Al breezed through the chamber door, and began barking 
orders, oblivious to the fact that the project computer 
specialist was doing a delicate balancing act with a mother 
board and a toolbox. 

"Goushie! I want anything you can get...job and med 
history, grocery lists, favorite TV shows, favorite 
Backstreet Boy on somebody named Justin Leo, SSN 138-42-
1013 PRONTO! We had a major situation back there. 
Verbeena," he said, turning to a very ragged Project 
psychologist, "I want you to round up all the slicers and 
dicers we got...I need forensics to go through the autopsy 
reports with a fine-tooth comb looking for any 
discrepancies. Tina," he said, I want every possible 
scenario with this Billy Miles guy. Time ain't a luxury!" 
He spat, and went into the waiting room, collapsing into 
the chair behind his desk. 

"Admiral, I've been looking at these police reports, and 
there's nothing solid to convict 'im on. It's all 
circumstantial evidence...there's no real proof here. 
There's no corroborating testimony for Mulder's whereabouts 
except for Scully's saying she..." here, his jaw dropped, 
"was with him that night." 

Al nodded. "Before we hafta mop your tongue off the floor, 
between you and me, Doggett, Scully and Mulder had a thing 
for each other years ago, but either couldn't tell the 
other their feelings until...as far as I can figure...just 
before he was abducted." 

"Goddammit Al...Mulder's a jack-ass, but he's no murderer. 
I know he wouldn't kill anybody unless it was in the line 
of duty. Tell your friend Becket that if Mulder needs a 
lawyer I got a friend back home in Georgia named Matlock. 
He's a bit expensive and beats around the bush worse than 
Columbo, but with a case this strong, I bet he would come 
outta retirement." 

"Thanks, Doggett...but now, Ziggy's saying Mulder doesn't 
even go to trial. If we don't do something fast, history's 
gonna repeat itself. How'd you figure with Mulder and 
Scully?" 

"I'm not blind, Admiral...I think I figured out that soap-
opera plot the day Scully threw water in my face. I'm just 
shocked she admitted it. What I don't get is how they got a 
warrant passed. Whatever got 'em to pass the buck on that, 
I ain't buyin'." 

"What do you know of the syndicate?" 

"A former conspiracy outfit that ended with the deaths of 
an anonymous Smoking Man and a former FBI agent named Alex 
Krycek." Al shook his head slowly. 

"Not former." 

"You have *got* to be shittin' me, Al...I saw Krycek's 
body!" 

"It' ain't Ratboy...it's Old Smokey...he's back." 

"The cat came back, thought he was a gonner..." was all 
Doggett managed to mumble. 

"You think there's someone workin' inside the police 
department?" Al posed, making a face as he took a long 
draught of strong, bitter coffee. 

"Damn possible." 

Meanwhile
Back to the present

The face was badly burned. The lips and nose were nothing 
more but a gooey mishmash of fried flesh. The right hand 
was burned onto the face, covering the other face, in a 
self-defensive movement. One eyelid was fused shut. Scully 
carefully cut the hand after from the face, grimacing at 
the noise of crusty flesh breaking apart. The other eyelid 
was half-open, the eye itself blue and staring, looked up 
at Scully. 

Scully stared at the eye, her eyebrows furrowed in thought. 
She put the scalpel down and went to the thick police file 
on the counter. She flipped it open and stared at the crime 
photographs. "On re-examination of the crime scene 
pictures, when the subject was recovered from the river, it 
was in a garbage sack. The right hand was covering the 
upper potion of the face, as if warding off an attack." She 
looked at the picture of Ben Starkweather the police used 
to ask Mulder if he "knew this man." 

"Oh my God!" Scully exclaimed! She looked at the body 
again, looked at the picture. 

In the photograph, Ben, very clearly had brown eyes. The 
body's one open staring eye was blue. 
Scully ran for her phone and dialed. 

"Detective Carillo." 

Scully stopped. "Sorry, wrong number," she muttered as she 
hung up. She re-dialed. 

"Assistant Director Skinner." 

"Sir, it's me. I need to talk to you. I need to talk to 
someone that I can trust. I think I have proof that Mulder 
is being set up." 

"Don't say anything more. Come here, quickly." Skinner hung 
up. 

Scully took out her digital camera, took pictures of the 
body's face and eye, put the camera back in the bag and 
called Quantico's assistant coroner. "Can you finish this 
autopsy, something's come up, I need take care of my son." 
She smiled. As much as she loved her son... she had to 
admit, he made a great excuse for a quick getaway. 

What we need," Scully said, putting Will down in the 
playpen, is to get some connection between this murder and 
the oil rig." 

"I wish I could get you clearence into something that would 
help, Scully...but I honestly don't know what to tell 
you..." 

"I used to know Admiral Bailey from when our families would 
spend the summers on Martha's Vineyard. I did some digging 
and found out that he's taken some recent flights there." 

"You think he's hiding something at the vacation house?" 
Skinner finished. 

"It's very possible...could you get me a warrant for 
searching the premesis?" 

"I'll do what I can...but remember if Kersh is in on this, 
he may be hesitant to issue permission to search." 

"We've got other avenues besides Kersh, Sir...I think if we 
can get into that house, we can find the proof we're 
looking for." 

"I have no intentions of transferring Starkweather, Scully, 
but I may relocate her to a new division. She's against its 
senior member because of your ties to the founder...it's 
obstructing the case." 

"Sir, I think she'll understand once we bring evidence to 
light that Mulder isn't guilty and I don't think there'll 
be a need to transfer her. She's good for the x-files." 

"I'll trust your judgement on that. If I'm going to get 
that search warrant issued, I'd better hurry before 
everyone goes home for the night." 

"Thank you for all your help on this, Sir." 

"Scully, off the record, I've got too much invested in you, 
Mulder, and that damn basement office to sit back and watch 
it all go down the drain now...it's as much my fight as it 
is yours. I have a warrant to get...and you..." he said 
looking from Will to Scully, "have some a--" he stopped 
himself, "I mean, uh...you know what I mean....Call me when 
you find something. Be careful. That's an order." 

"Don't worry, I will." Scully said, ushering him out the 
door. She turned on her computer, and booked the first 
flight the next day with the FBI credit card to Martha's 
Vineyard.

D.C. County Jail  
*****************  
"Mulder, you've got a visitor" The gaurd yelled, upset. 
"Your attorney's here. 

"Attorney? I don't have an attorney..." Mulder's nose 
crinkled in confusion as his mind reeled through any 
possibility. 

"The law fairy," the guard grumbled. 

"I guess in this profession you gotta keep a sense of 
humor, huh?" Mulder mumbled, and was lead into a room with 
tables split between cages. 

At one of the cages, waiting for Mulder's arrival was a 
young man with sandy hair and a thin smile, that, for now, 
had a small bandage over it. 

"I am with the law firm Carter, Spangle, and Adams,
Mr. Mulder. I read about your case and have heard a 
lot about you. Just from glancing over the police and 
autopsy reports, I can see that most of the pile of 
evidence against you is a bunch of circumstantial crap. 
I think we can build a good case toward proving your 
innocence." 

"I heard lots of lawyer jokes, but never actually thought 
somebody would rough one up, what happened?" Mulder asked, 
gesturing to the nasty gash and multi-colored fist-shaped
bruises that covered his face, and took a seat on the 
opposite side of the gate. 

"I got into a little rough-and-tumble with my brother, 
nothing to worry about." The man lied. Mulder knew he lied, 
but was careful to conceal his observation. For now. 

"I appreciate your help, of course, Councilor, but I'm not 
quite sure I can trust your intentions. There are lot of 
questions I need answers for...like...your name, for 
one...and your credentials." 

"I graduated from Virginia State University Law School, and 
set up my own practice. I want to help you for lots of 
reasons. One of the biggest is that I'm a new lawyer and 
need the publicity..." 

"The other?" 

The lawyer let out a heavy sigh, and cast his eyes 
downward. "I know your background at the FBI, Mr. Mulder. 
You work with...um...UFO's. Especially alien abductees." 

"I don't understand..." 

"I was eighteen. Two weeks before graduation, me and my 
then-girlfriend Lilly were out in the woods in my Caddy 
convertible." His voice became soft and detached, "The sky 
was so full of stars that night. She was sixteen, and 
wearing this blue sundress...I had saved for a year for an 
engagement ring for her...I was about to give it to her 
when she happened to look up and noticed a bright light...I 
just stood there, watching her floating up into this 
beam...then she was gone...the beam of light was gone, and 
the ship..." he broke off, not able to regain composure. 

"So you think Lilly was abducted by aliens?" Mulder 
finished for him. 

"I know she was...I watched her...I wanted to take your 
case, because I knew if I could get you in the clear, you 
could help me find her again." 

"So, how are you planning to defend me?" 

"Well," the lawyer began slowly, "like I said, it seems to 
me that their entire case is pretty much circumstantial. I 
also think if I do a little digging, I can find the truth 
behind who really murdered Mr. Starkweather." 

"What's your fee?" Mulder demanded, still cautious of this 
man's intentions. 

"Because I think you can help me after I get out, I'm doing 
this pro bono." 

"One service for another?" 

"Exactly." the man said, punctuating it with a nod of the 
head. "You're scheduled for trial in an hour. Have we got a 
deal?" 

"We've got a deal Mr...." Mulder replied, hinting that he 
never got a name. 

"Leo." The man answered, picking up the hint. "Justin Leo. 
I have no doubt that you'll be back with that girl and baby 
boy of yours in no time." He said with a grin. 

"The beginning of a beautiful friendship..." Mulder mumbled 
almost inaudibly, as he was led back to his cell. 

"Sandy?" Leo said as soon as Mulder was lead out of the 
visiting area. "I want you to check and see who's on the 
docket for this afternoon. Can you do that for me? Judge 
Carlson? Thanks. I owe ya one. Bye..." he dialed another 
number. "Judge Carlson, Leo here...the powers that be don't 
want this Mulder case to go. Can you do me a favor?...Can 
you set bail as high as the books will letchya? Thanks. I 
really appreciate this. I owe ya one." He said, turning off 
his cell and packing up his briefcase. "After this is over, 
I'll be up to my ears in I-O-U's...but, if it buys me 
Lilly..." he said sighing, and left the room.  


As promised, the preliminary hearing was scheduled wiht 
arraignment court in an hour. 

In a half an hour, Leo was prepared for the case, procuring 
a suit with an unMulderlike pinstriped tie for Mulder to 
wear during the trial. 

"Mulder versus the city of Washington, D.C., your honor." 
The court clerk introduced them as a bailiff brought in 
Mulder. "The charge is one count of premeditated murder." 

"Fox Mulder was brought in for murder when a body," the 
D.A. began, hesitating to open a folder for the , "90% 
burned confirmed to be that of one Benjamin Starkweather, 
an environmental attorney who was building a case against 
the FBI, Mr. Mulder's former employer, regarding the case 
which led to his dismissal from his former position 
regarding the division he led known as the x-files." 

"Mr. Mulder, how do you plea?" The Judge inquired, looking 
him squarely in the eyes. 

"Not guilty, your honor." Mulder said simply, "I'm innocent 
of all the charges brought against me, and fully intend to 
proove that contention." 

"We'll let a jury decide that once a trial date is set, 
sir. Charlotte, you got anything to say to this?" The judge 
said, eyeing the D.A. over her glaces.  
 
"Your Honor," the D.A. began, her green eyes scrutinizing 
the defense lawyer, "the defendant is a former FBI agent. 
He is well-trained in manual force, and is well-versed in 
how to use a weapon. He also has a record for loosing his 
temper, and a reputation for violence. I think it is a 
hazard to this community for him to walk the streets. It is 
my recommendation that this court sets bail at the maximum 
amount." 

"Your Honor," Leo began pretentiously, "his assistance in 
solving this case is crucial. His clearance with the FBI 
could shed light on my argument better than anyone else. He 
is also a servant of the city, currently employed by the 
city as Deputy Mayor. I should also add that he is a new 
father." 

"Mr. Mulder, while I congratulate you on your new baby, I 
cannot, in good conscience, allow someone, as the D.A. 
pointed out, who knows how to incorporate manual force and 
is suspected of premeditated murder walk scott-free. Bail 
is set for the maximum amount of $65,000." 

With the rap of the gavel, justice was done, and 
Mulder was back to square one. 

"Bailiff, please remove the defendant from the 
courtroom."

5:03pm  
Scully's Apt.  
Georgetown  
*************  
Skinner met Scully at her apartment within a couple of 
hours. 

"What's this all about, Scully?" 

"Mr. Starkweather was not the man whose autopsy I performed 
a couple of hours ago." 

"How do you know?" 

"Dental records matched...I don't know how...but the dental 
records matched. I didnt' realize that the body I just 
finished an examination of was not Mr. Starkweather's." 

"That still doesn't explain how you know it wasn't his." 
Skinner persisted. 

"I was looking at what was left of the victim's eyes for 
detection of poisoning beforehand, and the color wasn't 
right. Starkweather had brown eyes...the body I examined 
had blue ones." 

"So what do you think that means?" Skinner asked, messaging 
his sinuses. 

"I'm not sure..." Scully hesitated, "it could be entirely 
likely that Ben Starkweather is still alive." 

"Have you showed your evidence to the detectives in charge 
of this case yet?" 

"No..." she said, taking a deep breath, "As long as we 
think Ben Starkweather is dead, whoever is behind this 
whole mess won't harm us." 

"Scully..." Skinner began cautiously, "I think Mulder's 
getting to you...do you realize what you're implicating? I 
*know* he didn't do anything he was charged with, but to 
say it's part of some giant conspiracy is a bit far-
fetched." 

"I know it's out in left-field...but Doggett and I saw four 
men...one of them Mulder's boss and one of them ours. 
Another was Admiral Jeremy Bailey..." 

"Starkweather's father?" Skinner blurted out. Scully 
nodded. "Do you think Agent Starkweather was put here to 
cover for her dad? 

"It's possible...but Sir...she's one of the best Agents 
I've worked with in a long time...she's held her own in 
that office, and just because her adoptive father's used 
her as a pawn is not cause for dismissal." 

"I agree completely..." Skinner "I have absolutely no 
intentions of transferring her. Kersh would be all too 
happy to see her go." 

"I'll bet Kersh is dancing on Ben's casket." Scully said 
with a sly grin. 

"Well, Kersh is thrilled with this incident," Skinner 
admitted. "With Mulder out of the way like this, and 
Doggett concentrating on his own issues, there's no time 
left for investigation of his own office, let alone media 
frenzy reflecting negatively on the FBI. The FBI is 
positively glowing right now. How's Agent Starkweather 
holding up?" 

"Doggett's the better one to field that question, sir. 
Quite frankly, with my ties to Mulder, I'm not sure I want 
to be caught in her crossfire just yet. She's got a very 
strong spirit, Sir." 

"Wilting flower, Jerilyn Starkweather ain't. That's for 
sure." Skinner growled. "How do you propose to prove all 
this implications?"  

Sam knew Mulder's only offense was his talent to get people 
annoyed at him, but jack-assness wasn't something that was 
punishable by law. As aggravating as he was at times, Sam 
was beginning to understand that Mulder sometimes had to 
forego being likable in order to find the truth he made his 
life's work to seek. Despite that, or maybe even because 
of, Sam still found himself wishing he could spend more 
time on Mulder's quest for the Truth, and more driven than 
ever to stop his projected end. People that driven by such 
a one-sided cause are sometimes as compassionate as they 
are purposefully irritating. But...Sam decided...that just 
came with the territory. Either way, he couldn't let Mulder 
end his quest...not now. 

The first step in that direction seemed to be getting 
Starkweather convinced that Mulder didn't commit her 
husband's murder. He had to convince her somehow that there 
was no murder even committed, but that wasn't the first 
priority for now. The first priority at this moment was 
getting Scully to convince Starkweather that Mulder wasn't 
playing her for a fool. 

Sam got in the pick-up and headed to Doggett's house, 
whipped out the cell phone, and dialed Scully's number. 

"Scully, it's Doggett." 

"What's going on? You found anything?" 

"Sorta...how do you feel towards Starkweather right now?" 

"What does that have to do with anything?" Scully demanded 

"Oh...nothing..." Sam lied, "just answer the question, will 
ya?" 

"Um...no hard feelings, sympathy...why?" 

"Wouldn't you agree that she'd be a good ally to have on 
this case?" 

"Of course...but she won't stand up to her father, and she 
thinks Mulder killed her husband. I wouldn't wanna stay in 
the x-files if I were her either." 

"Well...I think she might have changed her mind about 
staying in the x-files. What if I brought her over to your 
place say around six to talk things over?" 

"Sure...that sounds fine...I'll order some pizza or 
something for dinner. I'd fix a real meal, but there isn't 
many groceries here beyond baby food." 

"That'll be great Scully...thanks. Making any progress?" 

"Uh huh," Scully said, nodding her head as if he could see 
her, "Booked a flight to Martha's Vineyard a half an hour 
ago. Skinner's going to get me a search warrant for the 
Admiral's summer home. I'm hoping I'll have something solid 
there." 

"Me too...see you at six." He affirmed, and hung up, hoping 
that he would be able to touch base with Al. As hard as it 
was going to be for him, he needed to give Starkweather 
some proof that Ben was still alive. 

He hoped that was what she really wanted.

Sam knew Scully would straighten Starkweather out where 
Mulder was concerned, now all he needed to do was come up 
with some way to convince her that Ben was still alive. Al 
was waiting for him inside. 

"How's it going, Sam? How's Starkweather holding up?" 

"She'll be just fine if I can figure out some way to 
convince her Ben's still alive. We need her as an ally. I 
think she's coming around, though." 

"That's good to know..." Al said it as if he was waiting 
for something more. When Sam filled the beat of silence 
with a gulp of coffee, he decided to drop the issue. "Any 
ideas?" 

"Al...I know what you're thinking..." 

"Sam...it would be much easier if you just follow my 
philosophy with women, you know buddy?" 

"...over one million served is a slogan with golden arches 
under it...not a philosophy." Sam growled. 

"I just hate seeing you beat yourself up over women every 
single time. Your brain ain't the only organ swiss-
cheezed**." 

"My love life is not up for discussion, Al..." he hissed 
indignantly, "this is about getting Mulder out of jail so I 
can leap...who knows..." 

"...yeah, I know...I know...for now, though, we gotta come 
up with some way to get the Little Hurricane to help break 
Spooky outta the joint...listen to me...I sound like 
someone off the A-Team..." he grumbled, shaking his head. 

"Can she still see you?" 

"Huh?" 

"Starkweather...can she still see you?" 

"I think so...why? What have you got up your sleeve, Sam?" 

"How are your wings?" 

"My wings?" Al sputtered, "Sam...I think the swiss-cheeze 
effect has gotten to your head, kid." 

"Pollish your halo, Al...Starkweather's gonna have a 
revelation tonight." 

"Sam...I think I lost my halo with my Little Orphan Annie 
decoder ring. No...wait," Al spat, "I lost *that* with my 
virginity...I lost my *halo* somewhere in the pacific...we 
got bored, so we started playing frisbee with it, wind 
caught...and..." 

"Al..." Sam admonished, pretending to be annoyed. 
Then he headed out the door to Scully's place
Scully, still waiting for files to load, picked up her 
cellphone again. 

"Byers, it's Scully. Can you boys do something for me 
please?" 

"Sure, Scully. What's up?" 

"I need you to get something for me. Is there any way you 
can access Mulder's phone records and personal files and 
fax them to the office?" 

"Yeah, sure..." Byers started, but Langley took over. 
"Only if you tell me why you need them." 

"You don't think he's up to something, do you?" Frohike 
butted in. 

"You haven't read the paper this morning yet have you?" 
Scully said with a heavy sigh. She really hated giving them 
bad news. 

"Scully, we don't exactly have a mailing address, 
remember?" Frohike reminded. 

"I don't think he's up to something, but we...I...need 
those as proof." 

"Proof for what? Mulder's in trouble again?" 

"We have to ask that, Frohicke?" Langley butted in. 

"He was arrested this morning for the murder of Mr. 
Starkweather. We need that stuff as proof so we can get 
Mrs. Starkweather..." 

"The one who had me in a death grip yesterday?" Frohike 
interrupted. 

"That's the one." Scully answered with an annoyed tone. 

"Nice girl." Langly chided. 

Scully barely held in a scream. "We need that proof so we 
can get Mrs. Starkweather on our side. If she's convinced 
Mulder didn't kill her husband then she'll help us clear 
his name." 

"That shouldn't be a problem." Frohike said. Scully heard 
the beeping and whirring of a computer being booted up. "We 
can send it to you as a .ZIP file in about half an hour." 

"That'd be great guys, thanks." Scully said, taking off her 
glasses and messaging her forehead, "I appreciate it." 

"How's Will doing?" Frohike managed to sputter out before 
Scully hung up. 

"He's asleep." She said flatly. "Frohike, I'd love to chat, 
but I'm just a bit busy at the moment." She abruptly hung 
up on him as the files she was waiting on finally printed 
out. 

Just as the last page printed out the phone rang again. 
She would've just left it to order the pizza, but the CLD 
identified the number from the FBI. "Scully." She responded 
curtly. 

"I've got the warrant issued." Skinner was saying. "I hadda 
pull a few strings, but I got it. All you hafta do is pick 
it up before your flight departs." 

"Thanks, I appreciate it. See you tomorrow." She didn't 
wait for him to say anything before hanging up. 
Then she dialed for pizza. 

Later on that afternoon....  
George Washington University Hospital  
901 23rd Street NW  
Washington DC 

"Ready, Mrs. Starkweather?" The doctor said with a smile, 
holding the small circular saw which he was going to use to 
cut the cast off. 

Starkweather flinched at the word 'Mrs.' "Ready," she said, 
positioning her arm. 

The saw gnawed loudly through the plaster. Starkweather 
turned her head away. "Here we go," he said, peeling the 
rest of the cast off of her. "Looks good as new," he 
proclaimed. 

Starkweather thought it looked skinny and dandruffy. 

"Gross," she muttered, brushing the dead skin flakes off 
and away. 

"That will all wash off." The doctor said good naturedly. 
He rotated her wrist. "Any pain?" 

"No." 

"Tingling sensations in the fingertips?" 

"No. Feel fine." 

"Then, why are you so pale, Mrs. Starkweather?" 

"Um... I just received some REALLY bad news before I came 
here." 

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said but did not push for 
which, Starkweather was infinitely grateful. 
He fitted her with the splint that she had to wear for 
another month, which would be a pain, but infinitely 
preferable over the hot, heavy cast she had been wearing 
for over a month. The doctor gave her some instructions For 
her at-home physical therapy and released her. 
Starkweather got into the car, but did not go home. She did 
not go to Scully's right away either. 

She went to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. 

She needed to re-read that damn file that started this 
entire mess. Starkweather was convinced that there was 
something that everyone was overlooking. 

"Unfortunately, I'm only gonna know it when I find it," she 
muttered, flexing her "bad" hand, the right hand, before 
she started up the car and drove away while thinking 
guiltily <I wonder if I can handle the motorcycle now that 
the cast is off?> for only a few nights back, she told her 
husband not to drink too much while at dinner with friends 
because she wouldn't be able to work the Kawasaki very well 
with her broken hand.

In a park in Starkweather and Mulder's neighborhood...  
***************************************************** 
"Look, Admiral," Kersh was saying, "I'd like to stop it, 
but we've gone too far now. The scale is too momentous; 
your daughter is only a grieving widow now. Undoubtedly, 
she will leave her position on the x-files after this 
ordeal, and do so with her career unscathed." 

"Kersh," the Admiral replied, skirting around him making it 
certain that they wouldn't be seen talking, "how long have 
you been working on the FBI?" 

"A very long time, sir." 

"In your entire career, have you ever known someone to 
willingly leave the x-files office?" 

"Come to think of it Jeremy," Kersh paused for a thoughtful 
beat of silence, "I haven't. If I didn't know any better, 
I'd say Mulder still sucks people in somehow." 

"That senior officer, Agent Scully..." Admiral Bailey 
mused, "I knew her as a little girl. We'd vacation over the 
summer. I would never have figured her to work with the 
likes of Fox Mulder. Even as a little girl, she was all 
seriousness. I don't want to start anything that leads in 
bloodshed. I just want my little girl to stay ignorant." 

"If that's going to happen, Admiral," Kersh answered, 
"we're going to have to close the x-file division. Even 
then, we still can't guarantee your daughter won't find out 
the truth through other venues. Some people will have to be 
terminated." 

"I can't have that weight on my conscience, Alvin. Knowing 
the truth would kill my little girl...but not at that 
cost." 

"People will be terminated, Admiral Bailey, regardless of 
what Jerilyn may or may not know. The x-files division 
cannot remain open if our cause is to continue. What if we 
save thousands of lives at the sacrifice of a few, or what 
if we save the human race..." 

"What-if games only get people killed." Mayor Swanson 
softly insisted as he approached the pair. "I want them 
stopped. We have done enough--we have done too damn much. 
Admiral, do you want your little girl to love you for a 
lie?" 

"I don't want her to hate me for the truth." The Admiral 
answered in a self-admonishing whisper. 

Without a word, Kersh pointed a gun at the Admiral. "I 
think you should reconsider your stance on this, Jeremy."
Mayor Swanson stood wide-eyed at the barrel pointed at the 
Admiral. The Admiral closed his eyes slowly. "Lynn, 
honey..." he murmured softly looking Heavenwards. 

"Alvin, are you sure you know what you're doing?" the Mayor 
began cautiously. "In a public place...in broad 
daylight...we'd be found for sure." 

"No one's around for a few miles, Harry. No one but the 
birds and squirrels, and they ain't talkin'." The gun 
clicked as his finger tightened around the trigger. 
Despite Mayor Harry Swanson's slight build, by having the 
advantage of surprise, he managed to grab Kersh's arm and 
point the gun skyward. "Jeremy!" Mayor Swanson hollered, 
and the Admiral leapt to his feet, both the men tackling 
Kersh, the Admiral belting Kersh in the stomach, hard 
enough to make him double over. 

"Murder is not our policy." The Admiral hissed, shakily 
holding the gun in Kersh's ear. 

"I'd keep that in mind if I were you, Alvin." Mayor Swanson 
chided. "I heard about how you ran things." The Mayor said, 
giving him a swift kick in the gut, eliciting a low groan. 

"My Deputy told me everything." 

"You're right...no one around..to hear us...but birds...and 
squirrels...for miles." the Admiral said, accentuating 
every so often following the Mayor's movements. "And they 
ain't talkin'." 

"Mulder's in jail now," The Mayor said, silently 
admonishing himself for the small part he played in that, 
"the x-files are no harm to our cause anymore. There's no 
need to bring any bloodshed unless it's from your own ass. 
I can't...I can't do this anymore." He glanced at both at 
them. "You both make me nauseous." he fumed indignantly, 

"How you two can sit back and save the world at the cost of 
the people who make living in this world worth it is beyond 
me!" 

"You are such a hypocrite, Harry." Kersh growled as soon as 
he was able to catch his breath, "Here you are 
pontificating about what you were doing, and there you go 
sitting on a fence. At least we are choosing to do 
something about our fate." 

"Our fate was something we could do about?" The Mayor fired 
back, and stormed off. The Admiral shot Kersh one last 
dirty look, and followed him. 

They didn't stay long enough to see Kersh's form twist and 
contort until Kersh was no longer recognizable as the 
Deputy Director of the FBI... 

...but as Billy Miles.

Later on....  
J. Edgar Hoover Builder  
The X-Files Office 

Starkweather had been sitting at Mulder's old desk for over 
two hours now, pouring through the oil rig case file, 
unconsciously nibbling on the sunflower seeds that had been 
laying on his desk. "F*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck, F*CK!!!!!" she 
finally cursed aloud, in complete frustration. With one 
sweeping motion, she knocked EVERYTHING off of his desk. 
She buried her face in her hands. 

Skinner walked in just in time to see pens, sunflower 
seeds, pages of files, folders, desk planner, highlighters, 
paper clips, a calculator and a coffee mug flying 
everywhere. The coffee mug shattered on impact.

"Agent Starkweather?" he asked carefully. 

She didn't even look up. "Yes sir?" 

"You should be at home." 

"I was going insane at home sir. I thought if I came here, 
maybe I could be productive," she finally looked up. "Ha," 
she said bitterly. 

Skinner coughed before going on. "I took the liberty of 
notifying Ben's parents of the bad news," he said gruffly. 

"I hope I didn't overstep my boundaries." 

If Skinner was worried about being on the receiving end of 
her mingled wrath and grief, the look of gratitude on her 
haggard face alieved any concerns. "No... that... that was 
good of you," she said, equally gruff. 

"Starkweather, go home." 

"Sir, with all due respect... I can't... I have to..." 

"You have to take time to grieve, Agent," Skinner said 
sternly. Starkweather rested her head in her hands again. 
He crouched down to pick up the scattered sheets of paper 
from the file she sent sailing across the room. "Let Scully 
and Doggett take care of this. You need to tend to your 
personal needs," he stood up, holding papers in his hand. 

"That is an order, Agent Starkweather." 

But Starkweather wasn't listening to Skinner, she was 
staring at the photocopy that he was holding. "Let me see 
that sir," she said, getting up from Mulder's desk. 

"See what?" Skinner asked but she had already taken the 
paper from him. 

"Oh my God... oh my God... this is it... this is the link. 
Jesus... sir... if Mulder is innocent... then this entire 
fucking game makes sense..." 

"What is it?" Skinner instantly forgot his order for 
Starkweather to relieve her duties. 

"It's not conclusive, it won't get Mulder out of jail... 
but it makes perfect sense... and it's a start," she waved 
the photocopy of an indigenous man's green card in front of 
him. "I can't believe I missed this. According to Doggett's 
report, two men were singled out and killed on the rig. Two 
men from a remote indigenous village in Mexico. They were 
immune to that black oil stuff. Now, whether it's truly go 
from Mars or a man-made biologically engineered nightmare 
is inconclusive, but it HAS been proven that it exists and 
documented that it is a virus, capable of destroying a 
living organism within days, correct?" 

"Yes..." Skinner said slowly. "You can say that." 

"Plus, it has also been proven and documented that Agent 

Scully was infected with this black oil by a bee sting and 
was saved by a vaccine given to Mulder from a dubious 
source, correct?" 

"Yes... but I don't follow Starkweather." 

She continued, growing excited, "If Mulder's wild tales are 
true... about the Syndicate... launching a massive 
biological war on the public... as dogged as our fine media 
is... the minute they would find out there is a deadly 
virus out there, but there was a race that was immune to 
the disease, they would broadcast it to the four winds. As 
advanced as our medical technology is as well... WE could 
have our own vaccine or maybe at least a therapy to slow 
the progress of the black oil's effects until a cure could 
be found. Plus, if you connect it to the whole bee-sting 
thing... if you remember, a few years back, there was a 
scare about killer bees, aggressive, volatile stinging bees 
coming into the United States from Mexico. Scully was stung 
by a bee in Texas and according to THAT file..." she dove 
into the tall file cabinet, thumbed through some files, 
pulled out the one she wanted and flipped through the 
pages, "she was stung by a African honey bee, the same bee 
that was imported from Africa to Mexico that started the 
panic. She was stung in Texas, near the Mexican border." 
She said triumphantly. "Don't you see? It would completely 
blow the conspiracy into the open. Mulder and Doggett 
didn't want this to come to light because they were worried 
about the safety of their near and dear ones... but they 
never thought about the bigger picture." 

"Which is?" 

"The AIDS virus has been around for years, decades. So has 
Ebola, the Hanta virus... you name the disease, it has been 
around longer than the dinosaurs. There is no such thing as 
a 'new' disease. People think it's new because they've 
never heard about it before. Only when they become educated 
about it, then they panic and start screaming for a cure. 
Plus, if it comes to light that the oil rig has been 
attempting import the virus itself to the United States, 
all hell would break loose. The Syndicate would be screwed 
because either A-- if they really are aliens and they're in 
cohorts with them... they're screwed because ET is going to 
be pissed that the race of immune humans were not taken 
care of. And then we're talking about 'Independence Day.'Or 
B -- if they are doing this themselves... with all the 
information Mulder and Scully have complied over the 
years... we've got the makings of a real witch hunt right 
here. Heads would start to roll. And all of this would have 
come out if Ben would have succeeded in bringing it to 
trial. " 

"How does that clear Mulder of..." Skinner stopped himself 
before he said "Ben's murder." 

"That's the problem..." Starkweather said. "It doesn't. But 
it's making me re-think somethings..." 

"You think Mulder's innocent then?" Skinner asked 
hopefully. 

His hopes were dashed when she said "I said it's making me 
rethink some things. I only said this theory makes sense if 
Mulder was innocent, but I have no evidence. Just a hunch. 
I'm not going to run on a hunch, I'm going to research it. 
I'm making no moves until I have conclusive proof of either 
his guilt or innocence." 

"A man is innocent until proven guilty." He reminded her. 

To which she responded, "Every man is guilty of 
something..." 

Skinner couldn't place it, but the way Starkweather looked 
up at him, and the way she was sitting at the desk with her 
arms confrontation-ally crossed echoed something familiar. 
He stooped down, helping her pick up the debris on the 
floor. 

"Regardless of whether or not Mulder's guilty or innocent 
of his charges, you still need the rest." Skinner insisted. 

"Sir, I'm only going to be able to rest until I find out 
the truth behind what happened to my husband. That truth 
may or may not clear the x-files, and along with it the 
founder of this division. Scully and Doggett both have 
their hands full right now." 

"I appreciate your dedication to finding the truth, but 
your health and well-being is not up for discussion. Scully 
and Doggett are very capable of carrying on this 
investigation by themselves." 

"Is that all you came down here, for, Sir? To tell me to go 
home?" She said, crinkling her nose in amusement, making 
Skinner wish again that he could remember why that seemed 
so familiar, "Because I have a hunch to research, and Ben's 
not going to rest in peace until I resolve his case." 

"Yes, I did come down here for something. Deputy Director 
Kersh wants you, me, Doggett and Scully all in his office 
tomorrow for review, and I have a s--" he stopped himself 
short of saying 'search warrant' "something for Scully." 

"I'm on my way over to her apartment in a few minutes, I 
can deliver it for you." 

"That won't be necessary, Starkweather, but I appreciate 
the offer. Off the record, Jerilyn," Skinner began gruffly, 

"I'm sorry for your loss." 

"You're only sorry Ben was murdered" Starkweather hissed 
coldly, "because the FBI's former Golden Boy is in trouble 
for it, and will probably spend the rest of his life behind 
bars for what he did. With all due respect, I know full 
well that if Ben's case had been allowed to continue, your 
little cause would be shot down in a heartbeat, and your 
career would most likely be over." She glowered, her gaze 
full of ferocious intent. 

"Agent Starkweather," he growled with his jaw clinched 
fiercely, "are you even aware of what you just implicated? 
You have just proven to me now more than ever that you need 
your grieving period. Don't think for one minute that 
taking your anger out on me, Mulder, or anyone else is 
going to bring Ben back. And if this anger harbored towards 
anyone is causing friction within the ranks of this 
division, believe me, I will not hesitate to recommend a 
transfer." With that, he stormed out. 

At that moment, Starkweather was grateful that her wrist 
had just been taken out of the cast, because she needed to 
throw something. 

Hard. 

"Well, Ben got what he fucking wanted." She grumbled. 
She picked up one of the larger fragments of the mug that 
was still scattered on the floor and threw it against the 
wall, smattering it into smaller bits and then landing it 
in the trashcan. 

"You hear that Ben!" She screamed picking up another piece, 
and promptly smashing it against he wall, "I fucked up 
ANOTHER position, got on ANOTHER boss's bad side." 
The motion was followed again swiftly with another of the 
larger fragments. She didn't notice that her wrist was 
throbbing. 

"I'll be lucky now to get a janitorial position at Quantico 
after this." She almost-whispered, nursing her wrist. She 
sat back down at the desk, hoping one more look would earn 
her the answers she needed, looking sadly over at Doggett's 
desk. 

Doggett, for reasons beyond her comprehension, seemed to 
think Mulder was innocent. She knew Skinner was certain of 
his former agent's innocence. Her eyes averted to Scully's 
desk. She walked behind it, and glanced at the picture of 
her, Mulder, and Will at what was a apparently taken at 
Will's christening. 

She didn't know Scully for very long, but the brief period 
of time that she had watched Mulder and Scully interact 
showed her that Scully was no pushover. There wasn't very 
much that Scully let Mulder get away with, and as much as 
she wanted to hate Mulder, she knew that it was illogical 
to think that Dana Scully would allow herself to be taken 
for a fool. She glanced at her wristwatch. 

Maybe, Starkweather hoped, the meeting in Scully's kitchen 
was for answers. She locked the door behind her and headed 
for her car. 

She drove by just missing the stiff movements of a form 
that what was once Kersh, and what was once a human Billy 
Miles swiftly approaching the tourist entrance of the FBI 
office.

En Route to Scully's  
*******************  
Something gnawed at Starkweather as she started up her car. 
She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something wasn't
right. She stopped by the county courthouse for the arresting
report. To Starkweather, Mulder had a crystal clear motive for 
killing her husband. Ben's investigation would challenge the
world as we know it. If they wanted to nail Mulder, the strongest 
evidence for the prosecution would be any peice of Ben's argument. 

But the hole in her case against Mulder was that there was 
none of Ben's evidence in the police reports found in the 
searches done either at Mulder's or Scully's apartments. 

It's the end of the world as we know it  
(I I am am not alone)  
It's the end of the world as we know it  
(I I am am not alone)  
It's the end of the world as we know it  
And I feel fine 

"Michael Stipe, you don't know the half of it." 

Starkweather grumbled as she flipped the station. She 
couldn't deny that a lot of the police evidence piled up 
against Mulder was circumstantial. 

I know your only protecting yourself  
I know your thinking of somebody else  
Some people look for a miracle cure  
Some people just accept the world as it is  
But I know this is a fight I can't loose  
The accused is an innocent man 
Starkweather was thrilled at that moment that she just 
pulled up into Scully's place. It hit her as she rang 
ascended in the elevator. Doggett could have easily been 
set up, or herself for that matter. It made sense that 

Mulder would have been set up, but she still needed proof 
that he didn't commit the crime. 

She approached Scully's door with a great deal of 
apprehension. After all, she did just destroy the x-files 
shrine. Maybe she shouldn't own up to that just yet. 

"Starkweather, come in, I've got pizza on the way. 
I'm...uh...sorry for your loss." Scully said rather 
awkwardly with a strained, thin, smile crossing her lips, 
and ushered her on the couch. "Doggett's on his way. I've 
got some fresh coffee brewing if you'd like some." 

"That'd be great, Scully, thanks. Listen...about what 
happened this morning with Mulder..." 

"Starkweather, it's alright." Scully consented, rising to 
get the coffee. "I know what it's like..." she handed her 
the mug, "not to belittle your situation, but the strange 
thing about what you did is that I've seen Mulder act the 
exact same way." She buried her head sheepishly in her 
hands. "If I wasn't around a bunch of people when I first 
met Doggett, I would have done a lot more harm than get his 
face wet. It's forgiven and forgotten." 

"Do you have any idea why Doggett asked me here?" 
Starkweather questioned, taking a long gulp of coffee. 

"I think it has something to do with the case. I've got 
something to show you. I want you to know that I still 
count you as an ally, whether you think Mulder is guilty or 
not." 

"I appreciate that..." Starkweather hesitated, "but there's 
something else you should know before you stick up for 
me..." 

"Just because Skinner threatened to transfer you doesn't 
mean we're gonna let it happen..." Scully started. 

"That's not it..." Starkweather said sheepishly. 

"What is it?" Scully asked harboring a quizzical smile 
across her face. 

"Gravity." Starkweather replied slowly 

"Huh?" 

"I was looking for anything that might help Doggett's 
case," Starkweather began sheepishly, "and I kind of 
knocked everything off the shrine. The 
mug...everything...I'll replace the mug, of course..." 

"That's alright Starkweather," Scully said with a groan. "I 
dunno why we keep his old desk like that. While he was 
missing it was a way of keeping him in that office, as 
though he'd be coming back. Doggett kept it up out of 
respect for me, but eventually when Reyes comes back full 
time, we'd have to make room for her. I appreciate your 
honesty." 

"Well," Starkweather replied. "I'll go in tomorrow and put 
the mess back. Any new light on the case?" 

Just then the doorbell rang. Just behind a youth with a 
face just as pepperonied as the pizza in the box he was 
carrying came Sam. He took the box and paid for it. 

"You didn't have to do that, John." Scully said with a 
broad smile. 

"Consider it a consolation prize." Sam said dryly. 
"Scully," he said, setting the pizza box down on the 
kitchen counter, "I want you to explain to Starkweather 
exactly why Mulder couldn't have been guilty of killing her 
husband." He felt like a parent talking two kids out of a 
fight. 

It was Scully's turn to hesitate, she prolonged the answer 
by playing hostess. "I'll get some plates." 

"I need to hear why you think Mulder's innocent of his 
charges, Scully." Starkweather started.

"Starkweather, the e-mail I was printing out earlier is 
something I want you to look at." Scully said, skillfully 
skirting the question Sam had wanted her to answer. "I had 
Byers scan me a copy of Mulder's phone records and email 
all his e-mails, from both his work account and personal 
account. They're all to either people with the FBI or the 
Gunmen. Not one of those numbers are questionable. None of 
his e-mails are questionnable either...well...unless you 
count his sense of humor...but his behavior is completely 
in line." 

"You asked me here to get me to believe Mulder's innocent?" 
Starkweather demanding, her eyes glancing from Scully to 
Doggett. "That is phucking incredible..." she murmured. 

"Starkweather," Sam began desperately, "look, if it *was* a 
set-up for what happened on that oil-rig case, I could have 
just as easily been set up as Mulder was, or Scully." 

"We're not trying to persuade you to believe anything, 
Starkweather." Scully argued. "We're trying to find the 
truth here. I understand that the grief is clouding your 
judgment right now, but I think you missed one clear peice 
of evidence." 

"And what was that?" Starkweather questioned fiercely. 

"That all the evidence built up against Mulder was 
circumstancial." Scully finished, sighing exasperatingly. 

"They are about to hang someone over proof no more solid 
than"--he saw Al appear in a shadow just then, "a 
hologram." Sam offered. 

"Look Starkweather," Scully persisted angrily, "The reason 
I know positively beyond a shadow of a doubt that he is 
innocent of those charges is" here she glanced warningly at 
Sam, who in kind gave her an urging nod, "he was with me 
that night." She finished softly with a sigh. 
*Busy bunnies* Al mouthed from his shadows. Sam shot him an 
annoyed glare. 

"Oh God." Starkweather whispered. "Scully...I 
didn't....well, I did but...Jesus fucking Christ, 
Scully...I'm really sorry." 

"Starkweather, it's alright...you didn't know." She looked 
apologetically up at Sam. "Nobody knew." 

"I think they got the idea when Will came along." Al 
couldn't help himself from whispering, earning him another 
warning glare from Sam. 

"Who said that?" Starkweather demanded, snapping around in 
the direction of the whisper. Sam feigned ignorance. "Damn, 
I need to lay off the coffee. Ever since this whole thing 
exploded, I've been hearing things. You think the alien DNA 
is contagious?" 

"Do you still think Mulder's guilty of killing your 
husband?" Scully softly persisted. 

Starkweather bit her lip, pressing her palm in her forehead 
with her elbow propped on the edge of the couch. "I don't 
know what to think, Scully. If he was with you...I believe 
you...but if he's innocent of these charges..." her voice 
wavered and her lips quivered as she made the realization. 
"...then there's only one other likely possibility here..." 
"Your father?" Sam finished for her, and over her shoulder, 
gave an urging glance over at Al. 

*I'll find what I can* Al mouthed. Starkweather bolted up 
the minute the click and sweep of the chamber door 
resounded. 

"I'm loosing my fucking mind." Starkweather mumbled. 

"Starkweather," Scully hesitated, "If you want a transfer 
still..." 

"No." she answered firmly, "This is the only way I can 
protect Ben's memory..." a thin smile crossed her lips, "by 
fighting the darkside. So...where do we start looking for 
evidence." 

"Doggett and I will handle gathering evidence. 
Starkweather," Scully insisted gently, "you have to take 
time for yourself now." 

"I *need* to find the truth, Scully." 

"I know you need to find the truth, but you won't find it 
with a clear head." Sam insisted. 

"Sometimes," Scully said thoughtfully, "the truth is like 
rain--repressing, oppressing, comforting, gray, and 
drenching all at once but in the same composition, 
refreshing and life-giving; offering rainbows or clear 
skies at its end. Get out of the rain for a little while, 
Starkweather. You need to rest."  

Sam drove Starkweather home. During the pow wow, he 
couldn't help but notice that Starkweather had kept nodding 
off, jerking her head up whenever she started to doze off. 
Her exhaustion caused her to miss another opportunity to 
formally meet Agent Reyes as she came over to sit with Will 
again. Starkweather just sort of mumbled hello with her 
eyes closed as Sam lead her out the door. 

In her daze, Starkweather went to her car, dropping the 
keys on the sidewalk. Sam scooped them up. "Uh-uh, you're 
coming with me." 

"Aw, Doggett, come on..." Starkweather complained. "I'm not 
that feeble." 

"But you're exhausted," Sam argued. "And it's been proven 
that more automotive accidents are caused by sleep 
deprivation than drunken driving. I'll take you home." 
And so, as Sam took her to her apartment, she had fallen 
asleep, her head leaning again the window. Sam kept 
stealing looks at her. She was still wearing the white 
shirt and black dress slacks she had on this morning when 
they went to the police station. The cast was gone though, 
replaced by a slender white splint that molded to her 
wrist. Her hair, lock by lock, was beginning to escape the 
military perfect bun she usually styled her hair in. 
Sam parked Doggett's truck in front of Starkweather's 
apartment building. He looked at himself in the rearview 
mirror. 

Doggett's tired face stared back at him. Huge purple-
smudges ring the icy blue eyes. The lines in the craggy 
face looked even deeper than before. He needed a shave. He 
needed to sleep, perhaps even worse than Starkweather. He 
had almost nodded off a few times himself as he drove 
Starkweather home. 

"Starkweather?" he said gently. "Jerilyn? Hey, wake up." 

"Huh?" Starkweather's eyes popped out as if waking up from 
a bad dream, then her eyes fluttered shut again. 
Sam smiled wryly. He got out and walked around the truck to 
Starkweather's side. He carefully pried Starkweather's 
house keys out of her hands. He picked her up and slid her 
out of the truck. Awkwardly, he managed to hit the power 
locks of the trucks, then kicked the door shut. 
Starkweather never stirred. 

Sam carried her up the stairs to her apartment and into the 
livingroom, placing her gently on the sofa. He found two 
pillows and propped them behind her head. Then he fumbled 
through her darken apartment to hopefully find blankets. 

In the process, he tripped over the cat who was laying 
peacefully in front of the open doorway to Starkweather's 
bedroom 

"Ooff!," Sam landed face first. 

He could have swore he heard the cat snickering. 

Grabbing a quilt off of the bed, he went back to the living 
room. He covered Starkweather. But she still looked 
dreadfully uncomfortable, so Sam tilted her head up just a 
bit and one by one, plucked the hairpins out so she 
wouldn't be laying on an uncomfortable knot of hair. The 
only sounds in the moonlit apartment was the **plink 
plink** of metal hairpins dropping on the coffee table. 
Starkweather, as if drugged, never even stirred. 

Sam gently lowered her head back on the pillow, pushing her 
long, thick hair out of her face. He pushed her heavy bangs 
out of her eyes and noticed an odd looking scar on her 
forehead <<Wonder how she got that>> Sam wondered. He 
noticed that, even in sleep, her brow was crinkled in 
dismay and her lips were turned down. Not even in sleep was 
Starkweather getting a reprieve from the guilt and sorrow 
that hounded her. 

Sam turned his attention to her socks and shoes, lifting 
the blanket off her feet so he could remove her sensible 
black penny loafers, shined to a military spit polish. 
Starkweather moved slightly, giggling just a little in her 
sleep as Sam slipped her shoes and socks off. 
Sam could not suppress a grin, "Ticklish, huh?" he said 
quietly as he turned back to look at her face, which looked 
a little more peacefull. "Sorry," he whispered as he kissed 
her cheek. 

"SAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM," Out of nowhere, Al's voice, chock full 
of warning rang out. Sam turned and saw Al glowering at him 
at the foot of the couch. "Uh-uh, she's a married woman." 
Meanwhile... Starkweather twitched... dreaming.

Later...  
The Mayor's office  
City Hall  
Washington DC 

The Admiral sunk into the Mayor's comfortable leather sofa. 
He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. The Mayor 
went to his little private wet bar and prepared two stiff 
drinks. "I made you a double, Jeremy," he said, handing him 
the glass. 

The Admiral took a long pull from the glass, letting Dr. 
Jack Daniels work his miracle cure. "Deputy Director Kersh 
seems to have forgotten himself," he mumbled. 

"I'll say... Jesus, Jeremy... I thought you said you have 
control over him?" 

The Admiral shook his head miserably. "Control is an 
illusion. I haven't had control over anything for the past 
twenty-eight years." He turned to look at an ashen-faced 
Mayor. "Oh relax," he chuckled. "I still have the power to 
destory Kersh's career if push comes to shove. The gun just 
surprised me though. So not Kersh's style. He's not really 
into blatant threats, just slithering innuedos, like a 
rattlesnake sliding through the desert sands, waiting for a 
victim to pounce on." 

The Mayor took a swallow of liquid courage before 
continuing. "Jeremy," he said seriously. "I don't know what 
you've gotten yourself into, what you've been involved with 
for the past thirty years. I don't know what strings you 
pulled to get me this position. And now the strings you 
pulled are going to strangle me." 

The Admiral looked at his old friend. "I never meant to get 
you involved this deeply." 

"This deeply! Do you realize what I stand to lose?" The 
Mayor looked out of the window at the city below him. "My 
job... my family... Jesus, I have my daughter to think of." 

"I have my daughter to think of as well," The Admiral 
retorted hotly. 

"YOUR daughter?" The Admiral turned to face him. "YOUR 
daughter?" He snorted with ironic laughter. "I hired 
Mulder, as a favor, to you, to protect YOUR daughter. Now, 
this man, who I actually like and respect very much; this 
same man you begged him to find the truth to protect YOUR 
daughter, is rotting in jail for something we both know he 
damn well didn't do to once again, protect YOUR daughter." 

"If I didn't help set Mulder up, Jerilyn would be dead. I 
don't know how they figured out I went to Mulder and Scully 
for help, but they did and they threatened to kill Jerilyn. 
They almost succeeded twice before. I didn't want to find 
out that the third time was going to be the charm so, 
against my better judgement, I went along with it... and 
sacrificed not only Mulder... but my son-in-law in the 
process." 

The Mayor went to the Admiral and took his glass. As he 
prepared two double strength Jack and Cokes, he asked 
quietly, "Jeremy... you know... and I know that Benjamin 
Starkweather isn't dead." 

The Admiral jerked his head up. "How did you find out?" 

The Mayor handed his friend, his buddy from the nightmarish 
haze that was Vietnam, whose life he saved, who had been 
trying to repay him for his heroic deed ever since. "I have 
a dirty cop on the take. A Detective Somerset. The Chief 
and I have been after him for years. But he's worse than 
Teflon. Anyway, two and a half years ago, we assigned 
Carillo to go on deep undercover on this case we've been 
building against Somerset. For two years, Somerset has been 
buddy-buddy with Carillo and have been absolutely 
clueless." 

"Carillo is good," The Admiral mumbled. 

"Carillo is VERY good," The Mayor agreed. "But he hadn't 
been able to get anything on Sommerset. Until today..." The 
Mayor sat on his desk, folded his arms. "Right before we 
went to our happy meeting with Deputy Director Snakebite, I 
got a call from Carillo. He thought it was a little fishy 
that Somerset had such a hard-on for Mulder..."

The Mayor took another sip of his drink before continuing. 
"Especially since all the evidence was circumstantial. 
Especially since all the evidence is still circumstantial. 
No matter how many judges that little sh*t Justin Leo has 
up his sleeve, the DA is MY friend and she is drooling for 
a judgeship," The Admiral looked up at his friend in 
surprise but the Mayor kept talking,"She would not allow 
herself to be made a fool of and bring a weak case to 
trial, especially if she knows that bringing Mulder to full 
trial would piss me off. She knows the case is too full of 
holes. Motive yes, but she has to rely on the word of two 
drugged-out car thieves, she has no murder weapon and the 
accused spent the night at Agent Scully's. The DA would 
plead-bargain it and get him off with time served." 
"How does Somerset fit in?" The Admiral asked wearily. 
"Somerset is caught on tape," The Mayor took a security cam 
tape out of his briefcase. "Carillo's got a copy, the 
Chief's got a copy, the morgue... Washington Hospital 
reported theft of a body... a burn victim... from their 
morgue late last night..." the Mayor said smoothly, "know 
anything about it?" 

The Admiral hung his head. "So that's where the body came 
from." 

The Mayor leaned forward. "It's only a matter of time, 
Jeremy. Carillo doesn't think Mulder's guilty, he's using 
the man as a front to get to Somerset to get to the man 
he's working for. Somerset's under twenty-four hour 
survelliance, Leo is a heartbeat away from getting 
disbarred, the evidence is mounting, Carillo is ready to 
pounce." 

"The minute Carillo pounces, both Jerilyn and Ben are 
dead," the Admiral protested. 

"The minute Carillo pounces, EVERYTHING comes out in the 
open and I'm out of a job. If I'm out, Mulder is out too." 

The Mayor sighed. "And to think... I helped the Chief start 
his undercover campaign for Somerset. Now it's going to 
bite me in the ass... unless you and I find a way to solve 
this, quickly and quietly." 

"You don't know these people," the Admiral said quietly. 

"Then you better give me a crash course," the Mayor said 
firmly. "Because I am not going to lose the job that I love 
or risk the well-being of my family because I allowed 
myself not to be educated about the risks." 

"The best defense you can take," the Admiral said. "Is to 
stay out of it and let me take care of this. These people 
are ruthless. Twelve years ago, I threatened to blow their 
conspiracy to the media and let the press try them." The 
Admiral was very quiet for a moment. "They killed 
Lynnette." 

The Mayor looked confused. "I thought your first wife died 
of cancer?" 

The Admiral glared at him, "They killed Lynnette," he 
repeated himself. "And they promised me if I played by 
their rules, not only would I have all the political clout 
I could ever dream off, but Jerilyn would not be harmed." 
"Looks like they're not keeping up with their end of the 
bargain if they're still after her." The Admiral fell 
silent again. The Mayor cleared his throat. "Look, say what 
you want, but I'm in this up to my neck. I'm not staying 
out so I need you to tell me the truth." 

"What truth is that?" 

The Mayor ran his fingers through his hair. "Jeremy... you 
know I love Jerilyn too... I watched her grow up, I was at 
her wedding, she was bright as a button as a kid and she's 
grew up to be a pretty great person but... Jeremy... admit 
it... she's not exactly..." he searched for an appropriate 
word, "normal? I guess? Am I right?" 

"You are right," he said slowly. "Jerilyn is very special." 

"Jeremy... buddy... who's daughter is she?" 

County Jail  
DC  
***********  
Mulder sat after the trial with a degected expression on 
his face.  

"Tough day man?" Manny asked sympathetically. 

"Well...they set bail at this insane amount, so there's no 
way I'm getting out before the trial." 

"You got a lawyer?" 

"Yeah...I've got this guy who offered to take the case for 
free--" 

"Oh...one of them spring chickens who need a case." 

"Not quite..." Mulder said with a heavy sigh, "He offered 
my services for his." 

"What do you do?" 

"I'm an FBI agent." Mulder said disinterestedly. 

"Really? I guess lawyers need protection." Manny remarked 
flatly. 

"So what do you do?" 

"A little of this, a little of that...mostly I'm in 
agricultural enhancement." Manny shrugged. 

"When my partner and I were off my division, we were placed 
dealing with shit...literally." 

"Manuer?" Manny finished incredulously. 

"Yep...the powers that be tried to shut our division down, 
and they sent us on the crap cases...investigating farms 
and manuer and stuff." 

"Oh man...that stinks." 

"No pun intended, huh?" 

"Right..." 

"Well, believe what you want, but it's the truth. I've 
investigated conspiracies, aliens, freaks of nature..." 

"That's just plain bizarr-o, man." 

"No...that liver-eating mutant...*that* was bizarr-o." 
"Hombre, you're a nice guy, so I'm gonna tell you this for 
your own good. Lay off the science fiction flicks." 

"Oh man...science fiction makes up half my video 
collection!" Mulder announced excitedly. 

"What makes up the other half?" 

"Porn." Mulder answered flatly. 

"No kidding!" Manny whispered. "That's scary..." 

"Not half as scary as this smoking guy who has the FBI 
under his thumb." 

"What's the dude's name?" 

"Doesn't have one." Mulder said shaking his head, "We just 
call him the Smoking Man...evil doesn't need a name to be 
identified."

Later that night  
Martha's Vineyard 

The Admiral, carrying a duffle bag and a small bag of 
groceries, let himself into his summer house he hadn't been 
to in over fifteen years. However, he made a tidy little 
profit by renting it out to vacationers. He knew that it 
was going to be empty for the next two weeks before the new 
renters came down to escape from the pressures of the city. 

Plus, he could take a look-see to make sure it was still in 
pristine condition... which, naturally as he only rented it 
out to extremely wealthy people, it was. Plus, his current 
wife, the Honorable Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, United States 
Senator for Arizona, used it quite often to entertain 
guests and potential political allies. She always double-
checked to make sure it was in shipshape condition. 

The Admiral knew a pang of guilt. Not only has he not 
called his daughter, but his wife. He liked Jenny, they had 
always been friends but they did not married because of 
unbridled passion for eachother. They needed to form an 
alliance, so, much like ancient Rome, where men wed their 
friends' daughters to earn their respect and support, the 
Admiral and Jenny married eachother so they could both reap 
the benefits of their political clout. And with a 
Republican president in the White House, Jenny's clout 
increased tenfold. 

But even Jenny was on a leash. Jenny's power would remain 
as long as she voted the way THEY wanted her to vote. So 
she did. She lobbied hard against ethanol, alienating 
herself from the Iowan senators whose state economies 
depended on the fuel from corn to sustain their small 
state. But Jenny wouldn't budge. If the country went from 
petroleum to ethanol, it would become increasingly 
difficult to smuggle the lethal black oil into the country. 

If ethanol was approved and became mainstream... the oil 
company that Doggett and Mulder risked their lives on and 
which Kersh received healthy dividends on would lose their 
contracts with the military bases... military bases who 
coincidentally had planes go off radar and crash miles and 
miles and miles off target... such as the plane 
Starkweather, Scully and Doggett investigated in Scotland 
just a month and a half ago.... 

The Admiral closed his eyes. <<I am doing the right thing, 
I am doing the right thing>> he told himself as he put his 
groceries away in the kitchen. 

But his mind's eye betrayed him and replayed a scene from 
the not-so-distant past

A month and a half ago...  
The Admiral's house  
Sedona, Arizona 

"So, you met Deputy Mayor Mulder," he got right to the 
point. 

"Yes." 

"What did you think?" 

"He's insane... Was any of the horseshit the Deputy Mayor 
told me true?" 

"I really wished he hadn't told you anything." 

"Was any of that horseshit true? Yes or no, Daddy?" 

The Admiral shifted in his chair. "I did summon Agent 
Scully and Deputy Mayor Mulder to dig into your past to 
discover what really happened to you as a child, yes." 
She repeated to him what she had said to Mulder "Did it 
ever cross your mind that I don't want to know?" 

"I had counted on that." 

"Okay, Dad, I really don't get this. In the same breath, 
you said you asked Scully and Mulder to get the true story 
about my childhood but at the same time, banking on the 
fact that I don't want to know? What???" She dropped her 
hands into her face. "I get promoted to the X-Files and 
instead of working on the cases, I become one of the 
cases?" To temper her anger with humor, she said "That will 
not look good on my resume." 

The Admiral laughed. She had begun to develop her biting 
sarcasm around the age of twelve. Lynnette had tried to 
curb her daughter's blooming acerbic humor, but the Admiral 
had secretly it. When Lynnette passed away, only the drill 
sergeant had the power to still her tongue, but only during 
the trauma of Basic Training. Once she made the return to 
"real life", the pent up sarcasm erupted. 

"Dad, I'm serious," she said. "Look what happened to 
Mulder. I don't want to be forced out of the FBI because of 
little green men. Yeah, okay, so I'm investigating 
paranormal and other weirdness now, but Dad, how can I do 
my job when people are questioning my credibility because 
they think I a nutcake alien abductee?" 

"We don't know that for sure." 

"Mulder seems to think so." 

"It's a possibility that I've asked Mulder to explore," the 
Admiral  admitted slowly. 

"What? Dad, no. You can not be serious." Starkweather 
bounded out of her chair in anger. "Dad, I do not want that 
man involved in my life whatsoever. I don't want all of 
this. ANY of this. Please," she knelt by his side, her big 
eyes gazing up him, pleading. "Daddy, whatever influence 
you used to start this, please stop it. Please let me live 
a normal life. If I am," she rolled her eyes in disbelief 
that these words were about to leave her mouth, "an alien 
abductee or experiment, whatever, I don't want to know. 
Okay? Please get Mulder out of my life. Please let me live 
like everyone else." 

"But angel, you're not like everyone else and you KNOW 
that," he said insistently, gripping her small hand. 
Starkweather didn't pull away. "My God, Jerilyn, you 
learned by ear to play Bach's "Goldberg Variations' 
flawlessly on the piano when you were seven years old. 
You've always been special and people want you dead because 
of it. Baby, even if I wanted to stop this, I can't. This 
is so much bigger than you and me and your private life. 
There's so much you don't understand!" 

"Then TELL me! For Christ's sake, Dad, I'm not a little 
girl anymore! I haven't been one for a very long time. I'm 
old enough to have had a military career, complete a 
medical degree, go through FBI training. I'm old enough to 
be a federal agent who willingly puts her life on the line 
every damn day. I'm old enough to be someone's wife. I'm 
old enough to have carried and lost a child. Dad, if I'm 
old enough to be, to have all of that," Starkweather 
gripped his hand, "then I'm old enough to hear the truth on 
why you went behind my back to have an unwanted 
investigation about my childhood, only to have me find out 
from someone I completely and totally hate? Do you know who 
Fox Mulder is? He's the man that upset Mom so bad a few 
days before her death? He's so blinded by his quest, he 
couldn't even let a suffering woman die in peace. So you 
tell me, you tell me right now, what the hell is going on 
and why are you treating me like an idiot child?" 
The Admiral looked down at her with genuine tears in his 
eyes. "Because, even though you're a retired Airman, even 
though you're a doctor, even though you're a highly 
competent and exceptional FBI agent, even though you're 
married and even though you and Ben will someday have 
grandchildren for me." Starkweather laughed a little, but 
only a little. "You're still my little girl. Even when," he 
stroked her pretty hair with a trembling hand, "God willing 
that I live long enough, you hair turns gray, I'm still 
going to see you with hair ribbons and curls. Yes, I used 
my politic influence to investigate what sick monster 
could... do what they did to you. But I went behind your 
back, hoping you wouldn't find out, so you COULD live a 
normal life. Because a normal life is what you deserve, 
because a normal life was a luxury you never had as a 
child. Angel," he touched her face. "Even to this day, I 
still get death-threats, not for me. For you." 
Starkweather felt twin tears slip down her cheeks. "But why 
me? What did I do?" 

"It's not what you did. It's what you are." 

"So, what am I?" 

"That's what I asked Mulder and Scully to find out. That's 
why..." he paused, debating whether or not to tell her, 
deciding to confess, "that's why I had Jenny pull strings 
to get you transferred to the X-Files. Jerilyn, listen to 
me," he said urgently. "All of this," he waved his hand 
around, indicating his garden, his house, his wealth, his 
being. "All of this, means nothing if anything happens to 
you. I've told you all I can tell you. Anything more, 
endangers your life even more. Hate Mulder all you want, 
but let him help you," he insisted. "If not for yourself, 
but for me, for Benjamin, for everyone who loves you and 
whose world would collapse without you in it," his voice 
cracked at the end of his speech... 
(From Starkweather: Introitus) 

"But why me? What did I do?" 

Sitting on the porch, alone not even the roars of the ocean 
at sunset could banish his daughter's broken voice from the 
Admiral's ears. ears. "Angel, I don't know... but I'm going 
to find out... and I'll get Ben home to you... I just don't 
know how yet..." 

He didn't know how much time on the big clock was left for 
either Mulder or Ben. He knew he had taken a big risk going 
to Mulder to ask him to help him protect Jerilyn but he was 
running out of options. Mulder had been the logical answer. 
But the Admiral had a sinking feeling that it was only a 
matter of time before the Syndicate would wise up, stop 
playing Austin Powers/Dr. Evil World Domination games with 
Mulder and just kill him off for good. Ben, on the other 
hand, was a different story. He was a civillian in this 
war, the classic case of wrong place, wrong time. 
<<But I don't even know where to look or where he is>> he 
mourned to himself. <<And I don't know where else to go for 
help.>> He turned his head to pop his neck and looked over 
at the little bungalow a few yards away... the answer hit 
him... "Scully..." he said aloud. 

He had been good friends with Agent Scully's father while 
they were both in the Navy. They had been stationed at the 
same time in San Diego and on the recommendation of another 
mutual friend of theirs, vacationed out at Martha's 
Vineyards one fine summer. The Admiral smiled as he 
remembered the good times... little Dana Scully, dirty and 
barefooted, running after her hulking brothers on the 
beach, just to prove she could keep up with the boys. 
Maggie Scully and Lynnette sitting on the porch, either 
playing cards or working on various sewing projects; 
Lynnette was always making fancy quilts or frilly dresses 
for Jeri, when Jeri would wear frilly dresses while Maggie 
patched the boys and Dana's torn jeans and overhauls. He 
and William Scully would usually get the boat out and go 
deep sea fishing together, talking shop and talking about 
family life. And Melissa Scully, luminous and spiritual 
even at that tender age, would stay and watch the baby 
Jeri. In fact, Jeri's first words were not "mama" or "dada" 
but "Missy." 

The smile faded from the Admiral's lips.... just two miles 
away from here was the Mulder summer home, where a thirteen 
year old Fox Mulder struggled through his first summer 
without his sister, not realizing how close he was to his 
future partner who, at the time, was a grubby little 
tomboy. Neither Dana, nor her brothers nor her parents, nor 
Lynnette and certainly not little Jeri knew what the future 
held. Teena Mulder and her son certainly did not know what 
was going to happen either... but the Admiral did. And Bill 
Mulder did. Bill Mulder was the one who clued him on what 
the future held. 

The Admiral went inside and went to the picture hanging 
over the fireplace. He took it down and turned it around. 
Taking his pocket knife out, he flipped it open and cut 
down the back of it. A letter, hidden for twenty-seven 
years fell out. He picked up the letter and unfolded it... 
reading it for the first time in almost three decades. 
He placed it on the coffee table, partially hiding it under 
some magazines. He would call Dana Scully tomorrow. He 
would invite her here in the guise of helping her clear 
Mulder's name when actually, she would be helping him save 
Jerilyn and Ben's life. 

After Lynnette's death, Jerilyn was all that he had
...a couple of hours later in the same Jail cell...  
****************************************************  
"...you like porn huh?" Mulder asked. 
"What guy doesn't?" Manny returned. 

"You ever see Forrest Hump?" 

"Space Kittens From Mars..." 

"Yeah. Oooohhhhh...I didn't know that position was humanly 
possible..." 

"Don't laugh, but I got the most hard ones off of Madonna's 
Erotica." Manny said sheepishly. 

Bwaahahahaha. Was all Mulder contributed to the rest of 
that conversation. He was still bursting out laughing when 
Scully approached. 

Manny and Mulder both exchanged glances and bursted out 
laughing. 

"Mulder...I'm glad you two howler Monkeys find me so 
amusing..." Scully started flatly. 

"Monkeys!" Manny blurted out, sending the two into fits of 
laughter. 

"Mulder...I can come back another time if this isn't 
working." Scully said crossly. 

"Scully...I'm sorry," Mulder tried to apologize whiping 
tears of laughter away from his eyes. "Hey Manny, this is 
my partner, Scully. Scully, Manny the Illegal Alien" 

Scully was not amused. "Manny, do you think you can give us 
a little privacy here, man." 

"Sure, I'll uh, make myself scarce here." 

"Thanks, Manny." Scully said. "Glad to see your playing 
nice with your roommates Mulder." Scully said with a slight 
grin. 

"Where's Boo?" 

"It's after 9 oclock at night, Mulder, he's sleeping. I 
left Reyes with him." 

"Scully, what color license plate do you want? I've been 
looking at the activity schedule, and we've got poetry 
coming up..." 

"Mulder..." Scully said, taking his hand through the bars, 
"you're innocent. You're going to be home next week. 
Skinner, Doggett and I have already got leads we're looking 
into and we'll find out who really did this." 

"Well, that's good, Scully, because orange is not my 
color." He smirked. 

"Don't do this, Mulder...please...no jokes. We're doing 
everything humanly and nonhumanly possible to get you out 
of this. Just hang in there, alright?" 

"You better, I don't think a jail is a good place to bring 
Will. I mean, no offense Manny, but you wouldn't make the 
best Uncle." 

"I don't think the Lone Gunmen are a good enfluence on him 
either, but I still let them come over." Scully said with a 
small smile. "I'm not going to let them keep you here for 
long. Don't forget that." 

"Scully, you and Will are my freedom." He said softly, 
carressing her face. 

"I'll bring a barfbag when I come next time." Scully said 
with a slight smile, voice quivering and eyes tearing.

"Scully, this place has so much potential for us here." 
Mulder was saying, "I mean...bars...handcuffs...public 
place...this is a 900 caller's fantasy." 

"Mulder you better watch it, if you take a cold shower 
around here you hafta take it with some ex-con named 
Barry." 

"Oooohh...people watching us...Scully! You little sex-
kitten! I didn't know you had it in you!" Mulder teased. 
Mulder, don't think I won't be able to kick your *ss from 
here." Scully threatened. 

"Oooohhh, S&M...even kinkier!" Mulder smirked. 

"Mulder..." Scully said, sighing defeatedly. 

"This is nothing, Scully...just wait...a month down the 
road with no women around...unless you count Klinger 
impersonators." 

"Mulder, before me how long had it been since you were 
laid? Ten years?" Scully returned. 

"Yeah, well...chasing little gray men and mutants kept me 
from dating. How about you? You didn't have much of a sex 
life before me, either...that vampire with the bucked 
teeth?" 

"He did NOT have bucked teeth!" Scully protested. 

"Yeah...neither did bugs bunny." 

"Two words for you Mulder...Diana Fowley" Scully said with 
a grin. 

"Two words for you Scully...Daniel Waterson." Mulder 
retorted. Scully was opened and shut her mouth a couple of 
times before she realized that Mulder was going to have the 
last word. 

"Cheap shot, Mulder." Scully admonished. 

"Yeah well...you must be losing it, Scully...'cheap shot' 
is the best comeback you can think of?" Mulder taunted. 

"It's late..." Scully began. 

"Yeah...you better get back, I bet Boo misses his Mommy." 

"He misses you too, you know." She said softly 

"Yeah...I know..." Mulder croaked. 

"What's that noise?" Scully said as she heard sniffling in 
the corner. 

"I think someone forgot to turn off the waterworks." Mulder 
said in his monotone. 

"You guhihihis...you're like...Boggie and 
Becall...better....*sniff!* than Boggie and Becall" 
*Bogie and Becall?* Mulder mouthed to Scully. 
"You know, they both want to be together *sniff!* but they 
can't. It's soo beeeeeeeeautiful *Pfffffmmmmmmmmmt* said 
Manny blowing his nose. 

"Scully!" Mulder begged with desperation. 

"Mulder, you two were getting along. Why...of all the 
offices...in all of Washington, did you hafta walk into 
mine..." 

"Uhhhh...you walked into mine, Scully." Mulder retorted. 
"Mulder, do a Bogie impression and I'll kick your ass." 

"Scully...just get me outta here, please." He pleaded 
almost in jest. 

"Don't hold your breath, Bogie, I've got Dolf Lundren 
waiting at the airport for me." she said with a sly grin on 
her face and with that, decided to leave. 

Meanwhile...  
The Lone Gunman's Lair 

Langly, the insomniac, was the one who noticed the 
persistent knocking on the door. Byers, not a night owl by 
nature, escaped to the small room in their secret compound 
that he had commandeered as his private bedroom. Frohike, 
meanwhile, had fallen asleep at his computer console, 
mumbling incoherently in his sleep. 

Langley continued to work on by himself for a little while, 
but eventually, frustrated by his lack of progress, gave up 
and hopped online to play "EverQuest." 

So deeply into the game, it took a little while for Langley 
to notice the knocking on the door, but eventually it got 
loud enough to annoy him. Langley checked out the video 
monitor that fed him images of the outside world. A figure, 
dressed in a long black trench coat and wearing a black hat 
was persistently pounded on the dress. 

Langley licked his lips. He may look like a scrawny chicken 
man, but he was just as brave as Mulder or Doggett... when 
he had to be. He picked up a wrench and went to the door. 
Clenching the wrench tightly in his hands, he called out, 
as intimidating as he could with his nasally voice "Who's 
there?" 

The knocking stopped. Langley stood there for at least five 
minutes. He turned back to check the monitor. There was no 
one there, but there was a package on the doorstep. 
Langley put the wrench down and went to Frohike: "Dude, 
wake up." 

Frohike murmured "Dana... my pet..." 

"Oh BARF," Langley groaned. He shook Frohike awake. "Dude, 
GET UP. I need your help." 

"Huh?" Frohike joined the world of the living. "Langly, 
what the sam hell are you doing?" 

Langly filled him in. "I'll cover your back, you get the 
package." 

"Wait a minute, why should I have to go out? YOU go out 
there and I'll cover your back." 

They argued like that, wasting more time until Langly said: 

"Let's get Byers to get the package." 

"Now you're thinking," Frohike went to wake Byers. 
Byers, in a black t-shirt and blue boxer shorts with purple 
and green polka dots stumbled out after Frohike. Yawning 
enormously, he asked. "Wha'?" 

"Get the box that's on the doorstep," Langley told him, 
picking up the wrench again. Frohike found a dusty, never 
used tennis racket and poised by the door, ready. 
Made stupid by lack of sleep Byers mumbled, "Oh, okay." 
Langley unlocked the door and threw it open. Byers stepped 
out, picked up the box and carried it inside without 
incident. Langley slammed the door shut and locked it. 
Starting to wake up a bit, Byers asked "What is this?" 

"We don't know," Langly said and he filled him in on what 
he saw. 

Which woke Byers up completely. "You-you-you l-let me go 
out there!!!" he sputtered furiously. 

"Hey, buddy, we had your back," Frohike said as Langley got 
out a stethoscope and a small metal detector.
Langley swept the metal detector over the box without 
getting so much as a crackle. He then listened to its 
contents with the stethoscope. "Nada," he concluded. "It 
ain't a bomb." He reached into one of their many junk 
drawers and pulled out an exactor knife. "I'm gonna open 
it." 

"If Gwyneth Paltrow's head is in there, I'm gonna puke," 
Frohike mumbled. 

"Shh," Byers hushed him, scratching his beard as Langley 
put on a pair of latex gloves before starting his work. 
Langly carefully cut through the paper wrapping and sliced 
through the duct tape that kept the box shut. Uneasily he 
opened the box lid. "Oh man..." 

"What?" Byers asked as he and Frohike came closer. "What is 
it?" 

"Well, it ain't Gwyneth Paltrow's head... but there's 
blood." 

"Blood?" Byers instantly paled. 

Langly lifted out two plastic vials of blood. "What the 
fuck, man?" Langly quailed. 

Frohike adjusted his glasses and peered at the vials. "They 
look like blood samples... like from a hospital," he 
observed. "They're labeled too... I can't read 'em from 
this far away, what do they say?" he stood on tiptoe to try 
to get a better look while Byers put a pair of latex gloves 
on his shaking hands. 

Langly put one vial down. He read the label on the vial he 
held to himself. "What the fuck...?" he repeated as Byers 
took the vial Langly had put down. 

"What IS it, Blondo?" Frohike snapped. 

"Mulder," Langly read, "Fox, William." 

"WHAT?" Frohike exclaimed. 

"And this one reads, Starkweather, Jerilyn M.B." Byers 
said. 

"I don't get it," Langley said. "What the hell is someone 
doing sending up *blood*, an' Mulder and Starkweather's 
blood, of all things?" 

"And how do we know if it's really theirs?" Byers reasoned. 
"We could very well be set up on a wild goose chase." 
"We compare it with other DNA samples." Frohike went to the 
closet and pulled out the coat he had been wearing the 
first and last time he had been to the Starkweathers. He 
pulled off a long blond strand of hair that had clung to 
his coat via static electricity. "Girl sheds like a cat," 
he grunted, putting the hair into a jar. "Almost two months 
later and I'm still picking her hair off of my clothes." 

"Alright," Byers said. "But what do we have of Mulder's 
that was can test against?" 

The Lone Gunmen pondered for a bit. Then Langly remembered 
something. "His puke!" 

"WHAT??" Byers and Frohike asked in unison. 

"Remember after our... um... unsuccessful visit to the 
Starkweathers, Mulder had gotten sick," Langly went on. 
"When we got 'im to Scully's, he threw up on her shoes. 
Well, some of the barf got onto some of my clothes too... 
wait a minute..." and he bounded off. 
Frohike grumbled. "No wonder this place stinks." 
Byers, meanwhile busied himself, examining the box. 

"There's an envelope in here," he said, taking it out. 
Langley came out again, holding a pair of jeans and one 
sock, stained with vomit. Frohike sniffed and gagged. 

"Gross." 

"Do you think it will work?" Langley asked. "I mean... 
these stains are pretty old." 

"Just think how old the stains were on Monica Lewinsky's 
dress," Frohike pointed out, holding his nose. "It should 
work." 

"Guys, listen to this," Byers said, reading the letter he 
had taken out of the envelope: 

The truth is not out there  
It's in here. 

"And these two color photo copies were enclosed with the 
letter," Byers laid the last two pages on the counter top. 

"Pictures of kids?" Frohike asked, looking at the 
photocopies. 

"Not just any kids," Byers said, pointing to the typewriter 
names and dates on the pages. 

"Holy shit," Langley said, looking at the picture of the 
little boy. "Fox Mulder, September 15, 1969." 

Frohike read aloud the name and date on the picture of the 
little girl. "Jerilyn Bailey Starkweather, September 8, 
1981." He looked up. "Pictures of Mulder and Starkweather 
when they were age 8." 

"Are we sure it's really pics of them?" Langly asked even 
though they all knew the answer. It was undeniable. The 
little boy had a small birthmark on his face in the same 
place Mulder did. The little girl's nose was crinkled in 
amusement the same way Starkweather's did when she was 
privately laughing at some joke. 

"And look at this," Byers, using his hands, covered up the 
long braids that hung down, in front of Starkweather's 
ears. 

Langley and Frohike looked. "Holy Jesus Christ on a Pogo 
Stick," Langley burst out. 

"Looks like the same kid, doesn't it?" Byers said. He 
picked up Starkweather's vial of blood. "Make some coffee, 
Langley," he said with a sigh. "Looks like we're going to 
have a long night." 
******************
 
The figure in the black trench coat had waited patiently in 
the shadows until the tall man with the beard came out and 
picked up their gift from her. Only then did she slip into 
her car, take off her hat, shaking her platinum blonde hair 
out of its bun and drove away without looking back. 
Marita Covarubias knew that these men had helped the X-
Files in the past. She knew that they would get conclusive 
proof of the truth that the Cancer Man had desperately 
tried to hide. She knew she was endangering the project 
with the truth, but she had motive. She had been scorned by 
the Cancer Man and hell hath no fury... 

The Syndicate had been running fine until the old man 
seized control again. Now they were back in the olden days 
of long drawn out conspiracies and complicated plans and 
other such foolishness. Like keeping Ben Starkweather 
alive. This idiotic plan of planting a fake body, forging 
the dental records and trying to entice Ben into working 
for them was ridiculous. But, as usual, CSM wasn't 
listening to anybody and everyone else was too scared to 
stand up to him, herself included. 

Eventually, Mulder and Starkweather would have to be taken 
out... but first, let them to the dirty work of distracting 
the Cancer Man. Maybe they'll even get lucky and do what 
she and Krycek couldn't... which was wipe him out. 
Permanently. 

Starkweather dreamt she was in a kitchen of a modest one 
story, three bedroom home with a large front yard and an 
even bigger backyard. Big enough for a small vegetable 
garden, a swingset, a playhouse and a flower bed. 
She dreamt she was standing at the counter, slicing 
vegetables from her garden for a salad as she talked on the 
phone. "That would be awesome if you could do that... as 
long as you don't care... let me ask..." she turned around 
to look at the little girl playing with a kitten at the 
kitchen table, "Bailey," she said firmly, "what did we say 
about animals on the table?" 

The little girl looked up at her with brilliantly beautiful 
blue eyes "We said no animals on the kitchen table," she 
said sliding the kitten off the table into her lap. 

"Alright then, say..." she softened her tone, "your Aunt 
Dana called, she wants to know if you and your brother want 
to spend the night at their house and watch movies." 

"Can I watch movies then come home?" the little girl asked 
hopefully. 

"You don't want to sleep over?" Starkweather asked her. 
The little girl shook her head. "Fox might miss me," she 
said, hugging her kitten tightly, nearly squishing him. The 
kitten looked up at Starkweather as if to say "Kill me 
now." 

"Honey, you're going to squeeze the life out of him, 
remember, he's only a baby, hold him like a baby, hold on 
Scully," she said into the phone before she put it down to 
teach her daughter how to hold a kitten. "That's better. 
Well... if you don't want to spend the night, I suppose you 
don't have too. Why don't you and..." she grimaced as she 
said the kitten's name "*Fox* go play in the back yard 
until your dad comes home." Bailey, carefully cradling the 
kitten in her arms, scampered out. "Well, Bailey doesn't 
want to spend the night because she wants to spend time 
with her new kitten... did Mulder get the thank you card 
from her? Okay... good...... sure, I can send Will home for 
you. I'll talk to you later, bye..." 

She left the kitchen and went to the front door and yelled 
at two little boys tearing around on their bikes. "WILL!!! 
YOUR MOM CALLED!!! SHE WANTS YOU TO COME HOME... AND JB.... 
YOU COME IN AND GET CLEANED UP BEFORE YOUR DAD GETS 
HOME!!!" 

A descolate voice called back "Oh... alright..." 

Before going back to the kitchen, Starkweather paused in 
front of the mirror over the fireplace of her cluttered 
living room, constantly littered with toys and books. She 
had tried to keep it neat, but with a pair of active and 
michevious twins... it was impossible so she gave up. She 
took her glasses off and examined the crow's feet at her 
eyes. She couldn't help but notice just a touch of silver 
in her shoulder length brown hair. She wondered if she 
should start dying her hair again but really didn't want 
to. 

She sure couldn't pose as a teenager anymore, but she still 
did not really look her age. She looked to be late 
twenties, early thirties, not staring forty straight in the 
face. 

She had just started to slice up the rest of the cucumbers 
when she heard a familiar voice yell out over the slamming 
of the door. "Doc? I'm home!" 

Starkweather rinsed her hands and walked out into the 
living room, drying her hands on a dishtowel that has seen 
better days. 

It was undeniable that the little boy was hers. He had a 
moptop of dark brown hair and a pair of sparkling hazel 
eyes like her own. With a huge gap-tooth smile, he started 
up at his father. 

Starkweather gasped when she looked at the man who's hand 
the boy was holdng. He was tall, broad shouldered, with 
straight dish-water blond hair save for one lone lock of 
hair that had gone completely gray. He had kind eyes. But 
he was not her children's father. 

She snatched the boy away from him and pulled her ever-
faithful Baretta out of her ankle holster. "Who are you?" 
she said, holding her son, stepping away from the stranger, 
pointing her gun at him. 

"Mom," the boy said calmly, taking the gun away from her as 
if it was a toy and handing it to the stranger. "His name 
is Sam and he said he can bring Dad home....."  
************************* 

Starkweather woke up with a gasp and found herself in the 
little apartment she had shared with Ben... 

Meanwhile... 

"Ticklish, huh?" Sam said quietly as he turned back to look 
at her face, which looked a little more peacefull. "Sorry," 
he whispered as he kissed her cheek. 

"SAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMM," Out of nowhere, Al's voice, chock full 
of warning rang out. Sam turned and saw Al glowering at him 
at the foot of the couch. "Uh-uh, she's a married woman." 
Sam sighed forcefully. "I know," he snapped at Al. "But 
she's not happy though." 

"Well, of course not, you dummy," Al lit up a cigar. "She 
thinks Ben's dead." 

"Have you guys been able to get a lock on Ben's location?" 
Sam got back to business. 

Al fussed with his hand held link. "Ziggy's still not 
completely up to speed, the virus is out of her, we're 
still cleaning up the mess that it left behind. The good 
news is that we don't have to worry about her crashing and 
burning anymore..." 

"'And the villagers rejoiced'" Sam quoted Monty Python. 

"'Yay...'" 

Al glowered at Sam, "How is it..." Al asked "that you can 
forgot almost all of American history but your Swiss 
Cheesed memory can remember 'The Holy Grail'?" 

"Just lucky, I guess," Sam grinned for a minute before 
gettng back to business. "Now, about Ben?" 

"Oh yeah..." Al thumped the console. It squealed like a 
dying animal. "Well, so far, we've figured out that Ben's 
still in DC, which is good, but we can't get a lock on his 
exact location. Goush is working on that." Al smacked the 
console again. "As for other news... well, we've got four 
days left before Mulder gets his internal organs re-
arranged... but I finally have some good news for you 
Sam... Sam... Sam, are you listening to me???" 

Sam had been staring at Starkweather's sleeping face, 
watching her lips moving along with her dreams. "I heard 
you... it's about time that we got some good news..." 
Al groaned, "Sam... look... I know... she's a great girl... 
I understand what you're going through..." 

"Do you Al?" Sam snapped. "Do you really? Do you know what 
it's been like... these past fifteen years, drifting in and 
out of lives... getting so close to so many people... being 
treated like a son, a father, a brother, a lover, only to 
disappear out of their lives again and I can't even give 
them the courtesy of remembering their names. Not to 
mention the loved ones I may have back at home that I don't 
even remember... I don't even though if I'm married or not, 

Al... and don't you DARE tell me if I am or not... well," 
Sam looked at the floor for a minute, "I guess it wouldn't 
matter since I was instantly forget the minute I leapt into 
a new life, wouldn't I Al... Al... Al...?" 

But Al had stopped listening to Sam. He was staring wide-
eyed at Starkweather. 

"Doggett?" Sam suddenly heard as he felt her hand, 
trembling, on his shoulder. "Please tell me you see a 
little man in an electric blue zoot suit and a butt-ugly 
tie," Starkweather said in a trembling voice as she locked 
eyes on Al. 

"Um..." Sam tried to stall. 

Al leapt into action, hoping that she would still be in the 
greylands between sleep and wakefulness. "He can't see me 
honey because you're still dreaming. Just close your eyes 
again and go back to sleep. Your nerves are shot from what 
happened today, just go back to sleep," he said in a 
lulling voice, as if trying to coax a child back to bed. 

Sam noticed that Starkweather was not buying it. She leaned 
over and pinched Sam on the arm, hard. 

Sam leapt up. "Ouch!!!" he cried, "What was that for?" 

"You think I'd pinch myself??" Starkweather kicked off 
the covers and pulled her gun out of her holster. 

Al dropped his arms, sagging in defeat. "Honey, that's not 
going to do any good." 

Whispering to Sam, she said "Doggett, am I losing my mind 
or is there really a little dude smoking a cigar over 
there?" 

Al burst out, "He can't me, only you can." 

Sam mumbled lamely, "I don't see anything..." Starkweather 
started to shake. Sam, nervously asked, "Starkweather let 
me have the gun..." 

Starkweather turned it on him. "Who are you?" she demanded 
as she took the safety off.

Sam thought very very quickly as he stared down the shaft 
of Starkweather's gun. Noting how badly her hands were 
trembling, Sam realized that she was one heartbeat away 
from becoming totally unhinged. With that realization, he 
took a chance, swinging his hands in an inside-out guarding 
block, knocking the gun from Starkweather's unsteady hands. 
He grabbed her shoulders and yelled at her, "Listen to me, 
Jerilyn, okay? It's ME. It's John Doggett," Sam lied, 
knowing that the truth would probably send her over the 
deep end. "I'm your partner, I'm your friend... Jesus, 
Jeri, look at me!!!" he shook her a little bit. 

Starkweather twisted her way out of his grip. Sam tried to 
grab her again, but she leaped over the coffee table like a 
hurtler and snatched up her gun. Hands no longer shaking, 
she pointed it at Sam again. "Doggett," she informed him 
coolly, "NEVER calls me by my first name." 

<<SHIT!!>> Sam groaned to himself. "Starkweather-" he 
started up lamely, while watching Al who was standing 
behind Starkweather now. Al had tucked the console in his 
pocket and was trying to use sign language to him while at 
the same time mouthing a word, a monosyllabic word... it 
looked like...

"Doc..." Sam spluttered out. "You're being ridiculous!" he 
snapped, hoping he correctly guessed Al's charades and that 
he was nailing the character of John Doggett. "What is with 
you? Put that gun down!" 

It worked. With a stifled sob, Starkweather safetied the 
gun and handed it to Sam. "I don't know..." she whimpered. 
"Jesus... I just came back from a month long medical 
leave... I haven't even been back two whole days and I'm 
being sent right back out again..." she put her hand to her 
head. "I just... I don't know... nothing seems real... I 
mean... it doesn't even FEEL like Ben's gone and now I'm 
SEEING things and I'm HEARING things...." Al decided that 
now would be a good time to leave. 

When Al had left, Sam said, "There's no one here, honey." 
Starkweather, dry-eyed but still over-emotional, started to 
shake again. She leaned against the wall, and slid down, 
holding herself. "Oh God, oh god, oh god..." she whispered 
as she hung her head. Sam went over to her in a shot and 
wrapped his big arms around her. She felt cold. She was in 
shock. Seeing Al was too much for her. "Come on 

Starkweather," he said, rocking her back and forth, wishing 
she'd cry or yell or do SOMETHING. 

Finally, she came around, "I'm sorry I freaked out on you," 
she mumbled. 

Sam laughed "It was the cherry on the Sundae from hell," he 
said. 

Starkweather scootched closer to him and hugged him 
fiercely around the neck. "Is this nightmare going to end?" 
she asked. 

"God, I hope so," Sam said to her, holding her tight. Then, 
to himself he muttered again. "God I hope so." 

And so, huddled together like two refugees from a war-torn 
land, the agent and the time traveler fell asleep, only 
holding it together because they were holding each other.

The next morning...  
Ben and Jeri's apartment  
June 18, 2002  
7:17 AM 

Sam awoke, feeling bright sunshine on his face. His neck 
was one solid stress knot from sleeping leaning against a 
wall. He looked down and saw Starkweather's head resting on 
his chest. He craned his neck and noticed that in the crook 
of her legs, Caesar the cat was sunning himself, purring 
loudly, looking as smug as only a cat could. 

Laughing a little, Sam leaned back against the wall. He 
rotated his neck in a vain attempt to work out the kinks. 
Then, he took Starkweather in his arms and scooped her up. 
Slowly, he stood up and staggered over to the sofa and laid 
her down. "Let's try this again," he said as he covered her 
up with the quilt. Caesar leapt upon the couch and sat on 
Starkweather's stomach, hissing and growling at Sam. When 
Sam tried to rearrange the blanket, Caesar swiped at him, 
claws extended, catching his hand. 

"Ow!" Sam exclaimed, putting the scratches to his mouth, 
sucking on the wounders. Caesar merely glared and spit at 
him. 

"He knows you aren't Doggett," Al said casually, suddenly 
appearing next to Sam. 

"Al!!!" Sam said, "what the hell happened last night?" 
Al sighed and started punching on the console, "Well, I 
told you that the virus left little surprises in Ziggy.... 
last night was one of them... fortunately, like I said... 
she's stable right now." 

"But SHE isn't!" Sam gestured to the sleeping Starkweather. 

"Al... when I was looking down the barrel of that gun, I 
really thought I was going to bite the big one there for a 
second." 

"Me too," Al said. "Buddy, I had to check my drawers for 
cake when all was said and done." Al cleared his throat. 

"And don't think for a moment that telling her the truth is 
going to make it okay. That will only send her screaming 
for the nearest padded cell... if she believes you." 

"Al..." Sam said with a rueful smile. "I think it's time 
for you to get on those wings..." 

"SaaaaaaaaaaaAM," Al whined. "I really hate doing the whole 
guardian angel routine." 

"Would you prefer I have you dress in a diaper and boogey 
like the dancing baby from Ally McBeal?" Sam fired back. 
Al rolled his eyes. "Angels we have heard on high..." he 
crooned out of tune. 

"That's better," Sam said, scribbling a note to 
Starkweather. "Now... I'm going to go to Doggett's to take 
a shower and get some clean clothes. Before you don your 
halo for Starkweather, I need you to do something for me, 
Al." 

"Name it buddy." 

"Go pay a visit to the Deputy Mayor." 

"Anything but that." 

"AL," Sam hissed as he walked to the front door. "Mulder 
WILL figure out that I'm not Doggett. Just two days ago, I 
overheard him make the comment on why I didn't have a 
Southern accent anymore. I didn't know Doggett HAD a 
Southern accent." 

"Oh," Al said, guiltily. "Hey, Sam? Doggett has a Southern 
accent." 

"Gee thanks." Sam retorted. "Al... I need you to clue 
Mulder in on what's going on. He may be able to help us. 
Starkweather was in the process of finding a connection 
between the oil rig case and the case they had just worked 
on concerned a crashed F-15 in Scotland. But her 
concentration is shot to hell right now. Maybe Mulder can 
finish what she started. If we can make the connection, 
maybe we can stop this nightmare." 

"Fine, fine... I'll go say hi to Spooky in Sing-Sing..." Al 
punched out... 

Sam left the apartment. 
The County Jailhouse  
Washington DC  
7:45 AM 

Mulder, after returning to his cell after the insanely 
early breakfast, laid down on the bottom bunk. Manny had 
not returned to his cell, as his court appointed lawyer 
wanted to meet with him. So Mulder planned on enjoying a 
little bit of solitude. 

It didn't last long. 

"Hiya, Spooky," Al said, gnawing on his ever present cigar. 
Mulder jumped and banged his head on the top bunk. 

"YEOWWW!!!" 

The bored voice of the guard called out from the end of the 
hall. "Keep down, down there." 

Mulder, rubbing his head, looked up. "AL???" he whispered 
incredulously. "You're back..." 

"What can I say?" Al said drily. "I can't get enough of ya, 
baby." 

Mulder reached out and watched his hand pass through Al's 
body. "This means Sam's back too..." Mulder remembered from 
last year, when Sam had leapt into Scully. A queasy feeling 
settled in his soul. "Um... how long have you guys been 
here..." assuming Sam was back in Scully. 

"This is the third day." Al said, wondering why Mulder was 
turning very very green. 

"And you waited until NOW to tell me?" Mulder said, 
clutching his stomach. "You mean to tell me that was 
**Sam** just walked out of here last night!" He went from 
green to grey. "Oh my God... the remarks I made last night 
about handcuffs and bars and being a sex-kitten... and 
yesterday, I made love to her... him... oh God..."  

Al couldn't help but let Mulder torture himself for 
just a bit longer. 

"In fact... we had sex not just yesterday morning, but the 
night before... and the night before..." Al arched an 
eyebrow at him. Mulder bridled at him. "Hey, we have eight 
years of stupidity to make up for..." now he went from grey 
to white. "... but the past three days... it wasn't 
Scully... I feel so dirty..." 

Al let Mulder off the hook. "Mulder, you moron, Sam's not 
in Scully!" 

"Oh." Feeling like a complete nitwit, Mulder tried to save 
face. "If Sam's not in Scully... who's he in?" A thought 
crossed his mind. "Starkweather?" 

"No no, that would be too easy," Al sighed. "He's in 
Doggett." 

Mulder's face color returned to normal as a evil grin 
crossed his face. "Sam's in the Puppy-Man?" 
After all the grief Doggett-in-Sam had given him, Al 
couldn't help but grin nastily. "Puppy-Man, huh?" Al took 
out his Palm-Pilot "Memo to me...." 

Georgetown  
Scully's Residence  
7:46 AM  
*********************  
"What the hell do you mean I can't go to Martha's Vineyard 
today?" Scully snapped into her phone. 

"Scully, I hate to tell you this, but we have a review up 
before Kersh this morning at ten. Apparently, he's calling 
you, Doggett, Starkweahter and me on Mulder's arrest and 
Ben Starkweather's murder." 

"Sir, he can't do that! We have absolutely nothing that can 
implicate anybody on this case!" 

"The fact is, Scully, that you have a history for covering 
for Mulder." Skinner said before he realized it. 

"Sir, so do you." Scully replied frankly. 

"You and I both know that, Scully, but at least Doggett and 
Starkweather will be there to back us up on this. Look, if 
there was anything I could do to stop this meeting, believe 
me, I would do it. But Martha's Vineyard will just have to 
be delayed a little bit." 

"Delayed!" Scully erupted, "Sir! I was heading on my way 
out! If it is true that whoever is behind this is inside 
the FBI, then it is very possible that the evidence we need 
will be removed from the premises! I think it is very 
possible that this whole meeting is nothing more than a 
front to keep me from finding out what they don't want us 
to know." 

"Scully, I just can't grant you a reprieve on this as much 
as I'd like to. The future of the x-files division may very 
well hinge on this meeting. We need your input on this 
matter. Besides," Skinner sighed grudgingly, "if you don't 
show up, that's just going to make it easier for them to 
hang you later." 

"Is there something your not telling me, sir?" Scully 
demanded. 

"Billy Miles came into this building last night." Skinner 
confessed. "He murdered the security guard and the only 
reason you, me, Starkweather, and Doggett aren't split in 
half at this very moment is because we weren't in the 
building." 

"Fine. I'll uh, change my plane reservations and see you in 
a couple of hours." Scully consented, hung up, and hopped 
on her computer to print out her findings on the current 
case.

Meanwhile... 

Mulder laid back down on the bunk, idly kicking the bottom 
of the top bunk's mattress. "If I remember correctly," 
Mulder droned, "Dr. Samuel Beckett theorized that one could 
time travel in one's own lifetime. He started up a massive 
project back in 1999, calling it Quantum Leap. For some 
reason or other, he decided to test Quantum Leap before it 
was 100% ready. He stepped into the chamber and vanished. 
Lost in time, Sam leaps from life to life, putting right 
what once went wrong, hoping that each time, the next leap, 
will be the leap home." 

"Well... yeah that's pretty much it... in a nutshell." 

"And it is safe to assume that me being arrested for Ben's 
murder is what went wrong." 

"You could say that..." Al said. "Except that somehow, 
history changed. He's not dead." 

Mulder sat up, hitting his head again. "OW! Damn it." 
"Stop doing that, it hurts," Al warned him helpfully. 
Mulder glared at Al. "Ben's not dead?" he croaked out, 
rubbing his noggin. "Well, zippa-dee-do-da, that's great, 
so 
why the hell am I still here?" 

Al groaned and rolled his eyes. "I forgot what a joy and 
pleasure it is to be around you." Al lit up another cigar. 
"Ben's not dead, but he's being held prisoner somewhere. We 
believe that Ben's disappearance is directly connected with 
the oil rig case that you and Doggett worked on." 

"Galpex Petroleum Orpheus," Mulder said, laying back down, 
head throbbing. "Yeah... and Mr. Mini-Johnny Cochran 
thought he was going to take that case to trial and be a 
big legal star." 

"Starkweather was working on a connection between the oil 
rig and the downed plane in Scotland-" 

"Which one?" 

"Which what?" 

"Which Starkweather?" 

"Oh, sorry. Jerilyn." Al had forgotten that the Mrs. 
Starkweather did have a first name. "Anyways, she was 
working on a connection and we think if we could just 
figure out what the big hairy deal is between Scotland and 
the oil rig, we might be able to figure out exactly WHY Ben 
was snatched and maybe even find him." 

"So," Mulder huffed. "Go ask Starkweather." 

"Um... she's a little... testy right now." 

"A LITTLE testy?" Mulder turned his head. "If this," he 
pointed to his face, "is what you classify as 'a little', I 
would hate to see what you call 'a lot testy.' Personally, 
I would file this under 'Hormonal B*tch' but that's just 
me." 

Al took a closer look at Mulder. "Oooh... Geez... she did 
THAT?!?!?" 

LGM lair  
a few hours earlier  
*********************  

"You think we're looking at this wrong, Byers? I mean, we 
could just be seeing the results funky because we're sleep-
deprived." Frohike grumbled, staring open-jawed at the DNA 
samples. 

"Who knows, maybe we're still in the middle of a 
nightmare." 

"Hold out your arm." Frohike demanded to Langly. 

"What for?" Langly wanted to know. 

"Just hold out your arm." Frohike said, and then 
immediately pinched what little was showing underneath his 
long-sleeved shirt. 

"Ow!" Langly shouted, and threw up his arm, unintentionally 
b*tch-slapping Byers. 

"This is reality." Byers said, heaving a disappointed sigh. 

"Whatever the hell this is, I sure as sh*t ain't gonna be 
the one to spill it to Scully." 

"Do it again, maybe we did the tests wrong." Frohike 
suggested hopefully. 

"Maybe the two-month-old vomit sample isn't 
reliable...maybe the aliens changed the DNA make-up when he 
was abducted..." Langly frantically reasoned. 

"Didn't Mulder say she was possibly abducted, too?" Frohike 
interjected. 

"There's only one way to find out." Byers answered. 

Again, Byers took another of Mulder's two-month-old vomit 
sample. 

"Got another peice of her hair, Frohickey?" 

"Double double, toil and trouble." Frohike mumbled, 
plucking a blond strand from his jacket. 

"We've got the horney toad," Langly said, nodding in 
Frohike's general direction, "All we need for a complete 
spell now is an eye of newt." 

That hair strand and the vommit were put on slides and the 
levels were compared. 

"It's a match..." Byers croaked unbelievingly, "98.5%." 

"You don't think they can kill us for telling them, do 
you?" Langly nasalled. 

"We better change our locks." Frohike suggested. 

"We better change our identities." Langly offered. 

"It's a match...that changes everything..." Byers 
concluded.  

back at Mulder's Cell
***

Mulder had small purple bruises around his neck, where 
Starkweather had tried to choke him. His nose, broken 
before and broken again, had puffed up. As she had punched 
his nose, she also had split upper lip which the prison 
doctor had to stitch shut. "I spent three hours in the 
infirmary being stitched up by Dr. Frankenstein before they 
took me off to be strip-searched." Mulder said, rolling 
back over. "Yesterday wasn't exactly a banner day for me." 
Al, was still in total shock. "SHE did that?" 

"No, the other little b*tch who thinks I killed her 
husband." 

"But if we find the little b- um..." Al tried again. "If we 
can find Ben, they all will be well and we can get you out 
of here, so dammit I need to know what is so crucial about 
that case staying in the dark, other than the fact that you 
and Doggett's careers get shot to kingdom come!!" Al was 
getting REALLY tired of the G-men from the X-Files. 
Mulder turned his head again. "There's something you're not 
telling me." Al opened his mouth, then shut it again. 
Mulder rubbed his eyes. "Come on Al, I've been in worse 
positions that this." 

"Um... if we don't find Ben and prove that you didn't kill 
him... thenbillihkljhfdsfr," Al mumbled. 

"What?" 

"If we don't find Ben and prove that you didn't kill him... 
then someone... or something named Billy Miles is gonna 
come and rearrange your face worse than that Hurricane 
did." 

Mulder was quiet for a moment. "Okay... that's a new one." 
Mulder said. "So, because Starkweather married an idiot who 
got himself involved in an X-File when he had absolutely no 
right to, I'm going to be bent, stapled and mulitated 
unless I pick up where Starkweather, and that's the Mrs. 
Starkweather I'm referring to, left off, find out, from my 
locked jailcell, if you will, on what secret that oil rig 
contained and how it's connected to the case Starkweather, 
again, Mrs. Starkweather, Scully and Doggett worked on. 
Once I figure out this secret, this secret by the way I 
have been pursuing for about ten years, we can also figure 
out where the idiot, and I'm referring to MR. Starkweather 
now, where the idiot is being held, reunited the 
Starkweathers, Mr. and Mrs. and I can skip out of here a 
free man... but there's a catch, isn't there Al? I'm 
working under deadline, aren't I?" 

"According to Ziggy, we've got four days left." 

"Of course we do," Mulder grumbled, starting to massage his 
temples. "Almost a decade of chasing after the truth and 
I've got to catch it, from a prison cell, in less than 
ninety-six hours," Mulder groaned. "That women," he said, 
referring to the Mrs. Starkweather, "has been a pain in the 
ass since I've met her." 

Al, overtired, overwrought, scared for Sam and in dire need 
of a stiff drink, retorted "Must run your the family, 
bucko." 

"What do you mean?" Mulder said caustically. "I have no 
family except Scully and Wil-." Just then the clue bus 
made a stop and Mulder climbed aboard. "Oh my God-" he sat 
up again and again banged his head. "OW!!! GOD DAMN IT!!" 

"You took that a helluva lot better than Ziggy predicted 
you would."

He swung his long legs out and sat on his bunk, glaring at 
Al. "Are you saying that... Starkweather and I... are 
related...how? My parents were both only children, so I 
have no cousins. It was confirmed that Samantha was killed, 
so I have no nieces or nephews." But Mulder's mind began to 
race, thinking about all the times he and Starkweather had 
met and talked, how there was a spark, a surge, a 
preternatural sensation of <<Family??>>
 
That would sear his soul even when he was the most inflamed 
at her cutting tongue. 

Al finally said what had never been spoken aloud for 
twenty-eight years. "She's your sister." 

Mulder's fists were clenched in rage. "Samantha's dead." 

"I didn't say she was Samantha, I said she was your sister. 
Half-sister anyway." Al got out his handy-dandy console. 

"Ziggy said that it's 65 perce- holy Moses roses!" Al said, 
looking at the new figures. "History changed again Mulder, 
I dunno how, but now Ziggy's saying that there is a ninety 
eight point five percent change that you and Starkweather 
share the same biological..." he looked down at Mulder. He 
was not taking this well. He was not going to take the next 
word well either. "Father." 

Mulder closed his eyes. "My father had an affair?" 
Al said sadly, "I can't get you answers until you get me 
answers." 

Mulder opened his eyes. "Alright, I'll do what I can." 
"THANK YOU," Al said opening the chamber door. "I'll be in 
touch... no pun intended." 

"Ha." Mulder deadpanned. 

"Goushie," Al said, "center me on Starkweather." 

As Al disappeared, Mulder couldn't help but allow himself a 
mean little smile. <<We're brother and sister??>> he 
thought in glee. He couldn't wait for Starkweather to find 
out. <<That is going to ruin her entire day.>> 
Just then the guard came to let Manny back in and Mulder 
out. "Come on, Mulder," the guard said, none too friendly. 
"Your lawyer's here." 

Mulder wondered if he should tell Justin Leo that Ben might 
be alive.

As he was escorted to a private interview room, Mulder 
tried to hurry and organize his scattered thoughts and 
emotions into one nice neat line. Of course, it was hard 
being cool, calm and collected while wearing a bright 
orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, but Mulder did the best he 
could. It was, after all, not the first time he did jail 
time. 

The unsmiling guard let him into the interview room where 
Justin Leo awaited his arrival. Uncuffing him, he told 
Mulder. "Behave yourself." 

Mulder resisted the impulse to salute him but he did say 
casually, "Yes, mein Fuhrer." 

The guard snorted. "Pain in the ass," he muttered as he 
swung the heavy steel door shut behind him. 
Leo looked up from his legal pen. "Mr. Mulder," he said 
warmly as he stood up to shake his hand. "How are they 
treating you?" 

"The service here is awful," Mulder said, absolutely 
straight-face. "I plan on writing a letter of complaint to 
the management." 

Leo laughed. "They told me you had a quick wit." 

"I was hoping your legal manuveuring would be quicker than 
my wit." 

"Well, we'll have you out in no time," Leo said sincerely. 

"Funny, I thought I'd be out now on bail since all the 
evidence is purely circumstantial," Mulder found himself 
becoming resentful towards the neatly dressed lawyer 
sitting across from him. He couldn't quite place his finger 
on it. <<Maybe I'm just jealous that he's on the outside 
and I'm stuck in here>> he reasoned. 

"I understand you're frustrated," Leo said, "believe me, I 
can't tell you how disappointed I am at the judge's ruling. 
Between you, me and the fencepost, I think he's on the 
take, and let's face it Mr. Mulder,you've gotten on the bad 
side of a lot of powerful people. I wouldn't be surprised 
if the judge is being paid by someone to make your life a 
living hell." 

"But who could that be?" Mulder said. "Everyone I pissed 
off is dead." 

"I beg to differ." Leo argued gently. "Deputy Director 
Kersh is alive... Jerilyn Starkweather is alive." 
"Kersh works for the FBI... he doesn't have the money to 
bribe anyone," Mulder said while thinking <<But if he's 
getting regular dividends from the oil company...>> "and 
Starkweather... bribery is not her style. She'd rather just 
beat the shit out of me rather than waste money bribing a 
judge." 

"Do you want to press charges against her for... um..." Leo 
pointed at his face. "That?" 

Mulder shook his head. "She's suffering enough right now." 
<<Just having her find out that we're family is going to be 
punishment enough.>> 

"Are you sure?" Leo argued, a little more heat now, but not 
much. "I've been doing some research into Agent 
Starkweather and she's a huge liability to our case." 

"I'll say," Mulder said dryly. "She thinks I killed her 
husband." 

"Sir, with all due respect," Leo said. "I think we should 
go after her for her attack on you. Not only will you get 
monitary recouperation for your injuries, but since she's 
one of the main witnesses for the prosecution, a law suit 
against her might help us discredit her, if the judge will 
allow it, of course." 

Mulder, in light of the information he had just received 
this morning, shook his head. "I'm not comfortable with 
that line of defense, Mr. Leo." 

"Why not?" Leo persisted. "She's in the way. I am not 
comfortable with her out there as their star character 
witness. She'll be on that stand, telling them about the 
arguement you two had at J. Edgar and weeping crocidile 
tears for her poor dead husband... 

"Is there a chance that the dead husband isn't dead?" 
Leo sighed, exasperated. "Mr. Mulder... I understand that 
you recently underwent an experience which makes you 
question the permenance of death but I can assure you. Mr. 
Starkweather is NOT partially dead or even mostly dead. He 
is completely dead. And the prosecution is going to use the 
grieving widow to gain sympathy for their case. Face it Mr. 
Mulder, I know your scruples are up in arms about attacking 
Agent Starkweather's creditbility, but her testimony 
completely interfers with our defense strategy. 
Discrediting Starkweather is an issue of priorities and 
securities, Mr. Mulder. Not whether or not we're 
comfortable." 

Mulder merely murmurred thoughtfully, "I see..." he closed 
his eyes. "Say that last part again?" 

"Whether or not we're comf-" 

"Before that." 

"Priorities and securities?" 

<<"Mayor," a man was protesting, "he is in our way. He 
can't continue to hold this position without interfering 
with our agenda. He says it's an issue of priorities and 
securities.">> 

Mulder, like a lazy tiger, opened his eyes and stared at 
him as if the lawyer was a sleeping gazelle. "I think, Mr. 
Leo," Mulder said calmly. "I need another attorney." 
Leo also eyed Mulder as if he was the predator and Mulder 
the prey. "I understand," he said evenly. "Good day, Mr. 
Mulder." They shook hands and Leo took his leave. 
The minute Leo was out the door, Mulder yelled, 

"GUARD?!?!?! I NEED TO USE THE PHONE PLEASE?" 

The minute Leo was out of the jailhouse, he pulled his 
sleek little Nokia phone out of his pants pocket and hit 
speed-dial. "It's Justin Leo. We have a situation.... he 
figured it out." 


J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, D.C.  
9:04 am  
****************************  
"Sir," Skinner was saying. "I think pending the 
investigation Doggett will raise in the coming weeks once 
this oil-rig matter blows over, the findings will give you 
no room to squirm. It will not be in your best interest to 
put anyone involved in the x-files division underfire." He 
decided the best tactic to employ in this situation would 
be to try and persuade his superior the good reasons for 
alleviating blame from the x-files division. 

"Walter," Kersh refuted, "I have good reason to believe 
that justice has been obstructed here, and I will do my 
damnedest to make sure that the proper measures are taken 
against that. You've had a distinguished career, A.D., I'd 
hate to see it all end up in smoke." 

"Or in oil." Skinner mumbled. 

"I am allowing Doggett's investigation of my office to 
continue" Kersh went on, disregarding Skinner's remark, 
"because I am positive that he will find nothing wrong 
while in this position. I am bringing the members of the x-
files division here today because I believe that some 
aspects of their current situation needs to be brought to 
light." 

"Interrogating them in this manner is not going to bring 
any answers to light, Sir." Skinner rebuttled, "All 
questionning will do is arouse Doggett's suspicions of your 
own behavior, further giving him cause to probe into your 
term as Deputy Director. 

"Nothing is going to interfere with this investigation. I 
am not--" 

Kersh stopped in mid-sentence because just then there was a 
resounding BOOM! Followed by an obvious voiceless scuffle, 
then a silence. 

Skinner spat up and spun around, not loosing any time 
getting his gun out of his ankle holster. 

"I think nothing's at the door, Kersh." Skinner said, 
poising his gun. 

The door flung open, and a tall man with dark hair, eyes 
searching but not 'seeing' lumbered past Skinner and went 
directly for Kersh. 

Billy Miles, moved arms zombily outstretched, directed at 
Kersh's necks. Kersh, wide-eyed, stood paralyzed, unable to 
do anything defense-wise except cower under his desk 
Skinner, not blinking once, shot at the tall form, but 
missed the crucial spot due to Billy Miles' own swift 
movements. Green ooze protruded from his shoulder-blade. In 
one fell swoop, Billy Miles picked up the desk, threw it at 
Skinner, who barely managed to side-step it. 

Trying to keep himself from being flung like 
that desk and his superior alive was Skinner's immediate 
priority. 

Kersh, in reflex, grabbed the flagpole that stood in his 
office for defense. He idley swung to the left, and then 
swiftly again to the right, looking a little to Skinner at 
the moment like a majorette, and would've laughed at that 
thought had the situation not been so dire. 

Billy Miles' form snatched the flagpole from Kersh, who 
shot a desperate glance at Skinner. Billy Miles first swung 
the pole in the direction of Skinner, barely missing and 
swinging the pole into the wall in the process, also 
knocking his pistol out of his hand. He then swung at 
Kersh. 

"The oil...the oil stocks..." Kersh's voice shook in 
cowardice. He began confessing to the monster formerly 
known as Billy Miles, hoping to gain a reprieve. "The oil 
company involved in the case that got Agent Mulder fired is 
currently earning me hefty dividends. Investigation...would 
have gotten me reprimanded or in legal trouble." 

"Is that true?" Skinner questioned as he ducked another 
swing. 

Kersh nodded as he backed up against the window. Skinner 
watched in horror as Billy Miles throttled his neck through 
the blinds, and shattering the glass. 

Skinner plunged for his gun, which laid somewhere under the 
rubble that was formerly his superior's desk. He grabbed 
the gun. 

With the abruptness of a summer storm, Billy Miles released 
his grip. Kersh clutched the ledge of the window, and 
Skinner helped him up as Billy Miles robotically left the 
room.

Scully stood jaw gaping as she surveyed the disaster that 
was formerly an impeccably organized Deputy Director's 
office. Kersh was still doubled over, just holding the two 
ends of the flag-poles. 

"Sir? What--" Scully said, looking puzzled at the mess. 
Being ever the medical doctor, she went to Kersh, doing a 
topical examination of his injuries. 

"Billy Miles was here." Skinner began. 

"He did this--but I thought--" Scully stammered in 
disbelief 

"Whatever that virus was that he and Mulder were infected 
with last winter made Billy Miles indestructable. 
"What is going on here?" Sam demanded, surveying the 
damage. "I saw the paramedics outside and--" 

"Holy smoke, Sam," Al blurted out when he appeared, letting 
out a low whistle "looks like my place after ex-wife number 
3 found out about ex-wife number 4" 

"I think these agents deserve an explanation." Skinner cued 
to Kersh, who admonishingly sighed, closing his eyes. 

"Billy Miles came after me." Kersh began softly. 

"Why? Why does Billy Miles want you harmed?" Sam-in-Doggett 
demanded, and flashed a quizzical look at Al, who quickly 
jumped in with the answer. 

"Billy Miles is the main suspect charged with Mulder's 
murder, T-1000 style." Al finished. 

"For a sizable sum of money in oil stocks, I was paid to 
let certain things within the Bureau slide." Kersh 
admitted. 

"You are aware that a man is rotting in jail right now for 
a crime he didn't commit." Scully pointed out. 

"All the evidence against him suggests otherwise, agent 
Scully." Kersh argued. 

"All the evidence against him is circumstantial, Kersh." 
Sam fired back. "The defense attorney working his case has 
a questionable background." 

"Not questionable, Sam...Leo's as crooked as Quasimodo's 
back." Al butted in. 

"Agent Doggett, don't think I'm in anyway connected with 
that attorney assigned to him." 

"The wicked flee-eth when he's been caught holding the 
bag." Al grumbled. 

"I think you're hiding something." Sam-in-Doggett glared. 
"I think you know exactly who's behind all this and I think 
that unless you come forth with that information, a lot of 
people are going to be killed." He said, storming out. 

"Sir, I think Doggett's right." Scully seethed. "You are 
letting an innocent man rot in jail and you are putting 
everyone here at risk. If our investigation of your office 
finds anything--even a pack of cigarettes on the FBI's 
dime--you are going to wish Billy Miles split you instead 
of that pole. If you'll excuse me, I have an investigation 
to persue." She finished, and stormed out. 

Meanwhile...  
At an horse farm in rural Maryland... 

Marita Covarubias was out in the barn saddling up her 
favorite mare, Arwin, a placid palamino, when her cell 
phone rang. Arwin twitched an ear in interest but made no 
other movement, as well-trained as she was. Marita looped 
the reins around the fences, stepped away from the animal 
and answered. "Hello?" 

"It's Justin Leo. We have a situation.... he figured it 
out." 

Marita bit back a howl of frustration. It was all going to 
hell. First, that smokey son-of-a-b*tch's coup de tat, re-
seizing control of the New Syndicate. And now this. She had 
gone against her better judgement about allowing Leo to be 
a part of this project. He was too personally involved. Now 
she was going to pay for it. 

Calmly, as if talking to an idiot child, she said, "Go to 
the safe house and don't move until I say so. We'll have to 
arrange a flight and money and lodging for you." 

"You talk as if I'm in danger," Leo said as he hailed on of 
DC's colorful cabs. 

Marita, losing her calm just a hair, informed him, "You 
don't think Mulder is on the phone to Agent Scully right 
now, telling him what's going on? The man still has 
connections. Plus we have the very unfortunate situation 
where most people don't believe he's guilty." 

"The judge is fixed." 

"The judge is dead," Marita took great pleasure in telling 
him while she thought <<Or at least, he will be after I get 
off the phone with you, you waster of oxygen I could be 
breathing.>> 

"WHAT?" Leo was in the cab now, clutching his briefcase. 

"Capitol Hill," he told the cabbie before resuming his 
conversation. "Why the f*ck did you do that?" he snapped. 

"He was an valuable asset." 

"This entire mission is getting too messy," Marita spelled 
it out for him. "The goal was to get rid of Mulder and Mr. 
and Mrs. Starkweather. The more people who get involved 
with this, the more potential we have for information 
slipping out." 

"While you're at it," Leo seethed, "why don't you just take 
out the entire X-File Division? Skinner, Scully, Doggett, 
Reyes?" 

"I just might," she told him coldly before she hung up on 
him. 

After calling her favorite hitmen to take out the judge, 
Marita walked back to Arwen, patiently waiting for her. She 
scratched the horse's ears while she debated with herself 
on what to do next. Finally, she did what she knew she was 
going to do all along. 

Damn the old man and his obsolete ways. His ways didn't 
work anymore. She finished saddling up Arwin and swung 
herself up on her back before she dialed again. 

"Things have changed. Send the replicant to Mulder's cell 
tomorrow night." She said crisply. "And then, afterwards, 
get rid of Benjamin Starkweather permanently. I'm calling 
for a full abort of the mission. In forty-eight hours, all 
evidence must be destroyed." 

She knew she was taking a risk in waiting so long in 
eliminating Mulder and Mr. Starkweather, but she needed 
some time to pull the wool over the Cancer Man's eyes, to 
let him think HE was in charge. 

Gently, she nudged Arwin in the ribs and took off at a 
gallop.

Scully, having an overnight bag to pack, Will to check on, 
and plane reservations to change--again--practically flew 
to the FBI employee parking garage after the encounter with 
her superiors. 

Mick Jagger whined over the stereo 

Tiiiiiyiyiyime is on my side  
Yes it eeeehhhhhhis  
Tiiiiiyiyiyime is on my side  
Yes it eeeeeeehis 
Scully hoped so. 

The trance-like state she was in from the music and her 
fatigue was interrupted by the shrill ring of her cell 
phone. 

"Scully, it's Byers. We found something you might wanna 
know." 

"What did you get, Byers?" Scully asked, turning the car 
radio on mute. 

"Are you sitting down?" 

"I'm driving." Scully said flatly. 

"Oh well...I hope your at a stoplight or at a stop sign or 
a traffic jam..." Langley nasalled in the background. 

"Sorry Scully, we hadda put you on speakerphone." Byers 
apologized meekly. 

"That's ok, Byers...what did you guys find out?" 

"Um...we got this package." Byers hesitated. "It had Mulder 
and Jerilyn's blood in it. We ran tests, and the chances 
are less than slim that they are blood related." 
Scully's car screeched to a stop at the result. 

"How?!" 

"We don't know." Frohike butted in. "Scully, we heard tires 
screaching. Everything alright?" 

"Yeah...everything's fine." Scully said queitly. 

"I don't think Luke and Princess Liea will be happy when 
they find out about this." Langly said. 

"I think we're lucky Starkweather doesn't have her own 
personal Chewbacca." Byers commented. 

"She's got Doggett." Frohike grumbled. "He's close enough." 

"Guys...how did you get this information?" Scully demanded 
after her nerves were calmed down enough to concentrate on 
driving. 

"We got these test tubes from some guy in a trench coat." 

"Some guy in a trench coat...you guys sound like something 
out of a really bad old detective movie." 

"Scully, dollars for doughnuts, this is real..." Byers 
assured quietly. 

"Hang on, Byers, I have a call." Scully thankfully took the 
incoming call. 

"Little Dana Scully!" a male's voice boomed on the other 
end. "How's that little boy of yours? I can't call you 
Little Dana anymore with a child of your own, can I?" 

"Sir, Williams fine. How are you?" 

"Well, I'm upset about this whole mess with my son-in-law 
and the Deputy Mayor, Dana. I was hoping you'd set me 
straight with the details." 

"Sir, I'm right in the middle of an investigation right 
now." Scully said ...of you...she silently added. 

"I realize your busy, Dana...but I really would like to see 
what you have so far on the case. For my little Jeri's 
sake. Is there anyway you can make it to Martha's Vineyard 
this weekend?" 

"I think that can be arranged sir. I'll be there late 
Friday." 

"Wonderful." The Admiral replied, "You know, Dana, I don't 
want to believe he's guilty..." 

"I think the evidence against him is circumstantial, and 
hopefully my investigations will prove that." 

"I hope so, Dana. Take care of that little boy, and feel 
free to bring him along. I'll see you this weekend." 

"Thank you admiral. See you then. Bye." 

Maybe she'd take this visit to get some sun and do a little 
interrogation. 

With a push of a few buttons, she was back in touch with 
Byers. 

"I'll pass the word along guys. Thanks for letting me 
know." 

"May the schwartz be with you." Langly cautioned, and with 
that, Scully hung up. 

5:37 pm  
Martha's Vineyard  
******************  
Scully wound down the endless sea of vacation houses on 
Martha's Vineyard. It certianly hadn't changed much since 
she had been here as a child. Being the middle of summer, 
the tourist-season was just hitting it's stride, and the 
streets were dotted with bicyclists and children bouncing 
balls across the streets. 

She caught sight of the beach and memories of her brothers 
dunking her in the water and chasing after her and Missy 
when she was in the middle of itemizing sea shells and 
poking at gellatinous jellyfish corpses dotted along the 
shoreline. To her, they weren't gross, but beautiful and 
fascinating. 

She made her way to the Bailey summer home and found the 
front door surprisingly unlocked. She opened the door to 
find the furniture redecorated and covered in plastic, most 
likely by Mrs. Bailey. 

"Did the pottery barn throw up in here?" She mumbled. 
She walked over to an unfinished chimoise and lifted the 
plastic. From behind the plastic, a yellowed and doily-thin 
letter feathered down at her feet. 

She picked up and her jaw dropped like nighttime 
temperature in the desert as she continued to read the 
letter's contents. 

Dear Jeremy 

I know you and your wife will raise this baby girl as your 
own daughter, and I am sure she will make a fulfilling 
addition to her family. She will be happy with you, I am 
sure, unless she finds out her true origins. 

At all costs, you must keep this secret from her. She will 
be a part of your family until our cause has use for her. 
Her father has recently lost his only daughter and youngest 
child, Samantha to the cause, and his wife Teena--for the 
sake of their 12-year-old boy does not wish for her 
father's part in this to be revealed. Your new baby girl's 
mother remains a mystery to me, but I believe she is 
special...the only one of her kind, moreso than most 
parents wish their children to be. 

Enclosed you will find forged adoption papers with people 
who are not living. In this way, if your new baby daughter 
chooses to search out her origins, she will arrive at a 
dead end. 

I wish all the happiness and promise a young girl can bring 
to a father. Keep her part in our cause a secret, and she 
will be a happy, well-adjusted, child. Best of luck to you 
and your new family. 

Sincerely  
CBG Spender 

Oh my God...the tests...they were accurate...he's in with 
Spender...he's part of all of it...it's all coming together 
now. 

Why is it, Scully wondered, that whenever an x-files case 
started to come together, did that usually mean her world 
was about to fall apart? 

Now, this letter was proof that he was connected to the 
syndicate. Now, he just had to find a connection with the 
syndicate to Ben's murder. She was wasting rummaging 
through the cubbies in the desk and was so intensely 
determined to find evidence that she barely heard the 
doorknob turning.

Scully ignored her first instinct to dive in a good hiding 
place when she heard the click of the doorknob. Instead she
pulled her gun out of her shoulder-holster. She had every 
right to be here, and the warrant to proove it. Problem 
was,
she felt like a kid being caught red-handed

Admiral Bailey stood at the thresh hold, wide-eyed and 
opened-mouthed. 

"Dana?" he finally croaked. 

"Admiral, can you please explain the meaning of this," 
she said weapon still trained on the old man, she 
brandished
the old letter with her free hand. 

"The meaning of what?!" Admiral Bailey 

She read the letter verbatim. 

"Are you involved with a syndicate of conspirators involved 
with 
alien/human hybrid projects?" She demanded when she 
finished. 

"When I joined them, I didn't know who they were." He 
admitted, 
sighing defeatedly. "I just got back from serving in the 
Vietnam
War, and after seeing all that destruction, I wanted 
desperately 
to give a life everything a human being deserved. My wife 
and I 
wanted a daughter, and soon after I was told she was unable 
to 
have children, I was approached by a man. They had a little 
girl 
who needed a family, and we needed a child to make our 
house a home. 
When I agreed to take her, I had no idea as to who the man 
was. 
As time passed on, I was pulled into the group, conspiring 
with them, 
pulling strings for a single cause. I'm not a bad man, 
Dana. To protect 
the people I love, I had to do some very bad things." 

"Did you have anything to do with Mulder's arrest?" Scully 
demanded, 
gun still trained on him. 

"Oh God, Dana...I didn't want that to happen. After all, 
Mulder was the 
one standing between that man and my little girl. I wish 
there was 
something I could do to get him out of this ordeal." He 
sighed regrettably. 

"Sir, there is." Scully replied frankly, taking off the 
safety. "You can
come forward with this information." 

"I know, I know...but if I let on that I come forward, 
they'll come after
 me and Jerilyn. I dont' care about my own ass, but I'll be 
damned if I let
 them take Jerilyn. You'd do the same for little William, 
and you know it." 

"Sir, I wouldn't if that meant two lives were to be 
destroyed because of 
my actions." She reached into her briefcase and pulled out 
a search warrant.

"Admiral Bailey, I have a warrant to search your premisis. 
Am I going to find 
any more damning evidence?" 

"You can search all you want, Dana." The Admiral said 
softly. 
"Sir...I think you need to come back with me and explain 
all this to my partner." 

"Let me get my bags." Admiral Bailey consented.

After the police left and the smoke cleared from the Deputy 
Director's office, Sam got the Assistant Director's 
permission to go home and rest. Lord knows he needed it 
after not sleeping more than three hours for the past two 
nights. 

He barely remembered hitting the pillow, but Sam still had 
a very troubled sleep. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Starkweather seathed, a 
little girl stood with her blue-eyes wide at her pointing a 
gun at Sam. "Bailey," she said, eyes shifting to the little 
girl but not allowing the gun to move, "I want you to go to 
your room and play." 

"But Mommy!" the girl protested, "He said--" 

"Bailey," Starkweather insisted sharply, "I want you to go 
to your room and play with your toys. Please sweetheart, 
just go...I don't care what he said..." 

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!" She began as 
soon as Bailey was safely upstairs. 

"I'm only trying to help." Sam insisted quietly. 

"Help what?" She fumed, "My husband is supposed to be here 
now, not you. If you have abducted an FBI agent, sir, you 
should know that I will not hesitate to make sure you pay 
the full legal penalty." She c*cked the gun, "or maybe I 
should just let you rot in hell. Tell me, which do you 
prefer?" 

"Jerilyn, please," Sam pleaded, "I'm not here to hurt you. 
I'm here to make everything right." 

"Where did you come from?" She demanded, turning the safety 
off. 

"That's hard to say." Sam answered sheepishly. 

"Sir, you've got a gun pointed at you about to go off. I'd 
hate for your last words to be 'that's hard to say', 
wouldn't you? Now, before I blow your f*cking brains out, I 
suggest you tell me where my husband is." 

Somehow, Sam knew she was referring to Doggett. 

"Your husband is safe, Jerilyn. I'm here to help bring him 
home." Sam said simply. 

"How the hell am I supposed to believe that?" Starkweather 
retorted. 

"Why would I lie about something like that?" Sam answered 
bluntly. 

"Because you want me to let my gaurd down so I won't 
introduce you to St. Peter." Starkweather glowered, slowly 
stepping up to him brandishing her gun. 

"Starkweather...please...just listen for a second." 
Starkweather glanced at the clock, "You've got exactly 
three minutes to explain yourself." She threatened. 

"I built a time machine..." Sam began desperately, "Most of 
the time, people see me for whose ever life I am changing, 
but for some reason, you're seeing me for me." 

"And John Doggett is--" 

"In Project Quantum Leap waiting room--the government 
experiment enabling me to be here. He's safe, he's alive. 
People I trust implicitly are making sure of that." 

"Why are you here?" She said, finally putting the gun down. 

"To make sure things go the way they're supposed to." 

Sam woke up with a start. 

Dreams these days were making it harder and harder to fall 
asleep.

later that afternoon  
*******************  
Jerilyn spent the early afternoon trying to make the peices 
fit, but it was like trying to merge fettucini alfredo with 
a bean burrito delux. 

Doggett wasn't even Doggett anymore...that was unhenging. 
Every ounce in her wanted to make Mulder pay for Ben's 
death. She wanted someone to pay for what happened, and 
Mulder was in the closest proximity to guilt. 

But it was true...all the evidence piled against him was 
circumstantial. It was also true that he didn't behave at 
all questionably before the murder. Something resounded in 
her with Mulder during their first encounter. Something 
familial. If he weren't such a jack-ass, she might actually 
be friends with him. 

"But facts is facts." Starkweather mumbled. "He's being 
prosecuted for my husbands murder, and nobody else seems to 
be guilty for it." She plunked the half-consumed Jack 
Daniels bottle down on the ground. 

She slumped onto the couch, and fell into a deep 
undisturbed sleep. 

Her next conscious moment was several hours later, it was 
dark outside and it took her a few minutes to register that 
someone was there in front of her. 

"You look like hell." Al said simply. 

Starkweather bridled in pain at the headache. She lunged at 
him, but just passed through him. 

"Who--" she sputtered, "What...the FUCK are you?!" 

"I am your fairy godfather. I'm here to make you an offer 
you can't refuse." 

"Gimme a break, she studied him quizzically, you sure as 
hell ain't Brando." 

"Maybe not...just think of me as your gaurdian angel." 

"Where are your wings, Clearance? And why the hell are you 
wearing a flaming red suit?" 

"St. Peter decided to let us wear colors because the stains 
were hiking up the cleaning bill." Al retorted. 

"Hey wait...I remember you!" Starkweather blurted out, 

"You're that guy--the one that was hear earlier--when 
Doggett wasn't Doggett!" 

"I don't know what the hell your talking about, Jerilyn." 

"How come you know my name?" Starkweather demanded. 

"We've been watching you for the past few days." 

"Watching me?" She puzzled, "Who's 'we'" 

"You know...us." Al said. 

"Why have you been watching me?" She demanded. 

"Basically because we don't get cable up in Heaven." Al 
deadpanned. "Harps loose their interest pretty quick." 

"What is in those clouds? LSD? Come off it! You are not an 
angel any more than I'm Shirley McLane." 

"Look," Al insisted, "I'm here to tell you Ben is fine. 
He's alive and he's fine." 

"The Gospel According to Fun-House-Mirror-Freak-in-a-
Clownsuit." Starkweather deadpanned. "Ben's fine?!" She 
echoed immediately. "Look, Casper, I wanna believe 
you...but, since when do angels smoke?" 

"Alright, alright," Al admitted, "Ben's alive in a 
warehouse somewhere around here being held by the same 
people responsible for Mulder's abduction. I'm not an 
angel. I'm part of a top secret government project 
involving time travel called Quantum Leap. I'm a hologram 
here from fifteen years in the future and I'm here to make 
sure you're safe." 

"Yeah." Starkweather began incredulously, "Riiiiiiiiiiight. 
Well...I'll believe you are no angel." 

"Believe me, you're on thin ice right now Queenie...you 
shouldn't be mad at Mulder. He's done nothing to be mad 
*about*." 

"Alright...I won't be mad at Mulder, Ben's alive...maybe if 
I smile and nod you'll go away." Starkweather said crisply. 

Al sighed heavily, "Starkweather, you've gotta help 
Mulder." he pleaded quietly. 

"Why?" she fired back, "he deserves to be in jail for what 
he did." 

Al shook his head. 

"Doesn't he?" She questioned. For some reason, against all 
logic and explanation, she believed the man standing before 
her. 

Al was getting desperate for answers. He wasn't getting 
through. 

"That's not the only reason you have to help the Deputy 
Mayor." 

"Just because he saved my ass doesn't mean I have to break 
him outta jail like some bad episode of the A-Team!" She 
fired back. 

"No...because," Al said with a heavy sigh, "he's family." 

Starkweather stood open-mouthed. "He's WHAT?!" 

"There is a 98.5 % chance that you and Fox Mulder are 
blood-related." 

"What?!?! How?!?!?" 

"That is being investigated." Al replied. "We don't know, 
but that's being looked into." 

"By whom?" 

"Scully." Al answered simply. "As we speak, I think." 

She shot up and whispered, "Fuckin' A!" 

"My sentiments exactly. Look, please...just don't point 
fingers at Mulder. He can help you keep Ben alive." 

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Starkweather 
demanded. 

"Kid, this is too hard to pull outta thin air. My name's 
Calivici. Just look me up in about fifteen years and I'll 
explain everything." 

"Oh, I'm gonna be dead in fifteen years." Starkweather 
smirked "That's comforting." 

With that, the man in front of her pushed a couple of 
buttons, a bright blue rectangle appeared, the man stepped 
through it, and Al was gone. 

"Geez...I always thought heaven was white, not blue." she 
mumbled, and nursed her hangover with a long bubblebath.

Meanwhile...  
Back to the Future...  
QL HQ 
Doggett REALLY hated wearing the white leotard. He found it 
uncomfortably tight, especially around certain sensitive 
special areas. He felt like he was walking around with a 
permanent wedgie, which would ruin any man's mood. 

So Al should have been more forgiving when Doggett bit his 
head off when Al popped in to check on him. "What the 
hell's been going on???" 

Al, tired, annoyed and throughly sick of just about anybody 
even remotely connected with the X-Files, glared at him, 

"Shut up, Puppy Man," he snapped. 

"I see you've been talkin' to Mul-dah," Doggett drawled 
nastily. 

Al resisted the urge to slug him. "Yeah, I popped in on 
Spooky." Al pulled up a chair. "And Starkweather." 
Doggett, barely noticeable, softened at her name. "And?" 

"Well, he's in jail, she's a mess, other than that," Al 
light up a cigar, "Pretty good." 

"PRETTY GOOD??" Doggett exploded, taking the cigar out of 
Al's mouth and throwing it across the room. He loomed over 
Al, thrusting a finger in his face. "Now you listen to me 
you slippery son-of-a-bitch, don't you just stand there and 
give me smart ass comments about 'pretty good,'" he yelled. 
"I'm sick of this BS! I'm sick of gettin' jacked around. 
I'm sick of Starkweather getting the shaft because you're 
dicking around with me, not telling the whole truth. If 
finding Ben's what we gotta do, then let's do it instead of 
standing around and pissing in the wind. I'm sick of this 
hellhole, I'm sick of these tights, I'm sick of you and I 
want to go home." 

This time Al didn't hold back his urge to hit Doggett-in-
Sam. His punch landed solidly on his jaw. He stood up and 
pushed Doggett away from him. "Now YOU listen to ME, buddy-
boy. I'm just as sick of this crap as you are! I wanna get 
rid of you as bad as you want outta here. The only way we 
can do that is to put right what went wrong and what went 
wrong is Mulder and Starkweather getting killed so instead 
of acting like a typical Marine jack ass, act like a god 
damn fed. I need your help Doggett. Mulder and Starkweather 
are dead in the water if you don't grow the f*ck up!" 
Doggett-in-Sam wiped the blood off of his lip. "You throw a 
good punch, seaman," he said gruffly. 

Al pulled out another cigar and lit it. "Yeah... well..." 
Al muttered "my hand's gonna hurt for the next few days." 

"Good." 

"Can we get to work?" 

"Alright." 

Verbeena had watched the entire exchanged through the newly 
reconstructed two-way mirror, shaking her head. 

<<Men>> she thought as she went to check on Ziggy. <<Past, 
present, future, it didn't matter, they were still 
unfathomable...>>

"So," Doggett said, subdued. "Wha'cha got?" 

Al rubbed his eyes. He was very tired. If Sam had only 
gotten three hours of sleep, Al had gotten less. "Well...as 
far as info, not much, except confirmation from Ziggy that 
Mulder and Starkweather are brother and sister." 

If Doggett was surprised by that revelation, he carefully 
concealed it. "Did you tell them?" he asked evenly. 

"Yeah," Al said, fighting to keep his eyes open. "Actually 
that part was kind of fun." 

"I assume they took the news less than well." 

"Safe assumption," Al nodded. "Anyways, beyond that... 
we're still on Square One." 

Doggett sat quietly, lost in thought. "There's the old 
cliche..." he finally said after enough time had past for 
Al to smoke half of his cigar away, "'those who do not 
study history are doomed to repeat it.'" 

"Boy, ain't that the truth," Al said, "I flunked sixth 
grade American history. Had to do a whole session of summer 
school or else they were gonna let me go on to junior high. 
And I squeaked by with a C minus cus this really cute girl 
who liked me wrote my history papers for me..." Al trailed 
off, noting that Doggett-in-Sam was once again giving him 
the look of death. "Sorry... anyway... continue..." 

"I was sayin'" Doggett said patiently, sitting down at the 
little table, reaching for the file, "that I think the 
truth is in here. In the past. There's gotta be somethin' 
more, somethin' we're missing. Somethin' we've got to study 
up on to more understand what the holy hell is goin' on." 
Doggett got out the legal pad and pen he had received 
yesterday. He tore off the page of doodles and the 
beginnings of brainstorming and started with a clean sheet. 

"Okay, fill in any blanks if you can, Admiral. So," he 
began to theorize aloud the list as he wrote, "Now, this 
whole mess started a year ago when Mulder and I 
investigated the oil rig. A year later, me, Scully and 
Starkweather investigate a fighter plane crash whose base 
has an fuelling contract with the same said oil rig. 
Suddenly, here comes Ben, prosecuting the oil rig for 
environmental negligence, a whole year later," he sighed. 

"And that's what's getting ME. That's the second thing 
doesn't make sense to me." He scrawled on the page his two 
questions. "One, what IS the connection between the oil rig 
and the plane crash in Scotland-" 

Al interrupted. "Starkweather was working on that, but 
after her... um, personal difficulties, I asked Mulder to 
pick up where she left off." 

"Can you get me what she had so far?" 

"I can try," Al said. "But remember, in the future, the X-
Files is under lock and key. It was reclassified into a 
military jurisdiction and no fed or laymen could get their 
hands on any X-File." 

Doggett, for the first time in a long time, smiled. "But 
you AREN'T a laymen or a fed," he reminded him. "You're a 
retired Admiral." 

"Ahhhhhhhhhh........" Al said. "I'll get right on that. 
What was your second question?" 

"My second question is... why did they wait so long to 
prosecute Galpex? And for something as weak as 
environmental destruction? Why not the murders of the men 
on board? I understand that law suits take time... believe 
me, I fully understand that... but, from the way 
Starkweather was talking, this was sprung onto Ben like 
less than three weeks ago... it's like pulling a rookie out 
of the minor leagues and telling him he's going to take 
Sammy Sosa's place for the day." Doggett shook his head. 

"And the revenue the law firm was going to earn from the 
case was astronomical..." 

"So why let a kid handle it?" Al was beginning to see where 
Doggett was going. 

"Exactly," Doggett said, opening the file up. "I'm just 
wondering if someone dirty is working at the Law Firm of 
Carter, Spangle and Adams." He started thumbing through the 
file pages. "Someone dirty, someone with power enough to 
manipulate case assignments but still being maneuvered by 
someone else, someone with a vendetta..." 

"Someone like-" Al started to say but Doggett beat him to 
the punch. 

"Justin Leo." 

"Hot damn!" Al yelped in glee, but stopped his victory 
dance when he saw the look on his face. "What's wrong?" 

"Al..." Doggett said, thin-lipped and white. "Maybe I'm 
goin' stir crazy and all... but... Mulder's murder date 
changed." 

"What?" Al said, heart sinking lower and lower into his 
bowels. 

"I swear to God, it was dated four days from now... now 
it's saying time of death, 6:30 PM, June 19... that's 
tomorrow night... am I losing my mind?" 

"No," Al said, trying to fight off the panic. "That's the 
hazards of working in Quantum Leap..." Without saying 
goodbye, he stormed out of the chamber, issuing orders at a 
bark, "Verbeena, get General Keeling on the phone, tell him 
I need File X081601 emailed to me sometime in the next two 
hours and remind him he owes me a big time favor since it's 
because of me that he's not in jail and he's not divorced. 
Tina, darling, me everything there is about Carter, Spangle 
and Adams and that little shit Leo. Goushie!!! Find Sam and 
center me on him..." 

The shitstorm of all time was about to strike.
Meanwhile...  
back at the warehouse... 

After sleeping for a bit, Ben finally gotten over his 
nausea. He managed to even get cleaned up a little bit, 
there was a bar of moldering soap on the ancient sink and a 
ratty old washcloth. After scraping off the scum from the 
soap, he stripped down to his boxers and gave himself a 
sink bath, which, afterwards, he felt marginally better. 

Air-drying, he sat on his squeaky cot and ate the 
sandwiches and fruit left behind for him, surprised to find 
himself ravenously hungry. When finished with the meager 
meal his captors/protectors left him, he smoked a 
cigarette, pondering on his next move. 

Feeling better, despite the headache that lingered from the 
blow giving to him from CSM, Ben found, to his immense 
relief, his wits were beginning to come back together 
again. 

He did not believe for one red hot minute that Jerilyn was 
dead. He did not have any logic or tangible evidence. He 
was listening to his heart, for, even though the girl 
exasperated him, frustrated him and infuriated him, he knew 
she loved him and he, her. They had "clicked" the minute 
they met each other. They were tied together through a 
force stronger than friendship, stronger than sex, stronger 
than marriage. And Ben fully believed in the spiritual ties 
between people who loved each other. He would have known, 
somehow, if something bad would have happened to her. If 
she would have died, he would have felt a part of him die 
with her within his soul. They were, he firmly believed, 
soul mates. 

Just because they were soul mates, didn't necessarily mean 
they should have been married, but Ben remembered the 
thundering voice of the priest who married them "Let no man 
bring asunder what God hast bound together." Which troubled 
him, but that was a bridge they would jump off together 
once they were finally together again. 

Pushing their marital issues onto the back burner, Ben 
redressed and began to assess his present situation, which 
was not good, he realized with a faltering heart. The door 
was metal and barricaded from the outside. There were no 
ceiling panels he could climb out of. There were no 
windows. Ben didn't even really know how much time had 
passed, his watch had been broken during the scuffle with 
the Men in Black who had borne him away to this nightmare. 
Pacing, smoking another cigarette, Ben, just as big of a 
movie buff as his wife, drew strength from quotes from two 
of his favorite movies: the line Tom Hank's Oscar winning 
character muttered over and over in the movie 
"Philadelphia" - "For every problem, there is a solution" 
and from Alan Ruck's indelible portrayal of the uptight 
Cameron in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" - "I am not just 
going to sit on my ass..." 

"'I am not going to sit on my ass,'" Ben mumbled, throwing 
the butt of his finished cigarette into the toilet and 
reaching into the pack of a new one "'For every 
situation... there is a solution...'" He told himself that 
he had served as a soldier in the United States Air 
National Guard. He told himself about the time he and 
Jerilyn went to New Orleans for their honeymoon and he had 
fought off the thugs who tried to steal Jerilyn's purse 
when they had gotten lost in a "bad" part of town. He told 
himself that he was married to one of the finest and 
sharpest FBI agents ever to have graced the halls of J. 
Edgar Hoover, albeit also the crankiest. He was betting on 
her tenacity and her arrogance to go blithely off and try 
and save the world, to discover the truth behind whatever 
lie they fed her about his disappearance. 

However, he also knew he couldn't just wait around for 
Jerilyn to be leading the cavalry to him. He had to meet 
her halfway. He had to get out of this pit. Plus, he 
worried greatly, what if he was merely a lure to draw 
Jerilyn into the open... these mysterious people, the ones 
she had referred to as "The Syndicate" had tried to kill 
her once... no... twice... no three times before and that 
was just on her first official case on the X-Files. What if 
his disappearance was just one big trap? 

Ben sighed as he lit his cigarette. Then, his eyes widened 
as his looked at the glow of the cherry. His holders had 
left him a weapon... they had left his handed unbound and 
they left him a weapon. 

Ben checked the box of Morleys. He had half a pack left. He 
had a lighter. He had the strength of a youthful, free body 
to his advantage. He sat down on his cot, smoking, with a 
grim smile on his face. 

Let that smokey bastard come visit him again. He would get 
the burn of his life and then Ben was going to run like 
hell. 

He had to. He had a goal to live for. He had to keep 
together what God hast bound. He was not going to let those 
vows be brought assunder by Special Agent John Doggett. 

Meanwhile  
back at Ben and Jeri's apartment 

Jerilyn got out of the tub, shivering. She towelled herself 
off and coiled her wet hair in a bun. She crossed over to 
her bedroom to get dressed. Just then her phone rang. She 
checked the caller ID: **Mom and Dad S**. Jerilyn closed 
her eyes. It was the call she had been dreading. 

"Hello?" 

"Jeri, hi, it's Linda," The voice of Ben's sweet, gentle 
mother crackled through. "We hadn't heard from you yet. We 
were getting worried." It wasn't intended as a guilt trip, 
for Linda Starkweather did play those kind of manipulative 
games. She was one of those very rare people who always 
always put others in front of her, even when she herself 
was in great anguish. 

Still, it made Jerilyn feel terrible. "Oh, I'm sorry," she 
whispered. "I didn't mean to worry you, it's... these past 
two days... have been really hard..." 

"I know, I know," Linda's voice was calm but quiet, as if 
she had already cried her tears and was now dealing with 
the inevitable. "It's been hard for us too. We understand 
completely but please, don't keep all of your hurt locked 
up within you. You're all we have left of Ben now. I don't 
want you to shut us out." 

Jerilyn cracked a thin smile. "You know me too well." 

"Well, your boss, that nice man... Mr. Skinner? When he 
told us... the news... he asked us to look out after you. 
He said you weren't taking what happened very well." 
Jerilyn pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. 

"It's... it's just been really hard," she repeated, her 
voice cracking. 

"That's why I wanted to get in touch with you. It IS hard," 
Linda said "but we have to stay together to get through 
this together." When Ben told her that Jerilyn had lost her 
mother to cancer at the tender age of sixteen, Linda went 
out of her way to act as a surrogate mom to her. "We're 
family, Jeri. Just because Ben's gone, doesn't mean we're 
still not family." 

Fresh grief ripped Jerilyn apart. "Okay..." she whimpered 
to her mother-in-law. "Okay..." 

"We would love it if you would come stay with us for 
awhile. Or else Luke and I can come and stay with you... 
I... wouldn't mind looking through Benjamin's things for 
some keepsakes..." 

A fresh wave of guilt crashed over her. A bad memory gushed 
forth... the night she had left for Scotland... the huge 
fight she gotten into with Ben because she was leaving for 
a case while his parents had made a special trip from 
Minneapolis to DC to visit... "I would love it if you would 
come," she said. "That would be really nice." 

"We would like the funeral to be here... to have Ben buried 
in the family plot." 

"That's not a problem..." Jerilyn clutched the phone. "Ben 
would want that." The ultimate irony. Ben would be going 
home at last. 

"We can arrange the funeral from here... but Jeri, dear. 
Could you pick out a suit for him? Or maybe get his dress 
blues (his formal uniform from his days in the Air National 
Guard) dry-cleaned? I know..." now Linda's voice cracked. 

"I know the funeral has to be closed-casket and all, 
but..." 

"I think he'd want to be buried in his blues. I'll get 
those ready." Jerilyn gulped, took a deep breath and asked, 

"How's Luke?" 

"Oh... he's taking this hard. We all are." Linda said 
softly, "He's been spending alot of time at church, talking 
it over with Father Anderson... trying to make sense of it 
all." 

"Tell him... tell him Ben died a hero..." Jerilyn still 
fought against the tears. "Tell him Ben was just trying to 
do what he thought was right..." 

Silence. Then the sound of muffled weeping. "Yes. Yes... I 
will tell him. Stay in touch, Jerilyn." 

"I will..." 

"We'll see you soon." 

"Alright... goodbye." Jerilyn put the receiver down. "He 
was just trying to do what was right..." she repeated as 
she stood up to get dressed. She slipped on a pair of 
khakis shorts and a sleeveless black turtleneck sweater. 
She went to the closet and started digging for his old 
uniform, which she found easily enough, but was unsure as 
to where his decorations and dress shoes would be. 

Standing on her tiptoes, she looked at the neat rows of 
labelled boxes on the top shelf. Finally, she found the one 
marked "Air Force Stuff" and she pulled it down. 
When she took that box down, the one on top of that fell to 
the floor, landing upside down. Putting the Air Force box 
on the bed, Jerilyn crouched down to pick up the fallen box 
but all the contents fell out. "Oh God..." she moaned, 
sitting down, Indian style, casting the empty box aside. 
Baby clothes. Tiny little shoes. A pacifer and some small 
stuffed toys. The things Linda had bought for her at Baby 
Gap and Toys 'R Us that horrible, horrible day they went 
shopping at the Mall of America for her unborn child. Her 
hospital wristband they had put on her when paramedics 
wheeled her into the emergency as the baby left her body in 
a quagmire of blood and fluids. A bouquet of dried roses, 
what Ben had brought her when she was finally released from 
Intensive Care and into a regular hospital room. 
Jerilyn reached for the little stuffed Beanie Baby teddy 
bear and held it close to her. 

<<You're all we have left of Ben now.>> Linda had said. 
<<But I have nothing>> Jerilyn thought and clutching the 
small stuffed toy, she leaned against the dresser and began 
to cry.

Later that afternoon  
5:47 PM  
Washington, D.C.  
*******************  
"Dana," the Admiral said as they climbed into the car. "I 
wish I could say something to make you understand why I 
worked with those people." 

"The only thing I understand is that a man is dead and 
another man's life for all intents and purposes is over" 

Scully fired back, "because you didn't give your daughter 
the chance to fight for herself." 

Aside from the pleasantries and occasional considerations, 
not another word was said between them for the rest of the 
flight. 

Instead of taking a second class plane back, as angry as 
she was, Scully didn't decline the Admiral's offer to take 
his private jet.  

After an hour and a half of uncomfortable silence, Scully 
was glad to get off the plane with the Admiral. She really 
felt sympathy for Starkweather. She was going to have to 
learn the truth about her father and the man who raised 
her, whether she wanted to hear it or not. 

They finally made it to her apartment but Scully couldn't 
help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the old family 
friend. He's right, after all. She would have done the same 
for William. Without a second hesitation. 

"Admiral, for what it's worth, she's a strong woman." She 
said as they pulled up to her apartment. "I think she would 
have been able to protect herself just fine. I just hope 
you two can make amends once the air clears." 

"Dana, I owe it to Lynn to be honest about this. I am going 
to come clean with her. If I ever hope of earning her trust 
and respect back, we must be truthful." 

"Admiral, can I ask you something?" 
"Sure Dana." He replied slowly. 

"Is Ben still alive?" 

"Dana--you did his autopsy." 

"No." Dana answered bluntly, "Ben had brown eyes. The man I 
did an autopsy on had blue eyes. Last time brown eyes 
turned blue was in a song. Is your son-in-law still living? 

Before you answer that, you better think good and hard 
about the criminal charges I promise you'd be facing for 
aiding and abetting a murder." 

"Is that a threat Dana?" He tested. 

"Sir, I think that's a garauntee." Scully fired back, with 
a look that didn't need the barrell of a gun to accompany 
it. 

Suddenly, the Admiral looked about forty years older as he 
sighed defeatedly, looking as though all the air had been 
let out of him. 

"At least I feel safe with my little girl in the FBI with 
you watching her back." 

"Sir, like you said, you owe it to your family to come 
clean with this. Please." Scully pleaded with him now, "No 
more lies. No more half-truths. No more excuses." 

"Yes." He admitted softly. Ben's alive. He's in the Lincoln 
Warehouse being held there." 

"Thank you sir. I hope Jerrilyn can forgive you easier than 
I can. 

With that, Scully climbed out of the cab, and the Admiral 
whipped out his cell phone as the cab drove off. 

"God, I hate these things." He mumbled to himself. "Leo," 
He said as soon as Justin answered, "make sure the 
councelor is moved from his current location." 

Meanwhile...  
Back at Ben and Jeri's apartment 

Jerilyn had cried herself back to sleep. Sleep was such a 
welcome escape, when she wasn't plagued by strange dreams. 
The phone woke her up with a start. Jerilyn crawled to the 
nightstand and looked at the caller ID. **Admiral's cell**, 
it read. 

Jerilyn grabbed the phone. "Dad?" 

Alone, in his hotel room, the Admiral nursed a drink. 

"Angel," he said. 

"Dad... Ben... he's gone... they killed him," she began to 
blubber incoherently. 

"Jeri, Jeri, I know, I know... I heard the news... angel, 
I'm so sorry..." The Admiral was sickened by his own 
hypocrisy but the wheels had already been set in motion. He 
only hoped that Scully would find Ben in time, despite the 
phone call to Leo. In time to save Ben, but only after 
Mulder was eliminated. <<If there was only a way to save 
all three>> the Admiral mourned, for he genuinely liked 
Mulder, had sought him out to save Jerilyn from the 
Syndicate. But the Syndicate had discovered his double-
cross and now someone would have to pay the price. Not Ben. 
And definitely not Jerilyn. Not his little girl. He already 
had to sacrifice Lynnette, his first wife. 

Plus... there might... however slim... there might be a 
chance that Mulder could even save himself, although the 
Admiral wondered how. But then again, this was a man who 
nearly drowned, escaped a burning train car, survived from 
being lost in the desert and being lost in the Anarctic, 
defused a bomb threat in a bank, was abducted by God-only-
knows-what, hell, literally rose from the dead... there 
might be a chance. 

The Cancer Man had referred to Mulder as the alley cat with 
nine times nine times nine lives. The Admiral, perhaps due 
to his retirement in Arizona, had thought of Mulder more 
along the lines of the Phoenix, the beautiful mythological 
bird who purposely built a funeral pyre only to rise from 
the flames, more powerful and lustrous than before. 

As he listened to his twenty-eight year old daughter weep 
for her husband,he sincerely hoped Mulder would pass 
through these flames unscathed. 

But he doubted it. 

And so, it was up to Scully to save Ben. He prayed that she 
wouldn't be killed in the process, he'd hate to see William 
grow up an orphan. 

"Jerilyn, angel, believe me," he said, breaking into his 
daughter's sobs. "It will get better," hopefully with 
Mulder out of the way and Ben home.

Starkweather was sound asleep finally after the emotional 
exhaustion of her mother-in-law's phonecall. And then again 
with her adoptive father. The room was dark when she awoke 
from her couch. The abrupt reality was finally sinking into 
her system. She had dabbled in a few psychology courses at 
Quantico. What did that chapter on grief say? Her 
photographic memory told her that there were five stages of 
the process. 

She wondered if people who had made that process up had 
ever actually experienced deep grief. Acceptance was the 
last stage of grief, but it seemed to Starkweather that she 
had already accepted the fact that she was dead. Shock and 
denial were the first two steps and she seemed to have 
skipped those altogether. 

The news of Ben's death immediately sparked anger. Anger at 
Ben for leaving her, especially without reconciliation, but 
Ben wasn't at arm's length. Mulder, unfortunately for her 
future working relationship with Scully and Doggett, was. 
Bargainning was the next stage. To Starkweather's mind, she 
had absolutely nothing to bargain with. If they hadn't 
fought that night, Ben wouldn't have died. But, Jerilyn 
thought with a sigh, she wasn't the first widow. People die 
every day as long as people have been living. Simple as 
that. It was a common tragedy and there wasn't a damn thing 
she could do about changing that fact except making sure 
the people who did this to him paid for their crimes. Maybe 
then Ben's ghost would let her rest. 

Starkweather was jolted out of her thoughts with the shrill 
ring of the phone. 

"Mrs. Starkweather, this is Jessy Spangle on behalf of 
Carter, Spangle and Adams. I'm calling to personally offer 
condolances on behalf of all of us here. We all miss him." 

"Thank you." she said softly. 

"I'm truly sorry for your loss. I hate to bring this up at 
such a tragic time as this, but Mr. Starkweather's personal 
affects are still in his office..." the man trailed off 
awkwardly. 

"Oh--I--uh--completely forgot. I'm terribly sorry, Ms. 
Spangle." Starkweather stammerred sheepishly. 

"Mrs. Starkweather," she corrected, "if you would prefer, I 
can get his things delivered to your apartment. 

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that." She said softly. Then, 
lightening-quick, she had an idea. "Can you send me the 
files of his last case?" 

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid we can't, Mrs. Starkweather," she 
answered. "That information is in the senior partner's 
hands now to prepare for prosecution of the upcomming 
murder trial of Deputy Mayor Mulder." 

"I thought the DA typically handled situations such as 
those." She fired back. "Since when does an environmental 
practice take care of murder charges." 

"We are part of the D.A.'s argument on a consultant level." 
Jessy replied coolly. "Mr. Starkweather's case was a direct 
result of the Deputy Mayor's arrest, and we are continuing 
with the investigation in his memory." 

"I see." Jerilyn answered. "Thank you. Have a good 
evening." 

She needed access to that casefile from the lawfirm's 
database. Unfortunately, the only people she knew who could 
hack into that file were three people in the running for 
computer geeks of the year.

Meanwhile..... 

Sam pulled up in front of Starkweather's apartment 
building, slightly apprehensive. Starkweather, to say the 
least had almost left the Land of Sanity for a trip to La 
La Land. 

With trepidation, he let himself in and rang her doorbell. 
Starkweather opened the door, "Hey Papa John," she said, 
with a weak smile. Sam noted, with a little amusement, that 
Starkweather was not an attractive lady when she wept or 
recovering from a bout of tears. Her eyes were bloodshot 
and her face was blotchy. Starkweather must have realized 
how un-pretty she looked because she said wryly "Yes, I 
don't cry like a Hollywood glamour puss. My nose drips with 
snot, my eyes get all red..." she shook her head. "Come on 
in, Doggett." 

Sam did. "You should have called," he chided her. 
Starkweather shrugged. "Yeah... well..." 

"Starkweather..." 

"I know I know... stop being a lone soldier, let others 
help you, but dammit Doggett... tell me who the fuck I can 
trust? Skinner--understandably--is pissed at me because 
I've been less than professional... Scully is awesome... 
but... lord... I knew she and Mulder had some sort of thing 
going on... but I didn't know it was THAT serious... 
I mean I heard the rumors that Mulder may very well be the 
proud papa of Will... but... well... what if Mulder's 
guilty 
you know?  Shit, man... I feel like I can't even trust my 
own 
father... I can't even trust my own MIND... I had a mental 
breakdown earlier... I'm seeing things... a person who's 
not even there... so who? Who can I trust?" 

"Me," Sam put his hands on her shoulders. "You can trust 
me, Doc."
 
Starkweather looked up him. "Yeah..." She clenched and 
unclenched her fists over and over. "Doggett, if you 
weren't here... I don't know..." she looked at the ground, 
trying not to succumb to a fresh bout of tears, trying to 
revert back into FBI mentality. "I'm going to get the... 
um... Lone Gunmen to hack into the mainframe of Carter, 
Spangle and Adams so I can get ahold of the oil rig case 
that Ben was working on... I swear to God... there's a 
connection to this... and I owe Ben at least this much... 
to figure out exactly why he was..." She put her hand to 
her eyes. "Oh god dammit Doggett," she whimpered, "Things 
with me and Ben were supposed to be BETTER when we moved 
here." 

Sam drew her close to him. "Starkweather... as hard as it 
is to believe right now... it will get better..." 

Starkweather didn't respond, she had lost her battle with 
the weak tears and was sobbing silently into his chest. 
Sam so desperately wanted to kiss her. Not to "start" 
anything, he respected her too much just to jump into the 
sack with her. Just to comfort her, to give her physical 
reassurance, to make her like that someone gave a damn. 

But Ben was still alive... and he didn't think the real 
Doggett would have, so he just cuddled her. 

Just then, Al appeared. 

7:43pm  
Sedai Residence 

Ana Sedai sat in her kitchen nervously fidgetting with her 
coffee mug waiting for the water to boil. Her hair, 
originally mousey brown and now dyed a vibrant red, 
glistened in the light of the setting sun shining through 
the window. She thought the light almost looked tangible 
just then, the way the beams came up through the clouds. If 
you found just the right spot, she wondered if you could 
climb up to the very sun itself. 

Her brother Justin was on his way over for dinner with her 
family that evening. She hoped, for his sake as well as her 
own, that he had let Lily rest in peace. 

Ana was good friends with Lily before she disappeared. 
They had gone to church together, sat side by side in the 
choir, worked side by side at charity functions. The weeks 
before graduation, Lilly had bored Ana to tears with 
stories of how wonderful her step-brother was. She 
remembered Justin showing her the ring he was planning to 
give her and wondering flipantly if he would ever actually 
have the guts to give it to her. 

"That would be Justin." She said quietly, sighing anxiously 
as she went to answer the door. 

Her son Peter was sitting in the greatroom zombily staring 
at the television set. Sometimes she wondered if he was 
conscious of what he was looking at. If she was going to 
have a heart-to-heart with her step-brother, he would have 
to go. 

"Peter, honey," she chirpped sweetly, "can you go play 
video games in your room while I talk with your uncle?" 
Without a word, the boy left the room, and she opened the 
door. 

"You look...tired...Jus." she said after they hugged their 
hellos. 

"Just a lot going on these days, Ana. Big case at work 
piling up on me. Where's Mr. Sedai?" 

"He's got a convention in Boston, Justin," she looked at 
him frankly, "you're not a part of a lawfirm anymore." 

"Who told you?" he demanded. 

"You still have my house listed as your mailing address. 
Your unemployment check came Thursday." She said with a 
thin, wan smile crossing her lips, waving the check like a 
white flag. 

"I'm working...with some people that may help me find 
Lily, Ana." he said, sighing heavily. "They told me they 
know where she is and a man told me he could get her back." 

"Do you really think Lilly is going to want you anymore?" 
She fired back. "You're not the same man you were the night 
she left!" Her words seared into him. "This--obsession--you 
have with her--has turned you into some kinda monster. 

You're not a man anymore." she said sadly. "You're her 
ghost." 

"I don't know what else to do, Ana." He whispered hoarsely. 

"I can't give up on her. I don't even care if she would 
still marry me anymore. My life is no longer my own. I 
can't sleep--I barely eat enough to live. If these people 
are who they say they are and can help me find her--then 
maybe I can be redeemed. I am the reason those--those--
things took her. The worst part of it is," he said, 
choaking down sobs, "I didn't do a damn thing to stop it. I 
just let that beam carry her up. I just let them take her 
away." 

"Be fair to you, Jus. To me." She pleaded. "Could you 
honestly have done something without getting yourself 
killed?" 

"The scary part is, ever since that night, I don't think 
I've been alive." 

"Do you think Lilly would be happy right now knowing what 
this has done to you? Now," she said with a warm smile, 
"come on and help me with the salad."  

The dinnertable was nervously quiet; forged conversations 
had never been either one's forte. The meal, consisting of 
Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes overdone limabeans and 
a salad, gave all who were present a gratefull excuse to be 
silent. 

Finally, Peter broke the silence with an announcement after 
one last long gulp of milk. "The coach wants us there 
forty-five minutes early for pictures at practice tomorrow, 
Mom." 

"I hated picture days when I was your age." Justin began. 
"This one time, I was on a team just like you are and we 
had to take a picture, only just before, two of the guys on 
my team had bothered a wasp nest under the bleachers. Right 
before picture time, a whole bunch of wasps came flying at 
all of us. We musta looked pretty silly all nine of us 
hopping into the Coach's van!" 

"I betchya would've looked even sillier in the pictures if 
the wasps hadn't come." Peter sneared. 

"Eat your limabeans, Peter." Ana scolded her son crisply. 
"If you don't finish them you won't get desert." 

"Your Mom has cherry pie tonight, Pete. You better eat up." 
Justin urged helpfully. 

"I don't like cherry pie." Peter grumbled. 

"You haven't had *this* cherry pie." Justin coaxed. 

"I've had five peices of cherry pie, and I didn't like any 
of 'em. Why should I like the sixth." 

"Your mom didn't make this one." That remark earned Justin 
a playful punch in the shoulder from his step-sister. 

"We have your favorite icecream--the Ben&Jerry's Phishfood 
in the freezer. That's where it will stay if you don't 
finish up your limabeans." 

"Besides, kiddo, you gotta eat your veggies. If you don't 
you'll look like me and girls won't touch you with a ten 
foot pole." 

That persuaded the boy to eat his lima beans. With those 
finished, he took his plate over to the sink, and the other 
two adults followed. 

"He's at a difficult age." She said, excusing his attitude. 

"So am I." Justin replied as he began clearning the dishes. 

"So how's the jobhunt coming?" Ana asked as she ran the 
plates under the faucet. 

"I told you, I've got a job." Justin answered, subsequently 
loading the plates into the dishwasher. "I'm defending the 
Deputy Mayor of DC. It's all in the papers." 

"Yeah, I heard about that. The case any good?" She said 
over the running water rinsing the silverware. 

"All the evidence against him is circumstantial. The DA's 
got nothing solid on him." He said over the clinking of the 
silverware in the dishwasher. 

"I don't think you're telling me everything, Justin." 

"I don't think you need to know everything, Ana." 

"Listen, Jus. I'm looking out for *you* here. Your my half-
brother...but I never thought of us like that. I just don't 
want anything to happen to you because of someone who may 
or may not be alive." 

"When the Deputy Mayor was in the FBI, he specialized in 
alien activity. If he can't help me find her, then the 
people who put me on that case can." 

"What do you mean?" She demanded, raising a questionning 
eyebrow. 

"These people who put me on this case...they're fighting a 
cause...this old guy and this blonde Russian b*tch are at 
the healm. They have a lot of power." 

"Jus...these people sound dangerous." She answered angrily. 

"They're powerful, too, Ana." He fired back desperately. 

"They can get me the answers I've been after ever since 
that awful night." 

"I just don't want you to be wiped off the face of this 
earth like that poor girl was. You are in way over your 
head Big Brother," she warned. 

"I think I was in way over my head with Lilly." He answered 
softly. 

"Remember when we were kids? I think when they hire faculty 
for the school, they ask for teachers, a principal, a vice 
principal and a bully. Anyway...it was your last year in 
grammar school and it was my second year, and you found out 
somehow that a bunch of bullies were stealing my lunch 
money. You went to confront them, but got into a brawl." 
Her features became drawn... "They broke your nose, and 
fractured your wrist...if the teacher didn't break it up, I 
think you would've had a broken neck. You've always done 
stuff like that. I'm just wondering when the teacher won't 
come out to save your ass." 

"I'll turn the porch light off on my way out." Justin 
growled and stormed out the door. Ana hoped that he wasn't 
going to get bitten by the sharks.

Out of her giant bay window, Ana watched Justin storm off 
the porch and down the sidewalk towards his car in a huff. 
She heard a buzzing noise in the background... 

"Mom," Peter said, rolling his eyes in typical pre-teen 
fashion. "MOOOOOOOOOOM... hell-LO, earth to Mom." 

Startled out of her reverie, Ana turned to her boy. "What?" 
she said, a little more tired than she meant to be. 
Sometimes, Justin just drained the life out of her. 

"Phone," Peter said. As Ana walked back to the kitchen, 
Peter tailed her. "Hey, Mom, can I go to Mike's house 
tonight?" 

"Clean your room first," Ana said automatically which sent 
her son grumbling upstairs. She picked the phone up. 

"Hello?" 

"Mrs. Sedai?" A swarmy male voice asked. 

"Yes?" <<Oh no, a telemarketer>> she groaned inwardly. 

"You have five minutes to get out of the house." Dial tone. 
Ana raced out of the kitchen and to the foot of the stairs. 

"Pete! Peter, come down here, now!" 

Peter, alarmed by the panicky tone of her voice, actually 
came down immediately. "Wha-" he started to say but his 
mother grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the 
door... 

Justin Leo was four blocks away from his half-sister's 
house when he saw the explosion in the rearview mirror. 
Cutting off a Suburu while doing an illegal U-turn, he 
floored it back to Ana's house... 

The wailing of fire trucks were in the distance. Startled 
neighbors were standing in their doorframes stunned. A few 
had come to their senses and were coming out to assist the 
figures laying in the middle of the road. 

Leo squealled his tires to a halt and ran to Ana, who was 
sitting up, holding a weeping Peter. "Peter, Peter, buddy," 
Leo grabbed the boy's face and kissed his forehead soundly. 

"Are you hurt?" 

The boy shook his head but pointed to the hole in the 
ground where his house used to. "Smokey was in the house," 
he sobbed, referring to his beloved dog. 

As the ambulances pulled up to assist a shaken Ana and her 
devastated son, Leo's cell phone began to ring. He answered 
as the paramedics lifted Ana onto a stretcher. "What?" 

"Consider that a warning, Leo," Marita Covarrubias hissed. 

"I told you to get your ass to the safe house." She hung up 
the phone with a vengence. 

<<That little punk>> she seethed, <<better get his 
priorities in line.>> He worked for HER, not CSM, not the 
Admiral. He worked for her and he screwed up royally. She 
was glad she had the foresight to put listening devises in 
Ana's house years ago when Leo came to work for her. She 
figured it would keep him honest. Now he just about blew 
the entire mission to her. So, Marita reasoned, she blew up 
the house. 

Next time he screwed up, she'd make sure she'd kill more 
that just a dog.

"You two are staying with me tonight. Peter, on the week-
end, we'll go to the pet store and get you another dog, 
alright?" 

"I don't want another dog." Peter mumbled, horrified of the 
thought that Smokey was as replacible as his clothes. 

"Peter, don't talk that way to your Uncle." Ana scolded, 
then turned her wrath on Leo, who had just finished talking 
with the police. "Justin, what if the--those people--the 
ones who burnt down my house come after you?" She seethed. 
"Justin, whatever the hell it is you've gotten into, I want 
you out! I don't give a damn what you do to yourself 
anymore, but I will NOT let you destroy my son!" 

"How come you can yell at him but I can't?" Peter whined, 
but wished he could take it back as soon as he saw the 
damning glare his mother flashed him. The defensive, 
recoiled look in Leo's eyes made Ana realize the harshness 
of her words. 

"Oh, Jus...I didn't mean it like that--" she immediately 
apologized. 

"It's ok...and you're right." He said, sighing heavily. 
"The people after me may hit again. I should have thought 
of that. I'll put you and Pete in a hotel tonight until I 
figure out how to stop these people." 

"Justin...I have lost my house." She said pointedly. "I 
think I deserve to know what the hell is going on." 
Meanwhile...  

In Coffee is My Friend 24 hr Coffee shop   
********************************************  
"Ana..." Justin began, fiddling with the cigarette holder 
in his breast pocket. Ben tried to use the lighter as a 
weapon in the struggle a couple of nights ago, and with 
possible traces of skin and fingernail on it, there was no 
way he was going to let it be found in the car. Not wanting 
to look at her, he simply replied, "I can't." 

"Jus," Ana countered, "we were almost blown up tonight. 
Everything I own is GONE...you HAVE to tell me." 

"If I tell you, they'll kill all of us." 

"Who's *they*?" She demanded 

"Them." Leo answered flatly. "I seriously don't know who 
THEY are beyond a group of people I work for." Then eager 
to end the conversation, he steered the topic, "Come on, 
you need to find a place to stay. The sooner we get you 
guys outta here, the safer you are." 

"You mean the safer *you* are." She hissed. "Justin exactly 
what have you gotten yourself into?" 

"Deep shit." was all Leo could answer. 

"Apparently." Ana snorted. "I can't handle this Justin," 
she said with a frustrated sigh, "I love you, but if you 
don't stop dealing with this group, I'm going to have to 
put a restraining order on you." 

"I don't blame you, Ana. Look...I'm sorry for all the 
trouble I caused." 

"When all is said and done, do you think it will really 
help you find Lily?" she asked quietly. 

"Yes...they promised me that...but if that means you shut 
me out then..." Leo couldn't finish. 

"Are these people good at keeping promises?" 

"I don't think so." 

"Then you should get out. Get away from them. Get a fresh 
start." 

"I don't think I can."