Files' "may think our sad little basement division is a joke, and fine, maybe ultimately, it is. BUT, the circumstances remain, we had a woman committing espionage, trying to get federally classified information for her own gain. That's still a crime. What the hell she wants to know about the Feejee mermaid and the Jesus-worm is beyond me, but it's still confidential, she was still trying to break down our securities to get at it, the Deputy Mayor is being targeted because of his former association with the X-Files, my husband WAS killed by accident instead of the Deputy Mayor and now a woman, an innocent woman was dragged out of her home because of this action. How many more people have to die before something is done??? Before you start to believe that that maybe the X-Files is bigger than you ALL realize? Then what even I realize?"

The room was deathly quiet. Scully touched her Christmas present, a mother-son ring Mulder gave her, a pretty white-gold ring with her birthstone next to William's birthstone as the setting. Kersh gave his order. "Agent Scully, I'm assigning agent of record to you on this case. I want you and Agent Reyes to go to Hawaii to head the task force to find these women."

"Yes sir," Scully said with Reyes echoing faintly.

Starkweather opened her mouth but closed it firmly when Doggett glared at her, shaking his head. <<Wow, he REALLY looks like the bad guy from 'Terminator 2' when he does that>> she thought sullenly. She half- expected him to shake his finger at her. She crossed her arms and slumped back into her chair.

"Agent Starkweather," he said. "Good work."

"Thank you sir," she muttered.

"Ladies, gentlemen," Kersh said sanctimoniously. "Let's get to work."

As people began to file out of Kersh's office, Scully grabbed Reyes, "Meet me at my apartment," she said. "Let's ride to the airport together."

"Okay," Reyes said, taking a breath. "This thing keeps snowballing, doesn't it?"

"Agent Reyes," Scully said, starting to walk towards the elevator, pulling out her cellphone. "Between you and me, I am afraid of what we're going to find in Hawaii."

"Agent Scully," Reyes suddenly had a flash of intuition. She ran to catch up to Scully, not an easy feat in her spike heeled boots. "Wait! Dana!"

"What is it?" Scully said just as Mulder answered her call. "Just a minute Mulder," she said into the phone. "What Agent Reyes?"

"Dana, didn't you say that Starkweather was raised in Pearl Harbor?"

"Yes... the Admiral was stationed there for six years, then they were transferred overseas after Lynnette and Jerilyn were recovered from their abduction ordeal. Why?"

"And now, Felitza Covarubias and Samita Covarubias Saint-Claire, AKA Delta of the Eden Project, were photographed in Hawaii only a few hours ago? Do you think that's a coincidence?"

Scully's eyes widened. "No. I do not. I have to go," Scully began hurrying. "I have to pack and say goodbye to my son, but hurry over." She put the cellphone back to her ear, "Mulder, you're not going to believe this..."

"Oh you know me, I'll believe just about anything..."

Meanwhile, Doggett was trying to catch up to Starkweather. "Doc, where are you going?"

"To hell," she snapped as she stormed down the stairs to the basement.

"I thought I was already there," Doggett muttered as he followed her.

He found her in the dimly lit basement office, rummaging through the file cabinets furiously, pushing her heavy hair out of her face, swearing under her breath.

"Doc, what crawled up your ass and died now?" Doggett demanded. "You did good. You did damn good. Those women have a chance now. If you hadn't followed up on Felitza, they'd be good as dead now and we'd never would have known."

"*I* should be the agent of record for this case NOT Scully."

"Oh for Christ's sake!" Doggett snapped. "This is not the time to start a pissin' contest."

"It's not about 'a pissin' contest,'" she cruelly mocked his hybrid Georgia-New York accent for a moment. "Scully has a LOT more to lose than I do. She's got Mulder, she's got her son and fucking piece of shit Kersh sends her on a god damned suicide mission."

"How do you know it's a suicide mission? And what are you saying? That you want to die?"

"No! Just that... just that," she slammed the cabinet door shut in frustration when she couldn't find the file she was looking for. "Just that there's going to be a lot less people at my funeral than hers. If something were to happen to me, I'm not going to leave anybody widowed or orphaned."

"You'd leave me without a partner," Doggett reminded her gently.

She lowered her head. "The Bureau passes out partners like Halloween candy," she replied, resting her head on the cabinet. "And... okay... it is a pissing contest. I found the evidence. It was MY fucking husband that got killed. *I* want to find the motherfuckers. I want my pound of flesh." She turned around, leaning against the drawers, crossing her arms. "You can't stand there and tell me that if you had the chance and opportunity, to go after the piece of shit that took your son, you wouldn't in a heartbeat."

"If that bastard had ever been left in a room alone with me, there'd only be one of us walkin' out alive," Doggett told her. He walked closer to her. "That's why they took me off his case. That's why Kersh and Skinner are keeping you off this, Doc. You're the one always beratin' Mulder about how the Bureau ain't for going after personal vendettas but about defending people who can't defend themselves. Those are your words, Starkweather."

"Yeah, well," Starkweather said thickly. "I said that before I watched Ben bleed to death on an operating table," She looked at the floor, squeezing her eyes shut tight.

Doggett reached out and put his callused hand to her smooth cheek and gently forced her to look up at him. Starkweather opened her eyes, grateful no waterworks were flowing, although her vision was a bit blurry from the unshed tears. "Hey, I told you," he said, voice softer than she ever remembered hearing it. "We're going to find them. We're gonna get them. I promise. Scully and Reyes will do what they gotta do in Hawaii and we'll do what we have to do here." His thumb traced her cheekbone.

"You mean that?" Starkweather whispered, putting her hand on his. "Even if it means breaking a rule or two?" She attempted a smile.

"Oh, it's not the rule-breakin' I have a problem with, it's the whole gettin' caught thing." His forehead was resting on hers now. His other hand had reached for hers and needing human contact now desperately, she clung to it, intertwining her fingers with his.

<<He's very comfortable to be with>> Reyes's words haunted her now. Her attempt at a smile turned into a real one, small, but real. "Well, Papa John," she told him. "The trick is not getting caught."

"Oh that a fact?"

Whatever could have happened next was prevented when AD Skinner knocked on the door. "Agents?" Doggett and Starkweather jumped apart and knew they looked like guilty schoolchildren caught shoplifting in the candy store.

"Yes sir?" Doggett replied.

"A word."

"Okay," Starkweather said while thinking <<Here we go... but dammit, we didn't DO anything...>>

"Not here. Outside." Skinner said, turning around and walking out.

"Well," Starkweather quipped. "Job security was fun."

A few minutes later The FBI Parking Garage

Skinner waited for his two agents impatiently. Finally Doggett and Starkweather appeared, still looking sheepish. "Sir-" Starkweather started to say in an out-of-character meek voice but he cut her off at the pass.

"Agents, there isn't a lot of time here," Skinner growled at them. He took out two airline tickets out of his dress coat and thrust them at Doggett. "According to the paperwork filed, you and Starkweather are being sent out Fargo, North Dakota to investigate some supposed UFO cult activity."

"Where are we REALLY goin'?" Doggett questioned him.

"Rapid City, South Dakota." Skinner now produced a manila folder out of the inside of his coat and handed it to Starkweather.

"What's in Rapid City?"

"What is believed the origins of the Eden Project."

Both Doggett and Starkweather stared at Skinner incredulously. "You... you knew... you knew all this time..."

"I don't *know*, Agent Starkweather. This appeared in my office shortly before the meeting was called in Kersh's office."

Starkweather opened the envelope and pulled out the file. "CIA..." she breathed. "Lux."

"Your flights leave at four AM this morning. Get your asses out there and for God's sake," Skinner walked away from them. "Bring somebody's head back on a plate."

Doggett and Starkweather stared at Skinner's retreating back open- mouthed. "He knew..." Starkweather whispered again. "Doggett, he knew. You said... you said we could trust him."

"I thought we could... Mul-duh said we could." He looked at the plane ticket. "Looks like we don't have much of a choice if we're gonna put this case to bed. It may be Charlie's only defense. To prove that her mind was somebody's science project."

"Are you saying that you believe that the Eden Project is real?" Her voice shook. "Please say no," she begged him. Please say no because if it's real, that means..."

"Jerilyn, something horrible happened to you and Charlie and Mrs. Saint-Claire... now I don't believe in that alien horseshit but I believe you and your half-sisters were done wrong. Done wrong by the same people that stole Samantha away. Jerilyn, listen," he said insistently as he watched her pretty face pale. "That alien bull that Mulder goes off on is just that, bull. I don't think that he wants to face the real truth."

"What's that?"

"That human beings are the ones responsible. That people are the ones capable of the sickness that's going on. So, let's get on that plane to Rapid City, find the head Skinner wants on a plate so bad," he leaned into his partner a little bit "and show this bastards that payback's a bitch."

A wicked little grin crept across her face. "Doggett, you stubborn crabassed redneck, I love you." She then amended her statement as the wicked little grin turned into a big shakiest-eating smirk "In a sisterly Christianly way, of course."

"Careful," Doggett quipped. "Some of the less enlightened members from where I'm from believe in keepin' the love within the family."

"We ain't below the Mason-Dixon line, Papa John."

They hurried to their respective cars to rush home and pack.

Aboard United Airlines Flight 373 December 30, 2001 2:12 AM Eastern Standard Time

Doggett was almost convinced that his partner was going to miss their flight until he saw her pushing her way down the aisle to the empty seat next to his. "Sorry," she said breathlessly, opening the overhead compartment to shove her coat and carry one luggage inside. "I had to wrap somethings up before getting here. And I totally spaced off how long security checks take now."

"What did you have to do?"

"Find somebody to move my shit to my new apartment since I have to be out of my old place effective midnight, January 1. Somebody to pet-sit my cat. Somebody to take care of Charlie-"

"Charlie?"

"I didn't get a chance to tell you," Starkweather slammed the compartment with a thud. She sat down and buckled up. "Charlie was officially charged today with those murders from last October. Meg Rogeux-Brandybuck from Carter, Spangle and Adams is taking the case pro bono, but since I couldn't be there, I had to make other arrangements. And," she lowered her voice, "I had to find someone to go talk to Jenny to get that key from her so we can get my mother's journals out of my dad's safe deposit box."

"So who did you get to handle all of that?"

"Mulder."

"Shoulda known."

"Well, it was the obvious choice. And besides, having him go get my mom's journals will make him feel important."

"How kind of you."

"As long as it keeps him here in DC and not trying to tag along with us or Scully and Reyes, I'll be happy."

"You forget, he's also got William to contend with."

"You forget, William's got a VERY doting grandmother that Mulder can conveniently leave with if he gets a hair up his ass. But now," and Starkweather yawn, while rubbing her neck. "He's going to be so busy, he's got to stay put, for a little while anyway."

The way-too-cheerful-for-two-in-the-morning flight attendant just advised everyone, all ten people (not including the grim faced National Guardsman in the far back) to please buckle up and prepare for take-off. Twenty minutes later, the airplane was airborne. Starkweather undid her seatbelt, stood up and took her small carry-on bag out from the overhead compartment as Doggett was trying to arrange the ridiculously small pillow against the window. "Aren't you gonna get some sleep Doc?" he asked, hating how his knees always ended up touching his chin whenever he flew. <<Airlines must think only midgets fly>> he grumbled to himself.

Starkweather had pulled the casefile out of her carry-on bag. "Naw, I'm too wired," she grinned sheepishly, putting on her reading glasses. "Is this light going to bother you?"

"Starkweather, look at me."

Starkweather turned and bit down on her lower lip, smirking at her poor six-foot-four partner still all scrooged up in his airline seat, despite the fact it was in "recline". "Ah." She fought back a laugh as Doggett tried valiantly to get the tiny scrap of cloth the airlines snickeringly called "Courtesy blankets" to cover his frame.

"You really think that light's gonna bother me?"

"I see your point," she turned her attention back to her reading.

Doggett closed his eyes, but really didn't sleep. He was not one of those people who could sleep while travelling. Every little noise annoyed him. Every cough, sneeze, whisper, whimper of cranky baby, and shuffle of paper. When he heard the clink of the beverage cart coming, he gave up and sat up. "Hey Doc, whaddya want, I'm buyin-" he looked over and shook his head. "'Wired' my ass," he said with a silent laugh and a grin. Starkweather's head rested on the seat ahead of her, her arms crossed on the flimsy fold-up tray that she had put all of her reading materials on. Still shaking his head, he carefully pushed Starkweather back into her seat and put the file back in her bag. Gently so not to wake her, he removed her reading glasses and put them in the front pocket of his flannel shirt, since he didn't really want to dig into her bag to find her glasses case.

"Sir?" the flight attendant said in a hushed voice. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No," Doggett said, "but could you get another blanket? It's freezin' up here."

"Of course," the flight attendant replied, going back for another scrap of cloth.

Doggett flipped up the armrest that was between them and pulled Starkweather closer to him. "C'mere," he whispered as he put his arms around her, her head on his chest. With Starkweather leaning against him, feet curled up on her seat, he could stretch his legs out, much to his infinite relief.

The flight attendant came back and spread the meager blanket over Starkweather. "Thank you," Doggett whispered to her.

"You and your wife have a nice flight," she whispered back, smiling as she shut off the overhead light and walking away.

Doggett picked up Starkweather's limp left hand and examined the diamond solitaire on the ring finger. "Yeah..." Doggett sighed, resting his head on the tiny pillow.

December 30, 2001 All Stars Travelers Inn 517 W Jackson Blvd Spearfish SD 57783 10:35 AM Mountain Standard Time

Bleary eyed, Doggett pulled the rental truck up to the motel drive away. "Doc," he poked her. "Starkweather, we're here."

Starkweather rubbed her eyes, stared at the giant "MOTEL" sign. "Skinner has a real sick sense of humor," she grumbled. "Don't you think it's a little unfair, that Scully and Reyes get to soak up the rays in Hawaii while we get to freeze our asses off here in the Wild Wild West." She shivered in her heavy coat.

"Ah ha," Doggett quipped. "The truth comes out." He opened the truck door. "Stay here, I'm gonna find out where we're s'ppose to put this damn thing," he looked behind him at the small trailer they had been pulling since Rapid City. "Doc," he asked her. "You know how to run a snowmobile?"

"I'm assuming it runs on the same principle as a motorcycle," she said wearily, even though she got more sleep on the flight than her partner. "It shouldn't be too difficult. Why?"

"'Cuz you forget Doc, you're talking to someone who had never seen snow until he was 25 years old."

"Lucky."

"I'll be back." Doggett shut the door and walked inside of the motel.

"Good morning sir!" The desk manager greeted him brightly. "Can I help you?"

"Um... yeah... my name is Davis Skinner, I have reservations for myself and my wife here?"

"Oh yes, the newlyweds," the desk manager beamed. "Davis and Bailey Skinner. You're a little early but your room is ready."

"I've got a truck and trailer with our sleds, where can I park those?"

She gave him a few simple directions, then handed him the keys. "Enjoy your stay Mr. Skinner!" she chirped.

Doggett grumbled as he went back outside. "Next time, *I'M* picking out the uncover names."

Meanwhile... December 30, 2001 Honolulu Airport Hotel 3401 N. Nimitz Honolulu, Oahu HI 96819 7:35 AM Hawaiian Time

Fortunately for the weary travelers, there was an unexpected cancellation so they got into a room far sooner than the regular than the normal check-in time. The female agents nearly danced their way to their room, absolutely giddy.

"I am so stiff," Reyes rotated her neck, rubbing her shoulder. "I hate long flights." She sat down on the bed nearest the window. "Wow..." she breathed, looking out the window. "How beautiful. You know what," Reyes turned to Scully. "Let's make a pact... we'll include the others once we return to DC."

"A pact? For what?" Scully shrugged off the coat she realized was completely unnecessary in this tropical haven.

"To return here. All of us. The X-Filers. Only not as X-Filers, as-"

"Normal people?" Scully said, now pulling off Mulder's sweatshirt. She stood there in her T-shirt and jeans, a funny half-smile on her face. "Like for a vacation?"

"Why not?"

"Because... because..." Scully kicked off her shoes. "Because Mulder and Starkweather would bicker the entire time... I wouldn't know what to do with William... Doggett probably wouldn't even come..."

"Dana, why is it so hard for you to believe that things will work out and that there is a future to plan for?"

"Too many things have happened that makes it hard for me to concentrate on the future."

"You can't just keep living day to day," Reyes scolded her, stretching out on the bed. "You have to have dreams. You have to have plans. Something more to live for than to wake up at the crack of dawn and hope to survive until dusk. And one of my dreams," she said, rolling over on her side, kicking off her shoes as well. "Is to have all of us to come to this beautiful place without any worries or cares. That Mulder and Starkweather wouldn't bicker. That Doggett will come along. That you could sit on the beach and watch William play in the sun without worrying that he could be part of this Eden Project," she opened one chocolate eye. "That's what's scaring you, Dana isn't it? That's why you're afraid of looking too far into the future? You are afraid not for yourself, but for your boy."

Scully put her duffel bag on her bed with a thud and opened it up, hastily pulling out clean clothes and her cosmetic travel case. "I'm going to take a bath, then a nap," she said in a cranky voice. "The Honolulu Office isn't expecting us until later this afternoon."

"Dana."

"What, Agent Reyes."

"William is a wonderful child and will lead a charmed life," Reyes said drowsily, both eyes shut again. "Don't fight the future and let it happen. After all, what's the point of living day to day if you're so afraid of the night you don't take the time to watch a sunrise? Take the time to enjoy your son." She fell asleep, breathing deeply.

"She doesn't understand," Scully muttered, rushing to the bathroom.

For some reason, she thought of the battered and yellowed poster in her office: I want to believe.

<<And God, I want to believe...>> Scully sat on the toilet, watching the bathtub fill. "I want to believe," she said aloud, as the tears brimmed over and slid down her ivory cheeks.

Meanwhile... December 30, 2001 Galileo 1110 21st Street NW Washington DC 12:35 PM Eastern Standard Time

"I'm sorry Mr. Mulder," the Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey said after the waiter removed their empty salad plates and refreshed their water glasses. "But the Admiral made it very clear. I am not to release that key to his safe deposit box to ANYONE except Jerilyn."

"Senator," Mulder sighed, frustrated. "I understand your position but please understand mine. There is vital evidence in that lockbox, Senator. Evidence of crimes committed over twenty-nine years ago. Crimes that after people today. People like YOUR stepdaughter and MY son. So please, Senator, help me."

Jenny shook her head as the waiter returned with her vegetarian lasagna and Mulder's chicken linguine with alfredo sauce. "This was the ONLY thing Jeremy ever asked of me," she whispered back at the Deputy Mayor as she picked up her fork. "Yes, it's true. Jeremy and I married each other for a political alliance. He lived in Sedona, I stayed here in Washington. But it was not a completely cold and heartless marriage. Jeremy and I were fond of each other. We were friends. I cried when his death was confirmed at the Pentagon Attack. I wept for him, for his daughter and myself.

"I do not know what is in that safety deposit box. I do not know about his shadow life, what he was involved in that made him such a powerful man in Washington. And I do not want to know. All I know is that Jeremy asked me to hold onto his safety deposit key, hold onto his secret. And to release it to only Jerilyn when she asks."

"I am asking for Jerilyn," Mulder insisted. "She asked me to. She's in the field right now on a very dangerous assignment. She could die out there."

"Then the Admiral's secret dies with her," Jenny said firmly.

The meal continued in silence, both parties picking at their delicious entrées since they lost their appetites. Finally, Jenny, tired of the pretense, pulled her alligator skinned wallet out of her Gucci purse. "Mr. Mulder, I'm afraid I need to cut this short, I have to get back to Capitol Hill."

"Don't," Mulder said tiredly, getting out his own wallet. "It's on the City of Washington."

"No," Jenny said, laying down her Gold Card. "It's on the Senate. Sir?" she called out, flagging down a waiter. "Check, please?"

After Jenny left, Mulder drained his water glass and swore under his breath, rubbing his face in frustration.

"Sir? Can I get you anything else?"

"No, thank yo-" Mulder looked up. "Wow," he said dryly. "Does the CIA pay that badly?" he said lowly to Lux Carlos, dressed in a waiter's uniform.

"You work for the government, you know how things get budgeted," Lux said lowly. "I need to see you," he slipped him a card. "We have to talk."

"I'm not interested."

"Yes you are," Carlos said smoothly. "You just don't realize it yet. Call the number on the card at the end of the day. A CIA driver will come get you and bring you to a safe meeting place."

"And if I don't call?"

Carlos grinned. "You will... Agent Mulder... you will."

Later on that day One of the CIA branch offices Location not disclosed Somewhere outside of Washington DC 5:35 PM Eastern Standard Time

A Marine in full-battle dress opened the car door for Mulder. "Mr. Mulder?" he asked, voice dripping with military politesse.

"Yes..." Mulder responded warily, getting William out of the car seat, groping for the diaper bag with a sigh. Not sighing because he was stuck with the boy, Mulder adored William with a passion that surprised even him. Sighing because here he was, being escorted by a buff and burly Marine, armed to the eyeteeth... and Mulder was carrying a baby blue diaper bag decorated with yellow duckies. It was hard feeling like a man carrying a baby blue diaper bag decorated with yellow duckies walking next to a buff and burly Marine.

And he sighed again as the Marines inside unsuccessfully stifled sniggers as they thoroughly searched the baby blue diaper bag decorated with yellow duckies. "That's it," he said to William, who was fascinated with Mulder's blue tie with almost psychedelic purple, red and white stripes. "I'm buying a new bag for your stuff. You like camouflage? Plaid maybe?"

"This way, sir," the Marine handed the diaper bag back to Mulder.

Mulder followed the Marine down the non-descript hall to endure another security check by another guard who bit his tongue to keep from laughing at the diaper bag. And then again down another non- descript hallway and to the door of a non-descript meeting room.

"Everyone is in here, sir," the Marine said, opening the door.

"Thanks," Mulder said, feeling his initial mistrust for the military and his bile rising.

<<Maybe I shouldn't have brought William>> he thought.

But realized that both guards had overlooked the small Baretta he wore in an ankle holster. <<Some security>> he groaned as he entered the room. <<Scully finds out about this, she's going to kill me>> <<I shouldn't have brought William.>>

Lux Carlos, now clad in an gray Armani suit, rose from the polished oak table. "Mulder, I'm glad you made it." He gestured to an empty chair. "Please, sit."

Mulder pulled out a chair, took a squishy toy and a pacifier out of the diaper bag and gave them both to Will. "Sorry," he said, noting that there was a grave looking man sitting at the corner of the table. "I didn't have anyone that I trusted to care for him on such short notice."

"Completely understandable," the grave man, an older gentleman nodded.

"Mulder, this is Agent Satish Joshi," Carlos introduced the older gentlemen to Mulder. "He's been with the CIA for nearly twenty-five years now. A valued resource and a member of 'our' X-Files Division."

"Do you really call it that here too?" Mulder asked cautiously. "The X-Files?" He jolsted William on his knee. William giggled.

"The Y-Files just didn't sound as sinister," Carlos quipped. "You'll forgive us if we wait for our last team member to join us. I don't want to waste time doing a re-cap."

The last member of the CIA X-Files Division waltzed in. Mulder's jaw dropped, nearly hitting the table "**BUNNY!?!?!?!?**

She scowled at him. "At this place, its Agent Bonaventure Merchant to you, thank you," she said succinctly sans the breathy Marilyn Monroe voice. "Lux, Satish, I'm sorry I'm late." She sat down.

Mulder continued to stare. "But... but... I... how..."

"When you were inducted into City Hall... because of the considerable threat to your life, we were asked to send Bonaventure to your office undercover for your protection."

"Where the hell were you on December 7???" Mulder snapped at her. "My sister's husband was killed."

"That was supposed to be you," Bunny snapped. "And we had only gotten the information minutes before it happened. I tried to call you on your cell phone to get you to come back inside, but you had left it on your desk. I had called 911, which was why the paramedics and police came so quickly. There was no time for me to run downstairs from the seventh floor to where you were to warn you."

"Where did you get the information?"

"From a tap we have on Agent Scully's phone."

"You have my office bugged???"

"It isn't your office anymore, is it?"

"Bunny, come on," Carlos said in a resigned voice. "Let it go."

"Yes, please," Joshi stood up.

"Well," Mulder, still angry about the recent turn of events, "can she at least not be so annoying in the office then?"

"Nope," Bunny said, then speaking in her breathy baby-doll voice. "That's one of the perks, Foxy." "Enough," Joshi said firmly, clicking open his briefcase, taking out a huge file with an enormous "CLASSIFIED AND CONFIDENTIAL: EYES ONLY."

He handed the file to Mulder. Mulder read the cover. Underneath the "CLASSIFIED AND CONFIDENTIAL: EYES ONLY" heading were four names: Lux Rico Carlos, Satiate L. Joshi, Bonaventure Elaine Merchant, Fox William Mulder.

He couldn't help it, he could feel his interest nosing ahead like an excited kitten in a new house...

While Mulder was perusing the file, Joshi had pulled out a small cassette tape player out of his briefcase. Mulder jumped when Joshi hit "Play." Scully's voice droned out of the small speaker.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully. Listen to me. After I get off the phone with you, you need to contact Mulder."

"Why?" Her voice was instantly suspicious.

"Because there is a car filled with hitman armed to the eyeteeth, waiting for him to leave City Hall. They're ordered to shoot to kill. You need to tell him to stay inside until you can get a police escort."

"How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"These men will be dressed in gang regalia, driving in an nondescript stolen Bravo SUV. Tan in color, no plates. These are hit men *I* trained, Agent Scully. They aren't going to miss."

Joshi turned the tape player off. "That was the call Agent Scully received moments before the shoot out at City Hall. Did the second voice sound familiar to you, Mr. Mulder?"

Mulder frowned. "Play it again."

Joshi rewound the tape a little ways then hit "Play" again.

"-are hit men *I* trained, Agent Scully. They aren't going to miss."

"She sounds like Starkweather." Mulder said. "It's one of the girls from the Eden Project, isn't it?"

"She goes by the name of Bravo in her intimate circles," Joshi informed him. "She's a free-for-all, a mercenary. An assassin. With one loyalty." He took out a photograph. Mulder felt ill. He recognized the picture. It was a very old picture of his father and...

"The Cancer Man," Mulder sighed. "Her biological father."

Joshi, Carlos and Bunny all looked at each other, startled. "Say what?" Carlos asked.

Mulder, fighting against his character, his paranoia, told the agents about the videotape that Starkweather received on the eve of her husband's funeral. Bunny chewed a fingernail.

"How do we know the Admiral is telling the truth?" she said. "He was in deep with the Syndicate."

"I was under the impression," Mulder said, remembering the kindly old man who came to him, begging him to protect Jerilyn. "That he had merely gotten over his head and couldn't get out."

"Bullshit," Bunny said flatly. "He liked the power and the money too much to get out. We've been watching him for years. We never could nail the slippery son-of-a-bitch. And then he goes and dies a hero's death on September 11." She sighed.

"I wonder how long Felitza was able to remain hidden before she was kidnapped," Carlos mused.

"I wonder if the Syndicate was just playing with her, making her believe she was safe until they snatched her," Bunny theorized.

"I think so, the fact that Samita Saint-Claire was snatched the same night as Felitza is not a coincidence," Joshi replied. Do you think they'll test Felitza?"

"Well, we know they'll test Samita, that for damn sure," Carlos said.

"Which," Joshi said silkily, "is why time is critical."

"Wait, wait, wait," Mulder held up his hand, astonished. "You are ADMITTING that there's a Syndicate? That they're behind this?? What makes you different from the Bureau? Where everyone called me 'Spooky' for my beliefs?"

Three pairs of eyes rested on Mulder. "Here, we don't waste time with petty in-fighting," Joshi said in his smooth as silk voice which held just the barest trace of an accent Mulder correctly deduced as Indian. "CIA demands action. FBI demands protocol. FBI demands protocol because it works in the light. CIA works in the shadow, where sometimes politics along with ethics get thrown out the window when there's work to be done." Joshi sat down.

"And the work presented to us is this," Carlos continued, now standing up. "We want Bravo. And we want the Cancer Man. He is the main reason why things at the FBI, forgive the unsuitable language, is all fucked up. The Cancer Man, for years, has been cultivating his resources at J. Edgar. If they aren't on his payroll, then they're being blackmailed. Or co-erced. Or both."

"Skinner," Mulder said instantly.

"Very good," Carlos said. "Skinner's a straight arrow, but he's messed up in this shit. We think the Syndicate's got him by the balls, we just haven't figured out how yet."

<<Krycek>> Mulder thought, but instead of saying it outloud, he questioned them, "How do you know that the Syndicate hasn't infiltrated the CIA too?"

"Oh, they have," Bunny said. "Just not to the degree the FBI is. Plus, it's easier to get into the FBI than CIA. And as you know, getting into the FBI is no walk in the park. I used to be a fed, in the Denver Office, before I was recruited to CIA. However, we were selected as sort of a policing action, we keep the CIA honest."

"How are you guys kept honest?"

"There is a system of checks and balances here. Trust me, Mulder," Carlos said. "The CIA is not a place where you want to double-cross someone. Trust me. I've seen good people go down fast because they thought they would be cute and sit the fence."

"The main objective is to retrieve Felitza Covarubias and Samita Saint-Claire, along with fifteen other people who disappeared the same night and time frame as Felitza and Samita," Bunny said, bringing the conversation back to it's original point. "Most of them young women and little girls. We believe the key to finding these people is Bravo. We believe, upon the advice of the Cancer Man, the Syndicate has put Bravo in charge in delivering the 'merchandise' as they prefer to call their victims. Find Bravo, find the women, find the Cancer Man, find the Syndicate, shut the motherfucker down. Boom, boom, boom," she pounded on the table lightly for effect.

"Oh, is that all?" Mulder droned, waiting for the sales pitch.

"Mulder, as I told you earlier, we need your help. I understand," he held up his hand when Mulder started to protest, "your reluctance to became a full-fledged agent for the CIA but we can't do this by ourselves. We've never hit the Syndicate head-on before. We need your expertise. We need you. We would be happy to accommodate you on this one-time-mission. We would have you on retainer status. We would come to you for consultation. You would be privy to CIA information, but not in the direct line of fire, unless you would choose to be. And that point, we would have to discuss further with the higher-ups."

"If I'm being recruited, shouldn't I be offered some sort of incentive?" Mulder asked. "Like dental insurance?"

"Your son and Agent Scully would have twenty-four/seven CIA surveillance as opposed to the sad sad watch the FBI has on them right now. What you don't understand, Mulder, is that the Syndicate still has a hard-on for you. That hit meant for you at City Hall was ordered by the Syndicate. The fact that *Bravo* called Scully to warn you makes us believe that there's a split of factions at the Syndicate. Old School versus New School. Which makes things even more dangerous for you and that kid," Lux nodded at William. "And another thing you need to realize, Mulder. Back in your younger and stupider days, you had built quite the reputation amongst the UFO Freaks and Geeks Demographic of the Population. Then you go and rise from the freaking dead, man. There are UFO cults out there that literally think you are God. And that boy is the Son of God. Who knows when some loony tune is going to try and bust down Scully's door to snatch that kid so they can nail him to a cross and watch him die for their sins? I am not kidding, Mulder. These people are bona fide rabidly fucking nuts. In fact, there's a cult on the US-Canadian border, in North Dakota that we've started monitoring because of suspicious behavior. Remember that guy I put a cap in his ass when he was breaking into Scully's apartment? That was not Syndicate. That was Cult. He was after the kid. Now, the car bomb, THAT was Syndicate. Am I scaring you yet Mulder? Have I given you enough of an... how did you put it? Incentive?" Mulder was white. "I have to think about it," he whispered.

"Think about this," Joshi said, sliding another picture to him. Mulder visibly recoiled at the black and white photograph of a starved infant, full of scars and infection, the tiny body hooked up to huge uncaring machines. "What is this?"

"Not what," Joshi said. "Who."

"That's Agent Starkweather," Carlos said, a note of sadness in his honey voice. "Aged three months

Mulder pushed the picture away. The three CIA agents could barely hear him say "I'll do it," the first time since his head was hanging. He kissed the top of William's head. "I'll do it," he said louder.

"Let's get you set up," Carlos said. "ID badges, paperwork, drug test, and yes we know about the LSD, we understand that your water was being poisoned at that time and you had no control over that. Anyway, things like that. Tomorrow, we'll start cracking. Bunny, clear at least three hours of the Deputy Mayor sometime tomorrow. I'll come to City Hall myself and brief you with the findings to that point. As of right now, we've got nothing. And it's our understanding that Agents Scully and Reyes are in Hawaii right now, working with the Honolulu Field Office. Maybe touch base with them to see if they've found anything. Try to remain discreet." "I'm not going to lie to my partner about what I'm doing," Mulder icily said to Carlos. "And you know Scully better than that."

"True..." Carlos mused. "Alright, Satish? Make sure to add Agent Dana K. Scully's name to the "Eyes Only" List, but," he re-directed his words back to Mulder. "I want Reyes, Doggett and Starkweather to be kept in the dark about this. Especially Starkweather."

Mulder was about to ask why but then everyone stood up at the table. "I promise you Mr. Mulder," Joshi said, smoothing his suit and walking around the table to him. "You will be perfectly safe, and this boy will be perfectly safe, may I?" he held out his arms. "My children are all grown now although my eldest boy and his wife are expecting... and I will be in sight at all times, sir. But you've need your hands free to sign the paperwork, draw blood for the drug test, participate in the lie-detector test so on and so forth." Mulder unwillingly handed William over to Joshi. "Our goal is to retrieve those women and shut down the organization that took them. So they or anyone else will never again have to live through what you did, what Agent Scully did and what Agent Starkweather did. And we are grateful for your assistance."

Bunny walked up next to Mulder. "If you gentlemen will follow me, I'll take you where you need to go for the first psychology exam, **Foxy**."

Mulder said to Bunny, "If I told you that I hear voices and they tell me that they don't like you, would that disqualify me?"

Bunny scowled. "You don't know how many times I've wanted to deck you, arrogant prick that you are."

"Maybe I would have been nicer if you acted smarter."

"Nicer huh?" Bunny whirled around, "I can only imagine what 'nicer' means in YOUR universe, and oh, by the way," she seized his hand and placed it right on her left breast. "They're real." And she stalked off in a huff.

Mulder stood there, stock-still, hand still frozen in the air.

Behind him, Carlos chuckled. "Bunny's kind of a spitfire."

Mulder was still speechless, but his ears were bright red.

Later...

December 30, 2001 All Stars Travelers Inn 517 W Jackson Blvd Spearfish SD 57783 Doggett and Starkweather's Room 9:57 PM Mountain Standard Time

"So," Starkweather said, taking off her glasses, rubbing her tired eyes. "That's it then," she looked up at the man who sat across from her in the honeymoon suite of their motel. "I think we've got our bases covered," she nibbled at a cold French fry disinterestedly, then tossed it onto her plate.

The nice thing about posing as newlyweds is that they attracted no attention by never leaving their rooms. Doggett and Starkweather spent the entire day pursuing the maps and documentation Skinner provided for them. When they weren't discussing tactics and strategies, Starkweather was busy sewing false pockets into the coat and jeans she was going to wear tomorrow and Doggett cleaned the guns. They had worked under the fever of adrenaline, but now the jet lag was attacking their fervor. Starkweather could feel her eyelids drooping.

She rolled her head around to try and pop her neck, but she was so stiff, she couldn't even get a tiny little crack. So she started to massage her neck herself, wincing.

"Yeah..." Doggett shut his file.

"Do you think it's real?" Starkweather finally asked the question that had been laying on her mind since Skinner pulled them out of their basement office to give them the papers. "The lab? Or on we on a goose hunt?"

"Don't know. That's why we're here." Part of Doggett's words were lost when he pulled his sweatshirt off. "To find out exactly what the hell is this Eden Project." "You don't think it's alien related though, do you?"

"No," he snorted. "I think it's a black market adoption ring taken to new and sick depths. Whattabout you?" Concern made him look older than his forty-one years.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm keeping an open mind on this one. Anything's fucking possible now. I mean, Jesus... I just found out I have not one, not two, not three, but FOUR sisters. And my adoptive mother is my real mother. As if being Mulder's baby sister wasn't hell enough." She rubbed her shoulder, trying to work out a particularly painful knot. "I don't mean that... I mean... God, Doggett, I wish could have met her... my mom. I wish everyone could have. She was... she was just cool. I used to lay awake and wish that she really was my mother. So... I guess it's a dream that came true... thirteen years too late," she finished bitterly, getting up. "Scully said to me once, that nothing good never really dies," she said, touching the medallion at her throat. Remembering the young woman who had worn it before her. A college girl. Candelauria Gallimore. Who died mysteriously at a radio station. Who's death she and Doggett had been sent out to investigate. The girl's brother, Sandy, who dreamed of being part of the FBI someday, gave her Candi's Holy Medal of St. Christopher, Patron Saint of Travel because she had tried to bring Candi's killer to justice. Sandy, like Mulder, would be haunted by his sister's death forever. "Do you believe that?"

"Yes," Doggett said instantly. "And sit down, you're makin' me nervous." Starkweather plunked down on the bed and started rubbing her shoulder again, wincing. Doggett, frowning, stacked the files neatly on the table said, "I have to believe that. 'Cause if I don't, then my son is lost forever." He crossed over to Starkweather and sat beside her.

Feeling like a horse's ass, she immediately began to backpedal. "I'm sorry, I don't mean so self-centered, I mean... it's not like I had a completely horrible childhood and really suffered any trauma..."

"Doc," Doggett reminded her, putting a steadying hand on her sore shoulder. Reaching over to grab her other shoulder, he began to rub them, hard, to work out the knots. "You watched your mother die of a debilitating disease at a very young age, you miscarried and you just lost Ben. If you don't call that trau-"

"It doesn't compare to yours," Starkweather interrupted stubbornly, wincing under the pressure of Doggett's hands. "It's not the same. I shouldn't be so damn conceited. Ow," she complained when he started to work out a knot with his thumb.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

They sat in silence for minute while Doggett still massaged her shoulders. "Better?" he asked, hoping so, because his hands were getting tired.

"Yeah," Starkweather nodded her head. "Thanks." She rotated her head without any visible sign of pain. "What about you? Are you good or did those airplane seats mess up your back. You know, I almost studied chiropracaty.

"I'm fine," Doggett lied. Actually, he felt like someone had ripped out his spine, tied it into a bow and then re-inserted it into his body. "But this jet-lag is getting to me. It's like, what, five to midnight back home?"

"Yeah, it's late."

They both looked at the bed.

"Soooo, how are we going to handle this one?" Starkweather asked.

"Easy," Doggett said. "You're gonna take the bed, I'll take the floor."

"Aw, come on Doggett," she instantly bitched, like he knew she would. "Quit being a Rhett-Butler-wannabe." "If that was a slam against Southern gentility and chivalry," he grinned as he pulled two pillows off the bed, "please recall that Rhett Butler was no gentleman."

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." Starkweather sighed. "I mean it Doggett. I can sleep on the floor. We'll just call housekeeping to bring in some extra blankets because we're cold and then I'll make a mattress out of the comforter and be set."

"Doc, I don't wanna argu-"

"Good," she said firmly. "I'm going to go take a bath. When I come out, your ass better be in that bed."

"Been a while since I heard that one from a woman," he joked as he reached for the phone.

"When **was** the last time you heard that? Stone Age or Ice Age?"

"So what did you for New Year's John?" he asked himself out loud. He answered, "Oh not much, spent the weekend in a honeymoon suite havin' my ego ripped to shreds."

"Just imagine how I would treat you if I didn't like you," Starkweather grabbed her makeup bag and the sweats and T-shirt she brought as pajamas.

"God help us," Doggett rolled eyes as his partner disappeared into the bathroom.

Starkweather ran the bath water and while she waited for the cracked tub to fill, she fiddled with the complimentary radio that sat on top of the toilet. The only station that would come in half way decent was adult contemporary, AKA soft rock. "Gag," she sighed, but left it. She did not recline in the tub for a good long soak, but she huddled in the middle of the tub, arms wrapped around her legs, chin on her knees, her long hair piled on top of her head. The hot water was turning her submerged skin red and rest of her was covered with gooseflesh. Terror was not an emotion Starkweather experienced very often. She had been startled, shocked, surprised, sorrowed, disgusted, demented, haunted and horrified. But never terror. She had never felt the icy breath of paralyzing fear on the back of her neck before. Never felt her heart knocking in her chest so hard before.

She fought against telling her partner <<Let's call this whole thing off. Let's pretend this didn't happen. That this is not happening.>> She heard his gravelly voice through the paper-thin walls thanking the poor housekeeper bringing the extra blanketing. He sounded so calm, so self-assured. Not assured like Mulder's smugness. Assured as in, no matter what happened in his corner of the world, he had his constants which sustained them. Problem was, Starkweather had no idea what his constants where. She was tempted to ask, simply because she wanted to borrow them. All of her constants, her father, her mother, her husband, were gone now.

If she would have found out he considered her one of his constants, her sense of terror would have increased tenfold.

Despite her incredible life experiences and formidable intellect, Jerilyn Starkweather was still incredibly naive and innocent in someways, as she was discovering about herself. She discovered that she was not immune to fear. She discovered that the gaping wound caused by Ben's death was not healing but becoming infected with an unmigating rage. And she discovered she felt completely alone and hated feeling that way. She turned her head just enough so her cheek now rested on her knees and she stifled her sobs, let the tears slide down her face so she wouldn't alert Doggett to her discoveries. Maybe because of her heightened awareness, she actually listened to the words in the next song that came on the radio.

"She's taking her time making up the reasons To justify all the hurt inside Guess she knows from the smiles and the looks in their eyes Everyone's got a theory about the bitter one They're saying, "Mamma never loved her much" And "Daddy never keeps in touch" That's why she shies away from human affection But somewhere in a private place She packs a bag for outer space And now she's waiting for the right kind of pilot to come And she'll say to him

"I would fly you to the moon and back if you'll be... if you'll be my baby Got a ticket for a world where we belong So would you be my baby?

"She can't remember a time when she felt needed If love was red then she was color blind All her friends they've been tried for treason And crimes that were never defined She's saying "Love is like a barren place And reaching out for human faith Is like a journey I just don't have a map for." So baby's going to take a dive and Push the shift to overdrive Send a signal that she's hanging All her hopes on the stars What a pleasant dream...

"Mamma never loved her much" And "Daddy never keeps in touch" That's why she shies away from human affection But somewhere in a private place She packs a bag for outer space And now she's waiting for the right kind of pilot to come And she'll say to him

"I would fly you to the moon and back if you'll be... if you'll be my baby Got a ticket for a world where we belong So would you be my baby?" (Savage Garden, "To the Moon")

"Yuck," she muttered, standing up, reaching for a towel. Before drying off, she snapped off the radio. "Sugar-coated Eurotrashy hippy hoppity skippety crap."

She tried to stop the terror from consuming her. Tried to stop the shaking that started at the line "packs a bag for outer space."

She didn't know if she could handle what they could find tomorrow.

Starkweather dressed quickly into her old Air Force issued sweatpants and a hospital scrub shirt she swiped as her days as a med student. She brushed her hair, scrubbed her face, brushed her teeth and finally left the bathroom.

The lights were off except for the flickering of the TV. Starkweather smiled at the sight of her partner sprawled out on the bed, propped up on pillows, eyes closed, breathing deep. She looked down next to the bed and saw the comforter folded neatly in half the long way, making a sad mattress and the extra blankets in a stack on one end and two pillows on the other.

Shaking her head, she crossed over to the television. <<And why the hell is there a television set in a honeymoon suite?>> she wondered as she snapped it off. Standing at the foot of the bed, she smiled again at the sight of Doggett, one hand still holding the remote, the other resting on his stomach, dressed still in the white T-shirt he had on earlier but had swapped the jeans for a pair of black pajamas pants she had a sneaking suspicion were only hauled out when decorum dictated. He still had his socks on.

Quietly, guided by instinct and moonlight, she slipped over to the side of the bed. Took the remote out of his hand, then bent down to pull the sheets and blankets over him. He stirred a little, but then deep sleep breathing resumed.

She shook her head again and, acting on impulse, smoothed his hair then ran her fingers down his cheek. "Night," she whispered and went to lie down on the makeshift bed on the floor. Sleep was merciful to the female agent and took her quickly.

But sleep avoided her partner, or to be more accurate, her partner avoided sleep. After a bit, he opened his eyes, sat up. "Doc, you awake?" he called out softly, even though he was confident she was out for the count. Waiting just a bit longer, he then slid out of bed and crept to her. Knelt down and as gently as he could, slid his hands under her tiny frame and lifted her, carrying her to the bed.

He paused for just a minute, holding her to him longer than protocol called for. He didn't want her to sleep on the floor, mostly because he knew how cranky she got if she didn't sleep well. Tomorrow was going to be hellish enough without her being a bitch all day.

She didn't look like she had any bitch capabilities when she was sleeping though. She looked like harmless and innocent as a butterfly even though she stung like a bee more than she floated like a butterfly when she was awake.

John Doggett was not a sentimental man, one of his ex-wife's numerous complaints against him. It was not sentiment or even sex that drove him to hold her tight against him, to kiss her brow, to breath in her scent, a fresh mix of Ivory Soap and Victoria's Secrets Dream Angel's heavenly lotion. Fear made him cling to her.

He had seen the X-Files track record. Samantha Mulder, abducted and murdered. Melissa Scully, murdered. Bill Mulder, murdered. Teena Mulder, suicide. Dana Scully, abducted, left for dead. Fox Mulder, abducted, left for dead. Little William, murder attempt on him even before the boy took his first breath. Who was next? Not him, he wasn't interesting enough. Reyes, there was concern just because she was Reyes and sometimes she didn't look where she leaped. But again, she didn't have any vendetta against the Syndicate, she held no interest. No, their interest was in the woman sleeping in his arms.

He wanted to hold her forever, to hold her away from those bastards. If they want her so damn bad, come and get her. <<But you got to get through me first,>> Doggett thought as he finally laid her down on the bed and covered her up with the blankets. As he lay down on the comforter on the floor and covered himself up with the flannel blankets housekeeping brought for them, he did something he hadn't down in a very long time.

He started to pray.

He prayed to God that they found nothing tomorrow, that the whole Eden Project was a hoax.

For her sake.

And William's.

A little later... December 30, 2001 Scully and Reyes' room Honolulu Airport Hotel 3401 N Nimitz Honolulu, Oahu Hawaii 12:59 PM Eastern Standard Time 10:59 PM Mountain Standard Time 7:59 PM Hawaiian Time

"I give up," Reyes said finally, running her fingers through her long dark hair. "My eyes are starting to cross. I'm going to take a walk, clear my head." She pushed herself away from the tiny table she had been sitting at for the past three hours. "Find a fresh approach to this. I'm just spinning my wheels here. Want to come with Dana?" She slapped the cover of her Toshiba notebook computer shut.

Scully looked up at Reyes over the rims of her glasses. She was laying on the bed, surrounded by what seemed to be thousands and thousands of photographs and papers. "Um... not right now Monica," Scully picked up the photograph that was presented to them at the impromptu meeting at J. Edgar the night Felitza and Samita disappeared. "I'll join you in a bit."

"I'll have my cell," Reyes said, stretching, her legs endless in the black capri's she wore. Scully looked at her enviously, she was too short to look good in capri slacks.

While Reyes slipped on her sandals, Scully's cell phone rang.

"Scully," she said, shooing Reyes away, mouthing "Mulder" to her. Reyes nodded, grabbing her gray dress blouse to throw on, just in case it got too cool to walk around in just her capri's and a heather-gray tank top. She shut the door behind her quietly.

"Are you alone now?" Mulder asked her, pacing in his living room, clad still in his dress slacks and shirt. The tie and jacket he had discarded long ago. Unconsciously, he kept making a circle in his living, to check on William, asleep in the playpen Scully despised, to check on the locks on his door, to check out the window. In on hand, he held his cell phone. His other hand, he kept touching his new gun, a shiny Sig Sauer that rested in its brand new holster. A "welcome to the team" gift from Lux Carlos. The safety was off.

"Yes, Mulder... what is it? What TIME is it there?" Scully rolled off the bed, papers scattering everywhere. Unknowingly mimicking Mulder, she began to pace. "What's wrong?"

Reyes walked barefoot on the beach alone, the soft Pacific breeze ruffling her pretty dark hair. Her shoes she held in her hands. Her cafe au lait eyes were not seeing the tropic beauty before her.

She saw the scene in the room she shared with her friend.

She saw her friend pacing, her face paling. Saw her cover her eyes with her hand. Saw her shaking with fear and rage. Saw her pretty mouth turned twisted. She could almost hear her yelling "God damn you Mulder... God damn you turning William's childhood into your latest crusade... you lying son-of-a-bitch."

"Scully," Mulder begged her, kneeling besides William's playpen. "It's not just the Consortium anymore. There are others after him. I was shown documentation of cults that believe he's the Second Coming. And that by killing him, they prevent Armageddon. Now come on, Scully, you know me. I believe most anything, but I don't believe THAT. And I won't let THAT happen. I don't care what I have to do, or where to go. I don't care if I have to sell my soul to the highest bidder in Hell. I am not going to let William go. Ever."

"Even if it means he lives out his life fatherless?"

"Better to have a fatherless life than no life at all." Mulder said flatly, coldly. But his iciness melted instantly when he listen to her sobbing on the other end miles and miles away. "Besides," he said softly. "He'll always have you. I'll make sure he'll always have you. One of you is worth ten times ten thousand of me anyway."

Reyes could see Scully's resolve finally distingrate. She could see her fall to her knees, shoulders shaking.

Mulder closed his eyes when he heard her keening wail through his tiny phone. "WHY???????? He's just a little boy... he's just a baby... why can't they just leave us alone???"

Two tears slid down Reyes cheeks as she instinctively made her way back to the hotel. Scully met her half way, her tears dried, but her face mottled and blotchy. The two women stood there on the beach, the last of the sun touching them softly before slipping underneath the ocean to bring the last day of the year to the other side of the earth. Tropical twilight descended.

"Oh Dana..." Reyes said softly with a sigh.

<<She knows>> Scully thought heavily. <<Her 'feelings,' I forgot...>> "Can you understand now why I live day to day?" she choked out. "Because tomorrow could take them away. But I have them today." She put her hands to her face again.

And Reyes wrapped her arms around her friend and looked up at the faint stars making their first appearance, then showing more confidence the darker the skies got.

<<How could something so far away and so bright destroy so much?>> Reyes wondered as she stroked Scully's hair and whispered to her that everything was going to be alright.

December 31, 2001 All Stars Travelers Inn 517 W Jackson Blvd Spearfish SD 57783 Doggett and Starkweather's Room 2:57 AM Mountain Standard Time

Still jet-lagged, Starkweather woke up at five AM Eastern Standard time, three AM Mountain time. She raised her head to look at the radio alarm clock, then flopped her head back down onto her pillow.

Then sat up when she realized she was on the bed. She craned her neck and saw her partner laying on the floor. Heard him snoring softly.

"You son of a bitch," she muttered affectionately, laying down. She would have loved to pull the same dirty trick that he had with her, waiting until he was asleep and then putting him in the bed... problem was, he outweighed her. By a lot. And even though she prided herself on being a physically fit and built woman, she knew her limits. She knew she couldn't carry him, mainly because she had tried to drag his heavy ass during their almost fatal trip to La Luna Blanca when he had gotten hurt.

But she already had another payback in mind, so she re-set the alarm clock to go off a little earlier than expected and snuggled back down into the pillow, snickering a little...

Later on... 4:45 AM Mountain Time

The alarm clock beeped. Starkweather slapped it off quickly before it woke Doggett. She saw him twitch a little, but then heard him sigh and watched him roll over to his back, falling back asleep.

With an evil glint in her eyes, Starkweather crawled across the bed like a cat. With the same feline grace, she propelled herself off the bed, pouncing, and landed solidly on top of him.

"ARGGGH!" Doggett groaned as all one-hundred and fifteen pounds of her landed on his solar plexus. "Jesus, what the hell..."

"This gives all new meaning to the word, 'dogpile', don't you think?"

"I think you broke a rib."

"Good morning, Papa John." She straddled him, crossing her arms. "Nice trick last night by the way," she scolded him.

"Well, you know, I was just tryin' to be nice 'cause I know how soft you Airmen are," he ribbed her. "We Marines are hard core, we're used to sleeping on floors, on the ground, on a bed of nails."

"Oh-ho-ho, REALLY," Starkweather said. "The only reason why Marines tolerate sleeping on floors, grounds and bed of nails is because they aren't smart enough to figure out that those things are uncomfortable."

"Havin' your bony ass landin' on my gut first thing in the mornin' ain't what I consider comfortable."

"Screw you, I do NOT have a bony ass. And what the hell are you noticing my ass for, Agent Doggett?"

"It's kinda hard to ignore when you're usin' me for a human trampoline, Agent Stawk - weddah," he pointed out.

"I don't know, I smell sexual harassment suite."

"Yeah... from ME."

"You couldn't afford the lawyers on your sad FBI wages."

"You make the same sad FBI wages as I do."

"Yeah but..." and she stopped. The mood switched from fun and airy to depressed and heavy lightening quick. The lawyer's widow looked very uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Um... I'm going to go for a run," she said. "Then I'll be back to get my gear in order." She got off of him very quickly and went to her duffel bag to get out her running clothes and tennis shoes.

Doggett sat up and watched her gather her things and walk to the bathroom to change her clothes. "Doc?"

"Yeah Papa John?" she turned to face him.

"You ready for this?" he asked gently. "For today?"

She put on a fake, brave smile she knew he saw through. "Bring it on," she said too cheerfully and ducked into the bathroom.

Doggett hung his head. "Bring it on," he said lifelessly.

Meanwhile... December 31, 2001 Apartment 1013 Hawthorne House 3450 North Lake Shore Drive Chicago IL, 60657 5:55 AM Central Time

Of all the safe havens that he had created for her, she had to admit that the small studio in the prestigious forty-story apartment complex was her favorite. It wasn't very big, but she didn't need big. She needed a view and she had a spectacular view of Lake Michigan. Plus Chicago was big enough to be interesting and Midwestern enough where people were still trusting. The fools.

Bravo slept soundly on the futon in the living room/bedroom. She could only stand being cooped up for so long and so had finally re-entered public life, hitting the bars on State and Division streets, despite the Cancer Man's orders to lay low after her role in botching the Syndicate's plans to assassinate the Honorable Deputy Mayor of Washington DC. But Bravo, more feline and feral than her sister the federal agent was devoid of fear just as she was devoid of compassion.

If she had a heart, it would not have been stricken with terror at the mention of their names. In all honesty, the remaining members of the "Old" Syndicate were terrified of her. The "New" Syndicate was not quite terrified of her, but were wise to understand that she was a free agent, she owed them no loyalty, but was always willing to assist them, if it benefited her. Still, it was the "Old" Syndicate who acted in wisdom when it concerned Bravo. Only they truly understood what Bravo was, and what she was capable of.

Bravo's clothes, silk stockings from Victoria's Secret, a slinky green dress that accentuated her strawberry blond hair and fair complexion perfectly, lay crumpled on the floor next to the futon. On the Art Deco coffeetable, lay a Nokia 5100 cell phone, a pearl handled switchblade knife and a Glock handgun with a silencer attached. When Bravo had gotten in just a few hours ago, she had merely stripped, folded out the futon and crashed, staying conscious just long enough to pull up the silvery satin sheet over her.

Her phone beeped frantically. Bravo bolted up with a groan. Her mouth tasted like a cottonball. "Hello?"

"We have a situation," the Cancer Man told her tensely.

"What is it," Bravo rubbed sleep out of her eyes.

"It appears that AD Skinner has forgotten himself."

"You mean re-discovered himself," Bravo said tartly, waking up fully now. "I told you we weren't going to be able to hold him forever. But that's neither here or there. What did he do?"

"Agents Doggett and Starkweather, according to Bureau logs, are investigating an X-File in Fargo, North Dakota and yet one of my sources tell me that they were spotting leaving the airport in Rapid City, South Dakota, based off a tip from the good AD."

"Shit," Bravo snapped, getting out of bed, walking over to her small yet tastefully decorated bathroom. She turned the shower on. "Give me an hour to organize. I'll be on the first flight out there. How do you want Agents Doggett and Starkweather? Dead or alive?" Bravo was not a beat-around-the-bush kind of gal.

She frowned at the hesitation from the other line. "Agent Doggett is expendable," he said finally. "Agent Starkweather... I would prefer you spare her, but if it can't be helped, it can't be helped."

"Alright," she complied but again not agreeing. She frowned. Was he getting soft? First Mulder, now Starkweather? For the first time in her lethal life, she felt the twinges of conflicting loyalty.

She packed quickly and efficiently. She took a quick shower, the water boiling hot, and then bundled her long wet red hair in a braid and plaited it around her head. She then found a long blond wig and pinned it to her head securely. She examined herself in the mirror, frowning. "Oh yeah," she said, pulling the hair of the wig back into a bun. She then took out a pair of hazel-colored contact lenses and popped them into her blue eyes.

After all, Bravo couldn't carry loaded weapons into a busy airport, but Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather of the Federal Bureau of Investigation could.

Bravo dressed in a black Gucci suit that the real Starkweather could never have afforded in the days before her father and husband's death.

After tidying up her apartment, she slung on a long boring FBI approved black trenchcoat, checked to make sure she had the fake FBI badge in her coat pocket and got ready to leave.

The silk dress, the expensive Versace she bought on a jaunt to Paris she tossed into the trash along with the stockings. They were spattered with blood. An intoxicated gentleman did not understand the meaning of NO last night. So Bravo coaxed him into the back alley behind the bar, slipped on a pair of leather gloves, opened up her trusty pearl-handled switchblade and slit his throat with such force, his head almost came completely off.

She tied the garbage bag shut and carried out to the dumpster as she left her abode to wait for the cab to fetch her and bring her to O'Hare. As she waited, she took out her cell phone and dialed.

"Hello?" a sleepy male voice answered. "Justin Leo, here."

"Leo," she beckoned him. "I need you."

The Old Syndicate was wise to be afraid of her.

Later on... The Black Hills, South Dakota 8:17 AM Mountain Standard Time

Starkweather was driving. And it was quite a drive to the location Skinner had marked for them on the map he covertly gave them. They had been driving for a good hour already, on the winding, twisting mountain roads. And would be for another two, three hours. Frustrated with the radio stations fading in and out, Starkweather had turned the volume down and struck up conversation with her partner. Who was still slightly bent out of shape from her jumping on him at five in the morning, but that didn't stop him from talking back.

"How long where you in the Marines?"

"'Bout... six years? Yeah... six years."

"Why didn't you stay in it?"

"Lebanon."

"Ahhh..." Starkweather nodded. "Yeah, I can see how that can crimp your career plans. When was that? '81? '82? Jesus... I was... nine when that was going on."

"1982 and thank you for pointing out that I'm older than dirt once again."

"Well, you were like, what? Twenty-four?"

"Twenty-two."

Starkweather, who was lightening fast with math, instantly said, "But that would have made you sixteen when you joined. How did you get around that? Did you graduate from high school early like I did? And how did you get your parents to agree to sign you over to the Marine?"

"Um..." Doggett flushed a little bit. "Well... okay, this isn't something I'm really proud of..." He visibly squirmed as Starkweather patiently, silently waited for an answer. "I lied to the recruiter ‘bout my age."

"Whoa, wait a minute? You did something wrong?"

"I signed up durin' the summer. The recruiter helped me get my GED. After I passed the test, he signed me up and I got my orders to go to Parris Island in August."

"How did your parents... your family react?"

"They weren't real happy."

"Why did you do that then?"

"I..." he shrugged. "Thought I wanted... I..." he stopped again, struggling to find the right words to describe a sixteen year old boy's hopes and dreams to be more than just ordinary. "I got a real romanticized view of the Marines from my grandpa. He was career Marines Corp. All the way. "My mama- mother," he corrected himself, blushing that the childishly sweet Southern endearment for mother slipped out in front of his hard- as-nails partner. Starkweather didn't tease him as expected though. Basically because until he died, she always referred to the Admiral privately as her 'Daddy.' Plus she thought it was kind of cute that a forty-one year old man could still call his mother that. "However was not so keen on the ways of Semper Fideles, havin' lived the life of a Marine brat, so I think my deception hurt her the most. But after listenin' to all of Grandpa's war stories 'bout his days in World War II and Korea... I was hooked and I was sure that was the way to go to make something of myself. And to get out of Georgia. See the world."

"Where did you go after Basic at Parris Island."

"My home base was in Japan... Okinawa... but I was TDY'ed here and there. Got my wish, saw the world. And actually, to be honest, until Beruit, my tour was pretty quiet. After Lebanon though, when they asked me if I would be interested in resigning, I politely told them they could kiss my ass."

Starkweather giggled, a rare sound. "Sooooo... did you like Japan?

"No. I hated it.

"Why? "I towered over EVERYBODY

"You tower over everyone anyway

"Yeah, but at least in the States, I didn't COMPLETELY stick out like a sore thumb."

"Awww, come on...being the Human Empire State Building from Hell had to be just a little fun."

Doggett grumbled, "People kept asking me if they parted their hair straight. And when your own hair had been sheared like a sheep's, you get a little sensitive to that question."

"Good thing T2 hadn't come out yet...or you'd be scaring them to death." "God, you're a bitch." "The Air Force wouldn't have it any other way."

"Huh," Doggett retorted, "The cream puffs of the military."

Starkweather balled her fist threateningly. "I'll show ya cream puff." She punched him in the thigh.

"OW!" he bitched. "Okay, that's assault on top of sexual harassment."

"You liked it." Starkweather said cheerfully. "And anyways, you expect me to believe that the entire time you were overseas, you were completely miserable?" Doggett became lost in thought. "Well... the azaleas were pretty..."

"Awww, Puppy Man liked the pretty flowers..."

"Don't call me Puppy Man."

"Awww, Papa John liked the pretty flowers. But actually, now that I think about it... it makes sense."

"What does?" "If memory serves, and it always does, azaleas are very common in Georgia. And they grow like weeds. You didn't hate Japan because of the short people. You hated Japan because you were homesick." "Only Airmen get homesick," Doggett muttered, uncomfortable now.

Starkweather noticed his discomfort and shook her head. "I'm not going to sit here and lie to you that I never got homesick. I was miserable on every TDY they sent me on. The worst one was Whitehead AFB in Missouri... more for lack of anything to do... which was one of the main reasons why I went drag racing one night with another airmen on motorcycles... that's how I got into that big accident I was telling you about a long time ago."

"Well that totally ruined my entire image of you," he quipped. "Hey, I'm not the one who lied about my age to get into the military." "Yeah, well, I'm not the one related to Mul-dah." "That hurts, Doggett. That really hurts." "See...toldya airmen were cream puffs compared to Marines," Doggett said, smug.

"Yeah... well... our uniforms are prettier than yours." Doggett looked at her as if she was nuts. "You didn't see A Few Good Men, did you?" Now Starkweather looked at Doggett as if he was stupid. "Um... Tom Cruise, Kiefer Sutherland, Kevin Bacon and Jack Nicholson... now why would **I** have ANY interest in that movie? Stupid Marine," she added under her breath.

Meanwhile... December 31, 2001 Scully and Reyes' Room Honolulu Airport Hotel 3401 N. Nimitz Honolulu, Oahu, Hawaii 5:34 AM Hawaiian Time Monica Reyes sat up in her bed, startled wide awake by her flash of intuition. "Dana," she whispered frantically to her roommate. "Dana, are you asleep?"

"No," came the sleepy voice.

"We aren't going to find answers here."

"No kidding."

"No, the answers are out ther-"

"Monica," came the weary voice again. "I have had a very shitty day yesterday. We've accomplished nothing at the Honolulu Field Office and I got some extremely bad news from home. Can this wait?"

"Dana, I have a feeling-"

"Oh God..."

"-that if we find the house Jerilyn lived in as a child while the Admiral was stationed here at Pearl Harbor, we'll find the answers we're looking for."

Scully rolled over. "What kind of answer?"

"We'll know when we'll find it."

"Thank you Mulder."

"Dana," Reyes ignored the sallie Scully sent over to her, "Felitza said that they had been watching for Starkweather for years. There could be remnants of that surveillance. There's something there Dana, I can *feel* it, I can almost taste it..."

"Monica, come on. I'm not in the mood for this cra-"

"Dana, what could it possibly hurt to look? Like you said, we're getting nowhere with the Honolulu Office."

"But we don't know what house Starkweather grew up in," Scully pointed out. "And Starkweather has no memory of the first six years of her life so she wouldn't remember where it was."

"But we do have contacts that could find it for us, right??"

Scully was quiet for a minute. "Oh, alright, alright..." she reached for her cell phone and hit the speed dial. "My roaming charges are going to be awful this month, you realize this, right?"

"The Lone Gunmen, how can I help you?"

"Byers? It's Dana Scully."

"Miss Scully, hello, how are you."

"Tired," Scully told Byers truthfully. "Very very tired. Can you do me a quick favor?"

"Anything."

"I... *We* need a favor. We need an address tracked down for an Lieutenant Jeremy and Lynnette Bailey who lived in Hawaii, near Pearl Harbor. Lieutenant Bailey was stationed here from 1973 to 1979 with the United States Navy. And I'm sorry, I don't have anymore information to provide to you." "Actually, that's more than enough... is the Lieutenant still a Lieutenant?"

"No... actually, he's an Admiral... was an Admiral. We're trying to track down the physical address of Agent Starkweather's childhood home," Scully finally told him.

"I'll handle this personally," Byers assured him, mostly because Frohike was still dead asleep and Langly would go rabidly insane at the opportunity to dig up any personal information on his object of affection. "I'll have the information in a few hours."

"Just email it to me," Scully told him. "Thank you Byers."

"Get some rest Miss Scully."

"Thanks," Scully hung up the phone. Turning to Reyes she said "Happy?"

But Reyes had already fallen back asleep.

Sighing, Scully laid down and tried to do as Byers suggested.

Meanwhile... The Black Hills, South Dakota 8:45 AM Mountain Standard Time

"So how does a boy from Savannah, Georgia who runs away from home to become a Marine, wind up in New York City of all places to become a cop?" Starkweather asked as she slowed down the truck a little. She found that she was slightly paranoid driving on a mountain road with a trailer behind her on a winter's day. It looked like it was a LONG ways down if she hit an ice patch and slid off the road.

"Dunno," Doggett teased her. "How does a Naval brat from Pearl Harbor wind up going to the Air Force to study medicine and decides to become a fed instead?"

"Good for you Dr. Suess, you rhymed."

"Why do you wanna know?"

"Why not?" Starkweather shrugged. "Unless you lied to the NYPD about your age too."

"No," Doggett groused, sorry that he told her that.

"Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine," she teased.

"It was Mickey, actually."

"Mickey?" Starkweather sounded surprised, as she should be. "You knew Mickey before going to New York?"

She was surprised that he had said anything because his very first partner, Officer Jason Mick, AKA Mickey had been one of Doggett's dearly loved friends. During that fateful trip to New York in September, they had run into Mickey at a ball game and were instantly invited to have beers with him and all of Doggett's old friends from his precinct. The next night, September 10, Doggett and Starkweather were having dinner at Mickey's home with his wife Minerva and his three children, Claudia, Cynthia and Laurel.

The next morning, September 11, Mickey, along with thousands of other police officers, fire fighters and civilians perished in the World Trade Center attacks. Devastated, Doggett characteristically clammed up about his broken heart. But Starkweather had heard him crying that night when he thought she was asleep. And as she clumsily tried to comfort him, she forgot herself and kissed him. And then fled.

So she was not shocked that it was Mickey that brought Doggett to New York. She was shocked that he was talking about him.

"Mick and I were stationed together in Okinawa," Doggett was saying. "He did his trainin' in San Diego, why and how he got sent there 'stead of Parris Island is beyond me. Anyway, we stuck together like glue. Then I got sent to Lebanon and he stayed put in Japan. His tour was up the same time we were evacuated from Lebanon. And you know..." he looked out the window, eyebrows scrunched in contemplation. "I still don't know how he found me, figured out where I was, but he tracked my ass down and told me to come to New York with him to be a cop." "Where were you that you thought he couldn't find you?"

"Oh," he said lightly. "I was in the hospital for a while after Lebanon," but Starkweather noticed him clenching his hands.

<<Leave it alone Jerilyn>> she told herself but she opened her big mouth anyway. "You got hurt in Lebanon?"

"It wasn't that type of hospital, Doc," he muttered.

November 22, 1982 Magnolia Institution Atlanta, Georgia

"Ah, Johnny," Jason Mick said as gently as he could with his Hell's Kitchen accent. "Whaddya doin' here?"

Mickey was the last person John Doggett expected to see bouncing in through the doors on Visitor Day. Truth be told, visitors didn't exactly come in for him on a regular basis. With the exception of his mother, of course. Uncomfortable, he fiddled with an empty paper cup. "They say it's post-traumatic stress," he muttered, more to the table than to his friend. "They say its depression."

"Whaddya YOU think?" Mickey pressed him. "Don't shit a shitter."

"I think," he said slowly. "That nobody knew what to do with my ass, so they sent me here."

"And whatta lovely place this is," Mickey said dryly. "Did you sign yourself in or did the fantastic state of Georgia sign you in?"

"My parents asked me to sign myself in."

"So you could sign yourself out if you wanted to."

"Well... yeah..."

"Good. That's what you're gonna do, Johnny. You're gonna get the hell out of this inbred, backwards hellhole and I'm just talking 'bout this fuckin' place," he waved his hand around, indicating the hospital. "And you're comin' with me to New York."

"New York?????" Doggett rolled his eyes. "What the hell am I gonna do in New York?"

"Start over," Mickey said firmly. "Look, brother, you saw some serious, serious shit over there in Beirut. Me? If I'da seen what'chu seen, me, I'm be climbin' the walls, talking gibberish and wearing my Aunt Maggie's pantyhose, eatin' dog food. But you, my friend, it's makin' you an old man before you really are." Mickey stared hard into Doggett's tired blue eyes. "It's eating you alive."

"So what I am supposed to?" Doggett sounded exhausted. "Just pack up everything I know and leave home?"

"You did it before. And you were a kid when you left the first time. Besides, you ain't home. Home, if I remember correctly, is in Savannah. And the sign on the city limits that *I* read, said Atlanta. You're a long ways from home, Johnny. Come with me a little further. You can stay with me and my family, I already talked to them," he said before Doggett could protest. "And we'll get jobs and we'll bust our asses and we'll go be cops. Only we'll both be in New York, the greatest God damned city in the fucking world," he said proudly. Then, seriously, he added, "This place ain't helping you, Johnny. I mean, Jesus, if you weren't depressed before you were walking into this place, you sure as hell would be after spending time in here. Some people, yeah, they need a jaunt in the nuthouse and some people just need to get off their dead asses and get on with their lives and you... Johnny, you're a good guy. That's why you and me, we're friends. And as a friend, I'm tellin' you... get off your dead ass. And come with me to New York. You're just buildin' your own prison if you stay here."

A thin smile came to Doggett's lips. "When do we leave?"

"Soon as fuckin' possible!" A big shit eating grin crossed Mickey's face. "I can not get 'bove the Mason-Dixon line fast enough. Back to where the women are pretty and not potentially my sister."

"Ha."

"Get your gear, soldier. We're getting you the hell out of here."

"Yes sir."

But his eyes still looked dead.

December 31, 2001 The Black Hills, South Dakota 9:05 AM Mountain Standard Time

"What was wrong?" Starkweather asked as her brain screamed at her mouth <<Shut up!!! Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup!!>>

Doggett was now silently staring out the window.

"Doggett?" <<Girl, you are suicidal>> she sighed to herself. "Sorry," she muttered. "I'll shut up now."

"Insomnia," he finally said quietly. "When I was finally discharged and sent home, I couldn't sleep. And when I did, I'd have nightmares about what I saw in Lebanon." He shrugged. "Tried to deal with it myself, but... I dunno... push came to shove one night when I got into a screaming argument with my mother 'bout some damn thing, something so petty that I don't even remember why I got so mad. I made her cry... then I broke down 'cause I finally figured out that something was wrong and it wasn't gonna go away by itself.

"My father-" Starkweather was startled at his bitter infliction on the word 'father' "-got the brilliant idea that I needed professional help and at that time in the South, there was still such a stigma attached to any type of mental health issues. So he went 'round town, tellin' this big lie 'bout how I got this great job and was moving to Atlanta." He shook his head. "But it was my mother who drove me Atlanta and asked me to sign myself in. And I just... stayed there, 'til Mickey through however the hell he found out, tracked my ass down and got me out of there and took me to New York."

He looked over at his partner and was irritated to see that her pretty hazel eyes had filled up with unshed tears. "Now, don't," he grumbled. "I didn't tell you that to have you cry and feel sorry for me, that's the last thing I need."

"I don't feel sorry for you," she retorted, blinking her eyes rapidly. "I've never pitied you. But pity and empathy are two VERY different animals. Don't you forget that. I mean..." she glanced at him very quickly before flicking her eyes back to the road. "Do you pity me? Feel sorry for me because of Ben and my father and all the weirdness that's associated with it?"

"No," Doggett said quietly, knowing she had him. As usual.

"Then why should I feel any different towards you because something bad happened to you?"

"Touché."

"Damn right." With a sigh, she rotated her head to crack her neck. She could feel herself stiffening up from the long drive. "And I'm not going to say anything. There will be no billboards in DC going up about that or anything."

"I know." He winced when he heard her neck popped.

"I hoped you would, but I thought you would feel better with the actual disclaimer given."

"Thanks."

To change the subject, Doggett asked. "Well, that's how I wound up in New York City. I told you mine. Your turn, Doc."

Starkweather smiled. "Fair enough… Let's see. Well, after all the bullshit in Pearl Harbor," Starkweather artfully glossed over the fact that she had no recollection of the first six years of her life, that in fact, her very first memory was of a cold field in Montana. "Dad got transferred to the Med."

"Where in the Med?"

"NAS Rota. It's a Naval Air Station in Spain."

"Spain huh?"

"Uh-huh, that's where I learned how to speak Spanish. Drove my mother crazy, I'd come home from playing with my friends and I'll be chattering away to her "en espanol" and she'd had to remain me to speak English. She was convinced I was going to forget my native language," she grinned.

"Anyway, Dad was stationed out there for three years and then we were transferred back to the States. To the Naval Training Center in Great Lakes, Illinois because my dad was assigned an instructing position. And talk about culture shock, oh my God. From the Med to the Midwest. My God. And the COLD. SUCK!!! I hated Great Lakes. And we were there for three loverly years," she shook her head. "Three... long... years," she intoned. "Three... very... long... years."

"So you didn't like Illinois very much?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Three... very... long... years..." he grinned. "How come you hated it?"

"Because there is nothing worse than being the kid that's 'different'," now she was the one with a bitter voice. "In Rota, I didn't notice because there weren't that many kids my age around except for the locals and once I picked up on the Spanish, it was no big deal. They forgot most of the time that I was American because of my dark hair and eyes." She pulled at her bangs and muttered "And that reminds me, I got to get my roots touched up when we get home."

"You're not a natural blond?" He pretended to sound disappointed.

"You didn't notice the mile long brown roots?" Actually, the roots were only a half-an-inch long, but enough to bug Starkweather.

"I'm a guy. I don't notice details."

"Silly me. What was I thinking?" Starkweather shook her head. "Anyway, when I got back to the States... I couldn't fit in to save my life and you know, in the nasty pre-teen years just when girls are learning how to be bitches and boys are still allergic to girls, it's just a nasty time in your life to be branded 'different.' So I didn't cry very much when Dad was transferred to the Pentagon in DC when I was twelve."

"So, you lived in DC before you and Ben moved here."

"Briefly. For less than a year. Then we moved to Phoenix, Arizona."

"What the hell was a Naval man doing in Arizona?" Doggett asked. "There's no water there."

"That's the kicker. Dad didn't move with us. He stayed in DC. He'd "commute" for lack of a better word, back and forth from DC to Phoenix. He'd have a month leave, come home, then go back to DC for months. But, we were used to it, really. Because Dad was always getting TDY'ed somewhere and be gone for six months at a time. Then, he got compassionate leave when Mom got sick and was in Phoenix with us the entire time unless he got called to DC and there was absolutely no way he could get out of it. But he would only be gone for five days max.

"And you know... I can totally see how your grandpa gave you a romanticized view of the Marine Corps. I mean... Jesus, my daddy was an *Admiral*. I was totally gung-ho, go Navy! You laugh," her eyes flicked back over to Doggett who was chuckling a little. "But I'm serious. When I was little, I wanted to be a Navy SEAL." She shook her head. "I still think somebody dropped me on my head when I was little."

"That would explain a lot."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Okay, the SEAL ambition did go away. But the Navy kick didn't. And the older I got, the more rabid I was about it. I wanted to join immediately after I graduated high school and I graduated when I was sixteen. I even went to a recruiter... but wasn't bright enough to lie about my age... that and he knew my dad and knew how old I was anyway. But he gave me paperwork for my parents to fill out that would have given the permission to enter the Navy when I was seventeen. And my mother threw a shit fit when she found out what I did..."

The Bailey's Residence February 4, 1988

"Absolutely NOT," Lynnette Bailey fumed, balling up the permission paperwork her teenaged daughter handed her. She would have torn it up, but that required energy and effort. Energy and effort were just two of the things her cancer was robbing from her.

"Why not?" Jerilyn snapped back at her.

"Because you are too young to make such a big life decision right now," Lynnette informed her.

"Mother I am sixteen years old!"

"Exactly!" Lynnette shot back at her. She sighed, looking at her beloved child completely exasperated at her pretty child with the dark hair and expressive eyes. She had the figure of a twelve year old child, very crushing to the ego of a sixteen year old girl. But she had the intellect of a forty-year-old woman so it was becoming increasingly difficult to talk to her. "Jeri, why?" Lynnette finally said. "Maybe if you tell me why you want to join so bad, I would rethink signing this. But I'm not going to do anything until you tell me why you want to throw away your childhood? Why you want to rush into adulthood so fast? Baby, once you become an adult, you stay an adult forever. There's no going back."

"I don't care."

"Are you sure?" Lynnette questioned her. "You don't care about missing graduation? Homecoming? Prom?"

"Oh please," Jerilyn spat out. "Like anyone would notice if I was there or not. I'm tired of high school. I want to start my life now."

"I didn't realize you were in a state of suspended animation," Lynnette remarked coolly despite the nausea she was starting to feel from her last chemotherapy. "I didn't realize you had stopped breathing."

"You know what I meant."

"No, I don't. What makes you think that your life starts after high school? What makes you think that prom and graduation aren't a part of life?"

"Because..." Jerilyn felt her resolve slipping, as it always did under the reproachful gaze of her mother's soft gray eyes. "Because high school's such a joke... I'm just sick of it. I'm sick of being bored. I'm sick of knowing more than the teachers. I'm sick of being accused of cheating because I got a hundred percent on a test. I'm tired of kids pretending to be nice to me so that I'll help them with their homework, or try to make me DO my homework for me. I am sick of being surrounded by stupid people and I want to go somewhere where it's not a bad thing to be smart."

Heart aching, Lynnette asked her, "Jerilyn do you really think the Navy is going to be different? Honey, there's always going to be petty people who are going to ridicule what they don't understand. But what you have to understand is that running away isn't going to make it go away. Honey," she wanted to reach for her daughter, but read her body language correctly that Jerilyn did not want to be touched right now. "You can't run from a part of you. You have to make it work for you."

"How?" Now tears stood out in her eyes.

"If," Lynnette said slowly, "we let you graduate from high school early and if you agree to get a part-time job and enroll in a two year program at a college here in Phoenix, will you hold off on the joining the military until you're eighteen? That you'll actually enjoy being sixteen instead of trying to fast forward to twenty-nine. Because trust me," she laughed a little. "Twenty-nine comes pretty fast. And forty seems to follow it the next day."

"You mean it?"

"I'll hold up my end of the deal if you'll hold up yours."

"Go to college, get a part time job and wait until I'm eighteen to join the Navy. Got it."

"One more stipulation."

"Oh God dammit."

"Jerilyn, don't talk like that, you know I don't like that."

"Sorry."

"Will you not just jump into the Navy? If joining the military is that important to you, will you promise me you'll research all the branches before joining?"

"Why? What's wrong with the Navy?"

"Nothing. But I think it's a safe haven for you. You know Naval life. I don't think it would be much of a challenge for you. And I don't think the Navy can offer you what you need. I just want you to explore all the options." She held out her hand. "Do we have a deal?"

"Okay," Jerilyn said, taking her mother's hand and shaking it.

"Okay," her mother said. "I'll talk to your father when he gets back."

"Okay." And Jerilyn remembered why she always thought her mother was the most wonderful human being on the planet. Although natural teenage rebellion had eroded her childish adoration of her parent and was allowing her to see her as a person as opposed to a parent, at that moment, Jerilyn felt no unreasonable teenage hormonal rage and frustration. So she had to wait until she was eighteen to join the military. Small price to pay to be able to get out of high school earlier. She wasn't going to necessarily going to cry about leaving behind her classmates, since they were 75% of her problem with the exception of two girls she was friends with. The other 25% of the problem was her boredom with the high school curriculum, which she was too advanced for. College would keep her ferret-like mind busy. She began to get excited about the possibilities that lay ahead. Maybe she could get a job at bookstore this summer...

"Okay," Lynnette withdrew her hand. "Now, let's pick up the house a little bit before your father gets home, okay?" Despite her fatigue and queasiness, Lynette would not allow for her house to even have a thin barrier of dust. "Can you push the vacuum for me?"

"Where is it?"

"Downstairs."

"Okay," and Jerilyn left the room to go down to their finished basement to retrieve the ancient Hoover.

Lynnette steadied herself by putting a hand out on the dining room table. Her head was pounding. That talk with Jerilyn had taken everything out of her. She was shaking.

She felt a warm wetness at the base of her nose, trickling down her lip and chin. She touched the fluid, eyes widening at its bright red color as the blood dribbled down her clean white T-shirt and khakis slacks. She felt very dizzy, she felt her knees buckling...

Jerilyn, as she was rolling up the vacuum cleaner cord, heard the crash upstairs. Abandoning the vacuum, she ran upstairs, heart pounding in dread.

"Mom?" she called out, looking around. She went into the living room, saw her mother crumpled on the floor. "Oh God, Mom!" she cried out, running to her, taking her face in her hands, getting her mother's blood on her hands. "Mom, wake up, wake up..." she whimpered.

A voice from the front door called out, "Lynn? Are you home, honey?"

"Dad! In here! Hurry!" Jerilyn sobbed out.

Hearing the panic in his daughter's voice, Jeremy ran to the dining room as fast as he could.

That night, Lynnette Bailey began her long, final decline.

December 31, 2001 The Black Hills, South Dakota 9:31 AM Mountain Time

"So," Starkweather said with a shrug. "There you have it. That's how I ended up in the Air Force."

"Did you like it? Bein' with the cream puffs?"

She shot Doggett a dirty look. "It was alright. I did Basic at Lackland, then I was stationed at Luke AFB in Arizona the rest of the time, but I was barely there, I was TDY'ed so much. Spent a little time in Saudi... that sucked ass. Glad it was back then instead of NOW though," she shuddered to think about the turmoil in the Middle East.

"But I was always getting bounced around, three months here, three months there..." she shook her head. "It was a damn miracle I got my pre-med requirements and BS done while I was Active Duty."

"But you did it," Doggett said, admiration in his voice.

"Yeah, I did..."

"See, just goes to show what can be accomplished when you in the Slacker Branch of the Armed Forces. When you don't have to do very much except walk 'round, looking pretty in your blues while you do anything you want to while the rest of us serve and defend the Unites States against all threats, foreign and domestic," he teased.

Starkweather pouted. "I'm not talking to you anymore."

"Hallelujah."

Shaking her head, she started to mess with the radio dials again. She finally found a rock station, to her delight and Doggett's despair. The tail end of a Lynard Skynard song faded out and an obnoxious deejay with a scratchy voice announced that Metallica was up next. Starkweather was giddy.

"Sweet!" she exclaimed as she turned up the volume.

"Oh lord," Doggett complained.

"What?" Starkweather asked, tapping her left fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the drums, "you don't like Metallica?"

"I don't understand how you can call screamin' music?"

"Because you have to dissect it before you can understand," Starkweather began her lecture in the art of heavy metal. "First you have to have a killer bass beat..." Doggett noticed her right fingers tapping against her flat stomach as if she was playing a bass guitar, "Then... adding strong drums," Doggett noticed her right hand holding an imaginary drumstick and keeping time to the beat. "Then a guitar riff," her fingers began to play an imagery guitar again, electric and keeping beautiful rhythm with the song. "Crescendo... crescendo... release... and add unforgettable lyrics..."

She started to sing:

"Say your prayers little one Don't forget, my son To include everyone Keep you free from sin Till the sandman comes Sleep with one eye open Gripping your pillow tight

"Exit: Light Enter: Night Take my hand We're off to Never-never land..."

She turned to Doggett and grinned. "See, it's more than just screaming."

"You can play all those instruments?" Doggett asked. "I know you can play piano, but the other stuff, the drums, guitar?"

"Um... yeah, I thought you knew," now she felt self-conscious.

"Uh-uh, you never told me," Doggett said, looking at her with more admiration. "I remember you playin' the piano in Scotland... and oh yeah, you played the violin at the radio station. And you can play the guitar and drums too??"

"Yeah," she muttered eyes on the road.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Liar. What's the matter."

"It... I... I don't know. I get... stupid about my music. I love music. I love to play. But I don't like to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because people look at me funny when I tell them how many instruments can play."

"How many?"

"Eight."

"Eight?!?!?!"

"See," she said sullenly.

"No... I'm... it's not like... which ones?"

"Piano, flute, piccolo, clarinet, guitar... electric, acoustic and bass... banjo, violin and harmonica." "Harmonica?"

"I was bored."

"How did you find the time to learn all of those? Especially when you moved around so much as a kid?"

"Nobody."

"What?"

"Nobody taught me. I learned by ear. I hear a song. I can play it."

"How long have you been able to do that?"

"Forever."

"How are you able to do that?"

"I don't know."

"But-"

"I don't know," she said sharply. Then, to amend for her cutting words, she said while shaking her head. "There's a lot of things that I can do that I don't know how I can."

Doggett was silent for a moment. Then he confessed to her, "I learned how to play guitar by ear."

"Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"Stop trying to make me feel better."

Doggett's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me, but I believe it was you who told me not to confuse pity with empathy, Agent Starkweather."

That coaxed a smile from her. "Alright, fine. Pot, kettle, black, yeah, okay, got it." She glanced at him again, "So when did you learn?"

"When I was in high school. My brother told me it was a chick magnet," he shook his head as Starkweather's smile widened. "Well, I dragged it out of storage back out when I was datin' my ex-wife. She seemed to like it... 'course, if that's the type of women I get when I play, maybe I should keep it in storage."

A hiccup of laughter burst from Starkweather erupted as she pulled over to a rest stop. She put the truck in park.

"Why are we stopped?" Doggett asked.

"Because we're here. I guess I was driving faster than I thought."

There was a silence between the agents. "Okay," Doggett said. "Let's get the snow clothes on and get the sleds unloaded."

Starkweather folded her lips together. "Okay. Let's do this."

A few hours later...

The Black Hills, South Dakota

The place Skinner had marked on the map was completely inaccessible by car or truck. Hence the snowmobiles Doggett and Starkweather rented cheerfully on the Bureau's dime. Actually, Starkweather cheerfully rented them on the Bureau's dime, Doggett begrudgingly handed her over the FBI credit card. His frown deepened when she started to pick out snowmobiling clothing.

"Hey, I do NOT feel like freezing my ass off," she had retorted.

And Doggett hated to admit she was right, but she was. The winter day, although fine and bright out, was bitterly cold, despite the sunshine. He didn't want to think how miserable he would have been if they had hit the snowmobile trails without the heavy layers of Arctic Cat coats, hats, gloves, sunglasses and pants Starkweather cheerfully charged to the Bureau. His unprotected skin already felt chapped and they had only been outside for a few hours.

Eventually, they veered off the trails, stopping ever once in a while to consult Skinner's map. Finally, they arrived at their destination, the snowmobiles struggling through the deeper drifts.

At the base of one of the lesser mountains in the Black Hills, Starkweather stopped. She turned off her sled and beamed at Doggett while he was pulling beside him. "I have GOT to get me one of these!" she announced to him when he turned the motor off.

"Why am I not surprised?" Doggett muttered, taking off his sunglasses, blinking in the dazzling sunlight. "Well, should we start this insanity?"

Starkweather replied, "Well, we've already come this far. I don't want to get frostbite for nothing." She pointed. "I think that's the opening to the cave the report Skinner gave us was referring to."

"Yeah, I don't see any other."

Starkweather unzipped her heavy coat, checked her weapon. "Okay then," she said, getting off the sled and starting to walk towards the mouth of the cave.

"Hey, Doc?"

She paused. "Yeah?"

Doggett trudged through the snowdrifts to her. "I just wanna let you know... no matter what we find in there... whether it's real or bullshit, I'm here, okay? I'm here and I've got your back."

She smiled, a thin smile. "I know. I count on that."

He took her hand.

They were off to Never-never land.

The agents struggled up the slope to the cave, fighting snowdrifts and the bulky snowmobile suits they were wearing. "We're gonna go nowhere fast in these damn things," Doggett puffed.

"Well," Starkweather reasoned, following in his footsteps, "once we get inside the cave, maybe if it's warm enough in their, we can at least ditch the pants."

"Tease."

"Keep dreamin'."

But their banter felt forced, flat and they both knew it. Their razzing of each other was the equivalent of a frightened child whistling in the dark.

There was a small ledge to contend with before entering the cave. Doggett scrambled up it easy enough. He took off the thick gloves he was wearing and knelt down. "Hands up, Doc," he said, leaning over, reaching out for her.

Starkweather took a small leap, grabbed Doggett's hands and pulled herself up. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem," Doggett slung off the heavy backpack he had been toting since they left the truck. He looked up at the cave. "Think there's bats in there?"

"Probably. Why?"

"I hate bats," he muttered, thinking back to one of his very first X- Files with Scully...

"Oh you big wuss," Starkweather said flippantly.

"Have I called you a bitch yet today?"

"Um, a few hours ago."

"Just checkin'," Doggett grumbled, standing up.

Both of them stared uneasily at the big hole in the side of the mountain. "I don't wanna go in there," Starkweather said suddenly.

"I don't either," Doggett confessed. "But we've already come this far. And dollars to doughnuts, there's gonna be nothin' in there except for bats, rats and a hibernatin' bear."

"Oh, that's SO much better than an illegal genetics lab." She took a breath. "Let's get this over with."

The cave wasn't toasty warm, but out of the wind and snow, a vast improvement. By the light of their Magna flashlights, Starkweather and Doggett temporarily took off their coats and unbuckled the straps of the heavy snowmobile suits they wore like bib overalls. Fortunately, both had the presence of mind to wear longjohns under their jeans and a double layer of socks. Starkweather had on a black T-shirt, an oversized purple and lavender flannel shirt, a heavy black sweater and her old combat boots from her days in the Air Force. She shivered but knew she could maneuver better without the suffocating pants. Doggett had on a black turtleneck and a black fleece pullover. <<Oh God, we match, PUKE!>> Starkweather realized as she checked her guns before slipping her coat back on. She sneaked a peek at his feet and heaved a big sigh when she saw he was wearing plain brown hiking boots.

"Nice fanny pack," Doggett quipped as he reached for his coat, his blue eyes dancing merrily.

"I prefer 'belt bag'," she said primly. "It sounds less retarded."

In the 'belt bag' around her tiny waist was a few glass vials, a small digital camera. Ziploc bags. Latex gloves. A small magnifying glass. A tiny keychain sized flashlight in case she lost hers. Forensics tools.

"Couldn't fit it in your pockets?" he continued to give her grief.

"No, it's full of *your* shit," she countered. Learning from the mistakes of her predecessors, she had decided to leave no evidence behind. Starkweather, although not domestically inclined, was very good with a thread and needle and spent a good part of her day, ripping seams and sewing up false pockets. One in her coat, where she had stowed away the file Skinner gave them, and two in the lower legs of the carpenter jeans she wore. One pocket held all their money and credit cards. The other held their FBI IDs.

"I still think you're bein' paranoid."

"How many times has paranoia saved your sorry ass in this job?"

"Good point."

"Besides, how many X-Files with Mulder and Scully have ended with their hotel rooms burning down, destroying the evidence?"

"Hell, somebody tried to burn the whole damn office down once." Doggett looked around the cave, moving the flashlight here and there. "Nice, very nice. Very mad-scientist like," he groaned. "Doc, I think we're on a goose chase here."

"Shock, surprise."

"Like you said, let's get this over with."

"Are those snowmobile suits going to be okay if we just leave them there?" Starkweather really didn't like the way her voice echoed in the cave.

Doggett reminded her, "Who knows we're here??"

Thirty miles away...

Bravo lit a cigarette, leaning against the Humvee as one of her men inspected the abandoned truck. As he examined the truck inside and out, she took out her cell phone and hit speed dial while three other men, armed to the teeth, meandered about the deserted rest stop.

"Justin Leo."

"Leo, it's me, do you have the package?"

"Setting it up right now."

"Make sure the venerable Deputy Mayor gets the message," she snapped, hanging up on the hapless turncoat. The man who was inspecting the truck was dressed completely in military fatigues but not affiliated with any branch of the United States Armed Services jogged back to her. The other men scurried back to line up so they could hear his report.

"Well?" Bravo asked, irritated. She hated being cold. She was dressing in fatigues as well, having dropped her Starkweather disguise after her men picked her up at the airport.

"It's them," he told her, "it's the same truck the Alamo Rental Car company rented to credit card number 45468554."

Bravo exhaled, blowing smoke out with an exasperated gesture. "Find them," she snapped to the four men that stood before her at complete attention. "No survivors," she ordered them.

Fuck the Cancer Man.

Meanwhile... ... back at the cave Black Hills, South Dakota 4:45 PM Mountain Standard Time

"Let's face it," Starkweather said, suddenly as she and Doggett made their way through the cave. "There's nothing here."

"Yeah," Doggett stopped and turned around to face her. "Nothing but a damn snipe hunt.

"But look on the bright side, we got an all expensive paid trip to the Black Hills."

"Oh hot damn," Doggett drawled out sarcastically. "Let's get out of-" Doggett's flashlight burned out.

"Got-dammit."

"'Yes Starkweather, I'm sure these batteries are new.'"

"Hey, they were still in the package."

"Doesn't mean that they're necessarily new." There was a sound of rustling. "I've got a tiny flashlight in my belt bag, but it runs off of a triple-A battery, which means it's going to die in five minutes."

"No, just stay still, we put the second flashlight in the backpack."

"Hurry up... not to sound like a 'fraidy-cat, but bad things happen when it's dark in the grand majority of all X-Files and bad bad bad horror flicks."

There was the sound of the backbag sliding off of Doggett's back and onto the floor of the cave. "I'm hurryin', I'm hurryin', just... just keep talkin' Doc."

"About what?"

"I don't care... you ain't the only one spooked by the dark," he muttered as he fumbled for the zipper.

"Well... you keep talking too, I can't see my hand in front of my own eye-" there was sickening crunch sound.

"Doc..."

"Yeah...?"

"What the hell was that?"

"I don't know, but I just stepped on it..."

Meanwhile... Outside of Ben and Jerilyn's former apartment complex Washington DC 6:45 PM Eastern Standard Time

"That's everything," the burly moving man with the bad breath informed Mulder as he slammed the door to the moving van shut. "We'll keep the truck in our garage tonight and move your sister's things into her new place first thing in the morning."

"Thank you," Mulder muttered, not a happy camper. He had been bombarded with City Hall business all day so trying to find time to go over CIA intelligence was nearly impossible. But Bunny-the-bitch, as Mulder was beginning to privately refer to his receptionist as, did manage to clear his schedule enough for Lux to come in and give him a Reader's Digest version of what was going on and told him that he was going to come over to his apartment later so they could talk in depth.

Then Mulder had to run across town to the Lawfirm of Carter, Spangle and Adams to discuss Charlie's defense case with Meg Rogeux- Brandybuck. And the case looked bleak. Meg pointblank told him that the only way to keep Charlie from getting the death penalty was to plead insanity. Problem was, the insanity plea was going to keep her locked up at Waldenbrooks for the rest of her life and that wasn't fair either. But she did kill all those people, a miserable Catch-22.

To add to the fun, William had been cranky the minute Mulder picked him up from daycare, Scully had not returned any of his calls and the moving men had been an hour late coming to load up Starkweather's apartment. And he still had Lux Carlos coming over to look forward to.

"Oh yeah," the moving man shoved a cat carrier in his arms, totally oblivious that Mulder was holding William. "Almost forgot."

William crying, Caesar the cat screaming, Mulder juggled both until he had the boy comfortably in the crook of his right arm and carrying the carrier in his left hand. "I hate it when I leave my third arm at home," Mulder snarled.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," Mulder said, turning his back on the oaf. "I'll see you tomorrow," he called out, walking towards his car, parked across the street.

He opened the backdoor and put the cat carrier on the back seat. Caesar still howled and spat at him. Mulder jumped away as a little kitty claw shot out between the bars, trying to swipe at him. "You and me are going to play a game when we get home," Mulder said to the cat. "It's called 'Fun with Plyers.'"

"I have a better game," came a silky voice behind him.

Mulder whirled around. "Dammit Leo, why can't you do us all a favor and die?"

I'm here as a friend," Justin Leo, dressed in a black Yves Saint Laurent suit and a long black Armani winter coat with a gray cashmere scarf around his neck, told him succinctly.

"I have enough friends, thanks." Mulder told him freezingly.

They stood nose to nose on the sidewalk, next to Mulder's car. "I'm here to warn you."

<<Why does this sound familiar?>> Mulder thought, holding William closer while subtly reaching for his gun. "Leo, Earth is full, why don't you go back from whatever spit in hell you came from?"

"Speaking of 'back', I'm trying to tell you to watch yours," Leo took out a small remote control device. "This is only the beginning... you sure you got everything out of there?" He pressed a button.

The entire complex exploded.

Mulder ducked down, sheltering William with his body as debris flew everywhere. Fortunately, his car took the brunt of the explosion.

When the smoke cleared and sirens could be heard in the distance, the first thing Mulder did was check William over. He was fine, squalling his head off, but fine. Then he whipped around to look for Leo.

Leo had already disappeared, taking advantage of the explosion to escape. He knew that Bravo had wanted him to blow up the building while the moving man were packing up her apartment, but Leo just couldn't do that to Lily. He couldn't leave her with nothing, no clothes, no dishes, no towels, no lamps, no photo albums, no jewelry, no shoes, nothing. And he knew how attached she was to that damn cat.

But with the demise of all the people that had been relaxing in their homes, getting ready for the rising of the New Year, he figured Mulder would have gotten the point.

Stay out of this

Meanwhile... Back at the cave Black Hills, South Dakota 4:50 PM Mountain Standard Time

"Doc..."

"Yeah...?"

"What the hell was that?"

"I don't know, but I just stepped on it..." Starkweather's voice was quavering. "Hurry up with that light..." she sounded like a little girl begging her parents to let her sleep with the lights on.

Doggett finally found the flashlight and clicked it on, scaring the hordes of bats that were sleeping peacefully above them. Squealing and disorientated, they lifted off their perches and began swooping around the cave. Starkweather shrieked as one dive-bombed towards her, scraping against her head. Cursing and beating off the flying rodents, Doggett reached for Starkweather and pulled her down, covering her head as the bats swarmed around them.

"Turn off the damn light!" Starkweather shrieked. Doggett snapped off the light and they huddled together as they listened to the sound of beating wings as the bat family flew away to find more a peaceful napping location. There was a moment of silence before Doggett said "I fucking hate bats."

"I think I hate them now too," Starkweather muttered. "Turn the lights on."

"You okay? Did you get scratched or anything?"

"No. I'm fine. It didn't break the skin." He felt her sliding against him as she stood up. "Turn on the light." Doggett stood up and clicked on the flashlight. "So, what the hell do you step on?" Doggett shined the light on the ground. His eyes widened. "Oh my God."

Starkweather inhaled, "Holy shit." She looked around the cave. "Shine the light everywhere on the ground." Doggett complied. "One... two... three... my God... there's nine..."

Doggett and Starkweather were surrounded by nine skeletons, lying on the hard, cold cavern ground.

Meanwhile... Jerilyn Starkweather's childhood home... Pearl Harbor, Hawaii 1:59 PM Hawaiian Time

Mrs. Chloe Foster welcomed Agent Scully and Agent Reyes inside.

"We appreciate you accommodating us, Mrs. Foster," Scully said solemnly. Despite the warm weather, Scully dressed in an all black, three-piece suit tailored for a women. With her fiery red hair brushed severely back from her face, she looked all business. "It really is kind of you," Reyes agreed. She paid a little more heed to the climate of the island, by wearing a dove gray linen skirt a little shorter than the FBI preferred and a short sleeved turquoise blouse underneath a lightweight matching gray blazer that still hid her gun. Plus a pair of flat-heeled sandals that showed her painted toenails and silver toe-ring on her left big toe.

"Oh," Mrs. Foster, a plain, matronly woman who was more married to the Navy way of life than her seafaring husband, gushed. "Don't worry about it. It's just nice to have a bit of company." She let them inside the humble home, which, except for new carpet and a fresh coat of paint inside and out, really hadn't changed much since Jerilyn Starkweather had lived there as a little girl almost twenty-five years ago. "My husband's an engineer on an air craft carrier. And ever since September 11... well, I just don't see him very much."

Remembering her childhood of being bounced from Naval base to Naval base and those long months in-between, wondering when Daddy was coming home, Scully warmed up to the woman, just a touch. "My father was in the Navy, as well as my sister-in-law's. So I can understand what you must be going through."

Mrs. Foster smiled, appreciating the kind words from the austere beauty with the sunset hair and ocean eyes. If she smiled, Mrs. Foster thought, a poetic soul, she would be the personification of the beauty of Hawaii.

But Scully didn't smile once during her entire time at the Fosters. "Well, take your time. Look around. It's not much, but it's home," Mrs. Foster said brightly. "I'll be out in the garden if you need anything. I also made ice tea and some cookies if you ladies would like a snack later."

Reyes smiled gently at the woman, emphasizing with her how starved for company she truly was. "Thank you," Reyes said with her characteristic serene smile. "It's very nice of you to go to all this trouble for us."

"Really," trilled Mrs. Foster, "It's not trouble at all. The boys like to have snacks when they get home from school anyway, so I just killed two birds with one stone. Take your time, like I said. The boys have basketball practice and won't be home until five-thirty or so. It *is* a shame that your sister-in-law couldn't be here."

"I'm sure she would have if she could have," Scully said quietly.

A little later... Back at the cave Black Hills, South Dakota 5:15 PM Mountain Standard Time

Doggett stood over her, holding the flashlight over Starkweather so she could have light to work by. "What's the word Doc?"

"Well," Starkweather was crouched over one of the remains, her hands clad in latex gloves, examining the bones visually. She had just finished taking pictures with the small digital camera she had brought along. "It's female, you can tell by the pelvis. Woman generally have wider hips than men. Judging by the layer of dirt, dust and animal droppings, she'd been here for awhile. But I have no way of telling just by topical exam. Um..." she put the camera back into her belt bag and moved over to the skull. "Oh, Jesus... Doggett, look..." Her gloved fingertip lightly circled the back of the skull.

Doggett crouched down beside her. "Bullethole... this woman was killed execution style..." he muttered, shining the light up and down the skeleton. "Look how it's spread eagled, as if she was on her knees, then *bang*, and she falls..." his face twisted in disgust.

"They're ALL lying like that," Starkweather said. She gently picked up the skull. As she did, something dropped out of the jaw. Starkweather put the skull down and reached for what fell out. "Look," she said again to Doggett, holding up her prize.

Doggett stared at the bullet. ".22-caliber. Not a lot of power but enough to get the job done."

Starkweather put the bullet in one of the vials she brought along. "Doggett..." she said quietly, putting the skull back in place. "That video that Dad made..."

"Doc, don't go leaping to conclusi-"

"NINE girls," Starkweather interrupted him. "He said there were nine girls kept by the Syndicate as surrogate mothers."

"Starkweather-"

"Doggett, open your eyes, look around here!" she snapped. "There are NINE bodies here. And I bet YOU 'dollars to doughnuts' that they're all female and they've all been killed execution style and they're all connected to that Eden Project bullshit. I don't believe the crap about little gray men and Mars and outer space and colonization and... whatever... but..." she shook her head. "Samita Saint Claire, another one of MY mirror images, gets abducted and that same night, Skinner gives us a tip off about THIS place. Why?"

"I've gotta be crazy to suggest this," Doggett said. "But I think we might find out why if we keep going."

They both looked down the yawning blackness of the cave ahead of them. "You think we should call for backup?" Doggett asked.

Starkweather looked at him helplessly. "Who would believe us?"

Meanwhile, Bravo and her crew had just stepped inside the opening of the cave. She instantly spied the snowmobiling clothing the agents left behind. "You know what to do," she ordered the grim men. They nodded and trotted off.

Super Soldiers were so easy to command. Better than dogs.

Bravo shrugged off her heavy coat and took both of her guns off of safety. She did not reach for a flashlight. She did not need it. She entered the darkness.

Meanwhile... Jerilyn Starkweather's childhood home... Pearl Harbor, Hawaii 2:14 PM Hawaiian Time

Scully followed Reyes through the tiny home, trying to keep her frustration in check. She privately thought they were wasting their time. She wanted to touch base with the Honolulu Field Office, even though as of eight AM Hawaiian Time, the Hawaiian field agents still had nothing. She wanted to go to the site where the photographs of Samita and Felitza were taken. She wanted to canvas the nearby neighborhood where the same photographs were taken, question the locals...

But no, here she was, sucked into what was beginning to feel more and more like a "Mulder-leap." And she tried to shove Mulder out of her head, she was still upset with his decision. <<He could have at least talked to me about it instead of just consenting>> Scully fumed to herself as Reyes walked through the master bedroom, dragging her fingers along the walls. <<As if he has no responsibilities. As if he was single and childless...>>

But Scully, feeling sick, reminded herself that technically, until both of them got the nerve to have a paternity test done, they were assuming William belonged to Mulder. And that both of them had shied away from a more traditional commitment.

"Do you feel anything, Agent Reyes?" Scully finally asked.

Reyes frowned. "Yes..."

"You do??"

"Yes," Reyes repeated to herself. Her slender black brows were knit in contemplation. "There's something here, Agent Scully."

"What?" "I don't know..."

Scully could have choked her.

Reyes turned her head, looked at the closet. She walked over there, throwing it open. The closet was bursting with frumpy dresses, sweatshirts, cheap shoes and dress Naval uniforms, still in their dry- cleaning bags. "Monica, what in the hell are you doing?" Scully demanded. "We're just looking around, there's no call for us to go through their personal things. We don't have probable cause, we don't have a search warrant..."

Reyes looked up at the ceiling in the small closet. Then looked at the floor. She crouched down and started throwing shoes aside.

"Monica..." Scully dropped her arms and looked towards the ceiling.

After clearing the closet floor of the shoes, Reyes crawled inside and started tugging at the corner of the carpet. "Don't worry Dana, it's not nailed down."

"Oh goody," Scully snapped, checking her watch. "Monica, this is ridiculous. If Mrs. Foster comes inside and sees us..."

"Dana, there's a floorboard loose."

"What?"

Reyes moved the loose board and bravely stuck her hand into the abyss. "I found something..."

"What is it?"

Reyes pulled out a small shoebox, taped shut. She replaced the floorboard, covered it with the carpet again. Scully put the shoes back in the closet as Reyes sat on the bed to open the box. "Oh my God..."

Inside the shoebox was a dusty leather journal, which had remained untouched for nearly twenty-three years. Reyes opened the cover. Scully pursed her lips when she read the name, written neatly in calligraphy on the inside flap:

Lynnette Malone Bailey

Meanwhile... Back at the cave Black Hills, South Dakota 5:35 PM Mountain Standard Time Doggett and Starkweather descended deeper and deeper into the cave.

"God, it doesn't seem to end," Doggett said, his voice bouncing off the walls. "I wonder how big this place is?"

"I dunno," Starkweather responded. "This whole place gives me the creeps." She shivered. "I can't wait to get out of here."

"Shit," Doggett stopped abruptly.

"What?"

He handed her the flashlight and turned on the little indigo light on his watch. "Twenty to six. Dammit, we lost track of time. It's going to be dark outside too."

"Fuck." Starkweather looked around the cave. "Now what do we do?"

"My instincts say get the hell out of here."

"Fine with me."

"You don't mind ridin' those sleds back in the dark?"

"Let's see, riding in the dark, away from here or staying here where it's dark and creepy and full of bats and skeletons. Hmmm, gee... let me think..."

"Let's just leave one of the sleds behind and you just ride with me," Doggett said as they turned around to walk back towards the opening. "We'll make for better time."

"And let's call some local law enforcement to come in with us tomorrow," Starkweather suggested. "We could use a hand getting those remains packed up and sent to Quantico."

"God, I can only imagine their faces when they see this shit." "Noooooooooo kidding. As for me, after this crap, nothing is going to surprise me anymo-"

The ground underneath Starkweather gave way. With a yelp, she plummeted into the gaping black hole.

Doggett dove for her as she fell, his fingers just grazing her hand as she slipped away. "Oh God, oh no... oh Jesus... STARKWEATHER!!!" he called out. "STARKWEATHER!!!!"

"I'm okay..." her voice rose from the abyss. "I'm okay. I landed on something soft.... hey Doggett...?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember how I just said nothing was gonna surprise me anymore?"

"Yeah??"

"Shine your light down here."

Doggett laid flat on his belly. He shined the flashlight down the hole. "Oh my God..." he breathed.

Starkweather looked up at him. She was sitting on a sofa in a fully if not gaudily decorated boardroom. There was even carpet on the ground. "Love what they've done with the place," she shuddered.

Doggett tossed the flashlight down to Starkweather, then lowered himself down, feet first. "They don't pay me enough," he grumbled as he let go, hoping the couch was softer than it looked.

Which it wasn't. Starkweather had already moved after retrieving the flashlight and before her partner came tumbling down. "Careful," she drawled. "The first step's a lu-lu."

"Gee, thanks." Wincing, Doggett got up, looking around. "Is there a way outta here?"

"You know, you probably should have thought of that BEFORE you came down here."

"Shut up, I already see a door," Doggett grumbled, not appreciating his verbal blunder being pointed out.

"Let's see what's behind Door Number One," Starkweather handed the flashlight back to Doggett and went to open the door. The door opened easily enough. "Oh, goody, look what we won!"

"A big dark stairwell," Doggett groaned.

"And the crowd goes wild."

"What I wanna know is, how in the hell did this all come to be? Who built it? How did they build it?"

"How *big* is it?"

"And how long it's stood empty."

"That's what's bugging me Doggett..."

"What...?"

"In the video... my dad... the Admiral... whatever... he said that there was a fire. But that couch... as butt-ugly as it is... is not from the Seventies... it's a modern sofa. Plus..." She ran her hands down the wall. "This plaster feels new. As if..."

"Somebody replaced them..." Doggett shined the light back to the table. He drug his fingertips across it. "Doc... there's no dust on this thing..."

"Well, it's nice to know that global conspirators take the time out of their hectic schedule to do some light housekeeping."

"Doc... let's get the hell out of here."

"Twist my arm."

Doggett and Starkweather couldn't get through that door fast enough.

Meanwhile... Outside the cave...

He slid off the four wheeler all terrain bike with ease. He checked his weapons, put on back in the holster, but held onto the other one. He shivered slightly in the bitter South Dakotan wind, but he did not want to put on any more winter wear. Too bulky. He needed to be able to move and move fast when necessary.

Long black leather jacket. Black jeans. Black turtleneck. Black boots. Black hair. Black eyes.

Alex Krycek grinned. "Party time," he said and he entered the cave. Like Bravo, he didn't need a flashlight...

Back in the cave...

"This one's locked too," Doggett groaned, tugging uselessly at the doorknob. "Dammit."

"There's got to be a way out of here," Starkweather rubbed her temples. "We've already gone down seven flights of stairs, how many more can there be..." she trailed off, lost in thought.

"Doc?" Doggett shined his flashlight on her, but not in her eyes. "Starkweather, what's cooking in that big brain of yours?"

"According to the Admiral, the lab was on the seventh floor." She pulled out her service weapon. "Back up and cover your ears."

Doggett handed her the flashlight, then slid behind her, backed up two stairs and plugged his ears.

Starkweather crossed her wrists so she could shine the light on her target while aiming her gun. She squeezed off two rounds.

The gun blasts echoed throughout the entire cave. Above them, Bravo stopped. "Hold it," she held up her hand. The super soldiers following her stopped. "They're somewhere down below. Go find the others. Take extreme precaution," Bravo ordered him. "The male agent is of no concern, but the female is one of us."

The soldier nodded and went off in search of him comrades.

Bravo proceeded on her own. Soon, she passed through what had been christened as "The Valley of the Shadow" by her more macabre co-horts. She noted that the skeleton of one had been disturbed. Then, a few more feet away, she saw the hole in the ground.

"Son-of-a-bitch," she muttered. "I told them to fix that." She scampered around the hole. She knew of another way in.

Hidden by the gloom, Alex Krycek watched Bravo disappear deeper into the cave. "Bravo, I'm going to enjoy this..." a wicked smile appeared on his face.

Starkweather nudged the door open with her toe, still pointing her gun. Doggett was right behind her, his weapon out. She felt his breath warm on the back of her uncovered neck. No words said, for no appropriate words could be found.

What lay before the agents was what appeared to be a replica of a hospital corridor. Starkweather moved the beam of the flashlight here and there, on the linoleum floor, on the smooth white walls, on the glass windows. The light bounced slightly because Starkweather's hand trembled just a little bit.

As did her voice. "What if he was lying about the fire?"

"Let's take a look around."

What always astonished John Doggett about himself was how calm and controlled he could almost always kept his voice. The words "Les' take ah look ah-roun'," were tempered by the tough guy New Yorker's edge but the lush Southern drawl also soften it, giving his voice a melody without stealing it's authority. He sounded cool and aloof and was amazed that his voice didn't reflect what he felt in the inside: which was the overwhelming screaming need to snatch up his diminutive partner and run like hell.

"Come on..." Starkweather told him, entering the abyss.

**Come on...** Her voice, either accentless or every accent rolled up in one. Her voice was light and heavy all at once. Honey. Sweet and clinging. When she spoke, it was rich and husky. When she sang, it was enigmatic and ethereal. <<Jesus fucking Christ, John, get over it!!>> he berated himself as he covered his partner's small back.

He couldn't help it. He didn't want to be in this dark cave with the clean walls and linoleum floors and musty secrets. He wanted to be out where the skies were blue, grass was green, ET was a movie and Luke was alive and Jerilyn's voice was on the breeze...

**Years go by Will I still be waiting for somebody else to understand...**

But her voice was not her voice. Four other women had her voice. Her syrupy, sticky voice you knew was going to be a bitch to wash off once it got on you but you still dipped your fingers in the honey pot anyway.

**"...So you found a girl who thinks really deep thoughts What's so amazing about really deep thoughts..."**

"You're being a fool. They find you, they'll kill you. What part of that don't you understand?"

"I don't fucking care, YOU'RE not the one left in that cell to rot."

"You've got to come with me. There's no other way. Either come with me or go in a body bag. I don't give a rat's ass. I'm only here because the old man told me to come get you."

"Don't leave me, Bravo."

"Then come with me."

"NO!"

"Dammit, quit being so difficult!" (from Meum Mel Part One)

**"...boy you best pray that I bleed real soon How's that thought for you?..."**

Two women, one voice.

No, make that five women, one voice.

Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo.

"Don't leave me, Bravo..."

"..and I could completely fuckin' kick myself for being so slow on the draw, Starkweather. Why didn't I see that she had somethin' in her hands? I should have caught that!"

"Why didn't she shoot you in the face and kill you? I think, there's a greater agenda working here."

"Are you talking about God?"

**"will I choke on my tears till finally there's nothing left?**

"I'm talking about men who think they're God. Did you see their faces?"

"No... the one had her face all painted up in black. The other had her hair hidin' her face. I did see the eye color of the one in black. They were blue."

**"One more casualty you know we're too easy, easy, easy..."**

"Blue...but you heard their voices."

"Yeah...I know you're gonna think I'm crazy, but they both sounded like you."

You. But not you.

**..."hey but I don't care cause sometimes I hear my voice...**

"Doggett..."

**..."and it's been here..."**

"Earth to Doggett..."

**"...silent all these years..."**

"Papa John?"

"Yeah?"

"You okay???"

"I'm a little spooked," he admitted to her.

"Doggett, we're in what appears to be a fully functioning LAB in a CAVE with no LIGHTS. If this is what it takes to get you 'a little spooked', I sure as hell hate to see what it takes to get you fully freaked out, which is where I'M at now on the Fear O'Meter."

They looked around. "Well," Doggett said, "Door Number One, Number Two, Number Three, Number Four or Number Five?"

There was two doors along the corridors of the hallway and another door at the very end of the opposite side of the hall from where the agents had come in.

"I don't care, just as long as you don't suggest splitting up."

"Fuck no!"

Starkweather smiled at the unintended vehemence of her partner's words. "Door Number One..."

She pushed it open.

Empty.

"Well, that was anticlimactic."

"You're complainin'?"

"Nope!" Starkweather said swiftly. "Okay, Door Number Two..."

She pushed it open.

"Whoa daddy..." she exhaled.

"Holy shit," her partner responded, mouth hanging open.

Every type of handheld arsenal, legal and otherwise, from handguns to hand grenades, M-16s to M-60s were neatly packed away behind Door Number Two. And well maintained. The guns glistened under the glow of the flashlight.

"It's like the Goddamn storage hole in Terminator II!!" Starkweather burst out.

"MUST you mention that movie?"

"Sorry..."

Together they turned around. "Door Number Three," Doggett muttered grimly, clenching both hands around the butt of his gun, continually checking over his shoulder, as if something was going to burst out from no where and attack.

Starkweather took a breath and kicked the door in. Her mouth dropped open. "Oh my God... what the hell..."

File cabinets. Five big file cabinets, neatly lined up next to each other. Doggett and Starkweather entered the room.

"What's that humming noise?" she asked, shining her lights on the file cabinets.

"It's comin' from over there..." Doggett squinted in the dark, spying something... "Doc, what the hell is that thing?" Doggett pointed at the giant machine on the other side of the wall.

Starkweather shone the light on it. "Oh my God." The first time she had said that, it was out of bewilderment. Now she said it with absolute dread. The computer continued to whir.

"Starkweather? What is it?"

"It's a Cray... a super-computer... designed specifically..." her voice was coming out in sporadic bursts. "To decipher DNA coding."

"WHAT?"

"It's a gene sequencing computer. It analyses DNA composition." Starkweather looked at it carefully. "And it's *ON.*" She pressed a button. The screen flicker wildly, then settled down, flashing out four letters over and over in no particular order: GTCAAATTCCGGAATTAATGGCA.... all the way down the screen.

Starkweather recited, "Guanine, Thymine, Cystosine, Adenine, Adenine, Adenine, Thymine, Thymine, Cystosine, Cystosine, Guanine, Guanine, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck FUCK!!!" she slammed her fist into the wall next to the computer.

Realization plowed over Doggett like a tractor ripping up the earth, planting seeds of unwilling belief. "Oh my God," he said, the horror in his voice at the same level as hers. "This Eden Project... this Supah Soldier bullshit... it's **real**."

"And they're re-building it," Starkweather said tightly. Starkweather and Doggett looked at each other, then at the file cabinets. "You," Starkweather said frantically, digging for her tiny flashlight in her belt bag, "take the 'Bs'and Ss and look for 'Bailey' and 'Scully.' I'm gonna take the Ms and look for Mulder and Malone."

Feverishly, the duo set to work.

Doggett had ripped through the 'Bs' and found nothing. He moved swiftly to the file marked 'S-Sk'. "Nothin' on 'Bailey,' he gasped. "At least not the Admiral Bailey or your mother. Gonna look for Scully... any luck??"

"No... not with Malone... I'm gonna try for Mulder now..." Starkweather muttered, riffling frantically. She gasped. "I found it!" she pulled out a sealed file. "Oh Jesus, what fresh hell is this??" she cried out, shining her tiny light on the tab.

"What?"

"I was expecting the first name to say 'Samantha' or 'Echo'." Her voice shook. "Not this. Not this. God dammit. God damn them..." Doggett took the file. Then kicked the file cabinets. "Those bastards..."

The file tab clearly read: "Mulder, William Christopher S, DOB:3-7- 01."

Starkweather snatched the file away and fumbled with her coat, unzipping the false pocket she had sewn into the lining the night before. "I want to see the other room," she said angrily. "**Now**."

Meanwhile... Mulder's apartment Arlington, VA 7:50 PM Eastern Standard Time

There was a loud knock on Mulder's door. Mulder jumped. "Who is it?" he called out nonchalantly as he pulled his gun out of his holster. William, oblivious, played with his toys in his playpen.

"Domino's."

Mulder put the gun back in the holster, but left the safety off. He stomped angrily over to the door and unlocked it to let Lux Carlos in, who really did have a pizza with him.

Mulder snatched the pizza away from him, grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him inside, slamming the door.

"Whoa, hey, man, what the fu-" Carlos spluttered out as Mulder slammed the pizza box on the coffee table. Mulder turned and decked him, grunting with an animal satisfaction at the pain of his knuckle connecting with his jaw.

William began to cry.

Carlos put his hand to mouth, pulled away. Looked at the blood on his hand. "Dammit, Mulder, what the hell???" he spat out. "Between you and your sister hitting me all the time, I'm not going to have any teeth left!"

"Twenty-four hour surveillance my ass. MY ASS," Mulder yelled at him.

"This glorious CIA protection you offered me and my family had a loophole big enough for Justin fucking Leo to waltz in, blow up an apartment complex full of innocent people and waltz out. If this is the best the CIA has to offer, I'd be better off taking Scully and the boy and going underground by myself."

"Don't start talking crazy, you, Agent Scully and the kid would be dead in less than twenty-four hours if you three ran away."

"I've been dead before. It's rather liberating," Mulder icily paraphrased one of the Joker's memorable lines from the 1989 release of 'Batman' while he crossed over to soothe William. "Shh, Boo, shh...it's okay... I'm here, I'm here..." he lifted William of out the playpen.

"Mulder, there is a reason why I wanted to meet you here alone in your apartment. I know you are one paranoid mo-fo and that you regularly have your apartment swept for bugs by those techno-geek pals of yours. In fact, this afternoon while you were moving Agent Starkweather's stuff out of the apartment, you had the Gunmen come in and double- check your place. And stay here until you came home. This place is clean, isn't it?"

"It is now," Mulder said, jaw tightening. "They found a tiny camera in my light fixture and my phone was wire-tapped."

"Mulder, there's another reason why I asked you to join us. A reason I couldn't tell you until now. There is a traitor in our midst."

"I don't know if my heart can stand the shock of that revelation," Mulder rolled his eyes.

"This traitor has been working very closely, supplying the Syndicate with government information. We're talking big time espionage. And we're talking about another abduction," he took a grainy black and white photograph out of his coat pocket.

Mulder stared hard at the photograph of a dozen or so more frightened people, all female except for one, being herded into a giant military airplane. He saw right away a woman that looked like Starkweather, clinging to Felitza Covarubias.

"Look at the man," Carlos told him.

"Jeremiah Smith..."

"That's right. He vanished the night your rotting corpse was discovered. Somebody tipped off the Syndicate of his presence and then, presto, chango. Buh-bye Mr. Smith."

"Where was this picture taken?"

"According to our intel... Maui, about four hours ago."

"Hawaii."

"Bingo. So Agent Scully wasn't that far off the mark.

"But they're probably gone now since this picture was taken four hours ago," Mulder thrust the picture back at Carlos. "Why would they want Jeremiah?"

"Don't know. Probably for his healing powers." Carlos sighed. "Mulder... when the CIA X-Files division was founded, Satish Joshi and Bonaventure Merchant, AKA your lovely receptionist Bunny O'Dell was not one of the original members."

"Who were?"

"Agents Knowle Rohrer and Shannon McMahon."

Mulder frowned. "Rohrer is a name I recognize. Shannon...."

"Both are MIA. Shannon disappeared before you guys put the hurt on Rohrer. Both Rohrer and Shannon were in the same Marine unit as the venerable John Doggett years and years ago."

Mulder sucked in his breath. "You're not implying that Doggett is-"

"Aw, hell no. That cracker's too uptight to be interesting enough to be a spy."

"But-"

"But what I'm saying is that it's no mistake or coincidence John Doggett was brought over to the X-Files. Rohrer was feeding him false information and trying to pull information out of him."

"For what purpose?"

"To run back to the Syndicate the same way a crybaby tattletale runs to his mama."

"But Rohrer is gone. And this Shannon person, I've never even heard of her, is gone. Who's the traitor?"

"I have it narrowed down to four people," Carlos sighed. "And brother, I need your help figuring out who it is. I am so sorry about what happened to you and your boy today. If I would have known, or been there, there would be a 9 mm bullet in the middle of Leo's eyes."

"Who are the four suspects?"

"They are all people with connections although they all work in different branches of the government at different levels of power."

"Tell me."

"Deputy Director Alvin Kersh."

"Surprise."

"Agent Satish Joshi."

"I thought he was your friend?"

"I need to be a little more selective." He took a breath. "Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey."

"Jerilyn's stepmother???"

"Makes sense, don't you think?"

Mulder eyed Carlos warily. "How do I know you're not the traitor?" Carlos looked him back straight in the eye. "Because, and I'm saying this at the risk of making your teeth rot out because of sugar- overload, I love your sister with the same intensity and devotion as you have for Agent Scully and would gladly die for her. For that reason alone, you should trust me."

"Are we talking about the same sister? I had two."

"Yes."

"Were you high when you met Jerilyn?"

"No, but I was really drunk."

A corner of Mulder's mouth lifted up in a half-grin. It was all he could manage. "Who's the fourth?"

"Special Agent Monica Reyes."

"Reyes?" Mulder's eyebrows rose so high, they almost disappeared into his hairline. "Monica Reyes? Who fought so hard to find Doggett's son? Who stayed with Scully while she was giving birth to William?"

Carlos held up a hand as if to fend off another attack, and granted Mulder and Starkweather's disposition towards him lately, probably wasn't a bad idea. "Hear me out, if its Reyes, it's probably due to coercion."

"She's being blackmailed?"

"She could be. The potential is there. May I?" Carlos gestured to the sofa. Mulder nodded and took a seat in his chair in front of his computer, still cuddling William, who stopping crying but still clung to Mulder. Carlos reached for a piece of pizza and examined it. "Damn, I told them no 'shrooms. Anyway," he started his soliloquy as he picked off the offensive mushrooms.

"When Monica Reyes was a senior at Brown University, she became seriously inexplicably ill. She had always been healthy as a horse before but then out of the blue, she was experiencing crippling headaches and constant nausea. Well, turns out it was carbon monoxide poisoning from her car, the exhaust wasn't working and all the carbon monoxide was seeping back into her car."

"With as much as she smokes, I'm surprised she noticed the difference."

"Anyway, here's the clincher though. Before the doctors figured out it was the POS she was driving at the time that was making her sick, they asked her about her family's medical history. Well, Reyes didn't have a clue, she's adopted. Anyway, the entire event spooked her. For all she knows, her natural parents could be genetically disposed to every God-forsaken cancer known to man. So, she started digging into her past, to find her biological parents. Partially out of curiosity, partially out of the need to know the medical history.

"When our lovely heroine became a cadet at Quantico in 1990, she was befriended by a newly inducted Special Agent who went by the name of Alex Krycek. She mentioned to him the struggles she was having finding her birth parents, the legalities, the red tape, the bullshit, blah blah blah. So our buddy tells her of this club he belongs to. They can help her find her biological parents... as long as she doesn't mind doing them a few... favors?? Of course, Reyes probably interpreted 'favor' as mowing the lawn while they're out of town or loaning our her car to them if theirs breaks down. Whatever. Anyway, case of the matter is, she took the bait and they reeled her in."

"You know, for someone who's psychic, you would think she would have seen it coming."

"Thing is, Krycek's true colors didn't show until he helped orchestrate Scully's abduction back in 1994. When Reyes caught wind of what Krycek pulled, she severed ties. Fast."

"Or so she thought."

Carlos shrugged. "We know how the Syndicate likes to toy with people. I mean, after the abduction of Samantha, look how long they left your parents alone... until Kryeck killed your father, I mean."

"My parents didn't need the Syndicate to destroy them. They had each other," Mulder said bitterly, getting up to put a sleeping William back in his playpen.

When Mulder sat back down again on the coffee table, Carlos said, "Look, as far as traitors go, Reyes is the dark horse in the running. She had no clue what she was doing, the people she was dealing with back then. She was a stupid, naive kid when it boils down to it. But we can't just forget she has Syndicate ties either." Mulder looked over at the sleeping boy. "I just can't believe its Reyes."

"Who do you think it is then?"

Meanwhile... The beach near Honolulu Airport Hotel Honolulu, Oahu, Hawaii 3:00 PM Hawaiian Time

Reyes sat alone on the beach, the journal still unopened on her lap. Her hands were folded on the book as if she was praying or meditating. Again, only her physical form was on the warm sandy beach, her mind was thousands of miles away, on a treacherous journey to the past. To cold rainy nights in New York, the city that once bragged how it never slept but now would kill for one night without dreams. Before Follmer touched her face and told her she was beautiful. Before Doggett touched her heart when he begged her to find his son.

She remembered the extremely small studio with the laughingly inflated rent for the space. Remembering running home from work in tears on October 21, 1994 when that APB buzzed through the New York Field Office. All Points Bulletin and arrest warrant for Special Agent Alex Krycek. Alleged accomplice for the abduction of a federal agent. Big charges. Federal time. And the federal agent was a woman. "What a rat bastard," her partner at the time commented before Reyes had to make up some excuse about not feeling well and fleeing.

She remembered how the rain never stopped for four days after the APB came out. How every night she would wonder if this was going to be the night when he would come to her...

October 27, 1994 Monica Reyes' Apartment Manhattan, New York, New York 11:25 PM Eastern Standard Time

Reyes was curled up on her couch, wrapped in a quilt, trying to watch a movie, but not really paying attention. She was such a bundle of nerves, she couldn't sleep, couldn't concentrate. She shivered even though the heat was turned up as high as her miserable federal agent's salary would allow for.

Under the blankets, she clutched her service revolver.

Finally, the knock on her door that she had been dreading finally came. "Who is it?" she tried to ask in her best "Go-away" voice, but it came out reedy and frightened.

"Monica, open the door."

She uncurled herself from her warm bundles of blankets and, stuffing the gun down the back of her pants and untucking her shirt, she unlocked the door. "Alex, tell me it's not true," she begged him, already knowing that everything that was going to come out of his mouth was going to be a lie.

Alex Krycek, still in the same clothes he had been wearing when he fled the interrogation room with Duane Barry stood in. "Monica, let me in," he pleaded. "I'll explain everything."

Reyes stood aside and allowed Krycek inside. "Explain what?" she demanded. "That you stood by a let a federal agent, one of us, to be kidnapped?"

"Dana Scully is not one of us," Krycek snapped. Then, under his breath, he muttered, "At least, not anymore."

"What? Who's Dana Scully? Why is she special, I don't understand... Alex... your career is OVER." She started pacing. "Maybe if you gave yourself up now, and helped them locate her, maybe the court would grant you leniency..."

"Monica," he said in a superior tone, "I don't care about my *career*. There's more to this than you realize."

"It's not just your career, Alex. It's your *life*. Even if you were granted leniency, you're looking at least five, ten years in the federal pen. And if she dies... Alex, that's the death penalty in some states."

"We would all be facing the death penalty if I hadn't acted."

Reyes had trouble who's fear she was feeling, his or hers. She tried to block absorbing his feelings, hers were overwhelming enough. "You aren't making any sense," she said carefully.

"There is a battle going on," Krycek said carefully. "A battle for possession of heaven and earth."

"What?" She squawked out while thinking <<¡Está loco!>>

"Don't look at me like I'm insane," he burst out in a quiet rage. "There are forces out there that you do not understand... but I can help you understand."

"What?"

"Join me."

"What... no!"

"You're already involved, Reyes," Alex sneered. She didn't like how he used her last name instead of her first. "What do you think you were doing, making those little runs for us? Dropping off those packages? Setting up those meetings? You were far more than just a receptionist. And now," Krycek walked to her, stood nose to nose with her for she was very tall and he was average height. "You're a bona fide federal agent, very useful to the Cause."

"Cause? What Cause?" Reyes pushed him away and pulled out her gun. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of la-" Before she could finish Mirandarizing him, Krycek knocked the gun out of her hands, grabbed her and threw her against the wall, holding her mouth shut with one hand, holding her throat with another. A framed photograph of herself and her 'abuelo' fell to the floor. The glass shattered.

<<Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!>> she screamed at herself as she felt Krycek's grip tightened. <<Stupid for losing your gun, stupid for trusting this rat-bastard instead of your feelings.>>

Krycek pulled out his own gun and put it to her head. "Listen to me, Agent Reyes," he breathed into her ear. "You're not arresting me. No one is. I am making you an offer of a lifetime. An opportunity to save the world. All I need is to hear yes or a no. If yes, then pack your things and we leave tonight. If no, then I need one last favor from you and I disappear. You'll never see me again, except maybe in the news or on the FBI's Most Wanted List. But the question is asked now and the answer is necessary now." He removed the hand covering her mouth. Reyes was crying and she hated herself for it. "No," she sobbed, afraid she was going to die because she had befriended the wrong person. Her mother had always scolded her for being 'inocente.' "No." "Okay," and Krycek stepped away. "One last favor and then I disappear, easy as that."

"I want that group of people I've been helping to disappear too. I don't need to find my real parents that badly. Not if it's going to get innocent people hurt or killed." She sounded like a defiant little girl, telling a bully that she wasn't going to let him take her lunch money any more.

Krycek sidestepped her demand. "I have no access to my money," he told her bluntly. "I need cash. And I'm hungry."

"I have leftovers in the fridge," Reyes said flatly, rubbing her throat. "Help yourself, I'll see how much money I have..."

While Krycek took it upon himself to empty the contents of her refrigerator, Reyes sat back down on the couch and picked up her purse. She pulled out her wallet. "All I have is a hundred dollars," she told him bitterly. "If you need more, you'll have to wait until tomorrow when I can get to an ATM."

"A hundred will be fine," Krycek said with his mouth full. He quickly finished eating the gyro Reyes had planned on bringing to work tomorrow for lunch. Wiping his mouth, he walked back over to Reyes, standing over her.

Reyes held up the wad of cash. Krycek took it from her and stuffed it in his pants pocket. "Thank you," he said softly.

"Why?" She wasn't asking why he was thanking her, she was asking why he was doing this. All of this. She thought she knew him.

Alex Krycek looked down at her and reached to stroke her hair, but she recoiled. "Don't ask why. If you want these people to leave you alone, never ask why."

"But-"

"Reyes, listen to me, if you do nothing else in your life, at least do this for me."

"I gave you my last hundred dollars and my trust. Both which you abused. What more can I give?"

"Then don't do this for me, do this for yourself. A favor for yourself."

"What?"

"Stay in New York."

"Wha-"

"I know where your interests lie. I know your fascination for mythologies and religions and folklore. Someday, because of your expertise, you may be asked to transfer to Washington DC. But tell them no. If you value your life, you'll tell them no. I mean it Monica," he knelt down and looked up at her. "Stay in your division. There is a reason for the saying 'Ignorance is bliss.' I know you're looking for answers, but believe me, the truth will not set you free. Truth is a prison you build for yourself."

"I don't believe that." Reyes said defiantly. "You got what you wanted. Now go. Please."

Krycek stood up, paused as if he wanted to say more, do more. He let out a breath as his squared shoulders slumped. He walked towards the door, unlocked it and slowly turned the doorknob. He turned to face Reyes again and said:

"Nous savons également cruel la vérité est souvent et nous nous demandons si le delusion est non plus ne consolant pas." He slipped away as Reyes stared at him in shock, for she knew that he spoke Russian, but what he said sounded like French. But she wasn't sure. But the strange words emphasized all the more, that she really hadn't known him at all.

As promised, Reyes never saw him again except on the FBI's listing of dangerous and wanted criminals.

And she still never knew what he said to her.

December 31, 2001 The beach near Honolulu Airport Hotel Honolulu, Oahu, Hawaii 3:15 PM Hawaiian Time

Two tears slid off the high cheekbones of Agent Reyes' face. She had told Starkweather she had "done things" in the past that she wasn't proud of, but she wasn’t' going to let the past trap her. Restrict her from personal growth. Let it beat her into believing she didn't have a right to a happy life, just like everyone else. She made mistakes, huge, almost fatal mistakes. But she learned from them. Or at least tried to.

<<It's all coming full circle now>> she thought as she felt remorse but not regret for her naive actions eleven, almost twelve years ago. <<Ten years ago, we were all strangers. I had just graduated from Quantico. John was a cop in New York. Jerilyn was a medic in the Air Force. Dana was teaching at the Academy. And Fox Mulder was sitting alone in the basement in J. Edgar Hoover. Only Mulder had foresight enough to realize what was going on. I was busy building a career as a fed. John was busy as a father, a husband and a cop. Dana was busy as a teacher and Jerilyn was busy as a student. If we would have heard, ten years ago, what Mulder was investigating, we would have laughed. Called him 'Spooky' just like everyone else.>>

<<Now, ten years later, I live alone with a gun as a husband and case files as my children. Dana actually has a child but every breath that boy takes is a stab of pain to Dana's heart because she wonders which breath the child takes will be his last. John didn't even get to be there for his son's last breath. And he buried his marriage right along with Luke. The Starkweathers' didn't even have children. No piece of immortality for Ben when he was gunned down. And no family left for Jerilyn either. Except for a half-nephew that has been condemned the moment he was conceived and a half-brother who has pursued the Truth, before all of us got ensnared in this web of deceit. This spiderweb that was woven before any of us were born. And yet the silvery strands of deceit became threatened when William was born. And Mulder foresaw this all, before he even comprehended how much he knew. I don't think Mulder even understands that he knows. I think he is afraid to look that deep inside himself. The irony. The man whose quest in life is the Truth can not stand to examine the truth about himself...

<<That it is not William that is the heart of this conspiracy. Or even Jerilyn, as he... we had suspected.

<<The Syndicate only sees them as consolation prizes. What they want, what they've always wanted they had once, but it slipped from their fingers and now they want it back. But they can not have it back because life is a circle and it is moving to a full circle now.

<<Moving back to rectify the mistake that the Syndicate made. For originally, they did not want the daughter of Bill Mulder. They knew that the girl would not be as much as a threat as the boy. It was always about the boy. And now it's about the man. The man with a son of his own. A son he would die for.

<<And will die for if you don't figure out how to stop this 'insanity', as John would put it. For being through fault or fate, Monica Reyes, you are partially responsible for this spiderweb ensnarling everyone. So it doesn't matter if you feelings are telling you that the Syndicate still wants Fox Mulder's head on a platter. You better get the proof. And show, don't tell them.>>

Reyes opened the journal and began to read the private thoughts of Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather's mother. Twelve years ago, Fox Mulder sought this woman out while she lay dying. Reyes convinced herself that the reasons why Mulder traveled so far to see her were hidden somewhere in the timeworn pages of a book she had no business reading. She turned the page and continued her voyeuristic journey into another woman's suffering.

Meanwhile... Mulder's apartment Arlington, VA 8:16 PM Eastern Standard Time

"The journals!" Mulder bolted up off the coffee table. He ran to his phone and started dialing.

"The Lone Gunmen."

"Langly, turn that damn recorder off."

"It is off, Mulder."

"What is it?" Carlos asked.

"NOW!" Mulder barked into the phone.

"Okay, okay, it's off for real now," Langly mumbled. "What's up?"

"I need Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey's home address."

"Cake walk. Gimme five minutes."

"And turn that damn recorder off."

"It IS off!!"

When Langly put Mulder on hold, he covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said, "Starkweather sent me to retrieve some personal items out of the Admiral's safety deposit box, her mother's journals. The Senator refused to give me the safety deposit key."

"That's IT?!?!" Carlos stared at him. "That's why you think the Senator is the traitor?"

"I've gone on less."

"Mulder? You there?"

"Hit me Langly."

"528 O Street, Georgetown. Big brick house. Kinda like the one in the movie 'The Exorcist'."

"Great. What are you and the other two Stooges doing right now?"

"Watching downloaded pirated clips of 'Star Wars, The Attack of the Clones.'"

"Wrong! You three will be here in fifteen minutes to baby-sit William at my place. I've got an errand to run."

"Aw man... well... can we watch your porno tapes while we're there?"

"Scully made me throw them away."

"Whipped now, huh?"

"Shut up and get over here."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," and Langly hung up.

As Mulder bolted to his bedroom to change out of his suit into his "formal wear", Carlos called out to him, "What in the hell are you planning on doing, Mulder?"

"Call Bunny," Mulder replied to him as his zipped up the fly of the black cargo slacks he thought he had retired when he became a respectable pillar of society. "Tell her to recap the Senator's movements since her lunch with me yesterday. I know you have surveillance on her since you suspect her and I know you trust Bunny otherwise you wouldn't have implemented her as my receptionist." He pulled the lightweight black sweater over his head. His hair stuck up everywhere. He opened his sock drawer, pulled out a pair of clean black socks, his ankle holster and his little Beretta handgun.

"Paranoid mo-fo," Carlos muttered as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed. "Bunny? Hey, it's me. Do me a favor, I need to know where the Senator Wesley-Bailey's been since about noon yesterday? Yeah, it is a rush..." Carlos got up and crossed over to Mulder's cluttered desk.

"Jesus," Carlos, a rigid neat freak, wrinkled his nose at the layer of dust over the desk and computer. "You could rabies from the dust bunnies in this place..." he said to himself as he found a pen and paper. "Yeah, Bunny, I'm here... uh-huh.... uh-huh... uh-huh... yeah... okay.... okay..... whoa, whoa, whoa... say again? You sure about that? What has she been doing since then? Okay...okay... Bunny, call Joshi and standby... we may have a situation." He hung up his phone. "MULDER!!!!"

Mulder came out of his bedroom, clad head to toe in black. He was loading the handgun the CIA issued him. "When did the Senator go to the Admiral's bank?"

"Four-forty-five this afternoon," Carlos groaned. "She emptied the safety deposit box. She went out to dinner with friends afterwards and has just gotten home."

"I can't wait for the Gunmen to get here," Mulder glared at Carlos.

"So we're going to find out how trustworthy you really are," he pointed the gun at Carlos's head. "I want you to stay here with William until the Gunmen get here. If ANYTHING happens to him while I'm gone-"

"If you don't kill me first, Starkweather will," Carlos said, unperturbed at the gun aimed for his handsome face. "And what are you going to do, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder holstered his gun. "I'm going to lobby my petition to the good Senator," he droned tonelessly as he reached for his black leather jacket and left.

Carlos called Bunny on his cell phone again. "I need you to get to the Senator's house," he told her. "Mulder's off being stupid again and the last thing we need is for him to be getting his dumb ass killed."

"What about you? Why can't you go after him?"

"Because," Carlos groaned. "I'm babysitting."

A little later... Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey's house 528 O Street, Georgetown 8:45 PM Eastern Standard Time

The Senator threw another log in her fireplace. The fire was burning nicely now. Thank God it was a cold night. Clad now in slippers and a maroon terry velour bathroom that Jerilyn gave her for Christmas, she padded across her living room to the liquor cabinet where she efficiently prepared a neat vodka tonic for herself. Closing the cabinet, she smiled mockingly at her reflection in the glass. "Happy New Year," she told herself, raising her glass in a toast.

She returned to her spot by the fireplace. For awhile, she watched the flames and wondered if this was hell, it really wasn't that bad.

Then she reached for the piles of dusty journals, a testimony to life spanning almost over forty years, and started to add them to the funeral pyre. Book by book. The fire blazed.

While the Senator destroyed Lynnette Bailey's journals, Mulder pulled up a few blocks away from her house. Like a cat burglar, he stealthily crept through the manicured lawns of the posh neighborhoods he had driven through time and time again to get to Scully's. He could hear the laughter of the New Year's Eve parties going on inside the other houses. The Senator's home looked bleak. Mulder looked up and saw the plume of smoke coming out of her chiminy. <<I'm too late>> Mulder sighed. <<To save the journals anyway. I'm sorry, Jerilyn>> he took out the credit card he used exclusively to pick locks and slid it through the lock of the Senator's back door.

Moving like a cat, he crept through the dark kitchen, grinning a little. What would the population of Washington DC think of a Deputy Mayor who was caught red-handed breaking-and-entering a powerful Senator's house? <<Probably give me a medal>> he sighed. A perk and a drawback to his current position of Deputy Mayor was that the general popular, John and Jane and Baby Doe loved him. There was even a petition going around now to have him run for Mayor next year when the current Mayor's term was up. That did not sit well with Mulder. He was on the threshold of the living room now. He could see the Senator sitting by the fireplace, joined now by her fat little lapdog. A Shitz-Tu Starkweather had mentioned once that she wouldn't mind feeding that "little powderpuff of a mutt" to her vicious cat, Caesar. <<And how appropriately named that damn cat was named>> Mulder thought. <<Caesar Dictator...>>

Veni, vidi, vici.

I came, I saw, I conquered

<<If you make your presence known to this woman, Fox, then you're crossing your own Rubicon. You can't go back.>>

"Senator, good evening," Mulder said pleasantly as he entered the living room, gun drawn. The Senator jumped and put her hand to her heart. Her little dog whimpered.

Alea jacta est. The die had been cast.

The Senator clutched her robe at her throat. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "How dare yo-"

"No, Senator, how dare *you*." Mulder spied the journals, only two left now, sitting beside her. "Those books, not only are they documentation of extraterrestrial experiences... but it's the only thing tangible of Lynette Bailey that Agent Starkweather has left. The Admiral WANTED Jerilyn to have them."

"What are you going to do, Deputy Mayor?" she challenged him, calling his bluff. "Shoot me for them?"

"No," a breathy voice said from the shadows. "He wouldn't." Agent Bonaventure Merchant AKA Bunny O'Dell came out of her hiding place, while pointing her shiny service weapon, complete with a silencer at the Senator. "But I would. Hand them over to the D.M. Nice and slow and right now," she purred as she clicked the safety off.

Rigidly, she got up and handed the books over to Mulder. She staggered to her armchair and collapsed into it. "You have no idea what you are doing," she informed them coldly.

"Enlighten us," Bunny snapped. "Tell us why you've been selling out your country all this time."

Tears stood out in her eyes. "I had a daughter once. My husband and I adopted a child. She was taken from us when she was eighteen years old. We've never seen her since and eventually my husband and I split because of it. I reverted back to my maiden name and got on with my life, but my ex, never did. He insisted he could find Lily. He ended up getting himself killed in the process."

"Lily..." A warning bell went off in Mulder's head. "Stratford."

"Yes," she said. "Of the Virginia Stratfords. I was raised from the cradle to be a perfect little girl, become the perfect debutante so I could catch the perfect husband and be his perfect wife and raise more perfect children. Well, I kept my end of the bargain. But Milton was a diabetic which can affect the male reproductive system, as I learned. I also learned that money couldn't buy everything and because of Milt's poor health, we were constantly turned down.

"Then one night, a man, cloaked in black, delivered an infant to our door. He said that it was being "fixed", that adoption papers were being forged and the child would be ours."

"And so," she continued coldly, bitterly, "we continued our perfect life. The only thing that deviated from the scheme was that I had become involved in politics. Politics and law fascinated me and I threw myself into it. And soon, I found myself as a Deputy Mayor," she nodded at Mulder. "Then Mayor. Then Lt. Governor, so on and so forth. I had everything. A doting husband. Incredible job opportunities. Money. Luxury. And a wonderful daughter. Lily was a lovely child. And she grew into a lovely young woman. And when she was a senior, she started dating a boy we wholeheartedly approved of."

"Justin Leo," Mulder snorted.

"Lily's school held prom later than most schools," Tears stood out in her eyes now. "I remember going shopping with her for her dress. We had such a good time that day... anyway, the night of the prom... Justin picked her up, took her out to dinner and then to the dance..." now the tears slipped down her cheeks. "According to the police reports, Justin said he took Lily out to the woods to... be alone together. And then, he said that the sky became brightly light, that time stopped and Lily was lifted out of the car and floated away into the bright light... I didn't believe him. But Milton did. We fought about it viciously. And then, finally, I couldn't take the insanity anymore. I turned away from him and turned to politics. A year after our divorce was finalized, Milt was found dead in this backwater of a town called Belle Fleur, Oregon. Mr. Mulder is quite familiar with this location, I assume?"

"It's not in my Top Ten List of Favorite Vacation Spots, no."

"Go on," Bunny urged the Senator.

"A few years went by. I was in the Senate but not much of a mover or shaker. I had met the Admiral at a few DC functions. We were friendly with each other. Then, a year or so after I had moved into this house, a man approached me. He didn't give me his name, but he had a British accent and well-manicured fingernails." She looked at her own well- manicured hands.

"He advised me to get to know the Admiral better. He told me that he could help me find the answers to Lily's disappearance. I had put Lily behind me. After three years of no clue of her whereabouts, I assumed she was dead. I committed the ultimate sin, I gave up hope. But this man returned hope to me. He told me Lily was very much alive and this man, this widow, this powerful Admiral could help me. The catch was, to receive help, I had to earn it. Everything was strictly quid pro quo.

"Can you imagine how I felt? Being told that my daughter was alive and I just had to do their bidding and she would remain alive? Of course I agreed. I would have sold my soul to the Devil himself.

"So I voted for the bills that the Syndicate wanted me to vote for, veto the ones they didn't want. And I got to know the Admiral. I learned that his wife died tragically of an inexplicable cancer, leaving behind a child. A child the same age as MY child.

"Can you imagine the shock I received when I first met Jerilyn? Same face, same voice, same build? I understand COMPLETELY why Justin insists she is Lily. It hurt ME just to look at her. And yet, I knew, she was not Lily. She couldn't have been Lily. Jerilyn was at Lackland AFB for her Basic Training the night Lily disappeared.

"After Jerilyn had returned to base after her two week leave, I confronted Jeremy. I told him about Lily. I showed him my pictures of Lily. He broke down and told me about the Eden Project. That was the night we decided to form an alliance through marriage. So we could find out why his beloved Lynnette died such an agonizing death, why Lily was taken away from me and a way to protect Jerilyn, at all costs. But we had to be careful. We had to make the Consortium believe we were still working for them. I was to work the political arena while Jeremy, in the guise of an old retired Naval man, created his own ring of conspirators, to infiltrate the Syndicate, to keep tabs on them. When Jeremy was killed in the Pentagon Attack on September 11, all bets were off. Everything is so chaotic right now. Including the Syndicate. The War on Terrorism affects them too because they are terrorists themselves, just on a different level. There is a clash between those, like the Smoking Man, who believe the Old Ways of handling things are best and those like Marita Covarubias and Justin Leo who believe otherwise. But they still don't want to attract attention. So they've been relying on me to cover up."

Bunny watched Mulder's face drain completely of color. "Mulder, what? What is it?"

"You were the one who suggested to the Admiral to approach me and Scully about protecting Jerilyn, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"And it was you who went and spoke to Jerilyn's superior in Minneapolis about transferring her to our unit in DC, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"You told the Admiral that it would be best to have Jerilyn be transferred to the X-Files Division so that she would fall under Scully and my protection. But in reality, it was so you could kept tabs on what the X-Files was investigating and then report it back to the Syndicate, wasn't it?" Mulder's eyes smoldered in fury. For a weird moment, Bunny thought they were glowing green, like the eyes of an enraged cat in the dark. He looked lethal. She decided to stop being so irritating when she was in her role as the ditzy secretary.

"Yes."

"You tipped off the Syndicate where Jerilyn and Doggett are right now, didn't you? You contacted that black lunged son-of-a-bitch."

"Yes."

Meanwhile... The Eden Project Headquarters The Black Hills, South Dakota 6:49 PM Mountain Time

"I want to see the other room," she said angrily. "**Now**." She took out her gun, wheeled around and stalked out of the room.

"Starkweather, wait!" Doggett grabbed her arm, stopping her. "We stick together, okay? No running off on our own. We don't know what shit we're gonna find, okay? Stay by me."

"Okay," She said, looking down at his hand which still held her at her elbow. Then she looked up, into his eyes. "Okay. We stay together." She looked down at his hand on her arm again, then lifted her eyes to gaze back up to his again.

He got the hint and let her go. "Okay."

They went back into the hallway. "Door Number Four," Starkweather said, reaching for the doorknob as Doggett covered her back.

Folding her lips, Starkweather threw the door open. A whoosh of icy air enveloped them. They turned their heads when the chilly air hit their faces. Starkweather was the first to peer back into the room.

"Oh!" she cried out, feeling her knees going weak. She actually felt faint. Starkweather was not a fainter. She leaned into Doggett, gripping at his side with her free hand to steady herself. Doggett stood stock still, mouth hanging open. "What the fuck..." is all he could think to say.

If Scully would have been there, she would have experienced a petrifying moment of deja vu for the refrigerated room Doggett and Starkweather stared into was very similar to that eerie room in Dr. Parenti's clinic with the shelves and shelves of mutated babies.

"I'm going to be sick," Starkweather moaned, pushing away from Doggett and back into the File Cabinet room, fumbling in the dark for a trash can. She found one and let loose the contents of her stomach. She jumped when she felt hands on the back of her neck, then she realized that it was just Doggett, holding back her hair as she threw up. After she finished vomiting, she took a few shuddering, cleansing breaths. "Sorry," she muttered. "Less than professional."

"S'ok," he whispered back to her. "You okay now?"

She felt him let go of her hair, put one hand on her shoulder and the other hand rub her back. "Fine, under the circumstances," she whispered back to him. She reached over to grip the hand on her shoulder, squeeze once and let go. "Let's get this over with. The sooner we figure out what the hell that shit is, the sooner we can get out of here."

"You sure?"

"Doggett, I don't want to have to come back here tomorrow if I don't have to. One night in Dexter's Lab is nightmare fuel enough for at least a month or two, thanks."

"Alright," Doggett helped her stand up. "Let's go."

He had his hand on her lower back and this time she didn't hint or indicate in any way, shape or form she wanted him to stop touching her.

Better prepared for the sight they were about to behold, Doggett and Starkweather re-entered the lab. Starkweather's stomach still lurched at the pitiful sight of fetuses and babies with extra limbs and disorted faces but managed to keep her gorge down.

Still, she pressed against Doggett as they stood side-by-side while Doggett shined the flashlight around. "Hey Doc, this is different," he pointed his flashlight to a shelf to the side. "What in the hell is all of that stuff? They look like part of brains..."

Starkweather took out her little flashlight again and clicked it on. Crouching down, she went for a closer look. Mutant babies and fetuses made her puke. Brains she could handle.

"They are brains... fetal brain-stems to be exact."

Doggett's face screwed up in revulsion. Fetal brain stems were not his cup of tea. But they were less revolting then the dead deformed almost-children that stared down at them with their lidless eyes as they floated in formaldehyde. "There's some sorta debate goin' on about that, isn't there?"

"Yes," Starkweather sighed, closing her eyes. "I haven't really studying up on it. But if I understand correctly...

"When a human fetus is developing," Starkweather paused, trying to remember she was explaining this to a layman and not another doctor. She struggled to find generic terms so she wouldn't totally lose Doggett. Not because she thought he was stupid but because he wasn't a doctor. "It grows bigger because cells are dividing and multiplying. Some cells become eyes, some cells become the lungs, some cells become the heart, so on and so forth.

"The big controversy is this. Scientists have discovered that if you take a cell from a fetal brainstem and place it next to a cell of say... a liver, for example, that fetal brainstem cell will turn into a liver cell."

"Just like that?" Doggett sounded amazed.

"Well, it's ALOT more complicated than that, I'm sure. This is just the bare bones of it. But the science is very exciting. Essentially, with the brainstem cells, we have the potential to build new organs. Body parts. Regenerate the human body. The controversy however lies in two areas."

"How the fetal brain stems are harvested and cloning," Doggett said.

"Exactly. It's one of those 'does the ends justify the means' kind of thing. And of course you can't discount the religious aspects of it either. Would a cloned human being have a soul? Does a human fetus? What is 'life' exactly and when does it begin?" She stood up, shaking her head. "That's how They're doing it, Doggett. They're using the fetal brainstem research to make these Super Soldier... things. That's how they're rebuilding the project. They don't have to find surrogate mothers and artificially inseminate them anymore," she said bitterly. "They can just grow them like plants." She turned to face Doggett. "They aren't going to believe us when we file our case report. No matter how many pictures I take. They'll just say I've manipulated the picture because it's a digital camera."

Doggett folded his lips together, deep in thought. "Maybe..." he said slowly. "Maybe Skinner didn't send us out here to file a case report."

"I don't understand... he told us to bring back somebody's head."

"But we ain't here in an official capacity, Doc, remember? The Bureau thinks we're investigating some damn thing in North Dakota..."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm sayin'," Doggett sighed. "I'm sayin' I'm kissin' the AD position goodbye 'cause I say we destroy this place."

"WHAT!?!?!"

"Starkweather, we've got no chance at bringing this to court. We've got no suspect to arrest. You say the Smokin' Man, but we don't even know his real name. That C.B.G Spender name's an alias too. You said it yourself. Nobody is gonna believe our case report. Plus, as long as we took gettin' here, by the time we get back to civilization and 'round up the local law to help us secure the scene, whoever's been workin' here will have been back and seen that somebody's been here and they'll cover up their tracks and be long gone by the time we get back. Hell, we may not have even found this place if you hadn't fallen down that hole. I don't know if we could find this place again. All I know is that this ain't right. This can't go on."

"They'll just rebuild it somewhere else," Starkweather whispered.

"At least we can set them back. Destroy their computers, their research, their weapons, their... uh..." Doggett looked up at the creepy fetuses and infants with their dreamless eyes. "Things."

Starkweather hugged herself, looked up at the rows of jars on the shelves. "Oh God..."

"Starkweather, this is your life we're talkin' 'bout now," Doggett said seriously. "I still don't believe in aliens... but I believe the science and if you say gene manipulation and DNA alterations are possible, then I believe you. These bastards don't have the right to play God. They DIDN'T have a right to take you away from your mother and do God knows what to you. And maybe there's other labs out there, who knows, but at least, if this one is destroyed, it's one less. But that's just me. This ain't about me. It's about you. It's your call." Starkweather closed her eyes. Doggett could see she was struggling within herself for the right answer.

Then she opened her eyes.

"Burn it," she burst out. "All of it."

Without another word, the agents left the lab and went back to the ammo closet to see what they could find.

As the agents rummaged through that closet, Bravo's men had just settled into position. Two were creeping down the stairs, three flights away from the seventh floor. The other two were positioned outside the emergency escape that the Cancer Man had bolted from, carrying the infant Echo almost thirty years ago. One of those soldiers spoke quietly into his headset. "We're good to go."

Bravo was deeper in the cave, near the generators and power grids. "Roger. Wait for the signal." she said into her walkie-talkie.

"Roger."

And that is where Bravo made her fatal mistake. In waiting for her men to get in position, she bought Doggett and Starkweather time.

"What should we use?" Doggett asked as they quickly inventoried the weapons closet. "Hand grenades?"

"We won't get out in time.... ah ha! Doggett, look!" She pointed at the cans of kerosene sitting next to the old hurricane lamps. "Bingo."

As Starkweather seized both cans, she asked, "Do you have matches? A lighter? Anything?"

"I have matches," Doggett told her as he took on of the cans from her.

She started to sing "'Come on baby, light my fire..."

Doggett hurried back to the lab and began splashing kerosene on the countertops, floors and tabletops. Starkweather, meanwhile, poured kerosene on the Cray and the file cabinets. "Payback's a bitch, you cocksuckers," she muttered as she walked backwards out of the room, leaving a trace of the flammable fluid behind.

Doggett was doing the same. However he was walking towards the weapons closet and Starkweather towards the door they had not investigated yet. The floor was slick with fluid and the fumes began to waft upwards.

Doggett and Starkweather threw the empty cans back into the weapons closet. "Let's get the hell outta here," Doggett said to his partner, digging in his pocket for the matches.

"Aw, you didn't want to stay and roast marshmallows?"

Meanwhile, the two Super Soldiers were finally in position, on the very stairs Doggett and Starkweather planned on running up to escape from the inferno they were about to create. "We're good to go," the Super Soldier with the blue eyes murmured into his headset.

"Roger," Bravo said, hand on fusebox. "Team One, on my signal..." She flipped the switch, turning every light in the Eden Project Headquarters on.

Doggett and Starkweather both jumped when the dark corridor suddenly became illuminated. They blinked as their eyes tried to adjust to the sudden influx of light after being in the dark for so long. "This can't be good," Starkweather wanted to rub her eyes but had to force herself not too, since she had just finished handling kerosene and didn't feel like getting it in her eyes.

"Somebody knows we're here."

"Shit," Starkweather pulled out her gun back out.

The door she shot out suddenly flew open. Two men, dressed in full battle regalia charged towards them, weaponless, for one did not need weapons when they were weapons themselves. "Stop right there!" Doggett thundered, drawing his gun. The soldier with the blue eyes rushed Doggett, threw him to the ground in a neat martial arts move, then picked him up and hurled him down the hallway as if he was a rag doll.

As Doggett struggled to get up, the Blue Eyed Soldier calmly walked towards him. Doggett reached for the gun that had flown out of his hand when he had been airborne.

His partner, meanwhile, a soldier with red hair had charged Starkweather, grabbing her by her hair, forcing her to her knees. He pulled out a knife and tilted her head up so he could slit her throat.

The cocky Super Soldier had forgotten Bravo's words: "She is one of us" and didn't think to take away her gun. So it was to his surprise that the tiny woman had the presence of mind enough to shove her gun up against his privates and pull the trigger. Granted, he was a genetically altered being with superior strength... but pain was still pain, especially to a man injured in a particularly sensitive area.

The Red Headed Soldier released his grip on her hair and crumpled into the fetal position, groaning even as his wound repaired itself. Blood spattered on her face, Starkweather scooted away from the Red Headed Soldier and stood up. "HEY!!!!!!" she yelled to the Blue Eyed Soldier who was walking towards Doggett. The Blue Eyed Soldier paused and turned his head.

"They should really call you guys something else," she stood in perfect firing stance. "Super Soldiers is just lame."

The Blue Eyed Soldier turned completely around. Frowning, he turned his attention away from Doggett and walked back towards her. Doggett grabbed his gun and with a groan of pain, stood up. Starkweather squeezed off three slugs into the Blue Eyed Soldier's chest. He grunted, staggered but kept walking. "You're supposed to STOP when I SHOOT YOU!!!!" she shrieked. Her eyes flickered down to the Red Headed Soldier who was starting to get up, so she squeezed two more rounds into his head. The Red Headed Soldier collapsed again, but was still alive. The Blue Eyed Soldier kept coming. Starkweather emptied the rest of her clip. "DOGGETT!!" she cried as she started to back away from the Blue Eyed Soldier who kept advancing and now pulled out a sleek 9 MM Beretta.

Doggett fired twice, hitting the Blue Eyed Soldier in the head. The Blue Eyed Soldier dropped to the ground, but still twitched. Living, breathing, crawling towards Starkweather, who kept backing away while taking out the empty clip of her gun and reaching into her back pocket for a new clip. She loaded her gun in a hurry.

Doggett, on adrenaline rush now, ran over to Starkweather, jumping over the bodies. "Come on," he panted as they ran to Door Number Five. As Doggett opened the door, the other two Super Soldiers immediately revealed themselves from the behind the rocks they were hiding behind and lifted their guns. Doggett barely got the door shut before they started firing. The small glass window was blown out. Glass rained on top of Doggett and Starkweather's heads. The bleeding and broken Super Soldiers behind them were moaning as they were healing. There was a sickening sound of bullets denting the other side of the metal door.

"Now what?" Starkweather asked as she kept her gun drawn on the two injured soldiers.

"Come with me," Doggett turned the deadbolt lock on the door, grabbed her arm and pulled her back into the lab.

"Why are we in here?" Starkweather asked nervously. "Shouldn't we be raiding the weapons closet?"

"Bullets don't do nothin' to them," Doggett said as he searched the lab desperately. "But maybe fire will." He found a cabinet filled with bottles of chemicals, labeled with only the symbols from the Periodic Table. "Help me, Starkweather," he said to her. "I'm no good with chemistry. I need something flammable."

Starkweather helped him search. "Here," she said, taking out a bottle filled with white powder. "Sulfur. And it reeks too."

"That'll work," Doggett snatched the bottle from her and set it on the table. Taking out his Swiss Army Knife, he asked her, "How much do you like your scarf?" He grabbed an end of it and cut away a block of it with the knife.

"Not that much," Starkweather looked at her now ruined scarf. "Doggett, what are you doing?" she asked as he tore the block of cloth he cut from her scarf into two strips and soaked them in a puddle of kerosene on the table.

"Find me another empty bottle," Doggett told her. "I'm gonna give our friends a warm welcome."

"Ugh, go away Bad Pun Boy," Starkweather tried to joke as she searched for an empty beaker. She could hear the Not-Injured-Super-Soldiers banging away at the locked door, trying to get in and the Injured- Super Soldiers moaning in the hallway as their bodies regenerated themselves.

After Starkweather found an empty beaker, Doggett finished concocting the Molatov cocktails. He poured half of the sulfur in the empty beaker, then stuck the scraps of kerosene soaked cloth into the bottles. "Okay," Doggett said, stuffing his gun down the front of his pants and pulling out the book of matches. "Throw and go, okay Do-"

His instructions were interrupted when the unmistakable bang of a door being kicked in reverberated throughout the hallway. "Jesus H... dude, what happened?" one of the Not-Injured-Super Soldiers asked the Injured Super Soldiers still lying on the ground.

"Where are they?" the other Not-Injured-Super Soldier demanded.

Doggett lit a match and put it to the makeshift fuses of the cocktails. "Go, Doc, go!" he roughly shoved her out the door.

"Hey boys, we're right HERE," Starkweather hurled her cocktail right at the tallest of the Not-Injured Super Soldier's chest as Doggett lobbed his over the Super Soldiers heads.

Starkweather's cocktail ignited on collision. The Super Soldier started screaming and writhing in agony as Doggett and Starkweather ran out Door Number Five. The other soldiers started gagging on the sulfur fumes, not noticing the agents running out the door.

At the same time, Doggett's cocktail landed in a puddle of kerosene. Instantly, the flames spread everywhere, consuming everything. Doggett and Starkweather ran as fast as they could through the cave and not looking back.

When the fire hit the weapons closet, the entire lab exploded. Doggett and Starkweather stumbled and fell as the earth trembled above and below them.

The fire continued to spread.

Bravo could hear the entire scenario being played out through her walkie-talkie. "God damn it," she cursed. "You want something done right, do it yourself." She turned off the lights again and started to scale the walls of the cave, an excellent rock climber.

And she had perfect balance, so she had no qualms navigating across the narrow beams of rock that nature had created through time and pressure. Or jumping from stalagmite to stalagmite.

Meanwhile, like a rat, Alex Krycek took advantage of the sudden dark again and crept after her.

When the light vanished again, Doggett called out, "Starkweather! Doc, where are you?"

He felt a hand on his. "I'm here, I'm right here."

"We gotta get out of here."

"Where's out?"

They groped through the darkness as the stench of burning gunpowder and chemicals from the lab threaten to overpower them. They could see the glow of the fire behind them. "We'll find it," he promised her. As they stumbled through the cave, the darkness began to abate.

"Look," Starkweather said. "Lights. Safety lights. Like in movie theaters."

"Thank God," Doggett said, his eyes adjusting back to the darkness. In the weak emergency lights that outlined a trail through the cave, Doggett could even see Starkweather's face again. "It's gotta be a way out."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Starkweather clung to his hand so tightly, it hurt.

Above them, crouching on a small rock cliff, Bravo watched Starkweather and Doggett run down the lit up path, coming her way. Starkweather's long hair streamed behind her. Their footsteps echoed throughout Eden.

Just as Starkweather and Doggett ran under her, Bravo projected herself off the cliff, hurtling towards them, landing on Doggett.

Starkweather tackled Bravo like a rugby forward and threw her to the ground, only to have Bravo grab her by her torso as she tossed her down and flip her onto her back. Starkweather rolled away from her in a hurry and scrambled to her feet as Bravo elegantly flipped back up to a standing position.

Starkweather's jaw dropped. "Oh holy Jesus fucking Christ!" she cried out as she stared at her mirror image.

Bravo smiled nastily. "Wanna play, baby sister?" she taunted her as she stood in a perfect front stance, hands balled into fists.

"Sure," Starkweather snarled back, pulling out her gun, standing in perfect FBI firing position. "Let's see, who's going to win this on-"

Starkweather gasped as Bravo's leg swung around so fast she didn't even realize what had happened. A perfectly executed inside-out crescent kick knocked the gun out of her hands. Another perfectly executed front snap kick, the ball of her foot connecting with her chin knocked Starkweather out.

Groggily, Doggett came too just in time to see Bravo's right leg chamber, then shoot forward, the ball of the foot connecting with Starkweather's chin. Any more force applied and Bravo could have easily broken her neck with that move. Nevertheless, Starkweather somersaulted down, flailing as if she was a drunk trying to do a backflip. She landed flat on her back, unconscious. Blood seeped from her mouth.

Doggett stood up. "Hey..." he hissed at her. "Remember me?"

Bravo looked up at him. A slow, cruel smile spread across her face as she reached into her pocket. "Of course I do," she purred as she leaped over Starkweather sideways, landing less than five feet away from Doggett, her right foot crossed behind her left as if she was performing a dance move. Her right fist was at her side, her left in the air by her face, holding her switchblade knife. "How are your eyes, Agent Doggett?" she sneered. "What's a'matter?" she crooned as she watching him clench his fists. "Afraid to hit a woma-"

Doggett interrupted her taunt by rushing her, taking advantage of his height and weight to overpower her. He knocked in flat on her ass in a move that would have made his high school football coach proud if he had witnessed it. He gripped Bravo's wrists tightly, smashing her left hand into the ground over and over until she realized her hold on the knife. "You little bitc-" Doggett started to say but then Bravo smashed her forehead into his. He saw stars. She then sat up just enough to bite into his neck, tearing at him the same way Charlie tore into Reyes the fateful night when Charlie broke into Starkweather's apartment complex, taking an old woman hostage, ultimately killing her. Doggett pushed away from her, gasping in pain as he got to his feet, pressing on hand to the wound, the other hand searching for his weapon.

Bravo sprang up again, spitting out the chunk of flesh she had ripped away from Doggett. She wiped his blood from her mouth with the back of her back. Doggett continued to recoil from her while looking for his gun and continually looking over Bravo's shoulder at the prostrate form of his partner. She wasn't moving.

Bravo charged at him, attacking him with a tornado kick, just to show off. Doggett dodged this, but was not able to dodge the double roundhouse kick, a sharp blow to his ankle and then to his ribs. Doggett felt something crack inside of him. He was able to push her away but she came back with a jump side kick that nailed him in the abdomen. He collapsed to his knees, but then he saw Starkweather's gun. Using what little strength he had, he managed to push Bravo away again and lunged for the gun. Bravo grabbed Doggett by the ankles, tripping him. Doggett landed hard on his chin but continued to crawl towards Starkweather's gun. Bravo snatched up her knife and pounced again, burying the blade to the hilt in the muscle of Doggett's left arm and leapt over him to grab the gun as Doggett cried out in pain.

As he struggled to get up again, Bravo kicked him in the chest, forcing him to sit down and look up at her.

"You're not wearing a bulletproof vest now, are you?"

She cocked the gun and aimed it for his heart.

Another gun was cocked.

"Drop the gun," Alex Krycek ordered her as he came out of the shadows, pointing his Glock at her head.

Doggett's mouth dropped as Bravo scowled, "I was wondering when you were going to show your ugly face."

"Now Bravo," Krycek was right beside her, the muzzle of the gun flush against her temple. Bravo tossed the weapon away and put her hands on top of her head. Krycek looked down at Doggett. "Get your partner and get the hell out of here," he ordered him.

Doggett stammered, "How... I... you're dead... this can't be."

"Agent John Doggett... how inappropriately named. Your mother should have called you Thomas. Get Agent Starkweather and LEAVE."

"What 'bout her?" Doggett asked as he staggered to his feet.

"You care?"

"Not really," Doggett admitted.

"Then get out of here!" To Bravo he said, "On your knees."

As Bravo complied with Krycek's demands, Doggett picked up his and Starkweather's guns and stumbled over to Starkweather. She was coming too, moaning slightly.

"Doc, put your arms around me," he said frantically as he knelt down beside her. "I can't carry you, but I can help you walk. We gotta go and we gotta go now."

Completely disoriented, Starkweather weakly put her arms around his neck and let Doggett help her up.

Bravo then did a leg sweep and knocked Krycek off his feet. She began to wrestle him for the gun.

Doggett and Starkweather hurried out of that corridor while Bravo was distracted.

Meanwhile, Krycek was giving Bravo a run for her money. After she delivered a palm thrust to his face, smashing his nose, he picked her up and slung her into the cavern's wall. "I should have killed you years ago," Krycek snarled, reaching for the gun again.

"If you're going to kill me," Bravo spit out a tooth. "At least kill me with your real face, big sister."

The devilishly handsome face of Alex Krycek because to twist and distort as the short hair began to grow quickly and change from ebony to ruby colored. The eyes brightened from an earthly brown to a stormy gray. "As you wish, Bravo," Lily Stratford told her lethal half- sister. "As you wish." She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and scooping up the gun, walked calmly towards the assassin.

"It doesn't matter if I die," Bravo taunted her. "It doesn't matter one fucking bit, Alpha. Killing me won't stop Them. They'll come back for you anyway. You and Echo. They've already got Delta. Charlie's worthless, damaged merchandise."

"Where is Samita Saint-Claire?" Lily asked her quietly.

"If I die, they all die." Bravo lifted her head defiantly.

"Nobody will cry if you die, Bravo," Lily told her matter-of-factly. "Besides, Mom always liked me best anyway."

"Wrong," Bravo spat out. "Our 'mother' liked 'Echo' best. She was the one raised by our biological mother, you twit."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Bravo, did the geneticists remove your sense of humor when they were working on you."

"If they removed my sense of humor, they must have taken your common sense the same day," Bravo hissed at her.

Lily reached out and grabbed Bravo's hair. She slammed her head against the rock wall again. Bravo whimpered. "Where is Samita Saint- Claire?" Lily asked again, nicely. "And if you bite me, I'll bite you back, so don't even think about it."

Bravo glared at her defiantly. Lily jammed the gun into her cheek. "Bravo, I'm growing impatient."

"Who are you working for?" Bravo demanded. "FBI? CIA?"

"I'm just like you Bravo. I have no alliances. I have one loyalty. Me. Tell me," she slammed Bravo's head against the rock again. "Where is Samita Saint-Claire?" The cave was becoming filled with the smoke from the fire Doggett and Starkweather created.

"Arizona," Bravo finally confessed.

"Are you sure?" Lily pressed the gun harder into her cheek.

"I'm sure."

"Is Felitza Covarubias there as well?"

"Yes."

"Is Jeremiah Smith?"

"Yes." Bravo started to gag on the smoke.

"Thank you little sister," Lily said. "Nighty-night," and she twirled the gun around quickly so she was holding the muzzle in her hand. She slugged Bravo with the butt of the gun, knocking her unconscious. Lily Stratford left her there on the cavern floor.

Lily should have known better.

Bravo opened her eyes. "You fucking bitch," she seethed. "You're going down."

But Lily would have to go down another day. She had to find Doggett and Starkweather. They saw too much.

She groped for her knife and then remembered she had stuck it into Doggett's arm. She then began to make her way out of the cave.

As sister battled sister, Doggett and Starkweather made their way through the cave. Both of them were battered, bloody messes. It was pure adrenaline that pushed them on.

"Doggetth," Starkweather's words sounded slurred. "There'th a knife stuck in your arm."

"Tell me something I don't know," Doggett grimaced. "What's wrong with your voice?"

"I think I bit through my tongue when she kicked me." Starkweather wiped the still flowing blood away from her mouth. "Look," she pointed suddenly. "Stair-th."

"God, let this be the way out," Doggett said fervently.

Leaning on each other, they climbed the rickety wooden staircase.

"Dammit, dead end," Doggett said in frustration, leaning against the very solid rock wall.

Starkweather looked up. She tugged on Doggett's sleeve and pointed up. Moving her jaw even the slightest hurt like hell, so she relied on sign language.

Doggett looked up and saw the trap door. "I love you," he told her. "In a purely platonic and professional sen-"

"Save the dith-claimer for later," Starkweather murmured, wincing with pain with even that small speech.

"If I hoist you on my shoulders, do you think you can reach?"

Starkweather nodded. Doggett crouched down. He groaned with pain as Starkweather unintentionally bumped his injured arm.

"Sorry," she muttered as she situated herself on his broad shoulders. A thousand smart-assed remarks flew through her head but her aching jaw forced her to keep them in her head.

"S'ok," Doggett said. "Alright, count of three, ready?"

"Yeah." Starkweather kept her answers very short.

"One... two... three..." with a grunt, Doggett stood up. Starkweather steadied herself by placing her hands on top of Doggett's head. "You okay up there?" He wrapped his good arm across her legs.

"Uh-huh," Starkweather could make that sound without moving lips or tongue. She stretched her arms up and pushed up on the trap door. The trap down squealed open. Starkweather rose a bit off of his shoulders. Her fingertips barely grazed the edge of the trap door. "Higher," she managed to say. Another dribble of blood trickled out of her mouth, dripping on Doggett's head.

With a grimace of pain, Doggett rose on his toes. Groaning, he placed both hands underneath Starkweather's feet and lifted, giving her a boost. Starkweather got a good grip and was able to pull herself up. An unfamiliar smell of hay, manure and oats assailed her. She looked around quickly and felt eyes on her. Eyes of horses, cats and mice. <<A barn, I'm in a fucking barn>> Starkweather thought. <<Barns must have rope.>> She looked over her shoulder and found something better than rope. A folding ladder.

She peered back down the trap door. "You okay?"

"Yeah," her partner gasped out.

"Headth up," she told him and lowered the ladder to him. Doggett unfolded it and stepped up it quickly. Starkweather seized his good arm and helped him up onto the barn floor. She slammed the trap door shut and together the duo just sat and gasped for air.

Wordlessly, Starkweather crawled over to Doggett and examined his injury. "On three?" she said to him slowly.

Doggett could see where her chin was starting to turn black and blue. "On three," he said, turning his face away.

"One... two... three!" Starkweather pulled the knife out and flung it away. Doggett flinched but only folded his lips. She then shoved off his coat and pushed up his sweater sleeve. The wound was deep and bleeding freely. Starkweather looked around the dimly lit barn again and saw to her joy, a first aid kit.

She ripped open the kit and took out the alcohol pads. "Hold still," she told him brusquely. She cleaned out the injury as quickly as possible as Doggett tried not to squirm. <<Band-Aids...>> she muttered in frustration as she rummaged through the first aid kit, looking for something for a dressing. She found a pair of surgical scissors though so she cut another square off of her mangled scarf and placed it neatly on the knife wound. She seized an ACE bandage out of the kit and wound it around the wound. "Okay?" she asked him.

"Yeah, I think so," Doggett carefully pulled the sleeve down over the makeshift bandage. "What about you?" he asked, pulling his coat back on. "I seriously thought she broke your neck with that kick."

Starkweather had found a bottle of ibuprofen. She dry-swallowed three, then pocketed the bottle. "The prognosis is I'll live," she said, still speaking slowly. "Now what?" she asked.

Doggett got up and peered out a window. "We are in the middle of nowhere," Doggett groaned. "Nothing but snow, trees and rocks."

"We can't stay here," Starkweather burst out, forgetting her injury. Tears of pain came to her eyes and she put her hand to her jaw. "Mmmmmph," she whimpered.

"We're not stayin' here," Doggett said, looking around the barn. He walked up to a buckskin mare that looked to be fairly even-tempered. "Hi sweetheart," he crooned to the horse as he stroked her velvety nose. "Wanna go for a ride?"

Starkweather stared at him incredulously as Doggett began to search the barn for the proper equipment, saddle, saddle blanket, bridle. He finally found the tack room and came out, saddle slung over his shoulder, the rest of the tack under his other arm. "Can you ride?" Doggett asked as he feverish saddled the placid mare up.

She shook her head.

"Okay, then we're going to ride double. Just hang on to the horn." She opened her mouth to protest but Doggett cut her off, "I know it's stealing, Doc, but I can't see other way out of this and I sure as hell don't want to hang around here and see if there's anymore of those Supah Soldier running around. Or if Bravo overpowered Krycek."

"I thought Krycek was dead," Starkweather said slowly as she walked back to the trapdoor. She spied a big, unopened bag of cat food and with a grunt, dragged it over the trap door and letting it fall over the door.

"I thought so too," Doggett muttered as he slipped the bridle over the horse's complacent head. "Good girl, good girl," he praised the horse, patting her head. "I don't know what to think anymore." He double- checked to make sure everything was buckled correctly. He adjusted the stir-ups for his height. "Okay, Doc," he said, snapping the lead rope to the bit of the bridle and opening the stall door. Leading the horse out, he said, "Let's get out of here."

Starkweather walked beside Doggett as he led the horse out of the barn. They truly were in the middle of nowhere. Starkweather didn't even see a house anywhere. Doggett had been right. There was nothing but snow, trees and rocks. But he had forgotten the skies above. It was a crystally clear night and away from the city lights, Starkweather saw the moon and starlight glittering dazzlingly bright.

"Okay," Doggett said when they had walked a little way from the barn. "Put your foot in the stir-up and swing your leg over." Starkweather clumsily got herself in the saddle. "Hold the reins as I get on," he handed her the leather reins. Nervously, Starkweather clutched them inexpertly as Doggett fluidly swung himself up into the saddle. He took the reins from Starkweather, placed them in his left hand and wrapped his right arm around Starkweather's waist. He gently nudged the horse in the ribs with his heels and made a kissing noise. "C'mon," he said and the horse started off at a gentle cantering lope that freaked Starkweather out, causing her to clutch the saddle horn. Doggett's arms tightened around her, "It's okay," he told her. "I've got you, you're not gonna fall. Just relax... although, you're gonna be sore as hell tomorrow." He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was following. He shivered. Without cloud cover, the bitter cold of the mountain night intensified. He felt Starkweather finally lean against him. She was shivering too. Whether she shivered from cold or fear or both was beyond him.

The cold however was a relief to her sore jaw. "Where did you learn how to ride?" she asked him.

"My grandparents," he told her. "They lived on a farm outside of Savannah. They had a coupla horses. Grandpa taught me and my brother and sisters to ride. He was originally from Kentucky and used to raise racehorses with his father until he joined the Marines. After they settled down more or less permanently in Georgia after he retired from the service, they got themselves a little acreage. Grandma got to have her big farmhouse and flower garden and Judge got to have his barn and pasture, complete with a few thoroughbreds."

"Who's Judge?"

Doggett chuckled. "My grandfather. I forgot you Yankees have no sense of propriety."

"Ha." Even that little word hurt her mouth.

"Where I grew up, if a man had a title of distinction, such as a judge or a sheriff, everybody called him that title. Even his grandkids. When my grandfather was in the Marines, he put himself through law school. He got hurt in Korea and was given medical discharge. So he went into private practice and eventually became a judge."

"So," Starkweather said, still speaking very slowly, relaxing more and more against Doggett, suddenly feeling very tired. "Like if my dad was still alive... every one would still call him 'the Admiral'?"

"Uh-huh."

"Huh. Weird," Starkweather felt her eyelids drooping. Her head started to bob. Her jaw didn't hurt so much anymore. Doggett saw that she was falling asleep. He gave her a sharp shake.

"Doc, wake up!"

Starkweather's eyes flew open. The pain returned to her jaw with an unabating intensity. She groaned and put one hand to her mouth again, resting the other side of her face against Doggett's chest.

"Doc, honey," Doggett said apologetically. "I know you're tired and I know you're hurting, but it's too cold to fall asleep out here. You got to stay awake. For a little while." Despite the leather gloves, his fingers began to feel numb. "Help me stay awake."

He felt Starkweather nodding her head. "Although it IS kind of nice, having you being quiet. I can finally get a word in edgewis- ooff," he grunted as Starkweather elbowed him. "Careful Doc," he said, shifting his weight in the saddle. "That bitch got a couple of good kicks in on me."

"Sorry," Starkweather mumbled.

"Don't talk if it hurts."

He felt her nodding again. "So since you're not talking much, you can't get pissed at me for poking you to make sure you're awake."

Starkweather held up one hand for Doggett to see and extended her middle finger for him.

"Well, at least we can communicate through sign language."

He felt Starkweather heave a sigh and lean back into him.

"Would you like to take the reins for a while?" Doggett offered. "Something to help you stay awake." He chuckled as Starkweather frantically shook her head no. "You're not afraid of horses, are you?"

"No," she said sullenly which was instantly followed by a pathetic "Ow."

"Here, hold out your left hand." She whimpered in protest but Doggett cajoled her, "Come on Doc, I'm right here. This is a good tempered horse," he slowed her down to an easy trot. I'm not going to let anything happen."

Starkweather held out her left hand. Doggett placed the reins in it. "Okay, now, close your hand," he enveloped his big hand over hers, holding her hand lightly. "If you want her to keep going on her present course, just hold the reins nice and steady like you are right now. If you want to make her stop, you pull, like this," he pulled on Starkweather's hand which in effect pulled on the reins. The horse obediently stopped. Doggett nudged her ribs with his heels again and the horse nickered as if to say: "Dude, make up your mind" and started to trot again. "And you have just completed Horseback Riding 101," he teased her. He still held her hand.

"Cool," she whispered, barely moving her mouth. It hurt less to talk that way.

"Maybe," he sighed, resting his chin on top of her head, "I can teach you how to ride for real when this insanity is over."

"So I'll be fifty-five and you'll be sixty-seven?"

"Funny."

Just then, there was a loud crack from behind them, as if someone or something had stepped on a treebranch. "What was that?" Starkweather whispered.

Doggett took the reins from her and tightened his grip around Starkweather's waist. "I'm not gonna waste time finding out," he growled, taking a quick look at the trail that lay ahead of them. It looked pretty clear. Doggett took a chance. "Hang onto the horn, don't let go," he said quickly to Starkweather before yelling something unintelligible to the horse and digging his heels cruelly into her sides. The horse leapt and began to gallop full speed.

Bravo, on a black gelding, burst out of the trees, in hot pursuit.

Meanwhile...

The beach near the Honolulu Airport Hotel 3401. North Nimitz Honolulu, Oahu Hawaii 5:01 PM Hawaiian Time

"Agent Reyes! Agent Reyes!" Scully yelled as she ran barefoot across the beach. She had shed the black suit jacket long ago, but was still clad in the black vest and slacks.

Reyes, so lost in her own thoughts and into the private thoughts of Lynnette Bailey, she had completely lost track of time. "What is it?" she asked Scully when she approached her.

She was shocked when Scully actually crouched down and pulled on her arm, helping, forcing her to stand up. Prim and proper Scully wearing only two-thirds of her three-piece black suit. And no shoes.

<<Something's wrong>> Reyes bit her lip and looked at Scully's distraught face. "What happened?" she asked her.

"We have to go, come on, Monica."

"Go? Go where?"

"Go home. Go back to DC."

"Why? What's wrong?" Reyes got up and started running back to the hotel with Scully.

"We got a tip. Actually, Mulder got the tip."

"Mulder?"

"Monica, the Senator, Jerilyn's stepmother had been working for the Syndicate all along."

"What? How?"

"I'll explain on the flight," Scully panted as they jogged back to their room. "But John and Jerilyn are in terrible danger. Skinner sent them off to the Black Hills on a lead about the Eden Project and somehow, the Senator found out about it and contacted the Cancer Man."

"WHAT!?!!?" Reyes tightened her grip around the journal. "Who told you this?"

"Mulder," Scully said. "He told me to get you and get on the first flight back to DC."

"Shouldn't we try and find John and Jerilyn?"

"Skinner is already working on that. And quite frankly," Scully knew she sounded like a selfish bitch at the moment and she didn't care. "I want to get my son. I want to get my son and get him the hell out of DC."

"Where would you take him?"

"Away," Scully said bluntly as they entered the hotel. As Reyes and Scully threw their things into their suitcases, Scully's cell phone rang.

"Scully."

"Scully, it's me."

"What's happening?"

"Carlos received an anonymous tip tonight while he was watching William," Mulder blurted out. "He said that someone called him and told him that Samita and the other hostages are in Arizona."

"Arizona? Where in Arizona?"

"I don't know, we're working on that."

Scully frowned. She didn't like how he said 'we're' working on that. "What about John and Jerilyn? Any news?"

"Yes. This person also said that the last time she saw John and Jerilyn, they were alive. They were hurt, but alive. And she said she saw them an hour ago."

"She?"

"We're working on the phone trace right now."

That "we're" again. "Where's William?" Scully demanded.

"With me."

"Where are YOU?"

"Um..." Mulder looked around the CIA headquarters. Carlos looked up from his computer and shook his head, warning him not to say anymore. "Well..." Mulder stalled, looking at Bunny, who was sitting in the corner with William, reading him a story from a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale book.

"Once upon a time....'there was once a woman who wished very much to have a child, but she could not obtain her wish...'"

"Scully, I'm sending my receptionist to pick you and Reyes up at the airport when you get in." Mulder told her.

"Mulder, what AREN'T you telling me?" she demanded.

"Scully, I need you to trust me..."

"I need answers."

"I need you to come home. Then I'll have answers for you. And hopefully, we'll have John and Jerilyn too." He looked over at Carlos who was still frowning at him. "I have to go."

"Mulder, wait-"

"I love you," and he swiftly hung up the phone.

Scully, shocked, stared at the phone. She then looked at Reyes, who was completely bewildered. "Dana, what's going on? What's wron-"

"We have to hurry. Something's wrong. Something's terribly wrong. Something that Mulder couldn't tell me over the phone."

Meanwhile The Black Hills, South Dakota 8:05 PM Mountain Standard Time

Doggett urged the horse on. Starkweather, heart in her throat, clung to the saddle horn. But she got brave enough to twist around in her seat just a little to peer around her partner. Her eyes widened as she saw Bravo gaining speed.

Clinging to the saddle horn with one hand, Starkweather unzipped her jacket and pulled her gun out of her holster. She took a big breath, squeezed her legs around the horse as tight as she could and then let go of the saddle horn, leaning to the extreme right, holding out her gun, aiming at Bravo.

"Jesus!" Doggett clung to her. "Starkweather, don't-" Starkweather squeezed off two rounds.

The first shot missed, but the second caught Bravo in the shoulder. She halted her horse and then doubled-over in pain.

Starkweather, grabbing Doggett, coat, pulled herself up and righted herself in the saddle.

When Doggett felt that they had gotten a considerable distance away from Bravo, he slowed the poor exhausted animal to a walk, then a stop. As the grateful animal lowered her head and began to snuffle around the snow for a snack, Doggett slid off the horse. Furious, he glared up at Starkweather who was holstering her gun. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND!?!?!?" he yelled at her.

Starkweather only looked at him mulishly.

"Got-damn it, Starkweather," Doggett snapped. "I don't need a partner with a death wish. I'm too old to be playing 'Lethal Weapon.'"

Starkweather looked away from him and up at the stars.

Exasperated, Doggett picked up the reins and with a gentle tug, encouraged the horse to start walking.

"I don't have a death wish," she finally whispered to him.

"Coulda fooled me."

"I just did what I thought had to be done. I was afraid we weren't going to outrun her."

"Bullshit."

"Doggett-"

"Jerilyn, just... stop. Okay. Just don't." He lapsed into silence.

<<**Jerilyn** Ooh, first name. He's pissed.>> Starkweather groaned to herself. She shivered. "Stop the horse, I want to get down," she whispered. She had to ask twice. She wasn't sure if he was ignoring her or if he legitimately couldn't hear her whispers. Finally, he stopped the mare and Starkweather slid off.

They walked for at least a mile in a chilly silence until Doggett told her, "You scared the shit out of me."

"I know," she whispered miserably, feeling guilty. "That wasn't my intention."

He sighed and stopped the horse. "One of these days," he said, staring her down. "Your intentions are gonna get you killed."

"Look who's talking," she tried to make a joke. "You're a horse thief." When he did not crack the tiniest of smiles she looked away and said, "What do you want from me?"

"For you to not be so reckless for starters." He gripped his hurt arm, eyebrows crinkling up in pain. He leaned against the horse. "Aw, hell, Doc, I don't know what I want."

"Typical male," Starkweather whispered. She looked down the trail. "I think I see lights. We must not be that far from civilization." She knelt down, scooped up a handful of snow and pressed it to her jaw.

"Come on Doc," Doggett said to her. "Lemme give you a leg up." He helped her back in the saddle again. Then he pulled himself up. The horse gave a whinny of complaint. "Come on sweetheart," Doggett leaned over and patted the horse on the neck. "Not much further now."

Later on... December 31, 2001, New Year's Eve The Holiday Inn I-90 Exit 14 Spearfish, South Dakota 57783 10:32 PM Mountain Standard Time

When the agents reached the City Limits of Spearfish, they got off the horse and let her go.

"She going to be alright?" Starkweather asked, feeling bad to let an animal just trot off by herself in the dark.

"She'll be fine. There's probably other ranches or farms 'round here. We can't attract attention."

"Oh, and WALKING to the city isn't attracting attention," Starkweather bitched, but she knew he was right.

They avoided the main highways like the plague. It would have been nice to try and flag down a ride, but God only knew who was looking for them. If they had known that Skinner had sent out federal agents and Carlos CIA agents out looking for them, they probably would have ran to the interstate and started doing cartwheels to attract attention. As it was, Doggett and Starkweather decided that safer was smarter and crept through the backways, cold, wet and miserable but undetected. The battery of Starkweather's cell phone had died and Doggett's had gotten smashed when he was fighting with Bravo.

In the parking lot of the Holiday Inn, Starkweather leaned against a car as Doggett crouched down and slipped his hand up her pant leg, retrieving their cash money. "Thank God you shaved," Doggett quipped.

"I'd probably be warmer if I hadn't," Starkweather said wearily as she pulled her hood over her head so she could hide the bruises she knew were erupting on her chin.

They staggered into the hotel to find it full of loud, drunk people, having a good time.

Starkweather bowed her head. "New Year's Eve," she whispered. "We're not going to get a room."

"Dammit," Doggett groaned.

"Can I help you?" a desk clerk, on his way back from the bathroom stopped by the agents.

"Our car broke down on the interstate," Doggett lied. "We walked all the way here. You wouldn't have any rooms free, wouldja?"

Just then, two cops brushed past them, pushing with them two very drunk hotel guests.

"Come on man..." the baby-faced male drunk whined. "I'm twenty-one, I really am..."

"Uh-huh," the cop grumbled.

"And I'm NOT a hooker!" the tawdily dressed female drunk screamed.

"Uh-huh," the other cop grumbled.

The desk clerk looked at the weary agents. "I think we have a vacancy. Do you mind waiting for a moment while we prepare the room?"

Doggett and Starkweather looked at the armchairs beside the fireplace in the front lobby. "No," they chorused together.

Later... Doggett and Starkweather's room Holiday Inn Spearfish, South Dakota 11:21 PM Mountain Time

Exhausted, Doggett and Starkweather staggered into the small room. Starkweather carried two cans of soda while Doggett carried a bucket of ice. Doggett took great pains in locking the door and going to the window to shut the blinds. Still shivering, Starkweather put down the soda cans, cranked up the heat and slung off her wet coat. She sat down on the bed and kicked off her wet boots and peeled off her wet socks. Meanwhile, Doggett also removed his wet jacket and picked up Starkweather's clothes. He hung the coats so they would dry better and placed the socks and gloves and scarves directly on the heater. Then he sat beside her. "Do you want the shower first?" Doggett asked.

"In a bit, but I want to check your arm first," she said wearily, then putting her hand to her chin, tears coming to her eyes again. If she just remembered NOT to talk, it wouldn't hurt so bad. She got up to see if there was a first aid kit in the bathroom. She found it under the sink. "Okay," she whispered, barely moving her lips. "Shirt. Off." Monosyllables were easier to deal with.

With a small grunt of complaint, Doggett peeled off the soaked sweatshirt. "Ow," he grumbled as the shirt sleeve rubbed against his injuries while he took off his shirt. "Dammit."

With sleepy clinical detachment, Starkweather ran her hands up and down his sternum and rib case. Doggett flinched when her hands applied pressure where Bravo had kicked him.

"There?"

"Oh God... yeah... she got me there." Starkweather prodded there just a moment longer. "Ow!" he exclaimed, then clamped his mouth tightly shut.

"It could be broken. Hard to tell without X-rays," Starkweather muttered as she took the thermometer out of the first aid kit and stuck it in his mouth. While Doggett waited patiently for the thermometer to beep, Starkweather got up and returned to the bathroom to get handtowels a washrag, steaming hot. When the thermometer beeped, Starkweather took it out of his mouth. "Normal. That's always good. Fever indicates infection," she told him, wincing as she spoke.

She sat down beside him again and unwound the bloody bandage. She took a deep breath and nodded her head to indicate to him that it was healing just fine. No redness or pus, hinting at infection. She took the hot washcloth and bathed the wound again. Then she reached into the first aid kit again and found more alcohol pads. She dabbed at the wound again, Doggett again, trying not to complain. She found sterile padding and bandaging and wrapped up the deep cut again. "Get a tetanus shot when back in DC," she told him, moving her lips and jaw as little as possible.

"Okay."

"Wow..." she said while shaking her head. "Your poor arm," she whispered, looking at the scar in his upper shoulder, a gift from Justin Leo, who shot him on their not-so-fun trip to La Luna Blanca. Now he was going to have another scar below it, thanks to Bravo. But a small smile was on her lips as her eyes slid to his other arm. "I'll be damned."

"What?"

"I didn't know you had a tattoo."

"Got it after Lebanon."

"You rebel."

"Not really."

"You better get out of those wet jeans," Starkweather whispered. "Last thing you need is to get a cold." She paused again, squeezing her eyes tight as her hands flew to her jaw again. <<Fucking bitch>> Starkweather fumed. <<I hope her shoulder hurts just as bad as my mouth.>> "I'll make an icepack for your rib," she murmured without moving her lips, her hands still to her chin.

Doggett looked at her funny. Starkweather couldn't read the expression in his eyes. "Stay here," he said as he disappeared into the bathroom. Starkweather heard water running.

He came back out, holding another damp washcloth. "Tell me," he said as he took her hands away from her face. "If this hurts." As lightly as he could, he wiped the blood off of her chin. Even with his soft touch, she jerked away.

"Don't, please," she whispered. "It's okay..."

"No it's not," he said, getting up walking over and picking up one of the can of Coke Starkweather had gotten. He sat back down by her and gently pressed the cool metal of the can against her bruised chin. Starkweather whimpered at first, her hands clutching the bedspread, but after a moment or two, it started to feel good. She closed her eyes. After a few minutes, Doggett asked her, "Better?" as he pulled the can away. Starkweather nodded.

"Starkweather?"

"Hmm?" Her head was bowed, her eyes were still closed.

"Talk to me."

"Hurts to talk."

Feeling like an idiot, Doggett said, "I'm sorry..."

"Not your fault." Her head was still bowed, her eyes, still closed. Doggett pushed her tangled hair out of her face. Starkweather smiled, knowing it was a major pet peeve of his to try and talk to a woman with her hair hanging in her eyes.

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. He smoothed her hair back again. Starkweather smiled again and reached up for his hand as it made a second pass over her hair.

Doggett froze, afraid that he had done something wrong. But she held it there for a moment, then, still holding it, she brought his hand down from her head to her lips and kissed it. "Thanks," she whispered through the tears of pain that slight kind gesture caused.

Doggett pulled his hand away and whispered, "Oh God, Jerilyn, don't."

"I'm sorry..."

"No, I mean don't do that if it hurts," he reached to hold her face, but then stopped, hands in mid-air. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pressed his forehead against hers. "Did you want the shower first?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "Tomorrow," she whispered.

"Okay," he said. "Then I'm gonna go get cleaned up. Get some rest. And get out of your wet clothes too," he chided her gently. "I'm not the only one here that could catch cold."

She nodded. He pulled himself away and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door. Soon, shower water was heard running.

Starkweather stripped off her wet jeans and sweatshirt. Then she decided to lose the wet long johns as well.

She dry-swallowed two more ibuprofen and then crawled into bed.

The fact that it was only a single bedroom didn't hit her until she was almost completely asleep.

Meanwhile... Flight 262 American Airlines En route from Hawaii to Washington DC

After Scully explained what had Mulder had discovered, Reyes shook her head. "I can understand her motivations, but..." she shook her head again. "The ends do not justify the means. Where is she now?"

"In custody. Mulder said that they're trying to figure out what to do with her. He said he doubts they have enough to charge her with anything."

"We will if John and Jerilyn are killed," Reyes said bitterly, looking out the window.

Scully was surprised at the acidic remark out of normally optimistic Reyes' mouth. "John and Jerilyn are very resilient," Scully said carefully. "I have faith they will return to us."

Reyes turned and smiled. The smile faded away. "I wonder who tipped off the CIA of the location of Samita?"

"Mulder didn't say. He just told me to get out of Hawaii and return to DC immediately." She sighed. "With the exception of finding the journal, we were getting no where anyway. Plus, with all my experience with working with Agent Mulder," she closed her eyes, regretting the 'Agent' slipping out of her mouth. <<Get used to it Dana, you knew he wasn't going to stay out of action forever>> she sighed to herself. She continued, "When he says things like, 'Run', 'Get out of there'... there's usually a good reason." She opened her eyes and looked over at Reyes. "How's the journal going?"

Reyes took the book out of her attaché case. "One, Mrs. Bailey is an incredible writer. Very poetic. Lots of imagery... but..." she flipped open to the pages she bookmarked with a Post-It! note. "There really isn't much about her abduction experiences."

"Alleged abductions, Agent Reyes."

"Right, anyway..." Reyes blithely continued on. "When she DOES write about her abduction experiences, one name keeps popping up... John Michelle. Does that ring any bells?"

"No," Scully said. "I don't recall offhand any X-Files with that name."

"I think this John Michelle is a lost love of Lynnette's... high school sweetheart? We never forget out first love, but this passage, this passage I flagged..."

Reyes, in a soft voice began to read aloud.

"November 1, 1973 All Saint's Day...

Maybe insanity would be a blessing in disguise for I thought I saw John again. It for less than a second, I saw his face out of the corner of my eye, but then when I turned my head, he was gone. Jeremy asked me if I was alright. But how could I tell my husband, the man I vowed to love forever that I am haunted by a ghost of a man who loved me first. And yet lurks in my nightmares for each and every time the Lights came and bore me away, it was his face I saw, his voice telling me what a brave and patriotic soul I had. That my sacrifice would save the world.

If Jeremy and I hadn't signed the adoption papers today, I would have gladly descended into madness. For it HAS to be madness to believe that creatures from the sky retrieve their victims via lights and carry them away. It just can not true, it has to be a bad dream. A wild hallucination caused by the misfunction of the brain. If it were not for the scars covering my body, I could easily accept that a few times in my childhood and young adulthood, I had lapses in lucidity, moments of temporary insanity.

All of that is irrelevant now. I have my heart's desire. No sanctity of lunacy for me. I have now, a beautiful little girl. She is finally healthy enough to be released from the hospital. This little angel, with wings of stainless steel. I think I'm going to have a spitfire on my hands. I do not think her survival was a fluke, I think that's just HER. I think she is going to spend her life defying convention, doing whatever she damn well pleases. I think she lived, just to spite who ever tortured her so. And whoever tortured me, for her scars are the same as mine, which was why I knew I was not crazy until today, when I saw John Robert Michelle. And for the briefest of moments, it looked like he was in tears. I have never seen John cry before. So perhaps it was not him at all.

But today was the first time I saw Jeremy cry after he signed the paper and the congratulations started going around and our sweet baby girl was brought to us.

Welcome home, Jerilyn Michelle Bailey."

Reyes shut the book. "What do you think?"

Scully leaned into her seat. "Interesting... definitely interesting. I wonder who this John Michelle is?"

"Someone important enough for Mrs. Bailey to secretly give her daughter his last name as her middle name," Reyes mused.

Scully leaned back into her chair. "Let me roll this around in my head for awhile, Agent Reyes. Maybe something will come back to me..." She was trying to remember anything from her own abduction, trying to remember if she had heard the name John Michelle during that time.

Later on... January 1, 2002 The Holiday Inn Spearfish, South Dakota 2:10 AM Mountain Standard Time

She felt the sheets lifting off of her slightly, then fall back on her as he slid into bed with her. She sensed him hovering over her so she rolled over and looked up at him, just making out the outline of his distinctive face in dimly lit hotel room.

"What are you doing?" she whispered as he reached for her face.

Her jaw didn’t hurt anymore.

He lowered himself onto her and kissed her. None of those silly, chaste kisses they’ve shared in the past. Starkweather gasped a little at the surprise of Doggett acting so out of character and he misinterpreted her opening lips as an invitation and slipped his tongue in between her teeth. Starkweather didn’t know whether to be turned-on or terrified.

She opted for the first emotion. She really didn’t feel like fighting any more even though her common sense and reason was screaming: This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong… But as he slid her t-shirt over her head, a very fatigued part of her brain said to her <<Why the hell not? Everyone thinks we already are anyway…>> she shifted her legs so he could settle in between them better as he dragged his mouth lightly across her nipples. She moaned slightly, starting to enjoy herself.

She heard the familiar hushed noise of a zipper being pulled down. "So much for foreplay," she teased him as she reached for his face.

But he grabbed her wrist and held it down on the bed, squeezing as his other hand slid under the covers and started tugging at her underwear roughly.

"Hey, come on," With her free hand, Starkweather started to push him away. "Slow down, you know that I put out now, relax."

He grabbed her other wrist and held her down.

"Doggett, what are you doing?" she demanded as she began to struggle.

He transferred her left wrist over and crossed it with her right in a swift move. Crushing both of her wrists with his right hand and using his body weight against her own, he held her down as his left hand returned under the sheets.

"You son-of-BITCH," she spat at him as she tried to fight against him. She felt like she was being crushed underneath his weight. She tried to twist away from him as he started to pull on her panties again. "I trusted you…. I trusted you…" She heard the undeniable sound of cotton tearing. "Oh Jesus, don’t…" she tried to buck him off but he was just too heavy. "Don’tdon’tdon’tdon’tdon’tdon’tdon’t," she begged as she felt him pushing on her, then into her. She felt like she was being torn in half. She began to weep, crying the tears of humiliation only the raped can know.

She tried one last time to appeal to the man she thought was her friend. "John please," she sobbed. "You’re hurting me."

"Doc?"

But that comforting pet name did not come out of the man that was on top and inside her.

It came from the other side of the hotel door. Then there was a knock. "Doc?" Doggett’s voice called to her.

Starkweather inhaled, then turned to glare at the man on top of her. "Who are you?" she seethed. "Like it matters because you’re a dead man when I’m throug-"

She whimpered when she noticed that his face was changing. His face, his hair, his body. The laugh lines and crow’s feet smoothed out. The blue eyes deepened into a greenish color. The dishwater blond, spiky hair lengthened into dark brown waves.

Starkweather felt her breath catch in her throat.

Ben.

"Oh my God…"

But Ben’s appearance kept changing. His flesh began to decay right in front of her, just like the doomed villains in the Indiana Jones movies, only this was far more graphic, far more grotesque, far more surreal. Ben let go of her hands and put both hands around her throat, throttling her. Starkweather grabbed his hands, sank her nails into his rotting skin, trying to remove his hands. She began to gag. She could not breathe.

From the other side of the door, Doggett was pleading, "Doc, wake up…"

<<It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream, just scream once, scream and you’ll wake up…>> "OH GOD, DOGGETT, HELP ME…"

In reality, Doggett had taken a very long hot shower while Starkweather fell asleep. When he came out, clad in only his black boxers, the only thing he owned that was dry, he covered Starkweather up with the flimsy hotel comforter and went to make an ice pack.

Grabbing the two chairs from the small table in the room, he sat the chairs next to her bed. Sitting down in one chair and propping his feet up in the other, he sat beside her, sharing the ice pack, icing his own sore ribs for a little while, then transferring the ice pack to her chin. When the ice reverted into slush, he got up, threw the slush into the sink and returned to the chairs, sitting back down besides her, propping his feet back up again. He pulled out his gun and cradled it in his right hand as he rested his head against his left, dozing a little.

Her mutterings in her fretful sleep roused him. He turned and saw her thrashing around just a little, in the throes of a bad dream, mumbling unintelligibly. Doggett wondered if he should wake her. He put his feet down, placed the gun on the nightstand next to the bed and turned to face her, not sure what to do.

Then, clear as a bell, she said "John, please... you're hurting me..."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. <<What in the hell is she dreaming about????>> "Doc," he said to her.

Still trapped in her nightmare, she shook her head, muttered something about someone being "a dead man when I'm through with you."

"Doc," he tried again.

Her hands flew into the air, as if she was trying to fight someone off of her.

Doggett reached for her hands and held them, "Doc, wake up," he said, more forcefully.

"Oh God, Doggett," she sobbed in her sleep, "help me..."

He didn't want to shake her, but felt he had no choice. He was going to scare the hell out of her, but he wanted to wake her up.

"Starkweather, wake up," he grabbed her shoulders and gave her two sharp shakes.

Her eyes flew open. She sat up and recoiled from him. Lightening quick, she pushed him away, snatched up his gun from the nightstand and clicked off the safety, pointing it at him. "Jesus, Doc!" Doggett's hands flew in the air. "It's me... I didn't mean to scare you... you were havin' a nightmare," he perceived that her hands were shaking badly and for a split second, he questioned his partner's sanity.

Starkweather then woke up fully. She looked down at the gun she was pointing at Doggett. She aimed it away from him, put the safety back on and tossed at on the bed, crawling backwards away from the gun, from him. She sat on the other side of the bed, folding her legs up into herself, wrapping arms around her legs. She leaned her head again the headboard. She closed her eyes.

Taking a relieved breath, he took the gun back off the bed. He leaned back into his chair and just stared at her.

Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his eyes on her. "Sorry," she whispered. The pain in her jaw had returned, full force. "Remember," she muttered, "insanity runs in my family."

"You're not insane," Doggett replied. "It's just been a hell of a day."

"That's an understatement." She opened her eyes. "Nice boxers."

"Sorry," Doggett began to blush and he pulled at the comforter to cover himself.

"Oh I don't care," Starkweather closed her eyes, shaking her head at her partner's modesty. <<I just about shoot his head off and he's worried about me seeing him in his skivvies. Wonders will never cease.>> "Let's get up as soon as possible tomorrow and get the first flight back to DC."

"Okay," Doggett settled himself in to his chairs again.

Starkweather scowled at him. "Doggett how old are you?"

"Forty-one."

"And I'm twenty-nine. Last time I checked, that qualified us for adulthood." After that long speech, she clasped her hands to her mouth again. "Just lie down here, please? You're making me uncomfortable looking at you in those chairs." Tears were coming to her eyes now, not just because of the pain but because of the overwhelming sense of confusion she was in. "I promise there are no firearms near me," she said but thought <<But I want you near me... oh God... Ben was right... all this time... he was right and he died because he was right....>>

Doggett got up but he first fixed another ice pack. Then, looking extremely uncomfortable, got into bed. "C'mere," he said stiffly. Starkweather scooted closer and settled into the crook of his arm as he applied the ice to her poor face.

"Hey Doc?"

"Huh?"

"Happy New Year," he said flatly.

She sighed. "Happy fucking New Year."

January 1, 2002 Flight 64789, United Airlines En route from Rapid City, South Dakota to Washington DC 11:15 AM Eastern Standard Time

Doggett and Starkweather had gotten a taxicab and returned to their original hotel and discovered that it had been completely trashed. Evidentially, someone, probably Bravo had gotten there first. They packed what wasn't broken or torn and hauled ass back to Rapid City, leaving the Bureau's credit card number with the front desk clerk to pay for the damaged furniture and broken pictures.

They had lucked out and found a rental car business in Spearfish that opened early and they sped non-stop back to Rapid City. They could not get out of South Dakota fast enough.

Starkweather's chin had turned completely black and blue and purple. Doggett's arm was stiff and there was a nagging cramp in his side where Bravo kicked him. The rib probably was broken.

Which was why he looked absolutely miserable, scrunched up in the laughably tiny airline, arms folded up tight, one hand over his knife wound, the other hand clutching the sore rib. Starkweather got the window seat this time but she looked at him with a frown. The flight had been especially turbulent and every bounce of the plane made Doggett's face crinkle up in pain just a little more as he tried to sleep. He had sat awake the entire night.

She sighed and lifted the armrest up. "Come here," she whispered as she pulled him to her. Doggett's shoulders relaxed as his head lolled into the crook in between her neck and shoulder while his long legs stretched out. He even started to snore softly as she wrapped her arms around his chest.

Starkweather frowned when she noticed the teethmarks in his neck. <<What the hell...? Bravo... had to be...>> Starkweather sighed. <<Next time I see that bitch, she is going down. I swear to God.>>

"Can I get you anything?" the flight attendant asked her, breaking into her thoughts.

"No thanks," Starkweather told her, to get rid of her. The flight attendant smiled. Starkweather rested her cheek against Doggett's head and with the back of her hand, stroked his stubbled cheek once. A twinkle caught her eye and she looked down at her wedding ring, the diamond shining like a star in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle.

As a doctor, she knew crying jags were a sign of depression. And Starkweather was not one for making public scenes. So she tried to stifle her sobbing. But even though she made not a sound, tears still slipped down her face and her body shook with the suppressed sobs.

Half asleep, Doggett clumsily reached up and patted her hands. "Don't cry," he mumbled in his not-conscious state, "I'm here..."

Which only made her cry harder and quieter. But she smiled, kissed his temple and hugged him even tighter to her.

"I know," she whispered. "I count on that..."

Later on that day... Ronald Reagan International Airport Washington DC 4:15 PM Eastern Time

"So now what," Doggett asked Starkweather as he got her luggage out of the luggage claims.

"I think we should call Mulder," Starkweather said. "And tell him what we saw. Plus, I do have SOME fragments of evidence that needs to be analyzed. Plus I still have the file, ow, dammit," she rubbed her jaw again. "After I go to the hospital and see if I can get some painkillers for my mouth," she mumbled, forcing herself to speak slower. "And you need to get a tetanus shot and have that rib checked out." She took her suitcase from Doggett. "And then I'm going to go get my kitty, take a hot bath, drink an entire bottle of Jack Daniels alone and feel sorry for myself the rest of the night. You?"

"Sounds about the same as my plans for tonight, minus the kitty and hot bath."

"Well," she said, shy now. "You could come over and borrow my kitty if you wanted to."

"Doc, your cat hates me."

"He hates everybody, don't take it personally."

Doggett chuckled and he just happened to look over his shoulder while he was saying, "Yeah well..." he did a double take. He sucked in his breath. "Starkweather, start walking," he said lowly, taking her hand and starting to move, casual, yet quick.

"Why?" What's going on?"

"We're bein' followed."

"By who?" "Just keep goin'," Doggett said. "We can lose 'em once we're out of the airport. I've got my truck in long-term parki-"

Two more men in black suits materialized out of nowhere. Doggett and Starkweather took a sharp turn to the left, as if they were heading for the restrooms.

Then they were cut off at the pass by what appeared to be federal agents but they knew damn well they were not feds. "Agents Doggett and Starkweather?" The man in black asked formally.

"Who wants to know?" Starkweather snapped.

"You both need to come with us now," the man grabbed Starkweather by the wrist, out of Doggett's grasp. Two more men in black seized their luggage while another man in black started to walk ahead of them, yelling out "Move aside, FBI! Move aside, Federal agents!"

"Hey now, wait just a damn minute!" Doggett fumed as two more men in black grabbed him by the arms and started to escort him.

Starkweather looked up and her eyes widened when she caught a glimpse of the badge he held. The general public wouldn't know any different, but to her trained eyes, it was an obvious fake ID. She began to struggle against her escort. "Don't make me handcuff you," her escort sighed.

Meanwhile Doggett's escort lifted his black blazer just enough to show his gun. "Don't make a fuss, Mr. Doggett. And Mrs. Starkweather's escort is equally equipped."

"Doggett," Starkweather twisted around to look at him. Her guide jerked her along roughly.

"Just do as they say for now," he called back to her.

Starkweather stopped struggling but she glared at him. "What do you want? Who are you?" she demanded.

And thought: <<And what fresh hell is this???>>