Date: 01 Sep 1998 18:21:25 GMT
Subject: Vitam Impendere Vero 1/4 (To Stake One's Life for the Truth)

date: august 31, 1998

category: um, lessee, X, C, UST and some MSR just for fun

rating: i'd say about a pg-13 for a few nasty words

spoilers: reference to 'wotc' (see if you catch it!) also a tiny nod 
to 'tfwid', 'the end', 'pilot' and 'tooms', post 'ftf'

disclaimer: the fact that they aren't mine should be totally obvious >i 
hope. ;) additionally, since this is a crossover fic, characters >and a 
few quotes from madeline l'engle's books pop up too. there are 
references to 'a wrinkle in time' but the events are from 'a wind in 
the door' (man, i'm just stealin' from everyone aren't i??) the >latin, 
german and french are all madeline's so if you've got beef >with the 
translations, take it up with her. there are also snatches >of three 
songs in this story. surprisingly enough, the lyrics ain't >mine either. 
:) they belong to: eve 6, barenaked ladies and eagle >eye cherry (all of 
which are *awesome* bands!) 

archive: anywhere!! everywhere!! just keep my name attatched and let 
me know so i can come visit. :)

feedback: would be much appreciated!! i've written some fanfic >before 
but this is my first xf one and i'm nervous about it and i'd >love to 
know what everyone thought. :)

dedication: this is for ann, who got me on the list in the first >place 
and is my muse and line story buddy. :D

summary: on a dark and stormy night, our heroes follow one of >mulder's 
hunches to a small town in upstate new york where they >discover an 
unusual cast of characters and each other while trying >to save the 
universe as we know it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vitam Impendere Vero (1/4)
(To Stake One's Life for the Truth)
An X-Files/Wind in the Door Crossover
by Sarah Stella

It was a dark and stormy night.  As hokey as I know that sounds
that's what it was.  More specifically, it was a dark and stormy
Sunday night.  Nights like these remind me all too painfully of
the Old Testament and Judgement Day.  Logically, of course,
scientifically I know that the world will end when the sun goes
nova and turns into a black hole in about a billion years or so. 
But on nights like this I'm reminded forcefully of Revelations
and the absolute terror I felt as a young Bible-study student,
reading the words: "And I looked as he opened the seventh seal. 
And behold there was a great earthquake.  And the sun became as
black as sack cloth and the moon became as blood."

Outside my apartment windows, trees creaked alarmingly, their
leaves lashing and boiling and slapping against the glass. 
Lightening crackled across the sky, reflecting dully against the
heavy clouds as Nature threw a giant and impressive temper
tantrum.  Wind whistled in through the loose pane which had never
been quite the same since Duane Barry broke it that night...how
long ago *was* it exactly?  I'd forgotten for the moment.  The
problem preoccupied me for a few minutes before my tired brain
cried, "Mercy!" and quit on me altogether. 

I was bored out of my ever-loving mind. Which is probably why I
did what I did.  Well, that's not exactly true, I *did* have
something to do, but the follow-up to my recidividism article was
the absolute last thing I wanted to think about at the moment. 
*And besides, it'll keep till tomorrow evening.* 

I had been cleaning out my bathroom a few months ago when I'd
found it, an absolutely *hideous* shade of nail polish.  It was
dark, dark brown, almost black and so old that the name of the
shade as well as the brand had been rubbed away, sort of like the
ocean rubs away at rocks and things to make them smooth.  I
seriously doubted I'd ever bought such a terrible color, but
then again I couldn't remember how long ago Duane Barry had
broken my window.  Anything's possible I suppose and I was bored.

Oh so very, very bored.  

I propped my feet up comfortably against one of my couch pillows,
first covering it with an old, ratty towel that I kept around for
just such emergencies.  *I think it actually was Queegquag's
towel,* I remembered with a sniff of half-recalled sadness.  I
finished one foot, flipped on the TV and started on the next. 
Contrary to what Mulder thinks, I do *not* watch The Discovery
Channel...I watch The Learning Channel and sometimes A&E.  I
half-listened to the program while I finished up my left foot and
contemplated my still-bare fingernails.

*I could do them,* I reasoned.  *I have nail polish remover if
they look too awful.*  I sort of liked the idea of keeping my
toes dark brown.  Considering them carefully, they didn't look so
bad anyhow.  Brown-black toes would be an incongruity with my
professional attire to say the very least; something that would
allow me a giddy, little thrill.  When you work on the x-files,
you learn to hold fast to all the humor you can find.  On the TV,
a man, a physicist I think, was talking about something called a
tesseract.  I struggled to remember my theoretical physics
courses.  I didn't have to struggle very hard, because he went on
to explain.

"A tesseract is a concept that us physicists like to play around
with.  Although it was always a highly speculative concept--still
is in many ways--we in the scientific community feel that we are
closer to proving the existence of tesseracts than ever before. 
It's hard for even our top minds to envision, but consider this,
there are four known dimensions.  But what if you could square
the fourth dimension?  Your result, the fifth dimension is the
tesseract.  The implications of a tesseract are enormous.  Once
there, you could literally *wrinkle* space or time or both and
travel across immense distances instantaneously."

As if to emphasize the scientist's point, a deafening clap of
thunder split my ears and in that same instant, the lights
flashed out with a soft popping sound and the front door of my
apartment banged open.  A black-clad, hooded figure filled the
doorway, rivulets of water streaming downwards from its shoulders
with a quiet, wet sound, almost like a small fire burning.  My
hand jerked reflexively, smearing a little of the dark brown
polish across the side of my thumb.

"This gives new meaning to the phrase 'raining cats and dogs,'"
Mulder observed, pulling back the hood of his sopping wet poncho.

In the residual, ethereal light coming from the television,
the raindrops that ran down his face turned platinum, giving him
the appearance of a rather largish water sprite.  He looked
almost like he had during that first case when we stood in the
cemetery, the open grave between us, laughing at ourselves, each
other and the prevailing absurdity of the universe in general. 
*That* I could remember.

"Take it off, Mulder," I told him a trifle peevishly, getting to
my feet and moving toward where he still stood, dripping all over
my beautiful hardwood floors.

He raised a single eyebrow at me, the corners of his mouth
twitching the tiniest bit.  Of course, his message was clear, "I
*could* say something about this, but it's just too darn easy." 
With little more than that look, he shrugged out of the poncho
and disappeared into my bathroom, returning a moment later with
his arms empty.  "I put it in the bathtub," he explained.

"Thanks."  I rubbed at the brown stain on my left thumb for a few
moments more until it was mostly gone and then I raised my head
to meet his eyes.

"Practicing to be a vamp, Scully?"  He asked, noting the brown. 
I opened my mouth to protest.  "You don't have to explain, I like
it."  He gave me a shadow of a grin.  "Can I sit down?"

I sat and looked up at him.  "Be my guest."  I gave him a minute
to settle himself before I continued,  "If you don't mind my
asking, what are you doing here, Mulder?"  Though we had
definitely gotten more personal following our return from
Antarctica, we still tried to keep our work lives and our home
lives separate such as they were.  Of course, the distinction
between the two had become so fine that really it was more of an
imaginary line now more than anything else, something observed
for decorum's sake for whatever reason.  Someday we'd have to
deal with that, but it wasn't going to be today.

He shrugged very slightly and then drew himself up a fraction of
an inch.  I could tell where this was going.  "I was just
restless," he said nonchalantly.  "The lightening, the
thunder..."

"The song and dance?" I cut in gently.  "You don't have to try
and hide things from me, Mulder.  It's a useless exercise these
days.  You found something interesting in the x-files, didn't
you?"

"I did.  Scully, what do you know about tesseracts?"

I froze.  Literally froze.  "Not too much," I ventured
cautiously. 

"Well, I didn't know anything about them, but I did a little
digging after I came across a name."  He smiled depreciatingly. 
"Although I'm *still* not sure I'm clear on 'em."

"Whose name?"

"Michael Murry's."  

I snapped my fingers and looked at Mulder with a furled brow. 
"In what context?"

He frowned at me.  "You know him?"

"He was good friends with my experimental physics instructor at
UM.  Nice man."

Mulder's frown deepened.  "Would you believe me if I said I
wasn't sure what context?"

"I might."

"Murry is, by all counts, a brilliant scientist, respected in his
field and by his colleagues who have reason to know.  But I
suspect that he's involved in something vaguely sinister that
even his family may not be aware of."

"What?" I asked, raising my right eyebrow a fraction of an inch. 
Mulder is a wonderful and often brilliant man but he has a flair
for the melodramatic that can grate on my nerves after a while.

"He does a lot of work for the government.  A while back he
disappeared for some months on what was only referred to as the
Uriel Project and he wasn't the only one, another man had
disappeared two years earlier while working on the same project
but, unlike Murry, he never came back."

"What *is* the Uriel Project?  This doesn't seem like much
information to go on," I told him, switching into full skeptic
mode.

Mulder leaned in very closely until I could feel his breath--warm
and slightly moist--on my closed lips.  My own breath caught a
little in my throat like it always does when he's close enough
and I felt the blood rise towards my cheeks with alarming speed. 
I cursed my fair Irish complexion when he appeared to notice my
blush.  He even seemed faintly pleased by it.   My suspicion was
confirmed when he repeated his question, "What do *you* know
about tesseracts?" with a smile that was very nearly jaunty.

****

Which is why I ended up in the passenger seat of Mulder's
nondescript Taurus heading north towards a small lakeside town in
upstate New York to renew an acquaintance with a man who I wasn't
really acquainted with in the first place.  We drove through the
night, sleeping and driving in shifts.  Mulder woke me up for
coffee around Frostburg with a crack about how I was drooling on
him again.  I replied oh-so-wittily in the vein of, "Very funny."

We had our coffee in an all-night diner on the edges of
Frostburg.  By the time we climbed back into the car again, we
were both struggling all the more valiantly to keep our eyes open
partly because of the late hour, partly because of the rain that
had lessened to a rhythmic and soothing patter on the roof of the
car.  My mouth felt rubbery and sticky.  I drove while Mulder
slept, twisted into an awkward-looking position with his head
resting in the crack between the window and the seat.

Strangely enough, it wasn't until we'd been on the road for about
six hours that I looked down at my hands and realized that I'd
forgotten to remove the dark brown polish.

"Damn," I muttered.  Mulder just shifted a little in his sleep. 
I reached over and gave his hand a comforting squeeze, letting my
fingers trace along his fine bones, enjoying the warmth that
shifted under my skin.

In his sleep, he captured my hand with his.  I've always thought
Mulder has wonderful hands, strong and alive and a little rough
but comforting, definitely comforting.  I could feel his pulse
lubbing softly through his skin just as I could hear my own pulse
faintly in my ears.  It wasn't too much later that our two
heartbeats moved from erratic syncopation to smooth unison.  I
don't know exactly how long we rode like that, with our hands
intertwined, but I *do* know that it was for many, many miles.

As the night deepened, it got colder in the car.  I could feel
fatigue creeping up my spine in an inexorable, slithery
progression.  My fingers flew to the radio and I flipped it on,
very softly of course so as not to disturb Mulder's rest.  He got
little enough sleep on a regular basis so he deserved whatever
respite he was getting now.  The bright green numbers twirled for
an alarmingly long time before anything vaguely resembling music
poured out of the speakers: 

"Chickety China, the Chinese Chicken, ya have a drumstick and
your brain stops tickin'...."

*Okay, pass.* I pressed the 'seek' button again.

"I would swallow my pride, I would choke on the rinds but the
lack thereof would leave me empty inside...."

*Strike that idea.* I turned the radio off and blinked hard.
There were other ways of keeping myself awake.

It was a few hours later when I stopped in a sleepy little town
called Wesleyville and asked for directions in a roadside
restaurant hopefully named, 'The Coney Island Diner.'
Authenticity and geography aside, the place had a certain
greasy-spoon charm that was oddly endearing.  However, I was in
no mood to appreciate it at 2 o'clock in the morning so I asked
the woman behind the counter for directions to Findley Lake and
then we were on our way again.

I'd driven nearly five hours when by the time we hit the
outskirts of Findley Lake (which were very nearly the inskirts
anyhow, it wasn't a particularly large town.)  As hard as I
searched, I couldn't seem to find the motel.  I drove full circle
4around the lake at least twice without finding it so, sighing in
defeat, I pulled over into the shoulder and peered in the
direction of a solitary warm twinkle of electric lights.  The
illumination seemed to come from a house that was set back a ways
from the main road.  

Squinting in the direction of the house, I made out a dark shape,
darker than the shadows surrounding it.  Cautiously, I eased open
the car door and stepped out onto the gravel driveway.  My feet
made faint scritching sounds as I neared the--man I could tell
now.  I was only about five feet away from him when recognition
set in.

The Well Manicured Man.

*What on earth?*

"Miss Scully."  He nodded towards me, his typical air of
almost-effete courtesy perfectly preserved.  I had learned not to
trust it, however, it was the same attitude he'd taken toward me
at Mulder's 'funeral.'

"I thought you were dead."  That's what Mulder had said anyhow.

A ghost of a smile rattled over his face.  "As you can see,
reports of my death have been wildly exaggerated."

"What are you doing here?" I edged sideways, trying to escape his
careful scrutiny.

"I'm here to help, Miss Scully," he said, like it was the most
natural thing in the world.  "Come with me and I'll explain
*everything.*"

I spread my fingers wide, reaching for his outstretched hand. 
It's hard to explain, but when he said *everything* it was so
easy to believe him, to believe that if I went with him I'd learn
the Truth.  The Truth about my abduction, about Missy's death,
about Mulder's sister, his father, about *everything.*  I could
feel my mind relaxing into a sleepy confidence.  An internal
alarm went off somewhere, but I was powerless to heed it.  Our
fingers were mere inches apart when....

"Scully!"  Mulder's voice cut sharply through the air behind me.
The small crunchings of my shoes against the gravel driveway must
have woken him.  For the merest instant, I felt the strange
sluggishness in my brain abate.  I opened my mouth and yelled as
loud as I could.  

This was most definitely *not* a girly scream. 

My voice was soon joined and drowned out by an answering wail
from the Well Manicured Man.  He rose into the night like a
great, flapping bird, and flew, screaming across the sky.  His
figure became a rent, an emptiness, a slash of nothingness. 
There was a slight scrambling sound before Mulder jogged up
beside me, touching my elbow to get my attention.  He seemed
surprised when my knees very nearly crumbled beneath me but he
wordlessly supported me with a friendly arm around my shoulders.

He looked me askance for a moment before inquiring, "You okay,
Scully?"  

I nodded, wordlessly, unsure of whether I had any words to
describe my experience.  Was it possible that he hadn't heard me 
scream? Was it possible that he hadn't seen...the *thing*?  

"Where are we?" Mulder asked, his voice still bleary and scratchy
with sleep.

I smiled at him a touch shakily, grateful for the darkness that
partially veiled my features, grateful also that he was
perceptive enough to change the subject.  "Findley Lake.  I had
some trouble finding the motel, you're sure it's here somewhere,
right?"

Mulder nodded vaguely in a way I didn't find at all reassuring. 
He released my shoulders and we started towards the lights in
one, choreographed movement.  Pre-autumn air brushed against my
t-shirt clad arms and I shivered a little.  The first brown
fallen leaves curled around our feet, skittering across the
gravel drive with the sound of dusty whispers.  The storm that
had caught Washington in its throes had passed through here as
well.  From all directions, the slow drip of falling water
splashed into my eardrums.  The air seemed laced with the last
vestiges of electricity, like static caught in the treetops.  

Beside me, Mulder seemed to perk up as if he were tuning into a
distant frequency.  He stood at attention, catching me around the
waist with the tips of his fingers pressed just slightly into my
stomach.

Suddenly I wasn't so cold anymore.

"Look, Scully," he whispered, releasing me, his warm breath a
sultry buzzing in my ear that reminded me of the hypnotic hum 
of the bumble bees that make my mother's garden their home during
the heavily humid summer months.

I scanned the dark landscape, my eyes straining to see what he
saw.  Finally, I caught a glimpse of movement flickering around
the side of the house.

"C'mon, Scully."  He crept forward quickly and I followed him as
best I could.

We swept silently over the front lawn that spread like milk
around us, our footsteps muffled in the rich, soft grass.  We
rounded the corner of the house, slinking past the lighted
windows with care.  Mulder led me over a rough stone wall,
pausing slightly to give me a hand over.  Though I didn't really
need it, I accepted his help with a tense smile.  We were side-
by-side through a small vegetable garden and a cornfield which
brought back more bittersweet memories than I'd like to admit to.
The corn was still damp from the evening's storm and we were
pretty fairly wet by the time we pushed our way out.

Once we emerged from the cornstalks, with a quiet rustle that
could have easily been taken as a rough wind through the leaves,
a large open area stretched out in front of us.  Unlike the well-
trimmed lawn, this stretch of grass was strewn with jagged rocks
and boulders of all shapes and sizes.  It was by one of these
that I saw it.

"Mulder," I whispered urgently, repeating his gesture from before
by catching him lightly around the waist to prevent him from
going any further, "look."  I gestured to the figure on the rock.
In the dark all I could make out was a whirl of colors: peacock
blue, emerald green, crimson and gold, glinting and spinning in
the dim moonlight.  And eyes...how many eyes can one creature
have?  Sad eyes, sleepy eyes, wise eyes and many more.  They were
all turned toward us with an expression of mild curiosity.

To be continued....

see part 1 for disclaimer, summary, rating, etc.

Vitam Impendere Vero (2/4)
(To Stake One's Life for the Truth)
An X-Files/Wind in the Door Crossover
by Sarah Stella

I felt, rather than saw Mulder's own eyes widen fractionally. 
"It almost looks like..."

"What?"

"Dragons," he finished, his voice tinged with awe.  "A drive of
dragons."

"Mulder, that's impossible," I told him with just a touch of
sharpness.

He rounded on me unexpectedly and I moved back a quarter step in
surprise.  "How many times have we seen...how many times have
*you* seen things that were impossible since you've worked on the
x-files?  Why *couldn't* it be a drive of dragons?"

"It *can't* be, it just *can't*.  Mulder, that thing there," I
pointed to the creature on the rock turning away for a moment and
then looking back as if it were something I might blot away, "I
don't know for sure what it is.  It could be any number of
things, a mirage of some sort, another mutant like the
flukeman..."

"A Cherubim," corrected a polite whirring in both our ears.

Now it was Mulder's turn to back up a step.  Before our
astonished eyes, the pool of shadow beside the rock trembled,
stretched, shook itself a bit and opened its eyes.  The dark man
grew up and up into the night, he must have been at least eight
or nine feet tall.  For half a second my taxed brain tried to be
afraid, it tried to be very afraid, but there was something in
the dark man's aspect that drove away any fears I might have had.

If forced to put a name to it, I'd call it serenity.

"A *Cherubim*?"

"For want of a better word."

"Proginoskes, if you please, and since that's my *name* it
doesn't really matter *what* I am, now does it?" another voice
piped up crossly.  The cherubim ruffled its feathers a touch
huffily.  Several small jets of flame lit the night air with an
auburn glow.

"Proginoskes," the dark man agreed.  He bowed slightly in our
direction, bending his waist just the tiniest bit and yet I felt
strangely honored.  "And you can call me Blajeny," he added,
anticipating my question.  "And you are Special Agents Fox
William Mulder and Dana Katherine Scully of the FBI.  I am your
Teacher."

"This is because we missed that conference in Florida isn't it?" 
I knew all too well the sardonic lip quirk that would inevitably
follow Mulder's words.

Proginoskes raised his equivalent of an eyebrow and Blajeny
seemed amused.  "No, Fox."

"Mulder," we corrected simultaneously.

"Mulder," Blajeny said tolerantly, "there are Trials involved,
but for something far more important..."

"What sort of trials?"  Mulder cut in impatiently.  Blajeny,
fortunately, seemed to have an infinite supply of patience.  "We
came here to see Dr. Michael Murry."

I tugged on Mulder's sleeve urgently and he bent his head toward
mine.  As usual, I felt a thrill as the rest of the world
disappeared and it was just me and him but I didn't stop to revel
in it.  "Mulder, we're standing in the middle of a soggy field in
a tiny little town talking with something that claims to be a
*cherubim* and an eight-foot-tall man.  No one knows we're here. 
I don't think we should antagonize him."

Mulder smiled a little ruefully at me.  "Sorry Scully, these
cloak-and-dagger types just bring out the worst in me, ya know?"

"You shouldn't worry about antagonizing me, Dana Katherine,"
Blajeny said kindly.  

Proginoskes swirled a little huffily on his rock.  He seemed to 
say, "*Claims* to be," but not in any language I'd ever heard.  
Vaguely, I wondered how I understood him at all.

"Scully," I heard Mulder say faintly, but I wasn't really paying
attention to him, I was busy listening to Blajeny.

"Michael Murry is not at home.  You are here for a reason but it
is not to talk with him about his experiences on the Uriel
Project.  He is yet too vulnerable to speak of It again."

"Then what *are* we here for?"  I asked in the kindest way I knew
how.  Nevertheless, a little annoyance crept into my voice.
Mulder was right about the cloak-and-dagger crap.

Blajeny gestured to the house behind us.  It seemed impossibly
far away yet it blazed like an earth-bound star.  "Charles
Wallace Murry lives in that house," he explained as if it were
the simplest thing in the world.

And then, the strangest thing happened (and having worked on the
x-files for something pushing 6 years, that's saying a lot), I
*saw* Charles Wallace.  He was a cute little blonde boy, no more
than five or six years old but there was something *older* in his
face that reminded me of the world-weary and infinitely jaded
Gibson Praise.  There was something *wrong* with Charles Wallace
though, I didn't have to call on my extensive medical training to
tell that.  He was lying in bed and there was a large group of
people gathered around him; a brown-haired teenage girl, a
beautiful, 40-ish woman, a set of younger boys, another teenager,
a boy, tall and freckled and an iron-faced older woman with
streaks of silver shot through her black hair.  But there was
something else, something that buzzed just beyond the range of my
senses.  It reminded me of the feeling I got whenever Mulder
walked into a room and my back was turned, I *knew* there was
something important there.

"What's wrong with him?"  I asked dreamily, the vision fading.

Mulder shot me a puzzled look but Blajeny nodded knowingly and
Proginoskes *seemed* to nod as well.  "For this moment in
Earth-time, Charles Wallace is the center of the Universal
Equilibrium."

"I've known people who thought the world revolved around them
but...." Mulder muttered softly, his words meant for my ears
only.

Blajeny looked sharply at him.  It was the first sign of temper
I'd seen from him and even that little bit was frightening.  "You
can't save Charles Wallace if you don't believe, Mulder."

This was a switch.

"What makes you think I want to save Charles Wallace?"  Mulder
retorted, contrary.  In the set of his jaw I saw an unfamiliar
unwillingness to believe. 

"It's in your best interests," Proginoskes said, it was the first
I'd heard from him in a while, I was beginning to think he'd
drifted off to sleep or something.

"It's in everyone's best interests."  I wasn't sure who'd said
it.  I had a sneaking suspicion it was *me*.

"We want to help, Blajeny," I assured him, not really knowing why
I did so.  "What are the Trials?  How can they help Charles
Wallace?"

"I don't know what the Trials are," Blajeny told us with perfect
aplomb.  "You must figure them out for yourselves, that is part
of the nature of the Trials."

"But...you're the *Teacher*," I protested weakly, my years in
Catholic School rearing their ugly heads.  Teachers were supposed
to know, that was the natural order of things.

"I am and you and Mulder and Proginoskes are the Students."  As
if that explained anything!  "You will know the Trials when they
come.  Dana Katherine, I will pair you with Proginoskes."

"What about me?"  Mulder asked, I could sense his mock-pout, it
seemed salty in my mind. *Salty* of all things.

"Right now it is your job to be patient and *wait*."  I might
have imagined the microscopic emphasis on the word 'wait.' 
Mulder seemed to have taxed even the patient Blajeny towards the
limits of his serenity.  I suppressed a smile.  This quality of
Mulder's endeared him all the more to me, especially when it
wasn't directed *at* me (which it typically was.)

The next thing I knew, I was standing in a picturesque little
alley with nothing to recommend it but a curling, faded
'Independence Day' poster and a faint but unmistakable odor of
urine.  Proginoskes was beside me, whirling gently.  A siren
screamed into the night.  Somewhere, sexy street-jazz mixed with
an impromptu drum-riff.  The three noises blended and formed a
natural and oddly haunting harmony.  It's in ways like that that
DC is distinctive.  It was still raining.

I turned to Proginoskes, wiping my bedraggled hair away from my
eyes.  "What are we *doing* here?"  I asked loudly, blowing at
the raindrops that coursed down my face.

"Shhh!" he whirred impatiently.  "Not out loud, Dana Katherine."

"What then?"  I was willing to do a certain number of things to
save the universe as I knew it, but this was definitely pushing
it.

"I need to kythe with you.  Just relax your mind."

"You need to *what* with me?"

"Kythe," Proginoskes said, the word reverberating in my head.

"Like mental telepathy?"  I asked, a wicked interest forming in
my mind.  If I learned how to do this we'd just *see* who was
thinking about *whom*.  

"It's a crude form of kything.  You have a certain natural
disposition for it but you need to relax your mind.  Think of the
multiplication tables, Napier's Constant, *something*."

I closed my eyes and counted pi out to as many places as I knew
and then, there he was, Proginoskes, inside my head.  Oh,
physically he was still beside me but our thoughts mingled in
something that felt cleaner and purer than ordinary conversation.
They rang with crystal bell tones inside my head.

*So, what did you do...before this?*  I inquired silently, just
to make conversation.

*I worked with a Namer, memorizing the stars.*

*A Namer?*

I could feel Proginoskes fumbling for words. *A Namer is someone
who makes things feel more like what they are.  If we're paired
together like this, I'd suspect you're a Namer too, Dana
Katherine.*  I could feel Proginoskes stop, as if he were
shuffling around after something inside my head, it was an
unusual, ticklish sensation. *There's something you haven't told
me.  Someone you call the Well Manicured Man.  You have reason to
be afraid of him.  Why?  You need to tell me, it could be related
to the first Trial.*

*I'm not even sure it happened...*

*Chances are it did.*

When I told Proginoskes about the incident earlier in the evening
with the Well Manicured Man he grew very quiet and still.

*Tell me, Dana Katherine, the way he behaved, screaming and
flying into the air...is that normal?*

I'd have laughed out loud if he hadn't been so deadly serious and
if I hadn't been afraid of hurting his feelings. *Certainly not,*
I answered quietly.

*I was afraid of that.*

*What?*

*What you saw, the thing that tore the sky, was an Echthros.*

*What's an Echthros?* I asked timidly, afraid of what the answer
would be.

*Echthroi are what some of your religions might call fallen
angels but they are more than that certainly.  They are the
forces of chaos.  They are the un-Namers.  Their one goal is to X
all life.*

*X?* It was absolutely fascinating what a role Xs were playing in
my life.

*Xed, annihilated, negated, extinguished.  When something is Xed
it ceases to Be.  If the Echthroi are trying to X Charles Wallace
the situation in which we now find ourselves is even more serious
than I had imagined.*

He couldn't have done it better if he'd been cued.  Just as
Proginoskes finished talking or kything or whatever he was doing
at the moment, a long, sleek stretch limo purred down the alley
and stopped inches from where we stood.  The door opened and the
man of the hour stepped onto the slimy cement, his impeccable
suit and shoes still as impeccable as ever.

To be continued....

Vitam Impendere Vero (3/4)
(To Stake One's Life for the Truth)
An X-Files/Wind in the Door Crossover
by Sarah Stella

He nodded at me, polite as always.  "Miss Scully."  He then
promptly split into three people.  I blinked furiously at the
Well-Manicured triplets.

*This is it, Dana Katherine,* Proginoskes kythed gently, *this is
the Trial.  You have to Name one of them.*

It was at this point that I oh-so-slightly panicked. *How the
hell am I supposed to do that? I don't even *know* his name!*

*It doesn't matter if you know what he *is*, his name will come.*

*What he is is a slimy rat who's tried to kill me and Mulder more
times than I'd like to think about.  I don't know how to Name
him!  I don't know if I *want* to Name him!  Proginoskes, help!*

"Miss Scully," Well-Manicured Man one piped up, clearing his
throat slightly, "perhaps you'd care to explain what I'm doing
here so I could go on my way.  I have a Game to play after all."

"By all means, get rid of these impostors," number two chimed in.

*You have to choose, Dana Katherine.*

*How?* I kythed wildly, the end of my rope was rapidly
approaching.

*Think.  What makes *you* feel the most you?*

*Mulder.* I answered unhesitatingly, without thinking.  Whenever
I was with Mulder, even the times when we were fighting with each
other, I felt safe.  Together we were invincible.  He had said it
himself that fateful night in the hallway:  'You complete me.' 
Well, it cuts both ways, Mulder.

*Do you love Mulder?*

*Yes.* This was no time to quibble over semantics and trivial
details of Platonic versus Passionate and which category our
relationship fell into anyhow.  I couldn't explain Mulder, who's
so important to me still that I don't dare even whisper to myself
now, as I relate this, how important he is.

*Then....*

I looked at the Well-Manicured Men in horror. *I couldn't
possibly.  I *don't* love him.*

*You have to.*

"Miss Scully," the third one just had to get his two cents in, "I
suggest you come to a decision *quickly*."

I racked my brains for something, anything, lovable about the
man who stood before me.  There was something...something Mulder
had said...but all I kept coming up with was his face staring
calmly at me in the cemetery over Mulder's gravestone:  'They
will kill you one of two ways...'  

Then I hit on it, like a perfect pearl at the bottom of a pile of
discarded oyster shells.  I loved Mulder, I did, and this man had
saved him by saving me with the vaccine all those months ago.

I closed my eyes and, like Proginoskes had said, the Name came. 
Constantine Oakleigh--funny, he didn't *look* like a Constantine,
but then Frohicke didn't look like a Melvin either.  The thought
of Frohicke at a time like this was unexpectedly comforting.

"Constantine Oakleigh number one," I said, my voice sounding
stronger and surer than I truly felt.

"Yes?"  he responded eagerly.  "Do you Name me?"

"No," I said firmly.  "The real Constantine Oakleigh would
*never* refer to his work as a Game.  I don't believe his
disregard for the human factor is so great as that."

The first Well-Manicured Man disappeared in a blink.

"Number two."  I still felt uncomfortable saying his actual Name.

"Name me quickly, Miss Scully."

"I wasn't as sure about you, but the real Constantine Oakleigh
has never behaved as brusquely as you've done.  He has more
class."

I shut my eyes more tightly, pictured Mulder and surrounded the
third Well-Manicured Man with all the love I was capable of.  "I
name you, Constantine Oakleigh."

There first came a howl of finality and then a harsh wind blew
through the alley, whistling sharply across the opening but after
a time it quieted into a gentle breeze and then nothing. 

I opened my eyes a crack. *Are they gone?* 

Proginoskes chuckled. *Yes, for the time being.*

I looked over to where Constantine Oakleigh nee the
Well-Manicured Man had been standing just moments before.  He had
slumped down the side of his limo and quietly passed out.

****

We were back with Mulder and Blajeny in a heartbeat.  At least
the place we'd returned to *looked* like the place we'd left, yet
something was *different*, the colors were a little brighter, had
a little too much green in them, *something.* Mulder was sitting
somewhat despondently on one of the numerous boulders strewn
about the field, contemplating the stars.  I wondered what he was
thinking, about Samantha probably.  The Samantha who he
remembered, the sweet little girl who had been taken those many
years ago; not the scared, browbeaten woman he'd met in the diner
who'd pushed him away while I was lying sick in the hospital. 
Memory, in this case at least, was infinitely sweeter.

At least that's what he *better* have been thinking of.  My mind
flew back to another improbable case, another field, another
woman.  It hurt to think of Melissa and what she'd come to mean
to Mulder in the short time he'd known her so I didn't.  A
familiar crust of ice descended over my feelings and I turned
away from him, unwilling to confront the meaning of the ice quite
yet.

*Where are we?*  I asked, now certain that wherever this place
was, it *wasn't* the same field we'd started out in.

*Metron Ariston,* Blajeny told me, his voice seemed far away and
it echoed like he was speaking down a well.  *It's a sort of a
place I imagined up but I thought it would be easier for you to
handle it if it looked like this.*

*We've discovered Echthroi,*  Proginoskes whirred in my ear, his
kythe surrounding me in exotic warmth, like a hot cup of chai
instead of coffee on a cold winter morning.

Blajeny seemed to sag the tiniest bit.  *I was afraid of that.*

"What the hell is *he* doing here?"  Mulder's voice seemed
unbearably loud after the quiet clarity of kything.  He turned
his eyes, hard and accusatory, on the still-unconscious form of
Constantine Oakleigh.

Proginoskes turned an alarming shade of bright green.  *Dana
Katherine,* he warned me gently.

"Mulder," I spoke to him softly, my tongue tripping a little from
inactivity.  I considered, for a moment, trying to explain about
kything, but all the words I could think of sounded too silly to
be believed.  I looked back, even as far as our earliest days
together, and I realized something: Mulder and I often kythed
without realizing it.

I took a deep breath, took his hand--rubbing my thumb around near
his as the Kindred did--and explained.  *Speech is not
necessarily necessary.  Being together, like you and I can be,
without talking or even touching but still being as close as two
humans can be in an enjoyment of being with each other is the
purest kind of kything, a communion so rich and full that silence
speaks more powerfully than words.*  

I didn't dare meet his eyes, I had just exposed myself terribly
and I wasn't entirely sure of what would come next.  My stomach
burned with anxiety.

*So I repeat, much more softly this time, what the hell is *he*
doing here?*  Mulder kythed to me.  Between us, it was easy as
breathing really.  He gave my hand a comforting squeeze and only
then did I raise my eyes to his.

*Allwissend bin ich nict; doch viel ist mir bewisst,* I told him
suddenly, remembering a snatch of my college German.  *I do not
know everything; still many things I understand.*

*Is that just a fancy way of saying you don't know?*  he
responded with a soft look that eased the sarcasm in his
question.

*If Blajeny brought him back.  He must be here to help somehow.*

Constantine's eyelids twitched, fluttered and snapped open.  He
let out a single cry, a mingling of pain, confusion and loss all
in one.  I felt an unexpected stab of pity for him.  Ever since I
had Named him actually, I had felt closer to him, closer to an
understanding of why he did what he did.

*But why?*  Mulder questioned.  *He'll only hold us up.*  I was
relieved that his earlier moodiness had vanished, a skeptical
Mulder is something I'm not used to dealing with.

*Let's ask him,* I suggested, *but *softly*!*  I bent over
Constantine and helped him to stand.  He brushed futilely at the
muddy seat of his expensive suit with an air of reserved disgust,
but when he saw me, the oddest, most beatific look spread across
his features.

"Miss Scully."  He nodded at me with pleasure.

"Constantine," I replied.

*Constantine?!* Mulder's kything laughter brought me more joy
than his real laughter ever had.

"Can you tell us why you're here?"

Constantine glanced from me to Mulder to Blajeny to Proginoskes
and back again, his eyes widening at each figure.  I released
Mulder's hand, we could kythe without touching now, and
tentatively touched Constantine's.  His skin was cool and had a
powdery feel, even though his hands were covered with a
considerable amount of dirt.

"I know what's wrong with Charles Wallace."

"What?"  I was slowly getting acclimated to regular speaking
again.

"His mitochondria.  Just as a mitochondria is independent of its
host cell, farandolae, *inside* the mitochondria are the same
way.  Something is making Charles Wallace's farandolae sick and
when they die,"  he shrugged, "Charles Wallace dies."

It was then that I noticed it.  It looked rather like a small,
silver-blue mouse, with long withers shading off into violet. 
Its ears were large and velvety, its whiskers were abnormally
long and its eyes were large and milky and shone deeply like
moonstones.  *What is that?*  I asked of anyone who'd answer me.

*Sporos,* the mouse-creature replied with a sniff.  Its voice was
like harp strings being plucked underwater and its whiskers
quivered when it spoke.  

*A farandola,* Proginoskes elaborated.

My mind reeled.  *You're impossible,* I told Sporos, *an electron
microscope couldn't even...*

*True,* Blajeny cut in, his echoey voice was a bit unnerving,
*but this is Metron Ariston.  Size is irrelevant here.*

*You're not possible either,* Sporos replied indignantly. 
*Nothing *important* is.*

*Well, then, since everyone's here...* Blajeny's unfinished
sentence was somehow more resolved than anything I'd ever spoken.

Proginoskes understood immediately.  Mulder and I were only
moments behind.

I forgot myself.  "How..."

As I watched, Proginoskes sent himself into a whirl.  *Mulder,
you and Sporos will be paired now while Dana Katherine watches
over Constantine.*

Mulder jerked a thumb towards the orange-golden blur that was
Proginoskes.  *This leads to a mitochondria?*

*Not just *any* mitochondria,* Sporos snapped, *Yadah, the place
I came from.*

Mulder shook his head and jumped into the center of the golden
whorl, yanking sporos in behind him.  Constantine, who'd been
remarkably good-natured about everything so far, followed him.  I
was about to leave when Blajeny called me back.

*Dana Katherine, there's something you need to see before you
go.*

And I turned and the most wonderful bursts of glittering silver
and molten red greeted my astonished eyes.  Even more wonderful,
the whole display seemed to be *singing* in a sweet, gilded voice
that I'd have never expected.  Somehow I knew without being told
that this was the birth of a star.

The images were ghosts in my vision when I finally jumped through
Proginoskes and into Yadah.

To be continued....

Vitam Impendere Vero (4/4)
(To Stake One's Life for the Truth)
An X-Files/Wind in the Door Crossover
by Sarah Stella

Pain.  Intense.  Searing.  Purple. 

It filled my mind and surrounded my body until it felt like each
individual pore was screaming for mercy.  I flamed so hot it was
a color beyond red and I hope they never give a name to it.  The
pain of chemotherapy was nothing compared to this.  Somewhere
along the way I think I passed out.  

When I opened my eyes I was blind.  It was like floating on the
bottom of a very murky lake, the darkness was green-black and
seemed to waver a little, as if it really *were* a lake and the
wakes of faraway boats were disturbing it.  My muscles strained
as I panicked and struggled to move, only to find that I
couldn't.

*Scully.  Dana.*  Mulder was at my side in an instant, exuding
warmth and comfort.  *Are you okay?*

I made a massive effort to control my panic but I think he could
tell anyhow.  It was a romantic scene that I visualized--the
stricken and crippled heroine on the ground with the brooding
hero kneeling by her, tears running down their cheeks.  *I'm
fine,* I told him wearily, making an equally heroic effort to
rein in my rampaging imagination.  It was fatigue, that was all. 
*I can't see though.*  My tone wasn't *too* self-pitying I don't
think.

Mulder laughed, a little bubbling laugh that I'd never heard
before.  *It's different here.  You don't see with your eyes, you
see with your mind I think.  Moving around's the same way.  It
was strange for me too, a little like drowning in a deep, green
lake.*

I wondered if he'd read my mind just then.

My anxiety abated a little as I tried it.  I felt Proginoskes
come up behind me as Mulder was helping me up.  For the first
time I took a good look around Yadah.  In every direction there
was a kind of waving, green sea kelp.

*What are those things?* I asked, half-mesmerized by their
undulations.

*Farandolae,* Proginoskes told me, *more well grown than Sporos
but he'll look like that too, once he Deepens.*

*Where is Sporos?  I haven't seen him around.*

*He took off almost as soon as we got here,* Mulder explained,
*while I was still getting used to everything.*  He gestured to
the kelp.  *I have an idea that he's involved in the second Trial
somehow.*

*He has to grow up, to Deepen,* Proginoskes said rather
anxiously.  *All young farandolae have to, but many of them don't
want to and un-Deepened farandolae can't survive.*

*Well then we have to help him,* I said evenly.

*And we have to do it quickly.  There are Echthroi on Yadah,
that's what you felt when you came through, Dana Katherine.*

An ice cold chill settled around my shoulders.  Echthroi... Then
I realized something and looked around wildly.  *Where's
Constantine?*  I spotted him and rushed over.  I grabbed his hand
and tried to kythe with him.

*We have to stay together,* I told him nervously still feeling
cold fear.  *We're stronger when we're together.*

I could feel Constantine struggling to respond.  All his time in
the Consortium, all the time he'd spent without someone...anyone
important to kythe with.  Even I had Mulder.  When he finally did
answer me his kythe was a rusty rasp.

*Fine.*

I squeezed his hand encouragingly.  

*Sporos!*  Mulder's lusty kythe echoed out over Yadah.  Sporos
didn't appear but *something* was coming.  I caught Mulder's hand
in my left while still hanging onto Constantine's with my right. 
It almost looked like a waterspout, funneling towards our little
group at an alarming rate.  When the waterspout got closer I
could see that it was actually a group of hundreds and hundreds
of undeepened farandolae racing in mad circles.  Somehow I knew
Sporos was with them, I guess we all knew.

*How can we Deepen?  We don't need anyone.  Why should we give up
our freedom, our movement?* they cried in their musically
bubbling voices.  

*People *need* you,* I tried to reason with them.

They ignored me, surrounding one of the Deepened farandolae. 
This one seemed longer than the rest, older somehow.  The
silvery-blue blur circled it and the farandola seemed to wither a
little.

*What are they doing?  They're killing it!*  Without so much as a
second thought I broke free of Mulder and Constantine's hands, I
dove through the waterspout and into the center of the whirling,
dancing, crazy farandolae.  I touched the dying farandola and
there was this odd sucking, drinking sensation where I touched
it.  I suddenly felt weak beyond anything I could remember.  

*Sporos,* I gasped softly, my breath coming in shallow hics. 
*Sporos, when you Deepen, you don't move in the human sense but
you move *beyond* it.  Your mind can go anywhere, more places
than your body could ever *dream* of....*  

I collapsed backwards, exhausted, but in the corner of my eye I
saw a single farandola separate itself from the group.  *Sporos,*
I thought rather than kythed, a current of relief revived me
somewhat.

In an instant, a dark form, black on black swooped in and stood
between Sporos and me.  *There is no need for this,*  it intoned
somberly, even its *voice* sounded oozy and dark like pitch. 
*Return to the dance.  Humans can never do anything for you.*

And I honestly think Sporos would have if Constantine hadn't
tackled the Echthros in the next instant.  Their bodies writhed
together and all I could see were confusing flashes of muddy grey
and deep black.  *Sporos!*  I called, my eyes riveted on the
struggle in front of me.  *You have to save him!  Deepen!"  I
didn't know if this would actually work but if it got Sporos to
do what I wanted, well....

That's just what he did.  There was a flash of brilliant, clear
sea-green light, like midday sun bouncing off the ocean.  Sporos'
action seemed to have started a chain reaction because all around
me there were flashes of the same light and a chorus of voices
joining into a song that was both simple and beautiful.  When the
light cleared, I could see hundreds, thousands maybe, of newly
Deepened farandolae and Mulder in front of me, wearing the
same sweetly astonished look I'd seen on his face in Antarctica
after he'd seen the ship.  Proginoskes was beside him looking
inscrutable and impressive as ever.  And then there was
Constantine....

The lower half of his body had completely disappeared into the
Echthros and his hands clutched whitely at the ground.  His face
was set, half effort, half sheer terror.  With a partially-
articulated yell Mulder leapt forward.  He crossed the distance
to Constantine in a second and grabbed the older man's hands. 
Immediately, Constantine was sucked completely into the Echthros
and Mulder was in up to his armpits, inching ever forward into X.

I was still too weak to stand, the numbness in my limbs had
subsided a little though and I reached my hand toward the icy
darkness that was slowly consuming my friend, my partner, the
most important person in my life.  The word 'Stop' rested on the
edge of my lips, but I knew how feeble and stupid it would sound
if I ever said it.  

My mind snapped along even if my body couldn't follow.  The
Echthroi were *nothing*, I had to fill it somehow, preferably not
with the people I cared about....

Before I knew what had happened, Proginoskes flung himself bodily
into the blackness.  He disappeared like a light winking out but
Mulder and Constantine were thrown free.  Their bodies hit the
ground hard and remained motionless, I hoped fervently that they
were only knocked out.  

After what seemed like mere seconds but was, in reality, nearly
two minutes, the Echthros recovered and started bleeding along
the ground towards where I sat.

*Oh god.*  My mind showed cheerful signs of freezing up.  *The
Echthroi are nothing, nothing, *nothing.*  What do I have to fill
nothing with?*

I looked around wildly at the waving farandolae but received no
help from that quarter.  *I *know* what the Echthroi are, all I
have to do is *say* it, like when I Named Constantine.*

So I did.  I don't know what came over me, maybe the farandolae
*were* helping me a little.  God knows I couldn't have come up
with the words all on my own.

*I Name you, Echthroi.  I Name you Dana.
I Name you Mulder.
I Name you Constantine.
I Name you Proginoskes.
I fill you with Naming.
Be!
Be, butterfly and behemoth,
be galaxy and grasshopper
star and sparrow,
you matter,
you are,
be!
Be, caterpillar and comet,
be porcupine and planet,
sea sand and solar system,
sing with us,
dance with us,
Be!

Sing for the wonder
of life and love
sing with us
dance with us
be with us
Be!*

They weren't my words only.  They were the words of the old,
Deepened farandola I'd saved by giving up some of my life.  Of
the Deepening Sporos, of all the singing farae, the laughter of
the greening farandolae, Yadah itself, all the mitochondria,
all the human hosts, the earth, the sun, the dance of the star
whose birthing I'd seen, the galaxies, maybe even a few scattered
EBEs somewhere in the crystal spattered cosmos, of wind and fire.

And then, just like that, we were back, lying in the middle of
the soggy field.  Mulder's arms were around me and his lips were
in my hair--I knew it was more out of relief than anything...more
meaningful.  I firmly quashed any objections I might have still
harbored about my position and the reasons I was there, cradled
in Mulder's arms, I'd deal with them later.  Constantine was
propped up against a nearby rock, looking befuddled.

"Mulder," I said softly, my voice froggy.

He looked at me with anxious eyes that looked large and luminous
in the damp moonlight.  "Yes?"

My head still echoed with the songs that Sporos and his fellow
farandolae had sung.  My temples ached faintly with the last,
thundering ripples of the things I'd said.  "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he answered, smiling in a knowing way at me.  He
raised a hand tentatively, one finger outstretched.  I think he
was actually going to tweak my nose but he thought better at the
last moment and brushed some hair off his face.  In an odd way I
sort of wished he'd gone ahead and tweaked my nose anyway.  I
raised my own hands and rubbed at my temples until the ache in
them lessened.

"Good, I'm glad one of us does," I said, chattering violently. 
Both arms were around me again.  

I'm not, nor was I ever, of the school that anything is
predestined but sometimes there are just *moments*, you can feel
them, something about the air changes I think.  So far I've had
four *moments* with Mulder.  One was when we were on the stakeout
and I tried to call him 'Fox', the next was in the hospital when
he told me the truth would save me, the next was in the hallway
of his building right before the bee stung me and the last was
at that very moment.  As far as I could tell, there were no bees
around.

*No bees, what the hell.*  So I kissed him, not on the forehead
or the cheek, full on the lips.  

He kissed me back.

We kissed each other and it was nice, oh so very, very nice and
it lasted well past forever.  I was feeling a little dizzy near
the end, oxygen deprivation and all, so it wasn't in the least
surprising when I thought I caught a snatch of a song drifting
lazily over the grass.  

"Save tonight, and fight the break of dawn, come tomorrow,
tomorrow I'll be gone..."

"Hello?" a female voice called from across the field.  "Is
anybody there?"  I guess I hadn't imagined it at all.

Reluctantly, Mulder and I stood in one movement.  He dropped his
arms, but still remained close.  "Over here! This man is hurt, he
needs medical attention."  We parted even more reluctantly,
hoisting Constantine's unwieldy unconscious weight between us
down through the field.  

Our 'rescuers,' the teenage boy and girl I'd seen before, awaited
us patiently in the warm circle of light cast by a propane
lantern.  They were accompanied by a small radio that was playing
the song I'd just heard.  I found it much easier to accept the
reality of a boombox over the idea that love might have seriously
softened my brain.

****

Mulder and I passed a few easy hours with the Murrys while we
waited for our clothes to dry.  We didn't see much of each other
though.  When Sandy and Dennys, the twin boys I'd seen at Charles
Wallace's bedside, found out that Mulder was an FBI agent they
promptly started grilling him, interrupting each other and
clamoring to get their questions out.  Mulder ensconced himself
on a couch, wrapped himself in a soft wool blanket and answered
their inquiries with remarkable good humor. 

For her part, Meg, the teenage girl, interrogated me much more
subtly.  Her gentle questions were no imposition at all.  She
seemed delighted to hear about Blajeny, Proginoskes, the Trials
and everything else.

"Why are you so interested?"  I asked her after I'd finished a
mini-lecture on kything.  I tugged nervously on the belt of my
borrowed terry cloth robe.  It felt strange to be that undressed
while everyone else was fully clothed.

"I just love a good story."  She shrugged elegantly.

"It's one that can't be told," I warned, eyeing her seriously.  I
didn't want her spreading this around among her friends. 

She considered this for a sober minute.  "What if I were to put
*myself* into the story instead of you?  Calvin instead of Mulder
and someone to replace Constantine?  Then could I tell it?  If I
kept your names out of it?  Everyone would think it was fiction
anyhow."

"I suppose," I said cautiously.  I wasn't so sure I liked the
idea of her substituting her boyfriend for Mulder.  I had omitted
the part about Mulder and me kissing, not that I was embarrassed
or anything, but it was just a more wonderful moment if I kept it
to myself.

Meg flipped her hand, seemingly changing the subject.  "Calvin
and I have been through a lot.  Sometimes I think it's just
convenience that we're together but he means more to me than
that..." her voice trailed off into a whisper and I saw that she
too didn't want to voice Calvin's importance to her.

In the basement, the dryer buzzed and we all jumped to our feet. 
Mrs. Murry raised a slender hand before disappearing down the
basement steps.  Cassandra Murry was something else, she was
beautiful and I felt quite grubby and small next to her.  I'd
been secretly delighted when Mulder didn't so much as bat an eye
in her direction.

Cassandra returned with an armful of our clothes.  We dressed
quickly and returned to the living room to make our excuses and
say our goodbyes.  

Constantine would be fine by morning they told us, already he was
showing signs of wakefulness.  I suppose, given the night we'd
had, it could have been much worse.  The Murrys promised to take
good care of him.  They formed a little line as we left, not to
hug us or kiss us, just to *watch* us go, as if that provided
some sort of closure.

We were near the end of the drive, our figures swallowed up in
the dark, when Mulder suddenly stopped.  "What do you think
happened to Proginoskes?"

I shrugged.  "He's Xed, Mulder."

"But he Xed himself, that's got to make a difference."

"Maybe," I said noncommittally.  A stiff breeze blew at our backs
and my ears pricked strangely.  A few notes reached me, like
music blown by a windchime.  Mulder's arm went around me, holding
on a little more protectively than usual.

"I think maybe he's still around," he said hopefully.  How I
wanted to believe him!  I really did want to.  Belief meant hope
to me now, I guess it always had to Mulder.

"How do you know?" I asked, feeling the first twitches of the
Skeptic inside me.  She'd been pretty silent all evening.

Mulder released me, lightly tapping the center of his chest with
two fingers.  "'Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connait
point,' Scully.  'The heart has its reasons, whereof reason knows
nothing.'"  He looked at me intently, his eyes dark pools with
bits of light flickering in them every so often.

I squeezed his arm warmly and was rewarded with a divine smile.  
Then we turned toward home.

THE END!!!

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