Title: The Family G-Man
Authors: Neoxphile and FelineFemme
Rating: we're shooting for NC-17, ya'll better take cover 
Spoilers: Seasons 1-9

Category: Alternate Reality, Snark, Family Fic, plus a dollop Angst
for the beginning (and despite what chapter one leads you to believe,
this is *not* a character death story)

Disclaimer: So yeah, we're going to be borrowing CC's characters, and
the idea behind "The Family Man," which put a twist on "It's a Wonderful Life" 
which blatantly copied "A Christmas Carol." We hope the print doesn't get
blurry from being a copy of a copy of...

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

Summary: What if he could go back and change things, save the son one
lost and give the other the family she wanted? Could it keep them
safe? 

In season six some of the same old cases take new twists that leave
Mulder reeling.

~*~*~
Season Six - chapters 64-77
~*~*~


Chapter Sixty-Four

September 1st, 1998

Sitting in a rocking chair, Mulder studies Jared as he feeds him a
bottle. ::You know, Kid, having both Mommy and Daddy being on leave
while we wait for the red tape to be cut so our office is reopened.
The two of you are a lot of work! That's one of the reasons Daddy is
not going to encourage Mommy to want another baby for a couple of
years. You're going to run us ragged, and I promised your little
brother that he'd still be born. Six kids sounds great to your old
man.::

When he hears Scully come in, he doesn't look up before speaking to
her. "Have you given any thought yet to that zygosity test? They look
identical to me, but they say that the Olsen twins aren't even though
they look just-" He trails off when he notices that Scully looks
teary. "What's wrong?"

"You're feeding my baby."

"Oh, did you want to?" he asks, offering her the bottle.

"No."

"Ah." It's that again. She didn't mention it until they got home, but
before the consortium abandoned her to be eaten by the developing
virus after it gestated, they'd given her a few injections in hopes
of riding her body of the drug faster. Apparently they'd still had
hopes for infecting her too, not just Fowley. One of the things
they'd tried had dried up her milk. Although he tries to be
sympathetic, he can't help but think that it might be for the best.
Trying to feed two newborns all by herself might have done her in,
particularly since she'd be returning to work when he does.

"You think I'm being silly," she says as she picks up David, who'd
been sleeping up until then.

"I don't think you're being silly. But I don't think you should feel
guilty. You don't love them any less than their sisters and brother,
do you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then they'll be fine, They might get another cold or two, but that
won't matter much in the long run."

"You have to be so damn reasonable, don't you?" she accuses, but she
looks a lot less sad.

"I can try harder to make this a dysfunctional family, if you'd
like," Mulder invites with a grin. "But I'm not sure the kids will
cooperate. They don't seem to get upset by new babies the way they're
supposed to."

Scully finally smiles. "It just might be that they've accepted the
fact that parents periodically bring home new siblings as the natural
order of things."

"Good for them," Mulder says with a sigh, then moves to burp his son.
"Let's hope that the sibling rivalry fairy skips over this house all
together."

"Like you say everyday, Mulder, anything is possible."

"I don't say that every day."

"Almost every day."

"No more than once a month."

By the time the mock argument wraps up, the twins are sleeping, and
the other kids call from downstairs, wanting their dinners too.

::Does life get any better than this?:: Mulder wonders, even sparing
a smile for a shadow that seems to wave at him in the dark hallway.
::Great kids, a haunted house…::

~*~*~

Second week of September 1998

::This is easy. I can do this, no problem.:: Mulder thinks as he
stirs spaghetti sauce with his right hand. David is draped over his
left arm, sleeping soundly, undisturbed by his father's movement.

::It's fine that he won't sleep when he's not being held. Sure, it's
fine.:: He wishes that he had a free hand to rub his eyes with, but
all he can do is to turn his head when he yawns so he doesn't drool
into dinner. ::This is probably temporary. He slept in his crib fine
up until last night.::

Mulder stops stirring the pot and stares out into space – at least
until his newborn son whimpers and scrunches his face, looking like
he's going to wake up all the way. "You know, kid, I should have
known. As soon as I got kids who took after me in coloring, I'd get
ones who'd take after me in sleeplessness too." Although that's not
strictly true. Jared has Mulder's dark hair too, and sleeps in a crib
like a normal baby. So far. As it is, Mulder's rediscovering moves he
hasn't used since slow dancing at the senior prom.

A moment later, a small figure darts into the kitchen. Completely
ignoring his father at the stove, Sammy laboriously pushes a chair up
against the counter and climbs up onto it.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Mulder asks his older son while swaying in
place.

"Getting cookies," Sammy tells him brightly.

"No you're not. Haven't you noticed that I'm cooking?"

"Yup."

His father makes a swatting motion with the wooden spoon he's still
holding. Luckily, he doesn't get sauce everywhere. "Get down, You.
First dinner, then cookies."

"O-kay." Sammy slides off the chair and without being asked pushes it
back to the table.

Before the little boy can wander off, Mulder tells him, "Sit in a
chair and tell your old Dad about your first day of school." He and
Scully can scarcely believe that they now have two children old
enough for preschool, but the calendar marches on. "Did you like it?"

"Yup."

Mulder nods. "Were Page and Emily nice to you?" It's been his fear
that the girls would gang up on Sammy and not let him play with
anyone else, or else completely ignore him.

"Uh huh, but I played with different kids at playtime. That's okay,
right?"

"Of course it is. You can have different friends than your sister or
cousin do."

"Good." Tilting his head, Sammy stares at Mulder's arm. "How come you
holding David?"

To everyone's surprise, Sammy is able to tell his brothers apart at a
glance, even better than Mulder, Scully or Maggie can. They have no
idea why. Scully still hasn't made up her mind about testing their
DNA yet, but Mulder is pretty sure they're identical. Scully once
remarked that she wished that she'd gotten to see if there were one
or two placentas, but the idea just made Mulder's stomach wobbily.

"He won't sleep in his crib."

"Oh. His crib got sheep sheets?"

Mulder blinks. "Yes he does, why do you ask?"

"Them sheets smell funny. I don't like it."

Mulder is about to ask him why he knows that when he remembers that
the cribs and Sammy's toddler bed use the same size sheets. "What do
they smell like?"

The little boy just wrinkles his nose. "Yucky soap."

"Good to know. Will you tell everyone that dinner's ready, please?"

"Yup!"

*

For the hell of it, after dinner Mulder strips the sheet off the
baby's crib mattress. He holds it to his nose and sniffs, but it just
smells like a sheet to him. Shrugging, he balls it up and tosses it
in the hamper before grabbing another sheet.

Pausing, he calls down the hallway. "Sammy, do the duck sheets smell
yucky too?"

"No Daddy."

He doesn't hold much hope that it will help, but as soon as he puts
the new sheet on he lifts David out of the baby carrier he's been
fussing in since Mulder put him down.

The moment the baby is in the crib, he yawns and falls asleep.

"I'll be damned," Mulder whispers, shutting off the light.

~*~*~

 October 1998

As Skinner briefs them, Mulder is barely able to object when he
notices a familiar figure sitting in the office, listening with rapt
attention to Skinner's every word. To be honest, he's paying more
attention than either Mulder or Scully.

"Yesterday, a small pipe bomb ripped through the crypt of Christ's
Church here in DC. There were no casualties, no thefts, no note
making any demand," Skinner says.

Trying not to yawn, Scully asks, "Who's taking credit for it?" 

"Nobody."

Right on cue, the man speaks into a tape recorder. "She's Jodie
Foster's foster child on a Payless budget. He's like A...Jehovah's
Witness meets Harrison Ford's 'Witness'."

Scully shoots Mulder a look, and he shrugs. "Uh, Christ's Church.
Isn't that, uh, Cardinal O'Fallon's church?" she asks.

"Yes. O'Fallon's residence is adjacent to the crypt," Skinner
replies.

"Who's Cardinal O'Fallon?" Mulder pretends to have no idea, since no
one would expect him to know.

"Cardinal "Oh-fallen," perhaps." Is recorded just before a cell phone
rings.

"Um...He's one of the most powerful men in the church today. His name
often comes up as a possibility for the first American pope."

"Oh. I-I don't want to be myopic here, sir, but this looks like a
straight up terrorist act for the A.T.F."

"Myopic." The man records, still ignoring his phone.

"Yes, it does." Skinner agrees

The ringing is driving Mulder batty. "Are you going to answer your
phone?"

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"I didn't want to be rude." He goes for his phone, missing Scully's
look of disbelief.

"Sir, who the hell is this guy?" Mulder asks while the man natters on
his phone.

"This is Wayne Federman. He's an old buddy of mine from college. He's
a writer out in Hollywood now and he's working on an FBI-based movie.
He's asked me to give him access."

"A screenwriter?" Scully asks in a tone of careful disdain.

"It's actually…writer/producer," Wayne says, then continues his phone
conversation.

"Well, that's actually just a hindrance-slash-pain in the neck." 

"Yo, yo, yo. Agent Mulder, I don't want to eat your lunch. I'm just
here for some procedural flavor - just a taste."

"Why do I get the sense that the song 'me and my shadow' is going to
be in my head all day?" Mulder mutters.

Wayne gives him an ingratiating smile. "The Skinman's said that you
come at things maybe a little fahkatke, a little Star Trekky, which
is the exact vibe I'm looking for… for this thing I'm doing. It's a
Silence of the Lambs meets Greatest Story Ever Told type thing.
It's...Beautiful, and I will not be in your way. I'll be strictly
Heisenbergian - like a hologram."

Giving Scully a pained look, he reminds himself that Wayne is a
temporary annoyance.

"Agent Mulder, Mr. Federman will accompany you today to Christ's
Church where he will act as an observer on this case. You will extend
to him every courtesy and protection you would a friend of mine and a
friend of the Bureau's. Agent Scully, I require your services here
for the morning."

Ignoring Wayne's suggestive murmur, Mulder asks, "Sir, have I pissed
you off in a way that's more than normal?"

~*~*~

Christ's Church 
Washington, DC

After what seems like an endless drive, Mulder and Wayne pull up in
front of a cathedral.

"Just curious if she's more than your partner," Wayne says,
continuing the interrogation he started when they got in the car.

Mulder holds up his right hand so sun glints off his wedding ring. 

"Oh, so that's why she puts up with you."

He shrugs. "That and she doesn't want to raise five kids on her own."

"Married for a while, then, huh?"

"Almost five years." When he sees Wayne's knowing look he adds
defensively, "The new babies are twins."

"Un huh."

They get out and quickly locate the cardinal. Wayne makes a show of
being quiet.

"Cardinal O'Fallon can you think of anyone who might make an attempt
on your life?"

"The church always has enemies, Agent Mulder."

"The size of the bomb would have limited its destruction to just the
crypt itself. Is there anything down there worth targeting?"

"Not really. Just some old bones, artifacts, relics...documents that
we store down there in the cold. We like to think of it as God's
Refrigerator."

"That's a great line," Wayne says, recording it as soon as the
cardinal thanks him.

"Wayne, shut up," Mulder orders. "You were saying, Cardinal?"

"No treasures to the outside world. Things of negligible monetary
value...but great spiritual value to the church - ancient devotional
texts...and medieval relics."

Wayne and the cardinal banter as they go down the stairs, saving
Mulder from having to make small talk. After a while they find
themselves in a spidery cavern.

"Who comes down to the crypt here?" Mulder asks. 

"Only myself. There are a half a mile of catacombs here." O'Fallon
turns on a light. "I like to walk here during lunch." He leads them
to an area of rubble. "That's where the bomb went off."

Mulder looks around. "Well, my instinct, Cardinal is to see this
desecration of the dead less as a murder attempt and more as a
terrorist act - a message..." He breaks off when a phone begins to
ring.

After a couple of minutes they discover the phone and the body it's
with.

"Would that be St. Jude's cell phone, Cardinal?" Wayne asks
nervously.

"No. That's Micah Hoffman," Mulder tells him and then shows him the
phone which spells out the dead man's name.

~*~*~

Adams Morgan District 
Washington, DC

With Wayne in tow, they arrive at the door of a low rent apartment.
"This should be it here."

Scully objects when he jimmies the lock with his kit. "Mulder, we
should have a warrant."

"Hey, it's only the Constitution. No big deal," Wayne says
sarcastically.

"And give it to who?" Mulder asks. "Dead men don't seem too impressed
by warrants."

The inside of the apartment is decorated with art and bomb making
equipment.

"Dis-feng shui," Wayne remarks, earning an odd look from Mulder.

"Mulder, sorry to denigrate a third of your Trinity, but, uh, looks
like Hoffman was killed by one of his own bombs."

"Well, from Dharma bum to Dharma bomb." 

Giving Wayne a look Mulder says, "I knew, uh, Hoffman was a master
potter..."

"Yeah, well, it appears he was a master calligrapher as well. Look,
Mulder, they've got gum arabic and sodium hydroxide here." They smell
unpleasant. "Whoo, these would be used to, uh, to age the ink and the
paper prematurely. It's a...it's a forger's trick. "

"Well, from counterculture to counterfeiter." 

"All right, one more pun and I pull out my gun," Mulder says, staring
hard in Wayne's direction. "I don't care if you are Skinner's
friend."

"You are fearless, I guess," Wayne says. "Most people fear the
Skinman."

Mulder ignores him. "Scully, look at that." He picks up a piece of
parchment with writing he can't read covering it. "Christos. Looks
like a religious text. Can you read Greek at all?"

"Well, it's pretty rusty but it looks like some kind of lost Gospel.
A gospel of Mary Magdalene, and, uh, an account of Christ's life on
Earth after the Resurrection."

"After?"

"Yeah. It's a heretical text, Mulder - mythical, I should say, but
long rumored to be in existence."

"Like the book of Mormon," Wayne suggests.

"I don't think he sent for this in the mail, Wayne," Scully says.

"Well, what would Micah Hoffman be doing with heretical religious
texts?" Mulder asks.

"I think the question is: What would Hoffman be doing forging them?"
Scully asks.

"We all have to have hobbies, Scully." 

Wayne clears his throat. "I think the real question, Agents, is: What
might O'Fallon be doing with Hoffman's forgeries?" They both look up
at him in grudging respect. "You don't need a weatherman to know
which way the wind blows."

When Mulder glares at him, Wayne holds up his hands. "Don't shoot!"

~*~*~

Wayne trots along behind Mulder as they go through the crypt, trying
to keep up on shorter legs. It shouldn't be as hard for him as it is
for Scully, but it seems to take him more effort to keep up so he's
not left in the dark behind the beam from Mulder's flashlight.

"I like the way you guys work - no warrants, no permission, no
research. You're like studio executives with guns," Wayne says when
they finally slow down a little. Should I call you Agent Mulder or
Mr. Mulder, or, like do you have a nickname or something like that?"
They hear a faint clicking, and Wayne laughs nervously. "That wasn't
you cocking your gun, right?"

"Shh, shh, shh, shh."

"I bet you say that a lot around your house, what with having a
million kids and all."

Ignoring him, Mulder shines the light around the crypt, looking for
the source of the noise.

"Just ignore me."

"What's that?" Mulder asks, then approaches a table. There's
parchment on it. "Looks like the same gospel of Mary Scully ID'd over
at Hoffman's place."

"So, is this a forgery, or is this the real thing?" 

"Well, there is no 'real' Gospel of Mary, Federman. The, uh, original
would be a fake. "

"All right, so is this a real fake or a fake fake or...?" Wayne wants
to know. They both jump when a cell phone rings and echoes loudly.
"Sorry, that's me."

Wayne wanders off talking into his phone while Mulder examines the
parchment. When he returns he looks like he's just seen a ghost. ::Or
something creepier than that, since no one reacts this badly to the
ghosts in our house.:: Mulder decides. ::Maybe it's because they're
just little kids.::

"You okay, Wayne? You're looking a bit peaked."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," Wayne answers distractedly. He jumps when
Mulder accidentally bumps his flashlight against the wall.

~*~*~

Diner

Wayne's hand shakes minutely as he tries to drink his juice after
explaining that he'd seen dancing bones had preformed for him just an
hour earlier.

"I didn't see anything," Mulder protests when Scully turns to look at
him. "It's all Wayne's idea."

"Now, Wayne, I'm sure that it was dark in there and that your eyes
were playing tricks on you and you've been influenced by ghost
stories and horror movies that take place in crypts and graveyards
and you hallucinated this vision of these dancing bones trying to
reconstruct this bowl," Scully says soothingly.

"I bet your kids even believe that calm tone," Wayne says sourly.
"No, I didn't hallucinate. That was mechanical or C.G.I."

"Federman, that wasn't a movie." Mulder chuckles. "That was real
life."

"The difference being?" Wayne asks. Neither knows how to answer. 

"Well, I have got my flavor here, so I appreciate all your help. I've
got a movie to write."

Mulder gives him an amazed look. "You're leaving? You don't want to
get to the bottom of this?"

"Not especially. This just isn't going to work out for a movie
script. There's nothing sexy or exciting about a bunch of fake
manuscripts done up by someone with a steady hand and too much free
time."

"Wayne, you know, sometimes truth can be stranger than fiction,"
Mulder says defensively.

"Well, fiction is quicker than truth and cheaper. You want my advice?
You're both crazy."

"Well, why do you say that?" Mulder asks. 

"Well, you're crazy for believing what you believe." He turns to
Scully. "And you're crazy for not believing what he believes. I'll
leave you with that. Thank you." Then Wayne drops his tip money on
the counter and leaves.

"I miss him already," Mulder deadpans.

"You know, Mulder, I...I know that Federman's bs-ing you, so I'm
really hesitant to mention this, but, um...his story reminds me of
the Lazarus Bowl," Scully tells him.

"The Lazarus bowl?"

"We had this wacky nun in Catholic school - Sister Callahan - we used
to call her 'Sister Spooky' 'cause she would tell us scary stories
all the time."

"Twisted sisters, my kind of nun, you know?" 

"Well, she would hold up an old piece of wood with a rusty nail in
it, and she would say 'this is an actual piece of the cross that
Christ's wrist was nailed to.' Or she'd show us a vial of red liquid
and say that it was John the Baptist's blood, or something. "

"She'd be in prison today. You realize that." 

"Well, she would tell this story of when Jesus raised Lazarus from
the dead and she said that there was this old woman who was Lazarus's
aunt or something..."

"Lazarus's aunt? Sounds like a rock group."

"...who was spinning a clay bowl on a wheel nearby and that Christ's
words - the actual incantation to raise the dead-were recorded in the
clay grooves of the pottery just like the way music is recorded into
vinyl."

"You see? It's just not true that you can't get good science at
Catholic school. It's a lie."

Scully laughs. "Uh huh, you keep that in mind next year when my Mom
wants us to seen Page to a Catholic kindergarten."

"Yeah but mine has her heart set on some snob factory. You don't
think our mothers would have a cage brawl over the issue, do you?"

"God forbid. Anyway, Sister Spooky says that, uh...that these words
in the clay still have the power to raise the dead just like Jesus
raised Lazarus."

"That is a very cool story coming from you, Scully. I'll have Chuck
Burks meet you over at my office see if this clay has Christ's
Greatest Hits on it and I'm going...I'm going to go have another
audience with Cardinal O'Fallon."

 ~*~*~

The case continues in a disappointingly mundane fashion now that the
bright, if weird, spark, is out of their hair. Mulder is nearly eager
when he answers the phone after discussing the case with Scully one
rainy afternoon.

The other man's voice sounds far away. "Agent Mulder? It's Wayne
Slash Federman out in L.A."

"I can't really talk about the case, you know." 

"That's all right. Skinman's keeping me in the loop. Listen, who do
you see playing you in the movie?"

"I'm in the movie?"

"Well, it's a character loosely based on you. It's more of an
amalgamation."

"How about Richard Gere?"

Wayne laughs. "Ho! Yeah, okay. Uh, seriously. What if I said to you
the name 'Garry Shandling'?"

"Wayne, you're breaking up. It sounded like you said 'Garry
Shandling.'"

"Garry Shandling signed on to play the amalgamation loosely based on
you and Tea Leoni's playing the amalgamation loosely based on your
partner, you stud. The movie's called the Lazarus bowl."

"How do you know about the Lazarus bowl?" 

"The Skinman. Listen, Shandling and Leoni want to meet you guys...get
your flavor - it's an actor type thing. Come on out to the studio on
our dime. We'll make it nice."

"Hey, who's...who's going to play Skinner in the movie?"

"Richard Gere."

"Ri … Ri …" Mulder sputters.

"Yeah, and you'll love the boy who's going to play the oldest of your
twelve kids. His name is Frankie Muniz, he's almost thirteen, and
he's going to be taping a movie about a dog next year, but we snagged
him first. Real funny kid, you'll like him."

"Wait a minute. My oldest is four and a daughter. And we don't have
twelve kids, we have five-"

"Think of it as being futuristic, then. At the rate you're going
you'll end up with twelve kids."

"Hey!"

"And like I said, this is only loosely based on you and your wife.
The producers liked the idea of combining Kolchek the Night Stalker
with Cheaper by the Dozen. The oldest kid is going to help solve the
case."

"FBI agents don't let their children solve cases!" ::Even if they do
get dragged alone on some of them.::

"This is Hollywood, Baby. Kids can do anything in movies."

 ~*~*~

Late the Next Night

Mulder is sitting in the den, watching his favorite movie while
everyone else in the house sleeps.

"Well, as long as they can think we'll have our problems. But those
whom we are using cannot think they are the dead brought to
assimilated life by our electrode..." he repeats along with the tape.

Until Scully comes in and cuddles up against him. "Couldn't sleep
either, huh?" Mulder asks.

"Plan 9 From Outer Space?"

"Yeah. It's the Ed Wood investigative method. This movie is so
profoundly bad in such a childlike way that it hypnotizes my
conscious critical mind and frees up my right brain to make
associo-poetic leaps and I started flashing on Hoffman and O'Fallon.
How there's this archetypal relationship like Hoffman's Jesus to
O'Fallon's Judas or Hoffman's Jesus to O'Fallon's Dostoyevsky's Grand
Inquisitor, or Hoffman's Jesus to O'Fallon's St. Paul."

"How about Hoffman's Roadrunner to O'Fallon's Wile E. Coyote?" 

He laughs. "Don't suggest that to Wayne, or it might turn into an
animated movie."

"Mulder..."

"Yeah?"

"Do you think it's at all possible that Hoffman is really Jesus
Christ?"

He gives her a suspicious look. "Are you making fun of me?"

"No. "

"Well, no, I don't. But crazy people can be very persuasive." 

"Well, yes, I know that." He smiles good-naturedly at the jib. "Maybe
true faith is really a form of insanity."

"Are you directing that at me?" Mulder asks.

"No. I'm directing it at myself and at Ed Wood." 

"Well, you know, even a broken clock is right 730 times a year. As
long as it's not digital."

They watch the movie for a bit, but then she stares at him. "How...?

"42."

"You've seen this movie 42 times?"

"Yes."

"Doesn't that make you sad? It makes me sad." She gives him a look of
mock concern.

"You know, Scully, we've got four weeks probation vacation, a
wonderful live-in nanny, nothing to do and Wayne Federman's invited
us out to L.A. to watch his movie being filmed and God knows I could
use a little sunshine. "

"California, here we come," Scully says resignedly. "But just for a
day or two, okay?"

"Sure."

"And we're bringing David and Jared with us," she adds.

"Don't you worry about the older kids getting jealous?"

"They won't remember this for long."

He nods, and bets that she and he will, though.

~*~*~

Stage 8 20th Century Fox Studios 
Hollywood, California

Wayne practically runs to them once he spots an assistant directing
them. "Agents! I'm so glad you could hang." He looks down at the baby
carriers in Mulder's hands. "And I see you've brought the youngest of
the Mulderlings."

Scully looks at Mulder and mouths 'Mulderlings' with a smirk.

The writer doesn't notice, though, since he's still looking at the
boys. "They're awfully cute. Have you considered putting them in
movies? You've got a matched set, so that sort of thing makes it
easier."

"Wayne, they're only two months old!" Mulder protests.

"Yeah, you're right," Wayne says regretfully. "The youngest of your
movie kids are almost two."

"Okay…" Scully says warily. Mulder winces, and remembers he never
told her about Wayne's Cheaper by the Dozen approach.

"Come on, I want you to meet the people that are going to play you.
Garry Shandling, Tea Leoni, this is Agents Mulder and Scully."

Gary and Tea come over to meet them. Both are wearing severe black
suits, and a full size crucifix hangs from Tea's neck, which startles
Scully.

"Nice to meet you," Mulder greets them, and they begin to exchange
pleasantries.

Tea smiles at Scully, and invites her to step aside to talk
privately. "Well, you know, while I've got you here maybe, uh, maybe
you could show me how run after bad guys while trying not to drop
babies."

"Um, what?"

"I mean, you've got a couple here…" She trails off when she notices
Scully's look of horror. "Or we could get someone to get a couple of
dolls for us from the prop department." Tea waves over a young gopher
and orders him to find a couple of dolls.

"I'm afraid I'm going to drop one of the little buggers on its soft
little head and get sued by it's parents." Tea tells her with a
laugh. "You must have some tips."

"I guess…"

~*~*~

Mulder and Gary stand aside, and are sort of watching Scully and Tea
run around the set with dolls for reasons they can't quite fathom.

"Seriously, listen could I ask you something?" Gary asks Mulder.

Knowing what's coming, Mulder tries not to wince, "Sure."

"Tell me about your underwear."

 In the distance Tea can be heard shouting something when she drops a
doll and its leg falls off.

"My what?"

"Underwear. Are you a boxers guy or a briefs guy?" Gary says
seriously. "This is my first film role as a father of fifteen, so I
feel the need to know more to get into character."

"And underwear has what to do with that?" Mulder asks, bewildered.

"I was reading something in a men's health magazine, or maybe playboy
about how underwear affects fertility. Tight undies kill the little
swimmers, if you know what I mean. You obviously don't have a problem
with that, so…"

"Did you say fifteen earlier?"

"Yeah, Wayne says you've got fifteen kids. Some are adopted, right?
Your wife doesn't look like she's had fifteen kids."

"We have five kids."

Gary steers the conversation back. "So about the underwear." 

"Uh, boxers mostly."

"Mostly?" Gary gives him a puzzled look. "If you mean you make your
own Frankenunderwear by sewing things together, this isn't going to
be easy for me. I don't sew very well."

"What? No, I mean I usually wear boxers," Mulder tells him. "100
percent cotton."

"Yeah, okay," Gary agrees, before turning and shouting. "Wardrobe!"

Mulder stars after him, and catches something out of the corner of
his eye. Tea runs to Scully and shoots her a triumphant look. Then
she drops the dolls she's been holding.

"Dammit!" rings across the studio.

~*~*~

A bit later on Mulder and Scully, with David and Jared on their
respective laps, watch as a high strung little man who calls himself
Sugar Bear directs a scene in the movie.

"And rollando! Come on, now, kick it in the ass and action, zombies!"
Sugar Bear shouts.

"Mom, watch out! There's one right behind you!" the kid Wayne told
Mulder about, Frankie Muniz, shouts.

Scully leans into Mulder and whispers. "Does Wayne know our oldest
kid is only four?"

"I told him that," he whispers back. "He didn't care." 

"Billy, stay back!" Tea shouts at the kid. "This is FBI business,
young man!"

"Aww, Mom!" A zombie knocks young Frankie off his feet, and charges
at Tea. She screams on cue as it bites her shoulder.

Looking outraged, the zombie looks at the director. "What is this?"

"Cut! Go ahead, ruin my career," Sugar Bear says petulantly. 

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Zombie, sir?" asks a production
assistant.

"What the hell is this? What the hell's in my mouth? What's Tea
Leoni's shoulder made out of?" the zombie says with a full mouth.

"Uh, craft service, what is Tea Leoni's shoulder made of?"

"Turkey, just like you asked for," a girl in the distance calls. 

"Turkey. Ms. Leoni's shoulder's made of turkey."

The zombie looks like he'll pass out from outrage. "Tofurkey! I asked
for tofurkey! I'm a vegetarian! Half the zombies are vegetarian! Oh,
my God!"

The zombie spits out the meet and runs off yelling. "The people are
made out of turkey!"

Watching all hell break loose on the set, Mulder turns to Scully.
"Are you glad that we've only got one picky eater?"

Scully gives their infant sons a suspicious look. "So far." 

~*~*~

The Beverly Ernesto Hotel
Hollywood, California 

Although he'd love to take advantage of the fact that the twins are
more then six weeks old, and they've been given a lovely room, Mulder
reminds himself of his promise to be less fertile between now and
when William is conceived.

A nice bath paying attention to his wife is as far as he dares to go.

::Oh god, it's going to be a long two years.:: He thinks, as he fills
the tub. ::Maybe I should look into that tight underwear Gary
mentioned.::

"Packing's about done," Scully tells him as she comes into the
bathroom. "And the babies are asleep."

"You know, Scully, I was just thinking about Lazarus, Ed Wood, and
those tofurkey-eating zombies. How come when people come back from
the dead they always want to hurt the living?"

"Well, that's because people can't really come back from the dead,
Mulder. I mean, ghosts and zombies are just projections of our own
repressed cannibalistic and sexual fears and desires. They are who we
fear that we are at heart - just mindless automatons who can only
kill and eat." She drops her robe and climbs in.

"Party pooper. Well, I got a new theory. I say that when zombies try
to eat people, that's just the first stage. You see, they've just
come back from being dead so they're going to do all the things they
miss from when they were alive. So, first, they're going to eat, then
they're going to drink, then they're going to dance and make love."

"Oh, I see. So it's just that we never get to stay with them long
enough to see the gentler side of the undead."

"Exactly." The water splashes as he climbs in facing her.

The phone near the tub rings. "Hello?"

"Agent Mulder, it's Assistant Director Skinner. I hope I didn't catch
you at a bad time."

"No, sir, I'm just at the, uh, computer." 

"Listen, I just wanted to apologize for coming down so hard on you
during the Hoffman - O'Fallon case."

"Oh. I appreciate that, Skinman." 

"Don't call me that." 

"Yes, sir. Um...Uh, where are you now?" 

"I'm right underneath you. I'm in L.A., At the same hotel as you.
Right below you and Agent Scully."

"Federman got me an Associate Producer credit on the movie." 

"A.P. Skinner, huh?" He chuckles, then stops when Skinner doesn't
laugh.

"Uh...So what are you up to right now, sir?" 

"I'm taking a bubble bath." 

"Uh, hold on just one second, sir." Mulder clicks the button to put
the phone on hold, then turns to Scully with a wide grin. "Hey,
Scully, Skinman is calling me from a bubble bath."

"You didn't put me on hold, Mulder."

"Uh, sir, well, hold on one second, sir." He tries again. "Sir?" When
there's no answer, he looks at his wife. "Can you believe he's
calling us from a bath?"

"He's really gone Hollywood." 

"Totally."

"You know, Mulder, speaking of Hollywood, I think that Tea Leoni has
a little crush on you."

"Oh, yeah, right. Like Tea Leoni's ever going to have a crush on me."

"I think that Shandling likes you a bit, too," she adds with a smirk.

"Really? How does it make you feel that your husband is such a sex
object, and adored by many?"

"I'm not worried," she tells him with a smile. "Did you have any
plans for this nice, warm soapy bath, Mister Sex Object?"

"You forgot adored by many," he teases and pushes some bubbles at
her. "Actually yes. I've been thinking that this is a perfect time to
do something that I haven't done for you for a while."

"What's that?" Scully asks, giving him a coy look.

"I was thinking of a deep, penetrating… scalp massage."

"Oh, that does sound good," she agrees happily.

Mulder drops the phone, and Scully teasingly cries out, "Harder
Mulder, harder!"

Muffled by a towel on the floor, neither of them can really hear the
phone say, "Um, Mulder? Did you mean to take me off hold? Yeah…I'll
let you do whatever it is you're doing and get back to you later."

~*~*~

Chapter Sixty-Five

November 16, 1998 & September 3, 1939

Scully’s gonna kill me, is the first thought that goes through 
Mulder’s head when he revives, soaking wet, only to find himself 
on the SS Queen Anne and British sailors shaking him and 
questioning him roughly in their weird accents. I’m so glad I speak 
American, he thinks, even as he tries to answer their questions 
without throwing up. His next thoughts are that if his wife and partner 
doesn’t kill him, it’s probably because she’ll think he went off the deep 
end because they got kicked off the X-Files and other people (Smokey 
Jr. and Diana the Middle-Aged Bitch) are working there, not to mention 
having to sneak around Kersh, what ho, what joy. Not that that’s ever 
stopped him from chasing the weird shit, or vice versa. Man, I hope 
she doesn’t kill me, he thinks again, even as the sailors drag him to 
the captain’s quarters.

However, this time he’s got a better idea of what’s going
on, even though he still gets locked up for his troubles. "Why don’t
they ever believe me?" Mulder grimaces, seeing that his story of
being a traveler from the future didn’t quite sit well with the
war-besieged Brits. Oh well.

Once the door closes on him, he leaves the radio on but turns 
the lights out, a more sizable paperweight in hand for his encounter 
with 1939 Spender. Heck, if he’s in an alternate universe or have 
traveled in time, it’s not really the Spender he knows, but still, he wants 
to make sure the sucker stays down for a while longer. That, and it’s 
fun just to beat the crap out of the guy, who sucks up to the smoking 
man as much in this incarnation as in the present. Wait, if this is the 
present, then I mean the future, he amends mentally, but all 
grammatical tense problems go out the window once the guy actually 
shows up.

This time, he decides not to take his cue from Indiana Jones and stays 
in his sodden 1998 clothes. Still, he gets out of the German soldiers’
way by heading immediately to the ballroom and finding Scully. The
blonde woman onstage kinda looks like Kersh’s secretary, and,
remembering her tattling, tries to stay out of her sight as she sings
"Jeepers Creepers." To his chagrin, there’s no hot redhead in a hot
red dress, no matter how hard he looks. What if Scully isn’t on board
this time around? Could it be that this second time around is jinxed
because he shouldn’t necessarily be traveling back in time in the
first place? Dammit!

Before he can ruminate further Einsteinian and Hawkings-like musings, 
he beats a hasty retreat to the lower decks, where at least some of the 
normal people, that is, non-Nazis are. He hopes.

~*~*~

Mulder runs into Scully as she steps out of a berth, calling, "I’m just going 
to get some milk, I’ll be right back!" She’s dressed in a more matronly red 
outfit, but she still looks pretty hot to him. When she sees him, however, 
her mouth hangs open as she goes white, and she sways unsteadily on her 
feet.

Okay, not an improvement over wanting to hit me, Mulder thinks as he 
rushes to catch her. "Scully," he murmurs, patting her face lightly, but
there’s no response. He doesn’t want to get caught with the Nazis
still on his tail, so he carries her back inside.

When everyone inside the room stares up at him, he stammers 
nervously, "I-I didn’t do anything, she just fainted." His kids are there, 
and so is an older man, playing with them as if he’s their relative.

The elderly man, whom he recognizes as Thor’s Hammer, merely looks 
at him before leading them to a bed. "Put her down," he orders Mulder, 
and the taller man does so. "Who are you?"

"Fox Mulder," Mulder says, pulling out his soaked badge.

The older man nods, then attends to the still-out-of-it woman. Checking 
her pulse and then her forehead, he sighs, "It appears you’ve given her 
quite a shock." He stares around the taller man to see the two older 
children with saucers for eyes. "And it appears she’s not the only one 
who knows you."

"Daddy," the little blonde girl whispers as her brother hides behind her.

Mulder turns around, ready to embrace his little girl with a smile, when the 
elder man’s voice stops him. "That can’t be," he says to the girl, "your 
father died in a boating accident off the coast of Virginia."

And again, the man twice out of time feels drift from his moorings as the 
girl screams and the little redheaded boy cries, to be joined by his two baby 
brothers and little sister.

~*~*~

Scully is sitting at her desk in the FBI bullpen, none
too happy with the situation. For one thing, it appears that, despite
Skinner’s best efforts, they’re out of the X-Files. Again. For
another, it appears that her ne’er-do-well husband has gone off
hunting down an X-File in spite of their official dismissal from said
division. And for yet another reason, the nanny’s sick and her sister
and mother are visiting Charlie, so she’s watching the kids. "The day
just keeps getting better and better," she mutters darkly when she
sees The Lone Gunmen. "What?" she asks, trying to keep Sammy from
exploring someone else’s desk.

"Mulder's in trouble." The short balding man wastes no time with
pleasantries, seeing his favorite agent is in a most unpleasant
mood.

The blonde man nods, "Big trouble."

"Uh-oh," Sammy says, now looking up at his unofficial uncles.
"Daddy's in big trouble."

"Let's take a walk," Byers says nervously, seeing the curious stares
of agents he doesn’t know or trust. He picks up the twins’ baby
carrier and nods at his compatriots. Frohike hefts up April and the
baby bag, while Langly holds Sammy and Page’s hands, and they all
start walking, looking for all the world like an ad for not going to
family reunions.

"The walls have ears," Frohike mutters in an undertone as they
continue walking as nonchalantly as three unauthorized visitors
carrying an FBI agents’ kids can.

Scully snaps impatiently, "I have ears. Will you tell me what's
going on?"

The conservatively-dressed man whispers, "Mulder's disappeared."

She blinks. "Disappeared from where?"

Langly replies, "From the national reconnaissance office's lacrosse
mid-latitude imaging radar satellite." Temporarily freeing his hands
from the rugrats, he digs a much-folded photo from his pocket and
hands it to the redhead.

"I don't understand. What am I looking at?" Scully frowns.

"A whole lot of nothing." Frohike makes a face, then smiles
half-heartedly at a passing agent.

"We pulled that down 45 minutes ago off the NRO satellite," Byers
hastily explains, "which early this morning sent a picture of a ship
which inexplicably appeared in the middle of the Atlantic."

Langly nods. "The SS Queen Anne, which by all accounts vanished
without a trace over sixty years ago."

"The Queen Anne?" Scully stops, forcing the others to stop for her.
"The British luxury liner?"

"The lovely lady gets a star," Frohike beams, then wilts under her
glare.

"It was torpedoed by a German U-boat," Scully tells them, in a tone
reserved for repeating basic truths, like gravity and the earth
spinning around the sun.

The blonde man smirks. "That's one story."

Scully lifts an eyebrow. "There's another?"

Byers nods, then starts walking, and the others join him. "Though her
exact position was kept secret for fear spies might give her up to
the Axis," he says in an undertone, "it's been reasonably determined
that the Queen Anne was just south of the Plantagenet bank when she
went missing."

"Less than sixty feet of water yet she's never been found," the short
man adds.

Scully looks at them squarely in the eye, to ascertain their sanity.
With these three, she’s never quite sure. "So you're saying the Queen
Anne just disappeared."

"Into the Bermuda triangle," Langly agrees.

"And reappeared this morning at 6:49 a.m. Eastern Standard Time,"
Frohike chimes in.

"That's impossible," Scully hisses.

Byers looks mildly offended. "Satellite doesn't lie."

Scully waves her hand at the photo paper in her hand. "There's
nothing on here."

The mustached man looks apologetic. "We gave the original images to
Mulder so he could use them as navigational aids."

"He was in a hurry," Langly adds.

She really, really doesn’t want to know, but asks anyway. "To get
where?"

"Out to the Queen Anne before anyone else got there first," Frohike
replies.

As Scully’s face turns something close to murderous, Byers adds
hastily, "He went to Bermuda and chartered a powerboat out of
Hamilton Harbor. We tracked him on the satellite for an hour and a
half."

"Until a storm blew in and obscured all transmissions," Langly says
helpfully.

Frohike nods at the black and white photo. "That's what you're
holding."

"What's happened to him?" she says urgently, and even Page and Sammy
can pick up her worry.

‘We can't know that," Byers says helplessly. "Not without alternative
tracking data. Which is why we're here."

Even the blonde hacker looks resigned. "Without good data, all we can
do is wait and hope for the best."

"Yeah, but expect the worst," Frohike adds glumly.

"Well, we have to get help," Scully says, pulling out a pen and
notepad from her pocket.

"Without a position he's a needle in a haystack," Byers shakes his
head.

"What do you need?" she stares at him.

"Navy AWACS SLAR or SAR 100 K swath imaging," he replies tersely.
"You're going to have to find somebody at the Pentagon to get it."

As she writes down the information, she prays a swift prayer under
her breath. "Take the kids and wait for me downstairs," she tells the
Gunmen. Then she bends down to kiss her babies, all five of them, on
the forehead. "Mommy will be right with you," she says, "and then
we’re gonna go rescue your crazy daddy."

As she races around the corner, Sammy notes, "Daddy's in big, big
trouble." 

Everyone agrees as they make their way to the faded VW van in the
parking lot.

~*~*~

Tearing the paper from her notepad, Scully walks
purposefully down the hall and into Skinner's office. "I need to
speak with him," she tells the secretary.

The other redheaded woman thinks, Here comes trouble, even as she
says as pleasantly as she can, "Could you please take a seat?"

"Is he in?" Scully asks.

The secretary nods, "Yes, he's on his phone."

"Sorry, this can't wait," Scully says, walking into Skinner's office.
He’s on the phone, but she behaves as recklessly as her son as she
interrupts him, "Sir?"

Skinner inwardly sighs, wondering when even his ex-agents developed
such impeccable timing. All day he’s been waiting for this call, and
ever since, he’s been interrupted left and right. "Could you hold on
a minute?" he tells his caller. Impatiently, with his hand over the
receiver, he says, What is it, Agent Scully?"

"I just received some very disturbing information, sir. I need your
help," she says, not bothering with an ‘excuse me’ or even ‘please.’

Great, the bald man thinks, this is guaranteed to get the smoking
man back on my back. "I'll call you back in five," he says briskly,
and hangs up the phone. Plainly irritated, he tells his former agent,
"You can't come rushing in here."

"Sir, I couldn't waste time explaining myself to your assistant,"
Scully says quietly.

Dammit, Skinner thinks, even as he crosses the line, for the
umpteenth time, for Mulder and Scully. He knows it involves both of
them, because it always does. "Tell me what is so urgent."

"It's about Agent Mulder," Scully says, "he's done something
incredibly rash."

"What else is new?" the bald man sighs.

Scully stares at him. Is he serious? "He may be lost at sea," she
tells him.

"I can't help you," he tells her. "There's nothing I can do." Come
on, take the hint, he thinks.

"This isn't for me; it's for Agent Mulder."

When is it not? He thinks, even as he says, "My hands are tied. I'm
not your direct superior any longer."

"Don't you want to know what this is about?" she asks, while he
steers her to the door.

"No, I don't," he says, and for the benefit of his secretary, as
well as the hidden mics he’s sure are in his office, he adds in a
louder voice, "I'm not allowed to have contact with you - any contact
with either you or Mulder."

His secretary looks apologetic. "She walked right past me, sir."

He nods, but that only allows Scully to slam the door between the
offices. He glares down at her. "You're out of line, Scully."

True to form, she glares right back. "No, sir, you're out of line.
I'm sorry, but I'm coming to you for help and I've got nowhere else
to go. I would hope that after everything that we have been through
that you would at least have the courtesy and the decency and not to
mention the respect to listen to what I have to say. Now, all I need
is information," she hands over the paper with the numbers and
letters in block print. "You don't have to do anything else. Look,
sir, if you know anybody at the Office of Naval Intelligence it would
be of great help."

He glances down at the note as if dismissively, then hands it back,
having already committed it to memory. "I could lose my job, my
pension, I could even be subject to legal action," he argues. She
sighs in exasperation and starts to open the door, but he slams it
back shut and keeps his hand on it. "Use your head, Scully," he tries
to warn her, wondering what happened to the usually more level-headed
side of the pair. "It'll save your ass."

There is no reasoning with her, however, since she’s in protective
partner, wife and mother mode. "Save your own ass, sir. You'll save
your head along with it," she retorts crisply before she can stop
herself. She pauses for a moment, wondering if she should apologize,
but figures there’s no time to waste, and heads back out into the
hallway to find someone else to help.

She heads to the elevator, and barely checks her impulse to take out 
her frustrations on her fellow passengers, but manages, nonetheless. 
She hates to do it, but winds up in AD Kersh's office, to find the 
secretary isn’t there. One less person to bulldoze, Scully thinks as 
she’s about to open Kersh’s door, but the secretary, a brisk blonde, 
nearly runs over her.

The blonde tries to run interference, too, but Scully’s having none
of it and barges in, only to find the Smoking Man in there, too. Who
the hell *is* this guy? Scully fumes, even as she unsuccessfully
tries to backtrack, but Kersh takes the paper from her anyways.
Dammit, she thinks, about ready to kick her own ass if nobody does it
for her.

Then something occurs to her. "What am I thinking? What am I
thinking?" She pulls out her cell phone, hits speed dial, and heads
back for the elevator running into someone on the way. "Sorry," she
says belatedly, catching the elevator just before the doors close.
Alone at last. "Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on," she
mutters, smooshing the phone to her ear as she pushes the button for
the basement. "Answer the phone, Mulder. Answer the phone, answer the
phone, idiot!"

Instead of her husband, a bland woman’s voice dully answers, "The
cellular customer you are trying to reach is not responding or is …"

"Damn," Scully hangs up with a slam. Time for Plan D for
Desperation.

~*~*~

Scully, still in Terminator mode, steps out of the elevator and
strides into the X-Files office. She’s not pointing a gun, but she
might as well be as she demands, "I want you to do me a favor. It's
not negotiable. Either you do it or I kill you. You understand?"

Spender is alone in the office, but he wishes he wasn’t. Standing up,
he asks her, "You okay, Agent Scully?" He’s this close to calling
either security or the mental hospital, and he doesn’t know if it’s a
good or a bad thing that he knows both numbers by heart already.

"No, I'm not," the redhead says, totally not intimidated by the other
agent’s height. "I'm a gun ready to go off so don't test me, Spender.
Don't even think about trying to weasel me."

Riiiiiiiiight, he thinks, even as he says in a reasonable voice,
"What is it that you need?"

Even as she writes down the info, Scully feels vaguely traitorous for
using the kid, but hell, this is the X-Files, the bastard may as well
start working on one. He’s way too compliant about helping, even
after she threatens him again, but only exhales when he leaves.

The phone rings, and she pauses, wondering if it’s Mulder. Who knows,
if he’s stuck out in the middle of nowhere and as seasick as usual,
he might be dialing this number. Pushing down any further qualms, she
answers, "Hello?"

"Agent Fowley?" an unfamiliar man’s voice asks.

The redhead blinks. Fowley? Heh heh. Sure. "Yes," she says, lowering
her voice a little.

"I was looking for Agent Spender," the elder man says, unhelpfully
not identifying himself.

"I'm sorry, he's not here right now. Is there something I can help
you with?"

It appears both parties are clueless about the other’s identity as
he goes on, "Yeah, Agent Scully just handed the Assistant Director a
piece of paper with an intelligence system scribbled on it," he
pauses.

"Yes?" she prompts him, hoping maybe he knows Mulder’s location,
"yes, sir?"

There is another pause, and now the man demands, "Who is this?"

Ohhhhhhhhhh shit, Scully thinks, hanging up slowly. The phone rings
again as she leaves, and she runs into Kersh’s secretary.

"Oh, Agent Scully." The blonde woman blinks.

Great. The redheaded agent fudges, but not as well as her husband, "I
was just, uh..."

"I was sent to come get you," the secretary says.

"Yeah, I was waiting for Agent Spender, he was, uh...I'm supposed to
pick up a delivery from him," Scully finishes lamely.

"Agent Spender is with Assistant Director Kersh," the blonde woman
ends the charade.

Scully storms out, running to the elevator. Her cell phone rings,
and she answers, but the reception is, as usual, crappy. She shouts,
but neither she nor the other party is heard, and she hopes it’s
Mulder. She hits a button and the elevator opens to the three people
she least wants to see, the unholy trinity of Kersh, Spender and
Smoking Man, and ducks back in the elevator. She tries yelling into
the phone again, with no luck.

The next time the doors slide open, she finds Skinner also holding a
cell phone to his ear. To her surprise, not only was Skinner trying
to contact her, but he got the info she needs, and she grabs the
paper gratefully. She hugs him tightly, then thanks him
wholeheartedly before the doors slide open again. When they do,
Skinner chews her out, but she doesn’t care, this time knowing it’s
for show as another agent steps into the elevator and Skinner steps
out.

She can almost hear the clock ticking, even as she reads the contents
of the paper in the elevator, and her excitement level is finally
exceeding her worry and frustration levels. When the doors open,
Scully runs into the garage. Smiling, she hears the VW bus before
seeing it, and climbs in the back with Frohike who slams the door
shut.

"Did you get it?" Byers asks, looking in the rearview mirror.

There’s a bigass smile on her face as she holds up paper, "Yeah."
There are whoops and cheers, and she hugs her kids, avoiding
Frohike’s would-be hug, and laughs with Langly. The cheers get even
louder when they see the young Agent Spender trying to run after
them, but they get away.

~*~*~

There’s a knock on the door, and immediately, all the children stop 
screaming and crying. Wow, wish I could get them to do that at home, 
Mulder thinks as the pounding continues. He tosses his wet jacket 
out of sight, slicks his wet hair back and answers the door. "Yeah?" 
he asks, as casually as he can with a bunch of Nazis sticking their 
guns in his face.

One of the Nazis shout something at him, but Mulder shakes his head 
and shrugs helplessly. Another man steps forward, and it looks like Skinner.
Mulder tries not to reel back in shock as the Nazi Skinner says with
a weird German accent, "Who was the screaming?"

"Aw, kids, you know," Mulder shrugs, "you try to give ‘em a bath and they 
yell bloody murder." As the Nazi Skinner translates, some of the men nod,
and they turn to leave.

Just as Mulder’s counting his blessings, a most unwelcome voice
shouts, "Zat is the man!"

Shit, Mulder thinks, even as the children cling to him. Better late than 
never, he thinks, as the soldiers pull the little ones off roughly and he 
shouts and fights in vain. "Scul-lay!" he cries out.

When the door slams, Scully groans. "What’s going on?" she murmurs, 
rolling to her side. The room is still sliding, and not in the good ship-rolling 
kind of way, and she puts a hand to her head. Then she sees her children 
crying, the elderly gentleman she’s supposed to be protecting trying in vain 
to comfort them, and a sodden mess in the corner of the room. "What’s
going on?" she asks, louder.

Then her two oldest run to her while the younger ones are still crying in the 
scientist’s arms. "Mommy, they took Daddy," Page wails while Sammy 
buries his face in his mother’s arms.

"What?" Scully stares at her daughter, while the scientist fills her in on 
the mini-drama that happened while she was sleeping.

~*~*~

Unfortunately, they still shoot the captain in front
of him, as well as throwing him into the hold. At least this time I
know to keep my mouth shut about Thor’s Hammer, he thinks, yelling
about Pearl Harbor and Germans freezing in Russia. Hell, even if it
was just the scientist’s life on the line, he wouldn’t spill
anything, especially since his kids are here to up the stakes
considerably.

"Hey, hey, who's in charge of this engine room?" one of the sailors
yells out. "Oh, you. Oi, you!" he grabs a man looking remarkably like
Kersh. "I'm talking to you. Shut her down, man. We got to scuttle her
now!" Still, seeing Kersh shoveling coal along with other Jamaican
sailors gives him something of a cheap laugh, and Mulder bites his
tongue as the large, sweaty man hollers in a strange accent, "Put
some piss into her, boys!"

"You heard me right - kill the engines!" the white sailor screams in
the black man’s face. "There's no other way, swabbo."

The Kersh-like crewman shows off the chains they have put on the
engine. "You can't get to Germany if you can't steer," he declares.
"Me overriding her. We steering a course for home."

The sailor is dumbfounded at what seems sheer idiocy. "Have you
looked at your compass? You can't get to England going the wrong
bloody direction."

The crewman glares at him, regardless of color or status. "We're not
going to England. We're going to Jamaica!" he yells, and his fellow
dark crewmen shout and cheer.

Another sailor sneers, "Listen, you steer her home, you bloody ruffo
- to her home where she belongs!"

Fists are coming into play, and Mulder knows the tempers are flaring
just as hot as the coal. "Listen to me! Listen to me! You can't take
this ship to England. You'll never make it!" he says, trying to be
the voice of reason again.

Now everyone is ganging up on him. What else is new? "What are you
talking about? I'm in charge of the wheel!"

"There's only one place she's going, Yank," Rasta-Kersh tells him. 

"Jamaica!" His crewmen cheer again.

Mulder forges on, aiming for the Mr. Unpopularity prize. "You can't
take the ship to Jamaica, either. The Germans will hunt you down no
matter what course you steer," he argues.

The crewmen shout amongst themselves, but finally they allow him to
continue. Rasta-Kersh, however, is as direct here as he is back in
1998 "And who you be, boy?"

"My name's Mulder," he says, knowing, for better or worse, it means
nothing to these men.

"He wants to go back to bloody America," the first sailor
sneers.Mulder’s trying to look for the Nazi bastard that snuck in
with him the first time around, but all those plain British faces
under those white hats look alike to him, maddeningly enough. "No, I
want you to take this ship and turn it back around the way you came,"
he retorts.

Of course, that meets up with a positive response, and the first
sailor shouts, "Bloody hell, we're halfway home!"

"You've got to turn the ship around," Mulder continues doggedly.

"And what's in that direction?" Rasta-Kersh demands.

"The future," Mulder replies, then pauses. "Or the past." ::Damn,
when are they gonna come up with proper tenses while
time-traveling?:: He wonders. I’m starting to sound like Christopher
Lloyd.

Another sailor smirks. "Eh? Oh, well, I’m convinced," he says
sarcastically, making his fellow sailorsuits laugh.

"Well, I can explain," Mulder starts, but a banging at the door sounds 
and everyone turns.

To everyone’s surprise, he’s dragged out of there when one of the
sailors knocks on the door and yells, "We’ve got a Yankee spy in
here!"

As he’s being dragged off, he yells out his football speech,
"Turn the ship around or Hitler rises, Germany wins and your children
will never know what freedom is!"

Brave words, but he doesn’t feel too brave himself, especially now that 
he has no idea what’s going to happen next. Still, he’s secure in the 
knowledge that Scully’s out for the count this time around, the kids and 
the scientist are out of harm’s way, and maybe he can jump ship before 
it all goes to hell. As long as Scully and the kids are safe, Mulder repeats 
like a mantra to himself, as long as they’re safe, I don’t care what they
do to me.

~*~*~

Meanwhile, back in the present, that is, 1998, it’s twilight
time, and a small boat draws near to a large luxury liner.

"Hey, Scully, you're not going to believe this," Frohike says, not
quite believing it himself, seeing the lights are on. "Get up here."

"What?" she asks, feeling bad that Page has inherited her father’s
tendency towards seasickness, even if her brothers and younger sister
haven’t. Even Langly is feeling kind of queasy, but hasn’t listened
to her urgings to get above-deck.

"The sky just cleared and there it was," the short man points to the
larger vessel.

"Is it the Queen Anne?" Scully stares in wonder. Even if it isn’t,
she’s gorgeous, the Navy brat in her thinks.

"That's her," Byers affirms.

"I don't believe it," she says, even as her eyes plainly declare it
as fact. Frohike smirks, seeing her predicament. "Seeing is
believing."

"They've got power," she argues.

"Maybe Mulder's already on board," Byers says hopefully.

Scully exhales and almost forces herself to accept the large vessel
in front of them. "Let's hope he is."

~*~*~

Everyone in the ballroom is standing eerily still, as if for a
painted portrait, when Mulder is shoved into the room. His eyes
quickly scan for his family and the scientist, and he breathes an
inward sigh of relief when he sees neither the kids nor the old man.
His wife, however, is another story. "Scully," he breathes when he’s
shoved to stand next to her.

The redhead glares at him with a familiar how-did-you-get-me-into-
this-mess kind of glare. Even as he grins weakly, she says in a low 
voice, "My uncle told me everything," she says, pausing on ‘uncle.’ 
"Who are you and why do you look like my dead husband?"

He’s about to answer, but a more pressing matter
reveals itself. That is, a Nazi presses his gun against the back of
Mulder’s skull, and he sighs when they shout incomprehensibly in
German. He never bothered to trouble himself with German because 
he honestly didn’t think he’d wind up back here again, but, hey,
sometimes Elsbeth surprises him. "I don’t speak Nazi," he
grumbles.

Then Adolf Jr., that is, Spender, steps in and says in his
odd accent, "How do you know ze ship’s coordinates?"

"Lucky guess?" Mulder says, even as Scully glares harder.

The smoking man mutters something, and the gunman now 
aims uncomfortably close to Scully’s skull. "Again," Spender 
says, "ze ship’s coordinates?"

Might as well try the truth, he thinks, if it doesn’t get us all killed, that 
is. "I’m from the future," he blurts out, and as Scully rolls her eyes,
Spender translates.

There’s a short barking cough from the smoking man, which Mulder 
takes to be laughter, but then he barks out more words. The hell? 
When he sees Scully fold her hands behind her head
and kneel down, he prays the sailors and the crewmen, like the
farmers and the cowboys in "Oklahoma", will be friends in time. "I’m
sorry," he tells her, but he doesn’t get the chance to hear her
reply.

In the nick of time, the ship stops and the Nazis are now the
ones pausing. Then the room erupts when a black and white motley of
saviors pour into the ballroom, and as fists fly and people shout,
Mulder grabs Scully’s hand. "Hey!" he yells, stopping her from
running out on him.

She snatches her hand back. "I’m getting my kids and we’re rowing 
out of here!" she yells back.

"You can’t!" he shouts, following her on hands and knees as they try
to avoid more Nazis and more overzealous shipmates. "You’re the only
one who can save this ship!"

She wavers for a moment, then grabs his hand. "All right," she 
glares, "but this better be good."

They sprint through the hallways, less James Bond and more Abbott and
Costello as they avoid running into more Nazi goons. "Are you armed?"
she hisses at one point.

"I was hoping you were." He smiles weakly, and she makes a face, but he 
grabs her and continues running before she can say anything he’ll regret. 

And speaking of regret, they run into a Nazi that’s just about to perforate 
them, and they both assume the familiar hands-behind-the-head position.

"Terrific, Einstein," she sighs. "Now what?"

A gun shot sounds and they both start, then
stare at each other. Skinner, always the one to pull through in tight
spots. "God bless America. Now get your asses out of here," he waves
them off tersely, even as Mulder thinks, And God bless the Skin-Man,
as they gratefully continue running.

At one point, Scully pauses, then frowns as she turns. "Come on," 
Mulder urges her, grabbing her hand.

"Damdest thing, like someone tap-danced on my tombstone," she
murmurs as she hurries along.

~*~*~

At one point, Scully feels like someone walked over her grave. Or 
maybe it’s just the strangeness of a long-lost luxury liner showing up 
in the middle of nowhere with its lights on and nobody home that’s 
creeping her out. "Byers? Langly? Frohike?" she calls out, cradling 
April on one arm and aiming her flashlight with the other. She almost 
wishes she had three arms for a gun, or at least Mulder for backup. 
Mulder, where the hell are you?

She almost sighs loudly with relief when she sees the odd trio with
the rest of her children. "There you guys are," she says. Together,
they walk into a large, dusty room, looking as if it could have been
some grand ballroom, but now looking like a cobwebbed mess.

"Somebody’s mommy didn’t clean up," Page declares, and Langly
snickers as Scully glares at him.

"Mulder?" Frohike calls out, wishing the biggest room on this ship
had some lights on. "Mulder!"

"Daddy!" Mulder’s kids shout, and their echoes bounce back in
muffled forms. "You think there are ghostes?" Sammy asks when nobody
responds.

"It’s ‘ghosts’," Scully corrects him, "and no, I don’t think so.
Otherwise, your father would be leaping out to tell us," she adds
archly.

"Besides, there’s no such things as ghosts," Langly makes the
mistake of telling them.

"Uh-huh!" Page tells him. "We got ghosts!"

"Nuh-uh!" the blond man retorts intelligently. "I think that’s just a
windy old house you guys have."

"Uh-huh, we got ghosts!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

Scully’s about ready to pull out her gun. "Shut up!" she shouts,
pulling them all out of the ballroom.

"Uh-oh," Frohike murmurs, and Byers quietly agrees with a slight nod
as their compatriot and the little blonde girl get reamed out but
good.

~*~*~

"So how do I do it?" Scully demands. "Save the ship from this
deck?"

Mulder grins. God, she’s gorgeous when she’s mad, he thinks.
"Listen to me," he holds her by the arms, ready to lay on this poor
1939 version her first insane Mulder theory. "This ship's been caught
in something called the Devil's Triangle. It's some kind of time warp
- a rift in space."

As before, she shakes him off, her expression clearly telling him he
needs to be institutionalized. And her words coincide, "Are you
crazy?"

As before, he doesn’t let that stop him. "You know Einstein, right?
He predicts the theoretical possibility. He also predicts an atomic
weapon that will destroy the world."

"Yeah? So what?" she says cockily.

"If you don't go back and convince the crew of this ship to turn this
ship around and head back into the Devil's Triangle, everything
Einstein predicted will become true - except for the outcome of
history."

Scully stares at him hard. "So, if I don't turn this ship
around...?" she says slowly.

He answers her question with a question. "How did they catch you?" he
asks.

She pauses, blinks. "I," she stammers, "I was unlucky."

He’s not buying it. Present or past, she’s not a good liar. "Okay,"
he says, "why were you looking for me?" As she glares at him angrily,
he shrugs. "Guess that answers that question."

She turns away impatiently. "Look, I’ve got more important things to
do-"

"Your kids and Thor’s Hammer, I know," he interrupts, and she whirls
around. 

"Look, if you want to make sure everyone gets home safe and sound, I
suggest you turn this ship back." Then he grins suddenly. "In case
you were wondering, I’m not a ghost," and proceeds to plant a nice
long smackaroo to prove his point. Then she proves it just as equally
when she smacks him with a strong left hook to the kisser.

Then they both reel back, not from the kiss, but from the pain of
punching and being punched. Rubbing his jaw, Mulder mutters, "You
always had to be the strong one, Red." Then he runs and jumps
overboard before she can respond.

Belatedly, she runs after him and tosses a life preserver. "Idiot," she 
murmurs, then squints as he disappears from sight.

And appears in the present, where his unconscious ass is hauled into a 
boat by three Lone Gunmen and one irate, but silently relieved, Scully.

~*~*~

I could while away the hours
Conferrin' with the flowers
Consultin' with the rain
And myhead, I'd be scratchin'
While my thoughts were busy hatchin'
If I only had a brain.
I'd unravel ev'ry riddle
For any individ'le
In trouble or in pain

~*~*~*

Scully doesn’t want to wake him, but her kids have other ideas. And
frankly, after the hell he’s put her through, she doesn’t stop them
from pestering their father. "Daddy, Daddy," they pull at him and
poke him.

"Mm, huh? Where am I?" he squints, trying to sit up.

Scully puts a restraining hand on his arm. "You're in a hospital."

He closes his eyes and nods, feeling that queasiness that he’s still
on a boat. "That explains the tube up my-"

"Lie still," Scully interrupts him.

"I feel...Like hell," he groans pitifully, but his kids don’t get the
hint to make nice to daddy.

Neither does his wife, apparently. Crossing her arms, she says, "I
don't blame you. You did something incredibly stupid."

"What did I do?" He blinks, hoping the anti-nausea medicine kicks in
soon. She leans in and brushes his damp hair from his forehead. "You
went looking for a ship, Mulder. In the Bermuda Triangle."

"I did what?" he asks, and groans when Sammy climbs onto the bed and
bounces around.

"We were on a big ship," Page explains, "and we looked for you, but
you were in the water, Daddy."

"Like a dead fishy," Sammy adds.

Scully is spared a response when the Gunmen walk in and Frohike
declares, "Gilligan awakes."

It hurts to do it, but he smiles at his hyper little boy. "You were
there," he says to Sammy.

"Yay!" Sammy bounces harder.

Oof. Big mistake. "You were there, Scully, too," he tells his wife as
Skinner walks in.

"He's delirious." Langly smirks at the others.

Mulder nods at his on-again, off-again boss. "And you were there,
Skin-Man." The linebacker-like bald man drops the bouquet of flowers
on the nightstand the way others would dump a sixpack of beer. "Don’t
call me that," he makes a face, then shakes his head. "Yeah, me and
my dog, Toto."

"You have a dog?" Sammy is interested.

"No," the hospitalized man corrects them both, "you were there with
the Nazis."

"What’s Nah-sees?" Page asks.

Scully sighs loudly. "Mulder, will you settle down? It's an order."

"Not that he takes orders," Skinner adds in an undertone.

~*~*~

The meds are finally kicking in, and not a minute too soon. Mulder
was afraid he’d ralph all over Sammy, which wouldn’t look good for
anybody, although it might make his still-queasy stomach a little
better. He grins a wide, goofy grin up at his wife. "You saved the
world, Scully."

A cocky smirk comes over her face, reminding him of her 1939 self.
"Yeah...You're right. I did."

"What kind of drugs is he on?" Frohike murmurs.

"I want some," Langly murmurs back, and both men are shushed by
Skinner’s pointed glare, and they belatedly remember the kids.
"Sorry, man."

"No, no, no," Mulder tries to correct her, "The Queen Anne - I found
it. You were there with the kids and Thor's Hammer. I told you you
had to turn the ship around and then I jumped overboard."

Scully rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I bet you did. The boat that you were
on was busted into a million pieces. And as for the Queen Anne, it
was nothing more than a ghost ship."

"You said there was no ghosts," Page frowns up at her mother.

"There’s a difference," Scully tries to explain when Mulder
interrupts.

"No, no, no. You and I were on that ship, Scully. In 1939"

Skinner shakes his head again. "Get some rest, Mulder, 'cause when
you get out of here, I'm going to kick your," he pauses, editing for
the kids, "butt but good." Then he herds the conspiracy trio out the
door to leave the family in peace. Or what peace could be had with
five out of seven below the age of six and one of the adults not
acting much older.

"You thought I was dead," he tells her, and her heart lurches, since
she never told anyone that secret fear while they searched for him.
"But you believed me anyways."

In spite of the insane day, at the end of it, she’s glad to have him
back, insane statements and all. "In your dreams." She smiles gently,
plucking Sammy off as belated penance. Then she uses her mommy voice,
"Mulder, I want you to close your eyes and I want you to think to
yourself, ‘there's no place like home’." He chuckles and closes his
eyes, now that some of the better, or rather, stronger, drugs are
kicking in. She nods, and is gathering up the kids and pushing the
Gunmen-modified stroller for the twins out the door when he calls her
back.

"Hey, Scully," he props himself on an elbow, and tries to keep his
fuzzy mind clear.

Putting Sammy and Page’s hands on the stroller with a "stay" look,
Scully walks back and leans close to his face. "Yes?"

There is a long pause as she waits and he gathers up what little
brain cells he has. They look deeply at one another, nonetheless,
like two people in love.

"I knew you’d come looking for me," he says, looking like his kids do
when Santa leaves presents.

Then again, he’s got that same look, Santa or aliens, Scully reminds
herself. "Oh, brother." She rolls her eyes and herds their kids out.
Mulder pouts as they leave, but grins a little when Page turns and
waves.

He starts to lie down, but as soon as his face touches the pillow he
pulls back up in slight pain and rubs his jaw where the 1939 Scully
hit him. He smiles slightly as he thinks, Double time travel,
whodathunk? Then he closes his eyes, thinking, There really is no
place like home.

~*~*~*

I would not be just a nothin' 
my head all full of stuffin'
My heart all full of pain.
I would dance and be merry,
life would be a ding-a-derry,
If I only had a brain.
"If I Only Had a
Brain" by Harold Arlen & EY Harburg

~*~*~

Chapter Sixty-Six

Highway 375 Rural Nevada 
November 9th, 1998
11:17 p.m.

::It kind of bothers me that I have very little memory of this case
having any relevancy. We just ended up being turned away, and while
we were gone someone broke into my apartment, cleaned up, and
installed a waterbed. What sort of sick person does that?! Wonder if
they'll do that to whoever has the apartment now.:: Breaking off his
thoughts, Mulder points at a sign. "Milepost 134. Two miles to go."

"I'm all a-tingle," Scully says in a bored voice. "So, Mulder, this
supposed clandestine source who's contacted you how do we know that
he's not just another crackpot whose encyclopedic knowledge of
extraterrestrial life isn't derived exclusively from reruns of Star
Trek?"

"Because of where this particular crackpot works. Groom Lake. Area
51. Where the military has conducted..."

"… for the past 50 years, classified experiments involving
extraterrestrial technology."

"You're good," Mulder remarks. "It's all our questions. The proof
that we've suspected but never been able to hold in our hands.
That...that proof is here."

"Mulder, it's the dim hope of finding that proof that's kept us in
this car, or one very much like it for more nights than I care to
remember."

"It's what we do," Mulder tells her.

"Doesn't it bother you that there are millions of other people in
this country who know where they're going to be tonight, tomorrow,
and the next day too? People who don't have to give the care of their
children over to strangers on a daily basis?"

"I thought you didn't want to be a stay-at-home Mom. Didn't you go
into this big spiel about how we needed to keep fighting the good
fight because more people than our kids were counting on us?" Mulder
retorts.

"Yes."

"Then what is your point?"

"Don't you ever just want to stop? Get out of the damn car? Settle
down and live something approaching a normal life? If not in the
immediate future, but someday?"

"This *is* a normal life."

They don't get much farther before they meet what looks very much
like an impromptu roadblock. "I don't know if we're going to meet
that crackpot after all." Mulder sighs.

Several armed soldiers command them to get out of the car and they do
so, with their hands raised. A moment later they're approached by an
unattractive middle-aged man: Morris Fletcher.

"May I see some identification please?" Fletcher asks in a bored
look. He looks at their badges and sighs. "FBI. You're going to have
to turn around and leave immediately."

"Why?" Mulder asks. "It's a public highway."

"It also borders on a US Government testing ground. What's your
business here? What are you doing out here in the middle of the
night?"

"Checking out places to stay for our fifth anniversary," Mulder
deadpans. "What are you doing out here?"

"Hiding top secret test flights?" Scully suggests to Mulder's
surprise. "Using technology from UFOs?"

"Flying saucers," Morris corrects sarcastically. "I got a top secret
for you. There's no such thing as flying saucers."

Scully pulls on his arm. "Come on, Mulder, let's..."

A sound like thunder makes Scully pause, and they look up to see a
bright flash on the horizon, which then zips overhead. Mulder takes a
step away from Scully to get a clearer look at it, then looks down
and realizes that he's not wearing the right clothes. A few feet away
Morris is in his t-shirt and jeans. No one else seems to know that
something big has just happened.

"Come on, Mulder, let's go." Scully tugs on Morris' arm, and he
smirks at a bewildered Mulder as he gets into their rental car.

"Scully?" Mulder says softly, watching them drive away.

~*~*~

A soldier standing beside Mulder takes note of his distress and
raises his rifle, aiming it at the retreating car. "Sir, open fire?"

"No! No. Let them go. Let them go."

"Sir?" Not sure what to do, Mulder just stares at him. "Your orders,
sir?"

Mulder pauses, then says. "I want to get out of here."

Mulder gets into a car, and doesn't realize that he's being spoken to
until agent Howard says his name a second time. "Morris, what do you
think you're doing?" Mulder doesn't respond. "Why'd you let them go?"

"They didn't know anything," Mulder says at length.

"They were FBI agents obviously here to meet someone, very possibly
an informant. You just sent away our best hope of finding out who."

Agent Jeff speaks in Mulder's defense. "We can't just disappear a
couple of FBI agents, Howard. We'll get their own people to deal with
them. That's what Morris was thinking. Right, Morry? Let's go."

~*~*~

Once they get back to the MiB headquarters, Mulder is slightly
relieved to find out whose body he's in, and thankful that he manages
to locate a license so he knows where to go when he leaves.

Jeff and Howard quietly debate why their superior, Wegman is doing in
at that hour, and they barely notice when Mulder wanders off, in
search of Morris' office.

::Oh crap.:: Mulder thinks to himself as he looks at the photos in
the office. The ones of Sadam and Gingrech are disturbing enough, but
it looks like whoever Morris is, he has a family. ::I can't deal with
this crap. I need to get back into my body. Scully will know what to
do.::

Looking around, he tries to locate a phone.

~*~*~

"Are you all right, Mulder?" Scully asks when they pull up at a gas
station.

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you haven't said anything since we left those men on the
highway. Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine. Gas cap's on your side."

"Okay...If you don't want to talk about it."

Scully becomes annoyed when Morris ignores her phone. She shoots him
annoyed look and grabs it herself. "Hello?" There's no one on the
line so she hangs up in disgust and starts to get back out of the
car.

Morris stops her. "Oh, Dana? Want to pick me up a pack of Morleys,
please?"

She gives him a look of complete disbelief. "Since when do you
smoke?"

"Well...you're not going to be a Nazi about it, are you?"

"God forbid I take some interest in my husband's health," she mutters
stalking off.

Husband? Morris thinks. He glances at Mulder's face in the review
mirror. Lucky bastard.

~*~*~

Area 51

Mulder nearly drops the phone when Jeff shouts "bastard" it's soon
clear that he's not the bastard in question. "I ran a reverse trace
on all the outgoing calls. We've definitely got a leak. He called the
FBI this morning from Wegman's office."

"Wegman?" Mulder gives Jeff a puzzled look.

"The leak! He used the guest phone in Wegman's office. He's rubbing
our noses in it."

"Hmm. In what?"

"In the fact that he works in this building. That he has access to
everything - all our work - and we don't know who he is." When the
phone begins to ring, Jeff looks at him. "Morris, you going to get
that?"

Cringing a little, Mulder picks it up and gets an earful from Morris'
wife.

"She really cracks that whip huh?" Jeff teases. Mulder gives him a
wan smile. "Come on, man. Let's go home, I'll give you a ride."

"I hate to ask, but do you think we could stop off for a gallon of
milk?"

Laughing and pretending to crack a whip, Jeff nods.

"What can I say?" Mulder asks. "I've got a growing boy at home." ::or
three, but who's counting?::

~*~*~

"There it is, huh? Home sweet home." Mulder sighs, and gets out of
the car clutching a gallon of milk.

"Good night," Jeff says. 

"Ciao."

After he finds the kitchen and puts away the milk, Mulder picks up
the phone and is startled to hear an operator who asks him if he
wants an outside line. Thinking of Jeff's tracing, he says no.

::Guess I better go up to bed before the "wife" has something else to
bitch about.:: He thinks, hoping that he finds the right bedroom on
the first try.

To his relief, Mrs Fletcher is sound asleep. He finds some chaste
looking pajamas and struggles to get into them without waking her.
After a moment of debating he perches on the edge of the bed, and
lies down as far away from the woman as he can.

~*~*~

Meanwhile
Washington, DC

Both Scully and Morris are yawning when they get to the house. He
pulls out Mulder's keys, and squints at them. After a few seconds he
realizes that the name on one of the keys matches the name by the
lock, so he is tempted to breathe a sigh of relief when the lock
turns on the first try.

"Home sweet home," he remarks loudly as the door swings open.

"Be quiet!" Scully hisses at him. "It's late, you don't want to wake
the kids."

"Oh yeah," Morris mutters. He looks her up and down, wondering how
many kids they have. Must be at least two, but her figure's still
good, so…

"Hello, Fox, Dana." A young woman in a bathrobe comes down the
stairs. "Just getting in?"

"We had a late flight," Scully tells her.

Morris is on the verge of wondering if this agent Mulder is an
old-school Mormon who doesn't like the current church prohibitions
against multiple wives, when the younger woman speaks again. "David
and Jared ate about an hour ago, so they'll probably be waking up
again in a couple of hours."

"Okay. Everyone else go to bed okay?"

Everyone else, Morris wondered, trying to turn his face so she
wouldn't notice his look of shock. How many kids did these people
have?!

"Page and Sammy went to bed without a hitch, but April was cranky. I
wish she'd tell us what she wants."

"We all do." Scully sounds tired. "The pediatrician says there's
nothing wrong with her ears, so it's just a matter of time before
she's talking."

"Honey, do you think it would be okay if we look in on the kids
before we go to bed? I've really missed them this trip."

"Sure, Mulder, we'll just be really quiet."

"As mice," he promises. He follows her to the kids' bedrooms, and
peers in at the sleeping forms. Looks like two preschoolers, a
toddler, and two very small babies. No wonder agent Scully seems so
tired.

~*~*~

Once they climb into bed, he only intends to kiss her good-night,
figuring that Mulder is the sort to do that, but he's surprised when
she reaches over and cups him through his pajama bottoms. Apparently
she sees the shocked look on his face, because she frowns a little
and says, "If you're too tired…"

"Uh…" He stalls for time, wondering if this would be considered
cheating on his wife. Then he realizes that he doesn't care either
way. When opportunity knocks… "I'm just surprised you want to. I
mean, the babies are so young."

She laughs, then covers her mouth. "I'm sorry. Given that Page and
Sammy aren't quite eleven months apart I'm touched that you'd be
concerned about it being too soon for me."

Looking at her, he wonders if she's already thinking about another
baby. Shrugging mentally, he decides that if that's what she wants…
"I thought you might think differently after having the twins."

"Oh, is that why you've been so…polite? Nope. I still can't get
enough of my handsome husband."

I was right Mulder is one lucky bastard, is the only thought still in
Morris' mind as he helps her undress.

~*~*~

Washington, DC 
6 a.m.

Scully looks up at Morris while putting on her panty-hose. "Could you
get April, please?"

"Uh, sure." He thinks he remembers which kid that is. "Why?"

"I wanted to read her a story before we leave for work. Her doctor
said it's important to hear language even if she's not talking on her
own."

"Okay, sure," he agrees happy to know which kid it is for sure. The
bigger girl must be talking, so it has to be the toddler.

He opens a couple of doors before he finds the right room, but
doesn't wake anyone. To his surprise April is sitting up in her crib.

"Hey there, April. You look a lot like your mommy, don't you. Except
for those eyes…which are suddenly filling with tears. What gives,
Kid?"

Tears are rapidly running down her face by the time he brings her to
Scully. "What's the matter, Baby?" Scully asks as she takes her
youngest daughter from Morris. "Did something scare you?"

Morris is taken aback when the toddler shoots him a fearful look.
"She must have had a bad dream."

"Yeah, I guess," Scully agrees, settling April on her lap and opening
a picture book. "Sounds like Michelle is getting the rest of the kids
up."

"Let me know when you're ready…" Morris wanders off, wondering if the
kid is on to him, or if she normally hates her father. His daughter
seems to hate him, so he thinks it could be either one.

~*~*~

Hoover Building
8:30 a.m.

Morris sits before Kersh with an attentive look on his face, and
completely ignores the questioning looks Scully sends his way.

"My two frequent flyers. I'm to understand you were in Nevada
yesterday and after - what's it been? - Two, three conversations such
as this on the matter," Kersh says evenly.

Scully squirms. "Well, sir..."

"This morning I got a phone call from the Pentagon demanding that the
two of you be reprimanded for trespassing on a top-secret military
installation. What do you think you were doing there?"

"We were following a lead, sir," Scully says quickly.

"And that's part of your current caseload? A legitimate
investigation?"

"Agent Scully and I were contacted by a confidential source," Morris
says.

"What source?"

"Oh, if I had the name, I'd give it to you." He ignores Scully's
sharp look. "Some whistle-blower working inside the so-called Area
51. Said he had some 'big deal' information. I got to tell you...The
whole thing turned out to be just one gigantic mistake on our part."

"Agent Mulder, with the exception of the cardinal O'Fallon case you
were specifically ordered not to pursue any line of investigation
pertaining to the X-Files."

"Sir, you're absolutely right. And on behalf of Agent Scully and
myself, I'd like to apologize for our blatant disregard of your
direct order. You have our word. We will never ever do that again."
Morris promises smoothly.

This shocks Scully into silence, at least until they get to the
hallway.

"Mulder! What was that about?"

"What was what about?"

"'I'd give you his name if I had it'? Whatever happened to protecting
our contacts? Protecting our work?"

Morris shrugs. "He asked."

"What is going on with you?"

"Will you please stop trying to pick a fight with me?"

"Mulder, you are acting bizarre."

"I know what your problem is." Morris states.

Scully puts her hands on her hips, and growls, "Just what would that
be?"

Morris leans towards her. "You want me. Right here and now. Too bad
we can't get caught messing around in the office right after getting
chewed out." He swats her on the butt. "It's gonna be a long day,
huh, Dana?" Then he walks off, oblivious to her outraged stare.

~*~*~

Meanwhile in another timezone
Near Area 51, Nevada

Eggs sizzle in a frying pan, but Mulder is staring into space. A
touch on his shoulder catches him off guard. "Scully?"

"Morris, what are you doing? And who is Scully?"

"Good morning?" Mulder asks tentatively. "I'm um, making some
breakfast. Would you like some bacon with your eggs?"

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"This is the first time in almost 20 years I've ever seen you cook.
And you never told me who Scully is."

"Scully is someone I work with," Mulder tells her as he slides some
eggs onto a plate. "No one important."

"Of course you're not going to elaborate. Morris let his wife into
the details of his work? What was I thinking."

"You know my work is classified." Mulder guesses at a typical answer,
but is dismayed when she walks out of the room. "Um...Honey? I
ne...Have you...Have you seen my car keys? I thought I might have
left them..."

A teenage girl walks into the kitchen. "Morning, Dad."

"Morning Sweetie."

"You promised me that you wouldn't call me stupid nicknames!" the
girl shouts and runs back upstairs.

"Morris...What did you do to Chris?" Joanne calls.

"Who knows?" Mulder mutters under his breath. "Where are my keys?"

"Yo, dad." Mulder looks up when he sees a young boy come in the room.

"Good morning, Terry."

"Not Terry." The boy sounds a little less irritable than his older
sister. "Terrence. 'Terry's' for wusses."

"Oh, and Terrence isn't?" Mulder wonders under his breath. "Hey, uh,
Terrence how about helping your old Dad find his car keys?"

Joanne overhears and looks up from her eggs. "Chris, did you give
your father back his car keys?"

Morris' daughter drops them on the floor instead of handing them to
him. ::If Page or April ever act like this, they're going to a
convent.:: Mulder fumes to himself as he reaches down for the keys.
"Everyone have a good day."

As he turns to leave, Chris shouts. "Mom!"

"Morris! What about Chris?"

"Chris?"

"You said you'd give me an answer today," Chris says with a pout.

"Her nose. You said you'd give her an answer about her nose."

"Um...I think..." ::I think I've seen bigger noses, that's what I
think.:: "I think we'll do what you suggested, Honey."

"For God's sake Morris, can't you make up your mind about something
as simple as a nose ring?" Joanne demands to know.

Mulder stares at the girl's nose. "I'm sorry Chris, but I don't think
you should disfigure yourself that way."

"I hate you! I wish you were dead!" Chris shouts at him.

"Well, my work here is done. Have a nice day," Mulder mutters, then
makes for the door.

Joanne follows him. "You want a divorce, don't you? Just say the
words - 'Joanne, I want a divorce.'"

"Joanne?" ::So the harpy does have a name.:: "Joanne, no."

"I will not live this way, Morris. I will not let you walk in and out
of this house like a total stranger. Maybe it's better if you
just..."

::Drop dead?:: Mulder wonders. "Sorry. I'm just not myself lately."
::I've got to get back to my real family before I wish I'm dead
too.::

~*~*~

Washington, DC
That Afternoon

Both confused and annoyed, Scully looks away from Morris' game of
computer golf when her phone begins to ring. "Scully."

"Oh, thank God, Scully, it's me."

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"It's me, Mulder."

"Mulder." Scully gives Morris a quick look, but he's engrossed in his
game.

"I'm sorry I couldn't call sooner. Look, something really weird
happened last night when that UFO passed over us."

"UFO?"

Mulder is disappointed. "You don't remember? You don't remember.
Okay, the man that you're with, that's not me. His name is Morris
Fletcher. He's an Area 51 employee."

"Morris Fletcher."

"That's right. Everybody here seems to think that I'm him, but I'm
not. I'm me. I'm Mulder." He pauses for a second. "Your husband."

"Uh huh, okay." Scully tries to get Morris to pick up the phone, but
he ignores her. "Mulder, uh...Where are you?"

"Better not say. Look, just get out here as soon as you can."

"How can I get in touch with you?"

"You won't. I'll get in touch with you. Tell the kids I love them."

After Scully hangs up, she looks at Morris. "Why would someone
impersonate you?"

"No idea."

"Then you don't think it was your source? Well, I'll run a trace."

"Uh...No, no. I think we should notify El Jefe ASAP. We don't want
our collective asses chewed out all over again."

"Mulder? Are you sure that's the best thing to do?"

"Look, little lady, I think it's time you got your panties on
straight. We're federal officers...We go by the book."

"Mulder…" Scully says weakly, staring after him.

~*~*~

Area 51
Late Afternoon

::You'd of thought I'd remember something like this:: Mulder tried
not to let his upset stomach get the best of him a few hours later
when he and Jeff look at the body of the store clerk that a soldier
has just put out of his misery.

"We've got to get out of here before it happens again."

"Again?" Mulder asks in a daze as troops set the gas station on fire.

"Yeah, again. Our next stop will let you see for yourself."

"Ah," Mulder says, completely unsure that he wants to see anything
else like that.

~*~*~

Meanwhile…

"Oh, hey, Dana." Morris looks up with a lazy smile when Scully
catches him napping at his desk.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, you know, just a little recharging of the old batteries. What's
up?"

"We got the trace back on the call we received this morning. It came
from a gas station pay phone off of highway 375 three miles east of
Groom Lake."

"And?"

"And I'm thinking it was your source although I don't know why he'd
try and impersonate you."

"Maybe so."

"You don't think that we should follow up on this?"

"Are you out of your pretty little mind?" Morris asks her sharply.

"Am I out of my mind? Mulder, you are out of your mind! What is up
with you?! I'm thinking about having you examined for mental illness
or-or drug use or...Or maybe a massive head injury! This is an
X-File, your life's work, your crusade!"

"As I understand it, we're off the X-Files."

Furious, Scully leaves the office, slamming the door behind her.

"Guess I ain't getting any tonight," Morris says to the empty room.

 ~*~*~

Area 51 Lab

::How does it breath?:: Mulder wonders as he stares at a lizard with
its head embedded in a rock. ::Maybe the nostrils aren't surrounded
by rock. Hmm. I guess I could have ended up worse off than in this
idiot's body.:: He glance down at Morris' paunch. ::A little worse
off::

He tears his eyes away from the lizard when he realizes that Howard
is speaking to him, Jeff, and general Wegman "This was brought to a
local vet. Some kid found this in the desert ten miles east of the
gas station." Then Howard points to a map where the lizard was found.

Wegman points to a different spot on the map. "This is where you
found the gas station attendant?"

"Yes, sir. We located the pilot at the crash site here and the Indian
woman right there." ::What pilot and Indian woman? Should I be mad
that I'm, I mean Morris, is somewhat out of the loop?::

"What's this?" Wegman asks, pointing to a fourth dot.

"That, we believe, is ground zero. Once we analyze the flight data
recorder we hope to confirm it's where the warp began." He shows them
the flight data recorder.

"Warp?" Mulder asks.

"Beam me up, Scotty," Jeff quips.

"That's a tear in the space-time continuum, an anomaly created by the
malfunction of the aircraft which was operating in gravity pulse mode
before it went down."

"We've been flying these things since '53. I never heard of anything
like this," Wegman says.

::I knew it!:: "According to quantum physics, it's possible," Mulder
calmly remarks.

"Anti-gravity systems utilize bends in space and time for propulsion.
A sudden shift in a craft's trajectory could create the kind of
distortion we're witnessing right here."

"If this is where your so-called warp began we would have all seen it
and the three of us were out on highway 375 at the time, sir,
intercepting two FBI agents," Jeff says.

"A lizard and a rock existing in the same time and space. The fact
that none of us remembers seeing it is evidence that my theory is
correct, sir," Howard insists.

"And how's that?"

"Lost time," Mulder tells him.

Howard nods in agreement. "Lost time is a common symptom of close
proximity to anti-gravity propulsion systems."

"Then how come my head isn't in a rock, or Morris'?" Jeff asks. 

The question makes Howard look annoyed. "That's one question I
haven't been able to answer. It is possible we suffered consequences
from our exposure that we're not fully aware of."

"What do we do about it?" Mulder asks. All three men give him a
strange look.

That's your department - keep it out of the paper, make sure the
witnesses disappear." Howard says.

"Well, yeah, but I mean, how do we reverse it? How do we get the
lizard out of the rock?"

Howard shrugs. "Who says we can?" 

The remark makes Mulder feel a little ill, but he decides that the
flight data recorder must be the answer to everything. If he can get
his hands on it.

~*~*~

"This is not a marriage. It's a farce." Is the first thing Mulder
hears in the morning as he tries not to fall off the narrow edge of
the bed.

"What?" he asks Joanne sleepily.

"You're not attracted to me anymore. I disgust you, don't I?"

"No. No. It's not...It's not that you're disgusting. I-i-it's just
that..."

"It's just that you don't want to ever make love to me ever again,
that's all. That and you mumble something about Scully in your sleep.
Who is Scully, Morris? Is it another woman?"

"Does Scully sound like a woman's name to you?"

"Who is Scully? Tell me."

"Oh, Joanne, I'm sure I've told you many times in the past that there
are things about my work that unfortunately, I have to keep a
secret."

"Oh, no, Buster. That's not going to fly this time."

"My point is that there are a lot of things you don't know about me.
And...I've just...I've been under a lot of pressure lately. I mean,
up is down and black is white. I don't know where I stand anymore. I
don't even know...who I am really anymore. I just...I know for sure
that I am not the man you married. I'm just not. And I'm sorry. I'm
truly sorry."

Joanne gives a relieved laugh. "Oh, God, Morris. I didn't know. They
have that pill now. We can work this out. There's other ways to be
intimate." Then Joanne hugs him while he's still stunned.

"I think that that was the doorbell," Mulder says.

"We can make this work," Joanne promises, and goes to the door.

"Yes?"

"Hi. My name is Dana Scully. I'm looking for Morris Fletcher."

The happy look melts on Joanne's face, and she yells into the house.
"Morris, your whore is here!" When he sees Scully he smiles - until
Joanne slaps him. "You son of a bitch." She turns and storms back
into the house.

Scully looks nonplused by her reception and shakes her head to clear
it. "I'm sorry. Uh, Morris Fletcher?"

"Scully, it's me. It's Mulder." He closes the door and walks into the
driveway with Scully.

She gives him a nervous look. "You're, uh...You're the man from the
other night? From Area 51?" He nods and she adds, "You phoned me.
Would you mind telling me what this is about?"

"I'm Mulder. I'm really Mulder. I switched bodies, places, identities
with this man Morris Fletcher the man that you think is Mulder, but
he's not. Of course you don't believe me. Why was I expecting
anything different? Your full name is Dana Katherine Scully. Your
badge number is...Hell! I don't know your badge number. Your mother's
name is Margaret. We've got five kids, and named the second one for
my sister after you vetoed my choice of Verse Mulder…"

Joanne opens the door and dumps Morris' suits onto the stairs.
"Cheater!"

"Look...Any of that information could have been gathered by anyone,"
Scully says.

"Even me wanting to name Sammy 'Verse'? That is so you. That is so
Scully. Well, it's good to know you haven't changed. That's somewhat
comforting."

"I don't know what the point of all of this is."

"I'll prove it to you."

"No. You won't, but I wouldn't mind if you came clean with me."

"Scientific proof about what happened to us on that road two nights
ago. Fair enough?"

Joanne Fletcher opens the front door again and yells out, "I am
calling the police!"

"Please, Scully."

"Good-bye, Mr. Fletcher," Scully says, walking away.

"I will prove it to you, Scully. Tonight. I'll prove everything.
Okay?" Mulder calls.

Scully doesn't answer him, but just gets into her car. 

~*~*~

Ahearn's Service Station 
Lincoln County, Nevada
Night

After ignoring the station attendant, Mulder makes a beeline for
Scully when he sees her down another aisle.

"Scully, I got it. I got the proof." He holds out the bag to her, but
she says nothing.

A moment later soldiers burst into the little store and cuff him.

"I'm sorry," Scully says morosely.

"Damn it, Morris." Jeff comes in, with Morris in tow.

"You! You son of a bitch!" He shouts at Morris. "You orchestrated
this whole thing! He's not me, Scully! Would I do this?! Would I do
this?! Scully...! Scully!"

Scully watches them take him out but then seems to realize the truth
of what he claims. She takes a few steps toward him, but the soldiers
get in her way.

Mulder continues to yell at Morris and to Scully as Soldiers drag him
out. "No, you bastard, tell them the truth! Scully, he's not me! He's
not me! Scully! He's not me!"

~*~*~

Chapter Sixty-Seven

 
Nevada
November 12th, 1998

Scully reluctantly watches the MIB vehicles drive off. 

Morris looks somewhat contrite as he joins her. "You hate me now,
right? Dana, I'm sorry I narced on you to Kersh, but I...I was scared
you were going to lose your job."

"You did the right thing, Mulder," Scully tells him.

"I did?"

"I've been telling you for years you should play more by the book,
haven't I?"

"Hey, it's the new me." Morris claims. He doesn't notice Scully's
look as she watches the road.

~*~*~

FBI Headquarters
Washington, DC

When Scully enters the basement office carrying a box, Morris nearly
falls out of his chair trying to turn off his monitor so it's not
obvious that he's been playing computer golf again. "So, what did
Kersh say?"

"He said that I was willful, insubordinate and not a team player and
the FBI didn't need agents that weren't team players."

"What a jerk. Then what?"

"Two-week suspension without pay."

"You're not serious. Who does he think he is?"

"Looks like you're on your own for a couple weeks. I'll see you at
home."

"Let me make you dinner to ease the pain a little," Morris suggests.
"I can drop the kids off at my mother's-"

"Your mother's?!" Scully gives him a disbelieving look. "I thought we
agreed that neither of your parents is fit to baby-sit in anything
but the most dire of emergencies."

"Did I say my mother's?" Morris asks. "I meant your mother's. We'll
give the nanny the evening off - God knows she'd probably like a few
hours to go out with friends - and have the house to ourselves until
I pick the kids up."

"I'll drop the kids off, but that sounds good." She gives him a small
smile. "See you tonight."

"Why don't you spend the rest of the day shopping? Maybe for
something lacey."

~*~*~

Area 51 Brig 

Lying on his uncomfortable bunk, Mulder is giving up hope that the
pilot stuck and Lana Chee's body is ever going to stop running her
mouth. ::or maybe it's his mouth.::

"...he's like a damn dog tick."

"Maverick?"

The pilot ignores him. "You ain't shaking that son of a gun." 

"Hey, Grandma Top Gun, will you shut the hell up?!"

A few second later a guard shows up outside Mulder's plexiglass cell.

"General Wegman wants to see you." 

~*~*~

"Son..." Wegman says. "You got a set on you. I'll say that much."

"You had us fooled. Why didn't you tell us what you were doing from
the start?" Jeff asks.

"Meaning?" Mulder asks, having no idea what is going on.

"It's the wrong one. You replaced the flight data recorder. This
one's," Howard holds up a flight data recorder. "from a scrapped
F-111, sir. It's junk. You gave the FBI the wrong flight data
recorder. Why?"

"Morry," Jeff says. "If you were running a scam on the FBI why didn't
you let us in on it?"

"I didn't know if I could trust you. We have a security leak,
gentlemen, and for all I knew it was one of you. That's why I decided
I should approach Agent Scully alone to find out who her contact is.
Unfortunately, her partner Agent Mulder screwed everything up."
Mulder hopes they buy it.

"So why didn't you tell us all this afterward?" Howard asks.

"I knew that you wouldn't believe it until you figured it out for
yourself."

"So the real flight data recorder is safe?" 

"Oh, yeah. Absolutely."

"And you will bring it back?" 

"Of course." 
 
"By God, you do got a set on you. I wish I could say the same about
some of your colleagues. About those who proffer rumor and innuendo
those who make dangerous accusations."

"Sir," Howard protests. "Morris's behavior seemed to...."

"You can explain yourself to the review panel in Washington. I've
already wired them recommending censure for your actions. You're
lucky I didn't throw you in the stockade."

~*~*~

Fletcher Residence
Rachel, Nevada

After Morris' daughter informs him that her mother is getting a
restraining order, Mulder has serious doubts about what will happen
to Morris' marriage once he gets back. He's not sure if he should
care, after the way Morris screwed him, but he can't help but feel a
little bad for his family, as unpleasant as they are. ::Probably all
Morris' fault they treat him this way, anyway.::

Joanne gives him a decidedly unfriendly look. "What are you doing
back?"

"Joanne..."

"Your stuff is all outside. Take it and get out." 

"Joanne, listen to me. There's something I got to tell you." 

"I've heard enough from you for one lifetime, Morris."

"Go tell it to that tramp of yours, that Scully, whatshername". 

"Dana Scully - Special Agent Dana Scully."

"Special Tramp Dana Scully." 

"She's my partner, Joanne."

"I'm supposed to be your partner," Joanne snaps. 

"My name is not Morris Fletcher. It's Fox Mulder. Special Agent Fox
Mulder with the FBI. Dana Scully is my FBI partner, my wife and the
mother of my children. I am not your husband, we are not married, we
are complete strangers and I have a whole other life that I'm
desperately trying to get back to. I miss my own kids, Joanne."

"You know, Morris, most men when they have a mid-life crisis they go
out and buy themselves a sports car. They don't run around calling
themselves Fox."

"I want you to look out the window. Will you just look out the window
with me for a second? See that car down there? See the two men in it?
They're surveilling me. They're spying on me. I don't know if your
husband ever told you this but he has a very dangerous job and those
two men in that car, like you, think that I'm him only they don't
trust me. So, one false move and I'm history. Which means that your
husband will also be history because I won't be able to get back and
set things the way they're supposed to be. Do you understand what I'm
saying to you?"

She doesn't say anything, so he tries to reason with her. "I'm not
good with Terry and Chris because I don't have kids that old, yet. My
kids are only little. Three of them are still babies, and the other
two are in preschool. I wish I could show you pictures-"

"You're not good with our kids because you're not here for them, and
never have been. Morris, if you don't like the man you've become I
don't blame you one bit. But this flight from reality isn't the
answer. Accept who you are. However repulsive that may be."
 
~*~*~

Washington, DC

When she comes in the house, Morris kisses Scully on the cheek.
"How's your mother?"

"Good. She was pleased to have the kids over. I guess she feels like
she doesn't see them often enough."

"I have a surprise for you, up in the bedroom."

"You do, do you?" Scully smiles knowingly at him.

"Someone has a dirty mind," Morris admonishes playfully. "I had them
set it up while you were out shopping. Do you hate it?"

Scully stares at the waterbed. "No, I don't hate it."

"Well, all right then. Uh, don't go away." 

There's champagne in one hand and glasses in the other when he comes
back in the room.

"Do you know what would really be fun?"

"What?"

"If we play a game like we used to when we first got married. I'll be
the police officer, and you can be the bad, bad man." Scully dangles
her handcuffs in front of him.
 
"Oh, yeah. Me first?"

"You first," she agrees, handing him the cuffs which he eagerly wraps
around the bedpost.

"Now what?" Morris asks. When he looks up he sees that she's pointing
her gun at him. "Shit."

"You're not Mulder."

"What?"

"Baby..." The top pops off the bottle of champagne, startling them
both.

"'Baby me and you'll be peeing through a catheter. I can't believe I
had sex with you!"

"But it was good though, right?" Morris leers at her.

"Your name is Morris Fletcher. It was Mulder who was arrested in the
desert. He was telling the truth about you. Now, how do we get things
back to normal?"

"How should I know? I wouldn't do it even if I could. You saw my
wife. Do you think I want to go back to that? Two kids who'd probably
kill me in my sleep for the insurance money. A $400,000 mortgage on a
house that just appraised at $226,000. And my job...Yee Gods. You
think being a man in black is all voodoo mind control? I can see the
paperwork."
 
"Are you through?"

"As far as I'm concerned this thing is a gift from heaven. Hot wife,
four out of five kids don't seem to hate me… Besides, no one is ever
going to believe you so you might as well just get used to me being
here."

"Or I just shoot you...Baby." 

"I'm telling you, I have no idea how to change things back," Morris
says pleadingly.

"What about Mulder's source? The man he was supposed to meet in the
desert? What about him? Do you know how to get in touch with him?"

"I don't know anything about that. Sorry. You're out of luck," Morris
says primly. "And you wouldn't really kill me, would you? You'd never
get your husband back in this body if you did."

Before Scully can weigh in on her opinion on that matter, the
answering machine goes off. "Hello, hello. I'm very busy entertaining
my sexy wife. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."
 
Scully gives Morris a disgusted look and he blushes. 

"Agent Mulder, I'm trying you one last time. Are you or are you not
interested in the classified information I have to give you? Please
pick up the phone if you're there."

Waving her gun at the phone, Scully indicates he should pick it up.
Morris does so "Mulder."

He holds the phone away from his ear so Scully can hear too. "Agent
Mulder, listen very carefully."

~*~*~

Fletcher Residence
4:47 p.m.

Bored, Mulder plays with the blinds with his foot as he keeps an eye
on the surveillance team keeping an eye on him.

"Well, I guess we've given the neighbors enough to talk about. For
God's sake, Morris at first you couldn't wait to get away from me and
now you won't leave the house."

"Jesus, are you always this much of a martyr? No wonder you don't get
along with him."

"Him, who?"

"Your husband."

"You are my husband," Joanne snaps.

"Not that again." Mulder sighs. "Where can we go?" 

"What do you mean?"

"You're right. We should get out of the house. Go someplace with a
lot of people. That should keep us from being at each other's
throats."

"Someplace with a lot of people?"

"Mm-hmm."

"In Rachel, Nevada?" she asks disbelievingly. 

"Come on, what do you say? I'll pretend to be your husband and
everything."

"Morris…" She shakes her head sadly, but goes and gets her purse.


~*~*~

Little Al Ein Bar & Inn

"Well, this place is interesting," Mulder says as he and Joanne take
their seats. "I don't think I've ever been anywhere like this. Alien
themed western bar. Huh."

"I thought you said you were going to pretend to be my husband,"
Joanne says in a strange tone. "He's a regular here."

"Oh yeah, sorry." Mulder looks around.

"Are you expecting someone?" Joanne asks.

"No, I'm not expecting someone."

"Because if you're here expecting someone and not to buy me a drink,
you should tell me now so I can divorce you and take the house."

"Relax. Order us whatever it is that we usually order." He looks up
and sees Jeff and some other MiB employees coming in, and they're not
anyone he wants to deal with. "Whoa, ooh, that beer, it went right
through me. I got to...I'll be right back."

~*~*~

Mulder sneaks out the back door, and begins looking for a car that's
unlocked so he can "borrow" it. Although he's not sure where he's
going to go if he finds a car, he knows he can't stay there, and
Joanne has the keys to Morris' car.

By chance he stumbles up to Scully's car. "Scully!" 

"Mulder? Is that really you?"

He gets into the car with her. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm trying to figure out a way to help you."

When Mulder goes back inside, he gets doused with white wine by
Morris' unhappy wife, and stumbles onto Morris and Wegman's meeting.
With his help they get the data recorder to Scully so she can see if
it contains any information that will help them switch back to their
own bodies.

~*~*~

The Next Night

Morris stays in the car while Mulder and Scully talk.

"You don't look too happy. Don't tell me I'm going to have to put two
more kids through school."

She gives him a hesitant smile. "That is you in there, Mulder, isn't
it?" He nods. "I, uh...I just got off the phone with Frohike. They
were able to download and analyze the crash data and, yes, there was
an anomalous event that night."

"And how do I get back?"

"Well, that's just it. It's all about random moments in time...About
a series of variables approaching an event horizon. And even if
we...could recreate that moment if we could sabotage another
craft...Mulder, if we were...If we were off...If the event were off
by even one millisecond..."

"I might wind up with my head in a rock."

"Something like that, yeah."

"What about him? I mean, me. Whatever. Whoever he is."

Scully shrugs. "I guess if we can't get you back in your body, it and
I get a divorce. He may look like you, but he's not the man I want
raising my children."

"He's not who I'd pick, either," Mulder says grimly.

"As for everything else…'Agent Mulder' has become AD Kersh's new
golden boy. He's been tasked with returning the flight data recorder
that he and I stole. The son of a bitch confesses to Kersh even more
than I do to my priest. I'm just tagging along for the ride."

"What do you mean, 'just tagging along'?"

"I'm out of the Bureau. I've been censured and relieved of my
position."

"No. You can explain it to them like you explained it to me. You have
the data. You can make them understand. You can get your job back."

"I'd kiss you if you weren't so damn ugly," Scully tells him. "If it
doesn't…work out, divorce his wife too, Mulder. We can make this work
if we have to, I swear."

Morris honks the horn at them and yells out the open window. "Take a
picture - it'll last longer.

Mulder stares at the car. "If I...shoot him is that murder or
suicide?"

"Neither, if I do it first." When he looks alarmed, she adds. "I'd
wait until it was absolutely certain that this thing can't be fixed.
And I am going to keep working on this."

"I know you will," Mulder says, and hugs her before Scully goes to
deal with Morris.

*

A short time later Scully discovers that the burned out gas station
no longer was, and that the attendant has no idea what she's talking
about when she brings it up. She's practically running when she
reaches the car and throws herself inside.

"What are you doing?" Morris asks as she hits the gas.

"If I'm lucky, I'm getting rid of you," she says through gritted
teeth.

"How?"

~*~*~

Fletcher house

::Man, you screwed up Morris. Wonder where you'll live now?:: Mulder
wonders as he puts Morris' stuff in a U-Hall. He tries to push away
the thought of what happens to him if he can't switch back.

Just then, Scully and Morris pull up in a car. "What are you doing
here?" Mulder asks, walking up to the car.

"I need to talk to you. Something's happened," Scully tells him.

In the front door, Joanne and Terry are attempting to get Morris'
recliner outside. "Morris! Don't forget your stupid chair! You and it
should be very happy together!" Joanne looks up and sees Scully.
"Terence, get back inside." Once he does, she speaks to Scully. "You
got a lot of gall coming back here, Sister."

"Joanne, I told you - I'm not your husband." Mulder points to Morris.
"This man is."

"You come here to watch my family fall apart?" Joanne asks Scully.
"You getting some kind of big kick out of that?"

"Mulder, I have to talk to you alone ," Scully insists.

::She knows it's me!:: Mulder thinks gleefully. ::Maybe if I can't
get my body back, I can at least have my family back. It'll take
time, but we'll all adjust to me being so ugly.::

"Home-wrecker!" Joanne shouts as Mulder and Scully step away to talk.

Morris gives Joanne a sad look. "Careful. You're going to bust a
lung."

"Leave me alone."

"Joanne...What he said about me being your husband - it's true."

"Get the hell off my porch."

"We got married on June 13th, 1978 It rained that day. You got mad at
me at the reception because I said couldn't see the cake behind your
fat ass. Remember our first apartment - that dump in Pentagon City?
You'd turn the air conditioner on and the lights would go out? Or
when you were pregnant how I'd tickle your kneecaps to make you
laugh? Remember? Remember the night Chrissy was born? When I held her
in my arms all red-faced and screaming?"

"That was the only time I ever saw you cry." Joanne begins to cry
herself. "Oh, my God...Morris? Is that you?"

Mulder pulls on Morris' arm. "Come on, Morris. Let's go."

"What do you mean, go? Where are you taking him?" Joanne asks
frantically.

"Mrs. Fletcher, we have reason to believe that whatever event caused
this to happen may be in the process of reversing. If it does, we can
get our husbands back into their correct bodies."

"We got to get back to that highway, back to the exact spot where
this all began. It may be our only chance," Mulder tells her.

Two MiB SUVs pulls up in front of the house. Jeff gets out of one and
approaches them. "Sorry, Morris. A traitor's a traitor."

"This isn't what it looks like," Mulder says quickly.

Soldier, who had been rummaging through Scully's car holds up the
fight data recorder. "Got it!"

~*~*~

A few miles down the road Jeff has to stop the car because another
impromptu roadblock has been set up. Leaning out the window, Jeff
yells to Howard. "What are you doing?"

Howard looks calm when he walks over to the car. "I'm cleaning up a
mess."

"What are you talking about?"

"About an hour ago I put Captain McDonough and Mrs. Chee back where
they belong. Now it's their turn." He points at Mulder, Scully,
Morris and Joanne.

"The warp that started this is snapping back like a rubber band,"
Mulder says in awe.

"Only we have to be in its path when it happens," Scully says. They
all listen to a distant rumble that doesn't sound much like thunder.

"Why are you doing this?" Mulder asks Howard.

"Till now, I had a spotless career record. I want that back."

The rumble gets even louder. "So this is time snapping back?" Morris
asks.

"It'll be like the last few days never happened. You won't remember
any of this," Howard says. "I don't think any of us will."

"Oh. Well, in that case, Dana...It's been real." Morris raises a hand
to slap Scully on the behind, but glares from both Mulder and his
wife make him drop his hand. "Maybe we'll see each other again."

"God I hope not…" Scully mutters. The rumble reaches a crescendo, and
there's a flash of light. "We're back!" Mulder crows excitedly.

"Yeah, we're back," Morris replies sullenly, but then an amazed look
fills his face when Joanne throws her arms around him.

"Come on, Mulder. Let's go."

Once they're in the car Joanne waves to them, and actually seems
happy. ::I didn't see that coming..:: Mulder thinks as they drive
into the night.

~*~*~

Washington, DC
Early the Next Morning

"Mulder, just checked the messages. Looks like we slipped under
Kersh's radar. Our little field trip to Nevada went unnoticed."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mulder, I'm sorry that your confidential source didn't pan out."

"Well, I guess you were right, Scully. Just another crackpot who
watches too much Star Trek."

He opens the door to their bedroom, then looks back out into the
hallway at her. "When did we get a waterbed?"

"A what?" She pushes past him and looks in the room. "Where the hell
did that come from?"

"I have no idea." Mulder confesses, shaking his head. ::They did it
again, the diabolical bastards!::

~*~*~

November 19th, 1998

"I want you to close your eyes and listen to the sound of my voice,"
Doctor Killen says.

Mulder closes his eyes, and wonders if Killen is really a doctor. He
probably isn't, but he does seem to know how to hypnotize people,
which is the important thing. For the second time Mulder is
absolutely certain that more went on the week before than he's aware
of, so hypnosis seems like the logical way to unravel the mystery of
why there's a waterbed in his room that no one will claim
responsibility for.

" - listen to the sound-" ::I am getting sleepy, very sleepy. Or
bored. No, it actually is sleepy…::

When Mulder comes back to full consciousness, Doctor Killen is giving
him an angry look. "Here." He thrusts a cassette tape at Mulder. "Do
not come back here ever again."

"What, why?" Mulder asks, startled by the remark.

"I don't know if you're very good at faking that you are under, or if
you have severe mental problems that allow you to believe your weird
fantasies are reality, but I will not be mocked like this in my own
office."

"Uh…all right then. Thank you for your time."

Since Mulder paid in advance, Killen just holds the door open for
him, and made it very clear that he wants Mulder to leave.

"I wonder what the hell that was all about," Mulder mutters to
himself as he gets into his car. He pushs the tape into the car's
tape player and begins to listen to himself speaking to Killen.

Once he's gotten to the part about switching bodies, he thinks he
understands the good doctor's reaction.

~*~*~

November 25th, 1998

When he shuffles through the mail, one of the pieces surprises him.
It's postmarked from New York, but has no return address so he's
curious as to what it could possibly contain.

Slitting it open, he unfolds it and reads:

Agent Mulder,
How have you been? I hope your family is well. I thought I should
tell you that I'm finally taking your advice – I'm going to become an
FBI agent. I start Quantico in February, and I'm hoping that I get
placed in New York so I don't have to take Luke out of his school for
more than just this school year.

The reason for this sudden change of heart is painful to discuss.
Barbara got a job in sales, about two years ago. It meant a lot of
long hours away from the family, but she seemed to find the work
fulfilling, so supported her decision to devote time to her career.

I'm regretting now that I didn't pay more attention, since I'm sure
there were warning signs along the way… She was made a vice-president
of the company last month, and agreed, without discussing it with the
family, to take a position in Europe. This of course lead to a fight,
and during it she revealed that she hadn't talked it over because she
was leaving me for one of her co-workers who was also moving to
Europe for his job as well.

The kids are taking it hard, mostly, I think, because she made it
clear that she was not just leaving me, but them as well. It's been a
strange transition from husband and father to just single father.
We're getting by.

Anyway, thanks for suggesting the FBI as a career.

John Doggett

Sighing, Mulder puts the letter back in the envelope, and riffles
though a desk drawer until he finds the card Doggett sent him almost
exactly three years before. Everyone looks so happy in the picture,
and he finds it hard to believe that the smiling woman holding tiny
baby Hannah is now thousands of miles away from that little girl.
Husbands seem easy to leave, but how do you abandon a daughter who is
barely three and a son who isn't yet a teenager?

"Here," he says a couple of minutes later when he finds Scully
watching TV with Page.

"Oh, that's too bad," Scully says sadly once she's gotten a chance to
read it.

"Yeah."

"You know, I sort of wondered how happy they were when we saw them
that Fourth of July. Since she wasn't with them on a holiday."

"Ah." Mulder guesses that it's one of the signs Doggett said he
missed.

"I'm glad he's going to become an FBI agent, but New York to Virginia
is a hell of a commute."

"Maybe he plans to rent an apartment."

"For four months? Who rents places for four months?" Scully asks.

"You know what would be nice?" Mulder asks back. "If he knew some
people with empty bedrooms that'd let him and his kids stay with them
for a while."

"You want them to stay here?" Scully raises an eyebrow.

"Why, do you hate the idea?"

"Well no, but he'll probably say no."

"Probably, but it is a nice gesture of friendship in keeping with it
being Thanksgiving this week."

"If you want to make the offer, I'm okay with that." She adds.

Mulder grins at her. "When I was a kid my mom would never let me and
my friends have sleepovers."

Scully rolls her eyes. "Guess that makes me cooler than your mom."

"Oh, definitely," Mulder agrees, nuzzling her neck.

~*~*~

Chapter Sixty-Eight

November 29th, 1998

After waiting a few days to see if Scully will think better of it,
Mulder picks up the phone and calls Doggett. He's not sure if the man
has actually given him his number, since he'd initially gotten it by
having the doing a trace when Luke had called him so long ago, but he
doesn't figure Doggett will care either way.

After a couple of rings Doggett picks up. "Hello?"

"John, it's Fox Mulder. I got your letter a couple of days ago."

"Oh, hi. Glad it got there safely," Doggett mutters. He sounds like
he regrets what he wrote.

"Did I ever tell you about my house?" The question must seem apropos
to nothing.

"Uh, I don't think so."

"We inherited it from my uncle Saul. Ten bedrooms. Between Scully and
I, the kids, and our nanny we only use six bedrooms since only the
three older kids have their own rooms yet." Mulder is tempted to go
on to explain that it's easier to keep the twins in the nursery
together and to explain how April took to her new room a lot easier
than Sammy did when he was taken out of Page's room a few months ago
for the second time, but he decides that it will just confuse Doggett
more.

And Doggett does sound confused. "Okay."

"So we have four bedrooms that no one ever uses," Mulder tells him.
"Given that, Scully and I wanted to offer three of them to you and
your kids while you go to Quantico."

"You remember that it takes four months to complete training, don't
you?" Doggett asks in disbelief.

"With two FBI agents in the house, that sort of thing is hard to
forget."

"That's a very generous offer. I don't know what to say…" 

"Say yes," Mulder prompts, forgetting that he'd been expecting a
rejection.

"You really don't mind?"

"We really don't. Like I said, those rooms are just going unused. Buy
groceries that your kids will like, sign Luke up for the local public
school and put Hannah in daycare, and you'll be all set."

"I hope you won't regret this, but yes. And thank you."

"When do you start at Quantico?"

"February fourth."

"Okay, so we'll expect you, Luke and Hannah on the second or third."

"Great. See you then, I've got to tell the kids."

"Bye until then."

Mulder hangs up the phone, then goes to look for his wife to tell her
that they're getting their three house guests after all. ::Man, I
hope she was agreeing with the possibility that he'd say yes in
mind.::

~*~*~

mid-December 1998
US Department Of Agriculture
Washington, DC

::Does sibling rivalry mean that you want to kill your little weasel
of a half-brother?:: Mulder wonders bitterly. He pushes aside the
nagging voice in the back of his mind that insists that he could be
out in the field working on that demon baby case, if he hadn't
decided that the chance for entertainment wasn't worth upsetting
Scully over; cases with kids were harder to take every time they
added one to their family.

No, as far as he was concerned, it was all Spender's fault that he
and Scully were stuck in an even more dilapidated office than usual,
interviewing people who wished to work for the department of
Agriculture.

The two current hopefuls seemed like real pieces of work. The fellow
Scully is talking to looks like he might be Jerry Garcia fresh from
the witness protection program. And the woman he's interviewing…
someone should have taken her aside and gently explained that a
tight-fitting dress, and long nails, both bright red, were not the
best choices she could have made for her interview.

Scully, though she looks bored out of her mind, is going through the
script that Spender handed them before condemning them to this
special corner of hell. "Remember your truthfulness is important, Mr.
Ginsberg and as a prospective federal employee, I will remind you to
answer as honestly as possible. Okay?"

"Sure. Fire away." 

"Do you, or have you ever smoked marijuana?"

"Nope. No, siree." 

Even Mulder's interviewee can't help but stare at him. When she does
Mulder realizes that it's been a full minute since he's spoken to
her.

"Ms. Hart, have you ever been convicted of a crime?"

The woman's face becomes coy. "Not unless you consider breaking
hearts a crime."

"Breaking and entering yes, breaking hearts no." Mulder glances back
at the list. In an act of passive defiance, he's yet to memorize the
questions.

"Have you consorted with people who smoked marijuana now or in the
past?" Mulder looks up when Scully asks that, interested in Mr.
Ginsberg's answer.

"No...I really don't think so."

"Tell me something, agent Mulder," the lady in red says. "Are you
married?"

"Yes, and happily," Mulder tells her with a straight face. The woman
is lucky, because Scully, still dumbfounded by Ginsberg's reply,
doesn't seem to have heard her. Reaching into his wallet, Mulder
pulls out pictures of his kids. "Ain't they something?"

Hart gives him a weak smile. "They're beautiful."

A sharp rap on the door makes all four turn their heads towards the
source of the noise. Just a second later the door swings open, and
agent Skinner sticks his head in. "Agent Mulder? Scully? Could I have
a word with you, please?"

"Excuse us."

Through the closed door Mulder hears Hart and Ginsberg strike up a
conversation, and a perverse thought occurs to him - they'd make a
good couple. Couple of what, he's not sure of, but -

"What can we do for you, agent Spender?" Scully's voice is polite,
but cold.

"I have a case I could use your help on." Spender turns to Mulder.
"And to answer your question before you ask it, you should help me
because it'll get you out of that office."

"Fair enough," Mulder agrees. "How can we help? Us, in particular."

Spender grimaces. "The case that landed in my lap is unusual. It
wasn't something I planned to follow up on, but then local officials
forced my hand." He nods towards Scully. "Your medical knowledge will
be particularly useful."

"Where's the case?" Mulder asks, knowing that it's on both of their
minds.

"Hollins, Virginia."

"Has there been another disappearance?" Mulder asks.

"I'm sorry?"

"Hollins is very close to Roanoke, isn't it?"

"Oh. No, it's not that sort of case. I think it would be best to
simply show you our crime scene, rather than waste time explaining it
now."

"Whatever you say." Mulder tries very hard not to make a face at him.

"Great. We leave in about an hour," Spender tells them. "We should be
back in DC tonight, so no need to pack any clothes."

As soon as Spender walks off, Scully grabs Mulder's arm. "Oh my God,
Mulder. We're really getting out of here."

Some of Mulder's enthusiasm flickers when he realizes which case
Spender is talking about. This time around Spender didn't round-file
the demon case.

~*~*~

Betsy Monroe's Yard
An Hour Later

 A team is excavating some very small graves. There's a far away look
on Scully's face as she carefully examines a tiny skeleton. Mulder
joins her, looking somber himself. He barely notices that a police
officer is taking photographs just a few feet away.

"Who killed these babies, agent Spender?" Scully demands to know.

He shrugs. "As far as we can tell, their mother did."

"That's horrible," Mulder says quietly.

"I know. And what's worse is that it seems as though the man who is
probably their father killed a lot of their half siblings too."
Without any preamble, he uncovers a box that also contains bones.
"This is the only skeleton we were able to recover from the other
site, but I suspect that there's a history of infanticide in that
man's history too."

Sighing, Scully peers at the little misshapen head. "Because the
babies were deformed?"

"Probably."

"What about these babies?" Scully gestures to the graves. "They're
not deformed."

"I don't know." Spender looks chagrined. "We're going to find out,
though. We have the mother in custody."

"You do?" Mulder gives him a shocked look. ::This isn't how this
story goes.::

"Of course. Officers found her about an hour ago. She was trying to
flee, but blood loss slowed her down, and she fell asleep at the
wheel. Unfortunately, she didn't do the state the favor of killing
herself in the accident."

"I see," Mulder says, although he doesn't.

"Her baby wasn't killed either," Spender adds. 

"Why would she kill four babies, but not this one?" Scully asks.

Spender opens a folder. "From these records it's clear that she knew
that the baby was going to share the same deformity as the victim we
recovered from the other site. However, for all we know she simply
hadn't had time to murder this infant too."

"Oh."

"Once we get back to DC, I need you to see if there is conclusive
evidence that the five victims are related. We need all the evidence
we can get to try the murders."

"Okay, sure," Scully says faintly. Once Spender is out of earshot,
she turns to Mulder. "How could anyone kill four perfect babies, and
let a deformed one live. I don't mean that you should kill a baby for
being deformed, but…"

"Maybe the baby with problems isn't the one that she saw as being
wrong. Maybe she wanted a baby that has demon horns," he says,
staring at the skull in the box.

"No one wants a de-de-mon baby instead of a perfect one, Mulder,"
Scully says shakily.

"I don't think everyone has the same definition of perfect as we do."
To his shock, her eyes fill with tears. Thinking quickly, he puts his
arm around her. "Hey."

She rubs away tears with the back of her fist. "I'm sorry, this case
has just really gotten to me. I think it's hormonal."

"Yeah," he agrees absently.

"I'm going to take the pregnancy test tomorrow, to be sure," she
adds.

::Wait, what? I think I'd remember having sex lately.:: "You are?" 

She smirks a little and kisses his chin. "I told you that I couldn't
get enough of my handsome husband the night we flew back from
Nevada."

::Oh my fucking God! Morris! If I ever see him again, I'm going to
kill him!:: "Good thing it's mutual," he says in as lighthearted a
tone as he can manage.

"Agent Mulder?" Spender's voice makes him look up. "I didn't just
drag you along for the ride. Your part in the case is here."

Looking down, Mulder realizes that Spender is holding a baby carrier.
There's a receiving blanket thrown over the top, hiding the passenger
from view. "What?"

Putting his free hand on Mulder's shoulder, Spender steers him away
from Scully. "Look, we're in a bind here. Child services tried to
find a placement for this kid, but none of the foster families they
asked will take him in. I normally wouldn't ask this of an agent, but
I know you're good with kids, and it's only for a few days. Maybe a
week."

"Why won't anyone take him in?" Mulder asks slowly.

"Um…" Spender looks down at his feet.

Without asking his leave, Mulder pulls the blanket off. "Holy shit!
This isn't a baby, it's a demon!"

"That sort of comment isn't very constructive, Mulder. The child has
some unfortunate deformities, but don't you think it's a little harsh
to call him demonic? He's not going to win any beauty contests, but
he's simply a baby."

Mulder doesn't answer. Instead he stares at the infant. If you took a
normal baby gave him a pair of little horns and stretched out his
fingers, toes and eyes, you'd have a child who looked a lot like the
one sleeping in the baby carrier.

"It's better for him to be in protective custody until a foster home
is arranged than in an orphanage," Spender says.

For some reason Mulder is sure that Spender has already tried to get
an orphanage to take it in and been refused. Old school Catholics
probably wouldn't want a demon, no matter how small, in their midst,
and he doesn't know of any secular orphanages.

"How long are we talking about?" he asks.

"A week, tops."

"IF you can get Scully to agree to this, I'm going to hold you to
that. You really don't want me to show up at your house with a diaper
bag."

When Spender tries to hand him the carrier, Mulder throws up his
hands and backs away. "Uh Uh. If you want me to take that home with
me, you need to convince Scully first. I'm pretty sure she'll have
some words for you about bringing…that home to our kids, two of whom
are barely three months old." ::Not to mention that she's possibly
pregnant again, dammit.::

"This baby can't even hold up his own head-"

Mulder points to where Scully is. "Tell her that."

Spender thrusts the baby carrier at him. "I'll be back soon."

"Uhhh..." The baby stares up him with dark, blank eyes, which makes
him uncomfortable, so he throws the blanket back over the carrier.

While Mulder watches from a distance, Spender talks to Scully. He
gestures animatedly, which amuses Mulder for some reason. Maybe
because the younger man doesn't seem to realize that he's making that
impassioned request.

After a couple of minutes the two of them walk back to where Mulder
has been keeping an eye on the baby demon. ::Or maybe he's an imp.
Isn't that a small demon?::

He lifts the blanket so Scully can see, and she frowns. "Unfortunate
deformities."

Mulder stares at her. "He's not deformed, Scully. This is what he's
supposed to look like."

"No babies are supposed to look like this."

"Uh, baby demons are," Mulder says.

She gives him a 'don't be silly' look before reaching out to touch
it. His instinct is to grab her wrist so she can't, but he squelches
the impulse, leaving his fingers twitching impotently.

"Agent Spender said he was probably premature, but he's big even for
a full term newborn."

::A newborn what?:: "Maybe you're mentally comparing him to David and
Jared," he suggests instead. "They were small at birth."

"Maybe," Scully says as she continues to look it over. "I think I'll
weigh and measure him when we get home, though."

"You - you want to bring this creature into our home?" Mulder
sputters in shock. He'd been so sure that she would flat out refuse
Spender's idea.

She sighs. "It's just a baby."

"Uh huh."

"Besides, it'll give us a taste of what having six kids in the house
would be like."

"Wouldn't it be easier to just borrow Emily for a week instead?"

~*~*~

It takes about an hour after Mulder reluctantly agrees to a week of
demon-sitting for them to get on the road. Most of the time is spent
debating the legality of raiding Betsy Monroe's house for baby
supplies for her son. In the end the decision made that commandeering
her possessions for his benefit falls under in the realm of
legitimate seizure, so Spender and Mulder wrestle the crib intended
for the infant as well as several armloads of other baby
paraphernalia into the trunk while Scully buckles him into the
backseat.

When he makes the mistake of looking in the review mirror as he gets
behind the wheel, he shudders. Tiny claws and horns are going to
haunt his nightmares about driving with his kids for months, he can
already tell.

On the ride home Scully turns the conversation back to the
possibility that they're going to be having another baby. She
chatters excitedly, and he thinks he hears her say something about
not minding at all if this one was a girl, to even things out.
Mostly, he's just glumly thinking about the coin that melded together
that Scully got last time and the waterbed he inexplicably received
not once but twice. Those changes seemed to be too far away from
Nevada to be reversed when everything else went back to rights. It
seems as though Morris borrowing his body to have sex with his wife
is irreversible too.

::I tried, William. I really did. Hopefully Mom wants seven kids.::
"He thinks about David and Jared and feels a sick rush in his stomach
before assuring himself, ::Nah, two sets of twins? What are the odds
of that? After this next kid is born I'm going to be impotent for a
year, I swear to God.::

"We need to set some ground rules about...our houseguest," Mulder
announces abruptly.

"Okay." She seems to notice that he looks surprised that she agreed
without arguing, because she adds, "You're the one who has to be
responsible for him all day."

"First, I want to keep him in one of the empty bedrooms - as far away
from Page and Sammy's rooms as possible. I'm going to put a lock on
the door too. I don't want them to see it, ever. The last thing we is
for everyone at their preschool to hear all about this case."

"Okay."

"I don't think they'll realize that I'm home all day, they'll just
think I've gotten home from work early."

"True."

"And we can't expect Michelle to have anything to do with...him. We
hired her to look after our kids, and even if Spender is willing to
pay her more, I don't feel right asking her to care for him. I mean,
when Doggett comes next month he's putting Hannah in daycare, after
all."

"Right."

"So when you and the older kids are home, I'll keep a baby monitor
with me so I can listen for him. With luck they'll think the crying
is one of their brothers."

"They probably will," Scully agrees.

"You're not even paying attention to what I'm saying, are you,"
Mulder states.

She gives him a guilty look. "Okay, I'm a little distracted."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her hand touch her belly.
Scully doesn't even seem conscious of it. "If you are pregnant, whose
turn is it to tell Skinner?"

"I'm pretty sure it's yours."

"Are you sure? I don't think he'd even yell at you," Mulder teases.
"He might punch me."

"I don't know, Mulder. He was pretty damn mad when I told him about
Sammy."

"Um…I think the fact that he only got four months notice had
something to do with that."

"Then you'll have to tell him as soon as we find out," Scully says
brightly.

Mulder just groans.

~*~*~

They manage to sneak the baby into the house, and all of his stuff,
without waking any of the kids. Unfortunately, they do wake up
Michelle. The robe-clad nanny pokes her head into the room while
Mulder fights with putting the crib together.

"You're home," Michelle comments sleepily.

"Yeah. Sorry we woke you."

"It's okay…" She trails off when she sees the baby in the carrier.
"What's that?!"

"A baby," Scully says shortly. "He's in protective custody for the
week. Mulder will be staying home to look after him." She adds when
Michelle looks worried.

"What's wrong with him?"

Before Mulder can tell her that demons are supposed to look like
this, Scully jumps in. "Hereditary congenital deformities."

"Poor kid," Michelle says sympathetically. "What's his name?"

"He doesn't have one," Mulder tells her. He's finally gotten the last
corner of the mattress support in place, so he stands and looks at
the baby. "I was thinking of calling him Louie until we find out what
his real name is."

"That's a nice name." Michelle yawns. "See you tomorrow."

After the nanny shuffles off, Scully gives Mulder a long look. "And
here I was sure you were going to insist that we call him Daemon. Or
maybe Damien."

::Louie, Lucifer, what's the difference?:: "I'm more mature than
that."

His wife gives him a 'yeah right' look, so he rolls his eyes. 

Before long Scully is yawning too, and tells him not to stay up too
late, which seems to be his hint that she's not going to help him
wrestle the mattress into the crib. He does, and pulls a sheet over
it too, before looking down at Louie. Even if the kid is a demon,
he'll probably get cold during the night, so Mulder rips open a
package of baby blankets and pulls out a couple. Then he pours
formula into a bottle.

From the baby carrier, Louie watches, blinking sleepily.

"Uh, I suppose I ought to give you a bottle and change you, huh?"
Just then he realizes that the baby hasn't made a peep all night.
"You will cry sometimes so we know what you need, right? It's okay to
cry, all babies do."

He talks to Louie for a couple minutes more before realizing that
he's just stalling so he can put off picking him up. "Okay, no
breathing fire or anything."

Picking Louie up doesn't feel much different than holding any of his
own babies when they were this small. The only difference is that
Louie's skin is warmer, and he's got those tiny claws to watch out
for. "You know what I'm going to do," he tells the infant as it
hungrily devours the bottle, "Tomorrow I'm going to look in April's
dresser and see if I can find some of her old hand mitts. Then you
can't accidentally scratch anyone, or yourself either. You'd of
thought your mommy would have thought of that, huh? She knew what
you'd be like."

Once the bottle is gone, Mulder burps him, then hesitates. What's
going to be in that diaper when he changes him? Cringing, he untapes
the diaper. Never in his life has he been so happy to see normal baby
pee. ::Looks like demons are made like normal boys too:: he notes to
himself. "Tell me something, Louie. Your parents aren't full demons,
right? I take it that they're each the offspring of a demon and a
woman or man. That'd make you about half demon too, but you look a
lot more like we'd expect a demon to. Maybe they're really demons,
and they can shape shift or use a glamour. Can you? That'd make your
childhood a lot easier on you if you could."

Louie kicks his feet as Mulder redresses him, but offers no comment.
"Try it this week, okay?"

He can't tell if Louie is considering the advice or not, because he's
asleep as soon as Mulder puts him in the crib, just like David's
usual MO. Shrugging, he covers the baby up, turns on the baby
monitor, and shuts the door.

~*~*~

The days at home pass by more quickly than he imagined they would.
Although he keeps expecting Louie to do something unexpected, the
infant just acts like a normal one, eating, sleeping, burping up
formula, dirtying diapers...every thing that all five of his own kids
did their first weeks of life. Just like a normal, exceptionally
ugly, baby.

He can't help but be a little disappointed. Sure, he has no idea how
he'd deal with it if Louie started to breathing fire and setting the
drapes on fire, but it would be more exciting than holing up and
watching the baby do nothing.

Finally bored out of his mind in the middle of the second day, Mulder
hauls a desk down from the attic. While they were suspended in
October he'd finally had time to look through some of the stuff of
Saul's that was still up in the attic. Scully had initially come up
too, but after a few minutes of sneezing at dust, she'd left him to
his own devices.

There's a lot of stuff up there, some of it obviously even older than
his deceased uncle. It's Mulder's opinion that some of the stuff
belonged to Saul's parents, if not his grandparents. Someday he wants
to catalogue it all.

For now he's content to have a place to set up his laptop. With a
little of the mad skillz the gunmen have tried to beat into his head,
he manages to access online much of the library research that he'd
done the last time he'd lived through this case.

~*~*~

The house is quiet that night after Scully and Michelle put the kids
to bed. He feels a little guilty that he's not reading bedtime
stories, but the baby demon has been rather fussy, so he's been in
the spare room turned temporary imp storage since shortly after
dinner.

There's a soft knock on the door, then Scully comes in. "How's he
doing?"

"Okay, I think. He's quiet now, anyway." Looking down at the baby, he
sees that the boy is not sleeping. Instead his coal-black eyes are
fixed on him and Scully.

Scully snakes her arm around Mulder's waist. "Poor kid. He's so damn
ugly. What horrible deformities."

Mulder shakes his head. "While he was sleeping today, I looked up
information on his parents. I think I've found pretty definitive
proof that his parents weren't typical parents to be."

"Mulder, don't tell me that they are demons. I've seen Wayne's body,
and seen Betsy in prison. They're as human as you or I."

"But-" Deciding to humor his pregnant wife, he closes his mouth.
"Okay, I won't say it."

"What would we do if something happens to this baby, or any others we
might have, so they're not perfect?"

"Others?" Mulder affects shock. "Like more than one other? How many
kids were you thinking of producing, Woman? I thought you said you
didn't have any Cheaper by the Dozen aspirations!"

::You don't fool me, you may kid yourself that you don't particularly
like being pregnant, but you haven't stopped wanting babies. If I
ever see Elsbeth, I'm going to ask her if that's an echo caused by
subconsciously knowing you were denied them before.:: He thinks while
waiting for her response.

"I don't know, I wasn't lying when I said I didn't have a number in
mind. Things happen. I'll love and welcome any children we have,"
Scully tells him with a soft smile.

"That's what we'd do," Mulder declares.

"What?" She gives him a puzzled look.

"Before I derailed your train of thought, you asked what we'd do if
we had a baby who wasn't perfect. We'd welcome and love them, same as
the others."

"Oh." To his surprise, tears well up in her eyes before she throws
her arms around his neck. "If I ever get mad at you and ask why did I
ever marry you, remind me of this conversation."

"Will do. I hope you agree with me. Because like you said, Things
happen. For all we know I'll get kidnapped and impregnated with an
alien-human hybrid myself. I hope you'll love little ET as much as I
will."

Laugher arrests her tears. "Maybe he'll have your nose instead of no
nose."

"Either way, the poor hypothetical alien-human hybrid," Mulder says
mournfully.

~*~*~

On the fourth day of demon-watch Mulder decides to make his own fun.
Sitting in the rocking chair while Louie sleeps, he pulls out his
cell phone. It's time to light a fire under his kid brother's butt.
"Agent Spender, it's Mulder. It's been four days, and I'm really
curious about the progress you're making on relieving me of nursemaid
duty."

"Actually I was just about to call you," Spender sounds calm. "Social
workers called me today. They located a family who has taken in two
children with cranial deformities. They're going to take him tomorrow
night."

"If you can, make sure that they don't come until after seven-thirty?
I don't want the kids awake and underfoot. And these people, have
they seen a picture of him? I don't want you coming back late telling
me that they got one look at him before running off like they were
being chased by the hounds of hell."

"I took a full roll of pictures before getting you and Agent Scully
down to Virginia," Spender reassures him. "They realize that this is
an unfortunate-looking little boy."

"It's nice to hear that they aren't going into this blindly."

"Has he been much trouble?" Spender asks. "What are you calling him
anyway? You can't be calling him baby all the time."

"I've nicknamed him Louie. I'm sure whoever adopts him will pick
something else."

Spender sighs. "If he's adopted. Special needs babies are hard to
find permanent homes for."

"You're pretty sure the murder charges against Betsy Monroe are going
to stick, then? Scully told me that she thought that the evidence was
pretty conclusive, but you know how jury trials are…"

"There isn't going to be a jury trail. Word came down that it's just
going to be a judge," Spender tells him. "That ought to make it
easier."

"It could."

~*~*~

During the early part of the day, while Page and Sammy spend four
hours of the morning in the 3s & 4s preschool class, Mulder keeps the
door to Louie's room open. When the boy is sleeping, he likes to look
in on his own infant sons, and his silent little daughter.

The fact that the door is open is what lets him hear Michelle call
April. Just a moment later a pair of curious brown eyes are staring
into the room. Mulder picks her up and calls down to the nanny. "It's
okay, I've got her."

April gives him what can only be a smug smile. Mulder tickles her,
which makes her giggle. "Let me guess, Michelle was changing your
brothers' diapers and you got away."

April smiles and nods. Then she points chubby fingers at the crib.

"What's in there?" Mulder asks, just like her pediatrician suggested.

Looking a bit puzzled, April eventually signs the word "baby."

"That's right! Doesn't look much like your brothers, though, huh?"
April shakes her head. "His name is Louie, and he's going to a new
home tomorrow. I hope it's a nice family, because Louie isn't going
to have an easy life."

Reaching through the bars of the crib, April gives the baby's leg a
sympathetic pat.

"This baby is our secret, okay?" Mulder asks. "Don't tell Sammy or
Page, I don't want them to know."

April kisses him on the cheek, and he assumes that's an agreement. In
the crib Louie yawns and scrunches his eyes shut, So Mulder carries
April over to his chair.

"I'll tell you another secret too. Mommy and Daddy are going to have
another baby. It wasn't part of Daddy's plans, but Mommy seems happy
about it, so I guess I am too. And in about two and a half years your
youngest brother is going to be born. He's going to have red hair
like you and Sammy, and Mommy's eyes." Glancing down at his daughter,
he wonders if it's nearly naptime. She's sleepily sucking one thumb
and playing with the end of his tie; an improvement from when Page
used to mistake his ties for a noose.

"I like being able to tell you secrets, but when you're ready to
talk, I'll always be ready to listen. No matter what Mommy might say
to the contrary."

April is asleep by the time Mulder carries her back to her room.

~*~*~

The Next Night

Standing in the doorway, Scully waves good-bye as the couple carries
the eight-pound demon out in his baby carrier. Standing behind her,
Mulder watches them leave too.

After the couple drives off, she squirms around so she's facing him.
"You okay, Mulder?"

"Yup."

"After a week taking care of that kid, you seem like you're in better
shape than I would be," Scully confesses.

He shrugs. "I didn't let myself get attached, because I knew that you
and I weren't going to be keeping him. And now that I've met his new
foster parents, I'm sure that Louie is going to be just fine."

"Really?" Scully follows him into the house once he stops blocking
the doorway. "They struck you as being good people?"

"They didn't even flinch when they saw him, and cooed over him like
he was one of our beautiful little boys. But they also seemed
cognizant that there's a tough road ahead of that child, when it
comes to being accepted by others, so they've got level heads on
their shoulders. I don't think I could hope for better than that,"
Mulder tells her.

"That's great," Scully tells him.

::And I don't think you need to know that they're demons too.::
Mulder adds silently to himself. ::The Dad's eyes flashed a wicked
red when he winked at me while we dismantled the crib. Guess they can
do glamours after all, so hopefully they'll teach Louie to..:: Mulder
bents down and tickles Sammy. "That little boy is going to do just
fine with his new family. I can feel it."

~*~*~

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Somewhere In Maryland
December 24th, 1998 
Just before 10 p.m.

"This is the first and only year we leave some of our Christmas
shopping until Christmas Eve, Mulder. I mean it. Checkout lines were
worse than rush hour on the 95. If I heard 'Silent Night' one more
time I was going to start taking hostages."

"I broke out into a cold sweat in the toddler toy aisle," Mulder says
with a shiver. "If you promise not to have twins again when we should
be starting to do our Christmas shopping, I guarantee that we'll
never do this again."

"This baby is going to be twins, just because you said that," Scully
says with a smirk. Finally realizing that they've stopped driving,
she peers out at the huge dark house, and then turns to gives her
husband a questioning look. "What are we doing here?"

"Stakeout." He has all he can do not to grin. Knowing the outcome of
this impromptu case doesn't make the idea of repeating it any less
appealing. For once there's no chance of anyone gets hurt, so he's
been thinking of it as a scary sort of fun – like roller coasters and
scary rides at Universal.

"On Christmas Eve?" She gives him an incredulous look. 

"It's an important date." 

"No kidding." 

"Important to why we're here," he clarifies.

"Mulder, we've got wrapping to do. It's the night before Christmas."

"Oh."

Scully sighs. "Let's hear it. Give me the details." 

"Look, if you think it's more important to wrap presents for the kids
who'll barely notice anyway, I guess that we-"

"Mulder, we drove all the way out here. I might as well know why.
Right?"

"I just thought you'd be more...curious." He pouts. 

"Who lives in the house?"

"No one."

"Then who are we staking out?"

"The former occupants."

"They've come back?"

"That's the story."

"I see. The dark, gothic manor the, uh, omnipresent low fog hugging
the thicket of overgrowth. Wait - is that a hound I hear baying out
on the moors?"

"No. Actually that was a left cheek sneak."

"Mulder, tell me you didn't drag me out here on Christmas Eve to go
ghost busting with you."

"Technically speaking they're called apparitions."

"You claim we live in a haunted house, Mulder! Why would you want to
explore another one?! We've got gifts to wrap. My mom expects us to
be up to let everyone in for a family roll call under the tree at
8:00 a.m."

"I'll make it fast. I'll just give you the details." 

"Whatever." Scully leans her head back against her headrest.

"Christmas, 1917. It was a time of dark, dark despair. American
soldiers were dying at an ungodly rate in a war-torn Europe while at
home, a deadly strain of the flu virus attacked young and old alike.
Tragedy was a visitor on every doorstep while a creeping hopelessness
set in with every man, woman and child. It was a time of dark, dark
despair."

"You said that." 

"But here at 1501 Larkspur Lane for a pair of star-crossed lovers
tragedy came not from war or pestilence - not by the boot heel or the
bombardier - but by their own innocent hand."

"Go on."

"His name was Maurice. He was a...a brooding but heroic young man
beloved of Lyda, a sublime beauty with a light that seemed to follow
her wherever she went. They were likened to two angels descended from
heaven whom the gods could not protect from the horrors being visited
upon this cold, grey earth."

"And what happened to them?" she asks with grudging interest. 

"Driven by a tragic fear of separation they forged a lovers' pact so
that they might spend eternity together and not spend one precious
Christmas apart."

"They killed themselves?"

"And their ghosts haunt this house every Christmas Eve." Unperturbed
that his wife is now laughing at him, he concludes, "I just gave
myself chills."

"It's a good story, Mulder...And very well told but I don't believe
it. And might I remind you that we're supposed to cook a turkey
tonight?"

"Use one of those Reynolds bags, it'll cook in three hours," Mulder
says dismissively before going on to the more important part of her
reply. "You're still pretending that you don't believe in ghosts?"

"That surprises you?"

"Well...Yeah. I thought you believed in our ghosts." 

"There's something strange about our house, but that's as far as I'm
willing to commit," Scully says, and he snorts. When he gets out of
the car, she's not far behind him.

"Changed your mind?"

"As much as I'm tempted to leave you here, something tells me that it
wouldn't be a good idea. You'd get into too much trouble on your
own."

"What kind of trouble?" he asks.

"Breaking and entering, for one."

They walk towards the house, completely unaware that if they looked
back at their car, they'd see that the kids' presents weren't the
only things sitting on the backseat.

He turns to her with a smirk when the door swings open with a creak
at the lightest touch. "Entering, maybe." He snaps on his flashlight
and begins to shine it around the foyer.

Thunder rumbles behind them, and a wind whistles through the house. 

Laughing weakly, Mulder says. "Maybe it was a ghost." Scully rolls
her eyes –until they both hear a knocking sound coming from above
them. Deciding that it would be too obvious to comment on the
knocking, he shivers exaggeratedly instead. "That's a cold wind."

"There must be a window open upstairs. You know, the weather report
said that there was an 80 percent chance of rain maybe even a...maybe
even a white Christmas," Scully says reasonably.

Maybe we should have bought Page and Sammy a sled-" Just then the
door slams behind them with a bang, making them both jump. Scully
tries to open it, but it won't budge.

"I think the spirits are among us," Mulder proclaims.

Scully doesn't look up as she continues to yank on the door. "Mulder,
will you quit trying to scare me and help me get these doors open."

There's more knocking coming from upstairs. "Sounds like there's
somebody walking around upstairs. There. You hear that?"

"Mulder, we really have to go. Michelle's leaving at 5 a.m.,
remember?"

He pulls her to his side. "There's nothing to be afraid of." 

"I'm not afraid, okay?" Scully shrugs off his arm.

"Ghosts are benevolent entities," Mulder tells her over the sound of
chains clanking from above. "Mostly."

"You are not scaring me, Mulder." 

When Mulder begins up the stairs she hangs back, until a lightning
flash reveals the silhouette of someone standing on the landing
across from where Mulder is headed. The next flash shows that no one
is there. Spooked, she's quick to follow Mulder.

"Mulder...These are tricks that the mind plays. They are ingrained
clichés from a thousand different horror films. When we hear a sound,
we get a chill. We-we see a shadow and we allow ourselves to imagine
something that an otherwise rational person would discount out of
hand. The whole...Mulder...?" She continues to follow him to the
second floor. "The whole idea of a benevolent entity fits perfectly
with what I'm saying. That a spirit would materialize or return for
no other purpose than to show itself is silly and ridiculous. I mean,
what it really shows is how silly and ridiculous we have become in
believing such things. I mean, that...That we can ignore all natural
laws about the corporeal body that-that we witness these spirits clad
in-in their own shabby outfits with the same old haircuts and
hairstyles never aging, never...Never in search of more comfortable
surroundings - it actually ends up saying more about the living than
it does about the dead," she concludes in a rush while watching her
husband try locked doors.

"Mm-hmm."

"I mean, Mulder, it doesn't take an advanced degree in psychology to
understand the...the unconscious yearnings that these imaginings
satisfy. You know, the-the longing for immortality the hope that
there is something beyond this mortal coil...that-that we might never
be long without our loved ones. I mean, these are powerful, powerful
desires. I mean, they're the very essence of what make us human. The
very essence of Christmas, actually."

There's a creaking behind them, and they both turn to see that one of
the doors Mulder tried is now partly open. "Tell me you're not
afraid," Mulder demands.

"All right. I'm afraid...but it's an irrational fear."

"Most fear is." He grins at her. "Don't worry, I've got your back."

After she pushes the door open and looks inside, she turns back to
him. "Mulder, did it occur to you that there aren't ghosts here but
that somebody actually might be living in this house?"

"No one lives here."

"But when you and I were sitting out in the car there was not a light
on. And look at this."

They walk into an elegant turn of the century two story library.
There is a ladder leading down to the lower level. Most of the
furniture is covered with white cloth. A Chandelier hangs from the
ceiling.

"Must have been some kind of electrical surge," Mulder declares.

The clock downstairs is keeping perfect time. And how do you explain
that?" Walking down the ladder, she leads him to the remains of a
fire in the fireplace. "This fire has just gone out."

"Yeah. Maybe it a hobo decided to spend the night out of the cold,
cold wind."

"Mulder."

"Okay, sorry. I mean 'homeless person'. When'd you join the PC
police?"

"You and I both know that's unlikely. Don't look so disappointed that
someone lives here."

"Why would anyone want to live in a cursed house?"

"Uh, don't you?"

"No, our house is haunted. This one is cursed. There's a difference."

"Mulder, it's not enough that this house is haunted? It has to be
cursed?"

"Every couple that's ever lived here has met a tragic end. Three
double murders in the last 80 years. All on Christmas Eve."

"You waited until now to tell me that?!" Scully practically shouts. 

"Relax. You don't believe in curses, remember?" There's thumps and
bangs from above again. "Whoa...There's that sound again "

Then they realize that there's another noise, this one coming from
beneath the floor. They peer down at the floor. While Mulder moves
furniture about so he can get his ear near the floor, Scully looks
over at the ladder – and doesn't see it.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?" He lifts his head from the floor boards. "I think there's a
hiding space under the floorboards… There may be somebody trapped
under there. The hobo who started the fire, maybe."

"Mulder, don't," Scully says when he grabs the poker from the
fireplace and begins prying at the floorboards.

"I got to get them out," he insists. 

"Not now."

"Hey, you have a gun, right? Rationally, you've been in much more
dangerous situations." Once he begins lifting the boards off he
exposes a dead man. "I was half right. Looks like I was a little
late."

Scully is very pale. "Oh, my God."

He keeps pulls up more boards, exposes another body. "Hey,
Scully...Look at this. A woman."

Shivering a little, she shines her flashlight on the two very
decomposed corpses. The woman appears to have a bullet wound in her
belly, and the man a wound in his chest. "Mulder, it looks like they
were shot to death. And you know what's weird?"

"What?"

"Mulder, she's wearing my outfit." The corpse is wearing an outfit
identical to hers.

"How embarrassing," Mulder says dryly, trying to remember to act like
he doesn't know what's going on.

"Yeah, well, you know what? He's wearing yours." 

He checks what he's wearing - white T-shirt and leather jacket.
"Oh...Scully..."

"That's us."

He notices that her gaze lingers for a moment on the corpse's stomach
wound, and with a twinge of guilt his stomach jumps when it occurs to
him to wonder if she's looking for the tiny remains of their unborn
baby. It's on the tip of his tongue to remind her that it would be
too small to see, but she turns and runs, and he follows her.

Once they run out of the library, they find themselves running right
back in.

"Hey, Scully..." 

"This is the same room." She looks shocked. 

They try again, and enter the library again. They still see the dead
bodies.

He shines his flashlight at both exits. "All right. I'm beginning
to...Get this."

Scully shines her light at one doorway. "You go through that door and
I..."

"I should come out...This door." 

"Right."

Just as it was before, when he enters into the library, he doesn't
find himself back with Scully. "Nice that some things can be counted
on." He mumbles under his breath.

"Mulder!" Scully calls from the library she's in.

The doors slam closed, and when he opens one again, the library is
empty. No Scully. "Scully! Hey, Scully. Scully, can you hear me?" He
shouts while banging on the door.

Once he shoots the lock off the door, he sees that it's bricked up
again. He turns around, deciding to try the other door this time when
he starts to see a man staring at him. "Hey! Who are you?"

"That's a question I should be asking being this is my house you're
standing in. This isn't one of those home invasions, is it?"

"No."

"Good. Would you like me to show you the door?" 

"That's very funny. The door's all bricked up."

Maurice peers past him. "Uh huh. I see a door with the lock shot off
it. You going to pay for that?"

"Do you take checks?" Mulder asks, then waves his hand at the door.
"That's a door with a brick wall behind it."

"Okay, sure." The man doesn't look like he believes Mulder.
 
"You're playing tricks on me," Mulder complains. 

"If I am, I'm sorry but I don't know any tricks." 

"Yeah? That's a trick in itself, isn't it? You've been playing tricks
on us since we got here."

"Am I to take it we're not alone?" Maurice pitches his voice in
imitation of ghost and alien movies.

Mulder chuckles. "Ah, that's very funny coming from a ghost." 

The old man laughs and slaps his knees. "Yeah, oh...the gun fooled me
a little at first. You're a ghost hunter, huh? And you think I'm a
ghost, huh? I've seen a lot of strange folks coming around here with
a lot of strange equipment but I think you must be the first I've
seen come armed."

"Strange folks?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Like those folks under the floorboard." He turns and shines his
light on the floor, but the corpses are missing, the floor untouched.

"How did you do that?" 

"I didn't do anything." 

"There were corpses here - bodies buried under the floorboards."

Giving him a pitying look, Maurice invites, "Why don't you have a
seat, son."

"Are you overcome by the impulse to make everyone believe you?"
Mulder looks up at him. "I'm in the field of mental health. I
specialize in disorders and manias related to pathological behavior
as it pertains to the paranormal." Maurice explains.

"Wow. I didn't know such a thing existed," Mulder says, playing
along.

"My specialty is in what I call soul prospectors - a crossaxial
classification I've codified by extensive interaction with visitors
like yourself. I've found you all tend to fall into pretty much the
same category."

"And what category is that?" 

"Narcissistic, overzealous, self-righteous egomaniac." 

"That's a category?" Mulder chuckles. 

"You kindly think of yourself as single-minded but you're prone to
obsessive compulsiveness workaholism, antisocialism...Fertile fields
for the descent into total wacko breakdown."

"I don't think that pegs me exactly." 

"Oh, really? Waving a gun around my house? Huh? Raving like a lunatic
about some imaginary brick wall? You've probably convinced yourself
you've seen aliens. You know why you think you see the things you
do?"

"Because I have seen them?" Mulder asks. 

"'Cause you're a lonely man. A lonely man chasing paramasturbatory
illusions that you believe will give your life meaning and
significance and which your pathetic social maladjustment makes
impossible for you to find elsewhere. You probably consider yourself
passionate, serious, misunderstood. Am I right?"

"'Paramasturbatory?'" 

"Most people would rather stick their fingers in a wall socket than
spend a minute with you."

"No one thinks that," Mulder denies. 

"Spend every Christmas this way...Alone?" 

"I'm not alone," Mulder tells him. "I'm married, with five kids at
home."

"More self-delusion."

"No, I came here with my wife. She's somewhere in the house." 

"Behind a brick wall?" Maurice asks. "How'd you get her to come with
you? Steal her car keys?"

"They're my keys," Mulder says petulantly, then digs into his pocket
to find them.

"You know why you do it - listen endlessly to her droning
rationalizations. 'Cause you're afraid. Afraid of the loneliness. Am
I right?"

"I'd just like to find my wife. We need to get home to our kids." 

"Good...Easy. Piece of cake." 

"Brick wall..." Maurice first points to the doorway, then his head.
"Or brick wall? Go ahead, change your life."

"And get a concussion? No thanks." Mulder turns and confidently
strides to the other doorway. And walks face first into another brick
wall.

~*~*~

In another library Scully backs away from a locked door, and into a
woman. Both scream, and Scully dives away, groping for her gun.

Lyda raises her hands innocently. "No, no, please, I won't hurt you."


"I'm a federal agent! I'm armed." 

Lyda turns on lights. "You're what? A federal agent?"

Scully has finally gotten her gun out, and he holds it tightly,
trying to counteract the shaking of her hands. "Please, I'm a little
on edge. Don't come any closer. My name is Special Agent Dana Scully.
And, uh, I can...I can show you my I.D."

"My goodness, I...I thought you were a ghost." Lyda smiles. 

"I can assure you that I'm not. I, uh, I got stuck in this room
looking for my husband."

"Oh, the gangly fellow with the distinguished profile." 

"You've seen him?" Scully asks, eyes wide.

"With you in the foyer. I thought he was a ghost, too." 

"Oh...That was you." She calms a bit.

"I sleepwalk sometimes. I thought maybe I'd dreamed it. But then
here you were again."

Scully catches her breath. "I am sorry...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to
scare you. I, uh...It's just that we found bodies."

"Bodies...Where?"

"Right..." She turns and looks at the floor. Which is untouched.

"You look like you saw a ghost. There are ghosts in this house, you
know."

"Who are you?" Scully asks, raising her gun defensively again.

"I live here, thank you very much," Lyda says with a pout.

"Where's my husband?" Scully asks loudly.

"Why are you pointing that gun?" 

"There were corpses right there underneath the floor!"

"I think maybe the ghosts have been playing tricks on you." Lyda
chuckles.

"I don't believe in ghosts," Scully says, still too loudly.

"Then what are you doing here?" 

"It's my husband." 

"He believes in ghosts?" Lyda asks.

"Yeah," Scully agrees. "He insists we have some in our house too."

"Oh, you poor child. You must have an awful small life. Spending your
Christmas Eve with him...Running around chasing things you don't even
believe in."

"Don't come any closer," Scully warns. "And I don't have a small
life. I've got five wonderful kids, another on the way."

Lyda walks closer. "I can see it in your face...The fear...The
conflicted yearnings...A subconscious desire to find fulfillment
through another. Intimacy through co-dependency."

"What?"

"Maybe you repress the truth about why you're really here pretending
it's out of wifely duty or loyalty - unable to admit your dirty
little secret," Lyda says. "Your only joy in life is proving him
wrong. And him, he just enjoys having you around as his brood mare."

"It isn't like that," Scully protests.

"Isn't it?"

"No it's not." Her hand goes protectively to her belly. "I'm the one
who wants a lot of kids. I'm the one who's Catholic."

"But I'll bet being Catholic didn't stop you from using birth control
before you were ready to settle down," Lyda guesses slyly. "Maybe you
should ask yourself if you're so desperate to have countless babies
because sex and parenthood are the only ways you can connect to your
husband."

"You don't know me. And you don't live here. This isn't your house." 

"You wouldn't think so, the way I'm being treated," Lyda says
bitterly.

"Well, then why is all the furniture covered?"

"We're having the house painted." 

"Well then where's your Christmas tree?!" Scully's gun hand shakes
wildly.

"We're Jewish. Boo."

Scully turns as Maurice enters the room. She aims at him instead.
"Hold it right there. Don't make me shoot you. Stay where you are."

Maurice smirks at Lyda. "We really attract them, don't we?" 

"Where's Mulder?" Scully asks, her voice now shaking too. 

"Mulder? Is that his name?" Maurice asks. 

"Where is he?!" 

"He'll be along." 

Scully gestures to a corner with her gun. "Move over there." They
just look at her. "Both of you, move. Move over there. Move other
there."

"This violates our civil rights. I have friends at the ACLU," Maurice
complains.

"Put your hands up." 

They do. Lifting her arms reveals Lyda's midsection - which has a
gunshot hole through it. Scully stares at her, then walks over to
Maurice and lifts his hat. Hat off, a large round hole is bored
through his head, and Scully can see through it. Swaying on her feet,
Scully drops in a dead faint.

~*~*~

Mulder is attempting to pull himself up onto the library's landing
when Lyda appears, staring down at him.

"Agent Mulder, right? What are you doing using my chair for a
ladder?"

"I'm trying to get out of this room." 

"Trying to get out? No, no. You can't get out that way," she adds
when he pulls himself up to stand next to him. He hesitates for a
moment, then pokes her in the shoulder. She is solid. He pushes her
against the wall in his eagerness to get past her.

"Masher," Lyda accuses.

"Frump." He opens the door, only to find another brick wall.

"I don't know who you're calling a frump but I don't appreciate that
- being manhandled, or called names. Certaainly not at this hour,"
Lyda says shrilly.

"You're a ghost."

"Oh, more names!"

The ladder has reappeared during their spat, and they climb down it
to the chairs near the fireplace.

Looking at her, Mulder asks. "What happened to the star-crossed
lovers?"

"Oh, let me tell you the romance is the first thing to go," Lyda says
knowingly.

"It's you. You're Lyda, and that was Maurice. But you've aged." 

"I hope your wife finds you a lot more charming than I do." She goes
to bookcase. "Let's see. Where is it?" Mulder stares as books poke
out of the bookshelf on their own while she mutters.

"No, no, no, no… there it is!" Lyda pulls out a book whose spine says
The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas. "I was young and beautiful once, just
like your wife. Whoo! Look at us. Maurice was so handsome. He didn't
have a gut."

She hands Mulder the book which has a picture of an attractive couple
in it. The title's chapter is Tale of the Star Crossed Lovers. "I
hope you're not expecting any great advantages to all this."

"To all what?" Mulder asks. 

"I'm assuming you came here with similar misconceptions," she says
suggestively.

"No no. We came here looking for you." 

"Oh, yeah? You didn't come here to be together for eternity?" 

"No."

"Not because you're filled with despair and woeful Christmas
melancholy?"

"No, why?" 

"Maybe it was your wife then." 

"What about her?" he demands, his arms crossed over his chest. 

"You knew this house was haunted."

"Yeah."

"Maybe you two should have discussed your real feelings about your
marriage before you came out here. I'm speaking from experience."

"What experience?" 

"I'm not going to get into semantics. A murder-suicide is all about
trust."

"I thought you had a lovers' pact." 

Lyda laughs at him. "Poetic illusions aside, the outcome, Mulder, is
pretty much the same." She stands and holds open her robe exposing
the bullet wound.

"Oh...!"

"I don't show my hole to just anyone." 

"Why are you showing it to me?" Mulder asks, looking disgusted. 

"It isn't like you're going to be eating any Christmas ham, is it?" 

We're having turkey," Mulder explains, then stares at her. "Oh,
you're trying to tell me that Scully's going to shoot me. Scully is
not going to shoot me."

"Suit yourself, but if you shoot first, for her, the rest is an act
of faith."

"I wouldn't shoot her." 

"Maybe she shoots herself." 

"I wouldn't let her." 

"The bodies under the floor - maybe that was just some kind of
Jungian symbolism. Or maybe...there's a secret lovers' pact."

Mulder laughs. "We're an old married couple." 

"And this isn't a pure science. But you're both so attractive and
there'll be a lot of time to work that out." Lyda holds a gun out to
him. "Go ahead, take it." He quickly checks his holster and finds
that the gun is missing. "Take it. Think of it as the last Christmas
you'll ever spend in despair."

"But I'm not in-" The ghost disappears letting the gun fall into a
surprised Mulder's hand.

~*~*~

Scully rouses from her faint, and finds her gun. When she does, she
sees that's she's not alone. "Stay away from me. Look, I want you to
get me out of here. I am quite capable of pulling this trigger."

"I'm glad to hear it," Maurice says. "You may well have to defend
yourself against that crazy husband of yours."

"What have you done with him?!"

"Kept him safe from his own mad devices - at least for now. Do you
have any idea why he brought you here to this house?"

"I'm ghost hunting with my husband. That's all." They can faintly
hear Mulder pound and call from somewhere in the house.

"Do you realize how seriously disturbed that man is? How dark and
unhappy? What he's capable of?"

"Unhappy about what?" Scully demands to know.

Maurice gives her a pitying look. "Lyda told me you're expecting. Has
your husband said anything much about how he feels about that?"

Scully doesn't say anything.

"Did he happen to mention a story about a lovers' pact?" 

"Yeah."

"What a convenient way to get rid of a problem, how to escape a life
that has you feeling increasingly trapped with every new arrival,"
Maurice tells her. Scully shakes her head.

"Scully...Scully, are you there?!" Mulder calls through the blocked
doorway.

"I'm here, Mulder!" she cries, then turns to Maurice. "Open the
door."

He goes reluctantly to the door. "I've seen it happen too many times
in this house."

She's reminded of the three sets of deaths, but rejects the thought.
"I don't believe you. Just open the door."

"But..."

"Open the door!"

Maurice does so, and Mulder enters with his gun drawn. "Where's
Scully?"

"Mulder?" Scully asks, getting his attention.

He turns to face her and fires his gun at her. His shot goes wild,
shattering a mirror behind her.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" He fires again, missing her. "Mulder!"

"There's no getting out of here, Scully. There's no way home," he
says, sounding numb. Then fires again.

"Mulder, come on...Mulder, don't come any closer. You're scaring me.
Put the gun down!"

"You going to shoot me?!" Mulder asks wildly.

"I'm not going to shoot you! I don't want to shoot you!" 

"It's me or you...You or me. One of us has to do it." 

"Mulder, look...We don't have to do this." She pleas. 

"Oh, yes, we do." 

"We can get out of here." 

"Even if we could what's waiting for us? Kids we barely see, raised
by strangers. They'll all be better off with another family, instead
us poor excuses for parents."

"I don't believe what you're saying! Mulder, I don't believe a word
of it."

He lowers the angle of his gun and fires at her. She drops her gun
and stares down in shock at the bullet wound in her abdomen.

She slowly falls to the floor, still staring up at him. "The baby!"
she gasps.

"Merry Christmas, Scully," Mulder tells her, then raises the gun to
his temple. "And a Happy New Year," Lyda says, pretending to be him.

Maurice walks over and restrains Lyda from firing the gun. "Let me
go!" Lyda shrieks, still looking exactly like Mulder. The two ghosts
struggle over the gun, and Scully closes her eyes, making them both
disappear.

~*~*~

Mulder runs into another version of the library, and sees Scully
lying on the floor. "Scully?"

"Mulder...Is that you?" She barely opens her eyes. 

"What did you do?" Mulder asks. There's blood pouring out of her
belly.

"I didn't believe it, Mulder," Scully rasps. 

"You didn't believe what?"

"I didn't believe that you'd want me to kill our baby...That I
would..."

"What? I didn't-" He looks down and sees that she has raised her gun
to his chest. "Merry Christmas, Mulder."

"What are you doing?" he asks, still shocked that it seems as though
she's shot herself.

Scully fires the gun. In shock falls back bleeding from the chest.

~*~*~

Scully groggily rolls over and begins pulling herself out of the room
she's in.

Having left another room, Mulder is stumbling down the stairs,
bleeding heavily.

He reaches and falls into the foyer which has a trail of blood across
it. He sees Scully a few feet away also crawling to the door.

"Scully?" he asks, dazed. "Scully..."

Rolling over with a groan, she points her gun at him, and he tries to
do the same to her.

She lowers the gun and falls back to the floor "Ah...I'm not going to
make it."

"No, you're not...Not without me, you're not." He's holding his gun
on her.

"Are you afraid now, Mulder?" She gasps in pain. "I am."

"I am, too."

They both drop their guns and roll over painfully. 

"Why did you shoot yourself, Scully? I wanted this baby." Tears begin
to clog his voice on the final words. "Then you shot me, too!"

"I didn't shoot you. You shot me because you felt trapped by having
another kid," Scully growls.

A hand shakes Mulder, and he closes his eyes, not wanting to see Lyda
or Maurice. He prays that he was tricked again, and Scully hasn't
shot herself or him, but it hurts so badly.

"Stop that," Scully mumbles a few feet away, making him wonder if the
ghosts are haring her too.

The shaking becomes more insistent, and he wonders how come the
ghosts have such small hands.

Groaning, he rolls over and struggles to sit. Then his eyes widen in
shock, and he falls back to the floor. Three little faces look down
at him in concern. The problem is that he can see right through them.

 "Ghosts!" he gasps.

"I know, Mulder. There, I admit it. Now you can die happy," Scully
says tiredly without opening her eyes.

"No, Scully, our ghosts."

The little ghosts gesture frantically, urging him to get to his feet.
Obeying their command, he does. He watches as one of them glides
towards the door and fiddles with the lock.

"Scully..."

"What?" she asks, coughing.

"Get up."

"I can't," she moans.

"Get up...You're not shot." He holds his bloody shirt away from his
body.

"What?"

"Come on. It's a trick. It's all in your head." He helps her to her
feet, and holds out her bloody shirt too, showing her that there's no
wound.

They run out the now unlocked front door, with their ghosts behind
them. Once outside, they look down at their now clean shirts, then
run to their cars and drive off quickly. The child ghosts are in the
backseat.

Scully looks over the seat, then stares at him, eyes wild. "Mulder!
In the backseat, there's-"

"Three little ghosts. I know. They were in the house. One of them got
the door open for us."

"Oh god," Scully moans, a hand over her eyes.

"And you thought having our very own ghosts wasn't worth anything."
Mulder scoffs.

"Why don't they look like those…like Maurice and Lyda?"

"I'm not sure," he admits. "But I have a theory. Maurice and Lyda
were adults when they died. That must have made them more attached to
their corporeal forms, since they'd lived in them much longer."

"That's as good an explanation as any," Scully says with a sigh. Then
she scrunches her eyes shut, refusing to open them until they get
home.

~*~*~

Their house is dark and quiet when they get home. Mulder turns to the
backseat, wondering if he can con the ghosts into helping them cart
presents inside, but they're not there. Turning his head towards the
house, he sees the last of the ghosts melting through the front door.

"Oh well." He sighs, getting out of the car.

"Oh well, what?" Scully asks, pulling open the back door so she can
reach in for an armload of presents.

"It's…nevermind, it's stupid."

It takes them three trips to get everything in the house, and looking
at the sprawl of toys, Mulder's suddenly glad that they'd gotten
about half of them wrapped by scouts. The fewer to wrap, the sooner
they could go to bed.

Before they do anything else, though, they check on the kids, and
find them all asleep, and under blankets for a change. Sleeping, they
look angelic.

"Hey Scully, why don't you start wrapping while I wrestle the turkey
into the oven?" Mulder asks once they go back down stairs.

"I can handle it."

"Humor me," Mulder asks, heading for the kitchen before she continues
to protest that she can do it herself.

A fast wrapper, she's gotten four gifts done by the time he's gotten
the bird based and stuffed into the browning bag.

He reaches a pair of scissors, and some Santa-print paper.

Scully pauses in mid-cut and looks up at him. "Mulder...None of that
really happened out there tonight...That was all in our heads,
right?"

He's not sure what to say. "I-it must have been." He sticks a bow on
a gift, and then looks her in the eyes. "You know I'm happy about the
baby, right?"

"Are you?"

"Of course I am. It's ours," Mulder says simply.

"We don't have to have any more after this one," Scully says, giving
him a guilty look. "I know I'm the one who is obsessed with babies."

Scooching across the carpet on his butt, Mulder pulls her onto his
lap. "Hey. I agreed to your plan, and I'm still happy with it. If
things change for me, you'll be the first to know."

Scully leans her head against his chest. "Can you believe it's only
one? It felt like we were in that house for hours."

"If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that something about that
house plays tricks on your mind."

She crawls off his lap and reluctantly goes back to wrapping. "I
think we'll be done in fifteen more minutes."

"Good." Mulder pulls another box out of the pile and begins to wrap
it. "Is there any chance, do you think, of getting the kids to let us
sleep until seven?"

She looks at him, wide-eyed. "Maurice is right. You are crazy."

Mulder groans and goes back to his wrapping, hoping they're done
before Michelle gets up to pack for her trip home.
 

~*~*~

By the time they’ve got the presents all tucked under the tree,
they’ve noticed that their motor skills have slowed to the rate of a
snail’s. "I can’t believe people are coming over in a few hours,"
Scully groans, closing her eyes as she smothers a monster yawn. "I’m
not sure if even grabbing a couple hours’ sleep would be worth
it." 
 
"Why just a couple?" Mulder frowns, wondering in his
sleep-befuddled mind if they’ve forgotten something else. 
 
She opens her eyes to make a face at him. "Michelle’s leaving then, and
we need to get the kids’ breakfasts ready before our guests come,
which would probably be that extra hour between her leaving and the
kids tearing down the stairs for their presents." 
 
Mulder groans. "Oh, yeah." Maybe this last-minute ghost-hunting wasn’t 
such a good idea. 
 
Scully nods as they make their way up the stairs slowly like
old people. "Maybe I’ll just take a long, hot shower, forget about
that damn house and that damn Lyda and Maurice, and be shriveled and
pruny but awake when Michelle has to leave." 
 
Her husband chuckles as he pulls off his t-shirt and kicks off his shoes. 
"Only if I can join you in the shower," he says, "I doubt we’ll have time to 
come close to presentable unless we get cleaned up soon." 
 
"You got it." She nods and yawns, shedding her jacket and unbuttoning the 
slightly wrinkled blouse she could’ve sworn was bullet-shot and blood-soaked
only a couple hours earlier. Unzipping her heeled boots, she notes
with some tired detachment how cute Mulder’s ass is, and finds
herself unzipping and taking off her slacks and socks with more
alacrity than she thought possible. "Mulder, could you turn on the
hot tap first? I don’t want to freeze once the shower’s
on." 
 
Mulder looks back to find his wife, improbably filled with
unborn life in her stomach, looking rather fetching in her
tan-colored bra and panties. ::Don’t go there,:: he thinks, ::we just
finished wrapping gifts, we need at least a few minutes’ nap,
Michelle’s gonna be awake soon, the kids will be up ….:: 
 
"Mulder, are you okay?" Scully asks, standing before him in nothing but the
bod the good Lord gave her. 
 
He blinks, then smiles slowly. "Definitely," he says, hauling her into the 
shower as she squeals. 

"Mulder, we’re just going to get cleaned up," she tells him, but the
smile on her face suggests much more as she switches the tap to the
showerhead. 
 
"Oh yeah, sure we are," he agrees, pulling his drenched wife close to him, 
and for the next couple of hours, they keep each other awake ‘just getting 
cleaned up.’ 
 
~*~*~ 
 
As the doorbell rings, Mulder’s feeling like a porter or servant in his own
home because he’s been moving baby bags and suitcases to guest rooms,
children away from dangerous areas, extra chairs to the dining room,
and snow away from road since the crack of dawn. Still, he doesn’t
begrudge his wife relaxing, since she’s also been awake preparing the
damn turkey, doing last-minute cleaning, as well as feeding and
dressing the kids. ::Maybe we could train the ghosts to clean up,::
he thinks facetiously, ::it’s not they can’t make themselves
useful::. He may regret the last-minute ghost-hunting, but he sure
doesn’t regret the reason why he and his wife are still awake… ::We
should do that more often,:: he muses, moving a fast-crawling Matthew
out of the way.

Already Bill Jr.’s dictating which football game to watch (which
reminds Mulder to bug the Gunmen about installing multi-channel views
on their TV for such a time as this), Maggie Scully and Tara are
working wonders in the kitchen, and Charlie and his wife Elaine are
laughing with Scully as they keep an eye on the seemingly hundreds of
kids (okay, just his and Scully’s kids, plus Charlie’s son Brandon
and Bill Jr.’s son Matthew) tearing the house with new toys that all
seem to be attached to some battery-operated noisemaker. Mulder’s
surprised that Charlie and his family beat Melissa, especially since
Charlie lives clear across the country in Seattle now. Bet that’s
Melissa and Emily now, he thinks as the doorbell keeps ringing, his
long legs taking him to the door.

“Hey, Melis-,” his voice trails off when he sees who’s been ringing
the doorbell with his red-headed sister-in-law and her blonde
daughter. “Ah. This is gonna be fun.”

“Fox,” Melissa says warningly, her eyes sliding to the man at her
left, but Mulder puts his hands up briefly with a grin before
squatting down.

“Hey, Emily,” he says, hugging the little girl, “go say hi to all
your cousins.” As she runs inside, nearly bowling over her bigger
cousin Brandon in the process, Mulder stands and says in a loud
voice, “Melissa’s here!” 

The extended Scully clan pile into the lobby with welcoming smiles
on their faces. The smiles are soon replaced by shock, surprise, and
confusion. 
 
"WHAT THE HELL???" Scully shouts, stunned that her husband hasn’t 
shot the bastard on sight. 
 
"Who’s this?" Charlie asks, confused. 
 
His answer comes quickly enough when his shorter
sister pulls out a gun and trains it on the newcomer. "Alex Krycek,"
she grimaces, and is joined by her older brother Bill with similar
expression and weapon. 
 
~*~*~ 
 
"Tara, Elaine, take the kids upstairs," Maggie Scully tells the women, 
and they do so in a daze. When they’re gone, she snaps, "Dana, Bill, 
put those guns away!" As they do so, reluctantly, her dark eyes turn 
towards her eldest daughter. "Melissa, I hope you have an explanation 
for this." 
 
"Mom, this is Alex," Melissa says in a deliberately calm
voice. Mulder notes in a disjointed fashion that it’s the same tone
she used back when she wanted him to visit Scully who was at death’s
door back from an abduction in the other universe. Weird. "Alex, this
is my mother, you know my sister Dana, my brothers Bill and Charlie,
and you know Fox," she points them out briefly. 
 
Scully looks unamused. "Melissa, are you nuts?" she says succinctly. 
"He’s on the FBI’s most wanted list, for heaven’s sake!" 
 
"I am as sane as you are," her older sister replies, "and we’re freezing 
to death out here. Can we come inside, or are you going to throw us 
out on Christmas?" 
 
Scully looks about to answer in the latter, when her
husband surprises her. "It’s Christmas," he says, stepping around
them to close the door behind them. "You want I should check him for
weapons or something?" 
 
"Yes," his little-but-fierce wife replies. 
 
Sighing, Mulder drones, "Please assume the position, this
is just a precautionary measure, since I really don’t wanna call the
cops in this early in the day."

As he pats down the one-armed man, he hears Mrs. Scully murmur,
"Since when did you carry a gun, Bill?" 
 
Bill Jr.’s saved from answering when Mulder pats the guest on the 
back. "I’m guessing the nicely-wrapped box in your jacket’s a present, 
huh?" 
 
Before Krycek can answer, the eldest Scully son hisses at his younger 
sister. "It’s just like you, Missy," Bill Jr. says, his eyes squinting at the man
who’s been figuratively tarred and feathered the few times he’s been
mentioned. "Always attracting the wrong kinds of guys, but this
time," he shakes his head, "this time you picked a real asshole." It
looks like he doesn’t trust the pretty boy in the black leather
jacket as far as he can throw him, and it’s clear he’s about ready to
throw him in a heartbeat. 
 
Mulder feels obscurely better that Bill’s picking on someone other than 
him, but in a way, it only makes him perversely more sympathetic to the 
devil. Damn. Melissa takes Krycek’s real hand firmly in hers, "I knew you’d 
be like this. That’s why we haven’t exactly broadcast our relationship." She 
looks at Krycek, who, amazingly enough, hasn’t said a word since showing 
up. Whether it’s because he’s about to throw up or wisely doesn’t want to
say anything to piss anyone off after the gun show, Mulder’s not
sure. "I don’t expect you to understand, but we’re a family. Deal with it." 
 
"You’re married?" Maggie asks, surprised. 
 
"No, but he is the father of my child, and we love each 
other," Melissa says, turning to face her mother. "That’s 
all that matters." 
 
Bullheadedness must be genetic, Mulder thinks, as his
wife and Bill Jr. set their mouths. Mrs. Scully’s mouth droops a
little when she sees no evidence there will ever be rings on those
left hands, but there’s something in her eyes he doesn’t quite trust,
only because he’s seen it before when Scully was pregnant with
William. Scary. 
 
Then Maggie’s hands shoot out, and Krycek automatically tenses until he 
sees she’s grabbed his false hand. Her eyebrows go up slightly, but her 
voice is firm as she says, "Merry Christmas, Alex." 
 
The fact that the look on his face suggests otherwise nearly sends Mulder 
into a fit of incongruous laughter. "Merry Christmas," he says in a rough 
voice, and disengages his real hand from Melissa’s to dig out a small gift 
box. "This is for you." 

"How sweet," Maggie Scully says, and pockets it with a
small smile, much to the chagrin of her eldest son and youngest
daughter. "Come inside." 
 
It seems a truce of sorts has been brokered, and Charlie steps 
forward, a slight smile on his face. "Welcome to the drama," he 
tells Krycek, then hugs his sister. "Long time no see, Missy." 
 
"Yeah," Melissa relaxes into her younger brother’s embrace. 
 
"Wow, this is one of the most exciting Christmases we’ve had 
in a while," Charlie grins. "I should come more often." 
 
"Last Christmas was pretty interesting, too," Bill says,
glancing at Mulder and Scully. "That’s when Emily joined the family."
He isn’t surprised to see Scully storm off into the kitchen, followed
by their mother. 
 
His younger brother frowns and nods. "Oh yeah, I remember Mom 
saying something about that." Then he looks at Krycek. "Hey, you 
wanna beer?" 
 
"Charlie," Bill turns on him. 
 
The younger man shrugs. "Hey, if he goes psycho, there’s two FBI 
agents, a Naval officer and a black belt in the house." 
 
"Elaine’s a black belt?" Mulder blinks. 
 
Charlie laughs. "Naw, man, me. You gotta let go of your preconceptions
about Asians, man," he claps the other man on the arm. 
 
Krycek finally cracks a smile that seems genuine. "I’d like a beer," he 
says. 
 
Melissa squeezes his real hand, and Charlie smiles at the man responsible 
for a great many atrocities in both of Mulder’s universes. "Sure thing." The 
tall redhead nods, and lopes over to the kitchen. 
 
Bill glances at Mulder, then glares at Krycek. "I’ve got my eye on
you," he says, heading into the living room. 
 
"Unless the Huskies starts kicking ass in the third quarter," Mulder notes 
in an undertone, "the Falcons are gonna keep his attention." 
 
The redhead frowns. "I don’t know why you’re rooting for the Air Force," 
Melissa says as she walks into the living room, "if you’re a Navy man." 
 
"Because Oregon versus Colorado is boring," Bill replies, his eyes on 
the screen. 
 
Mulder blinks. "She’s into football?" 
 
Krycek shrugs, but looks at the mother of his child with new appreciation. 
"Who knew?" 
 
Charlie, in his wisdom, brought back beer for everyone. "Knew what?" 
he asks before knocking back his own bottle. 
 
"That it must be great to be in Hawaii," Mulder notes, "two bowls in 
the same state on the same day." 
 
"I was thinking of the warm weather, but that works, too," Charlie says. 
 
"Melissa," Krycek says, sitting next to her and away from Bill, "I never 
thought you’d be into football." 
 
She smiles briefly. "I’m not. But it was a great way to talk to my 
dad, back when he was alive and apoplectic over the referees." 
 
"You know," Mulder notes when his wife and Maggie join 
them, "this is definitely weirder than last Christmas." 
 
And the weirdness continues when the Scully women start yelling louder 
than the men over various calls, turnovers, and fumbles. 
 
~*~*~ 
 
And for the most part, the rest of the day goes by in a seemingly 
peaceful fashion, until lunchtime, when Maggie Scully goes upstairs to 
retrieve Tara, Elaine and the children. It’s as if Maggie’s leaving them 
allows them to drop their masks and behave and speak exactly as they 
feel, which is less than full of Christmas charity and cheer. 
 
"Look, just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean I’ve got my head 
up my ass," Bill mutters mutinously to Melissa. 
 
"Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean you have to act like an 
ass," Melissa shoots back. 
 
"Uh-oh," Mulder sighs, making sure there’s no sharp or heavy 
objects within reach of either. 
 
"I can’t believe you’re actually putting up with that man," Scully hisses at 
her husband. In spite of her enthusiasm over the game, she’s been shooting 
dagger-like glances at their unwelcome guest ever since he’s been there 
and she isn’t about to let up now. 
 
"Not now," Mulder murmurs as Bill and Melissa’s discussion
grows more heated. 
 
"Yes, now! Mulder!" Scully snaps angrily. "I can’t believe you of all people 
would allow that snake in here!" 
 
"Since when does your stupid mistake have to be ours, too?"
Bill demands. 
 
Melissa’s eyes are lit with an unholy anger. "Since when did 
wanting to have a merry Christmas be a mistake? Or do I have
to have everything rubber stamped by you?" 
 
"Hey, someone has to be the responsible one around here," the 
eldest Scully huffs, "and it sure isn’t Ditzy Missy." 
 
"Call me that again and you’ll have turkey stuffing up your 
ass," Melissa snaps. 
 
Krycek laughs, and now Bill turns on him. "Oh, you think that’s 
funny, pretty boy? We’ll see who’s laughing when they haul your 
ass away to the gulag. Oh yeah," he smirks as the double agent’s 
eyes widen, "I heard about that. I’ll bet Mama Russia can’t wait 
to tear off that other arm." 
 
"Will you stop acting like children and behave?" Maggie
Scully has come down the stairs, unnoticed, followed by her
grandchildren and daughters-in-law. "No offense," she tells her
grandchildren, who don’t notice the apology but only how red the
Scully kids’ faces have become in various shades of anger and
embarrassment. 
 
"Mommy, how come everyone’s yelling?" Page asks. 
 
It takes everything she has not to pull out her gun again
and unload half a clip into her husband and the other half into that
traitor Krycek. "Everything’s fine, honey," Scully lies through her
teeth. 
 
"Yeah," Bill mutters, "just peachy." His glare, matched by
his sister’s, is aimed at Krycek, however, which doesn’t go
unnoticed. 
 
"Daddy?" Emily quavers, wondering why everyone’s mad at
him. 
 
Krycek’s eyes look at no one but his daughter’s. He bends
down and she runs into his open arms, and he holds on to her like
there’s no one else in the world. "It’s okay, baby," he tells her,
looking at the floor. For the first time in his life, he regrets
being the kind of man he is, if only to spare his daughter this kind
of shitty family drama. 
 
"Are you happy now?" Melissa glares back at her two tense siblings. 
 
"Melissa," Maggie Scully attempts to soothe her eldest daughter 
vocally, but nobody else is cooperating. 
 
"Yes, fine!" Scully declares, not looking at either her mother nor her 
niece. 
 
Bill echoes, "Fine!" 
 
"Then, fine!" Melissa retorts. 
 
"Fine!" a new voice shouts. 
 
"Fine!" Scully repeats, then spins around. Her mouth drops 
when she realizes who just spoke. 
 
"Fine!" April repeats, sounding almost exactly like her mother in 
a higher octave. 
 
Scully sweeps down and embraces her little girl, her anger 
temporarily shelved. "Sweetie, say it again!" 
 
"Fine!" the little girl shouts, then wonders why everyone
is laughing. It’s not a bad word, and she’s heard them
all. 
 
~*~*~ 
 
"You know, I’m all for the weird and stuff," Mulder
says when everyone is either gone or asleep and he and his wife are
finally snuggled in bed with visions of the day’s surreality still in
their heads, "but I’d settle for normal Christmases from now
on." 
 
Scully gives him a wry smile. "How do you define normal?" 
 
He groans. "Maybe one in which your mostly-enemy doesn’t
show up at your doorstep with your sister-in-law and niece." Then he
pauses. "Although hearing your youngest daughter speak for the first
time is pretty cool, and hopefully normal, too." 
 
She smiles a little. "Yeah," she agrees, then frowns. "Although I 
wonder if it’s normal for her to be echoing people rather than 
speaking on her own." 
 
"I think she just has to get used to vocalizing," Mulder
says, "she’s spent most of her conscious life signing. Besides, she’s
the only one in the family, not including Krycek, who can actually
carry a tune." 
 
"I can’t believe we didn’t arrest him," Scully agrees, laying her 
head on his chest. 
 
He runs a hand through her hair. "Yeah, well, Melissa would’ve 
killed us if we did," and smiles a little as she snorts. "You 
know why we couldn’t arrest him." 
 
She sighs, then flattens her mouth. "Emily." 
 
"Yeah." 
 
Scully rolls her head so that her eyes are looking disconcertingly directly 
into his. "Even though we just lived it, I can’t believe we actually
watched a football game, had lunch and dinner, and sang songs with
that man. I mean, he seemed so," she frowns, "*normal*." 
 
"That’s what they all say until he starts wearing a bunny suit," Mulder
says. 
 
She blinks. "What?" 
 
"The generic definition is that a crazy person will go on a shooting 
rampage with just a gun," her husband says in a dry tone she’s come 
to learn will lead to a bad punchline, "while a psychotic will go on a 
shooting rampage wearing a bunny suit." 
 
Scully frowns thoughtfully as if it makes sense. "I
think I’ve heard it with the psycho holding a teddy bear, but yeah.
Although I could see you holding the bear, but not Krycek." 
 
"Why not?" He pouts. 
 
"Because Krycek lets Emily play with her toys, while you mess around 
with the kids’ toys more than they do," she says archly. "You’d probably 
wear the bunny suit if it fit." 
 
"That does it," he says, "no more dressing up for trick-or-treating." 
 
She snorts again, but this time it leads to a fit of almost loopy-sounding 
giggles. "Mulder," she wheezes while gasping for breath, "you jerk." 
 
He smiles before kissing her forehead. "I’m not a jerk," he
answers, "I’m a teddy bear-holding, bunny suit-wearing, 
alien-chasing gun nut." 
 
Scully grabs a pillow and smothers her guffaws into it before 
she wakes the kids and any other unfortunate soul. Then she 
lightly pounds her laughing husband’s chest before they both 
subside into some well-deserved, long-delayed sleep. 

~*~*~


Chapter Seventy

Late January or early February 1999

Just because we're family doesn't make that guy any less of a jerk,
Mulder thinks, as he and several other men play basketball on an
indoor court. Playing b-ball these past few days helps him figure
out what to do about Cassandra Spender while on shit detail, and
whether or not doing anything different would help anyone in the long
run. Even as sweat is soaking his torn Knicks sweatshirt and
sweatpants, Mulder's inner conflict doesn't prevent him from making a
basket, and grins when he sees Scully, dressed in a
shorter-than-usual business suit and trench coat, walk in. Damn, she
just walks, she scores, he thinks, tossing the ball over his shoulder
to a teammate, then spins around and catches it, then casually shoots
the ball and makes the basket. Smirking at his wife, he calls out,
"Game."

His darker teammate shakes his hand, not buying it. "Oh, no, no. Aw,
it don't work like that."

Mulder's mind is off the b-ball game and on to the more intriguing
X-File as he joins Scully at the side of the court. "Hey, Homegirl,
word up."

She raises an eyebrow at the colloquialism and his recent moves.
"Mulder it's my distinct impression that you just cheated. And that
you're not coming in again today."

He plays it off, knowing his beloved heavenly wife will never buy any
line of bull he pushes and loves her all the more for it. "Oh,
Scully, I got game."

She tries to hold on to the righteous indignation that brought her
here in the first place, but only manages to control the expression
on her face if not her heart. "Yeah, you got so much game I'm
wondering if you have any work left in you."

He shrugs, and decides to push her buttons further. "No, I'm ready to
J-O-B just not on some jagoff shoeshine tip."

As before, a reluctant smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "No
'jagoff shoeshine tip'?" she repeats.

He grins back. "No background checkin' jagoff shoeshine tip."

She shakes her head, allowing the smile to spread, even as she
crosses her arms under her breasts, the well-tailored suit cut to
emphasize her best assets. Just because she's on the job doesn't mean
she can't have fun with her husband, she thinks, and watches as her
unpredictable partner's eyes predictably goes down to her chest.
"Well, about your J-O-B, Mulder," she stresses his name, making him
look up to her face, "somebody's been trying very hard to reach you
by phone. Somebody who wants you back at the FBI ASAP."

He blinks, knowing what she's about to bring up, even as he still
enjoys the vision of his wife just barely this side of proper with
her boobs propped up by her crossed arms. "About what?"

"About an X-File," she smirks, knowing he'll probably get more
excited over that piece of news than her piece of ass. Maybe.

~*~*~

FBI Headquarters 
Washington, DC

Hello, hello, little bro, Mulder thinks as he comes across Spender
sitting at Mulder's bullpen desk writing a note. He'd debated
inwardly about showing up in his torn and sweaty Knicks outfit, but
figured he'd save that battle for another day. "You looking for work,
Agent Spender? 'Cause if you are, I got a whole pile in that middle
drawer that I'd love to shove down someone's throat," he vents
cheerfully.

"I was just writing you a note," Spender says tersely. "I think you
know why I'm here."

Will you never get that stick out your ass? Mulder wonders. "They
found your mother," he says aloud.

"She wants to talk to you," the younger agent says, as if trying out
something distasteful.

Oh well, since I'll never get to hang with Samantha, pissing off a
half-brother is almost as good. "I didn't hear the magic word."

To his surprise, the young man snaps way early than expected. "Look,
forget it, okay? My mother's been gone for almost a year. She turns
up in a train car where she's been operated on by a group of doctors
who were burned alive, and the only person she wants to talk to isn't
me, it's you, okay?" He crumples up the note and tosses it backward,
the paper ball landing neatly in the wastebasket, but he doesn't
notice or care. "I just want the truth, which is what I thought you
wanted, too."

Okay, playtime's over, he thinks sadly, time for all of us to grow
up. "The truth is out there, Agent Spender. Maybe you should find it
for yourself." He merely watches as the other agent shoots him a
"fuck you" glare before pulling a file from his jacket and throwing
it on the desk, then storming off. He sits down heavily in his chair,
waiting until he hears the click-clack of his wife's impossibly high
heels sounding in the hallway to open the file full of charbroiled
scientist photos.

~*~*~

Later, Mulder and Scully, due to Scully's prompting, sneak into the
hospital. As before, Scully is surprised at Cassandra's sudden
self-mobility, but gets her to see Mulder hidden in a storage space.
"Agent Mulder?" she calls out.

Mulder steps out from his hiding place with a finger to his lips.
"Shhh. Shhhh."

"Oh, my god," she laughs, holding her stomach. "To think you'd be
hiding in the closet like a little boy for me."

"As long as it's not like a little girl, I can handle it," Mulder
says with a nervous chuckle. "When she hugs him, he smiles, wondering
why everyone else's mom gives great hugs except his own. When they
pull apart, he grins. "Wow, look at you."

Cassandra Spender's smile has gone from merely bright to freakin'
incandescent as she does a slight curtsy at her now-strong legs. "I
told you about their power." She turns her smile to Scully. "You said
you didn't believe it." As Scully flushes slightly, the elder woman
turns back to Mulder. "You wondered whether you'd ever see her again,
weren't you? Your sister."

Scully's mouth drops. "How do you know about his…?" her voice trails
off when she realizes that seemingly everyone and their uncle knows
about Mulder's sister's supposed alien abduction. Her eyes widen when
Cassandra Spender lights up a cigarette, and wonders exactly how
healthy this once-crippled woman is.

"She's out there, with them. The aliens," Cassandra says
matter-of-factly.

~*~*~

Scully's still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that this
smoking woman standing before them is the same one who was in such
ill-health the last they saw her that she was in a wheelchair.
"Cassandra, you were found in a train car. You'd been operated on by
doctors."

The blonde woman nods quickly, still puffing away on the cigarette.
"Yes, that's right."

The redhead can feel her eyebrows nearly reach the crown of her hair.
"And these are the doctors who cured you?"

"No," Cassandra corrects her, "the aliens cured me. The doctors were
working with the aliens. That's what I wanted to tell you."

"What?" Mulder asks numbly, wishing he could sink through the floor
and skip this part.

But it's no go, and the rest of the exposition goes merrily to hell
as before. "I told you that the aliens were here to do good and that
I was being used as an oracle to spread the word. Only now I know
what the aliens are here for and it isn't good."

Part of him is detached, working out yet another angle on how to best
save the mother of his half-brother and a sweet, if
now-knowledgeable, pawn in the game the alien conspirators are
playing. "What are they here for?"

"To wipe us off the planet," Cassandra says bluntly. "They're taking
over the universe. They're infecting all other life-forms with a
black substance called Purity. It's their life force. It's what
they're made of."

"It's the virus - the black oil," Mulder says dully.

Scully frowns at her husband before turning her worried glance on the
older woman. "But, Cassandra, the doctors weren't infected. They were
burned."

"By another race of aliens," Cassandra fills in. "A rebel force that
are mutilating their faces so that they won't be infected. This is
what I couldn't tell my son Jeffrey."

I hope I never have to be in a situation where me and my kids would
be this separated as adults, Scully thinks. "Why couldn't you tell
Jeffrey?"

Cassandra looks at her as if knowing her maternal fears. "Because he
doesn't believe me...even though his life is in danger by these same
rebel aliens."

"Spender's life's in danger?"

Mulder's not sure whether or not he should be insulted by what's
turned into a summit of the moms. "He's in with the men that have
been working with the alien colonists for 50 years."

"Working to do what?"

"Whatever it is they did to me...and what I'm sure they did to
Samantha."

Mulder finally speaks up with the mention of his sister. "And you
know who these men are?"

Cassandra sucks in another lungful of nicotine before answering
bitterly, "Oh, sure. One of them's my ex-husband...Jeffrey's father."

~*~*~

In spite of the warm and fuzzy Christmas he spent with Agent Scully's
family, or maybe because of it, Krycek's in a roomful of the world's
slimiest American alien conspirators. He's never before believed in
half the shit they've spouted, but when one of them starts talking
about siding with the rebels, he speaks up. "It's an option you
declined long ago. Resistance was futile then. Why would it be any
less so now? That's why you voted against it - against men like Bill
Mulder," and he tastes the irony on his lips, considering the man's
son allowed him to live at that not-quite-cozy family gathering.
"Collaboration has allowed you to prepare...to stall colonization. I
mean, how close are you to developing a human/alien hybrid? That
alone ensures your survival." Or maybe he's talking too much. Dammit.

"As slave laborers for the aliens," the Second Elder scoffs at
Krycek's defense of the various projects.

Something's wrong, the double agent thinks, could he know about
Emily? "What about your vaccine?" he says aloud. "By collaborating,
you bought yourself time to secretly develop a way to combat the
aliens - to fight the future."

It looks like Krycek's not the only one with a bullshit detector, and
the Smoking Man snaps, "Alex, enough!" The older man looks at the
Second Elder thoughtfully as he continues. "For fifty years, we've
worked on this project - fifty years since Roswell. We can't
sacrifice ourselves for every new threat, can we now?" he sneers
before puffing at his cigarette.

Even if the other old men don't realize it, Krycek realizes that the
Second Elder is an imposter, and not one of the Alien Bounty
Hunter-types. He's not sure whether he should be relieved or worried
by that knowledge, but figures the Smoking Man's gonna take care of
it. He always does.

~*~*~

If he wasn't living it, Mulder would swear he was in some kind of
demented soap opera or "reality show", with global and intergalactic
ramifications. First, he allows himself and Scully to not only get
caught snooping around in their old X-Files office by Skinner, but
also by his unwitting half-brother Spender. However, he doesn't
realize what kind of hold their birth father still has over his
half-brother after all these years, and Spender finds himself being
physically and emotionally abused by the man he once called "Father."

Unfortunately, Spender doesn't see himself having any sort of
weakness, and that, like his father, is his weakness. Unlike his
father, however, he's not the retrospective type, so he doesn't see
his Achilles heel as clearly as others do. So he waits on a street
corner, his jaw working tensely while he believes in his father more
than he does his helpless but beloved mother. He watches as a car
pulls up and his father steps out, lighting an ubiquitous cigarette.
"I waited, like you asked," he says simply.

"Good," the Smoking Man says after a quick puff. "I'm pleased. I was
doubtful after our last meeting."

In a way, he almost envies his father for his habit, which allows the
older man to fidget, albeit in a seemingly calm fashion. "You have a
new job for me?" he asks.

"Yes," his father says through a small cloud of smoke. "I may have
been unduly harsh. You deserve a fighting chance to prove your father
wrong." He hands Spender a cylindrical palm sized metal object that
looks vaguely like either like a futuristic flashlight or a dental
tool of pain.

Spender squints at the object. "What is it?" he wonders, hoping it's
not his father's idea of a practical joke.

"A weapon," the Smoking Man says in his almost delicate manner. He
smiles slightly when his son starts from the sudden stiletto
appearance. "A man has infiltrated the group that I work with. That's
to kill him."

Most people use a gun, the younger man frowns. "I don't understand."
And why am I killing some random stranger?

"He's pretending to be a member of our group disguising himself as a
man he's already killed. You will greet him as that man. Engage him
in conversation. Then put that in the back of his neck." He holds the
car door open. "You can do it, Jeffrey."

Numbly, Spender gets into the back seat of the car, the strange
weapon still in hand. He doesn't notice the driver until he says,
"Watch where you point that." Startled, the agent retracts the pick
and the driver, who looks to be about his age, drives off. No words
are spoken as they go, and Spender wonders how often this sort of
thing happens. It's possible that the shifty-eyed character driving
has done this sort of thing before, too.

It's part of the job, deal with it, he thinks as they pull up to a
quaint, almost old-fashioned mansion, the type that looks like a very
fancy house compared to rock stars' homes these days. It's not really
murder, he tells himself, I'm protecting my father. Over and over
again, he feeds himself the excuse, but if he honestly believed his
father to be as powerful and dangerous as advertised, he would have
more than second thoughts about this whole thing.

Even as he goes through the motions of the polite conversation and
subservient messenger-like talk he's mentally rehearsed in the car, a
part of him can't believe that this kindly old man before him is
supposed to be some ultra-bad enemy of his dad's. He's not sure why
his father feels the old man should be assassinated - assassinated
rather than merely character - assassinated, but he's not one to
question a man of authority like his father. So he holds the folded
card in his hand, half-hiding it like a bad magician. "Something I've
been entrusted with. It's, uh, it's a name, actually - one that will
have meaning for you." Then he holds out the card, somewhat grateful
it's not soggy with the massive sweat from his palm.

As the older man reaches for it, Spender drops the card like a
klutz, and doesn't have to pretend to wince as the older man looks at
him with disgust. "I'm sorry."

When the older man bends to retrieve it, Spender lunges at him with
the strange stiletto-like weapon, but the old man sees it and grabs
the agent's arm, effortlessly avoiding the attack. Desperately, as
the old man throttles him, Spender scratches at the man's face,
revealing the horrifyingly featureless face of something so beyond
his ken that he has no words to describe it, that his body freezes
involuntarily as his breath leaves him. Without warning, the faceless
creature stiffens and falls to the floor as the driver stabs him in
the back of the neck with the discarded weapon. Spender and the
driver stare at each other for a moment, one not sure what to say,
and the other debating whether he should leave right now.

In the meantime, bubbling green fluid oozes out of the creatures
neck, and Spender is sure his own face is green as the world reels
around him.

~*~*~

Meanwhile, back at the haunted house, Mulder opens the door for the
first of many visitors, welcome and not, he knows will be entering
his home. "Thanks for coming," the black sheep agent says quietly. "I
know it's late and you've been forbidden to have any contact with
us."

As their stern boss enters the hallway, he sees Scully feeding David
and Jared with the help of an ingenious sling. "You say Cassandra
Spender's life is in danger," Skinner says without preamble.

Mulder blinks affirmatively. "Her life's been in danger going on 30
years...just not the way I think it is now."

The bald man looks from one agent to the other. "In danger from who?"

"Men who've conducted medical experiments in what began as a secret
government project but what is now the most private global
enterprise."

"Enterprising to do what?" Skinner frowns.

"To develop alien/human hybrids that will survive the viral
apocalypse when aliens colonize the earth," Mulder says, not
surprised that his wife still has a hard time believing all this,
even after seeing Agent Fowley's condition, after all these years on
the X-Files. Then again, not having experienced a lot of the pain
firsthand might also have something to do with her prolonged
skepticism.

Skinner also looks doubtful, and with good reason. He's got more to
lose. "And I suppose you have proof of this?"

Mulder nods briefly. "Files that Agent Scully dug up that make all
the right connections to Doctor Eugene Openshaw to my sister, to my
father...to Agent Spender's father."

Their boss shakes his head. "Agent Spender's father?"

"The Smoking Man."

It's obvious it's the last connection he would've made. "What?!"

"Shhh," Scully says in a low tone, rocking her babies lightly. "It's
true, sir. We have documented evidence."

Skinner gives her his version of Scully-Eyebrow-Raising. "Then you
believe this, Agent Scully? This whole account?"

As Scully sucks in her breath, Mulder steps in. "I know that Agent
Scully has her doubts about the purposes of these experiments but I
also know that she believes Agent Fowley was a test subject when she
was abducted last year."

"If Cassandra Spender's life was in danger, why not Scully's?" their
boss asks reasonably.

"Because I believe Cassandra Spender represents the final stages of
these experiments - that she may very well be the first successful
alien/human hybrid."

Skinner inhales sharply, then squints at his wayward agent. "What I
don't understand is if she was a success, then why is her life
threatened?"

Mulder pauses. "Because...the men who created her would rather kill
her than let her expose the enterprise."

"She's under 24-hour guard," Skinner protests.

"Assigned by Agent Spender?" Scully asks, looking from her husband to
her boss.

Skinner frowns, then turns on his heel with a brief, "Excuse me," and
leaves as suddenly as he came. As the door closes shut, Mulder says,
"Got everything?"

Scully nods. "You really think…?" her voice trails off.

He nods back. "Call your mom."

~*~*~

Meanwhile, Krycek has decided to stick with the kid, but is drawing
the line at holding a bucket under his face. They're still at the
deceased Elder's home, with the alien rebel taking its sweet time to
just up and dissolve.

The kid, he has to remind himself, is the Smoking Man's son. Who
knows what he'll report back to Daddy Dearest? With that, he shoves
the car keys back into his pocket and rejoins Spender, who's still
staring at the dead alien's body looking ready to puke or cry.
"You've never seen one before, have you?" The kid shakes his head.
"It's shocking at first," he nods, going on in the same tone of voice
he reserves for Emily, practical but personal, "the acceptance of the
idea, it's...It's something you thought only children and fools
believed in. It undermines your beliefs - in yourself, in the
world...but then you come to understand."

"Understand what?"

With that question, Krycek feels about as old as the Smoking Man
himself, who obviously didn't have the balls to tell his kid about
basic truths in this world. Truths he'd have to tell Emily about
someday, but relishes the future job as much as he does this present
one - not very damn much. "Well, the responsibility that this
knowledge demands but the men who have it. The great sacrifice by
great men like your father."

The kid squints up at him. "What sacrifice?"

"The sacrifice of your mother," Krycek says matter-of-factly,
figuring his old man would've said something about that if he's
sending the kid to do a job like this.

"What do you know about that?" the young man asks tersely.

Aw, shit. You stupid bastard, and he's not sure if he's cussing
himself or the Smoking Man out. Slowly, he says, "Just that
she's...been the subject of an experiment for 25 years."

The kid stares at him in horror. "My father's involved in that? Is
he?"

Krycek always thought of himself as a Smoking Man in the making, but
now, with a child of his own, he realizes he's much more like Bill
Mulder than he'd care to admit. I hope Emily never looks at me like
that, he thinks, even as he knows she probably will unless she's got
even less morals than her father. "Your father directs the
experiments."

It's not very often he gets to see a world crumble, change, so
utterly for a person outside of war and poverty that Krycek at first
merely thinks the younger man's a little slow on the uptake.
"So...I'm protecting her now so the experiments can continue?"

Duh, the double agent almost says, but decides to change this guy's
future. Nobody's gonna be the next Smoking Man, Krycek realizes, not
his son, not Mulder, and certainly not me. The world's not strong
enough for more than one bastard like that. "That's why he put you on
the X-Files," he says in a cajoling tone. "That's why your father
sent you here tonight. You're protecting the project, Jeff. Making
the sacrifices. So that you can be a great man, too."

As expected, the young man suddenly grows a pair and stands quickly,
his own queasiness at the dead body forgotten. "I'll be my own great
man," he snaps before storming out of a house containing a dead alien
and a live double agent.

Krycek smirks, but the expression fades when he realizes he's got to
cover his own ass. Cracking his neck, he yawns, then reaches into his
pocket for the car keys. He knows his next destination, as he knows
Spender's. "Good luck," he says to the empty air, then pulls an
aerosol can from his jacket filled with chemicals to speed the
alien's decay process. Not that Baltimore PD ever knows what to do
with the shit they find anyway, but why make it easier for them?

~*~*~

There is no easy way out, Mulder thinks as the loud pounding on the
front door startles the kids, but I'll do my best. He bends down and
checks the peephole, then opens the door for a very frightened and
breathless Cassandra Spender. "Put this on," Mulder says tersely,
shutting the door behind them and handing her a bag.

For some reason, she isn't surprised to find the lights are off, with
the nightlights being the only illumination. Still, something bothers
her. "What?" The older woman blinks at them, wondering why even the
small children are up at such a late hour.

"I can't believe she found us," Scully mutters, even as a squeal of
wheels screeches in the driveway. She swallows her disbelief,
however, as she knows time is precious, and adjusts the dark wig on
the older woman's head. Cassandra Spender, however, casts a terrified
glance at the door when there's a loud series of raps. "Oh, Agent
Scully, Agent Mulder you cannot let them find me." Her mouth drops
open and her eyes are wide when Mulder peeks again, then opens the
door. "No, please!" Her frightened entreaties serve to scare the
children, and she starts to run towards an exit, any exit.

"Cassandra, it's okay," Scully tells her, blocking, then holding the
scared woman. "He's a friend."

"Take her to this address," Mulder tells Frohike, who shoots the
bewigged woman a curious glance before nodding.

"Come on, kiddoes, Uncle Frohike's gonna take you on a little
adventure," the shortest Gunman says, and Page, Sammy and April join
him as he hauls the twin boys' carrier to his chest. "Ma'am, if you
could grab that baby bag, we'll be off."

Cassandra shoots Scully a worried glance, but the redhead smiles,
puts the bag in her hands, and says, "Take care of the kids, Mom."

Quickly, the older woman nods, and the strange group hauls ass into
the waiting VW. Scully waves, and a couple of small hands wave back,
as if it's completely normal for her kids to be driven off in the
middle of the night. Then again, she's fairly sure her neighbors have
noted their odd hours, which is exactly what they're counting on.
"Please," she breathes into the cold night, not knowing exactly what
to pray, but staring as the van disappears out of sight, "please."

"Your mom's got them," Mulder says in a carrying voice, "get inside
before you catch cold."

Reluctantly, Scully nods, hoping that Mulder's plan works, and that
nothing bad will happen to her kids or Cassandra. Please, she prays
again, holding her husband's hand.

As soon as the door locks shut, they hold each other, one knowing
exactly what's at stake, the other with a vague but troubling notion
that despite the seemingly easy exit, things are going to get a lot
worse.

The sudden pounding at the door startles Scully, and her fearful
expression is not lost on Mulder. He nods, and they slowly reach for
their weapons as the pounding continues, getting improbably louder.
How many thugs do they have working for the CDC? Mulder wonders
facetiously, then smiles appreciatively as his wife jerks her head
and they take their positions silently with guns drawn. Now it sounds
less like knocking and more like someone is breaking the door down,
which pisses his wife to no end. There will be blood tonight! he
grins inwardly, quoting one of his newfound favorite movies.

"Is it me," Scully says, "or is it getting cold in here?" Her large
eyes squint, and she can almost see the very things she tells her
husband she doesn't believe in.

Mulder's eyes widen. The ghost kids. Oops. "It's okay," he tells
their not-quite-dead hosts, "the kids are okay, and we will be, too.
It's gonna be okay."

Somewhat mollified, they disappear, but it's still pretty damn cold,
as if they left the thermostat off. "Mulder!" Scully shouts, and
resumes her FBI-approved firing stance. He does the same, and she
smiles grimly as the much-abused door flies into the dark hallway.

~*~*~

Chapter Seventy-One

February 1999

That night, Mulder is writing in his journal, unable
to talk to his wife about what happened that morning. "Two men,
young, idealistic - the fine product of a generation hardened by
world war. Two fathers whose paths would converge in a new battle -
an invisible war between a silent enemy and a sleeping giant on a
scale to dwarf all historical conflicts. A 50-years war, its killing
fields lying in wait for the inevitable global holocaust." For some
reason, he thinks of the black and white photo of his father and the
Cigarette Smoking Man, a photo he was going to ask his father about
but never got a chance. But for his father's sake, as well as his
family's, he's loathe to talk to the man so soon. Disconsolately, he
munches on a handful of sunflower seeds as his wife lies beside him,
snoring softly.

~*~*~

Earlier, however, there wasn't much time for
rumination. "Mulder!" Scully screams as perfect strangers threaten to
knock down their door. For some reason, she wishes Mulder hadn't
shooed the ghosts away, it would be nice to have some kind of backup.
What am I thinking, she thinks in the growing shock as the pounding
gets louder, I don't believe in ghosts, conveniently forgetting her
Christmas Eve encounter of the apparition kind.

When the door goes flying through the hallway, she and her husband 
throw themselves at opposite ends of the entryway, she going left and 
he going right. "Scul-lay!" he shouts as people in biohazard suits swarm 
through the opening, looking for all the world like alien invaders from a
B-movie, hosing down a perfectly clean hallway and lobby with water
and God knows what else. His anger rising up in his throat, he rushes
to his wife, who's been knocked down by the force of the water, and
helps her up. "Who are you!" he yells, more out of rage than
curiosity.

Of course, the CDC are helpful as always. "Get down! Get
down!"

"What's going on?!" Scully stares in bedraggled indignation,
trying to determine whether this is a bad joke or a serious threat in
the confusion. She wishes she hadn't lost her weapon in the initial
breach, and realizes her husband is similarly disarmed. Dammit.

"Get on the ground! Get on the ground!" the same anonymous-suited 
man shouts.

Mulder's just about ready to reach for his gun, government
agent or no. "Who are you?!"

The loud guy in the suit and helmet kicks him helpfully in the back, 
forcing Mulder to slip and land ungracefully on the hard floor. "Drop 
down! Drop! Drop!

Even as Scully slowly lowers herself down, her eyes are glaring daggers at
the intruders. And as they blast the couple again with the hoses, the
daggers in her eyes morph into laser beams. How dare they, her entire
body language shouts, I'm gonna eviscerate each and every single one.
Mulder notes with some amusement that once the hosers are done, they
scurry away as quickly as they can, one of them even vainly trying to
replace and seal the doorway. Her voice shaking with rage, Scully
asks, "Who are you?!"

The yelling man finally replies, once satisfied that they look as helpless 
as wet cats, "We're with the Centers for Disease Control. Remain calm and 
where you are for your own good. You're gonna be transported to a 
quarantine facility as soon as we can secure the environment."

The redhead scowls. "Quarantine for what?"

Another person steps forward, and this time, they see a woman's face through 
the faceplate of the biohazard suit. "A contagion," Agent Fowley replies. "A 
contagion of unknown origin."

~*~*~

During the journey, neither agent speaks to each other,
a mixture of rage at their captors and fear for their children
largely playing a part in that move. As they take their showers, they
don't shoot covert glances at each other like they did last time, but
instead silently hold hands over the short divide once the water
stops. They're quickly shooed out and dressed in medical scrubs,
brusquely checked by technicians for radioactivity. He and Scully
finally voice their concerns and theories about where they are, and
then a pair of doctors, male for Mulder and female for Scully, enter
with kits and begin the process of checking them out all over
again.

The bitch is back, Mulder thinks sullenly as his ex walks
into the room. Almost immediately, his wife sits up straight and her
jaw is working. Knew you wouldn't let me down, Scully, he grins
inside. "I'm going to beg for your understanding and forgiveness and
offer my humblest apologies for the way this went down," the tall
brunette says, obviously not meaning a single glib word she's saying.
"I didn't have a lot of choices. I owe your neighbors apologies as
well. It's going to be some time before they're allowed back into
their homes. We're still acting on a CDC Level Four quarantine
protocol."

Scully frowns. "Based on what information?"

Agent Fowley looks mildly constipated, or maybe that's a look common to 
those who have no business in the X-Files. "That Cassandra Spender had
contracted a highly contagious vectoring organism which produces a
spontaneous cellular breakdown and combustion."

His wife, however, is less astounded at the other woman's expression 
than her words. "What?"

Calmly, as if teaching a mentally disabled child, the
perfectly dressed and coiffed agent says, "She was and remains the
only surviving victim of an unspecified medical experiment that
killed seven doctors with violent and unexplained burning."

"Who called you?" Mulder asks, and now the agent turns hungry eyes
on him. Yikes.

"Agent Spender," she says without any of the venom
she used on his wife. "What I want to know is, where's
Cassandra?"

Scully cuts her off at the pass. "Cassandra Spender was
in a general hospital environment for days," she says, as arrogantly
as a doctor to a stranger off the street. "We met with her, as well
as Agent Spender, with no contamination protocol enacted, and yet on
a whim you call in the third battalion. It's unjustified and highly
suspicious as to motive."

Fowley raises her eyebrows slightly. "What motives are you suspecting?"

"Your attack on our home, when Cassandra obviously wasn't there," 
Scully raises her own eyebrow, but only slightly, as if the other woman 
didn't even rate a full skeptical expression.

"She's Patient Zero," Fowley says, nettled.

Now Scully's fine features go from mild doubt to utter
disbelief. "No one is sick or infected here. I mean, I assume that
based on you walking in here, dressed to the nines, offering
apologies masquerading as explanations."

"Scully..." In the back of his mind, Mulder wants to see what a full-blown 
catfight between these two would look like, but it probably wouldn't be 
anything like the porn he used to have. Darn.

"Mulder," she turns to him, exasperated, "we're not the guilty parties here, 
and yet we're being treated as such. I'm just thankful Mom has the kids for 
the weekend so they didn't have to go through such groundless
harassment."

Fowley looks uncomfortable at the mention of the children. "I believe 
they've had contact with Patient Zero, so we need to-"

"Touch our children and you're a dead woman," Scully
hisses, "I don't care if I have to call the CDC, the ACLU, or the
president himself, but you are not coming anywhere near them." Then
her eyes glint, and Mulder doesn't like the looks of this. "Besides,
you yourself was infected with, how did you put it, 'a highly
contagious vectoring organism which produces a spontaneous cellular
breakdown and combustion. I'm surprised I'm not inspecting you rather
than the other way around."

"I've been cleared of the contagion," Fowley says stiffly. "Cassandra's 
the one causing the danger."

"Perhaps," Scully says, and one could almost hear the 
knives sharpening against the grindstone, "but I've seen Cassandra's
recent records and can testify to her health, whereas I haven't seen
any of your records. In case you forgot, I am a medical doctor."

The tall brunette pauses. "And in case you forgot, a doctor who is
suspended indefinitely from her position at the FBI." Scully angrily
pulls the blood pressure cuff from her arm and strides out of the
room. Mulder gives the dark-haired woman a pitying glance, and walks
out calmly. Fowley stares at the doorway, dismayed, her mouth turning
into a thin line.

~*~*~

Scully sighs deeply when she opens a locker and removes a plain gray 
dress. Wrinkling her nose, she puts it back in the locker. She casts a 
forlorn look at her husband as he opens his own locker. "They've burned 
our clothes."

Mulder pulls out a suit jacket and grimaces. At least the last time, the 
suit looked decent, even if it was small. "I'm sure there's a mental patient
missing his clothes right about now."

She folds her arms under her chest. "Mulder, are all your exes complete
bitches or just the last two?"

He smirks, "Scully, please, tell me what you really think."

She inhales deeply before launching into her tirade,
unconscious of the way his eyes have gone below her eye level. "Agent
Spender calling the Centers for Disease Control? Mulder, this is just
somebody using their position to stage a hi-tech government
kidnapping."

Mulder shakes his head. "Apparently not. I just spoke to AD Skinner. 
He was at the hospital when Cassandra went missing. He
heard Spender make the phone call to the CDC."

Scully smiles a little, finally noticing that in spite of his business-only 
content and tone, his eyes are squarely on her breasts. Cute, but later.
"Eyes up here," she reminds him, and as he grins, she continues. "But
she wasn't sick, Mulder. I mean, the remarkable thing is she was
well."

Her husband, his eyes now on hers, asks, "Well, then why did
she call us for help?"

She blinks, but recovers quickly in the next blink. "Because of everything 
that had been done to her - because of the tests, because of the medical 
experiments and the implant put in her neck - what nobody should have to go 
through. She just wants it to stop. And I'm telling you, they have taken her so 
that it can continue."

"No. It won't continue," he says quietly. "It doesn't
have to anymore. She knows what she is, Scully. That's why it's so
dangerous for her to be alive. That's why she wanted our
help."

"What is she?" she stares at her husband. No longer does she
think this is a bad prank, or an FBI reaming gone too far, but truly
the threat he warned her about. She almost knows what he's going to
say, but is oddly afraid to voice it herself.

His hazel eyes flicker, as if knowing what she's thinking. "I think she's the 
one, Scully."

~*~*~

Decontamination Facility Fort Marlene
9:02 p.m.

One of these days, I'll manage to pull a James Bond and stash decent
clothes somewhere, Mulder thinks. Even if it's just the second time
since that "non-X-File" in Dallas (and elsewhere), it's one time too
many to be squeezed into a badly-fitting suit that's tackier than the
last. Fowley must be real pissed at me, he thinks, and sees a woman
who appears to have gotten her hair the same place he got his
clothes.

Who knows, maybe she'll take pity on me this time, and calls out,
"Hello? Hello? Oh, oh, Ma'am." He's relieved when she turns, and he
points, "These shoes? They're, they're two sizes too small. I was
wondering if I could get a..." Again, however, he gets shafted, and
pouts. "Get a fuckin' nurse who gave a shit, dammit!" Not that it'll
win him any brownie points, but it felt good to get that off his
chest.

Limping down the hall, he wonders again if he should help
Marita out, but she turned out okay the last time around without his
help, much better than his half-brother, at least. Down the hall,
Mulder sees a woman in a hospital gown duck out of view, and he
sighs. Dammit. He quickly shuffles after her, vowing to shove these
shoes up a deserving party's ass. He enters a lab and looks
around.

Even though he knows it's her, her hoarse voice from out of
nowhere still startles him. "I can't be seen with you."

"Marita?" he frowns in the strange lighting.

Everything in the room is a sterilewhite, highlighted by the odd blue 
lighting, including the disturbingly unkempt Marita Covarrubias. "If they 
catch me with you, they'll kill me this time."

"What have they done to you?" he asks quietly.

She looks at him, her pale blue irises surrounded by bloody
whites, and it still gives him the heebie-jeebies. "Tests," she says,
holding herself and shivering, "terrible, terrible tests."

"Like the tests on Cassandra Spender?"

The formerly well-groomed UN assistant shakes her head nervously. 
"No. No, Cassandra Spender is part of a program that's been going on 
for 25 years. A hybrid program."

"Then what were the tests on you?" he asks, feeling guilty that he couldn't
save her from this fate this second time around.

The ordeal, however, has served to make her more human, as well as more 
canny. Bitterly, she answers, "I was infected with the alien virus - the
black oil. My tests were on the vaccine against it," her odd eyes
shifting, looking around corners, "being developed in secret."

"In secret from the alien colonists," Mulder continues, recalling the
hell that dragged him from Dallas to DC to down in Antarctica. Sure,
he got to see a UFO again, but at what cost? "The hybrid program was
in cooperation with the aliens but the conspirators never intended to
succeed...to finish the work."

The disheveled blonde nods her head, still shivering. "They were buying time."

"To make a vaccine and build a weapon."

For the first time, the source smiles, and it's the scariest thing he's seen since Scully's 
fury. "But Cassandra Spender happened."

He presses her, because she expects it, not because he needs to. "She's the first, isn't 
she? She's the first successful alien/human hybrid."

The smile slides from her face as if it never happened. "If she is," her eyes dart 
around, "and the aliens learn a hybrid exists...colonization of the planet will begin. 
With no stopping it." The eerie smile comes back to her face, however, when
she adds, "But only if they find her first."

~*~*~

A steady, irritating chirping noise wakes the lone occupant in the X-Files
office. It's been a long day, with nothing to show for it except an
annoyed partner, two angry suspended (and decontaminated) agents, a
suspicious supervisor, a traitorous father, and a missing mother. All
that's been missing is a partridge in a pear tree, but since it's
February, it doesn't matter. "Spender," the young agent rubs his eyes
as he answers his phone. The brief nap, taken while still in his work
suit, hasn't helped much.

"Jeffrey, it's me," a warm familiar voice says.

"Mom?" he asks, sitting up.

"Shhh," Cassandra Spender says, "I just wanted to let you know I'm okay. 
Just let me go, honey, and don't worry about me."

"Mom, where are you?" he asks, worry etched on his face as he flips on 
the desk lamp and fumbles for a pen and paper.

"I love you," is all she says.

"I love you, too, but where-?" He doesn't get the chance to finish repeating his 
question, for the connection is gone. Immediately, he digs around the
immaculate desk, sending paperclips and pens flying, looking for a
number. When he finds it, buried, in all places, a rolodex, he
punches in the first two numbers, then stops, his brain finally
catching up to him.

For now he realizes the paranoia his mother and
Fox Mulder shares is based on fact, and that she took a big risk even
calling him. His heart tells him he should call the surveillance
people to track her last location, to find her and keep her safe, but
his mind, the thing that's kept him out of the loony bin, tells him
to save his own ass while he can. His mind's been telling him that
for years, and so far, it's worked out.

He stares a long time at his cell phone, then makes the first of many 
calls, knowing he's playing a dangerous game against an opponent 
with years of experience in it. He's no Fox Mulder, and he's definitely 
no C.G.B. Spender, but then, he never wanted to be them. I'll be my own 
great man, he repeats to himself, his heart in his throat as he waits for 
his first call to connect to a private office in East 40th St., New York
City.

~*~*~

With the help of the Lone Gunmen, both Scully and Mulder
dig up the dirt on his "evil bitch ex", and he shakes his head. How
the hell did I luck out with Scully? he wonders, not for the first
time. Mulder has been debating his next moves as the Gunmen work
their illegal mojo on various systems and securities, and decides he
really doesn't want to see the Smoking Man or Fowley if he can help
it. Screw it, he thinks, remembering that the last time, he only went
to Fowley's because he stupidly believed in her, thought she'd be
more reasonable than Scully. And how did I mistake Scully's fervor
and reason for simply jealousy? *She* was the one who had my best
interests, as well as Cassandra's and dammit, the world's, and I was
thinking of my own stupid pride. She was jealous, yeah, but that was
only part of the motivation behind her actions. When it came down to
it, it *was* a matter of faith, except I put it in the wrong
person.

Scully, however, is slumped beside Langly and sighs, her
expression not full of righteous indignation, but rather sorrow and
pity. "I can't believe it," she sighs before sipping from a
hastily-brewed cup of coffee.

"What, the part about Fowley's travel records being purged from her 
FBI records, or her trips to pretty much every European MUFON chapter 
collecting data on female abductees?" the blonde man asks in his nasal 
twang.

She smiles wanly. "The fact that she did this after being Mulder's partner," 
she says, then turns to her husband. "How well did you say you knew
her?"

Mulder's smile is just as sick. "Apparently not as well as I
thought," he answers, thanking his lucky stars and that crazy Elsbeth
again for allowing him to marry Scully this time around, rather than
someone like, say, Diana. Then he shudders.

Now Scully smirks. "You think if we bring this information to Skinner, he'll 
reinstate us?"

Mulder blinks, then groans. "Maybe, but the kid, I mean,
Spender, is still officially in charge of the X-Files, so we'd have
to ask him first." Then he makes a face. "This is the guy who helped
sink us, as well as call the CDC on us, so I doubt he'd be open to
the notion of deep-sixing his own partner for us."

Scully groans just when Frohike walks in. "What's wrong?"

"You," Mulder replies as his wife and the short man glare at him.

"It's not you," his wife answers, "it's the fact that we could maybe save the world 
but not our jobs."

"We could always use some help around here," Frohike
smiles in what he believes is a winning smile at the redhead.

She smiles, "That's very sweet of you, but I don't think I could afford
to raise our kids on the kind of salary you boys make."

The Lone Gunmen look at each other, their faces crestfallen. "Damn, we're
never gonna get married, are we?" Langly says.

"Shut up, moron," Frohike growls, "not everyone is suited for married life. 
Besides, we should enjoy the bachelor life while we can."

As the short and the blond gunmen bicker, no one except Mulder notices the 
pained look that briefly crosses Byers' face, but he doesn't comment on it.
Instead, the suit-and-tie man of the group says in his calm voice,
"By the way, has anyone thought to check on the current whereabouts
and actions of Agents Spender and Fowley?"

They all look at him like he's grown two extra heads. "Good idea," Mulder finally 
says, and as the Gunmen start tracking the "current X-Files agents" in their own
fashion, Scully calls her mother about their children while Mulder
calls Danny, not wanting to attract unwanted attention from the
Syndicate or the agents in question just yet.

~*~*~

10:13 p.m.
 
It just keeping getting better and better, Spender thinks as he hangs up
on his partner. Someone called in from a recycling plant, claiming
that some old woman beat up the security guards, then plowed through
glass doors without a scratch. Ordinarily, he'd ignore the damn
thing, except this time, the description of the old woman matches his
mother. And if he's got the call from his X-Files office, he knows as
sure as hell's hot that his dad's probably listening in and on his
way. So, as he breaks several driving laws getting to the plant, he
called up his ever-so-helpful partner, who sounded like she just woke
up. Tough.

"I don't know why you're acting like the Terminator all
of a sudden, but I hope that's enough to go against Dad," Spender
mutters, jumping out of his car and racing into the building.

It smells like hell as he flashes his badge, sidestepping the fallen
guards and looks at the small bank of security cameras behind the
desk and seeing a woman racing from one camera view to another. Hope
I get there in time, he thinks, running down the halls. "Mom! Mom!"
he calls out, not caring if he looks or sounds like an idiot doing
so.

As he turns a corner, a door slowly closes, and he practically
skids down the hall to reach it. "Mom!" he yells, all protocol for
approaching a fleeing fugitive who may be in danger flying out the
window. "Mom, where are you?"

"Jeffrey!" a woman's voice says, and he spins around.

Agent Fowley, he thinks, slightly chagrined. She
must live close by if she caught up this fast. "She's here," he tells
his partner, "I saw her on the cameras not too long ago."

"Then we have to move fast," the brunette tells him, and he nods. "I've 
come in from the east side, what about you?"

"West, going through north," he says, "I guess we better check out the 
south."

"That's where the incinerator is," Fowley says, "you don't think…?"

"No," Spender says resolutely, but hauling ass. He's surprised to find his 
partner doing the same, and a few minutes later, they manage to catch up 
with his mother as she breaks off the metal chains from the incinerator
door.

"Oh, Jeffrey," she sighs, even as he stands dumbstruck at the
fact that his previously wheelchair-ridden mother has not only gained
the ability to walk, as she did when he first saw her, but to break
metal with her bare hands. What happened to her? Then she smiles same
quick smile comes to her face, the same one that came after every
horrific "return," and he realizes that something is terribly wrong.

"I didn't want you to see this, but if I don't die, everyone dies."
And before the stunned agents' eyes, she walks into the fiery
furnace, the heat so great that her heavy clothes burn instantly and
they are forced to stagger back. Unbelievably, her body is still
whole as she glances over her shoulder, her figure silhouetted by the
intense heat and light, and she smiles briefly before closing the
heavy metal door shut behind her.

Now Spender breaks out of his stupor. "Mom! Mooooooom!" he 
screeches, running to the incinerator door and tries to open it. "Try" 
being the operative word, because his hands barely touch it and he 
yelps, the skin on his flesh blistering as he tries to shake off the pain. 
"What the hell?" Tears are falling down his face, but he doesn't wipe 
them away, partly because he's afraid it'll pain his hands further, and 
partly because he doesn't give a damn what his stone-faced partner 
thinks.

~*~*~

"I can't believe it," a voice cuts through the sudden gloom.

"You," the young agent's voice is filled with venom, "you did this to
her!"

"She did it to herself," the Smoking Man replies, his cigarette smoke 
making the large room seem improbably claustrophobic. "Are you saying 
I pushed her in?"

"With all the tests, kidnappings, experiments, brainwashing, yes!" his 
son shouts at him. "I can't believe you honestly thought I'd join you after 
knowing what you did to her!"

"You had proof right in front of your face," his father says calmly, puffing 
away.

"You neglected the most important part of your work, that you were the cause 
of all her suffering," Spender says, hissing as he pulls out his gun and trains 
it on the man he regrets calling "father."

"You dare shoot at your father?" The old man looks mildly affronted, but
somewhat pleased.

"I don't have a father," Spender says, but the old man is quicker than he 
thinks, and only hits the old man's arm. "Damn."

"Would you shoot your partner?" The Smoking Man is holding Fowley 
as his shield, holding a gun to her forehead.

"You bastard," the young agent squints, but can't find an
easy way to shoot his assholic sperm donor without getting Fowley
hurt or killed. Still, he holds his weapon in a two-handed grip
that's nothing but sheer agony on his burned hands.

"Excellent." The Smoking Man walks backward, his hostage serving as 
an unofficial "badge" as he makes his getaway.

~*~*~

"Something's wrong," Mulder says as Scully drives.

"A disturbance in the Force?" his wife raises an eyebrow. They're 
heading to their FBI office, since he even he can't claim the extreme 
hunch of heading to El Rico AFB from nothing at all, but it beats sitting 
at home wondering if the world will end.

His pretext is maybe they can find Skinner and confront him with the
truth about Fowley. It's not much, but if even his wife's going
stir-crazy with the suspense, he's glad he's in good company.

He grins before shaking his head. "Spender's not answering his cell, 
and neither is Fowley. And, surprise, surprise, nobody's picking up at
the basement number, either. It's a conspiracy."

"Oh, Mulder," she rolls her eyes, then hits the gas when the light turns 
green.

To his surprise, his cell phone starts to chirp with an unfamiliar number,
and he answers, "Mulder."

"This is Agent Spender," his half-bro's perennially strangled voice 
says at the other end.

The Force is
definitely disturbed, he thinks as he asks, "What's wrong?" 
"My mother killed herself and my father's kidnapped Agent Fowley," he
says tersely.

"What?!?!" Mulder's eyes get big. It's a good thing Scully's driving, or 
they'd run into another car. "How?"

"Incinerator, gunpoint," Spender replies in a ghastly parody of no-nonsense 
"Dragnet" types. "I know you have sources, call me when you find anything."

"Yeah," Mulder says numbly before hanging up. 

 "What was that?" Scully asks, concerned.

He doesn't get a chance to reply because his cell phone rings again. "Oh 
God, Fox, oh, thank God," a distraught woman says in a hushed voice 
before he finishes answering, sounding like she's at a construction site or
something.

"Who is this?" he frowns.

"Diana," she identifies herself, "the Smoking Man, he took me instead of 
Cassandra."

And the shit just keeps hitting the fan, he thinks. "Agent Spender just
called," he says, "do you know where you are?"

"On a train heading for El Rico Air Force Base," she whispers hurriedly, 
and now he recognizes the rhythmic pounding in the background as such. 
"I can't talk too long, I think they're gonna kill me if they know I'm talking
to you."

It's the second time in so many hours that he's heard that,
except now Frohike's quesadillas are sitting in his stomach like
lead. "We're coming to get you," he promises before hanging up.

"Mulder, what's going on?" Scully asks.

"Turn around," he says, "get us to El Rico AFB. Cassandra killed 
herself, the Smoking Man's kidnapped Fowley and taking her there."

"Why kidnap Fowley if they're on the same side?" Scully muses before 
pulling a dangerous U-ey in the middle of DC, not an easy feat for even
professionals.

As Mulder hangs on to his stomach, he replies, "Maybe
they're on different sides if Cassandra's out of the picture and
Fowley's the next best substitute."

"Oh, she's gonna love being considered sloppy seconds," Scully 
remarks, but there's a grimness to her face that belies her lighthearted 
words.

~*~*~

They've managed to catch up to Fowley's train at the train yards. As the 
warning bell clangs, Scully drives the car alongside the moving train. "Turn
around," Mulder tells her, hoping maybe this cockamamie idea will
work this time around. "Turn around, Scully."

Again, Scully makes a hard U-turn. The train whistle blows as train 
accelerates, the clatter of wheels on rails getting louder and louder. She 
pulls the car in front of train, then she and her husband get out, weapons in 
hand. They fire repeatedly, nearly emptying their clips, hoping that the
clang of the bullets against the metal monster bearing down on them
gets the engineer to brake. Instead, they jump the hell out of the
way as the train smashes into their car, and Mulder has an odd
disconnect of the DeLorean's fate in "Back to the Future III".

Scully closes her eyes. "Ah, shit," she sighs, her hands on
her back as her shoulders sag. Then she frowns as Mulder is dialing
away on his cell. "Are you calling Agent Spender?"

He shakes his head. "Someone higher up the chain of command with 
less hair," he smirks, unconsciously straightening up a little when the 
Skin-Man answers.

~*~*~

Fort Marlene

Spender goes to the place he most likely would suspect they'd take his 
partner, the medical facility where he mistakenly sent Agents Mulder and 
Scully more than a couple hours ago. He sees how busy everyone looks, 
and figures it's to his advantage, nobody will question why he's there. Going 
from room to room, he finds nothing but empty beds and wonders how often 
this place gets used, anyways. The last empty room he comes to, he sighs
and turns around. To his surprise, a disheveled blonde woman shuffles
through the door, her bloodshot eyes darting nervously around as she
closes it. "Please help me. They're going to leave me here."

Whatever she's infected with, he hopes it's not contagious,
and finds himself backing away a little. "Please stay away from me. I
can't help you," he says nervously.

"They're packing everything up. They aren't coming back here," the 
crazy-looking lady pleads with him. Then her expression gets canny. 
"I know you. I can help you."

Yeah, right. "You can't help me."

She shakes her head violently. "I know where they're taking her. I know 
how they're taking her. You've got to trust me, Jeffrey."

His eyes widen when she says his name, and they keep getting wider 
as she tells him about the tests they've done on her, things that have 
been done to his mother, and things that will surely happen to his partner. 
He calls Mulder's, then Scully's number, but gets a busy signal both times.
Figures. Guess it's up to him to actually do what's right and save
the damsel in distress, he muses, grabbing a wheelchair and motioning
for Marita to sit down.

Steadily, stealthily, they make their way through the chaos of rats fleeing 
a sinking ship, for that is exactly what this situation is. Nobody questions 
him, and nobody wonders why he's wheeling an obviously ill-looking woman 
down the halls. They turn a corner just a block away from freedom, only to 
find a familiar face. "Krycek," he says.

Alex Krycek looks just as surprised to see them as they are him. "Guess you 
do run into everyone at least twice," he mutters.

"You've got to help us," Spender says, "My father did this to her. She wants to 
tell her story."

Krycek snorts at his naiveté. "You sorry son of a bitch. You don't get it, do you?"
He decides to enlighten the kid again. "It's all going to hell. The rebels are going 
to win. They took it."

The agent squints, figuring he means "rebel aliens," like the kind Krycek killed 
in the fancy house. "They took what?"

The dark-haired man in the leather jacket and the blonde woman shivering in 
her hospital gown share a look, and then Krycek leaves without explanation.

Spender is about to ask Marita about Krycek, about what "it" is, but decides to 
save it for later. For now, they've got to get out of here, find a safe place for
her, and maybe he can go to sleep tonight knowing he's saved at least
one person, even if it's not the person he wanted to.

He doesn't believe in karma, but a part of him thinks that if he hadn't joined
up with his father in the first place, his mother would still be
alive. He's surprised when they come to his car, it's as if he
sleepwalked here. Not wasting any time, he opens the back seat, and
once she's in, he doesn't bother with a seatbelt as he reverses, then
drives out like a bat out of hell.

~*~*~

The next morning, it looks like a funeral at A.D. Kersh's office, despite the 
bright sunshine outside. Everyone associated with the X-Files, Skinner, 
Spender, Mulder, and Scully are there, and one can almost sense the heavy
burden they carry facing a strange new day. Kersh is looking at
photos of the burned bodies from the Air Force base, his jaw working
as he controls his emotions. "The way these people died...the loss of
life here - it is beyond words." He puts the photos back in the file
and looks up. "I can't imagine how it must be for you - losing your
mother and your partner on top of all this."

There's an odd strength in the young agent Mulder never noticed before. 
He's always been too serious, but this time, this time, it's less the arrogant 
know-it-all serious that's the curse of every new agent, but a gravity brought 
on by knowledge and pain. "Yes, sir. But that's not why I asked for this
meeting."

The A.D. is curious in spite of himself. "Why did you ask for it?"

The current head of the X-Files calmly replies, "Because I'm responsible 
for the deaths of those people at the Air Base hangar in no small way. I 
certainly didn't prevent them."

From the glint of his eyes behind his glasses, Kersh decides Spender can 
handle some hard questions. "I can assume then you can explain how they 
died? Because I have yet to hear any explanation."

They've barely talked since riding in the same elevator up to the A.D.'s 
floor, the only words being spoken was Mulder's confession that he 
roped his father into helping Cassandra, although it was all for naught. 
Spender's voice breaks through Mulder's wandering mind. "Agent Mulder 
can explain it. I think Agent Scully, to an extent," the young agent nods
at the couple. "They might have even prevented what you see in those
photos."

"Agents Scully and Mulder have been suspended by the FBI,"
Kersh says, steel in his voice.

The young man nods, "Also my doing...and my mistake."

The A.D. starts to speak, "I would ask..."

Spender interrupts him, "I'd ask, sir - before you tell me
that it's not my business - that you do everything you can to get
them back on the X-Files. Far worse can happen...and it will." He
stands, looking at Mulder and Scully with a steady gaze, knowing that
they can do the job he was never meant to.

The black A.D. is insulted that this whelp is taking off without permission. 
"Where are you going?"

"To pack up my office," Spender says simply, and heads for the door.

"Agent Spender..." He looks irritated now that Spender's started to act 
insubordinate like the former, now current, agents of the X-Files. His 
irritation only increases when Skinner abruptly leaves the room as well. He 
glares at Mulder. "You have answers now? Why didn't I hear about those 
answers before?"

Mulder had forgotten that he liked how much Spender pissed off Kersh.
Classic. "I've had answers for years," he replies. Behind his placid
façade, Mulder hopes Skinner will catch up to Spender in time. As he
recalls, this was the last time anyone saw Spender alive, or at
least, uninfected by the black oil.

They can almost hear the man's teeth grind into dust. "Then why didn't 
we hear about them?"

"No one would ever listen," the agent says blandly.

"Who burned those people?"

Mulder looks at his soon-to-be-former supervisor steadily. "They 
burned themselves. With a choice made long ago by a conspiracy
of men who thought they could sleep with the enemy. Only to awaken
another enemy."

It's obvious Kersh has had enough of the non-answers. "What the hell 
does that mean?"

"It means the future is here, and all bets are off."

Kersh turns to the seemingly more sensible agent. "Agent Scully, make 
some sense."

"Sir, I wouldn't bet against him," Scully says flatly.

~*~*~

How the hell could everything go so wrong so fast? Mulder wonders as he 
debates what next to write in his journal. Skinner found Agent Spender's 
headless body lying in a pool of his own blood, his brains splattered across 
the wall. The fact that Spender managed to fire in self-defense,
according to evidence of discharge from his weapon gave Mulder a
small measure of satisfaction, but not much. The fact that the
Smoking Man could kill his own son, sanction experiments on his own
wife and daughter only proves to him that there is nothing human
about the man, in spite of his genetic makeup.

He looks at his last words, tempted to erase them, or at least black them out, 
but decides to leave them for now. Scully sleeps soundly, already in the throes
of REM sleep, in spite of the horror of the past days. He closes his eyes, but 
instead of sleep, he feels a deep sorrow that threatens to rob him of sleep for 
the next week. He sighs, then scribbles, "Two different fathers abandoning 
two sons, who, like their fathers, were young, idealistic. Two different sons, 
warring against each other, joined forces unaware. One son, the product of 
skepticism, belief, betrayal, and hope, has become another inspiration in the 
fight against a future which must not come."

~*~*~

There's so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live
in different ones

Now the sun's gone to hell
And the moon's riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it's written in
the starlight
And every line on your palm
We're fools to make war
On our brothers in arms
-"Brothers in Arms" by Dire Straits

~*~*~

February 2nd, 1999

The doorbell rings, and Scully checks her watch. "They're early," she
muses as she goes to the door. "Hello, John," she says, a friendly
smile on her face, shaking his hand.

"Hey, Dana," he says, holding a little girl's hand. "Hey, Hannah,
this is Daddy's friend Dana. Say hi, honey."

Hannah had scootched behind her father's long legs, but after the
prompt, she steps out, looking too cute for words. "Hi," she says
softly.

"Hi, Hannah," Scully's smile deepens. Then she looks around. "Where's
Luke?"

Doggett turns, then sighs when he sees his son isn't beside him.
"Probably playing those video games that makes him double over like a
hunchback," he says in his inimitable blend of Southern and New York
accents, then chuckles. "Not like that stops him from hitting
homers."

"Baseball fan, huh?" Scully comments as she lets them in. "Hopefully
you and Mulder like the same teams, or there could be a civil war on
our hands."

"Hey, I can be a gentleman," he protests, "but if Fox is gonna try to
convert my son-"

"I highly doubt that," she laughs, thinking of how odd it is to hear
her husband's first name, and walks out to the truck parked out in
the driveway. The U-Haul attachment looks well-traveled, but none the
worse for wear. "Mulder should be home soon, so you can leave the
unloading for later," Scully says, and knocks on the backseat door.
"Luke? Are you hungry?"

The boy's head whips up from the videogame, his eyebrows up. He says
something, but it's hard to hear from behind the rolled-up window.

Scully squints. "What?"

Doggett rolls his eyes, then opens the door. "Of course he's hungry,"
he says, hauling his son out, even as the boy good-naturedly groans
against the treatment. "There's no fillin' his stomach at his age."

"Da-aaad," Luke scowls, embarrassed, as they follow the small
red-haired woman into the house.

His father gives him the most innocent look he can muster without
cracking up. "Hey, no use lyin' to the lady, we're gonna be stayin'
at their place for a while."

Scully waves them to the living room, with the age-old gesture to sit
down. "I've only got messy food today," she apologizes.

"S'okay," Doggett says, stretching out on the couch. "Hey, where's
the kids?"

"When they smell it, they'll come." Scully smiles, and disappears
into the kitchen.

"Messy food?" Hannah stares up at her father.

He shrugs, but it isn't long before Page slides down the banister,
followed by her brother Sammy, while April does an interesting
sit-walk down the stairs, with her feet hitting the next step, then
her butt. "Hi," the blonde girl says, staring at their visitors.

"'Member me? I'm your folks' friend, John Doggett," Doggett waves,
sitting up a little, but not moving towards her so as not to startle
her.

~*~*~

Scully comes out with sandwiches, cookies and drinks precariously
balanced on a large tray. At the same time, Mulder comes in through
the front door, and he's got a big smile on his face. "Nice timing,"
he says, grinning when his kids rush up to grab his legs. "Hi, John."

"Hey, Fox," Doggett says, standing up and walking over to shake the
man's hand. "Thanks for having us."

"Call me Mulder, and we'll be friends for life," Mulder says, shaking
his hand as Scully pries their children off his legs.

"Mol-dah," Doggett says, trying it out. "Okay." He turns around to
re-introduce his kids, and groans. "Luke," he chides his son, who's
already stuffing his face with cookies.

Mulder laughs. "He'll develop a normal stomach by the time he gets to
our age," he says, shucking his coat before picking up little April.
"So," he says, leading his family over to where the food is, "are you
ready to go through basic training all over again?"

The other man shrugs, joining his son on the couch. "I been workin'
the streets of New York all these years, how much harder can it be?"

Scully raises an eyebrow but says nothing, while Mulder chuckles.
"Well, let's see, you probably won't have too much trouble with
counterterrorism, ethics, with practical law enforcement
applications, communications and interviewing, informant development,
evidence collection and handling, equal opportunity employment and
cultural sensitivity, counterintelligence, human behavior,
communications and interviewing, constitutional criminal procedure,
physical fitness and defensive tactics, firearms, and practical
problems." If he notices his wife giving him a suspicious look, he
doesn't acknowledge it. "What about computer intrusions and fraud, or
computer search and seizure?"

Doggett whistles. "Sounds like somebody memorized the handbook," he
says. "I'm okay with basic word processin', but Luke here's got me
beat in pretty much everythin' when it comes to computers. I figure
I'll pick up what's necessary, ask around for help." He shrugs. "Hey,
if I can handle thirteen o' those, two more shouldn't hurt."

Now Mulder struggles to keep a game face on. The guy actually
counted? Either he's more anal than Jeffrey, or he's got pretty damn
good recall. When he sees the guy's smirk, however, he realizes
there's another wiseass in the house, and he grins. He forgot to
never underestimate this guy. "I'm sure you'll do great these next
couple of months."

"Eat up, guys," Scully tells them. "You'll need that energy to move
all those boxes instead of your mouths."

"You're not going to help?" Mulder looks shocked.

"Love you," she answers, shoving a sandwich into his mouth.

~*~*~

February 4th, 1999

Scully looks up at the clock. "I can't believe we got home before he
did," she says. "It's nearly midnight."

Mulder looks up from his reading, articles on Tibetan beliefs and
artifacts temporarily forgotten. Blinking from behind his reading
glasses, he also glances at the clock and nods. "Have you forgotten
those long days of nonstop researching, physical training, and
teamwork-building?"

Now she gives him a look. "What are you talking about? Between our
job and our family, it seems like it hasn't ended."

He takes off his glasses, grinning. "Fun, isn't it?"

Scully rolls her eyes. "I put a box of Epsom salt in the guest
bathroom, along with some heating pads, bandages and aspirin. Think
he'll need anything else?"

Mulder makes a face. "Wish I'd known you when I was going through
training, you could've been my replacement mom."

She laughs. "Mulder, *any*one who knows how to take care of you could
be your replacement mother. Besides, John's not young anymore, and I
shudder to think how nonstop training is going to affect him now."
She shakes her head and pats the space next to her on the bed.
"Besides, you staying up for him makes it seem like you're the
worried parent, not me."

He grins. "He's got a key, a cell phone, and is a grown man. Why
would I worry about him?"

"Because he's your friend who's going through a rough time on top of
dealing with Quantico?"

Mulder puts away his papers where the kids can't get them, smiling
away from her. "Okay, Miss Mind Reader, what am I thinking of now?"

"I'm thinking, Mr. Worrywart, that if you don't get to bed soon, I'm
going to have to drag you to bed."

"Is that so?" Mulder leers over at his wife.

She rolls her eyes, and they hear someone stumbling through the
hallway downstairs. "Sounds like he's home. Get over here, you."

Mulder blinks, then locks the door. "Are you hitting on me?"

Scully laughs, undignified chortles escaping her normally temperate
demeanor. "Shut up, Mulder."

"Make me." He grins, jumping into bed with an aplomb Sammy would
admire. What would follow, however, wouldn't be suitable for his
son's or any of their children's or guests' eyes.

~*~*~

Chapter Seventy-Two

Hoover Building February 20th, 1999

Skinner looks faintly amused when his agents come in to discuss their
new assignment.

"What's the case?" Scully asks.

"There have been several disappearances in a gated community,"
Skinner tells them. "The missing are presumed dead."

"You want us to start an investigation?"

"Not exactly. We're arranging to rent the house the last suspected
victims lived in, for a couple with young children."

"Us?" Mulder asks knowingly.

"You two and, I hope you don't mind me being presumptuous that you'd
give permission, your little ones."

"You want us to bring five children on a case?" Scully asks, sounding
shocked.

"Actually, no. Page and Sammy are cute kids, but they're also smart
enough to ask questions or make remarks that might blow your cover.
We'll pay for child care for them while you're gone. What about
April, is she talking yet?"

"A little," Mulder tells him. "Not enough to carry on a conversation
yet."

"You can bring her and the twins. That'll look wholesome."

"Uh, okay," Mulder says less than happily. It's not a case he really
wants the babies around for, but to object would seem highly
suspicious. "When do we move into 'our new house'?"

"The twenty-fourth of this month."

~*~*~

5:54 p.m.

When they get home, Mulder looks for Doggett and finds him in the
study. The other man reading over a book for class. "Hey, John,
something has come up that I wanted to talk to you about."

"What's that?"

"Scully and I have been assigned to an undercover case, posing as a
couple with three young children."

Doggett raises his eyebrows. "Three?"

"Skinner doesn't want the older kids to come because what they might
say is a threat to our undercover status. So they'll have to stay
behind with Michelle and you guys."

"You're not going to say that I'll be the man of the house while
you're gone, are you?" Doggett smirks.

"Wouldn't dream of it. Though it's true. You're okay with this, I
hope."

"As long as Michelle can get them off to preschool in the morning so
I'm not late to my own classes, sure. We'll be fine."

"Good." All he could do was hope that the case went as safely as the
last time around. "Remind me to show you where we keep the cat food.
Though I'm sure that Page would show you if I forget. She likes to
feed them. Um…just don't let her measure out the dry food herself."

"No problem."

~*~*~

Washington, DC February 24th, 1999

Things get off to a slow start, because when they check in with
Skinner in the morning, Scully begins to have second thoughts about
leaving Page and Sammy behind.

"Maybe we should ask Skinner if we can bring them." She suggests
while he gathers the equipment they need from their office.

"We didn't pack for them," he reminds her. "They wouldn't have any
beds. Or clothes, or toys."

"I know but what if they think we're playing favorites?" Scully
frets.

"They're too young to think that," Mulder tells her as he packs their
casefile into April's diaper bag.

"But what if they're not? Then we won't be there to explain to them
that we don't love the little ones more, and it's just for work."

"Scully, Michelle is a trained professional, and John's a father. I
think they could reassure them if they by some chance do worry that
we don't love them as much as the younger kids. Besides, with Hannah
and Luke there to play with, they probably won't even know that we're
gone."

"But what if-"

Mulder waves his arms in exasperation. "If we don't leave now we're
going to miss our flight, lose out deposit on the moving van and
minivan, won't get the movie van filled on time and Skinner will kill
us!"

"I guess we need to get going," Scully says contritely. It's all he
can do not to roll his eyes.

~*~*~

San Diego County, California The Falls at Arcadia

When Mulder pulls their borrowed minivan into the driveway, he leaves
room for the moving truck that's following them to get into the
driveway too. Very little of the stuff in the truck is actually
theirs, but borrowed from some place that the FBI in California uses
to store props for undercover missions. The mini-van has most of
their clothes and baby stuff in it, though.

Along side the driveway sees a nervous looking woman standing to the
side, holding a ridiculously large basket with a ribbon emblazoned
with "welcome neighbors."

"Hope you like Bath and Body," Mulder whispers to his wife.

"Be quiet, Rob."

"You know, Laura, I've always wanted to broach the idea of
play-acting to spice up the old marriage, but until now I didn't
think you'd go for it," Mulder whispers in what he hopes is a
seductive manner.

Scully dashes that hope by laughing at him as she climbs out of the
minivan.

Frowning a little, Mulder adjusts the sweater Scully insisted on
wrapping around his neck, despite the fact it makes him look like a
complete dandy. Or, he suspects, because it does. Before his thoughts
get too deep into fashion, he reaches into the back seat and lets
April out of her car seat. "Go see Mommy." He commands, then turning
to the task of seeing to the boys.

"Up we go!" Scully swings her daughter up to settle on her hip while
Mulder carries over the babies.

Putting on his best yuppie smile, Mulder exclaims, "Wow. Take a look
at this. Honey, what do you think? Is this place us or what?"

The nervous woman soon joins them with a bright look. "You must be
the Petrels. Hi. Welcome. Welcome to The Falls." She looks down at
the basket she's holding, then at the little ones. "I'll bring this
in for you."

"Thanks."

"I'd shake your hand, but I've got mine full. I'm Rob and this is my
lovely wife, Laura."

"Rob and Laura Petrie," Pat says, making it sound like the TV
characters the names were in fact borrowed from.

"We pronounce it 'Pee-trie,' actually," Scully corrects.

"Oh."

"Like the dish," Mulder supplies helpfully.

"Well, it's so nice to meet you. I'm Pat Verlander. I live six doors
down. I'm the neighborhood welcome wagon."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Pat," Scully tells her.

"Who are these little folks?"

"I'm not sure," Mulder replies with a straight-face. "We bought them
off a band of roving gypsies just last night, and haven't thought of
names yet. Got a pretty good deal, on them too."

"You'll have to excuse my husband's odd sense of humor. He's under
the impression that he's funny. This is our daughter Morgan, and the
twin boys are Riley and Bailey," Scully replies, using the names she
and Mulder agreed sounded pretentious enough to be appropriate for
the setting.

"They're adorable," Pat gushes. "How old are they?" 

"Morgan will be two on April Fool's Day, and the boys are going to be
six months later this week," Mulder tells her. They figure there's
not really any point to lying about the kids' ages, since it's fairly
easy for people to figure out their approximate ages anyway.

"I wish I'd had my kids that close together," Pat laments, and it
takes a lot for Mulder to keep from blurting out that of all their
kids, April and the twins are the farthest apart in ages. Good sense
prevails when it reminds him that they're only supposed to have three
kids, not five. Pat, meanwhile, is giving her watch an anxious look.
"I really must say, it's already ten after 5:00. I don't think you're
going to make it."

"I'm sorry?" Scully asks, giving her a puzzled look as she hitches
April higher on her hip.

"The 6 o'clock cutoff? All move-ins are required to be completed by 6
p.m.." She frowns a bit when she sees Scully's genuinely blank look,
and Mulder's faux one. "It's in the CC&Rs. It's one of our rules. We
shouldn't waste any more time out here." She leads them into the
house.

"Wow. The photos did not do it justice," Mulder remarks as he sets
the boys on the rug. "I'm going to nip out to the truck and grab the
playpen. We don't want Morgan underfoot, now, do we?"

"Thanks Rob," Scully tells him as she sets the toddler down and leans
over the now fussing babies.

By the time Mulder gets out to the truck, with Pat hot on his heels,
the neighbors have assembled as if by magic.

Like a general gearing her troops up for battle, Pat quietly
instructs. "Guys, fast, fast now. Come on."

Mulder smiles to himself, glad that the people here are still so
predictable. Before he can straighten up from plopping April in the
playpen, there are neighbors already in the house.

"The previous owners left it so clean," Mulder remarks to Pat, who is
back nearby, apparently satisfied that her wishes regarding truck
emptying are being carried out. "I don't think we'll even have to
disinfect the floors before letting the boys have blanket time."

"What do you do for a living Mr...Petrie? That's right, isn't it?"

Mulder grins and hugs his wife. "Yeah, I, uh...I work mostly at home
which is great for Laura because she gets me all to herself. I'm a
part-time writer, and full time dad." Pulling a face, he adds,
"Before you ask, I compile research for a pair of scientists studying
a rare species of jellyfish, so no one's read my work."

This makes Pat laugh. "Oh." 

"This place really is immaculate, Pat," Scully says, trying to be
cool and calm. "I, uh, I wouldn't mind sending a thank-you note to
the previous owners."

"Th-that's sweet. Um..." She pretends to be interested in looking at
what the neighbors are doing. "Good." Then she wanders off without
giving Scully any indication that she'll be providing that address.

 Things go okay with the unloading, until Big Mike drops the box with
Scully's scientific equipment in it. Mulder winces, thinking to
himself that some things really do never change.

"Oh, no. I'm...I'm so sorry. I'm really sorry. Send me any bills.
I'm...I'm sorry."

"Ah, don't worry about it," Scully tells him. She looks relieved when
one of the women sends him back outside so he can't apologize any
more.

Her savior introduces herself. "I'm Cami Shroeder, by the way. Win's
wife."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Laura."

"Mama!" April shrieks from the playpen. 

Scully turns long enough to catch her daughter's imploring look.
Turning back to Cami, she says, "Sorry, it looks like our oldest has
had enough of the people going in and out."

"I bet you have too," Cami remarks, earning a smile from Scully. 

Outside, Mulder and Win discuss the basketball hoop. After Win
expresses concern that it's against the rules, Mulder gives up.
"Just...put it in the garage."

Everything is moved in by exactly 5:59. And people looked thrilled
that they made the deadline. Standing on the steps, Mulder and Scully
wave good-bye while they disperse.

Scully starts to go in, but Mulder stops her. "Hey...ooh, wait a
minute. You didn't let me carry you over the threshold."

"Nice stall tactic. You ready?" 

"Let's get it on, honey." 

"All right, then," Scully says with a smile. Then she hands him a
pair of gloves before rummaging in the box Big Mike dropped.

"Jesh, that looks like something Sammy would do," Mulder comments as
he looks over her shoulder.

Scully sighs. "Thanks to our friendly neighbors there will be no
fluorescein bloodstain enhancement."

Nodding, he bends over and tries to pull up the carpet in the corner
of the room. "Not that it makes much difference. This place is so
clean my mother might eat off the floor."

"She wouldn't."

"Hey, she might," he tells her while watching her pull out a video
camera. ::we could have such fun with that.::

"Okay. 6:01 p.m., February 24. Agents Scully and Mulder-"

"And junior g-men and g-woman Jared, David and April," Mulder adds.

Ignoring him, Scully continues. "-in the former home of David and
Nancy Kline who disappeared without a trace last July. The Klines
were the third such couple to disappear since this neighborhood was
built in 1991. All were apparently stable professional people with no
history of violence, domestic discord or mental illness and it took a
family member or employee to realize that they were gone including
their cars and a few personal items. What local police found in each
case was nothing - just impeccably-manicured homes and a community of
neighbors who professed total ignorance that anyone had disappeared,"
Scully tells the camera.

"That's pretty surprising considering how nutty this bunch is about
being neighborly," Mulder remarks.

"The local police department were at a dead end so they turned to the
FBI. AD Skinner, in assigning us this case, thought a fruitful
approach to the investigation would be if we went undercover posing
as prospective home buyers as this planned community would seem to
hide a dark, possibly murderous conspiracy of silence," Scully
concludes.

"You want to make a sequel to our honeymoon video now?"

She smirks at him and turns off the camera. "We've made several
sequels of another nature, don't you think?"

"What the kids? Sure. But you know, Laura, we're supposed to preserve
precious memories on tape too," Mulder says solemnly.

Scully smirks at him. "You consider our passionate, but occasionally
sweaty, moments precious?"

"Oh yeah," Mulder replies with enthusiasm. 

"That reminds me, Rob and Laura Petrie?"

"Pee-trie."

"Mulder, if we ever go undercover again I get to choose the names,
okay?"

"Fine."

"This name choice tells me that you're not taking this seriously." 

"I'm taking it seriously. I just don't understand why we're on it.
It's our first official case back on the X-Files. This isn't an
X-File."

"Sure it is. It's unexplained. What do you want, aliens? Tractor
beams?"

"Wow. Admit it, Laura, you just want to stay in a non-haunted house."


Before she can reply, the doorbell rings. It is Big Mike holding a
hastily filled box of china.

"Hi. Well, you didn't need to do that," she says, trying not to let
her dubiousness about the cleanliness of the china show.

"Oh, please take it. I have more dishes than I need. I just usually
use one and then...wash it. Uh...I'm...uh, Mike Raskub, by the way,"
he says, offering his free hand.

"Hi."

"Big Mike, for obvious reasons. I just live the next street over."

Her eyes light on his necklace. "Oh. That's a caduceus. Are you a
doctor, Mike?"

"No, a vet. Veterinarian. If you folks are thinking about getting a
dog or any pet I'd be happy to check it out for you, no charge. Just,
uh...you're not allowed to have over 16 pounds of pet. That's one of
the CC&Rs."

"Mighty nice of you, Mike. I, uh...gosh, with all this hospitality, I
can't believe the Klines ever left. That, uh...that was their name,
wasn't it? The, uh, the Klines?"

Big Mike looks uncomfortable until April wanders over providing a
reason to change the topic. "Aww, she looks just like you, except for
having her daddy's eyes, looks like. I love kids."

"Do you?" Scully asks. "Have any of your own?"

"No, not yet. I'm still looking for the right woman who's willing to
put up with me. It was nice talking to you, see you around."

She's just closed the door when Mulder calls to her. "Scully, take a
look at this. I found it on a fan blade," Mulder says, trading her
the china for an evidence bag. Inside the bag is something brown and
only an inch or so in length. "Looks like whoever cleaned this place
maybe missed a spot. That look like blood to you?"

"Mm-hmm." Both of them look at the ceiling fan. "How'd it get way up
there?"

"Flying squirrel?" he blurts out his thought before he can stop
himself.

"What?"

"It's just that...nevermind. I think the boys need to be changed. I
go do that," he mumbles, leaving her to stare at the fan and
contemplate rodents.

~*~*~

Late That Night

After lacing up his sneakers, Mulder pauses to kiss Scully on the
cheek.

"What are you up to?"

"I'm going to jog. Be back soon."

"Stay out of trouble!" she calls as he heads out the door.

Once outside he brushes his fingers against the pocket of his sweats.
It's still there.

Trying not to be too obvious, Mulder takes a meandering path to his
destination: Big Mike's house.

Jogging close to the house, he quickly finds what he expected to. The
light near Big Mike's front door is broken. Looking around to make
sure that no one, including Big Mike, is watching, he quickly pulls
the fresh bulb from his pocket and changes out the broken one.

When he jogs away, he's whistling to himself. ::Things are going to
be different this time.::

~*~*~

Ten Hours Later

Except when he pushes the twins' carriage past Big Mike's house the
next day, he sees that things aren't different at all. Win is washing
what looks suspiciously like blood off the steps again. The bulb he
replaced is shattered.

He barely listens as Win offers explanations as to why he's cleaning
up for the neighbor and invites them to dinner. Why hadn't replacing
the bulb changed anything?

~*~*~

Gene Gogolak's House 
That Afternoon 

While Mulder tries to juggle his fussy sons, Gene looks through the
rule book for the community.

Pretending that David isn't crying right next to him, Gene finds his
place. "All right, then, let's see. Basketball hoop and backboard.
Portable. Nope, I'm sorry. It's not allowed."

"You're kidding?" Mulder asks. "I was hoping to be able to teach the
boys to shoot hoops."

"I'm afraid not. Rules are rules…I suppose when they're older you can
bring them to the community rec center. It may not sound like
anything - a simple basketball hoop - but from there, it's just a few
short steps to spinning daisy reflectors and a bass boat in the
driveway."

"In other words, anarchy," Mulder deadpans.

"It may sound tough but ours is a system that works." Gene gives the
book a look like it contains the wisdom of the ages. "That's why The
Falls is one of the top-ranked planned communities in all of
California. Most of our homeowners have been here since day one."

"But not all of them, I suppose," Scully says, relieving Mulder of
Jared so he can better attempt to calm David.

"No, a few have left." Gene admits. "This community isn't for
everyone." He adds pointedly.

Mulder gives Scully an innocent look, but she doesn't buy it.

~*~*~

Scroeder Residence 
6:37 p.m.

"Open up, Morgan," Scully demands, and April shakes her head. She
sighs, wondering why Sammy is the only child they have who'll eat
without being held down.

"I was a picky eater when I was little too." Win remarks fondly.
"So...Where'd you two meet?"

Taking advantage of Scully's preoccupation, Mulder says, "Actually,
it was at a UFO conference."

Win nearly chokes on his tuna casserole. "Flying saucers?
Interesting. Wouldn't have thought you folks would have been into
that."

Mulder gives Scully's arm an affectionate pat. "Well, it's not me so
much as Laura. She's quite the New-Ager. I mean, she's into those
magnetic bracelets and crystals and mood rings, what have you. I
mean, God bless her, she's a sucker for all that stuff."

"Well, I wouldn't have guessed that, would you?" Cami asks her
husband.

"Mm-mm."

"No kidding," Scully says, faking a smile.

"I was always something of a scifi buff, so as far as I was concerned
it was a match made in heaven," Mulder continues. "Although I didn't
take my friend Mel's advice about renting a star trek costume to wear
while proposing. It didn't seem appropriate for a restaurant
setting."

Beside him Scully nearly strangles on her laughter.

Smiling, Cami looks down at Jared and changes the subject. "Your
children are beautiful."

"Thank you." Mulder grins, then tickles April to make her laugh.
"We've agreed to try to give them a more grounding in reality than
Laura's secret interests, though. If they want to believe in power
crystals when they're adults, though, that's their choice."

Instead of replying to the comment, Scully bolts up suddenly and
mumbles 'excuse me' before covering her mouth and racing to the
bathroom Cami point out during the brief tour of the house.

Mulder watches her, then affects a sympathetic tone. "I don't know
why they call it morning sickness. It strikes poor Laura at all hours
of the day."

Cami shoots him a surprised look. "She's pregnant?"

"Yup. More than three months gone. She should start showing in just a
few weeks."

"But your babies are so young!" Cami blurts out, and immediately
looks horrified that she has.

"I know. But she insisted that waiting a whole nine months after our
daughter was born to conceive the boys was far too long." Looking to
make sure that Scully isn't on her way back, Mulder smiles at Win. "I
don't know any woman who loves being pregnant more than Laura, bless
her heart. She thinks three months was still too long, and resents
her doctor's sticking to that six weeks guideline."

"Reminds me a bit about those redhead jokes," Win says, earning a
dirty look from his wife.

"All the rumors are true," Mulder says with a smirk. "And if you'd
like to see the famed redhead temper, tell her one of those jokes."

"Don't worry, I won't," Win promises.

"I took a look in the regulations," Mulder confides. "I'm glad that
there's nothing in there about a limit on your family size. With
Laura's baby lust, and how strongly twins run in my family - my
sister Pam is eight months pregnant with her third set - I wouldn't
be surprised if we end up with enough kids for a basketball team. Or
maybe a state record for most children."

"Wow," Cami says faintly.

"As nice as the house is, I can't see it holding more than six kids.
I don't think we'll be here more than a couple of years."

The neighbors are still working the math out in their heads when
Scully comes back. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Your husband explained that it was morning
sickness rather than my cooking," Cami tells her.

Scully shoots Mulder a look before sitting down, and ignores his
sheepish smile.

Putting down his fork, Mulder looks up at the other couple. "Yeah.
You know, Win, uh, when you, uh...when you told me this morning that
Big Mike was out of town on business...I don't think that's true,"
Mulder says, referring to a conversation they had before seeing Gene.

"You don't?"

"Mmm. No, 'cause we called his office, didn't we, Honey?"

"We did."

Win looks distinctly uncomfortable.

"We're thinking about getting a puppy for Morgan - got to teach kids
responsibly young - so we wanted to call him and ask him his advice,
whatever, and see if maybe his office had a forwarding number and
they said, you know..."

"That he wasn't there. They didn't know where he was," Scully
concludes.

"Yeah." Mulder pauses. "So, do you know where he is, Win?"

Cami Shroeder looks at her husband and he laughs uncomfortably. "I
really couldn't tell you."

"Mmm. It's got to be something really freaky-deaky, hunh? I mean, for
him to lie about it like that? Maybe he's got some wild secret life
going on." He and Scully exchange a look. "But every community has
its dark underbelly don't you think?"

"We don't have any underbelly. As far as I'm concerned this community
is the American Dream," Win says defensively. Mulder nods, but his
expression looks far from convinced.

Cami gets up abruptly. 'Um...I'm sorry. I, um...realize that it's
past time that I walk Scruffy".

"Would you like some company?" Scully asks.

"Yeah," Cami says, looking grateful.

"I'll, uh, keep an eye on the kids, then," Mulder says.

"Good."

~*~*~

"So is this the American dream? This place?"

"Oh, uh...nice neighborhood, you know...just a lot of people who want
the best for their families."

 "So it's just not your dream," Scully says, and Cami shrugs. "Do you
and Win plan to have a family?"

Cami looks terrified for a second, "No, um, no," then her pleasant
mask falls back into place.

"Oh. It's just that you clearly like children."

"I do but, Win…"

Scully nods, but she looks around her. "You know, Cami, I-I've
noticed that you've, uh, walked us past Mike's house...twice. Are you
worried about him?"

"No...I don't really know what you mean," Cami says, sounding
nervous. Just then Scruffy pricks up his ears, then gives a hard tug
on the leash, making Cami let it go. The leash trails behind the dog
until he disappears headfirst into a storm drain.

Cami winces and looks down at her abraded palm before yelling for her
pet. "Scruffy! Scruffy, come here! Scruffy, no! Scruffy! Come out
here!" When she pauses for breath, they both hear barking. "Scruffy!
Scruffy, come out of there."

Both women kneel and Scully shines her flashlight into the drain.
Cami looks over Scully's shoulder, and asks, "Do you see him?"

"Uh-uh," Scully replies, distracted. The dog isn't the only thing she
can see: Big Mike's caduceus necklace is caught up in the drain too.
She tries to grab it, but can't reach. And the dog rockets out of the
drain yelping, anyway.

Cooing to the dog, Cami picks it up. "Oh, Scruffy, Scruffy, it's
okay, it's okay. I got you. I got you. Oh..."

"What you got there?" Scully asks the dog, noting that he's got a
brown smudge on his face, while Cami continues to fuss over him, she
reaches for a handkerchief. "Let me wipe that off." He lets her so
she gives him a pat. "That's a good boy."

"That's a close one, huh? Yeah? Thought I lost you down the drain!
Okay, let's get you home. Come on."

"Rob and I had a dog," Scully remarks wistfully. "The sitter let him
out, and he got run over."

"That's so sad," Cami says sympathetically, holding her dog tighter.
Before they go back in the house to find Mulder and Win, Cami grabs
Scully's arm and hisses. "I lied. This isn't a good place to raise a
family. If I were you, I'd grab my babies and run."

"But wh-" Before Scully can finish, Cami is back in the house, acting
like she never said anything odd.

 ~*~*~

Late That Night

"Okay, sweetie, I love you…yes, I love you too, Sammy. Behave for
John and Michelle, okay?" After he closes his cell phone, Mulder
heads up to the bedrooms. The little ones are all sleeping in their
cribs, and Scully is speaking to the Lieutenant on the land line.

He holds out a small plastic bag to her. "It was still there," he
says, meaning the necklace she told him about.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. We'll keep you updated." Once she hangs up,
she looksat the necklace. "Local PD came up blank on Mike Raskub. No
activity on his credit cards. No sighting of his '97 Mercury
Villager."

"Yeah, there's no sign of him in his house. I didn't see him in the
storm drain, either. I take it he's dead, Scully. Which is a damn
shame since he seemed like a nice guy."

"That doesn't mean much, Mulder. They all seem nice, but someone's
the killer. Do you suspect Win?"

"Mmm, maybe. I did see Win cleaning up, but that doesn't mean he did
it."

"Cleaning up for who?"

"I don't know."

"Hey, what do we know about the stuff I found on the fan blade and
you wiped off the dog?"

"I'm driving down to San Diego tomorrow and have it analyzed. I'm not
taking the kids."

"All right."

"Why kill Big Mike?" Scully asks. "What's missing here is intent.
What would be the motive?"

"Compulsive neatness, or a lack thereof. Have you noticed how
everybody around here is obsessed with the neighborhood rules and the
CC&Rs? You know what? You fit in really well here."

"And you don't. It's a wonder we keep the house clean."

"We do have five kids, that makes things less than sterile."

"You say that like I don't remember the state of your apartment
before we married."

"Uh…got me." He pats the bed beside him seductively and waggles his
eyebrows at her. She raises her eyebrows at him. "Laura, come on.
We've got to christen our new house."

"This isn't 'our new house', dear."

"What will the neighbors think if they never hear moans of passion
coming from our place?"

"Do yuppies make moans of passion?"

"I don't know about yuppies, but you sure do."

Smirking at him, Scully climbs into bed, and then scales him.
"Kettle, meet pot."

"Hey, I never said I didn't."

If any neighbors are listening, they'll soon realize that all is
right with Rob and Laura's marriage.

~*~*~

The Next Morning

Mulder is lying on his back with his eyes closed when he feels a
small tug on his sweat pants. Opening his eyes, he looks down at
April's happy face.

"I see that Mommy has set you loose."

"Arrr!"

"Arrr?" he repeats, confused. "Have you been watching pirate movies
with Sammy?"

April extends two chubby fingers, and points at the window. "Arrr!"

"Huh. Okay…" There's obviously something she wants him to see, and
he's beginning to hope it's not a bear eating the garbage.

Once he looks out the window, the blood drains from his face. There,
out on the lawn, is an enormous play structure, shaped like a pirate
ship. "Oh, that's not good, April." He turns his head towards the
door. "Scully!"

She appears in a moment, holding a baby with a half-snapped onsie
dangling around his toes. "What's the problem?"

"Um… you didn't buy that, did you?" he asks, pointing out the window.

"No, I can't say that I did," Scully says. She then lays Jared on the
bed and finishes snapping him up. "Maybe it's a gift."

"I don't think we should send a thank-you note," he mutters, thumbing
though the rule book. When he finds what he fears, he sighs. "I know
you wanted to get an early start dropping that stuff off, but could
you put if off a while? I need to take that thing apart before anyone
notices."

"Yeah, sure," Scully tells him. "I'm going to finish getting them
dressed anyway."

~*~*~

It's chilly out, but Mulder hasn't bothered to waste time getting
dressed, so goosebumps raise on his arms while he pulls the play
structure apart. His anger helps to keep him warm, however. He hadn't
intended to duplicate any of his earlier antics, since he didn't want
to risk having the babies hurt, so this against the rules addition to
their lawn was most unwelcomed.

Gene must have seen him changing the light bulb. And what's more
chilling is the nature of his little gift – a child's toy. It makes
him scared for his children.

~*~*~

Scully returns from the lab with the results and a rose bush. She
thrusts the bagged bush into his hands. "Plant this. Don't worry,
it's allowed. I check the book."

"Sure." He finds a shovel out in the garage, next to the basketball
hoop and the pieces of the pirate ship.

He's about half-way through digging the hole when Scully joins him
out on the lawn. "Don't worry, they're napping." She stares at a spot
of grass a few feet away. "What's that?"

Before he can say anything, she's squatting down and tugging at the
sod. "Damn, Rob, it looks like a tunnel!"

"If there's one of these in every yard, it would explain how the
killer got from house to house without the neighbors seeing
anything," Mulder remarks.

"If there is a killer," Scully says. "These are the lab results from
the San Diego PD. First of all, the stuff that we found on the fan
blade - the dried blood and scalp hairs? It's neither. The blood is
predominantly ketchup and brake fluid and the hairs are bristles from
a scrub brush and the same goes for the sample we found on the dog's
muzzle. It's coffee grounds, eggshells and motor oil with about 50
other constituents with a little mercurochrome for color. In other
words, Mulder, it's garbage. Which makes perfect sense because this
entire neighborhood has been built upon an old landfill."

"A landfill?"

"Mm-hmm. We found this stuff everywhere because it is everywhere.
It's just beneath the topsoil and that protrusion in the front yard
may occur from the venting of methane gas but...Mulder, I don't see
how any of this has to do with the disappearances that we're
investigating."

"If someone's using these tunnels, they're bound to track this stuff
wherever they go." Mulder points out.

"Suppose this stuff was left by the killers. Where are the Klines
now?" she asks. "They never found any bodies…" She trails off and
gives the lawn a horrified look. "Rob, what if they're still here?"

He shrugs. "Even if they are, we can't just go digging up the yard.
Our cover would be blown."

"Yeah…" She starts when the baby monitor receiver gives off a burst
of static. "Let's go inside, Rob."

~*~*~

The Next Day

A rumbling sound pulls Mulder out of his sleep. Yawning, he goes to
the window to see what's making all the noise, thinking perhaps that
it's the trash truck. It's not.

"Oh my God!" Mulder howls. "Laura!"

"Hey Rob," Scully greets him. "They got here earlier than I
expected."

"What about not wanting to blow our cover?" he sputters, staring at
the backhoe that's ripping up their lawn.

"Don't worry, I'm having them put in a Japanese rock garden." She
smiles. "And if they happen to dig up a body, well…"

"A rock garden?"

"There's nothing in the rules against it. Pat seemed a little upset
when she saw it though."

::Are you trying to mark us for death?! This isn't going to end
well.::

For the rest of the day he stares out the window, watching the
backhoe, and waiting for the monster.

~*~*~

The rock garden isn't planned for the same spot as the long ago
tranquility pool Mulder had put in, and this makes all the
difference. There's a bunch of alarmed shouting at twilight, and both
agents run out to see what the commotion is.

"An arm!" the foreman shrieks. "I think this is a human arm!"

Looking down into the hole, Mulder sees dull white. "I think you're
right."

Scully grabs his arm. "Rob, you've got to go to the police."

"Let's talk about this inside," Mulder hisses, and pulls her into the
house. "Go to the police, Scully?"

"You're the one concerned about not breaking cover. A normal, non-law
enforcement man would drive off to the cops immediately. He wouldn't
have connections to the force already that he could call up."

"Um, okay. Let me bring the kids," he says, thinking fast.

"Take April if you want, but the babies are sleeping."

"Laura…" 

"Rob, this isn't a dangerous situation, so a person wouldn't drive
off with their kids like the hounds of hell were after them."

"Maybe they would," he whines. "I just want to be authentic."

"Go on, would you? I don't want you to wake them and have them both
up all night."

::Please God, let things be okay.:: Mulder thinks as he straps April
into her car seat and pulls out of the driveway. Instead of heading
to the police, he calls them and drives to Gene's house.

~*~*~

There's a thump somewhere in the house, which makes Scully jump in
alarm. Then both infants started to wail. What scares her more is
that while she hunts for her gun, the babies' crying seems to get
closer. And there are footsteps.

She nearly screams when a large figure comes into the room cradling
her sons. "It's come for you, Laura. You can't make a noise. Shh.
Shh."

Big Mike holds the babies out to her, and she grabs them before
looking her neighbor over. He's dirty and bloody. "Mike. What
happened to you?"

"You have to get out of here. Now."

"Why?" There's a huge thud downstairs, and Mike shakes his head. Then
he begins pushing furniture in front of the door.

"Wait a minute, who's downstairs?" Scully asks. "It can't be Rob."

Big Mike holds a finger to his lips. "Shh, shh, shh."

"Mike...who did this to you?"

"The ubermenscher. It's our fault. The original homeowners - we asked
for it and now we can't stop it." He gives the boys a sad smile, and
they look up at him wide-eyed and silent. Mike finds the gun she
misplaced and picks it up.

"Stop what, Mike?" she demands to know. He just shakes his head.
"Mike, listen, settle down. Okay. Just give me my gun. I'm a federal
agent..."

"The ubermenscher wants you, Laura and your husband. Digging up the
yard was a big mistake." As his words fade away, something smashes
against the door. He pushes Scully behind him.

"Mike, just give me the gun. Give me..."

"How are you going to shoot and protect them?" he asks, shaking his
head again. "Closet. Now."

Finding that he's got a point, Scully turns and puts her little sons
on the floor. Before she can back out to help Mike, he swings the
closet door closed, locking it.

Her view is obstructed through the closet door's slats, even more so
when Mike slides a bureau in front of the door. Something breaks down
the bedroom door. There are shots, and screaming. She fears the
worst.

~*~*~

Meanwhile

Gene struggles on the passenger side of Mulder's car. It took Mulder
longer than he thought to cuff him and force him into the car. It
probably would have been easier to put him in the back, but that'd
mean he'd be next to April.

"I'm going to make it my goal to see you in jail for the Klines'
murders," Mulder growls as he pulls up to the house.

"When the judge asks you how I killed the Klines what are you going
to tell him?"

"A tulpa. It's a Tibetan thought-form. It's a living, breathing
creature willed into existence by someone who possesses that ability
- an ability I think you picked up on yourr whirligig-buying
excursions to the Far East. Why'd you do it? I mean, is it so damn
important for everybody to have the same color mailbox?"

"It's important that people fit in."

"But you didn't know exactly what you were getting into, did you? I
mean, you can summon its existence, but...you can give it life, but
you can't control it. The best you can hope for is to stay out of its
way."

"Son, my lawyers are going to make you sound so stupid that not only
will I never see the inside of a jail cell but you'll be signing all
your paychecks straight to me." Gene gives him a nasty smile as
Mulder pulls him out of the car. "You're going to wish you didn't
interfere at Big Mike's house."

"Screw you," Mulder growls, and yanks him over to the mailbox.
Unlocking one of Gene's wrists, he slips the cuff around the mailbox
pole before Gene considers trying to get away.

"Rob?" Cami's voice floats across the lawn. "Is everything okay?"

"No, it's not," Mulder tells her. "Could you come get my daughter,
please?"

Cami looks a bit frightened, but she takes April into her arms.
"We've lied to you. My wife and I are FBI agents here undercover to
see if we can solve the disappearances of the Klines. Please take her
with you."

"What about the twins?" 

He doesn't bother to answer, but runs into the house instead, calling
his wife's name.

To his relief, Scully and the babies are both safe in the closet. And
to his surprise, Mike is still there, lying on the floor. As soon as
he frees Scully, she climbs out and check on him. "He's alive."

::He is?::

"I think the sound of you coming back scared it off." She looks up at
him, suddenly alarmed. "Where's April?"

"Cami's got her. After I call an ambulance I'll go get her."

Outside, they hear a scream. Rushing to the window, Mulder sees Gene
being battered by a large dark figure. Mulder tears outside, just in
time to see the thing deliver a killing blow to the complex's owner.

The creature turns towards Mulder, but when Gene's last breath
escapes in a death rattle, it crumbles away. Looking behind him, he
sees Cami staring out the window while holding April.

Once she lets him in, she hands the little girl over. "He deserved
it," Cami hisses.

Mulder can't find it within himself to disagree.

~*~*~

Two Days Later

Something blunt pokes Mulder in the leg. Looking down, he sees Sammy
smiling up at him under a felt pirate hat, while brandishing a
plastic sword. "Walk the plank."

"Never, you have to catch me first!" Mulder yells, dashing away from
the little boy. He runs around the play structure that Doggett and
Luke helped him put back together.

"Avast me hardies! Don't let the scoundrels get away!" Luke roars
from the front of the pirate ship. He too wears a felt pirate hat. "I
say, get them!"

"Yes captain!" some of the kids shout in response. 

Giggling, Sammy, Page, Hannah, Emily, and even little April chase
after Mulder and Doggett with plastic swords as they pretend to try
to get away.

"Look at them," Missy remarks from the back porch as Scully returns
with Jared, who woke up a couple minutes before. "Can you believe how
little difference there is between the little kids and the big ones?
You wouldn't see me out there running around."

"Speak for yourself," Scully says, dropping the baby into her
sister's startled lap. Then the kids realize that Scully's joined the
game and give her chase too.

~*~*~

Chapter Seventy-Three 
March 1999 

It's a lovely, brisk March day, and Scully had decided to catch the 
Metro to and from work today. There's a young man, thin, with dark 
hair, a goatee and mustache and piercing blue eyes, sitting in a seat 
across the aisle from her who has been staring at her for quite some 
time, making her feel rather uncomfortable. Is there a zit, she wonders, 
not daring to take out a compact to check, since her hormones have 
been acting up and she wouldn't be surprised if acne's broken out all 
over her face since this morning. Dammit, she thinks, it *used* to be 
a nice day until we got this case, Michelle has been sick for a few days, 
April and Hannah just got sick, and I feel like a bloated toad.


When she gets off the bus, she's surprised to find the goateed man
getting off at the same stop. There's a vague feeling of paranoia as
she quickens her pace slightly, but is relieved when his footsteps
fade and she turns to see him going up the driveway to the house just
before theirs. New neighbor. Okay. 

She sighs, unlocking the door and calling out, "I'm home." No answer. 
Maybe Mulder's drugged the kids, which would be nice, she smirks, 
locking the door behind her. Scully walks upstairs into the bedroom, 
shucking off her work clothes as she does so, and is surprised to find 
Mulder washing his arms like a surgeon in the bathroom. "Hey," he says, 
"the girls are finally asleep and the others are watching 'Fresh Prince of 
Bel Air' reruns in the guest room, but if we don't keep them away from the 
sickies …" His voice trails off when he sees the odd look on her 
face. "What?"

Scully shakes her head, dropping the file on the bed. She doesn't
want to sound like an overanxious pregnant chick, which is exactly
what she feels like. "These are, uh...these are my autopsy reports
from the second victim." She shows him some pretty gross autopsy
pictures, still proud that she made it through the actual process
without spewing like an "Exorcist" star. "As you can see the heart
was removed in the same manner as the previous victim. No incisions,
no scope marks, no cutting of any kind." 

"No indication of how the killer did it?" Mulder asks, his tone somewhat 
constipated. 

She's not sure if it's been the last case or this one that's made him
touchy. Or maybe ever since they found out she was pregnant. Damn.
"No. There's no prints, no DNA material, no hair and fiber," she says
evenly. 

"And yet, you still refuse to believe my theory - that what
this is psychic surgery?" he asks. He's actually surprised that the
jerk is still around, since he would've thought that Scully being
married with kids would've scared him off. Damn. 

Scully gives him a familiar "skeptical" look, to put it kindly. "Mulder, psychic 
surgery is some man dipping his hand in a bucket of chicken guts and
pretending to remove tumors from the sick and gullible," she shoots
back. 

"Or … it's a grossly misunderstood area of alternative
medicine," he replies, then grins. "Hey, you think I could do a magic
sickie snot removal from Hannah and April?" 

She rolls her eyes. "Only if you're using a wet washcloth and wash your 
hands in hot soapy water," she says, keeping a straight face. 

"Well, absent another theory how else do we account for the impossible 
extraction of this man's heart?" Mulder says, feeling distant from his wife.
It's not fair he has to wait to lock up that asshole, it's not fair
that he can't tell Scully about his second chance, it's not fair that
this case is happening all over again. 

Scully feels him withdrawing, but doesn't know why. "I don't know," she 
states simply. "I have no idea." 

I have an idea, he continues to grouse inwardly. Let's pretend like I've gained 
clairvoyant powers for a couple of years, save ourselves the trouble, and have 
a good life. Let Doggett and Reyes knock themselves out while Scully, the kids 
and I take a siesta on some semi-deserted island for a bit. Aloud, he says, "I
mean, we have no evidence - no MO to speak of." Yet. "This could be
the perfect crime." 

Both a corner of her mouth and one of her eyebrows go up. Nice. "Well, a crime 
is only as perfect as the man or the mind that commits it. Even if it were perfect - 
even if he made not one mistake - there's still his motive. You find his motive and
you find the murderer." 

Mulder grins bleakly. "You make it sound so simple," he says, putting the photos 
back into the file and putting it inside a locked drawer. They've learned the hard 
way not to leave files lying around the house, and he sighs, closing his eyes as he
falls backwards on the bed. "Your turn," he says, not opening his eyes, "David and 
Jared are fed and changed, they should all be in the guest room." 

"Oh," Scully says, pausing in the unbuttoning of her blouse. "'Kay." Disappointed, 
she rebuttons the top two, then walks tiredly to the guest room where, it seems, 
all the healthy kids have congregated on Luke's bed. 

~*~*~ 

FBI Headquarters 
7:07 a.m.

Scully's wearing a skirt paired with a slightly thick coat, just so
she can feel feminine without thinking of being with child. Thank
goodness the nanny got better today, so both she and Mulder are free
to work the case without worrying too much. The phone rings when she
enters the basement office, and she jogs across, answering
breathlessly, "Scully." 

My God, Mulder licks his lips unconsciously, does she have any idea what 
she does when she sounds like that? "Hey, Scully, glad I caught you," he 
says, keeping his tone professional. "We got a third victim - 16-year-old kid out 
on Lover's Lane." He looks down at the teenager's body, still lying
where he was killed, and wishes to hell he could cut this case short.


"Are you sure?" his wife breaks into his thoughts. 

He keeps up the banter, but it's like he's just phoning it in. "Yeah. I'm sure
many a person's had their heart broken out here, but not quite like
this. I was hoping you'd be here to explain it in medical terms to
the local PD." 

"I'm not sure that I could," she replies, and he could almost swear she's 
frowning at the other end. "Did anybody see anybody? Anything?" 

"No, nothing," Mulder answers, frustrated in more ways than one. "I mean, 
it's like there's nowhere to start on this case. Nothing to ask, nothing to say." 

She wants to be encouraging, really, she does. "Well, there's got to be 
something, Mulder..." Her eyes catch sight of an envelope lying on the floor and
picks it up. "Something about his victims - why he chooses them, a pattern." 

"If 'clueless' was a lucky lottery ticket, Scully, we hit the jackpot. It appears to 
be just a series of random attacks."

"Maybe your luck's about to change," Scully says, "an envelope's
been slipped under the office door." 

"Yeah?" Mulder tries to inject some enthusiasm. Inside, however, he's 
seething. "From who?" 

"It's unmarked," she answers. She rips open the envelope and takes out a
small flat object on a chain. "It's some kind of a pendant. Like a
charm." She stares at the burning heart imprinted on it, feeling like
she should know what it is, feeling it tug at distant memories. 

~*~*~*

"Her prompt mind ran through the golconda of possibilities - was
this trinket from the killer? Was there a message contained in its
equivocal symbolism? Was he a religious fanatic who had, in fervid
haste licked the envelope, leaving the telltale DNA that would begin
his unraveling? She had a condign certainty the killer was a
male...and now, as she held the cold metal at her fingertips she
imagined him doing the same trying to picture his face. 

"It would be a plain face, an average face...A face people would be prone 
to trust. She knew this inherently, being naturally trusting herself.
But the image she conjured up was no better than the useless sketch
composites that littered her files. Preconsciously, she knew this
wasn't her strength as an investigator. She was a marshal of cold
facts, quick to organize, connect, shuffle, reorder and synthesize
their relative hard values into discreet categories. Imprecision
would only invite sexist criticism that she was soft, malleable not
up to her male counterparts. Even now, as she pushed an errant strand
of titian hair behind her ear she worried her partner would know
instinctively what she could only guess. To be thought of as simply a
beautiful woman was bridling, unthinkable. But she was beautiful... 
fatally, stunningly prepossessing. Yet the compensatory respect she 
commanded only deepened the yearnings of her heart...to let it open, 
to let someone in." 

~*~*~ 

Later, once Mulder joins her in the X-Files office, Scully shows 
Mulder the milagro, giving him both explanation as well as basic 
description of the man who had dropped it off. Even as she gives 
him the data, leading towards a possible suspect, Mulder's lack of 
enthusiasm is worse than doubt. "Did you see that it's a burning 
heart?" she asks, finally tossing it at him. 

Mulder props up his long legs, sitting at the desk and spinning the 
charm around by the chain. "I see it has a burning heart," he says 
dryly. "But we're dealing with a killer that leaves absolutely no clues. 
Why would he do something as heavy-handed as this?" 

She sighs in exasperation. "I don't know, I'm not the profiler, you figure 
it out!" she snaps. 

He blinks. That's different. Then he stretches the corners of his mouth into 
a parody of a smile. "Maybe it's a secret admirer," he says, finding it 
sounds less blithe and more biting than he expected. 

She sighs, grabbing the charm. "I think I'll check it out," she says flatly. 

"Actually, let me," he says, sitting up. "You've got a 9:00 a.m. with the DC
medical examiner. He's going to let you autopsy the latest victim."

She stares at him, and he finds it's not just disbelief, but
dislike in her eyes. "Thank you for making my schedule, but I think
I'm going to have to be late for that appointment." 

His eyes are still wide when she walks out, those high high heels doing 
wonders not just for her legs, but for that nicely round ass. "Damn," he
sighs, wondering why he's gotten to be such an adolescent around his
wife all of a sudden. 

~*~*~ 

True to her word, Scully makes a detour to a Catholic church. She briefly 
crosses herself before going straight to a painting of Christ holding a 
burning heart. Her mouth hangs slightly open as she looks at the painting, 
and before she can pull her cell phone out to debate with Mulder, someone 
joins her. It's the new neighbor, the goatee guy. "I often come here to look
at this painting," he says familiarly. "It's called 'My Divine Heart'
after the miracle of Saint Margaret Mary. Do you know the story...The
revelation of the Sacred Heart? Christ came to Margaret Mary his
heart so inflamed with love that it was no longer able to contain its
burning flames of charity. Margaret Mary...so filled with divine love
herself, asked the Lord to take her heart...and so he did placing it
alongside his until it burned with the flames of his passion. Then he
restored it to Margaret Mary sealing her wound with the touch of his
blessed hand." 

She stares at him. "Why are you telling me this?"

He looks back at her levelly. "You came here specifically to see
this painting, didn't you?" 

Scully nods reluctantly. "I know you," she says, deciding to go on the 
offensive. "You live next door. Why are you following me?" 

He doesn't feign ignorance, but answers, "I'm not. I'd only imagined that 
you'd come here today." 

Huh? "You imagined it," she repeats. 

"I'm a writer," the goatee'd guy explains. "That's what I do - imagine how 
people behave. I have to admit I've noticed you. I do that...Notice people," 
he adds quickly. "I saw that you wear a gold cross around your neck so I 
was taking a chance with the painting - explaining something you may have 
already known. I saw Georgetown parking permits on your car dating from 
1993 and a government-exempt sticker that lets you park anywhere you like.
You don't live in this area but as a federal employee, you have
reason to frequent it. You're not just a beautiful government agent,
but also married and a mother of five." He adds quickly as her eyes
widen a little in alarm, "There's a popular park nearby that you
might bring the children to after work. You'd have noticed this
church in passing and though parking is always a problem in this part
of town your special privileges would make it easy to visit … not as
a place of worship but because you have an appreciation for
architecture and the arts and would want to share it with your
children...and while the grandeur is what you'd take away from your
visit … this painting's religious symbolism would have left a
subconscious impression jogged by the gift you received this
morning." 

"That was from you?" Scully stares at him, a sinking feeling in her slightly 
rounded belly. Great, I've got a stalker, she wails inwardly. I marry Mulder 
and all the weirdos come crawling out of the woodwork. 

"I have to admit to a secret attraction." She doesn't bother hiding her 
ooged-out reaction from him, obviously not wanting to deal with this. Then 
again, he doesn't seem bothered by it. "I'm sorry I didn't include a note 
explaining that but you didn't know me then." 

"Yeah, and I don't know you now and I don't care to," Scully snaps, wishing 
he would just go away. God, any longer and she's gonna pull out her gun, 
if not her badge. 

"I see this is making you uncomfortable and I'm sorry. It's just that I'm taken 
with you." He smiles briefly, and for a moment, there's something about
those stark blue eyes over that goatee and moustache that could
almost be called attractive. His unsettling gaze finally shifts back
to the painting, giving her something of a respite. "You're tired of
the everyday drudgery, and, while your work is exciting, it's not
exactly what you'd wanted, is it? That much, I'm sure, we have in
common." The corner of his mouth turns up, and she's fairly certain
he's smiling all the way around when he adds, "To find passion in
something like a painting, I suppose, is the means to find the heart
of the matter in anything." 

Her mouth drops, and she's about to give him a piece of her mind when 
the church bells toll. I guess the bells do toll for me, she thinks, walking 
quickly out of the now-uncomfortable church, now's a good time to hit 
that autopsy. 

~*~*~

Busted, Mulder thinks as his petite wife walks into an autopsy bay
full of the living MEs and a few dead bodies. "Hey, you weren't
joking about being late. I was about to start slicing and dicing,
myself." 

"God forbid," she says, shucking off her coat and replacing it with 
scrubs. "I'm sorry." 

He sighs. "Where were you?" he asks in a low voice. 

"I was doing some research and learning that I owe you an apology," 
she says, not looking at him. 

"For what?" he prompts her, knowing exactly "what" and hating it. 

"The Milagro charm," she replies, "you were right about its
insignificance." 

He shakes his head, disagreeing quickly, "No, I
think I was wrong. I think it's very significant. I think it may be a
communication from the killer. Most of my research shows that most
credible practitioners of psychic surgery believe themselves to be
imbued with the Holy Spirit - that their hands become the miracle
tools of God." 

She holds up the charm like a dead squirrel. "Mulder, this...is nothing more 
than a tool used by a lovelorn Romeo who just happens to be our new 
next-door neighbor." 

"Is it just me, or are we starting to get bad luck with creepy neighbors?" he
wonders, not so rhetorically. 

She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes as she puts on the plastic cap 
to cover her hair. "Must be - this one's turned out to be a secret admirer who 
claims to know the mysteries of my heart." 

"You're kidding," he says flatly.

"No, I wish I were. He cornered me today and told me my life story. It was kind 
of frightening, actually." 

"Frightening?" Mulder repeats, feeling Neanderthal. That asshole! How dare he 
make a move on my wife, sic his created killer on innocent victims, and pretend
to have feelings of love like a normal person! Even though a part of him, well-
trained by Oxford and years in the VCU, tells him there's more to Padgett than 
that, he's still pretty damn pissed off that the prick had the gall to try and move in 
on a married woman. *His* married woman, dammit. 

"'Frightening' as in too much information and intimate detail," Scully corrects him. 
"What kills you is his audacity." 

"Did you get his name?" 

The eyebrow goes up. "No, but that shouldn't be too hard to find out, should it?" 

Mulder nods, not quite sure what to say, and decides to leave her to the slicing
and dicing while he rummages through their new neighbor's mail. He's
thinking of creating a tulpa to get rid of both Padgett and his created monster, 
then quickly chides himself for his childish revenge fantasy, since that kind of 
thing never works out the way you want it, anyways. 

~*~*~ 

This is a mistake, Scully keeps telling herself, this is a mistake. She sees her 
husband's car in the driveway, but rather than grab him, she has decided to 
confront the smug writer by herself. She knocks nervously, looking around as 
if she were the criminal rather than the law. The goatee guy opens the door, and 
she paws through her purse. "Hi. I, um," she stammers when she nearly
pulls out one of her "trashy novels," and nearly sighs with relief when her fingers 
grasp the small charm. "I thought that I'd return this," she says in a steadier voice, 
holding out the milagro.

"Why?" 

Simple question, simple answer, right? "Because I can't return the gesture," Scully 
says quietly, wondering why her tone isn't firmer. "I can't." 

His face is devoid of disappointment, of embarrassment, or any emotion, really, 
as he lets her in. "You're curious about me," he states. 

Well, duh, she almost answers, taking off her coat and draping it on her arm as 
there's no coat rack. As she looks around at the sparsely furnished home, it almost 
looks as if someone's just waiting to buy it and he's just keeping it tidy until then. "You 
hardly have any furniture," she remarks, the only things serving as such being a table 
and chair in the middle of the spacious living room. They continue talking, she 
questioning, he answering, in between the drinking of tea until she's not quite so
uncomfortable as when she first walked in. His life sounds rather Spartan, not unlike her 
partner's before they got married. I wonder what would've happened to Mulder if I hadn't 
married him, she thinks suddenly as she continues to question the goatee guy, who 
turns out to be named Phillip Padgett. Would he have stayed this sparse, living
only for his work and nothing else? That would be sad, indeed. "How is it you think you 
know me so well, Mr. Padgett?" 

"I'm writing about you," Padgett replies. 

She smiles a little in disbelief, and he smiles back. "Right." When she realizes he's 
serious, the smile slips from her face. "Since when?" 

"Since I first noticed you. You lived in my old neighborhood." 

"And you moved into this house by coincidence?" she asks, thinking, Please, please, 
say yes! 

"No."

Her eyes widen. Damn. "You moved here because of me?" 

"I-I should've said something but I just couldn't get it all down fast enough." He nods. 
"To really write someone, I have to be in their head. I have to know them more 
completely than they know themselves."

~*~*~ 

Somewhere in her head, alarms are going off, but either it's the hormones or her 
husband's chilly behavior that keeps her there, looking at the thick manuscript next 
to the old-fashioned typewriter sitting on the otherwise bare table. "This is all about 
me?"

"You're an important part," he acknowledges. 

"May I read it?"

For the first time, he looks almost bashful. "It's not finished," he dismisses the thick 
stack of paper, and his large blue eyes fasten on hers again. "I can't tell you how 
helpful it is having you here - being able to talk with you like this. Would you sit and 
stay a minute?" 

She almost smiles again. "You don't have anywhere to sit."

To her surprise, Padgett leads her into the bedroom and sets his cup
down on the bedside table and messes with the lamp. It doesn't come
on. His money must go to the exorbitant rent rather than food and
electricity, she surmises. Time to cut this interview short before it
gets dark. "I'm due next door," Scully says, putting her cup down.

For an obsessed guy, he's paying no attention as he plugs the lamp
in. "You haven't finished your tea," he says in a reasonable voice.

"I'm very uncomfortable with this," she finally admits. 

He looks at her with the same steady gaze. "Why? You're armed, aren't you?" 
he says logically. As he turns on the bedside light, the bulb burns out.
"Imagine that," he says with almost no irony. Padgett pushes the
curtain away from the window to let a little light in. "I'll get a bulb." 

As he goes to get a bulb, Scully looks out the window facing
her own home. It's odd, seeing her home like this, the windowless
side facing her like a blank page. At least it's not like he can see
in our bedroom, she thinks, and blushes when she thinks of how often
they've never thought to close the drapes. Padgett walks in with a
new bulb, his eyes following her gaze at the whitewashed wall. "A
view only a writer can appreciate," he deadpans. 

"If you know me so well, then why am I standing here when my instincts tell 
me to go?" she asks, even when he sounded uncomfortably like Mulder just 
then.

He answers while changing the bulb, not looking at her. "Motive is
never easy. Sometimes it occurs to one only later." The lamp fills
the nearly bare room with a soft light. "Please," he motions to the
bed, less like a lecherous invitation and more like a strange
courtesy to make oneself comfortable on the only piece of furniture
in the room. "Sit." He puts the shade back on the lamp and they sit
together on the foot of the bed. Behind them, the bulb burns out
again. "Imagine that," he repeats. 

She turns to ask another question, only to find Padgett is leaning towards 
her, his hands on her forearms and his lips parting. Oh my God, she thinks, 
starting to shove him away when the door crashes open and Mulder bursts 
into the room, gun drawn. She's fairly sure that her face looks about as
shocked as his. "Mulder!" she says. 

"Scully," he says, and to her surprise, there's less worry and more sadness 
when he says her name. "What were you doing?" 

"Nothing," she says pointedly, glaring at the very unembarrassed Padgett. 
"Thank goodness." She follows Mulder to the living room and they begin 
looking through the manuscript. A few pages flutter to the floor. Her husband 
looks intently at one of the pages. "Mulder...what are you doing?" 

He hands her the page, then grabs the goateed man and handcuffs him. 
"Putting this man under arrest," he says abruptly, snapping the metal cuffs 
with more force than normal. 

She sees the words on the page and feels a chill, the words a ghastly parody 
of the romance novels she'd been reading lately: "…his fantasy come to 
life…" and "… and felt his warm, beating heart." 

~*~*~ 

This time around, it's not just Mulder hammering at Padgett, but Scully as 
well. At one point, she's about to tear Stalker Boy a new one, but Mulder guides 
her  out of the prison interrogation room before she can touch the asshole. 
Padgett, of course, asks solicitous questions about her, which nearly makes 
Mulder want to tear the asshole's head off, but manages to restrain himself. 
When he comes out, he finds his fiery-haired partner pacing the hallway. 

"What the hell was that?" she demands. 

He blinks, but is inwardly relieved to find she's not tempted by the guy, but
angry at him. "I was interrogating him," he answers. "Was it not to your 
liking?" 

Her fists are on her hips as she glares up at him. "I've seen you go after child 
molesters with less heat," she says between her teeth. 

Oh, I get it now, Mulder thinks as the reasons why she's been so pissed-off 
hits him. Damn. It's hard enough getting into the minds of criminals, but women, 
they're just complicated. But she's not the only one, he sighs inwardly as he 
nods curtly. "There's more than one culprit here," he says, "there's his
 accomplice, the Brazilian psychic surgeon." 

She almost looks bored as she holds up a folder. "I know. Doctor Ken 
Naciamento, Sao Paulo, Brazil, emigrated here in 1996." As he pores through 
it, she adds, "Two years  dead, Mulder. I'm having them fax me a certificate 
of death." 

He sets his jaw. "Padgett couldn't have done this alone." 

"Why not? I'm fairly sure he relies on research as well as his imagination, 
why  isn't it possible that he could've gone after those teens and use Doctor
Naciamento as a, a mentor or guide of sorts into how to commit these
murders?" 

Wow, she's been hanging around me a long time, he almost smiles. 
"Maybe he did just imagine it," he argues, this time on his usual side of devil's 
advocacy. "Like Shakespeare or Freud or - or Jung. I mean, maybe, maybe 
he has some gift and he has a clear window into human nature." 

"No one can predict human behavior," she shoots back. "No one can tell 
you what another person's going to do." 

What do you call reverse deja vu? He wonders. "Well, that's pretty much
what I do as a behavioral profiler, imagine the killer's mind so well
that you know what they're going to do next." Then he decides to
switch back and use his own words rather than Scully's, since he's
starting to get that weird, almost vertigo-like feeling again. "Of
course, if he imagines it, it's a priori - before the fact. I think
that's pretty clear from what he wrote about you." He looks at her
levelly as she stares at him. "You know you're in here, don't you?"

"I read a chapter," she mumbles, looking away. "What does he say?"

He decides to go easy on her this time, since it's really not her
fault Padgett's a nutcase. Quietly, he answers, "Well, a certain
redhead and "the stranger" get X-rated on a bed in an unfurnished
house." He pauses. "That is, of course, just his imagination." 

"Of course," she says, not looking at him. "I think you know me 
better than that, Mulder." 

"Mmmm," he says, and his cell phone rings.

"Mulder." He listens, then says, "Oh, okay. Yeah, they do good work.
Hannah's doing better, she and April were playing dolls when I left.
Yeah, see ya." When he hangs up, he tells Scully, "Doggett's car
crapped out on him again. He says he can fix cars, but he doesn't
have time with training," he makes a face. "So he's gonna be coming
home late." Then he handing her the manuscript, his features now
expressionless, "You might want to finish it." 

He leaves her with the novel from hell, and decides to swing by the 
cemetery, since there's nobody to call him in on it and hopes he gets 
there in time to save the girl. His pace increases as he leaves the police 
station, not even aware that he's behind the wheel until his hand turns 
the key in the ignition. 

~*~*~ 

Police Station 

Mulder exhales noisily, knowing it's not the road construction crew's fault 
he got to the cemetery only in time to see Maggie dying on the ground rather 
than alive, her life oozing from her as quickly as her blood. The ambulance 
came, but with no heart and no way of stopping that much blood loss, the girl 
died in the emergency vehicle. "I didn't like him before and I sure as hell don't 
like him now," Mulder scowls as they walk through the police station to 
Padgett's cell. 

"What do you mean?" Scully frowns. 

Ah, hell. "I mean," he says evenly as they turn the corner, "I didn't like him when 
he was your secret admirer, and I really don't like him now that he's definitely our
killer." 

"How did you know, Mulder, that Maggie would be killed in the cemetery?" 

There's no mirth as he puts a finger to his forehead, Karnac-style. "I imagined it." 

"How the hell did he know," Scully frowns, "how did Padgett contact him from his 
guarded cell?" 

"I don't know how they communicate. This is the only way I can think to catch 
him," he says grimly, then forces himself to act humble, as well as a little 
embarrassed as he opens Padgett's cell. Handing over the plastic wrapped 
manuscript, Mulder says, "Mr. Padgett...you can go. We apologize for our 
mistake. You're free to finish your book." 

"Thank you," Padgett says, leaving the cell, then turns back to the couple. "I 
made a mistake myself."  

"What's that, Mr. Padgett?" Mulder asks almost congenially, swallowing the
bile that threatens to choke him. 

Padgett smiles. "In my book, I'd written that Agent Scully escaped a life of 
drudgery, but that's obviously impossible." He looks at Mulder, who already 
wants to kill him for saying that. "None of us can escape our fates." 

After they watch him go, Scully turns to him. "Mulder, are you sure I can't kill
him for saying that?" 

He grins. "Only if you beat me to him." 

~*~*~

Thanks to FBI-sanctioned surveillance (Scully insisted, since they were 
officially back on the X-Files, everything should be accounted for), they 
watch from the comfort of their living room as Padgett walks around, stares 
at nothing in particular, then starts typing. "This is boring," Luke declares, 
and leads the kids to the guest room past their host bearing glasses of water. 

Mulder shrugs at the nanny, who shrugs back as she follows the kids. 
Then he looks over at the laptop and comments, "This is the most exciting 
thing this guy's done so far." He hands his wife a glass, and she takes a 
sip before holding the headphones up to her ear. The two agents watch the
monitor as Padgett pulls the paper out of the typewriter. Then he
picks up the entire manuscript and walks out of frame. 

"Now what?" Scully squints, putting her glass of water down. She watches 
as Mulder taps some keys, then another, to get views of different rooms.
"Anything?" 

The living room is empty, and Mulder barely misses one camera's view of a 
closing door. They look at each other, "Which one is it?" Mulder frowns. 

"The back door," Scully stares at the view, then she pulls out her gun, "Look 
after the kids!" 

"Scully, it's not safe!" Mulder puts a hand on her arm. "You're the one he's 
after, lock the doors!" 

"I'm gonna kill that bastard!" she glares, her own hand restraining Mulder's 
arm. 

Mulder stares at her. "Right now, you're the primary target, and he might try to 
get at the kids," he says, knowing he's striking a low blow using the "kids as 
victims" card. "If you hear any gunshots, call for backup, okay?" Her jaw is
set and her hand hasn't lifted from his arm, so he repeats, "Okay?"

"If I hear gunshots, I'm definitely killing him," is all she says before letting go. 

He nods, then runs out the door, praying that this time, she'll be okay. It 
doesn't take long before he crashes through the hedge dividing their 
property, and finds  the so-called Romeo clutching his manuscript to his 
skinny chest. "Padgett!" he hollers, pulling his gun out. "Freeze!" 

The goateed man pauses, then stares. However, he's not staring at 
Mulder, but at something behind him. Oh, shit, Mulder thinks as he turns 
around. And just like something out of a horror movie, the hooded man 
grabs Mulder and throws him to the ground. He tries to shoot the 
assailant, but it's all he can do to hold on to his weapon as the implacable killer
thrusts his hand into his chest. "Aaaaugh!!!" he screams, kneeing the
guy in the nuts, but it does no good. The pain is unbelievable, since
the would-be dead guy is performing surgery without anesthetic, and
he's crying as he manages to aim his weapon properly. "Die, you
bastard!" he grits his teeth, shooting the whole damn clip, but to no
avail. 

Oh, shit, he thinks again, I can't die like this! 

~*~*~

"Dammit," Scully swears as she hangs up. The Metro may be
dependable, but it's taking Doggett too long to get there and the
cops have yet to show up. Taking the safety off her gun, she looks at
the nanny. "Michelle, make sure none of the kids leave this house,"
she says, and the young woman nods, her eyes wide as saucers. "I love
you," she smiles a little at her babies, and tears out of the house
like a bat out of hell. 

She crashes through the same hole Mulder made to save herself time, 
and sees a man lying on the grass. Not sure if it's Mulder or Padgett, 
she keeps her gun aimed at the body, then runs when she sees it's 
Mulder, his blood staining the grass. 

"MULDER!" she cries, tearing open his shirt to find the source of the
wound, to stop the blood loss, to find a heartbeat that has
mysteriously disappeared. "NOOOOOO!!!!" Desperately, she puts her
hand over his chest, but there's no apparent incision, nothing to
indicate the extraction of the organ that seems to have vanished, and
he coughs up blood. 

The redhead looks around wildly, but can find no sign of the goateed 
bastard that did this to her husband. "Mulder," she sobs, fear constricting 
her throat, "please. Mulder… I can't…" She cradles him, her arms 
wrapped around his limp, bloody body so that it looks as if she's bleeding 
to death, too. "Don't leave me," she whispers, even as his life drains from 
his body with every drop. 

Suddenly, Mulder's eyes fly open, and he thrashes around. Scully continues 
to hang on until he realizes who's holding him. He stares at her, then hugs 
her back tightly, gasping shallowly, "Scully." She nods, tears still running 
down  her face, and he buries his face into her chest, shuddering with shock. 

Neither of them notice the house behind them is in flames until the fire truck's
bells and alarms ring loudly. They continue to cling to each other, even as they're 
taken away by ambulance, watched by their children, the nanny, and Doggett's 
children. 

~*~*~ 

"I'm sorry," Mulder says, lying in the hospital. Even though he was, for the 
most part, unbelievably healthy, they were still keeping him in one night for
observation. His family surrounding him, his friends beside him, lying here 
instead of Scully, he knows he's incredibly lucky. 

"Are all your cases like this?" Doggett frowns. "Weird, and ending up wid
one a you in tha hospital?" 

"Yes," Skinner says, with something of a grin on his face. 

"No!" Mulder shoots back, trying to sit up.

"Not always," Scully puts a hand on his chest, and he subsides.
"Well, sometimes," she amends. 

"Sometimes?" Doggett stares at the couple. "I may've been NYPD, but I 
didn't see the inside of a hospital more'n a couple times," he glances at 
his son, who nods.

"Usually, FBI agents aren't as," Scully pauses, "busy as we are,
but then again, neither do they work on the kinds of cases we do."
After another pause, not looking at her boss, she adds, "For
instance, even though Mulder was drugged, we were okay against the
vampires-" 

"Maybe lay-duh," Doggett interrupts her as Luke gets wide-eyed. "We'd 
bettah get the kids home, they had an exciting day."

"Yeah," Mulder says, and hugs each one of his healthy kids. "Hug April 
for me." 

Doggett smiles. "Now that she an' Hannah're gettin' bettah, they're gonna 
be up gigglin' all night. Bedtime's seven, right?" He grins as the man on the 
bed gives him a thumbs up, Luke starts whining, and Scully rolls her eyes. "Get 
bettah soon, Fox," he adds as he and Skinner lead the small herd of children 
out. 

~*~*~

Scully smiles as her husband scrunches his face at the use of his first 
name. "You scared the hell out of me," she says, when the last of the 
small crowd is gone. 

"How do you think I feel?" Mulder smiles weakly. He takes her hand in his 
IV-attached one, and the smile gets bigger. "Finding you in Padgett's bedroom, 
reading his sick love story…" 

"And winding up here," she finishes. "Doggett's right. The nurses know us 
by name." 

He chuckles. "At least they call you 'Doctor.' Me, they call 'Fox'," he 
wrinkles his nose. 

She rubs her thumb inside his palm and smiles. "Well, maybe you'll get 
a good night's sleep with all the drugs," she says, then a guilty
thought hits her. 

"Or maybe once you empty the bed of all that chick porn, I mean, 
trashy romance novels, I mean, ow!" He pouts, making a show of 
rubbing his arm. 

"Shut up, Mulder," she glares, but it's not a proper glare, so the 
effect is wasted. 

He sighs. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "I was acting like an ass, and that was
before what's-his-face showed up. It's just that," he exhales heavily
again and frowns, not sure what to say or how to say it. Hell with
it. "It's just that guys still go after you, even if you're married
with five, soon to be six, kids. And it pisses me off." 

"Jealous?"

"No." Now he looks up at her. "Okay, maybe a little. But mostly it
pisses me off because nobody respects that we're already taken. Like
being married means nothing and it doesn't matter if you're a psycho
or a celebrity, you can do whatever the hell you want. I almost wish
it was the olden days, when you stayed married forever and ever
unless the guy was a cheating crook." 

Scully chuckles and brushes his bangs away from his forehead. "I 
know. But then again, in this day and age, I get to be a mommy and a 
wife and a doctor and an agent. People respect our jobs, even if they 
might not always understand our relationship or, well, unusual cases." 
She smiles. He smiles back reluctantly, and she says, "But I promise 
there won't be any more books under the mattress that aren't mine," 
and his smile gets wider, "they'll be sent to the library or Goodwill." 

Mulder shakes his head slightly. "Well, I kinda figured Page was a bright
girl, but not that precocious." Before she smothers him, he adds
quickly, "Before that happens, mind reading me a slutty bedtime
story? I know there's at least one in your purse." He gives her the
full-on puppy dog eyes, and she laughs. 

"Only if you're a good boy and stay in bed," she raises one eyebrow. 

Damn, I *am* lucky, he thinks. "I'll be good in bed." He grins, 
lowering the bed and pulling the sheet up to his chin. 

Scully raps his head lightly with the paperback, but smiles anyway. "The 
Runaway and the Rapscallion, by Carla Prospera," she reads, and casts 
an almost schoolmarm-like look over her reading glasses, almost daring 
him to interrupt. When he doesn't, she proceeds to read the titillating tale 
of a bodice-ripping, petticoat-tearing scoundrel who ravishes the
previously prim heroine, and their exploits in and out of bed makes
Mulder think all those tapes and magazines that weren't his lacked
something in the imagination department before he fades into sleep.

~*~*~

Chapter Seventy-Four

April 1999

Mulder picks up the phone in mid-ring, not even opening his eyes.
"Mulder."

"Good," the masked voice says, "I need you on the next flight to Las
Vegas."

The Gunmen, he almost groans aloud, but knows how damn paranoid they
can be if he even breathes their group name. "Why?"

"It's something big," the voice says, and Mulder can't be sure which 
crackpot it is.

"Duh," Mulder says, and now he has to open his eyes to roll them.

"Who's that?" Scully mutters, not bothering to move or open her eyes.

"Gunmen," he tells her, only to get shushed, sworn at and scolded by
all three conspiracy theorists. "Sorry. Anyways, what's in Vegas that can't
be done here?"

"Look, I can't talk over an unsecured line. Please just get here. It's
an emergency," the disguised Gunman says.

Mulder sighs. "She's gonna kick our asses when she wakes up," he
mutters as his beloved wife lets out a snore. "Why not both of us?"

"Then the whole munchkin patrol comes with, and then what?" the voice
says, and now he recognizes Langly. "She's preggers, right? Look, dude, 
get her some free munchies and we're all good."

"And that's why you'll never get married," Mulder says, "see you in a
few."

After he hangs up, he kisses his wife's forehead lightly, only to be 
rewarded with another snore. "Guess I'll find out exactly what happened
to you in Vegas," he says in a low voice. Then he drags his tired-ass body
out of bed and starts to scribble a note for her before packing and
grabbing a flight.

~*~*~

"It's so nice of you boys to think of Scully's welfare," Mulder drawls
when the trio greets him in the Vegas hotel lobby. He's grateful things
have slowed down casefile-wise, or he wouldn't have left Scully back in
DC by herself. It's funny, but knowing Doggett earlier, as an
agent-in-training and recently-divorced dad, has kinda made him trust
the guy around his wife - at least this time, he has a choice, rather
than being abducted out of the picture only to find some super-skeptic
barging into *his* division. "Anyways, where were we…?" he asks,
already taking in his hectic surroundings with a deceptive nonchalant
air.

"Let me bring you up to speed," Byers says quickly, nervously. He's
about to go on, when four people pass by walking quickly, a female
manager, a security guard and two paramedics. The Gunmen stare
blatantly as the mad procession goes past, Mulder seemingly more
low-key as they listen in.

Langly looks at his friends as he blurts out, "Aw, man, Jimmy!"

It doesn't take long for them to follow the emergency crew outside,
joined by three guards, to a stopped bus. The bus driver is just
standing there, looking distraught. "He just jumped; no warning, no
nothing. He just, just dived right out in front of me."

Now the crew backs away to formulate how to remove the jumper, and
Mulder and the Gunmen can clearly see the bloody human smear. "Oh God,
that is Jimmy." The blonde Gunman looking severely grossed out rather
than sad.

The bus driver continues to babble, "It's not my fault. He was just
standing there, and then he just dives under the bus."

"This wasn't suicide," Byers says solemnly, and they all start walking
away.

"No, really, what the hell is going on?" Mulder asks, staring at the
body before joining them.

~*~*~

Clark County Morgue

"You're absolutely sure you wanna be here for this?" Mulder looks at
the blond Gunman with some concern.

Langly nods quickly, not wanting to wuss out on either man in front of
him. "Oh yeah," he says a little nervously, "I'm cool. Let's just find
out what killed him."

Mulder shares a look with the middle-aged ME, who looks equally
dubious. "Okay." The only reason he's there is to make sure his friend
doesn't pass out on the dead body.

The heavyset examiner glances up at the two tall men, and Mulder can
see him mentally debating if they're gay. He doesn't care, really, but
when the ME uncovers the body, Langly looks horrified. Uh-oh, the FBI
agent thinks, as the older man obliviously clicks on the overhead
microphone and begins the autopsy. "James Bellmont, age 29," he says in
a thick voice tinged by years of smoking. "Visual exam reveals injuries
consistent with massive trauma. Multiple rib fractures with concomgent
hemorrhaging, both internal and external. His spine is fractured and
partially exposed."

Langly says in a low voice to Mulder, "What if 'they' did something to
him? You know, to make him pancake himself?"

The ME looks up at them curiously. "Who's 'they'?"

Before Mulder has a chance to respond with a smart-aleck remark, the
Gunman says seriously, "You know," he pauses, "'them'."

The examiner looks at the blonde man, then the brunette, his expression
clearly saying, Damn nutjobs. "I'll begin with the Y-incision," he
says, invoking one of Mulder favorite Scully phrases. The middle-aged
man pulls the surgical mask over his nose and mouth, puts on a pair of
goggles and proceeds to slice the torso skin in an obvious "Y" pattern.

As he penetrates the flesh, Langly looks around uncomfortably, not
unnoticed by his federal compatriot. When the incision is finished, the
ME peels back the first flap of skin, at which point Langly looks away.
While the sight of blood and exposed ribs doesn't faze Mulder much
these days, he sees his friend is less sanguine, as he can't stop
shaking. As the ME proceeds, Langly looks more and more ready to vomit.

"Mr. FBI, while you're here, mind passing me the striker saw please,
it's right there on the counter," the examiner asks, startling Langly.

Mulder does so, but when he turns around with the saw, Langly's finally
lost it, rushing out through the double doors to throw up in the next
room. "Sorry about that," he shrugs, but the older man sighs.

"Shoulda known," the ME says, going into the other room, "he might puke
all over evidence. Don't touch anything, okay?"

Mulder nods, holding his hands up. He watches with some curiosity as
the older man slaps the younger man's back and pulls his hair from his
face. He absently remembers he's still got the saw in his hand, so he
tries to put it down on the tool table, "try" being the operative word.
"Aw, man," he mutters, picking up the small tool from the floor and
hopes he didn't break it. As he stands up, he notices a small
needle-puncture wound behind Jimmy's right ear. "What the hell," he
murmurs, squinting at the mark.

He's about to call the ME back when a hand clamps over his mouth, and
something small and sharp is jabbed into his neck. "Ow," he groans, his
eyes rolling before he tumbles to the floor.

~*~*~

"Now what?" the ME grumbles when he hears a thud in the autopsy room.
At least the blond guy has pretty much heaved everything out, and the
water just runs, washing everything down the drain and some of the
smell from the room. "Mr. FBI?" he asks, walking quickly back into the
autopsy room.

Langly stumbles after him, only to find Mulder unconscious on the
floor. He hurries to him and slaps the guy's face lightly. "Dude,
Mulder. Wake up. Are you okay?" He hauls the guy up as best he can 
to something like a seated position.

"What happened?" Mulder groans, wondering who the big old guy is and
why Langly's holding him like a little girl.

"I'm thinking that you got a little queasy and took a header. You know
blood and guts can bother some people," Langly says, with no sense of
irony whatsoever.

Mulder's trying to keep the room from moving, and crossing his eyes a
little does the trick. For now, that's all that matters. "Yeah, I
guess."

"You gonna be all right?"

The federal agent swivels his head to look at the old guy, who snorts
and goes back to work on the body, then to the blond guy. "Sure,
Cutie."

Langly's taken aback and quickly scoots away. Mulder struggles back to
his feet, swaying slightly. He grabs some of the sheet covering Jimmy's
body as he stands, then quickly covers the body while the ME swears.

"So...you're done with Jimmy?" the blond man wonders.

"Hell, no," the old man says, pushing the suddenly-tipsy FBI man away
from the body. "If you're lucky, we'll find some pavement on this guy's
back."

Then he scowls at the still-weaving agent, and wonders if the guy's
self-prescribed a drink to chase away nausea. Wouldn't be the first,
but he's tired of people heaving around his workspace. "Mind taking
your friend outta here?" he asks the nerdy-looking blond guy.

Langly nods, looking less queasy but more panicked. "Uhhhm, Mulder? 
You okay to move?"

Mulder nods, tries to come to a semblance of a dignified stance, but
loses his footing and slips, falling to the floor again.

"Dammit," the ME grouses as Langly tries to haul his friend to his feet
and out of the autopsy room.

~*~*~

Frohike's on a losing streak, but the interruption by his buddy isn't
welcome. "What?" he asks tersely, dropping more tokens into the
machine.

Langly isn't offended by the shorter man's attitude, merely shoving his
hands in his pockets. "Dude, I dumped Mulder in his room not too long
ago, so check on him before you head back to our room, okay?"

"What's wrong with him?" Frohike asks, not looking at him as he yanks
the crank.

The blond man shrugs. "We tried staying for the autopsy, but Mulder got
really dizzy and hit the floor," Langly replies. "The ME will ring
Mulder with the results as soon as he's done."

Now Frohike turns and sees his pal fidgeting. "Where are you going in
such a hurry?"

"Memorial game for Jimmy," Langly answers, "we grieve for the man, but
Lord Manhammer's gonna kick some ass."

"Uh-huh," Frohike snorts and turns back to his slot machine as Langly
leaves. A few more losing rounds at the machine and he's ready to kick
the damn thing when his attention is caught by a familiar laugh. He
crosses the floor to find Mulder surrounded by a horde of loud men and
empty beer mugs, looking for all the world like some mini-sports bar
crowd. "Mulder?"

"Aw, hey! Long time, no see!" Mulder yells exuberantly, clapping the
shorter man on the back so hard he tumbles. The man to Mulder's right
leans in and whispers something in his ear. Mulder guffaws, but shakes
his head. "Naw, man, I like Melvin. Melvin's the man!" he says, rubbing
a scowling Frohike's head, messing up what little hair the Gunman has
left. He raises his mug of beer. "To Melvin!"

A cheer goes around for "Mel-VIN! Mel-VIN!" One of the men in the
crowd, a tall, slightly heavy blond guy in a suit, also joins in the
cheer.

When Mulder sees him, however, he flips out. "You!" he yells, grabbing
the other man by the collar. His eyes bulge, and so does the other
man's, but for entirely different reasons. "You fucking asshole! You
screwed my wife!"

"I think I'd remember that," the blond man chokes out, to the amusement
of everyone except Frohike.

"That's it." The short man tries to haul him off, but no go. Time to
enlist some patriotic help. "This is Special Agent Fox Mulder of the
FBI. If you don't help me separate these two, you may be committing a
federal offense!"

It's clear nobody believes his bluff, but some guys are helpful enough
to pull the homicidal agent off the shaken suit. "Thanks," he mutters
to the guys who salute him with a "Mel-VIN!" In a low voice, he tells
his clearly inebriated pal, "Come on, before you kill someone else."

There are some "awws", but as Mulder gamely waves his newfound friends
goodbye, the balding blond guy makes the mistake of shaking out his
lapels and huffing, "As if I'd ever come near your stupid wife."

"Dammit!" Frohike glares, as Mulder swiftly spins out of his friend's
grasp, takes a couple of steps forward, and lands a solid punch on the
other man's face. There are some whoops and cheers as the blond guy
reels but remains standing, so Mulder hauls off and swings with his
left fist, landing a decent uppercut. "TKO," the short man mutters,
part of him insanely glad Mulder knocked that sonufabitch out for
dissing Scully. "Come on, frat boy, let's go."

Mulder raises his hands like Rocky as he's led away, and somebody even
hollers the Rocky theme, joined by more claps and cheers for the
self-declared middleweight champion.

~*~*~

Frohike throws the hotel room door open, allowing a stumbling Mulder to
flop in, "singing" the Rocky theme. "Hey, guys." He grins a wide, goofy
grin.

As the others stare at the giddy agent, Frohike mutters, "Settle down,
man, come on." It takes some doing, but eventually he gets Mulder to
sit down on the bed.

Unfortunately, he's still throwing shadow punches, even while laughing
and grinning. "I'm gonna knock you out," he sing-songs, "Scully said
knock you out!"

The short man explains, for the benefit of his friend and the Mata Hari
he's with, "Agent Mulder nearly killed a perfect," he ducks another
shadow punch, "stranger down there!"

The bearded man frowns. "I've never seen him this drunk before..."

The thin blonde woman checks Mulder's eyes. "God, this can't be," she
breathes.

As Modeski tries to check Mulder's hair and head for a needle puncture,
Mulder pouts and swats at her ineffectually. "Hey, only Scully can
check me out," he argues.

Modeski gives the Gunmen a look, and Byers says, "Mulder, Susanne is a
friend. She's a doctor, like Scully, okay?"

Mulder squints, then nods. "Okay." Then he grins up at the blonde
woman, and she blinks. "But if Scully finds out, she's gonna kick your
ass."

"I'll take my chances." The blonde woman finds herself smiling back,
but the smile fades when she finds a needle puncture just behind his
right ear. "He's not drunk, look at this," she tells the two Gunmen. As
they step in for a closer look, she explains, "That was made by an
injector gun."

Frohike looks aghast. Geez, how many times is this guy gonna get
drugged whenever Susanne Modeski's involved? "Well, what the hell was
he injected with?!"

"P-funk, baby, that puts a dip in yo' hip and a glide in yo' stride,
baby," Mulder intones in something like a George Clinton cadence,
surprising everyone.

Recovering, Modeski explains in a more serious tone, "It's derivative
of AH gas. AH, anoitic histamine, my latest creation." Ignoring the
drugged man's "shpooky" response, she goes on. "I could have developed
it years ago, but I held off. I wasn't about to let those bastards I
work for get their hands on it," she says bitterly. "Grant thought that
if we secretly developed a small batch, and then destroyed the notes,
that we would have the proof we needed to go public. We'd also have a
weapon we could use against them."

"Who else has access to this anoitic histamine?" Byers asks.

"Grant and I are the only two people that ha...," her voice trails off
as she realizes what this means, "...that have the samples."

Mulder is oblivious to any life-shattering implications, his bottom lip
jutting out and head bobbing back and forth in a white man's groove to
music only he can hear.

~*~*~

"Well," Frohike looks at his blissfully oblivious friend, then to the
blonde woman and demands, "do something."

Modeski nods, then fills a syringe with some chemical. Nobody turns
around when Langly enters the room. "This will counteract the anoitic
effect," she says.

Belatedly, Mulder notices his blonde friend and grins, "Hi, cutie."
When Modeski injects him, he pouts, "You poked me..." Then he promptly
passes out.

Langly raises his eyebrows over the black rims of his glasses. "Bad
trip?"

The blonde woman shakes her head, "No, he'll be fine. He just needs to
sleep it off."

Frohike frowns at the unconscious agent. "I don't understand, why would
the government want to turn Mulder into a frat boy?"

"That's just a potential side-effect," Modeski replies as Mulder lets
out a buzzsaw snore. "Anoitic histamine impedes higher brain functions.
It promotes suggestibility."

"Mind control," Byers looks at his friends as if he's found the Holy
Grail. "Brainwashing."

The short man nods. "That explains Jimmy. They told him to commit
suicide."

"And Mulder." The bearded man nods. "They made him delay the autopsy
findings. But what is their larger purpose? What are they planning?"

"Well, whatever it is, we better find out fast," Frohike comments.

~*~*~

Saguaro Room 
10:05 a.m.

The conference speaker, a nondescript older man in a suit, declares,
"This brings us to the notion of acceptable risk. Of course, risk is
defined as exposure, during both utilization and post-project
evaluation. Now in a secure proving-ground, i.e. a domestic engagement,
we have had great success. Now off-shore utilizations can afford a more
comprehensive definition of acceptable risk. Proper target appraisal
can provide a risk-free trial environment. A combination of political
instability and lack of efficient infrastructure can offer a, uh,
target area of nearly-zero risk potential."

A bespectacled blonde man in a black track jacket slowly scans the
room, only to settles his gaze on Susanne Modeski and Grant Ellis
seated at the speakers table. After smiling tightly at something Ellis
says, Modeski checks her watch. The time is 10:13. She looks impatient.
Outside the Saguaro Room, Mulder approaches the door.

The security guard looks bored as he says, "Authorized attendees only."

Mulder flips open his badge. "I'm an FBI agent."

The guard's eyes barely flicker as he repeats, "Authorized attendees."

Mulder shoves his badge back into his coat. ::Why am I not surprised::,
he thinks, surreptitiously checking his watch.

Meanwhile, Langly checks his watch and then Ellis checks his own as the
speaker drones on, "Of course, risk management goes hand-in-hand with
operational preparedness, and that happens to be our topic for the
remainder of the session..."

"Al, I think this would be a good time to take a break, shall we?"
Ellis smoothly interrupts.

The older man blinks, then nods. "Oh, yeah. Let's take five everybody.
Smoke 'em if ya got 'em."

As everyone rises to leave for their break, Langly stands and casually
walks toward the front of the room. Modeski is at the front of the
room, shaking hands with attendees, and ignoring the Gunman. In what
seems like minutes rather than seconds, Langly pulls the gun from his
jacket and aims at Modeski, firing three rounds, each hitting her
chest. The last one splatters blood on his glasses.

"Oh my God," Ellis says, staring in horror as Langly simply replaces
the gun in his jacket and walks out.

Someone in the room cries out, "Somebody help her...somebody...!"

The suavely-dressed Ellis cradles the bleeding woman in a showy display
of grief, "Susanne..."

Mulder swiftly sidesteps the security guard into the room, followed by
him as he approaches Modeski. "Federal agent," he flashes his badge to
anyone who cares. To the guard, he snaps, "Call for help."

The big man nods, and talks into his walkie-talkie, "Winston Warbler,
we need an ambulance, a woman's been shot. She's bleeding, hurry."

Ellis is crouched over Modeski. "Who did this?" he stares at Mulder.
"Who did this!?"

Mulder puts on his best expressionless FBI man face. "Shooter got
away," he says tersely. Looking up at the security guard, he says,
"Detain this man, get him outta here."

Frohike and Byers arrive in their paramedic guises as Ellis is taken
away. In a low voice, Frohike murmurs, "Good work, frat boy."

Mulder frowns for a second before following Ellis. Frohike and Byers
load Modeski onto the stretcher and wheel her out of the room smoothly,
as if they've been doing this for years.

~*~*~

An elevator door opens, and Mulder, Ellis and the security guard take a
step forward. Mulder puts a hand on the guard's arm. "I'll take him
from here," he says, taking out his gun. The guard nods, and steps back
into the elevator, and Ellis' eyes look panicked as the door slides
shut.

"Wait a minute, where...where...where're you taking me?" he asks. He
exhales with a sigh of relief when he sees it's his room, but when he
sees the look in the FBI agent's eyes, that relief is short-lived. He
starts when the door opens, and a bearded man walks inside, followed by
- "Susanne?"

The blonde woman, still looking as if she's bleeding copiously from
three mortal wounds, turns to the three men. "Can we have a moment,
alone, please? I'll be fine."

Mulder, Byers and Frohike look at each other, then at her. "We'll be
right down the hall," Byers says firmly.

She nods. "Okay."

As Frohike passes Ellis, he holds up the black chip he gave him. The
short man smirks, "Thanks for the tip."

"Okay, now what?" Mulder asks when they come to his room right next to
theirs. He unlocks the door and only resumes speaking when the door's
locked behind them. "I'm guessing Grant's either gonna be hunted by his
organization when they learn he's failed," he says, taking off his fake
blood-stained tie, "or they're gonna try finish the job with Susanne
before taking care of him."

"Sorry, man," Frohike says from behind him.

"Sorry for what?" Mulder asks, digging his cell phone out to call
Scully.

"For this," his friend says, and for the third time, Mulder gets
drugged.

"Are you certain it's safe to keep injecting him like this?" Mulder
vaguely hears Byers' worried voice.

"Your girlfriend said it was okay," Frohike's voice seems to float
across a great distance.

Hey, guys, I'm right here, he wants to say, but the world is fading out
just as Byers replies, "She's not my, never mind."

~*~*~

Later that night, Mulder wakes up to the sound of his cell phone
ringing. He blindly flails around, his hand hitting a button, only to
turn the TV on. "Police confirm an arrest has been made, this man,
Timothy Landau of Aldonaberta, New Mexico, has confessed to the murders
of Grant Ellis and Susanne Modeski," a female reporter declares. "Both
victims were government employees attending a conference in Las Vegas."

Why does that sound familiar, Mulder squints as the phone keeps ringing
shrilly, the pounding in his head being matched by a nasty dead mouse
taste in his mouth. "Yeah, yeah," he finally locates his cell phone,
which happens to be inside his coat pocket. Even as he takes in the
realization that he's lying in a hotel bed fully clothed with a raging
headache, several bad scenarios come to mind. "Mulder," he answers,
even as the TV blares on.

"Mulder, where are you?" his wife says as if from a great distance.

"Good question," he says, sitting up and groaning. "I'm in," he locates
the TV remote and shuts it off, "some kind of hotel."

"In Las Vegas? Why did the Gunmen want you there?" she asks.

"The Gunmen are here?" He frowns, trying as hard as hell to remember.

There's a pause, and then Scully says, "Oh man, I am gonna kick their
asses. And when you get home, I'm gonna kick yours."

"Don't bother," he grumbles, thankful when it's apparent those idiots
haven't tampered with his overnight bag or his wallet, as far as he can
tell. "I'm gonna kill them, and then this hangover's gonna kill me."

"Hangover? Mulder, what the hell's going on?"

He sits down, then wishes he hadn't sat down so hard as the room's
starting to wobble. "As soon as I find them, I'm going to ask them," he
says, trying to enunciate since it feels like consonants and vowels are
slipping out of his control. "Then I'm going to kill them. Then the
hangover's gonna kill me. Or you could kill me, whichever comes first.
God, I feel like hell."

Scully snorts, then says, "I love you, Mulder, but if I find out that
there's even a strip club involved-"

"Death, instant, immediate and irrevocable death," he supplies, "I love
you, too, Scully." She snorts again, and hangs up. Mulder sighs, closes
his eyes, and groans. If this damn hangover keeps up, the boys will be
lucky to escape with a simple maiming rather than death, but right now,
it feels like all the Yankees who ever lived are doing warm-ups in his
skull. "Ugh, kill me now."

~*~*~ 

Chapter Seventy-Five

Three Days Before Easter

"Agent Reyes! I wasn't expecting you," Mulder says in surprise after
opening the door one afternoon. Behind her, he can see Gibson. The boy
looks tense.

He opens the door and lets them both in. Just as they walk in, Hannah
barrels into the room. "Hi," the little girl says shyly.

"Is this your daughter?" Reyes asks, peering down at the child. "She
looks...nothing like you."

The little girl scowls, making Mulder grin. "No, Scully and her mom
have ours for pictures with the Easter Bunny. This is Hannah. She, her
brother, and Dad are staying with us."

"Hannah?" Doggett's voice proceeds him. "Muldah, is Hannah with you?"

Doggett's daughter throws herself at her father's knees when he comes
in the room. "Oh. Uh hi." His cheeks pink when he notices other people
in the room.

"John Doggett, agent Monica Reyes," Mulder introduces them, then
gestures towards the silent boy. "And this is Gibson Praise."

"Nice to meet you. Gibson, you're about twelve or thirteen, aren't
you?" Doggett asks, apparently sizing the visitors up.

"Yes," Gibson replies as shyly as Hannah.

"My son is about your age, then. Why don't we see if he wants to play a
video game while the feds talk?"

Gibson takes things in stride as usual. "Okay."

"You haven't said why you dropped by," Mulder reminds Reyes.

The serious look on Reyes' face worries him. "Gibson is pretty sure
that they know where he is. One of the kids must have said something to
exactly the wrong person...He doesn't want to admit it, but he's scared
to death. I'm not sure what to do, besides not send him back to that
school."

"We'll work something out," Mulder assures her. ::I guess it's about
time to sweet-talk the people at the school for the deaf.::

"I...I was wondering if I should adopt him."

He gives her a pained smile. "That's a noble aspiration, but it's a
hard row to hoe. A friend of mine once tried to adopt a special needs
child...they didn't want to approve the adoption because she was a
single woman who had a dangerous job - FBI agent."

"You said they 'didn't want to'. So what did happen?"

"The child died before a decision was made either way."

"That's terrible. I don't know, maybe my idea is dumb anyway. Gibson
said that they don't seem to suspect a connection between him and I, so
maybe doing this would be making it obvious."

"I'd like to tell you that you're being silly but..." He puts up his
hands helplessly. "These men are ruthless."

"Yes...I just feel so bad for him. He doesn't have anyone. I know how
happy I am that people who cared adopted me when I was orphaned."

Mulder nods knowingly. "You know that Gibson reads minds. You don't
need to adopt him in order to prove to him that you care about what
happens to him." Even as he says it, Mulder is careful to remind
himself never to think about his other past in the boy's presence.

"I know but…" Reyes wrings her hands. "You don't know what it's like to
have no idea what life would have been like if you stayed with your
real parents. I was fortunate. I was adopted by people who really loved
me. Gibson doesn't have that."

He frowns. "I'm not trying to say that's not something important, but
his safety is even more important right now. Maybe someday…"

"Yeah," Reyes says heavily. Doggett reappears just then.

"Why don't I go make a few calls to see if I can find a safe place for
him," Mulder says, giving Doggett a sidelong look.

"Sure," Reyes replies, not really looking up at him.

As Mulder is leaving the room, he hears Doggett ask "Agent Reyes, would
you like some coffee?"

~*~*~

It takes Mulder about twenty minutes to convince the school for the
deaf to take Gibson in. He never told Scully the first time around, but
the school was founded by an old NICAP friend of Max Fenig's so it
wasn't hard to find a sympathetic ear…given that the friend was not
deaf.

His next step is to poke his head into the room where the boys are
playing video games. "Hey, Gibson. Let's go talk to Monica."

"Yeah, okay."

"Aww, does he have to go now?" Luke asks. "We're in the middle of a
game!"

"Sorry, Luke, this is important." The boy grimaces, but he nods
resignedly.

Downstairs, Doggett and Reyes are in the middle of a pleasant
conversation. Mulder isn't sure what it's about, exactly, but he
suspects that from what he caught that Doggett's been grilling her on
what it's like to work for the FBI in the Big Easy.

"So," Mulder announces to get their attention. They look up sheepishly.
"I've found a school out west that will take Gibson in, no questions
asked. I've booked two plane tickets for this evening. And here's how
to get there once your flight lands."

"Good." Reyes sounds relieved. She holds out her hands for the
directions Mulder has printed out for her.

Gibson just nods.

Mulder turns to him. "I'm confident that you'll be safe there, because
no one will be able to tell your secrets. All of the other students,
and some of the staff, are deaf."

To Mulder's surprise, Gibson grins. "So they won't know my secrets, but
I'll be able to know theirs."

"I guess so," Mulder agrees. "I'm sorry that it didn't work out where
you are now."

"It's okay. I didn't make too many friends anyway." Gibson tells him
without self-pity. "I think a lot of kids thought I was spooky."

"Yeah… they used to call me 'Spooky Mulder' around the Hoover building,
so I can relate."

"But not often since you got married."

Mulder blinks. "That's right."

"Speaking of your wife, tell her I'm sorry I missed her," Reyes says,
standing.

"I will. But I'm sure you'll see her yourself at some point or
another."

"Fate you mean?" Reyes asks with a teasing smile.

"I was thinking of inevitably working together on another case, but if
you want to chalk it up to fate…"

Before she and Gibson leave, she shakes Doggett's hand. "It was really
nice to meet you, John. Who knows, maybe fate will force us to cross
paths again too."

"I think I'd like that," Doggett says, sounding a bit star-struck.

Mulder couldn't fail to notice this, so it comes to no surprise when
Doggett asks him later that night if Reyes is married. "No. I think
she's waiting for 'The One'," Mulder tells him, and has to stifle the
urge to match-make.

"I don't blame her," Doggett says, then whistles as he wanders off to
do homework. Mulder can only shake his head and smile.

~*~*~

April 1999

I'm blessed 
God knows I'm blessed 
As I look all around me 
I realize, I'm blessed 

~*~*~ 

FBI Headquarters 

Scully groans, her arms filled to the brim with large files, and carefully 
negotiates her way down the stairs. The janitor jerks his head away from 
the TV as she passes, and she shakes her head at his unspoken offer to 
help. Almost there, she thinks, waddling into the office and drops the large 
books onto Mulder's desk with a satisfying thud. Mulder, to her
gratification, jumps a little as he looks up at her, pushing his
reading glasses up his nose in a stereotypical scholarly fashion before
going back to reading the record book. She makes a face, steps up on
the boxes stacked against the back wall and gazes wistfully out the
window. "Mulder, it is such a gorgeous day outside. We could be playing
with the kids in the park, or taking a drive, or doing something
*normal* for a change." 

His nose still looking at the record book, Mulder replies distantly, "Normal 
can be overrated." The sound of a paper bag being opened catches his 
attention, and he grins expectantly at the dessert. "Did you bring enough 
ice cream to share with the rest of the class?" 

She looks like their marmalade bobtail cat as she manages to both lick the 
ice cream and be smug about it. "It's not ice cream," she says between licks. 
"It's a nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicle." 

He makes a grossed out face, going back to his book.
"Ugh," he says, not knowing how much of a nerd he looks like as he
buries himself behind the large tome. "Bet the air in my mouth tastes
better than that. You sure know how to live it up, Scully." 

Scully rolls her eyes. "Oh, you're Mr. Live-it-up, Mulder, you're really Mr.
Squeeze-every-last-drop-out-of-this-sweet-life aren't you? On this
precious Saturday you've got us grabbing life by the testes stealing
reference books from the FBI library in order to go through New Mexico
newspaper obituaries for the years 1940 to 1949 and for what joyful
purpose?" 

He blinks behind his reading glasses. "Looking for
anomalies, Scully," he answers in an oh-so-reasonable tone. "Do you
know how many so-called 'flying disc' reports there were in New Mexico
in the 1940s?" 

She indulges herself in a huge sigh. "I don't care," she says simply, before 
indulging in another large bite of her frozen dessert. "Mulder, this is a 
needle in a haystack. These poor souls have been dead for 50 years. 
Let them rest in peace. Let sleeping dogs lie," she waves a free hand 
dramatically. 

He grins, taking off his reading glasses. I love you, he thinks, even as he 
says aloud, "No, I won't sit idly by as you hurl cliches at me. Preparation 
is the father of inspiration." 

"Necessity is the mother of invention," she shoots back. 

"The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom." 

"Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die," Scully says, 
taking another bite. 

"I scream, you scream, we all scream for nonfat tofutti rice 
dreamsicles," Mulder says as he lunges for the dreamsicle, 
taking an obnoxiously large bite. The cone breaks and
pieces of the dessert splatter, not on the book, but on her black 
tank top. "Uh-oh."

"'Uh-oh' is right," she frowns, scooping what she can salvage 
off her dark top, but her efforts causes some of the dessert to
fall inside her cleavage rather than her mouth. "Ohhh, no…"

Mulder watches the journey of the leftover dreamsicle with great interest,
until he can't take it anymore and grabs his wife. Ignoring her
squeals, he bares her right breast and licks the remains of the
fat-free dessert, his tongue trailing to her exposed nipple and sucking
on it.

"Mulder," she weakly protests, but her eyes are closed, "the
door's unlocked."

"Mm-hm," he mutters against her breast, and she groans. He 
doesn't want her other breast to feel neglected, so he
reaches under her black top and fondles that, too, until she's rocking
against his chest. With his free right hand, he unzips her slacks,
curious to see if she's wet for him, and grazes the bottom of her
panties. When she gasps his name sharply, he smiles against her nipple,
finding she's very wet, and slips his hand inside, his fingers rubbing
against and inside her clit until she cries out-

"Mulder!" Fingers snaps in front of his face. When snaps out of his 
daydream, he sees his wife looking amused. "I'm guessing you 
weren't thinking about an X-File for those few seconds," she says 
dryly, futilely wiping at her black top with a paper towel, her 
breasts very well covered and her slacks still on, unfortunately.

It may have been a daydream of a few short seconds, but he's 
managed to build up a bit of wood with his active imagination. Baseball, 
he thinks, falling on the diversionary cliché, gotta stick to baseball. "Uh, 
no." He grins, then grabs the record book and pretends to be studiously 
reading it like the good agent he's supposed to be.

"Yeah, right," she says, grabbing the book from him,
and since he forgets to turn the page, she finds his true reading
assignment - baseball. Scully tries for righteous indignation, but
either it's the pregnancy hormones or the fake dairy that's got her in
a ridiculously good mood in spite of herself. "Mulder! You cheat! I
can't believe that you've been reading about *baseball* this whole
time."

~*~*~ 

Taking advantage of her good mood, he smiles, not apologizing in
the least. "Reading the box scores, Scully. You'd like it. It's like
the Pythagorean Theorem for jocks. It distills all the chaos and action
of any game in the history of all baseball games into one tiny,
perfect, rectangular sequence of numbers," he says, pointing on the
page. "I can look at this box and I can recreate exactly what happened
on some sunny summer day back in 1947." He looks back at her. "It's
like the numbers talk to me, they comfort me. They tell me that even
though lots of things can change some things do remain the same.
It's..." 

She interrupts him, on cue. "Boring," Scully says, still
smiling at him. "Mulder, can I ask you a personal question?" 

"Of course not," he says, pouting down at the record book. 

Scully's smile shifts into a smirk. "Did your mother ever tell you to go outside 
and play?" She tilts her head as he seems to stare at something on the page
that has nothing to do with baseball or ice cream. She's seen that look
before, and she realizes that, whether she likes it or not, he's got
himself hooked on some kind of alien - or conspiracy-related clue.
"Mulder?" 

Wiping away the ice cream, Mulder looks down at a picture
of two white men and one black man in a baseball jersey standing in
front of an old bus with "Roswell Grays" on the side. One of the white
men is the ever-present ABH, his square jaw and nonexistent neck
distinct features for an alien. The headline reads, "Local Roswell
police officer Arthur Dales chats with Diamond Star Josh Exley." Mulder
smiles as he murmurs, "Arthur Dales, huh?" 

"Mulder?" Scully repeats.


"Ah...Choo!" Mulder pulls off the worst fake sneeze, ripping the page
out of the book. 

His wife stares at him in disbelief. "You just
defaced property of the U.S. Government," she says as if he didn't
know. Carrying the torn page, Mulder grabs his leather jacket, gives
her a quick peck on the cheek, and runs out of the office. As she
watches him go, she has a slight smile on her face. "You rebel," she
says, shaking her head before pulling out her cell phone. If Mulder's
confident enough to go chasing down who-knows-what without her or the
Gunmen, it can only mean it's a relatively small clue, and she can
spend time with the kids without worrying too much. "Hi, Page," she
smiles when her oldest child answers. "Mommy's coming home soon. No,
but I think Daddy will be home in time for supper. Yes, I'll bring
something home, okay? Love you." 

~*~*~ 

Washington, DC 

Here we go again, Mulder thinks as he walks down the hall of an 
old apartment building that seems to have gotten crappier since the 
last time he visited. He steps over an unconscious drunk and knocks 
at one of the doors. A balding, round old man answers, barely opening 
the door as he snaps, "What in hell took you so long?" 

Despite knowing who this guy is, there's something about him that 
puts him off, just like the guy's brother. "I'm-I'm sorry, sir, I'm-I'm 
looking for Arthur Dales," he stutters like a novice. 

"I'm Arthur Dales," the man's jowls become more pronounced 
as he scowls. 

Mulder fights back his impulse to laugh as he retorts, "No, you're 
not." 

The old man stares at him levelly. "Don't be a wiseass, son." 

The agent shakes his head mulishly, "No, I-I'm sorry, sir, I know 
Arthur Dales and you're not Arthur Dales."

Now the old man gives him a magnanimous, if condescending, gaze.
"Arthur Dales is my brother. My name also happens to be Arthur Dales,"
he intones in a manner reminiscent of W. C. Fields. "It's the same
name, different guy. The other Arthur, he moved to Florida, the lucky
bastard. Now, our parents weren't exactly big in the imagination
department when it came to names. If it would help you wrapping your
little head around this stupefying mystery, Agent Mulder, we had a
sister named Arthur, too, and a goldfish." 

Mulder stares at him suspiciously, only because it's expected. "How do 
you know my name?"

He allows the old fart to smirk. "My brother told me all about you.
He said you were the biggest jackass in the Bureau since he retired.
Yeah, we're big fans," Dales says sarcastically. "Sometimes we'd stay
awake hours at night just talking about you. Just fascinating. Now,
unless you're hiding some Chinese food, let's call it a day." 

Mulder barely blinks as Dales shuts the door in his face. He waits a moment,
then unfolds the paper he took from the office and hollers at the door.
"Mr. Dales, I have a, uh...I have a photo here of your brother. Maybe
it's you. It's from many years ago and you're, you're standing in
Roswell, New Mexico." 

"Roswell," Dales says from behind the door. "That's me. I was a cop 
once in Roswell." 

Mulder allows himself to smile, since he knows what's going to happen. 
And even though the discovery is fifty years too late to change things, 
he figures spending the afternoon with someone who had a close encounter 
of the fourth kind is a pretty cool. "Okay, and you're standing with Negro 
League legend Josh Exley, who disappeared without a trace during a season 
in which he reportedly hit 60 home runs," he continues. 

"Sixty-one," the old man corrects him. 

"61 home runs in 1948." Mulder nods. 

"Forty-seven," Dales retorts from behind the door. 

Mulder folds the torn newspaper and shoves it into his jacket.
"'47, whatever, I don't really care about the baseball, so much, sir," 
he shouts, knowing it'll piss the old guy off. "What I care about is 
this man in the picture with you, I believe to be an alien bounty 
hunter." 

As expected, the old fart, that is, Dales, opens the door a crack,
glaring. “Of course you don't care about the baseball, Mr. Mulder,”
he says in his impeccable drawl. “You only bothered my brother about
the important things like government conspiracies and alien bounty
hunters and the truth with a capital ‘T.’”

“Wait a minute,” the younger man furrows his eyebrows as he smiles,
sensing a challenge. “I like baseball.”

It’s obvious Dales doesn’t believe him. “You like baseball, huh?” 

Mulder facially shrugs. “Yeah.” 

“How many home runs did Mickey Mantle hit?” Dales questions. 

After a beat, Mulder replies, “A hundred and sixty-three.” As the old
man snorts and starts to close the door, Mulder pushes it back open
with a smirk. “Righty. 373 lefty. 536 total.”

~*~*~ 

Now the old man grudgingly gives him props and allows him into his
cluttered apartment. It isn’t long before Mulder seats himself on the
couch, the only safe place to sit, while Dales goes through drawers
and boxes. “What you fail to understand in your joyless myopia is
that baseball is the key to life -- the Rosetta Stone, if you will,”
he says in his droll tone. “If you just understood baseball better,
all your other questions your, your... the, uh... the aliens, the
conspiracies they would all, in their way be answered by the baseball
gods.”

I’ve got a bad feeling this is what the Gunmen or I could’ve turned
into had we veered into the baseball card-side of things, Mulder
thinks. Then again, it was probably healthier for this Dales to get
into baseball rather than the X-Files like his brother. Still, he
plows on. “Yes, sir, that may be true,” he says, falling into an odd
sort of politeness rarely seen outside his family. “I'm thinking that
your experience in Roswell could be germane to a conspiracy between
men in our government and these shape-shifting alien beings.”

The old man, however, dismisses both politeness and theory. “Oh,
don't bore me, son. My brother Arthur started the X-Files with the
Federal Bureau of Obfuscation before you were born. He was working
for the FBI hunting for aliens when you were watching My Best
Friend's Martians. You say ‘shape-shifting.’” His pale, baggy eyes
bore into the hazel eyes of the agent. “Agent Mulder, do you believe
that love can make a man shape-shift?”

“I guess... women change men all the time.” He smiles, thinking of
Scully.

Dales snorts. “I'm not talking about women. I'm talking about love.
Passion.” He smirks, “Like the passion you have for proving
extra-terrestrial life. Do you believe that that passion can change
your very nature? Can make you shape-shift from a man into something
other than a man?”

Again, even though he knows better, Mulder gets paranoid and
defensive. “What exactly has your brother told you about me?” As
before, this Dales keeps his mouth shut and his eyes on the mess he
calls a home. “Mr. Dales, if you and your brother have really known
about this bounty hunter and plans for colonization for the last 50
years, why the hell wouldn't you have told anybody?”

“Nobody'd believe me.” 

Mulder frowns. “I would have believed you.” 

Dales pauses in his search. “You weren't... ripe.” 

As before, Mulder’s caught between wanting to strangle him and hit
his own head against the wall. Instead, he leaps to his feet. “Not
ripe?” He gets in the old man’s face. “Let me tell you something -- I
have been ripe for years! I am way past ripe! I'm so ripe, I'm
fucking rotten! This cuts to the very heart of the mystery of what
I've been doing with my life for the past ten years!” Okay, a little
histrionic, but he doesn’t feel like killing the old bastard any
more. At least, not yet.

Dales takes the rant in stride. “Oh, the heart of the mystery, the
heart of the mystery. Ah, there you are,” he beams as he holds up a
model of a kneeling baseball player, an old child's toy bank in
disguise. “Mr. Mulder -- maybe you'd better start paying a little
less attention to the heart of the mystery and a little more
attention to the mystery of the heart. You got a dime?”

“What is this?” Mulder squints, wondering if the thing would be
durable enough to withstand Sammy’s inquisitive hands.

“This little fellow goes by the name of Pete Rosebud,” Dales replies,
showing off the bank. “If you keep pumping coffee money into him,
he'll tell you a story about baseball and aliens and bounty hunters.”

As he puts a dime into the toy, Mulder mumbles, “Isn’t this a little
childish?”

“Sometimes you need a fresh pair of eyes, a child’s eyes, to look at
things the right way,” Dales says as the toy batter begins the
windup. “Now, the first thing you got to know about baseball is... it
keeps you forever young.”

~*~*~ 

Later as Mulder gets a bottle of mustard out of a refrigerator that
contains only beer, liquor, and condiments, he smirks. “I've got to
give it to you, Arthur. Calling a Negro league team from Roswell the
Grays is pretty clever. E.T. steal home, E.T. steal home,” he does a
bad imitation of the Spielberg creature. Then he squeezes the mustard
onto the two hotdogs the other Dales is holding, taking one of them.

The heavy old man scowls at him. “I didn't make that up.” 

I know you didn’t, the agent thinks, but hell, free hotdog, pizza and
beer and a good story? Like I’d pass that up. Outwardly, however, his
demeanor is, oddly enough, skeptical. “You seriously want me to
believe that Josh Exley, maybe one of the greatest ballplayers of all
times, was an alien?”

“They're all aliens, Agent Mulder,” the old man intones in his W.C.
Fields delivery, “all the great ones.”

“Babe Ruth was an alien?” 

The old man beams. “Yeah.” 

“Joe DiMaggio?” Mulder mumbles around his hot dog. 

“Sure.” 

“Willie Mays?” Mulder prompts. 

A snort. “Well, obviously.” 

“Mantle? Koufax? Gibson?” 

“Bob or Kirk?” This Dales doesn’t wait for a response as he plows on.
“See, none of the great ones fit in -- not in this world, not in any
other world.” Someone knocks at the door and Dales walks over to get
it. “They're all aliens, Mulder, until they step between the white
chalk lines -- until they step on the outfield grass.” The old man
opens the door for a little boy in overalls, carrying what looks like
a liquor bottle in a paper bag. “Like clockwork. Poor boy with my
medicine.” He grins, walking away with the bag, then nods at the
agent. “Give the kid a tip, will ya?”

I hope our kids never have to resort to delivering liquor to
reclusive old theorists, Mulder thinks, digging into his pocket. “So
I assume you're speaking metaphorically?”

Dales snorts again, pulling his “medicine” from the bag. “Speaking
metaphorically is for young men like you, Agent MacGyver. I don't
have time for that. I only have time to speak the truth.”

Mulder finally frees his hands, holding the hotdog in his mouth, and
hands the kid a dollar.

The kid squints at the dollar, much as Mulder would’ve if he were the
same age now rather than in the late ‘60’s. “You're a regular
Rockefeller, ain't ya?” Before Mulder can retort ‘How do you even
know who Rockefeller is?’, the kid’s running down the hallway and
jumping over the drunk in the hallway.

~*~*~ 

Neither man pays attention to the black and white commercial on TV,
as they are more wrapped up in the story unfolding from the old man’s
lips. They are sitting on the couch, surrounded by the bachelor’s
décor of empty pizza and Chinese takeout boxes. As Dales drinks his
beer, Mulder says, “Let me get this straight: a free-spirited alien
fell in love with baseball and ran away from the other non-fun-having
aliens and made himself black, because that would prevent him from
getting to the majors where his unspeakable secret might be
discovered by an intrusive press and public and you're also implying
that...”

Dales looks at him wryly. “You certainly have a knack for turning
chicken salad into chicken shit,” he remarks after a large swig of
beer.

Mulder plows on. “You're also implying that this baseball-playing
alien has something to do with the famous Roswell UFO crash of July
'47, aren't you?”

Now the heavyset old man chuckles. “You're just dying to connect the
dots aren't you, son? Look, I give you some wood and I ask you for a
cabinet. You build me a cathedral. I don't want a cathedral. I like
where I live. I just want a place to put my TV. Understand my drift?”

The agent blinks, then nods. “Drift it is, sir,” Mulder says, still
oddly polite.

Dales grins. “Trust the tale, Agent MacGyver not the teller. That
which fascinates us is by definition true. Speaking metaphorically,
of course.”

“Okay, so was Ex a man who was metaphorically an alien or an alien
who was metaphorically a man or a something in between that was
literally an alien-human hybrid?” Mulder asks. The old man frowns,
then hands him a pint of liquor. Mulder takes it and grins. “It's
official. I am a horse's ass,” he toasts, and he’s fairly certain
that, if Scully were there, she’d agree, but not drink the beer.

“What is it to be a human, Fox?” Dales asks, and Mulder has to
control his wince at the casual use of his first name. Hell, “Agent
MacGuyver” is preferable to his name. “Is it to have the chemistry of
a man? In the universal scheme of things a dog's chemistry is nearly
identical to that of a man. But is a dog like a man?”

“Well, I have noticed over the course of time, a man and his dog will
often start to look like one another,” Mulder grins again, thinking
of how Scully and Queequeg resembled each other, although she’d kick
his ass if he said that out loud.

“Of course not,” Dales says. “To be a man is to have the heart of a
man. Integrity, decency, sympathy: these are the things that make a
man a man and Ex had them all had them all, more than you or I.” Even
as he returned to the story, Mulder notes his eyes soften again. As
the previous time, he wonders, Will this be me in the future, holding
on to past brushes with the incredible things I’ve seen and done,
unable to face the present clearly and the future hopefully?

~*~*~ 

Mulder’s got the hugest shit-eating grin on his face as he pulls up
to the driveway. This is gonna be fun. Or painful. Whichever comes
first. Like a dream, his wife comes out, with David and Jared on each
hip and a quizzical smile on her face. “So, uh... I get this message
marked "urgent" on our answering service from one Fox *Mantle*,” and
his grin gets wider, “telling me to get the kids in their grungiest
clothes for my very special surprise. And, Mulder... I don't see any
nicely wrapped presents lying around, so what gives?”

“You've never hit a baseball, have you, Scully?” 

“No, I guess I have, uh... found more necessary things to do with my
time than,” she raises an eyebrow when he hauls a large duffel bag
from the back of the minivan, “slap a piece of horsehide with a
stick.”

“That’s about to change,” he says as their more mobile kids join
Scully at the front door. He leads them around to the backyard, where
they’re less likely to hit balls into a neighbor’s window, or worse,
into the street. Fortunately, because of his paranoia of folks
sneaking through an unlit area around the house, the backyard is lit
better than some ballparks. Then he grins at Luke, tossing him a
catcher’s mitt. “You’re on ball duty.”

“Aw, man,” the tow-headed boy grumbles, but it’s a good-natured
grumble.

Scully would cross her arms if they weren’t full. “This my very
special surprise, Mulder? You shouldn't have,” she says flatly.

“’Course I do,” he says lightly, “I love you.” As she rolls her eyes,
he hands Luke a Wiffle ball and Page a Wiffle bat. “I’m guessing your
dad taught you the finer points of the game, but for her sake,” and
Mulder nods vaguely in both Page’s and Scully’s direction, “go easy
on her.” As the boy grins, he walks over to his daughter and nods at
Sammy and April. “Now you guys watch carefully, ‘cause you’ll be
next.” As they stare in frank curiosity, Mulder kneels on the ground
and hunches over. “Okay, honey, when you see the ball coming at you,
whack it.” He positions his daughter’s arms so that they swing the
bat effectively. “Just like a piñata,” he adds.

He isn’t sure whether that was the right thing or the wrong thing to
say, because when Luke tosses it, Page swings so hard she spins
around, nearly beheading him in the process. As Scully and Luke
laugh, Mulder can only give a shaky grin and silent thanks that it’s
only a Wiffle bat and not a real one. “Page?” he says, making sure to
keep his voice steady.

“Yeah, Daddy?” she asks innocently, even as she brandishes the foam
bat like a weapon of death.

::My God, I love you so much, sweetie,:: he thinks, and now, even
more than ever, does he realize that, unlike either Arthur Dales,
he’s not going to end up alone and drunk and despairing of the
future. It’s Scully, and Page, and everyone else in his life, that
saves him from that. Out loud, however, he says, “Page, honey, try to
hit the ball, not Daddy’s head.”

“Okay!” she says brightly. Then she adopts what can only be called
Scully’s Stance of Death, and her proud mommy doesn’t bother to hide
a snigger at the expense of her hapless daddy.

Mulder suppresses a shudder. “All right. We're going to wait on the
pitch. We're going to keep our eye on the ball. Then, we're just
going to make contact, I mean, hit that sucker.” To his surprise and
sudden pride, his little girl swings and hits the ball. “Yes!!!
High-five!” After she triumphantly does so, he hugs her. “Who’s
next?”

~*~*~ 

It isn’t long before Luke becomes the pitcher to not only Mulder’s
kids, but for his sister as well, and everyone is cheering, whether
or not they hit the ball. Mulder joins his wife and two youngest sons
on the door stoop, and as he wraps his arms around her, she leans
into him. “So, Mr. Mantle, what brought this on?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes, when you concentrate on hitting that little
ball... The rest of the world just fades away-- all your everyday,
nagging concerns.” Scully giggles as Sammy does a little football
touchdown dance, irregardless of hitting the ball. “Having to spend
more sleepless nights for our upcoming child of looooooooove.” This
time, Hannah hits the ball, and they clap for her, even as he’s sure
Scully wants to roll her eyes at him. “How you probably couldn't
afford that nice, new suede coat on a G-Woman's salary, but sure as
hell look good in it.” She shakes her head, smiling. “How you threw
away a promising career in medicine,” he lowers his voice as he
murmurs into her ear, “to hunt aliens with a crackpot, albeit
brilliant, partner and husband.” Now she snorts and he sports a
mock-wounded look. “Getting into the heart of a global conspiracy.
Wondering how soon I can bed my favorite redhead -- Oh, I... I'm
sorry, Scully. Those last two problems are mine, not yours.” She
elbows him, and he rubs his arm. “Ow.”

There’s no sympathy on her face as she hands him the twins with a big
smile. “Shut up, Mulder. I'm gonna play baseball.”

He pouts, then sits David and Jared near the door. “You guys aren’t
gonna run away, are you?” he asks, pulling off his jacket. “Daddy’s
gonna shag Mommy, I mean shag some balls… Why am I explaining to
you?” he asks, putting one drooling boy on his leather jacket, then
the other before joining his wife.

“Mulder?” Scully raises The Eyebrow as he pulls a regulation bat and
ball from the bag.

“Catch,” he says, tossing her the bat. She does so, and he pulls
another mitt from the bag. “Ready to take a whack at horsehide with a
stick?”

“Bring it on.” She smiles back, and now the kids pause in their game
to cheer her on.

“Go, Mommy!” 
“Hit it, Mrs. M.!”
 “You can do it!” 

There’s a song in Mulder’s heart as that smile nearly blinds him.
“Okay, Scully, hips before hands!” He throws her some easy ones, most
of which she misses, and she pouts. He wishes he could give her that
up close and personal lesson he did before, but now, he’s afraid that
he’d end up dry humping her in front of their children, so he sucks
it up and gets ready for another toss. He curls two fingers and
stretches his right arm way back as if to give her a vicious
curveball, but the delivery’s surprisingly soft and as she swings,
she connects.

Scully laughs with delight, and everyone cheers and claps. She bows
deeply and repeatedly, “Thank you, thank you!”

Mulder chuckles, “Okay, my turn.” 

“But I wanna keep going!” Scully pouts. 

“I never got a crack at that nice piece of ash,” he points out, “the
bat, Scully, the bat.”

Her eyebrow’s raised, but she hands it over. As he takes it, he hears
a familiar voice call out, “Hey, is this a closed game, or can anyone
play?”

They turn to see Doggett wearing an FBI trainee polo shirt and
slacks, the weariness dropping off his face when he sees what’s going
on. “Dad!” his son says, and Mulder’s again surprised to see how
young this guy looks as his eyes brighten.

Mulder tosses the ball to the other man. “Go easy on me, John,” he
says, walking over to the unofficial “plate.”

“Hell, no.” Doggett grins, and as Mulder groans loudly, the kids
laugh. “Ready?”

Mulder winks at his wife, then gets comfortable with the bat. “Bring
it on.”

“Uh-oh,” Luke says, and isn’t surprised when Mulder misses, the ball
bounces off the door, hits the garbage can, and lands in David’s lap.
“Nice catch.”

Scully giggles as she picks up the ball from her baby boy’s chubby
hands. “Your worries fading away yet, Mulder?” she asks, then tosses
the ball back to Doggett.

“Hell, no,” he grimaces, and Doggett laughs. It was gonna be a long
night.

~*~*~* 

I made many mistakes and I haven’t done right all the time 
But the Lord keeps on blessing me 
Not by my goodness, you may not understand 
The Lord keeps on blessing me 
I can’t explain it, it’s so amazing 
(The Lord keeps on blessing me) 
I can’t explain it, it’s so amazing 
(The Lord keeps on blessing me) 

~*~*~ 

“We played baseball until our arms fell off,” Mulder yawns,
staggering into the bedroom, “so why was it still so hard to put five
kids to bed?”

Standing on the bed, Scully kisses her husband after chuckling. “I
love you, Mulder.” She smiles.

He smiles back. “What was that for?” 

“At the end of the day, even after talking aliens and drinking beer
with a strange old man, you still manage to come home and play with
the kids.” Her smile becomes reflective as he pulls his shirt off.
“Come here, you.”

His slightly confused expression melts into an “oh, yeah” one when
she takes off his jeans. “Someone’s getting lucky tonight.”

She snorts, dragging him down to a sitting position on the bed. “Luck
has nothing to do with it,” she says briskly.

His smile becomes lazy as he remarks, “How about fate? Destiny? Or
what about reincarnation?”

When she puts her head between his legs, he groans as her long red
hair brushes his thighs. “I’d say it’s a miracle.” She smiles, her
blue eyes dancing wickedly before she pulls his boxers off, “that
we’re both awake and horny for each other after five kids and an
impromptu ball game.”

“Then thank you, God,” he sighs happily when those plump red lips
wrap themselves around his cock. Then a thought occurs to him as
she’s busy blowing his… mind. “Scully, we should lock the door,” he
mumbles breathlessly as her nimble hands join her lips in the effort.

“Mm-mm,” she shakes her head slightly, causing him to moan and grab
the blanket as he thickens in her mouth.

“Scully,” he repeats, but she sucks harder, and his eyes roll,
causing some leakage. Somewhere in the back of his sex-addled mind is
something about ladies shouldn’t talk with their mouths full, which
only makes him that much harder. He pleads one last time, whispering,
“Scullyyyyy….”

Finally, she drags her mouth off of him, visibly swallowing before
pouting. “Never argue with a woman giving you head, Mulder,” she
mutters, locking the door before returning to the bed.

Now he gulps, both his Adam’s apple and his cock bobbing for her.
“Sorry. I didn’t want the kids to…”

She nods, her lower lip jutting out in a “uh-huh” expression. “Now,
where were we?” she asks in a practical tone of voice, even as she
divests herself of the dark blue silk pajamas in a very seductive
fashion.

“Scully, I love you,” Mulder says, dazed, as she lowers herself back
down in front of his painfully hard shaft.

“Mm-hm,” she says, engulfing his engorged penis. 

“Ahh, mmm,” he groans, smiling as her cheeks hollow from the suction.
Then her tongue rasps his sensitive underside as she fondles his
balls.

He pounds the mattress, gasping, “Omigod, omigod, omiGOD!” He’s ready
to explode, and he’s fighting the effort not to thrust his hips at
her, fighting, but starting to lose the battle. “I’m coming,” he
grunts.

Without warning, she withdraws, and both he and his penis are sorely
disappointed. “Good,” she says, licking her lips.

“Omigod,” he breathes again when she sits on his lap, “you just want
me for the sex, don’t you?”

Her nether lips are surprisingly wet, and he groans in gratitude as
she slides down his hardness with an eagerness he’d describe as,
well, joyful. “Damn, your wood’s bigger than the bat,” Scully gasps,
rocking on him with both practiced familiarity and incredible
horniness.

His eyes, predictably, go to her bouncing breasts as she rides him
like a horse. “Mind if I hit a few homers?” he growls, grabbing her
ass and causing her to squeal.

“Unh, yes, omigod, yes!” she shouts, grasping his hair painfully as
she throws her head back. Yeah, it looked like it was going to be a
long night, but Mulder mentally thanked the Creator, if there was
one, for making such an incredible woman like Dana Katherine Scully
and putting her in his life all over again.

~*~*~* 

Blessing me (Blessing me) 
Blessing me (Blessing me) 
The Lord woke me up this morning 
Started me on my way 
So I got on my knees 
And gave God the praise 
“I'm Blessed” by Chicago Mass Choir 

~*~*~

Chapter Seventy-Six 
"A Parting Shot"

June 1999

It's a beautiful day in DC, and thankfully, an ocean breeze is there to
cool off the attendants and participants of this occasion. Everyone is
dressed in their Sunday best, some more comfortably than others, and
more than a few fans are flapping as speech after speech drones on.
Mulder and Scully are doing their best to ensure that their children
behave, while Luke and Hannah are trying not to yawn as it's their
father's big day. "Did you see Daddy graduate from cop school?" Hannah
asks her older brother as another old man verbally meanders onstage.
She's sitting with April, who, as usual, is sitting quietly.

Luke grins, the same face-splitting grin his father has. "Dad was
always a cop when I was growing up. I guess this way, he gets to be a
supercop all over the U.S. instead of just New York."

Page, sitting between her parents, looks up at her mother. "You and
Daddy are supercops?"

Scully smiles. "I've never thought of it that way, but that's one way
of putting it."

Mulder leans over Page and Sammy to whisper in his wife's ear, "We'll
play 'Good Cop, Bad Cop' later." She reaches around them to swat her
husband, shaking her head when their children ask what's going on.

Name after name is called, and each graduate is handed a certificate
and shakes hands with the FBI director. People clap politely for other
graduates but make more noise for their own, as is the tradition for
most graduations. However, when John Jay Doggett's name is called out
and he walks down the stage, he wants to hide. In the audience, his
kids are making a lot of noise and standing on their chairs, as is
Mulder and some of his kids. Scully, however, is clapping politely and
pretending she doesn't notice the obnoxious people she knows or is
related to. Doggett's grateful to the FBI couple for putting his family
up, but honestly, he's glad he's never met Mulder before New York.

"Hey, congrats," Mulder waves when the man leaves the stage with the
other graduates, clapping Doggett's shoulder. He's got the twins
squooshed in his left arm, and he frees them slightly by holding them
out to the newly-certified agent. "David, Jared, congratulate your
Uncle John," and they dutifully slobber on the poor graduate, who
dutifully grimaces and wipes it off. "Wow, after that first night, I
thought we'd have to wrap you up like a mummy before sending you back
out."

"Hah, hah." Doggett smiles ruefully as he's mobbed by the rest of
Mulder's family as well as his own. "Glad you could make it," he tells
a slightly older man with the same build but with a lighter complexion
and darker hair marked with streaks of silver.

"It's a good idea to make federal connections," Doggett's older brother
drawls. Like a lot of people in attendance, he's dressed in a suit and
tie, but unlike his younger brother, he actually appears comfortable in
it. He turns his professionally congenial smile onto Mulder and Scully.
"I'm Joseph, John's older brother. You must be the nice couple who took
him in, Mueller, was it?"

~*~*~

Scully, likewise, turns a social smile to the tall man. "I'm Scully,
this is my husband and partner Mulder." Page takes her cue from her
mother, also smiling politely, while Sammy runs with April and Hannah
around Luke.

"Ah," Joseph Doggett says, but manages to convey a wealth of
disapproval with that one word.

"Stray dogs get taken in, Joey," Doggett butts in, "these're friends."

The elder Doggett's winces slightly at the contraction of his name, but
nods. "It's nice that you've got friends to watch over your young
ones."

Putting a restraining hand on his wife's shoulder, Mulder says blandly,
"So, Joey, what do you do?"

"It's Joseph," the other man says, nettled, "I'm in real estate. If
you're ever in the Georgia area, look me up." He passes them a card,
then shakes his younger brother's hand. "We'll be seeing you at home?"
The question was phrased in something like a command.

Doggett gives a noncommittal grunt, and Joseph Doggett walks away. Once
he's gone, Luke rolls his eyes. "Jeez, Dad, he's still as stuck-up as
ever."

"Don't talk about your uncle like that," he scolds, but it's a
half-hearted one at that.

"All right, old man," Mulder wraps an arm around the guy's neck, "now
that you're officially an FBI agent, it's time to hit the house for one
last par-tay!"

"I'm *not* an old man." Doggett glares at his so-called friend. "I'm
less'n a year older than you, remember?"

"Hey." Mulder grins, "the fact that you slipped past the bureau's
mandatory cutoff age thanks to military duty only endears you to me,
you rebel, you."

Now Doggett shrugs out of the man's grasp. "You've just slipped from
'Spooky' to plain creepy," he makes a face, looking more like his son
than his brother.

Scully laughs. "Mulder, behave." She doesn't say anything about
Doggett's brother, who's already left the premises, but she can't help
but feel a little sad for the guy. Instead, she focuses her energy on
getting everyone, stray children and husband, loaded into the minivan,
without killing anyone in the process.

~*~*~

The party at Mulder and Scully's house is, for the most part, a festive
event, in no small part to Frohike's food preparation and Melissa's,
well, interesting taste in decorations. The Lone Gunmen had expressed
curiosity at the new agent, while Melissa and Emily enjoyed the excuse
to have a party with family. "You shouldn't have," Doggett murmured,
and Mulder merely grins.

A piñata, being the head of a green-skinned alien with its long arms
outstretched, hung from the basketball hoop with a sign saying, "Don't
forget us." Of course, they proceeded to whack the everliving heck out
of the piñata, and lots of unhealthy goodies came spilling out of the
"alien," much to the kids' and at least one Gunman's delight.

"It's too bad that doesn't happen in real life," Mulder sighs deeply,
while Doggett rolls his eyes.

Nobody really touched on why Doggett's older brother had left, nor any
other troublesome issues. Today is a day for rejoicing, and they do a
lot of it over burritos, soda, and other food Scully would have had a
problem with had not Frohike also offered alternative, or rather,
healthier fare as well. The TV plays lots of kiddie VHS tapes, while
the adults share stories and good-natured jibes with each other.

Being a lovely summer day in DC, it isn't long before an impromptu
baseball game erupts in the backyard, and with a mishmash of adult and
child players, both standard and Whiffle equipment are used with great
aplomb. Even Langly joins in, to Mulder's delight and the shock of his
fellow Gunmen, albeit with a Whiffle bat. Frohike and Byers declare
themselves unofficial scorekeepers, while Melissa is content to be a
cheerleader for all sides, and Doggett and Mulder keep up their
not-so-secret rivalry on the mound. Of course, both men declare
themselves the winner, but then Mulder concedes defeat, "only," he
says, "because it's John's graduation day." Whereupon the graduate
makes a face, everyone claps, and his children earnestly declare him
"the real winner."

It's well past dark by the time the game, and the party, wraps up, and,
for the most part, a good time is had by all, young and old alike.

~*~*~

Of course, it took Mulder and Scully at least four more hours, dinner,
and mild bribery to get everyone in bed early. "Uncle John's leaving
early in the morning, so you need to sleep now," Scully had told each
child at least fifteen times that night. By the time she reached her
bedroom, however, she yawned a monster yawn. "Tell me again why John
wanted to go back to New York."

"Your brother's a better briber than we are," Mulder replies around a
mouth of toothpaste.

"I think you just scared him off with the X-Files," she retorts, "and
goodness knows, he's going to be a more-than-capable agent in any
division."

Rinsing out his mouth, Mulder makes a face at his wife, then steps
behind her as she takes off her bra. "We both know it's for Luke and
Hannah's sake. They've got friends, school, a familiar life. Besides,
should he ever change his mind," he murmurs, his hands fondling her
breasts, "the basement office is open for new recruits."

Scully smiles up at him, yanking his sweatpants off to find him going
commando. Of course. "You sure you want to let a skeptic like him on
the team?"

He's nuzzling her neck, but chuckles, and the vibrations along her skin
makes her ticklish. "He's hardworking, intelligent, and able to deal
with any kind of crap life throws at him. And he's my friend. He's a
good man, even if he doesn't believe in aliens yet."

"Are you sure you're going to bed with the right person?" she leans
against him, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck.

He snorts as he drops her pants. "Never let it be said I don't
appreciate a ruggedly handsome man," he declares, making her chuckle,
"but the only person I've ever wanted to make love to is you."

"Good," Scully declares, twisting around so that her entire naked body
is facing his. "Because I've waited all day to do this."

And Mulder is awash in appreciation for his wife as she simultaneously
kisses him hard and fondles him expertly. Whatever regret he has about
John Doggett leaving is now forgotten as his glorious wife ravishes him
with an energy he wasn't sure she had after tucking the kids in. ::Ooh,
I'm definitely awake,:: he thinks, as they stagger towards the bed.
::No sleep for either of us tonight.::

~*~*~

Late July 1999
 
"What do you think of the name Christopher?" Mulder asks his wife one
lazy summer afternoon.
 
Scully, who is lying draped across his lap while the kids play in the
back yard, looks up at him. "I like it."
 
"Yeah?"
 
"Yup. And I know the perfect middle name too. Reeve."
 
Mulder gives her a suspicious look. "It's not nice to tease like that,
Scully."
 
"Who says that I'm teasing?" she asks.
 
"So if they ask me to fill out the birth certificate, and I write
'Christopher Reeve Mulder', you won't be mad at me?"
 
"Nope."
 
"Hmm," Mulder says, easing her off his lap. "I'll be back in a minute."
 
"I'll be here."
 
When he comes back he's carrying a piece of paper and a pen. "Page,
come here!" he calls.
 
Page runs over. "What, Daddy?"
 
"Mommy wants to know too," Scully remarks, twisting to try to see what
he wrote.
 
Mulder hands Scully the pen, then bends a little to address Page.
"While you watch, Mommy is going to sign her name. Then you'll print
your name on the bottom."
 
"Okay," the little girl agrees.
 
A smile plays on Scully's lips as she reads what's written on the
paper. Instead of asking if it's necessary, she takes the pen and signs
her name with a flourish.
 
When she hands the pen to Page, Mulder points to where she signs. Page
wrinkles her nose. "What's wit-n-ess?"
 
"Witness. It means you watched Mommy sign."
 
"Okay." It takes Page three times as long to print her name because
she's concentrating.
 
Mulder kisses them both on their cheeks. "I need a frame for this."
 
Scully smiles and shakes her head. Only her husband would want to
notarize an agreement about what to call a baby. "Maybe we can get her
made a justice of the peace when she's ten."
 
"That could have all sorts of uses," Mulder says gleefully.
 
~*~*~
 
August 14th, 1999
 
Sammy looks up at his father while they walk down the hallway. A couple
of steps ahead Page is leading their sister by the hand, and Mulder has
Jared and David in front and back baby carriers, which they're close to
outgrowing.
 
When Mulder doesn't notice his stare, Sammy stops dead in his tracks.
"Da-ddy!"
 
"What, Sammy?"
 
"A boy baby, right? A little brother."
 
"Sisters are nice too, you know," Mulder tells his son. ::Four boys.
Five when William comes in 2001. Whoa. What have we gotten ourselves
into?::
 
"Daddy!" Sammy squawks impatiently.
 
"Yes, you have a baby brother. Haven't we talked about that a dozen
times since this morning?"
 
"Yes, but I wanted to know if you're sure!" Sammy says earnestly.
 
"I'm 100% sure, Sammy. I changed his first diaper before I came to get
you."
 
"Okay," Sammy says sunnily, and they proceed to Scully's room without
any further delay.
 
"Mommy!" the kids shout when they see Scully. Mulder gives the nurses
talking in the hallway a sheepish look before following his kids.
 
Sammy and Page are already clamoring for their mother's attention, but
quiet little April looks confused. Seeing this, Mulder picks her up and
stands her on the chair by Scully's bed.
 
Her eyes widen when she notices the blond infant nestled in the crook
of Scully's arm. "Oh," April says. "A baby."
 
Mulder tries to get David and Jared's attention, but they're too little
to have much of an interest in what's going on. Giving up, he smiles at
April, Page and Sammy instead. "This little boy is your new brother,
Christopher."
 
"Hi Christopher," they chorus as if on cue.
 
Before Mulder gathers them to go, they've each given their mother a
dozen kisses and told her how much they like the baby (because it's a
boy, Sammy can't help but add.) She looks misty, and Mulder is sure
that she misses them for some reason.
 
"Love you." Mulder kisses her goodbye. "Enjoy your last 36 hours of
quiet."
 
Scully looks down at the baby and laughs softly. "You can't think
that's true."
 
He shrugs. "Compared to these five missing their mom, it will be. I'll
be back to visit tonight." He looks at the older kids. "a-l-o-n-e."
 
"See you then," Scully says. "And you kids behave for your father."
 
"Okay, Mommy," they agree before Mulder leads them out.
 
On the drive home Mulder wonders what it will be like now that they
have six children. And if he can get the five of them in the back of
his car to take a nap, since he needs one. He's been awake since he and
Scully headed to the hospital late the night before. Looking into the
mirror at the excited little faces, he decides that the answer is
probably no.

~*~*~

August 17th, 1999

"Come on, Scully," Mulder tells her, while gently shaking her arm to
wake her up. "We've got an appointment."

Yawning, Scully sits up. "For what?" She couldn't imagine where he
wanted to go the day after bringing their newest son home from the
hospital.

"To have pictures taken."

"A family portrait?"

"Okay, sure," he says a bit vaguely. "Everyone's dressed and fed but
you, including Christopher, who I gave a bottle of the milk you put in
the fridge. I'll have everyone in the car. I picked out clothes for
you."

"Oh really?" she asks, but he's already wandering off somewhere else in
the house.

His taste isn't too bad, she decides as she pulls on the blouse and
skirt that seem to match the shirt and slacks Mulder has on. When she
gets into the minivan, she looks over the kids and sees that they're
wearing similar outfits. Even the twins are wearing tiny slacks and
button down shirts.

~*~*~

Scully gives the building they pull up in front of a dismayed look.
"Here's our first stop," Mulder announces.

"Mulder, I thought we were going to get a family portrait done."

"We are. Our appointment is at 11:30. We just need to stop off here
really quick too."

The conversation ceases as Mulder does most of the work getting the
kids out of the minivan. Once Christopher's in her arms, and Mulder is
wrangling David and Jared, she gives him a suspicious look. "This is a
place to have passport photos done."

"I realize that." 

"But we have passports."

"Yes, we do. They don't." He moves his head to nod at the children.

"Why do they need passports?"

"Because we're going on vacation before Page starts kindergarten,"
Mulder announces. "Surprise."

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"I think it's a great idea. We'll go some place nice for Labor Day
weekend, and the kids will have a blast. I haven't made travel
arrangements yet, but I'm hoping to find some place with great fish,"
Mulder tells her, and she knows that he's thinking of Jared and David's
fascination with their fish tank.

"Okay, what the hell," Scully says. Then she and Mulder watch as their
antsy children are photographed, with the promise that the passports
will be ready in seven days to twelve days.

"Seven to twelve days?" Scully asks on the way out the door.

"The guy who runs this place is a friend of the gunmen's, and he
insisted on giving us preferential treatment," Mulder tells her with a
slight shrug of his shoulders, which is barely perceptible under
toddler weight leaning on them.

"So he wants to get on your good side if he ever runs into trouble,"
she guesses.

"Either that or he really takes the whole 'any friend of whoevers is a
friend of mine' thing to heart."

"You take shameless advantage, Mulder."

"Hey, he volunteered, I didn't suggest anything. Let's get the crew
into the van before we're late for our appointment."

Getting everyone back into booster and car seats, she couldn't help but
wonder if she was being hypocritical. In his shoes, she probably
wouldn't have waved off special treatment, either, if it benefited
their children.

~*~*~

August 30th, 1999
5:55 a.m.

Christopher blinks bright blue eyes as he lays sleepily cradled in his
mother's arms. Scully uses her foot to slowly rock the chair. With
everyone else sleeping, she can pretend that her newborn is her only
concern, as if he was firstborn like Page. Not sixth.

Sixth! It should be six times harder to raise six kids than one, but
somehow it's not that hard. Probably, she decides while stroking
Christopher's downy blond head, because she wanted every one of her
children. They are living proof that something good could be born into
what is often a scary world.

Each child is hope for the future that she and Mulder bestow upon the
world. As she thinks this she smiles to herself. Put that way it sounds
so selfless, the way Mulder once teased her about doing their duty to
balance out dumb people by creating a bunch of smart ones. Potentially.
But the older kids already display precociousness that promises
brilliance...at least in her opinion.

No, though it probably does the world good to have the young Mulders in
it, the simple truth is that she loves having babies. The pregnancies
are a mixed bag, but once the babies are there it's mostly forgotten.
At least enough to hope that each baby is not the last addition to
their family.

The doorbell rings, and she hears Mulder's footsteps as he heads for
the door. Still rocking, Scully hopes he'll send whoever it is away,
then go back to bed himself. She's not ready for her quiet time with
the baby to be interrupted.

But raised voices below shatter that hope. Holding Christopher close,
she goes to see what has Mulder so upset. When she sees, she wishes
that she'd left the baby upstairs.

Standing on the doorstep, Diana casts her an arrogant look. "I see the
other baby is blond too. You must have a lot of blonds in your family
tree, Fox."

Scully's mind tunes out everything after the words 'other baby' because
she notices that Diana is holding a baby carrier in her right hand. The
baby in it is also new, wrinkled and blond. "Diana, you have a baby,"
Scully says, surprised.

The nasty triumphant look the other woman gives her makes her feel a
hot pit in her stomach. "Yes, we do."

"We?"

"Scully, she's lying!" Mulder yelps. "I've never been unfaithful."

"This suggests otherwise." Diana hisses, thrusting the baby carrier at
him. He refuses to take it.

"That is not my baby," he says firmly.

Without saying a word, Scully turns and carries Christopher back to his
room, where she locks the door. Rocking and crying, she ignores
Mulder's demand that she come out.

~*~*~

Finally giving up, Mulder slumps up against the wall. At least Fowley
left. At least the argument didn't wake the kids.

His ex-girlfriend is out of her mind. There's no way that baby is his.
It's completely impossible. He hasn't laid a finger on her since she
left him in 1992. If she'd shown up with a seven-year-old it would have
been a nasty surprise, but plausible. This, on the other hand, is
completely crazy.

But he hasn't failed to realize that the infant that she showed up with
is very close in age to his lastborn son. If Morris had no qualms
against using his body to have sex with Scully, how could he be sure
that the man hadn't used him to sleep with Diana too?

The thought makes him feel sick to his stomach. Of all the women Morris
could pick to use his body to commit adultery with...::But how would he
ever met her? She took off as soon as she was released from the
hospital, months before Morris crash-landed into my life. She's lying.
She has to be.::

If he'd of known that Fowley would be doing her best to fuck up his
life now, he would have let the baby aliens have her instead of
rescuing her. Maybe.


He's not sure how long he leans against the wall, wallowing in his
misery. Eventually he hears the lock to the door release, which make
him look up. Scully stares at him with an unreadable expression.

"You wouldn't cheat," she says finally.

"No," Mulder agrees. "I haven't and I wouldn't."

"I believe you," she says, pulling him out of hell. But then she
plunges him back in. "But that doesn't mean that the baby isn't yours."

"How could it be mine?"

"Don't be naïve, Mulder. Have you spoken to Missy and Krycek about
Emily?"

"What about her, in particular?" he asks cautiously.

"About how Krycek's genetic contribution came about."

"No."

"It was procured when he was comatose all those years ago."

"Ah."

"If they'd do something like that to someone on their side..."

"But I haven't been comatose," he points out. ::Yet::

"Maybe not, but you're been both unconscious and in the hospital
several times." Scully points out. He can't argue with that,
unfortunately.

~*~*~

Four Days Later

Scully slams a folder onto the table. "This is some kind of game."

Mulder looks around the kitchen, glad that the kids aren't up yet. "How
so?"

"These are the DNA results for the baby. It's definitely not yours.
It's not even Fowley's."

"Then whose baby is it?"

"I don't know. The database didn't get any hits."

~*~*~

That Afternoon

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Mulder shouts at Fowley. "You know
damn well that she's not ours, not even yours. Whose baby is this,
Diana? Did you kidnap her?"

Fowley gives him a look that is partly smug, and a bit pitying, but not
at all sorry. "She's nobody's baby. An experiment like your wife's
niece...one that failed in a different way. They think she's too human.
I wanted to get her out, and using her to complicate your life was the
only way I was going to get approval."

"Why didn't you just come to us and ask for our help instead of
tormenting us?"

She shrugs. "Your reactions were more genuine this way. And I don't
like your wife."

"Dammit, Diana..." Mulder growls. "Why do you care about this baby
enough to get involved anyway?"

"I don't know. I saw her and knew that I couldn't let her grow up to be
my competition."

"Your competition?"

"Don't be naïve, Fox," Fowley says, fully unaware that she's the second
person to tell him that in less than a week. "The syndicate has a
philosophy about waste similar to that of ancient Native American
tribes: there is nothing that can't have a use found for it. Little
ones who are too human can be raised to take the reins thirty years
from now."

"Are you going to hand her over to them now?" Mulder asks.

"Of course. I wasn't able to slip her into your nest, so back she
goes."

Feeling a pang of guilt, Mulder says, "That's sad."

"That's life."

~*~*~

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Mid-September, 1999
FBI Headquarters
Washington, DC

"How are agent Scully and the baby, agent Mulder?" Skinner asks one
afternoon.

"Good, sir. Christopher is already sleeping through the night, and
Scully refuses to believe that means we came home with the wrong baby,
though," Mulder says with a naughty little boy's grin. "I think she's
looking forward to getting back to work in a couple of weeks, but also
enjoying her time at home with him."

Skinner nods. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Probably not," Mulder allows.

"I know that your wife is Catholic…are you two practicing the rhythm
method?"

Mulder nearly chokes on his tongue, but recovers himself. "No, it's
hard to explain if religion does or does not play into our family
planning but… how about 'my wife loves babies and we can afford them'
as an explanation?"

"I suppose both of those things are true," Skinner agrees. "And she
does miss very little time, all things considered."

"Given that I spend almost as much time in the hospital as she does…"
Mulder trails off.

"Ha, yes. Let's talk about a new case that's been sent my way."

~*~*~

That Night

"Daddy!" Page shrieks when she sees her father come through the door.
He winces a little, because his head aches already. "Lookit what I made
in school!" She thrusts a piece of painted on paper into his hands.

"What's this?" he asks, though he's got a good idea what it is. A stick
figure man holds hands with a stick figure woman holding a baby, and
six smaller stick figures roam across the page.

"Us. You and Mommy, me, Sammy, April and the babies," Page says,
touching the appropriate stick figures as she explains.

"Who is this, though?" Mulder asks, touching a tiny figure off to the
side. It's about the size of the baby stick figure that Stick-Scully is
holding.

Page shrugs. "Don't know yet. But there's always more babies."

"You sound like my boss," Mulder tells her, and she smiles at him
despite not understanding the joke. "Where's your mom?"

"In the living room," Page announces then skips off.

He finds her sitting on the floor with Christopher on her lap, and the
twins nearby playing with large foam blocks. "Hey, Scully. How's
everyone doing?"

"Fine. What's your new case?" she demands to know, affirming his
suspicion that she feels almost ready to go back to work.

"A murder. A professor, Doctor Solomon Merkmallen, who was a biology
professor at the University of Ivory Coast, arrived at the American
University yesterday, and was promptly murderer. At least that's the
assumption given the amount of blood found in the lab of one doctor
Steven Sandoz, also a Professor of Biology."

"What's their connection?" Scully asks, looking interested.

"Both men espouse a fringe theory called "Panspermia. It's the belief
that life originated elsewhere in the universe."

"I know, Mulder. It's the idea that Mars or other planets were
habitable long before Earth and that, uh, cosmic collisions on these
planets blasted microbes into our solar system - some of which landed
and flourished here. You don't think this has anything to do with his
death, do you?"

"Yes and no," he tells her, taking the rubbing out of his pocket. "Doctor
Merkmallen found an artifact in his country. This is a rubbing of that
artifact. According to Skinner Merkmallen claimed it contained a
message— one that not only lend credence to his Mars theories, but also
helped to explain mysteries here on Earth."

"Right."

"Fringe theory or no, that's the connection between the two biologists.
Doctor Sandoz made a nearly identical claim in a science journal about
another artifact of a similar nature."

"Maybe the murder was inspired by professional jealousy," Scully
suggests. "Has anyone questioned Sandoz yet?"

Mulder rolls balls back to Jared and David, then waits for their
squeals of delight to die off before answering his wife. "No. At the
moment he's missing."

"Why does Skinner want you on the case, Mulder? It sounds like a garden
variety murder with the murderer skipping town, afterwards. That's the
sort of thing the police can handle."

"I don't know, Scully. He must have his reasons," Mulder says, reaching
up to rub his temple. It took longer, but it's clear that he's still
not immune to the effect of the drawing. Without saying anything, he
gets to his feet and goes into the kitchen. Once the piece of paper is
folded and stuffed into a drawer, he feels better.

~*~*~

The next night, after Mulder had visited the acerbic doctor Barnes
alone, Scully finds her husband sitting at the table and staring at the
drawing he'd shown her. His eyes are glassy, so it worries her.

"Mulder, are you okay?" she asks.

He doesn't look up. "Barnes said that Sandoz was convinced that the
writing on the artifact is alien in nature."

"By alien you mean strange?"

"By alien I mean little gray men."

"Well, that shoots Sandoz's credibility to he-" Trailing off, she gives
Mulder a startled look. Whether he's aware of it or not, he's grimacing
in pain. "Mulder, are you okay?"

"I don't know. In my head. It's, uh...a hollow noise. The same thing
that happened to me at work in the elevator earlier today after showing
this to Barnes. "

"Are you sick? The flu, maybe?"

"No. This is going to sound weird but I think it's that thing." He
points to the paper.

"How could a paper make your head hurt?"

He gives her a weak smile. "Never been served papers, huh?" Looking
more serious, he says, "My head aches only when I look at that paper."

"It's got to be something else," she insists. He doesn't look
convinced, but does look relieved when she's the one to fold up the
rubbing and put it away.

Instead of continuing the conversation, he completely changes the
subject. "How would you feel about having company before I go into the
office tomorrow?"

"What sort of company?"

"An old friend who has been neglected for too long. I'll bring home
take-out for breakfast when I get him."

"Okay, Mulder." She kisses his forehead. "Take some aspirin, and if you
feel worse, I'll bring you to the ER."

"Yes, Mom, I will," he tells her dryly.

~*~*~

The Next Morning

The kids are fascinated when their father arrives home less than an
hour after he left, this time returning with bags of breakfast food
from McDonalds and a man they don't know. The breakfasts don't come
with any toys, so it's Daddy's friend they're most interested in. He
comes with toys.

Mulder and Chuck Burks set up the projector in the kitchen, so they can
supervise breakfast with Scully. Of course, Christopher disrupts that
immediately by demanding his breakfast too, so the men are left in
charge of getting food into the kids, and keeping food out of the
projector.

"Six kids, Mulder. Who would have thought?" Chuck asks, smiling at the
older kids who are eagerly eating breakfast before it's time for
school. Their sense of time isn't great yet, but they know that
Michelle will be taking them in her car soon.

"I think my wife might have," Mulder deadpans.

By now Chuck's gaze has turned to David and Jared, who are both sitting
in their high chairs, and picking up pieces of pancake to shove in
their mouths. "Are the twins identical?"

Mulder glances at the spikey brown-haired boys, and they look back at
him with two sets of hazel eyes. "We haven't had their DNA tested to be
100% sure, but my guess would be yes."

"The Olsen twins aren't identical," Chuck remarks. "They're fraternal."

"If they decide that they want to know, I'm sure they'll be able to
talk their mother into getting the test done. For someone
scientifically-minded she shows an appalling lack of curiosity about
the subject."

"I heard that, Mulder," Scully says, and he turns so she can glare at
him. "Chuck, it's nice to see you."

"Nice to see you too, agent Scully."

Before the adults can get anything accomplished, Michelle collects Page
and Sammy to cart them off to preschool and kindergarten. This requires
a lot of the kids going to their parents for hugs, and reminders not to
forget their snacks.

Finally the dust settles, and Scully shows Chuck the rubbing. Taking
it, he nods. "I recognize the ideography."

"Mulder feels that this is causing his headaches," Scully tells him.

"You know me. This is right up my twisted little alley. So, uh...what
exactly are you experiencing, Mulder?"
 
"Noise. Aural dissonance. It comes and it goes." 

"Is it happening right now?" Scully asks.

"No, but it was a minute ago." 

"And it's only affecting you, triggered by the rubbing. Wow. That blows
me away."

"Why?"

"Because the rubbing is a fake and I'm not the first one to say so,"
Scully says. "Being at home has given me time to do some research of my
own."

"The writing is Cree—phonetic Navaho—but no literal interpretation
makes any sense."
 
"And the fact that it was found in Africa makes it all the mores
suspicious as a fabrication."

"Suspicious of what?" Mulder asks. 

"Do you know what a Magic Square is?" Chuck asks him.

"Yeah. It has to do with the occult." 

"Very cool. They first appear in the ninth century in history but,
uh...When you talked to me last night I got a few slides I thought
might be relevant." Chuck changes the image on the projector to show a
Magic Square. "As the story goes God himself instructed Adam in their
use and then handed down the secret to all his saints and prophets and
wise men as a way of trapping and storing potential power to the person
whose name or numerical correlative exercises that power."
 
"That's what this thing is?" Mulder says.

"Well," Scully says dismissively. "That's what someone would have you
believe this is."

"How do you know that?" 

"Look what I found in the library." Scully shows him a magazine. "You
mentioned a science journal, so it didn't take long to find it." The
article was written by Doctor Barnes. "Science Update – God Spelled
Backward – Manufacturing Religious Artifacts for Fun and Profit."
"Barnes documented Sandoz's fakery once before. You said he was blunt
about his colleague when you met him, in here, but in here he is
downright brutal."

"Does he back any of that up?" Mulder asks, knowing it's futile. 

"Well, it's quite scholarly, actually." 

"I looked Barnes up when you said you spoke to him, too. Barnes has
made something of a career exposing science and religious fraud." Chuck
says, putting up another article about Barnes onto the projector. "Name
your wonder of the world—he's been there, debunked that."

"Yeah, but wouldn't it be in his great interest to hide something that
he couldn't disprove with his scholarship?" Mulder protests.

"Mulder, if it were real then why would an American Indian artifact be
fused in rock on the west coast of the African continent?"

"In 1996, a rock from Mars was found in Antarctica. How did it get
there?"

"It was from outer space," Scully says, and Mulder gives her a
triumphant look.

"Begs the question, doesn't it?" Chuck asks. "Why produce a fraud with
Navaho writing...in Africa?" Chuck stabs the rubbing with his finger.

When Mulder looks down at it, the noise fills his head again, and he
throws his hands over his ears. This time his pain is witnessed not
only by his wife, younger daughter and Chuck, but by his little sons.
The look on their daddy's face scares the twins, and they begin to
fuss. To their surprise and outrage, no one comes to comfort them
immediately.

Instead, both Scully and Chuck are absorbed with Mulder's condition.
"You look like you're in real pain, Buddy." Chuck says nervously.

This time he doesn't try to deny it. Let someone else make the horrible
discovery at Sandoz's house. "Yeah. Feels like razors in my brain."

"I'm calling an ambulance," Scully tells him, and she looks at Chuck.
"You don't have to stay."

"I think I'd rather."

She makes her call quickly, then returns to Mulder's side. He grabs her
wrist. "You've got to tell Skinner. I think I know what's causing this
and I know what happened to those two professors and that artifact. I
got a sense of it yesterday when I met that man Barnes."

"You had a sense of it?"

"Yes. This man Solomon Merkmallen is definitely dead. Barnes knows it.
He killed him—killed him in that lab."
 
"Okay, I'll tell him."

The ambulance arrives, and Scully and Chuck follow along in Scully's
car.

~*~*~

Scully decides that she loves Chuck when he volunteers to look after
April and the older babies so she can watch Mulder's MRI. "I think they
like me, anyway." Chuck tells her, and it looks to be true. Neither boy
has taken their eyes off of Chuck since they got to the hospital, and
April has been unabashedly studying him too.

No one minds that she has Christopher with her, because he's sleeping
peacefully, strapped to her chest.

In the next room Mulder lays as still as death, and Scully's anxious
eyes cross from looking at him through the glass to looking at the
monitor with the technician. She has better than a layman's knowledge
of brain scans, but it doesn't stop her from asking, "Do you see any
sign of a tumor?"

The technician shakes his head and she nearly yells out in relief.
"There's no sign of a tumor, but there is some strange electrical
activity in his brain."

"Strange how?" she asks, peering at the monitor.

"See these lights?" He points at small bursts of yellow and red.
"People's brains don't usually show activity in those sections of the
brain concurrently."

"Is it dangerous?"

"To be honest, I don't know. I'm a technician, so I'm not supposed to
diagnose. We'll have to see what his doctor thinks of the scans."

In the end the doctor decides that the scans don't mean much, and she
sends them home with a prescription for migraines.

~*~*~

Washington, DC

Mulder leaves Scully sleeping in bed, and heads into the office before
she wakes up. He decides that asking for forgiveness is easier than
asking permission, and he doesn't feel he should have to ask anyone if
he's allowed to go to work anyway.

As soon as he's in Skinner tells him all about the gruesome discovery
that other agents made the day before. The AD assumes that he must be
okay if Scully approved of him coming in, and Mulder doesn't bother to
rebuke the assumption.

 "So you think Doctor Sandoz is innocent?" Skinner asks. 

"He's afraid for his life because of what he knows and what he has." 

Skinner pushes the rubbing towards him. "This."

"Put that away!" Mulder barks, and Skinner is so startled that he does.
"Sandoz has the genuine artifact—one of several pieces of an unknown
whole. Doctor Barnes has one now, too. That's why he killed Solomon
Merkmallen."

"The way his body was disposed of..." Skinner trails off meaningfully.

"It was to incriminate Sandoz, to make him look like the killer. It's
also to hide something. Something that no one would think to look for."

"Which is what? His identity? They didn't do a good job of that,
because they left his head."

Mulder shakes his. "Not his identity. The body parts taken would retain
telltale traces of radiation. If you do tissue samples you'll see that
I'm right, since all tissue will retain some traces."

"Radiation from what?" Skinner wants to know.

"The artifact. It's giving off C.G.R. radiation. Cosmic Galactic
Radiation. It's a kind of radiation that's found only outside our solar
system."

"How would proving that there's this sort of radiation help us make an
arrest?"
 
"Oh, forget the arrest. We've got to find these artifacts," Mulder
says.

"Agent Mulder-"

"I know where to look."

When Mulder rushes out of the office, Skinner picks up his phone to
warn Scully that Mulder's behavior has become more questionable, and
that she should keep him from going off on a hunt for the artifacts on
his own.

She thanks him for the information, but Mulder doesn't come home to
pack to go anywhere. He just doesn't come home.

~*~*~

Southwestern General Hospital
Gallup, New Mexico

Before entering the room, Mulder watches as an unconscious Albert
Hosteen is wheeled out of it by several orderlies. Once in the room
Mulder finds another rubbing of the artifact on the bedside table and,
fighting his instinct to recoil from it, eventually picks it up. On the
back of the paper is a crudely handwritten copy of Genesis I:28
A concerned looking nurse comes in, obviously troubled that there's
someone in the empty room. "Is there something you're looking for?"

"I've come to speak to Albert Hosteen, but he's not here."

"Mr. Hosteen cannot accept any visitors at this time." 

"Yes, I understand. I saw him taken away. Can you tell me what's wrong
with him?"

"I'm not allowed to give out that kind of information." 

"I'm sure that he wouldn't mind you telling me," Mulder says, flashing
his badge. "Mr. Hosteen has been working with the FBI for years, on and
off. He's our Navaho expert."

The nurse gives him a sad look. "I think you'll soon need another.
Albert has cancer. He's suffering from its effects…To be perfectly
truthful, he's dying."

 ~*~*~

Hours Later

Doctor Sandoz is startled to find that he's not the first person to
welcome Albert back to his room. Mulder is standing in the shadows, and
his gun is drawn.

"Are you here to arrest me?" Sandoz asks raggedly.

"No, I think we can just settle for talking, as long as you don't plan
to run off before they conversation is done."

"Yeah, okay," Sandoz agrees. He shuts the door most of the way and sits
in one of the room's two chairs. Mulder hostlers his gun and sits in
the other.

"Why are you here?" Mulder asks the doctor.

"Albert was the only translator who didn't dismiss me out of hand. When
I showed him the original artifact he sensed immediately its power and
importance. The trouble was, it was only one fragment—not enough to
read. But then other pieces surfaced. Doctor Merkmallen found two more in
the tidal shallows. He sent me a rubbing. Suddenly, Albert was able to
make a real translation."

"Why do the aliens have text to our bible?" Mulder asks, leaning
forward on his knees.

"They gave it to us. The text came from them. I can prove it. It's
written here. I'm sure of it." He pulls another fragment out of his
pocket. As soon as he does, Mulder grabs his head. "Are you okay?"

"No," Mulder says through gritted teeth. "Go on. But hurry."

"Albert was working to translate another section when his health
turned." Sandoz says quickly. He looks alarmed because Mulder is
starting to sweat, and his eyes are watering.
 
"What does it say?" Mulder asks thickly.

Sandoz shrugs in apology. "I don't know. So far it's just random
letters to me."

Mulder's mouth opens and says the last thing his brain wants it to. "I
need to take a rubbing of that too."

"Okay," Sandoz agrees, completely unaware that the illness he thinks
Mulder has is caused by that very artifact. "Maybe you should see a
nurse while you're here."

"No. Don't worry about me. Just a headache." 

When Sandoz completes the rubbing, he takes his hand off of it. It
begins to spin itself around, making him exchange a puzzled and
horrified look with Mulder.

~*~*~

Ramada Inn
New Mexico

The cell phone in Mulder's discarded suit jacket buzzes angrily. He
stumbles out of bed and gropes for it. On the second try he manages to
open it.

"Hello?" 

"Mulder! I've been trying to reach you for hours. Where are you?" 

"New Mexico."

"Why the hell are you in New Mexico??"

"I came to see Albert Hosteen. And found doctor Sandoz here too."

 "Okay, so why are the both of you there to see Albert?"

"He was translating the writing on the artifacts. The one Sandoz has
with him has a biblical passage on it. From Genesis. A space artifact
with part of our bible written on it."

"Mulder, it can't be both real and from space." 

"Do you have any idea how this could change everything we know?"

"It's not real. It wouldn't mean anything or change anything."

"No, it would mean that our progenitors were alien, that our genesis
was alien, that we're here because of them; that they put us here."

"Mulder, that is science fiction. It doesn't hold a drop of water." 

"You're wrong. It holds everything. Don't you see? All the mysteries of
science everything we can't understand or won't explain, every human
behaviorism - cosmology, psychology, everything in the X-Files—it all
owes to them. It's from them."

"Mulder, I will not accept that. It is just not possible."
 
"Well, then, you go ahead and prove me wrong, Scully."

"Come home, Mulder."

"I'm coming. Tomorrow." Mulder flips the phone closed, and crawls back
into bed. Before he closes his eyes, he gives his suitcase a hateful
stare. That's where the voices are coming from.

~*~*~

 Washington, DC

When the phone rings early the next morning, Scully snags it, expecting
to hear her husband's voice on the other end. "Scully."

To her disappointment, it's not. "It's Skinner. I'm calling with some
bad news. Mulder's in serious condition here."

"Where's here?" she asks, sitting up in her chair.

"A hospital in Georgetown."

"What happened to him?" 

"Nobody knows, Agent Scully. He was found like this at the airport
about an hour ago. I'm sorry that no one called you first, but he
didn't have his wallet with him, just his badge. You should do whatever
you can to get here as soon as possible."

"I will. Don't let anything happen to him before I can get there."

"I'll do my best, agent Scully."

As soon as she hangs up she goes to wake up the nanny to let her know
that she's leaving the house for an indefinite amount of time.

~*~*~ 

Georgetown Memorial Hospital
Washington, DC

Skinner looks up from his hallway vigil as an angry-looking Scully
approaches him at full speed. "They just told me he's in the special
psychiatric unit."

"I told you on the phone..." 

"No, you said that there was bad news. You didn't tell me what was
wrong."

Skinner hangs his head. "I don't know what to do, Dana. No one else
does, either. I knew you'd want to be here to see him, to talk to the
doctors." After a long tense pause, he alarms her more by taking her
hand.
 
The fact that he used her given name gives her a nasty jolt, and she's
afraid to ask Mulder's condition, but she has to. "What? What is it?"
 
Scully and Skinner enter a room where a doctor is standing in front of
several monitors of patients in psychiatric cells. One of the patients
is Mulder, pacing the small area. He is wearing a hospital gown.

The doctor doesn't look up. "You really shouldn't be in here."

"This is agent Mulder's wife," Skinner says sternly, and the doctor
doesn't argue.

"What's wrong with him?" Mulder chooses that moment to face the camera
in his room and scream Scully's name. She flinches.

The doctor looks chagrined. "We don't know what's wrong with him and we
don't know what to do for him. He's got extremely abnormal brain
function but there are no signs of stroke. We're waiting to run more
tests. "

"Waiting for what?" 

"He's extremely violent. With what we've given him he should be in a
barbiturate coma but there's brain activity in areas we've never seen
before."

"That's what a doctor said earlier this week, too, but she didn't think
it was anything to worry about. Obviously she was wrong." Scully sighs.
"I want to talk to him."

"No, I won't allow that. Right now he's a danger to everyone." 

"Not to me," Scully declares. The doctor gives her a doubtful look. She
turns and gives Skinner an accusing look. "This is your fault."

Skinner takes her arm, and she shrugs it off, but follows him into the
hallway like he wants. "My fault how?" he demands to know.

"You assigned him to work on this case, his problems are related to the
case, ergo this is your fault."

"That's not really fair," Skinner grumbles. "And this case is now
closed. The X-File was a fraud."

"So what, Skinner? Declaring it closed doesn't fix Mulder!" A sea of
heads turn in their direction when she shouts.

"Keep your voice down, Agent Scully," Skinner demands. "We'll resolve
Mulder's problems too."

Staring at him, she wonders how he dares to make a promise like that.

~*~*~

It's not an easy night. The older children whine and demand to see
their father when Scully tells them that he's sick, and they aren't put
off by the explanation that they're too young to visit that particular
hospital. Out of sorts, Sammy and Page squabble with each other, and
hurt April's feelings by ignoring her. And the younger ones sense the
discord too, which makes them cry inconsolably.

By the end of the night Scully is a bundle of frayed nerves herself. To
top it all off, she's just gotten the kids to bed when the phone rings,
demanding her attention too. Since she doesn't dare ignore it in case
it's news about Mulder's condition, she has to answer it.

Before she can say hello, the man on the other end begins to speak.
"Agent Mulder, Doctor Sandoz. I'm sorry, I didn't know how else to reach
you. There's something-"

"Doctor Sandoz, this is Dana Scully. My husband is in the hospital."
 
"Oh dear. I had something to tell him of vital importance." The man
sounds fretful. "Could you pass along my message?"

Instead of bothering to mention that he's not well enough to receive
any message, she lets her curiosity get the best of her. "Okay, sure."

"Your husband and I were speaking of what Albert was trying to
translate for me. I realized something a bit ago. The letters Albert
translated on the artifact...I know what they are."

"What they are?" 

"Yes. They're coordinates, Agent Scully." 

"For what?"

"For genes. They're symbols for gene clusters - the human genome."
Scully lets a pause grow and stretch out. "Are you still there?"

"Yeah."

"I think it's all here. The map to our human genetic makeup every gene
on every chromosome—proof of what I've been saying. If only we could
find more pieces." He trails off then adds brightly, "But there's
supposed to be more here in Africa. Perhaps if your husband feels
better, we could look for it together."

After his burble, there's an even longer silence. Scully wonders if
he's still there. "Doctor Sandoz? Hello?" Then she hears something over
the phone that sounds like a gunshot. Then there's just dial tone.
 
~*~*~

Washington, DC
Morning

As she waits for someone to talk to her, Scully wraps the cord to the
phone around her fingers, letting it coil and uncoil. Eventually the
insipid 80s adult contemporary song cuts off abruptly, and a chipper
voice asks what they can help her with. "Hi, I need a flight to Africa.
I'll be traveling with a one-month-old…yes, he'll have his passport and
shots…one of the perks of being a federal agent, you can get a rush put
in on these things…I'd like to leave within the next two days...Thank
you."

When she hangs up, she begins to cry without realizing it. No part of
her wants to drag a newborn halfway around the world, but she can't
bear to leave him behind. And even less of her wants to leave the rest
of her children, but she owes it to them to do the best that she can to
find help for their father. Even if it means running off and leaving
them behind.

It may be a long shot, but it's the only one she has.

~*~*~

Ivory Coast
36 Hours Later

An African man is speaking Swahili and showing the rubbing of the
artifact to several other African men. They answer him and he turns to
Scully. She's shading her infant from the startlingly bright sun
overhead.

"It's the same," the man who spoke to the group explains. "I'll take
you, but they are afraid."

The men lead Scully down to the water's edge, but stop well short of
it. The spokesman takes her to a certain spot, then leaves her, himself
retreating. She kneels down and brushes the sand away from a much
larger metal plate with inscriptions on it. She looks around and slowly
stands. It stretches under the water as far as the eye can see.


~*~*~

end six of ten

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