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

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

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

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

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

In season nine Mulder learns that life isn't perfect even without supersoldiers
to make a mess of things and that there's still a conspiracy threatening his
family.

~*~*~
Season Nine - chapters 104-116
~*~*~


Chapter One Hundred And Four
"BEK"

May 16th, 2001
Early

"Congratulations," Reyes whispers to Mulder as she admires the baby
he's holding in his arms.

"Thanks. I'll let Scully know that you stopped by," he says, before
bringing his newest son back into the hospital room where Scully is
sleeping.

"Guess we'd better be going," Doggett tells her. It had been her plan
to stop by before work, making him promise to arrive at the same time.
"It's almost eight."

There's a lot of traffic around the hospital at even that hour, so he's
anxious to get going. Somehow he doesn't think Skinner would be amused
if they're late because Reyes really wanted to see Scully's new baby.

"Oh God, he's so cute," Reyes says for the third time as they reach the
parking lot. "I wish I'd seen the older kids when they were that
small."

"He looks like the picture Mulder sent me of Sammy when he was brand
new," Doggett offers.

"I keep forgetting that your families kept in touch all that time."

"Yup. Luke was rather enamored of the Feds, so it was inevitable."
Doggett grins. "The baby looks like his big brother, but I keep
thinking about when Hannah was a baby."

"It makes sense, she and Sammy are just a few months apart. Naturally
you'd think of back then," she says, but kicks herself for reminding
him of his ex-wife.

"It seems so long ago," Doggett says with a sigh. "Barbara and I were
happy then."

"Yeah..." she half-heartedly agrees.

"But that was definitely a million years ago," Doggett says softly. He
then leans over and kisses her.

Surprised that the hunter has suddenly become the prey, it takes her a
moment before she kisses him back.

"I thought I was going to have to make the first move," Reyes says when
she finally pulls away.

A small smile plays across his lips. "I like to keep you guessing."

She nods slightly. "Well, mission accomplished." 

He hums to himself as he walks to his car.
 
~*~*~

The Next Morning

May seventeenth dawns rosily and Mulder is awake to greet it. Scully
sleeps in her hospital bed, and William is in Mulder's arms. The baby
hadn't woken up crying, but Mulder just wants to hold him. Just in
case.

By the time William was thirty-six hours old the last go around, Mulder
had already been warned by Kersh that staying would put Scully and the
baby's lives in danger.

::But things are different:: Mulder thinks as he looks out the window.
::This time there are no aliens hunting my little boy. Billy Miles is
settling into his new career rather than tearing off heads or spying on
women in labor. Scully didn't have an audience - hell, the baby came so
fast I didn't make it into the room on time after updating the family!
Nothing is going to take me away from them this time::

William stirs in his arms and lets out a mewling cry.

::I hope::

"Is he hungry?" Scully asks sleepily.

"I think so." She holds out her arms and he obligingly fills them.
"Here you go. Are you going to be to be ready to go home today?"

She yawns. "If you can keep the restless natives quiet, I'll be fine."

"I'll do my best," Mulder promises.

::What if problems are tied to the date, not his birth?:: Mulder
wonders nervously. May 22nd is still days away.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
Later

The fact that the three older kids are at school makes it easier for
Mulder to fulfill his promise. The little boys aren't even up for the
day yet when he pulls into their driveway and helps Scully out of the
car.

"I'll take him," Mulder tells her when she makes a move to open the
back door. She nods and he gently removes the newborn from his car
seat. Scully leans on the arm that isn't cradling their new son.

::We're home.:: Mulder telegraphs to William. ::It's nicer digs than
your mom's old apartment.::

Scully yawns beside him, and he remembers she's there with a little
startled jolt. Even with part of her weight on his arm, she's so quiet
that he almost felt alone with the baby. "Better get you to bed," he
suggests. "Get in a nap while you can, since Sammy and April will be
home in about four hours."

"That sounds like a good idea," she agrees and yawns again. He kisses
her on the forehead.

No sooner has Mulder watched her close the bedroom door than he hears
small feet behind him. He's not surprised to see David and Jared
standing behind him in their PJs. The two small boys are staring at the
baby in his arms with slightly puzzled looks.

"Hey guys, this is your new brother, remember? Mommy and he just got
home from the hospital. She's sleeping." He adds, hoping they won't
demand to see her immediately.

David looks at Jared before saying. "He's one baby."

"That's right," Mulder agrees.

"How come?" Jared asks.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Mulder tells him, wondering if they're
confused as to why their new cousin isn't there too.

"He's one, Christopher is one, and Page is one, and Sammy's one, and
April's one," David rambles before pointing to Jared and himself.
"We're two."

"Oh! That's because you're twins. Most of the time mommies only have
one baby at once, but sometimes they have two like you guys," Mulder
tries to explain.

He looks down at his small sons and wonders how long ago it occurred to
them that they're slightly different from their siblings. He has the
sudden sense that they've given the idea a lot of thought. Mulder has
overheard them speak to each other far more often than anyone else, but
has never really wondered what they'd been talking about.

"Just sometimes?" Jared looks disappointed. "We wanted him to be two.
We waited and waited."

"Sorry, Buddy, we don't get to pick how many babies we get at once.
That's something God decides." Mulder tries not to laugh out loud.
Scully might eventually find the idea that her sons had been hoping
she'd have a second set of twins amusing, but he knew that two days
after giving birth wasn't the time to share that thought. "You know
what, though?"

"What?" they both ask.

"Sammy and April's friends Tilly and Billy have twin brothers who are
going to be in your preschool class in the fall. So you won't be the
only twins there!" He tries to sound as cheerful as possible because
neither twin has expressed much interest in beginning school after the
summer is over.

"Yeah?" David asks. "What their names?"

He has to think about it for a moment, because at first all he
remembers is that he hates their too similar names. "Taylor and Tyler."

"Oh." David surprises Mulder by pulling his arm down so he can get a
better look at William. "It's not your fault you're one," he tells his
new brother, his face inches from the baby's.

"Nope," Jared agrees. "Maybe the next time baby can be two."

As Mulder watches them race off, he thinks ::Don't let Mommy hear you
say that!:: Then he whispers down to his sleeping newborn. "I'm glad
it's just you. You're perfect the way you are."

No sooner has he put William in his crib than the phone rings. It's
Kersh, demanding an audience on the twenty-second. Mulder's heart skips
a beat when he hears the date.

~*~*~

 Hoover Building
May 22nd, 2001

Kersh doesn't seem at all nervous when he has Mulder and Skinner
sitting in front of him, not like he had when he'd announced the threat
on Mulder's life in another when, so Mulder's anxiety melts away into
impatience. There's obviously something else on the man's mind, but he
can't imagine what it could be. He nearly has to sit on his hands to
stop his fidgeting.

"I've asked you here today because I've been notified that you've
requested to return to work."

Mulder sits up straighter. "That's right, I have. I feel that I'm ready
to return to work as soon as possible."

"I understand that you feel that way." Kersh gives him a bland look
that hides gleeful malice. "We'll revisit this issue again in October."

"Why October?" Mulder demands to know, ignoring at warning look from
Skinner. He's too annoyed to take good advice. "I feel fit to return to
duty now."

Kersh slowly shakes his head. "What you've been through is a unique and
highly stressful situation. I've consulted with one of the bureau's
head psychologists, and he's recommended that you be put on
administrative leave for six months. Beginning retroactively in April,"
Kersh adds.

It's a carefully calculated gesture that's supposed to appear generous,
and Mulder swears silently. He'll appear completely ungrateful if he
protests. "All right."

Kersh raises his eyebrows, and Mulder doesn't reward his expectation of
having a temper tantrum. Things are different this time around, as
evidenced by his presence in his home several days after William's
birth. No dire warnings have surfaced putting his safety in doubt, so
he supposes that he ought to try to act appreciative - if only to fate,
and not his odious employer.

"There's another matter I'd like to discuss while I have you here,"
Kersh chillingly announces while gesturing to someone Mulder can't see.
"Something that has been put off while you've recovered - physically -
from your ordeal."

When Mulder turns his head, he sees Gibson Praise and an unfamiliar
woman entering the room. Mulder wonders what is so important that Kersh
has the boy in at midday instead of waiting until after school lets
out. He'd been expecting the worst, but can't figure out what the boy
has to do with being told to leave.

From the corner of his eye he sees that Doggett is hanging back in the
hallway, and Mulder is struck by a sudden certainty that his friend has
been forbidden from coming in. That can't be a good sign.

Kersh waves a hand at the boy, indicating an empty chair. Gibson sits
reluctantly. "Gibson, I've been told by John Doggett that you don't
believe that agent Mulder is the man who abducted you last summer. I
asked you here today so you can either confirm or refute that. I want
you to be honest either way." Kersh's expression says otherwise, and
Mulder would not be surprised if his thoughts did as well.

Gibson frowns at him. "It wasn't agent Mulder who took me or broke my
ankle. It was some...one else. He looked like agent Mulder, but it
wasn't."

"You're sure of that?" Kersh asks, leaning forward in his chair.

"Positive." Gibson's voice is firm. 

Kersh's expression is a strange mixture of disappointment and relief.
"Very well. Thank you for clearing that up. She-" he gestures to the
woman Mulder already forgot is in the room. "-will take your statement
in writing, and then you're free to go. As are you, Agent Mulder."

"Thank you, sir," a somewhat dazed Mulder says politely enough that
it'd make Scully proud. "If there isn't anything else, I'll see you in
October."

"That's everything. See you then."

~*~*~

As Mulder walks out of the room, he keeps looking back, half expecting
that Kersh will call him back and tell him that he has something else
to talk to him about after all. "Mulder, we need to talk about one last
thing," he'd call. Then he'd explain the death threats that he'd been
given for Mulder. It would all culminate in Mulder packing up and
leaving before he endangered Scully and the kids.

But Kersh never calls out. 

By the time Mulder reaches the elevator, he feels a sort of hopeful
wonder. Has he really changed the past so much that there's really no
reason for him to worry about being separated from his family for no
good reason? He lets himself hope that it's true, and refuses to worry
that it might not be.

Apparently unaware of his new elation, Skinner and Doggett give him
sympathetic looks. "Sorry it turned out this way," Doggett offers. "I
know you've been anxious to get back into the swing of things."

"Yeah," Mulder agrees, realizing that he's really annoyed as well as
being grateful.

"I don't understand why I'm here." Gibson looks puzzled. "I couldn't
tell why he wanted to talk about what happened last summer. I know it
had to do with Mulder wanting to come back to work, but I don't know
how."

Before Mulder can say anything, Skinner addresses the boy. "He was
hoping that you'd say that Mulder was your kidnapper so he could
immediately bar him from returning to the FBI."

"Why does he hate you?" Gibson asks Mulder.

"I think I cause him to think too much. Some people resent that sort of
thing," Mulder says with a what-can-you-do expression.

"Maybe," the boy agrees.

Mulder glances down at his watch. It's one o'clock. "Gibson, how about
you and I go to lunch? It's too late to go back to school. I can drop
you off at John's afterwards."

"If it's okay with John," Gibson says, but he looks eager.

"Yeah, sure," Doggett tells him. "I've got to get back to work." 

~*~*~

"So how's school?" Mulder asks as he and Gibson set their plastic trays
on a table. Gibson insisted he wanted to go to Arby's, which is fine by
Mulder though he'd been hoping to go some place a little fancier.
Teenage boys, unfortunately, aren't the arbiters of taste.

"Good. I'm getting As and Bs in everything. So's Luke."

"You guys have the same classes?"

"Some of them," Gibson says.

Their conversation drifts off to silence until they're nearly done
eating. "This will sound strange, but I have a question for you,"
Mulder asks abruptly.

"Okay."

Trying very hard not to think of aliens or cults himself, he asks, "Did
Kersh want to tell me anything else, but didn't?"

To Mulder's surprise, Gibson blushes. "He um...John would get mad if I
repeated the names he calls you in his head."

"I can imagine," Mulder says with a grimace. He has a few pet names for
Kersh too.

"He was mostly thinking that he wishes that there was a way to keep you
from coming back, but he thinks you'll be back like a bad penny no
matter what."

Nodding, Mulder thanks him. If that's the most revealing things Gibson
can think of, it seems like Kersh hasn't gotten any death threats on
Mulder's behalf. This time.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home

"Mulder, we need to talk," Scully tells him after he vents to her about
how unfair it is that Kersh won't let him go back to work for another
four months.
 
He crosses his legs, somehow sure that she's going to bring up his long
ago promised vasectomy. He does mean to get one when she hits forty but
that's still nearly three years away. So much for a next time baby.
"About?"

"About Michelle," she says, surprising him.

"What about her?" he asks, uncrossing his legs.

"We're going to keep her on, aren't we?" Scully asks.

"Why wouldn't we?" Mulder asks blankly.

"I'll go back to work sometime this summer but you're going to be out
of work until October," she reminds him.

"And? I can manage to stay out of her way until then. It's not fair to
lay her off for a few months and expect she'll still be around when we
need a nanny again in the fall." Assuming that he actually is
reinstated without a fuss then. He doesn't imagine Kersh will welcome
him back with open arms, despite the thoughts Gibson relayed to him.

"I was hoping you'd see it that way." Scully looks relieved.

"Good nannies are hard to find. We've been lucky so far, but who's to
say it would hold? The last thing this house needs is a hand that rocks
the cradle," he tells her, unable to stop himself from grinning.

"Mulder..." She rolls her eyes, but she doesn't seem annoyed. "It would
be wasted on you anyway. No nanny would want to cat around with a man
with seven kids. She'd be too afraid of getting knocked up."

He gives her a solemn look. "I'm nothing if not virile. But I save all
my love for yoooou."

"You damn well better," she says in a playfully fierce tone. 

~*~*~

Doggett Home
That Afternoon

When Doggett gets home, Luke and Hannah are playing cards. He waits
until Luke stops groaning at her declaration of war before asking,
"Where's Gibson?" Mulder should have brought him home a couple hours
ago.

Luke shrugs his shoulders. "He's upstairs. We asked him to play, but he
wouldn't."

"Okay, I'll go see him." Doggett finds himself wondering what might be
wrong with the boy. Usually he and Luke are inseparable, so it's unlike
him to hide in their room. He worries that the interview has upset him,
and kicks himself for not being more insistent that he be allowed in.

He knocks gently, and waits for a voice to invite him in. "Hey, Luke
said you didn't feel like playing with them."

Gibson nods and hands Doggett a piece of paper. "You got a call about
an hour ago."

"They leave a message?"

"Nope, just wanted you to call back when you got home." Gibson's voice
is dull, which worries Doggett.

"Thanks, I'll give them a call right now. You up for going to the video
store later? I'll let you guys each pick a movie."

"Okay." The boy looks slightly more cheerful, but not much.

"You sure they didn't say who they were when they called?"

"I'm sure."

Studying the boy's face, Doggett is sure that he knows even if the
caller didn't identify him or herself.

"We'll probably head out in an hour or so," Doggett tells him, but
there's still little reaction.

~*~*~

Sighing to himself, he heads to his room and picks up the phone by his
bed. "Hi, this is John Doggett. I was told that you asked for me to
call you?"

A smoothly profession voice speaks to him. "Hello Agent Doggett, my
name is Geraldine Lowman from the department of social services. I've
been in contact with assistant director Kersh, and he asked me to talk
to you directly."

"About?" Doggett asks uneasily.

"Your ward, Gibson Praise," Ms. Lowman replies. "I asked the director
if the child needs to be in protective custody any longer, and he told
me to speak to you."

"I think he does," Doggett replies, too quickly. Something twists low
in his belly. He should have thought about having to give Gibson up,
but it has never occurred to him before now. If it had, he would have
corrected Hannah weeks ago when she'd spoken of her "two brothers."

There's a pause, then her voice returns, a little less
professional-sounding. "I understand that you're fond of the child, but
I think you ought to know that being under the FBI's protective custody
isn't the only way that you can keep him."

"It isn't?" Doggett asks. He immediately is filled with an urge to bang
his head against the wall. His eagerness all but confesses that he
doesn't really think Gibson is in any immediate danger.

"No. The boy has no family of his own, and he's been living with your
family for nearly a year. You'd be in a good position to adopt him if
you wanted to."

"But I'm single," Doggett protests. "Wouldn't that be held against me?"


"Single individuals and married couples are both freely able to adopt
in Virginia," Ms. Lowman tells him, sounding slightly defensive
herself. "I assure you that it wouldn't pose a problem."

"I'll confer with my boss about Gibson's need to be under protective
custody," Doggett promises. "And if it isn't necessary any longer, I
believe I'd be interested in investigating the possibility of adopting
Gibson."

"Excellent. I hope to hear from you later this week, then." 

"Right. Bye."

When Doggett hangs up he's not surprised to see Gibson standing at the
door. The boy looks anxious, so Doggett gives him a smile. "You ever
wanted a brother and sister, Gibson?"

Gibson doesn't say anything. He just grins.

~*~*~

That Night

"Mulder, do you have to carry him everywhere?" Scully asks, looking a
bit frazzled.

Mulder glances down at the baby in his arms. He's still not one hundred
percent sure that there's no looming threat, so it's his plan to spend
as much time as he can with William while he's awake. ::If I get
through tomorrow without hearing from Kersh, then I'll believe:: he
thinks, fairly certain that he's not lying to himself.

Scully, however, is staring at him with her hands on her hips. Waiting
for an answer.

"He's a week old, it's not as if he can walk on his own yet," Mulder
says glibly. He makes no move to put William down.

"When he's six months old and still wants to be held all the time,
it'll be on your head."

"Okay."

"You'll be the one carrying him around all the time," she warns.

"That's fine."

"By that point he'll be getting teeth and drooling all over you."

"I'll wear shirts made of terry cloth and keep my fingers out of his
mouth."

She gives up. 

The doorbell rings a moment later and Mulder puts finally William down
to answer it only to have Ryan put into his arms a moment later.

"Thanks, Fox," Melissa tells him before turning to help Emily take off
her raincoat. When did it begin to rain, he wonders. The skies outside
are leaden, he just failed to notice.

The baby in his arms smacks his lips and Mulder finds himself studying
his nephew. He and William are of similar age and coloring, but they're
easy to tell apart.

His eyes drift to his sister-in-law and niece, and he finds himself
slightly awed by his nephew. Ryan's whole family is supposed to be six
feet under, but here he is. Mulder finds it extraordinary that his
tampering has not only saved lives but allowed for the creation of a
brand new one that wasn't made from personal effort. Not that he minded
any of the work that went into creating his own offspring.

"Come to mommy, Sweetheart," Missy croons as she takes Ryan back and
heads for the kitchen. He then notices that Scully has taken William
back upstairs while her sister distracted him. ::I wonder if they
planned that. Nah.::

The doorbell rings a second time, and Mulder again answers it. "Dad!
Come in. How are you feeling?" he asks, though he knows his father will
say he's okay. It's what he's said every day since being released from
the hospital.

"You know I'm fine, Fox." Bill Mulder gives him a small smile and hands
him a wrapped box. "Your mom been by to see the new baby yet?"

"Yesterday. She didn't stay long. William's upstairs. Scully just took
him up so he's probably still awake," Mulder says as he leads the way
to the baby's room. Bill follows quietly.

"Here he is," Mulder proudly announces as he flips on the light.

His father's walks forward and peers into the crib. Mulder is surprised
to hear Bill gasp softly.

"Dad?" Mulder asks uncertainly.

Bill shakes his head. "I didn't expect another redhead after the twins
and Christopher."

"Surprise. Ryan's a redhead too."

"Ryan?"

"Melissa's new baby," Mulder reminds him. "He's almost two weeks old.
And in our kitchen as we speak."

"Oh," Bill says faintly.

"There's a pretty strong thread of redheads in Scully's family," Mulder
tells him, wondering why his father looks concerned.

"So it seems." Bill gives him an inscrutable look. "You have a couple
of other nephews by marriage, are they redheads too?"

"Nope. Mattie and Brandon have dark hair," Mulder says as he picks the
baby up carefully. "Do you want to hold him?"

The older man seems on the verge of saying no, but he holds out his
arms. William waves his fists erratically before setting into his
grandfather's hold.

Bill looks up from the baby. "I wanted more kids when you were little,
but your mother refused. She said I wasn't a good enough a father to
the two we already had."

"Dad-"

"She was right," Bill says with a deep sigh. "Long before Samantha
disappeared, I knew I wasn't a good Dad. What happened to your sister
only drove the point home."

Mulder doesn't know the right thing to say, so he keeps quiet. Listens.

"But in spite of me, you're turned out to be a better man than I ever
could have hoped. A better man than I am. And a better father." Bill
looks down at his newborn grandson again. "As much as you believe in
your work, you'd never put it above any of your children."

Mulder's first impulse is to say 'of course not!' but his brain clamps
down on his tongue. "You did the best you could, Dad."

"And that's the worst of it."

"Bumpa?" a stage whisper behind them asks. They turn to see the twins
and April in the doorway.

"Come play with us, Bumpa!" April invites, and the twins nod
vigorously.

"Sure," Bill says cheerfully before giving William back to his son.
"I'll meet you guys down in the playroom."

Giggling, the kids scramble down the stairs. Bill moves to join them,
but Mulder stops him. "Dad? You're a good grandfather."

Bill smiles. "Thanks, Fox."

~*~*~

Hoover Building
Two Weeks Later

When Reyes comes in to the office one morning, she looks flustered.

"Rough morning?" Doggett asks casually.

"Yeah. My stupid car broke down. The tow-truck guy gave me a ride here,
but I'm going to have to get a cab home because all the rental places
are out of cars. I guess there's a huge convention going on around
here."

"Don't get a cab."

"I'm not up to walking home, John."

He grins at her. "I was going to offer to give you a ride home, but you
interrupted."

"Whoops. I'd love a ride if the offer still stands."

"Yeah, sure," Doggett agrees. "Why don't we look through the mail and
see if there's a making for a case somewhere out there?"

"Right. It kind of makes me wish Mulder was around. He's good a
sniffing out interesting things to investigate."

"We'll have to practice at it while he's gone," Doggett says. "I think
we better ditch the post-it notes before our self-restrain wears thin."

"I trust us," Reyes replies with her eyes wide and innocent. "Don't
you?"

"Only as far as I could throw us," he says as he gathers post-it pads
to toss in the trash.

"You're no fun." She pouts.

"Is that a challenge?" Doggett asks, thinking of a few things they
could do to fill their time. Some of them might not even get them
fired.

Over the course of the day they discover two things: it's apparently
the off-season for weirdness so they'll have to settle for writing up
case files, and what's wrong with Reyes' car will take several days to
fix.

~*~*~

Mid-June 2001

Even after Reyes' car was fixed, Doggett continues to bring her to and
from work. If asked about it they'd probably tell people they thought
carpooling was good for the environment. The truth, however, is that
they enjoy the excuse to be alone that it provides.

Like right now, when they're parked in front of her building. 

Doggett kisses her, but he pulls away with a frown. "I'm getting tired
of this cloak and dagger crap, Monica. Aren't you?"

"I don't know..." she hedges. "Having a secret is sort of exciting."

"We're going to have to tell my kids sooner or later," Doggett warns
her. For him, sneaking around like hormonal teenagers is beginning to
wear thin.

"I know, but..." Though he's never fancied himself any sort of
mind-reader, he's filled with a sudden certainty that he knows what
she's about to say. She's hesitant to involve the kids if it's only a
casual affair.

He just wishes that he was ready to make up his mind about how serious
he wants to get. Every time he starts to feel optimistic about their
chances, memories of Barbara packing up and leaving them without a
backwards glance return to haunt him.

He decides to kiss her again to keep her from bringing up anything
uncomfortable. But to Doggett's disappointment just as he leans in to
do so, Reyes jumps away from him. "What?" he asks, trying not to sound
petulant.

She motions towards the window with her chin. "The boys are right
there."

"Where?" Doggett squints into the twilight. Eventually he catches sight
of two boys approaching the car. "I guess they saw the car," he says
even as he wonders why they would be hanging around her apartment.
"Maybe they assumed I'd be here," he suggests doubtfully.

But as the pair draws nearer, he realizes that it isn't Gibson and
Luke. These boys are younger, perhaps twelve. Both are wearing baseball
caps and t-shirts with logos on them. The dark-haired boy's is the
Yankee's, the fair-haired sports the Mets.

"Oops, false alarm," Reyes says next to him. 

"Yeah, I guess-" He trails off when the kids walk directly to the car.

One of the boys taps on the window. And Doggett rolls it down a couple
of inches. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, please," the boy wearing the Yankee gear says. "My brother and I
are on our way to the baseball game, but we've forgot our tickets."

"Sorry to hear that," Doggett tells him. His eyes flick towards Reyes
when he notices that she's shivering. "I'm not sure what we could do to
help, though."

"We'd like a ride," the other boy says. "We don't have time to walk
home and back before the game starts."

"I don't think so," Doggett starts to say, but he's surprised to
realize that his hand is going for the door handle. He's even more
surprised when Reyes reaches over and grabs his wrist.

"John. Don't!" she hisses between clenched teeth.

"Please, Mister?" the boy whines. "It won't take that long, I promise."

Reyes' fingers are still wrapped around his wrist. If anything, her
grip has tightened. She whispers urgently into his ear. "Dammit, look
at their eyes."

When he finally sees, he can't believe he didn't notice earlier. Where
their eyes should be colored all he can see is pupil-black darkness. A
sense of terrible wrongness fills him and he pulls his wrist out of
Reyes' fingers. Quicker than thought, he throws the car into drive and
takes off.

The boys shrink into the distance, but he thinks he can see a hateful
look on the face of the boy who did most of the talking.

"Where are we going?" Reyes asks, sounding a bit shaken herself.

"Back to my place," Doggett says, realizing just then where he plans to
go. "There's something wrong with those kids. I don't think you should
go home tonight."

"What are Luke and Gibson going to think?" Reyes asks.

"Like I said. We were going to have to tell them sooner or later."

~*~*~

Doggett's House

Reyes follows Doggett into the house, feeling uncharacteristically shy.
They'd stopped off for food on the way there, and the bags are in
Doggett's arms.

Two hungry teenagers soon appear in the room, apparently drawn by the
smell. "Hi Monica." Luke greets her offhand. "Dad, is that Chinese?"

"Yeah. Grab some plates, would you?"

"Hi," Gibson says to Reyes. "Are you having dinner with us?"

"Sure am." 

The next few minutes pass in a blur as the boys help to get the food
dished out and Hannah demands her father's attention. They've just
settled around the table - and the boys have finished negotiating over
the chicken fingers and fried rice - when Doggett clears his throat.

"I have something to tell you guys," he announces, and the kids
actually look up from their food. "Monica and I are seeing each other."

To his surprise, this doesn't elicit much of a response from the boys.
They nod agreeably and go back to eating. Hannah, on the other hand,
looks confused.

She turns to Reyes. "Were you blind?"

"What?" Reyes asks blankly.

"I know Daddy isn't blind, but if he's saying you're seeing each other,
was you blind before?"

Luke snorts. "Hannah, he meant they're dating."

"Oh..." Hannah gives Reyes a studious look. "So you're Daddy's
girlfriend, then."

"Well... Yes." 

"Okay," Hannah says before reaching for the duck sauce.

"What do you guys think?" Doggett asks a bit anxiously.

"Took you long enough," Gibson tells him.

"Yeah," Luke agrees. "We thought you'd hook up ages ago."

"It's different with adults," Doggett mutters before going back to
eating.

Once they're finished eating, the kids go outside to play with the
basketball hoop, and Reyes helps Doggett put away the leftovers. "I
think that went well." She offers.

"Sure. I expected it would."

"About earlier, what made you drive off like that?" she asks, making
him think of their strange encounter for the first time since they got
home.

"There was something wrong with those kids," he says after a moment.

"Like they were evil?" she suggests.

"Something like that," he reluctantly agrees.

"I think we might have found a case."

"Great, that's what I always wanted. My name in another X-File case
write-up," Doggett says sourly.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," she tells him.

~*~*~

The Next Day

Since they've told the kids and no longer need to sneak around, Reyes
takes her own car to work the next morning. He's not very surprised
when she is still on the subject of their encounter when he arrives.

"I found something on the internet," Reyes announces.

Doggett gives the back of her computer a skeptical look as he walks
towards her. "The internet? There's stuff on there that isn't porn?"

She gives him a slow smile. "That may be all you've ever discovered but
there's a lot of other stuff on there."

"Um..." Doggett stammers. "That's not funny. What did you find?"

Still smirking, Reyes hands him a sheaf of paper. He looks up at her
with a smirk of his own. "Black Eyed Kids?"

"That's what the website calls them," Reyes acknowledges. "Read it."

It takes Doggett a few minutes to read through the print-out. "You
don't think they're demons or vampires like this guy does, do you?"

"Probably not. But you've got to admit that there are similarities
between what we saw and what all those other people did."

"How do you plan to go about investigating this? It's not like they'll
come back."

"I thought we could get an expert opinion on whether this is something
we should waste our time on or not," Reyes tells him.

"So you want to go bother Mulder with this," Doggett guesses.

"He said it's not a bother and we should stop by around ten," Reyes
tells him, trying to look innocent and failing.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home

It doesn't take very long to explain the situation to Mulder, and he
listens very carefully.

"... so the guy who wrote the article said he thought they might be
vampires," Reyes concludes.

"I think you're overlooking an obvious explanation for this," Mulder
tells them, barely glancing up from the baby on his lap. This doesn't
surprise Doggett because Scully's mentioned a couple of times that
Mulder has spent a lot of time lately with both William and
Christopher.

"Which is what?" Doggett asks.

"You said that their eyes are completely black, didn't you?" Mulder
waits for them to nod. "Clearly they've been infected by the black
oil."

"Muldah, that's sort of a stretch-" Doggett begins, but the other man
cuts him off.

"It's only a stretch if you insist on not believing your own eyes about
the presence of alien life on this planet."

"Not believing my own eyes?" Doggett snorts. "When did I do that?"

"When the shape shifter you killed took on Skinner's form," Reyes says
before Mulder can. This doesn't please Doggett, because he apparently
expected her to take his side.

"I still don't think-" Doggett starts to say, but the others look at
him so he trails off in mid-sentence. "If this is that black oil stuff,
what do you suggest we do about it?"

"If those kids come back, don't get close to them. It can jump from one
person to another. You don't want that," Mulder tells him with a slight
shudder.

"You say that like you know that from personal experience," Doggett
says nervously.

Mulder gives him a hard stare. "I went into a bathroom in Hong Kong,
saw a woman with the black oil swarming in her eyes, blacked out and
found myself waking up in the hospital here in the US. Being used as a
mode of transportation wasn't my idea of fun."

"But it didn't kill you, though," Reyes is quick to point out.

"No, not me." Mulder wouldn't elaborate on what he meant by that, which
made both of the agents even more nervous.

"So what if it is this stuff, what do you suggest we do if they come
back?" Doggett asks.

"Stay away from them and call in a CDC team. It fits the definition of
an infectious disease and hazmat suits keep people more or less safe."

They waited for him to expound upon what he meant by "more or less" but
he didn't.

~*~*~

Mulder closes the door firmly behind them a few minutes later and leans
against the wall with a sigh. It doesn't really have much of anything
to do with the case his friends are investigating, but he'd thought of
something mid-conversation. It had happened when he'd looked up to
stare at Doggett.

Before he looked away his eyes had caught sight of a framed picture of
his niece hanging behind the other man. It 's a picture he's seen
hundreds of times, but he'd seen it in a new light just then. What had
the syndication been planning, not only for Emily, but for Gibson
Praise? They've been thwarted in both realities, but what if they
hadn't been? Would they have used the kids up, perhaps as vectors to
move the black oil?

Or worse?

It had been all he could do not to show his reaction to the cold finger
he felt being dragged across his spine. As much as he likes both
agents, it wasn't as though he could tell them that horrible things had
been done to both children in an all together different once upon a
time.

They are both safe now, but the thoughts serve as a grim reminder that
though he has succeeded this time around, once he had failed.

And that meant it was possible that he could fail again.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
A Few Days Later

Since his conversation with his father right after William's birth,
Mulder has made more of an effort to keep in touch with Bill Mulder.
Despite all his faults, Bill is a wonderful grandfather, and Mulder has
observed that being around the kids means his father isn't drinking.
After talking it over with Scully, he resolved to invite his dad over
for dinner a couple of time a month.

Which is why they're sitting in the living room watching a baseball
game after the kids have gone to bed. It's the bottom of the ninth when
Bill tears his gaze away from the TV and asks, "When is Dana going back
to work?"

"The first week of August," Mulder tells his father, idly wondering why
he cares. Teena hadn't been working when he and Samantha were born, so
it's not as though he has a lot of first hand experience with maternity
leave. "All things considered this year, she decided to extend her
leave this time."

"It's been a rough year," Bill agrees. "Which is why I asked."

"Oh?"

"Fox, have you ever wanted to go on a vacation?"

"I've gone on vacation." Mulder begins to feel a little defensive. "We
went to New Orleans a few years ago."

"I mean a real vacation," his father insists. "To get off the
continental US and go somewhere tropical."

"Well, I suppose. It seems like a frivolous expense, though,
considering we'd want to take the kids with us."

"For you, maybe. But I want to go to Hawaii."

"That sounds nice, Dad. You really should."

"I'm going to. And I'm taking you and the kids with me," Bill declares
with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Dad, that's a lot of money-"

"What else am I going to spend my money on? I can't think of anything
better than seeing my little grandkids having fun some place exotic.
You're not going to disappoint an old man, are you, Fox?"

"I think we should discuss it with Scully-"

"Discuss what?" When Mulder looks over his shoulder, he sees Scully
coming into the room with William.

"I'm taking the family on vacation," Bill tells her, and quickly
outlines his plans. Scully looks dubious, but agrees to go.

They schedule the trip for the last week of July. 

~*~*~

Reyes' Apartment
June 20th, 2001

Though they have yet to take their relationship to what an embarrassed
Doggett overheard Luke refer to as "the next level," things between him
and Reyes are very comfortable. They try to include the kids in their
plans when they can, which is why one night finds them having dinner at
Reyes' place before going to see a comedy called Evolution, which they
all think might be amusing.

"The guy in the trailer looks like Mulder," Doggett mutters when the
kids are out of earshot.

Reyes glances over from the stove. "I guess. A little. But it's easy to
imagine that actors look like people we know."

"Yeah..." He's cut off by a knock on her front door. "I'll go see who
that is."

"Thanks."

Remembering for once that her door has one, Doggett looks out the
peephole, then steps back abruptly. "Shit!"

"What?" Reyes asks sounding a little alarmed. 

"It's those creepy kids. I knew you weren't safe here that night."

"What's going on, Dad? Why do you sound so upset?" Luke asks from the
couch.

He looks at his son's nervous face, and realizes that he's too old to
lie to in order to protect. "Those kids are from one of our cases.
They're bad news."

"Do you think they're dangerous?" Gibson asks quietly.

"They might-"

He dives backwards when the door shakes with the force of pounding. It
hardly seems possible that the door can shake that way without
splintering.

"Are they using a battering ram?" Luke asks, his voice shaking.

"No."

"Then how could they-"

The pounding abruptly stops.

"Please let us in," a polite voice says from the other side of the
door.

"Like hell," Doggett mutters. 

Hannah looks panicky, and when the pounding starts again flies into
Reyes' arms. She's startled by the child's action but has the presence
of mind to lean down and speak to her. "Shhh, it's okay."

"No, it's not! They're going to get us!"

"Hannah-" Doggett begins, but the continuing onslaught upon the door
distracts him.

"John," Reyes says sharply, making him look at her. "Is there black
swimming in their eyes like Mulder was talking about?"

Edging as close as he can to the door, he tries to look out. "No. It
looks like they're supposed to be black, nothing's in them."

Reyes stands up abruptly, and deposits Hannah on Luke's lap. "Where are
you going?" The little girl whines, but she's gone to the bookcase and
doesn't reply. In a moment or two she's found a book and pulled it out
of the bookcase. She flips through it quickly and begins to read the
page.

"What are you doing?" Luke wants to know, wondering what she's doing
with her hands.

To Doggett's surprise, it's Gibson who answers. "Be quiet."

Stepping back from the door, Doggett turns to see what she's doing.
Unlike the children, he recognizes sign language when he sees it
because he'd seen Scully use it with the twins when they were tiny, but
has no idea what it is that Reyes thinks she's doing. The pounding
continues unabated, and he begins to wonder if the door will withstand
much more.

The pounding stops all at once, and there's a inhuman wail from the
hallway. Hannah covers her ears, but the boys stare at the door in wary
trepidation, as if they believe they'll be able to see what's happening
on the other side if only they look hard enough. The noise rises in a
crescendo, then stops all together.

Reyes snaps the book closed. "There." She goes to the door, and Doggett
nearly tackles her when she moves to open it. But when she does the
hallway is deserted. Curiously, the scent of sulfur hangs in the air.

"Monica, what the hell just happened?" Doggett asks, ignoring the
surprised looks he gets from the kids.

She shakes her head before pulling him into the adjacent bathroom and
closing the door. There's a portable CD player on the vanity, and she
puts it on the floor against the door before turning it on.

"Sorry to be melodramatic, but I'm not sure you'd want them to
overhear," she says after motioning him away from the music.

"Okay..." Doggett gives her a confused look. "I know you did something
to get rid of 'em, but I don't know what you did."

"An exorcism," she says calmly.

"A what?! Don't you have to chant in Latin or something to do that?"
Doggett asks nervously.

Reyes shakes her head. "When I lived in New Orleans I met a lot of
interesting people. One of them was a deaf man who preformed exorcisms.
He claimed it gave him the edge, since the demons couldn't hear what he
was doing."

"So this guy taught you how to do them?"

"Sure. He said that it might come in handy if I ever met any real
demons. Guess he was right," she replies.

"You really think those kids were demons?" Doggett's voice is shaken.

"Well, they're not here, so what else could they be?" she asks,
sounding entirely too reasonable to suit him.

"I...Muldah's going to be disappointed when he hears that his black oil
theory was a dud."

"Ha." She reaches down to turn off the music, only to hear Luke's voice
coming from the next room.

"Whatever you're doing in there, remember that there are impressionable
minors out here."

"Ones who are easily grossed out," Gibson adds.

"It's disturbing that they jumped to that conclusion rather than that
we're having a clandestine conversation," Reyes whispers.

Smirking at her, Doggett reaches for her to give her a passionate kiss,
only to be rewarded by an exclamation from Gibson followed by a
collective "eww!" from the peanut gallery.

"I think we've tormented them enough," Reyes whispers into his ear.

Nodding, he pulls open the bathroom door. "So we better eat quickly if
we're going to make it to the movie on time."

"Are the bad guys really gone?" Hannah asks, her eyes wide.

"They're really gone," Doggett tells her. "We checked, remember? They
must have decided to go home before they got into trouble." And a few
seconds later he realizes that he actually believes that his girlfriend
has managed to banish the things that were plaguing them.

He gives Reyes an admiring look that she can't interpret. There are
perks to dating a resourceful woman like this one.

~*~*~

Chapter One Hundred And Five
"Aloha"

Mulder-Scully Home 
Last week of July 2001

"Bumpa, are we gonna go surfin' in Hawaii?" Sammy asks, crowding his
grandfather's knee.

"That's so boring," Page sniffs, grabbing her grandfather's other leg.
"We're gonna go exploring, right, Bumpa?"

"I wanna see all the colorful fishies," April comments, taking out
another crayon to use on her coloring book.

"Fishies! Fishies!" David and Jared are racing around the room, their
lips pooched out to resemble what they think fish look like.

"Hungry now!" Christopher whines to his mother.

Their Bumpa chuckles as he ruffles Sammy's hair. "I think surfing is a
younger man's game," he says, smiling at his son, "but exploring sounds
like a good idea. Maybe I could find me a pretty hula girl to take
home."

"Da-ad," Mulder groans as he steers Jared, then David, away from the
table edge. "I'd like to be able to return here without a sexual
harassment case."

"He's just kidding," Scully rolls her eyes before finding something
yummy for Christopher and herself. "Right?"

Bill Mulder's about to launch into a snarky remark, but, like his son
so many years before him, chooses discretion to be the better part of
valor when dealing with a Scully woman. "Of course, my dear," he says
placatingly, "I've a feeling your children will tire me out before I
could get into any sort of dalliances with the locals."

"I certainly hope so," Scully remarks, then sits Christopher in his
high chair before picking William up. "I'd like to say I'm looking
forward to sunny weather," she sighs, "but it's so hot here, I'm not
sure I want to go somewhere with even more sun." Then she looks down at
her pale arms, "Besides, I burn easily."

"And that's why God created sunscreen," Mulder rejoins, sidling up
next to his wife. "Besides," he says in a lower voice, "if you want, I
could rub it all over you while you sip cool drinks, sitting on the
beach under the shade without a care in the world."

"Mm, that sounds nice." Scully smiles, closing her eyes. Then she
opens them to give Mulder a look. "Are you up to something? Is there
some casefile you're hiding?"

He blinks. "Hiding? Hey, I'm just surprised you're not rushing to pack
suitcases like any normal American would if they were going on an
all-expense paid vacation to Hawaii," he ends by sounding like a game
show host.


She rolls her eyes. "It's not that. It's just that... I don't know. I
guess it's been a while since we've had anything like a vacation longer
than three days, and to someplace that isn't work-related, I just hope
that the kids won't go too crazy."

"They're kids," Bill Mulder interjects, "they're supposed to go wild
every once in a while. Besides," and now he sends a rare smile at his
son, "I'd love to see the look on Fox's face when he tries to go
surfing."

Mulder tries to look indignant, but laughs. "Thanks, Dad, I'll make
sure none of you guys will have any recording devices if that ever
happens."

The next hour or so goes by as the kids bounce around the room as if
riding waves, and Scully and Bill Mulder tease Mulder for not having
"sea legs" and then having to explain what that is to the kids.

~*~*~

Honolulu International Airport

Holding a large poster board with the words "MULDER AND SCULLY FAMILY"
in big bold letters, Mrs. Kahaiali`i starts shaking it when she sees
the multi-generational brood come down the escalator. "Oh my goodness!"
she shouts, and jogs over to throw her arms open. "E komo mai, Dana!
Welcome, welcome!"

"Oof!" Scully is practically enveloped by the large, smiling elder
woman. "Mrs. K.!"

Mrs. K. lets go, then looks at them with a smile is so full of joy even
the younger kids smile back. "How you've all grown," the Hawaiian woman
beams, then opens the plastic bags on her arms. "Page, this is for
you," and she drapes a rich red lehua lei over the girl's head, "this
is for you, Sammy," and he's crowned with a ti leaf-and-kukui nut lei,
"April," and she is adorned with an orange pikake lei, "Christopher,"
crown flower lei, "David, Jared," and they both get candy lei, although
she somehow identified each twin correctly, "and little William," who
gets a soft yarn lei.

Then she grins at the grownups. "And these are for you guys," Mrs. K.
chortles, then drapes a lovely plumeria lei over Scully's shoulders,
along with a kiss, "Dana honey," and for Mulder, a lei similar to
Sammy's, but with Job's tears entwined, "Fox boy," and for Bill Mulder,
a lei of ti leaf and puakenikeni flowers, "I know it's old-fashioned,
but I thought you would appreciate." And to Mulder's surprise, his
father smiles at the dark woman, hugging her right back.

"Okay, let's go get your suitcases!" she says, and leads them to the
luggage carousel. A tall, elderly, heavyset man waves at her, and Mrs.
K. says, "This is my husband Abe. Abe, dis da family I used to watch
for," she says, easily falling into her natural pidgin accent. And like
a conductor, she waves her hand at each person mentioned, "Dana, Fox,
Page, Sammy, April, Jared, David, Christopher, William, and Bill
Mulder. Well, back den, Page and Sammy them was just little, and the
rest I neva met ‘til today." Then she turns to Mulder and Scully. "If
you want, we can bring you to our place after we drop you off at the
hotel, or if you're tired, we could pick you folks up for supper."

Scully, with a bemused smile, answers, "We'd love to see your place. I
think the main thing is making sure we get all of your luggage." She
thinks it's cute how Mrs. K. switches from regular English for them
and, what she assumes to be, pidgin English for her husband.

It doesn't take long before everyone is reunited with their luggage,
and Mr. K. indicated the exit by jutting his jaw, reminding Scully of
Albert Hosteen in some way she can't quite put a finger on. Soon,
they're walking towards the old couple's van, and while the strong
humidity, like that of DC's, hits them, it's alleviated by the cool
tradewinds. "Mm, I could get used to this." Scully smiles.


"Wow, if all it took was a little breeze to make you happy, I'd have
the A/C on all summer," Mulder quips before closing the van door.

"Shut up, Mulder," Scully murmurs as Mr. K. gets the van into gear.

~*~*~

Once they've deposited their luggage in the assigned rooms, Scully
folds her arms and faces everyone. "Remember, no ghosts, mutants,
monsters, aliens, or anything to wreck this vacation, all right? And
anyone who starts a fight will have to finish with me, got it?"

"Scully, why are you looking at me when you're saying this?" Mulder
asks plaintively.

"Because you're the one who usually gets us in a mess," Scully retorts,
"and our children are usually more well-behaved than you are."

"Hey, I resent that!" Mulder starts, but his dad puts a hand on his
shoulder. "What?"

"Fox, just do what she says." Bill Mulder smiles a little, "this is
Hawaii, remember? Vacation? I'm sure your brilliant and beautiful wife
has a few plans that don't involve chasing monsters here."

"Oh," Mulder comments when he sees Scully blushing. Inside, he's
thinking, Aw yeah, baby! On the outside, however, he plays the
aggrieved husband-slash-X-Files-nut and sighs dramatically. "Fine, have
it your way," he says in his usual deadpan voice, shrugging, but his
eyes are dancing.

"Yay!" David and Jared glomp onto his legs.

"That's better," Scully says, and leads them out of the room to where
Mr. and Mrs. K. are waiting. "If only you were this cooperative at
work."

"But you're not the boss of me there," Mulder murmurs in her ear, then
grins as she glares up at him.

"'kay den, we go windward side." Mr. K. smiles, as the Mulder family
heads down the hallway towards the elevator. "Eh, you guys no get pork,
ya?"

"Huh? Uh, no." Mulder blinks.

"Eh, that's only for the Pali," Mrs. K. scolds her husband, "we stay
taking da H-3."

"Oh yeah." Mr. K. smiles, and while the mainlanders stare in confusion,
the elevator bell dings. "Okay, we go."

~*~*~

"Um, what was that thing with the pork all about?" Mulder asks when
they're driving through Waikiki.

"Oh," Mrs. K. laughs, and switches back to standardized English, "it's
kind of a, what you would say, superstition. Yeah."

"Oh really? What about?"

"It's fo' real," Mr. K. counters, "just las' week, dat idiot Puka Chang
wen drive down da Pali wi' da kine imu pork, his car wen broke down
nearby da lookout."

"Das because he get one junk car," Mrs. K. retorts, "ai you!"

"No, as soon as he wen eat ‘um, the car stay okay again," Mr. K.
responds. "See?"

"What, see what?" Mrs. K. rolls her eyes. "Jus' ‘cause you no like get
food to your auntie's place don't mean you can't take adda roads, but."
Then she smiles sweetly at the backseat passengers. "Sorry, he's kinda
old-fashioned."

"That's okay, it's just like Mommy and Daddy," Page responds, "Daddy
believes in all kinds of stuff and Mommy argues with him."

"Oh yeah, that's right." Mrs. K. nods. "So, have you seen anything
interesting lately?"

"Well," Mulder starts, but Scully puts a restraining hand on his
shoulder. "We're just here for a vacation," he says sheepishly.

Mr. K., without looking at the rear view mirror, chuckles.

Mrs. K., for her part, nods complacently. "I was surprised when you
actually decided to come after all these years, but I'm so glad you
did," she says.

"Look, Mommy, isn't it pretty?" Page points at the lush mountainside.

Mrs. K. nods. "Waikiki may be well-known to mainlanders, but here, we
know this is the best part of the island." Then she winks at Page.
"Just don't tell my son that, ‘cause he lives townside, poor thing."

"Okay." The blonde girl nods.

"You know," Mr. K. says conversationally, "this freeway get planny
problems, too, not just da Pali."

"What do you mean?" Scully wonders, thinking maybe potholes or
something similar.

"Oh, Abe!" Mrs. K. sighs. "Dat wasn't problems, da state cannot help if
get heiau all ova da place!"

"Hey-ow?" Mulder tries.

"Heh heh," Mr. K. chuckles. "Yeah, heiau. Old Hawaiian temples. Had ‘em
all ova whea dis freeway stay, so wen dey wen build ‘um, had to stop,
pray, bless ‘um wi' da kahuna, start again, find one graveyard, stop,
do some moa blessings wi' da kahuna, argue wi' da sovereignty people
an' da lawyahz, stop again... ho, was good fun."

"I take it kahuna are the Hawaiian priests," Mulder says, "or something
like that. But why would this area have so many hey - um, temples, and
graveyards? And what are sovereignty people?"

Mrs. K. sighs again, this time more deeply. As if regretting having her
husband drive, she launches into a more detailed explanation. "This is
a small island, and sooner or later, you'll run across sacred sites,"
she says, shooting a look at her husband, who stays quiet. "There are
procedures you do when you come across sacred sites and artifacts, and
they deal with both the state and Hawaiian groups.

"As for the sovereignty folks, well, that's more complicated than I can
give on a drive. Let's just say that there are various Native Hawaiian
groups who want various measures of recognition, restitution, and/or
independence from the United States, since historically, the Hawaiian
Islands were stolen from the reigning queen at the time, Queen
Liliuokalani, in 1894 by the American military and the pro-US groups,
who were a minority of missionary descendants. Being Hawaiian, I
understand the righteous anger, but after being a part of the US for so
long, and so many of our people so dependent on the current government,
I don't think some of their ideas, like for complete withdrawal and
independence, are very realistic."

The elder woman looks out the window as the windward side unfolds after
going through the tunnel. "There are ugly parts of history, especially
when it deals with native peoples, but I figure we should learn from
the past so we don't repeat their mistakes, right?" She shakes her
head. "Anyways, we're heading towards Kailua side, but try look back."

The children, whose heads the brief history and social studies lecture
went over, obediently look back through their large windows. "Wow, it
looks like God took a fork to the mountain, Mommy," Page exclaims.

"Or something like that," Scully agrees, but there's no mistaking how
the sharp edges of the mountain and the unbelievable greenness against
the blue sky makes for a striking picture.

"I can't say I blame you for wanting to move back as quickly as you did
after winning the lottery," Mulder remarks, smiling as his father takes
pictures and his other children strain against their child seats for a
better view. "It's not hard to see why they call this place paradise."

"Heh heh," Mr. K. chuckles. "Lucky we live Hawaii, yeah?"

"Yeah." Mrs. K. smiles, and they drive through a large intersection.
"Welcome to Kailua."

~*~*~

It takes them going from a paved road to a sharp turn down a hill and
then ending on to a grassy area. "Nice place you got here," Bill Mulder
comments when they pile out of the van. The grassy parking lot has a
small house on one side, a boat dock on the other, and the hill on the
side.

"It's no Waikiki, dat's fo' damn sure," Mr. K. agrees, until his wife
socks him in the arm.

"Abe! Watch yo' mout'!" Mrs. K. scolds him.

"Ah, sorry," the old Hawaiian man ducks his head, remembering there are
children there. "Well, dat's my son's house," he points at the smaller
house near the van, "dat's me an' Millie's house," he points at the
house at the top of the hill.

"The one with the swimming pool? Nice," Mulder comments. "But you've
got a boat down here, plus access to what looks like the shore. Isn't
that a bit of an overkill?"

Mr. K. laughs. "Ah, das not da beach," he points out, and they all
look. "Ova dea, get coral reef, good fo' fishing but not fo' swimming."
He looks at the small children. "Eh, make shua da keeds stay away from
dea, da wata's kinda shallow at firs', but get strong tides, eh? Even
strong swimmaz get ha'd time come back, an' dose reefs cut ‘um up bad."

"Gotcha." Mulder nods. "Okay, gang, no heading over there, okay? It's
dangerous."

"Okay," the small multitude chorus.

Scully raises a finger. "Pinky promise?"

"Aw, Mom," Sammy groans, but obediently raises his pinkie with the rest
of his siblings who are able. "Pinky promise."

"Pinky promise," his brothers and sisters chime in.

"I wish all promises could be made that easily." Mrs. K. smiles, then
jerks her head towards her house. "Come on, I got some goodies for the
kids." As the kids race each other up the hill, she laughs. "And some
for the grownups, too, if we can get there before the little ones don't
eat them all first."

"Race you, Scully." Mulder grins, picking up Christopher and hauling
ass.

"Mulderrrrrr!" she wails, likewise picking up William and running after
him in, thankfully, sensible sneakers rather than her usual
arch-defying business heels.

"My son is usually more mature than that," Bill Mulder apologizes to
the elderly couple. Mr. K. raises his white eyebrows, while Mrs. K.
gives him a skeptical look worthy of Scully, and the old man sighs.
"Okay, he's got his moments, but this isn't one of them." Then they all
share a look and start laughing.

"They never do grow up, do they?" Mrs. K. smiles.

"I wish." Mr. K. snorts.

Bill Mulder shakes his head. "I can't believe we're leaving the future
of the world to them," he mutters, then grins weakly as the old couple,
misinterpreting his meaning, chuckle some more before they all make
their slow way up the hill.

~*~*~

It doesn't take long for the Kahaiali`is to share with the Mulders the
other thing Hawaii is famous for, their aloha spirit. Which, in this
case, means plenty of good food and lots of catching up. "Um, what is
that?" Bill Mulder points at a bowl full of what looks to be
lavender-colored pudding.

"Oh, that's poi." Mrs. K. smiles, dipping her poke fish inside before
putting it into her mouth. "It's ground-up taro and it's so ono, I
mean, delicious. Try some."

Gingerly, the elder Mulder imitates what she's done, but a peculiar
expression comes over his face. "I think I'll try something else," he
says after taking a while to swallow.

Mulder laughs. "Try the laulau, Dad. The mix of meats and ti leaves is
awesome." Then he turns his puppy dog eyes on to his kids' former
nanny. "Would you mind sharing the recipe with my wife?"

"Mulder," Scully groans, "I can't even think of cooking, I'm so full."
Then she smiles at Mrs. K. "This was wonderful. Your idea of rice is
different from ours," and Mr. K. chuckles, "but oh my goodness, that
chicken katsu was heavenly." She sighs contentedly, "If they ever serve
food like this in DC, I would be as round as a ball."

"That just means more of you to love, Scully." Mulder grins and wraps
his arms around her, and she socks him. "Hey! Isn't this the land of
aloha? Show your husband some love," he pouts.

The Kahaiali`is laugh as Scully snorts, shakes her head, and goes over
to feed Christopher, who has taken poi to be a new paint medium for his
surrounding area. "I'm surprised you have as many children as you do,"
Mrs. K. notes, "if you keep teasing her like that."

"Surprises me, too," Bill Mulder chuckles, and his son scowls. "Hey, I
know I'm not the only who thinks it's a miracle she doesn't strangle
you half the time."

"Hey," Mulder puts his hands up, "I kid, because I love." When he sees
his elders aren't buying it, he sighs. "I dunno, it's a habit." He
smiles fondly at the kids gazing upwards at the various handcrafted
wooden objects hanging from the ceiling, and then at the mother of his
progeny. "She's definitely my one in five billion."

"Ooh, you're so cute!" Mrs. K. exclaims, hugging him as if he were as
old as his kids.

"Urk." Mulder feels as embarrassed as if he were Sammy hugged by a
distant relation, "thanks?"

"Okay, okay, Hope, da boy no can breed!" Mr. K. chides his wife, who
makes a face but pats Mulder's arm as she lets go. "He's not one of yo'
babysitting keeds!"

"I know, I know." Mrs. K. smiles, "but he stay so cute!"

"I'm, um, gonna play with the kids now," Mulder says before he can get
any more embarrassed.

"Wow," Bill Mulder comments, watching his lanky son hustle over and get
knocked in the head by a dangling wooden turtle, "I should bring him
here more often. A little embarrassment does the boy good."

"Man, you stay one mean buggah, eh?" Mr. K. grins, and the men chuckle
while Mrs. K. clucks her tongue. "Eh, you like go fish?"

The elder Mulder interprets that as an invitation to go fishing rather
than play the card game, and nods. The two old men soon head out to the
dock with bait and rods, as well as canned soda provided by Mrs. K. and
the blessings of the younger Mulders and Scully.

~*~*~

Kailua Beach Park

The Kahaiali`is had invited the Mulder-Scully family over to their side
of the island for a trip to the beach. "Trust me, Waikiki's gonna be
crowded," Mrs. K. warned when Mulder told her of their plans.
"Especially this time of year."

"Eh, jus' tell ‘um you get chicken katsu!" Mulder heard Mr. K. holler,
and he chuckled.

"But if you don't want to, you don't have to," Mrs. K. tried to be
gracious about it, but the excellent cell phone reception also picked
up her hissed, "Gunfunnit, Abe!"

Usually, Mulder would've classified this as a passive-aggressive type
of request, but he knew Scully would kill him if she knew he'd turned
down the chicken katsu. So, being the wise husband that he was, he'd
accepted their invitation. "Not because I fear for my life," he'd said,
"but because I don't think the kids would have a good time at a crowded
beach." And after they'd hammered out time and directions, Mulder hung
up, figuring that even if Scully put up a fuss, she wouldn't be too
mad.

And right now, as they sat on the beach with their friends, food at
hand and kids frolicking around them, with the beautiful waters
beckoning and the aptly-nicknamed Chinaman's Hat in view, Mulder
figures this is pretty much why they call it paradise. Next to him, the
love of his life yawns and stretches, then props her head on her hands.
"Maybe we can stay here on a permanent vacation." Scully smiles,
closing her eyes behind her dark sunglasses.

"I wish." Mulder grins, reaching for more of hurricane popcorn, or
popcorn mixed with furikake and arare.

"Ooh, I'm stuffed," Bill Mulder sighs contentedly, rubbing his stomach,
and Mr. K. chuckles, raising his can of guava Hawaiian Sun juice.

"I'm gonna tell Mommy on you!" a high-pitched voice shouts.

"Here we go," Scully groans, opening her eyes. It isn't long before
Page runs up, her face red from exertion and righteous indignation.
"Yes?"

"Mommy, Sammy's making Mr. K.'s boat into a coffin for Christopher and
when I told him to stop, he wouldn't!" her eldest daughter declares.

The petite redhead gets to her feet, shielding her eyes as she assesses
the situation from afar, and smothers a giggle when she sees her little
boy solemnly making the sign of the cross just like their local priest.
"I'll take care of it," Scully says severely to her husband, whose
mouth is already turning up.

"I'll go, too," Page announces, trotting after her mother like a
Mini-Scully.

The older people chuckle as they watch Scully trying her best to scold
her little boy without cracking up herself. "I remember my mom scolding
me for using her wedding veil as a nun's wimple when I was little."
Mrs. K. smiles fondly. "It didn't help that I used her lipstick, too."

Mr. K. cackles, "Yeah, well, my braddahs and me wen use up all da juice
an' cookies tryin' fo' make ‘um like holy communion."

"Are you both Catholic?" Bill Mulder wonders.

"Nah," Mr. K. shakes his head, "I stay goin' my wife's New Hope church
sometimes. But everybody's Catholic at least once in deah life, eh?"

Bill Mulder chuckles, squinting against the sun. "I guess so, yeah."

Mulder looks at his father, curious. "When were you ever Catholic,
Dad?"

The elder Mulder looks at his son, and a sheepish smile takes over.
"Back before I met your mother, there was a blonde in college who
wouldn't go out with me unless I went to Mass with her. So I went."

Mulder shakes his head, looking at his lovely wife, who is now trying
to separate Sammy from Page while carrying Christopher. "That kinda
sounds familiar," he deadpans.

~*~*~

It takes a little time, but things are finally smoothed over between
the two eldest siblings, and now Mr. K. and Bill Mulder are having a
burping contest with Sammy and Mrs. K. is teaching Scully about the
Hawaiian language, in between chortling over Christopher's efforts to
be a big brother to William.

Mulder, for his part, has a happier version of déjà vu with Page and
the twins as they build sand castles. Well, David and Jared are, while
Page is constructing her version of a cat. Much as he is proud of his
children, Mulder doesn't have the heart to tell her that the "cat"
looks more like a mutant cow-wolf.

Suddenly, there is a cry for help, and everyone looks towards the
sound. It is distant, and as the lifeguard on duty rushes and dives
into the waters, people start congregating at the shoreline. Then
Scully cries out, "Mulder, where's April?"

Mulder looks around, but their little girl is nowhere to be found. And
now he, like Scully, feels the dread at the pit of his stomach, and all
the food he's eaten is threatening to come up. "Mr. K., could I borrow
your boat?" he asks, running to the vessel.

"Sure." Mr. K. waves, "but I think your wife get ‘um first."

"I'm driving," Scully says, hauling the damn thing with inhuman
strength born of a mother's desperation.

"Fine," Mulder says, helping to push it, "who's gonna look after the
kids?"

"We can," Mr. K. says, as he and Bill Mulder pick up the sides, "get
your girl."

The couple nod briefly, then Scully jumps in while the men push it off,
and Mulder awkwardly clambers in after her. She yanks the engine's
cord, grabs the steering and heads out towards the small orange dot of
the lifeguard's vest. He squints at the dot, hoping and praying that
April is okay, that both she and the lifeguard are above water.

It seems like forever, but they can finally see the lifeguard clearly.
To their dismay, however, the man is unconscious as they draw near, but
he's holding on to what looks like a redheaded rag doll. Scully gasps
and pulls her little girl into the boat, while Mulder hauls the limp
man in. They perform CPR on their respective "partners" with a ferocity
that might be misinterpreted as an assault, but it gets the job done
while they're out there on the water. "April, baby," Scully cries when
her daughter coughs up water, "oh, baby, it's okay, it's okay..."

Mulder waits a bit while the lifeguard coughs up water, gives the guy's
back a whack for good measure, then asks, "What the hell happened out
there?"

Scully's eyes are on the man, even as she sits up April up and pats her
back. The lifeguard coughs again and shakes his head. "Got a damn leg
cramp on the way back," he rasps, wiping his mouth as he sits up
slowly. "Your girl was unconscious when I got there, halfway to
Chinaman's Hat ... thanks."

"Where's the turtle?" April asks when there's more color to her cheeks.

"What turtle?" Scully asks gently, now that they're back at the beach,
surrounded by family and friends.

"When I got caughted by the water, I was so scared," the little redhead
says, "and then there was this big turtle." She smiles. "It was big
like an island!"

"Cool!" Sammy bounces up to her. "Was it old and crusty, or green like
that?" And he points to Chinaman's Hat.

"It was kinda old-looking, but kinda green," April says. "Well, kinda
yellowy, too. But it was nice."

"Turtles aren't nice." Page makes a face. "They're smelly and icky."

"Well, you're stupid," Sammy says.

"No, you are," Page retorts.

"No, you are," Sammy replies wittily.

They keep going until Scully pulls their ears. "Enough," she scolds
them. "If April said it was nice, then it was."

"What she said," Mulder says, half-smiling. He's still amazed at the
events that happened earlier, but he's relieved that everyone's all
right, even if the lifeguard was embarrassed to have needed rescuing
himself.

~*~*~

Parking hell - um, the tourist gem that is Waikiki 

A couple of days later, everyone is in Waikiki, taking care of the
usual tourist things, that is, shopping, taking pictures and gawking.
The Kahaiali`is, feeling bad about April's near-drowning, promised to
foot the bill for whatever tacky madness they decided to buy. "You sure
about that?" Scully asks, as Mulder pulls one brightly-colored aloha
shirt out after another at one ABC store. "Mulder's got pretty bad
taste."

"Hey, I heard that," Mulder says behind a neon orange shirt with big
red and blue flowers.

"Good," Bill Mulder chuckles, "because you do. That shirt could make a
blind man have seizures."

"It's not that bad." Mulder pouts at his dad. "Oh look, it's just your
size."

"God forbid." The elder Mulder puts a hand to his heart, "you'd have to
kill me first to put that on me."

Scully shakes her head. "Between you and his mother, where on earth did
Mulder get his fondness for ridiculously cheesy things?"

Bill Mulder shrugs, "I chalked it up to rebellion against his mother
making him wear those junior senator-type clothes in his teens.
Frankly, I was surprised when he joined the FBI, since he'd have to
wear suits as part of the job."

Mrs. K. shakes her head. "Nothing bad about looking your best. But I
guess on the mainland, they have to wear suits, while over here, men
can just go in aloha shirts and slacks."

"Scully, do you think it's too late to request for a transfer here?"
Mulder looks at his wife hopefully.

She gives him a look. "Mulder, our house is paid in full, our children
are happy in their school, and I will never let you within fifty feet
of an aloha shirt if you continue to pick those disgusting color
combinations."

He squints at her, then at the shirt. "Page, is there anything wrong
with this shirt?"

The little blonde girl puts down the shaking wooden pineapple tchotchke
to look at her father, then shrieks. "Daddy, put that away! My eyes are
hurting!"

Hurt, Mulder holds the shirt behind his back. "You didn't have to
scream like that," he complains.

His little girl looks up at him with concern. "Are you going blind,
Daddy? My classmate Jory's mom is going blind, and she wears bright
colors so she can see her clothes."

As the grownups do a bad job of hiding their laughs, Mulder sighs as he
puts the shirt back. "No, I'm not going blind," he replies, glaring at
his wife, father and hosts, but can't quell their smothered mirth. "I
just like interesting stuff."

"Oh," Page says, then goes back to her perusal of various objects that
dance on the shelf.

Her siblings, likewise, are playing with various doodads that make no
sense whatsoever, even within a tourist context. "Daddy, look at me."
Sammy bowls into his father's legs. "I'm a lion. Roar!"

Chuckling, Mulder plucks the green cellophane hula skirt off his son's
head. "Um, I think lion's have a different color," he says, then squats
down to his son's level. "Why is that on your face?" he asks about the
coconut bra currently residing on Sammy's face.

"Lion cheeks," Sammy says, "cool, huh?"

"Sammy, take that off!" Scully rushes over to divest her son of the
inappropriate item, glaring at Mulder as if he was the one dressing
Sammy up like this.

"Mo-om," Sammy wails, unaware of what the costume was really for, then
catches sight of the shirt Mulder had put back on the rack. "Cool."

"See?" Mulder gestures at his son.

Scully rolls her eyes. "No more shopping for you two," she says, then
sighs when she sees the twins and April piling fake leis on each other.
"Oh, brother."

"Ho, looks like graduation," Mr. K. chuckles.

"Graduation?" Mulder asks, curious.

Mrs. K. nods. "Over here, when students graduate, they put lei on the
graduate, and those with lots of family and friends get lei piled so
high, you can't see their face."

"Aw man, wish we'd known that when John graduated from the FBI
academy." Mulder sighs while watching his beloved wife try
unsuccessfully to de-lei her children. "That would've been funny to see
John buried under a bunch of flowers."

Mrs. K. shakes her head. "Lei is given out of love," she gently chides
him.

"Yes, ma'am," he replies, contrite.

"Heh heh heh," Mr. K. grins, "I t'ink yo' wife needs help."

In the end, even Mulder couldn't get the cloth-flower leis off his
children's necks, and the Kahaiali`is end up paying for about ten fake
leis, a conch shell horn, a perfume pack of various Hawaiian floral
scents, a couple bags of Kona coffee, some fruit, keychains with
plastic surfers and slippers, and a bright red t-shirt reading "I went
to Hawaii and you didn't!"

~*~*~

As they walk down the sidewalks of Waikiki, not only because of the
sights, but also because affordable parking was pretty far from the
shopping district, the grownups are having themselves quite the task of
keeping an eye on all the kids. The littler ones, including William,
have already gotten the point that the grownups want to relax, so they
try to make life as stressful as possible by crying at every
opportunity, or, as in the case of the older kids, running into every
store and hotel they come across.

"Are they trying to make me want to kill them?" Scully asks,
exasperated after what seems like the fiftieth time they're running
after the kids with baby in arms. "Because if that's their goal, it's
working."

"They're just excited," Mrs. K. huffs after her.

"Gotcha!" Mulder crows, holding the twins in his arms as the women
hustle over. "Scully, the girls are in the bathroom, Dad, the other
boys are up the escalator," he says, wondering why he let Sammy take
Christopher with him.

Mr. K. takes the twins from their father. "You go get yo' boys," he
tells the younger man, "me an' yo' dad gone take care dese guys."

Mulder nods, then takes off at a run towards the escalator. His father
watches, bemused, then stiffly crouches down to look at the twins, a
half-smile on his face. "What are you guys up to?" he asks.

David and Jared look at each other for a brief moment, but it seems
they've spoken a good deal before looking at their grandfather.
"Nothing," they chorus.

Bill Mulder gives one boy a look, then the other. "Yeah, right," he
says, his tone and mannerism exactly the same as his son when he's not
buying it.

His grandsons give him the same puppy dog look Mulder gives Scully.
"Really," they say, the picture of innocence and cuteness.

Bill Mulder sighs, and Mr. K. cracks up. "You got some kolohe kids,
eh?" he chortles.

"Coe what?" Bill Mulder's expression is blank.

"Kolohe," Mr. K. says more slowly, "rascal, yeah?" He bends over and
tousles Jared's dark hair, then David's. As he's doing so, a man in a
dark jacket and faded jeans bumps into him, then runs off. "Eh!" Mr. K.
shouts, mad at the young man's rudeness, then gets suspicious and
checks his pocket. His wallet is gone. "Son of a-!"

Before he can finish the epithet, a large dark man in a tightly-fitting
green t-shirt, blue board shorts and slippers barrels after the thief.
The fact that he can move so fast despite his size bowls over not only
the old men, but also the thief, who ends up smooshed on the sidewalk
outside. "Eh, uncle, dis yours?" the big Samoan asks, holding up the
wallet when the old men and little boys catch up outside.

Mr. K. nods, nodding again when he checks the contents. "Wow, t'anks,"
he says, clearly touched. "Eh, I can buy you suppah or what?"

"Nah, das okay," the big guy grins, patting his expansive stomach, "I
gotta wait fo' da cops."

"Oh yeah, yeah." Mr. K. nods again. "Guess I gotta wait witchu, den."

So the old men and the twins wait outside on the sidewalk, the thief
still pinned underneath the Samoan with the faded green TMNT t-shirt,
while Mulder and Scully continue to round up their children.

~*~*~

Haunama Bay

"Wow, I can't believe the time has gone by so fast." Scully sighs, her
cheeks pinkish with a touch of sunburn. "This place is amazing."

"This beach, or this island in general?" Mulder asks lazily. Now that
the kids are all pooped out, sprawled under the makeshift tent, he's
not too worried about them wandering off or getting into trouble.

"Yes," Scully replies, smiling. "I'm almost tempted to stay here, but I
know we can't be on vacation forever." Already her mind is filled with
recent memories of the places they've shopped at, hiked up, snorkeled
in, surfed at, and, just last night, attempted the hula in. Not to
mention all that good food she's going to have to work off...

"Why not?" Mulder pouts. "We could have a second honeymoon here, then a
third, maybe even a fourth..." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

She snorts, then giggles. "Any more honeymoons would only result in
more kids, and if we have any more vacations like this with more kids,
we'd have to hire boot camp sergeants to keep them in line."

"That's a scary thought." Mulder shudders. Then he puts his puppy dog
eyes on her. "Maybe one more honeymoon, without the kids?"

Scully looks at him, then at their sleeping children, then laughs
loudly, causing April to mutter and William to roll over, but none of
them wake up. She breathes a sigh of relief, then glares at her
husband. "Dork."

"I'm not a -," Mulder starts to protest when his father and the
Kahaiali`is come into view. His father is wearing an ear-to-ear grin as
well as flippers, a snorkel, goggles, and the dorkiest old man-type of
board shorts out there, holding up his waterproof camera in triumph.
Mulder grins back and waves, "I'm guessing there's gonna be a lot of
fish on film," he comments.

"There are a lot of colorful fish in these waters," Scully notes. "I'm
glad he's taking pictures, rather than taking home ungodly-colored
aloha shirts."

"Hey," Mulder pouts, and his pout gets deeper when his father tousles
his hair with his wet hand, looking not unlike Sammy. "Da-ad."

Bill Mulder chuckles, unrepentant. "I got some pretty good shots out
there." He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I think I even
got one of a turtle, although that swam by pretty fast."

"A turtle?" Mrs. K. asks, turning to look out at the ocean. "There?"

Bill Mulder nods. "Yep. It was pretty big, so I guessed him to be
pretty old, but he moved faster than David and Jared," he chuckles.
"Amazing, a guy that old could move that fast."

Mulder smiles in spite of himself. "You're not too shabby yourself,
Dad."

"I t'ink our aumakua was lookin' after you guys, too," Mr. K. notes.

"What do you mean?" Mulder asks. Not that he was unfamiliar with the
word, but wasn't quite sure what the old man was referring to
specifically.

"Honu, das da turtle, das our aumakua, our ancestor dat watches ovah
us," Mr. K. explains. "Sometimes he come fo' protect us, to warn us, to
bless us, and sometimes, to scold us." He, like his wife, looks back
towards the ocean. "I t'ink he was helping yo' daughtah da oddah day,
and he like say goodbye to yo' dad today."

Mulder's father shakes his head. "I don't believe the same stuff my son
does," he starts off.

"Das awright." the old Hawaiian man shrugs. "You guys had fun mostly,
yeah?" When the Mulders and Scully nod, he laughs. "See? Our honu like
take care you guys, too. And soon you guys going home, so he like say
bye, das all."

"If you say so," Bill Mulder says, trying to be diplomatic.

"That sounds nice," Scully says, surprising both her husband and
father-in-law. "I'm glad I came here."

"Me, too," Mulder says, his voice betraying the wonder he still feels
after his wife's statement.

"Good," Mrs. K. turns around, then gives them each a nearly
bone-crushing hug. "Oh, I'm so happy you guys came, too. And I'm happy
I got to see all your kids, and your father, too."

"Next time, we'll bring leashes so they won't go running off in all
directions," Mulder half-jokes.

"Mulder!" Scully shoots him a look.

He shrugs. "Just kidding."

~*~*~

Chapter One Hundred And Six
"Conscience" 

Mulder-Scully Home
August 2nd, 2001
9 p.m.

Despite the fact that their flight got in quite late, all the kids
except for William and Christopher are still wide awake when Mulder
pulls the van into their driveway.

"Oh wow, look!" Sammy says excitedly, pointing out the passenger side
window.

At first Mulder can't figure out what his oldest son is looking at, but
then he notices a green spark flying past the windshield of the van.

"Fireflies!" David exclaims, which surprises Mulder. Maybe Scully or
Michelle has read the twins a book that features them, because he's
pretty sure there haven't been fireflies around the house in their
lifetime.

"Oh, there's lots of them," April says softly. "They're so pretty."

"You know," Scully tells them. "When I was a little girl we used to
catch them and keep them in jars. Just over night for a sleepover."

"Can we, Mommy?" Jared asks excitedly. "We catch 'em?"

"Wouldn't it hurt them?" Page asks, looking concerned.

"Nope. They do fine overnight, as long as we let them go in the
morning," Mulder promises. "Scully, I think there were some empty mason
jars up in the attic, with Saul's stuff. Do mind if we use them?" Even
as he asks, Mulder wonders what his great-uncle used the jars for. He
couldn't picture the old man canning preserves.

"I didn't have any plans for them. Why not?"

Mulder feels a sense of wonder when he and the kids spend the next hour
out in the yard, trying to catch the glowing insects. Like Scully and
her siblings, he and Samantha spent many summer nights catching
fireflies too. But it was a different sort of special than it is to do
the same with his own children.

When the kids are finally convinced to come inside, they try to
interest William in the jars they're clutching, but the infant can't be
coaxed awake long enough to care. Christopher, on the other hand, claps
when he sees the bugs glow.

That night, each of the kids' nightstands holds a living nightlight,
and a soft green glow puts green spotlights on their faces as they
sleep. Mulder is tempted to pull out his camera, but he knows that the
flash would wake them, so instead he contents himself with committing
the sight to memory.

~*~*~

Hoover Building 
August 6th, 2001

"Hey, welcome back," Doggett greets Scully as soon she steps foot
through the door.

"Thanks."

"You look like your vacation agreed with you," Reyes remarks. "You're
still a little pink."

"I put sunscreen on everyone religiously but there's a lot of sun in
Hawaii. It was a great vacation, though, thanks to old friends of the
family who showed us around. Mulder and his dad had a wonderful time.
The kids had fun too. Except for William - he slept through most of
it."

"I'll bet." Doggett smirks. "I took Luke camping at that age, and he
kept his eyes shut ninety percent of the time."

"So... Have I missed anything interesting while I was gone?" Unlike
Mulder, she doesn't feel the need to keep close tabs on the office
while out on leaves, so she hasn't spoken to them about cases in weeks.

"Here? Nothing important," Doggett tells her. "But I have some news of
my own."

"What?" Scully asks curiously.

"I've just officially started adoption proceedings." He grins broadly. 

"You're adopting Gibson? That's great!" She cocks her head. "What made
you decide to legally add him to the family?"

"After all this time he's all but ours anyway - Hannah tells people
that she has two brothers, for cryin' out loud - and it'll make things
easier legally if we do the paperwork. This was prompted by social
services wanting to know if he still needed to be in protective
custody. They showed me how easy it'd be to keep him, so I had to jump
at the chance." Doggett explains.

"Wow," Scully says before digging through Mulder's top drawer. She
hands Doggett a cylinder. "Maybe you can ask Mulder where he gets
these."

Doggett reads the It's A Boy label on the cigar and starts laughing.
"It's too bad no one throws you a shower when your new addition is a
teenager."

"Hey-" Reyes starts to say, but Doggett cuts her off.

"Don't even think about it."

"You're no fun." Reyes pouts.

"Oh, I'm plenty fun, but I don't want Gibson dying of embarrassment
before he's rightfully mine."

"That's reasonable," Scully tells them. "There's plenty of time to
mortify your newest child later."

"My newest child. I like that," Doggett remarks. 

Before they can get any farther a field, Skinner calls them up to
discuss a case.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
Late August 2001
11 p.m.

"No! Don't!" 

The frightened voice rings loudly in the quiet house and Scully jumps
to feet, forgetting to pause the movie she's been watching since Mulder
went to bed. She takes the stairs two at a time, hoping to reach her
daughter before she shouts again and wakes everyone.

The door to April's room is open a few inches, just as it always is
because April refuses to sleep with it shut. Through the crack Scully
can see April flailing at an imaginary foe, with her eyes screwed shut.

Scully avoids the kicking feet as she gathers her small daughter in her
arms. "Shhh. It's okay. You're okay now."

Waking up, April slowly stops struggling. But when she opens her eyes
she bursts into tears.

"What's the matter?" Scully asks in confusion. Usually the kids are
comforted after a nightmare when they discover it's Mom or Dad holding
them instead of a monster.

"Oh Mommy, he was hurting the girl!" April wails.

For a second Scully worries that discussing a case in front of the kids
has given her nightmares, but she can't think of any recent cases that
involved children.

"What girl, April?"

April makes a helpless gesture with her hands. "The little girl!"

A more sinister possibly occurs to Scully. "Has one of the girls at
school told you that someone is hurting her?"

April shakes her head vehemently. "She's too little to go to school."

"You were dreaming about someone who isn't real, then?" Scully feels
some measure of relief that there's no child abuse to worry about.

"She is real! I just don't know her," April insists.

"It's okay. Sometimes we all dream of made believe people, like
characters in a book. It's scary when bad things happen to them, but
it's okay because they don't really get hurt."

Instead of being soothed like Scully expects, April looks at her with a
hurt expression. One that suggests she feels lied to or betrayed. "He
doesn't hit her, but he's so mean. He won't even talk to her."

Trying to erase the look on her daughter's face, Scully decides to
humor her. "Which man, April?"

"I don't know," April says sulkily as she pushes herself off her
mother's lap. "I don't know him either."

"Okay." As soon as Scully tucks her back in, April rolls onto her side,
effectively turning her back on Scully.

She decides to send Mulder next time if the nightmare reoccurs. 

~*~*~

"What happened?" Mulder asks sleepily when she crawls into bed a few
minutes later.

"April had a nightmare."

"Oh. Me too just now."

"What was yours about?" she asks uneasily. For a moment she's sure
he'll also describe a small girl being neglected.

"Rachel and Pendrell came by to visit," he says with a yawn.

"What was so scary about that?" she asks, wondering what danger their
former nanny and former co-worker could present. "Did they bring
monsters with them?"

"The jury was still out on that. Rachel was pregnant. With septuplets."

"Septuplets?! She quit because she didn't want to deal with our twins."

"I know. She'd die of the horror, she even said so. It was a nightmare
because she and Sean did want to die, and leave the babies to us. Seven
babies at once is a hell of a lot harder than seven spread out over
seven years." he says, shivering.

"So you're saying you don't want septuplets next time?" she asks with a
wicked smile.

"No! Two at once was hard enough. I can't imagine another five!" Mulder
half shouts, reining himself in only when Scully elbows him in the side
to remind him of their sleeping children.

"I was kidding, Mulder."

He gives her a suspicious look. "We're not having another baby any time
soon, are we?"

"To quote the magic 8 ball 'signs point to no.'"

"Ah. I thought it just said that signs point to yes." 

"Whatever, Mulder. Not all of us have photographic memories."

He yawns. "Have you heard from Rachel lately, anyway?"

"Not since Christmas."

"Maybe I'll e-mail them. Just to see how they are."

"Good idea." She mumbles, but she's already rolled over to go back to
sleep.

::Seven kids for Rachel:: he thinks. ::If God is merciful, he'll never
let that happen. There couldn't be therapy enough for that family.::

~*~*~

September 4th, 2001
7 a.m.

Before they head out the door, Scully makes sure that Sammy and Page
have their backpacks. Sammy's has a large open-mouthed dinosaur on it,
and Page's has kittens on it, ones that look really different from
Telico and Piper she keeps telling her mother, as if Scully isn't
supposed to realize this is part of her campaign to add a new kitten to
the household. She's thoroughly unconvinced that seven kids need
another pet.

"Mommy, your car or the van?" Sammy asks, clutching his backpack like
he's afraid it will get away.

"My car," she tells him. They don't take her car out very often, since
there's usually too many people going on an outing to make it
practical, but this morning it's just the three of them.

The two kids climb onto the backseat, and it throws her for a second
when they both work the buckles to their seatbelts without needing
help. She's too used to it taking several minutes before being able to
drive off.

"Sammy, are you nervous?" she asks quietly as she reverses out of the
driveway.

"Nope," he says, but Scully wonders if he's being entirely truthful.
Her two oldest kids are the most out-going, but she figures they must
feel shy or anxious sometimes. Mustn't they?

She seems not to be the only one with that in mind, because she hears
Page say, "It's okay, Sammy, all the first grade teachers are real
nice. And first and second grade kids have recess together, so you can
play with Emily and me and our friends if you don't make friends right
away."

"Okay," he says, sounding relieved.

The corner of Scully's mouth quirks up, but she tries not to smile
openly. Once upon a time, she can remember having a similar
conversation with Charlie when he started school. If Sammy is anything
like her brother, he'll probably have new friends by the end of the
day, and will be just waving to Page and his cousin at recess tomorrow.

"Daddy will pick you both up when school is over," Scully tells them.

"We'll wait for him out front," Page says with a short nod of her head.

As Scully drives, she glances back at the kids at stoplights. Mulder
will be leaving the house soon to bring April, David, and Jared to
preschool. Today is what she wanted a year ago, not to have Mulder be
missing and possibly dead. Not to have sent Page to off her first full
day of school with Missy.

"Mommy, what are you thinking about?" Sammy asks, and in the rear view
mirror she sees that his bright eyes are staring at her. "You're
smiling."

"I was just thinking about how life has a way of working out
sometimes."

"That's good, right?" Page asks with an uncertain smile.

"It's great," Scully reassures her.

~*~*~

Preschool
Thirty Minutes Later

For once, April is the one who fearlessly forges ahead. Small girls
call her name, and she races toward them with a broad smile. David, on
the other hand, shrinks against Mulder's leg and has a death grip on
his pants. And Jared took one fearful look at the preschool building
before begging to be picked up.

Mulder glances down at the boys with a bit of trepidation. They'll
spend the next three school years here, but he and Scully already know
that the school their older siblings now attend has a policy of
splitting up twins into different classrooms. ::I don't think they'd
understand if I told them to enjoy it while it lasts.:: He muses to
himself.

"Mister Mulder!" a familiar voice calls. He's not surprised to see one
of the teachers walking towards him. "They've gotten so big, haven't
they? I remember you bringing them with you Sammy's first day of
school, and they were just tiny newborns."

"We've got a new brother," David offers shyly. "He's little."

"I bet his is," the teacher agrees. "Does he look like your mommy or
daddy more?"

"Like Mommy," Jared says immediately from his perch in Mulder's arms.
"He got red hair."

"I see. You two look just like Daddy, though, don't you?"

"Yup," they both agree. It's a remark they've heard often in their
short lives.

"Identical?" the teacher mouths to Mulder and he nods slightly. 

"David's favorite color is red and Jared's is blue. They insisted on
getting sneakers in those colors," Mulder tells her, knowing that
she'll read between the lines. He and Scully aren't willing to restrict
the clothing colors the boys can choose from, but color-coded footwear
should help the teachers tell them apart at a glance.

"Got you," the teacher says before taking David by the hand. Mulder
puts Jared down and she takes his hand too. "We're going to have a lot
of fun today. And there are two boys who have been waiting to meet
you."

"There is?" David looks surprised. 

"Yup, their names are Taylor and Tyler, and they're twins just like
you."

Perhaps recalling that Mulder had once brought those particular
classmates up, the boys look intrigued. He heads out while they're
distracted, hoping that there won't be any tears when they realize he's
gone.

~*~*~

Hoover Building
8:10 a.m.

The phone on Scully's desk rings. "Scully." 

"Hey. David and Jared were nervous, but there weren't any tears by the
time I left. How did the first day of school go on your end?"

"Good. When Sammy comes home some time soon and complains that the
girls won't leave him alone, pretend to be surprised," Scully says with
a slight chuckle. "From the looks he got when we walked in, I think
he's going to end up leaving a trail of broken six-year-old hearts
behind him this year."

"No doubt. I seem to recall your mother telling me once that Charlie
was quite the heartbreaker too."

"He was. Bill might have been if he hadn't been such a stick in the
mud, even as a little boy. So much for the theory that girls don't like
redhead boys."

It's on the tip of his tongue to mention Rupert Grint as a counterpoint
to that tired old idea, but the first Harry Potter movie is still a
couple of months away from theaters and it'll be a handful of years yet
before the young actor is a teen heartthrob.

"I guess I better let you go," Mulder says and she can hear Christopher
babbling in the background. "Love you."

"Love you too, Mulder." When Scully hangs up she notices that both
Doggett and Reyes are looking at her. "What?"

"I just got a call," Doggett tells her. "They want us at a crime
scene."

"What kind of crime scene?" Scully asks when she notices that he's
trying not to roll his eyes.

"Oh, they seem to think it has something to do with demons." 

"Right," Scully says, reaching for her purse.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
September 11th, 2001
9:02 a.m.

"Will, come on, put your legs down for Daddy," Mulder coaxes his
youngest son. Not terribly interested in having his diaper changed,
William kicks, making it as difficult as possible for Mulder to put on
the fresh diaper.

"He don't wanna," Christopher says, looking up from playing with a
truck on the floor.

"Sure, but he can't like to be wet either," Mulder finds himself
pointing out. "You don't like to be wet do you, Christopher?"

"Big boys use potty," Christopher says proudly, even though his success
rate is only about one time in three yet, he's gotten the idea that
being potty trained is a big deal.

"Yes they do."

"Oh God, No!" Mulder hears the nanny shout. Then she screams his name.
"Mister Mulder!"

Wide-eyed, Mulder grabs both of his sons, and runs down the hall.
Having never heard the younger woman scream like that, he's terrified
that she's managed to badly injure herself.

"What is it?" he asks as soon as he enters her room and doesn't see her
missing a limb.

Tears streaming down her face, Michelle just points at the TV on her
dresser. It only takes Mulder a few seconds to understand that there's
been some sort of terrorist attack in New York, and that a plane has
just been flown into the twin towers of the World Trade Center.
::What's the date?:: He finds himself wondering quickly. ::Must be the
11th. I should have guessed this still happens.::

They both watch in stunned horror as a second plane smashes into the
side of the building. The reporter on screen expresses fear that
something might happen in the capital too, which snaps them from their
daze. Mulder shakes his head, rubs tears out of his own eyes, and
springs into action with a plan. "Michelle, are you okay?"

"This is just so terrible..." she says miserably, but she looks more
together. "I'm okay."

"Okay. I need you to call Dana's sister. Have her call the elementary
school and tell the office that I'm picking Emily up as well as Sammy
and Page, okay? She needs to give them permission."

"You're going to pick them up?"

"Yeah. I'll bring Emily to her after I get the younger kids from
preschool. There's no sense in her making the trip if I'm already going
there."

"I'll let her know," Michelle says before reaching for a tissue to blow
her nose. "Do you think this is the beginning of a war?"

"I don't know," Mulder admits. "You'll be okay here with William and
Christopher?"

"Of course."

Mulder hugs the little ones before he rushes out the door.

~*~*~

A lot of parents must have the same worries that he does, because the
elementary school parking lot is full by the time he pulls in. There
are staff members with clipboards at the doorways, and he explains that
he's there to pick up two of his children and his niece. The woman nods
and sends a teacher's aide to their classrooms.

"We don't want people wandering the halls. I'm sure you understand,"
she says apologetically.

"Better safe than sorry," Mulder tells her, knowing that it's probably
not been an easy morning for her.

Like other children being led to waiting parents, all three of the kids
are in tears when they're handed over to Mulder. He gives the woman
with a clipboard a surprised look. "They already know?"

"The 4th graders were watching an educational show when the news
interrupted," she explains. "News spread quickly."

"Right." Mulder picks up Sammy because he's crying the hardest, and has
the girls hold hands as they walk through the parking lot. They crowd
his legs. He's marginally thankful that the parking lot is small, so
they don't have far to go.

Once the three of them are settled into booster seats in the back of
the van, he gives them a sad smile. "Today's kind of scary, huh?"

They all nod.

"Uncle Fox, what happened?" Emily asks, her voice barely above a
whisper.

::How do you explain terrorism to first and second graders?:: "Do you
guys understand what war is?"

"Two countries fighting," Sammy answers wetly.

"That's right. Sometimes when one country wants to start a war, they do
bad things to innocent people. This is called terrorism. That's what
happened today. Two planes with people on them got smashed into a
building in New York, which is pretty far away," he adds before he
scares them.

"The people on those planes, they died. Didn't they, Daddy?" Page asks.

It breaks his heart to tell her the truth, but he has to. "Yes,
Sweetie, they did."

"Were there kids on the planes?" Emily wants to know. "And Mommies and
Daddies?"

::Oh God.:: "There were mothers and fathers, Emily. I don't know yet if
there were any kids." ::But there probably were. They were passenger
planes, after all.::

"What about the people in the building? Did they get hurt too?" Sammy
asks.

"I don't know how many got hurt yet, Kiddo. I hope they all get out
okay." Impulsively, Mulder leans over and kisses all three of them on
their foreheads. "We need to go get April and the twins now. We'll just
have to hope that no one else gets hurt, okay?"

"Okay," they agree.

~*~*~

Of course, it doesn't turn out that way, and the news soon reports that
a plane has been flown into the pentagon and another crashes into a
field as well. Mommies, Daddies, and even eight cute little kids are
listed among the dead before everything is all over.

Later that night Mulder finds himself sobbing when the lists of victims
scroll through and he sees that some of the victims are only two,
three, and four years old; the very same ages as April, David, Jared
and Christopher. With all of the flights they've taken their children
on, it's only by the grace of God that it isn't him and Scully burying
their children like those poor families will soon be doing.

Nobody ever thought that something like this could happen. The world
becomes a more dangerous place in just one day.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
October 5th, 2001

The weeks that follow the terrorist attack on September 11th find
Mulder more distraught than he ever anticipated. When the event
happened in his old life, it wasn't something he felt a part of. He and
Gibson had been in hiding, and it had taken until the ten o'clock news
for them to even hear of what had transpired in New York and the
capital. That night he'd put Gibson in the pickup truck they'd managed
to find somewhere, and they then had rushed to an all night internet
café fifty miles away just so Mulder could check his e-mail. As he'd
hoped, Scully had e-mailed him earlier in the day to reassure them both
that no one they knew had come to any harm.

After that he'd stopped thinking about the event that happened far far
away to people he hadn't known. It had been on his to-do list to read
more about the particulars, but he'd spent several more months in
hiding with Gibson, and resurfaced only to find himself in the same
situation with Scully later on, and there had been no time to think of
the dead then, just of keeping themselves from joining their ranks.
Somehow, even past the second anniversary of the tragedy, it had still
escaped his attention that there had been several children among the
victims. The fresh knowledge wounds him.

This time, he feels the tragedy as keenly as everyone else, and it
makes him hold onto his own children tighter, perhaps too tightly. At
least until he has something else to occupy his immediate attention...

All at once, or so he feels, it's finally the mythical six months he's
been waiting for; it has been six months since the day Fox Mulder was
dug up and rejoined the land of the living. And six months of waiting
to see if he'll be reinstated to the X-Files. But today is the day
they're supposed to make a decision and he's relieved, even if Kersh
did decide to yank his chain by making him wait until Friday to meet.

He's been on tenterhooks since he woke up, which is why he practically
dives on the phone when it rings. "Hello?"

"Is this Fox Mulder?" an unfamiliar male voice asks hesitatingly,
making him wonder if Kersh got a male temp to cover for his sectary.

"Yes."

"Mister Mulder, this is your father's landlord...I think you had better
come over here."

"What's wrong?" 

When the landlord hesitates to reply, Mulder instantly begins to fear
the worst. "I'm not sure. The door to his apartment was open, so I went
in to check on him. I found some blood. Not a lot, but enough to be
alarming. He's not here. And there was a note, to you."

"What does it say?"

"I didn't read it. It didn't feel right."

"I'll be right there."

Mulder glances at the clock. It'll be another half an hour before
Michelle returns from picking the kids up from preschool. Sighing, he
writes a note of his own before grabbing a diaper bag.

~*~*~

The landlord is pacing nervously in front of Bill Mulder's door when
Mulder arrives with Christopher and William in tow. Mulder offers him
an apologetic smile. "The blood you found, which room did you find it
in?"

"The kitchen."

"Right."

Mulder sets William's baby seat on the living room floor before sitting
Christopher on the couch. "Christopher, I want you to stay here, on the
couch. Understand?"

The blond toddler nods seriously. "Stay on the couch."

"Good boy."

"Will he stay there?" the landlord asks dubiously.

"Probably not for long." Mulder walks to the door and locks it. "But
he'll remember to for a little while."

"Okay." The man leads him into the kitchen and points to the floor. "I
don't think your father got cut that badly from dropping a glass."

The blood is in fact mixed with broken glass. But it looks to him as
though the glass was there before it was bled on, as though something
other than a shattered glass had wounded his father.

~*~*~

There's a shrill burst of sound from the phone in Mulder's pocket,
making both Mulder and the landlord jump.

"Phone, Daddy," a small voice from the living room helpfully informs
them.

Mulder looks around the corner and is somewhat surprised to see his son
is still on the couch. "Thanks, Sport."

Eventually he manages to fish the phone out of his pocket. "Hello?"

"Mulder, where are you? You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago!"
Scully's slightly tinny voice scolds.

"I'm at my dad's. His landlord called me."

"Is your dad okay?" she asks quickly.

Mulder represses a sigh. "I don't know. We found blood, but Dad is
missing."

"Oh God. How much blood?"

He understands what she's getting at. "Not enough to automatically
assume that he's dead."

"I'll tell people that you're going to need the meeting rescheduled and
come home myself."

"Thanks." Mulder snaps the phone shut, then glances over at the
landlord. "You said there was a note?"

"Oh yeah," he says quickly. Then he pulls a folded piece of paper out
of his shirt pocket and gives it to Mulder.

Mulder pales as he reads it. Before he leaves his father's home, he
calls Scully back and asks her to have two more people meet him at the
house.

~*~*~

Later

Fox,
I'm running out of time. The syndicate isn't wiped out like we were led
to believe, but madder men are now at the helm, sure that they can
negotiate directly with the visitors. They said I've got to work with
them or they'll hurt my loved ones. You said I'm a good grandfather and
I'm trying to be. The kids are in danger, Fox, yours and your wife's
sister's. I wish... Shit, I heard something

There's part of the first letter of another word, but it stops after
that. Mulder puts it down, and realizes a shocked silence has followed
his reading aloud of the note. Of the three of them, he's not sure who
looks the most upset.

"What is he talking about, Fox?" Missy asks, voice trembling.

"I don't know," Mulder admits, frustrated.

"Does this have to do with the pictures someone was taking last year?"
Scully asks.

"I don't know," Mulder repeats.

"We need to find him," Krycek declares. "Immediately."

"I'm touched by your concern for my father," Mulder says dryly. 

Krycek shoots him a sour look. "Screw you. We need to find him so we
can find out what the hell he's talking about."

"In case you haven't noticed, we've got a pair of infants and several
kids between us," Scully snaps. "We have other responsibilities. We
can't just run off and look for Bill at the drop of a hat."

"I didn't mean the four of us," Krycek retorts. "Obviously we can't
take the kids with us, it might be dangerous. I meant just Mulder and
me."

::Crap. So much for returning to the X-Files in the near future.::
Mulder thinks, but then he realizes that he knew that he wasn't going
to be going back any time soon from the moment he stared down at the
bloody glass on his father's kitchen floor.

"But-" Scully starts to object, but trails off. Mulder can barely stand
to look in her eyes, because they say just one thing: I don't want you
to leave.

"Do you even know where to begin looking?" Missy demands to know.

This gives Mulder a pause. He's been mentally preparing to go look for
his father, however reluctantly, but the thought of where they'd go
hadn't really occurred to him yet.

"While we were on vacation, didn't your dad say something about there
being a few break-ins in his building's parking lot?"

Mulder thinks for a few seconds, and recalls the conversation Scully
meant. While they were on the plane home, Bill had said the only
drawback to the apartment he'd been living in since selling his house
was a rash of petty thefts in the lot. "Yeah, why?"

"He said they stopped when management installed cameras in the lot,
right?" Scully asks. "Maybe the cameras caught something."

~*~*~

An Hour Later

When they drive back to Bill's apartment, Scully waits in the car.
Missy and Krycek are waiting at home with the kids. Krycek had wanted
to come, but he was so mad that Missy wouldn't let him, telling him
that scaring the crap out of the landlord was no way to begin a search
Bill.

It doesn't take long for the landlord to agree to get Mulder the
footage from the cameras in the parking lot.

Mulder shakes his father's landlord's hand. "Thank you so much for
this." He nods to indicate the VHS tape he's holding in the other hand.

"Not a problem. I just hope that it helps you find your father. He's a
good tenant. Everyone likes him."

"That sounds like Dad," Mulder says with a ghost of a smile. 

"Good luck, Mister Mulder," the landlord says, not quite meeting his
eyes. All at once Mulder realizes that the landlord doesn't ever expect
to see Bill again. He pretends not to notice.

~*~*~

A Short Time Later

The four of them watch the video five times, but there's nothing but
frustration to be found in it.

"No one noticed the ski masks?" Missy asks, her voice incredulous. "In
broad daylight?"

"I think most of Dad's neighbors are working people," Mulder says.
"There probably was no one home to notice how conspicuous they looked."

"At least he's alive," Krycek points out. 

The video shows Bill Mulder being pulled out of his home by two masked
men and forced into the back of a non-descript black car. Bill is
stumbling, but moving under his own power, which makes them all think
that he wasn't badly hurt despite the blood in his kitchen.

"This wasn't a spur of the moment thing," Scully remarks irritably.
"They planned this. That's why there's no license plate on the back of
the car. They must have known that there was a possibility they were
going to be on tape, with that and the masks."

"We'll figure this out," Missy says encouragingly. "We'll bring him
home soon, and he can explain to us what it is he meant in his letter.
You can tell that he wants us to know. He'll hang on if he can just so
he can tell us."

Mulder finds himself nodding. His father is a good grandfather. Missy
is right, he'll endure until he can be found for the kids' sake. It
just worries Mulder about how much he'll have to endure while they spin
their wheels.

~*~*~

Kersh's Home
3 a.m.

The sound of breaking glass should wake the Deputy Director, but he
sleeps through it, only snorting once before his breathing falls back
to its normal pattern. It's not until there's a pressure on his
mattress that he leaves REM and opens his eyes sleepily.

Only to find himself staring up at a strange man holding a gun.

"Who are you?" he growls, but both men can tell that it's false bravo.
Kersh's weapon is not within reach, and he senses that the gunmen knows
that too.

"It doesn't matter," the other man says, his voice angry but quiet. "I
just need you to answer a question."

"Why should I?" Kersh asks, letting his indignation take control of his
tongue.

As an answer, the other man cocks the gun.

Sweat breaks out on Kersh's forehead, but he's too scared to lift a
hand to wipe it away. Obviously his intruder is some sort of crazy, and
sudden movement might set him off. "What do you want to know?" he asks,
his voice half-strangled.

"Where's Bill Mulder?"

Surprised by the question, Kersh blinks. He had figured that the man
was a thief, and that the question would be about his safe or his
valuables. "Who?" he asks, bluffing.

"Fox Mulder's father," the stranger says, leveling the gun at his
forehead. "Don't try to tell me you don't know what I'm talking about.
The old bastard claimed to have an in at the FBI, and I know you're
it." After a pause, he adds, "As the only black man in the syndicate,
you should have worn gloves when you took Bill."

Kersh finds himself mentally cursing the Smoking Man. He didn't know
the elderly man very well, but enough to dislike him. Enough to have
been pleased by the rumors of his death the year before. "Did agent
Mulder send you here?" Kersh demands to know.

"Of course not. If he'd thought you'd be of any help, he'd be the one
holding the gun."

It occurs to Kersh that he might know who this man is. One of the
sectaries mentioned once that agent Scully's sister had married an
agent who had briefly worked in the Hoover building before he arrived.
The agent's name wouldn't come to him, much to his frustration. He
hisses in pain when the man hits him in the ribs with the barrel of the
gun.
"Don't."

"Tell us where to look for Bill Mulder."

"There's a cabin." 

"Where?" The stranger threatens to hit him with the gun again.

"Somewhere in Pennsylvania. I've never been there," Kersh says, his
voice more of a pathetic whine than he intends.

To his surprise, the next blow fails to come. Instead the man nods. "If
you warn anyone that we're coming, you'll be dead within hours."

"You'd come back and kill me?" Kersh asks grimly.

"Not me. I have an associate who'll be watching you," the gunman warns.
"But you should be happy, you're getting what you want."

"What's that?"

"To keep Fox Mulder out of the FBI."

The man lets himself out of the house a moment later, and Kersh can't
help but agree with him. Taking Mulder's father hadn't been his idea,
but it was having an unexpected benefit. And because he believes the
man with the gun, he won't bother to tell anyone that Mulder is going
to be looking for his father. They probably already realize that, and
if they don't...let them be the ones staring down the barrel of that
gun. He's got enough to worry about with his day job.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
6 a.m.

Since he's just stumbled out of bed, Mulder is dressed only in a pair
of flannel boxers when he opens the door for his brother-in-law.
"What's so important that you're pounding on my door this early on a
Saturday?"

"Relax, Mulder, it's not like you've got to worry about the kids
getting enough sleep before school today," Krycek says as he follows
Mulder into the kitchen. "I have something for you."

"What's that?" Mulder asks warily. He knows that he's fully on board
with the idea of tracking down his father, but he worries about his
methods. Hopefully it won't be a hostage or a body part.

"A destination. Sources say your father's being held in a cabin in
Pennsylvania."

"What source?"

"One that's scared shitless that my associate is going to blow a hole
in the back of his head if he dares tell anyone we're on our way."

"Your associate?" Mulder cocks his head. "Is this a real or imaginary
ally?"

"Real. We're not the only ones that the syndicate has burned. I've
called in a favor from an old friend. I don't think we'll need her to
act, though, not if we leave quickly."

Leaving quickly is the problem, Mulder thinks. He doesn't want to leave
at all, but he soon finds himself going up stairs to wake his wife and
let her know that he needs to pack.

~*~*~

Chapter One Hundred And Seven
"Consequence" 

Mulder-Scully Home
October 6th, 2001

As Mulder throws clothes into a duffel bag, he can't help but feel a
keen difference between now and all the times he's packed for a case.
With cases there's a clear goal and a reasonable expectation that one
will come home before long. And most of those times Scully was packing
along side of him, not staring holes into his back.

Turning, he gives her the saddest of smiles. There's so much he wants
to say to her, but the words stick in his throat.

"You'll find him, Mulder," she says, putting her hand on his hip to
comfort him.

Looking up at her, words finally spill free. "What if I don't? What if
we don't find him and never figure out what he was trying to warn us
about?"

Until he hears himself saying it, he hadn't fully realized his own
fear. Nothing in his old life has prepared him for his father being
forcefully dragged back into the conspiracy, one now apparently
involving his children as well.

There have been so many times in both of Mulder's lives that he's
imagined what his sister would have done with her life if it hadn't
ended so young. But it had never occurred to him to wonder back then
what might have become of his father if he hadn't been murdered. Even
as his father has now gone beyond his previously allotted time, Mulder
has primarily thought of his father's continued life in relation to
what it has meant to him: his father at Page's first birthday party; at
the baby's funeral; playing with the kids at the beach... Just the tiny
fragments that he's witnessed with his own eyes.

The fact that his father has lived mostly outside of witness the past
six years is something he's never had cause to be conscious of. How
often does anyone think of the lives others live in private? These
years of Bill's have been filled with a multitude of things Mulder has
never been privy to, nor even thought to ask about.

Now Mulder desperately wishes he knew what they had been.

"There are always dangers," Scully says, forcing him back to the
present. "No one's children go through life charmed and wrapped in
cotton wool, least of all ours. If you don't find your dad, we'll be
vigilant to protect them the best we can. The same as if you find him."

From what, his heart desperately wants to know, but he doesn't ask
because she can't answer him that.

~*~*~

Seconds after he slings the duffel bag's strap over his shoulder, Sammy
and Page run into the room. Looking at their eager faces makes his
heart sink even further. He thinks he can feel it in the vicinity of
his knees.

"Where are we going, Daddy?" Sammy wants to know.

Mulder drops his bag and picks his son up. "Sorry, Buddy, this trip is
for just me and your uncle Alex. We'll go some place together during
another vacation, okay?"

"Oh." Sammy's face falls. "Okay."

Page tugs on the hem of his still untucked shirt. "Where are you and
Uncle Alex going?"

"Well, we're going to look for someone," Mulder says, hoping that they
won't press the issue. He and Scully haven't told them yet that their
grandfather is missing, and he hopes that they'll return with him
before that necessity becomes a reality.

"We could help you!" Sammy offers. "We're real good at helping."

"Aren't we?" Page asks uncertainly after a moment when Mulder doesn't
answer.

It's another thing he and Scully haven't told them yet, but this time
he decides to tell them a less than pleasant truth. "You guys are great
helpers, but I'm afraid that you're getting too big to miss a lot of
school. Mom and I love your help on the case, but you need to learn a
lot, right?"

"How come?" Sammy demands to know. 

"Most of the fun things you can be when you grow up mean that you need
a good education. You wouldn't want to miss a lot of school because of
our jobs, then not get to be what you want when you grow up, right?"

"Right," they both agree, but neither of them looks happy about it.

"You can still help us during the summer, though. That's a quarter of
the year, so you won't miss too much."

"Yeah... but you're not taking the little kids with you, though,
right?" Page asks with a hint of jealousy in her voice.

"Nope, I'm not even taking Mom. Just your uncle," Mulder reassures her.
He doesn't add that he's less than thrilled about who is going with
him.

"Okay." The fact that they're not being singled out seems to make them
feel better.

::Wish I felt better:: Mulder thinks to himself as he picks up his bag
again.

~*~*~

By the time Mulder walks out the door after saying goodbye to the rest
of his children, Krycek is already behind the wheel of a car that
Mulder has seldom seen. Usually, Missy is the one to come over, and she
has her own car. This car is new, sleek, and black, and would never be
rented to two FBI agents pursuing an official case. As he walks towards
the car trunk opens, and Mulder takes it as his cue to throw in his bag
with Krycek's.

When he makes no move towards the passenger seat after that Krycek
rolls the window down six inches. "Get in."

He does so slowly. Something in Mulder makes him want to protest the
fact that Krycek automatically assumes that he is the one who will
drive, but he doesn't have the heart to. Instead he quietly envies the
fact that his brother-in-law is not forced to drive a minivan. Craning
his neck, he looks at the back seat and sees that it's just big enough
for a booster seat and a single car seat, not that they're there at
present.

Krycek follows his gaze. "What are you looking at?"

Mulder shakes his head. "Nothing." Instead of trying to offer an
explanation, he just snaps on his seatbelt instead.

"So, Scully. She's mad at you," Krycek says as he turns onto the next
road.

"How do you know that?" Mulder asks, wondering if there something about
his expression that says that clearly. She didn't come out and say
she's mad, but he got that vibe from the set of her shoulders when he
hugged her goodbye. He can't tell if it's equally at him for leaving
her behind and with the situation, but she's definitely unhappy in a
more than she'll miss him sort of way.

"Missy's mad at me, and I'm only leaving her behind with two kids. I
figure that Scully must be exponentially angrier at you then."

Mulder snorts. And imagines how Missy might have expressed her
unhappiness. Something must have been broken. Maybe something Krycek
really liked. "The geometric growth of pissiness. It sounds like you've
got the basis for self help book."

"Only if I can get ghostwriter," Krycek says, giving Mulder the
faintest of chills. In another lifetime the only way he'd be sitting
next to this man today was if he were an actual ghost.

Conversation fades out after that. If the trip had been shared by other
men, ones who could stand each other, perhaps they could have filled
the empty miles with inconsequential chit chat. But they're not other
men. The only thing they have in common is the women they love, and a
fear for their children.

Too loud, the CD player attempts to fill the void.

I hate to wake you up to say goodbye.
But the dawn is breaking, it's early morn.
The taxi's waiting, he's blowing his horn,
Already I'm so lonesome I could cry.

So kiss me and smile for me,
Tell me that you'll wait for me,
Hold me like you'll never let me go.
'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
Don't know when I'll be back again -
Oh Babe, I hate to go.

"This better work," Krycek growls over the melancholy lyrics. "It'll be
hard enough if we get the answers we want. But if it's all for
nothing..."

Mulder doesn't say anything, but he studies the other man's face out of
the corner of his eye. What he sees there surprises him a little bit.
Instead of being carefully planned and highly anticipated, fatherhood
had initially been unexpectedly dropped in Krycek's lap. Yet the set of
his jaw and the fierce determination in Krycek's eyes mirror his own.
If Mulder has ever had any doubts about what sort of father Krycek is,
they're erased by Krycek's white knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

"The kids will miss us. But maybe it's better if they don't know,"
Mulder tells him.

"Know what?"

"How far we are willing to go to keep them safe."

Krycek's eyes harden. "I think I could go farther than you."

Mulder has few illusions about this. "Perhaps," he says noncommittally.


"Boy scouts don't kill people. Mercenaries do." When Mulder lets that
go without protest, Krycek changes the subject. "I hate this song."

"So turn it off."

"I can't. Missy made this CD for us and I promised we'd listen to it."
Noticing Mulder's smirk, he growls, "If you even think the word
'whipped' too loudly, I'll leave your sorry ass on the side of the
road."

Mulder holds his hands up in surrender. "I have seven kids. That's
irrefutable evidence that I do a lot to stay in my wife's good graces.
And bed."

"There's just so much I can't tell her. I'm not going to add to it by
lying about the little things too," Krycek grumbles.

Since there's a lot he's keeping from his wife as well, Mulder can't
chide him for wanting to be honest with his. ::It's easier for him.
He's not hiding as much. He can't be.::
 
* "Leaving On A Jet Plane" written by John Denver, covered by
multitudes

~*~*~

"Where did your reluctant source say to go?" Mulder asks after he bores
of watching the scenery pass him by. It should be more entertaining
since he's so seldom had the chance to enjoy the experience as an
adult, but he just finds that having nothing to do on the drive makes
him more anxious.

"Pennsylvania."

"Just the state? That's a pretty big place to be driving around
aimlessly in hopes of chancing upon where they've stashed my father,"
Mulder grouses.

"I know exactly where we're going," Krycek tells him, much to his
surprise.

"How?"

"I've been there before. After I was... returned. The smoking man got
me released from the hospital and I spent the next couple of weeks
there at that cabin."

"Oh." Mulder feels a familiar twinge of guilt, the same one he gets
every time something related to Krycek's abduction and subsequent
illness is brought up, and it's been worse than ever since Krycek
helped look after his kids while he was missing. ::But I still think
he's better off:: Mulder admits to himself. ::He's got a wife and two
great kids instead of being six feet under and haunting me. That has to
be a reasonable trade-off.::

Apparently misinterpreting the reason for his quietness, Krycek adds,
"As places you're being kept against your will go, it's not such a bad
place. Your father is probably comfortable."

"Thanks," Mulder replies, feigning reluctance to acknowledge the other
man's unexpected kindness. Krycek just nods his head.

~*~*~

Later

To Mulder's surprise, he finds himself waking up at a stoplight. Never
in his wildest imagination could he picture falling asleep in the same
space as Krycek, but now he has. The one-armed man doesn't seem to mind
that he's been virtually alone with his thoughts and the maudlin
easy-rock tunes that Missy has inflicted on them. She must really be
angry at him, he decides, based on the songs he didn't sleep through.

"What did I miss?" Mulder asks with a yawn. A quick glance at his watch
reveals that he's been out for more than an hour, which means that the
other man had to endure his light snoring for a third of the trip.

"Not much," Krycek replies, not sounding too put out. "We're almost
there. Just a few more streets."

As they near the cabin, Mulder begins to become aware that he has
formed an expectation of where his father is being held. There would be
high walls, perhaps strung with barbed wire. Closed and windowless, the
small building will feel like a prison to his father, who is probably
locked into an even smaller cell. Severe hulking men will guard him,
bringing him bread and water, and a bucket for baser requirements.

What he doesn't expect is the innocuous log building that they see in
the distance.

"That's the cabin," Krycek says, pointing with his good hand.

"And two guards." Though they're still some distance from the cabin,
Mulder can clearly see them through the binoculars Krycek insisted they
bring. In a way the seeing the guards is a comfort. At least he hasn't
completely blown up the danger to his father to mythical proportions.

"Two that we can see," Krycek corrects him. "When we get out of the
car, go around the back of the cabin to see if there's anyone there.
And try to avoid being seen."

"Obviously. I'm no more eager to be shot than you are," Mulder says
sourly. "Or maybe even less so, considering I've already had the
pleasure."

The gravel driveway is crowded with trees and along its sides thick
with bushes. Mulder ducks into them, hoping that the ticks are already
gone until spring. He can't help but cringe every time he steps on a
stick and it snaps. The men chatting in front of the cabin don't react,
though, making him believe that they can't hear him over the cries of
birds and the distant roar of trucks. Once in a while he notices Krycek
making his way up the other side of the driveway, but he's doing a
remarkable job not being seen by someone actually looking for him. This
makes Mulder believe that there's very little chance his brother-in-law
will be spotted by the guards, either.

The back door of the cabin doesn't have a guard posted there. Mulder
watches for a minute, making sure that someone hasn't just stepped away
to take a leak in the woods. Just as he's satisfied himself that no
one's around, he hears a short burst of gunfire.

Fighting his instinct to run around the building to see what's
happened, he forces himself back into the bushes and keeps his head
down. The thought of having to face his wife's sister is barely forming
in his mind when Krycek walks into view. Besides a rent in his leather
jacket, he looks unscathed.

Keeping his head down, Mulder trots over to him, the binoculars he's
forgotten about bouncing against his chest. "What the hell happened
just now?"

Krycek's shoulders rise and fall in an inelegant shrug. "They decided
not to be reasonable."

"So you shot at them?"

"Not at them..," Krycek mutters.

When he raises the binoculars to his eyes, Mulder sees the men lying
sprawled on the ground. Even at that distance he can see a splotch of
red near one of the bodies that can't be explained away by the dead
leaves that litter the property.

"Did you see my father?"

"No." 

The two men exchange a grim look. The fact that gunfire didn't rouse
Bill is not a good sign. Mulder can't decide which would be worse - to
find him dead in the cabin, or to never find him at all. Drawing their
guns, he and Krycek cautiously approach the cabin and the corpses.

Mulder pauses to look down at the dead men. "Do you know them?"

Krycek shakes his head. "Never seen them before."

Looking at the corpses, Mulder wonders if they were thugs for hire, or
actually part of the conspiracy. "Me neither," he says before turning
his full attention to the cabin. It's not a large building but there
are places for adversaries to hide. He hopes they're not walking into
an ambush.

He starts to walk towards the door, but Krycek grabs his arm. "We can't
just leave them here. This place doesn't look like it gets much
traffic, but what if the mailman shows up?"

Mulder grunts in agreement, and grabs ones of the dead men under the
arms. Then he swears when his knees nearly buckle in the attempt to
hoist him up. The last adult he's had to carry was Fowley, and it's
been long enough to forget how heavy adults are compared to his small
and highly portable children. The only thing that seems comparably
close is how heavy the cats get when he's tried to carry them into the
vet's office.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees that Krycek is struggling even more
than he is. He might be older, but at least he's got two functional
arms. Taking pity on the other man, he shifts his corpse long enough to
point at an SUV parked a couple hundred yards away. It's an
excruciatingly slow journey.

"Keys?" Krycek pants when they finally reach the vehicle. Mulder feels
in the dead guy's coat pockets and comes up with a set of them. Still,
it's hard not to dump the corpse on the ground while trying to get the
back open. Finally it swings open and he dumps his burden without
ceremony before taking the other corpse from Krycek.

"Do you see a-" Mulder spots a tarp still in plastic. "That'll do."
They cover the corpses up, and head back to the cabin.

"Suppose he's in there?" Krycek whispers as they get close to the
building.

All Mulder can do is shrug. 

~*~*~

Neither of their guns are safetied when they push open the door. To
Mulder's relief they're not immediately beset upon by men eager to
avenge their fellows' deaths.

Because it's an actual cabin even though it's huge, most of the
interior is taken up by one large room that serves as a kitchen and
living area both. A few dirty dishes and an abandoned deck of cards
show that someone had comfortably settled into the place.

At the same time the place seems unnaturally quiet and half-filled with
shadows. All the signs of life seem to have been bleed away when the
men outside were shot. Mulder's stomach twists uncomfortably when he
doesn't hear anyone in the place.

There aren't many doors to look behind, but he and Krycek cautiously
begin opening them, starting at opposite ends. The first room reveals
rumpled twin beds, and Mulder has the idea that the dead bad guys were
sharing the room.

The next room has no lights on. He's still groping for a switch when he
hears it. "Fox?"

Mulder starts, then picks a figure out of the gloom. His father is
leaning against door frame to what seems to be an adjoining bathroom.

"Dad?" he whispers. His fingers finally find a switch, and the room
floods with light.

When Bill Mulder is visible, he's holding a tissue to his nose. "I
wasn't sure I'd see you before I died."

"You're safe now," he replies nervously. His father's expression is too
grim, still, for comfort.

Bill worries him further by shaking his head. "I don't think I have
much time left. I wouldn't have taken it if I knew you'd come today.
It's too late to worry about it now, I guess."

"Wouldn't have taken what? What did you take?" Krycek appears in the
doorway, but father and son ignore him.

"Cruortin. It's a blood thinner I've been taking since I got that clot
in my leg. When I was in the hospital a nurse brought the kind to flush
IVs, not the regular blood thinner amount. There was a code blue while
she went to fetch the right one. I pocketed it. Just in case something
like this happened. She forgot all about." Bill grimaces. "The idiots
paid to babysit me had no idea what it was. But I guess from the
gunfire we don't have to worry about them any more. I would have waited
if I thought you were coming, but it's too late now."

"You poisoned yourself with this drug? We need to call 911," Mulder
insists. "And have your stomach pumped."

"No. It wouldn't work, it's in my blood, not my stomach. And I have to
die," Bill insists. "I'll never be free as long as I live. It's better
this way. I planned to leave you a letter, but now I can answer
questions instead, while I have some time left."

"Oh Dad..." Mulder says miserably.

Unencumbered by sentiment, Krycek demands to know, "What does any of
this have to do with my kids?"

"Just the boy. There's a prophecy about Dana's family-"

"A prophecy?" Krycek doesn't bother hiding his incredulity.

"A self-fulfilling one, more than one made by a supposed mystic. Dana
and Missy probably don't remember, but their father had a brush with
the syndicate when they were very young."

"He was a military man, not part of the conspiracy," Mulder protests.

"Captain Scully didn't work with us, Son. His family just happened to
be stationed at the wrong place at the wrong time. Military bases were
often the best place to conduct 'harmless' experiments on people,
including children, because the families often hurt for money. We
preyed on their desire to make some quick cash for what we made seem
like no risk at all. Two hundred dollars for an hour of their time must
have been irresistible.

"Someone decided to use that base to test ESP in a general population
for an experiment that didn't end up going anywhere. The only real
consequence to the aborted project was that William Scully's little
girls impressed the wrong people with there psychic abilities."

"Dana's not psychic," Mulder objects.

"But Missy is," Krycek says quietly. "And so is their mother."

Remembering the dream Maggie had once relayed to him after Scully's
abduction, Mulder couldn't help but agree that his mother-in-law at the
very least was sensitive to something.

Undeterred by his son's outburst, Bill goes on. "Maybe she doesn't have
any gifts now, but that was a long time ago. She wasn't any older than
David and Jared when I saw them testing her." Bill explains. "Gifts
like that can atrophy if denied and never used. Or so I've read."

"You saw them test her?" Mulder asks in disbelief.

"Yes. They were so small...their father had Dana on his lap while they
did the testing," Bill tells them. "It was summer then and they were
wearing these little white sundresses. Dana must have just been out of
diapers."

Unbidden the image of a piece of paper floats to the forefront of
Mulder's mind, startling him so much that he shudders. "Dad?" he asks
urgently. "Do you think it could have been 1967?"

"That sounds about right, Fox," Bill tells him with the tiniest of
nods. He looks very pale.

All Mulder can do is stare at him. Once upon a time, when he'd broken
into the house where the surrogates who'd carried Emily and other
babies lived, he'd found a refrigerated box containing an embryo with
Scully's name on it. But he'd also found a piece of paper with her name
on it as well. And at the bottom there'd been a date: August 2nd, 1967.
Now that Emily was Missy's, he hadn't bothered to look for the embryo
or the ova, because they should no longer exist, and even if they did
exist, Missy hadn't had all her ova extracted like the women the
government had experimented on had had. The paper might have had
Missy's name on it if he'd looked at it this time. It never occurred to
him to wonder what the date signified.

"It was deemed that they were both psychic, so the powers that be
decided then and there to keep an eye on them," Bill continues.

"Why?" Mulder asks, still dazed by the idea of his skeptical wife being
in possession of psychic abilities. "What did this prophecy say?"

"Once upon a time there was a prophecy that a child born to a psychic
would grow up to be a leader who'd throw a monkey wrench into the plans
the organization had. Once they met Bill Mulder's daughters and saw
that they scored the highest on the test, they focused on them, sure
one of those two girls would be the mother of the child."

"So they did testing on them, and what, decided they might be useful if
the syndicate ever started its own eugenics program breeding psychics?"
Krycek asks, looking incredulous. "If we're talking about 1967 Missy
was only five. And Dana was even younger-"

"She was three," Mulder offers weakly. 

"Okay, they were all of three and five," Krycek grumbles. "They decided
when they were that young they'd be great for a breeding program to
bring this child about-"

"They didn't want the child, Alex. They feared it," Bill corrects him.
"The reason they kept an eye on the girls was so they would know when
the child was born. At first they thought that was enough."

"Dad, what do you mean by 'keep an eye on'?"

"Fox, has Dana ever told you a story about a little girl, a little
younger than her that she was good friends with? One who died young?"
Bill leans over to cough after getting his question out.

"Yes," Mulder answers slowly, remembering the Easter when his wife had
told him about her friend Patience. A horrifying suspicion begins to
form in his mind.

"Her father worked for us, just peripheral stuff, but deep enough that
his child caught their attention. She was the first sacrifice," Bill
explains. "They gave that child her illness. All to encourage Dana to
enter medicine."

"That's not possible," Mulder objects. "Scully told me the disease the
girl had, it was genetic. How do you induce a genetic disease in a kid?
It was before they even had the first successful test tube baby."

"The child's parents were told what the syndicate doctors wanted them
to believe. They never got a second opinion about the so-called
disease. People didn't question doctors like they do now. Being a
doctor was almost like being a God. No one would have suspected that
the doctor was making that girl a little sicker every time they brought
her in to be seen."

"Even if they could do it, why would they?" Krycek asks. "Why would
they want Dana to enter medicine?"

A ghost of a smile crosses Bill's face as he turns his head to address
Krycek. "Having met your wife I find it hard to believe, but they once
thought she would be easier to control than my daughter-in-law. Doctors
are often rooted to the hospitals they work in, so they planned to make
sure she was hired by a DC hospital and not allowed to transfer
elsewhere. And by the time they killed that little girl in 1975, you-"
Bill points at his son. "-were already being heavily encouraged by
so-called guidance councilors to consider law enforcement when you grew
up."

"Mister Campbell was a plant?" Mulder can't figure out why this
surprises him, but it does.

"He was. They thought they had your destiny all sewn up before you
charmed your way into opening the X-Files." Bill coughs. "And I'm sure
you realize now that you and Dana ending up together was definitely not
part of the plan."

"I guess," Mulder says, feeling terribly confused. When his father
mentioned their molding of their career paths, he automatically began
to wonder if they'd been pushed together as well.

"It burned them up with anger when your marriage was announced. You
were supposed to be too busy for families, after all. But you, Alex, I
think in a way you ought to be grateful that they married when they
did."

"Why is that?" Alex asks suspiciously. 

"Your abduction - yes, I know all about that - and Missy's being
recruited for a supposed study to freeze ova were quickly arranged once
they learned Dana was pregnant with a girl."

"What? We didn't even know she was having a girl until Page was born,"
Mulder protests.

"True, but the lab tech they bribed to show the ultrasound knew. Since
your daughter wouldn't be the prophesied child, they nurtured a hope
that they could beat you to the punch, and create a child of Missy's
that could be controlled, first. Before Dana could have a son of her
own." Bill explains.

"Emily." Krycek looks stricken.

"When their one and only attempt turned out to be female, blonde, and
sickly, they gave up on Melissa."

"What does being blonde have to do with anything? Or a girl?" Krycek
wants to know.

"Their so call prophet was rather specific. The child in question was
to be a red-haired boy."

Even though he has been expecting to be told something like this,
Mulder goes pale. Sammy had wanted to come along. What if he'd indulged
his son and brought him into the jaws of danger?

"They thought it was Sammy, didn't they?" Krycek asks. "So why did they
continue to watch my family?"

"By the time you claimed your daughter, Dana had produced a second
red-haired child. When they realized that you and Missy had begun a
relationship, their interest in her was renewed. Sammy is a wonderful,
bright little boy, but they didn't think he was the psychic they were
looking for. If he wasn't, another child in the family would be."

"Dad...Did they take you because of William and Ryan?" Mulder asks with
a sinking feeling.

"Yes. I just wanted to be closer to you and the kids, Fox. I swear it."
Bill's eyes teared up. "I didn't know that they were watching my every
move. I wouldn't do it, absolutely refused, and they took me, planning
to hold me prisoner until I changed my mind."

"What wouldn't you do?" Krycek demands to know.

A pair of silvery tears roll down Bill's cheeks. "They... They wanted
to abuse your trust in me. Some day when Missy was over too, they
wanted me to take William and Ryan and bring them to a facility they
have."

"What sort of facility, Dad?"

"I'm not entirely sure, or even where it is," Bill admits. "All I do
know is that they have some other children there, I think they might be
like Alex's daughter, though created to what end I don't know since
they thought the child would come from the Scullys' bloodline. And
apparently still do. They want me to give them the babies because they
don't have well-formed personalities yet like Sammy does. It is seen as
a mistake that they didn't steal Sammy as a baby, that maybe his
upbringing is what has kept him from reaching his potential, so they
don't want to repeat it."

::So that's what happened to some of those other babies created with
Emily.:: Mulder thinks to himself before asking, "Have they decided
against this prophesied boy being Sammy?"

"No, they're not ruling him out entirely. But they think it's not worth
their while to try to take him now, even if he turns out to be the one
they want," Bill says weakly. "My guess is they'll try to influence him
when he's another decade older, like they did you."

"Then we need only to keep a fierce eye on the little ones, then,"
Krycek states.

To their surprise Bill grabs their wrists. "No. You must find out where
they're keeping those children and rid the world of such a place.
There's more than your sons at stake!"

"I know," Mulder says and finds that he does. As long as the syndicate
remains, his family will always be in danger.

"Like what?" Krycek wants to know.

"Continuity," Bill says weakly. "Destruction of the elders in that fire
was like cutting off the Hydra's head. Finding where they're keeping
those kids might be your only opportunity to figure out where they all
are now."

Mulder notices how ashen his father's face is, and how labored his
breathing is. It makes him wish he could ask his wife what dying of
internal bleeding is like.

"Fox?"

"We will, Dad," Mulder promises, ignoring the look annoyed look Krycek
gives him.

Bill lets Krycek go, but clings to Mulder's wrist. "I'm sorry, Son."

"You don't need to be."

"Yes I do," Bill insists.

"Then I forgive you," Mulder says, beginning to tear up. And finds that
he does. "We all love you, Dad. I'll make sure the kids know how much
you loved them too."

~*~*~

When Bill's eyes close and his grip on his son's wrist slackens, Krycek
turns to look at Mulder. "I think you better call 911 now."

"No. Not yet."

"Mulder, he's unconscious. He's not going to fight you over it."

"We have to wait," Mulder insists.

"For what?" Krycek is beginning to look exasperated. 

"He's right," Mulder says calmly. "If he lives, they'll only find other
ways to drag him back into things."

"So you're just going to let him die?"

"Have you ever been made to feel like you've destroyed someone you love
deeply?"

"No," Krycek admits.

"Neither have I. But he has. I've watched the guilt over his part in
what happened to my sister eat him up for decades. What if we get the
EMTs here in time, and they save him, only to have that lead to them
making him hurt one of the kids? We might as well demand the devil show
up right now and take him to hell, because that's how every day there
after is going to feel to him. No. We... we have to let him go."

In the end it doesn't take long. Bill's labored breathing finally
trails off, and for second Mulder thinks he's just forgotten to
breathe, but he doesn't start again. Krycek looks at him, apparently
wondering if he's going to change his mind. But Mulder can't. It really
would be condemning his father to hell to make him live everyday
wondering if that day would be the one where he was dragged back into
the conspiracy yet again.

A few minutes later Mulder looks up and speak sharply. "You have to
go."

Krycek stares at him. "Why?"

"I'm going to have to call the police. And when I do, those two bodies
can't be here. And neither can you. I don't suppose you care to be
arrested today."

"No. That hadn't been in my plans for the day," Krycek agrees with a
smirk.

"I didn't think so. I can pretend your car is mine, since I'll have
needed a way to get here. Use their truck to get rid of the bodies."
Mulder tries not to think about how the one-armed man will manage that
on his own. Krycek is nothing if not resourceful, and there are plenty
of bodies of water around, so competency with a shovel probably isn't
an issue.

"And then?"

"Right before we got here I saw a diner. Walk there. I'll pick you up
once the police have gone."

Krycek doesn't look pleased by this idea, but he says, "all right."

It only takes a few minutes for Mulder and Krycek to erase most traces
of the dead men. Fortunately they found a bottle of bleach in the
bathroom, so they were able to wash away most of the blood, and destroy
the integrity of the traces if they were noticed. Since Mulder intends
to tell police that his father was staying at the cabin alone, he has
to get rid of all of the other men's belongings. So he shoves them in
the back of the truck along with the bodies.

A few minutes later, a sour looking Krycek drives off, leaving him and
Bill Mulder alone.

He decides to take a pulse, just in case. It would be awful if he was
wrong, and the medics came and revived his father. There isn't one. And
for the second time in his life, he's touched the body of a loved one
that's still warm. Just like Angel's had been. Unlike the baby, though,
he half expects Bill to sit up and talk to him. Of course, he doesn't.

In the end, he waits another half hour before he calls the police.

~*~*~

Sighing, he pulls out his cell phone and dials 911. The dispatcher is
calm and professional when Mulder explains that he's just arrived at
his father's cabin and found out that the older man has committed
suicide. She takes his location and tells them that someone will be
there very soon.

When the ambulance arrives, so does the town sheriff. This makes Mulder
slightly nervous, but it seems clear that the sheriff does not believe
there has been any crime. Unless of course the state of Pennsylvania is
one that still considers suicide a crime, which is something he hasn't
had time to look up. That has always bothered him. How can killing
yourself be a crime? It's not as though they could ever prosecute
anyone for it.

"Sir?"

Mulder snaps to attention. Apparently the sheriff believes that he is
distracted by the paramedics attempting to work over his father. He's
not, not beyond a faint horror that they might be able to revive him.
"Yes?"

"I'm sorry that you found your father this way," the sheriff says, and
sounds like he means it. "I wish no one ever had to be the one to find
a loved one after they've passed away."

"I didn't think..." Mulder trails off. "I know he suffered from
depression, but he was doing better lately. We went on a vacation a
couple of months ago and had a great time, so how could I know
something like this was coming? What am I going to tell my kids?" ::
God. What am I going to tell them? I can't sit them down and say "Bumpa
killed himself to protect your baby brother and cousin Ryan"!::

The sheriff gives him a sympathetic look. "So you're saying that this
was unexpected. What prompted you to come up here today?"

"Um. I was going to surprise him by inviting him on a fishing trip. I
thought I'd bring him to... to buy the rod he's been talking about
getting..." to Mulder's surprise, his eyes fill with tears. The fishing
trip is a fabrication, so why does he feel like he is really has been
let down that benign way?

"It's okay, Sir." The sheriff tries to sound like he means it. What he
actually means is that he and the paramedics will deal with the body.
The body. How had his father become "the body"? "We'll bring him to the
hospital, and they will pronounce him there."

Mulder wipes a fist across his eyes. "And after that?"

"Well, there will be an autopsy. It's just a formality. After that
we'll release the body to whatever funeral home you and your family
choose to use," he says slowly, as if he doesn't expect Mulder to be
able to understand him. "This will probably take a day or two. It will
give you time to make arrangements."

"Right. Arrangements," Mulder mutters to himself. "I've got to go home
and make arrangements. Maybe my mother..." But he doesn't really want
to bother his mother, given that he knows she's not in the best of
health even though she won't talk to him about it. At least she
apparently has decided to fight her illness this time. He'll have to
arrange the funeral himself.

The other man looks slightly concerned. "Do you think you're okay to
drive? I know this has been quite a shock."

At this, Mulder's nods slightly. "I'll be okay. I'm in law enforcement
myself. We're meant to deal with this sort of thing."

"True. The usually not when it involves our own families."

"Usually," Mulder agrees.

~*~*~

Debbie's Good Eats

The fat on the plate underneath the hamburger has begun to congeal by
the time Mulder reaches the diner and finds Krycek sitting at the
counter. Only half the burger has been eaten anyway, so Mulder suspects
that he only ordered it so he wouldn't look completely out of place.
For a man that has just disposed of two bodies in an undisclosed
location, Krycek looks more annoyed than paranoid.

"Took you long enough," Krycek grouses as he toys with the cold French
fries.

Mulder ignores him. "Let's go."

There's still steam rising from Krycek's coffee mug, so Mulder suspects
that he's drank at least a couple. When he drains the mug and plunks it
down on the counter, Mulder resists the impulse to ask him if he needs
to hit the head before they go. Missy probably asks him things like
that. He doesn't need it from Mulder too.

Instead Mulder leads the way out of the diner.

When they get to the car Mulder has the urge to ask if he should drive,
but he's been blindsided by a weariness of the soul, and decides
against it. Krycek doesn't ask him to drive, so he gratefully slumps in
the passenger seat.

He has half a mind to take another nap, but Krycek speaks. "I've been
thinking about what your father said. Do you think there are any more
children out there? Missy's and mine?" He sounds worried.

"My dad said the other kids aren't yours."

"Would he know?"

Mulder shrugs.

"Have you ever stopped to think about what they must have done to Emily
before she was even born?"

"Thought about what, specifically?"

"I was taken in August. She was born November of that same year. When
Missy told me that the girl was mine, I thought she was out of her
mind. You don't get live babies at less than five months gestation-"
Krycek doesn't notice when Mulder winces. "-much less three months. To
humor her, we did a DNA test. Then we did it twice more with two other
companies. She's mine without a doubt."

"Of course. She even looks like you."

Krycek shakes his head. "When the impossible became the truth, I was
terrified the whole first year we had her. Every time Missy had your
kids over, I'd find myself compulsively comparing Emily to Page. Did
she look older? Was she getting taller?"

"Neither," Mulder awkwardly assures him.

"I know. My eyes told me that every time. I just didn't trust them.
Eventually I forgot to worry about it any more. At least until Missy
got pregnant. Then I worried that something in how they changed my DNA
made Emily's accelerated gestation happen. And if it could happen
again. I couldn't stop wondering how we'd explain a baby conceived
during the summer being born before winter."

Mulder is fascinated by his brother-in-law's uncharacteristically
sharing mood. "Did you tell Missy what you were afraid of?"

Krycek snorts. "Of course not. In my place you wouldn't have either. I
just decided to wait and see."

"It worked out all right. I don't think you'll have to worry next
time."

"There isn't going to be a next time. Your wife and our mother-in-law
might have taken to pregnancy all right, but Missy hated it. She's not
interested in doing it again."

Mulder doesn't ask if Krycek wanted more than two kids. Most people are
happy with that few.

The brief conversation seems to suck up their allotted quota of words.
Missy's CD is the only sound the next three hours home.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully home
Late

Only the front light is still lit up by the time Krycek drops him off.
It takes Mulder two attempts to stab the key into the lock and let
himself into the house.

A light he doesn't turn on himself floods the room, and he finds
himself looking at his wife. The day's events must be written on his
face, because she looks at him and cries,
"Mulder, what happened!" 

He shakes his head softly. "We found him. He's dead, Scully. My dad is
dead."

"Oh, Mulder..." Instantly her eyes fill with tears. "Did you..." She
trails off for a moment, looking uncertain. "...find out what he was
afraid of? For the kids?"

"Yeah. Someone made a prophecy, and they think that it's about you and
Missy. About your children," Mulder says with a sigh.

Her face is a sudden mask of surprise. "Why would they believe my
sister or I had anything to do with a prophecy?"

"When you were little, they were at your dad's base to conduct an
experiment. They decided that you and Missy had psychic gifts and you
were going to pass them along to a special child. A boy with red hair.
Missy I can see being psychic, but you? You don't have a psychic bone
in your body."

The smartass facet of his personality feels like making a joke, but he
pushes the impulse aside. :: I could say that she had a psychic bone in
her body when I could read minds, but she'd just point out that the
penis doesn't have any bones in it unless it's a dog's ::

He's surprised when her face crumples. And even more surprised that she
puts her hand to her mouth.

"Scully, what's wrong?"

"Maybe it's true," she says behind her fingers.

This makes him feel uneasy. And he immediately thinks about the deal he
made with Elsbeth. But she couldn't know anything about that, could
she? She's never mentioned déjà vu. "Why do you say that?" he asks
cautiously.

Her breath comes in a hitching sigh. "When you were gone, Gibson had
dreams. He dreamed about you being tortured."

"What does that have to do with you-" he starts to interrupt.

"Me too. I dreamed about you being tortured too," she says quietly.

"When?" he asks, startled.

"All the time. The dreams only stopped when you were in the ground."

"Jesus. Why didn't you tell me?"

She laughs mirthlessly. "I thought you had enough trouble adjusting
when you came back. There was nothing to gain from telling you. So I
didn't."

"So... if there's something to the theory that you and Missy have some
degree of ESP maybe the prophecy isn't entirely unbelievable," Mulder
says slowly.

"Of course it isn't," she replies sharply, startling him. "We already
have significant evidence that April is in tune to something most
people aren't. Sammy might not be, but who's to say how William or Ryan
might turn out? They can't even talk yet, so it'd be foolish to assume
anything yet."

"The prophecy says that this red-haired boy who will become a liaison
to the aliens, so that rules out April. They also don't think it Sammy,
probably for the reason you pointed out. But they wanted my dad to take
William and Ryan. That's why they kidnapped him. He refused to be a
party in his grandson's abduction." Mulder looks down at his feet.
"That's why he killed himself too."

"I'm so sorry..."

"He was a good grandfather. I wasn't wrong about that," Mulder says
insistently, even though she hasn't objected to the statement.

"I know he was. I know."

"So that's why I had to let him die when he asked me to. There was time
to try and save him. But he didn't want me to, so I didn't."

"It's okay," Scully says wrapping her arms around him.

It doesn't feel okay. But he knows he'll have to live with it.

~*~*~

October 10th, 2001

It doesn't rain the day that they bury Mulder's father. Standing there
with his wife and children, Mulder can't help but think that. There had
been a steady downpour the last time the man had been laid to rest.

The last time Mulder had only had Scully at his side, occasionally
offering awkward condolences for a man who was basically a stranger to
her. Now she and their children share in his grief. Standing with Alex
and Missy, even Emily looks stricken, and Bill wasn't her grandfather,
just her cousins'. Sammy and Page are taking his death the hardest,
crying throughout the funeral.

April is sad too, but the sorrowful glances she keeps giving her father
leave him with the uneasy sense that she isn't just thinking about her
grandfather. Mulder is half sure that she already knows that he's
leaving.

In his arms William stirs fretfully. Scully mentioned that she thinks
he might be cutting his first tooth early which is something Mulder
thinks of with awe; once upon a time he'd only known the boy for two
precious days. Now he'd had almost five months in which to get to know
his small son. William is special to him now because of his developing
personality, not just because he was Scully's longed for child.

It is going to be so hard to leave them all. But as much as he wants to
stay, it's the only way he is going to keep Sammy, William and Ryan
safe.

And that's more important than anything else.

He tears his thoughts away from leaving when he feels a tug on his suit
jacket. Looking down, April's dark eyes meet his own. "Yes?"

"Daddy, I'm sorry," she says solemnly.

"For what?"

To his surprise, she heaves a tremendous sigh. "Bumpa is not sleeping.
Not like you was."

"I know, Sweetie."

"You're going to miss him. He was your daddy." April looks very sad for
him. Knowing that she watched him put into the ground, he understands
her empathy.

"Yes, he was." Though the man they're burying wasn't related to Mulder
by blood, he's the only man Mulder can think of as his father. Even
knowing the truth of the matter doesn't change how he feels. "We're all
going to miss him."

April throws her arms around his waist and squeezes him. "Yeah, we
will."
 
When he looks up, Mulder sees his mother approach Bill's casket and
feels an old stir of guilt. In his old life he wondered if asking her
about Samantha had been the catalyst that made her kill herself, rather
than the disease Scully had insisted had been her motivation. He hadn't
needed information from her now, and she was still among them, so that
was as definitive an answer as he could ever hope to get.

Tina's mouth moves, and Mulder can't hear what she's saying. Goodbye,
probably. Would she be Bill's widow now, if Samantha hadn't been so
brutally ripped from their lives so many years ago? Or would they have
had to change things much earlier, before his conception sealed her
husband's betrayal? As they begin to lower Bill Mulder into the ground,
his son can't help but wonder what the man might have changed if he'd
had an Elsbeth of his own.

~*~*~ 

October 15th, 2001

Though they know they ought to leave as soon as possible, things have a
way of delaying people when the journey they need to take isn't one of
their own choosing. Eventually Mulder finds that his bags are packed,
and he and Krycek are about to leave. It seems like years since the
funeral, but it's only been a handful of days.

The last few days he spent at home gave him an opportunity to have a
fight with Scully. "Are you sure you want me to do this?" Mulder had
asked two days before he and Krycek planned to leave.

"You know the answer is no. But what choice do we have? If you don't go
and find them, and route them out, we'll be looking over our shoulders
for the rest of our lives. I don't want you to leave. But you can't
stay."

He had nodded before blurting out. "We have to tell them."

Scully had looked puzzled. "Who?"

"The older kids," Mulder said patiently. "They're too big to fob off
lies on to."

"Mulder! They're practically babies."

"No, they're not. They're old enough to handle this."

"Mulder..." She had wrung her hands, making him feel like a heel.

"Didn't you tell me that we can't wrap them in cotton wool? It may seem
like we're protecting them by not letting them know what's going on,
but what if it makes things worse? What if we keep them in the dark,
and something happens because they don't know to be wary?"

He has to force himself not to look away when his wife's eyes fill with
tears. "Okay."


Krycek has won a similar argument with Missy, which is why they're
walking into Dennys with Page, Sammy, and Emily. The kids think that
the breakfast is an unexpected treat. Mulder is worried they'll feel
betrayed by the end of it.

~*~*~

Though they get glares from other patrons, they opt for the smoking
section. None of them intend to smoke, of course, but it's mostly
empty. A waitress settles them into a booth before disappearing. Mulder
wonders if he'll recognize her when she comes back.

"Daddy, can we get waffles?" Sam asked eagerly. "With strawberries and
whipped cream?"

"Sure. If that's what you want."

After a few moments of excited chattering, the three children decide
what to have for breakfast. The adults wait for the waitress to come
and take their orders before they begin to talk to the kids.

After a moment to chewing on his lower lip and trying to decide where
to begin, Mulder begins speak. "We have something serious we need to
talk to you about."

All three kids look up. "What?" Page asks.

"Before he died Bumpa was worried about you guys. Especially Sammy, and
William, and Ryan."

Sammy puts down the fork he's been playing with. "Why? What did we do?"

Mulder pats him on the shoulder. "You didn't do anything wrong." 

"Then why was he worried, uncle Fox?" Emily asks.

Mulder studies her for second. She's no longer Scully's daughter, but
it's clear that Scully isn't the only one in her family to pass on
intelligence. He also grudgingly admits that his brother-in-law isn't
quite an idiot, either.

Krycek answers her. "We don't want you guys to worry, but we also think
you're big enough to know the truth. Some of the bad men that we've
punished before-" None of the three children realize that Krycek has a
criminal past. They've been allowed to believe that he's simply a
person who used to work with Mulder and Scully, much like John and
Monica currently do. "-want to take William and Ryan away from home."

"Why??" all three children demand to know.

The adults shrug. "It's hard to understand why bad guys do anything,"
Scully tells them at last. "But we know for sure is that they want
little boys with red hair."

"What about me?" Sammy asks. "And April. And Mommy."

Though he more than half expects Page to correct Sammy, and tell him
that April and their mother are not boys, she says nothing. "Well, we
think that they are mostly interested in very little boys. Ones too
little to talk," Scully explains.

"However, we had the same worry. Which is why we're telling you this
now. We wanted you to know that you should be careful of strangers.
More careful than just every day stranger-danger careful. Don't talk to
anyone you don't know. If you see anybody near the babies that you
don't know, tell an adult right way."

They all look surprisingly calm, bolstering Mulder's conviction that
they were old enough to know was going on.

"No strangers. Okay. We can do that," Page says, and Emily and Sammy
agree.

"We knew we could count on you," Missy says, speaking for the first
time. "We don't think there will be any danger, but just in case we're
glad that you know what's going on too."

Next comes hardest part.

Krycek is frowning when he says, "We have something else we need to
tell you too."

By the time the waitress appears with their breakfasts all three kids
are in tears, which has too often been the case over the past five
weeks. Mulder wishes that they could answer their questions about how
long they'll be gone, but "we don't know" seems better than a lie. At
least they won't be waiting for that date to come and go, without their
fathers returned home.

~*~*~

The kids seem slightly less traumatized by the time that Missy and
Krycek gather them to bring to the elementary school, but Mulder is not
looking forward to an encore goodbye once he and Scully get home.

It turns out that the younger kids are less upset that he's leaving,
but Mulder wonders how much of that is because they don't understand
how long he might possibly be gone. There are fewer tears, and he
allows himself to be grateful for that without analyzing too much why
that might be.

"I want you to be good for Mommy, okay?" Mulder asks his younger
children. April nods but David and Jared fidget indecisively. "Boys?"
he prompts.

"Okay, Daddy," they finally agree.

Christopher merely looks confused, but he returns Mulder's hug. "I'll
see you soon," he promises even though he knows the toddler has very
little grasp of how time works.

Though he'll never admit it to anyone, William is the hardest to leave
behind. The last time they were separated, Mulder didn't see him again
for more than two years, and then only in a courtroom.

~*~*~

An Hour Later

The first leg of their journey comes to an abrupt halt when Krycek
pulls into the parking lot of a coffee shop. "Hungry already?" Mulder
asks dryly. "This is going to be a long trip."

"There is someone I want to talk to before we leave," Krycek explains.

In between breakfast and lunch the coffee shop is mostly empty. Whoever
Krycek intends to meet has not arrived yet. Mulder gives him a
questioning look. "Who are we here to talk to?"

"Marita Covarrubias."

Somehow, this makes some sense to Mulder. He's not sure why Krycek
continues to associate with the woman, considering they have no romance
going on in this lifetime. ::At least they better not:: Mulder thinks
as he considers his sister-in-law's potential capacity for crime of
passion. And if there's any truth to what Scully told him about her
sister's reputation years ago over a bottle of wine, Alex ought to be
too worn out to sniff around other women.

Krycek looks disappointed that his revelation has not gotten more of a
reaction. "You don't look that surprised."

"I'm not. People like her play both sides," Mulder tells him. "I just
can't figure out what you have over her to get her to help you."

The ghost of a smile creases the other man's face. "What makes you
think it's anything to do with me?"

"So you're saying she's just motivated by revenge?"

"You say that like revenge isn't enough," Krycek admonishes him.
"Revenge is an engine that powers many weapons."

"True enough," Mulder concedes. "But-"

Before Mulder can get his next question out the slim blonde woman has
taken a seat on the bench across from him, but taking care not to press
up against Krycek. She looks far better the last time Mulder saw her,
so it makes him wonder what she's been doing since then. And with who.

"Do you have photos?" Marita's smoky voice holds a hint of mockery. "If
I'm to play bodyguard, I'd like to see my charges." Her statement is
something of a joke, because that is not actually what she's doing for
Krycek. Instead, she's merely promised to keep a weathered eye out in
their absence.

They pass her photos of the three little boys, and she glances at them
briefly. Then she looks up at Krycek. "It will be easier if your wife
spends a lot of time with her sister."

"I'm sure they will. They normally see a lot of each other anyway, and
I'm sure there will be a lot of complaining about us to be done while
we're gone."

"Cynic," Mulder accuses. Krycek shrugs.

"You're leaving today?" Marita asks.

"Yes," Krycek tells her. 

She nods and tucks the photos into her purse. "I would say that you owe
me one, but if you manage to get rid of that nest of vipers, then I
guess we'll be even."

They leave without saying thank you, nor does she tell them good luck.
It just doesn't work that way with her.

*

"Why California?" Krycek asks Mulder as they get into the car. 

"I heard a rumor about other kids like Emily there. It's as good a
place to start as anywhere."

Instead of disagreeing Krycek puts the car into drive.

~*~*~

Chapter One Hundred And Eight
 
November 2001

Reyes takes a long, comfortable drag off her cigarette, walking down
the hallway. In her earpiece, she can hear Doggett and Follmer grouse
about the nitty-gritty details on the operation, and has to force
herself not to roll her eyes. Her longish hair is both a nice cover and
muffler, but it's up to her and the various cameras placed all over the
apartment to keep an eye on Erwin Lukesh. She stands in front of the
wall of mailboxes, her dark brown eyes scan the rows and columns until
she finds the number she's looking for, 3-C. It doesn't take long to
get a hold of all the envelopes the FBI have carefully shoved into the
box that morning, and she pretends not to notice that a lot of the
agents have given her their junk mail. A sidelong glance reveals she's
not alone, as Lukesh has joined her, opening his box, 4-D.
 
Ignoring the further grumblings between the former lover and current,
she puts most of the envelopes into her jacket pocket, turning away
from the chubby man to open something marked "Urgent." When she finds
it's only more junk mail, she sighs, a plume of smoke escaping the side
of her mouth. Turning back, she sees no sign of Lukesh, then spits the
cigarette out, stubbing it out with the sole of her shoe. "Where is
he," she asks in a low voice, pulling her gun out.
 
The earpiece, covered by her longish hair, crackles as Follmer tells
her, "Down the hallway, Agent Reyes. And keep your distance, or he may
see you following." Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she keeps
herself from retorting that it's Lukesh that's been doing a good job of
keeping his distance, always out of sight but definitely the serial
killer cutting out women's tongues. Hearing the creak of a door, she
runs towards it, catching it with her gun and nudging it open again.
 
Meanwhile, sitting the back of an oh-so-nondescript white van with
Follmer and a techie, Doggett squints at the various monitors filling
up the rest of the space. "Monica, where are you?" he says, keeping his
tone even, as it seems she, like their quarry, has disappeared from
sight.
 
"In a stairwell," she replies, her voice low. "I don't see him. Do you
guys-" And a sudden, immense pain fills her head, and the blackness
begins to spread, along with nausea. As she loses consciousness, she
fires off in the direction she's guessing her attacker is, but slumps
over before she can confirm a hit or miss.
 
Hearing the gunshots over the receiver, both Doggett and Follmer
practically explode from the back of the van, guns out and race towards
the apartment. Running past the mailboxes, they head down the hallway
and out towards the stairwell. They find her slumped on the stairs,
looking like she's asleep except for her very bloody neck, and Follmer
shouts, "Agent down, back stairwell, get EMS here now!" Then he kneels
at her feet while Doggett runs out, hoping to get a glimpse of Lukesh.
His blue eyes scanning the dimly lit scene, the blond AD shouts,
"Doggett! He's got her gun!"
 
"Shit," Doggett mutters under his breath, then sees Reyes' attacker
twenty feet away. "Erwin Lukesh! Federal Agent!" he shouts, wanting so
badly to shoot first and shout later. "Turn around, you son of a
bitch."
 
The chubby, balding man turns slowly, his face expressionless and hands
covered with blood. The sight alone is enough to get Doggett's blood
boiling, and he can feel a vein bulging in his forehead as he walks
toward the bastard that got Monica. Police sirens alert both men that
there are more lawmen to help Doggett, and the FBI agent turns his
head, waving the cop cars over. "Over here!"
 
When he turns back, there's nobody there. The hell? Doggett thinks,
knowing it's impossible to disappear in that open, enclosed space in
that short a time. With no time for any practical reasons or
explanations for the unexplainable, there is a psycho killer here, and
he can't have gotten far. He finds himself scanning the area, his eyes
and ears sharp, his whole body tense and alert. And then he notices
something else that's weird – the street is empty. There are no cop
cars blocking the exits, there are no FBI agents rushing the scene,
it's just him. Oh, shit, he thinks, his eyes wide with a realization
almost as fast as his reflexes, which has him spinning around, his gun
pointed at Lukesh, who has a gun pointed at him.
 
Two shots are fired, and both men fall.
 
~*~*~
 
Doggett's House
 
Doggett yawns, and so does Reyes. "I don't wanna go to work," he
grumbles, tiredly strapping on his thick stainless steel watch onto his
right wrist.
 
"Then don't." She smiles, pulling down more of the covers to reveal,
well, more of her.
 
He gives her a stern look as he sits up, but it soon matches the smile
on her face. "Monica, boring as the X-Files have gotten without Fox
Muldah digging up God-knows-what, we gotta clock in," he says, trying
to convince himself as much as her, even though they're both naked as
jaybirds and he'd really like to get back to doing what they did last
night. "Besides, that AD is tryin' to be more of a pain in the ass than
Kersh was, and that takes some doing." He stands and pulls his boxers
on, figuring that more of a distance between him and the bed (and
Monica) would mean less pull either would have on him.
 
She laughs, but doesn't argue. "Come here before you hit the shower,"
she says, and when he leans over, she gives him a long, lingering kiss.
"Mm." She smiles, "I may have to join you."
 
"Then we'll never get to work," he retorts, and jumps away from the
laughing temptress. "Be nice and give me a few minutes to get cleaned
up, okay?"
 
"Okay," she says, the smile still on her face. Then the bathroom door
closes, and it's not long before she hears the shower running. Still
smiling, she closes her eyes, telling herself she'll give him a couple
of minutes before she joins him.
 
Then the phone rings, and she sighs, crawling over to John's side of
the bed to answer it.
 
~*~*~
 
"Agent Reyes?" Skinner says, his voice crackling a little through the
landline.
 
"Yes," Reyes replies, automatically straightening her posture somewhat.
 
"It's Doggett. He's been found in an alley off Dillon Park. He's been
shot."
 
"Wait, what did you say?" Even as she asks this, she gathers the
bedcovers to cover herself, in case there were hidden cameras. Perhaps
this is some new kind of reality show where they play sick jokes on
people...
 
"They're taking him in the Washington Memorial," says the unrelenting
solemn voice on the other end. "Agent?"
 
And now she notices that the shower has stopped, and she races to the
bathroom. There's no one there, no sign of John in the bathroom, no
moisture in the shower, no way he could've escaped through that tiny
(and stuck) ventilator grill, no smell of a man with overnight musk
lingering... Her hand hangs onto the phone, even as it falls limply to
her side. "John?" she asks, her dark eyes wide with confusion,
wondering what the hell just happened. "John...?"
 
Meanwhile, Skinner thinks the connection may have dropped, or maybe
somebody got to her, too. "Agent Reyes? Agent Reyes?" he asks.
 
~*~*~
 
At the hospital, Reyes leaves the elevator and walks down the hallway,
sure that this is all some kind of strange joke. Or odd game - with the
X-Files, she's never quite sure. If John managed to rope Skinner into
this, I'm impressed, she thinks. When she stops at the counter to talk
to the clerk, she pauses when she sees Follmer. "Brad?"
 
"Monica?" he says, and she could almost swear he's deliberately keeping
his tone and expression neutral. Is he in on this, too? she wonders,
her paranoia reaching new levels.
 
"Oh, so Skinner called you, too," Reyes observes aloud.
 
The AD nods briskly, "He's staying at the crime scene. I've been put in
charge of this investigation." He pauses, putting a hand on her
shoulder. "I promise you, it's my top priority. I will find a person
who did this. I just need to find out why your partner was in that
alley this morning."
 
She smiles ruefully, brushing off his hand. "There's no way he could've
been," she disagrees, "he was at his home. In fact, that's where
Skinner called me."
 
It doesn't take the AD long to put one and one together, but now he
frowns. "That's not possible."
 
She's about to ask him if he's joking, but decides against it and walks
off, only to bump into Scully. They both murmur apologies and compose
themselves, and Scully is the first to speak a complete sentence. "I
hate to tell you this, Monica, but Agent Doggett is just coming out of
surgery and they're moving him to the ICU."
 
Follmer reacts to this seriously, "How's it look?"
 
Just as soberly, Scully answers, "If he pulls through, it's likely that
he'll be paralyzed for life."
 
Reyes looks at the red-haired woman, then at the blond man, a somewhat
bemused smile on her face. "Okay, joke's over, guys. I can't believe
John would pull this kind of elaborate stunt, but it's good, I've got
to admit."
 
Scully and Follmer look at each other, then at the tall brunette,
shocked, then steer her towards the ICU.
 
~*~*~
 
"This... this can't be happening," Reyes says, her face still a mask of
shock as she stares through the glass at Doggett's unconscious body
lying in a hospital bed, his neck held in a cervical collar and looking
quite unlike the man she saw heading for the shower this morning. "I
was with him at his home, Dana." She turns to the shorter woman. "How
is this possible?"
 
"I," Scully starts, then looks away, over to the man seemingly asleep
in the room. "I saw something once," she continues. "It's only been the
last couple of years that I've... fully come to terms with it. In '94
my father passed away... and that night... at the very moment that it
happened he came to me. I like to believe that he came to say goodbye."
 
Reyes reaches over and puts her hand on the other woman's arm. "A
visitation." She smiles warmly, "I think that's wonderful." The smile
disappears when she, too, looks at the man in the bed. "But that's not
what happened to me."
 
Scully's cell phone rings, stopping her from snapping at her friend
who's obviously in shock and denial. "Scully," she says tersely.
 
What follows is a brief conversation that Reyes doesn't bother to pay
attention to, instead, she's still trying to reconcile the sight of the
prone man before her with the more than healthy and totally hot man who
headed for the shower this morning. It's only when Scully says,
"Monica," that she turns, and sees the same grim look that greeted her
earlier at the hospital.
 
~*~*~
 
The day keeps getting stranger and stranger for Agent Monica Reyes.
First, there's the call from Skinner telling her that Doggett had been
shot, and right when she hears that, Doggett disappears from his
shower. Next, she goes to the hospital, to find Doggett not only shot,
but practically in a coma. Then came the indignity of the interrogation
that all but accused her of shooting the man she loves in an alley at
least fifteen miles away from where she and John were this morning.
 
And now she's back at the hospital, sitting beside the man she
supposedly shot, holding Hannah on her lap as the tears continue to
flow down the little girl's face, stroking the soft hair with one hand
while holding her lover's hand with the other. Standing beside her like
two pale sentries are Luke and Gibson, neither one wanting to cry
aloud, but their silence and trembling lips betray their pent-up grief
and rage.

"This can't be happening," Reyes murmurs to herself, which only makes
Hannah cry harder, burying her face into the dark-haired woman's
shoulder. "Shhh, shhh," Reyes absently continues to stroke the girl's
hair, unaware that she, too, is crying.
 
When Scully and Skinner walk into the room, she lifts her head, tears
still streaming down her face, her expression an unspoken accusation.
 
For once, it seems Skinner is at a loss for words, but then his eyes
narrow behind his glasses. "Luke, Gibson, take Hannah outside. We need
to talk to Agent Reyes."
 
"Hey, she's innocent!" Luke shouts. "Why don't you guys do your job and
find the real asshole who shot my dad?!"
 
"They will," Gibson says quietly, putting a hand on his friend's arm.
 
"Oh yeah, they're doing a great job." Luke scowls, shaking off the
shorter boy's hand angrily.
 
"Luke, Gibson," Reyes says, her cracked and broken voice surprising
even her, "take Hannah outside." When Luke continues to protest, she
shakes her head. "It's okay. Really. Wait for me outside, okay?" It's
only when the door closes shut behind the children that the woman's
demeanor changes, from grieving and supportive, to hard and weary. "All
right. Talk."
 
Scully finds the parallel between Monica's situation and her own almost
intolerable, especially in light of her history with similar things
happening to Mulder because of their search for the truth and sense of
justice, including death, and even now, he's on the hunt for those
remaining conspirators who would hurt their families.... Forcing that
last thought to the back of her mind, she says evenly, knowing that the
woman needs the truth, not coddling, "Follmer's case has a couple
potential holes. For one, there's the fact that when Skinner called
you, you were at Doggett's home, more than fifteen miles from the crime
scene. Plus there's the condition of your gun."
 
"It hadn't been fired." Reyes nods.
 
Scully nods back, "However, the bullet does match your gun. Perfectly."
 
Now Reyes looks more intently at the other woman. "None of this makes
any sense. What about the eyewitness? What can you tell me about him?"
 
Before Skinner or Scully can say anything, Doggett's fingers twitch,
and Reyes nearly drops his hand. "John!" she gasps when Doggett's eyes
fly open, then close.
 
"Is he conscious?" Skinner asks the only medical expert in the room.
 
"I don't know." Scully shakes her head a little. "It could just be a
muscle spasm. It's not uncommon with this type of spinal injury."
 
Skinner's eyes narrow as he watches Doggett's fingers, "That's not a
spasm. That's Morse code."
 
"What'd he say?" Reyes looks up at him.
 
But Skinner's not the only one who can read Morse code. "Lukesh,"
Scully answers instead, her face changing from detached doctor to a
very alert FBI agent.
 
"What? What does that mean?" the dark-haired woman leans toward Scully
now that Doggett's fingers have stilled, his message sent.
 
~*~*~
 
It feels weird to Reyes that she's back in her apartment, even though
it's only been a couple of days over at Doggett's home. And now that
she's here, it feels less like home... in fact, she wants to be with
Luke, Gibson and Hannah, but Scully insisted on taking in the kids, at
least for the time being. "As if she doesn't have enough problems of
her own," Reyes mutters, as if speaking normally would cause an echo or
something.
 
A knock at the door startles her, and she looks through the peephole.
Sighing, she unbolts the door, then opens it. "Yes?" she says, as
politely as she can under the circumstances.
 
"Doggett hasn't regained consciousness since his message," the bald man
says, quickly stepping inside after surreptitiously glancing around.
 
Locking the door behind her, Reyes looks at her boss. Well, would-be
boss, if Brad wasn't there. And how she wishes he wasn't, more and more
each day... "What's with the cloak and dagger?" she asks, as Skinner
opens his trenchcoat and takes out a brown file from it.
 
"Agent, you're still under investigation," Skinner replies, walking
away as soon as she takes the file.
 
Opening the file, she glances at the name that practically leaps out.
"Erwin Timothy Lukesh?"
 
"Have you even seen him before?" Skinner asks, not aggressively, but
curious.
 
She looks back down at the photo, shaking her head. How does John know
him? She wonders as she reads aloud from the file, "1995. Patient at
the State Psychiatric Hospital at Gaitersburg. Diagnosed with a
delusional disorder anger sub-type that presented itself shortly after
the suicide death of his father."
 
Skinner nods. "After four months, he was deemed fit for release. He
lives with his invalid mother in an apartment adjacent to the crime
scene."
 
"This witness, what did he say?"
 
The bald man purses his lips as if he's got something distasteful, then
says, "Lukesh claims he heard a bang, went downstairs to investigate,
saw Doggett lying on the ground and that you shot at him when he was
running away."
 
Reyes stares at him incredulously. "I shot at him?" Then her eyes
narrow. "So he was wounded... this is the one person we know was in the
vicinity at the time of shooting. And how does John know his name?"
 
Skinner's own eyes narrow when he sees where she's headed. "You think
Lukesh shot Doggett?"
 
She exhales, suddenly dying for a cigarette. "What if," she muses
aloud, "Doggett was investigating Lukesh. What if Doggett caught up
with Lukesh, and they fired at each other... What if," she looks back
down at the abnormally plain man in the black and white photo, "Lukesh
is somehow behind all this?" Skinner's phone rings, diverting his
attention. Reyes' attention, however, is on the file. She goes through
the contents more carefully now, trying to find some sign of her
partner, of how or why he would be involved with this man, and still
trying to tease out how her disappearing John and this disabled John is
linked to this mad man, for he truly is, no matter what the psych
hospital says.
 
Skinner closes the file folder, and her head snaps up. "Come with me,"
he says, "we're going back to the hospital."
 
~*~*~
 
Washington Memorial
 
Reyes and Skinner leave the elevator, only to meet with Scully and
Follmer halfway down the hallway. "How is he?" Reyes asks Scully as
they all head towards Doggett's room.
 
"Fully conscious," Scully says briskly, although that doesn't fully
mask her optimism. "We set up a communication device designed for
spinal injuries-"
 
Follmer interrupts, "Just so we're clear, we ask only the questions I
want asked. You're not to try and shade his testimony in any way."
 
"If you're so concerned, why let Reyes talk to him in the first place?"
Skinner asks, clearly irritated.
 
It galls him to admit it, but, "Because he says he won't talk to anyone
but you," Follmer replies quickly. When they reach the door, Reyes
walks through, but the blonde man stops the redhead and the bald man.
"He didn't mention you two," Follmer says smugly.
 
~*~*~
 
There's a monitor at the end of the bed, and his fingers are attached
to a Morse button connected to a laptop, but all Reyes has eyes for is
the man in the bed. "John." She smiles, stroking his face with her
fingertips, "hey."
 
Doggett's own fingers twitch, and the monitor reads, "ALIVE."
 
"Of course you are." Reyes' smile deepens.
 
There's a pause, and then he blinks, as if surprised that not only can
most of his body not move, but neither can his face. After a while, he
types out, "NO YOU HOW OK."
 
Now Reyes frowns. "Why am I alive? Is that what you're asking? I'm
fine, John. Why wouldn't I be?" she asks, confused.
 
Follmer quickly jumps in, "Have him say who shot him."
 
Doggett types out, "YOU," and Reyes looks at him, shocked, while
Follmer grows smug. But the smug look is replaced with confusion when
the bedridden man continues to type "YOUR THROAT CUT."
 
Reyes leans forward, pulling her long dark hair away from her neck to
show him, "My throat wasn't cut, John. What do you mean?"
 
"LUKESH KILLED YOU. TRIED KILL ME."
 
And for the first time in a long time, both Reyes and Follmer were
thinking the same thing: What the hell???
 
~*~*~
 
It was one of the most uncomfortable hospital visits Scully has ever
been to, and that's saying something, especially in light of all the
ones she's had where either she or Mulder was the patient. And it was
probably because of that that her children have become accustomed to
it, while Doggett's children have rarely seen him in a hospital gown,
much less so incapacitated. Luke was monosyllabic, almost to the point
of being mute, while Hannah was a too-bright chatterbox, and it seemed
only Gibson held something like a normal conversation with the
bedridden man. Scully just stopped herself from thinking that that was
because he was a mind reader, she isn't about to go that far.

By the end of visiting hours, Luke seemed relieved, while Hannah
started to cry, and Gibson had a familiar, weary look on his face (the
same one he had while we were trying to protect him in Canada, Scully
recalls), and the children leave only after reading their father's
much-abbreviated wishes of love and paternal admonitions.
 
Scully had squeezed his hand, then took Hannah's hand, and everyone
bundled into the minivan in silence. The only thing any of them said on
the way back to her house was, "I hope he gets better soon," and that
was Hannah. Scully hadn't the heart to tell the little girl that the
fact that Doggett was lucid and intelligent enough to grasp Morse as
his only means of communication was a miracle, and kept silent. The
older boys went to bed as soon as they finished their homework, while
Hannah played up with Page and April, and the rest of her children were
either running around or fed by the nanny.
 
Scully sighs, rocking William to her chest, when her cell rings,
startling her. "Scully," she answers.
 
"Hey, it's me," a familiar voice says on the other end.
 
"Oh, Mulder." She smiles for the first time in a long time that day.
"Is everything okay?"
 
"I was gonna ask you that," he answers, "I can say that so far, we
haven't killed each other. You?"
 
"John's kids are staying with us for the time being," she says, and
fills him in on the details. "Mulder?" she asks after a pause.
 
"Yeah, I was just thinking," he replies. "You know, I think it would be
okay if the kids stayed with Reyes over at Dog, er, John's place."
 
"What?" Scully blinks.
 
"From what you've told me, she's pretty much off the suspect list now,
most of the kids are old enough to be at home by themselves, and
really, what they need now is to support each other. I think it's great
that you took the kids in," he says quickly, "but now that Reyes is in
the clear and Doggett's awake and communicating, they should be there
for each other, don't you think?"
 
She exhales, then smiles ruefully. "I guess I do tend to be a den
mother, don't I?"
 
"It's what I love about you," he says.
 
"Mulder," she says before he can hang up, "what about you? Have you
found what you're looking for?"
 
"No," he answers heavily, guiltily.
 
"Keep looking," Scully says, "if anyone can find them, it would be you
two." When William yanks on her cross, she smiles a little. "I'm
praying for you."
 
"Thanks," he says, and it sounds like he means it. "I love you."
 
"Love you, too," Scully says, and forces her voice not to catch.
 
"Yeah," he says, and hangs up, before unspoken words like "I miss you,
I need you, I wish you were here," and other threaten to be said and
overwhelm and undermine them both.
 
"Please," Scully whispers, taking the small gold cross from her son's
chubby fingers to pinch it tightly in her own, "please, let them find
what they're looking for, keep them safe, and let them come home soon."
She smiles gently when William fusses and she hands the cross back to
her child.
 
"Who was that?" Page asks, curious.
 
"Your daddy," Scully answers. "He's okay."

"Is he coming home soon?"
she says hopefully.
 
"Not yet," her mother has to say truthfully, and her heart breaks again
when she sees her little girl's crestfallen face.
 
"I miss him," the little blonde girl says, and hugs her mother tightly.
 
"Me, too," Scully frees a hand to hug her back, closing her eyes
against tears that threaten to fall.
 
~*~*~
 
The kids are at school, and Reyes is at the hospital. It's almost
disturbing how accustomed she's gotten to this new routine, dropping
off the kids at school before heading to the basement office to prod
and poke at the current case, then driving over to the hospital and
spending time with Doggett. The hours fly by and then she picks up the
kids from school, drop them off at various activities, do a little
grocery shopping and cooking before picking the kids up and having
dinner at home.

And she's found that it's better for Doggett and the kids if she brings
them over individually rather than en masse, as the pressure for him to
want to talk to everyone makes his typing sloppy and the children
impatient. Yeah, it's almost disturbing to see how used to this life
she has become, but then again, she's never been the type to get thrown
by different things for too long.
 
And besides, she smiles as the doctor finishes up his checkup, she
would do anything for this man, this man she loves even if his only
form of movement is through his amazing eyes and nimble left-hand
fingers. "Hey, you," she says, sitting beside him.
 
"HEY SEXY," Doggett types.
 
Reyes snorts. "You're such a bad flirt," she says, grinning anyways.
 
"HOWS CASE?"
 
She scrunches up her face. "I think ‘fucked up' would just about
describe it." When he continues to look at her, she sighs. "Nothing
fits. You say I was on the stakeout with you, the kids say..." Then she
looks at him. "Hey, what's the last thing you do before you leave the
house?"
 
"LOCK DOOR," he replies.
 
"Before that," Reyes clarifies.
 
He looks at her, then types, "STICK PENCIL LEAD IN DOOR HINGE."
 
A cheap alarm system, to place a mechanical pencil lead in the door
hinge, especially if someone was skillful at picking locks and would
leave little evidence of a break-in. It was something she'd picked up
from the kids, but hadn't seen Doggett do, since she'd always left
before he did. And according to the kids, there was no lead, not even a
broken piece, around the doors that morning.
 
"John, what if we were both right?" she leans forward, her eyes wide
with excitement. "What if you were at home with me, and I was on a
stakeout with you at the exact same time. What would it take for that
to be true?"
 
"WE BOTH HAD TWINS WHICH WE DONT." He doesn't thin his lips in a
skeptical line, but he doesn't have to.
 
"Except maybe we do," she rejoins. "Maybe all of us do. You've heard of
the idea of a parallel universe? One that's identical, or nearly
identical, to our own. One in which we all have a double. It's
theoretical physics but... what if it's real?"
 
"TOO MUCH STAR TREK," is his answer, and she could almost swear he
rolled his eyes.
 
She smiles briefly, but continues. "You said yourself Erwin Lukesh was
known for his impossible escapes. You said that in the alley you looked
away only for an instant and he was gone." She snaps her fingers. "And
then, somehow, he was behind you. And he shot you. With my gun. My gun,
that never left my possession that entire day. What if Lukesh can pass
freely from one parallel world to the other? Like," her eyes go to the
ceiling searching for the words, and then her gaze returns to him,
"like he's opening a door. And what if somehow you followed him through
that door without even knowing it." Reyes runs a hand through her hair.
"Maybe when you followed Lukesh into this world, my - my John got
forced out."
 
"FUKN WEIRD."
 
Reyes chuckles. "My John would have called that crazy, too..." Then her
gaze holds his with a challenge, "But give me another theory that
fits."
 
~*~*~
 
Skinner walks into the hospital room, his face grimmer than usual.
"There's someone who wants to talk to you," he says, his jaw clenched
and his lips barely moving. Doggett merely looks at him, not wanting to
waste finger-tapping time on an obvious question. The bald man exhales
noisily, then looks away. "Your ex-wife, Barbara."
 
As Reyes looks on in shock, Skinner taps a few buttons on the in-room
phone, then says, "Go ahead."
 
A voice made tinny by long-distance connection and speakerphone says,
"Hi, John."
 
There is no typed response from the man in the bed, and after a long,
uncomfortable pause, the voice goes on. "I assume your boss told you I
was calling. Well, I'm surprised I didn't hear the news earlier. I only
found out because Hannah-"
 
A flurry of taps drowns out her words, and Skinner reads from the
screen, "You talked to Hannah?"
 
"Yeah," she says, flustered. "Anyways, I was thinking that it would be
best if the kids were with me at this time."
 
"John," Skinner frowns at the choice language Doggett has so
thoughtfully typed. "Um, Ms., um, Barbara, I don't think he thinks
that's a good idea."
 
"What he thinks isn't the issue," she replies, "Luke and Hannah need
someone who's going to be there for them, who's able to care for them."
 
Now Reyes is pacing the room, dying to hit that woman who's thousands
of miles away, dying for a cigarette, dying for a chance for that man
in the bed to give his ex some lip. Then a thought strikes her.

Both she and Skinner say, "What about Gibson?" and they look at each
other.
 
"Gibson? Oh, that boy John wanted to adopt," Barbara says, her tone
dismissive. "Well, I doubt the courts would let someone in John's
condition adopt a child, especially a special needs boy like that."
 
"He's not a special needs child," Skinner corrects her. "And Gibson's
paperwork is already finished, I sent in some recommendations myself.
All that's left is the processing, and once the last form is stamped,
Gibson's legally theirs. Hell, he's practically a part of their family
now."
 
"You keep saying ‘they'," the voice on the other end says. "I assume
you're talking about that Monica woman?"
 
Both Doggett and Reyes roll their eyes. "Yes," Skinner responds
tersely.
 
"You do realize she has no legal say or rights regarding my children,
right?"
 
"Stuff it, Babs," Skinner reads, then adds quickly, "That was John."
 
"I guessed as much," she says. "Listen, John, you may talk tough, but
you and I know you can't do a damn thing from where you're at. And
while I may be miles away, I'm still Hannah and Luke's mother, and I'm
sure the courts would agree that I'd be more fit as a guardian than you
are. You're in no shape to put up a fight, and that Monica woman is
pretty much out of the picture when it comes to family matters. Just
give it up, John."
 
"Like hell I will," Skinner reads.
 
"Suit yourself," Barbara sniffs. "You'll be hearing from my lawyers." 
 
The dial tone is loud, and Skinner quickly hangs up. "John, are you
sure this is a good idea?"
 
Onscreen, Doggett replies, "WAS GONNA GIV UP B4. SHE AIN'T TAKIN KIDS."
 
Reyes smiles, then holds his right hand. "I love it when you get all
mad and Southern."
 
~*~*~

That Night

The phone rings, and Hannah, the only one not loaded down with ten
hours worth of homework, answers. "Hello?"
 
"Hi, honey, this is Mommy," Barbara Patrick coos.
 
"Hi, Mommy," Hannah says.
 
When he hears that word, Luke's head whips up from his homework and his
long legs take him over furniture to get to the phone. "I need to talk
to her," he tells his sister urgently in a low voice.
 
Surprised, Hannah hands it over. "Okay."
 
"Hey," he says when he hears his mom squawking at Hannah.
 
"Oh, Luke," Barbara says. "Oh baby, I've missed you so."
 
"Sure you have," he drawls, deliberately sounding like his father.
"This is a record, you calling for about the third time in a couple of
weeks. I might have to call CNN."
 
"Luke, honey, don't be like that," she tries to sweet-talk him as if he
were Hannah's age. "You know I've been busy-"
 
"Exactly," he interrupts her, "what makes you think, with all your
busy-ness and being so far away, that you have any say in this family?
Or that you think you can be the boss now that Dad's in the hospital?"
 
"Luke, you make it sound like he got a scratch, when you know it's more
serious than that," she admonishes him.
 
"Please." He rolls his eyes, "we got the 411 on his condition, okay?
We're his kids, not idiots. And in about a month, they'll bring him
home, and we'll have it set up so that it's all wheelchair-friendly and
everything. We've already got his bedroom set up downstairs, and we're
getting lots of help with folks wanting to redo the bathroom and
everything. So you see," he pauses for effect, "we. Don't. Need. You."
 
"That's cute." Her son can practically see her sneer down her nose at
him, "but you see, you're still a minor in the eyes of the law. You
can't take care of yourself and your sister, on top of having to take
care of your father as well. There's no way you can do all that, much
as you'd like to think you're the man of the house now."
 
Luke narrows his eyes, and if his mother could see him, she'd see it's
the same exact expression her ex-husband would have. "I don't have to
be man of the house," he tells her, "because Dad is."
 
"Get serious," she snaps. "Your father is totally paralyzed, with no
way of earning a living, no way of talking except tapping like some old
lady, and no way of taking care of you! If you think you can call that
a man-"
 
"Shut up!" Luke yells, surprising Hannah into making her cry. "Stop
pretending like you care! You don't care about us, you don't care about
Dad, and you don't give a damn about anyone except your selfish, stupid
self!" He slams the phone down, breathing hard, and then sits down hard
on the couch next to his little sister. "I'm sorry, Hannah."
 
"How come you were yelling at Mommy?" the dark-haired girl asked
between hiccups.
 
"'Cause she's not acting like one," he says grumpily. "She hasn't been,
not for a long time." He awkwardly pats her on the head, "C'mon, don't
cry. It was her I was mad at, not you."
 
"Okay," Hannah sniffles. "I can't wait for Monica to get home."
 
"Yeah, me, too," Luke slumps his shoulders. "Then she can yell at Mom."
 
"I'd love to see that," Gibson says, and Luke turns toward the guy he's
already thinking of as his brother as well as friend. But the smile on
the smaller teen's face is strained, as if the situation is hitting him
as hard as it does Luke and Hannah.
 
Luke smiles back at him, but it's a small smile. "Wanna make a bet on
that?"
 
Gibson's strained smile eases up somewhat. "Sure. How about a can of
Coke, and she yells on the second call?"
 
The other teen raises his eyebrows up. "You're on." As Hannah watches
her brothers, Luke winks at her. "I say Monica yells on the first
call."
 
~*~*~
 
It doesn't take long before their wager is called, literally. After a
week of hearing a dial tone whenever he picks up the phone, Luke
finally yells, "Wow, scared of your own son? What kind of mother are
you?"
 
"I don't appreciate being talked to in that tone," Barbara Patrick says
coldly.
 
"Oh, finally she speaks," Luke comments sarcastically. "Hey, guess
what, ‘Mom'? There's gonna be a woman helping Dad around the house, and
it's not gonna be you."
 
"You mean that Monica tramp? Don't make me laugh," she retorts, not
bothering to hide her venom from her son. As soon as she sees how much
it's going take looking after a cripple, she'll be running off to who
knows where with who knows what."
 
"Isn't that what you did to Dad?" Luke shoots back. "As I recall, it
didn't take much to get you running, and Dad wasn't even paralyzed."
 
"How dare you!" she sputters. "There's a lot of things you don't know
about me, young man, and a lot of things you don't know about adult
issues!"
 
"Maybe," he says grudgingly, "but there's a lot I do know. I know that
we can depend on Monica more than we can depend on you. She's great
with Hannah, she's cool with Gibson and me, and she'll never disrespect
Dad like you are!"
 
"Gib-? Oh, you mean that boy that John wanted to take in. Well, he can
have him," Barbara says as if she's tossing out the trash. "All I want
are you and Hannah. You're mine."
 
"What?!!?!" Luke's eyes are bulging, but he doesn't even notice that
Reyes is making her way towards him. "You-, you-!" There are a thousand
things he wants to say, but even he knows not to call his mother those
things, no matter how much he wants to. When he feels a hand on his
shoulder, he looks up to see the woman he's defending against his
mother. "Hey," he says, his eyes pleading with her, "Mom doesn't want
Gibson."
 
The news doesn't seem to surprise the FBI agent, and she nods, taking
the phone from him. "This is Agent Monica Reyes," she says crisply.
 
"I see," Barbara sounds less than pleased. "Hand the phone back to
Luke, I have family matters to discuss."
 
"I don't care what you think of me," Reyes ignores the request, "but
you don't talk that way to your ex-husband, and you definitely will not
talk that way to your ex-husband's children, which, by the way,
includes Gibson Praise. His status in this family is as legally binding
as anything blood-related, and I suggest that if you want to further
harass your children in this or any other matter, you should watch what
you say before you get, at the very least, served with a restraining
order."
 
"Now you listen here, you slut," Barbara hisses. "You've already gotten
your hooks into John, I won't let you have my kids as well."
 
"Your kids?" Reyes echoes in disbelief. "You may have given birth to
two of them, but you certainly haven't been acting like a mother. When
you decide to take some actual responsibility and have some love for
them, I will graciously step aside, but I have a feeling it'll be a
cold day in hell before that happens. Goodbye." Then she slams the
phone down. "How dare she?" she blazes. "That self-centered little-!"
Then she remembers who she's with, and simmers down a little. "Sorry."
 
"Wow," Gibson says. "You can get scary, even though you're usually
pretty mellow."
 
Reyes chuckles. "You think that was scary? Trust me, scary is if I ever
see her in person, I don't know what I'd do..." she trails off when she
sees Hannah's lower lip jut out. "Sorry, Hannah."
 
Hannah shakes her head. "If she doesn't want Gibson, she doesn't really
want me or Luke, neither," the little girl says sadly. "I thought she
still loved us, but she just wants to be mean to Daddy, huh?"
 
The brunette sighs, then squats down to hug her. "I'm sorry," she says
again. "Grownups sometimes don't act like they should, even if they're
your parents."
 
"She's not gonna take us away, right?" Hannah looks up at her,
teary-eyed. "We're gonna stay with you an' Daddy, right?"
 
"Nobody's going anywhere," Reyes assures her, wiping Hannah's tears,
feeling the most rage and bitterness against a woman not connected to a
case she's ever felt.
 
"Damn straight," Luke agrees. When Reyes gives him a look, he sighs.
"Sorry."
 
"Man, neither of us wins the bet." Gibson sighs.
 
"What?" Reyes blinks. After Luke grudgingly tells her, she laughs. "And
how would you know this was my second conversation with her?" she asks.
 
"Dad told us about this morning's conference call," Luke explains, "and
you didn't lose your cool then. And just now, you were tough, but you
didn't yell. Well, not ‘til after you hung up," he grins. "Are you like
Gibson?"
 
"What do you mean?"
 
"Like a mind reader," he says, more matter-of-factly than his father
ever would.
 
Reyes shakes her head. "I," she pauses for the right words, "have these
feelings, but nothing even close to what Gibson does." She smiles
ruefully. "Speaking of which, I have a feeling if we keep taking these
calls, we could lose more than our tempers. Just screen the calls and
let the answering machine take her messages, okay? There's something I
don't trust about her calls."
 
"Gotcha." Luke nods, as does Gibson, and Hannah has to be reminded a
couple times as the night goes on.

~*~*~
 
Try as they might, however, it looked like Barbara's lawyers were
getting the upper hand, and Reyes was seriously thinking about letting
loose some bad mojo on the woman. It's obvious to everyone involved
that the former Mrs. Doggett was more invested in winning rather than
wanting the best for her children, but that doesn't stop the literally
and metaphorically distant woman from wreaking havoc with the
children's hearts and minds, even at such a great distance.

It didn't take long for Scully to want Barbara's head on a platter
after one conference call that left little Hannah in tears, Gibson
grinding his teeth, and Luke swinging his baseball bat way too
recklessly. Even Skinner was appalled at how lax the FBI-connected
lawyers were, and was starting his own inquiries into getting a decent
lawyer.
 
Still, in spite of all the long-distance legal wrangling with Barbara
and the closer-to-home stalled investigation, Reyes finds peace simply
spending time with Doggett. At the moment, they're listening to some
pretty corny country music, her right hand resting lightly on his left.
When his fingers start tapping, however, she removes her hand, looking
at his face before looking at the monitor.
 
"BEEN THINKING," he says.
 
"About?"
 
It takes a while, but the end result sounds like something he'd say at
the end of a crazy X-File. "SOUNDS CRAZY, BUT THINK YOURE RIGHT. 2
JOHNS CANT BE IN 1 WORLD. U CAN FIX"
 
She looks at him. "How?"
 
"PULL THE PLUG."
 
"John, that's not funny," Reyes says, pursing her lips.
 
"I GO YOUR JOHN COMES BACK. CMON YOUR THEORY SOUND"
 
She stares at him incredulously. "My theory is sound? You don't believe
a word of it, John, not in a million years would you believe. It has
nothing to do with my theory and more to do with the damn legal battle
and stupid case."
 
He looks at her for a while, and neither backs down from the other's
gaze. Without taking his eyes off her, he taps, "DO U BELIEVE?"
 
She tears her gaze away to read the monitor, then answers, "You know I
do."
 
"PROVE IT"
 
"You know I would do anything for you," she says quietly. "But you also
know I would do anything for Luke, Gibson and Hannah, and they wouldn't
want me to do that. And neither would I."
 
~*~*~
 
They continue to stare at each other in silence until Reyes' cell
rings. She glances over, then picks it up. "Reyes."
 
"It's Skinner, are you okay?" he says at the other end.
 
She blinks. "Yes, I'm fine."
 
"I can't say the same for Marion Lukesh."
 
Reyes frowns. "What happened?"
 
"She's dead," Skinner says succinctly. "It's the exact M.O. Doggett
described. It looks like a straight razor was used."
 
Reyes tells Doggett in a low voice, "Lukesh killed his mother." Then
she continues her phone conversation, "Do you have any idea where he
is?"
 
"No," he replies. "But if everything I've heard is true, he's not going
to be easy to find."
 
She shakes her head. "I think he'll find us." When she hangs up, she
answers Doggett's questioning look, "Don't worry." Her look becomes
determined, almost grim. "The kids will be fine, and so will I." Then
Reyes leans over and kisses him on the cheek. "Remember you said you
wouldn't give up, not to Barbara, not to anyone. Don't give up on
yourself." Then she strokes his short hair and leaves, not looking back
to see his eyes follow her.
 
~*~*~
 
67 Bennett Ave. 
Washington, DC 
 
It's early evening, but because of the autumn season, it's about as
dark as it would be at midnight. Then again, it took a while to get
everything covered, from Skinner guarding Doggett's room, as well as
placing a watch for Doggett's kids, and now for Reyes herself around
her apartment. She's already thinking of it as her "old" apartment,
even though the longest she's spent at Doggett's place is only
recently. Walking around in her dimly lit apartment, with more shadow
than light as if to invite attackers, she moves about slowly, and
scrapes her elbow stepping into the kitchen. "Shit," she swears under
her breath, holding her arm as she gingerly moves it.
 
"You all right, Monica?" Scully asks, her voice crackling in Reyes' ear
piece.
 
The dark-haired woman exhales. "I'm okay," she answers, flipping on a
light switch. "I'm just gonna ice this. Anything happening outside?"
 
"It's dead out there," Follmer answers. "The cameras inside and out
show you're the only one around."
 
"Great, my own reality show," she comments. After strapping a makeshift
icepack to her elbow, Reyes declares, "I think I'll check around
again."
 
Rounding the corner to the living room, she steps into the half-lit
room, and the icepack slips off her arm, spilling into a slick mess on
the floor. "Great," she mutters, bending down to clean the mess.
Gathering the wet, icy mess in the saran wrap, she heads back to the
kitchen when someone grabs her neck from behind, and the ice flies
everywhere. Guided more by the feel of a cold sharp razor at her throat
than by his strong hand around her neck, Reyes staggers backward, her
eyes wide. When he pulls her close, he notices the ear piece and tears
it out, then grins into her ear, "Bet you wanna scream, don't you?"
 
"Lukesh," she says, her voice flat. The razor presses deeper against
her skin when she tries to pry his arms off, and she lowers her hands
slowly while breathing shallowly, as if that would lessen the pressure.
 
"Parked in a van outside was the FBI," Lukesh hisses in her ear, so
close that she can't help but shudder. "Try and scream out now. They
can't hear you."
 
"Lukesh," she says calmly, even though she can feel the thin trickle of
blood crawl coldly down her neck. The wound is light and barely stings,
but she knows he's capable of doing much worse, and that only hardens
her resolve.
 
"You ruined everything, you bitch," he raves. "You made me! You made me
do it." The razor wavers around her throat, moving from the front to
the side, closer to her jugular.
 
"Lukesh," she says again, bracing herself.
 
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" he shrieks. "But you know what? This time,
I get to bleed you slow."
 
He leans in, raising his elbow to draw a deeper cut, and that's when
she raises her gun, shooting him from below his jaw. The FBI marksmen
explode through the door, but lower their weapons when they see Lukesh
slump behind Reyes, who is standing on wobbly legs. Follmer and Scully
run in after to see Reyes drop her gun, and when Follmer starts to bark
questions, Scully props up the taller woman, guiding her towards the
bathroom, since it looks like she's going to be sick, "Monica, you all
right? It's okay. It's over now."
 
Her hand over her mouth, Reyes manages a small nod, even as tears well
in her eyes.
 
~*~*~
 
It's late, and the hospital room is empty of anyone save the man
sleeping in the bed, his neck encased in a cervical collar, his life
sustained by the various machines attached to him by various tubes and
wires. Reyes walks into the lonely room, her body radiating a weary
resolve as she locks the door behind her before standing next to the
man in the bed. Her dark eyes fill with tears full of too many
emotions, and she reaches out a hand to stroke his hair.
 
Doggett's eyes open, and when he sees her there, the blue eyes flicker
with understanding. Taking his hand in hers, she leans over to kiss
him, then turns off the monitor, followed by the respirator. It doesn't
take long for the machine hums to silence themselves, and now the tears
fall freely, even as his fingers squeeze hers reassuringly.
 
"Oh, John," she cries, hugging him fiercely. She doesn't care if anyone
sees her, she doesn't care any more, she killed a man out of
self-defense earlier, and now she's killed a man because she loves
him... Reyes closes his eyes before closing her own, wishing she could
end her life just as easily...
 
~*~*~
 
And opens them when bright light floods against her eyelids. Confused,
Reyes blinks, seeing that it is daytime, perhaps even morning. Then she
sees she's in Doggett's bedroom, and she's on his bed, wearing nothing
but a bedsheet. What...?
 
Doggett comes out of the bathroom, clad in boxers and fairly dry. "Hey
Monica, the hot water's taking a while, I'm gonna join you for a bit."
She stares at him and he stops just short of the bed. "What's the
matter?"
 
Reyes smiles, a blindingly bright smile, gets up off the bed and hugs
him tight. He stiffens with surprise at first, then relaxes, returning
the hug. "Monica, you okay?" he asks, his voice a low, reassuring
growl.
 
She buries her head into his shoulder. "I'm good," she tells him, still
smiling, although tears are running down her cheeks, holding this man,
this John, alive, healthy, talking, standing. "Real good."

~*~*~

Chapter One Hundred And Nine

December 25th, 2001
Mid-morning

"Now you open a present, Daddy," Page insists, her young face looking
adamant. "You saw us open all our presents, now you open one."

"Which one should I open?" Mulder asks, pointing at three in front of
him.

Page looks over her shoulder. "I think April wants you to open hers."

"Is that right?" Mulder asks, and his younger daughter smiles shyly.
"Okay, I'll open it."

The package is wrapped in a shiny blue paper, and Mulder knows that the
little girl must have enlisted her mother's help, because the wrapping
is far too perfect for tiny fingers. He opens it slowly, and smiles
when he sees the contents. "Wow."

"You like it?" April asks nervously.

"I love it," Mulder tells her, running a finger down the box to the
herb garden. "It has all my favorite herbs."

"Mommy says if'n they grow good, we can use them to cook!" April says
enthusiastically. "Then we don't have to buy them at the store when we
make skeddie."

"That'll be nice."

"Ours next, ours next!" the twins insist, and to Mulder's pride,
neither Sammy or Page insist that they be next instead. They might be
gaining a little maturity, he suspects.

The twins give him UFO and alien toys for his desk, Sammy gives him a
wallet, and Page proudly presents him with a black wool scarf "so your
neck won't get cold." Neither William or Christopher have any interest
in picking out gifts yet, but he's rewarded with their enthusiasm over
his gifts to them, so he considers that enough.

He and Scully have decided to wait to exchange their gifts to each
other until they are alone. A reminder that they are not suddenly fills
the screen of Mulder's laptop. "Merry Christmas, Mulder." Langly tells
him brightly.

"Merry Christmas," Mulder replies. "Thank you for setting this all up."

"No problem. I think it's about time to wrap this up, though."

"Okay," Mulder says reluctantly. He wishes his wife and children good
night, then closes the screen to his laptop which makes his home
disappear from view. The hotel room instantly seems more lonely.
Sighing, he kicks off his shoes and settles onto the bed. The web
camera had been the gunmen's idea, and they're promised that it was the
next best thing to being there. He decided that they were probably
right.

It wasn't as though they'd decided that the search was more important
than Christmas, but a fierce storm in the northeast cancelled all
flights to DC... so he and Krycek were stuck in California, unable to
get home. The gunmen had been kind enough to walk them through setting
up web cameras hastily bought at Radio Shack when it became clear that
they wouldn't be home for the holidays bodily.

At least Scully had thought to have him and Krycek take the kids' gifts
to them when they left "just in case." At the time it had seemed silly,
but now he was idly wondering if there was anything to the tests that
had been done on her and Missy when they were small.

Still, gifts with them to open or not, Mulder was more than half afraid
that he'd wake up yesterday morning and discover that Krycek had
decided to drive back to DC, weather be damned. As bad as missing
Christmas is for him, Krycek also just missed celebrating his first
anniversary.

Even with Scully's pregnancy with Sammy making her sick and sleepy,
their first anniversary had been much more pleasant than the other
couple's must have been. Mulder hasn't talked to Missy to find out her
thoughts on the matter, but Krycek spent most of the previous night
drowning his sorrows at a bar within walking distance. It makes Mulder
wonder if they regret having picked Christmas Eve as their wedding
date. Ever since he woke up in the hospital and learned that they'd
married in his absence, he's been suspicious that Missy must have
insisted on a holiday because her little sister had been married on
one.

::Please let me be home by Valentines.:: Mulder prays, but he has the
sinking feeling that no one is listening this time.

~*~*~

January 7th, 2002

For what seems like the millionth time since his father's funeral,
Mulder finds himself a stone's throw from their goal. At least he used
to believe that, but these days that sort of hope is thin on the
ground.

Their unpaid chauffeur, however, isn't as jaded as his two passengers.
"I think it's next street." Kelly, a friend of the gunmen's says with a
hint of excitement in his voice. "Yeah, it's right down here," he says
as the GPS unit beeps anxiously. The car slows as they approach the
address they were given.

"Right..." Kelly's nasal voice falls. "It's supposed to be right here.
I don't understand it."

 Mulder's eyes trace the scarred ground, where a few blackened timbers
poke out of the earth like the fingers of a buried giant. Those few
things are the only proof that there'd ever been anything there.
Otherwise the growth of the trees and other greenery nearly hides any
trace of past human inhabitance.

"Fuck!" Krycek's good fist pounds the headrest in front of him. Mulder
doesn't blame him since he feels like throwing an all-out fit himself,
just like the twins would when you refused them ice cream.

"Shit. I thought this would be it for sure," Kelly says nervously. "I
mean, this is the right address. It has to be."

"Kelly. I'm sure it's right address," Mulder tells him impatiently.
"But clearly they've moved. It's been ages since anyone's been here,
given how overgrown it is."

"Now what?" Krycek growls.

::Now what? Now we're back at square one trying to do research to find
out where the hell they moved this place to.::

"Crap." Kelly says glumly as he peers at the wreckage. "I still owe
Melvin one, don't I."

Mulder shrugs. "I don't know. You'll have to take that up with him."

"Damn."

A few minutes later they drive away from the charred remains. It's the
fifth dead end they've encountered in California. This month. All
total, but probably up to a dozen places that syndicate members had at
one point or another held the children the Bill Mulder told them about
hostage.

"Why the hell can't they stay in one place for more than a few months
at a time?" Krycek grumbles as they returned to the seedy hotel they've
been staying in for the past week.

"You know as well as I do they have no intention of making anything
easier for anybody. Not even themselves." Mulder reminds him.

Krycek wheels around to face him. "Are you sick of this game yet? We
are doing anybody any fucking good, but were stuck here because this is
the only solid lead we have. I want to go home to my wife and kids.
Don't you?"

"Of course. How can you ask that?" Mulder snaps back.

"Don't say that like you aren't all about the game. You like puzzles."

"Regardless, I like my family considerably more," he says stiffly.

"Right." Krycek inserts the passkey into his door, and leaves Mulder
standing in the hallway.

::At least,:: Mulder finds himself thinking. :: we aren't crazy enough
to share rooms. One of us would end up dead for sure.::

After kicking off his shoes, Mulder picks up the phone and dials his
home phone number. ::At least I can keep in touch this time around.::
He finds himself thinking as he listens to the dial tone. ::At least
there's that.::

"Mulder?" Scully's voice asks, making him sure that she's got the
caller id on. It took quite a while to convince her that it'd be
useful, and he wasn't sure she'd bother with it when he was away.

"Hey."

"Did you have any luck today?"

"No. The place was burned out. Another one that we got to too late."

"Mulder, it's not as though they know you're on their trail and moving
to keep a step ahead of you," his wife chides mildly.

"It certainly feels like it." Mulder sighs. "But you're right. This
place was torched months ago. I wish that made me think we were getting
closer, but we're obviously not finding the places they used in
chronological order."

"You'll find it soon."

"I sure hope so. Whose turn is it to talk to me tonight?" Mulder asks
then. To reduce hurt feelings, they designed a schedule so everyone got
to talk to their father once a week.

"Jared's," she tells him.

A minute later there's a rustling on the other end of the line, and he
can hear voices faintly in the background. "Hi Daddy."

"Hey, Buddy, what's up?"

"The cats were bad." Jared's voice holds a note of delight. "They
knocked stuff all down. Flour got everywhere!"

"They did? Why?" Mulder has had enough conversations with
three-year-olds to know that they talk about whatever they're thinking
about. There's no sense in really trying to direct a conversation with
one.

"Dunno. Michelle says maybe they knew we was going to have a storm."

Mulder wonders what Scully thinks of that. "Is it snowing again?"

"Yeah! Mommy says we can make snowmen in the morning. Too dark now."

For a second Mulder smiles. If his wife hadn't told them to wait until
the next day, he could picture the little boy and his twin sneaking
outside to play in the dark.

They talk for a few more minutes before Mulder coaxes Jared into giving
his mother the phone. "Tell everyone I love them, Jared."

"I will, Daddy."
 
Mulder stares at the phone once he hangs it up. ::When is this all
going to be over so we can go home? Is this ever going to end?::

The longer he's away from them, the harder it is to continue. ::But if
I don't, things could go much worse than this. What if they got a hold
of William and Ryan? I have to keep reminding myself what's at stake.::
It's the one thing pushing him and Krycek on, despite the painful
separation.

~*~*~

New York City
January 11th, 2002

The day after a judge grants him permanent, legal guardianship of
Gibson, Doggett takes the family to their favorite restaurant in New
York to celebrate. He hopes that Monica and Gibson will enjoy the food
as well.

As they enter the restaurant, the hostess smiles up at them from the
front desk. "Name?"

"John Doggett." 

"Here we are, Doggett party of five," the hostess notes that the
younger boy blushes when she says it, but she has no idea why.

"Wow, this is neat," Hannah says as they're lead to their table. "It
hasn't changed at all since the last time we were here."

"I thought it would be a good place to celebrate," her father tells
her. "It's not every day that a family officially gets a new member."

"Nope," Hannah agrees. "Just having babies, or adopting kids, or
getting married, right?"

"That's right," Doggett says, eyeing her suspiciously. Distracted by
the arrival of the bread basket, the little girl doesn't say any more
on the topic.

A few minutes after their order is taken, Luke leans over and whispers
to his father. "Do you remember where the bathroom is?"

Doggett reminds him, and the boy heads off. He's on his way back to
their table when he hears a familiar voice. "Hey, Luke!"

When he turns around, he sees a girl he'd gone to middle school with.
Katie. Not a classmate he had particularly liked. "Hi."

"What brings you back to New York?" she asks curiously. Luke highly
suspects that he'll be gossiped about the following day, and decides to
give her something to talk about. "You're not moving back, are you?"

"Nah, we're just here for the night. Come to our table, we're
celebrating tonight. I want you to meet my new little brother. The
adoption just was finalized yesterday," Luke says enthusiastically, the
corner of his mouth twitching.

"Aww, you have a new brother?" Katie croons, apparently misinterpreting
his mirth.

"Yeah, come meet him." Luke leads the way across the room, and Katie
follows.

When they reach the table she looks confused. Luke smiles broadly.
"Katie, this is my new brother, Gibson. Isn't he cute?" Luke asks,
ruffling Gibson's hair.

Gibson swats his hand away. "Let me guess, he let you think that his
dad adopted a baby, right?" he asks Katie.

"Our dad," Hannah corrects him primly.

"Well... He didn't say you were a baby," Katie says quickly.

"You know what they say about assuming," Luke says with a smirk.

"Luke!" Doggett glares at him. "Behave."

"Ah, nice to see you again, Mister Doggett," Katie says and makes her
escape.

Luke looks at Gibson. "Sorry, bro. She totally deserved being made to
feel like an idiot, though. I'll tell you why later."

"Whatever. Don't do it again," Gibson says good-naturedly.

"I'd like to make a toast," Reyes announces. "To Gibson, a boy who has
found his place, and may he never want for one again."

Gibson flushes again, but his shy smile is pleased.

~*~*~

Late That Night

After dinner they spent a couple of hours at Madame Tussauds admiring
the wax figures before driving back home. Since the kids have been up
since getting ready for school that morning, they go to bed without any
prompting, thus leaving the adults to have a beer and watch the sports
channel.

"I was thinking about your toast," Doggett tells Reyes after a while. 

"Oh?" she asks, giving him a curious look. "It wasn't very profound, so
what's there to think about it?"

"It was plenty profound," Doggett defends it. "I wonder if you feel
that way too, that you lack a place."

"Sometimes." She admits. "I think we've all felt that way before."

"What about this point in your life?" Doggett presses.

"All right, what is this really about?" She puts her hands on her hips.
"I feel like I'm wading through subtext all of the sudden. What gives?"

Doggett colors slightly, reminding her of Gibson's reaction to the
hostess' off-hand comment earlier in the night. After a moment of
silence he says, "Things are going good between us. So good I'm
beginning to wonder if I should put shopping for a ring on my to-do
list."

"No," she quickly replies.

"No?" He gives her an astonished look. 

"Oh, John, don't look at me like I just killed your puppy! I think
things are going really well, too. And I love you. But we're not
getting married."

"Why not?" he asks, trying to keep his voice from wobbling.

"I'm never going to get married," she explains. "It's an archaic
ritual, and I don't think it really means anything much these days."

"So you have no plans to settle down, ever? You could have mentioned
this soo-"

"I didn't say that." Reyes picks up one of his hands, and he fights the
urge to pull away. "I didn't say that at all. If you want to settle
down, we can do that. We're just not walking down an aisle."

"How do you see our relationship turning out, Monica? Buying a house
together, maybe having a couple of babies, but they'd get your last
name?"

"Something like that," she agrees, meeting his disbelieving eyes. "Does
that sound so awful?"

"I don't know what to think."

"Do you want me to leave?" Her voice is suddenly small.

"I didn't say that." He echoes her earlier statement. It only reassures
her as much as it did him.

~*~*~

January 14th, 2002

Along with permission slips to go to the zoo, David and Jared bring
home a cold. They get over it in a day or two, but William catches it
from them, and in him it lingers. At day three, a weekday at last,
Scully makes an appointment to see his pediatrician. It's probably just
a virus, but she wants to make sure it's not strep.

As miserable as he must feel, William makes eyes at the other baby in
the doctor's waiting room. It's a little girl, at least judging from
the bow held in place by an elastic headband. The sight of it makes
Scully a little sad, because it's always struck her as more of a way to
show off a parent's insecurity than something that benefited the little
girl. As bald as Page had been as an infant, she never gave into the
urge to do the same thing to her.

"How old is he?" The other mother leans over to ask once she's noticed
that the two babies are staring at each other.

"Almost eight months," Scully says. This leaves her wondering how time
has gone by so quickly. The days seem to drag with Mulder off trying to
keep the family safe, but time has undeniably passed, no matter how
slow the days have passed for her.

"My little girl is seven months," the other mother says with a proud
smile. "Joy is my firstborn."

"Oh, William is my baby," Scully replies, hoping that the conversation
won't turn to how many other children she has. Some people are less
than rational about large families, assuming that all of them are
overly religious, and headed by domineering men who want to keep their
wives barefoot and pregnant. It's a tedious conversation, every time it
turns that way.

"William's a lovely name," the woman says instead. "Is it a family
name?"

"My father's name." Scully decides not to mention Mulder's father. His
loss is still too fresh a wound, even for her.

"Oh-" She looks up when a name is called. "That's us, nice to meet
you." The woman stands and gathers her daughter into her arms.

"You too," Scully tells her. Once the other woman is gone, she picks up
a magazine and half reads it while cuddling William on her lap. He's
become more fretful since the other baby left the waiting room. All
Scully can do is sigh.

~*~*~

Meanwhile...

"Jesus, Mulder, haven't you killed the battery on that thing yet?"
Krycek asks, pointing down at Mulder's laptop. "I thought they were
only good for 300 recharges."

"I bought a new battery before we left." Mulder doesn't even bother to
look up from what he's typing.

"Too bad you couldn't buy new eyes. Yours are bloodshot. Why don't you
go get a cup of coffee or something?"

"Okay, yeah." He stretches when he stands, wincing a little when things
pop in his back.

Krycek smirks. "That's what happens when you huddle over a keyboard too
long. Could you get me a coffee too? Black."

"Just like your heart. All right." Mulder takes the money that Krycek
offers him and leaves the room.

As soon as he's gone Krycek pulls out his cell phone. "Marita. I
thought I'd never get rid of him."

"You're sure he's gone for a while?" Her voice sounds faintly amused.

"For a few minutes."

"Why couldn't you just of called from your room?"

"The walls are like paper. And he doesn't blare porn like most guys."
Krycek shrugs, not that she can see him.

"What did you want?" Marita asks, reminding him that time is short.

"An update and an opinion."

"No one has gone near your families, if that's the sort of update
you're looking for. I think they're laying low. Somehow they seem to
realize your absence is connected to Mulder's late father."

Krycek swears under his breath. He never should have trusted Kersh to
keep his mouth shut. "My fault. But you haven't seen anyone lurking
about?"

"No. The tapes come back clean every day. I have hours of lovely
footage of your daughter and some of your nieces and nephews playing
pirates in the snow, though. Perhaps I can save it for you so you can
embarrass them during high school graduation parties," she says dryly.

"Maybe," he mutters.

"What did you want my opinion on?"

"Do you think Mulder is capable of killing, if necessary?"

"He has before, hasn't he?"

"He's slayed monsters. Not slaughtered inconvenient human beings."

"Whether or not they're human is up for debate," she says coolly. "But
I think he could kill if it was the only way to protect his hen and all
his chicks."

"He doesn't keep poultry, Marita," Krycek says, his brow furrowing in
confusion. "Just a couple of temperamental cats and some fish."

To his surprise, this evokes a laugh from the woman. "You're not
Shakespeare scholar, Alex. That's how McDuff in McBeth referred to his
wife and kids. You should have read it in high school."

"Missed it somehow," Krycek tells her. "I guess I was having enough
trouble adjusting to living here back then."

"I keep forgetting that you're not a US citizen," Marita mummers.

"The hell I'm not. I became a citizen before my folks died."

"Sounds like I hit a nerve," she replies smoothly. "I didn't mean to
offend you. But getting back to your question, I'm not really sure if
he'd kill someone who isn't an immediate threat."

Krycek sighs. "That's what I'm afraid of."

~*~*~

January 17th, 2002
8:30 a.m.

"Come on, Christopher, you need to finish breakfast," Scully encourages
impatiently. There's nothing pressing going on at work, so she came
home after dropping kids off from school so she could spend a little
time with the little ones, but Christopher's refusal to eat is
frittering away the time she has before she has to leave.

Ignoring her, Christopher waves an oatmeal crusted spoon towards the
window. "A lady!"

Following his gaze, she sees the woman she met at the pediatrician's
office. Even from a distance she looks stressed out, and she doesn't
seem to notice that the baby she's holding is wailing unhappily.

The hairs rise on the back of Scully's neck, but she can't explain why.
"Go see Michelle," she tells Christopher as soon as she releases him
from his high chair. The toddler obligingly toddles towards where
Michelle is already playing with William.

Scully slowly opens the kitchen door. "Hello?" The other mother's head
whips around. "We don't usually have people come to the back door."

In three steps the woman reaches her. "You have to help me!" She grabs
at Scully's arm like a drowning victim would.

Scully pushes her hand away, taking care not to accidentally swat the
baby. "What are you talking about? Help you how?" She leads her
unexpected guest into the kitchen.

The woman looks stricken, and is still shaking when she takes a seat at
the table. "My husband. He's looking for us. You can let him find us."

"Why? What's wrong with your husband?" Scully asks, confused. "What did
he do?"

"It's not what he's done. It's what he wants to do," the woman says
ominously.

Scully begins to feel exasperated. "Are we going to talk in riddles the
whole day or are you actually going to tell me what's going on? I don't
even know your name."

"Patti." 

"Well, Patti-"

Suddenly the door shakes with a pounding knock. Scully backs away from
the door. Pattie looks at Scully. "It's him," she whispers.

"What is your husband's name?" Scully whispers to her.

"George."

Reaching to her hip, Scully unsnaps the holster on her gun. In a loud
voice she asks, "George?"

The voice on the other side of the door says, "Yeah?"

"George, think I should let you know that I'm armed."

"Jesus. I just want to talk to my wife," the man grumbles.

"I don't think she wants to talk to you."

"Whatever. I ain't leaving without her." There's this slight noise as a
man sits down against the door.

"Stay here," Scully hisses at Patti. She nods. Before she leaves the
room, she grabs two bottles of water out of the refrigerator, and
Christopher's sippy cup off the counter.

Walking quickly, Scully finds Michelle. "I need you to take Christopher
and William up to the attic. Don't come down until I call for you."
Scully's voice is laced with urgency.

Michelle looks frightened, but she takes the water from Scully before
picking both of the boys up. "All right."

"Wait." Scully stops her, and hands her Mulder's spare cell phone.
"Just in case."

A minute later Michelle and the two boys disappear from view as she
hurries them up the stairs.

~*~*~

"I told you not to come here!"

"What choice did I have?"

Hearing voices, Scully takes her gun out of the holster all together
and cocks it. George is in the kitchen now, and she can't figure out
why Patti would let him in. She was afraid of him, so why would she
remove the barrier between them that the kitchen door provided?

"What are you doing in my house?" Scully asks angrily, and Pattie
shrinks back against the counter like a dog might when it knows it's
done something wrong.

"I came to get my idiot wife." George takes his baby from Patti, though
she tries to keep him from doing so.

"It doesn't seem to me that she wants to go with you." Scully is
reluctant to bring her gun up to train it on him, because he could try
to use his daughter as a human shield.

"That doesn't matter. I told the dumb bitch you weren't going to help
us, but she brought the kid here any way."

"Help you do what?" 

"Figure out what's wrong with our daughter," Patti says.

"She's sick?" Scully asks, eyeing the baby. The little girl looks
frightened, but not ill.

"No, nothing like that," George says dismissively. "She's got...
powers."

Scully's eyebrows raise in disbelief. "Powers?"

"Yeah. She can move things with her mind," George says, then grimaces
when he notices her expression. "See, Patti? I told you that she's not
the one that can help us. Her husband is the one who believes this sort
of thing, not her, and he's not here."

Shock makes Scully sit in a chair. "What do you know about me and my
husband?"

"All sorts of things. It's my business to know about you." 

"Why? Who do you work for?" 

"The department of defense. They've been keeping an eye on you for a
long long time."

"What interest does the DoD have in my family?" Scully's voice rises
involuntarily.

"You can't do the sort of things you've done without attracting
attention," George scoffs. "And your little stunt with Ms Hendershot
only renewed the spotlight on you."

"Shit," Scully says under her breath. Then in a louder voice she says,
"What did you think my husband could do for you?"

"I...I thought he could explain what they did to Joy," Patti says
softly, reaching for her baby. George twists away, refusing to hand her
over. Defeated, she lets her arms fall to her sides.

"They?" Scully asks, wondering if there will be aliens in this tale.

"We were part of an experiment," George explains. "They wanted to see
if they could make people better soldiers by manipulating their genes
after conception."

"So you're saying that Joy is the product of genetic manipulation?"

This makes George laugh, but without humor. "That is the least of it,
but yes."

Excitement begins to bubble up inside Scully. "Were there children
where you went for the, uh, procedure?"

"A few," Patti says. "They were kids that the program already
produced."

It's all Scully can do to keep from whooping with joy. This is what
Mulder and Krycek have been looking for. "Where? Where is this place?"

A sly look takes up residence on the man's face. Clearly he's realized
it's a bargaining chip. "I'm willing to tell you in fair trade," George
says.

"Fair trade for what?" Scully asks, raising an eyebrow. "What do you
think I have of any value to you?"

"I want to disappear. Me, Patti, and Joy. If you can make that happen,
I'll tell you what you want to know."

"So, you want to be put in the witness protection program? In order for
that to happen, of course, you'd have to blow the whistle on-"

George shakes his head violently. "No! Not Witsec. I don't want to go
through official channels. Going through official channels would just
lead to three dead bodies at the end of the trail."

"Then what?"

"Don't play stupid." George sneers. "I know you know that type of
person. The type who can create an entire history out of whole cloth.
You have connections. Use them."

Scully hesitates. "If I can help you with us, you promise you'll talk
with my husband and tell us what we need to know?"

"I swear on my baby's life," George says passionately.

"I-I don't think you need to go that far," Scully stammers. "I believe
you."

"The sooner you get it set up, the sooner I'll meet with your husband."

She looks up, surprised. "Meet with him? Why can't you talk to him on
the phone?"

"I don't like the idea of speaking on the phone. You never know who has
put a bug on the line, and your line probably is bugged."

This gives her an idea of how to get him out of her house. All she
needs to do is prey on his paranoia. "That's true, we've debugged the
phones before. Why don't we go somewhere and discuss this? Somewhere
less intrusive."

"Why?" George asks. "We're not talking over the phone. There's no one
around to bother us, either."

Just before Scully can imply that there's the possibility they could be
spied on with cameras or microphones, Patti blurts out, "Her nanny and
two of her sons are here."

Scully fumes. 

"Why don't you go upstairs and call your husband?" George suggests. "I
know you're going to talk to him before you make a deal, so you might
as well get it over with. Use your cell phone, that's probably more
secure. But don't mention our names anyway."

"Fine," Scully says flatly. "I'm going to send my nanny out to do some
errands." She leaves off the part where she asks if he has a problem
with that, but he picks up on the unspoken anyway.

"Send her wherever you want. This isn't a hostage situation." As if to
convince her, he hands the baby back to his wife. The way Patti
clutches her daughter does nothing to make his statement more
believable.

A few minutes later Scully watches Michelle put the babies into her car
and head for a movie theater in the area that has matinees for people
with babies and toddlers in tow. Until now Scully's only thoughts on
the idea have fallen along the lines of it being a good idea, because
it lets them watch movies without worrying about bothering other
movie-goers.

She offers her "guests" refreshments, but George waves her off,
repeating that she should get the conversation with Mulder over with.
With one backwards glance, she heads upstairs, eager to do just that.

~*~*~

"Mulder pick up, pick up, pick up-" Scully doesn't realize that she's
been saying this aloud until she hears a dry voice on the other end of
the line.

"Your phone etiquette has gone to hell, Scully."

"Shut up and listen."

For the next five minutes he does while she fills him in on how she
came to meet the carefully unnamed couple now hunkered down in their
kitchen. "So, what do you think? Do you think they really know where to
go?"

There's a lull while he considers what she's said. "I think it's worth
meeting with him to see what he has to say," Mulder says at last.

"So you want me to send him to you?"

"No. I want you to bring him to me," Mulder corrects her. 

She's surprised. "Are you sure? I miss you so much, but what if seeing
each other briefly makes it harder to bear being apart?"

"I think it's a risk worth taking," he says gently.

"All right. I'll set up a meeting. It's going to take a couple of days
to get the boys to create the identities they want."

"It won't be soon enough." Mulder's low voice makes her want to tell
him to forget everything and come home to her. But she knows that's
selfish, and instead promises to see him soon.

~*~*~

As she walks down the stairs, she realizes that George and Patti have
come into the living room so they can watch her approach. As soon as
George can see her face clearly, he breaks into a wide, ironic smile.
"When do we do this?"

She shakes her head slightly. Mulder once told her that she has no
poker face, and it seems as though he's right. "It's going to take me a
little while to get the documentation you want."

"A couple of days?" George looks frustrated.

"I assume you want stuff that'll pass close inspection, or you wouldn't
have come to me," Scully says coolly. "That sort of quality takes a
little time and effort."

"I'll be back tomorrow to see how it's progressing." A vague threat.

Scully doesn't allow herself to be so easily cowed. "Make it the day
after."

There's suspicion on the man's face. "How do I know you'll keep your
word?"

"I want what you have to offer just as much as you want what I'll give
you."

Her lack of poker face must let her sincerity shine through, because
the man's shoulders relax. "All right. The day after tomorrow. Early."

"If you don't mind the possibility of waiting around a while, it's no
skin off my nose. Don't knock on the door until I've come back from
bringing my kids to school. They don't need to know I'm going to be
seeing their father."

"You're coming with me?" George doesn't look as though he likes the
idea.

"It's part and parcel of our arrangement. I'm not willing to negotiate
on that point."

"Whatever." George gives her a look of disgust when he realizes that
she's not about to back down. They stick around a few more minutes
before Scully gratefully closes the door behind them.

Scully doesn't breathe easily until they're out of her house and
Michelle has brought William and Christopher home.

~*~*~

Reagan National Airport
January 20th, 2002

Before Scully can head to the boarding area, Frohike grabs her hand.
"Are you sure that you don't want one of us to go with you? So nothing
funny can happen." He looks around, his expression suddenly becoming
doubtful. "They'd still have tickets, maybe."

It takes her effort to keep from grinning. "While I appreciate the
offer of some muscle as back up, I'm not even going to be on the same
flight as him. He won't be able to try anything while he's on a
different plane."

She hadn't liked the idea of flying separately, but there had been a
shortage of tickets for the flight George had booked, so she had no
choice but to fly on her own. While she took no pleasure in the idea of
spending a couple of hours in the man's presence, it would have allowed
her to keep an eye on him. The image of arriving at the airport and not
seeing him, obviously having been the victim of an elaborate prank,
came to her mind more times than she could count. This is why she
insisted on keeping the family's new identities with her, rather than
hand them over beforehand, which is what George initially lobbied for.

"What about once you land? Is Mulder meeting you, or are you going to
drive there?"

Instantly, she's able to see where her friend's thoughts are headed.
"Mulder is going to pick us up and drive us to a new hotel, where he
and Alex plan to take rooms."

Frohike's shoulders relax. "All right then. Have a safe flight."

For a moment she's tempted to kiss him on the cheek like she might
Sammy, but decides that he might find the gesture condescending, so she
settles for waving to him from the gate. He's still there watching,
just like she knew he would be.

~*~*~

California
Later

The flight is rather uneventful, other than listening to a baby
screaming occasionally in coach. Somehow, even though he'd been quiet
the entire way, this situation keenly reminds her of having flied
internationally with Christopher. Now, with the sober light of
hindsight shining on it, it seems bordering on insane to have dragged a
newborn to another continent. But at the time it had been the best
possible solution to a nearly insurmountable problem.

Being away from her children pained her then, as she's sure that being
away from them pains Mulder now. Before the plane lands, she offers up
a small prayer that they reunion will be both permanent and quickly
forthcoming.

She doesn't allow herself to fantasize that Mulder will be flying home
with her.

As she steps into the airport, she scans the crowd for both her husband
and the man who is responsible for temporarily bringing them together.
At last she spots George, nervously pacing in front of the newspaper
stand.

For a fleeting moment she doesn't want to draw attention to herself,
but realizes that she has to get things over with, even if it means
spending time in his company. "George?"

He looks up at her, half irritated, half relieved. "There you are. I've
been waiting for close to an hour!"

"I'll make sure I lodge a complaint about my pilot with the airline on
your behalf." She retorts icily.

"Where are Patti and Joy?"

"I sent them ahead to a hotel. But never mind them. Where the hell is
your husband?" George asks, casting her sour looks.

That was a good question. 

"Scully!!"

Turning with a genuine smile, she points at the tall man striding
towards them. "There."

To her surprise, Mulder picks her up by the waist and twirls her
around. She doesn't even feel embarrassed. She's just thrilled to have
a familiar pair of hands on her for the first time in what feels like
forever.

The expression on George's face plainly says that he's not impressed,
before he even opens his mouth. "I hate to break up this touching
scene, but we've got things to do. Do you suppose we could get this
show on the road?"

The couple reluctantly releases each other, and Mulder leads them to
his waiting rental car.

~*~*~

After a largely silent car ride, made that way because George sullenly
refuses to say anything without the faux documentation in his sights,
they arrive at a nondescript motel. The three of them get out of the
car and go up to a room where Krycek is already waiting.

This apparently pisses George off, because he points at him. "Who the
hell is he? Get him out of here!"

"I have every ri-" Krycek begins to say belligerently, but Scully cuts
him off with a look. Apparently realizing that a temper tantrum is the
last thing that will move things along, he gives George a cold look.
"Fine."

Then, with more dignity that Scully would have credited him with, he
leaves the room. He doesn't even let the door slam behind him.

"Where's the stuff? Take it out." George's eagerness reminds Scully
unpleasantly of a drug addict that she had the misfortune of being
acquainted with while in college. He'd been prone to lurking in a dark
ally, pouncing on passers-by with a sob story about just needing a few
bucks to get him through a hard time. The first couple of times she'd
given him small amounts of cash. But as the years passed, his time
became no easier.

Scully reaches into her briefcase to take it out, but for the second
time that morning, a man she cares for grabs at her hand. "Wait,
Scully."

George looks about ready to howl with frustration. "What?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," Mulder says flatly. He hands
the man a legal pad and a pen.

They wait a moment while George laboriously copies out an address.
"There, are you satisfied?"

Mulder nods and Scully takes this as her cue to take out the paperwork.
She puts it on the table and looks George in the eye. "Your name is
Craig Green. You're thirty-eight, born in New Jersey. Your wife Susan
is also thirty-eight, and from Maryland. Your daughter Katie is six
months old, born in Virginia. I'll leave it to you to memorize the
particulars."

For a moment she is sure that he'll reach over and caress the packet,
but George stays his hand. "You're sure these will pass close
scrutiny?" His eyes narrow, full of suspicion.

"As you said, I know the right sort of people." Scully reminds him.

After he slips the documents into his pocket, he turns to Mulder with
an expectant look. "All right, your turn. Ask me what you need to
know."

"First things first," Mulder says after a pregnant pause. "What exactly
are they trying to do with these kids?"

"It ain't just kids... The thing they're hoping for is to create people
who both heal quickly, and are virtually impervious to pain. The theory
being that people who don't feel damage and heal quickly as well can be
pushed farther for longer. A lot longer."

"What do they need this sort of person for?" Scully asks. She wonders
immediately if this is some sort of offshoot to their attempts to
create hybrids to be the aliens' slaves. A race of people who didn't
have to worry about injury would be more valuable to the
co-conspirators as a bargaining chip – and it would never occur to them
that people aren't supposed to be used that way.

George shrugs. "For whatever comes up. They were a little vague on that
point. I'm sure that they have uses in mind, but they weren't exactly
in a sharing mood when they forced us to participate."

"How did that happen?" From a glance at his face, Scully realizes that
her husband has just let his curiosity get the best of him, because he
seems to regret derailing the conversation for a tangent. She's not
sure how long that George will indulge their questions, so she hopes
this doesn't cost them any valuable information they might have gained
in its place.

"Patti and I were marines-" George says, and Scully starts. It's hard
to believe the woman she's interacted with had that in her. "And we
were set on a mission a few months before the whole nine-eleven
debacle. Somehow it was orchestrated so it seemed like failure was all
our faults, and we faced court martial when the terrorists succeeded in
attacking the US.

"Some non-government guy waltzes in making promises, and suddenly we
might not be facing possible death after all He tells us that getting
married and having a baby for the project was a generous alternative. I
can't prove it, but I always suspected that he was on the scene before
we got into trouble... anyway, we were desperate, and agreed, and all
possible charges dematerialized. Of course, we didn't know until Patti
was pregnant several months pregnant that they'd altered Joy's DNA."

"Through IVF?" Scully asks, sure that this is the case.

To her shock, George shakes his head. "No. We conceived the old
fashioned way. They exposed Joy to something while she was in the womb.
I never learned what. Now she can move stuff by thinking about it. Who
knows what it'll turn out they did to her."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Mulder's voice is appropriately grave. "What
makes you sure that this is the address to the facility? My-" He almost
says brother-in-law but thinks better of it. "- associate and I have
visited several sites that were supposed to be it, but they've all been
abandoned if not razed. Your daughter is several months old, what makes
you think that they're still going to be at the facility that altered
her before birth?"

George's chin thrusts down for a moment, and when he raises his head he
looks sick to his stomach. "I know it's the right one because... this
is the address I received two days before contacting your wife here.
It's the address we're supposed to go to and give them our daughter. If
you get there pretty soon, it's a guarantee that they won't have moved
on yet."

Scully is horrified. "They want to take her from you?"

"Yeah. They said now that she's old enough to interact with people,
it's time to move on to the next stage of the project. You seem like
nice enough people, and I didn't really want to get you involved in
this mess, but I can't let them take our little girl and keep her there
with those other kids. Those kids...it's not right what they've been
doing to them. It isn't right at all."

"So you're trading this information for your chance to disappear,"
Scully says gently.

"And to hope they get what's coming to them. Maybe you've got the sort
of friends that can see to something like that, too, huh?"

Though they exchange a look, neither Mulder nor Scully agree or
disagree.

"Anything else you want to know?" George asks.

"How hard will it be to get in?"

"Not very. There are people wandering around all the time, and there's
not much in the way of security. I guess they think moving all the time
keeps them safe from unfriendlies."

"Thanks, George." Mulder claps him on the shoulder. "I think you better
get back to Susan and Katie now, huh? I'm sure you've got a drive or
flight or whatever ahead of you before long."

"Right. Thanks." George shrugs on his coat the rest of the way, and is
immediately out the door.

~*~*~

When they're alone at last, Mulder expects that he and Scully will have
a lot to talk about, but words won't come to him. It's not the end of
the line for his adventure, and they are both acutely aware of it.

So instead of meaningless small talk, he kisses her. She responds with
a hunger that is both expected and surprising. He thought they'd want
to make up for lost time, but he didn't expect her to be pulling at the
zipper of his pants quite so soon, because George might not even have
driven out of the parking lot yet.

"Do you want-"" Before he can finish his offer, her fingers are
covering his mouth.

"All I want is you," she says breathlessly, and her eyes reassure him
that it's true.

That's all the invitation he needs, and within a couple minutes their
clothing is strewn across the floor. It's in the back of his mind that
they should make their way to the bed, but before he quite realizes who
decided, he's holding her against the wall, thrusting into her. The
moan she gives before gripping his shoulders with her fingernails and
tightening her legs around his waist makes him wonder if it might have
been her idea all along.

He tries to make things last, but they're both so needy, that they've
hurried through.

"How long?" he whispers while he's still inside her.

"My flight is in two hours," she whispers back, making him wonder for
whose benefit they're being quiet now. For once Krycek's room is across
the hall, and he doubts that the one-armed man is lurking outside the
door.

Disentwined, they finally have the ability to have a conversation.
"George better be right," Scully tells him tiredly. "I don't think we
can do this much longer."

He grins at her. "I know. I never was the long distance relationship
type."

"It's more than that. We need you home. You have no idea what it was
like when we thought we lost you for good..." Scully trails off, and he
notices a shimmer in her eyes that wasn't there before. "We just need
you home."

"As fast as I can, Love," he says, kissing away a tear that's suddenly
on her cheek. "I need to return to my heart. It has never left you."

When they make love a second time before she needs to leave, he finds
it's both slower and sadder. Promises aside, there's no real way of
knowing how long it will be before they're back together for good.

~*~*~

Later

It's hard for Scully to make herself comfortable in the seat on the
plane. She aches from their antics against the wall, but she doesn't
regret it at all. Even if it means begging aspirin from a flight
attendant.

The flight home is filled with whirling thoughts, but one her attention
is able to fasten on is to wonder if George and Mulder are alike. She
can easily admit to herself that she doesn't like the other man, but
she respects the fact that he's willing to give up everything he knows
and start over somewhere else to keep his family intact. Mulder hasn't
gone so far as that, but in her heart she knows he's capable of it.

She just hopes if it ever comes to that, she is too. 

~*~*~

Chapter One Hundred and Ten
"Endeavor"

Late February 2002
The Basement Office

Scully catches Doggett leaning back and throwing pencils up into the
ceiling, and she smirks when he hurriedly sits up. "Wow, slow day,
huh?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I figured someone had to be here, and it's better than
being at home," Doggett sighs, and there are some serious furrows in
his forehead.

Sitting at her desk, Scully asks, "So, what's the problem?"

He looks at her, then up at the ceiling. "Monica," he groans.

"That's specific," Scully crosses her arms. "So, the kids don't like
her anymore? She hogs the bedcovers? She decided to cook for you?"

"Worse," Doggett says glumly. "she says she doesn't wanna get married."

She shrugs. "Give her time," she says reasonably.

"It's been over a month," Doggett says, now turning to her in earnest.
"She's got it in her head that no matter what, she doesn't want to get
married. Period."

"Does she still love you?" Scully asks, even as she wants to shriek,
Over a month? Why didn't Monica tell me?

He shrugs again. "That's what she says. But if she loves me, why won't
she marry me?"

Scully blinks, then looks at him. "John, you know what kind of person
she is. Nontraditional in most senses of the word."

"Yeah, but so's Fox, and he married you," Doggett rebuts.

"And that still surprises me to this day," Scully retorts. "But listen.
Even if we didn't go through the ceremony, I'd still be his partner at
work and in his personal life. He knows it, and so do our kids." As
Doggett looks at her like she's grown three extra heads, she goes on.
"John, you love Monica, right?" He nods. "And she loves you and the
kids, right?" He nods again. "Well, I really don't see a problem here."

"I do!" he exclaims. "She doesn't want to marry me!"

Scully wants to hit her head on the desk - no, scratch that, she wants
to beat his head into the desk, if that would help. "But in all other
respects, you're together, right? I mean, short of a license and two
rings, you two love, respect and want each other, and that's more than
a lot of people have. Honestly, whether we'd have pledged our
faithfulness in front of a judge or behind a desk while fighting off
mutants, it wouldn't have mattered because the result would be the
same," she ends truthfully.

"Really?" he looks at her curiously.

She nods. "Really. Being with Mulder, I've learned that some things,
like real love, is something you cherish and fight for, no matter what
other people think. It may not be conventional or what's expected." She
smiles a little, thinking about her husband, "but it's precious, and
it's real." Then she looks at him soberly. "John, if Monica really
means that much to you, you shouldn't let her go just because she
doesn't want to wear a wedding ring."

It's obvious he never expected her to take the other woman's side, much
less argue persuasively for it. "But -"

" ‘Wow, Dana'," Scully interrupts him, " ‘you're absolutely right. I'll
stop acting like an idiot and make up with Monica. Why didn't I think
of that earlier?' "

He knows he should be mad, but he laughs instead. "Damn," he chuckles,
"you ain't pullin' punches, are you?"

"When it comes to important things, hell, no," she agrees.

"Wow, Dana," he says, knowing when he's licked, parroting her tone,
"you're absolutely right. I'll stop acting like an idiot and make up
with Monica. Why didn't I think of that earlier?"

"Because you needed a friend to help you think straight after all this
time," Scully replies, smiling.

He snorts, but smiles back. "Hold down the fort, will ya?" Doggett
says, getting out from behind his desk and heading out.

"Will do," she waves. When the door closes behind him, her expression
becomes more serious. "I always do." Then she pulls out her cell,
debating whether she should call Mulder or not.

~*~*~

Elsewhere...

It's been a long day, with another dead end thrown in their faces.
After they had a decent dinner, Mulder could hear Krycek practically
throwing himself onto the motel bed after slamming the door shut.
"Night," he mutters to the closed door, before unlocking his own
cheap-ass room.

Moments after he locks the door shut, his cell rings, and he almost
jumps at the unexpected sound. "Yeah."

"Hey, guess what?" a garbled voice comes over his cell phone.

Mulder almost rolls his eyes. Gunmen. Figures. "What," he says,
grabbing his laptop and sitting on the bed.

"You might be interested to know that a certain Deputy Director is
heading to your neck of the woods. In fact, according to his sparse
itinerary, it looks like the woods is exactly where he's going, and
he's not bringing any camping gear."

"You serious?" Mulder's sitting up now. "Are you sure it's not a
bluff?"

"Please," another voice goes through filtering process, "you know our
kung foo is better than that."

"Give me all the details," Mulder says, his voice barely betraying his
excitement.

~*~*~

Because sleep is far from her, Scully decides to read up on her first
case with Mulder, in fact, her first case with the FBI as a field
agent. A smile plays on her lips as she re-reads the old report, parts
of it already committed to memory, but there's something about her
writing style, her initial skepticism paired with her personal
arrogance and unwavering faith in science that contrasts with Mulder's
version, one that likewise gives the same details, but his
pushing-the-envelope views, open-minded beliefs and personal experience
with his sister color his report.

It was especially memorable because, after they'd filed their report,
with tests being run on Billy Miles, their report had conveniently
disappeared. Fortunately, between his photographic memory and her
excruciating attention to detail, they'd rewritten and resubmitted
their reports. It was one of those times that she was thankful for her
medical training, and astonished at the laxity of the bureaucratic
system. Never would she have thought that, due to the nature of the
X-Files, missing reports would become a common occurrence, nor
excessive red tape.

Neither can she forget how, even after coming home to a normal life, to
a normal home, and normal sex with her old boyfriend, the case had
lingered in her mind. Yes, there was the strangeness of it all, but
that was part of what drew her to working with the FBI, putting her
medical degree to work as a forensic instructor initially, and later,
expanding her expertise on the X-Files. She shakes her head. She would
never have dreamed she would stay with that, as she'd privately termed
him, "clever but pompous nutcase," much less marry him and bear his
children.

Then her bile rises, and she rushes to the bathroom. After dry heaving,
she groans.

~*~*~

Several hours and a few minutes of sleep later, both men are near their
destination. "These guys don't know the first thing about getting laid,
but they know how to find Kersh's travel plans," Krycek shakes his
head, checking his gun. "This world is totally fucked up."

"If those bastards stay in place, the world'll be a little less fucked
up once we get our hands on them," Mulder mutters, as much a threat as
a promise, his hands gripping the wheel.

"Mulder, you're my hero," Krycek bats his eyes at the driver.

Mulder doesn't bother looking at the other man, but shakes his head.
"I'm debating whether we should worry about mechanical alarms or
psychic ones."

Krycek flips on the radio. "We're gonna park too far away for any
camera to notice," he says, "and listening to music should blank our
minds sufficiently."

"And once we get into the facility?" Mulder asks. "The Gunmen can only
guide us so far, but if we run into those psychic kids-"

"I'll take care of them," Krycek cuts in smoothly. "You can take the
old dudes, Kersh, whoever."

"Sure you don't want to take down any head honchos?" Mulder drawls.

Krycek smirks at the passing scenery. "When it comes to kids, you'll be
too soft," he says, "and they'll take advantage of that."

Mulder gives his passenger and current partner a sidelong glance. "You
are one scary son of a bitch," he comments.

The other man shrugs, not taking offense. "If the Gunmen's intel is
sound, all we have to do is take the new syndicate down. Easy."

And after all this time, after all the dead ends, false leads, and near
misses, Mulder has to chuckle. "Easy. Sure."

Krycek grins. "That's it. Then we go home, get laid and get paid, and
it's all good."

Now Mulder's guffawing. "I love your dreams of glory, Alex."

"Fuck glory," Krycek snorts, "I just wanna get the job done and go
home." Then he shifts his eyes at Mulder. "Isn't that what you want,
family man?"

Mulder doesn't have to answer, since, in the end, that's what both men
want.

~*~*~

Thanks to the Gunmen, Mulder types in the correct numbers on the keypad
and the door swings open silently, and they go from bright light to
near-darkness. They check around for cameras, and when they see one
perched above, they keep on their ski masks and shades until they're
out of the camera's range.

Krycek leads, his gun aimed ahead like a pointer dog's snout, and they
continue through the badly-lit complex with their weapons drawn until
they come to the door marked "1013". "Thirteen's my lucky number."
Krycek grins, and Mulder shakes his head, but follows him through the
door.

And what greets their eyes is something like out of sci-fi horror
movie, infants and small children suspended in greenish liquid, each
contained in coffin-sized tubes, on display like lab specimen on the
walls.

Perhaps that's what they are, since they don't seem to be alive or
moving at all. And then one infant boy opens his eyes, and then all of
them do, and while Krycek points his gun at one, then another and
another, Mulder's horrified fascination keeps him in place as the
tubes, one by one, break, starting with the closest to them. To their
surprise, the children remain floating in mid-air, but while they're
covered in the greenish ooze, it's clear that each and every single one
is red-haired, and they're all staring and pointing at the intruders.

"Holy shit!" Krycek screams, and starts shooting at the babies.

"NOOOOOOO!!!!" Mulder yells, throwing himself at the other man.

And wakes up in a cold sweat, his arms flailing about, breathing
heavily. Running a hand through his short hair, Mulder catches his
breath, even as he stares into the neon-filled darkness, his eyes
acclimating quickly. Then he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. A
dream. Just a freaky, stomach-churning dream. Thank God.

His cell phone rings, startling him. "Yeah?" he says, after squinting
at the familiar number.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home

"Ugh." Scully wipes her mouth, sitting beside the porcelain god.
Turning her head, she closes her eyes, willing her stomach to stay
strong, and takes a shuddering breath. Then she leans over to the side
to flush the toilet, breathing shallowly so she won't have to smell
that awful bile that might cause her to empty what's left of her
stomach contents again.

When the room starts to spin, ever so slightly, that's when she forces
herself to stand, wash her hands and mouth, and drink the water from
the tap so she won't dehydrate. Once she drinks enough so that the
world doesn't wash out in a white haze, she breathes more deeply, and
is thankful that her queasy stomach has settled somewhat and braces
herself against the sink.

"What the hell," she rasps, and her medical mind begins to run down a
list of possibilities. One by one, she rules them out, until all that's
left is food poisoning, stomach flu, and pregnancy. Then she puts a
hand to her stomach, rubbing it in a circular motion. It doesn't seem
to provoke the extreme need for a bowel movement or further nausea, so
that crosses stomach flu off the list. Wearily, she bends down and
drinks more tap water, then wills her legs to carry her to her
children's rooms, to make sure they don't have any food poisoning.

One by one, youngest to oldest, she finds each of her little ones
asleep in their beds, soundly oblivious to their mother's travails.
When she stops at Page's room, she breathes a sigh of relief, thankful
her babies are healthy, then closes her eyes.

"Hoo boy," she breathes. Preliminary diagnosis: pregnant. It should
have occurred to her sooner. She hasn't been this sick since she was
pregnant with David and Jared. Not that it'll be twins again, she
reassures herself and makes a mental note to buy a pregnancy test, then
snorts, remembering Missy's comment about stocking up on those kits,
and a wobbly smile finds its way to her lips for the first time that
early morning.

~*~*~

Less than ten minutes later, both Mulder and Krycek are driving down
the California highway, the traffic somewhat sparse because of the
early hour.

"Are you sure about this?" Krycek asks. "Could be another false lead."

"Hey, if both Marita and the Gunmen come up with the same thing, it's
gotta be good," Mulder replies, to bolster his own spirits as well as
his companion's.

"Yeah, or it could be a trap," Krycek scowls.

"Don't go all Admiral Ackbar on me," Mulder quips.

Krycek looks at him. "Who?"

"Haven't you watched ‘Return of the Jedi'? He's a rebel alien with some
of the craziest lines ever, like pointing out the obvious, when he's
supposed to be this high-ranking officer."

"I think you watched too much ‘Star Wars'," the younger man shakes his
head. "But the movie alien is right. This is so obviously a trap."

"Could be," Mulder shrugs. "But I'd rather spring a trap with some
people to question rather than wind up at another deserted building."
He glances at the passenger. "I don't know about you, but I'm dying to
beat the answers out of somebody."

Krycek sports an unhealthy smile. "Now you're talking my language," he
chuckles.

"Hoo boy," the driver comments, "that's a scary thought."

~*~*~

Missy's Home

Melissa yawns, having just fed Ryan, and putting him to sleep took
longer than she'd hoped. She rotates her neck, then does another
monster yawn. "Mm, thank goodness it's the weekend," she murmurs.

Out of habit, she checks on Emily, who is sleeping soundly, looking
like a little blonde angel under her puffy white blanket. She smiles
sleepily, then totters to her own bed. Once she hits the pillow, her
eyes close. "Please," she prays to anyone that will hear, "let Alex and
Fox find the bad guys and come home soon."

And as she easily slips into sleep, her arm automatically drifts to
where her husband would be, her breathing deep and relaxed.

~*~*~

Meanwhile...
 
They park the car as close as they dare, then waltz right up to the
front door. Mulder punches in "tommalchow200" at the prompt reading
"butterfly?"

"Weird name for a butterfly," Krycek mutters, but Mulder quickly shakes
his head when the door swings open. They're dressed in business casual,
in nice shirts and slacks but no tie, as opposed to what Mulder's
termed "funky poaching wear", which is basically all black and ski
masks. Krycek, for his part, is wearing a fleece pullover over his
shirt, one that would effectively hide his false arm, and brown riding
gloves. According to their intel, they would best blend in by looking
like they worked there, but no suit and ties, for that was the uniform
of the secretive and high-ranking types of this new syndicate.

Once inside, the desk clerk hands them a clipboard, and they sign in
false names. The clerk doesn't even bother to check the names, hands
them a couple of clip-on badges, then replaces the walkman on her head
and continues playing computer solitaire. The two men exchange a brief
look, but say nothing as they go down the hallway, clipping on the
badges.

Fortunately, the building is relatively well-lit, as opposed to
Mulder's nightmare, and they come across other people in
business-casual attire, nodding briefly as they assess each other's
badges with a perfunctory glance. Krycek's about to comment on the lack
of security, but there's a strange, cautious side to him that doesn't
want to jinx their luck. Along the way, Mulder takes a drink from the
water fountain, shifting his gun in its holster for easier access as he
does so. Krycek, impatient, glares, but Mulder merely says, "I'm okay,"
when he comes up for air.

Then they come upon an unmarked door that both Gunmen and Marita swear
is where the children are being held. When they open the door, Mulder
almost holds his breath, awaiting the inevitable horror scene. Instead,
it looks and smells like a maternity ward, with babies of all colors of
hair (and hairlessness) sleeping peacefully in their plastic beds,
attached to IVs and monitors. The familiarity of machines with infants
strike both men, and they look at each other, wondering for a brief
moment if they've made a mistake. The sterile beds, along with the
blue- and pink-clothed babies, looks way too normal for this to be part
of some top-secret, conspiracy-inspired operation.

Krycek, taking a step back, accidentally jostles one of the babies, and
the baby boy coughs, waking up. The brunette infant opens his green
eyes, then starts to wail, while his blue blanket and a few other
objects begin to levitate. Then other infants start to wake up and cry,
and Mulder groans at the domino effect, but there's a part of him
that's seriously relieved that, while they're floating things like
William did the first time around, according to Scully, they're not
covered in green goo nor breaking open from glass tubes. And only then
do the men notice that the machines and beds are bolted to the floor,
and the children are shackled to the bed rails.

"Yep, this is the right place," Krycek notes as an overhead siren
starts to blare.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home

"Mommy, what are you doing?" Page asks, then yawns, rubbing her eyes
sleepily.

Her mother, by contrast, appears wide awake and is scrolling through
her laptop. "Just reading," she says, and sips hot tea from her mug.
Then she yawns, too, covering her mouth as she does so. "Now look what
you made me do."

The little blonde girl giggles, then climbs onto a chair next to her
mother. "What are you reading?" she tries to peer around to the screen,
curious.

Scully smiles, turning the laptop away so the screen is out of sight.
"Something that you shouldn't be reading, not until you're older," she
says.

"But I *am* older," Page protests. "I'm older than Sammy, and April,
and-"

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Scully retorts. She
highlights the page with a bright color, saves it, then closes out the
window and shuts the computer down. "Hey, wanna help me make pancakes?"

Page gives her a Scully look, making her mother feel both obscurely
proud and guilty. "Mommy," she says, like her mother would to her
father, "you're changing the subject."

"So I am," Scully agrees, "but I'm really hungry, and soon, so will
everyone else. Let's just say I want to get a head start before David
and Jared start hogging the blueberry syrup."

Page pouts for a bit, but then helps her mother get out the mixing bowl
and whisk, while Scully gets the pancake mix, milk and eggs from the
fridge. Soon, they're mixing the pancake batter and teasing each other
before the older, mobile children wander into the kitchen. "Sammy, you
want a Mickey Mouse pancake?" Page asks while Scully turns up a stove
burner and places the frying pan on it.

"Don't act like you're Mommy," Sammy scowls at his older sister while
the twins jostle for their place at the table and April and Christopher
are poking each other.

"I'm not," Page huffs. "I'm helping."

Then Sammy crawls up on a neighboring chair and grabs a spoon. "So'm
I," he says, shoving his spoon in and stirring it.

"Mommyyyyyyy!" Page wails.

Then Michelle walks in with William in her arms. "What's going on?"

Scully's about to say, I'm pretty sure I'm pregnant again, but there's
a big part of her that wants to wait until Mulder's back to share the
news. "Pancakes," she says simply, wrestling both whisk and spoon from
her two elder children.

"Uh-huh," the younger woman grins. "Just make sure I have at least one
of those."

"But I get Mickey Mouse pancakes first!" Sammy pipes up.

And the kitchen is filled with the sound of children, loud and soft,
small and taller.

~*~*~

Meanwhile...

The room is filled with the sound of sirens, but more importantly, the
babies, all of whom are crying loudly. Mulder looks around wildly for
something to pacify them with, while Krycek sticks his fingers in his
ears, since it's too damn loud to think straight. Then Krycek's eyes
widen. "Mulder," he shouts above the din to be heard, "we've got a
problem."

"What - oh, shit," Mulder groans, as both he and Krycek are floating,
along with other various objects. Desperately, he makes a grab for an
IV rack, misses, then grabs a monitor and goes hand-over-hand down the
screen and on downwards until he grabs the base, then goes between
swinging from monitor to monitor, using his legs and hands like a
flying monkey, finally wrapping his legs around the leg of a bed
closest to the door. When he looks around, he realizes Krycek has fared
less well than he has, as he's pretty much made it to the ceiling,
floating like one of those laughing gas folks in that Mary Poppins
movie, except Krycek is far from jovial.

Then the door opens, and Mulder's face to face with what looks like a
small herd of toddlers - at least, ones who are looking at him like
robots, their wide eyes glazed and their faces pale, and Mulder has to
restrain a shudder from overtaking him. Then his agent's training takes
over, and he notes that, yes, these children aren't solely red-haired,
their glazed looks are probably the result of powerful hallucinogens or
antipsychotic drugs, and those collars around their necks aren't for
decoration.

"Don't," he breathes, holding his hands out as if that would stop the
children.

~*~*~

The Krycek Residence

"Mommy, help!" Emily wails, flailing around in a blue dress and waving
a wand madly. The dress is hanging on her, unzipped from the back, and
her necklace is twisted up and tied around her waist.

"Whoa, whoa, hold still." Melissa smiles, then firmly holds onto the
little girl's shoulders until she stands still. "Let me get your zipper
first, okay?" Then she gathers her daughter's hair up into a makeshift
ponytail and tells her, "Hold this, please." When Emily has a decent
grasp of her hair, Melissa zips up the dress expertly. Then she kneels
down, unties the apron, shakes it out and drapes it over the front of
her little girl. "Emily, I know you're excited, but when you manage to
turn a necklace into a belt, that's," she shakes her head, "that's too
excited."

"But Mommy," Emily turns around, stopping her mother from removing the
necklace, "I get to be the fairy godmother!"

"I know, honey," Melissa nods, "turn around." Her daughter does so, but
with the kinetic energy of the young and impatient, so that it takes a
couple of times before Melissa is successful. "All done."

"Yay!" her little blonde baby swirls around and hugs her mother. "Thank
you!"

Melissa laughs. "If this is what gets you excited about school on a
weekend, you should be in plays more often," she comments, then picks
up the hairbrush that Emily had dropped. "Come on, your hair won't
brush itself," then blinks as she realizes the mom-ism she's just
uttered.

"It should," Emily pouts, then submits to her mother's ministrations,
wincing a couple of times as the brush catches a snaggled lock of hair,
but relieved when her hair is bound up in a long ponytail. "Go home at
midnight, Cinderella, or I'll turn you into a pumpkin!" she crows,
throwing her arms out.

Now Melissa guffaws. "I'm pretty sure that's not your lines, Emily,"
she wheezes after wiping her eyes.

Suddenly, her little whirlwind comes to a halt. "Mommy, do you think
Daddy will come see my play?"

And the moment she's dreaded has come. So many times, she could've
sworn Alex and Fox were thisclose to catching the bad guys, but it was
either a false lead or they were just a day late. And what was supposed
to be something like a quick operation, at least according to Alex, has
stretched out into months. And now she knows, or has some idea, of what
her own mother's gone through with her father being stationed elsewhere
with no definite timetable. "He will." Melissa nods, if not in person,
then by videotape. She'll make sure of it.

~*~*~

Meanwhile...

Then the children closest to Mulder look at the babies in the beds,
then up at the flying objects and Krycek. "Stop," they chorus as one,
and whatever was in the air comes down.

In Krycek's case, comes down hard. "Owwww," he groans, but thankful
he's not up in the air anymore. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing," Mulder shakes his head, his eyes still on the toddlers. "You
okay?"

"Yeah," Krycek rubs his legs, which bore the brunt of his fall.

Mulder slowly gets up on all fours and crawls towards the toddlers. "I
mean you guys," he says, ignoring the bruises that seem to cover his
entire body from banging against machines. There's something about
these kids that break his heart, and not just because he's a father.
"Are you okay?"

The children stare at him blankly, then look at each other, their faces
blank but intelligent, as if sharing a communication neither he nor
Krycek are privy to. Then they look at him again. "Okay?"

"Uh," Mulder looks back at Krycek, who shrugs, then turns to face the
toddlers again. "Fine, good, um, healthy, happy, all right, maybe not
happy, but you know what I mean." More blank stares. "Maybe not."

"You're a regular thesaurus," Krycek quips in an undertone.

"You're not helping," Mulder mutters. Then he crawls a little towards
them, stopping when their eyes start to focus more clearly on him.
Raising his hands, he says, "I'm not here to hurt you. I want to help
you." They continue to look at him blankly. Then he exhales heavily,
and sits down, slowly and painfully, in a cross-legged fashion. Waving
his hands at the kids, he says, "Come on. Come, come."

He seems to have hit a magic word, or at least one they understand, for
the ones closest to him come forward, shuffling forward in their
hospital pajamas. "That's it," he says nodding, "come closer. Yeah, like that."
Then he gathers those closest to him and hugs them, as he would his own
small herd of children. "Mmm, see? This is called a hug. Hugs are
good." He smiles as one of them, a boy with short brown hair, reaches
in for another hug. Closing his eyes, he hugs the boy back. "Atta boy."
He swings his head towards his compatriot. "Alex, tell the other kids
to join you."

"You are such a weirdo," Krycek grumbles, but he sees it's working, so
he, too, sits down and motions the others towards him. "Come on, I give
hugs, too." There's a girl that looks like his little Emily, and he
smiles at her. "Come on, it's okay, Sweetie."

The rest, led by the little blonde girl he smiled at, toddle toward his
open arms. "Oof," he grunts, nearly bowled over by the impact of a
bunch of small kids squishing him, "you guys learn fast."

"I guess this is what it means to conquer with kindness," Mulder quips,
ruffling one boy's hair, and smiling at another little girl who looks
like a mini-Reyes.

"First time I've seen it happen," Krycek replies, "hey, whoa!" He
nearly topples over when one of the boys start climbing up his back and
grabs his head. Planting his hands behind him, he waits until the
little critter ends up on his shoulders, and he shakes his head against
the boy's belly, making him laugh. "Hey, they can laugh," he says, some
wonderment in his voice.

"They're human," Mulder says, teaching the kids around him to hug each
other.

And then the grown up security charges in.

~*~*~

Chapter One Hundred and Eleven
"Endurance"

"Get back," Mulder says, instinctively pushing the toddlers behind him.
What he's gonna do with just his pistol against these heavily armed
guards, he's not sure, but all he knows is, he'll at least knock out
some of the guards before they can even hurt the kids. Drawing his gun,
he grins cockily, "Twelve against two, I don't think that's fair."

"We've beaten bigger odds." Krycek smirks behind him, his gun also
drawn. His real arm, however, is shielding the toddlers, although he's
not conscious of that fact right now.

And to Krycek's and Mulder's surprise, the guards who would give
Schwarzenegger and Van Damme a run for their money are slammed against
the walls, their weapons flying out of their hands. While the intruders
are gaping, the toddlers surround them again, this time protectively.

"I think we just got saved by the ones we were supposed to save,"
Krycek looks at the children around him in shock. Then he grins. "You
probably don't understand me, but you guys rock. Come here!" And he
hugs the living heck out of the kids. "You guys did great!"

Mulder chuckles, even as he finds himself doing the same thing. "Of
course," he says, "they're awesome." Some of the kids around him
surprise him by smiling. "Cool," he murmurs, even though he'd just told
Krycek they were human, but that still didn't stop him from being
surprised.

"Mulder, I hate to break up the love fest, but there's a lot more
people we gotta deal with," Krycek says, and mentally kicks himself for
allowing regret to color his voice.

"I know," Mulder sighs, and slowly gets to his feet, feeling every bit
of his first and second lives catching up with his beaten up body. And
like his children, these kids are clinging to his long legs, not
wanting to let go. "Um, moving is gonna be a bit of a problem."

"No problem." Krycek smirks, getting up, and is surprised to get the
same reaction. "Okay, we can do this."

Mulder twists around to throw the other man a look. "Yeah? Like how?"

Krycek motions with his hands at the toddlers stuck to his legs. "We
may not be able to move fast, but we've got protection. Think about
it."

Mulder sighs. "Okay. But any sign of trouble, we cover them."

Krycek nods, but has a feeling it's probably gonna roll the other way.
Then he leans down and tells his groupies, "Look, I need some of you
guys to cover the babies here. Granted, they could probably take care
of themselves," he makes a face, remembering how he and Mulder had been
levitated with no problem, "but you know who the bad guys are better
than they do. I need some of you to be their big brothers and sisters
and protect them, okay?"

He's not sure if they even understand what he's said, but as he looks
from one round face to another, he figures they do. It's not often that
trusts anyone, but here he is, trusting children to take care of, well,
other children. "Can I count on you?"

The blonde girl who resembles his daughter looks at some of the others,
then nods. She takes the hands of a red-haired boy and a brown-haired
girl, and they and a couple more walk over to where the infants are
waving about in their beds. There's a strange feeling of pride he can't
explain, but Krycek's got it.

Then he looks up at Mulder, who's giving him a damn "I approve" kind of
expression, and he makes a face. "Come on, let's do this," he mutters,
pretending like he didn't do something good and grown up just then.

~*~*~

Back at the New Syndicate's hideout, Mulder and Krycek, along with
about fifteen toddlers under the age of two, are slowly making their
way down the hallways. It doesn't matter that their movements are
caught on camera, since the telekinetic toddlers take care of any
security that's thrown at them. "It's nice having inside help, isn't
it?" Krycek remarks to Mulder after another set of guards are sent
flying.

Mulder shakes his head. "Telekinetic or not, we should be the ones
protecting them, not the other way around," he says, knowing how
narrow-minded that sounds, but deep down, he means it.

"I know that," Krycek says levelly, "but if we're given help, we
shouldn't refuse it, right? Kids or not."

"Yeah," Mulder says, but inside, his feelings and conscience as a
father war with his paranormal investigator's instincts to rejoice
every time the kids use their abilities. He's not sure if Krycek has
those same worries, but then again, the guy surprises him about as much
as these kids do. Then they come to multiple branches, and the men look
at each other. "Okay, I'm guessing Marita didn't tell you about this
part."

"Your techno geeks forgot this, too?" Krycek nods. "Damn." Then he
looks at the toddlers beside him. "Okay, guide dog time."

"Krycek," Mulder groans.

"Hey, we're lost, we've got native guides," the other man shrugs. "Lead
on!" And, led by the small children, Krycek walks down the corridor
second from the left.

Mulder sighs, then hunkers down. "I trust you," he says, looking into
their innocent faces. "But if you're scared, let me know, okay?"

Then a little boy, his eyes dark blue and his hair a light blonde,
slips his hand into Mulder's. "Come," he says, and tugs him towards the
corridor on the far right.

Mulder nods, then allows himself to be led by the boy and the other
toddlers, willing the lump in his throat to go down.

~*~*~

Krycek goes down the dark hallway, noticing that the farther they walk,
the closer the toddlers cling to him, until he's practically shuffling
because of their closeness. "What's wrong?" he asks in a whisper, but
gets no answer, except for small fingers clutching tighter to his
slacks.

Their tension and fear seeps into him, and he's not sure why they've
led him here, until he spots a crack of light seeping from under one of
the doors on the right. When he starts to walk towards it, they all but
pull him away. Then he stops, putting his hands on the heads nearest
him. "You guys stay here," he murmurs, "I'll check it out." There's no
audible answer, but he notices that they're holding each other, almost
instinctively, and he knows that whatever it is behind that door, they
were never supposed to see it, even though they probably have.

Pulling out his gun, he walks over, puts a hand on the doorknob, and
gives it a careful twist. It turns easily, which only emphasizes the
wrongness of the situation, and he looks over at the toddlers. They'll
be okay, he tells himself, even though right now they look like normal,
scared children. Then he opens the door slowly, peering through the
crack to get an idea, and sees nothing but sterile lab-type equipment.
A lab. Okay, he can handle that.

He steps into the room, blinking a little to adjust to the brightness,
seeing nothing but a lot of the same old equipment that the Syndicate
is wont to use for genetic manipulation and testing. Looking around,
there are specimens of failed experiments in glass jars, but nothing
alive. He supposes that the successful ones are the ones that are
helping him and Mulder, but his gun is still ready and his ears are
listening for any sound that's not his own breathing. Then, under the
hum of machinery, he hears human voices from around the wall of
specimens.

"...Don't know why they don't increase security," a snappish voice
says.

"Then we'd have to memorize a new code for each day, just like we did
before," a deeper voice responds. "It's probably another squirrel
that's tripped security again."

"It's too bad we can't experiment on those, too," a thin voice mutters.

"Yeah, it's too bad," Krycek agrees, "then you wouldn't have to mess
around with human children." He points his gun at the eggheads, none of
whom look capable to take him down, much less any of the toddlers.

"What?" the thin-voiced man drops his needle. His body, as opposed to
his voice, is quite round, and he flaps his hands helplessly. "Do
something!"

And Krycek is slammed from the back by what feels like a human wall. He
groans when he rolls around to see who attacked him, and is kicked
viciously for his trouble. Oh, another Schwarzenegger clone. Damn. Then
he grins and shoots the bastard in the head, causing the scientists to
scream. "Shut up," he grunts, getting to his feet as quickly as he can
without showing how winded or in pain he is. Training his gun on the
eggheads, he snaps, "Any more guards I should worry about, or should I
just take out your kneecaps for fun?"

"You can't, we're part of the plan," the deeper-voiced, tall scientist
sputters.

"And that's supposed to make me scared?" he smirks, and shoots just
inches away from the tall man.

"There are four more," says a scientist who hasn't spoken up yet, the
shortest of the bunch, pointing at what looks to be another wall.

"Thanks," Krycek grins nastily. Then he pulls out a modified machine
gun from under his sports jacket and sprays the wall with bullets,
aiming about chest level and then aiming really low, in case they
dropped to the floor. Then he motions at the short scientist with his
machine gun to open the door, and the short man, shaking, does so.

When the hidden door creaks open, the scientists are sickened to see
the guards riddled with bullets, their torsos a mess, as well as their
heads and extremities. "Looks like some tried to get away," Krycek
comments on the position of a couple bodies, and swings his gun back on
the scientists who are also wanting to save their skins. "Personally, I
could waste you as easily as those guards," he says, training the
business end of his weapon on them, "but an associate of mine wants to
see you suffer slowly and painfully, and I gotta say, that sounds just
as appealing. Line up and march out, one by one."

As the last one marches out, he flips on the hallway light, and Krycek
smirks as they go down the hall, his prisoners before him. The
scientists see the toddlers standing in the hallway, and they are
surprised, but then their faces revert to that of scientific coldness,
even mild curiosity. The children automatically flatten themselves away
from the men, even retreating, but Krycek shakes his head, pointing at
the gun, then at the scientists. "They won't ever hurt you again," he
tells the children.

"Let's see how long your government can keep us locked up," the
snappish-voice scientist finally pipes up.

"Let's see how long your head stays intact once I shoot it," Krycek
replies. This shuts the man up, and he jerks his head at the door.
"Face front, assholes, and take us to the bigwigs." As the scientists
shuffle forward, he nods at the toddlers. They may be young
chronologically, but they knew who to pick to exact their vengeance,
all right.

~*~*~

Meanwhile, Mulder charges into the office, yelling, "Everyone, stand up
with your hands up, eyes front! If I see anyone reaching for anything,
I won't hesitate to shoot!" There's a lot of screaming, and he shoots a
few inches over their heads. "Sorry, I forgot to add ‘Shut the hell
up'," he says, and now the noise dies down to whimpers.

Mulder scans the room, memorizing each face and their location. "I know
not all the head honchos are here," he comments, "I also know they're
not gonna save your asses. What I want you to do is contact them one by
one, get them to come here, and that way you're not the only one
frying. If you try to warn any of them, well," and he checks his
bullets before popping the cartridge back in, "let's just say you're
closer to hit than they are. Got it?" They nod, and he points to the
secretary furthest from himself, and walks toward her. "You first, the
rest of you stay put, because there's no way you can leave this room."

His gun trained on the shaking woman, he taps her shoulder with the gun
nuzzle. "Sit down and call your boss," he says, "and sound natural."

As she dials with shaky fingers, Mulder sighs. "Take some deep breaths,
okay? It's not gonna work if you sound scared." She stares at him, then
takes ragged breaths, making him roll his eyes. When the other line
picks up, Mulder hits the "intercom" button so he can hear both sides.

"Hello, Mr. Shaw? Yes, I'm afraid we have a bit of a situation that
requires your attention," she says, steadfastly looking away from the
gun.

"What, nobody else is close enough to drive?" Mr. Shaw replies
peevishly.

"Sorry, no, sir," she responds. "It's not a security situation, but one
of the scientists says-"

"Very well," Mr. Shaw sighs. "I'll be there in about fifteen minutes.
Damn eggheads, probably want more money again. How are the subjects
doing?"

The secretary looks up at Mulder, who is stone-faced, and she bites her
lip. "The same as usual."

"Well, at least they're not demanding raises," Mr. Shaw says,
chuckling. "I'll see you."

"Very well, sir," she says, and hangs up.

"That was easy," Mulder comments, looking at the others. "See?"

"I can't!" one of them gasps, and starts to run towards the door. And
is promptly thrown back at the desks, as if an invisible hand got a
hold of her, and crumples where she lands.

While the secretarial pool gasps and cries, Mulder shakes his head. "I
told you you couldn't leave," he says. "We can do this the hard way
like your friend there," he points his gun at the sobbing woman, "or
the easy way." He nods at the secretary sitting next to him. "You,
next," he walks on to the woman on his left.

And they do it the easy way until Krycek joins him with the scientists.

~*~*~

"Wow, I can't believe we've got ‘em all locked up as easily as all
that," Krycek comments, as the police and FBI have their duties
assigned to their satisfaction, leaving Mulder and Krycek free for the
first time in a long time.

"Like you ever doubted it?" Mulder raises an eyebrow.

Krycek shrugs. "Well, it took an alien ship to flashfry the first
bunch, and even then, there were stragglers."

Mulder grimaces, remembering the charred corpses. "Yeah, there's that.
Hey, I think that social worker's calling you."

Krycek nods, then walks over to where the social worker is, surrounded
by a bunch of what he's privately termed "his kids". "Yeah?" he asks.

"Alex, uh, Krycek, right?" the man asks, and Krycek nods. "Daniel
Leung. It looks like some of the kids don't trust our folks, so they
refuse to eat or sleep. It's understandable, considering what they've
gone through," he says, having bought their cover story of a children's
hospital gone wrong, "but they want you to take care of them."

Krycek sighs. "Let me talk to them." Leung nods, and walks off. When
the man has gone out of earshot, Krycek squats down and looks each
child in the face. "Look, guys. Me and Mulder are the good guys, but so
are they," and he jerks a thumb at Leung and his colleagues. "They
won't do anything to hurt you."

"You," one of the boys says, "save us."

He closes his eyes, then exhales, opening his eyes. "You saved
yourselves," he corrects them. "And you know who are the bad guys, and
who are the good guys, so trust yourselves." Then he hugs them, each
and every one of them. "Take care," he says in a low voice, and walks
away quickly, trying to regain his composure.

Mulder pretends he doesn't see his brother-in-law blinking away tears,
turning away until he hears the other man's footsteps. "So, what'd the
social worker say?"

Krycek shrugs. "Says the kids are distrustful of grownups, but I
straightened things out." His smug tone belies his feelings, however,
and he shoves his hands into his sports jacket pockets. When he
realizes the pockets aren't big enough, he scowls. "I can't wait to get
out of these dorky clothes," he mutters.

Mulder chuckles. "Hey, why don't you take a break," he suggests. "The
action part's over now, all that's left is admin work." Then he smiles
a little. "Unless you wanna stick around and push some papers for fun?"

"Hell, no." Krycek makes a face. "I'd rather go home and fuck Missy
until her legs go numb."

"I think that was wayyyyy too much information," Mulder shakes his
head, "just go home before you get any more graphic."

Krycek grins and waves, walking off.

~*~*~

March 2002

The Krycek Residence

Melissa's done everything except drug her boy, and part of her thinks
that introducing him to beer might not be such a bad idea. "Ryan," she
shakes her head, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but Mommy's
almost as pooped out as you are." She hears the phone ring, and races
out of the room, closing the door shut so he won't wake up, and grabs
the nearest landline. "Hello?" she answers breathlessly.

"Hey, are you having fun without me?" Krycek pouts. 

"Shut up," Melissa takes deeper breaths. "I just put Ryan to sleep and
I didn't want him to wake up."

"Oh, okay," he says. "By the way, I've got some good news. I'll be
coming home soon."

"Really? That's great!" She smiles. "So you got them?"

"Yep," he says, and she can hear his smirk over the phone. "So how is
everyone doing?"

"Well," she says, "I'm okay, Emily's in a school play as a fairy
godmother, and Ryan has been restless all day, just like his father."
She's smiling as she says this, brushing a lock of long red hair out of
her face. Then she rotates her neck, like her younger sister, and
exhales.

"Something wrong?"

"No, long day," Melissa replies, "and I need to bring Emily her wings
for her play tonight." Her energy comes back up as she adds, "She'll be
so happy to hear you're coming home. I'm glad you'll be here in time to
see your baby on stage." She rubs the small of her back, stretching as
she does so.

"And I'm happy I'm here in time to help you out with your back," he
says.

"What?" she says, surprised. "I didn't say anything about - Ohhh." She
smiles as a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist from behind.
"You didn't say how soon you were coming home." She ends the phone
call, because her husband in person is so much better.

"And spoil the surprise?" Krycek breathes in her ear, rubbing against
her. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Mmm, miss me?" she leans against him, feeling his desire harden
against her back side.

"Heck, no," he says, his careless tone belying his action, "too busy
chasing dead ends and weirdoes to think of anyone back home."

His hands, roaming all over her, under her clothes, and the constant
friction caused by his insistent crotch say otherwise, however, and she
chuckles. "Of course," she says, rubbing her ass against him, making
him groan. "Mm," she moans, as he kisses her neck, her shoulder,
divesting her of her blouse, and then her skirt. "Oh, ohhhhh, Alex."

"Oh, baby," he breathes, shucking off his jeans and briefs in one go,
"I need you."

His fingers play with her womanhood under her panties, even as she
wraps her arms up and around his neck, his manhood rubbing her
underneath. "Ah, right there, ooh!"

They soon realize that they can't continue without some support for
balance, so they stagger towards the nearest wall, Melissa bracing
against it, and Alex right behind her, his hands on her tits.
Impatiently, she pulls down her panties, lifting her ass against his
crotch. "Give it to me," she tells him, "I'm dripping!"

"Oh, God," he groans, and slides into her. "God, I've missed you," he
grunts, feeling her clenching with each thrust.

"Mm, good," she gasps, "ah, unh, unh, oh," and their conversation
pretty much devolves into monosyllabic grunts of pleasure for the rest
of the afternoon.

~*~*~

Later

The play is, as expected of an elementary school play, more
entertaining than the actors onstage or the teachers in the wings
planned. And Emily Krycek plays her part as the fair godmother with
admirable aplomb, even though it's beyond either of her parent's
imagination as to why she's waving her wand like a weapon.

"You sure she's not venting her frustration at not being picked for
Cinderella?" Krycek whispers to his wife when their baby girl nearly
beheads one of the mice.

Melissa shakes her head, patting Ryan on her shoulder. "She was pretty
excited to be the fairy," she whispers back, "getting to wear jewelry
and wings and twirling in a dress."

"Just like her mommy," he murmurs, and his wife can't help but giggle,
while onstage, Cinderella is running in front of the carriage, faster
than the badly-costumed mice-as-horses.

And when they do their closing bows to wildly clapping parents, Emily
twirls onto the stage, then waves her wand at the audience like a
conductor does for her orchestra. "I taught her that," Melissa beams
proudly.

"So why didn't she do that during the play?" he wonders. "They're gonna
think you put a hit on Cinderella."

Before Melissa can retort, he rushes towards the stage, snapping
pictures madly like all the other proud parents doing likewise. None of
them, however, have illegally modified technology, but that's something
he's keeping to himself. Then he calls out, "Brava, Emily, brava!"

"Daddy!" Emily gives herself a running start before launching herself
offstage into her father's arms. "You made it!"

"Of course," Krycek says when he gets his breath back, with more than a
trace of smugness. "You thought I wouldn't?"

"I knew you would," she beams up at him with the same amount of
smugness. "So, what did you think?"

"I think." He smiles, kissing her on each cheek, "that you are an
amazing actress. But why were you waving your wand so hard earlier?"

"Oh," Emily replies, "I thought if I waved it hard enough, it would be
magic enough to bring you back home to see me. And you did!"

Krycek can't say anything to that, so he settles for hugging her
tightly and smiling the biggest smile a proud parent ever could.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home

"So, how are things going?" Scully asks, cradling the cell phone
against her ear as she spoon-feeds William baby cereal.

Mulder sighs. He knows he could've left this part to the social
services, but he doubts whether they'd be adequately prepared to deal
with small children who can move things with their minds, with or
without drugs. Even as he tries to figure out how to place these
special children into homes, not institutions, there's a part of him
that wonders how William would've fared at his adoptive parents' home
in that other life once he exhibited his powers. It's not like they
have a page, or even a line, on the form related to telekinetic and/or
telepathic children on foster and adoptive homes.

"Slowly," he admits to his wife. "It's as if they've guaranteed that
these kids would never have a normal life," he tells her, "genetically
shackling them to daily doses of drugs tailored to their specific yet
incomplete DNA so that they can continue living. It's like what they
did to kids like Emily, except they also added hallucinogens and
sedatives to make them more pliable and addicted, like pimps would to
underaged hookers. Makes me sick."

"Oh my God," Scully breathes, "just when I thought they couldn't sink
any lower..." And now she's thankful that she and Mulder intervened in
George, Patti and Joy's lives, so that their child wouldn't end up like
that. Nor would their own children, she thinks, unconsciously squeezing
William closer to her until he starts to fuss.

"Yeah," Mulder says, "at first I thought it was brainwashing, but when
the drug tests came back, it was disturbing to see how thorough they
were. Of course, with such specific details, it only serves as more
evidence to nail these assholes into the ground. Even if they could
swing through some loopholes, there's no way these guys will be able to
squirm their way out of child endangerment, abuse, and manipulation.
And should they try to use the kids as leverage-"

"With the laws as they are," Scully cuts in smoothly, "there's no way
they can get the kids in court unless via electronic transmission, and
with most of them unable to speak, the judge and jury would be looking
at a bunch of helpless infants. Yeah, that wouldn't be in the
Syndicate's favor."

"Life imprisonment, doesn't that have a nice ring?" Mulder says
lightly. "Never thought I'd be able to jail these guys, but apparently
the New Syndicate's strength doesn't come close to their predecessors.
Neither did they figure they'd ever have to pay for their sins, since
they were oh-so-careful," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey, you mind writing the legal briefs? Taking down the bad guys was
easy, but cleaning up their mess and properly looking after the kids is
looking more and more like a nightmare."

"Oh, is that all? You can handle it." Scully smirks. "Or better yet,
delegate. Whatever doesn't come under X-Files jurisdiction, you can
farm out."

"The problem is, *everything* falls under X-Files jurisdiction," Mulder
groans. "A lot of the parents are complicit in the crimes against their
children, while other parents are as much victims as their children, so
there's the fun of sifting out the truth there. Either way, the results
will eventually be left to the legal system, so once that's done, it's
out of my hands. And social services can only scratch the surface of
helping these kids before they'd encounter a flying chair, and then
they'd be sent off to some kind of institution or lab, which is
effectively putting the kids back into the same situation they came
from." He sighs. "Maybe we could sign them up for the circus, it's
starting to feel like a three-ring madhouse anyways."

"Mulder," Scully warns.

"I know, I know," he surrenders agreeably, pinching the bridge of his
nose. Closing his eyes against the bright computer monitor and
mountains of paperwork threatening to blind him, he asks, "So, how's
everyone doing over there?"

The friendly tone worries her more than his earlier whining. "We're
good," she says, not wanting to tell him about her pregnancy until she
sees him in person. "Page is doing well in class, Sammy's getting
really active in his school's intramural sports, April's still got
quite the green thumb, Christopher likes the words ‘why' and ‘no',
David and Jared are both trying out for best imitator of TV commercials
and driving Mommy up the wall, and William is a sweetheart."

"And what about you?"

"I, I want you home as soon as possible," she finds herself saying.

"I love you," Mulder says, feeling a burst of energy unaccountably
surging through him. "Thanks."

"For what?" Scully's confused.

~*~*~

He smiles, for the first time in a while. "For reminding me of why I'm
doing this," he replies. "That these kids deserve to have a good family
to come home to, just like anyone else. In fact, they deserve it more
than anyone else."

"You're a good man, Mulder," she says, wanting to hug him right then
and there.

"No, I'm not," he says, as expected. "Just doing my job."

She chuckles. "You never ‘just do your job'," Scully shakes her head.
"It's what I love about you and what drives me nuts. You make
everything personal."

"Well, duh," he says in an exaggerated drawl, making her laugh.

"I love you," Scully tells him, "now get back to work."

"Aye-aye, Captain," Mulder says, making a smart salute with the wrong
arm.

"Other arm, Mulder," Scully says, making him look.

He narrows his eyes. "How'd you do that?"

"Mommy eyes," she says primly.

"You're a scary woman, Dana Scully," he mutters, and hears her laughing
before she hangs up. He smiles again, this time saluting with his right
arm, and gets back to work.

~*~*~

Later

"So, how's things?" Krycek asks in a far too chipper voice.

"I hate you," Mulder says with feeling.

"Love you, too, Dude," Krycek laughs. "Sucks being a goody-two-shoes,
don't it?"

"Like I said before, I hate you," Mulder says. "So what's this phone
call really about?"

"Oh, Scully was making some noises about joining you up in
Nowheresville to help you finish things up, and me and Melissa had to
talk her out of it," he says, far too blithely for the content of his
words. "So I was thinking if you needed some strings pulled-"

"I'd be far too afraid of what or who'd they be attached to," Mulder
cuts in. "Besides, I'm doing my fair share of string-pulling and
favor-calling. But thanks for the offer."

"Really?" Krycek sounds surprised. "'Cause you're taking forever."

Mulder rolls his eyes. "Believe it or not, making sure these kids go to
good homes with exceptional medical coverage takes longer than just
shipping them off to some medical facility," he says. "As well as
making sure their welfare and transportation takes place away from
interested parties. So yeah, forever it is."

"You really are a good guy," the other man says, and if Mulder didn't
know any better, he'd think there was a little more than a trace of
envy in his voice. "If you're ever up for sainthood, me and the rest of
the gang will put in a good word with the Pope."

"Being non-Catholic may put a damper on that," Mulder quips. "Besides,
I think Scully should be the one up for sainthood, putting up with me
and the kids, as well as being the longest-running Catholic in the
household."

"Uh-huh." Krycek smirks. "So, Mr. I'm-Not-a-Saint, feel like grabbing a
bite to eat?"

Mulder glances at the remains of his lunch. No, wait, that was his
breakfast, when was the last time he ate? Aw, shit, that was from
earlier this morning, two-something. "You gonna airmail me a care
package?"

"No, I was thinking I'd take you to that cheapass restaurant a few
miles down the road," Krycek says, walking into the room.

"You are one creepy bastard," Mulder chuckles, leaning back in his
chair.

"I'm a creepy bastard who hates owing people things," the double agent
shrugs. "Come on, I gotta feed you or Scully'll have my ass, and then
Melissa won't make out with me tonight."

Mulder rolls his eyes. "Love your priorities."

"Hey, at least I know what's important." Krycek smiles. "Come on, I'm
paying."

"Par-tay." Mulder grins back, saves his documents on the disk, then
sticks said disk and its cover in his pocket. "Lead on, O Payer of
Food."

"Cheapass Payer of Food," Krycek corrects him. "No lobster or anything
stupid like that, ‘cause this isn't a date."

"I doubt they'd have lobster at a cheap restaurant," Mulder mutters as
he locks the door behind them, "and Krycek, if you ever mention us and
a date in the same sentence again, I'll shoot you where you stand."

Krycek's unrepentant laughter echoes down the hallway.

~*~*~

Hoover Building

Scully hasn't been to work in a few days, mainly because her morning
sickness isn't just nailing her at all times of the day, but also
because she finds herself pining madly for her husband and that just
wouldn't look good at work. "Stupid hormones," she grumbles, not for
the first time, and opens the basement door.

Going through one of the upper files is Reyes, her back facing the
doorway and humming. "Oh, Dana." She smiles as she turns around, "how
is Mulder doing?"

Scully nods. "He's good," she says, a tired smile on her face. "And how
are things with you and John?"

Now Reyes smiles, ear to ear. "Real good."

"I take it you and he patched things up?" Scully raises an eyebrow.

"If you mean great make-up sex, yeah," Reyes chuckles, laughing louder
when Scully joins in. "I don't know what you told him, but thanks."

Scully shrugs. "Not much, only what anyone with half a brain could've
told him."

Reyes shakes her head. "No, really, thank you." And she hugs her
shorter friend tightly. "It was really hard working with someone who
barely looked at you, much less respected you."

Scully nods, thankful she's able to breathe again. "I'm glad things
worked out, and not just because the senior agents are out of the
office," she says, a full smile on her face.

"Hey, I can be a professional," Reyes says, lifting her chin, "John was
the big baby."

"I was a big baby about what?" Doggett asks, walking in.

"Love," Reyes says, pulling him in for a hug.

"Monica," he says in a low voice, "we're at work." However, he doesn't
pull away.

"I know." She smiles, "but it's okay." And Doggett finds himself
smiling with her.

Scully shakes her head. They'll be okay, she thinks, they might need a
little help, but they'll be okay.

~*~*~

Meanwhile...

More than once, Mulder finds himself in the position that Scully found
herself in years ago, wanting to adopt these kids like she wanted to
adopt Kevin Kryder. It would make things so much easier, a part of his
brain tells him, the part that wants to also take Krycek's shortcuts.
But the small, stubborn part of him, the one he's dubbed the Scully
part, grabs the tempting part in a headlock and tells him that he
should stick to doing what he does best, which is the right thing. It's
usually the hardest thing, but it's always the best thing to do. He
smiles a little, thinking of Scully putting Krycek in a headlock, then
gets out of the car.

"Hi, are you Mr. and Mrs. Sergio Goes?" he asks the couple, pronouncing
the last name like "goze."

"It's ‘go-ess'," Mr. Goes corrects him, shaking his hand. "You must be
Mr. Mulder."

Mulder's about to correct him as well, but then realizes that since his
dad is gone, then yeah, he probably is. He smiles. "Yes, I am. Meet
Matthew." He opens the passenger door, then carefully unbuckles the
infant from the car seat. Then he hands the bundled baby over to the
couple, who are watching with open eyes and mouths. "Matthew," he says,
placing the boy into his waiting mother's arms, "meet your parents."

"Oh my God, he's so beautiful," Mrs. Goes says, tears spilling from her
eyes. "I mean, I knew it from the picture, but still..." She looks up
at her husband, a watery smile on her face. "He's so beautiful."

Mr. Goes beams under his trimmed beard and moustache, hugging his wife.
"Of course he is," he tells her, then smiles proudly at the infant.
"He's our son."

Then Mulder opens a back seat door, taking out a large ice chest. "This
is his medicine," he tells them, setting it on the ground carefully,
then pulls out a sheet of paper from his jacket. "These are the
instructions. When you need refills, don't hesitate to call or e-mail
the company at the bottom."

Mrs. Goes nods. "We know all about how important constant medical care
is, I suppose you know about my diabetes," she looks at her husband,
but the answer is directed at Mulder.

"Yes," Mulder says, "that's part of why you two were chosen." When they
look at him in surprise, he smiles. "Another part is that you both
value family highly, even though you're unable to conceive and you
can't adopt under normal conditions. However, Matthew isn't a normal
child, and I hope you realize that."

"Of course our child wouldn't be normal," Mrs. Goes says lightly,
"he'll be just like his father." Her husband laughs, and hugs her to
him. Then she looks directly at Mulder. "No matter what, Matteo is
ours." Her hold on the child isn't stronger, but the fierce
determination and possessiveness on her face is, as if daring him to
take the child back.

"Yes, he is." Mulder nods with understanding, and leaves the re-named
infant with his parents.

~*~*~

Krycek calls him on the way back to the quote-unquote base. "Jeez, I
knew you were a goody-two-shoes, but this is ridiculous," the double
agent tells him.

Mulder switches hands before he makes a turn. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a
regular saint, you said that already," he mutters, "how are you doing
on your end?"

"Five deliveries so far, and I feel like a freakin' stork," Krycek
replies. "I can't believe you were doing this all by yourself. You
realize you can delegate this shit to social services, right?"

"I trust your instincts on certain types of people," Mulder responds
drily, "and while I know that social services may have experience
weeding out regular assholes, they probably wouldn't have occasion to
run across anyone related to either the new or old syndicate on a
regular basis. That, and you're pretty good at background checks."

"Background checks," Krycek repeats sourly. "Great. Now I wish I hadn't
talked Scully out of joining you. This sucks."

"Suck it up." Mulder grins. "Or can't you handle actual work?"

"This is chick work," Krycek scoffs, "that's all I'm saying."

"Uh-huh," Mulder shakes his head, "chick work. That you can't handle."

"Who says I can't handle this? It's boring as hell, stupid, and I can't
believe I'm doing this shit," the other man retorts like a little kid.

"Alex," Mulder resorts to using the guy's first name, "I'm paying for
dinner tonight. Happy?"

"It better not be some cheapass fast food crap like you're used to,"
Krycek grumbles.

Mulder laughs. "Lemme guess, your stomach's gone all delicate since the
last time I saw you."

"No, I'm just afraid I'm gonna have to cut your burger into bite-sized
pieces," Krycek responds snidely, "for the old man you are. Maybe even
mash up your fries."

They keep this up until they reach the base, and even then, they argue
over whose car to take (they end up driving their own), and what to get
at the restaurant. Lighthearted as the banter is, they both know it's a
lame attempt to distance themselves from the children whose lives are
in their hands, some of whom already formed attachments to them, and
that makes it just that much harder to let go.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home

Scully leans over the bed, her heart swelling with love for her
children. "Good night, David," she says, kissing his forehead. Then she
turns to the other bed. "Good night, Jared," she kisses his forehead,
and he scrunches his face, making her giggle. "Good night, Sweetie."
Then a tall shadow blocks out the light from the hallway, and she
figures Michelle has something to ask before turning for the night.

"Hey," a familiar voice says from the doorway.

"Mulder!" Scully springs up and wraps her arms around him. "I could've
picked you up from the airport," she whispers, so that the twins don't
wake up again.

"Yeah, but this is cooler," he grins, hugging her back.

"I think Krycek's rubbing off on you in all the wrong ways," she pouts,
pulling away a little, "Missy told me about how he surprised her at
home."

He chuckles, kissing her forehead. "I hope that's the only idea I've
picked up from him," he says, "God, it's good to be home."

She leans against him, closing her eyes. "I missed you."

He holds her, reveling in the feel of her body against his. "I missed
you, too."

She raises an eyebrow at him, reaches over and closes the door behind
them. "I missed you more."

"Uh-oh," Mulder raises his eyebrows at the challenge.

But before he could properly answer it with an equally infantile
response, Sammy and Page are running towards him, then fasten
themselves to his legs. "Daddy!" they both shout.

Soon, other doors are opening, and more children pour out, attaching
themselves to their parents like limpets on rock. Mulder laughs,
squeezing shoulders, ruffling or stroking hair, being very, very glad
to be home. And he can only pray that the children he's assigned
families will have lives this happy, this loving.

~*~*~

Chapter One Hundred And Twelve

March 13th, 2002

Mulder is pinned to an armchair by the wide-eyed stares of his two
oldest children. Eventually Page asks the question that the
anticipation of seems to make her practically levitate. "Daddy, are you
home for good?"

"Yes," Mulder tells her, relieved that this is the truth. Though he's
thrilled that the little ones he and Krycek rescued have all gone to
good homes, he's so ready to take a long break from anything stressful.

"You're going to stay home, and not go away for long times again?" she
persists.

"No longer than Mom and I usually go away for work," Mulder says, but
even as he does, he wonders how receptive Kersh will be to rescheduling
a meeting to discuss reinstating him to the FBI.

Sammy gives him a suspicious look. "Really?"

"Really."

"Really-really?"

"Yes, really."

"Okay," Sammy says. "What about Monsters, Inc.?"

"What?" Mulder gives his oldest son a blank look. This is not the sort
of follow up question he's been expecting.

"You said we could go see that movie, Monsters, Inc. but then you went
away with Uncle Alex. Can we see it tomorrow?" Sammy asks.

Mulder stares at him. 

This doesn't faze his eldest son. "So, can we?" 

Mulder doesn't want to disappoint them, but he's not sure it's a plan
that can be followed through on. "I don't know if it's still playing
anyw-"

"When the theater says the name on the sign outside, that means the
movie is playing, right?" Page asks from the couch.

"Right."

"It says Monsters, Inc. at the theater near our school. The second fun
theater."

"Second run," Mulder corrects absently. "I give them a call. If it's
playing, I'll bring you tomorrow night."

"Good!" Sammy says excitedly. "I'm gonna tell April, n' David n'
Jared."

"Wait, let me call the theater first," Mulder tells him.

A couple of minutes later Mulder is able to confirm that they're
showing the movie, so Sammy is able to spread the good news. Page
trails her brother, but doesn't seem to be trying to steal his thunder.
Mulder supposes if he asks her, she'd tell him that it's fair he gets
to tell their siblings since he's the one that asked about the movie.

Shaking his head, he goes to find his wife. "They act like nothing has
changed. How can my being gone for four months not have changed
anything for them?"

"They're adaptive. Like us," Scully tells him. "But don't go convincing
yourself that they didn't miss you every minute you were gone. They
did."

"I know, but-"

"You should be happy that they're treating you the same. It's much
healthier than-"

"-when you dug me up? I know."

"Good." She gives him a sly smile. "But not everything is the same."

"No?" he asks, wondering what she's hinting at.

"Remember when I saw you in January?" she asks, letting her voice drop
into a teasing whisper.

Mulder pulls her to him and nuzzles her neck. "How could I forget? I'm
surprised your back isn't still bruised from the wall."

"Seven months from now we're going to have a permanent reminder of that
visit."

"Oh," he says, catching her drift. "Once more into the breach, huh?"

"Something like that," she agrees. "But don't say breach. Let's not
tempt fate."

"You're worried about bad luck now?" Mulder teases her. "I guess
something has changed after all."

~*~*~

Missy and Krycek's Home 
8 p.m.

Just when it seems like Ryan might finally nod off after his bath, he
opens his eyes, then his mouth. A forlorn wail exposes the nubs of two
shiny new teeth trying to come in. He flails when Missy tries to
comfort him.

"Ryan, you're trying Mommy's patience, yes you are." Missy tries to
keep her tone light, but her baby is exhausting her. "Why can't you be
more like your cousins?"

As soon as the words are out of her mouth she regrets them, even though
she knows that he's too young to understand. It does strike her as
unfair that Ryan is more of a handful than William, or Christopher
or...She once complained about that to her mother, and Maggie told her
that Page had been a fussy baby too, but she hadn't been around then to
see how her sister's oldest two were when they were as small as Ryan.
None of the younger kids cried for hours at a time the way Ryan does.

But, as always, eventually he stops crying, and she doesn't even dare
to breathe a sigh of relief.

As Missy walks by the den with a finally sleeping Ryan on her shoulder,
she notices that her husband is peering intently at a sheet of paper.
She doesn't want to wake the baby, but she promises herself that she'll
swing back through the room once she's put Ryan down.

Three minutes later, Krycek is still staring at the same page. 

"Did you discover the meaning of life?" she asks, making him look up at
her. To her surprise, the comment doesn't elicit a smile.

"No. It's the result of a DNA test." 

"A DNA test on who?" Missy asks sharply. A prick of guilt pokes her
heart when she remembers asking her sister if she cheated on Mulder
after his abduction. The thought that Krycek might have questions about
their baby makes her as upset as her sister had been.

Krycek sighs. "There was this little girl there at the facility that
looks just like Emily. I had to be sure that she wasn't..."

"That she wasn't ours?" Missy supplies, feeling vaguely relieved.

"Exactly. She isn't. She's not even distantly related to you or me."

Her brow furrows. "And finding this out makes you unhappy? Did you want
her to be ours, Alex?" They'd discussed only having two kids at length,
and she'd thought he'd been happy with the decision, even if Emily is
still talking about wanting a little sister "some day."

"No, I didn't hope that she was ours. That's not the problem. I'm
unhappy because I'm worried still."

"What about?"

"Mulder and I had nothing better to do but talk a lot of the time. One
of the things we discussed was him discovering Emily's surrogate and
finding paper work on her and the other women."

"And?"

"And there were other kids born the same way she was. More than half a
dozen of them, some of them older than her. I thought we'd find them in
that facility, but none of the kids there was much more than two years
old. What happened to them?"

Missy sits on the couch next to him, and picks up his good hand.
"Hopefully, they are in safe, loving homes. Emily wasn't being held in
a home like those little ones you and Mulder rescued, either. She seems
to have pretty much forgotten her adoptive parents by now, but when she
was small I asked her about them. The Sims loved her, and I'm sure they
still would if they hadn't died they way they had. Even at three years
old, it was clear that she was convinced of that. I don't know why
those other kids you didn't find wouldn't have been given good homes
too."

"Maybe they're dead," Krycek suggests in a low voice.

"It's possible. If they are, they're beyond worrying about now," Missy
says, trying to sound reasonable rather than cold.

"Yeah."

"Oh, man!" They hear Emily's voice coming from the living room. 

Missy moves to get up, but Krycek stops her. "I'll go."

~*~*~

"What's up?' Krycek asks Emily a moment later.

Emily points at the TV. "I was watching My Wife and Kids and the news
came on. They keep talking about a fire."

"Why were you watching that? Did your mom say it was okay?" he asks
before turning his gaze to the TV.

The screen is indeed filled with flames as a reporter talks about what
happened in some distant location. He begins to pay attention to the
reporter just soon enough to think he hears her say "the dead are a
suspected cult who believed in aliens" which is enough to make him
shiver. Reaching over, he pushes the power button.

"Hey!" Emily immediately pouts.

"Why don't you go get your coat?" Krycek suggests.

"How come?"

"I thought we might go look through that nice telescope your aunt Dana
bought you for Christmas."

"Okay! I've been waiting to use it outside like real astronomers do.
Mommy said it's too cold to bring Ryan outside, so I had to wait til
you got home."

"Well, I'm home now," he tells her, smiling as she grabs her coat off
the coat tree.

Krycek gives the blank TV screen a mistrustful look. The cult that has
apparently just burned itself up believed in aliens. Were those people
connected to the ones who thought there was a prophecy involving the
family? He made a mental note to look into what exactly the cult
believed. It was possible that they were harmless and deluded in an
unrelated way like those poor people who though a comet was coming for
them, but he didn't think it was possible to be too careful.

A few minutes later the worry slips from him as he helps his daughter
look through the telescope and search for distant stars.

~*~*~

March 14th, 2002
Afternoon

::The more things change, the more they stay the same.:: Mulder thinks
as they arrive at Scully's doctor's appointment. The nurse greets them
with a familiar smile, and doesn't bother to explain anything after
telling them what exam room to go to.

"Ah, if it isn't one of my favorite patients," Doctor Hart says as he
enters the room. "Favorite dads, too."

"Favorite because we keep you in business?" Mulder asks, grinning at
the obstetrician.

"Favorite because you're comfortable with the whole experience, which
isn't something I get with first-time moms. But big families are making
something of a comeback, so I'm in the right business at the right
time," Hart agrees. "Dana, how far long do you think you are?"

"Just over seven weeks," Scully says firmly.

Hart smiles. "You sound pretty sure about that."

"Mulder was gone on an assignment for months," Scully explains. "We saw
each other on January twentieth." She spreads her hands. "Other than
that, we're looking at November or yesterday."

Inexplicably, Mulder finds heat rushing to his cheeks. The doctor knows
that they have sex. If there was ever any doubt of that, they have
seven children to prove it. It still it embarrasses him slightly to be
talking about their sex life with Scully's obstetrician.

The doctor doesn't miss a beat, though Mulder thinks he hears a faint
chuckle. "Well, that'll make predicting your due date much easier.
We're looking at October 18th or so. Why don't you get up on the table
and we'll take a look."

After Scully climbs onto the table, she lifts her gown before he needs
to ask her to. Hart squirts her belly with the medium for the
ultrasound. Eventually a small squirming alien comes into view as
Mulder watches. Not that he would ever tell her that he thinks that
their babies look like aliens this early in pregnancy. Somehow, he
doesn't think would have the sense of humor for that.

"Here we are!" Hart says as he too eyes the wiggling mass. He changes
the screen's view slightly. "Oh."

"Oh? Oh doesn't sound good," Mulder says fretfully.

"Doctor Hart?" Scully starts to sit up but Hart holds out his hand to
restrain her.

"Nothing bad," Hart says quickly. "Just mildly unexpected."

"What?!" Mulder and Scully say as one.

"Did you ever find out if Jared and David are identical?" Hart asks,
and Mulder wonders if he's lost his mind. How can you want to discuss
such a trivial subject right then? Right before Mulder asks him to get
back on the topic, please, Hart points a finger at the monitor.
"Because these two are definitely identical."

All the blood drains from Scully's face. "Twins? Again?"

"Surprise?" Hart says, uncertain.

"Wow." Mulder squeezes Scully's hand reassuringly. "And yes, David and
Jared are identical." He'd finally talked her into doing the zygosity
test shortly before they left for their vacation over the summer. It
came as no surprise that their sons were officially identical.

Hart looks mildly puzzled. "This is unusual. Fraternal twins tend to
run in families. Identical twins don't. Which isn't to say that some
women don't have more than one set of identicals, since it does
happen."

"How do you know that they'll be identical?" Mulder asks, squinting at
the monitor. All he sees is a couple of fluttery shapes on the screen.

Hurt uses his laser pointer to isolate a shape on the screen. "They
share the same placenta. That only happens with identical twins."
Before Scully can get alarmed the doctor quickly adds, "They have their
own amniotic sacs though, so we won't have to worry about tangling
cords or twin to twin transfusion."

"Good," Scully says faintly.

Hart looks uncomfortable about her lack of enthusiasm, and it's
beginning to bother Mulder as well. "Well. Everybody looks healthy, so
we'll have the front desk schedule your next appointment. I'll let you
get dressed."

The doctor quickly makes his exit from the room. Mulder gives Scully a
confused look. "Do you want me to leave the room while you get dressed
too?"

"No."

"Okay... are you okay?"

She laughs briefly, and it's a brittle sound. "Carrying David and Jared
wasn't easy, and that was almost four years ago."

Mulder tries a put his arm around her to comfort her. "It'll be okay.
We'll make sure you take it easy."

She pulls away. "This is your fault!"

He blinks in confusion. "My fault? It's not my egg that split in two."
::And I seem to recall being in the middle of asking you if you wanted
a condom before you threw a leg around my waist.::

"No, but it's your fault that it did."

"How?" he asks defensively.

"There's this study. Identical twins seem to run in some families even
though they're not supposed to. It concluded that there is an enzyme in
some men's sperm that causes ova to split. You. Must. Have. It," Scully
says, poking him in the chest.

"Sorry?"

This at least gets her to smile. "No, I'm sorry. It's actually both our
faults. But this is going to change a lot."

"Sure. We'll be back on double diaper duty," Mulder says, wrinkling his
nose at the memory of David and Jared's early months. "Hopefully we can
get Christopher potty trained completely soon."

She shakes her head. "That's not I mean. I meant at work. Twins at my
age is considered a high risk pregnancy. I'm not going to be spending a
lot of time out in the field, this time."

"Oh." He hadn't thought of that. Fieldwork had pretty much directly
resulted in David and Jared being born a month early. It wasn't
something that either of them wanted to repeat, even though the boys
had been healthy. "I guess we'll have to lay it out on the table for
Kersh, and hope that he'll allow you to just do desk duty."

"Great. Writing reports for several months is what I always wanted."

"But you're so darn good at it." Mulder smiles.

She rolls her eyes.

"We won't be able to find out for a while yet if they're boys or girls,
right?"

"Right. Not for several weeks yet, Mulder," she says, looking up from
buttoning her blouse.

"Just think, we'll be able to have our own little league team soon," he
enthuses.

"You're not helping me feel better."

"Sorry," he says again. 

"This is the last time, you know," she says as they reach the lobby.

"Time for what?" he asks blankly.

She gestures to her belly. "This."

"Okay." Mulder smiles at her. "We both knew the time would come when we
were done having new babies."

"Good. I'm glad we agree," she says firmly.

He thinks he sees a little sadness mixed in with her resolve, though. 

"With two more we'll finally have a full house," he says, going for
levity. This time she cracks a smile.

 ~*~*~

Meanwhile... 
Hoover Building

"Hello?"

Doggett looks up when he hears an uncertain voice addressing him from
the doorway. A young blonde woman holding a folder stands there, giving
him a curious look. "Yes?"

"Oh. I was hoping to find agent Mulder or agent Scully." Then as an
afterthought the woman adds, "I'm Leyla Harrison."

"John Doggett," he replies out of politeness. "Unfortunately, agent
Scully is gone for the afternoon. And agent Mulder's status is sort of
undetermined at the moment. I don't know when he'll be back." Doggett
explains. Mulder had called earlier in the day to complain that Kersh
wouldn't give him a solid date to talk to him about reinstatement.
"Agent Reyes and I are the only ones who are at the office for the rest
of the day."

The woman looks disappointed. "Darn. There was something I was hoping
they would look into."

"What's that?" Doggett asks, his curiosity aroused.

The woman looks hesitant. "I'm in the accounting department, but I've
always followed Mulder and Scully's cases. I wanted to bring this to
their attention because it was something I thought, uh, might be
aligned with Mulder's... interests."

Doggett frowns. "What you're saying is you don't think that other
agents would have the same sort of open mind that Mulder has a
reputation for."

 Harrison spreads her hands in defeat. "Basically."

"Agent Reyes and I've been investigating the paranormal alongside agent
Scully for quite awhile," Doggett says, sounding slightly defensive.
"Anything you could go to agent Mulder with, you could bring to us as
well."

"Right." The woman's cheeks turn red. She hands him the folder. "I
think I've stumbled onto an X-File."

"How?"

"It all started when I tracked down a mileage discrepancy in the
bureau's vehicle fleet. It turns out a really nice secretary from our
Baltimore field office had used a Ford Taurus without authorization."

"Unauthorized vehicle used is an X-File?" Doggett says, with a hint of
a smile.

This only flusters the woman. "No, of course not. When I investigated
her misconduct, I found out that she was desperate to go and check on
her grandson. She's the one who told me about this case."

Though Doggett was becoming impatient, he tried not to let it show.
Especially since his joke had gone over so poorly. "And the X-File
is...?"

Harrison takes back the folder and removes a photo. It's a gruesome
crime-scene photo of a dead woman. "This was her daughter." Harris
removes another photo, this one blood-free. "Her son, Tommy, said that
a monster killed her."

Doggett stares at her.

"I know. Why take the word of an eight-year-old? But the coroner
concluded that she died of self-inflicted stab wounds."

"Why do you doubt his conclusion?"

"How could somebody stab themselves sixteen times?" Harrison asks with
a bit of triumph in her voice.

"I think it's possible," Doggett says dismissively. "Some people have
an unusually high tolerance for pain. Maybe that's what we're seeing
here."

Harrison now looks frustrated. "I think there's more to it than that.
Tommy's father has been acting strangely. He pulled him out of school,
brought him to a remote mountain in Pennsylvania, and has cut off all
contact with friends and family.

"His grandmother isn't even allowed to see him, which is why she stole
a car try to go and to reason with to him. Then, he moved again after
she tried to talk to him! If there's nothing wrong, why would he act
like that?"

"There could be any number of reasons. The man's grieving for his lost
wife. Maybe he and the mother-in-law have bad blood between them, and
he doesn't want her influencing his son. So far, what you've shown me
is a family issue following a suicide. I don't think there's anything
here to investigate."

"Wait!" Harrison says desperately. "Tommy said that the same monster
that killed his mother also killed the family cat, Spanky."

"Do you have the dead cat so that agent Scully could examine it?"
Doggett says, wondering if agent Scully would even be willing to.

"No..."

"Then I don't think there's anything this office can do for you."

"But a little boy could be in danger!"

There are little boys in danger all the time, Doggett thinks but
doesn't say. "I'm sorry, Ms Harrison."

She gives him a wounded look before gathering up the folder and
stalking out of the room.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
7:30 p.m.

It's only been half an hour since Mulder took the kids to the theater,
and just minutes since she put Christopher and William to bed, so the
last thing Scully expects is to hear the front door being pounded on.
Peering impatiently through the peep hole, she realizes it's no one she
knows.

She opens the door a couple of inches. "Who are you? It better be an
emergency if you're knocking on my door this late at night," she tells
the stranger warningly. In the back of her mind she wonders if she
might be scaring one of Michelle's friends since he's so young, but she
doesn't really care. Michelle isn't home, anyway.

"It's not late," the young man sputters, confused.

"If you got up with a teething baby at four this morning, it's plenty
late. Your name?"

"Uh, I'm Gabe Rotter. I have the thing you've been waiting for." He
does have a box.

"Should I know you?" she asks impatiently. If he is one of Michelle's
friends, he's dumber than the usual suspects. Most of the nanny's
friends are bright, polite people in their twenties.

"Probably not. I'm a friend of Leyla Harrison. Agent Harrison," he adds
when she gives him a blank look. "She knows agent Doggett?"

"Right. I haven't been waiting for anything from her, so-"

"Here." Gabe ignores her protests, and thrusts the box at her. It
smells terrible.

"Jesus. What the hell is that?" she asks, pushing the box back into his
hand.

"A dead cat."

"Why would an agent send me a dead cat?" Scully asks, taking a step
backwards. "I don't want it!"

"You've got to take it. Leyla said your office is helping her out on a
case and you needed it ASAP, so ... here, you're welcome."

"Get out. Get out now, before I go get my gun. And take that thing with
you," Scully growls.

"I can't!" Gabe protests. "Do you have any idea what I went through to
get this thing? I snuck onto the property where your perp used to live
and I dug up the whole yard looking for it."

"Do I look like I care? Go away, now!"

"Uh-uh. Leyla said she'd go out with me only if I got you the cat, and
damn it, I got it," he declares, flipping open the box.

The smell wafts up at them with an unmuffled vigor, and Scully turns
and runs three steps before vomiting in the sink.

"Gee, didn't say anything about you having a weak stomach, sorry.
You've done autopsies though, so how can this be enough to make you
thr-"

She turns on tap to wash everything away and gropes for a glass so she
can rinse out her mouth. Once she does, she fixes Gabe with a fiery
gaze. "I don't have a weak stomach, you imbecile. I'm pregnant."

"Oh."

"I just found out I'm having twins again-"

Gabe's eyes widen. "Again?"

She ignores him and continues to speak. "-and they'll probably both be
boys again. Thus bringing the grand total up to seven boys. The house
barely survives the five I already have, and their two sisters, so what
will I do with two more running around?"

"You've got seven kids?" His voice squeaks. "If a woman says she wants
'a lot' of kids, is that what she means? Because Leyla once said-"

"Four boys in a row already," she says, waving her water glass at him.
"And you've brought me a dead cat." She glances down at the dead
animal. "What happened to this thing?"

"Vet says he chewed a hole in himself."

Scully recoils slightly. "Why would he do that?"

Gabe shrugs. "Why did the kid's mother stab herself sixteen times in
the stomach?"

"That's what this is about, an unusual suicide?" Scully asks sharply.

"I don't know, I guess. All I know is that some guy named agent Doggett
said that they couldn't go forward with the case if you couldn't see
the cat's body."

Wiping her mouth, Scully prepares herself to give the cat more than a
cursory glance. After a moment she walks to the phone.

Gabe gives her a scared look. "And not calling the cops on me, are you?
All I was trying to do was do a favor for Leyla so she'd like me!"

Ignoring him, she dials a number. "John, I'd really like to thank you
for sending me an idiot and a dead cat." She listens for a moment as
Doggett apologizes, and explains how the dead cat has arrived in her
kitchen. After a moment, she says, "Maybe you do want to investigate
this."

After she hangs up, she turns to Gabe. "Guess what, you're going to
assist me with an autopsy."

He freezes. "What?"

"Your little friend wants to know what ‘really' killed this cat, so
we're going to find out for her."

"But-"

Scully gives his a flat look. "You want her to like you, don't you?
This will give you a lot of mileage."

Gabe swallows hard. 

Turning from her "assistant" Scully pulls things she thinks she'll need
out of the cabinets. Noticing him fidgeting, she tells him, "Go down
stairs through that door. The washer and dryer are at the foot of the
stairs. Get me a plastic trap off the shelf to their right. Make sure
you close the door tight when you come back up so my toddler doesn't
get it open."

He nearly trips over himself in his hurry to comply. Scully uses his
absence to go up and check on William and Christopher. Christopher is
sleeping soundly, but William is wet, so it takes her a few minutes
before she goes back to her guest and the cat carcass.

She takes the tarp from Gabe, and this snaps him out of his stunned
silence. "You got to be freaking kidding me. I can't believe you're
cutting up a dead cat on your kitchen table."

"This wasn't my idea, Gabe. My husband isn't home, and the nanny has
the night off, so it's not as though I can do this anywhere else."

"It just seems...wrong. What's the big deal about the cat, anyway?"

"Because it would seem that poor Spanky here may have chewed a hole in
his own stomach ... which you'll admit is unusual behavior."

"You mean he killed himself. Animals can commit suicide?" Gabe asks,
wonder in his voice.

"Apparently. His owner Mrs. Conlon stabbed herself with a knife. The
wounds are in the same place and if we figure out why ... well, then,
you'll have something really good to share Ms. Harrison, won't you?

He nods, shuddering a little. "Tell me what to do."

"Hold the ribs open."

"She better go out with me after this," Gabe mutters. He turns his head
away.

~*~*~

Meanwhile...
Doggett's Home

After a brief conversation with agent Harrison to arrange to pick her
up, Doggett hangs up the phone and goes to look for the boys to let
them know that he'd be leaving. And he finds them with their coats on,
heading for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"The basket ball game, remember?" Luke answers warily. "You said we
could go."

Doggett resists the urge to slap himself on the forehead – the boys had
asked permission to go to their high school's game and he'd forgotten
about it. Glancing at Hannah, he wonders if it's possible to get her a
ticket to the game too. But he knows that she'll hate it and ruin their
night.

"Oh yeah, I remember now. You'll be home by ten-thirty, right?" he
asks, recalling the particulars of their agreement.

"Sure, Dad," Luke answers for both of them.

"Okay. I'm not sure if I'll be home then, but I'll give you a call if
I'm not."

Gibson raises an eyebrow. "Checking up on us?"

"That's what dads do," he tells him blandly. "Have fun."

"Bye!"

Once they're gone, he looks over his shoulder at Hannah. She's sitting
on the floor, coloring in her new coloring book. There is no monster,
Doggett tells himself. From what Scully said, it might have been a
parasite. Since the boy and his father seem to be okay from the
grandmother's report, it's unlikely that there's any chance that they
brought it with them when they moved, twice.

"Hey, Hannah, I've got some bad news for you."

"What, Daddy?"

"You're going to come with me while I talk to some people. It'll be
boring, and you'll stay in the car."

"Do I have to?" Hannah complains.

"Sorry, kiddo, it's too late to get another babysitter." He wishes he
could ship her over to Scully and Mulder's, but she's already put out
with him over examining the cat's corpse.

"Aww."

"We'll do something fun this weekend to make up for it. I promise."

The girl grudgingly gets to her feet, and manages to give Reyes a smile
when she arrives.

~*~*~

King's Acres 
8:30 p.m.

"Sweetie, you need to stay in the car," Harrison tells Hannah as they
pull into the driveway of a large cabin.

The man at the gate had obviously been told to talk up the virtues of
the place with all comers, because they'd been offered a great deal on
a similar rental before they'd been allowed to identify themselves.
Driving up to the cabin, it seems unlikely because there are no
buildings anywhere along the two-mile road.

"Dad already told me," Hannah replies. "I brought my book and a reading
light." Hannah holds up a copy of Bunnicula, recently inherited from
Luke.

"Oh good, you already told her about the monster," Harrison says, then
shrinks against her seat when both Doggett and Reyes give her outraged
looks.

"A monster?" Hannah sounds scared.

"There is no monster," Reyes says quickly. "A little boy thought there
was, that's all. Nothing to worry about."

"Look," Doggett says to Harrison. "The only reason I agreed to come out
here is because agent Scully said she was worried that this case might
involve a parasite. It's not an X-File, but we owe it to them to inform
them that they might need medical treatment. I could have done it over
the phone if you weren't so hell bent on talking checking in on the
boy. I don't need you filling my kid's head with crap about monsters."

"All right," Harrison says in a small voice.

"Keep the doors locked, Hannah." Doggett bends over and kisses the
girl's forehead. "We'll be back real soon."

By the time they reach the front door, a man is standing on the porch.
Doggett gives the man a grim smile. "Jeffrey Conlon?"

"Yes. You are?"

Reyes flashes her badge. "Hi. I'm Agent Monica Reyes. This is Agent
John Doggett and Agent Harrison. We're with the FBI." The others fumble
for their badges as well.

Conlon sighs. "Let me guess, my mother-in-law sent you up here, right?
I've told her repeatedly that Tommy is fine, but she won't let it
drop-"

"You're right, she did speak to agent Harrison, but that's not why
we're here." Doggett explains.

"Then why?"

"Your dead cat was brought to one of our colleagues, and she's
concerned that he, and perhaps your late wife, had a stomach parasite."

"You think that's why she did it?" Conlon looks horrified.

"Maybe," Doggett agrees. "If so, it's a pretty nasty one. I think you
and your boy ought to be examined at a hospital immediately. We'll
escort you there, if you like."

"It can't wait until tomorrow?" Conlon asks irritably.

"I'm not sure that-"

The door creaks behind them, and a young boy dressed in pajamas stares
out at them. "Dad? I heard voices, what are you doing? I got scared."

"Go back inside, Tommy."

Before the boy does, Harrison pushes forward. "Tommy, your grandmother
works we me and told me that she was worried about you. Are you okay?"

"What right does she have to ask him something like that?" Conlon
demands to know. Doggett shrugs.

Tommy looks confused. "I'm okay." 

"But you told her you were afraid of a monster, remember?" Harrison
asks excitedly.

Tommy glances up at his father before saying, "There's no such thing."

His father glares angrily at Harrison. "Tell Dorothy this is exactly
why she's not allowed to visit anymore. Now, good night." He picks the
boy up and slams the door behind them.

"Well, that went well," Doggett says sourly. "Who is going to call
tomorrow to make sure they actually go to the doctor's?"

"I will," Harrison says with a guilty look. "I'm sorry I wasted your
time tonight. Obviously I just got caught up in Dorothy's imagination
gone into overdrive."

The three get into the car, and put on their seatbelts. Hannah glances
up at them. "Are they sick?"

"I don't know. They didn't look sick, though," Doggett tells her.
"Thank you for staying in the car."

"Welcome."

When Doggett turns the key in the ignition, the engine gives a few
half-hearted attempts, and then goes silent. He is about to ask his
daughter if she left the radio on, but then remembers that he'd kept
his keys. Shrugging, he makes another attempt.

"Ewww!!" Hannah and Harrison both scream when the entire car is coated
in a thick wet liquid forced in through the vents. The worst of the
mess gets on Doggett and Reyes. Calmer, Harrison picks up Doggett's
roll of paper towels and hands it to him.

A moment later, they get out of the car and open the hood. The engine
compartment is as splattered with what appears to be blood. Hannah
starts to cry softly.

"I hope it was a possum." Reyes sounds sick to her stomach. "And not
something nicer."

"Hannah, did you hear anything crawl into the engine?" Doggett asks.

"No. The only thing I heard was you talking to the man."

"What happened?" A voice asks over their shoulders.

"I'm not sure." Doggett admits. "Screwed up the engine, whatever it
was."

Conlon sighs in frustration when he spots Hannah. "You should come
inside while you wait for a tow-truck. It's too cold out here for a
little kid."

~*~*~

Reyes and Harrison both try to call a tow-truck after borrowing a phone
book, but neither woman can get any reception. They discuss it quietly
with Doggett.

Hannah, huddling on the Conlon's couch, looks up when she hears Tommy
whisper to his father, "The monster won't let them leave." She squeezes
her eyes tightly, and reminds herself that her father said that the
little boy thought there was a monster, but it wasn't real.

"The engine's shot. I don't know how long it will be before we can get
a call out so someone can get the car and give us a ride home," Doggett
says to Conlon. The other man nods briefly.

Harrison's eyes sparkle with too much enthusiasm for Doggett's taste.
"Phones that won't work, cars that won't start. It reminds me of a case
Mulder and Scully investigated. A teenager who was struck by lightning
- his body affected the electrical workinggs of everything around him."

"I don't think that's what we're dealing with here, Leyla," Reyes
objects.

"Agent Mulder wasted no time closing that case. I just try to think
like him. What would Agents Mulder and Scully do if they were in this
situation?"

"Agent Mulder is at the movie theater with five little kids, and agent
Scully is at home with your dead cat. I don't think either of them is
going to do anything that would help our situation." Doggett points
out. "Not unless one of them can magically make cell phone reception
happen. I know Mulder can't do crap with car repairs, so he wouldn't be
much help there."

The declaration that Mulder isn't skilled at something seems to startle
Harrison. "Well, maybe not, but-"

Her remark is cut short when Tommy begins to scream for his father.
Doggett towards the boy's room, and is shocked to see that Conlon is
holding the boy's door shut.

"Help, it's in here!" Tommy screams through the door. Conlon looks
grim, but holds the door shut.

"What the hell are you doing?" Doggett demands to know. 

He pushes Conlon out of the way, and the man protests that he
shouldn't. "We can't let them get out!" He hisses.

Reyes joins them, and they both go into Tommy's bedroom. He's huddled
on his bed, shying away from two giant insects. Reyes snags the boy off
the bed, while Doggett heaves a heavy book at the closest one. It winks
out of existence, but a moment later two more appear and scuttle under
the bed.

~*~*~

After they bring Tommy out of his room, he and Hannah are sat at the
small kitchen table and given crayons and paper. Watching them, Reyes
finds herself a little surprised by the cool reception Hannah is giving
the little boy. She adores Luke and Gibson, at least when she's not mad
at Luke, and is good friends with Sammy too. But she is doing her level
best to ignore Tommy. When she notices that her father's girlfriend is
standing behind her, she smiles and holds up a picture of a mermaid.

Tommy's picture is set more in reality, and he diligently works on a
portrait of two women.

"How are they?" a voice at her ear asks. 

She looks up at Doggett. "Okay. He doesn't seem to be as traumatized as
I feared that he'd be."

"His father and I looked everywhere, but we can't find hide nor hair of
them."

Reyes shudders. "But that doesn't mean they're gone."

"I know," Doggett says grimly. "I was hoping to bring one of them to
Dana-"

Her lips quirk into a grin. "Oh, she would have loved that."

"I know. I'm already on her list today."

"What sort of list?" She looks like she's about to laugh.

"You know very well what sort of list." Doggett glances down at the
kids' drawings. "Nice mermaid, Hannah."

"Thanks. Can we watch The Little Mermaid this weekend?'

"I guess so." He tries not to let his dismay show - there are few
movies he'd less like to watch, but he did drag her off into this. "Hey
Tommy, who are you drawing?"

Tommy points a thumb at Leyla, who is across the room trying her phone
again. "Her."

"Tommy, tell John what you told me about what we saw in your room
tonight." Reyes encourages. The conversation had been brief, and like
pulling teeth.

"Those are the monsters that hurt my mommy. But my dad says I'm not
supposed to talk about it."

~*~*~

When he goes back to the boy's bedroom, his father is staring at
another drawing the boy has done. Though he's young, Tommy has an eye
for drawing, and it's easy to recognize things like his old home, his
mother, his dead cat.

"I want to know what we're dealing with," Doggett says in his best
no-arguments tone.

"What makes you think I know?" Conlon replies sullenly.

"Your kid said you told him not to talk about those things. And you
trapped him in here with those things! What sort of parent does that
sort of thing?"
 
Conlon sighs. "You have every right to think I'm a bastard, but I want
to show you something. He rolls up his shirt sleeve and displays thick
ropy scars. They're red, so they're recent. "Those things won't hurt
him, but they got me. I thought they were going to kill me."

"What sort of animal is it?" Doggett asks, unable to pull his eyes away
from the shiny scar tissue.

"I don't know what they are. All I know is that they keep following us,
even after two moves. I think it's too late, now, though."

"Why is it too late?"

"They're going to kill us all." He glances at Doggett's face. "You've
seen for yourself that they can't be killed. It just makes more of
them."

"There's something you're not telling us." Doggett accuses. Conlon says
nothing.

Doggett leaves him standing there, and runs into Harrison. "Did you
find anything out?"

"I found out that there's something deeply wrong with that man,"
Doggett says shortly.

She shrugs, as if to say anyone could have told him that. "You know,
one time Mulder and Scully discovered a sea creature that was living in
a washing machine. Maybe these things are like that."

He'd like to correct her, but for all he knows, the two things could be
related.

~*~*~

"Daddy!" Doggett runs towards the sound of his daughter's voice. When
he gets there, she's standing on a chair and pointing at the floor.
There are four more of the huge bugs. Doggett sweeps them aside with
his shoe, and half a dozen scatter, headed under the stove. Tommy
doesn't look up from his drawing as Hannah wraps her arms around
Doggett's neck.

Apparently worried about the scream, Conlon appears a moment later.

"Get Tommy dressed and pack things you might need for the next few
days."

"Why?" Conlon sounds listless.

"We're going to walk down to the guard's shed, and bum a phone."

Conlon moves as if to comply, but he says "Why bother? They're not
going to let us get that far."

Before Doggett can tell him off, he's grabbed a backpack out of the
closet, and gone to pack.

Glancing at the table, Doggett sees that Tommy has been busy drawing a
cave, a woman with a stained shirt, and a couple of the ugly bugs. The
boy hardly seems aware that there is anything going on.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
9 p.m.

"So, this is Johnny Fabulous, huh?" Gabe asks, playing with Mulder's
badge while Scully makes a phone call. "He doesn't look like I
expected. I thought he'd look more like Johnny Depp."

"Give me that," Scully hisses, holding the phone to her ear.

"I mean really... ‘Mulder's so smart. Mulder's so dreamy. Scully is the
best scientist ever, I wish I was just like her.' That's all Leyla ever
talks about. Mulder and Scully, Scully and Mulder, blah, blah, blah.
You'd think you two were Elvis or something."

Scully hangs up. "Damn. I can't reach Doggett or Reyes."

"So? You said you didn't find anything in the cat. What's the worry
for?"

"That's the whole problem. There should have been something in the
cat."

"Like what?"

"The thing it was trying to chew out. The bite marks make it seem like
something in it was hurting it so much that chewing it out seemed like
a good way of dealing with it."

"That sucks, but it was just a cat," Gabe objects.

"Which would be relevant if it didn't seem like the woman might have
also been trying to cut something out of herself," Scully points out,
and his face goes white.

"Could it be in my car? I drove the cat here." Gabe looks panicky.

Before she can reassure him that there's probably not something lurking
in his car, the front door opens. "Mulder, don't let the kids come in
here!" Scully calls.

To her relief, she hears a lot of small feet going up stairs. A moment
later Mulder appears in the doorway saying, "God, that had better not
be tomorrow's dinner." His smirk dissolves into shock when his eyes lit
upon their guests, living and deceased.

"Don't take your coat off," Scully tells him. "You're going back out." 

~*~*~

9:15 p.m.

A stiff wind is beginning to pick up as Doggett leads the way down the
dark road the Conlons currently live upon. He holds Hannah's hand, but
Tommy and his father walk apart somewhere behind Leyla and Reyes.

Bending his head towards Reyes, he asks quietly, "Do you think those
things will stay back there at the house?"

She shivers. "I sure hope so."

Still fairly upbeat, Leyla looks almost cheerful as she starts to say,
"You know, Mulder and Scully once investigated a case where –
aaaaahhhhhh!!!!"

Leyla's comment cuts off as a huge lumbering shape rises up beside her.
Before anyone else can react, Leyla is running at full speed, a dark
blur of fur close on her heels.

"It's a bear!" Reyes shouts to her. "Climb a tree! Climb a tree!"

Leyla shrieks, then scrambles up a tree with more speed than Doggett
expects. Angry, the bear stands at the bottom of the tree, roaring and
trying to swat at the lower branches. Screaming again, she scales
higher, worrying everyone when she reaches thinner limbs.

"Holy shit, we need to help her!" Reyes cries. Hannah gives her a
wide-eyed stare, but Reyes doesn't apologize for her language.

She begins to look around for a possible weapon to scare off the bear,
but stops when Tommy's piping voice says, "Don't help her."

"Tommy, don't be silly," Reyes says, giving the boy a confused smile.
"Of course we need to help her."

"You'll be sorry," Tommy promises.

Ignoring him, Reyes apparently decides that shooting the bear is
probably the best option, because she pulls her gun and runs three
steps towards Leyla's cries of dismay. After three steps she screams
herself, and drops to the ground.

~*~*~

"Monica?!" Doggett's voice is laced with panic as he pulls Hannah after
him in his effort to reach the fallen agent's side. "What's wrong?"

"There's something in me!" she gasps, eyes tightly squeezed shut.
Looking down at her, Hannah seems on the verge of tears.

"Hannah, hold her hand. It'll make her feel better," Doggett tells her.
He doesn't think he's telling the truth, but it might offer Reyes some
comfort as he unzips her jacket and pulls up her shirt.

Under the skin of her belly, something moves. The only other time he
saw anything remotely like that was towards the middle of his ex's
pregnancies with their two children. He knows for certain that Reyes
isn't pregnant, and even if she were and hadn't told him yet, she
wouldn't be far enough along to see anything moving. And no babies had
limbs that pointed.

It's definitely something more sinister than a baby. Reyes howls in
agony.

Turning to look behind him, Doggett sees the placid expression on
Tommy's face, and the fright on his father's. "This has something to do
with the boy. He's doing this somehow. His drawings." Doggett adds when
he remembers the final trio the child had made before they left the
house.

"You should have left before it was too late," Jeffery Conlon says
flatly.

"You're his father, make him stop!"

Conlon's eyes are empty. "I can't. Do you think I'd be a widower now if
I could make him stop? He doesn't mean to hurt anyone. Little boys
don't hurt people on purpose."

Disgusted, Doggett tries to appeal to Tommy instead. "Tommy, this is
wrong. Stop now!"

It's hard to hear Tommy's reply over Reyes' moans, and Leyla's yelps of
fear as the bear finally gets a hold of a low branch and shakes the
tree, but he says, "You can't stop me."

Grimly, Doggett takes a step towards the boy. A swarm of the bug
creatures materialize out of thin air, and begin to crawl up his pants
legs. Shouting in disgust, he swats at them, but they cling
tenaciously, and a few begin to rip into his clothes.

Tommy is fascinated, and his eyes don't leave Doggett. Which is why he
doesn't notice that Hannah has run up behind him with a rock in her
hand until she shouts, "Leave them alone! You leave them alone!"

He turns, just in time to meet the down swing of her arm with his
forehead. He doesn't even have time to throw up an arm in defense
before her swing connects. His eyes roll back in their sockets before
the blood from his cut forehead even has time to get in them.

As soon as he sways on his feet and passes out, everything stops. The
bugs, both the ones clinging to Doggett and the one inside Reyes,
disappear. The bear winks out of existence too.

And that's when Mulder pulls up in his mini-van. Sticking his head out
the window, he looks over the scene for a moment. Agent Harrison is
climbing down from a tree, and there's an unconscious child on the
ground with three other adults staring at him.

Speaking to the only person paying attention to him, Mulder asks
Hannah, "So... You up for some hot chocolate on the way home?"

The little girl nods. Then she bursts into tears.

 ~*~*~
 
Mulder-Scully Home
10:45 p.m.

To Mulder's relief, there is no longer a dead cat on the kitchen table
when he gets home. Instead it's scrubbed clean, cleaner than he's seen
it in at least a couple of years.

Scully yawns, and notices his gaze. "I made Gabe clean up. It was the
least he could do. Is everyone okay?"

"I think Hannah's traumatized, and the little boy is still unconscious,
but they seem okay otherwise."

Concerned, Scully asks "What happened?" 

"The kid imagined bad things happening to people, and then they
happened. He attacked everyone but Hannah and his dad with his
monsters, and Hannah knocked him out to stop him."

"Hannah did?!" Scully exclaims, surprised. "One of our most popular
tea-party guests knocked another kid out?"

"Yeah. With a rock. She's shaken that she managed to hurt someone, but
if not for her..." He glances at the spot where he'd last seen the cat.
"They said the boy will probably wake up soon."

"Thanks for rescuing them," Scully says, snaking an arm around his
waist.

"My white horse and shining armor were itching to save someone," he
says wryly.

~*~*~

The Following Monday
Hoover Building

Scully is looking up a report when she hears footsteps. Doggett grins
at her, "Decided to get an early start, huh?"

"Yeah. William's teething, so I got woken up early again. I decided I
might as well come in." She hasn't told Doggett that she'll soon be
cutting back her hours, so explaining that she wanted to square a few
things away wouldn't make sense. "Have you gotten an update on Tommy
yet?"

"Monica and I went to see him last night. They don't know what to do
with him at the pysch ward, but for now they've invented a stop-gap
method of dealing with him. They've got dozens of TVs going, so he
can't focus on anything long enough to think of hurting anyone."
Doggett trails off with a deep sigh.

"How's Hannah?" Scully asks quietly.

"Okay. She's less upset now that she knows that she didn't cause Tommy
any lasting harm."

"That's good."

"But I keep wondering why. Why did we get good kids, and Jeffery Conlon
didn't?" Doggett asks.

"I don't know," Scully admits. "I'm just glad that we did."

"Me too."

~*~*~


Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen

Mulder and Scully's Home
March 24th, 2002
 
The Lone Gunmen are watching "Happy Days" reruns with Mulder and
Scully's kids, since the happy couple is out on a "date" and it's the
nanny's day off. Frohike is trying to teach the older boys how to snap
their fingers like Fonzie (instant coolness and radios flipping on not
guaranteed, however), while Langly and Page are laughing at the
cheesiness of the show, while Byers finds himself in the unenviable
position of having to care for the two much smaller children. Right
now, they're watching the Hawaii special, and Page is, in the place of
her mother, pointing out all sorts of inaccuracies, some of which can
be explained away by the passage of time, others, well, the Gunmen's
gotta chalk it up to Hollywood silliness, and the children accept this
much easier.
 
And then the Fonz is dared to jump over a shark. "Frohike, is Fonzie
gonna die?" Sammy asks the balding man, as if instinctively knowing
that this uncle won't sugarcoat anything.

Frohike snorts. "Are you kidding? He's got a leather jacket, cool dudes
never die."
 
Langly rolls his eyes. "Leather jackets don't automatically make short
guys cool, Fro."
 
"Shut up, Blondie," the short man grumbles.
 
Of course, the stunt, completely silly and devoid of suspense, goes off
without a hitch, and the kids cheer while the adults roll their eyes.
 
"Yaaaaay!!!" Sammy claps. "Hey, next time we go to Hawaii, I wanna do
that!"
 
"I don't think so," Byers says, the voice of reason. "In real life,
sharks are dangerous, and unlike TV shows, people have gotten killed
just swimming near them."
 
The little redhead boy pouts, then says, "Then I'm gonna ask Santa to
get me a leather jacket for Christmas."
 
"I want one, too," David chimes in.
 
"And me, too," Jared adds.
 
Langly groans. "Okay, we better change the channel before they get any
more weird ideas about fashion."
 
"Speak for yourself, hippie," Frohike snaps, but changes the channel
nonetheless. "Hey, look, you're wearing the same thing Shaggy is," he
smirks.
 
"Shut up, MELVIN," the long-haired blond shoots back, even though his
faded green Ozomatli shirt and dark loose slacks does give him an
unfortunate resemblance.
 
The shorter man's head snaps up at the use of his first name. "Oh, now
we're on," he growls, and for the rest of the afternoon, Mulder and
Scully's children are more entertained by their uncles fighting (and
one of them unsuccessfully trying to break it up) than the cartoons
onscreen.
 
~*~*~
 
The offices of "The Lone Gunman"
Takoma Park, Maryland
 
The Lone Gunmen are ready to hit the sack, after a long day of not only
bickering with each other, but also having to explain to Scully why her
elder sons want leather jackets and the woman being very displeased
with the answers. Lucky to have escaped with their hides intact,
Frohike's about ready to throw something at the buzzer when it keeps
going off. Byers is making cocoa, while Langly changes his green shirt
for a less Shaggy-looking one.

"Dammit, now what?" he grumbles, checking the monitor. He sees Reyes
and Doggett, and while he would normally be happy to see the former,
he's rather tired of the FBI right now. "What the hell do they want?"
he mutters, as Doggett continues the audio assault by pounding on the
door.
 
Tiredly, Frohike unlocks the four locks, then opens the door with a
scowl. Ignoring the shorter man's expression, Doggett walks in,
followed by Reyes. "Gentlemen," he says dryly.
 
Reyes, for her part, is shocked by the near-barrenness of the
warehouse. "What happened here? Did you get robbed?"
 
"No," Langly says, offended.
 
Frohike stiffens. "We're upgrading everything," he waves at the
barebones operation they've got going on.
 
"Yeah," Langly wrinkles his nose, "we gave away all our old crap to the
Salvation Army. We're buying totally new stuff."
 
Byers blinks at them, then at the agents. "Well, what can we do for
you, agents?"
 
"Well, we were hoping you could help us out," Doggett replies. "We were
wondering if you know this woman."
 
Reyes hands them a photo. "Do you recognize her?"
 
"Well, yes," Byers says, and the other two glare at him. "What?"
 
Langly jumps in, "She's, uh... she's a fellow hacker. Damn fine one."
 
"She calls herself Yves Adele Harlow. Uh, it's not her real name,"
Byers adds.
 
Frohike sighs. "Well, we never learned her real name. She disappeared a
year ago and nobody's seen her since. Why?"
 
"We have reason to believe that she's resurfaced," Doggett says
gravely, "and that she's become a terrorist."
 
"What?" all three men look at him incredulously, then laugh. "Oh, man,
that's a good one," Frohike wheezes. "Where the hell'd you get that
stupid idea from?"
 
"You think these idiots would know?" a new voice says. "They can't even
find their own asses."
 
~*~*~
 
"You son of a bitch," Frohike snarls at the newcomer, then grabs a golf
putter, lunging at him. Doggett is surprised at the reaction, but grabs
the putter.
 
"I'll hold him down!" Langly also races towards him, but Reyes blocks
him.
 
"You've got some nerve coming here," Byers says between clenched teeth.
 
"Told you they wouldn't help," Morris Fletcher smirks, rubbing the
bandaid on his cheek.
 
"All right, everybody just calm down," Doggett snaps. "What the hell is
going on?"
 
"This man is a professional liar. Every word out of his mouth is a
lie," Byers points at the smirking heavyset man.
 
"He's a scam artist," Langly joins in. "He used us to track Yves down a
year ago."
 
"And then he abducted her," Frohike tightens his grip on the putter.
 
"Which is why I know what happened to her," Fletcher says, and everyone
looks at him. Clearing his throat nervously, he goes on. "I facilitated
a meeting, that's all. The man I was working for, I didn't know in
advance what he was planning to do to her. Not my finest hour. I'll
admit it."
 
"Every word out of his mouth," Byers repeats.
 
"Agents, I'm tellin' ya, you don't want these three involved. I mean,
they don't even have their ridiculous tinker toy gizmos," Fletcher
waves his hand at the mostly-empty place. "This place is like ‘How The
Grinch Stole Radio Shack'."
 
Doggett looks everyone, then says evenly, "All right, you three know
this woman, I want your help. We need to track down this Yves Adele
Harlow."
 
~*~*~
 
After much promises on both sides to play nice with each other, Doggett
and Reyes leave Fletcher with the Lone Gunmen at their base, while they
go back to do their own investigative work.
 
"Airline reservation database," Langly says in front of the computer
while his compatriots flank him. "What name do we look under?"
 
"Try her old stand-by. Different anagrams of Lee Harvey Oswald," Byers
suggests.
 
Fletcher, for his part, is bored, and picks up an old issue of "The
Lone Gunman". " ‘Area 51 Exposé!' Ooo! Where's your new issue? This
one's a year old," he complains.
 
"Shut up, asswipe," Frohike mutters.
 
"You'll never find her that way," Fletcher smirks.
 
Langly sighs, his face dour. "He's right," he mutters when the search
software running on his computer fails to give any results. "No
anagrams for Yves Adele Harlow."
 
"So, who's Joey?" Fletcher jabs a thumb at Langly's current t-shirt.
 
"You don't know Joey Ramone? Leader of the greatest punk rock band in
human history." He rolls his eyes. "Now shut up!" He can't concentrate,
because Fletcher is leaning in a little too close for comfort. "What?"
 
Fletcher sighs exaggeratedly. "What are you, 34, 35? Why don't you cut
your hair and grow up, huh?"
 
"Reminder, dickwad, Doggett and Reyes aren't here to save you," Langly
mutters.
 
The erstwhile-MIB snorts. "Jeez, get yourself a real hero, okay? Not
some dead teeny bopper."
 
Langly slams the keyboard down and stands up, glaring at Fletcher. "You
want to know why Joey Ramone's my hero? 'Cause people like you," he
shoves a finger at Fletcher's tie, "never managed to grind him down.
They never stole his spirit. He never gave in, never gave up, and never
sold out. Right till his last breath. And he's not dead." He sits back
down, but his glare is still on the other blond man. "Guys like that?
They live forever." Unlike you, his unspoken words are quite clear to
everyone within earshot.
 
Morris sighs again. "Fine. Look, if we have to work together, let's
work together."
 
"Let's see," Frohike pretends to think hard, "the last time that
happened, you sold Yves up the river, you asshole!"
 
The heavyset man drops his smirk and steps back a little, holding up
his hands. "Watching you three play pin the tail on the donkey is not
my idea of a fun time. Now, wouldn't it be easier tracking Yves if you
knew her real name?"
 
"You know her real name?" Byers raises his eyebrows.
 
Fletcher nods. "Lois Runtz."
 
"Lois Runtz," Byers repeats, laughing. "Sure."
 
"Hey, I'm telling you the truth, boys," Fletcher raises his hands
again.
 
Frohike snorts. "Wow, I think hell just froze over," he comments.
 
A knocking comes from a distant wall, and all four men turn, surprised.
 
"Nobody knows about that door," Byers says, half-whispering. "That's
our secret door."
 
Fletcher raises an eyebrow. "Does Lois know about it? Yves?" he amends
when the Gunmen glare at him.
 
Frohike picks up the golf putter again, and the other three men follow
behind him, with Fletcher in the back. As Byers unlocks the secret
door, they look at each other, then back at the door. The door opens
with a groan, not from the hinges, but from the person staggering into
the room. All four men step back apprehensively before the intruder
collapses to the floor.
 
~*~*~
 
"Jimmy?" Langly asks the large man lying on the couch, seeing his eyes
open slowly. "How you feelin', man?"
 
Fletcher suddenly puts two and two together with the name. "Oh, right.
The old errand boy. The guy used to intern for you losers, right?" he
grins at the other two Gunmen. "I wondered what happened to you."
 
Jimmy Bond stares at Fletcher, then looks at Langly, confused. "Why is
he here?" he asks, sounding not just confused, but also betrayed.
 
Byers sighs. "FBI business," he says, resigned. "It's a long story."
 
Frohike looks relieved the newbie's alive and back to his usual
semi-coherent self. "Where the hell ya been, big guy?"
 
"Zurich," he answers slowly. "Then I was in Malta. And Yemen. And just
now, New Jersey. It's been a rough geology lesson," he says, heartfelt,
without irony. "I ran out of money, so I hitchhiked here. I snuck in
the back, 'cause I didn't know if the place was being watched." Then he
sits up, wide-eyed, startling them. "I just had to see you guys. It's
about Lois. Lois Runtz, that's Yves' real name," he explains.
 
"I told ya so," Fletcher smirks, then stares at the big guy. "Hey, wait
a minute. You tracked her all over the world? You? Mr. Intelligence
here is lucky to be alive. Why did you send him? Were you tryin' to get
him killed?" he exclaims.
 
"He sent himself to find Yves," Langly shakes his head. "We tried to
talk him out of it."
 
"Now I almost wish you had," Jimmy says, looking like someone shot his
puppy.
 
"Jimmy, what is it? Are you all right?" Byers asks, concerned.
 
He looks at Fletcher, then sighs. "Last night," he replies reluctantly,
"I traced her to a little college in New Jersey. It's the closest I've
been... been in a year of searching. I saw her. I actually laid my eyes
on her. I called to her!" he says, his voice picking up with excitement
at the memory. "But she ran. Later on, I... I found out."
 
"Found out what?" Frohike asks, even though he knows he won't like the
answer.
 
Jimmy looks at one Gunman to the next, as if he doesn't want to believe
what he saw. "I, I think she murdered somebody," he says, pained.
 
~*~*~
 
Hartwell College
Kearny, New Jersey
March 25th, 2002
 
Doggett and Reyes walk down a corridor, part of which contains a large
fishtank with sharks swimming around. At the end of the corridor is the
person they came to see, Professor Gillnitz, looking more than a little
haggard as he sits on a bench against the wall.
 
"John Gillnitz?" Doggett asks to confirm, and the thin man nods. "I'm
Agent Doggett and this is Agent Reyes. Is this the woman you saw last
night?"
 
The professor looks at the photo the agent shows him, then looks up,
frowning a little. "It was dark, uh... it could have been her. Do you
have her in custody?" he asks, apprehensive.
 
Reyes raises her eyebrows. "Professor, what can you tell us about your
friend? Do you have any reason why he may have been targeted?"
 
He looks shocked. "Absolutely none. Douglas was a wonderful teacher,
and an even better researcher."
 
"What did he research?" she asks.
 
"Elasmo Bronchi. That is, sharks, rays and skates," he explains.
 
"He was a marine biologist?"
 
Gillnitz shakes his head, but it seems she's not the first to have that
misconception. "An immunologist. Sharks have a remarkable immune
system. Toxins that would kill nearly any other vertebrate pass right
through them," he says, his face glowing with excitement as he shares
this.
 
"So, he did medical research?" Doggett clarifies.
 
Gillnitz smiles at him as if the man got the answer to a question
nearly right on a test. "Douglas wanted to save the world."
 
~*~*~
 
The Lone Gunmen HQ
Takoma, Maryland
 
The sparse warehouse is becoming a little more populated with the
addition of another, that is, fellow hacker Kimmy. "This is a computer,
noob," he says to Fletcher once the introductions are done.
"Com-pu-ter. Step away before you embarrass yourself."
 
Fletcher rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."
 
Kimmy flashes a smug grin at the other hackers. "So then, how do you
wish to partake... of my hacking genius?" he asks, cracking his
knuckles.
 
"Well, thanks to Jimmy, we know Yves' real name," Frohike says.
 
"Hey, I told ya before he did!" Fletcher protests.
 
Ignoring him, Langly adds, "Jimmy also told us what kind of car she's
driving. Silver X5 with New York plates."
 
Kimmy looks at the hulking blond man with surprise. "Really? Way to go,
Special Ed," he gives the big guy props.
 
"The New Jersey Turnpike has video cameras at every toll booth," Byers
jumps in. "Langly hacked the system and spotted her southbound at
Newark."
 
"Somewhat creative," Kimmy admits.
 
Langly reaches over and brings up a series of still short showing a
tunnel and a car passing through it. "We spotted her again going
through the Fort McHenry Tunnel. She passed through not 20 minutes
ago."
 
"We're betting she's headed for DC We're going to try to intercept her,
with your help..." Byers trails off meaningfully.
 
"Think you might find a military satellite you could piggy back? Give
us a bird's-eye view of the beltway?" Frohike cuts to the punch.
 
Kimmy looks at them, then at the monitor. "Intriguing. Stand aside,
ladies." After readjusting his glasses, he starts typing.
 
"We'll be on the cell," Frohike tells him as they get ready to leave.
 
"I got shotgun," Fletcher says.
 
"Psh," Langly shuts him down. "You're staying here."
 
Byers turns to Jimmy. "We need somebody we can trust keeping an eye on
Fletcher."
 
Jimmy smiles at Byers, happy to be trusted in a familiar role. "You got
it."
 
When the Lone Gunmen leave, Morris looks at Jimmy, since he's already
figured Kimmy would be too wrapped up in computer stuff. "So, how'd you
like Malta?"
 
~*~*~
 
It isn't long before Doggett and Reyes join the others at the Lone
Gunmen's HQ, and telling the others about the medical examiner's
discovery of the surgically-grafted cartilage and bioluminescent blood
in the dead professor's body.

Fletcher, for his part, is sitting down, giving them his most wide-eyed
look. "Wow, I had no clue," he chuckles. "Seriously, this is the first
time hearing of it. Weird organs? I don't know what to tell you.
 
"You've never heard of the man? Professor Douglas Houghton?" Reyes
asks.
 
"You're looking at me weird," he notes after a beat.
 
"Perhaps because you've been known to lie on occasion," Doggett
deadpans.
 
When Jimmy stands over him, a nasty smile on his face, Fletcher looks
worried. "Well, I'm not lying now. I've said from the start she was a
terrorist!"
 
Then Kimmy yelps in frustration, banging the keyboard, startling them.
"Dammit! Crashed again! I cannot make magic with sub-standard
equipment," he folds his arms and glares at the computer with the
disdain of a prima donna.
 
"What's the problem?" Doggett asks, his attention diverted.
 
"The problem is," Kimmy says slowly, as if to a child, "it's a freakin'
piece of junk! I knew those guys were broke, but this is pathetic!"
 
Reyes and Doggett glance at each other before she asks, "The guys are
broke?"
 
"Are you kidding? Look around this dump," he motions to the
obviously-bare warehouse. "They had to hock all their stuff just to pay
the rent."
 
"What about this?" Morris picks up the newsletter.
 
Kimmy scoffs. "Oh, their ‘paper'?" he uses his skinny fingers as
quotation marks. "Deader than disco. They haven't published in months."
 
Fletcher glances at the headline and tosses the paper on the table. "So
saving the world doesn't pay the bills. There's a hot news flash for
ya, huh?" he chuckles. "Idiots."
 
Now Jimmy is pissed off. "They were gettin' by all right, till you put
'em out of business!" he points at him.
 
"Oh?" Fletcher raises an eyebrow. "And how exactly did I do that?"
 
"When you took Yves," Jimmy says, his eyes narrow. "They spent every
last dime trying to find her. They're loyal to their friends.
Hilarious, huh?"
 
Reyes' cell phone rings, and she answers. "Reyes."
 
"You'd better get here quick," Byers says in a hushed, urgent voice.
 
"Where are you?" she frowns.
 
"The Hotel Farragut," he answers in the same hushed tone. "Hurry."
 
~*~*~
 
After the Lone Gunmen have dispatched their heroic duty at the Hotel
Farragut, Jimmy join them in a room there to keep an eye on the woman
known as Yves Adele Harlow. As the mystery woman wakes up, Jimmy asks
her, "Lois? Should I call you that?"
 
She wrinkles her nose. "I prefer Yves."
 
"I can't believe you're a terrorist," Langly says, disappointed.
 
"What?" Yves looks at him, then at the others in the room.
 
"So, you weren't seriously gonna smoke that guy, were you?" Frohike
asks.
 
She exhales. "I know you three mean well. But I can't begin to tell you
how badly you've mucked things up," she says, serious.
 
Doggett and Reyes make their entrance. "So, this guy just up and
bolted?" Doggett asks, locking the door behind him.
 
"He hit her, and then he took off," Langly says.
 
"Nobody's seen him. The room is registered to one Leonard Southhall of
Darrian, Connecticut."
 
"It's an alias," Yves says sourly.
 
"It's a stolen ID. The real Leonard Southhall died in 1996. You want to
tell me who that was?" Doggett faces her.
 
"His real name? I have no idea," she shrugs slightly.
 
"This is your bag, isn't it?" Doggett continues, picking up her bag and
emptying it on the desk. "That was quite a party you got planned for
him. Respirator. Surgical gloves. Scalpel." He holds up a dart gun.
"Not to mention this little item here."
 
"You were planning to cut him open, Ms. Runtz, just like you did the
professor. Why?" Reyes asks.
 
Jimmy looks at the agent in disbelief, then at the defiant woman on the
bed. "It can't be true. Tell 'em it's not."
 
She looks at him evenly. "It is, Jimmy. Time is running short." Then
she looks up at the FBI agents. "Unless you let me finish what I
started, innocent people will die."
 
Doggett raises his eyebrows. "You want to elaborate on that?"
 
"First things first. Who was it that put you on to me?" she says
sharply.
 
~*~*~
 
The Lone Gunmen HQ
 
Doggett shoves Fletcher's head onto the table, holding his arms in a
painful holding position. "Okay, so she's not a terrorist. I made an
honest mistake."
 
Yves pulls off Morris' bandaid, revealing a tiny piece of technology.
She narrows her eyes at it, then the man, still firmly embedded in the
table. "As I suspected. It's a tracking device. I'm sure he meant to
activate it, once he knew you had me."
 
Doggett and Reyes look at each other, then releases Fletcher with a
shove. "You've been wearin' that since Miami. You were runnin' a scam
on us from the start." The other man's smirk returns, much to their
disappointment. "That, and all the terrorist bull. All that was just to
hook us."
 
"So that you two would, in turn, hook us," Byers says with disgust.
 
"And we'd track down Yves for this slimeball all over again," Frohike
makes a face.
 
"Well, what can I tell you?" Fletcher says, grinning from ear to ear
now. "You three always get the job done for me."
 
"Who do you work for, Fletcher?" Doggett snarls.
 
Morris nods to Yves, to their surprise. She answers flatly, "An
international arms dealer. A billionaire. And scum of the earth."
 
"And he's also..." Fletcher prompts her.
 
"My father," she continues in the same flat tone. "My father is a
murderer, and a supporter of terrorism. I hate everything he stands
for."
 
"Yves? You're a murderer, too," Jimmy states quietly.
 
She looks at him. "The man I killed was a terrorist, Jimmy. A zealot
whose research was funded by my father for its potential as a weapons
system."
 
"Houghton was an immunologist, doing research on sharks," Reyes says.
 
"Yes. And he used his knowledge of their immune system to devise a
vessel of sorts. One that kept him safe from an engineered virus that
he carried within him," Yves states.
 
"He had shark cartilage." Reyes nods. "It contained something which you
removed."
 
"That was this virus you're talkin' about?" Doggett adds.
 
"I destroyed it, but it was only one of two," Yves looks at them.
 
"Oh, man. The bald dude at the hotel. The one that got away," Langly
groans.
 
She nods slightly. "Think of him as a human time bomb. He can pass by
any sniff dog, any metal detector, and no one would ever suspect."
 
"What triggers this time bomb?" Byers asks, worried.
 
"Programmed cellular death," Yves answers precisely. "Genetically
altered to a high degree of precision. The way the vessel is decaying
inside of him is virtually clock-like. It will lose integrity and
rupture at eight o'clock... tonight."
 
"Five hours from now?" Kimmy says, wide-eyed.
 
"This virus, once it's airborne, its kill radius is five or six miles,
depending on the winds. Potentially, it could kill thousands. Tens of
thousands."
 
"Fletcher, I knew you were a dirt bag, but still... how could you be a
party to this?" Frohike looks at the other man with a measure of
renewed loathing.
 
"Fletcher's a con-man, not a killer. He didn't know about it," Yves
says, reluctantly clearing the MIB, who looks surprised at the gesture.
 
Doggett, however, is worried. "So how the hell do we track this man
down?"
 
~*~*~

Mulder and Scully's Home
 
"So, that's the whole story," Doggett tells Mulder, who's holding a
fussing William. "If we don't catch this Leonard Southhall,
everything's gonna go to hell. Not that I don't have faith in your
friends, but I just wanted to give you a heads up."
 
"Thanks," Mulder says, "but don't give up on them. In fact, if I were
you, I'd keep a damn close eye on them. After all, they found Yves.
They're gonna find this guy, and when they do, they're gonna need you
and Reyes to take care of him. After all, they're hackers, not agents."
He smiles wanly.
 
"Got that right," Doggett chuckles, then his phone rings. "Doggett."
His face brightens. "They got the guy!" he tells Mulder, who nods
encouragingly. "Wait, what?" he frowns. "No, tell ‘em to check again,"
he says urgently. "I said, check again!" He hangs up with disgust.
 
"What's the matter?" Mulder asks, patting William's back as he starts
into his hiccupping-before-crying thing.
 
"They got him," Doggett says glumly. "But Reyes says there's no sign of
any virus or surgery on the guy."
 
"The fake Southhall, right?" Mulder raises his eyebrows.
 
Doggett nods. "Yeah. The Gunmen found him all right, guess he didn't
get the notice that Houghton was dead, and went to the college."
 
"If the fake Southhall's part of the cell, that's not possible," Mulder
murmurs.
 
"What do you mean?" Doggett frowns. "We got him."
 
"No, I mean, it's not possible that he doesn't know Houghton's dead,"
Mulder says. "You said Yves had intel on the guy, right? He's
definitely in the know, then."
 
"Yeah," Doggett says glumly, but then his blue eyes sharpen. "Wait, you
keep saying ‘the fake Southhall'."
 
"You said the real one was dead," Mulder says reasonably, "and you
don't know the guy's real name. What else should I call him?"
 
"The FAKE Southhall!" Doggett roars, and now William really starts
crying, unappeased by Mulder's patting. "Sorry, Fox, I just realized we
were chasing the wrong guy."
 
"Huh?" Mulder blinks, although he was glad the guy was finally picking
up. "So you're not after the fake Southhall."
 
"No," Doggett says, running to his car and hitting speed dial on his
cell. "See ya!"
 
"Where are you going?" Mulder shouts, bouncing William against his
shoulder.
 
"Keepin' an eye on the Gunmen like you said!" he hollers before
slamming his car door shut.
 
Once the other man's car disappears, Mulder smiles wanly. Much as he'd
like be part of the chase, as opposed to the last time when he wasn't
even in the picture, he knows he'd only be a red flag.

As he walks into his home with his wailing youngest son on his
shoulder, he murmurs, "Shhhh, shhhh, don't worry, Uncle John will catch
up with your other uncles and they'll get the bad guy in time, okay?
And then they'll come home like the heroes they are, safe and sound,
with more conspiracies than you can shake a stick at. Yeah." He smiles
at his son's confused look, happy that he's distracted his son long
enough to keep from disturbing his sleeping wife, "yeah, and then Uncle
Frohike can tell you guys more stories, and Uncle Langly will probably
get your brothers and sisters more junk food than they should, and
Uncle Byers will take real good care of you like the old lady he is."

He chuckles, and William stares at him like he thinks his dad is nuts.
Mulder chuckles again, and strokes his son's fine hair on his round
head. "Everything's gonna be all right," he says softly and
reassuringly, "don't worry."
 
~*~*~
 
International Bioethics Forum
Evening Session
7:55 p.m.
 
Outside the conference room, the Lone Gunmen are trying their best to
get in, waving their press credentials madly at the security guard who
is looking unimpressed. "Never heard of it," he mutters when Byers
tells them the name of their paper.
 
"We're legit, man," Langly whines, looking the very opposite of legit
with his long hair, t-shirt and jeans.
 
"Yeah," Jimmy says, as if that would help matters.
 
The guard glances at the press passes. "These expired last December,"
he states flatly.
 
"We've got five minutes," Yves says in an urgent undertone.
 
"Listen to me," Byers says. "We believe there's a dangerous man in that
room."
 
"Folks, I need all of you to step away, right now," the guard says,
having had enough of this ragtag group.
 
A thin, plain man in the conference glances at the noisy group,
noticing a long-haired woman with them, and smirks. His smirk gets
deeper when he sees the security guard pushing them away. "John
Gillnitz?" a rough voice asks.
 
"Yes?" he turns and looks to his left, finding the FBI agent sitting
next to him. The FBI man surprises him by handcuffing him. "What are
you...?"
 
"Playin' three-card monty," Doggett says, as he hustles him out of the
room towards the Lone Gunmen. Flashing his badge at the security guard,
he grins. "Excuse us, but we've got a little world-savin' to do."
 
The Lone Gunmen cheer, then walk down the hallway. "Well, took you long
enough," Frohike grumbles, "but where's the CDC?"
 
"Right here," Reyes says at the other end of the hall, in front of a
pack of men in containment suits.
 
"No!" Gillnitz shouts, struggling in Doggett's grip. "It's not supposed
to end like this!"
 
"Keep struggling, and they'll give you no anesthetic," Yves hisses as
they head outside towards the hazmat vehicle. "Please, keep
struggling."
 
He gives her a wild-eyed look. "You!"
 
She gives him a cold, pitiless look. "Know that you have failed,
Gillnitz," she says as Doggett shoves him into the thick-walled
vehicle. "Know that you will end your cowardly life having failed
miserably."
 
"NO!!!!" Gillnitz roars, and he starts banging his narrow chest against
one of the shelves in the vehicle.
 
"Dammit!" Frohike shouts, and he and his two compatriots leap into the
back to pin him down.
 
Doggett starts to join them, but one of the suited men push him back
and with alarming alacrity, they slam the doors shut and peel out of
there. "What the hell?"
 
"Are they gonna be okay?" Jimmy asks, worried.
 
"I think so," Reyes says, but she looks just as worried.
 
~*~*~
 
The Lone Gunmen HQ.
March 27th, 2002
 
A couple dressed in black is standing in front of the warehouse door,
their arms full and their faces pale. "This is gonna be weird," Doggett
mutters, dressed in his full FBI suit and tie.
 
"Don't worry, they'll understand," Reyes says reassuringly, clad in a
black leather jacket, knit top and slacks. "They're our friends."
 
He raises his eyebrows at her, but realizes she's right. After all this
time, they're not just Mulder's crazy friends, the Gunmen are his
friends, too. "Okay," he says, shifting the uncomfortable box in his
arms. "Guess they'll always be watching from above, huh?" he says,
looking up.
 
"I hope so," Reyes says, also looking up.
 
Then the door opens, startling them. "I'm glad you're here," Scully
says warmly, letting them inside. "Everyone else is here."
 
They look at the room, filled with familiar faces. "Wow, I didn't know
it would be this big," Reyes murmurs, as Scully leads them to the
food-laden table.
 
"Look at you two," Mulder notes, "like it's a funeral or something."
 
"Mulder!" Scully scolds him. "They can't help it if they came straight
from work."
 
"So did I, but I had time to change," Skinner says, wearing a dark blue
long-sleeved knit shirt and black slacks.
 
"Thanks," Doggett sighs, long-suffering. "Anyone wanna jump in and make
me feel better?"
 
"Nice suit," Byers remarks, taking the box from him.
 
"Never mind," Doggett groans. "I can't believe this is such a big
deal."
 
"Hey, you FBI guys save people all the time, but we don't," Langly
says, taking the flowers from Reyes. "I think that's a good enough
reason to party."
 
"Hey, hey," Frohike says, clapping a hand on Doggett's shoulder,
"welcome to the Saving the World Ball!"
 
Doggett shakes his head, chuckling. "Perhaps you shoulda told those
guys, then," he jerks his head at Kimmy, who's arguing with Jimmy about
something or other.
 
"Nah," he says, "they're okay. Jimmy just thinks it should've been
called the Lone Gunmen Saves the World, while Kimmy wants his name up
in lights." It's obvious which one the short man prefers, however.
 
"Cute," the agent mutters, excusing himself to join another crowd.
"Hey, pretty lady."
 
"Daddy!" Hannah smiles and hugs him when he bends down. "Look!" Then
she crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. "Uncle Frohike says
that's what the bad guy looked like."
 
"Looks like he got something right," Doggett says, amused. "Um, why's
William tied up in all those balloons?"
 
"We're gonna make him fly," Sammy says proudly as he's adding more.
 
"I don't think so," Scully says, swooping in to untangle her youngest.
"John, help yourself to the food, while I take care of the punch," she
looks meaningfully at her eldest son.
 
"Uh-oh," Doggett says, picking his little girl up. "Come on, guys,
let's get some food while your mommy talks to Sammy," he says to
Scully's other offspring.
 
"Oh, she's not just gonna talk," Page sets him straight, "she's gonna
get him good."
 
Doggett raises his eyebrows, but decides to refrain from commenting. He
meets up with his sons, who have already making inroads on the food
since bringing their sister to the party. "Jeez, save some for the rest
of us," he groans good-naturedly.
 
"Sorry, Dad," they both say. "Jinx! Aw, come on! Jinx!" While they're
distracted, Doggett starts helping the kids help themselves to food.
 
"Cups?" Reyes says in a loud voice. "Everyone got their cups filled?"
Those who don't do so, and she waits until everyone's got a cup full of
punch. Then she grins and pulls out a champagne bottle. "Three cheers!"
Reyes shouts, popping the cork. "Whoo!" she yelps as the bubbles flow
down the bottle's side and she catches as much of the spillover as she
can into a plastic cup. "Hip hip, hooray!" she raises her cup.
 
"Hip hip, hooray!" everyone else shouts. They drink, cheer more, and
drink more. Some of the adults join Reyes and get some champagne, like
Mulder, while others refrain, like Scully.
 
Jimmy grins and tosses down champagne with the rest of them, and then
sees a woman standing by herself. "Hey, what's the matter?" Jimmy asks,
noticing how, well, unenthusiastic the female hacker is.
 
"He will try again," Yves says quietly. "He knows who's responsible,
and he will retaliate, and he will try again."
 
"Hey, don't worry," he says positively, "we're the good guys. And good
guys always win."
 
She smiles wanly. "I wish I could believe that. Notice that Fletcher
isn't here to share in the festivities? He knows enough to protect
himself. I just wish the rest of them did."
 
Jimmy looks at their friends, and the children. "Yves, these people
know more than anyone else what it's like to face danger," he says, and
she looks up at him, surprised at his serious tone. "But they also know
that they can't live scared all the time, because that's not living.
That's why they're my heroes, not just because they do the right and
the dangerous things, but because they don't give up when everyone else
says otherwise." Then he looks down at her, a sad smile on his face. "I
don't know what you're planning to do, but remember you've got friends
here to back you up, okay?"
 
She smiles, then looks at the others in their festive mood. "I keep
forgetting you're more perceptive than you let on," she muses aloud. As
he blinks, confused, she tiptoes and kisses him, then walks out,
letting herself out through the secret door.
 
Only one other man notes her exit, and he shakes his head slightly.
Mulder knows what it's like to have to fight not just your personal
demons but also blood relatives, and he hopes she remembers that, like
him, she's not alone.

He smiles as his wife and partner yanks on his ear to bring him back to
earth, and smiles wider at his three friends, who once gave their lives
in another lifetime to make sure no one else would have to die. Take
care, Yves Adele Harlow, he thinks, stepping between Frohike and
Doggett when the shorter man makes an ill-timed move on Reyes.

~*~*~

Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen
"Kevin"

April 2002 

"NOOOOOOO!!!" April's scream wakes not only her siblings, but her
parents down the hall.

"Baby, Sweetie, what's the matter?" Scully is white-faced with worry,
clasping her daughter in her arms, while her husband pulls out a gun in
case the nightmare happened to be human.

"She's, she's," the little girl sobs, then buries her face in her
mother's chest.

"Shhhh, shhh, it's okay," Scully murmurs, as Mulder lowers his weapon,
then tucks it in the back of his sweatpants. "April, Sweetie, tell
Mommy what's wrong, okay?"

The redheaded girl hiccups, then nods, sniffling, but her tears keep
rolling down her cheeks. The sight just about breaks Mulder's heart,
and he gets on his knees to hold his little girl's clammy hands. "It's
okay, April, just tell us," Mulder says softly.

"The," April chokes on the word, "the bad man's hurting her again."

"Bad man? What bad man?" Scully wonders.

April shakes her head, shivering even though she's soaked in sweat.
"He's hurting the little girl, Mommy," she says distantly, as if the
nightmare is more real than her parents. "He used to just slap her, but
now he's throwing her at the wall and mashing his sugarettes on her."

"You mean ‘cigarettes'?" Scully asks, feeling a chill go down her
spine.

Their daughter nods, and her parents look at each other, worried. "He's
mad cuz of what Daddy and Uncle Alex did, and he's hurting her," and
now the tears come back in a rush, and Scully hugs her again, patting
her back as she does so.

Mulder looks at April, worried. This ‘bad man' that April's dreaming
of, he must have something to do with the conspiracy, but how? They've
pretty much captured everyone. Or have they? Much as he'd like to tie
Kersh and Follmer to the thing, they've managed to sever any obvious
ties to either new or old conspiracies, keeping their jobs and asses
safe.

Now that he knows there's one more child out there to save, one more
person that needs to be taken down, he can almost feel his blood
boiling. "I need to make a call," he says, and Scully watches him go,
holding their still-sobbing daughter close.

~*~*~

The Basement Office
Two Days Later

"What's up?" Doggett asks, as Reyes is sorting tabloid articles across
the desk. "Please don't tell me we're doing an Elvis sighting."

Reyes looks up with a grin. "Nope, Mulder says that that's his
jurisdiction," she replies while Doggett groans. "Sorry, you walked
into that one. No, there was something that caught my eye, a string of
homes displaying paranormal phenomena."

He gives her a look. "Haunted houses? Ain't it too early for
Halloween?"

She laughs. "Hauntings aren't the only type of paranormal activity to
occur in homes, but I suppose that would be a common conclusion."

Doggett raises an eyebrow. "That's a rare talent, to sound like you
make sense when you don't."

Reyes gives him a superior look. "It's what separates the believers
from the regular crazies," she retorts, and he cracks up. "Here, John,
tell me what you think is the common denominator among the articles."
And she turns them so he can read the headlines.

He scans them, his lips thinning by the time he gets to the final, tiny
one. "You aren't serious, are you?"

"What?" she says. "Isn't that the provenance of the X-Files? To
investigate the unexplained, the mysterious, the paranormal?"

He gives the articles a final glance, then he groans. "I can't believe
you wanna look up the equivalent of Jesus on a pancake."

She shakes her head. "No, that would be an iconic manifestation," she
says, "what I'm looking at are miracles."

"Uh-huh," he gives her his patented skeptical look.

And she gives him her patented believing look. "Hey, it'll be fun," she
says, "the worst that can happen is that we come across termites."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

~*~*~

Doggett fights the urge to slouch in his chair, instead, he sits up
straighter. God, he groans inwardly, this is ridiculous. Everything
that the articles had claimed as irrefutable miracles could very easily
be explained.

Like the family whose grandmother fell from the second floor balcony
onto the cement patio and landed without a scratch. He's heard of
people falling off higher heights, albeit not that old, and walk away
with maybe a bruise or scratch, depending on how much drugs or alcohol
were in their system.

Or the young son who was suffering from a debilitating disease who was
able to not only move, but walk, even run, a few days after moving in.
The tabloid writers obviously didn't take into account the new medical
treatment the kid was getting at the nearby hospital.

Or the burglar who ran out of an empty house because he claimed to see
what looked like an entire football team in the living room, and they
were all glowing in the dark. That one, well, he pretty much chalked it
up to the drugs in the guy's bloodstream, since crack never gave people
clarity, the last time he checked.

Or the house that survived a hurricane, the only one to do so out of
the entire neighborhood. Statistics shows that there are always a few
homes that withstand natural disasters, due to their location,
construction material and method, or a combination of the above.

Reyes is busy talking with the writers of the articles, while he's
doing the responsible thing: fact-checking. Okay, he admits it, he's
doing the boring thing. But it's better than what he's been doing
lately, which is nothing. It still amazes him how Mulder managed to
build cases out of complete crap, and Doggett allows his eyes to travel
upwards, where the ceiling has been pierced with numerous pencils.

Okay, maybe he wasn't always out doing something constructive, Doggett
snorts, then forces himself to look at the computer screen. The only
other commonality he can pick up from all those different homes is that
they were all built by Habitat of Humanity. Big whoop. So are a lot of
other low-income homes. He sighs, takes a big gulp of now-cold coffee,
and goes through the list of homes and facts.

"Mm-hm, okay." Reyes nods from her chair, tapping her pen with her free
hand. "Okay, thanks." Then she looks over at her partner, who is
staring intently at the computer screen, as if hitting the arrow-down
key would make the answers appear faster. A ready smile forms on her
face, and she walks over quietly behind him. Her smile turns evil as
she jabs him in the back with her pointer fingers, and he jumps.

"What the hell?" he yells, spinning around.

She laughs unrepentantly. "Oh, God, John, you should see the look on
your face," she chuckles.

He scowls at her. "Monica, tell me you've got something decent to go
on."

The smile still on her face, she nods. "The tabloid writers are staunch
atheists, but the people they were writing about are Christians,
Catholic and Protestant. I guess miracles don't favor one branch or the
other."

He rolls his eyes. "Please tell me there's more."

She sits on the desk, making herself comfortable. "According to a
couple of the writers, it's always the same people who built the
homes."

Doggett nods. "Habitat for Humanity."

She nods back. "And guess who's building a home for a pastor and his
family in Charlottesville, Virginia?"

He gives her an incredulous look. "Please don't tell me you think
Habitat for Humanity has turned into a bunch of miracle workers!"

Reyes shakes her head. "I don't think so," she says honestly. "But I do
know that for some reason, combining Habitat with Christians in the
house make for very interesting homes."

~*~*~

Charlottesville, Virginia

Doggett pulls up to the building site, which, like most building sites,
looks like a disaster in the making. When he gets out, he squints
against the sun while his partner scans the area behind her sunglasses.
Smiling a little, he puts on his own pair of sunglasses, then walks
towards what looks like the unofficial headquarters, with Reyes beside
him. Then he spots a familiar face. Well, one he's seen in a casefile,
that is. "Kevin Kryder?" he asks.

The teen looks startled. "Yeah?"

Doggett holds up his hands, then pulls off his shades. "I'm a friend of
Agents Mulder and Scully," he says. "Me and Agent Reyes here work with
them in the FBI."

"Oh," Kevin says, relaxing slightly. It's only when his father joins
them that he allows himself to fully relax. "Hey, Dad, these are
friends of those FBI agents from a few years back."

"Oh?" Mr. Kryder looks at them. "Well, we sure could use your help
here."

"Oh?" Reyes echoes.

He nods. "Yeah, some of the guys had some bad pasta yesterday, so we're
kinda short on hands. That is, if you don't mind doing some manual
labor," he jerks his head at the unfinished building.

"We'd be happy to." Reyes smiles warmly. "John, why don't you catch up
with Kevin while I sign us up, okay?"

Doggett nods, then looks at the boy who isn't much older than his own
sons. "John Doggett," he says, holding out his hand. "Guess I'm going
about introductions backwards."

~*~*~

Kevin grins, shaking it firmly. "Well, you know my name," the teen
says. "Sorry, my dad likes roping anyone he can into this building
thing. I don't mind, it's become kinda his hobby."

The agent nods, figuring it must be something like fishing or watching
NASCAR. Then something strikes him. "So, your dad's training you to be
a carpenter like Jesus, huh?" he asks with a grin.

Kevin grins back. "Actually, I tried volunteering at soup kitchens, but
people don't like it when your hands spontaneously bleed into their
meals," he shrugs, then cracks up at Doggett's expression. "Just
kidding. No, I like helping out with my dad, now that he's on his
medications. It's cool to just hang out with him, you know?"

Doggett nods. Recalling the contents of that casefile, he remembers the
father being prescribed powerful anti-psychotics and
anti-hallucinogens. That, and Scully eliminating the perceived threat
posed by that Gates guy probably had a lot to do with Mr. Kryder's
peace of mind, such as it was. Hell, he knows his own kids have saved
his sanity in more ways than one.

Mr. Kryder comes back with Reyes and extra power tools. "Well, your
friend here has offered to help us out on this." He nods at the woman,
who nods back gamely, "and we could use an extra hand. How are you with
a Makita?"

Doggett grins. "Better than I would with a pair of chopsticks," he
quips, and the other man chuckles. "So, what are we working on?"

Mr. Kryder points to the lumber pile on the side. "We're gonna turn
that," he says, then points at the frames stacked on the other side,
"into that."

"Cool," Reyes remarks, walking over to the lumber pile.

"Yeah." Kevin nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Actually, I'm
supposed to be doing paperwork or serving coffee, ‘cause I'm not
sixteen yet. But that's kinda boring," he makes a face and she smiles
understandingly. "But my dad's been doing this for a while, so they
made him a supervisor, and I'm just, um, observing."

"Uh-huh." Doggett shakes his head, but smiles. "So, Supervisor Kryder,
mind telling us what goes where?"

Mr. Kryder goes over to the wood pile, then grabs five planks of the
same length. "John, take these over there," he points to the
workhorses, "Monica, you take these," and gives her four shorter
planks, "and I'll be with you in a bit."

The agents agreeably shoulder their loads, and Mr. Kryder grabs planks
of varying lengths. Then he tells them which lengths are for the outer
frame, showing them how to join the planks together, and as they do
that, he picks up more shorter lengths for windows and the inner frame.

After a few minutes of simply driving screws into the planks, the
supervisor decides to break the relative silence. "So what brings you
out here to Charlottesville?" Mr. Kryder asks.

"Well," Doggett hedges, not sure how to explain it, since he's not
quite sure himself.

"Miracles," Reyes says simply.

And that's when Kevin falls from his workhorse.

~*~*~

"You're kidding, right?" Mr. Kryder looks from one agent to the other,
before giving his son a concerned look. The teen, for his part, looks
embarrassed about having fallen in the first place, and dusts himself
off.

Doggett sighs, while Reyes nods, smiling. "I don't know if they told
you," Doggett says, to break the uncomfortable silence, "but Agents
Mulder and Scully, as well as Agent Reyes and I, work for a division
called the X-Files. We specialize in cases dealing with the
unexplained, paranormal, and stuff."

"That explains a lot," Kevin says. "At least, they weren't totally
freaking out when crazy stuff happened."

Reyes nods. "Well, as FBI agents, we're not supposed to freak when
crazy stuff happens." And God knows how much crazy stuff has happened
since she joined the FBI.

"Well, people usually don't believe what's right in front of their
face, sometimes," the teen says matter-of-factly.

"Tell me about it," Reyes shoots a look at her partner.

Doggett gives her a don't-start-with-me look right back, then says,
"Don't worry, it's nothing serious. We just happened to run across some
articles saying that some miracles happened in some homes Habitat for
Humanity built, but I don't think it has anything to do with you."

Mr. Kryder looks at his son, who shrugs, then looks at the agents. "So
this is just a coincidence, right?"

"Pretty much," Doggett says before his partner can say anything.
"Anyways," he says, picking up the lumber the boy dropped, "last I
checked, we were putting a frame together, right?"

The Kryders give each other another look that doesn't go unnoticed by
either agent, but all Mr. Kryder says is, "Yeah," and they resume
building the frame in silence.

~*~*~

After a couple of hours putting together frames and attaching them
together in a skeletal house kind of way, they all take a break. The
head of the building team, Joe Aikman, called in a favor from another
restaurant to avoid more food poisoning, so there's quite a spread
waiting for the hungry workers. "Pastor Carl, quick blessing," Joe
says, and the workers, including Doggett and Reyes, pause in their
plate-loading while the future owner of the house says a brief prayer.
"Thanks."

"Next time, you're saying the prayer," the pastor claps a hand on Mr.
Kryder's shoulder, grinning.

"I'm just a layman, Pastor," Mr. Kryder shakes his head ruefully,
balancing his cup of soup next to his sandwich.

"Hey, in my book, all Christians can pray." Pastor Carl smiles, his
teeth white against his tanned skin. "Next meal time, okay?"

"Fine," the other man shrugs, "but if I start throwing in Latin..."

"Nice try." The pastor chuckles, and nods at Doggett. "I don't think
we've met, but thanks for helping out."

"No prob." The agent nods back, then sticks his hand out. "John
Doggett. And my friend, Monica Reyes."

"Carl Moore, or as they call me, Pastor Carl." The younger man smiles,
shaking both their hands. "Reyes? ¿De dónde es usted?"

"Mexico." She smiles back. "And you?"

He shakes his head. "Born in Hawaii, raised in California, but my mom's
from Mexico. Cool meeting you, Senorita Reyes."

When the pastor leaves, Doggett shakes his head. "What's a surfer like
him doing way out here?" he wonders before tucking into his turkey and
mashed potatoes.

"God works in mysterious ways, apparently," Mr. Kryder comments after
swallowing a fourth of his sandwich.

"Speaking of which, what kind of miracles?" Kevin asks before tearing
into his sandwich.

Both Doggett and Mr. Kryder choke on their meals, while Reyes answers
matter-of-factly, "Well, like John said, they all happened at homes
Habitat for Humanity built, homes where Christian believers resided. My
theory is that perhaps there's something about the combination of who's
living in the homes and who's building those homes that make them,
well, susceptible to this kind of positive paranormal experience.
Miracles, if you will." She grins as the boy's eyes glaze over. "Sorry,
I'm guessing you want specifics. Well, there was a grandmother who fell
from a second story level onto concrete but walked away without even a
scratch."

"A grandmother?" Kevin's eyes are wide. "Wow."

"Yeah." Reyes smiles. "And there was this one where a burglar broke
into a home, but ran away because he saw a roomful of angels, or as he
said, ‘huge football players glowing in the dark'."

"Cool," Kevin says, his eyes shining. "Did the family living there ever
see those angels?"

She shakes her head. "Not that I've heard, but they were thankful
nothing was stolen. In fact, they were getting ready to sell a good
deal of their valuables to pay for a missionary trip to Indonesia.
Funny how things work out, huh?"

The teen nods, then resumes eating his sandwich. The men look at each
other with raised eyebrows, but say nothing, while Reyes plows through
her chicken wings.

~*~*~

Later that night, Reyes keeps Scully updated on things, more out of a
desire to chat with a woman and a friend than a need to "report to
superiors". "They said yesterday's pasta took out a lot of the
workforce, but it was pretty weird being the only woman on the team.
That's not including Jerry who screamed like a girl when he hammered
his hand not once, but twice."

Scully chuckles, then turns serious. "Monica, I'm glad you're having
fun, but I think you should come home."

"Why?" Reyes wonders.

"Remember the last time we were involved in Kevin's life? That Gates
man found him because we led him to Kevin. And who knows what kind of
weirdos might find him now that you've linked him to those miracles?"

"It's not definite that he's the cause," Reyes tries to argue. "After
all, the families in the articles are believers. It could be that they
brought the miracles on themselves."

"They brought it on themselves?" Scully repeats.

"Like a placebo effect," her friend says.

"Is he exhibiting stigmata again?" Scully asks.

"Huh? I don't think so," Reyes says, then pauses. "No, I saw his hands
at lunch, and I didn't see any signs of injury."

"Well, good," Scully tells him. "But if you see it, then you know it's
him. And then get the hell out, so nobody else hunts him down."

A thought occurs to her, and she decides to play devil's advocate.
"What if Kevin gets into trouble and I'm not there?"

Scully sighs heavily. "Kevin's not alone. His father's there, and I'm
sure those other volunteers would rather protect than harm a young
boy."

Reyes sighs, then roots around her bag for her cigarettes. She finds
her lighter first, then shrugs. "Okay," she sighs. "But if some
seriously weird shit goes down, we're staying."

"Monica," Scully sighs, then laughs. "Why am I talking to you like
you're my unruly teenager?"

Reyes laughs. "Practice, maybe?"

"Oh, please, don't jinx me like that!" Scully laughs. "But you know
what I mean."

Reyes nods, smiling because she finally found her smokes. "Yeah, and
you know what I mean."

Scully also nods. "Take care."

"You, too," Reyes replies before she hangs up. Then she walks out of
the room, sitting on Doggett's car hood and lights up a cigarette.
Breathing deeply, she closes her eyes, and says a silent prayer as
smoke escapes her lips. Now she knows the kind of dilemma Mulder has,
hoping for both the paranormal to make an appearance, and hoping that
it won't for the sake of an innocent life. "Dammit."

~*~*~

"Hey, thought I'd find you out here," a voice says from behind her.
Reyes turns and smiles, tapping the ash off the end her cigarette as
she waves him over with the other hand. "You know that stuff's bad for
you."

She nods. "So are a lot of things, but it doesn't stop me from living,"
she grins, taking another drag.

Doggett sighs, then joins her in leaning against the hood of his car.
"What's on your mind?"

"Kevin," she says simply.

He looks at her face, half-lit by the neon streetlight. "What about?"

She takes another puff, then exhales. "I want the miracles to be from
him, but at the same time, I don't want his life to get complicated
again."

Doggett nods. "We all want easy answers to questions, supernatural or
not, huh? But what if the kid isn't the answer?" He looks up. "I think
when it comes to miracles, it's gotta be bigger than one person,
otherwise anyone could do it."

"You really think so?" Reyes sounds surprised.

Folding his arms, he answers, "I may not have learned much from church
as a kid, but I learned that once in a while, stuff happens that no
one, not even Mulder, could explain. And that sometimes it's the hard
answers, the ones that no one wants to hear, are the ones that count."

~*~*~

"Hey, John." Mr. Kryder nods at the other man early the next morning,
both men heading to a different part of the house while Reyes and Kevin
get their assignment from Aikman.

Doggett nods back. "Hey," he replies. "Gotta ask you something."

Now the supervisor looks wary. "What about?"

"Anything different happen around here? I don't mean like miracles, I
mean anything." He adds in a lower voice, "I know my partner's got some
crazy ideas, but you know, as soon as the rest of your team recovers, I
got a feeling we'll probably be heading back to DC to work on regular
cases."

"You don't believe anything special happened, either?" Mr. Kryder says,
which surprises the agent. "Much as I'd like to think so, a lot of what
your friend said sounds an awful lot like coincidence. I didn't want to
say anything yesterday in front of Kevin, he's the one who still
believes."

"And you don't?"

Mr. Kryder chuckles, but it's a mirthless laugh. "I take the
medications not just because I'm supposed to, but because I want to.
It's kinda scary living like there's demons behind every tree, like
everyone's after your kid. Building these houses, it's something solid,
something real, and it's something I can believe in that won't get me
locked up."

Doggett can get behind that. "That doesn't negate the fact that there
are regular predators who would be after your son, with or without the
miracle-making. God knows, I tell my kids time and time again to be
careful, especially these days."

Mr. Kryder nods, seeing a sympathetic figure. "So you know. But to
answer your earlier question, no, nothing unusual. Aside from the bad
pasta the other day, there's nothing strange around here, just the
usual nicks and bruises that come with putting a house together."

"Gotcha," Doggett says. Then he waves at another member of their team.
"Hey, Pastor Carl."

"Hey," the tan man flashes his white smile at the other two. "Don't
tell me it's just gonna be just the three of us on this section."

"Nope, it's gonna be the four of us," a burly man joins in. "John,
right?" He nods at Doggett.

Doggett nods back. "Jerry?" He smiles when the other man shakes his
hand. "Guess we'll be done with this section in a snap, then."

"As long as we're all careful," Mr. Kryder gives Jerry a look. "Okay,
let's get started."

The other men nod, and after Jerry makes a show of putting on his work
gloves, they do, too. Mr. Kryder gives clear directions, is patient and
competent in his dealings, and knows what the hell he's doing, in
short, everything a professional could want in a supervisor, and not
for the first time, Doggett is surprised the man isn't with a regular
construction company, in spite of his mental history. Pastor Carl,
who's obviously less familiar with power tools although athletic, is
given simple drilling and hauling duties, while more experienced men
like Jerry are assigned the more complex tasks.

Doggett, for his part, helps both men in their jobs, being familiar
with fixing things around the house, but not quite up to building the
house itself. And Mr. Kryder isn't letting the "underlings" do all the
heavy lifting, either, he hauls frames, insulation sheets, and drills
siding with the rest of them.

"Just want to say I appreciate it," Jerry tells them once they break
for lunch.

"For what?" Doggett looks at him curiously.

"For not calling me Jerry the Jinx," the big man mumbles around his
second chili burger.

"Hey, just ‘cause you dropped your hammer doesn't mean you're a jinx,"
the agent shakes his head, taking a bite out of his first chili burger.

"Um, that's not it," Jerry says, "I'm the guy who poured concrete in
the garden instead of the foundation area. And broke a handsaw. And hit
McCrary's truck, but he was backing out, too, so that's kinda both our
faults. And killed the third portapotty. I'm surprised they're keeping
me here, but I guess these Christian guys got a lotta patience or
something."

Doggett's eyebrows are all the way up to his hair, or at least, it
feels like it. "Sounds like you're the accident-prone statistic they
always quote for construction jobs," he says, trying to make light of
the situation.

Jerry shrugs. "Well, when my brother's around, it's not so bad. He
looks out for me, and things work out. But he had some of that weird
spaghetti, and he's been feeling kinda crappy, you know?" He looks so
miserable, and Doggett feels for the guy.

"Who's your brother?" Doggett asks, more out of politeness than
anything else.

"Brad. Brad Turlington." Jerry grins. "People call him Big Brad, ‘cause
he's bigger than me."

Being that Jerry's easily the biggest man on the team he's seen so far,
Doggett believes it. "Hope he feels better soon," he says, meaning it
in more ways than one.

"Yeah." Jerry nods, tearing into what's left of his chili burger. Then
he grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve before waving.
"Hey, Pastor!"

The pastor waves back. "Hey, Jerry, how's Big Brad doing?"

Jerry makes a face. "He wasn't feeling too good. Maybe you can stop by
the hotel later and check on him."

Pastor Carl nods. "Will do. Hey, John." He smiles and waves before
moving on to the other workers.

Doggett's cell phone rings, and he says, "Sorry, gotta take this," to
the big man, excusing himself. He's usually not this polite, but
something tells him it's probably a good idea to be on the good side of
this big guy, even if their acquaintance may only be for this one
building project. "Doggett."

"Hey, John," a familiar voice says on the other end.

~*~*~

"Hey, Mon," Doggett says into his cell. "Don't tell me you're gonna sit
this one out today?"

"Ha ha," Reyes makes a face. "No, Kevin was just telling me about the
accidents that have been happening around here."

"Lemme guess," Doggett says, making sure he's out of earshot and
eyesight of Jerry, "it's mostly Jerry's fault."

"Well, some," Reyes admits, "but there's some things happening around
here that makes me suspect sabotage, or something like it going on."

"Sabotage? Really?" Doggett's forehead furrows. "Has there been any
threats, or anyone claiming responsibility?"

"No," Reyes says, "mostly construction-related accidents, or missing
supplies, which points a grudge more towards Habitat than to the
pastor." Of course, she hasn't told him about the paranormal equipment
she's been borrowing from the Lone Gunmen, now that they've got their
operations back on board, nor about "poltergeist traps" she's laid out
that's caught nothing but air so far. Then again, she hasn't given up
hope that Kevin's a latent telekinetic with poltergeist potential, but
she's not laying that out on her partner just yet.

"Have you talked to Aikman about it?"

"Yeah, but he shrugged it off, saying it went with the job, with some
building projects more hazardous than others. I'm having Scully looking
into Aikman's background, as well as everyone else on the crew," Reyes
says, while Kevin's faxing papers.

"Um, how's she gonna do that when she's not here - oh, no," Doggett
groans.

"Don't worry," Reyes smiles, "if this particular woman's intuition
doesn't pan out, we don't have to write a report, right?"

Doggett sighs. "Just make sure you don't get into any trouble, okay?"

"Me?" she says, way too innocently.

"Ha ha," he mutters. "You and Kevin get your butts out here soon, lunch
break's over in five."

"Will do, sir!" Reyes mock-salutes.

He sighs again and hangs up, then walks back to where Jerry's making
inroads on a third chili burger. Speaking of job hazards, he mutters
inwardly, maybe Monica and Kevin shouldn't join us just yet.

~*~*~

As the days pass, the house is looking more like, well, a house. This,
in spite of the constant hassles that seem to hit this particular
construction site. From what Scully could find, there was nothing shady
or even semi-legal about this branch of Habitat, nothing about Joe
Aikman except for about six speeding tickets, and nothing about the
rest of the crew beyond the usual traffic violations and occasional bar
brawl.

There was really nothing that could point to why exactly this place was
having more problems than the usual. Mr. Kryder, at one point, even
admits, "I don't know about the head boss, but I could almost swear
this site's more accident-prone than the norm." This is only after the
crane operator nearly drops a load of shingles onto Pastor Carl and
Jerry putting in windows on that side of the building.

Doggett sends a warning look to his partner, who shoots back an
innocent look. "You don't say," is all he replies, busy picking up
shingles while Reyes and Kevin are sorting out the good from the
damaged.

Kryder's eyes, however, are on the crane, since Aikman's busy reaming
out the crane operator. "I figure it's because we've got a mostly-green
crew, not used to working with certain equipment and each other," he
finally comments when something about the machine catches his eye.

The agents look at each other again, but say nothing, watching Mr.
Kryder. From what they can see, Kryder's pointing out that the fault
wasn't just with the crane operator's inability to fasten the load
properly, but also the bolts on the arm was loose enough to cause the
same kind of accident, if not worse.

"What the fuck is going on here?" they can hear Aikman bellow from
their position, and even some of the other crew members stop what
they're doing. "If anyone's got a problem with me or someone here, have
the fuckin' balls to say so to my face! Don't use my equipment to kill
anyone, ya dumb shits!" Then he stomps into his makeshift office,
presumably to cool down, but more likely to swear further and drink
more coffee than was good for his blood pressure.

"Don't say anything," Doggett murmurs in a low voice.

"I think Aikman said it all," Reyes says, casting a worried look at
Kevin.

~*~*~

The next day, the roof is finished, the windows installed, and people
are working to install doors and paint walls. Doggett's on the door
detail, while Reyes and Jerry are assigned to painting. She hadn't done
this since college, while Jerry hadn't ever done it, but their general
lack of experience is propped by fellow painters who have already
covered windows, floors, and other things that shouldn't have paint on
them. That, and everything is pretty much white, so the white paint
isn't too much of a stretch.

"Thank God it's almost over," Reyes sighs behind her face mask,
rotating her left shoulder. "It's starting to look like the real
miracle is getting this house finished."

"Of course it'll get finished," Jerry chuckles behind his
almost-inadequate face mask. "Houses like this get finished all the
time."

"One would think so," she agrees, "except this has had more hang-ups
than most. Let's hope all the accidents will stop once the Moores move
in." She's tempted to do a little smudging around the doorposts, but
she's got a feeling that the incoming family won't appreciate the
sentiment or the dirty doorposts.

And as much as she'd like to pin the mishaps on the supernatural,
nothing really stands out. From the equipment she's been able to sneak
in past Doggett's and the rest of the crew's radar, there's no sign of
poltergeist activity, nor any other spectral presence, nor any curse on
either the grounds or the crew that she's been able to ascertain. But
she knows that there's someone who wishes ill here, but she can't tell
where it's coming from or to whom it's directed at, and that's what's
frustrating her. Usually, her senses can give her a pretty good idea of
at least a general suspect, but so far, there's nothing.

She doesn't realize she's stopped painting until Uncle Al, the old,
tall guy with the moustache, taps her on the shoulder. "Hey, no
daydreaming until this gets done," he says in his gruff voice, but he's
smiling under his moustache and face mask.

Reyes smiles back. "Sorry. Um, okay," she says, remembering where she
left off, and continues painting her section of the wall.

And then she hears a man yell, "Everyone, stop what you're doing!"

~*~*~

What the hell? is the thought that runs through Doggett's head as he's
being held at gunpoint in the hallway. According to Scully, everyone
here passed a criminal background check, and as far as he could tell,
nobody'd issued threats, per se. And yet, here's this huge, wild-eyed
guy waving a gun around, telling everyone to drop their power tools and
step back.

He, Mr. Kryder, and Pastor Carl had obediently put their Makitas gently
on the floor, then stepped back. Then the guy starts yelling into every
open door to stop what they're doing.

"'Scuse me," Doggett says in as polite and nonthreatening a tone as
possible, "but who are you?"

"It doesn't matter," the big guy glares at him, "this house won't get
done!"

"Brad, you're okay!" a voice says from behind. Doggett whirls to see
Jerry standing there, a huge grin on his face. Oh, boy. This is the Big
Brad Jerry was talking about. This is not gonna end well.

"Jerry!" Brad yells at his brother as if Jerry's the one doing
something dumb and crazy. "You idiot, get out of here!"

"Why do you have a gun?" Jerry asks, finally noticing it. "What's
wrong?"

"Him!" Brad points with the muzzle of his gun. "HE'S what's wrong!"

"John?" Jerry follows the gun.

"No, stupid, the Mexican next to him!"

"Pastor Carl's not Mexican, he's ‘Merican, like us," Jerry shakes his
head.

"He's just saying that," Brad says, insanity clearly in his eyes and
voice. "He's a freakin' wetback, just like the others."

"Brad, come on, he's okay," Jerry whines, getting closer to his
brother.

"I said, shut up!" Brad shouts, and pistol-whips his brother, who falls
to the ground with a stunned expression. Then he glares at the pastor,
who's staring at the fallen man. "It's all your fault, you damn
wetback."

Pastor Carl isn't paying him any attention, instead, he's dropped to
his knees beside Jerry. "Oh man, that's gonna hurt when you wake up,"
he says, gingerly feeling the big guy's head. "Can I get him an
icepack?"

"Get the hell away from him!" Brad's screams so that his voice cracks.
"You, you don't touch him!"

"Sorry," the pastor puts his hands up.

Then everyone notices someone's mumbling, and they turn to the source
of the noise. It's Mr. Kryder, who's also dropped to his knees, but his
eyes are rolled to the back of his head, shaking his head and hands,
muttering incoherently. "What the hell's wrong with him?" Brad shouts,
waving his gun at the clearly oblivious man as if it would help.

"Stress," Doggett replies calmly, "you've officially freaked him out."
He doesn't add that the guy used to be in a mental ward a few years
back, since it looks like that's where the gunman's going, nor does he
wonder when the last time Mr. Kryder took his meds was.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Reyes, but he warns her silently
not to come near, since Brad's way too close to them and way over the
edge. But she's not the only onlooker, since the other doors are filled
with the curious, and now shocked, crew members.

"Dad!" Kevin shouts, in spite of himself. Everyone, including the
crazed gunman, looks at him through the south doorway. As if that's his
signal, the teen rushes towards his father, still babbling in tongues.

"NO!" Doggett shouts, running to throw himself between the boy and the
gunman.

"Stop, dammit!" Brad hollers, shooting wildly.

And then Kevin crumples to the ground, followed by Doggett, then Brad,
then Mr. Kryder.

~*~*~

St. Mary Medical Center
Room 302

"Hey," Doggett waving from the bed when the door opens. Then he looks
at the doctor. "Hey," he says, more surprised, and stands up.

Scully nods at him, followed by Mr. Kryder. "Hey," she replies, walking
over. "So you're ready to get back to work?" Then she folds her arms
over her already slightly rounded belly. "Then tell me why Kevin Kryder
was in a gunfight?"

"I told you, Agent Scully, I didn't want that man to kill my dad,"
Kevin says from the bed, for what feels like the millionth time. "And
I'm okay, they're just putting me under observation because my hands
are bleeding again, that's all." He holds his bandaged hands up, but
rather than a bright red, the stain looks faint and dark.

"That's all, you say," she gives him a mommy look that quickly quells
him, then levels that same gaze at the other two agents. "Monica, you
said once he started exhibiting stigmata again, you'd keep him safe."

"Well, everything was pretty much wrapped by then," Reyes replies from
the chair, "and it was only at the end, when he bilocated to save his
father's life, that his hands bled. Really."

"Really," Doggett adds, for lack of a better response.

Scully allows her head to fall back and her large pale eyes to search
the ceiling. "Give me strength," she mutters. Earlier, she'd tried to
ask Mr. Kryder about what happened, but it seems he lost consciousness
not long after Jerry Turlington did, either through being in a trance
and speaking in tongues like Reyes said, or flipped out from the stress
and violence, like Doggett said. Either way, it didn't bode well for
custody of his child, should it ever come to that.

Right now, however, the man is looking healthy, both mentally and
physically. "So Kevin's all set, right?" he asks Scully, who nods.

"Yeah!" Kevin jumps out of bed eagerly and joins his father.

She gives him a look, then turns to Mr. Kryder. "Well, his hands appear
to be healing quite well on their own," she admits, "and he's suffering
no effects of blood loss. Just make sure you change the bandages
regularly, okay?"

Both father and son nod, and then Kevin shakes her hand. "Thanks," he
says, grinning at her surprise.

Scully smiles in spite of herself. "Take care of yourself," she says,
"and don't always count on a miracle to save your hide."

"Okay," the teen says, hanging his head, but then looks directly at
her. "You wouldn't hesitate to save someone, though, would you? Even
though you or someone you love," he glances at her belly, "might get
hurt. And someone said the worst evil is if a good man does nothing
while evil exists. I don't want to be that, I want to do something
about it."

"Then do it when you're an adult," Scully corrects him gently, "that's
what my job is about." Then she looks at her friends and coworkers.
"That's what *our* jobs are about." After a beat, she adds, "Mr.
Kryder, take your son home before he turns into an FBI recruiting
commercial, okay?"

The man chuckles, "I'm sure he'll make a fine agent someday, but in the
meantime, I'll make sure he stays out of trouble. Right?" he gives his
son a meaningful look.

Kevin shies away, but finally nods after looking straight at his
father. As they leave, he pauses. "I told you I'd see you again, didn't
I?" he says over his shoulder before disappearing with his father.

~*~*~

"What was that about?" Reyes asks her, seeing Scully's mildly stunned
look.

Scully shakes her head, smiling a little. "Nothing," she says, then
puts her hands on her hips. "If Kevin hadn't pulled off a literal
miracle, I'd be talking to Agent Doggett behind a glass wall and Agent
Reyes behind a bullet-resistant plastic one. Granted, the boy did run
into the hall of his own volition, but the loss of life in a hostage
situation, especially with a minor, could have grave consequences for
all of us."

"Well, I'm glad I'm not in ICU," Doggett says wryly. "Trust me, if I
hadn't seen it with my own two eyes, I wouldn't've believed it."

Reyes nods, then stands to join the others as they head out. "According
to everyone else, while I tackled Brad Turlington, Kevin threw himself
in front of John from the south door. And while I was handcuffing
Turlington, we find Kevin had somehow shoved John and his father out of
the way from the east door. Nobody could quite explain the discrepancy,
but they were all relieved there was no loss of life." Then she asks,
"By the way, how's Jerry doing?"

"Physically, he's okay, save for the enormous goose egg on his head,"
Scully answers, her thick heels click-clacking on the hallway tiles,
"but psychologically, he's still stunned that his brother did that to
him."

Doggett nods. "I'm not surprised. It's not every day you find out
you're your brother's instrument of revenge, and then you get knocked
out for trying to do the right thing."

Reyes sighs, then her eyes catch sight of a sign. "You guys go on
ahead, I'm gonna check on something," she says.

Scully and Doggett look back, then nod, figuring she'll look in on
Jerry, and they head out through the sliding glass doors.

The tall brunette smiles a little, then turns back, heading into a room
marked "CHAPEL".

~*~*~

Chapter one hundred and Fifteen

Mulder-Scully Home
May 10th, 2002

More than two dozen people mill through the house, making even it feel
small. Most of the smaller people there are expressing their happiness
in tones loud enough to be reminded by adults to use their "indoor
voices." Not that many pay any attention.

Garbage bag already in hand, Mulder escapes the crowd in the living
room and heads to the kitchen to begin his appointed chore. There are
far too many people in the house, but the kitchen is entirely empty.

"But you said!" Mulder hears Emily protest in the next room even as he
shakes open the bag. Her mother murmurs a reply, but he doesn't make it
out. To his surprise, the small blonde stomps into the kitchen and
wordlessly begins to help him throw away the paper plates and plastic
forks left over from the babies' birthday party. A bag full of balled
up wrapping paper is already patiently waiting by the back door.

Given that William and Ryan are only a few days apart in age, Missy and
Scully decided to hold a joint party for the two young cousins.
Privately, Mulder thinks they don't want to bear the full brunt of
their mother's fussing over the little birthday boys.

Eventually, after they'd put the last plate in the bag, he turns
towards Emily expectantly, and she finally speaks. "Uncle Fox, can I
ask you a question?"

Mulder looks down into his niece's piercing blue eyes. "Sure."

Emily looks around until she spots her mother, out of earshot. "Did you
ever get jealous of your sister when you was kids?"

::Were kids:: Mulder thinks, but he doesn't correct her because Missy
chewed him out the one time she'd heard him do it in the past. "Sure,
why do you ask?"

Emily sighs. "I asked Page, but she says she doesn't remember before
Sammy was born. And I can't ask Mommy, because it's about her, kinda.
Daddy doesn't even have any brothers or sisters, but I can't ask him
either anyway."

"You feel guilty about being jealous of Ryan," Mulder guesses.

"Yeah!" Emily looks relieved. "I'm not supposed to, 'cause I'm a lot
older than him and he needs a lot of attention, but..."

"But you still are, sometimes."

"Uh huh. He doesn't mean to mess anything up, but a lot of times they
say we're going to do something, but then we can't. Because of him."
This, Mulder decides, is probably something that has just happened
again within the last few minutes.

"Yup, that sort of thing happened when Samantha was a baby too," Mulder
tells her. "Babies have a way of changing people's plans on you."

"I know," she agrees glumly.

"But your brother is already a year old. In another year or so, he'll
be able to run around and play too, just like Christopher did last
year. I know a year seems like a long time, but it's not really. Once
he's just a little bit bigger, he'll be able to join in on doing things
instead of keeping you from doing them at all."

"Good. I like being a big sister, you know. I just didn't know it would
be hard sometimes," she confesses.

Mulder forces himself to smile, and he hopes it's convincing. More, he
hopes that she never finds the level of "hard" being a sibling that he
did. Missy's kids aren't as cuddly as his, but Mulder hugs her anyway.
"You're doing a good job so far, Emily. Keep it up."

She doesn't say anything, but she looks thrilled by his compliment.

~*~*~

Three Hours Later

Worn out, the birthday boy rests his cheek on his mother's shoulder.
Scully slowly carries him up to his room, and seems surprised to see
Mulder already there. He has a stack of William's birthday presents in
his arms.

"You're organizing?" she asks dryly before settling William in his
crib.

"I thought I'd give putting things away before they got all over the
place a shot. See what a change of pace accomplished."

Her mouth quirks into a smile. "Good idea."

"Scully," he says, looking over his shoulder as he puts boxes on a
shelf. "Have you ever thought about how lucky we've been in regards to
sibling rivalry?"

"Why would we be competing with our siblings?" Scully looks confused.
At least she doesn't ask him how he's supposed to compete with his.

"Not our siblings." Mulder smiles at her and points at their sleeping
son. "His siblings."

"Oh. I guess we have lucked out. They all get along great." 

"Knock on wood," Mulder says, and quietly raps on William's dresser.

"You don't really believe-"

Ignoring her, he says, "Your sister's going to have her hands full."

"Oh?"

"Emily's trying to put up a good front, but she's still not used to no
longer being the center of attention. She is having some trouble
dealing with Ryan's needs being put before plans."

"You know this how?" Scully asks curiously.

"She told me."

"Really? That's the sort of thing I would have only told a favorite
aunt or uncle at that age."

"Jealous, Scully?" he teases.

"No. I'm glad she opened up to you."

"Me too. You're not going to squeal to Missy, are you?"

"Nope. I'll keep it in mind if she complains about them not getting
along, though."

Mulder puts his hand on her slightly rounded belly. "I hope our luck
with sibling rivalry continues to hold."

"God willing," she agrees. 

~*~*~

Missy-Krycek Home
May 12th, 2002 

The last person that Krycek expects to be standing on his welcome mat
is Marita. She gives him a slow smile, and he assumes it's because of
the shocked look on his face rather than any pleasure at seeing him.
"There's only one car in the driveway, Alex. Is it safe to assume Wifey
is out with the kids?"

"My mother-in-law dragged them off to church," he says nervously.

"But she left you behind. A smart woman, if she's not trying to convert
you." Marita says before pushing past him. Surprised, Alex gapes at
her. "Don't just stand there, we have something important to talk
about."

Krycek pulls the door open in an exaggerated fashion, and she stalks
past him, finally coming to a rest at the kitchen table. He pulls up
another chair. "Coffee, Marita?"

"If you already have some made."

"As much as I welcome a visit from you," Krycek says dryly, "please
don't leave me in suspense about the nature of our meeting here."

Marita stirs sugar into her coffee with slim pale fingers. "I've had
some disturbing pillow talk lately."

He grimaces. "I know I'll regret asking, but with whom?"

"Brad Follmer." 

"Ah. And you thought you should tell me that you're sleeping with the
enemy because..." He prompts.

"That's exactly it, Alex. I am sleeping with the enemy. It seemed
prudent."

"I don't even want to know what you mean by that," Krycek mutters. He
doesn't begrudge her finding a willing sexual partner, but he still
can't figure out why she is telling him about it.

"Men, though not you Alex, are easy to manipulate. Grandmothers want
girls to believe that the fastest way to a man's heart is though his
stomach, but men like Follmer are led around by their dicks. Sleeping
with him is the easiest way to get information, and considering who is
left on the outside after you and Mulder cleaned house a few months
ago, the least repulsive of the bunch."

"We would have gotten the rest of them if we could have, Marita,"
Krycek says defensively. "We're still working on ways to get them
punished the way we did the men who worked for them."

"Work faster, Alex." Marita says coldly. "Or your wife will never
forgive you."

Krycek freezes for a moment before giving her a startled glance.
"Wouldn't forgive me for what?"

"Follmer thinks I'm trustworthy, the fool. Half-asleep and half-drunk,
he decided to tell me that while the project is shattered, they have
hope for the future. The plan is to groom 'Alex Krycek's daughter' to
restart the project when she comes of age. That was last night."

"No!" Krycek stands so suddenly that his chair keels over and crashes
to the floor. "They're never going to get their hands on Emily again!"

"That's what I thought you'd say," she replies smoothly. "Which is why
I got up at this ungodly hour to tell you."

It's almost nine, but Krycek supposes that non-parents who no longer
work weekends might keep different hours. "Did he say how they planned
to get her, to mold her?"

Marita shakes her head. "I think he was just sober enough to realize
he'd over-shared. After that he refused to talk about it any more. But
he did say something else that made me think."

"What?"

"When we pushed the smoking bastard down the stairs, we should have
paired it with a bullet to the brain."

Krycek shoots her an incredulous look. "You can't mean that Follmer
thinks he's alive?"

"Alive and still pulling the strings."

"How could he be, the way we left him?"

"He's our personal Michael Myers," she says with the faintest of ironic
smiles. "You know what they say, the good die young."

"Where is he?" Krycek demands to know.

She shrugs. "It doesn't matter where he is right now. Follmer said that
are keeping him under wraps, and are going to move him soon anyway."

"Moving to where?"

"I don't know yet. But I intend to find out." Her smile is chilling.

"And then you'll tell me?"

"Yes. Then I'll tell you."

~*~*~

Loup De Mer Restaurant
Later...

There's more to Mother's Day than presents and breakfast in bed for
Scully with the kids. Whenever possible, Mulder likes to take his
mother out for lunch, while Scully and her sister spend the afternoon
with theirs. He hasn't been able to be with his mother every year, but
he finds himself especially grateful that this year is one that he can.

Teena is still looking at her menu when a waiter appears at Mulder's
elbow. "Mom, ready to order?" Mulder prompts.

His mother looks up and gives the waiter a charming smile before
reeling off her order. Mulder follows, and the waiter ambles off,
promising to be back soon with a basket of bread and their appetizers.

"How are the children?" Teena asks as she watches the server return to
the kitchen.

"Good." Mulder gives her a genuine smile. "I think they're looking
forward to summer vacation starting in a few weeks."

"You and your sister used to love summer, Fox. We couldn't get you in
before dark most nights." Her good cheer fades. "I'm sure the children
miss your father."

"Yeah. We all miss him," Mulder says softly.

She nods quickly. "There's something I've been keeping from you."

"There is?" Mulder immediately wonders which of his mother's skeletons
she's referring to.

"I have a disease. It's called Paget's Carcinoma. I was told that it's
incurable-"

He gives her an alarmed glance. "Mom, are you trying to say you're
dying?"

"No, Dear. I was told that it's incurable, but I eventually found a
specialist who could treat it. I'm in remission, and there's no reason
to think it will return."

"Thank God." 

"Forgive me, but I didn't want to say anything until I was sure that
your children weren't going to be losing another grandparent."

"Well, I'm glad you're okay." When Mulder looks up at her, he notices
something for the first time. She's waiting to be included. "Dana and
the kids ought to be done with church and their lunch by the time I get
home. Would you like to come over after lunch? The kids ask after you
too, Mom."

"Do they?" She looks so pleased that he feels ashamed that he just
assumed that she wasn't particularly interested in her grandchildren.

"Sure," he says, hoping she won't ask him how often.

"I'd love to, Fox."

"Great."

When the waiter returns with their bread basket and tray of appetizers,
he accidentally knocks the drink menu to the ground. "I'll get it."
Mulder volunteers.

"Don't be silly." Teena bends down to pick it off the floor while the
waiter apologizes. Mulder's face goes white when he glimpses her bent
neck.

There's a tiny scar there, just like the one Scully had in their old
life. ::Oh, Mom! What sort of "specialist" did you go to?::

~*~*~

Kersh's Home
May 14th, 2002
3 a.m. 

The urgent need to urinate has Deputy Director Kersh reluctantly
crawling out of bed hours before he needs to get up. He braces himself
against the wall with one hand as his bladder slowly empties for the
third time that night. Past experience has counseled him against
bothering to turn on the light. The moon offers the required
illumination to hit his mark, anyway.

"You might want to have your prostate checked out," a voice says behind
him.

Kersh whirls around so fast that urine splashes his bare feet, and he
grimaces in disgust. His desire to tuck himself back into his boxers
evaporates when he realizes that for the second time in his life, he's
got a gun pointed at him in his own home.

"Put that thing away," the gunman snaps waving the gun towards his
privates, and Kersh is more than happy to oblige.

"I didn't have anything to do with the death of Mulder's father," he
says steadily, wishing that he'd invested in a security system after
the first time that this lunatic broke into his home.

"This isn't about Bill Mulder's suicide, though I guess that saying you
have nothing to do with his death is debatable," the one-armed man
tells him.

Kersh narrowly hangs onto his self-control and doesn't begin to scream
at the home invader like all his instincts want him to. "Then why are
you back?"

"Though you're a craven coward, you're a good source of information.
I'll offer you the same deal as before – you tell me what I want to
know, and I'll let you live."

"What is it that you think I know?" Kersh asks cautiously. He doesn't
really trust the other man to keep his word.

To his surprise, the man dips his hand into a pocket and pulls out a
small notepad and pen before flicking on the bathroom light. Kersh
blinks owlishly, his eyes unused to the brightness. Before he can quite
recover, the other man thrusts both objects into his hands.

"I want to know what happened to the children like my daughter Emily.
The ones born in the eighties and nineties."

"What about them?"

"Are they dead?" 

"No," Kersh admits. "They're not."

"Then I want addresses!" the other man demands.

"Why?"

"Your only concern is not having your brains splattered over your ugly
bathroom wallpaper. Addresses, now."

His tone assures Kersh that he is not making an idle threat, so he
opens the notepad with trembling fingers. "I don't know the addresses
off the top of my head, but I've got them written down in my study."

"I hope you realize that I'm not in a game playing mood, Alvin." But he
does allow Kersh to leave the bathroom. He follows three steps behind.
Too close for a workable plan to escape his tormentor.

Defeated, Kersh goes to his desk and pulls out a file. His uninvited
guest waits as he laboriously copies out the names, ages and addresses
of the seven children who were in the same experiment series as Emily.
Then, without comment, he pushes the notepad back at the other man.

"Are they sick?" 

"They take the same sort of treatments as Emily," Kersh admits. "They
seem pretty well."

"Are any of them with their biological parents?"

Kersh shakes his head. "No. Melissa Scully is the only mother whose ova
weren't taken by force. The other mothers have all died by now."

"Like Penny Northern," the gunman growls.

"I guess. I never learned their names."

"What do you do with these children?"

"They're studied every summer. Their adoptive parents think that it's a
summer camp."

"By 'study' you mean experiment on."

"I have nothing to do with it, personally," Kersh says defensively, and
he thinks that it's more or less a true statement. All he's ever done
to the children is observe them. "And nothing is done that actually
hurts them. The scientists just needed to know what went wrong with the
older kids, so there was no repeating the errors."

"So you could go on to create scores of younger children," the other
man says flatly.

"It was necessary-" Kersh starts to say, but a suddenly cocked gun cuts
him off.

"Now, tell me what the smoking man plans to do to my daughter."

"I don't know," Kersh states honestly. "I know they didn't include her
in the summer studies because of your in-laws, but beyond that? No one
has ever spoken to me about the girl."

"Where is he?"

"I have no idea." 

"I'd better not find out otherwise," his captor growls and flips off
the light in the office.

Then, less than a minute later, Kersh finds himself alone in his dark
house.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
May 14th, 2002
9 a.m.

Although he realizes that time is short before he and Scully need to
leave for her OB appointment, Mulder is still in the middle of a phone
conversation three minutes before they have to leave. He's mostly
listening.

"Thank you," Mulder says sourly. "Yes, I know it's not up to you."

He's just hanging up the phone when Scully comes towards him with her
purse in her hand. "Are you almost ready to go?"

"Sure. Let me put on my shoes, and I'll be all set."

"Who were you talking to? You didn't look very happy when I came around
the corner."

He sighs. "Kersh's secretary. He's out for the day, but apparently he
left her a message in case I called when he was out of the office."

"It wasn't good news?" She looks concerned and sympathetic.

"Not really. I do have a date for my rescheduled reinstatement meeting,
though. After the new fiscal year."

"Ouch."

"From her tone, apparently I should consider myself lucky that he's
willing to reschedule at all. I get the impression that Skinner put his
neck out for me on that one," Mulder theorizes. "I'm sure he'll use the
time to outline all the reasons he's going to recommend that I never
return to the FBI."

Scully puts her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Mulder." 

"Me too. But it's not as though I didn't know this was going to happen.
As soon as I blew off that meeting to go and look for my father, I knew
that I was severely reducing my chances of ever returning to the
X-Files."

"What else could you have done?" Scully looks outraged on his behalf.
"I'm sure he would have done the exact same thing in your position, so
how can he punish you for it?"

"Do you really think Kersh has parents, Scully? I got the idea that he
hatched."

She smirks at him before looking over his shoulder at the clock. "Come
on, we're going to be late."

"So what if we are? Doctors are never ready to see you when you
arrive."

"Unless you're late," Scully counters. "That's the only time they're
ready for you."

Smiling at her cynicism, Mulder grabs the keys to her car off the hook
by the door, and ushers her out.

As they pass by the minivan that he's glad they don't need today, he
stops and gives it a speculative look. Scully slows to a stop herself
when she notices that he's not beside her any longer. "Mulder? What are
you doing?"

"Thinking."

"About?" Scully is beginning to get frustrated. 

"We're never going to get two more car seats in this thing."

"Of course we -" she starts to say, but gives the minivan a critical
look herself. "Oh, crap."

"I think we're going to need to stop by a van dealership this summer,"
he says, finally walking to the car.

"A van?"

"Something that will hold twelve passengers."

"I thought we agreed that we're not having any more kids after this set
of twins." Scully gives him a nervous look.

"They don't make eleven passenger vehicles, Scully." 

"Oh."

"But if the van fills you with lust, and we need to christen it, well,
things happen." He attempts a seductive smile.

"Brother."

~*~*~

Despite Scully's worry, they arrive at Doctor Hart's office with five
minutes to spare. Half an hour later, they're still waiting to see him.

"We should have been late, Scully. After apologizing we could have seen
him twenty minutes ago."

Hart doesn't offer any excuses when he finally enters the room. Instead
he immediately launches into questioning Scully, and Mulder tunes out,
thinking about buying a van and finally being rid of the soccermom-ish
minivan. He finally looks up when he hears Hart ask, "Have you given
much thought to names yet?"

"Not really," Scully tells him. "We don't know if we should be thinking
of boys or girls names yet." She is careful to give no indication as to
which she'd prefer.

Mulder himself is torn. While he'd love to have another pair of sons,
he's pretty sure that Scully wants the babies to be girls, so it seems
selfish to hope for boys. ::Whichever, as long as they're healthy.:: He
thinks, hoping that God is listening in to his thoughts.

"If they're feeling cooperative, we might be able to solve that mystery
today," Hart says with a smile.

It takes a few minutes to set things up, but before long the babies are
wriggling on the screen. "They look great, Dana." Hart smiles.

"I'm glad we've got two healthy little....um...little..." Mulder peers
studiously at the screen, but he can't make much out.

"Little girls," Hart tells them.

Scully's face lights up, and Mulder lets the thought of more sons go
with almost no pain. ::With nine kids, I'm sure to have some grandsons
in the future. All is good.::

"Girls?" Scully asks, sounding awestruck. "I didn't think we'd have
another girl, not after four boys in a row."

::Not exactly in a row,:: Mulder finds himself thinking sadly, but he
doesn't bring it up. "Do you want to paint the nursery pink or purple?"
he asks instead.

"We've got a few more months to figure that out," Scully tells him, but
her eyes are still on the image of their unborn daughters.

~*~*~

Victory Hill High School
Eaton, California
May 16th, 2002

Tenth grader Mark Cross is in the middle of handing in his English
paper when the secretary announces over the PA that he's supposed to
report to the principal's office immediately. Startled, Mark drops his
paper and turns to the classroom door.

"What are you getting busted for, Mark?" one of the jocks in the class
jeers as he shuts the door.

As he hurries down the hallway, Mark furiously tries to think of a
reason he'd be called down to the office. He's pretty sure that he
hasn't done anything to get in trouble, so it leaves him with the
queasy worry that there's some sort of emergency at home. His hands are
practically shaking as he turns the knob.

Principal Lancaster looks up at him with a slight smile. "Mark. This is
FBI agent Alex Krycek. He needs to ask you a few questions."

"FBI?" Mark gives his badge an astonished look. 

"I'm going to get a cup of coffee," Principal Lancaster says nervously,
and Mark realizes that she just doesn't want to be involved in the
conversation. "If you need anything, the secretary is right next door."

"Thank you," the fed says with a bright smile, and both males watch the
principal scurry off. He then turns to Mark. "You haven't done anything
wrong. I want to make it clear that you're not the one in trouble.
Okay?"

"Okay." Mark relaxes a little. "But don't my parents need to be here
when you talk to me?"

The man shakes his head. "They only need to be present if you've done
something wrong, and like I said, you haven't."

"Right. So..." Could his parents have screwed up on their taxes? They
said taxes are complicated on a home business, but wouldn't that
involve the IRS, not the FBI?

"The reason I want to speak to you is because we're investigating a
group who has done illegal experimentation on children."

"What does that have to do with me?" Mark asks automatically.

"Mark. I know. I know all about you and the seven other kids like you,"
the agent says softly.

For some reason, Mark believes him. "You do?" Even as he asks, he
wonders what happened to the eighth child, given there's only seven of
them at "camp" each year. It doesn't seem wise to ask, however.

"I know that you were all given to adoptive families after your births.
I'm hoping that you know that as well, because this would be a terrible
way to tell you that you're adopted."

"Oh, I've known I'm adopted since I was little."

"Good. I also know that they've brought you back to their labs every
summer. What I don't know is what they did to you while you were
there."

"Nothing bad," Mark says too quickly.

"I want to show you something." The man opens a folder, and for one
second Mark is afraid that he's going to show him gruesome crime scene
photos. Instead it's a group photo of dozens of toddlers. "This winter
and spring my partner and I spent months recovering these children and
finding them good homes."

"What do they have to do with me?"

"These little guys were created after they studied you and the other
kids. I've come to you because you're the oldest, Mark. They're far too
little to tell me what was done to them, though we know it wasn't good.
Since they're little more than babies, they're counting on you to help
get justice for what was done to them."

"And if I can't tell you anything?"

"Then the bad guys get away with everything," the FBI agent says
grimly.

"I guess that would suck."

"You're what, sixteen?"

"Yeah, since a couple of months ago."

"That's practically grown up," he says evenly. "Maybe next they'll
decide to see what they can do with your children."

"They wouldn't!"

"Are you sure?"

He isn't. Mark sighs. "What do you need me to do?"

Though the idea of possibly testifying in court makes Mark nervous, the
possibility that his own hypothetical children could someday be the
doctors' victims worries him even more. In the end he gives the FBI
agent as much information as he possibly can, and then the two of them
discuss the plan with his parents.

~*~*~

The Basement Office
May 17th, 2002

When Doggett and Reyes arrive at the office still laughing, they notice
that Scully has beat them in. There's a box of donuts on her desk, and
a trio of paper coffee cups.

"Are you trying to butter us up for something, agent Scully?" Doggett
asks flippantly as she hands him a coffee.

"Well..." 

He looks down at her, surprised. "I was joking."

"I know," she says, handing Reyes one of the other coffee. "We need to
talk."

"About?" Reyes asks nervously.

"We haven't told the kids yet, so please don't let this slip – Mulder
and I are having a second set of twins, not the single baby everyone
thought."

"Congratulations!"
"That's great, do you know the sexes yet?"

She gives them a small smile. "Thank you. We just found out that
they're girls. Mulder and I have talked extensively and Skinner is
backing up our decision... After next month, I'm not going to be doing
any fieldwork."

"That's probably for the best," Doggett says supportively.

"Oh." Reyes looks disappointed.

Scully reminds herself that Reyes doesn't know about her last twin
pregnancy as well as Doggett does, so she tries to explain: "David and
Jared were a month premature due to my involvement with the X-Files,
and that was close to four years ago. Factoring in my age, and the fact
that there are two babies, this is considered a high risk pregnancy.
I'm not going to repeat my mistake and put these babies at risk the
same way."

"But David and Jared are fine," Reyes blurts out.

"And thank God for that," Doggett says sharply before turning to stare
at her.

"Right..." Reyes blushes. "Will you be starting maternity leave early?"

"No. I'll be here in the office, riding a desk."

"We'll try to make sure that the case files you'll be writing up will
be interesting," Doggett tells her with a grin.

"Speaking of which, are we going to get to check out that banshee case
before you're grounded?"

"If we get a jump on it," Scully tells her. 

~*~*~

Walla Walla, Washington
May 19th, 2002
7:30 p.m.

The TV is on, and Krycek has his feet up on the worn hotel room
comforter. He has a phone to his ear.

"I'm flying home tonight, Babe," he promises his wife. "Yeah, I found
all seven of them... I know, but Mulder and I warned you and Dana that
we still needed to find those last kids. Can't you at least be glad
it's taken me just a few of days to do it?"

He reaches for the remote and flips to the news. "They're all with nice
families, like the Sims were. They look happy and healthy. Now that we
know, we can rest easy. Yeah, I love you too."

When he hangs up, he feels emotionally drained. Most of the kids were
very young, right around Emily's age, so he didn't want to get them
involved if there were any legal dealings to come in the days ahead.
Two of the kids, a girl name Jessie and a boy named Alan were also in
high school, so he spoke to them too. Then he faxed their statements,
along with Mark's to the FBI tip line last night.

To his relief, the news offered him the glimpse he'd been praying for
since the night before - footage of a raid on Knowle Rohrer's house. He
turns up the volume, and listens to the very earnest news anchor. "In
an unexpected move, FBI agents raided the home of a department of
defense worker this afternoon. Shocking allegations link him other men
with ties to the FBI, to the horrific human rights violations we
reported on back in February and March. Dozens of young children were
held captive and experimented upon. The FBI has had their eye on this
trio for months, but until some older victims came forward, they
weren't able to make arrests-"

Krycek smiles to himself. Like some of the very small children he and
Mulder rescued, and as Krycek suspects of Mulder's second daughter, the
girl, Jessie, is a telepath. She'd given him more than enough
ammunition to nail Follmer, Kersh, and Rohrer to the wall for their
parts in the medical torture of those little children.

And she'd given him the location of the Smoking Man.

Krycek once told Mulder that being a bad man had paid well, but Krycek
has never let on how well that was. He picks up the phone, determined
to get rid of the scourge in all their lives.

~*~*~

Meanwhile...

When Marita Covarrubias drives by Alex Krycek's house for the second
day in a row, she growls with frustration. His wife's little silver car
is parked in the driveway, but the sleek black one that belongs to
Krycek isn't there.

"Dammit, Alex," she whispers, pounding her fist on the steering wheel.
Inside the house, she can see his wife talking to their daughter, and
his little son is staring out the window from his high chair. It makes
her wonder if the boy can see her, not that she's worried about it one
way or the other.

Not being able to talk to him yesterday was just annoying, but today is
another story entirely. Just an hour before they hauled Follmer out of
his bed in the middle of the night, he'd finally given up the location
of the smoking man. They'd been shuffling the old bastard from place to
place, and she was unsure how long the information might be good for.

She was supposed to take one for the team so they could get
information, and Alex was supposed to act on it when she did. She'd
kept up her end of the bargain, but he was falling down on his end.

There is only one alternative, and she hates to take it, but she
doesn't see what other choice she has. Grimacing, she heads for a
different part of DC.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
Forty Minutes Later

Scully notices the woman walking up the driveway before Mulder does.
"Mulder?"

He joins her, wondering what she's looking at. "Oh. It's Marita
Covarrubias. You remember her, don't you, Scully?"

"Uh, I guess so. What do you think she wants?"

"I guess we're about to find out," Mulder says, swinging the door open.

Marita gives them a brittle smile. "I'll be brief. I've discovered
something that's very valuable to all of us."

"What's that?" Mulder asks cautiously.

"The location of the smoking man."

"Give it to me!" Mulder demands.

She shakes her head lightly. "Only if I can trust you to act on it."

"Act on it?" Scully asks suspiciously.

"I want him gone. Out of our lives. Unable to manipulate us further,"
Marita barks.

"We want that too."

She sighs. "I'm sure that you do, but I have a feeling that you'll just
have him arrested."

"What would you prefer?" Scully asks.

The other woman just gives her a piercing look.

~*~*~

Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen

Texas/New Mexico Border
May 20th,2002

The thick clay buildings all look the same to Scully as Mulder pulls
the car to a stop in front of one of them.

"How did you decide?" she asks curiously. "Which one to pick?"

"Pick what?"

"Which house to stop at."

Mulder points and her eyes follow his finger. He's spotted something
she overlooked- there's a thin ribbon of smoke coming from the top of
one of the pueblos.

"Maybe this is the place," she says, thinking. There doesn't seem to be
any sign that the other homes are habited, so if the smoking man is
anywhere. "But what if it's not? I don't want to go busting into
someone else's home."

"So why don't we wait for a few minutes?" Mulder suggests. "It's been a
while since we've done a stakeout."

"Yet somehow, I haven't missed it," Scully says dryly.

"You haven't?" Mulder does his best to look shocked and disappointed.
"You, me, half a sandwich and ice tea. The good old days."

"It was root beer, Mulder."

"I know. I still loved you anyway."

She smirks at him as he hands her a pair of binoculars. Even before she
focuses, she can see that there are people moving about inside the
building. When she turns the wheel to sharpen the image, their nemesis
comes into view. To her surprise, the old man waves from the window.

Mulder is already opening the door before she has a chance to ask him
if he'd seen the man too.

"Mulder, don't you want to call the police to let them know where he
is?" Scully asks, putting a restraining hand on his forearm. "They've
been arresting people all week. They'll take him in too."

"Scully, I need to talk to him," Mulder insists. "We'll have him
arrested after that, but I need to speak to him right now."

"Why, to tell him off?"

"Isn't that a good enough reason?" He looks at her. "This might be my
last chance. Old men don't last long in prison."

She sighs, but follows him.

~*~*~

Inside the pueblo it is still shadowed despite the bright sun outside.
There are no lights, and no candles or lamps, either. It is clear that
the building doesn't benefit from electricity, and Mulder assumes that
there is also no running water.

An old woman feeds small logs into a fire, and though she's doing her
best to ignore them, the way her back tenses tells Mulder that she's
acutely aware that they're there.

"Where is he?" Mulder demands to know before stopping to wonder if the
woman speaks English. She hadn't spoken to him the last time, so he
still didn't know. "The old man, where is he?"

She does seem to understand him, because she points at a cloth curtain
pulled across the door.

Grateful that he can communicate with her, he says, "You should leave.
It isn't safe here."

Stubbornly, she turns back to her fire.

~*~*~

"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain," Mulder mutters to
himself as he gathers the black cloth in one fist. "I am the great and
powerful Oz."

"What did you say, Mulder?" Scully peers up at him, looking faintly
concerned.

"Nothing important." They step into the next room.

"The prodigal son," the smoking man taunts as soon as Mulder sets eyes
on him. "Coming to gloat, I take it."

"I'm not gloating," Mulder says firmly. "I'm not standing over your
grave yet."

"At least I've denied you that."

"At least?" Scully asks coldly.

He grimaces at her. "You are not a gracious winner, Dana Scully."

"How have we won?" Mulder demands to know.

"How haven't you?" There's a bitter light in the old man's eyes. "I
should have smothered you in your crib, no matter what joy your mother
took in your then insignificant self. Or, failing that, I shouldn't
have protected you from your betters when they wanted to eliminate you
as a threat."

"Protected me," Mulder says scornfully. "You never protected me."

"If that's what you need to tell yourself," the old man says
dismissively. "What does it matter now that you've destroyed the plans
that men gave decades, and some their very lives, to? You've managed to
ruin everything!"

"Ruined what?" Scully asks, and Mulder admires her detached curiosity. 

"It's a scary story. You should sit on my lap," the smoking man says
with a tired leer. Scully doesn't react. Sighing, he says, "There was a
plan in place. The invasion was to start when the Mayan calendar ran
out. It seemed like too good a joke to pass up on, fulfilling a witless
prophecy centuries after the makers fell to invaders themselves. But
you-" He thrusts a gnarled finger at Mulder's chest. "-and that idiot
Alex Krycek have undone all our plans."

"Which plans are those?" Mulder wants to know. His mind is going a mile
a minute, trying to figure out how he's managed, if the old man is to
be believed, to put off an alien invasion with just Krycek's help.

"Those children you stole from us were going to be out liaisons. And
the men that you've imprisoned were going to give the invaders all the
help they needed. But now that most of them are dead..." He trails off,
noting the shocked look on Mulder's face. "You don't realize how busy
Alex has been the last few days, do you? No matter, most of them are
dead in their cells. Without our leaders, liaisons and good soldiers,
the invasion won't happen when it should. That's your fault."

"You blame me for not bringing about the end of the world. Gee, I'm
terribly sorry about that."

"As you should be," the old man says, as if he takes Mulder's sarcasm
as an actual apology. "Because of you, the world is denied a new
genesis."

"A genesis that involves being enslaved by aliens!" Mulder retorts.

The old man shakes his head sadly. "I knew you'd never understand."

"I'm glad he doesn't," Scully says fiercely. "I'm glad he can't relate
you at all."

Mulder is about to open his mouth and demand to know if this man is
responsible for the chip embedded in the flesh of his mother's neck,
but a small movement in the gloom behind Mulder's bastard father seems
to catch Scully's attention. It catches the smoking man's too. He waves
behind him, a come-here motion, and someone does.

For a moment Mulder is convinced that it's Emily, but his confusion
abates slightly, and he knows that it isn't. Emily is seven and this
child is so much younger than that. Still, she looks something like the
Emily they first met, then barely more than a baby.

"Angel?" Scully whispers beside him, but then shakes her head.

The smoking man's lip curve into a smile, one that more looks like the
rictus of a skull, and he reaches out to pat the blonde child on the
head. The little girl flinches away. "A comfort in my old age, this
child. Of course, she dies too now that you've condemned me."

"Who is she?" Scully asks sharply.

The old man raises what's left of his eyebrows. "I should think it
would be obvious." He pauses for a moment. "No? Alex Krycek and your
sister are the parents of more than one little girl. This one he
doesn't know about."

"Why? What would you want with my niece?" Scully demands to know.

Meanwhile, Mulder thinks he's pulled some of the pieces together. "This
is the baby Diana insisted was mine."

 ::and the little girl April's been dreaming about?:: He finds himself
wondering. The child doesn't have any readily noticeable injuries, but
it was hard to know how much of April's dream was real, or how much was
just a dream.

"Yes. She tried to steal her from me, but I got her back. Diana paid
for that." CSM then turns to Scully. "She was going to be my pupil. I
was going to train her to be every bit as ruthless as her father was
before your sister got her clutches on him. This is the child who was
going to rule after me." Fixing his accusing stare on Mulder he says,
"Or was, up until you destroyed my kingdom. Now she's worth nothing."

"You wouldn't have lived long enough to raise her," Scully insists.

Glee fills the old man's face. "Ask your sister about the trip we took.
I would have lived long enough, if there weren't people on their way
here to murder me." Then, horribly, he laughs. "Can't you hear it?
They're coming for you now too!"

Mulder freezes, and strains his ears to hear the sound that the old man
means. A sinking feeling fills him as he hears the distant shush of
helicopter blades. In the past he'd believed that the black copters had
been sent after him and Scully, to punish him from escaping the
kangaroo court. Darting his eyes towards the old man who continues to
cackle like Rumpelstiltskin before his big fall, Mulder wonders now if
he and Scully hadn't been the primary target after all.

"Scully, go!" Mulder shouts, and shoves her lightly towards the door
when she hesitates.

The old man doesn't even reach out to stop Mulder when he bends down
and pulls the little girl off her feet. She doesn't seem wary of him,
and wraps her small arms around his neck.

Still laughing, the smoking man remarks, "Still the noble fool, my boy.
A lot of good it will do you too. This is the way the world ends. This
is the way the world ends..."

Not waiting to hear the crazy man finish his quote of T.S. Elliot,
Mulder slings his free arm around Scully's waist, and they run for
their lives. Behind them a delighted cackling continues to emanate from
deeper inside the structure. This time Mulder pauses long enough to
push the old woman out of the pueblo too.

The old woman wails in fear as Mulder continues to prod her away from
the pueblo. Then, with surprising speed, she darts down the road,
heading towards a distant building. He hopes that it's enough.

"Get in!" Mulder shouts, looking up. The copter is still a distant
speck, but it is growing larger as the volume increases.

Mulder wenches the SUV's door open and deposits the little girl on the
rear seat. Without waiting for any of them to be buckled in, he throws
the car into drive and roars down the road in the direction that the
old woman took. She's no longer in sight.

~*~*~

Nearly a mile away, Mulder finally stops the SUV on a hill. They can
see the pueblo they'd just come from clearly. Just as clearly they can
see a helicopter rise above and in front of the building where the old
bastard is probably still laughing. A moment later a missile fires
directly at the clay walls.

For a moment, with the binoculars held to his eyes, Mulder sees at
laughing face. Then walls cave in around the old man when a second
missile follows the first, and the man is hidden from sight. After that
he loses track of how many projectiles are wasted on a dead man.

At least he hopes that he's dead.

Five minutes later the copter reverses its course and heads back to
wherever it came from. It's only as the din made by its blades fades
that Mulder realizes that there's whimpering coming from the backseat.

He turns to see that their forgotten passenger has her fist in her
mouth and tears streaking her face. Sighing, Mulder twists so he can
reach into the backseat and pulls the girl onto his lap. "Hey, it's
okay," he soothes. "What's your name?" Looking at Scully over the
girl's head, he starts to ask, "He never said, so what if she d-"

"Addy," The girl says after taking her fist out of her mouth.

"Is your name Adelaide?" Scully asks gently.

After a moment's contemplation, the toddler nods. "Sometimes he say me
that."

There's a lot Mulder would like to ask her, but the girl won't even be
three years old until the end of the summer, so he's not sure that
there's any point to it. The flip side of this, he decides, is that at
least she's not likely to remember the old man, either.

"Mulder, look!" Scully hisses, and he realizes that she's looking
through her binoculars again.

Trying to look in the same spot, he focuses on the ruins. The old woman
has returned, and he can see that she's in distress, throwing out her
arms in dismay as she examines the ruins. Then her mouth opens in what
looks like a silent scream, though he realizes that it's just distance
making her mute. She bends down and reaches out, her mouth still open,
and stands clutching a bloody prize. Even at that distance, he can see
that her wrinkled hands hold a wet skull smeared with clay.

"Scully?" He drops his binoculars and looks at her. "I think the devil
has gone back to hell."

"It's over," she says, acid in her tone. "It's finally over. Good."

Mulder nods and puts Addy back on the rear seat. She doesn't struggle
as he buckles her in. "Now what?"

"Now we bring Addy to the emergency room," Scully tells him. "We need
to know what sort of shape she's in."

~*~*~

Saint Anthony's Hospital

"How long have we been here?" Mulder whispers to Scully.

She looks over Addy's head. "Close to two hours."

"She's being good." Except for the fact that she won't sit on their
laps and tenses if anyone touches her goes unsaid.

"I know."

"I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

"Where are you going?" 

"Gift shop."

He gingerly skirts around a woman holding an obviously broken wrist,
and looks for the hospital directory. The gift shop is just down the
hall, and it only takes Mulder two minutes to make his way there.

Most people in the hospital are adults, as is evidence by the small
room being jammed full of flowers and magazines. And half of the small
toy selection is imprinted with things like "it's a girl!" or "it's a
boy!" While he thinks that's not entirely inappropriate, he thinks, for
her parents who don't even know that she exists yet, they're not a good
fit for the child herself. Eventually he finds a small blue kitten, and
pulls it off the shelf. Then he stops to look at the candy shelf.

~*~*~

"Chocolate, Mulder?" Scully asks, looking amused. "Trying to buy her
affection?"

"Not just for her. I thought we could all use a treat," he tells her
before handing Addy a chocolate bar. The little girl stares at it like
she doesn't know what it is. Maybe she doesn't.

"You still like Three Musketeers, don't you?" he asks his wife.

"Love them."

Mulder pulls out the Snickers that he bought for himself and notices
that Addy is looking at his shirt pocket. Smiling, he pulls the stuffed
animal out and dangles it by one furry paw. "Addy, what animal is
this?"

"Kitty."

"That's right. Would you like this kitty, Addy?"

She doesn't say anything, though it's clear from the longing look on
her face that she wants the toy despite being scared to ask for it.
Mulder sighs and puts the kitten on the seat next to her.

A nurse holding a clipboard wanders into the waiting room, peering
about. "Addy Mulder?"

"You gave her last name as Mulder?" Scully whispers.

He shrugs. 

~*~*~

"What's your name, Sweetheart?" the young doctor asks as he picks the
girl up and sets her on the examine table.

When she doesn't reply, Scully supplies it for her. "Her name is Addy."

"Why, that's a pretty name," he says, and the girl responds by covering
her face.

"What did you say your concern was?" the doctor asks, looking up from
listening to Addy's heart.

"Her older sister has a rare, severe sort of anemia," Mulder tells him.
"Their younger brother doesn't, but we don't know Addy's medical
history."

"Why is that?" the doctor asks. "She's your wife's niece, isn't she?"

"Custody battle," Mulder improvises. "Their parents each got one of the
girls when they divorced a year and a half ago, and the boy arrived a
few months later. Their father just got arrested, and we volunteered to
go get the girl for my sister-in-law."

"I figured it was something like that." The doctor looks satisfied by
the story. "So far she looks healthy, but we'll do some blood tests to
be sure. I'm afraid that even with a rush order we're looking at a few
hours' wait for the results."

Mulder nods, but his eyes are on the needle the doctor is already
pressing against Addy's skin.

"This is going to pinch a little, Sweetie," the doctor tells little
girl.

To Mulder's relief, the blood that begins to fill the syringe is as red
as his own.

The doctor continues his examination of the toddler, and when he looks
at her feet, his expression becomes grim. "What?" Scully asks.

"Was your brother-in-law a smoker?" The doctor's voice is tight with
anger. Mulder looks over his shoulder, and spots a scattering small
round scars on the child's soles. ::God,:: Mulder finds himself
thinking furiously. ::April's dreams about a child being burned with
cigarettes weren't just bad dreams.::

"Yes," Scully replies. She looks like she might cry.

"I think we should do some x-rays," the doctor tells them. "Being able
to document the abuse should help your sister if he gets out of jail
and tries to regain custody."

"Right. Whatever you think is necessary," Mulder agrees.

To their relief, it doesn't seem as though Addy was abused badly enough
to break any bones, but the doctor's parting words are a warning that
the little one might need therapy someday soon.

~*~*~

Later

Mulder is slightly disappointed to discover that the Holiday Inn
Express does not allow a patron to pay by the hour like he always
assumed. The image of happy hookers and their Johns blithely paying $10
for the hour's use of a room dissolves as soon as he is handed a room
key. It's too bad, he decides. For once, it actually would be more
convenient to pay by the hour. He and Scully only plan to wait around
as long as it takes to get the results of Addy's blood tests.

They are barely in the room when Scully decides that it is her job to
arrange for a flight home. Since she is busy on the phone, Mulder finds
himself in charge of Addy.

He has always thought that April and Christopher gave him experience
with quiet children, but Addy puts them both to shame. While his
children are quiet because they are introverts, Addy seems quiet for an
entirely different reason. She seems afraid of them now that her sheer
relief to be out of the old man's clutches is fading.

Because he does not want to scare her, Mulder sits on the floor next
the bed where she is huddled. She has her arms wrapped around her
knees, and is doing her best to ignore him. The stuffed kitten is
tucked under one of her arms.

"Hey," he says gently. "I bet you wonder what's going on."

The child gives an almost imperceptible nod.

"Well, I'm your uncle Fox," Mulder says with an internal sigh. Emily
calls him Fox. Even baby Ryan is beginning to attempt to call him Fox.
"And my wife is your aunt Dana. Your real mommy is her sister." He
gives the child a moment to absorb this, wondering if the terms aunt
and uncle mean anything to her.

It's hard to hear around her arms, but Addy asks, "What about the mean
man?"

This makes Mulder wince. April refers to him as "the mean man" too.
"You're never going to see him again. Never ever."

Her small shoulders relaxed slightly, and for the first time she lifts
her head to look him in the face. "He's all gone?"

"Yes. He's gone away and he'll never come back," Mulder says firmly.
It's not the time to discuss what death is with the child, but he wants
her to know that he is very certain that his father will never bother
her again.

"Now what?"

That is a very good question he decides. "Now we're going to take a
nap. And when we wake up, we're going to go on an airplane. Do you know
what that is?"

Addy nods. "In the sky."

"Exactly." He waits to see if she has any questions about what happens
after that, but she takes her shoes off, apparently more interested in
the idea of taking a nap.

All of a sudden the weight of the past few days catches up to him, and
a nap seems like a very good idea. As soon as Addy's eyes close, he
kicks off his shoes and stretches out on the other double bed.

Scully closes her phone with a gentle click. "We have a 10 p.m.
flight."

"Hmmm." He doesn't open his eyes.

As he starts to doze off he hears her punch in numbers on her travel
alarm clock, and then the bed shifts as she lies down beside him. It
takes a huge amount of effort, but he cracks open one eyelid, and
checks to make sure that both the door is locked, and that Addy is
sleeping too.

~*~*~

Las Cruces International Airport

Mulder parks the rental SUV and glances over at Scully. "Thank God this
is not an international flight."

"Why do you say that?" Scully asks with a yawn. Although the three of
them took a long nap, it is clear that she is still exhausted. He
supposes that carrying around two other people in your belly does that
to a person.

"We won't need a passport for her. She looks enough like you that no
one will ever ask us any questions about our relationship to her,"
Mulder says indicating the toddler bouncing on the backseat.

Scully gives him a startled look. "I guess we should be thankful that
he didn't take her out of the country."

"Yes, we should be," Mulder agrees. "It may well be the only thing we
have to be grateful for, when it comes to him."

She doesn't say anything for a moment, and when she does begin to
speak, she's very hesitant. "Mulder... and he called you a prodigal
son, was he just being metaphoric... about the son part?"

"I wish," he says heavily.

"Oh Mulder..."

"It's okay, Scully. Bill was my father in every way that counts."

"Yes. He was."

After a moment, Mulder smiles at her. "Come on. We don't want to miss
our flight." He slides out of the SUV and goes around to open Addy's
door. "Addy, were going home."

Addy looks surprised. "Home?"

"Home," Mulder repeats firmly as he puts her on his hip.

~*~*~

Washington, DC
Later

After an uneventful flight, Mulder rents another car, and the three of
them pile into it gratefully. This time there is even a car seat,
because they actually knew in advance that they would have a small
child with them. Addy nods off again immediately.

Mulder inclines his head toward the sleeping toddler in the backseat.
"What are we going to do with her?"

"Obviously, we need to give her to Missy and Alex."

"I meant tonight."

"So did I," Scully says sharply.

"Don't you think it'd be a bit of a shock being woken up and handed a
kid you didn't even know you had?" ::You sure seemed surprised once
when Emily was dropped into your lap:: He thinks but doesn't say.

"Mulder, it's not going to be any less a shock after breakfast!"

When he thinks about it for a moment, he finds that he cannot disagree
with this. It must be quite a startling revelation to find that you
have a kid you didn't know you had at any time of the day.

"Right," he agrees.

The drive to Missy's is largely silent after that.

~*~*~

Kersh's Home
Meanwhile...

A resounding crash startles Kersh from a sound sleep, and he
practically jumps out of bed. His first thought is that his lunatic
home invader is up to his old tricks again, but his sleepy brain
reminds him that the idiot has done no damage before.

He's still looking for his service weapon when he hears more than one
pair of feet stomping up his stairs. Sighing, he puts his hands behind
his head even before the men burst into his bedroom.

When over a day passed since Follmer and Rohrer's arrests, he'd allowed
himself to complacently believe that he himself was somehow spared.

Apparently not.

~*~*~

Missy and Alex's Home
3 a.m.

Scully asks Mulder to wait in the car with Addy, so he does. There's no
immediate response to her knock, which gives her more time to get
nervous. Eventually the door opens, revealing her robe-clad sister and
brother-in-law. They blink at her sleepily for a moment, but then Missy
looks both alert and concerned.

"Dana, it's three in the morning. What's wrong?"

All the ways she's rehearsed breaking the news evaporate. "I don't know
how to tell you this-" she says in a strangled voice.

Missy gasps, so Scully looks over her shoulder. Mulder is carrying the
sleeping child up the walk. Eventually he comes to stand beside her.

"Is she..." Krycek starts to ask before trailing off.

"Yours?" Mulder supplies. "As far as we know. I'm sorry that my father
was wrong," Mulder adds, thinking of their conversation just after Bill
Mulder's death.

"No." Missy's hands cover her mouth before she flees back into the
house. "It isn't fair! This can't happen again! They can't keep
creating children and keeping them from us like this!" She moves deeper
into the house, and they hear something break.

Krycek winces. "Let me take her."

Mulder hands her over, and the child barely stirs.

"She looks so much like Emily," Mulder says quietly. "You can't tell
now, but her eyes are the same blue."

"Her name, do you know?"

"Adelaide. She answers to Addy."

"Is she sick?"

"Not as far as we can tell. We had examined at the e.r. but I'm sure
you'll want to have Emily's doctor look her over." Emily's doctors had
seen Ryan as a newborn, too. "You should know, there are a few scars
from cigarette burns on her feet."

"Bastards!" Krycek exclaims, but shock has robbed a lot of the heat
from the invective. "Do you know how old she is?" he asks carefully.

"The same age as Christopher, give or take a week," Mulder explains.

This is when Scully begins to cry. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault you
didn't get her much sooner. Before anyone could hurt her."

"How is it your fault?" Mulder asks confused.

"When Fowley pretended she was yours, I only had the baby's DNA tested
against yours and hers. If I tested it against mine too, we would have
known she was related to me!"

"Scully..."

"You couldn't have known," Krycek says. "In your place I wouldn't have
thought to see if my spouse's supposed love child related to me,
either."

"But..."

"The important thing is we have her now," he says firmly. "How did you
get her? Who had her?"

Krycek's face goes pale when Mulder explains that they found the
smoking man and took the girl from him. "But he's dead now. Thank God."

For some reason, Krycek doesn't look very relieved. "How...how did the
smoking man die?"

"There was this black helicopter," Scully tells him. "It came out of
nowhere and shot missiles at pueblo he was hiding out in."

To Scully's surprise, the little girl is thrust into her arms, and
Krycek sags against the door. He looks bleak when he stares up at them.
"I swear to God I didn't know that you'd be going after him today. I
swear it!"

"What-" Mulder breaks off with a look of comprehension. "You sent the
helicopter?"

"I thought I was protecting Emily!" Krycek looks anguished. "Marita
told me that they planned to use my daughter to restart the consortium
one day. We both thought that they meant Emily. I'm sure she didn't
know about Addy either."

"Marita?" Scully asks. "She's the one who told us where the smoking man
was. Did she know what you had planned?"

"No. I haven't talked to her in about a week. She was going to tell me
where to find him if she found out, but we didn't talk again. It was
one of the kids that I found who told me where the smoking bastard was
hiding out, not her."

"So it was a case of one hand not knowing what the other was doing,"
Mulder says.
 
"I could have killed my daughter!" Krycek wails. "And the two of you
too," he adds as an after-thought.

"But you didn't," Scully says evenly, yanking on his good arm until he
stands and she can give Addy back to him. "She's fine. We're fine.
Dwelling on near misses has never done anyone any good."

"But-"

"She's right. You're going to have your hands full with the child in
your arms. Worry about that instead of what could have gone wrong,"
Mulder tells him. They can hear another crash inside the house, and
Mulder wonders how Emily and Ryan are sleeping through the din. "With
Missy's meltdown going on, I don't envy you."

He winches when his wife elbows him in the ribs. "Mulder!"

"No, he's right," Krycek tells her. "Your sister is pissed."

"At least she's not pissed at you," Scully says with a smile. "I'm sure
you know by now that she holds grudges."

"Do I ever," Krycek mutters.

"Are you going to tell my mother about Addy, or should I warn her?"

"Um..." He looks like a lost puppy. "Do you think you could? It'd going
to be hard enough when Emily wakes up..."

"Fine. Goodnight, Alex," Scully says, linking her arm through her
husband's.

"Good luck," Mulder says, being more practical.

As they walk back to the car, Mulder can't help but watch Krycek carry
his new daughter into the house. ::Once upon a time, I would have
immediately thought the worst of him. I would have assumed that he
purposely tried to harm us. I guess he's proof that a person can
change.::

"What are you think about, Mulder?" Scully asks, and he notices how
tired she looks.

"I'm glad we're going home to our kids. And that they're the only ones
we have."

"Yeah, me too."

~*~*~

The Next Morning

"Mom..." Scully twists the phone in her hand. "I have some news for
you."

"What?" Maggie immediately sounds alarmed, and it makes Scully cringe.
"Is there something wrong with your pregnancy?"

"No, the babies and I are just fine. This actually has to do with Missy
and Alex."

"Well?"

As quickly as she can, Scully explains to her mother about the events
from the day before. "...and while we were there, we discovered that he
had a toddler with him."

"Dana, what does any of this have to do with your sister?" Maggie asks,
sounding frustrated. Then after a pause, she says, "Oh no. Is this
child theirs? Like Emily?"

Scully starts for a moment, but then realizes that her sister must have
finally told their mother the truth about Emily. "Yes, Mom. She is. Her
name is Addy."

"Oh, God. How are they taking it?"

"Alex is being stoic. Missy is furious."

"Do you blame her?" Maggie wants to know. "Neither of us can possibly
know how she feels, and to have it happen twice!"

"I don't blame her at all. I think she's going to need both of us to be
there for her, is all."

"This isn't going to happen again someday, is it?"

"I hope not. Alex said he tracked down all the kids made with Emily and
none of them are theirs," Scully tells her. "And he and Mulder arranged
to have DNA tests on all the babies and toddlers they recovered this
winter, too. None of those kids were theirs, either."

It seems as though Maggie is no longer in the dark because she says,
"Good. I'm not sure how many times she could go through with this
without going insane."

"Me neither. On the bright side, at least Emily will stop asking for a
little sister," Scully says wryly.

"Don't make jokes," Maggie chides her. "Maybe later it'll be funny, but
not now."

"Are you going to go see them today?"

"Of course. I was planning on visiting this week anyway. Maybe I can
take all three kids out or something, so she and Alex can discuss
things alone."

"That's brave of you, Mom."

"Knowing your sister, it might be giving her time to break things
without the kids seeing."

"More things," Scully says under her breath. "I'm glad you're taking
this as well as you are, by the way."

"I'm the grandmother. What do I have to angst about? I'm not the one
who has to raise the surprise baby."

"That's true. Love you, Mom."

As she hangs up, Scully shakes her head. What would it be like to
unexpectedly learn you have a child out in the wild world? And not
once, but twice?

~*~*~

"Scully!"

She's barely hung up the phone when her husband's cry startles her. 

When she gets to the den, Mulder's eyes are fastened to the seldom used
TV screen. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says excitedly. "Everything's great."

"I'm not following," Scully tells him impatiently.

"Kersh was arrested this morning. The smoking man is dead, Rohrer,
Follmer, and Kersh are behind bars. It's over, Scully!"

She watches their boss, erstwhile boss she corrects herself, being lead
out of his house cuffed and in his pajamas. "It sure looks like it."

"We have to call Krycek."

"Don't you think he's got enough on his plate right now, Mulder?" she
asks, amused that his second thought, the one after sharing the news
with her, is to inform her brother-in-law.

"Right. I'll tell him later."

"We should celebrate. Let's go out to dinner tonight, you and me."

"And toast the consortium's defeat?" she asks with a smile.

"May they all burn in hell," he says cheerfully.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
June 1st, 2002

When Scully yawns her way into the kitchen one Saturday morning, she
notices that Sammy is sitting at the table with his head bent down. She
can't tell what he's looking at, so she asks, "What are you up to?"

"Thinking."

Resisting the urge to tell him he's just like his father, she asks,
"Thinking about what?"

"This picture," Sammy says, and she finally realizes that he's looking
at her ultrasound photo. "This is the new baby, right?"

"That's right, Sammy."

He points at one rounded shape. "This is the head, right?" Then he
points at another. "Then what's this?"

"You know, that's a good question. We'll talk about that later today,
okay?"

"Okay."

"Why don't you go see if your sisters and brothers are ready for
breakfast, huh?"

"Sure," he says, scrambling out of his seat.

"Sammy, slow down!" Mulder scolds. Sammy has just smacked into him with
a glancing blow. "You almost made me drop William."

"Sorry, Daddy." Sammy does look contrite. For two seconds.

After she's sure Sammy is up stairs, Scully hands Mulder the photo. "We
need to tell them it's going to be twins."

"I thought we were going to wait a few more weeks," Mulder protests. He
hands her back the photo so he can put William in his high chair. "We
said we were going to wait until you're five months along."

"We were going to wait," she agrees. "But that was before Sammy started
quizzing me this morning about my ultrasound. He wanted to know why it
looked like there was more than one head in the picture."

Mulder is surprised. "He can understand it? I can't even understand
these things."

"Obviously he can. It'll only be a matter of time before he puts two
and two together, so we should probably just tell them."

"Right."

~*~*~

"So what's the family meeting about?" Page asks, looking uncomfortable.
"Is someone in trouble?"

"No one's in trouble," Mulder reassures her.

She doesn't look comforted. "Is someone going away?"

"I don't want anyone to go away," David says quickly.

"Me neither!" his twin exclaims.

"No one's going anywhere," Scully says firmly before they start asking
questions. "Daddy and I have some good news we wanted to tell you."

"Oh."

Scully looks at Sammy. "Remember what you asked me this morning?"

"Uh huh."

"Sammy was looking at the picture that the baby doctor gave me," Scully
explains to the other kids. "Well, the reason you saw two shapes in
that ultrasound picture that looks like heads is that there are two
heads in the picture," Scully tells him.

To everyone's surprise, April wails, "I don't want a brother or sister
with two heads!"

"Me neither!" Page declares.

"Daddy, can we have one of the heads taken off so he's normal?" Sammy
wants to know. "I know a kid who had six fingers when she was born, and
they tooked one off."

Trying not to laugh, Mulder gives Scully a helpless look. After a
second he composes himself. "Guys! The baby isn't going to have two
heads! Think about it. What else has two heads?"

The older kids look puzzled, but Jared's face lights up. "David and I
have got two heads!" He gives his mother's belly a speculative look.
"You gonna have two babies like we ordered?"

"Like they ordered?" Scully looks confused, and Mulder decides to
explain the comment to her later. He never did get around to telling
her about how they "waited and waited" for William to be "two" like
them...

"Twins!" April exclaims in relief. "No wonder there's two heads."

"That's right," Mulder agrees. "Mommy is going to have a second set of
twins."

"Two more brothers, just like us," David says happily.

Over his head, his parents exchange a look. "Actually..." Scully says.
"The doctor thinks that the babies are going to be girls."

"Aww man!" the twins and Sammy groan.

"Finally!" April and Page exclaim excitedly.

After a moment Sammy sighs, and says grudgingly, "I guess it's fair.
We've got a lot more boys than girls."

"No kidding," April tells him, and rolls her eyes. Just like her mommy
and older sister.

~*~*~

Mulder-Scully Home
June 3rd, 2002 

After a brief knock, Page's voice calls out, "Mom, there's someone here
to talk to you and Dad!"

"Thanks," Mulder tells her. Turning to Scully he says, "I hope it's not
an unfriendly."

Opening the door, they find a grinning man. "Wow, the kids are getting
big, huh? That's your oldest, right? How old is she now?"

"Seven, going on eight," Scully says, staring at him in surprise. "We
didn't expect you, Wayne."

Wayne Federman graciously takes the seat he's offered. "You know, the
movie just came out on DVD. The sales are beyond our wildest
expectations."

"You're not here hoping for material for a sequel, are you Wayne?"
Mulder asks suspiciously.

"Nope. There's going to be a sequel, it's true, but I'm not here to
pester you about that." Wayne looks around. "This is a really lovely
house. I guess with your family you need a big house. How many kids do
you have now?"

"We're working on eight and nine," Scully admits.

"That's wonderful." Wayne beams at her. She can see him mentally adding
more little actors and dollar signs to the concept of the second movie.

"Wayne, you were going to tell us why you're here?" Mulder prompts,
remembering the man's attention deficit problems.

He spreads his hands. "What would it take to convince you to walk away
from the FBI?"

For a moment Mulder is frozen by the frightening idea that Wayne
Federman might somehow be involved with the consortium, but he
dismisses that as ridiculous. The consortium isn't scientology, they
don't recruit from Hollywood. "Why do you ask?" Mulder responds
cautiously.

"I've been told that you knew Jose Chung, is that true?" They both nod,
remembering the stubborn old writer. "As you may know, he died three
years ago, much to the scientific and literary communities' dismay.
Awful tragedy."

"You're here because of Chung's murder?" Scully asks, confused.

Wayne shakes his head. "No. I'm here because we're finally getting the
chance to properly memorialize the old coot."

"You want us to give a eulogy at a memorial service or something?"
Mulder wants to know. He knows from talking with Maggie that some
religions hold memorial services on the anniversaries of loved ones
deaths.

This makes Wayne laugh. "He's already been both buried and celebrated
in the manner befitting someone like him. No, what we're doing is
creating a television program to honor him, and all the things he wrote
about."

"A TV show?"

"Jose Chung's The Truth Is Out There," Wayne enthuses. "And we want the
two of you to be on it."

"What?!" Mulder and Scully exchange a look.

"Wayne, we're not actors," Mulder protests.

"I know," Wayne agrees. "But it's not that sort of show."

"What sort of show is it, then?" Scully asks. 

"The thing we're looking to do is to put together a panel of credible
show hosts. You've seen political shows where they have a democrat and
a republican host together, and debate issues, right? That's what we're
hoping to do, with a new paranormal topic each episode." Wayne
explains. "We've got a scientist and Carl Sagan's son Nick lined up to
represent the anti-paranormal side. What we want is the two of you to
be the pro side."

"That sounds great, but I'm pregnant with twins, Wayne. I'm due in
October," Scully tells him, and Mulder can tell that it's her way of
putting the man off.

"No problem. We'll tape a lot of episodes all at once, so we can air
them while you're off with the new babies. And Mulder here could
probably defeat two people in a debate if he had to, couldn't you?"

"Probably," Mulder finds himself agreeing, but then his wife glares at
him. "Um..."

"I should mention that we plan to do the taping right here in DC, so
you don't have to worry about uprooting the family if you do this.
Look, I know this is a big decision." Wayne says sympathetically. "What
I'm going to do is leave you with the show's prospectus and give you a
few days to think it over and discuss it. You can get in touch with me
later in the week, okay?"

"Okay," Scully agrees, but Mulder doesn't think she's seriously going
to consider the offer.

Wayne hands Mulder the paperwork. "I'm glad that you're willing to
think about it. You're the best possible people for the job."

"Who else have you considered?" Mulder asks, knowing that the producer
must have backups in mind.

"Did you ever watch Star Trek the Next Generation? Remember the guy who
played Picard's second?"

"Your back up plan is to use an actor from a scifi show?" Scully looks
shocked.

"He wouldn't lend the same credibility as you, that's for sure," Wayne
agrees. "So you can see why I'm so hopeful that you'll consider it."

"Bye, Wayne," Mulder says firmly. The other man takes the hint and
leaves jauntily, obviously convinced that he has done an adequate job
selling the show to them.

~*~*~

When they get in the house, they go up to their room to talk.

"Can you believe him?" Scully asks the second he closes the door.

"I can."

"What?" She shoots him a confused look.

"It sounds like an interesting offer."

"You can't be serious, Mulder."

"Why can't I be?" he demands to know. "Once upon a time you asked me if
I was tired of working on the X-Files. Don't you still feel that way?"

"Of course I do, sometimes," she agrees. "But I didn't think you'd ever
walk away."

"Up until now, neither did I." 

"This TV show offer has changed your mind?"

Mulder shakes his head. "The fact that the consortium has been
destroyed once and for all might change my mind. I've been gone for two
years, Scully. And for the first time I don't feel like I need to get
back there to keep us safe."

"I know that it's a big part of why you've been trying to get
reinstated, but you are really okay with giving it up for something
else now?" She looks surprised.

"I think I am. There is still unknown to investigate, but it doesn't
need to be investigated by us. John and Monica are more than capable of
doing the job."

"So...you want us to do this show?" she asks, giving him a dubious
look.

Mulder puts one hand over hers. "All I want is for you to think about
this. I think we should both give the idea serious thought."

"All right. We'll think about it."

~*~*~

end nine of ten

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