Title: S.N.A.F.U.
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 and no money changed 
hands, I always put them back when I'm done.
Notes: At the end

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. 
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 it 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 everything 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 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, Spender 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, not 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 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 if he should be calling down to the 
basement 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 simply 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. She 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 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 to go. 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 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 the 
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 Pete managed to keep his job, but 
on the heels of that thought came the knowledge that he 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?"

"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 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."

****************

Chapter 7


Scully pushed the drawer back in and removed her gloves. 
"You did a good job, Denise."

"I sure appreciated getting the chance to work with you; 
everyone wanted to."

Scully couldn't help but feel a little flattered. It wasn't 
often that she was the recipient of any kind of Bureau idol 
worship; that was usually focused on Mulder. "You'll do 
well. You have a keen mind-" 

"- and a strong stomach," Denise finished.

Both women laughed and made their way to the back room to 
shower and change. Denise had been good, and Scully 
realized some of the tension in her shoulders was gone. It 
had been nice to work with someone who had a similar style. 
There weren't a lot of unnecessary words, no jockeying for 
a position of power; in short, none of the posturing that 
usually accompanied most of the men she had shared an 
autopsy bay with. 

Even some of the male students tended to try and pull some 
sort of dominance shit. It was why she usually worked 
alone, or with Mulder as a distant bystander. Despite all 
the forward movement made in many sectors, the FBI was 
still a boy's playground. 

She stepped into the shower and allowed the hot water to 
wash away the chemicals, the smell that permeated the bay. 
She couldn't wait to get home, soak in scented water 
instead of the harsh soap she had to use here, and get into 
her nice soft pajamas, open the wine and - what an exciting 
life you do lead Agent Dana Scully, MD. 

The sick part was, she would be here tomorrow, same place, 
same time, different body. Maybe she should have considered 
something other than working with the dead. It was all she 
seemed to be surrounded with these days: dead bodies, dead 
daughter, dead relationship, dead life. She scrubbed her 
hair, trying to banish her maudlin thoughts. She needed to 
see some light, get out of the dark for a little bit. 

Maybe holing up in her apartment was not such a wise idea 
considering her current state of mind. She needed to laugh. 
If she were closer to Denise's age, and not her supervisor, 
she would be dragging her out for a drink, or just to chat, 
to debrief a bit. Whatever happened to that person, she 
wondered? 

As the water rinsed the soap away, it left some lingering 
bitterness. She missed Melissa, and sometimes she missed 
the life she might have had so much that she resented 
Mulder and the X-Files and where they had brought her. 
Forgiveness was hard, and she knew it was often a daily 
thing, even when it concerned something she had already let 
go of. 

In her weaker moments she'd find she needed to let go all 
over again. There were times she even hated Mulder and she 
berated herself for feeling like that, because she really 
did love him more than she hated him. Most of the time. She 
believed she did get the tattoo she deserved, and sometimes 
she would hold up Philadelphia as an invisible badge of 
honour that only she was aware of. Mulder couldn't see it, 
but it was pinned to the front of her suit jacket all 
through the El Rico debacle. 

It was there when she pulled her badge out, when she signed 
her name to the report. It made an appearance when he 
ridiculed her in front of the Gunmen and made her feel 
foolish for thinking he cared.

Sometimes she wished he could see it, understand what it 
meant, and it would make her feel sick that she could want 
to hurt him, almost as sick as the remembrance of Ed 
Jerse's cock pushing in and out of her mouth. It had been a 
heady feeling at the time, being in control, powerful, 
holding him off until he was begging her for release. Yet 
it was all so empty, and she went to sleep with an ache so 
deep that it spread to fill every part of her. It was about 
her and about Mulder and so many other things. One day 
there would be no more room inside and her feelings would 
all come spilling out. 

She finished up and bade goodbye to Denise, who was already 
on the phone arranging to meet friends. When Denise glanced 
her way, a question in her eyes, there was a brief moment 
when Scully considered giving in and suggesting she join 
them. The thought was quickly gone as her professionalism 
took over. Dana Scully didn't break the rules, at least not 
for causal acquaintances. She left that for the times her 
partner needed her so desperately it was the only way to 
help him. The door closed with a soft thud behind her. She 
wasn't sure who she was at any one time anymore. 

****************

Chapter 8

"Forty-five minutes tops, boys."

"Well good afternoon to you too, Mulder." Frohike moved 
aside and allowed the two men to enter. "Mr. Skinner, come 
in and take a load off."

Byers and Langly nodded from their respective perches. 

"This isn't a social call, boys, and you'll have to forgive 
me for once again debasing myself in your eyes. I'm 
desperate for help and," -- he choked back sudden tears -- 
"there isn't anyone else I can call." His confident tone 
ended in a quiet plea. "Please."

"You look like shit." Mulder knew Frohike hated to be seen 
as soft, but also knew he had a good heart.

"You do look like shit." 

"Fuck you too, Langly," said Mulder as he slapped his 
friend on the back.
 
Byers left his stool to shake hands with Skinner. "Excuse 
their lack of manners. Why don't you let us know what you 
need."

Mulder plunked the file down on the only clear surface he 
could see. "Skinner had a visitor today, as did I. His was 
of the smoking variety, mine was," -- he stumbled over the 
words -- "mine was a different kind of smoking gun."

Frohike's eyebrows rose a notch and Langly's attention was 
diverted from whatever he was watching on his computer 
screen. "You care to elaborate?"

"Later. Right now we need to know if any of these four have 
been active lately?" He pulled two of the pictures out and 
handed the photos and a piece of paper to Byers. "Look for 
employment at blood clinics, labs, any place like that. 
They moved quite a bit when they were active before, so 
look for places where there was high turnover, employees 
who left only to show up at a similar occupation right 
after. I don't know if they'll be using the same names or 
not."

Byers held one of the pictures closer. "Does this have 
anything to do with Agent Scully?"
 
Skinner broke in. "It was something that occurred during 
her abduction, and my visitor this afternoon seemed to 
indicate a connection to his organization, or perhaps 
himself. We're not sure what we're looking for, but I 
think," -- he gestured to Mulder -- "he'll know it when he 
sees it."

"Forty-five minutes? It's going to take longer than that." 
Frohike sat down and cracked his fingers, readying himself 
for a stint at the keyboard.

"Just do whatever you need to. I can," -- Mulder searched 
for the proper word -- "contain it for the time being. I 
may have more information after I meet with someone 
tonight."

"Leave it with us." Byers walked them to the door. "You can 
still visit us, Mulder. Only Frohike's still mad enough to 
consider bodily harm, but he'll leave you alone if we're 
here." 

"Thanks, John. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, Mulder. You take care."

Once outside, the locks being thrown behind them created a 
small ruckus and Skinner couldn't help laughing. "Those 
friends of yours are worse than you, Mulder."

"You've no idea, sir, no idea."

"Listen, Mulder, I'd like to go with you tonight." He put 
his hand up as Mulder's protests began. "I'm not going to 
come in; I'll wait outside, out of sight. We don't know 
what is going on with this group or this woman. Normally, 
you'd have your partner to cover your back. I won't 
interfere unless I have to."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. You want it in writing?"

"No, but I expected a whole lot more argument. Thought I'd 
have to pull rank and all that."

"Thanks, Sir."

"Just repaying a favor, Agent."

****************

Chapter 9

Scully had her gun out before her computer bag slid to the 
floor, before the door closed. She trained it on the figure 
hidden in the shadows.

"I'm armed. Hands where I can see them."

"Well, this isn't exactly the welcome I expected, Scully."

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment, Krycek?"

"You can put the gun away; I'm not going to do anything." 
He moved from behind the couch, hands held up, just as the 
room was flooded with light. He squinted. "Damn, you 
could've warned me."

"Just step away from the couch." As he made his way closer 
to her, Scully kept her gun steady. "Weapon on the floor. 
Go slow, no sudden movements."

He complied, kicking the gun towards Scully. "Bitch." 

"Ankle holster too." She watched as he pulled a smaller gun 
from under his pants leg, and then she carefully picked 
both up, tucking them into her waistband. "Now turn around 
and put your hands on your head."

"Fuck, Scully, I'm not here to shoot you. If that was my 
intent I would've had you before you got through the door 
and pulled your gun."

"Just do it."

He turned, hands now in position as Scully made a cursory 
check for another weapon. Satisfied, she flipped the safety 
on her gun. "Okay, you can turn around now, but no sudden 
movements and keep your hands where I can see them."

"This isn't where you sucker punch me, is it?"

"What do you want?"

"My, you're certainly civilized about the whole thing; do 
you always follow the rules? Oh wait, it's Mulder who 
breaks the rules. You know what your problem is, don't 
you?"

"Get to the point, Krycek. I don't have all night."

"Predictable. You always do what's expected of you, 
Scully."

"The point?"
 
"Tell me, have you spoken to Mulder today?"

"So help me, Krycek, if you've laid a hand on him-"

"Interesting choice of words, but it's not me you have to 
worry about."

"Look, Krycek, this is getting tiring, say what you came to 
say."

"I'm only here because sometimes even I think they go too 
far. You need to tell him to dig a little deeper. He's 
going to be given something, and all is not as it seems." 

Krycek moved quickly, pulling a small gun from his jacket 
sleeve and training it on her.  "Should've used the cuffs, 
Scully.  You can keep the little one, I never did like it 
much, but this one is my baby." He retrieved his Glock from 
her waistband before she could respond. "Give him a call, 
Scully, don't let him put you off because he's avoiding 
things he finds distasteful."

He was gone. As she spun around to follow him through the 
door, cocking her gun, she found herself aiming at nothing 
but air. The door at the end of the hallway slammed shut. 
She didn't know someone could run that fast. She returned 
to her apartment, latching the door behind her. Reaching 
for the phone to call Mulder, she noticed a manila envelope 
on the table. Opening it revealed several papers and photos 
clipped together. A note, which she assumed was from 
Krycek, was attached to the front of the package. 

    "The shaft of the arrow had been
    feathered with one of the eagle's
    own plumes. We often give our enemies
    the means of our own destruction."       
 
"Oh Mulder, what have you gotten yourself into this time?"

****************

Chapter 10

Mulder pulled up across the street from the address on the 
paper, a sprawling colonial home in Old Town Alexandria, a 
few miles from the Pentagon. That fact was not lost on him, 
adding one more facet to the mystery of Kristen's 
reappearance and the child with her. Coupled with Spender's 
visit to Skinner's office, the entire situation was 
beginning to look suspicious. 

"That's an expensive home, Mulder." 

"That it is, Sir, that it is. Big too. There must be four 
or five bedrooms."

"What do you know about her family?"

"We didn't exactly trade family histories." 

"No, I guess you didn't."

"For the record, sir, I've never done that before or since. 
It was," -- he groped for the right word -- "a difficult 
time for me."

"I'm sure it was."
 
"I never meant to hurt Scully."

Skinner shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his 
throat several times. Mulder was about to ask him if he was 
okay when he spoke. "No one means to hurt the other person. 
I never meant for Sharon to get hurt during that whole 
business with -- what the hell was that thing?"

"Succubus. It was a succubus."

"Yeah, well as hard as it was at the time, working through 
it brought us to a much better place."

"Is this the adversity makes us stronger speech? Because if 
it is, I've had enough misfortune that I could petition the 
Pope for sainthood."

"You know that's --"

"--not what you mean. I know, it's just I get tired of all 
the shit sometimes. Other guys, they go, get laid, go home 
to their girlfriends, their wives, and life goes on. Me, I 
get laid once in a fucking decade and she gets pregnant, or 
claims to. That still hasn't been proved. And let's not 
even go into the 'I saw her burn up' part."

"Mulder--"

"Or the fact that I'm single and shouldn't feel guilty."

"Single? Are you sure about that?"

"It's complicated."

Skinner's 'right' was muttered

"Sir, Scully and I--"

"Don't worry, Mulder. I know your behavior is beyond 
reproach, at least the personal aspects of it, and you are 
both professional with regard to your work. I'm also not 
stupid or blind. So don't bother."

"I've never told Scully any of it. She's never even seen 
the file."

"Is this the one that you kept under the drawer?" At 
Mulder's surprised look he continued, "I'm not as 
unobservant as you think. And no, I didn't snoop. That 
drawer always catches slightly when you push it in and out. 
You've just gotten used to it, but to anyone who was 
watching closely, it looked like something was stuck under 
there."

"Skinner -- you really were something other than a pencil 
pusher at one time."

"Don't push it, Mulder."

"Yeah, well, time's up. Wish me luck."

"Do you still think you should go in on your own?"

"Yeah, if it's a set up I don't want to tip our hand. Give 
me a call in fifteen, and if I don't answer, you can call 
in the Cavalry."

Skinner nodded and Mulder watched him settle into his seat, 
cell phone at the ready.

As he made his way across the street, Mulder found his 
thoughts centered on the one thing he hadn't wanted to 
think about too much: the impact this would have on Scully. 
The aftermath of El Rico was still tangible, in particular 
Diana continued to be a point of tension. Her whereabouts 
were still a mystery. She had disappeared as quietly and 
furtively as she had arrived. 

He didn't know how much Scully knew about the relationship 
he and Diana once had. He hadn't shared very much, 
reluctant to broach the subject. Rumors had flown following 
Diana's departure for Europe; he recalled hearing 
everything from Diana sleeping with a director to him 
sleeping with the same director. The water cooler crowd had 
a field day with it. The current situation might even 
garner more attention once it made it to the rumor mill. 
There was no doubt in his mind that it eventually would.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

********

Chapter 11

The phone call she'd been about to make momentarily 
forgotten, she set the note aside and took a deep breath, 
fighting the urge to have a quick glance through all the 
items. Krycek had probably arranged them in order, and that 
could be important. She needed to be patient and review 
what she'd been given the way it had been ordered, 
methodically, like any of their cases. She set aside two 
smaller envelopes and went through the papers first. 

The first few were photocopies of a case file, but not one 
she recognized. She spent a few moments becoming familiar 
with the principle players, noting that the dates coincided 
with her missing time and that one name, Kristen Kilar, 
figured prominently throughout. There were copies of notes 
on LAPD letterhead from Detectives Nettles and Munson and 
various reports from experts pertaining to the victims. She 
noted that a forensic dentist had been called in, a Dr. 
Jacobs, and she wondered if it was the same man who had 
spoken at Quantico for one of her courses. 

Turning a page brought her to Mulder's familiar scrawl, 
five pages worth. His notes, detailed and precise, laid out 
a story that she found both unbelievable and perfectly 
feasible at the same time. When she reached the end, 
skimming what she could for the sake of time, she realized 
something was missing. Reading back over the last page and 
a half, she realized the detail she'd come to expect from 
her partner was absent. It was almost as if -- her heart 
sank as she pulled the first picture out from a separate 
envelope.

It was a clear shot of Mulder and a woman she assumed was 
Kristen, locked in a passionate embrace. The next two 
pictures moved the opening shot a little more towards an 
intimacy she knew formed part of the missing details. She 
was pretty sure what she would see in the rest of the 
photos, and decided to set them aside for the time being. 
She couldn't afford to let herself become more emotional 
than she already was. Besides, pictures had been doctored 
or even manufactured before. She wouldn't put it past their 
enemies to try something like this.

The rest of the papers were medical reports. In place of 
the patient's name was a series of numbers, and the reports 
themselves seemed routine: blood pressure, heart rate and 
temperature readings. They varied a little, but nothing 
that would indicate an illness, in fact, this patient 
seemed perfectly healthy. She was about to dismiss them as 
superfluous until she came to the last two pages and 
discovered the reason for the readings. Whoever this woman 
was, she had been pregnant. 

She went back through the pages, determined to have a more 
careful look at them. There were eight reports, arranged in 
order by month. If it were possible for her heart to 
further shatter, it did. The reports began in December and 
ran through to August. The last paper she held gave the 
essential birth details of the baby girl born that month. 
She felt tears threaten as she remembered Emily and an 
empty coffin. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. 
Even if it was about more children like Emily -- especially 
if it was about Emily -- she needed to be level headed. She 
didn't want to begin to think about the dark haired Kristen 
and Mulder and what it all might mean. 

She picked up the second of the two envelopes that were 
included and opened it. She pulled out a PCR she assumed 
belonged to the mother, based on the same series of numbers 
written in the corner. The numbers used to identify the 
woman were familiar to her. She took a deep breath, closed 
her eyes and cleared her mind. The numbers meant something. 

It didn't take her long to figure it out, and she felt 
foolish for missing such an obvious clue the first time 
through. She picked the up the phone to call her partner. 


****************


 Chapter 11B



The first thing that struck Mulder, as Kristen led him into 
her home, was the understated elegance. It was in direct 
contrast to her home in California. Where that house had 
been sparsely furnished, and had seemed almost clinical, 
this was full of rich, warm earth tones. Underneath 
colorful Indian rugs the floors were wide plank wood, maple 
he guessed, noting the clear, almost spotless grain. A 
staircase curved its way to the second floor and a hallway 
that stretched in both directions. 

As she ushered him into a sitting area he took in the 
artwork gracing the walls. Most seemed to be originals, or 
first run prints, he noted, as he got closer. A baby grand 
piano filled one corner and the tables were dotted with 
pictures of Hannah in varying stages of babyhood and as a 
toddler. He chose an overstuffed armchair and waited until 
she had settled herself opposite him in the loveseat.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine." He cringed a little, hearing 
himself echo Scully's infamous line; he hated the words, 
and true to her meaning, he was far from fine.

Kristen twisted her hands nervously. "I guess you might 
have a few questions."

"Uh, yeah, a few." Or more, he finished silently. The place 
was giving him the creeps. The initial feeling of warmth 
and coziness was fading. The house seemed devoid of 
anything related to a child. Aside from the pictures he 
could see no evidence that a child lived here. He didn't 
expect the sitting room to be littered with toys, but there 
was bareness to the place.

"You sure you don't want anything? Tea, coffee?"

"I'm sure. Where's Hannah?"

"In bed. I thought it might be easier."
 
"Oh."

"I thought about calling so many times, but --" She 
shrugged her shoulders. "I never knew how to tell you."

"So, what -- you thought just showing up with her at my 
office was the way to go?"

"I guess it wasn't the best way to handle it. It didn't 
seem like such a stupid idea at the time. I'm sorry to have 
sprung this on you."

"How did it happen?" 

"_How_?"

"I saw the fire, saw the reports from the fire-chief. Four 
bodies. One of them yours."

"I tasted his blood, the blood of a believer, the Father."

"And what, you were burnt up but you came back pregnant?"

"The fire didn't kill us, it couldn't."

"And who did you kill? Wasn't that part of the ritual?"

"Myself."

He closed his eyes, assaulted by images of a burning house 
and naked flesh. He remembered sitting on the hillside 
afterwards, the sharp tang of smoke in the air, the haze on 
the horizon, Scully's cross a heavy weight against his 
throat.

"What do you want from me, Kristen?"

He watched her hesitate, struggle to answer.

"I guess I want our daughter to have a home."

"A home? You mean with you and me? That kind of home?" 

"She needs a home." 

Her words were like nails on a chalkboard, scraping his 
tenuous hold on the conversation. His focus narrowed and he 
watched Kristen lean over to retrieve something from the 
drawer in the coffee table. Her hair was almost the same 
length, maybe a little shorter, and she was still thin. 
When she turned her head slightly, exposing her neck, he 
had a flash of remembrance. Trailing kisses down to that 
little spot -- his hands tightened into fists. The small 
mole was gone. 

Mulder trusted his instincts, and right now he was getting 
the distinct impression that something was off. Kristen 
seemed stiff, uncomfortable with herself and her 
surroundings. The timing of Skinner's encounter with 
Spender and Kristen's appearance in the X-Files' office was 
too much of a coincidence and he was alert to any nuance, 
any clue that would help throw light on the situation. 

She sat up, unaware of his growing unease, setting a photo 
album on the table. "I kept a record, just in case."

Mulder stood, ignoring the proffered book. Movement always 
helped clear his head. As he passed by the large archway 
that led into the hallway he caught sight of himself in an 
oval mirror. It was beautiful, the frame an ornate silver, 
probably an antique like many of the other pieces in the 
home. As he turned back towards the sitting area he 
mentally kicked himself for missing it. The mirror 
shouldn't be there, not if Kristen believed herself one of 
the immortals. There had been no mirrors in her Californian 
home. 

From inside his coat pocket came a faint ringing. "Excuse 
me. My cell." He pulled it out and made his way into the 
hallway. 

"Mulder."

"Scully?"

"Mulder, where are you?"

"Uh, this isn't a good time."

"Mulder, I need to see you."

"I'll call you back." He disconnected and turned his phone 
off. 
 
******************

Chapter 12

Scully's shock was quickly replaced by anger and then 
growing concern. Her repeated attempts to call Mulder's 
cell were met with an annoying recording that switched to 
voice mail. She had no better luck with his landline. After 
four rings his answering machine kicked in and she was 
resigned to leaving a message.  Although it wasn't the 
first time he had been too busy to take a call, he didn't 
normally turn his phone off. This, in addition to the drop 
off from Krycek, had her on high alert. 

She paced anxiously, wondering if she could call Skinner 
without it becoming an all points bulletin, and then 
dismissed that idea in favor of calling on the Gunmen. 
Things had been less strained with them since the afternoon 
she had gone to them with her request to look further into 
Diana's business. It had been awkward; she knew their 
loyalty lay with Mulder and he had seen her request as 
intrusive. But what they had uncovered had convinced them, 
if not Mulder, that Diana wasn't completely clean. 

Hearing Diana's romantic connection to Mulder had unsettled 
her last May. In light of the IVF she and Mulder were 
attempting now, the contents of the report left her 
wondering if she really knew her partner as well as she 
thought she did.  She stuffed the pictures and documents 
back in the envelope, and grabbed her bag and gun. This was 
too important to let a little awkwardness get in the way. 

It was Langly who opened the door, a nervous smile on his 
face. "Agent Scully."

"Langly." 

"What can I do for you?"

"You could start by letting me in."

He blushed and stepped aside. "Sorry, come on in."

"If it isn't the delectable Agent Scully." Frohike 
materialized from one of the back rooms. "To what do we owe 
this pleasure?" The words and tone were all Frohike, but 
Scully noticed his hands clenching. He was nervous about 
something.

"When was the last time any of you saw Mulder?" 

Bingo. She'd hit something as all three began glancing at 
each other, the floor, anywhere but at her.  It was Byers 
who finally stepped forward.

"Why don't you tell us what's going on first."

She tossed her purse onto the table and pushed an envelope 
into his hands. "I had a visitor, the one armed variety. He 
left this for me." 

Langly and Frohike moved close to Byers and soon all three 
were huddled around the table, the reports and pictures 
pulled out. In deference to Scully they had only glanced at 
the first two pictures before setting them aside, face 
down. She had nothing to do but wait for them to read 
through everything, so she took a seat, the events of the 
last few hours, the last few months, rolling through her 
mind. 

Clearly there were parts of Mulder's life she was in the 
dark about. It wasn't that unusual, there were things in 
her own life she hadn't shared with him, but whereas Jack 
and Daniel were long gone, Mulder's past seemed to always 
be reasserting itself in his life. Seeing him through the 
window, tenderly holding Diana's hand ten months ago had 
broken something in her.  

She could probably blame hormones for some of the jealousy 
she was feeling now. They had one more attempt left with 
her ova, and the process to get her body ready to receive 
the embryo implants had begun. Mulder still hadn't shared 
much about Diana, and she wondered if he still thought of 
her romantically. 

She considered that he might be having second thoughts 
about his contribution in her attempt to get pregnant. 
Mulder was too gracious to back out of something once he 
had committed, but a child wasn't quite the same as a 
promise to pick up the pizza and bring the beer. She didn't 
know how they could have that conversation when they hadn't 
managed to have any other regarding the invitro. They were 
masters at avoiding anything that could lead to a 
discussion about their relationship. 

In some ways, her attempt to conceive was the most 
impulsive thing she had ever done. After spending time 
investigating the possibility with Dr. Parenti, she had 
approached Mulder. For her there was no question about who 
she wanted to father her child. What the two of them hadn't 
gotten around to was the discussion regarding the rest of 
the details involved. Each time he tried to bring it up, 
she deflected it. It was her way of shielding herself from 
the failure. And two failed attempts had only reinforced 
the wisdom of that logic.  

For the last three months she had endured being poked and 
prodded, Dr. Parenti taking additional time with this last 
attempt. She was doing everything she could to help make 
this effort successful. 

Her near-fatal abdominal injury had interrupted her 
treatments. When Kersh threw her together with Peyton 
Ritter, delaying the last treatment she had been upset. In 
hindsight, she was grateful. Had she kept her appointment 
that month, and had it been successful, she would have lost 
her child. As it was, Parenti was somewhat concerned that 
the injury was still too recent to be continuing the IVF. A 
pregnancy could put additional stress on her recently 
healed tear, but weighed against the fact that her eggs 
weren't in the best condition for the procedure to begin 
with, she felt she couldn't wait. She was willing to risk 
it.

The risk was one more good reason to avoid the topic with 
Mulder. After El Rico they had both retreated to lick 
wounds, separately of course. Delivering Leroy, Jr. in 
Florida had intensified her desire for a child and she had 
let Mulder know she was ready to make the last attempt. If 
he had known about Dr. Parenti's concerns, he wouldn't have 
allowed her to go through with it, at least not so soon. 

She pulled herself from her thoughts as the three men still 
huddled around the table. One of the printers was spitting 
out sheets of paper and Byers moved over to retrieve them. 

"Agent Scully?" Byers motioned for her to join them. 

"What can you tell me?" She saw Langly and Frohike slink 
back, deferring to Byers.

"He came here earlier, asking for our help with locating 
these people." He held the copies of the file up. "They're 
a group of three individuals who seem to have an appetite 
for blood. I don't know if Mulder ever determined that they 
really were vampires or not. One of the women, the one 
referred to as the Unholy Spirit, is actually Marissa 
Whitehead. She also goes by Raven or sometimes Starr. The 
two men, John Caseville and Mark Sinclair, are known as The 
Son and The Father.  We've found evidence that all three 
have been together in various cities over the past few 
years. They weren't hard to find once we discovered the 
first location."

"Marissa isn't the one in the pictures, is she?" She tried 
to keep her voice steady.

Frohike dropped his eyes and Langly pulled one of the 
printed sheets close to his face. Byers cleared his throat 
and the compassion in his eyes almost did her in. "No, her 
name is Kristen. She was on the fringes of this group back 
in 1994."

It was confirmation that she had it right the first time 
she read the report. "Is that who Mulder's with?" 

"He's trying to figure out what she wants."

Scully took a deep, cleansing breath. "The medical 
reports," -- she moved in closer and pointed to the sheaf 
of papers -- "did you connect the dates?"

All three men looked at the line she pointed to their soft 
gasps breaking the silence as the significance of the 
numbers became apparent. 

"Holy shit." Frohike stepped back, slapping his head. "How 
did we miss that the first time?"

Scully began gathering the papers and shoving them back 
into the manila envelope. "I think he may be in trouble. 
Krycek left a note, 'all is not as it seems,' or something 
to that effect. There seems to be a connection with Spender 
or someone in the Consortium. You need to get word to 
Mulder that we have this."

"Skinner is with him."

"Skinner?" Her envelope stuffing was forgotten for a 
moment. "He came here?"

"Scully," -- Frohike put his hand on her arm -- "I'm sure 
he'll look out for Mulder."

"Yeah, and who's looking out for Skinner?" She grabbed her 
bag and, tucking the envelope under her arm, made her way 
to the door. "If he calls tell him --" She fumbled with the 
locks until Frohike leaned around her and deftly undid 
them. "Tell him -- to turn his phone on." And that I'm 
worried, she finished silently. 

*******************

Chapter 13

"Agent, when you tell me you'll be in contact with me in 
fifteen, I expect you to answer the call. I was this 
close," -- Skinner indicated a half-inch spread between his 
thumb and forefinger -- "to calling for back up."

Mulder slid behind the wheel and turned to face Skinner. He 
was leaning against the passenger door looking decidedly 
pissed off. "What?" 

"You turned your phone off, Mulder."

"Scully called at an awkward moment and I didn't want to 
risk her calling back. I'm sorry,"

"How the hell was I to know that?"

"What did you expect me to do?"

"I expected you to follow the script. I'm surprised 
Scully's stuck with you so long if this is normal procedure 
for you."

"Scully would usually be with me."

"If you want my help with this you are not to do that 
again, clear? I don't care what your excuse is. Being 
unable to contact you in this situation was dangerous. I 
repeat, _do not_ do it again."

Mulder swallowed the cheeky comeback he had ready and 
turned back to start the car, his 'yes sir' barely audible 
over the engine starting up.  

Skinner fastened his seat belt as Mulder drove. "So, what 
did you find out?"

Mulder drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "She was 
missing a mole."

"A mole?"

"Yes." His laugh was humourless. "This is one time I'm 
thankful for an eidetic memory." He recalled other times it 
was a curse, remembering details he'd sooner forget. "She 
had a mole right about here." He indicated a spot below his 
ear. "It wasn't there."

"What are you thinking it means?" 

"I'm thinking -- what I'm thinking is another one of those 
farfetched theories of mine that you and Scully usually 
have fun shooting holes through."

"Mulder, you'd be surprised how far I've come in keeping an 
open mind with regard to your ideas." 

Mulder snickered. "Well, what if Kristen did die? We've got 
two paths we can follow -- no, maybe three. She could be 
exactly who she says she is; some sort of back from the 
dead vampire who I managed to get pregnant, who did not 
lose the baby while she was between human and vampire 
states. I'm having a hard time with that one considering 
the silver framed mirror in the hallway."

"Silver mirror?"

"Vampire 101, no silver or mirrors, and certainly not 
together."

"You're a wealth of information, Mulder."

"Vampires exist, but maybe not in the way Hollywood 
presents them, Count Dracula and all that.  If you look 
through that file you'll see the reports from Dr. Browning 
and the guards who found him, regular people who saw John's 
burnt body.  I'm still not convinced that there isn't a 
psychological reason for his reaction to light, but the 
reality is, the man was alive and well a day later. I saw 
him."

"I think you'd better give me your second idea."

"Well, there's an outside chance 'Kirsten' could be a 
plastic surgeon's creation, a relative of Kilar's who 
thought she'd try and get something out of me. That doesn't 
seem likely, but it's a possibility."

"What could she possibly get out of you?"

Mulder cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. He 
hated talking about the Mulder assets. It was embarrassing; 
the money was dirty, blood money, and he hated even 
acknowledging it. "I have a little money."

"So what, she fashioned herself after a dead woman to grab 
a few dollars?"

"I said that it wasn't likely. I'm more inclined to think 
we're dealing with my third idea."

"Which is?"

Mulder, stopped for the red light, leaned his head back 
against the headrest and closed his eyes. "A created being, 
a clone or something similar, something we haven't seen 
yet. It would make more sense than the other two and it 
would explain the missing mole. It may have been a detail 
they overlooked." The car was moving forward again, the two 
men silent as both took in the enormity of Mulder's last 
suggestion.

Skinner broke the silence, "What do they hope to gain?  I 
think we need to come at this from that angle. Spender has 
something to do with this that we're not seeing. Where does 
the child fit?"

Where indeed did a little girl with hazel eyes and curly 
brown hair fit into his life? To say he'd never thought 
about being a father wouldn't be the truth. He'd thought 
about it often in the last three months. But it was non-
descript, blurry, fuzzy around the edges and not quite 
real. Actually having flesh and blood presented in the form 
of a little girl was frightening. He opened his eyes to 
find Skinner twisted in his seat, staring.

"Got an idea for me here, Mulder?"

"That's the one piece that keeps throwing me. I don't know 
what they intend with her. I don't even know if she is or 
isn't what she seems.  I've arranged to spend some time 
with her tomorrow. I'm hoping I can get a hair or something 
we can run DNA on.  Maybe that will help me determine what 
she is."

"_What_ she is?"

"Emily, sir, she might be another Emily."

"Shit."

Mulder parked the car in an open space not far from the 
front of his building. "How do I keep this from Scully?" He 
stepped out of the car, then leaned against it as Skinner 
made his way around. "I'd like you to keep it quiet, not to 
say anything to her until I've had a chance to figure out 
what to do. This really complicates things between Scully 
and me."

Skinner nodded slowly. "I'll give you a chance, but Mulder, 
she deserves to know the truth."

"I just want to know a little more about what I'm up 
against here." Mulder pocketed his keys. "I'm not sure 
which would be worse for her, another Emily or a new baby 
announcement for a three and half year old."

Skinner pulled his car keys out. "I'm going to check up on 
a few things. Maybe I can find out a little more about what 
Spender's been up too."

"I'll give the boys a call, maybe head over after I grab a 
few things. Call me if you get anything."

Skinner made his way down the street to his car.

"Oh, and sir?" Mulder waited for his boss to turn around. 
"I'll be taking a couple of days, just until I sort some 
things through."

Skinner nodded and continued on while Mulder, shoulders 
drooping, made his way to his apartment. 

He had a busy night ahead of him. 

*****************

Chapter 14

Scully sank wearily onto her couch, thankful she had chosen 
a piece of furniture that was comfortable as well as 
functional. 

Throughout the drive home, sheer willpower kept her eyes 
dry and focused on the road, in spite of the frustration, 
anger, and hurt that had been threatening to spill over.  
Her throat seemed to be sporting a permanent lump. Now, 
quietly, she gave in to her emotions. She rationalized that 
it was useless to continue fighting against the chemically 
induced surge of hormones swimming in her system.  

So many things were crowding her mind, vying for first 
consideration. She had never felt so out of control, so 
alone. It was essential that she contact Mulder, but his 
phone was still turned off. She needed to know what Krycek 
was doing mixed up in all of this, but his number wasn't 
exactly listed with information. 

It was important to figure out who Diana, and now Kristen, 
were to Mulder, and hell though it was, she needed to know 
what she herself meant to her partner. How many other 
Diana's and Kristen's were waiting in the wings to make an 
appearance? The whole IVF process had complicated things 
more than ever. She and Mulder had shared the most intimate 
of all things when they exchanged body fluids, albeit done 
clinically in the most detached manner possible. 

She didn't know how she could sit down and discuss 
parenting or baby names with him when he was more than 
sperm in a cup to her, but she had no idea what she meant 
to him. She used her sleeve to dry her tears, mentally 
telling herself she was done, had wallowed long enough. She 
had work to do and a partner to locate. She put the kettle 
on and pulled an herbal tea out of the jar. First, she 
needed to settle her churning stomach. 

******

Smoke wafted towards the ceiling, pulled by the fans 
installed for just this purpose. The room was dark; the 
lights dimmed in an effort to create anonymity, though all 
the men gathered together knew each other intimately. They 
were focused on Spender who stood in the centre of the 
room, his words slowly rolling over the group like the puff 
of exhaled smoke accompanying them.

"It is of no consequence." 

A large man standing on the fringes spoke up. "What of the 
child?"

Spender turned to address him. "Strughold, you worry far 
too much. They are all expendable."

"And you are a fool to think we do not know what you are 
doing. Tell us, Spender, where is Krycek tonight?"

Spender took a long, slow drag of his cigarette. "I haven't 
heard from Alex. Perhaps you have?"

Strughold turned to fully face Spender. "I'd be careful, if 
I were you, who you send on your errands. Everyone has a 
price."

"You speak in riddles and your threats are empty. I'm well 
aware of the fluidity of Alex's allegiances. It is better 
to keep one's enemies close." Spender lit another 
cigarette.

"Scully has the file and the PCR's." 

The other men appeared to shrink back, away from the 
quarrel, though none of them moved.

If Strughold had been looking for a reaction from Spender, 
there was none to be had.  

"This can be used to our advantage, can it not?" Spender 
asked. "You're short sighted when it comes to these two. We 
have several ways we can play it. You are forgetting the 
element of control this situation gives us."

"And you are overly sentimental. You protect these two at 
what cost to the project? For whose benefit? We have given 
you far too much leeway. I say it's time to remove the 
threat."

"Sentiment has nothing to do with it." Spender's response 
was quietly spoken. "You would awaken a giant with such a 
foolish ploy."

"The doctor is ours, is he not?" The refined English accent 
was like a cooling balm.

Spender turned towards the voice; surprised the Englishman 
would wade into the fray. Strughold had been playing his 
own game for the past year and the rest of the men kept 
their allegiances close to their chests.  He was startled 
to find a crumb of support from this man. Spender suspected 
he, along with Strughold, were behind the El Rico set up 
that would have seen him burnt along with some of the other 
members. 

"Indeed, he is ours. You propose using him for what 
purpose?"

"You said it yourself; we've several ways to play this. We 
need to choose the one that will bring about our aims while 
preventing further interference."

From the corner, a tall man spoke, his face hidden in the 
shadows thrown by the dim lights. "There is only one course 
of action that will accomplish this. Do we have consensus?"

There were murmurings through the room as consent was 
given.

Strughold leaned back in his chair, softly chuckling, a 
sound that was grim.  "The doctor, then. 
Make sure he knows that failure is not an option." He 
turned steely eyes on Spender. "Do it yourself."

Spender made his way to the door, turning to face the group 
before he left. "But of course." 

The door closed behind him with a soft swoosh. 

**********



Chapter 15A


There was an envelope waiting for Mulder when he got back 
to his apartment. Wearily, he picked it up by the edges, 
mindful of fingerprints, from its resting place against the 
door and stepped inside. There was nothing marked on the 
envelope, but he grabbed a latex glove just in case. He 
looked guiltily at the flashing light of his answering 
machine, knowing the calls were from Scully. He had his 
phone turned off still, not willing to risk a call from 
her.  

He sank onto his couch and carefully pulled the flap open 
and withdrew a set of pictures. His heart fell when he 
recognized Kristen and himself in the photos. Shit. He 
shuffled through the stack, sixteen in all, relieved to 
discover none showed anything more intimate than passionate 
kissing. It was a little unnerving to realize that no part 
of his life, no indiscretion was far from someone's 
watchful eye. He threw the latex glove on the table. There 
was no way he was taking these in to have Danny dust them 
and he doubted there would be prints found anyway.  These 
guys were too careful. 

He shoved the pictures back into the envelope. He had work 
to do but needed a moment to organize his thoughts, to try 
and figure out what he would or could tell his partner. If 
he didn't call her soon, he risked her coming over and he 
didn't think he could face her just yet. He was not ready 
to tell her about Kristen and even less ready to broach the 
subject of Hannah. He wasn't sure which scenario was worse 
� having a real live flesh and blood child through a 
foolish indiscretion, or that Hannah was the next 
generation of Emily. The thought sickened him as he 
recalled Emily's last few days. Who were these men who 
played God with little girls and barren women? 

He had supported Scully in her bid to adopt Emily despite 
his reservations regarding the affair, and he hadn't shrunk 
back and run when she approached him about being the other 
half of the IVF procedure. It still made him feel a little 
strange to think of himself as a sperm donor. His 
investment went beyond ejaculating into a cup. He wanted 
her to be happy, to be able to regain some of what she had 
lost, and if a baby would help do that, he would do 
whatever he could to make sure it happened. 

What he hadn't counted on were the mood swings and the 
crushing disappointment when the first two procedures 
failed. He had reservations that it was still too close to 
her recent surgery, but relied on Scully to know what was 
best. She wouldn't be foolish enough to risk her last 
attempt to conceive by trying when it wasn't safe for her. 

Scully, ever the consummate professional, was good at 
keeping her emotions in check most of the time. She never 
got pissy when she was on her period, and she didn't use 
PMS as an excuse to be bitchy. In fact, she rarely 
complained at all, and he knew there were times, judging by 
the paleness that make up couldn't mask and the winces she 
tried to hide, that she wasn't feeling well. It wasn't like 
they sat down and discussed it � "And how are the cramps 
today, Scully?" "Just fine Mulder, now that I've taken 600 
mgs of Advil."  "Oh, and how is the whole reproductive 
system holding up these days, Scully? After the nameless 
doctors removed all your ova, that is?" He snorted with 
derision. Working closely with Scully for five years had 
given him intimate knowledge of her body whether he wanted 
it or not. He knew enough about her system's workings to 
know that her periods were no longer as regular as they 
once were. 

Thanks to the nameless 'Them,' they were now an irregular 
and painful souvenir of a violation she couldn't remember. 
The fact that she still got a period once in a while was 
good news, at least according to her doctor. In order to 
sign up to be the male contributor, Mulder had had to sit 
through an interview. Dr. Parenti had no qualms sharing 
details about how her body was working and how he was going 
to attempt to make her pregnant. They managed to discuss 
all the technical details without too much difficulty; but 
it was the personal issues that seemed to stop him cold 
each and every time.  

He made his way over to the desk and began to dial while he 
turned his computer on. 

"Pinky's Laundromat, we specialize in shirt service for 
wayward FBI agents."

"Oh, that's smooth, Frohike. Turn the tape off."

"Where the hell have you been, Mulder? And why the hell is 
your cell turned off?"

"It's a long story. I need to know what you found out."

"First you'll need to do a little sharing of your own."

"Frohike, I don't have time for all this."

"Make time, buddy. We had your better half over here 
tonight and it wasn't a social call. She had a file, and a 
set of pictures, Mulder."

"Fuck."

"Well, fuck would be the operative word, would it not? She 
didn't' show us all the pictures, but we got the idea."  

"Do you have me on speaker?" He didn't need to wait to hear 
the embarrassed coughs from the other two men to have it 
confirmed. "It isn't what you think. I need you guys on 
this."

"I think you need to tell us what's going on, Mulder." 
Byers, always calm, steady, and reasonable.

Frohike, on the other hand, was never reasonable when it 
concerned Scully. "You hurt her Mulder and I'll kick your 
ass." 

Hell, he should take care of it himself and save them the 
trouble.

Mulder took a deep breath before he began and with as few 
details as possible and no elaboration on the night he 
spent with Kristen, shared the story, including his 
concerns regarding Kristen's physiology and the small, 
willowy girl with hazel eyes and a winning smile. It 
surprised him that Hannah's existence didn't shock them. 
For a moment he lived in blessed ignorance, which came 
crashing down when he realized that their lack of shock 
could only mean that they already knew because Scully had 
told them. He felt sick with the realization.

"Mulder, hey buddy." All three voices formed a chorus that 
pulled his attention back. 

"Sorry, boys. I just need to know what you've got for me, 
and then I need to go." 

"Well, that's the interesting thing about all this. You 
see, we located your trio, they weren't that hard to find 
once we got a line on one of them. But your partner, boy � 
she's something else, Mulder. You don't' deserve her, you 
know that I hope?"

"Frohike, I know it, you know it. Are we going somewhere 
here?"

"Well, it's just that your partner managed to put two and 
two together and came up with three."

"Langly, knock some sense into him, will you."

"No way, man. He's got those funny gloves on again. Just 
tell the man, Frohike. You're driving me crazy."

A small clicking noise intruded. "What was that � guys?"

"I don't like the sounds of that. I'm off � up close and 
personal � and then we'll talk, and Mulder, leave your cell 
on, just in case." 

The click was followed by silence and another, fainter 
click. Mulder wearily disconnected. Resigned to another 
long night, he grabbed his keys and ignored his landline as 
it began to ring. He was pretty sure who it would be, and 
in light of what the Gunmen had revealed he had even less 
desire to talk with her right now. He closed the door and 
locked it just as Scully's voice came on the machine.


********************

Chapter 15B

Scully replaced the receiver with a little more force than 
necessary. Mulder was avoiding her, she knew that, and it 
was making her crazy that he could be out there running 
around with only the facts he was being allowed to see. She 
picked the phone up again and dialed another familiar 
number.

"Joe's pizza."

"It's me, Langly."

"The phone seems to have extra ears tonight, let me call 
you back."

She checked that her cell phone was on and waited. It 
wasn't long. "Langly."

"Frohike, Scully. We have less than a minute."

"Oh, okay. I just wanted to make sure our friend got in 
touch."

"He's on his way."

"What are you going to tell him?"

"We were kind of hoping to convince you to come over and 
help us on that one."

"He's avoiding me right now. I'm a little concerned about 
how he might react."

"You sure you can't make it this way?"

"I'm tired. Can you let him know I need him to call me?"

"Will do. Get some rest. Bye, sweetness."

"Frohike �"

Her good-bye didn't make it in time; she heard the soft 
click disconnecting the call. She hoped they could convince 
Mulder to call her, but she knew how her partner got when 
his guilt was in full operational mode. The characteristics 
that made him good at his job -- tenacity, perseverance, 
compassion, and empathy -- were like a doubled edged sword 
when coupled with guilt and focused inward. She knew his 
introspection would be to the exclusion of all else until 
he had it all squared away. Then he would come, hat in 
hand, to do his penance. 

She was sick of it. It wasn't that she wasn't hurt, or 
needed to know the answers to the questions that were 
crowding her mind, it was just too much to fit in right now 
with all the other concerns. She had one more visit 
scheduled for the clinic this week in preparation for 
Friday's appointment to have the last of her eggs 
implanted. It was something she had done alone the last two 
times. She had been hoping Mulder might want to go with her 
this time, but hadn't a chance to ask him yet. In light of 
recent developments she wondered if she should. 


Another frustrating phone call to add to an already 
exasperating day. She headed to the kitchen and opened the 
refrigerator. The bottle of white wine she had picked up on 
her way home sat next to the sparkling cider. The cider was 
meant for celebration, but had spent the last few months 
cooling. She thought about indulging, it was what she had 
promised herself after a long day in the autopsy bay, but 
with Mulder's current whereabouts unknown, she might need 
her wits abut her.  She shut the door and decided to brew 
some tea to go with a hot bath. 

*******


Chapter 16

Krycek didn't like what he was about to do. He played a 
dangerous game, moving between different factions of the 
organization. In truth, he loathed the men who felt they 
had the right to decide for the population, and for him, 
what was best. It really came down to a power play, each 
group vying for top dog spot. He had been lucky so far. He 
counted the loss of his arm as the lesser evil when there 
was so many times his life could have been forfeited. 
Though he felt like a cat with nine lives, he knew the 
reality of it was that one day he would turn too late or 
shoot too soon and it would be over. Perhaps his strength 
was in his causal acceptance of the eventuality of his own 
death. 

He pulled a single key from his pocket and let himself into 
the house. Unlike Mulder, the opulence of the house didn't 
impress him; he'd learned long ago that to put stock in 
possessions was counterproductive. He had lived with 
abundance, and he'd lived in poverty. By letting go of 
material comforts, he allowed no man or organization to 
gain control over him. A man with nothing to gain or lose 
owed his allegiance to no one.  

This was one of Mulder's weaknesses; he seemed to think he 
owed everyone. Throw a needy female in front of him and he 
was hooked. He was predictable, and Krycek wondered if 
Mulder really knew how easily he could be played. Sometimes 
he needed to remind himself that despite Mulder's apparent 
ability to undermine the Syndicate's work, he wasn't 
infallible. Krycek recalled several stand offs between 
Strughold and Spender. Strughold was shrewd and knew 
Mulder's value had limits. Spender on the other hand, 
seemed to be blind when it came to the agent. Krycek 
assumed it had something to do with the families' 
connection and Teena Mulder in particular. 

Whatever it was, Spender kept it close to his chest and 
information was scarce, though he suspected the Englishman 
knew something. Krycek smiled as he crept up the stairs. He 
was a patient and resourceful man; one day he would have 
what he needed and Spender would be unseated. The tension 
between the key players, Strughold in particular, was 
heating up. El Rico had only reduced the playing field, 
leaving the strongest contenders. That Spender was still in 
the game was an unfortunate oversight. 

He paused at the closed bedroom door, mentally preparing 
himself. The house was deathly silent and if he didn't know 
differently, would have sworn it was empty. He turned the 
doorknob slowly, quietly. What did it say that he was so 
very good at such unsavory tasks?  

It took only seconds to inflict the fatal wound. There was 
no time for her to react, no time to turn around and see 
her assailant. He was glad of that. As often as he had to 
do this, as necessary as it was, he still found it somewhat 
distasteful. He was glad he didn't have to look into her 
shocked eyes, watching the light fade. This one didn't 
bleed toxic green like the earlier hybrids. Her blood was 
red and looked human, unless viewed under a microscope in 
its living state.  There was a unique quality to the fluid 
in these new ones and he doubted even Scully, with her 
expertise in the autopsy bay, would be able to pick it up. 

"COH XOPMO, sleep well." He pulled the blanket up, covering 
the trickle of red, and made his way silently out of the 
house.

"Well, Mulder," Krycek spoke into the cool air when he was 
far enough away that noise was no longer a concern, "next 
one, you owe me." 

Krycek slipped into the dark night. Tonight was one of the 
occasions when it was all about what he needed. 

******


Chapter 17

Frohike opened the door and Mulder decided that was the 
better option. He could handle humor much better than the 
quiet disappointment he might get from Byers, or Langly's 
biting sarcasm.

"We have to stop meeting like this."

"You're damn lucky we're letting you in." Frohike snorted 
and locked the door behind him. Byers and Langly briefly 
looked up and nodded hello.

Mulder knew there was more than a grain of truth in his 
statement. "Don't I know it. Frohike, can we drop the 
gloves? I'm tired; I feel like shit, and there isn't a 
single person not pissed off at me right now."

Frohike took in Mulder's weariness and clapped him on the 
back. "We have a stool just for you and a Shiner's Bock 
with your name on it."

"I think I'm in love." 

"Mulder, you have a funny-" A sharp elbow to the ribs 
courtesy of Byers cut off Langly's comment. Mulder 
swallowed any smart-ass remark he would have made, 
recognizing the gesture as outside of Byers' usual 
behavior. 

"Look, guys, let me get some of this down and then you can 
all have a go." He took a long draught of the beer before 
setting it down with a satisfied smack of his lips. 

The three Gunmen pulled chairs closer and Frohike slapped a 
folder down. "Before I get into this," -- he gestured to 
the folder -- "we want to know about the chick. The 
pictures you gave us aren't anything like the ones Scully 
has."

Mulder sunk a little lower on the stool at the mention of 
his partner's name. "No, I was trying to keep that part out 
of it. And I guess we have a matching set now because 
someone dropped copies off to me as well."

"We can't help you when we have only part of the 
information." Byers' voice was quiet, respectful. "We all 
know how hard it was on you when she was missing. She means 
a lot to all of us."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but hell, what was I going to 
say? When I was out there investigating that group it was 
probably the lowest point for me." He paused to take 
another drink. "I was lost, so lost, and numb. She was just 
there, right time, right place; totally wrong actions on my 
part. I knew it, she knew it � hell, Spender caught it on 
tape, or Krycek, or one of their cohorts � they probably 
knew it too. It didn't solve anything, except I was able to 
get outside of my head for a bit. You know I'd never 
deliberately hurt Scully. She's never seen the file; I've 
kept it hidden, and Skinner hadn't seen it until today. 
Kristen showed up the other day with this kid in tow. I'm 
not sure what she is, but I'm pretty damn sure the kid 
is..." He fumbled for the right word. "Connected...to me." 
He miserably pulled at the label on his bottle.

Byers cleared his throat loudly and Mulder watched furtive 
glances pass between his three friends.  

"What aren't you telling me?" Mulder asked.

Langly elbowed Frohike who in turn gave Byers a push. If 
the situation weren't so grim, Mulder would find their 
posturing amusing.  

"It's why Scully has been trying to reach you all night." 
Byers retrieved a folder from the table. 

"Am I going to need another drink before you tell me what 
those are?" He pointed to the numbers on the page Byers had 
pulled out.

"Depends." Frohike retrieved another beer from the fridge 
and slid it towards him. "Just in case."

Byers' throat clearing was getting on Mulder's nerves. 
"Just spit it out, okay? I'm a big boy and the suspense is 
killing me. Besides, I have a lot more I need to do 
tonight."

"These are the numbers that were on a file Agent Scully had 
with her. Recognize them, Mulder?"

A soft gasp escaped him. "Sam's birthday." He pulled the 
paper closer. "Shit, her abduction date, too."

"They were on the reports she had, medical reports."

"What was the report for? Did it say what they did? Where 
she is? Where they kept her?"

Frohike held his hand up. "Stop, just hold up. There was 
nothing that would help locate her." His voice softened. 
"There were eight reports in total."

"So?"

"The last report indicated a live birth. Scully had two 
sets of PCR's; one we're pretty sure was Samantha's and the 
other was the baby's. It looks like your sister had a baby, 
and the date," -- he pointed to the last set of numbers 
they had copied -- "would make her about three and a half."

Mulder grimaced and sat back down, at a loss for words. Was 
Hannah Samantha's child or was she something they created 
using his sister? Either way, it was looking like Hannah 
was Sam's and they didn't need Sam alive for them to do 
their dirty work. He looked up at his three friends. "She's 
not mine, is she? She's Samantha's." 

A sharp rap on the door interrupted them and all four sets 
of eyes moved to the screen that monitored the entrance 
door. 

Frohike's whistle was loud in the silent room. "Looks like 
your number's up, Mulder." 

Her arms wrapped tightly about her body, Scully rocked from 
foot to foot, waiting for the door to open.


*******

Chapter 18

There was no joking, no banter or sarcasm to be had as 
Scully followed Frohike in. Her hair was still damp, held 
back in a loose ponytail, and her sweats spoke of a last 
minute decision to come here. She stood just outside the 
circle of men as they all waited for someone to make the 
first sound. There was an uncomfortable silence and the 
Gunmen, one by one, retreated to a back room, leaving 
Mulder and Scully alone. Mulder had yet to meet her eyes 
and she focused her attention on the papers spread before 
him.

"I wanted to tell you before you saw it. That's why I was 
calling."

He made a weak attempt to match her gaze, lost the battle 
and focused on the papers again. 

"You turned your phone off, and I left messages, but - 
dammit Mulder, how can I help you when you won't let me?"

He looked up then. "Oh, that's sweet, Scully. We know how 
much you let me -" Her anger he could handle, but the tears 
he could see forming were his undoing. "Fuck, I don't know 
what you want me to say."

"I don't have a script for you, I just don't understand how 
you could keep all this from me and expect me to be okay 
with it, especially with all..." 

"With all _what_, Scully? Are you referring to our clinical 
exchange of body fluids?" 

Her mouth was open, but no words were making it out. "That 
doesn't give you the right to hide things from me," she 
finally sputtered.

"This has nothing to do with you."

She had been ready to spar, to jump into the fray and 
continue the fight, but his words, flat and cold, seemed to 
leach it out of her. She appeared to deflate before him 
hurt rushing in to fill the spots anger had vacated. "I 
guess maybe it doesn't." 

"Look, there are some things I just can't talk to you 
about. This is one of them, at least right now." He was 
pleading with her now, the arrogance gone. "I promise, 
Scully - Dana - we'll talk, later."

His interjection of her first name, meant to placate her, 
had the opposite effect. Her mouth opened and closed but 
nothing came out. She turned abruptly and left, the door 
slamming shut behind her. 

******

When Mulder finally raised his head, he was greeted by the 
soft sounds of his friends keeping busy in the furthermost 
corners of their home. He'd been an ass; he knew it and, no 
doubt, so did the Gunmen. Scully knew it as well, he 
guessed, but she would never call him on it to his face. He 
was acutely aware of what happened the last time he'd taken 
her for granted and pissed her off. Groaning, he stood and 
made his way toward a shuffling noise he hoped would turn 
out to be Frohike.

"You can come out; I won't bite."

Frohike's cautiously stepped from behind the door. "Is it 
clear?"

"You heard her go, you can stop stalling." He raised his 
voice. "It's all clear, boys; I'm not going to self 
destruct."

Byers and Langly materialized from the back. 

"I think I need to go after her." Mulder raised his hand to 
his head and gave himself a smack. "That is what you guys 
need to do to me once in awhile."

"No offense, Mulder, but you can be a bit of a bear when 
you're pissed." Langly slouched against the wall. 

"Not to mention how uncomfortable it gets when the two of 
you go at it." Frohike was somber. "You have some 
apologizing to do." He poked his finger at Mulder's chest. 
"And if you make her cry anymore I'll hunt you down."

"Look, those papers are-"

"We got it covered, man." Langly moved to collect the 
documents from the table. "We've already filed and uploaded 
to a safe place."

"That's why I pay you the big bucks, boys." Mulder grabbed 
his jacket and made his way to the door. He turned to bid 
them goodnight and found Byers on his heels. Byers reached 
up and clasped Mulder's shoulder. "She's confused and hurt, 
Mulder. Take some advice from someone who loved and lost: 
talk to her. Don't waste the time you've been given. Just 
go."

Mulder nodded and let himself out. 


*****


Chapter 19 

After Midnight
	

Mulder was just pulling off of the Jefferson Memorial 
Bridge when his cell phone began ringing. Hopeful that it 
was Scully he hurriedly pulled the phone from his pocket 
and flipped it open.

"Mulder."

"Special Agent Fox Mulder?"

"Speaking."

"Agent Mulder, this is Stephen Mills with the Alexandria 
PD. We responded to a call about forty minutes ago and your 
name came up in connection with our preliminary inquiries. 

Mulder felt cold fear grip him. If anything had happened to 
Scully �

"Agent Mulder?"

"What caller?" 

"Agent, we have a situation at 22 Wolf Court."

Relief was momentary. "I'll be right there."

"We'll be waiting, Agent."

Mulder disconnected and turned his car around.  Fuck, what 
else was going to go wrong tonight.

*******

The area around Kristen's house was cordoned off with 
yellow tape, and the flashing lights of at least a half 
dozen squad cars gave the dark night an eerie glow. The 
sight set Mulder's heart pounding. Coming to a lurching 
stop just before the police tape, he had the car door flung 
open and was out of the car and sprinting towards the front 
door in record time, almost running over the officer who 
was attempting to stop his progress. 

"Sir, this is a crime scene. I can't let you go any 
further." 

Mulder pulled his badge out hastily and identified himself. 
"I'm looking for a Detective Mills."

He pointed Mulder towards the front of the house. "You'll 
find him inside or somewhere near the front area. Big guy 
with red hair."

Mulder headed off in the direction indicated and found 
Mills just inside the front door of Kristen's home 
conferring with a small group of officers. Apologizing for 
the interruption, he hastily pushed his identification 
between two men and introduced himself, grabbing the small 
group's attention. 

"Agent Mulder, thanks for coming so quickly. I'll be right 
with you."  

Mulder noted that Mills was indeed big; the man probably 
had six inches on him, with a shock of red hair, which 
disappeared under his cap when he put it on and dismissed 
the men around him. 

"Detective Mills �"

Mills put his hand up to stop Mulder. "This wasn't a call 
in any official capacity, agent. I had an anonymous tip to 
check this address out and the caller was insistent that I 
contact you."

"What have you got?"

Mills glanced at his notes. "Homicide victim, female, 
around 30, 35. Medical examiner hasn't been able to 
positively ID the body yet, but we are assuming it's the 
owner of the residence, a Kristen Kilar. Did you know her?"

Mulder took a deep breath. "Not very well. She was part of 
an investigation a few years ago."

"Any idea why someone would insist we call you?"

"Not really. She came to see me earlier in the day." He 
wasn't going to say more than he had to. "Where's Hannah?" 

At Mills' puzzled look Mulder grew agitated. "Hannah, her - 
the little girl who lived with her; she's about this high," 
-- Mulder held his hand up mid thigh -- "and has curly dark 
hair."

"Agent, the City has only one occupant listed and we didn't 
find anyone else in the house. Approximately what time did 
you last see Ms. Kilar, and is Hannah her daughter?" 

Fuck. How the hell was he going to answer that question? He 
needed to get into the house and do a search on his own, 
but he couldn't have Mills sounding an alarm. There was 
also no way he could tell the man the real story, and an 
outright lie would complicate things in a whole other way. 

"I'm not a liberty to share much, except to tell you that 
Ms. Kilar and the girl came to the Bureau's attention on 
another matter. We had some questions of our own and I was 
here earlier with my AD trying to get some answers. I would 
like to have a look around; Hannah may have heard the 
commotion and hid." Mulder figured Skinner could live with 
that as an explanation, and it was a subtle way to make a 
comment regarding jurisdiction. Mills didn't need to know 
the particulars of his visit, and he needed to get in there 
and find out what had become of Hannah.  

Mills nodded. "I can do one better." He stepped out onto 
the porch and got the attention of two officers. "Forbes 
and Lewis, this is Agent Mulder. He says there might be a 
child living here as well. You two help him go through the 
house, make sure she isn't hiding somewhere. And Agent --"

"Just Mulder will do."

"Mulder, I'd sure appreciate it if you could ID the body 
for us."

Figuring it was easier to be cooperative, he nodded his 
assent. "No problem." The small group made their way up the 
wide staircase to the second floor. Forbes and Lewis 
separated to begin a search of the rooms, while Mills led 
Mulder into the bedroom.

There was a small group of officers methodically dusting 
for prints and collecting evidence. A box sat near the door 
with several plastic bags tagged and marked, and the flash 
from the photographer's camera periodically lit the already 
bright room. A small thin man looked up as they entered.

"Charlie, this is Agent Mulder, with the Bureau. He may be 
able to provide a positive ID on the victim."

Charlie's voice was thin and reedy, suiting his frame. 
"That'd be great, Steve." He stepped aside and pulled the 
sheet back. 

The body was indeed that of Kristen Kilar. Or something 
that looked like her. The blood he could see was red, but 
that didn't mean anything. "Yeah, it's her. What have you 
got as a preliminary cause?"

Charlie looked to Mills. "Go ahead."

"Well, it's the oddest thing. No marks on the body except 
this." He pointed towards the back of Kristen's neck, where 
the blood had crusted into a thin line snaking its way 
down. "There's a small puncture wound right here, but we 
haven't found a weapon or anything in the room that could 
have been used."

If Mulder had any lingering doubts as to Kristen's 
humanity, they were put to rest. The only reason to target 
that particular spot in an attack was to kill a hybridized 
clone.  He rocked back on his feet. There was nothing he 
could do for her anymore. His priority had to be Hannah. A 
call to Skinner would take care of Bureau jurisdiction and 
get the body sent to Quantico. Scully was already there 
this week finishing up the Dusett case, and there wasn't 
anyone else he trusted to do this. Despite their 
difficulties right now, Scully would never be anything but 
professional. He wiped his eyes, unable to stifle a yawn or 
hide the weariness. It had been a long day and it wasn't 
over yet.

Forbes and Lewis appeared outside the door and Mulder 
didn't need them to tell him that they'd found nothing. 

Forbes was nodding his head in agreement as Lewis spoke. 
"Not a thing, Agent Mulder. Are you sure she lived here?"

Mulder swallowed, wondering how to smooth this over quickly 
so that he could get out and start looking on his own. 
These men wouldn't be of any use in tracking one little 
girl down, not considering who had probably taken her. "No, 
I'm not sure. Hannah wasn't her child. When I saw them last 
they were together, but that was early this morning." God, 
was it just this morning?

"Well, I don't know what to tell you. Do you know the 
parents at all? Could you check that she's with them?"

Mulder bought the opening the officer had given him. "I'll 
do that. Do you mind if I have a quick look through the 
place first?"

Forbes shrugged. "I don't see the harm. If you do happen to 
find anything, give a yell."

"Thanks."

"Let someone know when you're leaving, just in case Mills 
needs to ask you anything."

"Will do."

It didn't take long to go through the upstairs, and like 
the officers had said, there was nothing to be found. 
Nothing to indicate Hannah had even been in the home. Not a 
stray hair clip, stuffed toy, or storybook anywhere. He 
even rooted through the laundry looking for a stray sock, 
the bane of all mothers with children. There was nothing, 
which was telling in itself. Whoever had gone over the 
place had done so with great care. He needed to contact 
Skinner and the Gunmen. 

Another little girl missing, and if Scully was right, and 
she usually was when it came to hard facts, one more link 
to his sister was gone before he could do anything about 
it. Fuck. He was going to have to get in touch with Scully, 
and he still didn't have a clue what he was going to say.


*******


Chapter 20

After a mostly sleepless night of tossing and turning, 
Scully finally gave up fighting and got up. She spent the 
first few hours cleaning her already spotless apartment. 
She had an appointment at the clinic at 8:00 and after last 
night she was resigned to going on her own. Frankly, the 
idea of having Mulder accompany her had been an almost 
romantic notion. She needed to keep reminding herself that 
this was an arrangement between friends. Mulder's comment 
had hurt, but served to hammer home this point. Besides all 
that, there was now another child mixed into the equation: 
Samantha's daughter. 

How that would impact their relationship was a wild card. 
Her head hurt trying to sort through the complicated 
personal dynamics. On top of it all, the Gunmen couldn't 
have missed hearing and understanding Mulder's comment. 
Hell, the trio probably had access to, and tracked, her 
medical records. She wouldn't put it past Frohike to have a 
file on her tucked away somewhere in that dungeon of 
theirs. 

She chose one of her black suits from the closet. It seemed 
to suit her mood, and this particular suit always made her 
feel powerful. She needed every ounce of that to get 
through this day.

The clinic was quieter than normal when she arrived. There 
was always a sense of calm to the place. Soft music played 
in the background and the office was filled with exotic 
plants. Skylights, soft lighting, and a water feature 
helped create an atmosphere that seemed to ooze fertility, 
as if the surroundings themselves were part of the 
treatment. She checked in with reception and didn't have to 
wait long before she was ushered into the office where Dr. 
Parenti was waiting to go through the details of the final 
procedure, scheduled for tomorrow.

"Good morning, Dana."

"Morning, Dr. Parenti."

He looked briefly at the file in front of him. "So, how are 
you feeling?'

"I'm fine."

"Any cramping, swelling, or changes in bowel movements?"

"Nothing like that. I've had a bit of a mild headache, been 
a little irritable, but nothing that seems serious."

"That would be due to the higher dosage of hCG we used. 
Aside from that, there's been nothing else of note?"

"No, I've been fine."

"I have you scheduled for 4:00 tomorrow. Because this is 
the last embryo, I'd like to try something a little 
different this time around. First off, your hormone 
injection today will be a little stronger than the last 
one. You might find yourself with a bit of cramping tonight 
and your headache may be a little worse, but I think we 
should do all we can. I'd also like Anna to do an 
ultrasound to get a good look at how ready your uterus is 
to accept the transplant. Did you take the day off or are 
you scheduled to work?"

"I'm going to work from here."

"I'd like you to take it easy. If you can cut out a bit 
early and get some extra rest tonight, I'd recommend it."

"Is there a problem with being on my feet? I'm scheduled to 
autopsy today."

"No, nothing like that. I just want your body to be as 
ready as we can make it. Will your partner be joining you 
tomorrow?"

"No." She realized that she'd answered far too quickly when 
the doctor gave her a puzzled look. "He's in the middle of 
a case and may need to go out of town, so I've arranged a 
ride with a friend."

He seemed satisfied with her answer. "That's good, because 
I'd like to give you something to relax you before the 
procedure tomorrow. It will make you drowsy, but I think 
the more relaxed you can be, the better our odds. I'd also 
like to keep you a little longer, just to give it every 
chance. Is that okay?"

"How long do you think I'll be?"

"Not longer than an hour. If you'd like, Jill can call your 
friend for you just before you're ready to go so she 
doesn't have to wait the whole time here."

"No, that'll be fine. I can give her a call myself when I'm 
ready."

"Good then. Any questions before Anna takes you in?" 

"No, I'm fine."

They both stood and a small Asian woman entered in response 
to his buzz. "Anna, Dana is ready."

"Okay, Dana. You get lucky number four today."

Scully smiled at her. "Wasn't that what you said last 
time?"

"Last time we did the actual implant, you were in three; 
this time I told Dr. Parenti we needed four all the way."

"And he agreed?"

Anna's response was softly spoken. "Oh, Dana, we all know 
how much you want this. I want to help all I can, and if a 
lucky number helps, so be it." She pushed open the door and 
ushered Scully in, dropping a gown on the table. "Okay, Dr. 
Scully, you know the drill." 


***********

When Scully got back to Quantico any ideas about a relaxing 
day were gone. Not only did she have the last four bodies 
from the Dusett case to finish up, the clipboard in front 
of her had a note with Skinner's signature indicating a 
body had been delivered late last night. And there was no 
Denise to assist today. So much for Dr. Parenti's advice 
about taking it easy. The upside of things would be how 
quickly the day would go. She would be far too busy to 
dwell on her difficulties with Mulder. 

She had spent a large part of her sleepless night mulling 
things over, and she had come, reluctantly and somewhat 
painfully, to the conclusion that she had read far too much 
into her arrangements with her partner. Somewhere along the 
way, weathering two failed attempts had brought to light 
feelings she wasn't sure what to do with, feelings for 
Mulder that went beyond affection between partners, or 
gratefulness for his assistance. 

She had begun to feel a much stronger bond with him, one 
that she was now aware was one sided. She had begun to 
think about family and all the things that went with it; 
God, she was downright maternal at times. Visions of a 
little boy with wonder in his hazel eyes, and the ordinary 
trappings of family life, lulled her to sleep most nights. 
She was dreaming of white picket fences and parent teacher 
meetings, feeling nothing like Dr. Dana Scully, Special 
Agent. 

It was obvious to her that she was the only half of the 
parental equation who was crossing the invisible line. She 
was embarrassed and prayed she could pass most of it off to 
the hormones swimming in her body. To hope he wouldn't 
notice would be silly; Mulder noticed everything.

She changed into scrubs and waited patiently while two of 
the regular morgue assistants moved the first body into the 
bay and onto the table. The toe tag identified her as 
Maggie Duffers, 18. She was the last victim, a popular but 
troubled girl. Scully was glad she had no need to contact 
the parents. She was strictly the slice and dice part of 
this investigation. She took a deep breath and got down to 
it.

Several hours later and Scully was able to put her part of 
the Dusett case behind her. She pulled the sheet up and 
called to have a diener take care of the last body, Susan 
Fraser. She knew it was psychosomatic, but along with her 
aching back and feet she was feeling phantom cramps and a 
dull ache low in her abdomen. It was well after two and 
she'd only stopped long enough to eat her yogurt and gulp 
back a bottle of water someone handed her when she 
complained of thirst. 

Skinner's autopsy order would have to wait until after she 
took five minutes and put her feet up. She had a feeling 
that despite the paperwork bearing the A.D.'s name, that 
Mulder was lurking in the background somewhere. And these 
orders were specific. Skinner had made it clear that she 
and she alone was to do the work, which meant no 
assistants. She headed to the outer area and the hot coffee 
she knew would be ready.


********** 

Mulder leaned over as Frohike pointed to a spot on the 
screen. "Near as we can tell, the call came in after 
eleven."

"I don't want to know how you got this information, do I? 
Don't answer that. That's about an hour before I left 
here."

"Give the man a cigar." Frohike scrolled down the page. 
"That's it. Just the one call to the Alexandria PD."

"And the house?"

"Bought last month, buyer listed as Kristen Kilar. Cash 
sale; city has only the one occupant listed."

"I should have fucking checked that out before I even went 
there yesterday."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Langly threw in. "None of 
us thought of it either."

"I'm sure you had other things occupying your mind." Byers 
pulled a stool closer to where they were working. "Have you 
had a chance to talk to Scully today?"

"No, she's still at Quantico finishing up the Dusett case. 
I've got Skinner trying to shake some information from his 
connections, but there just doesn't seem to be much. I'm 
betting Krycek made the call."

Frohike looked up. "You think he grabbed the kid?" 

"How crazy is it that I hope she's with him and not old 
Smokey? I'm betting she was gone long before the cops got 
there." 

"You think she knew the kid wasn't hers?" Langly stood up.

"Haven't a clue, boys. I don't know how they --" he paused 
--"created the baby; whether she was an implanted embryo, 
or grown in one of those tanks. I think Kristen cared for 
her; she must have." At least he needed to think that was 
true. He couldn't bear to think of Hannah being used and 
discarded like yesterday's trash. He needed to believe she 
was loved. He needed to believe he would find her.

"I'm going to head back over to the Hoover, see if Skinner 
dug anything up."

All three gunmen nodded. "We'll keep digging, watching the 
place just in case."

"Watching it?"

Frohike hit a switch and one of the monitors flicked on, 
showing an exterior shot of the front of the house, two 
police cruisers still parked outside. "Like magic."

"That is some serious shit, Frohike."

"Live feed and recording as we speak." Frohike pointed 
proudly to the black box underneath the monitor. "Say it, 
Mulder."

"Your kung-fu is the best." 

Frohike answered with a wide grin.

"Hey, Mulder." Langly swiveled around on his stool. "Just 
don't mess up anymore."

Mulder's reply was softly spoken. "I don't plan on it." He 
made his way to the door. "Let me know if anything comes 
up."

Frohike grunted a goodbye and Byers gave a small, sad 
smile. Langly dismissed him with a wave of his hand and all 
three men turned back to their computers and data streams.

*********

Scully was only mildly surprised to discover the body 
waiting for her was none other than Kristen Kilar. Somehow 
it seemed fitting with all the events of the past two days, 
as fitting as a case that made no sense could be. Not that 
she took any joy in the woman's death. It just seemed that 
things kept getting stranger and more convoluted with each 
turn. 

She looked over the notes included with the autopsy order. 
It seemed Kristen's unfortunate end came not long after 
Scully left the Gunmen and Mulder the other night. It would 
explain why Mulder hadn't called her yet. Whatever else he 
was, he did care and hadn't failed to call after each 
appointment she had. The days that she had to sit with her 
failure he was a steady rock, offering comfort that never 
became oppressive. She appreciated it more than she could 
ever tell him. 

When she pulled the sheet back she wasn't sure what to 
expect. Oh, she knew what the dead body would look like, 
what she wasn't sure of was Kristen herself.  Except for 
noticing the dark hair, she had managed to block out the 
woman's features when going through the pictures Krycek had 
left for her. 

It wasn't that she wasn't interested in seeing what she 
looked like, it was more that she could make an educated 
guess based on the other women from Mulder's past. She 
didn't need another long legged brunette to compare herself 
with. And she wasn't quite sure what her avoidance meant, 
or the fact that it bothered her to be faced with another 
of Mulder's women. Damn, that man had a propensity for 
getting involved with needy females. She took a deep breath 
and lined up her instruments. Whatever it was that she 
might be looking for would not yield easily. Any little 
fragment she found could be needed information. There was a 
certain amount of satisfaction and pride in knowing that 
both Skinner and her partner counted on her to do this, to 
be the best. 

Her cursory exam was thorough and when she saw the small 
puncture at the nape of the neck she understood Skinner's 
directive that she alone work on this. The mark meant one 
thing only: it was a hybrid. Yet this body didn't bleed 
green. She wasn't sure what that meant, but knew it was 
important and that time was of the essence. Bodies like 
this one had a habit of disappearing along with the 
evidence. She ignored her rumbling stomach and got busy. 

**********


Chapter 21

It was late when Scully arrived back at the Hoover. Traffic 
had been light, which was a plus. She was so tired and 
having to fight her way here would have taken too much 
concentration. She found Skinner in his office, the door 
open, bent over his desk still working on something. It 
wasn't too farfetched to believe he'd waited for her, 
knowing she would show up with the results from the Kilar 
autopsy. This wasn't something she could call him with, and 
if her suspicions regarding the woman were correct, she 
wouldn't' be sharing her findings in this office either. 
The best she could do was to present him with something 
that would throw off the men who were always listening. 

She entered quietly and waited for him to finish and 
acknowledge her presence. 

"Agent Scully?"

"I've the autopsy report, Sir."

"I wasn't aware that I'd asked for a verbal report, Agent."

She winced at the harshness in his voice. She knew it was 
because of the recording devices that were hidden in his 
office, but there was something else lurking behind it. If 
she was to guess she might pick pity, and it seemed to be 
directed her way. She bristled and her answer came out more 
abrasive than she intended. 

"I assumed the request to have me do the autopsy this 
afternoon meant the information was needed right away."

He pulled his glasses off and set them down. "Sorry, it's 
been a long day. I'll take a look at what you have."

"There isn't much." She passed him the folder. "Time of 
death seems to be somewhere around ten, give or take a 
couple of hours. The tox screen was clean, negative for 
alcohol, drugs, legal or illegal. She was a healthy woman. 
There doesn't seem to be anything untoward, except the 
manner of death."

Skinner played with a pencil and nonchalantly pointed it to 
a corner of the room and then scratched his ear with it. 
"Is that all?"

"That's it."

"Fine. If you'll give me a moment, I'm on my way out. I'll 
see you to your car."

"That won't be-"

He cut her off. "I had one of the clerks complaining about 
some guy hanging around the garage the other day. It'll 
only take me a moment."

She waited while he gathered up the paper he had been 
looking at and the autopsy files. He was silent all the way 
down the elevator and to the parking garage. When they 
stepped through the door he pulled over underneath one of 
the large ventilation fans. 

"Be quick," was all he said.

"I don't know what you've got this time, sir. The puncture 
wound in the back is like all the others would be, if they 
didn't dissolve into green goo before we could look. This 
one had red blood, and I couldn't find anything unusual 
about it at all; cell shape was normal, not too many white 
cells or too few red, nothing. It was almost too perfect."

"Which means, what?"

"Maybe nothing. It would help if you would tell me what you 
suspect." 

"Mulder thinks she might be a new generation of hybrid 
clones. One with similar physiology to our own."

"A new clone?" She cleared her throat. "Sir, this woman, 
whomever or whatever she is, has never given birth." 

Skinner showed no reaction to her revelation. She had been 
hoping for something that might let her know what was going 
on with Mulder. She knew her partner had gone to the house, 
it was in the police report, and she suspected Skinner had 
joined him. She guessed that Mulder's reluctance to face 
her was more involved than an indiscretion with a suspect. 

"Sir?"

"We've been long enough Agent Scully, we need to go." 

"Sir, what is it that no one is telling me about this 
case?"

Skinner gave her a blank stare and she realized she wasn't 
going to get anything out of him. 

They silently made their way to her car.

"Thanks, Sir."

"Can't be too careful these days, even with the security 
cameras. Good night Agent Scully."

************

Skinner wasn't surprised to find Mulder sitting in a car 
outside his apartment building when he got home. He noted 
Mulder's disheveled appearance and wondered if the man had 
gotten any sleep at all in the last twenty-four hours. 

"You keep long hours, sir."

"Speak for yourself, Mulder. What have you got?"

Mulder exited his car and followed Skinner to his door. He 
held a single thin file folder, tapping it against his leg. 
"Nothing. The house was a cash sale, one occupant listed 
with the city. That's it. I had the guys looking for any 
mention of Hannah and there is nothing. It's like she 
doesn't exist. There isn't much more on Kristen either. 
Just the regular stuff you'd find for a normal citizen. 
This Kristen, whatever she is, just stepped into the real 
Kristen's life."
 
Skinner pulled a key out from the ring. "I wish I could 
tell you that I had more, but I don't."

"I don't know where to look next." 

"Why don't you come up?"

Mulder nodded. "Sure."

Skinner disarmed the security system and flipped on the 
lights. His place was rather spartan, but neat. Decorated 
in browns and blues, there was no trace of a feminine touch 
here. Any reminder of his ex-wife was still too painful. 
There were no pictures except what the decorator had 
suggested to complement the color scheme, large non-
descript paintings with lots of muted colors. 

"Drink?"

Mulder shook his head. "I haven't eaten much today."

Skinner gestured towards the kitchen. "Knock yourself out."

"Hannah isn't mine."

Skinner raised his eyebrows, inviting Mulder to continue. 

"Scully had a visit from Krycek. He left her with some 
information, which she was able to match to Samantha's. It 
seems that Hannah is her child, somehow. I guess I got 
lucky."

Skinner was unable to keep the distaste from showing on his 
face, or coming through in his tone of voice. "Krycek? 
Doesn't that make things interesting." He unconsciously 
rubbed his arm, phantom pain running up it, the events 
surrounding his hospital stay still fresh in his mind. 

"Yeah, I'm sure he was responsible for the 'his and hers' 
matching envelopes with pictures. Were you able to get 
anything from your contacts?"

"I put some feelers out, dropped some information, but have 
had nothing. Not yet, anyway. It's still early. These men, 
they don't bite unless they need something; information is 
never free. It really comes down to what they need or want 
this time that's worth it for them."

"Don't sell yourself on this one, sir. I still have the 
Gunmen turning over stones, and Krycek seemed to be helping 
for some twisted reason. Do you know who made the call to 
the station?"

"No. I heard from someone wanting to confirm your status 
with the Bureau before they notified you. I pulled some 
strings, got the body shipped to Quantico for Scully to 
autopsy today." Skinner watched Mulder's face pale. "She's 
never been anything but professional, you know that Mulder. 
And who else could we trust to do it?"

"I know, it's just that --" He paused, groping for words. 
"Things are a little strained right now. I haven't had a 
chance to discuss any of this with her. She doesn't know 
about Hannah and God only knows what she thinks about 
Kristen and me."

"Scully wouldn't abandon you over this, Mulder. Hell, she's 
put up with your shit for over five years. This isn't going 
to scare her away. She's your partner; you need to talk to 
her. And she probably knows more than you're giving her 
credit for."

"Did she give you the results?"

"She didn't' find much. Except for the puncture wound, 
everything checked out as normal. Too normal was how she 
put it, I think. She did confirm that the woman had never 
given birth. So that matches up with what you found."  

He wasn't sure why Scully put up with his bullshit for as 
long as she had, but imagined that the feelings his pair of 
agents shared were stronger than either was willing to 
acknowledge. Love did indeed cover a multitude of sins. He 
just didn't think they thought of what they had as love in 
a romantic sense. 

"Go home, eat, and get some sleep. Hopefully someone will 
get in touch with me soon. You're no good to anybody like 
this." Mulder bristled at the directive. "I can make it an 
order if I need to."

"That's not necessary."

"Good." Mulder made his way to the door. "And Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"Talk to her. Soon."

"I will, I will. Just as soon as I figure out what to say."

"I'll call the minute I hear anything."

"Thanks, Skinner."

"You're welcome."

Skinner closed the door behind him and made his way into 
the kitchen. He pulled a frozen dinner from the freezer. He 
was tired and it was late, too late to cook. He popped it 
in the microwave and set the timer. He hoped he had stirred 
things up enough that someone would be inclined to talk to 
him rather than beat the shit out of him. He rubbed his arm 
again. Krycek. 

It didn't surprise him, but he'd rather not have to deal 
with that bastard right now. He had his own score to settle 
with the man. The timer dinged and Skinner pulled his 
dinner out, grabbing a beer to go with it. The television 
flicked on and he settled back. He needed to take his own 
advice. Sleep would help him think straight, and he figured 
he might need it tomorrow.

*********

Chapter 22

Mulder sat in his car outside Scully's apartment. A quick 
stop at the Gunmen's had yielded no new information, but 
all three of the guys had wasted no time chewing him out 
about his behavior with Scully. He guessed that sometime 
between the visit with Scully and the last one they had 
done a bit of digging. They had heard enough to guess at 
what the two of them were doing, and had probably got 
confirmation but in deference to Scully - he didn't kid 
himself that they would care about his feelings - they were 
ignoring it. Mostly ignoring it. Frohike couldn't help 
reminding him that Scully had 'some sort of medical 
appointment' earlier in the day, and making him feel like a 
schmuck for forgetting about it. Sometimes he hated 
Frohike's devotion to Scully.

He could see a light still on somewhere in her home despite 
the lateness of the hour. He opened his car door and got 
out, resigned to facing her. The talk he knew they needed 
to have was long overdue. He had also forgotten that her 
last IVF procedure was scheduled for tomorrow. He doubted 
she would have bothered to remind him.
  
She had asked him to be at this one with her, and Scully 
didn't ask for very much. He hit the remote, locking the 
car and made his way to her building.
 
*******

"Scully." She'd answered on the fifth ring, her voice 
sleepy.

"Hey, Scully."

"Mulder? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I - I'm - "

"What is it? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

"Nothing - no - I'm fine. Actually, I'm outside your door."

The door was pulled open and there he was, phone still 
pressed to his ear. She squinted against the glare of the 
florescent light in the hallway. She flicked her phone off 
and stood aside so he could enter. 

"I'm sorry; I guess I woke you. I'll just go, and we can-"

"You're here now, and I'm awake."

"Sure." He thumbed his own phone off, tucking it back into 
his jacket pocket. 

"What do you want, Mulder?" She stood with her arms 
crossed, suddenly aware that she was in her pajamas. She 
watched him sit down on her couch, head bowed, his fingers 
twisting nervously. Truthfully, she didn't feel too badly 
that he was uncomfortable. He had put her through hell the 
last two days, bringing into question not only their 
partnership, but also the personal relationship they seemed 
to be dancing around. 

He looked up then, and she noted the dark smudges under his 
eyes. She wasn't the only one who wasn't sleeping. "Do you 
want tea? Or coffee?"

"Nah. Maybe a glass of water."

Glad to have something to do, she moved into the kitchen. 
She ran the water, longer than she really needed to, but it 
helped fill some of the time, some of the silence. When she 
turned away from the sink she bumped smack into his chest. 
She hadn't heard him follow her in, hadn't even sensed him 
behind her. They did an awkward dance trying to get around 
each other until he finally grabbed both her arms, stilling 
her.

"I'm so sorry." The words were so quietly spoken she 
thought she'd only imagined them. "I'm really, really 
sorry." He took the glass from her hand and set it aside.