FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND By T Bishop



Rated: R 

Category: MSR/X-File

Warning: This one has a bit more angst than usual.  

Disclaimer: Some of the characters in this story are the property 
of Chris Carter, 1013 productions and FOX.  

Author's note:  FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND is a sequel to PROGENESIS, 
which I posted at the end of the seventh season.  I have reposted 
a revised edition of that story concurrent with the posting of 
this sequel.

*** Sincerest thanks to David, Char, Tracy, Keleka, Brigitte, 
Shoshana, Shell, and especially Marybeth for getting me through 
this one.  My apologies to all of you out there who have been 
waiting for me to finish this story.  I know it took a lot longer 
than I originally anticipated.  Thank you for your patience, and 
all your letters of encouragement.

As always, thanks to Grasshopper for archiving my stories at The 
Literary G-Spot. 

http://tbishop.freeservers.com/

or

http://arcticfox42.phpwebhosting.com/Tbishop.htm



**GO TO MY ARCHIVE TO SEE THE BEAUTIFUL BOOK JACKET CHAR CHAFFIN 
CREATED FOR FOOTPRINTS!**







And now, without further ado...











FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND 





~Prologue~







"DADDY!"

He awoke with a start from the blackness of deep sleep to the 
panicked cries of his son and the hurried patter of small 
footsteps running down the hall.  Fox Mulder's first thought was 
the SIG-Sauer hidden on the top shelf of the bedroom closet - 
realizing with dread that his groggy mind couldn't remember where 
his wife had told him she'd hidden the clips.

"DADDY!  DADDY!"  The frightened boy came charging into his 
parent's room, throwing himself onto the bed and quickly 
scurrying to the place his childish mind deemed safest, under the 
covers between his father and mother.

Mulder's own fears eased now that the boy was beside him.  Adam 
was safe... probably just a nightmare.  He glanced over at Scully 
who was out like a light.  For a former G-Woman who once had the 
sharp senses of a cat, she'd certainly let herself become lulled 
in the five years since they'd left the Bureau.  Oh well, he 
could handle this one on his own, he supposed.  He lifted the 
edge of the blankets and peered under at his wide-eyed little 
boy.  "What's the matter, Adam?  Did you have a bad dream?"

"A monster," the child whimpered, terrified.

As much as Mulder would have liked to say that there are no such 
things, he knew better, of course... and Adam would too if he 
tried to lie to the boy.  Reaching out, he stroked a loving hand 
over his son's hair, attempting to soothe away some of the 
child's fright. "There's no monster.  You just had a nightmare."

"He's here," the boy insisted in a foreboding whisper.  "He's 
coming to get me!"

Mulder pulled his son's trembling body into a protective hug. 
"Daddy won't ever let anything get you."

"Promise?"  The child looked up at him hopefully; ready to trust 
at only a word.

Mulder leaned forward and kissed his son's sweaty forehead.  "I 
swear it," he said confidently.  And he meant it.  

Adam breathed a shaky but relieved sigh at his father's assurance 
- large, trusting eyes wide as saucers.  

Just as Mulder was about to carry the boy back to his own bed, a 
sickening sense began creeping into his awareness.  By the time 
he realized what was happening, he couldn't move, couldn't 
breathe, couldn't force himself to speak.  Utter helplessness.  
His mind leapt to the frightening association...  

THEM!  

The aliens - the ones that hurt him, held him hostage for months 
in a prison of unremitting light and pain; while they conducted 
their sadistic experiments, treating him no different than a lab 
animal. 

THEY were here!  

Oh God, no, please... not again!  He couldn't go through that 
again! Terror swiftly turned to horror when, seconds later, 
Adam's 'monster' appeared in the bedroom doorway, and Mulder saw 
for the first time the face of the creature that had upset his 
son.  

A bounty hunter. 

Every fiber of Mulder's being screamed out in protest, though 
outwardly his body remained stoic and calm - a prisoner 'in 
statius' just as he'd been all those long months of his 
captivity.  He half expected to feel himself rising weightlessly 
into the air, drifting out of the bed, floating up into the 
bright light of doom.  What he didn't expect, what distressed him 
more than the prospect of being held captive again by those 
soulless bastards, was the real reason the bounty hunter had 
come.  

He wasn't here for Mulder.  

He'd come for the boy.  

'NOOOOOO!'  Mulder's cry echoed in vain inside his head.  He 
could only watch, as the hulking figure of the bounty hunter came 
closer, stealing the petrified child out of his useless arms, and 
carrying him away.

"DADDY!  DADDY!  HELP ME!" Adam screamed.  "DADDY!  PLEASE!  
DON'T LET HIM TAKE ME!  DADDY!  YOU PROMISED!"  Small arms 
reaching out desperately; wild eyes accusing his father of 
unthinkable betrayal.  

Adrenalin pumped through Mulder's veins with a vengeance, until 
he felt certain his pounding heart was about to explode.  'ADAM! 
NOOOO!!!  ADAM!'  But the screams remained trapped inside his 
head, leaving the room deathly silent - save for the now distant 
fearful whimpers of a small child in the arms of a monster.  

As the bounty hunter disappeared from his line of sight, Mulder's 
wide, tear-filled eyes frantically searched the room for Scully. 
Why wasn't she waking up?  Surely she'd heard their son's 
screams. Unless... Oh God, no!  Had they taken her too?  Not 
again.  He couldn't lose her again.  Please, God, not Scully too!

Then, out of nowhere, she was right in front of him, crying, 
sobbing... begging him to help her.  "They're taking him, Mulder! 
Stop them!  Help me!  What the hell is the matter with you?!!  
God damn it, Mulder!  Get up!"  She beat on his chest in 
frustration. "Stop them!  Please!  Don't let them hurt our little 
boy!  Don't let them hurt him... Mulder!  God damn it!  Do 
something!  They're taking him!"  She shook Mulder hard - 
furious. 

And then, all of a sudden, he was free...

With a gasp, Mulder sat up, choking on the saliva caught in his 
throat, sucking deep breaths of air, as if he'd been on the verge 
of asphyxiation.  His heart throbbed furiously; his chest aching 
painfully with each frantic beat.  He looked over only to find 
Scully asleep at his side, peacefully unaware of the trauma that 
had awakened him.  

Just another goddamn nightmare. 

Bathed in cold perspiration, Mulder fought to steady his 
breathing as he climbed out of bed and stumbled on wobbly legs 
toward the bathroom.  He turned on the faucet and cupped his 
hands under the chilled stream, bending down low to splash water 
over his face and shock himself out of the remnants of his dream 
state.  As he studied his reflection in the mirror, Mulder combed 
trembling fingers through his hair.  The eerie glow of moonlight 
filtering in through the small bathroom window cast an even 
whiter pallor over his ghostly complexion, giving further 
emphasis to the sinister shadows beneath his eyes.  To say he 
'looked a fright' was not an exaggeration. Night after night of 
disturbed sleep was taking its toll.       

For several minutes, Mulder leaned against the sink, waiting for 
his heartbeat to slow to something near normal, and the 
plummeting feeling to leave the pit of his stomach.  As soon as 
he felt a measure of control again, he walked back through the 
bedroom, glancing briefly at his sleeping wife, before heading 
across the hall to his son's room.  

He had to be sure it was only a dream.  

These reality checks were growing more and more necessary, as 
well as more frequent; and that worried him.  He'd been having 
difficulty lately separating the wild imaginings of his sleep 
from actual memories.  He was inclined to blame it on the damn 
hypnotherapy sessions; they were stirring up his subconscious, 
making it difficult to separate fantasy from repressed truths.  
He'd already been in Adam's room twice that night - but he had to 
have just one more peek to be sure.

He never noticed the pair of anxious blue eyes studying him with 
concern as he left the room...





At five years old, Adam still looked so much like a baby when he 
slept; that sweet little face of his, bathed in the soft glow of 
his teddy bear nightlight, sustained the angelic qualities of 
infancy. So young...  So vulnerable...  Mulder stood over his son 
for the longest time - watching - needing to be sure Adam was 
really safe; that he'd only imagined the boy's abduction. 

Again.  

Recurring dreams of Adam being taken were haunting Mulder every 
night now.  He was certain it was because of the book.  Mulder 
was heavily into research for a book he was writing about the 
experiences of abductees and their families.  And the subject was 
proving too close for comfort.  If things continued this way, he 
might have to put the project aside, concentrate his efforts on 
something less troubling to his psyche.  Although, part of him 
knew this was something he couldn't walk away from.  If he tried 
to bury it, or ignore it, it would eat him up inside.  That's why 
he'd decided to write the book in the first place - as a way of 
forcing himself to deal with the truth.

Mulder had been pushing himself hard the past year, seeing Dr. 
Werber, trying to recover memories from those lost months of his 
abduction.  For years, he'd been unwilling to look back.  Until 
he asked Scully to try hypnosis again, to retrieve the details of 
her abduction experience - selfishly making his wife the first 
subject of his book, without really considering the depth of what 
he was asking of her.  She'd bravely agreed to undergo the 
therapy - probably figuring he'd never get started on the 
manuscript if she didn't. The process had been terribly painful 
for her; and in retrospect, Mulder deeply regretted putting her 
through such a stressful ordeal.  Scully suffered through a dozen 
sessions before coming to him in tears one night, telling him she 
couldn't take any more... didn't want to remember any more.  

The testimonials she gave were horrific; they made him even more 
fearful of discovering what his own experience had been like.  
But how could he put her through something he wasn't willing, 
himself, to endure?  He couldn't.  And so he'd been making the 
trip from Martha's Vineyard twice a month for sessions with Heitz 
Werber, the DC hypnotherapist whose practice specialized in cases 
of memory repression.  

At first they had little success - Mulder had buried the painful 
memories deep, and he seemed hell bent on keeping them well 
covered. But over time, they were able to expose small bits and 
pieces; enough that Mulder had to know more, regardless of his 
fears.  From a purely scientific view - as research - it was 
fascinating; from a personal perspective, it was downright 
chilling.  

But not so chilling as the thought that those evil entities might 
one day come for his son.  As he watched over the innocent child 
asleep in his bed, Mulder swore to himself that he would do 
ANYTHING to stop that from happening.  THEY would never get their 
hands on his little boy.  He loved his son too much to bear the 
thought of him suffering the kind of hell those alien bastards 
dished out.

With a trembling voice Mulder whispered again the promise he'd 
made Adam in his dream.  "Daddy won't ever let anything get you." 
 Then he closed his eyes and prayed for the strength to assure 
his words would not be a lie...





*  *  *  *





~Chapter 1~



327 Tisbury Lane Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts Monday, June 5, 
2006 6:47 AM







"I want ketchup!" Adam declared loudly.

"On your French toast?" Scully grimaced, the very thought of such 
a culinary concoction turning her stomach.

Mulder shrugged and retrieved the mostly empty bottle from the 
refrigerator, offering it to the delighted boy who immediately 
went to work dousing his breakfast in tomatoey goo.  "I used to 
like jelly on my scrambled eggs," he confessed to his wife's look 
of disgust.

"I can't watch him eat that."  Scully stood up from the table 
carrying her cup of coffee with her as she walked over to the 
counter and began looking through the papers in her briefcase, 
making sure she wasn't forgetting anything of vital importance 
before she headed off to work.  

She and Mulder had decided to leave the Bureau shortly after Adam 
was born.  They'd moved to one of the beachfront properties 
Mulder had inherited from his mother, not far from his childhood 
address of Chilmark.  Scully had taken a job teaching forensic 
pathology part- time at Harvard Medical School.  The commute was 
long, but it was only three days a week that she had to make the 
drive to Boston; which meant that she and Mulder and Adam got to 
spend a good portion of each week together at their island home. 
 In the colder months they stayed in the city, at the home of 
friends, who religiously headed to Florida every November.  It 
was an ideal arrangement.  They had a normal life, or at least 
the outward appearance of one. 

Things could never really be 'normal' though - not for them.  For 
Adam was much more than a bright and happy five-year-old boy; he 
was a genetic treasure chest.  They'd managed to keep it secret, 
their son's ability to read minds - fearing he'd become an 
assassin's target like Gibson Praise - or that the remains of the 
Consortium or some other evil force would take an interest in the 
child.  Scully had confirmed Adam's natural born immunity to the 
alien virus, but she feared any sort of research she might do to 
understand the antibodies his blood produced would be discovered 
- attracting just the sort of unwanted attention they'd been 
trying to avoid.  'The Progenesis Project' had been shut down 
thanks to Alex Krycek - its team members all killed before they 
could see the product of their unethical science.  Adam was the 
living result of their efforts; gifted with the unusual ability 
for cellular regeneration.  Although it hadn't been properly 
tested, he did display signs of an abnormal healing capacity, and 
characteristics which Scully felt certain could only be 
attributed to the 'Progenesis' factor he'd inherited from her 
altered DNA.  

In short, Adam would be highly sought after if knowledge of his 
'uniqueness' were to get out.  Always in the back of Scully's 
mind was the fear that someone out there DID know - and they were 
lying in wait for a chance to get their hands on the child.  That 
was the reason Mulder had chosen to be a stay-at-home dad; he'd 
felt the need to keep a constant vigil over their son, just in 
case old enemies should resurface with designs on little Adam.

As Scully snapped closed her briefcase, she pushed away the grim 
thoughts that had crept up on her.  She tried not to think about 
their 'family secret' if she could at all help it.  There really 
wasn't any point - it was simply something they had to live with. 
Dwelling on things she could do nothing about was senseless.  
They had a good life; she did not need to ruin it by agonizing 
over her worst fears.  

"I've got to get moving or I'm going to miss the 7:15 ferry and 
be late for my lecture."  She grabbed up her attache and keys, 
took one last sip of coffee, then kissed Adam on his ketchup 
stained cheek. "Bye, sweetie, be a good boy for Daddy today."  
Then she turned to her husband and smiled a tiny smirk.  "You be 
a good boy today too. I expect to see some progress on the book 
when I get home tonight. Don't just play around with Adam on the 
beach all day."

"You really like to crack the whip, don't you, Scully?"  He 
grinned at his wife, grabbed her around the waist and stole a 
coffee-flavored kiss.

Adam perked up, watching his mother and father with interest. 
"Daddy is thinking naughty things again." 

"Never mind," Scully scolded the boy, wishing Mulder would be 
more careful with his wandering thoughts.  She tried to bring his 
attention back to more serious matters.  "You miss another 
deadline and you'll be looking for a new publisher.  You've 
already cashed the advance check, Mulder, it's not unreasonable 
for them to want to see some progress."

"Yeah, yeah... go to work already."  He waved her away with mock 
annoyance.  She'd scolded him halfheartedly, but there were many 
layers to their conversation.  

Adam studied his mother's face thoughtfully for a moment, then he 
turned to his father and said, "Mommy's worried because you keep 
having nightmares.  You try to hide them from her, but she knows. 
She thinks that's why you aren't writing anymore.  She thinks it 
hurts too much for you to remember and you're afraid of the 
pain." After his revealing pronouncement, Adam went right back to 
eating his breakfast; chugging down half his glass of milk and 
ignoring the white mustache it left behind as he gobbled up 
another bite of ketchup covered French toast.

Mulder shot his wife an angry look.  "I'm not afraid."  

"Daddy's lying."  Sometimes Adam Mulder did not understand his 
parents at all.  As much as they loved each other, they still 
felt the need to hide their true feelings about certain things.  
He especially didn't like it when they lied to each other, 
because they'd always told him that lying was wrong.   

Mulder's face darkened and he threw a look of irritation in his 
son's direction.  "Adam - that's enough now, okay?  Eat your 
breakfast."  

The boy shrugged indignantly, privy to the 'mental' scolding his 
father was sending his way as well.  Why should HE be in trouble 
when his dad was the one who lied?  Grown-ups were so unfair!

"Look, Scully, you can stop worrying.  I'm fine."  He grimaced 
the second the words left his mouth, ignoring his wife's 
skeptical look. "I'll make the stupid deadline this time, I 
promise.  I'll put my nose to the grindstone today."  

Adam looked at his mother and giggled, but wisely refrained from 
comment this time.  

Mulder's eyes narrowed on his wife.  "Would you like to share 
that thought with those of us who can't read minds, Scully?"

"Not particularly."  She smiled ruefully, at the same time trying 
not to laugh; then leaned over and kissed her husband on the tip 
of his nose.  "I'll be home early.  I don't have an afternoon 
class today - Dr. Finley is guest lecturing."  Her blue-eyed gaze 
moved from father to son.  "Maybe we can go miniature golfing 
tonight... and possibly out for ice cream sundaes afterwards."

"Yea!" Adam cheered.

"Yea!" Mulder echoed, just as childishly - getting in a parting 
swat to his wife's derriere for her earlier unspoken wisecrack, 
before she could escape his reach.

"Ouch!  That hurt, Mulder!" she objected, but there was a playful 
and promising look in her eyes when she glanced back over her 
shoulder at him.  His gaze locked with hers and silent plans were 
made for a little late night fun of a more adult nature.  They 
quickly put those thoughts away, however, before Adam found it 
necessary to remark again.  "Okay then, I'm outta here," Scully 
told her family.  "Love you guys.  See you later."  

She hurried out the door into the brightness of the late spring 
morning.  

The school year would be wrapping up this week, and she and 
Mulder had promised to take Adam on a camping trip before it got 
too unbearably hot.  Maybe she would go shopping while she was in 
the city today, start loading up on the supplies they'd need.  
She wasn't about to leave the purchases up to Mulder, after the 
small fortune he'd spent gearing them up for a simple ski weekend 
last fall.  While they certainly weren't hurting for money, with 
all the inheritance Mulder had received from his mother's and 
father's estates, Scully preferred to live off their income.  Her 
job paid well, and Mulder managed to bring in a surprising amount 
as a guest speaker at conventions and university seminars.  They 
earned more than enough to live comfortably, so Scully insisted 
their savings remain untouched - as an insurance policy for the 
future... just incase.  Mulder tolerated - but laughed at - her 
financial prudence, labeling it obsessive paranoia - like he had 
room to talk!







*  *  *  *





The backyard of their historic Cape Cod style home was only a few 
hundred feet from the Atlantic shoreline.  Mulder sat out on the 
deck, virtually ignoring his laptop while he watched his little 
boy playing on the beach a short distance away.  Gone were the 
days of Armani suits and tight fitting dress shoes; Mulder's new 
work attire consisted mainly of shorts or comfortable, old blue 
jeans and well- worn sandals.  Aside from the occasional speaking 
engagement, Mulder worked almost exclusively from home, 
researching and writing.  

His new career was a far cry from FBI work, although he was still 
investigating the paranormal.  With his writing project in full 
swing, Mulder spent the bulk of his time conducting telephone 
interviews with people all over the world who claimed alien 
abduction experiences.  Some were obvious fakes, but Mulder found 
it easy enough to discern the oddballs from the authentic cases. 
 There were two categories of abductees; victims like Scully 
whose kidnappings were staged by the government but related to 
alien phenomenon; and those, like Mulder, who had actually been 
held captive by extraterrestrial beings.  Symptomatic of both 
scenarios were the encoding of false memories, making it often 
very difficult to draw distinctions.  

Mulder insisted on interviewing family members of the victims, 
when at all possible.  He wanted his book to serve two purposes: 
to tell the stories of the victims of alien and alien related 
abductions, and also to depict the trauma their loved ones went 
through because of their ordeals.  It was Mulder's hope that his 
book would offer comfort to the victims and their families (who 
were often outcasts of society after going public with their 
stories) as they realized their thoughts and fears were shared by 
so many others who had been through the same hell.  The cutesy 
title his literary agent had dreamed up not withstanding, 'We Are 
Not Alone,' promised to be one of the most serious and 
comprehensive studies of alien abduction cases ever published.  
IF it ever got published, Mulder lamented... he had to write the 
goddamn thing first!

He attempted for the umpteenth time that day to concentrate on 
his notes; but, at the moment, watching his little boy trying to 
sneak up on seagulls was infinitely more entertaining.  Mulder 
laughed out loud when Adam tried to dive onto one poor 
unsuspecting bird and ended up with nothing more than a face full 
of sand for his efforts. Adam might be lean and agile, much like 
Mulder had been as a child, but he was learning quickly that he 
was no match for a creature with wings.

... Mulder's mind flashed to images of his captivity.   The 
torture...  The screaming... Pain - so much pain!  Overwhelming 
fear. He wanted to die, but they wouldn't let him, and the 
nightmare went on and on... 

The only thing that kept him sane all those endless months was 
the belief that Scully would be waiting for him somewhere on the 
other side of hell.  He had to survive for her.  She was waiting 
for him - and that single focus was his salvation.  Thoughts of 
her were his only escape from the pain - blue eyes lit with the 
fire of passion... the sweet seduction of her lips... her soft, 
happy laughter tickling his ears... the exquisite feel of her 
body yielding to his as they made love late in the night...  The 
promise of their reunion had sustained him through unspeakable 
horrors.

Sitting in on his wife's sessions with Dr. Werber, Mulder learned 
for the first time some of what she had been subjected to during 
her abduction.  Excruciating tests, no less bizarre or 
frightening than he had endured.  He hated those motherfuckers 
for what they did to her!  It was a miracle she lived through it. 
 So much of what she remembered was nothing more than bright 
light and terror... Dr. Werber believed some of Scully's 
experiences were too deeply repressed to recover - her 
consciousness simply refusing to accept them.  

The light was something all of the abductees had in common.  
Whether it actually existed or was a symptom of some sort of 
psychological conditioning, Mulder wasn't clear.  Real or 
imagined though, the light was a terrifying place.  Taken back 
under hypnosis to revisit that light, Scully had been so 
petrified that she cried for her father like a little girl.

'DADDY!  DADDY!  Make it stop!'  

There were children trapped in that light.  Mulder never saw 
them, but he heard them crying out for their mommies and 
daddies... heard their shrill screams as they underwent the 
tests.  He wanted so desperately to help them, to stop their pain 
somehow - any way that he could.  But he couldn't even help 
himself.  As Mulder lay helplessly restrained, the children went 
on sobbing and screaming and pleading for someone who loved them 
to come to their rescue... 

'Daddy!  Daddy!  Daddy!'  

Their cries became Adam's now, as Mulder's nightmares came back 
to him in bold flashes.  Adam being abducted, again and again... 
Mulder always powerless to stop it from happening.  He constantly 
worried that the dreams would prove prophetic.  And he knew he 
couldn't let Adam go through that - no matter what.  NEVER!

Jesus... 

He'd broken out in a cold sweat.  He couldn't keep doing this to 
himself.  He promised Scully he'd get something accomplished 
today. But Mulder couldn't seem to shake the ominous feeling that 
hounded him... had been hounding him for weeks.  It went well 
beyond the normal scope of his day-to-day paranoia.  It bordered 
on fixation - and it was really starting to scare him.  





Eventually Adam tired of his futile game with the seagulls and 
made his way back to his father.  Mulder had scarcely begun to 
find his concentration and organize his thoughts when Adam 
approached.  The precocious child didn't say a word; just stood 
there waiting patiently for his father's attention.  After a 
short time, Mulder felt the boy's stare as a palpable sensation 
and looked up from his work.  He was about to speak when Adam 
jumped in, and Mulder realized he'd already voiced his question 
mentally.

"No, I'm not hungry yet.  I'm bored, Daddy."

Mulder sighed.  How many times a day did he hear that?  "Adam, 
why don't you -"

"That's no fun."

"Well, go -"

"I don't want to do that either."

"How about -"

"No, I did that yesterday."

"Okay, then -"

"Dad!  That's for babies!"

Mulder grabbed his aching head.  "Adam, stop!  Just STOP!  You 
know it gives me a headache when you do that!"

"I'm sorry, Dad."  

The little boy dropped his gaze downward at his father's 
reproach. And Mulder instantly felt terrible for yelling at the 
poor kid. After all, it wasn't Adam's fault he was telepathic.  
He was just using the gifts he was born with.  But, for his own 
safety, the child would have to learn to restrain himself, be 
taught how to carry on a normal conversation without making 
others suspicious of his unusual talent.

"It's all right, buddy.  Come here.  Give Dad a hug.  I'm sorry I 
yelled at you, son."  Adam came forward immediately and wrapped 
his arms around his father's neck, and Mulder gave him a loving 
squeeze. But the child held on long after his father had let go, 
and Mulder's brow furrowed with bewilderment at the strange 
behavior.  "Hey, what's this about?  Are you trying to strangle 
your old dad?"  Adam shook his head but continued to cling, 
tighter, escalating Mulder's concern.  "What's wrong then?  Adam, 
talk to me."

The boy finally let go, the expression on his face deeply 
troubled. "Are the aliens really going to take me, Daddy?"

It felt like all the blood was suddenly and quite rapidly 
draining from Mulder's body.  The boy's question, coming out of 
the blue, hit him hard; would have buckled his knees had he been 
standing. Fighting his mounting anxiety, Mulder tried not to let 
his dismay show.  "Why on Earth would you think something like 
that?"

There was a bit of sheepishness in Adam's reply.  "Cause you keep 
thinking it."  

Wide, innocent, blue eyes staring back at him, uncertain, 
afraid... They triggered something deep inside Mulder; and while 
Adam stood there waiting for a response from his father, 
everything inside Mulder started unraveling...  Racing pulse, 
pounding heart, dry mouth, tunneling vision.  He found himself 
hyperventilating.  Panic attack; the symptoms were all too 
familiar to him.  They were indicative of the Post Traumatic 
Stress Disorder he suffered as a complication of his regression 
therapy.  

"Daddy, what's wrong?" Adam asked, alarmed upon witnessing his 
father's abrupt loss of composure.  

He had to calm down and pull himself together.  Slow - deep 
breaths, Mulder.   Come on - you can't freak out in front of the 
kid - God damn it - DON'T DO THIS! 

"I'm okay, son...  Just give Dad a sec...  All right?  ...I'm 
fine." With an unsteady hand, Mulder reached for the half empty 
glass of iced tea beside his laptop.  He brought the drink to his 
lips, concentrating on the cool liquid, forcing himself to 
swallow a mouthful.

Unable to sit still any longer, he started to pace back and forth 
across the deck, acutely aware of each and every step he took.  

"This is ridiculous.  Stop.  Stop now," he muttered to himself, 
blowing out a tense breath and trying to shake off the 
nervousness that weighted his body like a wet blanket.  

He paced some more.

"Don't do this.  Not now.  Don't fall apart now."  

Another pass back and forth.  

"Everything is all right, damn it.  Stay in control," he went on 
trying to talk himself down.

Placing a call to Scully would have probably been a good idea - 
her voice always soothed him; but there was no way in hell Mulder 
was going to tell her about this.  And if he phoned the college 
and had her pulled out of class to take his call, she would 
expect more explanation than, 'I just wanted to hear you voice, 
honey.'  No. He couldn't tell her.  He couldn't let her know how 
much these nightmares were affecting him.

He couldn't let anyone know.

He certainly didn't want Adam privy to the disturbing thoughts 
that had been plaguing him lately.  Some things children couldn't 
understand; shouldn't have to be burdened with.  Every parent 
knows that; realizes the necessity to protect their little ones 
from the harsher truths.  He'd tried to be so careful, but 
obviously not careful enough.  Adam was a very bright kid.  
Mulder had no doubt the child's IQ would test well into the range 
of genius.  The combination of his intelligence, his ability to 
read minds, and his innate childish curiosity, meant keeping 
anything a secret from him was next to impossible.  But Mulder 
had tried so hard to shelter the child, especially from this.

It took several long minutes before he could collect himself - 
rein in the anxiety that had run away with him.  

Adam had never witnessed one of his father's panic attacks.  They 
usually came late in the night, waking Mulder from a sound sleep, 
causing him to bolt out of bed; and sending him pacing the room 
or rushing to the window for deep breaths of fresh air.  
Witnessing his father in such a state, the little boy was on the 
verge of tears by the time Mulder could focus on anything outside 
of himself and sit back down again.  He felt awful for adding to 
Adam's worries when what he should have been doing was reassuring 
the poor kid.  

"I'm sorry, Adam.  Dad's been working really hard on his book and 
I guess I've been overdoing it."  Not seeing any change at all in 
the concerned little face staring back at him, Mulder sighed.  He 
knew better then to attempt to placate Adam with half-truths.  
Distracting him was the best ploy in such situations.  With a 
forced smile, Mulder tried again.  "Hey, what do you say I take a 
break for a while and we go for a bike ride?"  

The suggestion didn't even register with the boy, whose 
tenaciousness was perhaps his strongest trait.  

"Dad, the aliens hurt people when they take them, don't they?  
Just like they did to you."  

Already pale, Mulder's cheeks blanched whiter.  Two large blue 
eyes stared at him, until he felt positively transparent.  Oh, 
Jesus... "They're not coming for you.  I promise."  It felt like 
a lie.  

Adam's wide gaze never faltered from his father's, as he digested 
the assurance and found it lacking in real conviction.  "You say 
that... but you don't believe it." 

Pressing cold fingers to his temples, Mulder attempted to massage 
away the ever-increasing throb inside his head.  He tried his 
hardest to concentrate on other, less ominous, thoughts; not to 
let his mind wander into the dark, and his fears overtake him 
again.  After taking a moment to compose himself, Mulder very 
deliberately placed his hands on Adam's slender shoulders.  And 
facing the young boy directly, he did his best to explain. 

"Son, you have a very special ability.  You can hear peoples' 
thoughts.  But what you don't understand yet - and what's 
important to know - is that not all thoughts are rational ones.  
Some are just silly fears that run away with our common sense.  
They have no basis in reality whatsoever.  They're not to be 
believed."

"You sound like Mommy."  

Mulder had to smile at that; the kid was damn perceptive too. 
"Yeah, well, your mother is an incredibly smart lady, so I'm 
going to take that as a compliment."  He pulled Adam close 
wrapping him in another hug; and this time it was Mulder who had 
difficulty letting go.  His son.  His only child.  Clutching the 
boy possessively, words poured from his heart as a surge of 
unexpected emotion overwhelmed him.  "I love you, Adam.  No 
matter what... I want you to always remember that."  The child 
stiffened uncomfortably and Mulder forced himself to let go, 
quickly wiping away the dampness from his eyes and the grim 
thoughts that had once again pushed in to invade his mind. He 
watched his son struggle with something profoundly upsetting - 
and wrestled his own pervading sense of disquiet when Adam asked 
him one more anxious question, his little face alight with fear. 
 

"Dad, how do you know which thoughts are the ones you're NOT 
supposed to believe?"





*  *  *  *





~ Chapter 2 ~





When Scully returned home from work later that afternoon, the 
second she rounded the corner onto Tisbury Lane she knew there 
was trouble. Even from three blocks away she could see the black 
and whites parked on the street in front of their home.  "Oh my 
God," she whispered, afraid to know what had happened, but at the 
same time compelled to drive faster and find out.  

She'd had an uneasy feeling all day, and almost called home 
several times; but she didn't want Mulder to think she was 
checking up on him, so she'd tried to ignore her anxiety, 
resisting the urge to make sure everything was all right at home. 
 Now she wished she hadn't disregarded her intuition.

She pulled into the driveway, and in her haste to find Mulder and 
Adam, left the car door wide open, breaking into a full run 
toward the house.  There were two police officers conducting a 
search of the grounds.  They looked at her with sympathy when she 
flew past them, chanting a worried mantra of "No, no, no..." as 
she raced up the steps and through the opened front door.

Another pair of officers worked inside the house.  And Scully 
threw a contemptuous look their way; resenting them simply for 
what their presence in her home suggested.  She heard voices 
coming from the next room, and willed rubbery legs to carry her 
to investigate.

Mulder sat at the kitchen table, in the same chair where she'd 
left him earlier that morning; head in his hands, elbows resting 
on the table in a posture of outright despair.  Scully's bottom 
lip began trembling, a tight whimpering sound issued from her 
throat.  The man sitting next to Mulder looked up from his notes. 

"Is this your wife, sir?"  

Mulder lifted an ashen face and mournful eyes to greet Scully's 
fearful gaze.  

"Where's Adam?" she asked, silently pleading with him not to 
confirm her worst fears.  

He opened his mouth once to speak... tried again... but no words 
would come.  And so he just stared at her with a pained 
expression that told her more than she wanted to know.  

"No."  She refused to accept his silent admission.  Backing 
slowly away, Scully shook her head, tears spilling from her 
lashes to christen ghostly pale cheeks.  This wasn't real.  Adam 
was all right. He had to be.  He was just hiding, just playing a 
childish game. He'd come to her.  If she called him now he'd 
come.  

"ADAM!"  

Scully ignored the pitying faces of the others in the room.  
She'd show them all he was fine.  

"ADAM!"  

Mulder was up and out of his chair, moving toward her in the span 
of a heartbeat.   His own anguish intensifying as he watched 
Scully struggle against the painful truth.  She continued to back 
away, in denial, until he caught her and forcefully enfolded her 
in his arms, as much for his own comfort as for hers.

"They took him, Scully," he finally managed to choke out, his 
voice raw and broken. 

"NO!" she yelled, surprising both of them with her sudden fury as 
she broke out of his embrace.  

"I'm sorry, Scully... I'm so sorry.  He was right there playing 
on the beach and I... I got a phone call and went into the 
house... Oh God, Scully..."

"You left him alone?" she asked, as if he had committed the most 
unthinkable sin.  "God damn you, Mulder!  How could you leave him 
alone?  You were supposed to be watching him!"

Mulder nodded, accepting her blame for such an unforgivable lapse 
in judgment.  "I'm sorry," he offered once more, reaching out to 
her again. Wanting - NEEDING - to hold her.  How could he ever 
apologize for something like this?  But he had to try.  

Scully pushed him away, wishing she could push everything else 
away too.  She wanted it all to go - the police, the 
investigators, the cars surrounding her home, the neighbors and 
onlookers she could see through the window gathering in the 
street to gawk and wonder at the tragedy unfolding inside.  The 
only thing Scully wanted near her right now was her little boy, 
safe and sound, in her arms.  She swore to God if he gave Adam 
back to her she would never let him out of her sight again.  
EVER!!!

"Mrs. Mulder?"  

Scully frowned at the heavyset man in rolled up shirtsleeves and 
glaring, out of date tie.  He'd been sitting with Mulder when she 
first walked into the kitchen; and now he was coming toward her, 
holding up a badge.  

"I'm Detective Randolph.  Edgartown PD.  Ma'am we're going to 
have to ask you some questions."

"Please," she begged him to stop, but he showed no mercy.  

"According to your husband, your son Adam disappeared while 
playing on the beach this afternoon.  We'd like to do everything 
we possibly can to find him and return him safely to you.  I 
realize this is the first you're hearing the news, but the faster 
we can get the information we need, the quicker we can get out 
there looking for your boy."

It was real.  

These bastards were making it real... forcing her to accept that 
which she'd been afraid of since the first time she heard a tiny 
heart beating within her womb.  Her baby had been taken from her. 
She didn't want to believe it, but they were making it true with 
their police cars and badges and notebooks full of questions.  

Adam was really gone.   

Just this morning, he'd sat in this very room, smearing ketchup 
on his French toast, all smiles and giggles; excited by her 
promise that they'd go miniature golfing and have ice cream 
sundaes when she came home from work...

"Mrs. Mulder?" the persistent detective interrupted her reverie. 



Scully nodded absently - not sure what she was agreeing to.  
Shock had set in, numbing her mind and body.  She let Mulder 
guide her to a chair, without really feeling his unsteady hand at 
the small of her back... Oblivious to the detective, when he 
asked his partner to get her a glass of water... Unaware of the 
fact that Mulder had to wrap his fingers around hers to help her 
grip the glass and bring it to her lips to drink.  And it was as 
if from far away that she heard the retelling of the details in 
Mulder's shaky voice...

"I was working out on the deck, had my laptop set up outside most 
of the day while Adam played on the beach... our usual routine.  
Around three o'clock I got a phone call.  I needed to check the 
wall calendar in the kitchen to confirm several dates for 
possible speaking engagements.  I honestly thought I'd only be 
inside for a minute.  Jesus... I didn't want to disturb Adam's 
play, so I left him on the beach...  God, what was I thinking?"  

Mulder broke down for the moment, but Scully was too lost in her 
own pain to console him.  The room was awkwardly silent until he 
pulled himself together and continued.

"... The caller wanted to discuss a book signing appearance 
too... Shit!  How could I be so stupid?! I went into the study... 
to find a letter my agent sent... It must have been five minutes 
or so before I could get back outside to check on Adam again.  Oh 
God...  He was gone.  Just like that.  I was away for only a 
handful of minutes..." There was another long pause while Mulder 
struggled for composure.  

"When I didn't see him right away, I yelled his name out, and 
when he didn't answer, I ran down to the beach to look for him.  
And when I couldn't find him on the beach... I still can't 
believe any of this... I was panicky; I thought maybe he'd 
decided to go swimming in the ocean - even though he knows he's 
not supposed to do that without an adult - I was afraid he'd 
picked the worst possible moment to test authority.  I scanned 
the waves, hoping I'd catch sight of him, but..."  Mulder shook 
his head sadly, his face pure agony.  

"Then I thought - I HOPED - that Adam had gone back to the house, 
and I'd find him out front riding on his bike or playing with his 
skateboard or something.  I was just about to run back up to the 
house and check to see if he'd somehow managed to get by me, when 
I spotted a trail of his footprints in the wet sand along the 
water's edge, leading up the beach.  I followed the tracks, 
running along side them for a couple of hundred yards or so until 
suddenly they just stopped.  I looked all around for signs that 
someone might have approached him - lifted him up and carried him 
away - but there were no other tracks anywhere nearby.  It was 
the strangest thing.  As if he'd simply vanished where he 
stood...  That's when I went back up to the house and called the 
police."

Mulder put his head down on the table and sobbed.    "Oh God... 
Oh God, Scully...  What have I done?"

The detective exchanged knowing looks with his partner, both men 
in silent agreement over what they'd just heard.

Scully absently reached out a deadened hand, letting it rest on 
Mulder's arm.  It was all she could offer him, an instinctual 
reflex more than a true sympathetic response.  She just wasn't 
capable of feeling at that point.  A long time passed before she 
was conscious of anything going on around her, or could stop 
herself from staring blankly at the empty chair where Adam had 
been sitting earlier that morning.    

It was Mulder's voice again that finally broke through her dazed 
state.  He was upset - arguing with the detective.  

"Just what in the hell are you implying?  Are you saying that you 
think I had something to do with my son's disappearance?"

Randolph's tone was patronizing.  He smoothed his chubby fingers 
through thinning, oily black hair as he spoke.  "Mr. Mulder, 
these are only routine questions.  There's no cause to become 
angry.  I'm not accusing you of any wrong doing."

"This is all pointless anyway!"  Mulder's temper flared in a 
flash of frustration.  "I told you about the footprints... they 
just stopped!  Adam wasn't kidnapped by some stranger on the 
beach!  And he wasn't carried away by the surf!  THEY took him!  
He was abducted by aliens!  It's the only explanation for the 
evidence I saw!"  

Scully felt immediately sick to her stomach at Mulder's 
suggestion. He was wrong, of course.  Jumping to fantastic 
conclusions as always. Those monsters didn't have Adam.  She 
refused to accept that!   

The detective's suspicious eyes met with his partner's again, 
then focused hard on the missing boy's father.  "What evidence, 
Mr. Mulder?  Footprints in the sand?  Evidence you CLAIM was 
washed away by the incoming tide before we arrived?  I know about 
you and your belief in men from outer space, but I don't happen 
to subscribe to any of that science fiction nonsense.  So I'm 
going to keep this investigation down to earth, if that's all 
right with you.  And even if it isn't; because there's a little 
boy's life at stake here, and I take my job very seriously."

The conversation went downhill quickly from there.  Mulder and 
Detective Randolph continued their heated exchange until Scully 
had all she could take.  Slapping her hands angrily on the 
tabletop, she stood up so abruptly, her chair toppled over onto 
the floor.  The unexpected noise startled everyone, focusing all 
attention on her.  

"While you two sit here bickering, my child is out there 
somewhere in danger!  Mulder you've given this man your 
statement, you're clearly not going to make a believer out of 
him, so let it go!"

Mulder shrank back, nodding to appease her.  He'd known this 
woman long enough not to argue with her when her Irish temper 
took over. Besides, she was right.  Bickering with Randolph 
wouldn't accomplish anything.

Scully turned her venom on the man seated to her left.  "And 
Detective Randolph, your discourtesy to my husband demonstrates 
an inexcusable lack of compassion!  My husband is understandably 
in a highly emotional state at the moment; provoking him serves 
absolutely no constructive purpose!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mulder," Randolph apologized contritely.

"It's DOCTOR Scully!  And I'd appreciate it if you and your men 
would wrap up whatever it is you have left here to do, and get 
the hell out of my home so my husband and I can have some peace 
and quiet and try to pull ourselves together!"  There was just so 
much she could take.  She was worried for her child's life and 
had little faith in the abilities of this small-town detective 
and his backwater police force to be of any help whatsoever in 
solving the case.  They had no idea what Adam was, or what kind 
of people might have taken him.

"Dr. Scully, I still need to take a statement from you, but maybe 
it would be better to wait until morning.  We have the recent 
photograph of Adam that your husband provided, and a description 
of what the boy was last seen wearing; I suppose that's all we 
really need to get started.  We'll leave you for now, as long as 
you promise to make yourselves available in the morning."

"We'll be here," Mulder muttered the assurance, refusing to make 
eye contact with either of the detectives who were studying his 
every move.  

Scully didn't wait for the formalities; she needed to get some 
air.





*  *  *  *  





Long after the police had gone, Mulder stood alone in a house 
that screamed with silence.  He watched Scully through the big 
picture windows that overlooked the backyard.  For hours she'd 
been sitting in an Adirondack chair on the deck, staring 
pensively out at the strip of beach where Adam had been playing 
just before he disappeared.  She hadn't spoken a word since her 
angry outburst in front of the detectives.  She didn't have to 
say anything.  Mulder knew what was in her heart.  She was 
furious with him for letting her down.  She'd trusted him with 
that which was most precious to her, and he'd failed her in a way 
he could never expect Scully to forgive.  

He'd never forgive himself.

All afternoon he'd been replaying those last images of his son 
innocently chasing seagulls along the shoreline.  One minute he 
was there, happy and full of all the wonder and mischief that 
little boys his age possess in such abundance, and the next... 
gone.  

Adam was gone.  

Those big blue eyes that reminded him so much of Scully's... The 
small hands that reached up to grasp his when they went walking 
together... The bright smiles and joyful laughter that had 
transformed his and Scully's discontented existence... The hugs 
and kisses bestowed by one whose love was given 
unconditionally... all gone.

Adam had been the realization of an impossible dream for both of 
them, the hope that they could have something resembling a normal 
life together.  They'd been fooling themselves, of course.  With 
the entire universe conspiring against them, it was a wonder 
they'd had as long as they did to be a family and enjoy life's 
simple pleasures. They'd cheated destiny for a brief moment of 
happiness... but they'd paid dearly for their transient victory. 
  

For a few more heartbreaking minutes, Mulder watched his wife, 
the bleakness from within her casting a deathly pallor and a 
solemn shadow over her lovely features.  He couldn't stand seeing 
her this way.  Empty.  Defeated.  Knowing he was to blame.  He 
had to do something - whatever he could - to give her hope.  

The local cops weren't going to be of any help finding Adam; 
Scully knew that as well as he did.  If there was any chance at 
all of getting their son back, they needed to be looking in 
places that weren't supposed to exist.  The Consortium was not 
dead.  There had been setbacks; but like an ugly cancer, as long 
as a few cells remained, the disease would continue - returning 
even more deadly than before.  The remnants of the syndicate 
would have connections to the aliens... turn the right screws and 
- maybe - they'd get their boy back.  

A case like this required investigators with open minds... and 
access.

He'd call Skinner.  





*  *  *  *





He was watching her.  

Scully didn't have to turn around to know that her husband was 
studying her with concern through the window glass.  She could 
feel his presence.  Years ago she would have denied such an 
ability, but it was something she'd simply come to accept now.  
She first realized their unique connection the day Mulder had 
been abducted; knowing he was gone even before she'd been 
delivered the fateful news.  While he was gone, she could sense 
his suffering; at times she could have sworn she heard him 
calling out her name.  She supposed if she were going to have a 
psychic connection with anyone, Mulder would be the obvious 
candidate.  Their lives had become so intricately woven and 
explicitly co-dependent in their seven years of partnership, that 
even back then she'd thought of him mostly as an extension of 
herself.

And now she could feel him there watching her... wondering... 
worrying... blaming himself.  She tried to feel bad for lashing 
out at him.  But she was empty inside.  Dead.  She couldn't feel 
any emotion at all.  Rationally, Scully understood she was in a 
state of shock, the human body's natural response to trauma.  Yet 
a part of her couldn't help questioning if she'd finally reached 
the end of her rope.  There was only so much a person could take, 
after all.    



A child gone missing.  When she worked for the Bureau, Scully had 
seen this heartbreak many times; but always from the outside, 
from her clinical role as an investigator.  Then, she could only 
imagine what a nightmare it must have been for the parents - to 
not know what had become of their child.  To have to carry on 
with their lives, wondering...  

Now the nightmare was hers and Mulder's.

The blue sky had dimmed to a bleak gray.  It would be getting 
dark soon.  Adam was afraid of the dark.  Wherever he was, 
whoever had taken him, Scully hoped he wouldn't be left in the 
dark.  She remembered the times she'd been taken hostage... 
stuffed in the lightless confines of a car's trunk... tied up and 
imprisoned in a pitch black closet... blind and helpless...  Adam 
would be so scared. She prayed he wasn't being mistreated.  Of 
course she knew, from her FBI training and years of field 
experience, those who would abduct a child were by their very 
nature cruel.  She'd autopsied the defiled and mutilated remains 
of enough young victims to testify to that cold fact.  At least 
Adam wasn't in the hands of a pedophile or a serial killer - 
Sweet Jesus, she hoped not anyway.  She felt sick at the 
thought...  

No.  Scully shook her head, clearing the unwelcome images that 
had flooded her imagination to torment her.  Whoever took Adam 
more than likely had an interest in keeping him alive.  That was 
at least something for which she could be grateful.  As long as 
he was alive, there was a chance they might get him back.  And as 
long as there was a chance, she and Mulder would NEVER give up 
the search.  





*  *  *  * 





Assistant Director Walter Skinner had been sympathetic and 
immediately accommodating, offering the Bureau's assistance even 
before Mulder could ask for the favor.  Mulder hung up the phone 
with a slight sense of relief, knowing that 'real' help was on 
the way. He hoped the news that the FBI would be arriving first 
thing in the morning would ease Scully's mind and boost her 
spirits a bit too. 



He found her in Adam's room, wearing a desolate expression, tears 
streaming down her cheeks as she stared sadly at their son's 
empty bed.  Mulder's heart ached to near breaking.  He took a few 
tentative steps toward her, unsure if she would accept comfort 
from him.  

As soon as she felt his presence, Scully tried to compose 
herself. She wiped her face, sniffed, and straightened her 
posture.  

Mulder stopped, holding back, fearful of her rejection. 

"I came in here to say good night to him," she explained in a 
small, flat voice, resolved to control her emotions.  "He won't 
ever go to sleep without at least three hugs and a half dozen 
kisses..."  Her voice broke on the last word and she started to 
cry all over again, harder this time, despite her determination. 
 

Mulder couldn't stand it anymore; he pulled her into his arms and 
held her tight, offering what consolation he could.  

"How's he going to get to sleep tonight, Mulder?" she asked him 
through her sobs.  "Where is he?  Who the hell took him?  What if 
they're hurting him?  God, all I can think about is what those 
butchers did to poor Gibson!  What they put him through... And 
Emily - Mulder, these bastards haven't an ounce of compassion!"

"Dana -" he rarely called her that, even now that they were 
married, but sometimes he needed to.  "It's okay.  He's not 
suffering right now."  

She looked up at him, confused, but wanting to believe.  "How do 
you know that?"  

Mulder shook his head; he couldn't explain it.  "I don't know how 
I know; I just do."  

It was an odd feeling, somewhere in the back of his 
consciousness; he couldn't quite bring it to the forefront and 
see it clearly, but Mulder felt certain Adam was not in any pain. 
 The aliens weren't hurting his son - not yet... and if his 
prayers were answered, not ever.  "Look," he cupped Scully's face 
in his hands and held her eyes with his as he spoke.  "I called 
Skinner.  He'll be here with a team first thing in the morning."

"You're bringing the Bureau in?"  

Mulder was sure he heard a measure of relief in her voice.  He 
nodded.  "You know this is more than just a simple kidnapping.  
The evidence alone suggests it's beyond the capabilities of local 
law enforcement."

"The footprints."  She pictured her little boy walking barefoot 
along the shoreline... unaware of the horrible fate awaiting him 
just ahead.  Mulder's hands tightening anxiously on her cheeks 
brought her attention back to him; she met his worried eyes.

"You believe me, don't you, Scully?"  She HAD to believe this 
time.

Scully took his hands away from her face.  "Of course I do.  But 
it doesn't matter, Mulder.  The tide destroyed the crime scene, 
all the evidence washed away."

Mulder held resolutely to what he believed happened out on that 
beach.  "But I saw it, Scully!  I know!  THEY took him!"

"No."  She shook her head firmly, unwilling to accept it.  
"Mulder you're making a huge assumption."

"How else do you explain what I saw then?  The tracks just ended, 
with no other signs to indicate he'd been approached."

"Were the footprints right at the water's edge?"

He already knew what she was thinking. "Yes, but-"

"Well, then maybe he did go into the water.  Maybe he wasn't 
taken at all."

Mulder could understand why it was easier for her to accept Adam 
as drowned - the lesser of two evils.  But he also knew what he 
saw. Adam did not go into the water.  He went up.    

"Scully -"  

She cut him off with her typical logic.  "It was broad daylight. 
If there'd been UFO activity in the area, someone would have 
reported it.  We don't live in the woods of Oregon, or out in the 
middle of the desert somewhere!  This is The Vineyard, for god 
sake, Mulder! There are people everywhere!  YOU were only a 
hundred yards away when it happened!"  

He struggled with that.  "Maybe I was affected somehow."

"No!"  She flatly refused to allow the possibility.  

Mulder sighed, and tried once more to get through to her. 
"Sweetheart, I know you don't want to believe this.  But you've 
read my interview notes.  This kind of thing is not unheard of.  
Others have been taken in the middle of the day - with family 
members nearby who never saw a thing."  For the briefest of 
moments, Mulder thought Scully was going to continue to resist; 
but then she slumped in his arms, defeat echoing within her small 
frame.  A look of despair accompanied her surrender.  

"They'll hurt him, Mulder."  His body muffled her horrified 
whisper.

He clutched her as tight as he dared, pressing one kiss after 
another into her silky hair.  "I know," he muttered sorrowfully. 
"I know."  







*  *  *  *







~ Chapter 3 ~







327 Tisbury Lane Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts Tuesday, June 
6, 2006 8:00 AM





Walter Skinner felt more than a little regret that this was the 
first time he was visiting the home of his two former agents. 
Despite the fact that he thought of them as his friends, he'd 
only seen them a handful of times since they'd officially gone 
civilian. He'd attended their baby's christening, served as best 
man at their wedding, had dinner with them the night before they 
moved to Massachusetts... but other than that, his only contact 
with Mulder and Scully had been via their annual exchange of 
Christmas cards.

Maybe his reluctance to accept their numerous invitations to 
visit was, on some level, an expression of his disagreement with 
their decision to leave the Bureau.  He was none too happy about 
losing his best pair of field agents - especially considering how 
vital their work seemed to be.  If there was a way he could have 
refused their resignations, he would have.  But they were 
determined to take their baby and move away - settling themselves 
into small town life - hoping to be forgotten by their enemies.  
Skinner had argued with them that they were still needed, that 
the fight was far from over. But they wouldn't hear it.  They 
wanted out; and both of them were too damn stubborn to listen to 
reason.

Unfortunately, while Mulder and Scully were off playing house 
together, their crusade had been abandoned.  The dark forces and 
shadow types within the government now went about their business 
unchecked; a fact that had caused the assistant director many 
sleepless nights.  He often wondered how Mulder and Scully slept, 
knowing everything they know - did they feel like deserters for 
walking away?  Maybe someday he would ask them, but not today... 



Squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw, Skinner prepared 
himself to enter what was sure to be an intensely emotional 
situation.  He pressed the buzzer and waited.  When the door 
finally opened, an exhausted-looking Fox Mulder stood before him, 
unshaven, dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a well-worn 
gray T-shirt.  He looked like he'd been to hell and back.  But 
after the way he sounded last night on the phone, Skinner hadn't 
expected anything else.

"Come on in," Mulder said flatly, pushing the screen door open so 
his former boss could enter.  

Skinner accepted the invitation with a nod, letting Mulder lead 
him wordlessly through a very comfortable looking home, and back 
outside again onto a large deck with a spectacular oceanfront 
view.  The impressive scenery faded into the background, however, 
when Skinner's eyes caught sight of the woman seated on the steps 
that led from the deck to the beach.  Hands wrapped around a mug 
of coffee, Dana Scully stared out at the sea, lost in thought.  
Wearing a long black sundress, flaming hair pinned up loosely in 
the back; her beauty instantly struck him.  He'd never seen her 
look this delicate and overtly feminine.  It was a far cry from 
the tough as nails and strictly business persona of Special Agent 
Dana Scully.  She was stunning.  It was almost impossible not to 
stare.

She responded immediately when her husband called to her, 
snapping out of whatever daydream she was lost in, making her way 
over to them solemnly. 

"Good Morning, Walter.  Thanks for coming here so quickly."  

Up close her beauty was flawed by the effects of a sleepless 
night, despite her carefully applied makeup.  And though she was 
holding herself together quite well at the moment, it was obvious 
she'd been recently crying.

"I've got my best team on the way," Skinner tried to reassure 
her. He'd pulled two of his top agents off another assignment out 
in Arizona; they'd be arriving within the hour.  Even at that, 
Skinner felt he should be doing more.  "I'm very sorry this 
happened," he told her.  

Concentrating on the cup in her hands, Scully drew a shaky 
breath. Her whispered, "Thank you," barely audible.

In the awkward silence that followed, the noise of the nearby 
surf took over the conversation for an uncomfortable stretch of 
time. Skinner watched helplessly as his friends struggled to keep 
their frayed emotions from completely unraveling in front of him. 

"Would you like some coffee, Walter?" Scully asked, abruptly 
pulling herself out of her somber introspection.

"I'd love some - thanks."  It was damn hard seeing them hurting 
and not knowing exactly how to respond.  He wanted to hug them 
both, promise them that everything would be all right, that 
they'd get their boy back and they could resume the life they'd 
made for themselves.  But Skinner had never been comfortable with 
that kind of physical demonstration; it just wasn't him.  He told 
himself they needed his help more than his weak attempts at 
consolation.  If he could give them a happy ending, none of the 
rest would matter.  

Scully made a move toward the house, but Mulder stopped her with 
a gentle touch on her arm.  "I'll get it, sweetheart," he told 
her quietly.  

She thanked him with weary eyes.

When she and Skinner were alone, Scully gestured to one of the 
wooden lounge chairs.  "Have a seat."   

He accepted the hospitality, watching her prop herself tiredly 
against the deck rail.  "Mulder filled me in last night on what 
happened."  He repositioned himself so the bright morning sun 
wasn't hitting him in the face.  "I've already contacted the 
local authorities and informed them that the Bureau will be 
getting involved in this one."

"I'm afraid we haven't exactly endeared ourselves to the police 
detective investigating the case," Scully confessed sheepishly.  
She fixed him with a troubled, blue-eyed stare, and sighed.  
"Mulder believes that Adam may have been abducted by aliens."

Skinner removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, 
trying to stave off a headache.  He was afraid of something like 
this.  The local official in charge of the case had been less 
than flattering in his comments about Mulder.   The detective 
would not have been so quick to judge Mulder a crackpot if he'd 
seen some of the things Skinner had.  Six years had passed since 
Oregon, yet the image of that ship lifting off - taking his 
friend away - was still horrifically vivid in the assistant 
director's mind.  It changed his life.  But just because he 
believed now, didn't mean Skinner was willing to accept Mulder's 
assertion of alien involvement in Adam's disappearance without 
corroborating evidence.  "What do you think happened, Scully?"

Shaking her head, Scully gave a noncommittal shrug.  She didn't 
want to offer a theory, didn't want to think about it.  But when 
Skinner's steady gaze refused to let her hide behind her pain, 
she relented. "Mulder says Adam's tracks just stopped.  But his 
footprints were close to the water's edge.  It's possible he 
could have gone into the ocean to swim... got caught in the 
tow... It's fairly strong about twenty yards out, where the shelf 
drops off."

Sighing, Skinner replaced his glasses, looking out for a moment 
at the turbulent waves.  He had to agree with Scully.  A simple 
drowning, while tragic, was a likely possibility, considering the 
facts as they were.  Of course, Mulder would never accept that - 
no way in hell.  Not unless by some miracle the boy's body were 
to wash ashore.  Scully surprised him with her next words.

"I don't believe he drowned," she said softly.  "I believe Adam 
was taken... because of what he is.  Our son was born a pawn in a 
cruel game.  We've tried our best to protect him and still give 
him something of a normal life; always living with the fear that 
he might one day be taken from us...  Now we have to live with 
the guilt that we brought a child into this world knowing his 
destiny would forever be fraught with danger - knowing that HE 
suffers for our selfishness." 

Exiting the house, Mulder caught the tail end of his wife's 
comments.  His blank expression remained unchanged, but the mug 
of hot coffee wavered perilously as it was held out to Skinner.  
Mulder quickly brought his other hand up to help steady the 
offering, but not fast enough for his anxiety to escape notice.  
 







*  *  *  * 





"Nice house," Joe Donaldson commented as he and his partner 
parked in front of the address given to them by AD Skinner.  
There'd been no complaints from either agent about the sudden 
reassignment.  The climate of the Northeast being a welcome 
change over the hundred plus temperatures they'd been forced to 
endure in Arizona the last two weeks.  Donaldson's Nordic 
ancestry had cursed him with fair skin. He felt like he was being 
slowly cooked alive in Flagstaff.   

"Yeah," Mitch Greenfield agreed.  "I'm a little disappointed 
though. I sort of figured Mr. and Mrs. Spooky would be living in 
one of those old gothic Victorian's - you know, like the Adams' 
Family house." He grinned. "Or like that mansion in Psycho."

"If Skinner hears you talking like that, he's gonna kick your 
ass. Mulder and Scully are personal friends of his.  Don't forget 
that, partner."

Greenfield cut the engine.  "Yeah, I know.  Word is, that's why 
he's never made it beyond assistant director."

"Oh, hell, I don't know about that."  Donaldson shrugged.  "There 
are so many damn rumors..."

Nodding his agreement, the younger agent pondered the enigma of 
the FBI's two most infamous and mysterious agents.  "According to 
Mulder's personnel file, the guy was always a maverick... always 
breaking the rules.  I don't know what to think of her though.  
Seems like she was a good agent once upon a time."

"Before HE got a hold of her," Donaldson added, almost bitterly. 
"Agent Scully's career took a nosedive after she was assigned to 
the X-Files division."

Greenfield smoothed a hand over his perfectly combed, regulation 
haircut, making sure every last strand of chestnut brown was in 
its proper place.  He flipped the visor mirror down and gave a 
quick visual check, commenting as he adjusted his tie.  "She was 
assigned to rein him in.  I don't get it.   How does an 
intelligent, levelheaded scientist-type like Dr. Dana Scully 
become a faithful disciple of 'Spooky' Mulder?  What the hell 
happened to her?"

"L.O.V.E.  That's what happened.  She went head-over-heels for 
old 'Spooky'.  You know how women are.  They fall all over 
themselves for lucky bastards like Mulder - tall, dark and 
trouble.  She was willing to throw her career and reputation away 
to protect him and to prove her loyalty."  Donaldson shook his 
head, disgusted.  "It isn't much of a testament to Mulder's 
integrity that he took advantage of a junior agent... not to 
mention his disgraceful lack of professional conduct, bedding his 
partner."

Greenfield nodded, flipping the sun visor back up, reassured that 
his appearance was nothing less than impeccable - as always.  "He 
really went whacko when she got pregnant.  Disappearing like 
that... claiming he'd been abducted by aliens."

"I remember they had half the God damn Bureau out looking for him 
for a while."  Donaldson snorted.  "Knocking up his partner... 
Holy shit.  It may not be part of his official record, but there 
is no doubt in my mind the OPR was influential in Agent Mulder's 
sudden resignation when he finally returned from 'outer space'."

"Those two had a hell of an impressive solve rate though, despite 
their methodology.  You ever work with them?" Greenfield asked, 
perusing the neighborhood with well-trained eyes, prepared to 
note anything suspicious.

Donaldson was doing the same, studying the homes and nearby 
yards, assessing what might require a closer investigation.  "No. 
 I thankfully never had the misfortune of getting tangled up in 
one of their monster hunts."  He paused, debating whether he 
should even mention it.  'What the hell,' he thought, with an 
inward shrug. 'Might as well come clean, just in case.'  "I 
talked to her once, but I doubt she'll remember me."  His partner 
shot him an inquiring look, urging the older agent to continue 
the story.  Donaldson allowed himself a chuckle as he recalled 
the incident.  "I was a dumbass rookie at the time.  Full of 
myself.  Thinking I was the 'Real Deal' - a big, hotshot federal 
agent.  I was green.  Didn't know the office scuttlebutt yet.  To 
me she was just this hot little redhead working in the DNA lab.  
I had no idea she was even an agent."

Greenfield's eyes widened in astonishment.  "Christ, Joe, you 
didn't?"

"Hey, I said I was a newbie," Donaldson defended himself.  He was 
starting to have second thoughts about his decision to share this 
particular bit of personal history.

"You put the moves on Mrs. Spooky?"  Greenfield hooted with 
laughter.

The senior agent frowned, his sunburned face darkening to an even 
deeper shade of red.  "It wasn't like that.  I turned on the 
charm a little, that's all."  Donaldson glared at his partner who 
continued to snicker.  "ANYWAY... I was about to ask her out when 
HE showed up. He gave me a death stare and moved into her 
personal space so fast - scared the shit out of me.  The way he 
reacted, I thought she WAS his wife, for Christ sake.  He never 
said a single word to me, but I sure as hell got his message loud 
and clear."

Greenfield sobered.  "Well, she IS his wife now, so you better 
hope he doesn't remember you, partner."

After he considered it for a minute, Donaldson waved off the 
possibility.  "Naw... It was a long time ago."  He reached for 
the door handle, noticing that one of the cars in the driveway 
was a rental.  "Come on.  It looks like the boss man is already 
here."







They showed their badges to her when she opened the door, along 
with the customary introduction.  "I'm Special Agent Joe 
Donaldson and this is my partner Special Agent Mitch Greenfield." 
 

Scully nodded at the two men.  And although she didn't smile, her 
expression was still as welcoming as could be expected under the 
circumstances.  "I'm Dana Scully, please come in Agents."  

Most of Donaldson was relieved that Scully didn't seem to 
recognize him - even if his ego might have liked her to remember 
their brief encounter.  As she led the way though the house, 
Donaldson took the opportunity to admire her shapely curves, 
intrigued by the way her dress clung provocatively in all the 
right places.  His eyes wandered up and down her figure, noting 
everything from the wisps of auburn hair that played against the 
creamy slope of her neck to the sculpting of her well-toned 
calves, even the sexy red polish she wore painted on her toes.  A 
twinge of resentment poked at Donaldson as he considered what 
might have happened if Mulder hadn't interrupted that day in the 
DNA lab.  If he'd had five more minutes alone with her... 

Donaldson's daydream came to a screeching halt when he found 
himself standing out on a deck in the backyard, being scrutinized 
by the devil himself - 'Spooky' Mulder.  Skinner was there too, 
and both men stood up as Scully made the introductions.    

"Agents, this is my husband Fox Mulder.  Mulder this is Joe 
Donaldson and his partner Mitch Greenfield." 

Mulder immediately extended his hand to both agents, but his hard 
and focused stare never left Donaldson.  "Have we met before?" he 
asked, perplexed.  

Greenfield snickered under his breath and Donaldson shot him a 
dirty look.  "I don't believe so, Mr. Mulder."  

"Your face is really familiar.  I'm sure that I know you from 
somewhere."  Mulder frowned.  Rarely did his eidetic memory fail 
him. "It'll come to me," he muttered, mostly to himself.  



"You probably passed me a few times over the years.  I've been 
with the DC Bureau for a while now."  Donaldson smiled politely 
and tried to put the issue behind them.

Mulder's eyes narrowed.  "No... I don't think that's it."  He 
turned to his wife for help.  "Scully, do you remember Agent 
Donaldson?" 



After a quick study of the face of the man in question, she shook 
her head.  "No.  Can't say that I do."

Donaldson certainly wasn't going to stand around and wait for 
them to figure it out.  "Why don't we get started?" he suggested. 
 "I'd like to interview you both separately, if you don't have 
any objections."

"There's really no reason to do this by the book.  Scully and I 
are well aware of the information you need," Mulder protested.  
"It'll go faster if we cut out the formalities."

Joe Donaldson was not the kind of man who put up with people 
stepping on his toes.  This was HIS case.  He wasn't about to let 
Fox Mulder, of all people, tell him how to proceed.  "If you 
don't mind - MISTER - Mulder, we'd like to do this our way.  My 
partner and I haven't found FBI regulations to be a hindrance to 
our work yet."

The muscles in Mulder's jaw tightened, and for a tense moment 
both men just stared at each other.  Eventually, it was Mulder 
who backed down.  "Suit yourself," he huffed, clearly put off by 
Donaldson's superior attitude.   

"This is going to be interesting," Scully muttered to herself.





*  *  *  * 



While Donaldson was interviewing Mulder, Skinner and Greenfield 
set to the task of canvassing the neighborhood and searching the 
beach for any clues the police might have overlooked.  Left 
alone, Scully used the time to phone her mother and break the 
news of Adam's disappearance.  

It was an extremely difficult conversation.

"Hello," Maggie's cheerful voice answered after only one ring.

"Mom, It's Dana."

"Honey, how are you?  I was just thinking of you and realizing 
it's been weeks since we talked."

Scully closed her eyes, imagining her mother's smiling face.  
God, she didn't want to do this.  "Um... I'm not so good, 
actually."  She took a deep breath, held it for a heartbeat, then 
let it out in one big sigh before continuing.  "Something's 
happened, Mom... something awful."

"My God, Dana, what is it?"

"It's Adam.  He's missing."  She braced herself for her mother's 
reaction, biting her trembling lip when she heard the gasp on the 
other end of the line.

"Oh no...  My God!  Honey, when... when did this happen?"

"He disappeared off the beach yesterday afternoon..."  Scully 
went on to explain, trying her best not to fall apart, but only 
half succeeding.  

Once she'd heard the whole story and recovered from the initial 
shock, Margaret Scully was ready to pack a bag and take the next 
available flight to be with her daughter and son-in-law in their 
time of crisis.  "As soon as I hang up I'll make arrangements to 
fly up there, honey."  

As much as Scully would have loved to slip into the role of 
child, retreating to her mother's care, she couldn't allow 
herself the luxury.  There were parts of her life that must 
necessarily be kept secret.  From the very beginning they'd told 
her mother only what she needed to know; Adam's safety was an 
issue because of factors related to their work on the X-Files.  
Whatever evil had befallen Adam, Scully wanted her mother as far 
from it as possible.  "No, Mom... I appreciate the offer, but 
Mulder and I can handle this.  There's no reason for you to come 
up here.  There's really nothing you can do. The police and the 
FBI are doing everything possible.  Mulder and I just have to 
wait."

"I'll wait with you," Maggie insisted.

"There's no need," Scully tried.

"You don't need me?"  The hurt in Maggie's voice was more than 
evident.

Scully found herself backpedaling, losing ground.  The last thing 
she wanted to do was fight with her mother right now.  "No, 
Mom... I didn't mean it like that-"

"I only want to help, Dana."  Tears were seeping into her words.

"Yes.  I know."  Scully sighed.  How the hell was she supposed to 
cope with this on top of everything else?  Dropping her head into 
her hand, the receiver pressed tight against her ear, Scully 
absorbed her mother's hurting, letting it mix with her own until 
the weight threatened to crush her.

After years of being kept in the dark, Maggie had resigned 
herself to a begrudging acceptance of her daughter's 
sometimes-mysterious behavior.  But she still let it be known 
that she resented being shut out, especially at a time like this 
when she knew how much her support was needed.  "You and Fox are 
always so private... so secretive.  I'm your mother, Dana.  I 
don't appreciate being excluded from your life.  I know you're 
not telling me everything.  For what reason this time, I'm afraid 
to even hazard a guess.  I thought you put all of that behind you 
when you left the FBI."  Her Irish temper took a firm hold.  
"Damn it!  Adam is my grandson!  I love him too! I WANT to be 
there!"  Maggie's tears were fueled by her outrage.

"I know."  Scully choked back a sob of her own.  She hated being 
in this position, having to distance herself from her family in 
order to protect them.  It wasn't fair to anyone.  The X-Files 
continued to exact a toll on her life long after she'd left the 
work behind. "Mom, I appreciate that this is difficult for you.  
But until we know more... I'd really rather you stay in DC.  
Please try to understand... I'll call you if anything changes.  I 
promise."

There was a long pause before Maggie said anything.  When she did 
finally speak, it was with restraint, all warmth gone from her 
voice. "Very well, Dana.  I won't come up there if you don't want 
me to. Please give Fox my love.  I expect that you'll call, as 
you say, when you know more."

"I will, Mom.  I'll call the minute we hear anything."  Her 
mother didn't bother to say goodbye before she hung up.  And 
though Scully had ultimately won the battle - she couldn't help 
but feel as if she was very close to losing the war.  



Mulder entered the bedroom just as his wife put down the 
telephone. "Who was that?" he asked, concerned about the stress 
plainly written on her face.  He sat down on the edge of the bed 
beside her.

"I called Mom," Scully told him tiredly.  "If Donaldson and 
Greenfield are doing this by the book, they might interview 
family members.  I didn't want her to find out from a couple of 
strangers with badges that her grandson is missing."  

Scully moved her head slowly from side to side, attempting to 
alleviate some of the tension in her neck and shoulders.  Her 
husband didn't miss his cue.  His strong fingers began to knead 
at the stiffness, massaging her taut muscles.  She closed her 
eyes and allowed him to work away a little of her stress.  
"Mmm...  Thank you," she hummed.  "That's good... yeah, right 
there.  Ohhh..."

Mulder moved closer, his warm breath tickling her ear.  He spoke 
in that low, seductive tone of his that always melted right 
through her.  

"As soon as we get rid of our company, you're going to take a 
long, hot bath; and then I'm putting you back to bed."  He 
punctuated his words with a tender kiss - just the tip of his 
tongue snaking out to trace the curve of her ear. 

She pulled away immediately, opening her eyes and turning to face 
him.  "I can't sleep."  Maybe it was a trick of the light, but 
Mulder looked ten years older than he had the morning before.  

He studied her face too, troubled by what he saw.  "Scully, if 
you're not up to talking to Agent Donaldson -"

"I'm fine," she interrupted, refusing to acknowledge her 
exhaustion for fear it would defeat her.  

He frowned, but let her get away with the lie.  "Look, if 
Donaldson gets out of line with his questions, don't be afraid to 
tell him to fuck off."  

"That bad, huh?"  

He nodded grimly, unable to mask the residual resentment left 
over from the interview.  "Let's just say I've been interrogated 
by terrorists who were more sympathetic."  

Scully's sigh came from deep within this time.  "Great," she 
quipped.  "I can hardly wait."







*  *  *  *   





"Ms. Scully, I apologize in advance for the questions I'm about 
to ask you," Donaldson began, "but I assure you they are very 
necessary to the course of this investigation."

Scully sat up attentively, hands folded neatly in her lap.  She 
was prepared for the worst after Mulder's comments, but trying to 
be open to the process.  "I understand," she said quietly.  

Scully had chosen to sit in Mulder's favorite chair - a big 
overstuffed leather recliner.  It was silly, but it made her feel 
stronger somehow, and protected; the same feeling that drew her 
to sleep in his bed during those terrible months when he'd been 
missing. Donaldson sat across the living room on the couch.  

"Ms. Scully, did your husband have a good relationship with your 
son?"  

Okay, that was a fair question, she supposed.  Ruling her and 
Mulder out as potential suspects was necessary, and certainly 
well within bounds.  As a former investigator herself, she knew 
this was just procedure; she shouldn't take these questions 
personally.  "Yes. They ARE very close."  She refused to speak of 
Adam in the past tense.

"How close?"

Scully frowned.  "Appropriately close."

"Has your husband ever hurt Adam, or threatened him in any way?" 



She kept her voice low and even.  "Never."  

"Have you ever been concerned that he MIGHT hurt your son?"  

Patience, tolerance, easy, easy, Dana... don't feed him anything 
negative.  "No."  

Even though she knew these questions were routine, Scully found 
herself reacting involuntarily.  She could feel the fine edges of 
her tolerance sifting away, and had to concentrate hard to hold 
herself in check; fearing the interrogation would take a 
disastrous turn if she let this idiot get to her.

"What's his mood been like lately?  Has he been depressed or 
seemed particularly agitated to you?  Is he having any 
difficulties sleeping?  Anything that's given you cause to worry 
that something might be troubling him?"

If she told the truth, this nonsense would only perpetuate. 
Besides, her concerns about Mulder had nothing to do with Adam's 
disappearance.  

"He's been fine," she lied, hoping Donaldson hadn't noticed her 
slight hesitation before giving her answer.  The agent's cold 
blue eyes studied her for a moment, taking in her body language. 
 She tried not to look guilty, meeting his steady gaze with her 
own.  When he glanced down at her hands, now nervously smoothing 
her dress, she forced herself to stop.  She cursed herself 
silently for revealing her anxiety and giving him reason to doubt 
her honesty.

"Has your husband ever been physically violent toward you?  Or 
threatened you?"

Wonderful.  Now he was looking for a motive for her lie. 
"Absolutely not," she told him with unwavering conviction.

"Any recent difficulties in your personal relationship?  
Arguments?"  

Scully's eyes narrowed, just a little.  Donaldson didn't notice 
that change in them; but if he'd known her at all, he would have 
found himself proceeding with a bit more caution and 
objectiveness.

"No.  Agent Donaldson, I assure you, there is no trouble in our 
home."  

He nodded, and then glanced down at his notes, taking a moment to 
compose his thoughts.  Scully was certain the line of questioning 
was going to change now, but she mistakenly thought that she 
would welcome that change.  She was stunned and outraged when 
Donaldson went even further into her and Mulder's personal 
relationship with his next inquiry.

"Again, I apologize for having to ask questions of such a private 
nature... but it's documented that he disappeared while you were 
pregnant -"  

She didn't let him go any further, having a fairly good idea 
where this line of questions was leading.  "He wasn't aware of my 
condition at the time, and his disappearance was not voluntary.  
I don't like what you're implying, Agent Donaldson.  My husband 
is a good and decent man, and we are very happily married."

"I'm certain that you are, Ms. Scully.  I didn't mean to offend 
you."  

If the look of humility on the agent's face was meant to pacify 
her, it failed miserably.  Scully wasn't buying it, not a bit.  

"I suppose there's no easy way to ask some of these questions," 
Donaldson made a production of a sigh.  "I'll just get to the 
point. Was he pleased about becoming a father?  Did he want the 
baby?"

Scully could feel her face darkening.  Now she understood why 
Mulder had instructed her to tell Donaldson to 'fuck off' if he 
pushed too far.  And she was sorely tempted to do just that; but 
she didn't want to give this asshole the impression there was any 
shade of truth to his suspicions.  So instead of lashing out 
defensively, Scully chose to remain calm and throw Donaldson off 
with a question of her own. "And how exactly is that relevant?"

The agent cleared his throat.  "I'm trying to establish motive." 



Motive?  Scully couldn't believe this idiot.  "My husband did not 
harm our son!"  She hadn't meant to raise her voice, but her 
patience was just about gone.  So much for calm.

"That's what I'm trying to determine."  Donaldson shifted 
uncomfortably under her threatening glare.  "Are you aware that 
he believes Adam was taken by ALIENS?"

"Yes," she answered, matter-of-factly.

"And this doesn't trouble you?"  

With an inaudible sigh, Scully held what was left of her patience 
steady.  Somehow she managed to reply calmly and evenly.  "Not 
everyone believes in the same things, Agent Donaldson.  Just 
because you doubt the existence of extraterrestrial life, it 
doesn't give you the right to judge those with a differing point 
of view."

Tossing his notes onto the coffee table, Donaldson leaned back 
against the cushions of the couch rather smugly.  "Ms. Scully, a 
little over a year ago I investigated a case where three small 
children had vanished, the mother claiming men from space came 
down and took her children away while they were sleeping."  

Scully nodded, aware of his tactic and determined to waylay him 
before he got there.  "Theodora Johnson, Dyersburg, Tennessee." 
There wasn't an abduction case, real or bogus, that she and 
Mulder weren't privy to these days.  When you had as many 
connections within 'the network' as they did, you heard mention 
of everything eventually.  This case had been especially 
disturbing in its tragedy; it wasn't something Scully was likely 
to forget anytime soon.

He was surprised.  "You know of the case?"

Scully nodded.  "I wish I didn't."  She tried to banish the image 
of those poor children from her mind.  Her years as a federal 
agent had hardened her somewhat, but there were still scenes that 
refused to be viewed with a clinical eye.  The violent and 
barbaric slaying of three innocent children by their own mother 
was certainly one of them.  "Agent Donaldson, my husband is not 
mentally ill, as was the unfortunate situation with Mrs. 
Johnson."

"But he does have a medical profile which includes stays in more 
than one hospital ward for the purpose of psychological 
evaluation and treatment.           And his emotional stability 
has been questionable on numerous occasions during his tenure 
with the Bureau; it says so right in his file.  He's attacked 
other agents - including a Bureau accounting auditor; he attacked 
Assistant Director Skinner. He attacked a suspect - a Mr. Duane 
Barry - and may have been responsible for his death.  There was 
also some question about a body found, shot in the face at point 
blank range, in Agent Mulder's apartment.  These all seem to be 
incidents where stress triggered aggressive violent behavior in 
your husband.  Therefore, I believe I'm justified in pursuing 
this avenue of investigation based on what I already know about 
the suspect's past history."  

The last of Scully's dwindling tolerance finally disappeared.  
This wasn't an investigation.  Donaldson was building a case 
against Mulder!  He was setting up a profile of a mentally 
unstable, and at times violent man, whose crime might have been 
motivated by the resentment of a child he never really wanted.   
 

"This is ridiculous!  He was never charged in any of the 
incidents you mentioned!  My husband is perfectly sane!  He's 
certainly not violent!  And he loves our son!"  She was seething 
with anger.

"You believe he loves you too, do you not?"  Donaldson asked 
calmly.  

This idiot just did not know when to quit.  "I KNOW he does."

Despite the thunder in her tone, Donaldson pressed on, undaunted. 
"Tell me, Ms. Scully, has he ever pulled a gun on you?"

Shit!  Shitshitshit!  This son of a bitch had obviously missed 
his calling.  He should have been a goddamn prosecuting attorney. 
 She hadn't even seen that coming.  Scully looked down at her 
hands, which were trembling now as she tried to figure a way out 
of this trap. 



"Well, Ms. Scully?"

Half a dozen responses ran through her mind but only one seemed 
appropriate.  She stood, very purposefully, looking Donaldson 
straight in the eye.  And very calmly gave her reply.  

"Fuck off."  

Interview over.







*  *  *  * 





"Sir, with all due respect, if Donaldson and Greenfield are the 
best agents under your command, then I think we'd do just as well 
with the local PD."  Scully was trying very hard to contain her 
fury after her dialogue with Donaldson.  It had taken a concerted 
effort for her to simply walk away from the interview without 
giving that bastard the verbal lashing she felt he was due.  As 
it was, she felt certain her antagonistic parting comment to the 
insolent agent would only further his ambitions to prove himself 
right.     

"I realize their methods are a little rigid, but they have 
exemplary records and a solve rate well above the Bureau average. 
 The question of Mulder's innocence is just a routine matter; you 
know that.  He'll be quickly cleared," Skinner tried to assure 
her.

"But they're wasting time!  Damn it, it's been almost twenty-four 
hours since Adam was taken!  This may be a routine matter for 
them, but it isn't for us!"  She couldn't stop herself from 
pacing around the living room as she spoke.  Scully wanted to be 
doing something - ANYTHING!  They'd already wasted too much 
precious time.  Adam was out there somewhere, frightened, 
possibly hurting, in a potentially life-threatening situation, 
and no one was actually LOOKING for him yet!

"Why didn't you send us your X-Files team?"  Mulder put in 
bluntly. He was sitting on the fireplace hearth, elbows resting 
on his knees, fingers steepled thoughtfully.  

Scully couldn't fathom how he was staying so calm considering the 
police and FBI were all but accusing him of murdering their son. 



"This case requires agents open to extreme possibilities," he 
insisted.  "Where's John Doggett?  Why isn't he here?"

"I'm sorry.  I thought you knew."  There was no mistaking the 
regret in Skinner's eyes.  "The X-Files division was shut down 
four years ago.  Deputy Director Kersh reassigned Agent Doggett 
right after you two left the Bureau.  He coordinates the Special 
Squads unit now. Anyway... the new agents who were allocated to 
the X-Files were wholly ineffective - they couldn't handle the 
job.  Hell, they were rookies who barely made it through the 
Academy - a couple of screw- ups hand picked by Kersh to fail.  
After their first year, a review panel reassigned them to other 
divisions and closed the X-Files for good."

"And you just let it happen?"  Mulder was incredulous.

The AD didn't mince words.  "Without Fox Mulder and Dana Scully 
the X-Files are nothing but a collection of unsolvable cases that 
nobody wants to be burdened with."

"Figures."  Scully didn't bother to hide her disgust.  She and 
Mulder had put their lives and reputations on the line time and 
again for the X-Files.  It hurt to know that something they'd 
fought so hard for would die without their continued sacrifice.

"I know you don't care for the way this case is being handled, 
but the FBI currently does not have an investigative unit 
qualified to pursue your son's disappearance more effectively.  I 
gave you the best agents I have."  

Skinner looked right at Scully when he said it.  The son of a 
bitch was using her own words against her.    

"I want back in."  

Scully's mouth dropped open at Mulder's unexpected declaration. 
"Mulder!"  She stared at him, flabbergasted.  

He shot her a pleading look, desperate eyes begging her to 
understand.  "Both of us!  Give us the X-Files again!  Let US 
investigate Adam's disappearance with the resources and the 
authority of the FBI to back us up."  Mulder was standing now, 
coming alive as he made an impassioned plea to his former boss.  

Skinner shook his head in frustration.  "As much as I'd like to 
see you both return to the Bureau, you know damn good and well I 
wouldn't be able to get approval for you to investigate your own 
son's disappearance."

"How do you know unless you try?" Scully put in, catching the 
grateful look her husband threw her way.  She couldn't believe 
how badly she suddenly wanted this.  When they left the Bureau 
five years ago she'd felt nothing but relief, grateful to put 
their dangerous lifestyle behind them.  So why was the prospect 
of returning now so appealing to her?  God, what was the matter 
with her?  She needed her head examined!

"Mulder.  Scully.  What you're asking - it'll never be approved." 
Skinner fought against his natural proclivity for sympathy toward 
his friends, knowing he was acting in their best interest and 
refusing to get their hopes up.  But Mulder's frantic petition 
grabbed at Skinner's heart. 

"Call in favors, make threats, grease palms, kiss the Director's 
ass if you need to.  Do whatever or whoever you have to... just 
get us back inside where we have access again!"  

"Please, Sir," Scully added to her husband's appeal, for good 
measure.

Skinner sighed, looking back and forth at their determined and 
beseeching expressions.  He couldn't believe he was even 
entertaining the possibility.  But how the hell was he supposed 
to say no?  "I'll see what I can do."





*  *  *  *





~ Chapter 4 ~





"Scully, come on.  Come to bed."  He couldn't stand another 
minute of her compulsive tidying; the closet and dressers, every 
last drawer, had been sorted through and organized - and now she 
was starting all over again.  He knew it was her way of dealing 
with the tension, but this just wasn't healthy.  She had gone 
beyond exhausted into that 'zombie zone' where the insomnia kicks 
in and the mind forgets that the body requires sleep.  He'd been 
there so many times; Mulder knew what she needed was to let 
herself relax, to get out of her head for awhile, surrender to 
her fatigued body and let it take the rest it desperately needed. 
 

It had been a long and difficult day for them both.  Skinner's 
fair- haired boys had only added to their stress and frustration. 
 And now, on top of everything else, they were on pins and 
needles waiting to see if they'd get the X-Files back.

"I'm not tired yet.  You get some sleep, Mulder.  I'll come to 
bed in a little while."  

She pulled his old Knicks shirt out of the top drawer, frowned, 
and refolded it again for the third time.  This was getting 
ridiculous! He had to stop her.  "Hey, Scully, how about a 
midnight snack?  You always get sleepy after you eat a big meal. 
 I'm even offering to play chef.  Anything you want - just name 
it."

She shook her head, put the shirt away and grabbed another one 
that didn't pass inspection.  "Not hungry," she told him.  

Scully hadn't touched a bite of dinner.  In fact, the only thing 
Mulder had seen her take in all day was coffee - and a lot of it. 
Small wonder she couldn't settle down.  If she continued this 
way, without sleeping, without eating, pushing her body to its 
limits, she was going to wind up in the hospital.  Neither of 
them needed that right now.  "Scully, you haven't eaten or slept 
in two days.  You're going to make yourself sick."  She kept 
right on task, seemingly ignoring his concern.  She was 
concentrating so hard on her precision folding, Mulder wasn't 
even sure if she heard him.  He sighed.  "I don't know... maybe 
we should have let your mother come up after all."

She slammed the top drawer closed and opened the next one.  "I 
don't need my mother to take care of me, Mulder.  I can handle 
this!  I AM handling this!"  

"I'm sorry.  I'm just worried about you."  He was trying to 
appease her, which he knew was a big mistake - yet Mulder didn't 
know what else to do at the moment.

Another drawer slammed shut and she turned on him.  "You 
shouldn't be worrying about me!  You should be worrying about our 
son!"

Her words stung, and his temper flared in reaction.  "Don't you 
think I am?  Christ, Scully, he's all I can think about!"  Mulder 
got up from the bed and confronted her, inserting himself between 
his wife and the perfectly ordered bookshelf she had begun eyeing 
with irritation.  "Am I not suffering enough?  Is that it?"

"Mulder -"  Faced with his hurt and anger, she immediately 
reached out to him, her voice soft and placating.

"No!"  He rejected her attempt to soothe him.  "Let's get this 
out in the open, Scully.  I know I fucked up!  I was supposed to 
be watching him!  I fully accept the blame - one hundred percent 
- my fault!  But I'm not going to have you think for one minute 
that what happened was because I'm somehow less concerned for 
Adam's safety and well being than you!  I love that child with 
all my heart!  Don't you think it's killing me, the fact that I 
failed to protect him?  I'm his father, Scully!  My biggest 
responsibility is to protect my family..."  He started to 
crumble, his voice hitching, the words sticking in throat.  "I 
was in charge... I was supposed to stop it from happening..."  He 
turned his back to her, hiding his shame and his tears.  The room 
got quiet; and then Mulder felt the gentle touch of his wife's 
hand on his forearm, apologetically. 

"Oh, God, Mulder.  This is Samantha all over again for you, isn't 
it?  I'm sorry, honey.  I didn't even think... God."  

The sudden flood of emotions had Mulder's every nerve raw and 
exposed, making his skin extra-sensitive to even the slightest 
touch. When Scully stroked his arm lovingly, he felt it 
everywhere, like a live current surging though his body.  With 
each light brush of her fingers, the electricity between them 
grew.  And when Scully pressed her body up against his and held 
him close, Mulder couldn't help his noticeable reaction to the 
stimulus.  He needed her.  He couldn't believe he was thinking of 
sex at a time like this, but he needed her so badly.  He knew 
that sometimes, at the height of intense pain or grief, the need 
for intimacy overrode everything else; such a vital connection at 
that moment more powerful than at times of joy.

He had to have her; had to receive Scully's absolution as a 
physical act because just knowing she still loved him was not 
nearly enough to assuage his overwhelming sense of guilt.  She 
looked up into his tear- streaked face and his eyes pleaded with 
her to pardon his sin.  And Scully answered his unspoken petition 
with an outpouring of merciful kisses, bestowing forgiveness with 
each heated touch of her lips to his damp cheeks.  

As his heart felt the first promise of healing, Mulder returned 
her affection with tender kisses of his own, which quickly turned 
passionate, driven by mutual neediness.  And as the need 
escalated past the gentleness, both of them cast aside their 
usual soft slide into sensuality, and came together with raw 
urgency.

Mulder's taking of her was desperate, frantic; he couldn't 
undress Scully fast enough; couldn't waste time with buttons or 
bra hooks or anything else that took precious seconds and stood 
between his body and hers, skin on skin.  He needed that 
connection - needed it more than any attempt at sexual finesse.  
He tore at her clothes and she wrestled him out of his, stumbling 
backwards together toward the bed.  

For a petite woman, Scully had always shown her strength as a 
lover. >From their very first intimacy she'd revealed to him her 
intrepid spirit.  Mulder never felt he should hold back when they 
made love, despite his much larger stature.  He took what he 
wanted and needed, and gave everything he had; Scully did the 
same, and would have been furious with him if he'd loved her any 
other way.  

And since right now - right this minute - their hunger was 
equally fierce, Mulder didn't bother with the preliminaries, 
sinking himself deep into her as soon as they fell naked upon the 
mattress.  Her moan of pleasure echoed his at the sheer rightness 
of it.  He shoved trembling fingers into her hair and pulled her 
head to the side, exposing the soft skin to the heat of his mouth 
and the ache of his words... 

"Jesus, baby, I need this - need you..."  He groaned them as he 
nibbled his way along the satiny slope of her shoulder; repeating 
his need at the narrow ridge of collarbone and breathed the same 
plea yet again as he moved up the sensitive side of her neck, 
until he reached the curl of her outer ear.  He nipped at the 
tender skin of her lobe and then traced a soothing tongue over 
the mark he left there; stamping himself on her in small 
increments, as surely as he'd wended his way through seven years 
of searching for, and then finding, her heart.  And as he moved 
within her, so much a part of her that he couldn't tell where her 
flesh ended and his began... 

Mulder fought to keep the tears from overpowering him; knowing 
Scully would feel his pain as her own.  He wanted her to forget, 
if only for a little while - not caring that he couldn't lose 
himself in the same way, enough to stop thinking about it - but 
determined to make sure SHE did.  

He pressed one last kiss against her ear, and raised his face to 
gaze into her eyes, desperate to see the emotion swimming there 
as their bodies worked together toward much-needed release.  She 
met him thrust for thrust, never losing eye contact as he 
punctuated their taking and giving of each other with a fevered, 
"Love you so, Scully... so much, more than you'll ever know..."  

And she echoed the words back to him as she kept her eyes wide 
open and focused on his face; as her arms tightened around his 
shoulders and her legs coiled about his driving hips; determined 
to make him forget for just a little while as well... knowing she 
had succeeded when he shuddered hard against her and the shout he 
sent into her throat blended with her soft cry of, "Mulder, 
God...!"

And for a little while, they'd found a way to assuage some of the 
pain, and the fear, and the knowledge that their lives might 
never be the same.







*  *  *  *







~Chapter 5~



Washington, DC Wednesday, June 7, 2006 FBI Headquarters 8:55 AM



About to be newly reinstated, Agent Fox Mulder and Agent Dana 
Scully stepped off the elevator and made their way down the hall 
toward the third floor bullpen, en route to the office of 
Assistant Director Walter Skinner.  They'd held hands on their 
walk over from the Marriott; but now that they were inside the 
Hoover Building, professionalism dictated a certain code of 
behavior, regardless of the fact that these days they were 
legally wed.  

Mulder escorted Scully with a guiding hand at the small of her 
back, an affectionate gesture that won him a sideways glance and 
the hint of a smile from his partner/wife.  They tried to ignore 
the turning heads, whispers and stares that followed them through 
every step of their journey from the moment they walked through 
the employees entrance.  But when they reached the bullpen and 
found themselves the undeniable center of attention, it was 
impossible to disregard the spectacle they'd become.  

Mulder didn't know what was more unnerving - every eye being on 
them, or the deafening silence that fell over the once bustling 
room the second they were spotted.  He couldn't stand it.  He 
just had to do something.   

"We're baa-aack," Mulder chimed, purposely poking fun at their 
'spooky' reputations before anyone else could.  His attempt at 
humor elicited a few nervous chuckles, and effectively shamed 
most of the crowd into returning to their previous tasks.  

Some of the older agents nodded and smiled as Mulder and Scully 
passed, but generally speaking, it wasn't a warm reception.  Not 
that either of them expected one.  

Some things never change...





Skinner's secretary greeted them with a friendly smile, letting 
Mulder and Scully pass into the Assistant Director's office, 
where she instructed them to wait for her boss who was still in a 
meeting upstairs.  As soon as the door was shut, Scully turned on 
her husband, with fire in her eyes.  

"Why do you DO things like that?" she demanded, her face flushed 
with a combination of anger and embarrassment.

"What?"  He was completely at a loss as to why she was suddenly 
so furious.  What the hell had he done?

"We're baa-aack," she repeated his words and intonation, her 
irritation building at his complete lack of comprehension or 
sensitivity.

Mulder laughed in spite of himself.  He just couldn't help it. 
Scully looked so cute trying to imitate him.  Unfortunately, his 
inability to contain his mirth only served to make her angrier.  

Her blue eyes flamed hotter.  

"Oh, come on, sweetheart.  It was an icebreaker.  Everyone was 
staring at us.  I had to do something."  Mulder reached for her 
but she moved out of his range, folding her arms over her chest 
and turning a cold shoulder to his conciliatory attempt.

"We're the butt of enough jokes around here, Mulder.  Oh... 
that's right, you missed out on some of the very best ones, 
didn't you?" 

"I'm sorry, Scully."  

It was the first time she'd given any indication as to what her 
life had been like while he was gone.  Mulder often wondered, but 
never dared to ask.  He knew there must have been plenty of 
gossip flying around the Bureau when an unmarried Agent Scully 
turned up pregnant - especially since there had always been the 
rumors.  

"This isn't easy for me, coming back here.  You have no idea. 
Please don't make facing our colleagues again any more 
humiliating than it already is."

"Is that how you feel?  Humiliated?"  

"Mulder, you know what they think of us around here."

"Who the hell cares what they think, Scully?  There will always 
be assholes who spread lies, just as there will always be fools 
who believe them."  Mulder took two cautious steps toward his 
wife, and reached a hand out to cradle the baby-soft skin of her 
cheek.  "All that matters, my love, is that you and I know the 
truth."  

"It doesn't bother you, being thought of as 'Spooky' Mulder?"

"It used to," he confessed.  "But there's nothing I can do about 
it. There are some things in life you just have to accept."

She nodded sadly, knowing he was right.  

Mulder's fingertips traveled lightly over her porcelain 
complexion, stopping to admire with absolute fascination the 
beauty mark just above her upper lip.  "Besides," he murmured 
softly, "have you seen 'MRS. Spooky'?"  That, and his wink, 
provoked the start of a smirk on Scully's face.  He ran with it, 
wanting desperately to see her smile. "Now, 'Monster Boy', that's 
a whole different story.  It's just plain cruel, and so untrue." 
    

"I don't know, Mulder, you can be pretty scary before that first 
cup of coffee in the morning."  

She was playing along now; this was good.  "So you're the one who 
started that nickname, huh?"  He pretended a threatening look, 
and won a full-fledged grin from his wife.

"I'm not saying a word," she teased.  

Mulder was just starting to move toward her for a kiss, when 
Skinner came through the door.

"Agents, have a seat," he said, regarding them with his stern 
lets- get-down-to-business mask firmly in place from the get-go. 
 As soon as everyone was settled, the AD relayed the official 
word.  "Your temporary reassignment to the X-Files has been 
approved on an emergency basis only... and with conditions."

"Which are?" Scully asked cautiously.

"For the time being you are only allowed to investigate the case 
of your son's disappearance.  And you must cooperate fully with, 
and not impede in any way, the parallel investigation being 
conducted by Agents Donaldson and Greenfield."

Mulder rolled his eyes.  "I don't see the point in running two 
separate investigations." 

"Agent Mulder, as far as the FBI is concerned, you are still a 
suspect.  The only way I could get them to agree to this - and I 
still can't believe that they did - was with the assurance that 
the original team of agents would continue their investigation 
until you are cleared of any suspicion."

"This is just bullshit!" Mulder fumed.

"Be that as it may, you're going to have to comply if you want 
back in.  I'd advise you to take what they're offering; it's the 
best you're going to get under the circumstances."

"Fine."  They really had no choice.  "But you better warn 
Donaldson to stay the hell out of my way."

Skinner had seen that look in Mulder's eyes before.  And he knew, 
all too well, the attitude that went along with it.  "I strongly 
suggest you give Agent Donaldson your full cooperation in this 
matter... Don't fuck with him, Mulder; he's not going to take 
it." He gave that some time to sink in before he continued.  
"Your reinstatement is probationary.  Your handling of this case 
will be subject to a full panel review; and the outcome of that 
evaluation will determine whether or not you will be allowed to 
continue your work and ultimately reopen the X-Files."  

Mulder was about to lash out again when, like old times, Scully 
stepped in before he could hang himself.

"We're just here to find our son, Sir."  The pain conveyed in her 
softly spoken words instantly muted Mulder's temper... and sapped 
the growing tensions from the room.  

"I know that, Agent Scully.  But you're going to have to mind the 
rules if you want to stay in the game."  

"Yes, Sir."  Scully nodded her understanding.  

Skinner looked to Mulder for his agreement as well.  A begrudging 
nod - but sincere.  Good enough.  "The basement is pretty much 
how you left it.  I ordered new PC's and phones; hopefully 
they've already been installed.  I told Systems to rush it.  Let 
Kimberly know if there's anything else you need to help you get 
settled in."

"Thank you, Sir."  Scully got up and followed after her partner 
who was already halfway to the door, impatient to get started.

"Agents," Skinner called after them; and they turned in unison.  
He took a moment to adjust to this sight - Agents Mulder and 
Scully standing there in his office after so many years absent.  
He wished the circumstances of their return could have been 
different, but he couldn't say he wasn't thrilled to have them 
under his command again. They were damn good agents.  The best.  
And, truth be told, his life hadn't been the same without them, 
both professionally and on a personal level.  

The Assistant Director smiled at the puzzled and expectant 
expressions of his agents, as they waited for what it was he 
wanted to say.  There was so much he could say; so much he wanted 
to tell them, but now was not the time for maudlin speeches and 
sentimentality.  Instead he chose just two words, but they were 
words he knew his friends needed to hear.  

"Welcome back."







*  *  *  *









~Chapter 6~







There was a shiny new cipher-lock on the basement door of the 
office of 'The FBI's Most Unwanted'... otherwise it was as if 
five years had never been, and they were just coming downstairs 
from a meeting - so familiar the sight of that closed door in the 
somewhat dim corridor. Reaching into his pocket, Mulder retrieved 
the slip of paper that Kimberly had given him, and punched in the 
code written there.  With a loud 'click' the lock disengaged and 
they stepped through the doorway, back into a life they'd sworn 
up and down they would never enter again.  

Inside, the office was stuffy and cold.  Scully immediately went 
to the thermostat and turned it up.  Mulder switched on every 
light he could find - which amounted to about two, since somebody 
had swiped the lamp from his desk.  More or less adequately lit, 
the office was at once comforting and upsetting.  

A few empty boxes were stacked beside the wastebasket, and two 
new HP Pavilions sat facing each other on their respective 
working surfaces; hooked up and at the ready.

But were Mulder and Scully ready?

The agents stood in the middle of their old, legendary office, 
absorbing the good vibes along with the objectionable ones... 

And then Scully turned a bit and faced her husband, stuck out her 
hand and murmured to him with a slight smile, "Agent Mulder?  I'm 
Dana Scully.  I've been assigned to work with you."  

Those familiar, dear words brought a grin to Mulder's face and he 
stared down in delight at his wife, shaking her hand firmly.  
Then he tightened his grip and jerked her into his arms, 
imprisoning her there, bending over her soft little body and 
retorting suggestively into her ear, "Oh, isn't it nice to be 
suddenly so highly regarded." 

His hips butted into her gently and he locked mischievous eyes 
with her equally impish sparkle, adding, "So, who did you tick 
off to get stuck with this detail, Scully?"  

She grinned at him, feeling a lot better about being in 'The 
Dungeon' again, and more than willing to continue this silliness 
she started.  She snuggled into his warmth and let her eyelashes 
feather along his jaw line as she whispered to him.  "Actually, 
I'm looking forward to working with you.  I've heard a lot about 
you."  

She opened her mouth around the tip of his strong chin and 
nibbled at the slight stubble present there.  

Mulder stifled a groan at the incredibly erotic feeling and 
retaliated by cupping his hands around her suit-covered breasts 
as his disbelieving reply brought back a flood of memories for 
both of them.  "Oh, really?  I was under the impression... that 
you were sent to spy on me -"  

He slipped a finger into the deep V of the silk shell she wore 
under her jacket and pulled at it until he could see her lacy 
white bra, 'spying' quite shamelessly on her, as Scully pushed 
her face into his shoulder and dissolved into giggles.  

She wrapped her arms around him and curved her hands under his 
jacket, against his soft cotton shirt.  They held each other for 
a long, sweet moment.  Letting it soak into them, the feel and 
the smell and the echoes of this place - where once upon a time 
they had fought their personal and professional battles; where 
two naive young agents had grown up to become hard-edged warriors 
in the fight against a conspiracy of shadow men and gray men. 

It had all happened here, not that long ago - and yet it felt 
like a whole other lifetime.  Mulder rocked them a little, side 
to side; his whisper against her ear sent shivers over Scully; 
the action as well as the words never as poignant and meaningful 
as right now, this minute.  "Do you believe in the existence of 
extra-terrestrials, Agent Scully-Wife?"  

She raised her head and pretended to ponder the question - then 
her mouth curled at one side in a mysterious smile, and she shook 
her head.  "Logically, I would have to say... I want to believe." 
 

Mulder chuckled and swept her closer, not a bit surprised at her 
ambiguous answer.  "Ever the skeptic, Agent S."  

She nodded ruefully.  "Ever the dreamer, Agent M."  

He laughed again and bent to kiss her; it seemed the right thing 
to do, behind the partially open door of their basement office.  
The kiss grew in intensity and need; another stolen moment for 
them - and they stood amongst boxes and dim lighting and 
prolonged it... 

And neither heard their boss walk in; neither heard anything, 
until his pointed, "Ahem!"  

They broke apart, turning to face Skinner with twin sets of pink 
cheeks and abashed expressions.  Their stoic boss tried his 
damnedest not to crack a grin, but the look on their faces was 
just too comical.  He fought to remain stony as he addressed them 
both.  "I was just stopping by to tell you I need to see Mulder 
in my office at two o'clock."  

And then he hastened to add, "You know, whenever I used to come 
down here, I half expected to find something like this... but I 
never did. You were very discreet back then.  I hope your time 
away from this place has not lessened your judgment.  And I'm not 
only talking about displays of affection on duty.  Remember the 
rules around here - all of the rules.  Especially the ones you 
learned the hard way.  If you get my meaning."  

Skinner stared them down, these beloved and treasured agents of 
his. They nodded as one, and had the grace to look sheepish and 
apologetic.  That combined look nearly killed him.  He had to get 
out of there before he started laughing.  With an about-face, 
Skinner headed for the door, snapping a sharp nod and a somber, 
"Agents," as he made his hurried retreat.  

It wasn't until they heard his footsteps echoing down the 
corridor, that either one of them released the breaths they were 
holding. 

"You do know he's pleased as hell that he finally caught us, 
don't you?" Mulder asked his partner/wife.

Her serious expression transformed with a roguish grin.  "It's 
about time."







*  *  *  *







"So, have you seen them yet?"

"I saw HER talking to Kim this morning."

"Too bad about their little boy, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it really is sad.  Did you know HE'S being investigated?"

"No."

"Yep.  Agent Greenfield told me Agent Mulder is the prime 
suspect. They think he may have killed the boy and is trying to 
cover it all up with some crazy story about aliens again."

"Oh my God!  Really?  That's horrible!"

"Can you imagine?  Poor Agent Scully, what she must be going 
through."

"Do you think he did it?"

"Who knows?  There are so many wild stories floating around this 
place about him.  I haven't the foggiest idea how much of it's 
actually true, but there's no denying that he's always been a bit 
of a strange one."

"They both are, if you ask me."

"Oh, she's all right.  She's just - I don't know - a little cool 
sometimes maybe."

"A little cool?  Linda, only you would call 'The Ice Queen' a 
little cool!  Good grief!"

"Hey, I just feel sorry for her, that's all.  I'm sure she must 
have loved her child.  And if her own husband did him in... God, 
even 'The Ice Queen' would have to feel that.  She IS human, 
after all."

"It's debatable."

"Oh, stop!  You're so mean, Donna..."

When the voices and laughter faded off along with the clicking of 
women's heels, Scully stepped out from behind the high wall of 
shelves that partitioned the copier room.  Same old crap.  She 
hadn't heard the term 'Ice Queen' in a very long time; it still 
hurt though. She'd gone out of her way to avoid earning such a 
reputation at her job in Boston.  Her colleagues and students at 
Harvard Med all thought very highly of her, respected her and 
seemed to like her. Of course Mulder wasn't a part of her 
professorial life; he'd stayed out of that picture and she'd 
avoided the controversy of paranormal topics and all talk of 
aliens.  And though it did make her feel a bit guilty for not 
correcting them, most of her acquaintances at the med school 
referred to her husband as Mr. Scully when they inquired of him. 
 It wasn't that she was ashamed of him - in fact, quite the 
opposite was true - but Fox Mulder was starting to become well 
known in academia, and Dr. Scully 'The Professor' preferred to 
separate herself from the name he was making, however highly 
regarded an authority he was.  It was her own little version of 
the FBI's witness protection program.  An entirely new Dana 
Scully, happily married wife and mother, part-time college 
professor - a whole different life from the one she used to have. 
 She knew coming back to her old life, to the Bureau, wasn't 
going to be easy, but she hadn't expected to find herself in 
tears the very first day!  

With determination, Scully wiped at the corners of her eyes, 
attempting to stop the waterworks before her makeup was ruined. 
Mulder was right; it shouldn't matter what the others thought.  
She and Mulder were here to do their jobs - to find their son.  
The hell with everyone else.

It was time she resigned herself to it.  They would always be 
'Mr. and Mrs. Spooky' around this place. 





*  *  *  *







"Hard to picture 'The Ice Queen' as a mommy, isn't it?  It's 
almost as hard as imagining 'Alien-Boy' as the daddy.  Wonder if 
the kid has green or red blood?"

Mulder stopped dead in his tracks and stood listening outside one 
of the high partitioned cubicles in the recent bullpen expansion. 
 He'd been on his way to his two o'clock meeting with Skinner 
when he overheard the unmistakable nasal voice of Agent Carl 
Anderson spouting off some of his usual rude and tactless 
remarks.  Since a secretary and one of the newer junior agents 
immediately turned tail and ran when they saw him rooted to the 
spot outside Anderson's cubicle, Mulder assumed his face must be 
a sight to see.  The voice of someone he didn't recognize piped 
up then.

"Shut up, Anderson; what the hell's wrong with you?  Jesus, they 
lose their kid and all you can say is what color blood does he 
have?"  

There was a snort of disdain - Anderson again.  

Mulder had never liked the asshole; not only was he a lousy agent 
but he'd made an aggressive pass at Scully once at a Christmas 
party.  

"Aah, 'Spooky' probably traded him for a free ride around the 
Milky Way."  

The cruel remark caused every muscle in Mulder's body to tighten 
and his jaw to actually lock in place, a storm gathering in his 
narrowed hazel gaze.  

Five years of being stuck in the bullpen obviously had not 
improved Anderson's expertise, either as a Federal agent or as a 
human being. The agent had always been at odds, not only with 
other agents but with the Agency directors as well.  But he had a 
solid twenty years invested in Federal service... and old-timers 
like that were hard to uproot.  They usually remained in the 
background, doing grunt work. The more vocally repulsive ones, 
such as Anderson, found ways to offset their professional 
jealousy by digging with grim glee at those for whom their envy 
knew no limits.  

Mulder's fists clenched hard as he fought for enough tolerance to 
round that final corner and proceed to Skinner's office.  
Anderson was in rare form, probably figuring that after five 
years he'd never have to hear the name Fox Mulder again.  As the 
shit continued to flow out of Anderson's mouth, Mulder fought 
against the overpowering need to reach one of his fisted hands 
around the side of the cubicle, and plow it into the stupid 
prick's fucking windpipe! 

Mulder took a deep breath... two more strides... and found 
himself facing the interior of Anderson's cubicle, with the idiot 
himself leaning up against his desk, his back to the corridor, 
having no idea who stood behind him - busy addressing the young 
agent who dared to defend 'Spooky' Mulder.

"Come on, Dell!  The guy's a first-class, nut-bird loser!  And 
maybe his partner's gorgeous and stacked, but she's a bitch.  I 
bet the only reason she married him was because of the kid.  Why 
else? Probably conceived the little 'spook' right down in the 
basement of this very building.  Both of them are a disgrace to 
the Agency, if you ask me.  I don't care how legendary they make 
themselves out to be..."  Anderson's words petered out 
momentarily when he turned from his desk and saw the object of 
his derision not a foot away from him, staring him down... hard. 
 Mulder stood a generous five inches or more over the rather 
squirrelly Anderson.  And whether it was fearlessness or a 
complete lack of good sense, Anderson chose to continue his 
diatribe, despite the fact he was facing a man furious enough to 
shoot him on the spot

"I can't help but wonder how many hard-working agents will be 
pulled off their current vital cases, just to look for Kid 
Mulder, who may not even be missing anymore - probably just turn 
up dea-AACCKHH!" Anderson's words were reduced to a choking 
gargle, as Mulder's hand made contact with the other agent's 
protruding Adam's apple, and pressed in hard.  Not too hard, not 
enough to leave bruises, not enough to get him in trouble with AD 
Skinner... 

Who was rounding the corner on the way to his office and 
overheard everything.  He stood in grim censure of an agent who 
should have been transferred out years ago.  After Mulder 
finished with him, the appropriate paperwork would be filled out 
by Kimberly, copied in triplicate and sent on to the board for 
review and processing. Anderson would be on his way out - just as 
soon as Mulder finished 'talking' to him...

"Agent Anderson.  You haven't changed a bit - still an 
insensitive, egotistical, insecure prick with shit for brains and 
a mean streak as wide as the Potomac.  Some things never change, 
you know?  But for the sake of your health I would strongly 
recommend that you keep your mouth shut in regards to my child, 
and Agent Scully.  I don't give a rat's ass what you say about 
me; it all rolls downhill right into the gutter.  But say one 
more unpleasant, cruel or slanderous word against my family, and 
you'll wish you'd taken that transfer out of HQ that you were 
offered years ago; I promise you."  

Anderson's eyes were wide.  For all his bravado, he was a small, 
insignificant, and truly inferior member of the human species.  
With one more good squeeze on the smaller agent's pencil-neck, 
Mulder let him go, hard enough to knock his skinny ass into a 
partition.  Then he turned on his heels, ignoring Skinner who 
stood right behind him, stone faced, and strode away.  He was 
still shaking with rage, as he heard his boss address Anderson in 
a growling voice.

"Agent Anderson, my secretary will have your transfer paperwork 
completed this afternoon and sent to you.  You are to consider 
yourself suspended from active duty, effective immediately.  Get 
the hell outta here."  

The squawking sounds coming from Anderson's raw throat went a 
long way toward improving Mulder's overall mood.  As he sat down 
in one of the reception room chairs and waited for his boss, he 
sent a nod and a smile to Kimberly... trying very hard to let 
Anderson's rotten remarks roll downhill, and not hang themselves 
up on a jagged edge of his guilty, hurting heart.







*  *  *  *







~Chapter 7~





The Lone Gunmen's Lair Wednesday, June 7, 2006 8:30 PM



Ringo Langly's eyes darted to the surveillance monitor when the 
buzzer sounded, widening with surprise.  "Whoa - man!  Hey, 
Frohike! Byers!  Get your asses in here - Pronto!" he yelled 
excitedly. 

The rest of The Lone Gunmen trio dropped what they were doing and 
came running in alarm.

"What is it?" an aproned John Byers asked, dish and kitchen towel 
still in hand.

"Yeah, what the hell is so important that it couldn't wait until 
I finished calibrating the new controllers?" Melvin Frohike 
grumbled.

"You guys aren't going to believe this - Look who's here!"  
Langly pointed to the image of two familiar figures captured by 
the front door security cam.

"Well, let 'em in, you doofus!  Jeez, it's Mulder and Scully!  I 
wonder what they're doing here!"  Frohike didn't wait for Langly 
to respond; he was already halfway to the door, eager to see his 
old friends again after such a long time.  

Since the couple had moved away from DC, there had been a few 
phone calls and an occasional e-mail sent, but The Gunmen hadn't 
actually seen Mulder or Scully in five long years.  Frohike's 
stubby fingers flew over the chains and deadbolts that secured 
the door, and seconds later there were hugs and smiles all around 
as the weary couple was pulled inside and given a joyous welcome.

It was some time later, the group seated around the kitchen table 
nursing a half case of pale ale, as Mulder brought The Gunmen up 
to speed on recent events, that the mood became subdued.

"Oh Christ, Mulder - Scully... I'm so sorry." Frohike took off 
his glasses and rubbed at his eyes in frustration.  They were 
stinging a bit as his heart went out to his friends.  

"This is terrible," Byers put in, his sympathetic gaze falling on 
Scully's now pitiable expression.  

Her eyes had become increasingly vacant while her husband told 
the story of Adam's abduction, as she'd retreated inside herself, 
trapped within the painful memories of the last few days. 

"Poor little Adam... What can we do to help?"  Langly asked, and 
his buddies were quick to nod their agreement with his offer.

Mulder took a long swig of his beer and considered the question. 
"I don't know, fellas..." he sighed.  "The circumstances of 
Adam's disappearance strongly suggest extraterrestrial 
involvement."

"What?"  Byers was shocked.  "You're kidding, right?"

"No way!"  Langly interjected, just as amazed at Mulder's 
assertion.

"Dirty alien bastards!"  Frohike finished his beer and got up 
from the table, heading into the kitchen for another.  

Without a word to anyone, Scully stood and followed after him. 
Mulder watched with concern as she disappeared into the other 
room.  

"So this isn't just a random kidnapping?  You think it has 
something to do with The Conspiracy?" Byers asked, drawing 
Mulder's attention back to the conversation.

"Adam's conception was the end result of a project called 
Progenesis conducted by CGB Spender for the expressed purpose of 
creating a genetically superior human, immune to the alien virus 
and demonstrating advanced evolutionary characteristics."

Langly scratched his head.  "What do you mean advanced 
evolutionary characteristics?"  

They'd kept it all a secret until now - even from The Gunmen.  
Not because they didn't trust their friends, but because he and 
Scully felt the fewer people who knew, the better... for 
everyone's safety. But now, there was really no point in being 
secretive.  And to tell the truth, Mulder had been dying to brag 
just a little about his son - especially to the guys.  Hell, what 
father wouldn't be proud of a child with Adam's aptitude and 
exceptional abilities?

"Adam can read minds," he said, and watched for their reactions. 
Byers didn't disappoint.

"You're kidding!  Wow!  Like Gibson Praise?"

Mulder nodded, in a moment of paternal pride.  "Except Adam is 
advanced well beyond where Gibson was.  Because of the genetic 
tampering that was done to Scully to allow for Adam's conception, 
his cells are capable of spontaneous self-regeneration."

"Man, that's incredible!"  Langly grinned.  

Before anyone could comment further, Frohike returned from the 
kitchen, alone.  Carrying a second round of drinks for everyone, 
he sat down and doled them out before answering Mulder's unspoken 
question.  "She's in the back taking something for a headache."  
And then he turned to his old friend and spoke with genuine 
concern. "When was the last time she got any shut-eye?"

"A few hours last night - not nearly enough to make a 
difference." Another tired sigh and Mulder rubbed at the tension 
in his forehead. "I'm worried about her too, Frohike.  She's not 
eating... I don't know what to do."  

Mulder jumped to his feet and began pacing the small room, 
helplessness and frustration getting the better of him.  "She 
thinks putting Adam's picture on milk cartons is going to help 
find him somehow!  She doesn't want to face the truth!  She won't 
accept the evidence!"

"Yeah, I kinda got the impression she wasn't real happy with your 
abduction theory," Frohike remarked.

"It's not a theory!  THEY took him!  I'm certain of-"  

A loud 'CRASH' from the other room caused everyone to jump.  As 
tired as he was, Mulder all but flew into the kitchen, the Gunmen 
following close behind him.  

"Scully?"  

They found her kneeling beside the shattered remnants of what was 
once a glass of water.  Her hands were shaking so badly she'd cut 
herself attempting to clean up the mess.  

"I'm sorry," she sniffed, trying to contain her tears as she 
hastened to give an explanation.  "I was getting a drink of water 
and the glass slipped."  She didn't look up at them, didn't pay 
the slightest bit of attention to her bleeding hand as she kept 
on with the task of picking up the scattered shards.

"That's okay, Scully.  Let us do that for you,"  Byers told her 
gently, as he and the other Gunmen exchanged worried looks.

"Sweetheart, you cut yourself."  Frowning, Mulder knelt beside 
his wife, grabbing her forearm to examine the injury - a deep 
gash along the heel of her left palm and down to the pulse-point 
of her wrist.

"It's nothing."  She fought free of his grip and continued to 
concentrate her efforts on the mess.  

Langly handed Mulder a clean dishtowel.  He had to force her to 
put down the pieces of broken glass, but, despite her resistance, 
Mulder managed to wrap Scully's hand tightly enough to stop what 
was a considerable amount of bleeding.  As he tended to her 
wound, the Gunmen stepped in and quickly took care of the 
remaining debris.

It was a nasty cut, but no stitches would be required.  Just a 
little pressure and a couple of band aides and Scully was good as 
new - or at least she would be when her active progenitor cells 
finished what had already begun; assuring not so much as the 
tiniest of scars would mar her perfect skin in a few days time.  

Even though he'd had years to get used to it, these little 
miracles, that were the result of CGB's tampering with Scully's 
genetic code, never failed to amaze Mulder.  And regardless of 
the proof incidents like this repeatedly provided, they were 
still afraid to remove that damned chip from her neck.  
'Someday,' they always said; but neither could say what would 
prompt them to take that risk.  The memories were still too 
vivid; the pain, helplessness and fear they both felt as she 
nearly succumbed to her cancer.  Now she should be able to fight 
off any illness... but could they really trust the machinations 
of The Cigarette Smoking Man?  







*  *  *  *





Courtyard by Marriott Washington DC Wednesday, June 7, 2006 11:14 
PM







"Jesus, what a day," Mulder griped as he waited for Scully to 
swipe the card key and let them into their hotel room.  

He leaned against the wall and watched, weary-eyed, as she 
fumbled through her purse and finally produced the coded card.  
Most of their first day back had been spent filling out paperwork 
and going through a myriad of recertification procedures; a huge 
waste of precious time, in Scully's opinion - Mulder's too, if 
his sour expression throughout most of it was any indication.

Seeing Langly and Byers and Frohike again had been nice, though 
Scully wished with all her heart that it could have been under 
better circumstances.  They promised their help in the search for 
Adam; and Scully found a measure of comfort in the knowledge that 
these three cherished friends were with them on the case.  The 
Gunmen could be indispensable in times of trouble.  Their 
loyalty, if nothing else, was reassuring.  But what little hope 
Scully was able to gain was not enough to overcome her 
ever-growing despair.

She sighed now in frustration, responding to her husband's 
mumbled complaint.  "And what did we accomplish?  Absolutely 
nothing.  We're no closer to finding Adam than we were two days 
ago."  

He reached out a sympathetic hand to her as she let them into 
their room.  A blast of cold hit them at the door.  Scully was 
just about to complain about the air-conditioning being too high, 
when out of the corner of her eye she noticed the slightest 
movement in the shadows of their darkened suite.  Instead of 
reaching for the light switch, Scully drew her gun, aiming it at 
a dimly discernible figure seated in the chair across the room.  

Mulder responded to her sudden reaction without question, his own 
weapon instantly in hand.

"Privet," an all too familiar voice from the past called out to 
them in Russian.

They both relaxed their stances, but kept the shadowed-man in 
their gun sights while Mulder hit the lights.  

"Krycek, coming from you I'd prefer 'do svidaniya.'  What are you 
doing in our room?  And please don't tell me you're here to 
welcome us back."

"Suspicious as ever, I see, Mulder - my dear old compatriot."  
Alex Krycek appeared relaxed, as if he failed to notice the pair 
of SIG- Sauer pistols aimed at his heart.  "Didn't my baby gift 
mean anything to you?"  He made no move for his own weapon, 
sitting calmly and regarding them without any outward signs of 
concern.

"That disk was useless."  Analysis of the data encrypted on the 
diskette Krycek had given them shortly after Adam was born 
provided nothing of value.  It was complete gibberish.

"I didn't mean for you to use it, my friend.  It was merely a way 
of protecting the information - half for me, half for you.  A 
security measure; and a show of good faith."

"So, what?  You want it back now?  Is that why you're here?" 
Mulder eyed his old nemesis warily.

"No."  Krycek shook his head.  "I'm here to warn you to be 
careful. You're heading down a very dangerous path."

"What else is new?" Mulder snorted.

"I'm very serious."  Krycek's face was stone.  "Have you asked 
yourselves why you're being allowed to investigate your own son's 
disappearance?  Or is your mistrust reserved only for me these 
days?"

"Are you saying that people at the Bureau are involved in this?  
You know who took Adam?"  Scully's heart fluttered at the first 
real hope of finding her child.

"No.  I'm sorry.  I don't know who took your boy."  Alex let his 
regret show, but only for the briefest moment.  He was a man with 
a mission.  He couldn't let himself be distracted by sympathy.  
"What I DO know is that there are powerful people within the 
government who have an interest in our children."

"Our children?"  Mulder wanted more.  "I'm getting too old to 
waste my time figuring out your cryptic messages, Krycek.  What 
do you mean?"

"There's nothing cryptic about it," Alex admitted.

"You have a child?" Scully asked.

"Yes - Marita and I - we have a daughter.  Evaneiia.  She's four 
years old."

"Oh my God," Scully was quick to put it all together, her mind 
assembling the facts like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.  "Your 
arm... you're a carrier of the Progenesis factor, too.  You've 
unwittingly made your daughter part of the project."  

Alex gave a confirming nod.  "Like you and Mulder, Marita and I 
have immunity to the alien virus.  Our daughter has inherited 
this, too."

"Holy shit," Mulder muttered under his breath.  "Adam and Eve, I 
get it now; that's very clever, Krycek."  Mulder was not the 
least bit amused.  Unlike his wife, he didn't believe for one 
second that Krycek's daughter was unintentionally conceived.  
He'd known this man long enough to know he wasn't the type to do 
anything by accident. 

"Our children are the future hope for mankind, Mulder.  Which 
makes them very valuable, dead or alive - depending upon which 
side you're on, of course.  I tried to eliminate the threat when 
I took out the old man and his accomplices... but just as Marita 
and I always feared, the project has been discovered.  We've kept 
Evaneiia hidden as best we could all these years.  But now that 
your son has been taken, we fear our daughter could be next."

"So that's why you're here offering us your helpful advice," 
Mulder sneered.  "It's comforting to know you're still the same 
bastion of altruism, Krycek."

"Look, I'd like you to get your boy back.  But I'd be lying if I 
didn't say that my greatest concern is my own child's safety," 
Krycek admitted.

"I suppose I can't condemn you for that," Mulder conceded, still 
trying to imagine Alex Krycek as a father... and Marita, his 
wife? Yes, there was a gold band quite prominently displayed on 
Krycek's regenerated left hand.  Mulder could only wonder where 
this union had its start.  He didn't want to be cynical, but he 
couldn't help questioning the intent of anything with Marita 
Covarrubias and Alex Krycek at the center. 

"I'm really sorry about your son.  I hope you find him.  I'll do 
what I can to help," Alex told them, getting up to take his 
leave. "If I acquire information that might be useful to you, 
I'll be in touch.  Just be careful, both of you.  You're not the 
only ones looking for the boy."  

As he walked toward the door, Krycek stopped and looked directly 
at Scully, staring hard into her eyes with such intensity that 
she felt certain he was trying to relay something more to her 
unspoken.  

"Trust no one," he warned her softly, and then he was gone, the 
door sliding silently to close itself behind him.

"Well, so far, Mulder, that's two people today who have cautioned 
us to watch our tails," Scully griped, once she and her husband 
were alone again.  

Mulder nodded tiredly. "Welcome back, Agent Scully."    





*  *  *  *





~Chapter 8~







"I understand this meeting is about Special Agent Fox Mulder, am 
I correct?"  Deputy Director Barbara King eyed the man seated 
before her; he cleared his throat and nodded.  

Joe Donaldson wasn't normally one for going over the head of his 
immediate supervisor, but this time circumstances had compelled 
him to take the matter upstairs.  In the past, he'd found AD 
Skinner to be a fair man; but apparently this was not the case 
when it came to issues involving his friends.  Donaldson felt he 
had no choice but to request an appointment with the Deputy 
Director. 

"Quite frankly, Ma'am, the man doesn't have any business wearing 
a badge or carrying a gun.  He's seriously unstable."

"The board heard no evidence which would give us reason to deny 
Agent Mulder's request for reinstatement."  Her tone was 
dismissive, as she glanced at her schedule for her next 
appointment.

Donaldson couldn't believe what he was hearing.  "Being the prime 
suspect in a murder investigation isn't reason enough?"  

Her eyes snapped back to the fair-haired agent, brow knit with 
concern.  "Don't you mean missing person?  I wasn't aware that 
the child's body had been found." 

The woman's annoyance was clearly evident, as she surmised that 
someone had failed to keep her informed.  You don't get to be 
Deputy Director of the FBI by being the last to know things.  

Donaldson now regretted his overzealous response.  "It hasn't," 
he admitted sheepishly.  "Not yet.  But I'm telling you, he offed 
the kid.  Maybe not intentionally; but he did it all right.  And 
now he's going to make sure nobody ever finds out the truth."

"Agent Donaldson, it's YOUR job to ensure that the truth does 
come to light in this matter."  She folded her hands neatly on 
her desk, waiting for his response.

"Respectfully, Ma'am, how in the hell am I supposed to do that 
with Mulder and Scully right in the middle of my investigation?"

"Are they interfering?"

Shit.  "Well... No.  Not so far."  

Barbara King frowned and began tidying up her already orderly 
desktop.  "Then I'm not sure why you're taking up my time, Agent 
Donaldson."

He wasn't going to give up that easily.  "Mulder should never 
have been reinstated.  He should have had to pass a psych 
evaluation at the very least."

"His reinstatement IS probationary.  He's under orders to comply 
fully with your investigation.  If you want the Bureau 
psychologist to evaluate him, Agent Mulder is obliged to submit 
to such an assessment under the terms of his temporary employment 
contract." 



Donaldson's opinion of the Deputy Director moved up a notch.  Was 
she really giving him the means to oust Mulder?  "And if he's 
found to be mentally unstable?"

"Well, certainly that would nullify his agent status."  

Yes, he definitely liked this woman.  She might even be the one 
someday - the first female Director of the FBI.  She was 
unquestionably shrewd enough.  He tried not to let his 
satisfaction at being handed such a juicy bone show.  "All right 
then.  But I want it to go on the official record that I was 
wholeheartedly opposed to Fox Mulder's reinstatement from the 
very beginning."

"It will be noted, Agent Donaldson.  Is that all?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good day then."  And with those three words she sent him away - 
wagging his tail behind him.









*  *  *  *









Hoover Building Monday, June 12, 2006 12:05 AM





In their basement office, Scully marked off another square on the 
wall calendar.  Seven big red X's counted the days since Adam's 
disappearance.  A full week and they had nothing - absolutely 
nothing.  

She and Mulder were working around the clock, going back to their 
hotel room only to shower and put on fresh clothes - occasionally 
catching a few hours sleep when exhaustion overcame their will.  
With each day that passed, Scully's hope of finding her child 
alive grew dimmer.  

Mulder continued to persist in his belief that the aliens had 
taken Adam; and much of his efforts were spent trying to reach 
old contacts, to find the people he believed might have influence 
with the aliens.  

Scully concentrated her search along a more traditional vein; 
working closely with the Center for Missing and Exploited 
Children; distributing Adam's photo to every law enforcement 
agency in the country, hoping that someone, somewhere, might spot 
Adam, remember the alert, and they'd finally pick up a lead... 
any lead at this point.  She was desperate.

She couldn't bring herself to accept Mulder's contention that the 
only logical explanation for the circumstances of Adam's 
disappearance had to be extra-terrestrial intervention.  Tidal 
action could have easily washed away evidence of a more earthly 
abductor, especially if the UNSUB had approached their little boy 
from the waves - a diver, maybe, with a boat waiting just 
offshore; a boat that sped away and disappeared around the cove, 
long gone before Mulder would have spotted it.  

Scully had tried repeatedly to reason with her husband, but he 
was obsessed with the notion that the aliens were involved; this 
despite Krycek's warning of a few days ago that The Progenesis 
Project was no longer a closely guarded secret.  For the life of 
her, she couldn't understand why Mulder wanted to believe the 
worst possible scenario - that their son was in the hands of 
creatures without the capacity for human compassion... suffering 
unspeakable torture.  No.  It couldn't be true.  Better that Adam 
had been taken by the sea - taken forever, but never to know the 
kind of agony perpetrated by those evil ones who came from the 
sky.

Mulder's insistence was troubling Scully a great deal.  In part, 
because she well knew that these wild theories of his often 
proved true.  But also because, prior to this crisis, her husband 
had been under a great deal of stress - he hadn't been himself at 
all.  His anxiety had increased steadily throughout the 
hypnotherapy sessions. The strain of the treatments manifesting 
itself physically, as headaches, panic attacks, insomnia... the 
nightmares seemed particularly bad, although Mulder wouldn't talk 
about them.  She had all but begged him to stop the sessions with 
Dr. Werber, but he wouldn't hear of it.  Mulder was determined to 
know every excruciating detail of what had been done to him 
during the time he'd lost.   

Right now, Scully was so close to losing her own mind, she was 
afraid to imagine how tenuous Mulder's grasp must be.  And with 
the 'other' investigation continuing under SAC Donaldson's 
direction, the last thing they needed was for Mulder to show 
symptoms of a stress disorder.  Donaldson would be all over 
something like that.  

What a fucking unbelievable nightmare!  She stared at the marks 
on the calendar; unsure she could survive another hour, much less 
another day.  "Please let it end soon," she whispered a petition 
to God.

A sharp trill from the telephone shattered the silence of the 
basement.  Mulder jumped, and was on it before the second ring.  

Scully tried to slow her breathing, to calm her suddenly racing 
heart.  She watched as her husband listened intently to whoever 
the caller was.  At this hour it had to be important.  Maybe the 
flyers had paid off.  Maybe someone had spotted Adam... 

'Please, please, please,' she chanted to herself. 

And then all the color drained from Mulder's face.  He put a hand 
on the desktop to steady himself.

Oh God...   

Scully went cold.  

"I'll be there."  Mulder's words were tight, as he hung up the 
phone.

Scully's eyes searched her husband's face for any sign of hope 
that her dread was uncalled-for.

He looked down, struggling to find the words to tell her.  

She couldn't stand it.  "What?"   

Mulder stood and began walking toward her slowly - too slowly.  

'God!  I take it back; I take it back.'  But she knew it was too 
late for that.  And she braced herself for the worst, based 
solely on the anguish in her husband's eyes.  He stood just 
inches from her now, his pain consuming her until he finally 
found it within himself to speak.

"That was... Detective Wiley with the Albany Police Department in 
New York.  They found a body, Scully..."  

'NO!  Jesus, please - I didn't mean it.  No!'  Scully stepped 
back, shaking her head in denial.  

Mulder took a deep breath and did his best to continue, though he 
wanted to deny it just as much as Scully.  "A boy matching Adam's 
description was found floating in the Hudson River earlier this 
afternoon."  

Scully's gasping sob was smothered by Mulder's chest as he pulled 
her to him and held on tight.  They stood together, in shock, 
their grief at that moment too strong to move beyond.  Scully's 
small body shook as she wept in her husband's arms; and Mulder 
buried his face against her hair and cried along with her.





*  *  *  *





There needed to be a positive identification of the body, and 
while Mulder had tried to spare his wife the painful process, 
she'd insisted on making the trip with him to New York.  And so 
they took the first flight out of DC into Albany International 
Airport; and in the predawn hours, took a cab to the APD's South 
Station, where Detective Robert Wiley with the Forensic 
Investigation Unit was waiting for them.  

They'd been in countless police stations over the years, never 
giving more than a passing thought to the gravity of such places. 
It was simply a part of the job.  But not this time.  And both of 
them felt the distinction as they pushed open the heavy doors and 
entered the musty, old, city building.  The air was thicker, 
weighted with consequence and grim foreboding.  A bleak 
monochromatic interior added to the somber feel.  And the walls 
themselves seemed to resonate with the pain and misery of those 
whose lives had, for whatever reason, passed through the station 
over the years.

"How can anyone work in this place?" Scully mused aloud, and 
caught her husband's nod of agreement as he prodded her forward 
toward the bullpen.  

Mulder asked one of the uniformed officers where Wiley could be 
found.  The young woman pointed out a man in his late fifties, 
seated at a desk in the far corner of the room, hunched over the 
keyboard of a computer.  He was drinking coffee and chomping on a 
doughnut while he hunt-and-pecked at the keys.   

"Detective Wiley?"  Mulder asked as they approached.  The man 
looked up, revealing a weathered face with permanent heavy bags 
weighting his eyes, his mouth in mid-bite around a powdered sugar 
covered pastry.  "We're Agents Mulder and Scully."  

"Mmmph!"  Wiley shot out of his chair, extending his hand and 
swallowing the large bite he'd taken, without chewing it.  His 
eyes went wide for a moment; when he could manage it, he swore.  
"Shit." He brushed the powdered sugar from his hand and offered 
it again sheepishly.  "Sorry," he apologized. 

Mulder and Scully each reluctantly accepted his sticky handshake. 



"You two sure got up here fast.  Like I said on the phone, I 
couldn't just send you photos.  Due to the poor condition of the 
body, our pathologist insists the remains be viewed in person for 
a positive ID.  The killer did quite a number on the kid.  
Clearly, whoever did this meant to conceal the victim's identity 
by mutilating the body - but the blood type and general 
characteristics seem to match the description of your missing 
boy.  The hands are gone, so we couldn't go for a print match.  
The face - well..."  Wiley shook his head sadly.    

Scully's hand went to her mouth, and she turned away, struggling 
to hold onto her composure and keep her stomach from rebelling.  
Dealing with the bodies of murdered children was a part of her 
job she'd never gotten used to, and just the thought of seeing 
her own child as one of these tragic victims threatened to 
overwhelm her.

Mulder glanced over at his wife then shot the detective an angry 
look.  Wiley had wondered if it was just coincidence that the 
missing boy and one of the federal agents in charge of the case 
had the same last name, but now he figured there had to be a 
connection.  "Jeez - I'm sorry.  The little boy... was he related 
to Agent Mulder?"  He nodded toward Scully, still not fully 
understanding the situation.

"I'M Agent Mulder - she's Scully.  We're Adam's parents," Mulder 
explained, too tired to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Oh, I see."  Married Feds?  Who the hell would have guessed 
that? Well, it wasn't any of his business to question FBI policy, 
but it seemed rather strange that a husband and wife would be 
partnered together.  God help him if he ever had to put up with 
his wife Nancy as a partner!  He'd probably end up shooting 
himself.  This Agent Mulder must have the patience of a saint, 
Wiley decided... either that or he was too stupid to realize what 
he'd gotten himself into until it was too late.  Probably the 
latter.  "I didn't know.  I'm sorry."

"It's alright."  Mulder cast one more worried look in Scully's 
direction and she reassured him with the slightest of nods.  
"We'd just like to get this over with as quickly as possible, if 
you don't mind."

"Sure."  Wiley snatched up his coffee to take with him.  "Come 
on. Morgue's downstairs."







Just outside the double doors that were the entrance to the APD's 
forensic pathology department, Mulder stopped, holding Scully 
back with a gentle hand on her shoulder.  Her eyes begged the 
question and he was quick to answer.  "Let me do this."  

"I'm fine, Mulder.  I can handle it."  She meant to sound more 
confident, but couldn't find it within herself at that moment to 
effect such an obvious lie.

Mulder kept his voice low.  "Sweetheart, there's no reason both 
of us need to go through this."  He tucked a few wayward strands 
of hair back in place behind her ear.  "Let me take care of it." 
 

"It won't be any easier for you." 

"I'll be alright."  

Whether it was born of stubborn pride, or selfless devotion, 
Scully wasn't about to let her husband face this alone.  She 
shook her head adamantly, taking his hand and giving it a solid 
squeeze.  "Together, Mulder," she insisted.  Her blue eyes held 
his - steady, showing nothing but courage.  Drawing a deep breath 
and summoning all of her remaining strength, she prepared for the 
task ahead.  

"I love you."  There was nothing else to say to her at that 
point. This woman, his wife, was the strongest person Mulder had 
ever known. Dana Scully, a five-foot-three tower of pure mettle. 
 He was continually in awe of her unsinkable spirit.  When he 
thought of all she'd been through in their thirteen years 
together... and she was still standing right here with him.  His 
constant.  He could never explain to her how much that meant to 
him, the fact that she was always there.  Now, here she stood, a 
solid rock of determination, by his side.  

Agent Mulder leaned down and kissed his partner right smack on 
her lovely mouth - the hell with unprofessional conduct!  There 
were some moments that couldn't be denied...



It was hard to leave the comforting warmth of their kiss behind, 
to face the cold stainless steel and concrete environment of the 
pathology lab, but they did it - together.  Hand in hand, Mulder 
and Scully followed Detective Wiley through a set of twin doors; 
the last portal to whatever providence awaited them on this 
journey.

A small body lay hidden beneath a sheet on a table in the middle 
of the room, harsh lights making everything glaringly real.  
Scully's hands were ice, as she and Mulder approached the tiny 
victim.  

The detective studied them both, uncertain what to make of their 
blank expressions.  

When he reached out to expose the young boy's body, Scully 
stopped him with an abrupt, "No."  To his questioning look she 
answered, "I'll do it."   Before she could lose the nerve, Scully 
reached out two trembling hands and gently turned back the 
covering to reveal the deceased child.

In the moments that followed, even time seemed to wait with 
baited breath.  Wiley watched their faces for a reaction, but 
this strange pair just stared, without expression, at the 
disfigured remains. He'd all but decided that the boy lying on 
the slab wasn't their missing child after all, when the woman 
finally broke down, and her husband/partner had to hold on to her 
to keep her from collapsing to the floor.  

Sometimes this fucking job really sucked.

Wiley covered the body of the former Johnny Doe, henceforth 
victim Adam Mulder, and gave a pitying look to the bereaved 
father who was doing his best to comfort his sobbing wife.  

Mulder shook his head and Wiley gave him a puzzled scrutiny.  

"It's not him."    





*  *  *  *







Courtyard by Marriott Monday, June 12, 2006 8:30 AM



They'd flown back to Washington immediately; catching a shuttle 
that returned them before their official workday was scheduled to 
begin. Neither was in any condition to face the Hoover Building 
however - not without a long hot shower first and copious amounts 
of caffeine.  

Scully was struggling with the residuals of her breakdown in the 
morgue - upset with herself for putting them both through such an 
embarrassing scene in front of Detective Wiley.  She was 
especially annoyed that she'd added to Mulder's stress, forcing 
him to deal with her emotional collapse at a time when he was 
barely holding it together himself.  The entire flight back she'd 
stared silently out the airplane window, brooding; then retreated 
to the shower, without so much as a word, the minute they were 
home. 

Home... When the hell did she start thinking of a lousy hotel 
room in downtown DC as home?  'This isn't home,' Scully 
admonished herself.  Home is a beautiful three-story Cape Cod on 
Martha's Vineyard, where Bubbles and Willy the goldfish reside 
happily in the outdoor pond by the rose arbor; and a little 
garden full of snow peas and Easter egg radishes awaits 
harvesting by a five-year-old gardener who likes to pretend the 
sycamore tree in the front yard is a pirate ship - barking orders 
to an invisible crew and delighting whenever he cons his daddy 
into playing along.  

Her lips formed a bittersweet smile at the sudden image of her 
husband wearing one of Adam's pirate hats, chasing around the 
yard with a plastic sword in his hand.  At times, Mulder could be 
the biggest kid of all... but he was also the best father any boy 
could ever hope to have.  God, how she wished she could go 'home' 
right now - and Adam would be up in his treetop crow's nest, 
looking through a paper-towel-tube telescope for marauders 
approaching on the high seas.  Safe and happy, up in the sycamore 
tree...

Scully adjusted the spray of the shower so it pulsed over her 
aching back and neck, her muscles so taut, even the tiniest 
movements hurt. When the warm torrent hit a particularly tight 
knot just below the curve of her left shoulder, Scully groaned; 
then stood very still, letting the rhythmic palpitations loosen 
and soothe her trapezius. 

...Her father would have been tickled to have a grandson who 
shared his love of the sea.  One of Adam's favorite things to do 
on rainy days was to look at old photographs of 'Grandpa Ahab' 
and listen to his mother retell stories that her father told her 
when she was a little girl.  He'd sit so quiet, wonder shining in 
his big blue eyes, as she revisited her favorite sea fables.  She 
regretted that her father hadn't lived to see his grandchildren 
come into the world. Ahab would have relished the role of 
Grandfather; and he would have adored Adam...

Hotter.  The water needed to be hotter.  Scully felt blindly for 
the temperature control and turned it until the stream was almost 
unbearable; as if the pain from the hot water could somehow make 
her forget the agony in her heart. 

...Ahab would have approved of her life in Massachusetts, her job 
at Harvard, her decision to marry and have a family.  It was the 
life he'd always wanted for his youngest daughter... and he was 
right; it had been wonderful.  A wonderful, happy, normal life - 
that vanished a week ago along with her little boy...

Tilting her head back, Scully let the driving water massage her 
scalp and cascade through her hair.  After a minute she reached 
up and fiddled with the flow nozzle again until the jets relented 
into a soft rain.

...Up in Albany, when she'd looked at that poor murdered child, 
even though it wasn't Adam, she'd felt a terrible sense of loss - 
a loss of hope, leaving an empty place deep inside her.  That 
void had weakened her spirit until everything began collapsing 
inward.  By the time she'd managed to pull herself together, over 
forty minutes had passed; she was in Mulder's arms, sitting on 
the floor in one of the offices in the forensics lab.  He'd held 
her all that time, promising her it would be all right, telling 
her how much he loved her, pleading with her to stop crying.  And 
saying over and over how sorry he was...

Scully turned and let the water hit her directly in the face, her 
tears getting lost in the steamy spray. 

...She'd listened to her husband apologize his heart out to her 
on that cold floor, but never once did she accept his contrition, 
or offer her pardon.  Mulder needed her to forgive him; she knew 
that - or he would never forgive himself.  But Scully couldn't do 
it.  Too much of her was furious at him for being an imperfect 
hero; angry with herself for blaming him in the first place and 
validating his guilt; incensed at a seemingly merciless God for 
always testing her faith in the cruelest of ways; and enormously 
pissed off at all the other monsters and evil bastards out there 
who wouldn't just leave her the fuck alone and let her live her 
life in peace!  

Her rage manifested itself in the form of two tightly clenched 
fists; she let loose, screaming obscenities and pounding out her 
frustration on the slippery tiles surrounding her.  

"IT'S NOT FAIR!  GODDAMN IT!  IT'S NOT FAIR!  HE'S JUST A LITTLE 
BOY - A BABY!  MY BABY!  YOU FUCKING SONS OF BITCHES!  MINE!"  
The punishing-hot rain continued to pour down, infusing her 
wrath.  "DO YOU HEAR ME?  MINE!  YOU GOD DAMN FUCKING BASTARDS!  
I HATE YOU! I! FUCKING!  HATE!  YOU!  ALL!"  With each sobbed 
word, Scully slammed her fist into the shower walls - hard.  
Ignoring the pain.  It was inconsequential, compared to the 
unrelenting torment in her heart.  

She didn't see Mulder draw the curtain aside, as her tirade 
continued.  It wasn't until he shut off the water that she woke 
to his presence.  Her rant finally ceased with the huff of one 
last hoarse-throated curse.  "Shit."

His expression was troubled to the point of pain at seeing her 
delicate skin such a fiery red.  He grabbed a towel and gently 
wrapped her in its softness.  Leading her out of the steam-filled 
bathroom, he urged her to lie down on a bed that neither of them 
had taken any rest in since early Saturday morning.  "Sleep," he 
ordered quietly; then moved to the window, drawing the curtains 
to darken the room from the morning sun.

"Mulder?"  She called, one hand outstretched, a fragile plea for 
him to come back to her.  When he returned, she entwined her 
fingers with his, tugging stubbornly until he relented and lay 
down next to her on the bed.  

For several minutes an excruciating silence reigned as Scully 
waged a battle with her inner demons to free her heart.  

Mulder, too guilt-ridden to speak, worried that his wife was at 
the threshold of a breakdown. 

A stifled sob broke the uneasy quiet between them; Scully turned 
to discover her husband's face awash in tears.  She couldn't bear 
seeing him suffer anymore.  It had to come to an end - right now. 
 Her own eyes flooding with fresh tears, the words poured out in 
a deluge of remorse as she showered him with tender kisses.  
"It's not your fault.  God... Mulder, it's not... It's not your 
fault.  It's not..."  

Mulder pulled her on top of him possessively.  His whole world 
seemed on the verge of breaking apart.  If he didn't hold on to 
Scully - cling to her for all he was worth - he was afraid she 
would crumble to pieces along with everything else.  "I don't 
want to lose you."  

"Never," she whispered the promise.  

"But, what if-?"

"Don't.  Don't say it."  The touch of her fingertips banned the 
words.  There was no further discussion.  They fell asleep like 
that, her petite body blanketing his; comfort given as it was 
received. 









*  *  *  *





~Chapter 9~





FBI Headquarters Personnel Division Office of Marshall Kerns, 
Psy.D. Tuesday, June 13, 2006 3:33 PM 





"This is Dr. Marshall Kerns dictating psychiatric evaluation 
summary report.  June 13, 2006.  Subject is Special Agent Fox 
William Mulder, badge number JTT047101111.  Date of Birth: 
October 13, 1961. Background:  Patient's five-year-old son Adam 
disappeared under unexplained circumstances on June 5, 2006.  In 
the course of his investigation into this case, Special Agent Joe 
Donaldson has identified the boy's father as the prime suspect, 
and has requested a complete psychiatric evaluation of Agent 
Mulder.  What follows is an audio transcript of my interview with 
the subject:"





(BEGIN RECORDING)

"Agent Mulder, I want you to be aware that an audio recording is 
being made of this interview; and will become part of your 
permanent confidential personnel record."

"I understand."

"Okay, let's get started then.  I've gone over all the assessment 
tests you took this morning, and scored and evaluated them.  This 
interview is just a follow-up; basically a chance for me to ask 
some pertinent questions that will help me to further assess your 
current mental state for my report.  I'd like to begin with the 
investigation into your son's disappearance, if that's all right 
with you?"  

"Fine."

"I've reviewed the statements you gave to the police and SAC 
Donaldson.  You appear to be quite convinced that your son Adam 
was abducted by aliens.  Why is that?"

"There was evidence that suggested Adam was transported off the 
beach... from above."

"The vanishing trail of footprints?"

"Yes."

"Aliens, Agent Mulder?  Isn't that quite an amazing scenario?  
What made you jump to the conclusion that extraterrestrials were 
involved? I'm sure there are other possibilities that could 
explain what you saw."

"My interpretation of the evidence was based on years of 
research. I've spent my life studying this kind of phenomenon, 
Dr. Kerns.  Some even consider me an expert in the field of alien 
abduction.  I, myself, have been abducted.  I'm sure you read 
that in my file as well."  

"You're a trained investigator though.  You must be basing your 
theory on more than this one piece of evidence."

"Nothing concrete."

"What do you mean?"

"I've had what I believe to be premonitory dreams for the last 
few months."

"Tell me about these dreams."

(Sigh) "I have written accounts of every one of them in my 
journal. They were, for the most part, similar in content from 
one to the next.  Adam would come to me in a very frightened 
state claiming that monsters - or creatures - were after him.  
And I would promise to protect him... Then the aliens would 
come... They'd take him away... I couldn't stop it from 
happening."

"Why not?"

"THEY have this ability to immobilize us.  The best way to 
describe it, I guess, is to liken it to a state of suspended 
animation.  It's a horrible feeling... you're completely 
paralyzed... you can't breathe; you feel like you're suffocating, 
but oddly enough you don't.  It's the most complete state of 
helplessness you could ever experience."

"And when the aliens would come in your dreams, they would do 
this to you?  Make you helpless?"

"Yes."

"And you believed these dreams were going to come true?"

"Well, that would appear to be the case now, wouldn't it?"

"So, tell me, what do you think these aliens want with your son?"

"They perform tests... painful, terrifying tests."

"But why YOUR son?  Why do you suppose they would come after 
Adam?"

"I'm sorry, doctor.  Revealing that information to you would not 
be prudent."

"I have a level 2 security clearance, Agent Mulder."

"Some secrets fall outside of federal jurisdiction."

"I'm not sure I'm following you."

"I'm QUITE sure that you're not, doctor."

"Okay, let's talk about something else then.  You seem to have a 
long history of alien encounters, Agent Mulder.  Starting back in 
November 1973 at age twelve when you believe your younger sister 
was abducted from your home while she was in your care."

"Actually, I don't believe that anymore."

"What do you believe happened to her?"

"Are you familiar with Walk-ins, Dr. Kerns?"

"Walk-ins?  No, I'm sorry, I'm not."

"Walk-ins are old souls looking for new homes in the bodies of 
those who are about to die.  Their spirits are said to exist in 
starlight, waiting for a chance to inhabit the body of a passing 
soul.  These Walk-ins have been known to protect the souls of the 
very young; by transforming, from matter into pure spiritual 
energy, those children who are about to meet with a horrible end 
- bringing them into the light."

"Is this some sort of New Age religious belief, Agent Mulder?  
And what are you trying to tell me?  That your sister was the 
victim of these Walk-in spirits?"

"Not a victim.  They saved her - eventually - from the men who 
took her away."

"How do you know this?"

"I saw her amongst the other children whose souls had been 
rescued. They let me see that she was in a better place."

"In the starlight?"

"Look, I know how this sounds - but, yeah.  In the starlight, 
another dimension, some plane of spiritual nirvana.  I guess you 
could call it Heaven - if you believe in such a place."

"You're saying you've been to Heaven, Agent Mulder?"

"Well actually, Agent Scully has taken me there on numerous 
occasions... but I don't think that's what you're asking, is it?"

"No."

"Look, I don't know how else to explain it.  I SAW these spirits 
- children - a lot of them.  They were happy and playing and 
Samantha was among them."               

"All right, Agent Mulder, let's move on.  A few minutes ago you 
told me that you believe yourself to have been abducted by 
aliens.  I read in your file that you went missing back in May of 
2000.  This happened at a very stressful time in your life, not 
all that long after your mother's suicide."

"Uh huh."

"Your partner - Agent Scully - was pregnant with your child at 
the time."

(Sigh...) "Assistant Director Skinner was witness to my 
abduction. He filed a report."

"I read the report.  It's unclear as to what actually happened in 
those woods.  AD Skinner could only make assumptions."

"I assure you, doctor, his assumptions were correct.  But you're 
going to believe whatever you want to believe; and there's 
nothing I can do about that."

"It's just that so much of what you claim, Agent Mulder, requires 
an act of faith to accept.  There doesn't seem to be any real 
evidence to give credence to your stories."

"Yeah, well, I've sort of gotten used to that."

"Aside from the nightmares you were experiencing, were you having 
any other difficulties - emotional or physical - just prior to 
your son's disappearance?"

"I've been undergoing regression hypnosis therapy to recover the 
memories of my abduction.  As a result of my treatments, I was 
experiencing a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - 
headaches, anxiety attacks, insomnia, difficulties with 
concentration, mild depression, flashbacks..."

"Any visual disturbances or blackouts?"

"No."

"Are you or were you using any drugs or prescription 
medications?"

"No."

"How about alcohol?"

"Other than an occasional cold one while I'm watching a game - or 
a couple of glasses of wine with Scully when the mood strikes us, 
I'm not much of a drinker."

"You've been talking about your nightmares and your anxiety 
disorder in the past-tense.  Are you STILL experiencing any of 
these symptoms?"

"Actually... No.  A few headaches over the last couple of days, 
that's about it."

"When did things change?"

"It was after... after Adam was taken.  That's strange, isn't it? 
The dreams stopped that very night in fact, and all the rest of 
the symptoms too.  Humph... I hadn't really thought about it 
until you mentioned it."

"How's your wife handling all this?"

"Huh?  I'm sorry.  What did you say?"

"Your wife?  How's she coping with Adam's disappearance?"

"I'm worried about her, if that's what you're getting at."

"Tell me."

"Scully has always been a rock.  I've come to depend on her 
strength, more than I probably should.  It's just that... usually 
she's extraordinarily resilient.  That's why it's difficult to 
see her as fragile as she is right now... It scares me."

"What are you afraid might happen?"

"I'm afraid of what her reaction is going to be if..."

"If...?"

(Sigh) "If we don't get him back."

"Do you think that's a likely possibility - that you won't find 
your son alive?"

"I don't know." (Sigh) "Jesus..."

"Are you all right, Agent Mulder?"

"Yeah.  I'm fine - I'm okay."

"Do you want to stop the interview?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"LOOK, I SAID I'M FINE!  JUST GET ON WITH IT!  ASK YOUR GODDAMN 
QUESTIONS ALREADY!"

"Okay...  There's really only one more area I'd like to touch 
upon. There was an incident last Wednesday in the bullpen, 
between you and Agent Anderson.  He claims you attacked him."

"I wouldn't put too much confidence in anything Agent Anderson 
has to say."

"It's not the first report of this nature in your file.  It would 
seem you're prone to outbursts of aggressive behavior with very 
little provocation.  Would you agree with that statement, Agent 
Mulder?"

"No.  I'd say that's a mischaracterization.  I've lost my temper 
a time or two; I won't deny that.  But 'prone' is a very strong 
word."

"Would you prefer it if I said you are 'capable of' outbursts of 
aggressive behavior with very little provocation?"

"Take 'very little' out and I'd agree with that assessment."

"I understand Agent Anderson made some unkind remarks about you 
and your wife and son."

"He stepped over the line."

"You have a very defensive nature - and a strong desire to 
protect those you love."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing."

"Mmm...  This fear of being helpless, of not being able to save 
your son in your dreams, it speaks of feelings of inadequacy and 
a perceived lack of control.  You wanted to protect your son from 
the monsters - the aliens - but you were afraid of failing him; 
and you became preoccupied with that fear."

"Yes, I suppose."

"How far WOULD you go to protect your family, Agent Mulder?"

"What do you mean?"

"What would you be willing to do to protect your wife and son 
from... the aliens?"

"I'd do anything...  Whatever I had to - CHRIST, IF THERE WAS A 
WAY I COULD HAVE STOPPED THOSE BASTARDS FROM TAKING MY SON I 
WOULD HAVE!!!"

"I believe you, Agent Mulder."

"Can I go then?  I've wasted enough time today."

"I think I've got all the information I need to make my report.  
We can end the interview now if you like."

"See ya."

"Good day, Agent Mulder."



(END OF RECORDING)







"Based on the results of Agent Mulder's assessment tests and my 
personal interview with the subject, it is my professional 
determination that SAC Donaldson's concerns about Agent Mulder's 
mental state are warranted; and I would have to concur with the 
opinion that Agent Mulder should be considered the prime suspect 
in the disappearance of his son.  He is without a doubt 
delusional, suffering from paranoia, and exhibiting tendencies 
toward schizophrenia.  I would classify his current emotional 
status as unstable, and given a perceived provocation, may lead 
to aggressive, even violent behavior.  His recurrent nightmares, 
which he feared were visionary in nature, could very well have 
caused him to take drastic action to prevent his son's abduction. 
 Given Agent Mulder's wild statements, his extreme protectiveness 
where his loved ones are concerned, and his fanatical beliefs and 
reactionary behaviors, I am led to the conclusion that he may 
very well have killed his son in a paranoid fit of desperation, 
believing that he was in fact protecting the child from a more 
evil fate.  Concurrently, I believe his conscious mind cannot 
accept what he's done, and has therefore concocted the alien 
abduction scenario as a way of alleviating his guilt-ridden 
subconscious.  This fabrication is also a way of protecting his 
wife from the knowledge of their son's murder.  As in the case of 
his sister's disappearance, this story allows him to keep hope 
alive and continue the search for as long as it takes to 
manufacture some positive form of closure.  It is my 
recommendation that Agent Mulder should be handled with extreme 
caution.  Until such time as he is cleared as a suspect and given 
further psychiatric evaluation, he should be suspended from 
active duty."  

"Dr. Marshall Kerns dictating evaluation and subsequent findings 
on Special Agent Fox William Mulder.  Copies of this report to be 
sent to SAC Joe Donaldson, Assistant Director Walter Skinner, and 
Deputy Director Barbara King." 







*  *  *  *



FBI Headquarters Wednesday, June 14, 2006 8:00 AM



The report was waiting for him on his desk in a sealed, first 
priority, interdepartmental envelope, when he arrived at work 
that morning.  Donaldson sat down and immediately went over the 
psychologist's findings.  It was with a mixed sense of 
satisfaction and regret that he digested Dr. Kern's conclusions 
on Fox Mulder. As much as he'd wanted to prove himself right 
about Mulder, and see justice served, Donaldson really hadn't 
wanted the boy to be dead. It was a terrible tragedy.  Agent 
Scully would be devastated to lose both her son and her husband, 
once the evidence was found and Mulder could be arrested and 
prosecuted.  He wondered how she would ever pick up the pieces 
and get on with her life.  

Around 8:30, Donaldson was shaken from his grim musings when he 
received a call from Kimberly, instructing him to report to the 
assistant director's office immediately.  "One guess as to what 
this is about," he grumbled, as he slipped Mulder's psych 
evaluation into his desk drawer, locking it up for safekeeping.  
  

A few minutes later he sat before his boss, waiting for the butt 
chewing he knew was coming.  Skinner's jaw clenched a few times 
while he stared his agent down, and Donaldson was sure the older 
man was using the tactic to unnerve him.  A copy of Dr. Kern's 
report was sitting on Skinner's desktop, removing any doubt as to 
what had his boss so pissed off this early in the morning.

"I don't like this, Agent Donaldson.  And I DON'T appreciate you 
going over my head to the Deputy Director on this matter."  

He'd wondered how long it would take Skinner to find out about 
that trip he made upstairs.  Not long at all apparently.  Not 
that he expected any different, working in a building full of 
trained snoops. For people who were entrusted with the secrets of 
the most powerful nation on Earth, FBI agents were the goddamn 
worst gossips you could possibly imagine.  "I understand that, 
Sir.  And believe me, I deeply regret that I found it necessary 
to take such a course of action. But I felt I had no choice, 
given your friendship with the suspect. If you've read the 
psychologist's report on Agent Mulder, you'll see it confirms my 
concerns about his mental state." 

Skinner's grip tightened on the arms of his chair.  "It confirms 
nothing.  That report is just one man's opinions - and highly 
subjective opinions at that.  Agent Mulder has always been a 
maverick; always been misunderstood.  The very nature of his work 
on the X-Files, most people can't comprehend and therefore refuse 
to accept.  I've known Fox Mulder for sixteen years, and I know 
this for certain - he did not kill his son."

"Then we won't find anything when we search his home."  He knew 
damn well he was riling an angry bull; but Donaldson wasn't about 
to back down now.

"That's already been done," the AD shot back with a glare.

"Only a cursory once over by the local PD.  I've requested a 
warrant to conduct a more extensive search of the premises.  
Agent Greenfield and I are also planning to interview the boy's 
grandmother tomorrow to see if she can give us anything."

"Oh, for-"  Skinner tore off his glasses and tossed them down on 
his desk.  He was too furious to even finish his thought.  Now 
they were going to drag Margaret Scully into this mess?!!  

Donaldson looked nervous, but was nonetheless persistent.  "Sir, 
it IS standard procedure to interview family members in a 
situation like this."

"I'm well aware of that, Agent.  You don't need to quote the FBI 
Training Manual to me," Skinner growled.

"Yes, Sir."

"This whole investigation has gotten completely out of hand.  May 
I remind you, Agent Donaldson, that this is a missing person 
investigation, NOT a murder case!  Are you even looking for the 
Mulder boy?"

"I thought Mulder and Scully were heading up the search.  I was 
of the understanding that my assignment is limited to clearing 
Agent Mulder."

"Is that what you're doing?"  The Assistant Director's eyes 
narrowed.

"If I can - yes."

"It almost seems as if you're out to get Mulder.  Like you're 
using this case to settle a personal vendetta.  And if that's the 
situation, Agent, I don't care how many commendations there are 
in your file, I won't hesitate to write the letter of censure 
condemning you."

"It's not personal, Sir.  But I would suggest you consider YOUR 
motives if you plan to block my work on this case."

Donaldson was a good agent, and he knew to keep his toes just 
behind the line of insubordination; but one of these days the 
tips of those size 11 Florsheims of his were going to push just a 
little too far... "I have no intention of hampering this 
investigation, Agent.  But you better watch yourself, because if 
you step out of line so much as an inch-"

"I wouldn't think of it, Sir."







*  *  *  *



FBI Headquarters Wednesday, June 14, 2006 1:33 PM



Kimberly had been his assistant so long, at times Skinner felt 
like he knew her better than he'd ever known his ex-wife Sharon 
in all the years they'd been married.  When he returned from 
lunch that afternoon, she jumped out of her chair and flew to 
intercept him.

"Sir, Agent Scully is in your office... she insisted.  I told her 
your schedule was full.  But Agent Scully - well..."  Kim 
shrugged. "She wouldn't listen.  She just barged inside and said 
she'd wait for you.  I'm really sorry, Sir."  

Kimberly was wringing her hands; one of her habits he knew so 
well. 



"It's all right.  Don't worry about it," he reassured her.  He 
put one of his hands over hers to stop her nervous fidgeting.  
She gave him a grateful look.  

So what if he did hold onto her hands a little longer than he 
probably should have?  They weren't Mulder and Scully, but in 
recent years he and Kim had quite a bit of sexual tension going 
on between them.  Maybe someday he'd work up the courage to ask 
her out... maybe soon.  

When he realized he was gazing into her eyes, Skinner blushed.  
He cleared his throat and tried to regain his equanimity.  Kim 
only stood there looking beautiful, as she always did when these 
little moments happened between them.  She never shied away.  And 
this time he was certain she batted her lashes at him before 
heading back to her desk.  

Forcing himself to shift mental gears, Skinner did a right face 
and reached for the handle of his office door.  Another redheaded 
female - one charged with a temper to match the fiery color of 
her hair - waited for him inside.

He knew Mulder and Scully weren't going to be pleased about the 
second search warrant, so he'd been more or less expecting to 
have to deal with this today.  He just prayed to God Scully 
hadn't gotten her hands on a copy of Kern's report.  Bracing 
himself for that possibility, he entered his office - remembering 
he was armed, and had scored a solid 98 on his last hand-to-hand 
combat recertification helped.  Walter Skinner was no coward; but 
he wasn't fool enough to underestimate the ire of Dana Scully 
either.

She was waiting for him all right, like a jungle cat ready to 
pounce on its prey; she sprang the second she caught sight of 
him.  "Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on, 
Sir?!"  

Skinner very quickly shut the door.  "Agent Scully, keep your 
voice down."  

She watched, rather peeved, while he took his place behind his 
desk. Her patience didn't last long.  "Just exactly how far is 
Agent Donaldson intending to take this ridiculous investigation 
of his?" She didn't wait for his answer.  "Sir, I got a call from 
my mother this morning; I don't know what Donaldson and 
Greenfield think they're going to gain from it, but they've 
scheduled her to be interviewed tomorrow!  And they called my 
brother in California to ask him questions about Mulder!"

Skinner sighed.  "There's nothing I can do."

"That's what you said about the psych evaluation too!  Who 
exactly DOES have authority over Donaldson and Greenfield?  
Clearly it isn't you - at least I hope you wouldn't condone this 
harassment of my family!"  She was pacing the room - circling for 
the kill.

"Agents Donaldson and Greenfield are operating within proper 
constraints.  They have full authority to conduct their 
investigation.  You were advised of this when you were 
reinstated, Agent Scully, and you agreed to accept those terms."

She stopped right in front of his desk, her eyes narrowing to 
slits as she scrutinized him.  "I think there's a hidden agenda 
here."

Oh... of course!  Skinner shook his head, and then rolled his 
eyes. "There isn't a secret conspiracy - not this time."  

"Then why am I being denied access to the psychologist's report 
on Agent Mulder?"  

The way Scully had her hands resting on his desk and was leaning 
toward him, Skinner felt certain she was about to climb across 
the desktop and grab him by the necktie.

"Your relationship to the suspect-" he tried, but she would have 
no part of it, interrupting him before he could go any further.

"Don't give me that!  Yes, I'm his wife, but I'm also his 
personal physician.  I have a right to review all of Agent 
Mulder's medical records, including those pertaining to his 
mental health."

Skinner leaned back in his chair, trying to appear nonchalant, 
hoping it would calm her.  "Scully... Why don't you let this 
thing take its course and concentrate on your own investigation. 
 Mulder will be cleared eventually."

"What are you trying to hide from me?"  

So much for calming her down - all he managed to accomplish was 
to make Scully suspicious of HIM now.

"Nothing."  He could tell she didn't believe him.  

"Did you see Dr. Kern's report?" she asked.

Shit.  He avoided her eyes.  "Yes."

"And?"

"Honestly?"

She nodded.

"I think it's a load of crap.  And I'd rather you didn't see it. 
When this whole thing blows over I'll petition to have it purged 
from Agent Mulder's permanent record."

"It's that bad?"

"Kerns is recommending Mulder be suspended pending further 
evaluation."  He put a hand out to ask that she let him finish.  
"I'm going to fight that, Agent Scully.  I've got an appointment 
with the Deputy Director later today."  

Scully dropped into one of the chairs that faced Skinner's desk. 
Pinching the bridge of her nose where a killer headache was 
beginning to form, she took a deep breath to try and calm 
herself.  

The AD took advantage of the momentary respite to broach 
something that had concerned him ever since he'd reviewed Kern's 
report earlier that morning.  "Did you know Mulder was having 
nightmares about Adam being taken, before it happened?"  She 
didn't look at him - just nodded wordlessly.  "Scully, you 
neglected to mention this to Agent Donaldson when he interviewed 
you.  And he all but put the question to you point blank.  It 
makes it look like you were trying to cover for Mulder; which 
only feeds the suspicions against him."

Her guilty eyes met Skinner's.  "He's been undergoing regression 
hypnosis and experiencing a lot of stress-related symptoms as a 
result.  I wanted him to stop the sessions, but Mulder wouldn't 
hear of it," she explained.

"Are you worried about him?  Off the record, Scully - do you 
think he's stable enough to be on the job right now?"  

She stared at him in that no-nonsense way she had about her, blue 
eyes hard as steel.  

"If I didn't," she told him bluntly, "he wouldn't be here."







*  *  *  *







~Chapter 10~





At 10:13 Thursday morning Agents Mulder and Scully were summoned 
to the office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner.  Kimberly 
came down to the basement personally to get them.  Scully knew, 
the moment she saw the woman's face, something was terribly 
wrong.  Kim refused to give them any details.  She simply waited, 
while they donned their suit jackets and made themselves 
presentable, then escorted them up to the third floor in absolute 
silence.  

Something big was definitely afoot; the stares were unusually 
harsh as they walked through the bullpen.  Scully noted, with a 
sinking sense of dread, more than one of the secretaries watched 
them pass with tears in her eyes.  She and Mulder exchanged 
worried looks after seeing the reaction of their co-workers.  
Just before Kim opened the door to Skinner's office, Scully 
reached over with five icy fingers and squeezed her husband's 
hand.  

He tried to give her a confident smile - but couldn't pull it 
off.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, come in please," Skinner called to 
them as they stood hesitant in the open doorway.  

Scully felt her husband's touch at the small of her back, urging 
her forward - but one look inside that room and she couldn't 
move. Agents Donaldson and Greenfield were present, along with 
four uniformed police officers standing ominously in the 
background. Jesus.  Every muscle in Scully's body tensed, her 
throat tightened up making breathing difficult and swallowing 
near impossible.  She didn't want to face this...  

Mulder finally forced her forward; it was either take a step or 
topple over from the insistent pressure at her back.  

"Have a seat, Agents," was the only thing the assistant director 
offered, aside from a regretful expression - the final 
confirmation that the fates were about to deliver a hard blow.

Their usual places were waiting for them and they sat as 
instructed, apprehension weighing heavy on them both.  

"What's this about, Sir?" Mulder somehow found the courage to 
ask.  

Scully tried to remain stoic, but she could feel the panic rising 
within her.  The room was thick with tension, almost suffocating; 
it took everything she had to remain still in her chair and wait 
for the inevitable.  

It was Agent Donaldson who answered Mulder's question.  He 
cleared his throat, a signal to his partner Greenfield, who took 
a plastic evidence bag from his briefcase.

Scully gasped.  Her hand shot up to cover her mouth.  Her heart 
nearly stopped from the shock as the blood in her veins turned to 
ice.  "Oh God..." she whimpered, fighting to keep herself steady. 



Bastard that he was, Donaldson took the bag from his partner, 
walked over, and dropped it into Mulder's lap.  Scully watched 
her husband's face pale.  

"Where... where did you find these?"  The question caught in his 
throat.  Mulder's hands trembled as he picked up the package, 
containing an all-too-familiar pair of aqua blue swim trunks and 
a small, navy blue T-shirt.

"Why don't YOU tell me, Agent Mulder?" Donaldson spat back with 
contempt.

Scully's eyes were riveted to that bag of clothing as her husband 
examined it with the same reverence one would give a holy shroud. 



Face pinched in agony, Mulder turned the package over with 
unsteady hands, studying the unmistakable bloodstains.  "How the 
hell should I know?" he finally rasped.  

"Maybe because you hid them under the deck after you murdered 
your son and disposed of his body!"

The expression Mulder threw at Donaldson went beyond outrage, but 
it was Scully who found a voice for her indignation.  "How dare 
you!"  

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully.  I wish I were wrong on this.  But we 
have more than enough evidence that suggests otherwise.  
Preliminary typing indicates the blood on the clothing is indeed 
that of your son.  I got to thinking about what Agent Mulder said 
to Dr. Kerns, about how he's been keeping a personal diary... so 
with the search warrant, we confiscated his laptop and -"   

"You son of a bitch!"  Mulder shot out of his seat, color 
suddenly returning to his face in a flush of angry crimson.  "You 
had no right- " he started to argue but his legs suddenly failed 
him and he collapsed back into his chair - weakened by the shock 
of it all. 

Scully put a worried hand on her husband's arm as she struggled 
to overcome a surge of nausea.  

Producing a paper from his jacket pocket, Donaldson made a show 
of unfolding it, and then began to read aloud.  "Journal of Fox 
W. Mulder, June 5, 2006.  The horror of what I have done today 
will never be erased from my memory as long as I live.  I did 
what had to be done.  There is no question in my mind that my 
actions were the right ones, as detestable and unforgivable as 
they are.  I had no choice.  He was depending on me to protect 
him.  How could I look at that innocent face and let him 
experience the torture I knew would soon be coming to him if I 
didn't intercede?  It was over with quickly.  I am certain he did 
not suffer.  I hugged him from behind, told him how much I loved 
him and then... as quickly as I could, I slit his throat.  He 
went limp in my arms without a sound.  It was done.  Adam was 
gone.  I slaughtered my son.  My heart exploding with grief, I 
cradled him as I did when he was an infant, telling him over and 
over how sorry Daddy was...  And later, I stripped off his 
clothing and gave his small, lifeless body to the sea.  I 
watched, near blind with tears, the greedy waves take my little 
boy from my arms and carry him away from me, forever...  The pain 
I am experiencing at this moment is only made bearable by the 
understanding that I committed this atrocity to save Adam from a 
far worse fate.  Though all too brief, his life was a happy one. 
 I will miss him every minute from this day forward, but I will 
try to take some solace in the knowledge that he rests 
peacefully... and THEY will never do to him what they did to me. 
 With this barbarous act, I have condemned my soul to hell, but 
those alien sons of bitches will not have my child.  Scully must 
never know the truth.  It would destroy her.  I love my wife too 
much to weight her with this burden, to watch her go crazy trying 
to make sense of something so profoundly illogical.  But it was 
the only way to protect our child.  I did what I had to do.  God, 
help me.  I murdered my son."

Scully missed most of the scene that followed; Donaldson 
demanding Mulder surrender his weapon as he placed him under 
arrest and read him his Miranda Rights... the clicking of 
handcuffs locking securely into place around Mulder's wrists... 
the police officers surrounding her husband as he yelled and 
fought being taken into custody...  She couldn't hear any of it 
over the loud pulse of blood throbbing in her ears... her mind 
reeling from the overload of unbelievable horror that had 
suddenly been thrust at her.  

The journal entry, even though she told herself she didn't 
believe a word of it, sank its teeth deep into her heart... and 
that, in and of itself, disturbed her the most.  If she knew for 
certain it wasn't true, why had the words affected her so?  Could 
it be that a tiny part of her wasn't entirely convinced of 
Mulder's innocence?  

NO!  

Scully tried to shake off her dizziness, but only ended up making 
it worse.  Vaguely aware of a strong pair of hands gripping her 
shoulders, she caught a brief glimpse of Skinner's concerned 
face; then everything was a blur again and she felt herself 
slipping into the darkness...  

Mulder was being taken away.  They were arresting him.  'Stop!  
Damn it... wait!'  She was teetering on the precipice of 
unconsciousness, unsure whether she'd even spoken the words 
aloud.  

"Scully!  God damn you - let me go to her!"   

She heard Mulder's voice shouting above the others', and it gave 
her something to grab onto.  She could see Skinner's face again, 
hovering near - worried.  

"Please!" Mulder pleaded.  "Let me see my wife!  Would you just 
give me a fucking minute to talk to her?"

"Mulder-"  Scully attempted to go to him, but Skinner wouldn't 
allow it, effectively holding her in her chair.  "Let me up," she 
demanded, struggling.

"Take it easy, Agent Scully," he tried to soothe her, his tone a 
good deal calmer than the anxious look he wore.

Mulder's objections got louder as he was being muscled out of the 
room.  "Damn it, wait!  Skinner, what's happening?  Scully!"  

Donaldson's melodramatic presentation of the evidence was 
uncalled for, insensitive and unforgivable.  As he was being 
placed under arrest, Mulder could only helplessly watch his 
wife's reaction.  He saw the color drain from her face - anguish 
eclipsing the brilliance of her eyes.  And then she started to 
pass out... and that's when Mulder lost it.  He needed to get to 
her, to talk to her, for God's sake, make sure she was okay... 
Why wouldn't these pricks give him one fucking minute with her?  
He fought harder, but was outnumbered and overpowered.  It was no 
use.  "Scully!" 

"Damn it, Walter!  Let go of me!"  With those words, Scully broke 
free at last. 

The four officers were attempting to wrestle Mulder out the door; 
he was fighting them the whole way.  "Scully!  It's not true!  I 
swear! It's a lie!  I didn't do it!  I didn't!" 

She started after him, but Skinner grabbed her again, refusing to 
let her out of his office.  "Scully -"

"Why are you letting them do this?" she cried.

Skinner's tone was conciliatory, apologetic, filled with sympathy 
for her situation.  "It's out of my hands.  The arrest warrant 
was issued by the State of Massachusetts.  I don't have the 
authority to stop it."  He sighed, finding it difficult to 
control his emotions. "They've got it all, Scully.  The murder 
weapon too.  I can't believe this... I'm so sorry."

"NO!"  She wasn't going to listen to this!  She refused to 
believe it!  Adam wasn't dead and Mulder could NEVER have done 
what they were accusing him of.  NEVER!

"This news comes as a terrible shock.  I can't tell you how upset 
I am," Skinner told her with compassion.  "If there's anything I 
can do-"

"Yes, there is.  Let go of me!" she snapped, her eyes pleading 
with him until he finally relented.  

Scully made a dash for the door.  

She caught up to her husband and the others in the bullpen.  That 
son of a bitch Donaldson was parading Mulder right in front of 
everyone.  Scully charged ahead and stood defiantly blocking 
their path.  "You can't do this!"

"Agent Scully, step aside," Donaldson warned.

"Who in the hell do you think you are treating Agent Mulder this 
way?  That evidence obviously has been fabricated!  You've been 
on a single-minded mission to find him guilty from the very 
beginning -" 

"Look, Agent Scully, I know you're upset-" Donaldson began, but 
she wouldn't let him finish.

"No, you look!  Agent Mulder is NOT guilty!  I demand you release 
him, at once!"

"I'm sorry.  I can't do that."  The other agent stood before her, 
equally determined.

She glared at him.  "Who do you really work for, Donaldson?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Agent Scully.  But if 
you don't step aside, I'm going to have to have you arrested, as 
well."

"Scully," Mulder called out to her.  

Her eyes shot to his, and for the briefest moment she lost 
herself there, until his tight voice broke the spell.  

"Maybe you'd better get hold of an attorney."  

There was no mistaking the fear behind the words.  Mulder was 
truly afraid, and that scared the hell out of Scully.  Holding 
back tears, she watched her husband escorted out, on his way to 
the DC jail. Once again, Scully found herself the center of 
attention in the bullpen; and this time she swore she could 
actually FEEL the pitying looks burrowing their way underneath 
her skin.







*  *  *  *













~Chapter 11~



District of Columbia Central Detention Facility Thursday, June 
15, 2006 3:30 PM



He was alone now.  And while Mulder was thankful his attorney had 
insisted on a private cell - Christ only knew what would happen 
to a Fed in one of the community holding pens in DC's central 
lockup - he dreaded having only his troubled thoughts for company 
until his extradition back to Dukes County tomorrow.  It was just 
an hour ago that Mulder had been given the first good look at the 
case being built against him, including Dr. Kern's report...   

'...His recurrent nightmares that he feared were visionary in 
nature could very well have caused him to take drastic action to 
prevent his son's abduction...' Kern's words echoed in Mulder's 
head.  Those nightmares HAD shaken him deeply, haunting him for 
months until he DID wonder if he was losing his mind.  He HAD 
BEEN afraid.  He HAD felt a desperate need to protect Adam from 
what he feared was coming...

'...He was depending on me to protect him.  How could I look at 
that innocent face and let him experience the torture I knew 
would soon be coming to him if I didn't intercede?'  Mulder had 
no memory of writing those words, but how many times had he 
thought similarly? How many nights had he lain awake agonizing 
over his fear that Adam was about to be abducted?  

No!  He refused to believe it.  He could not have done what that 
entry went on to claim...

'I slit his throat.'

NO!  NO!  Mulder ground the heels of his palms into his eyelids, 
trying to banish the gruesome image of his son's small body, a 
pale, lifeless corpse like that poor little boy up in Albany.  

It had to be a lie.  Donaldson might very well have fabricated 
it. Scully was right; that son of a bitch did have it in for him. 
 And yet... Mulder had been shown the evidence bag containing HIS 
bloodied fishing knife - the one Scully and Adam had given him 
for Father's Day two years ago.  The FBI lab pulled HIS 
fingerprints from the knife - no one else's.  

And then there was the matter of Adam's clothing.  Donaldson 
would not have been able to manufacture them right down to the 
tattered collar that Scully was forever scolding the boy for 
chewing.  Adam had inherited his father's oral fixation; the kid 
was perpetually gnawing on something - his wardrobe was no 
exception.  

And the blood... Donaldson couldn't doctor DNA results, even if 
he'd wanted to.  That blood was Adam's.  The final test results 
weren't back yet, but the preliminaries were conclusive enough.  

Jesus, it couldn't be true.  After all, he'd seen the footprints 
on the beach.  

Hadn't he?

'...I believe his conscious mind cannot accept what he's done, 
and has therefore concocted the alien abduction scenario as a way 
of alleviating his guilt-ridden subconscious...'

Mulder's stomach clenched; his growing queasiness became acute.  
He bolted up from the bare-mattress-covered bunk and raced to the 
toilet in the corner of his cell, heaving over and over until the 
bitter taste of bile poisoned the back of his throat.  

He hadn't eaten since yesterday, and his ribs hurt now from the 
dry retching.  For a moment, he rested - one unsteady hand and 
his sweaty forehead pressed against the cold concrete of the 
jailhouse - as he waited for his breathing to even out.  

Flushing the toilet, he moved to the filthy sink and rinsed his 
mouth, splashing water over his face and down the front of his 
baggy inmate's coveralls.  

As soon as he sat back down on the cot, Mulder began to shake. 
Cold.  Shit he was cold, chilled to his very core.  Sure as hell 
would have been nice if they'd given him a blanket in this 
goddamn meat-locker.  Guess they didn't want their prisoners 
making creative use of the furnishings.   You miss out on all the 
fun and expense of a trial if the suspect is found dead in his 
cell by his own hand. Not that there wasn't a way if there was a 
will...  

He wished he could think clearly, or stop thinking all together, 
but his mind was a chaotic whirlwind of disturbing recollections, 
things that suddenly he was looking at from a completely 
different perspective... and maybe understanding for the very 
first time.  





'...Dad, how do you know which thoughts are the ones you're NOT 
supposed to believe?' Adam's small, frightened voice replayed in 
Mulder's memory.  Jesus - God!  



What if it was true?





*  *  *  * 









District of Columbia Central Detention Facility Thursday, June 
15, 2006 6:18 PM







A thick wall of glass separated them.  Scully on one side, 
exhausted after a day spent dealing with lawyers, FBI 
administrators, and Dukes County Sheriff's Department officials. 
 Mulder sat directly across from her in the tiny visitation 
cubicle; though she wouldn't have thought it possible, he looked 
even more worn out and depressed than she felt.  Scully tried her 
best to brighten her expression for him, but she wasn't sure how 
effective she could be after the daunting day she'd had.

"Hey, you okay in there?" she asked, cocking her head to one side 
and offering all that she could of a smile.  

The effort was wasted on him; Mulder didn't look at her, just 
nodded and stared at his hands resting motionlessly, one atop the 
other, on the table in front of him.  

"Mulder, we're going to get you out as soon as we can," Scully 
assured him, putting all the confidence she could muster behind 
her words.  She didn't want him to know how worried she was after 
her consult with the attorney.  "You'll be extradited to 
Edgartown first thing in the morning and, hopefully, arraigned 
Monday.  As soon as bail is set I'll get you out.  Don't worry, 
okay?  We're going to get to the bottom of this."

After a pensive silence, Mulder asked, "Did you have a chance to 
read the Bureau psychologist's report?"

She had, in fact.  And she'd been fuming about it ever since. 
"Mulder-"

He interrupted her, continuing his thought as if the question had 
been purely rhetorical.  "So much of what he said... it makes 
sense."

"I'm not going to listen to this-"  Mulder's eyes met hers for 
the first time since that morning; what she saw stopped Scully 
cold. 



"I WAS afraid of my nightmares coming true.  I kept it to myself 
- a lot of what I was going through.  I didn't want to upset you. 
Jesus... I THOUGHT I could handle it!"  He buried his face in his 
hands, unable to watch her revulsion.

"What do you mean?  What are you saying?  Mulder?  What the hell 
are you saying?"  His thinly veiled intimation of guilt had 
provoked a panicky string of questions, laced with utter 
disbelief; Scully's pulse pounding as she waited for his 
response.

He continued to hide from her, speaking into his hands the truth 
that couldn't be denied.  "I'm saying Dr. Marshall Kerns may know 
me better than I know myself."

"Don't be ridiculous!  His assessment of you was clearly tainted 
by misconceptions and personal bias!"

Mulder lifted his head, disputing her with a look - and some of 
her own damned irrefutable logic.  "Your opinion of me is biased 
as well, Scully."  

She was too tired for a debate; he was leading her easily.  

"Tell me, if the suspect in this case were anyone else... 
wouldn't you be inclined to believe Dr. Kern's report?  
Considering all the corroborating evidence?"

"But you're innocent," Scully protested, holding onto that single 
belief as if her life depended upon it - which, in a way, it did.

"Am I?" 

Enough!  She couldn't take anymore of this nonsense.  "Stop 
this," Scully demanded.  "You're scaring me, Mulder.  Of course 
you're innocent."

"How can you be so sure?  ...I'm not."

"Mulder, would you listen to what you're saying?  This is crazy. 
You didn't murder our son.  You couldn't.  I refuse to believe-" 



"Why?  When there's every indication that I did."  Mulder rubbed 
his throbbing temples as he spoke.  "I don't remember it.  I 
don't remember writing the entry in my journal either.  But it 
makes sense that I would push those horrors out of my 
consciousness, if I did in fact commit them."

She shook her head.  "Mulder, no-"  

"I'm sorry, Dana.  I love you so much.  And I loved our son..."  
He tried to offer her more, an explanation that would make the 
bitter pill of such an unthinkable betrayal easier for her to 
swallow; but there simply was nothing that he could say or do to 
make this easier to take.  Contrition was all he could give her 
now.  And tears of remorse.  "Baby, I'm so... so sorry..."

"NO!"  Scully slammed her fists down hard on the table in front 
of her, rattling the glass and drawing a stern look from the 
guard standing a short distance away.  "I won't accept this!  
Damn it, Mulder, don't do this to me!  You didn't kill him!  You 
didn't!" His pained expression of regret stole the last of her 
resolve, and suddenly Scully was pleading with him to give her 
back the strength to believe again.  "Oh God, Mulder... Please... 
tell me you didn't. I'll believe you if you tell me you're 
innocent.  I swear I will. Just say it...  Tell me...  Please, 
Mulder... God, please!"

He shook his head sadly, tears streaming down his cheeks.  "I 
can't."  

The anguish of witnessing Scully struggle to cope with his crime 
was second only to the pain of knowing he'd committed such a 
grisly deed. Mulder could imagine no worse punishment than 
watching his wife suffer, having the knowledge that he was the 
cause of her distress. 

Stunned, Scully sat there and wept.  Up to this point, she'd 
successfully managed to ignore the fleeting doubts she'd 
experienced in Skinner's office, chastising herself for letting 
uncertainty affect her convictions, even for a single moment.  
She never actually believed this nightmare could be true... never 
once allowed herself to consider it as a serious possibility.  
And even now, as she tried to imagine the unthinkable, her heart 
refused to accept it.  "NO!" 

Mulder stood up, preparing to leave, head hung low, unable to 
face her any longer.  

The jailhouse guard stepped forward to escort his prisoner away. 



Scully jumped to her feet, irritated that a pane of glass 
prevented her from reaching out to stop her husband from walking 
away.  "NO!" she shouted once more.  And her fury with Mulder 
exploded.  She slapped her hand in frustration upon the windowed 
divide.  "Mulder... damn it, they've got you believing their lies 
now!  I'm not going to accept what you're saying!  Listen to me! 
 GOD DAMN YOU!  DON'T YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME!  MULDER!"  

He looked back only for a second, his eyes apologetic and dark 
with pain, and then he turned and disappeared through the heavy, 
iron, cellblock door.  

"Damn you."  She cursed him under her breath for leaving her to 
go through this alone.  And for a long time Scully just stood 
there staring after him, crying silently, her soul in tatters.







*  *  *  *





~Chapter 12~





A drunk driver had taken the wrong ramp to enter the freeway and 
came weaving recklessly toward her at high speed.  There was no 
time to think.  Scully slammed on the brakes and swerved just 
seconds before impact.  The cheap rental car locked up.  It did 
almost a complete 360 before sliding off the road and skidding to 
a stop on the graveled shoulder.  

Casting a glance heavenward, Scully taunted the God she was now 
convinced had it in for her.  "You missed," she quipped, then 
shook her head at the absurdity of it all.  An outburst of 
hysterical laughter followed - inappropriate, considering the 
head-on collision would have most certainly cost Scully her life. 
 It came from somewhere deep inside, a place she couldn't 
control; and the maniacal sound frightened her.  And then, 
without stopping, she plunged from her near-crazed mirth to a fit 
of irrepressible sobbing that lasted more than three hours as she 
drove aimlessly around the city.  She was losing her mind - no 
doubt about it.

A little before midnight, Scully stood on her mother's front 
porch, a last attempt to seek refuge from a violent emotional 
storm. Severely battered by unrelenting internal chaos, she was 
on the verge of being swept away.  Violent winds were pushing her 
toward the jagged edge of her sanity.  Without something to hold 
on to, she would topple over into the dark, crazed abyss beyond. 
 She felt fated, victimized, and powerless to affect any sort of 
control in her own life.  

It was too much to take.  How could one person be expected to 
cope with so much torment?  What had she done to deserve this?  
She simply wanted a normal life, to love and be loved, to make a 
difference in the world through her work, to have a measure of 
happiness...  Was that so much to ask?  She wondered, again, why 
God was constantly punishing her.  As she reflected, Scully's 
hand moved to the tiny gold cross at her neck.  She'd said 
countless prayers since this nightmare first started, and what 
good had they done?  She was left with two suppositions: the god 
she worshiped was merciless and uncaring... or he didn't exist at 
all.  What use was her devotion in either case?  

Fisting her fingers around the small gold charm, Scully defiantly 
tore it from her neck, snapping the delicate chain.  She opened 
her hand, and for a moment stared blankly at the symbol of faith, 
now meaningless to her.  Then, as if to deny it's existence in 
her world entirely, she dropped her arm to her side and let the 
broken necklace fall to the ground - abruptly putting it, and the 
god it represented, out of her thoughts.



There were lights on inside the house.  Scully knocked and 
waited, her last hopes pinned on a child's fantasy that her 
mother could always make things right again somehow.  

When the door opened, Maggie Scully's anxious expression softened 
with relief.  "Dana!  Thank God!"  She threw her arms around her 
daughter.  "We've been beside ourselves worrying about you!  Mr. 
Skinner called hours ago.  He told us Fox had been arrested this 
morning and charged with Adam's murder.  I've been trying to 
reach you ever since.  Where have you been?  I called your hotel 
several times and left messages.  I couldn't get through on your 
cell phone..."  She was near hysterical with worry.

It took a great deal of concentration for Scully to be able to 
answer.  "I... um... I guess I left my cell phone back at the 
office. I've been driving around... thinking."  

Her mother frowned, brow creased with concern.  "Oh, honey... You 
must be in a state of shock.  Come inside."  Maggie kept a firm 
arm around her daughter, guiding her into the house.  

"I apologize for coming by so late, Mom.  I wasn't sure where to 
go... and I thought maybe you'd still be up... and we could 
talk." Scully's chin quivered as she weathered another surge.

"For goodness sake, don't apologize - I'm relieved you're here! 
Bill was just about to go out looking for you."

"Bill is here?"  Scully hadn't expected to deal with HIM tonight, 
and her disappointment showed.

"Right behind you, sis," the familiar bark of her older brother 
brought Scully's attention around to the living room entryway.  

In three long strides, Bill swept her up in a bear hug that 
lasted the better part of a minute.  "I'm very sorry, Dana," he 
told her, his voice choked with sympathy.  "Adam was a great 
kid... I'm sorry."  

He didn't know what else to say to her.  They had not been on the 
best terms for quite some time; but Bill Scully deeply loved his 
sister, and it tore him up to see her life, once again, in a 
state of tragedy.  Despite his repeated warnings, Dana seemed 
relentlessly determined to follow Fox Mulder to her doom.  She'd 
always been too damn stubborn for her own good; and now it had 
sadly come to this.

"He's not dead," Scully insisted; although, admittedly, she 
couldn't cite anything to support her conviction.  

"But Mr. Skinner said-" Bill began, only to be swiftly cut off. 

"It's a lie.  Mulder didn't kill Adam.  I refuse to believe it."

"Jesus, Dana, you've got the guy's confession.  You've got his 
fingerprints on the murder weapon.  The police found the child's 
bloodied clothing stashed in your own backyard... What more 
evidence do you need?"

"I need proof that this is something more than a clever charade 
perpetrated by our enemies to further their agenda."  Bill 
scowled at her reply, but before he could interject she hastened 
to explain. "You don't know the whole story, Bill.  And if I told 
you I'd be putting your life in jeopardy.  Just understand that 
there are very powerful people who have an interest in Adam."

"People?" Bill quipped.  "I thought it was little green men in 
flying saucers.  Isn't that what Mulder's been claiming happened 
to the boy - the ALIENS abducted him?"

"Directly or indirectly THEY are ultimately responsible," Scully 
had to admit.  

"Oh Christ!  Look what that crazy bastard has done to you!  He's 
filled your head with his paranoid delusions!  He's brainwashed 
you!"  

"Bill, Dana needs our love and support right now," Maggie warned 
him.

"And I'm trying to give her that, Mom.  But I'm not going to 
stand by and watch her feed false hope with some pathetic 
fantasy."  Bill returned his attention to his sister, taking her 
by the shoulders and speaking to her in a firm and steady voice - 
willing her to accept what he was saying.  "Adam's dead, Dana.  
And that sorry son of a bitch you married is the only one to 
blame."

"No," Scully resisted, with a firm shake of her head, stepping 
back and pulling out of her brother's grasp.

"Whether or not you choose to accept it, that's up to you.  I'm 
just relieved that maniac is finally going to be locked up where 
he belongs.  He's going to spend the rest of his life in prison 
for what he's done.  I'm only sorry Massachusetts doesn't have 
the death penalty."

"William!" Maggie's indignant reprimand was accompanied by a 
censorious glare. 

"What, Mom?  Are you telling me you don't think that Mulder 
deserves to die after what he did to your grandson?"

"I'm telling you to take into account your sister's feelings," 
Maggie shot back angrily.  "Fox is her husband and she loves him. 
This is a terrible ordeal for us all, but especially for Dana.  
She's lost her family."

"Fox Mulder isn't her family.  We're her family.  He's just her 
lunatic partner with whom she made the unfortunate mistake of 
climbing into bed and getting herself knocked up!"

Maggie's face darkened.  "That's enough!  I won't have you 
speaking about your sister in that manner!"

"I'm not saying anything that isn't true," Bill mumbled under his 
breath with a reproachful look in his sister's direction.

Scully felt the sting of her brother's condemnation, and found it 
unbearable on top of everything else.  Usually she was able to 
ignore his criticisms, but tonight her skin was thin, her nerves 
rubbed raw. "Bill, I know quite well what you think of Mulder... 
and of me. You've never hidden your feelings about our 
relationship.  And I'm sure, at this moment, you're feeling 
vindicated.  But please, right now... let it go," she pleaded 
with him.

Bill yielded, saving this battle for another day.  "It's getting 
late; and I promised Tara I'd give her a call before I go to bed. 
I'm going to turn in."  





Twenty minutes later, Scully sat at her mother's kitchen table, 
hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea as she relayed the details 
of the case against Mulder.  

Maggie reached out, patting her daughter's arm with compassion, 
when Dana told her how Fox had refused to disavow himself of the 
crime. "Dana, you may have to accept that Fox is not well.  
You've admitted he was having some problems leading up to Adam's 
disappearance. People have breakdowns - even strong people.  Fox 
has been through so much in his life; it's not inconceivable that 
he came to a place where he wasn't able to see his way through."

"I know.  I'm not saying he's invincible.  Mulder was, without a 
doubt, going through some very tough times because of the 
regression hypnosis.  I'll concede that he could have temporarily 
lost his way... but Mulder would never, EVER, harm Adam.  I don't 
care what emotional state he was in - he wouldn't harm me, and he 
wouldn't harm our son.  He just doesn't have it in him."  

An ironic laugh slipped out of Scully as she remembered an 
incident just last summer.  "I gave Adam a swat on his behind 
once for running off in a crowded shopping mall and scaring the 
life out of me, and Mulder took the punishment far worse than 
Adam did.  Adam was his pride and joy... oh-" Scully's hand shot 
up to cover her mouth when she realized the unforgivable sin 
she'd committed.  

"What is it?  What's wrong?" Maggie demanded.

It took Scully a minute to compose herself before she could 
confess. "That's the first I've spoken of Adam in the past tense. 
 I didn't mean it, Mom.  He's not dead.  We're going to get him 
back.  We're going to find him."  But she couldn't hold on and 
the tears started to fall.  "I didn't mean it," she moaned.  

Maggie rubbed a soothing hand over her daughter's back.  "Honey, 
you're exhausted.  You need to get some sleep."

She closed her eyes, enjoying her mother's touch.  "I have to fly 
back up to The Vineyard tomorrow.  Mulder is being extradited in 
the morning, and I want to be there to see him again as soon as 
they'll let me."

"I'm coming with you."  

Her mother's tone left no room for argument - and Scully had 
neither the strength nor the will to fight her on the issue, 
regardless. She nodded her acceptance, grateful to have the 
support.  

"Now, let's get you up to bed," Maggie said.  She was thoroughly 
exhausted herself.

"Really... I should go back to the hotel," Scully tried, though 
she knew full well her mother would never hear of it.  

"Don't be ridiculous.  You'll sleep upstairs in your old bed.  I 
don't know why you and Fox didn't come here to stay in the first 
place.  This is still your home, Dana Katherine.  Remember that."

"I know, Mom."  Scully reached over and took hold of her mother's 
hand, giving it a grateful squeeze.  





*  *  *  *



The shrill electronic 'beep-beep-beep...' of an alarm clock woke 
Scully from a fitful night of sleep.  She rolled over, feeling 
blindly for the off button, not yet ready to face another day of 
hell on earth.  Slowly her awareness surfaced from beneath the 
waters of her dream state, and Scully realized that something was 
not quite right.  She opened her eyes to find herself in her own 
bed, at home on The Vineyard... but the last thing she remembered 
was her mother tucking her into her childhood bed in DC...  Her 
eyes at once sought her husband's place beside her in the bed - 
but she was alone.  

Disoriented, Scully got up and pulled on her bathrobe.  Early 
morning sunlight streamed in through the windows of the master 
suite; the start of a new day...  Did she dare hope that it had 
all been nothing more than a horrible dream?

Scully hurried downstairs, ignoring the lightheadedness that came 
from getting up too quickly.  The house was quiet and empty, but 
she could smell coffee brewing in the kitchen.  She headed in 
that direction hoping to find her world was once again in its 
proper order.  

But the kitchen was deserted, too.

Then she heard a joyful noise coming from the backyard... 
laughter. Her heart thrilled at the sound, and she went to the 
window straight away.  When she saw them, Scully released a huge 
breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.  

Her husband and son were making their way up the trail from the 
beach - Mulder carrying fishing poles and tackle box, Adam 
proudly muscling the string of their morning's catch.  

Scully started to laugh and cry at the same time.  "Thank God," 
she whispered.  It was only a dream.  

She continued to watch them, unable to tear herself away from 
such a wonderful sight.  She would be late for work, but needed 
the reassurance that this happy scene afforded her after such a 
disquieting nightmare.  

So she watched...  

And she couldn't keep herself from chuckling when Mulder and Adam 
finally reached the steps of the deck and sat down together, 
emptying the sand from their sneakers in unison.  

Mulder was very much a hero in Adam's eyes.  The boy loved to 
emulate his every move - which he often did with mirror-like 
precision thanks to his ability to read minds.  It was funny to 
watch him mimicking his father; right down to the way Mulder ran 
his fingers through his windblown hair to comb it.  They were two 
of a kind.  As Scully took a moment to admire her husband's 
handsome features, comparing them with the younger image sitting 
beside him, she could already imagine what a heartbreaker her 
little boy would grow up to be.

Mulder said something to Adam, which Scully couldn't hear through 
the window glass.  The boy got up, carrying his string of fish 
over to the water spigot by the garden shed.  Then Mulder opened 
his tackle box and retrieved the antique fishing knife that had 
been his Father's Day gift...

Scully went cold all over.  

Appalled by her reaction, she scolded herself for letting that 
crazy nightmare affect her.  The very idea that Mulder was 
capable of an act so brutal - it was ludicrous!  She was ashamed 
of herself for even having dreamt it.  Yet, despite her guilty 
conscience, as she studied her husband's face, she could not 
release the nagging fear that hounded her.  

She willed herself to ignore it.

With a beaming smile, Adam called out to his father and held up 
the largest fish for him to admire.  Wearing a broad grin of his 
own, Mulder walked over and ruffled a hand through the boy's dark 
mop. Then hugged him... from behind...

...And Scully's heart leapt into her throat.

What happened next, she witnessed in agonizing slow motion.  

Mulder's head bending low to say something to their son... 

His hand, with the knife, moving toward Adam's throat...  

"NOOOOOOO!" 

Scully raced for the back door... charged through in a 
heartbeat... ran across the deck and down the steps... arms 
outstretched to stop him...

But she was too late.

By the time she reached them, Mulder was sitting on the ground 
holding Adam's lifeless body cradled in his arms, sorrow etched 
into his pallid face as he looked up at her.  There was blood 
everywhere - bright red blood - and Scully sank to her knees into 
a growing pool of it.  She pulled the child from his father's 
arms, sobbing over the limp form of her little boy as she 
clutched him to her breast. 

"I'm sorry... Scully.  I had to do it," Mulder moaned, sick with 
grief.

As she wept, Scully rocked her dead son gently back and forth - 
gasping when his blank stare suddenly focused on her, and his 
bluish lips found a voice.  

"Mommy, why didn't you stop him?  You knew, Mommy.  And you let 
it happen... Why?"

"OhGodohGod - Mulder, he's still alive!  He's still alive!  Call 
the paramedics!"  She looked desperately to her husband for help, 
but he just shook his head at her.  "GODDAMN YOU, MULDER!  CALL 
911 NOW! DON'T LET HIM DIE!" she screamed at him, but it did no 
good.

"It's the only way to save him, the only way he'll be safe from 
THEM," Mulder maintained, through his own tears.

"NO!"  This wasn't happening!  This couldn't be happening.  She 
had to be trapped in hell; damned to live this agony over and 
over for all eternity.  There was no escape.

"Mommy - help me..."  

Adam was fading, growing weaker... dying right there in her arms 
as she looked into his innocent and frightened eyes.  She had to 
act fast.  If Mulder wouldn't help her save their son, then she 
would do it herself.  She struggled to her feet, carrying the 
child, as swiftly as she was able, back to the house to phone for 
help.

But as she reached the door and fought to open it, she felt a 
strong arm grab her around the waist from behind - the razor's 
edge of a knife at her throat.

"I love you, Scully.  I'm sorry, but I have to save you too," he 
murmured, low and regretful, against her ear.

"Mulder, no," she whispered, so terrified she couldn't even find 
her voice.  

His grip tightened around her middle and the jagged blade pressed 
into her neck...

Scully's eyes went wide... she drew in a sharp gasp...



And woke up... in her old bed, in her mother's house - her mom at 
her side gently shaking her.  

"Dana, honey, wake up.  You were having a bad dream." 

"Oh-"  She sat up abruptly, reaching for her throat first, then 
looking at her hands - expecting to see them sticky and red.  Her 
mind quickly processed the distinction between fantasy and 
reality, and her confusion dissipated into relief.  "It's not 
real, it's not real," she chanted to herself.

"No, sweetheart," Maggie assured her, smoothing a calming touch 
over her daughter's sweat-drenched hair.  "When I came in, you 
were crying out in your sleep.  I had a difficult time waking 
you."

Scully let out a shaky breath.  "It was awful...  I dreamed 
Mulder tried to killed Adam... then he was going to kill me..."  

Maggie hugged her trembling daughter.  "It's all right, Dana. 
You're safe.  It was only a bad dream."

Pushing back, Scully leaned against the headboard, her thoughts 
in turmoil.  "But it was so real... I was holding Adam in my arms 
as he was bleeding to death... and he looked up at me with 
this... this bewildered expression, and asked me why... why had I 
let his father do this when I knew..."

"You knew?" 

"In the dream I did - but I didn't want to believe it... I 
ignored my suspicion, because I didn't want it to be true... And 
then it was too late to stop it from happening."  Scully avoided 
her mother's steady gaze, feigning interest in a loose thread on 
the bedspread.

Maggie picked up her daughter's hands and held them, noting how 
deathly cold they were.  Over the years she'd seen Dana 
courageously deal with many crises, and she knew there had been 
others she wasn't privy to; but this... this one had the 
potential to destroy her. And Maggie was terribly worried that it 
was already beginning to happen.  

"Dana Katherine, you listen to me.  You can't start blaming 
yourself for this.  There was no way you could have foreseen what 
happened. Don't tell yourself you could have prevented it."

"That's just it, Mom... I still don't believe Mulder could be 
guilty.  They say that eyes that love are blind.  Perhaps it's 
true..."

Maggie couldn't argue.  Instead, she reached into the pocket of 
her robe and held up the item she'd meant to return when first 
venturing into her daughter's room that morning.  

"When I went out to get the paper I found this on the ground 
outside.  I know you wouldn't want to lose this, Dana.  The chain 
was broken, so I replaced it with the chain from Missy's necklace 
that I had put away."

Scully avoided her mother's knowing eyes.  "You shouldn't have, 
Mom."

"Missy would want you to have it.  Faith was very important to 
her."

"And what good did it do her?"  Scully muttered the comment under 
her breath; but she said it aloud for a reason - she wanted her 
mother to know the necklace had been abandoned, not lost.

"I know you're struggling right now, Dana.  When God challenges 
us it can sometimes be difficult to understand His purpose.  But 
you need to believe there's a reason for what you're going 
through; it's the only way you'll find the strength to survive 
it."

"If it's true," she stated flatly, "I don't want to survive it." 
A life alone, without Mulder, without Adam... what would be the 
point of such an existence?  She could not endure a future that 
meaningless, that bleak.

Maggie's concern visibly increased at her daughter's fatalistic 
declaration.  "Please, Dana, keep your faith.  I promise you it 
will make a difference."

"It hasn't so far."  She knew how bitter she sounded, but Scully 
couldn't help it, she felt betrayed.

"Yes, it has," her mother argued.  "It's seen you through 
impossible challenges, and it will see you through this if you 
hold on to it... Believe, Dana.  You have to believe."  

Reluctantly, Scully acquiesced, allowing her mother to return the 
necklace to its proper place around her neck.  

"There, now.  That's better," she proclaimed, celebrating her 
victory by bestowing a kiss upon her daughter's cheek.  "When 
you're ready, come down for breakfast.  I'm making your 
grandmother's peach muffins."  And with those words of 
enticement, Margaret Scully made her exit.    

Her mother's pep talk had been meant to shore up her religious 
convictions, but Scully found dual meaning in her wisely spoken 
words.  Faith came in many different forms.  And just as her 
mother had assured her that a belief in God would see her through 
this crisis, Scully knew her trust in Mulder was vital to her 
emotional survival as well.  It was in moments of doubt, when the 
candle of hope flickered, that the darkness threatened to consume 
her.  As long as she believed, there was hope; and as long as 
hope burned within her, she could find her way through the 
darkest hours...

And if peach muffins were waiting for her downstairs, maybe there 
WAS a reason to live - at least until after breakfast anyway.  









*  *  *  *







~Chapter 13~





Northbound on Interstate 95 Near the New York state line Friday, 
June 16, 2006 9:15 AM



Two deputies from the Dukes County Sheriff's Department were sent 
to take Mulder back to Massachusetts.  He was placed in shackles 
and belly chains and loaded into the back cage of a prisoner 
transport van.  As they drove, the young deputy riding shotgun 
kept a nervous eye on his prisoner, checking over his shoulder 
every few minutes or so.  

Mulder was in no mood to tolerate an overzealous rookie, and 
growing quite irritated with the deputy's paranoid vigilance.  
"Look, I'm not fucking Houdini.  I'm not going anywhere, okay?  
You can stop staring at me!"  

At that precise moment they crossed the state line between New 
York and Connecticut, and their highway patrol escort changed 
once again. Mulder rolled his eyes as two Connecticut State 
Patrol units took over flanking the transport van, rolling up 
beside them, blue lights flashing.  

"Jesus!  Is this really necessary?"    

"We just want to make sure you arrive at your destination safe 
and sound, Mr. Mulder," the watchful deputy explained in an easy 
drawl, ignoring his prisoner's short temper.

Mulder sighed impatiently.  "I'm not going to give you any 
trouble."

"Forgive us if we err on the side of caution.  Agent Donaldson 
advised us to keep our guard up.  It seems you gave them a bit of 
trouble when they took you into custody yesterday." 

"Donaldson is an asshole.  If he'd given me a minute to talk to 
my wife, I would have gone quietly."  Mulder's mind flashed back 
to the previous day and the scene in Skinner's office... the look 
on Scully's face when Donaldson read his shocking journal 
confession...

"Look, buddy," the older deputy put in, eyeing Mulder in the 
rearview mirror as he drove, "we're not interested in your 
personal opinions or excuses.  It's our job to see you from DC to 
the Dukes County Jail, without incident.  The Commonwealth of 
Massachusetts is going through a lot of expense to arrange this 
little trip for you. So why don't you sit back, relax, and enjoy 
the scenery?  It's probably one of the last times you'll get to 
see anything outside the walls of a penitentiary.  If I were you, 
Mulder, I'd take in as much as I could."  And with that, both 
officers turned their attention to the road ahead and the 
half-eaten box of Dunkin' Donuts resting on the seat between 
them.

As the Connecticut landscape whizzed by at highway speed, Mulder 
let his gaze wander to the view out the passenger window.  They 
were in Greenwich already; they'd make the bustling metropolis of 
Edgartown by lunchtime.  His two traveling companions would hand 
him off for processing.  While he was being tucked into his 
lovely new accommodations, they'd probably head over to Seafood 
Shanty for fried oyster Po-Boys, slapping themselves on the backs 
for a job well done - transporting the 
cold-blooded-child-murderer to his new cell.

His blank stare fixed on the passing scenery, Mulder wondered 
what Scully was doing at that moment, where she was, what she was 
going through.  He'd stayed awake all night thinking about her - 
all the pain he'd caused her, how he'd ruined her life.  Thirteen 
years ago she came to him, a happy and whole person, a brilliant 
field agent with a promising career ahead of her, respected by 
her colleagues; a beautiful, idealistic, young woman looking 
forward to her future... an innocent victim of Fate's cruel hand. 
 Their partnership had cost her more than Mulder could bear to 
think about.  Yet she'd stood by him, through it all, loving him 
despite the grave price of her allegiance. 

And she gave him a son.

How could he have destroyed such a precious gift?  How could he 
do this to the woman who had given up everything for him - given 
everything to him?  What kind of a man murders his own son?

Mulder leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, 
curling up into a tight ball to shut out the rest of the world.  
He didn't want to look at any more quaint seaside communities 
with storybook houses and yards with swing sets and tree forts 
and kids riding bikes, celebrating the first days of their summer 
vacations. Seeing those homes and those children only made the 
ache inside him grow stronger.  He desperately wanted back the 
life he and Scully had built for themselves.  And he missed his 
son so much it physically hurt.







*  *  *  *





Friday, June 16, 2006 Reagan International Airport Washington DC 
11:06 AM





There was no sense arguing with her brother when he was 
determined to do something; Scully knew that.  That's why she 
didn't even try to dissuade him when Bill announced he was going 
with them to The Vineyard.  Her energies would be better spent on 
less futile efforts, like helping Mulder and finding her son.  

After breakfast Scully took care of a couple important details in 
DC, then met her mom and Bill at the airport.  They were sitting 
at the gate waiting to board the plane when she saw him heading 
her way.

Alex Krycek.

She was quick to head him off a safe distance from her family. 
"Krycek, what are you doing here?"  Her voice dropped to an 
unintentional whisper.  

"I heard about Mulder.  You must be devastated."  He took her 
hands, but she pulled them back immediately, unaccustomed to his 
touch.

"You didn't answer my question.  What are you doing here?" she 
repeated, more firmly this time.

"I just wanted to offer my condolences," he explained, surprising 
her next with an embrace - a kiss pressed to her cheek.  

Scully stiffened, taken aback by his gesture.  

She tried to move away, but he drew her even closer, holding her 
against him.  He spoke in a low voice, right against her ear.  
"I'm sorry... truly sorry."  

She shuddered, a chill running down her spine.  The way he held 
her was disturbing.  Too close.  His body molded to hers.  
Expressing sympathy was one thing, but this went beyond the 
comfort she was willing to accept from the likes of Alex Krycek. 

"Krycek, let go of me," Scully demanded.  When she pushed back, 
their eyes locked; once again, she got the feeling he was trying 
to convey something beyond his spoken words.  Although, from the 
intimate embrace she was receiving, perhaps she was better off 
not knowing what was on Alex's mind.  

At last he released her.  But his eyes remained fixed with hers 
for a moment longer before he turned away.  Watching him 
disappear into the crowd of busy travelers, Scully could not rid 
herself of the uneasiness their strange encounter had provoked.  

"Dana, who was that?"  

Lost in thought, Bill's question startled her.  "An old 
acquaintance," she answered, still staring in the direction 
Krycek had taken.

"A pretty close one, apparently," Bill commented, not bothering 
to hide the hope in his voice.  "See, Mulder's out of your life 
for twenty-four hours and already you're attracting a better 
class of men."  

At that remark, she turned on him.  "That man is an assassin and 
a mercenary, and one of the key players in this global conspiracy 
'delusion' Mulder and I have been caught up in for years."  

Bill's smug smile faded.  "Jesus Christ, Dana.  If you want to 
have your little secrets, that's fine by me.  I only came over 
here to tell you our flight is boarding."





*  *  *  *







Martha's Vineyard Friday, June 16, 2006 3:45 PM





Up until today, stubbornness had kept him from stepping foot in 
Fox Mulder's home.  In Bill's mind, paying a visit to the place 
where his sister lived with that sorry son of a bitch was the 
same as giving his approval - and he had no intention of ever 
doing that.  But with Mulder safely behind bars, the eldest 
Scully sibling rationalized the temporary surrender of his 
principles as an act of altruism.  He was the male head of the 
family, after all; and this was a family crisis. Sacrifices had 
to be made.

Bill was quite surprised and even impressed upon first seeing the 
house.  It was a lot bigger than he'd counted on; and yet, it 
wasn't at all pretentious, like some of the other homes they'd 
passed on The Vineyard.  It was one of those houses that said 
'home' when you looked at it.  And the inside was no different.  
There were antique furnishings everywhere, but not the kind you 
felt you couldn't touch. The sofas, chairs, and beds were soft 
and inviting.  Comfort seemed to be a primary concern of the 
occupants.  It looked nice, too though.  Tara would know what 
style it was.  Bill had never paid much attention to those boring 
decorating shows his wife habitually watched on cable.  He didn't 
have an interest in stuff like that. But he knew what he liked 
when he saw it.  

Thank God Tara couldn't see this place - he'd never hear the end 
of it.  

Dana had really outdone herself.  Bill had no idea his sister 
possessed much in the way of domestic skills.  Growing up, she'd 
been such a tomboy - and later, she seemed too focused on her 
career to care much about any kind of a home life.  It occurred 
to him that maybe she'd hired someone to decorate the place, but 
he quickly dismissed the idea.  This didn't look like the work of 
one of those overpriced, artsy-fartsy, interior decorators, like 
Tara's friend Carolyn hired when she moved to San Francisco last 
year.  Jesus Christ, what a scary sight that condo was!  Bill 
shook his head at the memory.  He never wanted to see that much 
chrome and glass under one roof again - outside of an auto show 
anyway.  This place, however, was very much what Bill considered 
homey - and at the same time, he felt sure it would earn Tara's 
more sophisticated endorsement.  

There were a lot of family photographs on display throughout the 
house.  On his self-guided tour, Bill stumbled into what he 
figured had to be Mulder's study.  A collection of photos 
decorated an oversized desk.  Bill lingered a moment, looking at 
the various snap shots, the majority of which featured his sister 
and nephew.  The kid looked too much like his father - damn shame 
- at least he had his mother's eyes.  Dana's vibrant blue eyes 
were one of her best features, in her big brother's opinion.  And 
her smile... but it had been so long since he'd seen her happy, 
he'd almost forgotten how beautiful she could be when her 
forehead wasn't creased with worry and her eyes dulled with 
sadness.  She actually looked very happy in these photographs.  
Bill was disgusted anew to think those smiles were wasted on a 
loser like Mulder.  

He glanced around at the rest of the study, shaking his head.  A 
poster of a UFO hung on one wall proclaiming the words 'I Want To 
Believe.'  Bill snorted.  Beside the old desk, hung a bulletin 
board covered with clippings about UFO sightings, aliens, and a 
bunch of other paranormal crap.  Granted, there were a variety of 
prestigious awards and honors, as well as an impressive array of 
diplomas on display, but that only pissed Bill off more.  That 
crazy bastard didn't deserve any of it.

And he certainly didn't deserve Dana.

The telephone rang.  Bill heard his sister's muffled voice 
filtering from the other room.  A steady stream of calls had been 
coming in since the moment they'd stepped foot inside the house. 
 Reporters, circling like a pack of hungry wolves.  Not that Bill 
expected to keep a story like this out of the papers, but he'd 
hoped it wouldn't get too much media attention.  Dana certainly 
didn't need the additional stress.  And Fox Mulder had been 
enough trouble for the Scully family, without the embarrassment 
of this kind of public notoriety.  

Bill thanked God his mother seemed to be holding up well under 
the circumstances.  The woman was an endless sea of strength.  
She had set her mind to seeing Dana through this crisis; and once 
Margaret Scully set her mind to something, there was no stopping 
her.  

Mom had the commanding presence of an Admiral when she saw the 
need. Having taken one look at the state of Dana's refrigerator, 
she immediately set off to lay in a fresh supply of groceries.  
That pleased her son to no end.  Even though Tara was quite the 
little gourmet, Bill always looked forward to his mother's home 
cooking. Many of her recipes held fond memories of holiday meals 
with his father presiding at the head of the table.  Just the 
thought of his mother's Yankee pot roast surrounded by 
caramelized onions and carrots and roasted potatoes, set Bill's 
mouth to watering... and his stomach to growling.  He'd never 
last until dinner at this rate. Maybe Mom would fix him a snack 
when she got back from the store...

"Look - I told you - I'm not answering any questions."  

Bill could hear his sister's impatient voice as he made his way 
down the hall.  

"I'm sorry...  No!  I said no interviews!"  

Rounding the corner into the living room, he found her pacing 
back and forth, telephone pressed to her ear.  

"You have the name of our attorney.  Contact him.  Please don't 
call here again!"  She slammed down the handset, cursing under 
her breath. "Fucking asshole!"  When she looked up and saw him 
watching from the entryway, Dana blushed.

"It's a good thing Mom didn't hear that," he teased.  She 
scowled, and Bill decided to try a different approach.  "This is 
a nice place," he said, casually glancing around.  

"Yeah - thanks."  She eyed him uncomfortably as he moved to 
examine a grouping of photographs on the fireplace mantle.

"I'll never be able to give Tara something like this.  This house 
must have set you back quite a bit."  She didn't answer; and he 
could almost feel Tara's elbow nudging him in the gut all the way 
from the West Coast for making such a stupid comment.  In an 
attempt to pull his foot out of his mouth, Bill held up a photo 
of Dana and her son. They were posed with a snowman in front of a 
log-style home surrounded by white-frosted fir trees.  "Where was 
this taken?" he asked.

"We have a little cabin in the mountains."

Little cabin?  Jesus, there wasn't anything 'little' about it. 
Well, at least Dana was doing okay financially.  That was some 
comfort.  He studied the scene a moment longer and could see the 
colored lights of a Christmas tree shining through the largest 
window.  So this was where Dana disappeared to whenever the 
Scullys got together on the holidays.  It had been years since 
she'd made a family roll call under the tree on Christmas 
morning.  

He had to ask.  "How come you don't spend Christmas with the 
family anymore?" 

"We tried that once, remember?" she shot back at him, her guard 
up.

Brother and sister exchanged tense looks.  

Oh yeah... Christmas 2001.  How could he forget?  It was the 
first time Bill had been forced to face his brother-in-law since 
the wedding.  As hard as he tried to accept it, he couldn't stand 
seeing Dana with that sad excuse for a man.  So he'd made a few 
nasty comments - couldn't help it.  That pussy Mulder didn't even 
have the balls to stand up for himself.  The loser waited until 
Dana lost her temper and came to his defense.  In retrospect, he 
should have let his sister chew him out and left it at that; but 
Bill's hot temper got the upper hand.  The words exchanged became 
quite personal. Admittedly, he'd stepped way over the line with 
that remark about Dana spreading her legs for any man he 
disapproved of just to piss him off; but so did Mulder when he 
threw that right cross and started a fistfight in front of the 
children.  Dana took her husband and son and left immediately.  
And Bill was stuck for the next week in a house with his mother 
and Tara who both refused to speak to him... with a jaw so 
bruised he couldn't eat a bite of the incredible holiday feast 
his mother spent days preparing.  How the hell had he forgotten 
about that?  

Dana's reproachful stare got the better of him and Bill turned 
away, focusing his attention back on the assortment of photos.  
Hmm, that shithead played basketball in high school - state 
championship - figures.  

As his attention was drawn to the next photograph, sadness 
replaced the bile of hatred within him.  Emily.  To this day, 
Bill didn't understand what any of that had been about.  All he 
knew for sure was that Dana had been utterly convinced that poor 
little girl was her daughter.  But, at the time, she'd also 
thought their dead sister Melissa was phoning from beyond the 
grave.  For that reason, Bill had put the entire episode down as 
unlikely.  It troubled him to see Dana still clinging to such a 
sorrowful memory.  

"I was hoping things would be better for you after you left the 
FBI," he told her, picking up the next frame and studying the 
image of Dana, her husband, and their son, posing as gangsters in 
one of those old-time dress-up portraits.  His next words came 
out before he could stop himself.  "You know, Dana, you didn't 
have to marry him. Lots of women raise children on their own.  
You could have moved out to California.  Tara and I would have 
helped you with the kid."

"Is that what you believe?  That I married Mulder because I 
thought I HAD to?" 

Bill shrugged, still concentrating on the mantle pictures, his 
back to his sister.  

"Just out of curiosity, Bill... have you ever approved of 
anything I've done with my life?"  

The question was fully loaded; he tried to avoid it.  "Dana, I 
don't want to fight."

"In other words, no," she commented dryly, her tone edged with 
anger.

"I thought your decision to become a doctor was good," he began. 
But then resentment overrode his common sense and he just blurted 
out the rest.  "Until you threw away all the hard-earned money 
Dad spent on your medical education and joined the FBI to spite 
that professor - Daniel What's-his-face, that you were screwing." 
 

If he'd been looking at her, Bill would have seen the shock 
register on his sister's face.  

An affair with a married man - their father had been just sick 
when he'd learned of it.  Bill was visiting his parents when the 
guy's daughter - a woman Dana's own age - called to break the 
news.  If it hadn't been for that young woman's vengeful act, the 
Scully family would never have known about Dana's dirty little 
secret.  Between his sister's disgraceful behavior and her 
announcement that she was walking away from years of medical 
training to become an FBI agent, it was the first and only time 
Bill Scully Jr. had ever seen his father cry.  He never 
understood why his parents had refused to confront Dana.  'Why 
not tell her you know?' he'd argued, believing a dose of 
humiliation would do her good.  But the senior Bill Scully could 
not bring himself to shame his daughter.  Bill Jr. always 
resented the fact that his sister had gotten a free ride on that 
one.  

Better late than never.  Now she knew that they knew.       

"My decision to join the Bureau was right for me.  I don't regret 
it.  And it had nothing to do with my... relationship with Dr. 
Waterston."  

The tone of her voice indicated she'd been shaken by his 
revelation. He could feel her glaring eyes burning into his back. 
 Bill turned to face her.  He wanted her to see he wasn't 
speaking out of anger as much as frustration.  "You have a talent 
for messing up your life, Dana... and always because of men.  I 
hate seeing you hurt yourself time and again.  I don't understand 
why you do it."

Now it was her turn to look away, pretending a sudden interest in 
the rearrangement of a vase of silk flowers.  "I've made mistakes 
in the past, Bill, I won't deny it.  The relationship I had with 
Daniel Waterston is not something I'm proud of.  But I've grown 
beyond the person that I was.  And I've forgiven myself for 
youthful indiscretions.  I let go of that guilt a long time ago. 
 I've made a life that means something to me."  

An undercurrent of raw emotion had crept into her voice, pushing 
away the harshness.  Bill could not help but be affected.  "I can 
see you were trying to make the best of things, Dana," he began 
sincerely.  "I know it couldn't have been easy building something 
resembling a normal life with a nutcase like Mulder for a-"

She spun on him.  "Damn it, Bill!  Why must you constantly vilify 
Mulder?  You don't know anything about him!"

"I know enough.  I know if it weren't for-"

"And I'm sick to death of you blaming him for everything bad 
that's happened to me or to our family!  He's a wonderful man, 
Bill!  I love him... and nothing is ever going to change that!"

What the hell was the matter with her?  When was she going to 
wake up?  Her loyalty to that murderous bastard was astounding!  
"How can you say that, knowing he killed his own son?  YOUR 
child, Dana!  The man MURDERED your child!  And you're standing 
there defending him!"

Scully took a deep cleansing breath to calm herself.  "I don't 
believe it," she stated flatly, looking her brother straight in 
the eye.  

And Tara calls HIM stubborn!  "He's admitted it, God damn it!" 
Jesus, but Dana could really rile him! 

"No.  He's admitted nothing.  He simply refuses to deny it."  

Dana's tone had become infuriatingly calm.

"Well, I sure as HELL don't see the difference!"  Bill yelled.

"You don't know Mulder.  The truth is his passion.  It's always 
been extremely important to him.  Right now he doesn't know what 
the truth is.  And he won't disallow a possibility - no matter 
how extreme or ridiculous it may seem.  I've always been the one 
to demand proof, to ground him and keep him from jumping to 
conclusions."   Her face took on a distant quality, as her mind 
drifted to another time.  "Mulder once called me his touchstone. 
 It was a long time ago, but ever since then, I've been more 
determined than ever to live up to his expectations of me."  Her 
focus returned to the present and her eyes shone with unwavering 
resolve.  "Now more than ever, he needs me to be his partner - to 
help him discern the truth.  I'm not going to let him down."

She was dedicated, he'd give her that much.  But for Christ sake, 
Dana was a trained investigator; she HAD to look at the facts.  
"So far there's overwhelming evidence which seems to support 
Mulder's guilt."

"It SEEMS to," she agreed cautiously.

Bill didn't like the hint of a smiled that played on her lips.  

"However," she continued, unwilling to concede so easily; "if 
I've learned anything from working with Mulder on the X-Files, 
it's never to draw conclusions based on less than ALL the 
evidence."

"You've got all the evidence you need!"

She dismissed his argument with a shake of her head.  "I've got 
only what they want me to have... what they want me to believe."

Bill sighed.  "Who is this 'they' you're always talking about?  
And, Dana, I swear to God, if you say anything about aliens I'm 
going to have you committed someplace with padded walls."

"I've told you I won't put your life in jeopardy by involving you 
in this.  You can see what kind of enemies we have.  They're 
ruthless and powerful.  They'll stop at nothing to get what they 
want."

"You expect me to simply accept what you're telling me without 
any more explanation than that?  Without some kind of proof?"

She came closer, looking up at him, beseeching.  "I would hope 
you trust me enough to do so, yes.  If I've ever needed your 
faith and support, I need it now.  I'm begging you to trust me, 
Bill.  Mulder is innocent and I'll find a way to prove it - to 
you and everyone else."

Above all, Bill Scully loved his family and wanted them to be 
happy - his sister was no exception.  Her pleading eyes melted 
right through to his heart.  All he ever wanted was the best for 
her.  But right now he'd even settle for that putz Mulder being 
acquitted, if that's what it would take to make her happy.  "I 
hope you do," he admitted, putting aside their disagreement to 
pull her into his arms for a conciliatory hug.  "I really hope 
you do."  He kissed the top of her head and she leaned against 
him, allowing him to hold her.  Rarely did they share such 
moments.  It felt good to know that all their years of bickering 
had not destroyed the bond between them.

Then the phone rang again, and Dana pulled away.  "Shit," she 
muttered.  "I should just give up and take the damn thing off the 
hook."

"I'll take care of it," he offered, relishing the role of 
protective big brother, and happily accepting the grateful smile 
that was his reward.  

Yep, she was definitely a knockout when she smiled.







*  *  *  *





Dukes County Jail Edgartown, Massachusetts Friday, June 16, 2006 
5:45 PM





The Dukes County lockup facility was in the basement of the 
Edgartown Courthouse.  Small and outdated, it desperately 
required renovation to modernize and bring it up to speed with 
the ever- growing needs of the community it served.  But on an 
island where the local population fluctuated by as much as 90,000 
people from season to season, it was difficult to justify such 
expenditure when the county was a veritable ghost town in winter.

Mulder had been placed in solitary confinement again.  He'd 
almost drifted off to sleep out of sheer boredom when the guard's 
loud voice shook him full awake.  "Mulder!  Rise and shine.  You 
got a visitor."

As he slowly sat up, the barred door to his cell slid open... and 
there she was.

"Hi," Scully greeted him with a worried look.

"You have five minutes, Mrs. Mulder," the guard informed her.  
She nodded and he stepped back a discrete distance, keeping a 
watchful eye on their interaction.

"Scully, you didn't have to come here."  Mulder turned away, 
overwhelmed with guilt, unable to look at her.

"I'm sorry I fell apart yesterday," she told him softly.  "It was 
just... a lot to assimilate after everything we've been through 
the past week and a half."  

He nodded his understanding, staring at the floor.  He couldn't 
believe she was even here - but deep down a part of Mulder knew 
she would never abandon him - not completely.  Even after this.  

There was the familiar clicking of high heels as she crossed the 
cell toward him.  

"Mulder, I don't believe that you're guilty.  It's clear whoever 
took Adam is trying to frame you."  She sat beside him on the 
cot.

"I know I've always pushed you to consider extreme possibilities, 
Scully, but this time I think you'd do better to accept the 
obvious - as appalling as it is."

"You want me to accept a lie?  I can't do that, Mulder."

"What if it's not a lie?  What if I... what if I killed him?" 
Mulder raked his fingers through his messy hair.  "I don't 
remember any of it.  I don't remember writing about it - but 
those WERE my fears.  I've been thinking about it and thinking 
about it-"

"And you're convincing yourself that it's true."  She reached 
over, entwining their fingers, pulling his right hand into her 
lap possessively, clutching it tight.  "Mulder, do me a favor.  
Just try and imagine yourself actually doing what your journal 
described."

He shut his eyes and shook his head, stomach clenching at the 
thought.  "I don't want to, Scully."

"Because you can't.  You can't even imagine yourself hurting our 
son.  I refuse to believe that you would act against your true 
nature, even subconsciously, and do something that atrocious."

Sneaking a sideways glance at her, Mulder wondered at the abiding 
love he saw shining from his wife's eyes.  There wasn't the 
slightest doubt in her certainty.  She really believed he was 
innocent.  He let her faith wash over and through him, absorbing 
its healing properties deep inside where he hurt the worst.  What 
had he ever done in his life to deserve her endless devotion?  He 
could feel tears threatening, and buried his face against the 
pillow of her chest, breathing in the scent of her; taking much 
needed comfort from her touch.  Jesus, he'd rather die than spend 
the rest of his life locked away someplace where he could never 
have this vital contact again. He WOULD die.  Without the warmth 
of her body, his soul would freeze solid like a planet robbed of 
its sun.  

"That's five minutes, Mrs. Mulder," the guard interrupted.  

Mulder felt his wife stiffen.  The thought of her leaving caused 
a surge of panic to sweep through him as well.

She stroked his hair, her soft voice inciting a pleasurable 
shudder that rippled over every nerve in his body.  "I'll be back 
tomorrow, okay?"      

He nodded, lifting his head and stealing a few desperate kisses, 
until the impatient guard cleared his throat.  "Thank you, Scully 
- for giving me your faith.  It's all I have to hold on to right 
now." Foreheads resting together, they enjoyed a final moment of 
intimacy.

"Always," she promised, daring one more kiss.

A few last seconds of her soft lips and sweet breath mingling 
with his - before the guard stepped into the cell and escorted 
her away. 







*  *  *  *









~CHAPTER 14~





Monday, June 19 Dukes County Courthouse 8:23 AM



"Ms. Scully!  Ms. Scully!"  

"Dana!  Did they find Adam's body yet?"  

"The FBI says they have your husband's written confession - what 
was your reaction when you discovered he was the murderer?"

Scully pushed through a swarm of reporters gathered on the steps 
of the courthouse, her mother and brother battling to keep up 
with her. With the advent of summer, the island was packed with 
tourists and part-time residents.  Word of Mulder's arraignment 
hearing had sparked a media frenzy, and the spectacle drew quite 
a crowd of on- lookers, adding to the insanity of it all.

It had been an excruciatingly long weekend.  Between the constant 
phone calls, and the small but determined group of reporters who 
decided to stakeout her house, Scully had been endlessly harassed 
- until finally she got smart and made a call to their attorney. 
 He arranged to have her number changed and threatened any 
reporter bold enough to set foot on her property with arrest.  

A reporter from People Magazine had ignored the threat and 
ambushed Scully when she stepped out on the deck for a breath of 
air.  When the woman refused to back off, Bill called the police 
and had her hauled away if front of her jeering colleagues.  But 
all of that was nothing compared to this scene.          

"Ms. Scully, just one question!  Is it true your husband is also 
now a suspect in the disappearance of his sister, over thirty-two 
years ago?"  

"Are you going to stand by him?"  

"Do you believe in aliens too?"  

"Ms. Scully!"  

"Dana!  Tell us how you feel!  Dana!  Come on - you can't keep 
quiet forever!  Why won't you tell us your side?"  

One especially aggressive newsman grabbed hold of Scully's arm, 
refusing to let go.  He pulled her to the side, where a dozen 
microphones where instantly thrust in her face, bright camera 
flashes blinding her as questions were fired, one after another, 
in rapid succession.  

"Were you and the child victims of domestic violence?"  

"Were you afraid for your own life?"  

"Where were you when your son was being murdered?"  

"Is it true you lied to the police to protect your husband?"  

"Why do they call him 'Spooky'?"  

"Ms. Scully, tell us what you're going through!"  

"Do you think the aliens are controlling your husband's mind?  
Does he believe the aliens told him to do it?"  

"There's a rumor your husband has been under the care of a 
psychiatrist - can you confirm this?"  

"Can you give us details of how the child was murdered?  What did 
your husband do with the body?"  

Heart pounding, Scully struggled to extricate herself from the 
iron grip of the pushy reporter - in the process, stumbling 
backwards and nearly falling down the steps.  Bill caught her 
just in the nick of time, handing her off to two police officers, 
who quickly ushered Scully and her mother up the remaining steps 
to the courthouse.  In the background, Scully could hear Bill 
raising hell with the reporter who had accosted her.

"Listen, you son of a bitch - if you ever lay a hand on my sister 
again, I'm PERSONALLY going to see to it that you live just long 
enough to regret it!  AND THE REST OF YOU... YOU PEOPLE BETTER 
BACK OFF!  DO YOU UNDERSTAND?  MY SISTER IS GOING THROUGH ENOUGH 
RIGHT NOW!  SHE HAS NO COMMENT TO ANY OF YOUR QUESTIONS!  I WANT 
YOU TO LEAVE HER THE HELL ALONE!  HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR?"

'Get 'em, Bill!'  Scully thought to herself, having a hard time 
resisting just a little smile.  For all his pain-in-the-ass-over- 
protectiveness, it was sometimes nice to have a big brother 
around.  

Once they were safely inside the building Maggie Scully turned 
pleading eyes to her police escort and asked, "Officer, would you 
be good enough to go back out there and get my son before someone 
gets hurt."







*  *  *  * 





"All rise.  The Honorable Judge Elizabeth Bateman now presiding."

As an actress, Liddy's mother had always suffered terrible pre- 
performance jitters, but claimed the minute she stepped out on 
stage the anxiety left her, and she became the character she was 
portraying.  While Liddy certainly didn't consider herself a 
thespian - in fact, the very thought appalled her beyond belief - 
she did understand that a certain amount of strength could be 
taken from the roles in which one found themselves.  When she 
donned judicial robes and took her place in the courtroom's 
presiding chair, she experienced a reassuring sense of control 
over her life.  

Control.  Order.  Routine.  These things were as addictive as 
drugs to a woman who had grown up in the unbearable situation of 
her mother's vagabond, show business lifestyle.  Just eight years 
old when her parents divorced, sentencing her to spend the next 
ten years a prisoner of her mother's 'career' - Liddy grew to 
hate being dragged around from city to city without any real 
place to call home. Her father, an appellate judge, had been the 
only stabilizing force in Elizabeth's young world.  And her 
admiration for him was no small part of why she had chosen to go 
to law school.  In her adult life, she craved the reassurance of 
predictability, having everything in its proper place.  With HER 
hand resting on the gavel, in a courtroom where SHE dictated the 
course, Liddy could ultimately have the control her childhood had 
lacked.  

Judge Bateman took her seat above the small gathering for her 
first case of the day.  This was going to be a big one - possibly 
THE BIGGEST case she had ever presided over in the thirteen years 
she'd been on the bench.  The press was all over this case - a 
rather famous and well-off FBI agent charged with the 
premeditated murder of his own son.  Like it or not, they'd all 
be celebrities before this was through.

"Thank you, Henry," Liddy remarked to her bailiff, slipping on 
her reading glasses to look over the papers in front of her.  
After a minute, she folded her hands neatly atop the docket file 
and addressed the courtroom.  "Well, ladies and gentlemen, it 
looks like we're starting the day off with the main event.  I 
don't believe I've ever witnessed such a media circus on the 
steps of our humble little courthouse before today.  It's just as 
well that we get this case out of the way first, so the rest of 
the day's business can be attended to without complication."  She 
adjusted her glasses and read the formal introduction into the 
record.  "We're here today for the bond hearing in case number 
CR20-101393, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts vs. Fox William 
Mulder."  She glanced up at the Defense Counsel. "Is the 
defendant present?"

"Yes, Your Honor."  

Liddy knew the man who stood up to reply, by reputation only; 
Yerman Kennedy - a big time, hotshot defense attorney who 
practiced out of Washington DC.  Mid-forties, tall and good 
looking, with a powerful presence, Kennedy would be a charming 
influence with the jury when this case went to trial.

Continuing with procedure, Liddy requested the roll call.  "Would 
each of you state your name for the record?  Starting with you, 
Mr. Janeski."  She eyed the young prosecutor, who immediately 
drew himself to his full five-foot-two height.

"Daniel Janeski, Prosecuting Attorney for the Commonwealth of 
Massachusetts."

The equally young blonde man sitting beside Janeski stood and 
reported, "Carl Hutchinson, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney for 
the Commonwealth of Massachusetts."

The roll call continued... "Yerman Kennedy, Counsel for the 
Defense."

"Fox William Mulder."  

Liddy studied the defendant.  He was a very attractive man.  
This, too, would influence the jury.  Kennedy would be sure to 
exploit it. Juries were made up of humans, with societal 
biases... and it was an undisputed fact that attractive people 
provoke a more positive response.  Between Defense Counsel's 
talent and charisma, and the defendant's leading-man good looks, 
Daniel was going to have his work cut out for him prosecuting 
this case.

The judge noted how one woman in the audience kept a worried 
vigil on the defendant.  A petite redhead with crystalline blue 
eyes, which she kept locked on the handsome man in the Armani 
suit.  Wife - had to be.  The poor woman must be about at her 
wit's end, Liddy thought with sympathy.  She's lost her son, and 
her husband stands accused of his murder.  What a nightmare.  She 
must be desperate to make sense of it all, and to fight to hold 
on to what's left of her family... That probably explained the 
phone call. 

"Michael Ruben, Assistant Defense Counsel."  The sharply dressed 
black man drew Liddy's attention back to the proceedings. 

The judge gave her concentration to Kennedy, who was clearly 
impatient to speak, rolling a pencil back and forth between 
large, eager hands.  She granted him permission to present his 
case for bond.  "Mr. Kennedy, if you would begin please."

Adjusting his expensive suit jacket as he stood, the prominent 
defense attorney cleared his throat to start his oratory.  "Your 
Honor, the defense team acknowledges the seriousness of the crime 
of which my client Fox Mulder has been accused.  However, as you 
can see- "  He gestured toward the pile of documentation that had 
been filed on behalf of his client.  "Mr. Mulder is an 18-year 
veteran with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and has an 
exemplary employment history.  He's been a stable and 
contributing citizen of this community for several years, and 
holds no prior criminal record whatsoever."  Defense Counsel 
turned to regard the redheaded woman seated in the next row back. 
 "Additionally, Mr. Mulder is married to an UPSTANDING member of 
this community, who, herself, is a highly regarded, federal law 
enforcement agent - DOCTOR Dana Scully."  The defendant's wife 
managed a tight-lipped smile in reaction to such blatantly 
obsequious praise, and the older woman accompanying her reached 
over, squeezing her hand with an obvious measure of pride.  

Mother, Liddy figured; at least she 'looks' the part.

Kennedy paused a moment, turning back to face the judge as he 
concluded, "The defendant is a stable, married professional, 
posing no risk of flight.  I therefore respectfully request that 
Fox Mulder be released on his own recognizance."

Well, that was bold as hell!  Considering that she had only 
grudgingly agreed to hear a plea for bond in this case, Defense 
Counsel had real balls to request that a man facing the charge of 
Murder One be released on his own recognizance!  Just what kind 
of backwater judge did this Kennedy fellow think he was dealing 
with? 

Liddy tried her best not to be too insulted as she watched the 
gutsy attorney return to his seat.  Checking her indignation, she 
addressed the prosecution in a controlled voice.  "Mr. Janeski, 
if the Prosecution has any comments to make, you may proceed at 
this time."

The jockey-sized attorney - who one could think of as either 
energetic or hyper, depending on one's tolerance for such antsy 
behavior - made a point of pacing in front of the bench as he 
spoke. "Your Honor, the reason the defendant is here today is 
because he is accused of one of the most brutal and heinous 
crimes one can commit. Fox Mulder is a cold-blooded killer.  With 
premeditation, he murdered his five-year-old son, Adam Mulder-"

Yerman Kennedy wasted no time jumping to his feet. "Objection, 
Your Honor!  This is a bond hearing, not a trial!  Mr. Janeski's 
statements are prejudicial and I demand that his remarks be 
stricken from the record!"

Liddy frowned.  "Sustained."  Normally she would have blasted 
Defense Counsel for his breach of protocol - objecting during an 
arraignment hearing - but Daniel deserved to be slapped down for 
trying something like that in her courtroom.  She didn't care how 
much media attention this case received, she was not going to be 
party to an over-dramatized, made for TV spectacle like the OJ 
trial had been.  "Mr. Janeski, I'm warning you to limit your 
arguments to the purpose and scope of this hearing."

"Yes, Your Honor," Janeski replied, managing to sound contrite.

She gave him a stern look of warning over the top of her glasses. 
"You may continue."

Taking a less antagonistic approach, the diminutive man resumed 
pacing as he began his argument again.  "The accused stands 
before us today charged with murder in the first degree, of his 
OWN SON... Due to the shocking nature and events surrounding this 
case, as well as the EXPERT psychiatric opinions giving evidence 
to Mr. Mulder's former and current mental state, The Commonwealth 
STRONGLY urges The Court to deny bond to the defendant.  Fox 
Mulder is an unstable, unpredictable individual who poses a 
potential danger to the community.  Therefore, under 
Massachusetts General Law, chapter 123, The Commonwealth asks 
that Mr. Mulder be placed in the custody of Bridgewater State 
Hospital for a court ordered psychiatric evaluation."  

Kennedy's exasperated "Objection!" boomed out across the 
courtroom.

Un uh.  I let you get away with it once, mister, but not this 
time. "Mr. Kennedy, as you yourself pointed out a few moments 
ago, this is NOT a trial.  Nor do you have any cause for 
objection.  Your objection is therefore overruled."  Liddy banged 
her gavel for emphasis.  "The Prosecution shall proceed." 

Defense Counsel refused to take his seat.  "But, Your Honor, Mr. 
Janeski is-"

"The Commonwealth is allowed to make its case, Mr. Kennedy!" 
Janeski shot back, interrupting his adversary before the judge 
could intervene.

Banging her gavel again, Liddy quieted them before any further 
chaos ensued.  What the hell did these two think they were doing? 
Determined to put a screeching halt to their antics, she issued a 
pronouncement.  "All right, I can see where we're heading.  At 
this time we will take a ten-minute recess.  I would like to see 
both counsel in my chambers... IMMEDIATELY."





*  *  *  *





Elizabeth Bateman read the two men that stood before her the riot 
act.  "Gentlemen, I realize this is a high profile case - believe 
me - but I am not going to have a simple arraignment proceeding 
turned into an all day fiasco."  She turned an icy stare on Mr. 
Big-Time- Washington-DC-Lawyer.  "Mr. Kennedy, the defense had 
its turn to present argument on behalf of your client.  The 
Prosecution is entitled to argue its case for the record as 
well."  Next she fixed Janeski with a look of irritation.  "And 
Daniel - honestly, you know better than to pull these kind of 
theatrics in my courtroom!" Seating herself behind her desk, 
Liddy crossed her arms over her chest and sighed.  "If you boys 
want to fight this thing out, roll up your sleeves and let's get 
it over with here and now."

Janeski's incredulous laugh was nothing short of theatrical. 
"Liddy, Defense Counsel is portraying this maniac Fox Mulder as 
if he were a pillar of the community!"  

"Which he is," Kennedy scowled, doubly put off by the familiarity 
between Judge and Prosecutor, and the insulting remark about his 
client. 

"Oh, for Christ sake, the man believes in aliens!"  Janeski 
hooted.  

Kennedy shrugged.  "So do a lot of other people, that doesn't 
make them the menace to society you're trying to portray my 
client to be."

Liddy watched the verbal sparring match with interest; thinking 
what a headache it was going to be keeping these two in line when 
the trial began.

"He's admitted to the premeditated murder of his own son!" 
Janeski could barely contain himself, all but hopping up and down 
as he tried to win the point.

"No, he hasn't," Defense Counsel countered, quite 
matter-of-factly.

Janeski's eyes went wide.  "What do you call his journal 
confession?"

"I call it circumstantial," Kennedy stated flatly; not riled in 
the least, despite the other attorney's zeal.

It was like watching a Pit Bull and a Chihuahua, Liddy mused, 
with an inward smirk.  

The younger attorney threw his arms up in the air, turning a 
complete circle in dramatic fashion.  "OH, COME ON!  I suppose 
next you're going to claim the murder weapon, COVERED with your 
client's fingerprints, is circumstantial too!"

"We have no proof that there's even been a murder."    

Liddy bit back a grin.  Kennedy's point, made with a sly twinkle 
in his eye, left her wondering if he was actually going to try 
using such a defense when the case came to trial... or if he was 
just messing with his opponent's mind a little.  She'd have a 
hell of a lot more respect for him if it were the latter.

"I don't believe this!"  Janeski choked, shaking his head as he 
looked to the judge for sympathy.  He found none.

"Gentlemen, this bickering, while amusing, is really a waste of 
my time.  I've let you get some of it out of your systems now 
because I don't want to see any more of it in my courtroom."  She 
breathed a heavy sigh, far too weary for so early in the day.  
"I'm prepared to give my ruling on this matter, but I have one 
more issue that I wish to attend to first.  I would like to speak 
with Mr. Mulder's wife, privately - if neither of you has an 
objection to that?"  

The two attorneys glanced suspiciously at one another, wondering 
what in the hell she was up to.  

Liddy didn't bother waiting for either of them to launch a 
protest. "Good, then it's settled."  She motioned for her bailiff 
who stood guard at the door.  When he came near, she whispered, 
"Henry, would you get these two the hell out of here?  And please 
ask the defendant's wife if she would step into my chambers for a 
moment."  





*  *  *  *







Being summoned to the judge's chambers had Scully more than a 
little concerned.  She had no idea what happened after Kennedy 
and Janeski left the courtroom, but she hoped it didn't have 
anything to do with Mulder being committed to Bridgewater.  With 
all her other worries, she failed to consider the possibility 
that the Prosecution might press to have Mulder institutionalized 
until the trial.  As she entered the elegantly appointed office, 
Scully prepared herself for a fight; refusing to see her husband 
locked up in a psychiatric hospital after everything else he'd 
been through. 

"Dr. Scully, would you have a seat please?"  The judge looked up 
from her reading and gestured to a chair.  

Hoping she didn't look as nervous as she felt, Scully perched 
herself on the edge of a leather upholstered wingback and 
casually crossed her legs, reminding herself to breathe slowly - 
in and out. 

"I realize this is unusual," the judge began, taking off her 
glasses for informality sake.  "But before I make my ruling, I 
would like to have a few words with you."

"About, Your Honor?"  Scully swallowed tightly.

"I want to emphasize first that what we're discussing here is 
completely off the record."  

"I understand."  Unsure where this conversation was headed, 
Scully made a snap decision to take the lead.  She put a hand up 
to stop the judge from going any further.  "That being the case, 
may I say something?"   

The other woman eased back in her chair, giving Scully her full 
attention.  "Certainly."

"My husband has long been the subject of controversy because of 
his beliefs and the fact that he chooses to stand by them.  I 
have no doubt that if the Prosecution wanted to do so, it could 
bring in a parade of witnesses who would happily malign my 
husband's character based on nothing more than their personal 
prejudices."  Scully cleared her tight throat again and 
continued; fearful this desperate plea was Mulder's only hope of 
being released.  "But I have spent the last 13 years partnered 
with Fox Mulder, as a federal agent and as his wife.  I've put my 
life in his hands day after day, trusting him implicitly, because 
of what I know of him.  There is no question in my mind of his 
sanity.  And I can personally assure you that he is in no way a 
threat to society."  Scully paused, taking a deep breath before 
she went on.  "I have all the confidence in the world that he 
will be acquitted of the crime of which he is charged.  Fox 
Mulder is a victim, not a criminal.  Because of his commitment to 
the truth, he has garnered some very powerful enemies."

"He has powerful friends, too, it would seem," the judge 
retorted, narrowing her gaze on Scully.  "I called you in here 
because I received a phone call on Friday afternoon from Capital 
Hill, from a prominent figure speaking on your husband's behalf. 
 You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you, Dr. 
Scully?"

Shit.  Now she understood what this was about.  Just before 
leaving DC Friday morning, Scully had made a quick trip to the 
office of a certain senator who owed her and Mulder a favor.  She 
hadn't expected him to reveal that she'd spoken with him, only 
that he would put in a good word for Mulder with Judge Bateman - 
who just happened to be an old law school classmate.  Scully had 
hesitated to ask him for such a favor, but their attorney had 
confided to her that it was going to take a small miracle to get 
a bond hearing in a first degree murder case.  Having given up on 
divine intervention, she'd attempted to play God herself.  And up 
until this moment, she'd figured it worked. Damn it, anyway... 
her meddling may have just made things worse.

Avoiding the judge's accusing stare, Scully likewise tried to 
skirt the question.  "He's NOT a danger to anyone, including 
himself. Being locked in a jail cell or a mental ward, for weeks 
or months, until such time as he stands trial, is cruel and 
unusual punishment for an innocent man - especially one whose son 
has just been taken from him."

"That may be, Dr. Scully, but the laws of this country are 
written to mete out equal justice to all citizens.  Not just 
those who can afford to buy influence, or who have connections in 
high places. I don't appreciate being pressured to render a 
decision one way or another on this or any case.  And I'll tell 
you the same thing I told your FRIEND in Washington.  My father 
sat on the bench for more than forty years before he died, and of 
all the advice he could have given me when I became a judge, 
there was only one piece of knowledge he chose to impart.  He 
said, 'Liddy, you must always remember, conscience is the chamber 
of justice.'  Since I am the judge assigned to hear this case, it 
is in MY conscience where this verdict must ultimately be 
decided.  I am not for sale, Dr. Scully, nor will I be 
intimidated.  Having said that, I want you to know that the ONLY 
reason I agreed to listen to an appeal for bond in a first-degree 
murder case was because of letters filed 'legally' with this 
court from many individuals at the FBI testifying to your 
husband's strength of character.  I wouldn't exactly call it a 
campaign, but certainly he is respected enough amongst his 
colleagues that a good many wanted to go on record in support of 
him."

Scully sat stunned.  'Spooky' Mulder respected amongst his 
colleagues at the Bureau?  She hadn't the slightest clue what, or 
who, was behind this, but she was grateful all the same. 

"In the future, Dr. Scully, please take into consideration that 
any attempts to influence this court illegally will result in 
charges being filed against ALL parties responsible.  Whether he 
is innocent or guilty, I assure you, your husband will find 
justice in my courtroom."

Scully's reply was a soft-spoken and obedient "Yes, Your Honor."

Replacing her glasses, the judge stood, abruptly ending the 
conversation.  "Now... I've got a full docket today and I'm ready 
to make my ruling on this matter." 







*  *  *  *





Mulder's worried eyes locked with his wife's, questioning her 
silently as she reentered the courtroom and returned to her seat. 
However, there was no time for her to reply, as the judge took 
her place before the assemblage, the bailiff once again calling 
the session to order.  Scully could only give his arm a 
supportive squeeze.  Mulder reached up to grasp her cold fingers; 
drawing what strength he could from the simple contact.

"Will the defendant please rise?" 

Letting go of Scully's hand, Mulder stood to face his fate. 

Judge Bateman gave him a grave look.  "Mr. Mulder, the purpose of 
this hearing is to grant or deny bail for your release.  I am not 
here today to try your innocence or guilt.  I've read over all 
the documents from the FBI, including letters from Director 
Clarke and Assistant Director Walter Skinner, and an especially 
compelling letter from a former colleague of yours - Special 
Agent John Doggett; and it is because of these statements, as 
well as other letters testifying to your good character, that I'm 
reluctantly granting your release."  

Mulder heard Scully's tiny joyful gasp as relief washed over him. 
His lawyer patted him on the back in congratulations, but the 
judge was quick to put a damper on the victory celebration.  

"HOWEVER... I wish to stress the seriousness of the crime of 
which you have been charged.  I am therefore setting bail at 1.5 
million dollars, cash - no bond."

"Jesus Christ!" Bill Scully's exclamation won him a censorious 
frown from the judge, and an elbow in the gut from his mother.  

Calming the general clamor in the courtroom with three sharp taps 
of her gavel, the judge went on with her decree.  "AND... You 
will remain under house arrest pending trial; compliance will be 
monitored electronically.  This Court hereby orders your release 
upon payment of bail, and subjects you to all requirements set 
forth by my bail order.  This matter stands adjourned." 









*  *  *  *





~CHAPTER 15~



327 Tisbury Lane Martha's Vineyard Monday, June 19, 2006 Late 
afternoon



Seated on the floor in a room where toy dinosaurs battled 
spacemen, a regatta of tiny sailboats lined the windowsill, and 
the top of a tightly packed bookshelf had been designated a Star 
Wars shrine, Mulder took in all the treasures of a little boy 
whose life had been fated since the moment he was conceived.  
Adam had been predestined to fall victim, one way or another, 
because of who he was.  

Fox Mulder's son.

But, was it possible that the greatest threat to this unfortunate 
child had been his own father?  Mulder's training as a behavioral 
psychologist could not allow him to rule out the possibility.  As 
always, Scully was there to keep him honest, insisting on 
undeniable proof before she would acknowledge the validity of his 
theory.  He was grateful for her allegiance at a time when doubt 
cast a grim shadow over everything else in his world.  Her faith 
and commitment brought the only glimmer of hope to the darkness 
that held him hostage.    

Mulder missed Adam so badly he could scarcely breathe through the 
pain.  He wanted to believe, like Scully, that Adam was still 
alive; that one day they would find him again.  But he could no 
longer see his way through the murky depths of his grief and 
despair.   

Picking up his son's beloved basketball, Mulder hugged it to his 
chest, staring absently ahead; sinking further and further into 
the nadir of his guilty conscience...



Sometime later, Bill Scully's frosty voice sifted into Mulder's 
awareness.  "Dana finally fell asleep.  I don't have the heart to 
wake her.  Mom wanted you to know... dinner's almost ready."

Wiping the dampness from his face, Mulder drew an unsteady breath 
and acknowledged his brother-in-law with a nod.   

Never one to pass up an opportunity to speak his mind, Bill took 
advantage of the rare moment to have words with Mulder, without 
his sister or mother around to come to his defense.  He stepped 
into the room, closer to his intended prey.  "I know you know I 
was against you marrying my sister from the very beginning."  He 
snorted.  "Hell, Tara had to practically hold a gun to my head to 
get me to attend the wedding...  You've been trouble since the 
first day Dana met you, Mulder.  When I think of all she's 
suffered through because of you..."  He shook his head - 
disgusted.  

"If you're trying to persuade me to kill myself, I think you 
should know I've already considered the option and ruled it out. 
 I'd only end up hurting Dana more."

Bill gave a contemptuous grunt.  "You're really pathetic, Mulder. 
I'll never understand what she sees in you."

"Finally, something we can agree on.  I've never understood it 
myself.  Of course, it escapes my comprehension what a lovely 
woman like Tara is doing with the likes of you, too.  I guess 
some things will always remain mysteries."

"I'll have you know, I'm a DAMN good husband and father."  

"Inferring that I'm not?"

"It takes more than money to provide a good home," Bill shot 
back. "My sister's been trying to make a decent life.  You, 
you're still chasing your little green men."  

Mulder was tired.  And he was in no mood for Bill's 
incriminations. "Do you think we could save this conversation for 
later?"  His gaze shifted to the monitoring device strapped to 
his ankle, and he sighed.  "It's not like I'm going anywhere for 
the next few months."

"If I had my way, Dana would have left your sorry ass to rot in 
jail... or even better, in that loony-bin where maniacs like you 
belong."

Mulder looked his brother-in-law straight in the eyes.  "You 
think I did it, don't you?"

There was a long pause in which Bill seemed to consider the 
question.  For a fleeting second Mulder thought he saw indecision 
diminish the cynical expression of the other man.  Nevertheless, 
Bill was quick to dismiss any hope of compassion with his cutting 
retort.  

"Haven't heard you deny it."  

Bill's hard stare challenged Mulder to fight back.  But when no 
response appeared imminent, he shook his head at the pitiable 
excuse for a man who sat on the floor before him, and then walked 
out of the room.







*  *  *  *





Mulder and Scully's residence Tuesday, June 20, 2006 6:33 AM



"Dana, honey?"  Margaret Scully gently nudged her daughter awake.

Scully squinted into the bright morning light of the bedroom, and 
was greeted by her mother's loving face.  "Mmm... Mom - what time 
is it?"  As her mind strained to focus, she felt the comforting 
arm of her husband fitted snugly around her waist.  Even in her 
sleep she'd been conscious of his presence, his body wrapped 
protectively and possessively around hers all night long.

"It's six thirty.  I'm sorry to wake you, sweetheart, but there 
are three very... INTERESTING gentlemen downstairs.  Mr. Byers, 
Mr. Langly, and Mr. Frohike.  They claim they're acquaintances of 
yours?"

A tiny smile formed on Scully's lips at her mother's visible 
apprehension.  "It's okay, Mom.  They're friends.  Would you 
please tell them Mulder and I will be down in a minute."

Resigned, Maggie nodded.  "There's coffee ready."

"Great.  Thanks, Mom." 

"You know I've always been an early riser.  An old habit from 
your father's military days.  Can't seem to let it go.  Billy was 
up too, so I started breakfast."  Maggie's eyes took in her 
sleeping son-in- law snuggled up behind her daughter, her 
expression reflecting the worry in her heart.  "I guess I'd 
better get down there and let your brother know it's safe to 
allow your friends inside."



*  *  *  *  *



When Byers delivered the good news, Scully kissed him square on 
the mouth for his effort.

"Hey!" Frohike protested, "I did all the work!  How about some 
lip action for the hero over here?"

Mulder made a teasing move toward his stout little friend, lips 
pursed.  

Appalled, Frohike took a quick step backwards to dodge the other 
man's advance.  "Kiss me and die, smart ass."

"Frohike, I'm hurt," Mulder feigned, his eyes twinkling with 
mischief, enjoying his momentary comedic status and the laughter 
it produced.

"Yeah, you will be if you bring that pucker near me again any 
time soon."

"So let me see if I'm following this," Bill piped in, putting an 
end to the foolery.  "You guys hacked your way into Mulder's 
computer, and found proof that his journal had been tampered 
with?"

"Well, technically it's not hacking.  We had the computer, 
Mulder's password, and permission to access the files," Byers 
explained.  "We discovered that some of the most recent journal 
entries had been modified; but any reference to when these 
changes were made had been purged from the system.  So, we dug a 
little deeper and were able to ascertain that the command to 
purge had been given on Wednesday, June 14, 2006."

"Two-thirty AM Eastern Time," Langly added.

"Which means, whoever tapped into those files, had just enough 
time to have accessed Dr. Kern's report, giving them plenty of 
personal information with which to frame Mulder when they changed 
the entry to his journal," Scully concluded.  Finally, proof 
undeniable that her faith in her husband was warranted.

"Wait a minute," Bill frowned.  "Mulder's computer was 
confiscated as evidence?  How did you three manage to get your 
hands on it?"

"The lady with the light fingers lifted it for us," Langly 
answered back, bestowing a big grin on Scully.

Bill flung a disapproving scowl at his sister.  "Did you stop to 
think that theft of evidence, besides being against the law, 
happens to make said evidence inadmissible in court?  Now that 
your three buddies have been monkeying around with Mulder's 
laptop, how are you going to prove to a judge that they didn't 
just pull some geek hocus pocus to help out their friend?"  

That sobered the whole group.  

"Working for the Justice Department, Dana, I would have thought 
you'd take the law into consideration in the course of an 
investigation."  

Scully rolled her eyes at her brother's admonishment, her cheeks 
becoming hot as her Irish temper spiked.  What pissed her off the 
most about Bill's comment was the simple fact that he was right. 
She had let emotion cloud her commonsense - but she'd been 
desperate. 

"There's got to be some way to prove Mulder didn't kill Adam," 
Frohike groused, scratching his balding head as he considered his 
own words.

"Sure, we find out who did."  Byers replied without thinking.

"Adam's not dead," Scully corrected him instantly.

"Way to go, doofus," Frohike razzed his red-faced friend. 

"Dana, I -" he tried to apologize but she waved it off.

"The truth is, someone went through a lot of trouble to make us 
think so... and to pin the blame on Mulder.  But if Adam really 
were dead, they would have left a body to confirm it."

"She's right," Mulder agreed, slipping an arm around his wife's 
shoulders in support.   

Maggie Scully had been quiet for a long time, standing off by 
herself and listening thoughtfully to the others' conversation.  
Now she approached the group, heading directly to Mulder, wearing 
a contrite expression, her eyes tearful with remorse.  "I want to 
apologize to you, Fox.  I'm ashamed of myself for it, but I 
didn't have my daughter's faith in you.  I hope you can forgive 
me."

"There's nothing to forgive, Mom.  Really.  You have no reason to 
feel bad.  I found the evidence just as hard to discount."  He 
rarely called her Mom, but Mulder knew the utterance of that 
title, more than anything he could say, would convey to Margaret 
Scully her good standing in his heart.

Stretching up on her tiptoes, Maggie gave her son-in-law a 
grateful kiss on the cheek.  "My baby girl's lucky to have you, 
Fox."  She began to pull away and then froze, remembering 
something out of the blue.  "Oh- you know... I'm not sure if this 
will be helpful, but I saw camera equipment mounted on top of the 
house that's being worked on next door."

"That's the Chadwick's.  They just started a renovation project." 
Scully was heading toward the window as she spoke.  "I didn't 
notice surveillance equipment..."  

"They probably have a security company monitoring the grounds," 
Mulder speculated, following fast on his wife's heels.  "If the 
cameras were there last week, we might get lucky."







*  *  *  *  *







Identifying herself as an FBI agent, Scully was able to obtain 
the cooperation of the security company without much of a battle; 
less than two hours later, a package of DVDs was delivered by 
courier from Watchdog Inc.  Langly immediately cued up the disk 
for June 14. Everyone held their breath as the first images were 
displayed on the computer monitor.  But after just a few minutes 
of high-speed playback, the atmosphere in Mulder's den became 
weighted with disappointment.

"Damn it," Scully cursed, voicing the unspoken consensus of the 
group.  "The shots aren't wide enough, and the sweep is too 
tight. They've barely caught any of our property at all."

The screen was a four-way split, showing simultaneous views from 
all sides of the neighbor's house.  

"They're not even monitoring the street," Frohike grumbled. 
"Amateurs.  Someone needs to teach the people at Watchdog Inc. 
how it's supposed to be done."

Giving off a huge sigh, Mulder slumped back in his seat.  "Well, 
it was worth a try anyway."  He exchanged frustrated looks with 
Scully who was perched beside him on the arm of his desk chair.  
She reached over and stroked her fingers through his hair; a 
sympathetic gesture that did not go unappreciated in Mulder's 
heart.

"Wait!  Hold on.  Go back," Bill ordered, his eyes squinting to 
more intently scrutinize the video feeds.

Langly reversed the playback immediately - everyone's attention 
glued to the monitor.

"Stop!" Bill barked, and when the Gunman complied, he pointed out 
something in the upper right-hand box.  "What's that?"  

The camera picked up only the far corner of Mulder and Scully's 
backyard, but it gave a partial view of the shed by Adam's 
garden. In the darkness, a figure could be seen just briefly, 
entering and then exiting the shed.  But the combined factors of 
distance and low light made the image very shadowy and extremely 
difficult to make out.  If it hadn't been for Bill's eagle 
vision, no one would have noticed the trespasser's brief cameo 
appearance. 

"Can you enhance the image a little, Langly?" Mulder asked, 
sliding to the edge of his chair to study the picture more 
closely.

"I'll try."  Langly's nimble fingers tapped at the keyboard and a 
full screen view of camera three replaced the divided format.  A 
few more strokes of the keys and he'd zoomed in on the shed.  
Then he sharpened the focus as much as he could.

"Dana, isn't that the man I saw kissing you at the airport?" Bill 
asked, with a quick sideways glance to witness his 
brother-in-law's reaction.

"Scully?"  Mulder's eyes demanded an explanation from his wife, 
but she ignored his question entirely.  

"I'm gonna kill him!" Scully raged, staring at the likeness of 
Alex Krycek as he exited the garden shed with a small bundle 
tucked under one arm and Mulder's fishing knife clutched in a 
gloved hand.

"Excuse me, Scully?" Mulder tried again to get her attention.  

"He's been playing us all along!" She fumed, her cheeks darkening 
in anger.

"Humor me, Scully," Mulder pleaded, unable to shake the grip of 
jealousy - even though deep down he knew better. 

She finally took pity.  "Right before we boarded our flight 
Friday morning, Krycek showed up at the airport.  He told me he 
just wanted to express his condolences."

Frohike helped Mulder out.  "Ahem... You skipped the part about 
the locked lips and dueling tongues?"

"Thank you, Frohike," Mulder told his friend sincerely.

Scully's eyes narrowed at her troublemaker brother.  "It was a 
kiss on the cheek," she made very clear.

"Figures," Frohike quipped, let down.

Leaving Bill with one last dirty look, Scully returned her 
attention to her husband.  "I KNEW Krycek was acting strange.  
Even for him."  

"He was all over her."  The eldest Scully sibling baited his 
brother- in-law, unable to resist the opportunity to have just a 
tad more fun at Mulder's expense. 

"Would you please stop!" Scully snapped at him angrily.  Damn it, 
Bill could be a real pain in the ass sometimes - make that MOST 
of the time.

The wicked grin on Bill Scully's face faded quickly as he fell 
victim to his mother's censorious stare.  He cleared his throat 
and looked down, developing a sudden and very keen interest in 
his shoes.

Mulder got up from his chair, unable to sit still any longer.  
"All right, so now we know that this is Krycek's game.  I should 
have figured as much.  Nefarious to the end.  And when I get my 
hands on him his end won't be long in coming."

A sense of dread brought Scully to her feet as well.  "I hope you 
don't think you're going to go after him, Mulder."

"Just try and stop me," he challenged her.

"Mulder, you CAN'T. The court has ordered that you stay here, and 
here is where you're going to stay," Scully argued.  "I'll fly 
back to DC and find our friend Krycek."

Mulder was adamant.  "Not without me you're not."

Scully stood toe to toe with her husband.  "Do I have to remind 
you that I just posted a million and a half dollars of our money 
guaranteeing you'd follow the Court's directives?"

"I don't give a damn about the money, Scully!  They can take 
every last cent we've got!  All I care about right now is finding 
that duplicitous little weasel and squeezing him until he pops!" 
 Mulder's fists clenched tight as he thought about all the 
trouble Krycek had caused in his life.  He wanted to kill him - 
pound him to a bloody pulp with his bare hands.  He should have 
done it years ago.

"I want vengeance as much as you do, Mulder, but our first 
priority has to be Adam's safe return," Scully reminded him.

"Agreed."  Mulder nodded, making an honest effort to bring down 
to a low simmer the outrage that was boiling inside him.  "But 
you can't expect me to just sit around here and do nothing."

"Why don't you just go to the police and show them the 
surveillance video?" Bill butted in.  "The state will drop the 
charges and the authorities will go after this guy - Krycek."

Husband and wife exchanged knowing looks.

"It's not that simple," Mulder explained.  "If Krycek finds out 
we're on to him, he'll disappear and we'll never find Adam.  Our 
best chance of catching him is to let him think his scheme is 
working."

Scully was in complete agreement.  "And that's why you're staying 
here, Mulder.  You jump bail and there will be a bench warrant 
out for you and a massive manhunt underway.  If Krycek caught 
wind of that, he'd disappear into the woodwork before we could 
ever hope to catch up to him.  And then we'd never find Adam."

"But, Scully-" Mulder renewed his protest, but she wouldn't hear 
anymore.

"No, Mulder.  No.  N. O."  She was very firm in her insistence. 
Scully's face had become a cold mask of resolve.

However, Fox Mulder was not one to be easily dissuaded either.  
"We don't know who he's working with this time, Scully.  You 
can't go after him alone.  It's too dangerous.  You need me to 
watch your back."

Maggie reached out to put a worried hand on her daughter's arm, 
as if she could physically stop her from attempting such a risk. 
 "Dana, honey, Fox is right.  You can't go alone."  Her anxious 
eyes begged Dana to listen.

"I'll be okay, Mom."  Scully spoke more gently, hating that her 
mother had now been put into the position of coming face to face 
with the reality of her dangerous lifestyle.  "I know how to be 
careful."

Bill had to put his two cents in as well.  "Dana, as much as I 
hate to say it, you should listen to your husband.  Stop trying 
to prove you're invincible, for Christ sake.  You can't go 
running off to chase down the bad guys on your own."  

"I don't have a choice.  My son needs me."  Scully put an abrupt 
end to the debate, turning and heading upstairs without another 
word. 



Maggie followed after her, determined to talk some sense into her 
daughter.

"We'll go with her, Mulder," Byers assured his friend, as soon as 
both Scully and her mother had left the room.

Mulder shook his head, turning down the offer.  There was no way 
in hell he was going to sit on the sidelines.  "What can you do 
for me, boys?  How do I get rid of this thing?"  He wiggled his 
foot, indicating the monitoring device the court had ordered to 
enforce his house arrest.

"You can't get rid of it, Mulder.  Not without alerting the 
central computer.  What you're wearing is an Active EMD.  A 
miniature transmitter that broadcasts an encoded signal at 
regular intervals - say 6 to 10 times per minute - to that 
receiver-dialer they installed in the kitchen.  The signal has a 
limited reporting range; and if it fails to account to the 
central computer..."  Byers shrugged helplessly. 

"There must be a way to take it off," Mulder persisted.

"No can do."  Frohike slowly shook his head from side to side.  
"Not without someone finding out about it.  The ankle band is 
tamper- resistant.  It contains a fiber optic cable and light 
transmitting diode, which sends a constant status indication.  If 
the signal is interrupted, even momentarily, Big Brother will 
know about it immediately." 

"Shit..."  Mulder rested his hands on his hips, his mind 
struggling to come up with a workable solution.  "Can they track 
this thing - if I were to make a run for it?"

"The transmitter only has a pulse range of about 200 yards.  They 
wouldn't be able to track you," Frohike admitted.  "Besides you 
could take it off after you were out of range of the receiver.  
But you're going to bring down a lot of heat if you try running," 
he warned.

Mulder rubbed at the tension building across his forehead.  "What 
other option do I have?"

"You could chew your foot off," Bill cracked, receiving an 
irritated smirk from his brother-in-law in return.  He shrugged 
innocently. "Just a suggestion."

Langly's face was pinched, reflecting his deep thought.  "It's 
possible we could duplicate the transponder signal."  

Byers jumped on board.  Yeah... Trick the receiver into believing 
the transmitter ISN'T out of range."

Mulder's pulse was already racing in anticipation.  "Can you do 
it? How long will it take?"

"We'll need some equipment," Frohike mused aloud.

The tone of Langly's voice revealed his own growing excitement.  
"A Wildcat broadcaster, an XL7 decoding unit... probably need a 
frequency synthesizer, too."

"How long?" Mulder demanded impatiently.

Frohike looked from Byers to Langly.  "Doesn't Cougar live in 
Providence?"

"I'm on it."  Langly was already typing a message into the 
e-mail. "You'll be a fugitive from justice by nightfall, Mulder."







*  *  *  *







~Chapter 16~





Wednesday, June 21, 2006 An alleyway somewhere in DC Late night



Alex Krycek's body hit the cold concrete with brutal force, 
causing most of the air to shoot out of his lungs with a loud 
"Ooof!" Immediately, the full weight of his assailant fell upon 
him; both arms were wrenched behind his back, and a pair of 
handcuffs locked them in place.  There was a gun at his head.  
And when his attacker rolled him over, Alex found himself staring 
into the steely eyes of the owner of that gun - Special Agent 
Dana Scully.  He shivered. His eyes darted to her partner who had 
wrestled him to the ground and was now perched over him with a 
look of pure bloodlust.

"Hey man, what's going on?" Krycek rasped, trying to regain his 
composure after the surprise hit.   

Mulder replied with his fist.  

A teeth-rattling right across the jaw had Alex seeing stars.  

"I'm gonna kill you, Krycek," Mulder snarled through clenched 
teeth. Lifting the other man by the collar, he slammed him back 
several times onto the pavement.  The hunt had been brief; he 
wanted to savor the kill.

"Wha- what did I do?"  It was a dangerous play, but Alex wouldn't 
risk revealing his hand until his opponent's cards were on the 
table.

Another pop to the jawbone.  Same spot as the first.  Hurt like 
hell.

Grabbing Krycek by the hair, Mulder yanked him up close.  "Don't 
FUCKING play innocent with me!  It's been YOU all along, you 
devious piece of shit!"  He thumped Krycek's head against the 
ground.  "I want my son back!"  His temper beyond control, Mulder 
delivered three solid blows to the belly of the man lying 
helpless beneath him.  And when Krycek doubled up, Mulder 
flattened him again with a combination to the chin.

The pungent tang of blood bathed Alex's tongue, dripping into his 
throat, compounding the nausea that the unguarded hits to his 
stomach had instigated.  He gagged, fighting the overwhelming 
urge to heave, and moaned a futile argument in his defense.  "I - 
don't - I don't have him!"

"Liar!" Scully raged.  "You're a goddamn liar!  It was you who 
planted the evidence to frame Mulder!  And don't you dare deny 
it!" She bent down next to Krycek, pressing the barrel of her SIG 
into his face until he winced.  "Where's Adam?  What have you 
done with him?"

Krycek's breathing came fast and shallow as he tried to overcome 
his queasiness, and bear the throbbing in his jaw along with the 
bite of the semi-automatic cutting into the soft flesh beneath 
his left eye. "I told you... I don't have your boy.  I-"  He was 
attempting to explain, but couldn't get the words out fast enough 
to mollify the fury of his aggressors.

"Stand back, Scully.  I don't want you getting this vermin's 
blood all over you," Mulder forewarned, fully prepared to pound 
the truth from Krycek, without the slightest bit of remorse.  In 
Mulder's mind, the bastard not only had it coming to him - it was 
long overdue.

"Damn it!  Wait!"  Alex squirmed frantically, stabbing pain 
shooting up his arms as his actions crushed the maliciously 
applied handcuffs. "Listen to me, Mulder!  Wait!  I don't have 
your boy!"

Scully shook her head in amazement, and made an effort to clarify 
for their longtime nemesis the reality of his current situation. 
She kept her tone calm and even, looking him directly in the eyes 
so he wouldn't mistake her sincerity.  "Krycek, my husband is 
going to kill you," she told him quite matter-of-factly.  "And 
I'm not going to stop him this time.  Now, you can tell us where 
Adam is, and I'll see to it that your death is quick and 
relatively painless.  Or you can make this hard on yourself.  
Believe me, I'll have no problem at all watching Mulder torture 
the truth out of you."  As she leaned nearer to make her final 
point, her voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "And between you 
and me - he's REALLY looking forward to it."

"I'm telling the truth!" Alex protested.  "I don't know where the 
kid is!" 

She shrugged indifferently, and stepped back.  "He's all yours, 
Mulder."

An insidious smile spread across Mulder's face, and Alex's eyes 
went wide.  "NO!  NO!  Wait!  I DID plant the evidence, but I 
don't have the kid!  I'll explain everything if you'll just give 
me half a chance!" he pleaded.  "Calm down, okay?  Calm down and 
let me - Oof!" 

Mulder hit him in the gut again.

"Jesus... let me - Ahh!"

This time it was his nose.

"Aw - Fuck!"  Probably broken.  Alex could barely see straight, 
making out just enough to cringe in anticipation of the club-like 
fist he saw bearing down on him again.

"Mulder."  Scully's soft reprimand put a stop to the violence.

Mulder struggled to see her through his blinding wrath and the 
sweat that drenched his forehead.  

She placed a cool hand on his cheek, effectively calming him. 
"Adam," she reminded him.  That single word not needing further 
explanation.  

Mulder kissed his wife's palm, nodding a silent assurance to her. 
Priorities, Mulder, priorities.  Finding Adam took precedence 
here. He could settle the score with Krycek AFTER they got the 
information they needed.  This particular bane of his existence 
would cease to be a problem soon enough.    

"You're a two-faced bastard, Krycek.  And you certainly don't 
deserve mercy.  But give us the truth, and I'll honor Scully's 
promise not to draw this out unnecessarily."  He hauled the other 
man to his feet, shoving him in the direction of a nearby trash 
dumpster. Then Mulder charged after him, grabbing his enemy by 
the scruff of the neck this time.  "I'm warning you though, if 
this is going to be another one of your lies..."  He pushed 
Krycek against the dumpster, kicking his feet out from under him.

Alex rested against the trash receptacle, breathing hard, shaking 
his head insistently.  "The truth - the truth, I swear it!"







*  *  *  *





Apartment of Walter Skinner Thursday, June 22, 2006 4:32 AM





After the expected wait considering the hour at which they were 
calling, the door of apartment 817 flew open.  A bathrobe-clad 
Walter Skinner, his dubious expression edged with anger, met 
Mulder and Scully fully charged.  "What in the HELL are you two 
doing here?" he roared.  "Scully, are you out of your mind?  Are 
you familiar with the expression aiding and abetting a fugitive?" 
 His heated glare focused on Mulder next.  "And YOU!  You've got 
ten seconds to offer me an explanation as to what on earth 
possessed you to jump bail, before I arrest you and haul your ass 
back to Massachusetts myself!"

Scully cleared her throat.  "Sir, we have a lead on our son's 
whereabouts."

"We need your help," Mulder added.

Their quiet demeanors and beseeching expressions took the wind 
out of the assistant director's sails.  Though wary of what he 
might be getting himself into, Skinner was not the kind of man 
who could easily turn away friends in need - especially not these 
two.  Their unwavering loyalty to each other and to those they 
considered their friends was, at the very least, deserving of 
reward in kind.  The hell with the legalities of it; he was doing 
the right thing.  "Come on in."

They filed past him, Scully stopping to squeeze his hand and 
offer a soft-spoken "Thank you."

"Have a seat."  He indicated the couch for his agents, settling 
himself into a nearby easy chair.  "All right, what's this all 
about?" 

Chewing at his bottom lip, Mulder swept the room with anxious 
eyes. "Is it safe to talk here?" 

Skinner nodded slowly.  "No one can get a signal out of this 
apartment.  You have my word on that."  He'd learned, over the 
years, that an investment in counter-espionage equipment, though 
costly, was money well spent.

Reassured, Mulder started at the beginning, bringing Skinner up 
to speed on everything they knew of The Progenesis Project.  He 
told him how Scully had been affected, about Adam's special 
abilities, and about Marita and Krycek's daughter.  

The jaded X-File AD took every word of it in stride.  After 
aliens, flukemen, zombies, and vampires, it took more than a 
straightforward genetics experiment to get a rise out of Walter 
Skinner.  His only reaction: a tightening of the muscles in his 
jaw when Scully told him the name of the individual she and 
Mulder believed held their son.

"Dr. Vladimir Kosov?"  Skinner had never heard of the man.

"Yes, he's a Russian scientist who had been working covertly with 
CGB," Mulder explained.  "After the disaster at El Rico, old 
Spender couldn't trust the remaining Consortium members - not on 
a project as important as Progenesis.  He kept the operation 
small, and highly secretive."

"But they found out about it anyway," Skinner surmised.  

"Yes.  Somehow.  But only recently," Mulder confirmed.  "Kosov 
was forced to make a grab for the kids on his own, before the 
revitalized syndicate - apparently a significant power again - 
could get their hands on them.  He was successful at snatching 
Adam, but they beat him to Evaneiia."

Scully picked up the story.  "Though Kosov only really needs one 
of the children to be able to continue his work, he doesn't want 
what he considers his most prized accomplishments to fall into 
the wrong hands."  She had to stop briefly to temper her 
resentment.  "He struck a deal with Krycek.  In exchange for 
Alex's help framing Mulder, Kosov would get Evaneiia back for 
him, and help him protect her in the future."

Skinner nodded, putting the rest of the puzzle together himself. 
"And by having everyone believe Mulder murdered his own son, 
Kosov could get away with kidnapping the boy, and no one would be 
the wiser."  He took a deep breath and sighed.  "You came here 
for my help.  What can I do?"

Mulder leaned forward, elbows on knees, his body language 
betraying his impatience.  "Krycek is still waiting for word on 
his daughter. He expects to hear from Kosov sometime in the next 
thirty-six hours. Until then, we need you to help keep the 
authorities from discovering that I've flown the coop.  The last 
thing we want is for Kosov to get nervous.  We can't give him any 
reason to be suspicious that this is going down any way other 
than how he planned."  As he spoke, Mulder wrung his hands 
restlessly.  "When Krycek meets with Kosov to get his daughter 
back, Scully and I plan to be there to apprehend the good 
doctor."

"You expect he'll cooperate and tell you where Adam is, once he's 
in custody?"  Skinner was well aware that his agent had neglected 
to use the word 'arrest'.

Mulder's expression went deadpan, his voice stone cold.  "We 
don't plan on giving him a choice."

Scully reached over and grasped her husband's hand in a show of 
solidarity.  She wanted her boss to understand she fully intended 
to back Mulder up, regardless of Bureau policy and procedure, 
regardless of the law.  This was a personal war, and not one she 
and Mulder intended to lose because FBI High Command was less 
vested in the outcome... or had a surreptitious conflict of 
interest.  

They were going to get their son back. 

Skinner let his tired eyes fall shut.  What a fucking mess.  This 
whole situation was out of control.  There were more sides than 
he cared to think about, and caught in the middle were two 
innocent children.  His agents - his FRIENDS - were only parents 
trying to protect their child, when all was said and done.  They 
could not be expected to adhere to FBI standards of professional 
conduct under circumstances such as these.  There was something 
innate that came into play and couldn't be overridden - a 
parent's natural instinct to defend its young.  Though he didn't 
have children of his own, Skinner understood and respected the 
fierce response parents were capable of when their children were 
threatened.  He'd seen it in Nam.  There was no soldier as 
ruthless as a parent who feared for the life of his or her child. 
 

But while fighting spirit unquestionably affected advantage, too 
much was a precursor to recklessness.  He opened his eyes again, 
regarding his friends with a bolstered sense of determination.  
He wasn't going to let them martyr themselves through an act of 
carelessness.  "I'll do what I can to cover for you, Mulder... 
but only under one condition."

Chary eyes begged the question.

"I want to be there when you go after Kosov.  You're both 
operating on a lot of emotion right now.  You know as well as I 
do that's a recipe for disaster.  Someone with a cool head has to 
be there to back you up."

Mulder smirked and started to say something but Skinner leveled a 
warning finger at him before he could get a word out.  "You crack 
a bald joke, smart ass, and you're on your way back to a jail 
cell."

Scully bit back a laugh as her husband donned his best "Who me?" 
face.  She was about to elbow Mulder in the ribs for his 
impertinence, when a familiar voice startled her from behind.

"Walter, where'd you go?  I rolled over and- oh!"

Mulder and Scully turned their heads in unison to see Skinner's 
assistant Kimberly, standing at the entrance to the living room, 
wearing only her boss's dress shirt and a look of absolute 
mortification.  

"Agent Mulder.  Agent Scully."  She greeted them courteously 
despite her utter chagrin, and then turned eyes of apology to her 
blushing lover.  "I didn't realize..."

Skinner cleared his throat, reminding himself that embarrassment 
wasn't a fatal condition.  "It's all right, Kim."  

Several awkward seconds later, Kimberly decided retreat was 
probably her best option.  "Um... If you'll excuse me, I - ah - I 
think I'll just go get dressed."

"Sure."  Mulder smiled politely, but took full advantage of the 
occasion to ogle a nice pair of legs.

Scully wiggled her fingers in a sheepish wave, empathetic to the 
other woman's plight.  Having been in a few delicate relationship 
situations herself in the past, Scully knew all too well the 
import of discretion.    

As soon as Kimberly disappeared down the hall, Mulder began the 
gleeful inquisition.  "Well, well, well.  You and Kim?  When did 
all this happen?"

Skinner couldn't meet the younger man's eyes.  "I don't know... I 
guess things have been heading in this direction for a while.  
You work with someone for years..."  He shrugged.  "One day you 
finally decide to stop ignoring the obvious."

"Is that how it happens?"  Mulder grinned and winked at his wife, 
who scolded him with a look.

Scully attempted to alleviate some of Skinner's distress.  "Sir, 
I hope you know we'll respect your privacy in regards to this 
matter."

"I appreciate that."  Skinner nodded.  Certainly if anyone knew 
how to keep an office romance hush-hush it was these two.

"We should go, Mulder," Scully urged softly, checking her watch. 



"Yeah, it'll be getting light soon," Mulder agreed.  He stood up 
and Skinner and Scully followed suit.  "We'll be in touch."

Skinner nodded, showing them out.  "In the mean time, lay low and 
behave yourselves."

"I could say the same thing to you."  Mulder waggled his 
eyebrows, and flashed a broad grin.  It wasn't often a guy got 
something this good on a friend.  No way was he going to pass up 
the chance to harass Skinner.  He still remembered the lecture a 
certain assistant director gave him on the compulsory use of 
prophylactics by federal agents in the course of the performance 
of duties where potential risk factors exist, and the consequence 
of failing to properly observe Bureau guidelines.  Hell yeah, he 
was going to hassle the man!   

Skinner rolled his eyes and tried not to go red in the face all 
over again.  Damn Mulder anyway - he was never going to let this 
go.

At the door, Mulder turned back.  He'd catch hell from Scully 
later, but he just had to ask - had to push one more button.  
"She made the first move, didn't she?" 

Frowning, Skinner held the door.  "Get outta here, Mulder."   

"That's what I thought."  With a knowing gleam in his eyes and a 
smug smile, Mulder allowed his wife to pull him into the hall.

When he started to chuckle to himself as they walked to the 
elevator, Scully sent a furtive glance in her husband's 
direction. "Like you're one to talk."





*  *  *  *





~CHAPTER 17~



Laurel, Maryland Friday, June 23, 2006 11:27 PM





He told her to call him 'Dedushka' - Grandfather.  He'd saved her 
from that horrible hospital, those men with the needles and the 
scary machines, the tests that made her cry.  Dedushka promised 
to take her to Papa...  





It was a warm night, but Evaneiia shivered as she stepped out 
onto the shipping dock of the old cannery.  It was dark and she 
was afraid.  She wanted very much to go home.

As the little girl and her hulking escort passed a stack of 
storage pallets, there was a scurrying noise - the scraping of 
sharp, tiny claws, as some small creature startled and scampered 
away.  

Evaneiia jumped and shrieked. 

"Shh!  Quiet!" Kosov admonished her sternly, his eyes darting 
around the deserted loading platform.  There were three forgotten 
boxcars rusting on the train tracks, and out of one of them 
stepped Alex Krycek.     

"Evie!"  Seeing his daughter again after weeks of worry, brought 
a flood of relief.

"Papa!"  Evaneiia tried to run to her father, but Kosov refused 
to allow it, holding her back.  "Let me go!" she demanded, 
struggling against his vice-like grip.

"Not so fast, little one," Kosov warned, in a thick Russian 
accent. He studied Krycek like a snake calculating his best 
method of strike. 

"I kept my part of the deal, Kosov!  Let her go!"  

Alex moved out of the shadows, and the bright light of the moon 
caught him, revealing his badly battered face.  Evaneiia 
flinched; her dark eyes went wide.  But there was no visible 
reaction from Kosov.     

A haughty laugh shook the big Russian's body. "Alex, you are such 
a fool.  Do you really believe that I would risk having one of my 
creations fall into the wrong hands again?"

"My daughter is not your creation, old man."  These arrogant 
pricks like Kosov and CGB were all the same.  They thought 
themselves gods - that they had somehow been ordained as masters 
of the human race. Alex did his best to check his anger.  "You've 
got Mulder's boy. You don't need Evaneiia to continue your work. 
 Besides, you offered us your protection as part of the 
agreement."  

"I lied," Kosov stated bluntly.

"We had a deal!  I did everything you asked of me!"  Alex played 
up the desperation in his voice, at the same time reminding 
himself he'd have the opportunity to spit in the face of this pig 
very soon.  

Kosov pulled a pistol from the pocket of his coat.  "You, of all 
people, should be wary of deception," he said, taking aim at 
Krycek's heart.  "I'm afraid this lesson, unfortunately, comes at 
a high price for you, my dear comrade."  

Alex didn't want to appear overconfident, for fear Kosov would 
suspect a trap.  "You won't get away with this.  If anything 
happens to me, Marita will expose you to the others."

"Marita Covarrubias is dead."  He stated it flatly, coldly.

"Mama," Evaneiia whimpered, starting to cry as she vainly 
attempted to pry her hand free from Kosov's meaty paw.  

"What?"  The news shook Alex hard.  It couldn't be true; he'd 
just left Marita at the motel.

Kosov's melodramatic sigh was mocking.  "The chambermaid will 
stumble upon the gruesome scene when she comes to tidy the room 
in the morning.  By then, your lovely Marita's two assailants 
will be long gone, disappearing back under the rock where I found 
them, with enough money to assure their silence.  You'd be 
surprised how reasonably one can hire hit men.  Of course there's 
always certain pleasurable enticements to be considered when the 
target is a beautiful woman.  I'm sure they enjoyed some of the 
fringe benefits, before all was said and done."

In his rage, Alex forgot everything else.  He drew his gun and 
pointed it at Kosov's round face.  "You lousy bastard!  I'm going 
to fucking kill you!"  

"NO!"  Scully yelled, rushing out from her hiding place, her own 
weapon trained on Krycek.  "Put it down!  Put it down!  We need 
him alive!" she screamed.

"Damn it!"  This is what Skinner had been afraid would happen.  
He rolled off the overhead conveyer, landing as sure as a cat, a 
few yards behind Scully.  His .45 leveled at Kosov.

The large man panicked.  He grabbed up Evaneiia, shielding 
himself with her body as he pressed the barrel of his 9mm Makarov 
to the child's head.  "All of you, drop your weapons or I kill 
the girl right now!  You will watch her die!"

Standoff.  Everyone calculating the options.

>From Mulder's vantage point, atop a nearby stack of pallets, he 
could see Kosov's finger begin to tighten on the trigger.  

"Do you hear me?  I swear I'll kill her!"

Evaneiia sobbed - terrified - as hard steel was cruelly pushed 
into her temple for emphasis.  "Papa... I want Mama.  I want to 
go home."

Alex's vision blurred with tears.  "It's all right, honey - it's 
all right.  Don't be scared."  He bent down carefully, placing 
his gun on the ground in front of him, then raising his hands as 
he backed away.  

Scully and Skinner did the same.  

"Don't hurt her, man, okay?  Please?" Alex begged.  "Don't hurt 
her."

All of a sudden Mulder felt something crawl up his pant leg.  
Furry little body - sharp claws - long, leathery tail - A RAT!  A 
GODDAMN FUCKING RAT!  He yelped in surprise and disgust, 
frantically kicking his leg... in serious danger of falling from 
his precarious position.  

The rodent scurried out of his hostile environment and 
disappeared back into the catacomb of wood.  

Krycek took advantage of the momentary distraction.  Knowing this 
might be his only chance to rescue his daughter, he charged at 
Kosov. But the doctor turned back a moment sooner than 
anticipated, jumping aside just as Alex launched himself for the 
attack.  Krycek ended up face down on the concrete.

Backpedaling, Kosov edged closer and closer toward the end of the 
dock, his eyes bouncing back and forth, attempting to watch 
everyone at once.  

He had the look of a cornered animal, and Mulder knew the man was 
every bit as dangerous.

"All of you stay where you are or I shoot!"

"Daddy!"  Evaneiia winced and closed her eyes tight.  

No fucking way was Alex going to let this asshole make a run for 
it with Evie.  Keeping a constant watch on Kosov's every move, he 
very slowly inched his hand down to the Colt concealed at his 
ankle. There wasn't much time.  Kosov had reached the stairs.  He 
had to shoot clean.  It was now or never.

Kosov caught Krycek's movements out of the corner of his eye and 
immediately turned his gun on him, firing off three quick rounds.

Alex ducked fast and rolled out of danger behind a large crate, 
but he lost his weapon in the process.

Kosov knew there was no way he would escape with the girl.  Time 
to cut your losses, Vladimir, and run.

In an unexpected move, Kosov shoved Evaneiia to the ground hard. 
Everyone's hearts leapt into their throats as he callously took 
aim at the small child huddled at his feet.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Krycek screamed, disregarding his own safety as he 
raced to protect his daughter.

He'd never make it.    

Three loud cracks echoed into the night air.

Dr. Vladimir Kosov collapsed and slid backwards down the stairs.

Alex grabbed up his trembling daughter, cradling her in his arms 
and whispering a litany of soothing words against her ear.

Scully and Skinner were on Mulder's heels, rushing toward the 
stairs.  All three stopped short when they saw him - or what was 
left of him.  Mulder's shots had taken out a sizable chunk from 
Kosov's head.  The man lay staring blankly up at the stars, an 
expression of horror forever frozen on his face.

"Fuck!" Mulder swore bitterly, furious with himself.

"You didn't have a choice," Skinner tried to console his agent.

Scully just stood there, staring at the body until she couldn't 
take it anymore and she covered her eyes with one hand, tears of 
anger and frustration spilling over her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Scully," Mulder tried, but she shook her head and 
turned her back to him.  And then, to add insult to his pain, 
Mulder heard the sound of an engine sparking to life and tires 
squealing...  He spun around to confirm his suspicion.  "Shit!"  
 

Krycek and Evaneiia were gone.





*  *  *  *





~Chapter 18~





Hoover Building Basement office of the X-Files Division Thursday, 
June 29, 2006 9:18 AM







When Mulder returned from the copier room he found Donaldson 
leaning over Scully, both hands resting on her desk, trapping her 
where she sat.  He was saying something to her, but Mulder 
couldn't hear what it was.  Didn't matter.  The combination of 
the other man's inappropriate proximity and position, and the 
troubled look on Scully's face, was more than enough information. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"   

Joe Donaldson looked up in surprise.  

It was the blonde agent's frightened expression that finally 
triggered Mulder's memory, jealousy seizing him as he remembered 
that day in the lab... walking in to find a wet-behind-the-ears 
rookie putting the moves on his partner.  Mulder couldn't say 
anything back then; it wasn't his place - though he'd managed to 
scare Donaldson off with little more than an alpha male stare.   
 

"I came down here to apologize," Agent Donaldson explained, 
backing away from Mulder's steady, intimidating advance.

Mulder caught up with him and growled in a low voice, right in 
his face, "If I ever catch you anywhere near my wife again, you 
WILL be sorry."

Starting to sweat, Donaldson choked out a defensive reply over 
the lump that had formed in his throat.  "Christ, Mulder, do you 
think I'm an idiot or something?"

"Or something," Mulder echoed.  His eyes narrowed to a menacing 
glare, until the other man started to squirm.  "Get the fuck out 
of here, Donaldson.  We're not interested in your apologies.  
You're only trying to save your ass with Skinner."

"Look, there's no reason for hard feelings here.  I was just 
doing my job-"

Mulder cut him off.  "Save it for the OPR hearing.  Agent Scully 
and I intend to file grievances."

Donaldson started to say something and then thought better of it. 
Any further exchange ended with the arrival of a familiar face.

"Am I interruptin' anything?"  John Doggett, a little older, but 
still the same lanky frame and piercing blue eyes poked his head 
in the door.

Scully was up and out of her chair in a heartbeat.  "Agent 
Doggett." She met him with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek.  
"It's good to see you, John."

"Hey, if I'da known the reception was gonna be so warm, I'da made 
a trip down here a lot soona," he remarked, in his native New 
Yorker drawl.

"You're always welcome here, you know that."  She smiled at him.

"I wasn't so sure..."  Doggett stopped short, glancing 
uncomfortably at Donaldson, and exchanging hesitant looks with 
Mulder and Scully.

"I was just leaving," Donaldson announced, picking up his cue.  

After he left, the tension in the room eased considerably.  
"Look, if it means anything to ya, I feel terrible about the way 
things went down afta yous two guys resigned."

"Don't worry about it." Mulder told him.  "There was nothing you 
could have done.  Skinner explained that Kersh was determined to 
shut down the X-Files."

Doggett nodded.  "Yeah, well, that may be true, but I feel like I 
let you down.  Anyways, I just came to say, I'm glad you're 
back." He paused and then added a bit more somberly, "I'm sorry 
about Adam. If there's anything I can do... you just name it.  I 
mean that not just professionally, but on a personal level, too."

"Thank you, John."  Scully squeezed his hand.  "For everything."

A thin-lipped smile and a wink, and then Doggett pointed a 
warning finger in Mulder's direction.  "Hey, Mulduh, you stay 
outta trouble now, you hear me?"

"I'll try," Mulder promised, deadpan.  "But it always has this 
way of sneaking up and biting me on the ass."







*  *  *  *  *





Reeves Restaurant Washington DC Thursday, June 29, 2006 12:47 PM



Scully had been pensive all through lunch.  A mother and her baby 
were seated at a table across the restaurant, and since the 
moment they'd arrived, Scully's eyes had been on the child, to 
the exclusion of everything else.

Brow knit with concern, Mulder watched his wife silently.  
Neither of them had touched a bite of their food.

Since Saturday night's disaster, they'd had so much to deal with 
they'd scarcely had time to talk.  With Skinner's help, they'd 
cleared things up with the authorities in Massachusetts.  Adam's 
case was strictly a Bureau matter now, as it fell under the 
category of interstate kidnapping.  Krycek had vanished, once 
again.  And if Marita was dead, her body had yet to be found.  
The late Dr. Vladimir Kosov was turning out to be one of those 
people who never existed - on paper anyway.  They could find no 
record that he'd ever been born, gone to school, held a job, paid 
taxes, been arrested, seen a doctor, or applied for a passport.  
It was frustrating as hell, but they were back at square one in 
the search for their son.

As Mulder watched Scully now, staring at that baby, his heart 
ached. Her lovely blue eyes, that only a few weeks ago sparkled 
with joy as she looked at their own son, were pained and dull 
with sorrow.  How different this moment might have been if he 
hadn't killed Kosov. In a heartbeat, Mulder had traded away what 
could very well have been their last and only hope of finding 
Adam alive, to save the life of another man's child.  It happened 
so fast, there wasn't time to think, but now he couldn't STOP 
thinking about it.  At the time, there was no question in his 
mind but to stop Kosov from murdering an innocent little girl; 
and yet, as ashamed as Mulder was to admit it, in retrospect, he 
was plagued with regret.  It would have been far easier to watch 
Evaneiia die, than to face this misery in Scully's eyes for the 
rest of his life.     

"I'm sorry, Mulder," she said at last, drifting back to him from 
someplace sad and far away.

"For what?" he asked.

"Being so selfish."  Scully traced patterns with her fingernail 
in the condensation that had formed along the sides of her 
untouched glass of iced tea, avoiding his gaze.  

"You?"  He almost laughed.  "Scully, you're the least selfish 
person I've ever met."

She shook her head, still refusing to look at him.  "That's not 
true.  I've been terribly selfish.  It was my heart's desire that 
led us down this ill-fated path.  I was so... OBSESSED with 
having a child, I refused to stop and ask myself if I really 
should."

He sighed.  "Sweetheart, don't do this.  Don't blame yourself."

"The choice was mine, Mulder.  There's no one else at fault.  I 
wanted so badly to be a mother - to have a child of my own to 
love - that I thoughtlessly disregarded everything else."

"We BOTH wanted a child.  We made the choice together.  At least 
that's what we intended.  Even if, ultimately, it was 
circumstance that decided."  

She nodded, conceding the point.  "But if you could somehow go 
back, reconsider... would you choose differently?"

"What if there was only one choice and all the other ones were 
wrong?"  He posed the question she'd put to him the night they'd 
first made love.

She regarded him solemnly.  "Did we make the wrong choice, 
Mulder?"

His first response was an immediate and resounding NO, but 
something in her eyes stopped him.  He gave it thought.  And the 
longer he considered it, the more troublesome the question 
became.  In the end, he could do nothing more than reach across 
the table and take her hand...









*  *  *  *











~Epilogue~





Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts Saturday, November 18, 2006 3:27 
AM





Trips to The Vineyard were bittersweet for her now, but 
nonetheless treasured.  Five long months had passed since Adam's 
kidnapping. With the chill of late autumn in the air, she and 
Mulder had retreated to their island home for yet another weekend 
of much-needed rest.  A chance for Scully to replenish her 
spirits with memories of her lost son.  

As had become her routine during these pilgrimages home, she 
wandered through the house like an apparition, in the wee hours 
of the morning, when Mulder had finally exhausted himself with a 
restless night of tossing and turning, and was deeply ensconced 
in sleep.  She drifted quietly from room to room... remembering. 
 

The house echoed with childish laughter and clung to images of a 
little boy at play.  These visits brought Scully closer to Adam; 
and she lived in constant fear of losing this last connection 
with her child.  The sights, sounds, and smells that assailed her 
senses, sparked visions from the past.  Though it was just a 
fantasy, for a few hours each week, she could have him back - if 
only in her imagination.  Sometimes Scully would play along with 
the fantasy, fixing Adam breakfast, and envisioning how happy 
he'd be when he woke to the sweet, enticing smell of her 
blueberry pancakes.  As much as the process hurt, she wanted to 
hold on to every last memory of her son.  

All roads, thus far, in the search for Adam had been dead ends.  
If Dr. Kosov had any associates, they'd conspired to silence upon 
his death.  No one was talking, no matter how hard she and Mulder 
pressed.  The prospect that he might have been working alone, 
made Scully sick to her stomach every time she allowed her 
thoughts to tread down that forbidden path.  For if Adam had been 
imprisoned somewhere, unattended, awaiting Kosov's return, the 
boy would have died of neglect, after who knows how many days of 
suffering. Frightened.  Alone.  Perhaps confined in the dark - 
sick and weak from lack of food and water.  Eventually to meet 
his cruel death, crying pitifully for her and Mulder to come to 
him... 

Scully shuddered, and tried to refocus her mind.  She had to hold 
out hope that they would find him alive one day.  That promise 
was the only thing that kept her going all these long months.

In the predawn hours of that cold November morning, Scully made 
her way up the narrow staircase that led into the attic; the 
steady patter on the rooftop having reminded her of Adam's 
'secret' rainy day hideout nested amongst the eves.  She'd 
discovered his stash of books and toys by accident last year, 
when she was helping Mulder patch a leak in the roof after a 
storm.  Scully hadn't revisited this place since Adam had been 
taken, and thought surely the boy's presence would be strong 
here.  

It was her intent to sit amongst Adam's things and meditate, to 
send comforting thoughts to her son, as she had every day to 
Mulder, when they'd been separated during his abduction.  Though 
Scully's faith in God had been seriously damaged as a result of 
Adam's kidnapping, her conviction in the power of spiritual 
associations remained strong. She believed that if she focused 
her energy, Adam might know she was with him, that he wasn't 
alone, and they had not given up searching for him.  Sometimes 
she even thought she could feel him reaching out to her, his 
small hands clutching her heart.  Other times, when her optimism 
was overshadowed by frustration and despair, Scully found herself 
wondering if she'd just imagined these psychic connections out of 
some desperate need to hold out a reason for hope.

Moving past the various boxes and clutter, Scully's eyes fell 
upon a few of the old baby items Mulder had stored away, thinking 
that one day he might convince her to have another child.  It had 
been a persistent dream of his since the first moment he 
experienced fatherhood.  Up until Adam had been taken from them, 
Mulder was forever dropping little hints, pointing out newborns 
to Scully, with a pleading look on his face.  On several 
occasions he'd almost won his case with her.  Now Scully was glad 
she'd put him off.  They had no right to bring children into the 
world, who were damned by their own genetics.  She refused to 
allow her womb to be used as a production facility for highly 
prized, superhuman infants, destined only to become lab animals. 
 

Never again, she promised herself.  Never again. 

The sight of Adam's old bassinet melted away some of the 
bitterness that had suddenly taken hold of Scully.  As her anger 
receded, her mind flashed back to the picture of a precious 
newborn, swaddled snuggly in his tiny bed, peering up at her with 
big, dark eyes.  And that vision triggered another...



A petite package wrapped in glittering gold paper and tied with a 
white satin ribbon - she found it nestled in the bassinet with 
the baby. 

"What's this?" she asked, casting a suspicious glance around the 
room, noticing how hard Mulder was pretending to be engrossed in 
the newspaper.  When he didn't respond, she cleared her throat 
and tried again.  "Mulder?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, from somewhere behind the newsprint.

"I asked what this is."  The hint of a smile played on Scully's 
lips as she lifted the nicely wrapped present out of the bassinet 
and waved it at him.

One corner of the Washington Post bent back to reveal Mulder's 
best poker face.  "Oh, that?  It's a little something Adam picked 
up for you."  He retreated back to his charade of reading the 
sport's page, remarking with feigned displeasure, "The kid's a 
big spender, Scully. I'm not sure I can afford his tastes."

"Is that so?"  She giggled, wondering what bit of silliness 
Mulder had chosen to spring on her this time.  After years of 
enduring his unusual gift choices, Scully had actually come to 
cherish the strange baubles he bestowed upon her every now and 
then.  With cautious enthusiasm, she went about opening her gift, 
expecting anything but what she found when the contents were 
finally revealed.  

Under the gold paper was a blue and white box from Pampillonia 
Jewelers (DC's finest)... and inside the box was the most 
stunning platinum and diamond ring Scully had ever seen in her 
life, with a fortune cookie sized slip of paper that simply read 
- 'Marry my daddy.' 

Tears welling in her eyes, Scully looked up from the box to see 
Mulder standing anxiously before her.  

"Scully?" he asked, obviously unsure what to make of her silence. 



"I don't know what to say," she breathed, astonished.  She really 
hadn't expected this -neither she nor Mulder having broached the 
subject of marriage, prior to that moment.

"Cut the kid a break - say yes.  It's his first proposal."

Scully picked up her son, who squeaked and cooed in anticipation 
of an early supper.  "A proposal from a handsome guy like this, 
how can a girl possibly say no?"  She pressed a kiss to his 
velvety-soft forehead.  "I'd love to marry your daddy, Adam.  I'd 
be honored." Elated, Scully risked a peek up at Mulder, and found 
herself matching the huge grin he wore.  Their eyes met just 
seconds before Mulder leaned in and nearly swallowed her whole 
with a kiss...



The remembrance of that joyful moment could not take away the 
sorrow that had now become a fixed part of Scully's soul.  In 
fact, the desperate longing that memory provoked left her nearly 
convulsing with loss.  She dropped to her knees beside Adam's 
empty cradle and cried.





*  *  *  *  *





He wouldn't have noticed her at all, except the slight movement 
of Scully's head caused the luster of her hair to catch the light 
from the flickering fire.  Alerted to her presence, Mulder 
studied his wife with concern as she sat in the window seat, lost 
in another melancholy trance.  He considered speaking to her, but 
decided it was pointless.  She was only across the living room, 
but it might as well have been the other side of the world.

As he turned to leave her, resigned to another lonely weekend, 
Mulder stopped at the bar cart, mechanically pouring himself a 
generous portion of gin.  His throat burned with the first fiery 
swallow, but it wouldn't be long before he became numb to the 
sensation.  And if he drank enough, he'd eventually become 
anesthetized to his own miserable existence.  Bringing the glass 
to his lips the second time, Mulder happened to glance in the 
mirror as he was leaving the room... and for a brief instant, his 
reflection was transformed into the likeness of his father.  He 
gaped at the image, staring with repulsion at the drink in his 
hand.  In the background of that telling picture, he saw Scully, 
her reflection suddenly becoming a haunting portrait of his 
mother. 

In the span of a few heartbeats, it became clear to him - and he 
wanted to scream.  He knew this story all too well.  He'd been a 
firsthand witness to it, right through to its final pitiful act. 
He and Scully were playing out their own sorrowful version of his 
parents' tragedy.  The parallels were undeniable.  The only 
question was - could he stop it?

Putting down the sinister drink, he turned to Scully.  If there 
was a way out of this for them, Mulder knew he would need her 
help.  She seemed oblivious to his being there; and now that he 
had made the connection, Mulder realized she was wearing the same 
vacant look his mother had perfected after Samantha had been 
taken so many years ago. He felt like a helpless child again, 
wanting to fix things, but not knowing how.

As his panic grew, Mulder's eyes swept the room, searching for 
answers, as if they would somehow be provided like the clues at 
the scene of a crime.  But all he found, in the once comforting 
surroundings of their beloved home, was an impending sense of 
doom. That which he previously treasured now felt like a trap - 
and his immediate instinct was to escape.

"I think we should sell the house," he blurted out, without a 
second thought; the urgent tone of his declaration shaking Scully 
from her dazed state.

She blinked at him confused - certain he couldn't have said what 
she thought she heard.  "I'm sorry.  What was that, Mulder?"

Resolute in his assertion, Mulder moved closer, despite his sense 
that he was treading in dangerous waters.  "I want to sell the 
house. There are too many memories here."

Her look of reproach made it clear what she thought of his 
outrageous suggestion.  "So... what?  You just want to forget 
Adam now?  Is that what you're saying?  Sell the house and 
everything that reminds us of him... and what then?  Pretend he 
never existed?  I can't do that!"  Jumping to her feet, she faced 
him defiantly.  "I WON'T do that!"

Mulder took firm hold of Scully's shoulders, his eyes pleading 
with her to understand.  "I'm not asking you to forget him.  But 
I think it would be better - for both of us - if we weren't 
surrounded by constant reminders of what we've lost."  

Her heart was racing at the very thought of giving up Adam's 
little garden, his tree fort, and his secret hideout in the 
attic... all that remained to be cherished of the child she and 
Mulder gave life. He couldn't do this to her.  Didn't he know 
that she lived for these weekends on The Vineyard?  "This place, 
the memories here, they're my only connection with him.  Please 
don't take them from me," she begged.

Her desperation only served to prove to Mulder that his 
suspicions were correct.  "Scully, you don't understand.  It's 
happening to us, just like it did to them."

"You're not making any sense.  What are you talking about?  WHO 
are you talking about?"

"My parents, Scully!  After my sister was taken, everything fell 
apart for them.  My mother withdrew inside herself.  She would 
wander through the house like a ghost, every little thing 
reminding her of Samantha.  She all but abandoned my father and 
me, retreating into her memories rather than face life without my 
sister."  He paused a moment to let the implication sink in.  
"Does this sound familiar to you?" 

"I'm here," Scully protested.  "I haven't abandoned you!"

Mulder shook his head sadly.  "You're here but you're not...  You 
exist in this life only so much as your body has form.  I swear, 
Scully, sometimes when I look at you I can almost see right 
through you.  You're becoming a ghost, just like she did."

"What do you want from me, Mulder?  I'm dealing with this the 
best I can."  She pulled out of his grasp, turning her back on 
him.  Why was he doing this to her?  He knew damn good and well 
she would never leave him!  Hadn't she proven that time and time 
again?  Maybe she'd been a little distant lately, but she was 
only trying to spare him the weight of her grief on top of his 
own.  Sometimes Mulder's persistent neediness was more than she 
could take.  

Though he knew he was angering her, he continued with his story, 
hoping to make her understand why he was so afraid for them. 
"Shortly after Samantha was taken, Dad started drinking... his 
way of escaping it all, I suppose.  He eventually became an 
alcoholic.  I swore that would never happen to me; and yet..."  
Mulder cast a guilty glance in the direction of the mostly-empty 
bottle of gin, knowing he'd been retreating to alcohol with 
increasing frequency in recent weeks.  The need to physically 
connect with her became acute at that moment.  Standing a few 
inches behind her wasn't enough. He moved closer, cringing when 
she tensed at his touch.  "Dana - their marriage fell apart, and 
neither of them seemed to give a damn.  They were too preoccupied 
with their grief."  Mulder's voice dropped to a whisper, as he 
wrapped his arms around Scully, holding her tight. "Baby, 
please... help me stop this from happening to us."

He'd managed to bring her to tears again; though it was not 
really much of an amazing feat these days.  Scully was certain 
she was suffering from depression; she hadn't realized the 
severity until Mulder challenged her by drawing the comparison 
with his parents. Her eyes took in the diminishing contents of 
the bottles on the bar. And a sickening lump formed in the pit of 
her stomach as she realized that rather than turning to Mulder 
for comfort, she'd been seeking refuge there too.  He was right. 
 How in the hell had it come to this?  Surely they were stronger 
than Bill and Teena Mulder.  They loved each other more, didn't 
they?  Or had she judged Mulder's parents too harshly all these 
years?  Perhaps, long ago, they were as devoted to one another as 
she and Mulder were.  

She couldn't let this happen.  She couldn't lose the most 
important person in her world.  Their lives were spinning out of 
control, the centrifugal force of their downward spiral tearing 
her and Mulder apart.  He was reaching out to her... but could 
she grab hold?  And if she could, did she have the strength to 
hang on?  "It's so hard, Mulder.  I miss him," she confessed, 
ashamed of her weakness. Failing Mulder had always been Scully's 
biggest fear.

"I know.  I know.  I miss him too."   He gave her a squeeze, 
reassuring her of his presence and support.  "But we can't let 
this destroy us.  We can't become like my parents."   Her silent 
nod of agreement gave him courage again.  "I thought if we sold 
the house-"

Scully turned back to him now, confronting him with her appeal.  
"I NEED this house.  I don't want to let go.  I'm afraid..."  

Yes, she was afraid.  He could see it so plainly in the azure 
puddles that punctuated her plea.  "I understand, sweetheart, but 
we have to let go a little.  Don't you see... it's for our own 
good?" Mulder brought a hand up to caress his wife's cheek, 
experiencing an ache of sexual desire as the softness of her 
porcelain skin made him long for more than an innocent touch.  He 
sighed his frustration, admitting a heartbreaking truth.  "I 
can't even remember when the last time was that we made love."

Months.  It had been months since they'd shared physical intimacy 
beyond holding hands or a passionless kiss.  And the worst part 
was, Scully hadn't even noticed until Mulder brought it up.  
Their marriage truly was at risk of falling apart.  Somehow, she 
had to find the strength and courage to keep from repeating Teena 
Mulder's failure.  "I can't sell the house... but maybe... maybe 
we could close it up for the winter, and stay in DC."  She wiped 
the tears from her face and took a deep breath, steeling herself. 
 "I'm sorry. That's all I can give you at the moment."

"That's okay, Scully.  I think it's a fair compromise."  Just 
knowing that he'd reached her was a huge relief.  She was by his 
side again - where she belonged.  He wouldn't have to fight this 
alone. 







*  *  *  *  *





Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts Saturday, November 18, 2006 
11:21 PM







Scully shivered, and Mulder tugged on the forgotten blanket, 
cocooning their naked bodies in the thickness of the handmade 
quilt. The last embers of the neglected fire no longer were 
enough to keep the drafts at bay.  And while it might have been 
decidedly romantic, making love on the floor in front of the 
crackling fire, there was something to be said for the comfort of 
a warm bed on a cold night. Still, neither was about to complain 
about the circumstances.  They'd just indulged in a long-overdue 
lovemaking session, and were feeling far too contented at present 
to care.  

Having spent the entire afternoon preparing the house for its 
winter hibernation, they'd collapsed in front of the fire after a 
meager but satisfying supper of chowder and bread.  They talked 
for a while - about trivial things at first, like going out 
together for coffee in the morning, and sending Tara flowers for 
her birthday next week. But as the evening wore on and they 
became reacquainted, relaxing into the comfortable camaraderie 
they knew so well, verbiage lost out to a more intimate form of 
dialogue. 

It started with a look; their eyes met and an unspoken agreement 
was made.  It was time.  Time to let go.  Time to take a reprieve 
and allow passion to carry them away to a place sorrow could not 
overshadow.  Their initial need for comfort brought them into 
each other's arms, but desire was the catalyst that incited them 
to a frenzied consummation. 

And now as they basked in the afterglow, exhilarated and 
exhausted, the future did not seem as grim as it had when the day 
began.

Mulder nuzzled Scully's ear, whispering his affections as he 
intermittently nipped and nibbled.  "God, I love you, Scully... 
so much... I'd never survive without you."

Her eyes rolled back, and she shivered again, this time from the 
sheer pleasure of his ministrations.  "Shh... Mmmm... Mulder, 
don't even say it-"  Her breath hitched as he hit a particularly 
sensitive spot on the back of her neck.  "Ahh...  You'll give 
them... Mmm... ideas."

He chuckled softly, a rich, sexy sound that traveled right 
through her.  "Is that your paranoia talking, Scully, or just a 
bit of existential anxiety?"

Mmm... Pillow talk.  Scully smiled impishly, purring a reply.  
"Is there a difference?"

He considered her question and was about to offer commentary when 
a loud rap at the door startled them both, destroying the mood.

"Aww...shit," Mulder grumbled, grabbing for and struggling into 
his blue jeans, while Scully snatched up his T-shirt for herself. 
 

"Who would be calling at this hour?" Scully wondered as she 
helped Mulder with a hasty clean up, stowing their remaining 
clothing inside the quilt and tossing the whole bundle into the 
coat closet on the way to the door.

"Ten to one, whoever it is, they're not selling Girl Scout 
cookies," Mulder mumbled, taking a cautious peek through the 
window.  The porch light wasn't working.  Strange - he'd replaced 
that bulb only yesterday.  The hairs on the back of his neck 
bristled as Mulder squinted to make out the shadowed figure at 
the door.  Though he couldn't identify the individual in the 
darkness, the mannerisms of the person seemed suspicious enough 
to warrant extra precautions. "Scully-"

The distinctive sound of a slide engaging and hammer being cocked 
stopped Mulder in mid-sentence. 

"Gotcha covered, love," Scully assured him. 

Mulder turned from the window to find his wife at the ready, SIG 
in hand, positioned just off the line of sight of the front door, 
guaranteeing herself the advantage should their late-night caller 
have hostile intentions.  She looked sexy as hell, standing there 
freshly fucked, wearing nothing but his oversize T-shirt, and 
holding a semiautomatic in her hot little hands.  Hmm... Maybe 
later he'd talk Agent Scully into playing an X-rated version of 
good cop/bad cop... That naughty fantasy in mind, he couldn't 
resist stealing a quick kiss from her on the way to the door.

Scully stood tense, her finger worrying the trigger of her 
weapon, as Mulder unlocked the deadbolt and turned the knob.  For 
a disturbingly long time, there was silence.  She held her 
breath, waiting...

Until finally.

"Krycek."  Mulder spat the name like a curse.

Letting out a shaky breath, Scully relaxed her stance, but 
remained hidden.  'Trust no one, Dana,' she reminded herself; 
especially not this particular rat bastard, who, every time he 
came into her life, brought tragedy.  Her abduction, Melissa's 
murder, Mulder's father's murder, Mulder's abduction, and Adam's 
kidnapping, were just some of the misfortunes she associated with 
the man.  

Krycek's sociable greeting would lead one to believe no such 
history ever existed.  "How are you, my friend?" he beamed. 

"As well as can be expected."  Mulder's voice was bitter cold; he 
had so many reasons to hate this man.  "What do you want now, 
Krycek? I figured you'd be on the run after everything that went 
down.  You certainly took off in a big hurry."  

"I'm sorry about that.  I was concerned for my family's safety," 
Alex apologized.  He'd barely gotten back to the motel in time to 
save Marita's life.

"Yeah, well, you're welcome," Mulder spat with contempt.  It was 
so nice of you to lead us into a trap and then scurry off into 
your rat hole after we saved your tail. 

"Don't think I didn't appreciate your sacrifice."  Alex had never 
been particularly convincing at sincerity.  

Mulder barked a scornful laugh.  "Considering your part in 
everything that happened, I'd say you have a lot of guts showing 
your face on my front doorstep, Krycek.  What the hell are you 
doing here?"

"I owe you a great debt for saving Evaneiia's life.  And though I 
may not live by the same moral code as you, I don't like to be 
indebted to anyone."

Before Mulder had time to reply, a small figure stepped into view 
from around the doorway.  

"Daddy?"

"ADAM!"  Scully's scream hit Mulder first, resonating over the 
pounding of his heart, breaking though his shock, as she raced 
past him to their son.

My God!  Adam!  Alive, and safe... and HOME!  And on the 
receiving end of a hug from his mother that threatened to 
asphyxiate the poor kid.  

On her knees, Scully clung to her son for all she was worth, 
sobbing, "My baby, my baby, my baby..." as she rocked him side to 
side.  Unbelievable!  Just like that - they had him back.  The 
doctor in her wanted to examine the child immediately, from head 
to toe - twice - and then once more just to be sure; but the 
mother in her simply couldn't let go.  It felt too good to be 
holding him, after all these months.  He was solid and real and 
perfect... not like the memories she'd tried to cling to in his 
absence.  "Thank you, God," Scully whispered reverently, already 
knowing that tomorrow she'd be making a penitent trip to St. 
Andrew's.

Captive in his mother's arms, Adam's eyes never left his 
father's. They drew Mulder in, tugging at his heart until he too 
was on his knees, a part of the joyful reunion.  

Scully could not bring herself to lessen her hold, even as the 
boy struggled and complained loudly he was being 'squished'.  It 
was Mulder who finally pried Adam free, demanding equal time, and 
lifting him into a gentler, but no less enthusiastic, embrace.

"Are you okay, son?"  It was a struggle for Mulder to force out 
the words, every syllable having to be rerouted around the 
considerable lump in his throat.

Adam gave a nod.  And when he asserted the infamous "I'm fine," 
line, both his parents laughed out loud despite their tears.

By the time they remembered Krycek, he was long gone, leaving 
them to wonder, yet again, at the motives of a man whose loyalty 
and deeds defied explanation.

"He just wants to do the right thing," Adam explained, in 
response to his parents' unspoken musings.  

Mulder wasn't sure he wanted to know WHAT Krycek had to do, or 
HOW he managed to get his hands on Adam.  He was just thankful 
for the end result in this case, whatever the means.   

"Alex told me right and good aren't always the same thing," Adam 
offered, again in reaction to his father's thoughts.

Scully frowned, throwing an exasperated look at her husband.  
Krycek was one of the last people she wanted Adam to be taking 
ethics lessons from.  She was suddenly furious at the violation 
of her child's world.

"Not now, Scully."  Mulder shook his head at her, noting her 
outrage, and the instant dismay it seemed to evoke in Adam.

She admonished herself too.  She didn't want to upset her little 
boy after God only knows what he'd been through.  Right now she 
just wanted to take Adam inside and tuck him into bed between her 
and Mulder, and spend the rest of the night watching him sleep, 
reassuring herself with every rise and fall of his chest, that he 
was alive and well, and they really had him back.

It was impossible for Mulder to look at his son without guilt.  
The legal charges against him may have been dropped; the 
newspapers and TV stations may have proclaimed him innocent; 
Scully could insist all she wanted that he wasn't to blame for 
what happened; but Mulder's conscience couldn't deny the truth.  
He'd failed in his most important role - as father and protector. 
 And he was one lucky son of a bitch to be getting a second 
chance.  

Adam studied his father's expression with genuine concern, his 
blue eyes piercing deep into Mulder's heart, looking into his 
very soul. He tried to make his father understand.   

"It wasn't your fault, Daddy." 

Yes, it was.  He'd failed.  But just as certain as Mulder was of 
that fact, he was determined it would never happen again.  His 
remorse brought with it a flood of fresh tears, as he kissed Adam 
and whispered,  "I'm sorry... I'm sorry." 

The seriousness on Adam's face gave the illusion of a much older 
child.  He wanted to believe, like other children did, in the 
ability of his father and mother to protect him from harm.  But a 
faith this pure could only come from innocence, and Adam no 
longer saw the world through the na‹ve eyes of a child.  His gift 
had become a curse during his captivity, exposing him to schemes 
and ideologies well beyond what one so young could be expected to 
comprehend.  His parents had been so careful to shelter him from 
the truth... at least what they knew of it.  But Adam Mulder had 
spent the last five months reading the thoughts of people who did 
not love him, their minds carelessly betraying insights into the 
harsh reality of who and what he really was.  He understood a 
great deal more now, more than even his parents knew.  

He understood what was to come.   





~fini~





Life is too short to drink bad wine.



Author's endnotes:  It took me eight months to write this story, 
and along the way I've learned a lot.  (A lot, a lot, a lot... 
<g>)  This was my first solo attempt at writing a novel, and I 
tortured myself every step of the way.  Sadly, it has not cured 
me of my writing affliction.  I'm more convinced than ever that 
writers are all masochists at heart.  But before I go off to 
torment myself on yet another project, I want to thank my husband 
David for his patience, love and support; my children, Amanda, 
Alan, Aaron, Adam, Alex, and Anthony, who only have occasional 
bouts of sibling rivalry with their mother's muse, and don't mind 
leftover macaroni and cheese; my friend Tracy for those six-hour 
long distance phone calls to just hang out together and be 
girlfriends; my therapist Fran who is helping me turn a dream 
into reality; and a very special thanks to all of you for taking 
the time to read this story.

Marybeth, you are a beta Goddess.  (Even though you prefer Beta 
Bitch <g>)  Thank you for everything you've taught me.

Love to all,

Teresa