Title: The Family G-Man
Authors: Neoxphile and FelineFemme
Feedback: 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: In season four life and work continue with 2.4 children in tow. Guilt 
propells Mulder into an uneasy alliance with someone he's semi-accidentally 
screwed over: Alex Krycek.

~*~*~
Season Four - chapters 36-48
~*~*~


Chapter Thirty-Six 

Home, Pennsylvania
July 10th, 1996 

Standing near the boys' baseball diamond, which had so recently been
the site of a grisly discovery rather than just boyish pastime,
Mulder bends down and reaches for the ball. His hand draws back
empty, since he's of no mind to play this time around. Instead he
goes to Scully and takes the tape measure from her, and gives her a
rest while he writes down the rest of the particulars in a small
notebook.

Scully looks down at the numbers when she notices his bemused look.
"Compression marks indicate the shovel blade to be approximately six
and three-quarters inches. Uh, the angle of movement and deeper
indentation on the right side of the mark suggests a left-handed
individual."

Though he nods absent-mindly, Mulder's gaze is fixed on the porch of
the Peacock's house. ::I hate this fucking case.::

"I've collected soil specimens and, uh, although numerous shoe
impressions were made from the sandlot game, I think a, uh, a couple
of dental stone casts will prove invaluable to the investigation."

::I should just pull out my gun and start shooting right now and get
this over with.::

"Meanwhile, I've quit the F.B.I. and become a spokesperson for the
Ab-roller," Scully says, apropos of nothing, which gets his
attention.

"Look at that ball. In a couple of years we'll have to sign Sammy up
for T-Ball," Mulder says, hoping to prolong this moment - the moment
before they go to examine the hideously deformed little corpse.

"He can't even walk yet, don't you think you're jumping the gun a
little?" Though her tone is arch, she's smiling at him.

"Page too, of course. I don't want to be sexist, since baseball is
good for all growing kids. God, this brings back a lot of memories.
My sister played too...all day pick-up games out on the vineyard,
ride your bikes down to the beach, eat bologna sandwiches. Only place
you had to be on time was home for dinner. Never had to lock your
doors. No modems, no faxes, no cell phones. I like where we live, but
places like this have charm too."

"Here?" She snorts dismissively. "I know I don't have to worry about
you suggesting we move some place like this."

"You know that how?"

"Mulder, if you had to do without a cell phone for two minutes, you'd
lapse into catatonic schizophrenia."

"You don't know me as well as you think you do. You know, our work
demands that we live in a big city, but if I had to relocate
someday...it'd be to place like this."

"And leave our gigantic house for some small two story clapboard?
It'd be like living in Mayberry."

After a rumble on the road a truck pulls up and a man gets out. It's
all Mulder can do not to give him a hateful glare. This is the moment
that the idyllic-ness of the scene evaporates and transforms from
pastoral dream to genetic nightmare.

The man politely inclines his head in their direction. "Agents
Mulder and Scully?"

Mulder reluctantly nods to him. The sheriff walks under the yellow
tape and shakes Scully's hand. "Hi, I'm Sheriff Andy Taylor."

"For real?" Mulder asks with a smile in spite of himself. He offers
the other man his hand.

"Can't thank you or the bureau enough for coming out. It's just me
and my deputy, and...hell, we never had anything of this nature."

"Do you have any thoughts or, uh, suspects?" Scully asks. Mulder
grimaces behinds their backs, his eyes looking for signs of his
suspects again.

"The population of Home is only a few hundred. Everybody knows
everybody, pretty much," the sheriff replies.

"Well, were there any local women who were pregnant and now suddenly
aren't?" Looking back at her, he notices what seems to be a look of
nausea cross her face. He doesn't blame her, since his stomach feels
sick too. He could never do what had been done to the victim to his
child, never no matter what was wrong with it.

"No. I just saw Mary Ellen and Nancy. They're both doing fine,"
Sheriff Taylor says, proving just how small a town it really is.

Eager to have the case done so they can leave, Mulder jabs a thumb
in the air." Hey, Sheriff, who lives in that house there?" Taylor's
eyes follow his thumb, but the other man says nothing. "Did you
question them?" Silence. "'Cause they've been watching us the entire
time."

"That farm belongs to the Peacock family. Three boys now. Well, men.
Guess you could call them human. Their folks were in a bad car wreck
a while back and we suppose they died." Taylor makes not attempt to
disguise his distaste.

"You suppose?" Scully asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, we tried to administer medical attention, but the boys hauled
the bodies away. Took them home. They haven't been seen in ten years,
so...we suppose they died." The man shrugs.

"Have you questioned the men?" she persists.

 ::That's my girl, you ask the hard questions.:: Mulder thinks.

"The Peacocks built that farm during the Civil War. It still has no
electricity, no running water, no heat...they grow their own food,
they raise their own pigs, they breed their own cows...raise and
breed their own stock...if you get my meaning."

::That's not putting too fine a point on it.::

"It is, however, the closest residence to the crime scene," Scully
points out.

"Those boys are feeble, Agent Scully...and sad. They wouldn't have
any idea what you were talking about."

"Well, they could've witnessed..." 

"Look, this town is my home. I love it. It's quiet...peaceful. I
don't even wear a gun." Mulder nods, but he can't help but wish that
the man did. "I've seen and heard some of the sick and horrible
things that go on outside my home. At the same time, I knew we
couldn't stay hidden forever...that one day, the modern world would
find us and...my home town would change forever. And when I
saw...it...in the ground...I knew that day had come. Now, I want to
find whoever did this...but in doing so, I'd like it if the way
things are around here didn't have to change. I know this is iffy
bureau jurisdiction...but I didn't know where else to turn. So I
called the bureau in Pittsburgh, and when I described the
victim...they said I should see you. "

"Well, maybe we should take a look at the victim then," Mulder tells
him, his mouth tasting of ash.

~*~*~

Police Station
Home, Pennsylvania

The moment Mulder has been dreading arrives. The refrigerator door is
pulled open, where the baby is sitting on a tray, a washcloth draped
over it. Taylor pulls it out and walks over to Mulder and Scully.

"We don't have a lab or a morgue. I've got a room down here, might be
a bit cleaner," Taylor says apologetically.

As he's leading them to the room, another man walks in. "By the way,
this is my deputy, Barney."

"Fife?" Mulder says, anticipating the reaction.

The deputy grimaces. "Pastor!" He storms off before Mulder can say
anything else.

The room is as tiny as Mulder remembers, so he finds himself
fleetingly glad that Scully's her normal svelte self, since she never
would have been able to do the autopsy while expecting their babies -
their simply was no extra space for a round belly.

"Uh, I could use a little more elbow room," Scully complains as the
men crowd behind her.

"Thing is, see, folks have been dropping in to ask about the case and
I wouldn't want anybody to pop in and see this," is Taylor's nervous
excuse.

"Well, you could just lock your door to the office," Mulder points
out.

"Oh, folks know I never lock the door. They'd start rumors." 

::Rumors are the least of your worries, pal.::

Taylor backs out of the room and shuts the door behind him. Scully
puts on rubber gloves and pulls up the covering, revealing the most
deformed baby in history. Even though he's seen it once before, it's
worse than he remembers so he gasps and looks away.

"Oh, my God...Mulder...it looks as if this child has been afflicted
by every rare birth defect known to science. I mean, I, I'm going to
have to order DNA typing from the crime lab, but...there appears to
be abnormalities associated with Nev-Laxova Syndrome, Meckel-Gruber
Syndrome, estrophy of the cloaca, I mean, I don't even know where to
begin." Tears well up in her eyes which makes Mulder want to wrap his
arms around her, but he knows that would only prolong the time they'd
spend looking at the victim, so he keeps his arms to himself.

Swallowing hard, Mulder looks down at the bent pink body. "I guess we
can rule out murder as the cause of death, huh?"

"Well, I don't know about that." She pulls out some tweezers and
probes the baby's mouth with them. "There's evidence of occlusion due
to dirt in the nose and mouth...indicating the dirt has been inhaled.
This baby was born alive."

"There's something rotten in Mayberry," Mulder says, trying
desperately to break the tension.

They walk outside. A baby is crying as it is pushed by in a stroller.
A perfect baby, like both of their children.

"Imagine all a woman's hopes and dreams for her child and then nature
turns so cruel. What must a mother go through?" Scully asks as they
settle on a bench and drink in the fresh air.

"Apparently not much in this case if she just threw it out with the
trash."

"I, I guess I was just projecting on myself." 

"Why do you say that? You'd never do anything like that to a child of
yours, even if it was as damaged as our victim is."

"I'd like to think so," she tells him.

Mulder bumps her with his shoulder. "Nothing like that would ever
happen to our kids anyway. You lucked out by finding yourself a
husband with a spotless genetic make-up and a really high tolerance
for being second-guessed and started pumping out the little
Uber-Scullies. Or maybe it's Uber-Mulders."

"Spotless, huh?" she asks, leaning forward slightly when he makes a
move to rub her back

"Hmm? Well, aside from the need for corrective lenses and a tendency
to be abducted by extraterrestrials involved in an international
governmental conspiracy, the Mulder family passes genetic muster.
We'll just have to get those new microchips implanted into the kids
so we can track them if they're ever picked up by the grays."

"Mulder, those are for pets," Scully protests.

The smile fades from Mulder's face when he realizes what he said
about chips - at least that hasn't happened to her in this lifetime.
He shakes his head slightly to clear it. "Now, Scully, that child
inside is a tragedy. Some young parents, probably scared kids,
disposed of an unwanted birth...in a very certain sense, infanticide
is involved, but this is not an F.B.I. matter."

::If I pretend to believe that, maybe we can go home and forget all
about this.::

"But from what I know from about genetic defects, Mulder, it's
unlikely that child is a result of a single polygenic mating."

"We should let local authorities investigate that." ::please please
please::

"Those defects, Mulder, are autosomal dominant disorders, and from
the degree, I'd say, mutations that go back many generations."

"Scully, uh, Sheriff Taylor, uh, implied that the boys in that family
were not really the type that could easily get dates."

"But he also implied that they practice inbreeding. Now we all have a
natural instinct to propagate..."

"Do we?" 

"Yes, and not just you and I, even if that's what you're thinking of
from the look on your face," she says slyly. "There are theories
which pose that our bodies are, are simply vehicles for genes needing
to replicate."

"Yeah, yeah, but there's no sister. The mother's been dead for ten
years."

"But if the instinct and the need is strong enough, they will answer
it any way that they can. Now a woman gave birth to that child,
Mulder, and my guess is, against her will."

He realizes his defeat. "And kidnapping is a bureau matter." Dragging
his feet, he follows her as she goes to start the car.

~*~*~

Peacock Residence
Home, Pennsylvania

With Scully in the lead, they approach the front steps. Before they
get to the front door they walk over to the white Cadillac sitting on
the lawn. It has no license plate. Mulder skirts a pig's head with
flies swarming sitting on the steps as they walk up them. Mulder
knocks on the screen door, but there is no answer. He reaches for the
door handle.

"No, there's no probable cause." 

Frowning in frustration, Mulder takes out his flashlight and shines
it around inside. More flies buzz and rusty tools and dirty dishes
clutter the place, making it look like an agricultural frat house.
Before long the beam of light lands on what they're looking for:
blood on the floor. Taking out their guns, they step inside carefully
and quietly. Mulder puts his hand in an evidence bag inside out,
picks up the scissors in the pool of blood, then turns the bag inside
out, enclosing the scissors. He shoves the bag in his pocket as they
look at the bloody footprints on the floor. Scully takes out a
picture of a footprint taken off the field.

"They match," Scully whispers.

Mulder looks for the shovel off to the side, it's where he thought it
would be. He picks it up and they look at the blood on it.

"This room alone should convict them," she whispers again.

"Yeah, if we can find them. They probably bolted when they saw us
coming." Mulder leads them cautiously down a hallway. "We'll alert
Sheriff Taylor to issue a warrant for the brothers' arrest, put out a
county-wide A.P.B."

"And check any prior missing-persons for a woman, and check the
vehicle identification number on that Cadillac."

A sense of dread falls over Mulder as they begin to turn away from
the hallway. ::This is the beginning of it. They know we're here, so
tonight they'll murder the sheriff and his wife. Tomorrow they'll
booby-trap this house, and that'll lead to Barney's death, which is a
shame since he could probably go pretty far if he didn't have less
than twenty-four hours to live. Tomorrow?::

Mulder impulsively points his flashlight down the hall, looking for
the booby-traps that'll confront them tomorrow. There aren't any.
::They haven't done it yet, us being here now must be why they do it.
They haven't done it yet…::In three steps he catches up with Scully,
who hasn't realized yet that he paused.

A hand on her shoulder stops Scully, and she gives Mulder an
expectant look. "What Mulder?"

"Did you hear that?" 

"Voices." 

"You're hearing voices?" Her expression is half amused, half alarmed.

"Not like that. Actual human voices. Well, if you can call the
Peacock brothers human."

"Saying what?" 

"I'm not sure. It sounded like a threat, and there was a woman's
voice too, calling for help," Mulder lies easily.

She turns, about to walk down the hall where Mulder is looking. "We
have to go help her, Mulder."

"No. Not just the two of us. You saw all that blood, these men have
no qualms about murder. Just you and I, we'd be outnumbered, and that
could further endanger the victim as well as ourselves. Let's go
outside and call for back up."

 ~*~*~

Although Home doesn't have much in the way of a police force, the
nearest large city is only twenty miles away, so it only takes a few
minutes for back up to arrive en mass. Mulder can't help but feel a
sense of jubilation as he sees the officers arrive. Sheriff Taylor is
there as well, and Mulder steps back to let the older man direct the
attack.

Taylor looks at the men who surround him. "I've issued arrest
warrants for George Raymond Peacock approximate age thirty, Sherman
Nathaniel Peacock, approximately age twenty-six and Edmund Crieghton
Peacock, forty-two. My deputy cautioned me that he's seen the men
firing muskets, so they are to be considered possibly armed, and
undoubtedly dangerous."
 
The officer who seems to have seniority nods to his men, all of whom
are helmeted and wearing kevlar jackets. "You heard the sheriff,
proceed with extreme caution. Let's move out."

Before they make a move, Mulder calls to them, "If you find the
victim, send us word. Kidnapping is a bureau matter, not a local
one." The men nod and begin creeping towards the home.

"I'm surprised you're not trying to lead the charge, Mulder," Scully
says as they watch the men.

"If they need help we'll assist, but part of asking them to know
their boundaries relies on demonstrating we know our own," he says
with a shrug. "I was getting bored of ticking off the local
authorities anyway."

She shoots him a look of disbelief before turning her attention to
sheriff Taylor. "What about our victim, did you get any missing
persons reports that point to her identity?"

"Deputy Pastor's on it right now." 

"Sheriff Taylor, do you recall over the last eight to ten months any
vehicles you found and considered to be abandoned, but which might
actually belong to kidnap victims. We saw a white Cadillac in the
Peacocks' front yard."

"We get so many of those, Agent Scully. A car breaks down, they move
on. We'll probably find out from her who she is long before anyone
could figure it out by tracking down the owner of the car."

Scully gives him a tight smile. "So long as she's in a condition to
tell us who she is."

~*~*~

There are some shouts inside, but no screams and no sounds of
gunfire, so the two agents and the sheriff are able to manage their
anxiety, and none of them goes running into the house like a crazy
person.

Scully points at the pen of pigs that takes up a lot of the yard near
them. "Mom was telling me a couple of days ago about Charlie's little
boy Brandon. She said it was hard to get my nephew's attention during
our trip to New Orleans, and that she couldn't really get him too
interested in playing with her or his cousins. Apparently this is
because he watches 'Babe' fifteen times a day. I'm surprised that he
didn't have a fit on the 4th of July given Charlie didn't have the
movie with him."

"And people call *me* 'Spooky,'" Mulder snorts. "I'm beginning to see
the light regarding your dislike of TV for small children."

"Bah-ram-ewe!" she says and shrugs when Mulder give her a funny look.
"Mom says he wandered around the whole time saying that."

"Charlie and Elaine should consider getting him counseling." 

More shouting proceeds the front door of the house opening, and
officers frog-marching the three Peacock brothers out of the house.
All the fight has gone out of the ugly men, and they are almost
docile as they're thrust into waiting police cars.

A young officer walks quickly towards Mulder and Scully. "The victim
is still inside," he tells them breathlessly.

Mulder looks at the man's name badge before responding. "Thank you
officer Morton. Does the woman need medical attention?"

The young officer frowns. "There's another officer with her now
trying to figure that out. She's in rough shape, but I think she's
been that way for a while. C'mon, I bring you to her."

Scully nods, but speaks to the Sheriff, "Call an ambulance anyway,
please?"

"Of course." 

Morton leads them through the dark corridors, and into a large, dimly
lit room. Mulder spies something on a table, and reaches for it. He
holds up a paper with the headline "Elvis Presley Dead at 42." There
is a picture of Elvis under it. Mulder makes a sad face and Scully
looks at him strangely. ::I guess convincing her to name one of our
kids Elvis is going to be an uphill battle.::

Mulder drops the paper as the two hear the mummer of a male voice,
and the frantic reply of a slightly more feminine one. As they walk
in Scully looks at the pictures on the wall of past Peacocks, all
deformed. They approach where the other officer is crouching and look
down. A deformed woman looks away, screaming.

"No! Get out, get away!" she shrieks, making Scully jump.

Mulder is a little more sanguine, given he's not as shocked by her
appearance. "It's all right, ma'am! We're federal agents here to help
you." He nods towards the officers, indicating that they're free to
go.

"Go! Get out of here! Go away!" 

"They've got her strapped to some kind of board or something," Mulder
says, shining the light down. It's very clear that the woman is a
quadriplegic.

"Get away! Get away! Go!" 

"Ma'am, we're here to help you. Calm down. Ma'am, we're here to help.
We're from the F.B.I." The woman screams louder. "It's all right,
it's all over."

He and Scully look at her amputated limbs, unsure of what they can
say. "We're from the F.B.I, we're...we're here to help...we're going
to make sure that you're safe. We're - we're going to make sure that
you get home."

Scully looks back at the picture of the man and the woman on the
porch. They are the same woman. The woman sobs. "Mulder, she already
is home. It's Mrs. Peacock. She's their mother."

Mrs. Peacock looks at Mulder and hisses. "When the ambulance gets
here we'll have them help us get her out of the building." He walks
to the window and looks out at the three police cruisers that are
already loaded. "They can give her a medical exam before they bring
her to the station."

Scully looks faintly puzzled. "Why would they bring her to the
station rather than taking her statement here?"

"To arrest her, Scully. I'm sure she's an accessory. At least she
aided and abetted."

"We're only assuming. We can't prove anything." 

Mulder shrugs slightly. "Whether she should be charged with anything
or not is for the local PD to sort out. The way I think it goes here
is that Edmund is the...the brother and father of the other two.
Which means that when Edmund was a kid, he could ground the other two
for playing with his things. She's guilty of something. Let her know
that her sons are in custody, and that we'll be taking her in as
well." He pulls out a walky-talky and begins to talk to Sheriff
Taylor about the estimated arrival time of the ambulance.
 
His wife returns to the woman's side. "Mrs. Peacock? You are in
immediate need of medical attention. Agent Mulder and I are here to
help you." Scully's tone is gentle.

Mrs. Peacock looks at her. "This is our home. Why leave it?" 

"Whatever pain you may be..." 

"Don't feel pain. Runs in the family. Have to check the boys, see if
they hurt themselves." The woman's voice is thick.

"They're in police custody now, but where not injured. What about
you, are you in pain? Even after the accident?"

"Right arm was torn off. Saw it sitting there across my dead
husband's lap. Boys took me home...sewed me up just like the family
learnt in the War of Northern Aggression. Whole time, felt the same
as if been making breakfast." Even over the staticy conversation he's
having, Mulder can hear Scully make a faint sound of disgust.
"They're such good boys."

"Mrs. Peacock, they murdered your baby. That has to be punished." 

"They did what had to be done. A mother has to understand that." 

Scully turns away just as the siren wails into the driveway. Sighing
himself, Mulder goes to her and threads an arm around her waist. All
he can do is be thankful that she has no idea how much worse things
could have been.

~*~*~

Deputy Pastor nervously smokes a cigarette outside, obviously waiting
for them. "Sheriff Taylor had to leave to supervise the transport of
the prisoners." He holds something out to Scully. "This came from the
federal crime lab overnight."

Scully looks through the contents of the package, oblivious to the
shrieks as the paramedics exit the building with their angry charge.
Mulder's just glad that the woman will be soon out of sight and
hearing.

"Damn it. The lab screwed up the DNA test on the infant." Scully
points to pages in her hand. "Multiple maldistribution, chromosomal
breakage, maldivision of the centromere..."

"You suspected these abnormalities," Mulder reminds her.

"Yeah, but this shows far too many gene imbalances, even for
inbreeding. It would have to be a lab error." She shows him two
slides of the DNA strands. "This child's cells would have had to
divide triple-fold in cell metaphase."

Instead of asking her to translate into English, he plays along.
"Triple? Hey, Scully, what if...each of the Peacock brothers was the
father of that child?"

She stares at him incredulously. "Mulder...I know the Peacocks
epitomize "keep it in the family" but only one sperm in thousands
from a single individual can penetrate an ovum membrane, let alone
from three separate males."

"What if generations of autosomal breeding could produce such a
mutation? You saw their family pictures. These people have been into
sanguinity for generations."

Scully shakes her head. "I don't think so, not even in a case like
this."

"Don't discount it as impossible just because it's highly unlikely,
Scully."

Her fingers tickle him, making him jump. "When you didn't want to go
charging in there you had me worried, but here's the Fox Mulder I've
come to know and love."

Mulder smiles wryly. "Are you saying I amuse you?" 

"More than TV ever could." 

~*~*~ 

Washington, DC
That Night

The kids are sleeping soundly, so the two tired agents decide to call
it an early night themselves. For once Scully doesn't say anything
when he strips off his clothes and leaves them puddled on the floor;
in fact she does the same. Smiling to himself, he thinks it'll be
leverage the next time they have a laundry argument.

Once they're in bed Scully burrows against his side and looks up at
him. "Mulder, how many kids do you want?"

He thinks of his hopes of keeping her from danger in the coming
months and of William. "Four."

"Just four?" She looks a little disappointed, which surprises him. 

"Well, at least four," he amends, giving her a curious look. "How
many kids do you want?"

Her cheeks pink a little. "I don't know." 

"I can tell by the look on your face you've got a number in mind,
Sweetheart."

She shrugs against him. "It's not so much a number… When I was a
young I read all the classics, and so many of them seemed to hold the
idea that God gives you as many kids as you need in high esteem. And
as dumb as it is, I've always liked the idea of leaving it to God. No
doubt a side-effect of a catholic upbringing. I think I probably
would have had more siblings than I do if my Dad hadn't been away so
often."

"Or if your mother had fewer morals than she does," Mulder murmurs,
getting punched in the shoulder for his gall. "So you want to stop
using birth control?" Mulder can't help but feel deeply amused.

"I wouldn't ask you to do that, Mulder. Not just to satisfy some sort
of silly wish left over from girlhood."

"Well, I don't know. I find the idea of this sort of experiment
intriguing," he admits. "It's not as though we can't afford to have
more kids if we wanted, not with uncle Saul's money invested as it
is. They say the more educated people are the fewer kids they have,
which I think is kind of selfish. The world needs smart babies to
balance out all the dumb people reproducing like bunnies. And god
knows we'd all be better off with more Mulders than Peacocks. You
might be able to talk me into this grand experiment, but I have a
couple of caveats."

"What would those be?" Scully asks lightly. It takes Mulder a few
seconds to focus on her question because her fingers are wandering
along one of his thighs.

He pouts." You don't negotiate fairly. Those caveats would be: one
that this experiment ends before your 40th birthday. Although I have
no doubt whatsoever that you'll be as lovely in 2004 as you are right
now, you know as well as I do that the risks of having a baby with
problems goes up once the mother passes that age." He gulps hard.
"I'll, uh, get a vasectomy as your birthday present that year."

"And? You said caveats, plural." 

"We go back to using birth control if it becomes in our best interest
to do so. If a doctor tells you to stop having babies, if we end up
with as many kids as we can handle…we end the experiment."

"Of course. You really don't mind if we end up with five or six
kids?"

He begins to get excited about the idea. "Three or four more kids as
great as the two we have already? We're going to have the best
family. And when they're old enough to play sports they're going to
crush the opposition."

"Mulder!" Scully laughs. "You're a wonderful man." 

"Nah, you're just deluded. Scully…" He looks down at her blissful
smile, then becomes a little nervous. "Those books you read, Cheaper
By The Dozen wasn't one of your favorites, was it?"

"Don't give me ideas, Mulder," she says with a laugh that doesn't
reassure him. "I was more a fan of ' The Five Little Peppers And How
They Grew'."

"Just checking. Maybe I should have added a third stipulation that
the total number of kids we have remains a single digit."

"Too late now," Scully says primly.

"Scully!" Mulder's protest is cut short when Scully begins to
distract him by rubbing up against his chest. "You really don't play
fair."

Although most of his mind focuses on the interesting things his wife
is doing to his body, the back of his mind is already plotting,
trying to think of ways to use Scully's confession to the best
advantage. She sure has gotten into a lot of trouble, so it's hard to
think of the best times to conceive future Mulders. Of course,
Scully's distractions soon obliterate all coherent thoughts from his
mind.

~*~*~

Chapter Thirty-Seven
"No Monsters Here"

July 14th, 1996
5 p.m.

"Mulder, I'm going to walk over to the post office, okay?" Scully
asks as soon as they pull into the driveway. "I got a card yesterday
that said I had a certified letter, probably something to do with one
of our cases."

"Sure it's not a package? I could drive you over if it's going to be
something heavy," he says, thinking that it's a mile round trip.

"It said a letter. Be right back." 

Mulder senses that there's something wrong as soon as he steps into
the house. He looks around frantically, but instead of finding either
of his children, he sees that Amy is staring at him, the fingers of
one hand kneading the hem of her t-shirt. She's not covered in blood,
and all her limbs look intact, so he takes a deep breath.

"Amy, what's wrong? Is there something wrong with Page or Sammy?" 

"Oh, no. They're both down for naps. It's um, me." 

"I see. If you're in some sort of trouble, Scully and I might - "

She shakes her head making her dark curls bounce. "It's not trouble
exactly…I should have told you this sooner, but I just didn't know
how to. Before I agreed to take this nanny position, I applied to
grad school. I got waitlisted, which as you know is almost always the
kiss of death. I didn't really think much more about it…until I got a
letter a couple of weeks ago.

"I got accepted to the Harvard law program, full scholarship." 

"Wow, that's great, Amy!" Mulder congratulates her. "It's quite an
honor to be accepted into that school."

"I know. I just feel bad because I'm going to have to leave in about
six weeks. Is that going to be enough time for you to get another
nanny?" The look on her face is extremely apologetic.

::Yikes. Scully's going to have a fit because the kids really seem to
like Amy.::"Oh, sure. We'll just call the agency and let them know
when you're leaving, and they'll find someone for us. Don't worry
about it, we'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I really don't want to leave you in the lurch…I could
start later."

"Don't you dare. This is far too important to put off just because
you might temporarily inconvenience your employers. Worst comes to
worse we'll ask their grandmothers to pitch in for a little while.
They always complain that they don't get to see the kids enough
anyway." ::Well, my mom would if she didn't have a heart of stone.::

"If you're sure, I'll call them tonight and accept." 

"I'm sure. Who knows, maybe a few years from now you'll be a lawyer
involved in trying some of the criminals Scully and I deal with."

"Yeah maybe, I do want to be a prosecutor. Do lawyers do that too?" 

Mulder blinks. "Do what?" 

"Well, I've always thought it was kind of strange that you and your
wife call each other by last name. I know a lot of women keep their
maiden names, but I've never heard any called by them before."

"Ah. I don't think lawyers do, but I know that many law officers and
feds do all day every day while working, and off work too if they
fraternize. It kind of becomes habit."

"Makes sense," Amy agrees. "And thank you so much for not being mad.
I think I hear your wife, so I guess I better tell her what's going
on."

~*~*~

Waldon's Medical building
Washington, DC
July 16th, 1996

As he walks down the hallway, Mulder unconsciously tugs on his belt,
trying to make it lay flat again. His hands drop to his sides as
Scully walks out of her doctor's waiting room. He smiles and takes
her arm, leading them both out the exit. "Have we done something to
really piss Skinner off?"

"I don't think that making us go to our required physicals falls into
the realm of what Skinner would cook up if we really annoyed him,"
Scully tells him as they cross the parking lot. "This is more of the
insurance company the government uses sticking it to us."

Mulder shudders. "It feels like a punishment. I don't mind most of
the exam, but the whole turn your head and coughing thing is
terrible. I really don't like having my genitals handled by a man I
only see a few times a year."

"It's too bad you get a different doctor every time you injure
yourself," Scully says with a straight face.

Mulder grins at her. "Yeah, at least if it was a steady
doctor-patient relationship I could demand he buy me dinner first.
Speaking of doctors, you're a doctor…how come you can't do my
physical?"

"For one thing, I work exclusively with dead people, so I don't have
much of a bedside manner." Mulder thinks fleetingly of her rough
treatment of his cut years into the future. "And for another we'd
never finish the exam once we got to the genital handling."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Mulder attempts a seductive look, but her
amusement ruins it. "Your exams must be even worse than mine. The
idea of an 'internal exam' is almost too horrifying to contemplate."

"They pretty much are horrible, but you learn to live with them."
Mulder notices a subtle change to her expression. "During the exam I
asked the doctor about having more kids because I think we agreed
last month that we both want a larger family-"

"Yes, your feminine wiles swayed me to that opinion," Mulder teases.

"She said that it's fine." Scully gives Mulder an amused look. "Which
is a good thing considering that you and I have always been
over-achievers. Apparently we brought back a little reminder of our
vacation without even realizing it."

"Really?" Mulder's eyes light up. "But you haven't even been sick." 

"Amazing, isn't it? That's why I didn't realize it myself. I didn't
even notice I was late until she asked me to tell her when my last
period was."

Mulder nods, doing the math in his head. "So sometime in March,
then?"

"Late March," she agrees, then smirks. "Skinner is going to love us."


"Skinner has no one but himself to blame," Mulder deadpans. "It was
his idea for us to go on a romantic vacation, after all."

"That's your idea of romance? Jumping in to assist on a case and lots
of sex?"

"Isn't it yours?" he asks innocently, ducking away from her. 

"Maybe we can get Skinner to close down the X-Files office when it's
convenient for us for a change." Scully shoots back.

Even though the closing of the office is a sore spot for him, he
grins. "Stranger things have happened."

~*~*~

August 1996

The doorbell rings, and Mulder races to answer it. It could be the
answer to his, and Scully's, prayers, ever since Amy left for grad
school. He opens the door to find a short bespectacled Asian girl in
a t-shirt and jeans, stepping back to get a better look at him. "Hi,
I'm Rachel from the Guardian Angels for Little Angels," the girl
tells him as they shake hands. She has a surprisingly strong grip for
someone even more petite than Scully, he thinks, and hopes his kids
are in good hands.

Scully's already cutting up a melanin-deprived African-American male,
and Mulder's raring to go, hoping to finish off a case that's managed
to get itself a little under his skin the second time around. "Let me
show you to the nursery," he says, as her owlish glasses take in
everything. Rapidly, he makes the kids' introductions to their new
nanny, feeling vaguely as if Mary Poppins should be blowing down the
chimney or something. Or was that the reference letter? He really
should pay more attention to the Disney movies, but this case has got
him on a tight deadline with international aspects involved. "Page,
Sammy, you behave," he says, kissing them on their heads, "and
Rachel, our cell and other emergency numbers are on the fridge.
Thanks!"

She nods, looking at Mulder's retreating back. "Nice to meet you,"
she shrugs, then looks at the kids, shifting her huge backpack. "This
is gonna be fun," she says, looking from the little girl to the even
littler boy. "I don't suppose your parents left feeding times for
you, did they?" she asks Sammy, who is goggling up at her. "Didn't
think so."

"Rach-all?" Page asks.

"Yeah?" the new nanny says, hefting Sammy up on her hip.

"Gotta go bathroom," she says, and is somewhat pleased to see a look
of sheer panic cross Rachel's face.

~*~*~

When Mulder and Scully return to their home late one night, their
case finished, filed, kaput, they find Rachel pacing back and forth
in the living room, muttering to herself, biting her thumb. "Rachel?"
Mulder asks, wondering if the ghosts harassed her or something.

"Wha-? Oh," she says, stopping her pacing, muttering and biting. "I'm
so sorry!" she says, and bursts into tears.

Scully, clearly confused, goes over to comfort her. "What's wrong?"
She pauses in mid-hug. "Are the kids okay?"

"Yeah," Rachel sniffles, rubbing her fingers under her glasses to
wipe her eyes, "they're okay. But," she pulls out a tissue from her
pocket and wipes her nose, "the dog…"

"What?" Scully asks, relieved about her children's safety but now
worried about her dog's, and sits her down. "What happened?" Curious,
Mulder sits down, too, wondering if Queequeg's luck finally ran out
this time around.

"I was walking the dog, when it ran off the sidewalk to bark at a dog
across the road," the nanny says in a ragged voice, "and then a car,"
and then she bursts into another wail.

Scully is patting the girl, even though it's her own dog that got run
over, not Rachel's. "Where's Queequeg?" she says in an admirably calm
voice.

"At, at the vet's," Rachel says once she's recovered enough breath to
answer. "I'm sorry, the, the damage, it was too much. They, they had
to put him to sleep." She looks desperately at them. "I'm so sorry,"
she says again, "I understand if you want to fire me."

"What?" Mulder says, roused out of his post-case stupor. "No, no, it
was an accident," he rushes to reassure her. Or maybe he's reassuring
himself. Either way, it's obvious the girl's torn up about the whole
thing, and God knows she doesn't need a Mulder-sized guilt complex.
"Listen, if you want to take a couple of days off, that's fine. But
we'd really appreciate if you'd still be our nanny." Scully looks at
him, surprised, but doesn't argue.

"Really?" Rachel blinks behind her glasses, then looks at them both.
"Thank you!" Impulsively, she hugs Scully, then Mulder. "Thank you so
much!"

~*~*~

Bemused, the FBI couple watch as the small Asian girl grabs a black
backpack about a third of her size, swing it onto her back, and rush
out the door. There is a squeal of tires and her car disappears off
into the night. "Maybe we should run a background check on her, just
in case," Mulder says.

"How old is she?" Scully asks.

Mulder shrugs. "I guess I'll find out," he says, feeling a bit put
out now that there's more work to be done, even if it's for a
personal matter. His wife kisses him on the cheek, then walks
upstairs to the nursery, probably to reassure herself of their
children's health. He walks over to the in-house office and powers up
the computer, sighing deeply.

It isn't long before he goes through the usual rounds of security,
but bypasses them easily, having done so many bgc's for the bureau
back when the FBI first shut down the X-Files, not to mention the
second go-round. "Here we go," he mumbles, and calls up her files
easily.

"Anything interesting?" his wife's tired voice says from behind.

"Not really," he says, as she wraps her arms around him. "She's older
than she looks, but this is her first nanny job. In fact, she's
working two other jobs on top of this one… According to her work
records, she's pretty reliable, even if she specializes in working
night shifts." Then a thought brightens his face. "Maybe she's a
vampire."

"Mulder," she groans, "it's just possible that she's a night person.
Please don't turn everything into an X-File. Amy was normal, and I'm
sure Rachel is, too."

"Or maybe not," Mulder says, but wiggles his eyebrows and grins.
"It's late, we just finished a case, and Queequeg is dead. I think
that's enough on our plate for tonight."

Scully nods, and there's a slightly glazed look in her eyes.
"Queequeg's dead," she repeats, and her eyes well up. "Oh, Mulder,"
she says in a wobbly voice, and now Mulder turns around to wrap his
arms around his wife, feeling slightly guilty that he doesn't have
the least bit of remorse over their late, little bit of a dog. "She
told Page and Sammy that Queequeg's in heaven."

"Well, that's nice," Mulder says, for lack of anything better to say.

She looks down, remembering her sleepy babies and envying their
innocence. "I hope she's right," she says, then opens her mouth for a
monster yawn. "I want to put this whole night and wake up not having
to deal with serial killers or dead dogs."

 "Amen to that," he says, kissing her forehead. "Let's go to bed." 

She smiles and leans against him, closing her eyes. "Sounds like a
great plan."

Together, the two agents stumble sleepily upstairs, safe in each
other's arms, and ready for nothing except the softness of their bed
and the sweetness of dreams.

~*~*~

Fair Grounds
September 21st, 1996
12 p.m.

Although he promised himself that he'd never put a child on a leash,
Mulder has to admit that he formed that opinion before he had to deal
with two little children in a crowded place. Page will no longer
endure being strapped into a carriage, and his back begged him not to
be a pack mule, so Page is tethered around the waist. The birthday
girl doesn't really seem to notice the loop of cloth that keeps
within arm's reach, and she toddles happily in front of him.

::This was actually a good idea. If there are any monsters at the
fair, at least they can't run off with her without taking my hand
with them.::

"Daddy! A cow!" Page's excited shriek makes Mulder grin, and Sammy
crane his head over the side of the stroller to see what his older
sister is yelling about.

Recalling that the baby has recently begun to imitate animal noises
when listening to Page play with a Speak n Say, Mulder leans down.
"Sammy, what sound does a cow make?"

"Moooo!" 

"There's my smart boy!" 

As Mulder stands up, an arm slings itself around his waist. He looks
down at Scully and smiles. "You're sure you can eat that?" The funnel
cake that she's holding looks good, so he wouldn't mind helping her
dispose of it if necessary.

Scully nods. "Surprisingly yes. Just the smell of fried food set my
stomach off with these two, but with this baby it seems to be all I
crave."

"I think we need to buy a fryer then," Mulder tells her, sneaking a
pinch of her funnel cake. "It was easy to get ice cream at two am,
but I'm not sure there are any artery cloggers open at that time of
night."

She shutters a little. "I never thought I'd own a fryer." 

"I bet your mom didn't own one. She seems like the type that would
have made you kids suffer through healthy foods whether you wanted to
eat them or not."

"Actually, it was the captain that was the food tyrant. He was one of
those ' stay until you clean your plate' parents. I guess that was
pretty common of people who were born not long after the depression -
their parents had food on their mind more than most and they passed
it on to their kids."

"At least they made sure that you ate," Mulder says quietly. "My
parents were kind of indifferent that way. I developed an unnatural
fondness for Spaghetti Os since I could handle cooking them on my
own."

Scully looks up at him and sees the faint pain in his eyes, and can
readily imagine him as a twelve-year-old boy trying to get himself
something to eat. She and her siblings could cook too, but in their
case it was because they wanted to, not because Maggie wouldn't. "At
least your cooking is more versatile now."

"So you're saying you wouldn't be thrilled if I bought an industrial
size can of Spaghetti Os and made them for dinner tonight? They're
nice and soft and pose no choking hazard for Sammy, as long as I
don't spring for the deluxe ones with franks or meatballs."

The looks she gives him, one that says 'you better be kidding',
nearly makes Mulder laugh out loud. "I'd rather you didn't. But if
you wanted to attempt to make homemade donuts after we buy the fryer,
I'd have no objections."

He decides to tease her a little with information she'll think he's
making up since the foods wouldn't be invented for years yet. "You
know, I think I heard it's possible to fry a twinkie."

"Why would anyone fry a twinkie??" 

He shrugs. "Why would anyone fry a turkey?" 

"No one would fry a turkey, Mulder. Turkey is fairly healthy, as
meats go, when cooked in the oven, so why would anyone want to make
it as bad for you as fried chicken?"

"They're courting a heart attack?" 

"Yeah, probably…"Her face takes on a contemplative look. "Do you
think you could fry a pickle?"

His stomach gives a sudden roil. "Look woman, just because you've
suddenly developed as cast iron stomach it doesn't mean that we all
have. If I fried a pickle I'd probably be tried for war crimes."

Page, sick of listening to her parents' incomprehensible
conversation, reaches up and tugs on Mulder's hand. "Wanna see baby
chik'ns."

~*~*~

They go and see the chicks. And the ducklings. And the bunnies. And
lambs. And piglets. And goats. Within two or so hours they've visited
each and every one of the animal sheds, and both kids seemed to enjoy
seeing all the creatures great and small that the fair offered for
exhibit.

Except for the sheep. Mulder thought that the kids would enjoy
watching the sheep being sheared, but when he glances down expecting
to see a smile on Page's face, he is shocked to see that her face is
crumpled and she's on the verge of tears. He scoops her up. "What's
wrong sweetie? You don't like the sheep?"

She waves a small hand towards the sheep shearers. "Hurt sheeps!" She
wails.

Mulder cuddles her. "No no, they're not hurting the sheep, Page. The
sheep are just fine."

"They cryin'!" She insists, and he becomes more conscious of the
bleats of the sheep. Before the sound had just blended into the
background for him.

"You see what that woman is holding in her hand?" Page bravely looks
where he's pointing and nods, bumping his chin with her head. After
wincing, he continues. "Those are just a kind of scissors. All
they're doing is giving the sheep haircuts."

"Haircuts?" 

"Yup. Remember when Sammy got a haircut last week? He cried too just
like the sheep. But he wasn't hurt and was fine when it was all
over."

"Sammy long hair gone." 

"It is." And that makes Mommy kind of sad, he adds to himself. "Soon
as they're done the sheep with be fine too. "He points to a calm,
fully sheared lamb. "See that one? He's all done and he looks happy."

"Yeah." Page agrees, but her livestock worries have tired her out, so
she puts her head on his shoulder.

"You tired?" Mulder asks, tickling her a little. "I thought we were
going on rides when Mommy gets back from the bathroom." Scully's
missed the sheep trauma because she's taken Sammy to the bathroom for
a diaper change.

"Rides? Daddy, wanna go on rides." Page suddenly perks up.

"Oh, I see, you were only a little tired." 

"A little," she agrees.

~*~*~

Scully leans back against Mulder as they watch the boat ride take
their children around and around in slow circles. Sammy is strapped
in next to his sister on a green boat, and his wide eyes are far
bluer than the six inches of water that the ride's mechanism drags
the "boats" through.

"He sure looks happy." Mulder murmurs into Scully's hair. He can
already tell that he's going to be the only one awake on the drive
home.

"There are no monsters here, right Mulder?" Scully asks with a yawn.

"Where here?" 

"The fair." 

"Not that I know of." 

"That's nice." 

"The fact that there are no monsters at the fair is nice?" 

"Well yes, but the fact that we've come to the fair to enjoy
ourselves, and see live cows, rather than to be looking at ones who
have been killed by aliens is nice."

"You admit that aliens kill cows?" He can't resist teasing her.

"Oh sure. Why not." 

Instead of commenting further he tightens his embrace on his wife and
watches his smiling children go round and round.

~*~*~

Chapter Thirty-Eight

October 11th, 1996
Washington DC
6:30 a.m.

"Hi mommy!" 

Scully can't help but smile at the cheerful greeting. Unlike Mulder,
Page seldom wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. Or crib more
accurately. Buying their daughter a "big girl"bed is on her and
Mulder's to-do list, but Scully is secretly reluctant to see that
transition. Every morning she can't help but think that the kids grow
so fast.

Eventually she notices her daughter's quizzical look and realizes she
hasn't say anything in reply." Morning, Page."

As soon as Scully picks her out of the crib, Page wiggles to get
down. She does, however, patiently submit to being changed into jeans
and a dark blue sweatshirt, and only whimpers a little as Scully
brushes her shoulder length blonde hair.

"Mommy and Daddy no go work?" Page asks, giving Scully a hopefully
look. The toddler has recently begun to realize that there are days
her parents work, and days they don't, so they figure it's only a
matter of time before she grasps the concept of weekends.

"Sorry kiddo. We'll be home all day tomorrow, though." It's only
because of the child's still iffy sense of time that Scully dares
telling her that, since cases have a way of not respecting Saturdays.

"Okay." 

The exaggerated hangdog look that Page gives her is almost enough to
make Scully laugh, but she bites her lip instead. "You and your
brother will have fun with Rachel today, Page."

"Un uh." 

"Don't you like Rachel?" 

Page's nose wrinkles. "Rach-all dumb." 

"That's not very nice, Page." 

"Mama! Mama!" Sammy's voice, along with the sounds of his hard shoes,
carry into the room before he's even reached the doorway. Page
doesn't seem to mind that she's in her own room, but her brother
wakes up every morning still looking for her, so as soon as Mulder
dresses him, he makes a beeline to Page's room.

The little boy's hair is sticking up in spikes on his head, but he
looks completely dressed, so he didn't escape before Mulder got him
clothed.

"Has anyone seen a little red-headed boy, about two feet tall?"
Mulder asks, completing the family gathering.

"Our daughter just informed me that she thinks that the nanny is
lacking in intelligence."

"Have you spoken to the woman, Scully? Page has a point," Mulder
tells her. Scully just shakes her head.

"Daddy! Stay home tomorrow." Page demands.

"As you wish, your majesty." 

"Silly daddy." Page giggles, which causes Sammy to giggle too.

"No no, say 'brilliant Daddy'." Mulder's protests fall on deaf ears.

"Well, I think you're brilliant, Mulder," Scully tells him as she
slings an arm around his waist. When he does likewise, he feels a
tiny kick under his hand. She just smiles at him and covers his hand
with her own. He wonders if it's the first time she's felt this baby
kick too.

"You have to say that, you're married to me," Mulder tells her.

"I don't recall that being in our vows." 

"It was in there," he insists.

The nanny's arrival a few seconds later ends the conversation, but
Mulder keeps thinking about it as they drive to the airport to travel
to their newest case. ::Can a man be both brilliant and silly?::

~*~*~

Traverse City, Michigan 
10 a.m. 

For once the rental agency has had the car they need when they need
it, so they're on the road earlier than either of them expected.
Mulder is driving while reads the case file and looks at the
photograph that the druggist took of Mary LeFante.

"Have the local police been contacted by this woman's abductor? No
demand for ransom?" she asks.

"No, unfortunately. It's going on three days." 

"Any additional leads?" 

He shakes his head. "No, no hair and fiber evidence either. The rain
washed it all away. The autopsy did come back on the dead boyfriend,
though. It's a puncture wound through the left eardrum and into the
brain, possibly from a long needle or awl."

"I'm still not sure how you and I figure into this investigation." 

"Don't you see the photo?" 

"I assume that was taken by whoever it was who abducted her." 

"It was taken by a sixty-five year old druggist moments before she
was abducted. That's a passport photo from a local drugstore. The
druggist who took that photo is the last known person to have seen
Mary LeFante. Only he claims that wasn't the photo he was taking. He
says the photo he was taking was normal in every respect. He only
came forward to the police when he heard the woman was missing."

"Well," she reasons aloud, "Whoever it was that took this photo was
obviously privy to the woman's abduction."

"That is what you would think," Mulder teases her.

"And I'm sure you've got a more obvious theory, like she was abducted
by aliens," she shoots back.

"Nah. In Michigan werewolves are the most likely suspects." When she
doesn't reply, he gives her a quick look and sees that she's not
smiling. "I was kidding, you know."

"Do I?" she asks with a sigh.

~*~*~

The Residence of Mary LeFante

Their visit to the drugstore is a carbon copy of the day that Mulder
dreamed about for years, right down to the way that Officer Trott
comes into to apologize for probably wasting their time. The fact
that nothing has changed so far begins to worry Mulder, so he sticks
close to Scully when they visit the missing woman's house.

The officer doesn't stick around after he briefly introduces him to
the man leading the investigation. "Inspector Puett. These are agents
Scully and Mulder."

The man nods in their direction. "I'm a United States Postal
Inspector. My office is investigating a mail theft - one which we've
traced to your missing person, Ms. Mary Louise LeFante."

"She was a postal employee?" Scully asks.

"She works as a sorter at the Kurland Hills Branch. Not
coincidentally, a number of unsigned credit cards in transit through
that branch never made it to their respective owners." Inspector
Puett displays a bag of credit cards recovered at the scene.

"Mary LeFante was intercepting them," Mulder remarks.

"And her recently deceased boyfriend was signing them. We ran him, he
was into forgery, check fraud, you name it."

Mulder's attention is drawn to a series of pictures held down by a
magnet.

Scully, however is still mindful of the case." Mary LeFante's
passport photo. Do you know how soon she wanted to leave town?" Puett
shakes his head no. "Did she know about your investigation?"

"Probably, though we didn't focus on her specifically until this week
after she came up missing."

"And you think that she faked her own disappearance?" Scully asks.

"Well, it looks that way to me." 

"Yeah, but why would she stab her boyfriend through the ear? The
magic was gone? Did you find a camera anywhere here?" Mulder wants to
know, and Puett shakes his head again.

Leaving the inspector to his own devices, Mulder and Scully go
upstairs into Mary's bedroom.

"So you're thinking this woman planted that photo of herself in the
drugstore?" Scully wants to know.

"What would be the point of that?" 

She shrugs and watches him rummage through the bedroom's walk-in
closet. When he backs out he's got a Polaroid camera in his hand.
"Stand back, Scully, it's loaded."

After he takes a picture of her, he snaps several more pictures at
random.

"What are you doing?" 

"In the sixties, a bellhop named Ted Serios became kind of famous for
taking what he called 'thoughtographs.' He claimed that by
concentrating on an unexposed film negative, he could create a
photographic representation of what he saw in his mind. He did
landscapes, cathedrals, the Queen of England." ::And in a few years
people will make a fairly unscary horror movie that rips off the
concept.::

Scully raises an eyebrow, which makes him grin. "Thoughtographs?" 

"Also known as 'skotographs.' The literature on thought photography
dates back almost to Louis Daguerre."

"So that makes it legitimate?" 

"Look at that," he says, pointing at the pictures he has laid out on
the bed. The images on the prints are starting to emerge. Each one
shows a distorted picture of a screaming Mary, not unlike the
drugstore photograph. There are also several distorted skull-like
images on each photo.

 She takes a step back. "Oh my God!" 

"I think he was here, Scully." 

"Who was here?" 

"Mary LeFante's abductor. I think he stalked her. He could have come
up right here. I think he came in here and he looked at her through
the window, this close. Close enough to affect the film in that
camera."

"Psychic photography? Mulder, I think that it's obvious that somebody
doctored these images and planted them to be found here. Maybe as
some kind of a smokescreen."

"Meant to conceal what? This isn't about mail fraud, Scully, that's
just incidental. What if...what if...someone had this ability? An
image like this would be a peak into that person's mind."

"Into their darkest fantasies." 

"The fantasy of a killer, one who stalked his victim," he agrees.

~*~*~ 

 Traverse City Hospital
An hour later

Mary LeFante is being wheeled through the hospital on a stretcher. A
doctor, an orderly, and Mulder and Scully walk beside stretcher.

The doctor frowns and stares at the woman. "She's completely
non-responsive. We did a preliminary tox screen on her found traces
of morphine and scopolamine."

"Twilight sleep," Scully says.

"The dental anesthetic." Mulder nods. "I thought they stopped using
that a long time ago."

"Twilight sleep isn't used very often, but it still is sold and a
person who knows how could make it. It's basically a painkiller
cocktail. It's also for women in labor. But it wouldn't account for
her condition." The doctor's frown deepens as he and Scully discuss
the necessity of a PET scan.

~*~*~

In the adjoining room, Mulder, Scully and the doctor watch as
another technician operates a terminal that shows the results of a
scan of Mary's brain. The scan shows the brain in blue, but there are
large green areas and several red areas. Scully grimaces as she sees
the results.

"Oh my God," Scully whispers.

"What is it?" 

"She's been given what's called a transorbital lobotomy. It used to
be known as an icepick lobotomy. It involves inserting a leucotome
through the eye sockets."

"So we're looking for a doctor? Someone with training? Nurse
Ratched?"

"Not judging by this," the doctor tells him.

"Whoever did this, Mulder, did it wrong." 

Through the speaker, they hear Mary moaning from the examination
room.

"un...un...unruhe...unruhe..."

Officer Trott comes in as Mulder is requesting that someone go get
Mary. "We just got the call. There's been a second abduction."

~*~*~

The Midlothian Corporate Park 

All too quickly they're standing over another body. "Charles Selchik,
certified public accountant." Mulder motions to an outline of a body
marked on the floor. "Dead from a stab wound through the
ear...cleaning crew found the body."

"What about the missing woman?" 

"His secretary, Alice Brandt, age 32. Her family confirmed that she
was working late last night."

"What's her connection to the first victim?" 

Mulder shrugs. "Apparently none, but if the M.O. remains the same..."


"Yeah, the clock is running." 

"Yeah. I keep thinking about that word that Mary LeFante was
repeating - 'unruhe.' I checked the Michigan phone directory. It
appears under three different spellings but none within 80 miles of
here."

"It might be significant as a word." 

"That's what I've been thinking. Apparently in German, it means
trouble or strife."

"Unrest." 

"You took German in high school, Scully?" 

"College." 

"Unrest, huh?" 

"I'm working on these crime scene photos from the first abduction. If
we're lucky, we're dealing with someone who gets a vicarious thrill
from returning to the scene of a crime."

"He wasn't there, Scully." 

"How do you know?" 

"It would have affected the photos. Trott, what did you find?" 

"Nothing much. There's no cameras or film here whatsoever. It's all
just accountants' offices so I don't know why there would be."

"Is that what we're looking for here, Mulder?" Scully asks. "More
evidence of psychic photography?"

"That may be the only evidence we get." 

"I've got a bureau forensics team coming up from Detroit," Scully
tells him.

"What's here for them to find? This guy is obviously very good at
what he does. He's left behind no witnesses, no latent prints. The
only thing he's left are those photos, which leads me to believe he
doesn't even know that he has that ability."

"We haven't found any new psychic photos here either." 

Scully sees something outside and looks down at a photo. "Wait a
second." She then walks to the window for a better look. She is
looking at a sign over the scaffolding that she went through earlier.
"I want to show you something."

She and Mulder are walking back through the plastic-shrouded
scaffolding. They approach a distinctive sign for the Iskendarian
Construction company." Right here. This." She shows him a photo from
the first crime scene that shows the same sign in the area. "And
look. It's the same company. What if the kidnapper was working
construction at both sites? From these two vantage points, he would
have been able to pick out the two women."

"You may be right, Scully, you should check it out. Let me know what
you find."

"Where are you going to be?" 

"I'll be back in DC. I want special photo to run this. I still think
the answer is in here."

"What if it's not, Mulder? This woman's time is running out." 

"Well, that's all the more reason to fully investigate the one and
only hard piece of evidence we do have. I'll be in touch." He reaches
into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. "I noticed earlier that
your battery wasn't charging correctly, so I got you a new phone."

"Thanks." 

"Don't thank me, thank the government. I charged it to business
expenses."

"Even better." 

He leans down and kisses her on the forehead. "I'll be back in 3 or 4
hours, okay?"

"Okay." 

 ~*~*~

While Mulder goes to the photo specialist in DC to get the
information he already knows about and stops by the house to remind
Rachel that they might have to stay the night on their case, Scully
explores the area and discovers Gerald Schnauz, and brings him in for
questioning when she finds the implement, a leucotome, that he used
to injure his victims. Mulder flies back immediately and they begin
the interrogation as soon as he arrives.

Scully takes point in the interrogation. "Alice Brandt. The second
woman that you abducted. That's her name, Gerry. Where is Alice
Brandt?"

Schnauz adopts an innocent expression. "I don't...I have no earthly
idea what you're talking about."

"Tell us where she is, Gerry." 

"I'm sorry. This is a case of mistaken identity or something. I
honestly...honestly have no idea what you're talking about."

Looking angry, Scully shows him a plastic bag containing the
leucotome. "Explain this."

"We're running sheetrock today. I use that to start the holes in the
sheetrock, to keyhole in all the fixtures."

"No, you used this to kill the two men." 

Schnauz keeps up his façade of innocence. "What two men?" 

"You used this on Mary LeFante," Scully insists.

"Who? What? Wait, a minute ago it was Alice Brandt. I don't believe
this, I do not believe this is happening."

Mulder notices his wife is about to boil over, so he jumps in." You
want to tell us about the first time you were arrested, Gerry? In
1980, you attacked your father with an axe handle. You beat him so
severely that he spent the remainder of his life in a wheelchair."

"I was not jailed, I was institutionalized. I had a kind of chemical
imbalance."

"Yeah, Gerald Thomas Schnauz, diagnosed and treated for a paranoid
schizophrenic disorder six years in Melvoin Psychiatric Hospital,
released 1986. So what you been up to since 1986, Gerry?" Mulder
asks.

"Taking care of my father. Looking after him 24 hours a day. Making
amends. He, uh, passed away January."

"Says here that you have a sister. Where is your sister, Gerry?"
Mulder asks.

"She passed." 

"Actually, it says here she committed suicide in 1980. That was a bad
year. What else happened in 1980, Gerry?"

"Well, John Lennon got shot. Where the hell are you going with this?
What are you, Sigmund Freud? Why don't you cut the BS?"

"Then why don't we get back to Alice Brandt. Where is she?" Scully
demands to know.

Schnauz stares at Scully. "You look troubled." 

"Hey, Gerry. This your father?" He shows Gerry the image of the thin
watching man from the enhanced photograph.

 The other man gasps. "Where'd you get that?" 

"You left it for me. You left it like a fingerprint. Is this what you
see when you close your eyes, Gerry?" He shows Gerry the complete
photograph. Gerry studies it carefully." Is that what you see?
Gerry...tell me where Alice Brandt is."

"She's safe from the howlers. She's all right now." Schnauz's voice
is wooden.

"Gerry...Tell me how I can find her." 

 ~*~*~

Another hour later they've found Alice Brandt's body and called in to
the station to have Trott formally book their suspect. When they get
to the station themselves, they learn that Schnauz freaked out and
hit Trott in the face, causing him to hit his head on a desk which
knocked him out. Trott is just coming around and has no idea where
Schnauz went after he lost consciousness.

Standing in the processing room, Mulder remembers when he saw
Trott's blood on the floor. The disturbing thing about Trott's hale
condition is that Mulder did nothing to cause it. It makes him wonder
if his death was just a matter of chance the first time around.

Mulder is still trying to get answers out of Trott when Scully
enters. He motions her over.

"Mulder. We just got a report of a strong-arm robbery. It's at the
drugstore where the first victim disappeared."

~*~*~

 The Drug Store

When they get there officers are still examining the scene, while a
paramedic attends to a wound on the druggist's head.

Scully's voice is gentle when she leans over the injured man, which
is surprising to Mulder since the man had been her first suspect."
What happened?"

Half listening, Mulder goes to an automatic photo booth and inserts
some money.

Scully concludes her conversation with the druggist then walks over
to Mulder. "It's Gerry."

"He took the passport camera and all the film in the store," Mulder
remarks.

Scully nods. "He also took morphine, scopolamine, hydrobromide and
insulin syringes. He's making more twilight sleep."

"He wants to continue his work." The camera in the photo booth beeps
and a flash goes off.

"You know, that job site that I arrested him at, Mulder. What if
he's...what if he's already picked out his next victim? There
were...there were apartment buildings on all sides."

"You think you interrupted his stalking?" Mulder asks.

"Alright, I'll go bring the car around in a minute. I just want to
wait for this. "

"Okay." She pulls a face. "This kid is lying on my bladder, so I'm
going to use the restroom while you get the car."

 Mulder nods, giving her a smile she doesn't understand and waits for
his picture. When it's ready he frowns, since it looks exactly like
it did the last time: Scully screaming, surrounded by grotesque
beings. ::I don't get it. I'm getting the car, how could it be
unchanged?::


Meanwhile

Scully is washing her hands when the restroom door swings open. She
doesn't think much of it, since the drugstore was quite crowded, but
she catches sight of Schnauz in the mirror. "What are you doing?"

The last thing she remembers is being thrown off balance and the sink
coming at her.

~*~*~

Mulder drops the picture and runs towards the restrooms. The door to
the ladies room is still swinging, and he spots a back exit to the
store, that door is still in motion too. He throws it all the way
open and runs out into the parking lot.

He runs out and around the building but doesn't see her. The
Explorer pulls out from behind a truck and speeds away down an alley.
Mulder chases on foot.

"Scully! Scully!" The Explorer turns at the end of the alley and
speeds away. "Scully!"
Running behind, Mulder is soon panting, and realizes that it's
useless to follow on foot, so he turns on his heel and goes back to
the rental car. ::This isn't happening. It can't. I don't give a damn
about blowing my cover, I'm going there right now before he hurts
her.::

~*~*~

Schnauz's Lair

Scully regains consciousness and looks around the room, which is a
small area with padding on the walls. She is tied to a dentist's
chair with duct tape around her wrists and ankles. There is a
dentist's table next to her with the leucotome. She sees the figure
of Schnauz, wearing his construction apron, at the other end,
muttering. "Es ist alles in Ordnung."

She shakes her head to clear it, then has a horrifying thought. "Oh
my god, did you drug me?" she asks in a high voice, fearful for her
unborn baby.

"Shhhh...no drugs, you hit your head." 

In a surprising move of compassion, Schnauz walks over toward the
chair and frees one of her hands, bringing it to her forehead so she
can feel the cut. He then starts tearing off more pieces of duct
tape, and clumsily refastens her hand to the chair.

"It's over, Gerry. Let me go right now." 

"Ich werde dir helfen. Du wirst deine Unruhe bald vergessen. "

He starts to cover Scully's mouth with duct tape. She thrashes.
"Aufhoeren!" *Stop!* "Ich habe keine Unruhe." *I have no unrest.*
"Ich habe keine unruhe. ch bin gar nicht unruhig. Ich brauche nicht
gerettet zu werden." *I don't need to be saved.*

He frowns at her. "Yes you do. Everybody does, but especially you." 

"Why? Why me, Gerry? Do I remind you of your sister? Why did your
sister kill herself, Gerry? What did your father do to her?"

"He didn't do anything. It was the howlers." 

"OK, then let's talk about the howlers," she says quickly.

"They live inside your head. They make you do things and say things
that you don't mean, and all your good thoughts can't wish them away.
You need help. You've got them - right there." He touches Scully's
face between her eyebrows. "Don't you feel them?"

"I don't have them, Gerry. My children took them away when they were
born."

He gives her a surprised look. "Your children?" 

"Yes. I have a little girl and a baby boy. They're innocent, and
innocent things take away the bad things in people's lives."

"They are innocent." Schnauz's agreement sounds uncertain, which
makes her more desperately hopeful.

"You wouldn't want to destroy something innocent, would you? I'm
having another baby in March…if you hurt him or her then you'd be
letting the howlers win."

"They made you say that, just now, because they know I'm going to
kill them." He picks up the leucotome from the table.

"I'm not. I'm not trying to trick you." She shakes her head. "Put
your hand on my belly, Gerry, then you'll see for yourself that I'm
not lying."

Trying not to shudder, she feels him put his hand on her stomach, and
the baby within gives an obliging kick that makes the man widen his
eyes. "You're not lying."

"No, I'm not." 

"The howlers wanted me to hurt you to destroy something innocent," he
whispers.

"That's why you shouldn't listen to them." 

Schnauz collapses against the wall, sobbing. He doesn't even notice
when Scully works her hand free and quietly calls Mulder, who is
already about halfway there.
 
~*~*~

Traverse City Hospital
An Hour Later

"What happens to Schnauz now?" Mulder asks as he pushes Scully's
wheelchair out to the car. The nurse strong-armed her into it,
scowling as she repeated hospital policy until Scully had got in, and
glancing over his shoulder Mulder can see that the woman is still
glowering. ::I guess there's something to doctor's making the worst
patients. I shudder to think what might have happened between Scully
and Nurse Ratched had there been anything more to this visit than a
look over.::

She looks up at him and shrugs. "They took him up to psych. My guess
is that he's going to be institutionalized or spend the rest of his
life in a hospital for the criminally insane."

"At least he won't be able to hurt anyone else." ::And he should
consider himself lucky that he's not dead.:: "Maybe he can make some
money for candy by selling thoughtographs."

"Funny." She smirks. "It's sad, though, Mulder. This man's father
abused his daughter, and the only way Gerry could cope with it was to
create these howlers so he could remain loyal to his father."

"It's not as sad as those women's deaths," Mulder says soberly. "It
could have been you."

"But it wasn't." 

::Not this time. Let's hope it continues to go that way.::

He stops the chair at the curb. "Out of the chair, woman. We've got
two kids who are looking forward to spending all weekend climbing
over us."

"Would you think I was crazy if I said I didn't think that sounded so
bad?" she asks as he puts his arm around her waist and leads her
towards their nearby car.

"No. There are a lot of reasons I'd say you're crazy, but that's not
one of them. Owww." He lifts up his newly sore foot. "Well, at least
you weren't wearing heels."

~*~*~ 

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Washington DC
November 3rd, 1996
7 p.m.

The phone ringing shatters Scully's dream, and she bolts upright,
grabbing at the receiver. Her mind is so foggy she's half-sure that
it's Mulder calling about some trouble he's in, but as her fingers
close around the hard plastic, she hears him reading to the kids down
the hall and realizes his danger was only something in her dream.

Puzzled, she holds the phone up to her ear and croaks, "Hello?" 

"Dana?" 

The cool, collected voice is immediately recognizable. "Mrs. Mulder."


"I keep telling you, call me Teena." 

Except she hasn't, she and Scully rarely speak so it's only come up
twice at most. "Sure, I'll try to remember that. Let me go get Fox-"

"Actually Dana, it's you I called to speak to," Mrs. Mulder
interrupts.

"Me?" 

"Yes. I had a horrible thought earlier today. My granddaughter is two
years old." Scully can't figure out what's horrible about that. She's
settling on reassuring her mother-in-law that being a grandmother
doesn't make her age faster, when the older woman begins to speak
again. "Samuel's only one, so there's still time, if only just, but
I'm not sure about little Page."

"Time for what?" Scully asks blankly.

"Preschool registration." 

"But preschools don't accept children until they're three. Page won't
be three until late next summer."

"I know when my granddaughter's birthday is." Mrs. Mulder says
frostily. "Good schools have waiting lists that one should get on as
soon as possible. Actually, you could probably sign the third child
up now as well."

"Wouldn't not having a name or gender yet make that difficult?" She
has a hard time resisting the urge to scream for Mulder to come and
deal with his mother.

"I'm sure it's something they deal with, but you could have an
ultrasound if it bothers you."

"Um…To be honest, Teena we haven't really thought about sending the
children to the sort of preschool you're talking about. We want them
to go to the preschool that many of our colleagues send their
children to. It isn't as prestigious as the type of place you're
talking about, but it has won many honors, and it would be good for
them to spend time with children whose parents have similar careers,
since they won't be the only children there who are occasionally
separated from their parents when those parents are on cases."

"Yes, well, that all sounds very nice. But it wouldn't hurt if I sent
you some brochures to look at would it?"

Scully balls her fists, but forces a polite tone." Of course, send
them and we'll give them a read."

"Wonderful. Have a good night, Dana." 

"You too...Teena." 

As she hangs up the phone, Scully can't help but think that her
husband's neglected childhood might have been a blessing in disguise.
Of course she immediately feels guilty for the thought.

~*~*~

Temple Of The Seven Stage 
Apison, Tennessee
November 5th, 1996
 5:15 a.m. 

"Federal agents! We are armed!" 

After the troops in riot gear storm the compound, Mulder and Scully
enter at a distance, listening to the muted protests of adults being
rounded up and the cries of scared children. The whole "temple" is in
disarray. One poster on the inside of a door reads "Behold I am ALIVE
For evermore Rev 1.18 The room is otherwise empty.

Frowning, Mulder turns to his wife." Somebody tipped Ephesian off. He
knew we were coming."

"He's somewhere here on the compound." They hear some shouts, and
Scully calls out to their unseen companions. "Did you find Ephesian?"
 

Agent Bates comes into the room shaking his head. "No. We've covered
ninety percent of the compound..."

"We have to find him," Scully insists.

"There's no sign of the weapons, they've hid them somewhere." 

Mulder walks out the door without a word to his wife or Bates.

"Mulder. Mulder!" Scully's face looks irritated, but she pauses to
speak to Bates before following Mulder. "Tear this place apart."

She nearly has to run in order to catch up with Mulder, because his
long strides have taken him far from the main building already.
"Mulder? Mulder, where are you going?"
Instead of responding, Mulder looks out at the field. "Intelligence
reported no hiding places beyond the yard."

Mulder picks up the pace, jogging, followed by Scully. He stops
again, being led on by something. "Did you see someone?" Scully asks,
and still receives no answer. She grows suspicious of the field as
well and clutches her gun tighter, starting off. A small voice can be
heard. Mulder looks around for the location and sees wood glinting
out from the dead grass.

The low rumble of a voice comes up from the ground." My God, in the
name of the city. My God..." A woman's voice, getting louder as
Mulder bends down to the hatch and Scully keeps his gun trained on
it, having seen it as well.

"Amen." A male voice.

The woman again. "As in heaven..." 

Mulder flings the door open and he and Scully stand over the dark
hole, guns aimed at the man and six women inside." F.B.I."

They are all holding glasses of red liquid. The woman who had been
talking raises the cup to her lips.

"No!" Mulder dashes in and smacks the cup out of her hand. She gasps,
then spits in his face. Mulder flinches, but stares at her, filled
with a double sense of déjà vu over her familiarity.

 Vernon attempts to sooth the agitated women, who are upset at their
loss of heaven, staring in dismay as death seeps out of cups on the
floor. None of them resist when handcuffs are placed upon their
wrists.

~*~*~

Federal Command Center
Chattanooga, Tennessee
Interrogation Room

Given that he thinks that the charges they have Ephesian and his
wives up on aren't going to stick, Skinner is letting more rough
edges than usual show. He allows Mulder and Scully to interview
Melissa after Mulder thinks that it's her voice on the tape that set
the investigation in motion, but not before barking at them.

"We need to get this over with and soon. If this turns into another
Waco the bureau will have all our heads, and none of us will be
deemed fit to even wash the windows of the FBI fleet vehicles."

To ease the interrogation along, Scully is accommodating, and allows
Melissa to smoke, even though both she and Mulder consider it a vile
habit.

The cigarette in her hand trembles a little, betraying her
nervousness. "My name is Melissa Riedal-Ephesian, I'm twenty-five."

"Melissa, do you understand your right to have an attorney present in
this questioning?" Scully asks.

"It's okay." 

Mulder, sitting across from her, stares at her. Seeing dead people
alive is getting to him. "Where are you from?"

A confused look fills her face. "I, I don't know." 

Scully nods sympathetically. "What about your family, where do they
live?"

"My real family is here." 

"How long have you lived there?" 

"A year." 

"How long have you been married to Ephesian?" 

"A year." 

"Does it bother you that he has other wives?" Mulder asks. "I know
it'd bother my wife." He doesn't dare look at Scully, fearing her
potential reaction. ::Not that there's anyone else I ever considered
marrying.::

Melissa's response is to quote something, perhaps biblical, perhaps
not. "And on that day, seven women shall take hold of one man, saying
'we shall eat our own bread, we shall wear our own apparel, only let
us be called by thy name to take away our reproach.'"

"That's quite a faith you have in Vernon there, Melissa. Agent Mulder
is right, I'd have a tough time if my husband had so many children
with other women."

A tear starts to roll down Melissa's cheek. She shrugs, smirking.

"Do you have a child by Vernon?" 

"Someday. Vernon has to wait until God tells him when the right soul
is ready to be reincarnated. That's why Vernon's children are the
most sacred members of the temple."

"We were told that Vernon's been hurting the children." 

Melissa takes another slow drag off of her cigarette.

"Have you ever witnessed any child abuse at the temple, Melissa?"
Scully asks.

Melissa drifts off as Scully and Mulder watch her intently, waiting
to see what she says. Suddenly, she slams her fist down on the table,
her face scrunched, her eyes narrow. Her voice is not only like
Sidney's, but it is Sidney's.

"Lookit! I don't know where you two are getting that from! I mean, I
saw a couple of things, I mean, you know, it, it, it could have been
anything, right?"

Scully shoots her a shocked look. "Melissa?" 

"Melissa? No. I don't know nobody called that." 

"Sidney?" Mulder asks instead.

"What is this? The McCarthy hearings? No, no. Don't, don't know
anybody by that name, no." Scully looks at her notes, aghast. Mulder
isn't so surprised. Scully writes down "multiple personality"and
shows it to Mulder. "I saw a couple of things. It could have been
anything, right?"

Mulder swipes the notepad from Scully." Sidney, can you tell me who
the president of the United States is right now?"

"Who is the president of the United States? What the hell kind of
dumb question is that?"
Mulder writes down "past life." Scully looks over at Mulder as if
he's leaping to conclusions. "That is a stupid question. Harry
Truman!"

Scully looks back at Melissa, wide-eyed. She leans into him lean,
whispering." You're claiming Sidney is her past life just because she
mentioned Joe McCarthy?"

"It's not just that. Somehow I just knew." 

They look back at Melissa, who calmly takes a drag from her
cigarette, back to normal.

~*~*~

 Federal Command Center
Chattanooga, Tennessee

Mulder is looking at a map of the bunkers when Skinner walks in,
carrying a folder.

"Ephesian and his wives are being arraigned tomorrow morning. That's
about fifteen hours to come up with something." He throws the folder
down onto his borrowed desk.

Mulder gives him a disbelieving look." Come up with something? We
found "Sidney." Voice spectrogram confirms that Melissa Riedal's
vocal pattern matches the A.T.F. 'Sidney' call."

"Melissa Riedal is not cooperating," Scully reminds him.

"But there is a personality in her that wants to. We need a
psychological catalyst. I suggest we take her back to the compound.
Maybe exposing her to that environment with Ephesian present will
somehow enable Melissa to talk, or a personality inside her."

"Agent Scully, could this be some kind of a stall or a staged
diversion? It's my understanding that multiple personalities are
rare."

"They're extremely rare. In fact, many in the psychiatric community
do not believe that dissociative identity disorder exists."

"What we witnessed meets the criteria established in the D.S.M.-IV.
The presence of two distinct personality states that would currently
take control over behavior, including the 'protector' identity,
Sidney. The inability to recall important personal information. She
couldn't recall her own hometown. Transitions from one personality
state to another are usually a matter of seconds and are often caused
by psychosocial stress. Sidney appeared when we mentioned the
children had been abused."

Skinner looks at Scully. "But you remain unconvinced?" 

"I believe the disorder exists, but in this case, under these
circumstances, I would have to know more."

"With all due respect, sir, Scully's background is a medical one, not
a psychiatric one. I would think that my own education would put me
in a better position to evaluate Melissa than Scully would be."

Skinner looks surprised for a moment, apparently having forgotten
Mulder's seldom brought up specialty. "If Melissa has multiple
personalities, would her...his...testimony even be admissible?"

"Judicial precedents have established that dissociative personalities
are responsible."

"Yes, but we are responsible for Melissa Riedal," Scully says.

"What we are responsible for is the potential loss of fifty lives." 

"Then do it," Skinner tells them, before walking out.

"You didn't even have the courage to tell Skinner what you really
believe...that Melissa Riedal is being invaded by her past-life
incarnations," Scully complains.

"Because he wouldn't believe me." 

"I don't believe that you feel responsible for those fifty lives...or
Melissa Riedal. You are only responsible to yourself, Mulder."

"That isn't true and you know it," Mulder says angrily. "You ought to
know me better than that."

"Mulder…"

Before she can say whatever it was she had in mind, he's stormed off.

~*~*~

 Temple of The Seven Stars 
4:27 p.m.

It makes Mulder feel a little badly to let Scully upset "Lily," a
child personality of Melissa's but he doesn't intervene, since he
knows it will bring back Sidney. Before long it does.

"Lookit, leave the kid alone. Hear me? She doesn't want to talk,
right? No way. I'm sending her home."

 Mulder gestures to Scully, indicating that he wants to speak to the
woman. "Sidney, you can all go home. You can all be safe if you tell
us where they hid the guns."

Melissa gets up and walks to the end of the room. As Mulder did the
first time he was there, she looks through the window to the door on
the other side. She walks through both doors, Mulder and Scully quick
to follow. Scully shoots him a worried look, but keeps up with them.

"The weapons were placed in the bunker which they had built the night
before."

Scully takes out her notepad and writes it down. "That's why they
weren't on the A.T.F. reports."

"The federals would arrive in the morning, just before the sun." She
walks out a little farther into the field. The agents follow, Scully
taking notes. "Realizing the government's might and number, most
believed they, indeed, would never again see the light of day...just
as they had watched their brothers die days before on Missionary
Ridge." Scully looks up at her, recognizing the name. Melissa walks
slowly again.

"We had received word of General Cleburn's retreat from the Union
army. As a nurse, I had been ordered from Hamilton County to meet the
troops, but...in actuality, I was searching for him, knowing that he
would attempt to remain in Tennessee rather than retreat to Dalton. I
found him here amongst the others who had been lost as General Thomas
pushed through the Confederate line. The federal troops would appear
from that direction." Melissa points over to the treeline where the
sun is setting.

"Rather than retreat any further, they fought them...hiding us in the
bunker. Inside, I could smell the smoke, hear their rifles...feel
their bodies as they dropped onto the ground above. Every last one.
She fights back her tears, and fails. "Twenty-sixth of November.
1863. I was here." Scully puts her notepad away with a deep sigh, and
Mulder looks at Melissa." As were you. This is the field where I
watched you die."

~*~*~

 Tennessee Backroads

Mulder looks away from the road long enough to glance into the review
mirror to confirm that Melissa is sleeping. When he sees that she is,
he fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket.

Scully notices. "Who are you calling?" 

"I'm arranging for a therapist trained in hypnosis to be at the
command center."

"Because hypnosis is used in the treatment of dissociative identities
to bring forth a patient's various personalities?" Her voice is
challenging.

"She wants to talk, Scully. It's a matter of getting it out of her." 

"No, it's about regressing her to a past life." Frowning, she pushes
the phone down. "Don't do this to her, Mulder. This poor woman's
mind, her life, is in shreds. Just being married to Ephesian
indicates that, that she is susceptible to suggestion."

Mulder thumps on the steering wheel with one hand. "You, you were
there, Scully! You saw it. You heard it. Why can't you feel it?" the
look Scully gives him is half-ashamed, and half-worried. "How could I
know about a bunker in a field where I've never been?" ::At least I'd
never been there before the last time, anyway.:: he thinks.

"And why is it that Vernon Ephesian is, reported by you, a paranoid
sociopath because he believes that he lived in Greece a hundred years
ago, and you're not, even though you believe you died in that field?"

::Because I know there are different lives than these, and he
doesn't. Of course, I can't tell you or you'll have me committed.::
Instead of saying anything, he looks back to the road and lets a
stony silence build between them.

~*~*~

Federal Command Center
 Chattanooga, Tennessee

Once they get to the center, Mulder has to cajole Melissa into
cooperating. "It's for the best."

"No, I don't want to do this," she protests, giving the building
distrustful looks.

"We just want to know if you saw anything to substantiate the charges
against Vernon. If there's nothing at all that you've repressed about
the bunker or child abuse, it'll help clear Vernon's name." Mulder
lies glibly. He doesn't dare to look at Scully, knowing that she
doesn't approve of his methods.

"There's nothing." Melissa mutters. "I won't tell them anything
that'll make Vernon look guilty."

"Then you have nothing to lose and everything to gain." 

~*~*~

A few minutes later Melissa is sitting in the therapist's chair, her
eyes closed, and her fingers rubbing the armrest in an effort to calm
herself.

The therapist's voice is low and soothing. "I'm talking to Melissa.
In the last year, at the Temple of the Seven Stars, is there anything
that happened that you thought was wrong that hurt you?"

Her voice is more confident than they've ever heard it to be. "Yes.
There was a...woman who came to the temple. She and her son had been
living on the street."

"What was her name?" 

"Elizabeth. Her son was Scott. Vernon took a liking to the boy. He
said that he was a prophet returning. He took the boy away from his
mother."
 
"Took him away? How?" 

"Vernon's children are the grandchildren of God, kept separate from
the others. The mother's heart was broken. She was afraid. The mighty
men...late...night...Liz sneaks in to see Scott. Oh, he was happy."
She smiles briefly. "She bring, she brings him Butterfingers she
stole from the kitchen."

Tears well up in Melissa's eyes suddenly. "Vernon...Vernon...Vernon
catches them...the mighty men...they pull her away...and beat her in
front of her son. The boy, 'no! No, mom...'"She sobs, remembering the
little boy's anguish. "Vernon...Vernon...Vernon pulls him by...Vernon
pulls him by his hair. Pulls down his pajamas, and he hit him.
'you're not a child of God...garbage,' he called him. Told him to
sleep in the trash...with the rats. Oh, the mother...the mother
cries...But Vernon beats him in front of her. Uh, oh, no, no, no,
no..."

Mulder knows what will happen next, but the therapist stops nodding,
and Scully abandons her notes when Sidney reemerges. "Lookit!
Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant move. What do you want to know? Just,
just leave Melissa alone. She doesn't need to go through that
anymore."

The therapist looks over to Scully, who mouths the words "ask her
where the guns."

"Where are the guns?" 

"The...the bunkers, yeah. The, uh, uh...the Civil War bunkers, yeah.
Vernon, Vernon, Vernon and his goons know, but I don't. I really
don't."

Scully leans over to Mulder and speaks in a voice soft enough to keep
from disturbing Melissa." Maybe there's a map of the battlefield down
in the records."

"You know how to find the other bunkers." 

"Mulder," Scully protests, obviously catching his idea of using
himself and Melissa to find the answer.

"Melissa," Mulder says, watching the woman tense up as she regains
control of her mind. "It's me, Melissa. I want you to go back...back
to the field."

She opens her eyes and looks over to him, studying hid face.
"Oh...oh..." She reaches out to him, smiling. Her voice becomes
brighter and a southern drawl seeps into it. "Your eyes may have
changed shade, but it cannot color the soul behind them. We have come
together in this life, this time. Only to meet in passing." She
starts to cry, placing her hand over her heart." It is so
heartbreaking to wait. I miss you."

They stare at each other before Melissa leans back in her chair, that
past life fading. Scully leans over to Mulder again as he rubs the
tears out of his eyes.

"Mulder, this is a product of her illness. She couldn't answer the
question of the battlefield. She gave us no specific names, no
information to prove her validity. There is nothing we can do to
prove that this is the truth." Scully admonishes.

"There is one way," he insists.

"Mulder, Ephesian's arraignment is in two hours. There is no time to
be doing this."

"Wouldn't you, Scully? Wouldn't anybody? If the answer was in you,
wouldn't you want to bring it out?"

"Yes…" she admits with a sigh.

~*~*~

"I want you to go into your past, beyond your life as Fox Mulder.
What do you see?"

Mulder sighs and moans, not liking what he sees. "Ghetto
streets...shattered glass...bodies of the dead...I'm a woman...a
Jewish woman...Poland. My son is with me. He is Samantha."

The therapist gives him a surprised look, because he and Mulder are
not strangers. "Samantha? I thought Samantha was your sister."

"In this life, she is my son." Mulder's eyes open, but what he sees
is not in the room with them. "I see my father." He looks down,
tearful. "He's dead in the street. He is Scully..." Scully's eyes
widen slightly, as do the therapist's. "But now...he's gone on
now...waiting for us. The souls...come back
together...different...but always together...again and again...to
learn. I can't go to my father."

Mulder shakes his head, almost crying. "Gestapo is standing next to
him. An officer...he's Cancer Man...evil returns as evil...But
love...love...souls mate eternal...my...husband...is taken away from
me. To the camps. He is Melissa. We're always taken away."

He starts to cry, but then looks up, tears fading. "I'm rising...I'm
rising now...I'm rising now...high above...my body. Above the field.
My face is bloody. Near the bunker...the federals are gone...my
sergeant is also dead. He is Scully.

"Sarah holds me. She is sad. She is Melissa. She lives...near...the
battle...Hamilton County...her name is Kavanaugh. Sarah Kavanaugh..."

Scully reaches for her notepad and begins to scribble down the names.

"And my name...is Sullivan Biddle. She doesn't know...she doesn't
know...that, that I'm waiting for her...that we will live again. We
will live again. Oh, God...oh, my soul is tired."

Scully kneels down in front of him. "Mulder, it's Scully. Do you see
any bunkers in the field?"

"My soul is tired. I want to rest." His eyes fly open. "But don't
you. Don't let it happen again, not after all the effort…"

"Don't what let happen again?" Scully asks plaintively. "I don't know
what you mean."

"Don't let them beat you. Don't give into that cold embrace, don't
dive in..." Mulder's voice trails off, and his head slumps onto his
chest. Eventually both Scully and the therapist realize that Mulder
isn't going to say anything more.

~*~*~
 
Washington DC
6:30 p.m.

"Yes you do have to eat this." 

Page scowls and shakes her head, apparently convinced that her mother
is trying to poison her with cooked carrots. "No no!"

"Yes." 

When his daughter eyes him speculatively, Mulder decides that it's
time for him to get up and go bring out the trash like he promised
to. Bag in hand, he's approaching the can when he hears a rustle in
the bushes.

"Who's there?" He wishes that he had his gun, but he and Scully
locked them up as soon as they got home so the kids would be safe.

"Melissa." The woman steps out into the light, shading her eyes. "I
need to talk to you."

It occurs to him to wonder how she got their address, but he decides
that it's safe to assume that Vernon has no idea that she's there.
"Yeah, come in."

She hesitates, but then follows him in. 

"Hey Scully, we have a guest." 

Scully raises an eyebrow when she sees the woman, but only says, "How
are you?"

"Not too good." Melissa shivers, and then looks over at the kids who
are still both in their highchairs. "I didn't know you had kids."

"Page and Sammy," Mulder tells her.

Sammy's eyes widen as he stares at Melissa. "Auntie, auntie!" 

"No you goose," Scully tweaks him on the nose. "This is a friend of
Mommy and Daddy's."

"Auntie, Sam?" Page asks, giving her brother a quizzical look.

"I'm not anyone's auntie," Melissa protests in a raspy voice.

"If you two don't mind, I'm going to bring the kids up for a bath
while you talk. Unless you need me, Melissa?"

"No no." Melissa gives her a slight smile. "He'll tell you everything
later, I'm sure."

As soon as Scully takes the kids upstairs, Mulder and Melissa go into
the living room to talk. "I don't have anything against social
visits, but I have a feeling that you didn't drop by to meet my
kids."

"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you." She fixes him with an anxious look.
"What if I told you what you wanted to know?"

"About where the weapons are?" he asks eagerly, surprised by this
unexpected opportunity to save the walking dead.

"The weapons, sure." 

"Then we'd go and find them and then bring Vernon up on weapons
charges."

"He'd go to jail then," she says slowly. "That won't work." 

"We could get you immunity in exchange for your testimony." Mulder
begins to feel his last chance to change things slip through his
fingers. "You wouldn't go to jail."

Melissa shakes her head violently. "Couldn't do that to Vernon, he'd
hate me. Coming here was a stupid idea. Stupid!"

"Wait!" 

Before he can get to his feet she's already running out the door.
Scully reappears a moment later. "What did she want?"

"Not immunity to prosecution, apparently." He sighs. "She decided not
to tell us anything useful when it became clear to her that doing so
wasn't going to keep Vernon out of trouble."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I know you're disappointed." 

"Yeah...did you put the kids to bed?" 

"All tucked in." 

"It's strange that Sammy seemed so convinced that she was family." 

"He probably heard one of us say Melissa and thought we were talking
about my sister."

"Could be," he agrees. 

"I'm going to take a shower myself now." Scully informs him. "See you
in a bit."

After she kisses him on the forehead and walks off, two things occur
to Mulder. The first is that no one said Melissa's name until after
Sammy called her auntie. The second thing takes his breath away. At
the time he'd thought that Page had asked her brother if he was
calling Melissa auntie. But she'd said "Sam," which she's never
called her brother before, not "Sammy" so the question might have
instead been "Auntie Sam?" A question of if it was their aunt, not
what he'd said. He blinks, wondering how old Melissa is. She doesn't
seem young enough to be his sister reincarnated, but hard living can
age a person…and now he'll never even have a chance to ask her.

The realization makes him feel a little sick to his stomach, and look
even less forward to a tomorrow destined to be hopeless all over
again.

~*~*~

 Hamilton County Hall of Records
 4:12 a.m.

The town clerk isn't thrilled to be gotten out of bed in what she
considers to be the middle of the night, but when Scully barks at her
that obstructing justice is a jailable offense, she hurries over to
the hall of records and lets Scully and Mulder in. As soon as she's
shown them the right section to look in, she scurries off.

"I think you've put the fear of God into her, Scully," Mulder says
with a smirk as soon as the woman is out of earshot.

"No, just the fear of the FBI." Scully traces her finger over a map
of the battlefield. She folds up the book, which is "Maps and Battle
Plans; 1863-1865." She looks over to the county register, containing
files from 1800-1900. Placing down a book, she flips through pages
until she comes to the name she wants: "Biddle, Sullivan." Then she
finds the next name: "Kavanaugh, Sarah." Gasping slightly, she pulls
open a drawer containing photographs and digs through until she finds
the picture that she wants. On the back, it reads "Sullivan Biddle,
1862." Scully looks at the picture for a second, then digs through
and finds "Sarah Kavanaugh, 1858"

"I've found them, Mulder," Scully says, handing the pictures to him.

He stares down at them, trying to find a sense of familiarity, or to
see himself in the man's face. Whatever Melissa saw, it escapes him.

~*~*~

 Federal Command Center
 Chattanooga, Tennessee

Slightly dazed, Mulder continues to stare at the two pictures placed
in front of him.

"Ephesian's being taken down to his arraignment. He and Melissa are
going to be released soon," Scully tells him. He realizes that she'd
said other things, but he doesn't know what.

"Scully if, um...early in the four years we've been working together,
the years we've been married...an event occurred that suggested or
somebody told you that...we'd been friends together in other
lifetimes...always...wouldn't it have changed some of the ways we
looked at one another?"

"Even if I knew for certain, I wouldn't change a day." She heads for
the door then looks back. "Well, maybe that Flukeman thing. I
could've lived without that just fine." She smirks and walks out.

"And what if I told you that we've lived this life before, and I
didn't save you? Would you look at me differently then?"

The empty room doesn't supply a response.

Before Melissa is released, Mulder plays back the tape that the
therapist made. She listens to the entire thing without expression.

 Once the tape runs out she speaks." I don't believe in it." 

"Why?" Mulder asks.

"Those tapes are saying that we chose the lives we live before we're
born, and who we live with. It's a nice idea. It's a beautiful idea.
I want to believe. And if I knew it were true, I'd want to start
over. I'd want to end this pointless life."

Mulder is chilled by her choice of words. He didn't know it last
time, but this provides the reason for her taking her life. Staring
at her, he realizes that this is just another ghost before him that
he has no chance of saving. Still, he tries. "Sarah...if it were
true...no life would be pointless."

Melissa looks from Kavanaugh's picture to Mulder. The door opens and
Vernon looks in, his followers behind him.

"Melissa...it's time to leave," Vernon tells her in his customarily
arrogant tone.

Melissa rips up the picture of Kavanaugh and walks out with it.
Mulder sighs and stands, then folds his arms against the cabinet and
lays his head against it in defeat.

When Scully returns she looks at him. "I've reported to investigators
on the site about the possible existence of other bunkers."

~*~*~
 
Temple of The Seven Stars
45 minutes later
 
They're all dead, so many resurrected ghosts lying in Mulder's way as
he tries to make it down the isle in time, this time. But he feels
like his limbs won't move; dreamlike he staggers by the bodies of
those who have already taken their poison.

"Behold...I am alive forevermore," Vernon finishes his prayer. He
hands Melissa a fresh glass of poison as she sobs softly.

"Don't!" Mulder shouts, but it's too late. The cup is at Melissa's
mouth, and she tips it back, swallowing its contents.

The poison works its evil magic almost immediately. Mulder reaches
the woman and Vernon a mere minute later, but they're already dead.
He looks down at Melissa who is clutching the ripped photograph of
Sarah Kavanaugh in her wake. He starts to cry and takes the picture.
Scully walks in with agents and stares at Mulder, who caresses
Melissa's shoulder and looks out onto their field through the window.

~*~*~

November 7th, 1996

"At times, I almost dream.

I, too, have spent a life the sages' way and tread once more familiar
paths. Perchance I perished in an arrogant self-reliance an age
ago...and in that act, a prayer for one more chance went up so
earnest, so...instinct with better light let in by death that life
was blotted out not so completely...but scattered wrecks enough of it
to remain dim memories...as now...when seems once more...the goal in
sight again."

Mulder puts down his pen, and takes out two pictures. He carefully
affixes them to the page, spreading out the halves of the ripped
photo of the woman.

If his spirit went on, and lived again, which life would his future
self recall? The one he's living now, or the one he rejected for
being too painful? And which would Scully's future self drudge up
under hypnosis? The thought sends a shiver down his spine, but he
doesn't know why.

He closes the book when he senses another presence in the room. "What
are you doing, Mulder?"

"Journaling." 

Scully nods. "My mom does that, mostly family photos with stickers
and captions. Can I see?"

"Would you mind if I said no?" 

"I don't mind," she tells him. "If you're done, Page is requesting
you tell her a bedtime story."

Leaving the book on his desk, he gets up to go to his daughter, but
he glances back. It's far more pleasant to delve into the world of
talking bunnies and magic than to dwell on the long ago past, yet
still he's reluctant to put those thoughts aside.


Chapter Forty 

November 12th, 1996

Scully tries not to trip over anything in the cramped, unlit
warehouse that hosts the Lone Gunmen. She honestly can't imagine why
anyone, even paranoid, delusional conspiracy theorists would suffer
themselves to live like, well, computer equipment. Banging her shin
into a plastic crate full of God knows what, she hisses a curse under
her breath, trying to keep up with her husband carrying their
daughter as well as balance her load of little Sammy. This better be
good, she thinks grimly.

Ahead, the Gunmen are babbling excitedly. "It's insane, it's like an
elaborate and dark conspiracy," Langly says, as they finally reach a
blessed patch of light from a desk lamp.

Scully squints at him. "Look at you, you're shaking," she frowns
slightly. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to bring the kids along,
but there was no way she was calling a sitter in the middle of the
night, and the Gunmen are usually pretty handy with their tips. She
holds Sammy close, and finds Mulder unconsciously mimicking her as he
shuffles Page in his arms for a more protective embrace while
juggling the baby bag.

His light tone belying his actions, he says, "Whoa, whoa, what's
going on?"

The bespectacled long-haired blond looks around, the small
fluorescent light bouncing off his glasses. "Frohike's around," he
says impatiently.

"Don't say my name, stupid," the short man hisses. "Now I have to
kill you!"

Scully rolls her eyes, in spite of the seemingly tense situation,
even as the suit-wearing Byers tries to reassure the eldest Gunman.
"Langly and I performed three sweeps," he says, but is interrupted.

"I don't care," Frohike mutters.

"With the CPM-seven-hundred and did not detect a single bug," Byers
finishes patiently, as if the shorter man hadn't interrupted.

Frohike glares at them all. "The CPM-seven-hundred is a piece of
crap!" he says, crossing his arms.

"The acoustic correlator is reading only passive sounds," Byers tries
again, practically shoving the odd contraption in the skeptic's face.

Mulder's impatience is wearing thin, and as Page starts to sniffle
from the tension, he snaps, "I've been here twenty minutes and I
still don't know what the hell is wrong! No one would kill you,
Frohike, you're just a little puppy-dog." Okay, maybe a pug or
bulldog, but who's counting, the tall agent thinks.

"I don't utter another syllable until the CSM-twenty-five
countermeasure filter is activated," Frohike says obstinately, his
arms still crossed firmly over his leather-vested chest.

Scully wonders why she's tempted to laugh, until she sees he reminds
her of Page in her more bull-headed moods. Oh dear. Biting her bottom
lip to keep hysterical giggles down, she watches as Byers hands
Langly the first doodad, only to fiddle with another one. Where do
they get these things? she wonders, then remembers how borderline
these men are and it would be wise not to question too deeply where
they get their equipment or information.

"No electronic surveillance known can cut through the
CSM-twenty-five," Byers says confidently as Langly sighs over the
rejected piece of spyware detection.

Scully, seeing everyone's feathers are unruffled now, finds an empty
chair and sits down, relieved to take a load off her high-heeled
feet. "All right, now tell us what on earth you're so close to."

Frohike pauses. "Not a "what." A "who." If you find the right
starting point and follow it, not even secrets of the darkest of men
are safe."

Mulder almost grins as his wife's eyebrow comes up, right on cue.
"Cancer Man? Really?"

Frohike nods. "Pretty much everything," he says smugly. "Perhaps even
his background." He pauses, as if listening for something, then
continues. "Who he is, and who he wants to be." He smiles as Scully's
eyebrow remains clocked at the upright position, while Mulder and the
little girl sit forward with the same eager attention a storyteller
craves from an audience. In an almost conversational tone, he starts
off, "August twentieth, 1940, Mexico City. A Stalinist agent
assassinated Leon Trotsky with an ice pick. At that same moment, a
thousand miles north, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, he appears. The
father was an ardent Communist activist. During the Nazi-Soviet pact,
he kept the N.K.V.D. informed about American plans to enter World War
II. He was executed under the Espionage Act of 1917. before his boy
could walk."

Then he remembers little kids are listening. "Hey, the jellybeans can
keep a secret, right?" Frohike asks.

Mulder snorts. "You're lucky Page hasn't gotten around to asking
'why' questions yet," he says, "go on." He ignores his wife's
long-suffering sigh, even as he whispers to his daughter, "Uncle
Frohike's telling the story of a very bad man."

"Ohhh," Page says, and is silent. She's too sleepy to bother with the
details, and for that, Mulder and Scully are grateful.

Clearing his throat, Frohike goes on, but his tone is like that of
adults reading a fairy tale to children. "The mother, a cigarette
smoker, died of lung cancer...before her son uttered his first word.
With no surviving family, he became a ward of the state, sent to
various orphanages in the Midwest. Didn't make friends, spent all his
time reading...alone...and then...he appears to have vanished...until
a year and a half after the Bay of Pigs."

"Pigs," Page giggles, and Mulder grins back at her, bouncing her on
his leg. What? he mouths silently to Scully, who indulges herself in
another eyeroll, but she isn't protesting just yet.

~*~*~

Once Frohike winds the story to a close, Scully stares at him in
disbelief. "You're kidding, right?" she says. "You're saying the
Cancer Man was the lone gunman?"

Langly holds up his hands. "Hey, our sources are legit," he says, "we
wouldn't be taking these precautions, or dragging you out in the
middle of the night, if they weren't."

"I'm sure," Scully says dryly, thankful that Sammy hasn't stirred
awake yet. Unfortunately, it looks like Mulder's swallowed the damn
theory whole.

"But that ain't all, kids," Frohike says, rubbing his hands.

"Before you go on," Scully says, "I need to warm up a bottle for
Sammy," she says, "he'll probably be hungry in about an hour." She's
got a sinking feeling they'll be sticking around for that time
period, if not longer.

"Oh," Byers says, "of course. This way." And, as if he's a butler, he
leads Scully to the kitchen.

Once they're there, it gives her some relief and worry at the same
time. She's relieved that Sammy has something to drink and that the
Gunmen actually have a decent kitchen, but worried that three
bachelors keep it so tidy. Looking at them, she'd guess that only
Byers would be neat, but can't see how he'd prevail over the other
two to clean it. It's hard enough cleaning up after the kids and
Mulder, too. "Byers, this is a lovely kitchen," she says, gingerly
taking the heated bottle from the boiling pot of water.

He nods, understanding. "Actually, Frohike's in charge of the
kitchen," he says, "he's really a fine cook, and doesn't let anyone
get away with anything in here." He smiles. "One of these days, you
should try his quesadillas."

She raises her eyebrows but smiles. "If he won't mind our family
adding to the hungry mouths," she says.

"Oh, no, he'd do anything for you," and adds hastily, "all." 

Her smile widens. "Of course," she says, and pretends not to notice
the sigh of relief that escapes the primly-dressed man. "I think we
should get some snacks for everyone else, too, since it seems we're
going to be here for a while."

Byers blinks, then nods, grabbing snacks from a
higher-than-she-can-reach cupboard, then pulling a six-pack of soda
from the fridge. Duly armed, he leads her back out into the
unofficial conference room.

They, and the food and drinks, are greeted with a muffled cheer,
since Page has just fallen asleep. Settling down with a burrito in
one hand and a can of Coke in the other, Frohike grins and resumes
his story in a hushed tone. "As the man we now know and loathe as the
Cancer Man listens to Martin Luther King Jr. on the radio, he's busy
typing away on a pulp story."

Scully shakes her head, taking a judicious sip of soda. JFK, and now
MLK. Maybe somebody's getting ambitious in the conspiracy theory set.

~*~*~

Mulder frowns. "He hates the Buffalo Bills?" 

Scully looks at him, a little stunned. "Mulder, I don't think that's
what's important," she mutters.

Mulder's shaking his head. "I can't believe he hates the Bills," he
repeats, then a thought comes to him. There's one Bill he dislikes in
particular, which reminds him of - his father. Oh. *That* Bill. Damn.
Not like he's gonna share it with the rest of the class.

Frohike sighs, exasperated. "I'm not done yet," he says, "can I
continue?"

Mulder puts a hand up. "Sorry, guys, nature's calling," he says, "um,
one of you mind taking her?" Page is a dead weight in his arms, but
he's not about to saddle Scully with two sleeping kids.

Langly shakes his head quickly, and Byers scoots back nervously,
leaving only Frohike. "All right, all right," he says ungraciously,
taking the sleeping girl in his arms. "Don't take too long."

Mulder grins. "You don't want me to wash my hands?" He exits before
Scully can think of an appropriate retort at this ungodly hour.

When he returns, Scully is having a semi-hushed debate with the
Gunmen about microwaving versus boiling water to heat bottled milk.
Now Mulder raises his eyebrows as he reclaims his daughter, but none
of the guys bother to defend themselves on this seemingly matriarchal
issue, only underlining their positions on the heating bottles
battle.

"Um," Mulder says, shifting his daughter for a more comfortable
position without giving her a stiff neck, "could we get back to the
Cancer Man thing?"

"Sure," Frohike says, "all I'm saying is that it makes more sense to
do it on the stove," he finishes off his argument.

"You're just sayin' that 'cause Agent Scully says so," Langly whines.

"Guys," Mulder says in a warning tone. "You're gonna wake the kids."
And you're acting like 'em, too, he wants to add.

"Okay, so at this point, I'm guessing Ol' Smokey and his friends
might have been desperate," Frohike says, "like a certain blond
acquaintance of mine."

"Frohike," Scully sighs, absently patting Sammy's back.

He takes her warning more seriously. "At that point, Mulder's work in
the basement was getting attention on the top floor. That's why you
were brought in," he tells her. Then he warms to his story again,
retelling of Mulder and Scully's first meeting, reminding her afresh
of the Smoking Man's presence even then, and she shudders, Sammy
stirring a little in her arms.

Mulder, for his part, doesn't appreciate his life being turned into a
chapter, much less a footnote, in that bastard's story, but he knows
he's a part of it all the same, more than Scully or the others
realize. He sighs, hoping and praying that none of his children will
ever be touched by the tainted hand of that sick, twisted old man who
would sacrifice his wife and daughter to unfeeling aliens and warped
human scientists. And swears again that he will not be like either of
his fathers when it comes to their families, never. He doesn't
realize he's practically squeezing Page until she struggles against
him, and guiltily eases his grip.

The snacks are gone, but nobody's making a move to refill. Frohike
leans back against the computer-filled desk. "Henry David Thoreau
wrote, 'The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.' "He smiles,
but it doesn't quite reach his tired eyes. "His life has been
anything but quiet, yet I believe nothing but desperate. He's the
most dangerous man alive, not so much because he believes in his
actions, but because he believes his actions are all which life
allows him." He pauses, taking a sip of Coke. "And yet...the only
person that can never escape him...is himself."

~*~*~

"So that's it?" Scully asks, an unchecked yawn escaping her mouth as
she continues to bottle-feed Sammy.

Frohike nods, not insulted by her monster yawn. "So far, this is
based only on a story I read in one of my weekly subscriptions that
rang a bell. I'm going out to check on the private hacker source that
has been working on tracking a few leads that can produce definitive
proof, and then we'll have him nailed." He stretches and absently
checks his watch. His demeanor changes into one of slight alarm.
"Speaking of which, we have a source to check," he says, "could you
leave by the front door?" The federal couple blink at him. "That's a
door you can lock, this back door, well, we need to lock it up. Grab
your gear, guys, it's funky poaching time." The other two Gunmen do
just that, leaving the small family alone.

Scully across at her husband, who is picking up the baby bag in a
tired, almost mechanical fashion. "Well, that was bizarre," she says
dryly. "And almost a sad story," the redhead muses, "but then I
remember what an asshole he is, and I don't feel so bad."

Mulder grins. "That's what I love about you, Scully," he says,
"always putting things in a diplomatic way."

She glares, also standing. "I'm tired, I've just heard a crazy story
that links one man to several conspiracies in a less than coherent
fashion, and in a couple of hours, Sammy will be wide awake and I'll
be dead on my feet." She yawns again, then smiles. "I wonder if
they'll be renaming themselves?"

Mulder laughs, causing Page to stir a little. "I don't think so," he
says, "I think they'll always be the Lone Gunmen."

She shakes her head, carefully navigating her way back through the
darkness of the warehouse. "Now *that's* kind of sad," she remarks.

"Not really, there's actually a good story behind their name," he
says as they reach their car. As he opens the door for her, she
smothers another yawn. "For another time, maybe."

~*~*~

November 24, 1996
11:29 p.m.

Unable to sleep, Mulder stares down the clock. It blinks first, and
rolls over to 11:30 p.m. He glances over his shoulder, and sees that
Scully is curled up into a little ball, with her back to his. He
doesn't blame her, because the day has been damp, and it got into his
bones too. For a moment he considers getting up and checking on Sammy
and Page, but he knows that it's just a diversionary tactic, so he
won't have to think about what happened earlier in the day.

One hand over his mouth to stifle a groan, he lets the past two days
play out in his mind.

~*~*~
Bosher's Run Park
Manassas, Virginia
November 22, 1996
5 a.m.

Because he knew the truth, he thought he'd avoid this episode in his
life, but as soon as he woke up from the dream about the dancing red
dot that lead him to a body, he realized that he may have moved on,
but John Lee Roche hasn't. He's still guilty, still hasn't received
justice.

So Mulder leaves a note for Scully and slips out of the house before
dawn, and waits until he gets to his car to make a call to an
excavator. He knows that she'll probably wake and look for him before
long, but he feels generous, giving her a few extra minutes of sleep,
even if it means that he's likely to be yelled at for wandering off
without letting her know.

Unsurprisingly, he's kneeling in the dirt when he feels a
not-too-gentle hand on his shoulder. He looks up at his wife with a
grim smile. "It doesn't count as ditching if you're not awake when it
happens."

"I don't remember agreeing to that rule," she says evenly. "You're
damn lucky that Rachel is a night owl, since I might have had to kill
you if I couldn't get someone to look after the kids. What's going on
here?"

::Note to self, Christmas bonus for Rachel:: he thinks. "I'm not sure
I can explain, Scully."

"You drove all the way out here and called for a forensic excavation
at five A.M. on a
Sunday? What are you looking for?" 

"Just give me a minute, Scully, okay?" 

"Mulder, what are you doing out here?" 

"I keep having this dream. It's about a little blonde girl." He
anticipates her question and adds, "Not Page." ::Or Emily either,
thank god.::

She yawns. "You're saying that you're out here because of something
you saw in a dream?" She doesn't look surprised when he nods, and
he's not sure how he should feel about the fact that his wife is so
used to his quirks. It makes him feel naked somehow, even though he's
fully clothed.

The excavator shouts to Mulder, and he and Scully run over. She looks
surprised, but he's just sad when they see that the excavator has
uncovered a small human skull.

Mulder watches as the excavator is unearths the skeleton, scooping
out the dirt around it. A grid has been placed over it to separate
areas.

Scully looks up from the skeleton and pins him with a look. "So, tell
me about this dream that found us a body."

"I've had...flashes of it before. And last night, it went on long
enough to lead me right to her."

He interrupts himself and walks towards the two excavators. "I need
the chest exposed."

"Yes, sir. It just takes a little time." 

Mulder picks up some rubber gloves and kneels down where the second
excavator was, who got up and walked away.

The remaining excavator is flustered by his action." Sir, let us do
that...sir..." Mulder ignores him and digs in the dirt with his
hands.

"Mulder, if you destroy evidence, we may never find out what happened
here," Scully warns.

"I know what happened here. She was strangled. He used an eight-gauge
electrical cord. He took something from the body post-mortem...a
trophy. A piece of fabric cut from her clothes...in the shape of a
heart."

"You're saying you got all these details from your dream?" 

"No. I know this M.O. I know it from memory." 

"Whose M.O.?" 

"John Lee Roche. He killed thirteen eight-to-ten year-old girls."
He's been digging gently as they talk, and now he exposes the chest
partly, revealing ivory colored ribs, over which is a nightgown with
a cloth heart cut out. "This makes fourteen."

Scully's look is one of horror that he seldom sees her wear around
the dead, but then, most of the dead they see aren't small girls.

~*~*~

Autopsy Lab

Having briefed Scully about the case he'd had that put John Lee Roche
away, he sits silently after the brief autopsy, staring at the
skeleton of the girl. Her ribs have separated, and something about
that makes Mulder wince, even though he knows it caused the child no
pain. His eyes are focused on the cut out space where the cloth heart
used to make the nightgown whole.

Scully comes back after a phone call. "I believe her name is Addie
Sparks. She went missing from her home in King of Prussia,
Pennsylvania, in June of 1975. I contacted the Center For Missing and
Exploited Children, ran a search through the database.

"1975 is too early." 

She shakes her head in disagreement. "The match is right, Mulder.
The, the, the height is right, the description of the sleeper is
right."

"That would mean Roche started way before we thought he did. I
screwed up."

Her eyes tell him that he's being too hard on himself, but he
disagrees." Mulder, we're going to have to verify this. Are you up
for that?"

"Let's get this over with," he says shortly. "This isn't news anyone
wants to hear."

~*~*~

Norristown, Pennsylvania

Mulder and Scully pull up to the house of Frank Sparks. Children are
playing nearby. Mulder uses the knocker and Sparks opens the door.

"Frank Sparks?" Scully asks in a polite, businesslike tone, which
feels all wrong to Mulder. They're their to talk about killing a
faint hope, not to sell girl scout cookies.

Unaware, mister Sparks greets them with a friendly glance. "Can I
help you?"

"Yes, I'm Agent Scully, this is Agent Mulder. We're with the Federal
Bureau of Investigation. May we speak with you?"

Realization blooms in his eyes at a speed that saddens Mulder. "You
found Addie?"

Frank rubs the small pocket with a dollar sign stitched in that was
found with the body.
"This was for the tooth fairy," he tells them, his voice husky with
unshed tears. "When Addie was asleep at night, I'd...I'd come and put
a quarter in this pocket. Her mother sewed it."

Mulder gives him a sorrowful look that Scully misses. The tooth fairy
only serves to remind all three of them just how young the child was
when she died.

"Where is your wife, sir?" Scully asks.

"She passed away last summer." His eyes drift away for a moment, lost
in his thoughts, before he turns back to them with a half desperate
look." So, you, you, uh...you're saying the, uh...the man that did
this is already in prison."

"Yes, sir, and he won't get out," Mulder tells him, wondering what he
should do with Roche now, considering how close to tragedy releasing
him came to last time.

"You do this full-time, telling people...this kind of news?" Sparks
asks.

"No, sir, not full-time," Scully tells him, and Mulder adds that it's
not a desirable job.

"I used to think...that missing was worse than dead because...You
never knew what happened. Now that I know...I'm glad my wife's not
here. She got luckier."

Mulder's gave passes over a picture of a little girl on the mantel;
he can't think of anything to say in reply.

"How many more people, uh...like me are you going to visit today?"
Sparks asks. "Were there other victims...you didn't know about?"

Neither agent can formulate a good answer. Scully, because she
doesn't know, and Mulder because he can't deal with talking about the
two hearts that they'll soon find.

Afterwards, Sparks closes the door as they start back to their car.
Predictably, Mulder sees the white car with the red dot on it that he
saw in his dream.

"Roche's car...Roche drove a white El Camino, Scully. I saw it in my
dream."

"What are you saying that means?" Scully asks.

"The cloth hearts he collected, he would have wanted to keep them
close to him. For a traveling salesman, that means inside the car,
right? He'd want his souvenirs close so he could relive the
experience whenever he wanted to. Not that it would be enough to do
that…"He let his voice drift off, knowing she'd think of the man's
urge to kill, too.

"You're saying the hearts might still be in his car?" 

"Well, he doesn't have them in prison, the cell is searched
regularly, his mail is examined. His car was sold at auction in 1992,
put beyond his reach. It's worth a look, Scully. We've got to find
those hearts in order to count them."

"Don't you think the car might have been searched at least once
already?"

"Not by me." 

~*~*~

Lorton Reformatory
Lorton, Virginia

Mulder and Scully deposit their weapons with a guard and are lead to
a basketball court where Roche is shooting baskets by himself. He
tears his eyes away from the hoop long enough to give Mulder a quick
once-over. There's no hint of surprise on his face that he's seeing
the man who put him in prison.

"Mulder. Long time, no see. You got a new partner." 

"Agent Scully," Mulder acknowledges. 

"Agent is pretty formal. From what I hear she shares more than your
office." Mulder grits his teeth, annoyed that someone slipped that
information to the inmate. "So what's up?" Roche is still aiming
shots at the basket, as if there's nothing unusual going on.

"We found Addie Sparks, John." 

"Congratulations, I guess." 

"We also found your cloth hearts. All sixteen of them." 

"Huh." His voice is casual, but there's a spark of interest in his
voice.

"Sixteen victims, John," Mulder says. "How come you only said there
were only thirteen?"

The ball sinks in the hoop. " I don't know. Thirteen sounds more
magical, you know?"

"Why don't you tell us about your last two victims, then?" 

"You're in here for life, you've got nothing to lose." Scully adds.

The prisoner shrugs. "And nothing to gain." 

"You can gain one moment of decency in your life. You can finally let
those families put their daughters to rest."

"I understand you take this very personally, Mulder." His look is
sly. "I also hear that you know something about being a daddy. Gotta
be tough, telling other daddies that their daughters are dead." The
next shot bounces off the rim.

Mulder is speechless with rage, and wants nothing more than to track
down whoever leaked the information and kill them.

"How about this?" Roche asks as he spins the basketball on his
finger. "Sink one from there and I'll tell you all about the other
two girls."

Knowing that it's futile, Mulder sinks the basketball anyway.

"You'd trust a child molester?" Roche asks, giving him a look of mock
surprise. "You bring my hearts and give them back to me...I'll tell
you everything you want to know."

~*~*~

Later

Mulder is already sitting at a table when a buzzing noise alerts him
that Roche is coming in.

"Did you bring me my hearts?" The eager look that Roche can't quite
hide turns Mulder's stomach.

"Yesterday, you said something about me taking it personally. Why did
you say that to me? "Roche smirks at him." Where were you in 1973?"

"What, the whole year?" 

"November. Twenty-seventh of November. Do you know what I'm getting
at?"

"I was selling vacuum cleaners in 1973. I made a sales trip to
Martha's Vineyard that year and...I sold a vacuum cleaner to your
dad. He bought it for your mom. I believe it was a, um...Electrovac
Duchess or the Princess model and...your dad and I talked about it at
great length. He...he had a really hard time choosing."

"What do you know about my sister?" 

"You bring me my hearts...and maybe I'll tell you more." 

Figuring it can't get him in any more trouble than the last time
around, Mulder follows though on his impulse to punch Roche in the
face. It makes him feel a little better about relieving the case.

Looking shocked, Roche sputters to the guard. "This man...this man
hit me."

The guard says he saw nothing, but Scully is furious because she did.

"He was there, Scully. He was in the house. He took Samantha." 

"In your dream, Mulder. It was a dream. Your mind made it up." 

"A dream is an answer to a question we haven't yet figured out how to
ask, right? Something buried in your subconsciousness. You heard him
in there, he knew something. He mentioned being on Martha's
Vineyard."

"Is it a state secret you lived in Martha's Vineyard?" 

"Well, how would he find out about that?" Mulder asks. 

"Through the prison library. The inmates have access to computers and
the internet. I checked. Roche logged on just yesterday."

They stop walking. "Looking for what?" 

"The server records don't show, but on the net, Mulder, he can find
out practically anything about you. Look, he is playing with you,
Mulder. Not only is he making you think of your sister, he's trying
to make it personal now by bating you by mentioning that he knows
about your personal life. He is committing emotional blackmail and
you are letting him. You walked into that room with your heart on
your sleeve. He saw vulnerability, and he took advantage of it. You
had a dream...a nightmare...and you, and you had it because of all
the emotions that this case is stirring up for you. But...it was
nothing but a dream."

"My last dream came true. Scully, do you believe that my sister
Samantha was abducted by aliens?"

Scully looks away. "Have you ever believed that? No. So what do you
think happened to her?"

"What are you saying you believe now?" 

"I don't know. I don't know what happened. I don't know what to
believe. I just know that I have to find out now."

~*~*~

The Following Day

Roche pulls up a seat and stares angrily at Mulder, who is seated
across from him.

"I'm not talking to you if you're going to hit me again." 

Scully looks at Mulder as well, who pulls out the two remaining cloth
hearts and puts them down in front of Roche. Roche pulls open the bag
and is about to pull out the heart when Mulder grabs his hand.

"No. You don't get to touch them. They stay in the bag. Name them." 

"I think you know one of them already." 

They stare at each other.

"Prove it," Scully demands, and Roche smiles.

"Watergate was on TV. You and your sister...were sitting in front of
it...playing a board game with, uh, little red and, uh...blue plastic
pieces. And you wanted to watch a TV show...the one, the one with
Bill Bixby? What the heck was the name of that thing?"

"How could you know what I said?" Mulder asks.

"I was watching...from the window. I was, I was very careful." 

"If that's true, tell me where my sister is." 

Roche looks down at the hearts." Pick her out." 

"What?" 

"You choose the one that was your sister, and I'll tell you where she
is. Hey, come on, it's a fifty-fifty chance."

Roche moves the bagged hearts until they are side-by-side in front of
Mulder. "Either way, I'm giving you a victim."

The world seems to stop for a moment while Mulder ponders his
choices. He could pick the heart on the right, and go down the same
path again, one that would lead to something near to murder in a bus,
or he could pick the other heart. He knows it's not his sister
either, but it's still a hard choice. Which family does he find the
truth for? Which one does he gamble away their chance for peace?

Mulder picks the one to his left. ::Fuck it. I'll tell Scully I had
another dream and it told me where the body I know the location of
is. This way he still loses.::

"That one? You're sure you want that one?" Roche teases.

Mulder gives him a triumphant look that seems to confuse the
murderer. "It's a good choice. Okay, you want to write this down?"

~*~*~

Autopsy Lab

Mulder stands at the far end of the room, looking at the body, which
is covered.

"Mulder?" 

"It's not her, Scully." 

"You're right, Mulder, it's not a match. It's not Samantha." 

"It's somebody, though." 

~*~*~

Lorton Reformatory
Lorton, Virginia

"It was a fifty-fifty chance," Roche tells him cockily, clearly
enjoying the fact that, in his opinion, Mulder made the wrong choice.

Mulder gives him a dark look. "Tell us the name of that girl." 

" It was Cynthia Saint Claire," Roche tells him with a gleeful look.
"She lived in a green rancher in...East Amherst, New York. Mint grew
outside her window. I stood outside her window atop sprigs of mint.
It smelled wonderful."

Scully is clearly angered by his attitude and nearly hisses. "What
year?"

"July...1974. I had her mother on the hook for an Electrovac Argosy,
but at the last minute, she said 'thanks but no thanks.' She really
shouldn't have."

Scully looks up at him, no flicker of emotion now.

"Oh, well. I could have used the commission." 

They sit in silence for a few seconds, the agents glaring at him.
Mulder pulls out the last fabric heart. He slides it across and Roche
picks it up, studies it, and slides it back.

"It's your sister." 

Mulder plays along. "If that's true, tell me where." 

"You want to know a lot more than that, don't you? You want to know
everything, right? The big mystery revealed."

"Drop the mind games!" Scully barks.

"I can't just tell you. I know you don't believe me. You need me to
show you, you need me to lead you through because...after all these
years, anything less than that's not going to satisfy you, right?"

"You just want to get out of here," Mulder says.

"You're damn right I do...if only for a day or two. I'm realistic.
And more than that, I...I can't wait to see your face."

"Oh, God," Scully says, standing. "You're going to see the inside of
your cell instead! You're going to rot there!"

"Guess the wife doesn't like the idea of me being free, Mulder,"
Roche says. "I thought you'd manage a woman better than this." He's
clearly enjoying antagonizing the FBI. "If you don't mind, I'd rather
you keep her home when we go and find your sister."

Mulder's next words wipe the smirk off of Roche's face. "Karen Ann
Philiponte."

"Who?" Roche's face is suddenly guarded.

"Your sixteenth victim. She's buried in a state park in Forks Of
Cacapon, West Virginia."

"That's not…Who told you that?" Roche squawks.

Mulder taps at his head. "We have a connection, you and I. I know all
your dirty little secrets. Now that I've sent a team out to search,
the world knows them too. You don't have any more cards, Roche. You
played your last hand and didn't even know it."

Roche's glare is filled with hate. "I will get out someday. And when
I do, I'm going to find you, and I'm going to take your daughter from
your house."

"You'd be dead before you made it to the window," Mulder says calmly.
"If I find out that you're ever given parole, I'll make sure that
it's a very short one. You can consider that a promise."

"You're threatening me?" 

"Warning you." 

"If I tell-"

"How sympathetic do you think a parole board would be after knowing
that you threatened to murder an FBI agent's child if you were ever
released?"

Roche opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Rage is still burning
in his eyes when he closes his mouth and turns his back to the two
agents who are getting up to leave.

~*~*~

As they walk out of the prison, Scully touches his arm. "I'm sorry,
Mulder."

"For what?" 

"Because you still don't have the answer you've been searching for.
Because I thought that you were going to take him up on his offer and
let him out of jail -"

"I'd like to think that sort of recklessness is behind me," Mulder
tells her, ignoring her look of disbelief. "At least when it comes to
convicted child murderers."

"How did you know where the other body was buried?" 

"It came to me in another dream," Mulder tells her glibly.

A mischievous glint lights Scully's eyes. "You and Missy are going to
have so much to talk about at Thanksgiving."

"You wouldn't tell her. Scully??" 

"Just where child molesters are concerned?" 

"Well, maybe a lowering of recklessness in general." 

"Sell me another bridge, Mulder." 

~*~*~

November 24, 1996
10:07 p.m.

"You still awake?" Scully asks as she sits on the bed. 

He puts aside the book he was reading. "I was going to bed soon, but
if you'd rather I didn't-" He gives her a come-hither look.

The sober look he gets in return ices his libido. "I was just
watching the news, Mulder. You don't need to talk to the parole
board, now or ever."

"Why not?" 

"They found Roche dead in the showers tonight. Apparently revisiting
his case informed inmates not previously in the know that he was a
child murderer…"

"Justice finds its own way," Mulder murmurs. "I can't say that he
didn't come to a fitting end."

Scully pats his thigh. "And you did find the last three victims.
Think of it Mulder, he'll never hurt anyone again, and you've given
people the thread they need to sew their wounds that have gapped all
these years."

"Have you been reading poetry again?" Mulder teases.

"Just Where the Sidewalk Ends." 

He gives her a mock disproving look. "I don't think you should read
that stuff to Page."

"Why not?" 

"Because the guy also writes erotica. It's oogy." 

"Oogy?" A smile plays over her lips.

"It is. You should read her TS Eliot if you're going to inflict
poetry on a helpless toddler. At least ole' TS knew enough not to dip
his pen into multiple genres."

"She wouldn't understand a word of his poetry." 

"Do you really think she understands Shel Silverstein? I'm not sure I
do…"

~*~*~

November 24th, 1996
11:49 p.m.

When the lights went out, a thought crept into Mulder's head, and
burrowed into the back of his brain. He tried to pull it out but it
held on with sharp claws.

Roche being dead was still his fault.

He didn't pull the trigger, but just the same, his re-involvement
with the case lead to the same ending.

If he'd felt guilty, he could have probably accepted it and moved on,
but he felt relieved, and more than a little bit satisfied. You
weren't supposed to be glad when anyone died, but he was, and it
showed him a part of himself that he didn't even know existed.

~*~*~

Chapter Forty-One

November 25 - December 6, 1996

December 6th, 1996

Standing before the court, her stomach feels like a hurricane and her
legs feel like jelly. Still, her back is straight, her chin is up,
and her eyes, as her father once said, are like twin gun turrets as
they face the men behind the bench. "I, Dana Katherine Scully, swear
to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so
help me God." The gavel bangs, and she sits down. "I would like to
read from a prepared statement." She barely hears the senator give
the go-ahead, and, forcing her hands not to shake, she reads from a
paper, "I left behind a career in medicine to become an FBI agent
four years ago because I believed in this country. Because I wanted
to uphold its laws, to punish the guilty and to protect the innocent.
I still believe in this country. But I believe that there are
powerful men in the government who do not... . men who have no
respect for the law and who flout it with impunity. I have come to
the conclusion that it is no longer possible..."

"Agent Scully- this is not a soapbox, Miss Scully. Your statement
will be entered into the record," a very disgruntled Chairman Romine
interrupts her.

She almost thanks him for the pause, as she fears her voice was
starting to shake. In as even a tone as possible, she says firmly,
"With all due respect, Mr. Chairman, I would like to finish."

"This is not why we are here today." 

She raises an eyebrow. "Then why are we here, sir?" The way she says
"sir"is how some people would say "idiot," but the chairman ignores
the rebuff.

"Agent Scully, do you or do you not know the whereabouts of Agent
Mulder? Are you or are you not aware of Agent Mulder's present
location?" Senator Sorenson asks, joining the fun.

Now why the hell would you care? Scully fumes inwardly. "I
respectfully decline to answer that question," she says aloud.

"Ms. Scully, you cannot refuse to answer that question," the chairman
rebukes her.

"I believe answering that question could endanger Agent Mulder's
life," she answers, likewise ignoring the chairman's use of "Ms."
rather than 'Agent' or even "Mrs."

The chairman purses his lips briefly, as if holding back a few choice
words, then says, "You don't seem to understand. Your response is not
optional; you are an agent of the FBI."

Duh, the redhead thinks, it's about time you remembered that. "Then
if I could please finish my statement... that it is no longer
possible to carry out my duties as an FBI agent," she reads aloud.

The senator has even less of a grasp of protocol than she does. "Are
you tendering your resignation, Ms. Scully? Is that what you're
trying to say?" he butts in.

She looks at him evenly. No, evenly would imply an equality of sorts,
and she looks at him with more contempt than she would a bug in her
house. "No, sir. What I am saying is that there is a culture of
lawlessness that has prevented me from doing my job. That the real
target of this committee's investigation should be the men who are
beyond prosecution and punishment. The men whose policies are behind
the crimes that you are investigating."

"Either you tell us what you know about Agent Mulder's whereabouts,
or you will be held in contempt of Congress," Senator Sorenson snaps.

Scully stares at him, praying inwardly, Lord, I know I haven't been
that faithful. But I pray that you bring Mulder back safe and sound,
that I won't be separated from my sweet babies too long, that Mom
will be okay watching the kids, and that all the men on this stupid
interrogation gets a rash in embarrassing places like nobody's
business. Okay, maybe not the last part, but please, please, Lord,
keep my family safe. She thinks of her insane husband and holds back
a sigh, intent on keeping her game face steady in front of her
accusers.

"Agent Scully?" the senator prompts her.

Please, bring Mulder home and I'll have the kids baptized, she prays
desperately, please!

~*~*~

November 25th, 1996

It seems like a million years ago, but they'd caught Krycek in a
homegrown terrorist bust. He'd told Mulder and herself about the men
behind the assassination attempt on Mulder's dad, as well as the ones
who left him in a North Dakota nuclear well. And then he promised to
lead them to a new "bomb", a payoff that involved an international
courier.

Krycek is still in his old clothes, while they'd showered and changed
out of their SWAT gear. Another difference is that Krycek is
handcuffed, but those are hidden under his sweatshirt as he leads
them to the courier who, he says, will be carrying a diplomatic
pouch. They see the man and give chase, Mulder handcuffing Krycek to
a nearby railing. They lose the guy, but find the pouch.

"Is this some kind of joke?" Scully snaps, waving the pouch as they
go back to the former agent.

"What?" Krycek asks, obviously ignorant.

"Let me expose it for you," Mulder says, grabbing the pouch from his
wife and unzipping it to reveal a rock. "What did you get for
Halloween, Charlie Brown?" he deadpans, rezipping it. Nobody notices
his slightly pale demeanor, but his anger is evident as he storms
off.

~*~*~

After dropping Krycek off at the all-too-willing Skinner's apartment
for some much needed heart-to-heart, Mulder and Scully leave the rock
at the Department of Exobiology in the NASA-Goddard Space Flight
Center. Much as he enjoys Dr. Sacks' revelation that the rock came
from Mars via Antarctica, he cautions the good doctor to use the
utmost in precautions, remembering what happened the last time.
Scully turns to look at him. "The entry into Earth's atmosphere would
kill off most bacteria and microbes, Mulder," she says, "anything
they can find about that rock would have to come from inside."

He nods. "Call it a hunch, Scully, but I think what's inside that
rock is what Krycek and his unexposed men want." And I don't want you
or anyone else getting exposed to what's inside. "Indulge my paranoia
a little," he turns to Dr. Sacks, "and check your biohazard suits for
any wear and tear." He smiles a little. "It could be nothing, or it
could be something."

The scientist looks at Scully, who shrugs a little. "Like he said,
indulge him."

Dr. Sacks frowns, then nods.

~*~*~

Meanwhile, back in the basement office, Mulder hangs up the phone.
Dammit, he thinks, I can't save Skinner, even as his wife walks in.
They go through what, to him, is a familiar conversation, until he
says, "Why all this effort to get it onto U.S. soil? I think what
Alex Krycek has given us is the pivotal piece to an even larger
plot." And then he remembers his stay in the Russian gulag and vows
not to get caught in that same trap, now that the stakes at home are
higher.

Unknowing of the events that transpired previously, Scully says,
"What he's given us, Mulder, is a rock. Alex Krycek is a liar and a
murderer."

Got that right, Mulder thinks, but says aloud, "Who wants to expose
the same men that we do and will go to any lengths to succeed."

Scully looks at him levelly. "What I'm worried about is you, Mulder
and how far you'll go. And how far I can follow you." She looks down
at the ring on her finger. "Promise me you'll never go farther than I
can follow."

"I," Mulder says, but his voice catches. I don't want you chasing
after Krycek, he thinks, I don't want you in harm's way. I don't want
to lose you. But I know you don't want to lose me, too. Dammit.
"Scully, sometimes I wonder if you're farther ahead than I thought,"
he says as he goes to her.

"Mulder," she says, as he kisses her forehead. "Remember we're in
this together."

He murmurs his agreement. "I know," he says before they kiss. He
wants to savor this moment before everything goes to hell like he
knows it will.

~*~*~

And go to hell it does, as Skinner tries to explain a dead body to
the cops, Krycek leads him astray, and Dr. Sacks, ignoring the
well-meaning caution, ends up in a vegetative state due to the black
oil oozing from the rock leaking into his not-quite sealed suit.
Fortunately, Scully and Pendrell have secure biohazard suits, and as
they reveal their findings to him, his heart sinks. Dammit all, he
thinks, I really don't want to have black oil dancing in my DNA
again, getting taken over earlier was enough, as he makes travel
arrangements with Covarrubias and drags a handcuffed, temporarily
useful Krycek with him.

I hope this works, he thinks, as he calls Scully one last time out of
Krycek's hearing. "Scully, I'm with Krycek," he says, as she starts
to babble about Dr. Sacks. "Don't - No - Just listen to me," he says
finally when she realizes he's not going to listen. "I'm with Krycek.
It'll be a while. Be careful. I love you." And he hangs up, turning
around to see Krycek trying to escape his bonds again. Brother, he
thinks, getting back inside the car.

~*~*~

That idiot, Scully fumes as she hangs up. If Krycek leads him to a
whole mineful of those rocks, or God knows what else, my husband will
be in a persistent coma for what? The truth? Aliens? Some sick game
that shadowy men are playing? As she and Skinner are called in before
Senator Sorenson, her mind spins. Mulder never says something like "I
love you" unless it's important or in intimate context. And this was
far from intimate. What's going on, Mulder, she wants to shout, why
can't I come with you?

After the senator and Skinner grill her, one for dubious reasons, the
other for illumination and ass-saving, she has an idea why Mulder
wants to keep her in the dark. And that idea is driving her nuts and
giving her shivers. Dammit, Mulder.

She can't answer the question "Where is Mulder?" without driving a
nail through her husband's reputation or her own. So she simply says,
"May I make a phone call?"

Both Skinner and the senator give her blank looks. She takes that as
a yes, and dials. "Mom, it's me," she says, "please look after Page
and Sammy for me. This might take a while. Thanks." She'd call up
Rachel, but has a feeling that if something out of the ordinary
happened, the nanny would do something stupid that would put them all
in danger, and she needs to know at least her babies will come
through this all right. Dammit, Mulder, where the hell are you, she
thinks, fuming.

~*~*~

Meanwhile, back in Mama Russia, Krycek is thrown into jail. He
wonders briefly what happened to that idiot Mulder, but then his
worries about the FBI agent are replaced by worries about himself.
*"I need to speak to someone!"* he yells in Russian, banging the cell
bars. He grins fiercely when a guard approaches. *"Your supervisor
will want to see me,"* he says in upper-class Russian.

The guard looks at him suspiciously. He thought they'd imprisoned an
American. *"Why would he want to see you?"*

Krycek grins, in spite of the bloody mess that he is. *"Because I
know things."*

The guard stares at him, then unlocks the door. *"If he is
displeased, you will die."*

Krycek, just glad to be free, answers back cockily, *"Trust me, he
will not be disappointed."*

~*~*~

Scully's worry increases as she watches the comatose form of Dr.
Sacks. Please let Mulder be okay, she prays, and please let us find
out what the hell is wrong with Sacks. And please don't let whatever
infected Sacks get us, too. If the last case with Roche had her
praying for her babies' safety, this case has her worried about
herself and Mulder's. Well, I got myself into this, she muses as she
answers Pendrell's concerns which mirror her own, but I'll be damned
if my babies have to suffer as a result. "Are you seeing anything?"
she asks Pendrell hopefully.

"The blood in the carotid artery looks slightly thickened...Possibly
due to the decreased heart rate and blood pressure," he answers in a
slightly distracted voice, his concentration more on what he sees
through the microscope, but then he sounds startled. "Now what's
this? What the hell is this?"

"What is it?" she asks, crowding next to him.

"I don't know," he frowns, "It looks like it's concentrated around
his pineal body." Much as he enjoys the other woman's company, he
knows she's married, and forces himself to voice his suspicion. "I
think it's alive," he says as she replaces him at the microscope.

"It looks like a nest...some type of black vermiform organism
attached to the pineal gland," she squints. This isn't the Holy
Grail, but it's better than nothing, she thinks, we're close, but
what exactly is it?

~*~*~

Meanwhile, back in Mama Russia, Mulder has ditched Krycek. There's no
way he's letting himself get caught for the second time, and he
watches from his temporary hideout as the treacherous Krycek gets
hauled off to the death camp. He'd like to rescue the mysterious
prisoner and former geologist who gave him the shiv the last time,
but he knows there's no way of entering that gulag and coming out
black oil-free. I thought I had more time to plan this out, he
thinks, but that thing with Roche took some of my time, and now this.
Dammit. Now Scully's facing the black oil and a senate subcommittee
all by herself again. I hope she didn't leave the kids with Rachel,
and with that worrying thought, he scans the area with his binoculars
again.

Wonder where Krycek lost his arm? Mulder muses, putting his
binoculars down. A rustle to his left has him ducking into the heap
of leaves, but he gives himself enough room to prop his binos up. He
sees a group of one-armed men and realizes the answer to his
question. Guess it wasn't prison retaliation for letting me go, he
thinks, sinking back into the camouflage again.

~*~*~

Scully's ready to greet her mom and her babies, then hit the sack,
when her boss meets her at the door. Oh, hell, she thinks, as she
questions, "Sir? What are you doing here?"

"I've been trying to reach you all day," he answers in his terse
tone.

She finds herself apologizing, even though she's been worried sick
herself, albeit not about her boss. "I'm sorry, my cell phone was
turned off."

He stops her before she can unlock the door. "You owe me some
answers, Agent Scully. Answers I don't have to the questions I'm
being asked about this missing diplomatic pouch. The pouch presumably
being carried by the man who was allegedly pushed off my balcony, and
whose connection to a known felon I harbored in my house against all
good sense, I'm going to have to explain to avoid perjuring myself
before a Senate sub-committee tomorrow. Which, I might remind you, is
a very serious crime in itself. Is it not, Agent Scully?"

Shit, she thinks. Scully inhales, then says, "Yes, sir. Sir, if I
might explain...the contents of that pouch...it contained some sort
of a biohazardous organism that is, luckily, being contained in a
contamination laboratory at NASA Goddard, where I've been all day
trying to determine its exact nature." You happy? she wants to add.

"Do you know what the pouch's intended destination was?" he asks.

Ask a question I don't have an answer to, she thinks. "No, sir, I
don't," she says.

"Well, I do, Agent Scully, because I bent some rules this morning
when I couldn't find you. To find out who was to receive it."

Now he's really got her attention. "Who was it?" 

"Dr. Bonita Charne-Sayre. Are you familiar with that name?" he asks,
and he half expects her to say no.

She frowns, remembering. "Yes sir, I am...She's a well-know
physician...and a...a virologist who's looked in on presidents. She's
also an authority on...on variola viruses."

"Variola?" he frowns.

She nods, unconsciously stamping her feet against the cold.
"Smallpox," she says, debating whether they should continue this
inside and worry her mother, "she's been a vocal proponent of
eliminating the last remaining stores of the smallpox
virus...destroying the only remaining vials in facilities here in
Atlanta and the former Soviet Union."

"Well, she was killed tonight." 

Guess that means we'll be staying outside, Scully thinks. "Killed?"
she repeats.

"A horse stepped on her throat in a riding accident in Virginia,"
Skinner replies, in a tone that suggests he's not buying the "riding
accident" part of the report.

~*~*~

As Krycek is leaving the camp to lead the supervisor and some guards
on a manhunt for Mulder, a prisoner rushes the small group. Krycek is
injured in the initial assault, but the guards soon haul off the
crazed man and have confiscated his shiv. The supervisor gives his
apologies, and leaves Krycek to find Mulder alone. "Fine, be like
that," the former agent mutters, getting into a truck as its owner
starts yelling at him. *"I'll return it!"* he lies, heading off into
the woods.

It isn't long before he hits the curvy road, and to his surprise, the
brakes give out. "Oh, come on!" he yells, stomping vainly on the
brake pedal. But it's no use, and Krycek jumps out of the truck, and
the vehicle veers off into a ditch. "What else can go wrong?" he
mutters, holding his injured right arm as he staggers to his feet.

The noise and wreckage have drawn attention, and Krycek's eyes widen
as he finds himself surrounded by a group of men missing their left
arm. What the hell, he wonders. He tells them in Russian he's escaped
from the prison, and some of them buy his story. He wonders what's
their story behind the missing arms, but decides to wait on that as
he says, *"I am American...and I've been falsely accused of spying."*

*"Then your enemy is ours,"* the young man with the dead eyes says.
*"We can protect you."*

~*~*~

December 6th, 1996

Catching up to the senate subcommittee, Scully stands before the
bench. "You don't seem to understand. Your response is not optional.
You are an agent of the FBI," Chairman Romine says.

"Then if I may please finish my statement," Scully says, and resumes
reading from her paper, "that it is no longer possible for me to
carry out my duties as an FBI agent."

"Are you tendering your resignation, Agent Scully. Is that what
you're trying to say?" Senator Sorenson practically leaps on it.

"No, sir," she answers in a steady voice. "What I am saying, is that
there is a culture of lawlessness that has prevented me from doing my
job - that the real target of this committee's investigation should
be the men who are beyond prosecution and punishment," she takes a
breath, "the men whose secret policies are behind the crimes that you
are investigating."

"You have a legal obligation to answer the questions posed to you.
Now," the senator is practically sharpening his knives, "either you
tell us what you know about Agent Mulder's whereabouts, or you'll be
held in contempt of Congress."

It isn't long before she's led down a sterile white corridor to a
holding cell.

~*~*~

The only good thing about being in a Russian prison was that they fed
you, Mulder thinks, feeling faint from lack of nourishment. He
staggers out of his hiding hole, only to be dragged roughly to his
feet by powerful hands. A voice shouts at him in Russian, and he
mumbles, "No speak Russian," before passing out.

He comes to in the same trucker's house, with the trucker's wife
tending to him. "No Russian," he mumbles again when the trucker yells
and waves.

"American?" she asks and he nods. When she examines his arm, her face
pales. "The test?"

Here we go again, he thinks, "No, this is for American smallpox. It's
for identification," he explains.

"They are looking for you," she says, and he nods. "The other man, he
crash my husband's truck," her face grows solemn, "with no truck, no
job. Then we have the test." She looks at her son who comes in
missing his left arm. "No arm, no test."

Mulder shakes his head and holds her shoulders. "You have to help me
escape. I'll help you escape. You have to help me get to St.
Petersburg." Oh, shit, he thinks, seeing the driver standing in the
doorway with a large knife, and hopes his luck holds the second time
around.

~*~*~

Skinner interrupts Scully's reading of the variola virus papers, and
she welcomes it, for once. After the initial "how are you doing," he
gets down to the basics, as she expected he would. "Then what are you
doing?"

She sits up straight. "We were called before this committee to answer
questions about a murder - about an intercepted diplomatic pouch - a
pouch that was to be delivered to a prominent doctor," she leans
forward, "a woman who is now dead, as is the man who was delivering
said pouch, the contents of which have infected an exobiologist with
a paralyzing toxin. Yet, what are we stuck on here? The whereabouts
of Agent Mulder." She throws her hands up, then lets them fall.

"You mean it's the wrong question," Skinner notes as she puts the
papers away.

"Several of the men on this committee are lawyers," she says, looking
back at him. "It is my experience that lawyers ask the wrong question
only when they don't want the right answer."

"Unless Agent Mulder has already found the answers they're looking
for."

"Or someone wants to make sure that he doesn't find out," she says,
hating to voice anything like distrust of public officials, but the
way the case is going, she has no choice. As a scientist, as a
rational human being, there are some conclusions that are undeniable
when staring you in the face.

"These are congressmen we're talking about, Agent Scully," he argues.

She agrees. "I know that, sir. And it is my natural inclination to
believe that they are acting in the best interest of the truth...but
I am not inclined to follow my own judgment in this case." Or, in
some other cases, but she dares not say that aloud.

Skinner stares hard at her. "You're going to follow Agent Mulder's?
Is that it?"

He promised me he wouldn't go farther than I could follow, Scully
thinks, he promised. She doesn't answer him verbally, but simply
looks at him.

~*~*~

As she stands before the men at the senate subcommittee, Scully
thinks, Here we go again. It seems like she's taken a stand for
Mulder so many times before, but in this case, it's a literal one.
And, like her belief about the cross around her neck, she does it on
faith, faith that he'll come through for her. She still hasn't gotten
any reply from her numerous cell phone tries, and neither has he
tried to contact anyone else stateside, so all she can do is swallow
her fears and stand before these men, these honorable men, and tell
them not what they want to hear, but the whole Truth, and nothing
but.

And, to her surprise, Mulder answers the question of his whereabouts,
so to speak, by appearing in the room. "What is the question?" he
calls out in a clear voice, as he joins her. Chairman Romine pounds
his gavel several times for order, and finally gets it, even as
Mulder squeezes her hand reassuringly.

The smile hasn't faded from her face as she continues. "Yes, sir. If
I may, I'd like to finish making my point."

The chairman looks resigned. "And what is your point?" 

She turns to Mulder, so many questions wanting to be asked and
answered, but she forges on. Another man joins their table, Skinner,
and he tells them about Dr. Sacks' death. Scully keeps her voice
steady and relates the scientist's death to the subcommittee. As soon
as the gavel pounds with the sound of futility, the redhead turns to
her husband. "You idiot!" she punches his left arm. "Where have you
been?"

"I'm sorry," he says, embracing her anyways as she chokes down a sob.
Boy, she wasn't this violent before, he thinks, but then again, there
wasn't a marriage and two kids before. "It's been a long, strange
trip."

"Some other time," Skinner says, turning away from his agents' PDA.
"There's been enough strangeness here to sort through."

Reluctantly breaking from his embrace, Scully says, "Mulder, I've
made several connections about the toxin, about what it might be…"

"So have I," Mulder says, but thankfully, not from personal
experience this time.

"Sir? I need to book two airfares to Boca Raton, Florida," Scully
says, determination entering her voice.

Mulder interrupts her explanation. "Don't tell him why," he says,
leading her away by placing his hand on her back. "He's got to
confess everything he knows, remember?"

She nods, and Skinner gives him a wry look. "Do I need to tell you
two to stay out of trouble?"

Mulder grins, and Scully sighs. "I think Mulder's going to have to do
a lot of explaining before we get anywhere near trouble."

~*~*~

They end up calling in a quarantine on the nursing home, same as
before, then jetting over to New York to question Terry Edward
Mayhew, the so-called brains behind the militia. Mulder's impatient
to get to Canada, but he doesn't want to alert his wife or anyone
else about his time-traveling/alternate-universe anymore than he has
to.
 
So they question Mayhew, he restrains himself from choking the man
but winds up pulling his gun on him, and they get their answers.

When they reach Canada, Mulder wonders how on earth they managed to
stave off hours of jet lag, then figures it's the adrenaline that's
flooding his veins again. He's shaved off hours from their original
time, and hopes he can make it to the rock before it blows up again,
but as he jumps out of the chopper, the oil well blows up. "They're
early," Mulder mumbles, as he rolls on the ground to avoid the fiery
plume that's knocked the chopper. "Scul-lay!"

Fortunately, his wife, the chopper and the pilot are all right, but
barely. "Mulder!" she screams, sprinting as fast as she can on high
heels towards her husband. "Let's get out of here!"

He nods, disappointed, and they rejoin a very shaken pilot, who
lights out of there like a bat out of hell. From his vantage point,
Mulder can make out the shape of an old man standing near the top of
the refinery. Damn that old man, Mulder thinks, whoever he is. He's
grateful the first time around the old guy spared Scully's life, but
this time, he didn't even come close to the rock. Shit.

~*~*~

Mulder's got a feeling that the scene in the courtroom will be even
more pedestrian than the first time, and he's proven right, even as
his wife silently applauds him for joining the fight. "It's not
over," he tells her as the gavel sounds.

She stares at him for a moment. "It has to be," she says, "Dr. Sacks
and Dr. Charne-Sayre are dead, as well as several patients at a
convalescent home, as is the mystery man Krycek killed, as is
Krycek," she looks away. "The toxin is still relatively unknown, and
there is no known cure. The rock is buried in Canada. How many more
must die before this case is done?"

Mulder thinks of the geologist imprisoned in the gulag, as well as
the hundreds of other prisoners, the trucker and his family, and the
countless families grieving for their loved ones in Boca Raton.
"Guess that's why we made copies," he says, picking up the files, "so
it stays an X-File. So that when we do have the answers, and the
cure, it goes to the people who deserve them." Scully nods, her face
just as serious as his, and they walk out of the courtroom together.

~*~*~

In St. Petersburg, Russia, the old man returns to his cozy little
apartment, only to find it is occupied. Wearily, he says, *"Please,
if you are here to ask another favor, I am retired...Comrade
Krycek."*

Krycek simply smiles and congratulates Comrade Peskow on a job well
done. His left arm, however, is replaced by a fake plastic one,
holding a tea bag.

The old man smiles back and nods. *"Thank you,"* he answers, *"will
you be staying long?"*

Krycek shakes his head. "Nyet," he murmurs, sipping his tea, *"I have
more business to attend to."* He rubs the back of his neck with his
false hand as he stands. *"When I have more time, you must tell me
how you eluded those pesky British agents during the Cold War, eh?"*
He smiles and walks out of the apartment.

Peskow stares after the younger man, who has a faint scar at the back
of his neck, with a puzzled, thoughtful expression, but says nothing
as he locks the door.

~*~*~

Los Angeles, CA

"Alex, what's wrong?" Melissa Scully frowns as she greets him at the
airport, and Krycek thinks she looks gorgeous even when she's
worried. A sure sign that everything's not all right, he thinks.

He shrugs a little. "Had a little trouble on the job, but nothing
prosthetics can't handle." His tone is light, but there's a small,
suspicious worry in the back of his mind that she won't think it's
just "a little trouble."

"Prosthetics?" she latches on to the key word.

Of course, he's wearing his all-purpose leather jacket and gloves and
he hugged her with his still-attached right arm, so that doesn't help
much. "This baby goes all the way up to the middle of my bicep," he
says simply, pulling off his left glove, deliberately not looking at
her.

Okay, so he's vain in a lot of ways. Doesn't mean he has to get
deeply analytical about it. He waits until she says something,
anything. Finally, he looks up and is surprised.

Melissa has a mischievous grin on her face. "I'm just glad the
plastic's not somewhere important," she smiles, pulling him to her.

Now Krycek's got the same lazy smile on his face as her hands grab
his ass. "Now you're just trying to butter me up."

"I could do that if you're in the mood," she says, "among other
things."

"I know that," he growls, and finally angles down for a good long
kiss.

The redhead's breathless when they pull apart, and he likes that. "I
don't know if I can wait for the motel," she breathes, her eyes
slightly unfocused.

"I know I can't," he agrees, and the two wanderers look for a spot in
LAX with some space and privacy. Krycek being Krycek, he's got a
number of options to go with, and he can't wait to drag her to the
closest one. "Are you on the pill?"

She shakes her head. "Herbal remedy," her eyes glint when they see
his expression, "and a condom should do the trick."

"Speaking of tricks," Krycek opens the door, smirking. "Wanna see
what my prosthetic arm can do?"

She smirks back as they shut the door of the abandoned office, fully
intending to occupy the room with their loud, lusty, sweating bodies.

~*~*~

Chapter Forty-Two

December 23rd 1996

"Sticky, Daddy!" Page's proclamation is punctuated with hand-waving
and a whine Mulder knows will become semi-hysterical crying if he
doesn't act soon enough to suit his daughter.

As he gets up to wet a washcloth, he thinks of the recent reeducation
he and Scully have endured on the subject of stickiness: they now
know that pine sap is sticky, and glue and cellophane tape, the tabs
on diapers - Mulder overheard Scully telling Page that big girl pants
aren't sticky, so he knows Scully is still determined to potty train
her before the new baby is born and the fact that Rachel reports
occasional successes just fuels her fire there - stickers,
unsurprisingly, are sticky, and now cookie dough.

Page holds out her hands to be cleaned, and Mulder wonders if he and
Scully have made some sort of fatal parental misstep; one that has
put them on the path of raising a girlie girl.

Samantha, like Scully, had been a rough and tumble kid, always trying
to keep up with her big brother. It hadn't bothered Bill or Mulder,
it actually made not having a brother less of a big deal to him, but
Teena not so secretly longed for a daughter who was sedate and would
stand being dressed in frilly feminine clothing.

To this end she organized what young Mulder referred to as "attack of
the prissy girls": she'd invite proper little girls over in the hope
that they'd be a good influence on Samantha. Fortunately, at least in
Mulder's opinion, her hopes had been in vain. He now worries that
this wish will be fulfilled in her granddaughter.

Scully insists that this stickiness aversion is just a stage, and
Mulder hopes that it is, or they'll all go insane long before Page is
old enough to be trusted with using the sink taps on her own.

He throws the wash cloth into the sink before turning back to his
small daughter. Hands now clean, Page gives him an expectant 'now
what?' look.

Mulder doesn't know. When Scully lamented that Page was getting too
bright to buy presents for with her along, he'd offered to keep an
eye on both kids while she and Missy went to the mall. She'd taken
him up on half of his offer, but had taken Sammy with her because she
still needed to get him an outfit for Christmas because she hadn't
found anything when she'd bought Page's dress. It seemed silly to him
to buy a fancy outfit that the boy would only wear once before
outgrowing, but it seemed to make her happy, so he went with it.

Back at the fort he'd had the idea that making Christmas cookies
would entertain Page, but apparently he was wrong. Maybe some holiday
cartoons would be a better bet.

"What do you want to do, Page?" 

A serious look settles on the toddler's face. "Use the potty." 

Mulder scoops her up, and resists the urge to tickle her - that might
have a negative effect on her fledging bladder control. Instead he
smiles widely and says, "If you get this potty thing down, you'll be
giving mommy a gift she won't forget."

"Mommy wants uh potty?" 

"Something like that," he agrees.

~*~*~

December 25th, 1996
7 a.m.

Just barely grasping the concept of Santa, Page got them up an hour
and a half ago, and somehow managed to help her brother out of his
crib. After enduring a lecture from Scully about how dangerous it is
to do that, Page dragged them downstairs, still in pajamas, to fuss
with the contents of her stocking and to get some breakfast on her.
Her demands to open presents are fobbed off with the excuse that they
need to wait for grandma to get there first. Page pouts a little, but
is entertained by the small gifts in her stocking and the festive
movie on the TV.

 Missy arrives far earlier than Mulder would have ever guessed she'd
get out of bed, and helps him get the kids dressed, which allows
Scully time to dress herself. Unfortunately, Mulder is still in his
jammies.

After asking Scully for the third time if she's sure that Bill and
Tara want to rent a car to drive from the airport to the house
instead of him picking them up, Mulder wanders up to the master
bedroom intent on getting dressed before their guests arrive. Missy
is playing with the kids, so he doesn't feel like he's abandoning
Scully when he takes his time.

He's still pulling his red sweater - knit for him the year before by
Maggie - over his head when he hears the front door open and the
muffled greetings between siblings.

Scully appears while he's still threading his belt through the loops
in his cords. "I'm afraid that you're not going to like what Bill
bought the kids for Christmas…"Scully trails off, a fragile smile on
her face and a hand on her belly.

Whatever it is, Mulder can hear both kids squealing happily over it
down stairs. There's a small shout of protest from Page, and then
heavy footsteps on the stairs. Bill pops his head into the room. "I
guess I ought to have asked first, but Dana told me how you lost the
dog that way…I knew a puppy might be a bad idea with a new baby
coming. I hope you don't hate it, Fox."

Mulder reminds himself not to cringe at the familial use of his first
name, and then looks at "it." And it looks back at him from its
vantage in Bill's palms. It's mostly white, with an orange facial
blaze and a short, curled also orange tail and bright blue eyes.

"Where's the rest of its tail?" Mulder asks, reaching a tentative
finger out to touch the little creature. It responds by playfully
reaching out a paw of its own.

"It was born this way. All Japanese bobtails are," Bill tells him.
"They come in all sorts of colors, but they always have this sort of
tail. They're real good with kids…"

"Good to hear. Orange and white, that's kind of pretty." 

"Yeah, I thought so too." Bill trails off when Page toddles into the
room. "But I thought the black and white were attractive as well."

"Kittens, Daddy!" Page squeals, holding out another kitten in both
hands. Bill's assessment that they're good with kids seems to be
true, because the little creature doesn't mind being man-handled by
the toddler.

"I know a breeder, and she offered me a discount if I took the last
two from that litter," Bill mumbles. "I figured one for each of the
kids."

"Well, I'd hate to break up a family," Mulder replies lightly.

"One's a boy and one's a girl, by the way." Bill grins a little, then
ushers Page out of the room when they sense that Scully wants to talk
to Mulder alone.

"You took that well," Scully says as soon as the door swings closed.

"They're cute." 

"You're really not upset that Bill bought them kittens without
telling us first?" Scully's voice is a little anxious.

Throwing an arm around her and drawing her close, he wishes that he
could tell her just how okay he is with the gift. ::The same guy who
once declared that Scully's son was a bastard now likes his niece and
nephew enough to buy them kittens? You should be surprised I didn't
pass out from shock instead of welcome the gift.::

"He means well," Mulder says with a shrug. "It's nice that he put a
lot of thought into picking a gift that the kids would really like."

"Yeah, it is," Scully agrees, nodding under his chin. "I'm glad you
don't mind."

"He doesn't have any kids of his own-" 

"Yet." 

"-yet, so you can't blame him for spoiling ours a little. Besides,
Rachel is crazy about cats, so it's not as though we'll have to worry
about getting someone else to look after them while we're gone on
cases."

Scully smirks. "As long as she doesn't try to take either of them
home with her."

Before either of them can say anything else about their nanny's
likeness to want one of the kittens, Page is back. "Grandma
here…presents now?" she asks in a wheedling tone.

"Why don't we go see grandma and find out." Mulder lifts her up
quickly, making her shriek with laughter. ::This is how the holidays
should be.:: "So, what are we going to name these kittens, hmm?"

"Teliko n' Piper," Page tells him.

Mulder groans. "You know, Mommy thinks that you don't pay any
attention when we talk about our cases, kiddo. You do, though, don't
you." His daughter giggles. "How come you can even say Teliko? You
can't even say spaghetti correctly."

"We have skaddie for dinner?" 

"No, we're having turkey, but you're changing the subject. You're not
going to tell me how you can say that are you?"

Page shakes her head hard then smiles at him. 

"Nana and Bumpa coming?" 

"Yup, but not until tonight." 

"Good, more presents me n' Sammy." 

"Smart girl," Mulder tells her.

~*~*~

Completely unaware that his father is watching him, or completely
unconcerned about it, Sammy toddles over to the Christmas tree. He
puts his faces near the branches, and brings his lips up to one of
the small twinkle lights. As he opens his mouth Mulder barks, "No
Sammy!" and the baby takes a defeated step back from his intended
prize. Again.

As he did the first two times his son has tried to taste the
Christmas lights today, Mulder scoops the wriggly child up and
attempts to restrain him on his lap.

It worries Mulder that his son seems bound and determined to court
death by electrocution; and that case he and Scully had about that
weird kid who could summon lightening comes uncomfortably to mind.
However, he's more concerned that his son's behavior has to do with
domesticality than something they'd need to open a casefile on.

::Are we not paying enough attention to him? Page has an edge over
him on the demanding attention front because she has many more words
than he does. Or maybe he's sensing the changes coming up in three
months when the baby arrives. All the books tell you that acting out
is common when a child feels as though their spot as the youngest is
threatened… but is he old enough to be aware of that? Sure, he's
older than Page was when he was born, but sixteen months still seems
awfully young. I'm not even sure that Page really understands…But I
wonder if she knows why he's after the lights. No, that's silly,
but…::

"Hey Page, come here, please." 

She reluctantly looks up from unsuccessfully trying to coax one of
the kittens out from under the couch. "Daddy?"

Feeling foolish, Mulder lends down and asks, "Do you know why Sammy
is trying to eat the lights on the tree?" To his surprise, she nods.
"Why??"

"Thinks they're lolly ranchers." 

As soon as he realizes that she meant jolly instead of lolly, he's
filled with horror at the idea of someone giving his little son hard
candy that's a choking hazard. "Who's been giving you jolly
ranchers?"

Page wrinkles her nose. "Not give us. Rach-all not share," Page
complains before giving him a winning smile. "Daddy, you teach her
share!"

"Sorry, Kiddo, if she shared those you and Sammy could get sick." 

"Sick is bad." 

"Yes it is." Although Mulder's heart feels less panicked because the
nanny hasn't been as thoughtless as he feared, he makes a mental note
to ask her to leave the candy at home from now on - and to remove the
Sammy-high lights after their guests go home.

Sammy twists in Mulder's lap until he can put his arms around
Mulder's neck. "Hug."

"A very nice hug," Mulder agrees, hugging him back. "What about a
kiss?"

After planting a wet kiss on his father's cheek, Sammy looks up with
a serious expression on his face. "No bite."

::Two words together already?! I thought they said second children
acquired language slower than firstborns.:: "Aren't you clever."
Mulder looks over at Page. "Have you two been biting?"

Page shakes her head. "TV does." 

"How?" he asks blankly. Her statement reminds him of the time he
accidentally left his TV on a channel that played PeeWee's Playhouse.

Page pantomimes touching the TV's channel button. "Put hand and
ziiiip. Ouch. Rach-all say it bite." She looks a little puzzled. "No
teeths."

"No touch," Sammy adds.

Mulder's mind races as he tries to think of a way to explain static
to a two year old, but she's already moved on. "We watch Santa? Daddy
push buttons," she adds with a sly look.

"Oh, you'd like that would you?" He tickles both kids, making them
laugh.

From the corner of his eye he notices Scully watching and thinks he
hears her mumble to Tara something about "like having three kids
already" but he doesn't mind. Getting to play with his kids on a
perfect holiday is worth all the aspersions in the world cast on his
maturity.

~*~*~

January 1997

Mulder twists his mouth unconsciously, remembering the last time
they'd investigated this case. At least this time, there's no danger
of Scully getting hunted by the cancer-hungry Betts, though there' no
way he's ever going to tell her this. And considering the freaky
cancer guy, he didn't want the kids to tag along on this case, even
though he knows they're not at risk. Rachel must be raking in the
overtime with us, he almost grins, seriously flaky nanny or no.

With that thought, he keeps up his end of light-hearted banter with
his wife, as her curiosity, as morbid as his, has her prowling
through the Pittsburg morgue. Correction, that is, the Monghehela
(however the hell you pronounce it) General Hospital's morgue. He's
not even sure the staff knows how to pronounce it, since every phone
call or staff member says it "Moan-gllllla"or some misbegotten
mangling as such. He's practically reeling facts from his prodigious
memory when she wheels around and asks him point blank, "Mulder, what
the hell are we doing here?"

He blinks, then smiles benignly. "Did I mention Mr. Betts has no
head?"

She makes a face. "Yes. So? I mean, you're not suggesting that a
headless body kicked his way out of a latched morgue freezer, are
you?" Scully stares at him harder, but he won't shake his insane
theory. "Are you? Because I think it's obvious this is some kind of
bizarre attempt at a cover-up."

Now he raises an eyebrow. "Did you say cover-up? You know how words
relating to conspiracy turns me on," and he leers.

The redhead sighs noisily. "Nothing so dramatic, more like body
snatching for profit. There's a shortage of teaching cadavers at
medical schools. An unscrupulous medical supplier might pay top
dollar, no questions asked." She shrugs, her down-to-earth theory
having more credence in her mind than a headless body busting out of
its drawer.

Mulder looks around at the filled, unmolested lockers. "But why take
damaged goods when there are so many top-dollar bodies around?"

A security guard interrupts their merry-go-round. "Sir? Those video
grabs you asked for? We found something. These are from the emergency
room camera taken at 4:13 this morning."

Moments later, both agents squint at the fuzzy black-and-white
visuals on the TV screen, and the static at the top masks the
identity of the morgue attendant's clothes thief. "Too bad not
everyone can afford FBI-quality surveillance," Mulder sighs.

The security guard also sighs, but it's more frustrated. "But there's
no sign of the body he stole. The thief just took off with our guy's
clothes, what did he do with the body? We searched everywhere!"

Scully has a small smile, and Mulder groans inwardly. Oh no, not
again. "There's one place I'm sure you missed," she says.

~*~*~

Minutes later, the security guard leaves them at the hospital
disposal unit with more haste than Mulder thought necessary. What,
didn't he want to help with the search? he thinks ungraciously. "So
you think the body snatcher simply tossed the body there?" he asks.
"Maybe we should get some of the staff to help out," he suggests
hopefully, "I mean, if you're sure the body's in there…."

"Nonsense," Scully says, pulling on a face shield and arm-length
gloves. She seems to relish her husband's obvious discomfort as she
squishes around in the various human tissues, organs and other
disgusting things the human body can produce, and the noises her
hands make as she digs through the mess is almost as gross as the
mess itself. "Give me a hand, your arms are longer than mine."

There is nothing, absolutely nothing on Mulder's face that resembles
anything close to a willingness to help out. In fact, he's looking
desperately around for some hospital staff, anyone, even Betts, to
dig through that nastiness. Now Scully pouts her perfectly bow-shaped
lips and breathes in a low, husky voice, "Mulder."

He gives her a level look, then pulls on a face shield and long
gloves. "I'm not doing this because of your lips," he tells her
grimly.

She doesn't look fazed. "Thank you," she smiles, as he makes various
faces digging through the muck.

"My sad eyes are better than your pouty lips," he continues, as if
oblivious to the smug grin on her face.

"Of course, Mulder," she says in a conciliatory tone, completely at
odds with the smirk. Then she has an even more triumphant look on her
face as she pulls out the late, great Leonard Betts, sans body. "Oh,
how they scoffed," she says, holding her prize aloft like a gold
medal, "oh, how they mocked."

He makes another face. It's one thing that she actually used her
feminine wiles to get to him, it's another to have his words thrown
back at him as she holds up Betts' head like Perseus did Medusa's.
"Okay, you found the head," he says, somewhat relieved she found it
this time. "But what about the body? Maybe he got it out somehow."

"What, on his own two legs?" she smirks, still heady with victory.

He nods. "Perhaps," ignoring her oh-so-ladylike snort. "In any case,
you should probably examine the head, see if there's anything useful
we can get from it."

She frowns. "What about you?" 

"I'm gonna check out Mr. Betts' pad, see how he lives." 

"Lived." 

He puts his two free hands up as he walks away, smiling a little as
he imagines what's in store for her. "Lived."

~*~*~

In the examination room, Scully keeps to herself how cool she thinks
the decapitated head is. Perhaps it's because she's been taught with
the rigors of medical school and countless autopsies to treat the
body as a map or book, rather than a vessel of the soul, that facial
features resonate more with her. In fact, she would be pretty
depressed if she were merely stuck with the headless body, although
it would probably help their case go along further. Briskly, she
shoves any more musings to the side, gingerly placing the head on the
scale.

Her blue eyes glance at the numbers on the scale and she places the
head on the autopsy table. Her gloved hands pick up a tape recorder
and she speaks clearly, "Case number 226897, Leonard Betts. As
remains are incomplete, all observations refer to a decapitated head.
Weight: 10.9 pounds. Remains show no signs of rigor mortis or fixed
lividity." She pauses, manually opening the eyes, the so-called
windows to the soul. "Nor do the corneas appear clouded, which would
seem inconsistent with the witnessed time of death now," she pauses
again to check the wall clock, "19 hours ago. I'll begin with the
intermastoid incision and frontal craniotomy then make my examination
of the brain."

She picks up the scalpel and begins to make the stated incisions,
when the eyelids and mouth fly open, revealing unclouded brown eyes
and perfect teeth. "Oh, my!" Scully gasps, unconsciously crossing
herself and dropping the scalpel as she does so. The clatter of the
metal blade brings her back to herself, and she slowly approaches the
head. She's seen a lot of strange things before, but this…

Against her will, she stares into the head's, she can't think of it
as Betts', brown eyes. "Hello?" she says tentatively.

~*~*~

Meanwhile, back at Betts' apartment, Mulder knows he missed something
the first time around. He impatiently bypasses the newspaper
clippings, going straight to the bathroom. Knowing what he knows now,
he's not about to stick his fingers into the iodine-filled bathtub,
and glares at the fingerprints on the open window. He leans closer to
them, when his cell phone rings, startling him.

Cursing briefly as he leaves the bathroom, he finally answers,
"Mulder."

His wife sounds slightly strangled. Must be good news. "It's me. Um,
I've run into kind of a unique situation here."

He grins. She knows just how to cheer him up. "Unique?" 

She sighs noisily. "I've run a number of PET scans, and the images
come out fogged, despite the technicians' assurance that the machine
is working fine. They say it must be some kind of radiation or
something. And Mulder?"

"Yeah?" 

There's a long pause, as if she doesn't want to go on. "I didn't
autopsy it. I, I experienced an unusual degree of postmortem galvanic
response."

He moves the supposed dead man's clothes with his shoe. "It moved.
Cool."

"It's *not* cool, Mulder, it, it blinked," she argues. "Sort of. I
mean, it's residual electrical activity stored chemically in the dead
cells."

"You didn't cut into it. So it's not dead." 

"It's not alive, either!" Scully snaps back.

"You sure about that? Because I'm in his apartment, and it looks like
somebody made himself at home here, the attendant's clothes are
tossed to the side. Maybe Betts was home."

"Without his head," Scully says, looking at the offending item.

"The guy in Washington Irving's story did just fine," Mulder says,
having the feeling he's missing something again, but can't quite get
a hold of it.

"Mulder, that was a *story*," Scully says with every ounce of
forbearance. "And the villain turned out to be the town bully with a
pumpkin on his head."

There's something dancing at the edge of his mind, Mulder frowns, but
it's gone. Never mind. "Listen, I'll call the local PD to stake out
the place just in case, I'm gonna talk to his coworkers," and cover
my bases, he adds silently.

As he shuts the door, the body of Leonard Betts rises from the
iodine-filled tub with a new head. It blinks slowly, as it did on the
autopsy table in the hospital, implacable as death.

~*~*~

At the examination lab, the head, having gone through numerous PET
scans, pokes and prods, is now dripping after being lifted from a vat
full of epoxy. "Now this is cool." Mulder nods.

Scully holds back a smile, even though she privately agrees. "This
procedure is called biopolymerization. It's basically a high-tech
mummification process. The remains are dipped in the epoxy and once
it's cured the specimen can be sliced for examination."

He looks at her. "If I die, promise me you won't do that to my body,"
he says. "I'd hate to be responsible for the swooning of
impressionable young med students."

She rolls her eyes. "Male or female?" she retorts, and he grins.

Later, the pathologist examines a slice from the frontal lobe.
"Strange," he mutters to himself.

Both Mulder and Scully jerk their head up, as if dogs hearing a
high-pitched whistle. "What is it?" Scully asks, even as she examines
the picture on the monitor. Her eyes widen. "His entire brain looks
like one giant glioma," she says in disbelief.

"He had cancer?" Mulder says, for once actually being the master at
understatement.

She doesn't look at him, completely fascinated by this aberration of
science. Or perhaps an aberration of man. Damn, she's spent wayyyyyyy
too much time with Mulder. "He was riddled with it - I mean every -
every cell in this sample. Every cell, essentially, in his entire
head and in his brain was … was all cancerous. It's completely
pervasive," she shakes her head in disbelief.

"How long would he have lived with this?" Mulder asks, as if he
didn't know the answer.

The pathologist looks at him. "How long? This man would have been
long *dead* before reaching such an extreme metastatic stage." Now he
shakes his head.

Mulder looks at his wife, then at the pathologist. "Before his
untimely demise, Betts was the picture of health. How do you explain
this?"

The pathologist frowns. "Maybe the polymerization distorted the
sample. Maybe we're not really seeing what we think we're seeing."

"Or maybe we're seeing everything clearly for the first time," Mulder
says, staring at the image himself.

Now Scully looks at him. "Mulder, what are you thinking?" 

He grins down at her. "I'm thinking we need a slice to go." Then he
pauses. "Which reminds me. Scully, are you in the mood for pizza? I
missed lunch."

~*~*~

In Dr. Charles Burk's lab, Mulder feels a sense of camaraderie
similar to that which he shares with the Lone Gunmen, more so than he
would most FBI agents. Not unusual, given his proclivities towards
more atypical aspects of research, but it did remind him how
differently his path veered from when he first joined the FBI. And
speaking of those whose paths veered, Scully asks, "Are you ever
asked to defend this as a legitimate scientific process, Dr. Burks?"
She says "doctor"as if to say "quack." She's eating her pizza slice
in a neat, careful fashion, as if to ensure none of the toppings
slide off onto the floor of this dubious doctor's lab.

"Only if you're not happy with the results," Burk smiles as he goes
about his work.

"Chuck did some of the pioneering work in Kirilian photography in the
US," Mulder says as he finishes off his pizza, as if the explanation
would mollify her this time around.

Burk purses his lips briefly. "I prefer the umbrella term "aura
photography." Basically, by applying high frequency electricity I am
able to photograph an organism's coronal discharge."

She's not buying it this time, either. Figures. "'Coronal
discharge'?" she asks with an eyebrow raise.

Mulder answers in almost a blasé manner, tossing the crumpled wax
paper in like manner. "Coronal discharge, life force - the Chinese
call it Chi. It's an accepted fact in most eastern cultures." Now he
raises an eyebrow. "I'm surprised Melissa never brought it up."

She narrows her eyes at him. "You leave Missy out of this," she says
in a low voice. In a normal tone, she asks, "Chi would be the
theoretical basis of holistic medicine and acupuncture, but what is
its application here?"

Whoa, record there for eyebrow raises, Mulder grins. She could give
the Rock a run for his money, if she ever bothers to pay attention to
the WWF in the future. "It may account for the fogging of your PET
scan of Leonard Betts' head."

Burk nods, half-listening to the conversation around him. "You know,
with this equipment I've been able to capture phantom images of whole
leaves that were cut in half, or the vestigial image of a lizard's
tail long after it's been cut off … which, you have to admit is
pretty cool." He grins at them. When the developed negatives are
finished, he puts them on the lighted wall. "Ah, looks like we got
something here. Oh, yeah. Now I don't know exactly what you're
looking for, but," he pauses, feeling that pictures speak louder than
words, but needing to say something, "There's definitely some kind of
energy happening here."

Mulder looks at the undeniable head and shoulders image, then at the
beaming bespectacled man. "Chuck, would you believe that this man's
head had been decapitated?" he asks, although his eyes are on Scully
now.

Burk laughs. "Yeah, pull my other leg. Next thing you'll tell me is
you've got a wife and kids."

Mulder grins back, "Well, yeah." He holds up his and Scully's left
hands, his right hand pulling out his wallet and flipping it open to
their kids. "Here's Page and Sammy."

He's not sure who's more stunned, Burk or Scully. In a low voice, he
asks her, "Are we happy with the results?"

~*~*~

Later, he presses on with his theory, gladder than ever that Scully's
not, nor ever will be, a personal part of this story. "You said that
Betts' tissue was riddled with cancer. Now what is cancer but normal
cells growing rapidly out of control usually caused by some damage to
their DNA."

"And this is related to our case how?" Scully asks, unknowing of her
past, or alternate, history with Betts.

Mulder leans forward eagerly. "What if there was a case where the
cancer was not caused by damaged DNA - where the cancer was not a
destructive or an aggressive factor, but was rather the normal state
of being?"

She looks at him as if to say, you've got to be kidding. "Even if
that were the case," she says evenly, "he's decapitated. In a word,
dead."

"No, what if this man's life force - his Chi, whatever you want to
call it, somehow retained a blueprint of the actual man himself?
Guiding rapid growth not as cancer, but as regeneration?" He's not
sure if he's prompting her or aggravating her, but either way, he
knows it'll get results.

She stares at him, then a small smile works its way around her mouth.
"You think Betts regrew his head? Like starfish regrow their arms, or
a lizard its tail."

"Exactly!" Mulder cries. "In his apartment was a bathtub full of
povidine iodine. You know what scientists use that for, right?"

Scully sighs. "They use it to aid regeneration of reptiles and
amphibians. But we're talking about a mammal here, Mulder, a man.
Mammals don't regenerate limbs!"

He holds up his hands. "I'm just saying it's not unheard of in
nature, that's all. Maybe that's Betts' deep, dark secret, being the
Salamander Man."

She's about to retort, when her cell phone rings. Relieved to be
talking to hopefully a sane person, she grunts her assents to the
information, then turns a smug face to him when she hangs up. "I
don't think Salamander Man was his deep, dark secret," she says, "but
I know what is. I had Danny run prints on Betts, who turns out to be
Albert Tanner, son of Elaine Tanner, right here in Pittsburg." She
smiles blithely as she gets behind the wheel.

~*~*~

3108 Old Bank Road
Pittsburg, PA

Before they interview Mrs. Tanner, Mulder remembers the thing that's
been bugging him and stays outside to make a phone call while Scully
goes inside the house with a curious look on her face. From memory,
he dials a number, asks to be connected, and taps his foot
impatiently. He hopes it's not too late.

"This is Michelle Wilkes," the EMT answers.

"This is Agent Mulder," Mulder says, "if you see anyone suspicious
or," he pauses, "connected to Betts, let me know."

There's a pause at her end. "This is gonna sound crazy," she says.

::How many times have I heard that?:: he almost asks aloud. "If you
have any information," he prompts her.

"There's a guy, he sounds, I dunno," Michelle says, "he sounds like
Leonard. Wait, let me ask this guy." Mulder waits while she talks to
someone, and the answer is inaudible. "He says the guy's in Unit 208,
just went off shift."

"Michelle," Mulder's tone is suddenly urgent, "Do not go alone. Got
that? Someone stole your partner's body, and killed someone else in
the process," he's fudging the timeline, but he doesn't care,
anything to make her believe him, "do not approach this man alone.
Get security, we'll be right there."

Scully walks out of the house, looking even more confused. "Mulder,
she says her son died six years ago, with the certificate to prove
it. But fingerprints don't lie."

"We got another clue to the mystery," Mulder says, taking her hand.
"I think we've got Leonard Betts."

"The rest of his body?" she asks, as he slides behind the wheel.

"And then some," Mulder says, hoping against hope that Michelle took
his warning seriously.

~*~*~

Michelle is safe, the security guard handcuffed Betts (with a head)
to a Dodge Dart, but, like before, Leonard got away. "I don't believe
it." The guard shakes his head as the two agents shine their
flashlight on the crime scene. "He was just here."

Mulder holds up the thumb in the evidence bag. "And this is how he
got away." He looks at Scully. "We were so close…"

But Scully's looking at the security guard. "Are you sure this was
him?" she asks, holding up a photo of the dead man's head.

The guard nods, and so does a very pale Michelle. "That's Leonard,"
she says, at the same time the guard says, "That's Truelove." They
look at each other and say nothing.

Meanwhile, Mulder is musing over the discarded thumb. "One small
thumb for man, one regrown digit for Leonard Betts."

Scully makes a derisive snort. "Evolution doesn't work that way,
Mulder. What you're suggesting is someone so radically evolved we
wouldn't even call him human."

"Recent evolutionary theory would disagree," Mulder says, putting
away the thumb. "What scientists call 'punctualism' or 'punctual
equilibrium'- it theorizes that evolutionary advances are
cataclysmic, not gradual. That evolution occurs not along a straight,
graphable line, but in huge fits and starts and that the unimaginable
happens in the gaps - the gap between what we are and what Leonard
Betts has become." He pops open the hatchback of the car. "Then
again, how evolved can a man be if he drives a Dodge Dart?" he
smirks.

~*~*~

"Ten to one says this isn't full of ice-brewed goodness in sixpacks,"
Mulder quips as he pulls out the cooler. He makes a little bow and
wave to let Scully have the honors.

So she opens the cooler and her eyes grow wide as her flashlight
plays over the contents. "Mulder," she looks up at him, "these are
all cancerous tumors. This is surgical waste that's been tagged for
disposal. What do you think he wanted with them?"

He makes a face, sticking his tongue out. "I'm glad the kids aren't
with us on this one," he says, "there's a possibility that Betts not
only *is* cancer-"

"But he needs it for survival as well," Scully finishes. "Oh my God,"
she looks down at the cooler again, "this must be-"

"Yummy-nummy snacky-snacks!" Mulder says, using the phrase Page
sometimes says before devouring un-Scully-sanctioned junk food.
"Wouldn't it make sense that evolution or natural selection would
incorporate cancer - the greatest health threat to our species as
part of our genetic makeup?"

Now Scully's sticking her tongue out. "Why do I think that Charles
Darwin is rolling in his grave right now?" she deadpans.

He grins. "Ask yourself: Why is Leonard Betts an EMT? Why does he
regularly visit cancer wards? Access."

Before she can put a halt to this completely insane circular logic, a
cop interrupts them. "The car's registered to one Elaine Tanner, 3108
Old Bank Road."

The agents look at each other. "Do you think Mom knows her dead son
is tooling around in her car?" Mulder deadpans.

~*~*~

At a seedy bar, Betts makes his way through the smoky haze to sit at
the counter. So many to choose from, the bald man notes
dispassionately, so hungry. A couple of the men are coughing, but one
is tubercular while the other has lung cancer. The waitress, who
seems to be supporting a pack-a-day habit, judging by her
yellow-stained fingers, passes by, tempting him. A couple of bikers
have colon cancer, and one pool player has recurring glandular
problems due to thyroid cancer.

Then a newcomer strides in, and Betts ignores the rest. This man,
looking far too pretty despite his scowl, black leather jacket, and
three-day stubble, shoves one of the coughing men aside. His green
eyes look black as they scan the room, then asks for a beer. The
bartender, bored, does so, not even counting the money the pretty man
gives him.

Betts watches the pretty man surreptitiously. The black leather
jacket seems to be hiding more than a wallet, and he realizes that
one of the black-gloved hands is false. Still, this guy is
practically a neon sign, despite his hushed conversation at the pay
phone, and he follows the black jacket out.

Suddenly, his prey stops and spins around. "You've been staring at me
all night," the man in the black jacket scowls. "I'm not that kind of
guy."

Betts, hiding the scalpel in his hand, shakes his head. "You've got
something I want."

~*~*~

As before, they get nothing from Dear Ole Ma Betts, that is, Tanner,
except that "God put him here for a purpose. God means for him to
stay, even if people don't understand. And that's all I've got to
say."

That, and Scully finds the storage locker receipt and key labeled
"112." "Boy, aren't you the bloodhound," Mulder notes, and memories
from their previous past remind him of her nosebleeds. He almost
winces, except she retorts in kind.

"I suppose if you weren't so close to rarified air, you'd be able to
see it." She grins, pocketing the key as they head out.

"So that means you're okay with being a shrimp, right?" he asks, and
gets a sharp elbow. "Ow."

But he puts a lead foot to the gas, hoping to get to the U Keep It
storage facility before Betts escapes. Because if Scully's not there
to lure or kill him, who knows how far Betts will get this time? How
many people Mulder won't be able to save this time around? With that,
he tells his wife tersely, "I want Albert Tanner's body exhumed. And
a 24-hour watch around Elaine Tanner's house. If he goes to ground,
he's going to go home."

Scully looks at the mercurial change in her husband, then makes the
calls. "Mulder, what's going on?" she asks.

"I've just got a bad feeling," he mumbles, unwilling to explain any
further.

And in an hour and a half, that bad feeling is rewarded when the dead
bearded body of John Gilnitz tumbles out of the storage locker,
followed by Betts nearly running them over. And, as before, the car
goes up in a blaze of glory.

~*~*~

Curiously enough, although Scully's autopsy on Gilnitz reveals the
same thing, as does her examination of the complete but crispy
Leonard Betts (or Albert Tanner). One thing, however, puzzles him.
This time, Betts has a few bullet wounds in his body. "Perhaps
Gilnitz tried to defend himself," Scully theorizes.

"Yeah, but where's the gun?" Mulder asks.

She shrugs. "Maybe the same place Betts attacked Gilnitz. If he *was*
going after the cancer for nourishment and was able to regenerate,"
she looks at Mulder, "he probably didn't see a need to keep a gun."

Yeah, but he used an autoinjector of potassium chloride on Michelle
the last time, isn't that a weapon? he wants to ask.

And the visit to the cemetery brings more questions, not answers, at
least for Scully. For Mulder, it only cements his growing concern
that he won't be able to stop Betts this time. "We didn't find a
scalpel," he says in a monotone.

"What?" Scully frowns, shaken from their counter-theorizing.

"You said Gilnitz' lung was surgically removed, but we found nothing
like a knife or sharp weapon used to do the job," Mulder goes on, his
hazel eyes seemingly looking at the late Albert Tanner.

"It's possible it was in the car," Scully tells him, "fused in the
heat of the blaze to something unrecognizable."

Mulder shakes his head. "No, we would've found it," he says doggedly,
walking away, "if Leonard Betts truly was on that autopsy table."

"Where are you going?" Scully calls after him, already moving
quickly, despite being halfway dead from lack of sleep.

"Where do most kids go when they're hurt?" he asks. "Back to Mommy
Dearest."

~*~*~

The sun is rising, and Mulder squints against it in his race back to
Elaine Tanner's place. It's possible that they'll get to Betts before
he leaves, now that they've got the house surrounded. To his
astonishment, there are no cop cars around, in fact, the street looks
empty. "Where the hell is the security?" he demands, then kicks down
the door, gun in hand.

His wife takes more time getting out of the car, getting her bearings
as she wakes up. Smothering a yawn, she, too, pulls out her gun, but
being on high high heels and half-awake isn't a good combination.
Scully, concerned about her husband, asks, "What's going on?" There's
no answer, but she hears a scream, a shout, then gunshots. "Mulder!"
she shouts, running downstairs.

What greets her as she sprints through the basement is the sight that
puts everything into a surrealistic nightmare. Mulder is standing,
his shoulders slumped, gun in one hand and flashlight in the other.
Mrs. Tanner is wrapping her arms around herself, weeping incoherently
in her robe and curlers. And then there is Leonard Betts, hand still
clutching a scalpel, his eyes staring open as his body continues to
spasm with the jolts of electricity going from the scalpel embedded
in the fusebox.

Scully reaches out to the old woman, touching her arm gently. "Mrs.
Tanner."

The old woman glares, pulling away from the redhead. "Children should
never die before their parents," she says vehemently, her eyes
softening when the body finally stiffens. "I have what he needed."

Now Mulder looks up at Mrs. Tanner. "You have cancer," he says in a
wooden voice.

She frowns, then launches herself at her son. Only Mulder's quickness
prevents her from committing suicide by electrocution, and she curses
him. She continues to curse as Scully pushes the body away from the
fusebox with a plastic broomstick, cursing when the police swarm over
the house, cursing when the EMTs come to take her to the hospital.

When everyone else is swarming over the crime scene, Mulder and
Scully look at each other tiredly before heading out the door.
"Mulder, why didn't you shoot him instead of the fusebox?" she asks,
now that she's thinking a little more clearly past the insane events
of the morning.

"Remember those bullet holes in the other Betts body? I just guessed
that bullets had no, or only a temporary, effect on him," Mulder lies
through his teeth as he opens the rented car door.

Scully nods, absently buckling herself in when he closes the door.
"You were right," Scully says in a groggy voice when he starts the
car.

He almost reverses into the electric pole. She *must* be tired if
she's admitting that, he thinks. "Maybe she was right," Mulder says
seriously, not crowing about a victory for once.

"What do you mean?" she says, closing her eyes.

"Parents shouldn't outlive their kids," he says, driving carefully
since he's operating on as much sleep as his wife, which is very
little.

She frowns, her eyes blinking open. "Mulder," she says finally when
they're well on their way to the motel, "if this is a secret
murder-suicide pact, I'm leaving you and taking the kids."

He blinks, and a smile sprawls across his face. "There is no secret
murder-suicide pact," remembering the ghost of a ghost, "I was just
thinking of how selfish some parents can be." And his smile
disappears, thinking of his own.

"Mulder," she says, closing her eyes again, even as the morning sun
tints the sky a blazing red like her hair, "if we ever get selfish,
our kids will be the first to kick our asses."

His laughter is the last thing she hears as she slides into sleep,
giving her dreams of a bossy blonde little girl, an impish redheaded
boy, and countless other children, looking like variations between
herself and her husband, playing merrily together, untroubled by the
strange world around them.

~*~*~

Chapter Forty-Three

Washington, DC
February 8th, 1997
5:45 p.m.

"Okay. I'll be right over. Yes, right over." There's a faint edge to
Scully's voice on the second to last word.

Mulder looks up from scrubbing Sammy's high chair tray. He lets the
cloth drop, thinking that the tomato sauce can wait. "Problem?"

Scully brushes her hair off her forehead, so he knows that she's
preoccupied. Or annoyed. "Missy needs me tonight. You'll be okay with
the kids, right?"

"Of course," he quickly agrees. "What's wrong?" 

"She's got a sick friend…and she's afraid that she's going to die." 

He winces. "What of?" 

"Missy didn't say," Scully tells him, already putting her coat on.
"She didn't even mention which friend. Not that I can keep up with
her whirlwind social life anyway. I got the sense that it was a close
friend, at least."

He nods. "Drive carefully. We'll be fine here at Fort Mulder, so
don't worry about us."

"Don't say the F word, Mulder," Scully commands with a small shudder.

He opens his mouth, about to express his puzzlement given his didn't
swear and she'd never had objections to the word fort before, then
grins. "Okay, we'll be GOOD, then."

"That'll be the day," Scully mutters, but she reaches up for him to
kiss him on the cheek. "Don't let them stay up too late."

"Do you need to take anything with you? Like a change of clothes?" He
understood that "tonight" meant the whole night, and that she'd be
sleeping over.

"Nah, I've got an over-night bag from our last case in my car still."


"All right. See you in the morning then." He pauses. "You might want
to stop at a store on the way and buy some chocolate. I hear it
helps?" he explains when she stares at him.

"Not a bad idea. I'll be back before we need to leave for work,"
Scully promises on the way out the door.

~*~*~

5:55 p.m.

"Where did that sister of yours get to?" Mulder asks his son, as he
puts the boy on his hip. The little redhead grins at him, but doesn't
turn Page in. "I guess we'll have to look for her, then, won't we?"

"Yes!" Sammy crows. "Paaaaaageeee?" he shouts, looking around
Mulder's side. This makes Mulder grin.

Just then Mulder hears a knock at the door, so he puts down Sammy.
"Stay put."

"Did you forget something, Scully?" Mulder calls. The knock comes
again, so he goes and opens the door. "You're not Scully."

"They always said you were a bright man," Krycek says sourly. His
voice is a little muffled because he's holding a cloth to his nose.

"What do you want?" Mulder asks warily. Page runs to him, so he picks
her up as he looks at the man standing in the doorway.

Krycek moves his hand away from his nose and blood leaks out of his
nostril, looking lurid under the porch light. "I'm sick. I need your
help."

~*~*~

In spite of himself, Mulder finds himself opening the door wide to
allow the younger man in. Still, he nearly barks at Krycek when he
comes too close to Sammy, but in the end he ignores the baby and
slumps into a chair, so Mulder holds his tongue. Instead, he picks
Sammy up and puts him in the playpen with a few toys, and tells Page
to go play. "What's wrong with you?" Mulder asks him, already fairly
sure that he knows the answer.

The other man opens a folder that Mulder didn't even notice that he
was holding. In it is a gray and white film. Krycek twists in his
seat and holds the film above a lamp. The cranial x-ray, which has a
brighter area between the eyes. "They tell me it's cancer." He points
a finger at the irregular bright spot. "A tumor between my sinus and
brain. It explains the nose bleeds?" he asks with a hollow laugh.

Mulder winches. Back when he gave Duane Barry the other man's
address, he hadn't stopped to think of what might be done to him if
he was taken in Scully's place. Since Krycek had no eggs to steal, he
more or less expected that he'd be of no use to the kidnappers and
unlikely to suffer the same ill effects. It seemed as though he was
wrong.

"I'm sorry," Mulder says honestly. "What do you think I can do for
you?"

Krycek shrugs. "Did you and agent Scully investigate a group of alien
abductees who had cancer?"

Mulder nods. "I did. Scully was on maternity leave." 

"How unusual," Krycek says with a sneer that quickly fades.

"You think you were abducted by aliens?" Mulder asks.

"Of course not," Krycek snaps. "These people, though, they think they
know a doctor who can cure this type of cancer. But I need an in,
someone to vouch for me. You."

Even though he doesn't want to, Mulder feels that he owes it to help
Krycek out. If it wasn't for him, his wife would be the one sitting
before him with death's shadow over her. "When did you want to talk
to them?"

"Tonight. Now," Krycek says eagerly. A fresh trickle of blood oozes
from his nose, and he's quick to bring the handkerchief to his face
again.

The sight of the blood decides Mulder. He stands up with a sigh and
begins pulling coats off the coat tree. "My wife is going to kill me,
you know."

"Ask me if I care." 

~*~*~

Allentown, Pennsylvania 
9 p.m.

Three hours in a car with two toddlers seems to have worn Krycek out,
so his head is slumped against the window when Mulder finally pulls
into a driveway. Krycek looks so sick that he feels a stir of pity
for him, which is possibly compounded by how surprisingly good with
kids his nemesis has turned out to be. He kept the kids even better
entertained than Mulder or Scully usually could, until they both
dozed off.

Mulder shook Krycek's shoulder lightly. "We're here." 

Despite the relatively late hour, there's still a light burning in
the window of the house. "Do you think you're up to carrying Sammy?"
Mulder asks, and it feels slightly surreal to be handing his child
over to someone like Krycek. But the other man is in no condition to
run off with him, so he figures it's okay. "If you're not…"

"I can manage," Krycek mutters, holding out his arms for the sleeping
child. He carefully cradles the boy with his good arm, surprising
Mulder a second time.

He and Mulder trudge up the stairs, surprising a realtor who is
peeling a MUFON sticker off the window. She looks up at them. "It's a
little late for a tour."

::Oh great, she probably thinks we're a nontraditional family.::
"Actually, we're not here about the sale of the house. We're looking
for Betsy Higopian. No one's returning our messages."

"Sorry, um, Betsy's passed away, just two and a half weeks ago. Are
you a relation?"

::Geez, I'd hate to be dead two weeks before my family knew.:: "No,
we're with the FBI." Mulder glances at his sleepy children. "And I
couldn't get a babysitter," he adds.

"Is there some kind of trouble?" the realtor asks.

"Betsy was part of a MUFON group." Mulder points to the crumpled
sticker in her hand.

The woman gives him a blank look. "I don't know about any of that,
I'm just the realtor."

"Would you mind if we come inside and take a look?" The realtor
hesitates and Mulder shows his badge. She stands aside and they
enter.

Pretending to hear something, Mulder picks up the phone. "It sounds
like a modem. Someone must be sending a fax or something."

Krycek nods, but it doesn't seem as though he's making the sort of
connection that Scully would have. "Is that important?"

Mulder shrugs. "Maybe it'll be a lead. If someone doesn't know that
Betsy's dead…"

Krycek finally connects the dots. "Maybe they're sending her
information that could help me."

They go downstairs and find a computer. Mulder switches on the
monitor, which shows file transfers in progress. "Someone must have
remote access to the system. Looks like they're downloading data from
Betsy's computer. Maybe we can get a trace on this before they hang
up." Mulder pulls out his cell phone and calls for a trace.

~*~*~

Allentown, Pennsylvania 
Apartment 234
9:30 p.m.

"Apartment 234 is listed under Kurt Crawford," Krycek says, nodding
over Sammy's head. The little boy is awake, and staring at Krycek's
ears, seemingly fascinated. Mulder keeps giving him nervous glances,
sure he's going to pull on them, but he never does.

A man bursts through the front door just then. "You there! Stop!"
Mulder shouts in a commanding voice, but he's still surprised when
the young man does as he's told without having to be tackled. "Is
your name Kurt Crawford?"

"Yes." 

Mulder looks at Krycek. "Nose." 

The younger man quickly paws through his coat pocket for a tissue.

~*~*~
 
Inside the apartment Kurt lets Krycek use the bathroom while Mulder
and the kids sit in the living room and talk to the young clone.

Kurt nervously excuses himself to get a drink of water. When Krycek
comes out, Mulder fills him in. "He says he's a member of the same
Mutual UFO Network group that Betsy Hagopian belonged to, that he was
downloading files for safe keeping as Betsy had instructed him to."

"Then why did he come out of this place running?" Krycek asks.

"He thinks his life's in danger. He thinks there's a government
conspiracy to suppress the information gathered in those files."

"And you believe him?" 

"Well he seems to know an awful lot about Betsy and the other women
in the MUFON group that you mentioned back at my house." He pauses,
trying to think of how to break the news. "The women you wanted to
talk to…they're dead."

Krycek blinks, then turns to stare at Kurt, who is returning with a
glass clutched in his hand. "How did they die?"

"Brain cancer. All within the last year." 

Krycek seems unaware that he's reaching up to touch his nose.
"They're all dead?"

"Except for Penny Northern, and she's in the hospital and it doesn't
look good."

"The government got them too then." Krycek sighs heavily, and slumps
in his chair.

"You think the government gave you cancer, Krycek?" Mulder asks,
wondering suddenly what the younger man thought happened to him.

"I do," Kurt speaks up, surprising both Mulder and Krycek. "Eleven
women and three men are abducted, all with similar recollections
about the experience, all developing identical brain tumors, and all
refused state or federal health care because of their insistence of
the facts. And all dying within the space of a year. Who else could
orchestrate something like that?"

"The group you claim to be part of claims it was aliens," Mulder
tells Kurt, and the clone turns away.

"It doesn't matter how they got cancer, Mulder. Your little green
men, Big Brother, it doesn't change the fact that they're all dead,"
Krycek replies in Kurt's stead.

"They're not all dead. Penny Northern isn't." 

"I guess we ought to talk to Penny while she's still alive," Krycek
says grimly.

~*~*~

Allentown Bethlehem Medical Center

Mulder expects to get flack for bringing his son and daughter to the
hospital, but when the nurse just leads them up to Penny's room
without comment, he remembers that they're going to a hospice floor.
No one expects Penny to get better, so the vigilance against germs is
relaxed in favor of the comfort of visitors. Mulder nearly feels
guilty when he realizes that the nurse thinks that they're Penny's
family. Almost.

Penny smiles from her hospital bed when she sees them enter.

"Agent Mulder," she says with a nod of her head. "Good to see you
again. You've brought your children, I see. And Alex." Mulder smiles
in return, thinking of how good her memory is considering how brief
and perfunctory his visit was the last time they met. It had been a
simple day excursion right before the Buckman case, and he hadn't
even mentioned it to Scully.

Krycek, however, looks startled by Penny's warm greeting. "Do I know
you?"

"Maybe, Maybe not. I know you, Alex, but you might not remember me.
We were together when they…I comforted you in the place, after the
tests."

"I don't remember any of that." 

"It's all right." 

"If it's okay, I'd like to ask you some questions," Krycek says.

"About Dr. Scanlon?" 

"I'm not sure. Maybe. Who's Dr. Scanlon?" 

"He's treating the cancer. He treated Betsy, too. He thinks he might
have isolated the cause. And that if he'd caught it earlier he might
have been able to do more for her...and for me."

"Okay, yes, that's the doctor I wanted to talk to you about." 

A few minutes later they leave, and Krycek has filled a notebook with
information from Penny about the miracle doctor.

"For what it's worth, I hope that this doctor can help you," Mulder
offers when they get back to his car.

"It's funny, but I never thought about dying young," Krycek says.
"But then, I never thought I'd turn to you for help, either."

Mulder shrugs. "Stranger things have happened." 

Alex makes a barking sound that takes Mulder a moment to identify as
laughter. "Only someone assigned to the X-Files could say that."

~*~*~

The Next Morning
Washington, DC
7 a.m.

Still yawning over coffee, Mulder picks up the phone on the first
ring. "Scully? Let me guess, you're not going to be able to come to
the office today."

She sounds surprised. "How did you know that's what I was calling you
to say?"

"Your sister can be…" He struggles to find the right word.
"…intense."

"It's not like that. Exactly. I just thought that it would be a good
use of a personal day, spending some quality time with my sister."
Her voice is apologetic. "She doesn't ask a lot from me."

"I'll let Skinner know you'll be in tomorrow. But what about me?
Should I expect you home tonight? Or should I stop by with a case of
tissues?"

"Come hell or high water, I'll be home before you put the kids to
bed," Scully promises.

"Okay. Love you." 

"Love you too. Bye." 

There's a knock on the door not even fifteen seconds after he's put
the phone back. Amy's already there, so he wonders if it's Krycek
again. It isn't.

"If you want to help your friend, there's something you ought to
see," Kurt Crawford says without any preamble.

"He's not my-" Mulder stops himself since finishing his sentence
isn't going to do him any good. "If this is going to take long, I
ought to call Skinner and tell him that I'm not going to be in."

"Call him." 

::I don't know why I'm doing this…:: Mulder thinks as he wanders back
towards the phone.

~*~*~

 Lehigh Furnace, Pennsylvania 
Center for Reproductive Medicine
Noon

Kurt leads Mulder through a building, and disappears through a
doorway. When the door opens again, he waves his hand towards Mulder.
Two identical men stand behind him.

"Agent Mulder, come in," One of the Kurts says.

"You're hybrids," Mulder blurts out. He knew this, but he still feels
a measure of awe to see them there. It's too unusual a sight to be
passé.

"Please come in so that we might explain." 

Mulder walks in and sees a room full of growing tanks with hybrids
inside in a greenish liquid, as well as more hybrids.

"What is it that you're doing here?" 

"Subverting the project. The project that created us." 

Mulder rubs condensation off one of the tanks and sees a boy who
looks much like the ones he saw working with the clones of his sister
in another lifetime. "I've seen this boy before. These boys were
you."

"We're among the end results," one Kurt says.

"And you want to destroy them?" Mulder asks.

"No. What we want is the same thing that you want," a second Kurt
says. "To stop them from doing this to others."

Mulder and one of the hybrids enter a vault with many metal
compartments. "What are these?"

"Human ova." The Kurt's voice is emotionless.

"Taken from whom?" Mulder asks. He sees a metal drawer with Betsy
Hagopian's name on it. The hybrid points out another drawer with
Penny Northern's name on it. He offers up a silent prayer of thanks
when he sees that Scully's name isn't on any of the vials. He didn't
think there would be, but to see for sure…

He fingers the label of one of the vials with Penny's name on it. "I
know this woman."

"These are eggs that were stolen from her. Harvested during her
abduction, through a high amplification radiation procedure that
caused superovulation."

"Why?" 

"For fertilization. They constitute one half of the necessary raw
materials."

"For genetic hybridization… for reproduction. These women, these
women are your birth mothers," Mulder whispers, thinking again of the
fate Scully escaped, and how Krycek is suffering in her stead.

"Barren now, from the same procedure that caused their cancer. And
now they're left to die, their conditions hastened by the men running
this project."

"You're trying to save them." 

"They're our mothers." 

"And fathers," Mulder says, thinking of Krycek.

"And fathers," a clone agrees. "That's why we want to help your
friend."

"Is he your father?" Mulder asks curiously. He always wondered if one
of the women he met, like Penny Northern, was their mother.

The Kurt shrugs. "I'm not sure. Does it matter?" 

"I suppose not. But why does he have cancer? It's not as though any
special means were necessary to harvest genetic material from a man."

"To cover up their tracks." 

Mulder gives the Kurt a horrified look. "Are you saying that they
purposely gave him cancer?"

"Irradiation is handy," the Kurt tells him. "It's one of the lessons
from the Chernobyl disaster."

He shakes his head sadly. "Why did you want me to see all this?" 

"So you can convince him." 

"Who?" 

"Your friend." 

"To do what?" A buzzing fills his head suddenly.

"We want him to help us, and we'll help him." 

"All right, how do you want him to help you, and in exchange for what
help?"

"This man, Alex Krycek, we've investigated him. If anyone can help us
disappear, it's him."

"That tells me how he can help you," Mulder says pointedly.

"There's a healer. If he helps, we help him," Kurt reiterates. 

::Jeremiah Smith:: Mulder thinks. ::Maybe he got away, or maybe he's
not unique.:: "I'll try to convince him."

The Kurt nods. "That's all we ask of you." 

"So which one of you wants to go on a ride?" Mulder asks. He'd
personally prefer if it was the Kurt that he and Krycek talked to
before, but it's not as though he could pick him out of a lineup.

"I will," one says, before following Mulder out to his car.

~*~*~

"How's your sister?" Mulder asks.

"Fine." She becomes a little flustered when Mulder gives her a
disbelieving look. "Not fine, but I think she'll be okay. She said
something about a new treatment for whatever the disease is. She's
hopeful that it will work out for her."

"For whatever the disease is, huh? That's specific." 

"Well, she was pretty broken up about things, Mulder. I sort of got
the feeling that her friend didn't go into a lot of detail about what
she has, and only told people at all because of the potential that it
will be fatal."

"So it could be a kinky sex disease? It could," he protests when she
makes a face at him.

"I sort of wondered if it could be AIDS," Scully confesses. "Which
would make me worry about Missy."

"Even if it was, unless you think your sister is secretly the type to
share needles or boyfriends there's nothing to worry about." He's
surprised when Scully glares at him. "What?"

"I meant I worry because it's a hard disease to watch someone die
of."
 
"Oh. That too." 

~*~*~

Two Days Later

When Mulder gets to Krycek's apartment there are two Kurts their
helping him pack. Mulder wonders how Krycek would explain their
identical appearance if asked, then decides that people would readily
believe that they're twins.

Most of Krycek's possessions are in a moving van, and it looks like
the Kurts are putting the rest in two cars, one of them the sick
man's.

"So you're going to help them," Mulder comments as he reaches for a
box.

"What choice do I have?" Krycek asks heavily. "That doctor treating
Penny and Betsy wasn't successful with either of them-"

"Penny didn't make it?" Mulder feels a twinge of regret; in this
reality Penny didn't have Scully's presence to comfort her.

"No. I was with her last night when she passed away." 

 Mulder gives him a surprised look. "You were? Why?" 

"I've been asking myself that, too. Haven't you ever followed a
compulsion before?"

"All the time." 

"All I planned to do was stop by and ask her a question, but she
seemed to be feeling pretty bad, so I just sat with her. And then...I
never did get to ask her my question."

"Sorry." 

Krycek suddenly gives him a sharp look. "Why did you help me?" 

He shrugs. "You're sick. It doesn't seem like you have many other
people in your life who both can and would help you."

"Pity then." 

"Not exactly. Call it empathy. It doesn't strain my imagination much
to picture myself in your position. I'd hope to have someone willing
to help me too."

"The golden rule, Mulder?" Krycek says with a sneer. "Have you always
been such a boy scout?"

Mulder gives him a mock salute. "I live to serve." He puts the box
that he'd forgotten that he was holding in the trunk of Krycek's car,
and lets the trunk slam shut. "Good luck and get out of here."

"One more stop and I'm going to vanish." There's a faint smile on his
lips. "I hope I never see you again."

"Likewise." 

 ~*~*~

Three Hours Later

He can barely stand the look in Missy's eyes as she grabs his good
arm. "Don't go, Alex."

"I have to," he tells her with a sigh. The fact that he's really
going to miss her took him by complete surprise. Their relationship
has been one that's mostly about getting laid, so the deeper feelings
that he's finding make him uncomfortable. It was never his intention
to get so entangled with anyone that it would ever be hard to leave.
Working for the consortium leaves little room in mind for romance and
attachment.

"My sister's a doctor. She might be able to help you." There's a
slight note of desperation to the woman's voice.

Krycek opens his mouth, about to tell her that if her brother-in-law
has been telling tales out of school the good doctor probably
wouldn't piss on him if he were on fire, but he thinks better of it.
It wouldn't do to explain why the sister wouldn't help him. That sort
of explanation would epitomize "I could tell you but then I'd have to
kill you," and he likes Missy too much to kill her. "She can't help
me. No ordinary medicine is going to help this sort of brain tumor."

"So you're going to go chasing a quack cure in Mexico, then?" 

He winces a little. She swallowed his alibi too easily…he's not sure
that he wants to be that good a liar. "It's the only chance I have."

"Then let me go with you." 

"You can't." 

"I don't care what they told you the rules are, I-" 

"I don't want you to come with me." She turns from him suddenly, and
looks stung, so he softens his voice. "It means a lot to me that
you'd be willing to take care of me, but…if it doesn't work, I can't
bear to have you see me die."

"But-" 

"If I get well, I promise I'll be back." Someday, he adds to himself.

"And if you don't?" Missy's voice is suddenly teary.

"Then you'll move on, and maybe now and then think fondly on the fool
you once loved."

Those words are enough to set off the waterworks. He feels like an
adult for once as he tries to comfort her.

Later, as he's driving off in the direction of his meeting place with
the Kurts, he allows himself to wonder if he'll ever see Missy again.
Before now he hasn't let himself think about it, since the answer
hinges on if he gets better or not. For one shimmering moment, he
feels hope.

~*~*~

Chapter Forty-Four


Basement Office
February 12th, 1997
8:31 a.m.

Scully hands Mulder a photo of a dead man. "His name was Isaac Luria.
He lived in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn, home to a sect of
Hasidic Jews who have lived there since the late 19th Century."
 
"It's an area also known for its history of racial tensions and hate
crimes. Rosenbaum, Tawana Brawley."
 
"And now Isaac Luria. He was murdered two days ago in the market that
he owned. Severely beaten and shot five times at point blank range.
The police ruled out robbery because the only thing that was missing
was a video tape from the surveillance camera. The police found it
early this morning." She puts the tape into VCR, and the interior of
a small store fills the screen.
 
"Where did they find the tape?" 
 
"In the VCR of a 16 year old named Tony Oliver. That's him on the
upper right of the screen." On screen two other teens hold Isaac as
Tony Oliver punches him in the face.
 
"Has he been arrested?" 
 
"No, because he's dead. Apparently he was watching this tape when he
was strangled to death."
 
"Very Old Testament," Mulder says. ::Or "The Ring." Will the rampage
of murderous videotapes never end?::
 
"Yeah. But with a new twist. The Brooklyn Homicide detectives
contacted the FBI Civil Rights branch with an interesting set of
fingerprints that they pulled off of the boy's body."
 
"Interesting how?" Mulder asks to keep the conversation going. 
 
"They belonged to Isaac Luria." 
 
"Risen from the grave to avenge his own death? Like in that Crow
movie we watched a couple of years ago?"
 
"Remind me to punch the Gunmen sometime for loaning us the movie that
gave me nightmares," Scully says with a smirk that reminds Mulder of
the two nights she woke up in a panic after seeing the movie. "Some
people might assume that Luria has risen from the dead. It's probably
what someone would like us to think."
 
"But you have your own idea." 
 
"I think this is a crime of hatred like the crime that spawned it. A
hatred that goes back 4000 years but masquerading as something else
here. A callow attempt at murderous retribution disguised as spectral
justice."
 
"A resurrection hoax." 
 
"And not a very good one." 
 
"Yes, spectral figures are not often known to leave fingerprints.
Casper never did and all the smudges we have to pledge away at the
house come from our kids."
 
"Somehow the killer got a hold of Isaac Luria's fingerprints and we
have been asked to prove how," Scully says with a sigh. Her right
hand reaches around to rub her back. "I want to exhume the body and
see if the dead man's hands were…removed."

"Eeww." His wife stares at him. "What? You can't tell me that the
thought doesn't affect you the same way."
 
 ~*~*~

The Weiss Home
That Afternoon

After revisiting Jacob and Arial Weiss to ask permission to exhume
Luria, Mulder begins to get an idea why Scully was and is so eager to
believe that Weiss is their killer. The man's belligerence and
sanctimony do him no favors when it comes to others' keeping open
minds. If he didn't know for sure that the testy old man was
innocent, he might gun for him too.

In the car, Scully's next words reiterate what Mulder has been
thinking. "I'm afraid he knows who killed Tony Oliver, Mulder, and he
doesn't want us disturbing Isaac Luria's grave because he knows what
we'll find."
 
"Maybe..." He pulls the pamphlet out of the breast pocket of his coat
and hands it to her before starting the car. "...but it's hard to
fault his attitude when you see something like that. Anybody
delivering justice to a people who have known that kind of
persecution and hatred, why wouldn't they protect him?"
 
"Justice or revenge?" 
 
"I'm not saying those kids deserve full prosecution under the law,
but the hate mongering goes both ways."
 
"Yes, but the right to free expression doesn't extend to murder,"
Scully says.
 
"I bet whoever published that knows the boys who murdered Isaac
Luria. They might have a guess at who killed Tony Oliver, too. "

Scully startles him by tapping his arm with the pamphlet. "Is this
why you didn't want to raise the kids Jewish? I mean, we do nominally
celebrate Hanukkah, but beyond that…"

 Mulder shrugs. "I've never felt a deep connection to religion of any
sort, never mind one that'll have you persecuted by crazy people for.
You can't be accused of the wrong celestial alliances if you don't
make any at all. Why, do you think it's hurting the kids not to be
raised in any particular religion?"
 
"Not really. It's just that we barely talked about it." 

He nods. "If I find Jesus, I'll let you know." 

"Okay." 

"I wouldn't be surprised if he's hiding out with Elvis and Jimmy
Hoffa, actually."

"Mulder…" Her tone is a warning one, but she can't hide the smile in
her eyes.

~*~*~

Shortly thereafter a visit to Bjunes's store reaffirms Mulder's
belief in prejudiced idiots. He doesn't have much time to dwell on
it, because he's soon bribing Rachel to come back and stay late when
they get a call telling them that the exhumation they wanted is no
longer going to require Weiss' reluctant permission - someone has
gone to the trouble of thoughtfully disinterring the body for them,
then stuck around so they didn't have to wonder who did it.
 
Cemetery 
10 p.m.

Scully puts on her latex gloves and raises the body bag flap from
Clinton's face. She touches the deep bruises on his neck before
rezipping the body bag. The coroner's office workers take the body
away.

She walks up to Mulder who is crouched by the grave, putting on latex
gloves. "Ligature marks on the victim's neck are consistent with the
vigilante's MO. Forensics come up with anything?"
 
"Yeah, second set of footprints, but the mud is too soft to take a
mold."
 
"I guess Clinton was here with Derek Banks." 
 
"Looking for what?" 
 
Scully hops into the grave with as much grace as she can muster, then
looks up at Mulder and is surprised to see that he's staring at her
and his face is drained of color.

"Is there something horrible behind me?" she asks in a slightly
trembling voice.

He sounds puzzled. "No, why?" 

"You were looking at me like you'd just seen a ghost." 

"Sorry, I'm not good with graves," he mutters, clambering in beside
her. ::I've already seen you ready for a grave once before, so this
threw me.::
 
"I think maybe they came to desecrate the corpse as retribution for
Tony Oliver's death."
 
"That seems kind of redundant, doesn't it? Messing up somebody you
already killed?"

"I don't think we're dealing with rational thinkers, Mulder." 

 "I think they came here because they were afraid," Mulder says as he
crouches to the coffin.
 
"Afraid?" 
 
Mulder lifts a sheet of plastic covering the coffin lid. When he
does, a smell wafts up into the night air. They both cover their
noses.
 
"Afraid that man they hated enough to kill wasn't really dead." He
points at the corpse's intact hands. "Look, there goes your theory of
how Isaac's fingerprints got
onto the victim's body. What's that look like to you?" he asks,
indicating the dark marks on the hands.
 
"The body wasn't embalmed according to custom. Maybe it's postmortem
lividity or some sort of tattooing. It's hard to tell with this stage
of decomposition. In another week we wouldn't have a prayer of
figuring it out."
 
Mulder reaches down by the corpse's head. And pulls out the book he's
been looking for as they talk. "What's this? A little bedtime
reading?"
 
He doesn't get to open the book this time either before it bursts
into flames. "Fire!" he yells theatrically, even though he's not as
afraid of fire anymore.
 
~*~*~

Their final stop of the night is to go to the Judaic library to speak
to Kenneth Ungar about the book's significance. As before he confirms
that it's the Sepher Vetzirah, a Hebrew text that contains a creation
story. He tells them that it isn't buried with the dead, that it
shouldn't have caught on fire, and that it's marked with Jacob Weiss'
name, which all but convinces Scully of the man's culpability. By the
time they get home Mulder is too tired to try to convince her that
there might be another explanation.
 
 ~*~*~

Weiss Residence
The Next Morning

The look on Arial's face isn't friendly when she opens the door.
Without being told she knows that they're there about her father.
 
"Why do you want to see him?" 
 
"There's been another murder," Scully tells her. "Another suspect in
your husband's death has been found dead last night."
 
"Where was this?" 
 
"Next to your husband's grave," Mulder replies. 
 
"How does this concern my father?" 
 
Scully looks surprised that she has to ask. "Yesterday he expressed
strong negative feelings towards this latest victim."
 
"Those were just angry words." 
 
"And we found evidence placing him at the crime scene. This is
escalating into something else Arial. Something that has to stop."
 
"My marriage to Isaac...you have to understand how much it would have
meant to my father."
 
"What do you mean, would have meant?" 
 
"We got our marriage license a few weeks ago, but the wedding wasn't
to be until today."
 
"I'm sorry." 
 
"I'd like to show you something." 
 
She picks up a glass dome and holds it up for them to see. Inside is
large silver ring shaped like a cathedral. She makes sure that they
both have seen the ring before speaking. "It's a communal wedding
ring made in Colon, a village near Prague. My father was an
apprentice to the man who designed it."
 
"It's beautiful." 
 
"Hmm. Every woman who got married in the synagogue wore this ring as
a symbol that she was a queen, her husband a king. And a home...They
made a castle...not only on their wedding day, but for the rest of
their lives together. But most of those lives ended
in one day in the spring of 1943. 9000 Jews were massacred after
digging their own graves."
 
"But your father survived," Scully notes. 
 
"Because he was ten years old. He had small fingers to make bullets
at a munitions factory." Arial's voice holds a bitter note.
 
"And through all this, he hid the ring?" 
 
"Even after the war he hid it, even from my mother." 
 
"Why didn't he use it for their wedding?" Scully asks. 
 
"Because to him, it was a dead relic from a forgotten place. Until
the day that I told him I was getting married, and for the first time
in fifty years, he took out this ring. He said it was like his
village was born again. He knew how much I loved Isaac."
 
"Arial, tell us where your father is." 
 
"I know my father. He would never kill anyone." 
 
"What if you're wrong?" 
 
~*~*~

The rest of the afternoon is eventful. Arial gave in and told them
that her father was at his synagogue, and they're attacked by a
swift-moving figure shortly after finding Derek Banks, hanged. They
nearly have to shoot Jacob Weiss before he surrenders.

Later, Arial melts down when she learns that her father has
confessed. The confession leaves a sour taste in Mulder's mouth too,
because he knows that the confessed in innocent. Not that he has any
luck convincing Scully that it was another man, not Jacob that
knocked him down in the synagogue, and who was probably their
murderer. He hasn't even begun to broach the possibility of the
supernatural yet, knowing already that it'll be futile until she sees
with her own eyes.

All in all it's a very long day. 

~*~*~

A Few Hours Later

Although he volunteered to put the kids to bed, Scully insists that
she wants to do it herself. He hides a smile of amusement as she
attempts to put Sammy on her hip, but is thwarted by her finally
rounding belly. She holds him under the arm pits, much in the way
their grandmother did that one time, but puts him down a few seconds
later when he howls in protest, more indignant than pained.

Just before Mulder offers to help a second time, she seems inspired
to help Sammy learn to navigate the stairs, which he does with a look
of intense concentration on his little face. They disappear up the
staircase, but the sound of Sammy's hard little shoes smacking the
hardwood floor tells him that Scully's lowered him over the baby
gate.

Slipping his wedding ring off his finger, he examines it in the
light. It's not nearly as elaborate as the ring that Arial showed
them, since it's just a simple band of gold. The choice for their
rings had been left entirely to Scully, and she had mundane taste in
jewelry. He tilts it, so he can read the inscription. They'd joked
about having it read "Fox and Dana forever" but in the end, they'd
both blurted out the phrase that would mean something more to them.
They saw it every day. "I want to believe."

Leaning back in his chair, he stared at the dent in his ring finger.
He saw it every day too, because he took it off to shower and to
sleep, afraid to lose the ring down the drain like a sitcom character
or to toss it off somewhere while dreaming. But for the first time in
three years, he looks at it with purpose. For a moment he tries to
imagine what it would feel like if that ring was no longer on his
finger, because he somehow lost Scully. Again. Death and divorce are
simple facts of life, and it hurts to think about screwing up so
badly that one or the other happens.

"Mulder?" 

Before he looks up, he puts his ring back on, and feels safer.
"Yeah?"

"Do you suppose I could take you up on that backrub offer now?" 

"Is the baby being mean to you?" he asks sympathetically, getting up
so she doesn't have to walk to him. "Maybe we can get my mom to sign
him or her up for soccer now."

Scully smiles tiredly and shakes her head. "It's just my muscles." 

"I'll try to get them to apologize," he promises, slinging an arm
around her. "I'll put the squeeze on them until they do."

"My hero." 

~*~*~

Forty-five minutes later Scully is sleeping peacefully. Mulder has
his head on her chest, and his nose is pressed up against her belly.
He almost starts when the baby's well-placed kick gets him, but he
doesn't. Instead he turns his thoughts towards the unborn.

Scully is still uninterested in learning the gender of their unborn
babies, and he likes the surprise as well, so this is their third
time not knowing if they're expecting a son or daughter. Mulder finds
that he doesn't really have a preference, since a boy or a girl would
be good.

Stretching a little, he puts a hand on Scully's belly, and it doesn't
seem to disturb her. For a fleeting moment he imagines that the baby
will be a boy. With William, that'd be three little boys, and that
sounds like a lot. He remembers being a little boy himself… Maybe two
boys and two girls would be better. ::Not that it matters as long as
the baby is healthy.:: His eyelids droop.

Just as he drifts off he begins to imagine his four children playing
together. Sometimes this unborn baby is a boy, sometimes a girl, but
always a redhead like Sammy. It must be far into the future, because
William toddles after his older siblings, and all four of them are
laughing happily.

~*~*~

Two hours later Scully wakes up and hears a soft voice. Her first
thought is to wonder if it's Mulder's ghosts, but then she realizes
that he's is talking in his sleep. She rolls her eyes over the
thought of ghosts, and wonders what that says about her sanity that
she's thought of it first.

"I've spent too much time listening to your theories, Mulder," she
says aloud.

"Yeah." 

She wonders for a moment if he's away, but she looks at him and sees
that he clearly isn't. It only takes a moment to decide to see if
he'll keep talking to her. "Hey Mulder, what are you dreaming about?"

"Our kids." 

"Sammy and Page?" 

"Yeah. And the baby and William." 

Scully smiles in the dark. "Who's William?" 

"Our son. Someday." Mulder's voice is barely a sigh. "But not for
years."

"Do you know which year?" 

"Two thousand and one. I think he'll be our youngest son." 

"Oh, okay," Scully says and then lets him fall back into deeper
sleep. Her last comment is only for herself. "I guess he really does
want more kids."

There's still a smile on her face when she falls asleep.
 
~*~*~

Upper East Side Manhattan
Judaica Archives 
The Next Morning
 
Mulder startles a reading Kenneth Ungar when he appears before him as
quietly as a ghost.

"Agent Mulder!" 
 
"There's something you didn't tell me about the contents of this
Sepher Vetzirah."
 
"What is it you want to know?" 
 
"I want to know about the myth of the Golem." 
 
"This is a mystical text. These pages are filled with Golems and
vivics and demons of every size and shape." His hand gropes for his
glasses, making Mulder wonder how he was able to read earlier.
 
"It's the just the Golem that I'm interested in," Mulder tells him,
sitting down in an empty chair across the table.
 
"And I'm interested in why an FBI agent would be so interested in
such a thing."
 
"I have a suspicion that warrants investigation." 
 
"The early Cabolists...they believed that a righteous man could
actually create a living being from the Earth itself. Fashioned from
mud or clay...This creature could only be brought to life by the
power of the word. In practical terms by the direct application of
certain secret letter combinations. "
 
"Combinations found in that book?" 
 
Ungar nods and opens the book to a page of hebrew Mulder can't read.
"See? These
pages, they're basically instructions for animating the inanimate And
this...this passage here talks about inscribing a single word on the
Golem itself."
 
"On the back of his hand?" Mulder asks. 
 
"I'm impressed." 
 
::You shouldn't be impressed, you should be terrified.:: he doesn't
allow his face to betray his thoughts." What's the secret word?"
 
"Emet. See." He points to three symbols of the text. "Aleph, Mem,
Tau...Creates the word, Emet."
 
"I don't speak Hebrew, I don't know what that means," Mulder says,
suddenly feeling a little defensive about his irreligiousness.
 
"Truth. Emet means truth. See, Mr. Mulder, therein lies the
paradox...because the danger of the truth is contained in the word
Golem itself. Which means matter without form, body without soul."
 
"So the Golem is an imperfect creation." 
 
"Oh, kind of a monster, really. Unable to speak or feel anything but
the most primitive of emotions. It runs amok. It has to be destroyed
by its creator."
 
"Destroyed, how?" 
 
Kenneth flips through the book to find the page. "By erasing the
first letter, Aleph. Emet becomes met...which means dead. Again, Mr.
Mulder...the power of letters, not just to create, but to kill."

Mulder nods. "That was the premise of a horror movie from a couple of
years ago. In The Mouth of Madness. A writer's words became reality,
and a deadly reality at that."

"Few people understand the weight of words," Ungar agrees sagely,
making Mulder a little nervous about the man's sanity.

He thanks the librarian and leaves, stopping on the walkway when his
cell phone rings.
 
"Yeah?" 

His wife's voice breaks over the line. "Mulder, it's me. There's been
another homicide."
 
"Who?" 
 
"Herb Bjunes. I'm on my way to the print shop right now." 
 
"Okay, I can be there in ten minutes." 
 
~*~*~ 

Bjunes Copy Shop
 
After they look through the dead man's hate literature, a detective
calls them over to a video monitor.
 
"The image is fuzzy, but I think we've got a hit. There." He points
to the screen once he's paused the tape. The man in the frozen frame
is readily recognizable.

"Oh, my God. It's Isaac Luria. He's still alive." Scully's hand goes
to her mouth.
 
"I'm not so sure about that," Mulder replies, not bothering to
clarify if he doubts it's Luria or doubts he's alive.
 
* 

Scully looks up from her call, trying to spot Mulder in the milling
crowd of people investigating the anti-Semitic copier's death. He
sees her and comes over.
 
"No. That won't be necessary," she tells whomever she's speaking to
before hanging up. "Well, the coroner matched Luria's dental records.
It was definitely his corpse in the grave. This video tape...it must
have been altered some how. Planted by whoever is staging this hoax."
 
"It's not a hoax, Scully. It never was." 
 
She gives him a puzzled look. "But if Luria is dead, Mulder..." 
 
"This is not Luria. Not really." 
 
"Well, who do you think it is? Some kind of a ghost?" 
 
"A ghost is spirit without form. I believe what we're looking for and
what we're seeing here, is...is form without spirit. Something called
a Golem."
 
"A Golem? I know I've heard that word recently, but it's not ringing
any bells."
 
"It's kind of a man made monster described in Jewish folklore. It's
fashioned through mud and then animated through mystical
incantation."
 
"Mud! Mulder, what are you talking about? "

He gives her a reproving look. "You find that hard to believe? What
about 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust'?"

"That's a metaphor, Mulder," she says, becoming irritated.

"The Mayans didn't think so. Their creation myth The Popul Vuh
depicts humans being made of earth as well."

"Okay, so there's theological evidence in several cultures that link
dirt and humans. But that's here nor there. Even if someone could
create a Golem, for what purpose? Exacting revenge?"
 
"I don't think it was hate that created this, Scully. I think it was
love."
 
Scully looks up at him with a frown. "Then it would be a killing
love."

Despite her remark he can tell that she doesn't believe him.
 
~*~*~

Synagogue
Two Hours Later 
 
As soon as they enter the building they see Jacob hanging from a
rope, still alive and struggling weakly. Mulder walks quickly to him
and grabs his legs, lifting up slightly to create slack on the rope.
It was Scully's task before, but before he wasn't worried that Jacob
might accidentally kick her in the belly.
 
"Scully, there's a knife over there on the alter. Get it please?"
Once she brings it he wraps one arm around the man's feet and reaches
up to cut the rope. He stumbles when the man's weight falls on him,
but manages not to drop his burden.
 
Once Mulder's put Jacob on the floor he and Scully loosen the rope
and she looks the now unconscious man over. "His pulse is thready."
 
"Will he be all right?" Mulder asks, genuinely uncertain. Events have
twisted away from the previous reality, so who's to say it wasn't
Scully holding him up that saved him the time before?
 
"If we get him to a hospital," she says grimly, watching him stand.
"Where are you going?"
 
"To find Arial."
 
"Be careful," she reminds him, reaching for her phone to dial 911. 

~*~*~

Mulder does a quick search of the synagogue and soon sees Arial
sitting on the
floor, crying.
 
"Arial? We found your father. He's alive. He's going to be okay. I
know about Isaac. Where is he?"
 
"I don't know," she claims, and this time he knows that she's lying. 
 
"Come on. We gotta get outta here." She shakes her head and makes no
move to comply. "Come on, Arial." He tries to lift her to her feet
like he might a sulking Page.
 
"No..." She resists his attempts to get her moving. They hear a noise
and turn. The Golem is standing there, looking at them impassively.
"Isaac?" she asks, voice quavering.  Arial breaks free of Mulder's
grasp and tries to go to Isaac, but Mulder pulls her back and behind
him.

He pulls his gun and aims it as the Golem, knowing it will do no
good. "Stop or I'll fire."
 
"No!" Ariel shrieks, obviously feeling otherwise about the bullet's
potential stopping power.
 
The figure keeps walking toward them. Mulder shoots twice, each
bullet hitting the target, not fazing the Golem in the least.
 
"No! Stop..." Arial demands, and it's unclear whom she's speaking to,
Mulder or the Golem.
 
Mulder continues firing as the Golem gets closer. The Golem lashes
out at Mulder and Mulder is flung to the floor. The Golem's hands
find Mulder's neck and they squeeze, choking him.

The numbness leaves Arial's face as she finally seems to realize that
the Golem is fully capable of killing, and has every intention of
killing the man investigating his death. "Isaac!" Arial's voice gets
the Golem's attention and he turns his head in her direction.
 
She has the ring in her hand. The Golem stops choking Mulder and
looks at her. He goes to her. As he gets closer and out of the
shadow, she sees his face and cries out. He takes the ring and holds
it at the end of her ring finger.
 
Arial speaks in Hebrew. "I am to my beloved...as my beloved is to
me." Isaac puts the ring on her finger. She smiles to him and they
curtsey. She kisses his hand tattoo… and then reaches out a gentle
hand to him and erases the Aleph symbol on the back of his hand. "I
loved you." Her tone speaks of finality and regret.
 
They look at each other as she cries and his face deteriorates,
turning back to mud. Scully comes in time to see the figure begin to
dissolve.
 
"Mulder..." She runs to him. He's still lying on the ground catching
his breath. "Are you okay? I heard shots fired." She helps him up.
"What happened?"
 
They look over at Arial. She's kneeling over Isaac's body, which has
slumped to the floor. She is caressing his shoulder and arm.
 
"What is she doing?" 
 
"Saying goodbye." 
 
Isaac had turned to dirt. Arial picks up a handful and lets it spray
over the body as she continues to pray and caress him.
 
Scully turns to leave once Mulder gets to his feet. He hesitates,
still looking at the crouching woman. "Coming, Mulder?"

"In a minute." 

Mulder approaches Arial, and looks down into her tear-streaked face.
"You don't understand what it's like to so desperately want for
someone to be alive again. How it feels to be convinced that any
means that'll bring them back is acceptable," Arial says, her voice
verging on a sob.

Mulder looks at her helplessly. It's on the tip of his tongue to
blurt out every thing: that he does know that sort of desperation,
that he has made a choice that could have turned out to be just as
monstrous...but he can't say any of that.

"I'm sorry," he says simply.

Arial looks up at him with wet eyes. "Am I going to go to jail now?" 

"I don't think there's anything they can hold you on." 

"But those three boys and that printer..." 

He shakes his head. She might not be going to prison, but the guilt
will torment her. If only things had turned out as well for her as it
did for him. He spent a moment wondering if Elsbeth ever visited this
neck of the woods, and by the time he looks up, Arial is gone.

~*~*~

Washington DC
That Night

"Scully?" She doesn't turn, so he calls to her again. "Scully." 

When she turns to him he sees a dullness in her eyes, and he knows.

"Oh, god, what have I done?" he whispers to himself, looking at the
monster he's summoned forth. There's no warmth to her features as she
reaches out to him, just like he wanted, and he screams when she
touches him-

"Daddddy!" a small voice wails fearfully and Mulder's eyes snap open
in time to see his small and tearful son snatch his hand away from
his father's arm.

"Hey, it's okay, Buddy," Mulder tells him as he gently draws the boy
up onto the bed. "Daddy had a bad dream, that's all."

"Daddy sweeping?" Sammy asks, sniffling a little and wiping his eyes
with one fist.

"Yeah, I was sleeping." Something hard pokes into Mulder's side.
"What have you got?" he asks, realizing for the first time that his
son is holding a book.

"Daddy read," Sammy demands, holding the book up for Mulder to see.

Mulder has to force himself not to jump out of bed when he sees the
cover. Golem by David Wisniewski.

"Mulder? Is Sammy in here?" Scully asks before poking her head into
the room. "I'm sorry he woke you up. I put him in a playpen in Page's
room while I did laundry. Guess who can get out of the playpen now?"
She shakes her head. "At least I think that he got out on his own, I
wouldn't put it past Page to have pulled him out."

"Scully, where'd he get the book?" Mulder asks, pointing a finger at
the offending picture book.

"Oh that. My mom bought the kids some new books last weekend - there
was a sale on new picture books at the mall. I knew that the word
Golem sounded familiar!"

"Yeah…want to read it to him? I don't think I'm up to it," he says
with a small shudder that she misses.

"Sure." 

She scoops up both toddler and book, leaving him to lie in bed, still
shivering.

~*~*~

Chapter Forty-Five

Feb. 23, 1997
6:03 a.m.

Scully hits the snooze button on her clock, then rolls over to her
side. Her stomach's getting noticeably bigger, and Skinner has
threatened to force her into maternity leave. So far, she's resisted,
since she's not expecting twins or anything out of the ordinary, and
her pregnancy's fine. Even as her eyes flutter closed, she hears some
muttering and some other suspicious noises, and she exhales slowly.
She hopes Mulder didn't let the kids eat sweets again, but keeps her
eyes shut. She will not face the day if she doesn't have to, dammit.

Then a little voice pipes up, "Happy birthday to you," and the fact
that it's on key makes her sit up and open her eyes. She sees her
husband carrying a tray of food in his hands, a huge smile on his
face, and Sammy on his leg. Page is still singing the happy birthday
song, remarkably on key, and holding Teliko and Piper in each arm.
"Happy birthday, dear Mommy," her little girl sings, plopping herself
and the kittens on the bed, "happy birthday to you." Then she frowns
at the kittens. "Kittens not sing. Rach-all made kittens sing."

Mulder chuckles and plants a kiss on his wife's forehead before
gently placing the breakfast tray on her lap and away from kid and
kittens. "I think our nanny actually taught her something useful," he
murmurs as his wife gives a shell-shocked look at her breakfast in
bed. "Happy Birthday, Dana."

She shakes her head bemusedly at the use of her first name, then
quickly blows out the small candle on the sno-cone. "You shouldn't
have," she says drily, hugging her daughter.

"We made choc'lit milk an' toast," Page declares proudly, "Daddy made
cake."

Scully looks at the pink sugary concoction with the smoldering
candle, the muddy-looking milk, and burnt toast slathered with butter
and jam. "I see." Try as she might, she can't help the corners of her
mouth dancing upwards into a smile. "Thank you very much Page," she
says, kissing her daughter's forehead, "ooh, and thank you, Sammy,"
she says as her son crawls onto the bed, "and you, Mulder," she
kisses his sandpapery cheek.

~*~*~

"Mommy no work today!" Page yells, bouncing on the bed and
threatening to topple the food and drink.

"What?" Scully looks up at her husband once she has the breakfast
tray in her hands.

"Skinner insisted," he shrugs, "He's the boss." 

Scully glares at him, then sighs. "Sure. Fine. Whatever." She takes
another look at the burnt toast. "Now who had a bite of Mommy's
toast?"

The kids giggle, and Sammy smiles openly, his few teeth and tongue
showing the evidence of burnt toast crumbs. "Be glad I got it before
he drooled all over it." Mulder grins.

"That's all right, Sammy can help Mommy eat the toast." Scully grins
back.

Then Page chimes in, "Can I help Mommy eat cake?" 

Scully looks at her daughter, who has a suspicious puppydog-like look
on her face. "Sure," she says, and both kids dig in merrily as their
mother takes a judicious sip of very chocolate milk, her eyebrow
raised at her husband.

~*~*~

It's a surprisingly warm day in Washington D.C, and Mulder's taking
advantage of that and the fact that he's got a day off, too. Whether
it's because he deserves it or Skinner wants him out of his thinning
hair, Mulder doesn't know which, but doesn't care. It's a great day,
he's spending it with his family, and all's right with the world.
Still, there's something at the back of his head that's been niggling
at him, and he knows it's important. But this past week, he's been
working on cases as well as Scully's birthday present, so he's been
pretty occupied.

He takes the family to places he knows Scully will enjoy, like the
museums and classical music performances, as well as the park so they
can all sit back and relax a while. He doesn't want to overdo any
activity for his wife, even if she may protest that she can handle
it. Finally, he takes them to someplace for the kids, keeping his
face as poker straight as possible so he can hear Scully groan
loudly.

"You really had me going for a while there," Scully makes a face as
they pull up to Chuck E. Cheese's. "It was all a sucker punch to get
us here, wasn't it?"

He grins. "Anything for my beloved heavenly wife," he says, bowing as
he opens the door for her.

She rolls her eyes and slowly gets out of the passenger seat while he
opens the back door for the kids and unbuckles Sammy from his baby
chair. "It's a good thing it's our day off," she says, holding Page's
hand, "or I'd be injecting a strong sedative into your bloodstream."

He leans over to her and says in a low voice, "Only if you snap on
those prophylactic gloves, you sexy G-woman, you."

Scully laughs as they walk into the haven for hyperactive children,
her stomach rumbling happily as they all inhale the unhealthy fast
food fragrance.

~*~*~

A small group of CEC employees approach their table, but instead of
singing "happy birthday" with the cake, they sing:

"Ow, she's a brick house
She's mighty, mighty, just lettin' it all hang out
Ow, she's a brick house
I like ladies stacked, that's a fact, ain't holdin' nothin' back
Ow, she's a brick house
Well-built together, everybody knows, this is how the story goes!" 

Scully wants to glare at her incorrigible husband and her innocent
children, but instead laughs uproariously. She's still giggling when
Mulder presents her with a cheesy little space shuttle keychain while
the erstwhile employees chant, "shake it down, shake it down, shake
it down." Part of her wants to hide under the table, while the more
practical, and perhaps brazen part, tells her there's no way a
pregnant woman could hide under these tables so she may as well enjoy
the publicity. "I knew you weren't just a Valentine's Day romantic,"
she smirks at her husband.

"Of course not," he says, wiping her face free of cheesy pizza before
kissing her full on the mouth.

A woman with longish blonde hair approaches their table hesitantly.
"Are you Mulder? And Scully?" Her already wide eyes widen further
when she sees the children.

Oh no, Mulder thinks when he sees her, Max. Shit.

Scully's still got that bemused look on her face as she turns to her
husband. "Mulder, is this another one?"

The blonde woman looks even more startled, but seats herself beside
Sammy nonetheless. "My name is Sharon Graffia. I'm sorry to approach
you like this, but I followed you. I was asked to find you if
something happened."

Now Scully frowns at the woman. "Excuse me?" 

"You have no good reason to believe me, but my brother, who I believe
you know, he said you'd understand what to do." She looks away from
the kids, who are eyeing her with wide-eyed wonder. "If he didn't
make it."

"If who didn't make it?" Mulder asks, even as he's dreading the
answer.

"Max," Sharon says, "Max Fenig." Even as Mulder gives his wife a
pained expression and Scully has a familiar open-mouthed one, the
blonde woman goes on. "He was on his way here to deliver something
that made him fear for his life, something he said the government
would kill for...but his plane, it went down two hours ago."

~*~*~

It's tricky getting a last minute flight to New York, especially with
kids, but Mulder and Scully pull some strings and then some. They
make it to the Northville briefing as Mike Millar, head of the plane
recovery unit, is getting through the preliminaries. Curious stares
accompany the two FBI agents and their family, but Mulder's used to
that, while Scully tries not to fidget uncomfortably. They, along
with the rest of the workers in the hangar, listen to the last words
of the pilot of Flight 549 talking to tower control on the cockpit
flight recorder. Even as the pilot screams "Mayday!" Scully tries to
cover both Sammy's and Page's ears. What the hell are they doing
here, she wonders, and on their day off?

Then again, Scully muses as Mulder steps forward, we never do seem to
take a decent vacation. For the second time that night, or perhaps
the first time the next morning, she wants to hide as Mulder proposed
that Max, a multiple alien abductee, predicted plane crash and that a
UFO may have forced Flight 549 down. She isn't surprised when Millar
shoots down Mulder's farfetched theory as easily as, well, a flying
saucer. At least Mulder didn't say that the FBI supported his theory,
which is a first. As he rejoins his family, followed by the laughter
of the others, there's a smile on his face. She doesn't trust that
smile, since it's the "I know something you don't" one that has
plagued their partnership from day one. "Mulder," she says in a
sarcastic voice, "you sure know how to make a girl feel special on
her birthday."

"I try," he shrugs, hoisting Sammy onto his hip. "You wanna chase
down flying saucers? Huh?" he asks, bouncing the little boy, who
giggles.

Scully rolls her eyes. "Don't encourage him," she says, but whether
she's talking about Mulder or Sammy even she's not sure. All she
knows is, in spite of his lighthearted play with his son, there's
something suspiciously like guilt rippling under her husband's voice.

~*~*~

Millar is surprised when he learns that the kids will be accompanying
their parents, but since Mulder and Scully don't exactly trust
complete strangers with childcare, he grudgingly allows the little
ones to strap on face masks with the others. The crash site is one of
unmitigated horror, and Scully prays that her children don't
understand what they see in front of them, that the unimaginable will
be incomprehensible. She has Sammy strapped firmly to her back so he
doesn't fall in or play in the corpse-filled mud, and Mulder likewise
has Page on his back. Even as she and her husband relate the chilling
facts to each other, she knows that it's only a way to desensitize
themselves from remains in front of them.

Scully spots a hand protruding from the water like a gruesome parody
of the Lady of the Lake in the King Arthur story, except it's a man's
hand and the only thing on it is a wristwatch. She starts to walk
towards it, but Mulder holds her back and, even as she pouts, he
wades over.

He tugs experimentally, his eyes widening as the forearm shows itself
unattached to anyone or anything. Quickly, he glances at the watch
before placing it on a floating piece of wreckage. As he makes his
way back, he finds another watch and wraps it in tissue before
picking it up. "This reads 8:01," he says, even as Page makes a
futile grab for it. "So did the other one. What did they give as the
time of the crash?" he asks, knowing the answer.

Scully glances at her notepad. "Um, 7:52 p.m." 

"That's nine minutes difference," he says, looking out at the dismal
scene.

"It must be a mistake," she frowns, taking the watch from him.

"Nine minutes, Scully," he says, turning back to her. "Do you
remember the last time you were missing nine minutes?"

She sighs loudly, then shifts the baby on her back and tries to
stretch a little to accommodate the baby in her stomach. "Mulder, no
one even reported the plane on radar. These guys are just going off
of estimates until they can recover the data recorder," she says
reasonably.

As Mulder begins to express his doubts about finding Max, they hear a
shout for a medic, and they race over to the scene in seconds, in
spite of each carrying a child on their back, or in Scully's case,
her stomach as well. Even as she kneels beside the horribly burned
man, Scully goes into doctor mode, "We need an airlift to a burn unit
as soon as possible! This man needs oxygen and a saline I.V.!" She
leans over him and asks loudly, "Sir? Can you hear me?" She resists
the urge to check his vitals physically, as any unnecessary touch
would cause the man immense pain, reassured that he's breathing.
"Sir?"

~*~*~

Sharon Graffia, for all the mail that she brought over, is still
holding back. Some things never change, Mulder thinks morosely,
waving the Geiger counter over the wreckage being reassembled in the
enormous hangar. And Scully, despite her obvious pregnancy, looked
after the burned patient, a Mr. Larold Rebhun, before going through
Max's mail.

I wish you got abducted and returned safely this time, Mulder thinks,
I wish everyone returned safely this time. Dammit. But would the same
thing happen if Max took another flight? Or would Max have gone on
this flight, in spite of being warned? Mulder sighs. Max went on this
flight anyways, despite the known and unknown threats to his life.
Tons of questions chase through the FBI agent's mind, even as his
feet and the Geiger counter take him to Max's last known place of
existence. He hears his wife's impossibly sensible high heels
tick-tock across the concrete, along with his daughter's shuffling
shoes, and turns around. "According to the manifest, Rebhun sat
here," he says, pointing the counter to the mess, "in 13-D, the aisle
seat. My guess is that Max would've been in 13-F, the window seat."
He makes another wave of the wand. "But the manifest has him listed
as-"

"Paul Gidney," Scully interrupts him smoothly. "It's an alias that
Max Fenig used in his letters when he went underground. He had many
aliases, in fact, one of which he used to get a job at the Rocky
Flats Environment Energy Site in Colorado where they handle and store
uranium 235 and weapons-grade plutonium."

"You think Max was carrying plutonium?" Mulder asks flatly.

Scully lets go of her daughter's hand, and Page toddles over to her
father. "Mulder, the burns on that passenger's face were deep tissue
radiation burns. I don't know how else he might have gotten them."

Robotically, Mulder lifts his daughter up and balances her on one
hip, even while holding the Geiger counter. "So you think Max was
carrying a bomb that caused this crash?"

"Mulder," she says, then stops. "He wrote thousands of letters
detailing his abduction experiences, but around January, started
making vague references to a theft. My guess is that if he was
carrying fissile plutonium, and it became exposed in the cabin, it
very conceivably could have caused the crash." She puts a hand on his
arm. "It was probably an accident," she says softly.

Mulder shakes his head. He repeats his theory, not because he
believes it, but because he prays it's the truth this time. "I think
Max was abducted. Sucked right out of this door at 29,000 feet. The
burns we're seeing are a result of that abduction. And all the
evidence will point to this conclusion but it will be dismissed
because of its improbability, its unthinkability. The crash of Flight
549 will go unsolved unless we find a way to prove it. And when Max
is returned, he's going to tell us exactly the same story unless
someone gets to him first."

Scully is silent during this tirade, giving Sammy a pacifier to suck
on and wishing she could pacify her husband as easily as she can
their son. "Mulder," she says, and the way he stiffens, she knows he
knows it's not good news, "Max is returned. I found out a few minutes
ago. They found his body a short way from the wreckage earlier
today."

Mulder's looking at the crumpled passenger seat. "You sure?" 

"Traveling under the name of Paul Gidney, seat 13-F, with the same
burns as his seat mate." Her voice is still soft, as if to lessen the
blow.

What's unexpected to both her and him is his tears. "No," he says,
his voice choking. "That's not possible." As he says it aloud, it
only serves to cement the dread fact.

Scully wraps her arms around him, as does their children, who are
crying because their daddy is crying. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she says
in a thick voice.

So am I, Mulder thinks, unable to voice it for a number of reasons.

~*~*~

Later, as Mulder identifies the late Max Fenig, nee Paul Gidney of
seat 13-F, there are no tears. And even as Millar proposes a decent
enough story for the press, his resolve for the truth returns, his
mind settles back into familiar grooves. He and Scully drive down to
the Reserve Installation of Von Drehle AFB to talk with (and get lied
to by) Sergeant Louis Frish, and inexpertly, at that. Mulder's
tempted to shake the idiot by his camoflaged lapels, but figures that
won't earn them any trust later on, if things work out the way they
did last time. "Just be careful," he says, not caring if it sounds
like a threat. Maybe it'll keep Frish's coworker, was it Gomez or
Gonzales, alive this time around.

Their next stop is Paradise Motel in Northville, where Sharon Graffia
was supposed to be. Operative words being "supposed to be", Mulder
thinks grimly, even as they step out of the car and onto a strangely
similar crash scene. The cop is already walking away from the
frustrated motel manager, and the FBI agents, children on their
backs, walk towards the lone room missing a door. After teasing
Scully with his thoughts of family abduction, Mulder isn't surprised
to see Millar joining them with x-rays of the plane, and the x-rays
only serve to prove rather than refute Mulder's theories.

Millar gives up and the agents decide to rent a room from the harried
motel manager, paying for the damage to Sharon's room as well as
insurance for their own. "Yeah, you never can tell if Paradise Motel
will be the next Area 51 or Okobojee," Mulder quips, unlocking the
door.

Scully turns to her son strapped on her back. "I guess Daddy's back
to normal, whatever that is," she sighs, following him inside.

She starts to regret saying anything remotely close to "normal" as a
description for her husband as he obsessively plays, rewinds, and
replays the taped message over and over. Sighing, she calls room
service for dinner, then gets the kids into the bathtub to wash off,
well, pretty much the whole damn day. Even after she takes her own
quick shower, Mulder's still holding the tape player smashed against
his ear as if no time had passed. Scully sighs. She's surprised he
even notices something like nine minutes missing, he can barely keep
track of their children sometimes. Those same children race to the
door when it rings, and Scully hustles to shove herself between her
children and whoever may be behind the door.

Fortunately, it's dinner, and after she tips him, she gets everything
settled. Sammy eats his baby food with mommy's help, Page eating her
"big girl" food that she can chew, Mulder absentmindedly eating his
microwave meatloaf, and Scully swallowing a pill before eating her
own microwaved meal.

As Mulder says, "I've heard the voice of the air traffic controller
before," there's another knock at the door. Scully jumps up to get
it, but Mulder is quicker, and sticks his neck out. "Hello?"

A hand wraps itself around his neck and another covers his mouth. You
so owe me, Mulder thinks, while Frish says, "Don't move. Just listen
to me. I'm the man responsible for the plane crash."

~*~*~

Mulder and Scully confront Millar with Frish's testimony at the
hangar, then Millar goes his own way to find the second crash site.
As before, Mulder, with the help of Frish, pulls off some stunt
driving that leaves the kids cheering and Scully more than a little
shaky. Before they part ways, Mulder goes over the map again,
although this time, he's got a better idea of where the damn saucer
is. He hates to leave his wife and kids, especially with a marked
man, but he trusts that if fate is unkind to Max, then it will be
kind to his family. "Take the safety off," he tells Scully, kissing
her before getting on his plane.

She shakes her head, but does so. There's something else going on
that he won't tell her about, but she trusts him enough to let him
tell her when this is over. Whenever that is. Scully yawns, then
herds her children and Sgt. Frish over to their plane, which takes
them to her home in D.C.

Please, let Mulder be okay, Scully prays, not for the first time. She
reassures Frish about his safety, then picks up the phone. "Let me
call our nanny, and we can get going," she says, and he nods. "That's
weird," she frowns when she gets an answering machine. She leaves a
brief message anyways, then her eyebrows go up. "What's wrong?"

"Can, can I leave a message with my girlfriend?" Frish asks. "So she
knows that I'm," he breaks off, realizing that "okay" probably wasn't
the right word, but not sure what to say instead.

Scully nods, handing over her cell and he dials out. As he leaves a
terse, if shaky message, she looks at Sammy and Page. What am I going
to do with you? she wonders.

~*~*~

As Scully leads a reluctant Frish and her sleepy children into the
noisy Headless Woman's Pub, she says in a low voice, "Don't worry,
this place is crawling with cops and FBI. We're going to be met here
by a federal marshal. You're probably going to end up sleeping in
somebody's office." Frish nods, still looking ill at ease, and sits
down.

A hand lands on her shoulder, and Scully whips around, her gun at the
ready. Her wide blue eyes take in a startled, but rather drunk, Agent
Pendrell. "Happy birthday," he says, grinning. Beside him is an
equally grinning but much less intoxicated Rachel.

"Rachel, Agent Pendrell, I didn't know you two," Scully finishes
lamely, "knew each other."

Rachel nods. "He's one of my more persistent callers. I DJ
part-time," she says to Frish's questioning look. "He sounded so
smart and such a sweetie, I figured it couldn't hurt to meet him."
She hugs the taller man, her small frame managing to support him, and
Scully wonders if people see her and Mulder like that.

"She hasn't stopped meeting me," Pendrell chuckles. "Hey, I didn't
get anything for the birthday girl!"

"It's okay," Scully says, "I'm on duty right now." She points to
Frish, who makes a small wave.

"No, no, I insist," Pendrell argues, "I can't buy more than a single
shot for Rachel. She's my DD," he says in a loud whisper. "C'mon,
it's your birthday! Right?" he looks to his girlfriend, and she nods.
As the redheaded man waves and shouts to the bartender, a familiar
figure from the wreckage crew enters the bar. Like a bad dream, the
mustached  man shoots at Frish, who ducks, but Pendrell doesn't.
Scully shoots back as the redheaded man falls and people scream and
scatter, but any follow-up shots are ruined with people blocking her
way.

"Sean!" Rachel screams, holding the bleeding man to herself. "If you
die on me, I'll kill you!"

"Call 911!" Scully yells to the bartender, even as a disconnected
part of her mind thinks, So, his first name is Sean. After making
sure her sweet babies are all right, she pries the wounded agent away
from the Asian girl. Thank God, it's just his shoulder, Scully
thinks, even as she uses Pendrell's dress shirt as a tourniquet.
"Keep pressing and keep him awake," she tells Rachel, who nods
wide-eyed. Then she turns around to Frish. "You okay?" He also nods
with wide eyes, and Scully sighs with relief. She can't wait for the
federal marshal and the ambulance to come and for this nightmare to
be over.

~*~*~

Even as Mulder swims through the murky depths of the Great Sacandaga
Lake, he wishes Scully could see what he sees. A real-life, bonafide
UFO, complete with unconscious or dead EBE, and no black choppers in
sight.

A blinding light pierces the dark veil of night and water, and Mulder
almost groans in frustration. Well, there's always home video, he
thinks, his last-minute backup plan in effect as he points the
waterproof camera upwards as well as around. Eat your heart out,
Jacques Cousteau. Before he's surrounded by unfriendly divers with
spear guns and flashlights, he stows the camera away in some
crusty-looking floating junk. Please let Scully and the kids be okay,
he prays, and Pendrell, too.

~*~*~

Chapter Forty-Six

Feb. 26, 1997

At the same time Mulder gets caught by the divers and the truck by
the Great Sacandaga Lake, Scully is leading paramedics to where
Rachel is still cradling Agent Pendrell in her arms at the Headless
Woman's Bar. The place is now clear of everyone except the bartender,
the wait staff, Scully's family and Sgt. Frish. Scully's surprised to
see her boss walking through, and frowns. When she finds out that
Frish is under military arrest, as well as her husband, her frown
deepens.

"I'm getting way too familiar with Von Drehle AFB," Mulder drones,
pulling a little at the ill-fitting prison garb.

Scully gives him a long look as she signs him out. She's pregnant,
she's been on her feet forever, she hasn't gotten any sleep since who
knows when, and Sammy and Page are still with her. Rachel was
sleeping over at Pendrell's (Sean's, she corrects herself mentally)
hospital room, her mom was visiting Charlie's family, and there was
no way she's leaving her kids with either of Mulder's parents.

Another MP leads them to a room where Mulder's clothes, having been
thoroughly searched if not washed, are waiting. "Did you hear the
military's cover story?" he asks her when the door closes shut. "That
the control tower gave bad coordinates to a fighter pilot, causing
him to collide with Flight 549 over military airspace?"

Scully gives Sammy his pacifier when he starts to fuss, then hands
Page her picture book. "According to the recordings I listened to,
the coordinates that Sergeant Frish gave to the fighter pilot were
the exact path that 549 was on. Now, they would indicate that
Sergeant Frish and his co-controller could not have seen Flight 549
in the airspace until it was too late."

Mulder finishes buttoning up his shirt, then pulls on his pants. "So
they're saying the tower put those jets on a collision course."

Scully nods, "Yes, and that they were the only two aircraft on the
radar screen."

Mulder exhales noisily. "And realizing his guilt, Sergeant Frish's
fellow officer put a gun to his head." He shakes his own head. Some
folks never learn, he thinks, tying on his shoes.

Scully dusts off his jacket before handing it to him. "According to
the Air Force, Sergeant Frish lied to save himself. When he found out
that his, his fellow officer committed suicide, he came to us to
blame the military. That's why they pursued him, to bring him to
justice." Even she sounds like she doesn't believe the new story, as
lies seems to compound further lies.

"Then they could conveniently lay the blame on a dead man," he says,
shrugging on his jacket. She nods a little, her face solemn. "They
say the second plane was a military fighter?"

"It was an F-15 Eagle, according to an Air Force spokesman," and her
dry tone is mimicking the spokesman.

"You think an F-15 did this?" he asks, pulling away his longish bangs
to show small radiation burns on the right side of his face.

~*~*~

She probes the burns gently. "Where did you get this from?" she asks,
frowning slightly.

"At the second crash site, in about fifty feet of water at the bottom
of Sacandaga Lake." He smirks, thinking of his insurance still buried
in that lake. "I followed a trail of bubbles down to the wreckage,
but it didn't look like anything that might take off from an Air
Force base, an honest-to-goodness UFO."

"Except that it can't be proven," Scully sighs, opening the door.
"According to Mike Millar, the man running the investigation, they
haven't been able to find any physical evidence whatsoever that
Flight 549 was involved in a collision." She stops and looks at her
husband. "And before you accuse him of being part of the coverup,
don't. He's the only one that truly wants to figure out what downed
that plane and who came to me with information he had no reason to
share."

Here we go, down the rabbit's hole, Mulder thinks. "And that would
be?"

"He found Sharon Graffia wandering in a daze at the crash site the
night we left, after seeing lights over the area." Scully wants to
drown herself in a hottub and fall into a blissful dreamless sleep,
but it appears she'll be denied her fondest birthday wish for a
while. "It turns out she's not even Max's sister. She's an unemployed
aeronautical engineer who spent time in and out of mental
institutions. That's where she met Max."

"She knew we wouldn't believe her if she told the truth," Mulder
says, resigned.

Scully nods. "I don't know how it's happening, but that plane is
taking out more people even after it crashed." She bounces Sammy in
her arms as he starts fussing again. "Sgt. Gonzales is dead, Sgt.
Frish is still in custody, Graffia is in a mental hospital, and Agent
Pendrell was in the ER."

"Was? He's okay?" Mulder asks and she nods, a little surprised at his
vehemence. "Just checking."

"Shoulder wounds aren't necessarily fatal," she says, looking at his
shoulder. "It turns out Rachel's his girlfriend and she's staying
with him." As they get into the car, Scully asks, "Mulder, what are
these people suffering for? Is it for the truth, or the lies? I'm not
even sure what the truth is anymore."

Mulder closes the back door and gets behind the wheel. He pauses
before he answers, then guns the engine. "You've always known the
truth, Scully," he says, "we're gonna make sure those responsible pay
for their lies."

~*~*~

In Barnes Corner, New York, Mulder feels like he's visiting a shrine.
"Look, Page, this is where Daddy's friend used to live," he opens the
door of the camper.

"Silly Daddy's friend," Page declares, and Scully agrees. The little
blonde girl presses play on the tape player, and the speakers blare
out some snide-sounding singer droning over special effects. Scully
hits the stop button, telling her in a low voice, "Don't touch other
people's things."

Her lesson is ruined by her husband, who picks up a canned tin.
"Look, beans and wieners," he says, waving it in front of his son,
who gurgles.

"Never mind," Scully mutters, "Mulder, what are we looking for here?"


"Something to explain what Max was doing on that plane," he replies,
putting the can down, "what he was coming to show me or tell me."

"What makes you think he was coming to see you?" she asks, keeping an
eye on her daughter.

Mulder sits down at a computer and hands over a bloodied business
card. "I found this on his body. Max is the key to all this," he
says, his voice somewhat distracted as he looks through a folder's
contents on the monitor. "He knew that plane was in danger even
before it took off, before it entered military airspace." Then he
stands, pulling a videotape out of a drawer and popping it into the
player. "How would he know that? And what would be worth taking that
risk?"

As they watch the bespectacled man awkwardly recount the last few
years of his life, Mulder can't help but wonder if that's the fate of
all his contacts. Death. Whether by the conspiracy, a freak accident,
or doing their duty in the line of fire, he's got a feeling that,
aside from various family members, being a source means the same
thing as being a red shirt on the original "Star Trek" show.

~*~*~

At the hangar, Mike Millar tells the wreckage workers, "Recovery and
identification of the deceased victims of Flight 549 is at 76
percent...which is far better than anticipated, given the kind of
destruction we've all seen. We've got a total of nearly 3000
man-hours logged already in this first wave of investigation...and I
wish I could tell you folks that we've come up with something more
concrete, but...the evidence...just doesn't support anything more
conclusive than the Air Force's assertion that the cause of this
crash was a midair collision...or a catastrophic near-miss." As he
looks out into the sea of faces, some of whom display undisguised
disbelief, he looks for sanctuary in his folder of safe answers. "I'm
going to ask you all to wrap-up your reports tonight...and then I
want you to go home to your families. You've done a good and thorough
job here. You'll be in touch with me or someone from the N.T.S.B. on
anything further. I just wanted to thank you all personally. Thank
you." As the crew walks out, some shake his hand. Millar notices
Mulder and his family standing off to the side and walks over.

As he touches base with the FBI agents, Mulder tells his theory of
what happened to Flight 549, along with some added insights from his
own encounter the last time he missed nine minutes on a flight. Even
as Millar disclaims Mulder's story, he takes them over to where he
says the team found the only other trace evidence of radiation. He
hands Max's green bag with the NICAP hat inside. "And that's all she
wrote." He walks away as the small family looks at the last
possessions of Max Fenig.

"I don't know what else you expect him to do," Scully says, but he
shakes his head.

"How about Sharon Graffia?" he asks.

Her infamous eyebrow shoots up at least a couple inches. "She's a
disturbed person, Mulder. She wasn't even who she claimed to be."

"Yeah, but she knew Max well enough for him to write her thousands of
letters, well enough for him to call her and tell her he was going to
die." He pauses, and
a self-deprecating grin spreads across his face. "I'd go with you to
talk with Ms. Graffia, but I'm, I'm afraid they'd lock me up."

Scully snorts. "Me, too." Then she unceremoniously dumps Sammy and
Page on her husband.

"What?" he asks.

"Surely you don't think I'd be taking our sweet babies into the loony
bin, do you?" The baffled look on his face makes her sigh. "Where are
you going?"

"Back to Max's place," he says, and she sighs again. "Okay, but if
Sammy starts drooling crop circles or if Page starts reciting Jacques
Vallee's UFO hypotheses, it's on your head."

"I'll take that chance," Scully says dryly, waving him goodbye.

~*~*~

Back at the trailer camp in Barnes Corners, Mulder comes across more
destruction, this time of a more terrestrial nature. Opening the
letter marked "Paul Gidney," he finds the key with the ID number of
"SYR 4832008" "Daddy's hit the jackpot!" he tells his kids, who are
busy amusing themselves with rearranging the mess in Max's camper.
"Never mind," he sighs, then squints. "Time for a little logistics
work," he says, pulling out his cell phone.

Meanwhile, over at the Northeast Georgetown Mental Health Center,
Scully's talking with the somewhat reluctant Sharon Graffia. She
reconfirms a few facts, but gets no farther with the woman, other
than the fact that a third part of a stolen item from a military
contractor was believed by both Sharon and Max to be alien in origin
and now hidden someplace. "Mommy's hit the jackpot," Scully mutters
as she walks out.

"What?" the radiation-burned woman asks.

"Nothing," Scully says, pulling out her cell before closing the door
behind her. "I hope Mulder found something good." She frowns when her
cell phone says his number is busy. "Now what?"

~*~*~

As Mulder claims the inconspicuous bag at Syracuse Hancock
International, he flashes his badge to the clerk, who lets him
through the security entrance. His cell phone rings and he chats with
Scully, taking advantage of the static given off by the metal
detector, and lets his wife know that, yes, the kids are okay, and
yes, he let the x-ray figure out what was inside the bag.

Scully doesn't disguise her sigh of relief that he didn't do anything
stupid. Yet. "I think that what we've got here, Mulder, is a case of
high-tech industrial espionage."

"I don't know about that, Scully," Mulder replies. "More people are
trying to get their hands on this thing than a 'Tickle-Me Elmo' doll.
I'm getting on a flight." His eyes catch sight of his pursuers, who
have yet to learn the meaning of subtlety, thank goodness for him.

Scully snorts. "No 'Sesame Street' character ever caused radiation
burns, military cover-ups, or plane crashes."

"Not that we know of," Mulder quips.

"What's your flight number?" she comes back to the point.

He rattles off the flight number, 101, and prays that the mustached 
man isn't on his flight. At the same time, he's kind of hoping for a
second chance to shoot the guy who killed Pendrell the first time
around. Justifiable homicide, either way.

Just his luck, when he thinks he's shaken his pursuers, Mr. Moustache
sits next to him. Mulder smiles, and outwardly, it looks pleasant.
"There's a weapon pointed at you right now. If I shoot you at this
range, it wouldn't just hit you in the leg. If you so much as raise
your arms off that armrest, I'm going to test that theory."

The mustached man chuckles. "Do you know what happens when a plane
suddenly depressurizes at Thirty-thousand feet, Mr. Mulder? After the
cabin fills with fog and all light objects, anything not tied down,
including your weapon, go flying toward the breach?"

"Nice to know I'm in a place where everybody knows your name," Mulder
murmurs, not backing down and shaking the bag. "It's an alien energy
source, isn't it? What is it, cold fusion? Over-unity energy? What
could be worth killing all those passengers on Flight 549?"

"The cause of that crash has been determined as human error," the
mustached man says calmly.

"I'm going to see you pay for that error," Mulder says in a low,
threatening voice, "along with you and your employer and the
government that finances its contracts. I want you to stand up very
slowly and move to the back of the plane. I want you to empty your
pockets, and then we're going to the bathroom." When the other man
doesn't budge, he nudges his gun from under his coat into the man's
arm. "Do it."

The mustached man starts to laugh, but when he sees Mulder is dead
serious, he does so. "You wanna wipe up when I'm done?" he asks when
most of his weapon paraphernalia and other bits of junk are dumped in
the seat bin.

"Shake out your socks and shoes," Mulder says, unamused.

The other man raises his thick eyebrows, but does so. When Mulder's
satisfied, he nudges his prisoner to the bathroom, using one of the
mustached man's items to jam the door shut. Maybe this time they
won't come, Mulder thinks, pulling out his cell phone, "Scully, it's
me."

"Mulder, are you and the kids on that flight?" she asks.

"Um, yes and no," he says, his eyes widening when he sees his watch
has stopped.

"What?" she yells. "Where are they?" 

"With Rachel," he answers, "Scully, listen. This is important. My
watch stopped."

"I keep telling you to get new batteries," she grumps, "how did
Rachel-?"

He doesn't let her finish. "No, my watch *stopped*," he emphasizes
the last word. "Ten to one I'll be missing nine minutes at landing
and if we're lucky, still holding the guy who shot Pendrell."

"What?" Scully says, but the plane starts to shake and the phone
connection cuts off.

"Scully?" Mulder tries, but it doesn't work. "Oh boy." He races back
to the bathroom, where the door is still securely jammed, and
breathes a sigh of relief, even as the rest of the passengers and the
flight attendants are screaming, his side of the plane suffused with
light. Then he runs back to his seat, where the seemingly innocuous
bag is sitting. He's tempted to hang onto it, but then Scully would
kill him, and with that thought, he grins as the door being pulled
off its hinges. Guess there are some things even the FBI and military
can't control, he muses as the man in the bathroom continues to shout
and pound.

~*~*~

As Skinner and other gruff men haul off the glowering, handcuffed
mustached  man, Scully yanks Mulder aside. "Don't you dare do
anything like that again," she glares, days of sleepless nights
apparent on her face.

"Do what?" Mulder tries for an innocent face, but it crumbles under
his wife's intolerant gaze. "I'm sorry. But the good news is we got
one of the bad guys, and maybe more. And the kids are okay."

She shakes her head. "But you lost the stolen part." 

"Could be worse," he says, holding her wristwatch against his.
There's a nine minute discrepancy. "I could be with the stolen part
on a UFO." 

"Mulder," she groans, then leans against him tiredly.
"Let's get our kids, and let's go home."

"We've got one stop to make first," he says, hugging his wife to him
as she groans louder.

~*~*~

Back at Barnes Corners, Max is talking excitedly on TV. In front of
the monitor is a somewhat disheveled blonde woman, a pregnant redhead
leaning against her tall husband, and two light-haired children
playing with their Asian nanny. "These tapes, you don't mind if I
keep them?" Sharon Graffia asks after hitting the stop button.

Mulder smiles and shakes his head. "No, I think you, you should
consider yourself the sole curator of the Max Fenig Rolling
Multimedia Library and Archive, and you should probably get
tax-exempt status as soon as you can. This stuff could be worth
something someday." He wishes he could've added his underwater video
to the stash, but either the radiation or the cleanup crew wiped out
everything on tape, leaving only static.

"I want to thank you for helping me out, for all you've done," Sharon
nervously shakes both their hands.

"Max would have wanted it that way. You lost somebody very close to
you," Scully tells her more warmly than Mulder would have thought.

The blonde woman nods a little jerkily, and gives them a wavering
smile before joining Rachel and the kids for some show-and-tell. The
couple step outside into the brisk night, and Mulder suddenly hugs
his wife tightly. "I'm sorry you had such a stressful birthday," he
says sincerely, "I was trying my best not to let it turn out that
way."

Scully shakes her head. "You couldn't have forseen any of these," she
waves a hand back at the trailer, which makes him feel even guiltier.
"Besides, I got a nifty little spacecraft," she looks up at him,
"with terrestrial origins."

Mulder thinks of how ironic the gift turned out to be. "If you look
closer, you'll see the word 'Challenger' on it," he says, holding it
up. "I believe in spite of the tragedy, that there will always be
extraordinary men and women, civilians and trained professionals, and
extraordinary moments when history leaps forward on the backs of
these individuals," he thinks of another Sharon, teacher Sharon
Christa McAuliffe, Commander Dick Scobee, pilot Mike Smith, mission
specialists Ellison Onizuka, Judy Resnik and Ron McNair, and payload
specialist Greg Jarvis, "that what can be imagined can be achieved,
that you must dare to dream," he remembers a sad but still determined
alternate Dana Scully who lost a coworker, "but that there's no
substitute for perseverance and hard work, and teamwork, because no
one gets there alone." As she shivers, he holds her closer. "While we
commemorate the...the greatness of these events and the individuals
who achieve them, we cannot forget the sacrifice of those who make
these achievements and leaps possible."

With terrible clarity and an odd sort of vertigo, he remembers
another space tragedy that happened years later on another February,
when it seemed everyone had forgotten the horror of the "Challenger",
and looking hopefully toward space. He and Scully may have prevented
one space shuttle disaster, but he can't understand why Commander
Rick Husband, pilot William McCool, mission specialists David Brown,
Kalpana Chawla, Laurel Clark, payload commander Michael Anderson and
payload specialist Ilan Ramon lost their lives in the "Columbia" on
what appeared in hindsight to be a preventable accident. Plane
crashes happen less than car crashes, he tells himself savagely, and
space shuttle explosions even less. But it doesn't make Max's loss
any easier to bear, nor the loss of the crews of the "Challenger" or
"Columbia" and the original death of Agent Pendrell.

She looks up at him, at his distant gaze. "I just thought it was a
pretty cool keychain," she says lightly, and he kisses her on the
forehead. "Thank you."

He smiles a little, seeing how the situations have reversed their
words almost exactly. Another wave of alternate vertigo threatens to
sweep him, but his wife brings him back down to earth when she says,
"Okay, let's get inside. I'm freezing my large butt off out here."

Now he chuckles and they walk into the Max Fenig Rolling Multimedia
Library and Archive together, where their children, nanny, and new
friend are waiting.

~*~*~


Chapter Forty-Seven

March 1997 

"Mulder, you've got to be joking," Scully holds up a copy of the
"World Weekly Informer" bearing the photo of a monkey's head pasted
on to a human baby's body and the headline "MONKEY BABIES INVADE
SMALL TOWN!" She gasps as the baby kicks, then sighs. "They must not
be cooking up any new alien conspiracies to keep you busy."

Mulder fights off a shudder. "As an expecting mother and scientist,
children born with vestigial tails don't interest you?"

She makes a face. "Caudal appendages. Fetuses have them. Their coccyx
enlarges to contain the spinal fluid and then it shrinks as the child
develops. Occasionally, it doesn't. It's extremely rare, but it has
been known to happen."

It sounds like such a logical explanation that Mulder's tempted to
let things lie, but he knows better. Besides, he can't let the guy
who nearly had his hands all over Scully the last time get away with
pulling one over the locals this time as well. "Five times within the
last three months, all in a town with a population of less than
15,000 people? I'd say that's a little more than a statistical
anomaly."

She nods, drinking her chamomile tea. "So would I," Scully answers,
feeling a bit restless. It's not too selfish to want her husband to
hang around once in a while, is it? Granted, since her much-enforced
maternity leave has her pretty much confined to the neighborhood
radius, Mulder's pretty much the workforce on the X-Files. If things
stay inactive too long in the basement, that'll be more than enough
reason to shut down their division and boot them to God knows where.
Nope, best not to let that happen. "No, Mulder I think you're right,
I think that something about this definitely warrants investigation.
Only not by us. I'd say that it's a job for the local health
department." She arches an eyebrow to invite a more compelling
argument.

He nods, taking a gulp of coffee before the kittens do. Since when
did the cats take over the table? he wonders. "I called around.
They're already investigating."

Scully rolls her eyes. "So why go to Martinsdale, West Virginia?
Could it have something to do with this?" She points to the
subheading below the headline: "Did West Virginia Women Mate with
Visitors from Space?"

He smiles, kisses her forehead, and takes the "Informer" from her.
"Call me if you need anything."

She smiles back. "Would you like to give birth this time around?" 

Mulder rewards her with a mock-startled look, and as he ducks out the
kitchen, hears her guffawing following him to the car.

~*~*~

When Mulder concludes his interview with Amanda, he realizes that
he'll need Scully's scientific smarts to pull this off. Of course, he
could go with the local meds, but if he starts making leaps based on
medical knowledge he shouldn't know, that'll just raise red flags on
his sudden omniscience to the wrong people. My God, Scully, you've
saved me more than you know, he thinks as he calls her up. "Hey,
Scully, it's me," he says.

"Mulder?" Scully frowns as she waits in the ob-gyn doctor's office.
It's unlike him to call so early in the case, and she switches the
phone to her shoulder so that she can free one hand to write and the
other to hang onto Sammy.

"Oh, everything's fine. I just need some unofficial consulting with
your medical expertise."

She smiles. "So Spooky Mulder can't a woman impregnated by aliens?" 

Here's hoping you'll never have firsthand experience, he thinks.
"That, I can handle. What's odd is that four out of five women were
receiving insemination therapy, the fifth being Mrs. Luke Skywalker,
a single woman."

"Mrs. Skywalker?" Scully shakes her head. "No, Page, that's not
yours," she scolds her daughter, who has taken another child's toy,
"I'm so sorry. Mulder, I think what you need is to run PCR's on all
the women and blood tests for the men, see if there's a common
chromosome marker."

"Good idea," he says, writing it down carefully so that the local
docs can read his writing. "I'm also thinking of contacting the
doctor, since he's a common denominator with four out of five.
Anything else?"

She grins. "Don't drink the water, you might get a baby with a tail,
too."

"Ha ha, very funny," he grimaces.

~*~*~

For some reason, Scully finds herself going to another ob-gyn's
office, this time in West Virginia. She sees another couple ahead of
them arguing in low, insistent voices, their eyebrows raised when
they see her and Mulder entering. "Oh, you, too, huh?" the guy says.

No, my kid's normal, Scully fumes inwardly, buttoning up her thick
coat as Mulder simply smiles. They join a small herd of angry couples
surrounding a panicked doctor. Angry voices chorus, "What did you do?
Why did you do it?"

"I didn't do anything. Now folks, we're going to figure this out
here, I promise. Look, everybody just relax," the harried man says,
raising his arms placatingly.

The first guy doesn't buy it and gets in the doctor's face. "Don't
you tell me to relax. What the hell happened to my sperm?" he yells.

Mulder decides the mob's had enough fun. "Uh, I'm Special Agent
Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and this is Agent
Scully," he says, flashing his badge. His wife does the same. Soon
the crowd is clamoring for an arrest, and the tall man's surprised to
hear nobody wants to shoot the guy. Maybe later. "Nobody's gonna get
arrested, we just want some answers."

"Alton didn't use my sperm!" the first guy yells, and the other men
agree loudly.

"I most certainly did. Each of you women was inseminated with your
husband's own sperm, and nobody else's," the doctor protests
indignantly.

"Why was it necessary to inseminate in these cases?" Mulder asks, as
he and Scully try to shield the doctor from the angry couples.

"It was a sperm motility issue. The intrauterine process that I used
has about a 40% chance of success. I was surprised, it seemed to work
all four times," he says as Scully nods. That his process seemed to
work so well was outside the norm. "Now the only thing I can think of
is..." he muses.

"What?" another man asks. 

Dr. Alton looks sad. "Maybe it never worked at all." 

Scully frowns as Mulder walks out, lost in thought. "Are you sure?" 

"Look, I'm not accusing anyone of anything. I'm just saying this
latest patient of mine who just gave birth to a baby with a tail, she
didn't even undergo insemination. So you folks are blaming the wrong
baby doctor!" he says.

~*~*~

Mulder and Eddie Van Blundht are in the interview room, while Scully
is standing outside, holding the test results and their two kids. As
her blue eyes scan the last sheet, she whistles. "Five out of five,"
she says, handing the tests to Mulder through the half-opened door,
and he nods, taking them.

Then he looks at the suspect, who appears to have his curiosity
piqued by a glimpse of Scully. Oh no, you don't, he snarls inwardly.
"They spelled my name wrong," the pudgy man says, his eyes going
quickly to the papers. "It's Van Blundht with a silent 'H'.
B-l-u-n-d-H-t."

"We'll get right on that," Mulder says dryly. 

"Lots of people spell it wrong. It's like Dutch or something," Van
Blundht shrugs. Then he whines hopefully, "Can I go now?"

"No, I need you to answer some things. Like how five women came to be
inseminated with your sperm?"

Blundht squirms a little. "You make it sound romantic." 

I'll give you romance, Mulder wants to strangle him. It's bad enough
that he resorted to an Eddie Van Blundht ruse the first time, but
that this guy has no remorse about what he did, it's enough to make
his skin crawl. "So you're saying romance was involved?" he says,
disbelief soaking every word.

The suspect gets even more defensive. "Why is that so hard to
believe? Just cause I was born with a tail no woman would want me?
Maybe I got...personality. Ever think of that?"

"Uh, no," Mulder says honestly, and the pudgy man looks downcast.
"Tell me something. How is it that these women had sex with you and
they don't remember a thing, Romeo?"

Van Blundht looks at the one-way glass, then at the floor. "Look, I'm
not saying anything one way or another. I'm just saying
hypothetically, if some women wanted to have kids, their husbands
weren't...capable, and everybody was happy and no one got hurt, well
hypothetically, where's the crime?"

There's nothing Mulder can say without killing the guy, and with a
low snarl, he leaves the interview room, to be greeted by his wife
and kids. He sighs as he wraps his arms around her bigger-than-normal
body and mumbles, "I don't have any farflung theories, Scully. Alien
impregnation would almost be more bearable than this jerk." He grins
down at the rugrats on his legs, "Hey, you guys."

Scully snorts as she pulls away. "Well, on behalf of all the women
and expectant mothers in the world, I seriously doubt this is
anything to do with consensual sex. I think it involved some form of
Rohypnol rape. Think about it," she says reasonably, crossing her
arms over her round tummy, "it's been called the date rape drug. High
doses of it cause a loosening of inhibitions, memory loss. Now if Van
Blundht was somehow able to slip the drug to these women especially
in conjunction with alcohol..." she trails off, then exhales noisily
as she grabs Sammy.

Mulder nods along, then wonders if they should increase the security
around Van Blundht. He checks the area, sees there's more than enough
cops and thinks, nah. Scooping up his giggling daughter, they leave
the police station, one happy little family.

~*~*~
A couple hours later, Mulder has cause to rue his brief decision as
Van Blundht escapes, and Mulder relays the news to his wife, who is
back home with the kids, since this is one of Rachel's busy days. As
usual, even over the phone, Scully never fails him. "So Van Blundht
somehow physically transformed into his captor then walked out the
door leaving no one the wiser?"

He grins, even as harried police officers swarm around the office. "I
knew there was a great reason why I married you."

Scully groans as Sammy, suddenly craving attention, waves his arms to
be picked up. "Mulder, why can't you just go for the simple answer?
With that blow to the head the deputy might just as well have
identified McGruff the crime dog as his attacker."

"I don't think the sheriff would go for the McGruff ruse," Mulder
says, dodging yet another eager crime scene tech.

Why will this man never go for Occam's Razor, Scully sighs inwardly.
"Two men, roughly the same build, same coloring. The addition of a
uniform goes a long way to explain how one person can mistake one man
for another at 3 o'clock in the morning."

"Conversely my theory goes a long way to explaining how four married
women could mistake Van Blundht for their husbands, and how Amanda
Nelligan could think it was Luke Skywalker. We've both seen something
like this before, Scully."

So much for conventional theories, Scully almost groans. "So what are
you saying, that Van Blundht is an alien?"

"Scully, you *are* kinky, aren't you?" He grins, knowing that if they
were in the same room, she'd kill him. "But no, I think this is
something different." Time to go monkey-tail hunting, he muses as he
disconnects.

~*~*~

On the way to Eddie Van Blundht Sr.'s place, Mulder decides to bug
Scully just for the hell of it. Nobody ever accused him of being too
mature to use reverse psychology on someone. "Hey, Scully," he says
in a friendly tone when she picks up.

"Mulder," she says in a less than friendly one. 

"I was wondering, if you could be somebody else for a day, who would
it be?"

She stops, pulls the phone away from her ear to stare at it, then
shakes her head. "Myself," she says in a "duh" kind of voice.

"No!" Mulder says in the same voice Page uses when you're not playing
by her rules. "I mean, wouldn't you even be tempted to try out
someone else's existence for a day, live your life as somebody else?"

She smiles a tolerant smile as if he can see her. "Looking like
someone else, Mulder, and *being* someone else are completely
different things."

"Well, maybe it's not, I mean everybody else around you would treat
you like you were somebody else, and ultimately maybe it's other
people's reactions to us that make us who we are," Mulder argues.

Scully thinks there must be a mutual insanity within her if she stays
married to this loon. "Jael, Heber's wife from the Old Testament."

Mulder blinks. Wow, she can still surprise him. "Why?" 

"She hammered a tent peg through her enemy's, that is, Sisera's,
head. They even sang a song about her."

"Scully, you know I love you, don't you?" Mulder says as he rings the
doorbell.

"You better," Scully says, then wails, "Oh, nooooooooo, Sammy!" 

Guess we're both gonna have our hands full, Mulder thinks, as he does
a little song-and-dance with Eddie-Jr.-as-Sr.

~*~*~

In the morgue, Scully's dressed in scrubs, the gowns giving her
something of a sexy yet saintly look, if such were possible. "So what
killed Eddie the monkey man?" Mulder asks, bearing Page on his
shoulders, Sammy on his back, and a cup of tea in his hands. Page
squeals, "Monkey man!" to the dead body, but Mulder's firm arms
around her legs make sure she stays on his shoulders.

She takes the tea from him. "It's difficult to say. The quicklime
burned the tissue even as it preserved it, so what killed him is one
of two things I haven't figured out yet." She beams at her husband,
who looks as encumbered as she does.

"What's the other thing?" Mulder asks, and both children peer
curiously at the open cadaver.

"That would be this," she taps everyone's attention to the computer
monitor. "It's striated muscle tissue."

"What's so weird about that?" Mulder frowns as Sammy bounces on his
back and Page grabs more of his hair.

"In and of itself, nothing," she shrugs. "*Where* I found it however
-"

"*Where* did you find it?" he asks in the same tone. 

"*Everywhere*," she answers, waving at the whole body on the table.
"His entire body. As far as I can tell, this man has a thin stratum
of voluntary muscle tissue underpinning the entire dermal layer of
his skin. That's not normal. This man's body is quite a scientific
specimen, and thankfully it's preserved and intact."

Mulder walks back to the body, and he and his kids oogle it
curiously. As Scully closes her eyes briefly from a sudden baby kick,
Sammy kicks off the tail, and Mulder tries to hide the damage. When
she regains her breath, she leans against the autopsy table. "In
other words, there are six hundred and fifty four muscles in the
human body, and this man essentially has six hundred and fifty five,"
she says, unaware of the damage her son has wrought.

"Um, could that somehow be related to his uh, having a tail?" Mulder
says, trying to maneuver the tail back on the body. Unfortunately,
Sammy thinks it's a game and kicks it off course. Page thinks the
whole thing is funny and giggles continually. He tries to communicate
nonverbally for them to help him, but it doesn't work. Of course.

"Possibly," Scully says with slightly raised eyebrows. "It could be a
linked gene birth defect."

"Could this be a "like father like son" kind of a thing?" Mulder
asks, while thinking, I just wish Sammy wasn't like me in breaking
off this stupid tail! He continues to shield her view of the corpse's
rear end with his and their kids' bodies.

"What do you mean?" 

"Uh, could Eddie junior have, uh, the same anomalous muscular
structure as his dad here? Well, um, if this musculature underlies
the entire skin, then maybe it could be utilized to remold the skin's
shape and texture. Which would go a long way to explaining why we're
looking for a man who can appear to be his own father, or anyone else
for that matter."

Now she smirks at him. "Isn't it much more likely, Mulder, that this
man simply has an identical twin?"

"Now you're subscribing to the evil twin theory?" Mulder raises his
eyebrows. "You are walking on the wild side, Scully."

She makes a face and grabs him just as he's finally balanced the tail
on. "Watch the kids while I take a closer look at the body," she
says, kissing him, then Page and Sammy.

He nods. "Actually, I think I'll talk to the one anomaly in Van
Blundht's MO. Mrs. Luke Skywalker."

"Behave yourselves!" she calls out. As the door closes, the tail
falls off. "What the?" she wonders.

~*~*~

At the hospital, a worried Scully rushes over to Mulder, nursing a
huge headache. "What happened?" she frowns, examining his injury. She
didn't have much time to change, so she's still got hospital scrubs
under her thick winter coat.

"Van Blundht surprised me. He cold-cocked me and then he got away,"
he grimaces as she replaces the cold compress.

"You got a lead on him?" she asks. 

"No, but the local authorities are already on the warpath for going
after one of their own. They'll catch him eventually," he answers,
standing up.

"So what? That's it for us?" Scully puts a hand on his arm. 

He makes a face. "I know I dragged you out here Scully, but I'm
beginning to think this whole thing is just a waste of time."

"Now you think there's no X-File here?" she says, a half-smile on her
lips.

He grins back. "No, nothing but small potatoes." 

"Where are the kids?" she asks. 

"Kids?" He blinks. 

~*~*~* 

Aw hell, not again, Mulder thinks, as not only Scully but also Van
Blundht surprises him. The damn guy disguised himself as the security
guard, the real guard being hidden up in the ceiling. And he's still
locked up in a room with somebody's leftover lunch. Bleagh.

At least I left the kids with Scully's mom before I came, but that
only gave him more time to sucker me, Mulder glares at the stale
food.

Now, where the hell is the janitor when you need him? He kicks at the
door angrily, then yells, "Heyyyyyy!!! Somebody get me the hell outta
here!"

~*~*~

Scully's about to ask more when her cell phone rings. "Oh, hi, Mom,"
she says. "Oh, yeah," she looks briefly at Mulder. "I'm sorry, we
just got caught up in a case, yes, me, too," she sighs, absently
tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear, so she doesn't see her
husband's mouth hang open uncharacteristically. "Listen, we'll pick
up the kids as soon as we wrap this up, okay?" She hangs up and gives
him a level look and he straightens up. "Next time you leave the kids
with Mom, let me know, okay? You had me worried a while there."

He nods, relieved. Kids. Boy, this might be a problem. He knew they
were married by the ring and the snapshots in the wallet, but why
weren't there any kid shots? "Why don't we work on that report, then
give ourselves a free night before we pick up the kids?" he says.

She raises her eyebrows. "Really?" 

He nods agreeably. "Really. Let her have some fun spoiling her
grandkids, and we can have fun spoiling ourselves."

She looks like she's about to argue, when another look comes over
her. "Fine." She winks at him. "Let me run those anomalous
musculature tissue samples by Quantico, you type out the report, and
I'll see you at home, okay?"

"Anything you say." He grins. This is gonna be fun.

~*~*~

Scully comes home to find the place spruced up, candles on the table,
and something good in the kitchen. Wow, he wasn't kidding about
spoiling ourselves, she thinks, "Honey, I'm home!" she calls out,
carrying a stack of files, looking like a snowwoman under her winter
coat.

"Hey." He grins, coming out of the kitchen. "What were you working
on?"

"More autopsy data," she answers as he gives her a quick peck on the
cheek. "You know, everyone at the lab found Mr. Van Blundht pretty
fascinating. We discovered an additional anomaly related to the hair
follicles in his scalp. I can't even begin to guess at the nature of
it until we can run it through the transmission electron microscope,"
Scully says excitedly, then frowns as he pulls out a bottle of wine.
"What's that for?"

"To celebrate," he says. 

"Well, you'd better drink up my share," she says, "you know I can't
have anything like that for now."

His eyebrows go up, but he nods. "Uh, yeah," he says, wondering if
she has her period. Ugh.

"So, what brought you to the breaking point of actually making
dinner?" She grins.

"Well, we never really talk, do we?" he says. 

"We are now," she shakes her head teasingly. 

"Okay, yeah," he says, "so I thought it'd be nice to have a quiet
dinner, and, you know, really talk." He runs a hand through her hair.
"You get into something more comfortable and I'll finish up here."

She looks at him with upraised eyebrows, then nods and goes upstairs.

He's lighting up the only working fireplace in the whole mansion when
he hears a knock. "I got rid of the kids and the husband, now what?"
he grumbles under his breath, wearing Mulder clothes and mumbling
like Mulder. His eyes widen when he sees the real deal behind the
door.

"You might wanna check the peephole next time, Van Blundht," Mulder
says, punching him. "Where is she?"

"Where is who - Mulder!" Scully says breathlessly, her eyes on a
Mulder lying on the floor. Then she sees a very disheveled, angry
Mulder standing at the door. "Mulder?!?!"

"Scully!" Mulder says, running up to his wife. 

The Mulder on the floor morphs back into Eddie Van Blundht and into
shock. "She's pregnant?"

"How could you not tell?" Mulder wonders as Scully socks him. 

"She, she was wearing a thick coat, she never took off," Van Blundht
stammers, his eyes wide as saucers. "Oh my God." He continues to
crawl backwards until Mulder's long legs and gun stops him. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yeah," Mulder nods. "Hey, Scully? What's the going rate on sex
offenders?"

"In Maryland?" Scully puts a hand to her chin. "Fifteen to twenty,
depending on good behavior. And a good chance of being somebody's
sweetheart without having to change your face," she adds meanly.

Van Blundht is beyond pale. "Y-y-you mean," he gasps. 

"I'm afraid so," Mulder says, not sounding sorry at all. "But think
of it this way. You won't be a loser when everyone wants a piece of
you."

~*~*~

When the proper muscle relaxants are administered and the cops drive
off, Mulder and Scully look at each other. "You were jealous for a
while there, weren't you?" She grins up at him.

"Me? No," Mulder doesn't look at her. 

"Yes, you were," she says. "That your big-as-a-house-wife could snag
someone, didn't that make you the teensy bit jealous?"

He shakes his head, still not looking at his gorgeous, ginormous
wife. "What happened to the security around here?" he glowers into
the empty space. "Don't ghosts have a DNA detector or something?"

Scully folds her arms over her large stomach. "They're ghosts, not
bulldogs or a biometric security system," she smiles. "Besides, I was
okay. I didn't drink any wine," she nods to the bottle that was
carted off with the crime scene guys, "and you noticed he dropped the
loverboy act once he saw, well, me." She looks a little disappointed,
though.

"Yeah," Mulder agrees, wrapping himself around her and kissing her
forehead, "some guys have no taste." She giggles, and he smiles. "No,
really, if you could be somebody else, who would it be?"

She looks up at him and shakes her head. "I'm good, Mulder. I've got
a great job, good kids, most of the time," and he chuckles, "and a
bright, if mildly insane partner and husband." Ignoring his muttered
"hey," she goes on. "I can't think of anyone I'd rather be right now.
Why, do you want to be someone else?" The eyebrow goes up.

He smiles a huge smile that surprises her. "Yes," he says firmly. "I
wanna be the guy who chases down the Truth from basement files, the
guy with the sexy wife and fun kids, the haunted house and great
life. I wanna be the guy who has it all."

"Wow, I can see why you'd go for that," Scully agrees. "Let's look
for him, and I can marry him."

He laughs and hugs her. Please, please, please, if this is a dream, I
don't ever want to wake up, he prays. If this is insanity, let me
rejoice in my madness. If this is temporary, let me be, too. Right
now I'm the man who has everything, the man I wanted to be. I don't
ever want to go back. Never.
~*~*~

April 1, 1997 
8:23 p.m. 

"Mulder?" Scully's groggy voice brings him out of a monograph on
werewolves as cryptozoological creatures as they relate to their
distant cousins the timber wolf and other lupine animals.

"Yeah," he says, taking off his reading glasses and pinching the
bridge of his nose. He turns around, still dressed in his office
clothes, minus a suit jacket and tie and frowns. "What's up?"

Scully's eyes are still fighting sleep, but her voice is clear. "It's
coming."

"What is?" Mulder asks, his mind still stuck on the werewolves paper.


"The baby," she says, struggling to sit up. 

"Ha ha, April fools, I get it already," Mulder says, having had more
than his share of dead ends and snide remarks from "normal" bureau
types today.

"Mulder," Scully says, and the grim, set tone in her bleary blue eyes
and strangled voice are the same, "I'm not joking."

Fortunately for them both, Mulder is not a dim sitcom dad and the
bulb comes on overhead pretty quickly. "You're not, oh my God, hang
on," he says, grabbing the baby bag with one hand and calling Maggie
Scully with the other. "Actually, you talk to your mom, I need to
help you get out of bed," he says, and she smiles.

"And then you need to call the hospital," she reminds him, and he
nods, grabbing his cell phone once he's pried her from the comfy
clutches of the bed.


~*~*~

11:21 p.m. 

At the hospital, Mulder is pacing up and down the hallway, annoyed to
have discovered that this hospital kicks men out of the delivery
room. It may be his third child, but it doesn't mean the wait is any
easier. He knows it could go all night and into the next day, if need
be, but he really hopes Scully won't have to go through that. She
must really love kids, he thinks, and him if she's wanting to go
through labor how many more times. He knows, in spite of surviving
death numerous times, that he'd probably adopt if he had to go
through the kind of pain his wife is right now. Who knows, they might
adopt anyway, he's never been the type to shun people just because
they weren't related. Besides, it's not like his family tree isn't
complicated enough already, what's one or two extra? Not to mention
numerous Samantha clones running around out there.

With that thought, a sudden irreverent grin sneaks across his face.
Yeah, the first set of grownup Samanthas are out there, as well as a
bunch of younger ones, and yet another young woman who's been led to
believe she's Samantha and the Smoking Man's daughter as well. How
weird is that? He wonders how's that going to look like on their
kids' family trees. Where would one put clones? Or stardust, for that
matter? And what about Jeffrey and Cassandra Spender? Forget family
trees, might as well have an orchard. Or a eugenically engineered
crop with interspliced offshoots. There we go.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn't hear the doctor calling for him
until the doctor's right behind him. "Mr. Mulder?"

"Uh, yeah," he says, turning around and automatically searches the
witch-like old lady's face. "How is she? Is she okay?"

The doctor smiles, and the wrinkles around her face almost make her
eyes disappear. "She's doing great. So is your daughter."

Cool, another daughter, Mulder thinks. "Can, can I see them?" he
asks.

"Follow me," the doctor says, and the tall man follows the wrinkled
old woman down the sterile hallways to a room where his wife and
child awaited him.


~*~*~

He's always thought Scully as beautiful, but just seeing her holding
their daughter, the words disappear and a huge, goofy smile plasters
itself on his face. She looks up and smiles, and he can feel the air
exit his lungs in a whoosh. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," she replies, and looks down at their daughter. "She's got dark
blue eyes. I think they'll turn brown like my mom's."

He looks at his new little girl. "I can see I'm gonna have to beat
the guys off with a stick," he jokes, his finger lightly stroking his
baby's soft cheek. Her delicate wisps of hair are as red as Scully
and Sammy's, just like he knew it would be.

"You already do," Scully smirks, but it's a tired smirk. "I'm not
sure you've entirely evolved."

"Hey," he says, mock wounded, "it's all done in love. Me daddy, no
touch my little girl."

The redhead makes a face, then smiles. "My husband the missing link,
I'll be famous."

Mulder puts his hands over his daughter's ears, practically engulfing
them in his large mitts. "You got to unduly influence Sammy and
Page," he says, "this little girl's gonna think her daddy's
brilliant."

"I did no such thing," Scully protests, even as the baby squirms
under Mulder's hands. "They came to that well-thought out conclusion
on their own."

"Yeah, right," he says, removing his hands when it's obvious the baby
doesn't like being overly protected. "I say it's their intelligent,
albeit skeptical, mommy had a hand in it."

Scully shakes her head. "I think just seeing their prodigious, if
paranoid, daddy in action would do the trick."

Suddenly Mulder draws her hand to his chest. "Let's not fight on
this," he says, and kisses her fingertips. "You've got to save your
energy for more important battles, like what to name our newest
daughter."

"Have you thought of a name yet?" she asks, bemused when he returns
her hand.

He nods. "Jester," he says, "for being born on April Fool's day. We
can call her Jess for short."

Scully makes a face. "Mulder, I am not calling her Jester. What kind
of name is that for a girl?"

"It's a cool name," he protests, "and it would make a cool tattoo."
By the look on her face, he's guessing she doesn't agree. "Okay,
maybe not a tattoo, but don't you think it's a cool name? She'll have
street cred right off the bat!"

His wife rolls her eyes. "I don't think that would give her anything
except maybe ammunition to tease her. Mulder, be serious."

"I *am* serious," he says, and puts his hands up. "At least I'm not
suggesting we call her Fool."

"Why don't we call her April," she suggests, "it's a good name and
it's a girl's name."

"But that's so boring," he grumbles, sitting next to her. "Lots of
people name their kids April."

She raises an eyebrow. Oooooh. "We could always name her Fox and see
how she likes it," she says.

"Ouch," he says, "all right. April it is. But I get to pick her
middle name," he says.

"Fine," she says, closing her eyes. "Whatever. I love you, but I need
to get some sleep."

He kisses his wife's forehead, then his daughter's. "Sweet dreams,
Dana and April," he says softly before leaving.

As he fills out his daughter's name for the hospital records, he
writes in April's middle name: "Purim." He doesn't know the exact
bible story, but he recalls there being a beautiful princess as well
as an energetic jester in the play, and figures his daughter can be
anything she wants to be when she grows up.

~*~*~

April 3rd, 1997
2 p.m.

"No Sammy, not on the floor," Rachel says with a sigh as Sammy
delicately and deliberately releases half a banana from his grip and
lets it drop onto the tiles below his high chair. "I swear your mommy
said they were working on getting you to keep the food on your tray."
The banana had obvious structural weaknesses, which is probably why
half of it implodes on impact.

Unfazed by the comment about his supposed improved respect for food
Sammy gives her a beautiful smile, which makes the nanny groan and
cover her eyes. The fact that she's been earning overtime these last
couple of days so her employers can be together at the hospital is
nice, but the kids are exhausting her more than usual. At least she
could normally sleep at home. As it is this lunch has been dragging
on for an hour because she's too tried to care that it's taking
forever.

Still concerned about all things sticky, Page wipes her hand on the
wet washcloth that all the adults who know her have taken to leaving
by her plate at meal times. "'nana all clean." Page looks around,
seeming confused all of the sudden. "Rachall, where Mommy? Daddy say
after lunch. I all done."

"Sammy's not done," Rachel says, impressing herself with the quick
answer.

"Ohh…" The little girl turns to her brother. "You be all done!" 

"That's it, you tell him," Rachel mutters. Sammy ignores them both
and goes back to eating banana coated cheerios one by one.

"He's not listen." 

"I know. He wouldn't listen to me either. How about you go look out
the window and watch for your parents? They should be here pretty
soon."

"Yeah, okay." Page wanders out of the room.

As Rachel is bending to clean the smooshed banana, the washcloth that
Page used lands on her back, making her jump. "Page, that wasn't very
nice," she complains as she peels the damp cloth off her back.

"What Rachall?" 

Page's voice sounds far away, so Rachel is confused when she turns
around and sees the girl turning from the window in the entry way.
She blinks. There's no way a two-and-a-half year old girl could have
tossed a wash cloth thirty feet and have hit her target.

"What?" Page repeats.

"Hey Page, come here." 

"Okay." 

Holding the washcloth by a corner, Rachel shows it to Page. "Where
did you leave this?"

"Table." She points to a spot near her plate.

"That's what I thought." Rachel sighs again. "It fell on me like
someone threw it. Sammy can't reach that far, though."

Page nods. "Ghosties." 

"What?" 

"Ghosties. They kids too." 

"Um, yeah…" Rachel trails off when she hears a car pulling into the
driveway. "Maybe that's your parents." Page squeals and runs back to
the window.

By the time the front door opens, Sammy has been freed from his high
chair and is clean if still slightly damp. He joins his sister and
they both jump up and down as their parents come into the house.
Rachel hangs back a little, but is also curious about her new charge.

Mulder has the baby in his arms, and he stoops down so his older
children can see what he's holding. "This is April. She's your new
sister."

Sammy's eyes widen in shock. "A baby!" 

Page doesn't seem as surprised, but she gives her mother a long look
before leaning over to talk to her sister. "You made mommy fat."

Her parents laugh helplessly, and Rachel holds up her hands. "I
didn't tell her that, I promise."

Mulder grins. "That's my fault, actually. She wanted to know where
Scully's lap when so I told her it was because her mother was going
to have a baby… smart little girl."

He stands up straight and suggests that the kids let their mother sit
down so they can see the baby more. Scully looks thankful for the
suggestion, which makes Rachel think that the woman must be twice as
tired as she is. As soon as the baby is in Scully's arms, Mulder
beckons Rachel away.

"Thank you for all the extra time this week. Did they behave
themselves?"

"They were good. Their grandmother came and spent the afternoon with
them yesterday, so they were thrilled about that." She pauses before
blurting out. "Do you know that Page thinks there are ghosts in this
house?"

"Uh oh," Mulder says, making Rachel wonder if she's just gotten Page
in trouble, which wasn't her intention. "The ghosts haven't hidden
anything on you, have they? If they have I'll help you find whatever
it was before you leave."

"You think there are ghosts too?!" Rachel squawks.

"They're not dangerous or anything," Mulder says quickly. "They're
just a little naughty."

"They didn't take anything." Rachel tells him, feeling dazed. "They
just threw a washcloth at me…and I think they took my blankets off me
a few times, but that could have been tossing and turning."

"Sorry about that. They haven't seemed to taken an interest in you
until now, so I didn't think they'd bother you."

"How did you end up with child ghosts in your house?" 

"I wondered that too, because the uncle who left me the house was a
bachelor with no children. I visited the historical society a while
back and failed to learn anything. My best guess is that they were
taken here after a train or streetcar accident, or something like
that, since they didn't live here."

"Oh, that's awful." 

"They seem happy here, though," Mulder tells her. "Did you want to
see the baby before you leave?"

"Sure." 

The nanny's deft handling of the newborn puts Mulder and Scully both
at ease. It will be weeks before the baby is left in her care -
though she'll be coming to look after Sammy and Page while Scully is
on leave - but it's nice to see that she isn't afraid of the infant.
"What a little sweetie. I hope my own kids are like this." 

"Planning on having them any time soon?" Scully asks in a gently
teasing tone.

This, not the baby, flusters the young nanny. "I don't think Sean or
I are ready to talk about that." She hands April back to Scully with
a blush.

Mulder comes to her rescue. "How about you show me where your bag is?
It looked heavy a few days ago. I'll carry it out to your car."
Rachel looks relieved as she scurries up to the guest room.

~*~*~

Once Mulder has seen the nanny off, he wanders back to his wife.
"Should I know who 'Sean' is?"

Scully looks up from admiring her youngest daughter who is sleeping
in Mulder's arms. "Yes, since you've worked with him. Agent
Pendrell."

"His first name is Sean? I thought it was Agent." 

"Funny, Mulder." 

Mulder shrugs. "I didn't know they were that serious, though. They
make sense in an odd sort of way. Just as long as they don't run off
and leave us in the lurch for a nanny."

Scully smirks at him. "I'm sure they'd be so pleased to have your
blessing."

"Who wouldn't be?" 

April opens her mouth and emits a wail that cuts off further banter
between her parents.

"Baby cryin'" Sammy helpfully informs them.

"We know, Sammy," Mulder says, jiggling April, in hopes of calming
her.

"Make stop." 

"I wish." 

~*~*~

Chapter Forty-Eight

St. John's Church.
Alexandria, VA 
Easter, 1997

Mulder is about as twitchy as the child attached to his leg. It may have 
been a private promise on Scully's part, but as he's realized, when she 
makes a promise, she keeps it. "Hold still, ya squirmy varmint," he bends
down and whispers into his son's ear, making him giggle, but stay
relatively still, and for that, his father is grateful.

Sammy, like his older sister Page and baby sister April, is dressed in 
white formal clothes. Likewise, Mrs. Scully, and Melissa are all decked
out, and so are the Lone Gunmen, who, although not nominally Catholic, 
are the proud godfathers. A passerby might think that the kids are 
wedding attendants, but actually, they're the stars of the show.

Having gone through the whole rigamarole of getting ready for
the baptism,  Mulder's learned more about the other half, that is,
his wife's Catholic beliefs and her surprising strength in them. He
sighs inwardly, if he'd learned this before, he wouldn't have been
surprised at her sudden swings toward faith whenever it came up in
their cases. Better late than never, he adds, trying to pay
attention as the priest asks the kids, "You and your parents and
sponsors have spent a long time preparing for this day. Is it 
your desire to be baptized?" 

Page murmurs a shy "yes" while April simply smiles, but Sammy 
shouts, "NO!" 

Everyone laughs, while Scully groans and Mulder tries (and fails) to 
hide his grin. Father McCue also smiles, then bends down and asks, 
"Samuel, do you want to be baptized, too?" 

Sammy looks up at his dad, who shrugs. A solemn look comes over the 
little redhead's face, and he nods. "Okay," he says.

Mulder breathes an inward sigh of relief, especially since
Scully's glare at him has dimmed from laser-intense to merely
first-degree burns. The rest of the baptism goes without a hitch,
just like the rehearsal, and the ritual goes by painlessly, as
Mulder and Scully read their hopes and prayers over 
their children and the priest blesses the little ones in words and water. 
April cries when the water splashes on her face, but that's understandable.

In a weird way, he could kinda get used to this, rituals being reminders of 
love as well as obligation. And considering Scully's promise was made over 
concern for his well-being, he can understand the sentiment. Once the 
baptism is over, they launch into a familiar scenario common to pretty much 
every religion: everybody eats.

"Now this I can get into," Frohike murmurs, digging into the buffet.

Mulder doesn't have a chance to respond sarcastically because Mrs. Scully 
comes up and asks, "So, Fox, when will you get baptized?" 

While her husband searches for a diplomatic reply, Scully smiles and 
squeezes his arm, "He's already a believer, Mom."

"He is?" The older woman blinks. "But I thought…"

"Just a little more Old Testament-fashioned than the rest." Mulder grins, 
even as he shoots a silent "thank you" to his wife.

He's saved from any more probing questions from either Mrs. Scully or 
Father  McCue as he does kid wrangling for the rest of the afternoon. He 
notices, though, with some wry amusement, that the Gunmen aren't 
similarly blessed with children as a diversionary tactic, and instead stuff 
their faces.

It isn't until everybody leaves the church and he and his family are 
seatbelted in that Mulder finally breathes a real prayer of thanks.

"Mulder?" Scully asks, concerned. "Are you okay?" It's
been a long day for everyone, and now that the kids are making tired
noises, it seems that they're ready for a nap. Me, too, she adds
mentally.

"Now I am," he grins, starting the car.

~*~*~ 

July 2nd, 1997
Night

Scully smiles to herself when she sees that Mulder is lying on his
stomach, almost nose to nose with April. The baby, also on her belly,
is lifting her head to look around. Mulder is speaking to the baby in
a voice too low to be heard.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" 

"Trying to see what the world looks like from her level." 

"What's different?" she asks, humoring him.

"Well, from down here, you're really tall. Mommy's a giant, isn't she
April?"

Scully snorts. "I was a giant before she was born, not after. Ask
Page."

She expects him to laugh, but he looks up at her with a very solemn
expression. "Are you sure you're ready to go back to work?"

Three months of being home with the baby has been both nice and
maddening. It makes her feel guilty, but she is ready to do something
more intellectually stimulating with her time, and she's confident
that Rachel, for all her idiosyncrasies, will be as good with the new
baby as the two older children. Of course, she can't tell Mulder
this. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure? Because if you're not, we can talk to Skinner about
exten-"

"Really, Mulder, I'll be okay." 

"Okay." He gives her a winsome look. "I've missed having you around
the office."

"It's good to be missed," she tells him, getting down on the floor to
play with April too.

~*~*~

July 5th, 1997
6:30 a.m.

When Mulder enters the nursery to dress his two youngest children,
he's surprised to see Sammy sitting up in his crib. His eyes have
dark shadows under them, and his face looks exhausted. He reaches his
arms up and whines plaintively, "Baby loud!"

The loud baby is sleeping soundly, so Mulder carries his son into the
master bedroom where Scully is still putting on her makeup. He puts
Sammy on the bed and points at him. "Look at him, he's not getting
any sleep. When he was small Page slept through his night noise, but
he's not sleeping through April's."

As if to emphasize his father's point, Sammy slumps over, sprawling
on the bed.

Scully picks the toddler up and cuddles him. "Oh, Sammy. I think it's
time we put him in his own room, Mulder."

Mulder starts to nod, but Sammy shrieks "No!" and begins to cry.

All they can do is exchange bewildered looks. Mulder takes him and
tries to calm him down. "You don't want your own room, huh, Buddy.
How come?"

After hiccupping a couple of times, Sammy wipes tears off his face
with a fist. "'lone scary. Too dark." They'd tried putting him in
that room one night earlier in the week after setting up a toddler
bed, and ended up with him in their bed. Now they knew why.

"We can put a night light in your room," Mulder suggests.

Sammy cries harder.

"Page's room," Scully blurts out. Sammy stops crying and looks at
her. "Do you want to sleep in Page's room for a little while?"

"Car bed?" 

Scully grins. "I think that can be arranged. Go wait in your old room
for Daddy to come change you."

"'K, Mommy!" He dashes out of the room.

"You're good," Mulder tells her.

"I know." 

"Do you think Page will mind?" 

"Nah. But if she does, we can tell her it was your idea." 

"Oh, that's nice." 

His wife smiles brightly at his scowl.

~*~*~

Angie's Midnight Bowl 
Noon

Scully walks down the lane toward Mulder and Angie, who are lying in
the lane, looking up at the pin setter. Shrugging to herself, she
doesn't even wonder why.

Catching sight of her, Mulder beckons with a hand. "Hey, Scully, take
a look at this."

She joins them underneath the pin setter and squints at the floor.
"What am I looking at?"

"The pin setter. You see the way it's wedged and broken?" Scully
tells him she does. "Mr. Pintero said the only way that would happen
would be if considerable weight or pressure was placed on it from
above."

"This is where you saw the body?" Scully asks Angie.

"Yes ma'am, she was caught up in the machinery. Her neck was cut." 

"And the blood from the victim was pooling where?" 

Angie points to a spot on the slick floor. "Right there." 

"But both the body and the blood were gone when you returned?" 

Angie looks anxious, obviously sensing her disbelief." Yeah, but
like, like I said, the woman in the parking lot..."

"Was the same woman that you saw caught up here in the machinery?" 

"That's right." 

All three of them walk out from under the pin setter, and Scully and
Angie discuss whether or not he's lying. Before things get heated,
Mulder interrupts." Can I ask you a favor? Can I get a soda, a cola,
something like that?"

While Angie gets the soda, Mulder speaks to his wife in a low voice.

"What is that look, Scully?" 

"I would have thought that after all these years you'd know exactly
what that look was."
"I know you believe in ghosts, Scully." 

"I may believe in our ghosts. IF that's what they even are," she
grumbles. "But you think what this man saw was the victim's ghost?"

"Sounds more like a disembodied soul." 

"Which is just another name for a ghost." 

"Except according to Mr. Pintero, this one was trying to communicate.
It was speaking to him as if she was trying to tell him something. It
sounds more like a death omen."

"A death omen? Like a banshee or big black dog?" 

"Something like that. It's a spirit being that arrives as a harbinger
of death. It looks just like the person who is dying."

"So if I see you when you're not supposed to be around I should worry
about being widowed?"

"Funny." He smirks. "This is the third reported sighting in as many
weeks...and as many murders. Each time the victim appearing near the
crime scene trying to communicate, trying to say something."

"Communicate what?" 

"I don't know yet but, uh...If you hold on a second I may have an
answer for you." He thanks Angie for the soda then begins pouring it
on the floor. Angie is really unhappy with his behavior, but Mulder
ignores him and points to the spot Angie showed them before.

"She is me." 

Both Scully and Angie are confused." What?" 

"Written onto the wax - she is me - look at this!" 

They look where he's pointing and see the phrase etched in wax and
filled with soda.

~*~*~

After Detective Hudak tips them off about call coming from a mental
hospital, the agents go to visit Harold Spuller and speak to him and
the nurse who cares for him

"I don't know anything. I didn't do anything. Leave me alone." Harold
is sullen.

"You made that phone call, didn't you Harold?" 

"No!" 

"Did you say the words 'she is me'?" 

"No!" 

"Have you ever heard those words?" 

"No!" 

Mulder doesn't bother to point out the fact that at the very least
Harold just heard him say the phrase. "Have you ever seen a ghost,
Harold?"

"No! No!" Harold rocks back and forth, getting even more agitated.
"Please leave me alone."

The nurse makes a move to try to comfort the stricken man, but he
just continues to shout no at the top of his lungs. They stand to
leave, and Scully leans in to Mulder. "Well...when you're right,
you're right."

"17...30...37...45...53." Tears stream down Harold's face, and
neither Scully nor Mulder notice that he looks as them as they leave.
"You're a ghost, you're a ghost, you're…"

~*~*~

 An Office In The Psychiatric Center

A doctor has let them borrow an office while Scully looks over
Harold's medical records. To the surprise of both, the center seems
eager to cooperate.

Scully looks up from a file. "Harold Spuller suffers from pervasive
developmental disorder, which is sometimes called atypical autism.
He's spent his entire life in and out of facilities just like this
one. He has been medicated, he has received shock therapy and, aside
from his other disabilities, he has been diagnosed with severe ego
dystonic obsessive-compulsive disorder...which would explain the
switching of the victims rings."

"So why all of a sudden?" Mulder asks her.

"You mean what made him snap? Why, I think his outburst clearly
showed a frustrated impulse towards violence when he was put in a
challenging situation."

"That outburst didn't come until after I'd asked him if he'd ever
seen a ghost."

"Mulder, the man is disturbed. You could see the pressure building in
him from the moment the interview began."

"Yeah." 

"Why are you now so unconvinced that Harold Spuller is the man we
came here looking for?"

"I'm sure Harold Spuller is the man that made that phone call. On the
other hand I don't think he's any more capable of murder than our
kids are. What led us to him still remains unexplained."

"She is me." 

"Uh huh, and the other apparitions, like the one Mr. Pintero saw at
the bowling alley."

"Well, I think I have an idea about that if not an explanation.
Howard Spuller is at this facility voluntarily, which means he can
come and go as he pleases, to kill those women or to hold down a job
or both."

Scully points to a page from Harold's records, which shows Angie's
Midnight Bowl as his place of employment. "This isn't a coincidence."

"Maybe not," she agrees, standing abruptly.

"Hey where are you going?" 

"No where really, I just need to find a washroom." 

"You're not pregnant, right?" Mulder teases. But the glee flees his
face suddenly when he recalls that they didn't wait a second longer
than six weeks to get back on familiar terms…

"Jesus, Mulder, I just have to pee!" 

She walks out in a huff leaving Mulder with a smug look on his face.

~*~*~

Her irritation at her husband is wearing off by the time she leaves
the stall and goes to the sink to wash her hands. She turns off the
water and looks up at the mirror. The words "She is me" are written
on the mirror in blood. As she stares at the mirror, a low moaning
sound is heard.

Scully spins around and sees a pale, ghost-like figure of a young
woman standing by the window. The sweatshirt clad woman's mouth
moves, as if she's speaking, but as with her father's shade, Scully
can't hear anything she's saying. As Scully watches, a line across
the young woman's throat opens up like a seam and blood runs down her
neck.

A frightened sound escapes her throat and she backs up so suddenly
that she hits a stall with a resounding thud. On the other side of
the door she can hear Mulder calling for her. "You okay in there?"

Her attention diverted by the question, she looks away from the ghost
and to the door, as if she could see him through it. When she
hesitantly looks back to the window, she sees that's she's alone.

"Scully, you in there?" 

The words are no longer on the mirror, either.

"Yeah, I'm okay," she says shakily. "I thought I saw something. A
rat."

"A rat? I thought this place was supposed to be upscale." He opens
the door a crack to speak to her, but doesn't enter the room. "They
found another victim. A college student with her throat cut. Just
about a half block from here."

He lets the door close again, leaving a stunned Scully alone in the
bathroom.

~*~*~

 A City Street Near The Center
The Scene Of The Latest Murder 

Scully barely suppresses a shudder when she looks at the body. The
young woman is the same one she saw in the bathroom, wearing the same
sweatshirt.

Mulder notices, but doesn't make an issue of it. "Her name was Loren
Heller, age 21. She's single, apparently she was on her way home from
a bar that she part-timed at after school. She had a ring on her left
hand, switched to her right hand, pinky finger. She was dead less
than an hour when she was found."

"That would rule out Harold Spuller as the killer, huh?" Scully asks,
stepping back from the unpleasant sight.

"No, actually it doesn't. Harold's not at the home. He's nowhere to
be found. His nurse locked him in his room after we left, but he
managed to escape unnoticed."

"I don't imagine he'd be too hard to find. He's a creature of habit,
after all."

"Yeah, but I think we should be the ones to find him, if only to find
out what 'she is me' means." He glances at her and notices her
distracted expression. "Miss the baby, huh?"

"What?" She blinks, confused.

"You look a thousand miles away. I thought that was it." 

"Oh yeah, I was wondering how April is." 

"Why don't you go home? I can get Harold myself." 

"Are you sure?" She doesn't realize that she looks grateful.

"Positive. I'll give you a call if anything exciting happens." 

~*~*~

Washington, DC

Scully, with hands clasped in front of her chin, is somberly staring
into space. There's a hesitant knock on the bedroom door. She gets up
and opens it.

"I was afraid you were sleeping." 

"Not yet. Has something 'exciting' come up?" 

"I needed your help on something. I needed your medical expertise." 

"On what?" 

"Harold Spuller. You know Angie Pintero, the bowling alley guy? He's
dead."

"How?" 

"Natural causes. Congestive heart failure. Just keeled over right in
the bowling alley."

"That's what you need my medical opinion on?" 

"No. Howard Spuller had a premonitory vision of his boss's death." 

"I don't understand," Scully lies, thinking involuntarily of her
father for the second time.

"Harold saw an apparition - what may have been Angie Pintero's
disembodied soul at the moment of or just prior to his death."

"How do you know?" 

"Because I was standing right there when he saw it." 

"But you didn't see it yourself?" 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"I don't have that facility, that kind of connection to the victims
that would have made such a vision possible."

"What's Harold Spuller's connection?" 

"I don't know its exact nature but I think it has something to do
with his autism...that Harold experienced a profound attachment to
these victims but because of his disability was unable to express the
depth and power of those relationships, so somehow a psychic or
preconscious bond was formed that went beyond the temporal."

"Oh, wait a minute, so Harold knew the people that were killed?" 

"Yeah, from the bowling alley, going back seven years." 

"Even if what you're saying is true, Harold wasn't the only one who
claims to have seen these apparitions."

"No, but he does have something in common with those who've had the
visions that is quite powerful in its own right."

"Which is what?" 

"Well, they were all dying...one of emphysema, one of cancer and now
Angie Pintero."

"Harold Spuller is dying too?" 

"Well that's what I need your medical opinion on." 

"Well, what if he isn't?" Scully asks, suddenly worried about
herself. She tries to dismiss her fear, since she'd seen her first
ghost years before and was still hale, but it's hard.

"I would be very surprised. What is a death omen if not a vision of
our own mortality? And who among us would most likely be able to see
the dead but those who have been near its icy chill themselves?
Harold's at the resident home right now."

"Let's get this over with then." Scully picks up her coat. "It's a
good thing Rachel is still her."

"Thank god for night owls," Mulder agrees.

~*~*~

Chuck Forsch's Room 

After Harold goes ballistic, Scully goes to visit his roommate,
telling Mulder that if anyone knows something, it'd be the man who
rooms with him.

She knocks gently on the door before entering.

Harold's roommate looks up from reading a book. "Oh hi." 

"Is your name Chuck?" 

"Yes. Yes it is. Uh, Chuck Forsch. F-O-R-S-C-H. Chuck Forsch." 

"Do you, uh, do you share this room with Harold?" 

Chuck nods enthusiastically. "Yes, he's my friend." 

"Do you know where he is? We're worried about him, so we'd like to
find him."

"He's dying, isn't he? Harold is dying." The man's face clouds.

"Why do you say that?" 

"Nurse Innes, she's, she's trying to poison him." 

"Who told you that?" 

"Harold. He said she told him she was putting poison in his meds." 

"Harold hasn't been taking his medication?" 

"I don't know. I don't know everything, I'm only a human being. But I
do know that Harold's my friend. He wouldn't hurt anybody. You know,
he really loved them."

"Who?" 

Chuck crosses the room and removes another book from a drawer.
"Harold. He gave them to me. He was afraid." Chuck takes several
photographs from the book and hands them to Scully. Smiling faces
that look up at them are the murdered women.

"Does anybody else know about these pictures, Chuck?" 

"Nurse Innes." Just as she's about to thank him for his help, he
gives her a curious look. "You don't look like a ghost."

"Why would I look like a ghost?" 

"Harold. He said you were a ghost. And he knows about ghosts," Chuck
says with a sage nod.

"Well, he's wrong, I'm not a ghost." 

Chuck shrugs. "What do I know? I'm just a simple man." 

As she leaves the room he begins to hum the Lynard Skynard song of
the same title. Something about the end of the conversation really
bothers her, and even though she tells herself that she shouldn't put
too much stalk into what Chuck said, she can't shake the shiver that
goes through her as she pushes open the door to the bathroom.

 ~*~*~

Standing hunched over the sink, Nurse Innes starts as Scully enters
the room.

"How are you feeling?" 

"I'm, you know, shaky." 

"Understandable." 

"Working with these people starts driving you crazy too. I'm just
looking forward to going home."

"Will your family be a comfort?" Scully notices that Nurse Innes is
holding something in her left hand and reminds herself to be wary in
light of Chuck's more believable accusations.

"I live alone." 

"No children?" 

Innes smirks. "Just the one my husband ran off with. You?"

"Three, two girls and a boy-" Scully's voice falters when nurse Innes
accidentally drops pills onto the floor.

"Nurse Innes, I'm afraid I'm gonna to have to ask you to step out
into the hallway."

Innes removes the scalpel she's been holding from her pocket and
viciously slashes at Scully, backing her up against the wall. Scully
grabs Innes's arm as they struggle. She eventually forces Innes to
drop the scalpel by slamming her hand against the wall. After Innes
propels her across the room, still on the floor Scully draws her gun
on the wild nurse.

"Stay where you are! Drop it! Let it go!" 

Innes hesitates for just a fraction of a second before raising the
scalpel and lunging forward. Scully aims from her position on the
floor and fires. Innes drops like a stone.

Mulder and Alpert burst into the room a moment later, and look at the
fallen woman.

Scully's face is blank as she gets to her feet. "She's alive. Let's
get a paramedic in here."

After nodding in agreement, Alpert scurries out and summons help.

Mulder, on the other hand, is more concerned about his wife than the
nurse lying on the floor. "You're cut." He takes her hand gently into
his own and examines it.

"Yeah, she attacked me." She points to the scalpel. Which Mulder
starts to pick up. "You might want to bag that. I'm pretty sure it's
the murder weapon."

~*~*~

They squeeze against the hall wall to let paramedics roll Innes
through.

"She had been taking Harold's meds...clonazepam and clozapine...the
unregulated effects of which are violence and unpredictable
behavior," Scully explains calmly.

"Yeah, but why did you even suspect her?" 

"Well, I went in to talk to Harold's roommate and he said that Harold
thought that she'd been poisoning him. So I went in to confront her
and she just went off."

"Why do you think she killed those women?" 

"I don't know. I mean, maybe in some drug-addled way, she was trying
to kill happiness, Harold's happiness, his love for those women,
maybe trying to destroy something she thought she'd never have
again."

"She is me." 

"Maybe. She mentioned that her husband had run off with a young girl.
Maybe she was trying to extract some sort of revenge on them too."
Scully shakes her head. "Have they found Harold?"

"Yeah. They found in an alley a few blocks from here, face down on
the pavement. They worked on him for twenty minutes but he couldn't
be revived."

"What happened?" 

"The preliminary diagnosis is apnea: respiratory failure." 

"As a result of what?" 

"Well, the paramedics are at a loss to explain that, but if what
you're saying is true, that Harold stopped taking his medications,
then that could have been a factor in his death - at least in the
visions that he was seeing."

"Well, Harold Spuller wasn't dying, Mulder. He, he was killed as a
result of what that woman took away from him."

"Is that your medical opinion?" 

Scully pauses and Mulder stops as well. "I saw something Mulder." 

"What?" 

She sighs. "The fourth victim. I saw her in the bathroom before you
came to tell me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Annoyance fills his voice. ::You're not
dying this time, how could you see her?? You can't be sick, you
can't, you can't.::

"Because I didn't want to believe it. Because I don't want to believe
that there's a connection between the victims and who sees them. I'm
fine, so your theory must be wrong."

"It must be." 

"Let's go home," Scully whispers tiredly.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his keys and tosses them to
her. "I'll be right with you. I need to use the bathroom before we
head out."

She's unable to resist returning his earlier volley. "Sure you're not
pregnant?"

His laughter echoes as he shakes his head and rushes back to the
center.


As she walks out to the car, she catches sight of flashing lights
down the street. Police cars and an ambulance are barely visible.
She's teary for reasons she can't explain, but she rubs her eyes hard
as she slides on to the passenger seat. Glancing out the window, she
sees the ambulance driving away, and as she follows it with her eyes,
in her rear-view mirror she sees a pale image of Harold in the back
seat. Wide-eyed, she turns around to look but there is nothing there.
She turns back, shocked.

She's white as a ghost herself when Mulder lets himself into the car,
but he doesn't seem to notice.

~*~*~

Washington, DC 
10 p.m.

"Okay, how do I die?" She remembers that Buckman stared at her,
looking perplexed. "You already did," The snippet of conversation
comes back to her with a start, and makes her shiver. Buckman had
seemed puzzled that she couldn't remember having died. What if it
hadn't just been the confused words of a man soon to take his own
life, but truly part of her past?

Before she quite realizes it, she's dialing the phone. "Hi mom, I'm
sorry that it's so late...This will sound like a strange question,
but...did I ever come close to dying as a kid?" She holds the phone
to ear and listens for quite a while. "Okay thanks. Have a good
night, Mom. Love you."

"It's late for a phone call," Mulder says quietly, making her realize
he's in the room.

"I died."

He freezes. ::Oh shit. But how could Maggie possibly know? If any of
the Scully women were going to claim ESP I'd of bet it would be
Missy, not Maggie. Well, maybe Missy-::

Before Mulder has a heart attack, she goes on. "I was two. There was
a car accident and the car rolled...My face got jammed against the
seat and, and I stopped breathing. Then my heart stopped...My mom
said they thought they lost me."

When she looks up there are tears in her eyes. He immediately gathers
her in his arms. "Shhh, you're okay now."

"She said that they didn't want to tell me unless I remembered, since
it had been so traumatic. I can't believe I didn't know I died."
Scully's voice is still wobbly.

"I can understand her desire to protect you from that. If it had been
me and Page, instead of you and Maggie, I can't say for sure that I'd
do anything differently."

Scully doesn't say anything. To his surprise, he looks down sees that
she's smiling. "What?"

"At least now we know that your stupid theory-" 

"My stupid theory?" Pouting, he attempts to make her feel bad, and
fails miserably.

"- was just a little off the mark. You don't have to be dying at the
moment to see…something. God, Mulder, I was beginning to wonder if I
was sick and didn't know it." Her laugh sounds a little shaky.

So does his.

"How come you didn't see them?" 

"What?" 

"You didn't see the ghosts. Surely you've had a few heart-stopping
moments yourself."

"I think it might have stopped while I waited for you to say you'd
marry me, but other than that..."

Lacking a witty comeback, Scully settles for kissing him instead.

~*~*~

end four of ten

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