From: "Elizabeth Tobey" Date: Sun, 06 May 2001 16:45:27 -0400 Subject: "Angels Running" by Liz Tobey Source: direct Thursday, February 10, 2000 Child and Family Services Washington, DC Mulder and Scully sat with the boy and his sister in the recreation room of Child and Family Services, poring over the dozens of drawings that the boy had made. He silently handed them the drawings one by one, while they asked him questions about what they showed. Both agents were astounded at the wealth of detail in the drawings. One drawing showed a group of children picking flowers in a large field, each wearing a broad sun hat. Another showed the inside of a large dormitory where there were rows of identical beds. And then there were the frightening drawings of the faceless men who set fire to the buildings, while frightened children ran away. Scully sat there wondering what might have happened to the children in these drawings. The satellite photographs proved that there had been some large scale destruction of this farming community last week, about the time the three children would have had to leave to travel across the country by train. They had checked with Amtrak, and they were able to discover that the children and the Cigarette Smoking Man had boarded an Amtrak shuttle bus from the Embarcadero terminal in San Francisco four days prior to the wreck. But it was still a mystery as to what had happened to the other children. The boy's little sister sat happily next to Scully, scribbling busily away with thick crayons on a large sheet of manila paper. She made large abstract flowers of brilliant colors, and gave the finished sheets to Scully. Scully lay her hand on the girl's head tenderly, wishing she could communicate with the silent little girl. But she could tell that the girl was grateful for their visit; a smile crept on her face as she busily drew away. These two children seemed to be telling them so much of their histories, without speaking a single word. Scully was beginning to understand how the three communicated; in glances and stares and movement. Of course Mulder believed that they could communicate somehow telepathically. This, to her, seemed to be a bit of a stretch, but sometimes, she ceased to see much of a difference between communicating telepathically and empathetically. People who spend a lot of time with each other, telepathic or not, learn to read the movements and emotions of their companions, even to the point of anticipating they're next word or movement. She sensed that these children had for a long time been able to rely only on each other, and this had caused them to form a strong bond. Scully looked across the table at her partner, Mulder, who intently looked at the boy's drawings. She and her partner could almost anticipate each other's thoughts, they had worked together for so many years. Mulder told her so much just from his eyes and facial expressions alone. The stony faced look betrayed worry and anxiety. The corners of his mouth turned slightly upward signaled whimsy or amusement, and she often could tell the moment before he was about to drop one of his cornball remarks. The faraway gaze that he sometimes displayed, staring off at the horizon, told Scully that he was thinking of the past, of a lost sister or his recently deceased mother. And the lids laid lightly closed signified utter despair. In the past couple weeks since his mother's death and his discovery of his sister Samantha's ill fate, Scully had seen him close his eyes, often for seconds at a time. But she was happy to see the sparkle in the eye as he looked at the boy's drawings; this eager investing of his energy in learning about who this child was. She liked that about Mulder; the fact that he was so dedicated to finding out the truth, that he could leave behind his own sadness, and put himself in the shoes of the people he encountered on investigating his cases. It made him a good psychological profiler. It also made him a good partner and friend. She noticed the eldest girl, who sat with her back turned at the other end of the long table. She had been entirely non-responsive the whole hour they had been there. When Maureen, one of the social workers, had escorted them down to the recreation room to visit with the children, the girl hadn't even acknowledged her. She appeared to be totally withdrawn, except when interacting with her siblings. Scully had tried talking to the girl earlier, but she would not even meet her gaze. Whatever problems the girl had with speech and communication, Scully also saw that she was very depressed. Suddenly, she heard a door open and a loud clicking of heels enter. She looked up to see Sheila Cullens striding briskly towards them. "Agents Scully and Mulder," she said, "I told you I was dealing with these children's case. There's no need to continue to come here. I will call you if I have any more news." Scully stood up and walked over to greet her. "We don't mean to disrupt their lives or your work, but we had to come see them about something we learned earlier today. My partner and I found proof that what appears to be an agricultural camp was burnt to the ground in northern California the day before these children boarded an Amtrak train to head out east." "How can you be sure that they were at this camp? California's an enormous state. They could have come from anywhere." "We saw evidence of large, inflatable domes at the camp, which do not appear at any of the farms in this particular area. The boy here has been drawing domes like these in his pictures. We think that somebody attacked and burned down this complex, possibly harming a large number of children who worked there. We need to get your Agency's help." Sheila Cullens paused and then sat down with the Agents. "I'm handling almost sixty cases right now, Agent Scully, and I brought in three other children on Monday who need to be protected and placed just as badly as these three. I can only do so much." "Does your agency have any contacts with agencies on the West Coast? We need to find out if they have any records of other children being taken in last week after the attack on this camp. Or whether they have any records of these three." "We occasionally have to contact agencies in California when we're dealing with enforcing child support for parents who've moved. I have a directory up in my office that you're welcome to look through. But I can't do much more." "Thank you," said Scully, "That's all that we need right now. Do you have any idea whether you'll be able to place these children?" "I met with a court representative today, and there is a court date set next week for a judge to decide what should be done in the best interest of the children. Maybe by then we'll have a better idea if the man who they were traveling with is their father. We've been looking for him, but turned up no trace." "I'm not sure if you really want to talk to this man," piped up Mulder. "We have no choice - if the man is the father, and he comes forward, we have to consider him. Now, I have one family in the District right now who would be willing to take on three foster children. But I have two families of three children who need to be placed. I can't promise that these kids will get that place. I've got to settle on what is the most urgent case, and what's going to be best for the children." Suddenly, the beeper in her coat pocket went off. "I need to get back to my office," she said. "I promise, Agent Scully, I will call you if there are any more developments," she said. As she walked towards the exit of the room, she paused to look at the eldest girl, who lingered lethargically at the edge of the table. "If only you could get her to smile," she said, "I tried to take the children to the courthouse yesterday, and she wouldn't leave the van. I had to turn around and head back. She wouldn't let her sister and brother leave, either." "Wait a minute," said Mulder. "About what time did you bring them over to the courthouse?" "We got there around 4:30," said Sheila. "The man who we believe attacked the driver of the train was spotted in the Judiciary Square Metro station around that time." "But how could she know that? The station's underground," said Sheila. "She sensed it," said Mulder. "She sensed that danger was near, so she didn't let you take her or her siblings from the van." "I don't know about you," said Sheila, shaking her head, "but I will say, she sure didn't want to leave that van." "Just make sure that someone is always keeping an eye on these children. This man has the ability to take on many disguises." "Look, this is a secure facility. Now, I've really got to go. Nice talking with you." She left the room hurriedly. The oldest girl suddenly looked up and towards Scully. She had heard their entire conversation about yesterday's incident. Scully could see that she was trembling. She walked over and placed her hand on her shoulder. "Nothing's going to harm you," she reassured her. "Wherever you've come from, we're not going to let what's hurt you get to you again." Friday, February 11, 2000 Child and Family Services Washington, DC "The number you have dialed has been disconnected..." Sheila Cullens listened to the recorded message. It was the sixth time in five days that she had tried to call the Shields residence. It was a final attempt to contact the negligent father whose children she had rescued on Monday night. Apparently, he had been gone all week, oblivious or not caring that his children, who still cried out for their Daddy, were no longer at home. She would need to contact the foster family early next week about taking in the three. Sheila Cullens shut down her computer and began to put away files in anticipation of the weekend. It had been a long week, and she looked forward to a quiet weekend at home, with time to spend with her husband and her two boys. Some of her childless co-workers often wondered aloud how she managed to be a parent with a job that involved such intense day-to-day interaction with children, but she found that her family life was a welcome relief from the stress of her work week. Sometimes she did get work- related calls on the weekends, but she tried to separate her work as much as possible from her family life. She turned off the lights by the door, put on her coat and proceeded to step out into the corridor and close the door. It was almost 7:00 PM, and most of her co-workers had left for the evening. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw an orange ember glowing in the dimmed light of the corridor. She turned around to see an aging man with a wrinkled face standing before her. In his right hand, he took a drag on a Morley cigarette. "Please put that out," said Sheila, "There's no smoking allowed here." The man had silver-streaked hair and a haggard face with large hollows under his eyes. He was dressed in a plain navy government suit. Sheila could tell that he was not a healthy man; he wheezed slightly with each intake of breath. Unflinchingly, he took a hankerchief from his pocket and with it, pinched the end of the cigarette to snuff it out. "You know you could set yourself on fire doing that," warned Sheila. "That's not my concern," said the man, who stepped forward to face her. Sheila noticed that he favored his right leg, and shuffled forward with a limp. "I've come to see you about the children who were in the train wreck. I'm their father." He offered his hand, "My name is C.M.G. Spender. I've worked for years for the federal government." Sheila offered her hand to the clammy, wrinkled palm of the stranger, and shook it authoritatively. "Sheila Cullens, senior social worker for D.C. Child and Family Services," she said. "We've been looking for you all week. Why didn't you come forward earlier?" she asked. The Smoking Man pointed to his right knee. "I was injured in the crash. I've been off my feet for several days." "Why didn't you call us? I've been trying to make foster care arrangements for these children, but I've been unable to locate any living relatives." "I was recovering in a private clinic outside of the city after the accident." he said. "I was in and out of consciousness for several days," he continued. "Besides, it's better this way. When I learned that the children were here, I wanted to come talk with you in person so that I could explain some things. I'm afraid my absence may have given you the wrong impression about me. May we sit down?" "I was on my way out," said Sheila, "but we can step into my office for a moment," she said, inserting the key into the door. She opened the office and switched on the lights. The Smoking Man walked in, and she offered him a seat. She walked behind her desk and reached into a cabinet for the children's file. The man settled gingerly down on a chair on the opposite side of the desk. He opened his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope from an inside pocket. Opening it up, he pulled out three green official- looking documents and handed them to Sheila. "Birth Certificates," he said, handing them to Sheila. "The oldest girl is named Opal. The boy is named Roger, and the youngest girl is named Iris. All three I raised at my home in northern California with my late wife, Cassandra." "At least now they have names," said Sheila, examining the birth certificates. "Why were you traveling with them on that train?" she asked. "More and more, my work responsibilities necessitate that I be in Washington. So I wanted the children to be closer to where I spend most of my time. I had everything set up for them here - a nice, big house in the suburbs, enrollment in area private schools - if you return them to me, they will have the very best." Sheila Cullens continued, "That will be for the court to decide. But I still find it suspicious that you didn't at least send someone to inquire about the children after the crash." "I would have, had that been possible," said the Smoking Man. "I was very traumatized by the accident. But I'm here now." "Tell me something," said Mrs. Cullens. "There are two FBI agents following the children's cases, Agents Scully and Mulder. Do you know anything about them?" she inquired. "Ah, fine individuals. I know both of them well." "You do?" said Sheila, surprised. "Well, they don't seem to be very taken with you. They seem to believe that you don't have the children's best interests at hand. Agent Mulder, who is a psychologist, has been looking at Roger's drawings. Roger's been drawing pictures of some sort of agricultural camp, where children are working in the fields. He's drawn some very violent pictures of children being chased by faceless men. Can you explain anything about this?" "That's easily explained," he said. "The children traveled with me often, all over the world when I did business abroad. We were visiting a camp in the desert in Tunisia, where several young children worked, and one night, some bandits attacked. But I was able to get the children out of there safely. But the boy, I'm afraid, still has nightmares." "That's a pretty far-fetched story, Mr. Spender, but not much more far out than what Agent Mulder has been telling me." "Really? So you don't trust what he's telling you?" Sheila sighed. "He just seems to have some wild theories about these children, and I don't think these are going to help the children at all," she said. "He claims that the children can communicate telepathically with each other, which is why they don't speak, and that they can read the minds of the people around them. He even claims that they were able to anticipate the crash, and that's why they jumped off the train." "That's nonsensical," said the Smoking Man. "The children have a genetic disorder that affects they're ability to speak. One of the reasons I want them here in Washington is to try to get treatment to help them." "Another question," said Sheila, "is why they have those chips in the back of their necks. Agent Mulder warned me not to have them removed." "On that point, he is correct. I am in such a high-profile job in the government, that I need to protect my family. The chips are mainly tracking devices. That's how I was able to locate the children. Do not, under any circumstances, remove them." Sheila was momentarily taken aback by the man's vehemence. "What line of work do you do for the government?" she asked. "I'm not at liberty to say, Mrs. Cullens, but I do work for a very classified division of the Department of Defense." "Very well. But I will need some further confirmation of your employment, and of your income." "Very well." He shifted in his chair. "May I see the children?" Sheila shook her head. "They're up in the dormitory by now and I don't want to disturb them. But I'll give you my card," she said, reaching into her pocket, "you can call me next week to set up an appointment to visit with them. If I'm not here, I'll have one of the other social workers escort you down. We can talk again next week about the paper work you will need to fill out. I have a preliminary hearing in family court on Wednesday, where recommendation s will be made for temporary placement for the children. If we feel that they will be safe with you, then we may be able to give you temporary custody until a later court date. But one other question..." "Yes." "Agents Mulder and Scully seem to believe that the man who may have caused the crash may be after the children. Are you aware of that danger?" "Yes - I saw that man myself. But I assure you, I have my own bodyguards. These children will be much safer with me than they would be with a foster family, or even in this facility," he said. Sheila stood up and offered her hand to Mr. Spender. "I'm glad you've come forward," she said. "We will be in touch next week. Please excuse me, I need to head home to my own children." "Very well," said Mr. Spender. "May I offer you a ride?" "No thank you," said Sheila. She opened the door to the office to escort him out. "I'll tell the children tomorrow that I met their father." Friday, February 11, 2000 J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building Washington, DC Scully sorted through the stack of computer printouts on her desk. She had spent the past several hours going through the admittance records of area hospitals from the past week, trying to see whether there was any mention of an emergency room patient that matched the description of C.M.G. Spender, the Smoking Man. So far, her search had not brought her any success. It occurred to her that he might have been admitted under a pseudonym, but none of the admittance records matched the description. She had a few more records to go through before she would head home for the night. She heard the door to the office creak open. "Mulder?" she called out. She hadn't seen Mulder all afternoon; he had told her that he was making a trip down to one of the labs at Quantico to check on the green substance that she had removed from the body of the train engineer during the autopsy. She was relieved when she saw her partner come through the door. "I got our results," he said, placing a report in a plastic folder on her desk. She looked at it carefully. "Just what I thought," she said, " the green substance found on the body has the same chemical composition as the substance that was lanced from Emily's wound." "We're dealing with an extraterrestrial being, Scully, " said Mulder. "Any more sightings of this man, Mulder?" asked Scully. "Langly is trying to track security cameras throughout the city, but so far, nothing suspicious has turned up since Wednesday," said Mulder. Suddenly, they were startled by a slow and then rapid tapping on the glass skylights at the corner of their basement office. Scully raised her head to look at the dark panes of glass. "Rain," she sighed. "I can't wait until this winter is over." "It was blowing pretty hard when I was driving back from Quantico," said Mulder. "I think I'd better head home, before the roads get slick," said Scully. "Can I walk out with you?" offered Mulder. "Sure," said Scully. Mulder grabbed her overcoat from the coatrack and stood behind her, offering her the open coat. "Thanks, Mulder," she said, slipping into the coat. She was grateful for the gracious gesture. Sometime, when he really made an effort, Mulder could be a gentleman. She felt his hands rest lightly on her shoulders as he stood in back of her. She stood there for a moment, enjoying the sound of his breathing near her ear. For a brief moment, she half expected him to encircle her with his arms. But instead, he turned her shoulder so that she faced him. She could tell by his winsome expression that something was up. "Scully, what are you doing on Monday night? Got any plans?" "Ummm, not that I can think of." "Would you join me for dinner after work in Old Town? I know this really nice Italian restaurant. I thought it would be nice to get out and not talk about work for a change." "I'd like that, Mulder," said Scully. "I'll take you up on the offer." "I'm giving Billy Ardmore's family a tour late Monday afternoon, but it shouldn't take too long. Want to meet me in the office around 6:00?" "That would be fine, Mulder," said Scully. The two agents left the office together, letting it close firmly behind them. Monday, February 14, 2000 Child and Family Services Washington, DC "Kids, you're father's here to see you." The Smoking Man walked into the small meeting room, and crouched down on one of the small, childsize chairs. Iris, the youngest girl, ran up to meet him, and scrambled into his lap. "Glad to see me, eh?" he said to his daughter, who threw her arms around his neck. "You'll be going home soon, you three," said Sheila, smiling at Iris. "Opal, Roger, come over and say hello to your father," said Sheila. Roger grudgingly walked over and took a seat beside his father. "Nice baseball cap you've got there," said the Smoking Man, trying to get the boy to respond. "I'd like to take him to a game or two this spring when it gets warm. "Well, I'll leave you to visit for awhile. Come on, Opal, come say hello to your father." The girl stood up, walked past her father as if he wasn't there, and headed straight out the door. "Opal!" Sheila called out. "She'll come back," said the Smoking Man. "That's adolescents for you - always ashamed of their parents, always running away." Alexandria, Virginia February 14, 2000 "Mulder, I'm impressed," said Scully, looking around the interior of the restaurant. Unlike the diners and greasy spoons that Mulder had dragged her to in the past, this restaurant had an entirely different atmosphere. It was small, but romantic and classy. The restaurant occupied a narrow but deep space, its walls of brick, its floor of rust-colored square tile. To the rear of the restaurant was a fireplace with a low wooden mantle, which was composed of a thick squared beams painted glossy black. A fire was set in the fireplace; the bright flames were reflected off the many glass picture frames in the room. Scully stopped to admire the photographs, each of which was a particular black-and-white vignette of a well known Italian monument. The photograph closest to her was an ethereal image of the striped roof of a medieval cathedral, which appeared to float upon a raft of sun-infused morning mist. The room was set with a few tables, the larger, rectangular ones towards the front, and the more intimate round tables closer to the back, arranged in a semicircle in front of the fireplace. Each table was set with a white tablecloth, with a basket in its center holding tall, amber bottles of olive oil, as well as a lit votive candle in a wrought-iron holder. Wrought-iron wall sconces mounted on the brick wall held the electrical lamps, which were dimmed. The light was low enough to be calming, yet bright enough so that one could see easily. Music was playing from a small speaker in the back of the restaurant - gentle strumming of a guitar played against the ethereal sound of Andean pipes. A waiter in a checkered apron came to greet them, startling Scully out of the spell the music had momentarily cast over her. "I have a reservation or two, please. The name's Mulder, " her partner said to the waiter. The waiter motioned to them to follow him to the back of the restaurant, to a small table almost directly in front of the fireplace. Mulder pulled one of the ebony wooden chairs away from the table, and with a soft hand, touched Scully on the shoulder, guiding her into her seat, and then pushing the chair closer to the table. He then helped her remove her black wool coat, pulled it over his arm, removed his own, and hung them on two adjacent hooks on the nearby brick wall. Then he seated himself across from Scully. "Would you care for anything to drink? May I suggest a bottle of wine to start?" asked the waiter. "Hey, Scully, what would you like? Red, white, champagne, beer...." Scully looked at the leather-bound wine list in front of her. Not knowing a tremendous amount about wine, she chose a bottle of Cabernet from a California vineyard. The waiter disappeared for a moment and brought back a couple of wine goblets, a bottle opener, and a large green bottle. He presented the bottle to them for approval, then proceeded to remove the cork with a satisfying 'pop.' He motioned with the bottle towards Mulder, who shook his head 'no,' and then lifted his chin, darting his eyes in Scully's direction. The waiter lifted her glass, pouring into it a few drops for Scully to sample. She lifted the glass in her fingers, pressed the rim to her lips, sampled its sweet taste, and nodded her head in approval. The waiter then proceeded to fill both their glasses. He set down a wicker basket of warm pieces of crusty bread and golden grilled polenta, with a couple of small plates for dipping in oil. "I'll be back to take your order when you're ready," he said, handing them two parchment menus. The heat from the fire behind her felt warm and soothing on Scully's back and shoulders. It was almost as if the flames themselves licked and lapped at the back of her dress. She felt the sore, tense muscles relax, resting languidly against the back of the chair. She lowered her gaze so that she met her partner's directly. He smiled shyly at her and then lifted his glass towards hers. He clinked his glass against hers in a toast. "Chin chin," he said. "I beg your pardon," said Scully. "Chin chin - it means 'cheers' in Italian," said Mulder. "Thought I was just studying Psychology at Oxford, didn't you, Scully?!" he teased. Scully smiled, and then took a sip of the wine. It warmed her from the inside as if the fire had seeped within her. It was good. "I don't doubt your versatility, Mulder," said Scully. "I'm curious, Mulder - what's the occasion?" "What's the occasion?" said Mulder, with a mock-perplexed scowl on his face. "Haven't you looked at a calendar lately, Scully? It's the fourteenth of February. Does that remind you of anything?" he asked. "I'm aware of that Mulder. It's Valentine's Day." "So," continued Mulder. "I didn't want to spend tonight alone at the office. So, I asked you out. Satisfied?" The sips of good wine made her feel even bolder. "So, Mulder, can you tell me this? Is this a date?" Mulder looked sheepishly at her, and then pretended to study the menu. "Hey, Scully, any guess at the meaning of "Osso buco?" He was avoiding her gaze, but there was a sly smile on his face. She would not back down. "Do you want this to be a date, Mulder?" Mulder looked up suddenly from the menu and his face became somewhat pale. "Uh, umm, what do you want it to be, Scully?" "Considering that I haven't had a date in ages, I really wouldn't mind if it was." She noticed that her partner was blushing. Not much made him blush, but his face was rapidly turning the color of the red wine that filled their glasses. They were again dancing around the edges of a subject that always seemed to be a step away from where they were. Sure, many times they had expressed to each other the love that they had developed over the years, and how they had become the centers of each other's lives. The current was subtle, but it was there. When he taught her to play baseball last spring, and wrapped himself around her to help her grip the bat, she felt it. Whenever he grasped her hand or looked into her eyes, she felt it. And just over a month ago, in the first few seconds of the new millennium, Mulder had leaned over and kissed her tenderly. She had to admit even to herself that she not only willingly accepted his kiss, but had actively received and savored it. Later on New Year's Eve, she had rationalized the kiss to herself by trying to put it in context. They had both had recent close brushes with danger. It was only natural that they would want some physical comfort. Secondly, it was New Year's Eve, and it would have seemed wrong if they had stood next to each other and not acknowledged the moment in some way. In addition, thought Scully, it was Mulder, not she, who had initiated the kiss. She suspected for a while that he might be attracted to her, but she had not given him much encouragement. She loved Mulder, she thought to himself, and couldn't picture working with anyone else. They worked together so well, it was often hard to envision maintaining a relationship beyond their work. Scully pretended to busy herself in choosing something from the menu. "Maybe I'm up for something different tonight. 'Cinghale arrosto' - that sounds interesting." "Ever known a pig to fly? It's roast wild boar," said Mulder. "It says here that they fly it into Dulles daily from the wilds of Tuscany. But it probably comes from some ranch in Texas." "You haven't fooled me, Mulder - the menu has English translations." "I've picked up some Italian. Serious." "You speak Italian just about as well as I speak German," mused Scully. Foreign languages were not her forte. "Scully, you're at it again." "What am I doing, Mulder?" said Scully. "Nitpicking everything I say." "So, is that so unusual?" "I'm just thinking, if this is a date, can't we just leave the old banter back at the office?" Great, thought Scully. The back-and-forth exchange. But she was determined to enjoy this evening nevertheless. "Fine, Mulder. For once, I'll agree with you." "Don't agree with me, Scully - you'll scare me!" Mulder raised his eyebrows. "By the way, dinner's on me," he added, a hint of hopefulness in his voice. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- The dinner had been delicious, but Mulder welcomed the gust of cool night air that greeted them as he and Scully left the front door of the restaurant. He did not mind the damp; his stomach was full of good wine and even better food. It delighted him to see her face, that ever-serious smile turned upwards in a beaming grin. He guessed that the date had been a success. It amazed him that he could spend every single day alongside this wonderful woman, yet her company this evening made him not want the night to end. He almost did not want to speak, as if speaking might open up the possibility of goodnight. They strode along the brick sidewalks of old town Alexandria, past closed stores and the still-opened restaurants. Though the winter had been harsh and snowy for ordinarily-clement Washington, it was mild that evening. But it was humid. He couldn't help notice that whenever Scully breathed, her white cloud of breath rose and mingled with his. "Mulder, thank you for taking me out. That was the nicest date I've had in a long time," said Scully. "Glad I beat out the competition," joked Mulder. "There hasn't been much," said Scully. She looked at him, a little bit sad. Mulder thought of Frohike's advice. "Scully," he said, "It's still nice out. Want to take a walk along the river?" "Fine, if you want to, Mulder." He knew of a park by the Potomac where there were some park benches where they could sit. So they walked the couple of blocks to the river, arriving at the park, where only a few couples strolled. "Wanna sit down?" he suggested to her. "Sure," said Scully. They settled upon a park bench looking over the river. The lights from Washington down the river shimmered on its surface. Above them soared the belly of a jet making its approach towards nearby National Airport in Arlington. They both lifted their heads to watch the jet fly low. Mulder couldn't help but think back to a pasttime of his teenage years, of taking dates in his car out to the dunes to watch the planes flying into the Martha's Vineyard airport. He had to admit that it wasn't always the airplanes that were what held his interest on those nocturnal jaunts. He was secretly pleased when he felt Scully sit beside him for warmth, so that her leg brushed against his. "Sitting here with you feels strangely familiar, Mulder, " she said quietly. "What do you mean, Scully?" He was curious at her statement. "I was thinking about that time years ago when they shut down the X-Files and split us up. I was sent over to Quantico in Virginia to teach. Remember that night we met each other by the river?" "Now that you mention it, I do." He wish he could forget that time. Working on the X-Files hadn't been the same without her. "I guess Krycek didn't turn out to be such a great partner." The jerk, Mulder thought, when he remembered Alex Krycek. Krycek, the Agent with whom he had been paired during that miserable period, who professed to admire his work, later became his enemy and had orchestrated Scully's kidnapping. "Shall old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind....Shall old acquaintance be forgot and the days of Old Lang Syne," sang Mulder in a soft, off-key voice. "AULD Lang Syne, Mulder, not old." "What about odd acquaintances?" laughed Mulder, trying to tease Scully. He continued to hum the New Year's Eve tune. The last time he had heard it, he had kissed the beautiful woman who satso close to him right now. "Mulder, maybe I'm selfish, but I'm glad Krycek didn't work out as an F.B.I. partner. And I much prefer working with you to cutting up dead bodies." And there's no denying that Scully is the better kisser, thought Mulder slyly to himself, remembering the time Krycek had forced upon his lips a fraternal kiss on his lips at gunpoint. "Mulder?" "Yeah, Scully?" "How are you holding up? You've been through a lot in the past few weeks, first losing your mother, and then finding the truth about your sister." Mulder felt something inside of him twinge. Just when he thought the pain was gone, it reminded him again of its presence. Although he had come to terms, and accepted, that he would never again see his sister, he was still numb at the loss of his mother, who had taken her own life. He regretted to this day that he had not returned his mother's phone calls, only to find out afterwards that it was too late. "I'm okay, Scully," said Mulder. "It's okay to feel grief, Mulder," said Scully. "I sometimes feel like I've never gotten over losing Melissa," she said, remembering her dead sister. "..or my father. Or Emily." As they stared up at the hazy sky, Mulder noticed an especially bright light not far from the constellation of Ursa Major, the Big Dipper. He thought of his sister, her soul turned to starlight. "What one is that?" Scully asked. "That's the North Star. Do you know that if you navigate by the North Star, it doesn't lead you directly to the Pole, but to some mass of magnetic rocks somewhere up in Canada?" "Yes, Mulder, I knew that from seventh grade astronomy." "Misdirection," continued Mulder, nodding his head as he continued to stargaze. "Funny, isn't it, that you can think you're headed in one direction, but somehow you're being led off course." "We all get pulled in directions we don't anticipate," said Scully. "Chance isn't always a bad thing, Mulder." "I guess I always thought I would find Samantha alive, ever since I started searching so many years ago. And I never thought it would take twenty-six years to find out the truth." Scully reached out and perched her fingers on the shoulder of his coat. It comforted him that she seemed to almost anticipate his emotions, reaching out with a soothing gesture whenever the pain returned. "Don't regret the path you've taken, Mulder, " she reassured him. "Besides, if you had never looked for your sister, you would never have discovered the X-Files. And I would never had gotten the chance to work with you." She turned her face towards him. The sudden movement caused him to look away from the stars, and to gaze instead at Scully. "And we never would have become friends." Mulder looked at the eyes so dear to him, which were much older and hardened than he remembered them in the beginning. Scully appeared very tired. But her eyes had that steadfast look to them; she was searching him out, reaching in with her gaze to embrace him, to hold him steady. Mulder leaned into her and rest his head on the soft place below her shoulder, while she touched his hair with her cold fingers. Above them came a loud roar and whine. It was a jet coming in for landing above the Potomac. It was so low that Mulder, from his skewed sideways view, could see the wheels descending from the silhouetted belly of the plane. Lights at the edge of the wings blinked and flashed red across their faces. It was too loud for them to even speak. Scully held him as they sat there by the river, watching the silver-winged bird barrel through the dark. Scully pressed him to her, almost convulsively. Her nearness was so terribly comforting, that he felt guilty at his conflicted feelings. He cherished her gentle show of affection, yet, inside, he wanted to turn and kiss her passionately. Instead, he reached out and laid his heavy hand over her left hand that rested on his knee. His hand blanketed hers. Very gently, he turned her hand over, and let his fingers trace her slender inner palm. He found her lifeline and traced its meandering length with his index finger. Leaning into Scully, he felt her leg, pressed up against his, tremble slightly. He wished he could think of something to say to break the silence. Were they moving into uncharted territory? He forced a chuckle, and sat upright. "I don't know about you, Scully, but it's getting sort of chilly. How about going back to my place for something hot and steamy?" "And what might that be?" teased Scully. "A nice mug of Nestle Quick." "That would hit the spot," answered Scully, pulling her coat tighter around her. "But I can't stay too late. We both have work tomorrow, and I've got to find out more about those kids." Mulder stood up and stretched. Scully got up and stood across from him. "Ready?" he asked. "Ready when you are, partner," she answered, giving him a wink. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- - Mulder's Apartment Alexandria, Virginia Mulder laid the two mismatched ceramic mugs upon the coffee table in front of the black leather couch with a satisfying clunk. Grabbing the immersed spoons, he stirred one cup, and then the other, making sure that the clumps of chocolate powder were well blended in with the hot milk. Clutters of small stale marshmallows bobbed to the surface of the hot liquid as he stirred. He handed one cup to Scully. "Thanks, Mulder," she said, taking the cup into her chilled hands, and bringing it to her lips. She took short, dainty sips from the mug before laying it down again on the coffeetable. "Mind if I join you over there?" asked Mulder, eyeing his partner, who was making herself comfortable on the soft leather seat of the couch. She had removed her heeled shoes and was resting her feet on the edge of the coffeetable. It intrigued Mulder to see that her toenails were painted a dusky rose shade of pink. "I think there's room for both of us," said Scully, scooting over a little bit to the right, so that her head rested against the right shoulder of the couch. Mulder slid himself into the space between the table and the couch and then sank down into the leather. He looked over at his partner, who looked more relaxed than he had seen her in weeks. Getting her out to a restaurant and away from this case had certainly done her some good. He stretched his right arm out along the back of the couch. She leaned forward, huddling over to sip the mug of hot chocolate, and then, slowly, leaned back against the couch, this time seating herself right in front of Mulder's hovering arm. He let his arm sink down and rest lightly across the back of her neck. She leaned into him a little. Without the insulation of her winter coat, the heat of her body near to his was intensified, comforting and distracting at the same time. It delighted Mulder that she seemed to relish being near him, and did not move away. Mulder gazed at her proud, sad profile, as she stared across at the television screen that flickered across from them. The evening news had come on. Mulder had not been paying attention to the television, but saw that something had drawn Scully's interest away. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to catch up with the news on the television. "It's an update on the Brianna Blackmond case," said Scully. "Which one is that?" asked Mulder, trying to rack his recent memory. The name was familiar. "There's been a lot in the news lately about her. She was a toddler who was in foster care, and through a careless error, DC Child and Family Services returned her to her natural mother. Her mother beat her to death." "Damn this system," said Mulder," She might still be alive if it weren't for some bureaucratic error." "And for this wild idea that the child is always better off with her birth mother," continued Scully. "Though that didn't seem to help my case at all when I tried to adopt Emily after the Sims' death." Mulder recalled how just a couple years ago, four years after her abduction, Scully had learned that she had a biological child, unknowingly conceived as part of the tests that were done during her abduction. After the suspicious deaths of Emily's adoptive parents, Mr. and Mrs. Sims, Scully had petitioned to adopt Emily, only to be told that her position in a high-risk job with no history of a steady relationship placed her in a undesirable position as a potential adoptive parent. Mulder knew that it still hurt Scully, that she was somehow considered unfit for motherhood. The news anchormen moved onto a new story about Valentine's Day. Scully reached out for the remote control and shut off the television. "I'm concerned about those kids, Mulder," said Scully. "We can't just let them fall back into the hands of the man who brought them onto that train. Even if the CSM is their father, he doesn't seem to have much compassion for children. Especially for his own," she said, thinking of the CSM's son, Jeffrey Spender, who had been found shot in the basement office of the FBI as he was clearing out his things. Although never convicted, they both suspected that the CSM had shot his own son. "They're going to do a thorough background check before giving anybody custody, Scully," said Mulder. "Since the kids seem to be linked to a high profile domestic terrorism case, everything is going to have to get the F.B.I.'s approval," he said. "I hope that those children get placed together," said Scully. "I'm particularly worried about the older girl. She seems to be the least trusting of the three. I guess she feels protective of her siblings because she's the oldest. She's been the strong one for so long, trying to keep them away from danger. I'm just worried that she's never going to let anyone get too close to her, because she's afraid." Mulder looked Scully full in the face. "She responded to you, Scully. I think she recognizes kindness when she sees it." Mulder expected Scully to look down and away at this compliment, as she usually did. But this time, she held his glance. Her mouth turned up in a quiet smile. She did not look away at all. Instead she continued to look into his eyes, until the moment was almost embarrassingly long. He fought his own compulsion to look away or break the silence with a joke or laughter. He slowly lifted his hand, still warm from the mug, and drew it up alongside Scully's cheek. Releasing his index finger, he moved it gently in a tight, slow circle against the down of her cheek. He touched the soft, creased depression at the corner of her mouth. She opened her lips just a little, as he touched his fingertip lightly to the space between them. Her eyes widened in surprise at his hand's movement, but she didn't seem to mind it. Lifting her chin, she reached up and pressed her lips deeply against his, and then retreated back to the safe place from which she viewed him. Before they had much time to process what had just occured, the ring of Mulder's phone cut the silence. He let it ring once and then twice. Scully shifted her weight on the couch, the spell broken. "You'd better answer that, Mulder. It might be the social worker. She said she might have some more news by tonight." Mulder reached over to his desk and grabbed the phone off the hook. "Fox Mulder," he answered. "Agent Mulder, this is Mrs. Sheila Cullens from D.C. Child and Family Services. The children's birth father came here on Friday inquiring about the children. We've checked his background, and he does appear to be the father that he claims to be." "Who? Did he look anything like the man who was described as escorting them on the train." "Yes, he was a middle-aged gentleman, quite distinguished looking. A little unnerving if you ask me. But he checks out fine - he has school records for the children, supposedly they've lived with him at his home in California since shortly after their birth. He's financially stable and has a considerable income. He says his high up in the federal government. Now, on paper, there's really nothing I can object to." This made Mulder suspicious. "Did this man give a name, Mrs. Cullens?" "His name is C.M.G. Spender. He produced three birth certificates and said that the children belonged to him and his late wife Cassandra. We ordered a DNA kit to be sure of paternity, but he appears to be the real thing." "I don't think Cassandra Spender ever knew of these children," said Mulder, under his breath. "Mrs. Cullens, I have to ask you to stall the process. Do not let this man take the children. He's a murderer. He murdered his own son, and he's responsible for the death of at least one other child." "But that would have shown up in his record. Surely, you can't be serious?!" she said. "Trust me," said Mulder, "You don't want to mess with him." "I'll do some more background checks on him, but I think you may be imagining things, Agent Mulder." Anyway, the court will be the one to decide." "Did you let him see the children?" asked Mulder. "Yes, the little one just loves him. But the eldest girl wouldn't go near him. But she doesn't seem to want to deal with anyone." "Sorry to disturb your evening, but I thought you'd want to know. Give me a call on Wednesday before the court hearing if you'd like an update." "Thank you," he said, hanging up. "Cassandra Spender's their mother?!" exclaimed Scully, standing up from the couch. "I don't understand. And even if the Smoking Man is really their father, why is he going after them now? Those children have been deprived of any sort of normal parental figure - I can see it in how they long to be nurtured, but have little means of reaching out. I doubt that they've ever met their father, if that's what you say he is." Mulder answered Scully's flurry of protests. "A man like him sees even his own flesh and blood as expendable. I don't think he knows these children; I doubt he had any hand in raising them. But I think they came into this world due to his own megalomaniacal desire to control his own destiny. You've seen him recently, Scully. You saw that he was ill. He's trying to get these children into his grasp right now because he fears his own mortality. These children are what's left of his years of collaborating with the aliens, of the abductions, of the coverups." "But explain to me how Cassandra Spender factors in to all of this? How did she have three younger children? And when? She never mentioned them in the time I knew her," said Scully. "There must be some mistake, Mulder. I know that more older women are having children more often these days, but I find it hard to believe that Cassandra Spender could have given birth to a child as recently as four years ago." "There are other ways, Scully, you know that. Think of the tests she underwent. She could have easily been the mother not just of Jeffrey, but of dozens of children, all borne by surrogate mothers for the purpose of the Smoking Man's syndicate's experiments." "Mulder, you seem to know a great deal about this. I have a feeling that there is something you're not telling me." Scully had been pacing the floor of his apartment nervously, disturbed by the recent news. Mulder felt a lump form in his throat. There were things he had never told her. Things that he had seen during the time two years ago when Emily was dying, and he was searching desperately to find a cure for her illness. While trying to track down the doctors that were treating Emily's illness, Mulder had discovered a rest home where patients were being used as incubators, to grow children from eggs harvested from women that the Syndicate had abducted. He had meant to tell Scully several times about the specificity of his findings that day, but he had put it off. When Emily died shortly after, he did not want to disrupt her grief. As time elapsed, he felt less and less comfortable opening an old wound. So he had kept silent. Mulder breathed in but felt as if he was going to choke. Scully looked at him with a look of near betrayal on her face. She had trusted him, but he saw from her expression that she knew that he was hiding something. What harm could the truth do now? He decided to speak. "Scully, sit down," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder and guiding her towards the couch. He gently set her down beside him. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together in front of him. "I never told you everything about what I saw when Emily was sick. I found this rest home. There were several women there, older women, all on hormone therapies, that were set into a deep sleep. The doctors were using them as incubators. When I was there, I saw fetuses growing in test tubes. Some of them I think were human/alien hybrids. I found several vials full of embryos with a list. And on the list were the names of several women, who were all abductees." "My name was there?" asked Scully, on the verge of tears. "It was. But I don't know for sure if any of those children were yours. When I was discovered in that room, I grabbed a couple of the vials and ran with them. I was knocked down, but I managed to get away with one." "What on earth, Mulder, did you do with it? You should have at least talked to me about it. You owed me that, Mulder," said Scully angrily. Mulder's head sunk lower and lower towards his knees. "I'm sorry, Scully. I tried to keep the vial warm in my pocket. But by the time I could get it to a lab to have it analyzed, the embryo was dead." "To have it analyzed, Mulder! That was somebody's child. One of those poor abducted women who were so brutally treated. It could have even been my child, Mulder!" "Scully, I thought it would upset you if I told you..." "Upset me!" Scully stood up, tears streaming as her face quivered in hurt and rage. "How do you think I feel now? I will never be like Bill and Tara. I've come to accept that. But what I will not accept is that you, you who I willingly trusted day after day after day, YOU kept this information from me as if I were a child, when I had every right to know." "Scully..." Mulder reached out to comfort her, but Scully brushed him aside. "No, Mulder," she said. She walked over to the doorway and grabbed her coat, hastily putting it on. She fumbled her way hastily back into her shoes, stumbling in the process. "Wait, Scully. I didn't know you would take it this way. If I had known, I wouldn't have waited all this time to tell you." Scully tried to compose herself. She took a sharp inward breath. "You can tell me all your reasons, Mulder, but it will take a long time before I can forget this. It's not about you at all. I'm the one who needs time. And tonight, I just need to go home." Mulder leaned forward and put his hand on the doorframe as she stood beneath it, ready to leave. "Scully, you're in shock, let me drive you home at least. We don't even have to say anything about this if you don't want to..." "Goodnight, Mulder," said Scully, pulling the door shut. He heard the sharp pounding of her heels as she fled down the hall. For a moment, he felt compelled to run out into the hallway after her. But something stopped him. He was wrong to have kept this from her. However extreme her reaction, he had deeply underestimated her sensitivity on this matter. Mulder leaned his forehead against the wall of his apartment. Heat was building in his forehead until if felt like it would explode. He stood there, with that evasive feeling in his stomach that made him feel sick. All he had wanted was to bring a truth to light; to be completely honest and open with Scully. But instead, that truth, kept buried in him so long, constrained by his fears, had mutated into something terrible, and its emergence only brought chaos. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- ---- Scully's Apartment, Georgetown Washington, DC Scully pulled back the comforter on her queen-sized bed and slid herself underneath the sheets. She felt exhausted, and the feeling of the pale green flannel that greeted her bare feet was soothing. She pulled the weight of the comforter across her body, and reached out to the bedside table to turn off the light. She curled up on her side and lay her head back upon the pillow, and tried to fall asleep. Instead of sleep, a numbness crept over her. Perhaps it was her body's resistance to what her ears had heard earlier that evening. Everything about the evening had been beautiful, until she had been given the reason to doubt her trust in her partner. Perhaps she could have forgiven him if he had withheld the information out of some fear for his own life. But he claimed he had not told her for so long in order to protect her. Why on earth did he think she needed protecting, especially now? Hadn't she lived the past eight years in a perpetual state of looking over her shoulder? Scully had lost people close to her due to her work on the X-Files. Her own sister, Melissa, was cut down by a bullet intended for her. She had witnessed her former student and protege, Kelly Ryan, reduced in an instant to a pile of ash. Her home had been invaded, by serial killers, monsters, and assassins. She had been shot, stung, scratched, frostbitten, and subjected to all kinds of injury in the course of investigating cases. Her body was a map of scars; even if they were now difficult to see, she felt the presence of each. When she was abducted years ago, she endured the ultimate violation - the taking away of her ability to have children. Those who had taken her and performed the tests had not left her with anything at all; they stole from her even the memory of her abduction - all that clung to her were bits and flashes, like parts of a dream that dissolve into air and fade like smoke rings moments after waking. She had a small scar on her stomach, along the ridge of her navel, which she rarely touched. She first noticed the scar following her abduction, when she was in the hospital. The doctors guessed that someone had performed some surgery on her during her abduction; it was only later that she learned of her infertility. Like an abused animal whose back tenses when a hand brushes across welts long healed, her whole body resisted being touched near that scar, even by her own hands. Something her body remembered, that her mind did not, kept that place off limits. There were days when she felt the little scar had grown to envelop her whole body, and that no one dare come near. She didn't need any protection, not at all These thoughts circled around her head, like some maniacal chatter, that one hears in the midst of a fever, when the mind begs for some strand of reason. Suddenly, Scully realized that she was only half-awake. She willed herself to wake up. She sat up in bed and reached over for the light, which she turned on. The numbers of her alarm clock told her it was very late, but she reached out for the phone and pressed a familiar sequence of numbers. She knew them by tone. The phone rang only twice before a sleepy voice answered at the other end. "Hello?" "Mom, sorry to wake you. It's me, Dana." "Dana, you sound so down. What's wrong?" Scully breathed in deeply before speaking. "I'm afraid it's Mulder." "Oh my," said her mother. "I've been so worried about him since his mother's death..." "No, Mom, he's fine. Nothing's happened to him. It's just... I've placed so much trust in him, and I don't know if I've been wise. He kept something hidden from me." She heard silence at the end of the line. "Mom?" she asked. "Do you know why he kept this from you?" "He said he wanted to keep me from being hurt." "Dana, we all have secrets. What did he hide from you for so long?" "I don't want to go into it now, but it was related to my abduction. He said he didn't tell me because it happened when Emily was sick, and he didn't want to make me even more upset." "I know how you must feel, Dana. When you are close to someone, you expect them to share everything. But sometimes the other person, however much they care for you, just doesn't see something in the same way. Take your father for instance. He was so closed sometimes about what was going on with him, that he once had surgery and didn't even tell me. I only knew about it when one of the doctors phoned the house. I took it personally, thinking he didn't care to tell me, but it turned out that ironically, he cared enough not to tell me." "But Mom, this was not about Mulder, it was about me. I had a right to know a long time ago." "Dana, I don't know the details, but I can tell you this. You may see this differently a month from now, even a few days. Don't throw away the chance to trust just because you've seen one failing, if that's even the word for it. Mulder cares about you; I can see it in the way he looks at you. Cherish that Dana." Scully yawned into the phone. "It'll be better in the morning, Dana, I promise. Now you need to sleep, and so do I. Bill and Tara called me late tonight and we were on the phone for an hour." "How's Matthew?" asked Scully, her sadness briefly diverted by the news of her nephew. "Fussing. Not liking the idea of the new baby, Tara says. But he got your panda bear the other day. Seems to have lifted his spirits. On that note, goodnight, Dana." "Goodnight, Mom." Scully hung up the phone. For a moment, her hand rested on the receiver, poised to dial yet another familiar sequence of numbers. But the impulse faded, and she wearily turned off the bedside lamp, pulled the covers around her, and curled up on her side, waiting for sleep. Wednesday, February 16, 2000 Child and Family Services Washington, DC Scully sat in her car after parking in front of the Child and Family Services agency. It was a warm, sunny day, barely like the chilly February weather that they had experienced during the previous week. She welcomed the comfort of the sun across her back, as it streamed through the windows. The past few days had left her feeling drained. She and Mulder had not spoken a word since their exchange on Monday night. He left a message on her machine both at home and the office saying that he was going to be spending some time at the Lone Gunmen's place trying to locate the whereabouts of the bounty hunter. He told her that Sheila Cullens had been won over by the Smoking Man's story, and was going to recommend to family court today that the children be temporarily returned to his custody until she could file a more comprehensive report. Foster family placements were scarce, and had to be reserved for the most desperate of cases. Mulder had told her on the voice mail to call him if she wanted any help from him in today's trip to the agency. She could not bring herself to call him back. She needed some time before she could be near him again. Perhaps his lapse in judgment could be forgiven. Perhaps he hadn't told her about the embryo in order to protect her feelings. All that could be easily forgiven in time. But she also wondered how to repair the damage they had done to their working relationship. They had let their personal feelings get in the way of their work, both in his withholding information from her to spare her feelings, and in their physical contact with each other. They had crossed that narrow line between providing each other physical comfort and giving each other physical pleasure. After all they had experienced in the past few months, she admitted that the kiss she had bestowed on him on Monday night had felt right at the time. But as she thought about it more, when she had time to let her rational mind grasp it and work it around, she saw that she had been wrong in encouraging him. She did not deny that there was an attraction between them. But they could not open that door if they were able to work together objectively. She would call him later this week as they tried to wrap up this case, and she would tell him this: she loved him very deeply, but that they needed to put an end to any feelings that extended beyond friendship. It was the only way she could think of preserving the delicate mechanism that made them work so well together for seven years. Enough of this mulling over past mistakes, she thought. She undid her seatbelt, locked the steering wheel, and exited the car. She had work to attend to. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- ------ Maureen escorted Scully down to the recreation room. "I'm sorry Sheila isn't here. She's supposed to go over to the court later this morning to present her recommendations. She told me that she wants to return the children to their father. But I'll call her beeper number, and try to have her reach you before she goes over." Roger, the boy, was over in a corner playing with trucks with a group of other children. Iris, the littlest of the three girls, ran over to greet Scully, wrapping her small arms around Scully's legs. Scully was happy to see the little girl. "I've got a little something for you," she said, reaching into her bag, and pulling out a small plush bunny rabbit. Iris seemed delighted with the gift, and ran over to show her sister Opal. But Opal did not even look up at her sister. She continued to stare down at the floor. Scully noticed that she was in a darker place than she had ever been before. She went over and sat down next to Opal. "Opal," she said, "That's a really pretty name. Is that your real name?" she asked her. Opal shook her head slowly up and down in assent. And then, quietly, she began to cry. Scully reached out to touch her shoulder. "You don't want your father to take you away?" she affirmed. The girl shook her head yes and fell back against Scully's shoulder. Scully cradled the girl and tried to calm her crying. Out of the air, she heard a thin, fragile voice. "Don't let him take me." Scully looked around to find from where the voice had come. Looking down with astonishment, she realized that the girl had spoken. "Opal? Was that you speaking?" "Yes," she said. She spoke slowly, almost as if she were learning to talk for the first time. Though she was over ten years old, she had the fragile voice of a much younger child. "Why didn't you speak before?" asked Scully. "I was....scared. I didn't want them to know. About my father?" "Did your father raise you?" asked Scully. Opal looked up and spoke to Scully's face. "My brother and I, we lived with him.. We lived with a nanny in California. He would go away for a long time, but would always come back. Then, when Iris was born, he just went away." The girl's voice was becoming louder and stronger as she told her story. "Did he tell you where he went?" "No," said Opal. "But they told me he had another family, and he didn't want them to know about us." "Where did you go then?" "We were sent to this farm where people took care of us. But they didn't speak to us. And when we were older, they put us to work, picking flowers and vegetables. There were other children there, but they were empty, like shells. They just worked. It was like they didn't have feelings. They looked all alike." "Your brother and sister, can they talk?" "No. Roger forgot , and Iris never learned how. But they understand. We all hear things here," she said, pointing to her head. "I can hear what people are thinking, if their near enough. I speak to you because I know that you really care." Scully was surprised and moved by the little girl's confession. "What about your father? Have you seen him?" "He came to visit the other day. I was afraid of him. He is afraid of me, too, because he knows that I can speak. I know that he planned the whole train accident. It was all his fault. Maybe he does love us in his own way, but he also likes to see things destroyed. The power it gives him is what he lives for." "Opal, you have to be able to tell Mrs.Cullens this. She is not going to let you all go with a man who caused such violence." "She is a good person, but she believes what my father says. She's seen many families broken up, and she does not want to break up another one." "Look," said Scully, taking Opal's hand. "Mrs. Cullens is a reasonable person. I'm going to go find her right now, and with your permission, tell her what you just told me. I think I can get her to change her mind." She hugged Opal close. "I promised you I wouldn't let you be harmed." She looked closely at the girl. "I had a daughter once myself." Opal looked at her with a gaze of gratitude and empathy. "I know," she whispered. outside DC Courthouse 4th St. Washington, DC Scully slammed on the brakes and parked in front of the District courthouse. She was shocked at the sight that greeted her. In front of the courthouse stood two moderately-sized groups of picketers. One group held aloft signs and shouted as people entered the courthouse. Several of the signs bore enlarged newspaper photographs of the three children, with the caption below "Children belong with their families" and "Protect Fathers' rights." On the opposite side of the entrance stood a smaller group of protesters, carrying signs, "Respect the children's wishes." Scully had been so enveloped in investigating the case, that she had failed to notice how much media exposure the children had received in the local press following the accident. It was apparent that people were taking very vocal positions on whether or not to return them to their father, much as on a national level, people passionately debated whether or not to return the little boy, Elian Gonzalez, to his father in Cuba. Scully left the car and strode across the concrete plaza in front of the court building. She excused her way through the commotion as she made her way to the front steps of the court- house. A news reporter, recognizing her face from last Monday's coverage of the rescue scene, grabbed her and pulled her aside. "Are you one of the FBI agents who rescued the children? Who do you think they should be returned to?" "Let me go," she snapped at the reporter. "I'm not taking any public position. Please, I need to get inside." She pushed her way past the press and commotion, and found herself in the lobby of the courthouse. "May I help you?" asked a security guard. "I need to find Sheila Cullens - she's a social worker from the Child and Family Services agency. She's presenting a report in family court on the three children who were in the train accident last week." "I think she signed in about two, three minutes ago. The family court is down the hall to your left. If you run, you might reach her." Scully ran down the hallway, hoping to catch up with Sheila Cullens. As she rounded the corner, she saw Mrs. Cullens walking briskly towards the court's entrance. She called out to her. "Mrs. Cullens!" She turned around abruptly. "Agent Scully, what are you doing here?" "I've got to talk to you before you go into that courtroom," she said, breathlessly. "Look, Agent Scully, I've already made my decision. I had to place three children this morning with a foster family. I don't have any more families that can take three. Now, you may have your doubts about Mr. Spender, but he is perfectly capable of being their father. For now, I'm recommending that the children go home with him." "But you can't let him take them..." said Scully. "He caused that accident..." "What?! Who told you that?!" "Opal." "Opal?! She can't talk." "She does. She spoke to me." Wednesday, February 16, 2000 Scully's Apartment Georgetown, Washington, DC Scully stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in the white terry bathrobe that hung on the hook on her door. It was nearly 11 PM, and it had been a draining day. However, she felt that at last she might be able to sleep soundly. Sheila Cullens had listened to her story, and changed her recommendations to the family court. The court had decided to find a foster family to take the children until more could be learned about C.M.G. Spender and his involvement in the train accident. Scully stepped out of her bathroom into the darkness of her bedroom. She walked briskly over to the bed, and pulled back the covers, when suddenly she saw a dark shape seated in the corner. Her heart raced. "Mulder, is that you?!" A hand reached out and tugged the cord on a floor lamp. In the lamplight, she recognized the gray and grizzled profile of the Smoking Man. "How did you get in here?" she asked? "I want you to leave right now," she ordered. "I have my ways, Agent Scully," he said. "You should thank me. I'm not going to fight the Agency. Let some other family take the children. As they say, Agent Scully, if you love something, set it free." "I have a hard time believing that you actually believe that!" said Scully, sitting down on the bed. "You set those children 'free' a long time ago, depriving them of a real family and a childhood. And what about Mulder's sister, Samantha? You kept her like a captive lab rat, until the poor girl had to run away. And what about your son, Agent Spender? You killed him once you realized he wouldn't follow your orders? That's setting them free?" "Let me explain something, Agent Scully. You may not believe it, but I love those children. That's why I brought them east to live with me. I have little time left, and I wanted to make right my mistakes." "I've been told by a good source that you caused that accident! You killed several innocent people, and put your own children in jeopardy." "Agent Scully, I'm a man who has nothing left to lose. Last spring, when I had just perfected the technology for creating a human- alien hybrid, the alien opposition killed off all my colleagues. They killed my wife, Cassandra, who was the mother of these children, the children that she never even knew. I needed to keep my years of work out of their hands. So I let the alien rebels destroy the farm in northern California where I sent the children to live. " "What did they do with all those other children?" "You can only guess, Agent Scully. But they did spare my children." "Why?" asked Scully. "I made a deal with the bounty hunter. He's worked for me before. I told him that if he could rescue the children from the attack on the farm, I would offer him asylum in this area of the country so he could go on doing his work with the rebel faction. He accompanied me on the train across the country. I paid him to bomb the front of the train." "You're a monster!" shouted Scully. "You killed innocent people!" "I'm a strategist, Agent Scully. By setting up a terrorist attack so closely after the beginning of the new Millennium, I hoped to divert people's attention from the greater disaster that is to come. The alien forces are poised to take over this planet, and there's little that can be done now to stop it. By casting myself and my children as victims, I hoped to create sympathy for us in the press." "Well, you certainly don't have my sympathy," said Scully, crossing her arms. She pulled the gun out of her dresser drawer, and pointed it at the Smoking Man. "I'm tempted to shoot you right now." "Agent Scully, if you do that, you'll be destroying the man who holds all the secrets of what has happened to you - your abduction, your cancer, everything." "So then tell me the truth! Why did your scientists do this to me? Do I have other children?" "No," said the Cigarette Smoking Man. "Emily was the only child of yours my scientists created. She was a human/alien hybrid. The other embryos were all destroyed." Scully swallowed very hard to try to keep herself from bursting into tears. Even with the gun clenched in her hand, she felt powerless. "And Cassandra? Did you ever tell her about these other children?" she asked. "She never knew. The embryos were taken from her during tests. But she never knew." "Are these children hybrids?" asked Scully. "No, they're not hybrids. But they are resistant to the alien virus. And they possess many of the qualities that are present in the extraterrestrial beings which are dormant in most humans. They have tremendous mental capacity. They practice a form of telepathy - that's how they've communicated with each other for all these years." "Like Gibson Praise?" said Scully, remembering the brilliant, telepathic boy that she had once rescued from the clutches of the Smoking Man's circle. "Very much," said the Smoking Man. "They have the same extraordinary qualities that Mulder exhibited during his illness. "What happened to Gibson?" asked Scully. "Even I don't hold that answer." The Smoking Man walked up to Scully, until he was only a couple feet away from the barrel of her gun, which was trembling in her unsteady hands. He placed his hand over the barrel. Slowly, she lowered the gun, and placed it on the bed beside her. "I will not harm these children, Agent Scully," he said. "But I must warn you - the Bounty hunter is out to capture them. I should not have been so foolish as to deal with him. The children and what their creation represented for our Syndicate, can only be valuable to the rebel faction to which the bounty hunter has his allegiances." He walked towards the door. "I shall leave you to get your rest," he said, "God knows that in my condition, I need mine." Scully stood up to face him as he prepared to leave. "Don't mistake my listening to you as gratitude," she growled. "I'm a better man than you think, Agent Scully..." said the Smoking Man, retreating into the shadows in the corner of the room. "...and probably the wiser of the two of us." "Oh, really?!" asked Scully. "I know not to ask for what was never truly mine, " he said. "But you...," he said, as he turned to go, "you are terrified to ask for what's been yours all these years." Saturday, February 19, 2000 en route to Annapolis Rt. 50, headed east "I appreciate your coming with us, Agent Scully," said Sheila Cullens, at the wheel of the van. "I think the children are grateful that you're coming along." Opal, Roger, and Iris were seated in the back seat, each staring excitedly out the window at the landscape and fields of the farmland along Route 50. It was the first time they had been outside of the city since their arrival in Washington the previous Monday. Though it was mid February, it was a sunny day, and the bare trees on either side of the highway were showing the soft redness of buds just beginning to grow on the branches. A month from now, they would be replaced by flowers and leaves. In the far back seat sat a policeman, who had come along for the ride to help ensure the children's safety. "I guess something good has come out of all this media coverage," said Sheila. "I had just about given up on finding another family that would take in three children at once. Then a friend of mine over in Annapolis told me that there was a couple who approached them asking if we would be interested in having them take the children. They have two kids of their own, and both parents work over at the Naval Academy. They've hosted foster kids before, and if this works out, they may be interested in adopting." "Thank you for listening to me," said Scully. "I guess I made a pest of myself, but I just couldn't let these children go home with a father who abandoned them." "It's a shame," said Sheila, looking forward with a sad look in her eye. "There are some family situations that just aren't meant to be." Suddenly there came a voice from the back seat. "I need you to stop the car." Sheila turned her head, "What's wrong officer?!" she asked. "Just pull over onto the shoulder. There's a DC Police car following us." Scully thought this strange. Sheila downshifted the transmission of the old van and pulled off onto the shoulder, bringing the vehicle to a stop. Suddenly, the officer opened the door to the van and leapt out. He marched towards the police car which had just pulled up behind them on the shoulder. Suddenly Opal turned her head and yelled out loudly, "No!!!!" As Scully and Sheila turned their heads, they saw the window of the police car roll down. The officer had leaned down to talk to the policeman in the car. But suddenly, the door of the car opened, and out stepped the officer with a club in hand. He whacked the man across the knees with the club, and with another swing, knocked the gun out of his hand. He then proceeded forward towards the van. With each stride, his physiognomy transformed into a tall, square-jawed superhuman with eyes void of compassion. It was the bounty hunter. Sheila hastened to start the engine of the van, but as she was about to pull forward, the bounty hunter shot out the tires. There were a series of loud bangs and a hiss of air. The children had begun to scream hysterically. Scully drew out her gun and leapt from the van. "Run!!" she said. As she fixed her shot on the bounty hunter and bounded from the car, the children and Sheila leaped out and made a run for the bushes on the side of the road. "You coward!" yelled Scully to the bounty hunter. "Leave them alone!" The bounty hunter fired at her. She felt a bullet graze her right arm, taking with it a swath of fabric. Miraculously, she herself had not been hit. She heard another shot, followed by the loud sound of metal against metal. The bullet knocked the gun out of her hand, and it went flying into the busy highway. She quickly reahed into her pocket for her phone, then realizing that she had left it on the dashboard of the car. The bounty hunter strode toward her, gun in hand. As the children and Sheila screamed from the bushes, he strode towards Scully, knocking her to the ground. Taking his knee, he kicked her in the back so that she fell. The wind was knocked out of her. She lay bruised on her left side, and craned her head to look at the cruel face hovering above her. He pointed the gun right at her head. She shoved her hand into her jacket pocket almost reflexively. Deep inside it, she grabbed hold of some long and slender. Fingering it, she realized it was a hypodermic needle - a tranquilizer that she had taken from the first aid kit the day she had treated Billy Ardmore at Union Station. She doubted that the injection would knock the bounty hunter out, but she had nothing to lose. With all the strength Scully could muster, she dove at the man's ankles, knocking him off balance. The steely giant tumbled to the asphalt, his head knocking against the ground. In a frenzy, Scully leapt astride him, sinking down on his shoulders, and plunged the hypodermic needle into the back of his neck. Suddenly, she saw a green liquid bubble up from the wound, and a noxious sulfuric odor hit her full force. She felt the body beneath her deflate like an old, tired balloon. Realizing what was happening, she held her breath and ran as fast as she could away from the rapidly decomposing corpse. As she stumbled forward, she yelled to the children and Sheila to keep away. When she finally turned to look back along the highway, she saw a pool of fluorescent green simmer, bubble, and evaporate before her eyes. Saturday, February 19, 2000 Laurel Regional Hospital Laurel, MD Scully lay back upon the bed in the curtained-off examining room. She felt sore all along her left side where she had been pushed onto the asphalt, but it was only minor bruising. The X-rays, done as a precautionary measure, did not reveal any broken bones. She waited for word on the fallen officer, praying that his injuries were not life-threatening. Suddenly a nurse pulled aside the curtain. "Agent Scully, you have a visitor here to see you. An Agent Mulder." "Let him in," she said. Mulder crept into the curtained area and walked over to the bedside. He smiled meekly at her, then reached out and placed his hand on the railing of the bed. "Heard you had quite an afternoon, Scully." "More than I bargained for," she said. She sat up in the bed, propping herself up against the pillow. "Thanks for coming here, Mulder." "Glad I'm not the one you decided to tackle," laughed Mulder. "I don't think those children have to worry about the bounty hunter anymore. The worse they'll have to worry about in days to come is the boogey man, and maybe seventh grade algebra if they're really unlucky." Scully smiled. "Where are they right now?" she asked. "I spoke with Sheila Cullens outside. The foster family drove up from Annapolis to pick them up. They seem to be a very nice couple." "I'm glad," said Scully, "Now when can I go home?" she said, sliding back down onto the bed. "I made a deal with the nurse. No, just kidding. They'll be releasing you soon. If it's not much of an intrusion, I would be happy to drive you back home." "Thanks, Mulder," she said. She reached out for his hand and squeezed it. Releasing it, she turned it over, and with the tip of the index finger, traced the lifeline on his palm. She noticed that his palm was damp and cool. She smiled to herself. "Mulder, I've got a lot to tell you," she said. "Save it for the ride home," said Mulder. The nurse popped her head through the opening in the curtain. "I'll be bringing your release papers in a moment, Agent Scully." Scully sat up in the bed. "How's the officer doing?" she asked. "He's got two fractured kneecaps, but other than that, he should be fine," she said, "I heard that you probably saved his life." "Just doing my job," she mumbled to herself. Another voice spoke from behind the curtain. "Agent Scully, can I come in?" "Yes," she said. Sheila Cullens walked in and pulled up a chair beside the bed. "In the years I've worked for the city, I have to tell you this is the most eventful afternoon I've ever had," she said. "But I've got you to thank for saving those children...and me." "Well, I'm glad they're finally home now," said Scully. "The foster family said that you were welcome to come visit once the children settle in. Opal really does seem to like you. And I told them that you used to live in Annapolis." "I certainly don't miss the commute," laughed Scully. "We're driving back to the District," said Mulder. "Can we offer you a ride?" he asked. "Thanks, but my husband is coming with the boys to pick me up," she said, "I'll be glad to see them," she said, "And very lucky," she added. Sheila Cullens reached into her pocket and pulled something out. "Before I forget, Opal gave this to me to give to you." She handed Scully a folded piece of paper. Scully opened the paper, and saw a beautiful heart, drawn with colored pencils, and resplendent with opalescent glitter. "She told me that it's a week late, but she hopes you like it anyway. I think it's her way of saying 'thank you.'" "Man, nobody gave me a Valentine like that!" exclaimed Mulder. "Who says you deserve one, Romeo?" said Scully, rolling her eyes at him. -------------------------------------------------------------------- Scully sat beside Mulder in the passenger seat of the car, as they headed west on Rt. 50 towards Washington, DC. The sky was overcast and somber, but on the horizon, was a small line of coral, to mark the setting sun. Scully marveled at these winter sunsets, often so brief and soon, but so stunning. "Mulder," she said. "I don't want any more secrets. The Smoking Man came to visit me on Wednesday night." "Oh really?" said Mulder. "Did he invite himself over for a nightcap?" "More or less. He planned that whole accident, just like he planned the artificial creation of these three children. I think he's someone who thrives on the chaos he creates, even if it intersects and harms the lives of others." "I'm not surprised," said Mulder. "I've been trying to track him down for days, but he seems to have disappeared," he said. "I doubt anybody is going to be able to convict him." "Maybe no one needs to," said Scully, "I think he's punished himself enough. Even he realizes that those children aren't going to love him as their father, even if now he wants to make good." "Scully," asked Mulder. "I'm going to ask you something, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to. Do you really believe in forgiveness?" "Well," said Scully. "I've been taught forgiveness all my life as part of my upbringing." "But do you really believe in it?" Scully paused for a moment. She was somewhat distracted by the disappearance of the sun. The two of them traveled down the highway, heading into the night. In the rear view mirror, she could see what she first thought was a headlight. After a split-second of apprehension, she realized it was the full moon, glowing orange as it rose above the trees in front of her. "Mulder, all pain needs a way of releasing itself into the world, because otherwise, it becomes anger, and anger just eats away at the soul." She looked across at her partner, who nodded his head in assent as he drove. "So, yes, I do believe in forgiveness." For about twenty minutes, they drove in silence, wondering at the night around them, and the moon that was rising higher in the sky, becoming smaller and crisper as it rose. The clouds began to disperse, and a few stars peeked through. Scully found herself very sleepy. As they reached the city limits, they exited onto New York Avenue and drove alongside the train tracks that led into Union Station. So much had happened in a little over a week, thought Scully. As they approached the center of the city, passing row upon row of rundown houses and chainlink fences, Mulder finally turned to Scully and asked her, "What do you feel like doing?" "I want to go home, Mulder," she answered. "Take me home." Late Saturday evening February 19, 2000 Scully's Apartment Georgetown Washington, DC Scully closed the door to the bedroom behind her. She felt sore and achy and tired all at once, and longed for a restful sleep. Drawing back the covers, she slipped into them, and reached over to turn off the bedside light. But when she closed her eyes, she had trouble resting. She thought of the ride home with Mulder, and about how they journeyed together in silence under the full moon. When she opened her eyes, she could see the orb of the moon seeping through the blinds, casting blue light on her bed. She remembered times as a child, when she opened the shade of her window on moonlit nights, just to let the divine light wash over her. In the mornings, she woke up feeling changed, as if some deity had invested her with some incredible power. As she blinked in the moonlight, she felt compelled not just to bask in it, but to stay awake. She thought of Mulder, probably now sound asleep in his own bed, with the moon creeping through his window, spilling onto the sheets. She sat up in bed, suddenly completely aware of the air around her, and of the pull of what was outside this room and outside of herself. Remembering how their hands had touched earlier that day, she wanted to be back in that moment, to have him again near her. Longing is one thing, she thought, but making the muscles move, getting them to move forward is another. She willed her legs to move out from under the covers, to set her feet upon the cold floor not wholly safe. Turning on the light, she walked over to the chair where her clothes lay in a pile; she had been too tired even to put them away. She stood for a moment in the moonlight, wondering if this was a bout of foolishness on her part or a conscious decision to act on her feelings. She could dismiss the feelings inside as the fantasy of a lonely woman who had had a difficult day. Or she could make them known. She made her decision. She prepared herself to venture out into the February night. Saturday, February 19, 2000 Mulder's Apartment Alexandria, VA Scully knocked tentatively on the door. "Mulder, it's me, " she spoke softly. She heard Mulder's footsteps thumping towards the door. He opened it wide to let her in. She must have woken him; his eyelids quivered, trying to stay open, as the light from the hallway flooded into the apartment. He was naked except for a pair of white boxers. He held his arms around his shoulders, shivering in the cold of the February night. Mulder rubbed his eyes. "Scully, what is it?" he asked. Scully entered the room and dropped her purse by the door, which she shut gently behind her. She walked over to Mulder and put her arm around his shoulder. Her hand caressed and warmed the nape of his neck. She tilted her head up and placed her lips upon his. Her tongue pressed against his lips, as if demanding entrance. He opened his lips as if about to speak, letting her slip smoothly into his mouth. As they kissed, the silence of the night was only broken by their breathing, first calm and steady, and then becoming more rushed and insistent. When her lips released from his, Scully slid her right hand down Mulder's arm, clasping his sweaty hand in her palm. She gazed up at him and smiled wistfully. "It's time." There was no need to explain what she meant by her quiet declaration. Still grasping her hand, Mulder led Scully hurriedly towards his bedroom, where his sheets were still warm from sleep. Scully's heart raced in anticipation of what was to happen next. Though she was excited, she felt a tinge of nervousness. Mulder stood facing her, his back to the side of the unmade bed. Firmly, he placed his hands on either side of her hips. In one upward movement, he slid his fingers and palms underneath the place where her blouse tucked underneath her skirt, and he moved them up her torso, feeling the pliant and smooth landscape of her chest. Scully freed a hand to help him, as she fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, almost tearing them off as she opened the front of her shirt. Quickly, with dexterous fingers, she reached around to unhook the strap of her bra. Mulder's hand helped free her of her skirt and undergarments, which fell to the floor. Scully slipped a finger and then a whole hand underneath the elastic of his shorts, pulling them away and downward. It didn't take long for Mulder to notice her gesture, and he reached his hands down to tug at his undergarments. "Ladies and gentlemen, watch while the great Muldini pulls a swift disappearing act!" With Scully's assistance, he worked the boxers down until they surrounded his feet. He hastily stepped out of them, and with a flick of his wrist, flung them across the room. "Tah - dah," he exclaimed. As he saw Scully, standing in the shadow by the bed, wearing nothing at all, Mulder was stilled for a moment in awe of her beauty. Her form was silhouetted by the light of the still opened door, the details filling themselves in as his eyes adjusted to the dark of the room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and held her outstretched fingers in his hands. A coy but gentle smile crept across Scully's face. "Mulder, you know this isn't the first time you've seen me naked...." she jested, remembering the furtive look he had given her months ago, when they had bathed across from each other in the showers of the decontamination facility. As if they could share the same thought, the memory flooded into Mulder's consciousness, and he blushed. She let her eyes travel down his body below his waist. "Mulder," she said, "I hate to tell you this, but your little disappearing act isn't having much success." She blushed at her own audacity. It wasn't the first time she had seen him naked before, though never in the state of arousal that was overcoming him as he sat on the edge, taking in every detail of her body. His response to her was somewhat unsettling - she was not used to seeing Mulder in this way. Suddenly, she felt awfully shy. She directed her gaze on what was familiar - his eyes, which were so sparkling, tender, eager and vulnerable at the same time. She knelt down on the floor and wrapped her arms around his chest, the warmth of his skin providing immediate relief from the cold. As they kissed, she pulled herself up closer to him, until her knee brushed against his bent leg. Seeking a more comfortable position, Mulder stretched out on the bed on his side. He raised his arms over his head and arched his stomach, and gave her an inviting glance out of the corner of his eye. His left foot dangled languidly over the edge of the bed, as if beckoning her to join him. Scully crouched forward onto the bed and lay herself across its breadth on her right side. Slowly, she let her arm stretch out onto the sheets until she, too, was lying on her side, parallel to him. She lay with her cheek against the warm furrows of cloth, and gazed across at him. There was something endearing about the way he looked at her with a mixture of wonder and vulnerability. She could tell by the creases on his forehead that he was as nervous as she. The want had built up in her for a period of years, but she had always tried to suppress it, never thinking of what would happen if she finally gave in to it. Now that Mulder was stretched out before her, she wanted to get close to him, but yet she hesitated. It was like standing at the edge of a diving board, feeling the tremor beneath the feet, when she could see, smell, and hear the shimmering water beneath her, but held herself back from the plunge. Mulder raised an eyebrow, and smiled at her, breaking the tension. He reached out and traced the curve of her hips with his fingers, smoothly working them in circles, being careful not to press too heavily on the small bruises on her hip and side. "Feel okay?" he asked her. She nodded in assent and moved herself into his touch.. His arms reached across and grasped her shoulders, gently pulling her towards him. He arched his upper body to fit around hers, shell-like, and clasped his arms around her. Scully leaned back into his embrace, feeling the contact of warm skin on her bare back and legs. She marveled at the vast canvas of flesh that they now shared; the touch of a hand or of lips increased by a thousand. Mulder's hands began to work their magic on her body, pulling and kneading, dipping into crevices and folds. Scully turned to kiss him on the lips, in approval of his touch. Then, she slid one hand into the tight space between their bodies, passing the back of it along his stomach, then turned it to allow her to explore him. She marveled at the current that passed through her fingers. She could feel Mulder's whole body tense like a spring in answer to her. Scully twisted about in his embrace so that they now gazed into each other's eyes. How brave, she thought to herself, it was to exchange this loving glance, at last unburdened of fear. Mulder smiled at her, and she returned his smile, as if assuring each other that their need should no longer be restrained. Scully rocked forward into Mulder's arms, her hand traveling down to find the small of his back, her gentle pressure guiding him towards her. As they embraced, she felt every part of her flow into him, like some tremendous wave rushing in to fill all their spaces. This moving together surprised her in the very realization of the moment. Scully had for a long time recognized the connection that she and Mulder had; it was spiritual as well as emotional; they were each other's centers. But it was in the experience of joining with him physically that she realized that their love-making, put off for so many years, was simply another pathway in their connection to each other. When they finally came apart and rolled over onto their backs upon the bed, their hands still clasped each other. Scully squeezed his hand, and curled her body up against his chest, and pulled the covers tightly around them. With her fingers, she stroked and caressed his face. "Was I any good?" gloated Mulder. "WE were wonderful, Mulder," said Scully, playfully fingering his cheek. She rest her head against his chest, and heard his lion's heart beating rapidly beneath. She savored the delicious rush in the recent memory of him deep inside her center, with only their skins separating one's pulsing flow of blood from the other's. This intimacy brought them closer together than ever before; never had she been so acutely aware of the life inside of their bodies. In fact, her body felt different, as if she could feel light glowing from within. It was almost as if the very matter of her body had changed. Strange, she wondered, that what they had just shared with each other was the very act through which life began. Sadness came out of its deep burrow. Scully felt a cold lump tearing her from the inside, the painful reminder of loss. As much as she tried to ignore it, it asserted its presence in her life. She had lost the very ability to conceive a child. Scully began to sob. "Scully, what is it?" he looked worriedly into her eyes. "Did I do something wrong?" "Mulder, it's not you, it's me." She reached out to him, and they embraced. "I want so much Mulder. I pushed you away for so long. And then we finally make love, and it's beautiful. But now afterwards, all I can think of is that I want to have a baby with you, but I can't. And there's nothing I can do to change it. Part of me tries to rationalize it and say it really doesn't matter in the long run. But part of me still grieves. Mulder, when I lost Emily, I lost my only chance at being a mother..." Mulder hugged her close and kissed her face, "I'm sorry, Scully," he whispered. "I know I can never replace that loss." "I don't expect you to," said Scully. "It's just I've shared every area of my life with you, except this one, and now that I want to, I can't." Mulder touched her forehead with his fingers. "Scully, I've spent most of my life trying to get back what I lost when I was still just a boy. I wanted to be part of a family, but first my sister is taken away, and then, my father, and now, my mother. There are days I remember that I'm the only one left in my family, and there's nothing I can do to change it." "Mulder..." "But Scully, my family hasn't left me. I have you. I may have lost the people I love, but I have also found you, and you've carried me through this craziness. Every damn day I wish I could change what they did to you, make things better, and each day, I give in to the reality that things can't be put back the way they were." "Mulder, whatever you feel, whatever anger I may still have, what happened to me was not your fault..." "Scully, I've seen how you loved Emily. I've seen how you loved those kids, even though they were total strangers and the children of the man who hurt you. There are so many kids out there who need homes. We can do this together, if that's what you want," he reassured her. "Mulder, I don't know what to say, " said Scully. "There's plenty of time to think it over, Scully," said Mulder "Thanks, Mulder," said Scully. "So much has been happening, I think I need to take some time to sort it out." She squeezed his hand. "But whatever I decide, I'm glad you're here." Mulder cupped his hand below her chin. "Let me show you something, Scully," he whispered. Pulling the covers aside, he moved his hand down her body, letting his fingertips smooth a path between her breasts, skimming the surface of her skin. He circled her stomach with his hand, and then retraced his fingers' sinuous path with his mouth, gently pressing her warm flesh. Mulder began planting kisses on her belly, soothing and caressing with his tongue. He found the small dimple in her stomach, her navel, and kissed the small scar that crossed its center. Mulder kissed that place again and again, as if he longed to seal the already-closed wound. She moaned as she reached down to touch the sweat-soaked curls on his head, amazed at the the sound of her own vulnerable, joyful cry. Scully kissed him and silently blessed him, both as a lover and a healer. Feeling the kisses bestowed upon his head, Mulder emerged from below and smiled sweetly at her. "Boo!" he exclaimed, causing Scully to laugh. "Watch it, Spooky!" Mulder gently patted her stomach with his hand. "You're pretty special," he said, "I'd say you're just about perfect, Agent Scully." He flashed her the devilish smile. "Frohike was right all along!" "What?" asked Scully, laughing at him. "Never mind," said Mulder. "I thought we weren't going to keep any more secrets from each other," whispered Scully, giggling. "Okay, you want the whole truth? I love you, Scully," he said to her. A smile returned to her face. "Maybe I never even deserved you, but here you are." "I love you, too, Mulder," said Scully. She yawned, suddenly becoming aware of her exhaustion. "How about getting some Z's, Scully? I promise I won't snore!," said Mulder. "Are you going to make me sleep on that couch of yours?" she joked. "We can wait until tomorrow morning to do that," he smiled, winking at her. Mulder put his arm around Scully, "Tomorrow's another day." Scully stretched out beside Mulder, skin touching skin, and they held each other again. Scully laid her cheek on Mulder's chest, and he arched his neck to nuzzle her, breathing in the sweet smell of her red, flowing hair. As the blue light of dawn began to creep across the room, in those fuzzy minutes of consciousness before they both drifted off into sleep, Scully felt the sadness inside her bloom into hope. Mulder was part of her life, and that was unchanging. Whatever losses they had suffered, however they had been injured by life, they had ended up here in the same place, resting in each other's arms, where they were meant to be. ---THE END--- Disclaimer: The "X-Files" and its characters are the property and creation of Chris Carter. I am "borrowing" these characters for use in this story, but in no means intend to profit monetarily from it. I have also used selections of song lyrics by the songwriter Patty Larkin.