Title: S.N.A.F.U. Part 1 Chapters 1-6
Author: Emily Sim
Rating: Mature Adults only
Category: M/O S/O (brief/past) MSR Angst/Mythology AU
Spoilers: Seasons 2 - 6
Disclaimer: Still don't own them, no money changed 
hands, I always put them back when I'm done.
Thanks to: xdks, Tali, Jake, and Taffy - without these gals this 
would not be readable and to Siggy and Toate for providing 
valuable insight. 

Feedback to: xf_emily_sim@yahoo.ca

Summary: What if Kristen Kilar wasn't dead, at least not in the 
traditionally understood definition of dead.

***********

Chapter 1

In the end, he remembered, the blood had made him 
sick. Throw-up puke his guts out sick. But the sex had 
been incredible. It had pulled him back, put him in 
touch with life. It redeemed and validated him, 
breathed life into his tenuous existence. No matter 
how much he'd felt it was a betrayal, how sick he felt 
afterwards, it had served a purpose. Then Scully came 
back from wherever she had been and things had become 
almost normal. As normal as it could be working in the 
basement, chasing nefarious men who refused to put 
flesh to the idea of who and what they were. Life 
began to slowly move forward. Black and white with 
shades of grey slowly gained definition, color, and 
his heart began beating again.  

There were other occasions when his heart had reason 
to stop, but each time there had been an eleventh hour 
solution which was more or less satisfactory, and 
Scully was safe once again. Not without damage, nor 
consequences, but he didn't let himself dwell there. 
She had reminded him far too often that it was her 
choice as well, and he'd taken it to heart. He had no 
other option, to do otherwise would be crippling; the 
guilt would crush him, weaken his resolve, and he 
needed to stay focused. Sometimes his focus was all 
that kept him going, kept his heart pumping blood, 
keeping him alive, if somewhat less sane each day. 
Sanity was flexible, changeable; it came and went in 
degrees according to the situation. Even the guilt was 
useful, and he had enough of that to keep him going 
for years. Scully had gotten a cure -- it wasn't a 
perfect fix, but she was alive. Pfaster was in the 
past, though he was positive his face visited her 
during an occasional nightmare. Sometimes the walls 
were too thin, the television too quiet. Despite it 
all, or in spite of it, things were moving forward for 
them. Slowly, of course -- it wouldn't do to break 
with six years of snail-paced movement. Things weren't 
great right now, they had gotten a little tense with each 
negative result from the IVF, but they were okay, and now this. 

_This_ was not okay. 

The woman in front of him was dead. Or used to be dead 
-- or formerly dead -- or 'only very nearly dead', Max 
supplied in his perfect Jewish Bronx accent -- fuck if 
he knew how to classify it. The child's hand she held 
was a surprise - shit - surprise was too feeble a 
word. Shock was better, disaster perhaps even more 
appropriate. Surprises were mostly nice things, like 
getting a bike for your birthday, or a timid, gentle 
kiss good morning when you'd all but give up hope of 
it ever happening. This was not the kind of surprise 
one wished for on an ordinary Monday morning. Or on 
any morning, the small voice inside supplied - no 
Jewish accent to provide comic relief this time. That 
was somewhat of an understatement. It was a fucking 
catastrophe. That the child was his was unquestionable. From the 
willowy shape of her long limbs to her hazel eyes and curly brown 
hair -- and the woman whose hand she held, who was dead but 
wasn't, was expecting something.  He just wasn't quite sure what. 
The child spoke first.

"Are you my daddy?"  

Mulder groped for the chair behind him, falling 
heavily into it. He had no answer for her question and 
could only watch as the woman shushed her and 
addressed him.

"Mulder."

"Kristen?"

********

Chapter 2

The only thing he found remotely positive in the 
scenario before him was his partner's absence. He 
blessed whatever gods had seen to it that Quantico had 
needed her for the next few days. He felt for the bag 
of sunflower seeds in his pocket, needing to do 
something to fill the silence, gain control of his 
thudding heart, and busy his hands - and perhaps keep 
his mouth occupied until he figured out what he should 
or shouldn't say. He needn't have worried too much; 
where the two adults facing each other were hesitant, 
the child was not. It was further confirmation, he 
noted wryly, of at least one half of her parentage. 

"Why do you work way down here?" One arm swung out to 
indicate his office. "It smells funny."

Mulder's mouth opened and closed, a small squeak the 
only indication that he had at least attempted an 
answer. 

"I know this must be a bit of a shock to you. I tried 
to call, once or twice, when I first found out, but 
didn't know what I was going to say when you answered, 
so I hung up. I realize this isn't the best way to 
tell you, but -" She seemed at a loss for words, or 
perhaps had used up all the ones she could think of 
that applied to the situation. 

"So you thought, what, just show up and give me 
empirical evidence?" He took a deep breath, and 
mindful of the young girl whose hand she held, 
softened his voice.  "I'm sorry, that was uncalled 
for. I thought you were - dead." They both winced at 
the word.

"I can't talk about it right now," -- her head dipped to the 
child -- "but I will explain it later."
"What's your name?" Mulder moved off his chair and 
kneeled down in front of the girl.

"Hannah." She raised her hand to shake his.

"Nice to meet you, Hannah." He took her small hand in 
his. 

"I have your picture."

Mulder felt his stomach heave just a little at her 
admission. "Oh." It was all he could manage.

Kristen pulled Hannah back against her. "I think we've 
been here long enough, for now." She reached into her 
pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "This is the 
address and the number where you can reach me. We'll be 
home all evening. Can you come by?"

Mulder took the paper offered him, putting it in his 
pocket without looking. "I guess I'd better do that."

"Is seven okay?" She acknowledged Mulder's nod with 
one of her own. "Call me if you can't make it." 

He watched as they turned and left. Returning to his 
desk he pulled the center drawer out as far as he 
could, wiggling it from side to side until the entire 
thing was free. He reached into the cavity created to 
pull the one file that had never made it into the 
black cabinets that lined the back wall. Pulling at 
the silver duct tape, he managed to free the file with 
only a small tear to the plastic sleeve that held it. 
He had some work to do before seven o'clock tonight.

*******

Chapter 3

Skinner put the phone down just as the door opened, a 
plume of smoke preceding the man who entered. In five 
years of dealing with him, Skinner had never managed 
to win an opening gambit, so he resorted to silence, 
waiting him out, forcing Spender to speak first. It 
was a feeble strategy, but he had very few where this 
man was concerned. Strategies only worked when there 
was loss or gain involved, and as far as he could 
tell, this man cared for nothing; therefore there was 
nothing to lose or gain by playing anyone else's game 
besides his own. He kept his eyes on his desk, intent 
on the report he had been reading before Kim had 
called to announce his guest.  He heard Spender move 
closer, the stale smell of cigarettes he associated 
with him filling the air.

"Well, this isn't exactly a welcome, now is it?" 
A soft fizzle and a thin line of smoke swirled
as Spender used Skinner's mug and leftover coffee to 
extinguish his butt. 

"I think I've asked you not to smoke in here?"

"That you have, Mr. Skinner, that you have. I've never 
been very good at listening to others."

"Doesn't surprise me. What do you want this time?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. I just dropped by to see how 
things were, see if there was anything up with my two 
favorite agents. Just wondering how Agent Mulder is 
doing with his partner busy someplace else."

Skinner looked up to see Spender staring intently at 
him, and wondered what he was up to this time, 
wondered if he should be calling to check on the 
whereabouts or the safety of his two agents. 

"Why the hell do you care about their well-being?"  

"I always care, Mr. Skinner. I have a vested interest 
in their welfare. Perhaps you should be a little more 
concerned about them?"

"I'm a little tired of the cryptic comments, Spender, 
why don't you come to the point and we can both get 
back to work. I have reports due and I'm sure the 
sewer you crawled out of could use scrubbing."

"Tsk, tsk, that's no way to talk when I'm only trying 
to help."

"I don't need or want your kind of help. What the hell 
is this all about? If you've done something to either 
of my agents I'll -"

"You'll what?" Spender moved around the desk. "You'll 
do nothing, Mr. Skinner. Agents Mulder and Scully are 
fine, for now. You might want to check the visitor's 
log. It seems Agent Mulder had an unexpected - guest - 
earlier today." Spender pulled a pack of cigarettes 
from his pocket and made his way to the side door. 
"And there's no need for threats or violence; we both 
want the same thing, we just have different ways of 
getting it." The door closed softly behind him.

Skinner stood, needing to get out of the office, the 
lingering smell of smoke sickened him almost as much 
as the man's words. He told himself, for the 
thousandth time that the things they both sought were 
not the same, and cursed himself for the one time he 
had tried to deal with this man, exposing his 
vulnerability in the wake of it all. He decided a 
glance at the visitor's log, a call to Quantico, and 
perhaps a visit to the basement was in order.

***********

Chapter 4 

Scully pulled her mask away and stretched her back out 
as best she could. She was almost too tired to do even 
that. She liked her work, but her usual enjoyment of 
the quiet and solitude of the morgue was gone after 
two days of back-to-back autopsies. She missed Mulder, 
his witty comments, bad jokes; she even missed all the 
little noises he made, the ones that usually drove her 
crazy when she was stuck in the same room with him. 
 
She looked up as the door opened and Denise came in. 
Shit, she'd forgotten she was going to have a student 
today. Though they'd needed her here to help with the 
extra bodies from the Dusett case, they also wanted to 
give some of the students a chance to do some on the 
job training. Someone had told her to expect a student 
and though she always welcomed an opportunity to share 
knowledge, she was short on patience today. She had 
asked specifically for Denise Richards, having subbed 
in a few of the classes she took. She was bright, 
focused, and most importantly, didn't spend a lot of 
time talking about nonsense as so many of the women 
she had occasion to run into.  It seemed that the 
standards had either slipped somewhat, or she was 
completely out of touch with what was going on in 
young women's lives today. There was always at least 
one female in the classes she taught who was fixated 
on Mulder; not for his brilliance and ability, but for 
the way he filled out his pants. She hated that. Hated 
fielding questions about his availability. These young 
women failed to see their own actions belying their 
feminist stand. 

There'd been no guarantee that her request would be 
honored, so she was relieved. She couldn't have 
handled someone like Arisita today. Who names their 
kid Arisita anyway? Denise was clearing her throat, 
and she realized the young woman must have addressed 
her while her mind was wandering elsewhere.

"Sorry, Denise. Did you say something?"

"Just hello, Agent Scully, and thanks."

"You can call me Scully, Denise, and you're welcome."

"I'll go get ready and be out in a sec."

Scully waved towards the door over in the corner. 
"Scrubs are in the second cupboard, goggles and gloves 
in the drawers under. I'll get the next body out while 
you change."

Denise smiled and headed for the locker room. Scully 
pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, lowered her mask and 
opened the drawer containing the next victim.  A white 
sheet covered the small body and Scully checked the 
toe tag with the page she had been given listing basic 
information. This was Alicia Thompson, age 17, and 
victim number 11. Dusett liked them young and she 
braced herself. It was hardest when the victim had so 
much life left to live but no longer a chance to do 
so.  

The killings had taken place over the last year, and 
all of the victims were found buried on Dusett's farm 
when Warren Folkes, hired to help in the barns, became 
suspicious of the lumps of soft earth he discovered at 
the end of the property. He wasn't even supposed to be 
all the way back there, and wasn't able to say what 
drew him. It was Dusett's reaction to him being there 
that first aroused his suspicions. Dusett hadn't 
realized he'd hired a first year criminology student, 
hard up for cash and willing to do just about any kind 
of work to get him through. It was sheer bad luck for 
Dusett. Although the missing women were in the local 
police files, the lack of any connection between them 
had the task force scrambling in different directions 
all year. They never would have suspected Dusett, a 
local farmer, quiet and regular in his church 
attendance. When the police came calling to ask him a 
few questions, based on Warrens' suspicions, he 
barricaded himself in his upstairs bedroom and shot 
himself. They would be left with only educated guesses 
as to what drove Dusett to grab young women from the 
surrounding area, brutally rape and then strangle 
them. They had discovered 15 bodies buried in the 
backfield, a couple decomposed so badly, due to the 
unseasonably warm winter, that the only thing that 
would identify them were dental records. 

"Agent Scully?"

"Sorry, Denise." She drew in a breath, pulled the 
instrument table closer, turned the recorder on and 
pulled back the sheet.  When this day was done, she 
was going to soak for a long time in the hottest water 
she could manage, with the bottle of wine she'd been 
saving and her favorite Yo-Yo Ma CD in the player.  Tonight would 
be as good a night as any, seeing as she had two more days of 
this. She made a mental note to pick up at least one more bottle 
on her way home. Those two days would be long ones.

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

Chapter 5

Mulder threw his jacket onto the coat tree and removed his 
holster and gun, making sure the safety was engaged before 
setting them down on the coffee table. He spread the file open 
beside the gun and decided alcohol was most definitely needed 
before he tackled it. He rummaged in the back of his cupboard and 
came up with the whiskey hidden in the corner. He hoped it would 
be strong enough to get him through this. He poured a large glass 
and downed half of it. Leaning against the countertop, he allowed 
himself, for just a moment, to sink into self-recrimination. He 
knew it wouldn't help, but the temptation to drink his way into 
oblivion and wallow in self-pity was almost too much. He made his 
way back to his couch after refilling the glass.

The photos were spread before him: a snapshot of the 
exterior of the Holy Spirit book shop, a copy of the 
interrogation by Munson and Nettles, a photo of the 
writing from Lore's wall, the autopsy results on Yung, all his 
original notes, and finally a picture of the smoking ruins of 
Kristen's home. Four bodies; they said they found four bodies, 
burnt, barbequed, unrecognizable. It was impossible to reconcile 
what he knew with whom he saw today. It was one fucking night and 
she was dead. He forced himself to take a deep breath and 
approach it like any other case. He needed to be rational, to 
keep his emotions in check, think it through logically. He 
implored his fuzzy brain to do what he needed it to so badly 
right now, take one of those intuitive leaps and give him an 
answer. He closed his eyes, opened them again and pulled his 
notes from the file. He had, he glanced at the clock, five hours 
to make sense of it all.

******

Skinner pulled the visitor's log and scanned through until he 
found a notation with Mulder's name. Pete waited patiently while 
the AD studied the notes he had made.

"You say she had a pass?"

"Not exactly a pass. A note. Said it was from Agent 
Mulder." Pete shifted, uncomfortably, Skinner noted.

"Did you keep it? I don't see anything attached to this 
log."

Pete's eyes dropped briefly, and slowly rose to meet 
Skinner's. "Well, not exactly."

Skinner felt his impatience growing. "Explain, 'not 
exactly'."

"Well, Sir, I tried to take it, but she insisted on 
keeping it. She had a little kid with her; I didn't want to upset 
her. I read the note, checked the signatures, and I made sure I 
ran her ID through the database. Same as I do all the time."

Skinner wondered how this man managed to keep his job, but 
on the heels of that thought came the knowledge that Pete was the 
nephew of one of the Director's underlings. A woman by the name 
of Susan, whom everyone said spent more time on her back in the 
office than she did on her other duties. It sickened Skinner to 
think some employee's performance in the sack took precedence 
over safety. It would also be his two agents who would be most 
affected by a breach in security. Not that their enemies needed 
to go through the front door, it was just that sometimes they 
did, because they could. He was sure it was an exercise meant to 
highlight their vulnerability.

"Is there anything else, Sir?"

"No, I think this is quite enough." He allowed his disgust for 
the situation to taint his words but it was wasted on the other 
man. Pete squared his shoulders and returned the sign in log to 
its place on the counter.

Skinner decided to visit the basement office and find out why 
Kristen Kilar was visiting Mulder with a child in tow. 

It was a wasted trip. If he had checked the latest log 
entries he would have seen Mulder's scrawl announcing his 
departure less than an hour ago. Spender's use of the word 
'guest' was becoming more ominous by the minute. He returned to 
his office to grab his jacket.

"I'm going to be out for the rest of the day, Kim."

She looked up and he noted the concern, not quite hidden, in her 
eyes. He had meetings scheduled for most of the afternoon, and 
rarely cancelled. She had seen Spender come in, seen his quick 
departure right after, and he figured she knew enough to know the 
man was connected to the X-Files agents. 

He decided to soothe her fears. "Something's come up that I need 
to look into right away."

"Should I rebook your last two appointments, sir?" 

"I'd appreciate that, Kim. You could catch up on some of the 
filing; I know it's been busy with all the monthly reports due."

"Certainly, sir. Should I contact you in the event I can't 
reschedule one of them?"

"Just leave me a note on my desk; I'll get it in the 
morning." He was halfway to the elevator when he paused 
and turned around. "Thanks, Kim." He hoped she knew it was for 
more than the regular work she did. She was very good at keeping 
her mouth shut, which probably kept her as safe as was possible 
given her connection, albeit a tenuous one, to the X-Files 
through him. 

As he exited the parking garage he couldn't contain his 
frustration. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into this 
time, Mulder?" 

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

Chapter 6


He'd been over the material four times in the past two 
hours. If he didn't find something soon he wasn't sure 
what he would do. He had less than three hours to fix 
this, find the problem. He needed help, he needed Scully, but 
this was one he wouldn't be able to pull her into. Enough shit 
had hit the fan in the aftermath of El Rico and Diana. They were 
still walking on eggshells around each other over that, but were 
managing to slowly rebuild. This situation would certainly impact 
the progress they'd made. He was hesitant to let the Gunmen know. 
Even if Scully had managed to forgive him, Frohike was still 
holding out. He made no attempt to hide his displeasure, and in 
fact, took every opportunity to let Mulder know how much of a 
horse's ass he considered him. The Gunmen might be able to help 
him trace some activity from the main players during the last 
four years, and that fact alone was pushing him towards calling 
them. Maybe he'd be lucky and Byers would answer. Byers was 
always polite, even when he was in full agreement with the other 
two, which Mulder knew he was. A knock interrupted his ruminating 
and he opened his door to admit a serious looking Skinner.

"Sir?"

"Agent Mulder."

It was a moment before he thought to move aside and allow his AD 
to enter. 

"Bringing work home with you?"

"I'm always working, sir."

"You always drink on the job?" Skinner indicated the empty glass 
and near-empty bottle that rested beside it. 

Mulder closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I need help. 
Fast. Badly. This is so fucked up I don't know what to do, and I 
can't call anyone on this one." Whether it was the alcohol or his 
desperation he wasn't sure, but he blurted it out before he could 
think to stop himself. "Sir." He added as an afterthought.

"It looks like I may need one of those before you tell me what's 
going on. Should I pick us up more whiskey before you tell me 
what's going on, or have you had enough?"

"I don't need anymore." His laugh was humorless. "You're welcome 
to the rest. You might want a glass instead of the bottle; let me 
grab one, then I'll tell you a story. You up for a story?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Mulder's "no" was barely audible. Skinner sunk into the 
chair opposite the couch and waited. 

******

"Well, I must say, when you fuck up, you go for broke, 
Mulder," Skinner said.

Mulder felt drained. He had talked for 25 minutes straight, 
spinning a tale of vampires, the undead, three who were four, and 
blood sports that any sane person would dismiss as something from 
a Twilight Zone episode. Sadly, most of the X-Files read as 
something more sinister than even the most horrific of Sci-Fi 
fare. 

Skinner proceeded to tell him about Spender's visit and cryptic 
words. 

"I just don't know. Why would this interest Old Smokey? It 
doesn't concern their precious project; it doesn't even include 
Scully. I thought El Rico flame-broiled most of those fuckers."

"Maybe that's the whole point. With all the fallout from El Rico, 
maybe this is their way of driving another wedge in there. The 
first question has to be, is the girl yours?"

Mulder paled. "Sir-"

"Ball park figure of likelihood."

"I don't remember a lot about the actual - event." He 
leaned back and closed his eyes. "I mean, I remember the overall 
-thing- just not a lot of specifics."

"How about the specifics of whether you managed to use a condom?" 

At one time it would have been embarrassing, sitting there 
discussing condoms and sex with his boss, but that time had long 
passed. He'd fucked up big time and needed Skinner's help.  

"We -" Mulder was back in the darkened room, Kristen on her knees 
in front of him. It sickened him even now to 
remember it, to be able to recall her touch so clearly, 
her lips around him, her hands pulling his ass closer, 
feeling his cock slip down her throat; grabbing her hair and 
pulling her closer, harder. What did that say about him? About 
his relationship with Scully that he could do that? He had 
enjoyed it. He had hated it. She'd known exactly where to touch 
him, how rough to be, how desperate he was. He missed Scully so 
much and he had been so numb. He remembered pushing Kristen 
forward, down onto all fours, tasting her and then taking her 
from behind, almost violently. He had been harder than he could 
ever remember, had lasted far longer than he should have for a 
man whose last sexual exploit with real flesh had been before the 
Reno years. She was no substitute for Scully; he didn't close his 
eyes and pretend he was fucking his partner. He wouldn't soil her 
memory by doing that. It wasn't an act of love; it wasn't even 
about giving pleasure. He was taking, trying to make himself feel 
something again. And he remembered, clearly, there was no condom, 
and he certainly didn't interrupt and ask Kristen to find one. 

He opened his eyes to find Skinner still waiting. "Ball 
park figure? I'd say we're batting a thousand with this 
one."

Skinner cleared his throat, "Any chance those friends of yours 
could do a little digging?"

"I don't know if I should ask them." At Skinner's raised eyebrow 
he continued. "Frohike already thinks I'm dog meat because of the 
last case and what happened with Diana. You know, they were my 
friends first; now they side with Scully whenever anything 
happens. Byers might be more tolerant; actually, he'd be too 
polite to say no, and he wouldn't ask too many questions." He 
glanced at the clock. "Only an hour left before I have to go meet 
with her. Shit."

"Call them, Mulder. You can't afford not to, not this 
time."