By Deborah Davis
CPMR56B@prodigy.com
or dadavis@nyx.cs.du.edu

Date: 7 Apr 1996 02:11:43 GMT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I really enjoy the stories posted by my fellow
X-Philes, and I hope that you'll enjoy this.  It's a relationship tale
-- it may even qualify as a romantic triangle in its own weird way --
but there's an X- file in there somewhere, I swear.  No gore, just a
little mush, PG-13.  The character of Jane Jessel and what happens to
Mulder here are both based on a real case history I read a few years
ago.

Once again, I have to thank Kelli R. for her kind but helpful
criticism that improved this story immeasurably.  Its remaining flaws
are all mine.  Comments gratefully accepted at: cpmr56b@prodigy.com or
dadavis@nyx.cs.du.edu.

LEGAL THING: In case anyone's forgotten, I didn't create Mulder,
Scully, or the X-Files.  They remain the property of Chris Carter and
10-13 Productions.  I've borrowed them here with no intent to infringe
on their

copyright.
*******************************************************
                   ALTER EGO
                      by
                Deborah Davis
 

"Dana, honey, is something wrong?"

At the sound of her mother's voice, Dana Scully looked up from the
kitchen table where she'd been peeling carrots.  It was the same
kitchen table she'd eaten breakfast at all through her childhood,
nicked and scarred from years of being bumped from one on-base housing
unit to another.  Margaret Scully was just sentimental enough to have
held on to this one relic of that past, and Dana loved her for it.
Since her dad died, she'd made it a point to visit her mother
regularly.  It was no burden; indeed, since Missy's death, it was hard
to say which woman derived more comfort from her visits home.

But today she was distracted.  Her eyes kept wandering from the task
before her to her cell phone sitting on the counter top.  It hadn't
rung all weekend, no matter how hard she had willed it.  Now, she
turned toward her mother's concerned face and hesitated, wondering how
much she could say.

"I do have something on my mind, Mom, but it's work . . ."

"And you can't talk about it," Margaret Scully finished for her,
nodding.  "I understand.  It was the same way for your father
sometimes; he couldn't always talk about his work and I respected
that."  She reached across the vegetable-littered table and touched
her daughter's coppery hair for a moment. "All the same, I wish I
could help."  She sighed ruefully.  "I want to ask if you're in
danger, but you probably can't tell me that either."

Dana smiled.  "I think I can bend the rules enough to tell you that
no, I don't think I'm in any danger.  Actually . . . actually, I'm
worried about Mulder.  One of his mysterious contacts sent him a tip
about the case we're working on, and he took off on his own to
investigate it."

"He went off without you?"

Dana smiled sourly at her mother's surprise.  "It wouldn't be the
first time, but I expected to hear from him by now; it's been over two
days, and he said he'd contact me as soon as he could."

What his e-mail message had actually said was:

 "Scully:

  I've had a talk with our sometime-friend.  What he told me has less
  to do with our case than with family business.  I won't ask you to
  take a risk on something of this nature. I need a couple of days to
  check it out.  Cover me with Skinner if you can.  I'll contact you
  as soon as I know something.

  Mulder"

The "sometime-friend," Scully knew, was Deep Throat's successor, the
reluctant ally they'd dubbed "Mr. X."  "Family business" she
understood to mean something to do with Mulder's father, or his
long-missing sister Samantha.  Beyond that, the message was as
maddening and unhelpful as could be.  It simply told her what she
didn't want to know: he believed he was going into danger, and he'd
ditched her again.

The two Scully women went back to making dinner, both of them now
preoccupied.  When it rang, the phone startled them.  It was the house
phone rather than Dana's cellular.  Margaret answered.

"Hello?  Yes, she's here."  She handed the phone to Dana with her hand
over the mouthpiece.  "It's your Mr. Skinner," she said.

"Sir?"  Dana listened for several minutes.  "Where?  How long ago?
No, sir, I don't know.  I'll be right there."  She hung up and scooped
up her coat in one motion.  "I have to go, Mom.  Mulder's in the
hospital.  I call you when I know more."  And she swept out the door,
leaving a pile of vegetable peelings in her wake.

*********************************************************
"Is he conscious?"  Dana asked the young resident as they hurried down
the hospital corridors.

"Oh, he's conscious all right," the resident muttered.  There was
something strange in his manner, Dana thought, but she didn't have
time to waste worrying about it.

"What's his condition?"  she asked.

"Some frostbite, nothing serious, and mild hypothermia.  About what
you'd expect from laying a few hours in a ditch in this weather."  The
unexpected cold snap had Washingtonians huddling around their heat
registers.  They'd get precious little sympathy from other parts of
the country; the surrounding states were digging out from under a
massive snowstorm that had fortunately missed the capital.  "I can
tell you one thing," the resident said.  "He wasn't out there for more
than a few hours."

"Then he's basically OK?"  Dana asked with some relief.

"Actually --" The resident was interrupted by a crash from down the
hallway, and a high, inarticulate scream.  A nurse came running out of
a doorway ahead on the right.  "Actually," the resident continued more
slowly.  "He's not OK.  I don't know why, but he's not OK at all."

Dana stared at the resident, then slowly made her way to the door the
nurse had exited.  "Be careful," she heard the warning behind her.
She took a deep breath and went in.

Mulder was sitting in the bed, looking awkward.  It took her a moment
to realize that he was in restraints.  One arm had been released,
probably so he could eat the meal on the hospital tray before him.
His eyes roamed the room, wild and frightened.

"Drugs," Dana thought.  "He must be drugged."  Summoning her most
calm, professional voice, she tried to get his attention.  "Mulder?
Mulder?  It's me, Scully.  You're safe now."  No recognition showed in
his face, but she thought she was getting through; his eyes focused on
her, his movements quieted.  "You're in a hospital, and you're going
to be all right.  I'll stay right here." She lowered herself slowly
into a chair.  "And everything will be all right soon.  Do you
understand?"

For an answer, he screamed an obscenity, and threw the tray in her
face.

**********************************************************

"Well, at least now we know he remembers how to speak."  The
hospital's senior neurologist had entered the treatment cubicle and
introduced himself while the resident applied butterfly bandages to
the cut on Dana's forehead.  Down the hall, barely muted by the
intervening doors, she could plainly hear Mulder still shouting
obscenities.  "Hell of a vocabulary he's got though.  "

"Why is he like this? "  Dana asked.  "Has he been drugged?"

The neurologist shook his head.  "Not with anything that we can
identify.  No LSD, PCP, or other common hallucinogens.  I can also
tell you he has no head trauma, no tumors, no evidence of a hematoma
or a partial stroke, and blood flow to his brain appears normal."  His
face darkened.  "You DON'T want to know what it was like doing an
X-ray and EEG with him in this condition."

"The EEG was normal?"

"More or less."  The older physician shared the contents of the folder
he was carrying.  "His brain chemistry, though, is like nothing I've
seen before.  If I had to guess, I'd say he HAD been drugged, but with
what I don't know."

"When his body metabolizes the drug, will he return to normal?"

"We simply don't know."  As the doctor lead her out of the cubicle, he
gestured across the hall.  "There's another thing, Agent Scully.  His
mother's arrived; she's in the lounge and we need her signature on
some documents, but . . .  she's not holding up very well.  Do you
think you could . . . "

Dana nodded.  "Of course."  She'd deal with Mulder's mother; she'd
deal with the paperwork; she'd deal with Skinner's questions, and her
own mother's when she called her later.  And just maybe, if there was
time, she'd deal with the ragged hole she could feel opening inside
her.  But whatever was going on in Mulder's head, he'd apparently have
to deal with it himself.

**********************************************************

Her days fell into a kind of order.  Gradually, she began to realize
that this crisis wasn't going to pass in a day, or a week.  She
consulted on other agents' cases; by unspoken agreement, she and
Skinner hadn't discussed her reassignment.  They were both waiting.
She handled the questions from the Bureau's insurance department and
the attendant paperwork that so overwhelmed Mulder's mother.  She took
care of the things that need taking care of when someone is going to
be gone for a while: stop the papers, redirect the mail, feed the
fish.  She called the hospital every day, and visited when she could.
She spent her weekends shepherding Mulder's fragile mother from the
airport to the hospital, then to Margaret's house for the night, and
back to the airport again.  She spent three fruitless nights in
Mulder's apartment, with the light shining on the taped X in the
window.

No response.

It never occurred to her not to do these things.  They were implicit
in the unspoken connection between her and Mulder.  If he didn't know
her now, it simply meant that he needed her all the more.  She would
have expected no less from him if their positions were reversed.

Two weeks into her vigil, she received some e-mail:

"Agent Scully:

 Dr. Sharon Miller of Columbia University Hospital, expert on brain
 chemistry, is lecturing at Georgetown next week.  Shouldn't she meet
 our mutual friend?  Her number is: 212-355-1855.

 Also, I'm free for dinner any night this week, just call.

 Sincerely,
 Frohike"

Dr. Miller's report on Mulder was not encouraging.  "While I find no
organic brain damage, I believe that the chemical chains of memory
have been broken.  Although these cases are unpredictable, it seems
unlikely that the patient's former memories will ever be accessed.
There may be a psychological component to this, as well.  The
patient's rage proceeds mainly from confusion and frustration.
Re-education is strongly recommended as the course of treatment . . ."

Scully looked up from the report to its writer.  "You're saying he has
amnesia?"

Miller nodded.  "Total.  Back to babyhood.  I've only seen two other
cases this severe.  I'm sorry," her voice softened at Dana's bleak
look.  "On the bright side, his intelligence is intact; there's no
reason he can't relearn everything he needs to know."  The expert
stood up to shake Scully's hand before leaving.  "Good luck.  You'll
be building a new man -- from the ground up."

******************************************************

On Miller's recommendation, Mulder was moved to the hospital's
rehabilitative wing, and slowly, slowly began to improve.  He
relearned language, and self dressing and self feeding.  Tutors and
therapists drilled him in cognitive skills, from simple addition to
making a phone call.  The mindless rages against the staff subsided,
though he remained volatile and easily frustrated.

One Monday early in his therapy, Dana decided to visit the hospital
after work.  She entered warily, as always, but found Mulder quietly
watching TV, a notebook and the remote in his lap.

"Hi," she said with false brightness.  "How are you?"

He looked her up and down without recognition.  "Could this wait a
minute?  I'd really like to see the end of this."

She waited in silence for five minutes while the show ended.  Then
Mulder turned the TV off with a sigh.  "I really like that show.  It's
about a spaceship, and the guy with the pointed ears has no emotions,
and --"

"I've seen it," she cut him off.  "If you like that, you're in luck;
there are three other shows like it, and at least half a dozen
movies."

"Really?  Great," he said with genuine pleasure.  He leaned back in
his chair to look at her. "Let me guess; you're a psychologist."

She took a seat.  "What makes you say that?"

"Hmmm. . .  I think it's the suit.  The doctors around here like their
lab coats.  Oh and you said 'How ARE you?'  like a psychologist.
Doctors always seem to say 'And how are WE today.'"  The last part was
delivered in wheezing mimicry of the physician in charge of the ward.
Dana couldn't help but smile.

"Actually, I am a doctor; I'm a pathologist."

"Then either you're in the wrong place, or I'm sicker than I thought."

Oh my god, she thought.  She hadn't been prepared for Mulder humor.
Was it possible there was more of Mulder left than she'd been lead to
believe?  Inwardly, she began to hope.  Outwardly, she smiled again.

"I'm not here in a professional capacity.  I'm Dana Scully.  We work
together for the FBI."

He considered it.  "We're . . . co-workers?"

"Partners."  She paused.  Not a flicker of recognition lit his face.
"And friends."

"I'm sorry," he said softly.  "I don't remember."

"That's . . . OK."  To cover her disappointment, she asked, "What's in
the notebook?"

"People I'm supposed to know."  He turned the book, and she saw that a
photo had been pasted on each page and labeled.  He tapped the first
one.
 
"She says she's my mother. She cries every time she comes, but I don't
remember her.  This is Dr. Golden, and Elaine, my occupational
therapist, and Tyler my psychologist . . .they told me I was a
psychologist once, " he said, suddenly.  "Was I a good one?"

"You had a degree.  You never practiced clinically," Dana considered.
"I think you could have been a good one; you had . . .good instincts
and the ability to empathize with people."  (When your obsessions
weren't blinding you, she added mentally.  It was so strange, talking
to Mulder about himself in the past tense.)

"That's nice to hear.  Hey, maybe you can help me with something.
There were some people here today who aren't in my book yet.  Maybe
you know them.  There was a military guy --"

"Military?" Dana asked sharply.

"Well, not in a uniform, but he made me think of a soldier.  Bald,
glasses, talked without moving his jaw --"

"Oh.  His name's Walter Skinner.  We work for him.  And he was a
Marine once; now that you mention it, I guess he does still move like
one."

"Then there were three guys; an uptight skinny one, a long haired one,
and one who was sort of . . ." Mulder trailed off.  Dana sympathized.
There really was no word for Frohike.

"They're friends," she said, observing Mulder's dubious look. " I'll
get their pictures for your book if you want, OK?"

"Yes, thank you.  Dana?  If you're really coming back, would you bring
me your picture too?"

Dana looked into her partner's earnest, open, totally unfamiliar gaze
and forced another smile.  "Sure, I'll bring them all."

After she left, Mulder closed the notebook quietly.  He hoped she
would bring her picture -- it would certainly be the prettiest one in
his book - - but he knew he wouldn't need it.  She'd only been here a
quarter hour, but he knew already that he wouldn't forget a thing
about Dr. Dana Scully.

**************************************************
"Dana?"  Mulder asked a few visits later.  "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure.  What is it, Mulder?"

"My mother and everyone here at the hospital calls me 'Fox,' but you
always say 'Mulder.'  Why?"

Dana drew in a deep breath; it helped to blunt the painful feeling
that suddenly knifed her chest.  "You always wanted it that way," she
said, gently.  "I guess since we worked together, you felt it was more
professional."

"We don't work together any more."

"No," she agreed sadly.

"What did I call you?"

"You used to call me Scully."

Mulder frowned.  "I don't like that; it sounds impersonal.  I'd rather
call you Dana."  He smiled a little shyly.  "That is, if that's OK
with you."

"Sure."

"And I'd like it if you called me Fox."

"All right . . . Fox."

She tasted the unfamiliar syllable on her lips.  It had never been her
idea to use last names in the first place; she always felt it was just
a little artificial barrier Mulder had tried to erect between them, to
keep her at arm's length.  She should be glad to be rid of the
affectation.  All the same, as she drifted off to sleep that night,
she found herself thinking it was sad that no one would ever call her
"Scully" in quite that way again.

****************************************************
 
 

===========================================================================

From: CPMR56B@prodigy.com (Deborah Davis)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: ALTER EGO (2/4) Corrected
Date: 7 Apr 1996 02:41:16 GMT
 

ALTER EGO, PART 2

By spring, Skinner had reassigned her to Violent Crimes.  Her petition
to continue work on the X-files had been denied, and Mulder's precious
filing cabinet gathered dust in the basement.  With her new duties it
became harder to find the time to visit the hospital.  She was
relieved when Mulder's doctors agreed he was well enough to be moved
to a private rehabilitation center not so far from her neighborhood.
During one of Dana's first visits there, a substantial middle-aged
woman with bleached hair walked in on them.

"Hello, I'm Jane Jessel." She was sharply dressed in a fashionable
suit, with a bright scarf around her neck.  Fox introduced himself and
Dana.  Jane Jessel took a seat.

"I've been waiting to meet you, Fox."

"Why?"

"Because what happened to you, happened to me twelve years ago.  I
lost every scrap of my memory and had to start over.  And I wanted you
to know, if I can do it, you can too."  While Dana and Fox listened
fascinated, Jane related the story of how, after a car accident, she'd
woken up in a hospital, totally bereft of memory or language.  "Well,
not totally without language."  She grinned mischievously.  "They told
me I swore up a storm, and tried to kill the orderlies."

"So did I."

"That's a good sign, Fox.  It means you're a fighter.  So was I."  She
went on to relate how she'd gradually been re-educated and
reintroduced to her family.  "I didn't remember my husband; at the
beginning, I didn't even know what a husband *was.* And it was awful
for the kids.  If they'd been younger or older, maybe it wouldn't have
been so bad, but they were teenagers.  I hurt them a lot without
meaning to.  My daughter has accepted me for who I am now, but . . . I
don't think my son will ever quite forgive me for not being my Alter
Ego."

"Alter Ego?"

"That's how I think of her, the woman I was before, the woman other
people remember.  I don't act like her; I don't dress like her; I
don't even use her name.  She was Betty Jane Jessel; I just use Jane.
The way I see it, all we share is a body; she's like . . . a twin
sister who died before I could meet her.  The most important thing ,
Fox, is to remember that this is YOUR life now.

"The people around you have to realize it too.  They can't make you
back into who you were and a lot of them won't accept that.  If you're
lucky, a few of them will stick around and get to know the new you. If
you can find anyone like that, hang on to them; you'll be way ahead of
the game."

"I'll remember that, " Fox promised, glancing at Dana out of the
corner of his eye.

"Good, now you can call me if you ever want to talk."  Jane handed him
a card.

"You live in New York?" Fox asked with surprise.

"Yeah.  My doctor, Sharon Miller, told me about you, so I came down.
There aren't many of us 'Begin-againers' Fox, so we have to help each
other when we can."

**********************************************************

"Dana?

"Yes, Fox?"

"I need your help with something.  I made my mother cry again this
morning and I don't know why."

Dana sighed.  Mulder' mother remained fragile and confused by what had
happened to her only son, but as his recovery continued, Dana thought
she'd been doing better.  "What happened?"

"I asked her why I don't have any brothers or sisters.  She stared at
me just the way you're doing, then she burst into tears."

Dana collected her thoughts.  Of course, Mulder had forgotten Samantha
along with everything else he'd lost.  Dana had known that all along,
but it was still a shock to hear it.  Her thoughts traveled back to
that rainy night in Oregon when their partnership had really begun.
Sitting by the bed, in the small circle of candlelight, Mulder had
handed her the central secret of his life.  For years afterward it had
continued to amaze her that he'd decided that night to trust her, and
thereby taught her that she could trust him.
 

The face before her now was similarly open and trusting.  But there
was nothing in it but an interested expectation.  All these years,
Dana had felt that Samantha Mulder was alive in a sense -- kept alive
by her brother's determination to find her.  Looking in his face
today, Dana felt her die.  As simply as possible, she gave him back
the story he'd given her on that night so long ago.

When it was over, he said, "It's a terrible story.  I'm very sorry for
that woman -- my mother.  I'll try not to hurt her by mentioning it
again.  But it just doesn't mean anything to me personally, Dana.  As
far as I'm concerned, it happened to someone else."

*****************************************************

The weeks past.  On a warm July evening, a few hours before sunset,
Dana reclined in a lawn chair by the rehab center's basketball court
and idly fingered her car keys.  Since he'd learned the rules a few
weeks ago, Fox had been organizing basketball games for his fellow
patients -- most of them young people who'd sustained brain injuries
in accidents -- and Dana had promised to attend.  Dressed in jeans and
tennis shoes, she appeared to be relaxing , but behind her sunglasses
her gaze was distant and her mind was still at the office.

Her current murder case was going nowhere.  The forensic evidence was
paltry and confusing.  It galled her not to contribute to the team
effort on this one.  As the newest member of the Violent Crimes Quick
Response team, she felt strongly the need to prove herself.  It was a
long step from the "spook patrol" in the basement to the high-profile
assignment, and she knew that plenty of people wondered who she'd
slept with to get it.  Dana recognized it for what it was -- Skinner's
unspoken compensation for her work on the X-files and all it had cost
her.

Dana frowned.  Since she had been reassigned, she tried not to dwell
on thoughts of her previous assignment.  Still, she couldn't deny that
she missed it.  She missed the unpredictable turns that so many of the
X-file cases had taken.  While every crime scene presents its own set
of mysteries, the cases she worked on now all had some depressing
similarities.  The catalog of terrible things people could do to one
another was numbing.  Some days, it was enough to set her wishing for
a mutant or two.

Her eyes drifted to Fox on the basketball court.  She worked now with
some of the Bureau's best agents, but she hadn't met anyone like
Mulder.  No one else challenged her the same way, pushing her to
defend her ideas and stretch her imagination.  No one else relied on
her in the way they had relied on each other.  No one else produced
the almost eerie sense of connection she'd sometimes felt for her
former partner.

With her reassignment, she'd finally had to accept that he wasn't
coming back to work.  He wasn't going to remember, and he wasn't ever
going to be the man he'd been.  Only a sense of loyalty kept her
coming back to visit, when each visit only underscored how thoroughly
things had changed.
 

Fox swept by just then, flashing her a grin.  Dana watched as he loped
easily up and down the court, joking with the others, coaching them
through the plays, slowing the action way down for those who were
confused.  He's good at this, she thought, with surprise.  He helped a
tentative young woman dribble the ball, getting her to smile with
triumph as she passed it to another player.

At last the game was over and most of the players filed back into the
building.  Fox remained behind, dribbling down the court for one last
lay- up.  Watching his graceful form sail up to the basket, Dana
thought it was a shame Mulder had never played for any of the
informally organized leagues in the Bureau.  Of course, the frequent
traveling he and Dana did would probably have restricted him to being
an occasional replacement player for most teams.  But she knew that
wasn't the real reason he hadn't played.

"Spooky" Mulder had never been a team player.  Except with her.

Fox retrieved the ball and headed toward her.  She rose from her chair
to meet him.

"You gave them a real workout.  They're getting better," she said,
forcing a smile.

He grinned back.  "Yeah, that Lopez kid has a nice jump shot, if we
can keep him facing the right basket."

"It was nice of you to do this," she added more seriously.  "They
obviously love it."

"Well, what else is the point in being seven feet tall -- unless it's
to do this!"  Taking her by surprise, he snatched the car keys out of
her hand and dangled them well over her head.  Instinctively, Dana
jumped for them; then she realized how silly that made her look.

"Fox!"

Still grinning, he reached up and set them on a brick ledge along the
side of the building, well out of her reach.  "Play you a little
one-on-one for it," he teased.  "Ill spot you 10 points for the height
differential."

Annoyed, Dana folded her arms and regarded him coldly.  "Give me back
my keys."

His smile collapsed.  Quickly, he handed her back the keys.  "I'm
sorry, Dana," he said contritely.

Dana felt like she'd been drowning puppies.  Damn it, she thought,
when did I lose my sense of humor?  "On second thought," she
said. "I'll play you, but make it 12 points . . .starting now."  She
grabbed the ball and headed for the basket.

Half an hour later, sweaty and comfortably tired, they headed for the
building.

"I think I've been hustled," said Fox.  "Where did you learn that head
fake?"

"Growing up with two older brothers."

"Hmmm . . . well, I won't give you twelve points next time.  Hey, did
I tell you Dr. Bradley wants me to help with the sports program at the
hospital and the other centers?  For pay."

"That's great."

"Yeah.  How about helping me blow my first paycheck?  On dinner?"

"Dinner?  Now?" Dana asked, blindsided by the sudden change of
subject.

"Well, give me 15 minutes to clean up.  That is, if you're hungry?"

With some surprise, Dana realized that she was.  She'd been so tense
that she'd worked all day without food or a break.  But now she felt
cheered and relaxed.  "Sure.  Dinner sounds great."

Two hours later, they sat comfortably lingering over wine and the
remains of an elegant northern Italian repast.

"Mmmmm.  The restaurant reviewer was right about this place ," said
Fox.  "Have we always eaten this way?"

"Not on our expense accounts; Skinner would have had our heads."  Dana
smiled fondly.  "Your tastes used to run to greasy burgers and cold
pizza.  And the occasional plate of barbecued ribs dripping with
sauce."

"Well, the ribs sound all right, but for the rest, I must have been a
true Philistine."

She smiled again.  The mood of the meal had been comfortable,
lightened by laughter over some of his lapses.  (He'd brought a credit
card, but forgotten the routine of handing it to the waitress and
filling out the slip.)  For minutes at a time, she could pretend that
nothing had changed.  Now she said, "You should let me pay for some of
this.  This will cost your entire first paycheck."

"No way.  Fiscal responsibility can be next week's lesson.  Tell me
more about you."

It was so strange, Dana thought, as she launched into a description of
her childhood and college years -- first date conversations, as Missy
used to call them.  Except for that night in Oregon, she and Mulder
had never had exchanged biographies.  They'd read each other's Bureau
histories at the beginning; after that, their life stories had come
out in bits and pieces when it related to a case, until in the end
they'd known each other as well as their families did.  Still, it was
nice to have a man's full attention, she thought.  They talked easily
until the moment she pulled the car to a stop in front of the rehab
center.

"I had a good time,"  he said.

"Yeah, me too.  Thanks."

Instead of getting out of the car, he sat and looked at her long
enough to make her uncomfortable.  Then, just as she was going to say
something, he leaned across the seat and kissed her.

Frozen in her seat, Dana felt every nerve in her body come alive.  It
was a slow, exploratory kiss, his lips moving firmly over hers, and
she felt a sudden hot flush.  Hadn't lived this very moment before, in
those fantasies she'd tried so hard to discourage and dismiss?
Involuntarily, her lips parted.  His hands came up to cup her face
tenderly.  For a long moment, she floated in the pure sensation, while
in the back of her head, alarm bells went off.  "What are you doing?"
her spoilsport conscious mind was asking her.  "You CANNOT be kissing
Mulder "

Then she remembered.  Not Mulder . . . Fox.  Abruptly, she broke away.

She searched the face before her, confused.  Who had she been kissing?
Who did she WANT to be kissing?  Watching her, Fox's tender smile
faded.
 

"Was that a mistake, Dana?"

She looked down at her lap.  "I -- Fox, I think you're confusing
gratitude with something else."

He shook his head.  "No.  *I'm* not the one who's confused. . . . But
I see you don't feel the same way."  Then he looked so stricken and
hurt that she had to turn away.  Long before she'd met him, Mulder had
grown a tough shell behind which he tried to hide his most vulnerable
emotions.  This Fox had no such protection.  *But he'll start growing
one now,* she thought sadly, *because of me.*

"Please, Dana," he was saying now.  "Don't stop coming.  We can
pretend it never happened.  We can forget it, can't we?"

She had her composure back.  She nodded in a business-like way.  "Sure
Fox," she lied.  "It's OK.  We'll forget.  Don't worry."

*********************************

After that, she made up her mind to see Fox less frequently.  It
wasn't fair, she thought, to make him dependent on her.  But it didn't
work out that way.  For starters, she had promised some time ago to do
some volunteer work for the rehab center, and she didn't like going
back on her word.  Much of her contribution involved transporting
patients to events, including the sporting events Fox was organizing.
Often, they ended up riding together and hauling equipment in and out
of her trunk.  It wasn't as bad as she'd feared.  They were seldom
alone, and she soon came to see that, whatever he felt, Fox would
never display any unwelcome feelings he might still have for her.

Over time, she grew comfortable with him again, and fell back into the
companionable attitude they had been developing before.  He remained
interested in anything she told him, and often tried to lighten her
mood with a joke.  He involved her in the work that he was doing with
such pride, and she found she was proud of him.  At times, when
working together to set up a temporary baseball diamond or a
basketball hoop, she felt flashes of the old affection.  It was good
to have a friend, no matter how that friendship had been truncated or
impoverished.

That kiss she tucked back in the dimmest corridors of her mind and
told herself it was forgotten.  And if it surfaced sometimes in
dreams, well, those were the tricks the subconscious sometimes played.

One day, Dana arrived at the rehab center to find Fox seated at a
table behind a large stack of books.  She scanned the titles.
Psychology texts, some college math and physics texts, and a copy of
Beowulf.  All of them had bookmarks at least halfway through.

"Heavy reading for someone who's prepping for a high school
equivalency test."

He smiled.  "Oh, I think I'm ready for that, thanks to your drilling
me these past few months.  I figured I'd better get to work on the
rest of my education; after all, one of these days I have to decide
what I want to be when I grow up.

Dana sat on the corner of the table. "Any ideas?"

"As a matter of fact -- Do you remember you once said you thought I
could have been a good clinical psychologist?  Well, that's what I
want to do.  "

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.  "Do you think that's realistic?"
she asked quietly.

"I think so.  I've been talking to Jane about it.  Of course, I'll
have to take my degree again.  But I'm a fast study.  Do you know
sometimes I just have to read a page once to remember everything I've
read?  Have I always been able to do that?"

Dana nodded.

"Amazing.  Well, I think I'll be ready for the GED at the end of the
month, and I could start college fall term.  I'll probably have to
start with a community college, and transfer once I have something on
my transcript.  Going to school year 'round, I should be finished
before I'm 40."  He looked pensive for a moment.  "Forty.  It sounds
so much older than I feel."

Impulsively, Dana touched his shoulder.  "You can do it.  If you do as
good a job as you've done with the patients here, you'll be a great
therapist, Fox."  The name was getting easier to say.  "I'm glad to
hear you have a plan."

"I have a plan and it starts today, if you'll help. " He stood up
abruptly, and scooped a section of the newspaper from among the books
on the table.  Dana saw it was the classified section.  "I'd like to
look for an apartment.  My mother said I could live with her of
course, but . . . I don't think that's a good idea.  If you wouldn't
mind, I thought maybe . . . we could look in your neighborhood?"

"But you have an apartment."

"Still? After all this time?"

"Your mother's been paying the rent.  I have the key."

"Well."  Fox looked thoughtful.  "Let's go see it."

***************************************************

Mulder's old apartment smelled musty with disuse as Dana opened the
familiar door with her old key.  The heavy drapes were drawn and only
a sliver of sunlight penetrated the gloom.

"Dark," Fox muttered, even after they'd turned on the lights.  Slowly,
he circuited the living room, studying the dust covered furniture and
possessions.  Dana was struck by how much he resembled the old Mulder
prowling through a crime scene.  He paused at an empty spot on the
shelves.

"Your fish go there; I took them home with me a while ago."

Fox nodded.  "Not exactly up for the Good Housekeeping award, was I?"
he said, taking in the cluttered desk and the pillow and blanket left
on the sofa.  "Why was I sleeping out here?"

"I think you did that a lot," Dana said.

"Oh?  Were you more familiar with my sleeping habits than you've let
on, Dana Scully?"

For just a moment, Dana was frozen in place.  The joke, the tone, the
attitude, were so much like the Mulder she remembered that the last
few months seemed to disappear, no more than a bad dream.  She became
aware that Fox was looking at her expectantly.  "You used to mention
watching old science fiction movies late at night; I think you fell
asleep in front of them most of the time."

Fox was investigating the bookshelf now, where tomes on the paranormal
crowded psychology and history books.  He picked a sunflower seed out
of an old bag on the desk, cracked it experimentally between his
teeth, and wrinkled his nose.  "Maybe they're better when they're
fresh. " Then he came to stand in the doorway beside her.  "I don't
want to live here," he said at last.  "It's too -- it doesn't feel
like me.  Let's go look somewhere else."

Hours later, he stood satisfied in the kitchen of an apartment just
two blocks from Dana's own.  It was smaller than Mulder's old
apartment, but brighter, with a view of a small park.  "I like this;
it feels right."

"All your furniture won't fit," Dana said dubiously.

"That's OK; I don't need all that stuff anyway."  There was a moment
of silence between them. "Dana," he said suddenly.  "I don't think any
of this --" he spread his arms to indicate the new apartment and more
"-- this new life would have been possible without your help.  I'd
like to take you to dinner to say thank you."

"You don't have to --"

"Just dinner, Dana," he said softly.

Dana stared at him.  In the late sunlight washing through the
uncovered windows he seemed to glow.  He stood rocking on the balls of
his feet, his hands in his pockets and smiled , a shy, hopeful smile
she'd never seen on the old Mulder.  He's a good man, she thought,
every bit as admirable as he was before, in a different way.  And I
feel something for him, even if I'm not sure what it is, or who,
exactly I feel it for.  If I'd never known him before, would I
hesitate?  What would I say if he invited me to dinner?

"I'd love to."  She smiled.  "But this time, it has to be *my* treat."
 

===========================================================================

From: CPMR56B@prodigy.com (Deborah Davis)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: ALTER EGO (3/4)
Date: 7 Apr 1996 02:42:38 GMT
 

ALTER EGO, PART 3
*****************************************************

Dinner was ribs.  A sentimental choice, Dana admitted to herself, but
the food was good.  They stuck to safe topics: the news, his college
enrollment, how they'd rent a u-haul to move his furniture.  In some
ways, this Fox was like a younger, happier brother of the Mulder she'd
known, Dana thought.  Maybe this is the way he was always supposed to
be; the way he would have been if Samantha's disappearance had never
scarred his childhood.  The old Mulder remained in the background,
unforgotten, but not dampening the evening with his memory.

Then Fox said, "Dana?  Back in the old apartment, I did something to
remind you of him -- Mulder -- the old Mulder -- didn't I?"

Dana swirled her fingers along the design in the tablecloth. "Yes, you
did."

"Do you still miss him?"

He asked the question so simply and kindly, that Dana felt tears of
confusion spring to her eyes.  She was still groping for an answer
when she looked over Fox's shoulder and her face went cold and empty.

Fox turned and watched a man approach their table.  He was gray,
wrinkled, non-descript; Fox couldn't see what had upset Dana so much.
Unless it was the fact that the man was smoking, here in the
restaurant's non-smoking section.

"Mr. Mulder.  Agent Scully," he said genially.

Dana didn't respond.

"I'm sorry, " Fox said easily.  "But I've been ill, and I'm afraid I
don't remember you."

Their visitor took a deep drag on his cigarette.  "That's all right.
I just wanted to wish you well with your recovery."  He turned to Dana
and smiled amiably.  "I hope you're enjoying your new assignment,
Agent Scully."

"Get out of here," she hissed.  Fox stared at her, astonished.

His smile deepened.  "So sorry you're not feeling friendly."

"Get away from us.  If I ever find a way to bring you down, I will."

He smiled and nodded, satisfied.  "Enjoy your evening."  Then he
returned to his table in the smoking section.

"Are you going to tell me what that was about?"  Fox asked as Dana
drove him back to the rehab center.  She had insisted on leaving the
restaurant immediately, and had barely spoken since they got in the
car.

"What can I tell him?"  she thought, frustrated.  "Can I say 'that man
was responsible for the death of your father -- whom you don't
remember -- and maybe the disappearance of you sister -- which doesn't
matter to you anymore -- and most certainly the death of my sister and
god-knows-how- many other innocents -- none of which is part of your
life anymore? Can I say he's tried to kill us both more times than I
care to count, and may be responsible for your losing your memory?
What can I say when none of that means anything to you now? "

"He's no one," she said bitterly.  "Forget him."

"Apparently, I already have," Fox murmured.

She pulled to a stop before the rehab center, but he didn't get out.
"You're angry with me," he said.

"Not with you."

"Yes, with me."  Now the bitterness was in his voice.  "You're angry
with me for not being *him* -- Mulder -- the one you remember."  He
brushed aside her gesture of denial.  "You're always looking at me,
looking for things I do that remind you of him.  Well, I'm *not* him,
Dana, and he's not coming back.  He's DEAD!"

They sat in silence, each staring through the windshield but not
seeing what was on the other side.

"I don't know what to say,"  said Dana.

"Tell me something," he asked in a flat, quiet voice.  "What was he --
was I -- like?"

"Brilliant.  Unpredictable.  Obsessive."  She smiled ruefully.
"Stubborn.  Intuitive.  Funny.  Honest.  You had more integrity then
anyone else I knew."

"Was I happy?"

Dana continued to stare out the window quietly.  At last, she said,
"You took a lot of satisfaction in your work.  When you were following
an idea, you were . . . excited, almost electrified."

"And when I wasn't?"  Dana didn't answer.  "I sound like a manic
depressive."

"You weren't depressive --"

"Was I contented?  Optimistic?  *Happy?*"

"No,"  she admitted quietly.

"Well I am now.  At first, when I had to relearn everything, I thought
if my memory didn't come back, it would be the end of the world.  And
now I know it's not.  I may not know what I'm missing, but I'm
grateful for everything I do have.  I honestly think I've gained more
than I've lost."  He got out of the car, and then leaned back in the
window a moment.  "I like who I am now, Dana.  If you don't, that's
just too bad."  Then he was gone.

Dana drove slowly home.  That evening as she lay awake in bed, she
thought, "I do still miss you, Mulder.  I'm not angry at Fox for being
who he is, but there are days when I could be angry at you -- for
going away and leaving me with all the damned secrets."

***********************************************

"Hi."

Fox stepped back from the wall where he was hanging a picture in his
new apartment and turned to see Dana in the doorway, holding a plant.

"Housewarming present," she said, looking around in vain for a table
to put the plant on.  She set it gently on the floor.  "I stopped by
the center after work, and they told me that you'd moved out this
morning."

"They needed the bed for someone with real problems."

"Fox, I came to apologize.  I spoiled a nice evening the other day."

He stopped fiddling with the picture and smiled. "That's OK."  He
gestured around the apartment.  "What do you think?"

Dana took in the setting sun outside the living room window, and a
smattering of books and pictures from his room at the rehab center.
She raised an eyebrow.

"I like the view, but don't you think you'd be more comfortable with
some furniture?"

"Oh, I *knew* it needed something.  Actually, I intend to bring over
some stuff from the old place as soon as I can."

"Want some help?"

His smile grew wider.  "Sure.  How about some dinner first, OK?"

Dinner was beer and pizza. By unspoken agreement, they talked only of
the present and the future.  After dinner, Dana drove back to Mulder's
old apartment.  "Probably for the last time," she thought.  She
wondered if he'd give her a key to the new one.  Fox looked around the
old place and said.
 
"I don't want to stay here, not even for one night."

"But there's nothing to sleep on at your place.  We certainly can't
get this," she indicated the sofa, "into my car."

"Forget this thing; I'm donating it to the rehab center.  Let's just
take the mattress off the futon."

Together, they bundled up the bulky mattress and stuffed it in Dana's
back seat.  Back at Fox's new apartment, they wrestled it up the
stairs and dropped it on the living room floor.

"We'd have made good Sherpas, " he said, turning on a tiny desk lamp
that currently sat on the floor.  "Have a seat, my lady," he said
gesturing grandly.  "And how about a nightcap?"

"Great."

He was glad he'd thought to get a bottle of wine for the mostly empty
refrigerator.  He fetched two unmatched wine glasses from a cupboard.
"Good thing it's garage sale season, or we'd have to drink this stuff
with a straw."  He came and sat beside her on the futon.  "What do we
drink to?  "

She looked at him steadily.  "To your new life."

Their eyes met in silent understanding.  "And to the woman who's made
it possible," he said quietly.

"I haven't done that much."

"You have."  Gently, he set their wineglasses on the floor, and took
her lightly by the shoulders, a familiar gesture that set her heart
pounding.
 
"You've been there for me all this time, and I -" Suddenly he broke
off and looked away.

"Fox?"

"I'm sorry, Dana" His voice was barely above a whisper "I know you
don't want me to say it, but I can't help what I feel."

She'd known this moment was coming, felt it approaching all evening,
known she was stepping into its path when she walked into the
apartment.

And, this time, she knew what she wanted to do about it.

"Fox," she said softly, "Look at me."

Almost reluctantly, he turned back to her.  Her eyes were luminous
with emotion.

"Dana?" he breathed, afraid to trust what he read there.

For an answer, she traced the line of his jaw with her finger, never
taking her eyes off his.  Then she smiled, and he knew.

His face lit with an open, joyous expression she'd never seen there
before.  Slowly -- as if afraid she would change her mind -- he
caressed the curve of her cheek.  Then he slipped his hand behind her
neck and leaned toward her until she felt his warm breath on her
face. She kept her eyes on his until the last moment; then she leaned
forward of her own accord, and his lips met hers.

The first kiss was sweet and lingering.  The second was gentle but
insistent.  Her lips parted slightly as she explored that mobile
expressive mouth she had watched for so long.  With the back of his
hand, he brushed her throat; then his hand drifted down to skim along
the neckline of her blouse.  A small, unexpected moan escaped her as
his fingers slid lower to brush the tops of her breasts.  She felt the
smooth muscles of his back through his shirt, and was suddenly hungry
to feel his skin beneath her hands.  With urgent fingers she undid the
buttons of his shirt and slid her hands inside, to stroke the soft
hair there.

Now a moan rose in his throat, exciting her further.  *Oh yes,* she
thought.  *This at last, at long, long last.* Desire roared through
her.  With a sudden ecstatic release of restraint, she pressed herself
against him.  They fell back against the mattress and drowned in each
other.

Dana woke once in the night, surprised for a moment to find herself on
a futon on the floor.  Then a shaft of moonlight pierced the uncovered
windows and showed her Fox's face pressed to her breast.  As she
traced the well-loved profile, she thought, "Fox was right.  We have
gained more than we've lost."  And she tightened her arms around him
and fell back to sleep.

**********************************************************

Dana awoke to bright sunlight and a feeling of great well-being.
"It's a good thing I don't have to be at work today," she thought.
"It must be after 9 o'clock."  She rolled over to see Fox watching
her.

"Hi, sleepyhead.  I've been waiting for you."

Unself-consciously, she rolled into his arms and kissed him good
morning.
 

"Mmmmm," he said after a moment.  "I was going to say there's nothing
around here for breakfast, but I see I was mistaken.  You're
contributing enormously to my re-education, Dana Scully."

Later that day, they returned to Mulder's old apartment to finish
moving his possessions.

"I did some sorting the other day," Fox said.  "Things I'm keeping are
on that side; trash is on that side, and things to be donated go over
there.  I've already sorted the books, so could you start boxing them,
while I hit the closets?"

Dana smiled and started work.  She frowned when she noticed that all
the books on UFOs and paranormal phenomena were now in the "donations"
pile, but said nothing.  She worked steadily, moving the remaining
books from the shelves into boxes, until on the second shelf from the
bottom, she came across something unexpected.  A manila envelope was
folded in half and taped to the shelf behind the books.  As she
unfolded it, she saw that it was addressed to her -- "Agent Dana
K. Scully, c/o The Federal Bureau of Investigation" -- in a strong,
familiar hand.

"What is this?"

"I don't know," said Fox.  "It's addressed to you; open it."

The envelope was sealed.  Carefully, she slit it open, and withdrew
two pieces of paper.  The first was a note, scrawled in the same
decisive hand as the envelope:

"Scully:

 Before I leave, I'm going to put this in a place where it won't be
 found right away.  If it does come your way, it will probably because
 I have failed and am not coming back.  In that case, I'm doubly glad
 that I didn't drag you along with me.  I received this from our
 sometime friend; by the time you get it, it will probably not be any
 use, but you may want to make it part of the official record.

 Yours,
 Mulder"

The second sheet was computer paper, and printed on it were two groups
of numbers.  Nothing else.

"What is is?" Fox asked.

"I think . . . they look like latitude and longitude coordinates.  If
I'm not mistaken, these would be somewhere southwest of here, probably
in the Appalachians."  They were silent for a moment while that sunk
in.

"Do you think that's where he . . I . . . went before . . ."

"Maybe."  Dana shook her head unhappily.  "This is months old. If
anyone knows you had this -- and someone surely did, or nothing would
have happened to you -- then there won't be anything left at these
coordinates.  These people always clean up after themselves."

"What people?"  Fox looked at her face, then took the papers from her
hand.  "Never mind. I don't want to know. "  He stuffed the papers
back into the envelope, then tossed it onto the trash pile in the
corner.  "It's the past, Dana; from now on we're only going to worry
about the future, OK?"

"OK," said Dana, but for the rest of the day, she couldn't help but
steal glances at the envelope in the trash pile.

Sunday night they spent at her place, so Dana could easily get ready
for work in the morning.  On her way there, she dropped Fox at the
community college to register for classes.  He kissed her a good-bye
that left her breathless.

"Aren't you going to tell me to play nice with the other children?"
he teased her as he got out.

"I'm going to warn you to keep your hands off the coeds," she said
laughing.  "Don't trifle with me, Fox, I carry a gun."

"Yes, ma'am!"  He gave her a comic salute as she headed off for work.
But instead of driving there, she found herself parking in front of
Mulder's old building. "Why am I here?"  But she knew why.  She made
her way to the dumpsters in the back.  "It's probably not even here
any more."  But the trash box from Mulder's apartment lay plainly
visible on the heap, with the envelope right on top.

"Fox told me to forget this," she thought, hesitating.  "But Mulder
wanted me to have it."  And she took the envelope back to the car.
 

===========================================================================

From: CPMR56B@prodigy.com (Deborah Davis)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: ALTER EGO (4/4)
Date: 7 Apr 1996 02:44:28 GMT
 

ALTER EGO PART 4/4
 
**********************************************************

"Going somewhere?"

Dana looked up guiltily from the car trunk she was packing to see Fox
standing a few feet away in front of her building.  "Didn't you get my
message?  I have to travel for work.  I'll be back in a couple of
days.

"The hell you do!  I called your office and was told you've taken the
rest of the week off."  He stepped closer.  "You're going up there
aren't you?  To the coordinates in that envelope."

She looked unhappily down at her hands. "I'm sorry, Fox.  I should
never have lied to you, but this is something I have to do and I
didn't want to argue about it."

"I'm not going to argue.  I'm coming with you."

"Fox, you said it yourself, this doesn't have anything to do with you
now.  "

"That's what I wanted to believe.  Now I'm not so sure I was right."
He sighed and took her hands in his. "Dana, I don't remember that
Mulder; I don't remember Samantha, and I don't remember the things you
suffered because of them.  But I can't help feeling I *owe* something
to the three of you.  I want to find out too."

Summer was still hanging heavily in Washington, but the next day found
them on mountain roads where fall had begun to kiss the colors into
the trees.  Maps and directions had taken them from highways to rural
roads, and finally to this dirt two-track stretching off into a
forest.

"We should have rented a jeep," Dana said, as she piloted the jouncing
Taurus, doing her best to baby it over the ruts and rough spots.
About two hours into the woods, they noticed a second two-track
joining this one from the left.  The second road bent out of sight
into the trees.

"Let's have a look, " Fox suggested.  They got out and followed the
new track around the bend, where it dead-ended into a clearing.  They
walked around it, skirting its edges.

"Over here," Dana called, pointing to a sandwich wrapper caught in the
roots of a tree.  "Someone's been here."

Fox bent to pick up some cigarette butts.  "Could just be the local
lover's lane," he said with a leer.

"You have a one-track mind."

"I have a lot of time to make up."

Back in the car, they drove for five minutes before Fox called a halt
and got out to examine a tree by the side of the road.  "Look, " he
said, pointing to a gouge in the trunk.  He knelt and searched at its
base, coming up with several slivers of glass.  "Headlight glass.
Someone ran off the road here."

"Not exactly surprising; it's not much of a road."

Fox had backed up several feet from the tree, searching in the grass
and hard packed dirt of the two-track.  He stood up and proffered a
handful of small slivers of red and amber glass.  "From tail and brake
lights?"

Dana took the fragments.  "You think someone was run off the road here
deliberately."

"Someone.  Maybe me."
 
They stayed for a while, but the site had nothing more to tell them.
Their road climbed higher.  "It think our coordinates must be right on
top," Fox said, consulting a compass and map.  Dana said nothing.

Finally, at the top of the small mountain, the trees gave way to a
clearing.  They parked the car and got out, surveying the top in
silence.  The grass across the entire clearing was a singed, dead
brown.  The tops of the surrounding trees were charred or missing.
"What happened up here?"  Fox breathed.

The sharp snapping of a branch startled them.  A quick gray figure
moved in the woods beyond the clearing, running away from them.
Without a word they started after it, at first moving as silently as
they could, then pursuing it at a dead run.  Branches and uneven
footing slowed them down, but they gained on it.  As they drew near,
Dana barked, "Federal agent.  Stop where you are!"  The figure skidded
to an instant stop, so quick that Fox, barreling through the woods
behind it, crashed straight into it, knocking them both to the ground.
Dana leapt to cover the stranger with her gun.  Only then, as their
captive turned frightened eyes on them, did they see what they had
caught.

"Dana," said Fox between gasps for breath.  "Am I imagining it, or did
I just tackle a nun?"

Their captive certainly wore the robes of a sister, plus sturdy hiking
boots.  She appeared to be in her middle 20s.  "I'm sorry, sister, "
Dana said proffering her ID, "But you startled us.  We'd like to ask
you a few questions about that hill top."

The nun studied the ID seriously, then scrambled to her feet and
handed it back.  She no longer looked frightened, but she didn't
answer either.  Instead, she pointed down the trail that Dana now
realized she was following, and gestured for the couple to follow her.
When they attempted to ask questions, she shook her head and continued
gesturing.

"She's mute," said Dana.

"Possibly," said Fox.  "Or she's taken a vow of silence, and she's
taking it very seriously.  I think we should follow her lead."

Both Fox and Dana wore hiking shoes, but neither had expected a
ten-mile hike.  The silent sister lead them up and down trails,
following a system of landmarks obvious only to herself.  At last, she
pointed straight ahead, and Dana saw a compound of log and pre-fab
buildings, surrounded by a low fence.  The nun lead them through a
back gate, past gardens, to a large central building.  As they entered
a wide, empty hall, she gestured that they should wait, and left them.
Moments later, a middle-aged smiling nun entered the hall.  By now,
Fox and Dana had become so used to silence that they jumped when she
spoke.

"Welcome to St. Ann's.  Dinner will be ready in the refectory in
twenty minutes."

"Uh, we didn't come for dinner, sister.  We'd just like to ask a few
questions."

"All right."

Fox and Dana exchanged glances.  "This may seem a little silly,
Sister," Fox began, "but -"

The woman's smile deepened, "There's no need to be embarrassed.
You're not the first lost hikers we've ever fed."

"We're not exactly . . .  Sister, what *is* this place?"

"It's St. Ann's Retreat."  Her voice shifted into guidebook mode as
she lead them outside. "We're a cloistered order.  Eighteen of us live
here permanently, and members of other orders join us periodically for
spiritual renewal.  We also hold retreats for lay groups, and provide
a sort of 'spiritual vacation' for those who want to step aside from
their lives for a while.  Anyone is welcome, for a weekend or a year,
-- or just for dinner.  "

"You seem pretty far off the beaten path," said Fox.  "Do many people
find you for 'spiritual vacations?'"

"Those who need to.  Anyway, we're not as far off the beaten path as
you think."  She gestured through a gate in the fence, and to their
surprise, Fox and Dana saw a parking lot, and beyond it, a paved road.
"County road 13, off route 9, exit 28 on the highway," said the nun.
"You just followed Sister Jean through the back gate.  I'm afraid you
came the hard way."

"We followed Sister Jean from a hilltop where there'd been an unusual
fire," Dana said.  "What can you tell us about that?"

"I wouldn't know," said the nun.  "What did you say your names were?"

"Dana Scully and Fox Mulder."  Dana could have sworn she saw a flicker
of a reaction cross the sister's serene face.

"I'll inform the Abbess that you'd like to speak with her," she
promised.  "In the mean time, enjoy your dinner."

The food was simple, but well prepared.  Afterward, a novice came to
lead them into a small office the size of an ambitious closet.  A
large old desk and chair filled most of it, with two wooden visitors
chairs taking up the rest.  There was a crucifix on the wall and,
incongruously, a computer on the desk.  The abbess looked to be in her
50s, with brilliant dark eyes, and an air of authority.  She shook
their hands, and gestured them to seats.
 

"I'm Fox Mulder, and --"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Mulder.  We've been waiting for you.  You've come
to take our girl home."

"Your girl?" he asked bewildered.

"That's how we think of her.  She told us you'd be coming, you know.
Our girl, Samantha Mulder."

**********************************************************

"It happened this past winter," the abbess said, leading them on a
slow circuit of the grounds.  Although fall had begun to touch these
mountains, there were still hours of daylight left.  Fox and Dana
could see sisters moving purposefully about the compound, doing
evening chores, or quietly walking.  "We've noticed the lights on that
peak for some time," the abbess continued.  "But it was never a
concern of ours.  They were part of the world from which we have come
aside."

"Then one morning, after the lights had been seen the night before,
two of our sisters on an early walk found a young woman.  She was
naked, freezing, and incoherent.  It took us half an hour to talk her
inside our gates.

"My first thought was that the young woman had been experimenting with
drugs.  Ordinarily, I would have called the county sheriff and had her
taken to the emergency room at County General.  We have no phone out
here, but we do have a radio for medical emergencies.  But she became
so agitated -- hysterical -- at the idea of our calling any
authorities that I promised her I'd wait.  Her life didn't seem to be
in any danger once we got her warmed up and I hoped that within a few
hours she'd be coherent enough to tell us her name.

"I waited too long.  Within a few hours, the storm started and we were
cut off.  The road out there isn't on the county's priority list to
plow.  And why should it be?  There's no one up here but us.  Or at
least, that's what we thought.  I could still have radioed for a
helicopter for the young but she seemed so relieved when I showed her
that the road was impassable that I began to think she might have been
sent to us for a reason.  I thought perhaps she needed to be here.

"Over the months, we've taken the best care of her that we could.  She
needed us, and we've grown to love her very much.  But we always knew
she wouldn't stay forever.  She's never let us call the authorities,
and I respect that, because I've come to believe that she was badly
used by them in the past. She is . . . marked in ways she doesn't want
to talk about.  But she has always told us that one day her brother
would be coming for her."

Their walk had taken them to the far side of the compound.  Before
them was a small wooden house; beside it was a large garden.  At the
far side of the garden, a lithe figure in gray robes was working.
Even from a distance, Dana could see the resemblance.

"I will leave you in privacy now," the abbess said, indicating the
figure.  "She does not yet know that you are here.  Agent Scully, if
you wish, you may use the guest house beside the garden; go right in,
it is always open.  "  Then she nodded to them and walked away.

Fox grabbed Dana's hand before she could go.  "You can't expect me to
do this alone."

Dana considered.  "I think perhaps you have to," she said gently.

"But I don't even remember her.  I'm not the brother she remembers."

"Tell her the truth," Dana advised. "It's all that you can do.  I'll
be right in there," she indicated the guest house, "if you need me."
Then she left him at the garden's edge.

Inside the little one-room guest house, she discovered a window that
overlooked the garden.  In the gathering dusk, she watched Fox stand
there for several moments before he called his sister's name.  The
woman startled and seemed poised for flight.  Then she faced him
across the garden and a smile lit her angular face and hazel eyes.  In
a moment, she was running, hair flying, long legs pumping like a
child, until she crashed at last into her brother's arms.

******************************************

They must have talked for hours.  Dana watched them through the window
at first, as they walked the rows of the darkening garden or sat on a
crude bench.  "We'll have to have her DNA tested," she said to
herself, but seeing them together, she had no real doubt what the
result would be.  After a while, she grew tired and lay down on the
bed in the tiny room.

When she woke, the windows were dark.  A couple of candles on the
bedside table cast a wavering glow though the room.  Fox was sitting
alone on a chair at the foot of the bed, staring absently into the
shadows.

"Where is she?"  Dana asked groggily as she sat up.  "Where's
Samantha?  Is she all right?"

It took him a long time to answer, as if he were coming back from a
great distance. "She's gone to her room to sleep.  But don't worry,
she wants to meet you.  She says she expects to have a talk with you
before we leave tomorrow."

"Isn't she coming with us?"

He shook his head.  "Not this trip.  She says she's not ready to leave
here yet.  She's been away from our world for a long time, Scully.  It
terrifies her."

Concentrating on Samantha, Dana almost missed the change.  When it
registered, a cold tremor passed over every inch of her skin.  She
studied him, sitting in the corner, not moving toward her or meeting
her eyes, and she knew.

"Mulder?"  she said softly.

He nodded slowly.  "It all came back when she touched me, Scully.  Sam
has . . . abilities that are going to make certain people very
nervous."

"What do you remember?"

"I was run off the road, back where we found the glass.  By the
Cancerman and three of his flunkies.  They had guns on me before I
could do anything; then they gassed me with something.  When I came
to, I was in restraints on a table.  The lights were so bright I could
hardly open my eyes.  They had an IV drip going into me and everything
seemed . . . distorted.  I remember doctors looking down at me.  I
could hear voices. "  Staring at the candles, he strained to remember.
"Our contact was there; I think he argued them into erasing my memory
instead of killing me outright. After that, everything's a blur.  I
was hungry, cold, but I had no words for what I felt, just sensations.
I don't remember anything else clearly until I threw that hospital
tray at your head."  Half turning, he reached up to lightly finger the
tiny scar at her hairline.

But he still hadn't met her eyes.  When his hand dropped, he made no
movement to touch her again. *He regrets it,* she thought.  *Mulder
never wanted our partnership to change.  He never wanted me to get too
close.  Neither of us wanted to cross that line.  And now . . .* She
closed her eyes to mask the tears that threatened to spill out.

"Scully?"  He had moved to kneel before her.  She could hear the
tension and uncertainty in his voice.

*I need to say the right thing,* she thought.  *I need to salvage
whatever I can between us.* But her heart constricted painfully with
the thought that he didn't love her.  "This changes things, doesn't
it?" she asked at last.
 
She had mastered her voice again, but just barely.  "Your remembering
changes things between us."

"Of course it does," he said.  Then he studied her face and looked
troubled.  "I guess I hoped you'd believe it's for the best."

*For the best,* she thought miserably.  *No, I don't think I can stand
this.  I don't think I can sit here and hear this without falling
apart.*

His voice broke down to a whisper.  "I guess I hoped you'd want me to
love you with *all* that I am."

"Wha --" her head jerked up.  "Then you don't regret . . .Us?"

"Did you think I did?"  Understanding filled his eyes, and he took her
hand gently between his own.  "I'm Mulder again, Scully -- Dana.  But
I'm still Fox too.  I can't regret anything if you still love me."

She looked in his face and saw that it was true.  Both the love and
the friendship she'd treasured shone there.  The tears she'd been
holding back spilled, but she smiled the radiant, generous smile he
loved so well.  "Then neither of us has anything to regret," she said
softly and she slid forward into his arms.  He lifted easily and laid
her on the bed, and she reached eagerly for him.  Her body arching up
to his, she pulled him down on top of her and welcomed him home.

Later after the candles had burned out, they lay together in the dark.
"Will you go back to the Bureau?" she asked.  "The X-files?  What
about wanting to be a therapist?"

"Shhh."  He twined his fingers in hers.  "I think that is something I
want to do . . . eventually.  When the time is right.  But first, Sam
has some unfinished business with our smoking friend, and I think
she's going to need our help.  But let's deal with all that later."
Dana nodded.  What mattered now was being together, just like this.
Everything else could wait.

Just before they drifted off , he muttered sleepily in her ear.
"There is *one* thing I do regret.  Scully?"

"Mmmm?"

"Do you think there's any way I can get my couch back?"
 
 

                                                        THE END

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