From: Ally112038 <ally112038@aol.com>
Date: 05 Apr 2001 19:18:15 GMT
Subject: NEW 'Genesis' By Ally Prologue (Novel - Finished work)
Source: atxc

TITLE - Genesis 
AUTHOR - Ally 
CLASSIFICATION - Case file. Loose myth-arc
Character angst.   
RATING - PG13 
SPOILERS - I guess this is set in season 
seven.  The XF are re-opened at any rate! 
Contains spoilers for movie and also the 
whole 'Emily' arc. 
FEEDBACK - Yes please.  Makes it all 
worthwhile.  E-mail me at Ally112038@aol.com 
ARCHIVE - Anywhere.  If you've archived me 
before there's no need to ask.  Please drop 
me a line though to let me know where.  If 
you haven't archived me before please ask 
first - I never said no yet! 
SUMMARY - They thought that as long as they 
had each other they would survive.   But 
what happens when reality begins to blur and 
their worlds turn upside down? 
AUTHOR'S NOTES - I finished this a long time 
ago but never did anything with it.   Now 
that I have some time on my hands I decided 
to return to it, play with it, re- write it 
and post it.  This is the result.   If you 
start to read this never fear - it's 
absolutely NOT a WIP aside from the usual 
editing etc.  If you enjoy it please 
feedback.  It makes me not mind the never 
ending treadmill that is the editing 
process! Also a word or two on the
classification of this fic.  This is
very different from anything I ever wrote
before and just to warn you it contains
certain scenes that may be viewed 
as being harsh both physical and mental.  
If you don't like to see them hurting 
you might want to skip this.  Huge thanks
as always to Peggy who beta-d this for me
and to Meg for the edit.  Couldn't ever do it
without you guys.  :-) 
DISCLAIMER - The X-Files remain the 
sole property of Chris Carter, 1013 
Productions and FOX.  No infringement 
intended. 



Genesis - Prologue 

Mulder hated days like this.  Days where 
they had no new cases to investigate.   
Nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. 

A day spent sorting through the seemingly 
never ending pile of 'visiting' case files 
sent to them from various field offices 
around the country in the hope that just one 
out of the pile would amount to something 
substantial enough to warrant his and 
Scully's involvement. 

But out of the twenty-five or so that had 
found their way here, dumped unceremoniously 
on the desk, Mulder was smart enough to 
realise that the chance of actually finding 
a genuine X-File amongst them was slim at 
best. So far today all he had seen, as he 
meticulously read the type written words, 
were sloppy investigative procedures.  No 
mystery.  No surprises.  Not a single enigma 
to be found anywhere. 

With a little care and attention the 
majority of these cases could be solved.   
But by their opening Agents - not by Mulder 
and Scully.  As a professional courtesy, 
Mulder would offer advice pertaining to 
alternative avenues of investigation which 
he knew wouldn't be acted upon, and then he 
would simply pack the files up and send them 
back from whence they came. 

It was, he admitted, a little disheartening 
to recognise that tomorrow would in all 
probability herald more of the same. 

He glanced across at Scully, smiling 
slightly at the sight of her opposite him, 
poring over a file with a frown creasing her 
smooth brow.  The look on her face spoke 
volumes.  She was tired, she was pissed off, 
and she was bored.  Mulder didn't blame her. 

"Why don't you call it a day," he suggested. 
"I can finish up here." 

She looked back at him, narrowing her eyes 
as she did so and typically, refused to back 
down gracefully.  She waved her hand vaguely 
in the direction of the files. 

"I can't leave you to wade through these by 
yourself." 

Mulder grinned.  "Yeah, you can.  I don't 
imagine there's much in them to find anyway.  
No point the two of us wasting our time 
right? Besides..." he spread his arms wide 
to take in the whole office  "This is my 
life remember? This what I live for.  My 
guiding light, my reason for being, the yin 
to my yang..." 

Scully held up her hand to him, palm up.   
"Mulder, stop.  I get the message." She 
began to rise up out of her chair, 
stretching the kinks out of her back as she 
did so. 

"You're sure? I can stay if you want." 

Mulder shook his head. 

"Nahhhh, you go.  I'll see you in the 
morning." 

He watched as his partner headed for the 
door, pausing by the coat rack to grab her 
jacket which she slung casually over her 
shoulder and just for a moment he regretted 
letting her go.  The office always seemed 
empty somehow without her working beside 
him.  Too many years together had developed 
a bond - a closeness he had never felt 
towards any other human being that had ever 
entered his life.  It was difficult 
sometimes to fathom and he tried not to 
think about it too much.  Tried not to admit 
to himself that what he felt for her went 
way beyond a professional friendship.  He 
would willingly die for her.  He had proved 
it in the past, had risked his life without 
even a second thought just as she had 
returned the favor many times over.   Theirs 
was a complicated relationship.   Sometimes 
difficult, often tempestuous, but always 
rewarding. 

She turned briefly towards him and flashed 
him one of those dazzling smiles that she 
seemed to reserve just for him and just 
looking at her caused Mulder's throat to 
tighten.  It was a smile that lit up her 
whole face and reached right in to the 
depths of her sparkling blue eyes, making 
the years fall away from her, transporting 
him back to a time when they stood together 
by an empty grave in Oregon as the rain 
poured down.  So young back then.   So 
trusting.  But not anymore.  They had seen 
too much to ever hope to regain that 
innocence.  "Night, Mulder.  See you in the 
morning." 

Mulder returned her smile, thanking God for 
the thousandth time for sending her to him. 

"In the morning." He finally managed before 
dropping his gaze back to the paperwork in 
front of him. 

He listened to the sound of her footsteps 
receding in to the distance before finally 
reaching for the next file, attempting to 
concentrate on the words in front of him. It 
wasn't easy. 

For the next half hour or so he read report 
after report that contained nothing more 
paranormal than a bunch of proverbial brick 
walls.  He had come across this kind of 
thing too many times during his time on the 
X-Files and it was beginning to get rather 
tiring.  His reputation for the unusual had 
spread like wildfire and an unfortunate 
consequence of that was the knowledge that 
he and Scully were fast becoming a dumping 
ground for every unresolved case that 
happened to find the Agents-in-charge 
scratching their heads.   When in doubt, good 
'ole Spooky Mulder would get the job done. 

And reading the files in front of him, 
Mulder had no doubts whatsoever that he and 
Scully could indeed give insight in to these 
cases.  But not of a paranormal nature.  
There was nothing in these that good, solid 
investigative procedure wouldn't cure.  It 
was laziness, pure and simple, and Mulder 
knew that he had quite enough of his own 
unsolved cases without shouldering the 
burden of someone else's. So far today, he 
had found nothing in any of these files that 
actually warranted his and Scully's 
involvement and certainly nothing to suggest 
they needed more than the most cursory once 
over. 

To send him this kind of case was a waste of 
everyone's time and energy.  Not to mention 
the fact that there was the potential to 
waste valuable time that would be better 
employed in actually trying to catch the 
sometimes violent perpetrators.   

He eyed the stack of yellow Post-it notes 
atop his desk, fingers literally itching to 
attach a scathing note to the file he held 
in his hand before he slipped it back into 
it's manila envelope for dispatch back to 
the opening Agent.  But he didn't.   He knew 
it would do no good whatsoever.   That 
tomorrow another stack would be waiting for 
them when they came in to work. 

He glanced down at the remaining files that 
stared accusingly back at him from where 
they lay.  Fifteen down, three to go.  
Another half hour at the most and he would 
be able to put them to bed for night and 
head home.  It had been a long day. 

Sighing softly, Mulder picked up the topmost 
file and eased it out of it's envelope, his 
eyes scanning the information attached to 
it's front. 

*Alleged kidnapping of a minor.* 

He raised his eyebrows, interest piqued.   
It was rare they were ever asked to get 
involved in kidnappings.  Disappearances 
yes.  He had hundreds of case files 
pertaining to just that, but kidnappings 
were rare.  Of course, during his time in 
the Violent Crimes Section he had profiled a 
few cases but had rarely been involved in 
the hands-on investigation. 

He opened the cover, perusing the first page 
which contained the data pertaining to the 
case.  Scanning the information rapidly, he 
leaned forwards slightly.  An unconscious 
gesture as he became ever more interested. 

*Charlotte Bethany Stevens (Minor) age three 
years ten months.  Disappeared from her home 
on August 10th 1999.  Mother Christine 
Stevens discovered by immediate neighbour in 
state of extreme agitation.   Defensive 
injuries to upper extremities.   Signs of 
struggle in house.  No ransom note as yet 
forthcoming.  Forensics report inconclusive. 
(Enclosed) Local interviews have turned up 
no witnesses to date. All potential suspects 
eliminated from enquiry at this time.  
Unable to thoroughly question Christine 
Stevens due to hospitalisation.  Allegations 
made re Governmental conspiracy relating to 
her missing daughter.  No evidence to 
substantiate these claims at this time.   
All avenues of investigation exhausted.* 

At the base of the page a small, yellow 
post-it note was stuck crookedly, it's edges 
curling over where it had been confined to 
the envelope.  Mulder peeled it off, a grin 
spreading across his face as he read the 
familiar scrawl. 

*Mulder, Saw the words 'Government' and 
'Conspiracy' and couldn't help thinking of 
you and that fiery partner of yours! Give it 
the once over and let me know what you 
think.  It's yours if you want it - we're 
going nowhere with it.  Give me a call. John 
Wickham* 

Wickham had been Mulder's classmate during 
his time in Quantico, and had gone on to 
become one of the bureau's most respected 
criminal profilers.  He had risen up the 
ranks to Special Agent In Charge, and Mulder 
had frequently seen his name appearing in 
the national newspapers.  He was one of the 
few people Mulder held a genuine respect 
toward, and he suspected that, if Wickham 
was calling in the cavalry, the case must be 
playing on his mind.  It was unusual at the 
extreme for him to admit defeat. 

Mulder balled up the note and tossed it 
toward the direction of the waste bin, 
grimacing in disgust as it bounced off the 
rim and landed on the floor.  He turned his 
attention back to the folder and flipped 
over the page.  Paper clipped to the top 
edge a photograph stared back at him.   

Obviously taken at a professional studio it 
showed the image of a blonde haired, blue 
eyed little girl, smiling happily for the 
camera.  In her hands she held a stuffed 
plushy toy rabbit, clutching it possessively 
to her chest.  Her hair was long, but two 
ribboned barrettes held it back from her 
face.  A face which Mulder would have known 
anywhere.  The shape of the eyes, the lips, 
the nose were all too familiar to him. 

He let the file fall from his fingers and 
his eyes shifted involuntarily across to 
Scully's desk, the implications for her all 
too obvious.  He resisted the urge to simply 
put the file back in it's envelope and mail 
it back to San Diego, knowing that in doing 
so he would be compromising both his life's 
work and the trust of his partner.  A trust 
which, should she discover what he had held 
in his hands, could never hope to be 
recovered. 

He forced himself to eye the photograph once 
again, whilst all the time fighting an 
internal battle within himself.   Groaning 
softly, he dropped his head in his hands, 
blocking out both the image of his partner 
and that of the child in front of him. 
Shaking his head numbly at what could not be 
denied. 

"Jesus Christ." He muttered shakily. 

He sat, locked in the same position for a 
considerable length of time, knowing that by 
sitting there he was only putting off the 
inevitable.  Eventually though, he rose from 
his desk and picked up the file.   Barely 
even conscious of doing so, he left the 
office, locking the door behind him out of 
habit.  But if he were asked later he 
wouldn't be able to remember doing it.   
Vaguely he was aware of his footsteps 
reverberating around the concrete corridor 
that led to the parking garage, his mind 
whirling as the implications began to sink 
in. 

The file felt heavy in his hands.  A thin 
bundle of paper and metal that weighted down 
his soul and stole his voice from him.  A 
collection of words and pictures that he 
knew, had the ability to send his partner 
rocketing backwards to that terrifying time 
when he had almost lost her.  When she had 
turned tortured eyes on him and silently 
begged him to make everything okay again. 

The endless nights when he had been awoken 
to the sound of her screaming her dead 
daughter's name, holding her, shuddering and 
terrified against him as he soothed her back 
to sleep before returning to her couch to 
lie wide awake for the remainder of the 
night. 

For weeks and weeks it had carried on, 
eventually tapering off and eventually 
disappearing altogether as Scully had 
somehow found peace within herself again. 

A peace he was about to shatter.

Continued chapter 1/30

Genesis - 1/30 

Georgetown. Washington D.C.  7:06p.m. 

Mulder found himself to be so preoccupied 
with his thoughts, that on opening the 
double doors which led in to Scully's 
apartment building, he failed to see the 
female who, at the exact same moment, was 
exiting.  They collided heavily, and he 
suddenly found himself looking directly in 
to the angry blue eyes of his partner.   
Judging by her expression she had been about 
to give him a piece of her mind, but on 
realising who he was, her mouth closed 
abruptly. 

"Mulder? ... what are you doing here? 
I thought you'd gone home." 

Mulder waved the file at her. 

"I need to show you something." 

Scully groaned as she identified the tagged 
brown cover of a 'visiting' case file. 

"Can't it wait until tomorrow? I'm kind of 
in a hurry right now." 

"A date?" Mulder asked irrelevantly, trying 
to delay the moment for as long as possible.  
Scully smirked at him and folded her arms 
across her chest. 

"Yeah, a date.  With my mother. Which..." 
she checked her watch, "I'm currently 
running twenty three minutes behind for, and 
if you don't get out of my way I'm going to 
miss out on entirely." 

Mulder made no move to allow her past, and 
as she looked intently at him, Scully felt 
the first impressions that something was 
wrong, nervous tension caused butterflies to 
break out inside of her, fluttering within 
her as her expression became guarded. 

"Mulder, what is it?" 

Her unease only intensified as her partner 
failed to respond, just stared down at her, 
the dilemma written clearly across his face.  
He spoke only when the tension between them 
became such that Scully could almost hear 
both of their heartbeats. 

"Not here." 

He turned the corner which led to Scully's 
apartment, and waited impatiently as she 
withdrew the keys for the door from her 
pocket, noticing how her hand shook as she 
fitted the key in to the lock.  After what 
seemed like hours, she swung the door open 
and gestured him inside, following him in 
and slamming it shut behind her.  Mulder 
flinched at the sound.  Scully faced him 
accusingly. 

"Whatever this is about Mulder, it had 
better be good," she warned. 

Mulder crossed the room and picked up the 
telephone.  He handed it to her. 

"Call your mother," he advised.  "Tell her 
you can't make it." 

"What?.....Why?" The exasperation was 
evident in her voice, and Mulder held up his 
hand to silence her, a conciliatory gesture 
which indicated to Scully that he was aware 
that he was making a mess of things.   

Sighing heavily, she backed down and 
accepted the proffered phone from him, 
watching him out of the corner of her eye as 
she waited for the call to connect. 

As she greeted her Mother, Mulder used the 
time to get himself under control, wishing 
he felt more confident that he was indeed 
doing the right thing, that in coming here 
he was serving her best interests.  He 
glanced around the familiar surroundings, 
recalling the time he had spent here in the 
past.  He had always felt comfortable here, 
the open space and layout of the rooms a 
direct contrast to his own cramped 
apartment.   

Scully took great care of her home and 
Mulder had never come here to find it 
anything other than neat and organised.   

Tonight was no exception.  The setting sun's 
rays danced brightly on the white walls, 
lending everything a bright, rosy glow.  It 
was a place to relax in, to unwind after a 
hard day.  It represented all that was 
positive about his partner, gave him 
valuable insight as to what she was like 
underneath the professional, tough facade 
she wore like a suit of armour.  Her 
femininity manifested itself here more than 
anywhere else both in the decor and the 
layout.   

He had been surprised when he had first had 
cause to come here, beginning to recognise 
her not merely as his partner, a scientist, 
but as a woman in her own right, living a 
life outside of work which he knew nothing 
about.  Somehow, it made what he was about 
to relate to her all the more difficult. 

"So are you going to tell me what's so 
important I had to cancel my evening or do I 
have to guess?" 

Scully sat down opposite him and clasped her 
hands in front of her, crossing her legs as 
she regarded him quizzically.   

Mulder took a deep breath, uttering a silent 
prayer as he did so. 

"I came across an unsolved case amongst the 
batch that arrived today.  It involves the 
disappearance of a small child out of San 
Diego.  An old colleague of mine sent it out 
to me in the hope we could add some insight 
on to what may have happened to her."  

He paused, trying to find the right words.  
"Her mother has alleged that it may be 
kidnapping, although there's no evidence of 
that being the case." 

Scully raised an eyebrow, the confusion 
evident on her face. 

"A kidnapping? You're not interested in 
kidnappings, Mulder." 

"I'm interested in this one.  I'm pretty 
sure you will be too." 

He reached forward and handed the file to 
her. 

"Here.  See for yourself." 

Scully frowned as she turned over the first 
page, eyes moving rapidly across the text as 
she absorbed the words.  The bewilderment 
all too patently displayed across her 
features as she struggled to comprehend why 
Mulder had singled out this case amongst the 
thousands of children who disappeared every 
year.  She could see nothing in this which 
would warrant their involvement. 

She advanced a page forwards and froze, 
mouth dropping open as she slowly lifted her 
head to gaze uncomprehending at her partner.  
The color had all but drained from her face, 
so rapidly had the transformation taken 
place, that Mulder had been almost able to 
see it happen.   

"Emily . . ." Scully whispered in a voice 
which was barely audible. 

Mulder quickly got up and joined her on the 
couch, gently prying the folder away from 
her fingers which were locked on to it 
rigidly.  He placed it behind him and turned 
back to Scully. 

"No," he corrected carefully.  "Not Emily.  
You know that can never be." 

Scully focused on his face, responding to 
the compassion that was evident in his tone 
as she struggled with the emotion raging 
inside of her. 

"Then who . . ." She trailed off as Mulder 
laid his hand over hers. 

"You know who she is.  Just as you know who 
Emily was, and how she came to be." 

He watched her attentively as she digested 
the information.  He had never expected that 
this day would come, had never foreseen that 
more children equivalent to Emily had been 
born.  He should have accepted that this was 
at best a futile hope, that some day more 
evidence of what had transpired would come 
to the fore.  He had prayed that the day 
would come later rather than sooner, but it 
was here, and he couldn't disregard the 
consequences any longer. 

Scully shook her head numbly, and she pulled 
her hand away from Mulder, rising from her 
seated position suddenly.   Her eyes 
appeared alarmingly blank as she spun 
around, away from Mulder, heading for the 
kitchen. 

"Shit." He muttered, heading after her. 

He discovered her at the table, shoulders 
shaking as she cradled her head in her 
hands.   

"Scully . . ." he ventured uncertainly.   
She did not acknowledge him, and Mulder ran 
his hand through his hair, questioning 
himself over how to react to her.  He 
understood her pain, but was equally aware 
that her reaction would only serve to 
precipitate that pain.   He crossed the 
floor and came to a halt in front of the 
cabinet.  Reaching down he removed a bottle 
of Brandy and a glass, then as an 
afterthought added another one, opening the 
bottle and pouring liberal amounts of the 
liquor in to each.  He picked them up and 
set one on the table in front of his 
partner, pulling out a chair and sitting 
down opposite her. 

"Scully." 

No response. 

He extended his hand and carefully drew her 
hands away from her face.  With the other he 
pushed the brandy towards her. 

"Drink some of this." 

She eyed the glass's contents warily. 

"Do it, Scully.  It'll help," he advised. 

Slowly, Scully wrapped her shaking hands 
around the glass, but was unable to still 
the trembling sufficiently to bring the 
glass to her lips.   

Mulder recognised that in this situation at 
least, he had to take charge.  Removing the 
glass from her, he set it down on the table 
before walking around the table and 
hunkering down beside her.  Raising his own 
drink to her lips he inclined the glass just 
adequately enough so that she was able to 
take some of the liquid.   

She swallowed heavily and the action brought 
about a storm of coughing as the 
unaccustomed alcohol burned her throat.   
When the sound abated however, Mulder was at 
least gratified to observe that she appeared 
to be more in control, that the shock to her 
system was abating. 

"I'm sorry, Mulder . . ." 

"Ssshhh.  It's OK.  I half expected this.   
You don't need to apologise to me, you know 
that." 

Scully gazed in to his face, and not for the 
first time realised how lucky she was to 
have him for a partner . . . and as a 
friend.  She squeezed his hand. 

"Thanks." 

He smiled up at her. 

"No problem." 

Scully took a deep breath. 

"So where do we go from here?" she asked 
shakily. 

Mulder got to his feet. 

"I'm flying out to San Diego tonight.   I'll 
call you when I get there." 

"What do you mean you'll call me?" 

Mulder shook his head. 

"I don't think that it's such a good idea 
for you to come with me right now.  Not 
until I have a better idea as to what's 
happening out there . . ." 

"No way," Scully said vehemently. Then, she 
let her voice soften slightly.  "I know why 
you're doing this, that you're trying to 
protect me.  But I need to go there, Mulder, 
I have to.  I owe it to myself . . . and I 
owe it to Emily.   Please understand that." 

Mulder let his gaze settle on the window, 
watching his own refection as he struggled 
to find the right words to make her 
understand. 

"I just . . . I don't want to see you get 
hurt all over again, and I'm afraid that if 
you come down there with me, it will become 
inevitable.  I don't think you're ready for 
that.  Not after everything you've been 
through." 

Scully rubbed her fist across her eyes, 
grinding the last residue of tears from 
them.  She recognised and appreciated 
Mulder's concerns, but this was the one time 
when her feelings towards her partner were 
not going to get in the way. 

"I'm fine.  I'll *be* fine.  And I am going 
to San Diego.  With or without you" 

Her eyes challenged him to argue further, 
and Mulder knew that he was beaten.  That 
she would follow her own path regardless of 
his reasoning to the contrary, and if she so 
chose, she was more than capable of doing it 
without him by her side.  He wasn't prepared 
to let that happen. 

"I'll book you a flight." He conceded 
wearily.

Continued chapter 2/30 


Genesis - 2/30 

San Diego International Airport. 5:15 a.m. 

Despite the early morning hour, the airport 
was packed with people intent on reaching 
their respective destinations as quickly and 
easily as possible.   

Mulder and Scully had arrived at the airport 
at the worst time, a time when early morning 
commuters joined the throngs of tourists 
either on their way to, or departing the 
famous city, and Mulder knew that it would 
be some time before they escaped the stuffy 
confines of the building.   

Their FBI status would hurry things up 
somewhat, but he suspected as he gazed 
around the bustling concourse, that they 
would be here for some considerable time.   

They headed for the security check point, 
nodded at the two heavy set security guards, 
and briefly displayed their badges.  In 
doing so they bypassed the metal detector, 
knowing that should they pass through it, 
the weapons they carried would provoke the 
kind of high pitched scream from the machine 
of which Mulder was acutely conscious would 
cause his headache to swell to mammoth 
proportions, swiftly rendering him unable to 
think straight.   

He was not usually prone to headaches, in 
fact he was rarely sick at all, but a 
combination of a lack of sleep and the 
concern he felt for his partner had taken 
their toll on him. 

Scully had been silent and uncommunicative 
during the six hour flight, responding to 
his questions and comments with a 
monosyllabic terseness that was quite unlike 
her, and Mulder had eventually admitted 
defeat, turning away from her and staring 
out of the window at the black nothingness 
which surrounded the plane.   

He had remained painfully aware of her 
though, as she unsuccessfully feigned sleep 
next to him, and now as he regarded her 
before him, it was clear that she was still 
having a tough time handling the news he had 
brought her, that whatever resources she had 
draw on to get her through the last few 
hours were now stretched to the point of 
breaking.   

Wearily, Mulder brought his hand up to his 
face briefly, and rubbed his temple, trying 
to dispel the pounding in his skull as he 
glanced around the concourse, attempting to 
get his bearings. 

He felt a hand touch his arm. 

"Are you OK, Mulder?" 

He nodded slowly, careful to limit the 
movement. 

"I'm fine.  Just a headache that's all." 

He slung his overnight bag over his shoulder 
and smiled reassuringly down at her. 

"C'mon Scully, let's get out of here." 

They began to walk through the concourse 
corridor which led to the arrivals lounge, 
fighting their way through the crowds, and 
when Mulder was elbowed sharply by a small 
unassuming looking man with wire rimmed 
glasses who was obviously not looking where 
he was going, he thought nothing of it, just 
nodded slightly at the man's mumbled apology 
and carried on his way.   

The man though, didn't proceed, he simply 
remained standing, staring at the departing 
Agents, a small smile playing around his 
face.  When he was sure they were out of 
sight he raised his hand to his mouth, a 
gesture which from a distance resembled a 
simple covering of a cough or a sneeze.  On 
closer inspection however, it would become 
obvious that his reasons were of a much more 
sinister nature, for hidden inside the 
opening of his shirt cuff, a tiny radio 
transmitter was pinned.   

State of the art in it's design, it could be 
neither monitored nor detected with any of 
the current systems in use amongst the 
security or law enforcement agencies.  The 
man spoke in to the receiver, his voice 
barely above a whisper. 

"They're here, and the cargo has been 
delivered." 

He did not wait for a response, he didn't 
need to.  His job was done, at least for 
now, and with an ease that made him so adept 
at what he did, he walked back in to the 
crowds, immediately becoming just another 
face amongst the many.  No different from 
any other small time businessman in a suit 
on his way to work, the kind of man people 
looked through rather than directly at, 
forgotten in an instant. It was exactly that 
kind of ordinariness which served him more 
completely than any disguise could ever hope 
to. 

The man kept his smile as his thoughts 
settled on to the assignment in hand, his 
most intriguing to date, and one which could 
secure his future within the consortium.      

Oh yeah, this was going to some fun he 
decided. 

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

It was past seven when the two Agents 
finally checked in to their respective motel 
rooms, and as Mulder had feared, his 
headache had swelled in magnitude with every 
passing second, so much so that he had 
insisted Scully drive the rental car the 
short distance from the Airport, provoking a 
worried glance from his partner, but she had 
not questioned him, recognising that in his 
current state driving would be both 
dangerous and foolhardy.   

Mulder had spent the journey with his eyes 
closed, head resting back as he fought the 
feeling of nausea brought on by the car's 
movement and when they had reached the motel 
Scully had suggested he rest for a while.  
He had checked his watch, and almost argued 
with her, wanting to proceed with the 
investigation, not wanting to waste any more 
time.   

He had eventually concluded though that to 
proceed to the FBI field office would be 
pointless.  At such an early hour it was 
doubtful whether there would be anyone there 
who was qualified to answer their questions, 
and despite himself he had had to admit that 
he needed some sleep if only to clear the 
headache. 

He had eyed the bed in his room, considering 
and rejecting thoughts of unpacking, and 
after drawing the curtains to block out the 
early morning sun, had fallen on to it fully 
clothed, sleep coming mercifully rapidly, 
dispelling the incessant hammering inside 
his head. 

Scully on the other hand, had not slept at 
all.  She had intended to, but a hot shower 
had put paid to that, driving away her 
exhaustion and causing her to come fully 
awake once more.   

Despite the feelings of urgency she had 
toward getting to the bottom of this case 
she also appreciated that her partner needed 
to rest, that she needed him on this to 
temper her own emotions which would surely 
come to the fore.  She had eyed the laptop 
computer which accompanied her on every 
case, like an extension of herself, and 
briefly considered attempting some work.   

She had shelved the idea though, when she 
found herself staring blankly at it's muted 
grey screen, re-reading the same sentence 
for the fourth time as she struggled to take 
in the words in front of her.  Eventually 
she gave up in disgust, and crossed to the 
bed.  She knew she wouldn't sleep, but 
somehow she needed to empty her mind, so she 
lay, staring at the white ceiling of the 
motel room, waiting for the images of her 
daughter to stop haunting her, attempting to 
relax her mind so that instead, she thought 
of nothing at all, and in doing so she felt 
the tension leave her body.  At least for 
the moment. 

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

The sound of a fist knocking on wood drove 
through Mulder's consciousness like a blade, 
and initially he squeezed his eyes shut 
tighter in an attempt to block it out.  The 
familiar voice that accompanied it though 
caused him to sit up, dropping his head down 
quickly, as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed 
him.  His throat felt gritty and raw, and he 
suddenly realised how cold he felt in the 
air conditioned room. 

"Mulder? It's me." 

The sound of Scully's voice prompted Mulder 
to rise from his position on the bed, and he 
groggily made his way to the door, knowing 
that he probably looked every bit as bad as 
he felt.  His partner's expression as he 
swung the door open to face her affirmed his 
fears. 

She took in his flushed, sweating face, and 
immediately propelled him back inside the 
room, gesturing to a chair.  Mulder didn't 
need asking twice and he sat down heavily. 

"I'm Okay," he said weakly.  "It's just a 
headache." 

He flinched as Scully rested the back of her 
hand on his forehead. 

"Mulder, you're burning up," she exclaimed,  
"You should be in bed." 

Mulder held up a hand. 

"I'll be fine.  Just give me time to get a 
shower and change my clothes Okay?" 

"Mulder . . ." 

Mulder recognised the concerned 'doctor in 
charge' tones which Scully had adopted, but 
this was no time to get sick, or worse to 
succumb to it.  He suspected that a lack of 
sleep was making the symptoms worse, and 
that once he actually got himself moving, 
they would abate sufficiently to allow him 
to function enough to do his job.  Shakily, 
he got to his feet, stepping carefully 
around Scully lest he betray just how badly 
he was feeling. 

"Give me twenty minutes.  I'll meet you in 
the car." 

In actuality, Mulder slid in to the 
passenger seat next to Scully in just under 
fifteen.  She scrutinised him carefully and 
was relieved to see, that on the surface at 
least he appeared to look much better.  His 
dark hair was still slightly damp from the 
recent shower and Scully resisted the urge 
to point out that walking around with wet 
hair wasn't exactly going to serve his cause 
health- wise.  He was freshly shaven and 
dressed in a clean shirt and jacket, his 
impeccable professional facade firmly in 
place once more, and she relaxed slightly.   

Mulder, aware of his partner's swift medical 
evaluation with regard to him grinned 
crookedly at her. 

"Are you planning on pondering my state of 
health for the remainder of the day or do I 
pass muster?" 

He was cut off as Scully abruptly gunned the 
motor, shifting the car in to gear and 
pulling smoothly away from the motel.  At 
the end of the drive she turned left on to 
the highway, heading for the city and the 
San Diego field office, where hopefully John 
Wickham would be waiting for them with some 
answers.   

Scully had put in the call to him as she 
waited for Mulder to emerge from his room, 
feeling gratified by the easy warmth which 
had crept in to his voice when she had 
identified herself, and he had assured her 
that all the current information regarding 
the case would be made available to her on 
their arrival.  

Finally, it was time to find the answers. 

Continued chapter 3/30 

Genesis - 3/30 

FBI Field office, San Diego.  9:41a.m. 

Special Agent in Charge John Wickham turned 
out to be every bit as helpful as Scully had 
hoped he would be.  An imposing figure he 
stood a couple of inches taller than 
Mulder's six feet, and absolutely towered 
over her small frame.   

The stern expression he habitually wore had 
transformed in to a wide grin the minute 
they had stepped through the door to his 
office though, and Scully immediately 
recognised the obvious respect he had for 
Mulder as he shook his old friends hand 
warmly. 

"Hey Fox, it's good to see you, even if I 
had to entice you with the promise of a 
case." 

Mulder smiled noncommittally and shrugged by 
way of apology. 

"You know how it is, work gets in the way." 

"Save it, man.  Things can get kinda crazy 
around here too." His eyes flittered across 
to where Scully stood off to one side and 
Mulder gestured toward her. 

"John Wickham.  My partner, Dana Scully." 

Wickham smiled appreciatively across at her 
and extended his hand which she shook 
briefly. 

"Pleased to meet you, Dana.  I've heard a 
lot about you." 

"Oh, have you indeed." She raised an eyebrow 
at Mulder who reddened slightly. 

"Relax, Scully.  I only enlightened him as 
to the more praetorian aspects of your 
personality." 

Before she could respond, Wickham punched 
her partner lightly on the shoulder. 

"If she's corrupt, Buddy, it only stems from 
working alongside you for so long.   This 
man . . ," he informed Scully, "could 
corrupt anybody.  Even back at the Academy I 
can remember him being. . ." 

He got no further as Mulder, who didn't like 
the conversational turn, jumped in abruptly. 

"About this case," he ventured.   

Wickham nodded, but refused to let Mulder 
off so easily.  He winked at Scully. "We'll 
talk later," he promised.  

Despite herself, Scully couldn't help a 
grin.  She had warmed immediately to his 
easy nature and the way he had welcomed them 
effortlessly in to his domain.  She got the 
sense that she was going to like him, that 
he would become a welcome ally to them both, 
and it was evident that Mulder held him in a 
high regard.   

It was something she rarely saw in him, 
mostly due to his in built suspicion of 
those he didn't know well, respect from 
Mulder took a long time to earn.  She 
herself had discovered that the hard way. 

Her thoughts turned to the job in hand as 
Wickham handed them each a folder, very 
similar in content to the one she had seen 
back in Washington.  She forced herself to 
remain professionally detached as she turned 
the pages. 

"Basically, what you see there is what you 
get," explained Wickham.  "As far as we can 
tell, there's no motive for a kidnapping, no 
estranged husbands or partners, no 
disgruntled neighbours or delivery men.  The 
Mother had no enemies as far as we can tell, 
and we've got no witnesses except her and 
she hasn't been much use to us.  It's 
obvious though that the kid didn't just 
wander off because aside from the Mother's 
injuries at the scene, she would have turned 
up by now.   We've checked with family 
services and they don't have the family 
listed on the at-risk register so it's 
unlikely that there was any abuse involved.  
All reports suggest that this kid was well 
loved and well cared for.  It's like she 
just disappeared off the face of the earth, 
and the Attorney General has got my butt in 
a sling." 

Mulder raised his eyes from the file. 

"News coverage?" he queried. 

"Yep.  Regional and national.  Papers too.   
No response.  Aside from your usual variety 
of cranks who insist they've seen the kid 
playing with fairies at the bottom of their 
gardens or being carried away by little 
green men.  No offence, Fox." 

Mulder waved his hand casually, none taken. 

"You said you'd interviewed the mother?" 

"Extensively.  I'm not sure whether it was 
the bump on the head she received or whether 
losing the kid has tipped her over the edge, 
but she talks as if she's a walking 
testament to the corruption in our fair 
land.  Raving about conspiracies and how 
she's known that they would find her.   How 
she should have left town before it 
happened." 

He paused and ran his fingers through his 
hair. 

"I tell you, Buddy, it's got me chasing my 
tail.  Normally I would've chalked it down 
to experience, but I got kids of my own, 
y'know?.  I can't just give up on it.   
Someone knows where this child is and I'm 
afraid that if we don't find her soon 
they'll be nothing to find . . . except 
maybe a body, and I seen enough of those to 
last me a lifetime." 

"They won't kill her," mumbled Mulder, 
almost to himself.  "They need her." 

"What do you mean?" Wickham's keen hearing 
had picked up the words and Scully silently 
sent her partner a warning not to divulge 
too much to this man, because friend or no 
friend, if they voiced their suspicions they 
would find themselves on the next plane back 
to Washington.   She needn't have worried 
though. Realising his mistake, her partner 
covered himself adeptly. 

"C'mon John.  How many profiles have you 
written on kidnappers, huh? There's no such 
thing as a motiveless kidnapping, the crime 
occurs to serve some sort of agenda in the 
perpetrators mind, monetary gain, revenge, 
whatever, and until that need is filled he 
must keep his victim alive, because if he 
were to kill them, then the bargaining tool 
is lost, as is the reason for the crime.  
What we need to do is to get in to the mind 
of the kidnapper, because only by 
understanding him can we begin to understand 
his motives, and by comprehending them we 
can begin to look for a suspect." 

Wickham shook his head. 

"OK, consider me put firmly back in my 
place.  Once a profiler always a profiler 
huh, Fox?" 

"Yeah, well," Mulder countered easily,  
"when I'm not chasing after little green 
men toting ray guns, it's what I do best." 

"So you're gonna draw up a profile on this 
guy?" 

Mulder shook his head. 

"Not yet.  I think Scully and I need to take 
a little side trip to see the girl's Mother.  
She's still in the hospital, I take it?" 

Wickham scratched his head. 

"Yeah, and I can't see her leaving any time 
soon.  She's pretty drugged up, you'll be 
lucky to get anything coherent out of her, I 
know I didn't have much success." 

"I'll take my chances," Mulder declared with 
a small smile.  "you never know what effect 
my boyish charm will have on her." 

Wickham grimaced in disgust. 

"Yeah well, I wouldn't hold out much hope of 
that.  I'll get you some directions to the 
place, but I'll warn you, this woman didn't 
exactly keep up her medical insurance 
premiums.  It ain't exactly what you could 
call The Ritz." 

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

Little Sisters of Mercy State Sanatorium.   
San Diego. 10:45a.m. 

"My God, Mulder, just look at this place."  

Scully wrinkled her nose in disgust at the 
dank depressing surroundings she found 
herself in, turning in a slow circle as she 
took in the crumbling walls and the peeling 
wallpaper.   

Everything was painted a dirty institutional 
grey, and it was painfully obvious by the 
bubbled texture from the damp underneath 
that it had been years since it had seen a 
paintbrush.  The building was old and 
decrepit and the air held an unpleasant 
smell of stale urine that no amount of 
disinfectant could mask.   

Some attempts had been made to brighten the 
place up and small pots of flowers rested on 
every available surface, but even they 
seemed to be wilting under the oppressive 
atmosphere and they appeared drab and 
forlorn.   

The inadequate strip lighting cast 
flickering yellowish shadows over everything 
and when Scully raised her head to look 
above her, she observed that out of the five 
lights, only three were actually working.   

Government cut-backs were one thing, but 
squalor was something else entirely.   It 
offended Scully, as a doctor, that such 
places existed.  She questioned the level of 
medical care which was transferred on to the 
patients who resided here, and was smart 
enough to realise that such care did not 
really exist.   

This was the kind of place where society 
sent its misfits.  To remain forever locked 
in a cycle of neglect and drug induced haze.  
It was a place to be forgotten in.   

She turned questioningly to Mulder. 

"Why would they put Mrs. Stevens here?"  she 
queried, "I understood that she was mentally 
unsound, not dangerous." 

Mulder's mouth had set in a grim line as he 
surveyed the bars on the windows and the 
panic buttons on the wall, noting sourly 
that they appeared to be the token gesture 
with regards to the present day.   

He was feeling pretty ropy still despite 
regular intakes of Tylenol and what he saw 
only served to worsen his already 
disagreeable mood. 

"I don't know, Scully," he admitted and then 
gestured to where the receiving desk stood, 
seemingly unmanned.  "Let's find out, huh?" 

It took almost twenty minutes for anyone to 
respond to Mulder and Scully's presence, 
despite the repeated ringing of the service 
bell which was located to the left of the 
desk.  They could hear it's sound echoing 
around the deserted corridors, bouncing off 
the bare concrete floors and Mulder's 
patience was quickly running short. 

Eventually though, faint footsteps could be 
heard hurrying toward them and suddenly a 
door behind the desk opened and they found 
themselves facing a short middle aged woman 
in a white nurse's outfit.  She appeared 
flustered and harried, her dark hair 
escaping the confines of it's French knot 
and hanging messily around her face.   

She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of 
apology. 

"Sorry.  Staff cutbacks, y'know." 

Mulder however was in no mood to exchange 
pleasantries.  He pulled out his badge and 
displayed it unceremoniously to the woman. 

"Special Agents Mulder and Scully.  We're 
here to interview a patient of yours." 

The nurse scrutinised their FBI credentials 
and hurriedly tucked the errant hair back up 
under her white cap. 

"I see. And the name would be?" she 
inquired. 

"Mrs. Christine Stevens." 

Scully observed a subtle difference in the 
nurse's facial expression as Mulder informed 
her of who they had come to see and she 
swore that just for a second something akin 
to blind panic crossed her face. 

"Is there a problem with that?" she 
ventured. 

Instantly the nurse smoothed out her 
expression, smiling apologetically at the 
two Agents. 

"I'm sorry, but that would be quite 
impossible at the present time.  The patient 
is heavily sedated and is not able to see 
anyone.  Her mental state is extremely 
tenuous and any outside contact would be 
quite damaging to her.  I have orders from 
her Doctor that she be kept absolutely quiet 
and undisturbed.  I'm sorry.  Maybe you 
could come back tomorrow." 

Mulder glanced uneasily at Scully.   

Something was wrong here, he was sure of it, 
and judging by his partner's guarded 
expression she was experiencing similar 
suspicions. 

"We work for the Federal Government," he 
pointed out, "and it is imperative we be 
granted access to Mrs. Stevens.  We believe 
she can furnish us with information which is 
critical to the ongoing investigation 
regarding the disappearance of her 
daughter." 

The nurse however was not moved by his plea.  
Again she shook her head. 

"I'm sorry, sir, but I have my orders.   The 
patient is not to be disturbed." 

Seeing her partner's expression harden, 
Scully laid a warning hand on his arm. 

"Look," she cajoled, "I'm a medical doctor.  
Fully trained, and I can assure you we will 
do nothing which will compromise the health 
of your patient.  I understand your need to 
shield her, but you also have to understand 
that the life of a four year old child is at 
stake here and every minute we waste is 
compromising her well being.  We only need 
five minutes.  Don't make us get a court 
order.   It just wastes everyone's time, 
including yours, because we will be back." 

The nurse shifted her eyes around guiltily, 
as if she were afraid of being seen, and 
then swiftly unlocked the door which led 
through to the receiving area. 

"You can have five minutes with her and 
that's it, but I'm warning you she's not in 
very good shape." 

Mulder pushed past the nurse quite unable to 
disguise his dislike of the woman. 

"Five minutes is all I need," he barked.  He 
inclined his head, bestowing a smile on the 
woman that was anything but friendly.  
"After you." 

Continued chapter 4/30

Genesis - 4/30

As the nurse led them through the twisting 
maze of corridors, it became obvious to 
Scully that whatever meagre amount of money 
used for the upkeep of the building had been 
used exclusively for the public areas.   

The section they found themselves in was ill 
maintained and decrepit, gaping holes in the 
walls where rotten plaster had sheared away 
more evidence of the damp which was eroding 
the very structure of the building.  Scully 
thought of the bright summer sunshine which 
they had left outside and shivered slightly.  
It was doubtful whether any of the 
sanatorium's residents ever got the 
opportunity to even see the sunlight, let 
alone feel it on their skin. 

Scully saw no signs of life during her 
journey through the hospital, in fact only 
the sound of far away voices indicated that 
they were not actually travelling through a 
deserted building.  She had visited these 
kinds of places before, both during her time 
with the X-Files and when she was undergoing 
her medical training.   

She always found the experience unnerving, 
to be surrounded by people who had lost the 
tenuous grip on reality, people who had once 
lived relatively normal lives, with homes 
and families and jobs.  It seemed an alien 
concept to ever imagine herself falling to 
that level, and yet her training had taught 
her that the thread which separated sanity 
from madness was as thin and as delicate as 
gossamer silk, and that once that thread had 
been severed it was almost impossible to 
repair.   

A minority of the mentally ill were lucky 
enough to find themselves sequestered in one 
of the few modern sanatoriums which were 
dotted around the country but most were not 
and after the initial emergency care was 
given, they found themselves hidden away in 
institutions such as this one, where they 
would become the forgotten victims of a 
society which simply didn't have the time or 
resources to adequately treat their 
conditions. 

It was an issue which raised it's head 
during election years, and one which was 
conveniently forgotten about immediately 
afterwards.  These people didn't need 
politics, they needed satisfactory funding. 

Scully was jolted out of her repose when 
Mulder suddenly came to an abrupt halt in 
front of her, and Scully was suddenly struck 
by how quiet it was down here, it reminded 
her of a little used basement, silent aside 
from the sound of a tap dripping in the 
distance.  She began to feel uneasy. 

"Is this wing empty?" she inquired. 

The nurse shrugged. 

"It was officially closed three years ago, 
but unofficially it's still used as a kind 
of isolation area for our more problematic 
cases." 

"Is Mrs. Stevens a problem?" 

"She's been difficult, yeah.  Upsetting the 
other patients with her screaming and 
shouting, disrupting their sleep, attacking 
the orderlies..." She unlocked the solid 
steel door in front of her.   "Anyway, 
you'll see for yourselves.  I'll be out here 
if you need me."    

Mulder glanced uneasily at Scully, and then 
gingerly swung the door open, taking a 
second to let his eyes adjust to the dim 
light within.  At first glance the room 
appeared empty, and then he saw her, huddled 
in a corner, knees drawn up to her chest as 
she rocked silently.   

Even in the darkness he could plainly see 
the restraints which bound her hands and 
feet, restricting her movement.  The woman 
did not respond to the opening of the door 
to her room, it was if she was locked in her 
own world, a world from which she had shut 
everything out. 

The two Agents stepped softly in to the 
twelve by ten room and Mulder shut the door 
behind him slowly.  His voice was gentle 
when he spoke. 

"Mrs. Stevens?...Christine? We've come about 
your daughter." 

Christine raised her head cautiously and 
Mulder got his first real good look at her.  
Her dark hair looked ragged and unkempt 
against her pale face which was streaked 
with a combination of grime and tears, and 
the eyes which stared back at him were wide 
and frightened.  She licked her lips, trying 
to moisten them enough to speak. 

"She's dead, isn't she?" she whispered. 

Mulder hunkered down beside her, appalled by 
what he saw. 

"No.  We don't know where she is.  But we're 
going to find her, and we need your help to 
do that.....will you tell us what you know?" 

Christine's eyes filled with fresh tears. 

"What's the point?" she asked him bitterly.  
"I've told it a hundred times and no one 
believes me.  My little girl has been taken 
away from me and no one cares." 

Scully joined Mulder beside the woman  
exhibiting a twin look of horror to his own 
as she observed the tightly bound restraints 
which were cutting in to the frail flesh of 
her wrists, and knowing she was going 
against all she had learned during her 
medical training, reached out and gently 
began to un-strap her, wincing inwardly at 
the bloody welts which evidence of the 
restraint.  She also observed something 
which surprised her, because as she gazed in 
to the woman's eyes she saw fatigue, and 
desperation and defeat, but not madness. 

"We care," she informed her simply,  "and 
we're going to do everything we can do get 
your daughter back." 

She touched Mulder's sleeve.  "Mulder, I 
need a minute with you." 

She rose to her feet and spoke softly to him 
as he came to join her. 

"We need to get her out of here.  We need to 
get her out of here now." 

"I agree, Scully, but it would take a court 
order and there's no time for that." 

Scully shook her head. 

"Not if she requires urgent medical 
attention which I for one do not believe she 
could get here.  Look at her Mulder, she's 
malnourished almost to the point of 
starvation, caged up in here no better than 
a wild animal, the neglect is appalling and 
I for one am not prepared to go out that 
door and leave her here." 

Mulder recognised his partner's resolve and 
nodded his head, deferring to her medical 
judgement, knowing that what she said was 
true, knowing that the woman was here by no 
small accident. 

"OK, Scully, you stay with her, I'll go talk 
to our friendly neighbourhood nurse and see 
if I can't get her to come around to my way 
of thinking." 

Scully closed her eyes briefly as he turned 
back to the door, silently hoping that what 
they were about to do would not come 
crashing back down on their heads. 

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

"What you're suggesting is absolutely out of 
the question!" 

Mulder remained in his position, guarding 
the door to his partner and the frightened 
woman within. 

His voice was hard, leaving little room for 
argument. 

"You don't seem to understand.  I'm not 
suggesting anything.  What I'm telling you 
is that Mrs. Stevens is in need of immediate 
medical attention, and my partner a trained 
physician believes that she should be 
surrended to our care in order to recieve
it " 

"You don't have the authority," blustered 
the nurse.   

Mulder nodded in agreement. 

"No I don't.  But I *do* have the authority 
to see you and whoever runs this poor excuse 
for a medical facility prosecuted for the 
willful neglect of a patient in your care, 
and believe me, I won't rest until that 
happens.  All it'll take is one phone call." 

"But I have orders..." she seemed on the 
verge of tears but Mulder's resolve only 
hardened.  The nurse's eyes widened as he 
pushed his jacket to one side, casually 
displaying the Sig Sauer automatic pistol 
which nestled securely in it's holder, as he 
rested his hand on his hip. 

"Yeah, well.....you just got new orders.  
Now show me where you put her clothes." 

Finally, after the tense silence stretched 
between them, Mulder saw the woman's face 
sag visibly with defeat, as she realised 
that it would be futile to argue any 
further.  She didn't owe anyone a measure of 
loyalty so great that it warranted getting 
shot for. 

"It's down here," she mumbled almost to 
herself. 

Mulder kept his gun visible as he gestured 
down the corridor. 

"After you," he offered, his headache almost 
forgotten as he followed her to the small 
locker which was set against the wall, 
watching as she removed a pile of clothing 
and a woman's purse from within.   

She passed it grudgingly to him. "You won't 
get away with this." She threatened. 

Mulder rested his steady gaze on her. 

"I just have," he informed her solemnly. 

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

It took a considerable amount of time to get 
Christine Stevens dressed and able to leave 
the hospital mostly due to the effects of 
the powerful sedatives which were still in 
her system.  She appeared confused and 
disorientated as she stepped out in to the 
bright August sunshine, and she shielded her 
eyes against the glare, but had allowed 
Scully to guide her to the waiting car.   

Once she had her safety settled in the rear 
seat Scully turned to her partner. 

"So what now?" 

Mulder scratched his head absently, feeling 
the heat on his forehead, a sign that his 
fever had not abated.  He was running on 
pure adrenaline now, fighting the urge to 
succumb to his body's need to slow down and 
take some time to recover, but at the same 
time recognising the urgency of the 
situation they had found themselves in. 

"We can't risk taking her to the hospital, 
Scully.  Not until we find out what's 
happening.  I don't doubt that news of our 
departure will reach certain parties and 
registering in a hospital would just lead 
them straight to her.  She wasn't meant to 
leave this place, they never allowed for the 
possibility that someone might find her who 
might just might believe her story and I 
believe they'll go to any lengths to prevent 
her telling it to us." 

"So where do we go? If we go back to the 
motel it's just a matter of time before they 
track us down." 

"I realise that, but for the short term to 
hole up in motel somewhere is our only 
option, unless of course you disagree.  I 
mean what's her state of health right now in 
your medical opinion?" 

Scully shrugged. 

"Well those wounds on her arms need some 
attention, but other than that I can see 
nothing immediately wrong that rest and good 
food won't cure.  As to her state of 
mind...I'm just not qualified to give that 
kind of diagnosis...I'll have a better idea 
when the effects of the sedation abate." 

Mulder considered her words and, aware that 
they were wasting precious time just 
standing there, made the decision. 

"OK.  We'll check in to different motel and 
while you give her the once over I'll go 
back and pick up our things." 

"Are you sure you'll be OK to drive? You 
look terrible." 

Mulder smiled despite himself. 

"Oh I think I can hang on for another hour.  
Then I promise you can force feed me 
antibiotics for the rest of the day if you 
want to." 

"Antibiotics don't have any effect on a 
cold, Mulder.  It'll have to be regular doses
of Tylenol and lots of fluids I'm afraid." 

"Well, whatever, I'm at your mercy, Dr.  
Scully." 

Scully tossed him the car keys which he 
caught deftly. 

"You don't want to make promises like that, 
Mulder.  Believe me." 

He just shrugged, saying nothing as he 
opened the door and lowered himself in to 
the driver's seat, and after one more glance 
over his shoulder at the dark facade of the 
oppressive building, he gunned the motor and 
left it behind them. 

Continued chapter 5/30 

Genesis 5/30

E-Z 8 motel, Route 49, San Diego.   3:05p.m. 

By the time Mulder returned from retrieving 
their things from the previous motel he was 
feeling ready to drop, so much so that he 
was finding it increasingly difficult to 
concentrate on the job in hand.   

Despite the heat of the mid afternoon sun, 
he was freezing cold and every move he made 
sent a fresh wave of agony through his 
already aching body.   

His throat felt as though he had eaten a 
handful of glass splinters and the pain cut 
through him whenever he swallowed. He had 
eventually made it though, and now he 
knocked wearily on the door which led to 
Scully's room.  She answered it quickly and 
ushered him inside where he handed her the 
overnight bag which he had retrieved from 
her previous room.  It hadn't even been 
unpacked yet so his task had been fairly 
straight forward.  He had simply picked it 
up from it's position on the bed and carried 
it out to the waiting car, feeling it's 
slight weight pulling at his aching muscles 
as he did so. 

He sat down heavily in one of the 
overstuffed chairs which graced the small 
room and gestured to one of the two single 
beds which jostled the other furniture for 
space in the cramped area.  On it, covered 
over with a down comforter, Christine 
Stevens lay deeply asleep. 

"How's she doing?" 

Scully sat beside him on the other chair. 

"She's OK.  I treated the wounds on her 
wrists, cleaned her up and put her to bed.   
She's been sound asleep ever since, and I 
can't see her waking up any time soon.   She 
was still extremely disorientated and 
confused, but my guess is that whatever 
sedative or tranquilizer she was on is only 
augmenting the condition.  She's obviously 
deeply afraid of something though." 

"Or someone," Mulder mused.  He rubbed his 
hands across his face wearily, and Scully 
allowed herself to really observe him for 
the first time since his return. 

"You look awful, Mulder." 

"Well that's good then.  Because that's 
exactly the way I feel." 

"I'm serious." 

He raised his head and regarded her through 
bloodshot eyes. 

"Believe me, Scully, so am I.  I feel like 
there's a racket ball game going on inside 
my head." 

He flinched as Scully pressed her hand to 
his cheek. 

"I think your fever's got worse.  I need to 
check you over." 

It was a measure of how bad he was feeling 
that he didn't protest, and Scully reached 
around to the small end table and picked up 
the thermometer which she had purchased 
earlier at the tiny supermarket attached to 
the motel grounds.  Obligingly he opened his 
mouth slightly and let the instrument rest 
under his tongue, but despite everything he 
couldn't resist commenting. 

"For a second I thought you were going to 
ask me to bend over." 

Scully frowned at him sternly. "In your 
dreams, Mulder.  In your dreams.   Now shut 
your mouth properly or I won't get an 
accurate reading." 

As she waited for the reading to register 
she gave Mulder a cursory examination, 
noting how swollen the glands were around 
the base of his throat and neck.  Mulder 
flinched as she gently applied pressure to 
the area and Scully quickly dropped her 
hands. 

"Sorry.  I know they hurt.  Is your throat 
sore too?" 

Mulder nodded, unable to speak due to the 
thermometer. 

"Do you feel nauseous?" More nodding. She 
reached over and pulled the thermometer from 
his lips, her brow furrowing slightly as she 
examined it. 

"Are you experiencing any dizziness?" 

Mulder shrugged. 

"A little," he admitted. Scully replaced the 
thermometer back on the table. 

"I'm not surprised," she informed him.   
"You have a temperature of a hundred and 
one." 

"Meaning what?" 

"Meaning, Mulder, that you have no business 
walking around.  I suspect you have some 
sort of viral infection.  You need to rest 
and you need to keep warm." 

"Is that it?" Mulder asked incredulously.   
"I mean aren't there any pills I can take?" 

Scully smiled. 

"Sorry, Mulder.  All you can do is keep 
taking the Tylenol and drink lots of fluids.  
Nothing more magical than that.   Nature 
will do the rest." 

"For how long?" He couldn't help but 
recognise how bad his timing was.  Getting 
sick in Washington was one thing.  Getting 
sick here was something else entirely and as 
he looked at his partner he saw much the 
same conclusion displayed on her face.   
Nevertheless, she stood her ground. 

"For as long as it takes.  If you're lucky 
you'll be up and around again in a couple of 
days." 

Mulder groaned. "I don't believe this.  I 
don't have time for this." 

"Mulder, listen to me.  You don't play 
around with this kind of thing, because if 
you do you run the risk of it developing in 
to something much worse, and if it does 
it'll drop you in a second.  Believe me, I 
know what I'm talking about." 

"Yeah, well.  Four years of medical 
training has to count for something." 

"Exactly.  Now go to bed.  I'll check on you 
later." 

Mulder had long since discovered that it 
would be pointless to argue with her, so he 
held up his hands in mock surrender and 
shakily got to his feet, feeling Scully's 
hand on his arm as he swayed slightly.   

He turned to face her, needing to affirm 
something before he left. 

"How about you, Scully, are you OK?" 

She squeezed his arm reassuringly. 

"I'm fine, really, and besides I've got 
enough to worry about right now not to have 
to worry about myself.  Now try to get 
some sleep, you look like you could use it.  
I'm going to do the same.   There's not a 
lot we can do right now anyway, at least not 
until Mrs. Stevens recovers enough to speak 
to us." 

Mulder paused and glanced over at the 
sleeping woman. 

"You have to promise to come get me when she 
does." 

Scully rolled her eyes. "I promise.  Now 
you need to sleep okay?" 

He allowed Scully to take him by the
arm and gently steer him to the internal 
door which connected the two rooms, leaving
it slightly ajar as she crossed over the
threshold.

"Just in case." She advised him before 
guiding him to the bed.  

Mulder didn't bother to argue as she 
pushed him down into a seated position, 
standing over him as she watched him 
settle himself back against the pillows. 
Pivoting, she headed for the bathroom
and returned with a tumbler full of water
in one hand and two Tylenol in the other, 
both of which she held out to Mulder.

"Here.  Take these before you sleep.  
They'll help"

She watched as he swallowed the pill, noting
worriedly how he winced with every swallow.

"Small sips okay?  Little and often is the 
key here."

He nodded slowly and placed the glass on the 
bedside cabinet and satisfied at last that 
he would do as she had asked, a ghost of 
a smile played across her lips as she 
turned to leave.

"Sweet dreams Mulder." She offered and 
was gratified at least to see her smile
returned by her partner.  

Leaving him to rest, Scully exited the room 
quietly and returned to Christine Stevens.
She checked once more on the sleeping woman, 
affirming to herself that she was 
resting peacefully and adjusted the comforter
so it covered her more evenly.  
Christine didn't stir and Scully 
suspected that it would be some hours before 
she awoke.  She decide to take her own 
advice and get some sleep, conscious 
suddenly that she hadn't had any rest for 
well over twenty four hours and of how tired 
she was.   

Before she let herself succumb to the 
fatigue though she had to do one thing, and 
she crossed the room and picked up Christine 
Stevens' purse.  She felt uncomfortably like 
a sneak thief as she rummaged around in it 
until her fingers found what they sought.   

Gingerly she withdrew the photograph, the 
kind of image that every self respecting 
parent carried somewhere on their person, in 
a purse, in a wallet, in a briefcase, and 
traced her finger along the outlines of the 
child's sweet dimpled face.  The same face 
that had once haunted her dreams at night 
and caused her on occasion to wake suddenly, 
calling out her daughter's name.   

The dreams had begun to abate.  The pain of 
losing her had not.  Scully doubted whether 
it ever really would.  They had found each 
other for such a short time and yet the bond 
had been formed between them as Scully 
fought to save her life.   Despite 
everything though she had ultimately failed 
her.  She had let her daughter die rather 
than live half a life controlled and hunted 
by her creators.   

She had watched her tiny three year old 
daughter slip peacefully away as the disease 
which gripped her had taken it's toll.  The 
ultimate betrayal occurring when she had 
found that she had even been denied the 
opportunity to lay her appropriately to 
rest.  Even that had been a sham and she 
would never forget the pain she had felt 
when she discovered that the tiny white 
coffin had been filled with nothing more 
than sand, looking closer as she had 
detected a hint of gold amongst the grains 
and finding her cross nestling unharmed 
beneath them.   

And now as she held the photograph in her 
hands, looking in to Emily's face as it 
stared back at her, she vowed that whoever 
this little girl was, she wasn't going to 
let the same thing happen to her.  This was 
her chance to put things right, to finally 
let her daughter find peace. 

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

10:13p.m. 

"Who are you?"  

The three words cut through Scully's 
consciousness and her eyes snapped open 
abruptly.  Initially she thought that she 
had heard them in her dreams, but then she 
detected a slight movement out of the corner 
of her eye.   

Three feet away Christine Stevens was 
staring at her fearfully, the comforter 
clutched protectively around her and Scully 
immediately swung around to face her, 
holding a calming hand up to the woman as 
she did so. 

"It's OK.  My name is Dana Scully.  I'm a 
special agent with the Federal Bureau of 
Investigation.  My partner and I came to see 
you in the hospital.  We brought you here.  
Don't you remember?" 

"I . . . can't . . . no, I don't remember.   
Why am I here?" 

Scully swallowed. 

"We were asked to look in to your daughter's 
disappearance.  We were told that you had 
information which could help us to find her.  
That you know who took her." 

Despite Scully's conciliatory tone 
Christine's expression hardened. 

"How do I know you are who you say you are?" 

"I can show you identification." Scully 
reached in to her jacket pocket and pulled 
out her badge, heart sinking as the woman in 
front of her didn't even give it a cursory 
glance. 

"No offence, Miss Scully.  But I've seen 
enough so called I.D.'s to last me several 
lifetimes.  Why should I believe yours is 
any different? The men who took my little 
girl had a badge just like yours, he showed 
it to me just seconds before he knocked me 
down and forced his way in to my house and 
carried my screaming child away with him, 
like she was no better than a rag doll.  I 
hear her screams, see her face every time I 
close my eyes." She paused, looking at 
Scully accusingly.   "Do you have any idea 
how that feels, to watch your child being 
taken from you and knowing that you're 
powerless to do anything about it?" 

Scully winced at her words, knowing that 
this woman couldn't possibly know that she 
had experienced just that . . . and worse.   

She forced herself to keep her voice steady. 

"I know enough to realise that you're 
scared.  But I *also* know that my partner 
and I are perhaps the only ones who can 
truly help you.  You have to trust us, 
because there's no one else for you to trust 
right now and if you refuse our help now 
then your daughter might be lost to you 
forever." 

Christine didn't respond for a while, but as 
she scrutinised Scully's face for even the 
smallest hint that she wasn't who she 
appeared to be, she saw the pain which she 
tried unsuccessfully to hide, creeping in to 
cloud her eyes, and an inexplicable feeling 
of empathy toward the young woman 
overwhelmed her. 

"All right," she ventured uncertainly.   
"I'll tell you everything I know." 

Scully relaxed visibly and got up from the 
bed. 

"Where are you going?" The fear returned to 
Christine's voice and Scully gestured to the 
connecting door. 

"To fetch my partner." 

"No." Christine blocked her path.  "I've 
seen what happens when people leave rooms.   
Call him instead." 

Scully sighed. "Mrs. Stevens...Christine.  
My partner is sick.  I need to check that 
he's OK." 

"So ask him when you speak to him on the 
phone, because if you leave this room I 
won't be here when you return.  Believe it." 

"All right.  If that's what it takes I'll do 
it, but as I said before, you have to trust 
us." 

"Trust has to be earned, Agent Scully.  Now 
make the call." 

Scully picked up the phone and punched in 
the number which would connect her to her 
partner's room, tapping her finger against 
the receiver as the line rang and rang.   

The walls were just flimsy enough for her to 
be able to hear the phone through them and 
she heard Mulder pick up the receiver before 
the corresponding click echoed in her ear.  
His voice was heavy with sleep and he 
sounded slightly disorientated. 

"Yeah?" 

"Mulder, it's me.  She's awake." 

He didn't respond. 

"Are you all right? Mulder talk to me." 

To her intense relief his voice came back to 
her. 

"Yeah. . .um . . .I'll be right there.   I 
just need to get dressed.  Give me a minute, 
OK?" 

He sounded weak and far away, and despite 
Scully being all too aware of Christine 
Stevens glaring suspiciously across at her, 
the well being of her partner overrode any 
mistrust directed at her from the woman. 

"Are you sure you're up to this, Mulder?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine.  I'm just tired that's all." 

Scully heard the lie which was so evident in 
his voice, but before she could question him 
further the line clicked, replaced suddenly 
with dead air as he hung up.   

Scully shook her head, half annoyed at him 
for being so pig headed, but at the same 
time grateful that he wasn't prepared to let 
her do this alone.   She replaced the 
receiver and turned away from the phone, 
meeting Christine's accusing stare. 

"He's on his way." She informed her. 

Continued chapter 6/30 


Genesis - 6/30 

If Scully was uneasy following her telephone 
conversation with Mulder, she was even more 
so when the connecting door swung open and 
he entered the room.  His face was flushed 
with fever, his eyes narrowed against the 
light.   

From his disheveled appearance it was 
obvious that he was quite un-together and 
had literally thrown on whatever clothes had 
come to hand, and, Scully noted worriedly, 
had not done a very good job of it.   

The shirt he had pulled on over his white 
T-shirt was badly creased and fastened on the 
wrong buttons, the cuffs undone and hanging 
over his wrists and Scully's first instinct 
on seeing him like this was to turn him 
around and frog march him back to bed.   

Before she could put the thought in to action 
though, Mulder turned to where Christine 
Stevens sat, eyeing him warily.   He held 
out his hand, which after a moment's 
hesitation, she grasped briefly and as she 
viewed him, Mulder thought he detected a 
hint of contrition in her face. 

"I'm sorry." 

Mulder frowned.  "For what?" 

"Your partner told me you were sick.  I 
didn't believe her, thought she was trying 
to trap me.  Obviously I was wrong.  I'm 
sorry." 

Mulder glanced at Scully who shrugged 
apologetically. 

"Don't worry.  I probably look a lot worse 
than I feel," he lied smoothly. 

"So, what is it you want to tell us?"  
Mulder sat down heavily on the edge of the 
bed, the action necessitated by the tilting 
of the room, and consciously he avoided his 
partner's accusing glare.   

He could fool a stranger, but there was no 
way he could fool Scully.  He didn't have 
the energy to even try.  He focused his 
attention on Christine. 

She twisted her hands nervously in her lap. 

"I don't know where to begin," she admitted. 
"I mean, it's crazy.  I've waited so long to 
tell it to someone, for someone to believe 
me...and now...I can't seem to find a place 
to start." 

Scully leaned forward, and laid her hand 
lightly over Christine's, calming her with a 
touch. 

"Start at the beginning.  Take your time, 
we've got all night to listen to you." 
Christine's eyes briefly closed, and then 
nodding slowly, she opened her mouth and 
began to speak. 

"Jim, my husband, and I couldn't have 
children.  We tried for years, had the 
tests, underwent the treatments, nothing 
worked for us.  It was a yearning that never 
went away.  And then one night, about four 
years ago, Jim came home from work with some 
men.  He told me that they could arrange for 
us to take care of a child, a baby, who had 
no one else, but that it doing so we had to 
undertake certain conditions regarding her 
care." 

"Conditions?" 

Christine nodded.  "Yes.  They told us that 
she was special, that she needed specialist 
care in order to survive, that she needed 
regular treatment to keep her safe and that 
we would have no part in that side of her 
life.   Of course we agreed, it was the 
answer to all our prayers, what we had 
wished for so long.  We didn't ask too many 
questions, and suddenly we found ourselves 
with this brand new baby girl."  

Christine's eyes softened. 

"She was so beautiful, all rosy cheeked, 
with huge blue eyes and blonde hair.  She 
was perfect, in every sense of the word, and 
apart from the treatment we were told she 
had to receive, she was never sick, not once 
in her life.  Over the years she grew in to 
a bright, funny little girl. On the outside 
she was totally normal, but sometimes I 
would catch her looking at me from across 
the room, and it sounds crazy, but I would 
swear she would know what I was thinking." 

Mulder narrowed his eyes. 

"In what way?" 

"It's hard to explain, but like, sometimes I 
would be thinking about my Mother, or about 
what to cook for dinner, y'know something 
like that, and Charlotte - we called her 
Charlie - would start talking to me about 
the exact same thing, like I had spoken the 
thoughts aloud to her and it was the most 
natural thing for her to answer me.  I tried 
to discuss it with Jim, but he just laughed 
at me, said I was imagining things, that all 
kids acted like that sometimes, but I began 
to worry." 

"About what?" 

"When Charlie was a baby, she had to go away 
once a week for treatment.  I didn't know 
what the treatments were, and I never asked.  
She was always returned to us unharmed and 
happy, so I never gave it much thought 
either way.  But then things began to 
change.  She began to hate going, and it got 
so that she would scream for hours before 
they took her and for hours after they 
brought her back.  We would ask her what she 
was so afraid of, but she would refuse to 
answer, take herself away and sit in a 
corner of the room.  I began to hate myself 
for making her go, but what could we do? 
We'd made an agreement, and besides, we 
believed that to deny her the treatment 
would endanger her life." 

Christine took a deep breath. "About six 
months ago, the nightmares started.  Once 
every couple of weeks at first, and then 
every night, sometimes twice.  Charlie would 
wake up screaming that *The bad men* were 
hurting her, that they wouldn't stop.  We 
would try to calm her, but she just kept 
saying that they were going to hurt her 
Mommy, that they would kill her if Charlie 
was bad.  At first I didn't understand, and 
then one night when I had calmed her down 
and put her back to bed, Jim sat with her 
and asked her why anyone would want to hurt 
me.  He came back downstairs, shaken to the 
point he looked ill." 

Christine raised her eyes from where they 
were fixed on her hands.  All the time she 
spoke her fingers twisted the hem of her 
cotton shirt over and over, as though she 
couldn't bear to remain still. 

"It wasn't me that Charlie was so afraid 
for, but for her real Mother, a Mother we 
had never told her about.  A Mother who she 
seemed to know everything about and one 
which she tried to protect through her 
dreams..." she trailed off as Scully exhaled 
sharply. 

Scully noticed the woman's questioning look, 
but could not find the words to explain.  
Instead she rose to her feet and gestured 
helplessly toward Mulder who had observed 
the subtle change in his partner's 
expression. 

"I'm sorry.  I need a drink of water." 

She headed for the bathroom, needing the 
time suddenly to get her thoughts together, 
leaning on the sink, staring back at her 
reflection in the mirror.   Listening to 
Christine talk about her daughter had been 
hard enough, but this? This was almost more 
than Scully could bear.   

She squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out her 
image, but a faint breeze against the nape 
of her neck apprised her of her partner's 
presence behind her.  She opened her eyes, 
but did not turn around, gazing at his 
reflection instead, knowing that to turn 
around now would only cause her to break 
down completely.  She couldn't afford to do 
that.  Not now.  Not when they were finally 
gaining the answers they needed.   

She forced a smile. "I'm OK.  I just needed 
a minute." 

"Are you sure?" He rested a hand lightly 
against the small of her back. "I know this 
is hard for you, having to hear this, but 
Scully, it's not too late to step away.  I 
can handle this for you, there's no need for 
you to put yourself through this." 

She looked in to his fever flushed 
reflection and smiled slightly. 

"No, really, I'll be fine.  Like I say, I 
just need a minute.  You go back.  I'll join 
you in a second." 

The pressure of Mulder's hand remained. 

"You're sure?" 

"I'm sure." 

He nodded slightly and dropped his hand 
away, and after staring at her for a beat, 
turned and left her alone in the bathroom.   

Only once he was safely out of sight did 
Scully realise she had been holding her 
breath, and she exhaled slowly, feeling the 
tension which had overtaken her body, inside 
of her like a tightly coiled spring.  She 
wondered, not for the first time, just how 
much more she could reasonably be expected 
to take before the spring gave way. 

The temptation to remain where she stood, 
forehead pressed against the cool glass of 
the mirror was strong, but after a couple of 
minutes, she knew that to do this would be 
impossible.  She forced her features into an 
expression which resembled something akin to 
normality, and after rinsing her face with 
cold water, headed back in to the main room. 

On returning she found the scene to be much 
the same as when she had left it.   Mulder 
had obviously halted Christine's narrative 
until she rejoined them, and had taken the 
opportunity to make some much needed mugs of 
the Motel's instant coffee, one of which he 
passed to Scully.  She took it gratefully, 
smiling in response to his questioning look. 

"Thanks, Mulder." 

The two words spoke volumes to her partner, 
and satisfied that for the moment at least, 
she had regained control of her emotions, he 
turned his attention back to Christine, 
asking the question that he had been about 
to ask before Scully had left the room. 

"You spoke of your husband," he queried.   
"Where is he now?" 

He couldn't help but notice how Christine's 
knuckles whitened as she locked her fingers 
around the mug he had offered her, and also 
how for the first time, the woman's eyes 
filled with tears.  Her voice cracked as she 
answered him. 

"Like I said, we were becoming more and more 
concerned about what was happening to 
Charlie.   Jim seemed to know more about 
what was being done to her although he never 
discussed it with me. But he was scared.  I 
knew that much, and he began to talk about 
us going away, taking Charlie and going 
where *They* would never find us.   He said 
he had the connections to make sure we would 
never be found.  Part of me wanted to do as 
he said, but a part of me was afraid for 
Charlie, that this treatment she was 
getting, despite what it was doing to her, 
was necessary, that if we took her away she 
would die." She shook her head sadly. "We 
had a terrible argument, him insisting that 
we had to leave, me refusing.   And then he 
told me." 

Christine's expression became far away, her 
eyes clouded with pain as she remembered. 

"He told me that my precious little girl was 
a part of an experiment, an experiment to 
create children for a secret Government 
agenda, an agenda which he himself was a 
part of.  He had known all along that we 
would care for Charlie, that we had been 
chosen months before her birth, and that 
later, when the time was right, she would be 
taken from us.  He also told me that this 
*treatment* she was receiving was nothing 
more than a kind of gene therapy to enable 
her to develop in the way they hoped she 
would, and that if the treatment ceased, she 
would eventually become just another normal 
child."  

Christine laughed bitterly. 

"I didn't believe him at first, I mean it 
sounded too crazy to be true, but as he told 
me more about the Government's hopes for 
Charlie and for the others like her, 
everything began to make sense to me.  The 
way she seemed able to read my thoughts, her 
intelligence - she could read and write by 
age two - the way she would climb on to my 
lap when I had a headache, laying her head 
against mine, and within minutes the pain 
would be gone. They were all things I hadn't 
given much thought to at the time, but which 
now seemed so relevant to what Jim was 
saying.  He also told me that night, that 
Charlie was special, that she was one of the 
Project's greatest triumphs.   Apparently 
she was developing in ways they had only 
dreamed about, far in advance of the others, 
when so many had failed in the past.  I 
asked him what he meant by *failed*" 

She paused then, taking a sip of the coffee 
she still held in her hands.  

"I don't know why really, deep down I knew 
what his response would be, but I didn't 
want to believe that he could be capable of 
such terrible things..." 

"What things?" Scully's voice was so low, it 
was almost a whisper, but the room was heavy 
with silence, and Christine had no problem 
in hearing the words.  She leveled her gaze 
at Scully, eyes matter of fact, as though 
she had cocooned herself to the horror. 

"He told me that hundreds of children had 
been created.  That Charlie was just a small 
part of genetic experiments which had been 
ongoing for years, decades even.  There had 
been marginal successes apparently, but all 
too often these children would reach an age 
where their heightened development would 
cease.  They were considered to be non-
viable, not worthy to be allowed to live.  
The word Jim used was *release*."  

A single tear escaped from Christine's eye 
and tracked it's way down her pallid cheek.   

"What he really meant was termination, that 
when a child ceased to be of use, they, and 
everything connected to them, was quietly 
disposed of.  They had certain ways of 
ensuring the continuing secrecy of the 
project.   Suicides, car accidents, house 
fires, a burglary gone wrong, anything which 
could be explained away as *accidental*.  No 
one ever asked any questions, and the 
project continued, children kept on being 
created.   But something went wrong.  I 
don't know exactly what it was, but like I 
said, Jim was scared.  He came to me that 
night and said that somehow the project had 
been exposed, and that he had been ordered 
to remove the evidence.  All of it." 

Mulder spoke for the first time. 

"And Charlie was a part of that evidence?" 

"Yes.  Our little girl had been reduced to 
the level of a lab rat, and even easier to 
deny.  But Jim loved her like she was his 
own daughter...he couldn't do what they were 
asking of him."  

She looked at Mulder and Scully in turn as 
she implored them to understand. 

"Jim wasn't an evil man.  He had gone along 
with the Project because he had thought he 
was serving the best interests of his 
country, but now they were erasing the very 
children he had helped to create, 
terminating their lives in the interests of 
national security, when they could just as 
easily be allowed to live.  Having Charlie 
had changed him, had made him see these poor 
kids as something more than a number on a 
chart, and despite everything he couldn't go 
along with what they were ordering him to 
do." 

"So what *did* he do?" despite herself, 
Scully's voice came out accusingly, quite 
unable to feel any kind of sympathy for a 
man who had played such a deadly role in all 
that had happened to her.  Christine heard 
the sharpness behind the question and 
glanced across at the younger woman in 
surprise, unsure of how to react to the 
sudden hostility. 

"He...he sent us away.  He knew we didn't 
have much time, so that same night he 
bundled some of Charlie's things together, 
and insisted we leave.  I resisted him at 
first, because however much he had kept 
things from me, he was my husband, Charlie's 
father and we needed him.  He refused to 
change his mind though, just said that I was 
to contact no-one about where I was going, 
he wouldn't even let me tell him.   I was to 
just get in the car and drive, far away to 
where no one knew us.  He promised me that 
he would find me, and that when it was safe 
he would join us again, that we would be a 
family, like it had been in the beginning.  
So I came here.  I had a little money set 
aside, and I began to pick up my life.  I 
did as Jim had told me to do.  I changed my 
name, and Charlie's so that we couldn't be 
traced, using the names he suggested, so 
that when the time came he would be able to 
find us.  But he never came.  I waited and 
waited but he never came." 

Her voice was lost as she buried her face in 
her hands, sobbing in earnest now and a 
feeling of guilt overwhelmed Scully.   

She had no right to feel antagonism toward 
this woman.  She was nothing more than 
another victim, a pawn to be toyed with as 
she herself had suffered at the hands of 
these men, and whatever else she might be 
guilty of, it was clear that Christine 
Stevens loved her daughter.  That she would 
die for her. 

"How did they find you?" she asked softly.  
Christine shook her head. 

"I don't know.  How do they find anyone who 
doesn't want to be found? I'd begun to think 
that we might be safe.  Charlie had begun to 
thrive away from the treatments and the 
tests, and over the months, she began to 
lose the characteristics that had set her 
apart from other children her age.   She 
never lost her intelligence, but the 
intuition she seemed to have lessened with 
each day, until it just wasn't there at all.  
She became like a normal child."  

Christine smiled suddenly, "I remember one 
day she wasn't her usual self, she was 
always such a happy child, but on that day 
she was cranky and irritable.  At first I 
panicked.  I thought she was finally having 
a reaction to the cessation of the 
treatments, but then I looked closer and it 
dawned on me.  My four year old daughter was 
suffering from her very first cold, and 
hating every minute of it.  I began to think 
then that maybe we were going to be OK." An 
edge of bitterness crept into her voice.  "I 
should've known better."  

Scully glanced at where her discarded wallet 
containing her I.D. lay on the side table 
next to her, and a thought suddenly dawned 
on her. 

"You said earlier that the man who took 
Charlie had a badge just like the one I 
showed you.  What exactly did you mean by 
that?" 

Christine laughed, the sound forced and 
tight. 

"Why did you think I didn't believe you were 
who you said you were? The men who forced 
their way in to my home and stole my 
daughter didn't work for a secret Government 
Agency, or the N.S.A. or the military.  They 
worked for the FBI just like you do." 

Continued chapter 7/30


Genesis 7/30

12:01a.m. 

"Do you believe her?" asked Scully queitly.

Mulder shrugged and directed his gaze to the 
connecting door which led through in to 
Scully's room which remained just slightly 
ajar.   

They had left Christine alone, needing to 
discuss all they had heard away from her 
piercing gaze although it hadn't been easy to 
persuade her to allow them to leave.
So they had compromised and agreed to 
leave the door connecting the two rooms open.  

In particular, Mulder had wanted to speak 
to Scully alone, to get her impressions 
of the story they had just been told, 
a need partly necessitated by the fact 
that he wasn't firing on all cylinders at 
present, but also governed by the look he 
saw displayed clearly across her face. 

It was a look he had seen all too often 
during their time together, and one which 
suggested that she wasn't buying what she 
had heard. 

"Don't you?" he queried quietly. 

Scully shrugged uncertainly, gesticulating 
helplessly as she tried to put her doubts in 
to words, knowing that she had nothing more 
concrete to go on than a vague feeling of 
unease - a hunch for want of a better word - 
that not everything was as it seemed.  It 
was something she had accused Mulder of 
doing a hundred times in the past, and 
something she had never given much credence 
to. 

"Scully?" 

"I don't know, Mulder.  It just doesn't 
track somehow." 

"What doesn't track?" 

Scully sat down. 

"Why wait until now to get help?"  She didn't 
wait for Mulder to respond.  "I mean, if 
what she says is true, she's been on the run 
for the better part of a year, and yet she 
carried on her life as if nothing had 
happened, knowing that she was being hunted 
like an animal and doing nothing about it.  
Does that make sense to you?" 

"She was scared." Mulder pointed out 
reasonably. 

"OK.  I'll buy that.  But surely if she were 
*that* scared she would have at least 
attempted to seek some kind of help." 

Mulder held out a hand to her. "From whom?  
You saw what happened when she tried to go 
through proper channels.  She was declared 
insane and they threw away the key."  

He stopped mid sentence as Scully hauled 
herself to her feet and began pacing the 
room.  It made him dizzy just watching her, 
but at the same time he could feel the 
energy practically sparking from her, and it 
was always best to allow her to focus when 
she got like this, knowing that she was at 
her best. 

"You're missing my point, Mulder.  I don't 
mean she should've cried for help *after* 
the event.  What I'm saying is, why wait 
until she lost the only tangible proof she 
did have? Charlie was her proof, and yet she 
did nothing.  She could have told her story 
to any number of people at a time when it 
could have been proven, but she chose not 
to, even when it was obvious that her 
husband wasn't coming back."  

She paused and turned to her partner. "It 
just seems too...I don't know...convenient 
somehow."  

She shrugged. 

"Do you think I'm looking for something that 
isn't there?" 

Mulder considered her question carefully 
before answering.  He had always put a great 
deal of faith in his partner's ability to 
separate the truth from the deceit and 
admired her analytical approach to a 
problem, an approach which complimented his 
more unorthodox methods perfectly.   

But tonight, here, he wasn't sure how much 
of her doubt was based on good, solid 
intuition, and how much was due to the 
emotional connection the child's 
disappearance had to her. 

"I think," he offered carefully, "That 
you're very close to this case, and that 
that closeness might be clouding your 
judgement slightly, making you overly 
paranoid." 

Scully raised her eyebrow. "Paranoid?" 

"Okay, not paranoid exactly, but threatened, 
certainly." 

"By what exactly?"  Scully's voice rose 
defensively, and Mulder held up his hand to 
silence her. 

"I just mean that it's difficult for you to 
have to hear what this woman, the mother of 
this child, has to say.  It's natural that 
you would look for a reason to discount her 
as anything other than the enemy, and that's 
happening because of the emotional 
connection you feel towards this child.  You 
and I both know that it's happened before, 
and hell, Scully, it's not exactly hard to 
understand, especially after what you went 
through with Emily." 

Scully crossed her arms over her chest, 
narrowing her eyes at her partner, a sure 
sign that she didn't like what she was 
hearing. 

"Is that what you really think of me, 
Mulder? That I would place my own personal 
feelings above my professional ability to do 
my job? Because if it is, then you're wrong.  
I just think that there's more to this than 
meets the eye, but as usual, you're so 
willing to believe that you're not looking 
for reasons to question the facts.  Believe 
me, Mulder, I want to believe her too, but 
it all just seems a little bit too 
convenient for it to be real. I can't 
rationalise why it feels so wrong, it just 
does." 

Mulder opened his mouth to respond, but was 
cut off by the sudden high pitched trilling 
of his cellular phone, a sound which cut 
through his pounding head like a hammer.  He 
snatched up the phone and pressed the talk 
button, more to silence it than anything 
else. 

"Mulder?" 

The voice at the other end was instantly 
recognisable, and sounded, Mulder noted, 
extremely pissed off. 

"Mulder, it's John.  Where the hell are 
you?" 

Mulder coughed guiltily before answering.   

In all the confusion, he hadn't given his 
old FBI buddy a second thought, and with it 
came the knowledge that he had made a 
tremendous error of protocol in keeping the 
senior Agent out of the loop.   

"Um, Scully and I switched motels..." 

"So I gathered.  I've been trying to reach 
you all day." Wickham's tone was hard and 
uncompromising, a far cry from the welcoming 
tones he had used earlier.   

Mulder knew what was coming next, and 
instinctively he glanced at Scully who 
frowned questioningly at him. 

"I've got the Attorney general breathing 
down my neck, asking me questions that I 
can't answer." 

"Questions?" 

"Yeah.  Like why the two Agents I brought 
down from D.C. to assist on this case took 
it upon themselves to illegally remove a key 
suspect in a Federal crime from the care of 
the state." 

Mulder snorted. 

"Care of the State? That place was a 
disgrace and you know it.  Anyway, what are 
you talking about "suspect in a Federal 
crime"? Since when?" 

"Since a witness came forward with crucial 
information regarding the afternoon the 
child was taken.  It seems Mrs. Stevens 
wasn't quite the devoted mother she made 
herself out to be, and I now have evidence 
which sites a history of abuse dating back 
to 1997." 

"I refuse to believe that," Mulder argued.  
"I've seen this woman, spoken to her; Agent 
Scully has spoken to her.   She's guilty of 
nothing more than trying to protect her 
daughter, and whoever is making these 
allegations against her is doing it as 
another way to ensure her story never gets 
out." 

"Look, Mulder.  I don't care what you 
believe right now.  What I'm telling you is 
that I can't protect you for much longer.  
I've got my butt in a sling for you already, 
but I'm not prepared to put myself on the 
line for you, for Scully and especially not 
for some woman who's living in some crazy 
fantasy as a way to live with what she's 
done.  I want her back here.  Right now.  
Tonight.  Do you hear me?" 

Mulder rubbed his hand wearily over his 
eyes. 

"I can't," he said softly.  "I'm sorry, 
John, but you don't understand what's at 
stake here." 

"Then explain it to me, Fox, explain it to 
me so I can explain it to *them*." 

Mulder didn't immediately respond, and 
Wickham's voice rose exasperatedly. 

"Look, Buddy, I want to help you.  Hell, I 
was the one who brought you on the case.   
But, Jesus Man, you have to give me something 
to work with here.  Tell me where you are at 
least so we can talk about it, figure out 
what to do, because if what you say is 
right, then you're gonna need all the help 
you can get." 

"OK." Mulder waved his hand vaguely in the 
air, and did his best to avoid his partner's 
eye, knowing that she wouldn't approve of 
him involving another party in this, and 
remembering her unspoken warning from 
earlier in the day, attempted to compromise. 

"But not here.  I'll come over to you, 
because believe me, I've dealt with these 
people before and it's in your best 
interests that you don't know where to find 
us right now.  Is there somewhere we can 
meet?" Mulder grabbed a pen from the table, 
and on the back of a discarded drinks 
coaster, scrawled down the address that his 
old friend offered him. 

"OK.  I got that. I'll be there in an hour." 
He glanced at Scully.  "No.  I'll be alone. 
. . all right, I'll see you in a while." 

He pressed the "end" button and threw the 
phone on to the bed, finally meeting 
Scully's eye. 

"Did you get all that?" 

"Most of it.  I gather he's not too 
pleased." 

"Yeah well, that's understating the point.   
I think understandably pissed sums it up 
pretty well.  I need to explain some things 
to him before this whole thing gets out of 
hand." 

"Do you trust him?" Scully asked.   

Mulder sighed, "Do I have any reason not 
to?" 

"Mulder, you heard what Mrs. Stevens said.   
What if there's a connection to the FBI? 
What if the badge she saw was genuine? Look, 
I know that you and John go back a long way, 
but supposing we're being played.  It's 
happened before." 

Mulder laughed. 

"And you really think that this is all some 
elaborate ruse to get us down here?  That's 
a bit of a leap don't you think?  And what 
purpose would it serve?" 

Scully fought to keep her voice level. 

"I don't know.  I just have a bad feeling 
about you going down there." 

Mulder put a hand on her shoulder. 

"I have to go, Scully.  Because if I don't 
the consequences of what we're doing will 
rain down hard on us, you know that, and 
quite apart from that, I owe him enough not 
to let him take a fall because of me, 
because of us." 

Scully fixed her china blue eyes on him. 

"Then let me go with you." 

"No.  I need you here with Mrs. Stevens."  

Mulder reached for his jacket and painfully 
eased his aching arms through the sleeves, 
wincing as he did so.   

Scully shook her head, as she watched him. 
"Look at yourself, Mulder.  You shouldn't be 
going anywhere.  Quite apart from the fact 
that you look half dead, it's not safe for 
you to be driving feeling the way you are." 

Mulder picked up his phone and attempted a 
grin which didn't quite come off. "I'll call 
a cab." Then, seeing the expression on his 
partner's face he sobered slightly. 

"Look.  I'll call you the minute I get 
there, and the minute I get back.  I'll be 
fine, Scully, really.  Get some sleep, OK?  
You look like you could use it, and tomorrow 
we'll figure out what we're going to do.  I 
promise.  But right now I have to do this." 

Scully shrugged, knowing that he would go 
his own way no matter what argument she 
brokered, but at the same time unable to let 
go of the inexplicable feeling of dread 
which gripped her, twisting her insides like 
a vice as she looked at him.   She couldn't 
find the right words to express what she 
wanted to say, and so settled on the next 
best thing. 

"Here.  You might need these later." 

She reached in to her pocket and threw him a 
bottle of Tylenol.  Mulder grinned again as 
he palmed them effortlessly. 

"I'll see you later, Okay?" 

She didn't answer him immediately, but as 
Mulder reached the outside door, her voice 
turned him around again, and for just a 
second, he saw a mirror image of his own 
emotions flitter across her face, reflecting 
in her eyes, telling him without words, 
everything he needed to know. 

"Mulder, wait . . .drive carefully, and 
call me, alright?" 

Mulder waved his phone at her, and smiled 
reassuringly. 

"I promise." 

Scully stood, for a long while after the 
door had swung shut and she had heard 
Mulder's car pull out of the forecourt, 
staring at the space he had just occupied.   
Eventually she pulled herself together, and 
returned to her own room, checking briefly 
on Christine Stevens who was once again 
deeply asleep on the bed.  Scully sighed, 
and covered the sleeping woman with a 
blanket, knowing that she herself would not 
sleep until Mulder was safely back.  
Wearily, she lowered herself in to a chair, 
suspecting already that it was going to be 
another long night. 

*********** 

Many miles away, in a motel room very 
similar in design to the one Mulder had just 
left, someone else was settling himself in 
for a long night.   

The voice recording equipment which 
surrounded him spooled satisfyingly, 
recording the almost imperceptible sounds of 
a car's engine, and the changing of gears as 
it was driven to it's destination.   To the 
left of the man sat a small color monitor, 
which to an untrained eye displayed nothing 
more than a series of grids which pulsated 
with every beat, but which to him gave him 
all the information he would need to execute 
his plan.   

A smile crossed his face, as he watched and 
listened as Mulder drove towards San Diego, 
chuckling at the irony as he had plainly 
recognised the concern which Scully had 
shown toward her partner, not realising that 
she would have been better served by turning 
her concern on herself.   

The man picked up the motel room phone, and 
punched out a number from memory.  The line 
rang for only an instant before it was 
picked up.  There was no welcome greeting on 
the other end - there didn't need to be.  
Similarly, he wasted no time on niceties. 

"Mulder's on the move.  He's left Scully at 
the motel.  I'm ready to proceed when you 
say the word." 

A slow smile spread across the man's face as 
he listened to his orders. 

"Yes, sir.  I understand." He replaced the 
phone in it's cradle and stretched 
luxuriously, savouring the feeling that 
finally, Mulder was going to get exactly 
what was coming to him, and no one, not even 
Mulder himself, would be able to connect it 
to him.   

He shoved the semi-automatic pistol in to 
his belt holster and realised that suddenly, 
the night didn't seem so long after all. 

Continued chapter 8/30

Genesis 8/30 

Oxford Park, San Diego.  1:56a.m. 

Wearily, Mulder drew the rental car to a 
halt, and squinted through the darkness at 
the crumpled piece of paper he held in his 
hand.   

He had taken several wrong turns during his 
journey, a combination of both his 
unfamiliarity with the local area, and his 
throbbing head, but as he now scrutinised 
the large apartment building in front of 
him, he was pretty sure that at last he'd 
made it. 

The building was old but well cared for, and 
as Mulder stepped in to the lobby, the plush 
decoration indicated that this was 
definitely the kind of fashionable abode 
that an up and coming young FBI Agent, such 
as Wickham, would feel was both necessary 
and deserved.   

Mulder thought of his own cramped, middle 
income apartment, and smiled ruefully.  He 
doubted whether he would ever make the grade 
where he could expect to live somewhere such 
as this, or even that he would want to.   

Material possessions meant little to him, 
status even less, although there had been a 
time long ago when he had enjoyed the same 
fast track existence that Wickham bore the 
fruits of.  Somewhere along the way though 
Mulder had lost his footing, and he doubted 
whether he would ever climb back up, he had 
made too many enemies, upset too many people 
along the way - he was, as he had once told 
Scully, a lousy Bureau dancer - and he had 
long ago stopped trying to improve his 
footwork.   

He had accepted the sacrifices his work 
brought about as completely as he accepted 
the ridicule.  It was something he no longer 
even questioned, even to himself. 

Mulder once again checked the slip of paper 
he held in his hand.  According to Wickham's 
instructions, his apartment was located on 
the fifth floor, and Mulder let his eyes 
wander around the lobby until he sought what 
he was looking for.  He passed the door that 
led to the stairway, recognising that 
trawling up five flights, feeling the way he 
did, would just about finish him off, and 
instead made for the highly polished brass 
doors of the elevator.  His heart sank as he 
got closer. 

"Great." He muttered to himself as he read 
the professionally printed sign which was 
tacked to the left of the sliding door - no 
tacky magic marker in this building - and 
did an about turn back towards the 
stairwell.   

It was ironic he decided, that in the seven 
years he had lived in his own slightly down 
market apartment, the elevators at least, 
had never let him down, but here in this 
monument to gracious living, he was forced 
to let his legs take him where he needed to 
go.   

So much for progress he decided sourly as he 
wrenched open the door.   

The stairs where at least brightly lit and 
spacious, the wrought iron balustrade 
extending upwards in a snaking twist of 
metal, but as Mulder craned his neck 
upwards, the walls began to tilt alarmingly, 
and he was forced to grab the railing to 
steady himself.  He closed his eyes briefly, 
and took some deep breaths, waiting until 
his head cleared sufficiently for him to 
move, and then slowly, each step laboured, 
his breath coming in shorter and shorter 
gasps, he began his climb to the fifth 
floor. 

Despite his attempts to pace himself, Mulder 
was forced to stop several times to regain 
his breath, and once to drop his head down 
as a sickening wave of dizziness threatened 
to topple him backwards down the stairs.  He 
was beginning to realise that in spite of 
his assurances to Scully, he was in no fit 
state to be out of bed, let alone exerting 
himself like this.  It was also a measure of 
how bad he was feeling that the climb was 
taking such a heavy toll on him.  Normally 
he would have sprinted up the stairs two at 
a time without even breaking a sweat, a 
level of fitness derived from a daily seven 
mile jog and regular laps of the FBI pool.  

But the virus in his system together with a 
lack of both sleep and food, had left him 
feeling drained and used up. He wondered if 
this was what it felt like to be old, 
battling to scale even the smallest hurdle 
when all the time your body was screaming at 
you to just lie down and say "No more".   It 
was a feeling that he could relate to at the 
present time. 

Eventually though, he reached his 
destination, and after taking a minute to 
compose himself, he knocked softly on 
Wickham's door.  It opened almost 
immediately, suggesting to Mulder that his 
arrival was not before time.   

He held his hands up as Wickham ushered him 
inside. "I know.  I'm sorry, I took a couple 
of wrong turns." 

He shrugged off his jacket, and without 
waiting to be invited, sank heavily in to 
nearest chair.  He was acutely conscious of 
the sweat which beaded his skin, and even 
more so of his old friend's piercing stare.   

He began to squirm uncomfortably, knowing 
what was coming, expecting at the least an 
angry rebuke for keeping his superior in the 
dark.  Wickham's words, though, when they 
finally came succeeded in throwing him 
significantly off balance, as did the 
concern behind them. 

"Jesus Man, you look terrible.  Are you OK?" 

Mulder grinned crookedly. "I'd have felt a 
whole lot better if the elevator in this 
damn place was working."  

He passed a hand over his throbbing temples. 
"It's a case of the flu, that's all.   Like 
I keep telling Scully, I look worse than I 
feel." 

"I sure hope so, Fox, 'cuz you look like 
you've just been run down by a truck." 

Wickham held up the glass he held in his 
hand, the amber liquid it contained shining 
golden in the subdued lighting. "You want 
one of these? Medicinal purposes?" 

Mulder considered the offer.  It was 
certainly tempting, but on reflection, he 
decided against it.  He was having a hard 
enough time driving as it was without adding 
alcohol to the equation.  

Wickham however was never a man to give up 
without a fight. "C'mon, just a small one.  
You look like you need it." 

"All right." Mulder conceded.   

He had neither the time nor the inclination 
to protest.  He just wanted to get this over 
with and get back to Scully so he could 
finally crawl back in to bed and block out 
the misery his aching body was putting him 
through. 

He watched as Wickham poured the scotch in 
to a second crystal tumbler, and held up his 
hand as the level continued to rise. "Hey, a 
small one you said." 

He accepted the proffered glass and took a 
small sip, gratified by the way the liquid 
warmed his aching throat, the warmth 
settling deep inside him like a salve, and 
thought back to the last drink he had had.   
Was it really less than two days ago? How 
had he managed to go from feeling relatively 
OK to feeling like this in only two days? 
For someone who was never sick, he was sure 
making up for lost time.   

He dragged himself back to the here and now 
though as he realised Wickham was speaking. 

"...harbouring a suspect in a Federal 
crime isn't going to reflect too well on 
your record, and the fact I brought you out 
doesn't sit very well on mine either." 

Mulder held up his hand defensively.  He had 
not need to hear Wickham's opening dialogue 
to catch the gist. "I hear what you're 
saying John, believe me, I've run in to 
enough hard assed protocol to last me a 
lifetime, but you have to understand that 
there are reasons behind our actions that go 
much deeper than simple Bureau procedures." 

"OK.  So explain it to me.....and Mulder, 
keep it simple, no little green men with ray 
guns.  Just the facts." 

Mulder sighed. "I'm afraid you'll find that 
the two tend to go hand in hand, only the 
little green men can seem more believable 
than the facts sometimes.  I'll tell you 
what you need to know, but you need to be 
prepared to listen, without question to what 
I'm saying." 

"You mean "open myself up to extreme 
possibility"? That is the term you'd use 
right?" 

"Yeah," Mulder smiled ruefully, "That's the 
term I'd use." 

He took another sip of the scotch, and sat 
back, dragging his mind back to find a place 
to start.  So much had happened over the 
last five years, and it was difficult to 
pull all the strands together.  When exactly 
had events been put in to play which 
resulted in him sitting here now?  

His partnership with Scully? His opening of 
the X-Files? His partner's abduction?  

So many events and so many implications to 
all those involved meant that Mulder now 
found it almost impossible to come up with 
the kind of narrative which would describe 
the gravity of the situation.  His headache 
didn't make his task any easier.  Finally 
though, he settled on a place to start, 
beginning a diatribe that he knew would 
sound crazy to his long time friend, but one 
which he had to make him believe if he ever 
stood a chance of discovering the truth, 
knowing that he needed to be able to count 
on his allegiance and his help in protecting 
Christine Stevens. 

Wickham remained silent as he listened 
impassively to Mulder.  He showed no 
reaction other than the occasional raised 
eye brow as Mulder spoke of Scully's 
abduction, his Sister's disappearance, the 
tests, the implants, the lies, the discovery 
of a secret Government project, the purpose 
of which was still unknown.   

He spoke almost without pausing, eyes far 
away as he relived the horror and the loss 
his quest had brought about, and he didn't 
really notice when Wickham leaned forward 
and refilled the glass that he held loosely 
in his hand.   

He had continued to take regular sips of the 
drink, more to ease his aching throat than 
from any great need for the alcohol it 
contained, and he was suddenly conscious 
that his words were becoming slightly 
slurred.   

He stopped mid-sentence and frowned.  He 
felt fuzzy and disorientated, almost drunk, 
and yet he knew that to be so would be 
impossible.   

The glass remained half full, and Mulder, 
although not a regular drinker, had the kind 
of constitution that could handle six or 
seven such shots without it affecting him in 
this way.  He tried to lift his hand, but he 
found he could do little more than twitch it 
slightly and this frightened him more than 
anything.  It was as though he was 
paralysed, caught underneath a great weight 
which held him down, rendering him helpless, 
an all encompassing numbness spreading 
through his body.   

The tumbler slipped unnoticed from his 
fingers, and landed with a dull thud on to 
the carpet below. 

"Hey, Fox?....you OK?" the voice seemed to 
come from far away, and then Wickham's face 
loomed in to view.   

Mulder struggled against the wave of 
dizziness that threatened to overcome him, 
and fought to catch his breath.  His chest 
felt tight, as though an invisible fist were 
pressing down on it.  He was aware of a 
strange whistling sound in his ears, and it 
took him a few seconds to recognise that the 
sound was actually emanating from him as he 
struggled to breathe.  He could feel his 
chest rattling with the effort, cold sweat 
breaking out on his face, a result of his 
exertions. 

"I...I don't feel so good..." He finally 
managed in a strangled whisper.   

He closed his eyes as he felt Wickham press 
an index finger to his neck, just below the 
jawbone, already knowing that his pulse 
would be racing.  He could hear the pounding 
of his heart inside of his head, the sound 
blocking out almost everything else, but 
Wickham's voice somehow broke through the 
barrier, concern all too evident in his 
words. 

"Fox, open your eyes man..." 

Mulder heard the words but did not respond.  
Exhaustion enveloped him like a wave, and 
the temptation to slip in to the darkness 
overrode all other thoughts, and then 
through the pain, and the fear, and the 
nothingness, a picture formed in his 
confused mind, a picture of his partner, her 
face standing out sharply against the 
blackness.   

He struggled to open his eyes, the lids 
feeling like lead weights, and as he slowly 
focused, he was conscious of Wickham's face 
hovering above him, and he realised that he 
was no longer in the chair, but flat on his 
back, staring up at the ceiling.  He didn't 
remember how he'd gotten there, and it 
didn't seem important. 

"Jesus Buddy, don't do that to me.  I 
thought for a minute you were dead..." He 
broke off as Mulder, summoning up every last 
reserve of strength he had left, raised his 
hand and clutched at his friends arm, his 
fingers grasping the air until they finally 
gained purchase. 

"Scully..." he whispered hoarsely. 

Wickham shook his head. "It's OK.  Just take 
it easy, don't try to talk, there's an 
ambulance on the way, they're gonna take 
care of you...." 

The pressure increased as Mulder fought to 
stay conscious long enough to say what he 
had to, even now concern for his partner at 
the forefront of his mind. "You 
have...you have to get to 
her...protect her..." 

His hand fell away then as he lost the 
battle, hearing a buzzing in his head that 
seemed to emanate from his every fibre, 
overwhelming him with a sickening dizziness.  
He shut his eyes as the room began to spin, 
tilting crazily as the world angled away 
from him, hearing the sound of a siren 
wailing in the distance, hearing it getting 
closer and closer, until even that ceased to 
make any impact on him as everything went 
black. 

Continued chapter 9/30