Title: The Family G-Man Season One - chapters 1-10
Authors: Neoxphile and FelineFemme
Feedback: neoxphile@aol.com, be8opcat1013@yahoo.com
Rating: mostly R with NC-17 moments
Spoilers: Seasons 1-9
Category: Alternate Reality, Snark, Family Fic, plus a dollop Angst
for the beginning (and despite what chapter one leads you to believe,
this is *not* a character death story)
Disclaimer: So yeah, we're going to be borrowing CC's characters, and
the idea behind "The Family Man," which put a twist on "It's a Wonderful Life" 
which blatantly copied "A Christmas Carol." We hope the print doesn't get
blurry from being a copy of a copy of...

Website: with pictures! http://www.mulderscreek.com/familygman.html

Summary: What if he could go back and change things, save the son one
lost and give the other the family she wanted? Could it keep them
safe? In season one, Mulder does his level best to begin the changes he
thinks might save them both.

~*~*~
Season One - chapters 1-10
~*~*~

Chapter One
"Last Christmas"

December 24th, 2003

If events had ever set Mulder up for a worst Christmas than the
following day would inevitably be, it had to be the one when he was
twelve. That year had been agony because his parents were still
trying to put on happy hopeful faces that believed Samantha would be
coming back to open the presents dutifully bought and laid under the
tree. When she didn't miraculously show up, the day passed in stony
silence, except for the weepy condolences everyone offered.

But that Christmas he'd only lost one important person, this year
he'd lost two. One by accident, the other by hopeless design. It had
been only a week since he attended John Doggett's funeral, and he was
already facing another. At least Doggett's death had been none of his
own doing.

Doggett had been on his way back to the beach where he and Barbara
had scattered their son's ashes when he encountered a semi-truck
driven by a man who had been awake so long that he fell asleep at the
wheel. The car was a twisted ruin, and Doggett was already dead by
the time the rescue workers were able to pry him from the wreckage.
The only fortunate thing about the whole event is the fact that
Monica Reyes had to work late that day, so she wasn't able to
accompany him like she had the year before. From talking to her,
though, no one dared suggest how lucky she was.

As stunned as he was by the loss of a man he was rapidly becoming to
consider a close friend, Mulder had little time to mourn before fate
dealt him two more crushing blows. The first of these lead to the
second. On December 22nd, a court decided that William S. Mulder was
better off in the custody of his adopted parents.

Mulder thought Scully might had been able to live with that, if
William hadn't been right there in the courtroom. He had been smaller
than Mulder had been picturing, obviously taking more after Scully
size-wise, and his hair was her bright red, and long enough to curl
at the ends. He also had her bright blue eyes...which had been
completely empty of recognition. He knew his son was too young to
remember him, but Scully had obviously thought he'd remember her.
William looked at her like he'd never laid eyes on her before. Mulder
was fairly sure that's what drove Scully over the edge.

~*~*~

She'd celebrated their defeat that night by leaving the house while
he was sleeping, and driving to a high, secluded bridge. Her body
washed ashore the next afternoon, the afternoon before the one he was
living. When he'd driven by the bridge, just to tell himself it was
real, he couldn't help but remember another bridge in another life,
exchanging a clone of his sister for his partner. Only this time he'd
had nothing to give to get her back.

A cloud of numbness had settled over him the day before, which is why
he found himself walking through mostly deserted streets near their
apartment. He hadn't had any goal in mind, he just couldn't stand to
be inside a minute longer, not while the ghosts of things he'd done
and said with his friend and his beloved dueled for his attention. In
the living room he and Doggett had watched the Thanksgiving ball
game; in the bedroom he and Scully had made love. Every room was
marked, crowded, and he just couldn't stay there.

He'd vaguely thought of calling Reyes to see if she wanted company,
but he'd nixed the idea. Two depressed people just makes misery grow,
not lessen it, so he decided to take a walk instead. He didn't know
where he was going, and he was so preoccupied he didn't even know
where he was. If he hadn't accidentally bumped into someone leaving a
liquor store, he might have just keep walking aimlessly until he
froze to death.

Instead he blinked and apologized. "Oh! Sorry about that," he told
the short blonde woman he'd just bumped into. She glared at him until
he helped her pick up her things, none of which had broken he was
happy to note.

"You should pay more attention," the woman scolded him.

"I know. I'm sorry, it's...it's been a really bad week," he said, not
feeling like going into details.

"Two deaths in one week. That is rough," the woman agreed with a
bird-like nod of her head.

Mulder blanched. "How did you...?" he stammered, his mind a sudden
whirl of confusion. "Are you a mind-reader or something?" he asked,
thinking of that fraud Yappi.

"No. It's just my job to know these things about people. You're Fox
Mulder, FBI agent. Several days ago you lost a friend, and the night
before last you lost the love of your life. That's enough to distract
anyone."

Mulder's thoughts grabbed onto one part of the woman's words. "What
do you mean, it's your job?" he asked her.

"Ok, you got me. It's only part of my job. My actual job is helping
people fix the mistakes in their lives."

"Like a therapist?" Mulder scoffed. "I think it's a little late to
for that sort of thing. My problem is the fact that people are dead,
and no amount talking it out is going to fix that."

"I fully agree," The woman told him." The only thing that would fix
your problems is to make your friends undead."

"I really don't think turning them into vampires would be much of an
improvement!" Mulder protested.

The woman looked slightly flustered. "Poor word choice. I meant if
they weren't dead."

"Well, obviously!" Mulder exclaimed. "Except for the fact that
bringing them back to life is impossible."

"That's true," she admitted. "You can't bring someone back to life
after they've already died. But you could keep them from dying."

Mulder gave her a suspicious look. "You're not a genie, are you? I've
already seen what happens through wish-granting, and I'm positive
that nothing good could come from it."

She shook her head. "I'm not a genie. I don't deal in wishes, I deal
in change."

"You don't look much like a pan-handler," Mulder replied, looking her
over. Her coat and scarf looked pretty pricy to him.

"People changing, not currency, you idiot," she snapped, then
immediately looked contrite. "That was uncalled for, I'm sorry. Look,
if it was possible to keep your loved ones from being killed, what
price would you be willing to pay to accomplish that?"

"Just about anything," he replied instantly.

"Would you give up the life you're now living to do it?" she asked in
a wheedling tone.

Mulder gave a short sharp laugh. "Are you kidding? What do I have
now? I can't get my son back, the love of my life is gone, and given
that she and my friend are dead, my life's work is probably going to
be dismantled as well because there aren't enough people left to keep
it going. I have nothing."

The woman looked slightly taken aback. "This is usually a harder
sell...Let me ask you one question, Mister Mulder. What do you think
it would have taken to keep your loved ones from dying? And I don't
just mean the car accident or the bridge, I mean what in their lives
being different would have kept them from their fates?"

"John Doggett is easy," Mulder said. "If his son hadn't died, he
never would have been going to visit where the boy's ashes are
scattered, so he wouldn't have been killed by the trucker."

"-and Scully?" The woman asked, making him blink because he didn't
think he'd mentioned her name.

Mulder thought hard. "I guess things would have been different for
her if she'd had the family she always wanted. She was never the same
after trying so desperately to have our son, then losing him."

"There you go!" the woman said with a look of triumph on her face.

"Huh?" Mulder asked, which was a completely legitimate response.

Instead of answering him right away, the woman reached into her coat
and pulled out an envelope. Just an ordinary green one that Christmas
cards came in. She thrust it into his hand.

"Here. If you really think you can help them by changing those things
about their pasts, open this card when you get home, and read it. As
soon as you do you'll get the chance to help them."

Mulder gave her a skeptical look. "What's your name?"

"It's Elsbeth, why?"

"Because I like to be able to give the hospital a name when I tell
them that a crazy person is wandering the streets of DC on her own.
It makes it easier on the people responding to the APB."

"You won't call anyone, Mister Mulder," Elsbeth said firmly. "They
never do."

"Ok, whatever. Just promise me you'll head on home without bothering
anyone else."

"Oh, I promise," she said in a vapid tone, batting her eyelashes at
him. He sighed and walked away, deciding that maybe the apartment
wasn't such a bad place to be after all.

~*~*~

Back in his apartment, he thought a lot about what Elsbeth told him.
She was insane, but it was something else to think about besides his
heavy grief, so he let the ideas she presented consume his fears.

If Luke hadn't been kidnapped and murdered, he might never have met
Doggett. Being unattached was probably the main reason he'd accepted
the invitation to head up the task force to look for him when he'd
been missing. If Mulder could go back and keep himself from being
taken without letting Scully go in his place, he definitely would
never have met the man. But that would be better than him and the kid
being dead, that was for sure.

Scully was harder to think about. She wouldn't be dead if her only
baby hadn't been kept from her, and...if he wasn't her only baby. It
all went back to when Duane Barry grabbed her and let her go to the
aliens instead. If she hadn't been taken, she wouldn't have gotten
cancer or think she was barren, and her impossible daughter would
never have been born to a life of pain...

Shaking his head regretfully, he pulled out the envelope. Nothing
would happen when he opened it, but if there was a trillion in one
chance that Elsbeth was a magical being rather than a crackpot, he
thought he was ready. So he opened the envelope and -

Nothing happened. Smiling ruefully, he looked at the card. It was
almost entirely dark blue, with a silhouette of the nativity being
approached by the three wise men on camels. They reminded him a
little of the gunmen. The only spot of brightness on the card was the
star of David, which looked all the more brilliant because of it's
dark background. In all it's a nice enough card, but fairly typical.

He opened the card with a sigh, and read the words in it. Hand
written, it said only "Wish you were here." Giving an unhappy laugh,
Mulder thought of who he wished was there just then. Depressed once
more, he let his eyes close.

~*~*~

Chapter Two

Hoover Building
March 7th, 1992

When he opens them again, he's in the basement office. He blinks and
looks around; it looks unchanged. Which is completely wrong, because
it has seen many changes with the addition of three more agents in
the X-Files. Yet it looks exactly like it did when he first started
out. A glance at the calendar tells him that he is back to a day he's
never forgotten- the day he met Scully. He doesn't understand how
Elsbeth has given him another chance, he's just glad she has.

He hears the elevator ding, then a few sharp footsteps that don't
sound like a man's. There's a knock on the door a moment later.

::What did I say last time? She seemed to think it was endearing, if
memory serves me right.:: "Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI's most
unwanted." He calls, remembering what he'd said.

~*~*~

Mulder notices that the first thing her eyes light upon is his "I
Want To Believe" poster. Even before she notices him sitting there.
He doesn't know how he feels about that, but he resists the urge to
sigh over the unfairness of her not immediately noticing that he is
hot.

"Agent Mulder. I'm Dana Scully, I've been assigned to work with you."
She sounds very business-like as she extends her hand, and he can't
help but think it's cute. He'd forgotten how young she was, they both
were, when they met before.

 He pauses for a moment, trying to remember his lines. "Oh, isn't it
nice to be suddenly so highly regarded? So, who did you tick off to
get stuck with this detail, Scully?"

She seems to do her best not to seem taken aback by his skeptical
demeanor. "Actually, I'm looking forward to working with you. I've
heard a lot about you."

He puts on his best smirk. "Oh, really? I was under the
impression...that you were sent to spy on me." ::How did we ever get
together?:: he finds himself thinking just then. ::The way I needled
her in the beginning, it's a wonder we even became friends, let alone
became so close:: "It's just been a matter of time before they sent a
viper into my nest."

"If you have any doubt about my qualifications or credentials, th-"
She trails off uncertainly when he stands up and looks for something,
apparently no longer listening to her.

Before she has time to get too upset, he pulls something out from
under his phone. "You're a medical doctor, you teach at the academy.
You did your undergraduate degree in physics. Einstein's Twin
Paradox: A New Interpretation. Dana Scully Senior Thesis. Now that's
a credential, rewriting Einstein. At least they sent someone with
something going on upstairs to be my babysitter," he adds, and he can
see her trying not to respond to that.

He's surprised how easy it is to fall back into old events and
conversations. He's pretty much on autopilot during their first case,
at least until they've taken their jaunt through the buggy woods.
Then he finds himself paying close attention again when there's a
frantic knock on his motel door.

~*~*~

Mulder opens the door to find a very shaken Scully, wearing a
bathrobe. ::Hoo boy,:: he thinks, remembering what this is all
about.:: Funny, she got so worked up over mosquito bumps, which
weren't anything really, but when she took that tiny chip out of her
neck, she was curious and scientific even when she found out the
consequences,:: he thinks, holding the candle. "Hi," is all he says.

"I want you to look at something," she says, trying to keep her voice
steady.

He wants to shoot off a smart remark, but he doesn't want to shoot
himself in the foot so early in the game. "Come on in," he says,
stepping back. She walks in, then turns around, slipping off her
robe. He isn't surprised to see she's still wearing a plain bra and
panties, she never really got into dressing up underneath until
later. She glances back at him, then at her lower back. Holding the
candle steady, Mulder tries to keep the gaze professional and, for
now, purely platonic. Yup, she's bumpy, all right.

"What are they?" she asks in a strained tone. She doesn't see him
smile a little, more at the irony of the situation than at her fear.
"Mulder, what are they?"

"Mosquito bites," he says in what he hopes is a reassuring voice.

Disbelieving, she asks, "Are you sure?"

He grins a little. Hard to believe this is the same Scully who'll put
me through the wringer to underline the crazy evidence that's right
in front of her face. "Yeah, I got eaten up a lot myself out there."

Relieved, she exhales, putting on her robe and hugs him tightly, more
than a little mortified at her willingness to believe his theories
and not wanting to really face him just yet.

"You okay?" he asks, not displeased to be hugging a woman in her
bathrobe and underwear.

"Yes," she says, pulling away.

"You're shaking," he says, commenting more on her emotional state
than physical.

"I need to sit down," she says, wanting a drink badly, preferably at
least 80 proof. She sits down, gathering her robe around her
modestly.

"Take your time," he says, sitting in a seat across from her.

"I think I need a drink," Scully sighs, not looking at him.

He gets up, rummaging through the dark mini-fridge, and hands her a
small bottle of bourbon. She smiles a little as she takes it from
him, then downs it in a few quick gulps. "Did it help?" Mulder asks.

She nods, feeling the alcoholic warmth moving from her throat to her
stomach. "Mind if I take over?" She nods towards the bed.

He shakes his head. "Help yourself." He debates getting a small
bottle for himself, but remembers what happens next, then grabs his
coffee thermos, sitting beside the bed. Unscrewing it, he tilts the
still-warm contents into his mouth, then offers it to his partner,
who shakes her head.

Scully begins to close her large blue eyes when a question interrupts
her calm. "Mulder, what got you into the X-Files? I mean, were you
always," she pauses, "curious about UFOs?"

He smiles, but there's a bleakness to the smile. "I guess it all goes
back to my childhood, just like the psychologists say. I was twelve
when it happened. My sister was eight. She just disappeared out of
her bed one night. Just gone, vanished. No note, no phone calls, no
evidence of anything."

"You never found her," Scully says, and he knows this is moment, not
when she undressed, is when she begins to understand his quest,
understand what this is all about. And when she turns from following
the FBI's agenda, the Syndicate's agenda, and standing on his side of
the line.

"Tore the family apart," he answers, not letting his emotions get the
better of him, "No one would talk about it. There were no facts to
confirm, nothing to offer any hope."

"What did you do?" she asks, half-knowing what the answer will be.

"Eventually, I went off to school in England, I came back, got
recruited by the bureau. Seems I had a natural aptitude for applying
behavioral models to criminal cases." He pauses, remembering not only
how spooked his colleagues were with his uncanny ability to crawl
into a killer's mind, but also how he went from the manipulative
Phoebe in college to the even more ruthless Diana after Quantico.

"My success allowed me a certain freedom to pursue my own interests.
And that's when I came across the X-Files." He turns to face her,
wanting her to trust him, and knowing for all her scientific
skepticism and professionalism, any mention of other women involved
would send her through the roof.

"By accident?" Scully asks.

"At first, it looked like a garbage dump for UFO sightings, alien
abduction reports, the kind of stuff most people laugh at as being
ridiculous. But I was fascinated. I read all the cases I could get my
hands on, hundreds of them. I read everything I could about
paranormal phenomenon, about the occult, and," he sighs, remembering
how cocky he'd been, even though he'd only scratched the surface of
the colorful world that had become his life's work, his life, period.

"What?" Scully asks, bringing him back to the present.

"There's classified government information I've been trying to
access, but someone has been blocking my attempts to get at it," he
says, almost by rote as he covers up his woolgathering.

"Who? I don't understand," Scully says, sitting up.

"Someone at a higher level of power," Mulder replies, remembering how
frustrated he was, " The only reason I've been allowed to continue
with my work is because I've made connections in congress." ::Or so I
thought,:: he muses, ::God, we were so damn naïve.::

"...and they're afraid of what? That, that you'll leak this
information?" She wonders, and it was a reasonable assumption.

"You're part of that agenda, you know that," he says, with no ill
will.

"I'm not part of any agenda," she says, believing it. "You've got to
trust me. I'm here just like you, to solve this." and yet part of her
knows the report she'll be turning in will reflect poorly on Agent
Mulder's willingness to believe in farfetched theories rather than
evidence that will surely reflect more mundane, if reasonable,
explanations.

As if he can read her wavering thoughts, he leans forward, kneeling.
Mulder says in a confidential, almost conspiratorial tone, "I'm
telling you this, Scully, because you need to know, because of what
you've seen. In my research, I've worked very closely with a man
named Doctor Heitz Werber and he's taken me through deep regression
hypnosis. I've been able to go into my own repressed memories to the
night my sister disappeared. I can recall a bright light outside and
a presence in the room. I was paralyzed, unable to respond to my
sister's calls for help."

Moving closer, Mulder raises his volume as he gets into it. Even
after all these years, even after all the retellings and the painful
memories, the initial raison d'etre of his quest still moves him.
"Listen to me, Scully, this thing exists."

"But how do you know," she starts to ask, when he interrupts her,
carried away.

"The government knows about it, and I got to know what they're
protecting. Nothing else matters to me, and this is as close as I've
ever gotten to it," he says, the intensity overriding the fact that
he knows this is just the tip of the iceberg.

The phone rings, startling her and giving her a grateful respite from
him going into any further detail as he picks up the phone.

"Hello? What? Who is this? Who is," he tries asking, then hangs up,
having gotten as much information from the reluctant caller as he
could. "That was some woman," he says to Scully's unspoken question,
"She just said Peggy O'Dell was dead."

"The girl in the wheelchair?" Scully asks, her eyes already wide.

He nods, also grateful for the interruption, because if he got any
more intense on her, she might panic and run, or he'd mistakenly try
to hit on her. Not yet, he thinks, handing her his coffee thermos to
clear her head, and she nods before going to her room to dress.

~*~*~

Scully's Apartment
Later That Week

Scully lies in bed, unable to sleep. Even with the terrific sex with
Ethan, she finds herself remembering the odd case that's somehow
gotten under her skin. Especially the part in the forest, the odd
lightning and thunder that Mulder said was a UFO of some sort.
Despite her skepticism, she knows Billy doesn't have those strange
marks on his back anymore and he's no longer comatose, but not
completely in his right mind, either. This whole case doesn't make
sense, she muses, wishing they could have more evidence saved than
that strange metallic device retrieved from the disfigured body. It's
11:21 p.m., and the clock flips to 11:22 as she watches it.

The phone rings and she picks it up. "Hello?"

"Scully?" Mulder asks on the other end. "It's me, I haven't been able
to sleep. I talked to the D.A.'s office in Raymon County, Oregon.
There's no case file on Billy Miles. The paperwork we filed is gone.
We need to talk, Scully."

The redhead blinks in assent, even as she shivers slightly. "Y-yes.
Tomorrow," she agrees, grateful that her boyfriend is asleep.
Wouldn't want to have him thinking more than one man makes her
shiver.

Hanging up, she settles back into bed uneasily. Maybe it's Mulder
getting under my skin, she thinks flippantly, then chides herself for
such a thought.

But it still takes a long time to sleep, and her mind is filled with
strange, conflicting thoughts.

~*~*~

Chapter Three
"Familial Pressure" 

June 1992

Mulder tries to stifle a yawn with his fist, but it escapes anyway.
"Sorry. No rest for the wicked, huh, Scully?"

They'd just gotten a flight home after a doppelganger case, and are
already being sent to investigate something else, less than ten hours
later.

"No, no rest at all," Scully tells him. "Ethan keeps complaining that
he barely sees me."

"Oh." Mulder tries hard to ignore any mention of her boyfriend. From
the last time around, he knows that Ethan is history just months
after Scully joins him on the X-Files. ::I hope I never have to meet
the poor bastard. I'll have so much trouble not calling him
"short-timer".:: "They don't even schedule us enough time between
cases to hit the restroom," he says instead.

She looks amused. "If you need to pee, I can get a car from the motor
pool myself."

Mulder is sure that he surprises her by taking her up on the offer.
"Thanks a lot. I'll meet you down there."

"I thought you were just being figurative." 

"Nope. I bought a Big Gulp at the airport, remember?"

"Okay, Mulder," she says, and he wonders if she realizes that she's
wearing a small smile.

He darts into the men's room because he really does need to relieve
his aching bladder. He almost moans when he's finally able to go.

~*~*~

"So you're working with Agent Mulder," a disembodied voice says as
Mulder approaches the motor pool.

Mulder freezes when he hears the exaggerated way that the unseen
woman says his name. Deciding to eavesdrop, he backs against the
wall, where he's sure that shadows will hide him from anyone who
happens to wander by.

"Yes, that's right." Scully's voice holds an uncertain note, clearly
unsure about what the other woman is getting at.

"There are a lot of women at the bureau who envy you," the voice
remarks to Mulder's great surprise. "Plenty of girls would like to
have the chance to work under him, if you know what I mean," the
woman continues.

"He doesn't seem to be dating anyone, or at least he's never
mentioned a girlfriend, and I know he's not married, so what's
stopping these 'girls'?" Scully asks.

"What's stopping them is that he rarely looks twice at any of them."
The other woman sighs. "What a waste."

There's a pause, then Scully haltingly asks, "You don't think,
he's...um..."

"Gay? No. There was this woman a couple of years ago...If you'd seen
them together, you'd know he's not. She took off on him without
warning, from what I heard, though. No one much liked her, but he
did, so most people figure that he's nursing a broken heart."

"Oh. That'd explain a lot."

There's the sound metal sliding across the top of a desk. "Well, here
are your keys. It's in space 107."

"Great, thanks."

By the time he backtracks through the building, Scully is waiting for
him in their newly acquired Ford Tempo. "Sorry, it was busier in the
men's room than I expected."

"Guess we're not the only ones on a tight schedule," she says as she
tosses him the keys.

"Scully, you're scientifically inclined. What is it that you expect
to find when we land in Pittsburgh?" Mulder asks with a hint of a
smile.

"Well, not a dragon," she says, also smiling.

"What, not even a Komodo or bearded?"

"I suppose it's possible that the dragon someone saw wandering
downtown in Pittsburgh could be a Komodo dragon or bearded dragon,
but it sure as hell isn't the twelve foot long dragon like the person
who reported it claims."

"My money is on alligator," Mulder tells her.

"An alligator?" She looks like she's about to laugh.

"I hear that Pennsylvania has find sewer systems. Lots of places for
a flushed baby alligator to grow up."

She's giggling by the time he turns on the car.

~*~*~

Hoover Building
October 31st, 1992

Given that it's Saturday morning, very few other people are in the
building. They wouldn't be themselves if their flight hadn't gotten
back so late, and if Blevins hadn't insisted that he wanted a report
on the case they had just finished within 18 hours, no exceptions.
There is no way that Mulder can tell her, but he assumes that they
are being punished for her not meeting expectations as a spy.

"So, Mulder, what are your plans for the night?" Scully asks, looking
up from what she's writing. They have been taking turns writing
reports, and it's her turn. He's mostly there for moral support, and
to help remember details.

It's on the tip of his tongue to make a quip about trying to talk her
into bed that night, but he doesn't.

:: Slow and steady, Mulder.:: He reminds himself for the 4000th time
since finding himself back in 1992. Although it was his first impulse
upon finding himself back in time, meeting Scully again, to
immediately start hitting on her, he found it necessary to remind
himself that in the past that strategy has worked out poorly for him.
There were girls in college and afterwards that he was able to
immediately charm. But they also almost immediately dumped him. ::
Keep thinking about saving her from that nut Duane Barry. Come on to
her too soon and you'll blow it long before you get the chance to put
your plan in motion..::

"Um, I bought five of those big bags of chocolate at the grocery
store, and a bowl three times the size of my head covered in ghosts
and bats. I figure that I'll carve a pumpkin, prop the door open, and
watch scary movies between trick-or-treaters," he tells her.

"Five bags of chocolate, Mulder? It sounds like you'll be the hit of
the neighborhood."

He gives her a wry smile. "I give my landlord enough trouble without
having him be pissed at me because somebody toilet papered or egged
the hallway. How about you?"

"I don't know what I'm doing tonight."

"You don't know? I'm shocked."

"Ethan told me he bought tickets to something, but wants what they're
for to be a surprise."

"Oh. You must trust him to know your tastes, then."

"Pretty much. Which horror movies?"

"What?" He gives her a puzzled look.

"You said that you're going to watch horror movies. Which ones?"

"I guess it depends on what's at the video store. I was hoping for a
few 80s classics, like The Changeling and Poltergeist."

"Poltergeist?" She shivers. "I hate that movie."

"You do? I know the bodies in that movie aren't as fresh as the ones
you're used to dealing with, but-"

"Not the bodies. The clown."

"You're afraid of clowns?"

"When I was three, Bill had a birthday party and my parents hired him
a clown. Let's just say that it didn't go well for me."

Mulder nods. "If we ever encounter a clown on any of our cases, I
promise I'll shoot it for you."

"My hero," she says sarcastically before getting to her feet. "It
looks like this report is done. As soon as I drop this off upstairs
we can get the hell out of here."

Mulder glances at the wall clock. "Maybe you'd better take the
elevator."

Less than five minutes after Scully left, Mulder hears footsteps
outside the door. They are much too loud to be hers, so he wonders
who might be there. He doesn't remain in suspense very long, because
a nervous looking man wearing a visitor's badge soon pops his head
into the room. "Hi, I'm looking for Dana Scully."

Mulder does not have to read the name on the visitor's badge to know
that this is Scully's boyfriend, Ethan. It only takes him a minute to
assess the man. Even though it's Saturday afternoon, he's wearing a
dress shirt and perfectly pressed khaki pants. His hair is raked back
so severely that you can see teeth marks from the comb. :: He looks
like he should be out giving people Watchtower magazines.:: Mulder
thinks disdainfully before bothering to answer. "You've found the
right place."

Ethan looks relieved. "You must be Fox Mulder then."

"I must be," Mulder says flatly. "Scully didn't say that you were
coming."

"Scully?" Ethan looks slightly puzzled. "You FBI people, calling each
other's by your last names..."

Mulder stares at him.

"Um, I thought it would surprise her with lunch," Ethan says in a
rush. It's clear that Mulder has put him on edge again.

"I've never taken her for the type of person who likes surprises, but
I guess you know better," Mulder replies. "So, speaking of surprises,
where are you two going tonight? Don't worry, I won't spoil the
surprise."

"The circus is in town this weekend. She told me once that she'd
never been, so I bought us tickets. I suppose it's a little silly,
but I'm hoping that she finds it endearing rather than cheesy."

"Good luck," Mulder says, trying to force himself to sound like he
means it.

"Thanks."

Two seconds later they both hear the sound of Scully's heels on the
tile in the hallway. She looked surprised when she enters the room.
"Ethan? What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping to invite my best girl to an impromptu lunch," Ethan
tells her with more confidence than he has displayed in his exchange
with Mulder.

"That sounds great. You have good timing too, because we were just
about to leave."

:: Don't ask me to lunch too. I don't think I can pretend to like
this man long enough so you don't think I'm a jealous prick.:: Mulder
thinks to himself before getting to his feet. He holds his hand to
Ethan, and the other man gives him a startled look before shaking it.
"It was nice to meet you, Ethan. But if you excuse me, I have several
errands I need to run."

"Oh." Scully looks slightly disappointed, and he sure that she
intended to ask him to join them for lunch. "Have a good Halloween
then, Mulder."

"You too."

As Mulder walks through the Hoover building, he tries not to smile
broadly. Scully is afraid of clowns, and her idiot boyfriend is
taking her to the circus. He doesn't know what he was worried about.
Ethan is sabotaging himself much more easily and creatively than
Mulder ever could.

~*~*~

Hoover Building
November 2nd, 1992

"So, how was Halloween?" Mulder asks as soon as he and Scully enter
the office in the morning.

At first she doesn't say anything, but slowly shakes her head. "There
were clowns involved," she says flatly.

"Were you armed?"

This makes her smile. "Of course not."

"What I said Saturday, I meant it. If we ever see a clown, I will
shoot it for you."

"I believe you. It's not comforting, but I believe you."

"Have you seen any ghosts today?" Mulder asks.

"Ghosts?"

"I've been reading on Catholicism a little bit. Today is All Souls
Day, right?"

"Yes..."

"Doesn't that mean you see dead loved ones?"

"Mulder! You haven't done enough reading. You're supposed to think
about your dead loved ones, not see them," she says, exasperated.
"The point is praying for those in purgatory, not having an audience
with them."

"That's disappointing. I thought it would be a little more hands-on,
like than day of the dead down in Mexico."

"You sound like my brother Charlie," Scully says with a laugh. "He
wanted all souls Day to be like the day the dead too. Of course, he
was seven."

"Charlie, hmmm? I take it that's the brother you like best."

"Why do you say that?"

"Whatever you say your older brother's name, little worry lines show
up on your forehead. Doesn't take a genius to figure out that there
is some clashing there," Mulder says teasingly.

"If you had an older brother, maybe you could understand."

"I am an older brother."

Neither of them say anything after that, both suddenly reminded of
why Samantha Mulder hasn't had to worry about him being an
overbearing sibling.

~*~*~

Bill and Margaret Scully's Home
Early December 1992

Around December, Scully is itching to get back to something like a
normal life, so she escapes, albeit in the company of another man, to
her parents' home. ::Away from the X-Files,:: Scully thinks, ::away
from my crazy partner, away from the madness that has us running like
chickens with our heads cut off month after month.::

"Mrs. Scully, good to see you again, Mr. Scully." Ethan Minette
shakes hands with the captain after briefly hugging his wife.

"What brings you down here?" Margaret Scully smiles, not at all
surprised or dismayed by the sudden visit.

Her daughter fidgets nervously, unlike her confident companion. "Just
stopping by, since we were in the neighborhood, Mom," she says.

"I see," her mother says, and nudges her husband. "Well, you're
welcome to stay for lunch, we've got plenty of munchies since Bill
and Tara are here."

"Bill's here, too?" Now Scully looks surprised, and she looks up at
her father, who nods. Nodding a bit too proudly, she notes. "Well,"
she says, recovering her equanimity, "I guess Ethan will be meeting
more of my family." She and her boyfriend follow her parents inside,
where another couple is sitting comfortably in the living room.

"Dana." Tara smiles, standing, and Scully warmly hugs her
sister-in-law. It still boggles her mind that this strong, loving
woman is actually married to her bossy older brother, but then again,
she counts the woman as a saint. "Can you believe they're letting him
stay seven months? Perhaps they're afraid he's forgetting how to walk
on land." She grins.

"Hey, little sister." Her brother envelopes her in a massive hug.
Ergh. "Contrary to what some people believe, they're just giving me
more paperwork to do, stuff I can do on land," he says the last two
words to his wife, who grins back impishly.
"Hi there, Bill Scully," he says, giving Ethan an over-firm grip.

Ethan doesn't wince as he shakes the other man's hand just as firmly.
"Hi, Ethan Minette," he says.

"I like him." The tall, broad-shouldered man beams at his sister,
"He's not like the other guys you used to bring home."

"Bill," Scully sighs, "high school was another lifetime ago." There's
something unsettling about her brother liking her boyfriend, it just
feels odd.

"No, Bill's right, you did pick some," her father pauses, "unsavory
characters."

Ethan raises his eyebrows, as she pretends to let their insinuations
roll off her back. Fat chance. Even her mother knew to change the
topic. "Well, Dana, how have things been going lately?"

Scully smiles gratefully at her mother. "I just got back from a case
in Georgia, and, and I just thought I'd like to see you guys again
before I get sent goodness knows where."

Ethan nods. "I thought I'd be flying more for my international
litigations work, but Dana keeps flying all over the place." He
smiles at her, and she smiles back, a little tentatively.

"I guess all the Scullys have some wandering blood in them." Her
father beams. "Bill's in the Navy, Charlie's a satellite engineer,
Melissa's," he sighs, "finding herself, and Dana's in the FBI. I
thought you'd be the one to settle down first," he looks at his
youngest daughter.

"I am," she says, "as soon as things settle down at work."

"When will that be?" Bill wonders, in his blunt fashion.

"Good question," Ethan says, looking directly at her.

"Whenever it is, I hope you don't make Ethan wait too long," her
father adds helpfully.

Ooh, kiss of death. Perhaps she hasn't outgrown her youthful
rebelliousness after all. "I think I'll have some tea," Scully tells
her mother, as Tara gives her a sympathetic glance.

~*~*~

Hoover Building
Monday

Familiar staccato clicks on the tile announce her arrival before she
opens the door. Scully nods to her partner, taking a sip of coffee
from the styrofoam cup before she puts her purse down. "Hey, how's
the homies?" Mulder asks, tossing another wadded paper ball into the
trash. ::It's amazing how his game improves when he's not on a case,
he thinks, that, or the ceiling gets full of lead.::

She raises that infamous eyebrow as she takes off her coat. Ooh,
shpooky. "The 'homies', as you put it, are fine. In fact, I got to
spend time with my brother Bill and his wife, as well as my parents."

Mulder suppresses a shudder at the mention of her brother. He wonders
if the other one, Charles, would be any more mellow. Or less of an
asshole. "...and I'm guessing everything was just peachy in the
Scully household."

She smiles a little. "As a matter of fact, yes, it was. Well, there
was that one thing," and with that her smile fades. "But didn't
anything *unusual* happen here?"

He shakes his head vigorously. "No, nothing worthy to be sent down
here. No, what was that one thing that happened?" He leans forward,
curious.

She sighs, regretting having brought it up. "Well, it wasn't a big
deal, really," she starts, when she sees him leaning forward on his
elbows, his chin resting on his hands, and makes a face. "Jeez,
nothing *did* happen around here, did it?"

"Come on, Scully, don't make me beg for the juicy details," Mulder
whines, putting on the full puppy-dog eyes, complete with pout.

"Brother." She snorts, but, allowing herself the luxury of turning
away from him, "Well, if you must know, I almost got engaged."

Mulder almost falls over. "What?" He blinks.

"Yes," she says, turning around to see her tall partner's jaw
hanging. "But with your keen powers of observation, you might detect
something missing here," she says, holding up her hand. "Ethan's a
nice boy, but we were moving too fast, and I don't see myself getting
married anytime soon." She chuckles a little and bends down to
retrieve her purse, while her partner gathers his wits.

::Okay, so she's not engaged, she's just dumped her boyfriend, thank
you God,:: he rejoices inwardly, while his face betrays nothing of
his emotions, as usual. One of these days, he's gonna crack a smile
and freak her out, but in the meantime, it's all he can do not to
jump up and down, hug her, and yell at the top of his lungs, "You're
not getting married! Yes! No little Minettes running around!" Aloud
he says, "So should I say congratulations or sorry?"

She smiles, "Neither. I'd still be your partner, married or not,
Mulder. You can't scare off a Scully that easily."

He smiles back. ::That's for sure,:: he nods, ::your mom stuck up for
us God knows how many times, and Bill sure wasn't shy about
expressing his feelings. Neither did Melissa, as I recall.:: At that
last thought, he sobers up, remembering his mission. Nobody else
should have to suffer, nobody else, like Melissa, should have to die.
"Good to know," he says aloud.

~*~*~

"This is one of those times I'm happy to be a man," Mulder tells her
a moment later.

"Oh?" she asks, arching an eyebrow. Her look is slightly defensive,
as if she expects him to try to hit on her now that he knows she's
single.

Which isn't what he has in mind at all. "As a man, I can say nothing
at all about the demise of your relationship. Now, if I was one of
your female friends, I'd have to tell you he's scum, I never really
liked the guy, you could do much better, and I know this guy I'm sure
you'd hit it off with," he says with a grin.

"But you and Ethan spoke to each other for all of five minutes the
entire time I dated him, so how could you hate him?" she asks
reasonably.

"Doesn't matter. The extra X chromosome would force me to hate him
even if I didn't know he existed until you mentioned breaking up with
him."

Scully smiles slightly. "You sound as though you've investigated
this."

"I do have a degree in psychology, Scully," he says with mock
arrogance. "And I've watched a lot of TV."

"That explains it."

"And, you know, the phenomena is an x-files. Much like the one about
why women can't go to the bathroom alone. Which is another reason to
be happy to be male."

"You wouldn't want to go to the bathroom with me?" Scully teases him.

::No, because I wouldn't get to see anything!:: "Well, maybe if you
promised to bring a can of air fresher."

She throws a paper clip at him, but doesn't seem upset, which makes
him happy for the rest of the day.

~*~*~

Chapter Four

Burlington, Vermont
February 14th, 1993

For once in her life, Dana Scully is more than glad to be kept busy
on Valentine's day. A couple of months earlier, she'd believed that
she and Ethan would be spending a romantic day together, but those
brief daydreams had dissolved when she'd broken up with him. Two
months later, she was still not regretting the decision, because
Ethan just hadn't struck her as the type of man she'd be happy
settling down with.

She's still thinking about this as she and Mulder drive to the scene
of yet another crime in a small town. Mulder apparently notices her
distraction, because he looks away from the road just long enough to
ask, "Got something on your mind?"

Willing herself not to blush, she replies, "Have you ever stopped to
think about how many of our cases could be summed up as 'agents
investigate a horrible crime in a picturesque small town'?"

Mulder grins. "Maybe there's a dark hidden underbelly in all the
pretty places, too."

"Hmm."

"I guess that's better than the brutal places that are more than
happy to roll over and show you their underbellies," Mulder
concludes.

"Mulder, you better be careful. There are laws against abusing a
defenseless metaphor like that," she tells him with a cheeky smile of
her own.

"You going to rat me out, Scully?"

"To the literary police? You bet. If I turn in three more offenders,
I earn double miles on Southwestern flights."

"Have we even been booked on one of their flights, yet?" Mulder asks
her.

She shrugs. "There are plenty more pretty towns with dark
underbellies out there."

"Yeah, and I'm sure we'll eventually see them all." He looks slightly
annoyed. "I feel like we're on some bizarre tour sometimes."

"Minus the rhinestones."

"I think I'd look pretty good in them though. Maybe paired up with
some cowboy boots."

Their easy banter has her thinking about Ethan again. He'd been a
nice enough man, but things had never been all that fun between them.
Scully glanced at her partner. Why couldn't she find someone who was
witty and brilliant like him, but minus the paranoia?

"Here we are, the pretty scene of a gruesome murder," Mulder
announces as they come to a stop in front of a white farm house.

It is rather pretty. Large pine trees lined the yard, and nearly
every limb is bowed down with clean looking snow. If it wasn't
February you could half imagine Santa touching down with his team.

Of course, it's also the scene of a disemboweling that no one had
been able to figure out, too, so that quells some of inclinations
towards fond feelings for the place.

~*~*~

Three hours later they are little closer to solving the murder, and
much farther from breakfast. Mulder pulls over in front of a small
diner, and turns off the car before looking at her. "I hope you don't
mind, I'm starving."

She looks up at the diner and feels all hope of a healthy meal fade
away. "After hearing those details, you're still hungry?"

"I am. It takes more than a discussion about strewn entrails to put
me off my feed." He opens the driver side door and gets out before
looking back in at her. "Come on, you're a doctor. You can't have
lost your appetite over something like that. There weren't even any
pictures!"

Rolling her eyes, she throws open her own door and steps out.
Mulder's longer legs mean that it only takes him a few steps to
appear by her side, and she's soon glad that he has, because one of
her feet skids on a patch of ice.

"Whoa!" Mulder cries, grabbing her by the arm to keep her on her
feet.

"Thanks, Mulder. I thought I was going to fall on my behind."

"Not when I'm around," he tells her gallantly.

"Oh no?" she asks, smiling up at him.

"Nope. I'll always be here to catch you when you fall."

"Isn't that nice?" a delighted voice behind them calls out.

They both turn around and spot an older woman beaming at them. Within
three heartbeats the woman has joined them. "That was very sweet,
what you said," she tells Mulder.

"Um, thanks?"

"It's so nice to see a young couple in love like that." The woman
doesn't seem to notice that both FBI agents have immediately turned
red. She pokes Mulder. "You had better keep your promise, young man."

"I will," Mulder replies in a dazed voice.

The older woman smiles again. "I hope it works out for you. Your
children would be lovely."

"Um..." Scully starts to reply, but the woman has given them a final
smile before crossing the street, heading in the direction of the
library.

She and Mulder exchange embarrassed looks. 

Eventually Mulder decides to break their mutual silence, "I hope
she's not one of the people we need to talk to during this case,
because it'd be a shame to have to crush her illusions."

"I hope not, too, because I'm willing to bet that she fancies herself
a matchmaker," Scully mutters, watching the woman enter the building
across the street.

He looks down at her to catch her gaze. "You know I didn't just mean
I'd catch you literally, right, Scully? I've got your back." 

"I know, Mulder. And I've got yours."

To their relief, they soon solve the case without having to talk to
their new favorite busybody.

~*~*~

The Shops at Georgetown Park
Washington, DC
May 1993

"This is nice," Scully tells her friends Kathy and Ellen as they
settle at a table with trays of food. All three have varying kinds of
salads, but Ellen and Scully have also decided to indulge, and have
bought milk shakes as well. They've been shopping for three hours,
and their stomachs have finally demanded food so they've agreed to a
quick break.

"What, the food court?" Kathy asks, looking around at all the weekend
shoppers they're marooned in the middle of. "If so, you've got a
strange idea of nice. This is okay once in a while, but I prefer
eating somewhere with menus and waiters."

Scully laughs. "I don't mean the food court, I mean spending the day
with the two of you."

"You thought your credit card could use a work out, right?" Ellen
asks archly. She's the one who complains the most often that they
hardly see her any more.

"No, I thought I could use a day away from the grind."

"I'm glad you decided that, because we hardly see you," Ellen starts
in again until Kathy lightly swats her arm.

"She's here now, so maybe it's not the best time for a 'why don't you
ever do anything with us' lecture."

"All right." Ellen looks slightly contrite, but it isn't long before
she has a new thing to harp on. "If you weren't so busy, though,
maybe you'd have a new boyfriend by now."

"I seem to recall it taking more than five months before you replaced
Don," Scully coolly tells her.

"That's true. We heard you moon over him for eight months after you
broke up," Kathy adds.

"Nine months."

"Oh yeah, nine," Kathy agrees. "But what about the guy you work
with?"

"Mulder?" Scully asks blankly. "What about him?"

"Is he married?"

"Just to his work."

"Dating anyone?"

"Not that I know of."

Ellen turns to Kathy. "That means no. He couldn't be dating anyone
without Dana figuring it out."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"You're a details person, Dana. Things like that wouldn't escape your
attention."

"Uh, okay."

"Now the most important question," Ellen announces. "Is he cute?"

Scully grimaces. "Yes, he's cute." Kathy and Ellen exchange smug
looks. "But I told you that he's married to his work."

"So you're jealous of that?" Kathy asks.

"What is this, 'gang up on Dana' day?" 

Ellen pats her on the shoulder. "We're not trying to be mean. We just
want you to be happy."

"And it seems like you're too busy lately to even look at anyone,
never mind maybe getting a date," Kathy adds, her voice gentle.

"I didn't realize you were planning an intervention," Scully says a
little stiffly.

Ellen holds up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. We'll drop it.
Did I tell you what my wonderful son did in school last week? I was
at work when I got a call from his teacher..."

Scully half listens to her friend's tale of first grade mayhem, more
thinking about the earlier part of their conversation. She has been
too busy for a relationship since breaking things off with Ethan.
Would things even out for her eventually, or would she end up
chronically single like Mulder apparently was? After more than a year
on the X-Files she still wasn't feeling like things would ever slow
down at work.

"You okay, Dana?" Kathy asks, looking concerned. "You look worried."

"I'm fine. Refresh my memory, which store did you say had a sale on
silk sheets?"

The three of them finish their food and head back into the throng of
shoppers, and for once Scully makes an effort to really look at the
men around them.

~*~*~

July 1993

They're supposed to be writing up the report on the Victor Tooms case
when she notices that he's staring off into space, even though he
doesn't quite realize it himself. "Mulder, what are you thinking
about?" Scully asks, looking up from a scattering of crime scene
photos spread before her on a small table. Another small stack is
piled on his desk in front of him, but he's not looking at them.

Instead of answering her, he glances at the door, making sure it's
firmly shut, then approaches her from behind. Before she can ask him
what he's doing, he grabs the hem of her FBI approved skirt, and
throws it up onto her back. She gasps as he hooks his fingers in her
panties and hose, but squirms in a helpful manner as he pulls them
down for her. One of her hands brushes the front of his pants, and
he's sure she can feel the erection that's straining against the
teeth of his zipper.

He gives a soft grunt as he frees himself from the confines of his
suddenly way too tight pants, and barely notices as the offending
piece of clothing slitters to his ankles. She licks her lips and
gives him an inviting look before swiping the photos off the table so
she has a place to brace her hands.

It delights him to hear her moan softly as he guides himself into her
warm body. When he's planted deep inside her, he moves his hands to
her hips, and she whispers urgent and desperate demands. For a
moment, the only thing that is important to him is the thrust of his
pelvis, and it really does seem like his life depends on establishing
a steady rhythm. As she pushes back at him, he wonders if maybe hers
does too.

While he would love to draw things out, to tease her, he can't help
but glance at the door every couple of strokes. Anyone could walk in,
and that thrills him almost as much as it worries him. But just
almost. What they're doing could cost them both their careers if
anyone found out. As if reading his thoughts, she whimpers softly,
and he's glad that they never put any surveillance cameras in the
basement.

Much too soon he feels an exquisite tension, and knows that it won't
belong before he comes. His only regret is that he can't wait long
enough to make sure she does too. This time. It's only by gripping
his lower lip in his teeth that he can resist the urge not to cry out
and draw attention to them. That becomes all the harder to resist
when he realizes that he was wrong about Scully. The steady clenching
of her walls around his already spurting member tell him that he did
an efficient, if by necessity quick, job after all. Together they-


"Mulder, what are you thinking about?"

He blinks and looks over at her, where she's still reading that
stupid case report. ::What am I thinking about? I'm thinking that the
only way you're going to be safe this time next summer is if you've
got a bellyful of baby. I'm worried that I'm going to screw
everything up, and not get you into bed on time, or worse yet, do bed
you, but destroy our relationship so we don't end up happy anyway.
I'm worried that I'm not up to the chore of seducing you, because I
never was too smooth with the chicks and I know you'd never believe
me if I told you the truth, so I'm going to have to blunder on, and
hope I can turn daydreams into reality. Well, maybe not this
particular fantasy, since the office is kind of a scummy place for a
date, but-::

"Mulder?" Scully looks a bit worried, reminding him of the time when
she'll find him in a strange motel room with no memory.

"Sorry. Woolgathering. I was thinking about the final frontier, going
where few men have gone before..." He gives her a sheepish grin. :: I
hope it's a few men...note to self, find a way to tactfully bring up
AIDS tests...::

"Star Trek, huh?" she asks, giving him an it-figures look.

"Something like that," he agrees, pulling his chair a little closer
to the desk. Mostly, he's just hoping he won't be required to stand
up in the next few minutes and have to display evidence of where his
thoughts really were.

~*~*~

The calendar tells Mulder that he's got to go to New York very soon
if he's going to spare Doggett the anguish of losing his only son.
The only problem is, how does he tell Scully?

A voice in the back of his head reminds him that Skinner is always on
his case about not taking vacation time, so he decides that it's the
perfect cover story. He just needs to be very innocent seeming, so he
doesn't raise her suspicions.

Skinner readily agrees to let him take the week off, mumbling
something about "it's about time." So Mulder decides to wait until
the last possible moment to tell Scully, since that's the sort of
thing she probably expects from him.

He waits until they're packing up for the day to broach the subject.
"Scully, you know how you're always going on about how you resent me
making all the decisions in our cases?"

She gives him a startled look. "I've never said anything like that."

"Your eyes tell the story, Scully. Windows to the soul you know.
Anyway, what would you think of being able to call all the shots for
a week?"

"I'd wonder what the catch is," she says warily.

"Skinner has been hounding me to take some vacation time, and has
threatened to not pay me for the week if I don't take it. Now."

"You're going on vacation?" She looks a little hurt, but he tries not
to notice.

"I'll only be gone a week. You're probably sick of me anyway," he
adds lightly.

"I'm-" She pauses, looking a little confused. "I hope you have a good
time," she finishes lamely, obviously not saying what's on her mind.

"It'll be great. I haven't been to New York in years. Maybe," he
says, grinning at her. "I'll bring you a souvenir. Do you need a
paperweight?"

"Just be careful, Mulder."

"Oh sure. I'll be on my best behavior."

She looks unconvinced, but says nothing.

~*~*~

August 10th, 1993 

At first he thinks that maybe all he'll have to do is to steal the
kid's bike, but he knew John Doggett. He was completely devoted to
his kid, so the first thing he'd do would be to dry the kid's eyes,
and the second would be to buy him another bike.

Something much more drastic will be called for, in case the police
don't nab Regalia as quickly as he hopes. He is going to have to make
sure that the boy can't ride any bike, not just the one he has now.
As much as he hates the idea of hurting a child, he decides it's the
only sure way to keep him off his bike and out of the view of the
pedophile monster who'd kidnap him.

He knows what Luke looked like, so all he has to do was wait for an
opportunity to orchestrate an injury. After a couple of days of
watching the boy carefully put his bike in the bike rack at the
library near his home, he has an idea. There are steep granite steps
that the kid had to climb up after he and his mother park their
bikes, and the kid leaves his bike helmet on until he gets inside.
All Mulder will have to do is knock him down the stairs and hope he
breaks an arm or a leg.

Mulder's plan works perfectly, except for the fact that Doggett has
taken Luke to the library today day instead of his wife. Noticing
Doggett there does not change Mulder's mind. His prop is a large
awkward box that is hard to see around, and as soon as he hears the
man and boy's feet hit the first stair, he began to briskly walk
towards the stair case himself. Luke is on the second to last step
from the top when Mulder bowls him over, perfectly executing his
plan. He drops his box with what he hopes is a surprised look on his
face, and watches helplessly as the little boy tumbles all the way
down the stairs. There's a sharp sound followed by a pitiful wail,
the combination of which fills Mulder with both shame and pride. Luke
is hurt, but there is no way he'd be riding his bike passed his
would-be kidnapper in two days.

Pretending shock, Mulder rushes down the stairs. "Oh my God, I didn't
even see him! What can I do? His leg..." Luke's leg is bent at an
unnatural angle, which tells him he's definitely been successful.

"Do you have one of those cell phones?" Doggett asks, as he tried to
comfort his son. The question strikes him as odd, until he remembers
that cell phones weren't as pervasive in 1993 as they are in 2003.

"Yeah," Mulder says quickly dialing 911 for an ambulance. "I'm so
sorry," he tells Luke as he bends to take a better look at him. The
boy's pained grimace is the closest thing he gets to a reply.

"What the hell were you doin' anyway?" Doggett demands to know a
couple of minutes later as they wait for the ambulance to show up.
Mulder hovers with a guilty expression that he did not have to feign
as he listens to Luke whimper in pain.

"I'm an FBI agent, and I was at the library doing a bunch of
research, so they boxed the photo copies I need for my case for me,
and I was running late..." Mulder does his best to sound nervous and
apologetic- it doesn't require much acting. "I can't believe this
happened."

"Do you have any kids?" Doggett asks, sounding a little less angry
and a lot more weary.

"Not yet. My girlfriend and I are hoping for one soon, though." At
least he's hoping. Then he's briefly distracted by wondering how
Scully would react to hearing herself referred to as his girlfriend.

"You'll soon learn that accidents happen, no matter how well you look
after your kids. You can't protect them from everything," Doggett
declares with a sigh.

Mulder nods, but he hopes he's made Doggett's job in that regard a
little easier.

The paramedics arrived soon after, and proclaim that Luke Doggett has
indeed broken his leg. Luke's thoughts are of his bike. "I won't be
able to ride my bike, Daddy!" he complains, as he's loaded into the
ambulance.

"Not for a couple of months," Doggett agrees. 

::and thank God:: Mulder thinks.

Doggett is about to climb into the ambulance when Mulder stops him.
"Look, I feel terrible about this. Give me your address and I'll drop
the bikes off at your house, it's the least I can do."

Doggett gives him a suspicious look, but then relents and gave him
the address Mulder already knows. Before the doors to the ambulance
swing closed, he gives Doggett his business card. "If there's
anything the insurance doesn't cover, send the bill to me. I'm so
sorry about all of this..." Doggett nods, then a minute later he and
his son are off to the hospital.

To Mulder's relief, Barbara Doggett isn't home when he pulls into
their driveway. He unloads the bikes quickly, then leaves before
anyone has the chance to ask him what he's doing. He starts to drive
back to the highway, but on impulse drives to a toy store instead.
Walking up the counter, he asks the man, "Do you deliver?"

The man nods. "But it costs 25% extra." He goes on to explain that
Mulder's question isn't as unusual as he probably thought, since
grandparents and other relatives often make impulsive buys on their
way home from visits. Since it was the man's own business he's able
to offer better service than bigger stores. "We even gift-wrap and
add a card."

"That's great," Mulder calls over his shoulder, already looking over
the toys. He isn't sure what he's looking for, just something a kid
that is going to be spending a lot of time indoors could enjoy. His
eyes finally wander across a display of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
and he remembers how frequent the commercials for the toys were, or
he supposes are. Mulder quickly gets a shopping cart and returns to
the action figure isle. He puts one of every toy in the line in the
cart and brings it up front. "I hope you've got a big box," he says
to the man with a grin.

The man nods, and hands him a card to fill out while he rings up the
sale. Mulder thinks about what to write for a moment, then jots down,
"I'm really sorry about your leg. I hope you feel better soon.
Special Agent Fox Mulder."

The man takes back the card without reading it. "So...what did you
do?"

"What?" Mulder gives him a puzzled look.

"When someone buys a kid this many toys, they usually feel guilty
about something."

"Oh." Mulder gives him a sheepish look. "I uh...I wasn't looking
where I was going and knocked a kid down a flight of stairs. He broke
his leg."

The man nods. "Yep, I figured it was a doozy. I'll have this stuff
dropped off early tomorrow. Don't worry, when the kid sees this,
he'll forget all about his leg." Mulder flashes him a weak smile,
then pays him and leaves.

~*~*~

When he gets back to his hotel room, he calls the police every
fifteen minutes until they tell him that they caught Bob Harvey with
a ton of child porn, just like his tip suggested they would. Then he
stops by to make sure they haven't just said it to keep him from
calling back, and to be sure it's the same man.

With Harvey out of the picture, he can relax. Regalli won't be
getting what's coming for him for years still, probably, but Luke
isn't in danger from him without Havey's interference. Congratulating
himself on a job well done, he's anxious to get back to Scully and
work on that end of the project.

~*~*~

Several Days Later

Mulder breezes into his office, in which his unflappable partner is
sitting at his desk, deep into some thick scientific tome, her
reading glasses perched on her nose. "Miss me?" he asks, with a
little hopeful whine.

Scully looks up and blinks. "You know, it's amazing what I can
accomplish when you're not around," she says, taking off her reading
glasses but not moving out of his chair.

Mulder resists looking up at the ceiling for pencils. "Oh?" he asks
off-handedly.

She nods briskly. "Yes, I managed to catch up on all our paperwork,
some of which you *swore* you finished before you left," she gives
him a raised eyebrow, "And dig up some reputable sources, "another
eyebrow raise, "and even found time to read up on some of the more,
shall we say, 'colorful' cases."

Mulder knows if she were British, she'd sniff disdainfully at this
point. "Glad to see you're as enterprising as ever, even though you
held off on the room redecoration."

"Trust me, it was very tempting," Scully says, a smile playing on her
lips. "So how was New York?"

He shrugs. "A little more eventful than I thought it would be, took
in the sights, got my hard-working partner a souvenir..."

"What is it?" she asks, both hopeful and worried. "Would it help if I
said I missed you?"

"It'll help," he says, knowing she'll kill him once he reveals his
"gift." Grinning, he pulls out from his coat a green styrofoam crown,
a la "Lady Liberty." "Ta-daaah!" He crows, mashing the tacky
monstrosity on her perfectly-styled hair, as if he's crowning the
next beauty pageant queen. "I feel patriotic already," he adds,
putting a hand on his heart.

"I feel idiotic," Scully replies. "You really didn't have to get me
anything," she says half-heartedly, glancing up at the pointed crown.
She will *never* understand her partner, she sighs inwardly, nor does
anyone on this planet.

"Man, I can't wait to see the look on Blevin's face when you walk in
his office." He grins, and she pulls it off. "Hey!"

"Much as I enjoy amusing you to no end," the redhead says patiently,
"we've got work to do. And I am *not* doing it with a styrofoam
souvenir on my head."

Now Mulder's grin is wider. "You know, you should really fix your
hair. People might think we're up to something down here."

To his disappointment, she races out of the room as if her head was
on fire.
"She missed me," he tells himself, walking behind his desk and
reclaiming his chair.

~*~*~

Chapter Five

Late Summer 1993

Mulder has been stressing himself out completely. A book he furtively
copied pages from at the library - Female Fertility and You - told
him that women ovulated every twenty-eight days, but which of those
days might be true of Scully is a lot harder to figure that out than
he first suspected.

It had seemed like an easy task - just keep track of how often Scully
goes to the bathroom, and see which week that happened most often.
Seemed easy, anyway...But since he can't know for sure when she is
leaving the room to use the restroom, it's been a lot harder than he
thought it was going to be. Sure, he could make it a habit to leave
the room then too so he can see where she is headed, but she's an
medical doctor and he's sure that she'd conclude his frequent
potty-breaks are an indicator of something unpleasant, like a bladder
infection, and insist he see someone. Worse yet, she could think it
is an STD and never sleep with him. At least he's too young for
prostate problems.

The only method he that he's felt safe try, then, is to keep a list
of when she leaves the room. But after so many lines being crossed
out when she has returned with a folder or a cup of coffee, it has
gotten too messy to even read, so he's had to ditch it.

More recently he's thought about trying to figure out when she was
moodier, but he has quickly realized the sad truth: she has less mood
swings than most of the men he knows. That method isn't going to work
either.

With great reluctance, he concludes that he's never going to figure
out when she's fertile, and even if he does, it'd probably backfire
and make him so anxious he can't perform. He perks up a bit at the
thought of this being the one case that quantity is likely to serve
him better than quality and precision, but he's careful not to smile,
least Scully ask him what he's thinking about. There are only so many
jokes about Star Trek that you can make before getting slugged for
your efforts.

~*~*~

Mid-October 1993

Mulder drops the file he's reading when the phone rings. Scully
glances briefly at him, but makes no move to get it, so he does. "Fox
Mulder."

"Agent Mulder?" a young voice asks, making him wonder what child
could be calling him at work. The mystery is soon solved. "This is
Luke Doggett. Do you remember me?"

"I sure do. How's your leg?" Mulder asks, cringing slightly at the
memory of the little boy tumbling down the stairs.

"It's ok. Daddy said I could call you when the cast came off, 'cause
he said you felt guilty." Apparently the man at the toy store wasn't
the only one to figure that out.

"Your dad's right."

"It came off yesterday. It's this weird white color, and it was kind
of dirty. You ever have a cast? Stuff gets in there, so it's kinda
gross. Dad said I shouldn't have tried sticking things in there, but
it itched."

"I can't say I've ever had a cast," Mulder says, grinning at the
boy's description. "So besides being gross and white, is it ok?"

"Oh yeah. The gross stuff washed off anyway. I have to see a special
doctor to make the muscles strong again, but she tells good jokes, so
I like her."

"That's good to hear."

"My Dad says you're an FBI agent, is that true?"

"Yup," Mulder says, wondering if the next question is going to be
"have you ever killed anyone."

"So cool! My dad's a cop, you know."

"Does he work for the NYPD?"

"Uh huh....Agent Mulder, my class is gonna visit the Hoover building
in April, that's where you work, right?"

"Yes."

"We're gonna eat in the cafeteria and everything...do you think you
could eat lunch with me?"

The little boy's hopeful voice makes him grin, and Scully gives him a
questioning glance, obviously dying to know who he's talking to.
"Sure, you tell me the date, and I'll make sure I'm there for lunch,
" he says. "As long as I'm in the building, that is. Sometimes I have
to travel."

"Like when you were where we are. I know that you can't promise for
sure."

Before the boy gets off the line, he's struck by a sudden impulse.
He'd been trying to figure out how Bob Harvey had managed to get a
hold of him the last time around, and had come up with two
possibilities. "Luke, will you make me a promise?"

"I dunno...My Mom says you should be careful about making promises to
people you don't know well."

"Actually, it's a promise about being careful."

"Oh, ok," Luke agrees.

"When you're not with your mom and dad, like maybe when you can ride
your bike, promise me that you won't go with anyone you don't know."

"Sure, but I know that you're not supposed to go anywhere with
strangers," Luke scoffs.

"I know that you're a smart kid, but some times people will try to
trick you. Some kids who get taken from their parents are told
something like their mom or dad is hurt, and they need to go with the
person so they can see them right away."

"That's mean!"

"It sure is. What a lot of parents do is set up a password with their
kid, and give it to someone who needs to pick the kid up. If the
stranger doesn't know the password, the kid knows they should run
away from the person because they could be bad. Even if they say the
kid's Mom and Dad forgot to give it to them, they could still be
lying."

"Yeah."

"And another thing is a stranger could try to make a kid go with them
by grabbing them, because they're bigger and stronger than the kid.
Do you know what you should do then?"

"Scream as loud as you can?" Luke guesses.

"Exactly. Even if there's no one right there, lots of times the
person wanting to take the kid will get scared that someone will hear
and let the kid go."

"Ok, I promise not to go with anyone, and to scream real loud if
someone ever tries to grab me. But how come you're telling me this?"

Mulder isn't sure what to say, exactly. He decides on something close
to the truth. "The reason I was down where you live is there was a
bad man taking little kids in your town and hurting them. We put him
in jail, but it makes me worry about the kids I know."

"That's scary," Luke says, but it sounds like he's taking Mulder's
warnings seriously for that reason.

"It is. Luke is your Dad home? I'd like to talk to him about the
password thing we just discussed if he is."

"Dad! Agent Mulder wants to talk to you!"

When Doggett picks up, Mulder tells him as much about Bob Harvey as
he can, except for his connection to Luke. Doggett assures him that
he and Barbara will make sure that Luke pays attention to Mulder's
advice, and they'll pick out a password right away.

When he hangs up the phone, Scully is staring at him. "Who was that?"

"Remember the kid I knocked down the stairs?"

"Sure, but what was that about a child molester? I thought you were
New York for a short vacation."

::Oops:: "You know me, Scully," he says lightly. "If I stumble across
a case and think there's something I can do to help out..."

"You stick your nose in it."

"That's one way of putting it," he says, letting the matter drop. "I
bet you're just glad I wasn't making lunch plans with a woman."

Scully doesn't dignify the question with a response.

~*~*~

First week of December 1993

"Aren't you going to thank me?" The large-eyed, buck-toothed,
dark-haired woman smiles briskly at Mulder as he gets out of the car.
Oh God, she just has to come in with a dramatic entrance, and wishes
he'd picked another car that day. Way to make an impression.

"For what?" Just once, he'd like to forget he's a gentleman and slug
her. Or maybe feign sudden and severe amnesia, and hope his past
doesn't come back to bite him in the ass.

"Saving your life," Phoebe Green says, as if it were self-evident.
"One tends not to make the same mistake twice."

Got that right, Mulder grumbles internally. "I'll try to remember
that," he says without irony.

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you left your sense of humor in Oxford
ten years ago," she teases him.

::What the hell did I ever see in you,:: he wonders, and not for the
first time. "No, actually. It's one of the few things you didn't
drive a stake through," he says with some bitterness.

Scully gets out of the car and looks at them. Mulder makes the
mistake of not paying attention to Phoebe and gets smooched for his
error. ::Aw, crap,: he thinks, as Scully looks uncomfortably at
Mulder, then at Phoebe.

"You know, some mistakes are worth making twice." The older woman
grins saucily.

Mulder groans inwardly, ::No, they sure as hell aren't, and I just
made one again. Thank God there was no tongue, that would've been
really gross.:: With no measure of sarcasm, he introduces his past
flame, so to speak, to his present. "Dana Scully, Phoebe Green,
terror of Scotland Yard." He keeps his poker face on, knowing if he
doesn't, there'll be hell to pay.

"Hello," Phoebe says brightly and professionally.

"Hello," Scully says, matching her tone.

"She hates me," the large-eyed Brit whispers to her ex-lover.

Duh, Mulder's about to say, but instead says aloud, "What brings you
to the colonies?"

~*~*~

In their cramped little basement office, Mulder's looking at photos
of a barbequed man, while Phoebe is sitting across from him in
Scully's seat, and Scully is standing. "Some clever bloke has been
giving the aristocracy a good scare," she says in her clipped accent.
"Killed off a ranking member of Parliament or three for good measure.
Set Windsor Castle ablaze in 1992."

"Your car bomber?" Mulder asks, while wondering if Phoebe had always
had that bright shade of lipstick and odd shade of hair dye. ::I
think it was longer a decade ago,:: he muses.

"No. This one likes to burn his victims alive," the Brit says with
relish. "Can't figure how he does it, either. Not a crumb of evidence
left at the crime scene. The last one died in his front garden, his
poor young wife watching helplessly as he went up in smoke."

"The Irish Republican Army?" he prompts.

"Our suspect likes to send letters to his victims' wives." With that,
she stands, a good head taller than the other woman in the room.
"Sent one to the wife of some Malcolm Marsden a month ago. Three days
later, he narrowly escaped a fire in his garage. Burned to the
ground. So they're renting a place out on Cape Cod. Bringing the
family over to the states for an extended holiday or until we can
catch the dirty little bugger."

"You think he's that determined?" Mulder asks, knowing full well what
the answer is, hell, the answer to the case is. ::It's hard being
omniscient,:: he thinks, even as he fidgets under Scully's level gaze
at the two of them.

"Judging by his success, he seems to take a certain delight in his
work," she replies.

"So what brings you on this detour to Washington,  DC, Inspector?"
Mulder asks seemingly guileless, while part of his ego is ready to
get stroked, and then some.

"I figured my friend Mulder couldn't resist a three-pipe problem,"
Phoebe answers, practically leering at him.

"I'll run it by our arson specialist," he says placatingly.

"Splendid." Phoebe smiles, as if expecting that. "I'll call London,
let them know." She takes her things and opens the door. Then she
pauses and looks back at Scully. "Oh, goodbye."

Scully waves, and Phoebe leaves, but the room is no less tense.
Dammit.

"Three-pipe problem?" The redhead asks, her tone dangerously close to
igniting.

"That's from Sherlock Holmes," he says, thinking, ::Come on, like you
don't have issues with "Moby Dick"?:: "It's a private joke," he adds
somewhat defensively. "An old private joke."

"How private?" The petite redhead continues to press him. "And how
old?"

::You wanna play that game, fine. Let's pretend like you're not
jealous,:: he thinks, "We knew each other in school in England. She
was brilliant and I got in over my head, and I paid the price." ::But
obviously I didn't learn from my mistakes fast enough, since I got
involved with Diana soon afterwards, another large-eyed, devious
brunette. Do I know how to pick 'em or what?::

"Mulder, you just keep unfolding like a flower," Scully comments
dryly.

No, that's my porn collection, he's about to say. But the excuses
come out instead. "That was over ten years ago, Scully," he says,
grabbing his coat and standing. Which means forever in dog years.
Honest!

"Yeah, I noticed how you couldn't drop everything fast enough in
order to help her out," she says, jealousy dripping with each word.

Drop what? A case we were done with? A temporary drought in dealings
of the bizarre? What? "Oh, I was merely extending her a professional
courtesy," he says lightly to cover up the sarcasm, then realizes he
just stepped in it.

"Oh, is that what you were extending?" Scully raises her eyebrows.

::If you want double entendres, I'll give you some,:: he thinks
childishly, :: but *somebody* has to be a professional around here.::
"Look, I'm going to run this by the arson guys and then she's on her
own." The unspoken question they both hear is, "Are you happy?"

She looks at him with skepticism on so many levels. "Something tells
me you're not going to get rid of her that easily."

~*~*~

Later on, Mulder tries to have another chat with Scully in the same
basement office to try to defuse the situation before it blows up in
his face like it did the last time. ::If I stay out with Scully on
this, L'Ively's gonna kill more people, but there's no way Scully
will want to stick with me and Phoebe. Not that I wouldn't mind a
catfight,:: he almost grins as he walks through the door, ::but hell,
a mere mortal can only take so much.::

"So, Sherlock, is the game afoot?" Scully asks, raising her eyes from
the file she's reading at his desk.

He closes the door. Maybe this time she won't get jealous. Maybe this
time she'll see some reason. And maybe frogs won't bump their asses
when they hop, "I'm afraid so, Watson. But you're off the hook on
this one."

She takes off her glasses. "What do you mean?"

Okay, she's not unsheathing her claws yet. "I mean I'm not going to
put you through this." ::Not any more manipulation...except for the
sex thing later on, of course. God, I hope that works out...:: He
pulls out a file and walks toward her, trying to remember what he
said, and hopefully saying the right thing this time.

"Put me through what?" Scully prompts him.

"Phoebe's little mindgame." ::There, I said it. Should be
self-explanatory, right? That Posh Spice is a scary woman, that I
have no feelings for her whatsoever anymore, right?::

"What are you talking about?" Scully says, and he almost hits his
head. ::Guess I gotta spell it out,:: he groans inwardly.

"There's something else I haven't told you about myself, Scully," he
says, hating to reveal another weakness. He sighs, kneels down and
starts digging through another file cabinet so he won't have to look
at her. "I hate fire. Hate it. Scared to death of it." He sighs
again, not wanting to go on, but knowing he has to if he wants to
make her understand, to make her not be so jealous.

"When I was a kid, my best friend's house burned down. Had to spend
the night in the rubble to keep away looters. For years, I had
nightmares being trapped in a burning building." He pulls out a file
and stands up. There, I said it, *now* do you understand? he wants to
yell.

"Wait, and Phoebe knows about this?" Scully frowns.

Now you're getting it, Mulder almost crows. "This is classic Phoebe
Green. Mindgame player extraordinaire. Ten years it's taken me to
forget about this woman, and she shows up in my life with a case like
this."

"So, she shows up, knowing the power she has over you, and then she
makes you walk through fire, is that it?" Scully asks.

::Well, yeah. No, I mean, dammit! That's not what I meant!:: "Phoebe
is fire," Mulder says, and that's the best explanation he has for
this woman who consumed his college years, almost literally. ::But
all I have is the taste of ashes in my mouth whenever I see her,:: he
wants to add, ::not that you'll believe me or anything.::

"Mulder? Are you sure you don't want me to help you on this one?" She
sounds worried. Or jealous. Or maybe both.

But this is for the best, Scully. Really. "Sooner or later, a man's
gotta face his demons," Mulder says, walking out. And better me
facing it like this, than have you and Phoebe sniping at each other
and not paying attention to the case. But it could work in my favor,
you getting all jealous and everything, while Phoebe's left with a
married man. Yeah, that's it, he nods, rationalizing his actions even
as part of him is looking forward to dressing up and dancing with his
ex-flame.

It's ex-flame, he repeats inwardly as he punches the elevator
buttons, emphasis on "ex". Damn, I hope I'm right. Is it
second-guessing or third-guessing if I'm doubting the second time
around? Maybe I could get Scully to dress up when she crashes the
party, he grins to himself as the empty elevator opens with a ding.

~*~*~

Later, at the Venerable Plaza, a little after 8 p.m., Mulder's all
suave and James Bond in his tux, leaning against the wall as people
pass him by, laughing and chatting. He takes a sip from his champagne
glass, watching as the Marsdens walk up the stairs, followed by
Phoebe. She can't pass the chance to give him a meaningful, if
slightly bug-eyed glance, and he returns the favor. Sometime later,
he walks into an empty room with a buffet table. He can still hear
the crowd, just in case somebody happens to yell "Fire" or something
to that effect. As he checks his watch, a voice interrupts his
musings.

"Am I late?" she asks, and he looks up. Boy, she cleans up good, he
grins, offering his arm. Scully beams up at him in a red floor-length
gown, and his perspective makes it impossible to ignore the cleavage.
Damn, it's good being me, Mulder thinks.

"No, right on schedule," he says, as she self-consciously brushes a
lock of auburn hair from her face, trying to tuck it back into its
chignon. "You look great."

"Thanks," she says, her eyes widening as Phoebe approaches in her
black gown. "Hello."

"Hello," Phoebe barely glances at the shorter woman. "I was wondering
if I might borrow Mulder for a dance." She smiles winningly and
confidently at the tall man. With her dark hair, large eyes, buck
teeth (which could be fangs), and black dress, she seems like the
stereotypical black widow, minus husbands. Maybe there were some,
Mulder muses, I don't doubt they could survive her.

Mulder glances down at his partner, who looks at him and then at the
other woman, and already she's starting to pull away. They're both
surprised when he says, "Sorry, I've got a dance partner. Maybe some
other time." The look on their faces is priceless, and he wants to
yell, Groovy, baby, shagadelic, yeah! Oh wait, reverse anachronism
there, "Austin Powers" hasn't been seen yet. Bummer.

As his twisted ex moves off, he leans toward his partner. "You said
you had some information that couldn't wait?"

"It can wait," Scully replies, noting out of the corner of her eyes
that Phoebe hasn't quite left the room yet. "I think you said
something about a dance?"

He grins, wrapping his arms around her for a slow one. "I think I
did, yeah." He nods, as she wraps her arms around his waist. "Thanks
for rescuing me."

"Good to know Sherlock needs to be rescued once in a while," she
smiles.

While they dance, gazing into each other's eyes and forgetting about
a volatile firestarter, Phoebe huffs, then glances away to see the
driver, smiling. A little unsettled, she looks away, only to see
Mulder and his partner behaving rather unprofessionally. Crossing her
arms, she turns away, only to find that the driver is gone. Curious,
she goes to look for him and hears a beeping noise. Finding a panel
with a list of floors and lights next to them, she sees the
fourteenth floor is lit for smoke and fire. This fire should douse
theirs, she thinks, and races back to the couple. "There's a fire
upstairs, on the fourteenth floor where the children are!"

Horrified, they spring apart, and Mulder races upstairs while Scully,
joined by Phoebe, call for help.

~*~*~

Later, after the excitement and L'Ively's Superman act, Scully's
sitting on the bed, with Mulder all shirtless and lying down. She's
still in her fancy dress, while he's mostly undressed and weak,
resuming his coughing fit.

After he drinks from the glass of water she hands him, she comments,
"You were really out."

He blinks, not quite remembering where everyone was. "Where's
Phoebe?"

"Down the hall," she says, completely unworried about the woman.

He sighs with some relief. "And the kids?"

"They're okay, the doctor checked them out," she says, as he gets up,
wearing nothing but his boxers, and picks up his robe. "What happened
to you up there?"

"I panicked," he says, wondering why he froze all over again. Dammit.
"I couldn't move, Scully."

"It could've happened to anyone," she reassures him.

"Yeah, but it happened to me." ::After all I should've known better,
done better.:: "I hared out, plain and simple." He closes the
bathroom door, and realizes he's in his underwear.

::Excellent,:: he thinks, ::she totally stripped me down. A hottie
doctor for a partner, and it's all good,:: he thinks, until he hears
Phoebe's talking to Scully. Realizing it's a bad idea to leave his
catty ex alone with his still-distrustful partner, he steps out,
ready to be Mr. Let's Play Nice Together For Now.

~*~*~

Much, much later, after they catch Sid Viciously Pyro, Mulder's
sitting in his office, reading glasses on. I should really read some
new case files, he thinks, because that bitch seriously messed me up
good. Or I should really mess her up good, he ruminates, until a
voice interrupts his thoughts.

"Care to take me for lunch?" a clipped British female asks. He jerks
his head up, only to see his partner smiling impishly. ::Okay, she
got me there,:: he grudgingly admits, ::but only because I let her::.
"Scare you?"

"You have no idea," he says dryly, thankful that a pair of big eyes
and buck teeth aren't greeting him at the doorway.

"Where's Phoebe?" she asks, as if she's not particularly interested,
sitting on the desk.

"I don't know," he says, relieved.

"You don't know? She didn't call?" she asks, disbelieving.

"No. She did messenger this to me last night, though." He holds up a
tape.

She glances at it, then at her partner. "Did you play it?"

"No," he replies, looking at it.

"Why not? Aren't you curious what's on it?" Scully frowns a little,
curious herself.

He grins. "Ten to one, you can't dance to it," he answers, repeating
what he said about an earlier tape, then chucks it in the trash.
"Besides, without that red dress, it probably won't be as much fun."
Mulder looks at her hopefully.

"Fat chance, that was a one-time deal," she smirks, but gloats
inwardly. "Besides, anybody can slow dance. You'd have to have some
serious moves to really dance with me."

"Hey, I've got moves," he protests, "I got the skills that pay the
bills."

She snorts. "Which reminds me, it seems our case reports are due, and
if we want to pay our bills," she raises an eyebrow meaningfully.

He nods, sighing exaggeratedly as he hangs his head. ::Curses, foiled
again,:: he thinks, as he pulls out some forms and mutters
half-heartedly.

He doesn't notice her lips twitching upwards, or her eyes dancing.

~*~*~

Chapter Six

A Week Later...

A few condoms are lost to experimentation, but Mulder finally hits on
a way to damage them without making it look like they are damaged. A
sewing needle carefully inserted though the packaging renders the
products useless. He's just glad that he bought them in bulk at Sam's
Club, because of the number lost to the cause. An afternoon too is
lost as he plays his videos so he can try on ruined rubbers. At least
the needled ones don't seem damaged before it's much too late.

As soon as he has a few he thinks will fail to pass muster at the
crucial time, he puts them in the pocket of his coat. He smiles to
himself, thinking that the last time he carried around condoms "to be
prepared at all times" was when he was a high-schooler with
aspirations to be a ladies man. Since he doesn't know when he'll be
successful, it seems like a good idea to keep them with him, though.

His bout of self-congratulation regarding his perfect sabotage is cut
short when he accidentally turns to Lifetime while channel surfing -
he finds himself watching a birth control pill commercial, one of the
only commercials not trying to panic him about how few shopping days
are left until Christmas. As he listens to the woman talk about how
the pill cleared her skin while letting her sleep around, he feels a
sinking sensation. The pill isn't even something he's considered.
What if she's using it?

Surfing on the primitive internet - the one thing he desperately
misses about his former life is the advanced electronics - tells him
it is remotely possible that she is using the pill even though she
dropped her ex Ethan like yesterday's news months before. For all he
knows she has really bad periods and uses the pill to alleviate the
symptoms. She wasn't using it when they were together, but then, she
thought she was barren by that point, and she probably had very few
problems with her periods if she wasn't ovulating.

He frets about the possibility for a few days, then thinks of a way
he might be able to figure out if she uses it without having to
rummage though her purse while she's on a bathroom break.

When Scully gets in the next morning, Mulder greets her with a bright
smile. "Scully, I was reading a magazine last night-"

"Did it have a centerfold?" she asks archly. He nearly grins at the
innuendo. The last time around it took her much longer to get to the
level of those sorts of retorts, so he thinks he must be doing
something right.

Instead of rising to the bait, he only shakes his head. "No, it's a
health magazine. There were some eye-opening articles in it."

"Like what?" Scully asks, giving him a curious look.

"One was on how they're hoping to some day use electrical impulses to
help people who are paralyzed walk again. I think that's pretty neat,
it reminds me of the Six Million Dollar man. There was another one
about a health risk for women that was pretty scary."

"What health risk is that?"

"They said that they're doing a study, and it seems like there's a
huge increased risk of women under 35 having a stroke if they smoke
and take birth control pills both. You better not take up smoking,"
he adds in a mock-stern voice.

Scully gives a short laugh. "I'd only have to worry if I also decided
to take the pill. Those synthetic hormones are terrible for you."

"Good. I'd hate for you to have a stroke on me," he says with a grin.

"I know, who else could they pair you with that wouldn't kill you?"
Scully smiles back.

~*~*~

December 29th, 1993

Scully sits at the foot of Mulder's hospital bed and gives him a look
he can't quite interpret. She's gone through a lot the last few days,
losing her father, then having her mind played with by Luther Boggs.
Not to mention his own injury, at least it was only his leg, he keeps
reminding himself. At least he knew it was coming this time, and
moved slightly so the bullet didn't find bone this time. She could be
thinking anything.

At last she speaks, dispelling the mystery. "I was considering Boggs.
If he knew that I was your partner, he could have found out
everything he knew about me. About my father..."

"Scully." He can't stand to see her torn up like this. 

She gets up and walks around to him. "Beyond the Sea" was playing at
my parents' wedding. Visions of deceased loved ones are a common
psychological phenomena.
If he knew that my father had..."

"Dana. After all you've seen, after all the evidence, why can't you
believe?" ::Don't you realize how much easier this would all be on
you?::

She sighs and sits down on his bed. "I'm afraid. I'm afraid to
believe," she says simply.

"You couldn't face that fear? Even if it meant never knowing what
your father wanted to tell you?" he asks, grudgingly admitting to
them both that perhaps Boggs wasn't a fraud after all.

"But I do know," she says softly.

"How?"

"He was my father."

He reaches for her, and wraps her in a clumsy embrace. ::Oh Scully, I
know it hurts. But we'll have a family. And you'll tell them all
about their grandfather. I promise:: "You're right, of you're right,"
he murmurs into her shoulder, and he can feel her relax.

~*~*~

December 31st, 1993

They are panting by the time they get to the top of the stairs.

Scully's breath comes in gasps. "Mulder...You should...Have
gotten...Crutches."

"Aww, but you're all I need to keep me on my feet," he tells her
sweetly.

The effect is ruined when they trip over the doorstill and crash onto
the floor. The way they land pins Scully's legs to the floor.
"Mulder, get off of me!" Scully whines.

::Boy, I hope that's the only time I hear that tonight:: Mulder
thinks, struggling to stand. "I'm up. Besides, you're the one who
should sit on my lap," he tells her.

"Why is that?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"So we can talk about whatever comes up," he replies with a
suggestive grin, making her groan. "Too bad I didn't buy that Santa
hat I was eyeing a couple of weeks ago."

"Mulder!" She suddenly looks concerned, apparently thinking of their
recent fall. "You didn't pop any stitches, did you?"

"I did not. And as you can see, I'm on my own two feet. And you
thought I wasn't ready to go home." He scoffs. They'd gone out to
dinner in at a Chinese food place after he checked out of the
hospital, so it was already quite late.

"Sure, as long as you don't need to go up any stairs, you're fine."
She grimaces.

"I'm not adverse to staying right here in this apartment until I'm
back to one hundred percent." ::Preferably on my back...or you on
yours.::

"You, wanting to hang out instead of looking for UFOs or other
weirdness? I never thought I'd see the day," Scully says mockingly.

"I bet this isn't how you pictured spending New Years Eve," he says,
turning puppy dog eyes on her.

"Oh, I don't know, this isn't so bad," she tells him with a small
smile.

"Since it is New Years Eve, I think we ought to have a drink to
celebrate," he says lightly. "I've got a bottle of champagne in the
fridge."

"This isn't a set up, is it?" she asks, looking both amused and
suspicious.

"Nah. It was a gift from my Dad to congratulate me for getting the
X-Files started. I hope it ages well." He looks a little worried,
since he never considered expiration dates.

"I'm sure it'll be fine," she assures him.

He limps slightly as he goes to retrieve the champagne and two
glasses. Scully notices the limp as he returns. "Oh, Mulder you
should have let me do that."

"No. Big strong man get drinks, ugh," he does his best cheesy caveman
impression and she groans again.

Scully accepts her glass. "So what are we toasting to?"

"You're letting me do the honors? I'm touched," Mulder says, then
holds up his glass. "Here's to new beginnings and new opportunities."
::and new relationships::
They clink glasses, then drink deeply.

The count down begins soon afterwards, and they watch it on the TV.
At the word "One" Mulder turns his head and surprises her with a
kiss. At first he's afraid she'll resist, but her lips are warm and
responsive. A brief kiss turns into a long one, but then her hand
brushes his leg, and she jumps away.

He looks at her, confused, until he finally realizes that she must
have felt his stitches. "Mulder, we shouldn't...your leg..." Her
cheeks are flushed.

"Can I get a rain-check?" he asks hopeful. 

For three heartbeats he's in agony, thinking that she's going to say
no. Instead, she asks, "When do your stitches coming out?"

"In three days."

"Good. And Mulder, next time I'll pick out the alcohol."

"Champagne doesn't age well, does it," he asks, his expression
sheepish.

"At least we gulped it down quickly," she teases him. "Next time buy
red wine."

"I'll do that," he says, grinning at her.

While he's disappointed that things aren't going any farther that
night, he's thrilled to get a rain-check. He just hopes she won't get
cold feet.

~*~*~

January 3rd, 1994

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Mulder mutters under his breath.
Bad enough that he's seducing his partner without her knowledge of
their future relationship together. But that he's taking a page from
Eddie Van Blundht, there's something abhorrent about that. Still, he
and Scully really haven't talked since he told her about his sister's
abduction while sitting in that powerless motel. Time to bite the
bullet and open up a little more, he thinks, trying to calm his
nerves. Then there's the fact that the closest he's gotten to this
kind of action is from that lovely industry he's practically
supporting single-handedly, in a manner of speaking. "You've faced
mutants, monsters and aliens, how hard could a first date be?" He
mumbles, then jumps as the doorbell rings.

"Coming," he calls out from the kitchen.

He opens the door to his partner, who is wearing a typically Scully
look on her face, both questioning and bemused. "I have the results,"
she says, her blue eyes widening as she takes in the cramped
quarters. He covers his grimace as she carefully steps into his
apartment, while she surveys his living quarters with a critical eye.
"Mulder, you didn't clean your place just for me, did you?" she asks,
smiling.

God, how he's missed that smile, he thinks, saying aloud, "No, I had
the mollies do all the gruntwork." He grins back, "They insisted." He
waves vaguely at the aquarium fish, who have managed to survive all
those years of neglect. I will never badmouth tank fish again, he
vows.

Shaking her head, she makes herself comfortable on the couch. "Well,
if they insisted," she says in the same light tone. "I'm afraid the
news is rather disappointing, or would be from your perspective."
Scully shrugs off her bulky winter coat, and, even in her dowdy work
clothes, has quite the figure.

"How's that?" Mulder asks, making himself comfortable at the opposite
end of the couch, resisting the temptation for the umpteenth time to
remark on her looks rather than her work.

She spreads the files out on the coffee table. "It wouldn't have
mattered if you took those photos with an instamatic or a zoom-in,"
she says, already warming up to her debunking, "I had the lab go
through these with a fine tooth comb. These *aren't* UFOs, Mulder."

"They *are* unidentified, right?" Mulder asks, peering closely at one
photo.

"No," Scully says, reveling in her quashing of his theory. He's
letting her have her jollies, she's had so few of them while stuck
with him, "and I called the FAA, the Air Force and National Weather
Service to double-check. Mulder, these are lights from a commercial
airline, what my father used to call a grasshopper flight because the
plane was so small."

He raises his eyebrows. He knows he was bored during his New York
vacation after the excitement with the Doggetts was over, but he
couldn't have been seeing things that much. He leans forward, "Could
a commercial aircraft be making those crazy maneuvers like those I
described?"

She nods. "Especially when the pilot was drunk," she says smugly. "It
was a miracle they landed safely, but some of the passengers are
suing."

"Fine, fine." He stands, conceding defeat, "guess we'll be
celebrating somebody else's victory, then."

She raises an eyebrow. "Celebrating?" Hearing the pop of a cork, and
the sound of liquid being poured into glasses, she laughs. "You were
so sure of yourself, weren't you?"

He makes a face, stepping back into the room and handing her a full
glass, raising his in salute. "Congratulations, Scully, on debunking
me. For once." She raises her brows as if to argue, but the corners
of her mouth are twitching. "and for proving that vacations are
useless."

She shakes her head, taking a generous swallow of wine. "This is
good," she finally says after another swallow. "Maybe you should
rethink your definition of vacation."

He smiles, tilting his glass back. "Maybe I should," he agrees. "What
would be your dream vacation?"

She blinks, then answers when he's waiting instead of teasing her.
"It's a little early to be thinking about that," she murmurs, but as
he waves her on to continue, she says, knocking back another glass,
"My dream vacation would be to stay at home, catch up on reading all
those books I meant to finish, enjoy a nice cup of coffee or cocoa,
and maybe have a bubble bath."

He smiles, thinking, Same ol' Scully. Mulder takes another gulp of
wine, and they continue their conversation, Scully becoming less
coherent after a while, for another few hours.

~*~*~

"Mulder," she says, her blouse as loose as her tongue, "did you want
to be an FBI agent when you grew up? Or what?"

By this time, Mulder's almost as drunk as she is. Almost. "Yes," he
nods gravely, and she snorts. "I guess," he pauses, searching for
words that seem to escape him, "I just wanted to be someone who could
find my sister. And that someone was an FBI agent."

"Why not CIA?" she asks, and it's a reasonable question.

He grins. "They never asked." And it's the truth, as far as he knows.

"Poor baby." She pouts her lips, patting him on the head
mock-sympathetically. "So you were stuck with the FBI, and stuck with
me." She giggles, and the sound tickles him.

"I like being stuck with you," he admits, smiling. She still hasn't
removed her hand from his head. Now's the time, he thinks, she seems
agreeable enough, and not too serious. "Scully?"

"Yeah?" she asks, still half-smiling.

He puts his hand on hers, bringing her fingers to his lips. He
continues to hold her gaze, almost daring her, as he kisses her hand
as passionately as he would, well, her forehead. She leans forward,
moving her hand so it holds his head, and, giving him that same look,
kisses him deeply, practically inhaling his tongue.

"Wow," he says, once he gets his tongue back.

"What were you going to ask me?" she asks, and for a moment, it seems
she's very sober and very serious indeed.

His heart in his mouth, he decides to reply in a light manner. "I was
going to ask you," he says, his voice trailing off as his fingers
trace her jawline to her neck, and she inhales sharply as his fingers
pause at her collarbone before moving downward. Licking her lips, she
watches in almost horrid fascination as he continues to fondle her,
his hands doing things to her she knows she hasn't told anyone about
enjoying. Slowly, torturously, he kisses her, and she tilts her head
back as if waiting for a vampire to strike. Strike he does, and she
moans involuntarily. Her eyes closed, she clutches him to her, and as
his lips find their way back to her mouth, she finds her hands are
fumbling for the fly on his jeans. Groaning, he responds to her
touch, and he almost forgets the question.

"Whatever it is," Scully says breathlessly, her hands exploring
upwards beneath his t-shirt before pulling it off, "yes."

He blinks, and she takes that moment to yank off his jeans. "Yes,"
Mulder repeats as he removes her loose clothes. ::Oy,:: he thinks,
helping her out of her underwire bra, willing his hands not to
tremble.

She inhales as his hands linger on her breasts. "Mulder," she says in
that husky voice, and he gently brushes his lips along her chest, as
if in worship. Smiling beatifically, Scully strokes his short brown
hair, and he inhales the scent of her.

Then he lays her down on the couch, and she wiggles out of her dress
pants and panties neatly, beaming proudly. Running his hands through
her still-long hair, Mulder smiles down at her. "Scully," he says,
and she pulls him down for another deep kiss.

Her legs part, and he's about to close the deal when her eyes snap
open. "Condom?" She may be drunk and passionate, but she's still got
her head on.

Impatiently, he digs with his free hand through his discarded jean
pocket.

"Here," he says, and she takes it from him with the same impatience,
putting it on none-too-gently, causing him to gasp and her to giggle.
Covered with the doctored condom, he resumes what he was doing before
he was so rudely interrupted, and is gratified to hear her gasp as
she realizes what she's getting into, or rather, vice versa.

"Oh my God," she breathes, as she discovers that Mulder is as long as
he is tall. Sometimes, even the tall ones come up short, as she
complained to her friends. Well, she won't be complaining any more,
she thinks, and it's the last coherent thought in her head for a
while. Mulder, to his credit, continues to deliver, and Scully feels
like she's got a new spine in an anatomically impossible area.

Her lips part as she pants, and Mulder, having fought the temptation
too many times, covers her open mouth with his, and as he continues
to thrust earnestly within her, they breathe the same breath. Clawing
at his back, she rocks against him as she breaks off their kiss,
inhaling fresh air and his musky scent. Excited, he thrusts harder,
and she cries out, arching her back. Thanks to previous knowledge,
Mulder knows exactly how to make her happy, and she responds in kind,
her dazed mind not bothering to question particularly large and
unusual phenomenon, her body occupied with the pleasures of his
primal flesh. They gasp and call out incoherent words, but their
tactile communication is all too clear, and finally, their ardor and
stamina spent, lie exhausted on the couch.

~*~*~

Chapter Seven

January 1994

When Scully comes into work one morning in late January, she looks
pale and slightly green tinged.

Mulder is hopeful that he knows why given that they've spent almost
every night together since the third and all the pregnancy test boxes
he's snuck looks at promise early results, but he pretends not to
have a clue. "Scully, are you coming down with something? You don't
look very well."

She pales even more, if that's possible. "We need to talk, Mulder. At
lunch."

"Ok," Mulder agrees, pulling open a drawer in his desk. "I been
giving what you said about organizing things better thought. But what
do we do with something like these-" He spreads a handful of photos
from their first case out on top of his desk. "Do they go under 'C'
for cow, or 'M' for mutilation?"

Scully glances at them for approximately two seconds before covering
her mouth with her hand and bolting from the room. As Mulder listens
to the sound of her heels clicking down the hallway as she heads for
the bathroom, he sighs. He feels guilty for such a trick, but the
calendar tells him that Jack Willis is going to turn up missing very
soon, and he wanted to know if he was right. She returns looking even
paler, and tells him that he can make that decision himself since
they're his files.

~*~*~

At lunch he notes that she ordered soup, something easy on the
stomach, and decides to be gallant and also order soup too. The last
thing he wants to do is to turn her stomach again on top of
everything else.

Once they've got their steaming bowls in front of them, he gives her
an expectant look. "You said there's something we needed to talk
about?" ::As if I don't know what:: he thinks, suppressing a grin.
::Right on schedule too. By the time Duanne Barry lands in our lives
you'll be so far along there's no way he'll have the heart to let the
aliens kidnap you::

Scully gives him a shy look. "Mulder, I know that your family life
was less than ideal, with losing your sister, and how distant your
parents were after that, but have you ever longed for a normal family
life?"

"I haven't given it a lot of thought," he says, thinking :: at least
at this point in my life I hadn't.:: "I guess that's because I'd have
to find a woman who could stand me, quirks and all, first, and I know
that won't be an easy task."

She gives him a sympathetic look, and puts one of her hands on his.
"Mulder, you really sell yourself short. You'll make a wonderful
husband and father, and any woman who can't see that-"

The shrill cry of Scully's cell phone interrupts her, much to
Mulder's chagrin. She was on a roll and he hated for her to lose her
train of thought. Besides the fact that she's going to confess to
being pregnant, like anyone else, he loves hearing nice things about
himself.

Looking both annoyed and surprised, Scully pushes the phone's on
button, and gives him an apologetic smile as she answers. "Scully."
She listens, and he watches as her expression gets darker and darker.
They're not going to continue their conversation.

Snapping the cell phone shut with a little more force than necessary,
she tells him what the call was about. "That was section chief
Blevins he wants us to check out the morgue because there's problems
with Dupre's body."

"What kind of problems?" Mulder asks, not pretending annoyance. If
only she'd found out she was pregnant one day sooner!

"Problems like part of it is missing," Scully says with a heavy sigh.
"We better get going."

"Sure," Mulder says, sounding equally bleak, but not because of the
missing body parts. "Maybe we can pick up our conversation after
work."

"Sounds like a plan," Scully agrees, but he can see a new tension on
her face even though her mask of annoyance. ::She wanted to get it
over with.:: He thinks as they pay the bill. ::Me too.::

~*~*~

Three days later, Mulder gnashes his teeth and wants to scream in
frustration. He's supposed to be changing things to keep Scully out
of trouble, but the only thing he's managed to change so far is that
he put a bun in her oven. Not that they've gotten to complete their
little heart-to-heart on it yet.

Sighing, he admits to himself that he has managed to change one other
thing - this time she's wired, even though she doesn't realize it. As
soon as it became clear that Willis was going to be a problem again,
he called in a favor from the lone gunmen and got them to lend him a
bug he could insert in Scully's clothes. A well timed kiss and gentle
pawing of her shirt masks that action on his part. He decided it was
safer if she didn't know about it, so she has no idea that he's
listening with a tiny receiver no bigger than a cigarette pack to
every word that passes between her and the pair of criminals. And
those words are not good.

He had to pretend when Willis called that he didn't know what was
going on with her, but it's so damn hard to listen to what's going on
now. As much as it kills him to be inactive, he's got to wait for a
plausible moment to bring up where she is, so people don't catch on
to his seemingly clairvoyant knowledge of what's happening.

Scully has tried to convince Willis that he's himself, not Dupre, but
it's not going well. He's in mid-rant when Mulder hears something
that gets his attention. "You left me to die on that table while you
tried to save your friend!"

"You are my friend," she insists.

"Too bad he was gone already. I watched him go. I just saw him slip
away down that long, black tunnel," Willis says, but as Dupre.

"No. We brought you back," Scully protests.

"You shot me dead! And then you let me die." Mulder pictures him
turning the gun on her, though he has no way to see if that was the
case.

"No. You won't kill me, Jack."

"You call me that one more time I'll make you stone-cold," he growls,
making Mulder cringe.

"You wouldn't kill me, no matter who you are, or think you are,"
Scully says quietly.

"Why's that?" he harshly demands to know.

"Because I'm pregnant," Scully tells him quietly. Listening, Mulder's
heart breaks. "Even the man Dupre was wouldn't kill an innocent
unborn baby."

"You don't look pregnant," Willis/Dupre accuses.

"I just found out," Scully admits. "I haven't even gotten a chance to
tell the baby's father, because of this case."

"Congratulations, then." He sounds sarcastic. "Good thing for you I'm
not your ex-boyfriend, or maybe I'd be insanely jealous."
 
"Good thing," Scully agrees.

"You believe I'm Dupre then, not this Willis fellow, then?" he
belligerently retorts.

Mulder holds his breath as he listens - Scully is as stubborn as he
is, and he knows she doesn't believe the man is Dupre. He lets his
air out in a whoosh of relief when she finally answers. "You've
convinced me," she says, sounding utterly sincere. "Jack Willis is
dead," she adds in a pained voice.

"That's right." Dupre says in a calmer, gloating tone. "You just keep
that in your pretty little head, and you and me will get along just
fine."

Eventually, it's all over. Mulder is able to hint to the tech guy
listening to the tape that they're holed up near an airfield, and
things move quickly after that. A short time later Willis and Lula
are dead again, the same way as before. The only difference is as
soon as Scully is uncuffed from the radiator, she clings to Mulder.

Mulder smoothes her hair, and tells her that things are going to be
ok. As soon as she notices other agents around, she recoils from him
with a sheepish expression, but those who noticed don't think
anything of needing a hug after an experience that traumatic.

Mulder gives her a crocked grin as they walk out to his waiting car.
"So, any woman who doesn't realize I'd be a great husband and father
what?" he asks as soon as they shut the doors.

For a second she looks blank, but then smiles when she remembers what
they'd been taking about. "And I thought they said women remembered
every word of conversations."

Mulder pouts. "You're ducking. Are you going to finish your
interrupted statement or not?"

"Not," she tells him with a mischievous grin.

"Scullllly!" he whines, grimacing.

"What would you give me for telling you?" she asks coyly.

He likes her playful mood. "I'll be your best friend."

"You are my best friend," she retorts, surprising him. Did she feel
that way less than two years after meeting him the last time around?

"Well, I'll take you to dinner, then."

"That sounds like a vaguely familiar promise..."

"Hey, I'm not the one who canceled our plans by retrieving a ring in
a macabre manner."

He sees her tense for a second at the word ring, but then she
relaxes. "Nothing spicy, though, ok?"

"We can go anywhere you want, as long as you don't try to make me eat
a salad."

"Men," she mutters under her breath.

~*~*~ 

Mulder can't believe how nervous he is an hour and a half later when
a waiter finally seats them. From the man's snotty attitude, they
ought to be grateful to have gotten a table at all considering they
didn't call a month in advance.

At least they get complementary salads, which Scully toys with while
they wait for menus. "Is your stomach still bothering you?" Mulder
asks, looking concerned. "This is a stressful job, you could be
getting an ulcer."

"I'm not getting an ulcer," she says with a shake of her head. "I
know what's wrong with my stomach lately."

He gives her a long stare, silently willing her to tell him. Her
cheeks pink up, which he thinks looks very fetching, and her eyes are
slightly downcast. "I think there's something I need to tell you."

"What?" he asks, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

"I'm pregnant, Mulder," she confesses. "I know we used birth control,
so I'm willing to accept it if you're not ready to be a father-"

"A baby, really?" He lets his delight fill his voice. "I've wanted a
baby forever."

"Really?" She gives him a surprised glance. "I wouldn't have guessed
that."

"I know, it's usually a female thing, but...like you said, I never
really had a family after my sister disappeared, and I want that. I
don't know why I didn't admit this the last time we ate together, but
I actually have given having a family thought. I don't know, I
thought maybe if I admitted it, you'd feel like I was pressuring you
into moving too fast.

She looks up sharply. "You've never made me feel pressured into
anything, Mulder."

"Good. A baby..." he trails off, allowing himself to look as
delighted as he feels. "A baby would make things even more real
between us. That is, if the baby's Mommy is willing to give the
family thing a go," he says shyly.

"I...of course," she says, flustered. "I want a family too, Mulder, I
always have."

He reaches for her hand. "So, do we tell your mother that she's going
to have a grandchild or a son-in-law first?"

"Does that mean you're proposing?" Scully asks.

"Only if it means you'd accept. Fragile male ego and all."

She smiles at him. "I think my answer wouldn't damage your ego at
all."

~*~*~

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here to day to join this hound-dog
and this hot momma in the sanctity of holy matrimony."

"Mulder, no."

"Come on, you know you want to be married by the King, Scully,"
Mulder pleads with puppy-dog eyes.

Unfortunately, she's having none of it. "Mulder, of all the things I
want in life, being married by a fat man in a white polyester
jumpsuit is not one of them."

"I suppose you want a big church wedding then, with lots of flowers
and lots of people I've never met," he replies with a frown.

"Actually no. Melissa was forever planning her wedding when we were
young girls, even buying those stupid bride magazines, but I've never
liked the idea of a big wedding. There's just too much stress and
planning involved. "

"You've always been a cynic, then."

"I prefer to think of myself as a pragmatist, but yes."

"So what do you want to do, elope? I don't think that'd be as
effective without me owning a motorcycle and you sneaking out the
window of your childhood room in the middle of the night."

"How about something small? Just you, me, our parents and my
siblings?"

"That's really small. I'd agree though, if I could have Danny there
as my best man, and invite the Lone Gunmen."

"You'd really want those three there?" Scully asks, making a face.

"I don't have three siblings like you do." Mulder pauses for effect
so he's sure she thinks of Samantha too. "They're my best friends."

"Well...ok. But keep a tight leash on that Frohike character."

Mulder snorts and agrees to keep an eye on her smallest admirer.
"Aren't you glad I want Danny for the best man?" he asks, thinking
about garter belts.

~*~*~

Chapter Eight

February 14th, 1994

The ceremony is held on Valentines' day, which is the only concession
towards fairy-tale weddings that Scully is willing to make. It makes
Mulder smile every time he thinks of how little a romantic she is;
he'd thought she'd be the one to come up with that date for their
nuptials.

While his parents and her mother seem a bit nonplused about the haste
of their wedding, given they'd not actually been told their children
were involved, they are all three the picture of dignity, and refrain
from mentioning the old adage about marrying in haste and repenting
in leisure. They almost seem happy.

It's also to Mulder's vast surprise that Bill Jr. doesn't have any
objections at all to the wedding, which he finds exceedingly odd
given how much Bill hated him the last time around. But then, the
reason for his dislike hasn't happened yet, and if Mulder has his
way, never will, so it's not too terribly hard to understand when he
thinks about it. He's still wary of his new brother-in-law anyway,
though.

At last the ceremony is over, and they've exchanged rings, and kissed
blushingly before their audience. Scully will keep her last name
because two Mulders in the office would be confusing, and
surprisingly enough, none of the parents object to this bit of
modernism.

It's on, then, to the fun part as Mulder sees it, or at least the
first fun part: the reception. It's quite amusing to watch the
parents' dance, and he almost tears up when Byers shyly invites Mrs.
Scully, who'd been watching the Mulders' on dance floor, if she too
would like to dance.

Of course Mulder and Scully dance too, and she looks so happy he can
hardly bear it.

"I wanna wish you the best of luck, Mulder, you Lucky Dog," Frohike
says later into the reception, blinking owlishly since he'd been
visiting the wet bar. "You better take care of that girl, 'cause I'm
so jealous that I'll steal her away from you if you don't treat her
right."

"You'd try, anyway." Langly snorts rudely. Frohike clumsily extends
him a finger.

"I know a good thing when I see it," Mulder tells him. "No worries."

"Yeah...say, is her sister seeing anyone?" Frohike asks, sending a
flirtatious glance in the other redhead's direction.

Eventually the happy couple bids everyone good-bye, and gets into
their can and streamer-festooned car, heading off for their
honeymoon.

~*~*~

"Mulder, I am *not* in the mood," Scully groans, her head resting on
the passenger door, and she isn't. If she had the strength, she'd
roll her eyes, or bang her head repeatedly on the door at the
insanity of it all. She wonders if the talk show host is merely
tapping into the boredom and paranoia that insomnia seems to bring
out in even the best of people, like her husband, for example. Then
again, Mulder was never clearly on this side of sane, anyways, and
has only a tenuous grasp of reality, as opposed to the talk show
host, who has no concept of reality, period. She sees the man she's
pledged to spend the rest of her life with memorizing of-repeated
phrases, and finally indulges herself in an eyeroll of massive
proportions.

Yeah, she'd be in a better mood if this was happening during some
other time than their honeymoon. It was enough to make a woman
handcuff her man to the bedpost to remind him of what proper wedded
etiquette meant. She's not sure what exactly happened, but somewhere
between here and the airport, they'd taken a serious detour away from
what she assumed was Las Vegas. Then again, she's not at her best,
having battled and succumbed to several waves of nausea earlier that
morning. She's feeling better now, but not by much.

So here they are, in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada, all because of
some crazy late night talk show, driving a car still decorated with
festive streamers. Still, she didn't trust him to go off by himself,
because, God forbid, something horrible should happen to him and he's
trapped by himself....She sighs. Now she's trapped with him.

"Mulder," she tries again, "just because this Ted Ringer guy says
it's there, doesn't mean that it is. I mean, it could be like that
Geraldo Rivera thing all over again." She puts a hand on his
shoulder. "We don't *have* to go chasing after something just because
a dubious source puts it out there."

"Or what if it is out there, and we could be the first people to
actually see it for ourselves," he replies, his eyes on the road.

Forget eye rolling, she's wanting to bring on some serious
concussions, first to his head, and then to hers, if it'll help. A
jolt in the road, and suddenly her stomach reminds her that she's
pregnant. "Mulder," she says in what she hopes is a firm voice.

"We're still going," he says in a sing-song tone.

"Then I'll decorate the glove compartment with a lovely shade of
puke," she says in the same tone.

The car pulls to a screeching halt on the shoulder of the road.

~*~*~

"I cannot believe it," Scully says as they come to a stop an hour
later. "It's got to be some kind of practical joke."

"Nope," Mulder says reverently, "it's just like what the callers on
Ted Ringer's show said."

They're not the first ones at the scene, and they step out of their
car carefully, just another couple in a crowd of what seems to be
hundreds. All witnesses to the strange spectacle that has captured
the imagination of a late-night listenership. The tall man looks at
the red-haired woman, and, after a brief understanding, put their
guns back into their holsters. Around them, people buzz, some in
hushed tones, others in excited squawks. They are all pointing up at
the sky - and ahead of them.

"What is it?" Mulder asks someone with binoculars. He squints to see
what exactly the falling objects are, but with no luck.

The man puts down the binoculars and blinks up at the taller man.
"It's unbelievable," the short man stutters.

"It's a hoax," Scully says, valiantly trying to keep her skepticism
from turning into sarcasm.

"No, see for yourselves," he says, handing his binoculars to the
red-headed woman whose frown he can see even by the moonlight.

Her mouth open, she finally puts the pair of lenses down. "I don't
believe it," she says, handing it over to Mulder.

Now his mouth is open as he stares through the binoculars. A huge
grin is plastered on his face as he hands them back to the short man,
who resumes his watch. "This is a *great* honeymoon," he declares,
hugging his wife to himself.

~*~*~

"You would think so," Scully says in a long-suffering tone.

He gives her a look. "Hey, be glad it's not aliens," he says as they
make their way to the front of the crowd.

"Only you would decide to detour from our regularly scheduled
honeymoon destination, to chase after 'shooting stars'," she makes
quotation marks with her fingers, "and it turns out to be Elvis
impersonators."

"Guess they made a wrong turn at Alburquerque." Mulder grins, and she
shakes her head. "Wonder if they take requests."

"I've got one of my own," Scully drawls, "just tell me when is
everything going to be sane again."

"C'mon, Scully," Mulder says, like a kid in a crowd at Disneyland,
"this is almost as good as visiting Graceland. Or Dreamland, for that
matter."

"Dreamland?" She raises an eyebrow.

He nods. "You know, Groom Lake, Area 51 - Land of a Thousand Rumors."

"Ah-ha," she nods. "Okay. So this is actually a publicity stunt gone
wrong."

He looks shocked. "Or very, very right," he argues, holding her and
attempting a few dance steps as the Elvises set up their sound
equipment and lights. "If they sing 'Burning Love,' it's fate."

She grins suddenly. "If they sing 'Can't Help Falling in Love,' it's
love."

He grins back, and twirls her as someone taps a microphone. Everyone
looks up, and there is a hush over the crowd as they take in the
vision of white sparkly and black leather-clad Elvii on stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a black leather Elvis declares, "thank you
very much for coming this evening. We're gonna start off with
something for the ladies." He leers at the already-shrieking women,
and a slow melody makes itself heard over the loudspeakers.

"Wise men say only fools rush in 
But I can't help falling in love with you 
Shall I stay 
Would it be a sin 
If I can't help falling in love with you," The Elvis croons, and
already, a few impressionable women are swooning.

Nearby, Mulder smirks. "Guess it's love, then," he says, and the
redhead in his arms doesn't argue with that.

~*~*~*

"Can't Help Falling In Love," words & music by George Weiss, Hugo
Peretti, Luigi Creatore

~*~*~

The biggest post-ceremony change in his life is having to clear out
his bedroom and buy a bed so they had some place to sleep. Scully is
anxious for them to find a place with another bedroom, but he keeps
telling her that they have about a year for that, since a baby
doesn't really need it's own room right away. Besides, he can't
imagine her wanting their baby in another room at first, but he
wisely keeps that insight to himself.

He isn't sure what he expected, but he thought there would be bigger
changes in them both after swearing to stand by each other in
sickness and in health, til death do them part, but really, other
than the new past-time of baby shopping, they're the same people
they've always been. Or she is, and he is again.

Knowing her as he does, it's hard to resist the urge to tell her to
take it easy, to avoid certain cases, but resist he does. She's so
stubborn, one of the few ways they mirror each other, that any
suggestion of the sort would only make her more determined to prove
that he's being silly, and she's still fully capable of doing
whatever it is that he'd rather she didn't.

Which is why they're in the middle of the woods, having the same
argument they had years before. He tried to convince the ranger that
they ought to bring more gas with them, but to no avail since it was
considered a "waste of daylight" so they're in the same spot they
were in last time. And Scully still doesn't understand why he gave
the gas to Spinney, and since he can't tell her how he knows the man
is trust-worthy...

"Mulder..."

 "Look, it's done. I shouldn't have let him go. Let's just move past
it, okay?" he says, even knowing it won't be the end of it, not by a
long shot.

"Fine. What do you suggest?"

"I don't know. We'll think of something," he says half-heartedly.

"Look, I think we both have a pretty good idea of what happened to
those loggers and what happened to the group in 1934."

::Yeah...they got et.:: "We only found one cocoon," he says, trying
to distract her with logic.

"It's a big forest."

"Look, Scully, what would you have done?"
 
"You mean, would I have made a decision by myself that would have
affected the whole group? I would have started by not doing something
as goddamn foolish as that without bothering to talk it over with
anyone," she tells him, eyes blazing.

"Oh, will you cut the sanctimonious crap?" he gripes, knowing that
it'll just anger her further. Angry is better than scared, he
reasons.

"Well, what do you want me to say? Let's face it, Mulder, we might
die up here! You, me, Moore, the baby...If we're lucky, they'll find
our bodies spun up in a tree or they may not find us at all!"

"You're right. And we're wasting time arguing about it," he says
before storming off.

But her point about the baby is something he never even stopped to
think about before now. He thought of it as being something to keep
Scully safe, and never stopped to consider their cases might put him
or her in danger.

~*~*~

High Containment Facility 
Winthrop Washington
Three Days Later...
 
Mulder slowly paces the room, looking anxiously at Scully and Moore,
who are lying in beds. Spinney isn't there...he didn't make it.
Mulder had argued with him, demanding he stay in the jeep with them,
but he was too determined to meet his fate. At least Scully and Moore
seem like they'll live.

"How are you feeling?" a voice asks, startling Mulder out of his
thoughts.

"I feel a little less like I'm trying to breathe sand. How did the
tests come back?" he asks, knowing what the man will say.

The man walks over to a desk and picks up a chart. "Your respiratory
charts were good. We're more concerned with the extent of damage due
to inhalation. There were large concentrations of the chemical
determined as Luciferene."

"The enzymes we find in fireflies and other bioluminescent insects? "
Mulder asks, wondering if the doctor will be surprised by his
"knowledge."

He doesn't even blink. "Yes. Our entomologists are still trying to
determine the specific
epithet of the insects you encountered."

Mulder leads the man over to Scully. It hurts him to see the sores on
her face and hands, but he knows that she'll be ok before long, and
look like her old self again. "How is Scully doing?"

"She's still not out of the woods, so to speak. She lost a lot of
fluids. Two or three more hours of exposure, she might not have made
it."

"And the baby?" Mulder whispers, as if Scully might hear him if he
speaks louder.

"Surprisingly enough, it seems perfectly fine. It's your baby, isn't
it?"

"Yes."

"Looks like you two are going to have a strong kid some day soon."

::Not soon enough:: Mulder thinks, picking up Scully's limp hand. "I
told her it was going to be a nice trip to the forest."

 The man nods grimly, and that does nothing to alleviate his guilt. 

A little while later, Mulder is banished to his room because he's
seen as getting in the way of their care of Moore and Scully. Sitting
in his room gives him a lot of time to think, and he'd rather not.

Until he argued with Scully, it never occurred to him to think about
the baby's well-being. The point of having the baby is so that Scully
would be kept safe, so why hasn't he thought before about keeping it
safe too? If she miscarried, there could be big trouble, since it
seems unlikely he could talk her into trying again before August.

Sighing, he collapses on his bed, his head full of new worries.
Trying to keep the baby safe is going to require convincing Scully to
take it easy, and how ever could he do that? A strong will is one of
the things that attracted him to her in the first place, and
impending motherhood hasn't tempered that in the slightest.

~*~*~

Chapter Nine

Early Spring 1994

Later on in March, Scully finds herself trying out a number of
outfits, wondering which suit would suit her best. She'll be meeting
with their new direct supervisor, Assistant Director Walter Skinner.
She doesn't know much about him, but she's heard the rumors that he's
a hardass from the military. She holds another outfit up by the
hangar. Should she show off her stomach, her impending motherhood?
Will it help her or hinder her testimony? Then again, this early in
the game, she's not really showing at all, but still, she sighs. She
finally opts for a no-nonsense, tummy-hiding outfit, even though he's
probably read her records and knows of her marriage to and pregnancy
due to her partner. Dammit. The redhead sighs, knowing she won't make
it in time for the court hearing of Eugene Victor Tooms.

Who would you rather face, your new supervisor's wrath, or your new
husband's? Tough call, she sighs again, straightening out her blouse
in the mirror and touching up her lipstick before she leaves the
apartment.

You're Doctor and Special Agent Dana Scully, you can put up with any
man's crap and deal it just as much, she tells herself sternly over
and over, finally ending up in front of a bald man with glasses,
suit, and a linebacker's physique.

"Agent Scully, we have reviewed your reports and frankly we are quite
displeased. Irregular procedure, untenable evidence, anonymous
witnesses, inconclusive findings aggravated by vague opinion," he
starts off.

And that was the good news, she groans inwardly, arguing aloud, "But
sir, the very nature of the X-Files cases often precludes orthodox
investigation." Already, she can tell the meeting will be too long,
no matter what the clock says. And she's got a sinking feeling that,
kid or no kid on the way, this Skinner will cut neither her nor
Mulder any slack.

I can deal with Mulder, she thinks, as the bald man continues to
interrogate her, I can deal with the very understandable concerns our
supervisor has, but I'm not sure I can deal with the consequences
this meeting may have on Tooms' court case, or on Mulder's psyche.

She forces herself to pay attention to her supervisor's increasingly
impatient tone. "May I ask, sir, what more you require?" she says, as
politely as possible without sheathing the steel in her voice.

"What I require is increased frequency of reports," Skinner answers
with his own steel. "Conventional investigation. In short, Agent
Scully, it is your responsibility to see that these cases are
by-the-book."

"I understand, however...conventional investigation of these cases
may decrease the rate of success," she replies, as she watches the
tall, silent man put out his cigarette. And who is that man, she
wonders briefly, still annoyed by the fact she's had to put up with
the secondhand smoke her child has probably inhaled. As quickly and
as politely as possible, she takes her things and leaves the office,
heading for the courtroom and for the more-than-likely release of a
certain liver-eating, body-stretching mutant.

~*~*~

Later, at the Lynn Acres Retirement Home in Baltimore, former
Detective Frank Briggs is looking at a clipping with the headline
"Suspect Caught in Serial Killings" with a picture of Tooms below. He
crumples and tosses the paper before rubbing his forehead and
sighing. Scully is standing near him, knowing how he feels. "If Tooms
gets away with this now, then the next time he takes a life, you'll
be nearly my age," The old man says. Glancing at her stomach, he
adds, "Your kids might have to be the ones to chase him down."

She smiles briefly. "Detective Briggs, you've helped us so much
before. Now we have to prove that Tooms was involved in the killings
you investigated thirty years ago. You've lived with this case half
your life." The female agent sits down next to him. "There must be
something, maybe a connection with the victims. Now, I know that
we've seen all the evidence, but is there anything, anything at all
amongst all the evidence that doesn't fit?"

His eyes flicker. "There was something that never did sit quite right
with me. All of the victims that I investigated in '63 were found at
the crime scene, liver extracted. All five."

"As were the four most recent murders," she agrees, wondering where
he's going with this.

The old man wheels himself over to the bed with a box on it. "When I
was a sheriff during the Powhatan Mills killings of 1933," he says,
"only four of the victims were found at the crime scene. However,
there was a fifth person who was missing and never found. "As Scully
walks over, he takes out a piece of liver in a jar marked "evidence."
"But this, this was discovered at the Ruxton Chemical Plant when it
was under construction." He hands the jar to her and she sits down
gingerly. "But it doesn't belong to the other victims."

She looks at him after looking at the jar's contents. "That doesn't
prove that it belongs to a person murdered by Tooms."

"I'm positive that Tooms hid this one victim because there was
something about the body that could prove he was the killer."

A little surprised, Scully asks, "and what makes you positive?"

"A hunch," he answers promptly, "a good old-fashioned hunch. You've
got to trust your instincts."

If Mulder were here, he'd probably give a thousand out-there
testimonies about the same thing, she thinks. "and what does your
instincts say about where Tooms buried the body?"

"In the cement where they poured the foundation of the chemical
plant," the old man replies.

~*~*~

Much later, after Detective Briggs had pointed out the spot and a
construction worker had drilled it out, Doctor Plith of the
Smithsonian's forensic lab had examined the remains and ran a
superimposed image of the last victim, it appears that they match.
However, Mulder mutters, "It's not enough. It doesn't tie it into
Tooms."

"Well, it's a start," Scully says, thinking, What the hell have you
been doing all day? As he nods, she glances at the various take-out
food trays. Ick. "Mulder, it's getting a bit ripe in here, don't you
think?" She's glad she's pretty much over the morning, afternoon and
night sickness, but Mulder is not helping things.

Oh yeah, the so-called gentlemanly part of his brain goes, air
freshener! He digs around the glove compartment, startling her, and
pulls it out, smelling it deeply before shoving it in front of her
nose. "Pine scented," he offers.

Men, Scully thinks, while wrinkling her nose. "Ew."

"Better?" He continues in the same tone. "Tooms hasn't come out of
the house all day. I sat through a Phillies game, an Orioles game,
and four hours of Ba-Ba- Booey. When it got dark, I took a walk
around the block. Do you have that sandwich I asked you to bring?"

We're married, and he's still a dork, she thinks, pulling out the
sandwich from the brown paper bag. Glad I ate earlier, or he'd have
no sandwich. "It's liverwurst," she says primly.

"Ha-ha," he says, unwrapping the sandwich. And is surprised to find
that, yes, it *is* liverwurst. What kind of a she-devil did he marry?

"Mulder, you know that proper surveillance requires two pairs of
agents, one pair relieving the other after twelve hours."

"Article 30, paragraph 8.7?" he pulls from his photographic memory.

She's ready to smack him upside the head. "This isn't about doing it
by the book. This is about you not having slept for three days.
Mulder, you're going to get sloppy and you're going to get hurt. It's
inevitable at this point."

"A request for other agents to stake out Tooms would be denied. Then
we have no grounds," he argues way-too-reasonably for a
sleep-deprived mind.

But Scully's putting her foot down. Dammit, she wants to raise a
child with him, not the liver-eaten remains of him! " Then I'll stay
here. You go home."

He sighs. "They're out to put an end to the X-Files, Scully. I don't
know why, but any excuse will do." ::Actually, I *do* know why, I
just can't tell you yet,:: he thinks. "Now, I really don't care about
my record, but you'd be in trouble just for sitting in this car on
this 'unofficial' stakeout and I'd hate to see you carry a very
official reprimand in your file because of me."

Now she sighs. "Fox," she starts to say.

He laughs and she looks at him. "Oh, don't start calling me that.
It's still Mulder, please," he says, feeling odd telling the person
he's married to to call him by his last name, "I even made my parents
call me Mulder. So, Mulder." From her lips, however, it sounds just
right. Not his father's middle name masquerading as a first name.
Just Mulder.

"Mulder," she stresses the name, "I wouldn't put myself on the line
for anyone but you."

How well I know that, he thinks as they look at each other. "If
there's an ice tea in that bag, could be love," he says hopefully.
Okay, just because they're married doesn't mean he's always gonna get
lucky, but it doesn't stop him from trying.

"Must be fate, Mulder," she says smugly, "root beer." As he sighs
dramatically, she rolls her eyes. "You're delirious. Go home and get
some sleep."

He hands her the sandwich with the big bite mark. "Here, take my
sandwich," he says gallantly, "I only had one bite." As she makes a
face, he goes on, "You're gonna want it later, believe me. And you'll
call me if anything happens, immediately. I'll be here." He holds her
shoulder, but looks at her stomach. She nods reluctantly, starting to
get out of the car. Grinning, he adds, "Oh, and 11:30, station 790,
the Pete Rose Late Night Talk Sports Radio Show."

Scully snorts, "Wouldn't miss it for the world." She closes the door,
getting into her own car to replace his spot.
 
He nods and starts the car, safe in the memory that nothing bad
happens to her on stakeout. He doesn't notice, however, the trunk
latch shut as he drives off.

Once inside her car, however, she makes a face as she looks at the
sandwich. Ew. But something makes her take another look.

~*~*~

At 66 Exeter Street, which is now a giant shopping mall, Mulder and
Scully make their way inside, thanks to the security guard.
Flashlights drawn, they walk through the dark building, and Mulder
comments, "he's got to be here." He almost said, I know he's here,
which would have earned him more than just an eyebrow raise.

"If he is drawn to this location for some reason, maybe this nest is
in the approximate location of his previous nest." As they stop, she
notes, "this is the area. There's a storage facility on the second
floor." They start up the escalator, but Mulder ahead of her, stops.
"What?"

He shines the light down at the door under the escalator. They open
the door, only to find a narrow space.

"There's only room for one." Forgetting her pregnant state, for once,
she starts to take off her trench coat, but he stops her.

"Skinnier one goes in, guess that's me," he says, and she punches him
because she's not really showing yet, but backs off reluctantly as he
holds her gaze. ::Like I'd let a pregnant lady wrestle with a
liver-eating monster,:: he thinks as he takes off his coat and tie
and crawls into the narrow space, flashlight in hand. ::I will not
lose my gun,:: he tells himself, ::I will *not* lose my gun.::

Shining the flashlight on the floor, he sees some bile and makes a
face, and cautiously makes his way through the passage, which has the
same bile and newspaper décor Tooms' former nest had. ::I will not
lose my gun,:: he reminds himself, pulling out his gun and shaking
off a loose grate.

"Mulder?" Scully's worried voice comes to him from a distance.
Shining her own flashlight into the hole, she can see nothing
helpful.

As Mulder comes up to the nest, he grips his gun tight, remembering
what happened last time. A hand bursts through, and Mulder fires off
a couple of shots, but none hit the growling, naked man who refuses
to let go. As they struggle, Mulder loses his gun but breaks free.
"Dammit!" he mutters, trying to shake off the snarling animal-like
man.

"Mulder!" Scully calls out, ready to climb into the hole herself.

Mulder's determined to get out before she goes in after him, and
smashes the crazed yellow-eyed mutant in the face with his
flashlight, knocking down the smaller man for a moment, but only for
a moment. Panicked, Mulder shimmies down the vent, followed by a very
naked, very angry man. He finds the opening, and none too soon, as
his wife and partner holds out a hand to him.

"Mulder! Come on, just a little-!" she breaks off as Mulder is
dragged back in. She watches in horror as he struggles to free
himself, smelling the noxious bile covering the yellow-eyed man in
the tunnel. "Come on!" she hollers, pulling for dear life once
Mulder's within reach.

Free, Mulder jumps forward and presses a button, turning the
escalator on and turning Tooms into screaming hamburger meat. Gasping
for breath, the two agents hang on to each other as blood rolls up
the escalator stairs.
 
Trying to recover his cool exterior, he says, "Next time, you get to
tussle with the naked, bile-covered mutant."

"You're sleeping on the couch tonight," she mutters.

He pouts, but smiles as she walks ahead of him, making their way to
the security guard.

~*~*~

Later, in Baltimore, Mulder is looking at a caterpillar cocoon
hanging off a branch. Scully comes up to him and taps him on the arm.
"Okay, let's go," she says.

"It's amazing how things change, isn't it?" he says, commenting on so
many things at once.

She looks at the cocoon. "The caterpillar?" she asks, raising an
eyebrow.

"No, a change for us. It's coming." He smiles a little, and she puts
a hand on her still flat stomach.

"You think?" she says, smiling back.

He grins at her now, biting his tongue, wanting to say so many
things, but not wanting to freak her out. We're going to face the
Conspiracy head-on, get shut down, hopefully keep you from getting
abducted by Duane Barry, and that's not including other monsters
we'll run across. "Just a hunch," he says lightly.

She glances at the caterpillar, then at him before taking his hand in
hers. "I'm starting to trust hunches," she says in the same tone,
fingering his wedding band.

He nods, feeling that strange rush as they walk off, hand in hand.
We're married now, it's okay, he reminds himself, but it's still a
weird feeling. Weird is good, he thinks, and grins. Weird is normal.

~*~*~

Chapter Ten

April 1994

The normally dull Hoover building cafeteria has taken on an air of
enchantment. At least for Mulder. Sitting there amongst the noisy
comings and goings of fellow federal employees, he studies his lunch
companions without their notice. He hopes. Still cheerfully and
rapidly exclaiming over the tour he's just taken, Mulder is sure that
Luke doesn't notice his scrutiny, but Doggett might be more aware.

Even with the threat of being obvious, Mulder can't look away.
::God::. He can scarcely believe that he's really sitting there with
the two of them. Particularly the animated little boy who is busily
describing the metal detectors as he shovels orange Jell-O into his
mouth. A little boy who is supposed be dead. By this time, it's
supposed to have been months since Doggett and Reyes were to have
discovered his cold little body. Torn apart by their shared yet
separate grief, Doggett and Barbara are supposed to be very close to
calling it quits.

Yet here the little boy sits eating lunch, next to a father who is
still devoted to his wife. He even looks different from the photo
that Doggett enshrined on his desk in another reality. His blond hair
is winter-darkened and his tan is gone. All in all he looks very good
for someone who has supposed to have been dead eight months. It's the
most incredible thing that Mulder has ever seen. ::I did this. How
could I do this? Is it really real?::

And Doggett looks so young...and relaxed even. Without the crushing
weight of his years of grief on him, he even looks different than the
John Doggett Mulder once knew. No frown lines, no permanently
furrowed brow, no sadly haunted eyes. It's not just that he's
younger, Mulder realizes, it's that he's still happy. :: And let him
stay that way::

"Did you always want to be an FBI agent, Mister Mulder?" Luke asks,
breaking the spell.

Mulder shrugs. "I didn't think much about what I wanted to be when I
grew up." :: At least not after Samantha was taken away. Before that
I wanted to play baseball. After Samantha was taken I mostly wondered
if I'd grow up without being taken too. Little did I know that it
would be decades before I had that experience.:: "What do you want to
be when you grow up?"

"Probably a cop, like daddy." Luke smiles as he says it, revealing a
missing tooth that wasn't gone in Doggett's photo.

"Is your mom a cop too?"

"No," Luke giggles. "Why would mommy be a cop?"

Mulder pretends to pout. "You know that FBI agents are a type of
police officer, right? My wife is an FBI agent too, and lots of other
women are agents and cops." He points out, wondering if there are
women on Doggett's force, and if there are has Luke met any.

Doggett raises an eyebrow. "Married the girlfriend, huh?"

Mulder suddenly remembers telling him that he and his girlfriend
wanted a baby. "On Valentines' day. The baby is due late September,"
he adds with a sheepish smile.

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." Mulder decides it's a good time to plant a suggestion.
"What about you, did you ever want to be an FBI agent too?"

Doggett shrugs. "I've thought about it. But we're pretty happy in New
York. We'd have to relocate at least temporarily if I was going to go
to Quantico."

"That's reasonable. But don't give up on the idea entirely, we could
use good people around here."

"If we ever move to DC, I'll give it serious consideration," Doggett
says, but he's clearly joking.

"Can we see your office, Mister Mulder?" Luke asks suddenly, giving
him a hopeful look.

"I'm not sure, but I can call my supervisor and ask him," Mulder
promises, wondering how Skinner will react to the idea of visitors to
the basement office.

~*~*~

Skinner is fine with the idea, so Mulder leads the way down,
listening contentedly to Luke's eager chatter in the elevator.

Mulder pushes the door open, and the three of them file in. "It's not
much, but it's home."

"Basement, huh?" Doggett asks, a glint of humor in his eyes.

"My superiors don't like me," Mulder piously answers. "The cases we
take are a little unusual."

"How so?"

"Mulder?" He turns and sees that Scully is giving their guests a
curious look. She'd taken a lunch-hour doctor's appointment, and was
just now getting back. From the look on her face, she's forgotten all
about his lunch plans.

"Hey Scully. I'd like you to meet John and Luke Doggett," Mulder
says, putting his arm around her gently rounded waist. "Scully is my
partner here, and at home," he adds with a grin that only the adults
appreciate.

"Mister Mulder broke my leg, you know," Luke earnestly informs her.
"But it was an accident, and I'm all better now, so I like him."

"Oh, so you're the little boy that I've heard so much about," Scully
tells him with a smile. "Are you here to become an FBI agent?"

"Naw, I'm only in the third grade. Maybe Daddy can become an agent
though."

Doggett laughs and ruffles his son's hair. "I don't think your mom
would like that, Sport."

"I'm gonna ask her, though."

Doggett glances at the clock and gives a slight frown. "Hey, I think
we've got to go find your class now, Luke, before we get left
behind."

"Do we gotta?" Luke pouts.

"If we want to go see the dinosaurs with your classmates we do."

"Ok..." Luke throws himself at Mulder, hugging his waist. "Thanks for
letting us visit. Maybe you can come see us sometime too."

"Maybe," he and Doggett agree.

"Keep in touch," Doggett adds, looking happier than Mulder had ever
seen him.

"I will. Quite a kid, you've got there," Mulder says, watching Luke
race for the door.

"Oh, I know. The wife and I treasure him. Good luck with yours too."

They disappear a moment later.

"They seem so nice, Mulder."

"Yeah, they are," he agrees. Life is full of weird wonder, he
decides, and Luke is proof of that.

~*~*~

And it doesn't take long for weird to bite them in the ass. Granted,
it's about a month later on a beautiful Tuesday, May 10th, at the
Emgen Corporation in Gaithersburg, Maryland. Mulder and Scully find
themselves in the midst of another carrot-chasing, conspiracy-laden
adventure, courtesy of Deep Throat. Mulder wasn't exactly thrilled to
be woken up in the middle of the night, but he knew this night would
come.

And now, in the light of day, walking next to his partner flipping
through pictures of a different dead man, he almost shudders with the
remembrance of what this case will bring about.

Scully, however, proceeds unaware, as she should be, as she says,
"The county sheriff's office is conducting the investigation. On the
preliminary reports, it's being listed as a suicide." She's wearing a
sensible-looking ensemble, but there is no doubt in anyone's mind
that she's expecting.

"Suicide?" Mulder parrots back, trying to stay out of the way of
various crime scene technicians. He wonders, not for the first time,
how safe it is for the baby to be around all this lab stuff and
chemicals.

"Yeah, they think that for whatever reason, he trashed his lab and
then killed himself." She looks up at him from photos of a scientist
they only met yesterday and is concrete splatter today.

"How?" he asks as he walks to a table on which numerous Erlenmeyer
flasks and other lab equipment rests.

"Well, it says he tied one end of a roll of medical gauze around his
neck and the other end to this gas outlet," she replies, putting her
hand on a spigot with gauze wrapped around it. "Then he jumped."

"I don't suppose there were any witnesses?" Mulder asks, his tone
completely doubtful.

She doesn't disappoint. "Nope."

Crossing his arms, he smirks, "The man we met yesterday kept this
place like he was waiting for the people from Good Housekeeping to
show up. I would have never pegged him as someone to do all this...or
a Greg Louganis out the window." Then he turns, looking out the
broken window.

"I know, that gauze is troubling," Scully frowns.

"It's a bit too calculated, huh?" he comments, holding the gauze.
"Almost as if someone wanted to make doubly sure he'd break his neck
before he hit the ground." He starts walking around the lab again,
and she follows, folder in hand. "What else do we know about Doctor
Berube?"

Dutifully, she flips through the folder. "Ummm...Terrence Allen
Berube. Harvard Med., 1974. He was working on the Human Genome
Project. Are you familiar with that?" She looks up again.

"Yeah. The mapping of all human genes. Maybe the most ambitious
scientific endeavor in the history of mankind." He raises his
eyebrows at her, knowing she's probably not all that impressed with
the statement or the scientist.

And he guessed right. "Right, but there's nothing extraordinary about
that. I mean, there were thousands of scientists working on that
project," she states, her expression challenging him for a point, or
better yet, a Mulder leap.

He looks at a glass, then puts it down before answering. "Yeah, but
only one who owned a silver Ciera and went bungie-jumping with
medical gauze wrapped around his neck," he says, opening up a metal
container. Which means conspiracy, Scully, which means freaky
world-dominating alien lackeys, which means we've gotta watch out.
For ourselves and our baby.

Not knowing the implications, or the troubled waters under her
husband's placid surface, Scully crosses her arms, "I'm sorry,
Mulder. I'm seeing the pieces but I'm not seeing the connection."

Exactamundo, he almost tells her. He takes out the Erlenmeyer flask
containing the red liquid. It has a label on the bottom that reads
Purity Control. "Well, maybe that's just it. Maybe we're not seeing
it because it can't be seen, not in any obvious way. What do you
think this is?"

She stares at the vial for a moment before looking at him. "I don't
know," she says, wondering at the reddish color and what exactly
Doctor Berube was working on, monkeys notwithstanding.

He hands her the vial. "Well, can you find out for me?"

"Maybe, if I happen to know any qualified scientists," she retorts
playfully, taking the vial from him, and inspects the label
underneath. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll see what else I can find out about Doctor Terrance Allen
Berube," he replies, already heading out the door.

"Okay, Mulder, but I'm warning you...if this is monkey pee, you're on
your own," she calls out.

He pauses at the doorway. No way is he gonna let her have the last
word this time around. "If it's alien blood, will you stay on the
case?" he asks innocently.

She makes a face as the crime scene people pause for a moment, and he
ducks out of the room. Again, she's wondering why on earth she
married the man.

~*~*~

Later, at the microbiology department at Georgetown University,
Scully calls Mulder. "Mulder," he answers, and she closes her eyes
briefly with relief.

"It's me," she says simply.

"He's alive," Mulder says, apropos of nothing, and the background
noise indicates he's on the road.

"Who?" Scully frowns, wondering who on earth he's talking about. If
it's Berube, this case will be another ballgame altogether.

"The fugitive, the driver of the silver Ciera. He called the doctor's
house while I was there," he says, unsuccessfully reigning in his
excitement.

"Where is he now?" Please, please don't be chasing down another
mutant, she thinks.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "Where are you?"

"I'm at the Georgetown Microbiology Department." She sighs with
relief. No mutant, no undead fugitive. "I've got something for you."

"Is it smaller than a silver Ciera?" he wonders aloud.

"Much." She smirks. "and it's not silver, it's green."

"What is it?" he asks, although he already knows. Why spoil the fun
and freak her out at the same time?

"Some kind of bacteria, each containing virus and it looks as if
Berube may have been cloning them," she answers, staring at the odd
picture of the freeze fracture on the computer screen. "They also
contain something that looks like chloroplasts...Plant cells. But
they, they've never seen anything like it here."

"Any idea what he could have been doing with them?" Mulder asks,
making another turn.

Even if I wasn't pregnant, this thing wouldn't make sense, Scully
sighs inwardly. "Well, the only reason why you clone a virus inside a
bacteria," she's thinking aloud, on her tired and swollen feet. "Is
in order to inject it into something living. It's called gene therapy
and it's still highly experimental."

Amen to that, Mulder thinks. "Well, maybe that's what he was doing
with those monkeys. Can they tell you anything else there?"

"Yeah, they're just about to run some primary cell cultures and a DNA
sequence," she replies, then walks away from Doctor Carpenter to
continue the conversation and the veer towards the twilight zone this
discovery may be. "Now, I may be understating the strangeness of
this, Mulder. Bacteria like this...it may have existed, but not for
millions of years, not since before our ancestors first crawled out
of the sea." She pauses, wondering why he hasn't jumped at this
statement. "Are you there, Mulder?" She waits another beat. "Mulder?"

He's heard her, but the excitement of what he's about to see is
sending happy tingling jolts of adrenaline through him. And this
time, he's got a camera. Yay, preparation. "Yeah, Scully. Keep up the
good work," he says absentmindedly, pulling the car to a stop in
front of Zeus Storage on the appropriately named Pandora Street.

~*~*~

The next morning at 7:30, he of the dark trench coat and she of the
tan trench coat pull to a stop in front of Zeus Storage. His mind
appropriately blown, he can't wait to show her what he's seen, what
he's photographed. But he doesn't trust any 24-hour film developers
since one-hour film developing hasn't happened yet, and not even the
FBI labs are safe, so he's hid the film in a safe place. He hopes.
Still, he wants Scully to see for herself, even though he knows at
this point, they've cleaned house. She puts a hand on his arm. "Wait
a second. Mulder?" He turns to look at her. "I, I just want to say
that I was wrong."

He knows it took a lot to say that to him, and much as he'd like to
savor the moment, he knows he's gonna eat it soon. So it's easy for
him to say, "It's all right, don't worry about it."

"No, um...if you'd had listened to me, we wouldn't be here right now.
I should know by now to trust your instincts," she says this so
earnestly that it takes a lot for him not to hold her and say, No,
Scully, always, always double-check me. Or else I might go off the
deep end or who knows where?

Instead, he says in a self-effacing rejoinder, "Why? Nobody else
does."

She smiles. "You know, I've always held science as sacred. I've, I've
always put my trust in the accepted facts. And what I saw last
night...for the first time in my life, I don't know what to believe."

"Well, whatever it is you do believe, Scully...when you walk into
that room? Nothing sacred will hold." After that pronouncement,
Mulder leads her into the storage facility, downstairs and into a
locked room where he knows he'll crash and burn. Flicking on the
switch, the light reveals nothing but a metal table and their own
numb expressions. "There were tanks here and five bodies suspended in
solution. There were computers monitoring them. They were alive,
Scully, underwater." He knows how insane he sounds, how ready for the
tabloids and daytime talk shows he seems.

Instead, she asks, "What happened to them?" As if she's expecting to
see the bodies that he's yet to reveal on film. He hasn't told her
about the film, though, just in case.

"God only knows," a familiar dry twang greets them from the shadows.
Walking over to them, Deep Throat carries an envelope that piques
both their curiosities. "Most likely, they've been destroyed." He
nods at the redhead. "Agent Scully. I believe we met ever so
briefly."

"Destroyed by whom?" Mulder asks.

"I don't know," the older Southern gentleman says simply.

"I don't believe you." The tall man scowls at him.

As if anticipating his protégé's doubt, Deep Throat explains almost
smugly, "There are limits to my knowledge, Mister Mulder. Inside the
intelligence community, there are so-called 'black organizations.'
Groups within groups conducting covert activities, unknown at the
highest levels of power."

"There were three men last night, I was chased," he accuses the older
man.

"Hmmm," Deep Throat muses, smiling a little. "If you were chased, you
would have been killed. Those men are trained for that sort of
business and they are trained well." He looks contemplatively at
Mulder, who stares back at him.

"Were those the same men who killed Doctor Berube?" Scully demands.

"Presumably," Deep Throat continues in the same almost amiable tone.

"Why?" she asks.

"'Why?'" he repeats. "Good lord, you've worked so hard and you still
don't see it."

Time for a Mulder leap, the tall man thinks, jumping in, "Doctor
Berube was conducting human experiments with extraterrestrial
viruses."

"Yes, but that's been going on for years. We've had the tissue since
1947 but not the technology," the Southern man says in a
congratulatory fashion.

"Roswell?" Mulder asks.

"Roswell was a smoke screen, we've had a half-a-dozen better salvage
operations," Deep Throat corrects him. "Doctor Berube was killed
because his work was too successful. You're standing in the room
where the first DNA transplant took, the first human-alien hybrid was
created."

He puts the envelope down and spreads its contents, glossy black and
white photos, on the bare metal table. "Six volunteer patients, all
terminally ill." He holds up a picture of a particularly
unhealthy-looking individual. "One, Doctor William Secare, an old
friend of Doctor Berube's, was dying of melanoma cancer. And as a
result of the E.T. gene therapy, all six patients treated in this
room began to recover from their illnesses. Doctor Secare was able to
live a more or less normal life. As normal as possible for a man who
has developed inhuman strength and the ability to breathe
underwater." He pauses, savoring the look of incredulity on the
scientist's face and the look of discovery on the believer's.

Pacing around, Mulder thinks aloud, "That's how he was able to elude
capture."

The older gentleman merely hmmphs in agreement.

"What was he running from?" The redhead stares at him.

"Doctor Secare was never supposed to have survived. Doctor Berube's
research was part of a top secret government project being run out of
Los Alamos. All they were interested in was the technology, the
science. To have a hybrid living out in the real world? Too great a
liability. What if he should need emergency medical procedure? The
man has a blood chemistry that is alien and very likely toxic. That
story should hit the press." He almost looks happy at the prospect.

"It was just easier to kill Doctor Secare," Mulder deduces.

Deep Throat agrees, "Of course, there was only one problem. He was
Doctor Berube's old friend and he was able to warn him."

The look Scully gives the older man would flay other, lesser men.
"There's just one thing I don't understand. Why you gave us so little
to go on in the beginning and why are you giving us so much now?"

"I didn't anticipate the speed and precision of their clean-up
operation. They're systematically destroying all the
evidence...Doctor Berube, the bodies here. Without the evidence, you
two have no case. Who would believe the story I just told you? You
must put together everything that you have found and you must find
Doctor Secare before they do. I'll have no further contact with you
on this matter." and with that, he turns and leaves, disappearing
into the light.

"I'm going to get back to Georgetown and get all the lab work,"
Scully says, after briefly pausing to determine where the strange old
man went. Doesn't Mulder have any *normal* sources, she wonders, then
thinks that would be an oddity in itself.

"I'm going to find Doctor Secare," Mulder says in an equally
determined voice.

"Where?" She frowns a little.

"I don't know. I'm going to trust my instincts," he says blithely.

She puts a hand on his arm. "Mulder, be careful," she says seriously.
"They've killed Doctor Berube, cleaned up a room full of," she shakes
her head. "Just, be careful."

He nods. "You, too," he says, making a mental note to pick up a gas
mask along the way to Berube's house.

~*~*~

In spite of his precautions, Mulder still winds up trussed like a
Thanksgiving turkey on the floor of Berube's attic. What sent him
into momentary oblivion were a combination of concussion-inducing
kicks to the head and a barrage of steady blows to various parts of
his anatomy, none of which were padded.

Unfortunately, the sound of his cell phone ringing brings him back to
this plane of reality, and the man with the severe crew cut and
none-too-gentle prisoner rapport leers over him. "Damn phone's been
going off," the man says, and his look promises abuse for either the
phone or the owner.

"I'm a popular guy. Why don't you answer it for me?" Mulder rasps. At
least my eyes and lungs aren't burning, he thinks, but those kicks to
the kidneys and groin aren't helping. So help me, if you've ruined
any future babies for me and Scully, it's on your head.

"Oh, I don't like talking on the phone. I have this thing about
unsecured lines. When you feel like talking, let me know, though."
The man turns around, apparently bored with his torture toy.

"Evidence," Mulder groans, "we've got evidence." And his eyes roll
back as blissful unconsciousness reclaims him, freeing him from the
pain.

~*~*~

At Fort Marlene, Scully bluffed her way through various security
measures, thanks to Deep Throat's card and connections, but
remembering the odd label on the Erlenmeyer flask brought her into a
room full of cryogenically preserved specimens.

As she pulled the metal bracket, she had no idea what exactly Deep
Throat meant by "evidence" until she saw the bizarre, inhuman fetus
and her mouth hung open. What have we done? she thinks, her mind on
the contents of the brown cardboard box sitting next to her in the
car. What kind of men have kidnapped my husband? What kind of man is
this Deep Throat?
 
Her car parked at the bridge, the redhead continues to have
unsettling thoughts, several times debating whether she should just
pull out of this insane scenario where she and Mulder are only pawns.
Finally, a car pulls up behind her, and she recognizes the craggy
features from her rear view mirror. Sighing, she gets out of the car
and takes the box with her.

And after debating with him and herself, she finally surrenders the
box and its contents over to the man calling himself Deep Throat. And
after she gets back into her car, watching a van pull up next to Deep
Throat's car, she second- and third-guesses herself as to whether or
not she made the right choice. Yes, Mulder's life is at stake, but so
are a lot of other things, she realizes.

She gets out of her car to take the parcel back, to take a lot of
things back, and watches in horror as the man from the van pull out a
gun as Deep Throat tosses the package over the bridge into the water.

"No!" She screams, bolting from her car. I'm not gonna make it, but
I've got to make it, she thinks wildly, her feet moving towards
danger of their own accord.

"No!" another voice yells from inside the van.

Various shots ring out, and Scully ducks instinctively behind Deep
Throat's front bumper, holding her stomach protectively. Pulling out
her gun, she squints against the streetlight at the small crowd of
men, unsure who's friend and who's foe. Pistols continue firing, and
she ducks again, until a hissed oath and the sound of a body hitting
the ground causes her to peek out again.

"No!" She hears an anguished wail coming from one man cradling
another. Then she sees the other men haul ass into their vehicle and
drive off, the tires squealing against the pavement.

"Mulder!" she screams, recognizing the profile of her husband as he
holds the bloody body of his source in his arms.

He looks up at her, horror and guilt written clearly on his face.
"Help him," he begs her, his hand pressed against the other man's
chest in a vain effort to stop the bleeding. It doesn't help that the
Southern man's has been shot in the head as well as several times in
the chest.

Quickly, Scully peels off her coat, but gives Mulder a look that
speaks of no hope. She does what she can in these moments, but unless
an ambulance arrives in seconds rather than minutes, she sighs,
rooting around for her cell phone after wrapping the dying man with
her coat. She puts a hand over Mulder's, and the blood continues to
flow around and over their fingers.

"Mulder," the older man gasps, and the younger man leans over.
"Trust," and he coughs, "trust no one."

And after exhaling sharply, the man only known to these two FBI
agents as Deep Throat, dies.

~*~*~

Thirteen days later, Mulder stumbles into his apartment, still
dressed in his work suit. Scully, hearing the sound, slowly cracks
her eyes open. The digital display flips from 11:21 to 11:22, and she
blinks sleepily up at him as he walks into the bedroom. "What
happened?"

"They're shutting us down, Scully," he says in a monotone, sitting
heavily on the bed.

Now she sits up, sleep forgotten with this new development. "What?"
she says, eyes wide open. Her light blue gown looks almost ethereal
in the semi-darkness, although her expression is very human indeed.

"They called me in tonight and they said they're going to reassign us
to other sections." He peels off his jacket, then his tie.

"Who said that?" she says, temper already beginning to flare.

"Skinner," he says bitterly. His shoes and shirt have joined his
jacket and tie on the floor, but she doesn't scold him. "He said word
came down from the top of the executive branch." His tone says he
clearly doesn't believe that, and, by the look on her face, neither
does she.

"Mulder," she says, putting a hand on his arm.

"It's over, Scully." ::I tried,:: he thinks tiredly, ::Oh God, I
tried to save him, but I couldn't. And they found my film and Deep
Throat went off worse this time around. How the hell did I think I
could protect Scully, or her sister, or mine...::

But she's in a fighting mood. "Well, you have to lodge a protest.
They can't-"

"Yes, they can," he interrupts her, nodding a little.

She leans against him, her arms around him. "What are we going to
do?"

"We?" He blinks, looking down at her. She looks at up him steadily,
her body a reassuring on his. For richer or poorer, in sickness and
in health, til death do us part. She really does mean it. "We...are
not going to give up," he tells her, matching her steadiness to his
voice. "We can't give up. I want to believe he didn't die in vain."

Her eyes mirror his. "He didn't," Scully says, watching the same look
cross his face as it did when he first told her about his sister. "He
knew the risks, Mulder. He said your life was important enough to
risk others who might have been affected by the contents of that
package." As he closes his eyes and exhales, she adds, "I know he
didn't die in vain."

He doesn't answer her, but wraps his arms around her, pulling her
close to him.

~*~*~

end one of ten

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