Chapter 16
 

"The tests indicate a great deal of genetic carry-over
from the first subject to the second. Heritability
seems to be consistent over all of the chromosomal
abnormalities. Overall, I'd say the results are
excellent. Better than what we predicted."

The smoking man nodded, ignoring the copy of the
charts which had been placed in front of him. Another
man in the room spoke up.

"We need to temper our optimism with caution.
Remember, gentlemen, this was a carefully controlled
experiment. Our test subjects were screened for
confounding factors, and have been monitored on a
daily basis. One cannot expect such ideal results once
we begin field tests."

The man with the clipboard, from his seat at the
center of the long mahogany table, nodded. "True, but
valid medical researchers have done field tests with
less substantial preliminary data. In my opinion, we
can green-light the experiment."

The grey-haired man at the head of the table blinked
once, tapped his cigarette into the silver ashtray
before him. His voice held no doubt, no hesitation.
"Then do it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mulder was watching the door to Scully's bathroom
close in his face as his cell phone rang. "Mulder."

"Hey, G-Man. We got that information you were looking
for. How soon can you get here?"

Mulder's brain took half a second to register
Frohike's voice, and another half a second to remember
what he'd asked for. It seemed redundant now, made him
feel more than a little paranoid. Besides, he was busy
hovering over his partner, and so far she was
tolerating it.

"Actually, Frohike, I don't think it's really that
important. I hope you didn't cash in any important
favors."

There was a pause on the other end. "Mulder, you're
going to want to see this."

All of Mulder's senses went on full-alert. "What is
it?"

"I can send you an encrypted e-mail. I take it you're
at the lovely Agent Scully's?"

Mulder actually blushed. "How did you know that?" His
mind immediately went to the extensive tracing
equipment the boys owned, but Frohike surprised him.

"Only reason a man turns down a hot lead is because he
has one of his own."

At that moment, Mulder's hot lead came out of the
bathroom, practically knocking him down where he stood
blocking the hallway. Mulder took one look at her
face, and decided maybe she *did* need a little time
alone.

"On second thought, I'll be right over."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Scully exhaled, taking guilty pleasure in the empty
echo of her solitude. But Jesus Christ, he was driving
her crazy.

She leaned back into the couch cushions, letting her
mind drift over the events of the day. So much had
happened so quickly, and she hadn't had time to digest
it all. And there was the irritating sensation that
she was forgetting something.

As a precautionary measure, she flipped open her
laptop, and began writing up the details of Lauren's
reappearance, as far as she knew them. She hoped it
would help her to reach out to the shred of memory
that dangled just beyond her reach.

But when she had finished dictating her and her
partner's actions into text, she was still no closer
to reaching the elusive thought. She had long ago
taken to documenting as much as possible, since
evidence had a way of slipping through their fingers.

She considered calling the hospital to get an update
on Lauren's condition, but decided first to detail
what she remembered from the doctor. Most of the
information had come second-hand, from Lauren's
father, so it's reliability was questionable. Still,
she knew her chances of getting the doctor on the
phone were slim, and something questionable was better
than nothing.

<What had he said?> It was a little hazy, but she
could replay most of the conversation in her head.
'She has a few scars, nothing substantial...think she
was drugged, probably recently...still seemed to be
under the effects...risk of infection...' Scully typed
dutifully, watching the words color the screen before
her. She wished she had Mulder's memory--maybe he
would be able to fill in the gaps later. She pressed
play again on her mental tape recorder, recreating
David Harrison's voice in her head.

<'...and I think that's all. They just want to keep
her here to run some tests...'>

And that was all it took to snag the loose thread of
thought, and weave it darkly into the fabric of her
conscious memory.

Like flashbulbs popping in her head, Dana Scully
remembered.

Bright lights.

Cold.

Scared.

Alone.

And that voice.

'...run some tests'

*His* voice.

"Oh my god."

~~~
 
 

 
Chapter 17
Accountability
by Pam Gamble

As she drove, flashbacks ripped into her conscious
memory like a demented slide show. Tumbling out in no
particular order, some silent, some in full stereo.

Bouncing against the shabby carpet and metal of a car
trunk, the road humming beneath her.

<not gonna take Duane Barry again>

Screaming into her phone for Mulder.

Blades and drills and men in surgical masks.

<just going to run some tests>

Terror, squeezing her heart like a fist.

Cold metal tables beneath her chilled skin.

Restraints pulling her down, keeping her still.

<If you move, you could die. I wouldn't recommend it>

Needles.

The insanity in Duane Barry's eyes.

Helpless. Powerless. Forsaken.

From numbness to pain to numbness, not knowing which
was worse.

Drugged nightmares, colored with darkness and Mulder
screaming her name.

God, no wonder she hadn't allowed herself to remember.

She had wanted these memories back. Now she wasn't so
sure.

Tears mercilessly blurred her vision as she grasped
the steering wheel, concentrating on not blacking out
again. But it seemed that had been a one-time event,
her mind's last ditch effort at protecting itself.

Exhausted, Scully pulled onto the shoulder of the
road, her forehead falling onto the textured softness
of the steering wheel.

"Oh my God."

She was losing her mind. That was all. Really bad
timing, too. Mulder needed her on this case, needed
her support and...

Support. What evidence did she have to support her
belief? Was it enough to deliberately destroy the
family he had worked all his life to find?

Forcing her mind to slow down, she ran over the facts
as she knew them.

Memory is a terribly inaccurate thing. Ephemeral,
morphing over time to fit our best representations of
what we think happened, not what *actually* happened.

Repressed memories have been shown to be even more
inaccurate. Their admissibility in court cases debated
for decades.

<Would *I* believe me?>

So despite the fact that she could see his face so
clearly in her mind, Scully resolutely decided once
again not to believe.

Not without proof.

Dizziness swooped over her again, and she lowered her
window, hoping the frigid air would keep her alert.

Arriving at the Gunmen's, she waited impatiently as
the deadbolts slid away one by one. When the door
opened, she found herself staring into Mulder's pained
face, dark eyes that seemed born to sadness. She
didn't want to add to that pain, but had a
professional obligation to put the case above all
else, even him.

"What?" Not rude, just a comfortable shorthand. She
could read everything else in his troubled expression.

She was shaking, and he eased her down onto a low
stool by the counter. Scully cursed herself for not
gaining more control before getting there, but each
time she would assimilate one image a new one would
leap out at her. It was like watching a videotape of
herself when she didn't know she was being filmed.

"Mulder, I..." She vaguely noticed that the actual
inhabitants of this shadowy burrow had scuttled into
the other room. "I don't know where to start." She
hated this weakness, the insecurity her memories
delivered to her.

She took a deep breath, but couldn't stop the tears
that began to flow once again down her cheeks. "Shit."
She defiantly wiped them away with her fist, then
began to speak. "I've, I think I have, remembered some
things. About what happened to me, while I
was...gone."

She looked up, unprepared for the calm expression on
his face. He nodded, squeezing her hand. "Tell me."

She managed to stagger through the emotional minefield
without exploding, although her steps and words were
cautious to the extreme. Mulder could see her
analyzing every word for clarity, conciseness, and
objectivity and knew that as hellish as it sounded,
she was not exaggerating. If anything, she wasn't
telling him the whole truth.

"I think that's what caused me to black out, Mulder.
David's voice triggered that memory. I remember those
words, 'We're just going to run some tests.' And there
was a man..." She choked, feeling her chest constrict
at the memory. Black spots danced in her vision as she
gasped for air. "He could have had similar physical
characteristics, or the same cadence to his voice..."

He wanted to give her time to let her feel everything
she needed to feel. To cry and scream and rage and cry
some more. But they did not have the luxury of time at
the moment. One day there would be time to expose her
scars (and his) to the open air, allowing them to
begin to heal.

But right now, they had to draw a line between their
personal needs and their professional obligations,
even if that line was only a shimmery mirage in the
sand.

He touched her face, lightly. "You don't believe that.
You think it *was* him."

It wasn't just that he trusted her judgment, although
he did, implicitly. It was a leap of logic he wouldn't
be able to document in a case file, would have to
chalk up to intuition.

He had seen that look on her face before.

*********
They'd been having sex, playfully rough, and he'd
grabbed her wrists, forcing them over her head.
Holding her in place with one hand, he'd looked into
her face, seeing not love or passion or even anger,
but absolute terror.

Before he could ask, she'd begun kicking fiercely at
his lower body, trying to push his weight off hers.
"Let me GO!" Stunned, it had taken him a moment to
move, then he'd rolled over and away from her, lifting
his hands and eyebrows in complete surrender.

As her heartbeat had slowed to normal, she'd turned to
him, not quite understanding what she'd done. "I'm
sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't apologize. It was my fault."

The certainty in her expression convinced him. "No,
no, I don't know what that was, but I do know it had
nothing to do with you."

He'd reached out tentatively to put an arm around her
shoulders, and she crushed herself against him,
reassuring herself as much as him.
****************

Scully's shaking voice brought him back to the
present.

"Everything is so hazy, and it was so long ago, I
can't be sure of anything. I don't know for sure that
he was there. I don't have any proof, Mulder."

He moved his hand away from her face and onto the
counter, and she noticed for the first time the manila
folder lying there.

"Maybe you don't. But I do."

~~~
 
 
 

First of all I just want to say thank you to everyone
who is still reading this, and who has taken the time
to let me know you liked it. (Or kept your mouth shut
when you didn't:)

WARNING--temporary POV change. Please keep all hands
and arms inside the car until the end of the ride.
 

Chapter 18
Accountability

Black formica.

Shiny. Surprisingly clean in a room more often swept
for bugs than dirt.

I can just make out the shadow of my reflection in the
countertop. Just see Scully's arm jerk away from the
folder. I want to tell her it won't hurt her, remember
it already has.

Black formica shows no emotion when I mention the
background check I asked the boys to run on David
Harrison. Its cool surface shows no pain when I speak
of his connection, hidden but undeniable, to Rousch. I
don't have to look at the drawn pained expression in
its eyes when I briefly describe the evidence of tests
I found in Lauren's medical records.

Black formica supports me as I slide Lauren's X-ray
film in front of her. Similar in color but less
substantial, it offers her not the escape I have found
here, but proof. A stark white shadow.  The
frighteningly familiar outline of an implant, matching
the one that will tie her to this little girl, and so
many other strangers, forever.

I had hoped to be wrong, but I had expected to be
right. Play the odds.

I consider entertaining her with theories of David's
being blackmailed into working for them, with them,
but I refuse to insult her intelligence. I know
without asking that she has already entertained and
dismissed these ideas.

I hadn't considered the possibility of his involvement
in Scully's abduction. Would I have made that
connection if she hadn't?

There is enough in the way of surveillance photos and
wiretaps for us to determine the degree to which he
orchestrated the kidnapping of his own daughter.
Unfortunately, none of it is admissable.

I always wanted to have one more day with my father.
To ask him why he made the decisions he made. To give
a man I had once loved the chance to redeem himself.
To let go of the hatred I hold for the part of myself
that is him.

Maybe that is why I feel the need to confront my
sister's husband with this information. To retrieve an
answer to questions that were asked before I was born.

There is a baser part of me that simply wants to
avenge the woman I love, and a little girl I hardly
know. But I have always been fueled more by the search
than the goal, and if he can point me in the right
direction before I kill him, then his life will not
have been wasted.

Kill him.

I run my fingers over the ebony gloss, and notice the
tiny, invisible pits in the surface. Imperfections,
that, in a clearer medium, would distort my
reflection.

My sister has lived in the dark for so long, what
right do I have to drag her into the light?

What right did I ever think I had, to do this to
anyone?

Because of her training, I know Scully is considering
similar scenarios, running through all the possible
consequences.

Of maybe she isn't.

Maybe she is still studying the faces of the memories
she will never again be able to erase.

I hope that she will be able to see a way out of this,
for all of us.

Because all I can see is black formica.

  ~~~
 
 

 
Chapter 19
Accountability
by Pam Gamble
 

No lights shone from any of the homes on the street,
including the Harrisons. Only a tacky red plastic
Santa, forgotten in the last minute bedtime
preparations, still brightened and darkened in the
needless glow of the streetlights. It was only then
that Mulder remembered.

It was Christmas Eve.

*Fuck. How much more can I take from her before she
has nothing left?*

His partner seemed transfixed by the keychain dangling
from the ignition, where it would stay. Standard
operating procedure. The untimely jingle of a car key
in a dark room could alert the wrong person of their
location; hardly worth the risk for a fleet sedan too
ugly to be stolen anyway.

Mulder ducked his head to catch her eye. When she'd
recognized that doctor from the autopsy video, she'd
been distant. Not just physically, but emotionally.
Not that he'd been any more capable of giving her
support that she had been of asking for it. "It's
different now," he muttered, not meaning to speak the
words aloud.

"What is?" she asked, refocusing on him.

He hesitated, knowing he was really offering her a way
out. "Scully, if you can't go in there with me, I'll
understand."

He was trying so hard to get a handle on this, to get
a sense of what it was like for her. She understood
that now. She took his hand, shaking her head
fiercely.

"No, I need to do this. I need to face him." The fiery
independence that had once held her so separate from
him paled in comparison with their combined strength.
She understood that now, too. "I need to do this...
with you."

His eyes widened. He knew the effort that had taken.

"But I am going to need some time, after all this, to
come to terms with everything. To understand it all."

Her eyes asked what her pride would still not allow
her to speak.

And he answered her now, because he could.

He squeezed her hand tightly. "Just let me know. I'll
give you anything you need, baby."

She nodded and he watched as she abruptly shifted back
into Agent Scully. He'd always marveled at her ability
to compartmentalize her feelings. It helped to know
that they would come out eventually.

Approaching the house Mulder nodded towards the open
garage door. The van was missing. They must have spent
the night at the hospital. With a bob of her head
Scully indicated she would enter through the front
door, while Mulder ducked into the side door in the
garage.

In the spirit of suburban complacency, neither door
was locked. In less than a second there was no
movement outside the house, save for the light and
dark dance of the discount Santa.

Mulder felt his way through the kitchen, maneuvering
from memory. As his irises were expanding in an effort
to suck in all the available light in the room, he
began to make out shapes and shadows. It was just then
that he heard his partner's strangled cry from the
front of the house.

"Mulder!"
 

****Hmmm, WIPs make a person become sadistic...*****

~~~
 
 

Chapter 20
Accountability
by Pam Gamble
 

Blood has an unmistakable smell.

The beam from Scully's flashlight splayed across the
front hallway from its position on the floor. At its
current angle it served only to illuminate one corner
of the ceiling.

Scully's elbow dipped into the beam, and Mulder
strained to combine disparate images into a coherent
picture.

His shoe slid into the warm sticky ooze and he stepped
back immediately, finally remembering his own
flashlight dangling at his side.

The beam traced over the dark maroon pool at his feet,
to land on the waxy startled face of David Harrison.
Lips slowly pressed together, trying to form what were
surely last words.

Even in the half-shadow, he knew what his partner was
doing. She was a doctor. She was trying to save the
life of the man she came here ready to kill. Mulder
wondered how Hippocrates would feel about that.

"Son-of-a-bitch, don't you die," muttered Scully, as
though reading his mind.

Mulder dropped to his knees, mentally writing off
another Armani.

"They know..."gasped the man on the floor.

"Know what?" shouted Mulder.
"Still....here..., he hissed, a limp hand landing on
Mulder's knee.

*still here* Mulder's mind raced, and he fumbled for
his gun, jumping to his feet. He slid only a little
before regaining his balance and swinging his weapon
around the room.

"Get up, Agent Scully. He's dead anyway."

Scully could sense Mulder's finger tighten on his
weapon as she rose through the haze of cigarette smoke
wafting over her head. She could feel white hot anger
blazing from her partner in waves, but wouldn't take
her eyes from the gun barrel pointed at her. Scully
couldn't help her irritation as Mulder shifted
slightly to move in front of her. He might have
blocked a bullet, but she certainly wasn't going to
let him do this without her.

"Why did you kill him?" she demanded, moving from her
partner's shadow.

His lips curled evilly upward. "We live in such a
wasteful society, Agent Scully. We dispose of things
when they have outlived their usefulness."

"He was her husband."

"He was because we chose him to be. You don't think we
would go to these lengths to manipulate people and not
have some sort of control in place, do you? You're the
scientist, Ms. Scully. You can see that we couldn't
very well contaminate our genetic creations with
unknown DNA."

"What did you do to those kids?" Mulder snarled.

"Nothing actually. We did our experiments only on your
sister, and only before she'd reached puberty. The
children seem to have accepted the hybrid gene with no
ill effects."

"Then why kill him?" The room was heavy with death,
with the absence of a soul.

"He wanted the tests to stop, and we couldn't allow
that. It became too personal. He was no longer loyal
to us." The old man took a long drag on his cigarette.
"After all, he is the one who sought your help in
locating his daughter, when he knew exactly where she
was. He wanted you to find her, Agent Mulder. He
wanted *you* to stop us."

Scully shuddered, and ripped up her mental scorecard.

"Too bad, really. We'd put a lot of effort into this
one. We're going to have to relocate her. After all,
her husband was gunned down by professionals. Any
concerned mother would allow the government to take
over from here. Perhaps we can even convince her that
my recent death was part of the plot against her
family. That would be a nice touch, don't you think,
Mulder?"

Scully's eyes widened at his implication. Even with
only his back visible to her, she could see the look
on Mulder's face.

"You're not taking her away again," Mulder's voice
shook, as did the hand with the gun.

"You can kill me, Agent Mulder, but you can't stop
what we have created. It may make things even easier
for us." He gestured toward the body on the floor.
"Her husband and her father killed by the same man.
We wouldn't have to take her away then. She'd never
have anything to do with you."

Scully knew he could do it. Manipulate the ballistics
evidence, make Mulder look like the shooter. He'd go
to prison, if he was lucky. She hadn't even stopped to
wonder what CancerMan had planned for her, but it was
obvious he was leaving no witnesses.

Scully stepped around the body, lowering her weapon as
she touched Mulder's arm, asking him to do the same.

Which made the bullet that flew through the darkness
that much more of a mystery.

~~~
 
 
 

Chapter 21
Accountability
by Pam Gamble

The bullet whizzed by Scully's ear, materializing
again in Cancer Man's chest. Fresh blood mixed with
old in a morbid geyser, causing his skin to pale
noticeably as he fell back against the wall.

His gun dove from his hand, tired bones sliding down
the wall as life rapidly drained from him. His eyes
flashed weakly, questioningly, to Mulder, then Scully,
guns warily raised once again.

Standing sideways, one eye on the fated corpse before
him, Mulder turned to identify the source of the shot.

Scully wasn't startled by the voice that emanated from
the hallway. But then, nothing startled her anymore.

Mulder's jaw, however, was close to scraping the floor
as his sister stepped from the darkness, leading with
her gun.

"Amanda?" gasped the thready voice from the floor.

Amanda looked down for only a moment at the body of
her husband on the floor, keeping her gun trained low
and straight. Her voice was at once empty and filled
with hatred.

"David told me what you did. What you made him do."
She choked back tears. "He was wrong, I know that, but
he did what he did to protect me, us. I believe that.
He did it because he loved me." She stepped closer.
"You never loved me." She pulled back on the trigger
slightly. "You took me from my family. You took my
husband. You lied to him like you lied to me."

Tears broke free, streaming down her face. Mulder had
lowered his weapon to his side, Scully uncertainly did
the same, ready in an instant to finish what Amanda
had started.

"You took my baby. Were you going to keep her too? Lie
to her? Or..." Her body was shaking so badly Mulder
didn't know what would happen if she were startled.

"Amanda", he whispered softly. "Put the gun down."

"David taught me to shoot, told me I'd need to protect
myself." Her face crumpled. "But I never thought I
would have to protect myself from my own father." She
let out a low whine as her knees hit the floor before
him. "I loved you."

Blood coursed from his chest, and Scully found she had
absolutely no desire to stanch the flow this time. She
quietly reached into her pocket for her phone,
requesting an ambulance. Two bodies. No rush.

A frail hand reached out. A hand which had once
controlled so much, which had taken so many lives, in
its last moments trying to grasp the instrument of its
destruction, the one thing it may actually have been
able to love.

"Amanda..."

And in the end, she would take that away from him too.

Mulder willed him to hear her strong, deliberate,
words, before beginning his descent into hell.

"My name is Samantha."
 
 

EPILOGUE: Perfect

Three months later
 

He knocked.

A superfluous action, serving only to announce his
arrival.

He'd been out of town for eight days on a VCS consult,
while she'd stayed behind to run the office and have
her way with a few cadavers. Yesterday on the phone
she had even conceded her "time as a universal
invariant" theory, as she was sure this week had
lasted a year.

He'd missed her so much there were no words. Luckily,
they wouldn't be needing those for awhile.

When the door creaked open he could do nothing but
exhale loudly. <Home> his body screamed. <I'm home>.

"Hi," she purred, all wicked innocence.

"Hello," he panted, and in one step was inside,
slamming the door into the frame and her body into the
door. A teenager at the end of the school dance,
overwhelmed with hormones and heat.

Her hands sunk into his skin, kneading him like a
kitten. Her lips hummed over him, happy little noises
as she consumed his smell, his texture, his taste.

"God, I...missed...oh, god, Scully." Her fingers were
blindly wrestling with his belt buckle, and he yanked
her hair back as her hand made contact through the
interfering fabric. Wild eyes met, and he decided the
words could wait.

He'd just become dreamily aware of her foot trailing
up and down his leg, when a tiny sound resonated
through her body.

Knocking.

Door.

Shit.

Scully's eyes flew to his. She shook her head, resting
a finger against his lips. Maybe they would go away.

They didn't knock again.

They pounded.

Heaving a disgusted sigh, Scully pressed her hands to
his chest, pushing him firmly away. She twisted until
she was eye-level with the peephole.

Never one to let opportunity escape him, Mulder
pounced on her neck, sucking and biting and burying
his face in her hair. He felt her body stiffen as she
reached behind her, patting her waist, realized she
was looking for the gun that wasn't there.

His arousal dissipating like a spring rain, he quickly
took his own weapon from its holster and placed it in
her hand. She motioned for him to look, and he
realized what had panicked her.

Nothing.

He couldn't see anything. Just hallway. Whoever it was
must have been waiting for them around the corner,
pressed up against the wall, ready to move when the
door opened.

Fighting his alpha-male instinct, he moved back as she
slowly turned the doorknob, gun raised to shoulder
level.

His heart thudding with fear and residual lust, he
backed across the room to retrieve her weapon from the
endtable. Frantically, he tried to remember if he'd
been shadowed in the parking lot. Would he have even
noticed in his condition?

"Hi!"

In an instant he was behind her, snatching the gun
from her hand. An embarrassed smile crept across his
face as both of their faces tilted downward.

"Hello, Lauren." Scully slumped back against him in
amused relief, looking up and down the hallway.
"Where's your mom?"

Scully knew where she wasn't--in jail. When you have
two FBI agents attest that a shooting was in
self-defense, no one asks too many questions.

"She's coming. She told me to wait until she got here,
but I knew this was the right number." The child was
beaming, impressed with her own ingenuity.

"Lauren!" Samantha hurried down the hallway, Jason in
tow, wearing the bored-with-life expression common to
most 10-year-old boys. "Didn't I tell you to wait for
me?"

"Yes!" she announced, thrilled to supply the right
answer.

Jason thunked his sister playfully on the head. "You
gotta listen to mom, pipsqueak," he said sternly.

"I do listen to mom, buttmunch!"

Jason's arm reached behind his mom to whack his sister
on the butt. She turned to stick out her tongue, then
glanced back to the two startled adults still hanging
out of the doorway.

One grin and Mulder felt his heart burst.

"Enough!" whispered Sam. The two kids called a
temporary truce, but promised each other with their
eyes that this matter would be settled at a later,
more appropriate time. Possibly with a pillow fight.

The authority in her voice turned to hesitation.
"Well, now that we've completely invaded your space, I
was actually just in the neighborhood, and thought I'd
stop by to see if you wanted to join us for dinner.
Nothing fancy, just pizza...unless you already had
plans?"

Scully blinked, her mind trying to assimilate the
barrage of sensory input. Children fighting, dinner
invitation, Mulder's hands in warm and inviting
places. Overload. She turned to him, the light in his
eyes answering the question for her.

"We'd love that."

"Great! We'll wait downstairs. Come on guys."

"Actually, why don't you come in and we'll order
takeout?"

"Oh. I, well, are you sure?"

With whoops of victory the two kids disappeared into
the darkness of the room, plopping down in front of
the TV. Mulder watched them, making frantic mental
notes of things he would need to hide if this was
going to become a frequent occurrence.

He stood by his sister as Scully circuited the room,
turning on lights and relocating breakables with the
grace of a seasoned pro. <Probably from babysitting
Charlie's kids> Finally, she picked up her gun and
motioned for Mulder's, removing the bullets and
carrying them both towards the bedroom.

"How are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"I'm okay, most of the time. My therapist is great."

He nodded. "So, you were in the neighborhood?"

Sam nodded. "David bought the van from a dealer down
here, and there was a recall on some electrical
doo-flotchy. Didn't take too long."

He grinned at her. "Is that the technical term?
Doo-flotchy?"

Her eyes shone. "I believe it is, yes."

"Don't let him fool you, Sam," Scully warned as she
returned to join them. "The only thing he knows about
cars is how to change the radio station."

He smirked at her. "Are you challenging my manhood,
Scully?"

Any witty remark she came up with was lost forever to
the sound of splashing from across the room. All three
adults looked up to see Lauren up to her elbows in the
fishtank.

"Lauren, stop pestering the fish," Samantha ordered as
she quickly closed the distance between herself and
little Jacques Cousteau.

Mulder's hand slunk around Scully's waist. He could
feel the longing that tightened her chest. They had to
talk about this. Soon, if this was something she
really wanted.

But there would be other nights for that.

"Sorry about tonight," she whispered, clutching his
fingers within her own.

He smiled into her hair. "No," he said, squeezing her
tightly back against him. They watched in amusement as
Sam settled Lauren back onto the sofa. Jason had found
Mulder's basketball, and was dribbling away on the
hardwood floors. A steady rhythmic thud slowing
pounding hearts to 4/4 time.
 
 

"No." He ducked to kiss her neck. "This is perfect."

The End
 

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