From: Lamberth Victoria <Victoria.Lamberth@Columbia.net>
Date: Fri, 16 Jul 1999 16:52:18 -0500
Subject: All Dreams of the Soul: The Revelation 4/4
source: direct

Title: All Dreams of the Soul: The Revelation 4/4

Author: Tiger Lilly

E-Mail address: Tigerlillyme@yahoo.com

Rating: R

Category: XA

Keyword: Scully Angst. Mulder Angst. X-file. UST

Spoilers: 5th season and movie

Summary: Scully and Mulder live through three 
nights of terror. Continuation of All Dreams of the 
Soul: The Numbers

          

Disclaimer: Okay Chris, this one is for you. I don't 
own them, I just borrowed them. Thank you for 
your generosity. 

          

Warning: This story is rated R for language, adult 
situations, sexual content, and violence. 

          

Author's note: This is the fourth of four 
installments. If you haven't read All Dreams of the 
Soul: Genesis, Exodus, or The Numbers, then 
The Revelation is not going to make much sense 
to you. My suggestion-go back and read them.

          

Please send me your feedback at 
Tigerlillyme@yahoo.com. Be gentle on me. It's 
my first time out. Okay to archive anywhere. Just 
please send me an e-mail so I'll know.

          


The Revelation

     

     A strange buzzing noise was slowly 
awakening her out of a deep sleep. Somewhere 
in her drowsy mind, she thought that she 
shouldn't be hearing odd buzzes in the middle of 
the night. But it wasn't until she felt the gloved 
hand cover her mouth that she jolted herself 
awake. 

     Her first reaction was panic. Someone was in 
her apartment. In her bedroom. And they were 
covering her mouth so she would be unable to 
scream. Her heart jumped into her throat. 
Instincts kicked in almost immediately, and she 
tried to force the hand away.

     "Shhh, Agent Scully," a familiar voice 
whispered. "It's Frohike."

     Her eyes focused in the dark on a face 
partially concealed by glowing night vision 
goggles. Whoever it was looked like a giant 
electronic fly. Another hand came up and pulled 
the goggles on top of his head. Sure enough, it 
was Frohike.

     Her relief was quickly replaced by another 
shocked thought. What the hell was Frohike 
doing in her bedroom? In the middle of the night? 
And how did he get in? But she couldn't ask him 
because he still had his hand over her mouth.

     "I didn't want to scare you," he continued, "but 
we can't risk letting anyone know we're here." He 
looked around the room nervously. "We need to 
get you out of here quietly."

     By now, she had managed to push his hand 
off her mouth. What did he mean, WE?

     "What the hell..." she angrily started.

     "Shhh, keep it down," another familiar voice 
scolded from somewhere to her right. "Are you 
trying to get us killed?"

     Dana sat up in the bed and scanned her dark 
bedroom. The streetlight outside glowed just 
brightly enough for her to make out the form of 
Langly, also with his night vision goggles on his 
head, nervously looking out the window, carefully 
keeping out of sight from anyone that might be 
looking in.

     "How in the hell did you get in here?" She was 
pissed, but she managed to get it out in a 
controlled whisper.

     "First, we need to get you out of here." 
Frohike's hushed voice made her swing back 
around and look at him. It was only after he licked 
his lips and silently mouthed the word "Damn" 
that she realized his eyes were almost popping 
out of his head. She looked down and realized 
what he was lusting at. She only had a silk 
nightshirt on, unbuttoned just a little too low in the 
front to be entertaining mixed company. But she 
hadn't been planning to encounter the Lone 
Gunmen when she had thrown it on and 
collapsed into bed. And when she had sat up and 
looked around the room, the covers had fallen 
into her lap, giving Frohike quite an eyeful. She 
quickly grabbed the sheet and pulled it up in front 
of her.

     "Not until you tell me what's going on." She 
wasn't going anywhere with this trio without an 
explanation. So, exactly where was Byers? 
Probably eating all the leftovers in her 
refrigerator.

     "No time," Frohike answered. "We'll explain on 
the way." Frohike was handing her her bathrobe. 
"We've got to go now."

     Something about the urgency in his voice 
made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. 
So she obediently got out of bed and pulled the 
bathrobe on, even with Frohike standing there 
ogling. And she almost started to follow him out of 
the bedroom, but then her common sense 
stopped her. This was 2/3 of the Lone Gunmen. 
And where the Gunmen were, Mulder was never 
far behind. Suddenly, her mind clicked. Was this 
Mulder's way of getting back at her for the 
argument two nights ago? Or his way of forcing a 
confrontation between them? 

     She had expected Mulder to call by now. She 
had actually gotten a few hours of sleep on the 
flight home, and she had calmed down 
considerably. By the time she spent an hour in 
the waiting room in order to be worked into Dr. 
Lipton's schedule, she had replayed their last few 
days together in her head several times, and she 
was ready to put it all behind her. She was still 
hurt by his accusations, but she needed to talk to 
him again. When she got home, she was 
disappointed not to find a message from him on 
her machine apologizing for his behavior, or at 
least admitting that she could have been telling 
the truth. But she figured that he had gotten tied 
up in Miami and would call her whenever he had 
a chance. 

     She knew that for Mulder to admit he was 
wrong was probably too much to hope for, even 
with the evidence of the truth staring him in the 
face. All this time looking for the truth, and he still 
couldn't see it even when it was right in front of 
his nose. And her pride kept her from calling him, 
even when she desperately wanted to hear his 
voice. Besides, she had left him her package, 
and the ball was now in his court.

     When the day turned into the next morning 
and she still hadn't heard from him, she tried to 
squelch the returning angry she felt. But by the 
time that evening arrived and still no call, she 
was furious once again. 

     Fuck him, she thought. He was alot of trouble 
anyway. She would be better off without him.

     And now, Langly and Frohike were trying to 
lure her to some undisclosed location for some 
unknown reason? Mulder had to be behind it. 

     Dana widen her stance for stability. She 
wasn't going anywhere.

     "Scully?" Langly, now with the goggles 
lowered over his eyes, was looking at her 
curiously. He had stopped in front of her on his 
way out of the bedroom. He was obviously 
puzzled at why she wasn't following Frohike. And 
why she looked so determined all of the sudden.

     "No," she answered, raising her chin up.

     "No, what?" Frohike said, reentering the 
bedroom. 

     "No, I'm not going anywhere. You go tell 
Mulder to go fuck himself."

     Frohike and Langly looked at each other, 
shocked by her anger and language. Obviously 
Mulder didn't tell them everything that had 
transpired between them.

     "Okay," Frohike finally managed to say with a 
gulp. "Have it your way."

     At that moment, Dana felt a sharp prick at the 
base of her neck. She spun around to see Byers 
holding the syringe he had just injected into her 
spine.

     "What the..." Dana managed to say, as the 
room started to tilt. Everything around her was 
swimming. She lost her train of thought as time 
suddenly slowed. She watched herself fall to the 
ground in slow motion, realizing that although her 
body was still in front of Byers, her consciousness 
was now across the room. She was fascinated by 
the way her body left a trail of color hanging in 
the darkness.

     She watched Frohike and Langly approach 
her motionless body cautiously and lean over to 
look at her.

     "Boy," Langly commented in slow motion, "she 
was sure pissed at Mulder."

     "Yeah, well," Byers replied looking knowingly 
to his two accomplices, also at the slow pace, 
"wait 'til she wakes up."

     Then her world went black.

     

     

     Her first realization was that her head was 
pounding. Not just a little headache, but an all out 
Indian war dance right on her left brow bone. The 
pain made the dim light tunneling towards her 
excruciating. She tried to push the tunnel away 
by squinting her eyes shut. Then she realized 
that wasn't working, so she tried to roll to one 
side to get away from it.

     That was when she had her second 
realization. Something firmly held her right hand 
bent next to her ear. The sensation of cold steel 
surrounding her wrist was a shock. She tried to 
pull her arm towards her, only to discover she 
could only move it about 2 inches in any 
direction. The steel rattled against something. 
Okay, she was going to have to open her eyes 
and glance at her wrist, only to confirm what her 
confused mind was already telling her. Here it 
goes, she thought.

     She opened her eyes and looked over at her 
hand. "Oh." The little gasp was all she could 
manage. Sure enough, one end of a pair of 
handcuffs was locked around her right hand. She 
raised her eyes and found the other end attached 
to a rusty, dirty pipe. Her gaze followed the pipe 
up to where it disappeared into the bottom of a 
crumbling sink directly above her head. Only then 
did it occur to her that she was in an old 
bathroom.

     She quickly shut her eyes again. Even through 
her closed eyelids, she could still see the dim 
light. And her head wouldn't clear enough to help 
her remember how she had gotten into this 
situation. 

     She tried to concentrate on the other 
sensations she was feeling, trying to block out the 
throbbing in her head. She could feel her terry 
cloth bathrobe and silk nightshirt, their soft, 
nubbiness and contrasting smoothness 
surrounding her. Something told her this was 
strange, but she couldn't remember why it was 
strange. And the throbbing in her head wasn't 
helping either.

     Dana threw her left arm across her eyes. The 
darkness and pressure helped her head slightly. 
She just wanted to go back to sleep, or whatever 
she had been doing before she woke up. 
Besides, she realized that she wasn't thinking too 
clearly.

     Her mind drifted back to the wild dream she 
was having. She was floating in mid-air, looking 
down on the Lone Gunmen. Except it wasn't the 
Lone Gunmen. It was three giant flies with 
glowing green eyes who talked like the Lone 
Gunmen. And they were leading her body down 
the hall of her apartment building. Only her body 
wasn't walking. Instead, it seemed to be lurching 
forward. And she was watching the whole thing 
while she floated on the ceiling.

     It was a strange, strange dream. She never 
dreamed about the Lone Gunmen. She could 
barely stand to think about them when she was 
awake. Jesus, they must have used a whopper of 
a sedative on her. 

     Her last thought sunk in and shocked her into 
opening her eyes despite of her headache. The 
Lone Gunmen. The fucking Lone Gunmen had 
been in her bedroom, trying to trick her into going 
to see Mulder. And they had knocked her out with 
some unknown substance when she wouldn't go 
with them willingly. And now, she was handcuffed 
to a sink in some old building's bathroom, lying 
on-she looked down to check-an old army cot, 
and higher than, well, than she had been in a 
long time. 

     Violence. Pure violence was all she could 
think about for a moment. The satisfaction she 
would derive from kicking the three fly-boys 
asses. She imagined grabbing Frohike by the 
throat and strangling him as he gasped for air. 
The thought of him with his eyes bugging out and 
face turning blue actually made her giggle. 
Funny, her headache suddenly felt alot better. 

     She could shoot the three of them before they 
would even know what was happening. That is, if 
Mulder didn't have her gun. 

     "Mulder." She spoke his name out loud with a 
contempt that almost caused a bad taste in her 
mouth. That bastard was behind this. Which 
meant that he probably wasn't too far away. He 
probably had been in here while she was out, 
shaking his head and feeling sorry for his poor, 
crazy ex-partner. Well, he was going to pay for 
this. The time she had shot him in the shoulder? 
That was nothing. If she could get her gun back, 
her aim was going to be much, much lower.

     A noise caught her attention. She followed it 
through the dim light and noticed the closed door 
at her feet for the first time. She squinted her eyes 
and listened.

     The noise became voices when she 
concentrated. They were muffled, but they were 
definitely voices. Male voices. And although she 
couldn't make out enough to recognize who they 
were, she was sure that one of them must be 
Mulder's. And the longer she listened, the more 
she convinced herself that it was him.

     Oh, well, she thought. Here goes nothing. 

     "Mulder!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. 
She patiently waited for him to open the door. 
After a minute passed, she realized there would 
be no reply, that Mulder would not be coming in 
to unhandcuff her. But she was certain he had 
heard her because the voices in the other room 
were now silent.

     "Mulder, get me out of here." Still no reply. 
What was he waiting for? Her to beg? There was 
no way she was going to give him that 
satisfaction.

     "Get me the fuck out of here! Mulder! Mulder! I 
swear I'm going to kill you!" She realized that she 
was now ranting out of control at the top of her 
lungs, but she couldn't stop herself.

     

     

     "Federal Agent! On the floor! Hands on your 
head! Move!" 

     Mulder's heart was racing as he burst into the 
room, sweeping the area with his drawn gun as 
he had been taught so long ago at the academy. 
Based on the muffled conversation he could hear 
through the door, he had guessed there were at 
least three people inside the room. Three people, 
probably armed. He had also been taught not to 
enter a potentially deadly situation like this one 
without backup, without his partner. But it was his 
partner he was trying to save. 

     He had panicked when, less than ninety 
minutes into his flight from Miami, he had 
suddenly become aware that Scully was no 
longer asleep in her own bed, but was 
handcuffed to an old hot water pipe in a 
condemned tenement building a few blocks from 
the Mall. Terror had seized him when the 
Gunmen didn't answer the phone when he called 
from the plane. They were too late, he had 
thought. Or worse yet, they were dead attempting 
to save her. There was no time to worry about 
them now. Scully needed help. He scanned the 
room and saw four figures dressed in black 
laying on the floor before him. Three of them 
looked very familiar. 

     A head with long blond hair hesitantly raised 
up to reveal a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses. 
"Mulder, its us. Don't shoot."

     "Langly?" This didn't make sense. Why were 
the Gunmen sitting here chatting while Scully 
was being held in the next room? 

     A pair of hands wearing biking gloves lifted 
above the balding head of the figure next to 
Langly on the floor. "Mulder, just put down your 
gun." Frohike spoke very, very slowly. 

     Mulder lowered his gun. "What's going on 
here?" God, he was confused. Had he been 
wrong about Scully's predicament. "Scully?" he 
asked uncertainly. 

     Byers was lifting himself from the floor. "In the 
next room. She's fine."

     "Handcuffed?" Mulder couldn't seem to get 
more than one word to come out of his confused 
brain at a time. 

     Frohike was speaking in a very calm tone. "We 
did if for her own good. She was resistant to the 
idea of coming with us." 

     Langly snorted as he sat on a dilapidated sofa 
in the corner of the room. "To say the least." 

     Frohike shot Langly a look as if he were 
taunting a wild animal, then continued speaking 
to Mulder in his overly calm tone. "So, we 
handcuffed her while she was out." 

     Events were beginning to become clear to 
Mulder. "Out?" A little too clear. 

     This time Byers spoke. "We had to sedate her. 
She refused to leave, and she had a few choice 
words for you."

     "You sedated her?" Mulder reached out and 
grabbed Frohike, who was the closest to him, by 
the lapels of his leather jacket. "I trusted you, and 
you sedated her?!?" 

     Frohike stood like a trapped animal. "Geez, 
Mulder, it was just a little Diprivan, nothing to get 
worked up about."

     "You idiot!" Mulder yelled as he pushed him 
away. "She's pregnant!" For a few seconds, the 
only sound was Mulder panting where he stood, 
a look of cold fury on his face. If anything 
happened to the baby because of what these 
guys had done, he would...well, he didn't know 
what he would do, but it wouldn't be something 
they liked. 

     It was Langly who broke the silence. "All right, 
Mulder. Way to work those all night stake outs." 

     Mulder and Frohike both gave him looks. 
Mulder one of dumbfound shock, and Frohike 
one that could have sliced right through him. 
Byers made a mad dash across the room. 

     Frohike turned back toward Mulder, threw 
back his shoulders, and puffed out his chest. 
"Now, look here, Mulder." Mulder couldn't believe 
it, he was actually angry...at him! "If you've been 
boffing Scully and gone and knocked her up, 
we're going to have a little talk. Mano y Mano." 

     Mulder didn't think his mouth could drop open 
anymore than it already had. "Not me. I'm not the 
father." At least he didn't think so. What Scully 
thought might be a different story. 

     Frohike seemed relieved and angrier all at the 
same time. "Well, then who the hell is? Is he 
going to live up to his responsibilities, or was he 
just in it for a good time?" 

     Mulder was starting to get a headache. This 
was not going the way he had planned it when 
he had called them for their help. If the three 
stooges had been paranoid of the government, 
big business, and anything related to the military, 
he would have swore they were standing in this 
room with him. Only Langly had more hair than 
all of the stooges combined. "I don't know who 
the father is, and right now, I don't care. All I want 
to know is if the drugs you gave her are harmful 
to the fetus."

     "Way ahead of you, Mulder." Byers was 
triumphantly holding up a CD that he had been 
frantically digging out of a bag. "Physicians Desk 
Reference," he explained as he popped it into the 
laptop Langly had just opened. Mulder went and 
looked over Byers' shoulder as he brought up the 
drug they had used. "Says here that it's use-in-
pregnancy rating is B. There is no evidence of 
risk in humans. That is, if you can trust the FDA."

     Mulder let out a relieved sigh.

     "For someone who isn't the father, you sure 
are concerned about the mother and child." 

     Mulder looked up to see who spoke and 
suddenly remembered the fourth figure on the 
floor. The man before him was tall and thin, about 
40, with shoulder-length brown hair and a three-
day growth of beard. He looked like he hadn't 
showered in that amount of time, either. He wore 
a black suit of the clergy that had seen better 
days, complete with the white collar of a priest. 
Mulder gave Byers a questioning look.

     "Mulder, this is Father Michaels." Byers said in 
way of introduction. "The priest you requested." 

     Mulder shook hands with the priest. "No 
offense, but you're not what I expected."

     Father Michaels indicated his clothing and 
smiled a slight, bitter smile. "I minister to my 
fellow homeless."

     "You've taken a vow of poverty?" Mulder 
questioned. 

     This time the bitterness was in the laugh. "Not 
by choice." 

     Byers answered Mulder's questioning glance. 
"Father Michaels was cast out of the Catholic 
Church." 

     Mulder couldn't believe what he was hearing. 
All he had asked was that they get Scully out of 
her apartment and find a priest. What they had 
done was commit felonious kidnaping and 
assault with the assistance of an 
excommunicated priest. "So, you're no longer a 
member of the Church?" 

     The priest's answer was defensive. "I no 
longer serve the corruption of the Catholic 
hierarchy. I now work for God directly." 

     Frohike stepped in. "Father Michaels learned a 
few secrets about the Catholic Church that the 
higher-ups didn't want to get out. Ends up that the 
holy brotherhood has been used by various 
world governments to carry out some of their 
alternate agendas." 

     Langly took up the narrative. "Who better to 
undertake a secret objective than the Catholic 
Church, with their churches and missions in even 
the most remote area of the world? Ever think 
about what could be done under the guise of a 
childhood vaccination program in some third 
world country? With no one there to question it 
except Sally Struthers?"

     Frohike continued. "When he threatened to go 
public, they trumped up some charges against 
the good Padre. Claimed he liked to spend a little 
too much 'quality time' with other men of the 
cloth, if you get my drift." Frohike nudged Mulder 
with his elbow. "We met up with him last year, 
featured him in our Christmas issue of the Magic 
Bullet. When you said you needed a priest, 
naturally Father Michaels came to mind." 

     The priest's eyes blazed. "The rumors they 
spread were all lies. And I'm not the only one 
they've tried to silence. But I made my vows to 
God, and even though they have cast me out, I 
uphold my vows to serve Him." 

     Mulder almost laughed. Substitute the 
Catholic Church and questionable third-world 
practices for a world wide conspiracy and alien 
abduction and this could be his religiously devote 
twin. Something about the priest, his confidence 
and pride, even beneath the dirty facade, 
convinced Mulder that he truly was a man of 
conviction. Hopefully Scully would feel the same. 
Although he could take the arrogance down a 
notch or two.

     Scully! He turned quickly towards the room 
were she was held. He had so much to tell her 
about what he had discovered on the plane ride 
back. 

     Frohike stopped him before he reached the 
door. "Uh, Mulder, just a warning. She's really 
pissed off with you. She was angry before we hit 
her with the goods, and it's even worse now." 

     Mulder grinned, "I think I can handle it," and 
opened the door. Then again, he thought after 
one look at Scully's livid face, maybe he couldn't.

     

   

     The sound of yelling from a distance slowly 
entered her consciousness. It sounded like it was 
coming from down a long tunnel. 

     "Federal Agent! On the floor! Hands on your 
head! Move!" 

     She was exhausted. She had yelled for almost 
an hour, using every conceivable four-letter word 
she could think of. And growing up on naval 
bases, she had learned alot of four-letter words. 
And she had used all of them in reference to 
Mulder.

     And all it had gotten her was a sore, dry throat 
and another pounding headache. And she was 
still suffering the effects of whatever they had 
used to knock her out. 

     She didn't know exactly when the thought had 
occurred to her that she was hallucinating. 
Maybe it was when she had panicked, believing 
millions of tiny electric-green flies were crawling 
all over her. Or that the small fluorescent lantern 
in the corner was transforming itself into two 
disembodied glowing eyes, that were still staring 
at her even now. But once she realized that was 
what was happening, she took any thought or 
belief that she had as no more than a reaction to 
the drug. That at least had keep the fear from 
welling up in her. 

     A moment ago, she had felt like she was rising 
off the mattress. And now, she was imaging a raid 
in the other room.

     She forced herself to listen to the yelling, if 
only to figure out who it was so she could tell 
them to shut up. They were making her headache 
return to its original intensity.

     "You sedated her? I trusted you, and you 
sedated her?!?" 

     Good, Mulder was the one yelling. Maybe he 
was in pain. The thought made her laugh 
hysterically.

     "You idiot! She's pregnant!" 

     Her laughing ceased immediately. Until that 
moment, she had forgotten about her pregnancy. 
She was pregnant, wasn't she? She hadn't 
imaged that. Was this her mind's way of 
reminding her that she should be concerned 
about whatever substance the Gunmen had used 
on her? That her medical knowledge needed to 
kick in, analyze the symptoms, deduce the likely 
substances, and take whatever action 
necessary? Like she could take any action 
handcuffed to a sink in the dark, she thought 
sarcastically.

     Nevertheless, it was a cruel, auditory 
hallucinating. The memory of  Mulder eluding that 
she was losing her grip on reality returned. His 
statement that she was suffering from some 
delusion caused by post-traumatic stress. 
Although she had confided in him in a moment of 
rage, it didn't diminish the pain she felt when he 
had casually brushed aside her desperate pleas 
for him to believe her. That pain once again 
swept over her. Suddenly, Dana felt very sad, 
alone, and afraid. She looked over at the eyes in 
the corner. 

     "Leave me alone," she whispered.

     But then, as if to save her from her own 
thoughts, her mind turned over the other 
possibility. In some version of reality, had Mulder 
just admitted that he believed she was pregnant? 
It doesn't explain the Gunmen's actions, she 
thought, or why I am still handcuffed to this damn 
sink. 

     She hadn't had time to fully consider this new 
possibility when the door opened. She looked up 
and saw Mulder's face. And her fury returned full 
force.

     If I am hallucinating now, she thought, let me 
hallucinate a gun. Because I want to hallucinate 
causing him to have a slow, painful death 
involving massive blood loss and genital trauma. 
And she did her best to convey that thought to the 
figment of her imagination staring at her from the 
doorway.

     She locked her eyes on Mulder's eyes and 
watched his face transform from a look of concern 
to uneasiness. Inside, she felt a great wave of 
satisfaction at his transformation. She wanted to 
make this imaginary Mulder squirm, if only to 
make herself feel better. And pass the time in this 
little room. She glanced over at the disembodied 
eyes. Yup, they were still there. Her imagination 
was definitely still in overdrive. She was at least 
going to have some fun with this new 
hallucination.

     "Scully?" the imaginary Mulder said timidly. 
"You okay?"

     She didn't answer. She wanted him to feel the 
same frustration and helplessness she had felt 
earlier when she had fruitlessly been calling his 
name. Okay, so she had called him several other 
things as well, but that was beside the point.

     Mulder entered the room and looked down at 
her. She watched him swallow, his adam's apple 
bobbing in his throat. Oh, this was a very realistic 
hallucination. The best one so far. Except for 
those damn eyes over in the corner. She took a 
deep breath to steady herself and push the fear 
back down. She could even smell Mulder. 

     "Look, Scully," Mulder continued after a 
moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to 
happen. I just told..." he trailed off when his eyes 
caught the uncomfortable way her arms was 
raised next to her body, courtesy of the handcuffs. 
"I should get the key."

     "Yeah, do that," she finally spoke through 
clenched teeth, the hoarseness of her voice 
surprising her. "Why don't you unlock these...so I 
can fucking kill you!" She punctuated the last part 
of her cresendoing sentence by half-raising her 
torso off the cot. At least as far as she could raise 
up towards him with the handcuffs rubbing her 
wrist raw.

     He gulped and didn't move. The look on his 
face reminded her of a deer caught in headlights. 
She could hear her ragged breathing as she 
glared up at him some more. And then, he slowly 
turned and went into the other room, leaving the 
door open behind him.

     Dana glanced over at the glowing eyes. Well, 
she thought to the eyes that weren't really there, I 
guess we showed him who's in charge. Too bad 
he wasn't really here, either.

     And she laid back down and threw her left arm 
over her eyes again.

     


     It had to be a side effect of the sedative-at 
least that's what he kept telling himself. He had 
seen her angry before. She had even yelled at 
him before. Their fight a few nights ago had been 
a prime example. But never, ever, had he seen 
her like this.

     He turned and left the room and tried not to 
shiver, anxious to leave those murderous eyes 
behind. This wasn't going to be as easy as he 
had originally thought. Of course, what he had 
originally thought had been a work of fantasy he 
had concocted to avoid his actual fears. In his 
fantasy, Scully began apologizing before he had 
a chance to and stopped him as he tried to 
apologize to her. They laughed it off, and she 
listened attentively as he explained his theory 
about the seven sevens of missing women. 
Granted, he knew that scenario would never play 
itself out. But even in his worst fears, she hadn't 
threatened to kill him. And even if she had, she 
never would have looked like she meant it

     The Gunmen were standing a few feet behind 
him, peering into the bathroom, as though they 
were afraid to get any closer. The priest was 
sitting on the sofa, watching events unfold with a 
curious scowl on his face

     Mulder held out his hand to Frohike. "Give me 
the keys," he demanded.

     Langly and Byers exchanged uncertain 
glances. Frohike shifted his weight from one foot 
to the other. "Are you sure that's a good idea, 
Mulder? She seems kind of....violent."

     Evidently Scully had heard him because 
sadistic laughter erupted from the bathroom. "Just 
you wait, little man. Your time will come."

     The three of them actually took a step back. 
Frohike cocked his head towards the bathroom 
and gave Mulder a look that seemed to say, I rest 
my case.

     "Give me the keys," he said in a very calm, yet 
forceful voice. He hoped the same tone would 
work with Scully. Frohike reluctantly nodded his 
head, and Byers fished the keys out of his pocket 
and handed them to Mulder. Mulder tossed them 
lightly in the air, as though he were weighing his 
options, but he had already made up his mind. It 
was time to set things right between them. He 
had decided that while he was still in Miami, as 
soon as he had seen that damn pink stick. It 
never should have gone this far. He still felt 
Scully was in danger from some unknown 
enemy, and the sooner they made friends again, 
the sooner they could get down to business. He 
had made some interesting discoveries on his 
flight back, and out of habit, he couldn't wait to 
share them with Scully. If he could get her to 
listen to him. Besides, he thought, even if she 
seemed capable of killing him with her bare 
hands, she would be too weak from the sedative. 
Right? 

     As he closed his hand tightly around the keys, 
he leaned in close to the Gunmen. "If she bolts for 
the door," he whispered, "stop her."

     The three nodded solemnly, but Mulder could 
tell from their wide-eyed looks that they hoped it 
wouldn't come to that. And so did he.

     When he reentered the bathroom, Scully was 
laying on the cot, her left arm draped across her 
eyes. The early morning light was shining 
through the small, dirty window off to the left of 
her prone body, illuminating dust fibers in the air.

     "Scully?" he said softly. She didn't respond. 
He cleared his throat and tried again. "Scully?"

     "Go away," she mumbled from below her arm. 
"I don't want to hallucinate right now."

     Obviously the drugs were still effecting her. 
"Scully, this isn't a hallucination. I'm real. I'm 
really here."

     She turned slightly and looked out from under 
her arm toward the corner where a portable 
fluorescent lantern stood. She let out a "hmpf" of 
disbelief and recovered her eyes.

     Well, he thought, no turning back now. "I'm 
going to take the handcuffs off now, Scully. But 
first..."

     She raised her head and glared at him from 
under her half-raised arm. Her look of 
amazement made it clear that she expected no 
conditions placed on her freedom.

     Mulder stood his ground and held up a 
silencing hand. "First" he continued, "you have to 
promise not to run away. Second..."

     Again she gave him a look of shock, her mouth 
actually dropping open slightly at the addition of 
a second ultimatum. 

     "...promise that you will hear what I have to say 
before you start yelling again." He finished 
quickly, preparing himself for the inevitable 
verbal onslaught.

     Instead, she let her head drop back down and 
let out a frustrated sigh. "Okay, Mulder, I'll listen."

     "And you promise you won't try to run away?" 
He hoped she didn't still think she was 
hallucinating.

     "Yes, yes, yes, I promise." She said impatiently 
as she tried to push herself up to a half-sitting 
position. "Now just take this fucking thing off me."

     Well, that was the best he could hope for. He 
knelt down and unlocked the handcuffs from the 
pipe. He figured he could always slap it on his 
own wrist if she tried to run, but she just sat up 
and slung her bare legs over the side of the cot. 
Mulder knelt before her now. 

     The mattress smelled musty, like it had been 
stored in a basement. But the smell was 
underlain by the sweet fragrance of bath oils and 
fabric softener that permeated Scully's bathrobe. 
Only on rare occasions had he smelled the 
fragrance-before on a case once when she had 
just come out of the shower, and she answered 
the door to her hotel room in her robe; when he 
had been in her bathroom at her home; in her 
bed? That didn't seem right, he thought. 

     Occasionally, he caught a whiff when she 
walked by him in the office, and it would make his 
head spin for a moment. It was sexy and innocent 
all at the same time, something forbidden yet 
exclusively his, and at this moment it brought 
back some forgotten erotic memory. He tried to 
push it into the recesses of his mind, along with 
some new thoughts he was suddenly having 
about the handcuffs.

     Holding her handcuffed hand in one of his, he 
turned her wrist and placed the key in the lock. 
The cuff opened with a small click, and he 
removed it while still holding onto her wrist, 
letting the metal links fall beside her on the cot. 
She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly and 
began gently massaging the feeling back into her 
hand. Her skin was soft to the touch, although her 
wrist was beginning to show a red welt where the 
cuffs had held her. He never looked up from their 
hands as he began to speak.

     "Scully, I'm sorry. About this mess, the fight, 
everything. You were right, and I should have 
listened to you. And I shouldn't have removed 
you from the case. You weren't doing a shitty job. 
I just wasn't ready to accept what you had to say." 
He still wasn't sure if he accepted all of it, but 
Danjou had convinced him that at least 
something about her dreams was real. He 
continued to knead her wrist and hand. "But I'm 
willing to listen now."

     She pulled her hand away, only without as 
much violence as she had before. This time, he 
let it go. He stayed squatted before her, moving 
his hand to the cot on either side of her hips for 
support. His fingers brushed the terry cloth of her 
robe. For the first time, he looked up at her.

     She had her head lowered, mere inches from 
his, watching her hand as she flexed it open and 
closed. Her hair hung down and blocked half of 
her face. She leaned in closer, and her breast 
brushed against the inside of his upper arm. She 
whispered, "Is that why you had me drugged and 
kidnapped? So you could apologize?"

     He icy voice was in stark contrast to the 
warmth of her breath on his ear. He closed his 
eyes as he clenched his fists into the blanket on 
the cot, willing the growing pressure in his groin 
to go away. It wasn't working. She has no idea 
what she's doing to me, he thought. Then he was 
struck with the even more exhilarating thought 
that maybe she did. He turned his head slightly 
towards hers, trying not to whimper as his nose 
and mouth brushed against her hair. 

     "A fucking phone call would have worked just 
as well." She practically spit the words at him as 
she leaned back.

     Mulder's eyes shot open at the venom in her 
voice. Oh, she had known exactly what she was 
doing, all right. That was just cruel. He couldn't 
believe that she actually said that, after all the 
calls he had tried to make. "I must have called 
you a hundred times yesterday, but you never 
answered."

     She rolled her eyes at what she obviously felt 
was a lie. He curbed his desire to raise his voice 
and argue the point. He thought that he almost 
had her calmed down. If he backtracked now, he 
might never get her back. "Look, if I had known 
they were going to sedate you, I never would 
have called them. You know that I would never 
do anything to intentionally endanger you or the 
baby. Its just that you were in danger, still may be, 
I think, and..."

     He trailed off as he realized Scully was 
clutching her abdomen. The anger he had seen 
in her eyes had been replaced with guilty panic.

     "Scully?" he asked. Then it dawned on him. 
The baby. In her delirium, she must have 
forgotten about the risk the drug posed to the 
baby. "Scully, it's okay, the anesthetic they used 
was harmless..."

     But it was obvious she wasn't listening. She 
suddenly stood, but from his squatting position, 
he was able to grab her around the waist and 
hold her back tight against his chest. She started 
to pull away, murder for the men in the next room 
on her mind.

     "What the fuck did you morons give me? What 
did you do to my baby?"

     "Scully, it's okay! We looked it up! It's a class 
B! Diprivan!" Mulder hoped her medical training 
would surface through the rage of maternal 
hormones he was witnessing struggle in his 
arms. Evidently it was working, because he felt 
her struggle lessen, and she began repeating the 
name of the drug herself. He could almost hear 
the gears whirling in her head as she categorized 
the drug and accessed the pharmacological 
resources in her mind. She finally stopped 
struggling all together.

     "Class B." She was mumbling more to herself 
than him. "Studies must show it's safe." She took 
a few deep breaths as Mulder continued to hold 
her. Then she began shaking with silent sobs. 
Mulder sat her down on the bed, and she 
collapsed against his chest.

     "God,...I'm...I'm... go...going...to be...a 
lou...lousy...mother." He could barely make our 
her words as she gulped air.

     He placed an arm around her shoulder, 
stunned by her sudden transformation. A few 
minutes ago, she had been ready to rip out his 
lungs through his chest cavity. Now, she was 
wiping her nose on his shirt. One of the side 
effects of the sedatives had to be wild mood 
swings, and they didn't get much wilder than this. 
He held her and patted her back until the sobs 
began to subside.

     "You'll make a wonderful mother," he said in 
an awkwardly cheerful voice.

     "No, I won't. I can't even protect myself from 
those idiots. How am I supposed to keep my baby 
safe in the real world?"

     Mulder stroked her hair in what he hoped was 
a soothing manner. "I think" he said somewhat 
hesitantly, "that's supposed to be my job."

     

     

     She was finding Mulder's 
behavior...spooky...even for him. First, he 
apologized. Apologized! Fox Mulder never, ever 
admits he's wrong. Time had taught her that 
lesson over and over again. 

     She had done her best to keep her face from 
revealing the shock she felt at his apology. 
Although, he hadn't eliminated her anger, just 
brought it down several notches. To a 
more...appropriate level.

     Okay, let's face it, she thought. Nothing she 
had done since waking up had been on an 
appropriate level. She prided herself on her 
control, her ability to remain distanced from her 
emotions in even the most tense situation. Boy, 
she had blown that facade tonight. Not that 
Mulder necessarily believed that she was the Ice 
Queen everyone at the Bureau thought she was, 
but he rarely had seen her completely lose it in 
the years they had worked together. Anesthetic or 
no anesthetic, she would like to have kept it that 
way. And now...

     Dana sat on the dilapidated sofa in the corner 
of what she guessed could be called a living 
room. If you could call the room she had been in 
for the last few hours a bathroom, then this could 
definitely be a living room. After she had 
regained her composure, Mulder had led her by 
the hand into the room, sat her on the sofa, and 
ran out to his car to get his briefcase. He had 
practically been bursting to tell her the latest 
developments and his theory on the Miami 
disappearances. 

     Great, she thought, here he goes bouncing 
ideas off of me like nothing has happened. It 
made her a little angry at him for assuming that 
she would still care about the case. And at herself 
for letting him take advantage of her so quickly 
after their reconciliation. If she had come to any 
conclusions in the past two days, it was that there 
were now more important things in her life than 
being a workaholic. And she could almost kick 
herself for slipping back into that mode the first 
time Mulder tempted her with it.

     But another feeling was overwhelming her 
even more. Now that she was quickly coming 
down, she was terribly embarrassed by her 
behavior, regardless of its causes. My God, she 
thought, she was a medical doctor and a FBI 
agent. She should be able to control herself 
better, even if she was under the influence of a 
hypnotic agent. 

     When Mulder stood up to lead her out of the 
bathroom, she had caught sight of the Lone 
Gunmen jumping back from the doorway, where 
they had been listening to the whole 
conversation. Not to mention listening to her 
ranting for the last few hours. Regardless of 
whether or not they showed her any remorse for 
their overzealousness in getting her out of her 
apartment, she still felt embarrassed. Even now 
they were busy trying to look nonchalant, like 
they hadn't noticed that the always professional 
Agent Scully had gone ballistic on them. 

     And to top it all off, Mulder had introduced her 
to Father Michaels right before running out the 
door. A priest! She had been cursing literally like 
a sailor, and there was a priest listening to 
everything! She had immediately apologized for 
her language, but Father Michaels didn't seem to 
care one way or another.

     It wasn't like he hadn't heard those words 
before, she kept telling herself. She just wished 
he hadn't heard those particular expletives from 
her mouth. But just because he was a priest 
didn't mean he lived in a cave. She knew that. In 
fact, she had known some pretty partying priests 
in her life. And to look at Father Michaels...

     Not that she doubted he was a priest. Okay, 
maybe she did have her doubts. After all, this was 
Mulder and the Lone Gunmen she was dealing 
with. Their idea of a priest was probably a cross 
between Father Guido Sardoucci and the 
Exorcist. At least she was relatively sure that was 
the extent of Mulder's exposure to the Catholic 
Church. And she never assumed anything with 
Byers, Langly, and Frohike.

     The tension in the room was smothering her. 
She sat on the sofa staring at her hands, waiting 
for Mulder to get back. No one was talking to 
anyone. And all eyes were on her.

     She raised her eyes when she heard the door 
open. Mulder walked into the room, briefcase in 
hand. She had to admit, she was curious. Hadn't 
he said something about her being in danger? 
And when had he returned from Miami? Not that 
she was going to ask him these questions. She 
knew he would answer her questions on his own, 
in his own ostentatious way. She just had to wait 
him out.

     Mulder sat down on the sofa next to her and 
popped open his briefcase, pulling out what she 
immediately recognized as the Miami case file. It 
was nearly triple the size it had been when she 
had left three days ago. Apparently, there really 
had been some developments. 

     The Lone Gunmen and Father Michaels were 
congregating around them. She glanced at them 
irritated, not necessarily wanting this 
conversation to be shared. Like she had any 
choice.

     As if on cue, Mulder turned to her and began. 
"After you left Miami, the six remaining women 
returned, completely unharmed, but unable to 
remember anything about the seven months they 
were missing."

     Dana raised an eyebrow and opened her 
mouth slightly. This was not how she was 
expecting him to start. In fact, this development 
was not what she was expecting at all. When she 
had left Miami, she was sure they would find the 
other six women dead sooner or later.

     Frohike had brought a milk crate and piece of 
plywood over from the corner of the room, sitting 
it on the floor in front of the sofa to make a 
makeshift table. Byers now placed a large brown 
paper bag on the floor next to it and began to 
unpack its contents. An assortment of muffins and 
bagels, pint-sized milk cartons, and Styrofoam 
cups of juice and coffee began to appear on the 
table. Luckily, they appeared to all be pretty close 
to the appropriate temperatures. She was hungry 
and starting to get a little nauseous again. At 
least they had planned on feeding her.

     Mulder continued while reaching for a bagel 
and a napkin. "All except one, who local 
authorities believed to be delusional. She was 
identified as Hellene Bonnelle. Only when I 
spoke with her, she claimed that was no longer 
her name. She and her six 'sisters' had taken the 
name of a single man, a man who had 'cleansed' 
them."

     She listened, not realizing that Mulder had sat 
the bagel on the napkin and placed it on the sofa 
next to her, until he motioned for her to eat it. She 
picked it up and took a bite just as Father 
Michaels cut in.

     "That's a reference to Isaiah 4:1- the sisters 
of Zion," the priest said. "And in that day seven 
women shall take hold of one man, saying, 'We 
will eat our own food and wear our own apparel; 
only let us be called by your name, to take away 
our reproach.'"

     "Yes, I'm familiar with the verse," Mulder 
replied. He was now sticking a straw into a cup of 
orange juice and handing it to Dana. "But she 
also made reference to 'seven sevens'."

     "No, no, no," Father Michaels shot back. "In the 
book of Isaiah, there are only one set of seven 
sisters mentioned. This Hellene Bonnelle has her 
scriptures confused."

     "No, I don't think so, Father. The same day the 
six Miami women returned, the body of another 
woman, Sarah James, a member of the Mormon 
church, was found in Utah." Mulder turned to 
Dana and handed her a carton of milk. "Scully, 
she was killed by a blunt trauma to the head, 
shortly after giving birth. Her baby was found a 
few miles away, also dead by unknown means. 
Sound familiar? Only this woman went missing 
exactly one month after Genevieve Baptiste." 
Langly handed her a cup of coffee, but Mulder 
smoothly intercepted it and handed it back to 
Langly with a disapproving shake of his head. "A 
data search revealed that six other Mormon 
women were reported missing in the two days 
before James disappeared." 

     "Sounds like some sort of out-of-control 
Lamaze class to me," Frohike snickered. She and 
Mulder both shot him a look.

     Mulder grabbed a muffin and began devouring 
it, still talking between bites. "Another factor in 
both of these disappearances is that both groups 
of women disappeared on or directly before the 
new moon." Bite. "That's two sets of seven 
women from two different religions all missing on 
the new moon. Another data search revealed 
seven Hindu women went missing the following 
new moon, seven Buddhist women the next 
month, and finally seven Catholic women two 
months ago."

     He had stopped, and she realized he was 
waiting for her to make a comment. Honestly, she 
had only been half-listening to him since he had 
handed her the milk. It was a perfect example of 
the second reason Mulder was acting spooky. He 
was hovering over her like a mother hen.

     Ever since he had made that comment back in 
the bathroom about the safety of the baby being 
his job, she had been quietly simmering. She 
had originally wonder what that comment was all 
about. Face it, the last thing she needed was 
Mulder taking care of her and the baby. My God, 
the man couldn't even keep fish alive. 

     About the time he had handed her the milk, 
she had realized with raised eyebrows exactly 
what he was doing. The bagel, the juice, the 
denied coffee...he was taking care of her. Not a 
partnerly kind of care, like looking out for each 
others' backs, but a nurturing, protective kind of 
care. And she was outraged by this. How dare he 
even assume that she needed his care! Not to 
mention, she had uncomfortably noticed Father 
Michaels intently eying this exchange.

     She didn't know if Mulder even had a right to 
feel this way. Yes, the conception had occurred 
when she was having the dreams about Mulder, 
but that didn't make Mulder the father, did it? This 
was a question that had been spinning around in 
her head since she left Miami. The whole thing 
was so completely surreal. She really didn't know 
how she felt about this possibility, or even if she 
accepted it as a possibility.

     Her uncertainty had made her jump at Dr. 
Lipton's advice to have an amniocentesis as 
soon as possible. The doctor had recommended 
it because of her age, but she had insisted it be 
done immediately because she needed to know 
exactly what she was dealing with. This was a 
pregnancy that she had only very recently begun 
to believe, but she still didn't assume that the 
fetus was genetically hers, or hers and Mulder's, 
or even naturally occurring. And after the 
procedure, she had managed to take a sample of 
the amniotic fluid herself. Dr. Lipton would send a 
portion out for the normal tests, but Dana needed 
a much more detailed genetic breakdown. 
Besides, the doctor would have looked at her 
incredulously if she had told her what she 
wanted.

     She had taken the sample to a friend at 
Georgetown School of Medicine, asking for a 
complete DNA breakdown. Including the data 
needed to compare genetic markers against the 
anonymous RFLPs she had provided. Both a 
maternity and a paternity test. Whether or not this 
fetus turned out to be hers, she needed to at least 
eliminate the one possibility she had for the 
father. Luckily, her friend didn't ask where the 
sample had come from. And Dana had led her 
friend to believe it was for a case she was 
working on. 

     The results would be back later today. Another 
advantage of having a geneticist for a friend. You 
couldn't beat the turn around time. Meanwhile, 
she had pushed the nervousness and uncertainty 
down to a place where she didn't have to deal 
with it. Yet.

     Dana pulled Mulder's last few sentences out of 
the air and back into her head. Quickly, she 
counted and realized she could easily debunk 
this theory he was leading up to. "That's only six 
groups of seven, Mulder," she told him point 
blank.

     "Exactly." There was that scoreboard going off 
in his eyes again. For a moment she was 
relieved. The old Mulder had made a temporary 
comeback. "So, I went back a month before the 
women in Miami went missing. A coven of seven 
Wiccan practitioners went missing in Northern 
California that new moon." Another bite of muffin. 
"No one in the area really thought much about it 
because they were a reclusive group." 

     "You know how outgoing those Wiccan covens 
can be," Byers interjected. 

     Mulder just kept going over top of him. "But last 
month, seven months after their disappearance, 
they all returned except one. She was never 
found. However, three weeks ago the body of an 
infant was found by some climbers in a 
snowbank on Mount Shasta. I'll give you 10 to 1, 
Scully, that when the snow finally thaws, the 
mother will be found as well."

     "I don't like your odds, Mulder," she replied 
dryly. Okay, she thought, maybe he did have 
something.

     "And now," he continued without 
acknowledging her comment, "the second set of 
women have shown up in Miami complete with a 
dead mother and child. Seven months after they 
went missing." He popped the last bite of muffin 
into his mouth.

     Oh, he was damn cocky all right. She looked 
over at the Lone Gunmen and Father Michaels. 
They were all eating, intently listening to their 
conversation. All, that is, except Langly, who was 
doodling on a napkin. Mulder with a captive 
audience was almost unbearable. 

     Mulder's bravado made the skeptic in her go 
into overdrive. "But Mulder, surely someone 
would have noticed this pattern before now."

     "That"s just it. The missing women have been 
from increasingly-wide geographical areas. They 
began with the coven in California. Then the 
Vodun in Miami, which is a rather small 
community. Then the Mormons, whose larger 
populations are mainly limited to the western 
United States. By the time we reach the seventh 
group, the Catholic women, they are pretty much 
spread out everywhere."

     "But why just the United States?" This 
comment had come from Langly. Apparently, he 
was paying attention.

     "A country that was founded on the principles 
of religious freedom?" Mulder asked, grabbing a 
cup of coffee. "What better place to choose?"

     "There's another flaw in your pattern." Scully 
noticed that all the eyes were once again on her. 
"The woman in Utah was only missing six 
months, not seven."

     "I was just getting to that, Dr. Scully." Mulder 
reached into the forgotten case file and pulled out 
what she recognized to be an autopsy report. He 
waved it in her face. "The autopsy report on the 
newborn indicated a low birth weight and 
incomplete development of the heart. Wouldn't 
that suggest a premature birth? Maybe the baby 
wasn't meant to born until next month."

     She took the report from him and began to 
read over it. The Utah coroner didn't made any 
conclusions based on those findings. "Four 
weeks premature would be hard to identify, 
Mulder."

     Mulder continued. "Look, if I'm right and if the 
pattern holds, we'll be seeing these sets of 
women resurfacing, with one from each group 
dead, over the next five months."

     "So, do you think the same person is taking 
these women?" She had asked this without 
looking up from the report. "The MO doesn't 
exactly suggest your run-of-the-mill serial killer."

      "That's just it, Scully. I don't think these 
women were taken. I think they left on their own. I 
think the six who returned originally left to protect 
the one who was pregnant."

     She looked at him incredulously. "Well, they 
obviously haven't done a very good job." It came 
out in a rush of air, almost on an unbelieving 
chuckle.

     "Maybe they have. At least they think so. 
Hellene Bonnelle said something-that a soul 
cannot be stolen if it is set free. I think these 
women believe they are saving the soul of the 
pregnant woman, or the child, by killing her 
before the soul could be stolen." He took a gulp 
of coffee.

     Oh, he was laying it on thick now. "Stolen by 
whom?" She made a point of returning the 
autopsy report to the folder, closing it, and 
scooting it back towards him on the sofa.

     Mulder shrugged and shook his head. "Evil?" 
That was all she needed to hear. She raised a 
hand in front of him to let him know he'd taken 
them far enough into the Twilight Zone, and she 
wasn't going to follow him any farther. He just 
scooted towards her and continued. "Look, I 
know it sounds crazy, but Bonnelle said 
something else. That death is sometimes 
necessary for life. What if these women who have 
already died, and the ones who are probably 
going to die, believe they are doing so for a 
greater good? Maybe they are some sort of 
modern day martyrs."

     "Revelation." She and Mulder both startled at 
Father Michaels' interruption. For a moment, she 
had gotten so caught up in their exchange that 
she had forgotten anyone else was listening. She 
could tell by Mulder's reaction that he had 
forgotten as well. When the priest had their full 
attention, he continued. "What you're talking 
about is a reference to the book of Revelation, 
although you seem to be combining various 
passages. The martyrs refer to the fifth seal. 
'When He opened the fifth seal, I saw under the 
altar the souls of those who had been slain for 
the word of God and for the testimony which they 
held.'"

     Mulder picked where Father Michaels left off. 
"And they cried with a loud voice, saying "How 
long, O Lord, holy and true, until You judge and 
avenge our blood on those who dwell on the 
earth?'" Where did he learn these things 
anyway? Okay, she knew he had an incredible 
memory. But she had a hard time imagining 
Mulder sitting around reading Revelation for fun. 
On second thought, maybe she could.

     Father Michaels was obviously surprised and 
impressed with Mulder's ability to spout off 
biblical text, as if in answer to a challenge. He 
began where Mulder left off. "And a white robe 
was given to each of them; and it was said to 
them that they should rest a little while longer, 
until both the number of their fellow servants and 
their brethren, who would be killed as they were, 
was complete." They reminded Dana of some 
sort of biblical dueling banjos.

     Mulder was absorbed in thought for a half a 
second. Then she could almost see the light bulb 
go off in his eyes, and he got very excited. "White 
robes...both dead women were found covered 
with white - salt in Miami, a white bed sheet in 
Utah."

     "The missing California woman is probably 
covered in snow," Byers added. "Don't forget 
her." He was excited, too. Great, they were all 
wrapped up in Mulder's evangelical theory. Once 
again, she was the only rational one in the room.

     "I don't know if you could necessarily call the 
snow on Mount Shasta white." That had come 
from who else but Frohike.

    "Oh, yeah, and what color would you call it?" 
Langly seemed almost upset by this.

     "Acid rain gray?" Frohike offered.

     "The hougan and Bonnelle both spoke of 
completing the number. Maybe that is what they 
meant." Mulder was talking to himself under his 
breath. Hougan? Where did that come from?

     "The seven different religions may refer to 
Revelation 2 and 3," Father Michaels asserted to 
shut the Gunmen up. "The book of Revelation is 
written as a letter from the Apostle John to the 
seven churches of Asia. Many modern scholars 
argue that these seven churches actually 
represent present-day global religious beliefs."

     "If I were going to pick seven major world 
religions, I don't think Wicca and Voodoo would 
top my list, Mulder." She was ready to put an end 
to this fairy tale.

     "Why not, Scully?" He just smiled back at her. 
Obviously, he didn't share her point of view.

     "Regardless, you're basing this whole theory 
on a women who is probably suffering from some 
sort of Jerusalem syndrome caused by post..." 
She stopped herself. She had almost rubbed salt 
into her own wounds with that one. She looked 
up at Mulder and realized she had stopped too 
late. He had silently finished her sentence 
anyway and was staring at her with a "don't go 
there" look on his face.

     "But what your talking about is absurd." Father 
Michaels was shaking his head and seemed a 
little upset by this. "This is about portents of the 
Armageddon, the filling of Biblical prophecy. I 
think someone is playing a joke on you."

     "Don't you think this is alot of trouble to go to 
for a joke? Besides, this is the only explanation 
that makes any sense." Mulder was taken aback 
by the priest's dismissal of his theory. It was one 
thing for her to debunk his theories. That was her 
job. He had come to expect it from her. But she 
knew that if anyone else questioned his beliefs, 
no matter how crazy they sounded, he became 
immediately defensive. 

     "Look, I agreed to help you because I trusted 
the Lone Gunmen." Father Michaels was rising 
now and heading towards the door. "They have 
been good to me and tried to help my cause. But 
you don't need a priest, you need a psychiatrist. I 
have more important things to do with my time." 
Mulder was following the priest to the door, 
determined not to let him leave. Father Michaels 
opened the door and turned to Frohike. "Lock up 
when you're done."

     "Have you had any strange dreams lately, 
Father?" Mulder was standing about three feet 
behind Father Michaels, who had stopped dead 
in his tracks with Mulder's question. He shut the 
door and turned around to look at Mulder with a 
stricken look on his face.

     "Mulder," she asked, standing up and walking 
over to his side, "what are you talking about?" 
The only strange dreams she knew of were her 
own, and Mulder knew next to nothing about 
those. And she wasn't sure he even believed 
what little she had told him. 

     Mulder turned to her and said, "The dreams, 
Scully. You've had them, and I've had them, 
although they were not nearly as entertaining as 
yours obviously were." For a moment she wasn't 
sure if that was a jab or an acknowledgement. 
Then her confusion gave way to open-mouth 
shock as his revelation that he had also been 
having strange dreams sunk in.

     Mulder turned back to the priest and said, "And 
by the look on the good Padres face, I'd say he 
has too. Dreams are an important aspect of every 
religion. They are believed to be omens, provide 
insight and understanding, reveal a glimpse into 
the future. In the Bible alone, there are multiple 
references to dreams providing the link directly to 
the word of God." He turned back to her, put a 
hand on her upper arm, and quietly continued. "I 
met with the hougan from the Vodun ritual we 
attended." He stopped for a moment and looked 
at her as if to say you remember the hougan, 
don't you? How could she forget? "He told me 
how important our dreams were. How we can't 
ignore them, or we'll fail. If I had paid attention to 
mine, I might have been able to stop your rape." 
A look of anguish washed over his face.

     "Mulder..." She wanted to reassure him that 
she didn't hold him responsible for what had 
happen to her. She knew he lived in a perpetual 
state of guilt and didn't want this added to it.

     He interrupted her. "But I think that by 
becoming aware of them now, I stopped 
whatever might have happened to you last night. 
And whatever might happen over the next couple 
of night."

     Oh, yeah, we're back to that again. Sometime 
his thoughts skipped around so quickly that it 
took all her concentration to follow him. She had 
wondered when he was going to get around to 
why he believed she needed to be pulled out of 
her apartment in the middle of the night. "And 
exactly what do you think might have 
happened?"

     "I don't know exactly. I just know that you are 
the next woman in danger."

     "Are you implying that somehow I fit into all of 
this?" Now she was really confused. "That 
somehow this evil you're talking about is after 
me?" For a moment, she had believed him. Now 
she had to smile and shake her head. This "was" 
absurd. 

     She turned to walk away from him, but he 
followed her saying, "The new moon is upon us, 
Scully. The danger is still real."

     She turned around to tell him that he gone off 
the deep end, but only got out an exasperated 
"Mulder" before his attention was again focused 
on Father Michaels.

     "The hougan also said there is strength in 
three." Mulder's look was pleading with the priest 
for some answers to all this. She thought for sure 
that the father would just continue his departure, 
but instead he seemed genuinely affected by 
what Mulder was saying. She watched with wide, 
unbelieving eyes as Father Michaels started back 
towards the place where he had been sitting 
around the table. On his way, he took Mulder's 
arm and led him to the crate as well.

     The priest sat cross-legged on the floor with 
Mulder squatting next to him. They were 
speaking quietly to one another, and out of 
curiosity she came up behind them. She 
wondered if they were discussing their dreams, 
but when she got close enough to hear what they 
were saying, she realized that the topic was 
again back to the "seven sevens." She stood 
behind them and looked from them to Langly, 
Byers, and Frohike. The Gunmen had listened 
relatively quietly to the whole conversation, which 
was completely uncharacteristic. And now they 
were astutely listening to Mulder and Father 
Michaels with the most serious looks on their 
faces. Like they were discussing the Kennedy 
assassination instead of the end of the world.

     Frohike looked up at her and smiled. She 
smiled back and shook her head again. She 
really was the only rational, sane person in this 
room. The only one not swept away by Mulder's 
enthusiasm for a good, spooky theory, no matter 
how unreasonable it was.

     Mulder gestured for Byers to pull an item out of 
his briefcase. It was a large Miami Beach 
calendar, complete with color photos of scantily 
clad women. If they had not been in the presence 
of Father Michaels, she was sure the 
conversation would have digressed to the 
"assets" of each calendar model. Instead, Mulder 
very seriously began flipping through the 
calendar, pointing out the dates of the new moon 
that he had marked with large red "Xs." The first 
two months corresponded to the two groups of 
seven women, six alive and one dead, that had 
already returned. He then began flipping through 
the next few months, each new moon date 
marked with an identical red "X" and the name of 
a religion.

     Father Michaels took the calendar out of 
Mulder's hands and began looking through it 
himself. "All right," he finally said, "there have 
been seven months of women disappearing, and, 
if you are right, there will be seven months of 
women showing up dead. What comes next?"

     She watched as the priest flipped past the 
seventh X and turned the page to the next month. 
Despite the topless woman holding her breast 
and staring at the camera seductively, Dana eyes 
were immediately drawn to the date Mulder had 
made an notation on in black ink pen: "Next new 
moon. Does pattern repeat?" And the smirk on 
her face disappeared, along momentarily with a 
good bit of her skepticism. Even if Mulder's theory 
was total insanity, the date marked sent chills 
over her. Unconsciously, she gasped, and they 
all turned to look at her questioningly. She 
pointed down at the date on the calendar and 
found herself answering the priest's question.

     "My due date."



     Living with denial is like building a house of 
playing cards. As each card is piled on, the 
house becomes larger and more and more 
fragile. Take a card from the middle or bottom 
and the house will crumble. Take a card from the 
top, the house waivers but for the most part still 
stands. Until the house becomes too big to 
support itself, and it will fall regardless of how 
careful the builder has been.

     Her life was that house of cards. Denial after 
denial piled on top of themselves. Each new 
denial had become necessary to support the 
ones that were already in place. It had begun 
before her assignment to the X-files, but the 
house had increased in size tenfold since she 
had met Mulder. Now it was a necessity to 
continue building the house, for fear that it would 
crumble around her if she didn't. She kept piling 
the cards on, thinking that someday she would 
start to peel them back off, cautiously, one card at 
a time. When she had more time to deal with the 
consequences of her building. But that someday 
had never come.

     Through all the horrors she had witness, 
through all the horrors that had been done to her, 
she kept building. And the house had grown to 
monstrous proportions. Sometimes she felt it 
inside of her, quaking, ready to crumble at any 
moment. 

     She didn't realize that moment had arrived 
until the cards laid at her feet, scattered in every 
direction.

     

     Mulder was staring out the windshield, quietly 
tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the song 
playing on the radio. They had driven in complete 
silence since leaving the tenement. In fact, they 
had hardly said one word to each other since she 
had made her discover about her due date. And 
now, he was doing his best not to look at her. His 
face totally expressionless.

     She watched him in uncomfortable silence, 
wondering how she was going to bring this up. 
She was relatively sure he didn't think she 
believed him, but she wanted to make absolutely 
sure that her shock at the coincidence of her due 
date and the eighth new moon wasn't perceived 
the wrong way. She still thought this theory of his 
was totally out in left field.

     Well, he was obviously waiting for her to say 
something. She took a deep breath.

     "You know, Mulder, I think you're 
overreacting."

     "Oh, how's that, Scully?" He said it as 
unreadable as his face, his eyes never leaving 
the road.

     "Well..." She took another deep breath. "I think 
you're upset, and this whole story about the new 
moon and the missing women somehow being 
related to my pregnancy is..." She stopped, 
searching for the right word. "...Is lunacy, pardon 
the pun."

     He just kept staring at the road, slowly 
absorbing her words. They drove again in 
silence.

     She had just resigned herself to the fact that 
he wasn't going to respond when he said, "Just 
what is it that I am upset about?"

     "I don't know Mulder. Feeling guilty about my 
attack? Our fight? These dreams you claim to be 
having? You tell me." 

     "You don't think I'm telling the truth about my 
dreams?" He was now looking at her, only 
glancing at the road. It made her nervous when 
he drove like this. 

     "No, I do believe you have been 
experiencing...something. I just don't think that 
you're receiving some kind of omen from God."

     "Oh." That was all he said, and he turned all of 
his attention back to the road.

     After another long, uncomfortable silence, she 
asked, "So, are you going to tell me?"

     "What?"

     "About your dreams. What they were about?"

     "Why? According to you, they're some sort of 
psychological manifestation cause by guilt. A 
guilt so overwhelming that I'm probably on the 
verge of some kind of breakdown. Where I 
believe myself to be Joseph, you the Virgin Mary, 
and Byers, Langly, and Frohike the three magi. 
And any moment now, I'm going to start walking 
up and down Pennsylvania Avenue with a sign 
proclaiming the apocalypse is upon us. A claim I 
can only substantiate with statements from 
various delusional members of the Vodun 
community, the totally unexplainable coincidence 
of seven sets of missing women, and the fact that 
my partner, who is barren, now claims to be 
carrying my child even though I haven't laid a 
hand on her. Like you said, Scully. It's fucking 
lunacy." The only thing that had betrayed his 
emotionless demeanor was his voice. It was 
controlled fury.

     Well, that certainly explained how he felt. But 
he didn't have to say it in such a smart ass way. 
His venom had cause her to scoot as far over 
towards her door as she could without 
unbuckling her seat belt. 

     She knew she shouldn't. She should just keep 
her mouth shut, get out at her apartment, and let 
the whole matter resolve itself. But she just 
couldn't let it slide.

     "What do you mean, I claim to be carrying your 
child? I never said I thought it was your baby."

     "Didn't you?" This was punctuated with a 
sideways glance at her.

     Had she led him to believe that? Maybe. Did 
she believe that? She didn't know. Nor did she 
even want to tackle that question, especially 
when the results from the amino would be back 
later today. So, she just pushed it out of her mind.

     Luckily, they arrived at her apartment a few 
minutes later. He pulled up in front, and she 
started to hop out. Then she realized he had 
turned off the engine. For a moment, she couldn't 
believe he intended to go inside with her. She 
got out, slammed the door, and put both hands 
on the top of the car, waiting for his head to 
emerge.

     "Look, Mulder," she began slowly when he 
rose out of the car, "I know you think that I am in 
some sort of danger..." He started to interrupt her, 
but she held a hand up and stopped him. "...BUT, 
I assure you that I can make it the 50 feet to my 
apartment in broad daylight without getting 
attacked by the forces of evil." My God, how many 
times had he dropped her off here in the middle 
of the night without even offering to walk her to 
the door?

     "Like it or not, Scully, I don't intend to let you 
out of my sight for the next two days." He said it 
with a smug look and something else she wasn't 
sure of. Was it fear?

     She smiled at her first thought in spite of 
herself. "That should make going to the bathroom 
interesting." Luckily, it broke the tension. 

     He smiled back. "Ooo, I love it when you talk 
dirty to me, Scully."

     She rolled her eyes and began to walk to her 
building, with Mulder about 2 steps behind her. At 
the front door, he stepped in front of her to open it 
and led her through with his hand on the small of 
her back.

     When she had insisted that she needed to 
return home, Mulder had hesitated. Finally, she 
had told him that she couldn't walk around in her 
pajamas all day and at least would like to put on 
some clothes. But it was really just an excuse to 
get out of there.

     She had hoped that once back at her 
apartment, he would leave her to go back and 
play the Biblical prophesy guessing game with 
Father Michaels and the three techno-apostles. 
She had had enough of listening to their half-
baked theories, complete with theological 
debates on the role of evil in the twentieth 
century. Somehow, Frohike had managed to 
wrap both World Wars, the assassinations of the 
Kennedys and Martin Luther King, Jr., the rise 
and fall of communism, and Hanson and the 
Spice Girls into an apocalyptic package that was 
fueled by the Jewish mafia and several Fortune-
500 corporations. She still didn't completely 
follow his logic, if you could call it that, even after 
standing there listening to him. The scary part 
was, everyone but her nodded in agreement with 
his observations. 

     She knew Byers, Frohike, Langly, and Father 
Michaels were only a few minutes behind them 
driving what they referred to as the decoy vehicle. 
She called it a white service van. Not exactly an 
inconspicuous choice. With a sigh, she realized 
they'd probably invite themselves in, too.

     As she approached the door to her apartment, 
she became a little apprehensive. Her front door 
was slightly ajar. If the Lone Gunmen had 
forgotten to close the door and anything had 
been stolen, she was going to kill them.

     She was just about the push the door open 
when Mulder's arm came down in front of her. He 
silently motioned for her to stand behind him and 
pulled his gun out of his jacket. Almost as an 
afterthought, he reached back into his jacket, 
pulled out her gun as well, and handed to her. 
She looked down at it hesitantly; after all, she 
wasn't officially a FBI agent right now. But she 
took it anyway and put her back to the wall with 
her gun ready as Mulder kicked the door open.

     Mulder cautiously walked through the door, 
sweeping the room in front of him with his gun. 
She waited outside quietly until his hand came 
back out, motioning her to follow. 

     Dana rounded the corner of her front door and 
stopped in her tracks. She didn't even hear the 
sound of her gun falling to the floor beside her.

     Her house of cards had crumbled.

     


     

     Mulder looked back and saw Scully stopped 
short in the doorway. Her apartment was beyond 
chaos. Furniture was not only toppled, but was 
mangled and torn. The remnants of drawers and 
shelves, papers, and books covered the floor. 
Cushions had been slit open by what he at first 
believed was a large knife. But when he looked 
again, he noticed that the slits were in parallel 
sets, as if clawed by an animal-a very large 
animal.

     He couldn't help but fell a little satisfaction that 
he had been vindicated, and Scully had been in 
danger. The only things that kept the smug grin 
from his face were the thought of what would 
have happened if Danjou hadn't warned him and 
the look on Scully's face. It was the look of a 
person who had experienced one shock too 
many. He walked over to her and put his hands 
on her shoulders, intent on leading her to....to 
where? There wasn't a piece of furniture left to sit 
on.

     "Scully?" he asked because he really didn't 
know what else to say.

     She seemed to snap out of her initial shock at 
the sound of her name. She shrugged gently out 
of his hands. "I"m okay," she said in a monotone 
while surveying the destruction around her.

     He knew what she was doing, looking for 
anything that might have survived while mentally 
preparing for the undeniable fact that everything 
was lost. He had done the same thing when he 
had entered the basement office to find the X-files 
charred and water soaked. He watched her as 
she moved wraith-like toward a toppled 
bookshelf. She almost tripped over an unnoticed 
table leg, but she did little more than looked 
down and kept walking.

     "Holy moly!" 

     Frohike's words from the doorway reminded 
him that the guys and the priest had been in the 
car behind them. They began a sort of sweep of 
the room. Looking under debris for some clue to 
who or what did this.

     "Do you smell that?" Langly asked while 
wrinkling his nose. "It smells like wet dog."

     Byers held up the phone, tracing the end of the 
cable to the wall. "The phone is dead, even 
though it is still plugged in. Must be cut outside.  
I'll go check it out."

     Mulder heard all of this only peripherally. 
Some part of his mind registered that the cut 
phone line would explain why he couldn't reach 
Scully the day before. Most of his attention, 
however, was focused solely on his partner. He 
didn't take his eyes off her as she squatted and 
dug through the pile that had once been books. 
She picked up half of a hardback book, the front 
binding hanging limply from the pages. With an 
almost frantic motion, she rummaged until she 
found the other half. She carefully placed the two 
halves together and began dusting off the cover.

     Hold it together, Scully, he thought, and for a 
moment he thought she would. Then her 
shoulders slumped, and she clutched the book to 
her chest. He made his way over to her and knelt 
in front of her, placing a reassuring hand on her 
arm. She never looked up, but he could detect 
the slightest quiver of her chin. She lowered the 
mangled book to her lap again, and he read the 
cover. 

     Moby Dick. 

     He searched for something to say, but no 
words came.

     "Agent Mulder." Father Michaels was calling 
him from the kitchen.

     "In a minute," he said, not knowing what to do, 
but not wanting to leave Scully alone.

     "I think you should see this. Now." The priest's 
words left no room for argument.

     He lifted Scully's face to look at his own. 
Although she was obviously still upset, she 
seemed to be in control once again. He raised 
his eyebrows, and she nodded a positive 
response to his silent inquiry. Convinced that she 
was okay, he stood and went into the kitchen.

     He almost didn't see what the priest was 
pointing to among the broken dishes and 
glasses. But then, the five-pointed shape became 
clear. 

     "A pentagram," he said somewhat happily 
surprised.

     "Does this mean demons did this?" The 
priest's question was more of a plea for Mulder to 
deny what he himself was obviously having 
trouble denying.

     "Not necessarily,." Mulder said as he squatted 
down for a closer look. "Pentagrams are used in 
several non-Christian religions. The Wiccan 
believe it represents the elements and spirit. 
They enclose it in a circle to represent the 
protection of the Goddess. Satanist, however, 
invert the pentagram, just as they invert the cross. 
But even then it isn't always used to summon 
demons. It's used as a form of protection against 
evil in general."

     Father Michaels leaned over Mulder's 
shoulder and studied the pattern. "Is this one 
inverted?"

     Mulder had been trying to determine the same 
thing. "I can't tell; its been broken. Though given 
the destruction here, I wouldn't be surprised if it 
was. But it also means we might have a fighting 
chance." Through all the destruction, he was 
finally seeing a ray of hope.

     "I don't see how an inverted pentagram can be 
viewed as good news."  The priest was staring 
down at him, arms crossed.

     For some reason, the priest's stance annoyed 
Mulder. "The only reason a pentagram would be 
here is to protect the summoner from the demons, 
evil, whatever."

     "And that's good how?" The tilt of the priest's 
head was almost arrogant as he asked his 
question.

     Mulder had to check himself and not respond 
in a like manner. He answered him in a 
controlled voice. "Only a human would need 
protection from the supernatural-and the phone 
line was cut, by a human. I'm beginning to think 
that our supernatural opponent is more natural 
than super. Still, we should get out of here, and 
soon." The tingling sensation of warning he had 
experience with the hougan was slowly returning.

     Father Michaels uncrossed his arms and 
shook his head. "Agent Mulder, in case you have 
forgotten, we are humans. And just like this 
summoner, we are going to need protection from 
any demons, or whatever, that is running 
around."

     That's it, Mulder thought. He was tired. He 
hadn't slept in over thirty hours, and even before 
that, he had slept very little. He had also been 
wearing the same suit for the entire time he had 
been awake and was in desperate need of a 
shower, shave, and change of clothes. His 
emotions were raw, and he knew it wouldn't take 
much more to push him over the edge. He had 
spent most of the time awake worrying about 
Scully and when he was finally able to see she 
was all right, she had wanted to kill him. Even 
now he wanted to get her out of here, instead of 
dealing with a pompous excommunicated priest. 
Well, fine, if he wanted sarcasm, he could deal it 
out as easily as he could take it.

     Mulder placed his hand on his waist, his 
fingers resting lightly at his belt line. He shifted 
his weight, tilted his head, and gave the priest his 
cockiest grin. "Well, Father, I guess that's why we 
have you, now, isn't it?" 

     Father Michaels opened his mouth to protest, 
but he was cut off by laughter from the other 
room. It was Scully's laughter, and it was 
bordering on the demented. 

     Mulder pushed by the priest and strode back 
into the living room. Scully was nowhere to be 
seen, but the Gunmen were staring toward her 
bedroom where the laughter was coming from. 
Mulder walked past them and into the bedroom.

     The scene there was much like the one in the 
rest of the apartment. Everything was in 
shambles. Scully turned and faced Mulder as he 
entered the room. She was clenching what 
appeared to be a few pieces of silk and shear 
lingerie. She held them out towards Mulder as if 
she were proving a point.

     "Everything," she said, still laughing. 
"Everything destroyed except these." She 
continued to laugh. "When I first found them, all I 
could think was Frohike must have planned this 
so all I have left to wear is a see-through nightie."

     Mulder took her by the elbow and started 
leading her out of the room. Maybe all this was 
more than she could take. Besides, he was 
getting goose bumps from his growing 
apprehension. "We can get you some more 
clothes. I think we should leave now."

     She stopped laughing and angrily pulled 
away from him. "Leave? We're not leaving. We're 
calling the police."

     He turned back to face her. "The police won't 
be able to help. We just have to walk away."

     "Walk away?" She asked incredulously. 
"Mulder, this is everything I own. Everything I 
have worked for. This is my life."

     "Yes, it is your life, and that's why we have to 
leave. Now." He had realized that the summoner 
didn't know where Scully had been last night, 
and he wasn't going to risk revealing themselves 
by hanging around this apartment.

     She studied him for a moment and obviously 
read his anxiety to leave. "What's wrong?  What 
did you find?"

     He hadn't wanted to tell her, at least not now. 
But it was obvious that she wasn't going 
anywhere until he did. "A pentagram, on the 
kitchen floor," he said reluctantly.

     She laughed in his face. "A pentagram. 
Mulder, you're not suggesting that demons did 
this? By comparison, my theory about Frohike 
almost sound reasonable."

     Now was not the time for her skepticism to kick 
in. "The pentagram.." he started, but she cut him 
off.

     "The pentagram only proves that someone 
who believes in demonology was in my 
apartment, not that demons are lurking in the 
closet."

     He moved closer to her until he was right in 
her face. "Then how do you explain the 
destruction? Unless, of course, you have been 
keeping a very large and angry mountain lion as 
a pet. And why didn't any of your neighbors hear 
it? If they had, surely they would have reported it 
to the police. I didn't see any crime scene tape, 
Scully. Did you?" He knew he was being hard on 
her, but his urge to leave was taking over.

     Scully had crossed her arms and was biting 
the inside of her cheek. He knew that look all too 
well. It meant she didn't have a valid argument, 
but she wasn't yet ready to admit he was right, 
either. He had to keep going before she came up 
with something.

     "This wouldn't be the first supernatural 
occurrence that either one of us has experienced 
during this whole ordeal, and I don't think its 
going to be the last. The dreams, your pregnancy, 
the missing women, this, all of it is tied together. 
And no matter how skeptical you are or how hard 
you try to deny it, it won't just go away. The 
hougan in Miami knew everything, Scully. He 
knew about the dreams, the baby, your rape. He 
told me your rape was a spiritual attack, but 
physical attacks would follow. Look around. I 
think he was right."

     He could tell she was giving ground, but 
knowing her, she would come up with at least 
one more argument, even if it was a weak one. 
"Okay, let's say that he was right. Then the attack 
is over."

     Mulder shook his head. "The new moon, 
Scully. The missing women all disappeared over 
a three day period leading up to the night of the 
new moon. Last night was the first night. We still 
have two more to go, and I have a feeling things 
are only going to get worse."

     Instead of giving in, Scully got a wild look in 
her eyes. He could tell she was desperately 
looking for some excuse, some explanation. This 
wasn't like her. Usually she eventually accepted 
his explanations, even if she didn't completely 
believe them. But for some reason, she refused to 
buy into this one.

     "I said we aren't going anywhere," she said as 
she began to pick up the wreckage that used to 
be her bedroom.

     Again he tried to take her by the arm, but she 
pulled away violently and screamed, "No!" at the 
top of her lungs. Mulder instantly let loose his grip 
and backed away a step.

     Scully continued to pick up the debris. 
"Demons did not do this to my apartment 
because demons do not exist. Do you 
understand me, Mulder? This was nothing more 
than a break-in, probably by a bunch of kids in 
some stupid cult initiation."

     "Scully," Mulder said softly, "what about your 
pregnancy?"

     Scully didn't stop her futile cleaning. 
"Pregnancy? How can I be pregnant? I haven't 
been with a man in God knows how long. And 
even if I had, I'm barren. So, obviously I'm not 
pregnant." She turned and faced him now. "Do 
you understand? I cannot be pregnant, it is a 
scientific impossibility." She slumped slowly to 
the floor still holding the tattered clothing in her 
hands and softly began to cry. "I'm not pregnant, I 
can't be."

     Mulder approached her slowly and knelt down 
beside her. "Scully, we both know that's not true." 
He found it ironic that just days before he had 
said almost the same thing when she originally 
claimed to be pregnant.

     As if she could no longer deny the evidence 
before her, she buried her head in her hands and 
began to cry. "Oh God, Mulder! How can this be 
happening? It goes against everything I know to 
be true. I can't explain this. I don't know what to 
do. What am I supposed to do?"

     Mulder sat on the floor beside her and took her 
in his arms. Welcome to my world, he thought. 
"What I always do, we'll make it up as we go 
along." 

     She clung to him, crying. Her fears pouring out 
with each tear, flooding over the wall of 
skepticism and disbelief she had built against the 
unexplainable events she had witnessed in their 
time together. He held her in silence until the 
sobs had abated. When she finished, she pushed 
away and wiped her nose on the torn clothing 
she still held. Her eyes were swollen and red, but 
he could also see a new conviction in them.

     "Are you ready?" he asked as he brushed a 
tear off her cheek. His entire body was screaming 
to leave this apartment, but he would have sat 
and held her crying with one arm and his gun 
drawn with the other if she had wanted to stay.

     Scully took a deep breath before she spoke as 
though to build her resolve. "So, where do we 
go?"

     Mulder did his best to suppress a victory smile 
as he stood and helped her to her feet. 
"Eventually, we will go back to the tenement. It 
seemed safe enough last night. First though we'll 
go to my place, shower, grab a few things. Then 
we'll find you some clothes." She rolled her eyes 
in a mock thank you, but Mulder ignored it. At 
least it was a sign that she was returning to 
normal. "I'll send the Gunmen out to get us some 
supplies and food. Is there anything you need?" 

     He had meant anything special that was 
pregnancy-related, but he knew it had come out 
wrong as soon as he said it. "Yeah," she said as 
she indicated the chaos around her, "one of 
everything." 

     He really needed some sleep. If anyone 
deserved to have an attitude at this moment, it 
was Scully, but one more smart ass comment 
and he was going to have to hurt someone. Not 
that he wanted to, but his psyche needed some 
sort of release and violence seemed the most 
fulfilling way at the moment. As if on cue, Father 
Michaels walked in. The memory of their last 
conversation ticked him off even more, but he 
knew the three of them shouldn't be separated. 

     "Let's get out of here," he said over his 
shoulder to Scully. Out of the corner of his eye, 
he could see her picking up the torn copy of 
Moby Dick as she took one last look around the 
room. Mulder started out the door, knowing 
Scully was following behind. As he passed the 
priest, he slapped him on the shoulder a little 
rougher than was really necessary. "Well, Padre, 
time to go to work." 

     Yes, a shower was going to be a dream come 
true.

     

     

     He had to admit that he felt better now than he 
had that morning. The shower and change into 
jeans and a t-shirt had calmed his irritability. And 
even though his sleep had been limited to the 
short time it had taken Scully and the priest to 
take their respective showers, he had felt 
somewhat revitalized throughout most of the day. 
Now, as evening was descending and the 
fluorescent lanterns lit, his fatigue was returning. 

     He, Scully, and Father Michaels had gone to 
his apartment, showered, and packed a few of 
items. Father Michaels had refused his offer of a 
change of clothes, although he had requested a 
donation of a couple of pairs of socks and 
underwear. Mulder had reluctantly complied with 
his request. He tried not to think of that as he 
looked up from his poker hand and glanced over 
to the sofa where Scully and the priest sat talking 
quietly. 

     A pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt, although 
several sizes too large for her, had worked well 
enough to gain access to a department store and 
buy her some new clothes. He and the priest had 
shuffled through the aisles as she had picked out 
bras and panties to go with the jeans and shirts 
he had purchased for her on the floor below. 
They hadn't taken the time to find her briefcase 
and wallet in her apartment, and given the level 
of destruction, a search would have probably 
been fruitless. Father Michaels had struggled in 
vain to find a place for his eyes to rest without 
embarrassment. Mulder, on the other hand, had 
tried to pretend it was business as usual. And he 
had actually succeeded until he had to break out 
his credit card to pay for the undergarments. The 
implied intimacy of that purchase had turned him 
into a babbling fool who was all thumbs when the 
clerk asked for his identification. That was 
something else that he tried not to think about as 
he watched the two of them across the room.

     Scully smiled and brushed her hair back 
behind her ear in response to something Father 
Michaels said. Jesus, was she flirting with him? 
Brushing back of hair was a definite flirtation 
maneuver, wasn't it? She was wearing a bra and 
panties that he had bought for her and flirting with 
a priest who was wearing his underwear. He tried 
to hide his grimace by popping one of the 
sunflower seeds from the ever-growing pile in 
front of him.

     "Mulder, are you going to bet or just eat your 
winnings?" Frohike was tapping his cards 
impatiently on the table. Mulder's cell phone sat 
on the table next to Frohike's small pile of seeds. 
He had confiscated it after Mulder had received a 
call from Agent Beaubrun in Miami. Beaubrun 
had only called out of concern for Mulder when 
he had not come into the field office that morning 
and was not at his hotel room. But Frohike had 
gone into a near rage at his use of the phone, 
claiming that by using an easily traced mode of 
communication, he might as well place a neon 
sign with a big glowing arrow directing the bad 
guys right to them.

     "Huh?" Mulder realized he hadn't even looked 
at his cards. "I fold," he said, ignoring the 
exchanged glance that passed between his 
fellow card players. He went to the cooler to get 
something to drink.

     "I'm out, too." Byers stood and followed him to 
the cooler. "Getting a little nervous about 
tonight?"

     Mulder shrugged his shoulders 
noncommittally. His growing concerns about the 
evening were yet another in the series of 
thoughts he was trying to block out. "So, how 
much do you guys actually know about Father 
Michaels?"

     Byers took a drink from his can of soda. "Not 
much more than we already told you. But I think 
you can trust him."

     And there was the problem. As much as he 
was starting to dislike the priest, he felt confident 
that he was critical to their survival. And that 
feeling of dependency was even more annoying 
than the sarcasm and attitude. 

     Scully was still smiling at the priest. 

     "Since he's no longer an official priest, do you 
think he still honors his vow of celibacy?" Mulder 
realized too late that he had actually asked the 
question out loud.

     Luckily, Byers had taken it as a joke and 
chuckled. "Geez, Mulder. Are you looking for a 
date or something?"

     Mulder went along with the joke and laughed, 
too. Just then Scully stood, said good night to the 
room in general, and went into the bathroom to 
the cot she had been held captive on the night 
before.

     Mulder grabbed the sleeping bag he had 
brought from his apartment and followed her into 
the bathroom. He began unrolling the bag 
without saying anything to Scully. Fortunately, the 
toilet and bathtub had been ripped out of the 
small room, or he would never have fit. 
Unfortunately, that meant the only thing 
separating him from the bathroom a floor below 
was an inch-thick piece of plywood where the 
bathtub had once been. Scully watched him for a 
moment as he tested the plywood. Convinced of 
its strength, he stretched out as best he could in 
the cramped quarters.

     "Mulder, I'm a big girl. You don't need to sleep 
in here for my benefit."

     Mulder wiggled on his bag, trying to figure out 
what was digging into his upper back. "Actually 
its for my benefit,' he said as he sat up and pulled 
back the sleeping bag to reveal a 3/8th inch bolt. 
How had he missed that when he lay down? 

     Scully sat on the cot giving him an all too 
familiar skeptical look. 

     "I'm serious," he said as he situated himself 
back into the bag. "Whatever this is that's 
happening here has made it very clear that I am 
not to sleep unless I know you are safe."

     He expected her to argue the point, but 
instead she asked in a quiet voice. "What is going 
on here? I mean, do you really believe all this?"

     He didn't have to ask what "this" she was 
referring to because everything was beginning to 
lump itself into one big "this." He rolled onto his 
side and propped his head up with his hand.

     All right, he had known this conversation had 
to take place eventually. And it was obvious 
Scully had known it as well and had dreaded it 
as much as he did. Now, he had to ask the 
question he didn't want to because no matter 
what her answer was, it wouldn't be good.

     "Scully, your dreams...with me... you were 
having them at the time of your conception, 
right?"

     Although the light was dim in the small room, 
he thought she was actually blushing. She 
lowered her head. "Mulder, like I told you, I never 
said that you were the..."

     He cut her off before she could say the last 
word. "You never said it, but you didn't have to 
with the implications of our last conversation in 
Miami." She didn't say anything so he continued. 
"Was there anyone else? In your dreams or...in 
your bed...." God, this was awkward.

     She licked her lips and shook her head. "No," 
was all she said.

     Well, there you have it, he thought. They sat in 
silence for a moment, neither knowing what to 
say. Then Mulder retreated into his old sanctuary. 

     "Scully, no matter what happens, I'll be here 
with you. But I have to tell you...I failed wood shop 
in Junior High. And I don't think the Gunmen are 
the frankincense and myrrh sort of guys." 

     She raised her head slightly and looked out at 
him with an amused glance.

     "I'm not sure how this happened, but I am sure 
this child is important," he continued. Almost 
every culture has myths associated with a hero-
savior. A person who appears in a time of chaos 
to stand against evil and better the world. Jesus, 
Buddha, even King Arthur and Hercules, fall into 
this category with literally hundreds of others. 
And one of the most common threads in these 
stories is the mysticism associated with the 
conception and birth of the hero."

     "And you think my baby is one of these hero-
saviors who is going to save the world?" Scully 
asked in disbelief.

     "I know it sounds crazy, Scully, but evil is 
running rampant. We see it everyday in the cases 
we investigate, on the news, even driving down 
the street. And nothing seems to stop it. Maybe 
it's only going to get worse, and it's time for a 
hero to save us from ourselves." Scully sat in 
silent contemplation, so Mulder continued. "Too 
many things have been made clear for me to 
deny that we have a major role in something that 
I cannot come close to explaining. With each 
answer, a new question arises. And the hows of 
your pregnancy become more and more of a 
mystery as I come closer to understanding the 
whys."

     "My grandmother used to say, 'Count your 
blessing, don't question them.'"

     "So you think you've been blessed?"

     "It's not a question of if, but of how. That's the 
biggest difference between us, Mulder, you want 
to know the whys, but the hows are 
inconsequential. As a scientist, I want to know-I 
need to know-the answer to how this happened. 
But for the first time in my life, I'm afraid to search 
for those answers."

     He could tell that she was genuinely 
frightened and tried to alleviate her fears. "Scully, 
whatever the answer is, we can...."

     She cut him off with a shake of her head. "I'm 
not afraid of the answer, but the risk associated 
with actually asking the question. It seems I've 
spent most of my life trying to coalesce my 
spiritual and scientific beliefs. For many years, I 
just ignored it. Which meant, as a scientist, I 
ignored my faith. But more recently, I've found 
myself in the precarious position of trying to 
balance the two. Now, I feel I'm being force to 
choose."

     Until that moment, Mulder had never 
comprehended how difficult her return to the 
church had been for her. 

     Scully's smile was a little sad. "I was almost 
thrown out of Catechism for questioning the 
Virgin Birth."

     Mulder returned the smile. "A skeptic from the 
beginning, huh?"

     "It was when we were just starting to learn 
about genetics and DNA in fifth-grade biology.  
Remember those little boxes they would teach 
you to draw to determine all the possible blood 
types you could have had based on dominant 
and recessive genes? Well, we had just 
discussed chromosomes and how a person's sex 
is dependent on the combination of 
chromosomes received from the parents, 
particularly the father, who is the only one who 
can supply the y-chromosome for a male.

     I had always assumed that God had just 
started Jesus growing in Mary's womb. But the 
science lesson had just shown me for a fact that 
male DNA had to be involved somewhere in the 
process. If it hadn't, there was no physical way 
that Jesus could have been born a male. So I 
asked Sister Agnes if God had sperm."

     Sully began to laugh. "She drug me out of 
class by my ear and sent me to confession. The 
priest told me all things are possible with God, 
but I needed something more. So I decided that 
God must have taken Joseph's sperm and 
implanted them in Mary, and I never mentioned 
my theory again. Until now."

     They both laughed softly, the implications of 
her childish idea hovering between them.

     "So, you think that's what has happened 
here?" Mulder asked.

     Scully smiled weakly. "I'm saying that maybe 
some questions shouldn't be asked."

     He gave her a confused look, so she 
continued. "The scientific method teaches us to 
logically question what we don't understand. 
Faith, by definition, is acceptance of the 
unexplainable, even though it defies logic. The 
two are mutually exclusive ideals. What if by 
questioning these events too closely, I'm 
destroying the faith that is actually sustaining 
them?"

     "But questioning the world around you is 
human nature. Most religions evolved from the 
simple questions of why and how the world 
functions. Even Father Michaels questioned his 
religion."

     Scully shook her head. "No, he questioned the 
church, the political hierarchy. But his faith in the 
power of God has never wavered. Besides, 
Father Michaels isn't your typical priest."

     Her defense of the priest raised his shackles, 
especially since she was right. "Do you think he's 
the right person for the job?" She had spent most 
of the day talking with him, maybe she could 
shed some light on why he had concerns.

     "Mulder, I don't even know what his job is 
supposed to be, and neither does he. Why? Do 
think he's wrong?" 

     He felt that she really wanted to know his 
opinion, and it boosted his ego.

     "I don't know," he answered truthfully. "There's 
just something about him that irritates me."

     She half-laughed at him. "Are you sure you 
don't mean he scares you?"

     Oh, that was just ridiculous. "Scared? Why 
would he scare me?"

     She looked at him full in the face for the first 
time. "Maybe because you see yourself when you 
look at him, and what the relentless pursuit of the 
truth can cost you. Or maybe you're afraid that 
you aren't dedicated enough to give up 
everything for your beliefs."

     Okay, she was hitting a little too close to home. 
Time to back her off a bit. "So tell me, Scully, if 
you were to have dream sex with Father 
Michaels, would it be as hot as the dream sex 
you had with me?"

     She opened her mouth to protest the idea, 
then shook her head and smiled. It was the first 
genuine smile she had given him in a very long 
time. He suddenly realized how much he had 
missed it.

     She curled up on the cot and closed her eyes, 
all the while continuing to smile. 

     "Good night, Mulder," she said in a tone meant 
to end the conversation.

     "But, Scully," he said in exaggerated 
innocence, "you didn't answer my question."

     "In your dreams, Mulder."

     "No, Scully, I believe that took place in yours." 
She had walked right into that one and by the 
smile on her face, he could tell she had known it 
all along.

     "Yes," she said mysteriously, "it certainly did."' 

     He found himself drifting off to sleep 
wondering exactly what she had meant by that.

     

     

     In the darkness, she became aware of the 
sound of sea gulls, followed seconds later by the 
roar of the surf. She could feel cool dampness 
underneath her, and the smell of saltwater and 
fresh air overwhelmed her senses. Lazily, she 
opened her eyes and looked around.

     She was lying curled up on one side, on the 
wet sand, looking out into the vast expanse of 
ocean. She lifted herself up, rubbed her eyes, 
and looked around. The beach was deserted in 
both directions, but she immediately recognized 
the landscape. The way the sand rose up to 
become a grassy hill. The black jetty of rock only 
about 50 feet off shore. The green, cool water that 
was now washing around her, soaking her knit 
shirt and jeans. The pier far into the distance on 
the right. It was the beach in San Diego that her 
parents had often taken her and her brothers and 
sister to as children. She half-expected the smell 
of hot dogs and pretzels to come wafting from the 
concession stand that had always been near 
where she sat now. But the concession stand 
was gone. Only deserted beach as far as she 
could see.

     But she couldn't really be on the beach in San 
Diego, could she? She had fallen asleep on the 
cot in the tenement. Mulder was only a few feet 
away. 

     But regardless, here she was on this beach. 
She felt it was completely real. It is happening, a 
voice in her head told her. 

     "Starbuck, the tide is coming in! You need to 
get up."

     Her father's familiar voice made her spin 
around. She was overcome by a sense of deja 
vu. How many times had she heard him say 
those words, or something similar to them, on this 
very beach? But this wasn't a memory. He was 
really there.

     He was walking towards her, looking down at 
her like she was a still a child. He positively 
glowed from the glare of the sun on his dress-
whites, complete with the medals and insignias 
she had admired so lovingly as a girl. His white 
captain's cap sat perfectly on top of his head. The 
only thing missing from his uniform were his 
socks and shoes. Instead, he was barefoot and 
had the pants rolled up above his ankles. She 
would have thought he looked ridiculous if she 
hadn't been so shocked to see him.

     Dana closed her eyes and opened them 
again, thinking that maybe he would disappear. 
But he was still there, now walking into the inch-
deep surf that was surrounding her.

     "Ahab?" she whispered. This is impossible, 
she kept telling herself. You must be dreaming.

     "Baby girl," he was now standing over her, 
holding out a hand, "you're getting soaked. Don't 
let your mother see you in those wet clothes." 

     "I can't..." Her thought trailed off. She didn't 
know what to say. I can't believe it's you? Of 
course it was him. She could even smell the Old 
Spice that he had obligatorily worn during her 
childhood because she and her siblings had 
given it to him every year for Father's Day. He 
hadn't worn it since she was a teenager, when 
the gift had finally changed to something more 
original. But he definitely had it on today. Or was 
it tonight?

     Confused, she took his hand and stood up. 
Now closer to his face, she could see every 
wrinkle and freckle. This was the face she 
remembered seeing the last time she saw him 
alive. But he continued talking like she was still a 
little girl.

     "You were day dreaming again, weren't you 
Dana?" He wrapped a protective arm around her 
and began leading her up the beach. "Let's get 
you home and in some dry clothes. The boys and 
Missy are waiting in the car."

     She was dripping wet, and her jeans and shirt 
stuck to her skin uncomfortably. For a moment 
she let herself enjoy the sensation of her father's 
warm arm around her, talking to her like she was 
seven again. His presence was something she 
had longed for desperately. She closed her eyes 
and leaned into him.

     "Oh, Daddy," she sighed. "I've missed you so 
much."

     "I know you have, baby. And I've missed you, 
too." He suddenly stopped and stepped in front of 
her, intently looking at her. He looked very 
serious and sad. "You know that I would be with 
you if I could." His hand tenderly swept a lock of 
hair back off her forehead, and then it moved to 
caress her cheek. "I know you need me right 
now."

     She nodded silently, feeling her chin quiver. 
She lowered her head to hide the tears that were 
filling her eyes and threatening to stream down 
her checks.

     "Oh, Daddy. I'm so scared."

     "I know, Starbuck." He gently surrounded her 
with a big bear hug. 

     She felt so small, just like a child swept up in 
his massive arms. She allowed the tears to fall as 
she buried the side of her face into his chest. She 
could feel the cool brass buttons digging into her 
cheek and could smell the starch on his uniform. 

     "It's okay. It's okay," he whispered as he 
rubbed her back. "We all make mistakes."

     She looked up at him, confused for a moment. 
She wasn't sure what he had meant.

     "We all make mistakes, baby girl," he repeated 
in answer to her look. "The important thing is 
knowing how to rectify them."

     She pushed away from him. Vaguely, she 
remembered an identical conversation they had 
had when she was a teenager about a 
particularly nasty argument between her and her 
mother. He had convinced her to go and 
apologize, even though she felt she was right. 
She hadn't liked the disappointed tone he had 
taken with her then, and she didn't like the one 
that was seeping from his voice now.

     "Ahab," she said straightening up and wiping 
her eyes, "I'm not a little girl anymore."

     "I know you're not, Dana." He said it gently, but 
his frown and sad eyes let her know that he was 
unhappy with her. "That's why I'm trusting you to 
fix this." With the word "this," he looked down at 
her abdomen.

     Her hand flew to her stomach, realizing what 
he must be referring to.

     He continued, taking her firmly by the upper 
arms. "Your mother and I have tried so hard to 
instill good moral values in you and Missy and 
the boys." His voice was getting louder as his 
anger became more apparent. "I know you 
understand what we expected of you, of all of 
you. I thought you had more common sense, 
Dana." 

     "Daddy, it's not what you think..." She was 
desperately trying to shrug off his hands, but his 
hold only tightened.

     "It's an abomination of God!" he said furiously. 
He began to shake her. "This child was never met 
to be. Can never be born. Do you understand?"

     "Daddy, you're hurting me!" She was scared. 
He had never talked to her like this, never treated 
her so roughly.

     He continued to shake her. His voice was 
booming. "I said, do you understand! Answer me, 
Dana!"

     "Yes! Yes! I understand!" She frantically yelled 
back at him. 

     He let go of her arms, and for a moment they 
both stood looking at each other, panting. His 
face slowly softened, and he reached out to touch 
her cheek again. "I knew you wouldn't let me 
down," he purred at her.

     She jerked away from his touch and slowly 
backed away from him. Warily, she eyed him, as 
the blood rushed through her ears, drowning out 
the noise of the surf. 

     "You are not my father," she said somberly 
without breaking her gaze. This creature looked 
just like him, talked like him, even smelled like 
him. But it was not him. He would never treat her 
so manipulatively.

     She took a few more steps backwards, then 
turned and began running down the beach 
towards the pier. She didn't know what she was 
going to do, but she had to get away from this 
creature. She felt her feet sinking into the wet 
sand, impeding her progress. 

     "You can't run away, Dana!" he yelled after 
her. "You know what you have to do! It's the only 
way! Anything else will destroy you!"

     

     Dana half-sat up on the cot and gasped for air. 
Her mind slowly comprehended that the small 
room was just as it was when she had fallen 
asleep. In the dim light, she could make out the 
crumbling sink next to her, the desolate tile walls, 
the lonely shower head sticking out from 
decaying plaster. Nothing had changed except 
that Mulder's sleeping bag was now empty.

     She pushed her legs over the side of the cot 
and sat up, resting her elbows on her knees and 
her head in her hands. Her mind was jumping all 
over the place. This was the first time she had 
dreamed like that since her attack. Where the hell 
was Mulder? It had been so real, but so unreal. 
Why her father? And why so violent and angry? 
Yuck, she felt disgustingly sticky all over. 

     She flexed her sock covered feet, and that's 
when it hit her.

     She was soaking wet.