By ML
msnsc21@aol.com
 

Feedback: always welcome

Distribution: Ephemeral, Gossamer, Enigmatic Dr., or if
you've archived me before, yes; if you haven't, please
just let me know and leave headers, email addy, etc.
attached. Thanks!

Spoilers: through Trust_No1dsec4

Rating: PG-13 through R for the series

Classification: SRA

Keywords: MSR, Mulder POV

Summary: I knew this day would come.  I've known it for
a long time.

Disclaimer:  Mulder and Scully aren't mine, and neither
are the Lone Gunmen.  They mostly belong to the actors
who portray them, but Chris Carter created them, and Ten
Thirteen and FOX own the rights.  I mean no infringement,
and I'm not making any profit from them.

Author's notes:  This is the first of a five-part series.
It's set in the same universe as the "Abandoned" series,
told from Mulder's POV.  You don't have to read "Abandoned"
to get this, but I hope you will, anyway.
Find it here: www.kimpart.com/mlfic.html

More author's notes and acknowledgments at the end of
Part 5.
=====

Apart 1: Escape
by ML

I knew this day would come.  I've known it for a long
time.  I'd even prepared for it, somewhat.

Knowing all that doesn't make it any easier.

Scully can barely look at me.  I know that it's just
 because she doesn't want me to see her cry.  I, on the
other hand, can't take my eyes off her, or William.

Even William is affected by this.  He's fussy this
morning; Scully has been walking him up and down, up
and down.

None of us got much sleep last night.  Scully broke her
iron rule and brought William to bed with us.  He lay
between us, and we spoke softly to each other, and to
him.  We didn't speak of anything profound.  We didn't
talk about my impending departure.  We just tried to be
a family for the short time we had.

I couldn't get enough of touching Scully or William.  I
tucked Scully's hair behind her ear, cupped her cheek or
her chin, leaned across William to touch her lips with
mine.  I brushed my finger over William's velvet cheek,
let him wrap his tiny fingers around mine.  I'll remember
how that felt for the rest of my life.

We didn't make any promises to each other.  We didn't
have to; we already knew that we would do our damnedest
to be together again.  Saying the words again wouldn't
make them any more true.

Scully slept a little, and I held her and William in my
arms, and thought about what lay ahead.  I can do it, I
thought.  I've been alone most of my life.  I'll miss
Scully, and William, but it's not forever.

I got up and put William in his crib and stood watching
him.  He slept on, oblivious to our turmoil.  My son.
I'd seen many impossible things in my lifetime, but he
was by far the most amazing one I'd ever beheld.  Scully's
miracle.  Our son.  Maybe the world's salvation.

It was a terrible burden to lay on a small baby.  I wondered
what thoughts went through my father's head when he first
saw me.  Did he know, even then, how I'd become involved
in the lies he helped form and foster?  Did he hope to
protect me?  Or had he always intended to use me for his
own ends?  To "broker fate," as he once put it, using my
life as a bargaining chip?

I wouldn't allow that to happen to William.  Not our son.

I crawled back into bed and wrapped myself around Scully
again.  She made a low sound and curled back against me.

I can do this.  I can leave her.  It's for the best.
It's not forever.

It was a very long night, but not long enough.  I stayed
watchful throughout, holding Scully, looking at her,
letting her sleep as long as I could.  Thinking about
what the day would bring.

"Hey, Scully," I whispered as the dawn began to seep into
the room.  "Are you awake?"

"Mmmmm," she sighed.  "Time's it?"

"I've got to go soon," I told her.  "But listen, I have to
tell you something..."

She turned in my embrace and faced me, her eyes searching
mine.  "What is it, Mulder?"

I just looked at her for a minute.  Yes, I can do this.
I can.  "Scully, I..."  I cleared my throat a little.  "I
love you."

Her eyes filled with tears and I filled with panic.  I
can't do this.

Yes, you can.  You have to.

She buried her head against my shoulder.  "I love you
too, Mulder," I heard her muffled voice.  I felt her
tears on my skin.

We finally managed to say the words, now that it's almost
too late.

x-x-x-x

The taxi's here.  It takes me a couple of trips to get
the bags loaded.  Scully stands by and watches, holding
William.  He's gone quiet now, and watchful.

I can't delay the inevitable any longer.  I take William
from Scully's arms and hold him close, burying my nose
into the folds of his neck, feeling his tiny hand brush
against my cheek.  I've got to remember what this feels
like.

Scully takes William from my arms and kisses him, then
puts him in his porta-crib.  I open my arms to her and
she comes to me.  We stand like this for a long time,
just holding each other as tightly as we can.  Scully
is the only thing that anchors me to this life.  I cup
her face in my hands, and kiss her again and again,
storing up the feelings and sensations for the long,
lonely time ahead.

I knew this day would come.  But I always thought that
Scully would be going with me.

As the taxi drives away, I wonder if I've left it too
late.  I don't think about how I might never see Scully,
or William, again.  I can't afford to think that way.

But I do think of other missed opportunities.

x-x-x-x

I'd always known that a time might come when I'd need to
go underground.  The first time the X-Files got taken
from me, I started thinking about it.

After my escape from the boxcar in New Mexico, it seemed
like the perfect opportunity to disappear.  But I had to
go back for Scully.  I knew even then that I couldn't do
it alone.

I didn't ask her after all.  I had nothing to offer her,
and she'd already given up so much.  And when Skinner
showed up and told her about Melissa, I left the decision
to Scully.  I couldn't blame her for making the choice to
go back.  I might have considered going off on my own, but
in only a few short years, Scully had become as important
to me as Samantha.

We were too late for Melissa.  Scully added another layer
of grief; I added a little more guilt to my own burden.

All the same, when we got back, I started planning more
seriously for our eventual disappearance.  I enlisted the
help of the Gunmen.  For all my teasing of them, and the
rude comments I sometimes make about them, I have a lot of
respect for what they're capable of doing.

I would never have gotten to Scully in Antarctica in time
if it hadn't been for the Gunmen.  I didn't think that much
about it at the time.  All my focus was on getting to Scully,
and getting her out.  I didn't question how they did what
they did.  *Why* they did what they did wasn't just for
me, I know.  All I've ever had to do is mention Scully's
name, and they've fallen all over themselves to help.

In fact, once I introduced Scully to them, I started to
get the feeling that they'd do more for her than they would
for me.  They took sides with her over Diana Fowley (which
in retrospect should have told me something about Diana).
They watched over her when I was abducted, and probably
did more to help her find me than anyone in the FBI did,
and I include her other *partner* in that.

x-x-x-x

The taxi pulls up to the station.  This is a pretty busy
commuter hub, and it's just getting into the prime time
hour.  It makes it harder for me to see if anyone's followed
me, but I think it will be harder for anyone to figure out
where I'm going, too.  If anyone cares.  I didn't see anyone
following us to the train station, and a glance around
doesn't reveal any watchers that I can see.  There's always
the possibility of video surveillance, of course.  The
cameras are everywhere.  They've proliferated in recent
years, almost to the point where they've become part of
the background.  I'm sure the average person hardly thinks
about them anymore.

I think about them all the time.  I've been surveiled
covertly too many times not to.  I know the Gunmen sweep
Scully's apartment regularly but they've taken to leaving
the bugs where they've found them.  They always get
replaced, anyway.  We've found other ways to prevent
Them from seeing and hearing what we want to keep private.

They might be less vigilant in their watching now that
I'm out of the picture but somehow I doubt it.  They
know who the important one is, has always been, in our
partnership.

It takes a while to purchase the tickets, partly because
I have to wait in line at two different windows.  At the
first window, I buy a ticket for the first train heading
for Arizona.  I check some of my luggage, and get back
in line for ticket number two, to Florida, and check some
more luggage through.  I've purchased one under my real
name, and the other under "George Hale," a pseudonym I've
used often enough that the bad guys probably know it as
well as my own.

I have a third ticket, purchased a few days ago by Langly,
under the name "Michael Orr."  This will be my nom de guerre
for now.  It's not a name I've used with anyone but the
Gunmen.  Scully knows George Hale, and she knows Marty
Mulder (though that's one I wish she'd never heard).

Scully has an email address for me, but I doubt it will
take long for anyone conducting surveillance to figure out
whose it is.  We've agreed to use it on a very limited
basis.  It seemed smarter to have *some* form of communication
that can be discovered and monitored by the bad guys.  Maybe
it will keep them from digging much deeper.  I've developed
other ways of communicating with the Gunmen.  They'll be my
main link with my old life, and with Scully.

x-x-x-x

I still didn't fully appreciate my importance relative to
Scully in the Gunmen's view until Frohike set me straight.

Even though I was pissed at the Gunmen after the fiasco
at the records facility, I ended up at their place in the
early morning hours after leaving Scully's.  I was going
to take Langly to task for his smartass comment about the
parentage of the baby, but Frohike forestalled me.  "When
are you gonna wake up and smell the coffee, Mulder?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"  I was spoiling for
a fight.  I blamed them, I blamed Doggett, anyone but myself
for what happened at the facility.  I knew even then that's
not the only thing I was pissed about.  Scully and I had
already fought that night.  I guess I still needed to take
it out on someone.

"You really don't know what Scully's been through, do you?"
Frohike continued.  It was very brave of him, actually.  It
was a measure of how highly he -- and Byers and Langly --
thought of Scully.  And one more example of how everyone
was able to go on without me.  At least, that's how it
seemed to me.

"Get your head out of your ass, Mulder," Frohike said.
"You know how it was for you when Scully was missing?
Well, what do you think she went through while you were
gone?  You think it was any easier for her than it was
for you?"

"Looks like she did okay to me," I mumbled, but my heart
wasn't in it.  Arguing with Scully had already raised my
consciousness, so to speak.  I guess I deserved the reaming
I got from her, and from the Gunmen, that night.

"She's never gonna tell you," Frohike said.  "But she went
through freakin' hell the whole time you were gone.  I know
you don't like Agent Doggett much, but if it hadn't been
for him -- and for Skinner -- I don't think Scully would
have survived your abduction any better than you did."

I was silent.  What could I say?  I didn't want to think
about how I was when Scully was gone.  I didn't handle
myself very well.  There was no way I could blame Scully
for doing whatever she needed to do, if she felt even half
as lost as I did when she was gone.

Of course, just because I agreed with Frohike doesn't mean
I went to Scully and apologized.  But the argument we had
seemed to clear the air, a little.  Even so, nothing was
the same; how could it be, with Scully pregnant?  I thought
it might take me another seven years to get back into her
good graces.

It didn't look like I would ever get reinstated with the
FBI, either, and I began to think that maybe I should stop
trying.  With Kersh back in charge, I knew it would be
battle after battle.

It didn't surprise me when Kersh fired me.  I was asking
for it, pretty obviously.  What surprised me is that he
fell for it.  I guess it is true that he's simply another
pawn, someone who doesn't know the full story.  He let his
disdain for me, and what I'd been working for, get in the
way of the larger agenda.  He thinks he's protected by
those he serves, just as Blevins did.  He'll find out the
truth, when he's no longer needed.  And with any luck,
anyone I care about -- or whom Scully cares about -- in
the FBI will be long gone.

After I was fired, I started thinking seriously again about
going underground, and asking Scully if she'd be willing to
go, too.  No way did I intend to leave her behind.

That was before we had the partial abruption scare. I couldn't
ask her to leave after that.  I'd just have to hang in there
until after the baby was born, and it was safe to travel
again.

It was a simple plan, and one doomed to failure.  The closer
Scully got to her due date, the greater the danger was.  And
William's birth was fraught with as much danger as it would
have been if we had gone underground.  Hindsight is a wonderful
thing.

x-x-x-x

I have a couple of hours before my train leaves.  I wander
around the station a little, looking at it in a way that I'd
never done before.  It was just a station before, a stop on
the way to somewhere else.  The echoes and whispers eddy
around me and I feel a sharp sense of loss.  I'd just started
getting the hang of my old life, I thought.  I'm not ready
to start a new one just yet.  Not alone, anyway.

x-x-x-x

We had about a week together after William was born.  All the
time, I tried to think of ways to ask Scully to disappear with
me.  I'd been hearing some pretty disturbing things on the FBI
front.  It seemed that Doggett's declared investigation of
Deputy Director Kersh had stirred up quite a hornet's nest.
The backlash looked to be landing squarely on Scully, and by
extension, me.

I knew that they would find a way to use one of us against
the other, and the surest way to prevent that was to take
preemptive action.  Maybe we've just played into their hands,
doing this.  But we had to think fast, and this seemed the
best path to take.

When I finally asked her, I got the answer I knew I would
get.

"Mulder, I can't," she said softly.  We were sitting on her
couch.  She leaned her head against my shoulder; William had
just fallen asleep at her breast.  "Not just because of
William.  You know there are other reasons, too."

I nodded.  "I know, Scully.  But I think I have to go.  You'll
be safer if I'm not here."

She looked about to object, but I kept on.

"Think about it, Scully.  I'm not in the FBI anymore, I don't
have their resources.  Yet if I stay here, every move I make
to find the truth, to keep you and William safe, will be
monitored.  I need to find some answers, Scully, and I don't
think I can find them here.  They'll never leave us alone."

Scully didn't try to say anything this time.  She waited for
me to say my piece.

"I told you I'd do anything to keep you and William safe.
It didn't work to send you away; They found you anyway.  I
just get the strong feeling that if I go, you'll be safer
than if I stay here."

Finally, Scully spoke.  Her tone broke my heart.  "Mulder,
there was a time when we wouldn't have let anything separate
us.  How can we let them do it now?"

"You have so much more to lose now, Scully.  And I do, too,"
I said.  "You know it as well as I do."  I gathered her closer,
mindful of William in her arms.  "I still can't lose you, Scully."

"Mulder, I don't want to lose you again, either," she said.
"When you left the FBI--"

"When I was *fired* from the FBI," I corrected her with a
smile.

She nodded, but she didn't smile back.  "I thought somehow
that you'd be safe.  I didn't want to have to worry about
you out in the field, with no one to watch your back..."

"It won't be forever, Scully," I reassured her as best I
could.  "But things are different now.  You have someone
else to watch over.  I'll have to be the big boy, and take
care of myself, while you take care of the little boy."

She smiled a little at that, but she wasn't convinced.

I know Scully would have come with me if she'd been able.  We
told each other that we'd be together again, as soon as it
was safe.  I'd either come back to her, or she'd find a way
to come to me.

I hope I'll be able to come back.  I know how hard it will
be for Scully to live life on the run.  Never to see her
mother again, to give up her entire life, for me?  I'm not
sure she can do it.  I'm not sure she *should* do it.

I'm not sure it's good for her, or for our son.  What's worse,
living on the run with Mom and Dad, or being somewhere
relatively safe with just Mom?

And are they safe where they are?  Are they safer with me,
or without me?

I also worry that yet another separation from Scully will
make it all that much harder for us to regain the ground
we lost when I was abducted.  Scully would laugh to hear
me say that I want a normal life, and that's not it,
really.  I just want a life with Scully.

The concern I voiced so long ago, when Scully was given the
chance for motherhood, has happened.  Having a child *has*
come between us, but not in the way I'd originally imagined
it would.  Neither of us intended for it to happen.  Not in
the way it did, anyway.

I don't regret the miracle that is William, not for a moment.
What I mean to say is, when Scully asked me to help her have
a child, I didn't want the *process* to come between us.
Success or failure of the IVF notwithstanding, I still
wanted the chance to build a relationship with Scully which
had nothing to do with having a child with her.

I had trouble expressing this to Scully, mainly because I
was afraid to be too open with her.  My intention was always
for her to realize how I felt without having to tell her.
Yes, I'm a chickenshit.  But the times I tried to tell her
never seemed to come out the way I intended, and she never
seemed to quite believe me.

Simply put:  I love Dana Scully.  I want to have a life with
her, baby or no baby.  I was afraid that having a baby with her
would hinder what I saw as a developing personal relationship.
Sounds paradoxical, but there it is.  Nothing has ever come
easily to us, whether it's a piece of the truth or a kiss.

Here's another paradox:  The IVF wasn't successful, but it
*did* result in Scully and me becoming closer.  Not right
away, of course.  But it started us on the path that, as it
turned out, we both very much wanted to take.

In many ways, I've been one lucky son of a bitch.  Abduction
and death aside, of course.

x-x-x-x

I talked to the Gunmen for a long time before I left.  I
wanted to be sure that they will keep an eye on Scully and
William.  I know they'll do their best to help us both.  I
hope that some of the things they've been working on will be
successful, and soon.  I don't know if the fate of the world
hangs in the balance, but mine does.  I need Scully with me.

I'm counting on them to side with her this time.  I need them
to watch her back for me.

I trust that Skinner and Doggett will do their best to
protect Scully too, but they can't understand the extent
of my fears.  Skinner has actually come a long way down
the road to believing; he's learned about things the hard
way, too, just the way Scully has.  He's sustained personal
losses along the way, and had to do some terrible things
that I know probably still haunt him.

As for Doggett...well, I know he's not a believer.  But he
may come to it, in time.  Scully told me about some of the
cases they'd been involved in, and his reaction to them.  I
got a glimpse of it myself on my last *official* investigation
as part of the FBI.  But when it came down to it, he did his
best to protect Scully, no matter what he believes.

Scully wouldn't thank me for pulling this protective-male
bullshit, which is why I didn't say any of it to the Gunmen
when she was around.  I can rely on them, just as I can rely
on Skinner and Doggett.  I haven't told the latter two that
I'm leaving.  They'll find out when Scully tells them.  The
fewer people who know what we're planning, the better.

x-x-x-x

Most of my luggage goes on board with one or the other of the
new reservations.  I board the third train as "Michael Orr"
with one duffel bag and my laptop.

With any luck, the other stuff will sit in the unclaimed luggage
office for a while at their destination.  Though they might
search them, times being what they are.  It doesn't matter.
They won't find much of interest.  Just enough to show that
they really belonged to me, and throw any pursuers off the
track.  I hope.

I settle into my seat and look out onto the platform.  I
don't see anything unusual.  No one who seems to be watching
in the crowd; there's no one talking to the conductor.

And no one to see me off.

I continue to watch the platform out my window.  I see a trio
approach the train:  a man, a woman, and a small boy.  The
man lifts the boy up onto his shoulders, and though I can't
hear through the thick glass, I know he's squealing with joy.
The man swings him down again with a kiss, and leans in to
kiss the woman.  I turn away for a moment; even though they
can't see me, I give them their privacy.

The man stands on the platform, waving, as the woman and the
boy climb onto the train.

With a sharp jerk and a swaying sensation, the train begins
its departure.  It's been years since I've ridden the train.
We chose it as the mode of transportation because it seemed
I might still be able to keep some anonymity, as compared to
air travel.  It also gives me a bit more privacy.  I've taken
a roomette.  I'll be able to think, and grieve, without anyone
seeing me.

I'm doing the right thing, I tell myself.  It's better this
way.  I need to have Scully and William safe while I pursue
the answers I need to *keep* them safe.

The world outside my window has become blurred.  I'm not sure
if it's the speed of the train, or the tears in my eyes.

It's official; I've run away.  I've gone to ground.  I can
only hope that I will find the answers I need before I lose
my resolve.

x-x-x-x

The first day without Scully is very long.  I stay locked
in my compartment, bent over my laptop for most of the day.
I don't want to waste a moment.  I also don't want to think
too much about who I've left behind.

I add to my growing list of questions.  Are these super
soldiers truly created by a government program, or are
they some new form of human/alien hybrid?  How did Billy
Miles come to be?  Had the government been conducting
experiments on Billy and his friends at the time of our
first visit to Bellefleur?

Most important of all, can they be destroyed?  Krycek said
not, but he's been wrong before.  He had a flair for the
dramatic, and changed his stories more often than he changed
his socks.  He told the truth just often enough for me not
to discount his words entirely.

There are many possible avenues for exploration.  Billy Miles.
Knowle Rohrer.  Maybe even Colonel Budahas.  The Gunmen were
checking out what they could on their end; I am the man in
the field.

And what about William?  Once again, we have Krycek's assertion
that he is "more human than human."  Here also we have Lizzy
Gill's corroboration that he's "special."  He looked pretty
ordinary to me, the little I got to see of him.

More human than human.  No human frailties.  It doesn't make
sense.  William has been examined from head to toe, and he
exhibits no abnormalities of any kind.  I hope that it's
true, but the realist in me (how Scully would laugh to hear
me call myself a realist) knows that it can't be that simple.

Monica Reyes told me about the odd events surrounding William's
birth.  How the ranger insisted that William would be born,
and how these -- beings -- crowded into the little building
to witness it.  And then, they just went away.

"Mulder, I never felt so helpless in my life," Scully confided
in me later that night.  We were in a hospital in Atlanta,
where I pulled all the strings I could to get Scully a private
room where she could have William with her.  I found out later
that Skinner had called and done a little string-pulling and
weight-throwing himself.

I wish I'd known then that our time at the hospital was almost
all the time we'd have together.

I tried to make the most of it.  I slept in Scully's room,
vigilant over the baby as she slept.  When she was awake, I
sat as close as I could to her and held her hand as she
recalled the pain and terror of William's birth.

"I wanted you there so badly, Mulder," she whispered.  She
was still exhausted and her guard was down, or she might
never have said anything to me.

I stroked her hair with my free hand.  "I wanted to be
there," I said.  "Not that I'd have made a better midwife
than Agent Reyes."

"I don't understand, Mulder," she started to say, and I watched
as her eyes fluttered shut and she struggled to open them again.

"Don't worry about it right now," I said softly.  I leaned over
and kissed her forehead.  "Get some rest, we can talk more
later."  I held her hand until she fell asleep and let myself
out of the room to find Skinner waiting.

Skinner and Doggett filled me in on Knowle Rohrer and Agent
Crane's supposed demise, and their connection with Kersh.

"I'd lay low for a while, Mulder," Skinner advised.

"You mean, stop investigating?"  I asked.  "You could order
me around in the past, but not now."

"Calm down, Mulder, I'm not trying to order you," Skinner
said.  "I'm suggesting that you think of the danger you might
be putting Scully and the baby in by continuing the way you
have in the past."

That hit home.  It was a whole new ball game, and a whole new
set of problems.  I would not be allowed to live quietly with
my new family.  Eventually the devil outside would find a way
in.

Unless, of course, I found a way to beat him at his own game.
That's what I started to think about in the intervening days,
and what I began to discuss with the Gunmen.

Scully was of course in on some of the discussion, but I didn't
tell her everything.  I didn't want to raise her hopes too high,
or to frighten her needlessly.  She was going to have a hard
enough time in the months ahead.

The day before I left, I said my good-byes to the Gunmen.
"You take care of Scully and William, or I'll come back and
kick your asses," I said.

"Take care of yourself, Mulder, or Scully will kick our asses,
and yours, too," Frohike said, hugging me again.  I backed
away before I started getting too emotional, and went home
to Scully for the last time.

x-x-x-x

I have a long layover in Chicago, during which I resist the
urge to call or email just to let Scully know I'm okay.  I have
a couple of old Hotmail addresses that I rarely use; Scully
would likely figure out who the message was from, but it seems
stupid to risk it.

I hope that I can continue to resist the temptation until it's
time to contact her as agreed.

Instead, I buy every tabloid I can get my hands on in the
Chicago station, so I'll have something to while away the
sleepless hours.  I've already been on the train nearly
twenty-four hours and the thought of two more days is making
me a little stir-crazy.

Late that night, unable to sleep, I prowl the cars.  The
observation lounge is empty; I sit in one of the swivel
chairs and look out over the dark landscape.

Have I done the right thing in leaving Scully and William?
Is it too late to turn around and go back?

In spite of myself, I think of Scully.  I imagine her lying
in bed, head half buried in her pillow, her breathing soft
and steady.  I see her eyelids flutter, and hope she's dreaming
of me.  It had been my secret pleasure to watch Scully sleep
on the rare nights I stayed with her, and I'm grateful for the
memories now.

How could I not realize how much I'd miss her?

x-x-x-x

It's late afternoon on the fourth day out of DC when I finally
arrive in Portland, Oregon.  I feel travel-stained and weary.
I've let my beard grow the last few days.  I know I look pretty
scruffy.  I head out walking from the station, and soon I'm in
a part of town that's seen better days.  I see hotels that are
a step or two down from some of the places Scully and I have
stayed over the years.  I can afford better, but right now all
I want is a place to crash for the night.

I come upon a shabby brick building that calls itself The
Queens Head Hotel.  I wonder if it ever lived up to its
rather elegant name.  A smaller sign just below it says,
"A Smoke and Drug-free Environment."

The price is certainly right, and the room is clean though
devoid of charm or amenities of any kind.  I've stayed in
worse places.  I'd asked at the desk about places to eat,
and the desk clerk gave me directions for a few nearby cafes.
"No cooking in the rooms," he admonished me.

"I wouldn't dream of it," I told him, and dragged myself up
the stairs.

It's only mid-afternoon but I decide to take a nap before
doing anything else.  I pull off my shoes and lie on the
bed, hoping for a few minutes' rest.  I feel like I'm still
on the train.  As soon as I close my eyes, I can feel the
vibrations.  The silence after the constant sound and motion
of the train presses on my ears.

I'm drifting, floating, not thinking at all, when I feel a
jerk and see a blinding flash, even with my eyes closed.  My
eyes fly open and I feel the restraints on my arms and legs.
I hear the high whine of the drills and sense the eyes of the
Others on me.  I open my mouth to scream for Scully but no
sound comes out.

I see the drill accelerate as it approaches.  I can't even
shut my eyes; all I can do is lie helpless as it comes closer
and closer, and I try to brace myself against the memory of
the unearthly pain.

I hear Duane Barry's voice in my head as I try to scream:
ohgodno notagain saveme it'scoming somebodystopit don'ttakeme
noooooooo...

...the light blinks out, the drills stop abruptly, and I'm
left alone in the dark.

=====

Apart 2: Alone
by ML

When I finally recover from the nightmare or flashback or
whatever the hell it is, I get myself out of the room and
go in search of distraction.  Anything to keep my brain
from going there again.

I walk until I find one of the cafes the desk clerk told
me about.  "Happy Palace Fine Chinese Cuisine" the sign
says.  Like the hotel, it has a seen-better-days shabbiness
about it.  Inside, it looks, and smells, like every other
Chinese restaurant I've ever been in.

It makes me homesick for Scully.  Too many memories of
sitting in motel rooms, eating take-out as we argued about
the current investigation.  Too many images of Scully
delicately lifting a piece of shrimp up to her lips
with her chopsticks, more often than not making me drop
whatever I was eating into my lap.  She had no idea how
much I loved to watch her eat.  I used to order French
fries just so she could steal them off my plate.

I eat quickly, hardly tasting what I ordered, washing it
down with scalding green tea.  I crush the fortune cookie
and pick at the pieces of it, turning the slip of paper
over to see what it says.  "There is a prospect of a
thrilling time ahead for you."

Oh, joy.  Too much like the ancient curse, "may you live
in interesting times."  I crumple up the scrap of paper
and leave my money on the table.

I wander around downtown, finally ending up in a bar.  I'm
not so much interested in a drink as I am in a distraction.
I hope to exhaust myself so that I can finally get some
sleep without having another episode.

This is one of the secrets I've kept from Scully, and another
reason I had to leave.  Since my return, I've been having
flashbacks from my time on the ship.  They were really bad
that first week I came back.  I told Scully I needed some
time.  I didn't tell her why.

Scully wouldn't be surprised that I'm having nightmares, but
these are more than that.  I think they're recovered memories,
and they come at me like a blow from a sledgehammer.

I started having them in the hospital after I found out what
had happened to me during my abduction.  I sneaked a look at
my file when I was waiting for the doctor to come and examine
me.  I know that eventually I could have coerced Scully into
telling me what happened, but I hadn't really wanted to ask
her.  I hadn't wanted to ask her anything at first:  not
about me, not about her.  Especially not about her.  I think
I was more afraid of what she would say about her condition,
and how she got that way, than about anything else.

The notes in the file were sketchy.  The initial report was
what really got my attention:  "Patient exhumed after
approximately 3 months burial.  Decomposition commensurate
with time frame; however, faint vital signs detected."

Appended to this report was the M.E.'s report from Montana,
co-signed by D.K. Scully, M.D.  No autopsy report, just a
"non-invasive examination for causes of death, per the
order of A.D. Skinner, FBI."

I hated to think of Scully having to participate in this, but
I had an idea that she wouldn't have stayed away willingly.
In fact, she probably insisted on being there.  I remembered
that I'd asked her to perform the autopsy on my mother; she
probably knew that I'd insist she examine me if I'd been able to.

I don't know why no autopsy was performed but it goes without
saying I'm very grateful there wasn't.

Decomposition.  I'd been decomposing.  That's a hell of a
thing to wake up to.

Until I read that report I'd no idea how or where I'd been
found, or what shape I'd been in.  Yes, I knew I'd been
abducted and returned, and I felt like shit when I first
woke up, but I've woken up in hospitals so often, at first
it didn't seem that different from all the other times.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the description of my
injuries.  I touched my cheeks and felt the wounds.  I
traced my hand down my sternum, feeling the scar.  I touched
my tongue to the roof of my mouth.  I looked at my wrists
and ankles, seeing the puncture marks.

I began to remember.  I closed my eyes and saw it all:  the
chair with the restraints, the bright lights, the whirring
drills.  The cold, inhuman eyes of my captors.  I heard my
screams over the whine of the drill.

I almost screamed again, the vision was so vivid.

The flashbacks continued after Scully took me home.  I had
no control over them.  Waking or sleeping, they'd come over
me with no warning.  Sometimes I felt paralyzed by them.
Other times, I must have fought back.  I'd come to and find
a table turned over, a lamp smashed.

I know the signs of PTSD.  I *am* a psychologist, after all.
But I couldn't see myself going to anyone for treatment.  I
felt that the best cure would be to find out exactly what
happened, and how to prevent it happening to me, or anyone,
ever again.

The last thing I wanted to do was subject Scully to my
nightmares.  I know what she went through with her
abduction, and how she hated remembering anything about
it.  She saw what had been done to me; she examined my
body when I was dead, and after I was exhumed.  There
was no need for her to suffer through those agonies again.

I wish I could keep myself from suffering too, but I think the
only way to help myself is to confront it.  My plan is to visit
Bellefleur, and maybe even Montana.

Maybe it's just as well Scully didn't come with me.  She'd
insist on going to those places with me, and though it might
be comforting to me to have her there, I couldn't have asked
her to do it.

I'm not sure what I expect to find there.  Maybe some clues,
maybe nothing.  At least it's a step toward understanding
what happened to me, and at least I'm not having holes
drilled in my head to get at the truth.

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to face a drill again, of
any kind.  So much for my garage workshop.  Sorry Scully,
can't make you a bookshelf, I'm afraid of the drills and
saws.  Not to mention the vises and the routers.

I grimace into my beer at the direction my thoughts have
taken me.  Scully would frown with concern, even as I tried
to make her laugh.  She'd try not to, but I'd be able to
tell.

I stay at the bar until closing time, and walk back to the
hotel.  It's very cold out, and the streets are quiet.  I can
tell that there are homeless people huddled in the doorways,
looking like nothing so much as bundles of old clothes.  I
think back to the alley in Atlantic City where I went
searching for the beast woman.  At the time, I couldn't
comprehend anyone choosing to live that way.  Now it seems
appealing in an odd way.  To disappear off the face of the
earth, have no name, no one knowing or caring where you were.

It could happen to me.  I imagine myself shuffling along,
hair long and matted, scraggly beard, muttering something
about the invasion, shrieking in my sleep when the nightmares
come.  What makes me so different from these people?  What
makes me think I deserve to live a normal life?  Let this be
a warning to you, Mulder.

x-x-x-x

The second day in Portland dawns cold and rainy, entirely
suitable to my mood.  I plan to do a little research here
for a couple of days, until I have the guts to head over to
Bellefleur.

As expected, I didn't get much sleep the night before, but
at least I was able to take a shower in a full-size bathroom.
I check out of the hotel and start walking toward the business
district.  I stop at the first bus stop and ask the driver
what line to take to get to the library.

I stop in at a nearby Starbuck's (there seems to be at least
two coffee shops on every block) to wait until the library
opens.  I order a coffee and bagel and sit down to watch
the passing parade, a stranger in a strange land.

I'm finding that my new life has many unexpected dimensions.
Maybe it's being in a strange place that sharpens my
perceptions and memory.  It's the little things that I
miss most, things I'd taken for granted in my former
existence, and that I'd barely begun to appreciate again
upon my return.

Practically the first words out of my mouth when I revived
were, "Did anybody miss me?"  I was referring, of course,
to Scully, but as it happens, more people missed me than
I thought possible.

The first time I stopped in at the convenience store down
the street from my apartment, the owner smiled and extended
his hand to me.  "Welcome back," he said, trying not to stare
at the fading scars on my cheeks.  I'd never done more than
exchange a few words with him, yet he remembered me, and not
in a bad way.

The girl behind the counter at the Starbuck's also gave me
a huge smile when I came in.  "Haven't seen you in a while,"
she said.  "Your usual?"

I nodded, sort of pleased that I had a "usual" when everything
in my life seemed anything but.  I was a bit surprised when
she called to the barista, "One large Americano, extra hot,
and one grande nonfat soy latte, low foam."

How could I have forgotten that my "usual" had always included
Scully?

I shook my head.  "Sorry, just the Americano," I said with
an apologetic smile.

Until I'd gone missing and came back, I'd never noticed
those things.

The biggest hole in my life, of course, is the one where
Scully belongs.

I'd told Scully, in a sort of self-pitying way, that I didn't
know where I fit in anymore.  I could see how much it hurt
her, though of course she didn't say.  I was so tired, and
so disoriented from all that had happened to me, that I
couldn't spare a thought to what Scully had gone through
while I was gone.

At first, I did my best to wedge myself back in.  I thought
work was the answer, and I as much as told Scully that.  I
tried to go back to the office, tried to get back involved
in the X-Files, but it felt like I was just going through
the motions.

I don't think they expected me to leave.  I don't think
they expected me to accept my firing without a fight.  I
think they thought I'd follow my usual pattern of trying
to break in somewhere, or publicly threaten Kersh, or
some other foolish act that the old Fox Mulder would have
done.

Guess I've learned something over the years, huh?  Some of
their techniques are starting to rub off on me.  Lay low.
Work in the shadows.  Don't ever tell anyone everything,
keep it all on a "need to know" basis.

That means leaving almost everyone out of the loop as far
as the big picture is concerned.  I'm not sure I know
everything myself.

The hard part of all this is the amount I'm forced to keep
from Scully.  Yeah, she's used to me withholding information
from her, but not like this.  I just hope it doesn't come
back and bite me on the ass one of these days.

All the same, I wouldn't put this on a par with the biggest
secret I've ever kept from her.  She didn't know that when
I was abducted, my days were already numbered.

I hardly wanted to think about it myself, though by then
I was intimately acquainted with the details, and my doctor
assured me that there was nothing to be done about it.

It started out subtly.  I'd be going along fine, and then
I'd have an episode of debilitating pain, not unlike a
migraine.  Sometimes it was only a few seconds in duration.
Sometimes it would be a low, dull throbbing that went on for
hours or sometimes, days.

I ignored it for a long time.  I knew it wasn't what had
afflicted me before; I heard no voices or high-pitched
ringing.  Eventually I quietly visited a specialist.  After
an enormous number of tests which turned up nothing, he
concluded that I had some sort of degenerative disease the
likes of which he'd never seen before.  And since he'd never
seen it before, he had no idea how to treat it.  The best he
could do was monitor it, keep track of my "decline."

Well, there's a surprise.  Didn't I say that nothing is ever
simple for us?

I didn't want to tell Scully.  I didn't even tell the Gunmen,
because I was sure *they'd* tell Scully.  I remembered too
well how helpless I felt when Scully was ill, and I somehow
knew there was nothing she could do.  I didn't want her
making any Faustian bargains on my behalf.

When she disappeared with Smoking Man, I thought somehow
she'd found out, and she was doing exactly that.  I was
really angry with her, but also disappointed that the
science he'd promised her wasn't there.  It might have
helped me.

There would be no miracle cure for me.  I felt that what
had happened to me on the operating table had probably
caused this, and that since they'd left me to die there,
every minute I had since then was a bonus.

Pretty fatalistic, isn't it?  I did try to find answers,
and I did what I could to find a cure.  But there were
limits to what I would do.  Maybe part of me always
believed that everyone would be better off if I was gone.
Scully could go have her normal life, and certainly no
one else would miss me much.

There were a couple of opportunities I explored, not long
before I was abducted.  I couldn't bring myself to avail
myself of either of them, because to do so would have
caused more pain and suffering for someone else.  It
just didn't seem right.

Somehow I was able to keep it from Scully.  I hadn't
intended to do it forever; in fact, just before the
last trip to Oregon, I almost told her.  But at that
time, I was worried about her.  She hadn't been feeling
well, and I lived in fear that it was a recurrence of
her cancer.

Illness or no, I didn't intend to get abducted.  I
didn't go willingly on the ship.  After I was returned,
and Scully and I finally began to talk about things
again, I told her that.  Even though I knew my illness
was serious, I wouldn't have purposely done anything
to take me from Scully sooner.

We wasted some time on recriminations when I got back.
Yes, I'm guilty, too.  I didn't understand how Scully
had gotten pregnant, and it seemed to bear out my
theory that she'd been able to move on without me.
I was jealous of her partner, jealous that she'd been
able to keep on while I was missing.  She did a hell
of a lot better than I did when she was taken.  She
finally had to spell everything out for me.  What an
idiot I was.

We wasted so much time not listening to each other.  Hell,
the truth is, *I* wasted time not listening to her.  And
by the time I was ready to listen, she wasn't talking any
more.

I know I hurt her feelings by expressing my fears and
doubts about the baby she carried.  I was scared.  We'd
both seen too much, and I was too familiar with Scully
in denial.  I knew how much the baby meant to her.

It meant a lot to me, too, and I wasn't just scared for
Scully.  It could have turned out so very badly.  I
still don't understand why it didn't.

I was not prepared for the way I felt the first time I
saw William.  Up until that point, even with the
evidence before my eyes, the idea of Scully as a mother
seemed purely theoretical.  The idea of me being a
father, even more so.  But as soon as I saw William
in Scully's arms, squalling for all he was worth, I
knew beyond a doubt.  I would do anything to keep him
safe.  Anything.

x-x-x-x

The library finally opens and I head for one of the computer
terminals.  I'm lucky to get one right away instead of having
to sign a waiting list.

I log on and go to the "Weluvcheezstks" list.  Michael Orr,
among others, has belonged to this list for many years.  It
just so happens that Langly is the moderator for that group.
I can leave a message there any time and know that it will
get to them.

There are also certain newsgroups where I can leave messages,
though I tend to avoid the obvious ones with words like
"aliens" or "conspiracy" in the title.  I visit alt.tv.xena
and post stuff about weaponry, especially those involving
iron ore.  The guys thought it would be funny if I posted
to alt.tv.lostinspace but I vetoed that.

The guys put a lot of stock in the newsgroups.  They tell
me that there are a lot of highly intelligent and knowledgible
people who frequent these lists, and they've often gotten
leads to the answers they sought.

I can't really naysay them; the one time I met someone from
a list I used to frequent, she seemed to be pretty
knowledgible, if a bit anti-social.  I don't think
Scully liked her much, though.

This list isn't very active, though Langly told me once
that there are about two hundred legitimate subscribers.
I see that "leerjet01" (Frohike) has posted within the
last hour and I take a chance and post a message.
---
geobounce13:
subj: see the game last nite?
      The Wizards sucked.
---

I go check some other websites and come back in a few
minutes to see that leerjet01 has posted a reply.

---
leerjet01:
subj:  re: see the game last nite?
       Care to step outside & say that?
---

The message means that Frohike's opened a chatroom.  Once
I enter, the private chat window comes up.

---
leerjet01:  you ok?

geobounce13:  been worse. got to first destination. anything
new on the home front?

leerjet01: same old. if you go to Xena, check out the heavy
metal thread. L asked the question you wanted.

geobounce13:  ok. how are they?

leerjet01:  they're ok.

geobounce13: seen them?

leerjet01: yesterday.

geobounce13: gotta go. let me know...let her know.

leerjet01: will do.  don't worry.

***leerjet01 has left the chatroom***
---

It wasn't a very satisfying exchange, but at least I know
that as of yesterday, Scully and William were safe.
Nothing else to report.  No news is good news, I tell
myself.

I do a little more research before my time runs out and
spend the rest of the day reviewing the news archives for
stories about strange lights in the sky, or amything else
that might be relevant to me.

The events of last year actually got a mention in the
Portland paper, back in the regional section.

"BELLEFLEUR.  Reports of a plane crash in the forest
outside of this small fishing village were greatly
exaggerated, local law enforcement says.  `I don't
know how these rumors get started,'  says Detective
Miles.

"Bellefleur has long been known for sightings of
unidentified lights in the sky that no one has ever
been able to explain.

"'I think it's the local Chamber of Commerce, trying
to generate some tourist dollars,' Detective Miles
continued.  `Don't put too much stock in it.  You get
lost out in that forest, you might just stay lost.'"

No kidding.  I almost did.

x-x-x-x

It's no surprise that nights are the worst time.  The
libraries are closed.  I don't want to go to a bar or
anyplace else that reminds me of how solitary my life
has become.  All I can do is go back to my room and
type up my notes, and think.

I can get by on minimal sleep; I always have.  That's
especially a good thing, now.  I'm afraid if I have a
particularly bad nightmare, someone might hear and call
the cops.

I still do a lot of channel-surfing, naturally.  But the
types of shows that used to lull me asleep before don't
work the way they used to.  Scully has ruined me for adult
entertainment.

My main entertainment now is thinking about her.

Where once all I had was fantasy, I now have memories.
I'm grateful for them, but it goes without saying that
I'd rather have the real thing.

It isn't the first time I've had to rely on my memories
to keep me sane.

All the time I was gone, no matter what horrible things
were done to me -- and frankly, I'm doing my best to allow
*those* memories to remain hazy -- I had a place to go,
to escape to.  And that place was where Scully lived.  I
went there to be with her whenever I could.

I started with the memory of our first time together.  It's
a very clear memory, and I don't think I've added too much
to it.  Even at the time, I did my best to file every moment
away to be taken out and pored over.  Perpetual pessimist
that I am, I wasn't taking any chances.  If this turned out
to be a one-time thing, I was going to make the absolute
best of it.

Well, that wasn't the only reason.  Of course, I wanted to
please Scully as much as I wanted this for myself.  I wanted
to remember that I'd given her something to treasure, as
well as myself.

Not to mention that I thought I might earn myself a return
engagement if I did really, really well.  My track record
hadn't been too good up to that point.  I'd given up trying
to let Scully know how I felt.  I'd done my best.  It was
up to Scully now to let me know if she was interested in
taking our relationship any further.

The night Scully finally made her move was like a lot
of other nights we'd spent in each other's company.  We'd
had dinner, discussed a case we were working on, until
I decided I'd better call it a night.  I was on the point
of leaving.  I had my coat on, and Scully walked me to
the door, which she usually did.  Sometimes we hugged
goodbye, sometimes there'd be just a quick peck on the
cheek, once or twice a glancing kiss on the lips.  I
loved the anticipation.  I always let Scully take the
lead.  Part of the charm (and the frustration) for me
was trying to figure out her mood and what I could expect
at the door.  I was right about as often as I was wrong.

Despite my resolve to let Scully set the pace, I don't
know how long I would have let this go on before one
night I just grabbed her and planted a big wet sloppy
kiss on her, damn the consequences.  As always, Scully
took me by surprise.

On the night in question, she didn't do anything overt.
She just took my hand.  This by itself was not unusual.
We were standing at her door.  She made no move to open
it, and neither did I.  I looked down and started to say
something, and saw this look in her eyes I'd never seen
before.  I felt the soft pressure of her hand around my
fingers -- just a gentle squeeze.

And she smiled at me.

Scully doesn't smile very much.  It's not that she's
humorless or unkind, she just doesn't bestow her smiles
easily.  Nothing about Dana Scully is easy, or simple,
or trivial.  The point I'm trying to make here, is that
when Scully smiles, it means something.

I saw everything in that smile.  It must be why she doesn't
do it very often; her smiles reveal too much.  That smile
spoke to me.  It seemed to be saying, "What are you waiting
for, Mulder?"  She didn't say a word, just kept smiling up
at me.  She tilted her chin up, and she seemed to be
leaning toward me a little.  We were already standing
pretty close together, and it didn't take much for me
to bend down and meet that smile with one of my own,
right against her lips.

I'm not sure how long we stood there.  I can see us now
in my mind's eye.  My mouth is pressed against hers, and
our hands clutch each other's, and we stand there, swaying
slightly as we kiss.  Our only points of contact are our
mouths and our hands.  I was almost afraid to move, as
much as I wanted to hold her.

Scully broke the spell first.  "Mulder," she said on a sigh,
her head bent down.  Then she looked up and smiled again.
I felt her hand move up to my wrist and tug on it a little.

"What?" I said in a similar tone.  She'd moved a little
closer, so that our bodies were almost touching.  I felt
mesmerized by her gaze and her touch.

"You don't have to go, do you?"

I shook my head slowly, my eyes never looking away from hers.

I let her lead me back over to the couch.  She helped me
off with my jacket and hung it up again, and came back to
sit next to me.

I remember that we kissed for a long time.  Sometimes they
were soft, exploratory kisses; sometimes we were a little
rougher.  I found a couple of hickeys the next day when I
was shaving.  Seeing them made me smile with remembrance.
I thought of Scully, making a similar discovery in her
mirror.  I know I gave as good as I got.

That night, Scully took the lead; she's the one who
eventually stood up and took my hand again.  I was
momentarily confused; I still wasn't sure if now that
she'd had her way with me she was showing me the door.

Once I realized where we were headed, I no longer hesitated.
We stood next to the bed, and I did my best to undress her
without letting my lips leave hers; she was doing the same
thing for me, but eventually we had to stop to take a
breath.  I was almost afraid to do or say anything.  I
didn't want to break the spell.

Scully put her hand on my naked flank and caressed me
softly.  "Are you okay, Mulder?" she asked softly.

I nodded, my eyes on hers.  She took my hand again and
pulled me over to the bed.  She lay down first, and I
followed her.  More kissing, and touching, and soft
murmurs of encouragement and approval.  I took my time
with her, though my heart was about to burst out of my
chest.  By the time we finally joined, I was lucky to
remember my name.  Being with Scully was the culmination
of years of yearning.  Maybe I had a vague fear of the
fantasy not living up to the actuality, but once I'd
touched her and felt her soft, warm skin against my own,
and her breath mingling with mine, I knew that the
reality was beyond any dream I was capable of dreaming.

Reality?  Well, the reality is that it probably wasn't
perfect, much as I'd like to remember that it was.  We
were a little awkward with each other, because no matter
how often I'd imagined being together like this, I couldn't
possibly have known what it would be like.

But it was wonderful.  Everything about it was wonderful,
including the accidental elbow in my ribs, the bumped
noses (both of us), even the high, girly giggle I think
I emitted when Scully grabbed my waist and caught me on
a ticklish spot.

I wonder if Scully remembers it as vividly as I do.  I'm
not sure she does, but then she hasn't had as much time
on her hands, and she probably wasn't making the kind of
conscious effort I was to imprint the memory of that night.

I'm not likely to forget it, though it's possible that
I've embellished it a bit in my memory.  I've had to
live on that night, and the few others like it, for a
long time.  I've gotten a lot of mileage from my small
store of memories of Scully and me together, so it's no
wonder that sometimes I added a few grace notes here
and there -- improving on perfection, in a way, because
in reality I wouldn't have changed a thing.

I can unspool it like a film now.  It's my late-night
entertainment.  There are half a dozen or so more memories
like it, but this one is my favorite.

x-x-x-x

Life goes on like this for some time.  I stay in Portland,
dividing my time between libraries and bookstores and
cybercafes.  I keep in touch with the Gunmen, though
they have little to report to me.  The question Langly
had posed on the Xena list, having to do with properties
of various metals, has garnered no response worth pursuing.
We keep our contacts infrequent and minimal.

I think about emailing Scully a lot, but don't do it.

I continue to have nightmares.  I think about going to
Bellefleur, but don't do it.

I'm a coward.  I want Scully to be here, to wake me up
when the nightmares get too bad, and then to tell me to
get off my ass and get going.

x-x-x-x

As I mentioned before, the Gunmen have been helping me with
various projects for some time.  They've developed an amazing
network of experts in various disciplines.  They developed
many of these contacts because of the answers I asked them
to help me find over the years.  I'm counting on their
network to help me now.

After Ruskin Dam, when I asked them to find out about
Scully's chip, they leaped at the chance.  I suspect,
however, that they'd been trying to find answers for
Scully since her abduction.  These guys play their cards
very close to their vests.  I was around to see their first
meeting, and if it's true that there are no coincidences,
that was quite a fateful day for all of us.  I couldn't be
more grateful that they took a liking to me, G-Man or not,
and that they became my friends, too.

To be truthful, I'm a little jealous of them.  They have
each other to rely on, and they get to see Scully and
William regularly.  All I have is me.

The lack of information from them is frustrating and it
makes me restless.  Not quite restless enough to move on,
but definitely on edge.

I've moved to a marginally nicer place on the outskirts of
town, near the highway.  I've requested an end unit and
luckily for me, it's not a very popular place.  When I wake
up screaming, there's no one to be concerned.

It's the third or fourth time I've moved since coming to
Portland.  It's not so much that I'm paranoid, but I don't
want to get too comfortable in any one place, or cause undue
notice by staying anywhere too long.

The nightmares don't seem to be getting any worse, but they're
not getting any better, either.

I've bought an old car for the trip to the coast, though I
continue to take the bus or walk around town.  I keep my
eyes peeled for anyone who seems too interested in my
movements.

Frankly, though, I don't think anyone is actively looking
for me.  They may think they've achieved their aim by
distancing me from Scully.  They want her as alone and
vulnerable as they can get her.

They don't know how strong her support system is, and that
I'm the one who's floundering.

x-x-x-x

Out of the black silence, the lights flash on.

This time it's different.  I'm an observer; I see the
blinding white light focusing on someone or something else.

I hear the wail of a baby and I know who it is.

I watch helplessly as I see the drill descend.  I can't
see him, but I know it's William.  I try to move toward
the light and find that I'm just as immobile as if I were
still strapped in the chair.

I can't let this happen.  I've got to stop them.  I struggle
and twist and fight.  Somehow I manage to move forward,
smashing through whatever is restraining me.

William's cries get louder and the drill gets closer.

"NO!  I hear myself shouting over and over again.

The lights blink out and there's silence again.

I'm standing outside my motel room door.  It's freezing
and it's drizzling as it has been all day.  My arms ache.
My throat hurts.  I'm breathing like I've just run a
marathon.

The door next to mine opens very cautiously and I see a
head peek out.

"Did we wake you up?"  I hear a man's voice, and from
the open door I hear the screams of a very unhappy baby.
"We just got here, and the baby just woke up.  I'm really
sorry."  He looks scared.

If I were him, I'd be scared, too.  I know what I must
look like.  Several days growth of beard; shaggy, unkempt
hair, and a wild look in my eyes.

I have to clear my throat a little to be able to speak.
I've hardly said a word to anyone in days.  "It's okay,"
I say finally.  "It's okay."

"I'm sorry," the man says again, and he looks at me for
a minute before closing the door again.  I hear the murmur
of voices and the baby's fretful cries.

I turn to go back into my room and notice that I've
splintered the frame.  Evidently the door was the force
field I fought against.  No wonder the guy looked scared.

I don't wait for morning; I clean myself up and pack my
belongings.  I'm not running away; I don't want anyone
reporting me to the authorities.  I stop at the office
and check out, and tell them I had an "accident" with
the door.  I leave enough money to cover the repairs
and add a bit extra for the night clerk.

Ready or not, Bellefleur here I come.

=====
 

Apart 3: Hope
by ML

Instead of heading straight for the scene of the crime,
I go to the next town over.  It's only a dozen miles
down the road, but I hope there will be less chance
of anyone recognizing me.

I experience no anomalies, no loss of power, no missing
time on the way there.  The forest road looks familiar
as I pass the turnoff to Bellefleur and head for the
prosaically named Crab Cove.

The trip here from Portland didn't take any time at
all.  Even though I stopped for a while at an all-night
diner on the road just outside of Portland, it's nowhere
near daylight yet.  I find a rest stop and pull into
it.  Maybe I'll get a little sleep.  I'm exhausted by
my nightmares and the stress of going it alone.  If I
had a phone on me, I'd be calling Scully this minute,
and probably make a fool of myself.

Instead, I crawl into the back seat.  It's almost like
sleeping on my couch.  I wrap my jacket around me and
close my eyes.

x-x-x-x

After I check into a motel in Crab Cove, I get ready
for a nice trip to the forest.

I wonder if I should leave a note in the motel room
in case I don't return.  I don't have anything with
me that could identify me as Fox Mulder.  The Gunmen
know my new identity -- changed from George Orr to
James Burton when I arrived in Portland -- but how
long would it take them to start looking for me?

It occurs to me again that I ought to at least post
a "no news is good news" type message on the list,
just to let them know I'm still alive.  They're
probably hacking into hospital data bases even now.

When I left, I wasn't too specific about my plans,
just that I was going to check out a few leads and
I'd be in touch.  They knew Portland was my destination
only because they'd had to send my new identification
to me there.  They've probably put two and two together
by now, though.

I delay leaving for Bellefleur just long enough to
boot up the laptop and send a quick message to them.
I don't bother to check email or read anything on the
list.  My resolve is already weak enough.

I think again about sending a message to Scully but
what would I say?  I love you.  I miss you.  I want
to come home.  I don't think I could stop myself from
typing it.

I want to tell her about the work I'm doing, about the
things I've found out, with the help of the Gunmen.
But I don't dare do it.  It's safer for her not to
know what I'm working on.  I don't like keeping Scully
in the dark, but she has enough to worry about.

She doesn't need to know the full extent of our plans
until we can't keep her safe any other way.  I will not
put her in the position of being used as a target or
a lure.

I keep telling myself that this is the right thing to
do, that the only way we can truly assess the danger
is to find a way to tip their hand, and the best way
to do that was for me to leave.  Eventually, when
nothing happens for a while, they're going to try
and find a way to get me back.

Well, I'm not going until I'm good and ready.

x-x-x-x

I drive slowly along the road until I come to the faded
orange X.  It's hard to believe it's still there.  I
look around on the pavement to see if there's any
evidence of the toxic green blood that had eaten into
the asphalt.  I do see some pitting in the spot I think
I recall, but I can't tell if it's just wear and tear
or not.  If Scully were here, she could take a sample
and tell me.  But it's not important.  I'm just
procrastinating.

I leave the roadside and push my way into the woods.

I find the clearing without too much trouble.  It looks
different, but not that different.  I stand on the edge
of the hollow, remembering.

[...remembering Billy Miles holding Teresa Nemman as the
unearthly wind circled them ... remembering Scully lying
on the forest floor, and the fear I'd felt for her ...
remembering Skinner's face as he helped me set the
lasers to define the energy field...]

Nothing beyond the beginning of my last night here,
though.  Nothing at all.

I'm still standing outside the circle.  The forest
seems eerily silent:  no birds, no rustle of underbrush.
No strange hums or whooshing sounds.  It seems utterly
still.

It's now or never.  If I'm ever to help myself, I've got
to do this.

I step into the middle of the clearing.  I stoop down and
examine the dirt.  I look all around.  I put my hand out,
half-expecting it to meet resistance.

Nothing.  Nothing at all.  Not a tremor.  I look up into
the canopy of trees.  I close my eyes.

Still nothing.

I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around,
checking my watch and my compass regularly for any
signs of activity.  As the light wanes, I've had enough.

As I head back toward Crab Cove, I consider returning
at night.  The thought frightens me, which seems like
a good reason to do it.

I keep thinking about it all through a dinner I have no
appetite for.  I think about it in my room, idly channel
surfing away.  What good has it done me to come here?
What good has it done me to leave Scully?  All I've
managed to do is to separate myself from the one thing,
the one person, who seemed to do me some good.  If I
keep this up, They'll win.

Eventually I get dressed in my warmest clothes and
head back to the forest.

It's definitely more familiar.  I find the right spot
by checking the odometer on the car.  I have my flashlight
and compass.  Eventually I get out of the car.

x-x-x-x

This time I don't hesitate to walk into the middle of the
clearing.  I shine my flashlight all around.  The forest
doesn't seem as quiet as it did during the day; I think I
can hear crickets or frogs or something chirping.  The
natural light is dim, but after I turn out my flashlight
and let my eyes adjust, I can see the outlines of the
trees and shrubs.  No strange lights appear, no unnatural
winds stir up.

I sit on the ground and lean against a fallen tree.  I
look up as I did earlier in the day and I try to relax.
I'm putting myself into a trance state; I haven't tried
self-regression in years, but if ever I needed to, that
time is now.

I feel my body start to relax, and I try to make my brain
do the same.  I drift, only half aware of my surroundings.

[...I look toward the circle of light.  I see people, many
of whom I recognize, just standing there.  I'm vaguely
aware of Skinner calling me, but it's like he's part of
another life.  I hear rustles and whispers and I realize
that the people in the circle of light recognize me and
are beckoning me forward.  I step into the circle and am
greeted on all sides.  Some reach out and pat my arm.
They seem glad to see me, though I can't think why.  They
think I'm here to help them, to save them, though I know
I'm as helpless to resist as they are.

[...Their attention suddenly turns away from me, to
something on the edge of the circle.  Another newcomer?
Only in a sense.  It's the man I know as the Alien Bounty
Hunter.  He acknowledges my presence, and I feel a thrill
of fear and understanding.  I'm the one he came for.
I'm the one he lured back to Bellefleur.

[...I feel a change in the light, a pulsing.  I look up.
I sense everyone else doing the same.  In less time than I
can say it, we are pulled up into the ship.

[...I think of Scully as I leave my life behind.]

x-x-x-x

I don't know how long I've been lying in the clearing when
I come to.  I'm freezing and a little damp, though lucky
for me it hasn't rained yet.  I think I see the beginnings
of sunrise.

I feel exhausted in mind and body, but not afraid.

I'm almost too tired to drive back to Crab Cove, but
instead of going directly to my motel, I stop at the
cafe.  I want warmth, and light, and conversation around
me, even if I'm not taking part in it.

Even copious amounts of coffee can't keep me from almost
pitching forward into my breakfast.  When I get back to
the motel, I fall into bed without even taking off my
shoes.

I sleep without dreams.

I don't kid myself that I'm suddenly cured; I've barely
started but I feel heartened by the breakthrough.  The
forest no longer holds any fear for me.  It's the catalyst
I needed.  I'm beginning to understand the how, and I
hope that I might figure out the why, too.

x-x-x-x

For a week, I spend every night in the forest.  Every
night I remember a little more.

[...We all stand in a group.  I have no sense of motion
but I know that we are on board a craft.  No one speaks
but I can hear thoughts, just as I could before.  They're
jumbled and diffuse.  Someone thinks of her baby; someone
else wonders how long it will be this time.  I hear
repeated prayers, curses, and feel the blankness of
paralyzing fear.  Some seem to know, as I do, that
there will be no return this time.]

When I wake up the second morning, I have tears on my
cheeks.  I fear for what's become of the people I was
with on the ship.  Were all of them left for dead, as
I was?  Will we encounter them in the same form as Billy
Miles?

x-x-x-x

[...There is a blank time, and I wake up in some kind of
restraining device.  I feel uncomfortable and try to shift
my position and that's when I feel the excruciating pain
in my joints -- something like large needles or wires
somehow holding me in place.  I can't see; my head is
restrained.  I can feel some sort of device pulling out
the skin of my cheeks; another is holding my face steady.
I can't see any of my body but I can tell I'm naked.  The
light above me is intense but not hot.]

I wake up with a throat hoarse from screaming.  I wonder
if like the tree falling in the uninhabited forest, did
I really make a sound?

If this land is still private property, the current
sheriff doesn't seem to care.  I've gotten the distinct
impression from the good people of Crab Cove that this
is a place to avoid at all costs.  Even if the mass
abduction didn't get much press, it seems to have had
an impact on the locals.  When I go to the cafe, I hear
stories that tourists might disbelieve, unless they're
particularly gullible.  I do know the truth, and though
I feign only polite interest, I know that it's not all
made up.

Maybe they're so open with me because I look like "just
folks" to them.  If I'd come in wearing a suit and
flashing a badge, they'd probably never have said a
word.

x-x-x-x

[...I can feel Scully.  Her thoughts are all over the
place; I can't focus on her very well.  She's angry,
and afraid, and somehow, also happy about something.
Whatever it is, it's buried deep inside her, and I
can't quite make out what it is.

[...How is it that I can feel her, but I can't make
her feel me?  I have no sense that this is a two-way
connection.

[...I'm glad she can't feel me.  I can't reassure her;
I'm fucking petrified.  All I want to do is scream save
me save me save me, over and over again.

[...The lights pin me down, the drills approach, and
all I can do is scream for Scully.]

I'm starting to feel the effects of spending every night
in the forest.  Physically I'm run down and achy, and I
probably have a slight fever.  Mentally, however, with
each memory recovered I feel stronger, more in control.
I'm almost there.  I've stopped having the nightmares,
except in the forest.

x-x-x-x

[...I no longer have any sense of time.  There is
blankness, and awareness.  Awareness is when the
testing happens.  For all I know They also test when
I'm not conscious, but I'm not really thinking any
more.  All my waking time is filled with testing,
and pain.  There is no other reality.  The past is
a dream, something that happened to someone else.

[...I still remember Scully, though I haven't felt
her presence for a long time.  She is the only thing
that seems real outside of this circle of light and
pain.  I know that if I lose the memory of her, it
will be the end of me.]

[...there is nothing beyond this circle, They tell
me.  The end time has come.]

I have to stop.  I wake up shivering violently, chilled
beyond the bone, chilled to my soul.  I know without
question that not long after this, the ship started
jettisoning the "dead" bodies.  And that I was one
of them.

x-x-x-x

That morning, I come back to my room and strip down
for a hot shower.  For the first time since leaving
the hospital, I examine my body.

There are no longer any scars from the procedures.
If it weren't for my memories, I'd disbelieve anything
ever happened to me.  I look carefully at my wrists,
my ankles, my chest.  I haven't shaved for a while,
but I know the marks on my cheeks healed fastest of
all.  Even the scarring on the roof of my mouth is
healed completely.  Even my poor violated brain was
repaired.

I paid a high price for the "cure."  I guess I could
say I'm grateful for that, though it wasn't intentional,
I'm sure.  It was just luck that Scully stopped the
incubation but that the healing process was already
in place.  I do however, miss some other scars that
somehow healed as well:  the scar on my inner thigh,
the first serious injury I suffered with Scully as my
partner, marking the first of many bedside visits.
The scar on my shoulder, where Scully shot me.  The
one in my temple, a reminder of a much more reckless
way I once tried to recover memories.  Strange souvenirs
of a mis-spent life.  Or would have been mis-spent, if
not for Scully.

I wonder now if I'm "more human than human" as William
is supposed to be.  If I have no human frailties, what
does that mean?  I feel pretty human most of the time,
with the same regrets, and anger, and fears, that I've
always had.  And love, which I never expected, but for
which I'm grateful.

I'm almost ready to leave Bellefleur behind, literally
and figuratively.  No more nights in the forest.  I think
I've discovered all I'm going to here.

x-x-x-x

I have to drive through Idaho to get to Montana, and I
take a little detour to Ellens to see what I can see
there.  I've had a thought that perhaps Colonel Budahas
and some of his fellow pilots might have been in something
like the super soldier program.

Ellens is deserted when I get there.  It looks like April
Base; the residential area is fenced off with warning
signs.

Interestingly enough, the fence surrounding the infamous
Yellow Base area is in disrepair.  Many of the lights on
the top of the fence look like they've been shot out or
knocked down by rocks.  The cafe in town is closed; even
though there are still residents, the whole town looks
abandoned.  I don't hear any jets taking off or landing,
either.

I stop in at the motel where Scully and I stayed.  It
wasn't the Ritz when we stayed there, but it's gotten
very seedy.  The parking lot is filled with potholes,
and there are only a few trucks there.

The pimply, pierced young man behind the counter barely
looks up as I come in.  "Hourly or overnight?" he asks
in a bored tone.

"I'm not staying," I say, though I've just this minute
decided that.  "What happened to the air base?"

"Closed maybe five, six years ago.  Took half the fuckin'
town with it,"  he picks idly at a scab on his arm.  I
try not to shudder.

I thank him, not that he notices, and get out of there.

I flirt with the idea of making a nostalgic trip back to
Yellow Base, on the off chance that something interesting
has been left behind, but think better of it.  I've been
trying to recover my memories, not have them wiped again.

x-x-x-x

I have a lot to think about on the drive to Helena.  I'm
not sure what the base closure means, but I'll have to
look into it.  I wonder if it closed because we got too
close to the truth there?  I remember Deep Throat telling
me that I'd seen things I wasn't meant to see.  It wouldn't
be the first mop-up operation accelerated by something I
discovered.

It's long past sundown on the second day driving when I
reach Helena, Montana.  After the visit to Ellens Air
Base, I spent the night in Boise. I've driven straight
through since then, fueled by coffee and food at the
truck stops along the way.  It's been me, the big rig
drivers, and a few other pickups on the road, and no
one else.

I think I blend right in.  I've kept my beard, though
I've trimmed it a little.  My hair brushes the collar
of my flannel shirt.  I wear old jeans and scuffed up
boots, and an old denim jacket, lined with fleece.  I
thought about getting a cowboy hat, but didn't want to
look too conspicuous.  I'm driving an old pickup.

I look for a particular motel near St. Jean's Hospital;
the one where Scully stayed last year.  It's a small
place, one of many within a few blocks of the hospital.

"We don't get much business here this time of year,"
the desk clerk remarks as I sign the registration card.
"During the summer and fall, now that's another story.
Though we were full up for a couple of weeks `bout this
time last year."

"Something special happening then?"  I ask, carefully
showing only a passing interest.

"It was the F-B-I."  the clerk says, leaning forward
like a conspirator.  "They found one a them cults up
in the hills.  They was torturing people.  Found a whole
big graveyard up there."

"Really."  I've hit pay dirt.  The motel clerk is also
the town gossip, though perhaps not the most reliable
source for accurate information.  "Where was this place?"

"Up north of town a ways.  I can draw you a map, if
you want."

"Is anyone still there?"  I ask.

"Nope.  FBI rounded most everyone up.  There was a
night raid.  Shoulda seen the lights and noise they
made!  It was like the Second Coming."

I bite back the remark I might have made if Scully had
been standing there with me and thank him.  He gives me
my room key and I promise to stop by in the morning for
directions to the compound.  Right now, all I want is
to sleep.  I hope that will be possible.

It occurs to me that I could be staying in the very
room that Scully had.  I really have no idea which
room was hers, but I stop just inside the door to see
if I feel any "vibe" left from her presence.

Nothing, of course.  Any psychic connection I have
with Scully seems to work only when I'm in her vicinity.
Even when my brain was being affected by the artifact,
I couldn't sense her from too far away.

I close my eyes and think of her anyway.  Scully, if
you can hear me, I'm thinking of you, and William.
I hope you're okay.  I hope you're safe.

I realize that I haven't gotten in touch with the
Gunmen since I got to Bellefleur.  I tell myself I
should probably send a message just letting them know
I'm okay.  I'll do it in the morning; I'm too tired
to think right now.

====
 

[...Wherever I am, it's dark.  I wait.  I'm not sure what
I'm waiting for, or where I am.  I feel drawn here by some
force I can't explain.  I hear movement, someone approaching.

[...I know it's Scully.  I can feel her thoughts.  She's
tired, and worn down by grief and fear. The grief is for
someone else, but the fear is for me.

[...Suddenly I see her in front of me.  Her face is drawn
and tired.  I've never seen her look this way, even when
she was ill and dying.  She seems to have lost all hope.
I want so much to reach out to her.  I can't.  I have to
content myself with thinking to her, <I'm here, Scully.
Please look at me.  Please see me.>

[...She doesn't see me at first.  She seems puzzled, then
though I haven't moved or spoken, she is suddenly aware
of my presence.

[...I see so many thoughts and feelings cross her face in
one breath.  Surprise, and a swell of happiness, gone as
quickly as it appears.  Questions tremble on her lips.
The fear returns, and with it, grief.

[...This time, it's grief for me.  I think I hear her say
my name, though maybe it's only in her head that I hear it.

[...Something makes her turn, and it's the last thing I
know for a very long time.]

...I lie awake, trembling in my bed.  I've never felt
so alone.

I know what I've remembered.  My dying moments.

x-x-x-x

The compound is deserted.  There are still tatters of crime
scene tape here and there, flashes of yellow in an otherwise
gray landscape.

I roam around the buildings, trying to get a sense of what
it must have been like a year ago.  I have no memory at all
of anything that happened.  From what I've read, I was
already dead when my body was dropped off here.

I stand in the middle of the largest building.  At one time
it was partitioned off by opaque plastic sheets.  I can see
metal brackets in the corners that must have held the cameras.

My eyes close and I imagine myself here.  The report said
that Absalom insisted he brought my body here to try and
help me.  There was another man, one Scully identified
as Jeremiah Smith, who was doing the actual "helping."

Absalom was taken into custody, but it was assumed that
Jeremiah was re-taken when the abductees were.  Scully's
eye witness report, corroborated in part by others,
described a bright white light, big enough to illuminate
this building, and vibrations not unlike an earthquake.
When the light disappeared, all the residents of the
compound were gone too.

She didn't actually mention the alien ship, but I know it
was here, and I suspect she knew it, too.

I feel nothing here now.  Except for my vision last night,
there is nothing for me to re-live.  I was dead.

I'm about to leave the building when I catch a movement
outside out of the corner of my eye.  Automatically, my
hand goes for my gun, which of course isn't there.  I
walk slowly to the door.

"Who's there?"  I call.  "I'm unarmed, I won't hurt you."
The possibility exists that it's a cult member or even one
of the abductees that somehow escaped everyone's notice.
That's my hope, anyway.  If it's the alien bounty hunter,
or a super soldier, I'm out of luck.

I stand in the doorway, waiting.  Eventually, the figure
I saw comes out of hiding.

I'm not really surprised to see who it is.  I knew eventually
we'd meet up again.

"What are you doing here?"  I ask.

"I might ask the same of you, Agent Mulder," he says.

"Just Mulder," I tell him.  "I'm not with the FBI any more."

"And Agent Scully?"  he asks.  "Is she here?"

I shake my head.  "She's back in DC  Look, I'm really not
comfortable making small talk out here in the open.  Can
we at least go inside?"

Jeremiah Smith shakes his head.  "Come with me."  He leads
the way past the buildings where his truck is parked.

He motions for me to get in and we drive through the
gathering dusk.  Eventually, we arrive at a small cabin
tucked into a notch in the hills, well hidden from the road.

"It's an old miner's cabin," Jeremiah explains.  "The hills
are riddled with them.  It's where I came, after."

"Have you been here ever since?"  I ask.  The place looks
deserted, even on the inside.  There's a sleeping bag on
the pallet in the corner, and a pot-bellied stove throws
off a little heat.  A couple of wooden crates pass for
table and chairs.

"No.  I move around.  I go where the abductees are being
returned.  Though there aren't as many now."

"Do you -- " I swallow, finding it hard to ask the question.
"Do you help them?"

"I try.  I can't get to all of them.  And I may be the only
one left who *can* help them.  Now, tell me.  Why are you
here?"

"I still need answers," I say.  "I need to understand what
happened to me, and to keep it from happening to anyone else."

Jeremiah shakes his head.  "It may be too late for that,
though maybe not too late to stop them."

"I need to know what you know," I say.  "I need you to
help me understand."

"Make yourself comfortable, then," Jeremiah says.  "It's
going to take a while."

We sit.  Jeremiah stokes up the fire.

"I can save you some time," I say.  "Let's assume I know
this much:  that there is a shadow government that's been
conducting experiments for years, using alien technology
and DNA to create some sort of super soldier.  That this
government has also been involved in ongoing plans to help
an alien race to colonize Earth.  That somehow,"  I have
to pause and pick my words carefully,  "they have been
successful in this, and that now these beings, super
soldiers, genetic hybrids, clones, whatever you care to
call them, are on the loose.  To what final end, I can
guess.  But how do I -- and those I care about -- figure
into all this?"

"None of the names you give these beings really fits
them," Jeremiah says.  "I suppose `hybrid' comes as
close to it as your language can convey.  They are a
hybrid of human, and organic material, and alien
technology.  It started as a cooperative effort between
species, in the aftermath of your World War II.  Just
as other unconventional weapons began to proliferate,
it was thought that having the ultimate `human' weapon
could somehow prevent annihilation of the world.

"However, some awoke to the reality of the situation
sooner than others.  The true nature of the project
and its reach became very clear as the authors of it
were required to give up members of their families
as insurance of their cooperation."

I remember Kurtzweil's words about my father:  "His
disenchantment outlasted mine."  Perhaps that was why...

I hadn't spoken aloud, but Jeremiah nods.  "What you
left out of your synopsis is that, as is true for any
group, there are dissidents.  There are those who
disagree with the program, or with the intended
outcome.  Some work within the system to subvert it.
You already know about the rebel forces.  You should
also know that not all of these - super soldiers, for
want of a better term - are interested in the same
outcome.  And that they can be subverted, even destroyed."

He certainly has all my attention now.  "How can they be
destroyed?"

"I've already made that information available to your
friends in Washington.  You should check your email
more often."

"Why now?" I ask.  "The last time we met, you weren't
willing to tell me so much."

"You weren't ready," Jeremiah says.  "You were only
concerned with your sister.  You paid lip service to
the discovery of the greater conspiracy, but only so
far as it intersected with your interests.  And your
interests were concentrated on your sister, and later,
on Agent Scully."

"I guess you know I found my sister, or at least I know
what happened to her," I tell him.  "What makes you
think I'm interested in any of this any more?  That
I don't just want to be left alone?"

Jeremiah looks at me for a long time, saying nothing.
He has that look in his eyes that I've seen before.
It's as if he thinks I'm being particularly dense on
purpose.

"You still have Agent Scully," he says finally.  Then
he adds,  "And you're a father now."

I hadn't told him.  I don't bother to ask how he knows.
I merely nod.  He's right, and there's no point in
denying it.

"You already know something of the larger implications
of your son's birth," Jeremiah continues.  "Are you
ready to face them?"

"I'm ready to do what it takes to keep him safe," I
say.

He nods.  "Then I have more to say to you.

"Your human physiology isn't like the aliens, even those
within human form.  They've been testing the limits of
the human frame and internal structure for years.  There
are some advantages that the aliens have always intended
to adapt for colonization.

"So, as your race has been trying to perfect an alien/human
hybrid, the aliens have been doing the same thing.  What
you thought was a clean-up operation was simply the next
phase in the process.  They were gathering up subjects
to introduce a new type of recombinant viral strain,
which would eventually replace the weakest human
components and create the new race."

"That means the bodies weren't being left for dead by
the aliens, they were planted --"

"-- and if left to themselves, would have incubated the
new life form, regardless.  Putting Billy Miles on life
support merely accelerated a process that was inevitable."

I can't help but shudder at my intended fate.  The
nightmares were real.  I might have been a super soldier
myself, if Scully hadn't saved me.

x-x-x-x

The sun is coming up when Jeremiah finishes his tale.
Of course, there have been plenty of interruptions by
yours truly, trying to understand what he's talking about.

"How can we tell a good `un from a bad `un?" I'm being
a little facetious, as fatigue begins to make me feel a
little disoriented.  I'm pretty sure I already know the
answer.

"There's nothing that marks one as `good' or `bad,'"
Jeremiah says.  "Their imperative might change under
certain influences.  Not all of this is known yet.
It will be up to you to find out."

That's nothing new.  "Kind of hard to tell the sides
without a score card," I mutter, but get no reaction
from Jeremiah.   I think of Arthur Dales' story of the
gray who wanted to be human so he could laugh.  "So it's
back to `trust no one' again, huh?"

"That should be familiar terrain for you, Mr. Mulder."

That it is.  But I have one more question to ask.

"I still need to know.  How does my son figure into all
this?  Is he -- is he something other than human?"

Jeremiah shakes his head.  "The baby is very human, but
he has some special abilities that will become clear as
time goes on.  I don't need to tell you that your baby
was -- unexpected.  I don't think anyone anticipated
this.  They certainly didn't anticipate your alliance
with Agent Scully."

Score one for us, I think, and I see that once again
Jeremiah has "heard" me.  His lips curl in a slight
smile.

"So what do we do now?" I ask.

"What you've been trying to do.  Keep your family safe.
Continue to look for the answers.  Know that there are
others like you, who are doing the same."

"Where?"

"It may be better not to know.  Learn something from the
recent tragic events in your country.  Allow them to
operate independently, in small cells.  Meet only when
necessary, communicate sporadically.  Your friends
understand this."

I can almost sense admiration in his tone.  The Gunmen's
stock shoots up a little higher.

"It sounds like a lonely life."  I imagine spending the
rest of my life without Scully.  Nothing would be worth it.

"It can be."  I see a pensive look cross Jeremiah's face
for a second.   "But you needn't be solitary.  Just don't
try to find out where these people are.  It's safer for
them, and for you.  If you know, They can find out.  The
time will come when you will come together.  You will
know when."

x-x-x-x

I'm beginning to feel hopeful for the first time since
my return.  What's more, I've got something to go on now.

Before I left him, I tried to persuade Jeremiah Smith
to come with me, but he wouldn't do it.

"It's much too dangerous," he said.  "I'll know how to
find you if I need to."

"Where do you go from here?"  I asked him.

He shrugged.  "Where I'm needed," he said.  "But you
might meet up with me in Minnesota, one of these days,"
he said.

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, and knew better than
to ask him.  He'd given me enough information for now.

The first thing I do when I get back to the motel is check
my email.  The first one is dated a few days back.

---
To:  geobounce13
From: leerjet01
subj: magnetic personalities
geo, read this article, then check out the USGS website,
esp. the part about iron ore.  coordinates for a location
you need to follow...
---

The next one has yesterday's date:

---
To:  geobounce13
From: leerjet01
subj: our quarry
don't you read your mail anymore? here's the other part:

---

He lists a URL to go to, and what looks like longitude and
latitude.  Apparently the clue to this is contained in the
article Frohike sent me.  I send a brief reply to him, then
read the article.

The article has a lot of information about the magnetic
properties of some types of iron ore, and atmospheric
effects, among other things.  After reading the information
about iron ore, I know what Frohike is bringing to my
attention.  I go to the website for the next clue in the
trail.

Tucked down in the corner of the page about iron ore is
a small icon I recognize.  I don't think it's normally
a part of the USGS site.  When I click on it, it disappears,
but a small video window comes up.  The quality is pretty
bad, but I watch what appears to be an experiment with
natural magnetic fields.  There's no sound, but there's
no mistaking the explosion that takes place.  I don't
know where the Gunmen got this, but I suspect that this
is what Jeremiah Smith was talking about.

Something in the iron ore in certain quarries holds a clue
to fighting the super soldiers.  We've got to find a way
to lure one of them out into the open.  What is the best
bait to use?

Me, of course.

I spend the rest of the day figuring out the best way to
go about this.  It can't be too obvious that I'm coming
home to do battle; just about the only thing on our side
right now is surprise.

I realize this is a huge gamble.  I've got to involve
Scully in this, too, without tipping my hand to the bad
guys.

It's going to take a very subtle hand, but I'm going to
write to Scully.  I'm going to have to write in such a
way that she knows what I tell her is sincere, and that
I want her to tell me to come home.

After a good deal of thought, I sit down to compose the
email of my life.  I have the general idea in my head,
but I want to add a little something to it.  I want it
to be more than just a coded message.

Subject line:  "Dearest Dana."

I did ask Scully once if I could call her "Dana."  I
think I took her by surprise.  I even offered to let
her call me "Fox," but thank God she didn't take me up
on it.  I've seldom used her first name.  I started by
calling her "Agent Scully" or "Doctor Scully," and
eventually, just "Scully."  I liked the way it sounded,
and I thought it helped me keep a certain professional
distance.

Trouble is, her last name became very special to me,
in a way her first name never could have.  I have never
gotten used to calling her by her first name.  I mostly
use it when I'm talking to her mom.  I've also used it
once in a great while when Scully and I were alone
together.

One advantage is that using "Dana" really gets Scully's
attention.  It's become a sort of flag.

My use of "Dearest Dana" in the subject line was not only
likely to get her attention, but the attention of any
watchers, too.

"Dearest Dana,

"I've resisted contacting you for reasons I know you
continue to appreciate.  But, to be honest, some
unexpected dimensions of my new life are eating away
at any resolve I have left.  I'm lonely, Dana, uncertain
of my ability to live like this.  I want to come home.
To you and to William."

I wonder if it's a little too over the top.  I mean every
word of it, but I'm aware that someone besides its
intended recipient will read it too, and will they
think so, too?

Every word in that email is true.  Missing Scully and
William has weakened my resolve to stay away from them.
I know that Scully will see the truth behind those words.

I also know that she will see it for what it is.  A signal.
It's the phrase "unexpected dimensions" that will tip her
off.  That's our code.  A call to arms, if you will.  It
means I've discovered something.  The rest of the email
could say anything at all, we agreed.

I take a deep breath and hit the "send" button.

I'll be getting my summons soon.  And, with any luck,
we'll have a practical demonstration of the data that
Jeremiah Smith gave us.  Until we know its effectiveness,
we won't be able to put Phase Two into effect.  Phase
Two is the part that I most care about.

Phase Two is me getting my family back.

=====
 

Apart 4: Fear
by ML

Scully's reply shows up the very next day.

"I'm physically shaking right now seeing your words..."

Oh, Scully.  What you've just done to me with those words...

"...wishing it were you speaking them to me..."

Even though I'm sure she's laying it on thick for the
watchers, that's quite an admission for Scully to make.
It warms me and frightens me in equal parts.  She's so
vulnerable where she is.  I know she's brave, and I know
she's capable, but I wish she didn't have to go through
this alone.

"...I want so badly to see you, too..."

Scully, if it's half as much as I want to see you, we
could light up DC with our need...

"...but you are still not safe here..."

That's going to change, and soon.

x-x-x-x

It takes a couple of days to work out the details, but
the whole time, I'm on the road, heading back toward
DC.  Scully's initial email is non-committal, but I
know that in a day or so I'll be getting the one I'm
expecting.

I've already been in touch with the Gunmen.  They've
been doing a little monitoring themselves.  They've
told me what Doggett told Scully, and what he's found
out so far.

When Scully's next email comes, I'm ready.

x-x-x-x

It's like watching a train wreck, I think as I see the
action unfold like a silent movie.  I see Scully's head
turn, her mouth open and her eyes wide as she sees the
train barely slow on its way through the station.

Exactly like a train wreck.  If Scully had been standing
next to me, I would have said something like that to her,
making a joke at my own expense.  What else can I do?

Right now, I have to deal with the sudden change in plans.
I'd intended to meet Scully, and work out a meeting with
the mystery man.  I should have known that he would make
his own plans.  I already have my suspicions about *what*
he is.  This seems to confirm it.

The conductor's voice over the PA breaks into my thoughts.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we're sorry for the change in plans.
We'll be making an unscheduled stop for a few minutes, but
we should arrive at our next stop close to on time.  For
those who expected to detrain at the last stop, we will
have a chartered bus standing by to get you back to the
station."

I find the car attendant.  "Can you tell me why we didn't
stop?"

He shakes his head.  I expected this.  What's he going to
tell me, there's been a shooting?  Besides, I've had my
face glued to the window for several miles now.  As we
neared the station, I could make out some of what happened.
I saw the man leap, and I felt the thump of impact.  I saw
a man go down on the platform.

"Was that your stop?"  The attendant asks.

I nod.

"I'm sorry, but we'll get you back there as soon as possible.
The station master'll let anyone waiting know."

"Where are we right now?"  I ask.  "And why are we stopping?"

"We have to let a freight train go by, and there's a siding
here at the quarry."  The attendant gives me an impersonal
smile and starts to walk away.

"Excuse me, do you mean Manville Quarry?"

"Yes, sir. Should be coming up on your right, but I don't
think you can see much this time of night."  He smiles
again, and goes about his business.

It's a risk, asking him about the quarry, but now I see my
luck hasn't entirely deserted me.

If the mystery man was at the station, he knows I'm on this
train.  If I get off, he'll follow me.

x-x-x-x

It's a damn party out here.  I hear a familiar voice as I
run through the quarry, looking for the man I now know to
be a super soldier.  My plan, such as it is, is to lure
him into the quarry, and see if what I've seen and read
is really true.  If it isn't, I'm probably screwed.

If Doggett is here, I'm sure Scully can't be far away,
either.  No way would she let him come alone.  There's a
woman standing next to him, but she's too tall.  Agent
Reyes, probably.

And then, I hear Scully.  "Mulder?"

She calls again, desperation edging her voice.  It's all
I can do to keep from running to her.  But at that moment,
my attention is caught by someone else.  Heading not for
me, but for Scully.

I've already stepped out of my hiding place, ready to lure
him away from her.  I'm far enough away that I can hear
her voice but not the words, or the man's low reply.  He
takes a few steps closer.  Scully is shouting at him, but
he continues to advance.  My muscles tense, ready to leap
into the open and distract him from Scully.

Then, it happens.  He starts to shake, and his skin looks
like it's burning from the inside out.  He practically
flies into Scully, knocking her down as he is pulled by
an unseen force.  He explodes against a seam of reddish
rock in the quarry wall.  Exactly like iron filings to
a magnet.

I see Scully running away from me, into the mist.  I do
not follow her.

x-x-x-x

"How you doin', man?"

I look up from my drink, and realize that I'm not hearing
things; it really is Frohike.

He arranged to meet me in this seedy bar.  I've been sitting
here for an hour, replaying the sound of Scully's voice in
my head, and the brief look I had of her.

"Been better," I say.  I've had years of practice schooling
my face, but Frohike knows me very well.

He pats my shoulder awkwardly.  "Everyone's okay.  I heard
the thing went the way we thought."

I nod.  "Yeah, well, we know a little more than we did
before.  But we don't know enough."  I don't want to face
this, but I have to.  "I can't come home yet, can I?'

Frohike shakes his head.  "But you're gonna have some
company soon."

I'm already disagreeing.  "I can't ask Scully to leave
now.  I'm not settled anywhere, I have nothing to offer
her, and besides --"

"Give me a minute, man.  *We* have a plan."  Frohike grins
a little.  "You know that little bit of research you asked
us to do?  That little bit of technology you needed?
Well,"  Frohike really grins now, "we got it."

I know what he's talking about.  A chip.  *The* chip.
"Please tell me you're not kidding," I say.

"I'm not, I swear on Langly's mom's grave."

"She's not dead."

"Exactly."  Frohike signals for a beer.  "We'll tell Scully
about it, and let her decide when.  But we've gotta go soon."

This is the first I've heard that the Gunmen plan to leave,
too.  I should have realized it long before, but I guess I
was more focused on my own plans than theirs.  Frohike
explains that they've been making plans all along, same
as me.

"We have a place just outside St. Paul," he says.  "We've
had it for a while, and we think it could make a nice base
of operations.  And you're welcome, of course, as is Scully.
In fact, we think it's probably the best place to go.
Especially since we've discovered that some of the land
nearby has some special qualities."

"What is it, a giant economy sized warehouse?"  I ask,
deadpan.

"No, it's a software company.  It's been our hobby for a
while.  Had to do something with the money from FPS."

"And I thought you invested it all in that film company."

"Go ahead and laugh, Mulder, but that's been a money-maker,
too."

"Yeah, I guess porn films never go out of style.  I just
didn't think you could stand being a silent partner."

"They're `erotic art films,' man.  Mulder, if you don't
knock it off..."

"Okay, okay," I concede.  It's been so long since I've
talked to a friend.  I'm enjoying this, despite the
seriousness of the situation.

"Aren't you going to ask about the special features of
the land there?"  Frohike says.

I give him a grin of my own and recite,  "It's located in
the middle of the largest source of naturally occurring
iron ore in the United States."

Frohike gives me a high-five.  "And I thought you were
just another pretty face."

"What, you thought I didn't read all that crap you sent
me?"

Our meeting is over too soon.  Frohike promises to keep
in touch.  "Usual channels," he says.  "Might be best to
communicate to Scully through us, too."

I shake my head.  "They may think I'm dead now, but I
should avoid getting in touch with her anyway.  I don't
want to put her in any more danger."

Frohike nods.  "We'll keep an eye on her, and let you
know what the plan is.  Where are you going?"

"I still have some things to check out," I say.  "Let me
know when you're on the move.  And what Scully decides."

x-x-x-x

Not even a month later, I get word.  The Gunmen have left
DC.  I think that means Scully has said yes to their plan,
though they don't actually say that.

I haven't tried to get in touch with Scully.  In a weak
moment, I checked my "trust_no1" account and found the
message she sent to me right after the quarry incident.
My hand hovered over the reply key for quite a while, but
in the end, I didn't do it.

I've been in Arizona for a while.  It's the last place on
the Fox Mulder Abduction Tour that I have to check out.
Scully said she "felt" me here.  Doggett said he saw me,
though Scully and Skinner both knew the impostor for
what he was.

I check out the school where Gibson Praise hid out.  Or
rather, what used to be the school.  It looks like it
burned down in the not too distant past.  Scully says
Gibson is somewhere safe, but I wonder.  They seem to
find a way to get to everyone else; what chance does a
young boy have?  Even one with the special gifts that
Gibson has.

I worry that whether he's "special" or not, that William
will be condemned to the kind of life Gibson has.  Never
feeling safe, never able to experience the things a normal
kid takes for granted.  I'll do my best to keep that from
happening.  I wonder again if my father made the same vow;
that maybe he never intended that either Samantha or I
would be touched by what he did.

In any event, there's nothing left to find or to feel here.
I seem to have worked through the worst of my abduction
issues, at least for now.  I don't sleep any better at
night, but at least I'm not dreaming of drills and waking
up screaming.

I wonder how soon I can expect to hear that Scully is on her
way.

x-x-x-x

Another month passes.  I've been checking out old meteor
crash sites both in person and over the Internet.  I'm
interested in the mineral composition as well as the places
they crashed.  I've got quite a database now.

I'm in Manson, Iowa, when I get an email telling me that
Scully has left DC for parts unknown.  That's my signal to
start heading for Minnesota.

I take my time, wandering around the Midwest, checking out
different places I've read about:  old abduction sites,
places where people were returned, other phenomena that
might be significant.  I even pay a visit to Lake Okobogee
while I'm in Iowa.

Frohike told me that it might be awhile before they can
bring Scully and William in; they have to test the viability
of their countermeasures before they even tell her where her
ultimate destination is.  I wasn't very happy to hear that,
but even I had to see the sense in it.  All I want is to
 know that Scully and William are safe.

Frohike had urged me to make my own arrival as quickly as
possible.  "You've been safe out there so far, but I
wouldn't tempt fate, if you know what I mean," he said.
"I don't want to be the one to explain to Scully that
you've gone missing again."

I just don't want to be cooped up somewhere, waiting for
her.  I'd rather be out, doing what I can to find answers.

Every day, as arranged, I make the rounds of the lists to
see if there's an update on Scully's whereabouts.  The
operative word is "homecoming."

I'm not far from St. Paul when I see the word I've been
waiting for, and I don't waste any time.

Frohike has arranged to meet me in Minneapolis, rather
than give me directions to their new place.  Paranoid to
the last, I think.  No one has followed me; of that I'm
certain.  I have no tracking chips, either.  I guess
the watchers figure that they'll never have to keep tabs
on me as long as they know where Scully is.

I smile as I see Frohike waiting outside the Metrodome.
I'm hoping that he might even have them with him.  He's
standing by himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't
in the car.  He looks different.  His hair is trimmed,
and he's clean-shaven.  He's almost respectable looking.
Not quite like Byers, but you wouldn't look at him funny.
I probably look like a hobo in comparison.

My smile fades as he doesn't return it.  I feel my gut
tighten.  Something is wrong.

"Spill it," I say without preamble.  "What's going on?"

"We've lost Scully," Frohike says reluctantly.

It's all I can do not to lose it.  "You WHAT?"  I can't
help but shout.

"Easy, Mulder, don't make it worse than it is.  Let's get
going and I'll fill you in on the details."

He leads the way to a van that's a cut above their old
Volkswagen.  Not new, but plain and unobtrusive.  Once
we're in, I demand,  "How could you lose them?  What
the hell happened?"

"We're still trying to figure it out, Mulder," Frohike
says.  "One minute she was there, fast asleep in her
apartment with William, and the next minute she was gone."

My gut is really painful now.  "Were they -- were they --"

"Taken?  Not by aliens, if that's what you mean.  And
whoever did it used her car."

"Where was she?"

"In Des Moines, for the past month or so.  We had a friend
keeping an eye on her."  I can hardly believe it; I spent
all that time in Iowa and never once visited Des Moines.
Oh, life's little ironies.

"Your friend did a great job, didn't he?"  I snap.  "What'd
he do?  Stalk her?  Scare her away?  Or just watch her get
snatched under his nose?"

"For your information, Mulder, *she* made sure that Scully
never knew who she was.  She's good at disguises.  She hardly
took her attention away, day or night.  Whatever happened
took place in a very short window of time."

"Do you mean she was being surveiled?"  I'm really pissed
at this, almost as much as I'm pissed at the fact that
she's gone missing.  "You guys were *watching* her?  The
whole time?"

Frohike nods reluctantly.  "Not inside her place, only doors
and windows.  I'm sure Scully understands."

"Well, you can explain it to her when we find her."  I won't
allow for any other possibility.  We will find her.  *I*
will find her.

x-x-x-x

When we pull up to the outside gate of Lodestone, Inc., I'm
impressed in spite of myself.  It looks like a legitimate
business, very upscale by the Gunmen's usual standards.
Frohike had told me it was a software company, but I
figured it was some little mail order operation somewhere
in the warehouse district.  Instead, it's in the greenbelt
corporate park area of St. Paul.  Talk about hiding in
plain sight.

We drive around to the loading dock area and Langly and
Byers are waiting for us.

"You told him," Langly says as we get out.  Frohike nods.
"And you're still standing, Dude."

"Give me the keys, Frohike,"  I say.  "I'm going to Des
Moines, right now."

Mulder, it's at least six hours away," Frohike protests.

"What the hell does that matter?"  I say.  "We're wasting
time here."

Byers looks uncomfortable.  "I think you should stay here,
Mulder," he says.  "It's not safe."

"I've been traipsing all over the countryside for the past
six months, guys.  I *think* I can handle this."

"Scully wouldn't like it."

They tried to pull this before.  I didn't buy it then, and
I'm not buying it now.  "That's a low blow and you know
it.  I *need* to go.  If you want a reason, then how
about I'm a trained investigator?  I might find some
clues you guys and your `friend' overlooked."

I give them all my best Skinner-like steely stare.  "We're
wasting time," I say again.

In the end, Frohike agrees to take me along while Byers and
Langly keep the home fires burning.

Frohike lets me share the driving duties.  I have a lot of
time to think on the way to Des Moines, and none of the
conclusions I come to are good ones.  Maybe they've been
watching us all along, just waiting for one of us to blow
our cover, and lead them to us.  It's a very real
possibility, and one I know isn't lost on the guys.

Though I'm still worried, the initial anger has passed.
I knew, as did Scully, that there were risks inherent in
this whole undertaking.  The Gunmen did what they could
to ensure success; it's not their fault if it got all
fucked up.

By the time we reach the outskirts of Des Moines, I've
convinced myself that it's actually my fault.  I wanted
Scully to leave DC.  I needed her.  If it hadn't been
for my selfishness, she'd probably still be okay.

====

It's early evening when we get to Scully's apartment.
Frohike already has a plan worked out.  He goes to the
manager's office and introduces himself as Scully's
brother.  He explains she was called out of town on a
family emergency and makes sure her rent is paid up
through the end of the month.  He's come to pick up
a few things for her, he says, and he'll be in touch
if she's not coming back right away.

I've been waiting in the van and he signals for me to
come with him to the apartment.  As we get to Scully's
door, her neighbor's door opens.

"Oh hi, Carol," Frohike says casually.  "James, this
is Carol."  He winks at me.  This must be his friend.

She's a knockout, even in old sweats and a big shirt.
She has dark hair and pouty lips.  She looks a bit like
a porn actress I used to like.  I hate her on sight.

She sticks her hand out to shake mine and I reluctantly
take it.

"I'm sorry we're meeting under such unpleasant
circumstances," she says, in a voice that reminds me
unpleasantly of Phoebe Green.  Another strike against
her.

I mutter something in reply and move past her into
Scully's apartment.  I inspect the handle and the
lock.  There are no signs of forced entry.

"Have you guys been through here already?"  I ask.

Frohike shakes his head.  "Y-Carol called us yesterday,
we got in touch with you, and that's it.  You said you
were on your way, so I waited for you."

I'm somehow relieved.  I don't like the idea of Frohike
going through Scully's things, even for a legitimate
purpose.

I have to fight the feeling I'm invading Scully's
privacy myself as I start to roam around the apartment.
When I remember Scully's cozy apartment at home, this
place seems Spartan.  Thin, mud-colored carpet in the
living room, worn vinyl in the kitchen/dining area.
The furniture must have come with the place; it
doesn't look like anything Scully would buy if she
had a choice.  The whole place speaks of impermanence
and transience.  I hate that Scully has had to live
like this.

Yet, it's obvious that she's tried to make it a home
of sorts.  There's a small flowering plant on the
dinette table.  The towels in the kitchen are cheerful
colors.  I look through the cupboards, Frohike hovering
at my shoulder.  Not much here; Scully's favorite tea,
a few spices.  Baby cereal, jars of noxious-looking
strained foods.  The kitchen is spotless, but there
are dishes in the drainer.  A few baby bottles, a
bowl, a glass.  The things in the refrigerator are
very Scully-like: water, juice, non-fat milk, yogurt,
some more baby stuff.

The living room is also neat as a pin.  Even the magazines
are fanned out nicely, which gives it the air of a doctor's
waiting room.  I pick up a couple to see what Scully's
been reading.  Nothing that reveals the Scully I know;
these are home-maker magazines with pretty pictures of
cheerful rooms.  Maybe these are Scully's views of a
normal life.

I told Scully once that I'd never seen her as a mother.
Later, when she made the comment about having a normal
life, I realized I hadn't envisioned her in that way,
either.  By then, we both believed that at least the
motherhood part probably wasn't going to happen.  I
wonder now, does she still have hopes for that kind
of life?  Did she hope that having a child would make
it come true?

I really don't think so.  Scully may have dreams, but
she's a realist, too.  She's also told me since then
that she chose to stay with me, and she keeps on
choosing me.  I just wonder if each time she makes
that same choice, her life narrows a little more.
That these magazines reveal a yearning that she
still has.

There's one magazine in particular that really catches
my eye:  "Single Parent Magazine."  This is almost too
much, but I won't lose it with Frohike looking on.  But
I hope she doesn't have a subscription to this one.

I head to the bedroom, Frohike still at my heels.  "You
stay out here," I tell him.  He raises his hands in
surrender and backs off.  "I think I'll go next door
and talk to Carol," he says.

Suits me just fine.  I take a breath and enter her
bedroom.

Here, there are still no signs of a struggle, but
definitely signs of a hasty departure.  The closet
door stands open.  The bed is unmade.  I pick up one
of the pillows and press it to my face.  Unmistakably
Scully.  I'm tempted to take the pillow with me.
Instead, I put it back in place and smooth the
bedclothes up and pull the bedspread over them.
William's crib is next to the bed.  Only the sheet
covering the mattress is there.  I imagine Scully
lifting William up, blanket and all, and bundling
him out of the apartment.  A look into the closet
reveals a few empty hangers and a pair of shoes.
The bureau is almost full of Scully's things.  The
second drawer I open has some underthings in it,
like she grabbed a few off the top and left the
rest.  I run my hands under the remaining items to
see if anything else is hidden in the drawer, then
I carefully smooth everything back into place.  I
do the same with the other drawers.  The bottom one
is empty except for a tiny pair of socks.  Those
I do pocket.

I sit on the bed and try to imagine the circumstances.
I don't think she was taken against her will.  There's
nothing here to indicate anything like that.  She left
in haste, but obviously took the time to pack a few
things.  She left her watch on the nightstand, but
there's no toothbrush or hairbrush in the bathroom.

Something must have scared Scully into running like
that.  I need to know more.  I guess I need to talk
to "Carol," much as I'd rather not, to get more
details.

As I stand up, I notice the nightstand drawer.  I'd
almost overlooked it.  Scully evidently did, too,
because she left something behind.

It looks like a college composition book, the kind
with the mottled black and white cardboard cover.
It's held closed with an elastic band because there's
things tucked between some of the pages.  I take the
band off and a few fall out onto the bed.

They're pictures of William, meticulously dated.  The
book itself is written in Scully's own version of shorthand,
but I can remember how to read some of it.  It's a record
of William's growth and development.  It looks like
Scully started it not long after she left DC.  I wonder
if she intended it for me.  I want to think so, anyway.
Regardless, it's coming with me.

"Did you find anything?"  Frohike asks as I enter the
apartment next door.

I shake my head.  "I need to ask you some questions,"
I say to Carol.  She inclines her head but doesn't say
anything.

"When did you notice she was gone?  How long had she
been gone when you noticed?"

Carol goes over to a small monitor.  "I didn't notice
until the next morning, but I have a tape of the night
before."  She fiddles with the remote and runs the
tape backward.

We look at a grainy gray image of Scully's front door.
There's a date and time stamp in the corner.  The time
reads 2:00 AM.  Carol forwards the tape a little until
we see a change.

At 2:15:10, the door opened.  Scully appeared, William
in her arms, a backpack slung over her shoulder.  She
looked around cautiously.  I can see the gun in her
free hand.  As we watch, she slowly walked out of the
frame.

This confirms my suspicions.  Scully left of her own
free will.  Now I just have to figure out why, and
hope that can tell me where.

x-x-x-x

Frohike and I are both pretty quiet on the way back
to St. Paul.  Carol, or Yves, as Frohike called her,
couldn't tell us much more.  She'd been away from the
monitors for only a few minutes, during which Scully
had made her escape.  She hadn't looked at the tapes
until the next morning, when Scully failed to follow
her usual routine.

I am still pissed but Carol's story reminded me
uncomfortably of a stakeout of my own that I left
for mere seconds, only to find the perp had been and
gone in my short absence.  We parted, if not cordially,
at least civilly.

Frohike sacks out in the back of the van while I drive
the first leg.  He'd suggested going back to St. Paul,
absent any clues.  I was all for canvassing the neighborhood,
but conceded that it would probably cause more harm than
good.

"Byers and Langly will have come up with something while
we were gone," Frohike said.  He'd called to let them
know we were coming back, and asked if they'd heard
anything.  "Scully had an emergency number," he told
me.  "She'll call it, I'm sure."

I fervently hoped so.

x-x-x-x

My nightmares of abduction and torture have now been
replaced by dreams of Scully.  I'm more disturbed by
this, and if possible, feel even more helpless than
before.  All I can do is wait, and hope.

I have no idea where Scully's gone.  She might not stay
in one place, though if I know her at all, that's exactly
what she'll do.  She'll find a safe place and hole up there.

I think I've figured out why she ran away.  My own
nightmares were the key.  She was alone, she had no
one to turn to, no one to talk to.  The stress of
keeping not just herself, but William, safe, had
to be enormous.

If she doesn't want to be found, she won't be found.
I just hope that she's found a place where she can
feel safe for a while.

My biggest fear is that she'll decide to stay away
forever.

x-x-x-x

The guys are on this.  Byers put out the word to all
the MUFON members in the Midwest to keep an eye out
for Scully.  I'm all for driving randomly around myself,
but even I know that's pretty futile.  So I wait, and
hope, and trust that the guys are doing everything that
can be done.  Even though I'm sure Scully wasn't taken
against her will, I feel just as helpless as I did then.

Scully didn't use the emergency number Frohike sent
her, but I think that's because it's in the journal
I now have in my possession.  I've got some of the
entries translated and memorized now, and I'm working
on the others.  I find comfort in some of the words.

"W smiled today.  Very much like M, though I hope
not so rare."

"Thought W said `Da' today.  Hasn't yet said Mama, but
sometimes makes `mmm' sound.  I talk to him every day.
I tell him how much he looks like his daddy."

I look at the pictures Scully took.  Frankly, I don't
see much of a resemblance, though his eyes look like
mine.  His nose doesn't look very big, at least not
yet.

"W is crawling all over.  Already baby-proofed, but
he figured out the cupboard locks.  I put all the
chemicals, etc. in the cupboard above the stove."

That's my Scully, always a step ahead.  It's good to
be reminded of that.

In between repeated readings of Scully's journal, and
bugging the guys for any information, I continue to
do research and work out my findings.  It's hard to
do it alone.  The guys are willing to help, and there
are others here at the site who are scientists, but I
don't want their help.  I want Scully's.  I always
felt I could come to conclusions faster because I had
Scully to help me work through the facts.  We know
each other so well, and I'm having a hard time working
with anyone else.

I still have time on my hands, and my thoughts inevitably
turn to Scully.  I wonder more and more if she can possibly
be satisfied with the kind of life I can offer her.  It's
about as far from normal as a person can get.  We'll be
on the run for the foreseeable future; and how much future
we have seems to be in doubt.

The guys have outdone themselves on our behalf.  They've
created a safe house that would definitely be the envy
of the Witness Protection Program.  Most of one of the
large buildings on site is devoted to living space and
recreational facilities.  I have my own quarters, larger
than my former apartment.  I was surprised to discover
that they'd brought some of my stuff from DC.

"We gave you a two bedroom place so there'd be room for
the kid," Langly said when they showed me.  There was
already a crib set up in the second room, though it
wasn't furnished with much else.

"What if Scully wants separate quarters?"  I asked.

They all looked shocked and hemmed and hawed.

Byers finally spoke up.  "Of course, there's plenty of
room if that's what you want..."

"It's not what I want," I said.  "It's what Scully might
want."  I didn't want to make any assumptions on her part.

"We'll keep the apartment closest to you for her," Byers
said.  "We weren't able to get any of her furniture, but
we can order anything she needs."

I nodded.  I didn't like revealing my insecurities to
the guys, but that last thing I wanted to do was assume
that I knew what Scully wanted.  We'd never had a chance
to discuss our future before I left DC, and I didn't
want to present it as a fait accompli to her.

I realize that I made certain assumptions in the past,
and now I've been wondering about things that I never
gave a thought to before.

Did Scully want to be courted?  Would she rather have had
a conventional relationship with me, one where we went on
dates, where I left her at end of the evening with a
goodnight kiss, brought her flowers?

I'd always assumed Scully didn't care about things like
that because I didn't.  I thought I was letting her call
the shots, though.  I let her decide the when and the
where.  I figured if she wanted the "how" to be different,
she'd have said something.

It's true we've never talked much about our feelings,
even to each other.  Especially not to each other.
Maybe I should have asked her.  Maybe I should have
told her how I felt sooner, or at least have done a
better job of it once I finally did.

For now, I'll just have to put that on my list of regrets.
It's getting longer all the time.

x-x-x-x

Frohike makes the trip to Des Moines every week or so,
just to check out the lay of the land.  The guys are
convinced that Scully's okay, and that she'll turn up.
They tell me that this unexpected turn of events is
convincing evidence that their countermeasure to the
chip actually works.  I don't know how they can say
that, but I don't have any choice but to believe.

I'm always edgier than usual on the days Frohike makes
the trip to Des Moines.  He always calls when he gets
there and calls on the way home, just to let us know
if he's discovered anything new.  He hasn't so far.  I
guess I hope that he'll show up there one day and Scully
will be back, as if she'd never left.  I know it's
ridiculously unlikely, but I like to think it could happen.

When Frohike calls in the late afternoon to say that he
has nothing new to report, I decide to go out for a run
around the compound.  It's huge, and there are paths all
through it for running or biking.  There's even a par
course, and a basketball court.  The guys told me that
most of the landscaping and security features were in
place when they took it over, though they added some
additional measures of their own.  Lodestone had been
a failing dot-com when the guys decided to invest in
it.  They'd had a side-business in security programs
and consulting for some time, and the money they earned
through game programming allowed them to invest in even
bigger opportunities.

The grounds are great.  This time of year, there are
flowering trees and plants all over the place.  There
are picnic areas and areas that have been left more
natural.  I can almost forget that there's a tall
electric fence around the entire perimeter, not to
mention infrared sensors, cameras, and other high tech
security systems, as well.

So far, it's just the guys and me living here, though
there's room for more.  I have my own ideas about who
else I'd invite to come here.  I'm mindful of Jeremiah
Smith's warning about concentrating too many of us in
one location, and I'm aware that one day we'll probably
have to separate.

I'm hoping that by then, Scully and William will be with
me, and *we* won't be separating.  I hope not, anyway.

I run myself hard.  It helps, sometimes.  I've been
running a lot lately.  Just another irony in my life.
I'm staying in the same place, but I'm still running.

I see Byers looking for me as I trudge back up the path
to the buildings.  This must mean something.  Byers is
the head of operations for the company, and he takes
his job seriously.  He's good at it, too.  Langly is
the chief programmer, or as it says on his business
cards, "Master of Kung Fu."  Frohike doesn't have a
title or business cards, but he's the go-to guy for
everything.  He runs the covert operations side of
the house, and he's also damned good at his job.

"Byers," I greet him.  "I don't usually see you out
here."  I'm a little worried, but I try not to let
it show.

"Frohike got a call from the emergency number,"  Byers
said.  "Scully's back."

"You're sure?" I ask him.  "You're absolutely sure."

"Frohike left a number with the apartment manager, and
someone called it this afternoon.  He was on his way
back here and he stopped to check his messages.  She
called just a little while ago.  He's turned around
and is going back there."

"Are you sure?"  I ask again.  I don't want Frohike
walking into a trap, no matter how much I want to see
Scully.  "Maybe he should wait for me, and I could go
with him, just in case."

Byers shakes his head.  "It's really Scully.  Frohike
confirmed the sighting with Yves, too."

Okay, so Yves has now redeemed herself in my eyes.  A
little, anyway.

x-x-x-x

I can't sleep.  I don't know why I'm even bothering to
try.  I get up and pace around the apartment.  I calculate
again the soonest that Frohike might arrive back here
with his precious charges.

I pick up Scully's journal again.  I wish there'd been
a few pictures of her, too.  I think of how she looked
before I left.  She'd let her hair grow longer, and she
had a slightly more voluptuous look and feel than she'd
ever had before, a wonderful by-product of her pregnancy.
The surveillance video showed her hair as shorter, but
the images weren't distinct enough to see much detail.
Doesn't matter how she looks, as long as I can look at
her.

x-x-x-x

I'm wandering all over the facility.  It's a Saturday, and
I can have the run of the place, though the guys expect me
to keep a low profile during the week.  They've screened
their employees well, but we figure the less people who
see me here, the better.  Trust No One.  I should
needlepoint it on a pillow.

I wander around the front building and find Byers, who
looks like he's been doing the same thing.  "No sign of
them," Byers says.  "They should be here by late
afternoon, even if Frohike stopped for the night."

I wonder fleetingly what we could do if they don't show
up?  No one could keep me here then, I'd be out scouring
every inch of the road, and everything else, between here
and Des Moines, for as long as it took.

Byers sees my expression and he has a worried look on
his face.  "They're fine," he reassures me.

I know that part of my worry has to do more with what will
happen once they're here.  This is the turning point.
We've been on the run, in one way or another, for a long
time.  We've been forced apart by people and events beyond
our control for years.  They've separated us by force, by
deception, by attempts to seduce us.  We've always found
our way back to each other, in the end.  I don't want it
to be all for nothing, now that we have a chance.

I find myself back outside my apartment.  Scully and
William will have to stay here for a bit until we know
what she wants to do.  I'll give her the bed, and make
sure she knows I'm not part of the deal unless she wants
it.  I haven't been sleeping in it, anyway.  If I can't
be with Scully, I might as well sleep on the sofa.

The message light is blinking on the phone when I walk
through the door.  My heart begins to race again.  It's
Byers, as I'd hoped.  "They're here.  We're taking them
to The Thinker."

Who the hell is that?  Then I remember; the guys thought
it was cool to name the conference rooms after people
they knew or admired.  The problem is, I never go to
their meetings, so I can't remember where they are,
half the time.  I know it's somewhere on the first
floor of the main building, so I'll figure it out by
process of elimination.

As I enter the main corridor, I hear voices.  Byers.
Langly.  Is that Scully speaking?  I pick up the pace
a bit.  I'm glad the door to the conference room is
open.  I feel as nervous as I did the day I returned
from Tunguska and walked into the Senate hearing room.

Langly says something about John Nash, and I hear Scully
ask if he's here.  Sounds like a cue to me.

"Don't be silly, Scully."  I say as I enter the room.
"He's too high-profile now.  We had to turn him down."

Scully turns at the sound of my voice.  Oh, I remember
that look.  I know I have a stupid grin on my face, but
I don't care.  I look like hell, anyway.

But Scully...oh my god, I've never seen anyone look so
good in all my life.  She's got William in her arms,
and the biggest smile I've ever seen on her face.  I
can't move; all I can do is look at them.

Then William speaks.  "DA!" is all he says, but it
breaks the spell.  He's reaching for me, Scully's
reaching for me, I reach for Scully and William,
and pull them both into my arms.  There's a commotion
behind me, but I only have ears and eyes for Scully
and William.  I feel Scully's head on my chest, and
William next to her.  I'm murmuring to Scully, saying
everything I've held inside for so long, in my own
verbal shorthand.  "Scully," I say again and again.
"Scully. Scully."  I never want to let them go.

The guys have left the room, closing the door behind
them.  I'm glad; all I want is this moment, one perfect
 moment together before we go on.

At last, I hold my family in my arms.

=====

Apart 5: Adjustment
by ML

William, his face smeared with mashed bananas, watches
from his ringside seat as I move around the kitchen.  I
turn to smile at him and he smiles back.  He looks so
like Scully when he does that, it's a good thing he can't
talk yet.  If he asked me for something, I'd give it to
him, without hesitation.

He offers me a fistful of banana, and I nibble on his
fingers, which makes him shriek with glee.  Who'd have
thunk that Fox Mulder, Special Agent, would be a daddy,
and would enjoy it this much?  If only the old gang in
VICAP could see me now.

In the few weeks since Scully and William arrived at
this place, I've transformed from Bachelor Boy to
Domestic God.  Well, not entirely, but my life has
made a 180 degree course change from its usual trajectory.

I'd like to say I couldn't be happier, but there are
plenty of things that still need to be resolved.

There's the small matter of finding a way to destroy the
super soldiers other than luring them into a quarry.
I sense that it's a gambit that won't work very often.

I personally would like to know why it's so important
that either my son or I die.  Call me touchy, but it's
definitely high on my list of Things to Know and Prevent.

And of course, there's the virus, which no doubt has
mutated again, the still impending threat of alien
invasion, not knowing who to trust, and so on.

Same circus, different clowns.

All of these matters have a certain urgency to them,
but I have other things on my mind tonight.

First and foremost, my mind is on Scully.  I still can
hardly believe that she and William are here with me,
and safe.

x-x-x-x

The day they walked into Lodestone headquarters, bedraggled
and exhausted both physically and emotionally, was the best
day of my life, period.  I'd been apart from them for so
long, and though I kept my game face on for the boys, until
they arrived, I feared I might never see them again.

Since that day, things have happened quickly.  A little
too quickly, and lately I've had a sense of time slipping
away from me.  We were barely reunited before we started
sharing what we'd learned about the forces ranged against
us, and planning how to deal with them.

It feels good to be with Scully again.  I had been looking
forward to the resumption of our working relationship just
as much as our personal one.  It's not really the same,
though.  Something is missing from both, and I want that
something back.

It's not her fault, or mine.  We've had a lot going on
since then.  Scully's been working hard to get the lab
up to her standards, and she's had some catching up to
do on what we know about the super soldiers and their
genetic make-up.

And then, there's the small matter of William.  He's not
a demanding baby, but he can't do anything for himself
yet, and he needs constant care and attention.  We seem
to feed, burp, bathe, change, and put him down for a nap
on about a four-hour cycle.  It hasn't left us much time
for privacy.

And, I'm sad to say it, no time at all for intimacy.

Yes, Scully and I have been sharing a bed, but that's
about it.  I end up doing a lot of my work in the evening
after Scully has gotten home and can spend some time with
William.  Most nights, I'm still at the computer when
Scully calls it a night.  She's asleep when I come to
bed, and I hate to wake her when I know William will be
needing her attention again before long.  Sometimes we
share a little cuddling, maybe a kiss or two, and it's
lights out.  Not the way I envisioned things at all.

x-x-x-x

I grab a washcloth and start to wipe William down.  He's
not crazy about this part of the routine, but he tolerates
it most of the time.  This afternoon he's not feeling
particularly cooperative.  "C'mon, William," I mutter,
as he wriggles around in his high chair.  He throws a
gob of banana on the floor and I stoop to clean it up.
I'm not usually that particular about a messy floor, but
I don't want to do a pratfall and end up in traction.
William might find it funny, but it would wreck my plans
for the evening.

I've been spending a lot of time with William.  It just
makes sense for me to stay home with him.  Scully can't
do her lab work from here, and most of the work I do is
computer research these days.  The FBI auditor would be
so proud of me.

I was pretty nervous about staying with William alone,
I'll admit, but we seemed to hit it off.  I was afraid
William would see me as an interloper, someone who was
taking Scully's attention away from him.  He has no
worries on that head.  Scully is so attuned to him that
she knows what he needs at the first whimper.

I don't know that I'll ever have that kind of connection
with William.  It's something I'll never tire of seeing
between them, and I can't help but be a bit envious of it.

It was very hard for Scully to leave William the first
time she went to the lab.  I know she was tempted to take
William with her.  I didn't try to talk her out of it, at
least not directly.

The first morning, we walked over with her to the main
building and waited for the elevator together.

"You trust me with him, don't you, Scully?"  I asked her.
I held William with one arm, and her with the other.

"Of course I do, Mulder," she replied.  "It's just..."

I knew without her finishing the sentence.  It's just
that she hadn't had him out of her sight for the past
several months.  Even though she knew he was safe with
me.

I saw that Scully was torn by the twin desires of mothering
William, and stepping back into her professional life.

I finally got her to go by promising to bring him by midway
through the morning.  "You can come home for lunch, too," I
said.  "You can take as long as you want, or not work at
all if you don't want to."

She squared her shoulders.  "I'll be fine, Mulder.  It's
just taking some adjusting."  She kissed William, then me,
then William again.  Then she got on the elevator.

"Okay, William," I said.  "Don't make a liar out of me.
Let's show Mom how well the guys can do on their own."

I'd been practicing the diaper-changing and bathing
routines, with Scully's hovering assistance, for the
past week.  I've done okay with both, for the most part.

Feeding is another matter.  William is taking some solids
now, and Scully has been starting to wean him.  I don't
know if she ever had any trouble with him, but for
William, meal time is a game, and one where his dad
doesn't know the rules.  The first couple of times I
wore more food than I got into William.

This is one of those times.  William shrieks -- he's been
doing that a lot lately, especially when my ear is in close
range -- and throws another handful of banana.  He laughs.

"You're not helping, buddy," I tell him, and he shrieks
gleefully again.  It's a good thing the Gunmen's quarters
are on the other side of the building.  If we had neighbors,
they'd probably be calling child protective services.

I give up, temporarily, to try and finish the food
preparation.  The casserole I'm making has to bake for
a while.  I'd planned it that way on purpose, the better
to get William ready, and get myself cleaned up, before
Scully arrives.

Tonight is Pamper Scully Night.  William's going to stay
with the guys, and I'm planning a special dinner.  I've
got flowers, candles, music, chocolate, and a movie.  It's
date night, the date we've never gone on.

I want this night to be about fun, and relaxation, and
forgetting about the world outside.  This is my way of
saying, "time out."  I don't want us to just get sucked
into the next big crisis, or as Scully herself once said,
become merely the subjects of an unending X-File.  If we
are to survive what's to come, and protect William, we
need this.

My theory is, once we get the personal stuff right, the
professional stuff will fall into place, too.  We've been
dancing around each other since our reunion, and not in
a good way.

We kind of got started off on the wrong foot, I guess.
And for some reason, it's been difficult to broach the
subject.  We talk about work.  We talk about William,
though not as in-depth about either as I think we should.
We haven't talked at all about ourselves and our feelings.

I'm not as uncertain about things as I once was.  I'm
pretty sure, strike that, I *know* that Scully loves me.
But the personal side of things is not going as smoothly
as I hoped they would once we were reunited.

I reflect that maybe part of that is my fault.  Regardless
of my confidence about Scully's feelings for me,  I have
been a little reluctant to assume that everything's fine
between us, and that we can go back to the old status quo.

The thing is, there never really has been a status quo.

Someone once asked me if I had a significant other.  I kind
of stumbled over the answer.  Scully is without question
the most significant relationship I have in my life, but
not in any conventional way.

It goes with the unconventional territory we cover.  Every
time I thought we might have a small respite, a stretch of
time to relax and regroup, and maybe *talk* about where we
were headed, something else happened.  I'd say it was a
conspiracy, but I think it's just plain bad timing.

I had a lot of time to think about this while we were apart
this time.  When I was abducted, I didn't even know Scully
was pregnant.  It was a huge shock to come back and find
out that she was, and to know that I was the father.  It
took me a while to adjust to both ideas.

Now I've had so much time to think about it that I've passed
beyond acceptance to self-doubt.  Not that I'm ever very far
from there, anyway.  That's a pattern in my relationship
with Scully I'd like to change.

I think Scully is where I was when I was returned.  Not
sure of where she fits in, or if she made the right decision
to leave DC.  It's my job to see that she does not regret
her decision.

x-x-x-x

At last I've got the chicken browned and everything's in the
oven.  I thought about doing something a little fancier than
a chicken and rice casserole, but my cooking skills are
decidedly rusty.  And with the kid around, we're lucky to
get canned soup most nights.

"Da!  Dow'!  Dow'!"  William is demanding.  I lift him out
of the high chair and let him crawl around the kitchen floor
while I wipe out the dishes.  He can't get into the other
rooms; thanks to the Gunmen, we have a baby gate for every
door.  William hasn't figured out how to unlatch them yet.
The Gunmen are proud that they can stay one step ahead of
the kid, at least for now.

I lean against the kitchen counter and watch William as he
unearths his favorite saucepan lid and bangs it on the floor.
I go back to my chores to the percussive sounds of William
the One Man Band.

I've been looking for it, but I haven't seen any evidence
yet of unusual behavior in William.  In the journal Scully
kept while we were apart, she seemed to be watching for signs.
We've both been told at different times that he's "special,"
but no one has actually told us why or how.

William spooked Scully so badly not long after I left that
she won't allow a mobile over his crib.  She's very resistant
to the idea that William is "different" in any way.  I know
she'd like to raise William as a normal child, and give him
the kind of life she had.  I think she realizes by now that
this won't be possible.

I wish I could give her that.  I wish I could give her
everything she deserves.  I will at least give her what
I can.

x-x-x-x

One of the things I resolved to do when I left DC, was to
try and make sense of my abduction and where it figured
into the big picture.  I was driven away not so much out
of fear for myself, but fear that not knowing what had
happened to me would somehow bring harm to Scully and
William.  I can't say I found all the answers I sought.
As usual, I was left with more questions.  But I discovered
enough to allay any fear that I could become something that
would turn on Scully and William.

It had been close; closer than I want to think about.
Scully saved me from a fate that was literally worse
than death.

I didn't just discover things about myself on my travels,
I discovered some things about Scully as well.  When she
went missing with William, I had an epiphany of sorts about
her.  I saw a side of her that I'd seldom thought about.

She'd dropped hints to me in the past, and I guess I'd
filed them away in some dark recess of my brain.  When I
searched Scully's apartment in Des Moines, all these hints
from over the years coalesced the many disparate images I'd
collected of Scully.  I'd seen her as an agent, a doctor, a
partner, friend, and finally, a lover.  What I hadn't seen
or understood yet was Scully as a woman.

Yeah, sure, I *know* Scully's a woman, but that's never been
the way I'd describe her first.  Scully is -- Scully.  She's
an extraordinary human being.  But beyond the Scully I know
and love with all my heart, is the woman who longed for a
child of her own.  The woman who, even when driven away from
her life, tried to keep some beauty around her, even if it
was only pictures in magazines.

This is the part of Scully I dismissed in the past, that I
didn't even try to understand, because it didn't fit in with
my view of her.  It couldn't because the kind of normal life
Scully talked about seemed to exclude me.  Because of that,
I think I was scared away.  I rejected that part of her.
Stupid, isn't it?  The man who's faced down bioterrorists
and survived an alien abduction is terrified of a five-foot-
two female.  Well, she *does* carry a gun.

Or maybe I'm just a commitment-phobe.  That's a phrase I've
seen on the cover of women's magazines now and then.  You
know, the ones that tell you if you're single, female, and
unattached, it's just because you haven't found Mr. Right,
and by damn, we're going to help you find him.  And when you
do, we'll show you how to Bend Him to Your Will.

I've never seen Scully reading any of those magazines, but
I've read some of them while standing in the checkout line
at the supermarket.  Gotta know what the opposition is
planning, after all.

Except that I've never looked at Scully as the opposition,
not in that way.  She has opposed me as a scientist, sure.
But I never felt that she was a predatory female.  Believe
me, I know the difference.  Exhibit A, Phoebe Green; Exhibit
B, Diana Fowley.  Even though it took me a long time to
realize it.

I'd have liked it if Scully at least occasionally showed
some awareness of me as a man, but she never did.  My
reaction to being ignored was to tease her and pile on
the innuendo, to touch her, tower over her, anything to
elicit the response I hoped for.  But nothing I ever did
seemed to faze Scully in the least.

The truth is, Scully is just really good at hiding her
feelings.  In the field we're in, she can't afford any
sign of weakness, or to give tit for tat and expect to be
taken seriously.  It's only rarely that Scully has let me
see her fun-loving side, the "girly" Scully.  The "Dana"
part of her, for want of a better term.

I treasure those glimpses of her:  The Scully who enjoyed
being shown how to swing a bat, even though I'm pretty sure
she already knew how.  The Scully who danced with me in
Memphis.  The one who giggled and waved a Bureau credit
card at me as a come-on, one night in Hollywood.

I want to know all the Scullys there are, and the Danas,
too.  I realize that the woman who is all the things I
know, and more besides, is just waiting for the right time
and place to reveal herself.

I want that time and place to be tonight.  Not that I kid
myself that I'm going to sweep her off her feet and that
everything we've been struggling with will suddenly become
clear, and easy to say.  But I'd like to open the door a
little wider than it is right now.

I'm tired of being an absentee lover.

x-x-x-x

My kitchen duties done, I scoop William off the floor and
take him into the bathroom.  I'm especially proud of my
bathing method.  I strip both of us down, and we shower
together.  I'm not sure Scully would approve, but I'm very
careful with him.  I don't find it nearly as much fun as
showering with Scully would be, and it's a bit more difficult
logistically, but William seems to enjoy it.  I've actually
grown to like using baby shampoo.  My hair has never been
softer.

I wrap William in a towel and set him next to me on the bath
mat as I quickly towel off.  In a flash, he's left the towel
behind and rapidly crawls toward the bedroom.  "Not so fast,
Naked Boy," I say, and grab him back, lifting him high.  More
shrieks of glee.  I'm glad he finds his old man so funny.
I wrap the towel around him again and plop him on the bed
as I pull on some sweatpants.

It's warm enough inside that I just put a diaper on him.  I'd
love to try and put him down for a nap, but I don't think
he'll cooperate.  Besides, Scully will be here any time
now, and the Gunmen are due to come get William right after
that.  Instead, I warm William's bottle and grab an iced
tea for myself, and we settle on the sofa for a little
quiet time.

I try not to obsess over tonight.  I'm afraid if I pin too
much on it, it will collapse under the weight of my
expectations.  After all, I'm springing this on Scully.
Maybe I should have said something this morning.

I hate being so insecure.  I so want this evening to be
just right for her, and of course for me.

x-x-x-x

As I've said, Scully was pretty much exhausted the day she
and William arrived at Lodestone.  Not that I caught onto
that all by myself, though I should have.  I know how I
felt when I was on my own.  It had to have been that much
harder for Scully.  She had not only herself, but William
to take care of.  But I was so glad to see them, safe and
whole, that I couldn't see the obvious signs.  In fact,
the first afternoon, I was a little put out at Scully.

It was my fault, really.  All I could think of was having
some time alone with her, just to touch her, look at her,
be with her.  After we got William settled, I looked forward
to a long afternoon of nothing but Scully.

We did share a few kisses, and nothing will ever be as sweet
to me as feeling Scully in my arms after being so long apart.
But as soon as we sat down and I had her cuddled against my
side, she fell asleep.

I tried to ignore the blow to my ego, and just enjoyed the
feeling of Scully's warm body pressed up against me, and
hearing her soft breathing.  Didn't I say that it would be
enough just to be with her?

Okay, so I lied.  I didn't know how hard it would be to sit
there and just watch her sleep.  There was so much I wanted
to hear from her, and to say to her.

After an hour or so, I picked her up and carried her to bed.
That seemed to set a precedent that's been hard to break.

x-x-x-x

I'm lying on the sofa and William is drowsing on my naked
chest when I hear the beep and click of the electronic lock.
"Hey buddy," I murmur,  "Mom's home."

William barely moves except to anchor his thumb more securely
in his mouth.  I decide to stay put.  "Hey, Scully," I say
softly as she walks in the door.

She looks even better to me than she did the first day back.
Her hair is longer, and she's kept it the blond-ish color
she'd let it go to while on the run.  She doesn't look nearly
so tired, and the hunted look is gone from her eyes.  I like
to think that I have something to do with that.  Well, me,
and the sense of security this place gives her.

She smiles a bit as she catches sight of us lolling on the
sofa.  "Another busy day, I see," she comments.

"You have no idea," I tell her as she approaches.  "Care to
join us?"

She shakes her head.  "I'd rather just look at you."

Ooh, that's a promising opening.

Scully kneels down and kisses William.  "Hey, Sweetie," she
says.

William wriggles a little and raises his head, strings of
drool cascading from his mouth.

"I think he drooled on you," Scully remarks.

"Wouldn't be the first time," I reply.  "Like mother, like
son."

"Very funny, Mulder," she says, giving me a light smack on
the arm that turns into a caress.

"Not in front of the child, Scully," I say in mock protest.
"How was your day at the office, Dear?"

She smiles again at my joking endearment and shakes her head.
 "No breakthroughs yet, Mulder.  It's a tedious process."

I start to say that I wasn't expecting any breakthroughs, but
I don't want to begin that discussion.  Scully has very high
expectations of herself, and while rationally she knows
better, I think she starts each day with that hope.

Instead, I say,  "We can talk about it later.  Why don't
you go change, and we can relax a little."  I'd like to get
up and take her in my arms right now, but I'm a little
hampered by drowsy baby.

Scully nods and stands up, brushing her fingertips along
my arm again before she goes.  She's been doing that more
the last couple of days.  I think it's a hopeful sign.

By the time Scully's done showering and changing, I've got
William and myself dressed and the guys are on their way.

Scully notices William's bag by the door right away.  "Mulder,
what's going on?"  She sounds a little fearful.

"It's okay," I say.  "William's going to stay with the guys
tonight."  As I finish speaking, there's a rat-a-tat-tat on
the door.

Scully takes William from me and for a moment I think she's
going to refuse.  We look at each other over the top of
William's head and there's another knock on the door.  Scully
nods the tiniest bit and kisses William's forehead.  For his
part, he's silent, his blue-gray eyes bright and watchful.

I open the door to the guys.  I'll never get used to seeing
Byers in what passes for casual:  a pressed Oxford cloth shirt
and twill pants, finished with tasseled loafers.  Give him a
cardigan and he could almost be Mr. Rogers.  "Good evening,
Agent Scully, Mulder," he says formally.

"Dana," Scully reminds him gently.  She steps back to allow
the three to enter.  William catches sight of Frohike and
begins to bounce in Scully's arms.  I don't know why, but
Frohike appears to be William's favorite.

"It's okay, Scully," I say.  "I've already briefed them,
they know exactly what to do."

Another long moment of Scully looking at me, then she kisses
William and hands him over to Frohike.  I recognize the
importance of the gesture.  Scully trusts these guys.

But it doesn't keep her from saying,  "Do you know how to
change him?  Mulder, did you pack his favorite toy?  Are
there plenty of diapers?"

"Believe me, Dana, we've got it all covered," Byers says,
and Langly rolls his eyes.  He picks up William's bag.
"Jeez, this weighs a ton!"

"You guys know the drill," I say.  "Don't hesitate to call."
I've given them what amounts to a book of instructions, and
one of them has spent time with me every day this week,
learning how to change diapers and the like.  They're non-
violent guys, but if I give them one more direction, I think
they might revise their philosophy.

Frohike nods.  "Don't worry.  Have a good time.  Don't do
anything *I* wouldn't do."

I bite back a crushing reply and shut the door on them.  When
I turn, I see Scully watching me, her eyes darting from the
door to me, then back again.

"You okay?"  I ask softly.  She nods, biting her lower lip.

I can't resist any longer.  I pull her into my arms.  She's
tense against me but I can feel her begin to relax a little
as I hold her.  After a few long minutes, I feel her arms
around my waist.

I stroke her back softly.  She holds me a little tighter, and
I let go to tip her face up to mine.  "I'm sorry, I guess I
should have told you," I tell her.  "I didn't mean to scare
you."

She shakes her head and I brush the hair away from her face,
cradling it in my hands.  We simply look at each other for
a long minute until I give in to myself and lower my mouth
to hers.  I intend this to be a comfort kiss, a way to
reassure Scully (and myself) that everything's okay.

It's Scully who makes it into something a little more
intense.  She parts her lips just a little and lets her
tongue slide along my lower lip.  This is one of her
favorite moves, and it never fails to turn me on.

Before I know what's hit me, we're on the sofa, still
locked in our kiss.  I think dazedly of all the smartass
comments I could make about Scully being a cheap date,
but fortunately for me my mouth is otherwise occupied.

I have to admit that I hoped for this, but I didn't expect
it.  Part of me is really, really glad about it, and is an
eager participant.  I let my hands roam over Scully's body
the way I've wanted to do for so long.  She's doing the same
to me, and we barely pause to draw breath before we're
kissing again.

This isn't the way I wanted it to be.  I don't want Scully
to think I only set this evening up as a means to an end,
as much as I'm enjoying it.  I have to stop this before
it gets out of hand.  I reluctantly pull away from Scully,
and take her hands in mine.

"Hey, Scully," I say gently.  "Slow down a little.  The
guys aren't charging by the hour."

To my surprise, Scully blushes and drops her hands.  I
immediately regret my words, even more so when she pushes
up off the sofa and walks away.

"I thought that this was what you wanted," Scully says.

"Huh?"  I say stupidly.

"You went to a lot of trouble, Mulder," she says, gesturing
at the nicely set table, the flowers and the candles.  "You
didn't really have to."

Scully obviously has her own ideas about what I'm doing.
Suddenly this evening isn't about her any longer, it's all
about me.  Again.  Dammit.

It's my turn to say something, but I'm having a little
trouble regrouping here.  Scully helps me out.

"Mulder...why are you doing this?"

As usual, the part of me to recover fastest is my smartass
reflex.  "Jeez, Scully," I mutter, unable to help myself.
"I just wanted to fix you dinner."

Scully shakes her head, and I can see she's not going to
accept this.  I see the barest hint of a smile.  "I know
you, Mulder.  You have a larger agenda.  Out with it."

"Just what I said, Scully," I say.  "With everything that's
happened, we've never really ... you know, gone out, had
dinner, or anything."

"We have dinner together all the time.  We did before."
She's standing, hands on her hips, in the same kind of
argumentative pose I've seen so many times.

"Not just for the sake of going out," I say.  She's going
to make me say it.  "You know, a date."

"A date."  She says it flatly, and I can't tell if she's
happy about it or not.  "You want to go out on a date."

"Yeah, remember those?  I do, sort of.  Maybe I'm not doing
it right, though?"

"Well," she says, "it's customary to ask the person you want
to date first.  And you usually go *out* somewhere."

Oh man, she's mad at me.  I may be spending the night at
the Gunmen with William if I'm not careful.  I open my
mouth to apologize and Scully says,  "I'm not mad, Mulder.
I just didn't expect this."

Whew.  I smile at her.  "Well, I'm a little rusty at this,
so bear with me, okay?"  I dash into the kitchen and grab
the wine and glasses.  As an afterthought, I turn off the
oven, too.  Just in case.

I sit down next to her and pour the wine.  We raise our
glasses and touch them together.  "To new beginnings," I say.

Scully nods.  "To our future," she adds.

Our future.  I do like the sound of that.  I wonder if it's
too soon to give her the little speech I've been mulling
over in my head.

Scully nudges me with her shoulder.  "Where are you, Mulder?"

I turn to smile at her.  "Just thinkin'."

"Are you going to share?"

I clear my throat.  It's now or never.  "Well, I was just
wondering, if you could have everything the way you wanted,
what would it be like?"

"What do you mean, Mulder?"  Scully asks cautiously.

"Sky's the limit, Scully.  Where would you live, what
would you be doing, who would --"

"Mulder."  She holds up her hand.  "Is this what tonight's
really all about?  Because I don't think I want to play
this game."

"I'm not trying to upset you, Scully.  A long time ago, you
asked me if I'd ever wanted a normal life.  Ever since then,
I've wondered what that means to you."

"Why, Mulder?  So you can beat yourself up about how you've
deprived me of what I most want?  I'm not going there with
you, so you can just drop it right now."

"It's not such an impossible dream, is it, Scully?  Just
tell me what you want.  If I can give you even a piece of
it, I will.  I know I can't give it all to you, much as I
wish I could."

"Mulder, please don't.  I'm not keeping a balance sheet, I
never have.  We have a partnership.  We give and take, it's
what we do.  Isn't that what a partnership is all about?
You don't have to do anything."

I nod at her.  "Yes, I do.  You've given up so much to be
here with me.  I want to give you something back.  Whatever
you want, Scully.  Just tell me what it is."  It's such a
pitifully small something, I think.  Let me do this for
you.  "If there's something you want, even it seems trivial,
could you let me know about it?  Now more than ever, we need
to take care of each other, and William, too.  This is home,
at least for now.  We should do whatever we can to make it
ours."

Scully looks around the room.  The layout is different but it
bears an uncanny resemblance to my apartment, right down to
the fish tank, thanks to the guys, who approximated my
furnishings as closely as they could.  I wish it looked
more like Scully's.  Her place always looked more like
home to me.

"We aren't going to be here forever, are we?"  she asks.

I shake my head.  "I'm not even sure for how long, Scully.
We're safe, for now, but we'll have to plan for the future."

"I guess I don't want to get too attached to `things' again,
Mulder," she says.  "I miss my apartment and the life I led,
I won't lie to you.  But after you left, it seemed so hollow.
William was the only thing that mattered to me.  That, and
finding a way for us to be together again."

"That's good to hear," is all I can manage to say.

Scully sips her wine, not looking at me.  She's struggling
with something, that much I can tell.  She's become totally
serious.  "What I want ..." she starts, and her lips tremble
a little.  "Someone else asked me that, not so long ago."

I want to ask who, but I keep my mouth shut for once.  This
isn't easy for her, and I don't want to distract her with
an outburst.

"I said, I want what I should want at this time of my life."
She doesn't elaborate.  She doesn't have to.  "Please believe
me when I tell you, Mulder, I have what I most want.  I do.
Maybe not in a way that most people would understand it, but
I do."

I wait.

"You've given me more than I ever dared hope for,"  she
continues.  "You gave me hope when I had none left.  You
gave me your faith, your belief.  You gave me courage and
the strength to go on when I didn't think I could do it
alone.  Most of all, you've given me a part of yourself.
You gave me William."  The tears are streaking down her
cheeks as she says this last part.

I risk reaching over to brush the tears away with my thumb,
and cup her cheek.  She leans into me and I continue to rub
her cheek with my thumb lightly as she continues.

"What I'm trying to tell you, Mulder, is that the things I
want are not set in stone, except for this:  my idea of home
is where you and William are.  In a shack, in a tent, or in
a cave, if it comes to that."

I can't help but smile a bit at the image of Scully in a cave,
a la the Flintstones.  "I hope it won't, Scully.  But even if
our stay here is brief, I want you to have whatever you need.
I just don't want either of us to lose sight of what's
important.  You're important to me, Scully, you and William.
More than finding answers, more than anything.  You're why I
want to find the answers.  Without you, there's no reason to
do any of this."  I shrug a little and look at her.  "I wanted
to make sure you know it, that's all."

Her eyes well up again.  "Mulder..." It's the same sweet tone
she used when I gave her the doll, and I know I've said the
right thing.  She puts her hand over mine.  "I do know it now,
Mulder."

She knows it *now*?  I've been doing a piss-poor job of telling
her how I feel, that's pretty obvious.

She adds,  "I just want you to know, I'm glad that you ... want
me.  I was afraid maybe you didn't any more."

I'm dumbfounded at this.  "How could you think that?"

She can hardly meet my eyes.  "Well... you stay up all hours,
you never come to bed until after I'm asleep..."

I can hardly believe what I'm hearing, when I've spent so
many nights beside her, wishing I dared wake her up...

"Scully, if it takes me the rest of my life to show you how
much I want you, I'll do it.  I don't want to leave you any
room for doubt."  I smile at her and add with a dramatic sigh,
"Maybe it would have been better if I'd just let you jump my
bones and have done with it."

Scully finally gives me a full-on smile in return.  "And then
have you complain that I'm just keeping you around for sex?
Nothing doing, Mulder."

Oh, this is nice.  I think I missed this more than the sex.
Well, almost as much, anyway.

"Well, I don't want you to think I'm keeping you around just
because you're good in the lab," I counter.  "C'mere, Scully."

She scoots over to me and I put my arm around her.  "Don't
I get dinner first?"  she says.

"It'll keep," I say, nuzzling her neck.  "But this won't."

I pull her onto my lap, and set about showing her what I've
been dreaming about since we've been apart.  Her lips part
under mine and there's no doubt in my mind that the wanting
and needing is mutual.  I'm going to make damned sure that
Scully knows it, too.

x-x-x-x

Scully's still sleeping when I come back to the bedroom with
breakfast.  I'd like to say I know she got a good night's
sleep, but I'm prouder to say that she didn't.  Neither did
I, but it's all about quality, not quantity.  And when we
slept, we slept *good*.

I sit on the edge of the bed and watch her.  I'm trying to
let her wake up on her own but my inner gentleman is already
losing the battle.

I reach out and touch her foot through the blankets.  "Hey,
Scully," I whisper loudly.  "You hungry?"  She certainly
should be; a midnight snack of strawberries and whipped
cream doesn't make much of a dinner.

"Mmmm," she says, and opens her eyes.  "Depends on what's
for breakfast."

"All your favorites," I say.  "Bacon, eggs, and pancakes."

"Those sound like your favorites, Mulder."  She sits up,
pulling the blankets around her in an adorable display of
modesty.  I hand her my tee shirt to put on.  She looks
 better in it than I do, anyway.

In the next minute I see her fully wake up and kick into
Mommy Mode.  "Where's William?  Is he home yet?  How is he?"

"I just talked to Byers.  He's fine, eating his breakfast
right now.  They'll bring him over in an hour.  D'you want
me to call and have them bring him back right now?"

Scully relaxes a little and shakes her head.  "I can't believe
I didn't think of him immediately when I woke up."

"You did, Scully.  And I'm pretty proud that I can make you
stop thinking about him for just a few minutes now and then."
Scully rolls her eyes at me, but I think I see a hint of a
smile, too.

If do anything for Scully that's anywhere close to what she
does for me, she's lucky to remember her own name.

Besides, she's not the only one who has a hard time not
thinking of William.  I called the guys late last night
when I got up to get the strawberries.  Langly wasn't
pleased, but Scully and I were reassured.

I'm already making plans for our next date night.

We sit side by side, eating our breakfast off of one plate.
"How long has it been since we've taken any personal time,
Mulder?"  Scully asks, snatching the last slice of bacon.

I grab at it and manage to break it in two.  "You mean, when
we haven't been recovering from some injury?"

"Exactly."  She runs her fingers through the syrup on the
plate and I grab her hand to lick them off.

"Too long to think about.  Years."  I can say exactly when
I did, but it's not a memory I want to bring up.

"I think we need to play hooky today, Mulder,"  Scully says.
"With William.  I think we need to pack a picnic lunch, and
go outside and enjoy the fresh air, and stop thinking about
things, just for a while."

Scully is finally telling me what she wants.  I'm not
surprised to realize I want it, too.  A chance to be a
family, at least for a little while.

"I've been thinking about what you said last night, Mulder,
and I think you're right."

"I was?  What time?  Gotta make a note of that."

Scully hits me lightly on my knee.  "Be serious for just a
minute, Mulder.  When you said we need to take care of each
other.  You, and me, and William."  She rests her head on my
shoulder.  "We're each other's family now."

I kiss the top of her head.  "Yes we are, Scully.  And we
will take care of each other.  No matter what."

She looks up at me and her eyes are filled with trust and
love.  I see myself reflected back in them, and William,
too.

I'm so grateful that we're finally together.  No matter
what's to come, we are stronger for it.  Scully and me,
facing the future side by side.

And William makes three.

"Come on, Scully," I say, pulling her off the bed.  "I think
we might have time for a shower before the guys bring William
back home."

Scully raises her eyebrow.  "Together, Mulder?"

"Of course, Scully.  How else will we wash each other's
backs?"

She tries not to laugh at this, and fails.

Gotcha, Scully.  Gotcha big time.

end.

=====

"Never doubt that a small group of committed people can
change the world; indeed, it is the only thing that ever has."
-Margaret Mead

=====
Author's Notes and Acknowledgments:

But first, a word from our sponsor:  This story took me a
long time to write, and I'm pretty sure it's the longest one
I've ever attempted.  I'd really like to know if you thought
the time was worth it (or not, as the case may be).  Any and
all comments appreciated at:
mailto: msnsc21@aol.com
As you can see, I'm not too proud to beg <g>.

First of all, HUGE thanks to Mo for reading and encouragement
when I was really floundering and doubting that I'd ever get
this done.  Thanks, Mo!  Your encouragement was just what I
needed.  You claim you're not a beta, but you do a great
job!  Big hugs to you!

Another big acknowledgment is to the creative team of the
X-Files and TenThirteen, whose stories I've watched unfold
for lo these nine years. Thanks to everyone, from the Head
Honcho to the actors, writers, directors, techies, and all.
I'm going to miss you!

You might call this "mytharc lite," since I tried to
integrate some of what's gone on over the years into the
story, but didn't try to explain it all.  Any and all
errors or discrepancies are my own, no one to blame but
me.  I did do research, and got my mind around the super
soldier idea to the best of my abilities. I left a lot of
loose threads, but you know that the story doesn't end at
fade-out, right?  There may be more to come...

I used most of the same websites I acknowledged in "Abandoned,"
so I won't repeat them here, but I used a couple of other
sites I'd like to mention.

www.uhaul.com.  I'm not kidding. There are links to some very
interesting subjects.  I used the Iowa link to find out more
about the Manson Crater.

www.amtrak.com.  I owe this story in some measure to a trip I
made on Amtrak not long ago, so I want to acknowledge the
inspiration, and of course use of their site to work out
some timetables.

Just a plug for old train stations, and train travel in
general.  Many of the larger cities not only use their
train stations for transportation hubs (which I hope MY
city will do), many of them have been beautifully restored
and are a treat to wander around in.  Even if you're not
fleeing across country, train travel is the way to go.
Just make sure you've got plenty of time.

One last plug:  Kimpa has been kind enough to maintain a
site for my stories and she even creates beautiful dust
covers for many of them.  Stop by and see her site at
www.kimpart.com

Well!  Not only the longest story, but the longest notes
I've ever written.  If you've gotten this far, thanks again
for reading!

April 3, 2002.