**********************************************************
  ML's e-mail address has changed to: msnsc21@yahoo.com
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From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 6 Apr 2002 01:28:55 -0000
Subject: Apart (1 of 5): Escape by ML by ML
Source: direct

Reply To: msnsc21@aol.com


This is the first of a five-part story. It's not a WIP; I'll 
be posting another part each night for the next couple of 
nights until they're all posted.  I hope you enjoy it!

Title:  Apart 1: Escape
Author: ML
Email: msnsc21@aol.com
Feedback: always welcome
Distribution: Ephemeral, Gossamer, Enigmatic Dr., or if 
you've archived me before, yes; if you haven't, please 
just let me know and leave headers, email addy, etc. 
attached. Thanks!
Spoilers: through Trust_No1
Rating: PG-13 through R for the series
Classification: SRA
Keywords: MSR, Mulder POV
Summary: I knew this day would come.  I've known it for 
a long time.

Disclaimer:  Mulder and Scully aren't mine, and neither 
are the Lone Gunmen.  They mostly belong to the actors 
who portray them, but Chris Carter created them, and Ten 
Thirteen and FOX own the rights.  I mean no infringement, 
and I'm not making any profit from them. 

Author's notes:  This is the first of a five-part series.  
It's set in the same universe as the "Abandoned" series, 
told from Mulder's POV.  You don't have to read "Abandoned" 
to get this, but I hope you will, anyway.
Find it here: www.kimpart.com/mlfic.html

More author's notes and acknowledgments at the end of 
Part 5.
=====

Apart 1: Escape
by ML 

I knew this day would come.  I've known it for a long 
time.  I'd even prepared for it, somewhat.

Knowing all that doesn't make it any easier.

Scully can barely look at me.  I know that it's just
 because she doesn't want me to see her cry.  I, on the 
other hand, can't take my eyes off her, or William.

Even William is affected by this.  He's fussy this 
morning; Scully has been walking him up and down, up 
and down.  

None of us got much sleep last night.  Scully broke her 
iron rule and brought William to bed with us.  He lay 
between us, and we spoke softly to each other, and to 
him.  We didn't speak of anything profound.  We didn't 
talk about my impending departure.  We just tried to be 
a family for the short time we had.

I couldn't get enough of touching Scully or William.  I 
tucked Scully's hair behind her ear, cupped her cheek or 
her chin, leaned across William to touch her lips with 
mine.  I brushed my finger over William's velvet cheek, 
let him wrap his tiny fingers around mine.  I'll remember 
how that felt for the rest of my life.

We didn't make any promises to each other.  We didn't 
have to; we already knew that we would do our damnedest 
to be together again.  Saying the words again wouldn't 
make them any more true.

Scully slept a little, and I held her and William in my 
arms, and thought about what lay ahead.  I can do it, I 
thought.  I've been alone most of my life.  I'll miss 
Scully, and William, but it's not forever.

I got up and put William in his crib and stood watching 
him.  He slept on, oblivious to our turmoil.  My son.  
I'd seen many impossible things in my lifetime, but he 
was by far the most amazing one I'd ever beheld.  Scully's 
miracle.  Our son.  Maybe the world's salvation.

It was a terrible burden to lay on a small baby.  I wondered 
what thoughts went through my father's head when he first 
saw me.  Did he know, even then, how I'd become involved 
in the lies he helped form and foster?  Did he hope to 
protect me?  Or had he always intended to use me for his 
own ends?  To "broker fate," as he once put it, using my 
life as a bargaining chip?

I wouldn't allow that to happen to William.  Not our son.

I crawled back into bed and wrapped myself around Scully 
again.  She made a low sound and curled back against me.

I can do this.  I can leave her.  It's for the best.  
It's not forever.

It was a very long night, but not long enough.  I stayed 
watchful throughout, holding Scully, looking at her, 
letting her sleep as long as I could.  Thinking about 
what the day would bring.

"Hey, Scully," I whispered as the dawn began to seep into 
the room.  "Are you awake?"

"Mmmmm," she sighed.  "Time's it?"

"I've got to go soon," I told her.  "But listen, I have to 
tell you something..."

She turned in my embrace and faced me, her eyes searching 
mine.  "What is it, Mulder?"

I just looked at her for a minute.  Yes, I can do this.  
I can.  "Scully, I..."  I cleared my throat a little.  "I 
love you."

Her eyes filled with tears and I filled with panic.  I 
can't do this.

Yes, you can.  You have to.

She buried her head against my shoulder.  "I love you 
too, Mulder," I heard her muffled voice.  I felt her 
tears on my skin.

We finally managed to say the words, now that it's almost 
too late. 

x-x-x-x

The taxi's here.  It takes me a couple of trips to get 
the bags loaded.  Scully stands by and watches, holding 
William.  He's gone quiet now, and watchful.

I can't delay the inevitable any longer.  I take William 
from Scully's arms and hold him close, burying my nose 
into the folds of his neck, feeling his tiny hand brush 
against my cheek.  I've got to remember what this feels 
like.

Scully takes William from my arms and kisses him, then 
puts him in his porta-crib.  I open my arms to her and 
she comes to me.  We stand like this for a long time, 
just holding each other as tightly as we can.  Scully 
is the only thing that anchors me to this life.  I cup 
her face in my hands, and kiss her again and again, 
storing up the feelings and sensations for the long, 
lonely time ahead.

I knew this day would come.  But I always thought that 
Scully would be going with me.

As the taxi drives away, I wonder if I've left it too 
late.  I don't think about how I might never see Scully, 
or William, again.  I can't afford to think that way.  

But I do think of other missed opportunities.

x-x-x-x

I'd always known that a time might come when I'd need to 
go underground.  The first time the X-Files got taken 
from me, I started thinking about it.  

After my escape from the boxcar in New Mexico, it seemed 
like the perfect opportunity to disappear.  But I had to 
go back for Scully.  I knew even then that I couldn't do 
it alone.  

I didn't ask her after all.  I had nothing to offer her, 
and she'd already given up so much.  And when Skinner 
showed up and told her about Melissa, I left the decision 
to Scully.  I couldn't blame her for making the choice to 
go back.  I might have considered going off on my own, but 
in only a few short years, Scully had become as important 
to me as Samantha.

We were too late for Melissa.  Scully added another layer 
of grief; I added a little more guilt to my own burden.  

All the same, when we got back, I started planning more 
seriously for our eventual disappearance.  I enlisted the 
help of the Gunmen.  For all my teasing of them, and the 
rude comments I sometimes make about them, I have a lot of 
respect for what they're capable of doing.

I would never have gotten to Scully in Antarctica in time 
if it hadn't been for the Gunmen.  I didn't think that much 
about it at the time.  All my focus was on getting to Scully, 
and getting her out.  I didn't question how they did what 
they did.  *Why* they did what they did wasn't just for 
me, I know.  All I've ever had to do is mention Scully's 
name, and they've fallen all over themselves to help.

In fact, once I introduced Scully to them, I started to 
get the feeling that they'd do more for her than they would 
for me.  They took sides with her over Diana Fowley (which 
in retrospect should have told me something about Diana).  
They watched over her when I was abducted, and probably 
did more to help her find me than anyone in the FBI did, 
and I include her other *partner* in that.

x-x-x-x

The taxi pulls up to the station.  This is a pretty busy 
commuter hub, and it's just getting into the prime time 
hour.  It makes it harder for me to see if anyone's followed 
me, but I think it will be harder for anyone to figure out 
where I'm going, too.  If anyone cares.  I didn't see anyone 
following us to the train station, and a glance around 
doesn't reveal any watchers that I can see.  There's always 
the possibility of video surveillance, of course.  The 
cameras are everywhere.  They've proliferated in recent 
years, almost to the point where they've become part of 
the background.  I'm sure the average person hardly thinks 
about them anymore.

I think about them all the time.  I've been surveiled 
covertly too many times not to.  I know the Gunmen sweep 
Scully's apartment regularly but they've taken to leaving 
the bugs where they've found them.  They always get 
replaced, anyway.  We've found other ways to prevent 
Them from seeing and hearing what we want to keep private.

They might be less vigilant in their watching now that 
I'm out of the picture but somehow I doubt it.  They 
know who the important one is, has always been, in our 
partnership.

It takes a while to purchase the tickets, partly because 
I have to wait in line at two different windows.  At the 
first window, I buy a ticket for the first train heading 
for Arizona.  I check some of my luggage, and get back 
in line for ticket number two, to Florida, and check some 
more luggage through.  I've purchased one under my real 
name, and the other under "George Hale," a pseudonym I've 
used often enough that the bad guys probably know it as 
well as my own.  

I have a third ticket, purchased a few days ago by Langly, 
under the name "Michael Orr."  This will be my nom de guerre 
for now.  It's not a name I've used with anyone but the 
Gunmen.  Scully knows George Hale, and she knows Marty 
Mulder (though that's one I wish she'd never heard).  

Scully has an email address for me, but I doubt it will 
take long for anyone conducting surveillance to figure out 
whose it is.  We've agreed to use it on a very limited 
basis.  It seemed smarter to have *some* form of communication 
that can be discovered and monitored by the bad guys.  Maybe 
it will keep them from digging much deeper.  I've developed 
other ways of communicating with the Gunmen.  They'll be my 
main link with my old life, and with Scully.

x-x-x-x

I still didn't fully appreciate my importance relative to 
Scully in the Gunmen's view until Frohike set me straight.

Even though I was pissed at the Gunmen after the fiasco 
at the records facility, I ended up at their place in the 
early morning hours after leaving Scully's.  I was going 
to take Langly to task for his smartass comment about the 
parentage of the baby, but Frohike forestalled me.  "When 
are you gonna wake up and smell the coffee, Mulder?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"  I was spoiling for 
a fight.  I blamed them, I blamed Doggett, anyone but myself 
for what happened at the facility.  I knew even then that's 
not the only thing I was pissed about.  Scully and I had 
already fought that night.  I guess I still needed to take 
it out on someone.

"You really don't know what Scully's been through, do you?"  
Frohike continued.  It was very brave of him, actually.  It 
was a measure of how highly he -- and Byers and Langly -- 
thought of Scully.  And one more example of how everyone 
was able to go on without me.  At least, that's how it 
seemed to me.

"Get your head out of your ass, Mulder," Frohike said.  
"You know how it was for you when Scully was missing?  
Well, what do you think she went through while you were 
gone?  You think it was any easier for her than it was 
for you?"

"Looks like she did okay to me," I mumbled, but my heart 
wasn't in it.  Arguing with Scully had already raised my 
consciousness, so to speak.  I guess I deserved the reaming 
I got from her, and from the Gunmen, that night.

"She's never gonna tell you," Frohike said.  "But she went 
through freakin' hell the whole time you were gone.  I know 
you don't like Agent Doggett much, but if it hadn't been 
for him -- and for Skinner -- I don't think Scully would 
have survived your abduction any better than you did."

I was silent.  What could I say?  I didn't want to think 
about how I was when Scully was gone.  I didn't handle 
myself very well.  There was no way I could blame Scully 
for doing whatever she needed to do, if she felt even half 
as lost as I did when she was gone.

Of course, just because I agreed with Frohike doesn't mean 
I went to Scully and apologized.  But the argument we had 
seemed to clear the air, a little.  Even so, nothing was 
the same; how could it be, with Scully pregnant?  I thought 
it might take me another seven years to get back into her 
good graces.

It didn't look like I would ever get reinstated with the 
FBI, either, and I began to think that maybe I should stop 
trying.  With Kersh back in charge, I knew it would be 
battle after battle.  

It didn't surprise me when Kersh fired me.  I was asking 
for it, pretty obviously.  What surprised me is that he 
fell for it.  I guess it is true that he's simply another 
pawn, someone who doesn't know the full story.  He let his 
disdain for me, and what I'd been working for, get in the 
way of the larger agenda.  He thinks he's protected by 
those he serves, just as Blevins did.  He'll find out the 
truth, when he's no longer needed.  And with any luck, 
anyone I care about -- or whom Scully cares about -- in 
the FBI will be long gone.

After I was fired, I started thinking seriously again about 
going underground, and asking Scully if she'd be willing to 
go, too.  No way did I intend to leave her behind.

That was before we had the partial abruption scare. I couldn't 
ask her to leave after that.  I'd just have to hang in there 
until after the baby was born, and it was safe to travel 
again.

It was a simple plan, and one doomed to failure.  The closer 
Scully got to her due date, the greater the danger was.  And 
William's birth was fraught with as much danger as it would 
have been if we had gone underground.  Hindsight is a wonderful 
thing.

x-x-x-x

I have a couple of hours before my train leaves.  I wander 
around the station a little, looking at it in a way that I'd 
never done before.  It was just a station before, a stop on 
the way to somewhere else.  The echoes and whispers eddy 
around me and I feel a sharp sense of loss.  I'd just started 
getting the hang of my old life, I thought.  I'm not ready 
to start a new one just yet.  Not alone, anyway.  

x-x-x-x

We had about a week together after William was born.  All the 
time, I tried to think of ways to ask Scully to disappear with 
me.  I'd been hearing some pretty disturbing things on the FBI 
front.  It seemed that Doggett's declared investigation of 
Deputy Director Kersh had stirred up quite a hornet's nest.  
The backlash looked to be landing squarely on Scully, and by 
extension, me.

I knew that they would find a way to use one of us against 
the other, and the surest way to prevent that was to take 
preemptive action.  Maybe we've just played into their hands, 
doing this.  But we had to think fast, and this seemed the 
best path to take.

When I finally asked her, I got the answer I knew I would 
get.

"Mulder, I can't," she said softly.  We were sitting on her 
couch.  She leaned her head against my shoulder; William had 
just fallen asleep at her breast.  "Not just because of 
William.  You know there are other reasons, too."

I nodded.  "I know, Scully.  But I think I have to go.  You'll 
be safer if I'm not here."

She looked about to object, but I kept on.

"Think about it, Scully.  I'm not in the FBI anymore, I don't 
have their resources.  Yet if I stay here, every move I make 
to find the truth, to keep you and William safe, will be 
monitored.  I need to find some answers, Scully, and I don't 
think I can find them here.  They'll never leave us alone."

Scully didn't try to say anything this time.  She waited for 
me to say my piece.

"I told you I'd do anything to keep you and William safe.  
It didn't work to send you away; They found you anyway.  I 
just get the strong feeling that if I go, you'll be safer 
than if I stay here."

Finally, Scully spoke.  Her tone broke my heart.  "Mulder, 
there was a time when we wouldn't have let anything separate 
us.  How can we let them do it now?"

"You have so much more to lose now, Scully.  And I do, too,"  
I said.  "You know it as well as I do."  I gathered her closer, 
mindful of William in her arms.  "I still can't lose you, Scully."

"Mulder, I don't want to lose you again, either," she said.  
"When you left the FBI--"

"When I was *fired* from the FBI," I corrected her with a 
smile.

She nodded, but she didn't smile back.  "I thought somehow 
that you'd be safe.  I didn't want to have to worry about 
you out in the field, with no one to watch your back..."

"It won't be forever, Scully," I reassured her as best I 
could.  "But things are different now.  You have someone 
else to watch over.  I'll have to be the big boy, and take 
care of myself, while you take care of the little boy."

She smiled a little at that, but she wasn't convinced.  

I know Scully would have come with me if she'd been able.  We 
told each other that we'd be together again, as soon as it 
was safe.  I'd either come back to her, or she'd find a way 
to come to me.

I hope I'll be able to come back.  I know how hard it will 
be for Scully to live life on the run.  Never to see her 
mother again, to give up her entire life, for me?  I'm not 
sure she can do it.  I'm not sure she *should* do it.

I'm not sure it's good for her, or for our son.  What's worse, 
living on the run with Mom and Dad, or being somewhere 
relatively safe with just Mom?

And are they safe where they are?  Are they safer with me, 
or without me?

I also worry that yet another separation from Scully will 
make it all that much harder for us to regain the ground 
we lost when I was abducted.  Scully would laugh to hear 
me say that I want a normal life, and that's not it, 
really.  I just want a life with Scully.

The concern I voiced so long ago, when Scully was given the 
chance for motherhood, has happened.  Having a child *has* 
come between us, but not in the way I'd originally imagined 
it would.  Neither of us intended for it to happen.  Not in 
the way it did, anyway.  

I don't regret the miracle that is William, not for a moment.  
What I mean to say is, when Scully asked me to help her have 
a child, I didn't want the *process* to come between us.  
Success or failure of the IVF notwithstanding, I still 
wanted the chance to build a relationship with Scully which 
had nothing to do with having a child with her.

I had trouble expressing this to Scully, mainly because I 
was afraid to be too open with her.  My intention was always 
for her to realize how I felt without having to tell her.  
Yes, I'm a chickenshit.  But the times I tried to tell her 
never seemed to come out the way I intended, and she never 
seemed to quite believe me.

Simply put:  I love Dana Scully.  I want to have a life with 
her, baby or no baby.  I was afraid that having a baby with her 
would hinder what I saw as a developing personal relationship.  
Sounds paradoxical, but there it is.  Nothing has ever come 
easily to us, whether it's a piece of the truth or a kiss.

Here's another paradox:  The IVF wasn't successful, but it 
*did* result in Scully and me becoming closer.  Not right 
away, of course.  But it started us on the path that, as it 
turned out, we both very much wanted to take.

In many ways, I've been one lucky son of a bitch.  Abduction 
and death aside, of course.

x-x-x-x

I talked to the Gunmen for a long time before I left.  I 
wanted to be sure that they will keep an eye on Scully and 
William.  I know they'll do their best to help us both.  I 
hope that some of the things they've been working on will be 
successful, and soon.  I don't know if the fate of the world 
hangs in the balance, but mine does.  I need Scully with me.

I'm counting on them to side with her this time.  I need them 
to watch her back for me.

I trust that Skinner and Doggett will do their best to 
protect Scully too, but they can't understand the extent 
of my fears.  Skinner has actually come a long way down 
the road to believing; he's learned about things the hard 
way, too, just the way Scully has.  He's sustained personal 
losses along the way, and had to do some terrible things 
that I know probably still haunt him.

As for Doggett...well, I know he's not a believer.  But he 
may come to it, in time.  Scully told me about some of the 
cases they'd been involved in, and his reaction to them.  I 
got a glimpse of it myself on my last *official* investigation 
as part of the FBI.  But when it came down to it, he did his 
best to protect Scully, no matter what he believes.

Scully wouldn't thank me for pulling this protective-male 
bullshit, which is why I didn't say any of it to the Gunmen 
when she was around.  I can rely on them, just as I can rely 
on Skinner and Doggett.  I haven't told the latter two that 
I'm leaving.  They'll find out when Scully tells them.  The 
fewer people who know what we're planning, the better.  

x-x-x-x

Most of my luggage goes on board with one or the other of the 
new reservations.  I board the third train as "Michael Orr" 
with one duffel bag and my laptop.

With any luck, the other stuff will sit in the unclaimed luggage 
office for a while at their destination.  Though they might 
search them, times being what they are.  It doesn't matter.  
They won't find much of interest.  Just enough to show that 
they really belonged to me, and throw any pursuers off the 
track.  I hope.

I settle into my seat and look out onto the platform.  I 
don't see anything unusual.  No one who seems to be watching 
in the crowd; there's no one talking to the conductor.

And no one to see me off.

I continue to watch the platform out my window.  I see a trio 
approach the train:  a man, a woman, and a small boy.  The 
man lifts the boy up onto his shoulders, and though I can't 
hear through the thick glass, I know he's squealing with joy.  
The man swings him down again with a kiss, and leans in to 
kiss the woman.  I turn away for a moment; even though they 
can't see me, I give them their privacy.

The man stands on the platform, waving, as the woman and the 
boy climb onto the train.

With a sharp jerk and a swaying sensation, the train begins 
its departure.  It's been years since I've ridden the train.  
We chose it as the mode of transportation because it seemed 
I might still be able to keep some anonymity, as compared to 
air travel.  It also gives me a bit more privacy.  I've taken 
a roomette.  I'll be able to think, and grieve, without anyone 
seeing me.

I'm doing the right thing, I tell myself.  It's better this 
way.  I need to have Scully and William safe while I pursue 
the answers I need to *keep* them safe.

The world outside my window has become blurred.  I'm not sure 
if it's the speed of the train, or the tears in my eyes.  

It's official; I've run away.  I've gone to ground.  I can 
only hope that I will find the answers I need before I lose 
my resolve.

x-x-x-x

The first day without Scully is very long.  I stay locked 
in my compartment, bent over my laptop for most of the day.  
I don't want to waste a moment.  I also don't want to think 
too much about who I've left behind.

I add to my growing list of questions.  Are these super 
soldiers truly created by a government program, or are 
they some new form of human/alien hybrid?  How did Billy 
Miles come to be?  Had the government been conducting 
experiments on Billy and his friends at the time of our 
first visit to Bellefleur?

Most important of all, can they be destroyed?  Krycek said 
not, but he's been wrong before.  He had a flair for the 
dramatic, and changed his stories more often than he changed 
his socks.  He told the truth just often enough for me not 
to discount his words entirely.

There are many possible avenues for exploration.  Billy Miles. 
Knowle Rohrer.  Maybe even Colonel Budahas.  The Gunmen were 
checking out what they could on their end; I am the man in 
the field.

And what about William?  Once again, we have Krycek's assertion 
that he is "more human than human."  Here also we have Lizzy 
Gill's corroboration that he's "special."  He looked pretty 
ordinary to me, the little I got to see of him.

More human than human.  No human frailties.  It doesn't make 
sense.  William has been examined from head to toe, and he 
exhibits no abnormalities of any kind.  I hope that it's 
true, but the realist in me (how Scully would laugh to hear 
me call myself a realist) knows that it can't be that simple.

Monica Reyes told me about the odd events surrounding William's 
birth.  How the ranger insisted that William would be born, 
and how these -- beings -- crowded into the little building 
to witness it.  And then, they just went away.

"Mulder, I never felt so helpless in my life," Scully confided 
in me later that night.  We were in a hospital in Atlanta, 
where I pulled all the strings I could to get Scully a private 
room where she could have William with her.  I found out later 
that Skinner had called and done a little string-pulling and 
weight-throwing himself.

I wish I'd known then that our time at the hospital was almost 
all the time we'd have together.

I tried to make the most of it.  I slept in Scully's room, 
vigilant over the baby as she slept.  When she was awake, I 
sat as close as I could to her and held her hand as she 
recalled the pain and terror of William's birth.  

"I wanted you there so badly, Mulder," she whispered.  She 
was still exhausted and her guard was down, or she might 
never have said anything to me.

I stroked her hair with my free hand.  "I wanted to be 
there," I said.  "Not that I'd have made a better midwife 
than Agent Reyes."  

"I don't understand, Mulder," she started to say, and I watched 
as her eyes fluttered shut and she struggled to open them again.

"Don't worry about it right now," I said softly.  I leaned over 
and kissed her forehead.  "Get some rest, we can talk more 
later."  I held her hand until she fell asleep and let myself 
out of the room to find Skinner waiting.

Skinner and Doggett filled me in on Knowle Rohrer and Agent 
Crane's supposed demise, and their connection with Kersh.

"I'd lay low for a while, Mulder," Skinner advised.

"You mean, stop investigating?"  I asked.  "You could order 
me around in the past, but not now."

"Calm down, Mulder, I'm not trying to order you," Skinner 
said.  "I'm suggesting that you think of the danger you might 
be putting Scully and the baby in by continuing the way you 
have in the past."

That hit home.  It was a whole new ball game, and a whole new 
set of problems.  I would not be allowed to live quietly with 
my new family.  Eventually the devil outside would find a way 
in.

Unless, of course, I found a way to beat him at his own game.  
That's what I started to think about in the intervening days, 
and what I began to discuss with the Gunmen.

Scully was of course in on some of the discussion, but I didn't 
tell her everything.  I didn't want to raise her hopes too high, 
or to frighten her needlessly.  She was going to have a hard 
enough time in the months ahead.

The day before I left, I said my good-byes to the Gunmen.  
"You take care of Scully and William, or I'll come back and 
kick your asses," I said.

"Take care of yourself, Mulder, or Scully will kick our asses, 
and yours, too," Frohike said, hugging me again.  I backed 
away before I started getting too emotional, and went home 
to Scully for the last time.

x-x-x-x

I have a long layover in Chicago, during which I resist the 
urge to call or email just to let Scully know I'm okay.  I have 
a couple of old Hotmail addresses that I rarely use; Scully 
would likely figure out who the message was from, but it seems 
stupid to risk it.

I hope that I can continue to resist the temptation until it's 
time to contact her as agreed.

Instead, I buy every tabloid I can get my hands on in the 
Chicago station, so I'll have something to while away the 
sleepless hours.  I've already been on the train nearly 
twenty-four hours and the thought of two more days is making 
me a little stir-crazy.

Late that night, unable to sleep, I prowl the cars.  The 
observation lounge is empty; I sit in one of the swivel 
chairs and look out over the dark landscape.

Have I done the right thing in leaving Scully and William?  
Is it too late to turn around and go back?

In spite of myself, I think of Scully.  I imagine her lying 
in bed, head half buried in her pillow, her breathing soft 
and steady.  I see her eyelids flutter, and hope she's dreaming 
of me.  It had been my secret pleasure to watch Scully sleep 
on the rare nights I stayed with her, and I'm grateful for the 
memories now.

How could I not realize how much I'd miss her?

x-x-x-x

It's late afternoon on the fourth day out of DC when I finally 
arrive in Portland, Oregon.  I feel travel-stained and weary.  
I've let my beard grow the last few days.  I know I look pretty 
scruffy.  I head out walking from the station, and soon I'm in 
a part of town that's seen better days.  I see hotels that are 
a step or two down from some of the places Scully and I have 
stayed over the years.  I can afford better, but right now all 
I want is a place to crash for the night.

I come upon a shabby brick building that calls itself The 
Queens Head Hotel.  I wonder if it ever lived up to its 
rather elegant name.  A smaller sign just below it says, 
"A Smoke and Drug-free Environment."

The price is certainly right, and the room is clean though 
devoid of charm or amenities of any kind.  I've stayed in 
worse places.  I'd asked at the desk about places to eat, 
and the desk clerk gave me directions for a few nearby cafes.  
"No cooking in the rooms," he admonished me.

"I wouldn't dream of it," I told him, and dragged myself up 
the stairs.

It's only mid-afternoon but I decide to take a nap before 
doing anything else.  I pull off my shoes and lie on the 
bed, hoping for a few minutes' rest.  I feel like I'm still 
on the train.  As soon as I close my eyes, I can feel the 
vibrations.  The silence after the constant sound and motion 
of the train presses on my ears.

I'm drifting, floating, not thinking at all, when I feel a 
jerk and see a blinding flash, even with my eyes closed.  My 
eyes fly open and I feel the restraints on my arms and legs.  
I hear the high whine of the drills and sense the eyes of the 
Others on me.  I open my mouth to scream for Scully but no 
sound comes out.

I see the drill accelerate as it approaches.  I can't even 
shut my eyes; all I can do is lie helpless as it comes closer 
and closer, and I try to brace myself against the memory of 
the unearthly pain.

I hear Duane Barry's voice in my head as I try to scream:
ohgodno notagain saveme it'scoming somebodystopit don'ttakeme 
noooooooo...

...the light blinks out, the drills stop abruptly, and I'm 
left alone in the dark.

=====

end of Part One; continued in Part Two.

=====

Apart 2: Alone
by ML

When I finally recover from the nightmare or flashback or 
whatever the hell it is, I get myself out of the room and 
go in search of distraction.  Anything to keep my brain 
from going there again.

I walk until I find one of the cafes the desk clerk told 
me about.  "Happy Palace Fine Chinese Cuisine" the sign 
says.  Like the hotel, it has a seen-better-days shabbiness 
about it.  Inside, it looks, and smells, like every other 
Chinese restaurant I've ever been in.

It makes me homesick for Scully.  Too many memories of 
sitting in motel rooms, eating take-out as we argued about 
the current investigation.  Too many images of Scully 
delicately lifting a piece of shrimp up to her lips 
with her chopsticks, more often than not making me drop 
whatever I was eating into my lap.  She had no idea how 
much I loved to watch her eat.  I used to order French 
fries just so she could steal them off my plate. 

I eat quickly, hardly tasting what I ordered, washing it 
down with scalding green tea.  I crush the fortune cookie 
and pick at the pieces of it, turning the slip of paper 
over to see what it says.  "There is a prospect of a 
thrilling time ahead for you."

Oh, joy.  Too much like the ancient curse, "may you live 
in interesting times."  I crumple up the scrap of paper 
and leave my money on the table.

I wander around downtown, finally ending up in a bar.  I'm 
not so much interested in a drink as I am in a distraction.  
I hope to exhaust myself so that I can finally get some 
sleep without having another episode.

This is one of the secrets I've kept from Scully, and another 
reason I had to leave.  Since my return, I've been having 
flashbacks from my time on the ship.  They were really bad 
that first week I came back.  I told Scully I needed some 
time.  I didn't tell her why.

Scully wouldn't be surprised that I'm having nightmares, but 
these are more than that.  I think they're recovered memories, 
and they come at me like a blow from a sledgehammer.

I started having them in the hospital after I found out what 
had happened to me during my abduction.  I sneaked a look at 
my file when I was waiting for the doctor to come and examine 
me.  I know that eventually I could have coerced Scully into 
telling me what happened, but I hadn't really wanted to ask 
her.  I hadn't wanted to ask her anything at first:  not 
about me, not about her.  Especially not about her.  I think 
I was more afraid of what she would say about her condition,
and how she got that way, than about anything else.

The notes in the file were sketchy.  The initial report was 
what really got my attention:  "Patient exhumed after 
approximately 3 months burial.  Decomposition commensurate 
with time frame; however, faint vital signs detected."

Appended to this report was the M.E.'s report from Montana, 
co-signed by D.K. Scully, M.D.  No autopsy report, just a 
"non-invasive examination for causes of death, per the 
order of A.D. Skinner, FBI."

I hated to think of Scully having to participate in this, but 
I had an idea that she wouldn't have stayed away willingly.  
In fact, she probably insisted on being there.  I remembered 
that I'd asked her to perform the autopsy on my mother; she 
probably knew that I'd insist she examine me if I'd been able to.

I don't know why no autopsy was performed but it goes without 
saying I'm very grateful there wasn't.

Decomposition.  I'd been decomposing.  That's a hell of a 
thing to wake up to.

Until I read that report I'd no idea how or where I'd been 
found, or what shape I'd been in.  Yes, I knew I'd been 
abducted and returned, and I felt like shit when I first 
woke up, but I've woken up in hospitals so often, at first 
it didn't seem that different from all the other times.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the description of my 
injuries.  I touched my cheeks and felt the wounds.  I 
traced my hand down my sternum, feeling the scar.  I touched 
my tongue to the roof of my mouth.  I looked at my wrists 
and ankles, seeing the puncture marks.  

I began to remember.  I closed my eyes and saw it all:  the 
chair with the restraints, the bright lights, the whirring 
drills.  The cold, inhuman eyes of my captors.  I heard my 
screams over the whine of the drill.

I almost screamed again, the vision was so vivid.

The flashbacks continued after Scully took me home.  I had 
no control over them.  Waking or sleeping, they'd come over 
me with no warning.  Sometimes I felt paralyzed by them.  
Other times, I must have fought back.  I'd come to and find 
a table turned over, a lamp smashed.  

I know the signs of PTSD.  I *am* a psychologist, after all.  
But I couldn't see myself going to anyone for treatment.  I 
felt that the best cure would be to find out exactly what 
happened, and how to prevent it happening to me, or anyone, 
ever again.

The last thing I wanted to do was subject Scully to my 
nightmares.  I know what she went through with her 
abduction, and how she hated remembering anything about 
it.  She saw what had been done to me; she examined my 
body when I was dead, and after I was exhumed.  There 
was no need for her to suffer through those agonies again.

I wish I could keep myself from suffering too, but I think the 
only way to help myself is to confront it.  My plan is to visit 
Bellefleur, and maybe even Montana.

Maybe it's just as well Scully didn't come with me.  She'd 
insist on going to those places with me, and though it might 
be comforting to me to have her there, I couldn't have asked 
her to do it.

I'm not sure what I expect to find there.  Maybe some clues, 
maybe nothing.  At least it's a step toward understanding 
what happened to me, and at least I'm not having holes 
drilled in my head to get at the truth.

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to face a drill again, of 
any kind.  So much for my garage workshop.  Sorry Scully, 
can't make you a bookshelf, I'm afraid of the drills and 
saws.  Not to mention the vises and the routers.

I grimace into my beer at the direction my thoughts have 
taken me.  Scully would frown with concern, even as I tried 
to make her laugh.  She'd try not to, but I'd be able to 
tell.

I stay at the bar until closing time, and walk back to the 
hotel.  It's very cold out, and the streets are quiet.  I can 
tell that there are homeless people huddled in the doorways, 
looking like nothing so much as bundles of old clothes.  I 
think back to the alley in Atlantic City where I went 
searching for the beast woman.  At the time, I couldn't 
comprehend anyone choosing to live that way.  Now it seems 
appealing in an odd way.  To disappear off the face of the 
earth, have no name, no one knowing or caring where you were.

It could happen to me.  I imagine myself shuffling along, 
hair long and matted, scraggly beard, muttering something 
about the invasion, shrieking in my sleep when the nightmares 
come.  What makes me so different from these people?  What 
makes me think I deserve to live a normal life?  Let this be 
a warning to you, Mulder.

x-x-x-x

The second day in Portland dawns cold and rainy, entirely 
suitable to my mood.  I plan to do a little research here 
for a couple of days, until I have the guts to head over to 
Bellefleur.

As expected, I didn't get much sleep the night before, but 
at least I was able to take a shower in a full-size bathroom.  
I check out of the hotel and start walking toward the business 
district.  I stop at the first bus stop and ask the driver 
what line to take to get to the library.  

I stop in at a nearby Starbuck's (there seems to be at least 
two coffee shops on every block) to wait until the library 
opens.  I order a coffee and bagel and sit down to watch 
the passing parade, a stranger in a strange land.

I'm finding that my new life has many unexpected dimensions.  
Maybe it's being in a strange place that sharpens my 
perceptions and memory.  It's the little things that I 
miss most, things I'd taken for granted in my former 
existence, and that I'd barely begun to appreciate again 
upon my return.

Practically the first words out of my mouth when I revived 
were, "Did anybody miss me?"  I was referring, of course, 
to Scully, but as it happens, more people missed me than 
I thought possible.

The first time I stopped in at the convenience store down 
the street from my apartment, the owner smiled and extended 
his hand to me.  "Welcome back," he said, trying not to stare 
at the fading scars on my cheeks.  I'd never done more than 
exchange a few words with him, yet he remembered me, and not 
in a bad way.

The girl behind the counter at the Starbuck's also gave me 
a huge smile when I came in.  "Haven't seen you in a while," 
she said.  "Your usual?"

I nodded, sort of pleased that I had a "usual" when everything 
in my life seemed anything but.  I was a bit surprised when 
she called to the barista, "One large Americano, extra hot, 
and one grande nonfat soy latte, low foam."

How could I have forgotten that my "usual" had always included 
Scully?  

I shook my head.  "Sorry, just the Americano," I said with 
an apologetic smile.

Until I'd gone missing and came back, I'd never noticed 
those things.

The biggest hole in my life, of course, is the one where 
Scully belongs.  

I'd told Scully, in a sort of self-pitying way, that I didn't 
know where I fit in anymore.  I could see how much it hurt 
her, though of course she didn't say.  I was so tired, and 
so disoriented from all that had happened to me, that I 
couldn't spare a thought to what Scully had gone through 
while I was gone.

At first, I did my best to wedge myself back in.  I thought 
work was the answer, and I as much as told Scully that.  I 
tried to go back to the office, tried to get back involved 
in the X-Files, but it felt like I was just going through 
the motions.  

I don't think they expected me to leave.  I don't think 
they expected me to accept my firing without a fight.  I 
think they thought I'd follow my usual pattern of trying 
to break in somewhere, or publicly threaten Kersh, or 
some other foolish act that the old Fox Mulder would have 
done.  

Guess I've learned something over the years, huh?  Some of 
their techniques are starting to rub off on me.  Lay low.  
Work in the shadows.  Don't ever tell anyone everything, 
keep it all on a "need to know" basis.

That means leaving almost everyone out of the loop as far 
as the big picture is concerned.  I'm not sure I know 
everything myself.

The hard part of all this is the amount I'm forced to keep 
from Scully.  Yeah, she's used to me withholding information 
from her, but not like this.  I just hope it doesn't come 
back and bite me on the ass one of these days.

All the same, I wouldn't put this on a par with the biggest 
secret I've ever kept from her.  She didn't know that when 
I was abducted, my days were already numbered.

I hardly wanted to think about it myself, though by then 
I was intimately acquainted with the details, and my doctor 
assured me that there was nothing to be done about it.

It started out subtly.  I'd be going along fine, and then 
I'd have an episode of debilitating pain, not unlike a 
migraine.  Sometimes it was only a few seconds in duration.  
Sometimes it would be a low, dull throbbing that went on for 
hours or sometimes, days.

I ignored it for a long time.  I knew it wasn't what had 
afflicted me before; I heard no voices or high-pitched 
ringing.  Eventually I quietly visited a specialist.  After 
an enormous number of tests which turned up nothing, he 
concluded that I had some sort of degenerative disease the 
likes of which he'd never seen before.  And since he'd never 
seen it before, he had no idea how to treat it.  The best he 
could do was monitor it, keep track of my "decline."

Well, there's a surprise.  Didn't I say that nothing is ever 
simple for us?

I didn't want to tell Scully.  I didn't even tell the Gunmen, 
because I was sure *they'd* tell Scully.  I remembered too 
well how helpless I felt when Scully was ill, and I somehow 
knew there was nothing she could do.  I didn't want her 
making any Faustian bargains on my behalf.

When she disappeared with Smoking Man, I thought somehow 
she'd found out, and she was doing exactly that.  I was 
really angry with her, but also disappointed that the 
science he'd promised her wasn't there.  It might have 
helped me.

There would be no miracle cure for me.  I felt that what 
had happened to me on the operating table had probably 
caused this, and that since they'd left me to die there, 
every minute I had since then was a bonus.

Pretty fatalistic, isn't it?  I did try to find answers, 
and I did what I could to find a cure.  But there were 
limits to what I would do.  Maybe part of me always 
believed that everyone would be better off if I was gone.  
Scully could go have her normal life, and certainly no 
one else would miss me much.

There were a couple of opportunities I explored, not long 
before I was abducted.  I couldn't bring myself to avail 
myself of either of them, because to do so would have 
caused more pain and suffering for someone else.  It 
just didn't seem right.

Somehow I was able to keep it from Scully.  I hadn't 
intended to do it forever; in fact, just before the 
last trip to Oregon, I almost told her.  But at that 
time, I was worried about her.  She hadn't been feeling 
well, and I lived in fear that it was a recurrence of 
her cancer.

Illness or no, I didn't intend to get abducted.  I 
didn't go willingly on the ship.  After I was returned, 
and Scully and I finally began to talk about things 
again, I told her that.  Even though I knew my illness 
was serious, I wouldn't have purposely done anything 
to take me from Scully sooner.

We wasted some time on recriminations when I got back.  
Yes, I'm guilty, too.  I didn't understand how Scully 
had gotten pregnant, and it seemed to bear out my 
theory that she'd been able to move on without me.  
I was jealous of her partner, jealous that she'd been 
able to keep on while I was missing.  She did a hell 
of a lot better than I did when she was taken.  She 
finally had to spell everything out for me.  What an 
idiot I was.

We wasted so much time not listening to each other.  Hell, 
the truth is, *I* wasted time not listening to her.  And 
by the time I was ready to listen, she wasn't talking any 
more.

I know I hurt her feelings by expressing my fears and 
doubts about the baby she carried.  I was scared.  We'd 
both seen too much, and I was too familiar with Scully 
in denial.  I knew how much the baby meant to her.

It meant a lot to me, too, and I wasn't just scared for 
Scully.  It could have turned out so very badly.  I 
still don't understand why it didn't.

I was not prepared for the way I felt the first time I 
saw William.  Up until that point, even with the 
evidence before my eyes, the idea of Scully as a mother 
seemed purely theoretical.  The idea of me being a 
father, even more so.  But as soon as I saw William 
in Scully's arms, squalling for all he was worth, I 
knew beyond a doubt.  I would do anything to keep him 
safe.  Anything.

x-x-x-x

The library finally opens and I head for one of the computer 
terminals.  I'm lucky to get one right away instead of having 
to sign a waiting list.

I log on and go to the "Weluvcheezstks" list.  Michael Orr, 
among others, has belonged to this list for many years.  It 
just so happens that Langly is the moderator for that group.  
I can leave a message there any time and know that it will 
get to them.

There are also certain newsgroups where I can leave messages, 
though I tend to avoid the obvious ones with words like 
"aliens" or "conspiracy" in the title.  I visit alt.tv.xena 
and post stuff about weaponry, especially those involving 
iron ore.  The guys thought it would be funny if I posted 
to alt.tv.lostinspace but I vetoed that.

The guys put a lot of stock in the newsgroups.  They tell 
me that there are a lot of highly intelligent and knowledgible 
people who frequent these lists, and they've often gotten 
leads to the answers they sought.

I can't really naysay them; the one time I met someone from 
a list I used to frequent, she seemed to be pretty 
knowledgible, if a bit anti-social.  I don't think 
Scully liked her much, though.
 
This list isn't very active, though Langly told me once 
that there are about two hundred legitimate subscribers.  
I see that "leerjet01" (Frohike) has posted within the 
last hour and I take a chance and post a message.
---
geobounce13:
subj: see the game last nite?
      The Wizards sucked.
---

I go check some other websites and come back in a few 
minutes to see that leerjet01 has posted a reply.

---
leerjet01: 
subj:  re: see the game last nite?
       Care to step outside & say that?
---

The message means that Frohike's opened a chatroom.  Once 
I enter, the private chat window comes up.

---
leerjet01:  you ok?

geobounce13:  been worse. got to first destination. anything 
new on the home front?

leerjet01: same old. if you go to Xena, check out the heavy 
metal thread. L asked the question you wanted.

geobounce13:  ok. how are they?

leerjet01:  they're ok.

geobounce13: seen them?

leerjet01: yesterday.

geobounce13: gotta go. let me know...let her know.

leerjet01: will do.  don't worry.

***leerjet01 has left the chatroom***
---

It wasn't a very satisfying exchange, but at least I know 
that as of yesterday, Scully and William were safe.  
Nothing else to report.  No news is good news, I tell 
myself.

I do a little more research before my time runs out and 
spend the rest of the day reviewing the news archives for 
stories about strange lights in the sky, or amything else 
that might be relevant to me.

The events of last year actually got a mention in the 
Portland paper, back in the regional section.

"BELLEFLEUR.  Reports of a plane crash in the forest 
outside of this small fishing village were greatly 
exaggerated, local law enforcement says.  `I don't 
know how these rumors get started,'  says Detective 
Miles.

"Bellefleur has long been known for sightings of 
unidentified lights in the sky that no one has ever 
been able to explain.

"'I think it's the local Chamber of Commerce, trying 
to generate some tourist dollars,' Detective Miles 
continued.  `Don't put too much stock in it.  You get 
lost out in that forest, you might just stay lost.'"

No kidding.  I almost did.

x-x-x-x

It's no surprise that nights are the worst time.  The 
libraries are closed.  I don't want to go to a bar or 
anyplace else that reminds me of how solitary my life 
has become.  All I can do is go back to my room and 
type up my notes, and think.

I can get by on minimal sleep; I always have.  That's 
especially a good thing, now.  I'm afraid if I have a 
particularly bad nightmare, someone might hear and call 
the cops.

I still do a lot of channel-surfing, naturally.  But the 
types of shows that used to lull me asleep before don't 
work the way they used to.  Scully has ruined me for adult 
entertainment.

My main entertainment now is thinking about her.

Where once all I had was fantasy, I now have memories.  
I'm grateful for them, but it goes without saying that 
I'd rather have the real thing.

It isn't the first time I've had to rely on my memories 
to keep me sane.

All the time I was gone, no matter what horrible things 
were done to me -- and frankly, I'm doing my best to allow 
*those* memories to remain hazy -- I had a place to go, 
to escape to.  And that place was where Scully lived.  I 
went there to be with her whenever I could.

I started with the memory of our first time together.  It's 
a very clear memory, and I don't think I've added too much 
to it.  Even at the time, I did my best to file every moment 
away to be taken out and pored over.  Perpetual pessimist 
that I am, I wasn't taking any chances.  If this turned out 
to be a one-time thing, I was going to make the absolute 
best of it.

Well, that wasn't the only reason.  Of course, I wanted to 
please Scully as much as I wanted this for myself.  I wanted 
to remember that I'd given her something to treasure, as 
well as myself.

Not to mention that I thought I might earn myself a return 
engagement if I did really, really well.  My track record 
hadn't been too good up to that point.  I'd given up trying 
to let Scully know how I felt.  I'd done my best.  It was 
up to Scully now to let me know if she was interested in 
taking our relationship any further. 

The night Scully finally made her move was like a lot 
of other nights we'd spent in each other's company.  We'd 
had dinner, discussed a case we were working on, until 
I decided I'd better call it a night.  I was on the point 
of leaving.  I had my coat on, and Scully walked me to 
the door, which she usually did.  Sometimes we hugged 
goodbye, sometimes there'd be just a quick peck on the 
cheek, once or twice a glancing kiss on the lips.  I 
loved the anticipation.  I always let Scully take the 
lead.  Part of the charm (and the frustration) for me 
was trying to figure out her mood and what I could expect 
at the door.  I was right about as often as I was wrong.

Despite my resolve to let Scully set the pace, I don't 
know how long I would have let this go on before one 
night I just grabbed her and planted a big wet sloppy 
kiss on her, damn the consequences.  As always, Scully 
took me by surprise.

On the night in question, she didn't do anything overt.  
She just took my hand.  This by itself was not unusual.  
We were standing at her door.  She made no move to open 
it, and neither did I.  I looked down and started to say 
something, and saw this look in her eyes I'd never seen 
before.  I felt the soft pressure of her hand around my 
fingers -- just a gentle squeeze.  

And she smiled at me.

Scully doesn't smile very much.  It's not that she's 
humorless or unkind, she just doesn't bestow her smiles 
easily.  Nothing about Dana Scully is easy, or simple, 
or trivial.  The point I'm trying to make here, is that 
when Scully smiles, it means something.

I saw everything in that smile.  It must be why she doesn't 
do it very often; her smiles reveal too much.  That smile 
spoke to me.  It seemed to be saying, "What are you waiting 
for, Mulder?"  She didn't say a word, just kept smiling up 
at me.  She tilted her chin up, and she seemed to be 
leaning toward me a little.  We were already standing 
pretty close together, and it didn't take much for me 
to bend down and meet that smile with one of my own, 
right against her lips.

I'm not sure how long we stood there.  I can see us now 
in my mind's eye.  My mouth is pressed against hers, and 
our hands clutch each other's, and we stand there, swaying 
slightly as we kiss.  Our only points of contact are our 
mouths and our hands.  I was almost afraid to move, as 
much as I wanted to hold her.

Scully broke the spell first.  "Mulder," she said on a sigh, 
her head bent down.  Then she looked up and smiled again.  
I felt her hand move up to my wrist and tug on it a little.

"What?" I said in a similar tone.  She'd moved a little 
closer, so that our bodies were almost touching.  I felt 
mesmerized by her gaze and her touch.

"You don't have to go, do you?"  

I shook my head slowly, my eyes never looking away from hers.

I let her lead me back over to the couch.  She helped me 
off with my jacket and hung it up again, and came back to 
sit next to me.

I remember that we kissed for a long time.  Sometimes they 
were soft, exploratory kisses; sometimes we were a little 
rougher.  I found a couple of hickeys the next day when I 
was shaving.  Seeing them made me smile with remembrance. 
I thought of Scully, making a similar discovery in her 
mirror.  I know I gave as good as I got.

That night, Scully took the lead; she's the one who 
eventually stood up and took my hand again.  I was 
momentarily confused; I still wasn't sure if now that 
she'd had her way with me she was showing me the door.

Once I realized where we were headed, I no longer hesitated.  
We stood next to the bed, and I did my best to undress her 
without letting my lips leave hers; she was doing the same 
thing for me, but eventually we had to stop to take a 
breath.  I was almost afraid to do or say anything.  I 
didn't want to break the spell.

Scully put her hand on my naked flank and caressed me 
softly.  "Are you okay, Mulder?" she asked softly.

I nodded, my eyes on hers.  She took my hand again and 
pulled me over to the bed.  She lay down first, and I 
followed her.  More kissing, and touching, and soft 
murmurs of encouragement and approval.  I took my time 
with her, though my heart was about to burst out of my 
chest.  By the time we finally joined, I was lucky to 
remember my name.  Being with Scully was the culmination 
of years of yearning.  Maybe I had a vague fear of the 
fantasy not living up to the actuality, but once I'd 
touched her and felt her soft, warm skin against my own, 
and her breath mingling with mine, I knew that the 
reality was beyond any dream I was capable of dreaming.

Reality?  Well, the reality is that it probably wasn't 
perfect, much as I'd like to remember that it was.  We 
were a little awkward with each other, because no matter 
how often I'd imagined being together like this, I couldn't 
possibly have known what it would be like.

But it was wonderful.  Everything about it was wonderful, 
including the accidental elbow in my ribs, the bumped 
noses (both of us), even the high, girly giggle I think 
I emitted when Scully grabbed my waist and caught me on 
a ticklish spot.

I wonder if Scully remembers it as vividly as I do.  I'm 
not sure she does, but then she hasn't had as much time 
on her hands, and she probably wasn't making the kind of 
conscious effort I was to imprint the memory of that night.

I'm not likely to forget it, though it's possible that 
I've embellished it a bit in my memory.  I've had to 
live on that night, and the few others like it, for a 
long time.  I've gotten a lot of mileage from my small 
store of memories of Scully and me together, so it's no 
wonder that sometimes I added a few grace notes here 
and there -- improving on perfection, in a way, because 
in reality I wouldn't have changed a thing.

I can unspool it like a film now.  It's my late-night 
entertainment.  There are half a dozen or so more memories 
like it, but this one is my favorite.

x-x-x-x

Life goes on like this for some time.  I stay in Portland, 
dividing my time between libraries and bookstores and 
cybercafes.  I keep in touch with the Gunmen, though 
they have little to report to me.  The question Langly 
had posed on the Xena list, having to do with properties 
of various metals, has garnered no response worth pursuing.  
We keep our contacts infrequent and minimal.

I think about emailing Scully a lot, but don't do it.  

I continue to have nightmares.  I think about going to 
Bellefleur, but don't do it.

I'm a coward.  I want Scully to be here, to wake me up 
when the nightmares get too bad, and then to tell me to 
get off my ass and get going.

x-x-x-x

As I mentioned before, the Gunmen have been helping me with 
various projects for some time.  They've developed an amazing 
network of experts in various disciplines.  They developed 
many of these contacts because of the answers I asked them 
to help me find over the years.  I'm counting on their 
network to help me now.  

After Ruskin Dam, when I asked them to find out about 
Scully's chip, they leaped at the chance.  I suspect, 
however, that they'd been trying to find answers for 
Scully since her abduction.  These guys play their cards 
very close to their vests.  I was around to see their first 
meeting, and if it's true that there are no coincidences, 
that was quite a fateful day for all of us.  I couldn't be 
more grateful that they took a liking to me, G-Man or not, 
and that they became my friends, too.

To be truthful, I'm a little jealous of them.  They have 
each other to rely on, and they get to see Scully and 
William regularly.  All I have is me.

The lack of information from them is frustrating and it 
makes me restless.  Not quite restless enough to move on, 
but definitely on edge.

I've moved to a marginally nicer place on the outskirts of 
town, near the highway.  I've requested an end unit and 
luckily for me, it's not a very popular place.  When I wake 
up screaming, there's no one to be concerned.

It's the third or fourth time I've moved since coming to 
Portland.  It's not so much that I'm paranoid, but I don't 
want to get too comfortable in any one place, or cause undue 
notice by staying anywhere too long. 

The nightmares don't seem to be getting any worse, but they're 
not getting any better, either.

I've bought an old car for the trip to the coast, though I 
continue to take the bus or walk around town.  I keep my 
eyes peeled for anyone who seems too interested in my 
movements.

Frankly, though, I don't think anyone is actively looking 
for me.  They may think they've achieved their aim by 
distancing me from Scully.  They want her as alone and 
vulnerable as they can get her.

They don't know how strong her support system is, and that 
I'm the one who's floundering.

x-x-x-x

Out of the black silence, the lights flash on.

This time it's different.  I'm an observer; I see the 
blinding white light focusing on someone or something else.

I hear the wail of a baby and I know who it is.

I watch helplessly as I see the drill descend.  I can't 
see him, but I know it's William.  I try to move toward 
the light and find that I'm just as immobile as if I were 
still strapped in the chair.

I can't let this happen.  I've got to stop them.  I struggle 
and twist and fight.  Somehow I manage to move forward, 
smashing through whatever is restraining me.

William's cries get louder and the drill gets closer.

"NO!  I hear myself shouting over and over again.

The lights blink out and there's silence again.

I'm standing outside my motel room door.  It's freezing 
and it's drizzling as it has been all day.  My arms ache.  
My throat hurts.  I'm breathing like I've just run a 
marathon.

The door next to mine opens very cautiously and I see a 
head peek out.

"Did we wake you up?"  I hear a man's voice, and from 
the open door I hear the screams of a very unhappy baby.  
"We just got here, and the baby just woke up.  I'm really 
sorry."  He looks scared.

If I were him, I'd be scared, too.  I know what I must 
look like.  Several days growth of beard; shaggy, unkempt 
hair, and a wild look in my eyes.

I have to clear my throat a little to be able to speak.  
I've hardly said a word to anyone in days.  "It's okay," 
I say finally.  "It's okay."

"I'm sorry," the man says again, and he looks at me for 
a minute before closing the door again.  I hear the murmur 
of voices and the baby's fretful cries.

I turn to go back into my room and notice that I've 
splintered the frame.  Evidently the door was the force 
field I fought against.  No wonder the guy looked scared.

I don't wait for morning; I clean myself up and pack my 
belongings.  I'm not running away; I don't want anyone 
reporting me to the authorities.  I stop at the office 
and check out, and tell them I had an "accident" with 
the door.  I leave enough money to cover the repairs 
and add a bit extra for the night clerk.

Ready or not, Bellefleur here I come.

=====

end of Part Two; continued in Part Three.

=====

Apart 3: Hope
by ML

Instead of heading straight for the scene of the crime, 
I go to the next town over.  It's only a dozen miles 
down the road, but I hope there will be less chance 
of anyone recognizing me.

I experience no anomalies, no loss of power, no missing 
time on the way there.  The forest road looks familiar 
as I pass the turnoff to Bellefleur and head for the 
prosaically named Crab Cove.

The trip here from Portland didn't take any time at 
all.  Even though I stopped for a while at an all-night 
diner on the road just outside of Portland, it's nowhere 
near daylight yet.  I find a rest stop and pull into 
it.  Maybe I'll get a little sleep.  I'm exhausted by 
my nightmares and the stress of going it alone.  If I 
had a phone on me, I'd be calling Scully this minute, 
and probably make a fool of myself.

Instead, I crawl into the back seat.  It's almost like 
sleeping on my couch.  I wrap my jacket around me and 
close my eyes.

x-x-x-x

After I check into a motel in Crab Cove, I get ready 
for a nice trip to the forest.

I wonder if I should leave a note in the motel room 
in case I don't return.  I don't have anything with 
me that could identify me as Fox Mulder.  The Gunmen 
know my new identity -- changed from George Orr to 
James Burton when I arrived in Portland -- but how 
long would it take them to start looking for me?

It occurs to me again that I ought to at least post 
a "no news is good news" type message on the list, 
just to let them know I'm still alive.  They're 
probably hacking into hospital data bases even now.

When I left, I wasn't too specific about my plans, 
just that I was going to check out a few leads and 
I'd be in touch.  They knew Portland was my destination 
only because they'd had to send my new identification 
to me there.  They've probably put two and two together
by now, though.

I delay leaving for Bellefleur just long enough to 
boot up the laptop and send a quick message to them.  
I don't bother to check email or read anything on the 
list.  My resolve is already weak enough.

I think again about sending a message to Scully but 
what would I say?  I love you.  I miss you.  I want 
to come home.  I don't think I could stop myself from 
typing it.

I want to tell her about the work I'm doing, about the 
things I've found out, with the help of the Gunmen.  
But I don't dare do it.  It's safer for her not to 
know what I'm working on.  I don't like keeping Scully 
in the dark, but she has enough to worry about.

She doesn't need to know the full extent of our plans 
until we can't keep her safe any other way.  I will not 
put her in the position of being used as a target or 
a lure.

I keep telling myself that this is the right thing to 
do, that the only way we can truly assess the danger 
is to find a way to tip their hand, and the best way 
to do that was for me to leave.  Eventually, when 
nothing happens for a while, they're going to try 
and find a way to get me back.

Well, I'm not going until I'm good and ready.

x-x-x-x

I drive slowly along the road until I come to the faded 
orange X.  It's hard to believe it's still there.  I 
look around on the pavement to see if there's any 
evidence of the toxic green blood that had eaten into 
the asphalt.  I do see some pitting in the spot I think 
I recall, but I can't tell if it's just wear and tear 
or not.  If Scully were here, she could take a sample 
and tell me.  But it's not important.  I'm just 
procrastinating.

I leave the roadside and push my way into the woods.

I find the clearing without too much trouble.  It looks 
different, but not that different.  I stand on the edge 
of the hollow, remembering.

[...remembering Billy Miles holding Teresa Nemman as the 
unearthly wind circled them ... remembering Scully lying 
on the forest floor, and the fear I'd felt for her ... 
remembering Skinner's face as he helped me set the 
lasers to define the energy field...]

Nothing beyond the beginning of my last night here, 
though.  Nothing at all.

I'm still standing outside the circle.  The forest 
seems eerily silent:  no birds, no rustle of underbrush.  
No strange hums or whooshing sounds.  It seems utterly 
still.

It's now or never.  If I'm ever to help myself, I've got 
to do this.

I step into the middle of the clearing.  I stoop down and 
examine the dirt.  I look all around.  I put my hand out, 
half-expecting it to meet resistance.

Nothing.  Nothing at all.  Not a tremor.  I look up into 
the canopy of trees.  I close my eyes.  

Still nothing.

I spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around, 
checking my watch and my compass regularly for any 
signs of activity.  As the light wanes, I've had enough.

As I head back toward Crab Cove, I consider returning 
at night.  The thought frightens me, which seems like 
a good reason to do it.

I keep thinking about it all through a dinner I have no 
appetite for.  I think about it in my room, idly channel 
surfing away.  What good has it done me to come here?  
What good has it done me to leave Scully?  All I've 
managed to do is to separate myself from the one thing, 
the one person, who seemed to do me some good.  If I 
keep this up, They'll win.

Eventually I get dressed in my warmest clothes and 
head back to the forest.

It's definitely more familiar.  I find the right spot 
by checking the odometer on the car.  I have my flashlight 
and compass.  Eventually I get out of the car.

x-x-x-x

This time I don't hesitate to walk into the middle of the 
clearing.  I shine my flashlight all around.  The forest 
doesn't seem as quiet as it did during the day; I think I 
can hear crickets or frogs or something chirping.  The 
natural light is dim, but after I turn out my flashlight 
and let my eyes adjust, I can see the outlines of the 
trees and shrubs.  No strange lights appear, no unnatural 
winds stir up.

I sit on the ground and lean against a fallen tree.  I 
look up as I did earlier in the day and I try to relax.  
I'm putting myself into a trance state; I haven't tried 
self-regression in years, but if ever I needed to, that 
time is now.

I feel my body start to relax, and I try to make my brain 
do the same.  I drift, only half aware of my surroundings.

[...I look toward the circle of light.  I see people, many 
of whom I recognize, just standing there.  I'm vaguely 
aware of Skinner calling me, but it's like he's part of 
another life.  I hear rustles and whispers and I realize 
that the people in the circle of light recognize me and 
are beckoning me forward.  I step into the circle and am 
greeted on all sides.  Some reach out and pat my arm.  
They seem glad to see me, though I can't think why.  They 
think I'm here to help them, to save them, though I know 
I'm as helpless to resist as they are.

[...Their attention suddenly turns away from me, to 
something on the edge of the circle.  Another newcomer?  
Only in a sense.  It's the man I know as the Alien Bounty 
Hunter.  He acknowledges my presence, and I feel a thrill 
of fear and understanding.  I'm the one he came for.  
I'm the one he lured back to Bellefleur.  

[...I feel a change in the light, a pulsing.  I look up.  
I sense everyone else doing the same.  In less time than I 
can say it, we are pulled up into the ship.

[...I think of Scully as I leave my life behind.]

x-x-x-x

I don't know how long I've been lying in the clearing when 
I come to.  I'm freezing and a little damp, though lucky 
for me it hasn't rained yet.  I think I see the beginnings 
of sunrise.

I feel exhausted in mind and body, but not afraid.

I'm almost too tired to drive back to Crab Cove, but 
instead of going directly to my motel, I stop at the 
cafe.  I want warmth, and light, and conversation around 
me, even if I'm not taking part in it.

Even copious amounts of coffee can't keep me from almost 
pitching forward into my breakfast.  When I get back to 
the motel, I fall into bed without even taking off my 
shoes.

I sleep without dreams.

I don't kid myself that I'm suddenly cured; I've barely 
started but I feel heartened by the breakthrough.  The 
forest no longer holds any fear for me.  It's the catalyst 
I needed.  I'm beginning to understand the how, and I 
hope that I might figure out the why, too.

x-x-x-x

For a week, I spend every night in the forest.  Every 
night I remember a little more.

[...We all stand in a group.  I have no sense of motion 
but I know that we are on board a craft.  No one speaks 
but I can hear thoughts, just as I could before.  They're 
jumbled and diffuse.  Someone thinks of her baby; someone 
else wonders how long it will be this time.  I hear 
repeated prayers, curses, and feel the blankness of 
paralyzing fear.  Some seem to know, as I do, that 
there will be no return this time.]

When I wake up the second morning, I have tears on my 
cheeks.  I fear for what's become of the people I was 
with on the ship.  Were all of them left for dead, as 
I was?  Will we encounter them in the same form as Billy 
Miles?

x-x-x-x

[...There is a blank time, and I wake up in some kind of 
restraining device.  I feel uncomfortable and try to shift 
my position and that's when I feel the excruciating pain 
in my joints -- something like large needles or wires 
somehow holding me in place.  I can't see; my head is 
restrained.  I can feel some sort of device pulling out 
the skin of my cheeks; another is holding my face steady.  
I can't see any of my body but I can tell I'm naked.  The 
light above me is intense but not hot.]

I wake up with a throat hoarse from screaming.  I wonder 
if like the tree falling in the uninhabited forest, did 
I really make a sound?

If this land is still private property, the current 
sheriff doesn't seem to care.  I've gotten the distinct 
impression from the good people of Crab Cove that this 
is a place to avoid at all costs.  Even if the mass 
abduction didn't get much press, it seems to have had 
an impact on the locals.  When I go to the cafe, I hear
stories that tourists might disbelieve, unless they're 
particularly gullible.  I do know the truth, and though 
I feign only polite interest, I know that it's not all 
made up.

Maybe they're so open with me because I look like "just 
folks" to them.  If I'd come in wearing a suit and 
flashing a badge, they'd probably never have said a 
word.

x-x-x-x

[...I can feel Scully.  Her thoughts are all over the 
place; I can't focus on her very well.  She's angry, 
and afraid, and somehow, also happy about something.  
Whatever it is, it's buried deep inside her, and I 
can't quite make out what it is.

[...How is it that I can feel her, but I can't make 
her feel me?  I have no sense that this is a two-way 
connection.

[...I'm glad she can't feel me.  I can't reassure her; 
I'm fucking petrified.  All I want to do is scream save 
me save me save me, over and over again.

[...The lights pin me down, the drills approach, and 
all I can do is scream for Scully.]

I'm starting to feel the effects of spending every night 
in the forest.  Physically I'm run down and achy, and I 
probably have a slight fever.  Mentally, however, with 
each memory recovered I feel stronger, more in control.  
I'm almost there.  I've stopped having the nightmares, 
except in the forest.

x-x-x-x

[...I no longer have any sense of time.  There is 
blankness, and awareness.  Awareness is when the 
testing happens.  For all I know They also test when 
I'm not conscious, but I'm not really thinking any 
more.  All my waking time is filled with testing, 
and pain.  There is no other reality.  The past is 
a dream, something that happened to someone else.

[...I still remember Scully, though I haven't felt 
her presence for a long time.  She is the only thing 
that seems real outside of this circle of light and 
pain.  I know that if I lose the memory of her, it 
will be the end of me.]

[...there is nothing beyond this circle, They tell 
me.  The end time has come.]

I have to stop.  I wake up shivering violently, chilled 
beyond the bone, chilled to my soul.  I know without 
question that not long after this, the ship started 
jettisoning the "dead" bodies.  And that I was one 
of them.

x-x-x-x

That morning, I come back to my room and strip down 
for a hot shower.  For the first time since leaving 
the hospital, I examine my body.

There are no longer any scars from the procedures.  
If it weren't for my memories, I'd disbelieve anything 
ever happened to me.  I look carefully at my wrists, 
my ankles, my chest.  I haven't shaved for a while, 
but I know the marks on my cheeks healed fastest of 
all.  Even the scarring on the roof of my mouth is 
healed completely.  Even my poor violated brain was 
repaired.

I paid a high price for the "cure."  I guess I could 
say I'm grateful for that, though it wasn't intentional, 
I'm sure.  It was just luck that Scully stopped the 
incubation but that the healing process was already 
in place.  I do however, miss some other scars that 
somehow healed as well:  the scar on my inner thigh, 
the first serious injury I suffered with Scully as my 
partner, marking the first of many bedside visits.  
The scar on my shoulder, where Scully shot me.  The 
one in my temple, a reminder of a much more reckless 
way I once tried to recover memories.  Strange souvenirs 
of a mis-spent life.  Or would have been mis-spent, if 
not for Scully.

I wonder now if I'm "more human than human" as William 
is supposed to be.  If I have no human frailties, what 
does that mean?  I feel pretty human most of the time, 
with the same regrets, and anger, and fears, that I've 
always had.  And love, which I never expected, but for 
which I'm grateful.

I'm almost ready to leave Bellefleur behind, literally 
and figuratively.  No more nights in the forest.  I think 
I've discovered all I'm going to here.

x-x-x-x

I have to drive through Idaho to get to Montana, and I 
take a little detour to Ellens to see what I can see 
there.  I've had a thought that perhaps Colonel Budahas 
and some of his fellow pilots might have been in something 
like the super soldier program.

Ellens is deserted when I get there.  It looks like April 
Base; the residential area is fenced off with warning 
signs.

Interestingly enough, the fence surrounding the infamous 
Yellow Base area is in disrepair.  Many of the lights on 
the top of the fence look like they've been shot out or 
knocked down by rocks.  The cafe in town is closed; even 
though there are still residents, the whole town looks 
abandoned.  I don't hear any jets taking off or landing, 
either.

I stop in at the motel where Scully and I stayed.  It 
wasn't the Ritz when we stayed there, but it's gotten 
very seedy.  The parking lot is filled with potholes, 
and there are only a few trucks there.

The pimply, pierced young man behind the counter barely 
looks up as I come in.  "Hourly or overnight?" he asks 
in a bored tone.

"I'm not staying," I say, though I've just this minute 
decided that.  "What happened to the air base?"

"Closed maybe five, six years ago.  Took half the fuckin' 
town with it,"  he picks idly at a scab on his arm.  I 
try not to shudder.

I thank him, not that he notices, and get out of there.

I flirt with the idea of making a nostalgic trip back to 
Yellow Base, on the off chance that something interesting 
has been left behind, but think better of it.  I've been 
trying to recover my memories, not have them wiped again.

x-x-x-x

I have a lot to think about on the drive to Helena.  I'm 
not sure what the base closure means, but I'll have to 
look into it.  I wonder if it closed because we got too 
close to the truth there?  I remember Deep Throat telling 
me that I'd seen things I wasn't meant to see.  It wouldn't 
be the first mop-up operation accelerated by something I 
discovered.

It's long past sundown on the second day driving when I 
reach Helena, Montana.  After the visit to Ellens Air 
Base, I spent the night in Boise. I've driven straight 
through since then, fueled by coffee and food at the 
truck stops along the way.  It's been me, the big rig 
drivers, and a few other pickups on the road, and no 
one else.

I think I blend right in.  I've kept my beard, though 
I've trimmed it a little.  My hair brushes the collar 
of my flannel shirt.  I wear old jeans and scuffed up 
boots, and an old denim jacket, lined with fleece.  I 
thought about getting a cowboy hat, but didn't want to 
look too conspicuous.  I'm driving an old pickup.

I look for a particular motel near St. Jean's Hospital; 
the one where Scully stayed last year.  It's a small 
place, one of many within a few blocks of the hospital.

"We don't get much business here this time of year," 
the desk clerk remarks as I sign the registration card. 
"During the summer and fall, now that's another story.  
Though we were full up for a couple of weeks `bout this 
time last year."

"Something special happening then?"  I ask, carefully 
showing only a passing interest.

"It was the F-B-I."  the clerk says, leaning forward 
like a conspirator.  "They found one a them cults up 
in the hills.  They was torturing people.  Found a whole 
big graveyard up there."

"Really."  I've hit pay dirt.  The motel clerk is also 
the town gossip, though perhaps not the most reliable 
source for accurate information.  "Where was this place?"

"Up north of town a ways.  I can draw you a map, if 
you want."

"Is anyone still there?"  I ask.

"Nope.  FBI rounded most everyone up.  There was a 
night raid.  Shoulda seen the lights and noise they 
made!  It was like the Second Coming."

I bite back the remark I might have made if Scully had 
been standing there with me and thank him.  He gives me 
my room key and I promise to stop by in the morning for 
directions to the compound.  Right now, all I want is 
to sleep.  I hope that will be possible.

It occurs to me that I could be staying in the very 
room that Scully had.  I really have no idea which 
room was hers, but I stop just inside the door to see 
if I feel any "vibe" left from her presence.

Nothing, of course.  Any psychic connection I have 
with Scully seems to work only when I'm in her vicinity.  
Even when my brain was being affected by the artifact, 
I couldn't sense her from too far away.

I close my eyes and think of her anyway.  Scully, if 
you can hear me, I'm thinking of you, and William.  
I hope you're okay.  I hope you're safe.

I realize that I haven't gotten in touch with the 
Gunmen since I got to Bellefleur.  I tell myself I 
should probably send a message just letting them know 
I'm okay.  I'll do it in the morning; I'm too tired 
to think right now.

====
end of Apart 3-part a. Continued in Part b.

Apart 3: Hope (part b)
by ML

[...Wherever I am, it's dark.  I wait.  I'm not sure what 
I'm waiting for, or where I am.  I feel drawn here by some 
force I can't explain.  I hear movement, someone approaching.

[...I know it's Scully.  I can feel her thoughts.  She's 
tired, and worn down by grief and fear. The grief is for 
someone else, but the fear is for me.

[...Suddenly I see her in front of me.  Her face is drawn 
and tired.  I've never seen her look this way, even when 
she was ill and dying.  She seems to have lost all hope.   
I want so much to reach out to her.  I can't.  I have to 
content myself with thinking to her, <I'm here, Scully.  
Please look at me.  Please see me.>

[...She doesn't see me at first.  She seems puzzled, then 
though I haven't moved or spoken, she is suddenly aware 
of my presence.

[...I see so many thoughts and feelings cross her face in 
one breath.  Surprise, and a swell of happiness, gone as 
quickly as it appears.  Questions tremble on her lips.  
The fear returns, and with it, grief.

[...This time, it's grief for me.  I think I hear her say 
my name, though maybe it's only in her head that I hear it.

[...Something makes her turn, and it's the last thing I 
know for a very long time.]

...I lie awake, trembling in my bed.  I've never felt 
so alone.

I know what I've remembered.  My dying moments.

x-x-x-x

The compound is deserted.  There are still tatters of crime 
scene tape here and there, flashes of yellow in an otherwise 
gray landscape.

I roam around the buildings, trying to get a sense of what 
it must have been like a year ago.  I have no memory at all 
of anything that happened.  From what I've read, I was 
already dead when my body was dropped off here.

I stand in the middle of the largest building.  At one time 
it was partitioned off by opaque plastic sheets.  I can see 
metal brackets in the corners that must have held the cameras.

My eyes close and I imagine myself here.  The report said 
that Absalom insisted he brought my body here to try and 
help me.  There was another man, one Scully identified 
as Jeremiah Smith, who was doing the actual "helping."

Absalom was taken into custody, but it was assumed that 
Jeremiah was re-taken when the abductees were.  Scully's 
eye witness report, corroborated in part by others, 
described a bright white light, big enough to illuminate 
this building, and vibrations not unlike an earthquake.   
When the light disappeared, all the residents of the 
compound were gone too.

She didn't actually mention the alien ship, but I know it 
was here, and I suspect she knew it, too.

I feel nothing here now.  Except for my vision last night, 
there is nothing for me to re-live.  I was dead.

I'm about to leave the building when I catch a movement 
outside out of the corner of my eye.  Automatically, my 
hand goes for my gun, which of course isn't there.  I 
walk slowly to the door.

"Who's there?"  I call.  "I'm unarmed, I won't hurt you."  
The possibility exists that it's a cult member or even one 
of the abductees that somehow escaped everyone's notice.  
That's my hope, anyway.  If it's the alien bounty hunter, 
or a super soldier, I'm out of luck.  

I stand in the doorway, waiting.  Eventually, the figure 
I saw comes out of hiding.

I'm not really surprised to see who it is.  I knew eventually 
we'd meet up again.

"What are you doing here?"  I ask.

"I might ask the same of you, Agent Mulder," he says.

"Just Mulder," I tell him.  "I'm not with the FBI any more."

"And Agent Scully?"  he asks.  "Is she here?"

I shake my head.  "She's back in DC  Look, I'm really not 
comfortable making small talk out here in the open.  Can 
we at least go inside?"

Jeremiah Smith shakes his head.  "Come with me."  He leads 
the way past the buildings where his truck is parked.

He motions for me to get in and we drive through the 
gathering dusk.  Eventually, we arrive at a small cabin 
tucked into a notch in the hills, well hidden from the road.

"It's an old miner's cabin," Jeremiah explains.  "The hills 
are riddled with them.  It's where I came, after."

"Have you been here ever since?"  I ask.  The place looks 
deserted, even on the inside.  There's a sleeping bag on 
the pallet in the corner, and a pot-bellied stove throws 
off a little heat.  A couple of wooden crates pass for 
table and chairs.

"No.  I move around.  I go where the abductees are being 
returned.  Though there aren't as many now."

"Do you -- " I swallow, finding it hard to ask the question.  
"Do you help them?"

"I try.  I can't get to all of them.  And I may be the only 
one left who *can* help them.  Now, tell me.  Why are you 
here?"

"I still need answers," I say.  "I need to understand what 
happened to me, and to keep it from happening to anyone else."

Jeremiah shakes his head.  "It may be too late for that, 
though maybe not too late to stop them."

"I need to know what you know," I say.  "I need you to 
help me understand."

"Make yourself comfortable, then," Jeremiah says.  "It's 
going to take a while."

We sit.  Jeremiah stokes up the fire.

"I can save you some time," I say.  "Let's assume I know 
this much:  that there is a shadow government that's been 
conducting experiments for years, using alien technology 
and DNA to create some sort of super soldier.  That this 
government has also been involved in ongoing plans to help 
an alien race to colonize Earth.  That somehow,"  I have 
to pause and pick my words carefully,  "they have been 
successful in this, and that now these beings, super 
soldiers, genetic hybrids, clones, whatever you care to 
call them, are on the loose.  To what final end, I can 
guess.  But how do I -- and those I care about -- figure 
into all this?"

"None of the names you give these beings really fits 
them," Jeremiah says.  "I suppose `hybrid' comes as 
close to it as your language can convey.  They are a 
hybrid of human, and organic material, and alien 
technology.  It started as a cooperative effort between 
species, in the aftermath of your World War II.  Just 
as other unconventional weapons began to proliferate, 
it was thought that having the ultimate `human' weapon 
could somehow prevent annihilation of the world.

"However, some awoke to the reality of the situation 
sooner than others.  The true nature of the project 
and its reach became very clear as the authors of it 
were required to give up members of their families 
as insurance of their cooperation."

I remember Kurtzweil's words about my father:  "His 
disenchantment outlasted mine."  Perhaps that was why...

I hadn't spoken aloud, but Jeremiah nods.  "What you 
left out of your synopsis is that, as is true for any 
group, there are dissidents.  There are those who 
disagree with the program, or with the intended 
outcome.  Some work within the system to subvert it.  
You already know about the rebel forces.  You should 
also know that not all of these - super soldiers, for
want of a better term - are interested in the same 
outcome.  And that they can be subverted, even destroyed."

He certainly has all my attention now.  "How can they be 
destroyed?"

"I've already made that information available to your 
friends in Washington.  You should check your email 
more often."

"Why now?" I ask.  "The last time we met, you weren't 
willing to tell me so much."

"You weren't ready," Jeremiah says.  "You were only 
concerned with your sister.  You paid lip service to 
the discovery of the greater conspiracy, but only so 
far as it intersected with your interests.  And your 
interests were concentrated on your sister, and later, 
on Agent Scully."

"I guess you know I found my sister, or at least I know 
what happened to her," I tell him.  "What makes you 
think I'm interested in any of this any more?  That 
I don't just want to be left alone?"

Jeremiah looks at me for a long time, saying nothing.  
He has that look in his eyes that I've seen before.  
It's as if he thinks I'm being particularly dense on 
purpose.

"You still have Agent Scully," he says finally.  Then 
he adds,  "And you're a father now."

I hadn't told him.  I don't bother to ask how he knows.  
I merely nod.  He's right, and there's no point in 
denying it.

"You already know something of the larger implications 
of your son's birth," Jeremiah continues.  "Are you 
ready to face them?"

"I'm ready to do what it takes to keep him safe," I 
say.

He nods.  "Then I have more to say to you.

"Your human physiology isn't like the aliens, even those 
within human form.  They've been testing the limits of 
the human frame and internal structure for years.  There 
are some advantages that the aliens have always intended 
to adapt for colonization.

"So, as your race has been trying to perfect an alien/human 
hybrid, the aliens have been doing the same thing.  What 
you thought was a clean-up operation was simply the next 
phase in the process.  They were gathering up subjects 
to introduce a new type of recombinant viral strain, 
which would eventually replace the weakest human 
components and create the new race."

"That means the bodies weren't being left for dead by 
the aliens, they were planted --"

"-- and if left to themselves, would have incubated the 
new life form, regardless.  Putting Billy Miles on life 
support merely accelerated a process that was inevitable."

I can't help but shudder at my intended fate.  The 
nightmares were real.  I might have been a super soldier 
myself, if Scully hadn't saved me.

x-x-x-x

The sun is coming up when Jeremiah finishes his tale.  
Of course, there have been plenty of interruptions by 
yours truly, trying to understand what he's talking about.

"How can we tell a good `un from a bad `un?" I'm being 
a little facetious, as fatigue begins to make me feel a 
little disoriented.  I'm pretty sure I already know the 
answer.

"There's nothing that marks one as `good' or `bad,'" 
Jeremiah says.  "Their imperative might change under 
certain influences.  Not all of this is known yet.  
It will be up to you to find out."  

That's nothing new.  "Kind of hard to tell the sides 
without a score card," I mutter, but get no reaction 
from Jeremiah.   I think of Arthur Dales' story of the 
gray who wanted to be human so he could laugh.  "So it's 
back to `trust no one' again, huh?"

"That should be familiar terrain for you, Mr. Mulder."

That it is.  But I have one more question to ask.

"I still need to know.  How does my son figure into all 
this?  Is he -- is he something other than human?"

Jeremiah shakes his head.  "The baby is very human, but 
he has some special abilities that will become clear as 
time goes on.  I don't need to tell you that your baby 
was -- unexpected.  I don't think anyone anticipated 
this.  They certainly didn't anticipate your alliance 
with Agent Scully."

Score one for us, I think, and I see that once again 
Jeremiah has "heard" me.  His lips curl in a slight 
smile.

"So what do we do now?" I ask.

"What you've been trying to do.  Keep your family safe.  
Continue to look for the answers.  Know that there are 
others like you, who are doing the same."

"Where?"

"It may be better not to know.  Learn something from the 
recent tragic events in your country.  Allow them to 
operate independently, in small cells.  Meet only when 
necessary, communicate sporadically.  Your friends 
understand this."

I can almost sense admiration in his tone.  The Gunmen's 
stock shoots up a little higher.

"It sounds like a lonely life."  I imagine spending the 
rest of my life without Scully.  Nothing would be worth it.

"It can be."  I see a pensive look cross Jeremiah's face 
for a second.   "But you needn't be solitary.  Just don't 
try to find out where these people are.  It's safer for 
them, and for you.  If you know, They can find out.  The 
time will come when you will come together.  You will 
know when."

x-x-x-x

I'm beginning to feel hopeful for the first time since 
my return.  What's more, I've got something to go on now.  

Before I left him, I tried to persuade Jeremiah Smith 
to come with me, but he wouldn't do it.

"It's much too dangerous," he said.  "I'll know how to 
find you if I need to."

"Where do you go from here?"  I asked him.

He shrugged.  "Where I'm needed," he said.  "But you 
might meet up with me in Minnesota, one of these days," 
he said.

I wasn't sure what he meant by that, and knew better than 
to ask him.  He'd given me enough information for now.

The first thing I do when I get back to the motel is check 
my email.  The first one is dated a few days back.

---
To:  geobounce13
From: leerjet01
subj: magnetic personalities
geo, read this article, then check out the USGS website, 
esp. the part about iron ore.  coordinates for a location 
you need to follow...
---

The next one has yesterday's date:

---
To:  geobounce13
From: leerjet01
subj: our quarry
don't you read your mail anymore? here's the other part:

---

He lists a URL to go to, and what looks like longitude and 
latitude.  Apparently the clue to this is contained in the 
article Frohike sent me.  I send a brief reply to him, then 
read the article.

The article has a lot of information about the magnetic 
properties of some types of iron ore, and atmospheric 
effects, among other things.  After reading the information 
about iron ore, I know what Frohike is bringing to my 
attention.  I go to the website for the next clue in the 
trail.

Tucked down in the corner of the page about iron ore is 
a small icon I recognize.  I don't think it's normally 
a part of the USGS site.  When I click on it, it disappears,
but a small video window comes up.  The quality is pretty 
bad, but I watch what appears to be an experiment with 
natural magnetic fields.  There's no sound, but there's 
no mistaking the explosion that takes place.  I don't 
know where the Gunmen got this, but I suspect that this 
is what Jeremiah Smith was talking about.

Something in the iron ore in certain quarries holds a clue 
to fighting the super soldiers.  We've got to find a way 
to lure one of them out into the open.  What is the best 
bait to use?

Me, of course.

I spend the rest of the day figuring out the best way to 
go about this.  It can't be too obvious that I'm coming 
home to do battle; just about the only thing on our side 
right now is surprise.

I realize this is a huge gamble.  I've got to involve 
Scully in this, too, without tipping my hand to the bad 
guys.

It's going to take a very subtle hand, but I'm going to 
write to Scully.  I'm going to have to write in such a 
way that she knows what I tell her is sincere, and that 
I want her to tell me to come home.

After a good deal of thought, I sit down to compose the 
email of my life.  I have the general idea in my head, 
but I want to add a little something to it.  I want it 
to be more than just a coded message.

Subject line:  "Dearest Dana."

I did ask Scully once if I could call her "Dana."  I 
think I took her by surprise.  I even offered to let 
her call me "Fox," but thank God she didn't take me up 
on it.  I've seldom used her first name.  I started by 
calling her "Agent Scully" or "Doctor Scully," and 
eventually, just "Scully."  I liked the way it sounded, 
and I thought it helped me keep a certain professional 
distance.

Trouble is, her last name became very special to me, 
in a way her first name never could have.  I have never 
gotten used to calling her by her first name.  I mostly 
use it when I'm talking to her mom.  I've also used it 
once in a great while when Scully and I were alone 
together.  

One advantage is that using "Dana" really gets Scully's 
attention.  It's become a sort of flag.

My use of "Dearest Dana" in the subject line was not only 
likely to get her attention, but the attention of any 
watchers, too.

"Dearest Dana,

"I've resisted contacting you for reasons I know you 
continue to appreciate.  But, to be honest, some 
unexpected dimensions of my new life are eating away 
at any resolve I have left.  I'm lonely, Dana, uncertain 
of my ability to live like this.  I want to come home.  
To you and to William."

I wonder if it's a little too over the top.  I mean every 
word of it, but I'm aware that someone besides its 
intended recipient will read it too, and will they 
think so, too?  

Every word in that email is true.  Missing Scully and 
William has weakened my resolve to stay away from them.  
I know that Scully will see the truth behind those words.

I also know that she will see it for what it is.  A signal.  
It's the phrase "unexpected dimensions" that will tip her 
off.  That's our code.  A call to arms, if you will.  It 
means I've discovered something.  The rest of the email 
could say anything at all, we agreed.

I take a deep breath and hit the "send" button.

I'll be getting my summons soon.  And, with any luck, 
we'll have a practical demonstration of the data that 
Jeremiah Smith gave us.  Until we know its effectiveness, 
we won't be able to put Phase Two into effect.  Phase 
Two is the part that I most care about.

Phase Two is me getting my family back.

=====

end of Part Three; continued in Part Four

=====