By Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com
 

Summary:  It's been two years since they left their
old lives behind and arrived in Alexandria, MT.
There have been big changes in the Hale (Mulder)
household, but there are dark clouds on the horizon.
Back home, the search for the truth continues.
Category:  MSR, A, Mytharc
Rating:  PG
Disclaimer:  I'm delving a bit more into the 'new'
mytharc, but I'm still not making any money.  No
copyright infringement intended.
Archive:  Yes
Date first posted:  May 17, 2004
SPECIAL NOTE:  I'm doing what I swore I would
never do -- I'm posting a Work in Progress.  I have a
plan, the story is complete in my head and outlined
on paper.  In short, I will not leave you hanging.  I'll
be posting it in 10 parts, one part each week for the
next couple of months.  For a few weeks, you can
only find the parts on Ephemeral and on Dana K
Scully's sites in Brazil (did I mention this is an
international WIP?)  In a few weeks, I'll have all the
parts that have been posted on my website.  Just
don't yell at me if you don't find them there
immediately.  If you are like me, and want to wait
for the whole story before starting it, I'm cool with
that.  It should be finished July 18.
This is being 'simulcast' in Portuguese because
Dana was sweet enough to offer.  Hugs, Dana!
Straight jackets can be forwarded to
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com.  Prayers for my
sanity greatly appreciated.

~~~

Flight into Egypt:  Doing it Right (1 of 10)
by Vickie Moseley

May 19, 2004
Arlington National Cemetery
12:30 am

The day was bright, the gentle breeze came off the
river and danced around the white stones standing
like humble sentries over the bodies of those lying
at rest.  The trees were finally in full leaf, the
blossoms of the azaleas were dipping and bending
in the breeze in the planters near the gates.  It was
spring, the smells, the feel of the air, all things
spoke of a reawakening.  But in some hearts, there
was little reason to feel joyful.

Walter Skinner stood a respectful distance and
solemnly bowed his head, ever mindful of the tears
of the woman standing next to him.

"I just wish . . ."  The quiet air was broken by the
raspy whisper which caught on the breeze and
caressed his ear before dancing among the white
and bronze monuments at their feet.

He put a comforting hand on her shoulder.  "Mrs.
Scully," he said and then wondered why he'd even
bothered to speak.  He had no words of comfort or
solace.  For his part, he didn't know if the
headstones at their feet were accurate or just another
part of the jigsaw puzzle of lies and deceits that
continued to rule his life.

Maggie Scully shook her head, wiping the tears
from her cheeks.  "They're together.  Either here or
somewhere else, I know they're together.  If that's
all I have, I have to be satisfied with that."

"I'm so sorry," Skinner mumbled, not daring to clear
his throat for fear if the lump was dislodged, it
would lead to a dam break of emotions.

She smiled up at him and for a fleeting second, he
saw her daughter in her eyes.  "I know you are, Mr.
Skinner.  I want you to know how much I
appreciate you coming here with me today.  I just
didn't want this day to go unnoticed.  It's the only
connection I have with them.  Except this."  She
fingered the locket at her neck, not needing to open
it to know the three pictures the tiny frames held.
Dana, little William and Fox.  The images
painstakingly carved out of larger photographs to fit
in the locket and be her constant companion.

"It's the least I could do, Mrs. Scully," he rasped.

She smiled again and patted his arm.  "It's time you
got back to the office."  She started toward her car,
parked just yards away on the road winding through
Arlington National Cemetery.

He didn't follow immediately.  Instead he looked
down at the headstones, knowing they were nothing
more than memorial tributes to the agents he hadn't
seen in exactly two years.  It had been a fight to get
one of the stones in place, politics and conspiracy
dueling it out only to be placated by an innocuous
memorial resolution at the hands of one US Senator.
But it was only fitting that the two stones sit side by
side, in this hallowed place.

Dana Scully
Fox Mulder

Special Agents, Fallen in the Line of Duty.

Skinner closed his eyes and let a prayer float
silently toward the cloudless May sky.  If he could
only find the answers.
 

St. Peter's Hospital
Helena, MT
same day
12:30 pm

"Push, Dana!  One more, push!" the doctor shouted
from behind her surgical mask.  "C'mon, you've
done this once today already, this should be a
breeze!"

"I think, <pant, hufff> this one <pant> is bigger!"
Dana gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Five pounds, four ounces, Mrs. Hale," said the
nurse standing near the warming bed.  "Nineteen
and a half inches long and lots of strawberry blond
hair."  In the warmer lay a squalling red-faced
infant, already wrapped in a bright pink blanket.

"Get ready, Ellery.  This one will be faster," the
doctor warned.  Fox Mulder looked over the
draping at his partner of eleven years and tried to
smile with his eyes.  In reality, he was scared
shitless.

"You're doing fine," the nurse closest to the head of
the bed assured Dana, who was panting and sweaty,
as red faced as their newborn daughter.

"I thought we discussed <pant> a C-section
<pant>," Dana huffed out between her breaths.

"Yes, we did," the doctor agreed.  "And I firmly
remember someone telling me they wanted to do
this 'the old fashioned way'.  I even put it in my
notes."

"Next time <huff, pant> _he_ doesn't get a vote!"
Dana said with a glare at the man now seated
between her legs.

"Hey, no fair picking on the dad," Mulder heard the
nurse beside him tell the assembled masses.  "He's
been doing his part."

So far his part had been to catch their first daughter
and cut the umbilical cord.  That should have been
the end of it.  But never one to do anything easily,
his partner had surprised him when she'd announced
early in her pregnancy that the doctor thought she
might be carrying twins.  A sonogram confirmed
the suspicion and now Mulder was being pressed
into service for the second time that day to help
deliver their other daughter into the world.

"One more big one, Dana and this is all over," the
doctor assured her.

"Unless there's another hiding in there," Mulder
muttered and caught Scully's eyes.  In spite of
herself, she grinned.

"You better hope not," she warned him.  And then
she drew in all her breath and pushed with all her
might.  The tiny crown of blood-slicked hair soon
became a full head and face.  The doctor's voice
was reminding him to turn the baby to deliver the
shoulders, but Mulder was ahead of the game and
didn't need direction.  The only thought on his mind
was that this was the most extreme possibility he
would ever encounter -- that he and Scully had
helped create not just one incredible life together,
but now three lives.  He couldn't stop the tears that
flowed freely down his face as the baby slipped into
his gloved hands and he held her tenderly in his
arms.

"Oh, god, Scu -- "  He caught his words just in time.
"Sweetheart," he amended.  "She's beautiful."  The
nurse had taken the baby and was handing him a set
of clamps and a pair of scissors.  He applied the
clamps as he'd been instructed and snipped the cord,
separating his daughter from his lover's womb.
"Oh, god, they're so beautiful," he whispered again.

"My turn, Ellery," the doctor said cheerfully.  "Why
don't you four get acquainted while I finish up down
here," she said and Mulder moved out of the seat
he'd occupied to give the obstetrician room to work.

"Number two is five pounds, _six_ ounces," another
nurse called out from the scale.  "And 20 inches
long."

"So they aren't identical," Mulder said as he cradled
Scully and the first of the twins.

"Identical is the genetic make up, love.  The weights
can vary by a few ounces," Dana said with a tired
smile.  "Hey, there, sweetheart!" she cooed to the
baby in her arms.  "It's about time I got to hold you.
See Daddy?  Do you see your Daddy standing
there?"  The infant had her gaze locked on Mulder's
mask-covered face.  He reached out his gloved
finger and the neonate grabbed it in her fist, giving
it a firm squeeze.

"She's strong," Mulder commented through shining
eyes.

"Here's number two, Dad," the nurse said and
handed him the second baby, also wrapped in a pink
blanket, but this one was imprinted with tiny white
bunnies.  "What are the names of these future Miss
Americas?"

Mulder looked over at Scully and she looked back,
worried expression firmly in place.  "We don't have
names yet," she said apologetically.

"Actually, we have too many names," Mulder
amended.  "We're just having some trouble
narrowing the field."

"Our son wasn't named until he was three days old,"
Scully explained.  "We sort of like to get used to
them first."

Mulder held the second infant out to Scully and
with apparently practiced ease, they switched so
that Mulder was holding the first baby in his arms
while Scully cradled the other child on her chest.
The second baby immediately began rooting for a
breast.  "Well, this one seems to have her father's
instincts," Scully said dryly.

"Thanks.  Now these woman all think I'm a sex
maniac," Mulder shot back.

"Three kids under five years of age," said one nurse.
"You do the math."  The room dissolved into
giggles and chuckles.

"Hey, I can't be held responsible if the last two
came as a matched set," Mulder tried to keep some
dignity in his voice by failed miserably.

"Listen up, people," said the doctor, standing so she
could be both seen and heard.  "Let's get these nice
folks down to recovery, where Mom can try nursing
a bit.  Then we'll take these young ladies down to
the newborn nursery and I think there's a big brother
waiting to see them."

In the recovery room, the nurse was very
accommodating.  "You guys are a little too early,"
she announced as she helped Scully settle in the bed
and handed one baby to her, then the other to
Mulder.  "Next fall we open the maternity center
and then you'll be able to stay in one room, and Dad
can even stay the night in there if he wants."

"We just didn't think it was worth it to hold off on
delivering them till the grand opening," Mulder said
dryly.  The nurse gave him a curious look and then
broke into laughter.

"Oh, a joker, are you?  I'll have to keep an eye on
you.  Now, here's the phone, you can make all the
long distance calls you want, they'll be billed to
your room.  Don't worry, we don't charge motel
rates -- "

"Maybe a hotel on the lower East side of
Manhattan," Mulder muttered and Scully shot him a
'be good' look.

"Oh, you!" yelped the nurse and shook her head at
him.  "Anyway, now might be a good time to call
all those 'Grandmas and Grandpas' and tell them
about the new arrivals.  The ones who aren't in the
waiting room with your other little boy, of course."

"Those are friends out there," Scully said tensely.
Mulder reached out his hand to grasp hers.  He
could almost read her thoughts.  She wanted more
than anything to reach out to that phone and dial a
very familiar number in Baltimore, Maryland, but
they both knew that was impossible.

Just as she had in the delivery room, the second
baby showed an uncanny ability to latch on to the
breast and was soon sucking happily, then fell off to
sleep.  The older of the two seemed uninterested in
eating, was more inclined to take in every thing
around her.

"We have a pragmatist and a dreamer, Woman," he
said affectionately as he kissed his partner.  "We are
in so much trouble!"

She laughed and the morose spell was broken, for a
moment.  The sadness in her eyes couldn't be erased
for long.

"We'll be able to contact her, someday, my love.  I
promise," he told her solemnly, and she nodded her
head, trying to hold back the tears that threatened.
"Oh, Scully," he whispered and gathered her to him
as much as the hospital bed and the two infants
would allow.  "I know it's hard."

"I just miss her so much," Dana sobbed.  "I wish we
could just get some word to her, somehow."

"I know, I know," Mulder crooned, stroking her
hair.  "I'll work on it."

"We can't, Mulder," she whispered hoarsely.  "Now,
more than before, we can't!  If 'they' found out
about the twins and where William is -- "

"Shhh, don't get all upset," he whispered, kissing
the crown of her head and rubbing her shoulders
and the base of her neck, the fastest way on earth to
relax her, as he'd become very aware during this
most recent pregnancy.  "It doesn't look like it now,
but you know how quickly things change."

"That's what I've afraid of," she hissed back, more
tears falling down her cheeks.  "We have a perfect
life right now.  I'm so afraid we're going to lose it."

The nurse came back, seeing the tears.  "Hey, hey,
it's OK," she cooed, collecting both babies into their
assigned bassinets.  "I think Mom needs a nap.  It
was a long delivery, from what I've heard and
you've been up all night.  Dad, you could lie down a
bit, too, before we're scraping you up off the
pavement.  You aren't here by yourself, are you?"

"No, we have friends and our three year old son out
in the family lounge," Mulder said, helping Scully
settled down in the bed.  "Taking a nap does sound
like a good idea, huh, love?" he murmured as he
lowered the head of the bed so she could rest
comfortably.

"It feels so weird," Scully mumbled sleepily.  "I
can't remember the last time I got to sleep on my
back."

"Well, I remember at least one time, about 9 months
ago," Mulder whispered in her ear and got the smile
he hoped to receive.

"shut up," she mumbled and swatted ineffectually in
the direction of his arm.  "Go show William his
baby sisters."

He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips.
"I'll be back later, when you wake up."  He was
pretty sure she hadn't heard him because she was
already asleep.

Family Lounge
1:45 pm

Mulder blearily made his way down the hall in the
direction the desk nurse had pointed.  They'd
arrived at the hospital at the ungodly hour of 2:15
am and from the moment they'd hit the door, there
had been some kind soul acting as his guide.  He
was eternally grateful to his new employer, Carroll
College, for allowing them to move into an
apartment previously reserved for unmarried faculty
members for the last month of Dana's pregnancy.
They had missed their mountain hideaway in
Alexandria, but driving the deserted streets of
Helena for only six blocks after Dana's water broke
at 2 in the morning was a lot easier than the 30
miles from their home.  Now, once Dana and the
girls had a chance to rest, they would be moving
back home just in time for summer.

He found the family lounge, but it was deserted.  He
was just about to ask if he had the right one when he
turned and ran right into MC Hawthorne, carrying
an unopened bottle of soda.

"Ellery!  My gosh, you scared me!  Are they here?"
MC asked anxiously, leading him into the homey
lounge.  A big screen television showed a baseball
game.  Mulder was having a hard time
concentrating on anything and the pitch on the set
made for a pleasant distraction.

"Ellery?  Dana . . . the babies . . . delivery?" MC
asked again patiently this time.  She was getting a
bemused expression on her face at his inability to
speak, or connect to the world around him.

"Oh, come here," she directed in mild disgust.
"Sit," she ordered.  Amazingly, he sat.  "Drink this,"
she said, handing him the soda.  Like an automaton,
he unscrewed the cap and drank half the contents,
preceding to release a good portion of the CO2 back
in the atmosphere in the form of a window-shaking
belch.  MC shook her head in exasperation, then
stood directly between him and the ball game.
"Now, then, how is everyone?"

He looked up at her and recognition hit.  "MC," he
said, as if she'd just entered the room.  Then, more
realization took place.  He looked frantically around
the lounge.  "Where's Will?"

"Relax, Dad," MC said with a laugh.  "Joe took him
to McDonald's.  They're at the playland.  I told them
I'd call as soon as there was news.  So, is there
news?"

"Oh, god, yes," Mulder said, smacking his head.
"I'm sorry.  I'm just a little out of it.  Yes, everyone
is fine, just fine.  First one was born at just a little
past 12 and the second one came along about 12:30.
Five pounds four ounces, 19 and half inches, and
five pounds, six and 20 inches.  Strawberry blond
hair, once they cleaned 'em up."

"Oh, Dana must be thrilled!" MC exclaimed,
hugging her friend.  "I'm so happy for you, Ellery!"

Mulder hugged the small woman back.  "I'm pretty
happy, too," he said tiredly.  They broke apart and
he leaned back against the sofa cushions.  "I just
wish Will were here.  I want him to see the babies."

"Daddy, Daddy!  Look what I got in my Happy
Meal.  A soccer guy!  Uncle Joe lets me have Dr.
Pepper!  We played in the playballs," Will hit the
family lounge like a three-foot dynamo.

"Hey there, buddy!" Mulder said, grabbing his son
and lifting him up on his lap.  "What do you have
there?"

"It's a soccer guy.  Uncle Joe said I can play soccer
when I get big.  Can we get a soccer ball and we can
play at school?"

"We'll talk about that later.  I have a surprise,"
Mulder said, winking up at Joe and MC who were
watching fondly a few feet away.  "You have two
new baby sisters," he announced proudly.

"I know," Will said calmly.  "Missy and Sammi.
Can I go see them now?" he asked.

Mulder stared at the little boy for a moment.
"Buddy, Mommy and Daddy haven't . . . what did
you call them?"

"Missy and Sammi, Daddy.  Missy was born first.
Sammi was next.  I'm the oldest!" he said with great
seriousness.  "Auntie Mary said so."

"He's been talking about them since we got here,"
Joe said with a shrug.  "He told us their names are
Melissa Margaret and Samantha Ann.  I figured you
guys must have decided on the names in the last day
or two and just didn't tell us."

Mulder tried to cover his concern.  "We hadn't
really considered those names," he said slowly.

"Daddy, Missy and Sammi are waitin'," Will said
emphatically.  "C'mon!"

"Will, where did you hear those names for the
babies?" Mulder asked, a cold chill taking hold in
the pit of his stomach.

"The ladies told me," he said casually, fingering his
toy soccer player.

"What ladies?" Mulder prodded.

"The ones that come in my room when I'm
sleepin'," Will said with a smile.  "They're real
pretty.  They have long hair, and they smile all the
time.  They're real nice.  Their names are Missy and
Sam.  They told me the babies' names."

MC and Joe looked confused and Mulder didn't
want to go into details without consulting Scully.
"Well, for the moment, let's wait until we see
Mommy to decide the babies names," Mulder said
evenly, hoping he didn't upset Will or scare him
with his reaction.

Will was thrilled that he was allowed to hold each
new sister, but it didn't take long for him to get
restless and bored with the babies.  MC offered to
take him back to the apartment for a nap.

"You two have to get home, don't you?" Mulder
asked.  "The kids -- "

"Now, Hale, you know the kids are fine.  Meg is
taking the boys to baseball practice.  I told them I'd
be home tonight, MC wants to stay for a day or two
until Dana gets settled.  This is the closest thing to
being a grandmother she's likely to get in the
foreseeable future, so let her horn in, er, help for a
while," Joe said, earning himself a quick kick to the
shin.

"That would be wonderful," Mulder admitted.  He
and Scully had discussed the big picture often when
they were planning for the babies' arrival, but the
little details always seemed to scurry out of view.

"Joe got me a room at the Hampton Inn, right across
from campus," MC said.  "I'll take Will to the
apartment for a nap and then tonight, when you're
there, I'll fix some dinner so you can rest, too.  Of
course, you'll want to come back up here during
visiting hours, but they're pretty strict about kicking
you out right at 9.  Joe can tell you."

"I have the boot marks on my ass to prove it," Joe
said, rubbing his hip.

Mulder paced the hall until the nurse finally let him
down to see Dana.  She was looking better after her
nap.  They'd let her take a short shower and she was
dressed in the nightgown he'd bought for her on her
birthday, a nursing gown just as she'd requested.
He smiled so wide his cheeks hurt when he saw her.

"Hey, good lookin'," she said as she held out her
arms to him.  He fell into her embrace happily.
"Did you get some rest?" she asked.

"Not a bit," he murmured as he buried his face in
her hair.  "Don't need sleep.  Must make enough to
support large family," he spoke in robotic tones.

She laughed at him and stroked his hair.  Finally, he
sat up and took her hand.  "Will's with MC at the
apartment.  I figure I'll bring him up to see you
tonight."

"Good.  I want to read him a bedtime story," she
said as she settled back in the pillows.

Mulder nodded and made a close examination of
her blankets.  She knew something was bothering
him, but was hesitant to pull it out of him. She
squeezed his hand to force him to look at her.
"Hey, what's up?"

He sucked on his tongue a moment, gathering his
wits.  "Have you thought about their names?" he
asked innocently.

She smiled at him and pulled her hand away to
reveal a small book hidden under the blankets.
_20,000 Baby Names_

"I'm been reading some," she admitted guiltily.
"But I was only making notes to go over with you.
I know last time I sort of sprung Will's name on
you, you didn't get a chance to even say if you had
an alternative."

"Well, technically, you did most of the work on
Will," he pointed out.  "I wasn't even fast enough to
make it for his birth."  As always, he tried to cover
his discomfort with humor.

She pulled his hand to her mouth to kiss his
knuckles.  "You were there for all the really
important parts," she reminded him.  "So, have you
been thinking of names?"

"No," he said honestly.  "But apparently Will has."

She frowned and looked at him with a tilt to her
head.  He continued.  "He's been calling them Missy
and Sammi."

Her sudden intake of breath echoed his reaction.

"I know.  I asked him where he heard those names.
I mean, we've mentioned your sister Melissa and
my sister Samantha, but I don't remember calling
them by their nicknames."

"No, no, I don't either, but it's always possible.
Why?  How do you think he came up with them?"
she asked.

"I asked him.  He said 'the ladies' told him.  The
ladies who come into his room when he's sleeping."

Her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes flew open
wide.  "Ohmigod . . ."

He squeezed her hand still clasped in his palm.
"Scully," he whispered, "he said they were very
pretty and very nice.  He said they smile all the
time.  And they told him their names are Missy and
Sam.  He told MC that the babies are named
Melissa Margaret and Samantha Ann.  Now, I never
knew Missy's middle name and I know I've never
used Sam's middle name around Will, she avoided it
as much as I've avoided Fox."

"You think they came to him?" she asked in a tiny,
frightened voice.

He nodded.  "But so far, all of these visitations, for
all of us, have been positive.  They're watching over
us, Scully," he continued in low tones.  "I think it's
wonderful.  And I sort of feel, well, it would seem
ungrateful if we didn't, you know -- "

"So we name the babies after our sisters, because
our sisters came to Will in a dream and told him to
tell us," she completed for him.  "Mulder, what
next?  Is your mother going to come one night and
offer to babysit for us?" she asked derisively.

"I don't think she's the type, sweetheart.  She's more
the 'send the kids a card with money' type
Grandma," he responded.

Scully sat there, considering all the implications for
a moment.  Tears started down her cheeks again.

"You know, hormones are a bitch," he said fondly
as he wiped her cheek with his thumb.

"I was just thinking that the only one of our parents
who don't know about us and the kids . . ."

"Is your mother," he said sadly.  She nodded and
her face crumbled as she broke down into sobs.

Mulder took her into his arms and held her close.  "I
promise, we'll get word to her.  I just have to figure
out a safe way to do it.  But I will work on it, I
swear to you, Scully.  I will work on it."

end of part one
 

FBI Headquarters
Washington DC
Violent Crimes Unit.
July 20, 2003

His desk was at the back of the room, in a corner
that had previously been home to the copier.  The
irony was not lost on him.  Walter Skinner
straightened the sheets of paper in his hand and
returned them to the folder on his desk.  Another
file, another case.  He wasn't allowed to work in the
field, he was just allowed to consult.  Most of his
consultations were over the phone and it was given
no real authority over the investigations.  In short,
he was punching the clock, just taking up space
until his retirement in five years.

Skinner still wasn't sure why they hadn't just fired
him.  John Doggett had been summarily dismissed
upon his return from Arizona.  He'd gone back to
New York where he was once again on the police
force.  Monica Reyes had not even left a forwarding
address, but he'd heard she'd moved back to New
Orleans.  He wondered briefly why she didn't go to
New York with Doggett, but decided it was best not
to worry about such things.  Besides, after Deputy
Director Kersh's complete vanishing act, from the
Hoover Building in the middle of the day after he'd
help Mulder escape a death squad, Skinner decided
it was best not to look into anything too deeply.

And no one had seen or heard from Fox Mulder and
Dana Scully in over two years.  After much debate,
and the testimony of Doggett and Reyes that they'd
last seen the pair entering a pueblo that had been
destroyed by rocket fire, the official version was
that the two were killed in the line of duty.  Skinner
realized that was as much to keep Scully's brothers
and her mother off the trail of the conspiracy as it
was any honor to the two agents.

Skinner had tried, just once, to contact the person
who had helped him place baby William with his
adoptive family.  The phone number was
disconnected.  Skinner worried about that, too,
when he allowed his mind to go in that direction.

For the most part, he was just trying to survive.

He picked up the file folder on the top of the pile.
Three deaths across the northeast.  A serial killer
was suspected.  The only impairment to the
investigation, there were no bodies of the victims.
There were witnesses to each murder, had different
descriptions of the murderer, but they were sketchy
at best.  Tall, at least 6 foot.  Built, or so one
witness had described him.  But the murders had
occurred in shadows, dark alleys, at a mostly
deserted rest stop in Massachusetts.  No make on
even the race of the killer.

Skinner pulled the pages forward and adjusted his
glasses.  The case was interesting.  A sudden twinge
caught him in the gut.  Just the kind of case he
would have sent downstairs to the basement.  An X
file.  But the X files were closed, the filing cabinets
packed off to some warehouse, the old office once
again a copy room.  Every bit of evidence that there
had ever been an X Files Division had been erased,
possibly like the two agents who had made up that
division.  He shook his head to dispel his maudlin
thoughts.

"Give it to Walter, this should be up his alley."

Skinner cringed at the sound of the SAC's voice.
Gary McDaniel.  He'd been McDaniel's supervisor
just two years ago.  The tough young agent had
been hanging by a thread, had two reprimands
already in his jacket.  One more disciplinary notice
and he would have been standing before OPR.  But
McDaniel apparently had some friends, and after
Kersh's disappearance and Skinner's own fall from
grace, McDaniel's found himself in the catbird's
seat.  He was making sure to remind Skinner of his
position every single day.

The file folder made a loud 'thump' when it hit the
corner of his desk.  "You're good at fertilizer
checks, Walter, aren't you?" McDaniel sneered.
"After all those years of bullshit from those losers in
the basement."

Skinner sat stone still, holding his anger tight in his
chest.  He had nothing left except his pension and
he had two years before he could even think about
retiring.  Well, 22 months, 18 days, he glanced
down at his watch and mentally did the calculations.
Five hours and 12 minutes.  He could hold it in that
long.  Maybe.

"You have your assignment, Agent Skinner.  I
suggest you pick up that phone and let your fingers
do the walking."

"I thought I was supposed to review the work on
these killings, sir," Skinner said with an emphasis
on the 'sir' that made his jaw ache.

"Well, you thought wrong, Skinner," McDaniel
sneered.  "That's way out of your league now,
mister."

He forced himself to look up at the glowering
young man staring down at him.  Skinner refused to
flinch in front of the little bastard.

"Did you hear me, Skinner?  Start shoveling that
shit," McDaniel smirked.

The folder was just inches from his fingertips.  He
fought the urge to throw it in McDaniel's face.
Instead, using very controlled movements, he
opened McDaniel's folder, grabbed the phone
receiver and dialed the first number.

McDaniel started to walk away, but turned around a
few feet from Skinner's desk.  "Let me know if
anything 'Spooky' pops up, Walter," McDaniel
called out as one last parting shot.  The pull bit
erupted in loud snickering as the other agents
caught the joke.  Skinner squared his shoulders and
didn't look up.  Only the ring tone of the receiver
heard his near silent "Yes sir, asshole!"

12:00

The only bright spot in Walter Skinner's week came
at lunchtime on Thursdays.  After years of being his
Administrative Assistant, Kimberly Mathers was
heartbroken when she was forced to change jobs
after Skinner's demotion.  The worse luck for Kim
was that she ended up working on the sixth floor,
the Director's offices.  It was a step up the ladder for
Kim, but it just pounded home how far her former
boss had fallen.  About a month after Skinner's new
assignment, Kim made a point of bumping into him
at the Bureau cafeteria.  She suggested that they
would find better food at a local diner.  Skinner
took a chance and went there the next day at noon.
Sure enough, Kim was there and they had lunch
together.  They had been meeting for lunch every
Thursday since that day.

Kim had suggested a new place, a little further from
the Bureau, the last time they'd met.  Skinner
arrived at noon straight up and looked around.  It
was a small Mexican restaurant.  He got a table for
two and sat down, munching chips and salsa until
Kim arrived.  She was almost ten minutes late and
he was starting to get worried.  She hurried over to
the table, immediately apologizing.

"Walter, I'm so sorry!  The office was a mess this
morning and I just couldn't get a way."

"Kim, that's perfectly all right.  You have a lot of
responsibilities, keeping those bozos in line up there
on six," Skinner teased.

"Believe it.  And here I left a good job working as
an aide at a day care to come to work for the
Government," she said with a sigh.  "Some days I
feel like I'm back there."

Skinner chuckled.  It was the only pleasure he got
anymore.  He often thought about asking Kim out
after work, but each time had decided against it.  He
was a pariah and the last thing he wanted to do was
drag her down with him.  Better to keep their
relationship to the occasional lunch, if it allowed
Kim to keep her position at the office.

They looked over the menus and gave the waiter
their order.  As soon as the young man had left,
Skinner's curiosity got the better of him.

"So, what emergency befell the upper echelons of
power today?  White House briefing?  Tenet called
and cancelled the joint CIA-FBI golf outing?" he
asked with a devilish grin.

She giggled.  "Oh, no, not the golf outing!  I would
have had to cancel this lunch if that had happened,"
she shot back.  "No, apparently Deputy Director
Marris left.  And from what I could gather, it was
quite sudden."

"Marris?" Skinner asked and a flood of
apprehension swept through him.  "Wasn't he . . ."

Kim looked around them furtively and then leaned
closer to Skinner, lowering her voice.  "On Agent
you know who's little jury?  Yes, he was.  He took
DD Kersh's place after Kersh disappeared."

Skinner had been fairly certain that Alvin Kersh
would not be 'reappearing'.  He was positive Kersh
had been killed for his part in helping Mulder
escape the military stockade.  As always, no body
was found and no investigation was made.  It was as
if Kersh had just decided to find employment
elsewhere.  "You say Marris left?  Where did he
go?"

Kim's eyebrows knitted and she shrugged.  "That's
what his secretary would like to know," she said
conspiratorially.  "He was at work yesterday, had a
full appointment schedule for today.  He never
called in.  She was informed by the front office
about ten o'clock."  The 'front office' was Kim's
nickname for the Attorney General's office.

Skinner chewed on his lip.  Their food arrived and
the conversation changed directions to the new
sitcom that Kim had convinced Skinner to start
watching.  They didn't discuss Marris or his
disappearance again for the rest of the lunch.

The next day, Skinner was at his desk, again
looking through the file on the murders without
bodies.  He pulled up a map program on the internet
and charted the path.  It appeared that the killer or
killers were traveling south, along the eastern
seaboard.  As he was trying to figure out how that
fit with what they already knew, which was next to
nothing, his phone rang.  It was Kim.

"Walter, can you meet for lunch?" she asked, and
only the note of desperation in her voice stopped
him from teasing her about having to see him again
so soon.

"Sure.  Just not Mexican, OK?  I think those
burritos were filled with explosives."

That lightened the moment a little.  She chuckled.
"OK, how about hot dogs on the Mall.  Same time."

"I'll see you then," he promised and put the phone
down slowly.  He couldn't imagine what had Kim
so rattled.  It would be a long three hours until
lunchtime.

It was a beautiful day on the Capitol Mall.  The
tourists were in full bloom, several tour buses were
already spewing forth passengers in front of the
National Gallery of Art.  Skinner hurried across the
lawn to the hot dog vendor near the Smithsonian
Castle.  Kim had beaten him and was already
holding her dog and drink.  She waited while he got
his food and then nodded up the street toward the
Capitol.  "It's a nice day.  Can we walk?" she asked.
He nodded in agreement.

"So, what's up?  Today isn't Thursday," he said
pointedly as they made their way up the sidewalk
past the Air and Space Museum.

"Two more of them are gone, Walter.  I'm getting
scared," she said succinctly.

"Who is gone?" he asked, stopping in mid bite.

"Two more of the men on the sixth floor!  An AD
and another DD," she said in a whisper.

"Names?"

"Brinker and Huffman," she said, looking quickly at
the crowd of tourist that was about to surround
them.  "Shhh, I don't want anyone to hear."

They made their way through the tourists, who were
all from some Latin American country from the
sounds of their chatter, and Skinner directed her
over to a bench to sit down.

"Kim, is this like yesterday?  What do you mean
they are gone?"

"They were both at work yesterday, and never
showed up today.  But Walter, that's not the scary
part.  It's like they never existed!  They're names are
being removed from their doors as we speak.  It's
just spooky," she said with a visible shiver.

The word hit him hard.  She noticed immediately.
"Oh, darn it, I'm sorry, Walter.  I didn't mean that . .
. you know what I mean," she mumbled helplessly.

"No, it's OK, Kim.  I understand," he tried to
reassure her.  "Brinker and Huffman and yesterday
it was Marris."

"All of them gone.  Poof!" she said, snapping her
fingers.  "Walter, I knew Marris had a hand in that .
. . situation a few years ago, but I didn't know if
Brinker . . ."

"Both Brinker and Huffman were on that jury,
Kim," Skinner confirmed her suspicions.

"Oh shit," Kim said, staring down at her drink.  She
finally raised her eyes to meet his.  "Walter, these
men, I admit I didn't care about them one way or
another, but to just vanish without a trace . . ."

"Kim, I want you to go back to the office and just
leave this alone," Skinner said gruffly.  At her
startled expression, he softened his tone.  "I think
you're right to be scared.  But if you leave this
alone, nothing will happen to you."

"Walter," she said, shaking her head.  "I'm not
afraid for me.  I'm afraid for you!  You were Agent
Mulder's defense attorney.  If all the members of
that jury start vanishing, what might happen to
you?"

Skinner looked into her eyes and was absolutely
floored by what he saw there.  If he didn't know
better, he could swear he saw love in Kim's eyes.
He shook his head slowly, not quite believing.
Then Kim took his hand in hers and the sensation
completely blew him away.

"Walter, I know you've hated being down in VCS
and you're only sticking it out to get your pension.
But please, if you're in any danger, get out now.  If
anything were to happen to you . . ." she looked
away and as she turned her head, Skinner could see
tears on her lashes.

"Kim . . . I don't . . ."  He stopped himself.  This
wasn't the time or place to have a conversation
about where their relationship was headed.  Kim
was right, he could be in danger.  The very last
place she should be seen was with him.  "We need
to get back to the office, but I think we should go
there separately.  You go ahead, I'll follow in a few
minutes."

"You think this is something.  You think you're in
danger, too," she said quietly.

He smiled wanly at her.  "I think I'm very lucky you
got that promotion to the sixth floor," he said
calmly.  "Now, you need to get back."

She nodded and started to get up.  Suddenly, she
leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.  "Be
careful, Walter," she pleaded.  Before he could
recover from his shock, she was half a block away.

Walter spent the rest of the afternoon trying to
locate any mention of the three missing men in the
Bureau's files.  The directory of staff had been
changed and even Holly in research couldn't find
any mention of them in the personnel files.  Skinner
was more convinced than ever that the men were
murdered and a cover up was underway.  His only
question was why.

Five o'clock finally arrived and Skinner shut down
his computer and headed home.  His apartment in
Crystal City was dark and lonely, as always.  He
deposited his suit coat on the back of an armchair
and his tie on the coffee table.  Pulling out a yellow
post it note, he dialed a number he'd found online.

"Peter Kallenbrunner," answered the other party
after the second ring.

Skinner cringed.  The last man on earth he ever
expected to be calling was Agent Kallenbrunner.
He could still see the man, could still picture him as
he sat at the prosecution's table in that dungeon of a
courtroom.  It was everything Skinner could do not
to hang up the phone.  "Agent Kallenbrunner, this is
Walter Skinner."

There was silence on the other end of the line for
several seconds.  "Skinner?  What can I do for you
Assistant Director?"

Skinner swallowed and eyed his makeshift bar on
the counter in the kitchen.  He'd have given his right
arm for a glass of bourbon at that moment.  "It's
Agent Skinner now."

Kallenbrunner was quiet again.  "I'm sorry to hear
that.  Anyway, what can I do for you, Agent
Skinner?"

"It's come to my attention that men are
disappearing.  Men who have something in common
. . . with you and me."

"We have something in common, Agent Skinner?"
came the slightly bemused voice over the phone
line.  "I don't think you would have thought that two
years ago."

"That is precisely what I'm talking about," Skinner
ground out angrily.  "Our last meeting, we weren't
alone."

"I'm very well aware that we weren't the only ones
in the room, Skinner.  And two years ago, one of the
men who was also in that room disappeared without
a trace.  I don't remember getting a phone call from
you at that time."

"Agent Mulder was set up," Skinner growled.  "And
you know it!  You knew it when the body failed to
be Knowle Rohrer."

"That was an unsubstantiated rumor perpetrated by
the lover of the defendant.  I find it hardly . . ."

"Listen to me, you asshole!" Skinner shouted.  "The
members of that kangaroo court, the jury members,
and I use that term loosely, are failing to show up at
their jobs.  There is no explanation and more
importantly, no investigation of their whereabouts."

"Maybe they just got jobs somewhere else,"
Kallenbrunner suggested but he was at least
listening.

"No, it has been too sudden.  No warning, they are
just gone.  Their names were removed from the
personnel files the day of their disappearance."

"You hacked into the Bureau personnel files,
Skinner?"

"I didn't 'hack' into anything, you son of a bitch!  I
have a friend who looked for me.  Will you pull that
Rule Book out of your ass and just listen to me for a
moment?  We could be next!"

He was again met with silence from the man in
California.  "What do you want me to do?"
Kallenbrunner asked tersely.

"The two other members of the jury, Hanson and
Galbrith, where are they?"

"Hanson was assigned to the New Mexico Regional
office and Galbrith is out here in LA.  He's my
boss."

Skinner's stomach dropped to the floor.  This might
not have been the best idea he'd had.  "Keep an eye
on Galbrith, I'll keep an eye on Hanson."

"What if they come for one of us?  I have a wife . . .
and kids," Kallenbrunner whispered into the phone
line.

Skinner closed his eyes.  "We keep in touch.  I'll
call you about this time each day."

"Call my cell phone.  I don't want this going
through the Bureau switchboard."  Kallenbrunner
rattled off his number.

"Good thinking," Skinner complimented him and
returned the favor.  "If something happens, if you
need me, just call."

"Skinner," Kallenbrunner called out just before the
older man had disconnected the call.

"Yeah?"

"Is this what they mean when they say 'strange
bedfellows?"

If was a lame excuse for a joke, and Skinner took it
to mean that the younger man was now truly
frightened.  "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Shit," came the response.  Kallenbrunner hung up
before Skinner had a chance to reply.

Skinner sat there with the phone still in his hand
until the automated voice asked him if he cared to
place another call and directed him to hang up the
phone.  Slowly, he put the phone back on its cradle.

Kallenbrunner hadn't been much help, but at least
Skinner now knew the whereabouts of the two other
jurors.  If he were a betting man, he'd bet on the guy
in New Mexico disappearing next.

New Mexico.  Skinner shivered as the memory
coursed over him.  Scully, in tears.  Monica telling
her she didn't have to decide that night, she should
think on it, she should sleep on it.  Finally, Doggett
had taken Monica home and it was just he and
Scully.  When she'd looked at him with those tears
in her eyes, his heart had broken into a million
pieces.  "I want William to be safe," she'd sobbed,
holding herself so rigid he thought she would
shatter if a feather had landed in her lap.  "Make
sure he's safe."

He had accepted that charge.  He contacted an old
buddy from the Marines and he found a place for
William, a quiet place, a good home.  He alone
knew the location, in case it was an emergency, in
case he learned that William wasn't safe, even in the
safest of places.  It was the least he could after all
she'd been through.

Now he knew he'd have to go out to New Mexico,
just to make sure.  If every member of Mulder's jury
was disappearing, could his son be in danger?  It
was a chance Skinner just couldn't take.  He dialed
the Bureau offices, left a message on McDaniel's
voicemail.  He was taking a few weeks of vacation,
effective immediately.

end of part two
 

Hale Household
Alexandria, MT
June 19, 2004
6:05 am

Mulder leaned over to finish tying a shoelace when
he heard it.  Not it, he admonished himself -- them.
The twins.  It was a morning ritual.  He hadn't had a
good morning run since the babies came home from
the hospital.   He sighed resignedly and climbed the
stairs to the nursery that used to be his office.  On
opposite sides of the room, two identical cribs
framed the window that overlooked the 'Old Man',
as he and Scully referred to 'their' mountain.  The
birds were just starting up a chatter in the aspen tree
outside the window.

Neither baby was crying.  Melissa had her fist in her
mouth, sucking vigorously.  Little Samantha was
eyeing the mobile above her head -- Blues Clues
characters, at her older brother's insistence, danced
in the faint breeze.  She was staring so hard, her tiny
blue eyes were crossed.  When they heard their
father's approach, both babies turned their heads
toward the door.

"Hey, there, what are you two doing up this early?
Why can't you be more like your mom, huh?  Sleep
in a little, and give your old man a break?"  Mulder
scooped up first Samantha and then Melissa into his
arms.  He'd gotten fairly proficient at carrying both
babies.  He danced them around the room once and
then deposited Melissa in her infant seat while he
quickly diapered her sister, then switched babies
and repeated the process.  Soon, he had them both
in his arms again and he sat down in the glider that
occupied the corner of the room.  "Well, ladies,
that's the extent of my duties, until you decide to
take a bottle or start on solid food."  The babies
stared up at him, mesmerized.

Little feet in the hallway alerted him to another
inhabitant of the house, but unfortunately, not one
that could lend him much assistance.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," yawned a droopy-eyed
William from the doorway.  "Put the babies down
and make me oatmeal," the little boy pleaded.

"Will, what did your mom and I tell you about
that?" Mulder asked, giving his son a frown.

William sighed, unknowingly mimicking his father
from just moments before.  "The babies are littler
and they come first.  But that means I come second,
right?  Or sometime?"

Mulder had a hard time keeping a straight face in
light of his son's perceptive logic.  "Yes, it does.
And either Mommy or I will get you some oatmeal
in just a minute.  I was hoping we could let Mommy
sleep a little this morning, but maybe it's time to
wake her up."

"No need," yawned Scully as she ruffled William's
hair and stepped around him to walk across the
room and crouch next to Mulder and her daughters.
"I'm up.  Heads or tails?" she asked.

"Too late, I changed 'em already."  Mulder smiled at
her.  "But if you make Will's oatmeal, I'll keep the
girls occupied."

"Deal," Scully said, reaching up to capture a good
morning kiss from her partner.  "Did you get your
run?" she asked, noticing for the first time his attire
of running shorts and tee shirt.

He shook his head and shrugged.  "Maybe when
they're in kindergarten?" he offered.

"More likely when they're in college," Scully said
tiredly and ushered William down the hall.  "I'll
make coffee."

"I knew there was a reason I love you," he said
loudly enough for her to hear over William jumping
down each step of the staircase.

Melissa fussed slightly in his arms and he leveraged
her onto his shoulder.  "I know, I know, you're
hungry.  Mommy will be back soon," he crooned to
her.  Looking down at Samantha, he smiled.  "And
you're just content to check out the window, hmm?"

He followed the baby's gaze out the window to the
mountain.  It was beautiful in the early morning
light.  The last of the snow had melted from their
yard, but there was still snow on the top of the
mountain.  Drawing his line of sight indoors, he
looked around the room.  It was a sweet little
nursery.  He and Scully had fixed it up a few
months before the babies arrived, with considerable
help from Joe and MC Hawthorne.  The room
sported cream-colored walls with a border of
dancing teddy bears.  He was happy at how it had
turned out, but more so when he saw the look of
gratitude on Scully's face when she had seen the
finished product for the first time.  Of course, in
true pregnant fashion, she had broken down into
tears and sobbed into his paint-splattered shirt.  But
he knew they were tears of joy.

"Have you thought more about the house?" Scully
asked softly as she stepped into the room.

"Is William eating?" he asked, ignoring her question
for the moment.

"Yes, and I started the coffee; it'll be ready when
you go clean up his mess.  Now I believe it's this
lady's turn," Scully said, lifting Melissa out of her
father's arms.  "I'll lay down with her.  Come talk to
me."

Mulder switched Samantha to his shoulder and
followed Scully into their bedroom.  She moved the
blankets aside and lay down on her side, slipping
open her nursing gown and helping the infant latch
on to her nipple.  Mulder stood watching her,
mesmerized, a warm and strongly protective feeling
rushing through him.

"How long are you going to breastfed them both,
Scully?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

She smiled up at him.  "Oh, probably until they're
six months old.  Then we'll see.  I enjoy it, Mulder.
And I get plenty of rest, with you home most days.
Since Meggie has been coming to help out, I sleep
longer than William."

"That's not saying much," Mulder scoffed.

"Mulder, you're deflecting," she teased.  When he
gave her a confused look, she prodded further.
"The house?"

He chewed on his lip and looked around their
bedroom.  It was small, but served its purpose.
Still, with two new additions to the family, he
wondered how long it would be before they began
feeling cramped.  He looked out their bedroom
window to the trees in the yard and by the road.
The crabapple blossoms still littered the ground.
The redbud was finally loosing the last of its purple
flowers.  It had been breathtaking, this house in the
springtime.

"I think . . . I think we need to add on," he said
slowly, looking over at her.  "Maybe a master
bedroom up here and a real office downstairs.
When the girls are older, one of them can have this
room and the other can keep the nursery -- with
suitable redecorating, of course."

She smiled up at him.  "So we're going to buy this
house?"

"Do you want to?" he asked.

"I wanted to say yes last night when they called.
Mulder, we're safe here.  It's been two years and
nothing has happened, no military has come looking
for you, no super-soldiers have been looking for
William.  Besides, if we don't take it we have to
move and the thought of moving right now . . ."

"But I'm talking about adding on, and that's a
headache, too," he countered.

"I can live through plaster and sawdust if I don't
have to pack," she said with a grin.

"Then I'll call Jim later today.  It's a shame about his
dad dying, but Jimmy was 89 and it sounds like the
old guy had a good life.  If we buy the house it will
be one less thing for his family to worry about.  I
don't want to keep them waiting.  They want to get
the estate settled as soon as possible."

"Dana, Mr. Hale, I'm here," came a young voice
from the downstairs hall.

"We're up in the bedroom, Meg.  Come on up,"
Scully called down to the teen.

"How come you're 'Dana' and I'm still 'Mr. Hale'?"
Mulder asked with a scowl.

"Because she doesn't have a school girl crush on
me," Scully answered with a malicious grin.  "She
thinks you're 'awesome,' but totally out of her
league."

"Are you sure you aren't confusing me with Orlando
Bloom?" Mulder whispered back as he heard
footsteps on the stairs.

"Not a chance.  Don't worry, I'm used to your
'effect' on women, Mulder.  I would bet good
money that half the girls taking Deviant Behavior
this summer are there just to see if you come in to
teach class wearing a muscle shirt and cut off
shorts," she said affably.

He looked down at his running clothes, a University
of Montana sweatshirt minus the sleeves and a pair
of Nike running shorts.  He grinned at her.  "Maybe
I just won't change for class," he teased.

"Hit the showers," Scully laughed.  She moved from
the bed with Melissa and was about to pick up
Samantha when Meg entered the room.

"Oh, let me get her, Dana.  Hey, Sammi, how's my
girl?" Meg asked fondly as she expertly lifted the
newborn.  Hearing the new voice, Melissa turned
toward the sound.  "I'm not ignoring you, Missy!"
she told the infant.  "Do you want me to give them
baths this morning, Dana?"

"In a little while.  I think now they just want to play.
I'll go find out what William's up to and grab a bowl
of cereal."

"He's playing cars in the kitchen," Meg assured her
as she carried Samantha downstairs to the living
room, followed by Scully carrying Melissa.  Both
babies were placed on their backs in a soft-sided
playpen by the big double window.  "I'll watch
them, you go get some breakfast."

Thirty minutes later, Scully was pouring coffee in a
travel mug as Mulder entered the kitchen, dressed in
chinos and a polo shirt and looking more like a
tennis player than a college professor.

"You didn't get breakfast," she said.  "Do you want
a bagel for the road?"

"I'm good.  I have to watch those calories.  Don't
want to disappoint my fan club," he sniggered.  She
slapped him on the shoulder as she handed him the
mug.  He took a sip and put it down on the
countertop.

"So you're going to call Jimmy's son today?" she
asked.

"And the bank to transfer the money.  Should be
pretty quick, since we aren't going through a
mortgage company.  Can you ask MC and Joe about
contractors in the area?"

"I'll call them this afternoon."  She looked out the
kitchen window, her eyes becoming shadowed and
pensive.

"Having second thoughts?" he asked, hugging her
from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder.

She smiled at their reflection in the glass of the
windowpane.  "No.  I just didn't think it would be
this easy.  I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"We're out of the car, Scully.  And both my shoes
are on my feet."  He kissed the top of her head.
"You, however, look really cute barefoot," he
whispered as he nuzzled her ear.

"Caveman," she accused and gave him another
swat, followed by a kiss.  "Get to work.  Act like
you do something for a living," she teased and
handed him the mug again.  He kissed her one more
time and headed for the door.

Maggie Scully residence
Baltimore, MD
June 19, 2004
10:15 am

Maggie dumped the dregs of her coffee cup into the
sink and rinsed the cup, leaving it to dry on the dish
drainer.  There was no putting it off any longer.
The parish garage sale was in one week and she'd
vowed to go through some of the boxes stored in the
garage for possible donations.  She told herself she
wasn't giving up, that even if her daughter returned
home someday, the clothes she'd left behind in her
apartment would be woefully out of date.  Many of
the items had been hanging in dry cleaner bags for
months before Dana's middle-of-the-night
departure, the slim lines if the suits cut for a woman
who hadn't given birth.  Maggie also knew that
many of the suits only served as a reminder of
Dana's missing heart, her other half, who had
disappeared just as mysteriously.

Grabbing some empty boxes, Maggie trudged to the
garage, feeling like a soul on the way to the
gallows.  She remembered doing this activity after
her husband had died suddenly, and then again
when her oldest daughter had been murdered.  Did
she really want to do it again?  But she had no
choice; there was no one else to do the job.

She'd kept Dana's apartment for six months after
she'd lost track of her daughter.  She'd finally given
up the lease when the Bureau had decided to put the
markers in Arlington Cemetery.  Everyone else
seemed so determined that Dana Scully had died
somewhere in the New Mexico desert, with her
former partner by her side.  Even John Doggett had
been convinced of that truth, or so he'd told her
when he'd come by to say he was leaving town.
Monica Reyes had written her a note before leaving
for New Orleans, but it was more of a thank you
than anything else.  Only Walter Skinner remained,
and Maggie knew that with each passing day Mr.
Skinner was losing a bit more of himself.

She had sold the furniture immediately.  All that
remained were clothes and things she'd found in
Dana's desk and night stand.  She'd tried to sort
things and label the boxes, but it hurt so much as
she filled each cardboard container that after a while
Maggie had just dumped whole drawers in, closed
and taped the lids without even examining the
contents.

The first box must have come from the desk.  There
was an address book, a DC phone book, several
pens and pencils and pads of paper.  Some file
folders divided the contents and made the box seem
like a layer cake.  On the bottom was a photo
album.  Maggie drew in a deep breath and brought
it to her lap.

The first pages were filled with 8 by 10 glossy black
and whites, almost all of them of Fox Mulder.
Maggie could tell they were taken at various crime
scenes because of the uniformed officers and squad
cars in the background.  Some of them had Dana
with Fox, some were just of Fox alone.  One picture
had caught him with his head turned, as if someone
had just called his name.  His eyes were alight with
a smile even though his mouth was pressed into a
straight line.  Maggie would have bet the person
who'd called to him was her daughter.

Later pictures were of William, and it was more
than Maggie to bear.  With tears streaming down
her face she carefully turned the pages and ran her
finger over the plastic surface, as if hoping to
connect just a little with her grandson.  William in
his bassinet, William in his car seat with one shoe
off, William squinting into the sun in his stroller on
a warm summer day.  She'd only known him 9 short
months, but his absence left a gapping hole in her
heart.  Maggie couldn't understand why Dana had
given her baby up for adoption.  It made even less
sense when she remembered how her daughter had
hoped and prayed for a child.  Maggie closed the
album and set it aside, letting loose a prayer for the
baby who would now be almost three years old.

The next box was much easier and less emotional to
sort through.  It was filled with kitchen equipment,
dishes and flatware.  Several boxes with similar
items followed.  In no time at all, Maggie had more
than enough for the garage sale.

She carried the boxes out to her car and placed them
in the trunk.  On her way back into the house, she
caught sight of the album.  She approached it
hesitantly, as if it might reach out and bite her.
Finally, she opened the cover and flipped through
the pages.  Picking one photo of Fox and Dana, she
slipped it out of the protective cover.  She flipped a
few more pages and picked one of a smiling
William staring cross-eyed at the camera.  She took
it out of the album and then placed the album back
in the box.  She held the two photos close to her
heart and went inside the house.

She busied herself with household chores, or so she
told herself.  With just one person to pick up after,
there wasn't much to be done.  She called a friend
who was ill, made a hair appointment for the next
day, ate a low-calorie frozen dinner in front of the
evening news.  She watched some television and at
11 o'clock, she went up to bed.  The photos came
with her.

After she'd donned her nightgown, Maggie took the
photos and placed them side-by-side on the
nightstand, propped up against a framed snapshot of
Bill, Tara and their son Matt.  She said a rosary for
all her children and grandchildren, then slid beneath
the covers.

The dream came not long after she'd fallen asleep.
Maggie dreamed she was walking down a hallway.
The house was unfamiliar, but the walls were
brightly painted and the wooden floor was clean and
showed little sign of wear.  She heard a creaking
noise in one of the rooms and walked toward it.

The door was just slightly ajar, so she reached out
and pushed it open.  The occupants didn't bother to
look up; it was as if they didn't know she was there.
A woman was seated in a rocking chair, rocking
slowly, steadily.  Maggie stepped into the room and
walked toward the woman.  The woman was facing
a window, and in the reflection caused by a single
dim lamp, Maggie saw who it was and gasped.  It
was Dana!  Her hair was cut longer and pulled back
in a ponytail.  She smiled gently, looking down at
something.  Maggie followed Dana's gaze and
gasped again.  Dana was nursing a baby.  The tiny
person was wrapped in a pink blanket with delicate
lace covering satin bunting.  A baby girl -- Dana
had a baby girl.  Maggie couldn't believe her eyes.

But then she caught sight of something else in the
window.  A shadow fell across Dana and caused
Maggie to flinch, but when she looked at the source,
she smiled.  Of course, it was Fox.  He was standing
just a few feet from Dana, swaying slowly as if
dancing to an unheard song.  After a moment,
Maggie realized that he, too, was holding
something.  Another blanket.  Just then, a tiny head
reared back and Fox brought his hand up quickly to
catch the neck in his hands as his eyes connected
with the infant.  He smiled and murmured to the
baby, who nuzzled back in Fox's neck.  He patted
the tiny back and resumed his swaying.

Two babies.  Fox and Dana had two daughters.
Maggie sat up in bed and looked around the
bedroom, expecting to see the room she'd been in
during her dream.  It had all been so real.  She was
shaking.  She forced herself to calm down and got
up to get a glass of water.

In the stark light of the bathroom, after a few sips of
lukewarm water, Maggie looked at her own
reflection in the mirror.  It had been a dream, but it
was more than that.  Since she'd been a little girl,
her grandmother had told her that she had 'the sight.'
Her father had brushed it aside as the ravings of an
old woman, but Maggie's mother had remained
silent, looking at her only daughter with wistful
melancholy.  Now the sight was bringing her
something she'd prayed for all through the last two
years -- news of her daughter.  Dana was alive, of
that Maggie was certain.  She was alive and well
and living with Fox.  And now, Maggie had two
granddaughters.

Maggie knew something else -- she had to find
them.

Hale Household
11:45 pm

Mulder was just crawling into bed when it started.
A blood curdling scream came from the somewhere
down the hallway.  Scully sat straight up in bed,
blindly searching the nightstand for a gun that
wasn't there.  Mulder jumped out of bed and was in
the hallway before she could untangle herself from
the blankets to go after him.

She skidded to a stop just inside the door to their
son's bedroom.  Mulder had turned the little
nightlight to a higher illumination and was cradling
William in his arms.  The little boy was crying
inconsolably and gripping his father's shirt, soaking
it with his tears.

"It's OK, buddy.  It's OK; it was just a bad dream.
Daddy's here, Daddy's here," Mulder murmured
over and over again.  Scully swallowed the terror
that had engulfed her at the sound of her son's
scream and sat down on the bed next to Mulder so
that she could rub the boy's back.  Mulder smiled at
her and kissed William's head.  "Look, Will,
Mommy's here, too.  We could have a party," he
joked, trying to get through the boy's anguish.

"Sammi!  Missy!" William yelped and struggled out
of his father's arms, hitting the ground at a dead run
out of his room.  Scully marveled at how very much
the boy looked like his father until she noticed that
Mulder was following Will and trying to stop him.
She hurried after them, grabbing Mulder's hand.

"He has to see for himself.  They must have been
part of his dream," she told Mulder.  He
immediately slowed down and nodded.  How many
nights in the distant past had he dialed a number just
to hear her voice after a bad dream?  Together, they
entered the nursery.

Will was darting from one crib to the other, quietly
climbing onto the rails to get a better look at the
sleeping infants.  After checking both cribs a
number of times, he dropped to the floor, breathing
heavily.  Mulder stooped down and scooped the boy
into his arms.

"C'mon, Will.  I think we need some chocolate
milk.  How does that sound?" Mulder asked in a
whisper so he didn't wake the babies.  William
nodded solemnly and nestled his face onto his
father's shoulder.  Scully brought up the rear of the
parade as they made their way downstairs to the
kitchen.

In the bright and cheery kitchen, it did look
somewhat like a party.  William was sipping
chocolate milk out of his favorite McDonaldland
cup.  Mulder had a tall glass of iced tea in front of
him, and Scully was sipping on ice water.

"Do you want to tell Mommy and Daddy about your
dream, buddy?  Sometimes it helps to talk about it,"
Mulder encouraged.  He knew dreams at William's
age sometimes didn't even take form, but the way
the child had been so insistent on seeing his sisters
was cause for some concern.  "Did anyone talk to
you in your dream?"

Scully shot him a look across the table.  Mulder
shook his head slightly to and fro.  "The ladies,
maybe?  The nice ladies who told you the babies'
names?"

William continued to drink his chocolate milk until
the glass was empty.  He sat it down with some
finality.  "I don't remember," he said flatly.  "Can I
have more?" he asked, shoving his cup over toward
Scully.

"You don't remember the dream, or you don't
remember if the ladies were there?" Mulder
prodded.

"Can I have some cookies?" he asked his mother.

"Honey, Daddy asked you a question," Scully said
gently.  "Can you tell us about your dream?  It's just
a dream, sweetheart.  It can't hurt you."

"He took us away," William said, and his face
crumbled into tears.  "A bad man took us away from
you."  In minutes, the small boy was trembling with
fear and agony.  "Mommy, I don't wanna go 'way!  I
don't wan' Missy and Sammi to go 'way!"

Scully gathered William into her arms and stroked
his baby-fine chestnut hair.  "Sweetie, no one is
going to take you away.  I promise.  Mommy and
Daddy will keep you safe.  You and your sisters."  It
took several minutes of impromptu rocking on the
wooden kitchen chair and finally William's little
body grew limp in her arms.

"He's out," Mulder whispered, picking the boy up
and turning him so his head rested on Mulder's
shoulder.  "I'll put him down."  He carried his son
up to the boy's bedroom.

Scully was straightening the kitchen when he came
back downstairs.

"Some night, huh?" he asked, leaning against the
doorjamb.

Scully shot him a sour look.

"What?  What did I do?"

She tossed the sponge into the sink and wiped her
hands on the tea towel.  She cocked her head and
silently led her partner into the living room.
Looking at the shelf of DVDs, she selected a few
and held them out to him.

"Texas Chainsaw Massacre," she read.  "Halloween,
the original," she said, shuffling the boxes as if they
were a deck of cards.  "Oh, and my personal
favorite:  'Nightmare on Elm Street'!"

"Classics, Scully.  And don't forget, research.  I am
teaching a class on the psychology of horror films,"
he said with a shrug.

"And your son just happens to wander through the
room when you're doing research, Mulder.  It's no
wonder the poor kid has nightmares.  I want these
put up somewhere, far away.  Take them to school.
You have a DVD in the psych department's office.
'Research' them there," she growled, tossing him the
cases.

"You're saying that all of a sudden these movies are
getting to William?  We've had these movies since
he was born," Mulder pointed out.

"Yes, but we didn't watch them when he was
awake," Scully countered.  "I never watched them at
all!"

"I really think there might be . . ."

She spun on her heel and headed toward the stairs.
"I'm too tired to discuss it right now, Mulder.  It
was a bad dream.  Get rid of those . . . movies, and
do it before William wakes up."  She hit the bottom
of the steps when she heard a muffled noise.
"Great, the twins are up," she huffed.

"I'll help," Mulder offered, following behind her.

"No, you've done quite enough," she snapped.  At
his hurt look, she softened her expression.  "I'm
sorry, that wasn't fair.  Look, I'll feed them and tuck
them back in.  I can sleep late tomorrow, you have
class.  Go on back to bed."

Mulder nodded, and headed to their room, but sleep
was a hard fought battle.  He couldn't help feeling
that there was more to William's dream than a few
scary movies.

end of part 3
 
 

Skinner's apartment
Crystal City, VA

With his packed bag at his side, Walter
Skinner opened the bottom drawer of his
dresser and dumped the contents onto the
bed.  On the wood, between the rails of
the drawer bottom, was taped a letter.
He removed the envelope and sat down on
the floor, not bothering to clean up the
mess he'd just made.

He vowed to give this letter to Mulder
and Scully when it was safe to do so.
He'd made that vow entirely to himself.
Scully and Mulder believed the
whereabouts of their child was completely
unknown.  Only Walter Skinner knew the
lie of that statement.  For only Walter
Skinner knew the truth.

Carefully, he pulled the flap and
unsealed the linen paper.  He removed the
single sheet and unfolded it slowly.

Rachel and Henry Van de Kamps
Rural Route 1
Low, Utah

He studied the paper again, memorizing
it, though there wasn't much information.
He got up from the floor, walked into the
kitchen and struck a match to the paper,
holding it over the sink as he watched it
burn to cinders.  He ran the water to
flush the ash down the drain.  Calmly, he
went back into the bedroom, picked up his
suitcase and left his apartment, taking a
cab to the airport.

Utah, going West from Salt Lake City

The directions he'd received at the
airport information booth hadn't been
much help.  The area of Utah was almost
totally uninhabited, and at the time,
that had seemed appropriate.  Now,
Skinner wished more than anything that
the boy had been placed with a nice
family in a large metropolitan area, or
at least somewhere easier to find.

The narrow dirt road was unmarked.  He
had to judge by his odometer how many
miles from the last intersection.  It was
hit or miss but it wasn't like there were
a dozen roads to choose from.  The dirt
path was the only break in the side of
the road for miles, or at least for the
miles since the intersection with the US
highway.  Skinner turned the car onto the
path and wondered how long it would be
before he found the Van de Kamp house.

There were trees in the distance and he
felt a small amount of relief.  Trees
usually meant water, and often, houses.
His heart lightened for a moment.  Then
he realized he was about to confront two
people he'd never met before in his life.
How was he going to explain his sudden
appearance on their doorstep?  How could
he tell them that he was afraid their
son, the baby they'd adopted two years
before was under a threat that might
extend to their lives?

He'd barely come up with a reasonable
cover, that he was an FBI agent checking
out a potential lead on a case, when he
rounded the corner and slammed on the
brakes.  The sight before him took his
breath away.  Walter Skinner slowly shut
off the engine to the car, opened the
door and carefully got out.

A heavy gray cloud surrounded the charred
remains of the house.  As the wind
shifted, Skinner immediately recognized
the smell of burned wood mixed with other
noxious odors.  He walked slowly toward
the former residence.  An apple tree,
small green apples still hanging from the
branches farthest away from the blaze,
was a surreal expression of the
conflagration.  Closer to the house, the
branches were stripped of all vegetation,
black and brittle.  He doubted the tree
would survive the assault; it would
probably die before the end of the
summer.

If he had any doubts about the owners of
the house, the mailbox erased them.  Set
out closer to the driveway, the black box
with the standard red flag had escaped
the destruction.  In gold leaf adhesive-
backed letters read 'The Van de Kamps,
Rural Route 1'.

Skinner's throat closed up and his eyes
burned with unshed tears.  He'd been too
late.  How could he face Margaret Scully,
knowing that he could have stopped this
tragedy if he'd only gotten there sooner?
He swallowed bile in his throat and let
out his anguish in deep shudders.

The hand that fell on his shoulder was
such a shock that he reached for his gun
and took a bead on the young man standing
beside him.  The young man held up his
hands in surrender and calmly shook his
head.

"The baby wasn't here, they already got
him," the young man said with measured,
even tones, as if talking to a madman.

"What?" Skinner demanded.  "Who took him?
Where is he?"

"Mulder and Scully.  His parents.  They
found him, two years ago," the young man
said with an easy smile.

Skinner narrowed his gaze.  "How could
they?  Scully didn't know anything about
the adoption," he ground out.

"Mulder brought her.  He dreamed
something, he knew where to go.  I'm
telling you the truth, William wasn't
here."

"Who the hell are . . ."  Walter stopped
his demand in mid-sentence, taking a
closer look.  The kid's hair was lighter,
he now sported a partial beard that was
so popular with the young 'in-crowd', but
there was no mistaking those eyes.
"Gibson?" Skinner asked.

The young man nodded and his smile grew
by leaps and bounds.  "I wasn't sure if
you remembered me.  Mind putting the gun
away?" he asked, gesturing to the weapon
Skinner still held clutched in his hand.

Skinner looked down at his hand and back
at Gibson.  "How can I . . ."

A look of sad resignation came to the
young man's face.  He slipped his hand
into his front pocket and produced a
small penknife, no longer than an inch
and a half.  With a half grimace, he
sliced a neat cut along the center of his
left palm and held the hand up for
Skinner to inspect.  "It's really me," he
said quietly as red blood trickled down
his palm and wrist.

"Thank God," Skinner muttered, holstering
his weapon.  "Wait, you better . . ."  He
pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket
and helped Gibson wrap it around his
hand.  "I'm sorry you had to do that."

"I'm sorry it's necessary," Gibson said
with regret.  "But you need to believe
me.  They found the baby just a day after
the left you.  They've been safe all this
time."

"How do you know this?  Have you been in
contact with them?"

Gibson shook his head in the negative.
"I just, well, I just know."

"You can read their minds?" Skinner
asked, unconsciously wincing as he said
the words.

Gibson chewed on his lip.  "Not exactly.
I mean, when Mulder lived with us, I
could read him like a book.  It was a
pretty sad book, if you know what I mean.
He missed Scully and the baby a lot.  But
then, after he left, it was like I was
connected somehow.  Like I knew when he
was in trouble.  That's why I came out to
DC in the first place, because I knew
what they were planning to do to him.  So
I can't read his mind, but I can tell you
that he's a lot happier now, happier than
I think I've ever known him to be.  And
I'm positive that Agent Scully and
William are with him, or he would never
be that happy."  The young man shrugged
his shoulders in a gesture of self-
explanation.

Skinner surveyed the remains of the house
again.  "You say they got the baby not
long after they escaped?  Kersh told them
to go north," he said, more to himself
than to Gibson.

Gibson sighed.  "I know.  Mulder didn't
listen.  I knew that's what he was
planning the last time I saw them, but if
I'd said anything, well, you know how it
was.  I knew he was going to New Mexico.
I lost track of his thoughts when they'd
been gone about an hour.  But I could
still get that feeling, that connection.
It was a couple of days later, I woke up
and just knew he was happy.  A little
scared, I'll admit.  But really, really
happy.  And that's pretty much how it's
been."

"This fire was recently set," Skinner
said, looking at the still smoking ruins.

"The house was abandoned," Gibson said.

"You know that for certain?"

The young man nodded.  "I don't think the
adoptive parents were alive when Mulder
and Scully got here to get the baby.  I
don't know what happened, but no one has
been here for a long time."

"But someone was here looking for
William," Skinner said firmly.

"Yes, I think they were.  I think they
still are looking for him," Gibson added.

"Any clue as to where I can look?"
Skinner growled impatiently.  All this
back story was getting him nowhere, but
at least he was fairly confident William
was with his parents, and they were safe.

Gibson sadly shook his head.  "I wish I
could help."

After a few minutes of looking around,
Skinner realized he wouldn't find any
information at the house.  He turned to
the rental car and noticed Gibson's
Yamaha motorcycle parked next to it.

"I didn't even hear you pull up," he said
in confusion.

"I walked it the last mile.  I wasn't
sure what I would find.  Then I saw you.
I didn't want to scare you."

"Where are you going now?" Skinner asked.

"Back to the reservation, I suppose.  I
came because I had some bad dreams
lately.  Those men, the ones who aren't
alive . . ."

"They're being killed off, destroyed,
whatever," Skinner told him.

"I know.  But I don't know who's doing
it.  It could be a good thing, having
them dead," Gibson said hopefully.

"Or someone much worse could be killing
off the competition," Skinner said
tensely.

Gibson nodded in agreement.

"Will you be all right going back?"
Skinner asked.  "I mean, if they're
looking for William . . ."

"They were never interested in me, only
our own people wanted me.  The others
think I'm just a blip, a fluke.  William
has the real power they're worried about.
I can read minds; William can destroy
their plans.  If they don't destroy him
first."

Skinner nodded, is face set in
determination.  "We'll just have to make
sure that doesn't happen."

"You're going to hunt for the rest of
them, the ones from Mulder's jury,"
Gibson said dully.

"I have no other choice.  Maybe along the
way, I'll find Mulder and Scully."

"I hope not," Gibson said.  "If you do,
they'll be dead."

Before Skinner could object, Gibson got
on his motorcycle and peeled out of the
driveway, down the dirt road.  After a
minute, Skinner got in his rental car and
followed.

Salt Lake City International Airport
Salt Lake City, UT
5:30 pm

Kallenbrunner picked up on the second
ring.  "What have you got?" he asked, not
even waiting for Skinner to announce
himself.  Skinner figured the man must
have given his cell phone number a
special ring.

"I had to make a side trip, but it was
unproductive.  Have any more -- "

"The one in New Mexico.  Yesterday
afternoon.  He left for lunch, never came
back.  Just like the others.  My boss is
getting nervous."

Skinner considered that a moment.  "Do
you think he'll make a run for it?"

"I don't think he would know where to
run," Kallenbrunner replied.  "Are you
coming out here?"

"Yeah, I'm on a flight out in an hour and
a half."

"I'll pick you up.  What time does your
flight arrive?"

"Kallenbrunner, you don't -- "

"What time, Skinner?  And the flight
number?  Look, this isn't a social call.
I'm just looking out for my own sorry ass
here," the former pseudo-prosecutor
reminded him.

"Arrival time is 7:35, Pacific.  I'm on
Delta 4391."  Skinner could hear
Kallenbrunner fumbling for a pen.

"Got it.  I'll meet you at the gate."

Skinner waited at in the passenger lounge
until his flight was called.  Once on
board the plane, he let himself think
back to his conversation with Gibson.
Could it be true?  Could Mulder and
Scully be alive, safe, with William?  He
didn't think it was possible, not after
two years.  He closed his eyes and fell
into a light doze.  He hadn't slept well
since the whole business had started.

Los Angeles International Airport
7:45 pm

Kallenbrunner was as good as his word.
He was at the gate and shepherded Skinner
out to his car, which was parking in
hourly parking.  "I know a little place
not far from here," he said as he pulled
out of the parking garage.

"How did you hear about Hanson?" Skinner
asked when they settled in at the bar in
North Hollywood.

"My boss got a fax.  Apparently after the
others went missing in DC they started
keeping in better contact.  But he didn't
do anything.  Left the office at the same
time as usual tonight."

Skinner took a pull off his Coors and set
it back on the table.  "What do you think
is going on?"

Kallenbrunner barked out a laugh.  "Why
ask me?  I was a pawn in that little
drama, Skinner.  I didn't know a
goddamned thing two years ago, and I sure
as hell don't know anything now."

"You knew Mulder was innocent, didn't
you?" Skinner accused.

The other man's expression grew hard.  "I
was given an assignment.  I did it to the
best of my ability.  Look, Skinner, I
know you aren't a lawyer, but you're ex-
military, right?"

"Former Marine," Skinner replied.

"Then you know exactly what I was ordered
to do.  I've been a prosecutor.  I left
that to join the FBI.  But in my old
life, I was good at picking them out, the
innocent from the guilty.  I could tell
by the way they held themselves, the way
they looked at you when they were brought
into the courtroom.  If you want my
confession, here it is.  Yes, I knew
Mulder was innocent.  And I knew that in
all probability, Agent Scully was telling
the truth on that witness stand, or at
least the truth as she knew it.  But that
wasn't my assignment.  I was supposed to
poke holes in that case and make sure
Mulder was found guilty."

"They planned on killing him anyway.  You
just made sure no one would look into the
murder," Skinner spat out.

"He's not dead!" Kallenbrunner yelled and
then realized where he was and that
others were listening.  He drew in a deep
breath to calm himself.  "He's alive.  He
escaped, which makes him a wanted
criminal.  Most likely with your help,
judging from your recent change of
positions," he added, taking a drink from
his own bottle of beer.

"There are no charges against him listed
in the NCIC," Skinner pointed out.

"I don't know what to tell you.  Maybe
it's just on the military database,"
Kallenbrunner suggested.  At Skinner's
roll of the eyes, the younger man
relented.  "OK, so they probably weren't
real charges.  What difference does it
make now?"

"I think . . . I think their baby could
be in danger," Skinner said evenly.

"She gave him up for adoption,"
Kallenbrunner said, slightly confused.

"I was at the house of the adoptive
parents.  It was burned to the ground.
No sign of anyone."

Kallenbrunner closed his eyes and opened
them slowly.  "What makes you think the
boy wasn't inside?"

"A friend.  A friend in a position to
know such things.  He believes Mulder and
Scully got the boy immediately after we
all lost track of them two years ago.  He
thinks they've been hiding out somewhere,
together."

"Where?  You can warn them of what's
going on!"

Skinner shook his head.  "My friend
didn't have that information."

"Shit," Kallenbrunner swore.  "What do we
do now?"

"Wait.  Watch.  Your boss, this
Galbraith, he's the best chance we have
to draw this bastard out."

Kallenbrunner nodded.  "OK, let's go.
There's a motel not far from the office.
I can drop you off there, pick you up
sometime tomorrow."

Skinner shrugged in agreement and picked
up his bags, following the other man out
to his car.

Traffic was light as they drove through
the streets.  They were passing the FBI
regional office when Kallenbrunner saw
something down a side street.  He pulled
to a stop at the curb.  "Do you have your
weapon handy?" he asked Skinner.

"Yeah, why?" the older man asked as they
both existed the car.

"I just saw Galbraith coming out of that
restaurant.  It looked like a guy had
just stopped him and they disappeared
down that alley."

"Why is it always an alley?" Skinner
asked of no one, but headed off after
Kallenbrunner at a trot.

"Down there," the younger man said as
they approached the end of the alley.
Two men were plainly visible in the
security light from one of the
businesses.  Suddenly, something in the
one man's hands flashed and the other man
crumbled.

"Damn it!  That's Galbraith!"
Kallenbrunner yelled and took off at a
run.  Skinner, noting the other man had
been alerted and was heading down the
alley, ran after him.

"Call for backup," Skinner yelled at
Kallenbrunner as he passed him.

"Oh, shit, oh god!" Kallenbrunner was
moaning.  The man who had been his boss
was slowly melting into a pool of green
bubbling ooze.  "What the hell?  Skinner,
what is going on?" he shouted after the
older agent.

"Back up!" Skinner called again over his
shoulder.

The alley ended and the killer hit the
street, running down the middle for a
block until he came to another alley.
Skinner kept on his tail, gaining a
little and then losing ground.  Off in
the distance, he heard sirens and just
hoped he could hold out long enough for
them to find him -- and the perpetrator!

Just when he thought he'd lost the man,
Skinner caught sight of him crossing the
street a block down.  Swallowing the lump
that was growing from the lack of
moisture in his throat and pushing his
legs past what he knew they could do, he
put on a burst of speed and followed the
killer down another alley.

He ran halfway down the alleyway when he
realized it was a dead end.  Stopping, he
listened.  The only sound was a dripping
drainpipe and the hum of electricity from
the overhead transformers.  He could hear
shouts in the distance; the sirens had
stopped, indicating that Kallenbrunner's
back up had arrived, but was probably
pursuing on foot.

Slowly, Skinner turned around in a
circle, searching the alley for any sign
of his prey.  Dumpsters lined one side
and made for perfect hiding places in the
dark shadows.  It had been a while since
he'd tracked a perp.  He'd been riding a
desk too damned long, he decided.  Then
again, he reconsidered; maybe it was
about time to hang up his spurs, too.

Movement off to his left caught his
attention.  He'd drawn his weapon six
blocks before so he brought it up to
sighting level and trained it on the
sound.  A rat, nice and fat, sashayed
across a puddle of an unidentifiable
substance and continued down the alley
unhindered.  Skinner drew in a breath
through his nose and went back to
searching.

He took three steps forward, coming to
within a few feet of one of the
dumpsters.  With his weapon trained in
his right hand, he reached out with his
left and lifted the plastic cover of the
bin.  Nothing.  He shuffled over to his
right and repeated the process.  Again,
just garbage greeted him.  He was
starting toward the third dumpster when
he heard a sound from behind and spun
around.

The blow knocked his glasses clean off
his face.  The world went blurry and
flashed bright all at the same time.  He
could feel himself falling, could feel
the cold, wet pavement underneath his
knees and then he was down the rest of
the way, coming to rest in a puddle of
brownish grey liquid that smelled of
rancid milk and bad lettuce.

Someone was standing over him, and then
kneeling beside him.   He felt a hand at
his neck, checking for a pulse.
Blearily, Skinner tried to raise his
head.

"Go home, Mr. Skinner.  Before you get
hurt," came a graveled voice from above.
This time, Skinner could almost make out
the object as it came down hard and fast
toward his head, but there was not a
thing he could have done to avoid it.

As his world went black, Skinner hoped he
lived to take the killer's advice.

end of part four
 

Mt. Sinai Medical Center
Los Angeles, CA
9:00 am

How much had he drunk?  That was the first
question that popped into Skinner's mind when he
started waking.  Whatever he'd had, it must have
been a doozy!

His head was reeling with pain and he was afraid to
open his eyes, but he could hear noises that
confused him.  It sounded like wheels of a cart, one
in desperate need of oiling, and sneakers on tile.
Those were not the sounds he was accustomed to
waking up to in his apartment.  Curiosity beat out
fear and he cracked open his left eye.  Too blurry to
make out much, but there was someone standing
above his bed.  That prompted him to crack open
the other eye and blink away some of the blur.
Where the hell were his glasses?

"Well, Mr. Skinner!  Nice of you to join us," a
woman in bright blue scrubs said cheerfully.  "Just
let me get your vitals.  The doctor will be in to see
you shortly."

Skinner squinted at the woman.  "Where . . . where
are my glasses?" he rasped.

The woman laughed merrily.  "That's a first.
Usually people want to know where they are when
they wake up in the hospital.  Your friend is just
outside; maybe he knows what happened to them.
You were brought in by ambulance.  You have a
concussion.  Now, just lie back and let me finish
and I'll let your friend back in."

Skinner did as she requested, but couldn't help
wondering who the 'friend' was.  He was extremely
disoriented.  The last thing he could remember was
having lunch with Kim.  No, that wasn't right.  He'd
gone on a trip.  Where did he go?  Thinking was
just making his head hurt.

"All done.  You're doing fine.  Just rest and the
doctor will be in before you know it.  I'll let your
friend in now to keep you company."  He could just
make out the woman's form as she exited the room.
Another shape entered and walked up to his
bedside.

"You're looking better than you did last night,"
Kallenbrunner said.

Suddenly, more of the events of the last few days
came back to him.  Kallenbrunner . . . he was
meeting him in LA.  "Galbraith!" Skinner
exclaimed and tried to sit up, but fell back when the
pain washed over him.

Kallenbrunner put a hand on his shoulder and
pressed him further into the pillow.  "The doctor
was pretty worried last night.  Said a guy your age
has no business doing field work," he said, barely
suppressing a smirk.  "You need to lie still."

"What happened?  What happened to Galbraith?"
Skinner demanded, but this time, stayed put.

The younger man licked his lips.  "I . . . I don't
know.  It was . . . strange."

"Strange how?  Just tell me damn it!"

"He melted, OK?  He just . . . melted, into a pile of
goo that bubbled and then it disappeared.  It was . . .
it couldn't have happened, but I saw it.  It had to
have been a fast acting acid -- "

"I've heard of this before," Skinner said, taking a
deep breath.

"You've heard of it?" Kallenbrunner said with
suspicion.  "Where?"

"In a report by Agent Mulder.  Actually, in several
reports.  And not just Mulder, Scully reported
similar findings.  The 'goo', as you put it, ate a hole
through one of her shoes," he added, a ghost of a
smile playing on his lips.  "She requested
reimbursement."

"For the shoes?  After seeing something like that,
she had the gall to ask for reimbursement for her
_shoes_?"

Skinner shrugged.  "They were nice shoes," he said
casually.  "And for the record, it wasn't acid.  It was
alien blood."

"Oh Jesus -- not that again!  Skinner, you aren't
going to get me to buy into this alien conspiracy
take over the world bullshit that Mulder and Scully
tried to pull at the trial.  I'm not that gullible!"

"So, was there anything left to be analyzed?"
Skinner asked glibly.

Kallenbrunner took a deep breath and found the
bedrail very interesting.  "No.  Nothing.   Forensics
found nothing."

"An acid, even a fast acting acid, would leave trace
evidence," Skinner pointed out.

"Maybe they just looked in the wrong place,"
Kallenbrunner huffed.

"Fine, believe whatever you want.  The fact of the
matter is your boss, the last of the jury, is dead."

"You chased the killer.  Did you get a good look at
him?"

Skinner squinted again, but not from blurry
eyesight.  "I didn't, not really.  I mean I saw him; he
was the one that cold cocked me.  He said
something . . ."  He trailed off, concentrating hard
on the events of the night before.  His head was
killing him.  Then, he remembered.  His head jerked
up and he tried to focus on Kallenbrunner.  "He told
me to go home, before I got hurt."

"You shittin' me," Kallenbrunner said dryly.

"No, I'm not.  He could have killed me, but he
didn't."

Kallenbrunner slumped against the bed rail.  "So
what does this mean?  Are we safe?  You and me?
Or just you," he asked, his voice accusing.

"You think I'm in on this?" Skinner charged back.
"What the hell do you -- "

"Hey, time out!  What's going on in here?" asked a
gentleman in dusty blue green scrubs as he pushed
open the door to the room.  "Mr. Skinner, it's not a
good idea to get so agitated after a head injury."
The man walked up to the bed, moving
Kallenbrunner aside.  "If you don't mind waiting in
the hall, this will just take a few minutes."

As soon as Kallenbrunner left, the man extended his
hand to Skinner.  "Stephen Hatfield, I'm the neuro
resident who saw you when you came in last night.
Mind if I take a look?"

Skinner nodded.  As the young man examined
Skinner's eyes with a pen light, causing bright star
burst of pain, he asked a few questions.  "Do you
have a headache, Mr. Skinner?"

"I do now," Skinner gritted out.

"Dizziness?"  Skinner shook his head, but did it
slowly to avoid more pain.  "Blurred or double
vision?"

"I have no idea.  I've lost my glasses," Skinner
growled.

"Oh, well, we can check your clothes, see if the
paramedics stuck them in a pocket.  Your x ray
looked good this morning.  You have a mild to
moderate concussion.  I'd like to keep you till
tonight, see how you do.  Then we'll release you.
But you should go home and rest for a few days."

"Home is on the other side of the continent,
Doctor."

Hatfield frowned.  "Maybe you should consider a
short vacation before you go back home.  You
really shouldn't be traveling with a head injury."

Skinner's mind flashed to Mulder, in a similar
condition after Scully had been stung by a bee and
abducted.  "I'll take that under advisement," Skinner
said evenly, but had no intentions of sticking around
longer than necessary.

When the doctor left the room, Kallenbrunner came
back in.  "Uh, I guess you'll be needing these?" he
asked, holding out Skinner's glasses.  Gingerly, he
took them from the other agent's outstretched hand
and fitted them on his face.  Only one small scratch
marred the surface and that was in the far left corner
of the left lens.

"Wow, they made it out better than I did," Skinner
remarked.  "And these aren't all that I need.  I'll
need a motel room for the night, maybe a couple of
nights."

"What next?" Kallenbrunner asked warily.

"I guess I go back to DC," Skinner said dejectedly.
"The last lead was Galbraith."

"I got to thinking about what the killer said to you.
How did he know your name?"

Skinner drew in a breath and gave that question
some thought.  "I don't know.  I've never seen him
before.  But then, maybe I have and I just didn't
recognize him."

"Can you give a description?  I could get a sketch
artist in here," Kallenbrunner offered.

"I didn't get a good look, he knocked my glasses off
before I could see his face.  But I can give a
description of his body type, that sort of thing.
Might help."

"Somehow I don't think this guy is one of the usual
suspects the LAPD rounds up every night,"
Kallenbrunner said with a sigh.

"I suspect you're right.  I also don't think he's on the
Ten Most Wanted.  Besides, he may not look like
that the next time we see him."

"You think he'd try to disguise himself,"
Kallenbrunner said with a frown.

"If what I've heard is right, he doesn't need a
disguise.  He'll just change his whole appearance.
His face, his hair, his build.  He can look like
anyone he wants, the guy walking down the street
toward him, you, me . . ."

"I saw this movie.  Wasn't Dana Carvey the lead?"
Kallenbrunner quipped, not hiding his incredulity.

Skinner set his jaw and glared back.  "Look,
asshole, I'm trying to help you," he seethed.

"By telling me I should look for a guy who can
make himself look like anyone?  That's a hell of a
lot of help there, Skinner," the younger man
chuffed.  "I can't wait to see what the APB will
read.  'Could be anybody'."

"We'll have to wait till he makes his next move."

"He obviously knows you.  And he told you to go
home.  Maybe that's where you shouldn't go,"
Kallenbrunner said after a moment.

"That's why I want to go to a motel.  I'll figure
something out," Skinner replied tiredly.  He rubbed
his forehead with one hand, his head was killing
him.  "Look, I think I probably should get some
sleep here.  If you don't mind -- "

"Do you think I should stick around, stand guard?"
Kallenbrunner asked, genuinely concerned.

Skinner shook his head slowly; he'd learned his
lesson earlier.  "No need.  You should go to the
office.  See what's going on; see if they found
anything in that alley.  I'll be fine."

"I'll be by later, to take you to that motel," the
younger man said and left.  Skinner watched the
closed door for a few minutes and then took off his
glasses and drifted off to sleep.

Ramada Limited LAX
9:35 pm

The room was on the ground floor, and Skinner
could have kissed the clerk for her kindness.  He'd
forgotten completely how bad headaches got with
concussions.  Of course, it had been a few years
since he'd had a concussion.  A few bruises, thanks
to some run ins with Krycek.  Bruised jaws,
courtesy of Holly in Accounting and Mulder on
LSD laced water.  But for a concussion he had to go
all the way back to his early days at the gym and a
sparring partner who thought helmets were for
sissies.  Waking up in the hospital convinced
Skinner he was just enough of a sissy to wear a
helmet in the future.

Kallenbrunner had dropped him off in the lobby,
saying he'd be back for him in the morning.  No
news to report on the Galbraith investigation.  For
that matter, there was no investigation.  Skinner
shook his head at the news, but wasn't that
surprised.  For whatever reason, the government
wasn't making a stink over these disappearances.
He wondered if they'd made any investigation at all,
covert or otherwise.  Maybe the powers there were
decided they were better off not knowing.  But
Skinner wanted to know and he wasn't going to
leave until he found out.

He sat down on the bed and slowly worked the knot
out of his tie.  Suit and tie man, that's what Sharon
had called him years ago, when they were first
dating.  He just felt comfortable in a tie; unlike
other guys he knew who couldn't get out of them
fast enough.  Rising from the bed, he decided to
take a shower, even though the kindly doctor had
cautioned him to take baths for a few days to avoid
getting dizzy and falling in the bathroom.  He
wasn't that much of a sissy, yet.

The water felt wonderful as it ran over his sore
body.  The concussion had kept him in the hospital
for observation, but when he'd taken off the stupid
gown he discovered all the bruises he'd acquired as
he'd fallen in the alley.  Nice, multicolored
markings all over his body.  He sighed loudly.  He
was getting too old for this shit.

"Go home, Mr. Skinner.  Before you get hurt."  The
words of the Bounty Hunter -- that's what he was,
wasn't he -- came back to Skinner as he stood under
the hot spray.  He should be dead, but he wasn't.
The Hunter could have killed him on the spot.
What the hell was going on?  He wished, not for the
first time in the last two years, that he could turn to
Mulder or Scully and ask that question.  Mulder
would rattle off some weird alien-government
conspiracy bullshit and Scully would try to counter
that with scientific mumbo-jumbo, but at least he'd
have a semblance of an answer between them.
Now, with just himself to ask, he felt like he was
sliding down a fast moving river headed for the
rapids and certain death just ahead.

He turned off the water and grabbed two towels.
He thought briefly about shaving but decided he
was just too tired to put a sharp object against his
throat.  He let the bathroom door open and walked
into the bedroom in a cloud of steam.

He remembered taking his glasses off in the
bathroom and stepped back in to retrieve them when
his foot caught on something on the floor.  He
stooped to pick it up.  It was a manila envelope,
letter-sized.  After putting on his glasses, he carried
the envelope over to the bed and sat down to open
it.

There was no marking on the outside, no 'to' or
'from'.  The thought crosses his mind that maybe he
shouldn't open it, maybe it was a bomb, but he
shoved down his trepidation and tore the flap.

Inside there was a single sheet of paper and a
newspaper clipping.  He set the clipping aside and
looked at the full sheet of paper.  It looked like the
worksheet for a deed.  It had been faxed at least
once, was not straight on the page, but he found it
easy enough to read.  Owners names:  G. Ellery and
Dana Hale.  The woman's name caught his attention
immediately and he drew in a quick breath.  He was
aware that Mulder had several aliases, all supplied
by the now deceased Lone Gunmen.  Could G.
Ellery be yet another of his names?

The more he sat with the paper, the more it called
out to him.  He picked up the clipping and scanned
it.  It was from the Mt. Airy Weekly Independent,
dated May 21, 2004.

"Births, Alexandria, MT.  Twin girls, born May 19,
2004 to Ellery and Dana Hale.  Babies join older
brother, William, aged 3.  The family resides in
rural Alexandria."

Could it be?  He grabbed the other paper, the house
was described with a township address, it must be
rural, and it was in Alexandria, Montana.  The deed
was for June 23.

Skinner's mouth went dry.  Two years without a
scrap of evidence, without a single lead, and now
this.  He knew as well as he knew his own name
that he'd found Mulder and Scully.  He frowned
when he realized that by keeping her name and
William's name the couple had left them selves
open to discovery.

William!  Skinner felt a laugh bubble up in his
throat.  They found him.  They had him with them!
He looked at the clipping again.  Obviously they felt
comfortable enough where they were to continue
the family they'd already started.  Twin girls.  What
a handful!  Mulder had even decided to put down
roots, buy a home.  Skinner's head was reeling with
the implications.

Then, the other shoe dropped.  Someone had given
him this information, but whom?  Gibson?  Skinner
thought back to his last conversation with the young
man just a few days before.  Gibson said he could
feel that Mulder was happy, happier than he'd ever
felt before.  Well, the papers in Skinner's hands lent
credence to that possibility.  But had Gibson found
them?

No, if it had been Gibson, the young man would
have come himself to tell Skinner.  If it weren't safe
to come to the motel, Gibson would have found a
way to catch up with Skinner at another time.  The
young man didn't go in for the 'cloak and
dagger/under the door' technique.

He closed his eyes in agony when he realized who
might have given him this information.  What if the
Bounty Hunter knew where they were?

Shoving the paper and the clipping back in the
envelope, Skinner walked over to his bag on the
floor and grabbed out clothes, dressing quickly.
Suddenly, he wasn't really that tired.  He called
down to the front desk and asked about the nearest
rental car agency.  They informed him that it was at
the airport, and the airport shuttle could take him
there.  He thanked the night clerk and told the girl
he would be checking out in half an hour.

He decided to call Kallenbrunner in the morning.
There was no use alerting him when there was a
chance the agent would try to talk him out of going.
Since his bag was packed, for the most part, he
gathered the clothes he'd discarded in the bathroom
and looked around the room.  The envelope was
hastily tucked into the outer pocket of his suitcase.

Should he call Maggie?  Skinner's gut clenched
when he thought of how excited and happy Maggie
would be at this news.  But he couldn't tell her until
he was sure.  He felt the need to get to Montana as
quickly as possible.  Once there, he could call her,
or have Dana call her.

In a little over two hours, he was turned off
Interstate 10 on to Interstate 15, heading north.

Salt Lake City, Utah
I-15 rest area
8:05 am

Skinner had stopped for breakfast at a McDonald's
but the coffee wasn't enough to keep his eyes open
any longer.  Not wanting to stay off the road for
long, he'd pulled into a rest area just outside Salt
Lake City and had closed his eyes for a bit.  He
woke up to the ring of his cellphone.

"Skinner," he answered wearily.  He then
remembered he'd neglected to call Kallenbrunner,
who was probably at the motel wondering where the
hell he'd run off.

"Walter?" came the voice on the other end of the
line.  "Walter, it's Maggie, Maggie Scully.  I'm
sorry, did I wake you?"

Instantly alert, Skinner sat up straighter in the seat.
"Mrs. Scully, hello.  No, you didn't wake me, I was,
uh, just . . ."

"I called your office but they said you were on
vacation.  I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

"No, that's quite all right.  What can I do for you?"

There was silence on the line and Skinner almost
thought he'd lost the connection.  "Maggie?"

"I . . . it's silly.  I shouldn't have bothered you," she
said quickly.

"No, no it's not.  You're not bothering me.  Maggie,
what's wrong?" he asked gently.  For some reason
his mind flashed to Scully and how fragile she
looked after they had buried Mulder.  "Please, tell
me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, really.  I just . . .  I had a dream,
you see.  I was cleaning out some of Dana's things
and I . . ."

He bit his lip when he figured out that she was
crying.  "It's all right, you can tell me," he
encouraged.

"I dreamed about Dana.  About Dana and Fox.  I
dreamed they were safe."

He sighed in relief.  "That's good," he said.  "That's
a good thing to dream about."

"But there was more," Maggie insisted.  "I saw
them with two little babies, newborns.  I think, I
think they may have -- "

He ached with the need to tell her, but knew it was
too soon.  "Maggie, I have to go.  I'm sorry.  But I'm
really happy you called.  You hang on to that
dream, OK?  Just keep praying and hopefully soon
you'll find what you're looking for."

"I hope so, Walter.  I hope so with all my heart,"
Maggie said, sniffing back tears.  "Well, you have a
nice vacation.  You've earned it."

"Thanks," he replied guiltily.  "I'll call you soon,
OK?"

"Yes, thank you.  Take care," Maggie said.

"You, too," he replied and disconnected the phone.
Suddenly, he wasn't so tired anymore.  Putting the
phone back in his pocket, he pulled the car out onto
the highway and headed north toward Montana.

He thought about the best approach.  Should he
show up at their door?  It would be late, more than
likely.  He didn't want to scare Scully, not with
three little kids in the house.  He decided to do some
checking first.  Now that he had a name, he could
get farther.  He pulled his cell phone out of his
pocket again and hit some buttons.  Thankfully, not
everyone in the Bureau hated him.

"Kim, it's Walter.  Could you do me a favor?  I need
you to ask Danny to do some research.  It needs to
be kept quiet."

"Walter, you're alive!  When I hadn't heard from
you in a few days . . ."

The guilt hit him harder than he expected.  "I'm
fine, Kim.  I'm sorry I worried you."

"That's all right.  Have you found anything?" she
asked.

"I'm on the trail of a lead right now.  I just need
some work history on someone.  Ask Danny to see
what he can find on a G. Ellery Hale, resides in
Alexandria, Montana."

"Sure thing.  Should I have him call you on your
cell phone?"

Skinner bit his lip.  "Or you could call me back with
it," he offered.  He tried, but couldn't ignore the
urge to hear her voice again.

Her voice sounded lighter when she answered.  He
could almost hear her smile.  "Sure, I can do that.  I
should have something for you in a couple of hours.
Are you driving?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Oh, well, I can't fax you anything, then.  But I'll
call as soon as I have something.  Be careful, OK?"

"I will, Kim.  And thanks . . . for everything."

"You're welcome, Walter.  I'll call you soon."

end of part 5