The Valley of Shadows

By bellefleur
bellefleur1013@yahoo.com


DISTRIBUTION: sure, but let me know
RATING: PG-13
KEYWORDS: post-ep
SPOILERS: Jump the Shark
DISCLAIMER: Not mine; they belong to FOX, CC, etc.
SUMMARY: The end of one road is sometimes the beginning of
another.


Notes: This story is intended as the beginning of a series
that rewrites the end of season 9 and then branches off in
its own direction.  Each part is meant as a stand-alone
piece, without any cliff-hangers between parts. There's no
guarantee, however, how often I will post or how soon the
series will be finished.  So, if that qualifies as a WIP to
you, read at your own risk.  But I prefer to think of it as
a series, not a WIP (a fine distinction, I know).

Thanks to Obfusc8er for the helpful feedback.


* * * * *
The Valley of Shadows 1: The Needs of the Many
* * * * *

The three comrades stood there for a long moment, gazing
their final goodbyes to their friends on the other side of
the glass.  As one, they slowly turned back toward the
spectacle across the enclosed space to face their fate. 
The noxious fumes emanating from the disintegrating carrier
were already making them lightheaded, and without
vocalizing it, each understood that the end was near. 
Although the three had not often displayed physical
affection with each other, loathe to fuel rumors that the
roommates were anything more than business partners,
Frohike reached out a hand to each of his buddies. 
Clinging tightly to one another for courage, one by one
they lost consciousness, their hands finally slipping from
one another's grasp as they slumped to the floor, their
bodies awaiting retrieval by the hazmat team that now stood
assembled on the other side of the airtight divider.

* * *

"Wake up."

Frohike knew that gruff voice was somehow familiar,
although he couldn't quite place it.  After a few blinks to
clear his vision, even without his glasses he could discern
the face that now hovered over him.

Closing his eyes again, he sighed.  "It's worse than I
thought.  We're in hell."

The black man in the lab coat only sneered at him as he
tossed a set of scrubs at Frohike and then moved on to wake
Langly, who was still unconscious in the next bed over. 
"We haven't got time for this.  You need to get moving as
soon as possible."

When, in turn, Byers had finally been awakened by the
"doctor," it was clear he was just as puzzled as the other
two at their situation.  "Deputy Director Kersh?  What are
you doing here?  Better yet, what are we doing here? 
Shouldn't we all be dead?"

"You will be soon enough if you don't get dressed and get
out of here.  We only have five minutes before the security
system will be back online.  I'll explain everything to you
once we're outside."

After hesitant glances were shared among the threesome,
they silently agreed to set aside their modesty and doubts
and not look this gift horse in the mouth just yet.  Within
a minute, they were ready to go and joined the anxious
"Dr." Kersh at the door.  Sprinting down hallways with
cautious glances at each junction, he didn't bother to look
back to see if they were keeping up with him.  Finally, the
party made it out a side door into the darkness of the
night and made one last sprint for a gap in the fence that
surrounded this mysterious complex.  Now shielded by heavy
brush, Kersh slowed their pace to a brisk walk, and they
soon emerged at a clearing housing a black SUV.

Expecting his escapees to follow him, Kersh unlocked the
vehicle and climbed into the driver's seat.  But the three
hesitated; Kersh rolled down the window on the passenger
side to hiss at them, "Get inside!  We're not in the clear
yet!"

Instead of complying, Frohike leaned into the window, his
casual stance asserting their position.  "Not so fast,
there, G-Man.  We have no idea where you're taking us. 
Don't you think it's about time you explained a few
things?"

Kersh took a deep breath, trying to rein in his anger. 
"There's no time!  Get inside and I'll explain it to you on
the way!"

With a look at his two compadres, Frohike nodded, and they
all piled into the vehicle, which sped off into the night
before they even managed to close their doors.  Once they
were inside, their driver couldn't help but fire his
parting shot.  "Now I can see why you and Mulder were such
good friends."

The interior of the vehicle remained silent as they jostled
along through the brush and finally emerged onto a side
road.  Kersh kept an eye on the rearview mirror, but there
was no evidence yet that they had been followed. 

Feeling he could now risk dividing their driver's
attention, Byers spoke up.  "With all due respect, sir, we
still have no idea--"

"You're not in hell, as your friend there so astutely
concluded.  As you can tell, the toxin you were exposed to
was not fatal.  The virus was engineered to kill only its
carrier--but he was supposed to be alone, where he could
easily be retrieved.  You three bumbling idiots stumbled
into the scenario, but you couldn't be allowed to bear
witness to what you saw.  The hazmat team retrieved you
after you passed out from the fumes, or just plain fainted,
for all I know."

Frohike interrupted.  "It was a test, wasn't it?  By our
government.  They were testing a means of transporting a
bioweapon so it could be used on foreign soil." 

Kersh didn't confirm his assumptions, nor did he correct
them.  "To ensure your silence on the matter, you were
pronounced dead, victims of the virus that was otherwise
contained before taking further lives.  If it's any
consolation, you died heroes.  However, your lives must
remain forfeit.  If you were to be discovered alive, they
would not hesitate to kill you on sight."

Langly piped up.  "If we're supposed to be dead, why did
they bother to let us live in the first place?"

Frohike answered before Kersh could respond.  "To be lab
rats, you ninny.  Why waste good bodies when you have fatal
diseases to test out?"

"What I don't understand, sir, is why you're helping us."

Kersh met Byers' eyes in the mirror before answering him. 
"You can't be a player in this game without controlling
part of the board.  Let's just say I got tired of being
someone else's pawn."

The passengers felt the vehicle come to a stop and looked
out to see that they were in the parking lot for a commuter
rail stop.  Kersh put the SUV in park and then got out and
walked around to the back of the vehicle.  The threesome
took this as their cue, realizing this was their final
destination, and joined him outside.  As they met around
the back, Kersh was pulling out a black duffel bag, which
he handed to Byers.

"Inside you'll find nondescript clothing, some cash, and
new identities.  This will get you started, but where you
go from here and how you get by is entirely up to you.  I
know all about you three and your inclination to be
government watchdogs, but I strongly suggest that you not
pursue this case any further or try to go public with what
you think you know about this biotoxin.  As long as you
remain in hiding, you will be left alone.  However, if you
go public, you'll be hunted down like dogs.  Besides, no
one will believe your story except for those who are
already inclined to believe, and they need no proof.  So
you'd be wasting your lives for nothing, which means that I
would be wasting my time, and I don't like wasting my time. 
Do you understand me?"

Only Langly looked intimidated, but all three nodded in
acquiescence, if only to acknowledge that they did indeed
understand his message.  With no further words, Kersh
closed the back of the SUV, walked around to the front, and
drove away.  The former Lone Gunmen stood there in the
silence of the night, their entire futures resting in a
single duffel bag.

* * *

It was the middle of morning rush hour by the time the
three arrived at the Greyhound station in Baltimore, but
the eddying crowd allowed them greater anonymity as Byers
approached locker 143.  As nonchalantly as possible, he
retrieved its contents and strolled over to the men's
bathroom, soon followed by his two buddies, who had been
standing watch from separate posts across the room. 

Once the bathroom had momentarily cleared, the three
slipped into the handicapped stall and distributed their
goods.

Byers opened the briefcase he had retrieved and doled out a
set of identities to each of them, consisting of drivers'
licenses, passports, social security cards, and credit
cards.  While it was true that they had exhausted almost
all of their financial resources for the newsletter, they
had long ago agreed that the "emergency fund" could never
be touched, even if they had to go bankrupt.  It now
appeared that their decision had paid off.

The briefcase contained some additional papers and a few
mustaches and beards to be used for disguises, but they
would have to make do with their current clothing until
they could buy some more.  The best that could be said for
their current attire was that it bore no resemblance to the
normal wardrobes of each, but Byers clearly looked the
least comfortable, even though he was the most respectably
dressed, in a polo shirt and a pair of khakis.

"Where to first?"  Langly liberated his golden locks from
the baseball cap he had been wearing all morning.

"I think we should put some more distance between us and
Washington, and then send up the flare to Mulder," Frohike
replied.

"Do you think he's still checking the message board?" Byers
queried.  "We set up that plan before he left, but all bets
were off after the incident with the train.  Even Scully
doesn't seem to know how to contact him now."

"It's our best option," Frohike countered.  "If he doesn't
reply, I say we go looking for him."

Langly looked doubtful.  "But where?  If Mulder's gone low
tech, there's no way to track him."

"I've got a few ideas where he might be hiding out,"
Frohike said.  "Besides, you got any better suggestions?"

Unpersuaded, Langly prodded, "Why are you so sure we can
trust this Kersh guy, anyway?  For all we know, he's just
using us to lead him to Mulder."

Frohike shot back, "What's the matter, Blondie?  You don't
think we can outsmart a few men in black?  I don't know
about you, but I don't plan on being followed."

Byers cleared his throat, interrupting the squabble. 
"Actually, there's somewhere else I need to go."

"Where?" Langly and Frohike said together, with matching
puzzled expressions.

"Bakersfield, California."

When he didn't elaborate, Frohike prompted him.  "What's in
Bakersfield?"

"Holly Johnson."

Frohike nodded in recognition.  "Suzanne Modeski.  You've
kept in touch with her this whole time, haven't you?"

"No, we haven't actually corresponded, but I've kept an eye
on her--for her own safety, of course."

"Uh huh."  Frohike didn't sound convinced.

"I have to find her.  If our deaths made national news,
which they very well may have, then she'll think we're
dead.  I have to let her know that I'm okay.  I owe her
that much."

The bathroom door opened, admitting a pair of men engrossed
in conversation.  The trio in the stall moved closer to the
corner, hoping their feet could not be seen, and then
Frohike returned his attention to his friend.  He spoke
softly to avoid detection, but also in empathy.  "You're
still in love with her, aren't you?" 

Byers didn't answer directly but dropped his eyes self-
consciously.  Frohike responded with a friendly slap on the
shoulder.  "Why is it that we always fall in love with the
women we can't have?  Best of luck, my friend.  Just don't
forget about us old bachelors--"

"Who are you calling old, Hickey?  You're the one who's
over the hill."

"Keep a lid on it, Langly, or I'll turn you in to the feds
myself."  He turned back to Byers.  "As I was saying, don't
forget about us.  If things don't work out with your
chickadee, come find us.  Or, hell, even if they do work
out.  We wouldn't mind seeing her again either."

"Speak for yourself," Langly mumbled.

Frohike rolled his eyes but continued to address Byers. 
"You're not really going to leave me alone with him, are
you?"

"Sorry, but this is something I have to do."

The increased buzz in the room indicated the rise in
traffic.  It was inevitable that they could not remain
concealed for much longer, so it was only to be expected
when their farewells were interrupted by a pounding on the
stall door.

"Hey, buddy, you need a laxative or something?  Quit
hogging the stall.  Some of us have got buses to catch!"

"Keep your shorts on!" Langly yelled in annoyance.

Frohike turned from the distraction and extended his hand
to Byers.  "Good luck, man.  I hope our paths cross again
soon."  But he shortly released the hand and said, "Oh,
hell," surprising his buddy with a warm hug instead.

The two soon pulled apart, leaving Langly feeling obligated
to give a comparable farewell.  Once Byers and Langly
shared a brief, awkward embrace, they found Frohike hastily
attaching a fake mustache, signaling that it was time to
go.  After Langly donned his cap and all three gathered up
their belongings, Frohike opened the door and led the way
out of the stall.

"Well, it's about time," huffed a burly man in a business
suit, preparing to push his way into the stall as soon as
its tenant exited.  His impatience quickly turned into
surprise, and then suspicion, as he watched a second and
then a third man exit the stall.

All conversation in the restroom ended while everyone
watched the three men file out of a single stall and then
out of the room.  No one was brave enough to enter the
stall after them.

* * *

"What makes you think he's here?" Langly asked wearily as
they trudged down the road from the bus stop.

"I dunno.  I just have a feeling."  Frohike readjusted his
bag on his shoulder as he plodded along a full pace ahead
of his companion, despite his shorter legs.

"Yeah, that's what you said about the last three places."

Frohike stopped and turned, allowing Langly to catch up
with him.  "Let's put it this way.  If he's not here, I
have no idea where else to look, so either way, I have a
feeling this is the end of the road."

"Well, I'd sure like to find the end of *this* road.  Why'd
they have to put the bus stop so far away from the town?"

"Because the bus only runs along the main highway.  We were
lucky it even stopped there.  Besides, we'd get there a lot
faster if you'd stop dragging your feet."

Langly turned at the sound of a vehicle approaching from
behind.  "Walk if you want.  I'm gonna catch a ride."  He
stuck out an upturned thumb toward the rundown truck,
hoping for the best.

The truck slowed but rumbled past, and Langly dropped his
hand in dejection.  As Frohike turned to keep walking,
however, he saw the truck come to stop a few yards away and
then back up to meet them.

A young Native American man called to them through the open
passenger side window: "You two need a ride into town?"

Langly heard his buddy murmur behind him, "He probably
stopped because of the long, blond hair.  It's a good thing
you didn't flash him any leg."  But he chose to ignore the
comment and reached for the door handle.

Once they were on their way, the driver commented to his
passengers, "Well, I can tell you guys aren't from around
here.  You looking for somebody?"

The two companions shared a look, and then Frohike decided
to make use of the opportunity.  "Uh, we were hoping to
find the Hosteens.  You know any of them?"

The young man shot them a sideways glance and then returned
his attention to the road.  "Maybe.  You friends of the
family?"

"Friends of a friend, actually.  It's our friend that we're
looking for.  We thought maybe they might have news of
him."

"What makes you think your friend wants to be found?"

That response certainly caught Frohike's attention.  After
a beat, he replied, "The same reason that we don't."

Their driver nodded his head thoughtfully but didn't
answer.  They were now within sight of the loose cluster of
buildings that constituted the main part of town, and he
slowed and pulled to a stop in front of a small grocery
store.

"Wait here."

Frohike and Langly watched with curiosity while the young
man got out and disappeared into the building, but neither
spoke yet.  After a short wait, he reemerged, climbed back
in the truck, and started the engine.  He clearly had a
destination in mind, so they rode along in expectation,
eager to see where this promising lead might take them.

When they again pulled to a stop, this time in front of a
trailer beyond the edge of town, their driver disembarked
without a word to his passengers, so they watched from the
vehicle as he approached the front door.  Before he reached
the steps, the door opened slightly, but not yet enough for
the inhabitant to be seen.  A moment later, however, the
door opened fully, and a familiar face was staring straight
at the two men, his broad smile indicating that he had
already spotted and recognized them.

They had finally found Mulder.

Now sporting a beard and looking a little grayer around the
edges than they remembered, their old friend quickly
descended the steps and paused for a word of thanks to the
young man on his way to greet them.  Having emerged from
the truck as soon as they caught sight of him, the pair met
him halfway.  Frohike made no hesitation to pull Mulder
into a hug, which was warmly returned.  Mulder soon reached
over to pat Langly on the back in greeting, and then he and
Frohike pulled apart.

"Aren't you guys a sight for sore eyes!"  Looking past
them, he noticed for the first time their incomplete
number.  "Where's Byers?"

"He had a woman to go find."  Frohike knew if anyone would
understand, it would be Mulder.

Nodding in comprehension, Mulder followed the train of
thought to the next logical question.  "What about Scully
and William?  Are they okay?"

"They miss you."  It was an understatement, but it was the
most adequate description of Scully's state of mind when
Frohike last saw her.

"Well, as glad as I am to see you guys, I have to admit
you're not the pair I was hoping to see drive up to my
door.  What the hell are you doing here anyway?"  He asked
it good-naturedly, his thoughts only now turning to the
most obvious question.

"It's a long story, and I'm sure we'll have plenty of time
to tell it."

Mulder turned for a moment to wave to the young man as he
called out his good-bye and got into his truck.  Returning
his attention to his friends, he proclaimed, "Well, welcome
to New Mexico, boys."  He stretched out a hand in
invitation toward his trailer.  "I'm afraid this place
isn't much, but for now, it's home."


**********
End Part 1
**********

Send feedback to: bellefleur1013@yahoo.com

Visit my stories at: www.geocities.com/bellefleur1013

* * * * *
The Valley of Shadows 2: Father's Day
* * * * *

"Fold."  Langly tossed his cards down on the table.

"Frohike?"

"Too rich for my blood.  I've got to hold on to something
for the next round."

"Well, then I guess you guys will never find out if I was
bluffing you."  Mulder set down his hand, face down, and
then scooped up his pile of winnings.  He neatly stacked
the disks in piles of ten.  Three more pennies, and he'd
have a full dollar.

Frohike pulled the loose cards into an untidy mass and
shoved them across the table.  "Your deal, Langly."  

Begrudgingly, Langly straightened the deck and began to
shuffle.  "Man, what I wouldn't give for a nice game of D&D
right now."

"Hey, it's either this or bingo down at the community
center," Frohike gibed.  "Somehow, I think this is the
better deal."

Langly scowled and flung the first card at Frohike, adding
a little too much force and sending it off the table into
his lap.

"So, what's the game, Ringo?  You gotta call it before you
deal," Mulder said.

Langly opened his mouth to answer, but he was preempted by
the trailer door bursting open.

When Gibson entered, he didn't even seem to notice Mulder's
guests.  His wide eyes were focused solely on the man he
sought.

"I had a dream, about a baby.  I think it's yours.  Someone
came to hurt him.  Someone who was supposed to be you."

"What?  Gibson, slow down.  How do you know it was
William?"

"There was a woman with red hair, and I'm not sure, but I
think she was saying your name.  And I didn't understand
this part, but there was something about a frog named
Jeremy."

Mulder didn't bother to explain or correct that last bit.  
It was enough to make a connection.  He had grown to value
Gibson's insights, especially over the past few months as
the two fugitives spent more time together.  Gibson's
premonitions were rare, but they were not to be dismissed.

Standing swiftly, Mulder was too preoccupied to notice his
chair tip over behind him.  He was immediately in motion.  
"William's in trouble.  I have to go."

A beat passed before it could sink in to the two bystanders
just what was going on; once the information had time to
register, Frohike stood and jumped into Mulder's path.  
"Whoa, hold on a minute there, buddy.  You can't just go
rushing back to Washington.  There are people who want you
dead."

Mulder leaned over Frohike, both in intimidation and in an
effort to push past his unyielding form.  "What the hell
does that matter?  William's in danger, and for all I know,
so's Scully.  I can't just sit here.  I have to go."  

"Then let us go.  We can go back to Washington and find out
what's going on."

Mulder sighed in exasperation, trying not to lash out at
his friend, but his patience was wearing thin.  "Look,
Frohike, I appreciate the offer, but you two aren't federal
agents."

"Neither are you."  That knocked some of the wind from
Mulder's sails.  At the sag in his posture, Frohike's tone
gentled.  "I know you want to go, but there's a reason why
you went into hiding.  For all we know, whatever's
happening right now might be intended as a trap to lure you
back to Washington.  Now us, on the other hand, we're
already a lost cause.  Nobody's looking for us because
we're supposed to be dead.  It's the perfect cover."

Mulder was doubtful, but he didn't shoot down the option
yet, so Frohike continued.  "At least let us scope out the
place first.  We'll make arrangements to get information to
you right away, and then we can tell you whether you should
come back or not."

As agonizing as it was, Mulder knew his friend was right.  
Looking over the shorter man's head, he met Gibson's eyes
in an appeal for more details or a strong feeling about
this decision.  But the boy just shrugged back at him,
having no more to offer.

Turning away from Frohike, Mulder paced a few steps,
weighing his options, before facing him again and
responding: "Fine.  I'll give you 24 hours' head start, but
if I haven't heard from you by then, I'm going myself."

Frohike nodded and then gave a slap on the back to Langly,
who sat there looking a little shell-shocked about what he
had just been volunteered for.  "The clock's ticking.  
Let's go."

"Hold on to your panties a minute, buster.  Don't I get a
say in this?"

Frohike fixed him with a challenging gaze.  "It's either
this or bingo.  Take your pick."

It took Langly less than five seconds to gather up his
poker winnings and fly out the door.

* * *

Wearily stepping out of his car, Skinner locked it behind
him and moved off toward the elevator.  It had been a long
day, but it wasn't the clock alone that was wearing on him.  
The fact was, he was emotionally drained, mostly from the
tumultuous feelings that he dared not let surface.  He
still wasn't sure that he agreed with Scully's decision,
but he also didn't feel he had the right to question it.

As he was reaching for the elevator button, he paused.  He
had let his guard down, preoccupied as he was, but his
instincts were now on alert.  No other cars had entered the
parking garage after him, but he thought he had heard
footsteps.

Turning swiftly with a hand on his holster and readying his
weapon, he scanned the shadowy recesses of the lot.  In his
peripheral vision he caught a movement, and his gun was
raised and pointed in the blink of an eye.

"Federal agent.  Hold it right there.  Raise your hands and
walk into the light slowly."

But when the figures entered the circle of dim light, his
arm wavered.  For a moment, he began to question his own
sanity.

Then the apparition spoke.  "No need to shoot, G-man.  
We're not armed.  Besides, you've got a pretty good draw
there, so I doubt I'd stand a chance."

"This is not happening," Skinner mumbled to himself, but
loud enough for the others to overhear.  "I'm just tired.  
I've had a long day.  I just need a good night's sleep."

The blond apparition now spoke, but to his companion.  
"Man, I told you he wouldn't believe us.  We should've gone
to Scully."

"You know we couldn't take that risk.  She's probably being
watched, and then someone would've spotted us."

"Then what about that Monica chick?  She'd probably talk to
us, even if she thought we were really dead."

"Hold it!" Skinner interrupted.  "There's no way my mind
would make up this conversation.  What the hell is going on
here?"

Now that the gun was lowered, Frohike dared to step closer,
bringing him further into the light.  "Well, first of all,
we're not dead."

"Yeah, I'm beginning to catch on to that.  I think you owe
me an explanation, especially considering the favors I had
to call in to get you three buried in Arlington."  Skinner
frowned as he realized the discrepancy before him.  "Wait a
minute, what about your other friend, John Byers?  Didn't
he make it?"

Frohike exchanged a glance with Langly and then carried on.  
"Last we heard, he was alive and kicking, but that's
another story.  The reason we're here now is because of
William.  Mulder received word that he might be in
trouble."

Skinner narrowed his eyes and looked between the two men.  
"You know where Mulder is?"

Frohike scanned their surroundings and stepped closer.  
"The walls have eyes, and maybe ears.  Do you think we
could continue this somewhere else?"

* * *

Langly self-consciously adjusted his cap again, making sure
the stray hairs were tucked up in the back, even though he
couldn't really be seen in their shady booth in the back
corner of the bar.

As Skinner finished his narrative of the events of the last
few days, culminating in Scully's shocking decision to give
up her child, Frohike let out a whoosh of breath.  

"Wow.  No wonder Gibson felt something was wrong.  But
William's okay now, right?"

Skinner nodded.  "As far as we can tell.  But Scully
believes that as long as William is in her care, he will
always be in danger.  You two know the truth of that well
enough from the kidnapping a few months ago."

The buddies shared a sheepish look.  The memory was all too
fresh of how William had been placed in their charge, and
then taken from them--by a woman, no less.

Langly spoke up.  "So, uh, is this final?  Has she already
done the deed?"

"We initiated the paperwork today.  She wanted to expedite
things and avoid the normal channels so that no one will
notice until he's already out of reach.  I spent the better
part of the afternoon making arrangements."

Frohike jumped in.  "Wait a minute.  Doesn't Mulder get a
say in this?"

"Well, as far as I understood, Scully had no way of
contacting him.  But with you here, I suppose that changes
things."

Frohike looked at his watch.  "He'll be expecting us to get
in touch with him soon.  Maybe we can propose an
alternative."

"You have something in mind?"

"Yeah.  A place for people to go when they don't want to be
found."

Skinner frowned at the cryptic answer, but then his brow
smoothed and he nodded once, indicating that he understood.

"What about Scully?" Langly asked.

Skinner looked uncomfortable as he answered.  "We can't
tell her.  If she knows where he is, it will put the boy in
danger, which will defeat the whole purpose of what she's
doing."

"Then what are you going to tell her?" Frohike countered.

"That her son will be cared for and well loved."

The three men avoided one another's gazes, the awkward
pause highlighting the gravity of what they were about to
do.

Frohike broke the moment.  "I'll contact Mulder and start
laying plans.  We'll let you know as soon as we have the
details."

With another curt nod, Skinner moved to slide out of the
booth, but Frohike stretched out a hand to stop him.  
"There's something else you should know."

Skinner shifted back into his seat and waited for the
explanation.

"We told you about our, uh, escape, but not about who was
behind it."

"Who?"

Frohike glanced over at Langly and then responded: "Deputy
Director Kersh."

Skinner huffed out a laugh.  But as the two men across from
him remained somber, his smile dropped.  "You're not
kidding."  Both men shook their heads.  "Alvin Kersh?  But,
why?"

"We're not entirely sure.  Maybe to smoke out Mulder, but
we haven't seen any evidence that we've been tracked or
followed."

"No ninja dudes shading our ass," Langly added helpfully.

"He just made some comment that he was tired of being a
pawn," Frohike summed up.  

Skinner nodded thoughtfully.  "That's a sentiment I can
understand.  Maybe the man finally realized just where he
stands."

Frohike shrugged.  "Maybe."

A foreboding silence descended, lingering around the three
as, one by one, they inconspicuously rose from their
shadowed booth and trickled out the door.

* * *

Two lone figures waited in the dimly lit parking lot, one
of them cradling a sleeping baby to her chest.  She hummed
quietly to him in off-key tones while her companion kept a
watchful eye on the shadows.

Beams from headlights sliced across their faces, announcing
the car that pulled into the lot and slowly came to a stop.  
A woman stepped out, a kindly smile gracing her face, but
Scully did not see it.  Her eyes remained riveted to the
precious bundle in her arms, resting there so trustingly.

Skinner moved to help the woman.  The two busied
themselves, transferring the car seat from one vehicle to
the other, foreshadowing what was to come.  When the task
was completed and only one thing remained to be done, they
waited patiently and wordlessly, sensitive to the fact that
this parting would not be easy.  

Scully turned away from the scene, immersing herself in the
darkness.  As the minutes extended, she felt a warm hand
settle on her shoulder.  "Dana, it's time."

She placed one last kiss on the downy head, then tugged
down his cap to keep him sheltered from the cool air.  He
stirred slightly as his weight was shifted from one set of
arms into the other, but he didn't wake.  Scully ached at
not seeing his beautiful eyes one more time, but she was
also grateful; she wasn't sure that she'd be able to let go
of him with his innocent eyes asking her "why?"

Her watchful gaze remained fixed on the back seat until the
car had turned onto the road and disappeared from sight.  
She and Skinner were left alone in the darkness, the air
around them eerily still, deathly quiet.

A tentative hand came to rest on Scully's back.  It was
unfamiliar there, making her ache for the touch she truly
desired.  

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."  She had intended it to be more than the
whisper that came out.

"Dana..."

A hand ventured to her cheek and gently tugged her face in
his direction.  She watched Skinner's mouth move
hesitantly, struggling to form words that remained
unspoken.  Finally, he offered, "He'll be in good hands."

But not hers.  She nodded and closed her eyes against the
torrent of tears that would no longer wait.  A sob escaped,
and strong arms wrapped around her, holding her to a warm
chest.  But the attempt at comfort only made her feel the
loss more profoundly.  There was no soothing presence
awaiting her at home--and even if he were, she feared that
he would never forgive her for what she had just done.  

So consumed with her own guilt, Scully did not look up to
see reflected in Skinner's eyes the very same emotion.

* * *

"I want you to meet William."

Mrs. Van de Kamp smiled down at the baby in her arms.  He
watched her with wide eyes, and she marveled at the fact
that he didn't seem frightened around so many strangers.

Mr. Van de Kamp stepped forward to shake hands with the
social worker.  "Thank you so much.  You have no idea what
this means to us.  Is there any more paperwork to be
signed, or is this the last of it?"

"No, this is it.  You now have full custody.  Is there
anything else you need from me?"

The couple looked at each other, and Mr. Van de Kamp moved
close to his wife to place an arm around her shoulders.

"No, I think we're all set.  We're just so happy to finally
have him here."

"Well, all right then.  You have my number, so just call if
you need anything."

The couple stood and waited as the social worker and her
companion got into their car and drove away down the
isolated road.  As soon as the vehicle was out of sight,
the pair moved into action.

Frohike opened the front door and met them halfway.  "Are
we clear?"

The man going by the name of Van de Kamp answered, "She
said it's finalized.  They scheduled a follow-up visit, but
by then, our trail will be cold."

His wife handed the baby toward Langly, who held him
awkwardly, but William didn't seem to mind.  "Can you guys
handle him from here?  We don't have much time to get the
house cleaned up and move out before the owners come into
town."

"What time does their flight get in?" Frohike asked.

"It's not a scheduled flight--private jet.  The guy's a
movie producer, or something like that.  He flies in from
LA every other weekend.  The word from our contact is that
he's due back tonight."

Frohike stepped forward and extended a hand to his old
friend, known to most as Joe Fuhrman.  "Thanks for
everything.  This means a lot to us, and especially to the
boy's father."

"Hey, no problem, Mel.  Just don't be a stranger.  The
newsletter may be out of circulation, but you've still got
a lot of friends out there with their eyes and ears open."

After a few more words of farewell among the four, Frohike
and Langly hastened to their car parked around back and
headed for New Mexico.  They still had a long drive ahead
of them, and they were eager to see this errand to its
conclusion.

* * *

Mulder could hardly sit still as he waited for the car to
finally arrive.  He had spent the better part of the last
few days like this, sitting and waiting--or, more
accurately, pacing and waiting.  Gibson kept him company
for most of that time, but he had received no further
dreams, and contact with the Gunmen had been too limited
for Mulder's liking.

The crunch of gravel outside was the first indication, but
Gibson quickly confirmed, "They're here."

Mulder emerged from the trailer just in time to see Frohike
exit the vehicle with the precious cargo sleeping in his
arms.  Without a word, the two men made the exchange, and
Mulder cradled his sleeping son to his chest.

"I can't believe how big you are," he whispered into
William's ear.  "I've missed you so much.  I just wish your
mother could be here with us."  Mulder didn't even realize
he was crying until he saw the teardrop splash onto the
child's face.

His world reduced to this one small bundle, Mulder was
oblivious to his three friends who quietly made their way
to the car and back down the drive.  Mulder's eyes were
riveted to the round, perfect face as his legs mechanically
carried him up the steps and through the door of the
trailer.  

A newly acquired rocking chair waited in the corner, amidst
piles of baby paraphernalia and books on parenting.  Mulder
toed a stack out of his way, unconcerned when it tipped
over and spread across the floor, and took a seat in the
weathered rocker.  At the change in position, William
sleepily blinked his eyes open.  

Mulder couldn't help the bright smile that broke out across
his face.  "Hey there."

The boy blinked up at him once, then closed his eyes again.  
But even in his sleepiness, he shifted toward Mulder's
chest and started moving his lips in a suckling motion.  
Having nothing else within reach, Mulder offered his
finger.  He chuckled when the poor substitute was soon
rejected.

"Not quite the same as Mom, huh?"  Mulder sighed and
repositioned William so he could lean down and kiss his
soft forehead.  Into the quiet, he whispered, "I promise
you, Scully, I'll take good care of him."

William shifted again but remained asleep.  With a push of
his foot, Mulder set the old rocking chair into motion.  To
its creaky rhythm, he gently began to sing:

"Jeremiah was a bullfrog..."


**********
End part 2
**********

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