From: "Katherine Adams" Date: Fri, 22 Mar 2002 16:35:21 +0000 Subject: Starkweather: Introitus Source: direct Title: Starkweather: Introitus Author: Scully3776 Email: Scully3776@aol.com Rating: PG-13 CATEGORY: XRH KEYWORDS: Original Character, MSR, LGM, Mytharc Spoilers: S1-8 Fair game Summary: There's a new agent on the x-files division. Is she an x-file herself? Disclaimer: Any characters and story lines associated with the FOX television Series The X- Files is the property of Mr. Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. The characters of Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather, Benjamin Starkweather and Admiral Bailey, which have been created and copy- write, protected by me. So there. NYAH :P Prologue- To the rest of the world, destined to be deceived, it looked like a van from a popular housekeeping service in Washington D.C. In fact, two women did depart from the van; clutching cleaning caddies and work orders to tidy up a recently vacated apartment. A minor detail in a typical Monday morning. However, the average adult human being, consumed with their own affairs, invariably sweating over small petty details, forget to step back to see how those details fit into the proverbial big picture. Passerbys saw the van in front of the apartment complex, they saw the two women in housekeeping uniforms go inside of the apartment complex, but did they see the two men that stayed inside of the van? And if they did, did they care? Or are they more concerned about the bus they're going to miss, the bad haircut they received yesterday, the breakfast they skipped because they had overslept? Mysterious forces, here in our nation's capital, count on these day-to-day details to work as a constant distraction, so their work can be continued. No one noticed the two men inside the housekeeping van, watching the apartment complex across the street. They had been waiting since four in the morning, Their wait had been paid off; she was an early riser. "There she is," one man said to his partner at roughly a quarter to seven. His partner peered through the tinted glass to see a young woman descend the steps of her apartment complex, clutching a black briefcase in her right hand, a large make-up bag tucked under her right arm, checking her watch on her left hand. She walked briskly to her car, a boring practical looking white four-door Dodge. Digging her keys out of the pocket of her well-worn leather jacket, she unlocked her car door and tossed her briefcase and make-up bag into the passenger seat before she got in. But she did not leave right away. "What is she doing?" the second man demanded. "She's putting her makeup." The first man replied to his partner. "Putting on or touching up?" He was stickler for details. "Putting on." The second man grunted and got into the driver's seat. Finally, the woman finished her primping and started her car. Completely unaware of the van behind her, just a minor detail in a typical Monday morning, the woman maneuvered expertly through the horrendous DC rush hour traffic. Twenty-five minutes later, she found a parking garage, deposited her car and started walking. The van was parked kitty-corner from the building she needed to go to. The men watched her walking closer to them. She was not gifted with a beauty to stun Hollywood, but she possessed an everyday prettiness that charmed most people. Perhaps, by just looking at her, the only extraordinary feature she owned was her extremely youthful face, almost teenagerish youthful. She was young, one of the youngest in her field actually, but a teenager she was not. She was old enough to have spent six years in the military as a medic before going to medical school. She was old enough to enter the FBI Academy after medical school. She was old enough to have spent a year at the Minneapolis Field Office before being transferred to Washington D.C. She was definitely a fed; her dark suit and sunglasses gave that away immediately. So why did she walk past the J. Edgar Hoover Building inside of going inside? "She'll be back," the second man said over his shoulder to the first man. "You think so?" "Sure," the second man settled himself comfortably into the driver's seat. "It's her first day, she's early, she's probably nervous. She's probably going to take a stroll around the block. She'll be back," he said confidently. Fifteen minutes later, he pointed the woman out to his partner as she rounded the block. This time, she went straight to the entrance of the J. Edgar Hoover Building... Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather paused in front of the big glass doors, clutching her briefcase tightly. She looked up, up at the top of the building, up at towards the sky, towards heaven. She took a big breath. She was still going to be obnoxiously earlier for her meeting with her new supervisor. She was annoyed with herself for being so nervous, the last time she felt butterfly-in-the-stomach nervous was her wedding day, two and a half years ago. "Come on, girl" Starkweather said to her reflection in the glass doors. "Get it together." She pushed the doors in, but that action did not dispel the agitation rushing through every fiber of her being. She was nervous and had every right to be. She didn't know if she was going to like her new boss, Assistant Director Walter Skinner. She didn't know if she would like working in the X- File Division... whatever the hell THAT was..... J. Edgar Hoover Building Assistant Director Walter Skinner's Office 7:50 AM Assistant Director Walter Skinner sat at his desk, sipping coffee, looking over the history of his newest agent. He wasn't truly reading however, his mind drifted to more current worries. Mandatory retirement was looming in his future. He only had two years left before the FBI would require his resignation. He didn't even feel that old, but he was. It was the rules. Skinner, unless under extreme circumstances, was a man who played by the rules. So, that left him only two years to secure the future of the X-Files. Skinner knew the minute he was out the door; Deputy Director Kersh was going to use every bit of clout he possessed to shut the X-Files down, forever. Skinner had made a promise to a friend that he would never allow that. But he only had two years to keep that promise. The last few months had been sheer nightmare for all involved with the X-Files. Someone had opened the floodgates to the keepers of the paranormal. More and more cases were being assigned as X-Files. Many, like in the past, were hoaxes. But more and more were authentic. More and more evidence proving Special Agent Fox Mulder's extraterristal conspiracy was being compiled in the infamous basement office. But there was the crux of the problem; the cornerstones of the X-Files were missing. Mulder was gone. Scully was still technically out on maternity leave with her brand new child. Special Agent Monica Reyes, who had assisted Scully and Doggett with the Mulder abduction case had been temporarily assigned to work with Doggett while Scully was on leave, but only a few days later, while helping a friend paint his house, had slipped off a ladder and broke her tailbone plus her leg, rendering her essentially useless. Which left Doggett. Alone, totally overwhelmed, completely swamped by file after thick file, Doggett had stormed into Skinner's office and demanded help. "I'm dyin' down there," he had said, his steely blue eyes flashing with rage. "I don't know what's going on," he had gone on with that Southern drawl that completely contrasted with his harden street smart no bullshit personality. "But something's out there is got more and more folks scared out there and I can't take this caseload on by myself." Skinner had made a phone call to Scully and begged her to come back early, as a part-time consulting status. Reluctantly, she had agreed, but only after hearing about the sudden and inexplicable deluge of X-File cases. Unfortunately, even with Scully's partial help, it was not enough. They needed another agent. So after arguing with the budget committees, Skinner finally got permission to create a new position in the X-Files Division. And the recruiting response he received was zero. The rest of the world was becoming more aware and more frightened, but the Bureau still treated the Files like a joke. Then, three weeks ago, the Minneapolis Field Office produced a miracle. "I got a candidate for you," the head of the Minneapolis Field Office had said to Skinner. "I'm faxing her credentials now, well the bare bones of 'em anyway." Skinner had ripped the fax out of the machine impatiently. Her credentials had seemed too good to be true. Graduated high school at the age of sixteen, completed two years of general undergraduate study before enlisting in the Air Force. Trained as a medic, did exceptionally well. Completed her Bachelor of Science AND Pre-Med studies while in the service. Stayed in for six years before transferring into the Air National Guard while she completed medical school. Top quarter of her class. Went straight to Quantico after medical school Skinner had thought. Was in the top ten of her class. All of her references had used either the words "brilliant" or "exceptional intellect" when describing her. Her specialty was forensics, but had displayed a talent for psychological profiling as well. "Are you sure you want to lose her?" Skinner had asked the Minneapolis Field Office's head. "You don't want to keep someone like this in your offices?" "God, no," he had groaned. "She's a pain in the ass." Skinner had grimaced. It WAS too good to be true. He was receiving a troublemaker. But he really didn't have a choice anymore. Doggett and Scully were preparing to rip his head from his body with their teeth if he didn't get more help so he approved Special Agent Jerilyn Starkweather's transfer from Minneapolis to Washington DC. Skinner checked the time. Eight o'clock on the dot. He told his newest agent to meet with him at this time, more of a welcome briefing than anything else. Skinner closed Starkweather's file, took one last sip of cold coffee, put on his suit jacket on and stepped outside. His ever faithful, long suffering secretary, greeting him with a smile, said "Agent Starkweather is here to see you, sir." Muttering a gruff thank you, he stepped out into the hallway where Starkweather was sitting. "Agent Starkweather?" he said in his customarily crabby tone. She turned her head towards him, smiled politely and stood up, extending her hand. "Yes, you must be Assistant Director Skinner, it's nice to meet you in person." Skinner made the "welcome to Washington DC" speech to her completely on autopilot. He was taken completely aback by her girlish appearance. Yes, he had been expecting a woman younger than Scully but she looked like a teenager masquerading in her mother's dress suits. Her hair, long and straight, was pulled away from her face in a severe ponytail. Her makeup was minimal. Her eyes were as wide and staring as a lonely child's. Her sunglasses were resting ontop of her head. Her hands clutched her briefcase. A diamond solitaire glittered on her left ring finger. "Are you and your husband settled in?" Skinner asked her as they began walking towards the elevators. Starkweather nodded. "We're almost finished with the unpacking sir," she said. "Ben's parents are flying in today with the things we had to leave behind." "And what does Ben do?" Skinner hated small talk but he wanted to dig a little more into this girlish enigma that Minneapolis had sent him. "He just passed the law bar, sir," Starkweather replied politely. "He'll be looking for a good law firm to join." "Ah," Skinner said, reaching the elevator. They stopped at the doors. Skinner did not hit any buttons and neither did she. "Agent Starkweather," he asked. "Did your former supervisor brief you on the nature of work that you will be doing here when they offered you this transfer?" Starkweather seemed to stare ahead at the metal doors. She glanced shyly at Skinner. "Well," she said, paused, then continued. "I was told, with my lack of experience, as I only graduated from the Academy a year ago, that this transfer would be an excellent advancement opportunity in the Bureau for me because my eventual goal to be an instructor at Quantico. As far as the nature of the work... I was told that it would be interesting... cases that are left unsolved due to unusual circumstances." She looked away from Skinner, the faraway look in her huge eyes growing even further away. Skinner gritted his teeth. he seethed to himself. He decided that Starkweather must be a victim of the "Boys Only Club". Somebody, probably the very head of the office himself, the one that called her a "pain in the ass", was threatened by not just her degrees and decorations but possibly her gender. Taking advantage of her inexperience of Bureau politics, they fed her a bunch of misinformation and shipped her off the first chance they got. "Do you know anything else about the nature of the X-Files?" Skinner asked again, not expecting much. Starkweather still had that thoughtful, faraway look in her childlike eyes. "Well... it was considered a joke at first, a hopeless and laughable crusade headquarted in a dirty FBI basement. The joke of course was the nature of the cases; from vampirism to Feejee mermaids to talking tattoos to Internet hacking to mind control, and finally to the infamous little green men colonization theory. "However, in the last few months, it has gained notoriety due to a recent onslaught of global events that have some prominent scientists and law enforcement agencies labeling them 'supernatural' or 'paranormal.' In our country, these events, provided that they have some criminal connection that threatens national security, has been sloughed off to the X-Files Division, headed by Special Agent Dana Scully. Who I believe is on maternity leave. And Special Agent John Doggett, designated head of the Division until, if rumors are to be believed, naturally, in the wake of your eminent retirement in two years' time, will be then promoted to Assistant Director." She stopped, took a breath and turned to look at Skinner again. The dreamy, faraway look in her eyes had disappeared, replaced by a ferocious, almost feral intelligence. Again, Skinner felt unsettled. Maybe she wasn't a "Boys' Only Club" victim after all. Maybe she took advantage of them instead, hiding her considerable intellect behind that sweet bland baby's face. Until she got what she wanted and the gloves, along with the innocent girlish mask, came off. But she had definitely done her homework. She almost knew what she was getting into. In her little dissertation, however, Skinner had noticed that one very principal name had been omitted, perhaps deliberately so. "And tell me about the..." he searched for the correct title, "founder ( Skinner rationalized) of the X-Files, Special Agent Fox Mulder?" Her eyes, still brilliant with the powers of her minds still glittering, ( Skinner thought) fixated on her new boss. She said, "Fox Mulder... would he or she be any relation to Deputy Mayor F. William Mulder?" The question was posed innocently enough, but Skinner felt as if he was just checkmated in a clever move. Mulder, naturally after his resurrection, if you will, was re-instated to the FBI, just in time for Scully's departure to have her baby. His return to the Bureau was not as smooth as Skinner assumed it would be. First of all, Mulder hated Doggett on sight, which made the work situation intolerable, especially for Scully, torn between her devotion to her old partner and her friendship for her new one. Worsening matters was the general attitude of other agents towards him. Instead of hailing his return as the miracle that it was, they treated him like a monster, a freak. People in the Bureau would purposely cross to the other side of hall, duck into the first available office, suddenly decide to get out of the elevator on whatever floor they happened to be on, just because Mulder was there. No one bothered to even make polite talk to him anymore. Mulder summed up the chilly reception to Skinner one day as he happened into the cafeteria and noticed Mulder sitting dismally alone, his table surrounded by four empty tables while other agents and federal employees squished together around the small tables, away from him. "I feel like the kid picked last kickball," Mulder had whined when Skinner approached him and asked how he was doing. No one respected his professional opinion anymore either. Briefly, Mulder had been temporarily assigned to a case that had nothing to do with the X-Files, but desperately needed his expertise as a profiler. During one meeting, when Mulder volunteered, for once, a perfectly sound and logical theory, the head of the investigation not only blatantly ignored him, but got on the phone with Kersh the minute Mulder left the room and begged him to personally remove Mulder from the case. And no one, not even Scully, could deny his deteriorating health. Doggett and Mulder worked grudgingly together when Scully announced her six- month leave of absence. Doggett was the first to notice how quickly he tired, how sometimes he had to stop to catch his breath. Soon, it became a pattern without fail. Mulder would work a case, tire himself out and become sick. Bronchitis. Walking pneumonia. Mononucleosis. Strep throat. Influenza. Several times, he wound up in the hospital. High fever. Dehydration. Scully theorized it was possible that who or whatever had him during his disappearance experimented with his immune system. "So, what?" Skinner had asked. "Does he not have an immune system anymore? Is it like AIDS?" "No," Scully had mused over the phone, holding her little one. "No, he still has an immune system, but he's susceptible to everything. It's almost as if his immunity is starting over... that... if you will sir, that whatever had him, had wiped out the memory of his white blood cells so that every disease he catches, is like the first time he's ever had it..." Kersh, gleefully taking advantage of Mulder's constant sickness, required him to complete a standard FBI physical fitness exam, which Mulder failed miserably. He was out. Not completely, however. Skinner was able to call in on some favors to change Mulder's expulsion to leave of absence until further notice, available for consultation. Until he stopped catching every little germ under the sun, however, he could never be reinstated full time again. So Mulder disappeared from the scene a bit. Scully knew how to reach him, which was all that mattered. Then, just a few weeks ago, it reached Skinner's ears that Mulder had been working at City Hall, that he had done such a good job, they promoted him to Deputy Mayor. Ironically, the absence was created because the previous D.M. wanted to become a stay-at-home mother. Mulder didn't broadcast his FBI past, but he didn't shy away from it when it was brought up. The joke known as Spooky at the Bureau was suddenly a quiet, respectable pillar of the community. "Bullshit," Skinner had said to Scully. "What's he up to?" but Scully had just smiled. So now Skinner's newest agent not only got an 'A' for doing her homework, she got a row of gold stars for extra credit. "You know they're the same person, Agent Starkweather," he snapped to her. Starkweather shrugged. "Mulder is a touchy subject here, sir. You'll have to forgive me if I..." She paused, considering the right word to use, "am careful with what I say concerning him." "Fair enough," Skinner said. "Well," he cleared his throat and pushed the basement button on the elevator. "I can show you to your new office." "It's still in the basement," the barest trace of amusement audible in her voice. "Yes," Skinner said. "But we've remodeled. It's bigger now. Knocked out some walls. We have a desk for you." "How exciting," Starkweather demurred. "Well, sir," she held out her hand again as the elevator doors opened. "I don't want to keep you, I'm sure you're busy. I'll find my own way." She stepped inside. Something about her final statement unnerved Skinner, as if he hadn't been shaken up by his new agent from the moment he met her. As the doors were about to slam shut, Skinner grabbed the door, re- opening them. "Agent Starkweather." "Yes sir?" "Once you get off this elevator and go into that office and see what Mulder, Scully, Doggett and myself have seen... there is no turning back." She stared right back at him, a half-smile tugging at her lips. "I know, sir." Skinner stepped back, letting the doors slam shut. J. Edgar Hoover Building The X-Files Office 8:37 AM Doggett was perusing the file Scully just shoved under his nose as she brewed a fresh pot of coffee. One of the perks of the newly refurbished office was there was finally enough electrical outlets for everything. Doggett lifted his head at a familiar sound, but one unusual to be heard down here in "the cellar" as Doggett called it. The click of high heels. Scully, for the time being anyway, had stopped wearing her heels since the baby, complaining about swollen feet. "Sounds like she's here," Doggett commented. "About time too," Scully smiled and settled into her desk, still secretly thrilled that she had her own desk. "I would like to get back to maternity leave, or what's left of it." "Hello?" Doggett and Scully looked up, looked at each other and looked again at the young girl. "Can we help you?" Doggett asked politely. "Are you Agents Doggett and Scully?" the young girl asked them. "Yes," Scully said hesitantly. "My name is Jerilyn Starkweather, I've been transferred here to you from Minneapolis." She made no move to enter the room, just stood there patiently, still clutching her briefcase. "Oh!" Feeling like a horse's ass, Doggett got up to go shake Starkweather's hand. "Come in, come in, sorry, we just didn't expect you-" "To be so young?" She commented dryly, but a ghost of a smile haunted her lips. "To be so early," Doggett amended, flustered. "Well, here's headquarters for us. It's not great, but it's not so bad once you get used to it. We got a desk for you, it's not really that impressive but we're not in the office very much." Scully hid a smile as she sipped her herbal tea. Doggett looked like he had caught a very bad case of a schoolboy crush. And well, why wouldn't he? Scully reasoned as Doggett lead Starkweather to her desk. She was pretty, not a heartbreaker but fresh- faced and sweet looking. Scully sighed to herself, noticing the flash of diamond on her left third finger. Meanwhile, Starkweather's eyes flicked about like an inquisitive feline, noting the overflowing file cabinets and crates, jammed full of files and more files. The maps hanging on every available space of wall. A slide projector, sitting covered with dust in the corner. Next to it, a TV and VCR on a cart. Doggett's desk, plain and austere. Mountains of files neatly stacked up in the "IN" box. Nothing in the "OUT" box. His computer was off at the moment. No decorations except for a small framed picture of a little boy. Scully's desk, anally tidy, but next to her computer, which was always on, was a small cluster of framed photographs. Starkweather's desk was right next to Scully's so when she sat down, she could see very clearly that one photograph was of her entire family when she was little, dad, mom, sister and two brothers. Another photograph was of a beautiful red-headed woman, looking like Scully, but not Scully Starkweather wondered. Another picture was of a cute little mutt. Another photo was of a precious redheaded little girl. At least four or five others were of her new baby. The last was quite possibly the only candid photograph of Mulder in existence. He was taking the baby, who was wearing an elaborate christening gown, from Scully's arms. Both were smiling, a rarity. Neither Scully or Mulder looked aware that someone was taking their picture. Finally, Mulder's desk, acting as a shrine, left just how it was the last time he worked in an official capacity for the FBI: from the cluttered desktop to the "I Want To Believe" poster hanging on the bulletin board under the window. It was as if Mulder had just left to run to the restroom or something and was going to be back in a moment... Starkweather glanced idly at the opened bag of sunflower seeds on Mulder's desk. Setting her briefcase on her desktop with a thud, she smiled and said, "I can set up my desk later on, do you want to bring me up to speed on what we're working on?" Scully got out from her desk and crossed over to Doggett's. She got the file Doggett had been reading and placed in on top of Starkweather's briefcase. "We'll be heading to Scotland in a few days," Scully said crisply. "I didn't know the Loch Ness Monster was in our jurisdiction." Scully glanced sideways at the new agent and caught a glimmer of something... familiar... glittering in her eyes. "No, but we have just received word that one of our F-15's crash landing in Scotland." Starkweather nodded. "I read that in the paper. What does that have to do with us?" "That plane's s'ppose to be in Florida." Doggett said. Starkweather arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" Scully opened the file and started reading aloud, still not comfortable in the role of lecturer. "According to the Hurlburt Air Force log books, this was just a routine flight exercise. However, a storm flared up unexpectedly and the plane vanished from radar." "And reappeared in bits and pieces near a small Scottish village a hop skip and jump from Inverness." Doggett finished. "Are we sure it's the same plane?" Starkweather immediately questioned. "Don't get me wrong, normally I wouldn't turn down a trip to Scotland on the Bureau, but there are literally hundreds of American military bases in the Eastern Hemisphere. Are we one hundred percent sure that this plane, this plane in bits and pieces a hop skip and jump from Inverness, is the plane that vanished from Hurlburt's radar?" Scully and Doggett exchanged looks. Doggett grinned quickly, as if to say 'One for the skeptic's side!' "Confirmation was made at oh-seven hundred AM, our time." Doggett told her. "It's the same plane." "Hmm," Starkweather knitted her eyebrows together. "What about the pilot?" "The pilot hasn't been recovered," Scully said. "We are assuming he's dead, correct?" Starkweather started thumbing through the heavy file. Scully hesitated. "It is not wise to assume Agent Starkweather," she said gently. Starkweather nodded pursing her lips. "Of course," she said gravely, hunching over the files, beginning to read. Scully could have sworn that she had seen mocking amusement in Starkweather's eyes. Georgetown, Scully's apartment 6:47 PM Scully closed the door behind her with a sigh, lifting the fold of a soft yellow blanket off of the face of the child she held in her arms. "Hello you," she said, love radiating in her voice. "Bet you're hungry, I sure hate waking you up though." Scully didn't get a chance to call Mulder until after she fed, bathed and changed her child. Scully took one last peek at her pride, her joy, her miracle, sleeping safe in the bassinet before she changed into her pajamas. She padded barefoot to her big overstuffed chair and settled down with a sigh. She picked up her phone and hit her favorite speed dial button. "Hello?" "Mulder, it's me." "Hi, what's going on?" "How's work going," Scully asked as she stretched her legs. "Well," Mulder was lying on his couch, watching a "movie", as usual. "I broke my all time record high today." Scully smiled and rolled her eyes as if he could see her, "So that's what, fifty pencils stuck to the ceiling?" "No," he said primly. "Fifty TWO, thank you very much." Only to Scully did Mulder confess how bored he was at his new job. "Ah, Scully, politics is so petty, nothing but men... and women with too much money and too much time on their hands, sitting in meeting after meeting getting nothing accomplished because of idiotic power plays and hidden agendas and yet we depend on politics to protect our future." "Don't get too pious, Saint Mulder, you have your own hidden agendas too, you know." "And I finally have an office where I can see the sun." Mulder reached into the bag of sunflower seeds lying on his stomach and began to munch. "So, Saint Scully, what's going on? Did you guys get that new agent yet?" "Yeah, we did, and Mulder, you will never guess who it is?" "Enlighten me." "Admiral Bailey's daughter, Jerilyn." Scully said. "Really?" Mulder sat up, spilling seeds all over. He turned the sound off of the TV. "Are you sure?" "Mulder, you didn't know anything about this?" "No, Scully, I really didn't, otherwise I would have told you ahead of time. Are you sure it's really the Admiral's daughter?" "Well," Scully twirled the phone cord around her fingers. "I didn't recognize her because the last time I saw her, I was a kindergartner and she was in diapers. And besides that she looks so young... well, she is a few years younger than me, but not by that much. She looks like she found the Fountain of Youth and swam a couple of laps. Plus she's married now so her last name is different, but today... after lunch, as she was organizing her desk, she set out a picture of the Admiral, I asked who that was and she said her dad, so..." Scully paused. "Mulder, do you think Jerilyn's re- assignment was a coincidence?" "I don't know," Mulder frowned. "Even though he's retired, the Admiral is a powerful man who still has a lot of influence, not just at the Pentagon, but at the White House, the Bureau, the list goes on and on. If he needed to get a favor to have his daughter sent to us, he'd get it." "But why?" "I don't know," Mulder said again. "I would think he'd at least tell us, or at least you. What's she like? Jerilyn... what's her last name now?" "Starkweather." Scully thought back to her first impression. The nagging feeling of familiarity tickled her again. "Well... she's condescending... arrogant... sarcastic... brilliant..." Realization sunk in. "Mulder, she's a female version of YOU." "You say that like it's a bad thing," he said in a wounded voice. "She's also a highly trained, rational scientist with a strong military background, so it's not going to be easy for her to understand completely the nature of the X-Files. The first big test is when we go to Scotland, whenever that gets approved." "Can you get out of it?" Scully, again as if he could see her, shook her head. "Skinner wants me to go with them, basically to help her on her first case." "From what you say, Starkweather does not strike me as the type needing her hand held." "Nor I, but Skinner insisted." Scully closed her eyes. "I'll know for sure tomorrow when I'll be leaving. Are you sure you don't mind watching the baby while I'm gone?" her voice quavered. "Scully," Mulder said patiently. "I've been shot, stabbed, slapped, punched, poked, prodded, dehydrated, diseased, drilled into, half-drowned, blown-up, bitten, burned, yelled at and oh yeah buried alive for three months. I think I can handle the antics and bodily excretions of a three and a half month old infant." Scully smiled. "Okay, okay." Mulder paused. "Sooo... can I come over for awhile?" he asked self-consciously. "Sure, just be quiet when you come in. I'll be up." Washington DC, Starkweather's apartment 9:16pm Jerilyn Starkweather was washing up the breakfast dishes left by her husband when there was a knock at the door. "Jeri, open up, it's me." She dried her hands and went to the door. "Jeri, hurry up," the impatient voice of the husband said from the other side of the door. "My arms are full." Jerilyn opened the door, "Hey honey," she kissed his cheek as she took overflowing bags of groceries from his arms. "I thought your parents would be with you?" "They were so tired, Mom said they had a hellish flight from the Twin Cities. They wanted to go straight to the hotel... after they took me grocery shopping." Ben grinned sheepishly, shutting the door, being careful with the pet carrier he also held. Jerilyn smiled. her heart still skipped a beat at his goofy lopsided smile, his puppy-dog greeny gold eyes and tousled brown hair. "Jiminy Christmas, Ben," Jerilyn put the groceries on the cluttered kitchen table and poked into the bags, "does your mom think I'm starving you?" She looked down at the pet carrier Ben was holding. A big grin crossed her face. "Is that who I think it is?" Ben sat the carrier on the table. "Safe and sound and finally back with us. He opened the carrier and Jerilyn reached inside. "Hey baby, hey Caesar, oooh, I MISSED you," she cooed, cuddling her big fat tabby cat. "Did you tell your folks that I really appreciated them Caesar-sitting while we were moving?" "Actually, I thought I'd have to rip him out of Mom's cold dead hands," Ben quipped, starting to put the frozen food in the freezer. "Well, this place is starting to look livable," he chuckled, "Is it my imagination, or is this place smaller than the one back home?" "Ben," Jerilyn put Caesar down to let him explore. "This is home now." She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice and failed. "You know what I mean," Ben tried to cover up his homesickness. "Sure," Jerilyn gave in, a rarity. She went to the living room and started to rummage around one of the many moving boxes still sitting around. "Well, the good news is that the bedroom and bathroom is completely unpacked and tonight while you were at the airport, I got the living room and kitchen pretty much completely scrubbed down, so we can get all of that finished." "I don't want to hear about moving," Ben groaned. "I'm so sick of moving. Tell me about your day, big bad FBI broad," he lowered his voice comically. In his normal baritone, he asked, "Want a beer? I'm going to have one." "Sure. Did your mom buy us any junk food?" Ben took a bag of Doritos and made a spiral pass to her which Jerilyn intercepted with a giggle. She flopped on the couch and tore into the Doritos. Caesar landed on her lap with a thud and Jerilyn groaned. "God, what did Grandma feed you Baby?" The cat just purred. "Well," Jerilyn took the bottle of Bud Light from Ben when he sat besides her. "Looks like my supervisor is going to be more of a hardass than my last one, which is just terrific. He's got to be old-school Marine." "You sure?" Ben asked, already knowing the answer. After a childhood as a Navy brat and twelve years in the Air Force, Jerilyn just had a radar for military. "You can smell it on him. What else... well, my desk sucks, it's smaller than what I had in grade school, but my partner assures me that we don't spend much time at our desks, which is good." "Your partner? Is he a manly man, am I going to have to beat him up?" Jerilyn poked him. "Quit. Yes, my partner is a "he", my beloved Neanderthal spouse, his name is John Doggett, and he's pretty cool, but he's old school Marine, all the way plus he's old enough to be my dad so you don't have to worry about me spending any late nights gazing into his eyes and worrying if he wears boxers or briefs," she purred, snuggling into his shoulder. "I thought you were working with a chick too." "Yeah, Agent Scully. She's a bitch," Jerilyn said in awe, "but I think I'm going to like her. She's a doctor like me. She went straight to Quantico after med school, like me. I thought I was the only one insane enough to do that, but guess not. She's doing "Mom-hours" right now, she's got a brand new baby, she showed me pictures, what a little doll," Jerilyn sighed. "Her last name is familiar... my dad used to be friends with a guy named Scully while he was still in the service... I wonder... hmm. Anyway, that's about it." She gazed up adoringly at Ben. "What about you? How was your day?" "Well, I sent off some more resumes today, I have an interview next Monday, but it's with an ambulance chaser firm so I don't know-" "It's a start." Jerilyn said firmly. "I know," Ben said hastily. "Then worked on the apartment a bit, went to the airport to get Mom and Dad. They're so excited to be here. I told them that you'd meet us for lunch tomorrow," he announced proudly. Jerilyn scowled. She really hated it when Ben planned events without asking her. "I'll try to make it." "That means no," he pouted. "No, that means I'll try," Jerilyn retorted. "Come on baby, it's only my second day tomorrow and they've already thrown me into a really f*ck*d up case. I want to make a good impression." Jerilyn scooted closer. "Besides," she nibbled on his neck while she fussed with his shirt buttons. "Why fight when we haven't even christened the apartment properly?" Ben grinned. Jerilyn was so persuasive. "As long as you promise to spend some time with me and the folks while they're in town." "Oh, absolutely..." The next day... "We leave for Scotland tomorrow," Scully handed Starkweather her plane tickets as she walked in the door. "Tomorrow?" Starkweather could not keep the dismay out of her voice. "Is that a problem Agent Starkweather?" Scully asked coldly. Starkweather arched an eyebrow. "No. No problem." she thought dismally behind her girlish poker face. The Washington DC Marriott Restaurant and Lounge 12:44 pm. Jerilyn Starkweather kissed her husband on the cheek and beamed at her in-laws. "Sorry I'm late, traffic was a nightmare," Jerilyn burbled. "Oh, don't worry, dear," Linda Starkweather patted her hand. "We just got here a little bit ago ourselves." "So how's the Bureau treatin' ya?" Luke Starkweather boomed with his very thick "Fargo- esque" accent, which always made Jerilyn want to laugh, and always made Ben mad at her for wanting to laugh. "So far, so good," Jerilyn debated. "In fact, I'm already being shipped out for an assignment... overseas." She bit her lip, looking at Ben, an apology shimmering in her big eyes. "Where?" Ben asked innocently, but Jerilyn could tell she had miscalculated, she should have waited until they were home alone. "Scotland," she said, suddenly reaching for her water glass. "Scotland, how exciting for you," Linda smiled. Jerilyn loved Linda as if she was her own mother. Never a more sweet and unassuming woman that Linda had ever graced this planet. She could find a silver lining in a monsoon. "I hear it's a beautiful country, will Ben be allowed to come along?" "I wish," Jerilyn said sincerely, noting that Ben's jaw was locked tightly together. "But it's strictly business unfortunately." "Well, that will give Ben more time to work on his resumes while he has the apartment to himself," Linda, ever the peacemaker, said evenly. "When do you leave?" Luke asked. "Um..." Jerilyn smiled weakly at Ben, "tomorrow morning at four AM." "Oh," Luke said disappointedly. "Shoot, we're hoping to spend some time with ya, Jeri, we never get to see you that much." "Join the club," Ben said bitterly. "Benjamin," his mother admonished him like a child, "mind your manners now." "Yah, she's got a job to do, you know," Luke put in his two cents. Jerilyn was never so thankful to see a waiter come to her table. Jerilyn and Ben's apartment 6:45pm Jerilyn stalked around the apartment, going to and fro the bathroom and bedroom, packing her FBI field kit and her duffel bags. Ben, sat on the couch, sullenly smoking. "What do you want me to say, Ben?" Jerilyn yelled from the bedroom, stuffing the last pair of socks into her small carry-on bag. "That I'm sorry? Okay. Fine! I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm assigned to go to Scotland. I'm sorry I don't get to hang out with your parents while they're in DC. I'm sorry I'm leaving the rest of the unpacking to you. What else can I say?" "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Ben shouted at last. He had been giving Jerilyn the cold shoulder ever since she had come home from work. Jerilyn's little tirade finally caused him to snap. Caesar the cat hid under the kitchen table. Jerilyn came out, carrying her luggage. She set them down by the front door with a sound thump then wheeled about to face her angry husband. "Because I didn't know until this morning when Agent Scully handed me my plane ticket, okay?" "You knew you were going away though," he accused her. "I didn't know when. I honestly didn't." "I thought things were going to be different here in DC, Jerilyn." "They will be. You're just going nuts right now because of the job hunt-" Jerilyn started to say before Ben jumped off the couch to interrupt her. "No! This has nothing to do with that. I want things to be different, that's why I thought it would be a good idea to take this transfer to DC, that maybe you would-" "What?" Now Jerilyn snapped. "That I'd be working a desk job? Ben, come on. We've talked this to death. I am a cop, okay? Strip away the fancy title, all that "Special Agent" crap and the bare bones of my job description is that I am a cop. My job is to catch the bad guys and your job is to make sure the bad guys stay locked up. It is NOT a nine to five job. And you knew that when you met me and I told you I wanted to be a fed after I got done with med school, you knew that when I went to Quantico, you knew that when we got married, I don't understand why we're still fighting about this. I thought that with both of us, together, with new jobs in a new city, we'd be able to grow past my weird work hours and change everything that's wrong with us-" Jerilyn pleaded. "Change what?" Ben yelled. "What's changed? Once again, you're almost never around. You've already started to take your work home with you. You've only been at this new job for two days and you're already going to Ireland-" "Scotland." "Whatever. Jerilyn, did you even sleep beside me last night? No. You tiptoed out the minute you thought I was asleep and you were at that damn computer-" he gestured towards the tiny spare bedroom they had converted to an office, "and you were up until, what? Three, four in the morning, working!" "Did you see the size of that case file?" Jerilyn growled. "And don't get all holier than thou on me. I didn't even see you at all those weeks you were studying for the bar exam. And once you get going at some law firm, you're going to be busier than hell too so don't jump all over my ass for doing my job." "I will never be too busy for my family." "Ben, I said I was sorry about not being here for your folks. You don't understand how heartbroken I am about missing them." Jerilyn spluttered. "But it's my first week and you don't understand how whacked these X-File cases are. I'm serious, some of them are serious head-trips and this one is no exception. Just let me get in good standing with my new partners and then, I'll slow down a bit-" "When?" Ben demanded. Jerilyn started to say 'I don't know' but in his blind rage he overlapped her statement, angrily spitting out. "Do we have to lose another baby to have you slow down?" The minute he spit those words out, he wished he could eat them. "Oh God, Jeri, I didn't..." "Fuck you." Resentment, rage and an untouchable ache all flickered in her eyes. Ben tried to approach her but she held her hands up as a warning. "Go to hell," she snarled as she pivoted away from him and stomped to the door, grabbing her bags. "Jeri, please, please, don't leave like this, I'm sorry, I am so sorry, God, Jerilyn-" Jerilyn turned to face her spouse, pure hate contorting her fine features. "Ben, why don't you just quit when you're ahead, huh?" She slammed the door in his face. J. Edgar Hoover Building The X-Files Office 9:45pm Starkweather dropped her bags besides her dinky desk with a thump. She slumped into her chair and half-heartedly rooted around in the greasy McDonalds bag for her Big Mac and fries. The fries were cold, so she just dumped the entire box into the trash and began unwrapping her burger, but Ben's cruel words about the child they lost last year kept stabbing at her, pricking her heart like a proverbial pin cushion. Putting the burger down, she pushed it away from her and buried her face in her hands, mentally repeating her mantra for strength "Agent Starkweather?" Startled, Starkweather looked up and saw her partner, Doggett, framed in the doorway, his fair brow crinkled in concern. "Yeah," she said, running her fingers through the disheveled hair she normally kept in a severe ponytail, tight French braid or thick dancer's bun. She loved her long hair, but hated it in her face, like it was right now. "What're you doin' here, Agent?" Doggett came in, grabbed his chair, pulled it from his desk to the front of hers so he can face her when he sat down. "It's late, y'know." "You don't have to be so formal," Starkweather said, that enigmatic hint of a smile at her lips again. "I have a first name." "Were you on first name basis with your last partner?" "No," The hint blossomed into a full smile. "What did he call ya?" "Bitch." Doggett chuckled at her bluntness. "It's true," Starkweather shrugged. "He wasn't exactly comfy working with someone of my..." Starkweather halted. She knew her intellect was beyond any standardized test and normally she had no problem advertising her considerable brain power, but something about Doggett's no-b*llsh*t attitude made her not want to brag. "...Experiences, I guess." "Threatened by your IQ and gender, you mean," Doggett amended her modest statement. Starkweather arched an eyebrow, reminding him of Scully for one New York minute. "Skinner gave us your profile. Your former supervisor said you were a pain in the ass." Starkweather snorted and shook her head. "Well, we need smart people here with the X-Files and I don't care if they're a guy or gal or whatever." "You really mean that," Starkweather said. "Don't you?" "I wouldn't say it, if I didn't mean it," Doggett drawled. "I'm not that type of guy. I don't put up with much horseshit. Neither does Scully. Neither do you, I think." "Putting up with horseshit is not one of my hallmarks, no." "So that makes me wonder why you're here at almost ten o'clock at night when we're flying out at oh- four-hundred next morning." Doggett leaned closer. "I know this is kind of a bum rap for you. I know your old supervisor is a pious assh*l* who shipped you out the first chance he got. I know the X-Files can be extremely overwhelming. Trust me, when I got re-assigned to this department, I thought I was in over my head-" Starkweather interrupted. "No, it's not the X- Files. It has nothing to with my ability to be a team playe-" Now Doggett interrupted. "Agent, I just said I was a no bullshit kind of guy. You better talk to me. Believe me, once you really get going with the X- Files, you're gonna find there's a lot of people who are gonna try and screw with ya, just because you work with the X-Files, whether you believe in hocus-pocus and little green men or not. I found out the hard way that the only people that you can really trust are AD Skinner, these three bozo hackers called the Lone Gunmen, Agent Scully, Deputy Mayor Mulder-" His quick icy blue eyes noted an ripple of animosity wave through her eyes at the sound of Mulder's name, but did not push the issue, "and myself. So if there's something wrong, something's that's going to affect your work, you better 'fess up, Agent. It's not gonna go any farther than here. You have my word....." Starkweather bit her lip. "Well, I'm not exactly a sharing person, so... I mean, I don't know, talking about my problems isn't exactly my forte, I'm good at solving crimes, other problems, other people's problems..." She shook her head. "Maybe that's why my marriage is going to hell in a handbasket." She smiled woefully. "There. That's why I'm here instead at home snuggled up with my husband and cat before I go away for an undetermined amount of time." She fiddled with a pen. Doggett waited with the patience of a priest with a child making his first confession. "I love Ben, I loved him the minute I saw him, but..." She shook her head. "We've should have never married. I'm too selfish; I've always been self-absorbed in my own goals, my own pursuits. Ben's the complete opposite. He's giving; he's caring... I don't know..." "How did you two meet?" Starkweather shrugged. "When I put in my six years, I went from active to reserves. I joined the 132nd Fighter Wing in Des Moines and lived in Iowa City; working on my medical degree at U of I, all paid for by Uncle Sam. So once every month, I would spend the weekend in Des Moines for Guard. "Ben was in the 132nd too, but he was never Active like I was, he joined simply to pay for college. He was during his law degree at Drake University in Des Moines. He was a medic, like me, but his heart was in the law. One night, we all went out to the bars during Guard Weekend and Ben and I started talking and..." Starkweather blushed. "I don't know. We became friends. We fell in love, we got married... "Ben always knew about my ambitions, like I knew his. The problem was, I was a Naval brat and an active Airman. I was used to moving around a lot. Ben was born and raised in Minneapolis. Until now, of course, the furthest he had ever been from home was when he was at law school. Luck had it that there was an opening at the Minneapolis Bureau when I graduated from the Academy so we went home." Starkweather sighed. Normally very closed-mouthed, she felt her body lighten as she spilled her guts to her new partner. She had never been able to talk to anyone like this in a long time. She wondered if she was making a friend in the process as well as cementing the trust between two agents. She went on. "Naturally nothing turned out the way Ben and I thought it would. I think everything started to fall apart when Ben failed the bar exam the first time he took it. Smashed his ego to bits, of course. Got a job as a legal assistant at a decent firm in St. Paul, but you know it's not the same thing. Meanwhile, I was struggling with Bureau politics. You're right about my former boss being a pious asshole. We hated each other on sight. You read it all in my profile. I've got a mouth and I am not afraid to use it which means I rubbed people the wrong way but you know what, it's not really my job to be nice to people, my job is to protect people....." Doggett nodded. She had made a typical rookie's mistake in Minneapolis. She didn't know how to be subtle yet, to get around the idiotic office politics that plague every business. According to Skinner, the way she tap-danced around his question about Fox Mulder, she had learned to maneuver a little, but she was still very gung-ho and if someone really pushed her buttons... Doggett closed his eyes for a brief second as he continued to listen to Starkweather vent. He had seen Agent Scully go on a rampage in all her red-headed fury, had the honor of AD Skinner eating his rear for breakfast and even had Deputy Mayor Mulder completely lose his grip and get physically violent with him because of his blind fury with the world. All three of them, ugly sights to behold when their tempers were lost. Doggett had a sinking feeling that Starkweather's temper could put all three of them in the shade. Starkweather was still talking, lost in herself, her thoughts, her fears. "Ben was hard to be around while he had to wait to re-take the bar. When I'm upset, I yell and scream, stomp around, act like a typical female on a PMS rampage." Doggett allowed himself another chuckle as Starkweather went on. "Not Ben, he does this silent treatment... thing, where he'll just sit and simmer and... you can't reach him. Until he explodes. Then I fire back and... it's a cruel cycle we've put ourselves in... so I buried myself in my work, which sucked as bad as my homelife... "Then..." Starkweather stopped, again, hearing Ben's hateful words in her ears. She looked down. "then... well, Ben and I weren't exactly trying for a baby, but you know how they just... appear when you least expect them to." Doggett, reflecting on his lost little boy, nodded. Starkweather continued. "Ben was ecstatic. He always wanted to be a daddy. I... was less than thrilled, but what could I do? I converted to Catholicism when Ben and I married, the will of the Church is VERY strong in this area, plus... well, I'm not a screwball militant Pro-Lifer... if other women want to..." she groped for a polite word, "terminate a pregnancy, that's their business, but I was adopted. My parents struggled for to have a baby for years and my dad said when I came to them," she smiled, full of love for her 'father.' "'I made their lives complete.'" Her smile turned wry. "Kind of hard to be Pro-Choice after your adopted parent says that to you, you know... so even though I wasn't happy about being pregnant, wasn't ready to be a mother, I just sucked it up and went about life." Her face became long and drawn. Her voice became very quiet. "I didn't realize how much I wanted that baby until I miscarried him all over the floor of the ladies room in the Mall of America." She closed her eyes, "Baby-shopping with Ben's mother." "Christ," Doggett folded his hands tight. "I'm sorry." Starkweather shrugged. "Anyway, Ben and I had another monster fight this evening, about me working so much, that he's mad that once again I'm blowing him off, putting my career and dreams before him and he brought up the miscarriage... I just grabbed my stuff for tomorrow's trip and... arrghh. I'm sorry." She cracked her neck. Doggett winced at the popping sound. "I didn't mean to chew your ear off. But that's why I'm here so late. Incidentally," she looked at Doggett seriously. "Why are YOU here so late?" Doggett looked at the floor. "I don't have anything to go home to. My marriage crashed and burned a few years ago.... "Ah," Starkweather said in sympathy. "so you know what I'm talking about." "Unfortunately too well." Doggett nodded, trying to recollect the beautiful happy girl he had married, but could only see the sullen, bitter woman he divorced. "You're singin' a very familiar song, one that alot of federal agents can sing along too." "That not exactly what I want to hear right now." Starkweather grimaced. "Agent Starkweather, do you or do you not want your marriage to survive?" Doggett asked her point blank. "No bullshit?" "No bullshit." "I don't know," Starkweather had completely dropped her defenses. She felt she could truly trust Doggett. "Part of me loves being Mrs. Benjamin Starkweather. I don't think I could ever be just Jerilyn Bailey again. He's a part of me, forever. On the other side... this life is not fair to him, at all. He deserves a better woman than me." Starkweather shook her head. "Kind of a wishy-washy answer, huh?" "Maybe, but it's an honest one." Doggett got up, looked at his watch. "Look..." Suddenly he felt nervous. He didn't want to leave her alone, he felt a strange sensation permeate his bones. He couldn't explain it, he wasn't sexually attracted to her, he liked her but knew fully well that despite the problems, she was still committed to her marriage vows and he respected her for that. But he felt his heart warming up to her, his soul aching to learn more about her, to help her in any way possible. If he had maybe confided his feelings with Agent Scully, she would have nodded in complete understanding, for she had the same strange sensations when Mulder first confided in her about the abduction of Sammantha. Perhaps that was why he was nervous, the walls still echoed with the nasty implications of Mulder and Scully's relationship and the gossip mongers just ate it up that Scully was mysteriously pregnant all of a sudden... Doggett hated rumors, hated being part of rumor and would hate to have people talk about him and his new partner, his VERY married partner they way they talked about Mulder and Scully still... Doggett decided. "Look," he started again. "Seeing how late it is and since I told Scully that I would pick her up and bring her to the airport anyway... I'm betting you're not planning on goin' back home..." Starkweather crinkled her nose in dismay. "Doubtful. Real doubtful." "Well, since neither of us are gonna get much sleep anyway... wanna come have a cup of coffee with me? Not talk shop or anything... just kill time 'til we have to go get Scully." "Make it a beer and you got a deal," Starkweather smiled, thankful that her new partner was a nice man. Doggett got her large duffel bag while Starkweather threw her uneaten burger in the trash with her fries and picked up her other duffel bag and FBI field kit. "So you rather have me call you Jerilyn, huh?" Doggett said as they walked to the elevator. "Actually no," Starkweather said. "I really hate my first name." "How 'bout just 'Starkweather' then?" Doggett always kind of liked how his predecessors referred to each other as 'Mulder' and 'Scully'. "Works for me," Starkweather said, looking cheerful the first time that evening. "Doggett." Georgetown, Scully's apartment 2:15 AM Scully crept out of her bedroom quietly, carrying her suitcase, briefcase and purse. Mulder looked up from the TV. "The baby asleep?" he asked..... Scully nodded in relief. "Out like a light, finally." She gently set her luggage down and went to Mulder's side. She curled up next to him as he turned off her television. "You okay?" Mulder asked, putting his arm around her, resting his cheek on her hair. He hated to see her so unhappy. "Oh, I'm just having separation anxiety," Scully tried to sound brave and failed dismally. "No, that's a lie. I'm angry Mulder. I'm really angry. I'm supposed to have six months of leave, six months to get to know my child and what happens? Skinner calls, begs to come back as a part-timers and there's no such thing as a part-timer with the X-Files. Now, I'm being sent far away from my baby, to the other side of the world to supervise a very intelligent, very capable agent who probably doesn't need my help. I don't want to go to Scotland," she said like a stubborn child. "I want to stay here with my baby. I'm angry Mulder, and I'm afraid. I'm afraid if I leave, if I turn my back for just a second... whatever it was that took me, took you, will come for my child and instead of focusing on the case at hand, I'm going to obsessing about when I can call home again to make sure everything's alright, that my child is still safe-" her voice cracked. Mulder hugged her tight. "Aw, Scully, don't..." He always felt helpless when Scully cried. "I won't let that baby out of my sight for even two seconds, you know that. Your rugrat goes where I go, I don't care who laughs at me, I'll strap on a carrier and bring the rugrat to work with me everyday, if that what it takes." "Really?" Scully rested her head on Mulder's chest. "Sure," Mulder said lightly. "Babies are great chick magnets. OW!!" Scully thumped him soundly on the chest. "Do we have to go through the rules again?" "No using the baby to pick up chicks, no watching pornos with the baby, no taking the baby to the bars, no using the baby as the ball while playing basketball, no leaving the baby alone in a hot car, you're really no fun, Scully." "And PLEASE keep the house picked up and no matter what, I don't want the Lone Gunmen over. Don't get me wrong, they've saved our butts a time or too, but they're such slobs..." "Don't worry Scully," Mulder stroked her hair. "Me and the rugrat are just going to hang out, watch the Duke versus Arizona game and eat strained peas together." "How do you feel Mulder?" she asked seriously, ever vigilant about his poor health. "Fine," he lied. He woke up with a slight fever this morning but brushed it off. "Any more information about Starkweather that we should know about?" Mulder shook his head. "The stooges are still digging. The Admiral isn't returning my calls. I will call you the minute we get any kind of news. I do not believe that for one second that Jerilyn's transfer is a coincidence, Scully. Something's up." "I agree with you," Scully said. "You agree with me?" Mulder said in mock disbelief. "Stay there, I need to mark this occasion on my calendar." Scully rolled her eyes. Just then her doorbell rang. "That will be Dog-breath," Mulder quipped. "Mulder," Scully scolded him. "I thought you liked him." "I do." Mulder grinned, standing up then helping Scully up. "It's just fun to antagonize him, like the Skin-man." Scully hugged him tight. "Maybe I shouldn't go..." her voice started to quaver again. "Go, go to Scotland, take a picture of Nessie, play golf. Everything will be fine. I promise." Mulder let her go and gave her a playful push away from him. "You have my word." Scully rushed back to him and hugged him so tight, his ribs hurt. "Call me," she whispered. "You too," Mulder again stroked her pretty hair. He bent to kiss her lips, missed and kissed her cheek instead. "You're going to miss your flight." He touched her cheek gently with his fingertips. Scully forced herself to back away, pick up her bags, smile teary-eyed at Mulder, her hand on the door knob. "You're making Puppy-Man wait," Mulder quipped. That did it, Scully shot a murderous glance at him and managed to force herself out the door. The minute the door shut, the baby began to wail. "Figures," Mulder muttered as he walked to Scully's bedroom. Delta Flight 2485 Washington DC to London, England, en route... Scully checked her watch and groaned. Four more hours to London, a few measly hours of sleep at the United States Embassy, then off to Inverness. Scully rotated her neck, tried not to obsess about Mulder alone with her baby, but, like every new mother, failed miserably. For the first hour of the flight, Doggett, Starkweather and Scully had sat squished together in their tiny aisle row. Scully was thankful to whatever patron saint of the airlines that she had the window seat. The plane could seat over a hundred people; there were maybe thirty people on board, including the pilots and flight attendants. Finally, Doggett had gotten fed up and muttering something about this being "for Got-damn ridiculous", had unfolded his lanky frame out of the tiny seat and crossed over to the completely empty row and laid down, where he had instantly fallen asleep, snoring lightly, a "Ducks Unlimited" magazine covering his head. Starkweather, to make more room, she said, had hopped over to where Doggett had been sitting, dug out her CD Walkman, put in a disk, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, bowing her head so her baseball cap partially covered her face. Scully had tried to read the case file, but was too tired to handle the small print, so she rummaged through her purse for the "Parents" magazine she had bought minutes before they boarded the flight. Her fingers brushed a bulky envelope. Frowning, she pulled it out. The frown one-eightied into a huge smile when she recognized Mulder's handwriting on the outside of the envelope. Feeling the lump, she murmured, "What in the world...?" as she tore it open. It was a cheesy little Star Trek Enterprise key chain. Scully shook her head, wondering how many quarters Mulder wasted until the gumball machine gave him that very plastic kitschy ornament. Attached to the chain was a note: "To boldly go where no G-woman has gone before... See you soon. Send me a postcard. Have fun. - Mulder" **Have fun** Only Mulder... Scully wiggled her toes in her running shoes. She could feel her feet swelling up. She looked over at Starkweather, unsure if she was asleep or not. She couldn't help but silently examine what she could see of her fair face. **She looks like she's ten, fifteen years younger... but I know for a fact she's only about four or five, maybe six years younger..** Starkweather's head suddenly snapped up. She opened her Walkman to take out the CD. "Hi," she said abashedly, as if she was used to people staring intently at her. Covering up her mild embarrassment, Scully asked, "What CD is that?" " "Just Push Play", Aerosmith." Starkweather put the CD in it's jewel case. She felt awake and chatty, so she turned to Scully. "My roommate at tech school was a huge Aerosmith fan and she got me hooked," she grinned. "My roommate at med school however, thought I was insane to be cramming for finals to "Walk This Way" and "Sweet Emotion. Do you regret not going into private practice Agent Scully?" Scully leaned back in her seat. "That's a loaded question, Agent Starkweather." "Those are the only kind I ask." Scully looked out the window. For a moment Starkweather thought she had gone too far, but then Scully said. "If I had gone into private practice, I wouldn't of had to make the... sacrifices..." Stability. Money. Prestige. Good health. Normal family life. Melissa. "... I have made. But... one the other side... I am proud of the work I do... and the benefits reaped." Lives saved. Lies exposed. Emily. Her new baby. Mulder. "What about you? What made you decide to go to the Academy instead of private practice?" Starkweather tilted her head. "Do you remember the big crash of Flight 232 in Sioux City, Iowa?" "Ugh," Scully turned away from the window. "Let's not talk about crashing while we're up here." "Sorry. But you see, when I was younger, Dad got sent on a TDY to the Air Guard base there, I have no idea why. But Mom and I came up for a visit for a week. Anyway, the day of the crash, I was horsing around at the pool, doing what kids do at pools and, well, you see, the motel Mom and I were at was really near the airport. I could see ambulances and cop cars and news vehicles, flying by. So, I ran upstairs and sneaked up on the roof. I could see everything... I saw the plane crashing the cornfield, bursting into flames," Starkweather paused. "I felt the plane go over me before it crashed. I saw the aftermath. My mom found me on the roof with the other spectators chewed me out royally, grounded me, so on and so forth. For days, all I could hear were the wailing of sirens everywhere. Sometimes, I hear them in my dreams. I think my journey to the FBI was started by the sound of sirens, but I think was confused by at first which siren to follow." Scully confused at Starkweather's metaphor, asked her to explain. "I thought I was meant to follow the sound of the ambulance," Starkweather shrugged. "but in reality, it was the cop car. I'm a cop. A cop that can wield a scalpel, but a cop." "But why the FBI? Why not the regular police force?" "You guys have better toys." Scully smiled. "Your father is in the Navy?" She asked innocently, hoping to maneuver the conversation towards perhaps the Admiral's true intents for his daughter. Starkweather nodded. "And you joined the Air Force, why?" Starkweather creased her brow in thought. "Well, in the Army, you're basically a bullet-sponge, that didn't sound fun. The Marines are just a smidge on the intense side, you know "The Few, the Proud, the Criminally Insane." Scully prodded, hoping she'd start talking about her father, "And the Navy?" "I hate boats," Starkweather deadpanned. Scully stared at her until Starkweather's ghost of a smile made its apparition on her lips. Then Scully laughed, shaking her head. "Really?" Scully's infamous eyebrow arch was accompanied by a rare smile. Scully, despite her suspicions on Starkweather's true purpose of joining the X-Files, was beginning to warm up to her. "No." Starkweather got that eerie far-away look in her eyes, the look that spooked Skinner the first day he met her. "As you may have gleaned from my personal file, I graduated annoyingly early from high school and I was all gung-ho about the Navy, see, because I'm Daddy's little girl. In all of my adolescent maturity, I was going to force my parents to give me permission to enlist early and I was going to become a Naval doctor. Well, my mom, God bless her heart, sat me down and made me promise first do two years of 'regular' college, and then to sit down seriously and research each branch of the military to see which one would fit me, if one would fit me at all, if I still wanted to join up. After all, what may be good for Dad, may not be so wonderful for me. And she was right, after talking to some recruiters plus enlisted people from all branches, I would have been miserable in the Navy. The Air Force gave me what I needed at the time. Plus Air Force uniforms are cuter. I look good in blue," she finished smugly. "Are you close to your parents?" Scully was still trying to work the family angle. "My dad, yes, my mom... we were, but she died shortly after I graduated from high school. That was the last piece of advice she ever gave me." "I'm sorry." "Don't be. She had a horrible type of brain cancer and suffered terribly for years. Her death was a blessing. Really. I believe that," Starkweather put her Walkman into her carry-on bag and pulled out her reading glasses. "Anyway, a couple of years later, Dad got remarried to a nice lady named Jenny and we've grieved and moved on. And speaking of moving on." Starkweather put her glasses on. "I don't know about you, but I'm all kinds of awake, want to discuss this case a bit, toss theories around?" Scully nodded, temporarily defeated, but not completely. The "nice lady" Starkweather had referred to, was Senator Jenneva Wesley-Bailey, a very powerful woman in Congress. **Maybe Starkweather doesn't have her own agenda, but I but Dad and Stepmother have something up their sleeves** Scully mused as she bent down to get the case file about the Inverness plane crash. The lights flickered for a moment. Scully and Starkweather looked up. "That was weird," Starkweather said breathlessly. "Yeah-" Scully started to say just as the plane started to shake violently. Both Scully and Starkweather's glasses flew off their face, the lights now flashing violently. Scully looked out the window and saw nothing but black skies and clouds skudding by violently. People behind them were screaming. Doggett was thrown from his impromptu bed onto the floor. The plane shook so badly; he couldn't get on his feet. The "No Smoking" Sign flashed on. Personal effects fell out of the overhead carriers. Doggett covered his head as books and coats and backpacks crashed around him. Starkweather was shrieking at Doggett to get up, get in a seat as she buckled her seatbelt. Scully fastened her seatbelt and discovered she was gripping the armrest with one hand, the silly toy spaceship Mulder gave her in the other. Confused, she gasped in shock as the oxygen masks dropped. An infant howled in the back somewhere. Scully closed her eyes as a moment of clarity slammed into her. She would never see her baby again. Her plane was going to crash in the ocean.... As it hurtled towards the angry Atlantic below, the plane groaned as if it was going to start coming apart. Scully put the oxygen mask over her face, looking over at Doggett, helpless on the floor, gasping for air as the cabin pressure went to hell. "SCULLY!!!" Starkweather screamed over the chaos. "HANG ONTO MY BELT!!!" Scully nodding, understanding what she was going to do, as papers and plastic cups swirled around them, screams circling the air as the plane continued to fall. Scully wrapped her fingers around Starkweather's belt as tight, nodded again to her. Starkweather unsnapped her seatbelt and threw herself to the floor, Scully hanging onto her for precious life. Starkweather stretched her arms out. "DOGGETT!! DOGGETT!! GRAB MY HAND!!!" she tried to yell above the hellish din. Doggett had hit his head pretty hard when he tumbled from the seats he was sleeping on; all he heard was a surreal humming. He could see Starkweather on the floor, being held by Scully. He lunged for Starkweather's hands and she caught it in a fireman's grip. Scully heaved with all her strength to get them back up. They clamored into their seats, slid the masks over their faces and clicked their belts in place; Scully held Starkweather's right hand, Doggett, her left. Neither one of them realized how hard all three of them were praying. Scully could hear the captain come on over the intercom, telling them to brace for impact. She took one last look out the window... and was blinded by a powerful white light. The plane suddenly stopped hurtling to the black waters below but surged violently upwards. Everyone on the plane was slammed back into his or her seats by the force of the accelerating raising upwards. Starkweather's hand slipped from Doggett's and her wrist hit her forehead, shattering the crystal of her watch, the pain of the deep gash not even registering. Blinded by the light and by her own blood, in her disorientation, Starkweather thought she was already dead. Doggett just closed his eyes and prayed the end would be quick. As quickly the plane went into peril, it righted itself again and continued to fly smoothly as if it had never been interrupted. The lights came back on.... Scully and Starkweather let go of hands. Starkweather turned to examine the large swelling bump on Doggett's head. "Starkweather, let Scully look at YOUR head, I'm not bleeding," he insisted. Starkweather turned to Scully. "Oh my God," Scully reached into her bag for a tissue. "That's really deep, you may have to get stitches when we get to London." "Super," Starkweather held the tissue to her wound, the white square became ruby red the minute she put it there. "So," she attempted to sound perky and glib, but she was white as a sheet and perspiring. "Typical day on the case?" Doggett and Scully looked at each other over Starkweather's bleeding head and grimaced. "You ain't seen nothin' yet," Doggett said, completely serious. Captain Neil Hamil turned to his co-pilot, Kevin Fischer and asked: "What the Sam hill just happened?" "Oh man," Fischer gulped. "I have no idea. But everything's looks okay now, all the instruments and equipment are okay... we're probably a bit off course, give me a minute to figure out how far off." Fischer looked out the c*ckpit window before bending down to his maps and instruments. **The stars don't look right for London** he thought before he bent to his work. Captain Hamil clicked on the intercom. "As soon as the captain turns off the 'No Smoking' light, we should probably see if anyone else needs help," Scully said as she handed Starkweather a fresh tissue. Starkweather nodded. "Good idea," she agreed. "Minding, of course, that the patients don't mind that one of their docs is bleeding all over them." "Well, ladies and gentlemen," the captain's voice, choosing light words to contradict the tremors in voice, "we had a little scare there-" "Little my ass," Doggett grumbled. "Insanity." "-but everything's under control now an- what the hell?" "That can't be a good sign," Starkweather said to Scully, who was listening intently to the words over the intercom: "What do you mean we're approaching Rome? We can't be approaching Rome, we're supposed to be-" the intercom switched off with a squawk. The plane was dead silent. Even the baby wasn't crying. It was worse than the panicked screaming minutes before. "Rome." Scully intoned in the same flat voice she used with Mulder whenever he announced one of his eccentric theories. "As in Rome, Italy? Or is there a small English village called Rome that we just don't know about?" "Well, Rome did leave it's mark on Britain," Starkweather said. "We can't... it's not possible... if that's right..." "Insanity." Doggett said again, a little shell- shocked. "There is no way we could have gotten THAT far off course, that fast..." he let his words trail off for a bit before picking them up again. "Scully," he asked dropping formality. "Where was that fighter pilot supposed to be goin'?" "Just a routine mission in Florida." Scully's eyes widened. "Where did they find the plane?" "Scotland." Scully looked out her window again, could see the lights of a major metropolitan area sparkling ahead in the not-to-distant distance. "Oh my God..." "I've got a real bad feeling about this," Starkweather suddenly said. "Because, if we're supposed to be in London, but we're really in Rome, Italy and the Italian air traffic doesn't know we're here, in their air space...." Starkweather bit her lip. Scully and Doggett realized the point Starkweather was driving at the exact same time. "Oh shit!" Doggett said, rebuckling his seatbelt. "Mulder investigated an X-File similar to this..." Scully looked out her window again. "A plane vanished and reappeared, crashing into another..." She didn't finish her sentence for the lights began to flicker wildly again as Delta Flight 2485 suddenly nose dived to avoid a Boeing 337 taking off. Passengers began screaming again. The captain began radioing his mayday. This time, Scully, Doggett and Starkweather put their heads in their laps and covered their heads with their arms. On the bright side, they weren't going to crash into the ocean... The United States Embassy Rome, Italy "Signora? Signora?" Starkweather lifted her weary head. An Italian woman with a kind face was holding a Styrofoam cup of espresso. With a trembling hand, Starkweather, accepted the cup, "Grazie," she muttered. Stupefied by exhaustion and bruising, Starkweather tried to absorb her surroundings and for once, her brain couldn't process what had happened. The emergency landing was rough. It had gone down too fast and crashed into the large chain link fence at the very end of the airstrip. Miraculously, the fence had stopped it. Even more so, no one was seriously injured. Starkweather had raised her head to the sound of sirens once more. She vaguely remembered Roman medics helping her out of her seat, speaking in rapid Italian, poking her, prodding her, asking her questions. The thirty people were sent to the American embassy. The passengers milled about in the massive dining room, dazed by the entire affair, expecting to be in London, winding up in Rome. The pilots were being interrogated by the ambassadors and a few high-profile military officials stationed in Rome, trying to explain an inexplicable situation. Starkweather was sitting on her duffel bag. Her carry-on and her FBI field kit had been recovered. Her reading glasses had not. She looked around with glazed eyes. Doggett was trying to talk into a cordless phone, slumped in a chair right next to her, finger in one ear, phone in the other. Scully was going to passenger to passenger, offering her medical services. Starkweather had tried to help, but Scully ordered her to sit still. "You're in shock," Scully had thrown a blanket over her shaking shoulders. "Just stay still, I don't need any help." "Don't mother me," Starkweather started to say, but began to retch instead. Scully, mercury-quick, grabbed a trashbin for Starkweather to be sick in, then guided her to sit with their luggage. Embassy employees, some American, some Italian, milled about offering the only assistance they could, cold sandwiches and hot Italian coffee. Starkweather had just began to sip the bitter brew when Scully approached her. "How are you feeling?" She asked, examining the garish slash on Starkweather's forehead. "Follow my finger with your eyes." Starkweather watched Scully's pointer finger go left, go right. "Everybody okay?" "Lots of bumps and bruises, a few concussed." "How about me?" "Still nauseous?" "No." "Who's Doggett talking to?" "I have no idea, but that bump on his head is turning interesting colors." Starkweather tried to sip the coffee again. Doggett got off the phone as Scully was preparing an ice pack for him. "Here," She handed to him. As he put the cool bundle to his bruised head, he groaned in relief. "Who were you talking to Agent Doggett?" "Skinner." Doggett grunted. "He said he'd call Mulder for you." Scully said, "I hope he'll be tactful about it, I don't need Mulder being scared to death on the other side of the world." Almost, but not quite, belligerently, Starkweather asked, "Why does Mulder need to know?" Scully didn't like her tone. "He's babysitting." Starkweather wasn't satisfied with the answer, but let it slide. "What else did Skinner say?" "Well..." Doggett gritted his teeth. "He said he can get us a flight to London from here tonight yet." "A flight???" Scully closed her eyes. "I rather catch diphtheria than get on another plane right now," Starkweather ran her fingers through her tousled hair. She had lost her baseball cap in the chaos as well as her glasses. "But I told him that we'd be better off with a few hours of sleep and then flying out this afternoon," Doggett said to the G-women's relief. "I don't know 'bout you, but I could use a shower and forty winks." The room the Embassy provided for the agents was laughable, if any of them had any shred of humor left. "All three of us in here?" Starkweather wrinkling her forehead in dismay, looking at the double bed and love seat. "Where are we going to put everyone?" "You and Agent Scully take the bed. I'll make do with the couch thing and footstool," Doggett offered graciously. "Look, I'm gonna run downstairs to make a few calls so, Starkweather, Scully, that'll leave the phone open for you." He took off his tie, spattered with Starkweather's blood. He looked at it and dropped it in the trashcan. "You both okay? Starkweather? Scully?" Scully put her suitcase on the bed and began to unpack. "We're okay, just tell us what Skinner says." "You gonna call Mulder?" Scully shook his head. "Not tonight, I'll talk to him when we get to Inverness. If Skinner's already told him the news," she shrugged. "I'd be waking him up for nothing. It's what... seven hours later there than it is here?" Starkweather looked at her watch. Despite the broken crystal, it still ticked beautifully. "It's not that late." She had not adjusted her watch to the time changes yet. "Mmm," Scully pulled out an oversized T-shirt and her robe. "Still, all I want is to clean up and go to bed." When Doggett left, Starkweather said. "You can take the first shower, I'm going to call my husband." "You sure?" Starkweather nodded. "Thanks," Scully tried to hide her immense relief. "Are you alright, Agent Starkweather?" "Oh sure, it takes more than almost dying a plane wreck not once but twice during the same flight to spook me," Starkweather deadpanned. "Oh, ignore me, I'm tired, my head hurts, but that's it. I'm just going to go scare the living bejesus out of Ben now." When Scully stepped into the dwarf-sized bathroom, Starkweather picked up the phone and sank down on the bed, sitting next to Scully's luggage, twirling the phone cord as she waited for the operator to put her international call through. "Hello?" "Ben, hi, it's me, I just wanted to call to let you know I made it to Rome okay," she said subdued, the sour taste of their fight still coating her tongue. "Oh." His voice didn't emit any emotion at first. "Okay... wait... Rome?" Ben asked warily. "Did your assignment get changed or something?" "No... our plane had to make an emergency landing in Rome..." She paused, feeling the hated, weak tears welling up. "Why?" Now he sounded worried, frightened even. "What happened? Jeri, are you okay?" "Um, well, I have a real pretty cut on my forehead and I'm gonna have a hell of a shiner tomorrow, but I'm just gonna tell everyone you abuse me," Jerilyn tried to laugh, ended up wiping away a tear or two. "Oh my God, Jerilyn, what happened?" "Our plane almost went down," her voice cracked. "We all got banged up but it's okay because... I wanted to tell you before you heard it on the news or got a call from my boss or something..." "Jeri, oh Jesus," Ben's voice now sounded strangled, as if he was choking on his own guilt of harsh words that should have remained unspoken. "You're okay, though right?? You're gonna be okay?" Jerilyn, unconsciously, placed her hand on her abdomen, remembering hearing Ben say the same phrase to her over and over, squeezing her hand, stroking her hair, when she had come out of her stupor after she lost their baby, listening to Ben try to thank the doctor without crying, having the doctor smile sympathetically and pat her hand as he said "You're a lucky woman, you nearly died." "I'm fine, I'm going to counting the minutes until I get the hell out of here and back home... because from what I've seen, Europe, in my humble opinion, is a tad overrated. When Ben started laughing, Jerilyn knew they had survived the crisis that nearly set them back when she stormed out of the apartment. When they said their 'I love you's' and good-byes, Jerilyn hung up the phone, remembering now what her new friend, Agent Doggett said to her just last night, in the safety of the office: "Do you want your marriage to survive or not?" "I don't know," Starkweather said to herself while Scully finished up in the bathroom. "I don't know." Leonardo da Vinci Airport, Rome, Italy 1:20 PM Roman Time 7:20 AM Eastern (Washington DC) Time Agents, Doggett, Scully and Starkweather trudged wearily through the crowded airport terminal, completely dreading getting on board yet another flight. "You think this time, maybe, we can end up in London, whaddya say?" Starkweather muttered as she collapsed in a plastic seat outside their boarding gate. Doggett and Scully sat in the chairs in front of her. "You know what really strikes me as strange about last night's flight?" Scully asked her partners, all business now, for they had forty-five minutes to kill. "Other than the part about the plane nearly crashing twice but it has been officially determined that there was no mechanical or human error?" Starkweather said in what Scully had privately began to call that particular sarcastic tone Starkweather's voice took as "the Mulder voice." "No," she said. "The fact that we were still two hours away from Great Britain when the plane first began to descend. It was still dark outside, and yet when the plane righted itself, we were in Rome, in a different time zone, but the travel time doesn't match. It should have been four hours later than from when the plane first started to fail, to Rome. But it was only minutes later after the plane recovered itself that we were in Italian air space." "You're right," Starkweather rubbed her eyes. "That completely defied every law of science that deals with time, speed, physics, aerodyamnics... unless some how, the engines got a burst of power and we were able to go at the speed of sound like a Concord jet." Starkweather looked at the ground. "Look it would be great to connect this weirdness with the Scottish weirdness, but planes can go fast. Real fast. Most military aircraft, by the time you hear it, it's already gone. Now, commercial flights, uhh, no, most don't have this speed capability, yet. Which is why-" Scully groaned and rested her head on her hand. She and Starkweather had been debating -- NOT fighting -- about the credibility of the inquiries and investigations into Delta Flight 2485 all morning and into the afternoon. "-- I think the findings of yesterday's interviews is bunk. It has to be mechanical error. Something happened to that plane made it whizz-bang, super-fly, you know? And the pilots didn't know how to deal with the sudden surge of power." "What about the lights outside the plane?" Scully countered. "Lightening." "Look," Doggett jumped in, eyes ringed by jet-lag, "let's just let what happened last night sit on the back burner for a minute. We can't make any assumptions 'til we see that plane up there. The findings of the investigation in Rome are being faxed and emailed to Skinner as we speak. We'll check out the wreck in Scotland and see if they match up. If they do, well, maybe we'll catch a break. Right now, Skinner just gave me a heads-up on what's goin' on up there." "What happened?" Scully tried to swallow a yawn as she turned to Doggett. "Well, somebody's scarin' the locals. All the people that were interviewed by local law when the plane went down, suddenly changed there stories. They're saying they heard nothin', saw nothin'." When Starkweather asked why, Doggett said "I don't know, but I wanna find out." Scully started to ask questions and soon she and Doggett started offering up theories. Because of the jet-lag, Starkweather zoned out for a little bit. Nobody slept well last night, especially poor Doggett, all scrooged up on the decorative and uncomfortable divan. Starkweather lay awake all night, thinking of Ben and wondering what avenue through hell her marriage was going to race through next. Absently, she looked at her broken watch. It was still ticking but it was on Eastern Time. Seven-eleven. In the morning, in Washington. she thought as she looked up at the giant clock in front of her and re-set her watch, knowing that in a few short hours, she'd have to re-set it to London time anyway. Still she set it anyway, looked at her watch, looked at the clock, looked at her watch, looked at the digital time, still Eastern standard, on her cell phone. "Hey guys..." Scully and Doggett, used to it being just the two of them kept playing Devil's Advocate with each other. "Maybe it's the military, that actually, the pilot was on a top secret mission for our government and we're trying to keep it quiet..." "Agent Scully that doesn't make sense, then why would WE be here?" "Hey guys..." Starkweather tried again, "Plausible deniability. Besides, think of the embarrassment the United States just suffered with that turmoil in China..." "You really think that the Royal British Military is gonna let the United States muscle a village of their loyal subjects? Come on..." "Guys," Now Starkweather was insistent. But still, Scully and Doggett brainstormed on until Starkweather borrowed a line from one of her favorite movies, "Men in Black": "Hey, OLD people!!!!" Irritated at being referred to as OLD, they turned to her. "Don't think I'm insane..." Starkweather started.... "What is it?" Scully asked, still rankled by the "OLD people" comment. "My watch is off by nine minutes," Starkweather looked at Scully, then at Doggett. "So?" Doggett didn't understand the significance of the lapsed time whereas Scully did. "Are you sure your watch isn't just slow?" Scully asked carefully. "Well," Starkweather pulled out her cell phone. "I thought that at first, but then I checked the time on my phone," she handed it to Scully. "It's still on Eastern Time, but it's off by exactly nine minutes too. So," Starkweather closed her eyes. "humor me, please." "How?" Doggett took the phone from Scully, looked at the time, looked at the clock on the wall and did the math. It was exactly nine minutes off. As if time had ceased, then started to tick again nine minutes behind, nine missing minutes later..... "Set your watches to Roman time. Maybe by some sheer coincidence, my batteries in both my phone and watch are fizzling out..." Starkweather thought. Scully and Doggett complied. "Huh," Doggett said, staring at his watch, completely stupefied. "We lost nine minutes," Scully said in an awestruck voice just as the air attendant started to make the announcements in English, Italian, Spanish and French that first class ticket holders could now begin boarding the plane. Scully, Starkweather and Doggett looked at the gate in dread.... Ashburn Hotel 111 Cromwell Road London, England 7:45 PM London Time Of course the flight from Rome to London had been completely uneventful, totally anti-climatic for the American agents gripping their armrests with their fingernails the entire journey, including steadfast Agent Doggett. None of them talked very much through the flight and the cab ride to their hotel, which was much fancier than their standard lodgings provided by their native government. However, the minute the trio were settled into their rooms, Doggett brought his slim new computer notebook into Scully and Starkweather's room, Scully ordered room service and Starkweather found her spare pair of reading glasses and whipped out her steno pad and favorite pen. By the time the coffee and dinner plates came to their door, they had been in business for forty- five minutes. Five hours later, they were all drained and no closer to what in the world happened in Scotland. Doggett was slouched in a chair, staring at the masses of emails Skinner had sent him. Starkweather was laying belly down on her bed, nibbling on her pen. Scully was pacing, thumbing through the massive file. "We've GOT to be missing something," Doggett shut down his computer and set it on the bureau. "Yeah, the pilot," Starkweather flipped through the pages and pages of notes. "After re-reading what we've talked about, it seems like he's the missing link, so to speak." She took off her glasses. "God, I'm tired," she set her reading glasses on the nightstand. "Sorry." "No. Don't be," Scully admonished her gently. "We're all worn out from the jet lag and the crash. Plus you sustained a fairly severe blow to the head. I'm surprised that it took you this long to complain," she crossed over to the bureau and placed her thick stack of files next to Doggett's computer. "The worst thing you can do, that any of us can do, is wear ourselves out. I know I didn't sleep well last night," for she had tossed and turned, obsessing and missing her child, "I think it would be best if we just called it a night. Eight hours of straight sleep. Doctor's orders." "And when two out of two doctors agree," Starkweather slid off the bed, "you know it's for real. But," she stretched her arms. "After all that coffee we had, I'm going to need to wind down. THIS doctor prescribes a medicinal drink, down at the bar. Any takers?" "A beer would be great right now," Doggett got up and finally took his tie off. Rolling it up in a ball, he shoved it in his pocket. "I wonder if they have any American beers there." "I'd kill for a Bud Light right now," Starkweather undid her French braid, unconscious of the Rapunzel effect of her wavy hair tumbling down over her shoulders. "But right now, I'd settle for cold syrup. Scully? Coming with?" A crisp glass of cold white wine would have made her tastebuds and her throat sing but first things first. "Maybe I'll join you in a bit, but I need to call home to see how things are with Mulder and the baby." "You trust that guy with your kid?" Fatigue made Starkweather careless. She regretted her slip of her tongue the minute Scully pointed her icy glare in her direction. "I trust him with both our lives," she said coolly. "Sorry," Starkweather said contritely. She grabbed her wallet and slipped out the door. Doggett, watching her, shrugged at Scully and followed. Granted, when he and Mulder first met, it wasn't pretty and sometimes the man still rubbed him the wrong way (he really HATED it when Mulder called him 'Puppy-Man') but all in all, in time, they learned to tolerate each other's work differences. As far as Doggett knew, Starkweather hadn't even MET Mulder yet, but she hated him. She really hated him, but never said why and until exhaustion set in, had always watched her mouth about Mulder around Scully. Another mystery for Doggett to unravel as he followed the enigma down the hall to the elevator and to the blessed English bar. Scully shut the door with a cleansing breath. She knew why Starkweather was so hostile to Mulder, although it was imperative right now that Starkweather be kept in the dark about her father's true role in the grand scheme of everything. Before she called home, Scully paused to stare out the window at the beautiful London city lights. She ached to go exploring, for they were literally only minutes away from museums, theatres and the famous Kensington Palace. She would have loved to be a normal tourist, to go shopping, gawk and take pictures, see a play. Of course Mulder had been shameless about using Bureau time and money for his entertainment. Wryly she remembered him volunteering them for a case in Minneapolis in fact, so they could see the Redskins play the Vikings. Of course, instead of seeing a football game she ended up being kidnapped by the death fetish Donnie Pfaster... so much for Mulder's fun plans for THAT particular trip... Thinking of him reminded her that she needed to call him... Scully's Apartment Georgetown 2:48 PM Eastern Standard Time "Hello," Mulder coughed when he answered Scully's home phone. A crackle of extreme long distance then "Mulder, it's me." "Scully," Mulder sighed with relief. "Skinner called me yesterday and scared the hell out of me. You alright?" "I'm fine. I didn't get hurt. Doggett and Starkweather got banged up pretty badly, but for some reason I lucked out. But Mulder, something strange happened during that flight..." "You mean besides the plane nearly crashing twice and yet it has been determined that is was not caused by mechanical or human error?" he asked placidly. Scully smiled. Scully thought. "Mulder, we lost nine minutes." "What?" "Starkweather noticed it. She was setting her watch to Roman time and saw her watch was off. And her cell phone and her travel alarm clock and both mine and Doggett's watches." "What does Dog-breath think?" "He hasn't said," Scully chose to ignore the 'Dog- breath' reference. "He thinks we need to put what happened on our flight on the back burner until we see the wreckage in Scotland and then determine if they are related." "And Starkweather's thoughts?" "She thinks somehow the engines were tampered with and suddenly we had the speed capabilities of a Concord jet." "What do YOU think?" There was a hint of a challenge in his voice. As usual. "I don't know... it was definitely paranormal because it was a clear night, almost daybreak... I don't want to leap to conclusions..." "You don't want to leap aboard the flying spaceship." "Mulder," she said patiently. "After what we've both been through, you know I don't doubt you about extraterristials anymore but I don't want to use that theory with every case. Some X-Files have nothing to do with aliens. Like... remember one of our first cases... the one with the two twin little girls... Eve?" "Ah, yes, such sweethearts, such cherubs, such satanic little archangels who dumped poison in our Cokes." Mulder remembered fondly. "Scully, I understand your hesitation, but don't completely rule out the extraterristal either. Especially with losing nine minutes." "I'm not," Scully felt herself get defensive, as usual. "I'm just not using it as my ONLY theory either." "Keep me updated," Mulder told her. "I will help in anyway I can." Scully could hear the desperation in Mulder's voice, his desire to be back in the X-Files full time instead of the consultative position Skinner created for him. "You know I will," Scully said. "Speaking of Starkweather..." "Get this Scully," Mulder rubbed his temple. A really bad sinus headache had begun to cross over his face. He hoped he could handle the rest of the phone call. "We were right, Starkweather's transfer was no coincidence. The Admiral's wife, the good Senator, was in Minneapolis four weeks ago. Naturally, she visited her stepdaughter and step- son-in-law, wow Scully, say that five times fast. Anyway, she also made a stop to visit Starkweather's old boss. All of a sudden, a rookie is offered a position in Washington? Even though it's the X-Files, it's still DC and to a rookie..." "It's like hitting the lottery." Scully mused, "How..." "Did the Senator do it? They went to college together. My guess is he owed her a favor, but to him, she did him a favor..." "Because Starkweather was a pain in his ass." Scully finished Mulder's sentence for him. "Exactly. So the Admiral definitely wants his little girl to be in our shadow, so to speak." Mulder sat down, now rubbing the bridge of his nose. His head really hurt. "And guess what else Scully?" He didn't even give her a chance to try. "The good Admiral also lied to us about Jerilyn.... "Should we be concerned about Starkweather's motives?" Scully asked. "No," Mulder instantly assured her. "Jerilyn has no idea what's going on behind the scenes. There is so much she doesn't know, can't even began to understand." He forced himself up and trudged to the kitchen where the Lone Gunman had set up shop. Byers was typing away at his laptop, Langly was raiding Scully's fridge and Frohike was wearing Scully's baby carrier, stroking the infant's downy head. As defensive he was to anyone who even looked at Scully's baby wrong, one might assume HE was the father. "What did the Admiral lie about?" Mulder put his fingers to his lips to warn the Gunmen that he was talking to Scully. Knowing that they weren't supposed to be there, they hushed up as Mulder spoke: "Remember how the Admiral told us that when Jerilyn was a very little girl, he was sent to sea for six months and no one told him that his child was missing and it was only through... what did he say, "the grace of God" that she was returned?" "Yeah?" "I had the boys do some digging," he walked over to Frohike to kiss the baby's forehead. Then he went to the drawer where Scully kept her medicines. He talked as he rummaged for aspirin. "And Langly found some interesting medical records and a news story the Admiral just plumb forgot to mention." "Tell me." "Yes, when Jerilyn was six years old, her father was sent to sea for a six month mission. What the Admiral forgot to mention was that two years prior to this mission, that child had been in and out of hospitals due to unidentified psychotic episodes." "They labeled a child psychotic?" "They didn't have a choice Scully," Mulder found the aspirin and handed it silently to Langly for him to open. "When she got out of the terrible twos, the terrible didn't stop. But they just assumed she was a brat. When she turned four, the shit hit the fan. Emotional unstability. Deep depression. Bedwetting. Obsessive-compulsive behavior. Pathological lying. Screaming fits. Overeating for days on end, then absolute refusal to take food or water. Physical violence towards her playmates. Her adoptive mother, Lynette Bailey, pulled her out of her playgroup by the request of the other parents. She tried to feed Cholrox to her cat." "And she was four???" "When it started. She was shunted to every medical center in the nation. Mayo Clinic. Bethsheda. St. Jude. She was tested for every childhood disorder and a few adult ones too. Autism. ADS. So on and so forth. She was given every mind and mood-altering drug known at the time too. It would work for a brief span of time, Jerilyn would behave like a normal well-adjusted little girl, then she would build an immunity to whatever drug and it would start all over again. For two years, the Baileys' lives were made sheer hell by this child. They were investigated by not just civilian social services, but by the military as well. The Baileys' nearly divorced over the issue of what to do with their adopted daughter, papers were drawn up, but never signed. "A few days after Jerilyn's sixth birthday, actually, the day the Baileys' decided would be Jerilyn's birthday, the Admiral, not an Admiral at the time, of course, went out to sea for a six month tour. A few days after he left, not only did Jerilyn vanish, but so did Lynette Bailey." "What?" Scully finally managed to get a word in edgewise. But a word was all she got for Mulder was in full steam. "The Navy did not tell the Admiral about his missing family, although there was a massive manhunt for the mother and child. Because of their domestic problems, they charged Lynette with kidnapping Jerilyn. "So you can imagine how frightened and furious the Admiral was when he left that ship only to find that his wife and daughter had vanished without a trace. He was given sympathetic leave until further notice. He joined the manhunt, offered a sizable reward, did everything in his power to find them. "Then, two months after he had been on leave, he gets a call from a hospital in Helena, Montana. The doctor was treating a woman and a young girl, left for dead in the mountains that he said matched the description of Lynette and Jerilyn... sound familiar Scully?" A snippet of her conversation with Jerilyn en route to London from Washington flashed back to her. "Mulder, Starkweather told me that her mother died of brain cancer... was it the same as my cancer?" A long pause. "And they found a chip in Lynette's neck. She had it removed when Jerilyn was about fourteen. She contracted the cancer shortly after that. And died after Starkweather graduated from high school at the young age of sweet sixteen." "So you believe that Starkweather and her adoptive mother are abductees... but what about Starkweather's mental illness?" "That's the amazing part, Scully. It was as if her disorders never happened. Not only does she not remember her abduction, but also she has no memory of the first six years of her life, especially about her childhood psychosis. Whatever mental malfunction she had, was cured during her disappearance... but shortly after her return to her father is when she began to show signs of genius capabilities." Mulder took two aspirins and chased them with the glass of water Frohike poured for him. "But that's all I have now." "I wonder why the Admiral didn't tell us that, that is important information." Scully sounded angry. Mulder turned his back on the Lone Gunmen and walked back to the living room, making a beeline for Scully's soft armchair. He could feel the headache creeping down from his face into his neck and back. "We're working on it," he said as he shut Scully's blinds, the sunlight was killing his eyes. "You sound terrible," Dr. Scully suddenly burst out. "Mulder, why aren't you at work? What time is it there, only three or so?" Scully said accusingly. "Mulder, you need to be careful with your health, you know that." "That's why I went home early Scully," Mulder lied. "I'm a little tired and I woke up with a fever" - for the second day in a row - "so I'm just going to hang out with the rugrat for the rest of the day and let the stooges do all the dirty work. Happy?" "How is my baby?" Scully willed herself not to cry. Her arms ached to reach out across the seas, just to touch her miracle. "Aw, just fine, Scully." Mulder assured her. "Sleeping like an angel," strapped to Frohike's belly, but he decided Scully didn't need to know that. "Misses Mommy, of course." He looked through the kitchen doors at the Gunmen. He couldn't see Langly, but Frohike was pacing the kitchen, his movement lulling Scully's sweet child to sleep and Byers still hard at work at his computer. "I miss you," he said in a low voice, confident the Gunmen couldn't hear. Back in London, Scully smiled as twin tears slipped down her face. It wasn't often that Mulder was so point-blank about his feelings. "I miss you too," she whispered back, as if she was speaking a secret so fragile it would shatter the minute someone else would hear. "I wish you were here. Not just for the X-File, but... just because." Mulder was about to say something sweet and wonderful but the second he opened his mouth, a huge crash erupted in the kitchen. The baby began to wail. Both Mulder and Scully, at the opposite sides of the ocean, jumped at the same time. "What the hell..." he groaned. "Mulder, what's happening?" Scully, panicked, asked. Her panic turned into irritation when she heard Langly's familiar nasal voice ask: "Hey Mulder, was that china tea set thingy valuable you think?" "Mulder," she said sternly. "Those guys better not be at my apartment. Not after I specifically told you I didn't want them there when I'm gone." "Maybe we can Krazy-Glue it," she heard Frohike yell over the cries of baby. "Mulder...." Scully said again. Mulder cringed. She had that "I'm-going-to-kick- your-ass" tone of voice. "I gotta go Scully," he said rapid-fire quick. "The baby probably needs to be changed, call me when you get to Inverness, I love you, bye." Then there was a click and dial tone. Scully stared at the phone and shook her head. "I'm going to kick his ass," she grumbled as she wiped the tearstreaks from her face and went to join Starkweather and Doggett at the bar. Mulder surveyed the damage in the kitchen. Not had only Langly broken the tea set Scully's grandmother had given her, the sink was heaped with dishes, the countertops were spattered with food stains and the garbage was beginning to smell funky. Fortunately, Frohike had calmed the baby down. Mulder took the infant out of the carrier and cuddled the child in his arms. After kissing the baby on the forehead, he looked coldly at the Lone Gunmen, sheepishly trying to clean up the shards of porcelain on the floor, which was beginning to look grimy. Mulder also noticed the mess was starting to migrate from the kitchen to the rest of the apartment. "Guys, if we don't get this cleaned up before Scully gets home, she's going to kick all of our asses," he said before taking the baby into Scully's room for a fresh diaper. The next day... Cuchullin Lodge Hotel 43 Culduthel Road Inverness, Scotland 11:42 AM, Inverness Time The agents left London early to get to Inverness on time. They had an appointment with an officer from Scotland Yard at their hotel. Of course all three of the American agents had seen "Braveheart" so they were prepared for the mossy mountains surrounded by mists. However, they were surprised by the masses of flowers everywhere. Or the huge suspension bridges over the rivers. Again, Scully felt the weird sensation or perhaps desire would be a better term, to be "normal." She did a little homework on the capital of the Scottish Highlands. she thought as she read about the ghost of the "Green Lady" haunting the Eden Court Theatre, King Duncun I haunting the River Ness, near Inverness Castle, the reputed castle where the true story of Macbeth supposedly occurred and of course the infamous Loch Ness not that far away. It was a paranormal paradise. However, no ghosts or goblins today. Her mission, along with her partners, was about an aircraft crash and a missing pilot. She wrapped her clinical detachment around her like a magician's cloak. Later she would think about missing her child. Later she would worry about Mulder's absence from work. Later she would plan the perfect words to rip into Mulder's butt for letting the Gunmen come over to her pristine apartment. Later she would get her hands on Jerilyn Starkweather's medical files and delve deeper into this mysterious woman. Later. All would have to wait for later. Again, their lodgings were far and away better than anything the FBI had provided for any of their agents. "Wow..." Even stoical Doggett's mouth dropped open in awe as the three of them stepped into the Resident's Lounge, taking in all the antiques plus pink and mauve chairs that looked sinfully soft to sink into. Starkweather went to the enormous sparkling clean window. "Look at all the trees... I can't believe how green everything is here..." Despite her current detachment, Scully looked at Starkweather with new eyes after Mulder's dissertation. The world saw a capable, bright young woman in a neat black suit and an emerald green silk blouse. Scully saw a frightened little girl, possessed by a frenetic energy and mental hyper- stimulation that baffled the creme a la creme of the medical experts. Her reverie was broken by a feminine Scottish voice, speaking slowly, knowing her thick Scottish accent might be unintelligible to ignorant American ears. "Are you the American detectives?" The trio turned to see a striking Scottish woman in a midnight blue dress suit waiting patiently for their answer. Doggett made the first move towards her. 'Detective' wasn't the right title, of course, but it was close enough. "Yes, we're from the American Federal Bureau of Investigation," Doggett maneuvered around her faux paux. "Can we help you?" "I am called Antonia Mackenzie and yes, I am with the Scotland Yard. And what are you called?" "I'm Agent John Doggett, this," he pointed to each woman as he said their names. "Is Agent Dana Scully and Agent Jerilyn Starkweather." "Ah, very good," Mackenzie nodded. "Well, then, I was informed that you wanted to see the wreckage site immediately so let's bring your belongings up to your rooms and then off we'll go. Beautiful place this is," she said fondly, her eyes sweeping over the magnificent room. "My husband and I honeymooned here. Lovely, lovely place. I am here to help you in any capacity from legal questions to the best place to dine in Inverness. I would recommend Givan's Restaurant on Bridge and Barrett. Shall we go on then?" Doggett, Starkweather and Scully picked their bags up again and followed Mackenzie out. The same day Scully's Apartment Georgetown 6:42 AM Mulder had kicked all the covers off, sweating out a bad dream. He was back in that torture chamber, needles piercing his face, a saw going through his chest while he was wide awake and fully aware. Hazy faces stared at him, nodding approvingly as he screamed out in agony and disbelief that this was even happening: "SCULLY!" The baby's piercing cry brought Mulder out of the nightmare. He sat up, heart pounding. His yelling had woken the baby up. "Oh sh*t," he murmured as he slid off Scully's bed and stumbled in the dawn's half-light towards the bassinet. He sweated profusely even though Scully kept the apartment at about 68 degrees and he was in just boxers. Checking on the squirming, screaming infant, he discovered, with great relief, that a diaper change or a feeding wasn't necessary. "Awww, kid," he crooned as he picked the baby up. "I'm sorry," he kissed the baby's forehead and sat back down on the bed, thinking about Jerilyn Starkweather, about the tortures she must have endured during her disappearance, during her infancy even, before the Baileys found her. Pain that Sammantha must have suffered when she vanished into thin air. Tortures that this sweet child of Scully's must never never endure. That no child should ever have to go through. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "Mulder," Frohike tapped on the doorframe. "We heard you yelling. You okay?" The Lone Gunmen decided to stay with Mulder until further notice. Their "new recruits" Jimmy and Yves were holding down the fort while Scully was gone. It was more Frohike's idea than Byers or Langly. "Sure," Mulder said to his oft abused yet still loyal friend. "I just... had a bad dream," he said lamely. "You look like shit." "Melvin, you always warm my heart." "Boo okay?" At first the Gunmen had jokingly nicknamed the baby as "Spooky Two" but after an ass chewing from not just Scully, but Mulder, Skinner AND Doggett, they began calling the baby "Boo" instead. They got away with that one because it sounded cute. "Boo's fine," Mulder stroked the baby's pretty head. The baby still snuffled a bit. "Go back to sleep Melvin, it's Saturday." Frohike nodded and disappeared. Mulder still feeling terrible carefully slid back onto Scully's bed with the baby still in his arms. The headache never really went away and now his ears were ringing. The baby still whimpered. He leaned against the pillows, cuddling the still frightened child to his bare chest. "Shh, shh... it's okay. Mommy's hunting bad guys, but she'll be home soon." Even though his singing voice was execrable, he gave a lullaby a shot anyway. "Hush little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird.... A very large official looking building near Inverness 1:12 PM Inverness time Mackenzie fiddled with her keys. "We brought what was left of the aircraft back here to protect it from the elements for further investigation. We have recreated how the plane was found as closely as possible, but of course we had our crews examine it with a fine tooth comb plus take many photographs that you should have received in your files." She finally unlocked the giant swinging doors. "I had just received notice from your military that they want this plane back on American soil in no less than forty-eight hours, which I'm afraid doesn't leave you much time." She moved aside so Doggett, Starkweather and Scully could go inside. "Jiminy Christmas," Starkweather murmured, looked at the heap of twisted metal in front of them. "Any word on survivors?" Scully asked, snapping on her latex gloves. "None of yet to my knowledge," Mackenzie replied. "Well, ladies," Doggett drawled, digging his gloves out of his coat pocket. "Let's get to work." The same day Scully's Apartment 8:15 AM, Eastern Standard time "Mulder, dude," Langly brought him a sloppy glass of orange juice as Frohike relieved him of the baby. "Drink up buddy." "Is it a screwdriver?" "No." "Then screw you." Mulder smiled weakly. "Hey, man," Langly huffed, "If you're still sick when Scully gets back, she's gonna kick our asses, which is gonna suck, so drink up. My mom said orange juice is good for you." "You had a mother?" Mulder said incredulously. "I thought you just sprouted from somewhere," but he took the sticky glass from him and downed it. He found he was really thirsty and his throat hurt a little. he moaned to himself. He got up from Scully's chair and trudged to the kitchen, which looked even worse from last night. Mulder noticed small puddles of orange juice splattered on the floor and even he in his slovenly ways felt the hairs on his neck stick up in revulsion. he devoutly hoped he could get Scully's apartment up to par by the time she got home. "Byers, what do you got for me on Golden Boy?" he clapped Byers on the back. Byers had spent all night hacking into the Starkweathers' personal accounts and files. "Not much. Luke Starkweather is originally from Fargo, North Dakota but moved to Minneapolis in 1970 with his wife, a former Linda Horner to take a job as a high school teacher and football coach at a private Catholic institution until his retirement five years ago. Linda was a homemaker who raised Ben and his older sister Mary Paula. Mary Paula is married with two kids working as a social worker in St. Paul. No one in their family has had any usual ailments in their lifetime. No history of criminal offense other than a speeding ticket here and there. The Starkweathers are clean." "Makes ya sick doesn't it?" Langly said cheerily, eating Cornflakes directly out of the box. "How is the search going on Jerilyn's adoptive mother?" Mulder felt nauseous watching Langly eat. He held his arms out to Frohike for Boo and Frohike reluctantly yielded the baby to him. Byers turned to face him, "Why don't you rest a bit and as soon as the files finish downloading, I'll print them and bring them to you to read." "Why do you say that?" Mulder was tired of being treated like a cripple. Ever since his resurrection and subsequent rejection from the FBI, everyone walked on eggshells around him. Except Scully, Doggett and Skinner, of course. Those three, he wished they would cut him a little slack. "Because," Byers said patiently. "You're white a ghost." "Oh." Frohike took the baby away from Mulder again. Scully took pictures of the wreckage with her digital camera, Doggett with his old trusty 35mm manual Minolta and Starkweather with her phenomenal photographic memory. One of her extraordinary talents was her ability to have her mind on two subjects at once and never missing a beat or mixing subjects up, a great talent to possess especially in high school; she could daydream incessantly and yet answer the teacher correctly without hesitation. While she was peering so close to the wreckage that her nose was touching the glass of the canopy, she debated on what to say to Benjamin the next time she called home, if she even called him at all. Not because she was angry, but she knew she really needed to think about where she wanted to her marriage to go. It sure wasn't going on love alone, although love for Ben, she had plenty of. "Hello, what is this," she pressed on the glass canopy of the aircraft. "This didn't shatter on impact?" she called out to Mackenzie. "Amazingly enough, no," Mackenzie replied. "It had our inspectors just as baffled as you. As badly damaged as the craft was, we were surprised to find the canopy in one piece. We never did find the left wing at all." "Scully, Doggett, look at this please," Starkweather traced her finger along the canopy where glass and metal met. Scully and Doggett flanked each side of her. "What're we lookin' at?" Doggett asked. "I don't know," Starkweather said. "Because... if it's what I think it is... then it doesn't make sense. Um, Inspector Mackenzie?" Starkweather asked, not sure of her proper title, but considering the fact she referred to them as "Detectives", Starkweather wasn't too concerned about ruffling feathers over nametags. "Are you absolutely sure no one has tampered with this beyond transportation?" "Absolutely," Mackenzie said curtly, miffed that her word was being questioned. "And this canopy was found exactly the way it is now." "Aye." "Wow, I thought they only said that in the movies," Starkweather mused aloud. "Anyway, and we still haven't recovered the pilot." "Aye." "That makes no sense," Starkweather fumed. "None at all." "Why?" Scully said. "Look at this canopy, he never punched out." Starkweather began to pace and bite her lip. "The plane was crashing, he never punched out, the cockpit is a shambles, there's no body, but this canopy never opened for him to evacuate." "Are you sure?" Scully came closer to the plane to take a better look. "I dated a few pilots while I was still active Air Force, I know I know, shock and surprise, try and control yourselves," Starkweather said in a monotone. "A couple of them tried to be all macho and cute and show the itty bitty medic girl how the big bad planes fly. They didn't realize that the little medic girl would remember verbatim." Starkweather said grimly, remembering those insane whirlwind military relationships. "This canopy never opened." "Then where's the body?" Doggett demanded. Scully gave him a pained look. "'Scuse me," Doggett amended his statement. "Where's the pilot?" "Oh come ON!" Starkweather sighed. "Please. There's no logical way a human body can pass through glass and live." "Actually," Scully found herself going into "Mulder-mode" which always irritated her slightly she would privately bemoan before giving out a very Mulderesque theory. "Glass isn't a true solid. It's a liquid. The only solidified liquid known to man. When it's heated up, it becomes a liquid again." "Scully," Starkweather said patiently. "Do you know how HOT it has to get for glass to liquefy? And if someone were to pass through liquid glass, he'd wish he were dead if he survived. Besides, how could something heat up so fast, allow enough time for a pilot, fully strapped to his seat, to pass through the liquid, and then cool off enough to return to glass and yet there is no deformity to the glass?" She thumped the glass with her gloved knuckles. "There's no sign of warping to signify any extreme heat enough to melt glass and cooling to solidify it again." "Maybe it takes nine minutes," but the moment the words were out of her mouth, naturally skeptical Scully wanted to recant them. Starkweather paused, fighting against a very natural reaction to say: "Are you a raving lunatic?" But her time in the Minneapolis Field Office did serve her well. She chose to learn from her mistakes. She had already taken a tour of Scully's bad side and really didn't care for the view. She chose her words carefully. "I don't perceive any of the usual documented evidence of extraterrestrial involvement." "I don't know, Agent Scully," Doggett walked around the plane. "I think I have to go with Starkweather here. I don't think it's," he grimaced. "Alien. But...it's weird. Damn weird. I would have to lean to something..." it seemed he had to physically force the word out of his mouth. "Paranormal." "I'm not trying to be difficult," Starkweather said bluntly. "But I agree with Doggett, Scully. I just don't think it's our boys in the sky causing this shit." She shook her head. "I don't really enjoy blowing your theories out of the water-" okay, that was a white lie there was nothing she enjoyed more than proving people wrong, but Starkweather opted for diplomacy "- but it seems that every finding I make, only serves to complicate the case further," which was the truth in her eyes. Her next statement was also sincere. "I'm up for any suggestions to gain some clarity." "I'm thinking we have a chat with the village locals," Doggett leaned on the plane. Scully nodded, feeling completely gained up on, but respecting their opinions. For now. "I think you're right." McDonal's Pub Nessa Village, 15 miles north of Inverness 5:21 PM Scottish time A bell jangled harshly as Scully opened the door to the darkened pub. It was virtually deserted, except for a surly bartender and Agent John Doggett, sitting alone at a table, going over his notes. He looked up, frustration subduing the brilliance of his blue eyes. "Agent Scully," he said in his formal-Southern-gentleman manner. "How did it go?" "It went nowhere, Agent Doggett," it was an inside joke between them now, to refer to each other as 'Agent', just as she had never called her former partner 'Fox.' "The only thing I could gather is that they all changed their stories from hearing the plane going over their town from a southeastern direction, which would be direction the plane would be going if it flew to here from Florida, to that they heard nothing except for a rumbling in the distance straight north of here, which would be correct if the plane flew straight east. They wouldn't have heard the sonic boom of the plane, just the sound of the crash." "So why the story change? What's so special about that damn plane?" "According to the findings, it's just a standard F- 16 fighter jet. No stealth capabilities, no nuclear weapons." "So why lie?" Doggett questioned. " "Until we find solid proof to corner someone, anyone about their lie, I don't know." Scully leaned back in her chair. Her lovely Madonna face was clouded with fatigue and annoyance. She was so tired of the same old jerk-around, go-around. she thought bitterly. She forced herself back out of "Mom-mode" and back into "FBI- mode." "Should we question him?" She nodded at the bartender who eyed the two Americans with great distrust. "Maybe we should wait for Starkweather," Doggett said. As if it was a television show, Starkweather pushed her way through the door on cue. She stood for a moment, her eyes flickering here and there, like they did when she first entered the X-File office. Scully observed the odd mannerism with curious medical interest. she wondered. Suddenly, a dusty object caught Starkweather's eye. "Oh, a piano!" she shouted out in glee. Scully and Doggett both gave each other a "what the hell" look, then looked over at the very professionally dressed woman, skipping over to the old stand up piano like a little girl. "Do you mind? Is it in tune?" She leaned up against the bar and smiled sensual-sweet. The bartender, taken aback by the vivacious lady dressed in black with the American accent. "Aye, it be in tune," he said slowly. "Tuned it every first of the month." "Thank you!" she patted his hand and went to the piano. She sat her valise next to her on the bench, clicked the snaps open and pulled out a tape recorder. She hit Record/Play and set it on top of the piano. She tentatively tapped the middle C note three times, listened, played a halting rendition of "Chopsticks." Scully and Doggett looked at each other again. Scully rolled her eyes. She couldn't help it. Doggett smirked and looked at the floor. Starkweather put her finger to her lip, thought for a bit, then put her fingers to the key and began to play, flawlessly, ears down low near the keys, eyes closed, the main theme from Jane Campion's film "The Piano." Scully, Doggett and the bartender's mouths all dropped open in surprise. After she finished played, she wheeled around to face the bartender. "Tuned the first of the month you say," she said, voice still sweet, but her eyes were not. "Aye," the bartender said uncomfortably. "That was... six days ago?" "Aye." "A plane crashed here four days ago." "Aye, crashed straight north of here. Bloody mess it made." "Straight north? Didn't fly over the town at all?" "No'm," he said warily, feeling himself falling into a trap he couldn't see. Starkweather stood up and shut the tape player off. "Pianos are far more delicate that they appear. Any type of disturbance can knock it out of tune. My piano got so out of tune being rattled around in a U-Haul, driving cross-country, I thought it would never be in tune again. When I was a little girl, we lived so near an airfield, that every week my mother had to call the tuner in to fix the piano because the sonic boom of the jets taking off would shake our house, which means our piano got rattled out of tune." She hit the middle C note again. "This piano is out of tune by one full note, which shouldn't be if it was tuned four days ago and judging by the dust, played never. Unless something rattled this building, like a jet plane crashing. So why don't you tell us what your village of three hundred people, including the sheep, won't." The smile disappeared from her face. The bartender physically sagged. Now Scully and Doggett shared a triumphant smile. "Ach, what the bloody hell, I donna have nothin' to live for anyways," the bartender said miserably as he left the bar and sat by Scully and Doggett. "Did someone threaten you, Mr...?" Scully started. "Threatened? That's a light word for the deeds being done to this town ever since that bloody jet went down..." Then Scully's cell rang. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "Scully... are you serious... alright, we'll be there as soon as possible. Thank you." Hanging up, she said. "That was Antonia Mackenzie. They found the pilot's body. They want us there for the autopsy." Starkweather leaned against the dirty piano. "Can you come with us to Inverness? I'm sorry, we never got your name." The barkeep grinned grimly. "Wallace." Starkweather, a huge movie buff, appreciated the irony. "I think you can be a hero without your head being cut off." The same dark duo who watched Jerilyn Starkweather leave for her first day at the X-Files, watched the American agents lead the bartender to their rental car. "Is it her?" The first man asked. "Yeah." The second man said laconically. "Any instructions?" "Yeah," the second man started up the van once the agents' car was down the road and out of sight. "Wait 'til she's alone in Inverness." Inverness City Morgue 6:45 PM, Inverness Time Drs. Scully and Starkweather entered the autopsy room, donned in pale pea green scrubs. Scully already had her fiery hair tucked up in her surgical cap, but Starkweather was still braiding her long long hair into a thick coil as she trailed Scully. "Where's Doggett? Should we wait for him?" She wound the coil into a bun and threw the cap on. Scully was pulling the recording microphone down so it would hover right over the covered body. "He's questioning Mr. Wallace with Inspector Mackenzie. He'll join us when he's through." Scully made a small flourish towards the table. "Want to do the honors?" Sometimes, Scully missed being an instructor. Starkweather approached the table. "Is it on," she gestured towards the microphone. Scully nodded. Starkweather plunged in. "Case File Number X - 3776133, date, April 6, 2001, time, six-forty-seven PM Inverness time, one-forty-seven PM Eastern standard time. Subject has been positively identified as Air Force Major Vincent Ford from his dogtags and dental records." Starkweather pulled the sheet off of the victim. "Holy shit!" she gagged from the burnt stench from the body. Scully retched too, but then stared too. The corpse was badly burned. "Third degree burns over 80 percent of his body," she pronounced ominously. "Scully, I think we need to get a sample of that glass from the cockpit," She peered closer to the corpse just as Doggett swaggered in, obviously angry. He turned a slight shade of green at the stink of the deceased, but did not gag. He did not look happy. "Agent Doggett, what's the matter?" "Wallace is claiming that men from our government visited the village and warned them to keep their mouths shut. Or we'll burn their village down and there's nothing the Royal British government will do about it," his lips were pressed into a thin, narrow line, making his face look even more cragged than usual. "I don't know if these people are with our government or not, but just before I left to come here, Mackenzie got a call. The pub Wallace worked at is burning uncontrollably as we speak. Wallace is in Mackenzie's protective security." "Oh my God," Starkweather clenched her scalpel tightly. "What secret is so vital that they're resorting to hurting civilians?" Scully was still poking around the body. "Or killing a badly injured man instead of bringing him to a hospital?" "What?" It was almost comical that Doggett and Starkweather said that at the same time. "Starkweather, come here and look at this." When Starkweather bent over the body, Scully noticed, with horror, a strange scar on the back of her neck, normally hidden by her ponytails, braids and buns. Scully made a mental note to call Mulder tonight.... Wallace sat nervously in the passenger seat of the bad-smelling Alphasud, with Antonia Mackenzie driving. When it became glaringly obvious that they were leaving the twinkling city lights far behind them, he demanded "Where're ye takin' me?" Mackenzie drove in silence until they came to a deserted bit of fields near the rivers. She pulled out of her gun. "Get out." She said in a masculine voice, her body stretching and expanding into the form of a man. Wallace screamed. In less than fifteen minutes it was over. The bodies of Wallace and Mackenzie, which had been decomposing in the hot trunk since right after she made the call to Scully that the body was found, had been neatly weighted down and tossed into the roaring river. They wouldn't be found for months. Emotionless, he morphed back into Mackenzie and went back to the waiting vehicle. He hoped his partner had a clear shot at Starkweather. He cursed her existence. He had not realized how acute her observational skills truly were. If not for her, Doggett and Scully probably would have never known that the canopy never opened. He had never worked with a partner before. He hoped he could do the job, with the minimum of fuss. He cursed the fools who allowed Jerilyn Starkweather live to see adulthood. She should have been destroyed along with the others in her infancy. No one would have missed her back then. He was not a religious man, but he was infinitely grateful to whatever power was higher than he, that her offspring never survived to be born, for Starkweather herself, in his eyes, should have never been created in the first place. He started the car and drove back to Inverness. Scully and Starkweather prodded the body, murmuring to each other in highly medical terms, completely losing Doggett. "Hey Doc," he said, unconsciously gifting Starkweather the nickname she would carry for the remainder of her FBI career and her life, "wanna translate into English?" "Sorry," Starkweather moved aside so Doggett could see. She pointed to a tiny hole in his chest, right over his heart. "Stab wound." Doggett, unafraid of the dead **provided that they were truly 100% dead, of course** leaned closer. "It's not a knife. Looks like ice pick or something. Long, sharp, smooth." "And big," Scully, ever fearless, stuck her gloved pinkie into the hole. "The weapon went through flesh, muscle and bone, cleanly and smoothly." "Could've happened during the crash?" Doggett said. "No," Scully said. "He was alive when he was stabbed." "He survived... THAT?!?!" Doggett gestured over the body, indicating the wounds. "Well, remember what Starkweather said," Scully said. "He'd wish he was dead if he survived passing through heated liquidified glass. Third degree burns are the most severe burns a body can withstand." "Survival is possible," Starkweather chirped up. "But like I said earlier today, most of the time, the survivors wished they were dead." "So this was a mercy killin'?" Doggett sounded doubtful. "Well, it was a killin' anyways," Starkweather mimicked Doggett's Southern twang playfully. "Well, let's see, we've got a whole town scared shitless, a pub that burned to the ground because the barkeep came with us and a dead pilot who might not have been dead if he hadn't been found by an angel of mercy. Somebody really doesn't want anyone to know what happened to that plane." Scully frowned, a sacrilegious act for her lovely Madonna face to commit. "Which makes me really to find out the truth even more." Doggett thought with a wry smile. Scully's cell rang. "Scully...... ok.... sure.... we'll be there." She hung up the phone with a snap. "That was Mackenzie again. She said she on her way back from depositing Wallace at a safehouse in Edinburgh. She gave me a name of a restaurant she wants to meet us in about ten minutes." Doggett nodded in approval. "Let's get going then." As they were walking out of the morgue, Starkweather couldn't help vocalizing a nagging worry that nibbled at her spine ever since Scully said 'Edinburgh.' "How far is Edinburgh from Inverness?" Doggett and Scully stopped. They looked at each other. Doggett pulled out a battered map of Scotland. He frowned, meticulously refolded the map, took out his gun, checked the magazine and took it off of safety. Scully and Starkweather did the same. "Call Skinner," Scully said to Doggett. He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial. "Get him to find out from a reliable source where Wallace is. Tell him time is vital." "Oh shit," Starkweather groaned as she loaded a fresh clip into her weapon. "This can't be good." The trio walked to their rental car.. Girvan's Restaurant Holland and Barrett, Inverness Ten minutes later.... Mackenzie - or rather, the being posing as Inspector Antonia Mackenzie - waited patiently outside the restaurant, fuming. Her "partner" had gotten tied up in traffic. She would have to handle the situation on her own. It was going to be public and messy and she hated that. It would have to be with a gun too. She hated that even more. She saw the agents approach them on foot so she waved in greeting. "Good evening," she said naturally. "I trust the autopsy went well, ladies," she said genially to the female agents with pleasant blank expressions. Maybe this nasty little chore wouldn't be so difficult after all. Wait for Starkweather to use the restroom, or better yet, make some excuse to have Starkweather go with her... maybe she wouldn't have to use a gun after all... grab her by the throat, squeeze, stab, then slip out the window. Let them find the body. It would be an irrelevant X-File case for Scully, Doggett and Mulder to chase after while the real work was in progress. Mackenzie felt good about her decision about throwing them a red herring. Starkweather was no threat dead. Drawing breath, on the other hand... "The autopsy didn't any conclusive findings about how he was able to escape the plane," Scully said politely. "If it wasn't for Wallace, we'd be at a dead end." Mackenzie thought. "Aye, Wallace." She nodded gravely. "Let us discuss this over the dinner. I am famished." "I'm sure you are, after that long drive," Starkweather said gravely. And Mackenzie realized her mistake, but tried to cover. "Ach, broke every motor vehicle law trying to get back here at a proper time. Shall we go inside?" Doggett looked at the women. Scully and Starkweather looked at the man, both arching their eyebrows. "Miss Mackenzie," Doggett drawled, oozing out the Southern charm, "we feel right bad 'bout you makin' that long trip alone, we'll have to buy you a beer just for that." He, now all buddy-buddy now, clamped his big hand on her petite shoulder; she was more delicate-looking than Scully even. "Actually, a lager would be lovely right now," Mackenzie didn't like Doggett's big paw on her person. However, she was infinitely stronger than he was, but to cause a scene would be catastrophic right now. "I mean," his hand tightened on her shoulder. "Makin' that LONG drive to Edinburgh, when your super right here in Inverness had a little place for Wallace all made up for him," Skinner had delivered the goods. Doggett felt that rush he always got when he nailed a bad guy. "And your boss is still sitting at Wallace's safe house, all alone. Waitin' for Wallace and waitin' for you to get in touch with him and all, seeing that nobody told him you were gonna be late and nobody at Edinburgh has any idea that you and Wallace were supposed to be comin'. But that probably that don't matter since you and Wallace never showed up." He squeezed tighter, Mackenzie made a little yelp, he was hurting her now, and "so how about you quit the crap and tell us who you're working for and what's so Got-damned important about one measly little fighter jet that got off course?" For some strange and wonderful moment, whatever Greater Being ruling the universe, had it written in his master plan for Dana Scully to look over Mackenzie's shoulder. "Doggett! Starkweather, get down!" she drew her gun and pushed Starkweather roughly to the ground as shots were fired from behind Doggett and Mackenzie. Just as Scully had shouted his name, Mackenzie threw Doggett off of her into the glass window, cracking it but not shattering it. Scully fired after them. Starkweather got up, drew her weapon and ran after them. Doggett, high from adrenaline, shock and pure anger, followed suit, Scully, right behind them, weaving through the screaming panicked crowd holding up her badge yelling "FBI! Federal Agent!" forgetting that those titles mean absolutely nothing to the locals. Starkweather had the lead of the other two agents, in hot pursuit of Mackenzie and the gunman. "Federal Agent! American Federal Agent, GET OUT OF MY WAY!" she screamed as she fished awkwardly in her coat pocket for her badge. Starkweather saw the duo kitty-corner over to the other side of Holland road towards a crummy looking floral delivery truck. She kept running straight, hoping to maybe corner them. She ran into traffic, weaving in and out of the tiny European cars, getting cursed at. Meanwhile, the adrenaline had flowed out of Doggett's body and the pain began to set in. Still, while gulping great big drafts of air, he ran on, keeping Starkweather in his sights, watching her maneuver through all the little cars. He saw the delivery truck start moving. Doggett paused to shoot out the tires, plugged one of the back tires, but still it drove on, gaining speed. Scully was only a step behind Doggett. She too, fired at the tires, but missed. "Damn!" She stopped when she heard the sirens in the not too far distance. Someone had to stay behind and explain to the Scottish police exactly why shots were fired in a busy peaceful street. Doggett had almost caught up with Starkweather. All the cars had pretty much swerved out of her way, especially after seeing her drawn gun. She was in perfect firing stance, gun gripped firmly in both hands, one foot in front of the other. She was aiming at the delivery truck, hurtling right for her. She fired, destroying the front tires. It still came right for her. She fired again, blowing out the windshield, it still came right for her. Doggett, helpless on the sidelines, surrounded by gawking and terrified civilians, didn't have a clear shot. All he could do was scream: "STARKWEATHER!!!!!" The van was less than ten feet away from her. Cuchullin Lodge Hotel Scully and Starkweather's room 12:15 AM Inverness time 6:15 PM Eastern Standard time Exhausted, Doggett leaned against the wall, looking out the window as Scully sat on the edge of her bed, recounting the evening's events to Mulder. There was a crackle of static, then she heard Mulder ask "So what happened next?" "Remember when we went and saw 'Hannibal'?" Ever since that horrid movie based on their work came out, Mulder and Scully would once in a while check out a movie that had anything to do with the FBI, mostly to snicker and say "That's not realistic." Last movie like that they saw was the sequel to The Silence of the Lambs. Doggett and Monica Reyes had gone with. "Sure," Mulder said. "It sucked." "Mulder, I'm not here to argue the merits of a movie. I'm just saying do you remember the scene where Julianne Moore was firing at the van and then threw herself away from the van, rolling on the hood of a parked car. That's exactly what she did. The van was literally inches away from her right before she did that. The van lost control and crashed a few feet away," Scully sighed. "Agent Doggett caught up with Starkweather and the van, he should probably tell you the rest." She held the phone up for Doggett. "Hi, Puppy-Man," Mulder said cheerily. "Deputy Mayor Mulder," Doggett said formally, fuming at the hideous nickname that stuck to him like flypaper. "Agent Starkweather and I investigated the van. The passenger was gone, Starkweather swore that she hit the driver." He stopped dead. "But what?" Mulder prodded, aching to be there, hearing the call for battle, feeling like the decrepit war-horse put out to pasture. he reminded himself. "There was nothing in the driver seat but this green goo that was eatin' away at the upholstery." "Green?" "Yeah, we've got a sample sent to Interpol labs and to Quantico." Mulder closed his eyes as he rubbed the baby's tummy. He was laying shirtless and sockless on a fuzzy yellow blanket with the baby, enjoying a moment of peace without the Gunman. Scully's apartment was in shambles, but Mulder was confident he'd have it clean in plenty of time before Scully came home. He wiped his face with his hand. Still sweating. he thought as he continued to talk to Doggett. "How's the kid? Where is she now?" "She's still giving her statement to Interpol and the local law. She's doin' okay. Pissed as hell that the suspect got away." Doggett said as he recalled the Starkweather exploding into such profanity that it would have made an old-school Marine blush when they discovered the van devoid of passengers. "Put Scully back on for a second," Mulder asked. When Scully took the phone again, Mulder said "Scully, someone wants Jerilyn dead. The stooges dug up some more medical records and they're pretty sick," Mulder looked at the baby, reached to touch fondly the child's fuzzy head. The baby gurgled happily; the little arms and fists waving in simple innocent joy. "Scully, when Starkweather was no older than your baby right now, she was horribly tortured. Torture consistent of most alien abductees. Starkweather spent nearly a year in the hospital recovering from something she wasn't even supposed to recover from. For the first three months of her life, Jerilyn was nothing more than an infant lab rat." Scully closed her eyes, listening to Mulder, gripping the bed. Doggett sat beside her. "You okay?" he mouthed to her. Scully, heartsick at the idea of someone -- or thing -- hurting a helpless baby made her physically ill. "They did something to her, those bastards and now they want to undo what they have done." Mulder went on. "I think we need to tell Doggett what we know about her. If her life's on the line, he needs to know...." Starkweather entered the room while Scully was still on the phone with Mulder. "Agent Starkweather, what took so long," Scully said evenly, while hoping that Mulder realized that she wasn't going to discuss Starkweather's history while she was in the room. Starkweather began to undo her bun, again, unaware of the child princess effect of her hair tumbling over her diminutive shoulders. "Oh, after giving my statement, I had to go to the hospital for my arm because it was hurting." She ruefully rubbed her upper arm. "Hairline fracture from when I hit the hood of that Yugo," referring to when she rolled onto the vehicle to get away from the floral delivery truck hurtling towards her. "Gave me some mild pain killers, but they really can't do anything more. Hurts like a bitch though." Starkweather turned to Scully, asking, "Is that Skinner?" on the phone. "No," Scully replied. "It's Agen-,um, Deputy Mayor Mulder. I'm checking in on how my baby is." "Ah." Starkweather nodded. "Well, then, I'll just leave you then. I'm going for a walk." She smiled wanly. "I'm a little wired, I need to wind down." She left the room, silently shutting the door behind her. "Agent Doggett, why don't you go with to make sure she's okay," Scully suggested. Doggett said "Sure," understanding that one, Starkweather was more than just "a little wired" and she may need her partner, and maybe her friend to confide in, and two, Scully may want some private time with Mulder. He left the room swiftly, hoping to catch Starkweather before she got too far ahead. Scully resumed her conversation with Mulder. "I'll talk to Doggett as soon as I get a private moment with him." "Don't put it off too long Scully." "I understand the urgency Mulder," Scully used that patient tone of voice that irritated Mulder into rationality. "Mulder, now that Doggett is gone, I can tell you what else I observed about Starkweather." "What?" "When she put her hair up before we did the autopsy on the dead pilot, I saw scarring on her neck. Scarring similar to mine." Scully lay down on the bed, kicking off her heels, hearing them clunk to the floor as she wiggled her toes. "But Mulder, what I want to know is, how are you? You sound congested." "Oh, I'm fine," Mulder lied, wiping his nose with a Kleenex, then pitching it into the trash can nearby. He ached all over and his chest and sinuses felt painfully tight. "Must be the connection. You sound muffled too." "How is my baby? "Oh fine," Mulder rested his head on the blanket, eye to eye with the baby. The child cooed in recognition, reaching for Mulder's big, broken nose eagerly. Mulder smiled and adoredly rubbed the baby's nose with his fingertip. "Growing leaps and bounds. I've been taking pictures to mark the progress." "Mulder," Scully sighed, closing her eyes. "Take care of yourself. I not only trust my life to you, but the life of my child as well." "Wow," Mulder said dryly. "No pressure." "Mulder," Scully now had that infamous warning note in her voice. "Scully," Mulder teased, aping her warning note. "We'll be home soon." "We'll be waiting with bells on, won't we Boo?" Scully smiled contently as she heard the chortling of her baby in the background. "I miss you two." "We miss you too, G-woman. Get some sleep, it's got to be one in the morning over there." Scully was exhausted but loathed to hang up the phone quite yet. "You get some rest. We can't have you getting sick on us." "Yes Mother." "Mulder..." "Nobody likes a nag, Scully,'" he teased. "What a romantic you are," Scully teased right back. "Oh, you want romance?" Mulder was still in a joky mood. "The formidable, undefeatable, tough-as-nails Federal Agent Doctor Dana Katherine Scully wants romance??? From ME?? Of all people." He sighed theatrically. "Alright, alright... romance, romance... um, how about..." his tone changed lightening fast from humor to dead serious. "You know you're everything to me. You're my one in five billion." "And you are mine, good night." And Scully, completely homesick, hung up the phone to cry herself to sleep before Starkweather returned. Meanwhile, back at Scully's now messed-up apartment, Mulder propped himself on his elbows, picking up the Polaroid camera again. "Mommy didn't believe me," he said to Boo as he arranged the props around the baby. "That hurts my feelings." He snapped another picture.