The Christopher Scully Series
                     stories 21-25

Title: Departures I 
Author: Jori 
E-mail: damienma@netroenterprises.com
Rating: R for language
Archive: Yes
Category: SRA
Keywords: MSR, family-fic
Summary: Scully begins to discover some truths
Disclaimer: Really not mine. They belong to 1013, FOX and CC
Author's Notes: Thanks to MoJo for the beta read over. You are the
greatest! 

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

Scully-Mulder House
July 12, 2002
2:35 p.m.

"Christopher, please stop fussing. Mommy can't think," I say as I juggle
him from one arm to the other. No longer wanting to be held, he reaches
for the cordless phone, and with one quick stroke of a chubby little
finger, I'm disconnected. One fucking hour of being on hold shot to
hell. "Shit!"

"Shit!" he cries out joyously in his normally angelic baby voice. It
isn't actually as identifiable as the word I just uttered, but it is
close enough.

"Now is a fine time to start listening to me," I tell him as I punch the
number back into the receiver. Amazing. He's been talking for six weeks
now and I've already got him swearing like a little sailor. We'll never
get him in to the private preschool up the street.

The line bleeps a busy signal at me over and over, just making my head
pound all the more. I click off the receiver and toss it hard across the
kitchen counter. It connects with two days worth of newspapers and they
go flying into the air, fluttering around like flushed out pheasant
before hitting the ground. Christopher finds this utterly amusing, and
claps his hands wildly.

"Shit!" he says again.

"You got that right, baby," I tell him as I carry him upstairs past the
two gates that become harder to use in direct proportion with either how
tired or how mad one is.

This was a fine day for Soprano to call in sick. My mother is in Aruba
and I can't even get a call through to her. And now I have to drag
Christopher to the Hoover building because his damn father couldn't be
bothered with getting off a plane, getting into his car and driving
home. Oh no. That was far too complicated for him. Only he could fuck
that one up.

I put Chris down on the floor of my bedroom, shut the door behind us and
turn the lock. Thank God he hasn't figured out that little mechanism
yet. My stomach is rolling and I'm not sure if it is because of
*morning* sickness or because I'm so pissed. And nervous. And so scared
right now I find myself in front of the toilet for the third time today,
throwing up what is left in my stomach and that isn't much.

"Mama mama mama mommieeeee!" I hear through my retching noises. God,
please help me right now. Let me shut my eyes and when I open them he
will be here. Please, don't tell me he did something so stupid right
now. Not now. Please. Not now.

But when I open my eyes, all I see is my very panicky and confused son
watching me pray over top of the toilet. Tears of alarm pour from his
eyes now and I put my arms out to him. He runs to me and the two of us
sit on the fuzzy yellow bathroom rug together, holding on to each other
tight. And crying.

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

FBI Headquarters
July 12, 2002
4:25 p.m.

"Agent Scully, Kimberly offered to watch your son while ..."

"No," I tell Skinner sternly and I hold Christopher a little closer to
me.

I'm not letting him out of my sight right now, not even in this *safe*
building. Everybody turned their heads as I damn near ran through the
halls with him over one shoulder and a diaper bag over the other just to
make this appointment. Those who didn't already think I was a complete
nut most definitely do now. I would never bring him here unless it was
an emergency and I think this qualifies.

Skinner says nothing. He just steps back and lets us pass.

I take my usual seat across from him, and try to hold my son on my lap.
That doesn't even last until Skinner gets settled in to his seat. Chris
slides off my lap and toddles away faster than I can grab the little
overall straps on his outfit and pull him back. All I manage to do is
unfasten one of them. That's the reason I usually dress him like that.
Gives me handles to hold on to. Maybe I should stick his father in some.

Chris squirrels himself up on to the chair next to me and plops down,
making that 'diaper meets vinyl' poof sound. And then he watches Skinner
with those intense hazel eyes. Skinner can do nothing but look at this
mini-Mulder sitting so silently across from him. Take off the little
train engineer's outfit and dress him in a little shirt and tie, and
he'd be the spitting image of his father. Well, if is father chewed on
his fingers instead of sunflower seeds. I'm sure Skinner is having a
hard time trying not to say 'now that is spooky.' I'm having the same
trouble myself.

"Agent Scully, I don't have any more news for you," he says, finally
taking his eyes off of Christopher. "Nothing else has been found since
yesterday evening."

I want for all of this to just be over. I feel so unlike myself right
now. Dana Scully, all together career woman is now trying to juggle too
many things and I am always on the verge of tears. I will blame it on
the pregnancy. How did it all go to hell so fast? There is always just
one answer to that. Mulder.

"Sir, we must be missing something. Reid said Mulder left him at the
baggage claim, since all of his bags were carry-on. Those bags were
found in the locked trunk of his car and the front door was unlocked, so
we know he made it that far. The security footage they pulled shows him
walking into that level of the garage, and it doesn't show him returning
to the terminal. Something must have happened at that point," I say,
trying to just go over it one more time.

"The garage has been completely swept for evidence, Agent Scully. Every
drop of blood, every fiber ... every strand of hair in the vicinity of
his car is being analyzed. Agent Mulder's disappearance isn't going to
be put on the back burner," Skinner says, but I see his eyes flicker.
Just like every time he tries to lie. I learned how capable he was of it
a few years ago. I also learned how to recognize when he's doing it. He
tries to pull it back together quickly, but my eyes narrow in on him.

"What aren't you telling me? You can't hide anything from me, sir. This
isn't just my partner we're talking about anymore. He is ..." I start
to say. That is where my voice gives out. I look away from him to
Christopher.

I hear him open one of his drawers as quietly as he can and he rustles
some papers. I turn my attention towards him again and he just holds up
one finger, silencing me.

"Agent Scully, we aren't hiding anything. I do understand the personal
importance of finding Agent Mulder and I assure you that every possible
avenue is being investigated," he says, as he hands me a clear plastic
evidence bag. It contains only one thing.

A crushed cigarette butt.

I don't even have to read the brand name. God damn it. Not now, Mulder.
Not now. My stomach starts to churn and my head begins to throb harder.
I flip the bag back on to the center of his desk and he returns it to
his desk drawer.

"Scully, you can't go chasing after him yourself. It would be too much
stress right now, considering ..." he says, looking down to my
abdomen.

"Someone has to find him."

Skinner rustles through the files on his desk until he finds the one he
is looking for. He hands it over to me and most of the information I was
looking for is handwritten on the top page, scribbled in black ink by
some lab tech.

And there is a little sticky note, in Skinner's handwriting, telling me
that the cigarette butt had been found under the car, and judging from
the print of the shoe scuffing through the ash, it had been 'kicked'
there.

I let out a long sigh. I can't determine yet if it of relief or despair.
It all depends.

"Shit?" squeaks the little voice next to me.

"Yeah. Shit," Skinner answers.

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

"Oh, just buckle already," I say, pleading with Christopher's car seat.
Mulder was supposed to adjust the straps. He said he'd do it weeks ago
and now who in the hell is going to have to do it? Me. "No, sweetie. Oh,
please stop crying. It is going to be fine. Everything will be fine."

"Are you sure about that?" a voice asks from behind me.

I turn to him, my ire already raised to the level of exploding. "Stop
it! Just stop appearing out of nowhere and into my life. Who in the hell
are you anyway?"

"Dana, stop yelling. You are upsetting the baby," Dylan says to me, his
voice composed and even. I don't have any idea how he got in this garage
in the first place. How does he always find me?

"What do you want? What do you want me to tell you?" I ask him. I now
have proof that not even I could keep Mulder here. Not me, or our son or
even the baby I'm carrying now. Someone must have waved a
'truth-scented' carrot on a stick under his nose and he went running
after it. That is how we ended up in New Mexico. And now just three
months later, he's off after something again.

"I told you to keep him here," he says, as he leans up against the side
of the car parked next to mine.

"What did you want me to do? Nail his fucking feet to the floor?" I ask,
my anger showing in every word. This man gives me pieces of the whole
story and doesn't even tell me who or what he is. Dylan from the desert.
Dylan from the beach. Dylan from the parking garage.

"If that is what it was going to take, this time you should have done
it," he says. His calm voice is starting to lose that unflappable tone
he always maintains. The angrier I get, the less he can keep it
together. "I can't guarantee his return this time."

"Then why don't you tell me where he is, and *I* will guarantee his
return," I say, and all he does is hand me a file folder. More damn
folders today. Every move Mulder and I have ever made is probably in
some folder somewhere.

"What are these?" I ask, looking at the pictures. They are slightly
blurry and obviously taken from a security camera. It looks like a
convenience store in Anywhere, USA.

"Look closer," he tells me. "What do you see?"

Christopher starts chanting behind me. He says a long string of the same
word, and it echoes through the parking garage. I'm just glad it isn't
'shit.'

"I wan dada," he keeps saying over and over and I have no way to give
him what he wants. Great. That's his first sentence and his father isn't
even present to hear it. He should be used to his dad being out of town
by now. He must be sensing that something is wrong through me.

Several of the out of focus pictures show two men, both near the same
height. Both are dressed casually, in blue jeans and ball caps. The last
picture in the pile shows one looking away from the other. One is
Mulder. I would be able to pick out his form anywhere.

And the other is Alex Krycek. I knew that piece of rat shit had to be
involved when Skinner started lying.

"I told you not to let him go. The faction that contacted him isn't
interested in anything but themselves. They don't even know of all the
work that has been done on this side," he says. "They have an idea, but
nothing definite. Except Alex Krycek. He has no alliance to either side
and an alliance to both sides."

"What are you talking about? What factions?" I ask. He motions for me to
keep my voice down.

"There is a war coming, Dana. You will know it when it comes. It will be
judgment day. They will raise their banners in the name of God. They
think they are sanctioned by God to continue with their plans, to free
earth of what humanity has become. It will be their God-given right to
use the unrighteous as they see fit. Some will live, most won't. You,
Mulder, your son ... " he says, and then he lays his hand on my
stomach. "... your daughter are supposed to survive. Or at least that
is what the plans are. Plans that have been going on for years. Many
years have been spent trying to determine who will live and who will
die. Your son has to live. Now Mulder is going to stumble into places he
does not belong. Yet."

I don't know what to say to him. God? Judgment day? My mind can't even
begin to put together the pieces of his story. It is unlike any of the
reasons I've heard before. Dylan is the first to put such a religious
twist on the story. For all I know he is a complete raving madman. I'm
becoming convinced of it more each time I meet him.

"What do you mean sanctioned by God?" I ask. Christopher is finally
quieting down and about ready to fall asleep.

"That's the saddest part of all, Dana. We share the same God yet they
cannot recognize that," he says. His eyes are fiery now, as if this is
what his whole life is about. "Someone will have to convince them of
that."

"I don't understand ... there are more religions on earth than those
in the Judeo-Christian realm. What about them? What is going to happen
to them? And why hasn't this happened already? What are they waiting
for?" I ask.

"The answers will come in time," he says.

"No 'in time'! Tell me what this has to do with me and my family? Just
tell me that for once," I nearly shout at him. Christopher stirs in his
seat, but doesn't start crying again.

But he isn't going to explain more. He turns and begins to walk away
from me. God damn all these men with their half answers that only stir
up more questions.

"Wait! You just can't drop these on me without telling me where they are
from," I shout after him, holding up the file. He turns back and looks
at me.

"I gave you what you need. Now use it."

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

Scully-Mulder Household
July 13, 2002
1:02 p.m.


"Kalispell, Montana," Frohike says as I open the front door. He hands me
the folder I dropped off last night. I couldn't take it to Skinner. Not
yet. Not if Krycek is part of it.

"What?" I ask, opening the folder. I study the enhancements I asked them
to make. I can't tell how they found out the location from these.

"Kalispell. It's outside of Glacier ..."

"I know that. Why would he be in Kalispell?" I ask with out really
expecting an answer.

"Camping?" Frohike asks and I know I give him a caustic look. "Just
kidding. In one of the enhancements, we could make out a store name and
number. Ole's Country Store number 421. See that?"

He points to a blurry number in the corner of a window that is indeed
421. I go through them until I get to the one I really want to see.
Mulder is looking directly at the camera, his eyes trying to tell us
something in the little time he had. Krycek is looking away. A split
second later, and in any other images containing the two of them, Mulder
has his head down, the brim of his ball cap pulled lower than he'd
normally wear it. Krycek took no precautions in covering his face. No
one would be looking for him. If they were, he'd slip out of sight
before they could ever get to them. He's nothing more than a damn gutter
dweller.

"How would they get that far that quickly without showing up? It isn't
like you can drive to Montana in a day from DC," I say, trying to
calculate how far it is. They had to fly out of somewhere.

"Maybe Mulder figured this was his last chance to leave a clue to where
he is going. The man he is with doesn't seem too happy to be in there,"
Frohike says.

I can't even fathom what is going on. Did he go with them willingly and
find he was getting in over his head? Why didn't he just walk away from
it? I know why. He never has been able to. Whatever they told him,
whatever they promised must have been damn important. It must have
concerned all of us.

Christopher comes closer and hangs on to my leg.

"Dada dada da," he says, as his hands try to reach up for the folder I'm
holding.

"Yes, honey. Dada dada da," I say to him as I close the folder on the
picture of Mulder with those pleading eyes.

"I got you a ticket to Missoula with a connection to Kalispell. It
leaves in three hours," Frohike says rather sheepishly, as he pulls an
airline ticket folder out of his vest pocket and hands it to me. After
all these years, he knows how much finding him means to me.

I hold it and look down at my son. My mother and Everett aren't getting
back from Aruba until 7 p.m. tonight. That isn't for another six hours.

"Frohike, what do you know about baby-sitting?"

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

Ole's Country Store
US Highway 93
Kalispell, MT

"We were wondering what happened to that. It was the damndest thing.
Someone broke in here and all they took was the video tapes for that
day. Nothing else was missing, we called the police, and they said
without the video tapes they stole, we really didn't have much to go
on," the clerk behind the counter tells me. I showed him my badge and
the video captures and he has been very helpful in telling me nothing.
His name tag tells me that he is Carl.

"Did anything unusual happen that day? Was anything else missing or
stolen?" I ask. Come on Mulder. You have to give me more to go on than
this. Where did you go? Where did he take you?

"We have been busy. It is park season and all. Lots of people come in
and out of here. Really, ma'am, I can't say one way or another if I saw
these two or not. I'll ask Jess when he come in later tonight," Carl
says, looking quite glum that he couldn't help me more.

"Here's where I'm staying. Please let me know if you remember anything.
Even the littlest thing might help," I say. I hand him one of my cards
with the hotel name scribbled on the back. He holds it and studies it
carefully. "Thanks for everything."

"Agent Scully?" Carl calls as I'm halfway out the door. I come back to
the counter. "There is this one thing. I just thought some kid did it .
. . it seemed like something one of the high school kids would do. It
happened in the last few days"

"What is that?" I ask. Please, let this be something. I'm running out of
leads and finding my way here in the first place was just luck and
Frohike. And of course, Dylan, who ever he is.

"In the bathroom, the men's room, someone carved the crap out of the
stall. We haven't fixed it yet if you would like to see it," he says. He
calls for some girl to come out of the back room and then he walks
around the counter to the men's room door, key in hand.

"Where is it?" I ask, my heart pounding. This could be my last hope.
Please, Mulder, make it good.

"You'll see why I thought high school kids did it," he says as he
unlocks the door and swings it open for me.

The bathroom looks like most convenience store bathrooms. One toilet.
One sink. Not a series of stalls or urinals. Get the key from the guy at
the front and lock yourself in here. One person. For Krycek to follow
Mulder in here would have looked out of place and would have attracted
attention.

There on the side panel separating the sink from the toilet is a big
heart carved with God only knows what. A knife? A pen? Fingernails? It
is on the side away from main door, where one wouldn't see it unless
they came in. Inside of the heart is a the only thing that makes me
believe it isn't the work of a kid. There is what could only be an M and
an S. They look like a child wrote them, the S uneven and the lines of
the M not meeting up perfectly. But that is what they are. The plus sign
between the initials is actually two arrows. One pointing up. One
pointing to the right. And he was rushed. Krycek was probably right
outside the door. Yet in the pictures, it doesn't look like Mulder is
being restrained in any way. They look like two friends out for a
weekend of camping.

I know that isn't the case. He would have told me. He wouldn't have had
to carve this into this bathroom stall. He would have just gone on his
way without leaving any evidence that he was here. Dylan brought me
those photos for a reason. Now I just have to figure it out.

I can't imagine how many people might have used this stall since then.
And the nearest field office is in Seattle. Or Spokane? Or is it Salt
Lake City? I can't even think right now. Skinner doesn't even know I'm
here. He doesn't even know about the pictures. This quite possibly be
nothing, but this has to be investigated. This could be his last message
to us. He knew I would find him.

My finger slowly traces over the heart and then the letters. I know I'm
disturbing evidence. I don't care right now. My stomach starts to tumble
around again as I carefully trace the M and then the S. I have to hold
it together. I have to follow through on this. I look at the arrows
linking the initials together. It must mean something. Why in the hell
didn't Mulder just write in where they were going? Maybe he doesn't even
know. Maybe Krycek was watching. It is bad enough he did this.

"So, that man is your partner?" Carl asks from over my shoulder and I
barely heard him through the rushing sound in my ears.

"Yeah, something like that," I respond, trying to pull myself back to
the task at hand. I have to stay focused. I have no choice. "Carl, can I
use your phone?"

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

"Did you ever consider the possibility that Mulder went with Krycek
willingly?" Skinner asks over the phone, and I cannot believe my ears.
Yeah, Mulder and Krycek have been best buds since the day they met and
now they are finally getting around to that camping trip they always
dreamed about. I think their last 'trip' together was enough for both of
them.

"I doubt that, sir. Maybe once he would have, but not now," I say,
trying to convince myself as I say those words. He might not have known
that he would be going with Krycek when he agreed to this. But he knew
he was going with that black-lunged bastard.

"I don't think I have to remind you that Krycek has the capability . .
."

"I remember," I say, recalling a exceptionally bad period of our lives.
And Skinner's.

"I will arrange to have someone from Seattle look into it, Agent Scully.
He's still a missing federal agent. Hopefully, he isn't lost in that
park, but I'll contact the NPS. I don't know any reason they would be in
that part of Montana, but I doubt they are out looking at the flora and
fauna," Skinner says.

"Thank you, sir," I say. I hear nothing back from him for a few seconds.

"I feel that you would be more valuable here at home with your family,"
he says bluntly. I knew it was coming. As soon as I told him where I am,
he got that tone in his voice. I went off on my own, and now he has to
reign me back in.

"I will be home shortly, sir," I say, and hang up the phone. I'm still
at the convenience store using their pay phone. The parking lot is
filled with cars and people keep coming and going. Yet I have this urge
to stand here. It is the last place I knew where to look for him. The
last place I knew he walked across. I don't know what I expect to find
here. Nothing. I already know I'm going to find nothing.

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

Glacier National Park
July 15, 2002

"That is a damn lot of land to cover," Reid says to me. We are on the
Going-To-The-Sun Road, through Glacier National Park. And he is right.
It *is* a damn lot of land to cover. A lot of beautiful, mountainous
land that I would love to be able to appreciate. I just can't do that
right now.

Reid flew out as soon as he could. I called him last night with an
update, and he got Skinner's permission to get out here ASAP. I'm sure
Skinner expected him to come here and escort me back to DC, where I
'would be more valuable.'

It isn't going to happen that way just yet.

"If they are out there, I don't know how ..." I start to say as my
eyes scan mile upon mile of terrain.

The park rangers couldn't say whether they saw Krycek and Mulder enter
the park on any of the 'traditional' routes. It is summer and the park
has a lot of visitors. Or so everybody keeps reminding us. They would do
their best to look for them, but since we can't even say that they
definitely entered the park, they didn't know where to begin searching.

I just hope the damn bears don't eat them. Well, they can eat Krycek.

"Ever do any back country camping, Agent Scully?" he asks me.

"You can call me Scully. You were just at my son's birthday party a few
days ago. No need to get formal now," I say, and he nods. "And, no. I've
never done any back country camping. Not intentionally anyway."

He just keeps driving. What we expect to find, I don't know. Everywhere
we go, every turn we make, there's another mountain. Or valley. Just one
more picturesque view, but not what I'm looking for. I can't even think
anymore.

"And this man, this Krycek, was Mulder's partner once?" Reid asks as he
concentrates on where he is going. Driving through these mountains can
be a little unnerving to someone who just does city driving.

I'm sure Mulder has told Reid next to nothing about the past. I doubt
that Mulder even trusts Reid yet. But I have no one else to turn to
right now. Not unless I want to go hiking with the boys.

"Krycek was his partner but not for very long. I'm not sure of the exact
details of how it ended, because I was gone ... " I start to say. I
don't know what details he wants to hear. I'm not even sure of what he
believes yet.

"I read the file," Reid says. I wonder what other files he has read? I'm
only in a couple of them, but some of them I'd just rather have no one
know about. And I'm sure Krycek has been mentioned in at least one.

"Anyway, Mulder and Krycek seem to do a lot of unplanned traveling
together. Hong Kong. Russia. And now the Rocky Mountains. I don't know
what Krycek promised him this time. I never know how he does it. He just
does," I say, wishing I had that power. Of course, I don't ever wave
bits of information in front of Mulder and promise him more if he just
follows me.

"I certainly don't know Agent Mulder as well as you do ...
professionally and personally, of course, but are you sure he wouldn't
go with Krycek willingly? After all, he's done it before. Who's to say
he wouldn't do it again?" Reid asks.

I ponder his question for just a few moments. Just as I have pondered it
everyday now since I figured out he was missing somewhere. At one time,
I wouldn't be able to say. Mulder would have just gone off without even
a phone call to me. But now?

"First of all, things are a little different now. He is responsible to
more than himself and that ever elusive truth he is chasing," I say. I
turn my head to look out the passenger window. I get an impressive view
of the side of a mountain just a few feet away. "Second, I'm pregnant."

Reid says nothing. Maybe in his mind that isn't even enough to make
Mulder stay. I still have doubts myself. But if Mulder did this
willingly, why the convenience store? Even if the bathroom scribblings
aren't his, why the video camera?

"I'm just sure he wouldn't have done this. Not this time," I say.

"Well, then there is only one thing we can do. Find him," Reid says as
we both look out over the park. It is a daunting task. He might not even
be in there. "I'm just not certain how to go about doing that."

"Neither am I."



Outside Glacier National Park
July 16, 2002
2:35 a.m.

The clear Montana sky seems to go on forever before me. The stars
twinkle on their dark canvas and there are no city lights anywhere. Only
a faint glow comes from small motel behind me, the darkness overwhelming
it before it reaches me. I'm somewhere in Western Montana. I don't even
know where. I am lost. I'm hardly ever lost. I am now.

I sit here in the chilly night air, shivering but not doing anything
about it. I'm too tired. I don't even know whether I'm shivering because
I'm cold or because my heart is empty. And alone. It's just me and the
stars. And our baby. But I'm not ready for the sun to come up yet, no
matter how cold I am. That will just mean more time has passed since you
left. Another day and night further away from where I know to look for
you. The night seems to go by slower than the day. Maybe because I can't
do anything to help.

It was just the other night you taught Christopher to wish upon a star.
Before the fireworks but after the first 'star' came out. You explained
to him that it was just the planet Venus, but it would do for now. He
was enthralled with everything you had to say, everything you were
showing him. You told him to wish for whatever he wanted and that
nothing was too big. Then I asked you what you were wishing for, and you
just looked at me and smiled. You told me that you had most everything
you wished for.

You couldn't possibly have left us just a few days after that? How does
one go from teaching their son to make wishes to running across the
country with a person that deserves no trust? How does one go from
saying they have most everything they've ever wished for to leaving all
that behind? I guess you really didn't have everything you were wishing
for. But I knew that. There will always be more. There is always that
one thing we can't give you. Answers.

Here I am, out under this wide expanse of sky, hanging wishes on each
and every star. I don't know what else to do. What would you do, Mulder?
Did you ever wish on a star for me, when I was gone? Did you ever make a
wish hoping that you would just open your eyes and I would be there?
However you felt about me way back then, intensify it by a thousand. A
million. Or more. That is what I feel now.

I cannot grasp either possibility of how this happened. Whether they
forced you or you went willingly, one is as bad as the other. Yet,
perhaps I am really hoping you had no choice. That thought is easier to
understand. Easier to accept.

No matter how hard I try to delay it, I feel sleep beginning to wash
over me. At least in sleep I can dream that everything is normal. I can
believe in what I know not to be true.

I am somewhere in that nebulous stage between the waking and sleeping
when I feel someone behind me. My heart wants it to be Mulder, but my
mind knows better. Wishes don't work that way.

"Scully, it is too cold out here. Why don't you go back to your room?"
Reid asks, as he wraps a blanket around my shoulders. I look up at him
in the faint light and I can tell he's been sleeping for awhile now.

"I just ..." I start to say, but don't know how to explain what I'm
feeling to anyone. He sits on a chair next to me and we say nothing to
each other for several minutes.

"Once when I was a child, I went camping with my family. In the middle
of the night I wandered off. I really don't know why. Perhaps just to
explore. My mother says I was always doing that," Reid says
thoughtfully, and I hope this does not go into some light in the sky
story. "Anyway, the sun came up and I was hopelessly lost. I didn't do
anything they told me to do. I didn't stop in one spot and stay there. I
kept going and going. Before I knew it, night began to fall again."

"Reid, if this is ..." I interrupt.

"I promise. I will tell the whole story without once mentioning
extraterrestrial biological entities," he says with a smile. He has been
with Mulder for too long.

"Okay. Since you promised," I say and he continues.

"Finally, I stopped moving. I couldn't move anymore. I was scared and
cold and tired. I had no choice but to sit down. And they found me. In
one hour they found me. Mulder and this Alex Krycek must have a
destination. When they get there, they will stop and we will find him,"
Reid says. He puts his hand over mine and gives it a quick squeeze
before pulling it away. Then he stands to go.

"Hey, Reid," I call out to him. He turns to look at me. "Thanks."

I look back up to the stars and pray that they make it to that
destination soon.

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

Scully-Mulder House
July 18, 2002
5:45 p.m.

I walk into my kitchen to find Frohike standing there with a pan in
hand, frying something. He has on some obnoxious apron that I know isn't
mine and a bandanna wrapped around his head like a short order cook at
some grimy truck stop.

"Back from Big Sky Country so soon?" Frohike asks, as he turns the
burner off and puts a lid on whatever that is stinking up the kitchen.
It is damn near driving me to the bathroom to puke. "Are you okay, Agent
Scully? Did you get airsick?"

"Frohike, what is that?" I ask him, already recognizing the smell. It is
something with liver. "And what are you doing here anyway?"

"Baby-sitting. He's upstairs sleeping. Your mother had to drop Everett
off at the airport. You probably passed each other," Frohike says, as he
starts to cook potatoes. Oh no.

"Where is Soprano?" I ask. I really don't have any idea what day this
is. Reid made sure I got in my car and out of the parking lot. Then I
somehow made my way home by rote memory.

"Sophie is at school taking an exam. I offered to watch Kit while
everyone was gone. Are you sure you wouldn't like something to eat?"
Frohike asks ever so nicely. I wonder how much he's been around that
everybody is now known by their nicknames?

"No. Go ahead," I tell him and wander off to my office by the kitchen,
hoping my stomach holds.

"So, did you find anything?" Frohike asks.

"Not a damn thing outside of Kalispell. It appears as if Mulder
disappeared off the face of the earth," I say with a sigh. It is
everything I can do to keep it all together. I have only lost my
composure twice since I left for Montana. Now is not the time to lose it
again. "Why is my mother going to the airport?"

"Her boyfriend's one grandson is graduating from college soon. He's
going to spend time with them, I guess," he tells me. Frohike is filling
me in on what my family is doing. How in the hell did this all ever
happen?

"I remember. She mentioned that earlier this week," I say. I'm having
trouble remembering things. This has just been too much stress and I'm
not sure how much longer I'm going to hold up under the strain.

I dig through the pile of papers on my desk, including the mail and a
week's worth of newspapers. I had to come home without finding him. I
had to see my son. I could have just kept wandering Montana forever and
never even put a dent into the places they could be.

Something tucked away in the corner of the front page of one of the
papers catches my eye. It is from two days after Mulder disappeared. I
read it slowly, carefully, trying to put all the pieces together in my
head. They only point in one direction. One gigantic set up.

"Frohike, what do you know about this?" I ask, holding out the paper to
him.

"'Senator Paul Erickson of New Mexico joyously welcomes missing father
home'," Frohike reads out loud, his eyes growing wide. "Isn't he the
dude who had the two of you sent to New Mexico to find his mother?"

"I think he is the 'dude' responsible for a whole hell of a lot more
than that," I say, as I pick up the phone and start dialing.

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

Senate Executive Offices
Washington, DC
July 19, 2002

"Agent Scully, what can I do for you today?" Senator Erickson says as I
walk through his office door. He is so glib sitting there behind his big
desk, the springs of his chair squeaking as he leans forwards.

"I want to know where he is and I want to know now," I bark at him, not
even taking a seat. He can just try to call security and have me thrown
out.

"Where who is?" he asks innocently. He's a damn politician. Of course he
knows how to lie and hide it behind a contemptible grin.

"Agent Mulder. I'm sure you are familiar with him," I say. He motions
for me to sit and even though I don't want to, I do it. If I have to
play along with him to get him to talk, then I will.

"Agent Scully, you really should calm down. This can't be good for the
baby," he says, looking over his desk and focusing in on my abdomen. "I
can see by the look on your face that you are wondering how I knew."

"Yes. That would be a fair question. I'm sure a United States Senator
has better things to do than follow the life of two FBI agents," I say,
my voice malicious now. He shouldn't know these things.

"On the contrary, these children are of a particular interest to me.
Their creation guarantees my future safety," he says. There is a wide
smirk plastered across his face, as if he takes pleasure in tampering
with people's lives. Tampering with my life.

"Your father was never missing. You set us up. You arranged that meeting
using your father as bait. What happened? Did Agent Fowley show up on
that hill instead of me so you had to kill her?" I ask. My eyes are
narrowed at him, but he is not intimidated by me. Not yet anyway.

"That did put us in a predicament. A lot of things would have been
easier if you had been there instead of her. But she wanted to prevent
the project from going on. She was stupid," Senator Erickson says
without a hint of remorse in his voice.

"So, where did you create this child? What lab was it in?" I ask him.
I've figured that part all out. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew
I couldn't have a child without their outside intervention. Never. And
it hurts that they did this for their own purposes. This child was not
created out of love. She was created in a lab somewhere from what they
stole so they could use her someday. I will never let them. I will die
first.

"Somewhere out in the New Mexico desert. It was easy, really. They
already have your ova, so all they had to do was obtain a sample from
Agent Mulder and presto! They made a baby. With the help of your body,
of course," he says as he leans back into his chair. It squeaks again
under the strain. I hope he tips backwards.

"Who were you working with to do this? Who arranged all of this in New
Mexico?" I ask him and he remains silent. He merely sits up in his chair
and folds his hands on his desk. He thinks he's in control here. "Tell
me, dammit or I'll blow the lid of this whole damn thing."

He just blinks twice at me. And then his eyes narrow as if he is trying
to tell if I'm bluffing.

"Alex Krycek," he finally answers.

Oh fuck. That was the voice I heard when I first woke up under Mulch's
'excellent' care. I knew I had heard it before. God damn it. I knew he
had to be in on this from the start. And now he has Mulder in God only
knows were Western Montana. Or even farther now.

I don't understand any of it. Why Mulch? Why kill those other women and
plant those pictures? So we would get thrown off the case? They
obviously needed us there. There are too many sides to this mess
battling each other and we are stuck in the crossfire.

"Will that be all today, Agent Scully? I really do have to get some work
done," he asks as he starts flipping through some paperwork.

"No. One more thing. What exactly is 'Project Weather Control.' I think
after all of this I deserve to know. And you are the man with my
answers," I say to him, my voice as cold as a flagpole in January.

He contemplates the question for a moment before leaning closer to me.

"It is going to be what saves you and your family. Be glad you have been
chosen to be a part of it. Many won't be. Many will do anything they can
to be a part of it, when the time comes. Now if that is all ..." he
says, nodding at the door. I leave him without looking back.

So that makes two people telling me we will be 'saved' and we have been
'chosen.' The Biblical implications are not lost on me. Dylan said they
would be sanctioned by God to kill us. Who in the hell came up with
that? Where in the hell is Mulder when I need him? He should be the one
stuck with this knowledge and I should be the one doubting every word of
it. It always comes down to one thing. Different variations on one
theme, all so carefully orchestrated, but it is still means the same.
Someone's idea of Armageddon for the human race.

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

Scully-Mulder House
July 23, 2002
3:31 a.m.

I am sitting on my bed in the middle of the night staring at his dress
shirts lined up neatly in the closet. They are laundered and pressed and
just waiting for someone I can't find. What if he never comes back?
Would the day ever come that I would be able to take them out of there?

I don't know how Mom did it after Dad died. She took her time and we
didn't help. She said she had to do it on her own. She had to let go.
Mom packed up whatever clothes he had that was in good condition and
donated it somewhere. His Navy uniforms still hang in the closet,
though.

But Mulder isn't dead. He lives some charmed existence and I know
someday I will have to face a closet full of his clothes... or he will
have to face mine ... but today is not that day. I would know if he
was dead. I'm sure of it.

It is amazing how two people end up together. If you change any factor,
no matter how large or small, it might not have ever happened. I could
have been a physician. He could have stayed with ISU. We would have
never met. That can be taken further back. If Samantha was never
abducted. If my dad wasn't in the Navy. Would we be the same people?
These things form our lives and make us what we are, yet we won't ever
know what the difference would be. This is how it had to be.

If any tiny thing had been different, Christopher might have never been.
And the baby. It makes me glad that everything happened exactly as it
did. I wouldn't change a day.

And whatever Mulder is doing out there had to be, too. Even though I
want to kill him. I finally turn off the light and lie down, holding his
pillow close to me. Slightly childish, I know, but I can't help myself.
It helps me fall asleep.

The ringing phone startles me and I grab it before it can even ring
twice.

"Hello?" I say, not knowing who would be calling me at this hour with
any news that could be good. Phone calls in the middle of the night
rarely bring good tidings.

"Scully, it's me," he says and my heart begins to race. It takes me
several seconds to get control of my voice.

"Mulder, where are you?" I ask, containing the urge to scream at him. My
head is spinning with all the questions I want him to answer. I want
explanations.

He says nothing, as if he has to carefully ponder where he might be.

"In Canada," he finally answers. He sounds tired and confused.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to fly out there in the
morning?" I ask, trying to keep the FBI agent and doctor part of my life
at the forefront. And keep in check the shrewish 'wife' who wants to
know where in the hell he has been.

"No. I'm fine, Scully. We will home soon. I hope," he says, and my brain
picks up on the word 'we' immediately.

"*We* Mulder?" I ask. Who in the hell ... ?

"Yeah, Scully. We. I've got to go," and with that he is gone.

The End

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

Title: Departures II 
Author: Jori 
Rating: PG-13
Category: SR
Keywords: MSR, family-fic
Summary: Mulder learns how the past and the future are tied together
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to CC, 1013 and FOX
Archive: Yes
Author's notes: 
Thanks to Mojo for reading and for her generous comments. Thanks to
everybody else for waiting so long for this. Sorry! Craziness on the
homestead. This story starts at a date and goes back. Just for those
people like me who never pay attention to the date line.

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

Carrot Creek, Alberta, Canada
July 23, 2002
1:30 a.m.

I end the phone conversation with Scully knowing I should have told
her more. I just don't know how right now. I turn to make sure the
girl is okay. She is sitting against the stucco siding of the roadside
motel, clutching her knees close to her chest. Her eyes stare at the
highway running in front of this dump, and the only motion she makes
is when a passing semi truck crosses her field of vision. Her eyes
trace the blur of movement, but as soon as it has gone by, they snap
back in place, boring through the night sky ahead.

She is wearing a dated dress that she is far too old for. She should
be dressed for skateboarding like the girls who dote over Christopher
at the park. She shouldn't be dressed up like a doll in pastel lace
and ribbons with frilly socks and shiny black shoes. But I had to get
her out of there no matter what she was wearing or how out of place
she would be. And I only had one opportunity.

Her dark brown hair hangs in two even braids and from the length I can
tell it has been years since it was cut. She was not mistreated where
she was. On the contrary, she had everything she could possibly want.
Except a real family. Her family.

Two years ago, before Christopher was born, did I even have a real
family? No. So she and I both share that. Our childhood was stolen
away by someone else's design. The only difference being she is going
to get a real family well before she is near her forties.

She finally moves, pulling my jacket tighter around her slender arms.
She looks up at me briefly with eyes that are all too familiar and I
offer her a smile. The corners of her mouth turn up briefly in an
artificial smile before she goes back to watching the road. We do not
know how to act around each other yet. That will take time.

We are tired but we can't stay here. I'm sure they know where I am
after placing that phone call. They let me walk out with her, but that
was Krycek's doing. I don't know how many feathers I might have
ruffled or who didn't know what his motives were for taking me there.

This is how he planned on ruining my life. He wanted to show me the
past and the future and hope it destroyed my present. I don't know how
anyone could think this would be the one thing that would crumble my
life. They've done so much already. They should already know that
children aren't going to be the final blow, no matter who they are. Or
in this case, *whose* they are.

I kneel down in front of her and play with one of her braids. It is
easy to forget that she is incredibly intelligent even if she is
dressed like a preschooler. When I first saw her 'perform' in the
environment she has lived in, I was surprised. Until I learned all the
reasons why.

"Are you ready to get going?" I ask her, tapping her nose with the end
of her hair. I see her chin quiver slightly and I know she is going to
start crying again. An old fashioned case of home sickness. It may not
have seemed like it could be considered a home to me, but it all she
remembers. All of those people were her family.

I pull her close to me and she begins to sob. Soon the sobs turn into
mournful wails and all I can do is hold her.

"I want to go home! Take me home! I don't want to be here!" she
shouts, pounding her small fists against me.

"I'm trying to. I am taking you home," I say to her, knowing we are
referring to two different places.

I hear one of the doors open and a woman sticks her head out,
concerned. She assesses the situation and begins to walk toward us,
padding bare-footed down the sidewalk.

Still she wails into the night, crying that she wants to go home.

"Excuse me, sir! What are you doing to that girl? Do you want me to
call the police?" the woman says loudly. She is trotting faster down
the pavement now as she ties her bathrobe tighter around her.

I stand up to face her and pull my FBI identification out of my
pocket.

"No need to call the police," I say and that seems to calm her down
momentarily. Until the bawling starts again.

"I don't care what kind of badge you have, mister, or who you think
you are. What are you doing to that poor girl?" she demands again,
looking from my picture to my face, making sure it is really me.

I look at the child huddled on the ground crying and then back to the
older woman. There is only one answer to the question of what I am
doing.

"I'm her father and I'm taking her home."

*

July 20, 2002

"Scully ... the baby?" I mutter, reaching over for her, knowing
Christopher should be up by now.

"Mulder, when did you become such a fucking hausfrau?"

With that, I feel the toe of a hiking boot kicking me through my
sleeping bag, waking me the rest of the way.

"I became a hausfrau long after you became a piece of oily,
gutter-dwelling rodentia. Then again, I always figured you were born
with that impairment," I say, opening my eyes to face another day of
hiking with Krycek. I look at his arm, or lack thereof as he plays
with his prosthesis. "Unlike some of your other impairments which came
later."

"Mulder, you would be amazed at what I can do with this thing," he
says, leering at me as he pulls on his shirt. I'm on a God damn
camping trip with Alex Krycek. And he says he's taking me to 'the
truth.' Like Krycek would recognize the truth if it came up and
grabbed him by the cojones. He doesn't have enough loyalties to
identify the truth. The truth is what people tell him it is.

We both pack up what little gear we have in silence. We only have the
necessities that we can carry. A scant supply of water. Some nearly
inedible food that the bears wouldn't possibly want to eat. A few
items of clothing. And a tent. One damn tent. Talk about sleeping with
the enemy.

"What sights are we seeing today?" I ask as I roll up my sleeping bag
and secure it to my backpack.

"Today we have to get to the final transport location. They will be
waiting for us so we better get moving," Krycek says. He doesn't say
whether this one will be a van or a bus or another helicopter. Maybe
he doesn't even know. This has gone on for days. A mixture of hiking
and riding.

"Transport to where?" I ask. I didn't exactly expect to be spending
quality wilderness time with Krycek. Actually, I never intended to go
traveling with him again for the rest of my life. But I wanted to get
to the bottom of who Jasper is and he came along with the deal.

"You'll see," is all he says as he exits the tent. That is all he says
every time I ask where we are going.

*

Our last leg of the journey involves a quick hop on a black
helicopter. I know we are in the Canadian Rockies, but I don't know
exactly where. I am left without headsets, so I can't hear what the
pilot is saying.

Krycek and I are left off on a small patch of grassy land and as soon
as we grab out backpacks, the helicopter takes off and heads from
where we just came.

"So, where are we?" I ask, looking around at some beautiful scenery,
but nothing that looks like the answers I was promised.

"Welcome to Project Weather Control, Jasper location," Krycek says, as
he pulls on his backpack and walks off without me.

"What!" I shout. I grab my pack and catch up to him.

"You are in Jasper National Park. It is just one of the parks in the
project," he says, still vague.

"What project is that?" I ask, ready to pummel him if he doesn't give
me a straight answer. He says nothing for a moment.

"That is just one of the projects to guarantee the survival of
mankind. It is part of the deals made with them a long time ago. It
wasn't until the old brigade was destroyed a few years ago that this
option came to the forefront," Krycek says, still not answering.

"And?"

"Consider most of the national parks in North America as human
reservations. That is what they will become. We will be allowed to
have this land as they take over all the technical centers. It was
only a few years ago that it was discovered that the northern-most
parks would be the only ones of any use. The only ones that would keep
humans safe from them. They will take over all the warmer climates,
leaving us out in the cold. No more spring break in Daytona Beach," he
says. He stops walking and looks at me, waiting for a reaction.

"And I'm here to see this ... reservation? There isn't much more to
see here than there was at the last park," I ask, not believing him
fully. I've heard so many things about the future. I've seen so many
things. I can't tell who's playing on which team anymore.

"Oh no. You've seen nothing so far. There is so much more. You've just
got to keep following me. You'll see," he says as he starts walking
again.

"So you keep saying. Why are you showing me this now?" I ask, knowing
that there has to be more behind this than just their kindness.

"Because all the pieces fell into place and I earned the right to."

*

The tunnels are cold and damp. And dark. They are lit only by a
sporadic lantern and remind me of mining tunnels. Only someone who
knew what they were looking for would be able to find them. And I have
no idea what I'm going to find at the end.

"Krycek, are we almost to the end of this rat maze?" I ask, stopping
momentarily. I lean up against the cold stone wall, trying to rest for
just a moment. Krycek halts and looks back at me. We are both under
one of the dim flickering lamps and I can see him grin.

"I keep forgetting you are getting old. What are you now, Mulder? Over
forty?" he asks, laughing. "Did you ever think you'd be having
children at this age?"

"Fuck you," I say. I look down at the ordinary running shoes they
expected me to make this trip in. Where in the hell is my Land's End
catalog when I need it?

"Come on, it isn't much further. Besides, the faster we get this done,
the faster you can get home. I understand that your 'wife' has already
made the trip to Montana looking for you," he says, as he moves on
down the tunnel.

"Scully is in Montana?" I ask, catching up with him quickly.

"Wasn't that the outcome you wanted? When you left that little cryptic
message at the mini-mart?" he asks. I never imagined that she would
find that so fast. Someone must have known I was there. "She's running
all over Glacier with that partner of yours searching for us. So, is
this partner better than I was? Better than Scully?"

I don't answer him right away. He must have been informed of these
latest developments by the helicopter pilot because I haven't seen him
make contact with the 'outside' world since we entered Glacier
ourselves.

"Krycek, putrefied road kill would make a better partner than you."

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

I sit in what looks like a corporate boardroom complete with the big
oak table and the silver water pitcher. The only missing things would
be windows. There is no view of a cityscape outside of this formal
meeting place. There can't be. We are underground now. And I'm not
sure how far.

Krycek sits across from me, tapping the fingers of his right hand on
the wooden table. He has been carefully monitoring my reaction since
we arrived here in ... I don't even know where. No one has told me
what this place is called.

All I know is it is an underground city. There are adults, but even
more children. It almost looks like a large school facility with a
population of about 30 children for every adult. I couldn't see much
from the time we exited the caves until Krycek brought me to this
room. The kids all look healthy and well taken care of. They aren't
dressed in the most popular MTV fashions, but they aren't wearing rags
either.

A man walks through the door and offers a smile to Krycek before
looking at me. I tense up at the sight of him, not able to ascertain
which one he is. He is either the dark-haired man from the parking
garage and the New Mexico hotel room or the man from the hillside. I'm
not sure which.

"Good afternoon, Agent Mulder. It is so nice to see that you are doing
so well considering the condition you were in when I left you last
time," he says, and I now know which one.

"You son of a bitch," I say but he doesn't seem to care. I'm still not
clear on everything that happened on that hillside, and this is one of
the few people who would know.

"Agent Mulder, it had to be done. You'll understand the reasons why
very soon," he says as he moves towards the head of the room. He pulls
open two large cabinet doors, revealing a modern video display wired
to all sorts of electronics. He takes a CD out of a case and inserts
in into a player, but doesn't start it up yet. I just hope it isn't
one particular CD I already know about.

"I want to know why I was brought here and what in the hell this place
is?" I demand, but my demands go ignored. Instead he pushes another
button and the lights dim down and the big television monitor flickers
to life.

"We are the future," a man says on the screen. It could be the same
man running this show or it could be one of his dopplegangers. I have
no way of telling.

I listen to a twenty minute documentary about what this is and my head
begins to buzz. So this is another of their alternatives, just in case
the vaccine doesn't work. A selected portion of humankind has already
been chosen to come to these reservations. It has all been bargained
for with the 'colonists.' We can have these unpopulated areas in the
north. They take the rest of it and the humans who are not lucky
enough to be selected. The construction of the future of man has
already begun. If they can't fight it, they are going to learn to live
beside it.

The video finally ends and the lights are turned back up. Krycek looks
as if he has seen this all before. He probably has. God only knows
what he bargained with to get into the position he is in now. The man
closes the video cabinet and looks at me.

I feel as if I just sat through an Amway presentation where they never
really tell you who they are, but rather what they can do for you.

"Any questions, Agent Mulder?" he asks me. He takes some files from a
drawer under the equipment and sits down at the head of the table.

"Any questions? How much time do you have?" I ask him and he checks
his watch.

"Today or until colonization?" he asks me. And he is serious.

"Today will be good enough for right now. What is my connection to any
of this?" I ask, still trying to piece together my thoughts. I have so
much I need to know, but don't even know where to begin.

"You are one of the ones chosen to be saved. And Agent Scully. Which
means your children are, too. Although I must admit, Christopher was
quite a surprise to us. It was all planned out a long time ago. The
colonizing force gave us lists of who would be saved but it is all
determined by some arbitrary genetic code they determined in advance.
That took us years to decipher. Years and hundreds of thousands of
tissue samples," he explains, and he hands me a folder with both
Scully and my names on it. "If you have the right parents, you are
saved."

"So, my parents and Scully's parents ..." I start to ask, wondering
how her family is tied into all of this.

"Her father was in the military and part of the earliest studies. Once
we figured out what they were looking for, we 'added' some extra
people to the list. Bought them, really, at a great cost. Since both
her parents match the criteria, she matches," he says. "And your
parents, of course, 'match' the criteria. Your father supported this
project."

"So Scully's family is on this list or were added to the list?" I ask.

"Most of it," he says. "Most importantly, your children are on it."

"Why not all of it? I thought you said that because of her father,
they were on the list?" I ask, wondering how one could be excluded.

"Her brother William married someone who isn't on the list, someone
named Tara. Because of that, any children they have will not match the
criteria," he says casually, as if he is used to discussing humans as
if they can be traded with no thought. He can see the concern in my
eyes. "We will work on getting them accepted."

"And my family? What about Samantha?" I ask, my eyes penetrating his
easy going gaze.

"Your sister didn't have the right parents."

"Excuse me?" I ask, sitting up even further in my chair.

"Her father didn't support our cause. She didn't match the criteria,"
he answers bluntly.

"So ... she is ...where?"

"Don't worry. Your father guaranteed her survival. He knew what she
meant to your mother. She was part of another related program," he
says, as he pulls out a picture of my sister as an eight year old. I
don't give a damn about some old picture. I want to see her now.

"Then where is she?" I ask sharply.

"She's not at this facility," he answers.

"What facility is she at?" I ask.

"I don't know. There are some other things you should know. A lot of
other things you should know," he says, cutting my question short as
he stands. He opens the blinds on one side of the room and the view is
spectacular. It is a city scape, just not one I'm used to.

"You said a related program? What is it? Is that what these children
are about?" I ask. From my vantage point I can see a cluster of girls
laughing and looking as normal as can be.

"This is one of the related programs. These children, including your
sister, are to be the storehouses of knowledge for the future. We
cannot be certain of what we will be allowed to bring with us when the
final colonization occurs, so each of these children has a 'specialty'
so to speak. And if they grow up before colonization, such as in the
case of your sister, they teach that subject to another child," he
tells me as he leans up against the window.

"'Fahrenheit 451'?" I ask, wondering what each of these children got
to memorize. There is so much more than just literature. There is math
and science and history. Human history.

"That is a accurate comparison," he says. He moves to the phone on the
wall and punches in one number. He whispers something that I can't
make out and I wonder what is coming at me next.

"But why show me this? Why not just tell me?" I ask again.

"There is someone here we want you to meet," Krycek says. It is the
first words he has spoken since we've been in here.

"It is a little girl. Her mother wasn't on the list. She didn't match
the criteria. Eventually, she might have been included, but she chose
the wrong allies. Since she wasn't on the list, this child wasn't on
the list. But because of who you are, the mother was able to strike up
a deal, for we knew this child might have a quality we were greatly
interested in. And we assumed she might have inherited it from you,"
the man says, speaking in more riddles. What child? What mother?

"What are you talking about?" I ask, shaking my head.

He opens the door and escorts in a pre-pubescent girl. I would guess
she is about 11 or 12 years old. With one good look, I know right away
exactly whose child this is.

And it takes every ounce of control I have not to scream.


The end 

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

Title: Departures III 
Author: Jori 
Rating: PG
Category: SR
Keywords: Family fic, MSR, WIP
Summary: Mulder learns more about how his past will effect the future

Archive: Yes
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to 1013, FOX and CC
Spoilers: Up to US season six

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

Prologue

Calgary International Airport
July 24, 2002
3:21 p.m.

"What made you think you could just walk out with her? What made you
think there would be no repercussions from your actions?" the man
asks, as he yanks on the sleeve of my jacket. I try to move past him,
but he maneuvers around me. He is tall and young and I know I've seen
him before. I just can't remember where. It almost as if he is a
drunken blur.

"She shouldn't have to live that life," I say, pulling away from the
stranger and grabbing her hand. She looks scared and tired and lost.
This isn't the world she is used to. I'm not the person she is used
to.

"Why? What is so wrong with the life she was leading, Agent Mulder?
She was well taken care of. She was fed and clothed and educated.
What do plan on doing for her that they couldn't?" he asks me
sharply.

"Giving her a family. Making up for what her mother took away," I
say. She doesn't know about her mother yet. Not everything. I don't
even think she is entirely convinced that I am her father. I'm not
sure I believe it myself sometimes. But I know it to be true.

"Don't you see what they are doing?" he asks, following behind us.
"Don't you see what Alex Krycek is trying to do?"

"No, I don't," I say, tugging her along faster with me. How in the
hell does this stranger know Krycek?

"He wants this to tear you and Dana apart. He thinks it will, and if
he is right, then the course of history will be changed. Do you
understand me?" he asks, nearly shouting at me now. I stop quickly,
and he nearly bumps into me.

"How do you know Scully?" I ask, more suspicious than ever.

"Dana is mine to take care of. Her and her children," he says, and I
have no idea what he is talking about.

"And who is supposed to take care of me? They are obviously failing
miserably," I say. "Besides, her children are also my children. I'm
taking care of them."

"This one isn't hers," he says, pointing at the girl holding my hand.

"No, but she is mine. That is all that matters," I say, as we start
walking again.

"You don't understand. The effects may not be immediate. It may be
years down the road, but *this,*" he say pointing at the girl trying
to hide behind me. "This will tear it all apart."

"I've had enough of this shit! For years I've lived with what my
father did to my sister. I've lived with the fact that half the world
apparently doesn't think my kids are mine, or Scully's, but they
belong to some special project to be used as they see fit. I'm sick
of it! I'm going home. I'm taking her with me. And to hell with the
future!" I shout at him. He isn't bothered by my display. I wish I
could remember where I saw him before. He is so damn familiar.

"Agent Mulder, you are making a huge mistake. You don't know it now,
but soon you will see how much this will effect the rest of your
life. Everybody is going to pay. She just isn't worth it!" he shouts
after me.

"So you keep saying," I say back as we disappear into the terminal.
She is nearly in tears now and people are staring at us, trying to
determine if I'm abducting this little girl from the airport.

"Why don't you just take me back?" she asks in a quiet voice. She is
homesick and unsure of what is happening. It is all so overwhelming.
Even for me.

"Because I won't. I can't. You are more than just some encyclopedic
source of knowledge for them. You are my daughter," I say. She smiles
a little, uncertain about the truth behind that statement. All her
life she has been told her parents are dead. Now that is half true.
But this half is taking her home.

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

July 20, 2002
Jasper National Park
Alberta, Canada

The girl stands at the door, looking at us. I try to keep my emotions
under control, but it is hard not to scream at someone. The person I
really want to scream at is dead. Damn her.

"Kestrel, come on and sit down with us. There is someone here I would
like for you to meet," he says to the girl, and she follows him to
the table. She looks uncertain as to where she should sit and he
pulls a chair out for her next to Krycek. The two of them side by
side is a startling sight. Almost as if I'm looking at Alex Krycek
and Diana Fowley together once again. There is no way to deny who are
the parents of this child. I can see a lot of Diana, but I can see
more of myself. She has dark hair like her mother, but it could be
like mine. Her eyes are dark. Darker than Christopher's. But besides
her mother and me, she reminds me most of Samantha.

Diana lied all those years ago. She knew for all that time that the
child was alive, somewhere. Yet her own agenda was more important.

"Surprised?" Krycek asks, looking smug.

I don't want to say anything in front of the girl. There is a lot I
could say, but the way I am feeling right now is not her fault. None
of this is her fault. It is her mother's. And mine for trusting that
woman. All I can hope for is that she did this with the best
intentions. But sometimes that just doesn't make up for everything.
Apparently my father had the best intentions in mind with Samantha.
It still doesn't make the hurt any less.

"Kessie, this is ..." the man says, looking at me for direction as
to what I want to be called.

"Fox," I say, thinking it is a little too early for 'dad' and having
children call me Mulder is just going a bit too far. Especially my
own children.

"Kessie, this is Fox Mulder. Agent Mulder, this is Kestrel Elaine,"
he says, giving her no last name.

"Hi," she says in a voice that is all at once confident but scared.
I'm sure she doesn't have too many strangers coming to invade her
subterranean life, let alone two unfamiliar men.

"Kestrel, like the bird?" I ask, looking at her, wondering if Diana
got to pick out her name. Did Diana ever get to see her or did they
take her away from her immediately? I remember hearing Christopher's
first cry and knowing that I could never leave him at that point. How
could Diana?

"Yes. Kestrel. Like the bird. Fox, like the sly little animal?" she
asks, smiling a little. She cocks her head and looks at my face as if
she might recognize me but doesn't know from where. All she would
have to do is look in a mirror.

"Yes. Like the animal," I answer her.

"All the children here are named after birds. We have 26 Kestrels,
all with a middle name beginning with a different letter of the
alphabet," the man explains to me as if he is discussing a filing
system for papers. Of course, he still goes nameless.

"I prefer Kessie," she says, looking at me to make sure I got the
point.

"I prefer a lot of things besides Fox," I say and she smiles again.
"So, Kessie, what is your area of expertise?"

I don't know what they refer to it. I don't even know if these
children have ever seen the light of day or if they have spent their
whole lives in this bunker under the Rocky Mountains, studying in
case the end ever comes.

"Kessie is our expert on Incas and indigenous Andean people," the man
says, smiling proudly. Kessie just looks down at her hands in her lap
as if the whole topic bores her.

"Have you ever seen the Andes, Kessie? Most experts like to see what
they study. Have you gotten that chance?" I ask, and her eyes shoot
up to meet mine. It is as if she has never imagined that it really
existed beyond the pages of a book.

"Agent Mulder, in order to protect the children and the work going on
here, they must stay here. No, she has never seen the Andes," he
answers curtly.

"Or the outside of the mountain she lives under?" I ask and he
narrows his eyes at me.

"Um ... Mr. Mulder ..." she starts.

"Fox," I say and Krycek gives me some sort of wry smile.

"Yes ... it isn't all that bad here. We are safe. We know we will
have a place when the end times come. All we have to do is study and
follow the rules," she says, as if it has been drummed into her head
a million times. They are safe. They are taken care of. Follow the
rules and don't ask questions.

"Kestrel, that will be all," the man says, and she obediently rises
out of her chair and exits the room. "Agent Mulder, that will be all.
Mr. Krycek will show you out of here and I believe your trip back
home has already been arranged."

"What? You expect me to just see her once and leave her behind here?"
I ask, and I know I'm going to have to go into battle if I think I'm
taking her with me.

"Agent Mulder, she cannot leave here. She can't go with you. She is
ours. Her future is guaranteed here," he says. He walks over to the
windows that look out over his world and smiles. "I know what you are
thinking. She is your child. You have a right to her. You will fight
for her. But you must remember, we don't live under your laws. We
don't exist in your system."

"Aw, come on, Mulder. What would Scully say if you showed up at home
with a kid? Diana's kid? If I recall, Scully didn't exactly like
Diana too much. Leave the kid here," Krycek says. But I know he
doesn't want me to. He's just goading me into the fight.

"I'm taking her."

"Her future is planned out. You cannot remove one piece of the whole.
She has her place. We know who she is going to be partnered with
someday and when. We know how many children she will have. We know
what field her children will specialize in. Agent Mulder, I must
really ask you to leave now," he says, and two men walk into the
room. I assume they are to escort me out. Krycek stands up to join
them.

"I'm not leaving her here. I will get her out of here," I say and the
men step towards me.

"Such devotion you have toward this child already, Agent Mulder. You
must have loved her mother more than I ever thought you did," the man
says. He doesn't help with my removal. He is just the man in charge
in name only. Not the one who gets his hands messy.

"That has nothing to do with it and you know it," I shout at him.
"She is a child and she deserves a family. And I will get her out of
here if it is the last thing I do."

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

"What now, Mulder? You going to just sit and pout forever?" Krycek
says. We have set up camp somewhere outside of the mountain entrance.
But I know I would never be able to find my way back without his
help. I can't get to her without him.

Her. She has a name. It is just so foreign to me. Kestrel. A small
bird of prey. I wonder how it was decided that she should be a
Kestrel and not a Robin or a Lark? Who decided that for her? Who
watched her first steps? Listened to her first word? Wrote down when
her first baby tooth came in? Did they do that for all these
children?

How could I take just her and leave the rest behind? Shit. I'm not
the pied piper. I can't lead all the children out of here. But
eventually, I will be able to. I just have to start with one. Kestrel
Elaine. Kessie.

"Come on, Krycek ... tell me what is going on here? Surely this is
not your way of destroying me? What else do you have planned?" I ask.
He sits across the fire from me, his face lit up like the devil that
he is. This can't be his ultimate goal for me.

"How do you plan on getting her out of there?" he asks with a grin.
Does he think this will destroy Scully and me? No matter how much she
hated Diana, she will realize that it is not Kessie's fault. She is
mine, too. She is my responsibility. Just like I would have to accept
any more 'Emilys' that might show up, Scully will have to accept
this.

"You tell me, Krycek. You are the man with all the plans," I say to
him. I wish I knew how this would all turn out. What will happen if I
take her? What if this is her only guarantee for a chance to live?

"Getting her isn't the hard part, Mulder. Keeping her will be. We can
get her out of there with ease. But they aren't just going to let you
walk out of this country with her tucked under your arm," Krycek
says. He picks up a stick and starts poking at the fire.

"They are going to have to," I say. "Or else their secret little plan
for the future won't remain secret."

"Tomorrow morning, before the sun comes up, we will get her," Krycek
says. He taps the embers with his stick and sends sparks flying up
into the air. "I hope you know what you are doing. That you aren't
just jumping into this without thinking it through."

"Thanks for your concern."

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

"Over there," Krycek whispers, pointing at what looks like a
dormitory. Or Army barracks.

There is row after row of utilitarian bunk beds, each containing a
sleeping child. Each bed is denoted by a series of letters and
numbers. The only personal touch added to the whole area is a sign
with each child's name painted in big, block letters. I see no toys.
No pictures or posters on the wall. No sign that they are children at
all.

Security is minimal. Who would even know to come look here to take a
child? No one unless they were led here. Except for a latch on the
door, there is no one here watching them. I wonder who they go to if
they have a nightmare? Or get sick through the night? Someone must
act as a parent to these children.

Would I be thinking these things if not for Christopher? Would I even
care? So much has changed over the past year and now I cannot help
but to care. No matter what they say, this life these children are
living looks even worse than my childhood.

"Where is she?" I ask, and he pulls a clipboard down from the wall. I
look over his shoulder at the names. All the children are indeed
named after birds. Cardinal. Egret. Hawk. Heron. Ibis. Sparrow.
Raven. And then there is Kestrel Elaine.

"Row 17, Bunk 8. Bottom bunk," Krycek says. We both go down the long
rows of bunks looking for the right one, trying not to wake anyone
up. It isn't that hard to find. Everything is arranged so precisely
here.

I kneel down next to the bed and gently shake her. Her eyes grow wide
with shock upon seeing two men next to her bed and I cover her mouth
to keep her from screaming. She doesn't look scared. Maybe she has no
concept of what can happen to little girls in the outside world.
Maybe that privilege is only for the poor child who is an 'expert' on
serial crimes.

"Kestrel, I'm taking you home," I say to her and she looks confused.
Very confused. She pushes my hand away.

"This ... is my home," she says. She pulls her blankets up around
her tighter, trying to protect herself from the situation we are
putting her in.

"No. A real home. A place with your own room. A yard. A real school.
A mother," I say to her. I open the footlocker that has her name
stenciled on it and dig through it looking for clothes. She owns
nothing that is suitable for her age. Nothing that even appears that
it is from the last decade, let alone this one.

"My ... mother?" she asks and I do not know what answer to give
her. Tell her that her own mother is dead? Is she ready for that? Her
voice has no emotion when she says the word 'mother.' It is as if she
can't miss what she never had. Maybe she doesn't even have a concept
of what a mother can be. I hardly knew myself until Scully had
Christopher.

"No, it isn't your biological mother. But she is a great Mom. And you
will have a brother and ... another brother or sister, soon. And I
will be there," I tell her. She sits up in the bed and looks around
cautiously.

"So, are you my father?" she asks quietly. Her personality is so
different than her self-assured, smooth as silk mother. Or even my
headstrong personality. Although she can appear confident, it is a
facade easy to shatter.

Krycek stops moving, waiting for my answer. Kessie also stops moving,
and holds her breath, waiting.

"From everything I know right now, Kessie, I would have to say yes,"
I say, and she slowly lets out the breath she was holding. I'm sure
she has a million questions. She isn't stupid. On the contrary, from
what Krycek has told me, she is a star pupil in her area, putting
that didactic memory to good use. "I will tell you everything you
need to know once we get out of here. Come on."

I grab some of her clothes and shove them into the backpack I brought
along. She sits up and digs through the footlocker until she comes to
an item hidden at the bottom. A teddy bear.

"We aren't allowed to have them after we turn seven. I've been hiding
him here for around five years," she says, looking at the treasured
stuffed animal. How many stuffed animals does Christopher have? More
than he could ever need. Yet this girl only has this one and she
isn't even allowed to keep it with her at night.

"Kessie, take what you need, but let's get going. I don't think I'll
get a second chance to get you out of here if we get caught," I say,
and she crams her teddy into the bag and slips her feet into her
black shoes. There is no time nor is there a private place for her to
change out of her night clothes. She can do that when we get back to
camp.

"We've got to hurry," Krycek says and he grabs Kessie's hand and
pulls her toward the door. She looks back at me as I chase after them
through the rows of beds, trying to keep up in the dark.



We are barely out of the inner sanctuary of the mountain when we hear
an alarm sound. They must have been waiting for me to make my move.

"Krycek? Are they going to find us in this tunnel?" I ask, as I pull
Kessie along behind me.

"In a few minutes, we should be in an unmarked tunnel. They don't
even know about it," he says. His breath is short and ragged from
running and I don't sound much better. Kessie is perfectly silent.
She doesn't know what to say or how to react.

"You know about it but they don't?" I ask him, finding that hard to
believe. Maybe he's dragging me into some sort of trap.

"I know a lot of things they don't know," he says, and we make a turn
into a part of the tunnel that has none of the lamps. We move into
the darkness, feeling our way against the wall. It is cold and damp
and occasionally my hand runs across water trickling down. I hold
Kessie's hand tight in my other hand. She has yet to say a thing.

Finally, we make another turn and Krycek turns on a flashlight. And
standing before us is the man in the suit. The man who gave me his
presentation just yesterday and told me I would never be able to take
Kestrel out of here.

"Krycek, you son of a bitch!" I say, wanting to kill him for bringing
me to this man. Why would he go through all of this just to end up
here?

"Hold on a minute there, Agent Mulder. I'm not who you think I am.
I'm here to help you," he says with a smile. The man from the parking
garage. The man from the hotel room. Why would he be here?

"Help me how? By taking her back?" I ask. Kessie hides behind me.
Maybe she doesn't know there is more than one of these men in the
world. Or maybe she knows them all.

"No. I'm going to help you by telling you a few things. And giving
you these," he says as he hands me a bundle of papers tied up in a
folder.

I look through them quickly. A birth certificate for Kestrel Elaine
Mulder, born to Fox Mulder and Diana Fowley on November 16, 1991. At
an Army base in Germany. A Social Security card for her. Medical
records. Dental records. Immunization records. Everything we will
need to get her into school. Plus information on her life, photos
from when she was an infant and toddler. Photos from later that look
like school photos. All to make it appear that she has been with me
for her whole life.

"Tell me about her," I say. I pull her from behind me and she stands
next to me, staring at the ground.

"She was born on November 16, 1991. We didn't make that up. And she
was born in Germany. Those are her records. We didn't fabricate any
of it," he says. He notices that 'I' signed the birth certificate.
"Well, we made some of it up."

"Did her mother ever see her? I need to know if she ever saw her
before she gave her up?" I want to know how far Diana's coldness went
in doing this. I need to know what she knew and never bothered to
tell me.

"No, she didn't. She didn't even know if she had a girl or a boy. It
is easier on them that way. And for the child. She was placed with
her 'family' here soon after she was born. Diana Fowley never had
anything to do with Kestrel's life," he tells me and it doesn't make
it any easier.

"Why? Why in the hell did she do it?" I ask, hoping someone knows the
answer. I wish I could ask her. After I got done wrapping my hands
around her neck and shaking her, that is.

"She said she wanted to save her. This was her only way. If she had
other motives, I don't know of them," he says.

"And what is going to happen if I take her out of here?" I ask.
"Beyond the fact that I'm taking a part of the whole and they will
have to get another Inca expert. What is she? Five of Twenty-Six?"

"There are some things that even I do not know, Agent Mulder. The
exact consequences of this are hard to determine. Just be prepared
for the future, knowing you are changing it right now," he says. I
can hear people moving this way, down the tunnel. "You better get out
of here now. You don't have much time."

"But I need to know ..."

"You better get out of here now!" he shouts this time, nodding at
Krycek.

"Mulder, let's go!" Krycek says, grabbing my jacket and pulling me
toward another branch of the tunnel. The noise of pursuit behind us
grows louder. And all we can do is run.

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

Carrot Creek, Alberta, Canada
July 22, 2002
10:25 p.m.

"This is the end of the line for me, Mulder," Krycek says as he pulls
the car over on the side of the road. "Or should I say it is the end
of the line for you."

"What? Can't you get us into Edmonton at least? How in the hell do
you expect us to make it on foot," I say, looking down at the only
shoes Kestrel owns. We are halfway between the park and the nearest
place with an airport to get us out of Canada and back into the
states. "Damn it, Krycek, I don't even have any money."

Krycek reaches under the car seat and digs out a paper bag. He hands
it to me and I discover my weapon, my ID and enough cash to get us
out of Canada without leaving a trail of credit card receipts.

"There is a bus that leaves for Edmonton in the morning. Take a
flight from there to Calgary. Then on to D.C. however you can. There
is enough money there for you to make it that far. And buy her some
clothes so she doesn't stick out like a sore thumb. And Mulder, I
hope you know what you are doing," Krycek says with an mischievous
grin.

"What, Krycek? This can't be all you have planned? Come on? Where is
the hell and brimstone you promised me?" I ask as I collect our few
bags and we both get out of the car.

"In time, my friend. You'll see. In time," he says to me out the
window as he drives off.

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

"Kestrel," I call out as I knock on the adjoining door to the motel
rooms. I have them open a crack just in case she decides to bolt from
here. But where in the hell would she go. She doesn't answer, but I
know she is in there. The outside door never opened. "Kessie?"

I walk in to her room and find her sitting up against the headboard
of one of the double beds, holding on to her teddy bear and a pillow.
She is watching the television. She said they had TV, but not like
this. It was used to show educational programming, not the free range
of 'entertainment' we have in the real world.

"I know about war. It is a part of every civilization and I thought I
had a grasp of it. I thought I knew what those words meant, what it
felt like for those people to die," she says, sounding so much older
than she is. Sometimes she is so childlike. The next moment it is as
if she went from infancy to adulthood and skipped all the stages that
should fall in between.

I look at the TV screen and it shows the latest uprising in the
Middle East. The images of people being carried off on stretchers and
out of bombed-out buses and buildings move quickly across the screen.
Young men, hardly past childhood, chant while waving their weapons in
the air.

"Just be glad you weren't the kid chosen to be the expert on the
Holocaust," I say, as I pick up the remote control and begin flipping
channels.

"Kite Robert. He is that expert," she says, looking down. I hope she
isn't feeling guilty for leaving them all behind.

"Was he a friend of yours?" I ask, as I settle on a baseball game on
some satellite sports channel. The Blue Jays are beating the newest
expansion team.

"Kite was the person I was supposed to marry someday," she says, her
voice holding so little emotion about it one would question whether
she had ever met this person. Or maybe it was just a fact of life.

"Well, now you can marry some guy with a nose ring that you meet in
college. Some guy I will hate properly," I say, sounding like a
father of a girl. Shit. How did that happen so fast?

"Baseball?" she says, looking at the television. Kessie is like one
of those city kids who has only seen cows in pictures. She knows a
lot. Just hasn't experienced a lot.

"Baseball is a wonderful game. I'll have to teach it to you sometime.
Take you to some games. You and Christopher ..."

"Christopher?" she asks. "Is he your son?"

"Yeah. You'll love him. He just turned one earlier this month. Walks.
Barely talks. He's a complete gift from whomever it is that hands out
babies," I say, missing him more than ever. Missing Scully more than
ever. She would know better what to say to a pre-adolescent girl than
I do.

"Babies come from God," she states as if it is fact set in stone.

I hope she knows all the other places babies come from because I'm
not explaining it to her. Scully can handle that.

We sit in silence, both of us leaning against the headboards of
different beds, watching the ball game. After a half an hour, she
picks up the remote control and begins flipping through channels
again before finally turning it off. In minutes I can hear her softly
crying, but I don't know what to do. I need to call Scully. But I
don't know how in the hell I'm going to explain this to her. What is
she going to say? Will she feel like I did when I first saw Emily?
Afraid? Confused?

I need her help so badly. Maybe this will destroy everything. Maybe
she won't accept this.

What have I gotten myself in to?


The End

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

Title: Departures IV 
Author: Jori 
Rating: R for some language
Category: SRA
Keywords: MSR, family-fic
Spoilers: Up to and including US season six
Archive: Yes
Disclaimer: Not mine. They still belong to CC, 1013 and FOX
Summary: The surprise of Kestrel's existence effects everyone in the
Mulder-Scully family.
Author's Notes: This is a short one. It is easier that way right now.
Thanks go out to Mojo for being my wonderful beta reader.
 
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mulder-Scully Household
July 25, 2002
2:45 p.m.

"I need you to come to my mother's house," are the first words Mulder
says when I answer the phone. Not even a typical 'Scully, it's me.'
Something must be wrong.

"Mulder, where in the hell have you been?" I ask. It has been three
days since his last phone call from some place called Carrot Creek.
By the time the call could be traced and Reid could fly out there,
Mulder was gone. All that was left behind was a bill for two rooms
and a description of the person he was traveling with. A girl with
long brown hair.

"I will tell you everything as soon as you get here," he says and I
can hear Mrs. Mulder talking to someone in the background.

"Did you find her? Did you find Samantha?" I ask excitedly. And if he
did, why doesn't he sound happier? "Mulder, what is wrong with her?"

"Scully, just come here. Bring Christopher and come here," he says
one last time. Neither of us says anything for a few seconds. He
offers no more explanations. And I know he won't until I get there.

"Mulder ..."

"Please, Scully. I thought this would be easier here. I need you to
do this for me. To come up here today," he pleads. In typical Mulder
fashion, he doesn't ask how I am. Or how Christopher is. Or ask me
what it was like being pregnant and running all over the countryside
looking for him.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," I say as I hang up on him. Damn.
Now what has he gotten himself involved in?

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

Teena Mulder's House
July 25, 2002
2:50 p.m.

"You should have told her, Fox," my mother says, chiding me right
away. What else did I really expect in coming here?

"It will be easier once she is here," I say. Kessie is sitting in
Mom's living room, looking through old photo albums, trying to figure
out her place in the world.

Mom watches Kessie silently and I know what she is thinking. She has
more than a passing resemblance to Samantha. I know it even though we
never saw Samantha at that age. She was long gone before eleven.

"Fox, how could you not know? Surely you must have suspected
something?" she asks.

Kessie slowly flips another page of the sad testament to the Mulder
family history and she giggles at something. She looks at me before
looking back at the picture. God only knows which one it is that Mom
chose to stick in there. I can hardly wait until she pulls out the
home movies.

"I didn't come here for a lecture. I came here because I thought it
would the best thing for Kessie. And for Scully. I know it is
probably a mistake, but I wasn't ready to go home yet," I say.

She looks at me through narrowed lids, wanting to tell me that I
fucked up again. How dare she accuse me of living in ignorant bliss.
This isn't my fault. All these years, she has known about Samantha
and lived with it. Lived with the guilt of knowing. Yet she deems
herself in a position to judge me.

My mother stirs and stirs the hot tea in front of her. I haven't told
her everything yet. I skipped the part about Samantha not being
'genetically' correct for the colonizing forces. If I am and she
isn't, one of our parents must be different, and I think it is pretty
damn easy to guess which one.

"Mom, who is Samantha's father?" I ask without an iota of emotion in
my voice. She will probably slap me for asking this, but I've got to
know.

Her hand finally stops moving above that steaming tea. She holds it
there as if she has been frozen by my words. She has to acknowledge
me one of these days. I am no longer a child undeserving of answers.

"Fox William Mulder, you know very well who is her father. You both
have the same father and I detest it every time you enter this line
of questioning. Damn it, Fox! Why can't you just believe me?" she
asks. Her voice is full of emotion but most of it is created simply
for the moment. Her eyes betray her words. She is well aware of the
fact that I know the truth on this one now. As much as I want to deny
it, it just is.

"I've heard too many things to believe that anymore. Samantha was
part of a similar project as Kessie. Dad allowed them to take her so
she would be safe. Because he knew that someday, there would be no
way he could guarantee her safety. He did it for you, Mom! Because he
knew how much you loved this other person. How much you loved her
because of it!" I say, my voice becoming loud enough for Kessie to
notice. She shuts the photo album and stares out of the window,
pretending not to hear.

"Don't you dare! Don't you raise your voice to me. You are no better
than I am. Look at that little girl. You trusted her mother so much
that she could do this behind your back and you didn't even bat an
eyelash. She gave away your child for the same reasons we gave away
Samantha. I know how she felt. She had no other choice. They gave her
no other choice. And there is no distance a mother won't go to
protect her child," she says to me, anger punctuating every last
word.

"I guess it just depends on the child, right? Samantha was worthy of
your protection. I never was. Do you know what that feels like?" I
say, just as angry as she is.

"Oh, Fox. Grow up. Soon, you are going to know what it is like to
raise children born of two different people. One person whom you
love. One whom you don't. A person that you aren't sure you ever
loved. You are going to see just how damn hard it is to be impartial.
To not be drawn to one child more than the other. You'll see. And I
hope this whole mess blows up in your face someday," she says.

"Never. I will never treat any of my children the way you treated
me," I shout at her.

She stands up and walks out of the kitchen, leaving her tea behind. I
hear the door to the garden slam shut as she stomps out of the house.

So much for all the mother-son progress we had made. Fucking blown
away in one afternoon.



I try very hard to unclench my jaw, so I can say something, but it
isn't working. I did manage to unclench my fists and my hands now
hang passively at each side. They are trembling, but at least I don't
look like I'm going to punch someone.

Though God knows I would like to.

"Jasper ... in a mountain. Canada ..." I finally manage to say,
repeating key elements of his story. I have yet to work to the words
'Diana' and 'child' into his tale yet.

I look out the French doors. Mrs. Mulder has Christopher on her lap
while ... the girl ... watches and plays with him, tickling his
toes and making him giggle.

Damn it. She looks just like her mother. She is pale with dark hair
and dark eyes. There is no way she could be considered mine by a
casual on-looker. She looks as if she has never seen the sun, and if
Mulder's story is true, that would have been the case until he took
her out of this 'place' he keeps talking about.

But my mind keeps coming back one thing. The bitch pulled this off
without him having a damn clue. He trusted her that much. He always
did.

"Scully, I didn't know," Mulder says one more time. If he says it
again, I might have to ball up my hands into fists again and sock him
in the jaw.

"How could you not know? Where in the hell were you when she was
supposedly miscarrying that child? How in the hell did she pull this
one past you? Oh, never mind. I know the answer to that. You trusted
her. She never lied to you before, right? She had no reason to lie,"
I say to him loudly. Good thing Christopher is out of the house. He
doesn't need to hear this. Neither does the girl.

"How in the hell was I supposed to know? It isn't like I'm her mother
and *should* know about her existence," he says, and I can feel the
tears spring to my eyes.

"Don't you fucking dare, Mulder. Don't you assume that I should have
known about Emily," I shout at him. Son of a bitch. That one hurt and
he knows it.

"But what if more Emilys show up? They will be your child, but not
mine. Does that mean we wouldn't take them in?" he asks me, still
using Emily for his own purposes.

"It isn't the same, Mulder. Emily was 'manufactured' without my
knowledge. I'm sure you were quite aware when this child was made," I
say.

He just stands before me, without anything to say now. He looks
tired. And confused. Goddamn him for doing this now.

But he is right. If she were mine, I would have brought her home,
too. But Emily didn't have a father that he detested. Or maybe he
simply detests the fact that she ever existed. That I had something
without him. Almost gave it all up for something that had nothing to
do with him.

"Scully, I didn't know what to do. The only thing I could think was I
couldn't leave her there. She needs a family. I'm her family, whether
you like it or not," he says to me, his voice calm and even.

"How, Mulder? How did she pull this one past you for all those
years?" I ask him. He always trusted that woman. Right until the end
when he went plowing up the Sandia Mountains with her. She could lie
about me. About what she was. About who she was working for. It
didn't matter. He believed her lies. And he believed this one, too.

"I don't know, Scully. I came back from an out of town assignment one
day to find Diana crying in the dark. She told me she lost the baby.
How was I supposed to know she was lying? Everything seemed to fit
the story," he says, defending her once again.

I can just see her cowering in a dark corner, manipulating him with a
lie. The worst of lies. She was the best at lying. Maybe she isn't
even dead. Maybe that is one of her lies, too.

Once again, I stare out the door at both children. She smiles easily,
although I sensed a trace of apprehension when I first arrived. She
could sense how I felt right away. Sense the friction between me and
her ... father.

Oh, God. What am I supposed to say to a preadolescent girl I don't
know? She will live with us. She will be my child as much as she is
his. That is how it is going to have to work.

What if Diana's family wants her? Is that an option?

She stands, picks Chris up and carries him into Mrs. Mulder's summer
garden. She is at ease in any situation. Carries herself well. Like
her damn mother. So smooth. So easy.

Damn it, Dana. She isn't her mother. She never knew her mother. She
is as much Mulder as she is Diana.

Mulder comes up behind me and puts his arms around me, placing his
hands on my abdomen. Over *our* daughter. He doesn't even know about
the tests I went through while he was gone. My mother sat with me,
holding my hand, while I was poked and prodded.

Dylan didn't lie. It is a girl. Just not Mulder's first.



"Where is she going to sleep?" she asks as I drive. It is the first
thing she has said in the last hour. The kids are asleep in the back
seat. Chris in his carseat. Kessie has her head against the side of
his seat, her hands folded neatly on her lap.

"In the guest room for a while. We have a four bedroom house. I will
clear out my study and you can make it the nursery for the baby," I
tell her. I don't need the room. When in the hell am I ever going to
have time to use it? "I'll give up the lease on the apartment. That
is a waste of money that we will be needing elsewhere now."

I'm sure right now she would love to tell me to take this kid and
just go back to that place, but I know she won't. As much as she
would like to, since it concerns a child, she will keep her anger in
check in their presence.

"Shoes? Braces? Cars? Prom dresses? College? Weddings?" she asks, as
if listing out all the expenses will make me change my mind about
Kestrel and I'll drop her back off in Canada.

"I have enough money put away to send them all to a nice, little
community college, you know, unless the end of civilization as we
know it comes before then. We can always hope that will be the case,"
I say and she smiles a slight, nearly imperceptible smile. For the
first time today. "And the baby ..."

"It is a girl," she says softly.

Shit. I forgot all about the doctor's appointments when I ran off on
this expedition. Forgot I was supposed to be there. I seem to have
fucked up everything today. Not just little fuck ups, either. Big,
life altering fuck ups.

"Is she okay?" I ask, already knowing the answer is yes. She has to
be. They saw to that.

"According to the various tests they performed, she is perfect,"
Scully says. I catch her looking into the mirror we have set up to
keep an eye on Christopher. But I know what she is really looking at.
"How could anybody give away their child to something like you
described?"

"Scully, I don't know. And the only person I could ask is dead. I
don't know her true motivations. I can only hope she was sincerely
concerned about her. That this was her only option," I tell her,
hoping beyond hope that this is the case.

"What if there was something else? Something we don't know about
yet?" she asks, still staring back in that mirror.

"What am I supposed to do, Scully? Put her back there because of what
her mother was or did? That would make me no better than Diana in a
way. This isn't going to be easy. She's never had a home. Hell, she
never saw daylight until a few days ago. And God only knows what they
have taught her," I say, sighing. I know what Scully is trying to
say. She doesn't want this child to ruin what we have. That would be
Diana's best vengeance for not always getting what she wanted.

But could she have known eleven years ago that someday it would come
to this? Was someone telling her the future? We were married. We had
a home and something of a life together. Neurotic and dysfunctional
as it was, it was still a life. Yet, she chose to leave me. To leave
this child somewhere to be raised by strangers. I can't put all the
little pieces together.

She is supposed to destroy us. Change the future. But no one says
how. If she was going to destroy the future, why didn't they just
destroy her?

Scully suddenly turns to look out the window. I look in the rear view
mirror and see why. Kestrel is now awake and silently watching us.


The End

So you like baby fic, do you? Please go read Mojo's 'Intimacy Deux'
series which can be found at:
http://members.aol.com/mojober/index.html

I highly recommend it!!

Feedback always loved! Write me at damienma@bellsouth.net


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

Title: Homefront 
Author: Jori 
Rating: PG-13
Category: SR
Keywords: MSR, family fic
Summary: It is time for Mulder and Scully to face the
various complexities of their homelife.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to 1013, CC, FOX, DD and
GA
Archive: Yes
Spoilers: Everything up through US season six



Scully-Mulder Household
August 13, 2002
10:21 a.m.

Kestrel is sitting on her bed in the guest room, all alone,
reading an old college textbook of mine. Physics, I believe.
She must have found it in one of the many boxes of books I
have packed up in the closet. She reads ... no, studies it
with an intensity unexpected from an eleven year old girl.
It is as if she expected to devour it simply because it is a
book. 

Over the last few days, I've begun to notice less of her
mother in her and more of Mulder. Maybe it is just because I
didn't know Fowley that well. Or maybe it is just wishful
thinking on my part. 

"Kessie?" I ask and she slowly raises her head out of the
book and looks at me with those eyes I can't quite place.
Not exactly Mulder's. No, Christopher inherited those. And
not her mother's. 

"Yes?" she asks. She looks at me and then looks at the book
on her lap. "Oh, I'm sorry. I should have asked you first. I
didn't mean to ..."

"I don't mind. If you want to read about Einstein, go for
it. I was just wondering if you would like to go shopping
with me and my mother this afternoon?" I ask. 

I am beginning to get used to having this stranger in my
house. Soprano and Kestrel have grown close in just a matter
of weeks. Closer than I feel I will ever be to her. Soprano
took her shopping one afternoon, and helped her pick out
what all the kids are wearing these days. And took her to
get her hair cut so she wouldn't look like a little girl
with braids. She is actually quite pretty when she is
dressed appropriately for her age. Why wouldn't she be? Look
at her parents. 

I try not to think about it, but it is so damn hard not to. 

"Are you shopping for the baby?" she asks, as she watches me
stand there with my hands on my slightly rounded stomach. 

"The baby," I say, and she looks away from me. "And for
you."

I sympathize with her. I know how awful it was when I lost
control of my life. And she never had a life before her
control was taken away. She has always lived under the will
and dictate of others. How could her mother have done this
to her? 

"For me?" she asks. I have yet to take her anywhere but the
grocery store. The world is new to her, yet at the same time
it is like she knows everything. She knows what everything
is, but has seen so little. 

"Yes. You. Wouldn't you like to do this room the way you
would like it? We can go shopping for some new bedding.
Would you like that?" I ask, looking around at the random
furniture we threw in here. Some bookcases. My old bed. And
the peach curtains that came with the house. 

"This is fine. This is better than anything I've ever had
before," she says as she opens the book again. 

"Come on, Kestrel. Soprano can come with us if you would
like. She'll help you pick some stuff out for your room," I
say, and that stirs up her interest. "And then you can help
me with the baby's room."

"Is, um ... Fox going to come with?" she asks. She still
hasn't found any comfortable names to call us. As far as we
know, she has never called anyone mom and dad and I can tell
she isn't sure if she should start now. Besides, she knows
I'm not her mother. 

"No, Mulder is out with some friends. Getting the rest of
his stuff out of his old apartment," I say, and she looks
away from me. The two of them have formed some kind of bond
already. I imagine that is only natural. They are alike in
so many ways. But her favorite person in the house is still
Soprano. 

"Okay. I'll go," she says, as if she is doing me a favor. 

I turn around and leave her. Someday, I *will* get used to
this. 

*

Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia
11:05 a.m. 

"Hey, Mulder, can I have these since, well, you know ...
you don't need them anymore?" Frohike asks and I turn to
look at the items in question. 

He is holding up several video cassette boxes displaying
pictures of a variety of pretty young women gyrating for the
camera. Of course, this reminds me that Frohike has already
seen his ultimate dream in the porno world. Well, almost
ultimate. Perhaps if it had been him instead of me with
Scully, it would be his ultimate dream. 

I imagine he has already digitally removed my face and
inserted his. 

"Sure. I already took the best ones home," I say. 

"Yeah. I noticed that when I was at your house while you
were out playing Lewis and Clark with your pal," he grumbles
as he puts them in a box of stuff he has already claimed. 

"You went through my stuff at my own house?" I ask.

"I had to do something while your delicious nanny was at
school and I was watching your progeny," he answers. I had
no idea that this was going on while I was gone. 

"Soprano is delicious?"

"Oh, man ..." 

"So, when are Byers and Langly getting here?" I ask, not
wanting to know about Frohike and the person I thought was
sensible enough to watch my son. 

"Langly is still working on getting that info for you, dude.
Since that military base has been closed since peace broke
out across Germany in the '90s, he has to go through a few
extra steps. And Byers is adding a few magic touches to the
paper before it goes to press. They swore they'd be here by
noon," Frohike answers as he continues to pack. 

"Then why are you here?" I ask. I throw another pile of
papers into a box. I didn't realize how much crap I left
here until I tried to fit it all in a couple of boxes.

"So I could scavenge the best stuff," Frohike says, as he
leafs his way through another issue of Playpen magazine. He
finds the centerfold, turns the magazine sideways and lets
out a whistle of admiration. 

"Just take it, will you. The sight of you panting over Miss
February '92 is turning me on," I say and he slaps the
magazine shut quickly before tossing it in his box. 

"So, Mulder, what is it like having the old adage come
true?" Frohike asks and I have no idea what he is talking
about. 

"What adage would that be?" I ask as I finally just empty
the box of papers into a big trash bag. I haven't needed
them in over a year. I doubt I will need them now. 

"You know. The old 'I have one kid or at least one that I
know of' thing," he says. 

Kestrel is actually mine. The DNA test proved it beyond a
shadow of a doubt. I imagine Scully was hoping it was going
to prove otherwise, but it didn't. I don't believe she has
anything against Kestrel. And knowing the way she feels
about children, she would never demand that I figure out
something else to do with her. I believe she just wishes
Kestrel had any other mother in the world besides Diana. 

"It was quite surprising," I say. I'm not really in a
'sharing and caring' mood right now. And I don't need any
more lectures about how I should have known better. I should
have known she never lost that baby. 

"I just hope that never happens to me, man," Frohike says.

"Frohike, the rest of the world also hopes you didn't
reproduce yourself and forgot about it," I say. 

"Trust me. If I got a chance to reproduce, I wouldn't forget
about it," he mutters as he goes back to work. "Hey, Mulder.
You want this? Because if you don't ..."

I turn around expecting him to be holding up another dirty
magazine. But instead it is an old photograph of Scully and
me. We are both wearing FBI jackets and we look like we've
been up all night. We probably had been. I recall the crime
scene tech taking the picture and later asking me if I
wanted it. Once, it was the only picture of the two of us
together I had after the office was torched. 

We look so much younger in the picture. And so separate from
each other. I flip it over, hoping I thought to write the
exact date on it. Just what I thought. Sometime in early
1999. Oh, those were the best of times. 

But I kept the picture anyway. It was stashed away in my
various desk drawers for a while at work. And then it made
its way home and into my prized collection of family photos
in my desk. Funny thing is, she wasn't yet family then. Now
we have plenty of photos of us together. I don't know how
this photo got separated from the rest. 

"What are you going to do with it, Frohike? Put your head on
my body, take out the FBI jacket and add a fuzzy vest?" I
say, placing the photo in a box of somewhat important
papers. 

"No, I was going to take her head ..." he starts before I
stop him. 

"Haven't you seen enough?" I ask. 

"Of Agent Scully? How could anyone ever get enough?" he asks
with a sly smile. 

Yes. How could they?

*

A Pea In The Pod Maternity Apparel
Silver Spring, Maryland
2:05 p.m.

"Dana, I don't see why you are so upset. Fox didn't know. I
wouldn't say this is exactly all his fault," Mom tells me as
I look at a sale rack for a new maternity suit for work.
Unfortunately, my two children will be born in opposite
seasons, so a lot of my clothes from my pregnancy with
Christopher just aren't going to work this time around. 

"I know, Mom. It isn't his fault. I'm just angry that he
trusted that ... that woman so much, and she used that
trust for this," I say. I've tried to explain to her where
Mulder found his daughter, but the story just seems too
ridiculous. 

"I think you are more angry at Diana than you are at him. I
think there is something in you that just can't believe
someone would give up a beautiful child without a good
cause. But since no one really knows why she did it ... "
she says. She pulls out a deep purple colored suit and holds
it in front of me. I shake my head no. No reason to look
like an eggplant all the way. 

"I'm sure the reason she did it was purely selfish," I
mutter. My mother hangs up the suit and looks out into the
mall to where Kestrel and Soprano are sitting. They each are
sipping on fresh lemonade and eating soft pretzels.
Christopher is napping in his stroller and they take turns
pushing and rocking it. Or at least they were the last time
I looked that way. 

"Dana, something has got to change in this relationship of
yours. Either you love him or you don't. Either you stay or
you walk away," Mom says, and it startles me that she would
even suggest such a thing. I always assumed she's secretly
embarrassed that we aren't married yet. I can't even imagine
her proposing that her single daughter should raise two kids
alone. Or that I would think of leaving Mulder.

"Wha ...?" I start to ask, but she interrupts me. 

"All relationships have bad times, but from your
perspective, it doesn't even sound like the two of you had
ever had a single happy period yet. Besides Chris, that is.
I know the two of you love him, but do you love each other
anymore? Or did you ever love him, Dana?" she asks. She
pulls out another dress and hold it up for me to look at,
almost as if she isn't discussing the most important issues
in my life. 

"Yes. I ... do. He does. *We* do," I say. I feel the tears
welling up in my eyes and I can't believe she would ask
that. I do love him. I do. I do. I do. 

Don't I? Yes. I must. 

"Then act like it," she says, hanging up a navy blue dress
this time and staring at me over the rack. 

"I, ah ... just ..." I say, not even able to get a
sentence out right now. 

"Did I ever tell you about the time I heard rumors that your
father was seeing someone else?" she asks, finally breaking
her stare. I know that my jaw just dropped with that
proclamation. "It was an awful period in my life. In *our*
lives. But it wasn't true. I never stopped trusting him.
Believing in him. We got through it together. That is the
only way the two of you are going to get through this. So
you have to decide if that is what you really want to do."

We remain silent for several minutes, pretending to care
about the clothes hanging in front of us. I pull a black
suit out and hold it in my folded arms. I know I'm trying to
hide from this whole conversation. I know the answers aren't
that easy. It isn't just 'stay or go.' We are a long way
past that. She finally walks around the rack to the side I'm
on takes the suit out of my arms and wraps her arms around
me. 

"Our lives just keep spinning out of control, Mom. *We*
aren't the ones in control of any of it. And I think what I
hate most about the idea of that little girl isn't that she
exists, or even that Diana is her mother, but that she was
created because they loved each other. Neither my son nor
this baby were created just because ..." I say, and the
tears start flowing. "Just because we love each other. It is
as if they have just stolen one more thing from me. I don't
hate him for this. I certainly don't hate that child who has
less control than we do. I just don't know who it is that
has all this control. I don't know who to hate."

"None of us are in complete control of our lives, sweetie.
Not you. Not Fox. Do you think he wants bad things to happen
to you?" she asks, still holding me tight. I say nothing for
I don't know what to say. "When you were abducted, I
sometimes thought he was going to die from the guilt ...
and from missing you . I would meet with him, to hear any
information he might have about you, and he could barely
look at me at first. He was lost without you. I made him a
part of our family, included him in every decision. Even the
hardest decision I've ever had to make in my life. And you
know what? He couldn't do it. Couldn't let you go."

"Why are you telling me this now?" I ask. I look out into
the mall and am glad that Soprano took Kessie and Chris
away. They don't need to see me having an emotional
breakdown right now. 

"You think your two children weren't created out of love? I
don't know two people alive who love each other more. The
two of you fought it tooth and nail for years. And you
*still* fight it. But Christopher, this baby girl and even
that child that isn't yours are all here now and well taken
care of because you love each other. Who cares how they were
conceived? That doesn't matter. All that matters is that you
love each other enough to make it through this. To raise
those children. To spend the rest of your lives together,"
she says to me, as she still holds on to me. Anyone who
passes would just assume I'm an emotional pregnant woman
having a breakdown about buying a bigger size. But nothing
is ever that simple in my life. "You have got to get over
this period of your relationship. You have got to find a
happier place." 

"This just isn't what I ever expected," I say, and we break
our hold on each other. "None of this is what I planned
for."

"It never is, dear. It never is."

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

Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia
3:30 p.m.

Byers stands before me with a grim look on his face as
Langly hand me a folder. I open it and find only one thing. 

A picture of Diana holding a toddler on her hip with a
slightly older girl standing next to her. They are standing
next to the woman who was introduced to me as my sister a
few years ago. Or at least another rendition of her. And
they look like they know each other well. 

Either child could be Kestrel at a different age. It is hard
to tell. The children aren't facing the camera and all I can
make out is that they both have dark hair. 'Samantha' has
one hand on the toddlers's arm, as if she is soothing her. I
remember this person who is supposed to be my sister telling
me she had a life. She had children. Are these her
daughters? Could they be my nieces? Or is one hers and one
mine?

I can also tell that they are not in America or Canada in
this picture. It could be Germany. Isn't that where Kessie
was born? Where Diana lived? 

"Where in the hell did you get this?" I ask as I find myself
only able to focus on the picture and its contents.

"I promised not to reveal my sources. They were already
freakin' when I told them this was for a fibbie friend of
mine. I doubt I'll ever hear from him again," Langly says,
and he doesn't budge from that position when I open my mouth
to protest. 

"Come on, you long haired hippie, who in the hell had this?
It's important," Frohike says, and an argument ensues in my
former living room.

I look at the picture, trying to understand it all. If the
little girl is Kessie, why wouldn't she remember her mother?
Is she that good of an actress? Did they do something to her
or did Diana let them?

And Samantha. Well, that smoking bastard was the one who
arranged our meeting. Diana was one of his groupies for
years. The pieces could all be placed together easily. But
that doesn't explain everything. Like who these children
are. And why she did what she did. 

All I know is if Diana knew where Samantha was and if she
had Kestrel all these years and didn't tell me, I will dig
her cold body up out of her grave and kill her again myself.
Just to make sure. 



Continued in Part 2


Title: Christopher Scully: Homefront 2 of 2

*

Scully-Mulder Household
6:24 p.m.

"She could be either of them, Mulder. I don't know. The
girls look like they could be sisters ... or cousins," I
say, handing him back the picture. "Where did you get this?"

"Some anonymous source of Langly's. I had the boys looking
for records of any births at American Army bases in the
early '90s and this is what they came up with. Who knows
from where," he says, as he puts the picture down on the
table in front of him. 

"If I had to say either of them was your ... daughter, I'd
have to guess from the way they are dressed and the cars in
the back ground that the toddler in Fowley's arms is yours .
. . hers. This would then have been taken in 1992 or 1993.
From the age of the child, I'd guess the later ..." I say,
trying to provide him with the answers he's looking for. 

I simply don't have them. 

"Where is Kessie?" he asks, as if he just noticed the house
is silent and we are the only two here. 

"Soprano and my mother took Kessie and Chris to the park . .
. so we could talk," I say. I didn't know he would be coming
home with this. This isn't what I wanted to discuss with
him. 

 I watch as he takes off his reading glasses and rubs his
eyes. I have to always remind myself that this is hard on
him, too. This is not something he asked for anymore than I
did. I have to remember how I felt when I discovered Emily.
How angry I was at the people who did that to her and to me.
How I wanted to give her the life she deserved. 

He must feel the same about Kessie. She's his child. Just
two years ago, I would not have expected him to react with
the same sense of devotion that he is now. Parenting has
changed both of us. Hopefully for the better. 

My mother is right. The only way we are going to get through
this is together. 

"Talk about what?" he asks.

"It can wait for a while," I say as I hear the front door
open, Mom and Soprano laughing about something. 


"Kessie, come here," Mulder says, and she approaches
silently, as if she has done something wrong. He slides the
picture over to her. "Do you know either of these women?"

She picks up the picture and examines it carefully. She
looks puzzled as she touches the images slowly with the tip
of her index finger. 

"I know them ... but I don't know them. I think I might
have met them before in the mountain. But besides that, I
don't know," she says calmly. I can't tell if she is lying
or not. 

"This woman. Did you ever see her there?" Mulder asks,
pointing at the woman he believes to be his sister. 

"Maybe. I'm not sure," she answers. She always sounds afraid
of giving the wrong answer. This time I don't know what
answer Mulder is looking for. 

"Kessie, what is your earliest memory?" he asks. Since she
was taken to that place as an infant, her first memory
should be there. "Think very hard about this. I need to
know."

She closes her eyes, letting her mind drift back to her
early childhood. I can see a troubled look passing over her
face, as if the memory confuses her. 

"I remember Christmas morning," she says after much
deliberation. "Everybody was happy and celebrating. I
remember the twinkling lights and the big tree. I remember
opening gifts. The house ..."

"House?" Mulder asks, and her face twists trying to
understand what it is she remembers. It takes her a few more
moments to answer. These memories have been shut away for
years. Maybe being with a family again is helping to bring
them out of the recesses of her mind. 

"A house ... not as big as this one ... and this woman
was there," she says, pointing at Fowley. "And a man. I
can't remember all of it."

Her face has grown pale as she realizes she did have a
family before. She knew nothing of life except that place
where she lived for the last several years. 

I look up and see my mother leaning against the wall,
Christopher held on her hip. She is curious as to what is
going on. I'm glad she is getting to see how fast it all
spins out of control first hand. 

"I don't remember," she answers. Tears begin to form in her
eyes as she stares at the picture. "Who is this woman?"

"Your mother," Mulder answers and she puts the picture down.


"Can I go now?" she asks, shoving her hands deep into her
pockets and looking the part of the reticent preteen. 

"I would like you to come with me tomorrow to talk to
someone. He's a doctor. He will help you remember these
things," he tells her. 
 
She looks to me to see if it is okay and then she looks for
Soprano. 

"I guess ..." she says, sounding worried about it. 

"It will be okay, Kessie. Nobody will hurt you," I say,
remembering all too well my experience with Dr. Werber. We
will all be there for you."

"Okay," she answers before heading out the door with Soprano
again. 

"I hope you know what you are doing," my mother says as she
hands Christopher over to his father. "I hope this doesn't
make it all worse."

*

Scully-Mulder Household
10:07 p.m.

I still can't put this photo down. Her deception was so
complete, so well planned out, that I can only imagine what
or who else might have been caught up in her sticky little
web. 

I sit out in the warm night air, on Scully's porch swing,
avoiding everybody else in the house. Scully has been
dancing around the real issues for days. I think she would
feel so much better if she just said 'I told you so' and got
it over with. Or maybe what she really wants to say is 'get
the hell out.' 

I trusted Diana. A part of me is still hoping this can't be
true. I look at the picture for signs that it was altered or
touched up in any way. I will take it to the photo unit at
the Hoover building Monday. They will be able to tell me
everything that I already know. That it is real. She did do
this. 

But why? Diana had to have some motivation behind keeping
this child from me. Behind keeping my sister from me. I just
can't even imagine what the motivating factor might be.
Somehow I have to find out. Perhaps the answers to the
question of why she did it will open up the answers to so
many more questions. 

This picture contains a family ... my family. My sister.
My daughter. Perhaps my niece. Yet she thought she had the
right to keep it all from me. Now I have to find the two
unaccounted for elements in the photograph. 

Scully opens one of the French doors, steps out onto the
porch and closes it behind her quietly. She is dressed in
her pajamas already even though it is just past 10 p.m. and
she looks exhausted. She has every right to be. 

She stands in front of me, and I reach out and touch her
stomach. It is only starting to gain that familiar curve
again that I find so beautiful. She puts her hands over mine
and holds it there. 

"You said we needed to talk?" I ask her. She doesn't say
anything for several minutes. She just stands there in the
darkness, my hand and hers together over our baby. 

"Yes, we do," she says as she moves away from my touch and
sits down next to me. I pull her to me, wrapping her in my
arms. 

The picture is sitting on my lap and she looks down at it.
"I'm sorry ..."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. There is nothing to be
sorry for. It happened. I missed it," I say to her, taking
the picture and setting it aside. 

"I am still sorry she did this to you," she says softly. 

I count down the months until this child is born. Five more
months. It seems so long to wait and it isn't even my body.
I feel hers through the silky pajamas, trying to remember
what she felt like when she was at full term with
Christopher. It wasn't that long ago. I should remember it
all, but it is amazing how fast those memories escape and
turn into new memories. 

Who put their hands on Diana's pregnant belly and felt my
child move? Who was with her when my child was born? Who
held my child first? Shared her first Christmas? Birthday? 

I will never know. The only person who knows most of these
answers took them to the grave with her. Unless I find this
person who might be my sister. That is always where the
answers lie. 

Scully sighs next to me. A loud sigh of exhaustion. 

"Tired?" I ask and she nods yes. "Why don't you go to bed?
We can talk in the morning."

"I'd rather stay here with you," she answers, snuggling in
closer. I don't know what I would do without her. Or the
children. Or this life we have created. 

But I don't even know if she is happy with this life. 

"What would you change about our life right now?" I ask her
and I hear her sigh again. "Try to keep the list below one
hundred items."

"I wish you would just forget her," Scully says, pointing at
the picture. I know she doesn't mean Samantha. There is only
one person she can be referring to. "And I don't mean forget
her because I'm jealous, because I'm not jealous of a dead
woman. I want you to forget her so we can move forward."

"It isn't that easy. I see her every single day now in
Kessie. I'm reminded of everything she ever did every time
Kessie talks or makes a certain expression," I say. I'm sure
Scully is reminded, too. 

"Mulder, anything her mother did is not her fault. She is a
good kid who has gone through hell because of the games
adults play. Now it is our job to show her what life can
really be like," she says. 

"Can we?" I ask. "Our life together is hardly normal. Look
at us. It will never be normal and you know that."

"It is more normal than anything she's ever experienced. She
will have a mom and a dad and a brother and a sister.
Perhaps someday, when things slow down, we might even
consider getting a dog."

"Just not one of those yappy furry things you like ..."

"I'll let you pick," she says. 

I slide my hand down underneath the silky waistband of her
pajama bottoms and discover that she has nothing on
underneath. Her skin is so smooth as I slide my hand across
her abdomen, not moving any lower. Now isn't the time for
that. 

"You won't ever take them away from me, will you?" I ask her
as my hand stops roaming and rests on top of our child once
more. "No matter how angry you might ever be at me? No
matter what the future might hold?"

"No. I will never take them away from you," she whispers to
me and I believe her fully. That is not something she would
ever do.

"And do you love me?" I ask, expecting another sigh. But
that isn't what she answers with. 

"Yes. Yes, I most certainly do."


       The end


More Christopher Scully stories here
http://www.geocities.com/mulderscreek/fics/christopherscully.html

Author's Notes: Mojo, you are the greatest. Thanks for
everything!!!