Title: The Family G-Man
Authors: Neoxphile and FelineFemme
Feedback: neoxphile@aol.com, be8opcat1013@yahoo.com
Rating: mostly R with NC-17 moments
Spoilers: Seasons 1-9
Category: Alternate Reality, Snark, Family Fic, plus a dollop Angst
for the beginning (and despite what chapter one leads you to believe,
this is *not* a character death story)
Disclaimer: So yeah, we're going to be borrowing CC's characters, and
the idea behind "The Family Man," which put a twist on "It's a Wonderful Life" 
which blatantly copied "A Christmas Carol." We hope the print doesn't get
blurry from being a copy of a copy of...

Website: with pictures! http://www.mulderscreek.com/familygman.html

Summary: What if he could go back and change things, save the son one
lost and give the other the family she wanted? Could it keep them
safe? 

In season seven Mulder finds himself coping with unexpected change
that nearly causes him to lose everything. Then he tries to fix the worst
experience of his old past...

~*~*~
Season Seven - chapters 78-89
~*~*~

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Late September 1999
Ivory Coast, West Africa

A soft yellow glow illuminates the inside of Scully's tent near the
ocean. Christopher sleeps peacefully in a mosquito-netted cradle that
sits just a few feet from his mother's side.

Scully glances at the baby, again, and once she's satisfied that he's
sound asleep, she goes back to looking at the rubbing of the artifact
which first affected Mulder. Putting it aside, she bends her head over
a letter she's writing.

My dear babies,
I hope your Grandma will read this to you. I know that you are too
small to understand why I'm not with you...all you know is that Daddy
is sick and Mommy is gone. I'd much rather be at home with you, but I'm
looking for a way to make Daddy better.

I came in search of something I did not believe existed. I've stayed on
now, in spite of myself. In spite of everything I've ever held to be
true. I will continue here as long as I can...as long as your father is
beset by the haunting illness which I saw consume his beautiful mind.
What is this discovery I've made? How can I reconcile what I see with
what I know? I feel this was meant not for me to find but for him ...
to make sense of - make the connections which can't be
ignored...connections which, for me, deny all logic and reason.

What is this source of power I hold in my hand - this rubbing - a
simple impression taken from the surface of the craft? I watched this
rubbing take its undeniable hold on your Daddy, saw him succumb to its
terrible effect."

Scully takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose, yawning.
The children won't understand most of what she's writing, but she's
mostly writing for her own sake anyway. An insect with large wings
lands on the rubbing. She picks up her pen once more.

"Now I must work to uncover what his illness prevents him from finding.
In the source of every illness lies its cure. I promise you all that
I'm doing everything I can to find a way to make your father better. I
miss you.
Love,
Mommy 

She folds the letter, then notices that the lamp is attracting the
bugs, so she turns it down. When she turns to check on the baby, she
sees a native man holding a primitive staff standing at the opening of
her tent, but when she spins to confront him, he's gone.

"Who's there? Who's there?!" Scully calls, not daring to leave
Christopher's side to investigate.

Nothing responds but the crash of the surf. She picks up a near by
machete, turns the light off all together, and settles in a chair next
to her son. Hours pass uncomfortably, but the native man does not
return.

~*~*~

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 
Washington, DC

When Mulder's miniature form on the monitor curls into the fetal
position, Skinner has to look away.

Doctor Harriman looks saddened as well. "He's been quiet for the last
36 hours, but he doesn't sleep. There's activity in the temporal lobe
we've just never seen. It won't allow his brain to rest or shut down,
manifesting in episodes of aggression ... sometimes against himself."

"You can't sedate him?" Skinner asks. 

"Yes. We slow him down for short periods and put him in the neuro ward.
It's the only way we're able to run tests. But over time...his brain is
going to just die."

"He can't die!" Skinner says brusquely. "He and his wife have just had
their sixth child."

Harriman gives him a helpless look, but Skinner has an idea.

~*~*~

A short time later Maggie arrives with Page and Sammy at Skinner's
request. Both children quietly hold onto their grandmother's hands, and
peer about, obviously hoping to catch sight of their father.

Maggie gives Skinner a wary look when he meets her in Mulder's ward.
"Are you sure that this is a good idea?"

"No," he says bluntly. "But if anything will snap him out of this, it's
going to be his kids."

"What exactly is it that you think my grandchildren can do for him?"
Maggie looks skeptical.

"Motivate him to try and get past this. A lot of healing has to do with
will."

"You sound like my daughter Melissa."

He lets this pass without comment. "Wait here, and if I get permission,
I'll come back for the kids."

"Okay," Maggie agrees. She settles Page and Sammy into chairs in the
hallway, but Sammy climbs up onto her lap only a few seconds later. Not
minding that, she wraps her arms around his small waist.

"We're going to see Daddy?" Page asks, her blue eyes filled with
puzzlement.

"I think so, Baby. We'll wait until Mr. Skinner gets us."

"Mommy and Daddy's boss is helping Daddy," Sammy declares.

"He's trying to," Maggie agrees.

~*~*~

Down the hall Skinner waits while the door to Mulder's padded cell is
unlocked so he can enter it. Mulder is sitting on the floor, staring
into space.

"Agent Mulder?" Skinner says softly. When there's no response, he
kneels down next to him. "Agent Mulder, can you hear me?" Mulder stares
at him for a moment, then drops his gaze to his fingers, two of which
are bandaged. Skinner tries again. "Do you know who I am? It's Skinner,
Walter Skinner."

Mulder doesn't respond.

Skinner sighs and stands. Turning to Doctor Harriman he asks, "Can we
get him out of here and get him some fresh air, at least? Maybe it
would do him some good to spend a few minutes with his oldest kids and
his mother-in-law-"

Without warning, Mulder suddenly lunges at Skinner and grabs him by the
throat and begins choking him against the wall. As he chokes his boss,
Mulder's face remains calm and impassive. He doesn't seem to even
notice when Doctor Harriman attempts to restrain him. "Let him go! He
can't breathe!"

Mulder pushes Skinner to the floor, maintaining the choke-hold.
Meanwhile Dr. Harriman runs out of the room and rings an alarm on the
wall. Mulder still has Skinner pinned to the floor.

"Let go, Mulder. I don't want to hurt you," Skinner whispers harshly.
Something flickers in Mulder's eyes that suggest that both men know
that Skinner could hurt him, if necessary. His grip on Skinner's throat
slackens.

Harriman returns with two orderlies who pull Mulder away from Skinner
and shove him up against the wall. No one seems to realize that another
person has followed them into the room until Sammy screams "Don't hurt
my Daddy!" and launches himself at the nearest orderly and pounds at
the man's leg with his small fists.

The orderly looks down at the little boy, obviously nonplused to be
attacked by a four-year-old. Skinner, now that he can breathe, picks
the child up and holds him tight. "It's okay, Sammy. They're not
hurting him."

"Yes they are!" Sammy sobs. Maggie arrives a second later, white-faced
and holding tightly to Page's hand.

"I'm sorry," Skinner apologizes as he passes Sammy to his grandmother.
It's not clear who Skinner is apologizing to - Sammy or Maggie.

Maggie shoots Skinner a disgusted look, then walks off without another
word. Sammy's crying fades from hearing as she pulls the kids down the
hallway, but from the doorway Skinner clearly sees Page turn her head
and look back at him before hurrying to keep up with her grandmother.

He remembers Mulder when he hears the doctor angrily order, "Five
milligrams of Haloperidol IM! I want him in five-point restraints!"

Mulder gives him a hopeless look that mirrors how he feels about the
situation.

"Let's keep him locked down all night," Harriman tells the orderlies
before looking at Skinner. "I don't think you should see him again
tonight."

"No." Skinner agrees and leaves. While still in range to hear the alarm
and the voices, Skinner feels something in his breast pocket and pulls
it out to find a small square of fabric from Mulder's hospital gown.
The bandages on Mulder's fingers are explained, because written in
blood are the words, "Help Me." Skinner looks back at Mulder's room,
too.

~*~*~

Ivory Coast, West Africa

Scully stands at the mouth of the tent, staring out at the beach. Two
trucks full of men have just reached Scully's camping site. Already,
they're exited the vehicles and are running toward the ocean and the
buried craft.

Two people have lingered at the trucks, one of them a tall, dark woman.
Scully doesn't react when the young woman walks to her.

The other woman, upon seeing the infant slung across Scully's chest,
does. "That's a very little baby." She pauses, considering, when Scully
doesn't reply. "They said you speak English."

Scully is gruff, which covers her curiosity as to what other language
choices seemed likely to the locals. "What do you want?"

"I am sorry. You must wonder who I am. I am Amina Ngebe. I've come to
see your discovery."

"I asked that no one be told about it...nor that I'm here." 

"Yes. Well, uh, it is still a secret but a well-known one, I'm afraid.
Dr. Merkmallen called it the African Internet, God rest him." Amina
grins.

"You knew Dr. Merkmallen?" Scully asks, not really looking at the other
woman. Instead she's peering down at Christopher, wondering if he's
going to cry, or just yawning.

"I, too, am a professor of biology at the university but, uh, hardly
one qualified to say what must have gone on here."

"Here? Nothing has happened here," Scully protests, then blushes when
she notices that Amina's eyes are riveted to the machete still propped
against her chair. "Uh, I saw a man who vanished...and it seemed best
to be armed."

"You must not let the men know what happened to you last night - the
vanishing man, none of it." Amina says, but she's looking around the
tent, perhaps for more signs that something odd happened.

"Why?"

"They'll take this as a sign to leave what you have found alone, a bad
omen."

"Caused by the ship out there?"

"Mm. Caused by God...who will be much less helpful than those men if we
are to continue this work."

Scully thinks to protest this, but decides against it. If God is
guiding her steps, he's doing so quietly.

Outside, the men are working in the water to uncover more of the craft.
One of the men begins screaming for help. Amina gives Scully a startled
look. "He says the water is boiling!" Both of them dash outside.

The screaming man splashes around as if in agony, like people in
movies about shark attacks. The other men exit the water, followed by
the man in pain. They reach him just as he's able to flail his way to
the shore and fall out onto the sandy beach. One look at him reveals
that he's is covered in second and third degree burns.

"Let's get him in the truck! He's got to get to a hospital! Hospital!"
Scully waves her arms, but doesn't try to lift him, because she's
scared that Christopher will be squashed. Two men quickly, but gently,
lift him into the back of the truck. Scully taps on the side of the
truck. "Okay! Go!"

As they drive away, Amina gives her a disquieting look. "You see?
Another warning."

Scully watches the truck kick up sand as it drives off towards the
hospital.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Residence

Maggie watches as David takes a few steps, and tries to remember when
her daughter called to tell her that both of the twins had taken their
first steps. It had been after Christopher was born, so it had to have
been within just the last couple or three weeks. It seems like longer
ago to her.

The kids seem to be getting big so fast that it sometimes scares her.
Even little April has just started clamoring not to be left behind when
her older brother and sister go to school. Mulder says that it's going
"fine" when she finally does go the next year but Dana recently
confided that it worries her that the girl is so quiet, how will she
cope in a classroom setting? Maggie tried to tell her a lot can change
in a year, but she's not sure her daughter listened.

Right now April is very carefully using a plastic watering can on a
trio of potted plants set at a height above her little brothers' heads.
This means that she's standing on tip-toe to make the reach. Drops of
water roll of the leaves and splatter the dark potting soil below.

"Those are pretty flowers, April," Maggie remarks.

"Yup. This one violet."

And that's the thing that grabs Maggie's attention about her
granddaughter's vocabulary. She uses big and little words
indiscriminately, which probably means she knows a lot of them. "Violet
means purple, just like the flowers are."

April nods. "Leaves is green, though."

"Yes they are." Maggie bends to pick David up when he trips over his
own feet.

"Gramma? Daddy listens," April tells her.

"To what, Sweetie?" 

"The people. Talking in his head."

This alarms Maggie so much that she asks her, "You mean he's hearing
voices that aren't there?" As if a child of two and a half understands
why that's bad.

"No. He hears us," April says calmly, and lets the conversation drop.

Still confused, Maggie pats her on the head. "Can you ask everyone to
come down so we can go to dinner?" She's planned with Michelle to take
the kids out since neither of them feels much like cooking given how
upset Sammy still is about his visit to his father.

"Yup, okay." April runs off, and Maggie wonders what exactly the girl
was trying to tell her.

~*~*~

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 
11:32 p.m.

Skinner moves furtively down the corridor, and doesn't realize that
he's more noticeable than if he wasn't trying to avoid detection.
Mulder's room is empty when he pokes his head in, so he slips in
quickly and shuts the door most of the way. Mulder's lying rigidly on
the bed, and the sight of his uncovered bare feet fill Skinner with
unexpected pity.

He approaches the bed and speaks softly, hoping no one else will hear.
"I want to help you. I don't know what to do. I don't have much time."
Mulder taps the bed with his bound right hand impatiently. Seeing this,
Skinner asks, "Can you write?"

Mulder nods minutely, so Skinner gives him a pen and helps him hold it.
Mulder slowly and carefully writes down what looks like a name.
Puzzled, Skinner looks at it once Mulder finishes writing. "I recognize
this name, but I'm not sure where from. It's someone from an X-File,
right?" Mulder nods again. "I'll figure it out. Try to hold on,
Mulder."

Mulder doesn't seem to notice when he leaves the room a minute later.

~*~*~

The Beach
Night

The tent is a yellowish color, turned gray by the moonlight. Lying on
her back, Scully stares at the ceiling. Nearby Christopher and Amina
sleep peacefully.

The sound of an engine and a glimpse of lights through the tent wall
have Scully bolting out of bed. She shakes Amina's shoulder, and then
points to the sleeping baby when the half-awake woman gives her a
questioning look. Scully hesitates only long enough to pick up her
machete before going out to see what's going on.

There's a truck parked a hundred yards away, and the driver gets out
and begins to speak to her. Scully listens to him for a moment, then
gives it up as a lost cause. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't speak your
language."

Undeterred, he waves his flashlight in the direction of the water and
takes a few steps towards the submerged craft. She makes no move to
follow him.

"Perhaps you need an interpreter," a voice says behind her.

Turning quickly, she finds doctor Barnes standing behind her, and
recognizes him from the photos Mulder and Chuck showed her at the
house. She holds up the machete warningly, "I know who you are! Stay
away from me!"

"Are you going to hack me up in front of my driver? Word is you're
under suspicion already." He nods towards the local man who is now
inching his way towards the craft.

"You're the murderer here."

"Murderer of who?" Amina calls from the mouth of the tent. Christopher
is in her arms. Scully motions for her not to bring him closer.

"Dr. Merkmallen!" Scully calls to her.

"I murdered no one but I won't be sent away from here. I know what
we've got. This craft that's come ashore? It's extraterrestrial
origins?"

"You don't even believe in that," Scully accuses.

"Nor do you. But here we are."

"I'm here only to help my husband." 

"I realize that. You don't strike me as the type to haul a newborn out
of the country on a less desperate mission. Let me help you...to read
it. I've spent my life looking for what's out there ... the answer to
what theologians have pondered for millennia...the key to
everything...to life itself. I've already been threatened by men in
Washington about what I know. How long would your secret keep if you
were to send me away?"

At the water's edge, Dr. Barnes' driver calls to them, beckoning them
to the shore.

"What is it?" Scully asks, peering into the darkness.

A sudden light illuminates the water, and Scully realizes that Amina
has gone back into the tent for a powerful flashlight. A horrified awe
fills her voice. "It is a sea of blood."

Barnes and Scully walk towards the driver and find that it's true. The
water around the craft has turned blood red. She wants to believe that
it's a trick of the light, but she knows that it is not. Behind them,
Christopher begins to cry.

~*~*~

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 

The nurses' station is curiously abandoned as Skinner walks by it with
Michael Kirchgau. It had taken him longer than he wanted to figure out
where he'd seen the name before, and the man gave him a less than
welcome reception when he arrived to bring him to the hospital.

"No nurses. There must be a problem elsewhere on the floor." Kirchgau
remarks. "They don't hire many for this time of night."

Instead of replying, Skinner ushers him into Mulder's room. Mulder is
still restrained, and his blank eyes aren't looking at anything in
particular. A nearby monitor registers his brain activity.

Kritschgau stares at Mulder. "Can he even recognize me?" 

"To be honest, I don't know. He wrote out your name, so he still knows
who you are, anyway." He turns to Mulder. "Agent Mulder?" The monitor
notes that Mulder's heard him, but he doesn't move.

Sighing, Skinner points to the monitor. "I got a crash course in
neurology from his doctors. His brain is on constant redline. They've
got him on Haloperidol just to keep him on the monitors."

"Haloperidol?" Kritschgau asks with raised eyebrows. 

"He becomes violently agitated. He just won't speak or sleep even when
he's medicated. There's activity in part of his brain they've never
seen before."

"Was his..." Kritschgau stops speaking and flicks his eyes towards the
read out on the monitor.

"Was his what?"

"I started to ask you a question about his prior mental state but he
anticipated it. Second time. Agent Mulder?" The monitor records more
activity.

"He claimed to be hearing something. Babbling voices." 

Kritschgau nods and sighs. "I might know why Agent Mulder asked for me.
Doesn't mean I can do anything for him."

"What just happened?" 

"I think he responded to a question...I didn't ask."

~*~*~ 

Later on Skinner feels like a felon. He's just pushed an unresponsive
Mulder down the hall, and now in a deserted lab, is watching Kirtschgau
pick a lock on a cabinet.

"I don't know how long we can keep him out of that unit. We can be held
responsible," Skinner says anxiously.

"You asked me to come down here. You better be prepared to accept the
responsibility Mr. Skinner." Kritschgau finally pops the lock and
begins to ready a syringe.

"You're going to inject him with something?"

"No. You are. With a thousand milligrams of Phenytoin." 

"I'm not injecting him with anything, not now and not till after I've
talked to his doctor," Skinner says firmly.

"He's being given the wrong treatment."

"You're not a doctor."

"No, but I've seen his condition. Who do you want to trust?" 

"Seen it where?" Skinner demands to know.

"In a study. There's something like E.S.P. called 'remote viewing.'"

"Whose study?"

"The company's - the CIA, Mr. Skinner. Extreme subjects would go into
arrest their minds working harder than their bodies could sustain. They
became, in effect, all brain. Phenytoin was the only thing that could
slow the electrical impulses to a normal rate."

"Agent Mulder knew about this. That's why he asked for you." Skinner
reluctantly holds out his hand, and injects the syringe into Mulder's
IV line. Instantly, Mulder's body starts to relax.

Mulder stares up at Skinner and rasps. "They're coming."

~*~*~

Skinner goes alone to return Mulder, and sees an angry Fowley lurking
in the room. Tried of theatrics, he orders her out of the room after
commenting that he'd just found Mulder wandering the hallway. The
nurse, spooked by the subtle complain, evaporates too.

"She knows," Mulder says as Skinner helps him back into bed.

Skinner blinks, surprised. "You can read her mind?" 

"Yeah. We got to act fast." 

"The doctor's on his way."

"No doctors. Get me Scully."

"I can't Mulder. She's not here."

"Look...I know you've been compromised. I know Krycek is threatening
your life...Blackmailing you. You don't think I can trust you but it's
not you that I need."

"Then who?" Mulder looks towards the door, where Kritschgau is
lingering.

"Him. Kritschgau. Ask him to prove it."

"Prove what?" Kritschgau asks.

"What's causing this." 

"It's a brain abnormality. It's how you're able to read minds."

"What's causing this is alien. That's why my doctors can't help me."

"I don't believe in aliens, Agent Mulder. I think you know that."

"I do. That's why I need you." 

~*~*~

The Beach
The Following Day

Scully and Amina sit on the floor of the tent and move around pieces of
paper. Each piece is covered with rubbings that they've made of craft.

When Barnes enters, Amina looks up at him, then glances at Scully. "Now
that you're both here I have something to show you...more pieces of the
puzzle. I couldn't believe it. I thought I was making it up in my head,
that it could not be true."

"What?"

Amina points at the papers in front of her. "What this is. What the
symbols spell out is a passage from the Koran." She speaks an Arabic
word, which she then translates for them. 'The day of final judgment.'
On a spacecraft? Teachings of the ancient prophet Mohammed?"

"I found more, too," Scully says, leaning over carefully so she doesn't
disturb the baby in his sling. She touches rubbings that she's pushed
together. "24 panels...One for each human chromosome. A map of their
makeup - maybe a map of our entire genetic makeup..." She sighs,
sounding overwhelmed by the wonder of it. "A complete human genome. I
mean, it's like...it's the most beautiful...intricate work of art."

"It is the Word of God," Amina says reverently. 

"You're wrong." Barnes objects. "There is no God. What's out there on
the water...is only what we call 'God'...What we call 'creation' - the
spark that ignited the fire that cooked the old primordial soup...made
animate from inanimate...made us."

Amina glances at Scully. "I believe he is mad from the sun."

Barnes snorts. "Mad? I'm perfectly sane...because today I understand
everything beginning and end, alpha and omega, everything in between.
It's all been written. But the word is 'extraterrestrial.'"

Scully begins to feel concerned, finally realizing that Amina was not
be sarcastic. "You're sick, Dr. Barnes. You need to get off your feet,
lie down."

Dr. Barnes picks up Scully's machete and holds it threateningly. "You
think you're going to take the credit? This is my discovery. "

"I'm only here to help my husband." 

"You can't help him. You're wasting your time reading it."

Amina glances towards the baby. "Have a care, Doctor Barnes. You're
speaking about that child's father."

"It has power ," Scully insists, ignoring the inner voice that has also
told her she's wasting time.

"It is power...the ultimate power. Your husband just got too close. "
He stalks across the tent and sits in front of the opening. "No one
leaves here before me."

Scully and Amina Ngebe exchange glances and watch him nervously.

~*~*~

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 
Mulder's Hospital Room

Mulder watches with interest as Kirtschgau sets up three laptops in
front of, but facing away from him.

Looking to Skinner, Kritschgau explains, "We developed this to test
remote-viewing capabilities. It works much like a card trick. You tap
the monitor where the saucer image appears when it appears or when you
think it does. Okay?"

"Who ya gonna call?" Mulder asks, but the joke falls flat. After
Kritschgau tells him to begin, he touches the top of the monitors one
after another. "Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now."

Skinner gives Kritschgau a look: most of the attempts are wrong. 

"All right, Agent Mulder, fine. You're at about five percent accuracy,"
Kritschgau says.

"I'm assuming that's low?" Skinner asks.

"Yeah. At the CIA a high degree of ability was 20%. 25% was
extraordinary."

"But I see them in my head," Mulder protests.

"You saw his ability earlier. It was you who pointed it out," Skinner
says.

"Well, our tests showed that some people have psychic abilities, sure.
I mean, E.S.P. clairvoyance, remote viewing but it was never attributed
to aliens."

"You don't want to believe," Mulder says. "You're not looking hard
enough."

When Kritschgau starts to turn off the monitors, Skinner stops him.
"One more time, faster."

He does, but there's a doubtful look on his face. Mulder taps each of
the speeded up images at exactly the right time.

Kritschgau stares at Mulder in awe. "He's ahead of the images. He's
anticipating."

~*~*~

The Beach
Night

Scully and Amina Ngebelie sit on their the cots, awake. Doctor Barnes
is still manic-still holding the machete-still guarding their only
exit. Everything begins to shake without warning, and the sound of
clinking glass fills the tent. The bag in Doctor Barnes' lap begins to
writher, and he looks in it with an amazed expression on his face. He
reaches into the bag and extracts a handful of live fish.

"They've come back. They were dead. They've come back to life! The ship
- it brought them back to life!"

He's so consumed by surprise that he doesn't notice the chair in
Scully's hands until it's impacting with his skull. He tumbles over
backwards, knocked out.

Scully and Amina pause only long enough to grab the baby and the
rubbings. Then they race out to the truck, throw themselves in it, and
speed away.

"We have to get to the police," Scully tells Amina.

Amina nods without taking her eyes off the road. "That is where I'm
going. This is the road to Abidjan."

Just ahead of them, in the middle of the road, Scully sees the Native
man who bothered her once before. He makes no attempt to get out of the
way, so Scully shouts, "Stop!"

Amina stomps the brakes, and tires squeal as if being tortured. They
brace themselves for an impact that never happens. When Scully looks
back, the man is gone, as if he was never there. "That was him," she
insists. "That was the man I saw in the tent...in the road."

Scully turns back to Amina Ngebe, but in the woman's seat, she sees the
native man glaring back at her. "Some truths are not for you," he
intones in a voice filled with power. Before she can shy away, taps her
on the face, and she freezes up, as if paralyzed.

Then, just a moment later, Amina is back behind the driver's seat. She
touches Scully's face, making her flinch. "Are you all right?"

Scully gasps loudly, her hands automatically touching her baby to make
sure he's okay. He howls at the indignity of being woken up. "Oh, God.
What were you doing?" Scully asks Amina.

"You were cold. I was just feeling to see if you were still alive." 

"What happened to you?" 

"To me?" Amina gives her the same look she gave Barnes when she
declared him sun-sick.

"You slammed on the brakes. There was a man."

"That's right - in the road."

"No. He was right there - sitting right where you are in your seat." 

Amina shakes her head. "The men were right. This is a bad sign. A sign
to give up." She starts the engine and pulls back onto the road.

"Turn us around, please." Scully begs.

"Not back to the beach."

"No... I'm going home."

~*~*~

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 
Mulder's Hospital Room

If Mulder realizes that he's not alone in the room, he gives no sign of
it. Skinner puts his hand on Mulder's forehead, trying to get his
attention. "Agent Mulder, I don't know if you can hear me but we're
going to try to get you out of here." Mulder doesn't react as Skinner
undoes the restraints holding down his arms.

Kritschgau bursts into the room looking agitated. "a.m. nurse is on in
five minutes. We got to move."

"I don't think he's in any shape," Skinner protests. 

Kritschgau pulls a bottle and syringe out of his pocket. "I'm going to
hit him pretty hard. Maybe we can get him on his feet."

"What are you doing?" Skinner barks. "I know what you're doing."

"I'm trying to help him."

"No, this isn't about him - it's about you, it's about revenge against
the government for trying to destroy your life."

"I was destroyed to protect what Mulder knew all along. Now he's the
proof- - he's the X-File." Kritschgau declares in what is obviously
meant to be a reasonable tone.

"We can't just keep shooting him full of drugs." Skinner pulls the
needle away from him. "It's gone too far."

"How far should it go? How far would Mulder go?"

After a moment of staring at Mulder, hands the drug back to Kritschgau.
Monitors begin to beep as frantically as toy breed dogs announcing the
presence of an invader. Kritschgau is still pushing the plunger when
Fowley, nurses, and doctor Harriman swarm into the room.

 Doctor Harriman looks angry and alarmed. "Hey! What's going on here?" 

"Let me see your hands. Hands!" Fowley yells at Kritschgau. Skinner is
idly wondering if she'll pull a gun on him when he finally complies,
holding up empty hands. "Step away."

"Agent Fowley, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Skinner asks. 

"What am I doing? What are you doing, Sir, with this?" She waves the
used syringe that had fallen to the bed. She turns to the other man. "I
want you to face the wall. Do you hear me? Face the wall."

"Let me explain," Skinner says, but no one listens.

"What was this man given? What was in this syringe?" Harriman asks.

"Phenytoin," Fowley reads. 

Skinner tries again. "Let me tell you what it does."

Harriman sounds even angrier. "How much did you give him? What dosage
was this?"

"Let me tell you why we did it-" Skinner begins, but the monitors
attached to Mulder begin a siren song as he goes into convulsions.

"He's going into seizure." Harriman tells a nurse, who is swooping in
to assist. "Watch his head. Mr. Mulder? Can you hear me? Hold him. Hold
him."

Skinner steps away, completely forgotten about. He doesn't really mind.

~*~*~

Airport
An Hour Later

It seems like people are speaking a thousand different languages as
Scully waits impatiently for her plane. Mostly, it's just that the
words of a hundred different conversations in just a handful of
languages have melted into the sounds that remind her strongly of the
ocean waves on the beach. Sighing, she reaches into her pocket and
pulls out her phone, determined to add to the din.

"Skinner, it's me, agent Scully," she says as he answers on the second
ring.

"Where have you been?" He sounds almost angry, which fills her with a
nameless dread.

"I'm in Africa. We're waiting for our flight home. Is Mulder still at
Georgetown Memorial?"

"He's in the neuro-psych ward but it's not good, Agent Scully." 

"How not good?" she demands to know. "I'm going to be on the plane for
twenty-two hours. I need to know what I'm coming back to."

"He's not in immediate risk of dying, so I'm sorry to panic you. It's
just that you should know what you're going to see if you can even get
on the ward. There's been some trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" 

"I got this man, Kritschgau, involved. It's a long story, but it ended
badly. They've got Mulder under security now around the clock. I take
full responsibility."

"Responsibility for what?"

"He can't even communicate, Agent Scully. They won't treat him because
they don't know what's wrong with him. They said he was dying sooner
than later. I had to do something."

"He's not dying," Scully says calmly.

"I'm afraid it's true."

"He's not dying. He is more alive than he has ever been. He's more
alive than his body can withstand and what's causing it may be
extraterrestrial in origin."

"I know. But there's nothing to be done about it. When you get here,
I'm afraid that they're going to deny you access."

"Maybe as his partner...but not as his doctor. Not as his wife." She
pauses. "Are you there in the room with him?"

"Yes, why?" he asks, sounding cautious.

"Give him the phone."

"He can't hold it," Skinner protests. He doesn't want to say that
Fowley and Harrison are now supervising each of his visits. Both of
them are glaring at him.

"Then hold it to his ear!" she snaps.

"Okay. I'm doing it now." 

After a moment of moving noises, she begins to speak to her husband,
not caring if Skinner can hear what she says. "Mulder, it's me. I know
that you can hear me. If you can just give me some sign." She listens
hard, but hears nothing but the faint sound of breathing. "I want you
to know where I've been...what I found. I think that, if you know, that
you could find a way to hold on. I need you to hold on. I found a
key...the key...to every question that has ever been asked. It's a
puzzle..." Her voice begins to break. "But the pieces are there for us
to put together and I know that they can save you if you can just hold
on. Mulder...please. Hold on."

After a minute Skinner takes the phone back. "Have a safe flight, agent
Scully. I'll do what I can for him until you get here."

"Thank you," Scully says, then snaps her phone closed. An announcement
has just listed her plane for boarding.

~*~*~

Chapter Seventy-Nine

October 1999

A distant voice drones, "We've exhausted all medical and scientific
evidence. By that I mean nothing we can find - no disease, no hint of
disease, only symptoms. The brute fact is he's experiencing so much
activity in his temporal lobe that it is effectively destroying his
brain."

"Enough. There's only so much bluntness a mother can take," Tenna
Mulder says, before wiping an errant tear away. "I shouldn't even be
the one making decisions. That's what wives are for...but his is
chasing some quack cure, dragging my month-old grandson with her."

"I'm realize this is difficult, Mrs. Mulder. I just..."

"All you do is sedate him. You're turning him...into a zombie," she
accuses, stroking Mulder's cheek. "I know you can hear me, Fox. Can you
give me a sign?"

"I can hear you, Mom," Mulder replies.

"Fox. Come on now. Your family needs you." She pauses. "I need you
too." She shakes her head lightly. "I even called your dad, and you
know how unusual it is for us to talk. He hopes you'll hurry up and get
better as well."

"Mom, I can hear you. I'm here," he tells her, puzzled by her refusal
to hear him.

She bends down and kisses his forehead like she'd done when he was
young and too sick for school. "I love you, my darling boy." Then she
shakes her head again, this time sadly, and walks away.

"Mom, where you going? Mom! Mom! Come back, Mom! Mom! What did you mean
about Scully? Please come back, I need you! Mom!! Mom!!!" Exhausted
from his futile screaming, Mulder doesn't fight the darkness when it
rolls in.

Eventually it lifts. "When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes. Ah,
but your mummy will still love you. All a mother wants is to shield her
boy from pain and danger. Safe in the world as he was once in the womb.
But maybe we think a father demands more than mere survival. Maybe
we're afraid a father demands worldly adulation success, heroism..."
The smoking man whispers in Mulder's ear. "I know you can hear me."

Looking up at his biological father, Mulder tells him, "I could always
hear you. Even when my mind is jammed with a thousand voices I can hear
you like a snake hissing underneath. How the hell did you get in here?"

Giving no indication that he heard Mulder's response, the smoking man
busies himself filling a syringe from a bottle. "How does anything I do
surprise you now? Aren't you expecting me to sprout vampire fangs?"

"You've come to kill me," Mulder accuses.

"It would be better than living like a zombie, wouldn't it?" The
smoking man asks as he delivers the injection into Mulder's temple.
Mulder gasps and grimaces in pain. A bolt pierces his brain. "I'm
giving you a choice."

"What choice?"

"Life or death. Your account is squared-with me, with God, with the
IRS, with the FBI. Rise out of your bed and come with me."

"I'm dying, you idiot. If I could get up, I'd kick your ass," Mulder
croaks.

"Don't be so dramatic. Only part of you is dying. The part that played
the hero. You've suffered enough - for the X-Files, for your partner,
for the world. You're not Christ. You're not Prince Hamlet. You're not
even Ralph Nader. You can walk out of this hospital and the world will
forget you. Arise."

Mulder startles himself by sitting up with ease. "Wh...wh...what the
hell are you doing to me?"

"I'm showing you how to take the road not taken. Take my hand." 

"Why should I take your hand?" 

The old man gives him a faintly surprised look. "You can't read my
mind?"

"No..." Mulder realizes with relief. "I can't. All the voices are
gone."

"Take my hand, Fox. You have to take the first step. Take my hand. I am
your father."

"I guess that makes me Luke Skywalker," Mulder says, but he does take
the man's hand.

~*~*~

Hours Later
Washington National Airport

Scully and Christopher are swept along a tide of fellow passengers
disembarking from the plane. As they head towards the baggage area, the
crowd thins enough to allow Scully to escape the press of bodies. She's
about to grab her bag when she hears a shout:

"Agent Scully!"

Looking over her shoulder, she catches sight of Skinner, and to her
surprise, Michael Kritschgau.

"What's going on?" Scully asks, suddenly compelled to shift her
sleeping son closer to her chest.

Skinner's expression is anything but reassuring. "Thank God you're
back. Agent Scully, you need to go to the hospital with us right now."

"Why? What happened?"

"Mulder's gone. He's disappeared," Kritschgau says, and Skinner nods in
grim agreement.

"If you don't have any objections, Kritschgau will ride with you, and
fill you in. I'll follow in my car."

"Uh, okay," Scully agrees off-hand.

Kritschgau watches while she straps Christopher into his car seat, then
climbs into the car with her. Once she starts the car, she glances at
her passenger. "I take it you 'filling me in' was your idea?"

He nods, and glances back at the baby. "As his wife, you are the only
one with access to Mulder. I need you to use it wisely."

"Like you?" She hisses. "Almost killing him by shooting him full of
Phenytoin for a few moments of lucidity."

"Skinner's kept you informed," Kritschgau says sardonically. "It's what
Agent Mulder wanted. He knows what's wrong. What he wants now is to
prove it. It's why he asked for me, not you."

"I don't believe that." 

"Close to three years ago your husband was infected with a virus he
claimed was alien. A virus reactivated in him by exposure to a source
of energy also alien. Agent Mulder is living proof of what he tried so
long to substantiate: the existence of alien life."

"Well, whatever it is, it's killing him. And we have to get it out of
him."

He leans close, threateningly. "You destroy this and I'll destroy you."

"Threaten me again and I might accidentally discharge my firearm,"
Scully growls, and shoves him back towards the passenger door with one
hand. "I'll do what's best for my husband, not you."

Neither of them say another word to each other until they rejoin
Skinner at the hospital and are informed that it seems that Mrs. Mulder
checked Mulder out of the hospital.

~*~*~

That Night

It's rainy and dark when Mulder wakes up and discovers that he's in his
hospital gown still, and handcuffed. The smoking man doesn't react when
he realizes that his passenger is awake. "You've been asleep quite a
while. I expect it'll be some time before your sleep patterns return to
normal. Would you like an explanation?"

"I'm not sure," Mulder admits.

"While you were lying unconscious in the hospital this afternoon my
doctors worked on you."

"Why?"

"At some point I realized that if the Syndicate didn't kill you the FBI
would. If the FBI didn't kill you your own misguided heroism would.
There's really no way out for you. There's no way for you to cheat
death except by disappearing." The smoking man explains.

"A man can't just disappear," Mulder protests. "Specifically I can't
just disappear. I have responsibilities, a wife and children."

"Oh, we've made entire cultures disappear. Surely you learned about
Roanoke in school. Like me, now, you'll...you'll become a man without a
name. But even while you miss your former identity, you'll learn to
love life's simpler pleasures." The smoking man tells him.

Mulder holds up his cuffed hands. "Well, that'll be kind of tough with
these on."

"When you no longer want to run, those will come off. How do you feel?"

"I feel better than I did." Mulder sighs. "I've got to tell Scully that
I'm better. I've got to tell her."

"If you do have contact with her you'll put her in danger. You're
entering a kind of, uh witness protection program, for want of a better
term." The smoking man lights a cigarettes in his mouth.

"What about my kids?" Mulder asks plaintively.

"You said that twice now." The smoking man gives him a puzzled look
before turning his eyes back to the road. "What children?"

~*~*~

Meanwhile

 The house is quiet when Scully arrives. Sighing wearily, she drops her
keys on the kitchen table, sets Christopher's carrier on the floor, and
goes to the fridge for a drink. There's a gurgle behind her, and she
turns expecting to see Michelle holding one of the twins. Instead
Michelle there's a man holding Jared. Alarmed, she gropes for the gun
at her waist and wishes that she'd thought to turn on the light.

"Don't move. Who's there?" 

He steps into the light, and she knows him. "I don't mean to frighten
you. Albert Hosteen." Unalarmed, Jared waves at his mother, excited to
see her.

Scully takes her son from the elderly man, and gives him a look of
disbelief. "What are you doing here? How did you get here?"

"A young woman let me in. I'm sorry to surprise you." 

"Surprise? That you're standing here... The last time I saw you was in
New Mexico, when Mulder took ill years ago."

"I was hoping to see your partner," Albert says. "He came to see me in
the hospital, but I wasn't well enough to speak to him, then."

"He's missing," Scully replies heavily.

"You must save him."

"He's very ill," she says, and then adds. "I'm trying."

"You must find him before something happens not only for his sake - for
the sake of us all." Albert casts a meaningful look at the child
cradled in Scully's arms. "You don't want him growing up in the world
that will follow if you fail."

Scully gives him a confused look, but he lets himself out of the house
without elaborating further.

 ~*~*~

Meanwhile 

"What do you mean, 'what children'? I have six kids!" Mulder yelps.

"That's news to me." The smoking man gives him a long look. "There's
one boy, William, but I don't know of any others. I'm sure they'll be
fine with their mothers."

"Mother," Mulder snaps. "I'm not the man you are, to have children with
whatever women catch my eye. They all have the same mother. Scully."

"Oh?" The old man asks. "I'm sure that would be news to her. To me too,
since we didn't authorize any more births from her ova after the
disaster the first time."

Bewildered, Mulder falls into a dismayed silence until the smoking man
brings the car to a stop. He pulls up in front of a nice house.

"Where are we?"

"Home. This is your new life."

The smoking man holds out a key. Eventually Mulder takes it.

"I don't understand."

The smoking man gets out of the car, and when Mulder doesn't he leans
against the open window. He points a finger at the car's key, still in
the ignition. "You can drive away right now. Drive back to Scully and
your X-Files and imminent death, and look for your imaginary children
if it brings you comfort. And I wouldn't be surprised if you did drive
off now but I think you should take a look around. I mean, why leave
something behind until you...until you know what it is you're leaving?"

Without another word, he turns and walks off down the street.
Considering the man's words, Mulder looks up at the house.

~*~*~

Not long after Albert Hosten's visit, Scully tucks the kids into bed,
lets Michelle know she's leaving and heads back to the hospital to see
if there are any new clues about her husband's whereabouts. There seems
to be a development and Agent Flagler shows her a security tape.

"Mulder was taken out of the hospital at just before 2:00 a.m. His
mother's signature's on the hospital documents. It's her handwriting,
she checked him out a.m.a; against medical advice. It's all legitimate,
until you go to surveillance. This is the camera in the hall outside
Mulder's room." He points out black paint sprayed on other camera lens
in the hallway, blinding them. "Here's inside his room. And two other
cameras on the ward. We're guesstimating there were at least three
others involved. Check this out. Where's Waldo? She's talking to
someone."

In the tiny bit of one frame not covered with the black paint they
watch Teena Mulder talk to a man who is smoking a cigarette. "Yeah. I
know who that is," Scully says, silently fuming.

~*~*~

Mulder's Home
Late Night

There's no one in the house, as best as Mulder can tell. He only takes
a cursorily look, however. As soon as he's through the door he's
overwhelmed by a sudden lassitude. Telling himself that it's just the
effects of having been so ill, he wanders the ground floor until he
finds the bedroom.

The bed is ice cold, and he misses Scully's smaller, warm presence
beside him. It's also too quiet, and the noise that six kids, even
asleep, produce is completely lacking. Somewhere in the dark a clock
ticks, and a few self-pitying tears roll down his cheeks as he sleepily
vows to get back home.

~*~*~

X-Files Office
Obscenely Early

The last thing Scully did before tearing out of the house was to speak
to April, since she was the only one of the kids awake. The little girl
had looked up at her with curious brown eyes, but hadn't asked her any
questions � not that Scully really expected her to. She explained
anyway. "I'm looking for your daddy. Don't you worry, baby, I'm going
to find him." April had looked like she believed her, which was the
only reason she could bear to go into the office rather than stay with
the kids, and hold them close so they didn't disappear on her too.

Phone calls to Mulder's parents are her first order of business, and
she only feels a little bad to have woken Bill Mulder. He sounds
worried too, and he promises "If I hear anything I'll call you
immediately. Teena told me that he's quite ill, so I'm concerned about
him too." Feeling a bit bitter about that declaration, Scully
momentarily wishes that she could douse her worries in alcohol, the way
Bill surely does. Even if she did drink, it wouldn't be good for
Christopher, so she squelches the impulse.

Teena Mulder isn't even home, or at least not answering her phone,
because her cool message plays in Scully's ear. "This is Teena Mulder.
I'm not in to take your call. Please leave your message."

"Teena? This is Dana." She pauses when an office courier enters the
room and hands her a large envelope. "As before, you can reach me at
our office at the FBI. I plan to go home at four, and you know that
number, obviously. Thank you."

Scully hangs up and opens the envelope. Inside is a large book. "Native
American Beliefs and Practices." The envelope pretends to have
originated from interoffice mail, but there's nothing on the envelope
to indicate the sender.

Flipping the book over, she sees that there is writing on the cover
that matches the panel of the ship she'd encountered in Africa.
Skimming the table of contents, she sees that chapter three is called
"The Anasazi - An Entire Native American Indian Culture Vanishes
Without a Trace - History as Myth and end of the world symbolism.
Apocalypse and The Sixth Extinction." That gives her chills. She reads
the chapter, and feels chills of a different kind.

Picking up her phone once more, she calls Skinner. "Sir, did you send
me this book?"

"Excuse me?"

"This book. It explains everything that I found in Africa...using the
same symbols that I found on the ship."

"Agent Scully, I asked you not to involve me in this." 

She ignores the comment. "It's all here, sir - a foretelling of mass
extinction; a myth about a man who can save us from it. That's why they
took Mulder. They think that his illness is a gift - protection against
the coming plague." Skinner hangs up on her rather abruptly.

Annoyed, she goes up to his office, and his assistant tries to bar the
way. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully. The Assistant Director has given me
express orders not to let you in."

Scully side skirts her and opens the door in time to see a man run out
the other door, leaving Skinner slumped over his desk in pain. Scully
runs to his side when he groans.

"Sir...Are you hurt? Are you cut?" Scully looks up to see his alarmed
assistant peering into the office. "Get on the phone."

As soon as the other woman nods, Scully skitters out into the hallway
after the assailant. He moves so quickly that she has trouble keeping
up with him.

"Hey! Stop that man!"

Without missing a beat the man pulls the fire alarm and gets lost in
the crowd.

~*~*~

Mulder's New House
Morning

When Mulder wakes up in the morning there's a woman sitting at his
kitchen table, sipping a mug of coffee. He stares at her, because he
knows who she is, and wishes that she wasn't there.

Lowering the mug, she gives him a long look, piercing him with green
eyes. "Fox."

"Elsbeth," he replies shakily. "I didn't expect-"

"No, I'm sure you didn't," she says evenly.

"Um...why are you here?"

"You screwed up."

He's suddenly alarmed. "Where are Scully and the kids?"

"Gone."

"What do you mean 'gone'?" Mulder demands to know.

"Scully's dead."

"What? What happened to her? I heard my mother say she'd gone off
somewhere, taking Christopher with her. Was there an accident? Oh God,
what about the baby?" Mulder babbles.

Elsbeth shakes her head. "You know how she died, Fox. As for
Christopher, he doesn't exist."

"What do you mean? Christopher exists. He was born in August."

"No."

"Yes! He's my sixth child. How can you say that he doesn't exist?"

"You have a child, one. William. You couldn't get him back, and Scully
killed herself."

"No! No! You sent me back to keep her safe!" Mulder wails.

"Did you?" Elsbeth asks. Without another word, she stands and walks
away from the table. "Did you keep anyone safe?"

Elsbeth!" Mulder shrieks. "Elsbeth tell me what's going on!"

The short blonde woman never turns to acknowledge his screams.

 ~*~*~

Michael Kritschgau 's Apartment.
That Afternoon

After knocking rather insistently on the door, Scully rouses the
apartment's occupant, who steps aside to let her in, mostly because she
gives him no choice.

"You told someone, didn't you?" she accuses. "You let the information
out."

"What are you talking about?" 

"A man attacked Skinner in his office." 

"For what?" Kritschgau asks.

"For what he knows about Mulder." 

"I haven't told anyone."

She's about to accuse him of lying again when she sees a laptop on his
table. Lifting the screen, she sees copies of the photos of the
inscriptions on the ship in Africa. "What is this? These are mine.
You've hacked into my files. What are you doing with these?"

"I was having them analyzed." 

"By whom?"

"National Institutes of Health." 

"What?" she asks, giving him a blank look.

"The material you have there - encrypted data that describes advanced
human genetics - where did you get it?"

"This was not supposed to go public," she announces, then erases the
file off his hard drive.

Kritschgau doesn't look as angry as she expects him to. "Wherever you
got it that data supports what's happened to Mulder. It proves what
he's become - biologically alien." She stares and he stares back. "What
are you hiding?"

"It doesn't matter," she says heavily.

"It matters to someone. Whoever it is it sounds like they're looking
for Mulder, too."

Once the files are completely gone, Scully leaves.

~*~*~

Meanwhile

When it's clear that Elsbeth has no intention of returning, Mulder goes
upstairs for the first time. The bedroom he slept in was on the ground
floor, so he's had no need to go up there the night before.

Now it serves as a necessary distraction. Most of the doors stand open,
revealing a couple of closets, a bathroom, a small bedroom and an
office. One door is firmly closed.

Trepidation coils in his stomach as he puts his hand on the knob. The
office is full of books and office supplies, and their slightly
disordered appearance suggests that they've been used. What's behind
the closed door? He swings it open.

There's no light, so he reaches out a trembling hand and flicks the
switch. The far wall is plastered with news clippings.

Woman's Body Washes Ashore

The body of a drowning victim washed ashore early this morning...

Truck Driver Kills One After Falling Asleep At Wheel

A Virginia truck driver fell asleep at the wheel yesterday day, and
drove into an on-coming car, killing the driver instantly...

Moaning, Mulder pulls his eyes away, and finds that he's staring at a
pair of obituaries instead. Dana Katherine Scully. Died December 23rd,
2003. John Jay Doggett. Died December 17th, 2003. A calendar to the far
left is turned to May 2004.

Recoiling in horror, Mulder flees the room and runs into the hall. He
covers his eyes with his palms and screams.

~*~*~

Unknown Location

Mulder's prone body is lying on a metal table. His face is peacefully
slack � completely unaware of his surroundings...or his company. He
doesn't flinch at all when the smoking man and Fowley speak next to
him.

"A father has high hopes for his son but he never dreams his boy's
going to change the world. I'm so proud of this man - the depth of his
capacity for suffering," the smoking man proclaims.

"Like father, like son," Fowley replies with a sycophant smile. It took
some doing to get back into the smoking man's good graces after
abducting the baby in order to add tension to Mulder and his wife's
relationship, but he seems to have forgiven her.

"They think what he has is killing him but, in actuality, he's never
been more alive." His voice holds a note of awe.

Fowley watches the sleeping man twitch for a few seconds. "Do you think
he dreams?"

"He flinches and whines. I'd say nightmares."

"About what, I wonder."

He shrugs. "What haunts the sleep of all great me. Our failures. What
we could have accomplished if there hadn't be others standing in our
way..." The smoking man leans down. "Your path is clear now, my boy."

~*~*~

Hoover Building
Three Hours Later 

Scully sees red when she notices her least favorite agent in the
hallway. She hasn't seen hide or hair of her for weeks, and had naively
hoped that she'd taken off after the stunt with the baby.

"Bum a cigarette, Agent Fowley?" Scully asks as she comes up behind the
other woman.

Fowley notes her unfriendly look "I don't smoke."

"Really? I could swear I smell cigarette smoke on you."

"Let's cut the crap, shall we?" Fowley suggests.

"Yes. Let's." She leads the other woman into an empty office. "Where's
my husband?"

"Maybe before you go around blaming everyone you can find for what's
happened to Mulder you could think about what you could've done to
prevent it. If you weren't so wrapped up in your children you might
have noticed-" She begins, but Scully cuts her off.

"I just want you to think. Think of Mulder when you met him. Think of
the promise and the life in front of him. Think of him now. And then
try and stand there in front of me, look me in the eye and tell me
Mulder wouldn't bust his ass trying to save you." She gives Fowley a
long look. "Did, actually, or have you forgotten our little trip to
Antarctica?"

"I'm thinking, Agent Scully. I'm always thinking," Fowley says tightly,
and then walks past Scully.

Scully lets her go, suddenly convinced for no good reason that she's
gotten through to her.

~*~*~

Location Unknown

Taking a set on a table set near the one holding Mulder, the smoking
man rolls up his sleeve so a doctor can insert an IV.

The doctor places the IV, then stares down at Mulder in awe. "It's a
chance none of us ever expected...let alone hoped for. After all these
years trying to develop a compatible alien-human hybrid and to have one
ready-made."

"All these years...all the questioning why...why keep Mulder alive?
When it was so simple to remove the threat that he posed?" The look on
the smoking man's face is one of gloating.

This makes the doctor frown. "There was no way you could have predicted
this."

"The fact remains, he's become our savior. He's immune to the coming
viral apocalypse. He's the hero here."

"He may not survive the procedure," the doctor cautions. 

"Then he suffers a hero's fate." 

~*~*~

Mulder's House

The sound of laughter out on the street draws Mulder's attention.
Groaning, he climbs to his feet and goes to the window. The laughter
had sounded happy, but it takes on a sinister tone as he looks out.

Two children are looking up at him. They're both clearly dead. Even in
the moonlight it's possible to see the molting of their blue-gray
skin...Dirt darkens limp blond hair. Their dead eyes know him, and
they're angry. Even from the other side of the glass their hatred of
him is palpable.

A voiceless whisper winds around the room. "You let us die."

Mulder stumbles backwards, suddenly sure that they'll come in through
the window for him. The glass doesn't break.

Eventually he becomes brave and looks out again. The children are
disappearing down the street.

~*~*~

Mulder's House
Later

After the children came by to scare him, it takes Mulder a while to
gather up the courage to go outside and try the car. It's on his mind
to drive home to Scully and the kids, but when he tries to start the
car, it won't turn over.

Sighing, he gets out of the car, and heads back in. His thought is to
call a tow truck, but a noise deep in the house makes him freeze in his
track.

 "Hello? Anybody there?" 

"Agent Mulder."

Turning around, Mulder is startled to see that his visitor is Deep
Throat. The unexpected joy at seeing him dies suddenly when the man
walks out of the shadows. His skin shares the same deathly pallor as
Emily and Luke's. "You're dead."

Deep Throat chuckles, which is a deeply unpleasant sound. "What else
did you expect? Your wife saw me die, bleed out on that bridge years
ago. One, uh, well-placed bullet..." Deep Throat pulls up his shirt to
show a gruesome gash that can't heal in dead tissue. "Ended a lifetime
of trying to put things to right."

"I felt responsible for your death," Mulder tells him, sitting down. 

"You are. I died for your quest," Deep Throat announces, strangely
calm.

Horror-stricken, Mulder stares at him. 

"I'm not the only one to fall victim to your crusade for the damnable
truth. Scully's sister, your father, Duane Barry...all fell in your
wake. Even Scully's cancer, barrenness, and suicide are charges to be
laid at your feet. You thought you could control it all if you just
tired hard enough, and we suffered for it."

"No...no..." Mulder sputters.

"No? Take some responsibility, Man!" Deep Throat roars, coming to his
feet. "Do it before it's too late for your boy, too."

Deep Throat turns and begins to walk away.

"Wait!" Mulder shouts. "Damn you, why won't anyone listen to me?" Deep
Throat doesn't respond.

~*~*~

Washington, DC

It's just after five when Scully arrives home. Though it pained her to
do so, she waited until four for Teena to call back, but her
mother-in-law never did. A black mood descended on her as she fled the
office.

The kids are all very quiet, and no one fusses when Scully and Michelle
put them to bed. After closing the door to David and Jared's room,
Michelle lingers in the hallway.

"Is there something you wanted to say?" Scully asks when the nanny just
silently stares at her.

"Will you be okay if I run out to the store for a while?"

Puzzled, Scully says "I'm glad you helped me get them to bed, but you
know that when Mulder or I are home, you're not on duty. You can leave
whenever you want."

"I wasn't asking permission," Michelle says softly. "I asked if you'd
be okay."

It takes Scully a lot of effort to keep herself from dissolving into
tears. "You shouldn't have to worry about something like that."

The nanny shrugs. "I can't help it. You and your husband are good
people, so I worry about you."

"Thank you. But I'll be fine, really."

"Okay," Michelle replies. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

After listening to the nanny leave, Scully decides to see if
Christopher is awake. It's less than an hour until he needs to be fed,
so she tells herself that it wouldn't be too horrible if she woke him
up so she had one of her babies to hold. But before she reaches her
room, she hears a footstep behind her and turns.

Albert Hosteen is behind her, and he gives her a stern glance. "You're
running out of time."

Scully is worn out with worry and on the verge of tears. "Why do you
come to me like this? Why? When I can't find him."

"You look, but not in the right place."

"I don't think you're hearing me," Scully snaps. 

"You don't know where he is?" 

"Even if I did I wouldn't know how to save him. This science makes no
sense to me."

"Have you looked for him here?" He points to her chest, right above her
heart.

"Are you asking me to pray?"

Instead of answering, he reaches for her hand and gently pulls her to
her knees as he drops to his own beside her. "There are more worlds
than the one you can hold in your hand."

They lower their heads and begin to pray. By the time Michelle returns,
Albert has long since let himself out, but Scully is still praying,
silently, a desperate mantra running through her head.

~*~*~

Location Unknown

Mulder and the smoking man are on separate tables, but their heads are
nearly as close as those of conjoined twins. Mulder, with a tube shoved
down his throat, is obvious to the other man, the pair of doctors, and
Fowley. On the other hand, the smoking man is wide awake.

Looking up at Fowley he smiles grimly, saying "I hope you see the
poetry in this, Diana."

She doesn't smile back. "You're removing genetic material that may kill
your son."

"We're forcing the next step in evolution to save man. We're doing
God's work, Diana. Without this immunity, everyone would die. This
knowledge is God's blessing. I'll carry on for Mulder from here." He
reaches out and squeezes her hand. She takes it, but looks upset.

~*~*~

The Next Morning

Scully's knees ache when she wakes up the next morning. At some point
during the night she'd been fueled by a compulsion to pray on her knees
again, as if the ache brought her closer to the god she was praying to,
or at least showed that she was serious. Thinking hard, she couldn't
remember when she finally crawled into bed.

The only goal she had upon wincingly climbing out of bed, was to head
for a glass of water and two aspirin. She was still shuffling towards
the kitchen, which for reasons she couldn't fathom, was where she and
Mulder kept pain relief, rather than in the much closer medicine
cabinet, when she noticed something pushed halfway through the mail
slot.

Opening the envelope, she finds a Inside is a keycard for a door in the
Department of Defense. Stamped on the front is "MSF 1226 L1."

Three minutes later she's dressed and running for the car, her aching
forgotten.

~*~*~

Unknown Location

Mulder's eyes are open, but they don't see anything in the room while
the doctors probe his brain. Instead his sight is focused inwards.

~*~*~

Mulder's House

He never escapes.

Every time he tries to, something goes wrong. Cars won't start, cabs
won't come, and if he actually does make it out of the yard, inclement
weather springs up. Once he got about four blocks away before a tree
fell and hit his shoulder with a glancing blow. Even so, he thought it
might have been broken, and it took weeks before he got full use of it
back.

Eventually, he stops trying to get away. Some deep down, defeated part
of him comes to accept the fact that Scully is dead, and most of his
children were imaginary.

And slowly he grows old.

One quiet afternoon, which is much like the years of quiet afternoons
stung out before and behind it, Mulder's tired old eyes open when he
hears someone walking in his room. A much younger man, perhaps
thirty-five, approaches the side of his bed. For a moment Mulder
wonders who he could be, but then he recognizes the longish red hair,
bright blue eyes, and a copy of Scully's mouth.

"William! I thought I'd never see you again!" 

His son looks at him with hard eyes. "You never looked for me."

"No, that's not true," Mulder protests. "We tried to get you back."

"When I was a baby. I've been grown a long time. Why didn't you try to
find me after I grew up?"

"I didn't think you'd want to see me, not after your mother-"

"-killed herself. You let her die."

"William, there was nothing I could do!"

"And you've done nothing. You've let yourself wallow in self-pity, and
have scarcely noticed that they've come and taken over." William
gestures to the red sky outside. "If you hadn't maybe my life, all our
lives, would be worth living now."

"William, why rehash the past now...I'm dying," Mulder snivels.

"If you die now, you kill us all!" William shouts. "You're the only one
who can bar the door against the wolves baying outside. Get up and
live, dammit."

Before Mulder can react, William has grabbed him by the wrist, and
pulled him to his feet. Age falls away from Mulder, and he sees Scully
standing in the doorway, smiling encouragement at him. "I thought you
died," Mulder whispers, forgetting that William is there and taking a
step towards her. She holds out her hand in anticipation.

~*~*~

The heels of Scully's shoes click and echo in the deserted hallway as
she rushes towards the room the keycard belongs to. A hint of green
light illuminates a few inches of floor in front of the closed door.
She almost drops the keycard, but somehow manages to grip it long
enough to shove it home.

The room is deserted, except for the man lying on a metal table with
his arms out-stretched. She looks around, frantically trying to assess
the situation. Has Mulder been abandoned, or are they laying in wait
for an opportune moment to jump out at her?

Hand shaking, she reaches out and touches his bandaged head. He doesn't
respond, so she leans towards his left ear and speaks softly, hoping
not to be overheard. "Mulder. Mulder, you've got to wake up. I've got
to get you out of here. Mulder, can you understand me?"

His eyelids flicker slightly, and he lets out a weak moan.

Next to him, his wife begins to cry. "Mulder, you've got to get up. I
don't know how much time we have. You've got to get up, Mulder. No one
can do it but you, Mulder. Mulder, help me. Please, Mulder."

When tears splatter his face, he opens his eyes, this time really
seeing her. "Will...If you...help...me."

So she does.

~*~*~

One Week Later

When Scully gets home early from the office, she goes to their bedroom
and is surprised to see that although he's playing with the twins on
the bed, Mulder is dressed. It's only been a little over a day since he
was released from the hospital, where he'd spent several days under
observation and receiving treatment for a minor infection caused by his
impromptu brain surgery.

"Why are you dressed? You look like you were going somewhere."

"Scully, I, um...I was coming down...to work to tell you that Albert
Hosteen is dead. He died last night in New Mexico. He'd been in a coma
for two weeks. There was...no way he could have been in our house."

"He was there - we...we prayed together. Mulder, I don't believe that.
I...I don't believe it. It's impossible."

"Isn't it any more impossible than what you saw in Africa or what you
saw in me?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore. Mulder, I was so determined to
find a cure to save you that I could deny what it was that I saw and
now I don't even know...I don't know...I don't know what the truth is
... I don't know who to listen to. I don't know who to trust."

Unexpected tears well in her eyes. "Diana Fowley was found murdered
this morning. I never trusted her...but she helped save your life just
as much as I did. She gave me that book. It was her key that led me to
you. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry. I know she was your friend."

"Yes, but not like you. You were my friend, and you told me the truth.
Even when the world was falling apart, you were my constant...my
touchstone."

"And you are mine," Scully tells, him then kisses him until the twins
begin to squeal for their parents' attention.

~*~*~

Later

There's the sound of footsteps, and Scully looks up from writing a
report just time to see David run unsteadily into the room wearing only
a diaper. Michelle appears seconds later and gives her a sheepish look.
"Sorry, he got away from me while I changed Jared."

"It's okay." Scully pauses and gives the young woman a measured look.
"I've been meaning to ask you this, but with everything going on it's
slipped my mind. A friend of mine, an elderly Navaho code talker Mulder
and I worked with, stopped by to visit a couple of times while Mulder
was missing. Did you let him in? He was in the house when I got home
the first time."

Michelle looks confused. "No. I don't even remember seeing him." 

"Ah." Scully looks down at her smiling son, who looks impishly proud of
himself, and casts for a change of topic. "You behave for Michelle."

"Ha ha," he declares, clapping gleefully. Mulder's sarcasm is obviously
rubbing off on him, too.

Scully shakes her head and watches the nanny take him away. When she's
alone a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye catches her
attention. Turning her head, she sees the briefest impression of a
figure fading from view.

Perhaps Mulder was right, and Albert hadn't been alive to visit her.
Perhaps it wasn't the nanny but one of the resident ghosts that was the
"young woman" who let him in that night...but if it was, she'd never
admit to her husband that a suspicion to that end had ever crossed her
mind.

~*~*~

A Few Days Later

"Scully, we need to talk."
 
"About?" she asks.

He gives her a sad smile and then reaches into the drawer of his
nightstand. After he fishes a small box out, he hands it to Scully. "I
bought these today when I picked up my new prescription for
antibiotics." It's the third one they'd put him on since releasing him
from the hospital.

"Mulder," she says, giving him an imploring look.

Shaking his head, he says, "We talked about this sort of contingency.
Until we know that I'm going to be okay, it'd be foolish to risk
another pregnancy. I'm not going to leave you with another baby to look
after all by yourself if I die."

"You're not going to die!" She starts to get up, but he puts his hand
around her wrist, gently.

"Do you think that you're God, now?"

"Of course not."

"Then you can't know that. You can hope, and you can pray, but you
can't know."

"Okay. You win. We'll do this...Right up until you get a clean bill of
health."

::Right up until it's time to conceive out seventh and final child.::


~*~*~

Late October 1999

When Mulder wakes up one morning his head feels too big for his
thoughts. Too big for his pillow, too. Because he can't bring himself
to explore with his fingers, he lurches out of bed, heading for the
bathroom mirror. His unsteady gait makes him dizzy, and he vaguely
wonders if the unstable feeling in his belly compares to morning
sickness. Maybe he'll ask Scully to compare notes.

As he stares at the image in the mirror, he thinks about movies where
someone grows a second head. The lump on the back of his skull does
have any facial features but maybe his hair covered them up.

As he shakes Scully awake, words he never expected to say poured out of
his mouth: "Something is really wrong with me. I think you need to
bring me to hospital."

Scully practically bolts out of bed, and her eyes fill with horror when
she sees the knob on the back of his head. "That's where they cut into
your brain."

"I realize that," he says tiredly, then lies back down while Scully
gets dressed and wakes Michelle.

~*~*~

Memorial Hospital

The end up admitting him almost immediately. Since Scully is a doctor,
the doctors treating him tend to forget that he's not following the
conversation that they're having with his wife, and they mostly speak
to her.

Once they wander off, Mulder looks up at her. "So what's going on?"

They're going to give you a cat-scan, but the theory is that there's an
infection in the bone and tissue around the incision the smoking man's
people made."

"So the infection they thought they cleared up before releasing me
before-"

"-had just gone into hiding," Scully finishes. "In a way, it's good
that you swelled up like this."

Mulder glares at her for being insensitive. "Sure. I always wanted a
hideous lump on the back of my head."

"If not for the swelling, we might be talking about more serious
things."

"Things like what?"

"A brain abscess."

"Damn." ::Well, this sucks more than last time. I guess I had to
realize that not all the changes would be improvements.:: "So what
happens next?"

"They do the scan, then probably put you on antibiotics."

"How long will I be here?" he asks plaintively. 

"Honestly, I don't know. There are a few things I'd like to throw out
to your doctors, but I'm not sure if they'll go for them."

In the end, he goes home after three days, with a far less swollen head
and a sheave of instructions for him and Scully to follow...and the
fear that it could happen again.

~*~*~

October 31st, 1999

"I was deep within the woods when suddenly I spied them. I saw a pair
of pale green pants with nobody inside them."

Since he isn't yet three months old, Christopher is sleeping in a
bassinet parked near the couch. It's a new piece of furniture for the
room; unlike their older siblings at their age, the twins are
inordinately fascinated with the new baby, and now that they're walking
well won't leave him alone when he naps in a baby seat. Both of them
fell into the seat twice while admiring their little brother, so Mulder
retrieved Sammy's old bassinet from the attic to keep all three of the
little ones safe.

At the moment, however, David and Jared aren't causing trouble. Instead
they're sharing their father's lap. Also sharing Mulder's lap is one of
Doctor Seus' less popular works "What Was I Scared Of?" Sammy loved it
so much that Mulder bought him a copy, and the twins decided they like
it too.

David seems to enjoy the nearly mono-chromatic illustrations, because
he keeps patting the pages, saying "blue." Mulder thinks that some of
the pages are more green than blue, but decides that it's not worth
interrupting the story to try to teach him a new word.

Jared, on the other hand, has picked up on the fact that the
protagonist is frighten and stares wide-eyed at the pictures. At least
he does when his brother isn't pounding on them.

The grandfather clock ticks contently in the background as he reads.

"Those spooky empty pants and I were standing face to face! I yelled
for help I screamed I shrieked I howled I yowled I cried. 'Oh save me
from those pale green pants with nobody inside them!'"

At this point, Mulder closes the book, since of the four of them, he's
the only one still awake. Sighing softly, he wonders how long it will
be before Scully brings the older kids home from trick or treating.

To his delight, it's just a couple of minutes before he hears the sound
of a key in the lock.

With whoops that somehow fail to wake the littler kids, Sammy, April
and Page tumble into the room. April looks sleepy and rubs an eye with
the hand not clutching her candy in a death grip, but Page and Sammy
look wired.

"Scully," He looks up at her. "I think someone snuck some candy on the
walk home," he whispers.

She reaches down and plucks each sleeping toddler off his lap. They
don't seem to notice that they've been moved to the playpen.

Next she examines the bag suspended from a metal pole above his left
arm. "Good timing, the bag's nearly empty."

Mulder holds out his arm as she releases the IV from the small tube
stitched into a vein. The process of receiving IV antibiotics has taken
nearly two hours, as it has for every day that week.

He would complain, but he realizes that in some perverse way, he's
lucky. Not terribly long ago, this sort of treatment would require
hospitalization for the duration. That would mean four weeks in the
hospital 24/7 rather than a couple hours a day confined to his seat.
And if Scully weren't a doctor, he'd be enduring visiting nurses for
those hours too.

"You didn't bring them back early for this, did you?"

"No. April was starting to flag, and Sammy and Page seemed to not
mind."

"Hmm. How far did you get?"

"About four blocks North. Why?"

"I have a feeling that their not minding is a polite ruse." He looks
over at his two oldest children. "Now that I'm done with medicine, does
anyone want to do more trick or treating?"

Sammy and Page trade a look. "We do!"

Mulder smiles at them before kissing Scully on the forehead. "My love,
you've been had. We'll be back in a while."

"Be careful, guys," Scully says, but she's smiling.

As for Mulder, he's thrilled by the prospect of being free of tubes and
pretending that he's as healthy as any other man accompanying costumed
children that night.

~*~*~

Chapter Eighty

Chicago, Illinois
December 1999
9:17 a.m.

It's been four months since little Christopher was born, but four
months seems to have flown for Scully as she pays the cab driver before
grabbing the baby bag and shifting the sling so her baby won't hit the
door as she opens it. She steps out onto a busy street corner, covering
Christopher's ears as horns blare and colorful words are exchanged.
Sweet home, Chicago, she thinks sarcastically. In four months' time,
however, she's starting to get back to a comfortable pre-baby weight,
with more than enough curves to fill out her black scoop-necked pant
suit.

As she walks across a metal grate on the sidewalk, she pulls out her
cell phone out of the baby bag and dials, hoping like hell she doesn't
look as stupid as she feels, paying another of Mulder's games. He
answers, predictably, with an unhelpful monosyllable. "Hello."

She squints around, trying to find her tall husband among the
passersby. "Hey, Mulder, it's me," she says on her cell. "What now?"

Mulder had debated long and hard, but decided to bring the kids with
him. As the platform elevator rises through the open sidewalk grate, he
bends down and, for the umpteenth time since the phone call, he puts
his fingers to his lips to shush his kids. On the phone, however, his
voice is improbably calm, nonchalant even. "Are you in Chicago?" Then
he claps his hand over Page's mouth when he sees her start to give into
a giggle fit like her mommy.

Her back still facing them, Scully projects over the tiny cell, causing
Christopher to burble. Yes, I'm in Chicago," she rolls her eyes. "I'm
on the northeast corner of 7th and Hunter just like you asked. Only
you're not here." She frowns. It would be her luck if Michelle happened
to get sick or something and Mulder had to stay home with the kids. "So
where are you?"

By this time, Mulder's not only shushing his kids, but the passersby as
well, even as Sammy threatens to charge at his mommy and the twins are
squirming in their stroller. Page is valiantly clamping down on her
giggles, while April calmly holds the stroller. In feeding and dressing
the kids this morning, he nearly forgot to dress himself, and made do
by throwing on a brownish suit, dark blue shirt, and a dark patterned
tie. Not as sexy as Scully, but then, he never thought he was. Keeping
up his Academy Award performance, Mulder continues in the same droll
tone, "Oh, around."

Yep, he's probably home with the kids, she grumbles inwardly. "Yeah,"
She sighs.

There's no containing Sammy any longer, and as he hangs up the phone,
he calls out, "Hey, sexy momma."

Scully turns to face him, and before she can put her phone away, her
redheaded boy slams himself against her legs, followed by Page, while
April waves shyly by her daddy. Mulder, for his part, is grinning at
her while trying to control their restless twins. Scully smiles and
waves back, making her way slowly with a child clamped on each leg.
"Hey," she says, wondering whether kids as leg weights would count
towards the FBI's physical fitness mandate, "what's down there?"

"Before you check out down there," Mulder says, finally releasing David
and Jared only to arm-carry them, "check out up there." He jerks his
head towards the top of the tall building. "Top two floors are leased
to one Jimmy Cutrona, whose name you might be familiar with."

She blinks. "Organized crime. The Bureau's been trying to build a
racketeering case against him for the past few years. Gambling,
extortion, murder."

He nods. "Which is why last night there were two agents parked across
the street in surveillance. They witnessed a man being thrown from
Cutrona's roof at 10:40 p.m. This man fell for thirty floors, plus the
distance down this shaft, because these doors just happened to be open
- straight through, nothing but net."

"Ouch." She grimaces.

He smirks. "I'm guessing that's what he said. That is, after he got up,
climbed out of here and scampered off into the night." They all get on
the platform and Mulder is about to push the button to lower them to
the basement level, when Sammy starts jumping up and down. "Okay, your
turn," he grins, setting David back in the stroller, lifting Sammy, and
letting the boy punch in the button.

~*~*~

Scully hides her smile as Sammy crows about his power over the elevator
button, much to the disgust of his older sister. "Mulder, you keep
saying 'this man.' Who is this man?" When the elevator touches bottom,
she takes out her flashlight and begins looking around.

I could tell you, but then I'd have to wake up and you'd all be gone.
No thanks. "No idea," he says aloud, tapping on his own flashlight to
give the kids an idea how to use theirs. "He got away. The agents gave
chase, but no clear description."

She comes back to them, tickled to find that everybody, including the
twins, is playing with flashlights. Well, Sammy's swallowing his,
lighting up his mouth, Page is playing Scully Jr., the twins are
shaking theirs like rattles, and April is making hand shadows. "Was
this basement thoroughly searched?" she asks, pulling the flashlight
out of Sammy's mouth. A part of her wants to give the flashlight to
Christopher, but he'd probably try to swallow it, too. Or drool on it.

Her husband grins, watching Page continue to snoop around. That's my
girl, he wants to shout, but instead replies, "No. Technically, falling
300 feet and surviving isn't a crime."

Scully catches most of it as she tells Sammy about the flashlight,
"This is not food." Then she looks up and prompts, "And your theory
is?"

"What if this man had some kind of special capability?" he muses, as
David scoots out of the stroller and Jared tries to wiggle free from
his arms. "Some kind of genetic predisposition towards rapid healing,
or tissue regeneration?" He gives up and lets the boys play a sort of
laser tag with their flashlights around the stroller and his legs.

She shakes her head as Christopher starts crying, bouncing him around
in the sling. "So, basically, we're looking for Wile E. Coyote? You're
saying that he is invulnerable, right?" Mulder starts to say "Yeah,"
but stops when she lifts her shirt and starts breastfeeding their baby,
leaving his mouth hanging open. Fortunately for him, she doesn't
notice, as her eyes are on her baby, but she remembers something as
Christopher pulls at her nipple. "You know, in 1998, there was a
British soldier who plummeted 4,500 feet when his parachute failed and
he walked away with a broken rib."

He grins, still in awe of her amazing mind housed in that amazing body.
"What's your point?"

"My point is that if there's a wind gust, or a sudden updraft and,
plus, if he landed in exactly the right way, I mean, I don't know." She
looks up and shrugs, causing Christopher to sputter and she coos,
replacing her nipple in his mouth. "Maybe he just got lucky," she
mumbles.

Mulder snorts as Jared tumbles over David and they start wrestling. He
takes away their flashlights before they can use them as weapons, and
teases his wife, "What if he got really, really lucky? That's your big
scientific explanation, Scully?" Then he laughs as Scully blows a quick
raspberry at him. Undaunted, he continues, "I mean, how many thousands
of variables would have to convene in just the right mixture for that
theory to hold water?"

She makes a face, patting the baby's back. "I don't know."

Keeping an eye on the twins and another on Sammy, he wonders if it's
possible to clone himself and his wife if they have even one more
child. "Well, thousands," he presses on.

Meanwhile, Page finds something interesting, or at least, something her
parents should see. "Mommy?"

"Yeah," Scully turns, and walks over to where her blonde daughter is
staring fiercely. "What is it, honey?" she asks, squatting beside her
daughter next to the laundry cart marked Grayson's Linen Service.

"It's broken," Page declares. "Is somebody busted?"

"Maybe," Scully says, waving Mulder over. As he joins them in
squatting, she says, "Look at this. If this cart were on the platform
when he hit, that would explain the condition of these wheels. And what
if this whole thing had just enough give to save his life?"

Mulder nods, then briefly squeezes his daughter's shoulder. "Good job,
Page."

She beams. "Mommy and Daddy, you gonna find the man who broken this?"

Scully smiles a little. "Yeah, we have to find him." Then she stands,
but slowly so as not to dislodge Christopher from his feeding. "Page,
why don't you help me look for clues while Daddy looks after the boys,"
she pats the cart.

He chuckles, and while Page enthusiastically helps Scully sort through
the towels by tossing them out, a small round object flips out onto the
floor. It's Sammy, however, who pops out of nowhere and scoops it up.
Before he can pop it in his mouth, Mulder scoops him up and plucks it
from his chubby fingers. Page grosses out when she sees it's a
prosthetic eye, while that only ups the cool factor for both father and
son. "Scully!" he calls out, holding the fake eyeball aloft. "Looks
like maybe we've found part of our mystery man already."

"Goody." She makes a face, mirrored by Page.

~*~*~

Melrose Park, Illinois
10:23 a.m.

The not-so-little family is standing outside a low rent apartment
building. This time, Page is pushing 313's buzzer, while Sammy whines
for his turn. Pushing her bangs out of her eyes, Scully says, "I think
you're taking a flier here, Mulder. There's got to be at least 600
people with prosthetic eyes in the greater Chicago area."

And yet, I always manage to get lucky, he smirks. "Yeah, but only this
one Henry Weems made an appointment this morning to get a new one."
Page continues to hit the buzzer again and again.

Now the Eyebrow goes up. "Maybe he can't see his way to the door."

Mulder smiles, and as an elderly lady with a rolling shopping basket
comes out of the building, he catches the door before it closes behind
her. Then he winks at his partner. "Come on, Scully. I'm feeling
lucky."

He isn't surprised to see the heavyset blonde woman stopping them as
they get out of the elevator. "Can you help me? It's an emergency."

Scully, being Scully, nods, pulling a reluctant family behind Ms.
Lupone's lead. It's only when they see the kitchen sink is spurting
water all over the floor. Now the redhead's blue eyes are wide. "Ma'am,
we're not plumbers," she says politely.

Lupone snorts. "I didn't say you were. I just want the da - the water
turned off so that I can go to work," she says, correcting herself in
front of the small kids. Then she hands a plumber's wrench to Mulder.
"Look, you've got to be stronger than me, right? Valve's under the
sink."

I can do this, he thinks, what're the odds of me screwing up again? He
reluctantly goes over to the sink, wrench in hand. "Your building super
- Henry Weems - he isn't around?" he asks,, gingerly crawling under the
sink and debating whether there's a better way to find Weems.

"Mr. Dependable? Might as well wait for Jimmy Hoffa to show up," Lupone
scoffs.

A young boy with a dark curly mop of hair walks into the kitchen.
"You're turning it the wrong way," he notes.

His mother, however, reacts to his appearance with loving concern.
"Hey, Richie sweetheart, back in bed."

"But, Mom..."

Now she has the no-nonsense look Scully often wears when dealing with
her children and husband. "'Buts' are for sitting and I want yours back
in bed." She herds her son out of the room, then turns back to Mulder
who is still turning the joint the wrong way. "He's right, you know.
Clockwise."

He nods grimly, still twisting the wrench. "I know that. Clockwise." He
pauses to look at his watch for help, then sees it's digital and sighs.

And, just like clockwork, the joint pops open. Now, instead of just
having waterworks above the sink, it's happening beneath as well.
Well-soaked, Mulder stands up slowly. Scully, his dear sweet wife and
the love of his life, is snorting behind her hand, while his children
are simply laughing out loud. The floor creaks, and, even though he's
expecting it, his eyes still fly open when he crashes through the floor
to the room below, with no time to yell.

"Daddy!" Page yells, and it's all Scully can do to keep them from
following their father down the hole. Like her children, she peers in,
worried. "You okay, Mulder?" She sees him among the ruins and smiles
with both relief and amusement.

Always a pleasure to put a funny in your day, he thinks sourly. "Yeah,
I'm okay," he calls up. "My ah, butt broke the fall. Guess who I
found." He looks over to his left. "Henry Weems, I presume?"

A short, balding man with a black eye patch over the right socket joins
him and looks up through the hole.

~*~*~

Later, Weems, carrying a toolbox, leads the FBI family into his
apartment. The living room is full of homemade Rube Goldbergesque
machines. As Scully cautions their children not to touch, Weems hands
Mulder a towel, and Mulder makes good use of it on his hair, if not the
rest of his clothes. "Next time, leave the plumbing to a professional,"
the manager cautions in a thick nasally accent.

"Uh, yeah," Mulder mutters. "You want to try this on for size,
Cinderella?" he asks, holding out the fake eye wrapped in the wet
towel. The manager takes it and begins cleaning it off.

"Mr. Weems, why were you hiding in a vacant apartment?" Scully asks.

He doesn't exactly look at them, but at their kids. "Not hiding -
avoiding."

Uh, yeah, Scully echoes her husband inwardly. "Avoiding whom?"

"You people," Weems turns away now. "Now that you found me let's just
get it over with. No way am I testifying against Jimmy Cutrona."

Either in spite of or because of the infant strapped to her chest,
Scully is persistent. "Last night, Cutrona had you thrown off the roof
of 1107 Hunter Avenue - is that correct?"

Weems holds up his hands. "You didn't hear it from me. I'm not letting
you people move me to Muncie, Indiana, to milk cows."

"You milk cows?" Sammy looks interested.

"No, he doesn't." Mulder grins quickly. Back to the witness, he
continues, "More to the point, you survived a, uh...300-foot fall
essentially un...," he pauses as Weems squishily puts his fake eyeball
back in, "harmed." Part of him observes that most of his children are
as curious and grossed out by the gesture, while only Page and Scully
have totally averted their eyes during the whole procedure. Another
part of him is disconcerted that he still thinks having a fake eyeball
is cool, and hopes that it's just another offshoot of his "peg leg"
desire.

"I don't know." Weems shrugs, facing them now. It was odd how normal a
simple plastic eyeball made the picture. Huh. "Maybe...The wind was
just right and I landed on a bunch of towels - no biggie."

Scully's eyebrow goes up. "You got lucky?" she asks, ignoring her
partner's slight grin.

"Yeah, I guess, except," he pauses, "you should look at my...bruise."
And like their children, he shows off his "owie" on his elbow.

Mulder's not impressed, and neither are his kids, having amassed their
share of big bandaids. "Uh-huh."

"Plus, I didn't get to keep my poker winnings."

"So that's what you were doing there last night - playing poker?"
Scully prods.

"Cutrona thought I was cheating. I wasn't," Weems adds quickly in front
of the kids. "But like I said, you didn't hear it from me."

"Must have been a high-stakes game, I imagine," Mulder notes. "Did you
win a lot of money?"

The short man shrugs again. "I don't know...A little." But now his
attention is on Sammy, who is poking around one of the machines. "Hey,
you like it?"

~*~*~

The redheaded boy nods. "How do you work this?" Weems points to the
lever, and Sammy tugs at it before realizing he should push it down.
When he does, the contraption goes through a series of elaborate
actions, rolling, hitting, flipping, and finally, the hanging of a
little wooden man. "Cool." He grins. While his younger brothers are
tugging at various parts of the machine, he asks, "Are you a Gunman,
too?"

The manager is taken aback. "What?"

::Hoo boy,:: Mulder thinks, ::maybe our kids shouldn't hang around
their godparents too often.:: But Sammy goes on. "My uncles make cool
stuff, too. But they won't let me touch it."

Weems is still puzzled by the "gunman" part, but gamely answers, "Yeah,
grownups usually don't let kids do that. But this is made of junk, so
it's okay." David pulls out the duct tape, while Jared grunts and pulls
at one of the "pillars". The manager chuckles when the little boy
finally succeeds. "That, and it's easy to put together again."

I can't believe I had my head up my ass for so long about this guy,
Mulder thinks, no wonder Weems was being so careful. He loved Maggie
and Richie Lupone, but there was no guarantee that if he made them a
part of his, well, luck chain reaction, part of his life, that they
wouldn't get hurt. But nobody can promise that. He looks at Scully, who
tilts her head at him. The sad thing is, I thought the same thing for
so many years, before she finally broke me of that idiotic idea. I
still can't believe it took us so long... I'm so glad we have us, this,
now. To cover for his sentimental musings and recover momentum, he
asks, "So, this thing, is it all about cause and effect?"

"What?" Weems blinks.

Mulder waves blandly at the thingamajig before pulling one of the ball
bearings out of Sammy's mouth. "Your machine. Or is there some other
meaning?"

"There-there's no meaning," the manager stutters, uncomfortable. "So,
are-are we done here?"

"Mr. Weems, can I ask you to reconsider testifying against Cutrona?"
Scully asks, concerned.

Now the little man is firm. "Nope. No way, Jose."

"Well, it would be in your best interest," she says seriously. "He's
tried to kill you once and he will undoubtedly do it again."

"Yeah, we can protect you," Mulder agrees.

Weems looks dubious, and it's obvious he's wondering how a couple
saddled with children could protect him. "I'll take my chances," he
mutters, dismissing them.

~*~*~

As they're standing at the elevator, Sammy and Page are pushing each
other as well as the down button. "So," Scully states matter-of-factly,
separating them and pushing the button herself, "here's the plan, as I
see it: we inform the Chicago field office about Weems, leaving it to
them to secure his testimony, you change your clothes," Mulder raises
his eyebrows, and she smiles, "we fly back to DC by sunset and all is
right with the world." She beams optimistically, sensing that there's
more amiss between her two elder children than with the situation in
Chicago.

Mulder, however, utilizes his puppy-dog eyes. "Come on, Scully, you're
going to dump this case just as it's getting interesting."

She's not buying it, in fact, she's rolling her eyes. Darn.
"'Interesting,' Mulder, was when we were looking for Wile E. Coyote."
She pounds the elevator button. "Come on, Mulder, this guy just got
lucky. There's no X-File here."

He waggles his eyebrows. "Maybe his luck is the X-File."

She sighs and steps away from the elevator. "Stairs," Scully declares,
hustling their family down the staircase.

As the door closes, immediately the elevator bell dings, but only
Mulder, lagging behind, hears it. ::I guess we're already part of
Weems' contraption,:: he thinks, as it confirms what's going to happen
ever since he fell through the floor.

As they herd their family out the front door, Mulder digs around in his
wet pockets, but in no real hurry. C'mon, Weems, do your mojo, he
thinks, then turns quickly to try to catch the door before it closes.
Of course, he misses. To his wife's questioning look, he explains
drily, "Oh...car keys. Must have lost them when I fell."

Mulder reaches up to hit the buzzer, but Page and Sammy start bickering
over who gets the honors. Just to be perverse, he lets April do it,
ignoring his wife's warning look. When an old lady lets them in, Mulder
and Scully hears the gunshot and stare at each other.

They both pull out their guns, but Mulder puts a hand on his wife's
forearm and glances at their kids. Her lips flatten but she nods, and
he races towards the elevator while she stays back with their children.
When he gets to Weems' apartment, his gun is at chest level when he
sees the door lying in the frame. Walking carefully, still not sure if
Weems made it out or if Bellini is dead, he makes his way into the
living room, where a very dead hitman is hanging by one shoelace from
the still spinning ceiling fan. Weems, however, is nowhere to be found,
and Mulder exhales in relief.

~*~*~

The police photographer is snapping pictures of the hanging body as
well as snapping at Mulder's children for standing too close and
gawking at the crime scene. At first, Mulder's proud that his kids can
handle such a gruesome scene until Sammy asks, "Can you get candy from
that, too?" As he shakes his head and sweeps them away, much to the
photographer's relief, he tells himself, no more pi�atas even remotely
looking humanoid, and joins Scully, who's actually doing some work and
getting info from a cop.

Scully smiles at her children, including the one sleeping on her chest,
and says, "They've searched the entire building and there's no sign of
Henry Weems. I'm guessing that he's on the run."

Joining in the share time, Mulder adds, "The dead man's name is Angelo
Bellini a.k.a. 'Angie the Animal.'" As their kids look back at the
corpse with interest, he corrects them, "Uh, not like that. It's a
nickname. He's an enforcer for the Cutrona family and I don't think his
visit was friendly."

"You think that Weems could have killed him in self-defense?" Scully
asks.

Mulder grins. "Skinny guy with no depth perception against a man
nicknamed 'The Animal'? I don't think so. You and I both know Weems
didn't kill anybody. Besides, we were just gone for two minutes. This
guy doesn't have a scratch on him. I'm thinking it was a heart attack."

His partner looks around the room, then at him, her expression flat.
"What the heck happened here, Mulder?"

"Cause...and effect," he states solemnly.

She's obviously not buying his "I've got a deep theory" act.
"Meaning...?"

He grins, and his enthusiasm is as much for the kidlings as it is for
Scully. "Okay, so...watch," he says to his family, ready to dust off
his acting skills. "So Bellini kicks down the door - whaa gaa! - poised
to kill Weems, right?" So far, the older kids look amused by their
father's bad Bruce Lee moves, while the younger ones and his wife are
nonplussed. "And just as he's about to pull the trigger a noise
startles him," he pauses, "the buzzer - when April buzzed to be let
back in the apartment." April beams, even if she's not quite sure
what's going on. "So when he does pull the trigger, his aim is off,
right? And he hits the lamp," he points, and their eyes follow, "which
falls over and knocks over the ironing board, so as the bullet
ricochets, Weems dives over the sofa. Now, when Bellini goes for him,
he trips over the ironing board, bounces off the chair, flips end over
end," and he feels as if he's giving a speech in sign language, his
arms are flapping around so much, "and his shoelace gets caught in the
fan - QED." For the benefit of the little ones, he adds, "The bad guy
dies, the end."

The kids clap, and Scully chuckles a little. Then the shoelace breaks
and the body hits the floor.

"Cause and effect," he leans in to his wife, "seemingly unrelated and
unconnected events and occurrences that appear unrelated and random
beforehand but which seem to chain-react in Henry Weems' favor."

There goes the eyebrow again. "Dumb luck?"

Mulder nods. "Yeah, he seems to have tapped into it somehow. He-he won
big at poker; he-he survived getting thrown off a skyscraper...and now
this."

Nobody notices the brown-haired boy wandering in, probably because
Mulder's family already looks like it's swarming the apartment. Page
does, wanders over and says, "Hi. Your name's Richie, right?"

Richie looks taken aback, but obviously not threatened. "Yeah."

"I'm Page," the little blonde girl declares, sticking out her hand.

"Hi," he says, shaking it.

Now Scully sees the two and taps Mulder on his forearm. "Give us a
minute, okay?" He nods, and she joins Page and Richie. "Hi, I'm Page's
mom," she finds herself saying. Immediately, while part of her is
indignant at the unfeminist appellation, another part wishing she'd
simply introduced herself as Scully, and another part calmly telling
the other parts to grow up and be friendly so as to get information and
get the boy away from the crime scene, she adds, "Why don't we, uh,
head back to your room? I'm sure that's what your mom would want."

Richie nods reluctantly, his eyes staring at the body on the floor
before they leave.

~*~*~

Both mother and daughter stare at the sports posters, banners and
whatnot on the walls. Scully hopes it'll be a long time before her
children want to decorate their rooms, while Page is getting ideas
about redecorating.

"So, I'm guessing you're a sports fan." Scully smiles at the boy lying
on the bed. "Which one's your favorite?"

He shrugs. "Well, it used to be basketball. But now the Bulls suck, so
I think maybe baseball."

Page grins. "I like baseball, too." Then she walks over to the
weird-looking thingee on the floor. "Did Mr. Weems make this for you?"
Richie nods, and Page starts up the toy. After a number of events on
the board, a little ball flies through the hoop. She laughs, "That's
cool."

Richie smiles, too. "Yeah. He made it for me when I was in the
hospital. He said...it's 'cause...everything happens for a
reason...only just sometimes it's hard for us to see."

Scully's also observed the medical equipment and asks, "You went to the
hospital because of your liver?"

His lower lip juts out as his eyes go down. "It doesn't work so good."
Then he looks at her. "Is the police looking for Henry?"

She nods. "Yeah. They just want to talk to him. Do you have any idea
where he might have gone?"

He shakes his head briefly, looking at Page starting up the toy again.
"Mm-mm. Since I got sick, he hardly ever goes out."

Scully nods again, then tells Page, "We'd better let him get some
rest."

Page looks up at her mother, then at the boy. "I hope you feel better
soon," she waves, and Richie waves back as they leave.

In the hallway outside Weems' apartment, Page tells her siblings about
the new toy she got to play with. Mulder smirks, then asks his wife,
"Boy give you any leads?"

She shakes her head, and they begin walking down the hall. "Mulder, as
to your theory..."

::Okay, nobody died during this part, but the delivery guy got hurt,::
Mulder thinks. ::geez, what should my next move be? And will it throw
everything off at the end if I stop it? This is worse than a pool game.
Ah, what the hell...:: "What about it?"

"Why would the world's most supernaturally lucky man work as a building
superintendent? I mean, why doesn't he just run down to the Illinois
state lottery, enter, and, you know, he'd win automatically?"

~*~*~

It isn't long before Mulder and Scully dig up Weems' history, while
Weems gets busy and wins the lottery but trashes the ticket, leaving
them to deal with the aftermath and very happy, if dishonest, store
clerk.

Then they continue the search for Weems, telling their kids Weems was
playing "hide and seek." They get into the spirit quickly, even if
Mulder feels a little dishonest himself letting the kids join their
mother on the roof while he searches the "dirty, stinky" basement. He
may be trusting Weems' QED luck, but hell if he's gonna place his kids
in danger to test the hypothesis to the limit.

As before, he finds the little rat, that is, Weems, hiding conveniently
behind a vent, and hauls the short man out. He's not as rough as he was
last time, but Weems still whines as he sits sullenly in the chair.
::Okay, they should be well out of harm's way,:: Mulder thinks,
::wonder if I should call her yet.::

When the manager's eyes widen, that's when Mulder pulls out his cell
phone and hits the speed dial. "Oh, crap. Not again." Weems sighs, and
Mulder mutters inwardly, Story of my life, pal.

The crazy thing is, even though he's gone through this before, it
doesn't cease to amaze him. The bullet bounces off Weems' chest, grazes
his arm, bounces off two walls and lands in the center of Sal's chest.
Two for two, Mulder thinks as Scully and the kids fill the doorway.
They all stare at Weems, who pulls a dented metal tool out of his
breast pocket and shows it to them.

Things don't go smoothly at the hospital, as Mulder "encourages Weems'
delusion of luck," as Scully puts it, while Scully "pesters Weems to
get protection", as Mulder puts it. They're both staring daggers by the
time Weems leaves the hospital, still on a lucky streak card-wise. Then
Page flips over the ace of hearts from the card deck. Scully scoffs,
saying, "Luckiest man in the world? Mulder, Page just beat him."

::Okay, *that* I wasn't expecting,:: Mulder thinks as he grabs his
jacket and runs toward the exit.

"Mulder?" Scully frowns.

"I gotta go," he says, running out of the hospital and sees Weems just
as Switchblade Dominic is approaching Weems. "Henry!" he shouts.

His sense of self-preservation intact, Weems runs into the street and,
like the hapless delivery guy earlier, is hit by a truck. Damn. Mulder
chooses to get to Weems rather than Dominic, then reaches down to feel
for a pulse. The fake eye has once again popped out and is resting on
the pavement. Mulder looks up at Scully with something of an apology
and something else she can't quite name. But there's no time for
questions on expression as their kids and the EMTs swarm the area.

~*~*~

Weems is in Richie Lupone's hospital room, looking down at the
sleeping, horribly discolored boy. The manager looks up as Mulder and
family walk in. "Did you find her?"

Scully hates to say it. "No."

"You know Cutrona took her." He looks from one agent to the other. "He
did it to keep me from testifying."

Part of Mulder wishes he'd put some kind of guard over Ms. Lupone,
while another continues to caution him about messing too much with the
major details. "And he's who we're focused on but there's no sign of a
kidnapping, there's no ransom note."

"He's too smart for that," Weems says sourly.

Mulder nods grimly. "Which makes it very hard for us to obtain a search
warrant."

"We'll get one, though," Scully adds quickly, on Weems' side, even if
she doesn't understand how or why things are suddenly taking a turn for
the worse for this man.

Only now, when the death threats affect the ones he loves, does Weems
start to show any kind of backbone and snaps, "When? Tomorrow? Next
week?" His voice softens a little as he asks, "Could someone sit with
him at least?" He walks out, but Mulder catches up with him in the
hallway.

"Hold up, Henry," he says, grabbing the man's arm so he doesn't
skedaddle just yet. "Henry, what if what I said before wasn't true?
That your luck hasn't changed? Maybe all this is happening for a
reason."

The look on Weems' face is pure disbelief. "So you're saying that
Maggie getting taken is a good thing?"

"No, I'm saying that what looks like it might be bad luck may not be
bad luck, but we can't tell yet. We're not in that position." Mulder
frowns earnestly, even as he's comforting himself with this last
decision. "But sooner or later, we'll see the big picture."

The short manager isn't buying this, and he jerks his arm away, shoving
his jacket on angrily, but the sleeve rips. The man is a study of
frustration and determination, and Mulder is again startled at how much
this man, if not outwardly, resembles him. Slowly, he walks back into
Richie's room. "How is he?" he asks his partner.

"Not good," she says in a low voice, even as Page keeps a careful watch
on the sleeping boy. "If we don't find a donor in the next few
hours..."

Now he springs his revised theory on her. "Scully, what if everybody
that becomes involved in Henry Weems' life somehow becomes an integral
part of his luck, including you, me, and the kids?"

She frowns at him. "Mulder, you're speaking as if we're all trapped in
one of those contraptions that he built. When he starts to leave again,
she asks, "What are you doing?"

"Looking for Maggie Lupone," he replies. From the nurses' station, he
helps himself to a phone book, and returns waving it at his wife. "Luck
is the overreaching force in this investigation. I say we roll with
it." Closing his eyes, he opens the book to a random page, waves his
hand in the air like a magician and lets his finger fall. Husband and
wife look at the ad. It reads, "MUHAYMIN DAYCARE - Nurturing the
Children of Islam Since 1983."

::Huh. I'll bet that's one of the companies under investigation
post-9/11,:: Mulder thinks anachronistically, even as he drawls, "Yeah,
let's call that a dry run."

Just as drily, Scully smiles. "Yeah."

With less drama and his eyes closed, he opens to another page and lets
his finger fall. This time it lands on Grayson's Linen Service. Whoa,
on the money, he thinks, I couldn't have landed it better if I tried.
Looks like Weems is getting lucky again.

~*~*~

While Mulder is rounding up a uniformed posse, Scully and their
children are at Richie Lupone's bedside. When the lights flicker and
surge, Page screams and some of her brothers whimper, but Scully makes
soothing noises and pats them gently to calm them down. Even the sign
for the center outside, "R.I. CHILDES Pediatric Care" flickers.

When the backup electricity kicks in, Page pipes up, "Mommy, look."
Scully looks outside to where her daughter is pointing, and a couple of
the letters aren't lit up. "That's Richie," she says, "right?"

Scully nods, her right hand going up to the cross hanging from her
necklace. God may not play dice, she thinks, but he certainly isn't
subtle about some signs, either. Putting a hand on Richie's limp arm,
she closes her eyes. Please, she prays, I'm not sure how you're going
to do it, but let Richie be okay. Let his mother be okay. Let Weems be
okay. Please.

"Mommy?" Page's voice is very small. "Are you okay?"

Scully opens her eyes and smiles, as her daughter's unconsciously
echoing her prayer. "Mommy was just praying," she answers.

"That's talking to God, right?"

Scully nods again. "I was just asking him to take care of everything."

"Then Richie's gonna be okay." Page smiles, leaning against her mother,
since Christopher was still taking up most of the lap space.

Give me the faith of a child, her mother sighs, even as she smiles
outwardly and hugs her daughter.

Meanwhile, Mulder and a small battalion of policemen slam through the
basement door of the laundromat, only to find Weems and Lupone looking
down
at the very deceased Joe Cutrona lying in a laundry cart, a large hook
lying on his crushed head. Cutrona's medical ID bracelet is visible,
proclaiming his blood-type as B-Neg. So much for saving the day, he
thinks, and would shrug sardonically at someone, except the authorities
are busy swarming around and gathering evidence, while the witnesses
are stone still. Then Mulder looks at the couple, who look relieved and
shocked, and he smiles, figuring they don't even realize they're
holding hands. "I can tell this is gonna be a good one," he murmurs,
walking down the metal stairs. "Henry!"

~*~*~

Half a day has passed, but what a difference that has made. Richie is
in bed, joined by his mother at his bedside. This time, however, he
looks much better and is smiling. Weems, Mulder, Scully and their kids
are watching them through the window out in the hall. Mulder grins at
the shorter man. "What are the odds for Cutrona being a perfect match?
A thousand-to-one? A million-to-one?"

Scully lifts an eyebrow and a corner of her mouth. "Maybe higher. Maybe
everything does happen for a reason...whether we see it or not." Page
squeezes her hand, and she smiles at her daughter.

Mulder glances at the mother and son before looking back at Weems.
"Maybe your luck is changing," he says, mostly straight-faced.

The usually reclusive and dour look on the manager's face gives way to
a reluctant smile, which he tries to smother. "Maybe." Weems joins the
Lupones in the hospital room. The FBI family watch as Weems starts the
toy and turns to Richie. Like clockwork, one action causes more to
happen, until the little ball finally pops into the basket. Scully
smiles up at Mulder, "I'm so glad they got a happy ending. It's too bad
they had to wait until things reached such a critical point before they
realized how much they needed each other. I mean, things could have
gone so wrong, and they wouldn't have..." and her voice trails off. For
some reason, it felt like, well, like someone walked over her grave.

Mulder hugs her, wondering if somehow she knows what they've been
through before this lifetime. It can't be, he thinks, as he says aloud,
"But aren't you glad it worked out? And isn't it great to reminded of
how much we have?"

"Hm?" She blinks, the strange feeling dispelled. "Yeah, yeah, it is."
Then she says in her mommy voice, "Okay, we've got forms to fill,
clothes to pack, and a plane to catch in a couple of hours. Before we
get the van, does anyone need to go to the bathroom?"

"Nooooo," her children chorus, and she gives them a look.

"You're still going to the bathroom anyways." She marches them on like
a general to her soldiers. Mulder, amused, lags behind the small
procession.

"Oh, wait!" Page says, and spins around. Mulder runs to follow, and he
returns Scully's unspoken question with a similarly nonverbal reply.
When he catches up to her, the little blonde girl is at the window,
waving. "Bye, Richie!" she calls out.

Hoo boy. He scoops her up, and she continues waving over her father's
shoulder, waving harder when Richie waves back. ::My little girl is
*not* gonna have boyfriends,:: he scowls all the way to the restrooms.
When Scully comes out, she raises an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"

"Page likes boys," he mutters in the same way he would say that
everything bad was the Smoking Man's fault.

She laughs and pats his uninjured forearm. "Maybe you need to go to the
bathroom too, Poopyhead." She smiles.

He sighs. "I thought girls only started liking boys in their teens. Is
she trying to get a head start on driving me nuts?"

She snorts. "Maybe boys are late bloomers, but I liked boys when I was
her age." Then she grins. "Of course, aside from holiday cards, my way
of showing affection was beating them up."

"Well, that hasn't changed." Mulder grins, and she grins back before
slugging him. "Ow, that was my bullet arm." He pouts.

Her eyes are positively wicked as she smiles, "I'll kiss it and make it
all better, among other places. Once we get back home, that is."

He smiles back, kissing her quickly. "Home sweet home, here we come!"
He runs in to grab the remaining kids splashing around in the bathroom
sinks, making her laugh. "Let's go, let's go!"

The sound of children complaining and Scully laughing fill the hospital
hallways, while Mulder's got the biggest, goofiest grin plastered on
his face. How did I get to be so lucky? he wonders, not for the first
time. Whether it be Elsbeth or someone else entirely, he's never gonna
take this current lucky streak for granted.

~*~*~

Chapter Eighty-One

December 29, 1999

The Mulder and Scully haunted hou - I mean, mansion.

They're having a New Year's Eve party with family and friends, ::which
is the way it should be::, Mulder thinks, ::not some crazy-ass shit out
of a George Romero movie.:: His gut twists, knowing they have to face
the remnants of the Millennium group, Frank Black, and enough of the
living dead to last him a lifetime within the next 48 hours and wishing
they could put the whole thing off without tipping anybody off.

Yeah, right. 

That fringe group makes even the Gunmen seem sane, and he wonders, not
for the first time, if other countries or cultures have to deal with
calendar-based psychos. As far as he can tell, Chinese, Mayan, Islamic,
Hebrew, Hopi and other time-based prophetic cultures haven't spawned
any apocalyptic nuts, but then, 2012 hasn't happened yet and we've
already passed a number of Middle Eastern ages without Armageddon
happening... ::Damn. Friendly zombies my ass,:: he thinks, and doesn't
realize his face twists until Scully comments, "Uncle Bob's tricks
aren't that bad."

Mulder grins, focusing on the infamous uncle Scully'd mentioned on
their case in the Florida sideshow town, where was it? Oh yeah,
Gibsonton. Neat place. Then he groans as Uncle Bob explodes yet another
would-be animal balloon. "Wanna bet?" he says. "We'll be lucky if our
kids aren't traumatized by clowns *and* balloons."

She chuckles, leaning against him. "Wait'll you see what he does with
those remains."

Mulder frowns. "What do you mean?" Against his better judgment, he
watches the "magic act," and is just as startled as his kids when the
portly old man "sneezes" - and shredded balloon skin flies out his
nostrils like multi-colored snot. "Cool." He grins as the kids laugh
and clap.

Scully rolls her eyes. "Toldja." She smirks as Sammy and the younger
kids play with the "snot."

"Okay, once in a while, he does good," her husband grudgingly concedes.

"Did Bob do that balloon thing again?" Scully's mom comes out of the
kitchen, a bemused look on her face.

Her daughter nods. "Even Mulder jumped."

"I did not!" he protests, but it is in vain against the Scully women
laughter. He smiles weakly. "I don't suppose it's dinner time already."

"Just a few more minutes," Maggie Scully says, and turns to the
kitchen. "Emily and Page are growing so fast, I can't believe they're
helping prepare the meal."

"Just in case, you taste it first, okay?" Mulder asks his wife, who
promptly slugs his arm. "Ow. You know I love you, right?"

Mrs. Scully chuckles as she heads back to the kitchen, where it may be
hot, but certainly not as fiery as her youngest daughter can get. Even
as their voices rise, Uncle Bob's voice can be heard above the din to
ask the kids, "Hey, do you want to see me eat bugs?"

"Sammy already does that," April informs the old man.

Uncle Bob laughs heartily. "Yeah, but can he make it come out without
being gooey and in one piece?"

"Nooooo," Sammy says.

And it isn't long before Uncle Bob leads them outside like a mad
version of Santa and has them digging up insects and earthworms from
the cold earth. With a twist of his hand and wink of his eye, he
cheerfully "ingests" each creepy, crawly creature for a few moments.
Then he snaps his fingers, and suddenly the digested critter would
appear, alive and spit-free, wriggling in his hand or behind some
hapless child's ear. "Ta-daaaaaaaaaaah!"

This went on until Mrs. Scully calls everyone inside to eat. "Not
bugs," she adds quickly, "normal food like turkey and gravy, mashed
potatoes, sweet rolls, and hot cider."

And she steps back before the small herd runs her over in their rush to
get to the dinner table.

~*~*~

Santa Monica Pier
January 13th, 2000

Scully tries to keep an eye on the kids while Mulder compares a picture
of Maleeni's van to the real thing. As if anything in this
carnival-like atmosphere could be real, Mulder muses, then walks over
to his partner, who is busy trying to keep the kids from contaminating
the crime scene. Mulder waves to his older kids through the open
driver's side window, and Sammy and Page waves back. April and the
twins are chasing each other around the stroller, while Scully looks in
the passenger side window, Christopher on her hip.

Mulder grins at the almost Rockwellian scene juxtaposed against the
crappy van. "Neat trick, huh?"

Rather than waving at her partner, she snorts. "I can think of a neater
one. How you convinced me to drop everything and get on the first plane
to Los Angeles not long after we dealt with the apocalyptic New Year
zombies," she deadpans.

"Come on, Scully." Mulder grins. "This isn't intriguing enough for you?
A magician turns his head completely around 360 degrees to the delight
of young and old alike after which it plops unceremoniously onto the
pier...see the picture?" And like a goof, he holds up the photo from
the file.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, I saw the picture. And as for this Amazing
Maleeni turning his head all the way around, like you said, Mulder,
neat trick."

"But..." Mulder interjects, joining his madding crowd on the other side
of the van.

"But," Scully continues as he scoops up his rambunctious redheaded son,
"I'd guess this event was completely removed from the subsequent
murder."

Mulder looks up, swiftly tossing away the gravel-covered thingamajig
Sammy had just picked up. "You think this was a murder?"

She frowns. "Don't you?" In answer, he wiggles his eyebrows. Oh
brother. "Mulder, his head was cut off," she says in a tone reserved
for slow students and her husband on his crackpot theories.

Hefting his son on his hip, Mulder dramatically proclaims as he waves
his hand in a Vanna White-like fashion at the van, "Ah, observe the
nearly complete absence of blood. Observe the paucity of fingerprints
as evidenced by the LAPD's liberal use of lycopodium powder."

"Why are you talking like Tony Randall?" Scully says, not giving him
the benefit of a smile.

Undaunted, he continues on, bolstered by Sammy staring intently into
the van. "Know that the Amazing Maleeni was alive one moment and
expired the next. Know also that no one saw his fleeing attacker nor
heard the dying man's cries."

Scully shifts Christopher so that he's on her other hip, then uses her
free leg to block her twin boys from entering the vehicle. "Mulder, I
admit that I don't know how it happened but I still say that it was a
murder. So what's your theory?"

::That, once having traveled through time, I can solve nearly all our
cases in my sleep, including this one,:: Mulder wants to say. ::That's
why I feel safe enough to bring our kids on what seems on face value to
be a serious crime investigation at a really cool place.:: Aloud, he
replies, "A magic trick gone horribly wrong. One that claims the lives
of all who attempt it."

He asks a nearby cop, "Can I see that camcorder again? Thank you." He
turns back to his wife. "A tourist videotaped Maleeni's performance.
Look at this."

And for the benefit of everyone, he squats down so that the kids can
see the coolest trick in the world on tape, heckler included. Of
course, he doesn't say that it's also the beginning of the biggest
financial trick ever.

Scully, nonplussed by the act, which even her Uncle Bob could outdo,
asks, "Who's the heckler?

As the heckler keeps it up, Mulder answers, "I don't know." Then,
Maleeni's head does a slow reenactment of the Exorcist girl's
head-spinning trick, sans the green spew. Then he repeats his question.
"Neat trick, huh?"

His partner, however, frowns. "Hang on a second. Let me see this. That
heckler was pretty hard to impress wouldn't you say?" she points out.
"Look, and then he just takes off in a huff."

Both his eyebrows go up. "What, you think he's a murderer?"

"Well, it's worth checking out, don't you think?" she says reasonably.

He grins. "That'll be a neat trick in itself. You never see his face."

On cue, she rewinds the tape to show the heckler throwing away the cup.
"Ah, but observe," she proclaims, borrowing his cheesy voice, "his
discarded soda cup." Then she smirks. "The hand may be quicker than the
eye but it still leaves fingerprints."

"Provided they haven't dumped the trash," Mulder shoots back, scooping
up his eagle-eyed second daughter.

"Skeptic," his wife says, seeing he's too distracted with blocking the
twins with his legs to retort, and grins sweetly.

~*~*~

North Hollywood, California

They're inside an old theater, where they find the heckling dude
practicing card tricks as Mulder, Scully and their children walk in.

"Mr. LaBonge? We're Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI," she says as
they show their badges. LaBonge glances up at the badges, smiles
briefly at the kids, then continues shuffling his cards. Scully, unsure
whether he's unimpressed with their credentials or their children, is
miffed at the notion of both and presses on. "Were you at the, uh,
Santa Monica Pier yesterday morning?"

"Yeah."

"You attended a magic show," Mulder takes up the line of questioning as
his kids watch the card shuffling. Yep, distraction in action. "The
Amazing Maleeni."

"Yeah, he sucks," LaBonge replies, still not looking up. "Why?"

Okay, she's officially miffed. "He's dead, under extremely suspicious
circumstances."

The card shuffler is nonplussed. "He still sucks. How'd you find me?"

"Your fingerprints," Scully says flatly. "You have a criminal record."

"A conviction for pick pocketing," Mulder adds.

LaBonge sighs, finally squarely looking up at the adults, rather than
the corner of his eyes, as Mulder noticed. "Man, that was performance
art," he explains. "And besides, it's ancient history. What are you
saying, you think I killed him?" he scoffs.

"Well, you're on videotape heckling the deceased," Scully answers.

"What did you have against Mr. Maleeni?" Mulder asks, and LaBonge gives
them the same song-and-dance tale about real vs. fake magicians while
making coins disappear and reappear, to his children's delight, and
butts in. "What about the trick where he turns his head completely
around?"

"Check it out," LaBonge says, kneeling down on the floor and places his
hand flat on the floor, then proceeds to turn it 360 degrees around.
While the adults give him grudging respect, the kids attempt to copy
him. He smirks as he stands, "No problem. Did you like that?"

"Yeah," Sammy says, his eyes wide.

LaBonge's expression grows canny. "Watch." He pulls out a quarter.
"Coin in the hand...blows away," he blows on his fingers, and it
disappears. "Maybe it's a little bit hard for you to see." He grins at
the agents' kids. "Let me make that...Bigger for you," LaBonge says,
revealing a very large coin in his other hand.

Mulder is deliberately straight-faced as he needles the guy. "Those are
great, but I don't see how they're any different or better than the
ones Maleeni did."

Now LaBonge focuses on the coin trick, seemingly ignoring the guy while
answering him. " Mozart and Salieri. They sound pretty much the same to
a layman. But they ain't. You know what I'm saying? It's about," he
pauses as he does a little flourish while switching coins,
"originality. Style. And more than anything else...soul. Because that's
what separates the great ones...from the hacks. We can't do this
halfway. We're dealing with powerful forces at work here. Energies far
beyond our mere...mortal...understanding," he says, finishing.

Mulder's glad the kids are providing the adoring audience, even as he
can't help but admire the trick himself. "Enough to make a magician
lose his head?"

"Could be. That, and I hear Maleeni racked up some pretty big gambling
debts. Who knows who he might've pissed off." He shrugs.

Scully starts to herd their children away from the magician, already
distrusting him because of his skill. "Well, thank you, Mr. LaBonge.
We'll, uh...be in touch," she says, her back already turned.

"Please do. Oh, and agents...," and as they turn around, LaBonge
uncrosses his arms, revealing the FBI agents' badges, one in each hand.
Mulder almost swears, wondering why he'd forgotten to really strap that
sucker down, and he and check their empty pockets, then take their
badges back from the smirking man. He makes a mocking bow, but the
children, not quite used to irony, clap.

Scully steers her husband out before he can take a swing at the
bastard, nodding at her mobile kids to follow.

~*~*~

Later in the autopsy bay, Maleeni's decapitated body is on the table.
Scully's done up in blue scrubs and snaps off one of her bloody
examination gloves and turns to Mulder, who is balancing Christopher in
his arms and David and Jared on his legs. "All right, I'm stumped," she
smiles at her hapless husband, "and I think I'm supposed to be."

"What do you think?" he prompts her, moving quickly in spite of the
adorable leg weights, and snatches a scalpel away from Sammy's grasping
fingers.

"Well, first of all, and sorry to disappoint you but, uh, Mr. Maleeni's
head didn't just magically fall off," Scully states. "It was very
carefully sawed. Very slow and exacting work probably with a fine-tooth
meat saw. And check out this little detail." Mulder watches in
fascination as his partner fingers a stretchy yellowish substance
around the body's neck. Even as Page makes a face, Scully explains,
"Spirit gum, Mulder. It held the head to the body. Just barely, of
course."

"So he was murdered."

She tilts her head, and if his hands weren't so full, Mulder would
reach out and brush her bangs away from her face. "Well, no," she says.
"As far as I can tell this man died of advanced coronary disease."

"Natural causes," he restates, wondering, not for the first time, if
it's possible to screw with the magicians as much as they plan to screw
with them. Hell, yeah, he answers inwardly, and almost grins.

"Yeah."

"So, basically he died of a heart attack, somebody crept up behind him,
sawed his head off and then glued it back on all in the space of 30
seconds," Mulder says, miming the actions as he says them. Grinning
goofily at his kids, he shrugs. "Does that make sense to you?"

Why did I marry this man? Scully asks herself, even though one of the
many hundreds of reasons why is the fact that he's got the weirdest
sense of humor and timing on the face of the earth happens to be one of
them. "No," she says, clamping hard on her goofy giggles which threaten
to join those of her children's. "Which makes it even stranger still
because, as far as I can tell this body has been dead for over a month.
I see signs of refrigeration."

"And yet he performed yesterday." He smiles at her, knowing she's
sitting on her laughter. "What a trouper."

I hate you, she thinks, even as the giggles start to escape, "Well,
*somebody* performed yesterday."

~*~*~

Cradock Marine Bank
Los Angeles, California

The not-so-little FBI family walk through the bank, nobody paying them
any mind because they look like any other family passing through, for
the most part. Mulder tries not to give the guy in the neck brace and
wheelchair the evil eye, but it's really hard to keep a poker face.
"The plot thickens," he deadpans to his partner.

"He might try and run," Scully replies in a low voice.

After they knock and enter the office, the balding, heavyset man behind
the desk waves them in. "Come in," Albert Pinchbeck tells the small
crowd trooping into the small room. "Good morning, Mr. And Mrs...?"

Mulder smiles as he and Scully pull out their badges. "You can call us
Agents...Mulder and Scully. FBI."

Pinchbeck looks resigned. "You're not here for a home loan, I take it."

"It's paid for," Scully says as she waves the kids over to sit down.
"We are investigating the death of a magician who called himself the
Amazing Maleeni."

The bank clerk starts to nod, then makes a face instead. "Herman
Pinchbeck, my twin brother."

Duh, Scully thinks as she says, "Yes, we know. We checked his next of
kin."

Even as he and his wife badger Pinchbeck about his accident, Mulder's
tempted to tip his own hand and knock the bastard on his back. But
then, his own life would crumple like one of Pinchbeck's cheap tricks,
leave him alone and with multiple deaths on his hands, and then where
would he be? While his thoughts have taken a lovely, depressing turn,
Scully pipes up, "Do you know magic, Mr. Pinchbeck?"

The ugly man's face brightens. "Yes, I do. Back in the '70s, my brother
and I performed together."

"Why did you stop?" Mulder asks, as if he doesn't know the answer.

"You never really stop," Pinchbeck says smugly. Pulling a deck of cards
from his desk, he fans them out in his hands, and holds them out to
Mulder.

"Pick a card, any card?" Mulder says, and as he pauses, Sammy's hand
shoots out, grabbing a card, just as his daddy thought he would.
"That's the King of Diamonds," he tells his son, noticing the slight
disappointment on the other guy's face fade when he pays full
attention. "Put it back in the deck," he prompts his son, who does so.
Pinchbeck expertly shuffles the cards, then lets them cascade from one
hand to the other. The last card he holds up is the King of Diamonds.
Mulder grins in spite of himself. "Hmm. Very impressive."

The old dude in the wheelchair beams. "My brother and I both wanted to
do the absolute best magic the world had ever seen. The difference was
I knew he'd never get there but he always believed we would. We didn't
talk much after I quit the act," he says regretfully.

"I have a theory, Mr. Pinchbeck and I'm going to tell you how it goes,"
he says, standing. He knows he's gonna play the fool, but better now
than tip his hand. After all, why disabuse the old trickster into
realizing he's not the only magician out there? "I think that your
brother Herman died of heart disease having never made it as the
world's greatest magician and I think that hurt you just as your
estrangement from him hurt you. And I think what you did was perform
his last act for him," he goes on, ignoring his wife's warning glance,
"one last act for which he'd always be remembered - one last act that
would end with such a shock, such a denouement as would be forever
remembered in the annals of magic. That's what I think."

"I so wish that were true, Pinchbeck says, and, as before, pushes his
wheelchair back from his desk, revealing legs cut off at the knee. "It
was a very bad car accident in Mexico," he says, almost smugly.

As they hurriedly leave the bank, Page asks innocently, "You're not
going to arrest him?"

"Uh, no," Scully says simply, trying not to laugh at the chagrined look
on her husband's face. Then she says, in what she hopes is a more
businesslike tone, "What now?"

Mulder, pushing the stroller and carrying the baby bag, mumbles, "A
guy's head falls off. It's the greatest trick in the world. Only
there's no discernible point to it." He allows his temporary
frustration at not being able to show the hands behind the trick show
through. "What's the reason for doing that in the first place?"

She shrugs. "Why do people do magic?"

Page, not knowing it's a "grownup" question, answers, "To keep Sammy
out of trouble."

"What?" Mulder blinks.

"Uncle Bob ate the insects instead of Sammy," the little blonde girl
goes on, "and made balloon snot come out of his nose."

Scully tries to keep the laughter bottled up, honestly she does, but it
bubbles out of her. "Oh, oh, Page," she finally says after wiping tears
from her eyes and getting her breath back, "that's not the only reason
Uncle Bob does that."

Page gives her mother a practical-but-inquisitive Scully look. "How
come?"

"Why is that," Scully automatically corrects her, then replies, "to,
uh, impress you, to delight," and pauses when she sees her daughter
understands but is neither impressed nor delighted by said magic
tricks, "to gain attention." Or gross small children and their parents
out, she almost adds, but that's too obvious.

Mulder grins at her. "This one's gained mostly police attention. Maybe
that's the point," he says, getting back to the point.

"Well, maybe we should consult an expert," Scully shifts Christopher to
her other shoulder, "maybe he can help us figure that out."

Mulder rolls his eyes. "Mozart."

His wife looks about as enthusiastic as he does, probably more because
Christopher is fussing and the kids are getting antsy again. "Yeah."

~*~*~

Being the steadfast and dutiful FBI agents they are, however, Mulder
and Scully invariably consult LaBonge, find the marker in Maleeni's
van, and Sammy disconcerts Mulder when he shouts, "A clue! A clue!" His
younger brothers take up the chant, and Scully frowns, puzzled, as she
quickly pockets the evidence in a small plastic baggie.

Mulder murmurs, "When will 'Blues Clues' get off the air? Or when will
Steve start solving homicides?"

Scully makes a face at him when she realizes the reference, then
hustles her family out. They eventually find themselves in the perfect
locale for hustling, that is, a pool hall, occupied by said owner of
marker, Cissy Alvarez, and question him accordingly. The interrogation
is more of a warning than an actual shakedown, and they give indication
as much, since Mulder decides to play fair with chronology for now.

~*~*~

Having left the pool hall, the marker in Mulder's pocket, he looks at
his wife. "Don't you find it odd that the amazing Maleeni's a lousy
poker player? I mean, this is a guy who's adept at manipulating cards."

She shrugs, grateful not only that the kids behaved, but that none of
the pool hall punks even tried to mess with her children. "Maybe he
wasn't so adept. LaBonge certainly doesn't have a high opinion of his
skills."

"There's another possibility." He squats down to his kids' level and
declares, "Behold - an ordinary household quarter." Said quarter
appears in his hand, and now he's got mother and children's attention.
"I'm going to take the quarter from my right hand and place it into my
left hand," he says, doing it with a LaBonge-like flourish. "Where is
it?"

Page taps her father's hand. "It's in your right hand," she states.

"Oh, no, no, no," he says, opening an empty right hand.

Scully smiles, since she would've guessed the same. She watches as
Sammy taps his father's left hand, and Mulder opens it. It, too, is
empty.

Nodding in spite of her elder children's disappointment, she says, "Not
bad, Mulder, not bad at all."

He grins up at her, then grabs April's nose. "Blow your nose, honey."

"Daddy." April pouts, batting at his hand in spite of her elder
siblings cheering their father on.

He holds on to her nose between his fingers, knowing that she really is
more observant than most take her for. "Just blow your nose, April."

Seeing there's no way out of it, she surprises him with a loud,
practically Al Pacino-level, "Ah-CHOOO!" The quarter flies from April's
nose into her father's other hand.

Wiping gingerly, he holds up the quarter. "Ta-da," Mulder says, and
dips his head for a bow. And April, her heretofore hidden thespian
talent now on display, curtsies while the others clap.

"Amazing!" Scully beams, kissing April on her bangs, making the little
redhead smile shyly.

"The great Muldeeni and his lovely assistant," Mulder says proudly.

Scully snorts while her other children clamor to be assistants, too.
"And what's the point?"

"It's misdirection," Mulder says, flipping the quarter up with his
thumb. "That's the heart of magic. I made you look one direction. The
quarter went in the other."

"And that's what's happening in this case?"

"I think we're being led around by our noses," he says, standing up.

"Ew." Page makes a face.

"It's a figure of speech," Scully says, smothering a smile. "By whom?
Maleeni is already dead."

Mulder nods. "It certainly would appear so, but then again, you thought
the quarter was in the right hand." He waves the quarter at her and
smiles before pocketing it. It takes them a while, because Page keeps
asking how he did that, Sammy keeps begging for the quarter, the twins
are being less than cooperative in getting into the child seats, and
Christopher needs changing, but they eventually get into their rental
minivan and drive off.

~*~*~

They go back to the bank and reveal Pinchbeck's actual identity as the
Amazing Maleeni, or, in other words, his own twin brother Herman with
two whole legs. Scully's shocked, but it's Page who screams, Sammy
laughs, the twins settle down with a thump, and April says nothing, her
eyes taking it all in. ::Why am I not surprised,:: Mulder thinks, as he
hauls the man to his feet.

Maleeni spills some, not all, about what he did with his brother and
why he did it, along with his "gambling debts" with Alvarez. As he
talks, he shuffles and plays out a deck of cards, more skillfully than
he did while at the bank, Mulder beats Scully and asks him why he
didn't cheat. She kicks her under the table, even as Maleeni looks
shocked at the question, dropping his deck. Picking the cards up,
Mulder doesn't mind the dressing down for the second time in so many
days in front of his kids, since it beats Scully taking it. Besides,
Maleeni admitted that Mulder was right in his reasons for pulling the
head-twist trick, and even proffered up his wrists for the handcuffs.

Ha, ha, Mulder thinks as he leads the guy out to a bank staff who is
not only shocked at the switch, but that he was given handicapped
privileges as well. He and Scully question the bank officers about
financial access that the wrong Pinchbeck might've had, as well as
other bank business. Meanwhile, Maleeni's slipped out of the handcuffs
as easily as a porn star out of a dress, holding them up with a big
smile at Mulder, who glares at him.

Scully grabs their attention by pointing out, "Mulder, it says here
something about a robbery attempt yesterday."

The bank officer shrugs, unimpressed. "Yeah, that wasn't against us but
the armored transport service we deal with. No money was taken, and no
suspects were caught." No harm, no foul, in other words.

His wife looks at the clipboard, noting, "Yeah, well, Mr. Pinchbeck was
the employee who signed out the truck. He knew the schedule."

"I had nothing to do with that," Maleeni says, handcuffs still dangling
from his fingertips.

She gives him a quelling look. "Maybe, maybe not."

Mulder grabs his handcuffs back, then grabs Maleeni. "We'll hold you
till we find out, make sure you don't pull a vanishing act."

~*~*~

Mulder's debated long and hard inwardly, but decides to let the
terrible duo, Maleeni and LaBonge, reunite in jail rather than put them
in different jails. Hell, it's not like being jailed, period, stopped
them before. Therefore, he's not terribly surprised when Alvarez is
picked up for robbery on tape, ratting out LaBonge when he's caught.
However, Alvarez isn't the only one caught on tape, and Mulder and
Scully have fun reviewing surveillance, their theories holding more
water now that they've got evidence of the magicians doing their
impersonation of Houdini.

Temporarily placing their children in the care of police officers,
Mulder and Scully halt the release of Maleeni and LaBonge, telling them
their deductions, and, while the pair protest initially, each argument
is knocked down by the pair of FBI agents. "Don't you think we have
pretty good alibis?" LaBonge finally points out, gesturing at the
prison.

"You have great alibis." Mulder smirks. "You have the best alibis in
the world, which is why I think you two got arrested in the first
place."

"With your expertise at sleight of hand, pick pocketing, and escapology
I think you were both able to get out of here by pilfering a guard's
key," Scully continues.

"You could have escaped, stolen the money, framed Alvarez, and been
back here in time for breakfast," Mulder finishes.

"Scrambled eggs and sausage. That would be the world's greatest trick,
wouldn't it?" Maleeni smiles.

"One that would be forever remembered in the annals of magic," Mulder
agrees, then produces a VHS tape with a flourish. "Fortunately for us,
we get to see the masters in action."

LaBonge looks from one FBI agent to the other, then at the tape. "What
happens to us?"

"To you? You go free," Mulder says, putting the tape into his trench
coat, "provided the magic is over."

"The great ones always know when to leave the stage," Maleeni says, his
chin high as if he were a dignitary on a visit rather than a
recently-imprisoned con artist. When the buzzer sounds, Mulder opens
the door, and the old magician stands, also. "Billy, let's get the hell
out of here," the older man says in a normal tone of voice. Maleeni and
LaBonge leave, both of them eyeing Mulder's coat pocket none-too-subtly
as they do so.

~*~*~

"They are the world's greatest." Mulder grins as they, too, leave the
interrogation room to rejoin their children.

Scully gives him a look. "We saw through their magic, Mulder, we've
even got it on tape."

"Yeah," Mulder says, "right," and he pauses, then frowns when a search
of his pockets reveal nothing. "Those bastards picked my pockets."

"What? You're kidding." Scully frowns, and quickly frisks her husband.
"Oh, no."

He grins. "Search lower, G-woman, you're turning me on." She smacks
him, but he still chuckles. "Just kidding, Scully. Relax. They didn't
take the real tape, the one they stole had a thousand and one episodes
of Barney, Elmo, and whoever else PBS comes up with."

As she sighs with relief, his grin grows wider. "But wait, there's
more." Making a big show of his empty sleeves, he wiggles his left
fingers up in the air. His beautiful long-suffering partner and wife
obediently watches the fingers while Mulder fumbles around his jacket
with his right hand, then "magically" whips out a large wallet which
she'd earlier assumed was his. "Behold! The Amazing Maleeni's wallet."

Her mouth hangs open, surprised he got the drop on the old man twice.
"You picked his pocket?"

His grin turns sheepish as he admits, "No, I pilfered it from the
evidence room to prevent them from completing their final act of
prestidigitation."

She frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"I began to wonder, why did they need so elaborate a setup? Why so high
profile? Why draw the attention of the FBI in the first place?"

He can see the wheels turning in her head. "We were the last piece of
the puzzle."

He nods, "Yeah. Framing Alvarez was just another misdirection. This
trick was about EFTs - electronic funds transfers at the bank. Maleeni,
Pinchbeck - he didn't have security clearance for them so he needed a
little federal law enforcement intervention - specifically, my badge
number that we so helpfully show to suspects and victims alike, and my
fingerprints on those cards he dropped. With those two items, they
could pull off an EFT and steal enough electronically as to make that
$1.8 million look like cigar-lighting money. But they can't do it
without these." The grin returns to his face. "Pick a card,
Scully...Any card." He pulls the plastic-encased card deck out of the
huge wallet, then shoves it back in before pocketing the whole
enchilada.

Scully pauses as she muses, "You know, Mulder, there's still one thing
that you haven't explained."

Mulder keeps his poker face on, waiting for what comes next. "What's
that?"

"How the Amazing Maleeni was able to turn his head completely around."

He shrugs nonchalantly, "I don't know that."

Now Scully grins. "I do. I'll show you. Observe," she says in her
imitation of Mulder's "magician" voice. When she gets down on her knees
in front of him, Mulder grins broadly and waggles his eyebrows. She
rolls her eyes, placing her hands awkwardly but flat on the floor and
turns her right arm a full 360 degrees, then gets up and smoothes her
sleeve.

He whistles, hoping this time around she'd actually tell him. "Wow!
Nice, very nice. How'd you do that?"

She gives him her poker face, which, since her face is usually
expression, is rather daunting. "Well," she says slowly, like a parent
to a child, "magic." Then she resumes walking down the hall. "Come on,
the kids are waiting."

Aw, man! "No." Mulder pouts, following after her. "Seriously, Scully,
how'd you do it? You know, it's not the same thing. Hands are different
than heads. Come on." He resorts to tapping her on the shoulder and
saying, "Hey, look at this." And proceeds to do the disappearing thumb
trick that even Uncle Bob didn't stoop to. "Scully..." he whines.

Before they reach the door to where their kids are waiting behind,
Scully turns around and smiles widely. "I'll show you when we get home
and the kids are tucked in bed."

As she opens the door, Mulder feels a sudden disloyalty to his
children, whom he loves dearly and are soon attaching themselves to his
legs. I can't wait to get home, he thinks, even as Scully hustles them
into the rented van in her usual brisk, motherly demeanor.

~*~*~

Chapter Eighty-Two

March 2000
Hoover Building

Mulder's computer is hissing when Scully comes into the office. A
glance at the screen shows her an animated snake. She doesn't ask her
husband what kind, because a phone is glued to his ear.

"Not as far as you know? ... All right. ... Not this time of year. ...
All right. Thank you, Doctor. Good-bye."

"Snakes," she says as he hangs up.

"Lots and lots of snakes. Very pissed off ones, from the look of it,"
he agrees and hands her a folder.

When she opens it, she recoils at the sight of Jared Chirp's swollen,
disfigured, corpse. "Jesus, Mulder! You could have warned me!"

"And miss that reaction?" He ducks away. "That's the former Mr. Jared
Chirp of McMinn County, Tennessee."

"Extremely former from the looks of it."

"116 separate bite marks. Judging from the wound measurements there
were 50 different snakes involved - mostly copperheads and rattlers."

"But it says here that he was found dead in his car." 

"Yeah, with a pistol in his hand. He fired six shots, into the
floorboards, into the passenger seat, even into his right kneecap, and
the windows were shut and the doors were locked."

"But, uh, what happened to all the snakes? Don't tell me that they were
magical snakes that could evaporate into thin air."

Mulder shrugs. "No one seems to know that. There was not a scale found.
I just got off the phone with a herpetologist at the Smithsonian, and
he's stumped - especially because these rattlesnakes tend to hibernate
in winter."

"So you think that, uh...Mr. Chirp was murdered? By whoever let the
snakes out or took them away?"

"Well, it certainly would appear that way but the question is 'how?'
There's no physical evidence at all - no tire tracks, no footprints. I
can't see how anyone could have accomplished this. And then you got to
ask yourself 'why?' Why would anybody use poisonous snakes as a murder
weapon?"

"Maybe it's symbolic. I mean, serpents and religion have gone hand in
hand. They've represented the temptation of Eve - Original Sin. They've
been feared and hated throughout history as they've been thought to
embody Satan - to serve Evil itself."

"Maybe these ones actually do," Mulder says darkly.

"These particular serpents actually were serving Evil?" He refuses to
meet her eyes. "Are you going to type that on our travel request?"

"Mmm...No. But at the very least this case does seem to center around
religion...and you're not the only one to think that by the way."

It's on her mind to ask him who else does, because although he believes
in evil, she knows it's usually not of the biblical kind.

~*~*~

Later That Night

Only when the loose floorboard near the doorway creeks does Scully
realize that someone is there. Sammy is giving her a concerned look,
and she beckons to him with the hand not holding clothes. He walks
over, more sedately than usual.

"You look like there's something you wanted to say," she prompts. 

"You look sad, Mommy. I thought going away was funner than going to
your here-work."

This theory surprises her, but she's never given it much thought.
"'Funner' isn't a word, Sammy. We say 'more fun' instead."

This grammar lesson doesn't deter her son. "Are you sad?"

"Well, I'm always sad when we have to leave you kids-"

Sammy shakes his head. "More."

Scully sighs and pats a spot on the mattress so he'll sit. "The case
Daddy and I are working on is about snakes. I don't like snakes."

"But they're not slimy, they're dry. Just worms are slimy," he explains
earnestly.

"I know. There's a different reason I don't like them. When I was a
little bit older than you, I hurt a snake and it died."

"Why'd you hurt it, Mommy?" Sammy looks shocked that his mother has
ever hurt another living creature. "On accident?"

"By accident. No, I'm ashamed to say. I played with Uncle Bill's
b-b-gun, and shot it without thinking. Even after I didn't think it
would die, but it did. It's not fair to snakes that I don't like them
now, but it's hard to make yourself stop feeling something."

"Like guilty," Sammy says, nodding.

"Exactly."

He gives her a hug. "Try not to kill any more snakes so you don't haft
to feel more guilty."

"I'll try."

"When it's April's birthday party, can we make her worms and mud?"
Sammy asks, referring to a desert consisting of chocolate pudding with
crushed Oreo cookies and gummy worms mixed in. "She really likes it."

"We all do. But cake usually goes with ice-cream, not pudding. I think
we'll have to have mud and worms sooner than that. Maybe when Daddy and
I get back."

"Okay!"

When he runs off to tell his sisters, Scully quickly finishes packing.

~*~*~

Blessing Community Church
Blessing, Tennessee

Their first stop is a small church with elaborate stained-glass
windows. Inside there are fewer people than expected for a funeral. One
of them, a young, heavily pregnant blonde woman, is crying. An older
woman stands next to her, murmuring comforting words and handing her
tissues.

Reverend Mackey approaches the women. "Jared is in a better place now,
Gracie. He's at peace."

The older woman, Iris Finster, says to the other, "You know, Reverend
Mackey's right, honey. He is in a better place."

After giving the tiniest of nods, Gracie leans down and gives the
casket a sad kiss. Then she allows herself to be lead outside, past
Mulder and Scully who have thus far been lingering at the doorsill.
Once the women are gone, they step inside and hold out their badges.

"Reverend Samuel Mackey? My name is Fox Mulder. This is Dana Scully.
We're with the FBI. May be speak with you, sir?"

Scully is distracted by the sight of Iris helping Gracie into a car.
She refocuses when she hears Mulder say, "We apologize for our timing.
We'd like to ask you a few questions about Jared Chirp."

The reverend balks. "I've already spoken to the Sheriff about
it...though I'm not sure that was a good idea."

Mulder doesn't back down. "Specifically, you had suspicions about the
manner in which he died?"

Reverend Mackey sighs. "I should be the last one to point a finger or
say a harsh word. Our church is founded on acceptance and tolerance of
all people, all beliefs..."

"But...?" Scully asks.

"Before Jared joined us he belonged to a fundamentalist congregation
outside of town - the Church of God with Signs and Wonders. It
practices snake handling."

Mulder nods knowingly. "As a sign of faith, worshipers handle deadly
snakes or drink poison, right?"

"They believe that the Holy Spirit protects the righteous. Jared grew
up in that church but it is very difficult to walk away from a belief
system that one is raised in. It takes great courage.

Scully raises her eyebrows but says nothing. 

Mulder doesn't seem to notice her reaction. "Why did he walk away?"

"He and Gracie, his girlfriend-you probably saw her leaving the church
just after you arrived - left it together. They found that a rigid
interpretation of the Bible was not for them, especially when it
involves risking life and limb in the act of worship, but again it is
not for me to judge. I will say, however, that both Jared and Gracie
were persecuted by the members of their former church. All this
animus...stems from their church leader - Enoch O'Connor."

"Animus enough to motivate a murder?" Scully asks.

Reverend Mackey just looks at them, but his expression offers his
opinion clearly.

~*~*~ 

Church of God with Signs and Wonders
Later

This church looks little like the other. It is smaller, run down, and
unadorned but for a hand-painted sign that states: "Look unto me and be
SAVED: all the evils of the Earth; for I am GOD, and there is none
other - Isaiah 45:22 "

As they walk up the steps, Mulder notices that all the shades are
drawn.

Snake handling. I didn't learn that in catechism class," his wife
remarks.

"Not even from Sister Spooky? That's funny. My boyhood friends bragged
about a few Catholic schoolgirls who were expert at it."

Scully rolls her eyes and follows him into the darkened church.

"Enoch O'Connor? Federal Agents," he calls out before asking Scully
"Where's the light switch?"

"The nearest one? Probably ten miles from here," she says, making him
laugh quietly.

The doors swing close behind them, casting the church into darkness. So
they turn on their flashlights and begin to look around. The beam of
Scully's lands on a crudely rendered painting hang on a side wall.

"Rattlesnakes and medieval visions of damnation. Well, I for one, feel
a whole lot closer to God," she says ironically.

"I don't know, Scully. When you...when you get right down to it is
snake handling any harder to buy into than communion wafers or
transubstantiation...?"

"Or believing in flying saucers, for that matter." 

"I'm just saying that-that your faith and O'Connor's seem to be based
on the same book."

The first thing of interest that Mulder finds is an empty mesh cage. He
points at it with his flashlight. "Uh-oh, Scully. What do you think
O'Connor keeps in here?"

"Something slithery?"

"It's all right. It's empty," he says, picking it up and shaking it. 

"Good thing, or it would have bit the crap out of you for shaking it.
The question we should worry about is, why is it empty?" Scully asks.

A rattling noise behind them startles them badly enough for them to
draw their guns. A river of snakes begins to flow towards them from
under pews and out of dark corners. Then a man enters the church,
flooding it momentarily with light.

"By what right are you here?" Reverend Enoch O'Connor asks
disdainfully.

Without looking, Scully holds out her badge. She's afraid to take her
eyes off the snakes that are still hissing on the floor. "Reverend
Enoch O'Connor, we're Federal Agents. We're, uh...with the FBI."

"Reverend, do something about these snakes, please," Mulder requests.

"You got nothing to fear if you're righteous people," O'Connor declares
smugly.

"Just in case we're not, we could use a little righteous help here,"
Mulder tells him.

"What do you want?" Reverend O'Connor bends and puts the snakes into a
bag with an easy air about him, as if he's certain that the snakes
would never bite him.

"We're here to ask you questions about a former member of your church -
Jared Chirp," Scully says nervously.

"That boy strayed from the path and was lost to the dark one. I'm sorry
for his soul. There ain't much else to say," O'Connor declares.

Mulder presses on. "He died from multiple snakebites. We thought maybe
you'd have a special insight into that."

Reverend O'Connor drops another snake into his bag. "I do. It was a
test."

Scully shoots him a suspicious look. "A test? What do you mean?" 

"A test of faith. A test of righteousness. When the Devil aims to test
you, you'd best be ready and you sure better know which side you're
on." Once all the snakes are in the bag, they stop rattling, as if they
were just waiting to be reunited before settling down.

"Are you speaking about the Devil's test or your test?" Scully asks.

"I don't think you people realize which side you're on. I do. You can
leave now." Reverend O'Connor doesn't wait for them to go before
turning away himself.

The agents glance at each other before putting their guns away and
walking out into the bright sun shine. Scully glowers at her husband.
"Tennessee. Snakes. Thank you, Mulder. Thank you so much. I say we
arrest him and catch the first flight out of here."

"He does seem like a likely suspect, only the local sheriff's office
ruled him out. Apparently, he was in Kentucky the night Jared Chirp
died."

"Well, Mulder, there are other people in his congregation." 

"Jared Chirp died with a packed suitcase by his side. There's got to be
somebody that knows where he was headed."

They get into their car and drive off.

~*~*~

Days Inn
8:25 p.m.

In an effort to make it up to Scully for dragging her down there,
Mulder has gone to get them both milkshakes. She'll protest that
they're fattening, and he ought to have gone with something less so,
but he knows for a fact that she likes them just as well as he does.
The two black and whites freeze his hands through the bag, and it's
with some relief that he's able to remove one hand long enough to work
the keycard.

Scully doesn't seem to hear as the door opens. Instead, she's sitting
on the bed, staring at the blank TV screen. For a moment he worries
that they brought a snake back with them and its bite has paralyzed
her, but then she looks over to him.

"You okay, Scully?"

She blinks, and drops the TV remote control he just realized that she
was holding. "I'm fine."

"You didn't look fine when I opened the door," he says, setting the bag
with the shakes down.

"I just saw something upsetting on the news." She pulls the shakes out
of the bag and tries to hide her delight. "Mulder, milkshakes? Do you
have any idea how fattenin-"

"Isn't there a rule that a woman your size isn't allowed to ever
complain about gaining weight, least other women rise up and throttle
you?"

"How did you get a look at the secret handbook?" Scully asks him.
"Luckily, you're not a woman."

"Oh, so you're noticed," he says in his best seductive voice, and
reaches for her.

She pulls away. "Mulder, the shakes will melt."

Trying not to be disappointed, Mulder reminds himself that it's his
fault there are potentially melting shakes to worry about in the first
place. Their straws are barely to the bottom of the waxed paper cups
before the phone rings, alerting them of a new development in the case.

~*~*~

Blessing Community Church

Mulder and Reverend Mackey stand aside to let paramedics wheel the body
of Iris Finster past them.
 
In the hallway, Reverend Mackey wrings his hands. "I don't understand
it. None of us saw or heard anything. Just her scream. When we ran in,
she was lying on the floor. I cleared everybody out of the building
once I saw the bite marks, but..."

"Reverend," Mulder interrupts. "How close was Iris to Jared Chirp?" 

"Not...particularly close but I'd spoken with her not 15 minutes
earlier about him."

"What'd you talk about?" 

"She was upset. Something about Jared calling her the night he died
looking for Gracie. Something about him...paying for his sins. Well, I
don't know. We didn't get to finish our conversation."

"Maybe that was the point." ::Or not, given you're the one who killed
her.:: he thinks.

After exchanging a completely contrived glance, Mulder and Mackey walk
into the room where Scully has gone to talk to Gracie. They arrive in
the middle of a conversation.

Gracie is teary. "Why Iris? Why is this happening?"

"Gracie," Scully begins gently. "We're investigating the leader of your
former church, Enoch O'Connor. We believe that he may have had
something to do with what happened here tonight." To Scully's surprise
the girl looks hurt.

"We would appreciate anything you could tell us about him," Mulder
says.

Gracie shakes her head violently. "No, he didn't do this. No. He didn't
do this. This...this is Satan's work, not man's."

Scully's voice is still gentle. "Gracie, that sounds like something
that Reverend O'Connor might say. Now, you're not a member of that
congregation anymore. And I understand this because you're someone who
thinks for herself."

"Keeping an open mind, Gracie, is it conceivable that O'Connor could
have done any of this?" Mulder asks.

"No! Don't you think I would know, me, of all people? He couldn't have
done this. He just cou...." Gracie dissolves into tears.

"Gracie might be biased," Reverend Mackey says softly.

Mulder looks at Gracie. "O'Connor is your father." This makes Scully
sigh.

Reverend Mackey nods. "When Gracie got pregnant..." 

Mulder is quick to 'guess'. "O'Connor barred her from his church. She
and Jared Chirp."

"His church and his home," Mackey agrees.

~*~*~

Church of God with Signs and Wonders
10:06 p.m.

Mulder doesn't hesitate as he opens the door and steps in. Scully does,
hanging back.
"Scully, you coming in?"

"I think I'll check around back." She's quick to go back down the
steps.

Inside, Mulder looks around. One wall is covered with pictures. He
reads aloud what is written above them. "Pray for the souls of our
brothers and sisters ... some passed, some lost to us." Among the
pictures he spots Gracie's, which makes him realize that "lost" does
not necessarily mean "dead." Jarred's and a one of a woman named Alice
O'Connor hang on the wall as well.

 ~*~*~

Behind the church, Scully finds a trailer and decides to investigate
it. She only enters after drawing her gun. The trailer is clearly the
snakes' home, because there are boxes and boxes of snakes, as well as a
cage of hapless white mice who are their future meals. Some of the
snakes realize she is there and rattle their tails.

Spooked, she turns to leave the snakes in peace but is grabbed around
the shoulders. The hands belong to Reverend O'Connor .

Scully yelps. "Oh!!" The hissing gets louder as O'Connor knocks her gun
away.

"You must be judged," he says emotionlessly, and pushes her against the
screen of a cage holding one of the bigger rattle snakes. Before she
can react, he's forcing her hand into the cage with the snake. She
fights him, but can't pull her hand out. "Repent! Pray for the Lord's
quickening power. Into the hands of God."

At that moment Mulder enter the trailer with his gun drawn. He points
it at O'Connor, yelling, "Let her go!"

The reverend ignores him until he cocks his gun. Then he reluctantly
lets Scully go, and watches her jerk her hand from the box. "You should
have more faith," he chides her even as Mulder puts him into handcuffs.

~*~*~

Mcminn County Sheriff's Station
Interrogation room
11:22 p.m.

Reverend O'Connor gives Mulder an angry look. "Your FBI partner
could've learned something about herself if you hadn't stopped me. Some
powerful good news, maybe."

"My wife," Mulder snaps. "I'd say it's good news for you that she's not
here right now...considering what you tried to do to her. Is that what
you did to your wife?" He puts the picture of Alice from the church
wall on the table. "Alice O'Connor...succumbed to multiple snakebites
in June, 1994. It happened during a church service or at least that's
what you told local police. You got away with it...almost. What was,
uh...the problem with your wife? Was she not...righteous enough for
you? Just like your daughter's boyfriend ... or Iris Finster?"

"Educated man...too smart to know any better," O'Connor pronounces. 

"Smart enough to know you're a murderer." 

O'Connor doesn't look stung. "Satan is near, and you don't even have
eyes. You're just proud and fancy free."

"No one quite passes muster with you, huh? You feel the need to exact
some kind of Old Testament revenge? What about your daughter? What were
your plans for her?"

"I pray for her soul. I pray and I pray because she's lost."

"Because she no longer believes as you do?" Mulder asks.

"You think because you're educated you're better than most? You ain't,"
O'Connor points to Mulder's chest. "Unless you're smart down here the
Devil's going to make a fool of you and you ain't even going to know
it."

~*~*~

Gracie hesitates outside the interrogation room, and Scully stops short
too. Gracie looks deeply unhappy. "I changed my mind. I don't...I don't
want to see him. Besides, I won't do any better than you people in
getting him to talk."

"Gracie. You still don't believe your father did it?" 

"It don't matter what I believe. He'll be judged as he deserves. Can't
nobody avoid it."

Scully grabs her arm as she turns to walk away. "Don't you want justice
for Jared? One of my little boys is named Jared...I can't imagine not
seeking earthly justice if someone hurt him."

Gracie gives her a long look. "Then you an' me are different." She
walks away without another word.

~*~*~

ICU Hospital Room
The Next Morning

O'Connor has been admitted with snake bite wounds not dissimilar to
those that killed Jared and Iris. Mulder is already looking down at his
bruised and bloated body when Scully joins him.

"Deputy found him about an hour ago. There's no telling when he was
attacked."

"I guess it's looking less and less like he's a suspect," Scully says,
bending over the injured man for a better look.

"Unless he somehow managed to do this to himself." Scully gives him a
sharp look "...as a test of his own righteousness."

"Well, if so, Mulder, the jury's still out. I just spoke to his
doctors. It's a toss-up as to whether he's going to pull through this."

"What about antivenin treatment? There's still time for that."

Scully shakes her head slightly. "He's not receiving it."

"Why not?"

"Gracie stepped in. She's trying to forbid treatment on religious
grounds. It's not clear whether she has a legal claim to do it, but she
says that it's up to God as to whether he lives or dies," Scully says,
her voice a tinge sardonic.

"And you're thinking that her actions may not be entirely motivated by
concern for her father's eternal soul?"

"More to the point what if she did this? She told me that her father
would be judged as he deserves."

"Do you think this is what she meant?" 

"Well, she grew up around snakes, Mulder. Who's to say she isn't every
bit as adept at handling them as he is?"

"I can see her being angry enough at her father to attack him,
but...what about the others?"

"I don't know, Mulder. The last thing we talked about is how she and I
are not alike because I believe in real world justice, and she's
content to leave it to God...until now I'd of said she was sincere when
she said it. Now..." She trails off, looking down at O'Connor.

"Come on, we've got permission to investigate a new venue for clues."
Mulder takes her arm and they walk away.

~*~*~

Jared Chirp Residence
10:58 p.m.

The state of Jared Chirp's bedroom begins to paint them a picture.
Mulder explores that out loud, beginning with the obvious disarray. "He
left in a hurry. Packed one suitcase and a gun. Earlier that night he
calls Gracie. Gets Iris instead. Starts rambling about paying for his
sins. He's frightened...wants to leave town, presumably with Gracie."

"So, what's he scared of?" Scully asks. Mulder looks in another drawer
as she continues to speak. "Though I don't understand it, O'Connor's
church exerts a strong pull on these people."

Mulder picks up a shed rattle on the dresser and gives it a shake,
making Scully cringe a little. "It's not so hard to understand. It's a
culture with a very well-defined set of rules."

"It's an intolerant culture, Mulder."

He thinks of other intolerant religions briefly, but doesn't bring them
up. "I don't know, Scully. Sometimes a little intolerance can be a
welcome thing. Clear-cut right and wrong, black and white, no shades of
gray. You know, in a society where hard and fast rules are harder and
harder to come by, I think some people would appreciate that."

Scully's look is incredulous. "You're saying that you, Fox Mulder,
would welcome someone telling you what to believe?"

"You mean besides you?" He smirks. "I'm just saying that somebody
offering you all the answers...could be a very powerful thing."

The toe of Mulder's shoe kicks into a crumpled ball of paper, which he
bends to pick up and uncrumple. "It's lab results. Am I reading this
right? That Jared Chirp had himself tested for sterility?"

Scully looks over his shoulder. "Yes. Which turns out to be more or
less the case. Based on this, that means that Jared can't be the father
of Gracie's baby."

"It's dated the day he died." 

"So maybe he was killed because he discovered the truth." Her cell
phone begins to ring.

~*~*~

Hospital

They can tell from a distance that Reverend Mackey is upset. He turns
from the nurses when he notices that they're there. "Agents, Enoch
O'Connor is gone. I was away for five minutes. His bed's empty. Gracie
is gone, too. She was talking to him when I left."

Scully startles. "How could Gracie possibly have gotten him out of
here?"

"Maybe he took her," Mulder suggests.

"Mulder, he was on his deathbed; that's impossible. And besides, what's
his motivation?"

Reverend Mackey speaks up. "I may be able to answer that. Jared Chirp
wasn't the father of Gracie's child."

"We know that. What about it?" Mulder asks. 

Scully on the other hand, looks horrified but not confused. "Enoch
O'Connor is."

Reverend Mackey is grim. "That's why she wanted to get away from him
and his church as fast as she could. And I tried to teach her to
forgive him."

~*~*~

Church of God with Signs and Wonders
The Following Morning

There are paramedics tending to Gracie when Mulder and Scully arrive,
having just been told that the girl was found unconscious, ostensibly
by a member of her father's church. Several members of the church look
on as the paramedics do their work.

Scully approaches one of the EMTs. "How is she?"

He shrugs. "Deep shock. Some loss of blood." 

"What happened here? Where's the baby?" she asks.

An annoyed looking cop answers her. "These folks aren't talking. We've
got people looking all over."

Mulder waves over to Scully, and squats down to examine the floor.
"Scully. Take a look at this."

Scully also kneels down near the bloody puddle on the floor, and her
eyes trace the small trails that spoke off the puddle. She looks up as
a member of the church joins them for no apparent reason. "Snakes,"
Scully says numbly to the woman. "She gave birth to snakes."

"The devil has been cast out," The woman remarks.

"Stay with her," Mulder tells his wife as he stands to leave. "See if
they'll talk about what went on here last night."

"Where are you going?" Scully asks.

"To find her father. He's going to want to tie up some loose ends."
::Or someone will.::


~*~*~

Blessing Community Church

Mulder enters the church in just enough time to watch O'Connor threaten
Mackey with a knife. For a moment he's tempted to let O'Connor go
through with it, but something tells him that there would be more hell
to pay for all present if he let the attempted murder expose Mackey's
true nature, so he finally yells, "Drop the knife!"

O'Connor ignores Mulder, and continues to attempt to cut Reverend
Mackey's throat, halting only when Mulder shoots him in the shoulder.
O'Connor crumples, and Mulder steps over him to get to Mackey and
pretend concern. "You all right?"

Mackey takes his offered hand, and sighs in relief.

~*~*~

Inside an Ambulance

The paramedics have let Scully go with them because she's a doctor, so
she's sitting with Gracie when the girl begins to wake up, still
disoriented. "Daddy. Daddy," she mumbles.

"Gracie, it's Agent Scully. We're taking you to the doctor right now,
okay?"

Gracie tries to sit, but is too weak. "No. I...got to..."

"Can you tell me what happened, Gracie?" Scully asks patiently. 

"Where's my Daddy?"

"You're safe, Gracie," Scully soothes. "My partner's gone after him.
Gracie, you're going to be okay. He can't hurt you anymore."

Gracie eyes clear. "You don't understand. He saved me."

~*~*~


Blessing Community Church

Mackey gives Mulder a towel to press against O'Connor's wound before
claiming he's going to call for an ambulance. Mulder wonders how many a
small town like Blessing has.

O'Connor flinches when Mulder presses against the wound. "Relax. Help's
on the way."

O'Connor stares at him. "No, it's not. I told you, boy. You still don't
know which side you're on. Be smart down here." He touches Mulder's
chest.

Mulder walks Reverend Mackey's office, where the other man appears to
be on the phone. "Yes, please hurry." Mackey hangs up and looks to him.
"They're on their way." Mulder responds by pointing his gun at him, and
Mackey seems confused. "Agent-"

"It wasn't O'Connor. It was you. You killed Jared Chirp," Mulder tells
him.

"You're joking."

"No, I'm just beginning to see it now. Jared must have come to
understand that he wasn't the father of Gracie's baby...that you were.
Did he confront you earlier that night only to see you for who you
really are?"

"Just who is it you think I am?" 

Mulder continues to ask questions. "Is that what happened with Iris
Finster? Was she beginning to catch on? Is that why you killed her? Or
was it just to further frame Enoch O'Connor? Is that what this is
really about? Ruining O'Connor? Seducing his daughter? Destroying him
by any conceivable means?"

Reverend Mackey gives him an intense, measuring look. "Are you a
righteous man, Agent Mulder?"

"Stay where you are."

"It's just a simple question. Most people believe they're on the side
of angels. But are they?" The doors to the office slam shut, as if a
strong wind, or an invisible hand, pushed them. "If you were put to the
test...how would you do?"

Snakes begin to pour out of Mulder's clothing, and he does his best to
keep from screaming as he pulls off his jacket.

~*~*~

O'Connor is alone, holding a towel to his own wound, when Scully
enters. He looks gray-faced.

"Where's Mulder?" Scully asks him. 

They both look up when they hear a shout from the next room. Scully
starts to stand, but O'Connor reaches for her. "You can't help him.
This is his alone." Scully stares at him, and he lets her go.

In seconds she's outside of Mackey's office, looking for a way in.
"Mulder!?" When there's no reply she begins to kick at the door. It
splinters and eventually lets go with a groan.

Inside, Mulder is backed into a corner with his eyes closed. She can
see that his lips are moving, but can't hear what he's saying. Several
large, hostile looking snakes cover the floor between them. Then, when
Mulder opens his eyes, they fade away, as if they were nothing more
than a shared hallucination.

"Mulder, where did the snakes go?" she asks, eyes wide with shock.

"As long as they didn't go out to our car, or our hotel room, I don't
care." His voice is shaky.

~*~*~

Days Inn

Still completely shaken, Mulder made no objection when Scully dropped
him off at the hotel to pack while she when to speak to the police.

He looks up when she comes back in. "What did you find out about
Mackey?"

"There's still no trace...even though every law enforcement agency in
Tennessee's out looking for him."

"They won't find him," Mulder says heavily. "People think the devil has
horns and a tail. They're not used to looking for some kindly man who
tells you what you want to hear."

"He's just a man, Mulder. Just like O'Connor." 

"Not like O'Connor. If this was some kind of test looks like I failed.
I let the wicked man free to save myself." ::Either way, you fail. Not
a nice test.::

"I'd say if it was a test, you passed with flying colors. You're alive,
aren't you?"

Mulder smiles minutely. "Proud and fancy-free."

"Come on, let's go home." Scully takes his hand, and drags him out of
the room.

~*~*~

Washington, DC
Three Days Later

Scully waits until Mulder spits out the thermometer before speaking.
"You have a slight fever again."

He groans. "Then the infection is back. I was beginning to think it was
gone..."

"Maybe it's not an infection this time."

"Sure, there are lots of other reasons for a low-grade fever," he says
sarcastically. "Good thing I've got an appointment with Doctor Sake
tomorrow. Not that I relish the thought of more IV antibiotics."

Scully doesn't smile. "I don't want you to be sick again."

"Well, neither do I. But I appreciate your concern."

The look on her face doesn't change. "You don't..." She sits on the
bed. "I was watching the news right before you brought back milkshakes
that day."

"And?" he asks, confused by the apparent non sequitur.
 
"And they were talking about a recall. Of birth control pills. The kind
I've been taking since November." She'd quickly tired of the lack of
spontaneity inherent to condoms, and had gone to birth control pills
instead once Mulder had been talked into it.

"Scully..."

"They apparently didn't formulate the pills correctly, adding too
little of the hormone, or maybe leaving it out all together. I haven't
gotten a straight answer about that yet."

"Scully."

"So, you just can't be sick again," Scully tells the wall. "Because it
wouldn't be fair, not after we tried so hard to keep this from
happening until you were well."

"You're sure you're pregnant?" Mulder asks tightly.

"I had them do a blood test at the lab since it's more accurate..."
Scully sighs. "It looks like I'm due in October. We'll work things out.
Besides, we don't know for sure if you really-" She trails off, looking
at him now. "Mulder?" He's putting on his sneakers.

"I'm going for a run," he announces calmly. Then he mechanically laces
his shoes.

"It's raining!" Scully protests. "You might already be sick!"

"I need to go for a run." Mulder brushes past her, and doesn't look
back to see her standing in the doorway.

His headlong flight to nowhere brings him to the nearby park that he
and Scully like to bring the kids on Saturday. The wet swing sets look
like they're hunkering down in the sand, and there's something faintly
menacing about the way the dark wraps around them. Mulder doesn't look
at them after the first few seconds but finds a slick bench to sit on
instead. Then he looks down at his hands, the same way he did at
Doggett's funeral, the way he did when he waited for Maggie Scully in
the hallway immediately after identifying Scully's body....and he's
filled with the same sort of grief.

He's failed. Even though he saved Luke, Emily, his father and Melissa,
and even though he probably has rewritten history thoroughly enough to
keep Scully and Doggett from their graves in three more years, he's
still a failure. His broken promise squeezes his heart, making him gasp
in pain.

There's no way that they can have them both. A baby conceived in
February would be too early to live if born in July. He did the math
six times on the run there.

A crash of thunder roars, making his words nearly inaudible. "This
isn't what I meant to happen. I wasn't trying to lie to you. I'm sorry
William, I'm sorry William, so sorry William..."

Rain soaks his clothing, and runs rivulets through his hair and down
his face. He doesn't notice. It's proof. He's not a god, just a mortal
man who couldn't keep a promise made to a two-year-old son he never
really knew and now never would. A boy who now would never exist.

The worst part is that he'll never be able to tell Scully. Going back
in time has up until now been more pleasure than burden, since it
hadn't meant losing something important from his "old" life. But now
he'll suffer in silence, unable to share his burden with anyone else.
And he's afraid that the cracks will show. Maybe someday Scully will
wonder why he'll love this child less well than its brothers and
sisters. Maybe he or she will know too, and he'll be sorry for that,
but unable to warm to him or her the way he did Christopher despite his
unusual conception. It won't be fair, but emotions seldom are.

Eventually the rain trickling down the inside of his collar registers,
and he heaves himself off the bench with a strangled groan. In the
steady rhythm of his shoes hitting the pavement he hears "I'm sorry -
William. I'm sorry - William."


If he's lucky, the rain will have completely masked his tears.

~*~*~

Chapter Eighty-Three

March 21st, 2000

Mulder's fingers hover above the keyboard when he's interrupted before
typing the first word to a report. "Mulder, I can't find April." He
tries his best not to sigh in frustration, since it seems that he and
Scully are at odds a lot lately.

Which is something he takes full responsibility for, given that no
matter how often she demands that he tell her what's wrong, he won't
admit that he's in agony over her unexpected, and in his opinion
unwanted, pregnancy.

"Did you ask Page?" he asks at length.

"Yes." Scully sounds tired. "She said April brought something outside a
few minutes ago." Before he can ask why she doesn't look out side
herself, Scully adds, "I looked for her, but I didn't see her."

"Well, don't panic yet," he mutters.

"I'm not panicking."

"Yeah. I'll find her." He jabs the power button on his laptop before
hurrying out of the room.

He fully expects to see April the second that he walks out the door,
but the yard looks empty in the gathering twilight. A squall of fear
rises, but he does his best to tamp it back down. April wouldn't leave
the yard, and he'd know if a stranger were around, wouldn't he?

She has to be around somewhere, but hidden somehow, which probably
isn't that hard for someone three feet tall to do. His glance sweeps
the yard, and he spies a flicker of movement in the distance. It only
takes him a minute to get there.

When he finds April, she's on her hands and knees in a remote corner of
the garden. Stepping closer he sees that she has a plastic beach shovel
in her left hand, and that a small section of ground has a slightly dug
look to it. Surprised that grass can be dug up with a plastic shovel,
he squats on his heels. "What are you doing?" he asks in a friendly
tone.

"Planting a flower." She uncurls the small fingers of her right hand,
revealing an apple seed.

"Oh," he replies, his thoughts going a mile a minute. April's
displaying an interest in a hobby! Pushing down the urge to run out and
buy her hundreds of dollars of gardening equipment - which would
probably overwhelm her and kill the fledgling interest - he decides to
keep things small. "My mom used to grow a lot of beautiful flowers when
I was a kid. Still does, actually. Would you like to have a garden
too?"

"Yes."

"You know, it's going to be too cold to plant outdoor flowers for a
while yet. Would it be okay to start growing them in pots inside, and
bringing them out here when it gets warm?"

"Okay, Daddy." She places a trusting hand in his, and gives him a look
of adoration he'd kill to see on his wife's face lately.

"April, Daddy's not mad, but you scared Mommy by not telling her you
were going outside. From now on I want you to only go out if you ask,
okay?"

April's brown eyes show that she's giving serious consideration to his
demand. "Yup."

"That's my good girl. Let's go show Mommy that you're fine."

Hand in hand, they walk back to the house. 

~*~*~


April 8th, 2000

All three of the littlest ones are down for their nap, and Michelle
looks over the older kids who are still wired from their morning
activities, wondering what she's going to do with them on a rainy day.
Out of ideas, she decides to ask them. "What do you guys want to do?"

"Watch TV," Sammy suggests.

"Yeah!" Page and April agree.

She chews on her lip for a moment, then decides that her employers
probably won't mind if they watch a little TV. "Okay, but April picks
what we watch," Michelle tells them. To her surprise, Sammy and Page
don't pout, but seem to think this is a fair idea.

April grins and runs over to the small collection of tapes. She picks
one out of the case and brings it over to Michelle. "I put it in?"

"Sure, why not." As she says it, Michelle realizes that it says "Mom
and Dad's Tape" and hopes hard that it's not something that should have
been kept in the Mulders' bedroom.

April stands on tippy-toe and pushes the tape in. The screen turns blue
and she rejoins her siblings on the living room couch.

Far from what Michelle expects, a familiar song begins to play as a
police cruiser whizzes across the screen.

Bad Boys whatcha want, whatcha want?
Whatcha gonna do when Sheriff John Brown come for you? 
Tell me, whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do? 

Before Michelle can wonder why the tape is labeled like it is, April
points to the screen. "Look! Daddy and Mommy." And the people on the
screen do bear a striking resemblance to her employers.

An announcer grimly proclaims. "Cops is filmed on location with the men
and women of law enforcement. All suspects are innocent until proven
guilty in a court of law."

"How come your parents were on Cops?" Michelle asks, but the kids just
shrug.

There's a shot of a full moon, then Sammy complains to his younger
sister, "I don't like this part. Fast-forward to Mommy and Daddy." With
surprising skill for someone who only turned three a week earlier,
April does.

~*~*~

Willow Park, California

 On-screen an officer named Wetzel is explaining...something. Michelle
has no idea what, to his superior Sergeant Duthie. "You know, I didn't
get a good look. Maybe..."

Wetzel's radio squawks. "417, suspects on foot just one block north of
Holly!"

Sergeant Duthie looks at his men and calls, "Armed suspects! Bring some
units around on Holly Street!"

There's a lot of shouting and running, and when the screen stops
shaking, Mulder and Scully are being surrounded by cops.

"Uh oh, trouble," April says.

"Get your hands up!" an officer yells. 

Scully yells back. "FBI!"

"Michelle, how come they don't know Mommy and Daddy are super-cops?"
Page asks.

"I guess they're confused," she replies, wondering that herself.

There's quite a bit of shouting on screen, but eventually the cops seem
to wise up and actually check their IDs. Sergeant Duthie shoots the
camera a disgusted look. "Telephone the FBI! Give 'em back their guns!"
He hands Mulder back his badge.

"We're investigating a case," Scully tells him.

"What case?" The Sergeant asks.

Mulder tells him, "Same case you're working on."

"So who we looking for?" he asks Mulder.

"Not who, what." Just then it's clear that the FBI agents have noticed
the camera crew, and they look understandably confused.

Scully begins to say, "Mulder, what the he-" but Michelle reaches over
and pushes the fast forward again. There's a flash of a person's injury
on the screen, then the tape resumes at normal speed.

Mulder is speaking to the injured officer, Wetzel. "Deputy? Deputy, can
you describe for me what you saw?"

"Um, it was pretty dark. I didn't really see. I don't know. I don't
know."

"Well, you must have seen something in order to run away from it, huh?
You were responding to the same call we were - of a monster prowling
the neighborhood."

"A monster!" Sammy gasps. "Tilly Newton's got one in her closet." 

"Does not," Page retorts. "She's a sissy-girl. Scared of clothes in the
dark, Billy says." Billy Newton is in Page's kindergarten class,
Michelle realizes. But she wonders who'd name their kids Tilly and
Billy.

On screen, the Sergeant is explaining that he thinks the woman is off
her meds.

"Maybe, but she's not the only one seeing monsters. There's been half a
dozen such sightings in this area in the past 60 days. Are you aware of
that?" Mulder asks.

There's a pause. "No. I mean..." Wetzel flounders.

"Yeah. Also, these sightings only occur on nights when there's a full
moon which tells me something."

Sergeant Duthie stares at Mulder. "What?" 

"What you saw was large, right? Maybe seven, eight feet tall when it
stood up on its two legs? And it was covered in fur and had glowing red
eyes and claws..." When Mulder puts his hands up like claws, Sammy does
too. On screen the sergeant is looking at Mulder like he's an escaped
mental patient. "Claws sharp enough to gouge the wood off that front
door."

"You're not serious."

"And dare I forget teeth. It bit you, didn't it?" He unexpectedly grabs
Wetzel's wrist. "Look at that. Deputy, how long were you going to hide
that from the E.M.T.S?"

The cop's boss looks down at his wrist. "Where did you get that,
Keith?"

"I don't even know where that came from. I mean, I didn't see anything
that he's talking about."

Sergeant Duthie smirks at him. "Big teeth, eight feet tall? What the
hell are you describing?"

"A werewolf," Mulder says firmly.

Page squishes the remote while dragging Piper onto the couch, and the
tape fast-forwards again. Piper flicks her tail menacingly, but her
young mistress doesn't seem to notice. Then, to be perverse, Telico
jumps up onto Sammy's lap.

When Michelle turns her attention to the screen again, Mulder is
speaking.

"Unfortunately there, Deputy, you've been bitten. The skin is broken.
Werewolf lore pretty much universally holds that someone who's been
bitten by such a creature is going to become such a creature himself,
so..."

"Wait a minute. I mean, that's not what really happened, though." 

"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to be isolated and kept under
guard."

Sergeant Duthie stares at Mulder. "With all due respect what the
*bleep*-" Michelle snags the remote control and pushes fast-forward,
but the damage is done.

"That man said *beep*!" Sammy says, wide-eyed. His beep sounds little
like the one on the TV.

"*beep* means 'goddamn'. Isn't really a swear-word," Page says
confidently.

"Actually it is," Michelle says, trying not to groan. The last thing
she wants is her employers to think she's encouraging that sort of
language. "I don't think your mommy would like you to say that."

"Uncle Frohike does," April points out.

Having met him more than once, Michelle feels justified in saying, "He
uses a lot of words you kids shouldn't repeat."

"Okay...keep fast-forwarding, Michelle. That lady doesn't say things in
our kind of talk anyway," Page commands, meaning English. Michelle
shrugs and acquiesces. As she does, she catches sight of a drawing of
Freddy Kruger, which strikes her as odd.

~*~*~

Mulder stands by Deputy Wetzel's car as a tow truck readies it for
moving. Scully drives up and parks near-by.

Mulder looks over to her. "How's Deputy Wetzel?" She nods towards the
patrol car, from which Wetzel is exiting. Mulder looks alarmed,
probably thinking that Wetzel will transform before their eyes any
second now. "You let him get released?"

Scully doesn't look him in the eye. "Well...those weren't teeth marks,
Mulder. They turned out to be insect bites..."

"Oh."

"Individual welts or stings of some sort. Together, they just looked
like a larger pattern especially when we want them to...although it was
an understandable conclusion that I'm sure anybody would have made."

Her husband smiles at her. "So, what did Skinner say?"

Scully sighs. "He said that the FBI has nothing to hide...and neither
do we."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Scully, I'm not entirely
convinced that we're looking for a werewolf anymore."

"Oh." She sounds surprised. "All right, good." 

"No, something else. I'm not sure what. Some other kind of creature,
though. That I'm sure of."

There's a loud noise, and Mulder grabs a cop who's running by. "Hey,
hey, hey, what's going on?"

"Six blocks from here - could be what we're looking for." 

"800 block of Belmont."

The agents rush to their car, then Scully gets into a minor squabble
with the camera crew who dives into the car with them. She admits
defeat and brings them to the scene. Once they're there, the camera
crew is left in the dust by the running cops and federal agents.

Scully gets to the sketch artist first, and finds that he's lying in
the doorway of a closed store, and bleeding from five slashes across
his chest.

Scully waves the crowding officers away. "Guys, watch out. I'm a
doctor."

They step back to give her some room, but Deputy Juan Molina looks
distraught. "Oh, man, it's Ricky."

Trying to be gentle, Scully presses on the torn Kevlar vest. Blood
seeps from the wound.

Mulder is grim. "That's what I was afraid of, Scully."

On the couch, Sammy gasps. "That guy, he's deaded!"

"Nuh uh," Page corrects, shaking her head. "He's bleeding, so he's
alive."

Michelle stares at her, amazed that a kindergartener knows this. Then
she remembers that the children's mother is a sometimes-doctor. "Did
your mom teach you that?"

"Nope. Daddy did. He says lots of movies get it wrong."

To prove Page right, the next scene is of Ricky being loaded onto a
stretcher. His face isn't covered, confirming that he'd been injured,
not killed.

Wetzel looks away from the ambulance and back towards the screen.
"Well, when a fellow officer goes down in the line of duty or even if
this...even if it's not a fellow officer - if it's just somebody
working part-time with the department in a, uh, support,
um...a-arti-artistic capacity, uh, like R...like Ricky, there - we all
feel it. Uh...Back there is every cop's worst nightmare...But that's
when you got to cowboy up and give 150%...catch the bad guys."

~*~*~

Mulder, Scully and their entourage of cops and camera men are looking
for clues at the site of Ricky's attack.

"Last call from this phone was made to the Road Club - Ricky Koehler
requesting roadside assistance for his flat tire. He asked them to
hurry. He said he didn't feel safe," Scully says.

On screen Scully realizes that Mulder is looking at the drawing of
Freddy Kreuger that they'd seen in fast-forward before. Bumping his
shoulder, she asks, "What's that?"

"Our suspect, apparently," Mulder says with a rueful look as he wife
begins to laugh. "Slash marks match up pretty well, wouldn't you say?"

"Ugly guy," April declares, pointing at the TV.

"He used to play a bad guy in old movies," Michelle explains. "I used
to watch them in high school."

"That's real big kids," Page says, sounding awed. Michelle smiles at
her.

Scully's busy looking at something on the ground, and eventually holds
up a small object. "Somebody lost a nail."

Page looks down at her hands in alarm. "They come off?!"

"Only fake ones, Kiddo," Michelle reassures her. "I bet your mommy
wouldn't be caught dead wearing fake nails."

TV-Mulder smirks. "Nice color."

"Check out this color, Mulder - blood red." 

Mulder glances over to the cops. "Hey, uh...who called 911 on this?"

~*~*~

Sergeant Duthie leads Mulder and Scully to the home of people called
Steve and Edy. As he knocks, he smiles and tells the agents, "They're
good folks. They usually call us if there's trouble in the
neighborhood."

The two men who open the door to the officers are clearly a couple.
Steve is wary, but Edy seems excited to see the film crew who is
following the cops and feds around.

Edy is wide-eyed, "Oh, my God, look at this. Look at all these people,
Lord."

Sergeant Duthie adopts a friendly tone. "How are you two doing this
evening?"

"Uh, uh, we're fine," Steve says. 

"Can y'all tell us what happened out here this evening?" Sergeant
Duthie asks.

"Not with me looking like this, mm-mmm. Now, you should know better
than that, Sergeant Paula." Edy flees deeper into the house.

"Like she going to run from a camera." Steve snorts. "Lookit here...we
heard all this screaming. Peeked out the window and this boy with crazy
hair was having a conniption fit all rolled up there by the phone."

"You didn't see his-his attacker?" Scully asks.

"Mmm...Mm-mmm."

At this point Edy returns wearing a bright robe and a turban. "I'm
ready for my close-up."

Steve tells Edy that there's something more important going on, and
Michelle wishes he'd picked kinder words. "Now, I didn't see...What you
say - "attacker"? No, he was just kind of all rolled up and yelling."

Undeterred, Mulder shows them pictures of a werewolf and Freddy Kruger.
"Did you see anything...that looked like this?"

"Ooh, stop," Steve says after the first picture.

"Or this?" Mulder holds up the second.

"Ooh, excuse me?" 

"That's going to give me nightmares," Edy declares.

Scully looks disappointed. "So, you didn't see anything at all?" 

Edy shakes his head. "Mm-mmm, no, mm-mmm."

"Did you, uh, did you see a woman?" Scully asks, holding up the bag
that contains the fingernail.

Both men make humming noises. And Edy looks scandalized. "Chantara. I
know that skanky color anywhere."

"Sure do. Chantara," Steve agrees.

Sergeant Duthie gives the men an intent look. "Chantara the
streetwalker?"

The men agree that this Chantara is both a prostitute and a drug
addict, so the group decides to go and speak to her. They move away
from the house, but the camera lingers.

Edy looks directly into the camera. "Hey, hey...When am I going to get
my own TV show?" He begins to sing. "If I didn't care ..."

"Oh, she's showing off now." Steve groans. After a few seconds more, he
pushes Edy back into the house. "Stop. Get in the house. Stop. Get
back."

Edy goes but continues to sing. "Would I feel this way?" 

"Bye, y'all. Bye." Steve gives the camera a long suffering look and
closes the door.

Michelle has noticed Sammy studying the men on screen, so it doesn't
surprise her when he looks up at her. "Those guys live together, huh?"

"I think so," she agrees, wincing at the possibilities of where the
conversation might go.

"Like our uncles!" Sammy declares with a big smile.

"Hmmm...I think they're a little different than your 'uncles',"
Michelle blurts out, and instantly wishes she hadn't.

"How?" Sammy demands to know.

"Uh-"

"That guy is gonna be on TV," Page tells her brother. "Our uncles write
a magazine. So they're different."

"Exactly," Michelle declares, feeling a flood of relief. It doesn't
last long, because there's a howl over the baby monitor. "You guys sit
right here while I change Christopher."

"Okay!" they all agree. Oddly enough, she knows they will do as
instructed. Still, she wants to get to him before he wakes the twins,
so she hurries up the stairs.

~*~*~

To Michelle's dismay, Jared and David are both sitting in their cribs
when she peeks into their room after changing Christopher. Neither of
them looks like he's about to start crying, but David greets her with a
sleepy "hi."

"Oops, little brother woke you guys up after all, huh?" she asks in a
soothing voice.

They both nod, since at twenty months, they're old enough to follow
some conversation. "Woke up" is definitely a concept they understand.

"It's okay, the baby is sleeping now. You look sleepy too," she tells
them, gently getting one, then the other to lie back down. They give
her identical pouts, but neither attempts to stand up again.

It takes a good ten minutes of waiting, but in the end, the dark-haired
twins are both sleeping soundly. Looking at them, she wonders if the
Mulders have any pictures of Fox as a toddler in their room. Of all the
kids, they look the most like their father.

On her way out of the room, Michelle tucks both portable baby monitors
into her pockets, and her mind summons up a fleeting image of the
Gunslinger novel she's been reading.

~*~*~

Fulfilling expectation, the older kids are where she left them. "You
missed a boring part," Page tells her, apparently as consolation.

"Mommy and Daddy just talked to people," Sammy adds.

"Died," Aprils comments as well.

"Who died?" Michelle asks, but April shrugs.

"The girl they talked to, and some guy at a house," Page explains.

Sammy's eyes widen. "Broke neck, Daddy said. Necks break?"

"Sometimes," Michelle admits. "That's why parents don't like kids to do
really dangerous stuff, like try to jump off the roof." She pauses,
thinking about how Fox recently bought them Mary Poppins. "Even with an
umbrella. In real life they don't work to keep you safe like in the
movies."

"Oh." Sammy looks disappointed. "Get hurt real bad, huh?"

"A person might, like not ever being able to walk again. Sometimes
they'll be okay, but there's no way of knowing, so it's best to never
ever do it."

Page and Sammy exchange a disappointed look before crying, "Okay!" in a
semi-convincing way.

Michelle makes a mental note to tell Fox and Dana that they might want
to lock up the umbrellas for a while.

On screen the police are talking about something that Michelle
apparently missed while trying to convince the twins to finish their
nap.

Sergeant Duthie defends his man with a conviction in his voice that the
kids' agreement lacked. "I wish someone would explain to me what the
hell is going on here. It just doesn't make sense. Keith Wetzel may be
a little green but he is a solid deputy - a squared-away individual.
Nothing could have gotten past him and killed that woman."

Another officer shows them a discharged bullet. "There's no sign of
what he was shooting at. This was all we found. Nine millimeter. It's
our issue."

"Where'd you find that?" Scully asks him.

"It was lying in the middle of the street. Doesn't look like a
ricochet."

Mulder nods. "Maybe Wetzel hit what he was aiming at. Excuse me." 

Then he and Scully go over to where a shaken Wetzel is busily staring
at his shoes. "Hey, Deputy. You ready to talk to me now? You and I both
know you saw something. We're way past claiming you didn't."

"I only know what I thought I saw."

"Well, describe it for me," Mulder invites.

The young officer takes a deep shuddery breath. "The wasp man." 

Mulder gives him a skeptical look. "The wasp man?" 

"It's ridicu..." He pauses, suddenly remembering the camera. "It's
ridiculous. The scary stories my older brother used to tell me when I
was a kid about a monster with a head like a wasp and a mouthful of
stingers instead of teeth. He said that it would come get me in my
sleep and that...and that it would sting me to death."

Mulder makes an obvious attempt to sound like he believes the other
man. "So you're saying that the, uh, the wasp man attacked you both
times here, and earlier in the patrol car?"

"I - I'm not saying that that's what it was, okay? I mean...they didn't
see it." Wetzel waves a hand in the direction of the camera crew. "It's
not on the videotape. This...this can't be real."

"I think maybe it can," Mulder says slowly. "Just...just relax a
minute. Excuse me. Scully?" They walk a few feet from the shaken cop.
"We came on this case looking for a werewolf, right?"

"Well, you did, that's correct." Her emphasis on "you" makes Michelle
wonder what Dana expected to see.

Mulder is unperturbed. "Hyman Escalara claimed he was attacked by a
werewolf and the wounds that he sustained would seem to bear that out,
right? And then, Wetzel over here sees a wasp man with stingers for
teeth and he gets a bite mark that you say is irrefutably insect-like,
right?"

"Mulder, that's not exactly..." She trails off with a sigh.

"And then another eyewitness claims she sees Freddy Krueger. Scully,
what if we're dealing with one creature, one entity that, when it
attacks, appears to you as your worst nightmare? Fear. Maybe that's
what this thing feeds on."

"Okay, well, for the sake of this argument..." 

"Yeah." 

"...How would one catch something like that?" she asks. 

Mulder looks distant for a moment, obviously trying to puzzle that out.
"Probably by...by figuring out how it chooses its prey. I mean,
there...It seems to spread like a contagion, doesn't it? One person's
fear becomes the next. There's a definite chain of victims. Tonight it
went from Mrs. Guerrero to Wetzel and the sketch artist and then from
the sketch artist to Chantara Gomez and then..."

Scully picks up the thread. "Chantara Gomez back to Wetzel."
 
"Right."

"But you're missing someone, Mulder." 

"Who?"

"Edy. Steve and Edy. They're a part of this chain, too and, and
according to your theory they would have been attacked, right?" They
look at each other.

~*~*~

Just after her on-screen employers revisit the couple introduced
earlier in the episode, the living room floods with sudden light.
Michelle blinks, half startled.

Page jumps off the couch. "It's not raining any more!"

"Yay!" Sammy exclaims, dashing over to the TV to turn off the VCR.

"Wain, wain, go 'way," April sings under her breath, but she stays on
the couch.

Either sick of napping, or having been woken by their other siblings'
enthusiasm, the twins begin making noise over their monitor as if on
cue.

"I take it you want to go outside?" Michelle asks, knowing the question
is rhetorical. Three eager looks settle the matter instantly. "C'mon
upstairs and I'll get everyone dressed to go out."

The kids are half-way up the stairs before she even has time to look at
the darkened TV screen with regret. Maybe she will have a chance to
watch the episode from start to finish some other time, since the idea
of a creature morphing to be what you fear intrigues her.

~*~*~

Out in the yard the sun is shining, but it only serves to jewel the
drops of rain that cling to the grass and bead on the lawn furniture
and swing set. The kids wear identical yellow rain coats that look like
they're out of the Paddington Bear books, that their grandmother bought
them, and five pairs of sneakers are protected from the wet by old
fashioned slip on rain boots in colors ranging from pink to blue. Only
April's match her coat.

Sammy and Page play tag, the twins chase each other as usual, and April
squats down to check on the season's earliest flowers. Christopher
watches them from the safety of his carriage, and seems content to be a
spectator yet.

Not long later the sound of a car and the opening of the front door
alerts Michelle that her employers are home from work. "They're out
here, Mister Mulder," Dana calls.

Fox doesn't smile when he brushes by his wife. He saves his glad looks
for the kids who run to greet him.

The obvious distance between her employers over the past few weeks
makes Michelle uneasy. There's clearly something going on, but she
hasn't been clued in as to what. From the way Dana has been excusing
herself to run to the bathroom lately, Michelle is fairly certain that
she's pregnant again, but neither of them has said anything to her,
which strikes her as odd. They've always been excited about new babies
before.

But then, glancing at Fox's pale face, it occurs to her if the strain
is because of the timing. He has been sick on and off over the past six
months, and doesn't seem like his old self a lot of the time. If he's
more seriously ill than either have them have let on...

"-ready for dinner?" Dana asks her, giving her an expectant look.

Michelle flushes. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I asked if you had plans tonight, after we get the kids inside and
ready for dinner."

"Oh! Yeah, actually. I'm supposed to meet up with my friends Heather
and Kevin to go to a poetry slam. I shouldn't be home too late."

"It's your night off, be as late as you want," Dana tells her. The
older woman's voice was calm and pleasant, but there was a pinched
worry lurking in her eyes.

"Thanks."

As Michelle helped herd the kids inside to take off coats and boots, it
made her wonder when the video they were watching was produced. Not
within the last month, that she was sure of.

~*~*~

Chapter Eighty-Four

Spring 2000

In the shower, Scully is masturbating, fondling herself with one hand
while shoving up the decent-sized dildo up into with the other. She
takes no joy with the action, even as she moans loudly and comes under
the heavy rain of the showerhead. Then she briskly extracts and cleans
off the battery-operated device, putting it aside as she scrubs herself
down.

In the bedroom, Mulder is shoving his feet into his shoes with more
force than necessary. He's heard his wife's cries, but pretends he
hasn't heard. After all, she's made no secret of her 3-week-old
purchase, and knows it's his fault, but he doesn't want to fix the
problem. Besides, he was busy whacking off in the shower less than
twenty minutes ago, thinking of Jade Blue Afterglow. He hasn't felt so
cheap or dirty since, well, his first round of bachelorhood, buying
porn featuring redheads or calling 1-900 numbers with voices similar to
Scully's. Shit. He grabs his duffel bag and goes downstairs, his
sneakered feet thumping loudly.

When he rounds into the kitchen, he offers Michelle a tired smile and a
more genuine one to Christopher, his face decorated with some ungodly
orange and green mess.

His eldest daughter, however, is the first to greet him verbally this
fine April morning. "How come you hafta go all the way to California?
Isn't our uncles here?"

And now he regrets buying that big-ass U.S. map to show the kids where
their cases are relative to their house. "They've got another job over
there," he says, pouring himself a half-cup of coffee and drinking it
black.

"But you'll come home soon, right?" His blonde angel pouts.

Mulder nods dutifully, "Right." And his legs are suddenly bound by the
arms of a redheaded boy. "Hey, Slugger, I'm gonna need those to get to
the airport." He pretends as if to shake off the boy, but is
unsuccessful in freeing himself.

"Uh-uh," Sammy clings tighter.

"Uh-huh," Mulder returns, twisting some more.

"Uh-UH!" his son retorts, burying his face in his father's jean-clad
legs.

"Uh-HUH!" Then he looks up and sees Scully frowning in at him, looking
oh-so-professional yet very feminine in a tailored black suit and long
skirt, a proper navy blue blouse underneath. Damn. No sexy black
leather jacket for this lady, she's all business. He bends down and
gently pries his son's arms off. "Sorry, gotta go," he says, ruffling
Sammy's already-mussed hair.

His wife is closer to the nanny, and she says warmly, "Thanks,
Michelle." Then she looks at her children. "Behave." And she kisses
Christopher's head, waving at the kids.

Michelle smiles. "No prob. Have fun." She feels like sinking into the
floor when she sees the look on the couple's faces, then waves
Christopher's chubby arm. "Wave bye-bye." She sighs with relief when
they leave, even though she feels uncomfortable at how they seemed like
strangers to each other when they did so. Hope they check into therapy
soon, she thinks, cleaning off the youngest boy's face, for their kids'
sake if not their own.

~*~*~

FPS Corporate Headquarters
Inland Empire, California

Everything goes rather smoothly, Scully in her full-blown Ice Queen
mode, Mulder in his Serious Denial style, while they get identified, go
through the Lone Gunmen's alternate bragging and shying away from the
actual body, and then they meet Ivan the Caffeinated Chihuahua and
Phoebe the Shrinking Violet. Scully has made it abundantly clear she
neither indulges nor infantilizes the men, her husband especially,
although Ivan doesn't seem to recognize a threatening female when she
glares him in the face. Mulder's torn between laughing at the situation
and yelling at himself for fucking things up so thoroughly they can't
even enjoy a simple weird homicide. Either way, Scully still ends up
calling the cops and Ivan still bursts a blood vessel as she does so.

::Maybe I should just pop a cap in Ivan's ass and get this over with::,
Mulder thinks glumly as he follows the Lone Gunmen and Phoebe to the
control room, where they will view the gruesome virtual replay of the
very real death of the gamer formerly known as Retro. And then let
Scully shoot me again, 'cause it can't get much worse than this. He
looks over his shoulder, but as before, Scully isn't there. This time,
however, she's got a pretty damn good reason not to be hanging around.
Him. Shit. Not even the Gunmen's surprise and muted respect for his
suggestions can dull the pain of her not being there.

~*~*~

At the security desk, Scully is talking to Detective LaCoeur as Retro's
body is wheeled out. "Let me get this straight, Agent Scully," the
heavyset black man says, "you've got no murder weapon, no forensic
evidence, no motive, no suspect."

"Scully." Mulder waves, coming up the stairs, followed by the Lone
Gunmen.

She doesn't bother hiding her displeasure from the cop, the Gunmen, nor
her husband, as she makes the introductions. "My partner, Agent Mulder.
This is Detective LaCoeur."

LaCoeur looks at Mulder expectantly. "Have you got something?"

"Yeah, our killer, I believe." Mulder unfolds and displays the
videogame girl to the detective, who makes a face as he takes it.

"Hey, I'll put out an A.P.B. - for Frederick's of Hollywood," the black
man scoffs as he leaves.

"Are you trying to piss me off, or look like a complete idiot? Either
way, you're doing a great job." Scully manages to look down at him,
despite being shorter.

"Hey." He shrugs, deliberately nonchalant, "it's all in the computer."

She rolls her eyes. "Uh-huh. Some bored programmer, I'm guessing either
Ivan or Frohike, got really lonely one night and put her in the game.
Big deal. She's *not* the killer," she states, as simply as she would
say the moon is *not* made of cheese, you idiot.

Mulder deliberately gives her a wide smirk, something bordering on a
leer. "If you want, we can show you the instant replay of how Miss
Fantasy killed Retro in real time and in real life."

Before she can retort, however, an Asian man walks into the building
and heads straight for the staircase, ignoring everyone. The men,
however, are in awe. "Daryl Musashi. You see who that is? Daryl
Musashi, dude!" Langly enthusiastically slugs his shorter comrade, who
isn't fazed at all.

"As I live and breathe." Frohike stares after the disappearing man,
then he and his blond friend follow Musashi down the stairs.

"Who's Daryl Musashi?" Scully frowns, wondering if he's some kind of
rock star. He certainly was cute enough to be one.

"The O.G. - Original Guru," Mulder says, but it's a rote response. He
respects the living legend enough to try to make him stay that way, and
he runs down the stairs after them without another word.

Byers looks apologetically at Mulder's abandoned partner, wondering
what's going on but too polite to enquire. Instead, he answers Scully's
question. "Word is he slums as a game designer when he's not contracted
to the CIA.
The boy wonder of virtual mayhem, if you will."

Doesn't matter if I will or won't, Scully thinks, it doesn't change the
fact that Mulder's an ass. "What's he doing here?" she wonders, but has
a bad feeling it's another one of Ivan's brilliant ideas.

The bearded man smiles like it's Christmas. "Ivan must have called him
to go in and slay the ninja babe," he replies before bounding down the
staircase, too.

She sighs, her hands on her hips. "Gee, I guess I'll do my autopsy on
Retro, then," she says to the empty air. "Sure beats watching some
stupid game." And she tromps outside in her three-inch thick heels,
feeling more and more irritated, with humanity in general and men
specifically, by the second.

~*~*~

It's not the best idea he's had, but it's the only one he's got. "Stop
the game!" Mulder yells.

"What, are you crazy?" Ivan screeches, looking pretty nuts himself. Or
maybe it's the lack of sleep and stress. Whatever. "The legend's gonna
show you ladies how it's done."

"There's a killer on the loose who's connected to this game," Mulder
argues as Byers walks in, "you've gotta get him back in here."

"Hey, is that Musashi?" Byers asks as the Asian man stands confidently
with his weapons crossed over his chest.

"Hell, yeah," Langly drawls, "Mulder's suddenly got cold feet." Then he
looks speculatively at the FBI agent. "Got something to do with
Scully?"

"Shut up," Mulder mutters, but his words are lost as the room erupts
into cheers. Musashi has just wasted the Biker Nazis easily.

"Yes!" Ivan shouts triumphantly, pumping his fist.

"Unbelievable." Byers smiles behind his beard.

"Standing heart rate is 68," Phoebe reports with a smile while the most
of the guys are still hooting and clapping.

Mulder, however, watches the monitor anxiously. He's hoping that
Musashi will suddenly wise up, or, barring that, a fluke will shut the
game off. None of that happens, and the young gamer runs into the dead
zone. "Generally speaking, the Way of the warrior is resolute
acceptance of death," he sighs morosely, quoting Miyamoto Musashi while
the others perk up.

"What are you talking about?" Ivan grumbles at the interruption, his
bulging eyes still on the screen.

He's not the only one. In fact, even Mulder's engrossed in the action,
and it unfolds just as it did before, the dominatrix appearing behind
Musashi like a bad horror movie. The Asian man turns just as the psycho
swings a katana down across his hands, severing them at the wrists. He
screams, holding up his bloody stumps. Everyone's eyes are wide, and
Langly turns around and runs out of the room, barely holding in his
vomit with his hands clapped over his mouth.

"What just happened?" Ivan says numbly, sounding something like human
for once.

"She cut off his hands," Mulder replies, his face a study in guilt.

Nobody notices, because, sans Langly, they're all watching as the gamer
screams again, then stops suddenly when the killer talks to him in
Japanese. Nobody understands her, and it's clear neither does Musashi,
for there's a look of incomprehension as the katana swings again,
taking off his dumbfounded head.

In the control room, Phoebe and the guys stare at the dead body,
horrorstruck. Frohike turns away with a grimace, seemingly in disgust,
but Mulder knows it's to hide his own fear and self-loathing. God knows
he's got enough of that to share with the class.

~*~*~

Meanwhile, in the autopsy bay, Scully's taking on a task less futile
than her husband's. Somewhat. Peeling off her latex gloves, she reports
to the tape recorder, "Preliminary external examination of deceased, a
twenty-ish male, name listed only as 'Retro'," she grimaces, "offers no
additional clues as to actual cause of death." Twisting the dead man's
arm, she reads the tag with the same unhelpful gamer name. Men, she
thinks with disgust before turning the machine on again, are so stupid.

"Scratch that. Cause of death is from a large entry wound at the
sternum, resulting in trauma to the internal organs and blood loss.
Wound is consistent with a high-velocity impact from a large projectile
which passed through a three-ply Kevlar jacket." Then she pauses the
machine, rolls her eyes, then hits the record button. "Scratch that.
Wound is result of high-velocity impact from an unknown object, which
even if it did enter the body left no damn trace evidence whatsoever -
no powder burns, no chemical signatures of any kind of explosive
propellant..." Which is just the way my idiot husband likes his cases:
Insane, unhelpful, and irritating.

Speaking of the devil, he walks right in. "No luck?"

She favors him with a simple "fuck you" look. "At first, I thought the
suit's battery pack, sending a 12-volt jolt when the player is shot
virtually, went haywire. Perhaps one of the charges had blown inward."

"At first?" Mulder says, seemingly distracted by the vest as he runs
his hand over it.

She pretends not to notice his observation, focusing on his
distraction. "What a waste of technology, going into a stupid game.
What purpose does this game serve except to add to a culture of
violence in a country that's already out of control?"

He almost grins as they fall into another pattern. Perhaps humans are
victims of character, he thinks, both of strengths and weaknesses. "Who
says it adds to it?"

Her look has changed from "fuck you" to "are you fucking kidding?" A
slight improvement. "You think that taking up weapons and creating
gratuitous virtual mayhem has any redeeming value whatsoever? I mean,
that the testosterone frenzy that it creates stops when the game does?"

"Well, that's rather sexist, isn't it?" He grins, but she doesn't grin
back. Well, some things have changed. He plows on, making the same
excuse he did last time. "I mean, maybe the game provides an outlet for
certain impulses, that it fills a void in our genetic makeup that the
more civilizing effects of society failed to provide for."

Now she smiles, but it's laced with an edge sharper than the
videobabe's sword. "Well, that must be why men feel the great need to
blast the crap out of stuff."

Mulder shrugs, used to facing danger. "Well, testosterone frenzy or no,
the only suspect we have in this man's murder is a woman," he replies,
holding out the picture of 'the goddess'.

She brushes both him and the picture off, looking down at the body.
"Yeah, I've seen it. A computer-animated woman, Mulder, with a
computer-animated weapon."

"A flintlock pistol." He gestures at Retro's gaping hole, "which would
leave a very large entry wound."

"Reality check, Mulder," Scully retorts, "real corpse," she waves at
the body, "fake lady," she barely nods at the picture.

"Well, the fake lady got herself another dead body," Mulder says as the
coroner wheels in another sheet-covered gurney. He takes it upon
himself to lift the sheet, revealing the man's head between his bloody
wrist stumps. "The world-renowned Daryl Musashi," he says, with a touch
more sobriety than Scully would've expected.

His cell phone rings, and it gives him a chance to school his face and
emotions. The call, however, is expected, and he grunts affirmatively
while Scully checks out the new body. When he turns around, he tells
his partner, "I am vindicated, Scully. L.A. Sheriff's department just
picked up a female suspect for the murders, who happens to match this,"
and he waves the picture. "Carry on." He nods at the autopsy, "I have
to interrogate the suspect." The leer carries him out the door, and
manages to buoy Scully behind him.

~*~*~

Scully walks through the gauntlet of male police officers, her
irritation level rising to near-volcanic levels, already having a clue
of what to expect as some give her husband knowing looks, while others
ogle her as well. Brother. When she walks into the interrogation room,
a tall, very attractive, outrageously dressed woman is sitting in a
chair with her legs crossed. Figures. She doesn't see her partner
behind her, but whatever he did, a bunch of cops chuckle and hoot. God.
She hears, rather than sees, Mulder shutting the door and closing the
blind. In a straitlaced parody of her voice, she says, "For the record,
can you state your name, please?"

Incredibly enough, the woman sitting in from of them looks exactly like
the woman in the game, although in a different scandalous metallic
outfit. "For the record again, my name is Jade Blue Afterglow. I
reside..."

"Your *real* name, please?" Scully interrupts, not buying it.

"That *is* my real name," Jade replies in the same tone. "What were you
expecting? Mildred?"

Scully picks up the report and barely stops herself from making a face
at the snide comments. She isn't sure which is worse, sexist men or the
women catering to their "wants." "You say that you have no knowledge of
Ivan Martinez or a company known as First Person Shooter or F.P.S.?"
she asks quickly.

The woman smiles at Mulder. "I meet a lot of men."

He smiles back, but there's something so distant that Jade doesn't feel
reassured. "Would it surprise you to know that you have been placed at
a crime scene in the offices of F.P.S.?"

"Let's just say it takes a whole lot to surprise me," Jade drawls,
swiveling in her seat either in imitation of Sharon Stone's infamous
leg-cross, or she's got to go to the bathroom.

Scully isn't sure whether the woman's a bad actress or bad hooker.
Either way, she's ready to wrap this up. "You might want to start
telling the truth."

Jade tilts her head like a child feigning innocence. "And what truth am
I not telling you?"

"That you murdered two men." Mulder tilts his head, as if trying to get
a better view of the outrageous jewelry on her impressive bosom. "One
with a 14th century broadsword and the other with a flintlock pistol."

"Oh. You must have had me confused with my sister - Xena, Warrior
Princess." She smirks.

For the umpteenth time in as many hours, Mulder pulls out the printed
image of Maitreya and proffers it like Prince Charming with the glass
slipper. She looks at it with realization. "Are you denying that this
is you?" he says, almost too casually.

Jade frowns. "Now I get it."

"What?" Scully prompts her.

"The medical imaging place in Culver City," the woman says, for once
talking normally and not some crazed idea of a porn star. "I got paid
to let them do this body-scan thing."

Both Scully's eyebrows go up. "They paid you to scan your body?"

Jade's eyebrows echo the motion, but with a smile. "You think that's
the strangest thing I've been paid to do?"

Inside, Mulder thinks, ::Finally, done, let's go.:: But he's the
picture of perfect sleaziness as he helps her out of her chair, "We're
very sorry, Miss Afterglow but," he waves to the door, "you're free to
go." Then he sits in her seat and wiggles his ass, as if trying to get
the mojo from it.

Jade smiles seductively from habit, but she sees there's nothing behind
his eyes and suppresses a shudder. She'd intended on making a grand
exit, but it would be wasted on these two. Besides, whatever's wrong
with this couple, and it's more than the rings telling her this, acting
up won't help matters. She pastes a 1000-watt come-hither look on her
face when the door opens, only because the boys in blue expect it, and
saunters out.

Scully shakes her head, wondering at the young woman's tacky behavior,
but dismisses it. Besides, her husband's behavior is even more
perplexing, as he's tilting his head to catch a view of Jade's ass.

While she completely blocks his view with the folder, Mulder says with
a leer in his voice, "I don't know about you, Scully, but I am feeling
the great need to blast the crap out of something." He's got the
world's biggest smirk on his face, as if knowing that it'll piss off
Scully to no end. Which, of course, it does, and he walks out in front
of his partner, winking and grinning at the cops on their way out.

~*~*~

A Generic California Motel Room
11:25 p.m.

Mulder and Scully make it to the door at the same time, which they were
hoping to avoid. Without a word, Scully unlocks the door and walks in,
followed by her husband. They'd gotten a setup similar to one they'd
had before they married: a room with two bedrooms and baths. Mulder
goes to the left, Scully to the right, neither says anything as they
lock the adjoining doors to their rooms, and both tiredly close their
eyes as they lean against the door. If there was a window between
rooms, they'd be surprised to see they are simultaneously peeling their
clothes from their bodies, turning on the water taps, working the kinks
out of their necks, and entering the showers. Drying themselves
efficiently, both pick up their cell phones from habit and start to hit
speed dial. Fuck that, they both think, both robed in white terry cloth
garb, and flop on the bed, each on their accustomed side.

Then Scully hits the arrow button and selects her home phone number.
"Hi, Michelle," she says, "how are things?"

"Oh, fine," Michelle answers tiredly. "It's amazing how wiped out kids
can get when you have them race around the house until someone wins."

Scully smiles, a tired but genuine one, for the first time that day.
"So who won?"

"April," the nanny replies, "the older two were too busy fighting with
each other and the twins are still too small to make any real
challenges yet. And Christopher managed not to spew most of his dinner,
only a third."

"Great," Scully says, "tell my babies I love them and I'll be home
soon."

"Sure thing," Michelle says before hanging up.

Scully closes her eyes, pulling the sheets up after grabbing around.
What was frustrating was that, aside from the video the Gunmen
helpfully provided, there was no other suspects for Retro and Musashi's
deaths other than the ninja babe, as Byers so helpfully called her. And
Musashi's autopsy proved to be as fruitless as Retro's - cause of death
seemed cut and dry, but only if you believed a videogame caused
real-life damage. Impossible.

Her cell phone rings, and she answers it automatically, her eyes still
closed. "Scully," she says, vowing inwardly to turn off the lights
before going to bed after this call.

"Scully, I know we're not talking, but for the benefit of this case and
solving the damn thing, I propose a truce."

Dammit, she should really break herself of certain habits. "What is
it?" she says flatly. If she were actually facing him, her gun would
still be held in a steady grip, not backing down in the least. Too bad
I can't kill him over the phone as easily as the mystery woman in the
videogame, she thinks.

"The guys have been going over the schematics with Phoebe, and they're
gonna try to root out the problem through the hardware," Mulder says,
his eyes also closed, but also praying that the trio manages to stay
out of the game area this time. Schematics, that didn't sound dangerous
to him, so he encouraged them. "At the same time, Phoebe and Langly are
gonna try a software attack, hopefully rout the intruder without any
more casualties."

"Good," Scully says.

Not giving an inch, Mulder thinks, good girl. But at the same time, it
pisses him off, so he asks, "And what have you been up to, O Partner
and Wife of Mine?"

I hate you, she thinks, "Cutting open, weighing and testing body parts
of dead men who thought they were filling a void in their genetic
makeup that the more civilizing effects of society failed to provide
for," she says, turning his weak-ass logic on him. If the game wasn't
so physically lethal, she'd actually applaud the video woman for
handing these men's asses to them. Oh well. "Superficially, it appears
that a very sharp long blade severed Musashi's head and hands."

"Superficially?"

She sighs. I hate when you do that, lead me on into your stupid, insane
conclusions, dammit. "From the bodies, all I can tell is that the
killer is expert with various weapons, ambidextrous, over 5'6", and
strong. Honestly, if you gave these bodies to any other coroner, they'd
probably tell you these men were killed by a young man with military or
martial arts background."

"But you examined the bodies, and you also watched the video," Mulder
presses her.

She hits her head against the headboard, as if that would make the
world right again. Nope, she's still alone in her bed, still angry at
Mulder, and still wishing there were a more plausible suspect than a
computer-generated killer. Argh. "We should check on the Gunmen's
progress in the morning," she finally answers, and hangs up. Cracking
open her eyes, she reaches over and turns off the light, then turns off
her phone.

Mulder, however, stands up and paces in his room restlessly. He really,
really wants to go to FPS HQ now, to keep the Gunmen out of the game
space, but without a valid reason, he sees no reason to drag Scully out
of bed. He sighs. His insomnia's returned with a vengeance ever
since... He sighs again, then opens his laptop and checks out various
websites, as if hoping for a miracle program, virus, patch, whatever,
that can stop things from repeating themselves fully. He rubs his eyes,
but his mind's still going a million miles a minute. Well, that's still
the same, too, but last time, he was single and obsessing over Scully
as much as the case. This time, he's married, but still obsessing over
her, although in not quite the same way. Dammit.

~*~*~

FPS Corporate Headquarters
5:42 a.m.

The lights are off as Mulder and Scully walk into the control room.
"Hello," Scully calls out, peering in the darkness, looking for a light
switch.

"Hey, this is just like home." Mulder smirks at his partner, trying to
quell the foreboding in his gut, "lights off, who knows what lurking in
the shadows..."

"Shut up, Mulder," she snaps at him, then nearly falls over something.
Correction, someone. Phoebe is lying on the floor, and while Mulder
unsuccessfully tries the light switch, she bends down and shakes the
young woman. "Phoebe? Hey, you okay?"

To her relief, Phoebe stirs and yawns, blinking up at the two agents.
"Oh, I must've fell asleep. I...I was just going to take a nap. I've
been up for 70 hours straight, analyzing code, trying to fix the game."
She groans, sitting up.

Scully looks around, concerned. "Where is everybody? Where's Ivan?"

"Um, he's with the money guys." Phoebe shrugs. "They're all freaking."

"Well, we need to talk to him right away about a woman named Jade Blue
Afterglow," Scully says, managing not to grimace at the name. "He
scanned her body and he created a character out of her. He put her in
the game."

Oh shit, Mulder thinks when he sees the Lone Gunmen standing in the
game area via the monitor. "Phoebe, the Lone Gunmen are on the floor,"
he says, his voice amazingly monotone.

Phoebe nods, "Yeah, Langly and I wrote a software patch. We're going to
run a rez-up test on the game."

"What for?" Scully frowns.

"To bypass the problem," the young woman replies, standing up and
watching the monitor.

Onscreen, they watch as the scene shifts from blank white room, to the
game street scene. "What the hell...?" Scully breathes.

"What just happened?" Mulder says, doing his damndest not to let his
panic show.

"I don't know," Phoebe says, her eyes now on the auxiliary and program
computers, scanning them for any signs of weirdness.

"They're in the game," Mulder reports in a maddeningly flat voice.

Downstairs, in the game, the Gunmen are freaking. "Hey, what's going
on?! Phoebe, are you paying attention? We're not ready yet! Who's
running the program? What the hell's going on? Phoebe? Come on!"

"I don't believe this, the program's running itself," Phoebe says, and
for the first time, she sounds really scared. "This can't be
happening." She's typing like a madwoman, but the sound of the pounding
keyboard barely masks the sound of gunfire from the monitor.

As the Gunmen run for cover, Scully's tone matches her partner's,
"Somebody's shooting at them."

"This was supposed to be background only," Phoebe says, panicking.
"There wasn't supposed to be any gameplay."

"They need help," Mulder says, determined not to repeat the same
mistakes as he walks out of the room.

Scully watches him leave, but says nothing.

~*~*~

As before, Mulder's in full battle gear, but this time, he doesn't give
a rat's ass about being the hero, he just wants to get the guys out,
killswitch the ubervixen, and go home. "You guys okay?" he asks,
jogging over to the Gunmen.

Langly states the obvious, "Byers's been hit."

"I'm okay," Byers grunts in spite of the huge yellow splotch on his
chest. Then he winces as a jolt of electricity hits him. "It's a flesh
wound."

"She's out there." Frohike jerks his head towards the main game space.
"She nailed Byers with that flintlock."

At least he's alive, Mulder thinks as he says, "Okay, on the count of
three, I'm gonna lay down some cover for us. Ready? One...Two...Three!"
With his handy-dandy "automatic" weapon, he does his best Rambo
impersonation while the Gunmen run to the entry hatch.

"Mulder!" Frohike hollers as Maitreya, clad in a black bodysuit, runs
across the game area, sword in hands.

Wait, this didn't happen before, Mulder panics inside as he races
towards the entry hatch. Why isn't she staying in her own damn space?
He attempts to run backwards and fire at the same time. Unlike what
action movies would have viewers believe, however, it's not an easy
thing to do, and he trips over his feet as the hatch closes. "Aw,
shit," he mutters when she catches up.

~*~*~

"Mulder?" Frohike knocks on the door when they don't hear anymore
gunfire. The Gunmen hit the door and run back out. Halfway there, the
image of the game digitizes, then goes to the plain room.

"Oh, no." Phoebe is staring at the screen, her hands suddenly still.

Scully's down in the game area, running to meet the Gunmen. "Where's
Mulder?" She looks around, but there's no tall, big-nosed asshole in
black gamer gear there. "I said, where's Mulder, dammit?"

Langly shrugs, worried. "We don't know. She came out of nowhere, but he
was right behind us, and the door just closed..."

"I know, I saw," Scully says, exasperated. "I just want to know why the
hell isn't he here?"

Frohike looks just as frustrated, as if the world suddenly decided that
2+2 = 3. "He should be right here," his head keeps whipping around, as
if expecting Mulder to materialize. "There's gotta be a reason why the
game kept Mulder instead of us."

"It's impossible," Byers argues, aghast at his compatriot's lack of
logic, "it's a digital environment. It's just a game."

Scully stares at Byers' yellow paint-spattered chest. "A game that you
managed to escape while Retro and Musashi didn't. Interesting."

Now Phoebe joins the crowd. "Agent Scully. I found him."

~*~*~

While Phoebe and company discover Mulder's whereabouts via the
computer, Mulder's waking up from something like a massive concussion.
Thankfully, there's no psycho bitch in black standing over him, but, as
before, his headset's broken. Swearing, he throws off his broken
headset, gets up, looks at the sword imbedded in the wall next to him.
"At least I've got my little friend," he mutters, checking to see if
his weapon's okay, then goes out into the main area, gun at the ready.

Out of nowhere, Maitreya does her insane back-flipping thing again, and
Mulder fires, then runs. Somehow, she dodges those bullets with all
those flips, and lands the opposite direction, away from him. He
doesn't care, he's just glad that she isn't within sight, and starts
collecting himself, hoping against hope that Scully doesn't hate him
enough to leave him in the game with a woman who can't be destroyed. At
least, not from where he's standing. "I'll make it up to you," he
promises, then wonders how he's gonna keep a promise when he's not even
sure he can change his heart or his mind.

~*~*~

Meanwhile, Scully shoots down Ivan's ill-placed congratulations and
questions him about scanning Jade, in even less polite terms than
before. As before, he spaces, and Scully's about ready to send him to
the tooth fairy, until Phoebe runs out of the room. Scully follows her.
"Hey, Phoebe."

The young programmer looks like a wreck. "I don't know how it
happened."

"You knew about her?" Scully's eyebrows go up. Then she puts two and
two together, "Then it was you. You scanned that woman's body."

"Into my computer," Phoebe explains. "She was my creation. She was
mine."

Scully frowns. "But why?"

Phoebe wipes away her tears with her sleeve. "You don't know what it's
like - day in and day out choking in a haze of rampant testosterone."

Scully makes a face. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"I mean, she was all I had to keep me sane, my only way to strike back
as a woman," she says desperately. "She was my goddess. Everything I
can never be."

Without my degree, without my badge, where would I be? Scully wonders.
"But, Phoebe, she is still a killer. I can't explain it, but she is,"
she says, leading up to the kill. "And you put her in that game."

The young woman shakes her head. "No, I didn't. I was creating my own
game
in my own computer. It was totally secret. I never told anyone!" she
declares. "But somehow she jumped programs and she's feeding off the
male aggression. It's making her stronger and stronger." She grabs the
other woman's arms, "I need your help. You're the only one who can
understand."

I understand that you're smart, you're creative, and that you could
very easily do more than grunt work for someone like Ivan, Scully
thinks. "You've got to destroy her, Phoebe," she says aloud, knowing
time is ticking down for Mulder. Part of her debates whether to even
save his sorry, ungrateful, assholic, stupid ass in there, while her
more forgiving, albeit much smaller part, says she should save him and
then beat him up herself. With that, she thinks maybe shooting him
again would be a good idea.

"I don't know how." Phoebe pouts.

"Well, there's got to be some way," Scully says, steering her back to
the control room. "There's got to be some vulnerability or a weakness
somewhere." She wishes she knew more about videogames now, but knowing
Phoebe is on the ball should be enough. She hopes.

"She has no weakness anymore," Phoebe says, her monotone tinged with
respect for her creation.

Shit.

~*~*~

Meanwhile, back in the game, Mulder bangs on the entry hatch door.
Nothing. He pulls out his gun and starts shooting, hoping that'll do
the trick. Nope, they just bounce off as if polarized negatively, and
he jumps out of the way. "Dammit!" He hears the click-clack of high
heels and turns around. Shit. He hauls out his gun and pulls the
trigger, but nothing happens. "Not again!" he yells when he sees the
digital display flashing "No Ammo". He drops the gun and raises his
hands. "I surrender!"

She tilts her head, then kicks his head. As the digital scenery swims,
he thinks, Scully, please...

Back in the control room, Scully's finding that Mulder's vitals have
suddenly gone haywire, the Lone Gunmen are desperately typing, rewiring
and doing everything short of witchcraft to try and get Mulder out of
the game. Ivan, however, flips out when he sees Phoebe enter the storm.
"This is your fault," he yells, getting in her face. "You put her
here."

Why does everyone act like children when these stupid videogames are
involved, Scully sighs inwardly, stepping between the two lead
programmers. "Hey," she says, shifting her feminine jacket to show
she's packing real, not virtual, heat. "No fair picking on a girl."

~*~*~

Meantime, back in the game, Maitreya's kicking Mulder in the head. As
he drops to the ground, his head bleeding, he blinks furiously against
the pain and nausea. Her leg makes a lower arc now, but Mulder grabs
her foot and throws her to the ground. All right, gotta get that sword,
maybe I can pry that damn door open, he thinks, running back. Pulling
the katana from the wall, he's oddly reminded of the Arthurian legend,
but he's pretty sure Morgana le Fay wasn't some VR witch that brought
on the pain personally, but who knows. The Japanese sword firmly in
hand, he turns only to find the scene is shifting, and he groans.
"Hell's teeth," he mumbles, now standing in an Old West ghost town,
complete with rolling tumble weeds.

In the control room, however, Scully and the gang find that Mulder's
reached level two. She demands that they shut the game down, or at
least turn the damn computer off. Ivan, as expected, flips out, and
Langly tries his level best to shut it down, but no go. Or stop,
rather. The damn thing keeps going and they're all watching the
monitor. This time around, Maitreya's traded her dominatrix outfit for
a Coyote Ugly-style western getup, pistols included. Like a horror
movie, they watch as she walks up behind Mulder, but have no way of
warning him.

"God, how could you be so useless!" Scully shouts, and storms out.
Frohike looks grim and goes back to work, Langly grumbles but does the
same, Byers is embarrassed but resumes checking code, and Ivan and
Phoebe resume their shouting match.

In the meantime, Mulder finally turns around to see the Cowgirl of
Death moseying up. "Here goes," he mutters, gamely raising the sword
samurai style. When she draws her pistols, he grimaces. "Fine, I'll be
John Belushi, you be Piper Perabo." And, as before, she suddenly clones
herself into quintuplets. Damn. "You know, any other time and place,
I'd be enjoying myself," he smirks, "but if those are my last words, I
can do better."

Behind him, the entry door slides open. Scully's wearing the game
combat gear over her white blouse and short black skirt. Oh yeah, and
hefting a huge-ass rifle probably meant for Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Mulder nearly drops to the ground, ready to worship this spitfire of
justice, who somehow makes her ensemble work and the ginormous gun
scary rather than silly. "One side, Mulder," she says flatly, and
points the damn thing at him.

"Scully," he croaks, then hits the floor when the Maitreyas, not
waiting, fire at her. He sees her ducking out of sight, then running
towards the metal barricade, firing as she does so. How does she not
trip with that, he wonders, especially when it's so big? Then again,
she's naturally dealt with big things that would bring most people to
their knees, whether it was cancer, working in a male-dominated
environment, or... and he finds the blood unexpectedly rush to his
groin. Ah, shit, not now, he tells himself as she continues to blast
away. Still, she looks like a goddess to him, taking out the five
Maitreyas, one by one. God, I love you, he thinks, slowly picking
himself off the ground.

~*~*~

"You okay?" Scully says, less like a concerned wife and more like a
military commander.

"I'm fine," he says, "the door..." They both turn and run when they
hear the door slide shut. Remembering the sword didn't do shit last
time, Mulder peels off his vest and shoves it underneath, where the
door crunches it down. There's enough space for a snake to wiggle
through, but not a grown man nor a pregnant woman. Dammit.

And, of course, Maitreya decides to show up again, armed and dangerous.
"Got it?" Scully asks, not turning around to check on him since she's
facing down yet another of the damn videochicks. She's really, really
starting to hate this game, and wonders if the thing feeds off female
aggression as well.

"I'm trying!" he says, looking around desperately to find something to
give him leverage, or at least something bigger to prop the door up.
All he sees, however, is seven more Maitreyas popping up, and them
shooting up a storm. Fortunately, Scully shoots back, and, oddly
enough, they die spinning like those old-fashioned penny arcade figures
as opposed to more realistic keeling over or even blowing up with a
satisfying explosion.

By this time, however, Mulder's shed all his game gear in an effort to
use them as leverage, and vainly trying to pit his human strength
which, while considerable against a normal opponent, is worth jack shit
against a metal door with who knows how much weight and mechanisms
behind it. "How much ammo you got?" he asks, grunting.

Having killed off the last of the pistol chicks, Scully looks down.
"Enough," she says, mentally crossing her fingers for luck. Then a WWII
tank appears with a Maitreya, dressed as a soldier, straddling the gun
barrel. "You've gotta be kidding," Scully groans, then aims and fires
at the tank, blowing it up but good.

Then another appears.

Shit.

Pull the trigger, boom.

And another tank shows up.

The hell??? Scully would scream, if she had the energy. Trigger, boom.

~*~*~

At the hotel, Mulder waits until he locks the door behind him to
explode. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" he yells.

Scully, in the process of shrugging out of her suit jacket, lets it
fall to the floor. "What?"

"You could've been killed!"

Her eyes flash dangerously, even as she retorts sarcastically, "Oh, and
you're welcome for saving your sorry ass."

His jaw works as he grinds out, "I wasn't *planning* on getting stuck
there!"

"No! Of *course* not!" She waves her hands around. "You ran in there
wanting to play the hero and beat the sexy videogame babe, and as
usual, you didn't have an exit plan!"

"I DID!"

She tilts her head. "Oh yeah? Like what, having the Gunmen prop open
the door for you?" His sullen face gives her the answer. "Brilliant,"
she deadpans, "absolutely brilliant".

"And if Phoebe and the Gunmen didn't get the killswitch in time, what
was *your* brilliant plan, Rambolina?" he shoots back.

"'Rambolina'?" she scoffs. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Argh!" Mulder shouts in frustration. "I am this close to either
choking you or punching you out!" He pinches his thumb and forefinger
together.

"So what's stopping you?" Scully swaggers up to him, her attitude
sharpened by weeks of irritation and non-communication. "What, this?"
she slaps her belly, and takes some satisfaction in seeing him wince.
"Doesn't matter, you obviously don't give a shit about either of us.
Come on!"

Mulder stares at her. "What, are you crazy?"

"Me, crazy?" she says, anger hardening her words. "Am I the one who
turned a back on our marriage and family for no reason?" Her eyes
glisten with tears as she goes on, "I was willing to chalk up your
assholicism to your illness, or possibly even a new threat by the
conspiracy. But you've made it abundantly clear you don't want either
me or our new child..."

She turns away and says nothing, and after a while, even Mulder breaks
and asks, "Scully?"

She sniffles, then squares her jaw before looking at him. "I want a
divorce."

~*~*~

Even though those four words echo in his ears, he repeats dumbly, "Are
you kidding?"

Scully doesn't even bother repeating herself. Head bowed, she walks
into the bathroom and locks the door behind her. Before she can turn
away, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, tears running
down her face, her eyes and nose red, her shoulders bowed in defeat.
That's not me, she thinks distantly, no Scully woman has ever looked
like that.

But she drops the toilet cover down and sits on the lid, burying her
face in her hands as she sobs, unable to stop the pain in her heart
manifesting itself in her tear ducts and shuddering breath. She doesn't
answer the pounding on the door, nor his childish calling of her maiden
name. Perhaps it's best, she thinks, perhaps that was the reason why I
allowed him to call me Scully, my identity not subsumed by his, my
strength not diminished by his, nor my self being lost in his.

On the other side of the door, Mulder has stopped calling out her name,
tears running a face contorted by disbelief and deep pain. He balls his
hands into fists, intending to break down the door, but a small,
rational part of him tells him it won't help matters, so he walks away.
He still has the desire to hit something, so he punches the wall
nearby. It hurts like a bitch, but it's nothing like the chasm inside
his mind and heart, so he keeps punching, slamming into the plaster and
concrete until his hands are fractured, bloody messes.

He leans against the slightly cracked and bloody wall, sliding down
until he slumps over, curled up with his hands held to his chest like
dead birds. ::I never thought it was possible,:: he thinks, ::that I'd
be worse than my father. At least he had a pretty good reason for
breaking up the family, losing his daughter to an alien conspiracy and
his wife to a chain-smoking bastard. Me, all I had to do was blame my
gorgeous, brilliant, forgiving and loving wife and partner for having a
baby timed too damn wrong to have William, and like that, I lose
everything.:: He looks up briefly, wondering if he should tell Scully
everything. It's not like he has anything more to lose at this point.

~*~*~

Having had a good cry, as her mom used to say, Scully sniffles, then
wipes her nose. She feels only a fraction better now, but only the
minutest of fractions. If possible, she'd stay in the bathroom forever,
but she knows that's impossible, since her babies are at home and
depending on her, and it's not like the FBI would let her stay in
there. Besides, she tells herself, washing her face and brushing her
hair, somebody has to be the grownup. She finally looks up at the
mirror to see a deep scowl. Doesn't mean she has to like it.

Then she unlocks the door and opens it slowly. "Mulder?" she says
softly, a hand on the gun tucked in her the back of her slacks, just in
case. She peeks around the doorframe and sees him hunched over, his
back facing her. "Mulder?"

He slowly turns around and looks up at her, and she sees the dead look
in his eyes before registering the tears on his face or his raw, bloody
knuckles. She may not be an incisive profiler, but she does know how to
deal with injuries, so she walks over and pulls out a first aid kit
from her overnight bag, then kneels beside the man she used to call her
husband and pulls him to his feet to the bathroom. Wordlessly, she
tends to his hands, washing out the paint chips and plaster from the
wounds, dabbing iodine on the scrapes and steadying his hands as he
hissed and winced, then wrapping them efficiently with bandages. She
fills a glass with water, then pops a pill into his mouth and hands the
glass over to him, watching him swallow. Then she walks out, intending
never to speak or see him again as long as she can help it.

~*~*~

Mulder puts a bandaged hand on her arm. "Thank you," he says roughly in
a low voice. She hasn't run off yet, so he presses his luck. "For this,
and for saving my sorry ass more times than I can count. For putting up
with me as long as you have. For being there when I don't deserve it.
For," his voice breaks, "for being my partner, my wife, and the mother
of our children, and my friend. I'm sorry. I..." His hand drops, and he
doesn't look at her face when he says, "Whatever you want, I won't
contest it." It's not until he's finished that he realizes he's just
said a eulogy for their marriage. Dammit.

It seems like forever until Scully turns around, and her face is
unreadable. "Then fight for me."

He blinks. "What?"

She grabs his arm. "Fight for me, dammit!" she says, tears filling her
eyes. "After all we've been through, after building a life together at
work and at home, after seeing what we've seen and doing what we've
done, are you so willing to give that up so easily?" She's shaking, but
she slugs him. "Fight!"

How? He wants to ask, but in that plea, he sees that he hasn't lost it
all, that in spite of his idiocy, she still wants him. Wants *them*, he
corrects himself, as he pulls her in to a kiss. The pain in his broken
hands are agonizing, but not as much as if he'd let this chance go by.
She returns the kiss hungrily, her hands covering his, tears still
falling from her closed eyes.

"I'm sorry," he says, wiping her face gently, "I'll try not to be such
an idiot."

"You can't help it," she says, but without heat. Her face softens when
he rubs her tummy. "Are we okay?"

"Are we?" She looks up to see naked insecurity so painfully clear on
his face, it hurts to look. "Scully?"

She wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly. In a way, it
reminds him of Sammy, and he feels ashamed for having his head so far
up his ass he didn't realize how much the kids were affected as well.
"We're good," she says, leaning against him. Then she pulls away to
look at him. "But if you *ever* pull this shit again-"

"Feel free to shoot me," he finishes, hoping she won't take him up on
that.

"Been there, done that," she says blithely, taking off her shirt, "what
I was *going* to say," she smiles, unzipping and yanking down his
jeans, "is that I'd cut you off," she finishes, grabbing his dick.

Uh-huh. "And not in the mafia way," Mulder says breathlessly, since his
wife's literally got him by the balls.

"We could arrange for that." Scully chuckles. How long has it been
since I've heard that? he wonders. "For now, however, I think we'd
better make up for lost time. I've been wanting a good fuck since I
kicked that game's ass."

He smiles back. "I love you, Dana," he says, tracing his wife's face.

She shakes her head. "Shut up and give it to me hard and fast," she
says, pulling him to the bed.

He doesn't care if his hands hurt, he happily pulls off his t-shirt
while she finishes tearing off her clothes. He tilts his head, taking
in the sight of his wife's buck nekkid body and getting harder than
he's been for quite some time. "Hard and fast, coming up." He grins,
pinning her down and making her squeal. And making her gasp, moan, cry
out and explode, but that came later. As did he.

~*~*~

Chapter Eighty-Five

Darryl Zanuck Theater 
20th Century Fox 
Hollywood, California 
April 2000

::I'm so glad we got free tickets, free flight, and free time,::
Mulder thinks, ::and that things are finally looking up between me and
Scully.:: Last time they were here, he muses as he and his wife steer
their family through the madding crowd, they were somewhat flattered to
be among the company of celebrities and stunned to be in each other's
company dressed to kill, metaphorically speaking. This time, however,
they have to contend with strangers (paparazzi, celebrity, or
otherwise) gawking at or making a nuisance to their children. Jeez,
haven't they seen kids before? Mulder grumbles inwardly. You'd think
they were aliens or pets or something, the FBI man sighs, shifting
Christopher on his hip, who the hell's in charge of setting this thing
up, anyways? 

The last straw for Scully is when Federman grabbed the twins' stroller 
and spun them around. "My children are NOT PROPS!" she
declares in a voice to freeze hell over ten times. For once, the hyper
writer-slash-whatever looks abashed, and some cameramen snap pictures
of Scully haughtily turning away, children in tow. Meanwhile Page
happily waves at all and sundry, Sammy runs ahead too many times, and
April clings to her mother's long black dress, half-blinded by the
flashbulbs and phoniness. 

"Hey, can we sit in the back for a quick getaway?" Mulder says in a low 
voice to his wife as they walk into the gaudily-decorated lobby. It's as if 
someone took all the bad parts of Easter and threw it up in the room, and 
monster-sized cutouts of Garry Shandling, Tea Leoni, and Frankie Muniz 
are surrounded by what seems like a small herd of children, the backdrop 
being menacing zombies and some kind of maniacal bishop waving a staff. 
The actors themselves are greeting the paparazzi with practiced smiles, 
ignoring the originals of the story as they pass by. He's surprised the 
Catholic church isn't protesting outside, but then again, they probably don't 
want to add publicity to a P.O.S. movie. 

"For you or the kids?" Scully retorts, an eyebrow arched. 

"For the kids, of course," he replies piously, "those celebrities are weird 
and scary." 

She gives him a tired smile. "Any other time, I'd argue, but after Federman 
did what he did, I say we should grab the seats by the door." She doesn't 
even protest when the ushers hand them all heavily buttered popcorn in 
large plastic bowls made to look like the Lazarus Bowl. Instead, she focuses 
her attention on seating everyone, from the smallest to the largest in
their group, and trying to take the twins out of the stroller, folding
the stroller, and carrying it over the space between children and
chairs without hitting anyone. Truly, she is a force to be reckoned
with. 

Still, it takes them a little while to calm the kids down, only
because the adults around them seem so hyper themselves. ::Please,
please, don't let it be too stupid,:: Mulder prays as the lights go
down. After seeing the lobby, he doesn't have high hopes, but at least,
it should be entertaining. Maybe. 

Then some kind of boppy synthetic pop that shows up in every "kid-friendly" 
movie plays as the scene opens with a nice suburban house in a nice 
suburban neighborhood. It quickly shifts to the interior, where the audience 
finds Garry Shandling struggling to feed, diaper and calm down several small
children. The audience laughs, recognizing the archetypal Bumbling Dad.
Then Frankie Muniz stomps down the stairs in a bleached white suit,
vainly pulling at a tie tied tightly around a starched collar. "Mo-om,"
he whines, "I don't wanna wear this! Can't I wear something more comfy,
like a noose?" 

The audience laughs again, and Tea Leoni comes down
the stairs, dressed in her Sunday best, her huge cross hitting her
chest with each step. "Billy, I've told you a thousand times, God is-"

"Watching us, yeah, yeah," Frankie grumbles, giving up on the tie,
but ruining his collar in the process. "But can't I look good without
looking like I'm at my own funeral?" Then he looks at his movie father,
who's dressed in black from head to toe. "Never mind." 

Shandling glares at his movie son, having triumphantly wrapped a diaper 
around one of the clearly inanimate babies. "Son, it's Easter Sunday, and we
are going to meet what may be the first American pope looking our best
if it kills us!" 

"It just might," Frankie mutters, and the audience titters. 

Mulder groans, and Scully shoots him a warning look. He
holds up his hands and schools his face, all innocence. She's obviously
not buying it, but at least the ushers haven't kicked him out yet.
Darn. 

~*~*~ 

Once Shandling and Leoni start calling each other "Mulder"
and "Scully," the older kids realize the movie's supposed to be about
their family. "That's not my daddy!" Sammy shouts, pointing with a
pudgy finger. 

"We know," Scully says in a calming tone, pulling him back into his 
seat, "they're just pretending to be us." 

Moments later, child number one decides to join in the Asking Parents
Embarrassing Questions game. "Do we have a brother named Billy?" 
Page asks, looking at her father. 

::No, not in this lifetime,:: Mulder thinks sadly, but smiles a little, thankful 
Scully happened to take a bathroom break. "It's make-believe," he 
reassures her, "just like when you guys play princesses and pirates." 

"Ohhhhh." The little blonde girl nods. "I thought we'd have a new older brother 
like Emily is our new cousin." 

Uh, yeah, he starts to slump in his seat. Then the "new older brother" proceeds 
to fall into a catacomb, landing on a skeleton. The kids and more impressionable 
audience members shriek, then laugh as the bones start to dance, much to 
"Billy's" amazement. I still think Wayne Federman's on crack, Mulder thinks 
mutinously, if he can't even tell the difference between what's possible in real 
life and movies. Then again, the stuff he and his family have seen, well, that 
would stretch even current CGI standards. Okay, maybe his whole family's
smoking crack, and he sniggers at an inappropriate moment, earning
shushes all around. 

Then zombies jump out, and Mulder's wondering
what the hell's going on. Isn't there even a semblance of plot, cause
and effect, he thinks, while Shandling and Leoni charge through the
catacombs, shouting for Billy, and shooting wildly. It reminds him of
those Scooby Doo interludes, where the monsters chase all the
characters all over the place, to the tune of some random pop group,
which this movie almost faithfully reproduces in live-action. "That's
not how you kill zombies!" Page declares. "And you killed them on New
Year's, not Easter!" 

And that's when the penguin mafia, that is, the ushers, came to hustle Mulder 
and company out of the theater. "Wait, my wife-" he says, but it's all in vain. 
Oh well, at least we've got cell phones, he thinks, as he and the kids are 
banished from the theater. Then he grins at the "Mulderlings". "Hey, you 
wanna see something cool?" he asks. 

"You're not gonna pull your thumb off, are you?" Page asks. 

Ordinarily, he'd feign being hurt, but he's so happy to be out
of there that he laughs. "No, much better." He shifts Christopher a
little in the baby sling to make them both a bit more comfortable, then
hefts the baby bag onto the stroller handles so he'd have his hands
free for April and Sammy. "Wanna help Daddy push the stroller?"

"Okay!" the little blonde girl agrees, proud to be trusted with the
responsibility. And they make their way to the movie set, where really
fake graveyards with really fake dead people are. 

~*~*~ 

Scully finds Mulder sitting on a hill in the graveyard movie set, Christopher
scootching around his legs, watching as Sammy pretends to be a zombie,
gleefully chasing David, Jared, and April. April does really good girly
screams, and then Page comes charging from around a gravestone, holding
her hands together and using her pointer fingers in the
traditionally-accepted version of a gun. Shaking her head, Scully goes
over to sit beside her husband. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but
I'm actually glad the kids are playing in a graveyard rather than
watching that ridiculous movie," she smiles. 

He smiles back. "Welcome to the dark side, Scully." 

She playfully swats his arm, then leans against him. "I got a page from the 
Washington Bureau," she says quietly. "Micah Hoffman was murdered tonight. 
Murdered in his own home by Cardinal O'Fallon who then hanged himself. A
murder-suicide."

Mulder sighs. He'd tried to convince Hoffman of the danger before
they'd left for California, tried to talk sense into the Cardinal.
Perhaps some things were meant to happen, a result of fate and choice
all at once. And, not for the first time, he wonders about people (or
whatever) like Elsbeth, who seemed to have immense power, but still
unable to change things unless prompted by certain actions by certain
people. "It's Jesus and Judas all over again, Scully." 

Scully closes her eyes. "Well...It's all over now." 

"No." He shakes his head stubbornly, "it's just beginning. Hoffman and 
O'Fallon were these complicated, flawed, beautiful people, and now they'll just 
be remembered as jokes because of this movie." Then he frowns. "Scully?"

"Yeah," she answers, her eyes still closed. 

"What about that body you autopsied?" When she looks up at him, he continues, 
"Did you ever find out who he was?" 

Now she looks at her hands in her lap. "We couldn't find a match. We went through 
missing persons, the FBI database, everything... Nothing came up. It's as if he didn't 
exist before he died." Then she shakes her head, more vehemently than he.
"That's crazy, of course he did, he must've fallen through the cracks..." 

"Probably," Mulder notes. "But he bore enough of a
superficial physical match to Hoffman that was uncanny, right?"

"Something like that," Scully admits, uncomfortably. "His approximate
age judging from bone growth was similar to Hoffman's, his build and
height around the same, his reconstructed facial features remarkably-"
Now she looks at him suspiciously. "What are you thinking?" 

He shrugs. "Just curious. The last loose end, I guess." Then he looks at
their kids. "So, aside from making us look like bumbling idiots whose
kids needed to save the day, what was the movie like?" 

"Exactly like that," she sighs, "even Page would've been mortified at how 
stupid it was." 

Mulder grins. "Well, her shining honesty's what got us kicked
out." Both Scully's eyebrows go up. "I told them she got it from your
side of the family - ow!" he rubs his arm. "At least our kids know the
difference between reality and movies. The rest of the world's going to
have to rely on Hollywood to show the future how we lived and it'll all
become...oversimplified and trivialized and O'Fallon the O'Fallenized
and become as plastic and meaningless as that stupid plastic Lazarus
Bowl on Sammy's head," he gestures to their rambunctious redheaded son,
now acting like the cardinal. 

She smiles, first at Sammy, then at Mulder. "I think the dead are beyond 
caring what people think about them. Hopefully we can adopt the same 
attitude. Her smile becomes a little goofy when she giggles, "I can't believe 
they called him O'Fallon the O'Fallen. What were they thinking?" 

"Apparently, not very much," Mulder intones stentoriously, and Scully falls 
into a giggling fit, feebly whacking her husband's side whenever she can. "I'm
simply agreeing with you," he adds in a more normal tone of voice,
albeit slightly injured and innocent. 

She snorts. "Anyways. Skinner was so tickled by the movie and our thousand 
and one kids..." 

He winces, "Yeah, I'll bet..." 

"That he has given us a Bureau credit card to use for the evening," she holds up 
the card and giggles like a loopy lady. He grins back in a similar fashion. "Come 
on, let's  hit the toy and baby stores before Kersh knows what's hit him." She 
stands, then takes his arm and helps him up, then dons the baby sling before
putting Christopher inside. Together, they gather up the rest of their children, 
running down the steep slope of the hill to a path, heading into a Hollywood 
version of sunset painted on a scrim. 

"Daddy?" April asks as they turn the corner by a gnarled tree, while Scully and 
the rest go on ahead. 

"Yeah?" 

She smiles. "I'm really happy now."

"That's good." Mulder nods, finishing off the last of his popcorn and
putting the bowl upside down on her head. 

"Daddy!" She laughs, batting it off, then brushing her hair. "I'm glad you're happy, 
too."

Now he smiles, and brushes the last of the popcorn bits off her hair.
::My princess::, he thinks, ::intuitive as always.:: "Me, too," he
says, then takes her hand in his. "Come on, we better catch up before
they start fighting over the front seat." 

She giggles, and squeezes his hand before he picks her up and runs toward 
the rest of their family, before they do something unforgivable like actually 
painting the town red. 

~*~*~

A Few Days Later

Mulder shuffles his feet, then pats Jared on the head. "Be a good boy
for Auntie Missy."

"I'm sure that he'll be just fine," Missy says in a reassuring tone.

"Yeah..." Mulder agrees half-heartedly while looking down at David, who
is still in the playpen.

"Jared will have a good time playing with Emily." Missy shifts him,
securing him on her hip. "This almost makes me want to have a little
boy of my own."

"With Kry...with Alex?" Mulder squeaks in alarm.

"Of course, Fox. But I think my mother would prefer that at least on of
her daughters be married before she gets pregnant."

He winces. It's one of the only things Missy has, decorum-wise, to hold
over her sister's head, and sometimes she can't seem to resist the
temptation. "Well, Missy, you're already sleeping with the enemy, so
how much difference could it make?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "And I thought for sure you'd faint at the
very idea of me marrying him."

"It doesn't warm the cockerels of my heart, but I've accepted that you
have incomprehensible feelings for Alex. If he makes you happy, I guess
that's the important thing," Mulder says grudgingly.

"How diplomatic of you to say," Missy says drolly. "We'll be back in a
couple of hours."

Then, before he even is quite aware of it, Missy is heading for the
door with Jared on one arm, and a baby bag on the other.

"Bye Jared," Mulder says faintly. In the playpen David climbs to his
feet and looks around, alarmed.

Mulder turns to Scully, who has been hanging back by the door. "Did we
have to do this?" he asks plaintively as David begins to whine.

"You know I didn't want to do this any more than you do, but you heard
what doctor Peters said-"

"I know. 'It's not healthy for twins to never have a chance to
experience time apart.'" Mulder recites in a heavy voice.

"She may be right. They're almost two, and this is the first day
they've ever been apart."

"They like being together," Mulder says petulantly.

"I know!" Scully bursts out. "But maybe they'll like being apart too.
So far they've never had the chance to find out."

"Yeah."

"And when they go to preschool-"

"Not for over a year!"

"-they're not going to be allowed to play just together." She looks up
at him, anticipating his next objection. "Or just with their siblings
and cousin."

"Maybe we should stay home, in case Missy has trouble with Jared and
needs to bring him home-" he begins again, but she cuts him off.

"Go, Mulder. If she brings him back, he'll be fine with me." To give
him the idea, she slings a diaper bag over his shoulder. "If you don't
hurry, you're going to be late."

"Yeah, all right," he says, sighing deeply, and reaching for David. 

~*~*~

When Mulder gets to the library, the young librarian gives him a warm
smile. "You look nervous, Dad," she says, as people file in for story
time. "Don't worry, we don't bite."

"Oh, I know...It's just, this is his first time being without his twin
brother," Mulder explains, sounding a bit self-pitying.

"That is a big deal," the librarian remarks. "Hopefully he'll like the
story so much he won't notice."

"Maybe..." Mulder says doubtfully. He and David pull up a piece of
floor and wait for story time to start. David seems delighted to see
other little kids, and he makes faces at the nearest toddlers.

Eventually David bores of this and looks up at Mulder expectantly.
"Dada, Jar?"

"He's with Aunt Missy," Mulder tells him, bracing himself for a
tantrum.

"Oh," David says and then turns his head when the librarian stands up.

"I'd like to welcome all the moms, dads and little ones to the ages one
to three lap sit story time. Today we'll be reading..."

Mulder doesn't pay much attention to the reading of the storybook, but
to his utter shock, David does. Just as the librarian predicted, he
likes the story so much that he seems to have forgotten to have a fit
over his brother not being there.

On the way out, the librarian stops Mulder. "So it looks like this went
pretty well."

"It did. It surprised me," Mulder replies. "Here's to hoping that his
brother did as well today."

"Good luck! Don't forget that the boys are both welcome to story time
whenever you'd like to bring them."

"Thanks."

~*~*~

Missy's car pulls in right behind him when he and David get home. 

She's all smiles, and happily hands over his other son. "He was as good
as gold."

"David did pretty well too. Thanks, Missy."

"No problem, Fox. I've got to run."

"You weren't really serious about wanting a baby with Alex, were you?"
he calls as she walks back to her car. She just smiles at him. "Oh,
dear," he says as he puts the boys on their feet and opens the door.

"How'd it go?" Scully asks as soon as he's in the house.

"Good. Missy said Jared did fine too."

"That's great."

"Yeah...It makes me a little sad, though," Mulder tells her as they
watch the boys run off.

"Why?"

He shrugs. "It's hard to see them get more independent."

"All babies grow up someday," Scully reminds him.

"Yeah, then you want another one," Mulder teases, ducking out of his
wife's reach.

~*~*~

Chapter Eighty-Six

Squamash Township Pennsylvania 
May 7th, 2000

It's a dark and stormy night, but it's obvious the man doesn't care
about the clich� right now, running down the rural road, sprinting
desperately as the rain soaks his skin and clothes. When he comes to
the house, there's a circular symbol with a cross in the middle of it
on the front door, and he stumbles through the door. His body is a mass
of wounds, blood still clotting over open scars, his matted hair still
dripping water across his eyes as he comes across a man in his
thirties, who is startled but recognizes him. The man of the house
yells at the intruder, "You're too late!"

The intruder pushes the man aside, going through the house. There's
nobody but the two men, one an outsider and one the owner. One of the
room's floor is covered in blood, and the intruder drops to his knees
in anguish. The owner's anger overrides his fear as he grabs the
intruder's arm. "You're done here," he says, his pale eyes glinting
with desperate determination.

Without hesitation, the intruder pulls out a Walther PPK from an ankle
strap, pointing it at the man. "Where are they, Paul?"

Paul stammers, trying to find a weakness in the heavily wounded man
before him, but finding none, says resignedly, "What do you want?"

Mulder looks dispassionately at the man. "This ends tonight," he says,
his gun never leaving Paul Hangemuhl's face.

~*~*~

May 6th, 2000

Mulder Migraine from Hell is easily covering up not only his previous
knowledge of this couple and this town, but also his loathing of each
and every one of them. He's still debating the best course of action as
he talks to Paul and Marie Hangemuhl, but concentrating is difficult
when every other thought is a swear word in time with the pain. He
presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose, as if that would
help, then looks up to resume his interview. "You told your sister you
were going to disappear, Mrs. Hangemuhl," he states, concentrating on
keeping his tone level, if not empathetic. Yeah, right. "Tonight."

Of course, having the good sheriff, Kurt Frey, in all his swaggering
glory, standing next to the couch, isn't helping anyone, much less
Mulder. Perhaps that's the point.

Paul snaps impatiently, "I told you already. We had a fight, she was
going to leave, not disappear." He's already got that "you pathetic
moron" look on his face that Mulder's so familiar with. Even if he
wasn't a profiler, Mulder could tell this guy was nervous and hiding
something, using anger as a shield.

Mulder actually finds himself in a better mood now as he replies, "I'm
talking to your wife." This is comfortable territory for him, pissing
off everyone in sight and not giving a damn, and again he can see why,
the first time around, Scully chose to throw herself into her work
rather than let the pain and fear consume her. He asks again, his
urgent yet sympathetic tone surprising everyone, including himself,
"Mrs. Hangemuhl."

The frail redhead answers softly, "It's what he said. My sister lives
out of state." She tries for a smile, but it doesn't work. "I was going
to go," she fidgets, "I didn't want her to worry."

Mulder leans forward, his voice also soft. "You told your sister a
story, a story you were afraid of?"

Paul explodes, "This is crazy. There is no crime here!"

The FBI agent ignores the outburst, still focused on Marie. "I don't
think you were going anywhere tonight, Mrs. Hangemuhl," he says, his
voice certain. "I think someone or something was coming here. And I
think maybe it still is." She doesn't look at Mulder, but then again,
she doesn't have to.

"We had a fight," Paul snarls, apparently ignorant of Hamlet's
observation that "the lady doth protest too much". "We patched things
up and that was the end of it."

Mulder nods, seemingly dismissive as he flips through a notebook he
doesn't need. "I take it that's your wife's dialysis machine?" he says,
almost absently.

The husband's anger takes on a self-righteous tone as he replies, "My
wife suffers from end-stage renal failure, Agent Mulder. She's very
sick and she doesn't need this stress."

Mulder nods again. "So was it stress that made her tell her sister
about the sin eater?" Everyone looks shocked. Well, at least he's not
wasting time here. "I take it you know what I'm talking about. Local
Indian folk legend about a creature that lives in the woods, curing
sick people by eating them alive and regurgitating a completely healthy
version of themselves. But of course, that would have nothing to do
with you, now, would it?"

Nobody moves or says anything as he leaves, but Mulder can feel the
bull's-eye on his back as he steps out the door. Well, on to my next
stop, he thinks, hoping nobody will find out about this visit this time
around, not his family, not Doggett, nobody. That way, if he fails to
save a life, it will be just him that carries the sin to the grave.

~*~*~

Mulder knocks on the door, coming in broad daylight rather than the
dark of night as he did last time. Then again, he's on a different
mission this time around, since he's not here for either Marie
Hangemuhl's sake nor his own. "Ma'am." He flips open his badge when the
weary-looking blonde woman opens the door, "my name is Fox Mulder, I'm
with the FBI."

She looks startled but nods. To her credit, she doesn't budge an inch
from the door, keeping her body squarely in the frame. "Yes?"

"I believe we share a mutual friend," he says, and while she looks
confused, he presses on, "may I come in?"

She steps back, and he closes the door behind him. "Please, let me help
him," he says.

The woman looks scared, and he doesn't blame him. "Who are you? Did the
sheriff send you?"

"No, I'm..." Mulder starts to put his hands up, but the migraine
finally brings him to his knees, and he crumples to the floor, the pain
bringing tears to his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," the woman says softly, kneeling beside him to pat his
back. "It's no shame to ask for help."

He's holding his head, as if his brains would explode any minute, but
he musters up a small, wry grin. "You're right," he says in a rough
voice, "so why haven't you asked for help?"

"What?" She draws back.

He takes a couple of deep breaths before forcing himself to sit up.
Looking her straight in the eye, he asks, "Your friend is in even more
pain than I am. You've been caring for him all this time, haven't you?"
When she nods slowly, he adds, "What's stopped you from ending his
pain?"

She hiccups, then puts her hand over her mouth as she stares at the man
who has the same look in his eyes as she does. "I know, I know he wants
to stop suffering," she says miserably, "I know that, but I can't do
it."

"Then let me help."

~*~*~

Like a scene out of a b-movie, some idiot is digging in a cemetery at
night. ::Too bad that idiot is me,:: Mulder groans inwardly. It grosses
him out, it really does, but from that lone conversation with Doggett,
grudgingly pulled out after at least two 6-packs of beer, this is the
only way to finally give the poor guy a break. Or so Mulder tells
himself as he continues to shovel away, wishing that these people
believed in shallow graves, while he excavates a corpse all by his
lonesome. Fortunately, nobody seems to have driven past to report him
to the sheriff, but it's only a matter of time in this small town. With
that thought in mind, he digs faster, wincing slightly as the migraine
starts drumming in his skull. "Not now," he grunts, pitching the shovel
in harder than he should and nearly wrenching his back in the process.
"Shit."

He'd told the blonde woman to keep the sin eater hidden, hold everyone
off with a rifle if she had to, but to keep him safe until he gets
back. He'd vaguely outlined the idea, but she got enough of the gist to
agree, even if she did look a little ill herself. Not that he blamed
her, he thinks, wondering when in hell he's going to hit the payload.
Or a body. He'd probably reach China before that happens, and already,
the hole is only up to his waist. It may be May, but the soil's as hard
as concrete, and he wishes he'd had the foresight to rent one of those
backhoes or some bigass moving excavation vehicle. Oh well. He had
enough foresight to pack a change of clothes, but he's not sure how
he's gonna explain why they're a mess when he gets home. ::Oh yeah,
that's what laundromats are for,:: he remembers, and just then, a blue
and white car pulls up. ::Ah, shit.::

"Evening," Sheriff Frey says, walking over with some mild curiosity and
more than enough amusement. "Find anything interesting down there?"

"I was hoping to save money on a trip to China," Mulder grunts,
resuming his work. "Any tips?"

"As a federal agent, you should know it's a crime to be digging up
somebody's grave, especially without a warrant," the sheriff says
dryly, "things like desecration and vandalism come to mind."

"Oh yeah." Mulder nods, still digging, "I forgot about that."

He stops when he hears the click of a gun being unsafetied and pointed
at his head. "Give it up, Agent Mulder," the sheriff says, "you've been
acting suspiciously ever since you stepped foot in this town."

"Really?" Now Mulder looks up at the heavyset man, not letting go of
the shovel just yet. "I was unaware that conducting a federal
investigation was considered 'suspicious activity'."

"Why don't you let go of the shovel and we'll have a little talk at the
station?" Sheriff Frey suggests, emphasizing his suggestion with the
barrel of his gun. "Come out of there nice and slow, and keep your
hands spread apart."

Mulder lets go of the shovel, then spreads his arms out like he's
Jesus, and walks out of the grave. His irreverent side wants to tell
the sheriff frisking him, "Noli me tangere," but it's likely the older
man won't get the joke and if he did, he'd shoot him. Keeping his mouth
shut for once, he allows the local lawman to cuff his hands behind his
back and is led towards the cop car. I'll be back, he thinks
mutinously, as the sheriff drives off with him in the backseat.

~*~*~

Squamash Sheriff's Station

The wooden portable looks less homey and more ominous at night,
especially considering what's happening in the sheriff's station right
now. ::This is gonna suck,:: Mulder thinks, as the sheriff backhands
him for the umpteenth time since he's been "interrogated" with his
hands cuffed behind his back. He has no illusions about the kind of
people that would keep a man hostage because of his healing abilities,
but this is ridiculous. "You didn't say pretty please," he mumbles
through his bleeding lips, still sitting upright only because his arms
are wrapped around the chair's back.

That gets him another blow, this time a regular right hook to the jaw.
::Yeah, this sucks all right.:: "My men are searching all over town
because you happened to tell a nice little lady not to cooperate," he
says, unadulterated meanness all over his face. "If you don't give us
some answers, we may have to be a little rough with her, too."

"She doesn't know anything," Mulder says, blinking against the pain of
both the right hook and the damn migraine. "I hid him."

"Where?" Left hook to the stomach. "Where?!" Right cross to the temple.

Mulder coughs. "You'll never find him if you kill me," he wheezes,
feeling blood trickle down his forehead.

"I don't have to," the sheriff leans into the other man's face, "I'm
sure we can come to a mutual agreement."

He doesn't know where, but he dredges up a smirk from the depths of his
pain. Yup, his penchant for perverse reaction is rearing its ugly head
again. Goody. "Why, Sheriff, I didn't know you felt that way about me,"
and winks at his torturer with his one good eye.

The next blow sends him flying out of the chair and into the wall.
Yeah, that's gonna leave a mark. If the good sheriff doesn't kill him,
his wife probably will when he comes home like this. "Looks like I'll
have to bring her in," he sneers over the broken body of the federal
agent.

"No, don't do that," Mulder says quickly, opening his eyes against the
inner and outer pain. "I'll talk."

"Good." And the sheriff waits for an answer.

"He's in my car trunk," Mulder says reluctantly. "The key's in my
jacket."

"Fine." The sheriff grins unpleasantly, walking out. "Just in case,
we've got the dogs out looking for him around her place. Because he
always comes back to her."

"No, don't-" Mulder's entreaties are silenced by the door. He closes
his eyes, unable to keep them open. The last thought going through his
mind is, ::Damn, Scully's definitely gonna kill me.:: And he passes
out.

~*~*~

When Mulder wakes up, he finds he's the only one in the station. The
implications don't strike him at first, mainly because not only has his
migraine returned, but the rest of his body has become an orchestra for
a symphony of pain. Goody. Then he realizes that the reason the blonde
woman isn't there is because they found the sin eater, and that they've
probably got him holed up at the Hangemuhls' right about now.

He winces, and finds that the reason his shoulders hurt like hell is
because his hands are still cuffed behind his back. ::No problem,:: he
thinks, shaking out a lockpick from his right shoe, and, because of the
pain, gets out of the handcuffs a little slower than usual. He staggers
to his feet, and is relieved to find that the room isn't spinning.
Okay.

He looks around the four-walled prison, and figures his best way is
through the door. Then he tries the door, and finds to his surprise
it's unlocked, probably because the sheriff thought he was harmless all
handcuffed and beaten up. Mulder grins unpleasantly as he races out
into the night, ready to bring down the whole damn town if that's what
it took to stop the madness.

~*~*~

May 7th, 2000

Nobody talks on the drive over, partly because Paul Hangemuhl's
concentration is on the rain-spattered windshield and the muddy road,
and partly because Mulder, still in a helluva lot of pain and holding
the gun, wasn't really in a chatty mood. When they come to a stop, Paul
looks at Mulder nervously. "Keep the headlights on and get out," Mulder
says, jerking his head towards the muddy ground.

Paul nods, slowly getting out of the car. "Now what?" he asks, thinking
the federal agent has snapped, bringing them to a graveyard.

"Over there," Mulder says, and they walk over to a water-filled pit.
"Dig."

"What?" Paul stares at the man in horror.

"You understand English, don't you?" Mulder says, cocking his pistol.
"Dig."

Reluctantly, the man picks up the shovel and starts to dig, making a
mess as he does so. The water goes from his waist to his chest as time
goes on, but Mulder's gun never wavers from its target. "Are you gonna
kill me?" he asks at one point.

"I've thought about it," Mulder says honestly, "don't stop."

Then another pair of headlights cuts through the night. "What on earth
are you doing out here?" Sheriff Frey asks.

"I might ask you the same thing," Mulder replies, still holding Paul at
gunpoint.

"Paul, get back to your wife," the sheriff says, "I'll deal with him."

"Don't stop," Mulder says.

The man in the grave looks from the closer man with the smaller gun to
the farther man with the rifle. "Help me!" he yells as he tries to
launch himself from the watery pit.

Both men fire, but only one hits their target.

~*~*~

Paul screams as Mulder's body joins him in the grave, then scrambles to
get out. Mulder draws in a shuddering breath, but only breathes in
muddy water as he floats face down. ::This isn't how I'm supposed to
die,:: he thinks, stunned, ::I'm supposed to be in bed, with my wife
and kids around me, maybe even a cat or two. I'm not supposed to die
like this.:: But his weakened body, deteriorating mind, and exploded
heart won't let him fight his way out of this watery grave. He tries to
call out a name, but only ends up inhaling more water and he
suffocates, the bubbles ceasing to rise against the rain.

Without another word, Paul and the sheriff haul heavy stones over and
sink Mulder's body, then cover it up with the recently removed mud
before leaving. Neither man looks at the other as they leave in
separate vehicles, both intending never to speak of it again.

~*~*~

Mulder blinks slowly, noticing there's some sticky thing on his eyes.
No, wait, he's sticky and covered in slime all over... because he's
completely naked. ::This isn't exactly my idea of heaven,:: he thinks,
::unless God is kinkier than I thought.:: He groans as he sits up,
wiping the goop from his eyes and face, and looks around for his
clothes. It takes him a moment to realize he's in the blonde woman's
dirt basement, and slowly walks over to her as she leans over the sin
eater's body. He kneels beside her, his face contorted in a grimace of
sorrow as he sees how amazingly peaceful the dead man looks.

"You were right," the blonde woman says, the tears still standing in
her eyes, "it took a dead man to free it."

"That, that's not how it was supposed to happen," Mulder says softly.

Still looking at the dead man, she replies, "He wanted to die, Agent
Mulder. You helped him, just like you said."

~*~*~

Washington, DC

"Mulder, where have you been?" Scully asks when he walks into the
kitchen in the wee hours of the morning. "Your cell phone was turned
off..." She frowns a little as he walks slowly towards her. "Mulder?"

The lonesome, rain-drenched burial of a man whose name he never learned
suddenly hits him, and without a word, he wraps his arms around her,
holding her to himself, trying to will the tears that refuse to fall.
"I did something stupid," he says, his voice muffled in her hair, "and
a good man died for me."

She's holding him right back, but the frown is still on her face.
"Mulder, what happened?"

"A lot," he says, unable to look her in the face right now.

Now Scully's frightened, not only because of the lack of communication
for over 24 hours, but because she knows there's something different
about him. She can't put her finger on it yet, but she hopes like hell
he's got a good explanation. About half an hour later, she knows
everything, more than Doggett did when he first visited Squamash, in
fact, and she slugs him. "You idiot!" she yells. "At the very least,
you should've brought me as backup so I could pull you out of your
stupidity!" She hits him again, but tears are spilling down her cheeks.
"You stupid, stupid idiot!" she says, punctuating each insult with a
right or a left shot.

"I'm sorry," Mulder hangs his head. Well, at least I haven't been cured
of masochism, he thinks, bracing himself for another hit.

But it doesn't come. Scully hugs him fiercely, her fingers twining
themselves in his hair. "You nearly died without me knowing," she says,
"I thought I told you never to do that."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, hugging her back, then winces as she knocks
his skull. "What was that for?"

"For scaring me half to death," she says, "we need to schedule an MRI
and full physical."

He chuckles, surprising himself. "I love you, Scully."

"I know." Then she yawns. "It's a good thing Mom took the kids to
church, I'm bushed."

"Why?"

She glares at him. "Waiting for your stupid ass to come home or call
me, that's why," she says, and he ducks out of her reach. Then she
sighs. "Come on," she says, dragging him out of the kitchen and up the
stairs. "Let's get some rest before everyone gets back."

"Yes, dear," he says, following faithfully behind her up the stairs.
"Speaking of back, did I ever tell you how nice your ass looks in that
robe?"

She stops and looks down at him, and for a moment, he's afraid she's
gonna throw him down the stairway. "Suddenly, I feel like test-driving
that new bod of yours." She grins. He picks her up, making her, and
carries her to their bedroom, where they do, indeed, put it to a test
drive.

~*~*~

Chapter Eighty-Seven

June 1st, 2000
5 p.m.

Something pops in Scully's back as she stands up, and she tries not to
groan. Until the pop she didn't realize how sore her back had gotten
after sitting all day and working on case write ups. Instead she
glances at the clock, and then at her husband, who is currently hunched
over his keyboard.

"Hey, it's getting late," she tells him. "Are you coming home now?"

He looks up at her with a lazy smile. "Give me another hour and I can
probably finish this one off, and get Skinner off our backs."

"Okay, sure," she agrees, absently rubbing her back. "What case is it
any way?"

"The crop circles one from April."

"Wait, you investigated that alone, why would Skinner be on my back
about it?"

Mulder shrugs. "Guilt by association?" He kisses her quickly on the
cheek. "Drive carefully."

"Always," she tells him, and walks out on her own.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home

The first thing that Scully notices when she gets home is that is
Christopher whining fretfully and rubbing at his gums, a sure sign that
there's a new tooth in his immediate future.

"Aww, sore, huh?" she asks her youngest son, and pats him on the head.
"Let me see if I can do something about that."

Two minutes later Scully closes the cabinet door with a frustrated
bang. She was sure that they'd just bought a box of teething biscuits
for Christopher, but there were none to be found. No waffles either,
and the teething rings are both out at room temperature. Sighing, she
grabs her keys and goes looking for Michelle.

The nanny is on the living room floor, reading a book with David. She
looks up when she notices Scully. "Sorry, Michelle. Would you mind if I
ran to the store real quick? Christopher is going to be miserable if I
don't get him something to chew on."

"No problem," Michelle tells her, and then goes back to reading with
the little boy. Before long his twin joins them on the rug.

"Thanks. Mulder should be home any time now." Then she's out the door.

~*~*~

"See, the storm has broken 
in the middle of the night 
nothing left here for me, 
it's washed away 
the rain pushes 
the buildings aside..."

Fortunately, there are few people in the store, so Scully is in and out
just as she hoped. Even if she does see six other things she ought to
grab just in case they're running low on them too, and her memory is
unreliable. Most of the time it isn't, but she's not taking chances
since nothing gladdens her heart like two impromptu visits to the
grocery store in the same week.

A heavy fog has descended over the area, and Scully feels like she can
nearly touch it as she walks out to her car. She tosses the grocery bag
onto the backseat before sliding behind the wheel. It only takes her a
second to flick on the fog lights.

At the red light a couple of miles later, she finds herself smiling a
little as she thinks about what her husband's case file write-up for
the crop circle case he investigated might contain. At least Skinner
was the one to badger him into staying late to write it up, rather than
forcing her to give him the message. The case sounded like fun, but she
wasn't speaking to him just then, so he'd gone alone and came back
gloating about his adventures. It isn't hard for her to imagine him
running around a corn field, given that they'd once done that too.
Apparently he hadn't been running from any helicopters this time,
though.

Eventually the light turns green, so she takes her foot off the brake,
and begins to press on the gas.

The fog is so thick that she doesn't even see the car that runs the red
light across from her and plows into the driver's side of her car.

~*~*~

Hoover Building
Twenty Minutes Later

Mulder hefts a pencil in one hand and gives the ceiling a speculative
look. There are some holes in his pencil pattern, and it might be a
good time to supplement the aerial writing material supply.

He begins his throw, but before he releases the pencil, his phone
rings. He puts it down on his desk like a frightened school boy, but
then chides himself that even if it was Skinner calling, he couldn't
possibly know what Mulder was about to do. Unless someone had installed
a camera in the pencil somewhere. Perhaps he ought to have the guys
check - "Agent Mulder."

"Mister Mulder?" An unfamiliar and uncertain voice asks. "This is a
nurse at Washington National Hospital-" Mulder straightens in his
chair. "I'm sorry to inform you that your wife has just been brought
in."

"What happened? Is she okay?" Panic laces his voice.

"A car accident. You should be here-" The voice probably continues, but
he's already thrown the handset on the desk and is half-way out the
door.

~*~*~

Washington National Hospital

Pieces of memory float randomly through Scully's brain, but she has
trouble concentrating on them, so she doesn't. There were flashing
lights, someone pulling her out of the car, a gurney being shoved into
the back of an ambulance, and then everything faded away.

The next thing Scully is really aware of is the world tilting
sickeningly as she's transferred off the gurney and onto an exam table.
The light is harsh, and there are a lot of people scurrying around her,
and she just wants them to go away, so she closes her eyes and they do.

In the new darkness a surprised voice that's far away sounding says,
"Dana Scully? Are you sure that's what her ID said?"

In a vague sort of way, she wonders why that's surprising.

A voice intrudes again, a second speaker, much closer. "Dana, can you
hear me?"

She tries to say yes, but whimpers instead. A pain she has only been
vaguely aware of until now intensifies, and she feels like she's going
to pass out.

"Dana."

Against her will, she opens her eyes, and looks up into a masked face. 

"We need to know how far along you are, Dana." When he speaks she can
tell that it wasn't the one who sounded surprised a minute ago.

It takes a few seconds for her brain to catch up to this. How far along
what? They slid her onto the table so oughtn't they be the ones to
know? Then she realizes that the doctor is asking her about her
pregnancy, not her physical location.

"Tw...Twenty weeks," she gasps.

The look the doctor gives her is so sorrowful that she wants to scream,
because she understands why they're asking that now. Her back arches
when pain flairs again. If only it was just the sore back she'd had
earlier.

"We've sent someone to call your husband," the doctor tells her.

In her pain and misery, she barely hears him.

~*~*~

An Hour Later

Mulder is by her side when their daughter is delivered, despite
everyone's best attempts to halt Scully's labor. Even though the doctor
told him immediately that the baby had no chance, he still held out
hope for a miracle, and prayed hard that somehow, this reluctantly
wanted child would survive.

All prayers are heard, but sometimes the answer is no. The baby doesn't
take even a single breath.

Scully is sedated, which he thinks is just as well. He wishes that he
were too.

"Do you want to see her?" a nurse asks in a gentle voice. When she
waves away from Scully, he realizes which "she" the nurse means.

Every fiber of his being screams no, but his head nods mechanically. He
owes his child to witness her. The nurse leads him over to a glass
sided table, and he looks down. The stillborn infant is recognizably
human, but only about a foot long from head to toes. When Mulder
reaches on trembling hand out to touch her, he feels that she's still
warm.

At this point he promptly bursts into tears.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Mulder," the Nurse tells him, her voice full of
practiced sympathy.

Mulder shakes his head sharply, and she takes the hint and walks away.
::Not as sorry as I am. I'm so sorry little one. I'm sorry I didn't
want you sooner. I'm sorry you'll never know your family's love. I'm so
sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry...::

He uncovers his face when a hand taps him on the shoulder. Looking up
he sees the young doctor who saw Scully through the pitifully quick
delivery. "Mister Mulder? We need to bring Dana to have an ultrasound-"
That confuses him, since she's no longer pregnant. "-to make sure that
she doesn't have any internal injuries that weren't readily apparent
when she was first brought in."

"Okay," Mulder sniffles. 

Instead of going with Scully he stays with the baby and wishes that
what had happened was just a cruel joke that someone would come along
and retract. No one does.

~*~*~

Later

Since Scully is still out like a light, a nurse gently suggests that
Mulder might want to go home and look in on his children. He agrees to,
but promises to be back shortly. The nurse nods. Obviously this is
something she's seen before.

He's barely in the house when the nanny appears. "I should have called
you back..." He'd called home as soon as he'd gotten to the hospital so
the nanny wouldn't wonder where they had disappeared to. "But things
got complicated. Bad."

Michelle's eyes widen with fear. "Is Dana-"

"She's okay." Mulder sighs. "I mean, physically. I'm not even sure she
realizes what happened yet. The baby...didn't make it. A little girl.
Stillborn."

"Oh God." Michelle's hand goes involuntarily to her mouth, as if not
saying the baby is gone would keep it from being true. Then she does
something unexpected, and gives Mulder a brief hug. "I'm so sorry."

"Everyone is," he says with a nod. "I need..." He never finishes his
sentence, but leaves her staring after him, but he doesn't look back.
The pity is already too much to bear.

The next thing he does is to go wake up Page and Sammy. The sleepy
children follow him into his and Scully's room, and he gathers them
onto his lap. They look up to him with curious eyes.

"Something bad happened to day, Kiddos," he begins.

"What?" Sammy asks, beginning to look alarmed already.

"Mommy had a car accident. It was very foggy out and someone didn't
know that their light had changed to red until it was too late, so he
hit her car."

"Is Mommy hurt??" Page squeaks.

Mulder shakes his head. "Besides some cuts and bumps, she is okay."
Tears begin to gather in his eyes again. "But, um, the baby Mommy was
going to have died. She was born too soon, and couldn't live outside of
Mommy's body yet."

"Oh no," Sammy says. Then he sticks his thumb into his mouth, which is
something Mulder hasn't seen him do since he was younger than the
twins.

"Did dying hurt her?" Page wants to know, in that casually cruel way
children don't even know they have.

"I don't think so," Mulder tells her, although it's a guess. Babies at
twenty weeks gestation can feel pain, but since she didn't survive, he
hopes she died immediately during the accident.

"Good," Page says fiercely. "Babies shouldn't hurt." Sammy nods his
agreement.

"After Mommy gets home from the hospital, we're going to have a funeral
for the baby. Do you know what that is?" he asks, and they shake their
heads. "Okay, when someone dies, they get buried in the ground-"

"And have stones with their names on them," Page says, obviously
thinking of movies or TV, since she's never been to one in person yet.

"Right. There won't be a stone right away, though, since we have to
order it. Anyway, when they put people into the ground their family and
friends are there to say goodbye. That's called a funeral."

Sammy stops sucking his thumb and looks up at his father. "We don't get
to see the baby again until we're in heaven, right?"

"Right," Mulder tells him before dabbing at his eyes with a tissue.

"God will take good care of her," Sammy tells him.

"I know." ::But I just wish it was us.::

"Mommy can have another baby someday, right?" Page wants to know.

"Um, yes. The doctor checked to see if her insides got hurt in the
accident, and she's okay."

"Poor baby," Page says mournfully. "Poor Mommy too."

"And Daddy," Sammy adds, throwing his arms around Mulder's neck. The
little boy doesn't protest when he feels his hair getting wet. Page
hugs them both, too.

In the background a faint burst of song from Michelle's stereo drifts
down the hall.

Broken heart pushing us, hear the rain fall 
See the wind come to my eyes 
See the storm broken now I'm nothing 
Speak to me, baby in the middle of the night...

A door closes, and the music fades away. Mulder pulls away from his
children, and tries his best to smile at them. "You're good kids. I'm
going to go back to the hospital soon, and it's time for the two of you
to go to bed."

"No time for a story, huh?" Sammy asks, looking a bit more downcast.

"Actually, your mommy is probably sleeping, so maybe there's time for a
quick story."

"Okay!" Sammy starts to scramble off the bed, and is soon out the door.


Page is immediately on his heels. "No stories with babies!" she hisses
to her little brother, and Mulder feels himself well up again.

~*~*~

Washington National Hospital
Meanwhile...

A low black fog has descended into Scully's room. She's comfortable in
its thick velvet, but an annoyance a distance off pushes some of the
fog away. A voice.

"Dana?"	

With effort, she manages to open her eyes, and realizes that the fog
was in her head, not her room. Looking up, she sees a ghost out of her
past.

"You're awake," Daniel Waterston says, looking mildly pleased.

"Doctor Waterston," she says stiffly, horrified that her old mentor
seems to be the doctor treating her. When the nurse had gently reminded
her the last time she'd been awake that she'd lost her baby, she hadn't
been told who her doctor was. It hasn't been interesting enough for her
to ask ,either.

As if reading her mind, Waterston says, "I'm not your doctor, Dana. I
was in the hospital earlier tonight, and heard that they brought you
in."

"Oh." Scully relaxes a little. It occurs to her that he was probably
the one she heard asking about her when she first got to the hospital.
"Why were you here? In the hospital, I mean," she adds when her
question sounds ruder to her ears than she intended.

He grimaces. "I had a heart attack in April, and I was getting a check
up."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she tells him.

"Not as sorry as I am to hear about your accident," Waterston tells
her. "You'll have to forgive me for eavesdropping, but I heard your
husband talking to a nurse about making funeral arrangements for the
baby you lost." When she looks around, he adds, "From what he said as
he left, I think he went home to check on your children. He promised
not to be gone long."

"Thank you."

"I never thought of you as a mother," Waterston remarks.

"Surprise," she says, feeling a stab of indignation.

"I didn't mean to be insulting-"

"-but it comes naturally to you," Scully finishes the thought for him.

He shakes his head slowly. "I just didn't think you'd be happy with a
life like this."

"Like what?" she asks icily.

"An FBI agent, married to her partner, mother to his children... those
sorts of things are hardly passions. Not like medicine."

The fact that Waterston seems to know a lot about her life after
leaving him upsets her, and she lashes out. "Is that why you wanted to
see me? To remind me once again what a bad choice I made?" She
struggles to sit up a little. "That's in rather poor taste, considering
what I've just been through."

"You're only angry because it's true," Waterston says mildly.

"What's true?" she asks, suddenly feeling unbearably tired again.

"You left medicine because you couldn't handle what we had between us.
You were scared."

"What was between us was the wife you never bothered to mention."

Waterston gave her a pitying look. "I know I scare you...because I
represent that which is ingrained not only in your mind but in your
heart - that which you secretly long for."

Scully makes a derisive sound. "There's nothing I want that's related
to you."

He gives her a long look. "Maybe you actually believe that, Dana. But
we both know that's not true. I'm the life you could have had, and you
know it."

"Get out!" Her hand reaches for call button. "Or I'll get someone in
here to make you leave."

"I'll go. But you'll want me to come back later." He turns on his heel
and leaves.

She allows herself to slump onto the pillow.

~*~*~

Later

"Scully?" At first Mulder thinks that his wife is sleeping, but he sees
that instead she's staring at the ceiling. He feels a twist somewhere
low in his belly, but walks in anyway. "Hey."

She seems to shake off some of her lethargy, and looks at him, but
without expression. "How are the kids?"

"Okay. I explained what happened to Page and Sammy. I think they
understand, at least as well as they're able to."

"Page isn't even six yet, Mulder. All they'll know is that there was
going to be a baby, and now there's not."

::Which is not much less than we know, too.:: He thinks to himself.
"Sure."

"I've been thinking. Maybe God took the baby away because we didn't
deserve her. Didn't want her enough." Despite her words, it doesn't
sound like an accusation. At least not one solely aimed at him.

This time the pain is in the center of Mulder's chest. "Scully, you
know it's not our-"

Her face scrunches up. "Do I know? Do I know that it's not our fault
that she died without even knowing us for a single second?"

"You do," he insists. ::God help me, even though I didn't want this
child at first, I know that it was nothing we did wrong, nothing we did
made this happen.:: he thinks, and actually believes with some effort.
"You know that there are babies who are completely unwelcome that make
their way into this world by the dozens every day. Babies whose parents
are druggies, children themselves, or even worse."

"If it's not our fault, then why our baby?" Scully practically shouts.
"What did she do, we do, to deserve this?"

"Nothing." He looks at his hands. "This just happened."

"I don't accept that," Scully tells him. "I think you should go home."

"Scully-"

"Please."

Since he can't bear the look on her face a moment longer, he leaves and
curses himself for being weak enough to do so.

~*~*~

The Next Morning

Scully glares when the man enters the room. He smiles, as if he feels
welcome.

"I thought I made it clear that I didn't want to see you again."

"Come now, Dana, we both know that you don't mean that."

"The hell I don't," she growls.

"In fact," he says smoothly, "It occurred to me after I left last night
that I'm not the one you're angry with."

"Right."

"Seeing me has made you angry with yourself," Waterston tells her,
sounding completely sure of himself.

"I'm angry at you for intruding on my life, and annoyed with my husband
for insisting on combating emotions with logic. Me I'm not angry at
beyond picking the wrong time to buy teething biscuits for my youngest
child." She feels a dull ache as she says this. Christopher will still
be the youngest now. "Nothing about you has made me mad at myself."

He shakes his head with an unbearably smug look that makes Scully want
to punch him. "I did some research last night, Dana. Married for six
years, six children under the age of six...You weren't that Catholic
when I knew you."

"I come from a big family and my husband was an unhappy only child
after losing his only sister. That we'd welcome many children into our
lives is hardly surprising." Her voice trembles at the end and she
reminds herself that Mulder had begun to show some enthusiasm about the
baby once he'd regained his health. "Every one of our children has been
a gift."

"And you've wasted yours," Waterston tells her. "If you hadn't run off
like a frighten child when things got too intense, you could have been
a great doctor by now-"

"Under your tutelage, you mean?" Scully asks suddenly.

"I'd like to think so," Waterston agrees. "I'd like to think we'd be
happy together now."

Scully slowly shakes her head. "Daniel. Even if I hadn't left medicine,
I still would have left you."

"Dana-" he begins his protest, but she cuts him off. 

"As soon as your daughter Maggie confronted me, I knew that I couldn't
stay with a man like you. I could deal with one who was ruining his own
life by inches, but not one who didn't even acknowledge that he was
doing the same to his wife and daughter.

"That's why I left. Not because I was scared of medicine, or scared of
you. I was afraid that if I didn't make a clean break I'd become cold
and callous too. Just like you," Scully concludes.

"If that's how you feel..." Waterston says stiffly.

"It is. Maybe it's not too late to make things up to Maggie. I think
you should go and find out. Immediately."

He gives her a smoldering look, but leaves without another word. Mulder
passes him at the doorway and Waterston doesn't spare him so much as a
glance.

"Who was that?" Mulder asks, sinking into the chair next to her bed.

"Someone I once thought I knew, but didn't," Scully says, and changes
the subject. "Did you make the, uh, arrangements?"

"Yeah, I did. They're all set."

Tears begin to glint in her eyes as she asks the harder question. "Did
you see her?"

"Yes. She would have been perfect, Scully," he tells her with a deep
sigh. "Do you want to see her? I think you still are allowed to."

"No," she says quickly. "I don't think I can."

"Okay. I thought you might want a closed casket service, but I can
change that if you change your mind."

"Thank you, Mulder."

"I, um, they had outfits at the funeral home, which surprised me. You
know, really tiny ones, to fit babies that small. They said the one I
picked is something called 'eyelet lace'. It's a beautiful white dress
anyway..." Mulder wraps his arms around her, and they spend the next
several minutes sharing their grief for what might have been but would
now never be.

~*~*~

June 4th, 2000

At the funeral, Emily clings to Missy's hand, and Mulder feels haunted
when he looks at his blonde niece. This was the child that his
manipulations kept Scully from losing. But the universe has once again
conspired to have her mourn the loss of a daughter. And this time, her
loss is truly his as well, not one that he shares from afar.

As the service concludes, Mulder looks down so intently at the small
white casket that's nearly hidden by the white roses on top of it that
he doesn't realize at first that his mother-in-law spoke to him.
"What?"

"I asked if the kids were ready for me to take them," Maggie repeats
calmly.

"Oh. Sure, I guess they are." He looks over his shoulder and sees that
they're crowded around Scully.

"Okay, then. I'll bring them by tomorrow afternoon."

Mulder puts his hand on her wrist to stop her. "Thank you for doing
this, Maggie."

She shakes her head slightly. "I just wish there was more that I could
do."

"So does everyone," Mulder tells her quietly.

The kids go willingly enough with their grandmother, and Scully kisses
each one good-bye before rejoining Mulder. They're standing together
when they're approached by Teena Mulder.

Although he feels terrible for being surprised, it does startle Mulder
that his mother has chosen to attend the ceremony. His father is there,
silent and red-eyed, but Mulder never doubted that he'd care about the
fate of his lost granddaughter.

After a moment Teena speaks. "Fox, Dana...I'm sorry that you've had to
experience the loss of a child as well. It was something that I hoped
would never happen given how healthy and lively your children have
invariably been, but then, so was Samantha. I'm just...so sorry for
your loss."

"Thanks, Mom," Mulder says as warmly as he possibly can. Teena's words
clearly cost her, and he doesn't want her to think he doesn't
appreciate her effort. "I guess of anyone, you'd know how we feel."

Teena nods slowly. "God willing, neither of us will ever repeat the
experience of out-living one of our children."

"Yes," Scully says faintly, and she tightens her grip on Mulder's hand.
He can't blame her.

Thankfully, the rest of the goodbyes to funeral goers are less
unsettling.

~*~*~

That Night

For the longest time the only sound in the house is the cats' sleepy
purring and the pump for the twenty-nine gallon aquarium Mulder long
ago insisted on setting up in the living room because the twins have
shown his affinity for fish.

On the couch, Scully rests against Mulder's chest, and his arms are
loosely wrapped around her. She tilts her head back to look at him. "I
wasn't entirely honest at the hospital."

"No?" he asks curiously.

"That man, the one I said was no one, he used to be someone I was
involved with a few years before I met you."

"Oh."

"While I was at the hospital he visited me twice, and arrogantly tried
to convince me that I would have been better off staying with him than
ending up with you. I'd forgotten what a condescending prick he could
be."

"You still like him that much, huh?" Mulder asks lightly.

She shakes her head emphatically. "I once considered spending my whole
life with this man. What I would have missed!"

"I don't think you can know what you would have missed, Scully. I mean,
how many different lives would we be leading if we made different
choices. We...We don't know." ::Or you don't, I mean, Love. I know.
Would that I could tell you...:: He thinks to himself.

"What if there was only one right choice and all the other ones were
wrong?" she asks. "And there were signs along the way to pay attention
to."

"Mmm. And all the choices would then lead to this very moment. One
wrong turn, and we wouldn't be lying here together."

"No," Scully says, pushing her head back under his chin.

"No?" Mulder asks, puzzled.

"I don't believe that. No matter what, you and I would be here, be here
together tonight. No matter what choices we made along the way."

"You really believe that?"

"With all my heart," Scully tells him firmly.

His arms tighten around her. "Me too."

~*~*~

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Summer 2000
Melissa Scully's home
6:53 a.m.

Melissa Scully has just finished hanging up the phone when she hears the 
familiar "whaps" of the newspaper and bundled junk mail hitting the doorstep. 
Tying the dark robe around her waist, she opens the door and finds the expected
delivery at her feet. Absently, she tosses most of the mail into the
trash, save for a couple of bills, and then unfolds the paper. Then she
frowns, puts it down, and walks out the door.

A few conversations later, she is none the wiser, but it appears none of her 
neighbors subscribe to "The Goochland Guardian." She isn't surprised, but she is
curious, since someone's taken the time to attach a note to it. This
sounds like something Dana would be interested in, she thinks, munching
on a hummus-filled pita bread. She almost picks up the phone, but
thinks better of it and decides not to bug her younger sister this
early in the morning.

It isn't long before Emily wanders into the kitchen, her face solemn
with sleep. "Hello," she says.

Melissa smiles at the little blonde girl. "Good morning, Emily."

"Today's when I get shots, right?"

The redheaded woman nods. "I've got an idea, honey. Why don't we go
someplace different today?"

Emily stares questioningly. "Where?"

Melissa taps the newspaper. "How would you like to talk to
someone who was actually touched by an angel?"

This gets the little girl's attention. Melissa thinks it's funny that her daughter's 
into angels, but then again, she was into fairies when she was Emily's age,
so she supposes it's not too far off. "Really?"

"Really. We'll be back in time for the doctor, and maybe Alex, I mean, Daddy 
will take you out for some ice cream afterwards."

"Okay!"

~*~*~

Goochland, Virginia
10:03 a.m.

Melissa Scully's surprised that she has anything in common with
these people, or that she'd feel some sort of bond, but she does. Like
her, Cameron and Irene McPeck's child was stricken with a disease, but
they chose their own path rather than conventional medicine. Unlike
her, however, it looks as if young Jason will be healthy for a long
time, the "angel" having granted him with long-term healing, rather
than continual shots like Emily. She sighs, watching the children play.
Then again, Jason wasn't the product of alien experimentation, so it
makes a strange kind of sense to her.

"Can you describe this angel to me?" she asks Irene McPeck.

The other woman shakes her head. "I think Jason can do it best. Jason! 
Could you come here, please?" she calls to her son, who is playing catch 
with his friends, as Emily prefers to sit quietly with the grownups.

The tow-headed boy runs over, his face ruddy and covered with a light 
sheen of sweat, as are most of his friends. "Yeah?"

"This lady, Mrs. Scully, would like to ask you about the angel."

Melissa's about to correct her, but she's wearing enough
finger jewelry and accompanied by a child to give that impression.
"Jason, what did the angel look like?"

The boy is a picture of shining honesty as he tells her, as it seems he's 
told everybody, "They looked like men. They came from the sky in a ball of 
light."

"Did they say anything?"

The McPecks are surprised that it's Emily who asks, but not
her mother. Jason turns to her and answers, "They said not to be
afraid. Then one of them pinched me kind of hard and then I was better
right away."

Melissa blinks. "He pinched you? Where?"

He turns around. "Right here," he says, points to the back of his neck. 
Melissa stares at the fresh scar at the base of the neck, feeling chills go 
up and down her spine. That's what Alex had when he got sick, she
remembers, he said he pulled something out, but it made him sick. And
when he came back from Mexico, the scar was gone.

"Perhaps we're not so different after all." She musters up a smile, patting 
the boy on his head. He takes that as a sign to leave, and his friends pick 
up their bats and mitts, ready to play ball again.

"You're a believer, too, aren't you?" Irene McPeck nods her head. "I knew 
it." 

"I wish I could see an angel, too," Emily says, looking at the boys playing.

Cameron McPeck smiles warmly at the little girl. "I'm sure you will," he says,
"if God blessed my Jason, I believe He will bless you, also."

~*~*~

When they get back to the car, Melissa and Emily are surprised to find an
older man sitting in the passenger seat of the car. He has just used
the cigarette lighter to light his cigarette when he looks up to find a
redhead and a little blonde staring at him. "Who are you?" Melissa asks
as he starts to smoke away.

"Just a messenger," he says, sounding like a dry academic rather than 
passionately devout like the McPecks.

There's something about this man she doesn't quite trust, but
she's learned to go with her instincts. "Could you get out of my car
and put out that cigarette? My daughter is sick."

His pale eyes are sharper than his wrinkled face, traveling from the mother 
to the child. Then he steps out, and crushes his cigarette under his foot.
"You know, your daughter could have that same miracle," he says
conversationally.

She fights a shudder as she tells Emily to get in the car, but feels the goosebumps 
on her arms nonetheless. "Who are you?" she asks again.

"Someone who knows what Alex Krycek suffered from, what your daughter's illness 
is," he says, "someone who could cure it."

"You did that?" Melissa finds herself blocking her daughter's view of this man. She 
turns her head slightly towards Jason, oblivious to any manmade machinations 
about his miracle.

"You're not at all curious? About the chip that's been put in that boy's neck?" He
shakes his head. "I've taken considerable trouble to prove my
intentions. The newspaper at your door. The elaborate demonstration of
curing this boy's cancer. You see, I'm dying myself." He raises his
hand, realizes there's no cigarette, and smiles pleasantly enough. "A
dying man who wants to make right; to share his secrets; to bequeath
this cure to millions of others just like that boy."

"So you want to give it to her." Melissa frowns slightly as she gets into the 
driver's seat.

The tall gentleman shakes his head, bending down to talk to her
through the open door. "To you, Melissa Scully. Your sister and
brother-in-law would never appreciate the gift I'm giving."

"Why are you telling me this?" She stares at him. What does he have to do with
Alex? she wants to scream. Or Dana? Or Fox? But there's something about
him that forbids these questions, that seems to prove by mere mention
of these relations that he's a dangerous man.

"I've made you my offer." He nods at her. "If anyone at the FBI, even your 
lover, hears a breath of this, rest assured," he closes the car door, "I'll take 
it to my grave."

She starts the car, leaning forward as if to block his view of Emily, then 
drives off without looking back.

"Mommy, who was that?" Emily asks, worried because her mother,
who never drives fast like her daddy, is going really, really fast.

"Nobody," she says, then glances at something her daughter's
holding. "What's that?"

"I dunno," the blonde girl says, bending the edges of the business card 
absently. "It's not mine."

"It's not mine, either," Melissa says, "I think we should stop at Grandma's
house."

"Okay!"

~*~*~

U.S. Botanic Garden.
Washington, DC

Melissa Scully is walking through the garden, but it's with hesitation and
fear, two previously unknown emotions than her usual peaceful
meditations in this place. Her large green eyes nervously skitter
about, trying to find the tall, disturbing old man who seems to have
infected the plants, even the atmosphere, with his hidden presence. She
starts when a voice from behind says, "I'm glad you came."

She taps the bent business card. "The number was fake, there was no way 
I could call you." Her dark red lips turn downward disapprovingly.

The old man lights a cigarette, oblivious to the once-healthy and placid
atmosphere. "I know you're a caring mother," he takes a quick puff, "a
woman of compassion."

"Why me?" she asks, feeling bolder since they're in public. "Why not Dana 
or Fox? Why not even Alex?"

He smiles around his cigarette. "Please. Your dear Alex would try to sell it 
to the highest bidder, you know that's the truth. As for your sister and
brother-in-law, they would squander it... either way, what I've worked
for my entire life would be less than nothing..." He exhales, then taps
the filter at the smoke. "My legacy would be as substantial as this
smoke."

She tilts her head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Are you dying of lung 
cancer?"

He coughs a little, taken aback, then chuckles. "It would be poetic, but no. 
Cerebral inflammation - a consequence of brain surgery I had in the fall. 
The doctors give me just a few months."

"So if you have this miracle cure, why don't you use it?"

He nods approvingly, and the rebellious part of her rankles at the thought
of even coming close to being liked by this dubious old man. "We'll
need to take a trip," he says. "It'll require a few days."

Melissa dismisses him, "My daughter is waiting for me." As she turns to 
leave, he puts a hand on her upper arm.

"I know I'm a perfect stranger to you, Melissa Scully, and you have no real 
reason  to trust me. The truth of the matter is, I do have access to these 
miraculous chips,  but the genetic research that makes them work is closely 
guarded. There are men outside this garden who would kill me if they knew 
what I'd offered you." As she looks around, he adds, "They'd kill you, too, in 
the blink of an eye. I've destroyed a lot of things in my life, including the
people most precious to me. All I want is a chance to do something in
service to man before I go."

~*~*~

Maggie Scully's Home

A man in a dark jacket and sunglasses walks up the neatly trimmed path, 
tries the doorknob, and opens it easily. Walking inside, he can hear an older
woman talking with a little girl, and they laugh, out of sight. He sees
a light blinking on the answering machine, and wonders if they even
heard the phone ring, then hits the play button. The machine states in
its disjointed, pre-recorded fashion, "Call received, 8:01 p.m.." Then
a woman's voice says, "Mom, I'm sorry to leave Emily with you, but one
of my friends needs me. Emily, be a good girl for Grandma. Talk to you
later."

Krycek frowns, then pulls out his cell phone. Tapping out
familiar numbers, he hears is Melissa doing a friendly, if generic
message, then the beep sounds. "Melissa? Don't worry about a thing,
I'll be sure to warm something up for you when you get back, okay?
Bye." Then he disconnects the voice changer from the cell before
turning it off. Walking into the kitchen, he calls out, "Emily? Mrs.
Scully?"

"Daddy?" a girl's voice asks.

Krycek comes face to face with his little angel and the Scully matriarch. 
"Hey, sweetie," he says, smiling as he picks Emily up from the chair. "Did 
you get your shots today?"

She nods, making a face. "Grandma took me. Mommy said you'd get me 
ice cream."

He shakes his head, adjusting her weight on his torso. That woman will
never cease to get him in trouble. "I guess Mommy didn't tell you Daddy's 
short on cash." When she gives him an uncomprehending look, he sighs. 
"Never mind. Where is she?"

Emily shrugs. "I dunno."

Her grandmother shrugs as well, but when the girl turns away, she gives 
Krycek a concerned look. "Melissa still has her, well, bohemian moods," she 
says, "but I'd thought that this is one of those days she'd stay at home."

"Yeah," Krycek agrees, then focuses his attention on Emily. Now he wonders 
how Mulder and Scully do it, risking their lives, and, by default, their children's, 
with what they do, and yet still keep fighting. Not like he's suddenly on the side 
of the angels by any means, but he knows Melissa's just a pawn in this game, 
most likely started by one of the FBI agents' erstwhile foes. He hugs his
little girl, conceived by the worst means possible, and his eyes suddenly glitter 
coldly, like dark emeralds. Those idiots have no idea they're messing with the 
wrong asshole, and the corners of his mouth turn up as his mind reels with 
stratagems of how to get Melissa back.

"Alex?" Mrs. Scully's voice interrupts his thoughts.

"Mrs. Scully, would it be all right if Emily stayed with you tonight? I'm
gonna find Melissa. "

The older woman nods slightly with understanding. "Should I call Fox and Dana?"

Krycek shakes his head, kissing his daughter's cheek before putting her back 
onto the booster chair. "You be good for Grandma, all right, devochka moya?"

"Dad-DY!" Emily pouts. "I'm moy angelochek!"

"Are you teaching her Russian?" Mrs. Scully asks, a little surprised as father and 
daughter embrace each other quickly, then give each other a solemn look.

Krycek's head jerks up. "Oh no," he says quickly, "she just picked it up."

"It's all right," Maggie Scully smiles. "I think it's marvelous that she's
learning another language."

He nods to both females, and leaves. He wants to talk to Melissa soon, about 
Emily's education, about raising kids in general, about families, about... anything, 
really. But right now, he's gonna rip heaven and hell open to find her first.

~*~*~

At the same time, the old man is driving down a dark road, and lights up a
cigarette. Melissa gives him a pointed look, "Could you not smoke?"

He glances at her, then back at the road. Then he sighs, rolls down the
electric window, tosses the cigarette out and rolls the window back up.
"It's time I quit," he says simply.

"By the way," she says, "what's your name? You could have at least had the 
courtesy to leave a false one on your business card, like the phone number."

"At this point, names are unimportant," he says, taking a left turn.

She snorts, looking out the window. "Liar."

"I've been called worse," he says placidly in his cultured tone, and she doesn't 
doubt it. "Would it surprise you to know that even Mulder and your sister don't 
know  my name? What makes you think I'd tell you my name when these FBI 
agents can't even look me up in the phone book?"

In spite of herself, Melissa laughs. "For precisely that reason. Otherwise, I'll be 
calling you Mr. Chimneystack, Old Geyser, Mr. 7-Eleven-"

"7-Eleven?" he sputters. "Whatever for?"

"For the really cheap smokes," she says. "For you, at least. I'd rather have chili and 
cheese nachos for my carcinogens."

To her surprise, he doesn't toss her out in the middle of the road. Instead, he 
chuckles.  "I see. Well then, you can call me Mr. Spender, for lack of a better 
pseudonym."

She nods, then does a double-take. "Do you know an Agent Jeffrey Spender?"

The fact that she knows that name seems to startle him, and she'd revel in her 
small  nugget of knowledge if she still weren't so damn scared of him. "How do 
you know that name?"

"He helped me once," she says, looking at him carefully.

"Ah," he says, and doesn't say anything else for the rest of the drive. Neither 
does she push it, because, for just a moment, she saw something other than the 
calm, calculating fa�ade the old man seemed to carry so naturally. Something 
that looked a little like fear, like sorrow, and to her, something like hope.

~*~*~

The morning sun wakes Melissa Scully, who is slumped against the 
window of the passenger seat. Blinking, she turns to look at the driver and 
sees she hasn't awoken from her nightmare at all. "Where are we going?" she
asks.

"To see an old friend," the old man says, his eyes on the road.

"I could take over if you let me know where to go," she offers. "You look like 
you could use some rest, Mr. Spender."

"I'm fine," he says shortly, and is surprised when she chuckles.

"It doesn't take a psychic to see you're far from 'fine'," Melissa says, "I've
been on enough road trips to know when someone's five minutes from a 
car crash."

"I see," Mr. Spender says brusquely, and, like her younger sister, seems very 
reluctant to relinquish even a little control. "Very well, then," he says, pulling 
over to a wide shoulder of the road, "we shouldn't be too far off."

"Good," she says, waiting for him to unbuckle his seatbelt before doing so 
herself. Much as she'd like to ditch this guy, she has no money, no idea where 
she is, and certainly no protection if the people who would kill him for the miracle 
cure would try to go after her. They do a trudging version of a Chinese fire
drill, then fasten their seatbelts before she pulls back onto the road.
"Forward, I take it," she says dryly.

"Yes," he answers. He closes his eyes, then asks, "Have you ever looked 
back?"

"Why, is there someone following us?" Melissa adjusts the rearview mirror, giving 
the old man a look when he chuckles.

"No, I mean at your life," he says. "You've lived like a gypsy, wandering from city to 
city, never permitting yourself to put down roots or be attached to one place or
 person. I  believe only recently have you come close to anything like settling down 
with your daughter Emily. Do you intend to keep her once she gets better?"

"What do you mean?" She frowns.

"Unlike your sister, you like to follow your heart, rather than your head," Mr. Spender 
says, his eyes still closed. "But you have a restless spirit, and wandering feet, with a 
willingness to new ideas that would put even Agent Mulder to shame, and I'm
wondering if it is only your daughter's illness that keeps you bound to one location 
this long."

"Of course not!" Melissa snaps. "I love Emily. I wouldn't leave her, healthy or 
otherwise!"

He opens one baggy eyelid. "Are you sure?"

"Even a phony astrologer could string enough constellations to snow me better 
than that." She shakes her head, "I've had better readings out of a tea bag."

Mr. Spender glances at her. "You should know I don't believe in any of that hocus 
pocus," he says, "just know that this old man has been around long enough to 
know better than you think, even if I've had more than my share of regrets. And
before I die, I'd like to prove that I'm capable of something more." As
they come up to a small road branching off the main one, he adds, "Turn
here, on the left."

As she turns, Melissa feels like she's heading down a dark path, and feels a strange 
sensation she can't quite name. D�j� vu? A past life? Or something more mundane, 
like fear?

~*~*~

Melissa Scully pulls up to a small house in the woods. Far from abandoned, a 
woman looking to be in her 60s, is tending the plants around her house. "Her name's 
Marjorie Butters," Mr. Spender says by way of explanation. "She's got quite a green 
thumb. Plays a mean game of Scrabble if you're interested."

"Is she your sister?"

He chuckles. "Not quite. You could say that I'm her angel. Marjorie's 118 years
old." They get out of the car and he calls out, in a manner of one expecting a 
friendly welcome, "Marjorie!"

"Hey!" They laugh as he embraces her. "I'm glad to see you," Marjorie says, her 
eyes crinkling at the corners.

He smiles, "I thought I'd surprise you."

The older woman waves at her dirt-spattered attire. "I look an absolute wreck.
I've been trying to get in some bulbs before spring."

And suddenly, Mr. Spender remembers his manners. "Oh, Marjorie, this is 
Melissa Scully. She's a very good friend of mine."

Melissa resists the temptation to roll her eyes at the obvious lie. "Nice to meet 
you."  She shakes the other woman's dirty hand, feeling a kindred spirit, even if
it was through the unfortunate knowledge of Mr. Spender.

"My pleasure," Marjorie says warmly. "Well, come inside. I baked some
fresh bread this morning and there are tomatoes in the garden."

As she walks in the house, Melissa notices the scar at the base of Marjorie's
neck and fights to keep her expression normal. She recognizes it
recently matching Jason's, and the old man leans in next to her,
speaking in a low voice, "To have such compassion...to visit this woman
and see her joy...must be why you would do anything for Emily." Without
another word, he walks into the house after Marjorie.

~*~*~

At the same time, Mulder's at home reading page 25 of "The Washington 
Post," thankful that nothing paranormal's jumping out at him from even the
seediest parts of town. Scully's still taking the baby's death hard,
but is throwing herself into family and work rather than taking time
off to actually grieve. ::Guess some things don't change,:: he thinks,
flipping the page and wondering if perhaps there's a secret code to be
worked out using every five letters in the politics section. He's
fairly certain that the kids would poop out from their mother's doting
and nonstop schedule this weekend than the other way around, so he
wisely decided to stay out of their way.

He's still squinting at the paper for his newly-developed code when the 
kitchen door slams open. He looks up and frowns. "You're not Scully," 
he drawls.

"And you're as observant as ever." The intruder glares at him. "You've got to 
help me."

Mulder's bored enough to toy around today. "Why?"

"Melissa wasn't there for Emily's doctor's appointment yesterday, and she
would never leave Emily with her grandmother because of that." Then the
one-armed man throws down a paper with his human hand, "This was on her
kitchen table."

Mulder picks up the paper, and his heart sinks. The banner reads "The Goochland 
Guardian" rather than the local DC rag. A note has been taped onto the front page 
story, "Miracle Ends Controversy". He doesn't need to read it to know that the damn 
note says, "You are the God who performs miracles. You display your power
among the peoples. Psalm 77:14." Mockingly, the top of the newspaper
reads, "If It's News It's News To Us". ::Yeah, it's news to me, too,::he thinks, what 
the hell is the Smoking Man up to with Melissa? Aloud, he says, Okay, so she reads 
hick newspapers and flakes out on appointments. Is there a problem?"

"She'd never flake out on a Transgen Pharmaceuticals appointment and she left 
her cell phone at home," Krycek says succinctly, "and Emily told me about her
quote-unquote 'field trip with Mommy' to Goochland yesterday morning. Surprise, 
surprise, she mentioned an old man who smoked a lot."

"Aw, shit." Mulder sighs, putting the paper down.

"Yeah," Krycek seconds that emotion without irony. "So, you gonna help me or 
what?"

Mulder pulls out his cell phone. ::The things I do for this man,:: he thinks,
hitting speed dial. "Ordinarily, I'd wait until you said 'please', but
the world would end before that. Hey, Scully," he interrupts himself,
"mind swinging by your mom's place? I got a feeling Emily needs more
people to watch over her," he answers his wife's question, "No, she's
not there. Don't worry, we're looking for her." Mulder pauses,
listening, then nods as if she can see him. "Thanks. And yeah, if we
need more help, I'll call." He hangs up. "One of the benefits of having
an FBI wife is that she's got a gun."

"Yeah, well, Melissa knows how to use her switchblade," Krycek retorts, 
dragging Mulder out of the house.

"Please tell me she stabbed you," Mulder makes a face as they
jump into Krycek's car, "I can't be the only one injured by a Scully
woman."

Krycek smirks, peeling out of the driveway at an alarming
speed, "Guess I don't like the rough stuff as rough as you."

"Just drive," Mulder says sickly, and not just because Melissa's been
kidnapped by the Smoking Man.

~*~*~

When they stop at a gas station, Melissa saunters over into the dingy little 
building, tossing a quick "I need to use the bathroom" over her shoulder while 
Mr. Spender fills the tank. When she gets into the cramped restroom, she 
exhales, then tugs at the choker on her neck. She never thought she'd have 
to resort to using one of Alex's toys, but then again, she never thought she'd
get caught up in what she usually deemed her sister and brother-in-law's world. 
What is she thinking, it's also Alex's world, too. 

She twists the crystal attached to the choker, hoping against hope that
her lover is right and that the tracking device, whatever he called it,
is doing its job. Looking at the mirror, she sees it blink once, making
the gem sparkle, and then it winks out, as he said it would. Please,
please, please, she prays to whoever is listening, let Alex find
me.

Satisfied that her choker's normal, she uses the toilet, flushes
it, and washes her hands, proceeding as if it's a normal stop on the
road. Mr. Spender's back in the driver's seat, and she gets in the
passenger side.

He offers her a roll of candy. "Lifesaver?"

She shakes her head, feeling the irony even if he doesn't say so. Even
though it's daylight, she can see his aura's darker than even Alex's
has ever been. Shrugging, he starts the engine. Neither of them see a
black-haired man staring after them, then getting into his black
car.

~*~*~

1:04 p.m.

Later, in a motel near a lake, the presumed Mr. Spender parks the car. Melissa 
Scully is asleep. The old man puts on a pair of black leather gloves with practiced 
ease, then looks over at the sleeping woman. He tenderly brushes a lock of hair 
out of her eyes and looks at her wistfully. "You'll do," he says softly, then carries
her out of the car.

~*~*~

At the same time, someone is pounding on Mulder's door. Mulder answers it in 
a gray t-shirt and jeans, pretty much the same thing he's been in since this whole 
mess started. Checking the peephole first, he sees a familiar trio in somewhat
familiar gear. Switching their outfits around, Frohike's in Byers' attire, Langly's in 
Frohike's sleazy outfit, and Byers, for the second time in Mulder's recollection, is 
casual in Langly's t-shirt and jeans. Or at least, he hopes the former FCC guy has 
something in his closet other than suits. "If you came in clown suits, you'd be less 
likely to scare the neighbors," he drones.

"Ha, ha." Langly brushes past him into the house, followed by his two 
compatriots. "Hey, who's the Frohike-wannabe?"

"Who's Frohike?" Krycek scowls up from what looks like a giant remote control.

Oh yeah, they haven't exactly met, Mulder remembers, until now. "I am, you punk," 
Frohike scowls back at the other man in a black leather jacket. "I'm guessing 
you're the one in need of our kung foo."

Krycek stares at them. "*These* are the guys?" he asks Mulder. "You're gonna get 
her killed!"

While various Gunmen grumble, Mulder makes quick introductions. "Alex, this is 
Frohike, Byers and Langly. Guys, this is Alex, who's, uh, living with Melissa."

"You what?" Frohike looks aghast.

Oh boy. "Guys, focus. Did you find anything on Melissa?" Mulder asks the Gunmen.

"We started with her credit cards to see if she purchased any airline tickets,"
Langly says.

"And ended up hacking into some Defense Department node..." Frohike butts in, 
glaring at Krycek while he pulls out Melissa's laptop from his suit jacket.

"Where they demanded we immediately identify ourselves or face prosecution 
for espionage or crimes against the government," Langly finishes.

"Okay, what does the DOD have to do with Melissa?" Krycek frowns.

This time, it's the mustachioed Gunman who answers, "When we went into her 
computer we found a series of deleted transmissions." He boots up the computer,
then shows them the incriminating evidence.

"E-mail that had been erased from her subdirectories but not her hard drive," Frohike 
adds, then says slowly, "a series of communications."

"From someone named Cobra," Langly says quickly, sensing danger his shorter friend 
didn't seem to from this 'Alex' guy.

"Who the fuck is Cobra?" Krycek leaps to his feet, and now the Gunmen see the 
man's in fighting shape. "Melissa would have told me about him."

"You'd think," Frohike says bitterly, "guess she's not one to kiss and tell."

Bullshit." Krycek glares down the shorter man. "You guys are tech heads," he says, 
tossing them his strange contraption. "Melissa set off her GPS device, but the 
damn antennae hasn't got a specific fix on her. Do something with it."

Now Mulder goggles at the one-armed man. "She's got a GPS device?"

"Hey, as long as you know what to look for, you can find any signal." Langly
shrugs while Frohike tinkers with the machine. "But if your friend's got a specific 
signal, it should be okay if there's no outside interference."

"Well, we can find where she is, but what about the why?" Mulder says when 
Krycek grabs the laptop from Byers. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"Finding out the why," he says, opening up the laptop and typing away with one 
hand, using his false left hand for the larger keys. "If this Cobra is working with  
the Smoking Man, I know some other ways to get some intel."

~*~*~

Later that afternoon, Melissa wakes up in what looks like a woodsy
cabin. She's wearing a green silk nightgown, but can't remember getting
here, or dressing herself in this outfit. Hurriedly, she feels the
choker around her neck, relaxing when she feels the small crystal.
Looking in the mirror, she makes sure it's not blinking or doing
anything to attract attention, and then she finds her clothes in a
folded pile on the drawer.

It doesn't take long for her to don her long red dress and storm out, finding 
Mr. Spender pouring coffee in the kitchen. "How do you take your coffee?" he 
asks.

"I don't," the redhead snaps. "I don't care who you are, 'Mr. Spender,' you're 
not winning my trust by treating me like some Barbie doll in my sleep. I
can see why Dana and Fox, much less Alex, don't trust you."

His expression grows grave. "I was only trying to make you comfortable," he
says, then takes a sip of his coffee.

Her green eyes take in the rustic view from the window. "Where are we?"

"Milford, Pennsylvania," he replies simply.

"Pennsylvania. Well, I've hitchhiked farther than that," she says, leaving the 
cabin. To her chagrin, he follows her out, and she takes a deep breath, facing 
her executioner.

"Keys are in the ignition," Mr. Spender says, surprising her. "You're free to go, 
if you wish. The choice is still yours."

What choice? Melissa thinks darkly.

I could take my chances and probably get blown up along the way back
home, or get molested in my sleep by some weird old man. Either way,
it's not looking pretty, and now she understands why Alex was so
reluctant to even mention his relationship to this skeezy old man.
She's about to curse Alex, but then remembers Emily, the initial reason
why she went along with this shit in the first place. Emily. Dammit.

She doesn't see the black-haired man watching from the bushes as she
heads back to the cabin, resigned, but neither would she care at this
point. Her life isn't hers anymore, and she realizes sharply that it's
been Emily's for quite some time, but it took this sick old man to show
her that. Mommy's coming home, she thinks, not looking at Mr. Spender
as he closes the door behind her, but I'm taking this old man in a body
bag if it goes that way.

~*~*~

It takes less time than Mulder did for Krycek to not only read between the 
lines, but connect the dots. The one-armed man slams his real fist on the 
table. "Fuck it all," he mutters, slouching in the chair.

"What, no roses?" Frohike mutters, still hunched over the tracking device.

"Fuck your little dog, too, Mulder," Krycek says dully. "Turns out Cobra's a 
federal fugitive, e-mailing Melissa from the DOD. Bastard's working on a 
shadow project for advanced research."

"Okay, so she attracts nerds, too." Langly shrugs, "so what's the big deal?"

Krycek turns his cutting green gaze at the tall blond man, who withers 
quickly. "Somebody pretending to be Melissa hacked into her computer and 
was catching all her e-mail. I'm guessing the smoking bastard was passing 
himself off as a MILF in distress in order to win Cobra's trust. You guys notice 
the last five exchanges hint at a meeting where they're going to exchange 
information on the project Cobra's working on?"

The Lone Gunmen look at each other sheepishly. "Well, we thought they were 
gonna hook up for something else," Frohike mutters, and Mulder stands between 
his old friends and current semi-fugitive sister-in-law's lover... man, he's really 
gotta make a few normal friends to make up for weird family relations.

Krycek stares at the Gunmen. "Whatever you have to do, fix
the damn machine," he says, "if you think the smoking man's rough with
his colleagues, you should see what he does with his women."

At that, Mulder gets to his feet. "What's your weapon status?" he asks the man
in black.

The double agent looks mildly surprised, and then a lazy grin slides across his 
face. "Now you're speaking my language, tovarich."

Mulder scowls. "Don't call me that."

~*~*~

6:22 p.m.

Melissa finds herself plotting numerous ways to kill her captor,
not knowing that her lover is thinking the exact same thing. She starts
when there's a knock at the door, and then rolls her eyes. Took him
long enough to develop some idea of courtesy, she snorts inwardly as
she opens the door.

The old man, however, drops any semblance of being a gentleman as he
states without preamble, "We'll be getting final instructions from our
contact tonight. He's invited us to dinner. I took the liberty of
getting you something to wear." From behind his back, he holds out a
very revealing black dinner dress.

Why am I not surprised? Melissa thinks as she takes it. "I see," she says 
noncommittally. He may be a perv, but at least he's a perv with expensive 
taste.

Mr. Spender notes her appraisal. "I'm glad you like it. I look forward to 
tonight." Then he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Of course you're looking forward to tonight, Melissa shakes her head, 
as the damn thing seems to be a glorified apron, you're looking forward 
to seeing my bodacious tatas fall out and my ass on display. If she had 
any shred of philanthropic illusions about this whole affair, they are quickly
flushed down the toilet.

~*~*~

That evening, Melissa's wearing the glorified apron, er, dress as well as her 
crystal choker, and of course, Mr. Spender's gussied up in a tuxedo. Figures. 
They walk into an elegant restaurant and are smoothly seated by the window. 
Not looking at the other diners, Melissa takes a sip of water and asks, "So
what does he look like?"

"I'm not quite sure," the old man admits.

She smiles briefly, At least he's honest about something. "Do
you even know his name, or is that a mystery, too?"

Now the old man's got his steel back. "He is to human genetic science as 
Oppenheimer and Fermi were to the advent of nuclear warfare."

Oh, goody, Melissa thinks, we're dealing with Dr. Frankenstein. Aloud, she 
says, "Aside from my role as arm candy, why am I even here?"

Mr. Spender smiles tightly. "This man - call him Cobra - he needs assurances that 
the science he's going to hand over won't fall into the wrong hands. I've told him 
about  you, about Emily." He pauses, then nods his approval for the waiter to pour 
the red wine.  When the waiter is gone, he continues, "He's expecting to meet you 
here." Then he  raises his glass in a toast, "Well, to the  future." Melissa raises an 
eyebrow, then raises her glass before taking a polite sip. "I also have a bit of a 
confession to make."

"Oh?" It's the only thing she can say that's short and won't involve a string of
curse words.

He leans forward, unaware of what murderous thoughts are
going on in her head. "What we are being given is not the cure for
cancer." He enjoys her look of sickening shock, then adds, "It's the
cure for all human disease."

"What?" Melissa blurts. "How?"

He points up. "Mostly extraterrestrial."

Of course. And then the other puzzle piece falls into place. Fuck altruism. 
"You'd be cured, too."

His smile turns indulgent. "Theoretically, yes, I can be cured. But for what?" 
His expression changes, and Melissa finds a disconcertingly familiar look
on the old man's face. "At the end of the day, I don't have anything to
look forward to. Or anyone, for that matter, Melissa." As she stares at
him, he seems to realize what he's just said, and stands, "Would you
excuse me?" Without waiting for her reply, he leaves the table.

What the fuck? Melissa goggles, not even bothering to scope out the
restaurant even though she's left to her own devices. I guess you have
to be pretty damn cocky to be a part of a global conspiracy to fuck
with both people and aliens, but this Mr. Spender is something else. In
a daze, she polishes off half her red wine, plus a chocolate dobash
slice.

It isn't until the waiter returns to remove her empty plate
that she notices a piece of paper tucked under it. "Calico Cove, first
light of day," it reads. Careful not to show surprise, she scans the
room without seeming to, a habit developed from years of being in
strange bars in strange places, but aside from the waiter, nobody's
nearby to have dropped it off. Damn that old man, she thinks, I
would've paid more attention otherwise.

~*~*~

Early the next morning, Melissa Scully and Mr. Spender drive up to a 
motor boat tied to a dock. When she gets in the boat, the old man unties 
the mooring. "Calico Inlet's 15 minutes out. South end," he says briskly, 
talking to her like some office gopher rather than mad scientist bait.

"Then what do I do?"

He doesn't look at her when he answers, "I don't know. Wait, I 
suppose. And be careful."

If I was careful, I wouldn't be here, she thinks mutinously, then starts up 
the motor. And if I hadn't grown up around Dad, I wouldn't know how to 
work this damn thing. Sighing, she takes the boat down the lake, not seeing 
another soul and regrets being here under these circumstances. Alex 
would love this place, she thinks, quiet, secluded, woodsy, and I could
teach Emily how to fish like my father taught me. Aside from the forced
football education, she'd really loved spending time out on the boat,
just sitting peacefully with her father, occasionally touching on
recent events in their lives, but mostly doing nothing while taking in
the tranquility of very little luck with fish.

A dreamy smile on her face, she notices she's got company when she 
hears the other motorboat before she sees it. The driver, Cobra, she 
assumes, is a fairly good-looking man in his 40s, more Dana's type if 
she weren't already married. "Finally we meet," he says, his voice full 
of intensity and admiration. "You're just as you described yourself, 
certainly more so last night at dinner. I only wish we could continue to 
correspond, but it must end after this. I hope one day we can take some 
time and meet your daughter as well, when I'm not a marked man."
Without waiting for a response, he hands her a diskette. "This is it, the 
science I promised you."

Melissa's put two and two together, and she doesn't like the results. "No, 
keep it," she says, putting it back in his hand. "I love Emily, but you don't 
have to risk your life for hers. I'm sure she'll do just fine with her current 
treatment." She smiles, but he looks confused.

"Melissa?"

She nods, then pushes his boat away from hers. "Take care," the redhead 
says, hoping against hope that he's able to elude Mr. Spender and anyone 
else.

He nods back reluctantly, but then falls into the water as a gunshot echoes 
around them. Melissa yelps, diving to the floor of the boat, her heart pounding. 
I'm going to die, she thinks, her fear overwhelming her mind, I'm going to die
here and never see Emily again, or Alex, or Mom... Another shot echoes
across the lake, disorienting her. She has no idea where the shots are
coming from or who's shooting, and frankly, she doesn't care.

Facedown, her breathing is fast and shallow as her arms are wrapped
over her head, a futile protection against any bullet. More shots
follow, and she thinks she hears a car screeching away, but isn't
certain. It's only when there's silence does she breathe easily.
Perhaps they killed each other, she thinks deliriously, perhaps Mr.
Spender was killed by the others, or he killed them and ran off, or
perhaps the others killed him and are waiting for me.

She doesn't move, frozen by fear, the motor boat floating with the current 
of the lake until she hears a man call out, "Melissa? Melissa!" Her heart
beats quickly again, but doesn't dare raise her head just yet. Then the
man yells, "Ty v poryadke? Vsyo pad kontrolem!"

She smiles in spite of herself. Only her idiot lover would ask if she's okay 
and tell her everything's all right after a shootout. "Alex!" Melissa sits up in 
the boat, and a familiar figure in black waves at her. She looks around,
seeing the other motorboat empty of its driver, with no telltale
bubbles showing Cobra's location or life. Her heart heavy, she starts
the motorboat up again and steers towards her lover. A small part
wishes she'd kept the diskette, but seeing Alex's face banishes any
fears or doubts she has about her decision.

~*~*~

That evening, back at Maggie Scully's home, there is a tearful reunion 
with mothers and daughters embracing, and sisters holding on to each 
other. And for a while, Krycek's concern was touching until Melissa finally 
lost her temper. "I'm fine!" she snaps, punching his shoulder. "Dana 
checked me out, and I'm okay!"

An understandable silence follows, and then Mulder's oddly timed sense of 
humor makes him guffaw. "Even though the smoking man got away," he says, 
"just seeing Alex Krycek getting slugged makes my day."

Krycek glares at him, his pride and anger keeping him from rubbing his arm. 
"I'm glad you feel that way," he growls, "since it was your fault he got away 
in the first place."

Mulder stares at him in disbelief, then at the others. "Hey, I blew the damn 
windshield out, but I didn't want to be roadkill," he says, his hands up in apology.

Scully shoots him a look, "Language."

"Roa'kill, roa'kill, roa'kill," Sammy singsongs, and Page chases him out of 
the room, followed by Emily, into the kids' room. For the sake of furthering 
the peace, Frohike's in another room watching over the rest of the kids rather 
than facing a losing battle against Krycek. However, Byers, along with his 
blond  compatriot, remains with the rest of the adults.

"So that's it, then?" Langly asks. "No body, no disk, no smoking man?"

The Scully sisters and their men look at each other. "Nope, not a 
thing," Mulder says.

"Yeah," Krycek mutters, looking at the floor.

"That's too bad," Byers says, "it would have been nice to have seen even 
some of the research, or gotten a hint from Cobra."

"But if there was a disk, that means it's possible there is a cure," Melissa says, 
holding Krycek. "I'm sure Cobra wasn't the only one working on it, even if he 
came the closest. And I hope they come to you next time," she looks at her 
sister and  brother-in-law, "I'm sure the professionals could keep them alive 
better than I  could."

Mulder can't say anything out of guilt and knowledge, but is saved from 
trying when Scully clasps her sister's arm. "I'm glad you're all right," she
says, giving the double agent a grudging glance, "but if Kry - um,
Alex, hadn't given you that GPS device, I don't think you would've been
found as quickly as you were."

Melissa smiles, her fingers on the crystal at her neck, then kisses 
Krycek on the cheek. "Isn't he sweet?"

The FBI agents and Lone Gunmen gape at that description, while
Mrs. Scully smiles back. "All right, we'd better get dinner ready," she
says, and manages to bring a semblance of normalcy to the odd
gathering.

"Okay if I bring Frohike to help?" Langly asks.

Mrs. Scully nods. "Tell him to go around through the kitchen," she says,
looking at her eldest daughter and her boyfriend. She's glad Melissa's
not only found someone who makes her happy, but loves both her and
Emily, even odd biological bonds aside. Now, if only she can find some
very tolerant ladies to make Fox's odd friends happy...

~*~*~

Later

That night, after Emily has been tucked in bed, the reunited lovers are
sharing the master bed in Melissa's home. "Alex?" Melissa asks. He's
been fidgety all night, and she wonders if the recent events have
pushed him away from her. "What's wrong?"

"Did my aura turn purple again?" he says laconically, then turns away, 
his breath escaping in a hiss. "Sorry, you're the last person I want to 
be assholic to tonight."

She smirks. "Please don't walk on eggshells on my account."

He chuckles, then wraps his arms around her. "You're
amazing, you know that?"

"Of course," she says, lifting her chin reminiscent of both her mother and 
younger sister, wrapping an arm over his shoulder. "It's about time you 
realized that. But since you're not as spiritually intuitive as I am, you're 
forgiven."

"Thank you," he shakes his head slightly. "Too bad it took me this long, 
but," he digs awkwardly into the pillowcase until he finds what he's looking 
for, "Melissa Scully, ti viy-desh za me-nya?"

She stares at him. "What?" Her arms are still around his neck, but it looks 
like she's in a state of shock.

Amazing, Krycek thinks, she can handle a weekend with that
smoking bastard with no life-threatening effects, but the moment I
propose, she's all catatonic. Or maybe her Russian's not as good as I
thought. "Will you marry me?" he restates the question, popping open
the little box to reveal a gold ring sparkles with her birthstone set
on top. "Is that a yes or a no? Your reaction's not what I expected,
but I'd rather hear yes."

Instead of looking at the ring, she looks into his eyes. "Do you mean 
it?"

He forces himself to look back at her, to be honest with her as well as 
with himself. "I've been meaning to do this for a while," he says softly, 
"but seeing how easy it was to lose you, and possibly Emily, too..."

Melissa nods, and places a hand on his cheek. "It scared me, too," she
says. "But if I'm marrying you, it's out of love, not fear."

"So," Krycek says, hoping third time's the charm, "is that a yes?"

"Da!" she laughs, and grabs the small box out of his hand. "For someone 
who deals with shady characters and conspiracies, you don't seem to like 
things vague, do you?" she teases.

He smiles. "Only the really important things," he says, kissing her. As she 
slides the ring on her finger, he notes, "Wow, nice fit."

"Yes, we are." She smiles at him, admiring not only the ring on her finger, 
but the thought that actually went into it. "Should I call my mother with the 
good news?"

An unfamiliar, embarrassed look sweeps across his face. "I, uh, asked her 
first before we left her house."

For the second time that night, Melissa Scully is stunned. "Oh..."

"She said it was okay," Krycek says quickly, "but she wasn't sure what you'd 
say. For that matter, neither did I."

"Does Dana know?"

"Does she have to?" he says huskily, kissing her ring before moving to her 
lips.

When they come up for air, it's all she can do to stay on topic. "Ah," Melissa 
closes her eyes as he trails kisses down her neck, his hands exploring her 
body, "mmmmm, not yet..."

"Ti ochen' nuzhna mne," Krycek moans when her hands dive into his boxers.
"Oh!"

She smiles at him. "I need you more," the redhead breathes, and
shows him just how much she needs him as she spreads her legs. For the
rest of the night until well into morning, they continue to discuss in
both Russian and English how to increase the simple pleasures between a
man and a woman.

~*~*~

Chapter Eighty-Nine

August 13th, 2000
5:30 p.m.

Colorful mylar balloons hang a mere foot above the two women's heads,
but Teena and Maggie still manage to look dignified anyway. As Mulder
herds some young partygoers by, he throws the pair a nervous look.
Their mothers never talk, so seeing them with heads bent, in deep
conversation, can't be a good sign.

He lets his guard down as he snaps the traditional
baby-smears-cake-on-self photos of Christopher. The happy little boy
thoroughly enjoys the frosting that's a much deeper yellow than his
hair, and squeals with delight as he gets some into his mouth. Turning,
Mulder expects the grandmothers to be watching the baby, but they're
glancing meaningfully at him and Scully instead.

He decides to bite the bullet and walks over to them, the camera still
in hand.

Maggie smiles brightly at him. "Fox, can you believe that little
Christopher is already a year old?"

"Time flies," he says, trying to think of a way to ask what they were
talking about.

His mother saves him the effort. "Yes, time does fly. Maggie and I were
talking about how big Page is getting, too. Six years old next month."

"Six years old and starting school," Maggie adds.

A sinking feeling opens in the pit of Mulder's stomach, and he's not
the least bit surprised when his mother says, "Public school."

For the past several months, Maggie has tried to convince them to send
Page to Sacred Heart. Teena, on the other hand has been lobbying for a
secular private school. Neither he nor Scully haven't dreamed of them
joining forces...

He puts on his best smile. "She's looking forward to attending that
school with several of the children she's gone to preschool and
kindergarten with. Dana and I agree with many of the other parents that
having familiar faces around will ease the transition for the
children."

"Oh," Teena says faintly.

"That is nice." Maggie's voice sounds reluctant.

"Yes," he says brightly. "We think it's especially nice for Page
considering that first grade will be the year she won't have siblings
to play with during the school day."

They nod, and he thinks they look faintly uncomfortable, and perhaps
ready to change the subject. "Why don't we get some cake? I think
Scully is saving us pieces with yellow roses."

~*~*~

10:30 p.m.

It ends up being a late night. Mulder insists on putting the kids to
bed and letting her get ready for bed, since, as he put it "You did the
lion's share of getting the party ready." Which is true, but it makes
her feel a little guilty to leave him the task of settling all six kids
for the night. Fortunately, even though it's Sammy's birthday the next
day, his party is going to take place at school and spare them the
tedium of two days in a row of entertaining.

When he finally joins Scully a half hour later, she puts her book
aside. There's a pensive look on her husband's face that arouses her
curiosity. "What are you thinking about, Mulder?" she asks at length.

"Something I want," he says in what she considers an unnecessarily
cryptical manner.

"Which is?" she prompts. 

To her frustration, he just shakes his head. "I can't say."

"Oh, come on, now, Mulder. We've been married a long time, nothing you
could request would shock or modify me. Though I have to draw the line
at public fornication. We have our reputations, such as they are, at
the FBI to think of." She expects him to smile at the mental image of
doing it in the street, but he doesn't.

"Do you really want to know?" he asks softly.

"Of course."

"I want another baby." And when he turns towards her, she can see from
the look in his eyes that he's being completely honest. "I don't want
to pressure you if you're not ready to try again, but...I'm better now.
Completely recovered. I can't think of a better way to celebrate and
affirm that. But like I said, if you're not ready-"

She cuts off his comment by throwing her arms around him. "I love you,
Mulder," she tells him fiercely.

He looks a little surprised. "I figured as much, but I'm not sure where
you're going with this."

"I love you because you're kind, considerate, and willing to let me
believe that having another baby is your idea."

"It is my idea," he protests. 

She shakes her head. "Half your idea, maybe."

"So I take it that you're amicable towards the idea?" Mulder asks, and
she likes the way hope lights up his eyes. It's something that she's
only been seeing again for the past couple of months, and until it
returned she didn't know how much she missed it.

"Definitely."

~*~*~

Later, Mulder watches Scully as she sleeps. He stretches out on his
back and sends silent thoughts up to God, or whoever it is that might
be listening. ::Please, please let me have William back. I've done all
I can to bring my promise to life. Don't let us have lost our daughter
only to lose him too. Please.::

"Mulder?" A sleepy voice startles him, and he looks down at Scully with
a sheepish expression. For a second there he was wondering if God had
chosen to respond aloud.

"Yes, Dear?"

"Are you still awake?"

"Given that we're having this conversation, I appear to be," he
deadpans.

"Is all of you awake?" she asks, and he has to stifle a laugh. Not
because her busy-fingered investigations are humorous, but because
she's inadvertently discovered a ticklish spot he wasn't aware of
before. "Oh, yup." She sounds happy about that.

It only takes a moment before he hardens in her grasp. "I notice you're
awake too," he says in what is an admirably normal voice, considering
what she's doing to him. "Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

"Well," She says without stopping her stroking of his sensitive parts.
"You know what they say about trying, right? Try, try, try again. By my
count I think we're up to try, try tonight. We should cover try again,
shouldn't we?"

"Absolutely," Mulder tells her, and it's only a moment before he's deep
within her. Trying to conceive a baby is hard work, but he for one is
willing to sacrifice his time to the effort.

~*~*~

Hoover Building
Late August 2000

For a long period of time, the only noise heard in the basement office
is the sound of an adding machine. The man using it, special Agent
Chesty Short, begins to mutter in Mulder's direction. "Lariat car
rentals. Totals..." He holds the tape up to his face and whistles.
"Would you like to see the figure?"

Mulder gives it the briefest appraisal before handing it back. "Is that
a lot?"

The look on Agent Short's face is one of outraged surprise. "A lot?
Gas, expenses...the motel rooms alone. By FBI standards these numbers
are out of control."

"Since we're married and it doesn't violate protocol, Agent Scully and
I usually save the FBI money by sharing rooms," Mulder says in a
deadpan.
 
The look the accountant gives him is anything but amused. "You're under
evaluation. There has to be a point when we say no."

"You can't really compare what we do to other departments in the
Bureau," Mulder protests.

Agent Short nods grimly. "Right. This business with aliens." 

"Well, there's more to it than that," Mulder ties to explain.

"But, at the end of the day you'd say aliens are your real focus." 

"That's the reason I got started, yeah," Mulder says, becoming
defensive.

Short shakes his head and consults a folder. "Investigating your
sister's abduction and the government conspiracy around it. Both of
which have been resolved, correct?"

"Nothing has been resolved," Mulder tells him.

Short doesn't seem to be a sympathetic man. "You haven't done any
investigating on her in quite some time, Agent Mulder. I assumed this
meant that you closed the case."

Mulder glances down at it. "Yeah, I guess so," Mulder reluctantly
agrees.

Agent Short gives him a long look. "So, what exactly is left to
investigate?"

~*~*~

Krycek's Apartment
Washington, DC

It's a rare afternoon that Krycek is actually at his apartment rather
than at Missy's place, and he receives an unexpected guest. On the
other side of the open door stands Marita Covarrubias, looking a whole
lot healthier than she'd been the last time he'd seen her.

"You're not an easy man to track down these days, Alex," she says
dryly. Her eyes wander the place and he squelches the urge to explain
that it's sparse because he's moving in with Melissa officially, not
just a box at a time, now that they're engaged.

Instead he says, "Marita. I thought you'd be dead by now." Then he
pauses. "Not that I wish you were, just-"

"Save it, Alex," Marita snaps. "This isn't a social call."

"I didn't suppose it was," Krycek says wryly and steps back to let her
in.

Ignoring him, Marita studies the photos on the wall. She points one
slender finger at a photo of Emily and Page playing dress up. "Which
one is your daughter?"

"The one with the shorter hair," Krycek tells her nervously. "Why?"

"And the other child is?"

"My niece. More or less." There's another brief urge to mention the
engagement, and he wonders if it will keep happening. Good news wants
to be told to everyone, he supposes, even to someone like Marita.

She nods, then pulls something out of her purse and hands it to him.
"This is her, too, isn't it?"

His eyes widen as he looks down at the photograph. Its green cast makes
it clear that it was taken with night vision equipment. In the photo
Scully is sleeping on a hotel bed with an infant Sammy and toddler Page
at her sides. "Where-"

She hands him another photograph, which takes his breath away
completely. "And this is your daughter's mother, right? Agent Scully's
sister." It's a photo of him and Missy the day they met. Before he can
recover his breath, she hands him third photograph, this time of Emily
as a two-year-old.

"But, but this is before Missy even found Emily," he squeaks,
bewildered.

"Someone has been watching you all for a very long time," Marita
agrees. She spreads out the remainder of the photos, which include ones
of Mulder and Scully's kids playing in puddles, and others of an outing
they took with Emily just that summer.

"Why? Who??" he demands to know.

She just shakes her head. "I don't know. I thought you should know that
someone's keeping tabs on you, though."

"Why do you care?" Krycek asks, honestly curious.

She gives him a feral smile. "In a way we're like siblings, Alex. Two
kids abused by the same family. I don't feel that I owe you much, but I
think I owe you this."

The thought of someone else having ties to him makes him uncomfortable,
so he changes the subject. "How did you get the photos?"

"I stole them out of the smoking bastard's mail."

Krycek is surprised; his first thought was that the old bastard was
suspect number one. "You've seen him?"

"He's going downhill fast."

"Good." He hadn't looked great through the sight of his weapon, but it
had been hard to tell at a distance. Her confirmation is reassuring.

"There was no return address on the photos, sad to say," Marita adds.

"At least I know there's something to look for," he says fiercely.
"Thank you."

"Don't thank me, help me," she tells him, and he actually listens as
she outlines a plan to get revenge on the man who took so much from
them both.

~*~*~

X-Files Office

When Mulder returns to the basement, he finds his wife inexplicably
staring at his poster.

He gives her a sheepish look. "I think I'm in big trouble." 

"Oh, Mulder, how many times have they tried to shut us down?" Scully
asks.

"Yeah, but I never actually assaulted an auditor before." 

The look she gives him is one of amused disbelief. "Did you hurt him
like you have Skinner?"

Mulder grins at her. "I reduced his vision a little bit. And which time
hurting Skinner did you mean when you asked that?" Just then the phone
rings. Mulder flips on the speaker phone. "Mulder."

"Agent Fox Mulder?" a voice asks, "My name is Billy Miles. I don't know
if you remember me."

"Oregon, seven years ago," Mulder says promptly. "You had multiple
abduction experiences. I'm here with Agent Scully."

"Billy, are you all right?" Scully asks.

"Yeah. This may seem weird, me calling like this, but, um, I don't know
where else to turn."

"It happening again, Billy?" Mulder asks with concern. 

"Yeah, but not to me this time," Billy tells him. Then the dial tone
begins.

Mulder's first impulse is to turn to Scully and ask her if she'd like
to go and waste some taxpayer's money, but the thought leaves him with
an icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. If they go off to Oregon, one
of them won't be coming back. And since things have confounded him with
surprising changes, he can't be positive that he'd be the one taken. He
stares at the phone held in his hand.

"Mulder, are you okay?" Scully asks, giving him a worried look.

"Yeah. I just wish Billy hadn't hung up like that."

"Oh," Scully says, and takes the phone from him. She hits three buttons
and hands it back. "The magic of Star six nine."

"Sixty-nine is the magic number," he tells her with a leer that makes
her roll her eyes at him. There's a click on the line that tells him
that the call has connected, even though there's silence at the other
end. "Billy? It's agent Mulder. We seemed to have been disconnected."

"Sorry about that," Billy replies nervously.

"That's no problem. Look, what I was going to tell you is that if you'd
like to come to DC to discuss the problem, I'd be happy to meet with
you. I'm sure agent Scully would be as well. Unfortunately, we just got
reamed out by accounting about travel expenses, so I don't think
there's enough cause to justify us coming to you at the moment."

"Uh, okay. I'll buy a plane ticket and let you know when I'm coming."
Billy sounds surprised rather than annoyed.

"Okay, then. See you soon," Mulder tells him. When he hangs up he
notices Scully's look of disbelief. "What?"

"You're not going to suggest we fly out there just to piss off
accounting?"

"'I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir,'"
Mulder mutters. There's not a snowball's chance in hell that she'd
believe him that going off to the west coast is going to lead to their
kids having a single-parent family, so he has to improvise. "That's
what they expect of us. It's more fun to keep them off balance by
playing nice."

Something like relief passes over her face. "I knew there had to be a
reasonable explanation."

"Don't worry. I fully expect that you'll leave me and take all my money
if I ever do anything crazy like staying on the straight and narrow."

"My husband, the stand up comic," Scully complains, but she doesn't
seem too upset to him.

Mulder hands her a pair of sharpened pencils and waves towards the
ceiling. "You know you want to, Scully. And if we're here in the
office, we'll naturally go through more office supplies."

For a second she looks uncertain, and then surprises him by throwing
one of the pencils at the ceiling. It flies straight and true and
embeds itself in a small section of naked tile where one of its
predecessors had fallen out. He gives her a suspicious look. "You've
done that before. You must have."

"Beginner's luck," she tells him with a perfectly straight face.

"Uh huh."

~*~*~

The Watergate Apartments
Washington, DC

Marita and Krycek arrive at one of the apartments and knock. A blonde
woman whose name badge identifies her as Nurse Greta, opens the door.

Sitting in his wheelchair, the smoking man's complexion is nearly as
gray as the wreath of smoke about his head. He turns tired eyes to his
guests. "I've been hoping to see you, Alex."

"Cut the crap, old man," Krycek snaps.

"You haven't changed," the smoking man says with a sigh. "I hope we can
all move forward...Put the past behind us. We have a...singular
opportunity now."

"A singular opportunity?"

Some life returns to the old man's face, and Krycek can barely stand to
witness his pitiful enthusiasm. "There's been a crash in Oregon. An
alien ship has collided with a military aircraft. Recovery is
all-important. It's Roswell and Corona all over again - 50 years later.
It's our chance to rebuild the project."

Before Krycek can ask him what makes him think that they'd be
interested in resurrecting the project, Marita asks the old man, "How
do you know someone hasn't already recovered it?"

"It's never quite so easy," the smoking man tells her, but he doesn't
look like he feels that there's much of an obstacle in their way.

"You've always liked things the hard way," Marita says with such bile
that Krycek stares at her. For a moment he finds himself wondering what
manner of abuse she was alluding to earlier.

He pushes the thoughts away, suddenly horrified by the possibilities.
"What makes you think we'll help you?" he asks, mostly to distract
himself.

"My golden boy and girl, who else would I turn to?" the smoking man
pontificates, neatly ducking the question.

"If we're at the top of your list, I'd hate to see who's on the
bottom," Krycek retorts. "I can tell you have a plan in mind. Spill
it."

The smoking man turns pleased eyes to him. "I've always admired your
directness, Alex. Now..."

~*~*~

That Night

There's a knock on the door, and Scully is more than a little startled
to see Krycek standing on the steps, without Missy or Emily to act as a
buffer.

He smiles at her. "Can Fox come out and play?"

"Hi, Alex." She tries not to let her confusion show. "What can I do for
you?"

Krycek pulls a piece of cardboard out of his pocket. "I got this ticket
for a free game of bowling and your sister suggested, well insisted
actually, that I ask your husband if he'd go with me."

"Oh, that's sweet," Scully tells him, mentally adding 'and very odd'.
"I'll ask him," she says, leaving him in the living room.

To her surprise, Mulder is actually willing to go. "Really, Mulder?"

"I like bowling," Mulder tells her. "And it's well-lit and public.
We'll have to behave."

"Are you sure?" Scully asks, feeling deeply confused.

"I'm pretty sure things will go fine. And if I were ever going to
murder him in public, I wouldn't use a bowling ball to do it. Much too
messy."

"Well, okay. Have fun." She reaches up to kiss his cheek and wrinkles
her nose when she feels stubble against her lips. "You need to shave
when you get home."

"So you're saying the Miami Vice look isn't doing it for me?"

"I just don't like the scratchiness, Don."

"Okay, as soon as I get home," he promises. 

She shrugs after he leaves, wondering if she ought to call the Vatican
and report a possible miracle.

~*~*~

Mulder keep up his easy-going fa�ade until he and Krycek are seated in
the man's car. "So what is this really about?"

"What, the husband and boyfriend of two sisters can't spend a nice
night together drinking and bowling?"

"Sure they can. As long as those two men aren't us," Mulder tells him
as Krycek shifts into drive. "We're obviously not bowling."

"Yeah, we are. But first we're going to my apartment. I have something
I need to show you."

Krycek lives entirely too close for Mulder's comfort, so it doesn't
take long before they're pulling up in front of his building. "How did
you manage to hang onto this place?" Mulder asks him as they get out.
"This neighborhood is in fair demand, and you disappeared for a while."

"Being a bad man pays well enough," Krycek says shortly. Mulder doesn't
comment since it's clear that something other than his presence has the
man agitated. "Come on." Krycek told him. He pushed the door to the
apartment open and led the way to the table in the small kitchen.
"Well, look."

Mulder's first worry is that they're going to be crime scene photos,
but they're both more benign and sinister than that. He studies them
carefully before looking up at Krycek. "I didn't know that you were a
photographer. They're a little rough, but they've got some promise."

"I didn't take them," Krycek says sourly. "They were given to me."

"Why?"

"Why were they taken or why were they given to me? They were given to
me by a sometimes friend who found them and was concerned. As to why
they were taken...someone's watching us."

"Someone's always watching us," Mulder tells him without emotion. "This
doesn't change much. Why are you showing me?"

"Because this worries me!" Krycek bursts out, surprising them both.
"Someone is watching our kids. I'm used to being under the microscope,
and I'm sure you are too. But there's something more vicious about
this. They've never made overt threats towards little kids before."

This made Mulder raise his eyebrows. "Uh, what about my sister? What
about how Emily came into being?"

"All right, you've got me there." Krycek sighs. "I thought you had a
right to know that the kids are being watched, though."

"Thank you," Mulder tells him, meaning it. Krycek shrugs. ::He's
changed.:: Mulder thinks to himself after noticing that simple gesture.
::He's not the bastard who is only looking out for his own skin. I
guess Missy and Emily are to blame for that.:: Because of these
thoughts, his tongue seizes control before his brain can object. "Alex,
if something happens to me, will you help Scully watch out for the
kids?"

Krycek looks shocked. "Are you actually admitting that you're a mortal
man?"

"I guess. But if something keeps me from protecting them, will you help
her?"

"Yes," Krycek says simply. "If something happened, I'd help her."

Mulder's curiosity gets the best of him. "Why?"

"Because Missy would want me to."

"Fair enough." 

"Nothing is going to happen to me, though," Krycek tells him
confidently. "So I won't ask you to promise to look after Emily." He
gives Mulder a sidelong look. "And I know that a boy scout like you
wouldn't even need to be asked anyway."

Mulder holds up his fingers. "Scout's honor."

"Whatever." Krycek snorts. "You're buying the first pitcher of beer
once we get to the bowling alley."

"I thought you said that being a double agent pays well."

"It does." Krycek smirks at him, and Mulder can't find it within him to
argue against mere cheap bastard-ness.
 
~*~*~

Three Days Later

"I'll get it!" Mulder quickly volunteers when there's another knock at
the door. He's been trying to evade Scully's questions about bowling
since the last time they had a visitor, so he doesn't want to be the
second to greet again.

His welcoming smile turns to a look of confusion when he realizes that
Billy Miles didn't arrive alone. Instead a young woman carrying an
infant is standing by his side. Billy doesn't seem to notice Mulder's
reaction, because he holds out his hand. "Agent Mulder."

"Nice to see you Billy."

Scully's arrived by this point, and she threads her arm around Mulder's
waist. Now that there are two puzzled people looking at him, it seems
to finally sink in with Billy. "This is Teresa, you helped her too."

"I know," Scully says warmly, but she gives the ring on Billy's finger
a pointed look. "Are the two of you...?"

Both Billy and Teresa turn bright red. "Uh, no. No," Billy stammers. 

"Oh." Scully doesn't look embarrassed by her mistake. "Agent Mulder and
I married not terribly long after we met you."

"I thought I saw toys in the yard," Teresa says shyly.

"Six kids require a lot of toys," Mulder says lightly.

"Six!" Billy whistles. "You folks have been busy."

"Like you wouldn't believe." Scully's voice is dry. She turns to
Teresa. "You can put your baby in the playpen if you'd like. Our
youngest is taking a nap. Actually the twins are too."

"Thanks."

The baby's feet have barely touched the bottom of the playpen when
there's a small stampede. April and Page immediately go to Scully, but
Sammy looks sheepish when he notices that there are strangers in the
living room with his parents. "Oh, guests."

"Hey Buddy, this is Billy and Teresa. When we first met them Mommy
started to believe in aliens."

"Yeah?" Sammy asks, looking interested. "Mommy believes in aliens?"

"I said 'started to.' She still has a ways to go, Son."

"No ghosts, though," April comments. "I don't see nuffin' she tells me.
But there are ghosts!"

Sammy gives his sister a wide-eyed look. "You see ghosts too?"

When she notices the amused looks on their guests, Page says "Our house
is haunted" in a rather matter of fact tone.

Billy Miles grins at her. "I wouldn't expect less from your folks."

"Hey." Scully snags Sammy and draws him and the girls into a hug. "Why
don't you guys go and play? We're going to be talking about boring
grown up stuff."

"Like taxes?" April asks, earning four strange looks from the adults.

"Something like that," Scully agrees, but she looks up to Mulder when
they run off. "How does she know about taxes? She's three."

"Who knows," Mulder replies, as mystified as she is.

The adults settle on the couch. Scully glances at their guests. "If you
two aren't involved, there must be a different story behind the two of
you coming here together."

"Uh..." Billy trails off and shoots his friend a look. She nods, so he
continues. "The problem I started to tell you about on the phone? It's
her husband. He's disappeared."

"Billy and Ray work together," Teresa tells them. "For the police
department."

Billy Miles grimaces. "I've never thought of myself as a cop but it's
been three years now. My dad got them to fudge the psych
qualifications. People look at me askance anyway, as if they expect me
to draw my gun and point it skyward any minute now."

"You've never, um...have you ever been able to get over the
abductions?" Mulder asks.

"Well, I have. But, um, people haven't. No one really believes it." He
fingers his wedding ring. "The woman I recently divorced sure didn't.
And my dad still denies it ever happened - that any one of us was
taken."

"Does he deny that it's happening now?" 

Billy Miles repeats what he's been told by his father by rote. "There
was a crash. A Navy pilot hit an unidentified aircraft outside of town.
Now, the military found their jet but the other craft hasn't been
recovered."

"Why not?" Scully wants to know. "Why hasn't the military gotten
involved in locating the other craft too?"

Billy shrugs. "It's our county and we're in charge of coordinating
efforts but my dad has really been no help even though we have a deputy
missing." Beside him Teresa stiffens, and he gently touches her
shoulder to reassure her.

"You find the UFO and he won't be able to deny the truth," Mulder tells
him. He pretends not to notice Scully's questioning look. She might
think that he's going to volunteer to aide in the search, but nothing
could be farther from his mind.

"The truth is well and good," Billy tells him, his voice suddenly firm.
"But I'm more interested in finding Teresa's husband."

Scully give the young woman a gentle look. "Do you mind telling us what
happened?"

Teresa nods. "Ray and I have less difficulty than Billy and Felicia
did. Ray and I have abductions in common, so that wasn't a problem for
us. And you can imagine, it has the potential to be a big problem."

"So he was taken like the two of you?" Scully asks.

"Yes, but he kept it a secret from almost everyone. No one where we
live wants to hear the a-word, and he saw how bad it's been for
Billy...." She pulls a folder out of the baby's diaper bag, which is
something Mulder can relate to. He's used baby bags to carry
definitively baby unrelated things over the years too. "His experiences
were a lot more terrifying than mine. He was taken many times and
tested. I have extensive medical records on him and photos of his
scars."

Scully glances down at them to be polite, but she wants to hear more of
Teresa's story. "Are you under the impression that he's been abducted
again, and that's why he's missing?"

"I saw him taken with my own eyes, Agent Scully," Teresa says stiffly.
"There's no impression about it."

"I'm sorry for my wording-" Scully begins, but the other woman cuts her
off.

"It was last week. We'd stayed up late after going to a family b-b-q.
I'd just put the baby down when I heard Ray shout. I ran towards are
room, and it was absolutely flooded with light...Ray was holding his
arms up over his face, but somehow he sensed I was there. 'Go hide!' he
yelled, but I didn't. I meant to, but I couldn't leave him alone like
that....then he was gone in a flash of light."

"I'm sorry." Mulder told her sincerely. At a loss, he wonders what it
is that he might be able to do for the people sitting in front of him.
Go with them or not, he's not going to be able to keep either of them
from being abducted. Then inspiration hits. "Aren't you concerned about
yourselves?"

"What?" Billy Miles asks.

"You've been abducted before. Aren't you worried that they're coming
back to your town to collect the whole set of you?" Both of their
guests' faces look immediately alarmed. "Maybe you should spend some
time over here on the East Coast. Until things blow over."

"I don't know..."

Scully frowns a little at the young police officer. "If you stay maybe
we'll think of a way to help Ray. At the moment I'm drawing a blank,
and if Mulder had anything he'd of blurted it out by now."

Billy looks like he's going to object, but Teresa gives him a
beseeching look. "Okay, maybe a few days. Can you recommend a good
hotel?"

~*~*~

11 p.m.

To Mulder's surprise, Scully looks very sad when she lies down. Drawing
her into his arms, he kisses her forehead and asks, "What's wrong?"
::You're supposed to be happier this today, but you don't look it.:: He
thinks to himself.

"I feel bad for Teresa," Scully confesses. "To have gone through what
she has, and to lose her husband too..."

"We don't know for sure that he's really gone," Mulder objects. "At
least not for good. She and Billy came back, didn't they?" ::And Krycek
did too. Oh shit, will they be looking for him now? No, no, we're not
in Oregon. It will be fine.::

"Yes. But they weren't gone so long. Ray's been gone almost a week."

"He'll be back," Mulder tells her with a conviction he doesn't dare
explain. ::Someday. He'll be back someday. And this time neither of us
are going anywhere, Love. The danger is on the other side of the
country.:: Yawning, he kisses her again. "Aren't you familiar with the
expression 'don't borrow trouble'?"

"Of course."

"We'll think of something to get him back, Scully. But not now. It's
late. We're both tired."

"Are you really tired?" Scully asks innocently, but she's trailing a
lazy finger down his chest.

"Well, not that tired," Mulder tells her, before making her squeal in
surprise by playfully pushing her over.

~*~*~

Outside

Krycek turns on his car, but doesn't bother with the headlights yet.
Instead he drops his binoculars and flips open his phone and hits a
number on his speed dial.

"Your worries seem pretty baseless to me, old man." He's still mentally
cursing himself for peeking into Mulder and Scully's bedroom at the
exact wrong time. Scully's an attractive woman, though he thinks she
pales in comparison to her sister, but he'd just seen quite a lot more
of Mulder than he ever bargained for. Missy would tell him it was karma
for spying on family, he was sure. "It doesn't look like either of them
have any intention of going to look for that UFO you misplaced."

"Are you sure?" The old man's voice is stringent.

"Pretty damn sure," Krycek growls into the phone.

"Then you won't have to look over your shoulder when you go and get
it."

"Who says I'm going out there?" Krycek asks. Mulder isn't the only one
who enjoys sharing a bed with a fiery redhead, and he's loath to leave
Missy now, not with their engagement still shiny and new. It's had
quite the positive effect on her libido, not that there was anything
wrong with it before.

"Of course you will, Alex. If you don't-"

"If I don't, what?" Krycek asks harshly. "You're too weak to harm me,
and in case you haven't noticed big chief, all your braves have been
captured and executed by the Calvary."

"You'll do it, Alex. I know you."

"Fuck you," Krycek snaps the phone closed and puts on his lights. It's
too late to tell Emily a bedtime story, but maybe he can tell one to
Missy. One that involves acting scenes out. Perhaps something out of
the Victorian age erotica collection The Pearl.


~*~*~

6:30 a.m.

"Mulder. Mulder, wake up."

At first Mulder squeezes his eyes more tightly shut and tries to hang
onto his dream which involves him and Scully frolicking naked on a
beach, but she's shaking his shoulder hard enough to make him dizzy. He
looks up at her blurrily. "What?"

She looks upset. "They're gone. The hotel called and Teresa and Billy
are gone."

"What?" Instantly awake, Mulder sits up quickly. "What do you mean
they're gone? They checked out?"

"No. The baby was still there. Teresa wouldn't leave her. Get dressed,
I told Skinner that we'd go and check it out."

Swearing silently, Mulder throws on some clothes and follows Scully out
to the car.

~*~*~

Drawmore Hotel

Feeling a sick sense of d�j� vu, Mulder quickly turns his head when a
police officer walks by cradling Teresa's daughter in his arms. ::This
can't be happening.:: He thinks to himself, but when they reach the
room he knows that it is.

At first the room might just be mistaken for one that had hosted a wild
party, perhaps one for bulls who had been thrown out of china shops.
But there's more there than can be explained away by drunken
exuberance.

Near the baby's borrowed crib, there's a puddle on the floor. It's
mostly dry now, but it's faintly green and the carpet it rests on is
singed, blacken by a chemical burn. Scully is looking down at it with
concern. "We've seen something like this before. I lost a shoe to this
stuff."

"I thought they'd be okay here," Mulder confesses, and his voice sounds
a little broken. "I can't believe it came here after them."

"Don't blame yourself, Mulder," Scully soothes him. "You couldn't have
known. I thought that they'd be okay here too. And if they weren't safe
here, who's to say there's anywhere on Earth that would be safe?"

The thought sends a chill crawling up his spine. ::What if there are no
safe havens?::

Both of them jump a foot when Billy's phone lets out a shrill burst of
complaint. Mulder bends down and pushes talk, mostly to make it stop.
"Hello?"

"Who's this?" a voice on the other end demands to know. "It's not
Billy, I know that much."

"My name's agent Mulder. I'm an FBI agent. I'm sorry to tell you this,
um,"

"Ritchie," the man supplies.

"Right. Ritchie. But it seems as though Billy and his friend Teresa
have disappeared out of their hotel room. We're investigating that
right now."

"Oh, shit." Richie moans. "I was calling to warn them because they got
Gary, too."

Mulder doesn't need to ask who they are. "I'm sorry to hear that your
friend is missing too."

"No man, you don't get it. He's not just missing, they fucking took
him!"

"Who are you talking about?" Mulder feels he has to play dumb now.

"Do you know Billy, or are you just investigating him disappearing
right now?"

"I worked on a case when he and his friends were abducted years back,"
Mulder tells him.

"Then you know about the aliens," he says, and waits for Mulder to
object. When Mulder doesn't he goes on. "Me and Gary saw something last
night, out in the woods. I figured that it could be one of those UFOs
that everyone said Billy claims to have seen, so we went out there to
take a look. I was shining my flashlight in the dark looking for the
UFO and uh, the beam hit this spot in space - like it bent the light."

"And then what happened?" Mulder asks.

"Well, I yelled, 'Gary!' And I looked...but he wasn't there, you know?
He wasn't anywhere, Man, and then the flashlight got really hot and I
dropped it. I think it's still out there. Melted, probably."

"You got a pen, Richie?" Mulder asks him abruptly.

"Yeah, why?"

"Take down this number. Someone heading the investigation ought to be
able to keep you up to date on what's going on here, and maybe you can
tell them what you've told me. It might help."

"Sure." Richie snorts. "As if anyone is going to be able to bring him
back."

"Stay positive," Mulder tells him before hanging up on him.

"Mulder, where are you going?" Scully asks as he quickly heads for the
door.

"Men's room," he says, knowing that she won't follow him there.

Huddled in a stall, Mulder pulls out his own phone and dials a number.
"Krycek, listen. There have been several abductees taken again in the
last week. I know you've never talked to us about your experience, but
given what Duane Barry was claiming before you disappeared, it doesn't
take a genius to figure out what happened to you. Two people have
disappeared from Oregon and two from DC. Watch your ass."

"I will." Is all Krycek gets out before Mulder disconnects the call.

~*~*~

Krycek's Apartment

Marita Covarrubias gives Krycek a somewhat interested look as she sips
tea from a cup Missy gave him at one point. "Who was that?"

"Mulder," he says shortly. "There's been a change of plans. We're not
going to Oregon."

"Why not?"

"Because we're being set up, that's why the hell not!" Krycek paces.
"The old bastard is trying to get us sent off in the UFO, not have us
find it. I don't care how much he's planning to pay us, I'm not going
back with them again."

"It was terrible, then?" she asks, but her voice is almost totally
devoid of sympathy.

"You know it was. They experimented on you too. Though in your case
from the comfort of Earth."

"But you got her out of it." Marita points her thumb in the direction
of Emily's photo.

"My only consolation, believe me. I'm not putting myself in the
position of losing her now to make that old asshole happy. He can find
some other patsy to do his dirty work when we fail to show up."

"We're going to see him, Alex," she says mildly. "I think we owe him an
explanation in person. And perhaps something more..."

Krycek listens in rapt attention as she outlines what she has in mind.
In another life, maybe he and this frosty blonde might have ended up
together, he decides. But maybe they wouldn't because they're clearly
two sides of the same coin.

~*~*~

Hoover Building

"Are you sure?" Mulder asks his wife. Who looks annoyed.

"I told you twice already that I don't mind staying here to talk to the
gunmen while you and Skinner go run an errand. Although I wish I knew
what that errand was."

"So do I," Mulder tells her. He can't imagine what Skinner is asking
him to go and look at. His phone call fifteen minutes earlier had come
as a complete surprise, especially considering that it was already
after the time they ought to have left the office. On a normal night
they might have missed him all together.

She throws her arms around him. "Be careful."

"Sure," he tells her. "I'll be back soon."

"Get a room." a sour voice says from the doorway. Mulder isn't
surprised to see that it's Frohike.

"Jealousy is so unbecoming," Mulder quips and heads for his car.

"This is some really strange stuff," Langly comments a few minutes
later. All three gunmen are pawing through the copies of medical
records that Scully had faxed to her from Oregon.

Scully barely hears him because her attention is on the file she's
holding. "This just can't be."

Frohike appears at her elbow and tries to make sense of what she's
holding. "What are you looking at?"

"More medical records. Billy Miles and other known abductees from
Bellefleur, Oregon all experienced anomalous brain activity."

"Electro-encephalitic trauma," Byers says, having located that in a
file he's holding himself.

"Which is exactly what Mulder experienced earlier this year," Scully
says in a small voice.

"Which means what, exactly?" Langly asks.

"It means we have to tell Mulder that he's in danger, too, not just the
returnees." She reaches for the phone.

"What if it's just coinci-" Langly trails off as Scully pitches forward
in a faint. He tries to catch her, but she manages to hit her forehead
on the corner of the desk.

"Oh shit, that's going to leave a mark," he says as he lowers her the
rest of the way to the ground. "Don't just stand there! Call an
ambulance. And get Mulder on the phone."

The other gunmen are startled by his unusual assertiveness and pull out
phones.

~*~*~

Meanwhile...
The Watergate Apartments

When Krycek and Marita arrive, the smoking man is looking out the
window with a disappointed expression.

"Looking for your ship?" Krycek taunts. "No one went to find it."

"We've failed, then. Perhaps you never meant to succeed. Anyway...the
hour is at hand, I presume."

The nurse tries to keep Krycek from wheeling the smoking man out of the
room, but Marita blocks her.

Nurse Greta looks alarmed. "What are you doing?" 

"Sending the Devil back to Hell," Krycek says grimly. He then pushes
the Cigarette Smoking Man's wheelchair to the top of a flight of
stairs.

The Cigarette Smoking Man gives Krycek an ominous look. "As you do to
Mulder and to me...you do to all of mankind, Alex."

"As if you and Mulder are the same type of man." Krycek snorts. "He's a
fool, not evil."

After a moment he gives the wheelchair a fierce push, and watches
impassively as the old man flies down the staircase and lands in a
boneless heap at the bottom. However he does wince when the empty chair
lands on the man. He and Marita exchange a look, then walk down the
stairs, shove the chair out of the way and step over their nemesis.

Somewhere inside of the house there's a forlorn little cry. Neither
Krycek nor Marita hears it as they walk off into the night.

~*~*~

Meanwhile...
Somewhere in the Woods

"So," Mulder looks around where they're standing. "What are we doing
out here? I'm guessing it's not for a weenie roast."

"There was a sighting out here last night," Skinner tells him. "I do
pay attention to your reports now and again, Mulder."

::And of all the times to decide to!:: Mulder thinks nervously. ::I'm
supposed to be avoiding UFOs not looking for them, dammit.::
"Right...Well, I don't see anything out here, do you?"

"No, not yet anyway," Skinner tells him as he studies the sky. It's
dark earlier than usual, most likely because they've predicted rain.

"Maybe it was just a crackpot," Mulder suggests.

"I guess-" Both of their phones begin to ring. Skinner is quicker to
answer his, and looks over at Mulder. "Scully passed out and hit her
head. The gunmen are bringing her to the hospital. You can talk to them
while we drive."

"Right," Mulder says before beginning to speak to Byers. "Do you have
any idea why?"

He and Skinner climb into the car and take off. All thoughts of aliens
are pushed out of Mulder's mind as his friend explains to him that she
just fell for no apparent reason. "There's got to be a reason, Byers.
People don't just faint for no-"

Skinner's car stutters to a stop. The lights won't work, and nothing
happens when Skinner pushes on the gas. "Of all the times to break
down..." Skinner mutters. "Hand me the flashlight under your seat,
would you?"

"Sure." Mulder fishes it out and hand it over. "Do you think it's the
alternator? My dad used to whack ours when it stopped working."

"Maybe," Skinner grunts and gets out of the car.

Skinner is still trying to get the hood up when it happens - a flood of
white light fills the interior of the car. It's so bright that he's got
to use an arm to shade his eyes, but he still sees Mulder's face. The
other man looks both surprised and horrified.

"Mulder!" he shouts, running to the passenger side of the car. Before
he can make it all the way there something like a giant invisible hand
throws him back, and he lands heavily in the dirt. By the time he's on
his feet the car is empty.

"Mulder?" Skinner looks up at the sky, and sees that the light is
retracting towards a triangular ship that he hadn't noticed before. It
hovers there for a moment, then zips away leaving Skinner to stare at
the dark night sky in anguish.

~*~*~

Memorial Hospital
That Night

Skinner looks a little lost when he timidly enters Scully's hospital
room. She doesn't seem to notice him at first, but then she looks in
his direction, and he's instantly tongue-tied.

"Agent Scully. How you feeling?" he asks at length.

"I'm feeling fine. They think it's just dehydration," Scully says
thinly and touches her forehead. "No concussion, but I'll have a goose
egg for a while. They ran a few tests to see if there was anything else
that could have made me pass out but I'll probably be out of here
tonight."

"Well...um..." Skinner looks pained, and it's clear that he's not going
to be able to say what's on his mind.

Scully looks like she's about to cry herself, but she takes pity on him
and softly says, "I already heard."

"I lost him." Skinner says in a broken voice. "I don't know what else I
can say. I lost him. I'll be asked...what I saw. And what I saw, I
can't deny. I won't."

"We will find him. I have to." Scully's tears overflow. Skinner is
about to leave, but pauses when she begins to speak again. "I can't
raise six kids on my own. I mean...I'm capable, but I just can't do
this without him."

"We'll get him back." Skinner repeats. 

"Yes." She agrees because neither of them can allow themselves to think
otherwise.

 ~*~*~

Later
Missy's House

Missy gives her fianc� a frustrated and confused look. "I still don't
understand."

"I told you. There's someone watching the kids. They could be in
danger."

"I know. But explain how that connects to your bizarre desire to move
yourself and Emily into my sister's house." Missy complains.

He takes a deep breath. "How else am I going to keep them all safe? I
told you when the twins were born that I'd look after those kids. I
mean to do it."

"Alex, that's noble but..." It is only with effort that she doesn't
snap at him that nobility is not something that's normally one of his
motivating factors.

"And Fox asked me to look after them. You don't want me to break a
promise, do you? Besides, I'm just talking about nights. When they're
most vulnerable."

"But what if I'm not willing to include my child in this plan?" she
asks, beginning to sound angry.

"Our child!" he snaps. "You know you want her to be safe, Missy. You
know it."

"But I don't want her away from me every night!"

He gives her a long look. "We don't always get what we want. Sometimes
we have to do what's best for others instead. If I could be two places
at once, I would be, but it's not possible."

"You have all the answers, don't you," she says icily.

"This time I do," he says evenly.

Eventually Missy succumbs to his logic and gives in.

~*~*~

end seven of ten

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