The Christopher Scully Series
                        stories 6-10


TITLE: VI When All Through The House
AUTHOR: Jori 
CATEGORY: SHRA
KEYWORDS: MSR, baby-fic
RATING: NC-17
DISCLAIMER: The characters involved belong to FOX, CC and 1013. Except
Christopher. I doubt he will show up on Sunday nights anytime soon.

SUMMARY: Mulder surprises Scully with his Christmas presents and they
get past a dry spell in their relationship. Christopher celebrates his
first Christmas like all babies celebrate their first Christmas:
oblivious. Here is your schmoopy warning for this one: SCHMOOPINESS
AHEAD: PLEASE PUT ON YOUR LIFE PRESERVERS

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December 22, 2001
6:15 p.m.

I have yet to figure out the logic of flirting with a man who has a baby
along with him. Obviously this small child has a mother somewhere, and
she has a close enough relationship with me to let me take him out to
the mall to do some Christmas shopping. Yet it happens. It is happening
right now.

What is even more absurd about the whole situation is that I am shopping
for an engagement ring. I have my son in tow, and the salesclerk still
just asked if I had plans for Christmas Eve. What am I to say? Well, it
is my son's first Christmas, and I am about to pledge my undying love to
his mother, but maybe you and I can catch a quick movie?

Christopher is cooing and getting all moon-faced over the blond
salesclerk who is tickling him and watching me. Maybe I can use my charm
to convince her to baby sit.

"I'd like to see that one," I say to her, pointing at the setting I
prefer.

"That one is nice. It must be a drag having to baby sit and do your
Christmas shopping."

"It's not called baby sitting when they are yours. It's called
parenting," I say.

"He's yours? I should have guessed. He has the most beautiful eyes. Just
like you do," she says and continues playing with Chris. Christopher is
sitting in his car seat-baby carrier on the counter and is happy as a
clam to have this woman's attention. He throws something on the floor
and she picks it up.

I offer her a weak smile and point again at the ring I want to see.

It is exactly what I'm looking for. One large brilliant cut diamond with
two smaller pear cut diamonds on either side, all set in platinum. I
want it to have three diamonds, one to represent each of us. I want her
to have this representation of what she means to me.

The salesclerk is now discussing diamond guarantees and sizing policies,
and I look at the paperwork that goes with each stone. If I remember
correctly, the 4Cs according to de Beers are carat, cut, clarity and
color. These stones are virtually flawless.

Christopher is getting restless with this diamond shopping, and I know I
have to get him home soon. He has thrown every toy and teething ring out
of his carrier and I've played 'see if daddy will pick it up' long
enough, especially since our salesclerk grew tired of that game fast.

"I'll take it," I say, getting out my credit card.

"Your mommy is a VERY lucky woman," she says to Christopher and winks at
me.

I just hope his mommy feels the same way and says yes. For a year now
she has avoided it every time I brought it up. I think it is time to at
least go this far.

She finishes up the transaction, and sends the ring to the back to get
polished. I sign a sales slip for an amount that would feed some third
world country for a year. Ah, true love. Ain't it grand.

She returns with my final sales slip and a little velvet box, which I
slip into the pocket of my leather jacket.

"Thank you," I say.

"Merry Christmas, Fox," she answers back. At least she checked the
signature.

I carry Christopher to the door and notice that it has begun to sleet
since we went into the store.

"We have one more stop yet, pumpkin. I have to see if the furniture was
delivered."

I cover him with all the blankets I have tucked into his diaper bag and
dash out towards the car.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December 24, 2001
6:13 p.m.
Maggie Scully's house

My mother and Mulder are conspiring together on something. There is no
better word for it. Over the last few days, every time I catch them
talking to each other, they fall silent and just smile at me. There can
be no rational excuse for what they are doing. It is definitely a
conspiracy.

Today, I catch them talking in my mother's kitchen and they change the
subject as soon as I come through the door. I take Christopher from
Mulder so I can feed him and on my way out of the room I see Mulder lean
over and whisper something in my mother's ear. I hope I won't be
embarrassed by whatever it is they have planned. I also hope what they
planned is for someone to come and clean my apartment once a week.

I sit down to nurse Christopher. I hope Mulder didn't get me much for
Christmas. He usually doesn't, but this year is different from the past
nine years. This year we are together.

I have focused the majority of my attention this year on making
Christopher's first Christmas perfect. Of course he cannot appreciate
fully what is going on around him. I am not sure of what he notices.
Blinking lights and a big tree mysteriously appeared in his living room,
that's all he knows.

I am glad my mother is with us for this occasion. For the last several
years, she would go to see Bill for the holidays. This year she chose to
spend it with her newest grandson.

My brother Bill has not said much about the whole situation. The few
times I have spoken to him were not easy going. He has even suggested
that I raise Christopher on my own and he tells me I am capable of
getting by without Mulder. I argue with him and tell him to accept the
situation the way it is. I tell him he can't blame Mulder for every
thing that has ever happened to me. He then always tells me this one is
obviously Mulder's doing and I shouldn't defend him. Then the
conversation is over.

Christopher finishes his dinner and starts to play with my hair. I put
him down and my mother comes into the living room just as I'm buttoning
my cardigan back up.

I look out the window and notice that snow is lightly falling.
Hopefully, it will be a beautiful day tomorrow.

"Dana, I'm going to watch Christopher for a few hours while you and Fox
go out together," my mother tells me, picking up my son off his activity
blanket on the floor.

"Go where? Everything is closing," I say, noticing Mulder leaning
against the doorframe with a coy smile on his face.

"Does it matter where you go? Just get away for awhile and be alone
together," she says to me.

I look at both of them suspiciously. Something is up and I want to know
before I head off into the snow with Mulder.

"Get going, you two!"

I kiss Christopher and tell him to be good. He smiles and coos at me.
He's always good for his grandmother.

"Ok. Let's go," I say to Mulder as he leads me out the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December 24, 2001
7:14 p.m.

I am actually nervous. What if she hates the house? What if she hates
the ring? What if she throws the ring at me and tells me to shove the
house where the sun don't shine? I will have one of the nicest bachelor
pads in the history of bachelor pads. I suppose she could tell me that
she keeps me around just for Christopher's sake.

I doubt that one. If she didn't want a man in her life, there wouldn't
be a man in her life.

"Where are we going?" she asks me.

"You just have to be a little patient, Scully," I say, hoping my
nervousness doesn't crack through my voice.

We pull into what will be our new neighborhood and she starts looking
around.

"Nice part of town. Who do you know here?" she asks, searching for
something that might be familiar to her.

"You'll see. Just hold on a minute," I say, trying to remember the right
combination of turns to get to the street. Left. Left. Right. Left.

I pull into the driveway of the house I just bought two weeks ago. I
decorated the front door with a large, red bow and tucked a card into it
earlier today.

"Mulder?" is all she says, her eyes imploring me to explain what's going
on.

"Let's go to the door," I say to her.

We get out and walk up the paving stone walkway to the front door. I
tell her to read the card tucked under the bow and she opens the card
and a key falls out. I know, it's not the smartest thing to leave the
key to your house on the front door, but I've put in the best security
system that Frohike could recommend. Plus the guys have swept for bugs
everyday for a week. Nothing yet. Maybe they are taking a Christmas
holiday.

She reads the card out loud.

"Scully. Merry Christmas. Welcome Home. Love, Mulder."

She just looks at me. She says nothing. She doesn't move. Doesn't even
blink.

"Oh, damn," she finally says, putting her head into her hands.

"What's wrong? Don't tell me you got me a house, too?" I say, trying to
get her to smile.

"No, I didn't. Mulder! Why didn't you tell me!" she says as she swats me
with the card I gave her.

"Because you would have said no. Come on, at least let me show you the
inside before you kill me."

I open the door and enter the codes into the various security panels. It
is slightly overkill, but I'm hoping it offers Scully some peace of
mind.

She wanders around the downstairs of the house that is now hers.

"This is nice, Mulder. Where did you get the money for the down
payment?"

"I sold my father's houses. There was no down payment. It is paid for."
She looks at me with that apologetic look she gets.

"You didn't have to do that. I knew why you were keeping them..."

"It's ok. This is more important. Do you like it so far?" I ask, almost
sounding like a child desperate for approval.

"So far, yes. I still can't believe you did this," she says, shaking her
head.

"Come upstairs with me," I say, putting out my hand to her.

"And my mother knew all about this?" she asks, sounding surprised her
mother kept such secrets from her.

"Well, this and other things."

"What other things?" she asks, curiosity filling her voice.

"You'll see."

I follow her up the stairs and she starts to look in the bedrooms.

"Why four bedrooms? There's only three of us?" she asks, suspiciously,
as if I have plans I have not shared with her.

"Well, I figured one could function as a study. And the other
one...well, you never know."

She finally arrives at what will be Christopher's room. I bought and set
up a crib in there already, along with matching furniture.

"It's beautiful!" she exclaims.

"You get to pick out the decor. I thought you would like this, though.
It looks like your taste."

His new crib is a washed pine with slate blue accents.

"Now come see our bedroom," I say, guiding her to the right room.

She walks in and looks surprised to find a bed in there already.

"Where did this come from?"

"My apartment." I say, a smirk flickering across my face.

"You had a king sized bed in that apartment? Where?" Scully asks with
astonishment.

"Some place you never asked to go. I thought we would just use the rest
of your furniture in here and put your smaller bed up as a guest bed in
one of the other rooms," I say, walking over to the windows and closing
the night out behind the blinds.

"That will be fine," she says to me, still slightly dazed by the whole
thing.

"And here is the master bathroom," I tell her, leading her through yet
another door.

Her eyebrow goes up. It has a roman tub and a separate shower. I placed
little candles all around the tub, along with several bath gels. I know
she isn't crazy about any thing with perfume since her pregnancy, but I
was hoping she would like these.

"You know, in case you wanted to take a bath..."

"Yeah. Are you trying to seduce me, Agent Mulder?" she says in a sultry,
come hither voice.

She walks out of the bathroom, and I follow her.

"No, not at all. But if none of this has done the trick, how about
this?"

I pull the little velvet box out of my pocket and her eyebrow goes up.

"You don't have to say yes or no right now, but I would like to at least
ask. Ask again, that is. Will you think about someday marrying me?
Maybe?" I ask, trying not to sound too sheepish, but failing.

"I'll think about it," she says with a little laugh.

"That's good enough," I say to her, as I open the box and put the ring
on her finger. It fits. How did I get so lucky.

She looks at it, and I can tell she likes it. I know it sounds like a
clich, but her eyes are sparkling like those diamonds. She is holding
her hand up in front of her, just staring at it.

"Jesus, Mulder, how much did you get for those houses?" she asks.

"What? A house on the Vineyard and a beach house? Let's just say it was
enough to buy this house, that ring and save a little for Christopher,"
I reply, as I take her hand that I just put the ring on.

"And pay to break my lease?" she asks, smiling.

"Yes," I answer, "Unless you want to. I don't care."

"And yours?"

I'm not sure by the tone in her voice whether she wants me to give it up
or not.

"Not yet," I say, knowing that I'm not giving it up yet anyway.

"Why not? I'm sure they would be happy to get rid of you. You have
brought them nothing but grief."

"Because I'm worried about the next person who would lease it. It is
just better if I hold onto it for awhile," I say, letting go of her
hand.

"Ok."

"Besides, if you are ever working back at headquarters, we will have a
place to go for a quickie," I say, now pulling her to me.

"But there's no bed there now. What are you suggesting we do?" she asks.

"There's the couch."

"You aren't moving that couch here into the 'study'? I have always had
fantasies about you on that couch..."

I must admit my jaw drops. I've never heard any of Dana Scully's
fantasies, let alone know that I might be in one of them. Or that my
couch is.

"I'll move it here tomorrow. Is that soon enough?" I ask.

"No, it's not ," she says with a laugh, as she pushes me backwards onto
my bed.

"Hey, Scully," I say, as she lies down next to me, "We're all alone.
What should we do?"

"Take a nap?"

"Sounds good to me," I say to her, holding her tight.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December 24, 2001
8:37 p.m.

"I hope you like it, Scully," he whispers to me.

I am in awe of him right now. He has given up so much for this child of
ours. He has given up so much for me. I never would have imagined he
could do it.

Each of us has suffered so many loses in this relationship. Christopher
is somehow making those losses bearable. We have trust. We have love.
Both are intertwined within us and have become inseparable. We no longer
have to throw around the word trust as a substitute for love.

Our stormy night in that Louisiana motel was never what I had planned
for us. It happened for no viable reason, but it is what has meshed our
lives together forever now. No longer are we just partners separable by
transfers and reassignments. If I could go back, would I change it?
Would I do it differently? Would I give up Christopher? Never.

What brings people together is as mysterious today as it has been
through all time. All those years, all that time spent together, and
when did he first know he loved me? I've never asked. I don't even know
when I first realized that I felt something more for this person I
called partner than just that partner bond. He has saved me so many
times. He says I save him, too.

We were forced together so many years ago. An unnatural paring of the
skeptic and the believer of all that is fantastic. I was to be the end
of him. I was to bring him down. I guess now I have, although
unintentionally. They finally found a way to use me to bring him to his
end. Christopher was their way. It took them so many years to do it and
I don't even know how they succeeded. Who sat around and thought up this
one? How did they even know we would cross that line from friends to
lovers? They possess a control over me that pushed me over that line and
sent me tumbling into what I had avoided for so long and it frightens
me.

They took a chance. They saw something that we had shut our eyes to for
so long we were nearly blind and then someone else finally pried them
open. It hasn't been easy admitting this love. It has torn me into
pieces sometimes, this need I have for him. I should be stronger than
this, I tell myself. Then I remind myself that there is no one else on
Earth who could understand the sorrows and joys that encompass me. He
has been there.

"Mulder, what time did you tell my mom we would be back for
Christopher?" I ask as he dozes.

"In time for him to wake up for his 11 p.m. feeding so we can take him
home...to your apartment, that is," he says, still sounding sleepy.

I look at my watch. We still have time.

"Do you want me to draw your bath?" I ask him

"Do you know how many years I've waited to hear you say that?" he asks
me, sitting up on the bed, no longer sounding sleepy.

"Do you know how many years I've wanted to say that?" I ask back,
bantering along with him.

"Would you like some champagne to go with your bath?" he asks.

"I can't drink champagne and go home and feed Christopher." I say,
folding my arms across my breasts.

"Then it is a good thing I bought sparkling cider. Let's celebrate," he
then goes down stairs to the kitchen and comes back with the bottle of
cider and two champagne glasses.

"Mulder?" I ask as he opens the bottle, "what if I would have said no
about the house."

"I guess I would be sitting in that bath by myself drinking straight out
of the bottle."

I turn the water on in the tub and start up the air jets. I light some
of the candles with the matches he left on the vanity. He sets down the
two champagne glasses on the edge of the tub and comes to me.

"May I?" he asks, starting to slowly unbutton my sweater.

"Only if I can do this," I tell him, as I take the top button of his
jeans and undo the button fly with the flick of my wrist.

"Where did you learn that?" he asks, amused by my 'talent.'

"You don't want to know," I say, teasing him

"I'm sure I don't."

We soak in our tub together, with Mulder making strange scented
combinations with the bath gels he bought. We will be returning to my
mother's house smelling of freesias and mangos.

We joke around, playing with all the bubbles and sipping cider. Then he
pulls me to him.

I straddle his lap and he pulls one of my nipples into his mouth. He
immediately backs off.

"Well, that was a surprise. Tastes kind of like a salty pina colada. No
wonder Christopher likes it so much," He says, licking his lips.

Then he goes back for another taste. It feels like electric leaping
through my body. My breasts have become accustomed to being tugged on,
but not like this. Not by this person.

"'Twas the night before Christmas-" he says to me, pulling away from my
breast.

"When all through the house, not a creature was stirring," I add.

"Not even a mouse-" he says, then he pulls my face to his and we kiss.
So much for Clement Clarke Moore.

I am grinding against his erect penis, but he dares not enter me. I
believe he knows the consequences all to well now. He kisses me and our
tongues are desperate creatures with their own existence, wanting to
probe further, taste more of each other.

"Scully, do you want to get out and go to the bed? I brought protection.
I didn't want you to worry..." he says, lifting my wet body off of his.

"Yes," I hiss against his mouth.

He dries me off with the only towel in the bathroom. Slowly, he teases
me. I can feel his tongue on the small of my back and I can't remember
why I didn't want to do this for so many months. He stands up and dries
himself off just slightly, too anxious for things to come. I am carried
to the bed, damp and naked ,wrapped around him.

He puts me gently down on the bed and begins to explore me. His tongue
travels down my body and I quiver when he reaches my now much softer
belly. He stops at my c-section scar and traces it with his finger. I
know what he is thinking. This is what brought us together.

He dips his head in between my thighs and I let out a moan. We are in
our own house now. There are no thin walls and nosy neighbors. Maybe
someday I will even scream and tell him to fuck me. On second thought, I
better make it tonight. We aren't going to be alone after this.
Christopher will be here soon.

I grab his hair and gently pull him towards me, so his face is to mine.
He smells of flowers, tropical fruit and me.

"Mulder, fuck me. I want you to fuck me. Make me scream." I say to him.

He just stops all movement and looks at me.

"I was trying to, Scully," he says, laughing.

"Try harder," I say, sounding gruff.

"Boy, give a girl a ring and she uses it to lead you around by the
nose."

We both laugh.

"I was experimenting," I tell him.

"I like experimenting," he says, as his finger traces a line down my
body.

"Tell me what else you like," I say, as his finger reaches just the
right spot.

"I like to watch you in the morning with the baby. I like to watch you
get dressed. I like to hear you breathe so softly in your sleep. And I
like it when you get on top. Of course, I wouldn't mind doing you from
behind, but I don't know if you'd go for that," he says, his finger
still having its way with me.

"Why not?" I ask.

"I figured you liked to watch," he says, with more fingers joining the
first.

"I like to watch you come. I like to watch you bite your bottom lip. I
like to watch your face scrunch up," I say, teasing him.

"My face doesn't scrunch up," he says, his voice getting slightly louder
in protest.

"Yes it does. Here, I'll prove it."

I pull him closer to me and he reminds me that we need protection this
time. He fumbles under the bed and comes back with a little foil
package.

"You want me to do that?" I ask.

"I thought you'd never ask. Just don't..."

*Snap*

"Snap it," he says, as he cringes.

"Do you know how long I've waited to do that? Years." I say with a sense
of accomplishment in my voice.

"You can be a bitch," he says, playing with me.

"That is what you love about me. It is the bitch in me that has kept you
in line all these years."

"How do you want it, Scully? What would be the most comfortable for
you?" he asks, a tenderness entering his voice.

"Sit up and move back against the headboard," I say, as I follow him up
the bed.

He complies and I straddle him again, this time letting him enter. I
gasp. It has been awhile and I am drier that I thought. The condom
doesn't help much either. He pulls back as I move off of him.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispers to me.

"Let me go at my own pace. It will be ok."

I slowly lower myself on him and adjust to the sensation of him again. I
raise and lower myself, and he takes my breast into his mouth again.
His hands are around my waist, slowly guiding my movements, but not
pressuring me. It feels good, and he reaches down and places his hand
where it rubs my clit. I can't take it much longer.

"Do you want me from behind," I whisper into his ear, "Now is your
chance. I'm offering."

I want him to know that I trust him with my body again.

He holds on to the base of the condom and lifts me up off his lap and I
get on my elbows and knees. He enters me slowly, pushing against the
pressure of me. I reach my hand between my legs and touch myself. He is
in so deep, I can feel it all the way through me.

"Scuh-lee...tell me when...oh god please..."

"Just... hold on...I'm," I try to say and then the waves take over my
body. Release is so welcome. He thrusts into me one more time and I hear
his breathing change. I push as far back on him as I can, draining
everything from him. We stay like this for what seems like forever.

He carefully pulls out of me and I miss him already. We both cuddle
together, enjoying ourselves. It didn't last long, but longer than I
expected.

"The bed is soaked, Mulder." I say, feeling the sheet beneath me.
"Well, it wasn't me. I came gift wrapped, which by the way, I need to
dispose of," he says, getting out of the bed and going into the
bathroom.

I forgot what sex can do to a breast feeding mother. No wonder they say
keep on a T-shirt.

"Too bad I didn't get to see your face," I say when he gets back, "Now I
can't prove if I'm right about the scrunched thing."

"We could always try again," he says, with a grin.

"I think we have a son to go pick up," I say, looking at my watch.

"I know. It was just a thought."

"Soon we will live here. He will have his own room. I think we will get
the opportunity to do this again," I say, kissing him.

"Just quit with the snapping thing," he orders.

"I will. I promise," I say, not sounding entirely sincere.

We both get dressed and leave this world of just the two of us.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December 25, 2001
7:15 a.m.

"Merry Christmas, Christopher!" Scully says to our son, dancing around
the living room with him in her arms. She has The Chipmunk Christmas
album playing on the stereo and Christopher is delighted.

Since we didn't get in until late last night, he slept a little later
this morning. Good thing, too. His parents needed to recover.

She is so happy with this child. That smile she lost over the years with
me is back now. I took it from her and, in a way, I gave it back.
Actually, she found her way back to it. I can take no credit for
Scully's happiness.

"Should we let Daddy open a present?" she asks Chris.
 He gurgles and lets out a string of vowels.

"Which one?" she asks, leaning down beneath the tree while still holding
him.

"Eiiieeee ooooieee!" he tells her in a language only she understands.

"Ok. That's a good one," she says, digging out a package wrapped in gold
foil.

"This is from me," she says, handing me a small box.

I tear off the paper and discover she bought me a watch. It is silver
and black and looks like the ones I already have, but this one is from
Scully. I think it is the first real gift she has bought for me.

"I know it's not a house or anything," she starts to say, sounding
embarrassed.

"I don't care. I love it," I say to her, not wanting anything more than
what I've already got.

Christopher tears open the packages he has and tries to cram the
wrapping paper in his mouth. He has no interest in the actual toys, but
is utterly fascinated by the packaging they were housed in.

He is beautiful. For the first time in months, I have a twinge of fear
crossing my soul. Something wicked this way comes, I think. I can't lose
him. I will do anything. Go anywhere. Just as long as he is safe.

"Mulder, are you ok?" Scully asks me, looking too concerned.

"I'm fine," I say, looking down at my new watch on my wrist.

It really is only a matter of time. This cannot last.

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

TITLE: VII Final Descent
AUTHOR: Jori damienma@netroenterprises.com
RATINGS: PG-13 for language
CATEGORY: SA
KEYWORDS: A/U, MSR, baby-fic
DISCLAIMER: They do not belong to me. They belong to CC, 1013 and Fox.
Please pardon my using them. I will have them back by November 8, 1998.

SUMMARY: Mulder faces several tragedies at once

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

March 5, 2002
Salt Lake City, Utah
8:50 a.m.

My nerves are so set on edge that the mere contact of the flight
attendant makes me jump. She touches my shoulder and smiles a me, and I
want to scream for her to go away, to let me be with my thoughts and
jangled emotions. I don't want whatever the hell it is she is trying to
give me, anyway. The only thing she could do to make me happy would be
make this plane go faster; to create a magical tailwind that would drive
us swiftly towards D.C. I would be satisfied just for it to get off the
runway. We have been holding for take-off for half an hour. I want to
yell. I want them to know I need to get home and they are slowing me
down.

The person sitting next to me leans as far from me as he can. The stench
of jet fuel infuses my clothes and my skin. It cannot be washed away.
The only saving grace is that it does cover the acrid smell of the
carnage I have been witness to for the past week.

This was not the first remains of a plane crash I've ever witnessed,
just the first one blown out of the sky at take off by terrorists. Two
separate groups have claimed it as their handiwork and three others are
pointing fingers and assigning blame. Now, assorted remnants of humanity
are scattered for acres, and the pieces are slowly being collected and
put back together. Except for the souls of the 204 victims lost on that
flight out of Salt Lake City. They cannot be put back together. They are
gone. The youngest victim was eight months old. Not a car seat in the
universe could have saved that little girl.

She was Christopher's age. I now journey home to my son, hoping beyond
all hope that he will be ok by the time I get there. I will sell my soul
to the devil himself for him to be safe. I demand that my mind not think
of it. I do not know what has happened, and I cannot accept the worst
yet.

The same flight attendant who touched me earlier is announcing our
approaching take-off. I shut my eyes, trying to think of nothing. I feel
the forces pull my body backwards into the seat as we ascend and the
banking of the plane pulls me towards the man next to me. He doesn't
notice.

"I'll be damned. Will you look at that?" he says.

I know what he is looking at. I have faced it up close and need no view
from the sky. He taps my shoulder and asks if I want to see out his
window. I don't open my eyes. I only shake my head no.

I have been here for a week and am not sure why, as I am not that
experienced with international terrorism. I guess they want a show of
manpower to let the world know we are on top of this. NTSB, FBI, you
name it, and they are part of the alphabet soup covering this one. I
watch the evidence come in during the day and weep over that same
evidence in the middle of the night. Teddy bears. Toys. Small clothing.
I had better control of these emotions before Christopher. Not perfect
control, just better.

Today the call came that all parents dread. I was in the hangar where
the NTSB is assembling the wreckage and never even heard my own phone
over the machinery hauling the pieces in. Some young field agent came
and told me my wife was on the phone, and I went to tell him I didn't
have a wife, but the look in his eyes was all I needed to see. Something
was wrong. I hurried to the makeshift office and picked up the ancient
black office phone.

"Scully, is that you?" I asked.

"Mulder, there's been an accident..." was all she said. Her voice
cracked and she was gone. The only sound that filled the line was busy
background clatter. I could feel the blood draining from my body and the
phone felt far too heavy to hold. Someone brought a chair so I could
sit, but I didn't remember the process of sitting in it. It just
happened.

"Fox? You need to come home," her mother said, apparently taking the
receiver from her daughter.

"What happened? What's wrong? Is Christopher ok?"

"When can you get here? Fox, she needs you."

"I'm at the airport now. I will try to get the next flight. Will
somebody tell me what happened?"

"A car accident. Dana's car was slammed into. Hit and run."

"Is she ok? What about Christopher? Will you tell me something, damn
it!" I said, my voice getting louder than I intended. Everyone in the
office turned to look at me.

"Dana is ok. Christopher is in the pediatric trauma unit right now. They
aren't telling us much, but Dana is worried."

"What hospital? Where did this happen? Who did this?" I asked, my
questions coming faster than she could answer.

"Hold on a moment."

"Mulder?"

"Scully, what happened? Are you ok?"

"I don't know how it happened," she said, and I could hear the fear in
her voice, "Please, just get back home fast."

"I'll be there. What hospital?" I asked.

"George Washington University. I have to get back to him. Call me and
let me know when you are going to get here."

"I will. I love you," I said, and with that she was gone.

SAC Michael Graham relayed my story to one of the many airline officials
who had descended upon this airport, and I am now on a half-filled
flight bearing the same corporate logo as the one strewn across the
ground. Seems they had a lot of empty seats this week.

"Are you part of the crowd investigating that crash?" asks the man with
the window seat.

"No," I answer, wanting to be left alone.

"I just figured-you smell like jet fuel-" he starts to say.

"I stood in the ticket line too long," I say, and with that he leaves me
alone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

March 5, 2002
Chicago, Illinois
1:02 p.m.

I am standing in O'Hare International Airport, not quite sure which way
I have to go now. My head is pounding and although I am familiar with
this airport, I seem to have everything backwards. I set my carry-on bag
down for a minute so I can find my boarding pass, and a security guard
comes over to tell me that I shouldn't let go of my bag, and didn't I
know the dangers involved. Didn't I see what happened in Utah, he asks.
I am tempted to tell him I know personally of what happened in Utah, but
I just fake a smile and ask him to point me to Gate 14.

I have twenty minutes until boarding. Twenty minutes of not actively
making my way to D.C. I want to call Scully, but am too scared of what I
might be told. Scared that I am too far away to help. I will be there
soon enough.

I find myself pacing and I have the terrible urge to kick something.
This all can't be a result of something I did, I keep telling myself.
This was an accident. Nothing more. I have willingly watched the X-files
be closed down over the last eight months. I have hated it, but I have
let it go for now. They will still be there when I figure out how to
protect Christopher.

I want to laugh and scream at the same time. How can I protect him? I
can't be on the other side of the country and protect him. What more do
I have to give up? Scully says God is the only one who can protect him.
I need more than that.

I stop moving and press my hands against the cold window overlooking the
plane I will soon board. There is a late season storm coming through now
and I watch as they de-ice the plane. They can see ice. It can be swept
away. The evil in the hearts of men cannot be seen. Someone boarded that
Salt Lake City plane willingly going to their death. Someone tried to
hurt Scully and Christopher today. Whether with or without intent, they
could have taken everything from me.

They are calling for my flight now, and I find myself bound to that
frosty window. I don't want to move. I am afraid of what I might find a
the end of this leg of travel. I make myself move, force my feet to walk
to the gate and board the plane. I can face whatever it is I find. I
have before.

Another attendant asks me another question when we are finally aloft.
Another smile. Another damn day at the job for them, not particularly
caring why all the people they face are making this journey. I tell her
I don't need anything, and turn to look out the small window.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

March 5, 2002
George Washington University Hospital Parking Lot
4:35 p.m.

I take a deep breath and step out my car. My jaw muscles ache from
stress and I just want to get inside to Scully and Christopher.

"Agent Mulder," an all too familiar voice says behind me as I start to
walk towards the hospital.

I knew this couldn't be an accident.

I turn around to face the man who called my name. The man who stands
here smoking a cigarette and not caring about my son.

"What did you do, you bastard!" I shout, coming after him.

He drops his cigarette and puts both hands out to stop my forward
movement. I can feel him pushing me backwards, but I do not want to stop
myself. He reeks of smoke and lies and everything I've grown to hate.
"Stop this," he says, "There are people watching."

"Like I give a damn! What did you do to them!" I yell at him.

"I told you to drop it, for your son's sake. For ten years I've put up
with you, allowed you to live. Watched you stumble and fail at achieving
this quest for the so called truth of yours. Now you pull this latest
trick."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, backing away from him.

"Agent Diana Fowley. I know you are well aquatinted with her," he says,
lighting up another cigarette.

"What about her?" I ask, my mind trying to comprehend what she might
have to do with this.

"Having her work the X-files. Was that your brilliant countermove, Agent
Mulder? Are you using her as your puppet? It didn't impress me," he
says, blowing smoke my way.

I am stunned into silence. She wouldn't do this without telling me
first.

"I am warning you again. I am the only one who can protect that boy of
yours. Today was nothing as compared to what could have happened. You
make sure that the X-files remains closed. Do you understand?" he asks
me.

I do not answer. I only watch him walk away from me once again.

I enter the hospital, my mind still flashing with the possibilities of
what is going on. Diana wouldn't do this. She would have said something
first. I know her at least that well.

The volunteer at the desk sends me in the right direction to find my son
and his mother. Pediatrics. He has been admitted in the hours since I've
last talked to Scully.

The find the elevator, push the button and wait. All this travelling to
be held up by the elevator. I'm only a few floors away from finding out
the extent of the damages Diana's stupidity might have caused my family.
Everybody around me has that tense, quite air to them that hospitals
invoke. Too much stress, not enough answers or time. The doors open and
we all push the various buttons to take us to our various tragedies.

I find Scully sitting by his bedside, holding his tiny hand. He is
small, but I don't think he has ever looked smaller than he does now. He
has tubes and lines going out of his small body, and a fast beep
registers every beat of his heart.

"Scully," I say from the doorway, scared to go in, "is he ok?"

She looks up at me and I can tell she has been crying for awhile now. We
have seen so many hospitals, but never together like this. Emily was one
thing, but she wasn't mine. She wasn't ours.

"Oh, Mulder," is all she says. She gets up and comes over to me. I hold
her tight and kiss the top of her head as she cries into my chest.

"What happened?" I ask.

"I was on my way to my mother's when someone forced us into the
guardrail. It broke away and we flipped down an embankment. They got
away. Mulder, please say this was an accident. Please say this was
nothing more than a case of hit and run," she pleads.

I don't say anything to her. I can't give her all the answers she needs
right now. Instead I walk over to my tiny son and hold his hand.
"How is he?" I ask her.

"He is doing better. There was a lot of swelling around his brain at
first, but it is improving rapidly. There were no internal injuries."
"He was in his car seat?"

"Of course he was, but it was a bad accident, Mulder. They are surprised
I walked away from it."

I notice his leg is in a small splint and I look up at Scully.

"Greenstick fracture. It shouldn't cause any real problems in the
future," she says.

"Are you ok?" I finally ask her, noticing all the bruising on her face.

"I'm fine. I'm just glad you are here."

We both stand on opposite sides of our son's bed, each holding a hand.

"I'm sorry this had to happen, Scully."

"What do you mean `had to happen'?" she asks me.

"I have to go take care of some things. Will you be alright without me
for a little while?"

"Where are you going? Christopher needs you here."

"I'll be back. I have to stop all this," I say to her as I let go of his
hand and walk out the door. I can feel Scully's stare as I walk down the
hallway.

My nerves are more steady now that I know he is alive. He is tiny and
fragile, and someone is trying to prove that to us. Another lesson
learned. Now I must go take care of other pressing matters. I hope to
hell Skinner is still in his office.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

March 5, 2002
FBI Headquarters
Washington, D.C.
5:59 p.m.

"Tell me what in the hell is going on!" I demand, as I storm into
Assistant Director Skinner's office
unannounced.

I am seething with anger that has only been augmented by sitting in D.C.
traffic behind an accident. The town is in a fucking gridlock, like it 
usually is when there is multi-car accident. The blaring horns and
jockeying for lanes has risen the level of my headache up to a
throbbing, deafening roar. This whole mess has caused me to take up 
grinding my teeth to the point that my jaw hurts.

Skinner is sitting at his desk, working late. He looks calm and
collected, dressed appropriately for this office setting. I, on the 
other hand, clash with the formal surroundings, almost appearing to 
be a madman who stinks of a plane crash a continent away.

He looks me up and down, but doesn't appear shocked to see me, his
former agent now reassigned. He puts  his hand up before another word 
can leave my mouth.

"Agent Mulder, what can I do for you?" he asks, so smooth, so even.

I know that with whatever I say next, this anger bubbling up inside my
soul will be betrayed in my voice.

"I need to know what in the hell is going on with the X-files. I need to
know who is reopening them," I say to him, using as much control as I can 
muster not to let my voice get too loud or too uneven.

"Sit down, Agent Mulder," he tells me, pointing at the chair across from
him, "and we can discuss these events rationally and calmly."

"Calmly? My son is in the pediatric ICU at GWU right now because of
these 'events.' You want me to be rational?" I ask him, noticing his look 
of genuine surprise.

That surprise flickers quickly across his face, disappears, and he opens
his mouth, but no words come out. He doesn't know yet. Scully wouldn't 
have called him to find me in Salt Lake City. She would have had to
call the A.D. I'm now assigned to.

"What are you talking about? What happened to your son?" he asks me,
still remaining calm, but sounding quite concerned.

"Scully... Agent Scully was run off the highway this morning.
Apparently, it is a case of hit and run. Her car
went through a guardrail and down an embankment," I tell him.

"Are they...ok?" Skinner asks.

"Christopher suffered head trauma and a broken leg. Do you know what
it's like to get that phone call when you are on the other side of the 
country and helpless? You have no idea. He's only a baby..." I say, my 
voice cracking as my emotions change from anger to helpless grief.

The image of his tiny body in that hospital brings tears to my eyes. I
can feel them welling up, just as I can feel my heart ache from what I 
nearly lost.

Skinner says nothing for a minute. He turns his head from me as I
struggle to regain my composure.

"And Agent Scully?" he asks, breaking his silence.

"She walked away from it with only superficial injuries," I say to him.

I know it's not the injuries on the outside that will effect her for
life, but rather what this is going to do to her on the inside. She couldn't 
protect him. I couldn't protect him.

"I flew back here as soon as I could, only to be met by cancer man in
the hospital parking lot."

"What?" Skinner asks, sitting upright in his chair.

"It's not the first time. Right after Christopher was born, he showed
up. He told me that in order to protect my son, I had to quit the X-files. 
That's why I asked for reassignment," I say, realizing I never honestly told
him why I asked to close the division I had given up so many years of my
life for.

"Why didn't you come to me with this earlier? Other arrangements could
have been made," Skinner says.

"There are no other possibilities at this time, sir. I need to know why
they are being reopened. I need to know if I'm being set up."

He sits back in his chair and flips through some of the paperwork on his
desk. He pulls out the folder he is apparently looking for and opens it.

"Agent Mulder, the order to reopen the X-files came from the outside,
far above any power I have. Agent Fowley inquired about being assigned to 
them several weeks ago, but it hasn't been approved yet. She said
she discussed it with you. I assumed you were ok with it, considering
her past involvement," he says, closing up the folder in his hand.

"Great. Now they are assuming I am handing it over to Diana because of
her...our past involvement, so she can finish the work I began. I believe 
the exact words were 'using her as my puppet.' I need to know who
would want them open. I need to know who all the players are here," I
say to him, hoping he can help me figure it all out.

"Who would the players be, Agent Mulder?" he asks.

My thoughts go into overdrive. Somebody wants me back on the X-files and
I don't know why. So many have tried to close me down before, have even 
gone to the point of trying to take everything away from me so I would quit. 
Now the pendulum is swinging in the opposite direction.

"If Christopher gets ki..." I start, not even able to bring myself to
say the word, "If Christopher is gone, then they are assuming I would go 
back to the X-Files. Why not? I'd have nothing else. If someone wants the X-
files opened, all they would have to do is suggest I'm back on them.
These people don't follow rules, they don't care if I really am working on 
them or not. It's obviously someone who knows the threats to
Christopher. It is someone playing on both sides. If my son is taken
away..."

"That isn't going to happen," Skinner says. The reassurance in his voice
strikes something inside of me that has been waiting to explode.

"You can't promise me that and you know it! These people are bigger than
you and me!" I yell.

"Agent Mulder..." he starts to say, trying to interrupt me.

This time I put my hand up.

"Scully and I have lost far too much already. Hell, we've lost so much
that they had us go out and create a new person to lose because the damn 
well was running dry! I don't need you to sit there and tell me what is
or isn't going to happen. What I need for you to do is to find out who
wants the X-files reopened and why."

He waits to see if I'm going to rant about anything else. It's not the
first time he's had to deal with this agent on a rampage.

"Agent Mulder, I don't have all the answers for you..."

"Then you better find some," I say, trying to bring my temper back under
control.

"Why don't you talk to Agent Fowley. Like I said, she was asking about
the X-files before the order came across my desk. Maybe she knows 
something," Skinner says.

"Where is she now?," I ask, "Did she move here yet or is she still on
assignment somewhere?"

"I think she is in Miami. Let me find out for you."

Skinner picks up the phone and makes several calls before he discovers
her exact location. He writes it down on a piece of paper for me.

"Thanks," I say, shoving the paper into my pocket as I head towards the
door.

"Agent Mulder," Skinner says before I reach the door, "Let this go until
the morning. Go back to the hospital."

I say nothing as I head out of his office in search of Diana Fowley.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

March 5, 2002
National Airport
7:15 p.m.

My flight to Miami leaves in fifteen minutes. Most of the people around
me are dressed casually, heading off for their spring vacations on the beach.

I still haven't been home to bathe or change. I still haven't been back
to the hospital. I find a payphone and dial Scully's cell phone number. I know 
she is going to be furious, and she has every right to be this time, but
I have got to get to the bottom of this.

Her phone rings once before she answers it.

"Mulder, if this is you, you had better get back here. Now."

"Scully, it's me. Is something wrong? Is Christopher doing ok?" I ask
her.

"What is wrong is you aren't here with our son. He is improving and I'd
like for you to be here. Where are you?" she asks, and I can hear the 
impatience in her voice beginning to build.

"I'm at the airport. I'm going to Miami," I say to her, expecting the
worst.

Silence. Not a word or sound from the other end.

"Scully?" I ask.

"Yes," she says, the coldness in her voice reaching through the phone
line and kicking me in the balls, even with just that one little word.

"I have to do this. There is a power struggle going on and Christopher
is their pawn. I have to find out who's behind it."

She says nothing. The announcement for my flight is made and I want
desperately for her to understand why I'm doing this. I don't have the 
time to explain it all to her. She's just going to have to trust me.

"Mulder?" she asks me.

"What, Scully?"

"Who is in Miami?"

I suck in a deep breath and let it out before I answer her.

"Diana Fowley," I answer.

I don't get a chance to say anything else before she hangs up on me.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

March 5, 2002
Miami, Florida
11:34 p.m.

The air here is dripping with humidity and although it has been a
somewhat mild winter in D.C., I feel as if I have stepped into a different 
season. Actually, I feel as if I got off the plane in a different country 
entirely.

The rental car agent spoke better Spanish than English, and I ended up
with a red, Mustang convertible instead of the compact I asked for. Now I 
look like all the damn tourists heading towards South Beach. I
have no plans of seeing daylight in this city, hoping to make it back
home by morning. Still, I put the top down, letting the air assault me from 
all directions with the hope that is will help clear my head and wake me
up.

I'm ignoring all the warnings they provided at the airport about the
dangers to tourists here. Let some fucking punk try to car jack me. I'm armed. 
Besides that, I'm in one hell of a horrible mood. I find I-95 with
little difficulty and head in the direction of the hotel Diana is
staying at.

I need to figure out what I'm going to say to this woman who keeps
appearing from my past. More importantly, I have to figure out what I'm 
going to say to the woman at home who is a part of my present, part of my 
future.

Diana must be down here working counter-terrorism with the
Cuban-American community. Incidents of terrorism have been growing 
everywhere across this great nation of ours, including towns known only 
for their vacation possibilities and hot Latin atmosphere. I guess this
explains why she didn't show up in Utah.

I find her hotel off I-95. It is not as bad as the places Scully and I
used to stay at, but it is still decorated in the style of that stupid 
cop show from the 80s. All pink and turquoise.

Then again, I guess all of South Beach is like that, too.

The kid at the front desk won't give me Diana's room number, even after
I show him my badge. He takes it from me and calls up to her room, asking her 
permission for one 'Agent Fox Mudler' to come up. The conversation is short 
and after he hands me my identification back, he directs me to room 212.

Diana opens the door before I can even knock.

"Jesus, Fox. You look like shit," is the first thing she says to me.

I walk into her room and shut the door behind me.

"I started my day out in Salt Lake City and am ending it in South
Florida. How should I look?" I ask her.

She sits down cross-legged on one of the double beds in her room and
stares at me. She is wearing a night shirt and was obviously getting 
ready for bed.

"So, to what occasion do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I need to know who wants you to open the X-files, Diana. Who is behind
it?" I ask her, getting straight to the point.

She diverts her eyes from mine. She rarely does this, only when she is
hiding something.

"No one wants me to, Fox. No one is behind it," she says.

I've known this woman for well over ten years and I know when she is
lying. There is only one woman on the face of this Earth that I know better 
than the one in front of me now.

I drop onto my knees in front of her and lift her chin up so her eyes
meet mine again.

"My son, my eight-month-old baby boy, was almost killed this morning due
to this whole matter. Now, I want you to tell me what you know."

She pulls away from my touch, stands up and starts to walk to the door.

"I think you should leave."

I stand up and grab her by the shoulder, spinning her back towards me.

"Diana, tell me who wants this."

"No one. I'm the one who asked to reopen them," she says.

"Not according to Skinner. The order came from somewhere on the outside
and I want to know from where. I think you know, considering you approached 
Skinner with this weeks before it came across his desk. I want you to tell me 
what you know. I want to know who thinks this is worth hurting my son for," I 
say to her, my voice growing angry.

Diana doesn't move away from me. She has seen me at my worst and she's
never been afraid of me.

"Fox, you know what I find amazing about this whole thing? That you
could give it up your life's work so easily for her. You wouldn't have done 
it for me, would you? But for Agent Scully, you just threw it all
away..."

"No," I interrupt, "what I find amazing is that once I thought I could
spend my life with you and now you stand there lying to me."

"Let's not get into personal attacks, Fox. It's not like you haven't
ever lied to me before," she says.

I turn around an walk away from her in a last ditch effort not to lose
my temper.

"Besides, you son is still alive, isn't he?" she says, the contempt in
her voice moving across the room in slow, ugly ripples before hitting 
its intended target. Me.

That's it. The last straw. I turn around and grab her wrist.

"You don't want this to get personal? Remember that miscarriage you had,
Diana? Remember how you cried? Remember how we cried over that? Do you think 
this is different? I almost lost my child today. You remember what it felt 
like to lose that child. It tore us apart," I say to her, realizing to late by 
her expression how much it still hurts her, even after all these years.

She looks down at the floor and I let go of her wrist.

"Now, tell me who is responsible for this?" I ask her again.

"I don't know," she answers.

"I think you do," I say to her.

"No, I don't. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. You say you're on my side. You've said it for so many
years now. I need you now and all you do is lie to me," I say to her.

"I think you need to leave now, Fox. I think you need to pursue other
avenues to find the information you want."

"Trust me, Diana. I will. Just don't you forget you're responsible for
my son's life now, too. You better hope nothing happens to him," I say 
as I walk out her door.

I'm out of the hotel and opening my car door when I feel her hand on my
shoulder. I turn to face her and she leans closer to me.

"Senator Paul Erickson," she whispers into my ear, "That's all I can
say."

I stand at the car watching her walk away from me.

"Diana," I call out to her.

She stops and turns to look at me.

"Be careful. You don't know what you are dealing with this time. I don't
want you to get hurt again."

"Thanks, Fox. Go home to your son and his mother," she tells me.

I plan to do just that.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

March 6, 2002
Miami International Airport
3:35 a.m.

I am stuck in this town overnight. Nothing flies out of here past 11:00
p.m., so I have to wait until I can catch the 6:35 a.m. flight back to D.C. 
Two security guards have approached me, but I just show them my
badge and tell them I'm on my way home and they leave me alone. I can
believe that I must look like a vagrant. I haven't slept since I was in Salt 
Lake City. Come to think of it, I haven't had anything to eat either.

I wander around looking for a vending machine and a payphone.

I drink down a Coke and dial our house, on the off chance that Scully
went home for the night. I get our answering machine. I figured she would 
spend the night at the hospital. She hasn't spent a night away from
Christopher yet in eight months. She certainly wouldn't abandon him now.
Unlike me.

God, I hope this Senator Paul Erickson that Diana told me about is
somebody useful. Scully will kill me if this was fruitless mission to the 
Sunshine State. I haven't even seen the sun yet.

I look out to where my plane is already silently waiting for passengers
to fill it again. I lean against the glass, amazed at the difference in 
temperature from Chicago. It has been less than twenty-four hours since this 
all started and I have spent a total of five minutes with my son. I can't
ever just leave it alone. Not even now.

Always running off for the answers, Mulder. Always ignoring what is
important. This had better save him.

I sit down in a chair by the departure gate. The next thing I know, I'm
being shaken awake by a gate attendant who is asking me if this is my flight 
that is boarding.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

March 6, 2002
George Washington University Hospital
10:12 a.m.

I find Scully asleep in a recliner next to Christopher's bed. Most of
the tubes have been removed from his small body since I saw him last. 
The cardiac monitor still fills the room with the joyful noise of his 
heartbeat, a sound I don't want the world to be without.

I am standing over him when Maggie Scully enters the room and motions
for me to come out into the hall.

She stands close to me and although she is whispering, I know the
trouble I am in.

"Fox, back when it was just Dana and yourself and you were just
partners, I became used to you running off on her when she needed you 
most. Now there is a lot more at stake here. You have a child. You can't 
keep doing this to her," she says to me.

"I had to. Someone did this to Christopher and I have to find out who
it is," I tell her.

"Dana needed you here. I thought you learned that once. I thought you
learned what is important."

I say nothing to her as I watch her walk down the hospital corridor. I
go back into the room and sit in the chair Maggie Scully must have spent 
the night in. Within minutes I'm fast asleep holding on to one of
Christopher's hands.

The end 


*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

TITLE: VIII A Ring Around The Rosy...  
AUTHOR: Jori damienma@netroenterprises.com
CATEGORY: SA
KEYWORDS: MSR, baby-fic, AU
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. If they were, I would not being doing this, right?
They belong to CC, 1013, and FOX.
RATING: PG-13
ARCHIVE: yes

SUMMARY: Scully attempts to deal with Mulder's return after a crisis.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

March 6, 2002
George Washington University Medical Center
1:02 p.m.

My eyes open slowly and the distinct, painful realization of exactly
where I am washes over me like a cold wave of sorrow. My heart sinks,
for it was not a dream, not just some subconscious fear of a new mother
playing itself out in the shadow lands of nightmares.

I am not waking up in my bed; these are not my cool, crisp linen sheets
under me.

Instead, I can hear the crinkle of vinyl beneath me as I move and the
blanket over me is clearly stamped over and over with PROPERTY OF
G.W.U.M.C.

Rather than waking to the scent of fresh paint, new carpet and early
morning Mulder, I'm greeted by the smell of what can only be described
as hospital: antiseptic to the core.

The sound of my son's heartbeat fills the room, and the crisp staccato
of children's laughter invades from down the hall. It brings back a
memory of my pre-med days, when I would volunteer in the pedes unit. No
matter how horrible the ailment, the children could always laugh. They
are a resilient lot.

Christopher will be equally as resilient, I promise myself, as I view
his small body. He's still not conscious. His injured brain needs time
to heal, but it will heal.

 I stand up to check on him and I notice Mulder sleeping in the chair
opposite of me, just on the other side of our baby. I let out a sigh. My
heart will need time to heal from this one.

I look at my watch, amazed at how such a small amount of sleep could
feel like so much after not sleeping for twenty-four hours. I wonder
when Mulder deemed us worthy of his presence. No, Dana, stop that. I
said it over and over to myself all night. I will hear what he has to
say first. I will be fair. I will be an impartial jury listening to all
the facts before branding him guilty of abandonment. Damn. So much for
impartiality.

I sit back down on my stiff, crinkling chair and gaze over the two
people in life I care for most. The one, totally helpless without me.
Christopher. The other is like a moth driven to a flame, always on a
quest for something and never quite reaching it. Or reaching it without
realizing the consequences: moths on quests almost always get burned.
Those who do return often face the realization that the nice, warm moth
left behind waiting for them is an equal foe as that flame.

He doesn't need me for his quest anymore. Sometimes I'm not sure he ever
needed me at all.

The word 'trust' has been tossed around so many times in this
relationship that it must be getting dizzy by now. Trust no one, Scully.
You're the only one I trust, Scully.

I can think of a million different clich ways to illustrate trust.
Trust is the keystone in an arch: take it away and it all falls. Trust
is the foundation of a house: take it away and it all falls. Trust is
this and trust is that.

The only word I've heard more is 'truth.' I would love to tell Mulder a
few things about the truth behind trust right now. He should have been
here yesterday. I trusted him to come through, and he didn't. Instead,
he was off on some spree for the truth. Trust me, Scully. The truth will
save us. Those two damn words keep butting heads.

"Hello, Dr. Scully, did you get some rest?" Christopher's nurse asks
quietly as she comes through the door.

"Yes, thank you. Are you still here? What kind of shifts do they have
you working?" I ask, amazed that I have seen this woman since after
midnight and she still looks happy.

"I pull three twelve hour shifts a week. I will be going home soon but I
just wanted to stop by and see how Christopher was doing before I left,"
she says, picking up his chart and glancing over it, "I never asked, Dr.
Scully, but what hospital do you work at?"

"I don't. I'm a forensic pathologist for the FBI. I'm teaching at
Quantico right now," I say to her, barely even able to remember the
conversation in which my being a doctor came up. Perhaps my mother told
her.

"Well, at least your patients don't bite or wiggle away," she says.

"You'd be surprised," I mutter under my breath.

She walks to the other side of the bed and nearly trips over Mulder's
feet.

"Your husband?" she asks, lowering the level of her voice to accommodate
the sleeping form she just walked by.

"No," is all I answer.

"Well, I'm guessing by looking at these two that dad finally showed up."

"He usually does. Sooner or later," I say, and she starts writing
something on Chris' chart.

"Ok, Dr. Scully. The neurologist said he'd be in here in a few minutes,
but you know how doctors are. At least with your patients, time is no
longer important, right?"

I want to say something about the need to gather evidence promptly and
that time is of the essence in solving gruesome murders, but I let it
go.

"I usually don't get many complaints that I'm dallying around too much,"
I say instead.

"Like I said, Dr. Bartlett will be here in a few minutes to give you a
better assessment. I will be back in the middle of the night. I hope not
to see you here..." she says with a wink and a smile, fully knowing that
we will probably be right where she is leaving us.

My child is an innocent in all of this. He is paying for the sins of his
parents. I pray to God that he does not have to pay for the rest of his
life.

I love Christopher with what I can only define as mother love. Nothing
in the heavens could stop my love for him. Nothing would keep me from
going to the ends of the earth for him. If he died, they would have to
pry my body away from his grave site. My arms would ache from the loss
of him. My heart would stop beating. I am sure of it. A new respect for
my mother's loss has formed since I became a mother myself.

Tears begin to fall from my eyes just thinking of it. One tear drop
falls off of my cheek and lands on his small hand. I wipe it off,
wanting desperately to be strong for him.

Is there another love like this? Can anything compare? There is Mulder.
He has gone to the ends of the earth for me. He has given up everything
for me. Yet, he wasn't here yesterday. I want to have faith that he
will be there always, not just when it suits him.

I can feel someone watching me and I look up from my child. My eyes meet
Mulder's eyes, still groggy with sleep.

"Mulder, you look like hell," is all that comes out of my mouth.

"So I've been told."

I look back down upon Christopher. I don't know what to say to Mulder
next, how to define for him the loss of trust I experienced yesterday.

I place my hand on my son's arm and gently stroke his soft, baby skin.
Mulder stands up, stretches and places his hand over mine.

"Dana...I'm sorry," he says, using my given name for the first time in
months. He must mean it, but it is not enough right now.

"Sorry for what, Fox..." I say, his name buzzing off of my lips and
stinging his ears.

I am sorry for this as soon as it leaves my mouth. I don't want to argue
in front of Christopher. He needs his parents to be strong.

Mulder turns his eyes downward, away from my stare. When he looks back
up at me, his eyes are filled with sorrow. His hand has not moved from
mine, but is instead holding mine tighter.

"Scully, this wasn't an accident."

"Nothing in our life has ever been an accident, Mulder. Right down to
how we had this baby. Why would this be the first accident in..." I look
down at my watch for effect, then am shocked by the date that nearly
passed by unnoticed.

"Ten years," he finishes for me.

We are both silent for a minute, as if this anniversary was deserving of
some special reverence. As if we are both remembering all that has been
lost due to this partnering.

"I was hoping it was an accident, Scully. I was hoping cancer man was
lying to me," Mulder says,

"Cancer man?" I ask, for this is the first I've heard of him being
involved in all of this. When I called Skinner early this morning to see
if he had heard from Mulder, he didn't mention cancer man.

"He met me in the parking lot the first time I arrived here. That is why
I had to go where I did. I had to know. I would never leave you two
unless I had to."

I say nothing. The unspoken tension between us is pure electric, ready
to spark into something fiery any minute now.

"Dr. and Mr. Scully? How are you this afternoon?" a man asks, causing
our contact to break. Mulder and I turn to look at the source of the
question. The neurologist.

"We're tired. Dr. Bartlett, this is Christopher's father, Fox Mulder," I
say, introducing the two men.

"I'm glad you could both be here. I have some good news from the tests
we ran at 6:00 a.m. They indicate that there shouldn't be any permanent
damage to Christopher's brain or to his spinal column. Actually, I
believe that he should regain consciousness in the next twenty-four
hours."

I hear Mulder sigh with relief, and some of the stress washes from my
body.

"We will just have to wait and see from this point," the doctor
continues. He then goes on to tell us about his further treatment plans,
but even my medically trained mind has turned into a parent's mind. I
can't stop focusing on the fact that there will be no permanent damage.

He finishes his exam of Christopher and them picks up the binder
containing our son's charts.

"I'll be back in a few hours," Dr. Bartlett says as he walks out the
door.

The second that he is gone, my facade of the always together mother,
doctor, and FBI agent crumbles and I begin to sob with relief.

Mulder puts his arms around me and pulls me close.

"Mulder, you smell like..." I start to say, my nose wrinkling up.
"I've been told that, too."

We stand together holding on to each other for several minutes. We are
always the last person left in the world for the other. The only one who
truly understands this life we lead. He pushes away from me slightly and
lifts the last tear drop off of my cheek with his thumb.

"Scully, I did find out something last night. A name I need to contact.
We might get to the bottom of this sooner than I thought," he says.

"What if there is no bottom?" I ask, "What if they keep you jumping
through hoops for the rest of your life?"

"I have always been a firm believer that I will eventually jump through
the hoop with all the answers, Scully."

I smile for the first time in over twenty-four hours and he pulls me
close again.

"I am so sorry. I had to find out. It was the only way I could think to
save him." he whispers to me.

"I know."

He and I both sit down again in our chairs opposite each other and wait.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

March 6, 2002
7:38 p.m.

Mulder is on the phone with his mother while I cradle my son close to my
chest. He regained consciousness late in the afternoon. Except for the
leg splint, one could swear nothing happened to him. The doctor even
said he'd never seen anything like it.

"No, Mom. You don't have to come down right away... next week will be
fine," Mulder tells his mother. I called her yesterday to let her know
about her grandson, and she was upset that she couldn't get down here.

She and Mulder have always had a rocky relationship, to say the least.
She does love Christopher, though. Maybe she wants to make up for
something she lost.

"Yes, she's fine...Uh, I don't know...ok...I will pick you up next
week...you, too, Mom. Bye," he says, putting the phone back down.

"Is she less worried now that she has spoken to you?" I ask him.

"No. She still thinks she should be here. I wish she had been that
devoted to me when..."

"Mulder, that is the difference between grandchildren and children. You
don't play out the same mistakes twice," I say to him.

"And here I always thought it was you got to feed grandchildren a lot of
sugary foods and send them home."

"That, too. Mulder, can you hold Christopher for a few minutes. I want
to run down to the cafeteria and get something to drink. Do you want
anything?" I ask him, as I gently hand Chris over to him.

"Something sweet," he says to me and I leave the room.

I walk down the hall and a few doors down I see a mother holding her
child and rocking him. I can tell by the look on the people's faces
standing outside the door that she lost her baby. She is singing "Ring
around the Rosy" to him in a voice that could only belong to an angel.

"A pocket full of posies... ashes, ashes...we all fall down..."

She just keeps singing it over and over. No one dares move to take the
baby from her. I wonder if she knows the true meaning behind this
children's rhyme.

This could have been me. So easily, I could be the one singing to my
son's body. I feel as if I'm an intruder to her last precious moments
with her child and I move on, even if my thoughts don't.

Eventually, I realize I am being followed around the maze of hospital
corridors. I look back to see a man I swear I saw in the ER yesterday.

I pick up the pace, but the footsteps are still there. My heartbeat is
quickening and my mind, which is already dizzy from a lack of sleep,
begins spinning. The only thing I can think of is making it back up to
Mulder. I do not have my weapon, but Mulder has his.

The elevator is crowded with people trying to make it here for the last
few minutes of visiting hours. I see the strange man enter the
stairwell. I make it back to the pedes unit and rush back to the room.

"Scully, what's wrong?" Mulder asks, as I step through the door. I can
feel that my face is flushed and my respiration rate is stepped up.

"I was being followed. I saw the same man yesterday, in the ER. He
followed me down to the cafeteria. Mulder, how deep does this all go?" I
ask.

"I don't know," he says, standing and handing me Christopher, "but I'm
going to find out."

His attempts to leave the room are blocked by a nurse.

"Did Dr. Bartlett leave Christopher's chart in here?" she asks us.

"No, he took it with him." Mulder answers.

"That's strange. It seems that everything relating to Christopher, right
down to the X-rays, is missing," she says, looking at the two of us.

"Damn it!" Mulder says, "Can't they just let us have something."

"For now, Mulder, they let us have Christopher. That is enough," I say
to him.

The end 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

TITLE: IX A Pocket Full Of Posies 
AUTHOR: Jori damienma@netroenterprises.com
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: SH
KEYWORDS: MSR, baby-fic
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never will be. I can live with that, I think. Ok.
Deep breath. They belong to CC, 1013 and FOX
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I lightened this one up a bit after my last several angst
fests. The next installment will return to a little more angst.
ARCHIVE: Yes.

SUMMARY: A day in the life of the Mulder/Scullys. Mulder goes digging
for more information on the cause of his son's accident and Scully feeds
the birds.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Office of the Lone Gunmen
March 31, 2002
9:13 a.m.

"Geesh, Mulder. You really need to stop by more often. He's practically
a teenager now," Langly says to me as he watches Christopher play with
some electronic device he nabbed off one of the tables.

I realize that none of the guys have seen Chris in close to four months,
and he has grown considerably in that small amount of time, but this
isn't usually the place one wants to bring their infant to for just a
visit.

Frohike comes out of one of the back rooms and also looks Christopher
over while trying to retrieve the piece of equipment from Chris' drooly
fingers. He finally gets a few little wet fingers pried off, but Chris
just grabs for something else as fast as Frohike can work.

"Jesus, Mulder. What did you do, clone yourself?" Frohike asks, "All
that beauty on his mother's side and he looks more like you every time
that I see him. By the way, where is the lovely Agent Scully?"
"She's resting, Frohike," I say, "Besides, some people actually find me
somewhat attractive."

"Not around here, buddy," he says with a grin, "But Agent Scully..."

"Hey, Frohike, why don't you lay off," Langly tells him, "She's
practically married now."

"Not until the day she says 'I do.' Then there will be no more hope..."

"Come on, stop mooning over the kid's mother in front of him," I say to
him.

"Who would have ever thought the day would come when Special Agent Fox
Mulder would be pushing around a Peg Perego stroller and enjoying it,"
Byers says, as he joins his cohorts.

"Byers, how do you know what a Peg Perego stroller is? You're scaring
me," I tell him.

"We did a little research into strollers on the net," Byers says, "That
is what we had intended to buy for you and Agent Scully as a baby shower
gift."

"Yeah, but someone beat us to it on the baby registry," Langly adds.
"So, you got us the baby room monitor with electronic counter measures,
instead," I say, remembering the gift well.

"Hey, those things are hard to come by. You can't just walk into your
local Toys R Us and pick one up off the shelf," Frohike says.

"Besides, you wouldn't believe the conversations you can pick up on the
regular ones," Langly says, handing me some literature on baby monitor
espionage.

"Has Christopher said anything yet?" Byers asks, interrupting the other
two's chatter on the art of placing baby monitors for surveillance
purposes.

"Yeah. Simple things like dada, mama and trust no one," I answer in a
dead-pan voice.

All three of them look at me with matching serious expressions on their
faces.

"I'm kidding, guys," I say to them, ending their silence. They all break
into nervous laughs.

"Thank God! Because if he did say that first, then Langly would have won
the bet," Frohike says.

I don't even want to know.

"So, do you really change diapers, Mulder?" Langly asks. The three of
them look at me as if this is some kind of assessment of my manliness.

"Yes, and I make bottles, feed him, bathe him...really, diapers aren't
that bad. Unless he decides to play fireman. You know, you really have
got to be a parent to understand..." I say, realizing that explaining
any of it would be useless. I didn't even understand until Christopher
was born.

"Never thought I'd see the day..." Byers mumbles under his breath.

"Okay...enough baby talk. So, did you dig up anything on that person I
asked you about?" I ask them.

"I can't believe that you don't know about Senator Erickson? What have
you been doing for the last year, Mulder?" Langly asks me.

I point to my son, who now has a smattering of high tech equipment
surrounding him in his stroller. Frohike was too disgusted by the
slobber to continue his futile attempts to pull any of it out of
Christopher's hands.

"I've been having a baby. Not much time is left for politics," I say.

"Senator Erickson is a member of the class of 2K," Byers tells me, "It
was quite a shock to everyone that he was elected at all. He is a little
bit of a... free thinker. He just doesn't fit in with the new
conservative governing factors here in Washington."

"Yeah, they call him Senator Skywalker," Frohike says, "Mulder, if you
think your ideas are, well, original, you should hear some of the things
he's been reported as saying. At least you aren't running the country."

"What state does he represent?" I ask.

"The great state of New Mexico," Frohike tells me.

I must make a face, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Yes, Mulder, he believes," Langly says.

"Of course, he didn't let a lot of his beliefs be known until he was
elected. By now, though, I'm sure most of the Hill has heard about his
mother," Byers says.

"What about his mother?" I ask.

"Lost in Space. She's been gone since Erickson was a teenager and he
claims she was abducted by aliens on a camping trip to the desert,"
Langly says.

"What really did happen to his mother?" I ask.

"Popular sentiment says she was picked up by some drifter named Ronald
Mulch, who was found guilty of two other murders in the area. Senator
Erickson won't accept that after all these years," Frohike says.

"Yeah. He even has a secret Geocities web site documenting UFO
sightings," Langly says.

"You must be kidding? If it is a secret, how do you know it is his?" I
ask.

"We hacked into the registration for it and traced it back to an alias
we believe he uses. It's not a place you'd want to keep state secrets or
anything," Frohike says.

Langly types in the site address on his computer to show me what is
supposedly Senator Paul Erickson's web page. It looks more like the work
of some teen aged kid.

"Why are you interested in him, Mulder, besides the obvious?" Byers
asks.

"I have reason to believe he's trying to reopen the X-files and wants me
assigned to them again."

"Well, he'd be the one. He doesn't have much power in the Senate, yet. I
can't imagine him having the power to sway the FBI," Frohike says.

"I think he has friends somewhere," I say, as I start to pull all the
stuff out of my son's stroller so we can leave, "Can you guys get as
much information together as possible on the guy and e-mail it over to
me on a secured line?"

"Sure, Mulder. What ever you want. And next time you visit, bring Agent
Scully," Frohike says as he holds the door open for me to wheel
Christopher out.

I hear someone comment on how Christopher is going to grow up to be one
strange kid before the door latches all the way and the dead bolts are
put into place.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Mulder/Scully household
March 31, 2002
11:57 a.m.

I am enjoying my morning alone by sitting out on our deck for the very
first time. It is a beautiful early spring day, and I am quite
comfortable sitting on the porch swing, sipping my herbal tea and
watching the birds return from their winter retreats. They are picking
through the feeders I had Mulder put up last weekend. He complains that
we were just feeding the squirrels, but I don't care. I also sprinkled
some of the seed on the lawn near the house, hoping the birds would come
closer, but I am probably just sowing wild flowers.

This is the first time I've been alone in the house in a long time. I
have not let Christopher leave the house with anyone since he returned
home from the hospital. Mulder finally said he was taking him out today,
and he told me Christopher would probably be safer at the Gunmen's place
than he was even in his own house. Unless he got mixed up in something
electrical, that is.

I just have to trust him. I have to have faith. I have forgiven Mulder
for leaving us at that hospital. Without forgiveness, there would be no
point in going on.

I am hoping the boys have some information that will help put an end to
this fiasco. So far, Mulder's attempts to reach this Senator Erickson
have been futile. He seems to be quite a busy man.

The French doors leading to the deck swing open with a loud creak of
unused hinges and the birds nearest the house scatter to the trees.

"Hey, you. Did you and daddy have a nice time?" I ask my son, as Mulder
places him down on my lap. He joins me on the big porch swing. This was
the one thing I have always wanted, and Mulder had it installed as a
birthday present. Not that we could use it in February, but it was a
nice idea, especially now that it is spring.

"Did you find out anything?" I ask Mulder.

"It seems that Senator Erickson is off on some personal quest to prove
that his mother was abducted by aliens over two decades ago. I guess he
figured that being a senator would help him in some way," Mulder tells
me.

"I wonder if he ever considered becoming an FBI agent," I say to him,
hoping he catches the casual joke in there somewhere.

"Maybe I should just become a senator, Scully..." he says, smiling at
me.

"So, did the guys have anything for you?" I ask.

"They are sending me everything they've got. Oh, yeah, Frohike asked for
me to send his regards."

"I'm sure he did!" I say, laughing.

My son has done remarkably well since being released from the hospital,
and he's back to getting into everything again. Nothing seems to slow
him down, whether it be a head trauma or a broken leg. He is trying to
squirm off of my lap and onto the deck so he can stand up and hold onto
the swing.

"I don't think so, buddy," Mulder says, picking him up, "Let's go get
some lunch."

"I'll be there in just a minute," I say, as they go back through the
noisy French doors.

I throw another handful of seed out onto the lawn and pick up my teacup
before heading in to the kitchen for the usual Mulder versus Christopher
feeding disaster.

"That's a lovely shade of green, Mulder," I say, as I wipe some of the
thrown strained peas off of his shirt with a dishrag, "It complements
your eyes so well."

"When is he ever going to eat something real?" Mulder asks.

"You mean like pizza?"

"Yeah."

"He doesn't have enough teeth to tackle the crust, so I'd say give him a
year. It will go by faster than you..."

*plop*

"....think."

"And how do I look in orange?" Mulder asks, scooping up the carrots off
of himself.

"Not bad," I say, as I turn to leave the room. This is a battle between
father and son that I don't want to take any part in.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Mulder/Scully Household
March 31, 2002
10:21 p.m.

"I won't do it, Scully," I tell her.

We are in bed and I have a pillow over my head. I know she is propped up
on one elbow watching me. This little argument has gone on for a half an
hour now.

"Why not? I doesn't bother me," she says to me.

"I can't. Please don't ask me to."

"Come on, Mulder. Tell me why not? Give me a better answer than 'I
can't,' okay?" she tells me.

"I find it slightly humiliating," I say to Scully, whining slightly,
hoping she will stop pestering me.

"Mulder, that's crazy. Millions of people just like us do it," she says.

"I'm not old enough."

"Don't be ridiculous. You are forty. How much older until you think you
are 'old enough?'"

"People will laugh," I say.

"I'm the only one that matters. Since when do you care what other people
think? Please, will you consider it?" she asks.

"No. I have to draw the line somewhere and this is it."

She drops onto her back and is no longer looking at me. Or at least I
think she is no longer looking at me. I'm still hiding under my pillow,
still trying to avoid this whole topic.

"Mulder," Scully says, "You have driven some of the crappiest cars on
earth for most of your life. Why won't you even thing about driving a
minivan?"

"Because it screams that I have succumbed to what society expects of me.
It tells the world that I am just like the mindless masses. First, the
baby. Second, the house. Third, the minivan. What next? Bermuda shorts
and a funny hat?" I ask, taking the pillow off of my head finally.

"First of all, Mulder, if we had succumbed to what society expected of
us, we would be married..."

"That's not my fault..."

"Second of all, what does driving around in a dark blue Ford Taurus
scream? That you are some reckless kid out joyriding with his friends on
a Friday night without a care in the world, or does it scream, oh, I
don't know, *Fed*," she says to me, emphasizing her last word with a
slight punch to my arm.

"Scully, I just don't think I'm ready for it."

"Well, I'm tired of trying to cram all of Christopher's stuff into your
two door car," she says, "Plus, now that my car was totaled, I need to
start looking for something that is more...comfortable. I need to
reprioritize."

"How about a sport utility vehicle?" I ask her, "I could live with that.
That doesn't seem to be so, I don't know, domesticated. We can get one
of those that is all ready to go camping. Not that we ever go camping
intentionally, but it would be much nicer than driving around in a
minivan."

"Fine, I can live with that. I'm sorry I offended your manhood," she
says.

"You didn't offend my manhood."

"Should I check and see if I offended it?" she asks, moving her hands
deftly under the sheets.

"Be my guest," I tell her, as I flip off the light.


The end

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

TITLE: X Ashes, Ashes... 
AUTHOR: Jori damienma@netroenterprises.com
RATING: R for language and some sexual references
CATEGORY: S
KEYWORDS: MSR, Baby-fic, Alternate Universe
ARCHIVE: Yes, in its entirety and keep my name attached
SPOILERS: General ones for the whole series and the movie
DISCLAIMER: Most of the characters in this story are not mine. Well, the
important ones aren't mine, anyway. They belong to CC, 1013 and FOX
AUTHOR'S NOTES:  This story is hard to follow without knowing the
previous Christopher Scully stories. The archives where they are located
are listed below. I would like to give a special thanks to Rachel, who's
help in editing this story is appreciated more than she will ever know.
She's also the person who will be helping me with the science behind
Christopher Scully, so she will be keeping me honest, making me a whole
author...

SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully are paired up again to investigate a
twenty-five year old mystery that may have a big effect on their lives.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Prologue

New York City
April 7, 2002
4:45 p.m.

The heavy, cherry-paneled door opens and the last expected man enters
the lavishly appointed room. He blinks, his eyes trying to adjust to the
darkness he spends most of his life in. Several men have gathered and
are standing near the television sets, the only source of light in the
room The curtains are drawn as usual, preventing the world from looking
in and finding out its destiny.

"You're late," someone says to him from the other side of the room.

"I'm a busy man," the latecomer says, his newly lit cigarette puncturing
the darkness with a flash of orange.

"Something must be done. Soon. Get rid of him before he peaks their
interest too much," one of the men in the room says through a newly
forming smoky haze. He points at the television monitor. It is silent,
and a black and white image flickers across it. The image isn't very
clear, and it is obviously from a security camera. It shows a
well-dressed middle aged man talking to a woman with long, brown hair.

"He's a United States Senator. How exactly do you propose I get rid of
him?" the youngest man in the room asks.

"Like the last one. Make it look like an accident. That is your job,"
another man says.

"Surely you don't think Agent Mulder will believe in Senator Erickson's
aliens?" the man asks, taking a deep drag on his cigarette.

"Agent Mulder always believes. He has seen enough to believe most
anything. All he was doing before his self-imposed exile into
counter-terrorism was looking for irrefutable evidence to uncover us."

"He has too much to lose now to go chasing after Senator Erickson's
ghosts," he says, blowing out a slight puff of smoke between thoughts,

"I seriously doubt the intelligence behind removing a senator simply
because of Agent Mulder."

"The word from the Hill is Senator Erickson has something to offer him.
Something he might not be able to refuse. I do not want to give him the
opportunity."

"Senator Erickson is harmless. I believe our last demonstration will
keep Mulder tethered for awhile. I hardly believe he will be willing to
lose it all to chase off on some quest that may or may not pan out."

"The senator is starting to realize Agent Fowley isn't going to be able
to come up with what he thinks he needs. It is only going to be a matter
of time before he contacts Agents Mulder and Scully. I think with what
Erickson knows, he will have enough sway to get the FBI to act," a
different man says.

"Agent Scully isn't going to comply, and more than likely, she will not
let her former partner go along with the senator's wishes. She has him
wrapped around her little finger, so to speak. Or wrapped around
something," the man with the cigarette says with a small chuckle. No one
else in the room laughs.

"I've never known Mulder not to go after what he is looking for.
Besides, they may not have a choice," someone adds to the conversation.

"The 'Christopher project' seems to be success," a man says, using their
newly adopted name for their latest achievement. The project they
planned to be their coup de grace. This one hopefully would end the
Mulder problem for good, without any bloodshed. The smoking man demanded
that Mulder not be killed, though his loyalty to the agent remained a
mystery to most in the room.

"Yes. It is a shame we couldn't get it off the ground years ago. It
would have saved us a lot of grief."

"Too many factors had to come into play to get it to work earlier than
this. I am amazed it has worked at all."

"Only time will tell if is has the full potential we believe it does.
The information retrieved from the hospital looked promising."

"How long do you think it will be before Agent Mulder realizes that
Christopher wasn't created simply for blackmail purposes?" another man
asks.

"I do not believe he will ever figure it out. He is too self-involved to
realize this isn't necessarily about him," the man with the cigarette
says, "Just leave Senator Erickson alone for awhile. He will burn
himself out. He can only push the Department of Justice around for so
long before they learn he's just using them for his personal agenda.
They will soon discover that this has nothing to do with justice. Not
their kind, anyway."

"You had better be right."

"I will be," the man says, extinguishing his cigarette into a marble
ashtray before leaving the men behind in a smoke-filled room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter One

FBI Headquarters
Washington, DC
April 10, 2002
12:42 p.m.

"Hi, Mulder, it's me. Where are you?"

"I'm walking into my office right now. Why?" I ask Scully over my cell
phone.

"Hi," says a voice that is Scully's, but it isn't coming out of the
phone.

I look up to see her sitting behind my desk, just hanging up the office
phone. I click off my cell phone and put it back into my pocket.

"Hi! What are you doing here?" I ask, surprised to see her. She hasn't
been here in several weeks, and she is usually too involved with
meetings to get down to my office when she is at the Hoover Building.
Either that, or I'm out of town on some mundane investigation into the
purchase of fertilizer.

"I have a one o'clock meeting with Skinner. I thought I could catch you
for lunch, but I'm apparently too late," she says, noticing the
styrofoam container of tea in my hand.

"I'm sorry. You should have called me. I would have waited. God knows
I'd rather go out to lunch with you than with Agent Reid," I say to her,
as I sit down in the chair opposite of her.

Agent Joshua Reid is my new partner. He's young, green and pretty much
stupid. Actually, that's not fair. Agent Reid is not stupid. Agent Reid
will probably make it further in the Bureau than I ever will. He's just
not Scully. Sooner or later, I knew I would be assigned a new partner.
At least in this department, I don't have to worry about him not
believing in the existence of bombs. I'd probably have a hell of time
convincing him about what is really out there.

"That's okay. Skinner's office didn't call me until 11:30 and it took me
awhile to get here."

"I have a one o'clock meeting with Skinner, too. What do you think we
did this time?"

"Well, unless the FBI is punishing us for painting the living room the
most deplorable shade of blue, I don't think we've done anything wrong."

"Must be something. We haven't been in a meeting together with Skinner
since our baby announcement. Boy, have I missed our meetings together.
We haven't been in trouble in so long..."

"I'm sure Skinner has missed them, too. And I'm sure he misses the
trouble we caused even more," she says, smiling a slight smile at me.

"Yeah. Right," I say to her, knowing the dissolution of our partnership
has probably saved Skinner a fortune in the cost of aspirin alone.

Agent Reid walks into the office and looks startled to see Scully
sitting behind my desk.
"I, ah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you..." he stammers.

"You're not disturbing us," Scully says to him.

"Agent Joshua Reid, this is Agent Dana Scully," I say, as she puts her
hand out to him.

He looks a little baffled for a few seconds, before he realizes she is
the woman in the picture on my desk. I have not shared too much of my
personal life with my new partner. He knows I have a son and I now live
with my ex-partner. I wasn't the one who told him that. He found out
through the grapevine.

"Oh! Agent Mulder's, um,...former partner," Reid says, not knowing what
to call her.

"That, among other things," she says, "Has he quizzed you on your
beliefs in the existence of ETs, EBEs, and paranormal phenomenon, yet?"

"Well, umm, Agent Mulder has asked me if I were open to extreme
possibilities?" he says.

I would roll my eyes, but he's looking at me. Scully raises her eyebrow
for me.

"Agent Scully and I have a meeting with Assistant Director Skinner at
one o'clock. There's some paperwork here that's late, plus a little
filing," I say to him, realizing that I'm using him as a secretary more
than anything else.

"Yes, sir. Sure thing. I'll get on it," he says with his over eager, ass
kissing, new agent voice.

"Should we head up there?" Scully asks, looking at her watch and
standing up.

"After you," I say, leading her through the door.

"Mulder, you shouldn't take advantage of him like that. He's a trained
special agent, not some GS-3 AA. And tell me that I was *never* that
fresh-faced?" she whispers once we are in the hall.

"Yeah, you were. Until you met me. Give me some time with him. I'll age
him tenfold, too."

"Gee. Thanks," she says, "Mulder, just make sure you don't turn him into
another Krycek."

"That was not my fault, Scully," I tell her as we get on the elevator
together.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We are directed to sit in the Assistant Director's office and wait for
him. Scully brushes something off my tie and I no longer swat her hand
away like I would have done in the past. Even in these surroundings,
small acts like that have become commonplace in our everyday life.

Commonplace. Habitual. Routine. Old hat, I think, as she sits back into
her chair, no longer fussing over my necktie. This is what couples call
comfortable. I was never one who was much for comfortable. I miss our
old life together, and this little foray into Skinner's office isn't
helping me get over that feeling. The addition of Agent Reid into my
life is really making me miss working with her all the more.

Too late, now, pal, I think to myself. It's a trade off. One life for
another.

I look over to her. How could I want to go back? I ask myself. Easy. We
worked well together. We had the X-files together. Now we are down to
discussions about what kind of car to buy or whether Chris should go to
daycare. Hell, we aren't even married yet.

If we could go back to the way we were, there would be no Christopher.
There would be no threats. No panicked called from hospitals on the
other side of the country. No feeling the pain in thinking the
unimaginable.

I look over to discover Scully is watching me with those blue eyes of
hers. A small smile flickers across her face and tugs at my heart. If I
could go back, there would be no first baby words, no first steps, and
no first birthdays. No Friday nights in front of the fire with this
woman sitting next to me. No discovering all the things I didn't know
about her.

The only way not to feel the pain is not to live the life.

I don't know what is wrong with me. I guess I want it all.

Walter Skinner walks through the door at quarter after one, and sits
behind his desk.

"It's nice to see the two of you together again," he says, shuffling
through a stack of paper on his desk, "It has been awhile."

"It's nice to be seen together," Scully says to him.

"Good, because here's the deal. I have been informed that the two of you
will temporarily be reassigned to me."

"Under what conditions, sir?" Scully asks, sitting forwards in her
chair.

"You are going to be... working together again. Just for this one case,"
Skinner says, pulling out a case folder that is about two inches thick.

"What case is that?" I ask.

"Senator Paul Erickson's 'missing mother.' You know anything about it?"

Scully and I both draw in a long breath at the mention of the name. None
of the information the Gunmen could gather made this man look too
stable. His political career was taking off, but he seemed to be haunted
by the loss of his mother.

"We know some of his theories about it," I say.

"He is apparently using some pull he has to use us as his own personal
investigative police force. There will be four agents on the case, plus
myself," Skinner says.

"Sir, if I remember correctly, his mother has been missing since 1977.
Why is this a priority now?" Scully asks.

"Someone wants to keep him quiet about something. Probably his views on
certain...issues. We are going to oblige him on this one thing."

"We're going to validate his alien abduction theory?" I ask
incredulously, not believing that could possibly be the motive here.

"We are going to prove once and for all what happened to Erickson's
mother in 1977," Skinner says.

"And if aliens did abduct his mother?" I ask, "Are they going to cover
it up again?"

"If aliens did, Agent Mulder? If aliens did abduct one Mrs. Ellen
Erickson in 1977, you had better damn well be prepared to be the star
expert witness at all the congressional subcommittee hearings on the
evidence of extraterrestrial life that Senator Paul Erickson will be
hosting for the rest of his term. I don't know how *they* could cover it
up, considering the senator is breathing down the justice department's
neck as it is."

"Sir, Agent Mulder and I closed the X-files and do not work together for
a reason," Scully says, looking at Skinner with a new intensity, "and I
don't think it is a good idea that we reopen them. I would rather stay
with my current assignment..."

"This isn't an invitation, Agent Scully." Skinner says, interrupting
her., "This order is coming from so high up, I'm surprised these people
don't have nosebleeds.  Besides, officially, you aren't going to be
doing this as an X-file case. We are treating it as a violent crimes
case for the present time."

"Still, the two of us together might ruffle the wrong feathers," I say.

"I fully recognize your personal concerns and I relayed those same
concerns to the men who have put this together. They aren't the most
sympathetic lot, especially when it comes to you two," Skinner says,
"They feel as if you owe them for all the leeway they gave you in the
past."

"Why us? If it is going to fall under violent crimes, surely..." Scully
begins to ask.

"Because this is how it was requested, Agent Scully," Skinner says, his
voice relaying that no more questions should be asked about how we were
chosen.

"What arrangements have been made concerning this case?" I ask.

"There will be four agents on the case. The two of you, plus Agent
Fowley and Agent Reid. The investigation is mainly in New Mexico,
Erickson's home state."

I can see Scully's hands ball up into fists on her lap at the mention of
Diana's name. Her face doesn't change, but her body has grown tense. She
will never trust Diana, not after all she did in the past. This is going
to be one hell of a case.

"I will be there, too," he says, "That is how important someone thinks
this is. I'm going with to head up the beginning of the investigation,
to make sure that it gets done quickly and quietly, so to speak. We will
be leaving next Monday."

"Five of us? That's quite a road trip, sir," I say, trying to figure out
the point behind this mess.

"Yes it is. This is considered quite important to someone."

"What are the assignments?" Scully finally asks.

"On paper it is Agent Mulder with Agent Fowley, while you will be
working with Agent Reid...."

Something starts to come out of Scully's mouth, but I'm not sure if it
was the beginning of a protest or just escaping breath.

"Before you say anything, that is only on paper. That was the only way
someone would let this thing go through. I want you working with Agent
Mulder when possible," he says to Scully, "It is well recognized that
you both have a certain... rapport when it comes to working together. I
am hoping your personal involvement will not cloud your judgement on
this matter. This assignment is only temporary. I think you can handle
it"

"Where do we start?" I ask.

"The two of you have a meeting with the senator tomorrow morning. Start
there. Also, get the other agents up to speed on what is going on. I
will see you both here on Friday."

"I have classes to teach," Scully says as we stand up.

"Not until this is wrapped up, Agent Scully. Your classes have been
taken care of," Skinner tells her, "Here's the case file and another
list of pertinent information you will need.  I'll see you Friday
morning."

She and I walk out the of his door, not knowing what to say to each
other. Someone certainly has pulled a few strings to get their way, and
they probably don't even know all the repercussions of what they are
doing.

We say nothing until we get back to my office area. Agent Reid is no
longer there and I have no inclination to go find him.

"Mulder, do you think we are being set up?" she asks me, a tinge of fear
in her voice. She doesn't look at me, instead she is staring at Agent
Reid's desk a few feet from mine.

"I think some stupid ass senator doesn't know what he's getting involved
with. He's probably only seen the tip of the iceberg, and doesn't
appreciate that it's a God damned glacier he's trying to steer around,"
I say, sitting down at my desk and flipping open our newest case file.

"What if we can't just wrap it up? What if there is no conclusive
evidence that his mother was killed by some drifter twenty-five years
ago? We are dealing with a trail of evidence that is going to be pretty
much cold."

I look up from the paperwork I'm reading. I know where this is going.

"What you are really asking me is what if we find tangible evidence that
she was abducted? Do we expose it and make the Senator happy for
whatever reason, but also risk our child, or do we cover it up? A cover
up that would in effect make us no different from the men who are the
architects of what could be the biggest cover up in the history of man.
A cover up that risks all of mankind, in essence," I say to her.

"Mulder, don't" she says, putting her hand up and finally making eye
contact, "Don't you even start with me. I will not risk losing my son
over some whim and fancy of a junior senator."

"*Your* son? How come he always becomes your son when you think he's in
danger? You sound like I've orchestrated this whole thing? You think I
want the X-files open that badly?" I ask, realizing too late how stupid
that last question is.

"Okay.* Our* son. Does that make the danger involved any less?" she
asks.

"No, but I love him just as much as you do. I wouldn't intentionally put
his life into danger."

"How about unintentionally? Reopening the X-files will do just that,"
she asks me, her voice sharp.

"Scully, this case is not going to lead me back to the X-files right
now. How many times do we have to talk about this? At this point as far
as I'm concerned this is a violent crimes case and his mother was
murdered back in '77. The only reason you and I are on it is because
Senator Erickson got wind that we used to do matches up perfectly with
his hobby," I tell her, trying to sound somewhat reassuring.

"I know how hard you worked to get the X-files up and going. I know how
hard you, excuse me, we fought to get them back. I know how easy it
would be for you to slip right back into them."

"Will you trust me on this one. The time isn't right and they will still
be here when it is right. They aren't going to give them to anyone else.
Not after the last fiasco. Besides, this wasn't my idea," I snap at her.

"There are factions who won't care who's idea this is," she says.

"He will be safe,"

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Mulder."

"Let's not fight over this. It has been decided already, and the only
way I can think of getting out of it is resigning. We will go do our
jobs, like we have always done," I say, looking at the sheet of paper
Skinner included with the case file. Diana's number is included on it.
A Virginia area code. Her assignment must have ended in Miami and she is
now trying to get the X-files reopened.

Of course, Diana has known about this issue with Erickson longer than
the rest of us. I wonder how much she knows and how she became involved
with the senator in the first place? I want to talk to the senator
before I talk to her again, to see if he mentions her at all

"Well, I'm going to go take care of some things. I'll see you later,"
Scully says to me, heading towards the door.

"Yeah, see you at home."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter Two

The Scully/Mulder Residence
April 10, 2002
5:42 p.m.

I pull into the garage and notice that the baby jogging stroller is
gone. This is what Mulder does now when he wants to avoid me. He goes on
long runs around the neighborhood with Christopher. I enter the door and
disarm the security systems. As I get to the third keypad, I realize
that this isn't going to save any of us when the time comes.

I'm so certain that the time will definitely come when we will have to
pay some price for all that we know. At one point I believed that we
could stop them before they could stop us. Then came Christopher.

Do they sit and gloat about what they managed to 'create?' Are they
proud of their work well done? How come they didn't do it earlier, I
often wonder. All of this just to blackmail Mulder and me out of the
X-files? Damn them for taking over my life.

I go into the kitchen to start dinner. The scent of pasta sauce fills
the air and the water is just beginning to boil when I hear the front
door slam.

Mulder walks into the kitchen with Christopher in his arms.

"Hi, sweetheart," I say, "how was your run?"

"It was fine..." Mulder starts to say, mopping his sweaty brow with a
towel.

"I was talking to Chris," I say, interrupting him.

"Yeah. That sweetheart part should have given that away," Mulder says,
putting Chris down into his playpen.

Mulder stands over the playpen  watching Christopher while I continue
with dinner. Neither of us says anything to the other for several
minutes.

"Listen, we are going to have to keep work and home separate," I say.

"We did it before, when you were first pregnant. I don't know why we
can't do it now," Mulder says, walking over to see what I'm cooking.

"It is harder now, Mulder. There is so much more at stake," I say, as I
lean against the counter top. I am watching my son pull himself up in
his playpen. He giggles as he throws a toy over the top, initiating
another round of the 'see if mommy will pick it up' game.

"What are you afraid of?" Mulder asks me.

"I'm afraid that you will get sucked into Senator Erickson's quest for
his own truths, that you will make them your own. You can become so
blinded by these things, and I don't want to lose you to some hollow
cause," I say.

"What if it isn't so hollow? What if this is it, Scully, the proof we
have been looking for? Not just enough to prove it to us, but to the
whole world? He must know something in order to get it pushed this far?"

"Maybe all he knows is you, Mulder," I say, leaning over to him and
brushing back a sweep of hair that fell over his eyes.

I don't want to get in to it with him. Not here. I need a harbor from
the storm, and my home has always been that. Of course, I used to be
able to leave work at work, but now work lives with me.

"I talked to Mom, your mother that is, and she is willing to stay here
while we are gone. She says she won't even leave our little fortress if
that will make you feel better," Mulder says.

"There is no perfectly safe place on earth, Mulder. I know that. Every
time you go out on a case, something could happen to you. Something
could happen to me driving to work. Something did happen to me driving
with Christopher in the car. I just don't want to snub our noses
intentionally at these people. I don't want to give them what they are
looking for," I tell him.

"We aren't going to," he says, walking over to the playpen, picking up
all the toys and handing them to Chris so he could start his game over
again. Mulder barely turns around before he gets hit with a toy cell
phone on the back of his legs.

"Here, Chris, you don't want to lose this. The kid's going to be a major
league pitcher before he's out of diapers," Mulder says, rubbing one leg
after handing back to Christopher the plastic phone.

"Damn!" I say, turning back to the stove.

"What did I do now?"

"You didn't do anything. I burned the sauce." I say, taking it off of
the burner.

"Pizza again?"

"Pizza again."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter 3

Senate Executive Offices
Washington, DC
April 11, 2002
10:30 a.m.

"Senator Erickson will see you now," a secretary tells Scully and me as
she shows us into his office.

"Good morning, Agents Mulder and Scully," the senator says to us,
shaking both of our hands brusquely, "I'm so pleased you could be here
today."

"Thank you for the invitation. We are happy to be here," Scully says to
him, as he directs us to sit down in the chairs in front of his big oak
desk. She can still lie when need be.

"So, I understand you will working on the investigation into my mother's
disappearance?" he asks.

He is smooth. I already know he requested us. I tried to contact him for
a month, but was always given the brush off. He wants to be in control.
He needs to think this is all his idea.

"Yes, sir. I just received the case file yesterday, and we would like
for you to fill us in what you remember happening."

He leans back in his chair, looking contemplative. He stays still for
half a minute before finally looking at us.

"Do you believe in weather control, Agent Mulder?" he asks me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Scully turn her head to the side,
away from the senator. I do not break eye contact with him.

"No, sir. In my experience, I have not come across any proof that
anybody can control the weather."

"Agent Scully?" he asks.

"I concur with Agent Mulder. There is no evidence supporting claims that
any government can control the weather on a large enough scale for it to
matter," she says, looking at him again.

Well, we have gotten somewhere in ten years. Dana Scully just said she
concurs with me without even having to think about it. Too bad it has to
be over something as ridiculous as weather control.

The senator leans back once again, and puts his arms behind his head,
locking his hands together.

"In 1998, NASA pulled off a huge publicity stunt, I'm sure you recall,"
he says.

Scully and I say nothing back, allowing him to continue.

"Senator John Glenn's return to space. It was big, if I remember
correctly. Press from around the world was descending upon Cape
Canaveral. Unfortunately, there was this huge hurricane heading into the
Gulf region at the same time."

I can sense what Scully must be thinking right now. We have seen a lot
in our ten years together, but she is still the ultimate skeptic.

"Somehow, that hurricane was stalled over Central America for several
days, allowing the Space Shuttle Discovery to take off without a single
weather hitch," he says, as if he is a school boy making some amazing
discovery.

"I think it was purely coincidental. If I remember correctly, sir, that
hurricane nearly wiped out several Central American nations, caused
billions in damage and killed thousands of people. Yet, you think our
government did that intentionally so one senator could go into space?"
Scully asks him. The cynicism rises in her voice with every word she
utters.

"You would be surprised to know what our government does," he says.

"Sir, your mother..." I start to say, wanting to get to the point here.

"Do you know who killed John F. Kennedy?" he asks.

Good God, I think. Does this man dabble in everything? Really, the
Gunmen should be here bantering about this crap. They could match him
point for point on all of this.

"Lee Harvey Oswald," Scully says.

"Right," he says, laughing boisterously.

"Okay. Who did kill JFK?" I ask, playing along.

"NASA again," he says, " because he was going to announce the true
source of our newly founded space science data."

"UFO technology?" I ask, knowing exactly where this is heading.

"Exactly. NASA was embarrassed. They had all these scientists working
for damn near impossible goals, and the president was not going to give
them the credit."

"Sir..." Scully says, trying to politely interrupt.

"You don't even want to know about the Challenger accident!" he says,
nearly laughing.

"Sir, about your mother?" Scully says in an attempt to get this whole
fiasco back on track.

He sits bolt upright in his chair and looks straight at her.

"You are going to tell me that my mother was kidnapped by one Ronald
Mulch in June of 1977. You will tell me that he dumped her mutilated
body in the desert, where her decomposing corpse was ravaged by local
scavenging fauna and what exactly happened to what was ever left of her
body will never be known."

Scully and I both look at him. He nailed it on the head there. That is
exactly what we planned on saying.

"Senator Erickson, all the evidence points in that direction..."

"Save me the rhetoric, Agent Scully. I've heard it. Now are you going to
listen to my story?" he says, his eyes flaring.

"Go ahead," I say.

"In 1977, I was a seventeen year old kid who hated being with his
parents. I'm sure you can sympathize, Agent Mulder?"

I just nod my head. This man is just one year older than I am, yet he is
a senator. I'm not sure of the driving force yet. Ambition or lunacy.

"Anyway, in June of that year, my parents decided we needed to go on a
family camping trip. I hated the idea. I had a new girlfriend and would
rather spend time with her, but I wasn't given much of a choice.
The second night we were out at the campsite, my sister and I decided to
go out for a late night walk. According to my father, my mother got
worried, and sent him after us. When we returned, she was gone," he
says.

"Do you recall any lights? Any missing periods of time?" I ask, glossing
through my basic abduction questions, and knowing fully that if this
woman was abducted twenty-five years ago, chances are she's never coming
back.

"All I remember was our camper was incredibly hot when I grabbed the
door handle. I could tell something was wrong, because the generator we
had was out when we all got back. I ran ahead and grabbed the door
and..."

He holds up his left hand, showing old scar tissue from a burn, saying
"I just know that Mulch didn't do this."

Scully has yet to ask anything. I'm so sure she is dreading where this
is going. I know she believes so much more than she did a decade ago,
but she certainly doesn't want to believe this time. Since Christopher
was born, she acts as if she wishes she could just forget everything we
have learned. I guess Scully just wants the world to be perfect for him.

"Sir, we are going to do our best to get this resolved," Scully says
again to him.

"I know you are, because I know something about this government that you
don't. I know exactly how high this whole fiasco goes, and I have this,"
he says, pulling out a tiny vial and setting it before us as if he was
taunting us with treasures untold.

I want to reach for it, but he folds it back into his hand. So many
years we have searched for this, been so close so many times, and never
quite grasped it.

"Let's talk about the possibility of weather control again," he says,
his voice expressing the slight happiness brought about by the control
he now thinks he has over us, "Just so we are clear in what we believe
here."

"Sir?" I say.

"What do you know about Hurricane Lucas?"

Scully and I both fall still and silent.

"In October 2001, two FBI agents trapped in a hurricane in backwater
Louisiana, play out their assigned roles beautifully. Nine months later,
they have a child. They give up everything they have worked for, fought
for, really, and become the perfect dutiful parents; nurturing and
protecting that child. A child, who was created for a distinct purpose.
And that is weather control, folks."

"Excuse me, sir," Scully says, as she gets up from her chair and leaves
the room

"Think about it, Agent Mulder. How did you get stuck in a storm that was
supposed to strike Southern Florida? And where was Agent Scully during
that missing time? Why was it so important that you and Agent Scully
have a baby together? Someone knows the answers. Just like someone knows
what is in that vial and where to get more."

"Senator Erickson, I will be leaving for New Mexico on Monday. Agent
Diana Fowley will be part of the team working on this investigation. I'm
sure you are aquatinted with her?" I ask.

"No. I can't say that I am," he says to me with one hell of a poker
face. That's the problem with dealing with politicians. You can't tell
when they are lying.

 "I will fill you in with what we find when we get back, sir," I say as
I stand up.

"Thank you, Agent Mulder," he says as I walk out the door.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A nearby parking garage
April 11, 2002
11:17 a.m.

"Scully! Wait up, will you?" I say, chasing after her as quickly as I
can without looking like I'm accosting this petite woman who is trying
desperately to get away from me.

She turns around to look at me and her eyes are filled with fire.

"What, Mulder? Do you want to discuss weather control a little more? Or
perhaps it's time I finally got to hear your real theories on the
assassination of Kennedy?" she asks me, her voice rising with every
word.

"Those things are inconsequential. He has it, Scully. He has the
vaccine. If we do this right, we can have it in our hands," I tell her.

"At what price? What should we do? Just say his mother was abducted by
aliens so we can have what he has in that vial? How do you even know it
is the vaccine?" she asks, "And if it is the vaccine, who gave it to
him? Did you wonder that? Who is playing us, Mulder?"

"Scully, this is the closest we have come in years. We have to trust
him," I say to her.

"Trust him? Why? Because he knew some things from our personal life that
most anybody could deduce with a little logic? Because he has a little
vial of something? Why, Mulder? Why should I trust in someone who
believes in the things he believes in?"

"You believe in me, don't you?" I ask her, hurt by what she is implying.

"Oh, fuck you," she says to me for the first time ever in our platonic
and not so platonic relationship.

"Scully..." I say to her, wanting to explain to her how important this
case could be.

"I'll see you later, Mulder," Scully says, as she gets into her Ford
Expedition and slams the door. I step back quickly, trying to avoid
becoming road kill.

I stand there staring as the back of her car disappears from my view.

"How was your meeting with the senator, Agent Mulder?" a voice says
behind me, causing me to jump.

I turn around to find a man about my age and build standing not even a
yard away from me.

"Who are you?" I ask him.

He is dressed nearly identical to me, except he obviously has more money
that I do. He has on your basic D.C. power suit, perfect for early
morning cabinet meetings on the Hill. He actually almost looks like me,
except his eyes are a startling shade of blue.

"I'm a friend of the senator's. I'm your friend, too," he says, as he
leans up against a pole in the parking garage.

"I have very few friends, Mister... what should I call you,... friend?"
I say to him

"Names are not important, but from what I understand, Agent Mulder, most
of your 'friends' die untimely deaths. This is a dangerous business,
being a friend of yours."

"You befriended me. It's your choice," I say.

"What about Agent Scully? Is this her choice, too? Did she chose to live
her life this way with you, or were her choices made for her?"

"Agent Scully is responsible for what she does and with whom she does
it," I tell him, thinking I should walk away from this now.

A car comes around the corner and he moves to the other side of the
pole, hiding in the shadows until the car and driver are gone. I've
played this game too many times before. I stand still. It's not my
problem if someone sees us.

"Remember that night in Louisiana, Agent Mulder?. It could have been
anybody. She could have gone to anybody they chose. It could have even
been...me, but it had to be you. That is really how the plan was
designed. That was why they made the hurricane. It didn't give her much
of an opportunity to look past you. They dealt you the right cards that
night..."

This incessant invasion of mine and Scully's privacy was starting to
piss me off. "You can't deal me the aces and expect me not to play..." I
say, wondering how the hell everyone knew Scully and I had made love
that night. I half expect him to present me a video copy to add to my
collection.

"Exactly. You were the man for the job. It had nothing to do with how
she felt about you. She didn't need to love you, Agent Mulder. Not that
anything like love matters to these men. They had their reasons for
needing it to be you."

"Like?" I ask, petulantly shoving my hands into my pockets.

"The chance she would keep the child were much greater if it was your
child. She knew you. She trusts you."

"How did they know I would be a fulfill my part in this?" I ask.

"They knew that you would probably have a certain fondness for any child
she had, no matter who the father was, because of your attachment to
her. But your own biological son, Agent Mulder? There is
no other feeling quite like it. It had to be you."

"Why are you telling me this? What do you want from me?"

"I'm simply imploring that you make sure this goes well. The Senator
picked you for this investigation for a reason. Your tenacity, your
obsessive need to find proof assuage the Senator's fear of a cover up.
However, there are people who would stop at nothing to quash this
investigation. But they aren't going to destroy their favorite little
creation. Not yet, anyway. He's too important to them," he says to me,
"Just make sure it runs smoothly, Agent Mulder."

"And what would running a smooth investigation for the senator entail,
exactly?" I ask.

"Do what you always do. Make sure no one tampers with the evidence. You
will win the prize at the end of the game."

He turns and starts to walk away from me.

"Most of my real friends tell me something useful," I call after him.

"Later, Agent Mulder. I will be speaking with you again soon," he says,
as he disappears between the cars and into the shadows.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Four

FBI National Academy Parking Lot
Quantico, Virginia
April 11, 2002
1:30 p.m.

I pull into a parking space, put my car in park and just sit there. This
whole thing is a mess. More damn conspiracies surrounding us, preventing
us from having any sense of a normal life. Why would I think I deserve a
normal life now, anyway?

I reach for my cell phone and leave a message for Mulder letting him
know I'll be home late. Then I call my mom at my house.

"Hi, Mom. It's me."

"Hi, Dana. What's wrong?" she asks. I can hear Christopher crying in the
background.

"Nothing's wrong. What's wrong there?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing more than the norm. It's nap time and he's being cranky. I
think he's teething and it's really bothering him."

"The Tylenol is in the bathroom cabinet. Give him one dropper full. That
should help," I say.

"Dana, you don't sound good. Is there anything I should know about?"

"No, I'm fine. I just wanted to let you know that I would be late
tonight. I left a message for Mulder, so hopefully he will show up at
home on time. I've got to get some things done before we leave town next
week," I say.

"It's this case Fox told me about, isn't it? That's what's bothering
you?"

"I just don't want to be away from Christopher for that long. It's the
first time I will be away from him overnight," I half lie.

"He'll be okay. I promise. I better go attend to him. I will talk to you
later, Dana."

"Okay. Bye, Mom," I say as I click the phone off.

I grab some paperwork I have on the passenger seat, climb out of my
'tank' as Mulder likes to call it, and start walking across the parking
lot.

"Agent Scully, how are you?" someone asks from behind me. I was so deep
in thought, I never heard anyone approach me. When did become so
comfortable with life that I lost my paranoia?

I turn around to see our smoking friend walking behind me. I freeze in
my tracks and he stops a few feet away from me and lights up a
cigarette.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Nice to see you again, Agent Scully. I'm just concerned. Be careful out
in New Mexico. You've not been a field agent in over a year. You might
be a little out of practice for such an important assignment. One
careless misstep could have life-altering effects," he says to me,
flicking an ash off his cigarette.

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, not at all. I'm just concerned that living in a suburban fishbowl
may have distorted your views of the world. You have always been so
skeptical, always comfortable with the status quo. Has shacking up with
Agent Mulder clouded your judgement? Are you more likely too acquiesce
to his lunacy? Does he constantly fill you with fantastic stories of
government conspiracies?"

"Get to the point. I'm very busy! Just tell me specifically to which
government conspiracy are you referring?" I snap, nervously shifting
papers from one arm to the other.

"Weather control."

"There is no conspiracy behind weather control," I say.

"Where did you go that night when you were called out of the hotel room?
Have you thought about that?" he asks me.

I turn my head away from him. Of course I've thought about this. He
surely knows this, and doesn't have to tease me with the questions he
probably knows the answers to.

"More importantly, what if Agent Mulder wasn't there? Did you ever think
that it didn't necessarily have to be him? You weren't in love with him,
were you? Not that love matters in our nasty little world, does it,
Agent Scully? I could have been anybody...but Mulder was there. So
convenient for you. The one time the man actually might have come in
handy."

"I'm sorry. I have to go," I tell him, as I start to walk away. I do not
have to listen to this. Even if it didn't happen because of love, I'm
glad it did happen. I love him now. I loved him even then. I do not need
this man casting shadowy doubts on what I feel towards my son's father.

"Just be careful in New Mexico, Agent Scully. It is much harder now.
There is so much more at stake" he calls after me.

I stoically fight back the tears welling up in my eyes. In only two
days, this game has grown into something far more diabolical than a
simple twenty-five year old murder mystery.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Scully/Mulder Residence
April 11, 2002
9:37 p.m.

The house is completely dark downstairs when I enter. The only light
Mulder left on for me is the one over the stairs.

I check Christopher's room and find him sleeping peacefully in his crib.
I kiss my fingertips and place them on his cheek,  irritated that I
missed putting him to bed by half an hour. It is the one ritual I most
love taking part in during his day.

"Goodnight, angel," I whisper before turning away from him.

I leave his room quietly, clicking the door shut behind me.

Mulder must me in his study. I can hear the TV on in there and there is
a little strip of light shining out from under the door. I knock, not
wanting to barge in on him. God only knows what he might be watching on
television.

"Mulder?" I ask as I knock again.

"Come in," he says in a husky, sleep-filled voice.

He is on lying on his couch, covered up in a blanket. It looks like he
has every intention of spending the night in this room, and not in ours.
He has done this before, usually because he can't sleep and doesn't want
to disturb me.

 Most everything in this room is his, except for my books and journals
on the shelves lining the walls. The room looks like a re-creation of
his apartment living room, right down to the empty fish tank glowing in
the corner.

"Hi," I say, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's okay. Come sit down," he says to me, as he sits up and slides
down to one side of the couch.

"Did he go to bed okay?" I ask.

"Yeah. He was a little cranky, so I gave him some Tylenol. He didn't
want to eat much, but he went right to sleep. I think he will be okay
next week when we are gone."

"Are you studying up on Senator Skywalker?" I ask, noticing he has 'Star
Wars' playing on the DVD.

"1977 was a long time ago, Scully. That is a very long time not to let
someone go, not to believe they can really be gone." he says to me,
sighing.

"Are you feeling sympathy pains for the senator?" I ask. We had
discussed this already. This case hits so close to home for Mulder. Even
though he has the answers, it still hurts him and it is a pain that even
I can't make go away.

"I know how he feels. I hate to tell him that knowing isn't going to
make the pain go away. It didn't help me. It won't help him. She will
still be gone, will have still missed the last twenty-five years of his
life."

I sit and watch the movie for a few minutes, trying to remember how old
I was the first time I saw it.

"Mulder, I was only thirteen the first time I saw this movie. This life
I have now wasn't exactly what I had planned way back in my early
adolescent mind."

He pulls me closer to him and puts the blanket over my lap.

"I'm sorry," is all he says.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, Mulder. I'm not saying this isn't the
life I want to be leading. I love my job.... sometimes. I love
Christopher all the time. And I love you."

"I was sixteen when I first saw this movie. I went with Karen Russell.
We didn't see much of the movie..."

"Oh, really? Do tell, Agent Mulder. I want to know all your secrets," I
say to him, laughing for the first time during this miserable day.

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do. You know, you never told me about your first time. In all
these years, it never came up," I say to him.

"What is there to tell? I was sixteen. She was also sixteen, I think. It
lasted all of two minutes."

"Not much different than now..."

"Scully!" he says, as he playfully pushes me down on to the couch, "Now
it's your turn. Tell me all the juicy details."

"I don't want to talk about it," I say as I sit up and snuggle next to
him.

"Why? Is it scandalous? It wasn't with a first cousin or something like
that?"

"No! It's just not worth talking about."

"I told you my story."

"You told me nothing. You were sixteen. It lasted two minutes. Sixteen?
Mulder, I would have guessed you were younger than that..."

"Nope. Sorry to disappoint you. I couldn't convince anyone to join me
before that, though it wasn't for the lack of trying. Now you tell me."

"I was eighteen and a freshman in college. I figured it was about time,
so..."

"I can hear Billy Joel singing, Scully. 'Come out Virginia, don't let me
wait, You Catholic girls start much too late, but sooner or later it
comes down to fate, I might as well be the one...'"

"Mulder, there was a time when I really did intend to wait until I got
married, until I met the right man..."

"'You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation,'" he
continues, softly singing to me, "'You got a brand new soul and a cross
of gold'...really, you were going to wait until you got married, but now
you won't even marry me? Am I not the right man?"

I don't say anything to him for a few minutes, instead I watch as the
Rebel Alliance tries to defeat the evil Empire once again.

"Mulder, cancer man was waiting for me in the parking lot at Quantico
today."

"What?" he asks, pulling me in such way that I'm facing him.

"He warned me to be careful in New Mexico. He also mentioned what seems
to be the catch phrase of the day. Weather control," I say to Mulder,
not wanting to go into some of the other things I was told. I can't tell
him I was informed the only reason we made love that night was because
he was *there.*

"I can't believe he's accosting you now. Lately it's been me he likes to
hunt down in parking lots. Scully, I had a visitor in the parking garage
after you said 'fuck you' and tried to run me down with that tank of
yours..."

"I didn't try to run you down and I'm sorry for saying that. Who was
he?" I ask.

"You did try to run me down. Anyway, he says he's our 'friend' and that
we should find what the senator wants us to find. It's strange. He also
says that Christopher isn't in any danger. That they need for him to
stay alive," Mulder says.

"Is that all he told you?" I ask, surprised at what he saying. Most
everyone else who has ever hunted down Mulder in a parking garage lately
has threatened our son. My mind starts trying to assimilate this new
knowledge. If they want him to stay alive, there must be a reason.

Mulder doesn't say anything to me for more than a minute. I can tell
he's trying to figure out how he is going to word his next question.

"Scully, when we made love for the first time, did you have any feelings
for me, or was I just the only other person in the room?"

I don't know how to answer. I loved him even then, but not any romantic
hearts and flowers kind of love. It was a love built simply on trust and
respect, but love even so. Maybe that is all any of us can ever ask for.

"Why?" I ask him, instead of trying to answer the question. I don't want
that cigarette smoking bastard to be right about this, that I might have
'used' Mulder that night and not even know it.

"Just something this person told me today. I was just wondering if the
only reason you are still with me is Christopher?" he asks.

I look at him, and he looks sad, as if someone broke his heart today.

"Mulder, I have loved you for a long time. Longer than that first night
together. I just didn't ever imagine us like this,  a couple, sitting in
*our* house with *our* son. It is so hard to explain. We have come a
long way together. We have lived lives others can't even begin to
imagine and we were put together by forces beyond our control. Sometimes
it feels like an arranged marriage," I tell him, pulling him close to me
and kissing his forehead.

"I know it was arranged, Scully. I just don't know the reasons why yet,"
he says.

"All the reasons don't matter and they won't change how I feel about you
right now, today. Not a year ago or ten years ago. It doesn't matter how
we got to this point, Mulder. What matters is that we are at this point.
We have got to make it work, for Christopher. For us."

"You know, Scully, it's been years since I made love to my favorite girl
while 'Star Wars' was playing."

"You want me to call Karen Russell and see what she's doing?" I say to
him.

"She's not my favorite anymore..." he says to me as he pulls me much
closer to him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Epilogue

New York City
April 13, 2002
9:45 p.m.

"There is someone feeding the senator information," a man says in a
smooth, deep voice.

"That much we know is true. We can't verify if any of the information is
of any value to him."

"Someone was talking to Mulder. If Mulder finds out about his son, all
our planning is for nothing," another man hisses.

"Mulder won't ever figure it out. You give him too much credit," a man
says as he lights a cigarette, "He's too busy philosophizing about *his*
place in the subterfuge."

"Did you speak to Agent Scully?"

"Yes. Yes, I did. After ten years one would think that woman would
believe in something that can't be scientifically categorized,
especially after Christopher."

"Do you think she will ever put two and two together?"

"I think she believes Christopher is simply here to make Mulder jump
through the right hoops. Which is an added benefit, though not part of
the design," the smoking man says.

"She is a doctor. She might figure it out."

"Christopher Scully is nothing more than her son."

"What about the senator? Is he still a problem?"

"They will be going to New Mexico on Monday. I will take care of
everything. Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have a plane to
catch," he says, dropping ashes on the carpet as he leaves the room.

                           The end


More Christopher Scully stories here
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