Bending of the Bow (5/13)
KMNAHILL and MD1016


          
        He who stands on tiptoe                   
        doesn't stand firm.
        He who rushes ahead,
        doesn't go far.
     -Tao Te Ching



September 2, 1996.
Route 60,
Kentucky.



Mulder sat in the passenger side of the car, not trusting himself to speak. 
The frustrations of the last quarter of a century were piercing his skull,
drilling their way through his forehead.  But it wasn't the mounting
headache that left his whole body in knots.  It was the simple fact that he
had seen her - talked to her - and she denied him.  His own sister had
refused to acknowledge his right to know her.  He knew she'd remembered. 
At least partially.  He'd seen the look of recognition; a little flash of . . .
something.  But then, she withdrew.  Deny everything. That last thought
made Mulder wince.

He watched the grassy pastures roll by with little regard.  The last place he
wanted to be was in a car, driving away from her.  It was ridiculous.  To
find her only to discover that after all he'd gone through - after all he'd
suffered and forfeited for her - that she didn't WANT to be found.  To see
the life that she'd made away from him.  The woman his sister had become,
so different from the little girl she was.

Next to him he heard a feminine voice.  A question was put to him, but the
words slipped around him refusing to sink in.  The look of abject horror on
Samantha's face repeated before his eyes, keeping his ears deaf to anything
but the sound of her husband - HUSBAND - wrapping his arms around
her, and in a smooth, bass voice, consoling her.  That man consoled her
when she wouldn't even let Mulder touch her.  Or her daughter.  His niece. 
Karen, his niece.  Poof.  Instant family.

He turned to the woman next to him, this time he could see her lips
moving, but the sounds were unrecognizable; almost non-existent.  Like he
wasn't anywhere near her.

He closed his eyes and let his head flop back against the head rest.  She
shouldn't be here, he thought.  Scully doesn't know what to do.  She wants
to help, but she can't.  She's demanding attention that I can't give her right
now.  I'm sorry Scully, but I can't.  I have to do this alone.  I can't split my
focus.  Everything is so out of control.  I can't deal with you now.  I can't
share this with you.  I'm sorry, Scully, but I can't . . ..

And his silent apology rolled on and on until she turned off the car in the
motel parking lot.

Without a word, she climbed out of the car and entered the motel lobby. 
She didn't see him slam his fist on the dashboard, didn't hear him curse
himself.  "Damn it, Mulder!  She loves you!  She doesn't deserve to be
treated like she doesn't count in all of this.  Like she doesn't have a right to
be here."  The timber of his voice boomed in the empty car cabin.  "She
deserves so much more."  We all do, he added quietly in his head.

When she returned, a coppery key on the end of a huge green key chain
tightly gripped in her right hand, Mulder made an effort to smile at her. 
And she returned the favor in kind.  "I got us a room on the ground floor." 
She turned the ignition and he placed a hand on her arm.  She looked up to
meet his eyes, but they were focused straight ahead, some where off in the
distance.

He inhaled before he spoke.  "Scully."  He wasn't sure where to go after
her name.  "Scully . . . Scully, I'm having some trouble . . .I mean,
Samantha . . . she . . . I can't . . . I want you to know . . . that . . ."

With more tenderness than Mulder had ever seen in his life, Scully placed a
hand over his and murmured a soft, "I know, I understand."

No.  No you don't, Mulder thought as he pulled his hand away from her. 
She didn't understand.  She KNEW her sister, she had years to know her,
watch her grow.  Scully didn't have any idea what he was going through, of
the torment she was putting him through, insisting that they leave to give
Sam time.

Sam didn't need time.  She'd already had too much time.  If Scully
understood, she would know that without question.

Mulder needed to be with his sister.  To help her to accept him; 
help her to remember whatever she might have forgotten.  He had 
to tell her that he never stopped looking for her - that she'd been 
part of his life for the last twenty-five years, even if she didn't 
know it.  He needed to tell her that he loved her.  But more 
importantly, that he was sorry.  He needed her forgiveness for 
being a bullying older brother who didn't have the courage to save 
her.  That he HAD tried, but in the end, his attempt hadn't been 
enough.

"I'm sorry," he said aloud, and started at the sound of his own voice
reverberating through him.

"It's okay, Mulder.  I understand."  Scully switched off the car and gave
him another smile, this time it was returned with a vacant stare.  Mulder 
blinked, clueless to what she was talking about.



Leaning against the motel headboard, Mulder stared past the moving
image on the screen from across the room.  Scully sighed.  He'd made no
attempt  to communicate with her since that odd conversation in the car,
over four hours ago, and she was  beginning to worry.  It wasn't 
like Mulder to be so lifeless.  He didn't even put up a fight when 
she demanded to drive.  When she'd gotten the room, she had 
considered, albeit briefly, if maybe Mulder would  be more 
comfortable in his own room.  If maybe he needed his own space 
to be alone.  But she had reconsidered when she thought that it 
would be better to be within ear shot, should he decide to talk . . . 
or within arms length should he decide to do something that 
wouldn't help the situation at all.  Like going in the middle of the 
night to try and see her again.  Having Sam think her brother was 
some kind of crazy stalker was the last thing Scully wanted.  It 
would take time for her to come around, but Scully knew that 
eventually she would.  Who could resist Mulder indefinitely?

She sat across the room at the small table, her laptop pulling her E-Mail off
line beside her.  Mulder's features were frozen.  His tie hanging loosely
down either side of his opened work shirt  He looked hung over.  Or in
pain.  Or mad as hell, Scully surmised.  He wishes I'm not here.  He
feels I'm holding him here, keeping him from her.  She leaned forward,
resting her head in her hands.  God, this was hard.  She knew in her heart
that she wasn't really denying him his sister.  If anything, she was helping to
smooth things between them.  Sam had been upset by their arrival, and
Mulder's insistence that she was his long lost sister didn't help.  Scully
trusted that Samantha's husband would be able to calm her down enough
that they would be able to talk calmly in the morning.  And it was her job,
Scully's job, to make sure that Mulder was ready for that talk, too.

She sighed and looked at him.  His eyes traveled from the muted TV to the
ceiling.  Scully had always figured that when Mulder found his sister - IF he
found his sister, that he would finally be at peace.  That he would be able to
relax.  To live and enjoy life without some childhood trauma shadowing his
every move.  That he'd finally be happy.

But he HAD found her, or at least someone they both believed to be
Samantha, and he wasn't happy.  He looked tired.  Haunted, almost. 
Angry.  The muscles in his jaw popped as he gritted his molars.  The ceiling
still held his focus as Scully sighed again.  What was he thinking?

"She's beautiful."  The thin film of his voice barely made it to Scully and
she wondered if he was talking to her, or just talking.  "Don't you think?"

Scully nodded and gave him a small smile.  He missed them both.  "Yeah. 
She doesn't look as much like you as I had expected."

Immediately he sat up and demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

The force of his tone caught Scully off guard.  "Nothing."  She caught
herself before she stammered, but not before the look of utter shock was
able to register on her face.  "It was only an observation.  She looks more
like your father -"

"And just what do you know about my father?"  His eyes were ablaze.

Scully's heart squeezed in to the back of her throat.  With wide eyes she
insisted, "Nothing."

The moment that followed was tense and painful.  And Scully, for the life
of her, didn't know what was going on.  What had gotten in to Mulder? 
Why was he verbally attacking her?  Then the moment passed, and Mulder
leaped up from the bed, declaring that he was going for a jog.

It wasn't until he was out the door and she heard the engin rumble to a start
before she questioned him running in his dress shoes and pants.  She bolted
out the door just as their Taurus skidded out of the parking lot and on to
the small access road.  

"Damn it!"  she cursed, slamming her fist in to the door jam.  "Damn it all
to hell."

*****************

Before he knew what he was doing, Mulder was in the car and speeding
away from the motel.  He had not intended to leave Scully with such a
blatant lie - he had no intentions at all.  He was just acting and reacting;
feeling lost and alone.  Just like that night half a life time ago when his
nightmare first began.

The first heavy drops splattered across the windshield and he automatically
flipped on the wipers.  They scrapped across the mostly dry surface with a
protesting groan.  A storm was most definitely coming, Mulder knew, and
he left the wipers on in preparation.

"She will listen to me," he repeated to himself endlessly, the sound of his
voice as ineffectual as the creaking wiper blades.  "She has to listen."  She
was his sister for Christ sake!  How could she ignore that?  Even if she
wasn't readily accepting to that idea, she couldn't ignore the *possibility*. 
"Randy will help."  

That last thought stuck in his mind.  How could she have a life without
him?  How could she go on, when he hadn't?  Well, not until recently. 
How could his baby sister have a baby, herself?  They'd robbed him.  All of
them:  his father, the shadow men, Samantha - they'd all denied him.

"NO!"  Mulder slammed his fist in to the steering wheel and the car
wobbled in to the passing lane.  "Stop blaming!" he reprimanded himself. 
"Stop hating."  He'd found Samantha.  That was all that mattered.  His
sister was alive and safe and just a minute away.  He'd sit her down, they'd
talk.  He'd find out how much she remembered.  He'd make it easy for her;
help her accept him.  He'd be the brother she always deserved to have.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it.  The sight that stopped his
heart in his chest.  

Fire.

The dark fields surrounding the two story farm house were like a void
surrounding a blazing star.  Tongues of red and yellow stretched from the
upstairs bedroom windows.  The roar of the blaze rolled over Mulder as he
turned on to the long, dirt driveway; his foot slamming down against the
floor board.  

He had his gun out even before he saw the front door broken off the
hinges, and the gaping holes left by a high powered gun.  Black smoke
poured from the top of the door frame.  Just the thought of rushing in to
the heat burned his eyes.  God, fire.  Why fire?  The heavy smell
constricted his lungs.  Anything else he could have handled.  Anything but
fire.

And then he heard a scream.  Or what he thought was a scream.  The
constant roar of the blaze drowned out and distorted the sound, but
instantly Mulder thought of his sister and knew what he had to do.  He
refused to lose her to his fears again.  Not this time.  Not ever again.

With his shirt sleeve, Mulder wiped his face and hunched down.  Then he
took in a gulp of air, and plunged forward in to the burning house.

Like an expert, he swept through the darkened foyer and front room.  The
visibility was down to nothing in the dark haze.  The smoke billowed from
the stairway like a thick cotton blanket.

Mulder tried to feel his was in to the living room with his feet, nearly
tripping over a large object.  Mulder bent down to try and see what he'd
run in to.  A body.  In a dark suit.  He rolled the man over; another faceless
shadow-government pawn.

Mulder pushed himself up and away, desperate to continue his search for
Sam.

But then, from his left, Samantha emerged.  Her daughter held ungainly in
her arms; both clinging to one another.  Behind them, Randy lurched
forward, nearly knocking the three of them off balance, but Sam recovered
quickly and helped to steady her husband.  Behind him, another man
in a dark suit held a large gun.

Mulder reacted before he knew what was happening.  He felt the hot iron
of his gun recoil in his right palm.  A stifled scream erupted from his
smoke-swollen  throat.  Then a second scream and a third; one on top of
another; and then both Randy and the would-be kidnapper fell to the
ground.  Samantha was the next to scream, dropping to the floor next to
her husband, repeating his name.  Karen still clinging tightly to her body,
crying uncontrollably.  A second later, Mulder was there, too, assessing the
damage and cursing his actions.  The bullet, it seemed, ripped through Randy's left arm and
carried on straight in to the chest of the suited man.  "Shit."

Struggling deliriously, Randy tried to sit up.  Mulder wrapped his arms
around the wounded man and pulled him up to his feet.  "Get her out!"  He
screamed above the roar of the encroaching fire, "I'll help Randy!  Get out
of the house!"

"Get away from him!" she screeched, "You shot him!"

The hatred in her eyes shot through Mulder like a thunder clap.  He felt his
body go numb around the tunnels that watched the scene play out before
him.  Through the choking smoke, Mulder heard himself say, "Fire!  Damn
it!  Get out!  I've got him!"  He saw Randy put an arm around the 'other'
Mulder, and Sam hesitating for less than a moment before struggling
to her feet and scurrying with her daughter in to the coolness of the night.

The two men followed closely behind, all four coughing and hacking the
soot from their lungs.

The rain was falling steadily, and Mulder stopped a few feet outside the
door to try and clear his head enough to think. Sam reappeared at Randy's
side after loading her daughter in to the back seat of the black Jeep
Cherokee.  She gently pulled her husband towards the car,  Mulder
following blindly, supporting the majority of Randy's weight . . . and then
all of it when his legs gave out.

Somehow they got Randy in the vehicle, next to a still weeping
Karen, her tiny body convulsing around each sob.  Randy did his best to
assure her that everything was going to be okay.  But the little girl couldn't
take her eyes off of her daddy's arm long enough to hear him.  Sam ran
around to the driver's seat and Mulder crawled in the passenger
side next to her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded as the engine turned over.  "Get the
hell out!"

"I'm going with you," Mulder heard himself say, "you need protection."

She turned to the man beside her and lashed out: "We need protection from
YOU!"  Her frantic, random swings knocked the stick shift out of 'PARK'
and when the car jerked in to motion, Randy let out a cry behind them.  

Karen whimpered, "Daddy, don't die!"

"Don't worry, sweetheart," his words echoed more hope than his voice
could carry.

"No one's going to die!"  Sam's determination helped to put a little hope
back in to their daughter.  Then her focus switched to her husband. 
"Randy, how bad is it?"

"Lot of blood."

Sam winced at the slur in his speech.  He didn't mention the pain, but it was
clear to everyone in the car that there was a lot.  "Damn!"  She ran around
to Randy's door.  "Let me see."

A lot of blood was an understatement.

Rivers of fluid gushed from the wound, dampening his shirt, jeans, and half
of the seat.  Sam yanked off her belt, and tried to secure it, tourniquet
style, around his upper arm.  He cried out at the intense pain that surged
through every molecule of his being.  Then his head lulled to the right. 


"Stay with me, Randy."  Sam tugged at his cheeks to get some blood back
in his pale face.  "Christ!  Randy!  Talk to me!"

"Daddy!"  Karen rocked back and forth as she cried, scared to touch her
father.

Suddenly, like a jolt of lightning through a carcass,  Mulder jerked back in
to himself.  The horror and terror was pushed away, and the immediate
concern of saving Randy from his terrible aim smacked him in the face. 
Hospital?  Where?  They were in the middle of nowhere. 

"Get in the car!"  Mulder leapt out from the passenger side of the car and
pulled his sister off from her husband, and shut her in the front seat.  Then
he ran around to the driver's seat.  Scully could help.  She would know
what to do.  He threw the car in to drive and stepped hard on the gas,
sending the car away from the engulfing blaze behind them, and hurdling
into the emptiness of night.

Why did it always have to be so dark?

          
          June 29, 1996.
          Pennsylvania, SR 2920.
          
          
          The night seemed to engulf everything around them on the
          little-traveled back road.  The old iron bridge that stretched lazily
          across the dry river bed was less than 100 yards away, by its
          blackness was silhouetted against the moonless, starless night. 
          Mulder couldn't see a thing; not the bridge, not his partner sitting a
          few inches to his right, not even his hand held an inch from his
          nose.  He reached across with that hand and encountered a shoulder
          clad in a linen blazer.  And a whisper came back at him, "I'm still
          here."
          
          Feeling for his watch, a small light flicked on  Mulder sighed. "It's
          only 10:30,"  his whisper leaning closer to her ear than intended. 
          "It feels like we've been here for hours."
          
          "We have been here for hours," she whispered back.  "Where the
          hell are they?"
          
          Mulder settled back in his seat.  In his mind it was quickly
          becoming obvious that the mysterious tip had been a hoax, and their
          chief suspects were not, in fact, meeting with the 'pay off'.  At least
          not at this particular bridge on that particular night.  Damn! 
          Everything had been so carefully calculated.  Every possible detail
          carefully scrutinized.  Together, he and Scully had gone over a
          hundred possible scenarios, hoping for a real break to catch the
          villains in the act.  What would they do when the group didn't
          show?
          
          Scully's hushed voice washed though the car.  "We'll just go over
          the facts again.  Find the one scenario we obviously didn't think of."
          
          Mulder held his breath.  "Why did you just say that?"
          
          There was a small hesitation on Scully's part, caught off guard by
          his question.  "Well, it just stands to reason that we must have
          missed something if they didn't show up tonight.  I mean, even
          if the tip was a hoax, to throw us off their trail -"
          
          "No," his mouth came carelessly close to her ear, and she could feel
          his moist breath against the left side of her neck.  "What I mean is,
          how did you know what I was thinking?  I didn't say a thing."
          
          She paused again and replayed the conversation in her head.  "Of
          course you did.  You asked what we were going to do if they didn't
          show -"
          
          He stopped her.  "No, Scully."  The thrill in his voice was plain, "  I
          THOUGHT it, but I didn't SAY it."
          
          "Yes, you did."
          
          "No,  I didn't."
          
          Their voices were abruptly interrupted by the steady white beams of
          an approaching car.  Then the quiet rumble of another.  Without
          another second, both agents were out of the car, weapons drawn,
          eyes and bodies focused on the newest arrivals to the scene.
          
          The stark light cast a minimal wash over the surrounding area, and
          with their dark-accustomed eye, Mulder was able to signal for Scully
          to take the right flank and she nodded her acceptance of the plan.
          
          Just ahead of them, on the bridge, and partially obscured by the
          solid iron girders, several dark men in dark suits stepped out from
          their dark cars and into the light.
          
          Then all hell broke loose.
          
          A flash of red from the bushes on the far side of the river bed sent
          men scattered in every direction.  Car doors slammed, more
          gunfire, angry screams and curses rang out.  Mulder felt the
          low rumble of a car barreling towards him and he instinctively
          threw his body out of the car's path, landing on a rock incline. 
          Somewhere he heard Scully's voice screaming for someone to
          "HALT!  FBI!" and several shots fired again as he tumbled down
          the slop and hit the dried mud hard.  With his face.  And then the
          darkness, the inevitable darkness that seemed to follow him,
          swallowed him, too.
          

End of Part 5.

Bening of the Bow (6/13)
KMNAHILL and MD1016



         The hard and the stiff will be broken.   
         The soft and the supple will prevail.
     -Tao Te Ching


          
Motel 6,
Wayvern Road.
Sept 2, 1996.
11:02 PM.

          
          
          
Scully sat on the bed against the headboard, a warm glass of tap water in
her hands.  She ran a tired palm over her face and kicked off her shoes. 
What the hell was she going to do?  Leave?  Stay?  Be resentful or
understanding?  Remain intact or crumble like a discarded paper bag?
          
She was inclined to opt for the latter, knowing full well that in the end,
she'd resort to the former.  It wasn't the first time Mulder had run
off without her.  And no matter how hard she tried to kid herself, it
wouldn't be the last.  Mulder was Mulder.  And when the goings got tough
for him, he invariably left her behind.
          
 Only this time she was stranded at some motel in the middle of nowhere
Kentucky.  This time she knew with almost guaranteed certainty where he
was running to and what would happen when he got there.  And no doubt,
she'd have to be there on the sidelines waiting to pick up the pieces at the
end of the day.
          
She sighed heavily, her chest feeling constricted inside her bra.  Why did      
she put up with his crap?  She knew that she would never leave him
willingly, no matter how many times she threatened to when he ran off
without her.  They were empty threats, and they both  knew it.  And she
felt diminished by them.  Weak.  Ineffectual.
          
So she would have to wait.  What other option would she allow herself?  
Ignoring the fact that this was supposed to be their honeymoon . . . and
somehow her thoughts always came back to that: the wedding that never
was.  The elegant white dress hanging adoringly from the brass hook in
her bedroom.  Lace and satin.  And those thoughts, the ones that resented
the situation they were in, or more importantly, the ones  that repeated 'it is
no accident that this happened now', made her feel selfish and guilty. 
Mulder was finally going to get his sister back.  
          
Scully clutched at her turning stomach.  There was no doubt in her mind
that Mulder loved her.  None.  So why should one Catholic ceremony
matter in the long run?  Because.  Because the vows said much more than a
simple confirmation of love.  Maybe in her heart she feared that the
commitment was too much for him - that the phrase 'for better or worse,
`til death do us part' was too much for her to expect.  Maybe a 'through
good times and bad, as long as it doesn't get too bad' would be easier for
him to deal with.  Or maybe a 'for today and tomorrow, but we'll wait and
see about the next day' would work.  Damn him!
          
The glass hit the night table hard and she grabbed the phone.  She stared at
it for a moment wondering just what she was planning to do.  Call Sam? 
Call her Mom?  "Oh, yeah.  Call Mom.  How old am I again?  And just
when did I become so dependant on my mother?"  She moaned aloud to
herself, "I should probably call her."  And after a brief weighing of the pros
and cons, she decided in her mother's favor.  There was no reason for
Margaret to suffer while she sat waiting for Mulder's return.  
          
As she dialed the number, Scully briefly considered:  What if he doesn't
come back tonight?  What of he doesn't come back-
          
"Hello?"
          
"Mom?  It's me."
          
The frantic voice of her mother sent a flood of guilt through Scully's
stomach.  "Dana!  Are you all right?  Is Fox okay?  What happened? 
Where are you?"
          
"I'm fine, Mom.  And Mulder's okay, more or less.  What happened is a
little more difficult to explain."
          
Margaret didn't miss a beat.  "Did you two elope?  Are you married?" 
Scully couldn't tell if she heard hope or annoyance in the rapid fire her
mother was sending.
          
"No, Mom, we're not married.  We, uh . . . we found Mulder's sister.  We
think."
          
Margaret shrieked,  "What?!?  She's alive?  You're kidding!  That's
wonderful, honey!  Is she okay?  What's she like?"
          
"Yeah, she's been living in Kentucky.  She's got a farm.  A family."
          
"Kentucky?  Dana, is that where you are?"
          
"Yes."  Scully took a deep breath.  "I'm sorry about not calling sooner, but
for a while we were scared we might have been followed . . .."
          
"Followed?  Dana?  What aren't you telling me?"
          
There was a moment where Scully considered lying, simply to save her
mother some unnecessary grief.  But she couldn't do it.  "Mom.  There's a
lot I'm, not telling you."  Then her voice caught in her throat and cracked. 
"Oh, Mom.  It's all falling apart."
          
The concern in Margaret's heart doubled at Scully's last statement.  Rarely
had Margaret ever seen Dana emotional, and the whimper on the other end
of the phone line sent up all of her flags.  "What's falling  apart,
sweetheart?"
          
"Mulder.  Us.  Everything.  You realize, of course, that now that he had
Samantha back, he doesn't need the X-Files.  And me."
          
"Dana -"
          
"No, really!  I'm not his wife.  He's not my partner anymore -"
          
"Of course he is, Dana.  Things like that don't change over night."
          
"Yes, they do.  Your whole life can change with one word.  One blink of an
eye, and -"  Scully choked down a deep sob and tried to brush the tears
from her eyes.
          
"Did the two of you have a fight?  Is Fox there now?"
          
"No.  He's being unreasonable.  Expecting too much too fast.  He took the
car and left, Mom, and my first instinct was to get the hell away from this
place.  I almost called a cab and came home."
          
"What?!"
          
"He doesn't want me here."
          
"Dana, honey.  Calm down.  I'm sure that's not the case.  Fox loves you."
          
And Scully laughed a deep, painful chortle.  "Yes.  Yes, he does.  Mulder
loves me.  But I'm wondering:  Is love enough?"
          
There was a moment of silence and then Margaret asked, "Enough for
what?"
          
The question hit Scully off guard.  "Are you saying I'm wrong?  That I'm     
being . . . unreasonable?"
          
"Of course not, Dana.  I'm simply asking what you really expect. What do
you want from him?"  Margaret swallowed, "because it sounds like you're
wanting more than he's giving-"
          
"Or can give?"
          
"Well, I wouldn't say that.  I think Fox is a man who is capable of a lot of
giving."
          
And finally Scully smiled.  "That, he is."
          
There was a comfortable lull before she spoke again.  "Mom, I'm sorry
about the wedding, too.  I didn't mean . . . I had no intention for things to
turn out the way they did."
          
"I know, honey."  Margaret cleared her throat.  "Should I try to reserve a
new date for the church?  Father Christopher said the schedule towards the
end of the month looks light."
          
Scully's face twisted in agony.  "I don't think so, Mom."
          
That was the one response Margaret didn't want to hear.  "Well, just let me
know.  We've saved the cake, just in case."
          
Nodding, Scully wiped fresh tears from her eyes, "Thanks, Mom.  I bet it
was beautiful."
          
"It is.  Shannon really out did herself."
          
"I'll have to thank her."
          
"Yes, you will."
          
"I love you, Mom."
          
 "I love you, baby.  Be safe."
          
And as Scully hung up the phone she whispered, her own personal plea. 
"Mulder, be safe."
          
          
          
Scully didn't think it was possible for her to sleep in her agitated state but
 realized she must have dozed off when the screech of tires and a clap of
thunder jolted her awake. She settled back down, trying to slow the
pounding of her heart. It wasn't the Taurus. She snuggled into the pillows,
hoping to recapture the warm place where she had been.
          
Mulder's abrupt entrance, his shirt front stained in blood, yanked her to her
feet, however. She was by his side in a heartbeat, trying to simultaneously
pull at his shirt and push him into a chair.
          
"My God, Mulder, what happened? Sit down and let me see," she snapped
when he resisted her prying fingers.
          
"It's not my blood! I'm fine. It's Randy!" He grabbed her arm, propelling
her to the door. "It looks bad."
          
Splashes of wet assaulted Scully's face as soon as she stepped out from
under the small overhang above the doorway. She briefly wondered if she
was trapped in a nightmare as lightning creased the sky, revealing the
mud-spattered jeep. Sam was reaching into the backseat, dealing with
Randy, Scully assumed, though she couldn't see him. But it was Karen's
forlorn look of despair which caught at her heart. The child was standing
by the car, oblivious to the downpour, staring into the rear window, tears
and raindrops coursing down her cheeks.
          
"Mulder, get Karen out of the rain before she catches a chill. I'll take a look
at Randy."
          
Mulder shook his head. "You'll need help with him. He was dead weight
when we got him in there."
          
"Is he conscious? What happened?" Scully had to raise her voice to be
heard over the storm as they reached the car.
          
At the sound of her question, Sam spun around. "What happened?" she
shrieked. "He shot my husband! That's what happened! You bastards burnt
down my home! That's what happened! Get the fuck away from us!"
          
Scully didn't have time to react to Sam's accusations, though she
noticed Mulder's flinch. She was looking past Sam, seeing Randy's pale,
waxy-complexioned face, the blood soaked interior, his short, labored
breaths. "Listen to me. I'm a doctor.  Your husband is going into shock. If
you don't let me in there to treat him, he might die."
          
Sam studied Scully for what felt like a minute, fear and helplessness
warring with her suspicions, before nodding her head and stepping to one
side.
          
"Take care of your daughter," Scully ordered before ducking inside to
attend to Randy.
          
Sam refused to make eye contact with Mulder as she hurried around the
back of the jeep, scooping up Karen as she went, running with her into the
motel room. Mulder followed her with mournful eyes full of apology.
          
He stood there until Scully tugged at his sleeve. "I don't like moving him
but I can't do anything until we get him out of the car. Can you handle
him?"
          
Mulder nodded, not trusting himself to speak, his knees trembling with
exhaustion. He reached all the way into the jeep, almost cradling Randy's
body as he positioned the barely conscious man. Sitting him up with his
legs hanging out the car door, Mulder leveraged  him into a fireman's carry,
almost slipping in the mud, until Scully helped to balance him.
          
Giving the two men a quick, worried glance, Scully went ahead into the
 room, wanting to pull down the bedcovers. Randy was going to need their
warmth.
          
Mulder followed carefully. He was blinded for a moment by the room's
light but squinted enough to gently lower his burden onto the bed, holding
him upright until Scully could tear away his bloody shirt.
          
"Okay, get his feet," instructed Scully, pushing away the pillows.  Once
Randy was flat, she grabbed the discarded cushions and placed them under
his feet. She then pulled the blankets over his body, leaving his wounded
arm exposed. A cursory exam had revealed a ragged, gaping hole.
Assuming Randy lived, Scully knew he'd lose at least partial use of the arm
due to muscle damage. "Get me the extra blanket. And we're going to need
more towels." She looked around, noticing Sam and Karen shivering in the
corner of the room, both soaked to the skin. "We're going to need more
blankets too."
          
Mulder hurried to the bathroom, grabbing all the thin motel towels he
could find and then reached into the closet for the heavy thermal blanket.
He spread the blanket and then walked over with two of the towels to give
to Sam. Neither spoke, as she snatched them out of his hand.
          
"I'll see about getting more blankets," he muttered to no one in particular.
          
Dashing through puddles, he made his way to the office, only to find it
locked for the night. Damn, these one-horse towns, he thought fiercely,
looking around to see if he could find the manager's apartment. He noticed
that the motel was mostly deserted, especially the block of rooms near his
and Scully's. He ran back the way he came. Hell, I didn't want to answer a
bunch of questions anyway, he thought, as he kicked in a door to an empty
room. He removed the linens he needed and repeated the process in the
next room. What is it with us and motel rooms, he wondered grimly? He
remember the lecture he received from the finance department head after
their last room was trashed in Oregon. It had been Skinner's idea of
punishment. At least this bill would go on his personal charge instead of the
Bureau's.
          
Scully was still examining Randy, probing his arm, occasionally checking
his vital signs, when Mulder returned. He gave two blankets to Sam, along
with an armful of towels, and then moved to talk with Scully. She had
her medical bag opened on the side of the bed within easy reach. He knew
from personal experience it was better stocked than most doctor's bags and
that Scully started lugging it around sometime after New Mexico.  She had
laughingly told him she wanted to be prepared in case she ever needed to
shoot him again.
          
"How is he?" he whispered.
          
"He's lost a lot of blood and I still can't guarantee that he won't go into
shock. The mucosa around his nose and mouth is very irritated as well.
Mulder, it's almost as if he's been burnt."
          
"It was probably the smoke," he replied, more to himself than in response
to her observations.
          
"Mulder, what the hell happened?"
          
Mulder took a moment, staring down at the prone figure before him. Scully
had the feeling he wasn't really seeing Randy. 
          
"Our 'friends' were there. One was already dead in the living room. Another
was herding the family out of another room. The house was already on
fire.... there was smoke...," he paused, his eyes revealing his fears at the
memory. "I guess they didn't see me. I..., I pulled my gun. I went through
him," he pointed to Randy's arm, "to get to the bad guy.  Shit, Scully, I
wasn't even thinking."
          
Scully placed a hand on his arm to gentle him. "Mulder, you did what you
had to. If you didn't shoot, they all could be dead."
          
"And if you'd have left us alone from the beginning, none of this would
have happened," hissed Sam. She was standing behind Mulder. Scully
jumped, not noticing when she had joined them.
          
"Sam . . .," Mulder started.
          
 "Shut up! Haven't you done enough?" Sam snapped.
          
"That's enough," Scully said bristling. "We don't have time for this.
Samantha, this may have turned out much worse if we didn't come. They
knew where you were. They had your address. That's what we came to
warn you about. It was only a matter of time before they would have come
for you."

"So you say now, but I didn't hear anything about that this afternoon!"
          
Scully sighed. Nothing was going to break through this woman's anger and
the young agent didn't have the energy to argue. "As I said, we don't have
time for this. We've got to get Randy to a hospital."
          
"We can't," Mulder said, startled out of his black thoughts. "You know
how easy it would be for them to get to him in a hospital."
          
Images of Frank Kellogg's pathetic, broken form and the assassination
attempt on her own life flashed through Scully's mind. "Mulder..."
          
"He's right," Sam interjected. Scully looked at her in amazement before she
continued. "I don't remember much but I do remember a hospital room. He
can't go to a hospital."
          
"They can't control every hospital," Scully argued. "He needs attention that
I can't give him here."
          
"We can't even stay here," Mulder said firmly. "There are two men dead
but these bastards travel in packs. There's no way of knowing if we were
followed."
          
"Did you see anyone?"
          
"Scully, these guys are invisible when they want to be, you know that. It
wouldn't take much to track us. We're too vulnerable here."
          
"Then call Skinner. Get us some back-up. He needs to go to a hospital!"
          
Mulder put his hands on his partner's shoulders. "Scully, how long do you
think we could keep them protected? Skinner can't help."
          
Scully closed her eyes in silent acknowledgment. "He'll never make it all
the way back to Washington."
          
"We can't go there either. They'd expect us to do that."
          
          
          *Mulder, it will be perfect. No one would think to look for her
          there. There are woods, it's quiet, so we can plan our next move....*  
          Melissa's voice trailed off. 
          *No, it's too isolated. We'd be cut off from help if we needed it.*
          *It's a retreat house, Mulder. It's a place for meditation and spiritual  
          growth. It's suppose to be isolated and cut off.*
          
          
It was an old argument. Close to a year ago. She'd been sick; something to
do with the implant she learned later. She, Mulder, and Melissa stood in
her living room, trying to think of a safe haven. A place where she could
heal. She looked down at Randy and then at the brother and sister who
were standing before her now, glaring at each other. There was a lot of
healing needed again. Thank you, Melissa, Scully silently breathed.
          
"The cabin," Scully whispered. "We're not that far from the cabin."
          
"Cabin?" Mulder looked at her blankly.
          
"Melissa's cabin. They may not remember it."
          
Sam had crouched next to Randy, smoothing back his hair, careful not to
jar his bandaged arm. "What are you talking about?"
          
"There's an isolated cabin about five hours drive from here. It has
everything we'll need until we can figure out what to do," Scully answered.
"I don't like this but Mulder's right about taking Randy to a  hospital. He'd
be an easy target. I think he's stable enough to travel to the cabin and I
don't think they would expect us to go there. We should be safe."
          
Sam didn't bother asking who "they" were. "You've got to be kidding! You
come barging into my life, get my home burnt down, shoot my husband....
What makes you think I'll go anywhere with you?"
          
Mulder opened his mouth to protest but Scully's hand on his arm
forestalled him.
          
"For one simple reason," Scully said coolly. "I'm the doctor. You can't trust
anyone else for Randy's care and there's a good chance he'll die
without it. You're going to have to trust us that much and that means
coming with us. Understand?"
          
Sam scowled up at Scully, a mix of rage, frustration and defeat vying for
dominance on her face. She glanced over to the chair where Karen's
frightened eyes peeked out of the blankets in which she was nestled.
Finally, as seconds ticked by, she gave a reluctant nod.
          
Scully slowly exhaled. "Fine. Mulder, start packing our things. I want to
give Randy a few more minutes rest before we have to move him.  I want
to be sure he's stable. Bring all the blankets. We'll probably need them. 
Samantha," she waited until the other woman raised her head. "I saw
the back of the jeep was already packed, so I'll assume you were planning
to leave."
          
Mulder jerked around to stare at his sister. In all the confusion, he hadn't
noticed the suitcases.
          
"Randy..., Randy argued with me but I knew we had to get away," she
said, almost defiantly. "We were in the middle of packing the car when they
came."
          
Scully walked over and looked out the room's sole window. "It's stopped
raining. You and I will go out and rearrange the luggage so we can fit our
things in the back. Then, I'll figure out how to position your husband so
he'll be most comfortable. Let's go." She almost marched out of the door,
Samantha following slowly.
          
Mulder followed with his eyes as the door shut. Maybe Scully would be
able to bring them through this mess after all.
          

End of Part 6.
Bending of the Bow (7/13)
KMBNAHILL and MD1016


     It flows through all things,
     inside and out, and returns
     to the origin of all things.
     -Tao Te Ching



Back road,
Somewhere in West Virginia.
September 3, 1996.
4:02 AM.
          


The headlights cut through the night though the darkness gave way
grudgingly. There was no moon and a wispy fog lent a proper atmosphere
to their getaway. That's how Mulder was thinking of it - a getaway. On the
run, again, from nameless, faceless men who wanted to destroy everything
he most valued. Sometimes he wondered if he'd ever get to stop running.
He'd hoped that marrying Scully would have been a start. He glanced in the
rearview mirror, hoping to catch her eye, to reconnect however briefly. But
she was checking her patient again, fussing with the blankets which they
had wrapped around him. He restrained himself from asking how Randy
was doing since the mere sound of his voice sent his sister into a paroxysm
of rage.
          
She was quiet now. She'd resisted getting into the passenger seat next to
him but knew Scully could do more for Randy than she could. Karen was
tucked on her lap, sleeping.
          
He envied the child. Mulder knew he could run on adrenaline for
days, had been doing so, but he was exhausted in body and spirit. His
sister's constant antipathy was unexpectantly hurtful and draining. He
needed to escape it for awhile and could think of no better place than a
bed. A big bed.  A big, soft bed with Scully in it....
          
"Look out!" Sam harshly muttered.
          
Her voice snapped Mulder out of the light doze he'd been drifting in to in
time to brake for a deer which had crashed through the brush on the side of
the road. With a nimble jump, the creature disappeared again into the night.
          
"Thanks," he murmured, mindful of the sleeping girl.
          
Sam responded with a snort and deliberately turned her head away to face
the darkness.
          
Mulder sighed and accelerated slowly. This time, when he looked into the
mirror, Scully was  there - her eyes full of assurance and love.   
          
And when she caught his searching eyes, she knew he needed her there and
wanted her there. All of the self-doubting from earlier in the evening
seeped out of her in an exhale. 


          
          June 29, 1996.
          Pennsylvania, SR 2920.
                              
          The gunfight had been chaotic and random, and when the dust
          finally settled, three men were in custody, two hand cuffed together
          and to the bridge, itself; three men lie dead in small pools of
          their own blood; and four or five more had run blindly in to the
          surrounding forest.  Neither car had escaped Scully blasting holes
          through the tires, but at the moment Scully didn't care.  After the
          initial round of gun play, Mulder had disappeared from her sight
          line.
                              
          But then things had been crazy, she rationalized.  There were twice
          as many men as they had initially anticipated, which meant twice as
          many guns being wielded.  Scully's eyes surveyed the dead men
          spotlighted by the headlights and mused how that many men could
          possibly fit in just two cars.  There must have been another group
          waiting - like she and Mulder had been waiting - for their
          opportunity to strike.
                              
          "Mulder!"  she called out, refusing to allow her panic to edge its
          way in to her voice.  "Mulder!  Where are you?"
                              
          No answer came back.
                              
          Next to her, one of the bound men hiss, "You loose your
          boyfriend, sweetheart?  Maybe he took a bullet like my pal, Stan,
          over there."  His hateful chuckle was broken by the handle of her
          gun striking his left cheek.  "Shut the hell up, asshole!"  There was
          no confusion in her command, and the man stayed silent.
                              
          She back tracked to where she had last seen her partner and called
          his name again, with the same results.  Her heart and mind began to
          race.  Had one of the escaped men come across a wounded Mulder
          and taken him hostage?  Had Mulder taken off after one of the fled
          men?  Would he leave her?  Not possible.  Or was it?
                              
          Quickly, Scully ran back to their car, called for back up and
          grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment.  Then she
          began her search for her partner.
                              
          It wasn't until several police cars, and an ambulance had arrived that
          she found him, face down, on the bank of the dead river.  He didn't
          move when she touched him and didn't respond to her use of his
          name.  She checked for a pulse, holding her breath, and found a
          strong beat in the side of his neck.  "Oh, thank God.  Thank God." 
                              
          Not daring to move him, for fear that he'd broken his neck or back,
          she called up to the road, "I've found him!  I need a stretcher here!" 
          The paramedics' response was almost immediate.
                              
          Carefully, the three workers loaded the still-unconscious Mulder on
          to the collapsed bed, and lifted him up the side of the river, and
          loaded him in to the truck.  Mulder had needed medical attention,
          but he had been lucky that night.  They both had been.  She
          knew it in her heart.  And it didn't have anything to do with  reading
          minds, or paranormal activity.  She loved him.  She knew him.  It
          was as simple as that.
                    
          
          
          *******************
 
September 3, 1996.         
A Cabin off of Grand Philmore Road,
Hunket, West Virginia.


The early morning light filtered through the thick forest by the time the
Jeep stopped in front of the cabin.  From their approach, Scully could see
that very little had changed from the last time she'd been there. Even the
rusted key to the front door lay undisturbed in its hiding place in the
shallow hollow of the lone hickory.  "Please let this work," she half
mumbled, running to unlock the door.  Shards of rust stained her
fingers brown as she inserted it in to the heavy lock.  Just behind her,
Randy's guttural groan for his daughter sent a chill down her spine.  

"Karen!"

He'd been delirious for nearly half an hour, one minute calling for water to
put out some imaginary fire, and the next, begging for someone to save his
little girl from the flames.  His fever had spiked around a hundred and five,
Scully guessed.  Dangerously high without the proper medication and
facilities to treat it.  And the worry in her gut screamed that their
immediate surroundings were less than adequate.  


The ancient door swung open with a groan of its own.  Inside the small
cabin, the air was stale and thick, the layer of dust covering everything
showed it had been several months since anyone had ventured there.   "Put
him in the bed in the back room," Scully instructed, before she ran back out
to the car to retrieve her medical bag.  But even outside she could hear
Randy's fevered cries.

Between Mulder and Sam, they carried Randy's dead weight with as much
care as the awkward position could allow.  Karen, with her stuffed animal
still clutched tightly to her body, ran ahead of them and opened the
bedroom door. 

"Karen!  Get out of the house!  Stay away from the fire, Karen!"  Randy's
sweat poured down his face and neck.  "Karen!  Can you hear daddy?
Where are you, baby?"

Unsure what to do or say, the terrified little girl huddled in the doorway
between the two rooms, afraid to answer.  Her father had been deliriously
calling for her, and no amount of persuading from her mother could
convince him that she was safe.

In a sudden spasm, Randy grabbed his wife's arm, "Sam!  You have to get
Karen out of the fire!"  His gasps and wild, dark eyes chilled Mulder to his
very core.  The man showed no sign of acknowledging to the undoubtable
pain in his shoulder.  He moved his arm as if muscle and bone were still
intact.  Randy's only thought, his only concern was his daughter's
safety.  "The fire, Sam, get out!"

"Karen's safe, Honey.  Calm down."  Sam's low tones were helpless in 
soothing her frantic husband.  She ran a palm over his forehead and tried
not to watch as Mulder stripped off  Randy's bloodied shirt.  "Honey, you
have a fever," she tried to reason, "you need to relax."

Mulder couldn't suppress the wince that contorted his face.  The temporary
bandage that Scully had created in the car had grown layer by layer as the
hours passed, as each subsequent pad had leaked through.  There was no
way to get the shirt completely off his shoulder and arm without cutting it,
but Mulder figured at this point, who the hell cared? 

He rushed in to the kitchen and slammed through the drawers looking for
anything that resembled scissors.

Scully ran in, black leather bag in tow, calling to her partner as she passed
him. "Mulder, boil some water for herbal tea.  I know Melissa would have
had some Camomile in here some place."  With an elbow, she pushed Sam
from the wounded man to make room for her to work.  Her mind 
completely focused on the man in front of her. From the medical bag she 
pulled a syringe and a small clear bottle and inspected the safety seals on 
both before ripping in to them and measuring out a dosage.  

"What are you giving him?"  Sam demanded from over her shoulder. 

"Samantha,"  Scully, attempting a diversion, didn't look up from her
patient, "I'm going to need some more towels and blankets." 

"Answer me!"  Sam's shrill scream threatened to stop Scully physically if
she didn't receive an answer.  And with at least half a foot advantage, she
probably could.

Scully's head jerked around.  "His fever is too high.  We've got to bring it
down or we're going to loose him.  Now, I need blankets!"  The threat
worked like a charm, and Sam was off to the bathroom, searching
feverishly for blankets and sheets.

It took only a second to swab down the inside of Randy's arm and another
second for him to backhand her off her feet without even knowing she was
there.  Both syringe and bottle went flying, one bouncing against the wall
beside her before rolling under the bed, and the other - the pointed other -
embedded itself in her right thigh.  "Damn!"

Mulder ran in when he heard the impact.  "Scully!"

Without batting an eyelash, she yanked the needle from her leg and was on
the floor to retrieve the vial.  "Hold him still, Mulder, I need to set up
another shot."

Sam was back by the time she was ready to inject the thrashing man, with
an arm full of towels and blankets, as instructed.  "Let's try this again,"
Scully's tight voice resonating the buzz of fear and energy in the room.   
Mulder held Randy's upper body still, and Scully seemed to have
his left arm fairly secure.  So, Sam dropped her load, and without being
asked, she grabbed her husband's  legs and kept them from flailing as Scully
injected the clear substance into his arm.

It took several minuted for Randy's body to begin to react to the medicine. 
But, when it was all over, the other three relaxed slightly.  Samantha and
Scully silently pulling thick blankets tight across the patient.  With one of
the dampened towels in hand, a cool compress was made, and Scully
handed it to the other woman.  Worn out, Sam sat down next to her
husband, and gently brushed the hair back from his forehead.  "It's okay,
honey.  I'm here.  Karen's here.  We're safe now."

Eyes still tightly closed, Randy managed to get out a feeble, "Karen's safe?" 
His tongue slurred the words.  "Where's Karen?"  And on cue, out from a
darkened corner of the room, the teary-eyed little girl cautiously
approached and put a hand on his.  I'm here, Daddy."

Scully looked over the family.  The three of them huddled so closely
together; homeless, but alive.  Randy's bandage really did need to be
changed.  The wound needed to be carefully inspected now that they had
him stationary.  But she'd give them a minute.  They needed some time just
to be reassured that they were all going to be okay.  God, she thought, let
them be okay.

She turned and saw Mulder watching her from across the living room. 
Blood and sweat stained his shirt and his hair hung down over his forehead. 
The dark circles under his eyes told her exactly how he was feeling.  How
they were both feeling.

Mulder motioned with his head, "How's the leg?"  

"Leg?"

"It looked like you got the first dose of whatever it was you gave him."

"Oh.  That."  An absent hand went to her thigh and the tingle reestablished
itself.  "It's just an antibiotic to help with the fever.  No real harm done."

"Penicillin?"

A small smile played over her features, and she made her way to the
kitchen sink to wash her hands.  "No.  You're allergic to Penicillin, and 
I keep most of this stuff around for you."

Mulder mocked embarrassment.  "Okay, Dr. Scully.  Now what?"

The cold water smelled faintly of sulfur, as she splashed it liberally over her
face.  "Now we rest.  Go ahead and make up the  sofa bed, here, and I'll
see if there's not some kind of sleeping bag in the shed out back."  

Mulder shifted in place.  "And then what?"

Scully sighed.  All of the towels were in the other room with Randy, she
was dripping over the sink with wet arms and face.  "And then you and
Sam and Karen are going to get some rest, and I'm going to change
Randy's bandage and sit up most of the day with him until his fever goes
down enough."  She ran her hands over her pants and tried to dry her
cheeks on her sleeves.

"And then?"

Scully bit the inside of her cheek.  "And then we should think about some
food, I guess.  How stocked are the pantries?"  She crossed to the other
side of the kitchen table and pulled open both cabinet doors at once.

"And then?"

"And then?"  Scully turned and looked at her partner, finally catching on to
exactly what he was asking.  "And then I don't know."  She sighed at the
one can of tomato soup and the unopened jar of pickled peppers that
looked down at her.  "But something is going to have to be done
soon."  She collapsed down on to the bench next to the table and sighed
again.  "God.  How did this happen?"

Mulder turned to look in at his sister.  Samantha.  And her family.  And
then back to Scully, her head in her hands, resting over the kitchen table as
if it were the only thing holding her up.

          *****


Nine Hours Later.


The late afternoon air was thick with humidity.  All around the cabin, birds
called out from the dense trees.  And Fox Mulder heard none of it.  He sat
on the large dead tree that lay some twenty feet from the front of the cabin,
staring off at the seemingly endless forest around him, contemplating the
unbelievable situation he found himself in.

His sister slept with her daughter just on the other side of the wooden 
door.  That concept was still hard for him to grasp.  At times when he 
was in the room with her, he found himself stealing sideways glances 
just to make sure that she was still there.  And she was. 

Even though she didn't want to be.  

That was one thing Mulder had never counted on.  In all of the years he'd
been looking for his sister he never once thought that she didn't want to be
found.  Don't all people who are abducted want to be returned?  Returned
to what?  Ahh.  That was the real question.

There was no doubt that his family basically split apart the instant Sam was
taken from them, but life had never been peaches and cream for the Mulder
family.  Dad was always moody, and Mom . . . well, she was Mom.  Trying
to be helpful and motherly, but never really succeeding.  Mulder
had always supposed that compared to other families, his wasn't so bad. 
No one was ever beaten.  He and his sister had their own rooms.  They had
plenty of toys to play with; an allowance if they did their chores.  And the
other stuff.  The yelling late at night when the parents thought little Fox
was asleep.  The small nod of the head instead of a hug.  The missed Little
League games and forgotten birthdays and unrewarded achievements.

A full 180 degrees from Scully's upbringing.

His thought was interrupted by the opening of the cabin door and the meek
exit of little Karen.  Her hair was in a fresh braid, and she was sporting a
fresh set of clothes.  There's something right about children in cotton tee-
shirts and jeans.  Traditional.  Comfortable.  The expression on her face,
however, was wary.  "Why are you out here all alone?"

Mulder tried to offer her a smile.  "Just thinking.  Sometimes I like to sit
alone and think."  Karen was near the same age that Sam was when he'd
last seen her.  God, had they ever been that young?

Karen nodded.  "Me, too."  

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Can't sleep.  And the lady . . . "

"Scully."

"Yeah.  Scully."  The words sat oddly on the little girl's lips.  "She said to
make sure you hadn't gotten in to trouble."

"No trouble here."

Karen ran an absent finger over her bottom lip with her left hand, and
found a scratch on her left shoulder with her right.  "So, are we your
prisoners?"  

Her simple, child-like question stopped his heart.  Mulder shook his head
and sighed.  "No.  Not at all.  Is that what you think?"

She considered the man in front of her with a tilted head.  "I don't know. 
Mommy doesn't like you, and you shot Daddy -"

"I didn't mean to, Karen.  I don't want to hurt any of you.  I was afraid that
those men would take you -"

"You took us."

"I was trying to help."  Mulder paused at her bluntness.  She had accurately
assessed the situation with amazing clarity.  "A long time ago, my sister
was taken away from me by . . . bad people.  And then I found her, Karen. 
I found my sister.  And it's been twenty-two years.  So long . . . "  he ran a
hand through his hair and rested his head against the elbows on his knees. 
He debated about how much to tell the little girl.  How much information
was too much?  "And when I saw the man, with the gun on my sister and
her family . . . I didn't steal you, Karen.  I did what I thought I needed to
do to keep you safe . . . and so that I don't have to wait another twenty
four years to see my sister again."

Mulder looked up at Karen.  Her little freckled nose really did look like the
picture of Sam he'd been carrying around for a better part of his life.  Her
little wisps of baby hair framing her face played in the light breeze.  "You
know what I think?"  Mulder sat up and inhaled, preparing for the brutal
honesty that only a child can give.  "I think you're a lousy shot."

Mulder chortled.  Brutal was right.

"But I don't think you're one of the bad men.  And you're too tall to be
one of the little men."  She sat down beside him and, in her most adult
voice, she patted his leg and explained.  "Mommy will come around.  She
just has some issues."

"Issues?"  Mulder had to work hard not to laugh aloud.  "Where do you
get an idea like that?"

"Oh, you know."  Karen used all the authority she had in her high pitched
voice, "Oprah."

Then what she said repeated in his head.  "Karen, what do you mean by
'one of the little men'?"

The door to the cabin swung open again, and Sam's sudden appearance
sent Karen flying to her feet.  "Get in this house right now, young lady!" 
The stern tone of a mother made even the agent wince.  "I can't even close
my eyes for a second without you running off somewhere,"  Without a
moment's hesitation, Karen bolted for the door and disappeared inside. 
"And you," she address Mulder with a bite, "I don't want you alone with
my daughter."

"What?"  Mulder was on his feet, indignant and wounded.  "You can't
possibly think - I'm not going to hurt her!"

The color in her cheeks was starting to come out, and a vein in her neck
popped up.  "I can think whatever I like!  I know nothing about you - or
your partner in there, for that matter -"

"Samantha!"  Mulder's exasperation bubble up, "I'm your BROTHER."

"So you say."  She turned from him and opened the door.  "I say I don't
have a brother.  Stay away from my kid!"  She disappeared from sight and
Mulder just stared after her.  

Was it supposed to be this hard?  What was the point of finding Sam again
if she was going to refuse to have anything to do with him?  Mulder sighed. 
His eyes and neck ached, his head throbbed, and he was starting to feel a
little light headed.  It was definitely not the time for him to be thinking
semantics.  And yet, for some reason, he couldn't seem to help himself. 
Somehow he was going to have to convince the woman that not only was
he her brother, but she should love him and accept him in to her life as
such.  No mean feat.  A blood test?  Matching fingerprints?  And what
would he tell their mother if he couldn't convince her?  Could he allow her
to live out the rest of her days thinking that Sam was gone forever?  Or
worse, that her only daughter had died all those years ago and lay in some
unmarked grave?  Could he do that?

It was too much.  Mulder rolled his head and stretched out his shoulders as
he rose from the log and made his way to the cabin.


End of Part 7.

Bending of the Bow (8/13)
KMNAHILL and MD1016





       When there is no desire,              
       all things are at peace.
     -Tao Te Ching




Scully stood against the sink when Samantha stormed back inside.  She
dried off her hands and watched the strange, dark woman pacing around
the room.  "He's not against you, you know."

"What?"  Sam's head snapped to her in  more of an accusation than a
question.

Scully was patient, though.  She knew that subtlety and tact were required
if the volatile situation was ever going to be extinguished.  "Mulder.  He's
not the enemy.  You should stop blaming him. 
He's not responsible for your house -"

"He shot my husband!" The fury that shot out from her mouth wasn't
enough to keep Scully from defending her partner.

"Trying to save your family!  And he feels as guilty as sin about it, too. 
Mulder is a kind-hearted man.  His methods may be a little questionable,
but his intent never is."  Sam's anger ebbed a little as she studied Scully's
features.  Her mouth and eyes softened a bit and her shoulders relaxed. 
Scully wasn't sure why, but she felt as though the woman was looking clear
through to her soul.

Then Sam nodded, her full lips rounding around the newest of her
realizations: "You're in love with him."
 
The statement caught her off guard, but Scully didn't take it as anything but
an observation.  "I am."  Exhausted, Sam looked around the room before
she finally decided to have a seat on one of the benches at the kitchen table. 
Scully took the bench opposite her.  It was time that the tension was
doused with a good deal of rational talk, and while she was glad to be the
peacemaker, Scully couldn't help but think that Mulder should be with her
to witness it.  But then, there would be time for that later.  First thing, first. 
"Look, he's really not asking for much.  He just wants to talk; touch base. 
He's been looking for you for twenty-five years.  The first night on our first
case, Mulder told me about you.  How nothing else mattered in his life
except finding his sister."

"But why?"

"I don't know.  Mulder tends to take the world's blame on to his own
shoulders.  Maybe he was trying to make amends.  Maybe he was trying to
prove something to himself.  Maybe he loved you.  Why don't you ask
him?"

Sam looked towards the door.  "Why does he think I'M his sister?"

Scully bit at her upper lip.  How much to tell?  "We were given your
address by . . . a man who was working with a group who, we think, may
have had something to do with your abduction."

"What?  And he just gave you my address and said, here you go, Fox. 
There's your sister?"

"Well, not exactly.  He wasn't . . . Well, at least, I don't think he was a
party to what the group was doing . . . but even if he was, we have reason
to believe that there are in fact several organizations within the group -"

"You're not making any sense."

"I know.  I'm sorry.  I'm just not sure how to answer your question.  Why
don't you ask him?"

"I don't want to ask him!"

God!  Scully wanted to scream.  The woman was infuriating!  "What are
you going to do?  Avoid him?  Refuse to return his calls?"

With out warning the door behind Samantha gently swung on its hinges
and Mulder stepped over the threshold.  And stopped.  The tableau of
his partner and his sister sitting at the kitchen table together, talking . . . it
was all a little too normal.  Like that two story house that had been
reduced to ashes.

The two women turned to see Mulder fidgeting; not entirely sure what to
do with his hands.  His expression shifted from initial apprehension to
disorientation to that of a nervous little boy who knew he was treading
where he wasn't supposed to be.  "Uh, hi."

Scully turned back to Sam and gave her a weary smile.  "If you leave now,
you may be able to loose him at the sofa."  Then she stood and announced
to the room, "I'm going to check on Randy."

Then the two of them were alone.  Brother and sister.  The first time since
THAT night.  Mulder thrust his hands in to his jeans pocket and leaned up
against the wall near the stove.  "You know," he began, desperate for any
kind of contact at that point, "You're about Mom's height."

Sam closed her eyes and turned from him.  "Stop it."

Well, that was smooth.  Why don't you beat her over the head and drag her
back to Chilmark by the hair?  But she was, Mulder tried to defend - to
himself, or the world in general, he didn't know - she WAS about his
mother's height.

Pursuing that line of thought, however, was somewhat obsolete.  At least
at the moment.  Give her time, Scully had said.  Time.  Geez.  "So, where's
Karen?"

Immediately Sam's head bounced up and looked around.  "Karen?"  She
crossed to the bedroom and called again, "Karen?  Answer Mommy." 
Nothing.  Accusing eyes shot back at Mulder, but the instant concern in his
eyes surprised her.

"She's not outside," he said, "I was by the door the whole time."

Then a hushed voice traveled down through the rafters to them.  "I'm up
here, Mommy."

"Where?"  All eyes scanned the wood paneled ceiling and gradually
gravitated past the sleeping man in the bed, to the small ladder hidden in
the farthest corner of the darkened bed room.  It traveled up the wall and
through a small opening that none of them could remember seeing before. 
"Come up, Mommy, it's wonderful!"

Before her ascent, Sam tested her weight on the narrow, wooden ladder.  It
seemed solid enough, if not just a little bit dusty.  But she was completely
unprepared for the shimmering white light that radiated down from a small
circular window in the ceiling.  The dust Karen had kicked up hung lazily in
the air and shimmered like fire flies in the sun's rays.  And the sweet little
dark haired girl sat in the center of the beam, like an angel in the lights of
heaven, smiling broadly at her mother, and then at Scully as she poked her
head up through the hole.

The crawl space itself was roughly half the size of the bedroom below it
and no more than four feet high.  Just big enough to store a decent supply
of dried food and canned goods.  There were several brown 
paper bags and a box lined neatly against the wall nearest the hole.

"Isn't it wonderful, Mommy?  Like Anne Frank's secret little attic.  When
she was hiding from those really bad German men.  Can I sleep up here? 
Please!"

Sam pulled her legs in to a cross and looked around, "Why do you want to
do that, baby?"

"I don't know," she admitted reluctantly.  "But I'll be out of your way up
here, and I'll be able to see the stars, just like Anne Frank could see the top
of that church from Peter's room."

Sam ran a hand through her hair.  "I knew you were too young to read that
book."  And with a heavy sigh, she patted her leg, "Come here, baby."

When her daughter was comfortably seated in her lap she brushed the
wisps of hair back from her face.  "Now, Karen, I don't want you to be
scared.  This isn't like what happened to Anne Frank at all.  We're all going
to be fine."

"Oh, Mommy," she said in her most grown up voice, "I know THAT. 
Uncle Fox is going to take care of everything."

Once again, Sam's eyes rolled shut.  "Oh, he is, is he?"

"Yep.  He's going to protect us from the bad men.  And the little men, too. 
You know he's been looking for us for a hundred years!" her voice grew in
exaggeration.  "Do you know how long that is?  That's forever!"

Scully smiled to herself and ducked back down in to the bed room to give
them some space.  Well, damn it if Karen wasn't on his side, too.   Mulder
certainly had a way with children.  And what was that theory that no one
could resist him indefinitely?  Sam would have to crack, just like the rest of
them.  And when she did - well, they'd get to that when it came.  But
Scully was pretty sure she wouldn't have to wait too long.

Crossing over to Randy, who was lying as still as a stone in the bed, 
Scully quickly checked his temperature and pulse.  Mulder, from the other side
of the bed watched her with a wary eye.  "Everything okay up there?"

"Just fine."  Scully graced him with a small smile.  "And I think our
immediate food problem has been solved.  There are several bags 
of pasta and rice and dried fruit up there.  It's not Thanksgiving 
dinner, but we're not going to starve."  With one hand she felt 
Randy's pulse in his wrist, the back of the other swept gently 
over the man's forehead, checking for fever.  "And Randy's doing 
better," she slipped a careful hand under his shirt to check the 
bandage.  "He should be awake and alert by morning."

"How much damage did I do?"  

The heavy guilt in his lilt made her sigh.  "We'll know more when he wakes
up.  Initially, there's going to be some loss in mobility, of course.  But
long term . . . I'm thinking he should be pretty much okay.  We'll have to
wait and see what kind of nerve damage there was, if there was any."

Mulder nodded, and turned away from the man in the bed and left the
room.

Karen scurried down the ladder and called up to her mother, "Okay,
Mommy.  I'm ready!"  Then an arm reached down from the hole, and
lowered a paper bag half full of food.  Karen cradled the bag in her arms
and ran in to the kitchen.  "I'm so-o-o-o-o-o hungry!"  she announced with
glee.  "Let's eat!"

Scully couldn't help the small chuckle that came from Karen's just being a
kid.  It's been a long time since she saw anyone enjoying life as much as
Karen seemed to, despite everything that had happened to her in the last
few days.  Children were amazing that way: so full of life and love, and
love of life.  Karen would do them all some good.

*************

Dinner was eaten mostly in silence; not from the tension that everyone at
the table could feel, but more from hunger and exhaustion.  Mulder cleared
the dishes and rinsed them out, Scully pulled out their sofa bed again, and
Sam helped her daughter make up a bed in the little loft.  Then, just an
hour after sundown, the cabin snuggled in for the night, each person in
their respective beds.  

Except Scully, who still sat at the foot of the pull out, her head in her
hands.  Mulder, already under the covers, looked over her back with
concern.  "You're tired," he said, "come to bed."

Scully looked up at the ceiling and inhaled deeply.  "There's something that
I have to tell you, Mulder.  And I think I should tell you tonight, before we
go to sleep."  Her reasoning wasn't foolproof; in fact, she was aware that it
probably came out of a completely emotional response directly linked to
her lack of sleep.  But she needed to tell Mulder about her conversation 
with her mother.  Just why, she couldn't say.  But she felt a deep sense of 
guilt from telling her mother things that she should have been talking to him 
about, instead.  And perhaps there was a small part of her that felt ridiculous 
for always running home.  "Mulder, I think it's important that you know . . .."

Mulder's body tensed involuntarily at the heaviness of her voice.  What
could she possibly have to tell him?  Something that she didn't want to say,
but felt she needed to, from the tone of her voice.  Was she still mad at him
about leaving her at the motel?  How mad?  Mad enough to do something
drastic?  "What is it?"

"Uh . . ." she still kept her back to him, and she curled a lock of hair behind
her ear.  Just tell him, she scolded herself.  Then we can both get some
sleep.  It's not like anything was said that shouldn't have been said.  It's
not like there's a big secret.  Tell him you called you mother.  "When you .
. . left me, Mulder -"

"Wait."  Mulder threw the covers off from his body, and scooted to the end
of the bed to sit by her.  "I think I know what you're going to say, and
before you do, please hear me out."  Without another word, she turned to
him, the confused expression on her face throwing a wrench in his thought
process.  Maybe he didn't know what she was going to say.  But, he
figured, he should apologize anyway.  No matter what she was going to tell
him, he couldn't go wrong with an apology.  Besides, she deserved one. 
Like always.

Taking her hand, Mulder pulled it to his lips and kiss it gently.  Where to
begin?  It didn't really matter, he decided.  He could apologize to her
indefinitely and still never make up for every injustice he committed against
her.  "I take you for granted, I think."  His eyes slid down to her chipping
nail polish.  "You deserve better than that; better than my running out on
you at the motel."

"Yes, I do."  Her quite tone wasn't biting, but her words stung just the
same.

"I love you, Scully."

Breathing heavily, she gently pulled her hand from his.  "I know you do.  I
don't doubt that, Mulder.  Even when you ditch me and run out on your
own."

With a hopeful glance to her, Mulder asked, "Then I'm forgiven?"

There was a long moment where she chewed on her lower lip.  The
optimism Mulder had expressed just a second before quickly ebbed.  Then
she stated with a resigned sigh.  "Aren't you always?"

"No.  Apparently not."

"Look, Mulder.  If you want me to say that you are forgiven for leaving me
at the motel - you're forgiven.  If you want me to say it's okay and that I'm
not hurt by it - well, I can't do that.  It always hurts when something
important happens in your life and you shut me out.  It hurts when
you don't want me around."

"Jesus, Scully.  It has nothing to do with that."

In frustration, Scully stood.   She paced the small space and leaned against
the heavy wooden table.  "Mulder it has everything to do with that.  When
it becomes inconvenient for you to have me around  you try and distract
me, and when that doesn't work, you leave me entirely.

"I will NEVER leave you entirely."

"I want to believe that."

"Scully, I love you.  I would never leave -"

"I'm starting to think, Mulder, that the two aren't as mutually exclusive as I
originally thought."

There was a moment's hesitation on Mulder's part.  Was she really saying
what he thought she was saying?  Originally he was worried that she
might've wanted to call off the wedding.  But with the new
information buzzing around in his head, it was starting to sound like
she was calling off a hell of a lot more.  "Tell me in English, Scully.  Just
exactly are you saying?"  

For a long minute she didn't respond at all.  She didn't know what she was
saying.  And she was afraid to open her mouth again.  They were skating
dangerously close to disaster, and she wasn't sure she'd be able to survive if
that happened.  How had this come up, anyway?  She was just going to
admit to him that she told her mother not to re-book the church.  Now it
was sounding like everything was at stake.  Their relationship, their
partnership.  All of the fears that she'd admitted to her mother . . .. The
knot that swelled in her stomach fought to stream down her face, but she
closed her eyes to it, and tightened her grip on the table behind her.

Mulder, however was two steps beyond the fear stage and well into panic. 
Was she trying to tell him that it wasn't working out?  Was she saying
good-bye?  Impossible!  Or was it?  They had no idea how long they were
going to have to be on the run.  Was she bailing out?  Not HIS Scully.  But
then, he remembered, she wasn't exactly HIS.  "Scully?"  Mulder prodded,
"if this is about the wedding, as soon as we get back -"

"Back?  How soon is THAT going to be, Mulder?"  She couldn't help
herself.  The words were tumbling out of her mouth faster than she could
edit them.  "As soon as the shadow men in their shadow government stop
hunting us down?  And even if, for some bizarre reason they suddenly
weren't interested in us anymore, we're AWOL, Mulder!"

"No, we're not!  Don't you remember?  We're on our honeymoon.  We
have another week before we have to be back to work."

"Oh, that's right," sarcasm dripped from her lips, "our honeymoon."  And
there they were, back at the heart of the matter: The Wedding That Never
Was.  It was odd how entire chunks of her life could fit so easily under an
umbrella title.  Pre-Mulder, Post-Mulder, The Abduction, The Illness, The
Engagement, The Wedding That Never Was.  "Look, Mulder," she started
again, clearing her head back to her original reason for their little talk.  "Let
me just say this so we can get some sleep.  We're both exhausted.  I'm so
tired . . .."  

She looked up to see the fear of a marked man staring intently at her.  His
body remain immobile, even with the pounding vein running over his
forehead pulsing a steady beat.  "When you left the motel . . . I was upset
-"

"And you had every right to be."

"I know.  That's not the point I'm trying to make."  She crossed her arms in
front of her, and rested her chin on her chest.  "Just let me tell you this, so
we can get some rest, okay?"  The snap in her voice closed his mouth, and
he sat, as she'd asked and braced himself for the worst.  "Before I knew
what was happening . . . with your sister and the shadow men . . . I made a
phone call."  There was an uneasy silence in the room.  "I called my
mother."

His question was delayed by the unanticipated statement.  Was that all? 
Was that the dreaded admission?  "How is she?"

"She wanted to know if she should reschedule the church for the wedding."

Mulder sat back in the bed, his head hitting the back of the sofa.  So that
WAS it.  "I guess, by the lack of eye contact, that you told her no."

She defiantly met his gaze and held it. "I didn't know what to tell her.  I
keep thinking that maybe . . ."

"It's okay, Scully."  He couldn't keep the pain from his voice, but he held
out a hand to her and silently begged her to take it.  And reluctantly, she
did.  "It's okay to be scared.  And we don't have to get married, if you
don't want to-"

"Me?"  She pulled back a little.  "I was worried about you.  That the vows
would be, well, not what you wanted to commit to.  'For better or worse' -
"

"`Til death do us part, Scully.  I'm already committed.  I can't promise you
that I won't freak out from time to time, but you're stuck with me until I
finally keel over.  Married or not, I love you."  He pulled her close, and she
allowed him to wrap his arms around her shoulders.  "And you love me. 
There is nothing else."

Shutting her eyes around his last statement, she laid her head on the
firmness of his chest.  "At this moment, Fox, I believe . . . that love is
enough."

"Then, Dana, you will never be wanting."


End of Part 8.

Bending of the Bow (9/13)
KMNAHILL and MD1016




        Rushing into action, you fail.
        Trying to grasp things, you lose them.
        Forcing a project to completion,
        you ruin what was almost ripe.
-Tao Te Ching



September 4, 1996.
The Cabin.


As Mulder slowly drifted up from a hazy sleep, the comfortable realization
that he lay on his right side, snugly spooned by the love of his life gave him
the necessary boost to pull him in to complete consciousness.  He looked
down  to see her left arm draped delicately over his midsection, much the
way it had hung limp off the hammock on a quiet afternoon.  That had been
the day that he realized that Dana Katherine Scully was in love with him. 
The warm buzz from that cherished memory flooded his body.  

A sleepy hand made its way to hers and slowly ran along the soft arm that
held him.  She stirred behind him, burrowing her head deeper between his
body and the thin mattress.  Her fingers ran gently over his clothed
stomach before relaxing again.  It was moments like these that he lived for.

SMACK!  

The bedroom door opened with a bang; the wooden frame
having shifted in the coolness of the night causing the door to stick.  The 
noise set off a trained reflex in Scully, but luckily Mulder anticipated her 
move and rolled over her to grab her wrist before she reached the gun 
on the floor beside the sofa bed.  Pulling a gun on Karen would NOT 
make for a wonderful way to start the morning.

In bounced the little girl, hair still stringy from sleep, nightshirt a mass of
wrinkles, her beaming face looking as if it were Christmas morning. 
"Hello,  Uncle Fox!"  She climbed up on to the bed beside him before
he and  Scully had a chance to catch their breath.  "Did you sleep okay?"

"Not as good as you, from the look of you.  How was your bed?"

"I can see thirteen stars outside my window!  And this morning, 
the water on the glass made little rainbows all over everything!  
I love this place!  I think it's magical."  She leapt off the mattress 
and landed squarely on the wood paneled floor.  Quickly 
surveying the lack of cooking happening in the kitchen, she turned 
back to the two adults lying or rather, trying to sit up and 
demanded, "So who's making breakfast?  I'm starving!"

With Scully's hair running every which way,  she allowed for a mammoth
yawn before kicking the covers aside.  "What time is it, anyway?"

Samantha emerged from the back room with an apologetic smile, "Around
eight, I think.  To Karen's credit, she's been keeping herself entertained
since dawn."  Her night shirt hung down past her mid thighs and she pulled
a red sweater up over her shoulders to ward off the chill.

"I should check on Randy, anyway," Scully headed past the taller woman, 
but was abruptly stopped by a hand from Samantha.

"He's in the bathroom."  She pulled her arm back, not the least bit
embarrassed at the protective nature of her last move.  "He's feeling much
better.  Sore and tired, but his fever is gone and he was able to get out of
bed on his own."

"That's gotta be a good sign."  Mulder murmured under his breath, the
palm of his hands rubbing at his sleepy eyes.  "Maybe he'll feel well enough
to eat something."  Mulder looked from his sister, and followed her glaring
gaze to Scully. 

Something was going on between the two of them; something definitely
female, and vaguely territorial.  The only women that Mulder actually saw
Scully interact with were people connected to their cases and her family.  It
was true that she didn't have many women friends.  Well, friends that he
knew about.  Mulder found the new side of Scully fascinating to watch.

Without even noticing it, Scully ran a hand through her hair and took a step
back from Samantha.  "I'll fix something for us to eat," she mumbled
  
Samantha backed away, too.  Just a step, but Mulder caught the gesture as
if it were highlighted with fusca neon lights.  "I'll check and see if he's up
to eating."  She quickly ducked back in to the room and the tension in the
room dropped back down to normal levels.

"What was all that about?"  Scully was annoyed by the smirk on Mulder's face.

"What was what about?"

Could she really be oblivious?  Or was she just not ready to deal with it? 
After all, they all HAD just woken up.  He'd leave it alone.  Maybe it was
nothing more than what it had been: a prolonged glance between two
people who were practically strangers.  

Anyway, his stomach was rumbling.  "So, where can we get some eggs and
bacon?"



***********
Several hours later.


Outside the cabin, Mulder found Samantha sitting on the log, much as he
had done the previous day.  She looked up when she heard him coming,
and offered a small smile.  "This place is beautiful, if nothing else."

"Yeah, well, if you like peace and quiet."  It was a feeble attempt at
humor, but an attempt all the same.  "Can we talk?"

He could feel her body tensing next to him, and her shoulders rose half an
inch.  "Uh . . . what about?"

"What do you mean, what about?  About why I came to find you in the 
first place.  About what you remember."

"I don't remember anything."

Well, this wasn't getting him anywhere fast.  Should he push her?  Would
she clam up all together?  "So you've said.  But I think you remember more
than you're letting on."

"Why are you here?  Why after all this time?"

"It's not like I've been partying, Sam, I've been looking for you.  The
moment I got your address, I got Scully and we headed straight for you. 
Christ, I even took her from her own bachelorette party."  Sam's eyes shot
to his, surprise stared up at him.  Mulder shrugged it away.  "So, she'll have
another.  I do intend on marrying her, you know."

"Good.  She's . . . she'll make you happy, I think."

"She does."  Mulder took a moment for the thoughts to mature before he
sprang the next bombshell on his sister.  "I'd like, when we do get married,
for you to . . . stand by my side and be my best . . . sister."

Sam's eyes rolled to the heavens, "This is a bit ridiculous, don't you think. 
I mean, we don't really know if I'm  your sister."

Mulder was confident in a way he hadn't felt in a long time.  "You are."

"Says an address on a piece of paper."

"Says me.  And says you, I think.  You remember, Sam.  I know you do."

"You don't know anything!"  She balled her fists.  "I refuse to talk about
this with you."

"Then let's talk about something else.  Something safe."  She shook her
head but the beating heart in his chest told him not to give up on her so
quickly.  "Please.  Anything you like.  The weather,
Karen, music, anything.  Maybe you have some questions for me.  What
can I tell you?"  He ran a hand through his hair and skimmed through all
the things he always promised himself that he'd tell her once he found Sam
again.  "How did you meet Randy?"

"How did you meet Dana?"

Mulder laughed.  "Touche.  She was sent to be my partner and debunk the
work I did on the X Files."

"He was a graduate student who came in to the cafe that I worked in at
college."

"We worked well as a team, and she didn't do a lot of debunking."

"He ordered a lot of tuna melts, and I did a lot of serving."

They both laughed.  "Come on," Sam motioned towards the cabin, "let's
go in an see how Dana is making out."

And inside they went.  Mulder felt like he'd tackled a real hurdle in getting
her to laugh.  The girlish chuckle that he'd remembered so vividly as a boy
was now a womanly tittle, but the heart was the same.  The soul.

Inside, Scully sat at the kitchen table, Mulder's billfold in her hands,
counting out bills.  "Well, with the four of us together, we have a grand
total of $379.  That's not bad, but if we're going to have to buy gas and
food for five on that, it's not going to last us long."

Sam, from the sofa, hugged a small throw pillow to her chest.  All of our
bank cards and checks are gone"

"It doesn't matter," Mulder cut her off, "you can't touch your bank
account.  They monitor those things."  He sat opposite his partner, with his
back to the table.  Karen sat on the orange shag rug at his feet.

"Can't you get money?"  She look up at him, her big blue eyes brimming
with admiration, "From the government?" 

"Not this time, I'm afraid."  Over his shoulder, Mulder asked, "The
Gunmen?"

Scully shrugged.  "At this point, I'm even thinking Skinner."

"You're kidding."

With a sigh, Scully switched in to rational mode.  "Look, Mulder, we're
not going anywhere on this."  She dropped the money on the table in front
of him.  "And frankly, I don't know WHERE it is we're supposed to go."

"We need a safe house or something."

"For how long?"  Her lips pursed in momentary consternation.  "How long
do you plan on living on the run?"

Mulder turned from her and sank back in to the thick wood behind him. 
She was right.  Of course.  They had to DO something.  Running wasn't
going to get them anywhere.

From the couch, Sam's maternal tones filled the room.  "Karen, sweetie,
why don't you go and tell Daddy a story."

The precocious child's eyes narrowed.  "Are you trying to get rid of
me?"

Sam's face broke in to a prideful smile. "Yes, I am.  Now go check on your
father." 

With a groan of protest, she marched from the room and bounced on to the
bed with her father.  "Hello, Daddy!"  They heard her say, "I'm here to
keep you company."

Then Sam sat forward.  "Look," she addressed both Mulder and Scully, "I
don't want you to take this the wrong way actually, I don't really care
how you take it  but I refuse to play these cat and mouse games.  These
people never bothered us before you showed up, so if you'll leave us to go
our merry way "

"They won't leave you alone."  Mulder's voice was low and steady. 
"They'll find you, no matter where you go."

"Well," Sam stood, her hands fisted on her hips, "if that's the case, it
doesn't really matter, does it?"

Mulder wasn't about to give in.  "They've taken you before, they'll take
you again."

"So you've said.  I guess I'll just have to take that risk."

Mulder's eyes bore in to hers, "Are you willing to risk Karen, too?"

Sam started, taken aback.  "Karen?"  And a second later she composed
herself.  "You don't know what you're talking about.  You're trying to
scare me."

"Yes, I am," Mulder admitted without hesitation, " but I DO know what
I'm talking about.  Karen mentioned 'the bad men'.  Has she talked about
them before?"  Sam's look of horror told him she had.  "Men in black, or
little men in grey coming in to her room.  Did she tell you that?  Did you
know it was happening?"

"NO!" Sam gasped, "She didn't . . . she had nightmares, that's all.  All little
kids have nightmares."  Her head shook fiercely.  "No, you're trying to
scare me."

"Does she have the scar, Sam?"  Behind him, Scully's eyes widened at his
allegations.  "At the base of her neck, or on her belly?  Did she tell you
about the lights?"

"Lights?  Wait a minute . . . little grey men?  Are you . . ..  What are you
saying?  Are you hinting that my daughter was abducted by aliens?!"

"I'm asking if she ever told you about them.  If you knew it was
happening."

"YOU'RE INSANE!"  And with that the conversation ended.  Sam 
stormed out the door, and Mulder slammed his fist into the table.  
And immediately regretted it.  

"Damn!"  Scully was at his side in a second to assess the damages.  All she
needed now was Mulder with a broken hand and Sam thinking he was
more of a looney than before.  But he pushed her away, his anger still too
fresh to deal with his physical pain.  "Damn it, Scully.  She knew!"

Leaning against the wall, she gave him the space he needed.  "I don't think
she knew, Mulder, anymore than you do.  So a kid says she saw men.  My
nephew says he sees Santa Claus.  That doesn't mean Santa's real."

He headed for the door, "I've got to talk to her."

"No!"  She caught his arm.  "Give her a chance to process what you've
been telling her."

"I'm going to finish this, Scully!"  His eyes were wild with passion. 

And Scully's eyes matched his, emotion for emotion.  "Don't argue with
me, Mulder.  You can't afford to have everyone against you!  Take some
money.  Go down to the store "

"No, Scully."

" get some milk or bread or something.  I don't care.  Just take a few
minutes to relax.  Think things through a little more."

"We can't afford to waste "

"At this point, Mulder, it doesn't really matter.  What we can't afford is for
all of these emotions that you've been bottling up inside of you for decades
to come crashing out and destroy any possibility of a relationship that you
might have with your sister."  

What she said made sense, Mulder decided.  Well, of course it did.  Damn
it. She did it again!  "Okay.  Okay, I'll get some bread.  Fine."

"Thank you."  On tiptoes, she reached up and kissed his cheek.  "This is
going to be okay, Mulder, if we all can keep our heads."

He nodded, not knowing what else to do, and set out on his quest for the
loaf of white bread.  Or maybe a nice rye.

*********************
"Bread," Mulder repeated silently to himself as he slowly maneuvered the
jeep down the steep, curving roadway cut into the mountainside. "And
milk. Karen needs milk. Maybe I should pick up some cookies as well.
What's the point of milk if you don't have cookies to go with it?" He found
himself smiling when he thought about her upturned nose and quick mouth.
Shit, how did I get to be Uncle Fox? Assuming Sam would let him *be*
Uncle Fox.

His smile turned into a frown as he replayed their last fight. She
remembers, he thought fiercely. She may not remember everything but she
remembers more than she's letting on. And she knows about Karen. Some
part of her had to know. Why was she still fighting him on this? He wasn't
twelve anymore. He could protect her and Karen. Couldn't he? Unbidden
images of Scully's pale face, tubes helping her breath, blocked out the sun
dappled road until he banged his hand hard on the steering wheel. The pain
helped him focus. He had to stop this. He'd find a way to salvage this. He
had to.

He slowed to a stop as he reached the end of the cabin's cut off. Another
turn and he'd be on a road that actually showed up on the map. The small
general store was across the way, another hundred yards to the right.
Mulder wasn't expecting trouble but the jeep might be recognized by the
local police. He had no doubt that someone was on the lookout for their
car. Exiting the vehicle, he made his way parallel to the ditch lining both
sides of the street, keeping wellwithin the concealing foliage.

Shit! Fuck! He pulled back further, hiding behind a large tree. Peering
around slowly, Mulder studied the movement of dark sedans and army
trucks as they pulled into the store's parking lot. It looked like a staging
area for a fucking allout assault. Several more cars were heading in their
direction. Mulder didn't wait to see their passengers debark. Heart in his
throat, he ran back to the jeep.

End of Part 9.